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zaina-xoxo · 3 years ago

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Harry Potter headcanons (sad)

That Hermione and Ron always wanted a huge family. Like, 5 children filling a burrow. However, they ended up with only two. Why? Hermione’s torture at the hands of Bellatrix left its marks, and she couldn’t have children after Hugo. Dark Magic always left marks.

That Dumbledore never really left limbo. He stayed there forever, unable to allow himself to move due to the blood he had on his hands, lives he sacrificed for the greater good.

That George dyed his hair blue after the battle in order to stop reminding himself of Fred every time he saw a mirror.

That Grindelwald never stopped loving Dumbledore, and during their final duel, he actually had an opportunity to kill him, but couldn’t gather the will. Dumbledore used that moment to win.

That during Snape’s death, those tears with the memories, were also a sacrifice. Those tears were the memories themselves. So, when he died and went to the afterlife … he didn’t remember the person most featured in those memories, the one they focused on. In death, he never remembered Lily.

After the battle of hogwarts, Dennis Creevey becomes a photographer …. which was what his brother, Colin, had wanted to become when he grew up.

That Sirius willingly fell into the veil, which only kills if you completely were thrown into it. What happened was that half of his body went to the other side, and he was immediately assaulted by whispers of his dead loved ones, especially lily and James. He died with a smile, as he jumped in to his next great adventure.

That for the first fifteen years of his life, what Tom Riddle saw in the Mirror of Erised was himself with his parents in a rich household, in a loving family. All he wanted was to be loved. All that changed when he made his first horcrux.

That Dumbledore’s boggart was himself. And, that it really was him who killed Ariana, something he found out in the afterlife.

When Ron was a little boy he overheard his aunt Muriel talking to her friend that how amazing Ron's elder brothers were. But she called Ron ‘Molly's failed attempt for a girl’. She also said that Ron was worthless and he was no one compared to his elder brothers. Ron had developed insecurities about not being good enough from that overheard conversation.

When Ron left in DH Hermione wrote a letter. Conveying EVERYTHING she felt for him. She was almost certain that she would never see him again. She would never be able to tell him how she felt for him. She kept that letter in her beaded bag. Years later Ron found out that letter. And he cried.

Once during an auror mission Ron was injured badly. He almost died. Hermione didn't leave his side for once. When he was slightly better, Hermione told him that she was pregnant. That was when Ron had decided to quit his job.

When Ron and Hermione were staying at the shell cottage Hermione had a long conversation with Fleur. Hermione told her that there was a huge chance that she wouldn't survive the battle of Hogwarts. She was a muggleborn afterall. So if something happened she wanted Ron to move on with his life. She wanted Fleur to promise her that she would help Ron to move on with his life.

When the flashing green light came rushing at James Potter's way he didn't see death, but was reminded of two pairs of vibrant green eyes staring lovingly at him.

Death works differently in the HPU. Once you die, you have the choice to stay in limbo for as long as you want, or to take the train. You could also become a ghost. However, along with that there’s also the choice of becoming a creature which is the embodiment of death - a thestral. This is why Luna has a favourite Thestral, and why there’s a huge influx of them in the forbidden forest after the battle of hogwarts.

Neville kept visiting his parents. With every milestone that he hit — graduating Hogwarts, marrying Hannah Abbott, being hired as a professor — he made it a tradition to see them. It was not until he visited with a baby girl in his arms, Alice Francesca Longbottom, that he saw a flash of recognition in his mother’s eyes.

The day Harry was born, all the marauders found themselves in St. Mungo’s. Hours later, Remus awoke in his chair just in time to see a black-haired man with a crooked nose regarding the new-born. With a last glance upon Lily he left, seemingly unseen.

As a child Teddy had a huge crush on his Aunt Hermione, and he would often give her flowers and ask her if they could get married someday. Once he grew up, he was commonly teased about his childhood crush on his aunt (not sad)

During the first few years that Severus was teaching at Hogwarts, all of the other teachers were very uncertain of him. They all thought that Dumbledore was mad for hiring him, as they all knew of his reputation as a Death Eater. But eventually he struck up a very playful rivalry with Minerva. They would sit together at Quidditch matches and pass snarky comments back and forth, both of them snorting in amusement. It also wasn’t uncommon to find them sat together in the evenings, having a cup of tea or a glass of firewhiskey. By the time Harry Potter came to Hogwarts, Minerva believed in him almost as much as Dumbledore did. (He often urged Severus to tell her the real reason he defected from the Death Eaters, but Severus always refused.) His hatred of the young Gryffindor was often a point of contention between the two unlikely friends, but their friendship remained strong. It withstood Voldemort’s return and the reformation of the Order of the Phoenix. But in the aftermath of the Battle of the Astronomy Tower and Dumbledore’s death, Minerva was completely shocked and outraged. She couldn’t believe she’d ever befriended him at all and swore she’d never forgive herself for trusting him. During the last year the two taught together she avoided him at all costs, talking to him only when it was absolutely necessary, and when she had to she did so rather stiffly. After the Battle of Hogwarts ended and he was dead, however, she learned the truth about his actions from Harry, who told her about his tragic tale. She cried on and off for days. And the first time she came face to face with his portrait she completely broke down.

Had Fred not died, the twins would have had an overly casual double wedding [and would probably switch places to mess with their brides]

When Remus woke up in Harry’s compartment in POA, he saw Harry giving him the same comforting and concerned look as James. For a moment he thought he was seeing James again. Then in sunk in that his dear friend was dead and it was James’ son.

Teddy saw Sirius’ picture once. He didn’t know who he was, so he changed himself to look like him. It was only when he grew up that he understood why Harry started crying when he saw him.

Once Professor McGonagall was made headmistress, she let Hagrid become a student. Harry saw Hagrid’s Patronus for the first time in his life three years after the war. It was Hedwig.

When Petunia and Lily were little, they would read Alice in Wonderland. Petunia would read Dudley the book, fully knowing he didn’t like it. She was reading it for Harry, who was listening from inside his cupboard. Petunia believed she owed this to Lily.

When Harry was a baby, he didn’t know his own name. Each of the marauders gave him a nickname. (James called him troublemaker.) When he lived with the Dursleys, and they called him a “troublemaker”, toddler Harry would get excited thinking that his dad was going to take him away from these horrible people.

During the Battle of Hogwarts, Nearly-Headless Nick’s head finally came off. Hence, he had to join the Headless Hunt. Thus, Gryffindor needed a new applicant. The new house ghost was a 17-year-old redheaded man and a large group of 12 students were excited to meet their beloved uncle.

When Teddy Lupin was a baby, his color turned into the person he wanted to hold him. Occasionally, it was Harry or Ginny or any other Weasley. But one day it turned pink and he could do nothing about it.

The Marauders used to take turns babysitting Harry, and it became a tradition to pass the baby and say, “You’re it. Good luck.” And the last thing Sirius saw as he fell through the veil was Remus holding Harry, and the last thought that went though his head was, “You’re it. Good luck.”

After Fred’s funeral, George does not return to the Burrow until about a year later. He refuses to go upstairs where his and Fred’s old room is and barely says a word. His hair is some wild outrageous color, cropped short and crooked, and Mrs. Weasley goes into a fit. She loudly asks why he would do that to himself, and is not prepared when he says, “I kept seeing him in the mirror.”

It’s the year after the Battle of Hogwarts. The school is still being repaired and the class size has dwindled down to pitiful numbers. And the Thestrals are so excited about the newfound attention they’d been getting.

Dobby wrote a will in which he sent Harry over 200 pairs of socks, Ron a pair of trainers, and a misshapen hat for Hermione.

No matter what he was doing or who he was with, Harry would always stop and pet any stray dog that he came across. If he could, he would give them any food he had. Eventually he became known as the man with the treats. Not Harry Potter or the Chosen One; just the quiet man with dogbones. When dogs would bound up to him, throwing their paws onto his chest and barking with glee at his arrival, he was reminded irresistibly of Sirius.

At Colin’s funeral, Harry didn’t say a word. He had been to so many funerals recently that pleasantries felt like a waste of breath, and how terrible would it be for him to waste his breath when he was so lucky to have it? He stood silent and watching, and as the last of the attendees left, Harry placed a tiny picture on Colin’s grave, taken by the late boy himself. It was the only autograph Harry Potter would ever give.

On May 2nd, 1998, Hogwarts held a moment of silence for the fallen. Not a single portrait stirred, not a single stair shifted. Even Peeves ducked into a corner and went silent. Then, when the silence ended, millions of different colored sparks took off into the sky.

Tonks is easily excitable and loved entertaining Hermione and Ginny with her Metamorphosis abilities. One day, she found a picture of Harry in Sirius’ room to turn herself into, and ran downstairs to show Remus and Sirius. And it wasn’t until Tonks watched their hearts break that she realized Harry’s eyes were the wrong color.

Harry kept each and every one of the sweaters that Mrs. Weasley had knitted him. One day while cleaning, she saw them folded with so much care in his drawer. She turned to see Harry wearing his newest Christmas Sweater proudly, like it was the greatest honor he could have been given, and she burst into tears.

One day, Harry accidentally calls Mrs. Weasley “Mum” instead of Molly. His face goes bright red, fumbling with apologies, and she (once again) burst into tears.

The first thing Draco Malfoy did after the war was Apparate into Muggle London and march straight into a tattoo parlor. He emerges, his face still bloody and burned, with an arm void of a black skull. Instead, he looks down at the skin covered in flowers and the skull changed into a silhouette of the castle, and smiles for the first time in two years.

George pulls Harry aside:

(“Harry, you’ve died, haven’t you?”

Harry looked up at George and regarded him, careful not to let any incredulousness show in his eyes — he knew all too well of the torment George must be feeling, of the weight in what he was visibly preparing himself to say.

“I have,” said Harry carefully.

George dipped his head; as he did, Harry caught something in his eyes that pained him so deeply, he was grateful George had tried to hide it from him.

“Does it...” George spoke to his shoes, and his voice sounded much older than Harry remembered. “Did... Did dying hurt, Harry? D’you think… that Freddie was in pain when...”

But George did not need to specify. Like he had been smacked right across the face with the words left unspoken, Harry knew, and it was a long time before he answered.

“It didn’t hurt,” said Harry resolutely, like he was deciding it right then and there.“It didn’t?”

“Quicker and easier than falling asleep.”)

When Remus Lupin took the Map from Harry, he sat there for hours, opening and reopening it wrong on purpose just to see the clever insults sprout on the paper. It was almost like his friends, alive and well, were talking to him for the first time in 12 years.

The day Molly Weasley dies, the first thing she sees is a girl with red hair sprinting toward her. She panics, thinking it might be Ginny, but she sees startling green eyes and knows who it is immediately. Lily Potter pulls Mrs. Weasley into a hug and in a choked voice, whispers, “Thank you.”

Harry memorized every name of the 50 Fallen after the war ends. The day he dies, old and surrounded by his children, he repeats their names in his head like a mantra and begs for their forgiveness.

Eleven years later, at Hogwarts, students fill a corridor filled with portraits of those who died in the Battle of Hogwarts. They look for Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and other famous faces, but there’s a blue-haired first year in their midst, trying desperately to remember what his parents had looked like.

James Potter lost both of his parents at once. The news was delivered to him by Professor McGonagall with Sirius by his side, but James was in denial. He kept insisting that she was lying, and it wasn’t until Sirius broke down into tears that James knew, and it broke him.

Crookshanks was the Potters family cat mentioned in sirius' letter and escaped godrics hollow after Halloween and managed to find the magical menagerie. He found hermione and stayed with her because harry was only allowed hedwig and Ron already had scabbers. This is why he was especially angry towards Ron, due to smelling his masters betrayer on him, and didn't run away from sirius’ grim form.

Hedwig was a guardian angel. Hedwig is smarter than most owls and other animals in the magical world, often appearing to harry when he needs to write a letter. Female snow owls like hedwig are mostly white but they have grey marks and spots on their back wings, hedwig is portrayed as a white male snowy owl. White as an angelic being perhaps Perhaps? Perhaps hedwig was sent by his parents as a guard and friend to him, its why hedwig didn't want anyone else adopting her.

Dementors come from the death eater who were thrown into the Veil. Ever wonder why the veil of death is barley used? After the souls escape to the after life the bodies of those who enter become husks of their former selves, hungry for souls. Unmasked before thrown in with only the cloaks on their backs.

Four years after the Battle of Hogwarts, Molly Weasley was busy preparing food for Ron’s birthday. She mistakenly barked to George, “Get that chicken out of the oven, Fred!” George silently whispered, “Honestly, woman, you call yourself our mother?”

JK Rowling has revealed that Lily Potter was pregnant was her second child when she was killed. Even worse, she had convinced James to make Snape the godfather of the child.

At Luna’s wedding, the whole of the front seats were reserved. Harry went up to her at the end of service and asked, “Luna, who’s sitting there?” Luna smiled her usual smile and said, “Right. They did sit here in a spiritual way I suppose.” She pointed the seats one by one, “Right, that’s for my mother, those are for your parents, that one is for Sirius, that one is for Professor Lupin, that one is for Tonks, then Mad-Eye, then Fred Weasley, then Professor Dumbledore, and then Professor Snape. Right then, bye!” Harry had never felt so touched before.

The reason Bellatrix was so wretchedly insane and slavishly devoted to Voldemort was that she lived for the promise that one day, if she did enough, someone might say “I love you” back. I know that she doesn’t deserve this but for love… wow Bellatrix.

When Harry and Ginny went to search for a house to live in they found an apparently perfect house, Ginny loves it, but Harry rejects with a clear excuse about it being too big for them. Ginny doesn’t notice Harry’s fixed look on the Cupboard under the stairs.

Before the Horcrux hunt, Ron and Hermione decided, that if either of them had to choose between saving each other's lives or Harry’s, they had to choose Harry for the sake of the world. No matter how painful it would be for them to let go of each other.

Sirius and Remus saved memories for Harry. Remus left them for Harry in his will, when Harry got a hold of them he got to see a part of James he never got to see in Snape's memory.

After the battle of Hogwarts, Neville went to visit his parents to tell them about it. After he finished, his mother, who normally spoke nonsense, smiled and said one word: “Proud”

On November 3rd 1981, Sirius Black sat alone in a cell in Azkaban softly singing: “Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me, happy birthday dear Sirius...” whilst tears streamed down his face, wishing he could go back in time.

Mr. and Mrs. Potter, James and Sirius were out in public together one sunny afternoon. The elderly couple was talking to someone with that someone asking, “Oh, are these your sons?” Sirius turned beet red and becoming utterly flustered. Mr. Potter simply smiled and says, “Yes, they are.” With Mrs. Potter nodding proudly in agreement. Never once did they think to reply in any other way.

Harry as a preschooler drew two blond blots and a big black blot with a little black one standing a bit further away beside them with “My Family” scratched over the top and presented it to Uncle Vernon who ripped it apart and threw it away right in front of him.

When Harry and Ginny were married they moved to a house in Godric’s Hollow. After Lily was born and got older, she would visit her grandmother and namesake's grave everyday and leave lilies.

Harry Potter died at the ripe age of 101 surrounded by his loved ones, when he opened his eyes again he returned to the place he parted from his old mentor many years ago, but it wasn't Albus Dumbledore who greeted him at the station this time around. Standing a few feet away from him where a young couple patiently waiting for the son they were ripped away from so long ago to take him home and Harry Potter, the boy who lived, went gladly.

After the war, Minerva McGonagall went into a spiral of depression. It was brought on by watching so many students grow and die before her eyes.

At Ginny’s wedding she danced with George twice so it would feel like she was dancing with Fred.

After the second Wizarding War, everyone who died was given a chocolate frog card. When Teddy Lupin was on the train going to his first year of Hogwarts, he got the cards that had his parents on them, and it was like they were sending him off themselves.

These made me cry when I read them, I just can't :(

#marauders #harry potter #james potter #remus lupin #sirius orion black #lily x james #james potter x lily evans #headcanons #harry potter headcanon #sad #emotional

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hacash · 3 years ago

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ted lasso 2x09 thoughts

ARGH

those are it. those are my thoughts.

Ok, slightly more coherently…

Sam’s getting recognition! Sam has his own chant! I love that for him. Love it all. It’s obviously so good that Sam is becoming an in-universe hero when we’ve loved him from his first scene - however, that also comes with the caveat of not wanting him to move anywhere from Nelson Road. I’m curious to see where they take it though, because I obviously can’t see Toheeb Jimoh leaving the cast before the show finishes, but at the same time this offer is so good for him?? I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know.

(If, on the other hand, Toheeb is being written out because he’s going on to star as a lead in another show where we could see more of his beautiful face and stellar acting every week? I would find that acceptable.)

Screeners’ reactions for this episode had me thinking something cataclysmic and dreadful was going to happen between Sam and Rebecca with them reuniting and it hitting the papers - and it ended up being fine?? Of course she’s torn about him leaving. Even if they end up never being together again Sam clearly represents something wonderful to Rebecca - possibility and the sense of being treated right - and those feelings don’t just go away.

I expected a bit more reaction from Ted about the whole Sambecca thing, but that little look in his eyes after their conversation did have me curious - does he disapprove more than he lets on? is he secretly pining for Rebecca already? only time will tell. also I did notice Ted was once again basically saying whatever Rebecca wanted to hear and agreeing at every single line - he might be going to therapy but he’s not out of the people-pleaser woods yet.

Another bombshell next year? OH COME ON. If that’s not a prediction of some sort of confession of love I will go out and buy a hat just to eat it.

SHARON. How I am going to miss thee. But it was a lovely and understated farewell to a character that I’ve really come to love - Sexy Mother Fucker; he stole my move, yaas - showing how much she and Ted have helped each other grow and I just *tear*. Also I’m a Tedbecca shipper through and through, but Jason and Sarah do have such lovely chemistry together.

Also the pub regulars basically pleading for free therapy? Aww.

Higgins luring Ted back to read Sharon’s note with a well-chosen letter based pun? I love this man to the ends of the earth.

I FUCKING KNEW THAT HIGGINS KNEW EVERYONE’S BIRTHDAY. I PREDICTED THAT SHIT.

Roy and Keeley…I’m sorry, I’m emotional and anxious and hopeful and I do not think they’re going to break up. Relationships go through messy spots and people struggle, and the mark of a good, communicative, grown-up relationship is that you take time and discuss your issues and move past them. Keeley and Roy’s relationship has always been characterised by that maturity, and I just don’t see a couple of ill-timed romance confessions breaking that down.

(If anything, we might get a discussion from Roy about Keeley trusting him - I’m guessing there’s a fair bit of time lapsed between Jamie’s confession and her telling all to Roy, and I can see that being the sticking point that upsets Roy, that she hid this from him for some time. He clearly didn’t feel at all upset by what happened with Nate; it’s the - arguably fair - point that Keeley didn’t let him know that her ex confessed love for her that I think is going to be the issue.)

Also, the ‘are you married’ question - coupled with the fact that we keep seeing Roy on his knees in front of Keeley - makes me think we’re going to get a proposal next episode.

Also I love that we’re seeing more of Keeley’s psyche beyond the ‘cute and supports everyone’ façade - her mother’s experience with ambition and not being able to achieve it is a really interesting little snippet, not to mention the reason she bonds so much with Nate and is able to see how someone seemingly ‘undeserving’ should be able to realise their dreams.

also her and Rebecca’s ‘bleargggggh!’ competition! and Ted thinking he was going to be on the cover of Vanity Fair! return of Biscuits with the Boss!

ok, deep breaths now

NAAAAAATE

WHAT ARE YOU DOOIIIIIIING

Is it bad that I sort of liked the whole thing with Keeley? Not in a ‘yes I want this to happen’ sort of way, but because it makes so much sense that Nate (particularly Nate in his current state) might mistake that level of bonding and emotional support as something romantic. We know Nate is insecure and hasn’t had much of a social life in the past, and that he idealises Keeley for her basic kindness and decency: much like Jamie in 2x10, he’s mistaking Keeley’s kindness as something more…it’s absolutely gutting to watch, and also so human and real that I can’t help but take my hat off to the writers for it.

(Honestly, there’s been so many posts on tumblr about how toxic masculinity fucks men over to such an extent that when they receive kindness and friendship for a woman they immediately think romance - but yeah. this show does tick all the boxes.)

I did see the kiss moment coming a mile away and was really worried that Nate was going to be…uh, very entitled about it, given his current state, but the fact that he wasn’t - that he was immediately horrified and realised he’d fucked up and stumbles away muttering about how he ‘is worried about it’ and ends the scene spitting at himself in the mirror again and looking absolutely disgusted with himself - well, in a way that just hurt more. (I mean, I’m relieved Nate wasn’t all bolshy with it because his reaction does show there is still some of the old Nate still there…but still, owch.)

And then that text from Trent…

Next episode is going to hurt like hell, isn’t it? I absolutely cannot wait for the showdown between Nate and Ted, it’s been a long time coming…like I’ve said, while I think ultimately Nate is going to have a redemption arc, because thematically it makes sense and would send some pretty iffy messages if he doesn’t, I don’t think it’ll come until season three. Right now I just want to see Ted get angry after several seasons of suppressing his anger, I want a full-blown emotional hash-out between them both - basically I want Jason and Nick to have me sobbing before 9AM.

My one question is: are we going to see Nate realising what he’s done, or not? Was this a pragmatic, doing-this-for-the-sake-of-the-club betrayal or a blind, lashing-out-in-frustration betrayal? In short: is Nate Lando or Anakin in this scenario?

I’m very curious as to what show people who say this ‘came out of nowhere’ have been watching. Nate’s been heading for some sort of implosion since mid-season, and we all knew it was going to hurt some innocent bystanders.

I’m saving something light and cheery after all the angst, so let me just say: cinema has never surpassed, and will never surpass, the scene of the Richmond boys dancing along to Bye Bye Bye. Almost made up for the fact that they were criminally underused in the rest of the episode, and quite frankly this had better be redressed in the season finale.

and WE FINALLY SAW COLIN DRIVING THE LAMBO. I don’t know what I find funnier: the fact that it’s some neon lime green monstrosity that every fourteen-year old boy would have dreamt of owning growing up (should my new Colin tag be Colin ‘I Need To Rethink My Relationship With My Car’ Hughes, or Colin ‘More Money Than Sense’ Hughes? enquiring minds want to know…) or as was pointed out to me by @kamillahn, the look of absolute terror on Colin’s face as he begins to drive. Colin, hun, please just buy yourself a Fiat. It’s not worth it anymore.

#ted lasso #ted lasso spoilers #the little things

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troped-fanfic-challenge · 4 years ago

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JATP ROUND THREE FICS!

We received fourteen (14!!!!) fics for Round Three of the JATP Event! These fics are full of that sweet, sweet canonverse goodness that we can’t get enough of, but with our signature TROPED twist! We loved to see you all challenge yourselves with the theme, tropes, and pairings!

Please try to read as many fics as you can! Take some notes, leave some kudos/comments for the authors, and help us vote on the winners!

Voting will be open until May 29th at 11:59pm EST! Vote here:

https://www.surveymonkey.com/r/BZ3W5FT

———

Just say you won't let go (Rated G) [Julie/Luke]

Summary: Hey, Julie

You're the heart and soul 'round here, it's plain to see

in which Julie has a second chance with her boys, and then another

we will fight to shine together (bright forever) (Rated G) [Bright Lighting Guy/Rob from the Orpheum]

Summary: “Hey,” Chris says, walking up to the boy. “What are you doing?”

“Oh,” he puts the dandelions down and stands up. “Hi. I’m trying to make a flower crown, but I don’t remember how.”

“Cool. I’m Chris, I live--” he points to his house. “Over there.”

The boy gives him a lopsided smile. “I’m Rob. I’m staying with my grandparents for the summer.”

or: the rob/bright lighting guy fic literally nobody asked for but i wrote anyways. enjoy gays, bring ur tissues

what happened when (Rated G) [Alex/Luke]

Summary: Before Julie and the Phantoms, before the guys became ghosts, before Sunset Curve -- they were Luke and Alex. Not 5 feet apart cause they're totally gay.

who cares if one more light goes out? (in a sky of a million stars) (Rated T) [Ray/Rose]

Summary: Rose moves in across the street when he’s eight and she is seven. Their parents push for them to play together, because that’s what parents do. They’re not wrong about it though. The two of them get on like a house on fire and some of his happiest memories from his childhood are just him and Rose, sitting in the large oak tree behind their houses. Hidden up in the branches, between the millions of dark green leaves, they played together.

or: The first and the last time Ray ever kissed Rose.

we can forget the world (just you and me) (Rated T) [Alex/Willie]

Summary: “This was the first place I ever came out to someone,” Alex says, spinning around and taking in the tree house.

together we can take on the world (Rated G) [Alex/Reggie]

Summary: Alex Mercer meets Reggie Peters on October 8, 1983, which means that two days have passed since Reggie's sixth birthday, because Reggie is a Libra according to the magazines that his mom reads when she gets Reggie to paint her toenails. He’s also just moved to Los Angeles, California from his hometown of Gatlinburg, Tennessee, a small town in the mountains, and he’s told Alex Mercer about all of this in the three minutes that they’ve known each other, and he might be the loudest, most obnoxious boy that Alex has ever met, and he absolutely has to be Alex’s new best friend.

The Peters family moves in down the street from the Mercers in 1983, and so begins the rest of their lives.

Long Live (Can I start another life with you?) (Rated T) [Julie/Luke]

Summary: It's all too much for one day: first a muffin, then more heartbeats. Julie just needs some time to think. If Luke runs after her to sit by her side so she doesn't lose it, she won't complain.

Except afterwards, he starts acting weird. Very weird. And months later, she's tired of letting him keep his distance.

She can’t do this. Not right now. Not today.

She jumps back on her feet.

The excited grin falls from Luke’s face. She doesn’t try to catch it.

“I – I think this is too much. I need some time. Alone. Sorry.”

Then she runs. She runs past the calloused fingers reaching out to her. Past Reggie and the door, past carved pumpkins on porches and Cornelia Street.

She just runs.

Roses (Rated G) [Emily & Luke, Alex/Luke]

Summary: It becomes a sacred place she shares with her son. Mitch is usually off at work from dawn until six o’clock, but Emily’s working from home for now. She works as a florist’s shop right outside the neighborhood. So she brings home seeds and little flowers and other cuts from the store; she and Luke will spend hours out in the dirt, planting seeds and making mud pies and Luke will babble about whatever happened in daycare and make up stories about the different flowers.

Somewhere Only We Know (Rated T) [Nick/Carrie]

Summary: Nick Danforth-Evans met Julie Molina when he was six years old. He had no idea how much an impact that afternoon would have on his life.

___

A journey through Nick Danforth-Evan's life as experienced in the safety of his backyard hide away.

The Itty Bitty Details (Rated T) [Alex/Willie]

Summary: “Did I forget to mention William, I also get your soul,”

Willie could feel a stinging feeling and a purple stamp appeared on his hand. When the stamp appeared he could no longer remember who Alex was. The name meant nothing to Willie now.

Or 5 times Willie knew Alex and one where Alex knew Willie

you're the only one who makes me (my wildflower) (Rated T) [Bobby/Reggie]

Summary: The tree was Reggie's safe space, and Bobby was his safe person. He could escape all his troubles there, except for one nagging thought - did he have feelings for his best friend?

Dying complicated things.

because i've known you so long, i know every cadence and what they mean (Rated G) [Alex & Julie, Julie/Luke]

Summary: Alex and Julie have always lived right next to each other. Through highs and lows, they grow up together. Also, 5 times Luke kisses Julie and it doesn't count plus 1 time Julie kisses Luke and it does count.

Alternatively, the Juke 5+1 fic from Alex's POV. Strap in, folks.

Someday (I'll See You Again) (Rated T) [Alex/Willie]

Summary: They’re wrong. Alex, you are not a failure. You’re incredible. You’re smart. You’re funny, and the best friend I could ask for. You’re a wicked talented drummer and you have a beautiful voice. And more important than all of that, is that you’re you, Alex. And the you you are is wonderful, and lovable and perfect. If your parents can’t see that, that’s their own fault. But I swear, Alex. If you’re afraid of them, I need you to tell me. You have to be safe.” Willie’s voice had gone desperate by the end. Alex deserved to know how freaking amazing he was and the fact that his parents didn’t bother to tell him, and actively worked to tear him down instead, was infuriating.

But Willie also worried about him. He’d worried about Alex since the first time he heard Mr. Mercer shouting through the window, a worry that never really went away. Not with the way Alex automatically straightened up when his parents were mentioned, as if he could hear his dad lecturing him about appearances from miles away. Not with the way Alex looked when he was with them, perfectly pieced together and falling apart at the seams, eyes distant and shoulders tense. Willie was pretty sure he had worrying about Alex etched in his bones by this point.

The Energy Never Dies (Rated T) [Gen Fic]

Summary: Well, I ain't always right, but I've never been wrong

Seldom turns out the way it does in a song

Once in a while, you get shown the light

In the strangest of places if you look at it right

--- Scarlet Begonias, Grateful Dead

Four moments across time in the loft of the Molina's garage.

#troped: jatp #round 3: canonverse #jatp fanfiction #round 3 submissions #round 3 voting #troped: voting

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ruzek-halstead · 4 years ago

Text

keep telling me that it gets better (does it ever?)

julie doesn't expect one of the worst days of her life to lead to the best.

an alternate universe where julie is a talented tattoo artist, battling her demons and luke occasionally helps out at a flower shop because recording a demo isn't cheap. their meeting isn't the most glamorous, but it's one for the books.

masterlist || ao3

It’s only when she turns her head to the side and her curls follow, that he notices the black outline of a butterfly tattoo on her shoulder. It’s unbelievably simple and void of any colour, but Luke finds it suits her. Her arm reaches out as she playfully hits the shoulder of someone she’s with and Luke catches more of the ink on her skin. He spots the dahlia first, and her reaction at the flower shop when he thought they didn’t have any makes a lot more sense; it must have a deep meaning to her.

The urge he feels to know everything and anything about her overwhelms him.

The moment Julie's alarm clock starts ringing that rainy Wednesday morning, she knows it can only go further downhill from there.

She has been dreading this day for the entire month, and now that it's finally here, she isn't sure how to feel. She knows how she feels; her insides are turning themselves inside out and the pinch at the front of her forehead signals the start of a headache that will most likely be there for the remainder of the day.

It's only seven-thirty in the morning and her phone is already flooding with messages. They're mostly from her dad, reminding her what today is. It isn't as if she needs a reminder; this day will stick with her for as long as she walks this earth. Other messages are from her Tía Victoria, a bit more aggressive, trying to ensure Julie's presence later tonight.

Julie understands it's all in good faith; she knows that. It doesn't help lessen the pain though.

She's has never found it anything less than difficult to visit her mother's grave. The image of Rose being lowered in her coffin will forever stay burned in Julie's mind, and that was all she could picture whenever she went back. However, the standing tradition was that they all would visit her mother's grave on the anniversary of her death.

Julie visited on the first anniversary. She was only able to stay the entirety of four minutes before she ran to the nearest trashcan to empty out her insides.

She stopped by the second year but couldn't find the strength to leave the car.

By the third year, the mere thought of visiting the cemetery was enough to send Julie into a whirlwind of panic attacks; they were so debilitating that she couldn't even leave her apartment.

At the fourth anniversary, Julie simply opted to not go. Her father was disappointed, her Tía was angry (even though she tried to hide it) and her brother said nothing at all.

Today marks the fifth anniversary of Rose's death, and once again, she's expected to show up. Even if the pain is just as fresh as the day it happened, the expectation is that she'll show up anyway with flowers and say something nice and meaningful.

Julie doesn't have anything nice or meaningful to say because she's still so angry that something like this even happened in the first place. She doesn't see why she has to hide her anger, why she has to hide it for the sake of her family. It should be okay that she's still grieving; it isn't something you just get over.

Julie clears the messages from her phone without responding. She has work to get to, and she can't be anymore distracted than she already is. She jumps in for a quick shower, not bothering to style her hair since it was a dreary, rainy day anyway. She chooses a pair of black ripped jeans, a matching black cropped band t-shirt and her red and black plaid shirt to complete the outfit. Grabbing an apple for the road, she picks up her army green jacket, an umbrella and quickly weaves through the crowds of people on the street until she reaches her destination.

The 'OPEN' sign is still turned off, but she spots lights flickering in the back. Balancing her umbrella and the apple she shoved in her mouth due to lack of hands, she uses her key to let herself in.

Willie is already in the back, setting up his station for a full day of appointments. Somehow people were always willing to get pricked with a needle, no matter how much it hurt.

Their other co-workers, Flynn and Carrie haven't arrived yet.

Julie is grateful for that. After working with these people for so many years, they know a lot about her and most of them were even there when her mother's health severely started deteriorating out of nowhere.

They know exactly what today is.

She doesn't want to be coddled in the way she knows they'll want to.

Luckily, she doesn't have to worry about that with Willie. He somehow just understands exactly what everyone needs, no words necessary.

"Morning Jules," he murmurs, motioning behind him to the break room. "I set the coffee a bit ago. Can you check on that?"

Julie, ever grateful for the distraction, drops her things at her station and rushes into the break room. Coffee is a must every morning, and it's best to always have a fresh pot. You never know when you'll need a fix. After so many years of working together, they've all memorized each other's coffee orders and so, Julie takes it upon herself to prepare everyone's coffee.

It's mostly for a distraction. But every time she thinks of things as distractions, it only reminds her of what she's trying to distract herself from. It's a lose-lose situation.

"Good morning Julie!"

Julie turns to glance over her shoulder at where Carrie is walking in, hooking her jacket on the coat rack and shaking out the raindrops from her loose waves. She immediately dives for her coffee, taking a deep gulp with a sigh of pleasure.

Her blue eyes meet Julie's surprised brown ones. Carrie merely sends her a small smile and doesn't say anything else. Julie sends one back.

"Is Nick coming in today?" Julie asks, turning back to the four coffees.

Nick is their apprentice, currently working with Carrie. He doesn't come in everyday and Julie doesn't want to waste a perfectly good coffee if he isn't coming in.

"No, not today. He gets days off. Anyone know what those are?"

Julie lets out a snort. She spots the pleased smile on Carrie's lips from the corner of her eye. She understands her co-workers are trying to make this day as pain-free as possible and she really appreciates it.

"Jules, your phone's going off again!" Willie yells from the other room. Julie frowns, knowing exactly who it is and what it's for. She glances at her watch, noting it's time to open. She grabs her coffee along with Willie's and drops it off along the way.

Julie once again presses decline, silences it, and shoves it into one of her drawers. She ignores the somewhat knowing look from Willie; she knows he won't say anything.

She can feel it in the aggressive manner of her movements; she's just so frustrated. She's frustrated with her emotions and what she's feeling. A part of her thinks she should be over it by now, so she wouldn't have to suffer through this every year. But she knows that's ridiculous; this kind of pain doesn't just disappear overnight. She's also frustrated with her family. They don't seem to care about what she's feeling and instead solely on what they want her to do.

But then, she's also frustrated with herself.

Why is it so difficult for her to visit her mother? Maybe it would be therapeutic and bring Julie some closure. She knows this, but her body rejects the idea at every attempt.

It's frustrating all around and Julie can feel herself growing sour as the day goes on.

Julie never pictured herself going into tattooing. To be perfectly honest, blood used to freak the hell out of her and in large quantities, it still does. But she always had an interest in drawing. It started with little doodles on the corners of her notebooks, then when she was gifted her first proper drawing pad, she filled it up within days. It was the one thing that brought her joy, so she decided to make something out of it.

Tattooing was still never on her radar. It wasn't until Julie met up with some of her cousins at a family get together that the idea was proposed. After that, Julie furthered her education on drawing and applied for an apprenticeship with an experienced tattoo artist. She wanted to see if it was the right profession for her, and she was amazed by how much she loved it.

Her mentor thought she was adorable at first. She was so tiny, and so bare of any tattoos, but when she started showcasing her talent, both knew this was the right place for Julie. She stayed there for a few months and eventually started venturing elsewhere. That's when she discovered Willie and his tattoo parlour Powerhouse.

He's absolutely the chillest boss Julie has ever encountered. He cares that you do your job and you do it properly. She also met some pretty amazing coworkers along the way, so it was quite possibly one of the best decisions she ever made.

Sitting in the break room during a gap in appointments, Julie idly stares at the ink littering her forearms. She never saw the appeal to ink her skin before her mom passed away. After that, she was desperate to keep her memory alive, and as close to her as possible.

The black outline of a dahlia on her wrist reminds Julie of her mother's favourite flower; she always made sure to have them in the house, even if they were out of season. There was a flower shop nearby that always managed to get them in, and coincidentally, it ended up being the shop across the street from where she worked now. Julie is familiar with the elderly lady who owned the shop, Beverly; she's the absolute sweetest, and continued to get dahlias even after Rose had passed away.

Julie likes to keep some in her apartment as well, so she continues stopping by.

She kept adding designs to her skin as time went on.

Her style is mostly black ink, thin lines. She understands most people get tattoos without a specific meaning behind it, as getting a tattoo is already meaningful enough. But Julie has always been dead set on having all her tattoos mean something to her.

She has her mother's signature on the underside of her other wrist. This one, Carlos and she got together. It's the only time Carlos ever let her come close to him with a needle, even though she has begged him multiple times.

Julie also has a black butterfly on the back of her shoulder. She loves butterflies and everything they represent; rebirth, change, hope, transformation, everything she wishes she could do.

She has a few more littering the skin on her arms, all personal designs, and all done by her ridiculously talented co-workers; Julie wouldn't trust anyone else.

Julie's day has dragged on, and she's still dodging calls from her family. It hurt, deep down in her chest that she's ignoring them, but it hurt so much more thinking about her mom and where she is.

When her phone rings again as she's cleaning up her station after the last client of the evening, Julie moves to decline the call. She stops short when she notices the screensaver is a dorky photo she took of Carlos many years ago; it's her brother calling, and he hasn't bothered to do so in quite a while.

Julie, with hesitation, decides to pick up the phone anyway. She hasn't talked to her brother in months, and she can't decline his call; it would hurt too much.

"Julie," he greets, seemingly surprised she even picked up; he knows what she's like on his particular day. It's like a breath of fresh air hearing his voice, and it makes Julie feel even worse for ignoring her father and Tía's calls earlier.

"Hey Carlos," Julie replies softly. "How are you?

It's a dumb question, but it was instinct more than anything else.

"I'm okay, considering," Carlos responds honestly, and Julie's heart nearly bursts from how much it hurts. To know her little brother is hurting and she has been avoiding him like the plague, it makes her feel like a terrible sister. And that wouldn't be far from the truth, considering how MIA she has been with her entire family. "Are you coming tonight?"

Julie inhales sharply. It's easier to just decline calls to let them know she isn't coming rather than actually having to tell them. "I'm sorry Carlos, I don't think I can make it tonight."

There's an ominous silence from the other end. They both know Julie's full of shit.

"Okay," he replies solemnly. "I just —" When Julie hears what she thinks is a quiet sob, her eyes immediately well up with tears. For a second, it feels like all the air has been sucked out of the room and she can't figure out how to breathe. "I would really like it if you came. I need you."

Carlos is so obviously in pain and Julie doesn't have it in her to deny it anymore. She's in pain too, but it isn't just about her.

"I'll be there," Julie tells him, voice breaking on the last word. "I'm just finishing work, but I'll meet you all there."

"Thanks Jules," he thanks her, but honestly, there's no need. "I love you."

Julie hastily wipes at the tears that have escaped. "I love you too. See you soon."

Julie immediately ends the phone call and ducks her head into her arms to silence the sobs wracking her body.

God, it hurt so much.

Everything hurt.

Julie only allows herself to fall apart for a single minute. After that, she composes herself and wipes away her tears. She had promised Beverly she would stop by today, as she always sent Julie some dahlias on the anniversary of her mother's death. She figures she may as well bring them to her mother's grave; her father would appreciate it.

Julie hastily grabs her jacket from the back and storms to the front door. Her co-workers are still in, so she mumbles a quick goodbye but doesn't stay long enough to receive any questions. In her rush, she forgets to grab her umbrella and of course, it's still raining out.

She growls in frustration under her breath. She isn't usually an angry person, but today she's completely out of it.

The flower shop is only across the street, so she quickly makes a run for it and ducks into the shop.

Julie is expecting to see Beverly behind the counter, so she's unpleasantly surprised to see a floppy-haired, sleeveless man sitting behind it instead. She was truly hoping to see Beverly; she always made Julie feel better, especially on days like this.

So, she can't exactly explain the overwhelming feeling of rage that overtakes her.

Luke is sitting behind the counter on a stool, pencil between his lips, brows furrowed together as he reviews his latest lyrics. His head is bopping up and down as he murmurs the words from the notebook splayed on his lap.

He's been in a bit of a rut lately and everything he seems to write makes him want to bang his head against the wall.

The flower shop is quiet and slow, and it's the perfect place for Luke to write out his latest song ideas. They are still three songs short for the demo album they're currently recording and Luke is on a bit of a time crunch. It's a miracle they found a studio willing to let them record their demo album at all, but that's the price of knowing people (or Reggie knowing people; he meets a lot of random people).

Unfortunately, recording a demo doesn't pay much, so Luke helps out in the flower shop occasionally. Beverly is a family friend of his mom's and she's more than happy to have Luke help out so she can spend some more time with her grandkids.

When he hears the bell of the door go off, signalling there's a new customer, he glances up, pencil dropping into his lap. Her back is to him so he can only spot her unruly curls and army green jacket littered with raindrops.

He watches her silently; it isn't like he's trying to be creepy or anything, but usually he can tell by their expressions if they need his help or not. When she turns in his direction to glance at the row of flowers, he offers a friendly smile.

Luke is momentarily distracted by her effortless beauty, but his brows furrow at the obvious distress written on her features. Her eyes are slightly rimmed red, and he doesn't want to make any assumptions, but coupled with her rosy nose, it seems as if she has been crying. There's a pinch in her brow, and Luke can't tell if she's angry or just severely upset.

Neither are his specialty, and truth be told, he figures he'll only make things worse if he tries to talk to her. But she looks so sad, and it is technically his job. How horribly could he mess this up?

With hesitation, he slips out from behind the counter and approaches her cautiously, bouncing on his heels.

"Hey!" Luke greets, his right hand automatically reaching towards the back of his head to scratch his scalp. He has been told it's his nervous tick, though he can't really help it at this point. His voice sounds so loud in the quiet shop; only the sounds of buzzing from the coolers can be heard. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

Julie is still gazing over the flowers, growing irritated that there are no dahlias in sight. She spares a single look at his curious expression. His green eyes are searching her face, and she can only imagine how terrible she looks right now. His gaze is oddly intense and Julie breaks away like she's been burned.

Shaking her head to break out of her reverie, she looks back at the flowers. "I'm looking for dahlias."

"Oh!" Luke frowns, even more so when Julie doesn't make further eye contact. "Sorry, we don't have any in stock right now. Not the season."

Luke has dealt with crabby customers before, normally upset because they don't have what they're looking for. He's used to that, and he has a pretty upbeat demeanour that helps him whenever he has to talk down customers. And though Julie looks upset, he doesn't expect her to snap the way she does.

She turns to face him with such ferocity that the ends of her jacket flap against his thigh. There’s a wild gleam in her eye as it twitches. “What?” Though the single word is packed with animosity and venom, Luke spots the hint of desperation beneath. “That’s not possible. This place always has dahlias! They have to be here somewhere!" Her voice lowers into a soft whine when she says, "I need them."

Julie’s eyes flood with tears the more she speaks, and though she realizes he probably has no idea that Beverly always makes sure there are dahlias for her, she can’t help but let her frustrations out somewhere. Plus, she doesn't know him, so it's fine, right?

At the prospect of Julie bursting into tears right there and then in front of him, Luke jumps right into panic mode.

If Beverly’s shop receives a terrible review because of him, she will absolutely have his head.

(Beverly is a sweet lady but the sass.)

“Uh — hold on, just give me a second,” Luke stutters, reaching his hand out as if to comfort her. Julie’s eyes drop down to his hand and he snaps it back and tangles it into the back of his head with a sheepish smile. He’s always been very touch-oriented; it’s a problem sometimes, especially with people he doesn’t know very well. He just can't help it; if he sees someone in pain and suffering, he'll want jump in and help. However, it seems like the only way to help this particular distraught customer is to find some dahlias. “Hey, okay — listen, why don’t I check in the back? I could definitely be wrong.”

Julie’s eyes meet his and he becomes increasingly aware that she’s about ready to lose her bearings and cry right there in front of him. It makes his heart turn in his chest, and he doesn’t even know her that well. He takes a step back to head to the cooler but his hesitation is at an all-time high; Julie looks so ready to explode and it rubs him the wrong way to leave her on her own.

But he figures it’ll be for the best if he can find the dahlias, so he awkwardly steps back to enter the cooler. The cooler is relatively empty, only vases with long-stemmed roses, some ready-to-go arrangements and a few orders waiting to be picked up. He walks through the cooler quickly, checking any crevice for hidden dahlias. It’s only when he spots a bouquet of dahlias with baby’s breath, neatly wrapped in cellophane that he stops in his tracks. There’s a note attached and Luke recognizes Beverly’s loopy hand-writing.

A pretty, curly-haired brunette will be by to pick these up later. No charge. Please be nice, Luke.

Luke nearly snorts at the addition of the note, but quickly realizes it was probably added because of the brunette’s emotional state that he just witnessed. He would otherwise argue he’s a very kind person.

(He isn’t usually wrong about what they have in stock either, but it seems today is a day for firsts.)

Luke grabs the bouquet and gently brings it back out. Luckily, the brunette hasn’t burst into tears; in fact, she seems more composed than earlier (he can’t help but think that maybe it was because his bothersome presence was gone).

“Ah — I’m sorry about that,” Luke apologizes, holding out the bouquet. He realizes the note Beverly left is still stuck onto the cellophane when he catches Julie’s eyes very obviously reading it. He awkwardly snatches the note back and shoves it into his pocket, but when he notices the right side of her lip quirk into a small smirk, he can’t help but feel a swell of pride. “Turns out Bev had this ready for you in the back.”

Julie accepts the bouquet, glancing up to send him a small, thankful smile. She recognizes she was quite snappy with him, and truthfully, he handled it considerably well as opposed to how he could have. But she also knows she isn’t mad at him and he didn’t deserve to be her punching bag today. Whoever he is.

Julie doesn’t recognize him, but he seems to know Beverly just as well as she does. He has a decently cute smile and Julie seems to be drawn to his mannerisms; the way he constantly scratches the back of his scalp or bites his lip when he’s awaiting replies.

She only notices that she’s been staring at him for the last few seconds when he clears his throat and his hand dives towards the back of his neck. She would be embarrassed if this wasn’t already one of the worst days of her life; it truly can’t get any worse.

Instead, she pulls out her wallet with her free hand, but Luke shakes his head. She saw the note that said no charge, but she had been a nightmare, it was the least she could do. “No charge,” Luke murmurs, eyes latching to the delicately wrapped dahlias. “Boss’s orders.”

Julie forces another smile onto her lips. “Thank you,” she says. She debates saying anything else, maybe apologizing but she’s already running late and she doesn’t want her family to think she’s bailing on them again.

So, she turns to leave. Immediately, dread starts pooling at the bottom of her belly and she just knows getting to the cemetery will be one of the hardest things she'll have to face.

At watching her leave after a painfully obvious fake smile, Luke hesitates. He’s a curious person, and he doesn’t like to see people hurt. He always needs to make things better; it's part of who he is. So, he bites his lip and launches forward, blurting loudly, “Are you alright?”

Julie nearly snorts because she most definitely is not alright and that much is obvious, but it’s nice of him to ask anyway. She stops in her tracks and turns to him with soft eyes. “I’m not, but thank you anyway,” she replies honestly.

Her eyes drop down to search for a name tag, but he doesn’t have one. She then remembers the name scribbled on the note at the same time he supplies, “Luke.”

“Thank you anyway, Luke,” Julie repeats. Her eyes quickly roam over his features once again. She hadn’t noticed his sleeveless tank was an old band t-shirt, but at this close range, she could tell it had been purposely ripped and destroyed. The shirt, coupled with his distressed denim pants and outdated jean-chain gives her serious 90s vibes. She decides she likes it.

Luke nods in response, folding his lips in an awkward smile. Her warm brown eyes are softer now as they gaze at him and for some reason, he can feel his heartbeat start to pick up. She turns to walk away again and this time he doesn’t interrupt.

He would absolutely deny that he was creeping on her (he just happened to be looking in that direction) but he watches as she ducks into the tattoo parlour across the street. He finds it a bit odd; it seems like a weird place to go after a flower shop, especially given how upset she looked.

One thing he does know: it seems as if Beverly is quite familiar with this mysterious brunette, and he would be lying if he said he doesn't want to know more about her.

It's a fair assumption to say Luke’s life is a tad bit complicated at the moment.

His band, Sunset Curve, was graced with the amazing opportunity to record their demo in a borrowed studio. It was a truly unbelievable experience, and Luke was eating up every second. But as the resident songwriter, it was up to him to make sure they had enough original songs to even record.

It’s no secret that Luke has been having trouble in the inspiration department.

The lyrics just weren’t flowing to him like they usually did. He wasn’t really sure of the reason; he originally just assumed writer’s block. But then a certain event occurred and he started to see everything in a different light.

It sounds ridiculous, he knows that.

He doesn’t even know her name.

But her effortless beauty compelled him, and there was something about the sadness in her eyes that drew him in. There were many things about their encounter that were completely out of the ordinary. Her vulnerability and obvious desperation drove his curiosities wild and even though he’d only been in her presence for a few minutes, he was itching to know more.

So, he isn’t the least bit surprised when he starts adding words to his notebook as potential lyrics start spilling out of him.

Specifically, he focuses on her emotions and the obvious distress she seemed to be feeling. It’s out of the realm of his usual type of song, and maybe it isn’t something he’d pitch for the band, but a smile comes to his lips as he thinks of these passages just for himself.

she closed the door

she hides behind a face nobody knows

she feels her skin touch the floor

she wants to fight

but her eyes are tired, nobody’s on her side

she wants to feel like she did before

she looks into her mirror

wishing someone could hear her, so loud

It's definitely not his usual, but her presence in his life gets the ball rolling.

He needs to know more.

Luke finds himself a week later back in Beverly’s flower shop, this time with her by his side. They receive deliveries on Thursday evenings, so Luke usually stops in to help. He hadn’t gotten a chance to pick up another shift since he met the mysterious brunette last week due to back-to-back sessions at the studio, but this was finally his opportunity.

He hasn’t found the right opportunity to ask; he isn’t even sure what to say, but apparently his actions are a bit more obvious than he's intending them to be.

“Am I about to get robbed?”

At Beverly’s odd, but capturing question, Luke turns to her with furrowed brows. She’s sitting behind the counter, checking off their invoices one by one. He’s unloading boxes into the cooler, albeit slower than necessary. He’s a tad bit distracted by the glass windows.

“What?” He mumbles, stopping for a moment to focus on her words. He wipes a hint of sweat off his brow. For someone with a high level of stamina due to the countless hours on stage, he's quite embarrassed at how out of shape he seems to be from a few boxes.

Beverly peeks up at him over the rim of her glasses. “Well, you keep looking out the window, almost as if one of your dorky bandmates is about to run in and break into my register."

Luke snorts at the mention of his dorky bandmates; she definitely isn't wrong. But that isn't the reason why he continues to glance out the window.

“No. It’s just — that girl from last week, with the dahlias. Uh — what’s her name?”

Beverly's smirk is evident and he nearly shies away from the knowing look in her eye. “You didn’t ask for her name?”

His eyes roll back at the obvious judgment in her tone and he wants to laugh, but she's already beat him to it. “I was kind of distracted trying to make sure she didn't cry at the sight of my face."

"Right, I could've warned you about that."

Luke's eyes latch onto her smirk. "You could've."

“She’s a sweet girl,” Beverly sighed, filing another completed invoice. “She’s had a hard life, sad story, really.”

That certainly piqued Luke’s interest.

“What happened?”

But he should’ve figured Beverly wasn’t going to make it that easy for him.

“Not my story to tell,” she says simply. “But I can tell you her name is Julie and she works at the tattoo parlour across the street.”

Realization dawns on Luke at once. He saw her ducking into the parlour after buying flowers but he never imagined she actually worked there. It didn’t seem like her thing, but he should know better than anyone not to judge a book by its cover.

“Are you going to go talk to her?”

At Beverly’s absurd suggestion, he scoffs. “What? No. I was just curious; I don’t even know her.”

Beverly rolls her eyes. “How is it possible that the male species have gotten even stupider since my time?”

Luke drops his jaw in offence, but she's already slid her glasses back on and started studying the next invoice.

Did the thought of casually dropping by the tattoo parlour cross his mind? Yes, of course. But he doesn't want to do that. He isn't used to that. He's never the one that had to chase; it sounds stupid, especially because he hardly knows her, but sometimes there's just a feeling. A feeling that might not make any sense at all, but it's there and it's impossible to ignore.

Luke did his best to ignore the feeling, but only a mere week later, he would find that it wasn't that easy.

"Alright, boys. You all understand how important tonight is, right?"

Alex rolls his eyes for the umpteenth time, as if Luke hasn't drilled the thought into their minds a million times by now. Ever since they secured this gig, it was all Luke could talk about. They each knew how important it was. Yes, their demo was currently in the making but one amazing performance in front of some killer producers, and their demo may not even be necessary to get signed.

It's exciting and anxious as hell.

"I know, I know," Luke sighs, running his hands nervously through his hair. He can't stay still and he can't stop moving or his anxiety will eat him alive. "I'm just so nervous."

Reggie nods his head from the snack table. They each have their own ways of dealing with pre-stage jitters and nerves; Reggie's happens to be stress-eating, and his food of choice? Hot dogs. How he manages to not upchuck everything when onstage is a question they've all asked themselves multiple times.

"I get it dude," he says through a mouthful. "But we're going to rock this like we always do. It'll be awesome."

Reggie's words are comforting but they do little to ease Luke's nerves. This is a big deal for him, for all of them. After so many years of following their passions and trying to accomplish their dreams, a real chance is finally awaiting them just outside these doors.

It's enough to make him nearly puke twice before he makes it on stage, and it only frustrates him further because he never gets this panicky.

He works himself up before he takes the final plunge and finds his way to the one place in the world he's ever felt truly comfortable; centre-stage in front of a microphone with his guitar slung around his neck.

The lights are bright, but he's used to it. His connection to the crowd is instant; that's never been a problem for Luke. He reaches the crowd in the way he sings passionately, surrendering every emotion each song elicits.

He's trying not to think too much; he doesn't want to get too far into his head because he does his best work musically when he isn't thinking, only feeling the music coursing through his veins. He can easily spot the producers in the corporate pantsuits sitting in the far back corner and his eyes try to avoid them as best as possible.

He focuses on the music, on his boys and on giving the performance of a lifetime.

Luke is so focused, he momentarily misses the sight of his flower shop mystery girl smack-dab in the middle of the crowd. His eyes immediately snap back, catching her polite smile as she nods her head along with the music. Though she isn't jumping along like some fans in the front row, she is offering some acknowledgement that she's enjoying his music.

And he isn't sure why, but it sends a fire through his chest that animates him for the rest of the show.

They don't take any breaks during the set; their dedication is endless.

Luke can physically feel how animated the club is, how unbelievably well their show is going. He shouldn't be surprised but the nerves were too much for him earlier. By the time they're winding down for their last performance of the night, Luke doesn't want it to end.

But he's also perfectly aware of the incredibly important people sitting near the back and he knows he has to face them eventually.

They end their stellar performance with their favourite song to perform, so near and dear to their hearts, and also energetic as hell, Now or Never. It's the perfect oath to live their lives to the fullest, as Luke and the boys try to do every day. Today is no different; an opportunity came knocking and Luke plans to take full advantage.

When Luke finally makes his way off stage, everything seems to happen in slow motion.

He can idly feel Alex pulling on his tank and Reggie wrapping an arm around his shoulders, messing up his sweaty hair even more than it already was.

Even when a woman wearing a salmon coloured pantsuit sneaks into their makeshift dressing room to have a quick word, he feels like he's frozen in time, watching from outside his body.

Alex does all the talking (mostly nervous rambling) but the lady, who later introduces herself as Lucy Fields, happens to think it's adorably hilarious.

She tells them she absolutely loved their performance and sees some real, authentic potential; they're young, have a defined sound and a clear talent for writing their own music. Lucy hands them her card, asks for a phone number for reference and promises to call.

When Reggie confusedly asks what this means, Lucy offers them a small smirk.

"I'm going to set up a meeting with my boss. If he likes what he sees, maybe you guys will be signing some paperwork." At their obvious disbelief, she continues, "You guys will definitely be signing some paperwork."

The silence that follows is palpable, but understandable.

Luke hasn't been able to utter a single word since getting off stage, which is highly unusual for him. This news doesn't help his predicament. Reggie starts coughing violently when he chokes on his water, and Alex is nearly about to drop to the ground because what even is air anymore?

Lucy isn't really sure what reaction she would get, but she isn't expecting complete silence. This is rectified when three, fully-grown man-children launch themselves at her, thanking profusely; Reggie even goes so far to plant a sloppy kiss on her forehead.

"We are so sorry," Alex apologizes breathlessly, yanking Reggie back towards his side. "We've just been wait — this is really huge for us."

But Lucy is laughing, so they know they haven't totally ruined their opportunity before it's even begun. "It's alright, boys. This is exciting, I get it. I'll be in touch," she promises before leaving the way she came in.

It's only fitting that the boys can't find any words for a solid five minutes. How does one sum this up into words? Luke certainly can't; in fact, he's pretty certain his brain is short-circuiting because his mind is completely blank.

"What the actual hell?" Alex mutters, quite literally sitting down on the floor where he stood. "Did that just happen? Am I dreaming?"

In response, Reggie whacks Alex on the back of the head; the blonde whines in pain. "Not dreaming," Reggie replies positively. He turns to Luke, nodding, "Dude, you haven't said a word. You good?"

"I don't know what to say," Luke finally says. "This is fucking wild. I mean — I knew it was a possibility, I know this is what we were hoping for but, it's actually happening."

Alex shoots Luke a toothy grin, eyes involuntarily watering with happy tears. "It's finally happening," he repeats. He braces himself when Reggie suddenly launches himself onto him, then groans when Luke hops on as well, laughing heartily.

"It's finally happening!"

It's only when he's distracted, laughing with his brothers on what is quite possibly one of the best days of his life that he remembers just exactly who is currently outside. Untangling himself, he scrambles off the dog pile and nervously tries to fix his messy hair.

"Shit, I have to go."

Alex furrows his eyebrows. "What? Where?"

"We have to celebrate!" Reggie pouts, grunting when Alex pushes him off.

Luke is busy rummaging through all their belongings, looking for some breath mints or even gum. Alex peeks at his actions with curiosity. "What are you — Lucas Patterson! Who is the girl?"

"Shh!" Luke fires back. He isn't totally sure why he does, because it isn't like she can hear them, but it's automatic. "It's the flower shop girl, Julie. I saw her in the crowd."

Reggie shares an incredibly suggestive look with Alex, and Luke can't help but roll his eyes. He finally locates his emergency pack of breath mints and pops three into his mouth. "The tattoo artist? Oh, dude, get your ass out there."

"Good luck Luke! Don't mess it up!" Alex yells after him.

Luke slams the door shut behind him and chuckles; he really should get some new friends. But if things go as expected at this meeting, he'll be stuck with them for life.

He is keenly aware of the fact that Julie might not even be around anymore. It's more than probable, but Luke hopes luck is on his side tonight.

After all, he owes her somewhat of a thank you.

He was in a musical rut before she stormed into his flower shop and nearly bit his head off. He can't explain it, but their encounter sparked something within him and he found himself writing more lyrics than he could keep up with.

Plus, she seemed to recognize him when they made brief eye contact, so it couldn't be a bad idea, right?

(Tell that to his palms that are obsessively sweating as his bright eyes rake through the hoards of people looking for her.)

Luke finds her relatively quickly; she's perched a top of a stool directly in front of the bar. Even though he can only see her back, he recognizes the cascade of curls down her back.

Maybe luck is on his side.

He can’t even put into words how good it looks on her, and maybe that’s a little shallow of him to think, but he’s truly floored by her appearance.

He knew she was beautiful when he saw her that first time, but seeing this side of her, this personal side of her; she’s simply gorgeous and he can’t wait to tell her.

He takes a deep breath and fixes his shirt; it's old and ratty and ripped, but it hasn't failed him yet. He has absolutely no idea what he even plans on saying; he never has to think about it, it usually just comes to him.

Luke slides in next to her, flagging down the bartender immediately.

He really needs a drink.

“Rum and coke, please.”

The tone of his voice must render familiar because Julie pivots on her stool with curious eyes and a lazy smile.

“Well, if it isn’t flower shop boy.”

In another world, he might’ve been offended that the only memorable thing about him was that he worked in a flower shop (he would argue his devilishly good looks or sparkling eyes were absolutely unforgettable). But with one look at her tilted head and amused eyes, he's just glad she remembers him at all.

“In the flesh,” he replies, tongue pressed against his teeth to keep from smiling too excitedly. “Though I do think I proved myself on stage; rockstar is a much more badass nickname."

Julie’s eyes twinkle mischievously as she clicks her tongue before pulling the straw of her drink between her lips. Luke’s eyes immediately follow absentmindedly. “I don’t know,” she drawls with a hint of sarcasm, “I think flowers suit you somehow.”

He wouldn't normally associate himself with flowers.

He's all about ripped jeans and band tees; bottomless coffee pots and dark splashes of colour. Flowers don't normally come to mind, but for some reason, the thought that she does associate him with flowers brings a smile to his lip. Clearly flowers mean a lot to her, if the dahlia tattoo is anything to go by.

It also isn't the wildest thought; he does occasionally work in a flower shop, after all.

The bartender slides his drink across the counter and Luke digs into his back pocket for his wallet. His emerald eyes glance at Julie's nearly empty glass and he leans forward to ask for a refill before throwing a few bills onto the counter.

Julie's eyes glance at the new drink and she shoots a shy smile in his direction.

He doesn't know her very well, but from what he's seen, shy doesn't really seem to fit her.

"You're in a band."

It almost seems like a question, but it very obviously isn't. Luke still feels the need to reply.

"Yeah. We do alright," he replies, hiding a chuckle.

If there is one thing that Luke Patterson is one-hundred percent certain of is that Sunset Curve rocks. Record deal or not, he knows it and he'll never give it up.

However, it doesn't seem like he'll have to and the thought brings a smile to his lips.

"You guys are more than alright!" Julie's face brightens as she turns to speak more animatedly. "I have to be honest, I wasn't really for going out tonight, but I was pleasantly surprised."

"Pleasantly surprised because you saw a familiar face or —?"

Julie's head tilts again and his eyes absentmindedly trace her jaw. "Pleasantly surprised because you guys were good and I was having fun." As an afterthought, she smirks and adds, "Plus, the drummer was cute."

Luke's smile immediately drops and he returns his focus to his drink with a pout. "He's unavailable," he mutters grumpily.

But then she laughs and with one quick glance at her amused expression, it's clear she's only messing with him.

"I like your ink," he says with a nod. "Are they your designs?"

At the comment, Julie's eyebrows rise beneath her curls. "They are, yeah," she replies with a hint of confusion in her voice.

"Beverly told me you work at the tattoo parlour across the street," Luke explains with a shrug of his shoulders.

While Luke doesn't realize the gravity of his words, Julie is filled with a rush of excitement. Clearly, he's been talking about her or at least thinking about her. It's especially surprising considering how their first meeting actually went.

But the truth is, she's thought about him too.

It was hard not to, given his kind smile and friendly nature. Though she was stressed at the time, she couldn't help but think back afterwards. She was of the type to think about things constantly, even after it was all said and done. Awkward encounters, stupid things she's said, you name it.

So, nearly crying in front of a cute stranger definitely made the list.

"You talked about me?" Julie asks, revelling in the quick bloom of red that spreads across Luke's cheeks.

Though he's blushing, he seems completely at ease. "I actually asked about you," he admits, taking another large gulp of his glass. He senses the burn of the alcohol passing through his system. "I was curious."

Julie nods, stirring her glass with the black straw. "Not curious enough to stop by?"

This time, his eyebrows rose in surprise. "I would've stood out too much."

At this, Julie's dark eyes roam over Luke's bare arms, subtlety forgotten. She's surprised she even held out this long, given how loose his shirt is. The cutoff sleeves droop low on his sides and she has a decently clear view of his chest at the angle he's sitting. Her eyes automatically snap back up to his face where he's smirking through another sip from his glass.

His arms are still glistening with sweat, but they're bare of any ink.

"I mean, we can always change that," Julie suggests. She hasn't taken notice of how her body has absentmindedly leaned closer to him, but Luke has. If his racing pulse is anything to go by, he's definitely noticed.

Luke lets out a breathy chuckle, gaze dropping to appreciate the tattoos littering her caramel skin (don't even get him started on what her tattoos are doing to him). "Needles and I don't get along too well and I'm sure as hell not about to cry in front of you before we've even had a first date."

Julie's eyes widen at his forwardness and Luke's breath catches in his throat.

But only seconds later, a pleased smile spreads across Julie's mouth slowly and his gaze automatically drops.

"We can change that too."

Luke has mysteriously forgotten how to breathe, but luckily, Julie is making all the first moves. She pulls her phone out of her purse, unlocks it and brings up a new contact page. She hands him the phone with bright, hopeful eyes and he can only take the phone numbly because he's pretty sure his brain is starting to shutdown.

He doesn't ever freeze up. He doesn't panic when it comes to girls.

In any other scenario, he would had had her number minutes ago.

But this. This is different.

It feels odd for him not to be in control but he's weirdly okay with it? He can't explain it, but he'll sure as hell enjoy it.

Julie glances over her shoulder towards the door as Luke finishes up with her phone. He hands it back to her, expertly making sure their fingers brush as she takes it back (see? His game isn't completely gone).

"I have to go," Julie explains, and is that a breathy tone Luke detects? "My friends are waiting, but it was nice to see you again, Luke." Her eyes seem to go blank for a moment and she shakes her head. "Oh — my name is Julie, by the way. Julie Molina."

A grin blooms across his lips. He already knew her name, but he isn't trying to freak her out with that information. "It's nice to see you again, Julie."

Julie slides off her stool and tucks a few wayward curls behind her ear.

Luke knows he shouldn't, but his gaze roams over her figure. But she did oogle his biceps, so they were even, right?

"By the way," he mumbles and curses his mouth that moves faster than his brain. He's up and out of his seat before he notices. "This might be totally out of place for me to say, but I hope you're doing alright. You know — from that day and all."

He's wincing, preparing himself for when she tells him to go to hell or where he can shove his sentiments, but she surprises him. He shouldn't be surprised because she seems full of surprises, but he still is.

It had only been a week since the fifth anniversary of Rose's death but the wound is still just as fresh. She appreciated when he asked her if she was okay back then, and she appreciated it just as much now.

It's quite comical. She actively avoided her co-workers and friends just so they wouldn't ask her if she was okay, because clearly she wasn't. But she didn't mind a complete stranger asking her; in fact, she welcomed and appreciated it.

Obviously Luke wants to know what had her so upset that day. And it wasn't just that day; he can see the sadness that follows as soon as he mentions it now. It's clearly something she struggles with everyday and that kills him. He wants to know how he can help, how he can make it go away.

Hopefully, he'll get that chance one day, but for now, he's still waiting on that first date.

Julie's sad eyes sweep across his crestfallen features and she steps forward. Her delicate hand presses down on his shoulder to bring him closer and she gently presses her lips to the apple of his cheek. She lingers, because she can and even though he just played an entire set under hot, gleaming lights, he still smells amazing.

"I'm doing better, thank you," Julie murmurs, stepping back. Her eyes roam Luke's face; his blown pupils, lips parted in surprise. "I'll message you," she promises, taking a few steps back towards her friends who are staring very obviously.

She has all the power; he doesn't even have her number. But he's alright with it.

It was small and it felt like nothing, but hearing that she was doing better made his heart flutter.

Luke realizes with a start that she's waiting on a final reply from him before she turns around and joins her friends. So, he offers her a smile and watches in mild horror as his arm comes up through its own volition to grace her with a goofy wave.

But she merely laughs before turning back to her friends.

Luke decides he wants to hear that sound as often as possible.

All in all, his night turned out pretty successful. He can't wait to go tell his boys.

To say that Luke, Reggie and Alex weren't glued to Alex's phone for the entire next week would be the biggest lie of any of their lives.

Alex had given his number to producer Lucy Fields; she promised to call and now they were waiting hand and foot. They each know there's a chance she may not call at all and any opportunity they thought they got, disappears forever. But they were all choosing to be optimistic.

The anxiety is overwhelming.

Luke thought pre-gig was bad, but post-gig is so much worse.

He has to keep himself busy or he'll go insane. So, he focuses on his writing and offers to take a few more shifts at Beverly's.

And he has no ulterior motive to pick up some more shifts. None at all.

It isn't like he can hide it from Beverly anyway. Not when he has his nose pressed to the glass window every hour to stare at the tattoo parlour across the street.

"Good Lord," Beverly mutters after the fifth hour. "If you don't get over there within the next five minutes, I'm firing you."

Luke whips around to face her, hiding his laughter. "You wouldn't."

"Honey, watch me."

Luke chuckles, detaching himself from the window. He's being extra, he knows. But it's mostly because Beverly's sighs and reactions are priceless. He doesn't need to stare through a window to get a date; not when he's already gotten it.

"No need, Bev," he sasses, grabbing some window cleaner (it's the least he can do). "I'm going out with her later today."

Beverly's eyebrows rise so high, they disappear under her hair. She looks so surprised, Luke wants to laugh. "How did you manage that?"

"Saw her at my last gig," he shrugs, hiding a smile. "You know how charming I am, Bev, it was only a matter of time."

Beverly rolls her blue eyes. "Do you need to leave early to change into a date-worthy outfit?"

Luke glances down at his outfit; his signature black ripped jeans, a distressed white band t-shirt and his plaid jacket hanging across the counter. It's normal Luke attire so he isn't sure what brought on the question. "I was just going to wear this?"

Beverly stares at him for a moment before folding her lips to hide a smirk. "Well, you may as well show her what she's getting."

Clearly Beverly woke up today on attack mode.

Earlier this morning, Julie shot Luke a quick text message. They had been texting ever since the day after Luke's gig, but they were solely feeling each other out, and hadn't made any concrete plans. But it had been a week now, and Julie figured it was time.

Luke awoke to a simple text message from Julie, asking if he wanted to grab a coffee after she was done work. It was the best wakeup call, better than a splash of water across his face. He promised to meet her outside of work since he'd be helping out today too and now he was counting down the minutes.

Coffee was a good start.

It's simple, close to their comfort zones and who doesn't love coffee?

Luke still hasn't heard from Lucy so he's grateful for any distraction.

When the time came, he grabs his jacket, places a sloppy kiss on Beverly's cheek and crosses the street with a grin on his features. He leans against one of the light posts, waiting diligently.

When a man with jet black hair piled on top of his head exits, he hears him yell, "Night Jules! Don't forget to lock up!" He makes brief eye contact with Luke and he seems to recognize him from his gig the other night. He nods his head at Luke, glancing back at Julie before walking off.

Luke swears he watches him smirk before he walks away.

But then Julie exits the building and all focus is immediately on her and only her.

She's once again wearing that army green jacket from their first meeting and when she turns to face him, he realizes she's wearing a distressed denim black mini-skirt. She's also wearing a black crop-top and matching black converse. All he wants to think is if all tattoo artists have a black only dress code, but his brain is currently short-circuiting at all the soft skin he wasn't expecting to see.

It's only when he spots the tattoo located on her upper thigh that he realizes he might have to hold onto the light post for support.

"Hey!" Julie greets with the softest smile. She turns around again to lock the front door and Luke lets out an embarrassing puff of air. Get your shit together, Luke, he thinks to himself. "It's nice to see you again."

Julie debates for a moment if she should hug him but ultimately decides against it. He already seems a little pale, so she opts to nod her head in the direction of the coffee shop.

"How are you?" The words Luke has been chanting in his brain finally make it out past his lips, and he turns to gouge her reaction. His hands are stuffed into the front pockets of his jeans as they walk. The itch to hold her hand is strong but, not yet.

Julie nods her head, smiling. That's always a good sign. "It was a good week. Really busy." She eyes his covered arms. "You sure you don't want some ink?"

"Pretty sure we decided after the first date only."

Julie's intrigued eyes turn to him, amusement lighting them up. "Right. I think we did."

Luke stops to open the door to the coffee shop and waits for Julie to enter before he goes in after her. It's surprisingly not busy, considering the usual post-work buzz, but he likes it better like this. It's a full service shop and by the time Luke and Julie take a seat and pull off their jackets, a friendly waitress is already waiting to take their order.

His gaze is automatically drawn to her displayed tattoos and he nearly forgets to relay his order to the waitress.

"Hey, so, before we get into the first date small talk, I just want to be completely transparent with you."

Luke's smile dims just a smidge. It isn't the greatest way to start a conversation, but he's obviously going to give her the benefit of the doubt.

"That day we first met," Julie takes a full breath, actively avoiding eye contact. She doesn't have to tell him this, but she feels as if he deserves to know. "It wasn't my finest hour. I don't normally snap at employees who are just doing their job, I promise."

Luke nods in accordance.

"That day happened to be the fifth anniversary of the death of my mom."

All the colour from Luke's face drains. He planned to let her finish speaking before he said anything, but he just had to jump in with an, "I'm so sorry."

"Thank you," Julie replies with a sad smile. "I've never been good at dealing with that day and I haven't been able to visit her grave properly ever since but my family was hounding me to visit, and she loves dahlias —" Julie's eyes glaze over, so caught up in her own thoughts. "She loved dahlias and I always try to keep some in the house. Beverly helps with that. I just wanted you to know it was an off-day for me, but I do have some baggage I don't totally know how to handle and I think it's fair you know that before you get overly invested."

Oh, but he already is.

Instead of saying something right away, Luke places his hand on the table, palm up. An invitation if she wants it.

"You didn't have to tell me any of that, but I appreciate it," Luke says softly. His pulse quickens when she intertwines their fingers together. "That's not enough to scare me off. If you don't want to move this forward, that's okay, I understand. But it won't be on my account."

Julie solely stares at their intertwined hands before a smile breaks out onto her features.

As if on cue, their waitress appears with their drinks and they begrudgingly let go of each other.

Now that the hard stuff was out in the open, conversation flows comfortably. Julie is having the time of her life, nearly laughing at every other word that comes out of Luke's mouth. He revels in it; making her laugh is the highlight of his days.

Over an hour passes by and they hardly even notice. They're too busy engrossed in each other. Eventually they decide to take a walk; the conversation is too good to stop, but sitting was becoming exhausting.

It's only when Luke's phone buzzes in his pocket that he realizes how much time has passed. He doesn't reach for his phone because that's rude, but it continues to vibrate incessantly and he has no choice.

He quickly apologizes to Julie, who waves him off.

Luke pulls off to the side and Julie busies herself with checking her own phone. The many vibrations are coming from their Sunset Curve group chat, namely from Alex. Luke's heartbeat picks up before he even opens the messages. His eyes scan the screen quickly. Alex's messages are nearly incoherent, a jumble of words and random letters but Luke quickly understands.

ADFAGDJFSHFNG SFFSVVBAAKG

THEY GOOGLEBS US

WE SIGNGG CONTRATS TOMORROWS

They googled us.

We sign a contract tomorrow.

Luke doesn't mean to stop breathing, but he does. He only dials back into planet Earth when Julie gently touches a hand to his arm. "Luke? Are you okay?" She pulls him closer to the wall.

"I —" He doesn't even know how to explain it. His jaw can't seem to close. "We, um — we met with a producer after our gig. She said she was going to talk to her boss and then call us."

Julie's face immediately lights up.

"That was Alex," Luke continues numbly. "They said they googled us. They want us to sign a contract tomorrow."

Julie's jaw drops in solidarity. "A contract? Like a record deal?"

Luke's neck snaps up to look at her, a smile breaking out over his features.

Holy fucking shit, it's really happening.

"Luke! Congratulations!" Julie immediately launches herself into his arms, boundaries be damned. Luke doesn't mind a single bit, arching his back to lift her off her feet.

He's so happy; he throws all caution out to the wind.

"I've wanted to kiss you since I saw you in the crowd of my show."

Julie's arms lower and her lips split in shock.

The hesitation in her eyes only lasts for a moment.

"I think I have too."

It's all the acknowledgment he needs before he sneaks a hand to cradle her cheek. The sun is slowly setting, but the rays are hitting her cheeks just right. Her dark eyes drop to his lips before they fan closed across her cheeks. Luke sucks in a deep breath, then gently presses his lips against hers, slotting his lips perfectly in between.

It's short, simple, sweet and chaste.

Luke isn't trying to overdo it on their first date. He wasn't even planning on kissing her today, to be perfectly honest. But inspiration and opportunity struck, and he couldn't help himself.

He's pleasantly surprised when Julie secures his head with both hands and surges forward to capture his lips once again. This kiss is nothing like the first; Julie is completely in control, and when her tongue slips into his mouth, chaste isn't really the word he'd use to describe it.

His eyes are easily hooded when she pulls away with a smirk.

And she believed he wasn't invested yet?

"Thought you deserved a proper congratulations. It's not everyday you score a record deal."

Luke swallows harshly, hand crawling into the hair on the back of his head. "Appreciate that," he coughs out.

God, he really needs to learn to be much smoother around her.

As much as Julie enjoys his company and would like to spend even more time with him, this is a special moment for him and it wasn't her he should be with.

Julie lets her hand slide down his arm, squeezing his wrist gently. "I had fun today. But I think you should go be with your band."

An excited grin spreads across his face as he leans down and presses a sloppy kiss to her cheek; Julie can only giggle. "Thank you!" He excitedly taps her nose before starting to run away. He turns momentarily and shouts, "I'll call you!" Then he runs off, leaving Julie laughing.

Julie doesn't expect one of the worst days of her life to lead to the best.

But it does.

Luke is infectious. He invades her life so easily and he fits, regardless of the differences.

He understands her baggage and he gives her the time and space necessary to heal. She learns his triggers and recognizes when he needs her and when he needs space. They're respectful of each other's boundaries and it's what makes their relationship work.

Luke surprises her every day.

Sometimes he'll crawl into bed late at night, when Julie has already snoozed off from a long day at work. He'll do his best not to wake her but he misses her all day and can't wait to tell her he wrote a new song. About her. Because all his songs are about her.

When he finds himself in a writing mood, Julie will sit next to him, binging the latest tv show or playing BuzzFeed quizzes on her phone. It doesn't matter what she does, he just needs her there next to him as his inspiration. Sometimes her presence is a distraction more than anything and he'll throw his songbook to the side, pressing his lips to her neck as she loses herself in a fit of giggles.

She's there when their first album is officially released. She's there at their first official show under the new label. She's always cheering him on backstage, his good luck charm.

When they go on their first official tour, she can't attend because she can't leave her work for that long (not that he would want her to anyway, he understands how much she loves her job). It's the first time they're apart for that long, and it hurts but they're mature about it. Instead, they fill the time with late-night phone calls and FaceTime sessions. When he surprises her at home a day early, she nearly throws the bowl she wiping down at his face, then hurriedly jumps into his awaiting arms.

And it isn't often, but sometimes they fight. They're both especially opinionated and like to get in the last word. When it comes to each other, it can sometimes get heated and often they may say something they don't actually mean. Julie loves to sneak out onto the balcony after a fight; the breeze helps her cool down and look at things with more clarity. Luke can't stand the thought of Julie being angry with him, so it never took long before he followed her out onto the balcony. She would quickly crawl into his inviting lap, they would apologize to each other and talk about things more rationally. Sometimes, all it took was the cold breeze and Luke's soft lips against Julie's temple to calm them down.

It's the relationship they've both always dreamed about but never thought they could actually have.

Sure, Luke's fame sometimes comes with a price, but their love for each other trumps everything else.

He eventually allows Julie to ink his skin like she's expressed so many times she would love to do. He gets a matching Sunset Curve tattoo on his bicep with Alex and Reggie; it's simple, just their logo. He trusts Julie and only Julie to do it; he doesn't need anyone witnessing his pain and she's already too far gone to leave him solely because he nearly passes out from a tattoo.

(She also distracts him with soft kisses and no one else could do that.)

When he walks by a jewellery store one day and the pull is too strong to ignore, he knows with one-hundred percent certainty that this is the path he wants to take.

And when he drops to one knee at the most inconvenient of times because she found the velvet box hidden at the bottom of his sock drawer, his plans for a fancy proposal escape his mind immediately. Her hands fly to cover the gasp escaping her mouth, eyes clouding with tears.

Her answer is yes, always yes.

And every year when the anniversary of Rose's death comes around, Luke looks to Julie for guidance on what she needs. It takes time and strength, but with Luke's help, she's able to visit her mother's grave, drop off some dahlias and tell Luke all about the goddess that used to be her mother.

He often wishes he got the chance to meet her because he knows he would have loved her. Every time he visits Rose's grave, he silently promises to love and honour her daughter for as long as he lives. He hopes that's enough to help her soul continue to rest in peace.

At every visit, Julie would wrap her arm around Luke's and lean her head against his shoulder.

He never realizes it originally, but Julie believes her mom is responsible for their meeting, and she makes sure to thank her every visit.

"Thank you, mom," she murmurs quietly. "Thank you for bringing Luke to me."

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do-y0u-have-to-let-it-linger · 4 years ago

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EXT. The Roof (Winter) - Sunset

Not Just Attracted to Women!Peter Maximoff x Fem and Not Just Attracted to Men!Reader

Based off of a dream I recently had: Peter and Y/N have a conversation on the roof of Xavier's in mid-December. Peter accidentally lets it slip that he might not be straight, and he is afraid that Y/N will think less of him because of it because this is the 80s. Y/N reveals that she is also not straight, and is saddened by the fact that Peter could think that she could ever hate him- especially for that. She calls him wonderful. Feelings ensue. Also, a touch of Cherik at the end because I give the people what they want.

Warnings: Swearing, Peter cries, internalized homophobia (this is the 80s-ish and Peter uses the word 'queer' in a kind of incorrect and kind of offensive manner, but it was internalized homophobia and not actually intended to be mean to anyone but himself so I forgive him), a touch of angst but mostly fluff, Charles called you two "children" even though you are obviously not, Erik is happy that his son has someone that cares about him the way you do, Peter is insecure but not super blunt about it, Peter has been deprived of being adored his entire life, bad writing, I mention a serial killer twice, historical inaccuracy because the word queer was still a slur so yeah.

A/N: This is literally the first thing I have ever written so please be nice to me, I wrote this instead of an essay. I would love a comment of any kind, even if it's just a heart emoji or something, and constructive criticism would be highly appreciated. Also 'N/N' stands for nick-name.

(Ok, so, full discloser: the format is odd. The bullet points represent dialogue, and the only dialogue is between you two love birds. The first bullet point is Peter, the second is Y/N, the third is Peter, and so on.)

“I dunno, the whole ‘liking people’ thing has always been weird for me.”

“How do you mean?"

“Pppffftt- 'how do you mean,' what are you, Shakespeare or somethin’?”

“Yeah, because that’s the era when ‘how do you mean' would have been a popular term. Ok, what do you mean?”

“Just- when other people were liking people I never really was?”

He was gesturing wildly and avoiding eye contact, as always. He wasn't uncomfortable with eye contact, he just got bored easily in conversations, he needed to keep himself occupied. In this situation that meant staring at the red and green lights covering the rest of the roof, the snowy trees all over the yard, and a holly garland around the gate. Peter wasn't Christian, but man, did he love their Christmas decorations.

“Like… now? In school?”

“Well- yeah… but also when I was younger. And I never liked the right people? Or... liked them in the right way?”

“So you’ve never liked anyone.”

“No, no… I definitely have. It was just… weird! I don't-”

His hands dropped to his side in defeat.

“I don’t think it’s that out of the ordinary. I would tell you if it was. Also, if it was... 'weird', like you said, that wouldn’t mean it was necessarily bad.”

He hadn’t really heard what she said, he was too busy pondering what his next sentence would be. When she wasn't speaking, he was rambling.

"I had some of the normal crap… like in movies when they talk about the fluttery stomach junk. I've had that around a few girls I've been friends with, also that phase with the boy stuff, a-"

“Wait, what phase with the boy stuff?”

“Like- when you’re in middle school or whatever and you're gay for a second.”

His phrasing was a joke, but the statement as a whole was not.

“…‘Gay for a second’?”

“…Yeah?”

“Hmmm..."

"Is that- not-"

"I don't think that is... 'normal'... per-say..."

“Oh… Really?”

His heart sunk.

“…Yeah.”

“Huh.”

“…Mhm.”

“…Shit.”

He suddenly looked almost embarrassed. He shifted his posture, seemingly trying to shrink into himself.

“Do you... wanna chat about it?”

Panic started to slowly rise in him.

“Um- forget I said anything.”

“Why?”

Something in him said to go on the "defense". He did not appear as calm as he was intending to.

“I’m not- gay! or anything. I like girls! I do!”

She put her hand on his arm.

“Hey- look at me for a second. We are not in court, and I never 'accused' you of being gay. That would be a very funny reality TV show, but not what is happening right now. Listen, theoretically if you were gay that wouldn’t be bad! And I wouldn’t be… whatever you.. think that I would be? I mean- however you are afraid I would act in a negative reaction to it? I would try to be here for you, and be as supportive as possible.”

He didn’t believe her.

“Ok, sure.”

“Peter.”

“What? You’re going to tell me that you would honestly be friends with a queer person- be friends with me if I was... not... normal?”

She was taken aback by his tone, the word he had used, and the way he said it, felt like a weight dropping on her shoulders.

“Oh. would you… not?”

It was her turn to seem nervous.

“What?”

“Would you- stop being friends with someone for liking someone that they… I don’t know… shouldn’t... would be the word I guess?”

Why, in this situation, was she nervous? Oh. His fear was replaced with guilt.

“No.”

“Ok.”

“So… are you… do you… why were you scared?”

“... Why were you?”

She expected a joke from him, something along the lines of “touché".

“Are you… gay?”

“No.”

Yeah, he didn’t believe her.

“Uh-huh”

“Really, I’m not. I’ve liked boys, but also... I've had feelings for girls. I’m not… straight. So I just want to let you know that it’s okay if you aren’t too.”

“I never s-“

She smiled at him with a bit of pity, she had been there. The self-loathing, the feeling of walking on minefields with so many people in your life.

“You are…”

She paused.

“I am… what?”

“Give me a second I’m trying to find the perfect word.”

“… Okay?”

“Wonderful.”

That was not exactly the word he was expecting. Like, at all.

“Huh?”

“That’s the word. Wait- let me start over. You gotta look me in my eyes as I say it, because it’s gonna be really poetic.”

“Uh… should I be scared?”

“No. Maybe a little. No.”

“… Okay.”

He looked at her.

“You are… wonderful.”

“Oh... Thanks?“

He looked away again, to be honest, he was a bit uncomfortable. He rarely received compliments, especially ones that seem so... genuine.

“I’m not finished, look back at me, just for a second. You are so wonderful- and I will support you as whatever you are! I want you to know that I can- I can barely even think of something you could do that would make me genuinely hate you- like… maybe if you Dahmer-ed people or like chopped up a-“

He found this was amusing, yet disturbing.

“Y/N?”

“Sorry- I just- the fact that you thought, even for a second, that I could hate you… is just-“

“I’m sorry”

“No! Stop it. Don’t be sorry.”

She stared at him expectantly.

“What do you want me to-“

“Take it back! The sorry!”

“How?”

“Say you aren’t sorry”

“N/N-“

“Peter.”

“Ok. I’m, ya know, not sorry.”

“Good. You shouldn’t be”

“You’re weird.”

“Yuh-huh. Says the most likely, from the little information I've gathered, bisexual in denial who also happens to be the fastest boy on earth who had to slow down exponentially to interact with other people who also, also, happens sitting on a roof in the dead of winter with me.”

“What’s by smexual?”

Something about the way he attempted to repeat her words must have been hilarious, he thought, because here she was, sitting in front of him, in a fit of childish giggles. He would smile if he weren't so confused.

“No- that’s not- what I said- it’s… wait!”

“What?”

“You’re tryna get me off topic!”

“Am not!”

“Are too!”

“Am not!”

“Are t- shit.”

“HAHA! Victory is a sweet dessert... wait is that even the saying? Still, I win you lose, nerd.”

“Ok, okay! go on.”

She was attempting to gather herself to give off a less jokey aura. It was half working, the "am not! are too!" argument a few moments ago made it hard for him to take her seriously, but he could tell it was important to her that he did, so he tried his best.

“You have to look at me again. just for a second.”

“I sw-”

“Just do it? Please?”

His attempt to put up a fight was thwarted by her small "please". He was pathetic.

“Okay.”

He looked at her.

“You…”

“Me… or- wait- I…”

“Are w-“

“Wonderful, yeah yeah. just get to the n-”

“No.”

“… No?”

“When you say it it doesn’t encapsulate it. It sounds silly.”

“Ok little miss ‘you art thou wonderful’, how would you have me say it?”

“I am you wonderful?”

“What?”

“You called me ‘little miss you are you wonderful’ what does that-“

“Ok! Would you just- shut up and call me wonderful one more time, please?”

She looked at him and blinked. That sentence surely came off as less ironic than intended.

“You are wonderful.”

She grabbed his face, in a half-joking manner. Her grab smushed his cheeks and she couldn't help but laugh a bit when she did it. Even though it was clearly a bit, he was still flustered.

“W-“

She shook him a bit.

"Shut up 'cause I'm about to say some beautiful and true shit. You are wonderful. You are wonderful. You are wonderful. You are absolutely, unchangingly, and irrevocably wonderful and there is absolutely nothing you can do about it, Maximoff.”

After saying what she would (in 40 years or so) recall as a painfully John Green-ish statement in her blunt and matter-of-fact manner, she let go of her semi-ironic hold on his pink cheeks. Were his cheeks pink because it was absolutely freezing, or because his heart was beating faster than he had ever (and would ever, mind you) run, you ask? No comment.

“Wow.”

“Wow what.”

“You do say it better than I do.”

“Did you like how I stressed different parts of the sentence each time? I thought that was a nice detail.”

“Wow.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“Wow.”

Did his voice just... break a little?

“Peter?”

“Uh- yeah?”

Was he a little... sniffle-y? She was now very concerned.

“Are you okay?!”

“Oh- um... yeah!”

No! No he was clearly not! He was sniffling!

“Really? 'Cause, you don't seem it.”

“It’s just- I just- wow.”

“Wow, what!?”

“That was just- uh-"

“Just what? It really wasn't that fancy, you seem much too impressed with me. Oh my God, was it terrible?”

“I mean it was really corny but w-“

“I swear to God if you say 'wow' one more time I may have to add ‘use of the word wow too much’ to the list of things that could make me hate you. Right next to the Dahmer stuff. That was a joke. Your use of the word wow is only mildly perturbing. Sorry."

She was panicking "just a bit".

“I’m sorry, I mean I’m not sorry. Sorry. Shit! sorry! I mean I’m not!”

And he was absolutely... full-on crying at this point.

“Peter.”

“Yeah?”

He was looking down at his mittens. Not that this is important, but they were very pretty mittens.

“Look at me, you klepto.”

He didn’t.

“You know- I’ve been hearing a lot of that 'look at me' stuff from you today. I mean- the klepto part is new-“

“Peter.”

“What?!”

He peaked up at her.

“Talk to me. Please, you're kinda scaring me, let me help.”

“I’m not sad!”

“You’re crying!”

“Yeah but not from the sads!”

“… The ‘sads’?”

“You know- when you get sad! It just means being sad! I don't- that’s what Wanda calls it, not me!"

He wiped his nose, tears still running down from his puffy eyes to his reddened cheeks.

“What are you crying from?”

“No one’s ever called me wonderful before.”

“I'm sorry! I did a few minutes ago and you didn’t cry!”

“No! You can't 'sorry' me if I can't 'sorry' you! And- yeah but that doesn’t count!”

“Why?”

“Because it only felt big when you said it the certain way!”

“What way!?”

“You look at me, you grab my cheeks-“

“I'm sorry about that by the way I was j-“

“No! It’s really ok! Do it whenever! I mean don’t do it whene- shut up!”

“I’m not even talking! You're the one talking!”

“You look at me, you grab my cheeks, and you go: you are wonderful.”

“Yeah???”

“No one ever called me that before!”

"Peter, I- well- they- they should! They should! More often! Then the amount that it happens now! I think. In my opinion."

"Or really looked at me like that!”

“Looked at you like what, Peter?”

“Like I was somethin’!”

“Well, you are… ‘somethin'! Whatever that means! And- I think you deserve to be looked at as such!”

“See?”

“What!?”

“You just-“

A strangled sob escaped from his throat. He didn't know how to explain.

“Pete.”

“Ew. I hate that nickname.”

He crossed his arms over his chest like a toddler, trying to completely ignore the fact that he was an emotional wreck.

“Peter.”

“Yeah?”

She opened her arms and gestured for him to come closer. He was hesitant at first- but gave up all the reasons he shouldn't move to be closer to her in exchange for the promise of comfort she was offering him. He crawled over to her and curled up in her arms. The way she held him made him want to cry more. Who does she think she is- holding him like he was worth holding? With her chin sitting on top of his hair? Letting him do that gross cry sob with the spit and the snot into her only winter coat? Rocking him, and shushing him, and petting his stupid, silver hair? She was warm, too! The audacity of this woman.

When Erik brought Charles into his office to grab a chess set, they saw the two in the window. For a moment Charles considered telling Peter and Y/N to get off of the high platform, seeing as the two were the reasons the "no sitting on the roof" rule was enacted in the first place (neither of them were coordinated whatsoever). Charles quickly dropped this notion when he saw the look on Erik's face, Charles could tell it made him so happy to see Peter be held like that, cared for like that. Erik's expression made Charles want to both tell Erik that he is the most precious thing in the world, and make fun of him (look at Mr. Metal, gone completely soft). Possibly he could do both at the same time. But for now, he is just going to pretend he didn't see the two outside of the window, and have Erik grab them their game, go to the living room, and pretend not to have read Erik's mind when he inevitably asks him how he always manages to pick the white chess piece at "random".

#is this even good #i wrote this instead of an essay #peter maximoff #peter maximoff fluff #peter maximoff x reader #me 🤝 commas #me 🤝 ... okay #the quality of this fic 📈📉📈📉📈

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deepperplexity · 4 years ago

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Titel: Help Your Hatred

A/N: So I felt like writing something a bit more "simple" and ended up with this. Not sure of the title but I kinda like it and hope you will enjoy the story! :D

Summary: You had been with Severus, secretly, for nearly a year when his darkness scared you away; as he played his part as a Death Eater with such intensity you caved to the fear that he felt for you what he stated during a secret meeting you overheard between him and the Malfoy's. That he loathed muggleborns with such fervour he wished to abolish their magical rights and to top it off he said, in that sombre voice of his, that they meant less than nothing to him personally. The ringing honesty, you could not even consider being false, was the sound that broke your heart.

Pairing: Snape x Muggleborn!Female!Reader

Setting: Diagon Alley, Rosa Lee Teabag shop -> Spinner's End

ABBR.: │ (y/n) - Your Name │ (y/n/n) - Your Nick Name │(h/c) - hair color │ (e/c) - eye color│

Word Count: 5086

Warnings: Harsh language, alcohol, kissing, rage

Masterlist page // Masterlist post

The scent of heaven wafted around you. All fragrances you could possibly imagine and then some. The shop you worked at, Rosa Lee Teabag, had been your workplace for no more than a few weeks. The worst few weeks of your life. The work was pleasant, your life was not. Your face smiled, your heart was shattered. As if the tea had spilt out of its containing bag and slowly spread away from where it belonged. Impossible to recover.

Your head pounded; a harsh and thundering reminder of the too many drinks you had consumed the evening before. But what else were you going to do? Sob and cry all night? No, no that was simply not happening. Some heavy drinking and then you were out cold with not so much as a little snivel.

You shook your head to clear the sticky fog. Your hands deftly tied ribbon after ribbon to tighten teabag after teabag of individual orders sent by owls. Vanilla, jasmine, cinnamon, green, red, black - tea after tea. How can people drink this stuff? You thought as you sneered at the hoard of bags on the little worktable. You were a coffee person; a coffee addict. Three cups were required to even get you to grumble 'good morning'.

No, don't think about coffee! Too late, your mind already raced to Severus and the lovely mornings you had spent together sipping pitch-black coffee in complete silence until you both had made it past the first three cups each.

His onyx eyes penetrated your mind, that wicked smile, the black hair and the godlike hands that knew exactly where to - no, no, stop, stop, stop! You sighed deeply as your hands fisted and your shoulders tensed.

No matter what you did, where you were, who you were with - he was always there. You could never escape him. Not in your waking hours nor your dreaming ones. The only time you found reprieve where when you reached the bottom of the bottle. When your mouth was numb, your fingers slippery and your brain in a complete daze of silence and darkness. There he was not. For alcohol had never been part of your relationship. You had never witnessed him touch the stuff nor had you drank anything in his presence. You had actually loved that about him.

"I loved many things about him," you muttered as you snatched up a new little bag of silk to stuff with some green tea reeking of citrus so strong it stung in your nose. You tied the little purple sash and plopped the bag in its designated box. "Too many things," you mumbled as you grabbed a new bag to repeat the process. The box would require twelve reeking bags and Merlin knew how you'd have to damn near scrub off your skin to get rid of the horrid smell.

"No dawdling," Mrs Grant chipped as she poked her head through the thick curtains that shielded your little workstation from the rest of the store. You schooled your face into a pleasantly smiling one as you looked towards the head of Mrs Grant. Her grey hair tightly curled and the glasses on the tip of her nose. "No Mrs Grant, no dawdling," you smiled as you cinched yet another sash and she gave you an approving nod as you placed the bag in its box that now was full.

After 28 boxes, 12 bags in each, you staked the orders to be sent out for delivery in the early morning hours of the coming day. You reeked, absolutely stank, with varying smells of citrus fruits and flowers. The combination was awful, to say the least. You couldn't wait to get home and soak in a hot bath for hours with no other company than a bottle or two of wine.

Your hair was wrapped in a towel as you strutted through the tiny attic apartment in slippers and a thick robe. The bath had eradicated the smell of tea and you felt more like yourself again. Had it not been for you being in hiding, yes you were hiding from the love of your life, you might have risked heading off to get a drink out with other people. But the wine bottle in your hand would have to do.

It had been a snap decision to go away when you had heard your beloved Severus utter such clear words of hatred towards people like yourself. Muggleborns. How he had slandered your rights to use magic; despite the fact he knew you had been a street kid until an owl with a Hogwarts letter had found you. That had changed your life, saved your life most likely. Yet he had crushed, shattered and broken you; your heart left in ruins.

You slumped in the little armchair covered in worn fabric. As you glanced around the little attic space - just one room with a kitchenette and a tiny little bathroom - you felt more lonely than ever. The space was cold and worn, it looked tired and unloved despite your best efforts to make it more than a miserable attic.

The landlord, who was also your boss, had been kind enough to let you stay for nearly no rent provided you worked the hours she didn't want to shoulder. That meant split shifts. Early mornings and late afternoons. It wasn't ideal. But it was work and a roof over your head. You had nothing else as you had lived with Severus the past five months; in secret, of course, as none could know of your relationship. It was too dangerous as Severus had pointed out time and time again.

You drank directly from the bottle as the conversation you had had with Mrs Grant several weeks ago replayed in your mind. How you had begged her for work, begged her to not tell anyone of you and lastly begged her to help you find somewhere to live. You had stooped so low that you played the puppy eyes and turned on the tears as you told her about an abusive partner that you were hiding from. It had been a lie, of course. Severus had done nothing but love you tenderly. Until that day you overheard him that is.

You shuddered, what else have you said about people like me? What else do you truly feel for magicians such as myself? Were you just playing me? Stringing me along? The thoughts were dark and harsh. You didn't want to believe it but you had heard it with your own ears. And the pain, the pain was just too much. The doubt heavy and the fear of having been duped once more by someone you thought loved you was just too much to handle.

You tipped the bottle and drank. Tried to shut out the thoughts and memories. Did your best to persuade the tears not to fall. But this evening, it seemed impossible. The alcohol helped but did not numb you enough. In the tiny fireplace, a small fire crackled and the wind seemed to penetrate all walls as it chilled you to the bone. Or perhaps, that was just sorrow. You couldn't quite tell at that point.

You cinched another sash. Outside the morning had barely begun and light had just started touching the rooftops of Diagon Alley. But you had been working for two hours already. Running on just 4 hours of sleep and no food. Food made your stomach turn and you couldn't handle eating until the morning had passed.

Severus had always cooked such wonderful meals, even breakfast was a delight every morning. Pancakes, waffles, massive sandwiches, fruits and all kinds of goodies. You missed waking up to that smell, the smell of his love as he made you food each and every morning. Before him, your breakfast had been coffee and nothing else. Now, it was just that again.

Box after box you filled with teabags to be sent out for lunch deliveries. Mrs Grant opened the shop at 09.45 am sharp, and people filed in with requests of specific teas or personalized blends. You could hear them in your little backroom where your workstation was situated. Merely hid by a thick drape covering the entrance.

The bell dinged as the door opened and closed. over and over again it dinged as people came and went. You just packed teabag after teabag, box after box. It was nearly automatic now. The work wasn't hard, but so damn repetitive that it barely kept your mind from wandering.

You sighed as you wrote the address of the recipient of the box you just finished. as the bell dinged yet again and Mrs Grant greeted the customer with her usual question of how she could help the person. But the voice that rang out after hers went quiet made you stiffen. Your heart pounded and your hands instantly shook as Severus drawled out a request for a simple tea with a subtle flavour.

You stood frozen in place as you listened to the conversation on the other side of the drape. "Certainly, Mr-?" "Snape," his voice murmured. He sounded, different. Colder, harsher. "Certainly, Mr Snape. May I suggest a simple yet impactful Earl Grey?" Mrs Grant crooned with that shop-owner-voice. No sound came from Severus so he most likely just nodded. You were still frozen in place, the only thing that seemed to move was your pounding heart and vibrating hands.

Mrs Grant talked about varying teas, nearly lectured Severus on how to dip it properly and how to make the specific tea she offered him reach its full potential. But you barely heard any of it as you tried your best to not break down and cry. He was so close yet so far away. You wanted to run to him, run from him. War broke out within you as you wobbled on your feet. Swaying from side to side as both love and fear battled to win your favour.

"Will that be all?" Mrs Grant asked. "That is all," Severus said quietly. Mrs Grant most likely nodded as she began tapping the old registry. The clicking sound hit you like harsh blows, over and over. As if a countdown was ticking. Mrs Grant asked for the money, clinking noises came after, a rustle of a paper bag and then she thanked him and wished him a good day. Harsh steps echoed away.

"Actually, I do have a question, if you do not mind?" Severus's voice rang out, more clear this time than before. "By all means, Mrs Snape, go ahead." "Have you perhaps seen a woman, (h/c) hair, (e/c) eyes, soft-looking yet fierce in her presence?" Your heart pounded as Severus described you to Mrs Grant. You sent out a silent prayer that she would not reveal you to him. At the same time, tears lined your cheeks in the hopes to be enveloped in his arms yet again.

"Hmm," a moment passed as Mrs Grant seemed to ponder his question, "no, I do not believe I have. We have so many customers it's a little hard to keep track of them all though," she said and you could hear that fake smile in her voice that she gave most customers. "Pity," Severus murmured and his voice vibrated through you despite the distant, the drape, the low tone of it. It reached you like the light of the moon harshly penetrated the darkest of nights with its white light.

Your knees buckled as the doorbell clinked harshly. You sank to the floor, a whimpering heap. Sobs escaped your mouth as your heart tried frantically to leap out of your chest and your lungs desperately fought to fill with air that didn't quite give enough oxygen. The world spun around you while all the memories that you had battled away came rushing in like a tidal wave set on destruction.

"Oh dear, whatever is the matter?" Mrs Grant hurled away the drape as she most likely could not avoid hearing your crying. "I'm- I'm so sorry Mrs Grant, no d-dawdling," you cried as you tried to find the strength to stand. "Oh hush, what is the matter? You're a sorry mess," she said with that cold yet sweet voice of hers as she stepped closer. You merely shook your head, unsure of how to word it. If she found out it was Severus she had been running from she would think he was abusive to her when that had been a lie to get a chance at true hiding.

"Just, give me, a moment," you sobbed as you tried to take deep breaths, "I'll be all right," you continued but Mrs Grant would hear it. "Oh no, you go on home and sort yourself out Ms Collin," she said as that was the fake name you had given the woman, "and then you come work when you are not such a mess. We can't have you here like this. The customers might hear," she continued and those words were so harsh.

She did not in fact care about you. No, she cared about the shop and her reputation and a crying worker was not to be had within its walls. It sent the wrong signals and you understood that, still, the words felt coldly harsh and without sympathy for you as a person. But you nodded as you stood on shaky legs.

With your cloak tightly wrapped around you and the hod pulled up to hide your face you hurried out the store. The house was only two buildings over. You climbed that rickety staircase and unlocked your door as swiftly as your unsteady hands allowed. Tears streamed down your face and you could barely catch your breath. The only thing on our mind was Severus.

The door finally creaked open and you pushed it as rushed steps could be heard beneath. "(Y/N)!" Severus's voice rang out and your body froze mid-step. "(Y/N)! Wait!" He called yet again as you heard him run, the stairs swayed as he ran up them. Just as he was about to reach you your body jerked to life and you flung yourself inside while slamming the door shut so harshly the walls rattled.

His fists pounded the door as you had barely had time to lock it. "(Y/N), please, open," he called as his fist banged once, twice. You cried where you had fallen to the floor. "Go away!" you managed to choke out. "Open this door!" he growled and the handle rattled. "Go away!" you shouted once more, stronger this time, despite the tears and sobs. The involuntary shaking of your entire being.

"Damn it all," he growled and in the next moment, your door was shattered in splinters. The cold wind swarmed in as you crawled backwards. Away from the door and the imposing man that towered over you fully clad in black from head to toe. His face looked strained, his eyes hollowed out and he seemed thinner. He seemed broken.

"Go away," you whimpered as the mere sight of him - broken or not - made your body ache for his embrace and touch. Your heart strained with the hurt he had inflicted as the love he had given reminded you of just how deeply you loved the grim man squeezing through the entrance of your little attic home.

"Never," he growled as he stepped towards you, "never, (y/n)," he said again and to hear your name in that tone of voice, his voice, made you shiver. His hauntingly dark vocalization brimming with depth like the deepest of seas and your words were the curse of darkness that rested in its most remote pits. It hurt, so fiercely. That our name no longer teemed with softness and light in his voice. No longer was your name the reprieve of glowing heat and stardust it had once been when he spoke it so softly.

He stepped towards you, "You left me." His voice was no more than a growl. You blinked in an effort to get rid of the tears. "You left, without a word. Nothing," he hissed and took the last step that placed him right by your bent legs as you shrunk beneath his deadly glare. His eyes endlessly dark galaxies of starless holes. Such pain, such sorrow and horror, rested in that darkness. You looked away, could not bear to watch the man who seemed nothing like the man you loved.

You said nothing. You had no words for him at that moment. Too afraid of what might have slipped out should you have tried to voice anything at all. He tsked as he looked down on you. You could feel the anger that radiated off him in pulsing waves that pressed you further to the floor. Never had you been afraid of him before. Never had you felt crushed or dominated by him in such a way. Something about him was different and you hated it.

Your body locked up, you were unable to control your limbs as fear pulsed through you. Your head bent backwards so that your eyes met his. Severus held his wand pointed at you and panic crept through your body as he had control of it. As he had robbed you of your own physical being. Imprisoned you with no way to run.

"You have no idea what I have been through," his voice thundered out. Your eyes were locked in his as you fought the control he had over you. "No idea what I have felt or thought," he continued as he elevated you up off the cold floor, "you left me without a word. Left without an explanation." Thos endlessly dark galaxies shined with tears that he would not allow to slither free.

He stood you up with the will of his wand, "stand," he said as he broke the spell. You wobbled and grabbed the armchair's back to steady yourself as freedom came back to you. You breathed heavily now that your chest could expand more freely. You scowled at him as the tears finally stopped, anger taking the sorrows place. You straightened and forced your body to stop shaking.

"I loved you," you said as steadily as you could. His eyes widened as he seemed to stiffen. "But it was all a lie. You, you left me long before I left you," you continued as you seemed to find your courage. You released the chair as something cold slithered into your heart and made a nest of ice. "You, Severus," you continued as your stiff legs carried you towards him, "are filled with hatred and I have no intention to be with a man like you." Your mouth thinned as he took a step back while you stepped towards him.

He seemed to be speechless as your eyes slowly glazed over with a thin veil; it kept him away from your mind and kept your love well-hidden as the slithering cold stretched its claws out lazily to grab a hold of the entirety of your heart. "I can't help your hatred, but I can choose not to be a part of it." The words were free of emotions as you seemed to leave in some way. As if the very essence that was you, your warm and happy self, were encased by that clawed ice. Because of him. Because of how badly he had broken you with mere words he most likely never thought you would hear.

"(Y/N)," he breathed out, "what are you-" "I loathe muggleborns," you said, "I want to abolish their magical rights as they are not pure," you continued. He seemed to stiffen as his words were repeated by your cold voice. "They mean less than nothing to me personally..." His words, harshly uttered by you, rendered him pale and stiff.

Something snapped in you as his silence stretched on. That's what I thought, Severus. That's what I thought, your mind whispered in despair as he made no effort to explain or sway you with new words. You both stared at each other. Your eyes glazed and hidden as ice expanded in your heart, his eyes darkly empty as if death had stolen the very life that was his essence.

Time stretched on. Steadily ticking away as you grew ever colder both inside and outside as the wind caressed your skin coldly. The cloak laid in a heap on the floor as it had fallen off when Severus had blasted through the door earlier. You shivered and shook but you did not break the eye contact you had with him.

Something shifted in him. His shoulders dropped a bit and he exhaled what seemed to be an extremely deep breath. "You mean to tell me," he murmured in a drawl, "that I have died over and over in fear of who might have held you captive, who might have kidnapped you, what horrors you were being subjugated to in order to get at me. You mean to tell me, I have been going out of my mind these past weeks only for you to have left me for words I have given no truth?" His voice was darkly humoristic. As if he was indeed going mad.

"I heard you, everything Severus," you said flatly. "I know you did, do you not think I knew you always listened to my meetings? Did you not stop for a miserable second to consider what I am? What role I play?" His voice rose steadily as something seemed to come back to life in him. Your heart throbbed a bit harder. For yes, you had considered it all but the truth that had rung so clearly in his voice as he had uttered those words were unbearable for you.

Severus moved so fast you had no time to react. You were in his embrace for you could take half a breath as he snared you with his arms and held you tightly. Your head pressed against his chest, his pounding heart loudly hammering right below your ear. "You idiot," he murmured and then you heard it. His sobs. He was crying, for the first time ever you heard him cry.

You screamed at yourself to push him away but your arms merely clawed at the clothes covering his back as you tried to get as close as you possibly could. Tears streamed down your face as you sobbed with him. You both were a complete mess in each other's arms as you sunk to the floor. You only then realised how stupid you had been and nothing could stop the harsh words you screamed at yourself.

"(y/n/n), come home with me," he whispered with a gravelly voice nearly choked with tears. You simply nodded as you were unable to speak through your crying. He kissed the top of your head and held you even tighter. "Never leave me again," he growled on a dark sob, "never do this again. I have died every day that I could not find you," he said with the pain he was obviously trying to hide from you. True pain, actual truth was the thing he, your beloved Severus, always seemed desperate to hide. How could I be so stupid? Truth is the one thing he always tries to hide from the world, you thought as your fingers began to cramp from their firm grasp of his clothes.

You stood frozen in place as you both entered Severus's house at Spinner's End. The house was destroyed. "What happened? Who did this?" you asked with a slight gasp as your eyes roamed the house. Severus said nothing as you ran through the hallway and scanned the living room. Everything was trashed, broken, shredded or tipped. books, broken glass, ripped wallpaper and smashed furniture. It was complete chaos.

You hurriedly ran to the kitchen only to find it in an even worse state. Everything was destroyed. The one things, the single thing that was whole and still in its place was your coffee cup, your favourite coffee cup that you always enjoyed your morning coffee from. You reached out for it and cradled it softly in your hands. You understood at that moment that Severus himself had done this. Had wrecked the home you two had shared for five months.

"I will restore it," he said sheepishly as he leaned against the door jamb three steps away from you. You turned to him with tears in your eyes. "Oh, Sev," you whispered before you walked right into his embrace. "I lost control," he said as his chest vibrated with his words, "I was afraid and hurt, angry even," he said as you hugged him tighter. You had felt it all too, in a different way.

"Please, (y/n/n), please do not put me through that ever again." You nodded your confirmation and he seemed to exhale another one of those deep breaths. "If you promise me something," you whispered as you looked up at him. He arched a brow but nodded. "I understand what you are and who you are, what you need to do and say to keep playing your role. But," you swallowed as the words got stuck in your throat.

He tilted your head ever so slightly with his hand under your chin. Coaxed you to go on. "I need you to be honest with me. Just me, I don't care what you tell others, but I need truth from you." "I am honest with you," he said in a soft drawl. "In some ways yes, in others no. I believed those words of hatred since you gave me no reason to not believe them. You have never said anything about my blood or-" He hushed you with a deep kiss that heated you to your very core.

It melted away the icy claws and banished the slithering cold from the nest it had earlier created in your heart. You deepened the kiss as he hummed against your lips. A moment later he straightened and the contact was broken. "I was of the impression that you knew, despite my lack of words." You gave a tight smile at the man you loved more than anything in the world as he spoke. "Words, are needed sometimes, Severus," you whispered as a life of insecurities bubbled just below the surface.

His eyes searched yours, softly caressing away that veil with mere looks as the stars once more shone in his eyes. "A truth," he whispered, "is that I love you. Ardently, earnestly, fervently, deeply." He weighed each word to emphasise them as your knees buckled and he held you up with those strong arms. "And I love you, with every part of my very soul," you breathed as a soft smile tugged at the corners of your lips. He gave you another kiss and this time he did not end it until you both were desperate for air.

Extra scene; Severus POV

I had looked everywhere. She was gone. No note. Nothing missing of her belongings. She was just gone. As if she had vanished. Fear crawled through me as I could barely utter her name anymore from how hoarse I was after having screamed her name the past hour. The house was I disarray as I had moved things, searched through things - for her or a note or anything at all that would tell me of her whereabouts. Yet, it yielded no information or inclination as to where she was. My beloved, my (y/n).

Days passed, turned into weeks. Every spare moment I had I searched for her. Between work, the Order and DE meetings paired with spying and information gathering there was little time to eat or sleep. I ended up forsaking my basic needs just to search for her. Any rumour, any clue, anything at all. But there had been nothing. No sound of her whereabouts or state.

My patience finally snapped as I trashed the entire house in fury. The anger radiated through me as if I were little more than just that. Anger. No matter the reason for her disappearance I could not bear it any longer. I was going insane, mad, had lost my mind.

The danger of it did not escape me. My role in the world, my duties and the importance of my capacity to play the part on both sides; in the dark and in the light. I barely could and people were starting to notice. The wrong people. I was breaking. Never had I imagined that one little person such as her could cause such pain and agony, pose such a risk to not only my life but to the outcome of the upcoming war.

I had been a fool for allowing love in my life. A fool for such a natural need. Life had never given me any reason to believe I could hold such things as love, joy or hope. She had come with it all and now she had taken it with her and left me more hollow than ever before. I can not go on for much longer without her by my side, I know that...

Hatred had filled me up. Hatred for life, for all things in it. Hatred for the hope, the love, the joy and the sweet scent of her skin. Hatred, pure and white. It filled me, consumed me and begged me for release. As I had granted that day I trashed my entire home, everything I had and owned was destroyed. Everything I was; destroyed. Broken.

As I entered the kitchen to find something to soothe my aching body with I just stared at the complete mess. Broken glass and porcelain, smashed kitchen chairs and unhooked cabinets. Spices and broken shelves littered the floor. The only thing my rage had not consumed was her cup. The one cup she always took her morning coffee in.

"Coffee," I mumbled, "no, bad idea. Too much caffeine. Tea, some simple and mild tea," I muttered as I stepped around the mess only to find I had no tea left. We, (y/n) and I, had only drunk coffee lately and I had not bothered to restock on tea. Stupid, foolish, no tea in the house. Disgrace, I thought to myself with a sneer and a sigh as I headed towards the hallway to grab my cloak.

Hi dearies! :D I hope you enjoyed this rather simple fic, I had fun writing it ^^ The first time adding Severus POV as an extra scene; what do you think of that? ^^

Taglist: @lizlil

Masterlist page // Masterlist post

#snape fic #severus snape #professor snape #snape love #snape fanfiction #fanfiction #sev #severus #alan rickman #my writing #deepperplexity #deepperplexity fic #help your hatred #snape x reader #x reader #x reader fic #pro snape #snapelove

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regenlen · 3 years ago

Text

For @dmc-oc-week!

It’s here! Normally this is where some sweet art would go, but I can do stick figures at best so you’re going to have to use your imagination.

Instead, have a fic: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25111381

It's a longfic about Nero and Vergil's search for answers about Nero's mother, Mel, and what became of her. It’s 115+k words of alternating between the present day, where the two of them (with some help) investigate what happened to Mel and why she seemingly disappeared and abandoned Nero, and the past through Vergil’s flashbacks to his time with her.

One part mystery, one part Sparda family drama, one part a study of traumatized men and their emotional constipation, and one part regret simulator: the Vergil edition. If you’ve got time to kill, please do check it out! Below is the prologue to help give a little taste.

One warm day in June, at the apex of the Qliphoth, a fight to the death unfolds between two brothers of blood whose ideals have repeatedly sent them on a collision course with each other. But this fight isn’t destined to end like the others have. It starts out rather similarly, but things take a turn when Dante drops a very, very unexpected bombshell on Vergil. “You cut off your own son’s arm for this?”

Vergil hears the words, but he doesn’t really process them. He just reacts at the opening Dante’s left. He quick-steps and slashes Dante, slicing open a wound in his shoulder before Dante can get his sword up to block. What he does process is Dante’s judgmental, angry tone, and he instinctively balks against it. “My son means nothing to me!” He says the words without actually thinking through the ramifications. (Noticing a pattern here yet?)

He’s met with absolute fury. Dante yells and summons Cerberus. Vergil barely realizes it’s out before it’s hooked his right ankle. He’s yanked forward and has to awkwardly hop to try and steady himself. It leaves him wide open to a slam from Dante’s sword, and he’s sent careening across the arena. It smarts, and Vergil struggles to get going again. But he’s ready when Dante comes charging. Just in the nick of time he dodges his attack and counters with a swipe of Yamato. Dante barely manages to block the blow with his sword, but the force of the attack has him sailing away and colliding against one of the pillars at the edge of the arena.

Vergil falls to a crouch, breathing deeply to try and regain his strength. As his adrenaline subsides and allows him to think clearly again, Dante’s earlier words finally sink in. Did he just say…? He shakes his head in disbelief and looks up at Dante. He can’t believe – but when – what?! “Nero… is my son?”

“Yeah, dumbass,” Dante says. “You can’t remember through that thick skull of yours?”

His son. He has a son. That boy whom he had maimed, who had helped him when he had been at his lowest and had been decent to him, is his flesh and blood. And yes, he can remember through his thick skull, because there’s only one person it could be. Even after the long passage of time and the havoc Mundus’s torture wrought on his mind, he remembers her. The realization releases an onslaught of heartbreak and regret. “Well, well… That was a long time ago.”

Dante laughs a little. “I guess you were young once, too.”

He had been once, yes. Young and ambitious and very, very foolish. It hurts to think about it. He doesn’t want to think about it. He wants to focus on this fight and not on the torrent of emotions swirling in his head. Vergil assumes a battle stance, and Dante begins to do the same.

“As much as I’d love to hear that story,” Dante says, “I think it’s about time we…”

“Ended this,” Vergil finishes, fully assuming his pose. They can’t ignore this fight. They need to settle this, for once and for all. It beats dwelling on things he can’t change.

They bring out their super powered devil forms and hurl themselves at each other in a last bid to conclude their feud. But of course, nothing ever goes the way the brothers expect, because there’s one thing they didn’t count on: Nero.

There’s a flash of light and the deafening sound of something hitting the ground at an alarming speed. The brothers find themselves halted dead in their tracks, held back by the only other person who has a say in this feud of theirs.

When Dante and Vergil just manage to process what’s happening, they’re shoved back and sent skidding across the ground.

“What form of power is this?” Vergil wonders at the spectral arms resting on Nero’s back. But more than that, he’s gobsmacked by how Nero had managed to not only reobtain the power he’d been robbed of, but how he also had become stronger in such a short amount of time.

“What the hell?” Dante groans from across the way.

“This ends, right here.” Nero looks at neither his uncle nor father, but he’s clearly addressing both of them.

Vergil grimaces as he stands up. This is an unexpected development, to say the least. Nero initially had come to this city to kill him. Vergil didn’t think that would change, even after learning the truth. But it seems the boy has another goal in mind. He wants to make sense of it, but his mind still reels at the implication that this young man is his son. Yes, he looks like him and has the same powers, but he still can’t quite believe…

“Listen to me,” Dante seethes as he walks towards Nero. “I told you already, this is not your-”

Nero doesn’t even blink as of those arms lashes out with frightening speed and hits Dante square in the jaw. He goes down like a sack of bricks.

“You listen, dead weight. I won’t let you kill each other. There are other ways of settling your differences.” Nero turns, fist gripped tightly as he slowly approaches Vergil. “I’m putting a stop to this sibling rivalry.”

And for a moment, Vergil isn’t on the Qliphoth, but in a small apartment in Fortuna. And it’s not Nero staring him down, but a young woman with short, curly blonde hair and green eyes. She and Nero hardly look alike, but they share the same determined stare and set of their jaw.

Vergil shoves the memory aside, trying to forget that face and the conflicting emotions it brings with it. He instead forces out a laugh. “Ahh, you came all this way just for that.”

“Vergil… V… whatever you call yourself, Dante’s not going to die here and neither are you. Do you have a problem with that?”

Yes, he did come all this way just to stop them. Vergil thinks it’s a bit foolish; how does he think he’ll go about doing this, exactly?

“‘Not gonna die,’ my ass,” Dante complains as he sits up, rubbing his jaw. “That bitch slap nearly killed me.”

Dante’s words bring Vergil out of his reverie. They also set off that part of his brain that short circuits his sense of logic. Because instead of trying to level with his son like a normal person should, he hyperfixates again on his grudge match with Dante. He nods and swings Yamato into his other hand. “If I beat Nero… then by default, I beat you.” He points Yamato at Nero. “Agreed, Dante?”

“Whatever. I don’t really care. I’m just gonna sit this one out.” Dante falls back onto the ground.

There’s a heavy moment of silence as Nero’s expression hardens, unflinching in the face of Yamato’s blade pointing at him. “When this is over, I’ll make you submit…” Those spectral arms lift up, and the hands crack their knuckles. “Father.”

Father. It pulls at a heartstring Vergil never knew he had, and with it, he realizes just a moment too late that maybe, just maybe this isn’t a good idea. Now faced with actually having to fight his own son, doubt creeps in. Vergil slowly circles back a bit. When Nero swings out his sword, Vergil’s back goes ramrod straight. No, I can’t do this. I shouldn’t have- “Stand down,” he says. “This doesn’t concern you.”

“Nothing to do with me?!” Nero shouts. “It has everything to do with me!”

“Nero…”

FUCK YOU!” Nero flips him off and transforms into his devil state.

Vergil now has no choice but to fight. But as Nero charges at him, sword swung out, an amused thought crosses his mind: …you are, without a doubt, your mother’s son.

#dmcocweek #fic #devil may cry #devil may cry 5 #vergil #dante #nero

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lovelyirony · 4 years ago

Note

Title: I wish i could forget you

Tony Stark was not supposed to be in the car when Howard and Maria Stark attended a Christmas holiday party for another company. In fact, Hydra had wanted him to stay home.

Unfortunately, Tony had ticked off Howard a bit too much, and so here he was in a tuxedo that was a bit too big, uncomfortably shiny shoes, and a temper that was close to blowing.

Thank god they were almost home.

When a car crashes, one almost can’t believe it. Tony can see the outside blurring, and he can hear glass crunching, and he hears things that he really doesn’t want to hear. He is fairly sure that Maria screamed.

A metal arm.

Huh.

Well, not the most typical. He also doesn’t think that the man knows he’s here.

Howard and Maria Stark are killed. Tony feels like shit because he couldn’t do anything. His forehead is bleeding and he didn’t want to move out of fear for himself, which seems selfish, but also maybe a survival instinct?

God, his bow-tie is still constricting air flow.

Once the man turns, Tony realizes that he wasn’t the target. They probably had no idea he was in the car, whoever “they” were.

He gets out of the car. The car door creaks, and the man whips around.

His eyes widen.

“You--what?”

The voice is surprisingly American.

Surprisingly? He’s not sure why it’s surprising, it’s not like an American can’t kill just look at history, but still, Kind of surprising.

"What, wasn’t supposed to be here?” Tony rasps out. He realizes now that he’s basically sent himself a death sentence as the man surges forward.

“What are you doing here?”

His eyes are piercing. Also very, very familiar with some photographs that Peggy has on her mantle and her desk.

James “Bucky” Barnes. Son of a bitch.

“What are you doing alive?” Tony asks. “I thought you were lost in a ravine in Europe somewhere.”

“What--huh?”

“Ravine. In Europe. You know who you are, right? Is this some kind of sick...what did they do to you?”

“I do not know what you are talking about.”

His eyes get cold again.

“Who are you?”

“I am the Asset.”

It is now that Tony realizes that every single shitty sci-fi book is probably right, and his disdain of “wacky science” and “magic” have all been for nothing, because here is Bucky Barnes, who apparently has no idea who he is.

Then Tony gets knocked on his ass. His body slams against the icy road, and Barnes is rushing towards a motorcycle.

And he’s alone. He can’t breathe, all the wind knocked out of his chest. He thinks he broke a couple of ribs.

No one believes him. At all. SHIELD brushes it aside.

“There’s no way Barnes could be alive. You were probably just seeing things,” they tell him. “Would you like us to find you a therapist?”

“No,” Tony says, and they ask why. He laughs, sipping on his water. “SHIELD has so much loyalty to itself, I’m afraid I’d be compromised.”

“Therapists aren’t supposed to divulge any information,” Nick Fury adds carefully. “And we’re a secret-keeping bunch. Nothing goes out that comes in.”

“Unless, of course, it’s necessary,” Tony drawls, staring at Fury. God, the leather outfit...that’s weird. “Then I’m out in the open, Nicky. And what fun is that unless I get to show off an outfit in full-coverage?”

“...I’ll have an agent escort you home. We’ll have guards overnight.”

“Don’t bother.”

“And why is that? Think you can handle it by yourself?”

“Fury, my family has made a career out of thinking a lot of things. You’re not being as detrimental as you think.”

He finger-waves, grinning and winking at agents on the way out.

Now comes paranoia. This is welcome, actually, because it’s allowing him to work up new security measures and hack into various security cameras around the world to see if he can find Barnes.

It’s like he’s a ghost. And fuck, maybe Fury was right. Tony doesn’t like that, but that may be it.

Merry fucking Christmas.

Years go by, and Tony keeps a tiny ear to any news about mysterious deaths that can’t be explained. A man that glows in lamp-light, has no identity. He’s not sure if it could be Barnes. God knows he’s no longer seventeen, and Barnes--it if it was Barnes--would be way older. He should’ve been an old man in 1991, but he wasn’t.

It kind of reminds him of the conspiracy theory that Walt Disney was kept cryogenically frozen, which is just ridiculous, because as far as he’s concerned, you’d need a bit more to you than just regular skin and bones.

And this is where it hits him.

Barnes was experimented on when he was captured by Hydra. Peggy told him that Rogers told her that he was repeating his dog tag number over and over, as if someone was trying to take him over.

Yeah, you’d need a bit more.

Like a fucking super soldier serum.

This then delves into Tony realizing that if Barnes is flash-frozen, then...well, could Rogers have survived? He always thought his dad was crazy, but a broken clock is right twice a week or however the hell that saying goes. He never used it, he wasn’t a broken clock.

(He was broken, but he’s not going to compare himself to a clock. Perhaps Model-T.)

They find Rogers. Tony realizes Howard did his math completely wrong for years, and probably never let anyone look at it because he was a World Super Genius. And a Colossal Dick.

Steve Rogers is one tough cookie to crack. Tony chips off some of the ice and puts it in a glass of scotch.

“Do you really think that’s the most appropriate thing to do?” Phil Coulson asks.

He’s shocked, but mainly because Tony has seen his Cap collection, and that man has so many limited edition cards and lunchboxes that it’s a bit crazy. But at least he knows how to decorate with it and not have it look like an absolute nutjob swept into his house and did it all in red-white-and-blue.

“Phil, my darling, when have I ever done anything the appropriate way?” Tony asks. He stares at the face that’s emerging out of the ice. “Besides, what else are you going to do with this ice, hm? Besides melt it all off?”

Steve is a miracle. Every scientist on earth wants to poke and prod at him.

Tony breaks him out of SHIELD in a week, because he swears to shit if one more scientist asks to take blood samples “to see how going under Arctic temperatures affects the bloodstream” (and also take DNA for cloning) he’s going to lose it.

Fury yells at him for two hours.

Steve flips Fury off from the couch, where he’s been channel-surfing for the better part of three hours.

“You’ve already corrupted him,” Fury scowls. “Rogers, we need to talk--”

“He’s retired,” Tony says.

(Steve is not, technically. Hasn’t said anything. But Tony is putting him on mandatory retirement for at least a year.)

“What’s...what the ever-loving fuck is that?” Steve asks.

An infomercial. For an automated chair. Mostly used for old people.

Tony grins.

“You wanna see how fast I can launch you out of one?”

“I’m going to say yes. Professionally.”

Ten miles an hour, and Steve goes flying across the room into a pile of pillows.

It’s not the end-all solution. God knows Steve calls him “Howard” and asks where a lot of nasty food is, and sometimes can’t tell the difference between what his brain is seeing and what is actually there.

But Tony gets him help. And Steve goes to art school.

It’s all very funny, actually. Steve rants about “modern art” and how “if he could kill any concept it would be abstract expressionism, what the fuck.”

Tony buys and then donates a Rothko in his honor.

Steve fumes, but finds it hilarious.

Then, there’s the attack on New York.

Norse god of mischief decides to end New York, blah blah blah.

Captain America reappears, everyone loses their shit, and Tony almost dies.

Then he gets four other roomies besides Steve, and he has to make a chore chart. Ugh.

Barnes reappears in France. Tony gets a fairly good image, and Natasha stills.

“You know about Winter Soldier?”

“Barnes? Yeah.”

“You know who he is?”

“James Barnes. At least, I think. He tried to kill me, wasn’t very successful at it.”

Steve overhears.

This leads to a chain of events that ends in Steve not coming to family dinner because he’d rather sit in his room and listen to Green Day or Glenn Miller or whatever the hell gets him even more upset.

“Listen, Steve, I’m sorry. But up until this picture? I was only about sixty percent sure I wasn’t full of beans.”

“Why is that the phrase you use?”

“What, full of beans? Bruce says I have to work on my cursing. Apparently, children are impressionable. Who knew?”

It’s not a total success. Steve still doesn’t like that Tony didn’t outright tell him, but Tony isn’t going to tell Steve that he has the mental stability of a single cashew.

So begins the hunt for Barnes. Which actually isn’t too bad.

He’s in DC. Not for any political clean-up, unfortunately. He’s trying to kill Fury. Tony doesn’t know why, at least until he looks up Pierce, who’s technically, mostly retired from SHIELD.

And yet still uses most resources that technically? He needs more than one authorization from multiple people.

God, people are getting bad at covering their tracks. Used to be harder to catch and see if someone was doing dirty deals.

(Okay, not like he can talk because Obie was...well, no use in discussing that now. He needs to focus.)

Nat and Steve are bad at lying. This kind of surprises him, because Steve is usually a successful liar. He’s convinced Clint that it’s not him who keeps eating his peanut-butter-fudge ice cream, but Thor.

And Natasha used to be Natalie Rushman. Then again, Tony was poisoned during that one, so that might just be on him.

Helicarriers go in the water.

Tony’s working on making sure most of the information doesn’t reach the general public, although he can’t stop it all.

Barnes falls off the face of the earth, and Steve wants to go on another treasure hunt.

“Let him come to us, or figure himself out.”

“This isn’t a college kid going backpacking in Europe for a year,” Nat snaps. “He’s...you know who he is, who he was, and what he can do.”

“Counterpoint: we don’t know if he secretly really wanted to see traditional decoration of Ukrainian Easter eggs,” Tony says. “God knows that I want to learn more about that.”

“Is everything a joke to you?”

"Only on federally mandated holidays,” Tony says with a shrug. “But let him be. Steve, it’s one thing that he didn’t kill you. It’s another thing that he hauled you up from the Potomac. I’m not sure I would’ve done that because who goes up alone to a helicarrier?”

“Historically nobody,” Natasha says. “Most people don’t have any helicarriers.”

“God, this situation sucks,” Tony says. “What if. We potentially. Ignore all of it and have spinach and artichoke dip? Hm?”

“With toasted bread?”

“I’m not an animal, Steve.”

“Your penchant for four a.m. coffee while you don’t realize you’re singing songs from the seventies says otherwise,” he responds.

“Well well well, if it isn’t the punishment of you getting the aux taken away for a week,” Tony taunts.

“Oh, come on!” Steve whines.

“Nope, just you having to listen to more of Bruce’s questionable tastes.”

“Fuck.”

Barnes comes stateside. The only reason Tony knows this is because Jarvis says that he may have spotted Barnes, but he’s not sure.

“J, you’re the most advanced system in the world, not to mention my son, and you like to hack into the Pentagon for funsies.”

“All of that could not have prepared me for this.”

Barnes is wearing a neon green tank top that is advertising Coco Beach in Florida.

“Can I laugh? Or is that sad?”

“Multitask, Sir.”

“Oh, true.”

Barnes is not in New York. Tony has to near-about put an electric fence around the whole state so that Steve doesn’t go on a road trip.

Hell, Tony doesn’t even trust him to go to coffee alone, but that’s a bit much.

“We have to wait,” Tony says.

Sam Wilson is a godsend. Also the funniest man Tony knows.

He is also emotionally healthy and very perceptive, so he has been noticing that Tony is nervous.

Because how do you face the man who killed your parents? Technically?

“Are you talking to your therapist?” Sam asks. “Just thinking you should.”

“Sam, we’re working on my issues from 2007. Believe it or not, it will be taking a full year.”

“I don’t like that I can never tell if you’re serious.”

“I know you remember the tabloids from 2007, I wrote a mesh vest. Clearly, I need so much help.”

Sam snorts.

“Maybe. Hey, I’ll catch you later. Clint and I are gonna go try and find some questionable shirts to crop.”

“Did his little protege convince you? Bishop, right?”

“Kate, yeah. She’s convinced our public image will go viral or something. Good luck with helping Steve and Nat with your super-soldier hunt.”

“Thanks. Let me know if you find a shirt with my face on it. I want it.”

Sam snorts.

“Will do.”

Bucky Barnes comes to New York in early May. The springtime is slowly but surely fading off, sun approaching more and more. Tony is enjoying coffee on a veranda, and then suddenly his waiter is nowhere to be found and he’s not entirely sure if his visitor takes credit or debit.

“Can I help you?”

“Maybe. Depends on if you’re gonna kill me or not.”

“I think Steve would be a bit broken up about it.”

“Do you care what he thinks?”

“On this situation? Yes. When it comes to culinary choices? No.”

There’s a ghost of a smile on his face. Tony’s trying extremely hard not to remember shattered glass and a motorcycle on ice.

“Can we, uh, table this conversation? For later. Espresso and all that, plus the added bonus of our shared history, so...”

“Shared history?”

“You don’t remember?” Tony asks. Bucky shakes his head. “Ah. Then this is truly a comedy of errors. Maybe. Um. Listen, I, uh...I gotta go. You need to talk to Nat or Steve or hell, maybe even Thor. Is Thor a good option?”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Barnes, I can’t exactly face you right now.”

And then he jumps off a balcony.

A fucking balcony.

Jesus H. Christ, his therapist is gonna be so excited for their next session.

The suit wraps itself around him, and he can finally breathe, and he’s thinking about calling Pepper and see if she would like to schedule him a vacation for maybe anywhere but New York and Iowa.

“Why not Iowa?” Pepper asks. “They have good antique stores. I’ve gotten quite a few good finds for clothes.”

“I can do shopping retail literally anywhere else, absolutely not.”

“Spoilsport. Steve know you’re leaving?”

“I didn’t even really tell Steve what happened with my parents.”

“Oh, your therapist called. She sounded concerned, but also intrigued.”

“It’s because Sally almost became an employee of NASA and still has a soft spot for aerodynamics.”

“What exactly did you do when faced with Barnes?”

“Check the front tabloid page tomorrow, just tell everyone I’m out of town.”

“Got it. And Tony?”

Her voice is soft.

“Yes, dear?”

He can feel her rolling her eyes. Affectionately, of course, but rolling all the same.

“Be safe, and come back. You know Rhodey and I miss you.”

“I miss you too.”

A week is spent in Malibu. He really is thinking about selling this place. But for now, it suffices.

Steve texts him.

bucky’s back. holy shit

be back in a week. radio silence.

got it. no more messages from me. thor tells me to tell you that he broke the sink

:((((

And that’s it. He’s sitting in the house for a week, has already called Sally once and explained how his suit works, and then listened to her talk about how “his reliance on the suit to help him escape unfavorable situations is not exactly the healthiest but also none of my clients have had to face someone who is of weird standing.”

It’s no secret that Tony doesn’t like Howard Stark. Who would’ve liked that sorry excuse for a father, a man who was so cold-hearted the Arctic looked like a tropical paradise?

Maria was...Maria was different.

She wasn’t a good mother. No, she was never a good mother. But she tried, and she didn’t deserve her fate.

And then there was the question of Bucky Barnes. Who wasn’t Bucky when he was there, but still so damn recognizable.

It’s kind of like when there’s a movie about a famous person, and another person plays them. Like Tom Hanks, essentially. Bucky played whoever the fuck they get Tom Hanks to play and it’s similar: you see the resemblance, but it’s not it.

So yeah.

There’s also the little tidbit that things get complicated when you involve personal feelings and rationality, and really? Tony misses New York. A lot. And he’s not going to let someone else overtake his life just because he’s uncomfortable.

So he flies back to New York.

He’s in a bad way, Barnes is.

“He remembered you,” Steve says. “What he did.”

“Ah, there’s that.”

“He doesn’t have to be here,” Natasha says. “I have a couple of SHIELD safe houses to choose from.”

“None would be adequate to house something like me,” comes the response.

Barnes looks remarkably shitty, as if he hasn’t slept in eighty years. And maybe he hasn’t.

“Jail would be more fitting.”

Tony rolls his eyes.

“You are literally the most dramatic person ever, and Bruce threatened to take over the government because Thor ate the last croissant. Put those on the grocery list, Steve

“We’re not gonna throw you in jail,” he continues on. “Not because you happened to be used as a goddamned Swiss army knife. I have issues, sure, but I’m not going to be going all Hannibal Lecter or whatever.”

“Who the hell is that?”

“Cannibal. I realized that that’s a terrible comparison, please forgive me.”

“Why a cannibal?”

“Couldn’t think of anything else but Anthony Hopkins, the actor. My mistake. Point is, we’re gonna have to go through some channels, and I’m introducing you to BARF, as well as a new person who’s gonna rock your world.”

“I’m pretty much well-acquainted with vomit.”

“No, not that,” Tony says. “Although we can cover that through my 2005 edition of partying if we really wanna dig up some old magazine interviews. No, I’m introducing you to something that’s going to change your life.”

After that, Tony doesn’t have much to do with Bucky’s life.

He serves as a permanent guilt trip, nothing says “well, shit” much like being a permanent guilt trip.

Sally tells him that they should talk it out. Do all that “and how do you feel?” questioning that makes his skin crawl and his eyes ascend to the ceiling.

I mean yeah, they share a living space. Tony has seen Bucky laugh and smile with Sam, talk with Bruce about a really interesting article about regeneration of plant cells or whatever, and Bucky enjoys videochatting with Wakandan royalty.

(It also helps that Shuri is blunt as ever, but so blisteringly smart. He’s reading her paper on regeneration of nanotechnology, and it just...it’s the Pieta of research, that paper.)

But he never speaks to Bucky. Well, he does. But it’s more along the lines of “hey Barnes” and “how are you?” which aren’t exactly the Most Thought Provoking Statements Ever Made.

Summer comes swiftly, and about near with a vengeance. Tony’s dealing with a heat wave and trying to figure out if going outside is even worth it, and then he and Bucky are alone in the kitchen.

Tony was debating getting a couple of popsicles from the freezer. Bucky is considering sabotaging Clint’s smoothie that was supposed to be special for tonight, but that he’ll most likely forget.

“Hey,” Bucky says. “Um, can we talk?”

Shit.

He’s been avoiding this, officially, for a month. Potentially more if you’re going to count a few choice events that have been brought up by his psyche.

“Sure thing, buttercup. What are we talking about. Economy, world crises, the great debate on financial advice?”

“Isn’t the third thing just the economy?”

“We can break it down over coffee.”

“Mm, maybe another time. No, I’m talking about us. About how I--I kind of ruined your life.”

Tony blinks.

“You didn’t ruin my life. If my life was ruined you’d be hit with so many lawsuits that I could make the rest of your life look like the third circle of Hell, or wherever it is that people go nowadays in Dante’s eyes. No, you didn’t ruin my life.”

“I still killed your parents.”

“If you hadn’t, someone else would’ve. Believe me, there were about fifteen others in line. Sometimes, myself included.”

“You can’t not take me seriously,” Bucky stresses. “I still did a terrible thing. I just want to make sure you know that you’re being too kind.”

“I most certainly am not,” Tony says. “Being too kind would have me feeding you grapes.”

Bucky’s face blanks.

“Don’t. I...I don’t wanna take advantage of your hospitality. I don’t want to remind you of what happened.”

“You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t wanted,” Tony says. “Believe me. And if you want to leave, you’re free to leave. I don’t want to make you feel like you need to stay here.”

“I...I want to make it up to you.”

“Then use BARF and review it,” Tony says. “I’m serious. I need user feedback, and you’re the best candidate for it. Also, please try to convince Steve to wear neon yellow. I just want to see if he’ll do it.”

Steve wears neon yellow. Tony laughs so hard he cries.

Bucky smiles.

It’s a nice smile, really. It’s wide and happy and wow. That’s all worth it.

And then BARF. Bucky just gives user feedback, nothing else. Tony doesn’t want to know anything else, but they start talking more.

Tony finds out that Bucky’s been doing crosswords to catch up on current events, and he’s bought taped recordings of World Series games.

He loves antique stores. He visits them and brings home little trinkets that he remembers in his own house, or what he remembered. He watched old commercials from the fifties and sixties, laughed as he remembered the Sears catalogs that would come in the mail.

“Me an’ my sisters would beg my mom for new clothes from the catalog, and she never would. Always sewed our pants and skirts so damn well, I probably could’ve used them for the next ten years.”

Tony laughs.

“Well, I can’t promise I can sew. But I could give you some armor that could last you twenty years, if you want. Steve told me you’re thinking about doing some distance missions.”

“Just observation, no armor required.”

“Sometimes it’s the simple missions that get the worst hits,” Tony says. “Believe me, I know how it goes. So, do you want some armor?”

Bucky smiles.

“Sure.”

“I’ll need feedback.”

“I’ll give it all I’ve got.”

Bucky is a goddamned dream to design for. He knows exactly what he needs, what areas are most likely to be pierced, and also has a flair for the dramatic: he requests an Iron Man helmet be embroidered on the back.

“You’re really just trying to be sweet on me, aren’t you?” Tony teases.

“My master plan to gain your fortune,” Bucky teases right back. “I’ll waste it all on champagne pools and the worst-looking but most expensive shoes I can find.”

Tony laughs.

“Sugar, that’d be incredible if you could spend all of my money on that. I’d commend you.”

Bucky smiles, and it shouldn’t be as nice of a smile as it is, but here Tony is with his opinions and his concerning thought that maybe he wants to see more of Bucky.

In the morning, there begins a routine. Tony is always up at eight o’clock. It’s a rare lull in Avenger-morning-routines: Nat, Steve, and Bruce are all done, and Thor and Clint won’t be in until ten o’clock at the earliest.

(What can he say? Thor’s a god and Clint...well. He needs a lot of beauty sleep.)

Tony makes coffee, and Bucky makes them both breakfast. Says that officially, it’s to test and make sure that his prosthetic is still performing under optimal conditions.

(They both know that’s not it.)

Tony always says he pours too much water, makes enough for two cups.

Steve calls them out on it.

“You two are being weird,” he says. “And not like Thor and Bruce trying to reenact that one show about ghosts and unsolved things.”

“That’s their form of courtship, don’t be fucking rude,” Clint remarks. Natasha snorts.

“What, us being weird?” Tony asks, pouring a bit more coffee into Bucky’s mug. He always uses too much creamer and then won’t finish his coffee unless there’s more. “Why do you say that?”

“It’s because you both do couple shit,” Bruce says, breezing into the kitchen. “Also, Steve, lovely to see that you have volunteered to be the next guest on Avengers: Unsolved. We’re planning on using you as a guilt-trip in order to access files about aliens.”

“Truth will be found!” Thor adds. “But also, yes. Bucky, I thought you were taking him on a date to the art museum on Saturday.”

Bucky turns red. So does Tony. It really is quite inconvenient.

“I mean, we could go on a date there,” Tony says. “If you’re okay with that.”

“You’re doing this in public?” Natasha asks, eyebrows raised. “Hm. Would not have called that.”

“You owe me fifteen dollars,” Bucky says. “Not you Tony, quit looking at me like that. Yes, it will be a date on Saturday, I’ll wear a nice shirt. Nat said that I couldn’t do anything that surprised her.”

“Technically, Tony surprised me.”

“I thought dates were mutual events, hm? Fifteen dollars. I’ll use it to buy the best bouquet in New York.”

“The best bouquet costs over a thousand dollars,” Thor answers.

“Not questioning how you know that, but I’m scared of you,” Bucky says. “Then I will get the best fifteen-dollar-bouquet in New York.”

Tony snorts, smiling.

“I guess I’ll spray a bit of my perfume on my pillow then, soldier.”

“I’ll pick you up at noon sharp,” Bucky says, grinning. He finishes his coffee. “We’ll make fun of Steve’s art exhibit together.”

#lovelyirony writes #holy shit this was longer than expected #thank you to angel for this inspiration #winteriron #avengers as a family #personally i like the fact that thor and bruce are doing avengers unsolved and have to force different avengers on #natasha romanoff #bruce banner #thor #bucky barnes #tony stark #howard stark #maria stark #sally the therapist

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daydreamsofh · 5 years ago

Text

Dreamy

A/N: Ahhhh! Hi, hello :) Here is my piece for the Pick Your Poison Fic Challenge! This is the first thing I have ever written,(please be gentle hehe) and I cannot believe you’re about to read it! Thank you, I love you forever. So much love goes to my girls, my best friend @haute-romance-quotidienne (you know how I feel about you) & @harryinsweatersandbandanas- Ash thank you for your constant support and shared love for yearning over H :)

And lastly, I have so much love and adoration for the girls that put this whole thing together. @for-fucks-sake-h @oh-honey-styles @andwhenshesays, thank you all for being so brilliant and allowing us all the chance to try new things and for just constantly being people to look up to and admire. I love you all forever and ever, and I am the luckiest to know you.

Word Count: 7.3K

Yearning, yearning, pining. more yearning, yearning, and some more yearning. Sometimes our wildest daydreams do come true.

***

Dreamy soft green eyes watched you from the other side of the room before he shifted his eyes back to the person he was talking to. Arguably this was the hardest part of your friendship with Harry, to see him with other people, other women and knowing that you’d never measure up. Or at least in your eyes, you wouldn’t. And truthfully it had nothing to do with the women he dated. They had all been kind to you and tried to be your friend once they realized how big of a role you played in Harry’s life. They were all lovely and nice and funny, and generally good to him. It never had anything to do with them, and everything to do with you.

Over the years of your friendship with him it had gotten harder and harder to act like you weren’t totally, completely, annoyingly, hopelessly in love with him. Especially on nights like tonight.

Gathered in his lofty, but cozy house with dozens of his closest family and friends for a listening party to celebrate the release of his brand new spanking album. He’s already had two listening parties specifically for his fans, but he wanted to have one for the people that make up his support system, that keep him going when the world feels too big and scary. Plus being the narcissist he so naturally is, the ego boost of his most loved ones listening to his album first and loving it first was an added plus.

He’d told you for months how special this album was to him, and you had singlehandedly witnessed the sheer joy he felt while making it. So when he invited you to the listening party, with those big green eyes slowly blinking at you, of course you said yes.

Walking into his home you were greeted by Anne, who was already teary eyed just from simply seeing all of the people gathered together that make up Harry’s life. She jumped up from her seat once she saw you and wrapped you up in a warm hug.

“‘There she is! Always so wonderful to see you love. I’m happy you’re here, he’s been asking for you.’” She squeezed your arm and sent you a wink before leaving you to go find Harry.

Right as she was, once you turned your back from her his eyes caught yours and he made a beeline for you. Weaving in and out of the crowds of people he reached for your hand before pulling you in and burying his face in your neck. The gesture made you sway, having to brace his shoulders so you wouldn’t fall over. When he finally pulled back he had the biggest smirk on his face as his hand reached to cradle your head and he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“‘Look who finally made it! Just in the nick of time like always. Hi Sweets.’”

Taking him in made you suddenly very glad you chose not to wear too high of heels tonight, because you almost fell over when you saw what he was wearing. Grey high waisted trousers, because why would anyone wear pants that actually sit on their hips correctly? A striped button top with the sleeves rolled up, and an over the top overly-grandpa sweater vest. His hair kept falling in his face and he had a content, soft, dreamy look on his face. Add the way he looked at you to the long list of reasons you loved him.

Looking up at him your stomach did a backflip before you breathed a small laugh and muttered, “Hi H, got quite the crowd tonight huh? It’s a shame more people don’t love you,”

“Oh yeah didn’t I tell you? I had to bribe everyone here with Gucci gift cards to get them to show up tonight,”

“Yeah I bet you did Gucci golden boy,”

That had him laughing deep in his chest before he playfully swatted at your arm, but just like always he was pulled in another direction as Jeff told him it was time to get the show on the road and get the listening party going.

“Gonna be okay on your own? Should I go grab you some tissues before we get started? Maybe some tea?” He said it with a shit eating grin on his face and a wink.

You narrowed your eyes at him before you replied, “You are a lot of things Styles but a comedian is not one of them! Get outta here before I change my mind and listen to it in the comfort of my own home,”

“Oh you wouldn’t dare, you wouldn’t make me miss out on that cute face reacting to my groundbreaking musical mastery would you?” He winked at you after his oh-so funny quip and you thought you were going to actually pass out and hit the floor from him calling your face cute. You knew your voice would give out and that your cheeks were burning so you just shook your head no and smiled so hard your face started to ache. With that he was finally gone to give his thanks to everyone for attending and for some more mingling before they would actually start the party.

After he walked away, you bumped into your mutual friend Sam, who actually introduced you to Harry at one of his shows years ago.

“Hey babe! I’m so glad you made it, I was afraid you would be too weepy to come today. No offense, but I know how he makes you. Especially with his music. Something about boys with guitars, right?”

After you smacked him in the chest for his hilarious reminder of just how much you pine for Harry and have for years, you muttered a very matter of a fact, “For your information it is not ‘something about boys with guitars’ it is about one boy with a guitar, and I think I have a pretty good handle on my weepy-ness today, so sod off.”

He gave you a knowingly smile and you shot one right back because he was absolutely right.

Everyone in your inner circle knew how you felt about Harry. Actually, anyone who was around the both of you for more than a few minutes picked up on it. From the way you bantered and poked fun at each other to the way you laughed at every one of his stupid jokes, to the way you longingly and very dramatically gazed at him pretty much all the time. And who could blame you?

He made everyone he spoke to feel like the most important person in the world. It was overwhelming how intently he listened and watched people. He was the most kind hearted, patient man. You’d lost count of how many times he talked you off the ledge, how many times he reassured you when you doubted yourself at work, or how many times he called to check on you after you swore up and down to him that you were okay. It was overwhelming how much he cared. It was overwhelming how much he radiated love and understanding. And most of all it was overwhelming how being in the same room as him even for just a second made you feel like you could breathe again. He was like coming up for fresh air, every single time.

And if anything made you feel more overwhelmed than just simply looking at him, watching him perform was a close second. He was ridiculously talented, a natural performer, and just so annoyingly amazing at what he does. No matter how many shows of his you went to you found yourself getting emotional watching him do what he was born to do, he exuded talent and the fact that you got to witness him in action was something you would never get over. He teased you about it each time he watched you from the pit or sides of the stage blubbering, but nonetheless he loved the fact that he could get such a reaction out of you. You also swore you saw his ears tinge pink each time you told him how great of a show he put on. You knew how hard it would be tonight to listen to his brand new songs in his house, IN FRONT of him and all of your closest friends and not cry the entire time. Damn him and his dreamy musical mastery ways.

You watched him hop onto his fireplace alongside Jeff to give one of his famous speeches. His eyes scanned the room and he gave everyone a slow, smirking grin. A slow, honeyed one that warmed you from the inside out and made your chest feel light and fluttery.

“I just want to thank you all so much for taking the time to come out and listen to my album, I love you all endlessly and this album is just as much for you as it is for me.” Harry's eyes found yours again and “You all know how I feel about you so I won’t bore you with a long speech, I love you and thank you for being here. Enjoy.”

And with that he was gone and you lost him in the crowd. After all of the headphones were passed out and everyone had their instructions on how to go about actually playing the album, you were sat in a loveseat near one of the many windows in his house, tucked away from the rest of the crowd.

Sam took the seat next to you and gave you a reassuring smile before he said, “If it gets too much you can get up and leave. I know that you know who most of these songs are going to be about and I don’t want to see you upset. I’ll even give you a ride home.”

You smiled back at him and sighed, “I really think I’ll be okay. I’m always happy just to hear his voice you know? No matter how hard this will be I’m staying. He has all of my support regardless of the fact that these songs aren’t about me. I just wanna be here with him, for him.”

Another smile, “Okay babe, whatever you want.”

Headphones were finally passed out and it was time to actually listen to the album. But before you could do that, Harry found where you were sitting and leaned up against the wall closest to you. Before you could ask what he was doing he just smiled, actually beamed at you and shook his head.

“Just wanted to lay my eyes on you before you started listening.” He pushed off the wall and walked over to you, kissed you on the forehead and chucked his fingers under your chin. “You know it means the most to me that you’re here. You’re pretty important to me, know tha’?”

It was such a simple, friendly thing to say, and tears pooled in your eyes before you knew it. “Yeah I've gathered that, I’ll come find you when i”m done listening. Go on,”

You squeezed his hand and gave him a smile while fighting back tears. “Go on,” Harry finally walked away and you looked over at Sam who pretended he wasn’t watching your whole exchange.

You know he didn’t mean to but every time you had a moment like this between the two of you it always just felt like he was dangling a carrot in front of you. Dangling the chance of you being together for real, dangling the chance that he felt the same way, and you know he didn’t mean it to be mean, but in a way it was. You knew there was no way he didn’t know how you felt, how could he not? And for him to be so touchy feely with you and look at you with those soft eyes it just felt cruel. And unfair. How could he not know? How could he not see it? Anytime he walked in the room your eyes lit up and you watched his every move. You supported him unwaveringly and jumped at the chance to do anything you could to help him. Not in a love sick puppy kind of way where you doted over him and thought he walked on the moon, you just wanted him to be as successful as he could be and you knew his potential, and never wanted him to settle for anything less. All you wanted was the best for him. And you’d be lying if you said you wished you were the best for him.

You took a deep breath and pressed play on the first song. You had heard samples of a few songs from the album and hearing the whole thing almost felt like an out of body experience. Golden, Watermelon Sugar, Adore You, and Lights Up filled you with so much joy, excitement, and a buzz. His new sound was unlike anything you have ever heard, and you’d still say that even if you weren’t ya know, embarrassingly in love with him. He had found his new groove and it was so poetic and imaginative and just so, Harry. But the farther you got down the list of songs, your stomach dropped.

Obviously you knew that quite a few of these songs would be about her, and obviously there was nothing wrong with that. It was Harry’s album and written from his life experiences, he had every right to write about whoever he wanted. You just didn’t think it would hit you so hard. Falling was a beautiful, raw, purely crafted song and you loved it. But what really did you in was Cherry. Everything from the soft, heartbreakingly warm guitar strumming to his reserved, falsetto voice, to the words that were so obviously meant for someone else, you were done for. Oh god and then his screams at the end. How many times had you felt that way about Harry? How many times had you left a dinner party or one of his shows and watched him leave with someone else and made yourself sick from crying so much and so hard? How many times had you yelled, screamed at the wall for being so invested in him? For loving him so much it made you sick? Too many times. You were able to get through the rest of the album just fine, distracted by the up beat, funky songs. But once you got to the end of the album, your heart cracked wide open again after hearing Fine Line. It was the most beautiful, ethereal, transcendent song you had ever heard, and you couldn’t believe that you knew the person who was responsible for its creation.

Once you were finished listening to the album, you found yourself going back to Fine Line, playing a loop of him saying “You Sunshine, you Temptress”. It was the most beautiful thing you had ever heard, and you just sat there in awe of what you had just experienced.

You looked over at Sam who was already looking at you, and even he was crying. You had no doubt that there was a dry eye in the house.

Remembering that you had so foolishly told Harry that you would find him after you were done listening to the album you tried your best to slow your breathing and heart rate back down, and you wiped your eyes as best you could from the tears that took over a majority of your face. You knew how crazy you must have looked, and you hoped Harry wouldn’t notice that you looked the same as you did when you watched the episode of Grey’s Anatomy when Derek and Meredith FINALLY got together. You had cried THOSE kind of tears.

You stood up from the couch you were sat at and straightened your dress and shook out your hands. Taking a deep breath you wiped at your eyes once more and turned to look at Sam, who was already giving you a sympathetic smile.

You opened your mouth to speak but nothing came out. You shook your head and cleared your throat before you finally found your words.

“Well, you were right. Dammit why does he have to be so? So- just,” Throwing your hands up another tear rolled down your cheek.

Sam smiled and reached for your hand and brushed his thumb over the top, “I know babe. He is just so. I know you told him that you would go talk to him after you listened but you do not have to. I know how hard this was for you and I don’t want him to make you feel even worse. Do you want me to give you a ride home?”

You looked up at him and gave him the best smile you could. “No no I'm fine, I need to stay and go talk to him. I need to tell him how incredible this was, and that I love him. I think I can manage to do that.”

He gave you a reassuring smile and shook his head, “Whatever you need. I’ll be here for a little while longer if you change your mind.”

Before you got up you asked him, “How soppy do I look? On a scale of ya know 1 to soppy?” You asked him with the smallest laugh you could muster.

“You look beautiful. He’s gonna think so too.”

And with that you stood again and finally left to go find Harry. When you rounded the corner of his dramatically long hallway, you found him talking to Jeff and some of his other friends.

Just looking at him from across the room had you teary eyed and your heart feeling like it was going to burst out of your chest. It was like you could feel it in your fingertips just how much you loved him, and every glance he threw your way had you weak at the knees. All you wanted to do was walk over to him and wrap your arms around him and feel his warm hands caress up and down your arms. But you stayed put like you always did, and had your little daydream’s like you always did. As hard as it was to not be “with” him, you’d take anything you could get. Just being in the same room as him made you feel special, and made you feel lucky to know him. Lucky to hear him, lucky to see him, just lucky to know him.

Jeff noticed you lurking behind the both of them and nudged Harry’s shoulder to get his attention. Harry slowly turned around and his eyes softened immediately when he saw it was you. He took off towards you not even bothering to tell the people he was talking to that he was leaving. His gaze on you warmed you from the inside out and you started sniffling again.

He closed the gap between the two of you and you tucked a piece of hair behind your ear and looked up at him as his familiar warmth surrounded you. He noticed your weepy eyes immediately and his smile shifted to one of concern. He reached for the crook of your elbow and pulled you in. When he quickly stepped back his hands framed your face and he blurted out a raspy, “Why’re you crying? What happened? Is the album that bad?!” He snorted out a laugh and you gave a matching one, “No no no of course not H. It’s incredible. Really really incredible. I’m so proud of you.” You smiled at him as widely as you could and squeezed his biceps, and for the first time he got an actual look at your face.

Your eyes were definitely still teary and your lips were a bright shade of red and swollen. Your hair was still curled despite you nervously playing with it all night, and it did a good job of hiding your tears. Harry took you in all at once and you smelled so sweet, devine, familiar. Your eyes bounced between him and the floor and he had decided in that moment you had never looked more beautiful. So real.

He started snickering and asked you, “Is that why you’re so upset? Love you look like-”

“Like I just got hit by a bus? Yeah I’m aware H, thanks. And it’s all your fault” you finished with a laugh followed by a whimper.

“I was going to say you look beautiful. And exhausted. Why don’t we go sit somewhere and you can tell me what you really thought. Tha’ sound good?”

He was waiting for your reaction intently when Ben clamoed a hand on his shoulder and told him someone needed his attention right away. “Sorry to steal you away, uh oh are you- is everything okay?” Ben’s eyes flitted back and forth between the two of you.

You spoke up first, “Oh yeah i’m fine, we’re uh- we’re good we were actually just about to go and talk” You shot Ben a small smile and looked back at Harry.

Ben leaned in and whispered something in Harry’s ear and that had Harry shaking his head in agreeance.

Harry glanced back down at you and said “Why don’t you go find somewhere to sit, where it’s uh- just the two of us and wait for me. I’ll only be a minute and I really wanna hear what you think”

His smile dimpled his cheek and carded his hand through his hair.

When you hesitated your reply he grabbed your hand and searched for your eyes again, he opened his mouth so say something else but you cut him off, “Yeah yeah sure I’ll just be uh where I was sitting earlier. Don’t take too long, I might start crying again” you laughed and Harry mirrored a matching one.

“I'll just be a minute, go get comfy” He kissed your forehead and then he was off.

Turning around you tried to hide your squealing and practically ran back to the loveseat you were sitting at earlier. You weren't sure what your plan was, would tonight be the night that you finally, FINALLY confess your undying love for him? Would tonight finally be the night that you tell him what you��ve been feeling all of these years? He was eager to talk to you too, right? He was the one who suggested talking somewhere, alone? Oh dear god could he possibly be waiting to tell you the same thing?! Okay, okay no definitely not but still, maybe? He was awful eager to hear what you thought wasn’t he? Awful eager to go somewhere alone with you?

In your very long winded train of thought you realized you had been waiting an increasingly long time for Harry. You decided to get up and go look for him. You eagerly rose from the couch and padded down the hallway to go find him. Turning the corner your eager smile immediately dropped.

There he was, back turned to you surrounded by a crowd of various adoring women. You recognized a few of them, but not all. You stopped cold in your tracks. Your stomach fell to the floor as your tears clouded your eyes again, what the hell was he doing? This is what was so important that he had to leave you for? You weren't sure if you were more pissed off or upset. They all started laughing at something he said and as soon as Harry looked up from their reactions, his eyes caught yours. You felt your knees go weak and your chest start to heave.

Time to go. You held back your tears as you immediately went searching for your coat and your bag. You just wanted to get out of there, away from Harry and his bullshit lies about “wanting to know what you thought”. Clearly he was more interested in other things. You couldn’t believe he put you in this position, again. You felt so stupid for having hope that maybe he felt the same way about you. So silly of you to think, again that you were on the same level as the women that were in his league, in his world. You felt humiliated beyond belief that he put you here, again. You couldn’t stand to even look at him. You were hoping to leave without him seeing you again, weaving in and out of the crowd of people that filled his living room. You ignored people calling out your name to say goodbye, as you made a beeline for the back door. As short as you were Harry still managed to spot you before you reached the door.

He reached for your arm to stop you but you immediately shook his hand off. That caused him to stop you completely by jumping in front of you to get you to slow down.

His eyes found yours and as painful as it was to look at him.

“Oh my god love stop please what’s wrong? I was just about to go find yeh and talk to you- where are yeh going?’

You huffed. “Oh really? You were just about to come find me? Seemed pretty busy already Harry.”

He knew you using his full name instead of just H meant he was in deep shit.

“I was, honest! Why are yeh so upset?!”

You tried to push past him again but his strong hands on your biceps stopped you.

Looking straight up at the ceiling you squeaked out, “Harry I have to go. I can’t be here anymore and I have a work thing in the morning. “

“Tomorrow is Saturday sweets. I know you don’t have a work thing- and what the hell do yeh mean you can’t be here anymore?” He scoffed. “I thought yeh said yeh loved the album?”

Was he seriously using pet names with you right now? Was he looking to get his ass handed to him?

Looking directly at him you mustered all the courage you had left and said, “I can’t be here anymore and watch you get gawked over by other women, and I sure as hell can’t listen to you sing about her anymore. Please. H just let me go.” Your voice whimpered and a tear slid down your cheek before you finally managed to push past him.

Harry just stood there, dumbfounded. Had he heard you right? Christ had he heard you right?

He was quick to turn around and call out your name but you were already halfway out of the door frame. He begged you to stop but you just picked up the pace and practically ran to your car.

Driving home from the party all you could do was cry. Your tears clouded your visions and you were trembling, chest heaving trying to catch your breath. You were so incredibly proud of Harry, and his album. You tried to convince yourself that these were partly “happy” tears but you knew that wasn’t the truth. You knew it sounded cheesy but you have never wanted to be with him as badly as tonight. That was until you saw him with his new friend. But the more you tried to stay mad at him, you couldn’t. You still just wanted to be with him. And it wasn’t because he was Harry Styles and had a brand new (probably going to be platinum) album out. It was because he was Harry. Your H, your best friend, your favorite person. The man who put together a party where he was surrounded by everyone who loved him and who he felt the most safe around, all to just share his most personal album to date. He made this incredible piece of art and the first thing he wanted to do was share it with the people he loves the most, it was the most adorable thing you had ever seen.

You finally neared the street your apartment was on, and as soon as you got inside and pulled your phone out of your handbag, you already had 5 missed calls and voicemails to match. You knew you scared him with the way that you very dramatically stormed out of his place with tears in your eyes, but you just couldn't call him back. Or even begin to think to. Not only were you heartbroken and upset about the whole situation, you were also embarrassed for your outburst, or actual lack thereof. Damn him and his ability to make you lose all the words in your brain every time he looked at you. You put your phone away for the night, washed off your makeup and put on one of Harry’s old t-shirts you stole a couple years ago to sleep in. You pulled the covers over your head and finally drifted off.

The next few days consisted of Harry calling you every .2 seconds. He sent flowers, baked goods. He even sent you a loaf of bread, which he was sure would do the trick. A bit of an inside joke between the two of you and your shared love of eating your sadness away with the help of massive carbohydrates. He knew better than to actually drop by and try to see you, he figured he just needed to give you a few days and you’d call and tell him what was going on. His main reasoning for that actually was that he didn’t want to spook you or see you upset again. He knew you would come back to him, you always did.

By the 4th day of not hearing from you, Harry was getting increasingly worried. You got a call from Sam, your Mom, multiple mutual friends of yours, you even got a call from Jeff. All claiming that Harry didn’t tell them to call you and check on you, even though you knew that they all had orders to report back to him with whatever you said. Each call you either declined or gave a vague reasoning of why you sounded so unlike yourself. You weren’t really sure what your long term plan was, it’s not like you could just ignore him forever or the situation forever. Although, changing your name and moving to Bora Bora didn’t sound like such a bad idea.

The more phone calls you got the more you wondered about what Harry had told them as a reason to check on you. Being the blabber mouth that he is you were sure that he had told them about what you said to him. It’s not like literally everyone didn’t know how you felt about him, but the fact that he now knew how you felt made your stomach churn.

Maybe Bora Bora was still an option. You tried to busy yourself as best you could, but of course like always your thoughts circled back to Harry. Maybe he hadn’t heard you? Maybe he was too busy thinking about what’s her face that was rubbing her hands up and down his back to hear what you said? You hoped it was the latter.

By the 5th day of you hiding out in your apartment, Harry had lost all patience and grace. He decided to make his presence known and come over to your place. He was tired of waiting, and quite frankly he was terrified he had hurt you beyond repair. The two of you had had little spats and fights over the years of your friendship, at the longest it only took a day for the two of you to calm down and then you were okay. This is the longest the two of you had gone without speaking, and it was making him sick. He needed you, and he loved you. He just hoped he hadn’t ran out of time to tell you.

By the time he got to your apartment you had managed to actually get dressed for the day. For you that meant an old, ratty sweatshirt of Harry’s you stole along with your sleep shirt, a pair of yoga pants. You took your hair out of it’s bun and took a long look in the mirror at yourself. You looked pitiful. You pulled the sleeves of Harry’s sweatshirt over your hands, wiped your tears away and went to get comfy in your front room. You were one episode of Grey’s Anatomy deep when there was a knock at your door. Shit.

You stayed perfectly still and muted the TV. You knew exactly who it was knocking. You’d hope he hadn’t heard your TV and he’d assume you weren’t home. You held your breath as your cheeks started to warm.

It was when you heard that slow, honeyed rasp that your eyes started to leak.

Harry let out a long breath and knocked again. “Angel I know you’re in there. Please, please let me in. I just wanna see your face. I need to lay my eyes on you.” His voice was softer, slower. “I need to hear your voice love please.”

You stood at your feet. As mad and hurt you were by him you just wanted to fling the door open and fall into him. But part of you still wasn’t ready to come face to face with him.

Harry knocked on your door again and you moved closer. He let out another heavy sigh, “Love don’t make me use my key. Please open the door.”

Shit shit shit shit! Why had you given him a key?! Could you run to your bathroom and sneak out the window? Could you hide in your pantry? All viable options you thought.

“Okay, you’ve left me no choice. I’m coming in.” Harry all but barked at you.

Your eyes went wide and you ran to the door and put your hand on the lock. “Wait wait wait Harry just uh- give me, give me a minute.” You fluffed up your hair a little bit and straightened your sweatshirt.

Oh god. You were wearing his sweatshirt. Why couldn't you just melt into the ground instead of opening the door? You wanted to bolt but you knew you just needed to get this over with.

Opening the door you were met with a very somber looking Harry, but his eyes softened and he smiled once he saw you. He looked so sad, so concerned, so confused. He was wearing one of his sweatshirts from his first tour, black jeans and his checkered vans.

“There she is. Hi love.” Harry’s eyes raked over your figure and his eyes went wide when he saw you clad in his sweatshirt. He went in for a hug but you pulled away before he could close the gap and you stepped to the side of him. His brow furrowed but before he could speak you muttered a very small “Hi Harry.”

He was still upset you were using his full name. He wanted to hear your sweet, familiar voice saying the nickname that rolled off your tongue so easily. It was one of his favorite words coming from you, and it made his heart swell each time you said it. It instantly felt cold in your apartment, and you suddenly wish you wouldn’t have opened the door.

You walked behind your kitchen island to put a barrier in between the two of you and his eyes wouldn’t leave yours. The two of you just stood there in silence and you swore you had never felt so exposed. So uncomfortable. How many times had you stood in this very spot with Harry making breakfast together? How many times had he danced with you around your kitchen? How many beautiful and truly wonderful memories did you have of spending time together in your home? You couldn’t believe how detached you felt from him, and as hurt as you were itching to touch him. This strange silence felt so unfamiliar.

You smiled as best as you could and asked him, “What’s up? Are you okay? What’s got you so curious that you had to come all the way over here?” you laughed a little at the end in hopes of him not being able to hear you sniffle.

His eyebrows raised before he replied, “Love you scared the shit out of me. I’ve been worried out of my absolute mind the past couple days. I- I need to know what yeh really meant when you said you couldn’t listen to me sing about her anymore?” His eyes flitted all over your face as he waited for your response. “Please tell me. I’ve been out of my mind thinking about it all week.”

You felt your chest tighten and your eyes started to tear up again. You were just about to make up an excuse when you realized that’s what you’ve been doing all these years, and all it’s done is hurt you and not gotten you and Harry anywhere. Hang buildup. He had already heard you the other night. He needed to know how you really felt.

Looking up at him you took a deep breath and tried to steady yourself. You were half expecting you to chicken out and make up another excuse, but all that came out was, “I’m in love with you Harry.”

Harry’s eyes snapped up and you wished the floor would have come up and swallowed you whole. Where the hell did that come from?! Shit shit shit shit there was no way to take that one back. But you know what? Screw it. Hang buildup. The flood gates were wide open.

You took advantage of your rare bravery and kept going.

“Harry I love you. I’m in love with you. My heart is so full of you I can’t even call it my own anymore. I love you. I really, truly do. I love you so much I can feel it in my finger tips. And every time you look at me. You’re a piece of me. I dream of you. I don’t come without you. I take you with me, everywhere I go. I love you in a really big, stupid, annoying kind of way. Like in the way that I check the weather wherever you’re traveling to so I can know what it’s like where you are. I love you in the way that when you’re out of town I go and I visit with your Mom because I know how much she misses you and I take comfort in her home because it was once your home. I love you in the way that I save every voicemail and voice note you’ve ever left me and I listen to them when i’ve had a shitty day or when I just want to hear your voice and you’re not here. I love you in the way that is embarrassing and loud and over the top. You are the best part of any day.”

Floodgates, wide open. When you finally finished your speech you stood there, unmoving waiting for him to say something. When he stood there for a good minute not saying anything, you started to panic. Oh shit. Oh shit oh shit oh shit way too much why did you say all of that?! This was not the finale of Grey’s Anatomy, who did you think you were? Maybe you could still bust out of your bathroom window.

You stuttered and very shakily tried to take it back. “Oh my god I’m so sorry- you, you don’t have to say anything. Maybe you should go, it's clear you don’t feel the same way and we can just try and forget what I said.”

Harry cleared his throat before he readjusted his stance. He went reaching for the pocket in his sweatshirt, and pulled out a pile of letters and notes with a rubber band holding them together.

“I uh, I've been adding to this since the first week we met.” He cleared his throat but he didn’t want to spook you so he just slid them across the island.

There were dozens of letters and sticky notes, even old receipts that had his handwriting scrambled all over them. You figured they were song lyrics and ideas he had, but then you saw your name. He had written you dozens of love letters and notes. He dated them too, and he was telling the truth. The first one was dated the exact day you two had met. You knew because it was the same night you saw him perform for the first time. Your face was red as a tomato as you started to read them and you were suddenly crying again. You hadn’t even noticed but Harry had closed the gap between the two of you and his warm presence was behind you. He brushed his hand against your arm and spun you around to face him.

“I’ve loved you for forever, angel. I’ve loved you since you set foot backstage at that show so many years ago. We had just met and we had had literally one conversation but I knew. I just looked at you and I knew I was going to be with you. Some way, somehow. I didn’t care how long it took. And for the first couple of years of us being friends I settled for just that because I loved you so much it kind of scared me. Hence the pile of notes of me confessing my feelings time and time again.” Harry grabbed your hand and brought it to his chest before continuing, “I love you I love you I love you. Yeh pretty much my entire heartbeat. Y’my girl.”

You were positively sobbing and you felt like you were on fire. Were you dreaming? Did he just? Did he just say all of that? Did he just swoop in here and basically say that he’s been in love with you since the beginning of time? You were in awe of the man standing in front of you. This man who you had loved for years and who you had watched grow into this incredibly understanding, resilient, unashamedly vulnerable man who exudes love and kindness. How lucky were you to love him, and to be loved by him? It almost didn’t feel real, like some sort of daydream. A beautiful, beautiful daydream.

Your throat went dry and you suddenly forgot how to speak. You broke out into an uncontrollable snicker and managed to choke out, “Me? You, you love me too?”

Harry cradled your face in his hands and brushed his thumbs over the tops of your cheeks and let out a breathy laugh. “Yeah I do love. Loved yeh forever. Don't know why it took yeh so long t’see it. Will yeh let me kiss yeh now?”

Oh, hell yes. Harry brought his mouth down to yours and sealed your lips in the sweetest, most sipping kiss. He tasted like his favorite mint tea and his scent over took all of your senses. He kissed you over and over, somehow buttoning your lips together even more perfectly each time. When you both smiled into the kiss it broke and you stood there holding each other with your foreheads pressed together, panting. Harry looked up at you and you had never seen him smile so wide. You were sure he was actually in pain. He looked you up and down and tugged at the bottom of your (his) sweatshirt.

“What’s this hm? Another way you love me? By stealing all m’clothes and never returning them?”

You started giggling and told him to “Shut up H.” You bashfully grinned and hid your face in his warm neck and breathed him in.

“Hey now that’s not nice m’love. Thought yeh said you loved me?” he gave you a shit eating grin and you gave him a matching one.

“I do H, that I do.” That had him grinning at you wider than you had ever seen and the two of you spent the rest of the night wrapped around each other telling each other over and over again how much you loved each other. Well, and maybe showing each other how much you loved each other, too.

#I AM GOING TO THROW UP AND HIDE NOW BYE AJSKEKDDIDIE #pypfc #dreamy #harry styles imagines #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff #harry styles one shot #harry fluff

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lordheis · 3 years ago

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𝙲𝙷𝙰𝚁𝙰𝙲𝚃𝙴𝚁 𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚃𝚂.

𝐺𝐸𝑁𝐸𝑅𝐴𝐿

name: lord karl johannes heisenberg. alias(es): the metal lord, the iron steed, etc. gender: cisgender man. age: physically, teetering somewhere between his late 30s and early 40s. in actuality, 83 years old. date of birth: march 30th, 1938. place of birth: romania. hometown: the village has always been his home. languages: fluent in german and english. decent at romanian, but struggles with it as his family primarily spoke german within the factory walls. sexual orientation: bisexual. occupation: chief engineer and sole owner of the heisenberg factory and estate. also, the fourth lord serving under mother miranda’s rule.

𝐴𝑃𝑃𝐸𝐴𝑅𝐴𝑁𝐶𝐸

eye color: at some point in youth, light amber eyes turned to a yellowish gold. hair color: aged grey, peppered in with streaks of white. height: 6′1″ weight: roughly 220 lbs, a stocky build with both fat and muscle. scars: too many to count, on all parts of his body. scars are an ever-growing collection of his. the prominent ones are all on his face ( a large x on his right cheek, a longer gash across the bridge of his nose, and a plethora of smaller nicks on his jawbone and right eyebrow. ) one scar that stays particularly well hidden is the one that rests on his upper chest cavity, visible near his manubrium. a constant reminder of the day from which he never recovered — a young boy strapped to a medical table, while his chest was opened up and the cadou was brutishly inserted in his flesh. burns: a few, most of which occupy his hands and arms. mostly acquired from working in the smelteries or from prodding with steam engines.

𝐹𝐴𝑉𝑂𝑅𝐼𝑇𝐸𝑆

color: he’s always had an affinity for deep reds and glittering silvers. hair color: an odd question, but he supposes he looks back wistfully on the days of his own youth, when his hair was short and fluffed up with curls, an unassuming mousy brown. eye color: a faded hazel, green-grey hues that are filled with the gentleness and wisdom of age. they are the eyes of his mother. song: karl’s mother had an affinity for ballet. although she was never able to take him to see a production, he would be constantly familiarized with the music as his mother would play what songs she knew on piano during pastimes. karl would never tell, but a favorite of his will always be the nutcracker’s “waltz of the snowflakes” by pyotr ilyich tchaikovsky. movie: a favorite film ( and a massive influence in the games karl would play as a child ) is “the adventures of robin hood.” a classic story of the unlikely hero who protects those less fortunate ; what’s not to love? tv show: none. food: schwaebische maultaschen ; a large, doughy ravioli submerged in broth, often stuffed with meats and cheeses. a classic dish from his father. drink: then, it would have been soda. now, it’s whatever brandy's he can get his hands on. book: none. outside of school, he didn’t read much.

𝐻𝐴𝑉𝐸 𝑇𝐻𝐸𝑌…

passed university: no. had sex: yes. had sex in public: no, he can at least keep it in his pants that much. gotten pregnant: no. kissed a boy: no, but he can and will. kissed a girl: yes. gotten tattoos: no. gotten piercings: no. been in love: he was never given the chance. stayed up for more than 24 hours: yes.

𝐴𝑅𝐸 𝑇𝐻𝐸𝑌…

a virgin: by absolutely no means. a cuddler: yes, if you get him comfortable enough. a kisser: of course, but he’s the first to admit that he’s a bit picky. scared easily: no. jealous easily: typically, no. but even the strongest willpower can be broken under miranda, and in moments of weakness, he will find himself spiteful with alcina for gaining mother’s favor over his. trustworthy: usually no. but he’s changed his mind before, so who’s to say? dominant: in every sense of the word. he’ll go to excruciating lengths to ensure it stays that way. submissive: you wish. in love: he’s in love with the idea that one day, maybe he could be. single: yes, but this depends on who you ask. a few maidens from the village might argue otherwise.

𝑅𝐴𝑁𝐷𝑂𝑀 𝑄𝑈𝐸𝑆𝑇𝐼𝑂𝑁𝑆

have they self-harmed: not in the literal sense, but in a way that is equally detrimental. there are days in a row where he does not sleep, and barely eats. he will force his aching body to move and work along the factory floor, well beyond its means. not a moment to waste ; he has too much to get done, and not enough time. thought of suicide: yes. it seemed a simple, cruel escape from everything he has been through — although, he is not entirely convinced that miranda would allow him to resign with such ease. he wonders if this body can even truly die. attempted suicide: no. wanted to kill someone: yes, for as long as he can remember. have / had a job: yes. he has worked the factory since he was a boy ( under his father’s supervision ) and he tinkered with mechanics even earlier than that. have any fears: many, but if you asked him, he would refuse to tell you. he fears for his sins. he fears never escaping the cult. he fears for his siblings. he fears death, and he fears it most from the holy mother who watches him so closely. beyond death, he fears being made into an example : “ gaze upon him, children, and witness what will happen to those who choose to defy miranda. “

𝐹𝐴𝑀𝐼𝐿𝑌

sibling(s): a fraternal twin brother, lord alfons konrad heisenberg. outside of this, his later-gained “ siblings “ through the cult of the black god are alcina dimitrescu, donna beneviento, and salvatore moreau. parent(s): his father, lord alwin barduwulf von heisenberg, and his mother, lady matilde meier heisenberg. i suppose mother miranda falls into this category, unfortunately, seeing as she had adopted karl heisenberg after his family’s unexplained death. child(ren): none. pet(s): you don’t want to know what’s in that hole. [ sad sturm noises ]

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐘: @lastheiress <3 my beloved 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐆: you !!! do this its so fun

#thanks for tagging me ily!!!#yes im writing in that karl likes ballet because I LOVE BALLET so WHAT I SAY GOES #ᴍᴀɴᴏ ᴀ ᴍᴀɴᴏ. [HEADCANONS.]#ᴡᴇ ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰᴏʀ ᴡᴀɪᴛɪɴɢ! [OOC.]#suicide tw #self harm tw #surgery tw

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nuatthebeach · 3 years ago

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New Ginny

Link to AO3 for comments/reviews

"You know this was not what we had in mind for a low budget vacation, Winston!"

"You said you wanted to go somewhere you couldn't find at home."

"So, why would you take us to the beach all the way across the country, man?!" Sand shot in the air as an angry kick on the shore was executed effortlessly by the man Schmidt himself. "We live in freakin' LA! There's beaches crawling out of everywhere! And you wonder why no one lets you choose any of our vacation spots anymore, ya freak."

Cece threw up a hand in exasperation, diamond ring winking in the sun. "Yeah, why didn't you just tell us we were going to the beach, Winston? We could have saved a lot by just taking a car nearby instead of you surprising us with these 'low cost' plane tickets."

"See, you guys don't get it. I told y'all we were going on a cheap trip we ain't never done before, right?" Winston's smile brightened, the look of misguided, twisted comedy overtaking his expression with alarming speed. "And then, boom, I took y'all to the beach. On the East Coast. Ha! You just got Bishoped!"

Nick shook his head, right hand rubbing wearily against his face, looking just as tired as the rest of them. "You've gotta stop with your pranks, man."

"Y'all should've seen the look on my face - "

"Y- Seen the look on your face?"

The only word to describe the look on Schmidt's face was 'flabbergasted.'

" - When I swiped y'all's credit credit cards last month as you were all arguing with Nick over that Flat Earth theory video on YouTube - "

"When they asked the guy about his qualifications, he answered 'critical thinker'! Does that sound like someone who would just lie to you?!"

" - And for your only holiday weekends too! And, man, Nick is so broke right now! I was trying so hard to hold it in!" Winston was absolutely beaming with mirth at this point, reducing his friends' sense of camaraderie towards him to a terrifying low. "You know, you guys should really be checking your billing history more often, for real, someone could really be stealing from you, and you'd have no idea."

Before Winston could register Schmidt's increasingly tomato red face, something else in his periphery caught his attention. "Damn it, Ferguson, don't go near that water! It is not your friend, baby!"

"What type of idiot lets a cat roam free on the beach!"

While Cece attempted to alleviate the pressure between Schmidt's tightly clenched teeth, an irritated look overpowering her own, a low voice spoke from behind. "Are your friends always like this?"

Ginny, who had been laughing at her loftmates' antics and was surprisingly not feeling as bothered by Winston's tendencies as the rest of them (this vacation is, after all, well-deserved after the shitty week I've had, and every second counts, even if they are each spent planning Winston's upcoming ultimate demise), turned around to see an incredibly fit man her age speaking to her directly.

Sweeping her eyes over his form once, she leaned closer. "I'm afraid they are, yes, but I've got to warn you I'm not much better."

He seemed equally as amused as her. "How so?"

"Well, as you can tell from my completely American accent," she deadpanned in her British accent, amused when the stranger rolled his eyes in response, "my sense of humor is a bit dry. Superior, of course, but I'm told some people can't handle it."

"Natural selection will handle that, I hope," he chuckled.

"If we're lucky," she smiled. Feeling particularly introductory that late afternoon, she gestured halfheartedly to the obnoxious chatter several meters ahead of her. "My loftmates here, on the other hand, each have an equally questionable sense of humor themselves."

"Who, those few?"

She rolled her eyes, failing to prevent the corner of her lips from quirking upwards. Pointing to the man who was now dragging an increasingly wet and agitated cat from the Atlantic ocean, his jeans completely soaked from the knees down, Ginny drawled, "That idiot over there who cost us a proper, well-earned vacation is Winston. The only thing this man loves more than crazy pranks is his even crazier cat, who I'm pretty sure doesn't even know he exists. Needless to say, I've really never been more envious of a cat's attention span myself."

Moving on to Schmidt and Cece who were lying on the shore as far away from Winston as much as possible as a form of spite, Ginny explained matter-of-factly, "Schmidt and Cece don't have a cat, but that won't stop them from also making ear infection-inducing noises at six in the morning through our paper thin walls."

Pointing to the last couple on the beach, she continued, "Not like Nick and Jess are any better, though. They like to make weird noises too, but it's not always during sex, and that scares me more than it should anyone, really."

She gestured to herself. "And last but not least, you have me, whose most normal experience of today is having a fit guy at the beach wonder out loud about how five idiots managed to drag their even more fit loftmate out of her comfortable bed and into an expensive five hour flight. Just to do the same things that I easily could have done if I just took a simple albeit very long stroll outside. And I would have had a much better view, too, no offense to your rather peculiar looking ocean over here. What shade of contaminated gray would you call that hue, by the way?"

"No, that's a pretty accurate way of describing it, actually. I'd like to think there is some green in there, though. Just to give it the illusion of appearing to be clean." Reluctantly, Ginny had to agree.

The stranger's lips pressed firmly in amusement the entire time she was talking - ranting, more like - clearly trying to not give her the satisfaction of knowing how funny and charming he thought she was.

She found that endearing. They all try at first.

Eventually, he settled with: "So you and, uh, Winston, are the only two people in the loft who are not coupled up?"

She raised an eyebrow, impressed by his nerve. "Pretending to ignore your intentions for asking such a tactfully worded question, no, actually, when Winston's not too busy canoodling with his cat, he's canoodling his girlfriend - Aly - back at home, but she couldn't make it here today, lucky girl. So it's just me."

Finally smiling now, the stranger ignored her challenging look ('why are you so curious about my relationship status, you hot, inquisitive, none-of-your-business stranger?') and asked her teasingly, "Aren't there a lot of people to fit in just one loft?"

"I mean, we're from LA. Rent there is mad, so we need all the help we can get," she shrugged. "But, yeah, most definitely breaking some housing rules here or there. Is that something that bothers you?"

He smiled, something akin to arrogance taking over his face. She found that look more stirring than she'd like to admit out loud. "You'll find I'm not really the rule caring type."

"Oh? When would you imagine I'd be finding that out?"

She was beyond the point of caring how brazen she must have sounded to a complete and utter stranger. And if she was being honest with herself, she never did care, really. Besides, if she was going to fit a hot summer romance in the span of a whole day, she thought she might as well get on with it.

He cleared his throat, his gaze silently indicating how much he'd like to agree with her on that one, too. "Okay, Miss Dry Humor. I guess I know everything there is to know about your loftmates without risk of my mind being fully blown apart, now. What's your story?"

"What's yours?"

He chuckled at her retort though immediately furrowed his eyebrows afterward, as if he was confused by this question himself.

Ginny did not know what to think of that, though she found a strange fog overtaking her when she tried to ponder on her own personal history too.

Strange.

Instead, she prompted, trying to clear her mind, "You're a lifeguard here, right?"

He looked down at his form, a lanyard draped across his increasingly interesting collarbone and a whistle resting just above his bare chest.

"I can't swim."

She blinked.

"What?" she laughed. "Isn't that, like, a hazard for what you do?"

"Probably," he said sheepishly, rubbing his hand against the back of his neck. "I don't mean to, like, put anyone in danger or anything. It's a long story, but basically, I'm covering for my friend while he's, um...making noises with his girlfriend, as you said. Hence, the whistle right here. So I'm not really a lifeguard. But if anything happens, my other friend - an actual reliable lifeguard - can help you out. He's right over there nearby."

He pointed to another dark-haired, attractive man standing farther away from them along the shore. At first, Ginny thought he was winking at her, but when she saw the tension building along the shoulders of the stranger next to her, she knew who that teasing look was meant for.

"Sorry about him. He thinks I'm trying to make a move on you."

"Oh? Is that not what's happening right now?"

His cheeks flushed slightly. Ginny found it amusing how this man could be so confident but also so shit at flirting too. It strangely caused warmth to expand, but this time it was not through her lower belly.

"I don't want him to think that, though. I'd never hear the end of it."

It was not a direct answer to her question, but his eyes were so soft and mischievous that she had no doubt as to what he really meant.

She rolled her eyes anyway. "I thought you Americans were supposed to be more direct than that."

He scoffed, eyes lighting up at her jibe. "Oh, I see. You're one of those. Dry humor doesn't have to equate to being mean, you know."

Ginny laughed. "Well, that's why my loft arrangement works out so well with this lot over here," she jabbed her thumb to her friends, watching as Ferguson was attempting once more to drown himself in the ocean to escape his owner's clingy attentiveness. "My sense of humor is mean and dry, and their sense of humor compensates by being mean and wet."

He coughed. "Wet?"

She raised an eyebrow at him, pretending like she hadn't made any suggestive comment whatsoever. "Well, occasionally we do like to alternate, though."

"Of course."

"If I was always dry, and they were always wet, we'd have a different problem altogether."

He barked out a laugh, his cheeks flushing again. "How are you even real?"

"Well, anything's possible if you've got enough perv."

The man's breath hitched, his green eyes staring at her intensely. Despite her earlier insult, Ginny thought the color reminded her exactly of the ocean they were at now, something much stormier than the one back in California.

She found herself growing fond of this beach in a way she was not before.

"Do I know you? I swear I feel like I met you before."

She leaned closer to him, fighting feeling flustered herself. "I've probably got one of those memorable faces or something."

"Something like that." His eyebrows furrowed, but his lips were still upturned. "I'll certainly remember it much later today anyways."

His ears promptly reddened.

She gasped playfully, smiling as she hit him lightly on his very fit arm. "You are much smoother than you look. And randier."

He laughed. After a short while of them standing in a silence filled with smirks and silky sheet-like possibilities, he finally asked, "Okay, Miss Dry Occasionally Wet Humor - "

"Nice."

He bit back another chuckle. "What's your name?"

"What's yours?"

He rolled his eyes ("stubborn too"), he relented, "I'm Harry."

She chuckled, shaking his hand that was offered to her mockingly. She tried to ignore how well it fit in her own small one.

"Ginny."

He watched her nose crinkle, a deep smile spreading across both of their lips contentedly.

It was something tangible, she thought, as her insides fired up, not out of lustful heat - though certainly that too - but something warm, like receiving hugs after being shoved outside in a freezing tent in the woods for months and months, with nothing but a piece of marked parchment to keep one sane.

Parchment?

Something within her squirmed, and she thought that if she listened closely enough, the sounds of seagulls cawing in the distance could easily be replaced by something akin to an audience crooning in sympathy.

As if watching a pair of hopeless lovers on a silver screen.

Suddenly, Nick's comically high pitched scream filled the air, allowing Ginny to shake her head at her crazy thoughts.

"It's just a ghost crab, Nick!" Jess yelled from far away, annoyed as her boyfriend jumped on her back in fright, almost causing her to topple over herself.

"Why are there crabs and ghosts, Jess! You can't have both! You know I always told you that crustaceans are the cockroaches of the sea! It's a crazy world out here!"

At Jess's blank stare, Nick chuckled incredulously, his last brain cell firing meekly. "Wait. I get it. You're teasing me, Jess. Ghosts aren't real. Psh. Nice try."

Nick's neck cricked as he glanced around in paranoia.

Jess rolled her eyes, attempting to drop him down from her back but failing badly, his legs wrapped around her like a vice. "Ghost. Crabs. Nick. I don't know why you're even scared of them - they even walk sideways like you do!"

"They should not be blending in with the sand like that! They're all spooky ghosts! It's not right!"

"You. Are. So. Infuriating, Miller!"

As Nick hopped off of Jess to moonwalk away from the ghost crabs, a thought came to Ginny.

"They kind of remind me of..." Both Harry and Ginny said at the exact same time, causing them to stare at each other hastily.

When neither of them finished their sentences (what even was I going to say anyways?), Ginny huffed. "Right," she said, "Well, I've got to head back now before Nick finds out that it's getting late, which can only mean that more ghost crabs are bound to be crawling all over the place soon."

He laughed but quickly became alarmed when she made to leave. "Wait."

She turned around, hand cupping her forehead to squint at him through the waning sun. Harry swallowed, eyes drifting to her red hair in a daze.

Before he could say anything, however, Schmidt and Winston's obnoxiously loud voices were shrill above the sounds of the waves crashing ahead of them.

"Of all places for a prank!" Clearly, Schmidt's ability to let things go was about as weak as Ginny's right hook. "Why did you decide to take us here in the end?"

"As in, why the East Coast and not a beach in a whole other expensive ass country? Damn, now that would have been a better prank."

Four legs reached out to kick sand in Winston's face, Ferguson following with a screech.

"But to be honest, I couldn't wait to see what the sunset looks like on the other side of the country."

Pause.

"Winston! We are on the East Coast! The sun falls west at night time! Look at where the sun is now," Schmidt gestured aggressively behind him, where towering beach homes covered the view. "You can't see the freakin' sunset on this beach, man!"

"Aw, damn, my bad."

"How are you actually one of the more intelligent people I know in my life?!"

If there was one thing she and Schmidt shared, Ginny concluded, it was their inability to handle rage.

Her eyes flitted to Jess, who was trying to catch her attention.

Ginny chuckled, holding up a hand to let her loftmate know to wait there when she saw her smiling knowingly towards her and Harry. She watched as Jess's eyebrows waggled dramatically, stuffing her index finger through a hole she made with her other hand in repetition as she chomped down on her lip.

Completely unfazed by her loftmate's quirks at that point, Ginny turned to Harry again.

"If we can't do that sunset, I suppose I'll have to make plans for a sunrise tomorrow before we head back to LA, then. Join me?"

His answering smile could make a grain of sand feel alive.

She had the strangest feeling that the sound she could have sworn she heard a while ago was ringing faintly in her ear once more.

This time, she thought she heard boisterous whoops instead, clapping cheerfully as Ginny smiled one last time to Harry before finally walking toward her friends.

…

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#so i may have wrote a crack crossover for hinnys birthday #im a little late but here you go #hinny #meet cute #harry x ginny #ginny weasley #this was written for the harry and ginny discord birthday challenge #new girl #who's that girl #its gin #i wrote this a while ago so idk if i entirely love it but oh well

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draconica · 4 years ago

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Oooo, for the writing prompt, a little 7+4+1? Or just one, I might be a little greedy 😖🤣

7: Engagement sex 4: Petnames 1: Spicing things up in the bedroom

I made it work, anon ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

I also headcanon Ellis can be a powerbottom so enjoy that

When Ellis returned home from the shop one warm evening, he was humming softly to himself. There was a sly smile to his features as he gently jostled the plastic bag he had brought home. There was no groceries or anything that mundane inside. No, there was something very special inside of this particular carrier.

“Niiick?” he crooned in the hope that his boyfriend was home, and in the mood. Now, he was home, but as Ellis turned the corner into the living room he was met with a sight he wasn't quite expecting to see.

Nick was stood in a black suit - a proper, swanky, three-piece number – and holding a red rose. A soft song was playing on their stereo system, and the lights were turned down low. He had definitely been stood here for some time, waiting for Ellis to return home, and Ellis dropped his smile briefly. The gambler was smooth as silk at the best of times, but this was unexpected.

“Welcome home, sweet peach,” Nick led with, making Ellis blush – that damn pet name of his. “You good?”

Ellis scratched the back of his neck. “Uh, I'm jus' fine,” he smiled, setting down his bag for now, and gesturing to Nick as he took a step towards him. “What's this for?”

In a second, Nick's smile slipped a little, arching his brow. “...You forgot, didn't you?” He rolled his eyes, but that smile soon came right back as he stepped forward also, closing the gap between them and offering him the rose. “July 12th? The day we got out of quarantine?” Nick chuckled, leaning in closer and making it more personal. “The day we moved in together, made the new place official?”

A million thoughts swarmed Ellis's head at that point, taking the rose and knowing he was absolutely overcome with blushes. “O-oh… damn, I guess I did forget,” he giggled, tilting his head a little as his boyfriend leered closer. Even now, Nick was still the most damn attractive man he'd ever met, let alone dated. “M'sorry, darlin', just had a lot on my mind, I guess?” he shrugged.

Nick seemed to understand, nodding once before pulling Ellis in for a kiss. “It's all good, sport. You can make it up to me later. But for now...” he turned and clicked a remote in love control, turning down the music a touch, before his hand returned to where it belonged – holding his lover's.

“Ellis,” he began, looking down at his thumb caressing the back of El's hand. “It's been a hell of a ride to get here, huh? Fighting for our lives every day in the apocalypse, a year of quarantine, and now three years of living together. Before the Green Flu, I was at my lowest point. I… well, wouldn't be alive if I hadn't met you. The zombies were a distraction, but you were a reason to live. You mean the Goddamn world to me, Fireball, and I want to spend every day by your side. So… I have one question for you.” Ellis watched on, mouth dropping, as his boyfriend got down on one knee and produced a velvet box containing a thick silver ring. In the center, there was set a dark blue gemstone. “Ellis, mi tesoro, will you marry me?”

Needless to say, Ellis had not been expecting this today, and that was obvious given the absolute astonishment on his face at that moment. It almost made Nick want to laugh, but he was slightly too nervous for that.

Thankfully, Ellis broke into his lop-sided, brilliant Southern smile. “You sly sumbitch,” he chuckled. “Hell yeah, I'll marry ya!”

The gambler got to his feet, immediately bringing his lover closer into his arms with an unbreakable smile. The ring was a perfect fit onto Ellis's fourth finger, something else that Nick had been worried about, but seeing how snugly it sat made the older man's heart swell. “I love you, Overalls.”

“Love you, too, darlin',” Ellis responded as he brought Nick's face in for a kiss... and then another... and then his arms were around Nick's neck. Any distance between them was suddenly gone.

It wasn't unusual for their kisses to get out of hand, certainly in their earlier days where it seemed like sex was on the table every day (not literally, except for a few times Ellis can remember where they'd gotten adventurous…). That's when Ellis remembered what was in the bag he had brought home. Well, now he had no choice but to surprise his lover with its contents.

By now, Nick's kisses had moved to the mechanic's neck, and Ellis couldn't suppress a shiver as he found his favorite spot just below his ear. Many a hickey had been placed there before, and it was near-enough a certainty that he'd be getting a new one tonight.

“Nick,” he whispered, shifting his hand through the hustler's hair and smiling when he caught sight of the shiny new engagement ring on his finger. “Take me to the bedroom.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Nick chuckled before tightening his grip around Ellis's waist and hoisting him up, causing the younger man to gasp against his lips. “You don't have to tell me twice.”

Of course, Nick couldn't possibly carry Ellis up a whole staircase and into said bedroom. He wasn't a young man anymore, after all. Not that Ellis minded – it actually gave him a chance to grab the bag he'd brought home. Nick gave him an odd look as he did so, but his young fiancé had simply smiled, told him not to worry about it with a pat to the cheek.

Once they both stepped into the bedroom together, Ellis set the bag down once more and brought Nick into more kisses, having missed them in the thirty seconds they had stopped.

“How long were ya plannin' that for?” asked Ellis curiously as he slipped the black tie from Nick's neck, smiling at him.

Nick shrugged a little. “Few months,” he admitted. “Knew I wanted to marry you someday, seemed like the anniversary of getting out of that Goddamn pandemic was a good time.”

Ellis was now working on those pesky shirt buttons, granting him access to that chest hair he loved so much on Nick. “Romantic as usual,” he mused. “Gotta be honest… I was plannin' a lil' somethin' for us tonight, too. Nothin' big like askin' ya to marry me, so kinda puts my gesture in the shade.”

“Don't be modest, sweet peach,” Nick chuckled, allowing Ellis to remove his suit jacket and leave it on the floor – something he usually gets very picky about.

“Well...” Ellis slipped Nick's belt from his pants, and was pleased at the choice his lover had made – a black leather strap. Yes, this'll do nicely. “I know you like bein' in control 'n all, but I wanna show ya how we ride in the South.”

That piqued the gambler's interest, not in the least because Ellis was looping the belt around his hand, pulling it taught for Nick to see, and something about the sight was enough to set his erection at full mast.

“Ace...” he paused, needing to wet his lips when he found his mouth suddenly dry. “Do I get a say in this?”

“You certainly get to pick the safe word,” mused the mechanic, shifting his weight slightly on his hips as he played with the leather strap some more.

Nick must've been mad, or at least deeply in love, as he decided to shift control over to his little fiancé for the night. “All right,” he conceded, stepping out of his pants which, with lack of support, had pooled onto the floor. “Where do you want me, sugar?”

The mechanic's grin spread further up his cheeks. He led Nick over to their king-sized bed and sat him down. “Now, you go ahead and make yourself comfortable, mister gamblin' man, and I'll go slip outta these here greasy clothes.” With a little canter to his steps, he grabbed the bag once more and headed to their en-suite bathroom, shooting a look over his shoulder. “Recommend losing those there briefs, too. Won't be needin' them at the rodeo.” And with that, he disappeared into the next room, door shutting slowly behind him.

Nick had always been good at following instructions, and Ellis's were about as subtle as a sledgehammer to the face. So, as he stripped himself down completely and got comfortable, he took the time while Ellis was gone to think about some of the more memorable trysts in their relationship.

There was the very first time which had been during the apocalypse. It had been rough and hurried, considering they had just escaped death by the skin of their teeth, and it was more a carnal desire of the most basic of human instincts. Ellis had almost alerted a horde with how loud he'd been.

There was another time, during quarantine, where love had for the first time been entered into the equation. Namely, the first time they had said 'I love you' to each other. Nick had topped then, too. And he wasn't a picky partner by any means – after all, Ellis was young and full of testosterone, and sometimes he needed to fuck just as much as anyone else. Nick had come to enjoy bottoming, absolutely, but he was more or less the one in charge on most nights. Ellis never complained; quite the opposite, in fact. Nick was still lost in thought when suddenly the bathroom door opened at last, revealing Ellis in his attire for the evening: Nothing but a cowboy hat (and one engagement ring).

“Howdy,” he drawled as he leant against the door frame, still playing with Nick's belt in his hands. “Heard there was a no-good city slicker that I needed to take good care of. Assumin' that's you, handsome?”

Nick couldn't' help but smirk up at him, raising an eyebrow. Ellis was unbelievably adorable, especially whenever he was making effort to please him. That included… this. “Goddamn it, Ace,” he shook his head. “Didn't think this was how my night was gonna go.”

Ellis shot him an amused look, then slipped right back into character. “I'm the best darn rodeo rider this side'a Georgia,” he boasted, sauntering closer to the bed. “Ain't no wild stallion I can't tame. So, reck'n you'll be my best ride yet.” The mechanic reached into the bedside drawer to fetch the lube, and took a moment to stand beside the bed, looking over his naked lover. “Safe word?” he asked.

Nick nodded up at him. “Witch.”

Ellis frowned. “Damn, Nick, really? All the words in the entire American language and you had to pick one that reminds me of the time you almost got yourself killed?”

“You almost got me killed,” retorted the hustler, squinting at him. “You're the one who spooked the bitch.” But he shook his head, letting a smile return to his red face. “Fine. Safe word is 'wedding'.”

With a roll of his eyes, Ellis blushed a little as he set the lube down on the table for now. “Good 'nough for me.” Slipping back into character once more, the Southerner crawled his way onto the bed and straddled his lover, halfway up his chest, at one point his erection bobbing near Nick's face. The gambler just watched on with hungry eyes. “Now then… one thing I know about tamin' the wilder beasts is that they need to be trained, sometimes with force.” Ellis looped the leather belt around Nick's neck gently, watching the older's green eyes for any signs of discomfort or fear. There was nothing but trust, and a lot of hunger.

Ellis cinched the belt, not tightly, but enough for Nick to feel the presence of his around his throat. With a twist of his hand, Ellis curled the leather around his wrist and tested the length. There was plenty to work with, and he grinned. “Damn, look at'chu, city boy.” Ellis backed up his hips, grinding himself backwards onto Nick's cock, and watching in triumph as Nick's eyelids fluttered slightly. “I think I'm gonna really enjoy ridin' you.”

The helpless gambler chuckled as he rested his hands on Ellis's thighs, watching those hips move back and forth and craning his neck back a little. A moan almost made it's way out of his mouth, but not quite. Ellis had to try harder. “You're getting more into the kinky sex, Overalls,” he smiled, throwing in a wink. “I'll take credit for that.”

With a tilt of his head, Ellis's hand pulled back, tightening the belt a little like pulling on the leash of a disobedient dog. Nick gasped beneath him, moaning in the afterthought, which made the cowboy grin. “You speak outta turn like that again and you'll be in the doghouse,” he threatened. Reaching over to the nightstand, he took the open tube of lubricant and squirted the thick liquid onto two fingers. The look in his baby blue eyes was so very kinky, and Nick could feel his cock give a twitch in appreciation as he pictured what Ellis was about to do with those fingers.

Picking up the belt once more with his clean hand, those fingers then went behind Ellis, slipped between his cheeks and found his pucker. The younger man was a dab hand at prepping himself, and knew his own body inside and out. While he worked his magic, he moaned aloud and reintroduced his bucking hips back into the mix. The sight was amazingly erotic, and Nick couldn't resist reaching over to play with Ellis's neglected dick. Ellis, for the most part, seemed to allow it, even bucking up again into the gambler's grasp.

“You're thinkin' about it now, aren't ya, city boy?” Ellis chuckled with an open-mouthed grin. “Thinkin' about me ridin' ya real good, getting' ya all hot 'n bothered...” He leant in slightly, pulling once more on Nick's restraint until the man was a little closer. “Thinkin' about how fuckin' good I'm gonna feel around your cock once I'm wet n' ready?”

That accent was so thick, deep with lust, and it was driving Nick crazy. The gambler gave a groan, just as the belt loosened again and allowed him is breath back. His head fell back to the pillow, already seeing a black fuzz around his vision. “God… sweet peach…”

“Yes, my darlin'?” Ellis crooned, by now with three fingers knuckle deep inside of himself.

“Ple…” Nick panted as he closed his eyes. “Please.”

That was all Ellis needed to hear. With another lop-sided smile, the mechanic shifted until he was kneeling and scooted back a little on Nick's body. He kept a keen eye on his fiancé's face, even as he reached behind, took Nick's cock in hand, and slipped himself down onto it like he'd done it a hundred times before.

The card shark grunted and turned his head a little, and Ellis could hear a shift behind him as Nick moved his legs. His feet was planting themselves onto the mattress and knees bending up, in order to provide him with the leverage he needed. Ellis leant back, slipping down further onto Nick's cock while at the same time resting against Nick's thighs like a back rest. He was grateful for that.

“How about that?” Ellis nearly sang as he shifted on Nicolas's lap. “You're bein' a good boy after all.”

Nick said nothing, just looked up at his Southern lover with a smile on his face, throwing in a wink for good measure. Ellis chuckled and wrapped the belt once more around his wrist for another harsh tug, at the same time, lifting his hips and slamming back down in a harsh bounce. The leather crackled in his grip, and Nick drew another breath. His face was getting redder. “El,” he managed, grinding out the noise, and Ellis was careful to make sure he had enough air to speak, should his next breath utter the safe word.

“Giddy up,” purred the cowboy, reaching up to hold his hat before beginning his ride. Putting all his power to his thighs, up and down Ellis's hips went as he bounced away. The sweetest moans left his throat – couldn't rightly help it, as Nick had always been the best lay of his life.

Nick's hands found their way to Ellis's hips, gripping him there and guiding him on and off his dick. In no time at all, Ellis was fully into the sex, letting go of his hat to reach back and steady himself on Nick's knee as he continued to ride him hard.

“Fuck yeah,” Nick murmured to himself as he gazed up at the scene Ellis was blessing him with. He groaned soon afterwards, craning his neck, and smiled up at his lover. “The belt… please… fuck...”

Ellis grinned and slowed his thrusts down a little in order to tug the belt once more, harsher and tighter than previously. Nick's knuckles went white around Ellis's hips.

“Look at ya… enjoyin' yourself so much,” Ellis praised and drove his hips down once more, grinding back on Nick's length. “C'mon, city boy, you know you wanna come inside'a me...”

Nick could hear the blood rushing around his head, fell the pleasure begin to whirlpool around his cock, and did the only thing he knew he could do. He moved a hand to Ellis's dancing erection and gave him a tight sleeve to fuck into, watching with watering eyes. The Southerner groaned and dropped the leather strap in favor of bracing both hands on Nick's legs, rocking himself like crazy. The gambler drew a gasp of air, Ellis threw his head back, and then it all went white.

“NICK!” Ellis broke character at the last minute to shout his fiancé's name in orgasm. He spilled semen all up Nick's chest and some managed to hit his chin. The sight was erotic enough to send the older man tumbling off the precipice himself, filling Ellis up until he was overflowing. Ellis moaned and lifted himself off for the last time, feeling warm liquid seep down the insides of his thighs.

With a sigh, Ellis leant forward and braced his hands on Nick's shoulders to prevent himself from falling atop him. The cowboy hat fell from his head and onto the floor beside the blunt end of the belt. The mechanic looked up at last, seeing Nick with his eyes closed and drawing in large breaths. He blushed as he reached up to carefully removed the leather from his neck, letting it clatter to the carpet.

“Darlin'?” Ellis whispered as he lifted himself off of Nick, in the process grabbing some tissues in order to clear them both up. “Nick.”

Nick opened his eyes at last, letting them fall onto his cute young lover as he grinned. “Even after all these years...” He reached out to cup El's cheek, rubbing his thumb there. “...you still surprise me, Overalls.”

Once the necessary clean-up had been finished, Ellis crawled back onto the bed and cuddled right up to his gambler, running his hand through his fine chest hair. “Glad you enjoyed the show, Nick.” He looked down, admired the ring still snugly on his finger. “Yeah, not quite how you pictured your night goin', huh?”

“No, sir,” agreed Nick and moved his hand up to lace their fingers together. “But if this is how the rest of my life is gonna go, I think I'm okay with that.”

With a short laugh, Ellis reached up to kiss him, rubbing his thumb along Nick's jaw. “Love you, city boy.”

#nellis #nick/ellis #l4d2 #draconicauthor #its so good to be writing them again asdfgfjkdgh ;-;#anonymous

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