#dark stain trim beige walls

[haylee-scribbles]

Foyer Mudroom Omaha

Example of a large mountain style dark wood floor and brown floor entryway design with beige walls and a dark wood front door

[mastermigraciones]

Traditional Dining Room

[alongtaleoffashion]

Home Office Built-In in New York

[vegetarianburrito]

Guest (Hawaii)

[corporatefrog]

↳˗ˏˋ loose change ˊˎ˗ ↴

level 4 - make it decaf

featuring: yn meeting a technologically stunted temporary accountant inside the popular coffee shot Tweek Bros Coffee

notes: finally knowing excel has done something good for me. it's helped me write a 6 page chapter of a fan fiction. how wonderful.

series masterlist

previous level | next level

I’d finished my episode of Walk the Walk with Jimmy Valmer just as my car pulled into an empty spot in front of the Tweek Bros Coffee. 

I wonder what Jimmy was like in person? His humor certainly showed through in the few episodes I’d listened to so far. Liane sounded like she could have talked for hours about him and still have more stories to share. Or is that just how small town social circles work? When you’ve lived with people your whole life, you’ve got a lifetime’s worth of stories to share. I’ll have to keep an eye out for him or any of his interesting guests. Although, if I ever met that Clyde guy I don’t think I’d be able to take him seriously. “Daddy wants Milfy” will be running through my head until the day I die. 

Stepping out of my car, I assessed the exterior of the cafe. The front of the shop acted more as a peak into the interior with large windows reaching from the ground to well above my head. The windows were cut off on the outside by a sign reading Tweek Bros Coffee with the logo of a cup with a coffee bean drawn on it sitting next to the name. I’d hoped to sit outside and observe the town after I’d gotten my coffee but there didn’t seem to be any outdoor seating save for a wooden bench next to the main entrance. Though the large windows would definitely allow for an abundance of natural light and great people watching so it would probably feel the same. 

Walking through the door, I was hit with the strongest coffee smell I’d ever experienced. It was as if I’d walked straight into a silo of coffee grounds and were slowly being engulfed and crushed by them. 

Morbid much?

I’m just letting myself be immersed in my environment.

Much of the indoors were visible from the sidewalk but it was easier to take it all in without the glare of sunlight on the windows. The dark brown flooring contrasted the lighter shades which covered the walls. Green trim accented the beige walls and the countertops and tables were a shade of brown between the floor and wall creating a calming color palette.

“Welcome to Tweek Bros Coffee!” A voice nearly screeched from the back of the shop. The clattering of metal alerted me to the location of the voice. Shelves of coffee grounds behind the counter shook as an unseen force bumped against them, each quake of the shelf being accompanied by a cry from the voice. 

Suddenly, a body popped up from behind the counter next to the cash register. It was a man with blond hair sticking out at odd angles wearing a crooked apron with an abundance of stains across its white surface. 

“What can I get started for you? Our special is a toasted coconut- wait, I mean, a chocolate mint- not that’s not it either.”

—

Name: Tweek Tweek

Age: 22

Status: Underprepared Barista

Fun Fact: Tweek’s written three apocalypse novels to try and deal with his stress and they’ve become a pretty big hit on Tumblr.

—

The barista began to mutter different coffee combinations to himself, a hand tangling itself in his hair. Behind him, a large chalkboard read TODAY’S SPECIAL: CHOCOLATE CARAMEL LATTE in jagged white letters. However, the barista didn’t seem to notice this sign as he continued to mumble and shift from foot to foot. Should I be saying something right now?

First person I meet and they’re losing it in front of me.

Well, I met Liane first! So maybe this guy is just an outlier. 

Let’s not forget Eric then if we’re counting Liane. 

Oh yeah… Is everyone in South Park like this? 

I raised a shaky hand, unsure how to interrupt the borderline breakdown in front of me. Before I could say anything, the barista let out an aggravated cry. Both of his hands buried themselves into his hair and tugged at the strands as he looked frantically around the room.

“Oh god, I forgot the special! How am I supposed to run this place for a month if I don’t even know today’s special?” He began to pace along the counter, eyes darting everywhere except the sign which read the special he was trying so hard to remember, “I’m going to forget the security code and I’ll be standing here at five am with the alarm blaring because I can’t remember and then the cops will show up and think I’m a criminal and I’ll be sent to prison forever-”

Another man approached the register behind the counter. His black hair was much more maintained than the blond’s. He wore a blue t-shirt with a nametag pinned on the chest that read Craig. He carried a folder in his hands with a pen rolling precariously from side to side as he walked.

“It’s chocolate caramel latte, Tweek.” He said, setting the folder on the counter to free his hands so they could stop the barista’s pacing. 

—

Name: Craig Tucker

Age: 23

Status: Makeshift Accountant

Fun Fact: In the fall, Craig will be beginning an internship at NASA! Until then, he’s helping Tweek watch the cafe

—

With hands on Tweek’s shoulders, Craig shifted his direction so Tweek was now facing the chalkboard. 

“It’s always written there. We write it every morning.” He said flatly, dropping his hands from Tweek’s shoulders before turning to me. 

“What can we get started for you?” He asked. I snapped back into focus, not realizing he was speaking to me due to his emotionless tone. 

“Oh- yeah- um, I’ll have the…” I sputtered, eyes scanning the menu to figure out what I wanted. I had been so caught up in Tweek’s outburst that I hadn’t gotten the chance to look. Behind the counter, Craig stared at me with uninterested eyes. A soul-sucking gaze which made me more frantic in my search. If I were Tweek, I’d be freaking out too. This guy is more intimidating than my boss!

I think it’s less Craig and more anxiety disorder. 

“I’ll have the special!” I forced out, saying the first thing that came to mind, quickly adding, “Medium, iced, and with almond milk if you have any, please.” My voice grew more hesitant as I reached the end of my order, mind racing with worries. Did I ask for too many things all at once? Does he think I’m pretentious for wanting almond milk? WAIT ISN’T THE TOWN AT WAR OVER ALMOND MILK? 

“That’ll be $4.39.” Craig’s voice cut off my panicked thoughts. I nodded, not trusting my voice, and grabbed my wallet from the tote, holding out a card to pay with. 

Craig swiped the card and handed it back to me, turning with the folder and pen in hand before I could squeak out a meager “Thank you”. He handed Tweek the receipt with the order. The two shared a few words then Craig pressed a kiss to his forehead and walked out from behind the counter to a table in the corner. As he sat down, he looked up and our eyes met. I quickly averted my gaze. Shit. Hopefully he didn’t think I was weird for staring. 

Oh he totally did. And he thinks you’re a mega huge weirdo. He’s going to tell everyone in town that you’re a huge freak.

“Caramel Chocolate- AH- Chocolate Caramel Coffee!” Tweek’s voice brought my attention back to reality. His hand twitched as he set my drink on the counter, liquid splashing against the lid of the cup. I opened my mouth to thank him for the drink but Tweek had turned back to the counter and began cleaning the equipment before I could get the first syllable out, leaving me alone once again.

The people I’ve met so far haven’t been very social. Liane seemed kind but no one else seemed to be much of a talker. Unless it was Eric who’s yelling at you at 11 am because you rented out his bedroom. 

I looked around the cafe for an empty place to sit. A group of teenagers sat at one while an older man on a laptop sat at another and Craig occupied the table in the corner. There was an open table next to Craig but I didn’t want to seem weird for sitting at it. 

You look more weird standing and staring at the table. Go sit, dumbass. 

Walking like I didn’t care where I was going (while very much caring where I was going), I plopped myself down at the table beside Craig’s. Taking a sip of my drink, I hummed as the sweet caramel chocolate flavor hit my tongue. I can see why this place would be a local favorite!

Deciding to get some work done while I finished my drink, I pulled out my laptop and began to make a checklist of tasks to complete during my time in South Park. The whole reason I’m here is to find new businesses that we could rent our machines to so that’s probably a good place to start.

I typed out “find networks for boss” then entered down to the next bullet point. Staring at the computer, I mulled over what else I needed to do but came up empty. 

Well that was over fast. 

It’s not like I chose South Park! I don’t know anyone here!

Well then add ‘Make Friends’ or something, I don’t know.

I typed “make friends” on the second bullet point. Now onto the third…

I opened a new tab and began scrolling through etsy. I just want to see what new Mob Psycho merch there is. Totally not scrolling because I have nothing else to write.

I took another sip from my drink, eyes wandering to the table next to me. Craig sat hunched over a computer, nose almost touching the screen as he typed. His eyes shot over to me and I quickly looked away.

Don’t snoop. Don’t snoop. You don’t know this guy and it’d be weird to sit at the table next to him and snoop on whatever he’s doing.

Dude I’m a 22 year old living in a random town in the asscrack of nowhere with no friends, I’m going to snoop. There’s no work getting done here anyway. 

Using my laptop as a guard, I glanced at Craig's table over the top of my laptop to make it seem like I was just looking at something at the top of my screen. 

Dun dun dundun  dun dun dundun DUN DUN DUN

Is that the mission impossible theme? 

I’m making an atmosphere. 

With the soundtrack playing in the back of my mind, I continued the discrete mission of checking Craig's vibe. An extremely important mission. Much more important than doing the literal job that I begged to be hired for.

He had the folder open on the table and was squinting down at the papers inside. After a moment of looking, he’d turn to the computer and type a few things then went back to the sheet. A frown tugged at his lips that pulled them deeper than the resting bitch face he seemed to have. His eyebrows furrowed as he looked back and forth between the folder and the computer, lips moving in words I couldn’t hear as he continued to furiously type onto the computer. 

With a huff Craig leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. He grabbed a phone from the other side of the table then lifted it to his ear. His finger tapped on the table as the phone rang. He continued to look between the folder and the computer until someone seemed to pick up. 

“Hey, Kyle.” Craig greeted, pausing as the person on the other end responded, “Well, I’m alive. Do you know how to use excel?” Craig let out a slow sigh as he listened to the other person. “I’m asking because Tweek’s parents are gone for the month so he’s in charge of the cafe which means I’m in charge of the accounting…And you think Tweek is any better at math? I handed him a calculator and he screamed when it beeped. I’m just trying to figure out how this shit works.”

Craig’s frown deepened at their response, “No, I can’t just use QuickBooks Pro. Tweek’s parents use excel so I have to use their sheet but it’s set up weird and everytime I click something an error message pops up- Yes, I did google it, smartass. Aren’t you supposed to be in charge of the finances for that shithole you and Stan bought?” Craig sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose, “I knew it was a mistake to ask you. Thanks for nothing, dickwad.”

Craig hung up the phone with a few curses spilling from his lips, probably aimed towards the person he was speaking with. I refocused my eyes on my laptop in case he glanced my way. I hadn’t planned on eavesdropping in on his conversation. It felt less like snooping and more like full blown spying now. 

Spying doesn’t matter. He needs someone to teach him excel and you have 4 years of tutoring experience with excel and a desperate need for friends. Get in there!

No way. Craig radiates “Don’t talk to me” energy and I’m not in the mood to reveal that I was listening in on his conversation. 

Stealing a glance at Craig, he didn’t look any more approachable. His fingers continued to tap on the table and his foot had begun tapping on the ground. The looks from the folder to the computer grew more rapid as Craig grew agitated with the work. Normally, I’d offer to help but I really didn’t want to risk being the target for whatever aggression was slowly building inside him.

Okay then. Sit there and be lonely for the next three months. Maybe we can be friends with Eric?

Oh, fuck no. I need to make some friends. 

“Hey, I don’t mean to interrupt but were you trying to use excel?” I interjected, forcing the words out before I could second guess myself. Craig looked at me from under his eyebrows, not moving his head from its bowed position over its work. 

“Were you listening to my conversation?” He asked.

“Well it wasn’t exactly quiet and this room’s pretty small,” I covered my nerves by sipping my drink, trying not to show how petrified I felt.

Craig stared at me for a moment, seeming to weigh the pros and cons of asking a stranger for help or continuing to struggle through these documents on his own. I continued to sip my drink, worried that if I moved too quickly I’d scare him off. His eyes left me and looked down to his papers, comparing them with the computer screen for another moment as though they’d suddenly make sense so he wouldn’t have to indulge a random person in their savior complex. 

Deciding that dealing with me was better than waiting for Kyle to change his mind, Craig turned the computer in my direction. I let out the breath I’d been unconsciously holding.

“Their equations don’t make any sense.” Craig hovered the cursor mouse over a cell, double clicking to reveal a combination of cell references and absolute values. Setting down my drink, I closed my laptop and shifted to the empty chair closer to Craig’s laptop. 

A few stickers covered the back and keyboard area, all of them space related. On the back, a NASA sticker covered the most space in the top left corner. A spaceship flew across the empty space next to his mousepad, hurtling towards another sticker of the moon. 

 I refocused on the screen, trying to understand what the equations were trying to calculate. 

Just don’t fuck it up. 

Thanks. That’s not stressful at all.

The cell references were located in completely random locations. The equation Craig was referring to was trying to add the word “Coffee Beans” to the amount of tips earned over the totality of last month. Who made this sheet? What were they even trying to figure out?

“Is this how the equation was when you opened the file?” I asked, eyes staying on the screen as I spoke. 

Craig was silent for a moment. I broke my concentration on the screen to look at him. His eyes stared blankly at me, no thoughts appearing to be moving behind his eyes. 

It’s like college all over again. 

“The letters are cell references. They grab the data in that box and do whatever you tell it to,” I turned the computer to show him what I was referring to, “This equation is trying to add a word to a number which isn’t possible. Did you click this box while the equation was selected?” 

Craig shrugged, “I don’t know. I clicked a few boxes but then everything got messed up.” 

I chewed at my lip as I waited for him to elaborate. When he didn’t continue, I sucked in a breath and looked back at the excel sheet. My brain shifted to focus on the current set up of the page. 

I clicked from cell to cell, deciphering the intended structure of the sheets and figuring out what Craig had done to fuck it up. If I compare the previous month’s finances to this month then I can find out what equations they used and apply them to the current numbers. Then I can show Craig how to follow the previous month’s structure so he knows how to fix any misclicks he makes in the future. I’ll have to teach him how cell references work too. 

My eyes widened as I noticed an amortization table on the last page of the file. Are they seriously expecting him to understand this? I jumped back to my computer, flipping through the files until I found the notes from my tutoring job. I really didn’t feel like teaching someone how to do these but I doubt Craig would be able to figure this out on his own.

A slow breath left my lips as I assessed the slowly growing list of “Things to teach Craig”.  Am I seriously going to do this? 

Are you literally complaining about the task you offered to do?

Yeah but I wanted adventure! Not to do someone else’s financial sheets. 

Beggars can’t be choosers. Your only friend right now is Eric Cartman. 

I mentally groaned at the reminder. Let’s get this started. 

“So we’re going to start with the basics. This is a cell, a cell sits on the grid and has a letter number label. When you open an equation with an equal sign and click a cell, that letter number combo shows up as a cell reference.” I continued to explain the functions of excel to Craig, falling back into the usual speech I’d give as a tutor. 

Craig mainly listened, rarely interjecting the lecture with questions in favor of taking in the information. I became an in-person youtube video for him. I honestly felt like one too. Once I’d gotten into the groove, I began resetting the sheets back to how Tweek’s parents had them originally and added notes in the empty cells for Craig to reference later on his own. 

Whenever a slightly louder bang sounded from the kitchen, Craig would look over to ensure that Tweek hadn’t broken any equipment or himself. It was endearing to see someone with such a flat disposition keep a lookout for someone else so diligently. Granted, it was probably because it would be a shit ton of paperwork and money to replace anything in this place while the technical owners were away but he wouldn’t be asking someone for help with the excel sheets if he didn’t care. 

Even when his attention was drawn away, Craig returned his focus to the computer almost instantly. I hadn’t had someone listen closely to me explain how to use excel before. When I’d been a tutor, people would listen enough to get through the assignment then tap out but Craig watched the screen so intently I’d forget he was breathing. 

Empty cups piled up around us as the natural light through the windows turned to overhead LEDs and lamps. When Tweek brought me a second drink, I tried to pay but he waved me off. Or I thought it was a wave. It could’ve just been a jolt of his hand. Either way, I made sure to set aside some cash to put in the tip jar before I left as a thanks. We continued to work until I leaned back to stretch and noticed the clock on the wall behind the counter sat at 5:32 pm. 

No fucking way we just spent five hours teaching someone excel.

The cafe had emptied of its moderate crowd from when I’d first arrived. Craig and I were the only people who remained at the tables. Tweek sat behind the counter, eyes focused on his phone. Whatever he watched seemed to be helping him relax. A small smile tugged at his lips and his jolting movements had stilled. 

Can’t believe he’s watching baby sensory videos. You do that too when you get anxious. 

How am I supposed to know what he’s watching by just looking at him?

He’s an anxious dude who looks around our age. It’s an educated guess. 

Craig and I wrapped up our lesson. He thanked me for helping- a flat thanks which still sounded odd with his nasally voice-  which was honestly more than I expected. I left him my phone number in case he had any other issues and explained I’d be in town for the next few months. Craig didn’t pretend to listen to me. He accepted the paper with my number and put it in his pocket as he began to clean the mess of cups around us. 

I awkwardly sat at the table as Craig headed behind the counter to begin preparing the cafe to close. So, do I just leave now? They don’t seem like the type to chit chat after a stranger helps fix their finances. 

Dude yeah get the fuck out of there. You made the connection, now go.

I packed up my belongings, bidding the pair goodbye before heading out the door of Tweek Bros Coffee. The sun had dipped near the skyline of the mountains in the distance. Not quite a sunset but the colors of the sky had begun to shift to warmer tones. The shifted lift cast a golden glow over the street, giving the leaves of the trees along the street side a deeper color with longer shadows stretching across the sidewalk. 

I watched my own shadow as I walked to the car. Its elongated legs took miniscule steps to cross the parking lot, forced to walk alongside my legs which were stubs in comparison. I felt bad for holding the shadow back with my too short legs. It probably longed to bound across the town, embracing the full range of its movement and exploring the world for all it has to offer. 

Or it’s a fucking shadow and you’re projecting. 

Yeah, maybe. 

Unlocking my car, I slid into the seat and began my trek back to Liane’s house.

First day in South Park done. Three months to go. 

taglist [reply to be added]:@n0tangeliccc , @valstarroz , @kenanonsthoughts , @axteroiid , @hand-writxen , @that-kid-fromtheplayground  , @woahnotmecryingoverafanfiction, @h3artilly, @sula0kin, @ryenwritess , @emlovesredbull

[lady-harrowhark]

Nutmeg!

from this ask meme :)

nutmeg ⇢ how’s your room/home decorated? do you have a specific theme or style going on?

i had another "nutmeg" ask, so i answered over here BUT i figured i could split my response into two parts just for fun :) except this second part is very long because some very stupid things happened before i could make my place fit my style lol.

so here's the thing: the guy who lived in my place before me did a lot of DIY things he should not have been DIYing. a lot of the things he did are harmless but not ideal. for example, all of the nail holes on the trim and door frames have been "filled" with clear caulk instead of spackle, so basically it did absolutely nothing to hide the holes, can't be painted over, and over time has grown discolored so now there are these sort of beige-ish rubbery patches all over the trim and door frames which are way more noticeable than it would have been to just leave the nail holes in the first place. little by little i've been scrubbing the caulk off to refill properly.

some of the things are harmless and simply not my preferred aesthetic. for example, this wall in the bedroom where he stained a bunch of 2x4s different colors and just... nailed them to the wall? i originally thought i'd just do a sort of whitewash thing on that wall but i ended up just fully painting it white and still got the effect i was after.

here's a "before" picture, ft. Posy helping to supervise my unsuccessful whitewash experiments:

and after:

and then some of the things the previous guy did i thought were simply not my preferred aesthetic but still functional, but then they turned out to be not my preferred aesthetic and also so poorly DIYed that they were actively damaging the house.

enter the DIY dungeon bathroom from hell.

this looks largely fine from the picture from before i moved in, right? it was rather dark, i would have preferred a bathtub given that there isn't another bathroom, and the window into the shower was kind of odd, but it was functional. or so i thought.

upon moving in, i quickly realized several things about the shower.

it was quite narrow, so i was always banging my elbows on the walls

the ostensibly fancy showerhead was installed in such a way that in order to be under the water, you had to basically stand in the doorway which then splashed water out all over the floor, and

it was tiled in the worst possible material for a shower

you may notice that the floor and shower are made of the same type of tile. i think it was some sort of slate, but the thing about this type of stone is that it's really porous, especially if you don't seal it, and it really shouldn't stay wet, i.e., it shouldn't be used for a shower. what happens if unsealed porous stone is used for a shower? i can tell you!

it soaks up water like a sponge and doesn't dry out between uses, meaning that the bathroom always had that cavelike wet stone smell

the texture means that soap and residue builds up immediately, but is nearly impossible to clean. when i scrubbed, the stone was so soft that it literally started turning back into mud (pictured below)

in turn, that meant that every time i banged my elbows into the wall or brushed up against the tile, i came away with dirt/mud on me

minerals start leaching out of it, leaving huge calcium deposits and my favorite, rust that runs down the wall and looks like blood (which you can see in the picture)

the stone just starts literally crumbling away (also pictured below)

all of that was bad enough, but then one day i discovered that the carpet in my bedroom on the other side of the wall from the shower was soaking wet, so somehow the shower was leaking, possibly just soaking through the tiles. the soonest any contractors in town were available was three months away, so in an attempt to prevent so much water leaking out, i duct taped garbage bags down and then put a big rubbermaid tub in there that i would stand in while i showered to collect the water. after each shower, i would bucket the water out of the rubbermaid tub and into the toilet. and i was still getting water in the bedroom.

so, in the end, once the contractor ripped everything out, what was actually happening was that the pipe that goes to the showerhead wasn't braced correctly and the water pressure wiggled it loose so that it was just spraying water behind the walls, which then leaked down under the floor and into my bedroom. we also found surprises such as the hot and cold water lines being backwards, the ceiling lights not actually being secured to anything (just propped into holes cut in the ceiling), the area around the drain hadn't been filled and was just a gaping pit under the tile, and the paneling on the walls not actually being paneling, but snap-together floorboards that he'd nailed to the wall.

after all that, here's the final result:

pretty much everything is new (even some of the drywall and parts of the door frame had to be replaced) except for the medicine cabinet and ceiling lights, which i repainted, and the toilet. it's nice to have an almost entirely new bathroom where i got to pick nearly every detail, but i do wish i hadn't had to go through so much water damage to get there lol.

the funniest part of this whole thing is that i got curious about this guy, googled his (very unusual) name, and found his public "home improvement inspo" pinterest board full of pins that he very clearly attempted to replicate (e.g., my hallway is painted in thick tan and white stripes, and he had several pins of hallways painted in stripes the exact same colors). and yes, the bathroom was one of them, except the one he was attempting to replicate had blue tile and the window wasn't so much a window as just a half-wall with glass in the top portion. it also had a glass door on it, but to be fair, in the picture the door was open so he probably missed it.

all of this to say: pinterest and plumbing do not mix no matter how much HGTV you've been watching. hire a professional, or the next person will have to.

[amaltheatoast]

The building of metal and glass rose out from the plain desert field, giant black windows round the skyscraper as high as the eye can reach. Entering, a cold gust of wind rushes through my clothes and hair, gripping onto me as if trying to push me back from where I came.

Walls bare and beige, gray and white, ugly colors plain and unprovoking. No one like me here, not even pictures of workers or families on the walls. Not a trace of person, no pencils or papers, only monitors and blank ugly walls. Static. The hairs on the back of my neck rise as something grows closer, descending from the highest of the high floors. Seeming to shake each pane of glass from its metal-holding frame with its lumbering steps.

My mind can picture it, the beast from my last years. Bounding like a giant puppy with siney limbs, trim and thin. A fox's head connected to the agile body of a wolf all bound in a tan hide like that of a deer. Deceivingly cute, sly and deadly. Shedding fur as the beast finally reached the bottom floor, my floor. The hide is tan no longer, black and seeming to burn like a dark ember, radiating heat of anger and sadness. The animal stares at me, staring at my drab clothes, at the fat around my tummy, always focused. It screams a roar of anguish, loss. Still staring, the beast begins to walk.

Elevator. There’s an elevator to my right. Up, up. Pressing the next floor button fervently as none of the others will light. Elevator music plays in my ears, what would normally be a calming beat is soured by the sound of the burning beast scratching up the stairs, screaming its normal scream, that of insult as well as injury. The music morphs into its whimpering cry. Hitting the next floor, I take a step onto an ugly green carpeted floor with a leather couch and a plain coffee table, a red ox head mounted onto the otherwise plain and boring office wall. The room smells of coffee and gunpowder, as well as dog and melted ice-cream. The beast appears from the stair doorway, looking around the room to see its past. Something it will never get back to. Ice-Cream stains and a stale coffee scent.

The creature starts its chase, reaching its thin front limbs towards me in an effort to hold me to its hard chest where its black fast beating heart sits, burning as the rest of its body is. Trying to trap me in its deadly hug as it did all the others. We are at the top floor, there was only the bottom and then here. Looking out the window as the beast lumbers towards me makes me sure of this fact.

Kitchen drawer. A dull knife used for opening packages lies in the kitchen drawer under the broken and splintered coffee pot, next to an empty gun. The beast lies still, looking at three perfect holes in the poor wooden walls, 3 small o’s. Running its paws over these holes, the beast releases another cry of loss and anger. The knife is in my side pocket and the gun is in my hand. The burning creature knows that the gun is empty, knows what happened to the last three bullets, yet it still stops, staring yet again as it so often does.

The beast leaps, the knife is in my hand now, the monster lands on me, its ember skin burning my arms and legs as it tries to embrace with its clumsy and skinny form. The knife enters its chest and I can feel its burning insides as the blade makes its way through, it screams, clutching me tighter as if begging me not to go, though it’s the one going. I drag the hand holding the blade down over the ugly things belly, digging further in, feeling every nerve snap and every muscle tear. The heat dies as the beast dies.

The beast now lay on the floor beside me, the burned carbon layer shedding into the fig ure of a man, a man with his wifes blood on his hands. He lay silent and still. The earth swallows the building and I wake up in a dark car after the casket was lowered, the air inside stale as a smile tinges my lips, gone for good.

[fernyfarms]

It's been about a month, and the first real step of the atelier remodel is finally done

Story time: once upon a time, back in mid-October, I tried to hang a shelf. I have hung shelves before, just not in this house (which is a century house, for context - those of you who know old houses may be able to tell where this is going).

Anyway, I drove the first nail in just fine. The second popped right in, but not in a good way - more like there was a void behind the wallpaper. I pull nail number two out (with my fingers, not a good sign), and poke around, and it does, indeed, feel like there's a hole behind the wallpaper.

Alarmed, I start tearing down the wallpaper (which isn't how that's supposed to work - the last room in which I took out wallpaper, it was a whole thing), only to find that not only is there a hole right where I was trying to put the nail, but there's a crack running in the plaster from the bottom left corner to the top right corner of this section (from floor to ceiling, but the top crack ended above a doorway - the crack wasn't across an entire wall, just this section between door and other wall). Not only is there this large crack, but the wall ALSO MOVES. Like, I could barely press on it, and it bopped back and forth.

Alarmed, I called some construction guys, and they were able to come out the next day to check it out. Upon viewing the issue, the construction guy was also alarmed, which paradoxically made me feel better.

They said I could demo that section myself and save some money (heck yes), and then they'd come hang drywall for me later that week, which they did. They left the "mudding" (applying drywall compound to fill the cracks) to me, also to save money, and they gave very detailed instructions for how to do that, too. 10/10, would hire again.

And now, it's about a month later, and the mudding step is finally done. 💪

I've decided to take the opportunity to completely redo my atelier, which I had planned on doing eventually anyway. So, after painting the walls, I'm also going to paint the ceiling to match, then sand, stain, and seal the floors, then probably hit the trim with some wax or something. I also want to put in some sort of wainscoting because previously, there was mock wainscoting achieved using wallpaper, and while I didn't like the colors so much, I liked the look of it.

I don't have a pic of the floors, but there are currently three colors of wood in the room and that fact drives me nuts. The trim is walnut (and dark brown). The perimeter of the floor is oak (and is a golden brown). The center of the floor is probably pine (and tan/beige, except for where the previous owners GLUED A RUG TO THE ORIGINAL WOOD AND LEFT GLUE STAINS SOAKED INTO THE WOOD OMG).

So, yeah, floors will need some sanding before I can stain.

Anyway, yeah, this is a little update on what I've been working on for the past month instead of arting, because this is my art room and I had to move all my supplies and projects out until this is done, and they're all buried behind furniture that I also had to move out because I don't plan ahead very well and tend to underestimate how long things will actually take to complete. Time blindness, the struggle is real

[trekbec82]

As an 80s baby who grew up in a 60s house that was wallpapered and carpeted in the 70s, I prefer the happy middle ground between that, and the equally hideous opposite of grey/cream/beige/other neutrals that are popular now. Give me some rich stained timber floors (with lovely plush rugs in the rooms where that's appropriate), coloured tiles in the bathroom, a coloured splash back in the kitchen, walls in gentle pastels with vibrant trims, and in rooms which are large enough to not look ridiculous, a feature wall in a dark or vibrant colour. Give me framed posters and photos, give me canvas art and colourful nicknacks! I want furniture that's not all the same damn colour, but instead colours which complement each other. I need colour! Neutrals are depressing as fuck unless they're used in moderation. (I won't say no to a nice pale tile for the kitchen floor, it's easier to maintain than timber.)

scream ‘aesthetic’ parents are house of leaves-ing their kids

[bellsarefun]

𝕯𝖔𝖒𝖊𝖘𝖙𝖎𝖈 (Dragon! Bakugo x Reader)

【ｓｕｍｍａｒｙ：(Y/N) (L/N) lives a surprisingly domestic life alongside her husband, the powerful hot-headed dragon Katsuki Bakugo.】

【ｐａｉｒｉｎｇ：Dragon! Katsuki Bakugo x Female! Reader】

【ｒａｔｉｎｇ：PG-13 — All characters featured in this story have been aged up over eighteen. Also, there is gore and blood in this, so if you are upset by that this isn’t for you.】

【ｗｏｒｄ　ｃｏｕｎｔ：2.6k 】

【Ｎｅｘｔ　Ｃｈａｐｔｅｒ: Part 2】

(Y/N)’s hands kneaded soft, fluffy, pale dough on a stone counter top fitted in smooth grey stone, the flour falling like snow on her pale beige apron. Her mind wandered with the routine task; make the bread, let it rise, and then bake for one hour—she had done it all before.

Grabbing a nearby bread pan, she eased the freshly kneaded dough into the oak wood bowl. Her hands wiping the bits and pieces of stray batter on the fabric apron tied tightly around her waist. Once she had cleaned them in a nearby water basin, she laid a tea towel over the mouth of the bowl to rise for a few hours.

‘Finally, done. I can take a minute to relax.’ The woman thought to herself, untying the nice bow created by the laces of her apron. ‘Let’s hope he doesn’t get back early.’

Hanging the apron on a nearby hook near the entrance to the makeshift kitchen, she stretched her arms high over her head. Her neck muscles protested angrily as they were strained, but she smiled at the relief shooting across her form.

She looked around the kitchen, her (E/C) eyes scanning the beaten stone counter tops, the haphazardly hanging plants from the ceiling, and scratched wooden shelves for any sign of misplacement or grime. The rocky interior walls casted dancing shadows from the many flickering candles around the room.

Satisfied with her keen observation, she hummed to herself contently. Her feet spinning on their heels as she walked out of the kitchen, making a mental note to light the slab, stone oven afterward.

The kitchen lead into a larger room, large wooden support beams held up the ceiling in every corner. There was a large rounded bed pressed against the wall to her left, large furs and pelts were piled in a heap on the bed. On the farthest wall led a corridor where bright sunlight streamed through from the outside—a stairway could be seen in the corridor leading into a dimly lid spiral down.

(Y/N) noted a few of the candles had blown out in the room, presumably the breeze from outside had extinguished the weak flames. She sighed to herself, straightening out her white blouse and suspenders while she moved to a small table across from the bed.

A small green book embroidered with gold detailing waited for her on the scratched dark wood of the table. Her hands picking up the book she seated herself on one of the chairs, but she soon felt herself falling back onto the cold ground with a painful thud.

(Y/N) groaned, holding the side of her head carefully as the world spun around her in a warm blur. Her eyes managing to focus on the chair who had spitefully broken under her the moment she sat down.

“For fucks sake, of course.” She cursed under her breath, using her elbows to hoist herself up from her spot on the floor. Her hand searching for the book that had been flung from her hand, finding it a few feet away.

Looking at the chair, one of the legs had given out and the scratched up, claw-marked, and singed wood wasn’t able to hold weight any longer. It was a wonder how it didn’t break sooner.

“Fucker almost killed me.” (Y/N) voiced allowed to no one in particular, the stabbing pain in her head not receding and only increasing as she pushed herself to standing.

‘I really need to find other furniture that the ones he steals from his raids. A new set of chairs is something I’d pay money for.’ She thought to herself, running a through her hair and picking out pieces of dirt and splinters from her (H/C) locks.

A large roar shook the entire inside of the cave, the forceful vibration almost sending (Y/N) tumbling once again. The book nearly falling from her grasp, but this time she clenched it tightly in her fingers. The sound of scraping stone echoed wildly in (Y/N)’s ears, her face scrunching up at the unpleasant sound.

Her hand was quickly placed on the rocky wall beside her, watching the furniture, that had been fashioned to the wall with wires, to make sure nothing broke. ‘That bastard just had to come now.’

“Tiny! Where the fuck are you? I’m back if you hadn’t noticed.” The loud booming voice emanated from the corridor, the pissed of tone making (Y/N) roll her eyes. She scrambled to the doorway of the kitchen, her book forgotten on the table, and she checked to make sure the bread bowl hadn’t fallen off the counter—luckily, it hadn’t.

“I’m coming, I’m coming, you impatient bastard wait one minute!” (Y/N) called back to the voice, her eye brows narrowing as she noticed the plates and bowls that had fallen from their wooden shelves.

“Whaa? You calling me a bastard, you better watch your fucking mouth, human.” The voice responded sourly, the unmistakable growl that edged it’s way into the tone making (Y/N) chuckle lightly to herself.

She walked toward the corridor of the room, noting that most of the candles has blown out in the rumbling. The rocky hallway was rather small and led into a larger cave with a ceiling that stretched meters above her head. There were no stalactites, like they had been broken off purposely.

Sunlight streamed into the large cave from outside, giving it enough natural light to see around without any aid of candles or lanterns. In the corner of the cave sitting with his legs crossed, his hands tearing at the meat of a freshly killed deer, was Bakugo.

(Y/N) rubbed the back of her neck in defeat, seeing the blood already beginning to pool around the carcass of the poor animal.

“I’m here and already, you’ve made a mess.” She commented in disgust, walking over to the man as he turned around to face her—lips and cheeks smeared with thick red blood.

Bakugo swallowed the meat in his mouth, the hind leg of the deer had been ripped off the animal and was being held in his hands.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you’re a fucking clean freak.” He retorted, his mouth opening and taking a large squelching bite of the raw meat. “Only humans would worry about shit like this.”

(Y/N) hummed, rolling her eyes as she scanned him up and down—he would definitely need a bath after he was done his “meal.” The blood soaked into his pants and the beautiful white fur of his long red cloak around his shoulders. The red sticky ooze seeped over his toned, muscled body.

“If you’re eating all of it, just give me tender loins to cook please.” (Y/N) sighed defeatedly, the smell of raw bloody meat hitting her nostrils in an unrelenting attack of metal and gore. 

“You humans and your risk of worms.” He grumbled under his breath, his hand reached toward the back of the deer and shoved his hand into the back—through the pelt. (Y/N) winced at the sound of his hand pulling out the two strips of meat, his other hand shoving another mouthful of meat into his mouth. No matter how much (Y/N) has seen him rip flesh from bone, it still made her nauseous sometimes.

“You’re looking green, Tiny. Go back inside, if you’re going to vomit your insides out again.” Bakugo said, his crimson eyes scanning up and down (Y/N)’s pale face. His hand threw over the two pieces of tenderloin, the meat landing on the ground with a splat.

(Y/N) nodded her head silently, crouching down and delicately picking up the strips of deer. The blood was still warm in her palms and she groaned at the thought of getting the red stains on her nice blouse.

“If any of this gets on my shirt, I’m slipping laxative in your water.” (Y/N) threatened, hurrying toward the corridor once again and she heard the outraged exclamation of Bakugo behind her. 

“You better not, fucking tiny ass human. I will rip your precious books to smithereens.” Bakugo shouted after her with a growl, the woman rolling her eyes around her skull in response.

“Okay, dragon boy, let’s see you fucking try. I’ll bleach your cape pink.” (Y/N) jabbed back, calling over her shoulder at Bakugo who continued to munch on the meat. She could hear him grumbling curses under his breath and she giggled softly to herself.

(Y/N) hurried through the corridor, through the room, and into the kitchen. She could see a drop of blood preparing to fall onto the floor she zoomed toward a clean bucket and dropped the meat into it. Her palms leaned on the counter for support, for some reason the smell of the fresh meat made her feel sick to her stomach.

She sharpened a knife and began trimming the meat on the counter. It wasn’t long after she heard Bakugo come stomping through the corridor and she leaned out of the door to see the muddy tracks behind him.

“Clean your shoes off next time, I swear you lived in a barn.” (Y/N) called out, her lips frowned at the sight of the freshly mopped floors being covered in brown muck. Bakugo paused, turning around to look at the mud he was dragging through the room before he smirked deviously.

“I was raised in a cave.” He said, continuing to stride toward (Y/N) with an evil glint in his eye and her frown turned down into a scowl. “What’s wrong, Tiny? You’re looking a little pissed off.”

(Y/N) sighed and shook her head, looking at the blood still wet on his body.

“Don’t take another step, clean off the blood. We have bathing pools for a reason, dipshit.” (Y/N) demanded, pointing her sharpened bloody knife toward him. Bakugo faltered for a moment, a dangerous frown forming on his face.

“I’m not fucking that filthy. I washed yesterday, just like you asked, remember?” Bakugo retorted, his arms crossing over his chest. (Y/N) hummed at his rather adorable expression and continued flaying the strips of white fat from the meat.

“You’re covered in blood, Katsuki Bakugo, and that means your washing.” (Y/N) said, her eyes glanced down where she was happy to see that her work was pretty much finished.

Bakugo rolled his eyes and grumbled his way back toward the corridor, she was pretty sure she heard a imitation of her own voice. She simply giggled and packaged the meat in parchment paper to save for stew later and dropped any dirty dishes in the sink-bucket.

He returned a few minutes later, dripping wet and clothes in his arms. Bakugo wasn’t wearing a thing and (Y/N) noticed right away, her face turning a lovely shade of rose red.

“Okay! That’s- No clothes- Your other shirts are in the dresser!” (Y/N) said, looking away from the spectacle of a naked Bakugo. She heard his footsteps approach her and felt strong arms wrap tightly around her waist, pulling her snugly against him.

“I’ll get changed later.” He muttered against her skin, the warmth of his breath tickling the skin of her neck. “Nothing happened while I was gone?” (Y/N) was frozen in her spot, the feeling of the water dampening in her back, and her face flushing with a beautiful color of red.

“N-Nothing, the den’s been quiet as ever.” (Y/N) answered, her voice stuttering at the beginning but she managed to focus on the cutting board in front of her. “No one’s touched your precious gold horde.”

Bakugo hummed, his chin resting on top of her head, and he snuggled his face into her hair. His hands wandered about her waist, his toned chest pressing against the small of her back.

“I wasn’t worried about the gold.” He muttered quietly, the growl at the end of his voice made (Y/N)’s arms explode in goose bumps. “You smell different, tiny. Did you use the milk soap you bought a while ago?”

She paused for a moment.

“No? My smell changed?” (Y/N) asked, she had never really gotten used to the draconic abilities of her husband. Bakugo nipped at her earlobe absentmindedly, he’d always held this animalistic quality that he brought everywhere in their relationship.

“Your cinnamon smell is just different, alright? It smells like milk mixed with cinnamon.” Bakugo said, his eyes watched her hands move rhythmically as she finished up ridding the meat of any fatty tissue.

“I still don’t know why you humans are so picky.” Bakugo scoffed, shaking his head as let go of her waist and walked out of the kitchen in order to hopefully put some pants on.

“The fatty parts make the meat chewy.” (Y/N) said honestly, her eyes glanced over to Bakugo’s form but she refused to look for long—the blazing warmth in her cheeks forcing her too.

The conversation continued for awhile, (Y/N) was busily hurrying around the kitchen and chopping vegetables for the stew. Bakugo was making himself useful and watching her whisking around the kitchen from his spot sitting on one of the counters.

The stew shimmered on top of the stone oven, the bread was baking in the rocky blazing insides happily. The smell permeated the air and the warm smell making (Y/N) sigh contentedly.

“Shitty hair and pink bitch want to come over for dinner, they want to taste human cooking.” Bakugo started, the subjects of his yapping changed like the wind—it could go from hating Midoriya, to how great he is, or how he caught the deer earlier.

“Of course, I said no-”

“Why don’t you invite them over? They haven’t been over since fall, the winter’s been tough on them.” (Y/N) said, stirring the stew in the pot and sprinkling in a few herbs and spices into the shimmering pot. Bakugo scoffed.

“Hell no! They’re messier than me. That shitty hair is really fucking annoying.” He retorted, his posture straightened to a stiff board, and he muttered quietly under his breath. “He’s always touching you.”

“What is it with you dragons? Always so overprotective of your ‘mates.’“ (Y/N) sighed, looking toward her husband who huffed and shoved himself off of the counter. His shimmering ruby eyes glaring darkly in her direction, stalking over to her.

“Mates are a big fucking deal, tiny, I’ve told you this before.” (Y/N) nodded her head, her lack of listening made Bakugo snatched her wrist and pulled her roughly against his body.

“Dragons mate forever. You are mine, forever, you fucking idiot.” He growled, her smaller body was pressed flush against his. (Y/N)’s eyes widened at his serious tone, he usually wasn’t this sentimental and she expected a scoff from him instead.

Her heart fluttered in het chest, a large smile crossing her features

“I understand, Katsuki.” (Y/N) simply said, embracing her husband close to her and enjoyed the peaceful moments that followed. Two years ago, she didn’t expect to find herself here and married to the dragon that had quite rudely crashed through her house—hurting himself in the process.

For months, she nursed him back to health and somehow managed to love him in that time. Now, there they are, two years later and married. If (Y/N)’s younger self had a conversation with older (Y/N), she was sure that younger her would call her insane.

“I love you, dragon boy.” She said softly, her hand running through his spikey blond hair. Bakugo huffed and he laughed cockily.

“Who doesn’t love me?” A swift jab to the ribs made him cough and he nipped at her neck in retaliation. “Heh, I love you, tiny human.”

[ficsnroses]

Ultrasound; - John Wick x Reader

4.3k words

summary : you’re 4 months pregnant, and your husband john is everything you’ve ever wanted. however, he misses your ultrasound appointment, leading to you being upset with him.

warnings : pregnant reader. angst, but also lots of fluff! x f! reader. 

notes : requested by lovely anon! I really hope you enjoy this, lovie. I know you had asked for a heated argument, however, I just couldn’t bring myself to write John being angry at his s/o. he’s too much of a softie :) as always, please do leave comments and feedback, it means so much! I’m a little nervous for this one aH be kind pls ily xx

At the glass paned, brittle white front door, you stand, a cautious hand placed to the swell of your growing belly, a stray strand of hair falling to your eye as your husband John, kisses a gentle goodbye to your cheek.

“Are you sure you have to go?” You ask, off put, shining eyes with your lip bitten, as if you’d wanted to say more. John had been leaving on early mornings such as today often, far more frequent as of late; you’d be lying if you’d projected it didn’t chip off a small shard of your heart each time he’d leave you for the day.

He’d be back, later. In the evening perhaps, after you’d settled into the cozy depths of the living room couch, a sickly dessert in hand and your preferred 90’s sitcom portrayed in reruns on the blue TV screen, or as you’d retire to bed, awaiting his body to come occupy the vacant spot beside.

“Yeah.” John heavily sighs, briefly announcing his downcast glare to the floor, before reverting those much familiar, chocolate eyes to yours. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. But I really do.” Subtle guilt pinched at his darkened features, beard groomed fresh to a handsome trim. His hand smoothes over the small of your back, quietly waiting,

for you to end your farewell.

“It’s just…” You trickle, eyes focusing anywhere, but on his. You didn’t mean to press; you’d reminded him of today’s upcoming events much in the last week. “We have the appointment later this afternoon.” You allow, a final time, blinking back guilt for perhaps, over doing it with the constant reminders. “Are you sure you’ll make it in time?”

-an exchange for the true feelings that had been brewing inside, as of late. On the tip of your tongue they twirled, bubbling, bubbling, boiling, and you’d known, perhaps to the slightest mishap, they’d spill over.

But for now, as your husband holds you, tentatively sure he’d return in time, you bite your tongue, choosing to trust him.

Trust. It was the band that held your marriage together.

John softly smiles, offering a squeeze to your palm. “Promise.” Assuring, his Mustang 69’ keys fish out of his pocket with a jingle, equipped to his stockier fingers. “You’re still okay to meet at the doctor’s office?” With every cell in his being, John would have preferred to stay home, with you, awaiting the appointment time.

Yet, odds never worked in his favour. He’d have to go, he’d have to be reminded of the dark that wouldn’t let its best man go easy, even on the most joyful days, such as today. A day that should have been reserved for his loving wife, who meant the world to him and more, and their baby, who would come into the world in a mere 5 months. When nimble fingers reach for the collar of his brown leather jacket, his love nods, faking her best executed smile in return.

John knew you, well as the back of his hand. He knew you weren’t pleased with the idea of him leaving, wherever he was off to today. Yet, he knew you’d often

bite your tongue,

for him. John knew he’d struck gold when he’d found you, when you’d fell in love with him, and him, immensely with you. In your relationship, there had been much darkness. Much obscurity, much ambiguity to the life John lived separate from the one you shared together. You know about John’s profession, and the hurt he’d caused to many wretched souls. When he was home, with you, your John is a daydream, in human form.

Soft, gentle, caring. Words fall short of the mountain that is your man.

Yet the day he’d told you, of the culpability, the shame that resides within him; claws through each regret ridden seam, each sorrow droned bone in his body,

nothing changed within you.

You didn’t fall out of love. You didn’t fall less. The same hands that held yours, held knives and guns, slaughtered the lives of many. But they’d given life to you. The day your John told you he’d lost count of the souls he’d taken, you’d vowed to love him regardless. To accept him with whatever baggage he came with. He kept the details of his whereabouts, and the deeds he’d succumb to scare.

Mixing you with the life he so desperately wanted to escape was the last thing he’d wanted to do. So you let him, you let him keep mum on scattered details and fine points of who the famed Boogyman was,

You promised to see in him, just John.

John Wick, your husband, who deserves more than anyone the life you’ve built together. A beautiful home in a secure neighbourhood, a house filled with love, a house feels warm, painted with white crisp walls that hold no dark, enveloped in the anticipation of tiny feet sputtering down the open halls someday soon.

“I’ll meet you there, then. Drive safe, and call me if you change your mind, I’ll send a taxi your way.” He quietly reminds, still holding the hand that had painted colour to his black and white guarded walls. You’d opened long drawn curtains that closed to all that came; you were the first to let sunlight in, allow it to kiss his skin for the first time, in a long, long time.

“I love you.” John smiles. “So much. Stay safe, okay? I’ll call you.” He adds, a final time, before instilling a soft kiss to your plump stained lips, your own hand smoothing a wrinkle off his shirt clad chest.

“Love you too.” You quietly smile, holding your bump as you gaze him out the white paned front door, off to somewhere you’d never asked.

You’d bit your tongue, for him,

Yet again.

The doctor’s office air proves cold, chilled to an icy, unsympathetic hail. With a hand to your bump, and a much growing pierce to your now aching temple, your brows frown and an uneased anger surfaces inside.

John promised.

One minute to appointment time.

       ‘He’ll come. He’d walk through the door any second,’ muses your heart.

       ‘He won’t. He hasn’t responded to any calls, or messages.’ Punctuates your mind.

He didn’t forget. Something must have come up. He wanted to be here.

Thoughts, ponderings, half attempted assurances to your own worn out mind.

He shouldn’t have gone. He shouldn’t have left. He shouldn’t have let anything come up. That was his job as the father of this child.

He needed to be here today. He knew how much this means to you.

It should have meant enough to him to be here.

You, your baby,

       should have meant enough.

“Mrs. Y/N Wick?” The call of your name disrupts your whirlwind of destructive thoughts. Perhaps it was your emotions that had been working overtime as of late, perhaps it was the distance between you and John.

Perhaps it was the scars burned into your tongue. The toxins that burned being bitten down.

Gnawed, bitten,

concealed,

covered.

Sat in the cold leathered office bed chair, your OB-GYN spins you a warm smile, and you smile back best as you can, although reluctantly so. Masquerading joy had proven tough, when the hand that should have been holding yours right now proves absent. You sink further into the bed, hem of your top rolled up just below your breasts to allow the doctor access.

“How are you today, Y/N?” She shines, layering on a pair of blue latex gloves, prior to smearing a cold, frigid gel to your tummy. The chill of the balm had always sent shivers peppering down your spine, you’d clenched John’s hand firmer to the feel at your previous check ups. “I’m doing well.” You lie, you bite the truth. Wispy fingers thread together, placed on your lap.

“John’s not here today?” She wonders, preoccupied with the transducer probe equipped in her left grip, her right still smearing the cold gel to your bump. The sound of the radiology machine powering echoes your ears, and you relieve a soft exhale, sure not to cast your dreary emotions too much.

The last thing you needed right now, was to spill your long shielded, buried emotions to your OB-GYN, who was solely trying to do her job. “No, he’s not.” You dryly return, swallowing thickly in declaration more to yourself, than to anyone else.

Her eyes gloss over your features, eyes focused on the beige office walls, fingers twiddling in your enclosed grip. “Everything alright?” She wonders, to your half lost execution, a noticeable dread on your mind, weighing.

“Of course.” You lie, you smile with an emptiness void of usual warmth, through untruthful teeth. “I would appreciate it if we could get started as soon as possible.” You request, wanting none more than to be left alone.

To sift through long pent up feelings, frustrations and worries that brewed inside; to allow hostage feelings pleading to be let free, overtake your mind.

The couch feels colder than normal; or perhaps it was the room.

A room, that fell cold, longing for someone else to be in it.

John.

The appointment concluded a little over an hour ago, a full pot of mint tea sits brewing on the coffee table as you await his arrival. The clock ticks in the distance, your mind shuffling a million thoughts a minute.

He’s not home. He hasn’t been home.

You’d bit your tongue, far too long.

He’d seared a cut. He’d butchered into a part of you, and you wonder when you’d forgotten the way you used to be.

You ponder; when you’d started to settle for his absence. A fire boils inside, lathers, toils. The scorch of long concealed feelings pent up, brewing in secret. Had the sound of a heavy door closing shut not broke your contemplation, you’d perhaps shed a few warm tears, unannounced. Unwelcomed dew that may have just glided off your cheeks, the weight of a million bricks released.

You’d heard his heavy footsteps on their way in, the sound of Dog’s excited paws trotting along the floor as he runs towards his bestest friend.

John-

the one person you’d thought you could share anything with. Count on for anything, had left you deserted. He’d been building a wall around, leaving you left all alone, in the grey dark. Shackled with dread, the conversation that you knew would follow tonight, is something you’d prayed would never rehearse between you and your John.

Yet, perhaps that was the problem. Your John, seemed to be lost. The man you fell in love with, would leave the world behind if you’d asked him to.

He’d made it clear; you and him against the world.

Nothing was larger, nothing was sweeter than what he’d made with you. He’d been ecstatic when you’d found out you were pregnant, promised to never leave your hand the entire way through.

You yearn for that John again;

Beg.

Hope.

Plead.

Yearn. You yearn for your husband, again. Burn, crash, crumble, the feelings become too much, the anger pounds inside. Indignant, blue, muddled, hurting, hurting, hurting-

“Y/N,”

His voice. A confliction at it’s finest. To fall into his arms and pour out your heart, or to fight. To make him feel the ache he’d doused your heart in.

The toxins on your lips threaten to burn; they’ll sear your cheeks, drip a dark tar with each syllable, each vowel that falls. The sharp edges will only cut further. A faint frown lingers the planes of your face, and you shake your head, gaze downcast when he inches further into the room, stance preparing to kneel in front of you on the hardwooden floor. He smells faintly of the air outside; crisp, winter auburns and sharp wind. Yet there’s that familiar, warmer spice. Something that kisses his skin, reminds you of home.

You don’t remember when you started looking at him, and seeing home. It’s been far too long, and now, it’s all you know.

        It’s tough being angry at someone, who loves so deep;

John loves with his entirety. John feels with each inch of his battered skin; his bones remember the chill of feeling null.

Stare melting into the crackling fireplace, you avoid his gaze, ignore his touch when a heavy hand rests to your thigh. Warm, comforting, a reminder of the way his touch had the ability to stitch each ripping seam inside you; to mend, and adorn flowers all over.

But his touch, holds no triumph today.

The flowers didn’t bloom,

the slits only gushed.

“Baby, I’m sorry-”

It comes in flashes. Bold, like a lightening bolt.

       Boom

               Boom.

“Don’t.” You whisper a grit, jaw tightening with a pounding ache to your temple protruding. “Do not try and explain yourself.”

Firm; like a lightening bolt. Much to your dismay, his cocoa kissed hair falters in hues; long, curtained along the frame of his face. Coffee eyes show repulse, a certain sadness you remember from long, long ago.

A sorrow you hadn’t seen often since you’d given him your heart, for his in return. “You don’t get to explain yourself.” You speak; firm, assertive, tears pricking in watery jewels in the corners of your orbs. Perhaps it was the high of pregnancy hormones, or the dire of the situation. For the first time, with John, today marked the start of something you’d never felt before.

You felt forgotten. Less than.

“I told you how much I wanted you with me. I told you how important today was to me.” Tone dreary, John’s heart practically sliced into a million pieces, at mercy of the dagger that was your wounded voice.

Grim, an aching pound stings his nerves, crinkled lines of stress embroidered to his forehead, and his spine unravels in a lean into your skin, his hands coming to engulf around yours in a tender hold. “Baby, I know and I’m-”

Lightening. Swift; sharp.

“No!” You almost shout, hands pulled out of his larger, rougher ones. “You do not get to explain yourself.” The words had come out harsher than intended, the cuts had been deeper than thought. They pour, and a river streams. A flood of built up emotion, a cry your tears won’t bear hold.

“Baby, don’t yell.” A quiet John speaks lowly, barely heard with a gaze avoidant of yours. “It’s not good for our baby girl.” He seems tense. He feels, he feels with each inch of his bones. Still, his hand never leaves your thigh, resting, reminding you that he’s there now. And he will be.

He will be, for good.

Yet, his words only pierce into you further; the blade twists in your skin. Huffing a sneered chuckle, your eyes blink away unwanted tears, the moment needing your assertion more than a wave of vulnerable grief. “Our baby?” Veins course with something so icy, so frozen; an agonizing burn claws away at your temples, features far from forgiving. You knew the words that threatened to brew up on your tongue were far from the truth. You knew they held far more weight than he deserved to bear.

“Because I feel almost as if she’s just my baby with how absent you’ve been, John.”

After thunder, after lightening, comes rain. Perhaps the worst, of them all. Cold, condescending, long pouring rain; it pelts in darkness, loud, leaving its mark on the drought terrain. It pours quietly, yet stridently all at once. It seeps, and it seeps, and it seeps, until it stops.

       Only, no one knows. When it’ll stop.

“I’ve been alone. I’ve been feeling alone. You’ve made me feel alone.”

Rain. Pelting, and pelting, and pelting.

This stream of misery, these awful words, declarations. You know he’s hurting. You’re hurting him. You’re doing the one thing, you promised you’d never do to him. His breathe remains calm, collected, his eyes seldom avoid yours. His hand leaves your thigh, allowing, respecting your space. Those cocoa kissed eyes hold a weight heavier than the sear of a million burns.

You almost want, plead for him to say something back; to anguish the fire.

       It’s hard getting mad at someone who doesn’t raise their voice. Its tough being angry at someone,

       like your John.

You’ve knew you were lying. You knew your words held zero truth. He hadn’t been making you feel alone. He’d been waking up curled into your skin, holding your hand through the dreadful nights. He’d been sacrificing sleep, putting himself second to make sure you were alright.

To make sure his baby was alright. Yet, his efforts had proved unsuccessful, nonetheless. Because as of late, he had been coming home later. He had been leaving earlier, he had been away. He had left you alone.

Quiet, filled with regret, his voice carries a burden; the burden of hurting the only person that had ever truly mattered to him. Of hurting the women who he loves, adores, more than the stars adore the moon. “I’ll make it up to you, sweetheart. I promise.” John speaks, eyes insistent with guilt.

Make it up. He’ll make it up. Another broken promise, your mind threatens, yet your heart whispers. It whispers, that he will. John had a way, John has an inherent kindness. Your lips pursue, the words needing to come out. You needed to be heard today. You needed to know he understood.

Laced with aggravation, your voice flows off your lips in rougher tides than intended. “I don’t need you to make it up, John.” You explain, calmer, collected. Firm. “I just need you to be here. And if that’s something you can’t do, I need you to tell me now.” Twisted with agony, your heart feels heavy in your chest. “My child needs a father who will be there.”

“Our child.” John interrupts, correcting, quietly, respectfully.

He knew better than to argue with his pregnant, hormone loaded wife. Nonetheless, that didn’t mean he would let her abdicate the fact that he is the father of their child. Although they hadn’t met yet, John knew. He could feel it in his bones. She would be the payoff. His baby would hold his entire heart, along with her mommy.

Each part of John yearns for nothing but his wife and child. They are all that matters. They are the payoff; the decades of grim sin that conjure on his fingertips would finally, at last lay to rest because of them. For them.

Quietly, a muffled sigh, heavy, tense, leaves your mauve stained lips. A faint frown lingers the depths of your face, something filled with melancholy confession. A heaviness fills the silent room still, occupied with nothing but your two worn out souls, desperately longing for nothing more, than for this nightmare to be over.

John and you don’t argue. Despite small disputes over shoes left at the front door, or a towel left discarded without care to the bathroom floor, this isn’t something John and you do. It isn’t something small. It isn’t something you can brush off, forget about a minute thereafter.

John and you, complete each other. You compliment each other. You fight for each other.

         His heart and yours, are old, old friends.

The water rises, a river flows from your mouth. Steeping thoughts the stitched seams even, cannot bear hold. With a lingering sadness peppered to your tenor, you sigh heavily, head falling downcast to gaze the floor below. John watches you, in a drown of his own guilt; sadness of his own.

He longs to hold you; it had been far too long without.

“You’re always away in the day as of late, and I hate that the only time I really see you is when you come home to sleep.” You begin, voice cut with sorrow. “Sometimes I lay awake in the late of night, savouring the feeling of you just holding me. Touching me. Because I’ve began to get comfortable with knowing moments like that only happen during the night.” Deeper and deeper, each cut wounds into your skin. “I hate it John.” You confess, longing for those strong, toned arms to scoop you up and assure you everything would be okay. That he would tell you what’s been going on, let you in. “I don’t want to be comfortable in knowing you’re not around.”

A slight chuckle shines through your raspy throat, yet the utter sorrow never fails to paint each feature as the words continue to fall. There’s a certain vulnerability in your tone, a certain weakness you wish you could hide. “My body is changing, and I’ve been feeling low. I’m scared of not being what she deserves when she comes.” You barely whisper, tears pricking, a hand resting on your growing belly. A small drop falls, the pent up weight of a billion timid thoughts. “Feeling like you’re maybe not all in anymore makes me feel,” If a word, could even portray the density, the sheer torment of the thought of life with John being anything less than what you hoped. “..Awful.” You cease, a lip quivering. “I feel so awful, John.”

Downcast, your eyes scan the floor, heart pounding, the stillness killing you. John watches you, eyes doused with remorse. Quietly, he’d barely heard your words, strung together. A pair of beautiful eyes dilate with nothing, but blue, as they search his dark orbs.

“John, are you falling out of love with me?”

       Sharp.

       Shrill.

You swore something inside him broke. Something twisted and turned, left a deep puncture; wounded him for good.

       Like a lightening bolt. You’d sunk the needles where it hurts the most.

Weary of his silence, you continue. Unsure of the outcome, yet allowing the river that falls your lips, to flow free, full, at last. “I just…I miss you so much. I don’t need anything but you right now.” Bitten to your lip, a choked sob threatens to surface, although you manage to keep yourself collected. “I don’t want anything but you; I never have.”

And with those words, John’s weary limbs resist the hold no more. Kneeling in front of you as you sit still on the grey couch, John pulls your frame close, so close, that you hear the steady rhythm of his heart. His body is warm, brimmed with love; you feel the soak of a few strayed tears from his eyes seep into the supple skin of your neck.

       He holds you so close.

       And you hold him; the way it was always meant to be.

With your arms firmly wrapped around his body, you sink into his skin, melting in the touch of the man you love most. Eyes closed, you breathe in his scent, and he threads his fingers in tender strokes to your hair. Honey drenched kisses press to your shoulder, your neck, the side of your head as he quietly finds the right words to surface; nevertheless, feeling as if anything at all would fall short for what he felt in this moment.

John Wick, sees nothing in this world, but you. As a few more moments of silent relish pass, he pulls his head back a mere few inches, still holding your body so close. With his callous thumb brushing a gentle stroke just under your eye, his thin taut lips kiss a tender, soft peck to where a tear had once fell from your cheek, his eyes still soaking in gloom. With his voice, deep, rich as butter, yet rasped, he speaks softly, silked into your ears, never breaking eye contact.

“I’ve been trying to get out.” Velvet. He speaks, as if the finest of velvet. “And I did, I left that part of me behind today.” Swallowing thick, John inches in closer, kissing a soft, gentle kiss to your eye, that had been haven to nothing but drifted tears earlier. “For you, and for our baby girl.”

Close, proximate, he holds you. His touch alone, fixes everything. “You are all I want. Here, is where I want to be. I’m so sorry I made you feel that way.” He whispers, his forehead resting to yours as you cup his perfectly groomed, bearded cheek. “I didn’t want you worrying; I needed you to stay happy. You’re carrying our baby, I wanted you to be carefree, and nothing else. I never wanted to hurt you.” His heart pours, his heart sears. “I will never hurt you, or our child.” Looking down at your belly, his hand rests to your bump as his lips press a gentle kiss to the top.

And with his lips, holding the only remedy you’d ever need, he kisses you with all the love he holds, all the love he feels for no one, but you. “You are my everything. Please believe me when I say it. I wanted you then, I want you now, and I will until we take our last breath.” His words hold sincerity, something reserved for no one but you.

“From today on, baby, I’m all in. I’m all yours, and hers. I’ll be here for it all, the sleepless nights, the cravings, the aches, everything.” He pours his heart to you, never letting go, as if he’d been scared you’d disappear. “You are it for me, Y/N. I love you more than I could ever tell. Please believe me when I say it.”

And with your eyes, shining into his, you keep his cheek cupped, and your foreheads locked. You stare, and you stare, and you stare, into the eyes of your world. Into the eyes of the man who you knew would become the best father; perhaps greater of a father to your child than he is a husband, if only it was possible.

Your husband, deserves the stars. And if you could, you’d pick them out of the sky like apple blossoms in summer, and decorate them in his hair. And with every ounce in your being, you smile, and you kiss him tender, you hold him so close, so near.

“I do.” You smile, holding on.

       “I believe you. I trust you.”

➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴

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[doctenwho]

Lured Desire

Hello! Thank you for the prompt! I’m glad you liked Not a Cat Person! Sorry this took a bit, you caught me in the process of moving! This was alot of fun to write when I finally figured out how to make it work! I wrote this three times; it got deleted once, I forgot what I was doing once (that one’ll probably be made into something else), and then there was this copy!

Hopefully it’s close to what you’re looking for! I tried to follow your prompt as best as I could, so I hope you like it!

Summary: Check out the prompt!

Warnings: I don’t think there really is any for this one.

Word Count: 6,524

*Gif is not mine, credit to the creator*

The landing was rough. Unexpected. It was enough to rattle both you and the Doctor to the floor.  

You lost your footing, falling backwards. You managed to catch yourself on the guard rail behind you, but it didn’t really offer much as a way to balance. Not when the whole of the TARDIS was quaking with the rails. The Doctor had been flung from the console as well, but he was quick to get back to his feet and start pushing buttons and pulling levers to try and steady the TARDIS.  

You pulled yourself to your feet, keeping a strong grip on the railing. The TARDIS was still moving, shaking and plummeting. You didn’t need the Doctor to tell you that the TARDIS was crashing, you’d been in enough TARDIS crashes to know when it was happening.  

Besides, even if you did attempt to talk to the Doctor, he probably wouldn’t even acknowledge you. He did really have better things to be worried about if his TARDIS was crash landing. There wasn’t much he could do, but there was always something that could make things easier—less messy.  

It took a few minutes for it to stop feeling like you were dropping right out of the air, and for the floor to stop vibrating and settle on solid ground. The Doctor still didn’t seem pleased, a foul look on his face as his hands shot out to fidget with different parts of the control console.  

You let him work in silence for a few more minutes, waiting in case anything more happened that could result in you falling on your arse, before cautiously making your way towards the man doing stressed circles around the TARDIS console.

“What happened?” you asked as you approached him. He barely paused in his movement. His hands were still busy, like the time and space ship was still falling, which you were quite sure wasn’t the case. He glanced at you briefly, then turned his attention towards the screen he’d pulled away so you couldn’t see. “Did we crash?”

“No,” the Doctor replied sharply without so much as a glance in your direction. “We didn’t crash, we fell. We fell a bit and then settled. There’s a difference, (y/n).”

“Okay,” you frowned, moving closer to him so you could see what he was doing. A crash was a crash to you, falling usually resulted in a crash, but you weren’t about to go against the Doctor when he was already so riled up.  

“We fell, and it doesn’t make sense,” the Doctor muttered, but you weren’t too sure whether he was talking to you, or just speaking aloud to himself, “it doesn’t make sense. How could we have...”

His voice faded off, as he hunched into reading whatever was on the screen. Most of it was in what you assumed was Gallifreyan—something the Doctor would do when he didn’t want you to see what was happening. The TARDIS wouldn’t translate her mother tongue, so it was a failsafe for the man to revert things to Gallifreyan instead of English so you couldn’t read along.  

With him completely distracted by the screen, you moved towards the doors. He didn’t seem to notice you, and if he did, he didn’t bother saying anything. You don’t know what overcame you—you never acted before the Doctor explained more.  

Alien planets, or different time periods weren’t to messed around with. Especially without the Doctor’s incite. You’d never just gone to open a door, but something was pulling you towards the doors. Towards what was on the other side of the doors. Whatever was out there...

The doors opened easily, and you peeked your head out to see what was around you.  

“Uh, Doctor?” You blinked, taking a step out to gaze around you. You could faintly see the man’s head look up from the screen inside the TARDIS out of the corner of your eye, but you were too busy studying your surroundings to really take note of the complete alarm in his eyes.

“(Y/N)!” the Doctor’s voice called, when he finally took notice of your absence. The man’s eyes shot around the room hurriedly, before falling on the open doors. It didn’t take a genius to put two and two together, your absence in the TARDIS console room and the open doors.  

“What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?” he snarled as he shot around the console to pull you back into the TARDIS. “We’re floating through--” the man froze when he reached the doorway, hand locked on your elbow with a tight, protective grip. He looked around, studying everything with an expression of disbelief and utter confusion, “we’re... we’re landed in a hallway?”

You glanced back to the man holding you securely, though you weren’t so sure it was needed when you were stood on solid ground, before looking back down the hallway.  

It was a long hallway; you couldn’t even see the end of it. It was beige walls, with lines of white trim leading down along the bottom of the floor. The floor was carpeted, a neat tan that matched perfectly with the beige and white trim. There was a line of circular light fixtures spread about five feet apart, leading down the center of the ceiling, all the way down the hallway as far as you could see.

The walls were lined with large photo frames, they were wooden; a sturdy looking wood, that had been carved to the smallest detail, stained dark brown and completely identical all the way along the hallway.

Everything was completely symmetrical, lining up perfectly with an exact copy on the wall across from it.  

The frames were empty, from what you could see where you stood. There was a blank sheet of canvas, or cardstock, or maybe even a blank photograph from a polaroid. None of the frames in your line of sight had anything more than a blank center.

“What is this place?” you question quietly, managing to draw your attention away from the walls and frames before you, to glance back at the Doctor’s attentive eyes sweeping over everything. You couldn’t place any of the emotions crossing the Doctor’s face, it was a flurry of multiple—

“Noh,” the Doctor said softly, more to himself. He took a step back into the TARDIS, pulling you in with him by the grip on your arm. When your feet were back on the solid TARDIS flooring, the Doctor released his grip on you and took another step back, “no, no, no.” He moved quickly back to the console, pulling the screen towards him, “that can’t be right. That’s not... it can’t be right. It’s impossible.”

“What can’t be right?” you asked with a frown, following behind the Doctor. The screen was back to English, but to be fair, you still needed the Doctor to explain things to you. To you, it was all science-y mumbo-jumbo—which was barely a step up from Gallifreyan.  

“We’re in orbit still,” the Doctor pointed out on the screen. “The TARDIS is currently in orbit. We’re not... we can’t be landed. That,” he gestured wildly to the open TARDIS doors, “shouldn’t exist, we’re orbiting space, (Y/N), there aren’t corridors and, and photo frames in space.”

The Doctor stepped away from the control panel, letting out a groan-growl as he carded his fingers through his mussed hair roughly, “it’s impossible. We literally aren’t landed on anything. The TARDIS says we’re still moving, that we’re still orbiting.” The Doctor paced back and forth, anxiously, “what’s out there doesn’t exist—shouldn't exist. We’re caught in orbit, on some sort of platform that doesn’t exist. On something that the TARDIS, who recognizes everything, doesn’t recognize.”

“Are you sure the TARDIS is right?” you asked softly, leaning to look out the doors. The Doctor turned to glare at you, opening his mouth to defend his TARDIS, but you continued before he could, “it looks pretty real to me. I was standing out there before, and it was... it was like walking on carpet. Didn’t feel space-y at all.”

“The TARDIS isn’t wrong.” the Doctor scoffed on the time and space machine’s behalf, “the TARDIS has never been wrong. We’re in orbit, (Y/N). We’re stuck in orbit on... on whatever it is out there. I don’t even know what that is.”

“It seems alright to me,” you really had no idea where that came from, “we should look around.”

“You want to look around a strange space platform that the TARDIS says doesn’t even exist?”

“Uhm... yeah?”  

“And you’re alright?” the Doctor asked carefully, taking a couple steps towards you. You raised a questioning eyebrow and frowned at him. “You’ve been traveling with me for ages and not once have you been so sure about a planet—about anything like this. You’re hesitant about planets I assure you are completely fine, but now, when I tell you something’s not right, you want to explore?”

“Of course I’m alright,” you scoffed, “I just want to explore a bit, what’s so bad about that? It looks like earth, like some kind of weird earth museum, or something. Besides, don’t you want to see what’s at the end of the hallway?”

The Doctor studied you for a moment, then studied the open doors of the TARDIS for a moment as well, before he looked back at you. He really didn’t like disappointing his companions, and he was always up for an adventure.  

The Doctor seemed to be seriously debating it.  

“We really should leave, we don’t know this place, or who or what inhabits it,” he huffed, “but I'm intrigued now. You’re right, I do want to see what’s out there. A hallway in the middle of space, orbiting on its own—and not only that, a hallway that drew in the TARDIS. It’s impossible, completely impossible, but brilliant all the same!”  

The Doctor paused, seeming to shake himself from his excitement, “are you completely sure you want to go? I have no idea what’s out there, or what’s at the end of the hallway. This is here for a reason; space doesn’t just make random corridors for no reason.”

“I’m sure,” you nodded. “I wanna see if any of those frames have any actual pictures. Maybe there’s like stolen earth museum masterpieces—something by Picasso or Van Gogh or somethin’. There’re so many things that’ve gone missing through the years.”

“Aliens stealing earth things?” the Doctor muttered with a frown, “not unheard of. It’s possible.”

There was a moment where neither of you moved, then the Doctor was moving towards the doors. “Right then,” he cleared his throat, he was looking at you as he marched towards the doors, “you need to stay close to me. I don’t know this place, or planet, or whatever it really is. We’re not staying long, just a quick peek around and then we’re leaving, alright?”

The Doctor paused in the doorway, leaning out, to glance around without stepping out of the TARDIS, despite the fact you’d already stepped out once. He frowned, still uncertain before he stepped out. He reached his hand in, an offering to you, which you moved to grab.

“Sounds good to me,” you smiled, gripping his hand and following him out. The TARDIS doors closed behind the two of you, since the Doctor had stepped out too and no one was inside.  

“It looks very earthlike,” you mumbled as the two of you started walking. Slow and hesitant.

“Indeed it does,” the Doctor agreed, “I seriously don’t know what this is, or how it’s doing what it is. Be careful, and stay close.”

“I always am,” you laughed good-naturedly, which drew a small, fond smile from the man.  

The two of you walked for a while. The TARDIS could no longer be seen behind you, but the hallway before you were still going. It was a very long hallway. You’d dropped the Doctor’s hand a while ago, in order to walk closer to the frames and gaze inside to see if you could see any differences between them all.  

He was doing his own studying, watching everything like the frames would jump out at him, which you could understand given what he’d seen and done in his many years of life. He muttered things to himself, and periodically glanced your direction to keep a tab on you.  

It was almost cute how protective the Doctor was of you. How protective he was of his select few companions he’d travel with. The ones he chose out the billions of people on earth.  

The Doctor stopped every few frames to bleep them with his sonic screwdriver, but nothing came up. As far as you, the Doctor and the screwdriver knew, they were just ordinary frames. You could almost see the deep, unsettling confusion clouding the Doctor’s eyes.  

But, you kept walking, almost as if something was pulling you along. Like you were tethered to something and you just had to find it.

----

The Doctor wasn’t sure what to make of this place. Not when neither his TARDIS or his sonic screwdriver could track or source anything regarding it. It simply shouldn’t exist. Some sort of spurious world that he’d never heard of, or seen.  

Something that shouldn’t be here. It wasn’t the right make to even be orbiting like it was, and it certainly shouldn’t have been able to draw the TARDIS in. It was impossible. He couldn’t think of a single way that this could be happening.  

The Doctor followed along a few steps behind (Y/N), who continued on without much thought. It was rather odd that (Y/N) was more excited and adventurous about this strange place than the Doctor was. Maybe because she was had a fresh mind, she still hadn’t completely figured out that things in space couldn’t be trusted.  

There was a difference between being hesitant to jump right into things, and being critical of things before even thinking about taking a step out. Like earlier, when (Y/N) had stepped right out. The Doctor hadn’t even noticed her doing it, too busy trying to figure things out. As far as he’d known, they’d been stuck orbiting space—she could’ve stepped out into nothing. Nothing but space, because that’s what the TARDIS said they were doing.

The Doctor was far older than (Y/N), hundreds and hundreds of years older. He’d seen so much. He’d been trapped so many times. He’d been left with nothing more times than he could count. He’d put his companions in danger way more than he’d even dare to think about. He’d been around for practically forever at this point, and he knew when to be cautious.  

As much as he tried though, he couldn’t figure anything out about this place. It was getting irritating at this point. He was confused, and irritated, and maybe even a bit pissed off that (Y/N) had been so reckless when they’d first arrived.  

The man sighed to himself, drawing his hand through his hair again. He dropped his hands down, stuffing them in his trouser pockets as he followed behind his companion. He didn’t even know how long they’d been wondering about the hallway for, and he was about to make the decision that they’d spent enough time here when he heard it.  

It was soft, like a whisper.  

A collection of soft whispers, faint and unintelligible. Unintelligible, but inviting. Drawing him closer. It was not a language he knew, and the TARDIS hadn’t translated it for him. But he was curious.  

Was there something here? Someone else beside him and his companion?  

The Doctor’s eyes dropped down to the floor for a moment before he looked up and around. It felt like the whispering was coming from everywhere at once. He took a couple more hurried steps, the whispers growing louder until he turned suddenly. He didn’t remember thinking about turning, it just happened. He wasn’t even sure his brain had commanded the action, but when he looked up, he was met with a picture frame.  

This one, unlike the ones across from it, or on either side, had an actual image. It wasn’t a blank frame like the others. And it wasn’t a picture at all. Not really.  

It was moving.  

It was... more like a television show, than a picture.  

He was instantly engrossed in the moving photo.

It was... it was (Y/N). She was in a garden; it was a beautiful garden. There were multiple types of flowers, and it was sunny. It almost made him smile. Her eyes were watering, but she was smiling, holding a bouquet of flowers. She was older than the (Y/N) he was currently with, but it was undeniable that this woman in the photo was his current companion.

She looked good, perfectly fine, but maybe a little sad. He instantly wanted to make her happy again, to jump into the picture and hug her, or give her a kiss on the cheek. He wasn’t quite sure what to make of her sad smile.  

It wasn’t terribly sad, she still had the same brightness about her, the one that had attracted him to her in the first place, but she looked as if she were reminiscing an event from prior. Maybe a memory from a passed family member, or something. Remembering happy things, but sad that they weren’t around anymore.  

He wondered for a moment where he was in this picture. He’d never really thought about leaving her, not really. He wanted to hold onto her for as long as he could, but he could understand if he’d needed to leave her behind for whatever reason. He’d had to do the same for all his companions at one point or another.

The thought of his companions growing old and leaving him made him physically ill, but he knew it was bound to happen eventually. How he’d just regenerate and leave them in the dust—continue on with his life when they were aging and dying like the humans they were. He’d always end up alone in the end, as it had been for hundreds of years.  

In the photo, (Y/N) was walking, the flowers cradled in her arms. The path she walked on was days away from being completely overgrown, like it wasn’t travelled much. Where ever she was going, she didn’t go often.  

He waited, watching closely until she paused in the photo, her eyebrows furrowing as a tear trailed down her cheek. The Doctor leaned towards the picture, squinting to see what she was seeing. He wanted to reach out and touch it... touch his companion, but he didn’t.  

In fact, he took a step back in surprise when his eyes landed on what she was now kneeled in front of, the flowers set on the ground before it.  

It was the TARDIS. The blue Public Use Police box parked in that garden. It was covered in overgrown plants, vines reaching up along the paneling of the TARDIS. It didn’t... look much like the TARDIS anymore, old and unused like a real London Telephone box, but to him, it was unmistakably his precious TARDIS.  

(Y/N) was sitting now, knees pulled up to her chest, with her arms wrapped securely around them. Her chin rested on the indent between her knees, and her attention was focused on the TARDIS. Her eyes were sad now, much more so than earlier, and she was crying again. Tears falling from her face and dripping down to the ground beneath her.  

The Doctor didn’t understand for a moment. His TARDIS was there, obviously had been for a while. But he was nowhere to be seen. (Y/N) was visiting his TARDIS, hidden away in a garden and covered by overgrown plants that would’ve taken years to crawl up the length of his little blue box. He’d abandoned his TARDIS?

Then, it clicked.  

He hadn’t abandoned his precious TARDIS intentionally. The answer was literally in this picture; from the overgrown garden, to the TARDIS standing withered and old without him, to the bouquet of flowers placed before his TARDIS, all the way down to the soft tears falling from his companion’s face.  

It was all there.  

He was dead.  

He’d died somehow and left behind his TARDIS, and his companion.  

He was dead.  

He was strangely accepting of this. His companion outliving him for the first time since he’d first picked up a human to travel with him. It was... a nice change of pace. He wasn’t the last one left anymore. He was... gone.  

The last Time-Lord in existence, and he was gone. His whole race put to rest with him. He wasn’t put off by the idea. He almost... liked it. That he wasn’t the one to be losing someone this time. He still felt terrible that his companion was bringing flowers to his, what he assumed was his, resting place with his TARDIS, but he couldn’t find it in himself to be mad, or upset.

It was almost... freeing. He wanted to touch; to run his fingers across the photo. To place a finger over his companion staring sadly at his TARDIS, or maybe even touch the TARDIS. His hand hovered over the picture, and it almost... rippled like he could just hop right in.

This was a... a desire he hadn’t known he’d had.

The man turned away from the frame abruptly, using all his willpower to draw his hand away and turn away from the picture. He’d almost touched it. Had been close enough to see it ripple. What would’ve happened had he touched the picture?

What would’ve happened had he reached for that desire he’d had hidden within him?

The man whipped out his sonic screwdriver, bleeping the frame he’d just been staring into quickly. For a second, one single second, the screwdriver detected something, but in the next moment, the Doctor was watching the colourful canvas, (Y/N), the garden and the TARDIS included, fade back to the identical blanks surrounding it.  

In a matter of seconds, it was like the photo he’d seen hadn’t existed at all. Like he hadn’t been drawn to a desire he hadn’t realized he had.  

With the picture gone, the Doctor carefully let his fingertips brush along the surface of what had been that picture. Nothing happened, there was no ripple this time. It was like touching any other sheet of canvas.  

It didn’t make sense. It really didn’t make sense. Nothing about this place made any sense.  

“We’ve been here long enough,” the Doctor spoke firmly, suddenly afraid of what this place was capable of. He turned to look down the hallway at his companion, “let’s head--” the man froze, “(Y/N)?”

She was gone. The hallway around him was empty. Nothing but blank picture frames. “(Y/N)?” he called louder, in case she’d continued on while he’d been distracted by the picture. The Doctor turned back the way the two of you had been coming, but you weren’t that way either. “(Y/N)!”

He was sprinting down the hallway before he even realized he was. He needed to get to her before anything else got to her. Before she got hurt, or was put in danger. Or worse, before one of the pictures spoke to her like they had to him.  

He’d barely been able to draw himself away from the photo, a human wouldn’t stand a chance against it. No human would have the willpower to pull away from a desire like the one he’d been shown. And, as much as he cared for (Y/N), she really was no exception to that fact.  

The man ran as fast as he could, passing hundreds of picture frames in just minutes before someone came into view.  

Just as he’d feared, (Y/N) was staring into one of the photo frames, mesmerized by whatever was happening. The Doctor barely managed to stop himself from running into her, as he reached hurriedly for her arms and tried to pull her away from the picture.  

To him, it was blank. It looked no different to any of the other canvases on the walls. He bleeped the canvas with his screwdriver when you barely budged, and to his surprise, he was getting all kinds of feedback from it this time. Something more than a simple photo frame was hung on this wall, and it was quickly drawing his companion in as it had to him.  

He bleeped you as well, frowning thoughtfully at the reading it got off your head. 

“(Y/N),” the Doctor pleaded, taking your hands into his own, “I know it looks ideal, whatever it is you’re seeing, but it’s not real. Please, come back to me, whatever you’re seeing, it’s not there. It doesn’t exist. Don’t touch it, alright? Don’t touch, it’s not safe.”

You made no movements, but you still didn’t draw your attention from the photo. The Doctor chewed his bottom lip, thoughts flying faster and more anxiously than he was sure they ever had. He had to do something. He wasn’t sure what would happen if you touched the picture you were seeing, but he wasn’t about to find out.  

With no other way around it, the man pushed you back carefully, just enough so that he could come between you and the canvas. You didn’t react, eyes wide and unseeing, but so focused on the blank canvas in front of you. The Doctor reached up to cradle your jaw in his hands for a moment, thumbs brushing along your cheeks.

You moved to look around him, back at the picture, to which he gently tightened his hold and directed your gaze back onto him. You didn’t move again after being corrected.  

He drew in a breath, pulling his hands back for a second to see if you’d move (you didn’t) before he lifted his hands and settled his fingertips to your temples. He squeezed his eyes shut, concentrating on accessing you mind. He couldn’t see what you could looking at the picture, but he could through your eyes.

----

You’d lost the Doctor somewhere along the hallway. He’d stopped and... even if you’d wanted to stop and see where he’d gone, or perhaps even wait for him, something inside you directed you along.  

The whispered were calling to you. They’d started a while back, and you’d been following them. You didn’t understand them, but they were inviting. They were calling you over, trying to show you something.  

You followed them, step after step, going exactly where the whispers directed you. Or, maybe you were following they’re volume, since you couldn’t really understand them.  

Everything went quiet suddenly. You glanced around the hallway, before your eyes caught sight of a splash of colour. One of the frames had an actual picture in it.  

You reached up to rub your eyes, in case you were seeing something, since it had been nothing but whites and browns all the way down the hallway, and now suddenly there was this one single picture with colours.  

When you blinked again, the colours were still there. You stepped towards the picture—it was like nothing you’d ever seen before. But... at the same time it was familiar.  

It really wasn’t anything special, a small house with a white picket fence surrounding the property. There houses on either side, ordinary and uniform, but each with personality. A cute little neighborhood.

The closer you looked, the more you could make out. The small windows on the house were full, detailed beyond imagination. But all of them... there was a little you in there.  

One of the windows featured you with a pet—a cat or a dog, you couldn’t really make it. Possibly even a rodent, or a reptile, or something else along the lines. It was hard to see, but you could tell you adored whatever it was.

Another featured you with small children, possibly your own children, but you couldn’t be sure. They were cute, playing on the floor with you, showing you objects and giggling. You’d never really thought much about kids, but it was weird seeing some in the perfect little house the picture had.

One of the other windows was dimly lit, a living room or something in the late hours of the evening. You were cuddled up with someone, a significant other, on the couch, both watching a film, talking and laughing.  

The last window housed you, and your friends and family all sitting together and laughing. The friends and family you had barely even spoken to since meeting the Doctor. The ones who left messages on your answering machine, and invited you out, despite not knowing you were adventuring in Outerspace with a literally alien.

They were all so domestic. So ordinary. It was... normal life. You assumed each window was a different representation of something. A pet, wanting children, a perfect significant other, and to be closer to those you love. It was cute, a cute concept.

You didn’t see the Doctor though. He was nowhere to be seen. He, and the TARDIS. Not so much as a glance at the Doctor.  

The picture changed in the blink of an eye, and you were walking. In the picture. A different scene, the house was gone, and it was just you. You were just... walking down the street. And it looked nice. A relaxing walk. Nothing like exploring an alien planet with the Doctor, but you weren’t sure if that was a good thing, or a bad thing.

You passed a blue police box, and barely batted an eyelash. You strolled passed a man sitting on a bench, which, when you looked closer, realized was the Doctor. He made no effort to speak to you, and you breezed right by him like you’d never even met him.  

And... maybe you hadn’t in whatever this picture was showing you. It was hard to imagine never meeting the Doctor, and never seeing the things you’d seen in your travels. But this imagery the picture was supplying... it made it easier to think like that, not that it was really possible.

Everything the picture showed you was normal. Ordinary. It was relaxing. You could just... go for a stroll at any point, or get in the car and visit your friends, or your parents. You could step out of your door without being afraid.  

There were no aliens, or potential death threats, or kidnappings, or strange creatures trying to get you, or to chase you around. You weren’t a part in trying to destroy the universe (unfortunate timing really), and you also weren’t a piece to the solution to said problems. You were just there, one of the regular people down on earth.

You weren’t afraid for your life, or for the Doctor’s life on some strange planet... it was just earth. Normal earth, with normal people and normal activities. Normal everything.

You’d never met the Doctor in these... whatever they were. Possible futures? Alternate universes?

You’d never met him and... your life was normal. You lived a regular life, like everyone else. You weren’t one of the special few the Doctor selected to travel with him and... that didn’t bother you.  

It felt kind of nice actually, to be normal. To not be following the Doctor around on strange planets like a puppy, or to not be fearing for your life in a TARDIS crash landing. As much as you liked the Doctor, and your travels, you wouldn’t be disappointed or upset if... well, if none of it happened. If you’d never met the Doctor at all...

Your life looked like it would’ve been good, great even. Normal. Ordinary. Black and white. Vanilla.  

You’d been in some dangerous situations, had actually thought yourself dead on a couple of occasions. You relied heavily on the Doctor to keep you safe. It was a lot. All of it was. And... it would be nice to have it be calm. The calm after a storm.  

The whispering was back suddenly, louder than ever and urging you to reach up and touch the picture. It was promising things—a perfect life, a family, or a pet, anything your heart desired. It was promising to take away the pain of your traumas, and wipe your mind from all that caused you harm... the Doctor included.  

And you... you couldn’t help but reach up to touch the picture.  

It all sounded wonderful. Ideal, and perfect. A second chance without having to miss the Doctor because, well, you never would’ve met him in this timeline.  

Your hand was hovering by the picture, rippling what you’d thought was a canvas. The whispers were growing louder, urging and begging you to touch. You wanted what it was offering. Something deep inside you wanted to touch the picture, and get the life it had showed you.  

Your fingers got closer, and your mind started getting fuzzy and--

And everything stopped.  

Your hand froze in place and the Doctor’s face came into view. He was blocking the picture; all you could see was his face. And... you could feel his fingers on your face, gentle and careful. The whispers were getting softer, further away.  

“Please,” you heard. It was the Doctor, you thought. You knew his voice. He was pleading, voice tight and nervous, something you’d never heard before. “You can’t go, not yet. Please, it’s not real, (Y/N). You need to come back to me.”

You wanted to tell the Doctor that it looked pretty real to you. That you were so close to forgetting it all, and being normal. So close to a quiet life, without the hassle of a space and time machine, and a regenerating alien.

“I know,” the Doctor interrupted your thoughts as if he’d heard you. His voice was soft, maybe even hurt, “I know it seems perfect, but it’s not real, (Y/N). You need to snap out of it. You’re giving it what it wants, you’re feeding into it... You can’t. Don’t touch it, focus on me, alright? Focus here.”

You focused on the Doctor, on his soft pleads and appraisal. The whispers faded off to nothing and the colours behind the Doctor started fading away too, taking your quiet life away with them.  

It was a sharp shock that really woke you up though. You blinked your eyes shut, an intense stinging from them being open for so long. You fell forwards, your body finally relaxing after being lured away. You never hit the ground though, you fell right into the Doctor, who caught you and held you close. “You’ve done it,” he whispered, “good job, (Y/N).”

“What... what happened?” you asked carefully. You remembered it clearly. The want to be taken away. The need for a normal and quiet life without the Doctor. The pull the canvas had to it. Even the ripping in the supposed canvas. “I almost fell in a canvas.”

The Doctor gave a laugh, not nearly as bright as it usually was. His eyes were sad, and he was holding you longer than he usually did when the two of you escaped danger. “You resisted,” the Doctor replied quietly, “I’m quite proud of you, that’s no easy feat.”

“The picture was luring me in,” you blinked, “what even was that?”

“It... it showed you your deepest desire. One you... may not have known you had—or maybe you did. Whatever it was, was feeding off the dopamine in your subconscious with seeing the desire fulfilled.”

Deepest desire. A quiet life was your deepest desire. Your life without the Doctor was your deepest desire. You felt terrible that that’s what you subconsciously wanted, even though you hadn’t known it.

“Did you see it too?” You asked calmly, looking back at the now blank frame. It was completely gone. No trace left behind of your deepest desire.

The Doctor hesitated for a second. A second longer than he usually did, “no,” he looked down, “I didn’t. It was just a white canvas for me. Only you can see your deepest desire, it’s just a blank canvas for everyone else.”

You didn’t say anything for a moment, believing the Doctor’s words, but not really believing him. It sounded completely logical, but Time-Lords were incredible creatures, and you really had no idea whether or not he could actually see. You wished he couldn’t, that he hadn’t seen. You truly do love traveling with the Doctor... it just gets overwhelming at times. And... everyone wishes for a quiet life at some point, right?

“Let’s... let’s get back to the TARDIS. I think this has been enough excitement for the day, eh?”

The walk back was quiet, no whispering, or speaking. The frames on the walls did nothing. All uniform and identical just as when you’d come in. The TARDIS was further back than you remembered, but when you got to her, the Doctor ushered you in quickly.  

You were taking off before you really knew what was happening.  

“Do you think... all those frames had someone’s deepest desire in them?” you asked from where you were stood beside the console. The Doctor gave a shrug, pushing some buttons. He’d been quiet. Quieter than you could ever remember him being.  

“It’s possible,” he answered shortly. “I’d assume yes though. Curious travelers like us are the perfect target for something like this.”

“Oh,” you frowned, “what would’ve... what would’ve happened if you touched the picture?”

The Doctor finally looked over at you, eyes sad, and lips curved down in a frown, “I think it would’ve absorbed you and given you what it promised. It would’ve fed off the dopamine being created like it had been doing, and it would’ve kept you happy in your desire.”

“I’m glad you got me out then,” you replied, looking down at your feet.

“Are you?” the Doctor asked without looking up from the console. You were sure he was purposely trying not to look at you. He was hurt. Now, without the lure of the picture, you could tell. He was sad, and hurting.  

You frowned, thinking of something to say. You really didn’t believe he hadn’t seen your desire. Not with the whole kicked puppy look. He’d obviously seen something, and it hurt you that you made him feel like this.  

“Did you hear the whispers?”

“I did.” He gave a nod, still not really looking up from the console. You were flying again, away from this orbital pull, “I saw my desire, but I was able to pull myself out of it.”

“What was your desire?” You asked quietly.  

The doctor turned to you with a sad smile, “it wasn’t important,” he brushed off. 

He ran a hand through his hair, looking down to hide his frown, and when he looked up once more, all traces of emotions were gone. All the sadness, all the fear. His frown replaced by a bright grin. 

“Right then!” He chirped like the two of you hadn’t almost been lured into alien picture frames, “how about a visit to earth, huh? We can... let’s go meet your friends!”

<><><><><>

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed, and please feel free to leave me prompts! They’re very welcome, and very appreciated!

[criticizing-blogger]

Fudge

Pairing: Dean x reader

Warning: cursing, gore

Word count: 3423

In a small, snowy town of Minnesota, a black Chevy impala drives into a motel parking lot and settles into an empty spot up front. Two men, brothers, stepped out. The driver was a shorter man with a crew cut style;  his hair a straight, dark blond, matching his smooth forehead to his strong cheekbones and chiseled jawline. His eyes were hues of a forest, an earthy green that revives grass from the harsh winter. His stature is short, a brown shirt covered with a black and red flannel and that covered by a brown, leather jacket as his pants were blue going over his brown boots.

The passenger was tall, taller than his brother. His hair was shaggy brown and long, shoulder length to be exact but brought wonders to his features. The man’s eyes were the softest of brown, infused with a deep green as if he held a forest inside them. He wore a blue and white flannel with a grey, denim jacket. Pants were a light blue and like the other man, they, too, covered his dark brown boots.

The two looked at each other before walking into the motel. The bell on the entrance door jingled signaling the employees that customers were walking in. A plump, ederly woman who stood behind the check-in counter smiled and greeted them. “Welcome. Bed for one?”

“N-no...we’re not….we’re not together.” The taller man of the two stuttered.

“It’s okay sweetie. No need to be ashamed. We don’t judge here.” .

“Yeah, no need to be ashamed, honey.” The short man spoke as he spanked the taller man, grinning in amusement.

He gave his brother a look of annoyance. She gave them 2 sets of keys and he grabbed one before walking off.

“He's something, isn't he?” He winked and walked away with his key. 

The brothers walk out of the building and towards their shared room. Walking in, the walls are a dark, plain green with brown wood trims and the flooring white carpet. By the door to the room was a mahogany desk with a small, black desk lamp on top, a painting of a forest hung above. A dresser, the same color as the desk, stood against the wall with a small green dining table and matching chairs beside it. Across the table on the other side of the room were two separate beds with an end table in between and a large lamp on top. On the far side of the room across the entryway stood a door to the small bathroom. 

The bathroom, on the other hand, consists of a small, white sink on a grained counter top, the sink cabinet matching the dresser. A white toilet sat on the black and white tile floor, towels neatly folded on a silver rack above.  And next to the toilet was an off colored white bathtub with a few unknowable light brown stains on the sides; white tiles stuck to the walls and a silver showerhead attached above.  The bathroom walls are beige.

Dean slams the door shut and drops his bag onto the bed closest to the entry. He rummages through the bag grabbing out a black and white suit and a gun. Sam does the same before walking into the bathroom to change as his brother changes in the main room.

 “Witnesses first?” Sam shouts.

“You can question witnesses,” Dean spoke, fully decked out in his suit as Sam was when he walked out of the bathroom. “I’ll check out the crime scene.” 

Both men tuck their guns into the back of their pants and the fake FBI badges in their front suit jacket pockets. The same routine they do in almost every case. With their feet covered by white socks with black dress shoes, guns and badges ready, they headed out the door and to the first crime scene.

The small parking lot of the only hardware store in town, had attracted plenty of locals who stood behind yellow tape and two police officers at each end keeping them in line. Police cars and ambulances swarmed the outside, officers questioning witnesses all the while the EMTs checked for injuries. Despite the lot being small, Sam and Dean were able to maneuver around everyone. They found the sheriff talking to the owner of the store. 

“Excuse us, sheriff.” Dean spoke causing the man to look up from his phone.

“Can I help you gentlemen?” he asked, putting his device away.

They pulled out their badges from their front pockets flipping them open. “I’m Agent Page and my partner here is Agent Young. Can we ask what happened here?”

The sheriff squints his eyes at the fake I.D.s and sighs. “According to crazy Doreen-” pointing a finger at an elderly lady with an annoyed officer watching her- “there were small men walking out of the store wearing bloody clothes and holding tools stolen from inside.”

“Mind if I check it out?” Dean asked. The sheriff gestured towards the store.

Sam stayed to talk to the man while Dean went inside to check out the scene. The first thing he noticed was splatters of blood over the walls and counter where the checkout counter is. He carefully leaned over the counter so as to not get blood on his suit or mess up evidence, his eyes roamed over the area to see a man dead, multiple stab wounds to the chest. He leaned back away from the counter to look over it. Smack dead in the middle of the blood splatter was a tiny handprint; as small as a child almost. Dean took out his cell and shot a picture and sent it to Sam.

Turning away he looked down at the floor for any further evidence. The blood hadn’t gone too far as most of it laid where the man is. Less clean up he supposed even though he knew it wasn’t the time to make jokes but does it anyways. Dean kept walking throughout the store. Nothing could be spotted on the floor. Even the shelves didn’t show signs of anything supernatural. They just looked ransacked. 

But something shiny caught the man’s attention from the corner of his eye. A bell. A small, gold bell. He walks towards then bends down to pick the object up. As it sat between his thumb and index finger, he slowly inspected the object. What the hell, he thought. Unfortunately he couldn't think further as his ears picked up the sound of footsteps coming up from behind. Dean quickly stood and turned only to let out a sigh of relief. It was just his brother.

“What did you find?” Sam asked, noticing Dean a little tense.

Dean opened his palm and showed him the bell. Sam’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. He picked it up to inspect it. As it is just a bell, nothing more. He pockets it and starts to tell Dean what the elderly lady had said. “According to Doreen, when she was walking past the store, she saw little men walking out with sets of tools covered in blood, the same for their clothes. Apparently they were wearing red and green striped pointed hats that contained bells on top, the shirt and pants matched and the shoes were pointed upwards on the end of them, also with bells on top.”

Dean looked at him like he didn’t believe any of the words that just came out of his mouth. And he doesn’t believe Sam. “So dwarves? You’re saying dwarves. Like Santa’s little elves.”

“I-uh, I mean, I guess,” he shrugs as he rubs the back of his neck realizing the elderly woman might actually be crazy just as the sheriff said.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Does any other witness say anything actually useful?”

Sam shook his head. 

“So no one else saw elves? Not even Rudolph?” Dean sarcastically spoke, making it Sam’s turn to roll his eyes. “Come on, let's go.”

Dean sat in his car parked in front of a small house with the window rolled down talking, no, flirting to a woman while Sam sat inside a house talking to the family of the dead employee from the hardware store. The woman, Dean learned whose name is (y/n), was trying her hardest not to laugh at his failed attempt of flirting with her. Which, he was epically failing and miserably. 

“Okay dude. Look, you’re cute and all but you are literally the walking cliche of James Dean. I’m not interested.” she spoke before walking off just as Sam was coming out of the house having heard everything and chuckling. 

“That was awesome.” he states getting into the impala.

“Oh shut up,” spoke  Dean, annoyed, as he started the car and drove off. “What did they say?”

“According to the mother, nobody told her and her husband that their son is dead. The sheriff said that the guy, whose name was Greg, died sometime around six this morning. And despite it being several hours later, they never got a call.”

“Anything useful?”

“She said that Greg had been seeing little men for about three days and shrugged it off as drinking too much. It seriously sounds like elves.”

“Yeah, no. There is no such thing as elves.” Dean spoke, obviously still not believing Sam.

“Do you remember the case with the girl that was in a coma and her dad was reading her fairy tales?” Sam asked.

“Yeah, so?”

“What if this is something similar except the whole disney sugar coating? Like how the mice were turning into servants and how Cinderella was being abused by her stepmother except this time it's elves.” Sam explains.

“Unless they’re dwarves from Lord of the Rings, I’m not buying it.”

.    .    .    .

Seven in the morning rolled around when a bedside alarm goes off. A hand reaches out and slams the top of it shutting it off. Yawning, (y/n) pulls back the covers and swings her legs over the side of the bed and stretches. She gets up and walks out of the bedroom and into the bathroom to do her business. When finished, she walked back into her room changing into some black leggings with a red sweater and white socks. After changing she walked downstairs putting on her black boots lined with white fur and a dark red double lapel jacket. She grabbed her purse and keys and headed out the door.

The weather outside was freezing causing her to slightly shiver. The ground is covered with pure white snow. Her boots leave small prints in the snow from the front door to her vehicle. She quickly gets into her car and lets it run for a few minutes before turning the heat on and leaving. She was used to the cold weather as she has lived in Minnesota for most of her life so the snow didn’t bother her.

The first place she headed for was the small cafe in town where she had breakfast almost every morning. The owner, Mrs. Smith has lived here for all her life and the cafe was passed down generation to generation. (Y/n) has known her since she moved here with her parents when she was younger. Mrs. Smith used to babysit her when her parents had to work. They were close and still are to this very day. The cafe has changed interior multiple times over the years as to keep up with modern times. But the outside has never changed. 

By the time (y/n) has arrived and walked into the building, her usual breakfast consists of fried egg, bacon and cheese on a toasted bagel, a bowl of maple and brown sugar oatmeal with sliced bananas and black coffee, in her spot she claims as hers in the far corner of the building in the booth. It was her favorite spot as she could watch customers for inspiration for her writings.

While she ate and watched people come and go, two men in black suits came in, taking a seat a couple booths away from her. One of them, the same one she talked to, well, technically watched him fail at flirting with her yesterday, caught her eye. He puts on a charming smile fixing his jacket while he says something to the other guy, who seemed amused to see him fail again, and made his way over to the woman. 

He sits across from her. “Morning.”

“Morning, Agent.” she smiles, leaning back into her seat, waiting to watch him fail for the second time.

“I think there’s something wrong with my eyes. I just can’t seem to take them off of you.” 

She couldn’t help but snort while she took a sip of her hot coffee.

“Boy, that coffee looks hot. Just like,” Dean started before sheepishly saying, “hi.”

That caused her to raise her eyebrows. “Okay, now that was kind of adorable.”

Dean perked up. “So, did it work?”

She stood up, her breakfast finished. “Nope.” And with that, she walked out of the cafe with an amusing grin on her face. Dean’s mouth was open with shock. He’s never been rejected by a woman in years. Especially twice. He lets out a groan before closing his mouth and sitting at the same table Sam currently sat at. Sam was grinning letting out chuckles at his older brother’s failure.

“Oh shut up.” Dean told him as he grabbed a menu covering his red face of embarrassment while he looked for food. “So, what did you find from research last night?”

Sam who already knew what he wanted to eat pulled out his laptop from his computer bag and placed it in front of him. “According to Wikipedia, in Germanic mythology, a dwarf is a human-shaped, usually bearde, entity that dwells in mountains and in the earth and is variously associated with wisdom, smithing, mining, and crafting. But in this case, it's around Christmas time so instead of it being dwarves, we could be dealing with elves.”

Dean deadpanned and looked at the man across from him. “Please for the love of Chuck, you’re joking.”

Sam shook his head.

“I thought elves were supposed to be nice. Not all murdery.”

Sam shrugs. “I think at this point from all the shit we thought wasn’t possible, this goes along with it.”

“But why would elves start killing people and taking hammers and shovels and whatever else?” Dean spoke confused as hell. 

The only thing Sam could come up with is, well, he couldn’t come up with anything as they never went through something even remotely close to this. They didn’t have much to go on since they only talked to very few people and saw one crime scene. He already knew this odd case was gonna take more than a few days unlike most of the ones they have been on. 

“Sam sighed. “I don’t know. We need to look at the other scenes and see what happened there. Like the one lumber yard.” 

Before Dean could say anything, a waitress came up and asked them if they were ready to eat. Dean ordered a large, meaty breakfast, something likely to give you a heart attack if you ate enough of it while Sam got something small and healthy so he could keep his physique up. She wrote it all down, eyes widening when Dean spoke what he wanted and giving Sam a flirty smile as she took the meus from his hand, letting their fingers touch before letting them know she’ll be back with coffee and walks away with an extra sway of her hips. Dean watched her backside as she walked away till he couldn’t no more. He looked at his brother eyebrows raising up and down and smirking at him. “She’s hot.”

He just ignored Dean’s behavior as he was used to it. 

“Dude! You should go for her.” Dean states.

“No thanks.”

“Oh come on, you need to get laid. That’s probably why you’re so tense all the time.”

Sam looked at his brother with annoyance and rolled his eyes. “Last I checked, saving lives is more important than getting some.”

“If you won’t have her, I will,” Dean grins. “What happened at the lumber yard?”

Sam pulled up the local newspaper, called Morning News written on top in huge black letters, on his laptop. Everything that had happened over the last several days here covered a good part of the first page. On the left column showed rebuilding the bridge that connects the two surrounding towns as it was falling apart and unsafe to drive on. It didn’t give an estimate of how much it would cost to demolish it, which Sam knew was gonna be expensive, but to build another was gonna be much, much more. 

On the right column was a ten-year-old boy being awarded for selling the most chocolate in time for the holidays. He won a two hundred and fifty dollar gift card and got to leave school to go to any restaurant for lunch. He remembers middle school used to do that but he was never able to because of his father, John Winchester. He would’ve liked to do normal activities growing up, and still does, but with the line of work they do, he can only do so many normal things every other human gets to do. Otherwise, nothing of importance.

And on the bottom of the page showed the weather for the next seven, cold and snowy. No sun or warmth which of course is normal with it being winter. Before Sam could get off topic in his thoughts, he read the column of the murders until it told him to turn to page nine. The whole entire page, he notices, was covered about the murders of two men but three crime scenes. Sam didn’t bother reading the few paragraphs of the scene at the hardware store. Next, it showed what may have happened at the lumber yard which apparently happened first before the hardware store as the man who chopped wood there was found with an axe in the back of his head.

“So it says here a man, Finn Huckle, was found at three am two days hunched over the tree stump. His legs hacked and an axe stuck in the back of his head as his body laid over the tree stump he was using to shop wood. It looked like a regular murder accoring to the police until they saw Finn holding a pointy hat in his hand. It looked like he tried fighting back because he had skin under his nails. But when the lab tested it, the skin didn’t belong to anybody. Like whoever, or whatever, did this, doesn’t exist. However, at the last scene, at a children's park, in the sand box was a large, gaping hole with what they know is snow, surrounding the area.”

Dean took everything his brother said in. This was definitely something they haven’t dealt with, even heard of. But Sam says he thinks its elves seem to be making more sense, oddly to him, the more they learn what's happening in town. But why elves? Weren’t they supposed to be nice and make presents for good boys and girls? This case seems to be getting odder and odder. 

“Say it is elves, did they lose their mojo or something? Maybe they ran out of alcohol. I’d be all grumpy if I ran out of alcohol and had to deal with shit ton of kids.” Dean spoke gruffly.

Sam suddenly perked up, an idea as to why, if it is elves, acting dangerous. “What if they were hit with some potion making them angry?”

Dean furrowed his eyebrows as he thought. Okay, maybe it is Santa’s little helpers, or logically, it's not. This is definitely something new. Before they can confirm what they think, they would need to see the hole at the park. His thoughts were interrupted with the pretty waitress bringing their food. She gave Sam his first, again, giving him a flirty smile then gave the other man his food, looking at him. Dean winked at her as he gave her his world famous smile he uses on all the ladies causing her to scoff and roll her eyes before walking off. Sam laughed at Dean’s flabbergasted look on his face. “Rejected by two women in one day. Got to be a new record.”

Dean rolled his eyes and flipped Sam off before digging into his food, annoyed.

___________________________________________________

DEAN X READER TAGS:

@akshi8278

[livingcorner]

Transform Your Kitchen with a Fresh Coat of Paint

DAVID A. LAND

Are you building a new house and planning your dream kitchen? Or maybe you’re craving a fresh, new look for your existing kitchen. It’s true what they say: The kitchen is the heart of the home. It’s where you and your family will spend lots of time, and where your guests will likely end up congregating. It should be a space that feels inviting and relaxing and also delivers the style and personality you want your home to reflect. Do you want a light and airy kitchen? A happy and whimsical space? Or a cozy, rustic kitchen? No matter the look, your starting point should be in establishing the color palette. An all-white kitchen will always be a classic, timeless look, but don’t be afraid to bring in some color, even in a small kitchen. The paint color—even the exact shade of white—you choose for the walls will instantly set the tone.

You're reading: Transform Your Kitchen with a Fresh Coat of Paint

One of the ways to make the biggest impact is to paint your kitchen cabinets. Whether it’s painting a dark wood a bright white to lighten your space, or taking white cabinets to a deep, saturated hue that creates a warm, cozy kitchen, or even a new coat of a bright yellow or blue to add a punch of personality, changing the color of your kitchen cabinets will instantly transform your room. (If you’re planning to go the DIY route, read this article for tips on how to paint kitchen cabinets. Yes, even laminate cabinets!) For even more inspiration, check out some of our favorite kitchens for many more kitchen decorating ideas, including kitchen island ideas, hardware inspiration, lighting, and even some ways to use wallpaper.

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Pale Blue and White

This blue and white combination brings us all the cool, calm coastal vibes in this kitchen designed by interior and textile designer Heather Chadduck Hillegas.

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Blue-Black

This moody hue is making us crave a rainy day indoors with a cup of tea while bread bakes in the oven. It is the perfect dull blue that still feels warm and rich.

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Historic Blue

This timeless blue is be a part of Benjamin Moore’s historic collection. It feels traditional but fresh in this kitchen designed by Grace Mitchell, especially off of the copper and bronze lighting.

Get the look: Kitchen cabinets: Philipsburg Blue by Benjamin Moore

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Green and White

The white walls of this kitchen designed by James Farmer feel fresh and bright off of the rich green cabinets and pair perfectly with the natural wood shelves and oven hood.

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Dark Teal

These dark cabinets work beautifully off of a bright white marble sink and earthy green tiles.

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Gray and White

We love gray in any room and especially in this kitchen designed by Sara Davis. The soft gray cabinets pop against the dark brown wood floors, creating a modern yet simple combination.

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Canary Yellow and Blue

Read more: Hell’s Kitchen, Manhattan – Wikipedia

Look no further than the classic yellowware bowl for proof that blue and yellow make for a timeless country combo, as seen here in this 98-square foot galley kitchen that features canary-yellow cabinets and quilt-like cement tiles. The petite 20-inch range maximizes cabinet space in the small kitchen.

Get the Look: Cabinetry Paint Color: Honey Bees by Sherwin-Williams. Backsplash Tile: “Tangier Primero” by Villa Lagoon; wayfair.com

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Pure Black

When homeowner Bailey McCarthy moved into her century-old Texas farmhouse, the wall were a boring beige and the cabinets, which vary in height, were white. “Painting everything black seemed like a good way to make the cabinets blend in with the wall,” says Bailey. She balanced the dark statement color with butcher block countertops and brass hardware and lighting.

Get the Look: Cabinetry Paint Color: Pitch Black by Farrow & Ball

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Soft Taupe

When you want to add little color but don’t want it to overwhelm, look to a soft taupe. The appealing neutral adds a warm, but airy, swathe of color. It’s a color that also pairs well with stained wood cabinets.

Get the Look: Kitchen Cabinetry Paint Color: Smoky Ash by Benjamin Moore

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Bright Blue

One Kings Lane designer Sarah Blank opted for a calming blue for the shelves, brackets, and walls, of this kitchen, lending more cohesion to the space.

Get the Look: Cabinetry and Wall Paint Color: Lulworth Blue by Farrow & Ball

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Sunny Yellow

Designer Alison Kandler and homeowner Jenn Chiarelli found the perfect sunny shade for the kitchen island in Jenn’s bright California farmhouse by pulling paint chips of colors that simply made Jenn feel happy. Then they found ways to incorporate the hues into the kitchen to create a look that is as colorful as it is cheerful. The black woven stools add a grounding element to the candy-colored space.

Get the Look: Island Paint Color: Tropical Moss by Dunn-Edwards Paints

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Gray Green

Designer Heidi Caillier chose a soothing green—that is a little bit gray and a little blue—for the Shaker-style cabinets. “It changes with the light,” Heidi says. “It also feels traditional to me, which is what I really wanted.” The color pairs particularly well with soapstone countertops and unlacquered brass bail pulls and knobs. Six-inch terra cotta hex tiles add distinct richness to the artfully layered kitchen.

Get the Look: Cabinetry Paint Color: Oil Cloth by Benjamin Moore. Hardware: unlacquered brass bail pulls and knobs; classic-brass.com.

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Off-White

When you have a lot of natural wood in your kitchen, pure white walls can feel too stark, especially if you’re going for a rustic kitchen look. Instead, choose a warm white that has just a touch of gray in it for a color that complements wood tones and works well with other warm neutral colors.

Get the Look: Wall Paint Color, Fleur de Sel by Sherwin-Williams

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Turquoise Blue

You couldn’t pick a better blue than the color of the original paint found on these salvaged tongue-and-groove boards. The turquoise tone compliments the buttery-yellow appliances, knotty pine floors, and barn wood cabinets to create a charming rustic farmhouse-style kitchen.

Get the Look: Appliances: bigchill.com

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Pure White

There is nothing more timeless, yet completely fresh, than an airy all-white kitchen. The look works especially well with kitchens that have varying textures (both literally and visually), such as the shiplap planked walls and open shelving in this dreamy kitchen, which keep an all-white space from feeling stark and sterile.

Get the Look: Wall and Cabinetry Paint Color, White Dove by Benjamin Moore

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Washed Turquoise & Buttery Yellow

To give her kitchen cabinets a slightly weathered look, Jolie Sikes of the Junk Gypsies first coated the cabinets with blue interior oil stain, then used a rag to apply and partially rub off a layer of wood stain. “Embrace color,” says Jolie. “Just because kitchens are utilitarian rooms doesn’t mean they should be quiet, sterile, or boring.” The buttery walls, combined with the natural wood stain on the windows, trim, and beams, create a warm backdrop for the room’s bold cabinetry and accents such as Jolie’s barstool mix—a pair of swiveling red tractor seats plus a vintage vinyl-covered number.

Get the Look: Cabinetry Stain: Aquarius by Sherwin-Williams plus Provincial Wood Finish stain by Minwax. Wall Paint Color: Canyon Cloud by Behr. Wood Trim Stain: Pecan by Minwax

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Read more: Hell’s Kitchen: What Happened To Head Waiter Jean-Philippe Susilovic After Season 12

Bright Green

In her South Carolina home, homeowner Lauren Northup looked down for her color play. Taking her color cue from the grass green floors at Thomas Jefferson’s Monticello, she choose to paint the kitchen floors a striking green. “Blues and greens mean rest, home, and happiness to me,” says Lauren. “This color on my kitchen floor is a good balance with the bright white walls and cheerful checked curtains.”

Get the Look: Floor Paint Color, Arsenic by Farrow & Ball

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Sky Blue

In their cozy converted schoolhouse project, designers Jason Oliver Nixon and John Loecke of Madcap Cottage looked outside for the kitchen’s color inspiration. They removed the small room’s drop ceiling and installed tongue-and-groove rafters, now swathed in a dreamy shade of sky blue—a design trick seen on Southern porches. “The color draws the eye up,” says Jason, “which makes the room feel like it stretches to the sky.”

Get the Look: Ceiling Paint Color, Blue Ground by Farrow & Ball

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Crisp White

Don’t feel badly if you’re a bit picky. Marsha Ahearn, the owner of this summer retreat in Martha’s Vineyard, painted her kitchen with a 50/50 blend of two shades to get her ideal white. It’s the perfect backdrop to let your brightly colored accessories pop.

Get the Look: Wall Paint Color, 50/50 blend of China White and Linen White, both by Benjamin Moore

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Cheery Yellow

This sunny kitchen proves there is no such thing as too much of a good thing. Its Shaker-style cabinetry, as well as its walls and those of the adjoining breakfast nook, are all awash in a bright and cheery yellow. Glass cabinet fronts and white trim, fixtures, and appliances add a punch against the solid color and help keep the space feeling light.

Get the Look: Cabinetry Paint Color, Convivial Yellow by Sherwin-Williams

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Forest Green

Most people opt for white in the kitchen, but this rustic kitchen is bathed in moodier hues. The paneled cabinets are painted in an earthy forest green while the fir beadboard is a golden brown—giving the 75-square-foot small kitchen a jewel box feel. An ivory apron-front sink offers a burst of brightness.

Get the Look: Cabinetry Paint Color, Mohegan Sage by Benjamin Moore

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Celadon Green

In this Massachusetts beach house kitchen, the Wood-Mode cabinetry is painted a pretty celadon green that is crisply set off by a white subway tile backsplash. It’s a pairing that brings a kitchen pretty color without overpowering. Cape Cod artist Tim Dibble custom-carved the kitchen’s slate apron-front sink to incorporate local icons: a windmill, whale, lighthouse, and the word “riptide.”

Get the Look: Cabinetry Paint Color, Coastal Plain by HGTV Home for Sherwin-Williams; lowes.com

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Bright Yellow and Blue

There’s nothing more appealing than a blue-and-white kitchen. And you can’t beat a yellow kitchen for a happy setting. We say combine the two for a true win-win. This Kentucky kitchen proves the point beautifully with its pairing of a warm blue-and-white quilt-patterned tile backsplash and a light and bright yellowy-green painted island. White wall cabinets and butcher block countertops keep things balanced.

Get the Look: Tile Backsplash: Snowflake in Azul; cubantropicaltile.com. Island Paint Color, Sweat Pear by Benjamin Moore

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Pale Pink

If you want to bring some color to your kitchen, but aren’t quite ready to fully commit, keep the backgrounds timeless and white, and then turn to appliances and accessories to add punches of color.

Get the Look: Wall Paint Color, Ultra Pure White by Behr. Refrigerator, SMEG; wayfair.com.

Source: https://livingcorner.com.au Category: Kitchen

source https://livingcorner.com.au/transform-your-kitchen-with-a-fresh-coat-of-paint/

[creepypasta-darling]

what's Lazari's house like?

It's more like a small cottage, with little Dutch apple windows that are surrounded by wildflowers.

There's vines traveling up the frame of the house, up to the singular window up top.

There's a small stepping stone path that you have to look really hard for if you want to visit her. You have to go off the trail to find it.

The house has an A frame roof, that goes down into the ground.

Theres a dusty welcome mat on the floor that says, "knock 4 times for directions back home." Zalgo custom made it.

Inside the house is a mix of things. There was a period in Lazari's life where she was extremely hungry, and so there's black stains running up the walls in the kitchen, stairs, and up into her small bedroom upstairs.

The regular wallpaper is a pinky-beige color, with flowers running up vertically. The trim is a deep brown color.

Her kitchen is full of flowers and cooking utensils, although her oven doesn't look much used. She likes to burn candles, so the smell is always of a vanilla or an apple scent.

Her living room has a singular tourquise couch and brown coffee table. The pillows on the couch are a light sunflower yellow. She has a brown bookshelf in the corner filled with children's books and fake Easter eggs.

The stairs and flooring are the same deep brown wood flooring, possibly an oak.

Her bedroom has a deep brown wood door with a gold handle.

Inside of her room, there are a bunch of doll houses with porcelain dolls by them, little animal dolls, and her teddy bear Gums sitting on her bed, propped up reading a book. The floor is that same wood, but it has a pink fuzzy blanket that matches the pink comforter on her bed. Her pillows are a bright purple and they match her princess bed canopy.

Her walls are a bright pinky-white color, and they have faerie lights and glow in the dark stars all over. She has white trim in her room.

She has a small desk with drawing supplies and also some medical tools, and her walls are littered with her drawings of her and her dad.

[niallsstainedcoffeecup]

The Weekend Cottage

Harry dislikes his friend’s girlfriend, and attempts to destroy their relationship.  Y/N finds herself aggravated from Harry’s tricks.  Will Harry succeed in destroying the relationship, or will he find himself at the hands of fate?  I hope you all enjoy.  Feedback and requests are welcomed.  Lots of love!  ----------------------------------------

          Her drooping eyes peeked through the narrow lines created by the raindrops trickling down the foggy windows and out onto the gray streets.  An exasperated sigh parted her dry lips while she knuckled the sleep from her eyes.  The mint green scoop emptied bitter coffee grounds inside the black coffeemaker. The neighbor’s cigarette smoke bled through the apartment’s thin wall.  Her feet covered by fuzzy socks padded across the stained linoleum floor toward the buzzing fridge, her hands bypassed the overnight oats she prepared with the intent to eat healthier and slipped around the milk’s damp handle.  Milk soaked the colorful cereal and marshmallows while she sipped the steaming coffee.  Her thumbs scrolled past emails and messages from colleagues and friends.  Joyce, her best friend since university, offered a free lunch at their favorite sandwich shop located near Y/N’s apartment.  Y/N agreed, checking the hourly forecast with outfit ideas in mind.  After breakfast, she dressed appropriately for the weather aside from the worn, white sneaker she wore everywhere.  She fished through her black purse for the jingling car keys.  A new message from Joyce’s long-term boyfriend, Andrew, reminded Y/N how late she would be if she didn’t find her keys in the next couple of minutes.  A successful snicker escaped her lips once her fingers wrapped around the metal keys. She jogged down the creaking staircase and into the empty lobby.  Y/N exited the apartment building, eyeing the red car she purchased after her university graduation.  The black leather seats and lavender-scented air-freshener greeted Y/N once she opened the doors.  She unlocked her phone, sending Andrew one last message before she left her building. I’ll be a few minutes late, but I can’t wait to see you! *          *          *          *          *          *

           Thick maroon curtains swayed against the beige walls lined with gold paintings. Men and women dressed in sleek, black suits paced around the candlelit store.  Glass displays illuminated the expensive jewelry sat among the black velvet cushions. Andrew leaned his body into his sweaty palms pressed against the glass display’s gold trimming.             “I selected three rings that I thought Joyce might like,” Andrew mumbled, releasing his teeth from his bottom lip.          Y/N admired the three sparkling engagement rings, “Andrew, they are beautiful.”          Five weeks ago, during a late dinner, Andrew asked Y/N for help choosing the perfect engagement ring for Joyce while Joyce snuck off to use the restroom.  Now, Y/N blinked back happy tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks as she admired the rings.          “Joyce would love all of these three designs. Hell, I love all of these rings, but the princess cut with the white gold band would look great on Joyce’s hand,” Y/N breathed out, looking into Andrew’s tear-filled eyes.         Andrew’s beaming grin spread across his face before he wrapped his arms around Y/N.  Y/N giggled, burying her face in Andrew’s sturdy chest.  The spicy cologne Joyce purchased last Christmas for Andrew suffocated Y/N’s nose.  Andrew tore away from the hug, informing a nearby salesperson about the decision.          “When are you going to propose?” Y/N wondered.          Andrew’s smile widened, “I asked my parents if we could borrow their weekend cottage.  I’m sure Joyce will invite you to join us, but I planned on asking her during dinner with our friends.”          “I can’t wait to see her reaction.  Do you want to join us for lunch?” Y/N asked, walking toward the heavy oak doors.          Andrew shook his head, pushing the door open with his hand and shoulder, “No, I told Joyce I had an early meeting.  Don’t tell her anything.”          Y/N rolled her eyes, “I won’t spoil the surprise.  I’ll see you this weekend.”          Andrew waved goodbye, darting through crowds of people walking around the shopping center.  Y/N spun around, heading toward the sandwich shop where Joyce waited without knowledge about Andrew’s plan. *          *          *          *          *          *

           “Andrew’s parents let us borrow their cottage for the weekend.  Will you join us?” Joyce asked, lunging forward to cup Y/N’s hands.           Y/N chuckled, shrugging her shoulders, “I don’t know.  My boss assigned everyone a new project.”           Joyce’s bottom lip jutted out, “Please, Andrew is inviting his friends, and I want my best friend with me.  His friends are attractive too.”           Y/N snorted, lifting the sandwich drenched in olive oil, “Why do his attractive friends matter?”           “You could flirt with these men.  The cottage is also near a gigantic lake,” Joyce gushed, wiping the lemonade glass���s condensation from her palm.           Y/N groaned, “Fine, you win.  I’ll visit the cottage with you this weekend.”           Joyce squealed with joy, bouncing back and forth in the plastic stool.  Y/N giggled, stabbing her fork into the salad drenched in dressing.  She couldn’t believe the excited freshman handing out chocolate chip cookies to everyone on their floor would be engaged by the end of the weekend. *          *          *          *          *          *

           Tall, oak trees grew near the curvy dirt path that led to the sandstone cottage. The green branches intertwined, blocking the sun’s warm rays from the shadowed path.  The beige dirt crunched under Y/N’s car tires.  Her eyes widened the further her car traveled through the woods. Vines dangled from the cyan tin roof and snaked around the stone bricks.  After Y/N parked her car next to the four vehicles, the cyan screen door swung open with an eerie squeal.  Joyce raced down the creaky porch stairs and toward Y/N with open arms.           “You’re here.  What do you think about the cottage?  I don’t know if it has a horror or romantic vibe,” Joyce rushed out, looking around the forest.           Y/N chuckled, tugging the heavy suitcase from the trunk, “I imagine Hugh Grant waiting inside the cottage for me with roses.”            Joyce giggled, slinging her arm around Y/N’s shoulders, “What is your obsession with Hugh Grant?”            “Have you seen young Hugh Grant?” Y/N asked, following Joyce through the front door.            “Before you walk through the house, Andrew mentioned the house is a no-shoes house,” Joyce announced, slamming a hand against Y/N’s chest.             Y/N whined, rubbing the sore spot on her chest, “Okay, I’ll remove my shoes.”             Y/N’s worn white sneakers joined the lineup of sneakers located near the squeaky door.  Her sock-clad feet sunk into the stain-free cream carpet.  Floral candles covered the musty scent radiating off the stone bricks.  Family portraits and expensive marble statues decorated the silent cottage that felt the opposite of comfortable.  Y/N followed Joyce through the living room and into the narrow kitchen, where Andrew and friends conversed.            “Y/N, how was the trip?” Andrew asked, wrapping his arms around Y/N.            “I loved the scenic drive,” Y/N mumbled, tearing away from Andrew’s hug.            Y/N faced Andrew’s friends, prepared to introduce herself to the new faces.  Her mouth dried up once her eyes landed on the familiar short, curly locks that she adored.  His crystal green eyes stared back into her own.              “Hello, I’m Y/N.  I’m Joyce’s friend,” Y/N announced, waving to the three strangers and Harry.            Harry smiled, waving back at Y/N, “I’m Harry, that is Lina, Justin, and Mark.”            “How long have you known Andrew?” Y/N asked, tearing her eyes from Harry.            Lina snorted, “I’m Andrew’s childhood neighbor, so I’ve known him since birth.  Mark, when did you meet him?”             Mark huffed, searching for the answer in the ceiling, “I met Andrew during university.”            “I’ve known Andrew since secondary school,” Harry mumbled.            “You are all saints to put up with him,” Joyce joked, “Y/N and I met during university.”            Y/N nodded, “Well, I loved meeting everyone. I need a restroom break.”            “Right, the restroom is the second door on the left,” Andrew pointed toward the dark hallway.            Y/N followed Andrew’s instructions, locking the white bathroom door.  A shaky sigh parted Y/N’s lips while her sweaty palms clutched the gray counter. Her trembling fingers wrapped around the silver knob with the blue label.  Cold water splashed onto her wrists and hands.              “Honey, are you okay?” Joyce’s concerned voice startled Y/N’s attention away from her panicked reflection.            Y/N cleared her throat, “Yeah, I’ll be outside in a few minutes.”            “Andrew and I are going grocery shopping. Are you freaked out about Harry?” Joyce asked, praying Y/N wouldn’t disown her for keeping Andrew and Harry’s friendship a secret.            Y/N rolled her eyes, opening the bathroom door, “Yeah, I did not expect to meet my idol today.  Wait, you didn’t tell him that I love him, right?”            Joyce fervently shook her head, “No, I would never do that.  Are you okay?”             Y/N smiled, “Yeah, I’ll be fine.  Have fun with Andrew.”            Joyce waved goodbye, running down the hall after Andrew.  Y/N chuckled, rolling her eyes at their sweet relationship.  She followed the voices toward the backyard where Harry and Mark stood. Y/N admired the way his white t-shirt stretched across his broad shoulders.  She slid the glass door open, listening to Harry’s conversation.            “Can you believe Andrew’s proposing to her? Why can’t he see that she doesn’t love him?  She’s dating him to get his money,” Harry complained, pressing the beer bottle to his rosy lips.             Y/N gasped, stumbling over her feet.  How could someone who preaches treating people with kindness, talk bad about his friend’s girlfriend?  Y/N would not let Harry talk badly about Joyce when he didn’t know her.             “Hey, you can’t talk bad about Joyce. You don’t even know her, so how do you know she wants Andrew’s money?  Joyce would never use anyone for their money,” Y/N hissed, watching Harry and Mark slowly turn around with unamused scowls spread across their face.            Harry chuckled bitterly, “Listen, what is your name?  You should eavesdrop on someone else’s conversation.”            Y/N glared, pointing her finger at Harry’s smug grin, “You are an asshole.  Why would Andrew invite you?”             “He invited me because I’m his friend. He invited you because he pitied Joyce for her lack of friends,” Harry stated through that smug grin.             Y/N shook her head, disappearing inside the house.  She couldn’t ruin Andrew’s romantic surprise with her complaints about his rude friend. She decided her best bet was to avoid Harry this weekend. *          *          *          *          *          *

           The orange sun dipped below the pines trees and cast a salmon pink glow onto the cottage.  Floral scented bug spray masked the smoke billowing from the fire pit.  Andrew and Harry heaved thick logs inside the glowing fire pit while Joyce handed out roasting sticks.  Lina ripped the plastic marshmallow bag open with her teeth, and Justin and Mark lugged the cooler filled with alcoholic beverages onto the backyard deck.            “Are we ready for smores?” Andrew asked, wiping the bark from his sore hands onto his dark jeans.            Joyce shook her head, glancing up toward the bedroom window, “I’m going to check on Y/N.  Harry, are you sure Y/N said she didn’t want smores?”            Harry nodded fervently, “She mentioned something about needing rest from the trip.  I offered to run her a bath, but she denied it all.”            Joyce frowned, tutting under her breath, “Well, I’ll check on her one more time.”            Joyce entered the cool house while Andrew and his friends looked through playlists.  Her knuckles rapped softly against the wooden door.            “Love, are you okay?  Harry told us that you weren’t feeling well from the trip,” Joyce asked, leaning against the doorframe.            The wooden door clicked open, revealing the spacious cream-colored room.  A pinkish glow settled around the room from the window where Joyce could spot Andrew and his friends.  Y/N plopped down onto the white duvet while Joyce admired the expensive art that lined the white walls.            “Are you okay?” Joyce asked, sitting down beside Y/N.            Y/N nodded, “Yeah, what did Harry say?”           “He told us that you declined the smores because you needed rest,” Joyce mumbled, shifting her focus toward the large window again.            Y/N nodded, debating whether she should inform Joyce about Harry’s cruel words, or should she ignore Harry for Andrew’s sake. What kind of friend would she be, if she ruined her best friend’s proposal weekend?              She huffed, gripping her head, “Yeah, I’m exhausted.  We can spend time together tomorrow.”            Joyce smiled, wrapping her arms around Y/N’s body, “Okay, I love you.  I think Harry is sleeping across the hall, so if you need anything, you can ask him.  I think he likes you.”            Once Joyce left, Y/N snorted at the thought of Harry talking positively about her.  She leaned against the wooden bed frame and flipped through the book’s fresh pages. She read until the sparkling stars replaced the pink sunset.  She drifted to sleep while Joyce, Andrew, and his friends celebrated the weekend around the roaring fire. *          *          *          *          *          *

           Exhausted snores echoed throughout the small cottage.  Y/N tiptoed past the bedroom doors with her blue tote bag clutched tightly underneath her arm.  Sunlight greeted her delicate eyes the minute she entered the living room.  She tipped the sunglasses perched atop her head onto the bridge of her nose.  Joyce’s words about the gigantic lake warmed the goosebumps that coated Y/N’s skin.             “Where are you going dressed like that?” Harry’s groggy morning voice startled Y/N’s hand away from the door handle.            Y/N spun around, yelping once her face came into contact with Harry’s bare chest.  Harry chuckled, stepping backward, admiring Y/N’s frazzled actions.            “What are you doing?” Y/N hissed, shifting her eyes around the room rather than on Harry.            Harry snorted, crossing his arms across his chest, “I’m an early riser.  Where are you going?”            Y/N huffed, sliding the tote bag further up her arm, “Joyce mentioned something about a lake about two miles away, so I planned on visiting it while everyone slept.”            “A lake?  No, unless you mean the pond almost two miles away that dried up years ago, then I think Joyce lied,” Harry grumbled, furrowing his brows in confusion.            Y/N rolled her eyes, “Why would I believe you? You made it clear how you feel about Joyce and me.  I’d rather trust my best friend than you.”            “Fine, you don’t have to believe me, but I spent multiple summers in this cottage,” Harry stated in his sing-song voice.            Y/N shook her head, ignoring the nagging voice residing in her brain that trusted Harry more than Joyce.  Her hands gripped the door’s metal handle as she slid the heavy door open without making noise for the sleeping residents.  She glanced back, wishing she hadn’t when she spotted Harry’s smug grin as he waved goodbye to her.  She rolled her eyes, jogging down the creaking deck stairs and dirt pathway. How could someone as handsome as Harry be cruel?  Why did she still crave his rosy lips when he disliked her?  She shook her head, choosing to embrace the summer heat instead of her hatred for Harry.  The overgrown grass and weeds tickled her ankles while she admired the squirrels racing up and down the tall trees.  After strolling through the woods for about forty minutes, she stumbled across the wide yet shallow dip in the Earth.  The tan dirt cracked from the dry heat and lack of water.  Y/N stood there with her mouth open like a fish out of the water while Harry’s words taunted her mind, “Unless you mean the pond almost two miles away that dried up years ago, then I think Joyce lied”.  Joyce lied. *          *          *          *          *          *

           The bottom of Y/N’s feet ached from the rocky path not created for sandals. Her fingernails scratched the red, swollen bug bites dotted around her sticky skin.  A sigh parted her lips when her eyes spotted the familiar cottage, but dread churned within her stomach.  She wasn’t prepared for Harry’s cocky attitude waiting for her arrival so he could say, “I told you so”.  Should she have listened to Harry?  Yes, but he never provided enough reasoning for her to trust him.  She continued the walk of shame across the deck until the refreshing AC greeted her boiling skin.  After she dropped the tote bag beside the door, she found Harry hiding his smirk behind a purple coffee mug.  She rolled her eyes, shuffling toward the uncomfortable white couch that Harry lounged on.            “Could you wipe that stupid smirk off your face for five seconds?” Y/N hissed, plopping down beside Harry’s feet.            “I’m sorry.  I’ll try not to smile when you tell me that I was right,” Harry shrugged.            Y/N huffed, shaking her head, “You were right about the lake.”            “Right, does Joyce always lie?” Harry asked, ignoring Y/N’s jaw drop from his question.            Y/N shook her head, “Why would you ask that? Did Joyce lie about the lake? Yes, but she thought I wouldn’t come without a bribe.”            Harry snorted, “Bribing isn’t a good trait either.  I need to warn Andrew that his future wife lies and bribes people.”            “Why do you insist on breaking them up? What did Joyce ever do to you? Are you jealous of their love since nobody can last two months with you?” Y/N growled, standing to her feet.            Harry glared, opening his mouth with the perfect comeback in mind when Andrew strolled into the living room.  Y/N and Harry straightened up, plastering fake smiles across their faces.            “Good morning.  What are you two doing up?” Andrew asked, heading toward the kitchen.            Harry chuckled, slipping off the couch to chase after Andrew, “Oh, you know how much I love waking up early.  Y/N, what did you do this morning?”            Y/N shot daggers at Harry’s back as she followed him inside the kitchen, “Joyce mentioned something about a lake, but it turned out to be a pond.”            Andrew laughed, pouring the steaming coffee inside a red mug, “I told her about that pond.  I had my first kiss at that pond with a nearby neighbor.”            Harry tutted, leaning his elbows onto the cold marble counters, “Does Joyce lie to you?”            Y/N’s blood boiled from Harry’s question that surprised Andrew enough for him to choke on his coffee.  Y/N offered Andrew a nearby napkin to blot the coffee from his chin while Harry waited impatiently for the answer.            “Does Joyce lie to me?  Well, everyone can’t be one hundred percent honest all of the time.  I’m sure she does lie to me, but it never hurts me or my life,” Andrew mumbled, grabbing an orange from the intricately carved glass bowl.            Y/N nodded, changing the subject away from her friend, who wasn’t in the room to defend herself, “Yeah, everyone lies at one point in their lives, you must have lied about something, right Harry? I mean, being a pop star requires you to lie—about dating women, your friendship with previous band members, and your entire life.”            “Well, at least I would never lie to the person I plan on spending the rest of my life with,” Harry countered.            “Are you two hungry?  Joyce and I want to grab breakfast from the diner down the street,” Andrew mumbled, breaking the tension between Y/N and Harry.           “I’m starving,” Y/N and Harry stated at the same time.            Andrew nodded, exiting the kitchen in search for Joyce while Y/N and Harry glared into each other’s eyes.  Y/N despised the handsome man standing before her. She couldn’t wait until Andrew proposed to Joyce, so Y/N wouldn’t have to spend her weekend with Harry.   *          *          *          *          *          *

           Grease soaked the white and yellow wrappers labeled with different breakfast sandwiches.  Roasted coffee beans masked the floral candles burning on the kitchen counter. Lina rubbed the sleep from her eyes while Justin unwrapped their sandwiches.  Mark mixed alcohol into the steaming coffee and reassured the entire table that he only drank on the weekend.  Andrew and Harry discussed the dinner plans that revolved around either Harry or Andrew grilling.  Joyce passed out the sandwiches, and Y/N handed everyone the toasted hash-brown.            “Harry, Andrew told me that you don’t eat eggs, so I ordered you the yogurt parfait.  I eat them whenever we visit Andrew’s parents, and I can’t get enough of them,” Joyce grinned, handing Harry the yogurt cup.            Harry scowled, setting the sticky yogurt cup beside the sweating glass of water.  Joyce’s smile faltered from the cold expression she received.  Last night, Harry avoided all conversation with Joyce, which sent her worried heart into a frenzy.  If Harry didn’t approve of her, then Andrew might listen to Harry and end their relationship.  Joyce adored Andrew and couldn’t imagine her life without him, so she asked Andrew about Harry’s favorite items to win his approval.  Now, she wished she ordered him the same egg sandwich everyone else received.            “I don’t eat sugar in the morning.  These yogurt cups may look healthy, but too many of these could spoil a diet,” Harry grumbled, handing Mark the yogurt cup.            “Oh, I didn’t think about that,” Joyce mumbled through her plastered on smile.            Y/N recognized the fake smile spread across Joyce’s face.  Joyce loved pleasing everyone, so Y/N could only imagine how worried Joyce was when her boyfriend’s best friend wasn’t the nicest.  Joyce may avoid confrontation with Harry, but Y/N couldn’t let Harry mistreat her friend.  She swallowed the dry biscuit down her throat in preparation for her argument.            “Joyce, don’t listen to Harry.  The yogurt cup is divine,” Mark moaned, spooning the strawberry sauce into his mouth.            Joyce giggled, patting Mark’s shoulders, “I’m glad you like it.  Harry, can I make you anything else?”            Harry shook his head, standing from the table, “I’m not hungry.  I think I’m going to relax on the deck.”            Y/N mentally thanked Harry for taking his rotten attitude outside, so the rest of the group could enjoy their breakfast. Andrew rubbed Joyce’s shoulders while he wondered what happened to his best friend.  Nobody discussed Harry’s distant behavior, but everyone created excuses for the pop star, everyone except Y/N. *          *          *          *          *          *

           Soft indie music flowed throughout the dark woods.  The stars sparkled over the seven friends gathered around the dying fire.  Joyce cuddled into Andrew’s side, Lina plopped down on Justin’s lap, and Y/N sat between Mark and Harry.  The marshmallow roasting sticks, discarded hours ago, sat near their feet.              “Justin, how did you meet Lina?” Y/N asked, sipping the sparkling red wine.             Lina giggled, pressing her red-stained lips against Justin’s thick neck, “Well, my friend planned on attending the local university art show.  My friend dragged me to the show with the promise of free alcohol.  I knew nothing about the artist, but I loved her work. After chugging too many glasses of champagne, I found the most beautiful girl standing before my favorite painting. I approached her, and she listened to me compliment the art until she finally confessed that she was the artist. She scribbled her number across my arm, and we met for breakfast the next morning.”            “That’s so sweet,” Joyce squealed, squeezing her arms around Andrew’s waist.            Y/N nodded, “You are what the kids would call couple goals.”            Lina and Justin admired each other’s eyes as if their entire world resided within one another’s pupils.  Y/N’s heart craved a relationship like that, where she need only that person.  Harry glanced over at Y/N, noticing the longing gaze in her eyes after Justin’s story. His heart fluttered from the idea of staring into her beautiful eyes the same way his friends were doing.              “Joyce, how did you meet Andrew,” Harry asked, tossing an extra log into the fire.            Andrew and Joyce tensed from Harry’s question. Y/N understood the reasoning behind Joyce’s nervous smile.  Y/N and Joyce visited the local bookstore near the campus, where Andrew happened to work. Joyce saw Andrew from across the room and tugged Y/N into the children’s book section to inform Y/N that the love of her life happened to be in the store.  Y/N giggled, rolling her eyes because Joyce believed everyone was her soulmate.  Joyce fixed her hair and strutted across the store toward the register.  Andrew and Joyce flirted for multiple minutes until Joyce returned with Andrew’s number in her phone.  What Andrew didn’t know was that Joyce had a long-distance boyfriend that she meant to break up with months ago, but couldn’t find the right time. What Joyce didn’t know was that Andrew had an on-again, off-again relationship with his ex-girlfriend.  The two dated until they found out about their significant others.  Andrew ended the relationship, which left Joyce devasted for months until Y/N helped Andrew rekindle the couple’s love.  Y/N knew Joyce’s story would provide ample reasoning for Harry breaking up their relationship.           “I met Andrew at the bookstore, where we flirted until we started dating,” Joyce mumbled, tearing away from Andrew’s grip.           Mark frowned, furrowing his brows, “Why are you giving him the short story?  What about the part where you were dating someone else, and Andrew wouldn’t stop fucking Claire.”            “That part isn’t important for our story,” Andrew hissed, pleading for Mark to shut up.            Harry’s eyes darted between Andrew and Joyce, who separated from the awkward story.  His mind cheered upon the realization that he could break up their relationship with this story, but his heart sunk when he watched Andrew grip Joyce’s hand to reassure her that everything would be okay.  He spent all weekend searching for problems in Joyce when he never noticed the love between the couple.  He barely knew the girl that his best friend fell in love with, and he insisted on changing that.            “Joyce, I appreciate your story.  You and Andrew have a beautiful relationship,” Harry grinned, shooting a subtle wink at Andrew.            Joyce smiled with relief, “Thank you.”            Y/N’s shocked eyes stared at Harry as if he’d gone insane.  Lina changed the subject away from Joyce, but Y/N couldn’t focus after Harry’s kind action. After a short chuckle from the story, Harry shot Y/N a sheepish smile before returning his attention toward Lina. Y/N shook her head, hiding her smug grin behind the wine glass. *          *          *          *          *          *

           “Well, I enjoyed the conversation.  I am exhausted,” Harry yawned, standing from the green chair.            Everyone mumbled their goodnights as Harry entered the cool house.                 Andrew continued his story about grade school, but Y/N’s heart replayed Harry’s sheepish grin.  She chugged the remaining wine in her glass and stood to her feet.            “I am going to bed.  I’ll see everyone in the morning,” Y/N spoke through her fake yawn.             Everyone nodded, waving goodbye as she entered the house.  She waited a few minutes for anyone to follow her inside before tiptoeing toward Harry’s room.  Her stomach fluttered from the nerves and butterflies as her knuckles rapped against the wood.  What if he fell asleep?  What if was mad that she woke him up?  What if he acted nice to fool Joyce and Y/N for his ultimate plan?  Y/N’s panicked thoughts stopped once Harry’s door creaked open.  She expected Harry to look shocked that Y/N was outside his room, but all she found was guilt residing in his green eyes.            “Come inside,” Harry mumbled, shifting backward for Y/N to enter.            The large bedroom contained the similar white walls and cream carpet aesthetic; however, framed baseball posters lined the walls.  The queen-sized bed featured a white duvet with navy blue baseball-themed sheets. Y/N assumed Andrew lived in this room as a child.            “I’m glad you came to my room.  I hoped you understood my subliminal message outside,” Harry shuffled across the room toward the bed.            Y/N giggled, “Yeah, you shocked me outside. I expected you to pick on Joyce for cheating on Andrew.”            Harry winced, “Was I that horrible all weekend?”            “Yes, you ignored her all weekend, you accused her of lying to Andrew, and you would have mentioned the cheating incident,” Y/N admitted, watching Harry cringe with each statement.            Harry pinched the bridge of his nose, “I wanted to apologize to you.  I plan on apologizing to Joyce tomorrow when everyone isn’t around.  I treated you cruelly, and I am not the type of person to do that.  I responded out of jealousy.”            Y/N furrowed her brows, brushing a hand down Harry’s arm, “Who were you jealous of?”            Harry glanced up into Y/N’s eyes with shame clouding his pupils, “I was jealous of you.  Before Andrew started dating Joyce, we talked almost every day about our lives.  When I released the new album, I pushed Andrew to the side.  He messaged me with the idea of proposing, and I ignored him because the fans needed me more.  I expected him to wait for me, but he didn’t, and he chose you to help him instead.  I messaged him with multiple ring ideas from Gucci designers, and when he told me the news, I became jealous that you took my spot as Andrew’s best friend.”            “I could never replace you, Harry. Andrew is your best friend, but he needed someone who understood Joyce.  I think you need to tell Andrew and Joyce how you felt, they will understand. You are a kind man, and you reacted out of fear and jealousy.  We are all humans,” Y/N chuckled, smiling wider once that dimpled grin spread across Harry’s face.            “Thank you,” Harry breathed out, staring into Y/N’s starry eyes.            The couple didn’t notice the short distance between them until Harry’s minty breath fanned across her face.  Y/N gasped inaudibly, placing her palms against Harry’s sturdy chest.  She admired the blue specks mixed with Harry’s crystal green eyes.              “Can I kiss you?” Harry breathed out.            “Please,” Y/N whispered, wrapping her arms around Harry’s neck.            Harry’s rosy lips brushed against her own until she finally captured his lips between hers.  Harry sighed into the kiss, wrapping his arms around her waist while her fingers slotted through his luscious hair.  Harry’s tongue traced her lips, begging for entrance into her mouth. A soft moan parted her lips after Harry squeezed her butt.  Harry’s tongue entered her mouth that still tasted like the sparkling red wine. Their tongues melted together while they pressed their bodies flush against one another.  Harry pulled away from the kiss, searching for Y/N’s consent for their upcoming plans.            “I am okay,” Y/N promised.            Harry’s fingers clumsily gripped the bottom hem of her shirt, tugging until the shirt interrupted their kiss.  They stumbled backward toward the bed, tumbling down onto the springy mattress together.  Harry’s sudden infatuation surprised and worried Y/N.  Did Harry have feelings for her, or was he channeling his hatred through sex?  Y/N didn’t know the answer, but she hoped Harry had feelings for her too. *          *          *          *          *          *

           The chirping birds outside the window stirred Harry from his sleep.  His eyelids fluttered open while his hands searched for Y/N’s warm body.  The frozen sheets informed him that Y/N disappeared from the bed hours ago.  His dimpled grin fell as he tossed aside the sheets from his body.  He shuffled down the dark hallway, listening to Lina and Y/N speak about life plans.            “Yeah, we could grab lunch next week,” Lina gushed, blending what Harry assumed was a smoothie.            Harry knuckled the sleep from his eyes before entering the kitchen.  The marble counter contained a purple bowl filled with chopped strawberries, a blue bowl filled with chopped bananas, and a final bowl contained homemade whipped cream. Lina stood near the fridge, where she blended blueberries and other fruits into the purple smoothie that sat in three cups.  Harry assumed Y/N and Lina planned on surprising everyone with the extravagant breakfast.  His eyes drifted away from the counter as he stumbled toward Y/N’s glowing figure.            “Good morning,” Harry cooed, reaching for her hips so he could pull her in for a kiss.            Y/N grinned, twisting away from Harry’s arms, “Good morning.  Lina, are you almost finished with the smoothies?”            “Yes, how did you sleep, Harry?” Lina asked, handing him a purple smoothie.            Harry hid the confusion burning inside his chest as he told Lina about his rest.  He kept eyeing Y/N, who remained emotionless as she poured the batter onto the sizzling skillet.  Did she regret last night?  Was she drunk, and forgot that she slept with him?  Why was she acting like she barely knew him?            “Well, I’m going to wake up Justin,” Lina announced, drying her hands on the dishrag.            Harry grinned, watching Lina pad across the kitchen and into the living room.  Once Lina disappeared, Harry spun around on his feet to face Y/N.  Y/N glanced up from the bubbling pancakes and met Harry’s stern glare.            “What?” She asked, flipping the pancake.            Harry gasped, walking toward Y/N until their chests brushed against each other, “Did you forget about last night?”            Y/N blushed, placing her palms against Harry’s chest, “No, I didn’t forget about last night.  I do not think our friends should find out about our adventures because they might assume we are a couple.”            Harry’s heart sunk from her words.  Did she not want to date Harry?  Was she interested solely in sex?  Harry adored everything he knew about her, from her feisty attitude to her sweet gestures for her friends.            “You don’t want to date me?” Harry asked, attempting to hide his hurt feelings, but Y/N’s sympathetic frown told him that he failed.            Y/N cupped Harry’s cheeks, “I want to date you, but I don’t know you.  You were mean to me the entire weekend, so I would like to know you outside of this situation.  I also don’t want to steal Joyce’s spotlight by telling everyone that we fucked.”            Harry chuckled, wrapping his arms around her waist, “You are cute.”            Y/N giggled, leaning on her toes to press her lips against Harry’s rosy lips.  Harry pulled away from her lips but trailed his lips down her smooth neck.  His hot breath splashed across her skin, sending chills down her spine.  A moan parted her lips as Harry sucked a fresh love bite onto her neck.            “I love the sounds you make.  Now, can I help you with breakfast?” Harry asked, straightening up and acting as if he hadn’t left Y/N all dazed.           Y/N rolled her eyes, grumbling playfully underneath her breath, “Sure, you can help by finishing what you started.”            Harry tutted, swatting a palm against her butt, “We can’t have Andrew or Joyce walking in on me fucking you on the kitchen counter.”            Y/N gasped, clenching her thighs from the image of Harry and her on the counter.  Harry shot her his famous smug grin before exiting the kitchen with plates. Y/N’s heart stuttered from his smug grin that she once despised.  She knew Harry wormed his way into everyone’s heart, but she never expected her heart to be this weak for him.  She couldn’t wait until they left the cottage, so she could kiss Harry without worrying about her friends walking in. *          *          *          *          *          *

           Andrew whistled a happy tune while he strolled out from the bedroom.  Two pairs of hands gripped his white button-down shirt and tugged him inside the dark bathroom.  A startled yelp fell from his thin lips before Harry’s hand clamped against his mouth.  Y/N flipped the light switch, illuminating the dark bathroom, and calming Andrew’s fear.            “Are you ready?” Y/N and Harry asked, cornering Andrew.            Andrew nodded, staring wide-eyed between his beaming friends, “I have the ring in my pocket.  Did Mark finish cooking the roast?”            “Yes, and Harry helped me bake Joyce’s favorite chocolate cake.  When do you plan on doing it?” Y/N wondered, picturing Andrew asking during dinner.            Andrew shrugged, running his sweaty palms down the front of his shirt, “I don’t know.  Should I ask before dinner?”            Harry shook his head, “If you asked before dinner, then she would be too happy to eat.  You could ask before dessert.”            Y/N nodded, straightening the wrinkles in Andrew’s shirt, “Before dessert sounds good to me.  Are you nervous?”            Andrew chuckled ironically, “I don’t think I’ve ever sweated more in my life.  What if she says no?”            Y/N rolled her eyes, “Andrew, Joyce adores you with every fiber in her body.  It is normal to feel nervous, but remember that you know Joyce better than anyone.  You know how crazy she feels about you, and how much you both want a future together.”            “Thank you,” Andrew smiled, wrapping his arms around both Y/N and Harry.            Andrew exited the bathroom first, leaving Y/N and Harry alone inside the bathroom.              Harry grinned, leaning against the cold tile counter, “You are good at giving advice.”            Y/N smiled, stuffing napkins inside the dress’s pockets, “Thank you.  You are quite the romantic.”            Harry smirked, tugging Y/N closer by the hips, “Can I kiss you?”            “You can kiss me whenever you want,” Y/N breathed out, sealing Harry’s lips with her own.            The sweet kiss lasted a few seconds before the couple decided they better exit the bathroom before people became suspicious. Y/N headed toward the kitchen to help Mark and Justin while Harry talked with Joyce about Andrew’s childhood adventures. Y/N couldn’t believe that in a few hours, her best friend would be engaged. *          *          *          *          *          *

           “The roast tasted delicious,” Joyce complimented a blushing Mark.            Mark swatted his hand, pouring more red wine into her glass, “I’m glad you enjoyed it.  I stole the recipe from my ex-girlfriend’s mother.”            Lina’s abrupt laughter caused the red wine to spew from her mouth and onto the table, “I’m sorry, but you stole that recipe from an ex-girlfriend’s mom.  You date people?”            Mark glared, playfully mocking Lina while everyone laughed around the table, “At least I don’t spit my wine out.”            “Yeah, we knew you liked swallowing rather than spitting,” Harry joked, collecting the dirty dishes from the table.            The entire table erupted into laughter from Harry’s joke.  Mark and Harry continued swapping sexual innuendos while Y/N passed the chocolate cake around the table.  She noticed Andrew fidgeting beside Joyce, who didn’t notice her boyfriend clutching the small, black box inside his palms.  Andrew cleared his throat, the signal for everyone to quiet down.  Y/N plopped down beside Harry, waiting with everyone for the moment when Andrew popped the question.  Joyce straightened up, focusing her attention on Andrew’s pale figure.            “Sweetie, are you okay?” Joyce asked, cupping Andrew’s face.            Andrew chuckled nervously, standing to his feet before kneeling on one knee, “I have never been better.  Joyce, the minute you entered my life, I knew I wanted to spend forever with you.  I want to wake up every morning from you singing in the shower.  I want to return home to you after a hard day of work because you make everything better.  I want to start a family with you, so we can bring our children to this cottage.  I want to stand beside you at the altar, and say those two words.  I want to marry you, so will you marry me?”            A breathless chuckle fell from Joyce’s lips while her shaking hands covered her mouth.  Silent sobs shook her body as tears rolled down her cheeks.  Lina and Justin cuddled into one another, cooing from the sweet moment.  Mark swallowed the lump in his throat down with wine.  Y/N sniffled, dabbing the tears from her eyes with the tissues she stowed away in her dress.  Harry looked at Y/N’s beautiful face, deciding he wanted to spend multiple years with Y/N.  He reached for her hand under the table, squeezing it to show that he was there for her. Y/N’s smile widened from the sweet gesture, but her eyes never left Joyce, who slowly shook her head yes. Everyone cheered, standing from their chairs and clinking wine glasses together while Joyce and Andrew shared their first kiss as an engaged couple. *          *          *          *          *          *

           “I’m engaged,” Joyce squealed, dangling her hand in front of Y/N’s face.            Y/N giggled, admiring the sparkling diamond ring, “I know.  The ring looks beautiful on you.”            “Thank you for helping Andrew choose the ring,” Joyce mumbled, tilting her hand from side to side.            Y/N nodded, leaning her head against the stiff white couch’s cushion,                   “You’re welcome.  You’re my best friend.  I knew what you wanted.”            Joyce giggled, falling into silence after the small squeal from the ring’s reflections.  The whirring dishwasher roared throughout the silent house.  Justin, Lina, and Mark retired to their bedrooms after dessert while the rest of the group split off.  Harry and Andrew were talking outside under the cloudy night sky, and Y/N and Joyce chose the sofa, where they discussed wedding plans.  Y/N yawned, scrolling through messages from Harry that centered around how much he missed her.  She rolled her eyes, smiling from his cheesy messages that warmed her heart.            “Since I’m your best friend, will you tell me something?” Joyce asked, shifting her attention away from the ring and toward Y/N.            Y/N nodded, dropping the phone onto her lap, “What do you want to know?”            “How was last night with Harry?” Joyce smirked, laughing when Y/N choked on her saliva.            “What?  What do you mean?  I slept alone last night,” Y/N lied.            Joyce rolled her eyes dramatically, “Sure, and I will stop bragging about my ring in a few hours.  Andrew and I know about last night because we walked by his room and heard you two.  If you didn’t want anyone to find out, then don’t do it in a cottage you are sharing with your friends.”            Y/N groaned, palming her face, “Why didn’t we wait?  I’m sorry, I didn’t want to steal your thunder, and I didn’t even know if Harry and I were going to date.”            Joyce shook her head, holding Y/N’s hands in her own, “You are not stealing my thunder.  Andrew and I liked the idea of you two together before you even met. Whenever we noticed the tension between the two of you, we assumed you would either sleep together or kill each other. I’m glad you chose the first option. Do you like him?”            Y/N giggled, thinking about Harry’s adorable smile, “I like him.  Do you remember when you swore to me that Andrew was your soulmate?  Well, I feel like Harry could be that person for me. Sure, I don’t know him, but this attraction goes beyond sex.”            Joyce squealed, “I knew it.  I’m glad you found someone that drives you crazy.”            Y/N laughed, shaking her head at Joyce’s over-excitement.  Joyce returned the conversation to the wedding while Y/N messaged Harry.  Her heart swooned over the curly-haired man chatting outside with his friend. *          *          *          *          *          *

           “Are you insane?  Who chooses Colin Firth over Hugh Grant?” Y/N cried out.            Harry clutched his chest, acting insulted from Y/N’s words, “Are you insulting Colin Firth?  Hugh Grant plays the asshole, but you still support him throughout the film.”            Y/N shook her head, tossing popcorn into Harry’s mouth, “No, I do not support him.  He does play the asshole, but I would rather fuck him because he’s hot.”            Harry pouted, crossing his arms across his chest, “I’m hot too.”            Y/N giggled, setting the popcorn bowl onto Harry’s glass coffee table.  She scooted across the smooth, gray suede couch toward Harry’s pouting lips.              “You are hot, and I would choose you over Hugh Grant and Colin Firth any day,” Y/N purred, wrapping her arms around Harry’s neck, bringing his lips down to her own.            Harry smirked, melting into Y/N’s arms while he enjoyed her soft lips pressed onto his own.  Y/N broke the kiss, staring into Harry’s dazed green eyes.            “Should we finish the film?  I think Bridget might choose Hugh Grant,” Y/N whispered, chuckling when Harry rolled his eyes.            “Yeah, can I hold the popcorn?  You keep hogging the popcorn,” Harry whined, reaching for the popcorn bowl.            The blonde woman chased after Hugh Grant and Colin Firth onto the street.  Harry shoveled popcorn into his mouth with one hand while his other hand held Y/N’s hands. Y/N expected after five dates with Harry, she would get used to her heart fluttering from his touch, but her heart nearly leaped out of her chest whenever she spent time with Harry.  She kept her attention on the television screen, unlike Harry, who often took breaks to admire Y/N’s beauty.  Y/N brightened his day within seconds, whether in person or over the phone.  His smile never faltered around the beautiful girl, and his stomach never stopped fluttering when her skin brushed his.  He returned his attention toward the screen, where Bridget followed her true love into the snowstorm.            “Hey, do you consider us exclusive?” Harry asked, running his thumb across her knuckles.            “Wait, you want us to be exclusive? Shit, I better break up with my three other boyfriends,” Y/N giggled, dodging the popcorn Harry chunked at her.            Harry rolled his eyes, chuckling at her joke, “I’m serious.  I care about you, and I want to reassure you that I’m serious about us.”            Y/N smiled through her racing heart, “Me too. I care about you too.  Will you be my boyfriend?”            Harry smiled, cupping Y/N’s face, “Yes, will you be my girlfriend?”            Y/N nodded, pressing her lips against Harry’s rosy lips.  The credits flashed across the screen, but the couple didn’t seem to care at that moment. Y/N couldn’t wait to tell Joyce about her new relationship, and Harry couldn’t wait to thank Andrew for introducing him to Y/N.  All Y/N and Harry needed were one another.