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pedros-mustache · 4 years ago

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mr. grinch

summary: javi was never going to be the all-out-for-the-holidays type, was he?

word count: 2.7k

warnings: borderline soft!javi (the heart wants what the heart wants), specifically related to the christmas holiday, a disgusting amount of fluff, x fem!reader

a/n: wrote a post about this concept and decided that wasn’t enough. my forte is angst and pining, not fluff, so forgive me if this is trash.

also: this will be repeated in the future, i’m sure, but if you have at all interacted with/commented on/reblogged/liked any of my previous fics thank! you! i would reply to each and every comment however that would require exposing my main (as this is a side-blog) and that’s not gonna happen. please know that i see and feel your love! xoxo!

you long for the day after thanksgiving more than thanksgiving itself.

sure, you enjoy the november holiday; it’s not like you hate it. especially since getting married, since having kids, you find thanksgiving means a little more to you now than it did prior to adulthood.

you enjoy packing the kids up and traveling across town to your mother’s house for thanksgiving breakfast and then packing the kids up again and going to javi’s father’s house for thanksgiving dinner. you enjoy sitting beside your husband, your hand on his thigh, as you watch your children play with their cousins or be passed around by distant aunts and uncles. you enjoy knowing that you’re safe, that javi’s safe, that the babies are safe. you enjoy knowing that you’re loved.

really, thanksgiving is nice, a good reminder of all that you have to be thankful for. but it’s just that: nice.

the day after thanksgiving, though... that’s when the real fun begins.

since childhood, your family has waited to decorate for christmas until the day after thanksgiving, and you’ve brought the tradition to your new household. javi tells you that your excitement for christmas overshadows thanksgiving, and maybe it does, but you really don’t care. not when christmas is ten times more cozy and festive than thanksgiving could ever dream of being.

this year, you rise early on the appointed day and wake javi with a firm shake to the shoulder. he groans, rolls over to his stomach, and slips his head beneath a pillow.

“too early,” he mutters.

you exit the ensuite bathroom, rubbing your lotioned palms together as you prepare for a long day of unwrapping dusty boxes and fragile decorations. with a grin, you tap javi’s foot beneath the bedcovers. “get up before i sic the kids on you.”

he mumbles something under his breath, but the weight of the pillow muffles his words, so you leave him to his sulking. he’s never been a morning person, not in all the years you’ve known him. in a few minutes he’ll be up; you just have to give him time.

you find your son, tomás, awake and raring to go. six and a half years old and responsible as ever, it is his greatest joy in life to make his father proud. and though javier is a man of few emotional words, there’s a soft spot in his heart for both his children. today marks the first year tomás is old enough and capable enough to help his father with the outdoor decorations, and he’s already halfway dressed, his small feet shoved in tiny boots and his unruly hair snug beneath a baseball cap.

leaning against the doorframe, you watch as tomás struggles to get his arms through the sleeves of his sweatshirt. “you’re up bright and early,” you say, arching an eyebrow.

“wanna”—he bites his lip in concentration—“wanna help daddy today.” he drops his head with a heavy sigh. one elbow in particular remains stuck in the sleeve of his shirt, caught at a ninety degree angle.

you cross the bedroom to kneel in front of him and gently tug on his shirtsleeve. the arm once stuck at an uncomfortable angle flops to his side, and you smooth your hands over his narrow shoulders. “i’m sure you’ll be a big help, tommy. you just have to promise to do as daddy says.”

“yeah, i promise.”

with a squeeze to his arm, you cock your head to the open bedroom door. “go run downstairs and pour yourself some cereal while i get your sister up. daddy will be down soon.”

boots heavy around his ankles, tomás dutifully makes his way to the kitchen, his steps slow as he descends the steep stairs. his shoes clomp on the hardwood, and you hesitate, waiting to hear the cabinet doors open and shut, before moving to wake your daughter. you know by now that, though tomás thinks himself a fully grown boy, his legs often move faster than his brain, and you’ve had one too many tumbles down the staircase to show for it. the last thing you need today is a split forehead or bonked chin.

like her brother, julieta is awake when you enter her dimly lit nursery. she gives you a gummy smile when you reach down to lift her from the small mattress, and she gurgles happily as you change her diaper and dress her for the day. her arms flap against her sides in joy as you enter your bedroom and place her on your bed. with practiced effort, julieta crawls her way up the bed and presses her tiny fists against javi’s shoulders.

“come on, javier,” you say, pulling the covers away from your husband’s body. he groans in response, head still tucked beneath his pillow. “tommy’s already downstairs waiting for you.”

with a huff, javi turns to his back, drawing julieta with him, one broad hand splayed across her entire back. “getting up this early the day after thanksgiving is cruel and unusual punishment.”

“no—you’re just dramatic.”

“i think i ate too much pie yesterday.” he sits up with a frown. “i’m gonna have a beer gut like my uncle before you know it.”

“maybe, but i reckon you’ll still look cute.” you grab his wrist and tug him out of bed. he keeps julieta firm against his chest as he moves. “you know i don’t like to waste time, so please move that cute ass of yours downstairs. it’s past eight-thirty already.”

javi tosses a surprised look over his shoulder as you shove him out of the room, plaid pajama pants and all. “you think i have a cute ass?”

“shut up,” you grumble.

tomás sits at the kitchen table, bowl of cereal on his plastic placemat. he grins when javi enters the room, and a line of milk dribbles down his chin, which you are quick to wipe away with a stray napkin.

“hi, daddy.” rising to his knees, tomás swivels in his seat and braces his hands on the back of the chair. he watches as javi deposits julieta in her high-chair then sets about making his morning pot of coffee. “we’re gonna put the lights up outside today?”

without turning away from the coffee maker, javi nods. “yeah, champ. but, you know, i was thinking.” his eyes slide to yours as he shuts the coffee maker’s lid and flips the on button. “what if we did something... different this year?”

you still. julieta makes grabby fingers for the half of the banana that still hasn’t been sliced for her, and she kicks her legs against the high-chair. “different?” you narrow your eyes. “different how?”

“oh, i dunno.” javi leans back against the stove and crosses his arms over his chest. he has all the air of nonchalance, but you know this is a calculated attack. if you know anything about your husband, it’s that once he gets an idea in his head, he’ll work his way forwards and backwards to bring it to fruition. “just different.”

“so no lights?”

javi shakes his head in reassurance for both you and your son. “no, tommy, we’ll still have lights. just different lights.” for the crescendo of his argument, javi crosses the kitchen and crouches beside your chair. he squeezes your thigh, his brown eyes soft and pleading. “come on, mi vida, let’s spice it up a little bit. i’ve got it all worked out, so you don’t have to worry about anything.”

you toss your head back on a laugh. “oh, i’m sure i won’t!”

“trust me, baby,” he whispers, brushing a lock of hair behind your ear, and, for a moment, focusing more on the patterns of your face than his end goal.

you feel your resolve soften. how can it not? javi is decidedly undomestic, even with a wife and two kids. oh, he loves you; he adores his children. but it’s been a long time coming to get to this moment—him on his knees with his own holiday decoration plans. you’d be a fool to turn him down.

you shut your eyes and give him a nod. “okay, fine. i trust you.”

javi pops to his feet with a loud clap and equally as loud, “alright!” he points to tomás. “finish your cereal, kid, ‘cause we got work to do.”

dropping a kiss to the top of your head, he makes for the stairs. his socked feet slide on the linoleum, which causes to tomás to laugh in amusement, but you’re too stunned by javi’s sudden change of mood that you can’t help but feel like you’ve been duped.

spice up christmas decorations? you can only pray that whatever he has in store won’t get you a stern letter from the homeowner’s association.

***

before beginning his mysterious outdoor decorating project, javi pulls all the boxes labeled christmas down from the attic. he helps you assemble the artificial tree in the corner of the living room, and he, though with a good measure of grumbling, adjusts and readjusts the garland draping the front door.

but as soon as you give him the go ahead, he pushes you inside, makes you promise not to peek until he’s finished, and, like schoolboys up to no good, hurries away with tomás.

as the door slams in your face, effectively cutting you out of the fun, you glance at your daughter and roll your eyes. “men,” you say, and she coos in agreement.

it’s easy to get lost in your work for the remainder of the afternoon. there’s tens of ornaments to put on the tree and the little village to set up along the front windowsill. julieta follows as you move throughout the house. she crawls, or scoots on her bum, or rolls behind in her baby walker. she’s primarily a happy baby, and after tomás and his terrible twos, you’re thankful for a reprieve from the incessant crying and surly attitude.

christmas tune after christmas tune drifts from the record player in the foyer, and you bump along to the music, finding the work of unpacking boxes and artfully arranging decorations is not so much work with a good playlist and a giggly baby on your hip.

after pausing for lunch, you resume with the finishing touches. the house looks cozy, you have to admit. the tree sparkles in its corner, and the quaint ceramic village display on the windowsill reminds you spending the holidays with your grandmother as a child. there’s miniature, stuffed snowmen in the kitchen that tomás made in school and papier-mâché carolers that javi’s aunt crafted in the hall. an advent calendar hangs from the back of the closet door, and a spring of faux mistletoe dangles over the dining room doorway.

you’re proud of your work, but more than that, you’re proud of the life you’ve made alongside your husband. when he’d proposed all those years ago (a dreadfully unromantic proposal of a ring simply slid across the table at a restaurant), he’d promised life with him wouldn’t be easy. he hadn’t been lying. still, you’ve made it this far, and you wouldn’t go back on your vows for the world.

it does surprise you that you haven’t heard a peep out of the boys for most of the day. tomás hasn’t so much as run inside to use the bathroom or grab a drink of water. either javi’s spicy christmas decorations were more labor-intensive than he’d originally planned, or he’d jaunted off to his father’s house to escape the responsibility, taking tomás with him. you can’t decide which possibility you’d prefer.

before you can pick up the phone to call your father-in-law, the garage door opens. javi sticks his head into the hallway, a wide grin on his face when he sees you.

“okay, we’re ready.”

you put a hand on your hip. “are you sure?”

“yeah, i’m sure.” he steps inside long enough to lift julieta from her place in the bouncy walker. he sets her on his shoulders, and she squeals as she grabs fistfuls of his hair. “i thought you trusted me?”

you place the phone on the receiver and grab your jacket. “don’t throw my words back at me, javier.”

he taps your ass when you brush past him into the garage. “you’ll love it,” he says. “but you have to close your eyes.”

“really? just how different are these decorations?”

“oh, it’s like nothin’ you’ve seen before, hermosa. now shut your eyes!” with an exaggerated sigh, you close your eyes. javi squeezes your shoulder, and you start to walk forward into the driveway. “tomás, keep a watch on your mother. make sure she doesn’t peek.”

javi maneuvers you until you feel the driveway beneath your feet give way to soft grass. he places julieta in your arms then squeezes both of your shoulders. you can feel the excitement in his fingers, feel it in the way he practically bounces with anticipation behind you. you have entirely no idea of what to expect, but if putting up christmas decorations has made javi this excited, no matter what the decor is, you’ll let him do it every year.

“ready, tommy?”

“ready!”

javi presses a kiss to the side of your neck, his arm winding around your stomach to pull you back against his chest. he is firm behind you, the solid foundation on which your family stands. “ready, mi vida?” his voice is low, and even after all this time, it still sends a shiver down your spine.

in lieu of answering aloud, you simply nod.

“okay. tomás, in three... two... one.” he squeezes your hip. “open your eyes.”

the air in your chest leaves in a giant whoosh as you take in his decorations.

“oh my god, javier,” is all you can say as you stare in dumb-founded shock.

javier laughs—a real, hearty laugh—as he watches your face. “isn’t it great?!”

it—it being a wooden cutout painted to look like dr. seuss’s the grinch.

it being that cutout pulling down a strand of illuminated colored lights from the gutter.

it being the most half-hearted christmas decorations you’ve ever seen.

“where on earth did you get that?”

“eddie from two streets away. i saw it in his yard and knew i had to have one, so he got another from his guy and gave it to me.” he shakes his head as he looks on in pride. “best forty bucks i ever spent. it’s been in the back of my truck for weeks!”

“you are so lucky that i love you, javier.”

he laughs again, squeezing you tighter against his chest. “hey! i put lights on the bushes for you. that’s gotta count for something?”

dropping your head against his shoulder, you nod. “it does. and the more i look at the grinch, the funnier it is.” you hold up a finger. “but i’m not laughing yet.”

you glance at your neighbor’s house, at the cookie-cuter lights lining the frame of their two-story, at the mechanical reindeer bobbing their heads up and down. you look back at your... grinch, at his twisted smile and tip-toed stance and the sad string of lights wound from his hand to the gutter. you snort in amusement.

“i’ve got to hand it to you—this is the most javier peña thing you’ve ever done. i’m almost proud.”

“i knew you’d love it.”

turning in his arms, you shake your head. “no, i just love you.”

javi smiles and lowers his head to kiss you softly. it’s his way of returning the sentiment, and you preen under his affection.

but then you pull away with a frown. “wait a minute.” laying a finger against his chest, you tilt your head toward tomás. “where have you been all day? this set-up couldn’t have taken more than half an hour.”

javi cringes and glances at his son. he rubs a hand across the back of his beck. “yeah, about that...”

tomás appears from his place plugging in the outdoor extension chords. “daddy took me to the shooting range!”

gaping, you sputter to form a coherent sentence. “you what?!”

“tomás,” javi whispers, swiping his palm over his son’s hair. “you weren’t supposed to say anything.” he looks up through his lashes with a wry smile. “we did—yeah, we did go to the range for a bit.”

“oh, javier peña, you are so lucky i love you.”

javi grins, captures your chin between his fingers, and kisses you again. “yeah, i am.”

***

taglist: @insideafictionaluniverse @ladytrashbird @generaldamneron

#javier pena x reader #javier peña #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #narcos #narcos fanfic #javier peña x reader #x fem!reader #pm writes

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shreddedparchment · 5 years ago

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Pseudo Princess Pt.08

On a Pedestal

Pairing: King!Steve x Reader Word Count: 6,019

Warnings: mentions of sex, language, angst

A/N: I know I just released one last night but here’s another one. I will wait before posting another chapter at least a day in between so that I can respond to all of your lovely comments. I read each and every one of them and I appreciate them so much! Enjoy and let me know what you think! xoxo

His Majesty comes to you again that night. And the next. And the next.

For two weeks, every night, his Majesty climbs into your bed. He’s grown softer in that time and his touches are kinder. He throws in a caress every now and then but the act is over quickly and though the discomfort is all gone now, you feel nothing more than his now familiar stretch, the heat as he releases within you, and then he’s up and gone before you’ve caught your breath.

It doesn’t even hurt that he leaves you. It’s routine.

You feel no rejection anymore. You sleep.

Finally, at least you can sleep.

In fact, you oversleep. You sleep for almost twelve hours every day and Nat grows increasingly worried.

“How are you feeling?” She’s wrapping you up in your thin white robe which clings and turns sheer as the residual water from your bath left on your skin is soaked up.

“I’m fine.” You follow after her, looking over her shoulder as she rummages through your wardrobe.

She moves dress after dress aside before she stops on an orange and white number with florals stitched into the voile skirt. The waistline is broken by golden ribbon with orange tails of the same material as the bodice that hang to the right side of your waist. Golden vines have been embroidered up and down along the long white sleeves to match those mirrored on the bodice.

When she turns, she bumps into you with a small ‘oof’.

“Your Majesty,” She laughs as you take a step back.

“Sorry.”

“Are you sure you’re alright?” She checks again, holding the dress over her arm.

“Yes.” You smile at her, a real smile. You feel better. “That’s a pretty one.”

“It should be, you’re meeting with Steve today.” She explains and your heart suddenly clenches.

“What?” Your hands are clammy, your heart is pounding. Your lungs are suddenly struggling.

Why are you so anxious?

“His Majesty has asked me to get you ready. He will give you a proper tour of the castle and then he will discuss with you your duties as Queen. You’ll be with him all day.” She smiles as if this is a good thing.

And yes, okay, you’re a little excited you get to spend some much-needed one-on-one time with him. Maybe he’ll finally open up to you? It is depressing only seeing him when he comes to lay with you.

You’re not exactly sure what to do now that you’ll have to try and connect with him again though.

“What do I say to him?” You ask her, nervously dropping your robe as she moves to you with your underdress.

“What do you-?” Nat stops, hands spread between the dress as she stares at you with confusion.

You hold your hands out to her and she snaps out of her thought to slip your hands in the sleeves and then lead the underdress over your head.

She’s thinking very fast as she dresses you and doesn’t answer your question.

Once your outfit is complete and she’s got you sitting in front of your vanity to brush and do your hair—she puts an orange ribbon through it and then braids your hair around it—she watches your face as she works.

“Hasn’t Steve been coming to you at night?” She asks.

“Yes.” You reach out to pull over a small box which you open to find several rings inside. Some of them are simple gold and silver bands. Others have gems.

Your eyes are drawn to two thin bands; both are silver. One is a weave of two thinner bands that loop around each other like lattice work, the other is a very thin silver band with a small perfectly round blue gem.

You slip one onto your forefinger, the other onto your middle.

They feel weird.

“Then why don’t you know what to talk to him about?” She asks, looking as if she already knows the answer.

“What do you mean?” You nearly chuckle.

“Well, don’t you talk when he comes to see you?”

“No.” You finally meet her emerald eyes in her reflection. “He comes in, wakes me up sometimes when I’ve fallen asleep, he sleeps with me, sometimes he’ll lay beside me for a bit, but then he gets up and leaves. He’s never in here for more than an hour. At most.”

You take off the rings and put them back.

“So, he’s not even trying.” Nat says, not a question.

“I suppose he’s doing his best.” You tell her. “I didn’t marry him because I thought that he’d fall in love with me.”

You turn your eyes back to the box and open it again to look at the jewelry inside. You reach up to fidget with your necklace, tracing the star with your finger.

“I’d…I’d hoped that maybe he might have come to like me, but I didn’t know just how much he was still in love with Margaret.” You shrug, meeting Nat’s eyes again which stare at you with a sorrowful sympathy. “I have a good life, Nat. Before I came here, I worried about whether I would go to bed hungry or whether Martin Argus would come to my cottage to try and steal my virtue again. I was unprotected and alone and poor and…now I’m the Queen of a prosperous kingdom. I have jewelry that I’ll never wear and dresses that cost more than I could have earned in six months with my stitching.

“I’m not alone anymore. I have you and Peter and Bucky and…even his Majesty. I have a husband and hopefully soon I’ll have a baby. I’ll have my own family. I had nothing, Nat. Now I have everything.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“This is the garden. There are flowers of various types but we’re missing quite a few from the Southern countryside. Most of the ones we do have were grown by hired gardeners but that little plot just beyond the fountain is off limits.” His Majesty points across the cobbled path, over the teal waters of a limestone fountain, across the Snapdragons in varying shades of pinks, yellows, and purples, to a pavilion made of dark stones, deep oaks, with a sturdy slate roof.

Inside the pavilion is a bench with pale yellow cushions and a small table. Large blood red gerbera daisies surround the base and sit in a large vase to the left of the stairs that lead up into the cozy space.

You don’t have to ask why that spot is off limits.

With an ache in your chest you move around the fountain, staring at the gazebo you’ll never sit in until you’ve put it out of sight as you wander further into the maze of beautiful foliage in his Majesty’s massive garden.

It’s very structured. Most flowers kept together in various displays. It’s pretty but it lacks charm. There’s no real theme. Just flowers planted in a very orderly fashion.

His Majesty follows behind you. You walk until you reach a peach stone wall then turn to move down along a row of violets. The smells in the garden are sweet and rich. They saturate your hair and clothes and the breeze that flows in over the walls of the garden feels good.

“You won’t ask me why that pavilion is off limits?” His Majesty suddenly asks.

He’s speaking a bit more quietly. Intimately. There’s no one around but you and him so his easy volume feels personal. Peter stayed by the arched gateway to give you two some time alone. Nat and Bucky have no doubt snuck off for a bit of time alone themselves. You lost both of them about an hour ago when his Majesty took you through the enormous library on the second floor.

“In fact, you’ve been very quiet throughout the entire tour.” He observes.

“I have nothing to say.” You tell him. “And I don’t have to ask you why that place is off limits. I know, without you needing to say.”

You’re a little miffed and maybe you’re not as good at hiding it as you hoped.

“Margaret always spoke her mind.” He says, unknowingly driving a small nail through your chest.

You have only yourself to blame. You’d gotten enamored with him before you married him and only more so since. Even after he’s hurt you several times, you can’t find it in yourself to care less although you’ve gotten better at not showing the hurt.

“Tell me why you’re so quiet.” He asks, it’s not an order.

You turn to look at him and the sight of him nearly kills you. He’s heavenly in his primary blue tunic, white stitching highlights the fine fabric. His black undershirt and trousers draw focus to the pleasing way he fills it all out. His hair is still long and full, flowing yellow strands in the afternoon breeze.

And those eyes. So focused, so blue.

If you didn’t know better, you’d say that he can see right through you, but you know it’s the other way around.

What is he expecting you to say? That you’re disappointed? That you hate his castle? He’s made sure to point out the flaws of the architecture when he can, and he pointed out to you the lack of foreign language books in his library. He complained about the small size of his throne room and the room where balls and parties are to be held is too narrow.

The balcony where the musicians are to sit and play is too high up to truly enjoy the music, and the kitchens have a surprising amount of mold in its storage and the cooks seem to only cook the same things over and over.

He’s tried to get you to complain about something since the moment he began to lead you around and you know that he’s looking for fault in you. Something has to be wrong with you, he’s sure of it.

So, you give him what he wants.

“I haven’t said much because I don’t understand how someone with so much can find room to complain.” You stop and turn to face at him, meeting his eyes with all the courage you can muster. “You say that your stores in the kitchen have too much mold? There were four other closets above ground that most of that food could be moved to. A simple fix if you really wanted to remedy the problem.

“You said there isn’t enough variety in the dishes your cooks serve but I ate stale bread and cold beans for most of my life when I was in that school for my emotional problems so I don’t really see how you can complain about roasted chicken, pies, and cakes.”

“You said that your castle is crumbling on the first floor but the school I went to had a large hole in its roof. It was always too cold in the winter and too wet in the spring. I caught several colds and still have a little trouble breathing when it gets too humid.” This isn’t a complete lie. You did get sick often at home and you do still have trouble breathing but the condition didn’t develop in this fictional school that your father is supposed to have sent you to.

“Personally, I have never seen so many pretty flowers and if there is one flaw that I see it’s that you keep them all separated. For this garden to be truly beautiful you need only mix them in together. Then your garden will look like the Gods have blessed you with a small bit of heaven. It already smells wonderful here. How you can want more…?

“And if it’s a fault that you’re looking for in me, I can’t read. That’s why I didn’t say anything when we were in the library. You wish you had more books in foreign languages, but I can’t even read one in my own tongue. I can’t write. I received no lessons in history or arithmetic at my school.

“Your life of privilege…it’s a blessing, your Majesty. One that is not bestowed upon many. That’s why I’ve bee-”

“Tony sent you to a school where they didn’t teach you to read or write?” His Majesty interrupts, moving a step closer to you as his brow furrows with his frown.

His takeaway from the little speech you just gave surprises you and you open your mouth to respond but can’t find what to say.

“How often did you get sick?” He asks, stepping closer.

You blink, frazzled, heart pounding. “I…Enough that I struggle to breathe at times. It’s not uncommon. Most of those that I went to school with developed the same symptoms.”

“Does Tony know that you struggle to breathe?” He wonders, reaching out this time to place his hand around your arm showing a surprising amount of concern.

It’s throwing you and you can’t seem to think straight.

What is he doing? What is he saying? Why is he touching you?

“Wha-? I um…No.” You finally say. “He doesn’t. Didn’t. I was only back with him for a week before I came here to be with you, he had hardly any time to reacquaint himself with me.”

This is making Tony sound worse than what he really is. This isn’t right.

“But I hid it from him.” You add, hoping to remove some of the taint. “Every time he visited and when he came for me, I tried my best to present him with the daughter he deserved and not the one he was given. It’s not his fault that I was born broken.”

Steve frowns, sliding his hand down to your elbow before he releases it. “You’re not broken.”

He moves around you, rounding the corner and giving you a moment to catch your breath.

“Are you coming?” He asks, and you quickly follow.

He waits until you’re beside him and this time he walks with you.

“You’re right about my privilege.” He nods. “Sometimes I forget how good I have it here. Things are stressful. Being King and having responsibility over so many people isn’t easy. The stress of that can dim the brightness of what makes this life good. I didn’t mean to make you feel as if I were looking for a flaw. I just wanted to-”

“Yes, you did.” You cut him off, looking straight ahead as he turns to watch you. “I know that you don’t want me. I know that if you could trade my life for Margaret’s you would, and I think trying to find something very wrong with me helps you feel better about all of this. About having to marry me.

“I don’t want to replace your dead wife, your Majesty. I would never presume to think that I could. But I will do my duty. I will give you an heir and then I will step out of your way. I know that’s what you would prefer.”

He stays silent.

He doesn’t deny it.

He thinks as you walk, moving deeper into the garden until the only sounds you can hear are the shift of the wind, the twittering of birds, and the soft buzz of bees somewhere in a tree nearby. The soft hiss of both your feet as you step along the sparse cobbled path is mesmerizing in its repetitive nature.

“How did she die?” You ask him, fearful of upsetting him but you’ve been dying to know.

“Nat hasn’t told you?” He asks, surprisingly calm about it as he stops just as the two of you reach a small area, closed off with a stone bench nestled beside a pond where small fish nip at the surface as tiny flies land for a drink.

“I didn’t want to hear it from Nat.” You explain, moving to sit on the bench. You’ve been walking all day, up and down stairs without much of a break.

His Majesty watches you and when you’re seated, he moves to sit beside you, shoulders slumped as he stares at the pond and the purple, wine, and yellow irises that surround it.

“I don’t want to learn about you from someone else.” You continue.

He’s quiet for a while and the two of you sit in silence. You don’t interrupt whatever train of thought he’s on and he finally sighs.

“She fell off her horse.” He says, shaking his head. “It was nothing, at first. A swollen ankle. A small bump on the head. But she’d cut herself on a rock when she fell, and we didn’t see it right away. She didn’t feel it for a few days. By the time her fever set in, we were already too late.

“The infection spread. It did its damage and it took her from me.” His Majesty bites his lip, miles away from you back in the past. His eyes darken.

“I’m so sorry.” You whisper, afraid to disturb his grief.

“It’s a stupid reason to die.” He mutters darkly.

Then, as if he hadn’t been talking about her death, he moves on.

“You’ll start your duties tomorrow. You’ll visit the poor for an hour every day. Maggie used to pick a single day and visit for longer. She was very kind to those less fortunate. Maggie used to host the ladies at court for a while every day as well, and once a week she threw a small dinner for the ladies and their husbands.”

He looks at you, up and down as if assessing you.

“We probably shouldn’t do that until you can at least read.” He spits, maybe more aggressively than he means to.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper, ashamed at your lack of education.

“Why are you apologizing?” He asks, upset. “You didn’t do it to yourself. Tony’s the one that should have made sure you were receiving a proper education. He throws you off to that school and then acts like you’re not even a part of his family for so many years then throws you at me so that you’re my problem…Maggie wouldn’t apologize for her circumstances. Stop apologizing.”

You shrink as his tirade lengthens and you look away, fearful that he might see the way his anger affects you.

“Maggie used to be up at dawn. I expect you to do the same. You’ll get lessons in the morning and in the afternoon, you’ll make your visits. On Fridays we receive the people to address their concerns. I expect you to be at my side every Friday. No exceptions.” He orders and then rises.

You make to get up, but he turns to look at you, is that contempt? It’s something. Not good. You’re not sure what.

“Stay out of that pavilion.” He warns. “And never bring up Maggie again.”

He leaves you sitting there, shaking and wondering why you’d had to open your mouth and ask about Margaret. Next time, you’ll just ask Nat.

You do as you’re told.

Your days all start to look the same.

You wake up, bathe, dress, eat breakfast, go to your lessons for four hours, have lunch, then you leave the castle to visit the poor. And that’s where you stay until Nat has to pry you away.

At first, you’re scared to get involved. You don’t remember any nobility in your father’s kingdom coming to visit but you were slightly better off than these people. You help them cook and you help them clean up the small homes they live in.

You aren’t a doctor and you can’t help in that sense but you can at least help make their living spaces cleaner.

Most of them remind you of your own little cottage only theirs seems to be falling apart at the seams.

When you realize how little money it costs to help make their homes a bit better—new roofs, patched floors, new lumber to reinforce walls and ceilings—you give up your own allowance to help get it done.

Fridays—since it’s the day of your shortest visit—are the day you dedicate to bringing them as much food as you can.

His Majesty had already started the practice of giving away food that isn’t eaten to the poor, but you take it a step further and set up locations around the castle city for donations of foods about to expire.

Many people donate when words gets out that the new Queen has started this new program.

With the influx of food, the poor are able to eat more regularly. It lightens your heart and you feel more at ease when you lay your head on your pillow at night.

Despite being able to see him more often during the day while you go to your lessons and then help him on Fridays with his people, it’s at this time that you spend the most time with his Majesty.

At night, he comes to you, when you’re on the brink of sleep after a tiring day.

For a while after your tour, his Majesty had only come in and done his deed, then left. Sometimes he would sit with you, ask about your day, but say very little himself.

Tonight, he sits at the end of your bed but doesn’t look at you.

You sit up, startled by his hesitance. By now he’d be on top of you, getting this part of his and your duties over with.

“My king?” You probe, staring at the taut lines of his back.

“Why are you staying so late in the villages?” He sounds tired, like he’s had a long day too.

Is he going to be mad at you for staying late?

“They need so much.” You explain. “I’ve been helping them with their mending. The children need clothes. The women also lack proper garb. Their houses were falling apart and the cost to help them is so little-”

“Is that what you’ve been using your allowance for? That money is so that you can get what you need.” His Majesty counters.

“I don’t need anything.” You laugh a little, just a small chuckle. “I have more dresses than I’ve ever had in my-”

Shit…wait…no. You were a princess. You are rich. You’ve had lots of dresses. Or so he thinks…

“-than I’ve ever had need to wear.” You quickly recover and hope he doesn’t realize your slip.

What would he do if he found out you were common? Just as poor as the people you help every day? Margaret was of noble birth. She deserved to be Queen.

“I have no need for anything else.” You assure him.

“Take some time off. You need to take care of yourself too.” He orders. “I saw you in the city yesterday. What were you doing?”

You scoot closer to him, pushing your sheets away as you slide to sit slightly behind him and to his right.

Excited, you can’t help but lean around to look at his face better. “I saw that you have the food we don’t eat here in the castle delivered to the poor and I thought…I’ve started a donation program with the churches and business in the city. People bring the food that they do not need or that is about to expire, and I have a few soldiers distribute it to the poor. The food will only last a day or two by the time they receive it but for some of them, it’s all they have.”

“Whose idea was that?” He looks over his shoulder at you, his exhaustion evident in his storm blue eyes.

“Mine.” Your brief excitement fades. He’s so tired. He looks so damn tired. “Have you not been sleeping?”

He ignores your question. “I’ll see what funds we have free so that those that help you get a small payout for their assistance.”

You hadn’t even thought of that. Of course, the good people letting you take donations at their places should get something in return.

“Thank you. You don’t mind my using a few of your soldiers to help me?” You almost whisper, heart soaring, butterflies in your stomach making your body hum.

“No. I don’t mind. They’re you’re soldiers too.”

This is the first time he’s included you in ownership of anything in the castle or kingdom. You feel like you could fly.

“I’m sorry that I snapped at you in the garden.” He says, remorse tainting his usually luscious deep tone.

You shake your head. “It’s alright. I shouldn’t have asked about Margaret.”

“I don’t know that I have the energy for you tonight.” He admits, sighing lightly and a startling thought occurs to you.

Does he consider it a chore? To sleep with you?

You don’t exactly find it fun either. It’s never felt like those girls back home said it would. Good? It just…you’re not even sure what to compare it to. Nothing you’ve ever felt before. Invasive a bit but you’re not unwilling.

Your heart however is full of disappointment that the few moments you get to have him all to yourself is nothing more than a task to be checked off his schedule.

“I’m at your leisure, your Majesty.” You can’t help the way you curl in on yourself again, feeling once more unwanted and out of place.

He scoffs a small laugh, there’s humor in it. “You make it sound like all I need you for is-”

He stops as he meets your eyes. His smile fades. There’s surprise in his eyes and you’re not sure what it means.

He swallows hard, blinking rapidly as he turns towards your fire and his fingers flex into a fist.

“Why aren’t you pregnant yet?” He suddenly asks, and you’re so startled by the question that you don’t know how to answer.

That tiny seedling of doubt and fear that has been growing in the depths of your soul for the six months that you and the king have been married…why haven’t you gotten pregnant yet? Every night for six months…something should have stuck. Is there something wrong with you?

Will he leave you if you can’t give him an heir? You’ll have to go back to father a failure. Will he then turn you out too? Everything depends on you holding up your end of the bargain.

“I don’t know. I’m-”

“Maggie was pregnant when she died. And we were only married three months.” His Majesty says, and although you know he doesn’t speak the words to hurt you…you feel like a failure. Once again, you don’t rise to the level at which Margaret was at. And, wait, she’d been pregnant when she passed?

So, his Majesty hadn’t lost one love of his life, but two?

“I’m trying.” You tell him, suddenly yearning to comfort him.

“If she could do it in less than three months, why can’t you? I only have six months left.” He tells you wiping way your compassion as fear takes its place once again.

What does he want you to do? What can you do? You’ve done what you should. You’ve been here for him. You’ve made no protest and you’ve made sure his seed is kept within you.

“Until you’re with child, you’re to stay here in the castle and keep yourself well. I’ll send for a doctor in the morning.” He gets up and moves to your door

“Yes, your Majesty.” You sigh, slide back into bed, and settle in for the night.

Strangely enough, you don’t hear your door close for a while. Almost as if his Majesty hadn’t left right away. What reason would he have to linger?

Your sleep is restless.

~~~~~~~~~~

“You’re depressed.” Nat says, Peter walking a few feet behind the two of you.

“I’m not.” You argue.

“She is.” Peter says.

“Hey!” You turn to look at him, throw him the book you’d brought down with you which he dodges easily then smiles as he turns and moves to pick it up.

You’re much better at reading now but you’re very slow. You try to keep a book with you at all times for practice.

“What’s wrong? Is it because Steve told you to stay in the castle?” Nat knows you too well.

“And because I’m still not pregnant.” You sigh. “The doctor said I was fine. So…why?”

“Maybe you’re both trying too hard? He’s got all the stress of the Kingdom on his shoulders, not to mention-”

Peter clears his throat.

“I’m not stupid, kid.” Nat tells him, frowning at him.

They exchange a significant look and you suddenly feel out of the loop.

“What, Nat?” You probe.

“And you’re not exactly stress free either. Since the moment you married Steve you’ve been on edge.”

That’s not what she was going to say. You narrow your eyes at her suspiciously. They’re keeping something from you. All of them.

This isn’t the first time something has seemed off. Sometimes you’ll catch Steve, Bucky, Sam, Nat, and Peter huddled together in the throne room or the library and when they see you they rush off in different directions.

What are they hiding?

“Maybe taking a break from trying is what’s best for both of you?” She nods.

“But it’s the only time I spend with him, except for Fridays in the throne room. And even then, he doesn’t look at me or speak to me. That time belongs to his people. If he would just…” You give up, defeated.

Stopping where you are, you turn to stare at Margaret’s pavilion and hate her just a little bit.

You shouldn’t. It’s wrong of you to hate her but you do. For a few moments, right now, you hate her for being here first. For winning his love so easily when you seem to struggle even for a shred of kindness.

He will never love you, but you still can’t give up. Something must make you this stupid. You should know by now that the King holds no regard for you whatsoever.

You’re a means to an end for him. His Queen in name alone. You are not the love of his life. You are to give him his heir and then you’re expected to slink into the background where he’ll never have to deal with you again.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Where is she?”

“She’s in her room.” Bucky informs him. “Not happy about it, but she’s safe. Natasha’s helping her pick something out for dinner.”

“Mm.” Steve nods.

“Is it wise to host this dinner tonight? All of those people? All of them watching the two of you. Most of them know you don’t love her, but they’ll be expecting to see a united front.” Bucky explains. “Can you give them that? Can you pretend for a night?”

“Am I wrong to ask her to stay in the castle?” Steve wonders, ignoring Bucky completely or maybe he just didn’t hear him?

“I don’t think so. But I think you’re wrong to order her to. You didn’t ask her, Steve. You and I both know that you told her to do it and gave her no room to argue.” Bucky shakes his head and Steve watches him with annoyance. “She’ll do anything you ask her to.”

Steve knows and hates that. He hates that you’re so compliant. He wants you to tell him no. To fight and argue with him. He feels like you’re not being yourself. As if he broke you that first night and since then you’ve cowered and given way to every one of his wishes and whims.

“Will you take a break? From sleeping with her?” Bucky wonders, keeping his voice quiet as he and Steve pace through the garden, the fading light of sunset burning with a soft orange glow as it paints the sky a pink blush.

“How can I? It’s been six months and she still isn’t pregnant. I need to get this done before the year is out.” Steve sighs, frustrated.

“You’re letting all of these outside issues affect both of you. Why can’t you just stop thinking about what you should or shouldn’t be doing and just…I don’t now…get to know her? Just be there for her. She’s already there for you. Would it kill you to focus on her for a change?”

“I am focusing on her.” Steve argues, and he really is but no one can see inside his head.

“Says the man in head-to-toe black. You didn’t even tell her what today was, did you?”

Steve hates it when Bucky knows him this well.

“It’s none of her business.”

“Horseshit.” Bucky spits. “There’s paying your respects, Steve and then there’s wallowing. You’ve been wallowing for three years now. When are you going to let yourself be happy?”

Steve stops, staring at the pavilion with it’s red daisies swaying in the evening breeze.

“She’d want you to be happy. If she could see you and the way you’ve been—what would she say?” Bucky asks, waiting as Steve stares at the place he’d first asked his first wife to marry him.

That had been the beginning of his life. Steve had chosen his Queen and they’d begun down a road that he would have braved fearlessly with her at his side. He’d been so ridiculously happy that he hadn’t anticipated a time when things would not be right.

Then she was taken from him and he was stuck in this world without her.

He thinks back to last night, your eyes cast down at your bed as the disappointment radiates off your womanly form.

“I’m at your leisure, your Majesty.” You’d said, as if you exist only for his amusement. To be used and discarded.

Steve couldn’t believe the look in your eyes, the clarity of your emotions on display by body language alone.

He’s made you feel small and unwanted. Which is ridiculous.

It’s not that he doesn’t want you. More and more you’re on his mind.

You’re in his thoughts when he wakes, but then Margaret is there, and he feels guilty.

You’re the best part of his day, when he gets to go see you in passing in the library while you’re busy with your studies or those moments he’s with you in front of his people.

As desperately as he’d tried to find something wrong with you, he’d failed. He does want you, but something happens between the moment that he walks into your room to make love to you and the act itself.

Something stops him from letting go and he can feel it in you, the stiffness with which you hold your body as he takes you, that you aren’t there with him.

Is that because of that first time? When he’d hurt you? Are you afraid of him?

Fuck.

You’re so smart despite the lack of education you received at that school Tony had sent you to. You’re compassionate and so damn kind. You’ve done more for the people of his kingdom than anyone else ever did. Your empathy is unparalleled, and he knows that you’re too good for him.

“Steve?” Bucky checks, as Steve hasn’t said anything for several minutes.

Steve sighs, knowing exactly what Maggie would have told him.

“She’d tell me to hold onto what I have. She’d tell me to see what I’d lose if I don’t start to appreciate Y/N for what she’s worth.”

He shakes his head.

“What?”

“I’ve never made her smile. Not once.” Steve admits.

“Margaret?” Bucky asks, confused.

He can remember Maggie laughing and smiling with Steve all the time.

“No. Not Maggie. Y/N.” As he turns to walk towards the gate, he reaches for a pale pink peony and gently cuts it from its stem. These flowers smell like you. They remind him of you, every time he sees them. “Do you think this will make her smile?”

He looks at his friend and as Bucky follows, he smiles at Steve, tilting his head to the right as he stares at the flower.

“I don’t know. But it’s a good place to start.”

Steve thinks so too.

1K notes · View notes

lastbluetardis · 4 years ago

Text

Chemical Reaction (19/22)

Summary: Though their chemistry class is now over, the chemistry between James and Rose is just getting started. Together, they navigate the highs of new love and the lows of coping with past trauma to forge deep and unbreakable bonds of love and commitment. Part 2 in the Catalysis series. Tagging @doctorroseprompts

This chapter: ~7400 words, teen

If you like my stories, consider leaving me a tip? I know these are trying times, but if you are able, I would really appreciate it xoxo. And as always, comments and reblogs are very much appreciated as well.

AO3 | FF | TSP

Ch1 | Ch2 | Ch3 | Ch4 | Ch5 | Ch6 | Ch7 | Ch8 | Ch9 | Ch10 | Ch11 | Ch12 | Ch13 | Ch14 | Ch15 | Ch16 | Ch17 | Ch18 | Ch19 | Ch20 | Ch21 | epilogue

James couldn’t believe his eyes. He blinked hard, thinking his exhaustion had caught up with him. No, the blonde woman on his porch had to be the night-shift nurse who lived across the street—she often liked to indulge in late-night baking on her nights off, and there were times she would come to James for an ingredient she was missing, or to give him a small sampling of her confectionery creations.

(He had the sudden, jarring, embarrassing realization that she may have been flirting with him the whole time… Is that why she hasn’t come around in months?)

“Rose,” he said again when blinking stupidly for at least ten seconds didn’t transform Rose into anyone else.

“Hi,” she said quietly. She looked exhausted; there were prominent shadows beneath her eyes and her shoulders drooped like a heavy weight sat upon them.

Her gaze flicked over his shoulder, and her face fell. “Oh. Sorry. Didn’t realize you had company. I’ll just…” She thumbed behind herself to the dark road. How did she get here? “Sorry.”

Before he could protest, Jack clapped James on the shoulder and announced, “No, no. I was getting ready to head out. Come on, get in out of the cold.”

Jack pressed a smacking kiss to James’s cheek, then muttered, “Talk to her,” into his ear. He then stepped forward and gave Rose a loose hug and kiss on the cheek before he walked to his vehicle that was parked on the side of the street.

They turned to watch Jack start his car and drive off into the night. James looked at Rose, then at the squarish plastic Tupperware container she held. She was absently flicking her thumb nail across the tab on the lid.

“What’ve you got there?” he asked, nodding to the container.

Rose chewed on her bottom lip and pushed her hair behind her ear. “Well. We’ve been playing a game all month, haven’t we? Time to celebrate.”

She popped the lid off the container and handed it to him. In it were half a dozen large, muffin-sized chocolate cupcakes, frosted in vanilla icing and decorated with pink and yellow star sprinkles. The words “Happy Birthday” were written in small, neat, glossy red letters across each cupcake. His stomach sank.

“It… it’s your birthday?” he croaked. Of course—of fucking course—today had been her birthday.

Rose nodded. “I… I didn’t want to let my entire birthday pass without spending some time with my favorite person.”

James nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. “Hope you had fun.”

Rose raised an incredulous eyebrow, and the penny dropped.

“Me?” he squeaked, the knot in his chest loosening.

“Yes you, you numpty. Just because I’m angry with you doesn’t mean I stopped loving you. Do you not love me anymore because we fought?”

James’s knees weakened at the ‘l’ word. He took a step towards her, the arm not holding the cupcakes extended. Her face softened and she stepped into his proffered embrace. Her body was warm and solid against him. Heat prickled behind his eyes as he wrapped his arms as tightly around her as he could without upending the Tupperware container.

“I’m sorry, Rose. I’m so sorry. I…”

“Can we not do this on the front porch?” she asked, voice muffled. “S’cold.”

James was loath to let go of her, but he had to agree the night was getting frigid, especially for him, with his bare feet and thin pajama bottoms and t-shirt. With a sigh, he gave her a final squeeze and dropped his arms from around her waist, then stepped back to usher her into his home.

She toed off her shoes by the front door, and he could already predict her questions when she angled her head towards the hallway. “Did you paint something?”

James scratched the back of his neck. “Er. Yeah. Started repainting my bedroom.”

A small, sad smile tugged at the side of Rose’s mouth. “Needed something to keep your mind busy?”

“Something like that,” he admitted.

A more genuine smile crossed her face as she gestured to the Tupperware container he was holding. “Y’know, stress baking would've been cheaper.”

James blinked, then gaped down at the cupcakes he was holding. The font of the words was perfect cursive, the spread of the icing uniform and even. He blurted, “You made these?”

“Thanks for that vote of confidence,” she drawled. “Yes, I made them. Well. Elsa helped. She came over to my flat this afternoon. Bit of a girl’s night. Had pizza and wine, then made cupcakes. She’s actually really good at decorating; she’s got this whole set of frosting tips to make fancy designs. She did the lettering.”

“They look lovely. Very professional,” he said. He jutted his head to his kitchen, motioning for her to follow. She did, her quiet, shuffling footsteps falling into rhythm with his.

Rather than go into the kitchen, Rose peeled off to the living room, where Merry and Pippin were lounging on the sofa together, half-asleep. James watched her squat down in front of the cats and give them a bit of love before she returned to him.

“Should Jack have driven himself home?”

James glanced at Rose and saw her pointing to the kitchen table, where the mostly-empty bottle of wine sat. It had a few mouthfuls left.

“It was only half-full when we started,” James answered, picking up the bottle and hurriedly drinking the last of the wine. “This was from last weekend, when you and I… Anyway, he had one glass. I drank most of it. He should be fine.”

“Tell him to let us know when he gets home safely,” Rose said.

James snapped off a lazy salute then sent Jack a text, passing along Rose’s request. He set the Tupperware container of cupcakes on the counter before grabbing two clean bowls from the dishwasher he hadn’t bothered to empty.

“Oh, I really shouldn’t,” Rose said with a grimace. “I already had one after they came out of the oven. Plus pizza. M’gonna puff up like a balloon.”

She pinched her waist, and James frowned. “What are you talking about? You’re beautiful.”

Her cheeks flamed pink and she dropped her hand limply to her side.

“I had a huge, greasy burger and chips for dinner. D’you think I’m gonna puff up like a balloon?” he asked, tilting his head to the side.

“Well, no. But you’re…” She let her sentence dangle as she waved her hand vaguely up and down his body.

“And you’re…” He mirrored her gesture. “Rose, I find you absolutely beautiful, and you losing or gaining weight won’t change my opinion. Not that my opinion should matter. If you don’t want a cupcake, or if you’re not hungry, that’s fine. And again, not that you need my approval.”

Rose sighed and twisted her hands in front of herself before she turned away from him and rooted in his freezer for ice cream he always made sure to have on hand.

“I had a minor eating disorder as a teen,” Rose said quietly, pulling out the ice cream and shutting the freezer. “Nothing too serious. I was obsessed with my weight, and was really careful with what I ate. I counted and logged calories. I grew out of it when I realized watching what I ate made me feel even worse about myself. Of course I still tried to eat healthy and to eat reasonably-sized portions, but I stopped being so strict with it. I obviously started putting on some weight, nothing too drastic, but Jimmy would often tease me and tell me to lay off the chips or whatever, because rock stars don’t date chubby girls.”

James’s ears were ringing with rage and heartbreak, and he was furious with himself for everything he had accused Rose of last night regarding Jimmy.

“Rose, I…”

“As I said, I’m fine now and I don’t really care about my weight or body image as much,” Rose interrupted, setting the ice cream on the counter in front of him. “But sometimes those thoughts pop up without me realizing it. Like they did just now.”

Unsure of how to respond, James instead took a cupcake out of the Tupperware container, unwrapped the paper from the bottom, and set it into the bowl. “Did I… did I say something wrong?”

“No. Quite the opposite, actually. You told me your opinion, but didn’t shove it in my face or try to force me to believe you. And like I said, I don’t often realize when I’m having these thoughts.”

He nodded and forced his lips into some semblance of a smile that he hoped looked supportive. He then returned his gaze to the bowl and the ice cream she’d retrieved.

“D’you want to share this with me?” he asked, gesturing to the bowl with a spoon.

Rose nodded. He scooped several large dollops of vanilla ice cream into the bowl then he went to his junk drawer. It overflowed with a random assortment of objects: scissors, several different types of batteries, notepads, pens, pencils, a ruler, a screwdriver, tape, glue, Band-Aids, rubber bands, paper clips, binder clips, thumbtacks, toothpicks, a ball of twine, a condom, a tampon, and so many other things James didn't remember throwing into the drawer.

He dug through the mishmash of objects until he found a small, half-empty box of birthday candles and a matchbook. He took out four candles and brought them and the matches over to where Rose stood at the counter.

“I would try to shove twenty-two of them into the cupcake, but firstly I don’t have twenty-two candles, and secondly, I’m pretty sure I would end up pulverizing the poor cupcake into a pile of crumbs. So use your imagination; two and two equates to twenty-two.”

He shoved two of the candles side by side into the left side of the cupcake, right before the H and B in “Happy Birthday”. The other two, he stuck into the right side of the cupcake, behind both Ys. Striking the match, he ignored the shaking in his hands as he lit the candles. He then promptly blew out the match and dropped it into the water-filled wine glass in the sink to let it stop smoking. However, Rose must have seen the tremor in his hands, because she reached over and threaded their fingers together.

“I don’t like fire,” he admitted. “For obvious reasons.”

“You didn’t have to light the candles then,” Rose said gently.

“Pfff. It’s your birthday. Can’t have a birthday without blowing out some candles. How else will you get a free wish?”

Rose cracked a small smile and squeezed his fingers. She leaned forward as though she were about to blow out her candles. James cried, “Wait!”

She pulled back with a start.

“It’s your twenty-second birthday. I would think you would remember how this goes by now,” he drawled. He then sucked in a deep breath and began to sing. “Happy Birthday to you. Happy Birthday to you. Happy Birthday dear Ro-ooose. Happy Birthday to youuuuu.”

She was grinning by the end of it, especially when he intentionally sang off-key for the sole purpose of making her smile. He’d made her cry too much in the last twenty-four hours; a smile from her was a welcome sight.

“Right. Those candles are all charged up with birthday magic. Now you can make a wish and blow,” he said, bowing and gesturing to her cupcake.

Rolling her eyes at him, Rose closed her eyes and paused for about five seconds, before she blew out a short breath, extinguishing the candles with ease. He applauded her effort, then yanked the candles out of the cupcake and extended two of them to her. They licked off the cake crumbs and icing—cream cheese, he noted with delight—then dropped them into the trash.

“Let’s eat this before all the ice cream melts,” James said, gesturing to the table. “Want anything to drink? More wine?”

“Just water.”

He grabbed two glasses from the dishwasher and filled them with water from the pitcher in the fridge before plopping down at the table beside Rose. He noticed his phone had a new text notification; Jack had replied, letting him know he was home. James relayed the news to Rose, then gestured for her to take the first bite of her birthday cupcake.

For several long minutes, they sat silently together, trading off bites of cupcake and ice cream until the bowl was empty.

“That was very good,” he praised, swiping his finger through the melted mess of ice cream and chocolate crumbs on the bottom of the bowl and licking the digit clean.

“Thanks. Elsa loves to bake but doesn't get the chance to do it as often as she likes because she lives in the dorms on campus.” Rose ran her fingertip along the rim of her glass. “When I invited her over to my flat, she said stress baking was a requirement. She didn’t know it was my birthday until we started decorating the cupcakes.”

“Do you have an aversion to people knowing it’s your birthday?”

She snorted. “No. But it just… it didn’t feel right to celebrate. Not when we’d…” She trailed off with a shrug. “All month I’d been looking forward to finally telling you it was my birthday. It didn’t feel right to tell anyone about my birthday if I couldn’t tell you.”

“I really buggered your birthday,” he sighed, chest tightening.

“Nah.” She pursed her lips. “Okay, well, yeah. But it wasn’t just you. I didn’t help. I wasn’t in the mood to celebrate my birthday today, so I kept it to myself. Anyways. Elsa knocked a bit of sense into me this afternoon. Helped put some things into better perspective.”

“I’m glad you have a friend like that to share things with,” he said.

Rose hummed in agreement. “She also called me out for being an idiot.”

James snorted. “Jack did much the same for me.” He paused, fidgeting uncomfortably for a few seconds before he blurted, “I am so sorry, Rose. I’m so sorry for snooping through your mail and reading that letter, and I’m so sorry for jumping to a conclusion that was absolutely ridiculous, and I’m sorry for accusing you of not trusting me. I’m sorry I twisted the situation and your words and actions to put the blame all on you. I’m sorry I let my own insecurities warp my perceptions of you and our relationship, and I’m so, so sorry for ever insinuating that you would want to go back to Jimmy.”

Rose was dead silent. When James chanced a peek over at her, he was horrified to see tears welling in her eyes. She blinked and they fell down her cheeks.

Sniffling, she wiped at them and whispered, “That really hurt. I thought I had told you enough about Jimmy to show you he wasn’t a nice person to be in a relationship with. And I thought…”

“You did,” James interrupted fervently. “You did Rose. You were absolutely correct in saying I had selective memory. You told me more about him than I realized. I was too caught up in my own head last night to remember everything you’d said. I’m so sorry about that.”

Rose waved him off. “Forget Jimmy for a minute. Even if he wasn’t a wanker… It hurt that you would think I would be tempted into a new relationship with someone else when we’ve been so happy together. At least, I’ve been happy.”

“I’ve been happy, too,” James said. He covered her hand with his. “I swear, Rose. I’ve been so happy with you.”

He wished he had better answers for her. He wished he could explain what had triggered him last night, explain how his brain had disregarded nearly seven months of a friendship and four months of a relationship stronger than he’d ever had before. Why had he thought Rose would be tempted by an ex-boyfriend who had treated her so horribly? Why did he have the anxiety that Rose would see through his facade and realize he wasn’t as exciting as she’d thought? Why was he so fearful she would leave?

Because everyone leaves.

The realization crashed over him with the force of a tidal wave, pushing his head beneath the water until he could barely breathe. He was drowning, fighting a losing battle against the current, about to be swept away into the sea when he was thrown a lifeline.

Rose squeezed his fingers hard, grounding him, pulling him back to the moment. His chest was tight and tears blurred his vision.

Everyone leaves.

His mother, who had thought it more prudent to attend to their dogs rather than get herself to safety with her husband and son.

His father, who had rescued him from their burning house only to leave him on the street to go back inside. James hadn’t been enough to keep his dad by his side, and so he had lost two parents that night.

His aunt, who had never wanted kids, had never expected to have kids. She pulled long hours and travelled incessantly, chasing big news stories while James pretended he was fine with being alone, while silently wishing his dad had never saved him from their house. He knew without a doubt that, if his aunt could do it all over again, if she knew then what she knew now, she never would have agreed to be his godmother when he was born. He loved his aunt, and knew his aunt loved him, but he wasn’t so naïve as to be ignorant of the fact that he had upheaved his aunt’s life, and not entirely for the better.

The friends he had left behind in the UK and never heard from again after he and his aunt moved to America. People he had known since childhood who hadn’t bothered putting in the effort to stay in touch, despite claiming they would.

His previous partners, many of whom finding ways to end their brief relationship after realizing he didn’t want to have sex with them. Time after time, he had to listen to them say it was fine that they weren’t being physically intimate—with an unspoken yet dangling between them—only to listen to them make up excuses for why they were ending the relationship. Granted, he had broken off a relationship himself a few times, but over half the time, his partner had been the one to end it.

Over and over, people came and people went, and at the heart of it, James was hardly more than a spectre, unable to be seen or heard as his heart was left broken. And yet when Rose had joined him, had taken his hand and made promises and vows that nobody ever had before, he had jumped at the first opportunity to assume she would leave him, too.

Chair legs scraped across the floor a moment before a warm, familiar arm wrapped around his waist. He turned into Rose and rested his cheek on her shoulder, breathing in her scent, the subtle tones of amber and citrus, of warmth and love and home.

Something deep in his chest cracked open, releasing the floodgates. For the past nine and a half years, he had been drifting, trying to make sense of how he could feel so alone when he was surrounded by people, able to make new friends and acquaintances at the drop of a hat. Yet there was always that disconnect, making him feel more like an outsider looking in. Like everyone else was aware of the punchline of a joke while he was left clueless.

Until Rose. With Rose it had been natural. Effortless. It was though his world had shifted into perfect focus, and at the heart of it was her. She had reminded him of what it felt like to belong, to feel perfectly at home with another person. And though he was desperate not to lose her and what they had together, part of him was holding his breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Yet in doing so, he had let his anxiety take control and had hurt Rose badly enough that he had nearly caused her to do exactly what he had been terrified of.

James’s shoulders shook as he wept quietly into Rose’s neck, dampening the collar of her shirt. She didn’t seem to mind. Instead, she held him closer, rubbing her hand up and down the length of his spine as he sobbed and gasped for breath.

“I’m sorry,” he rasped. “I’m so sorry for everything, Rose.”

Haltingly, through the juddering tears that cracked his voice, he explained his revelation to her. He hoped he didn’t sound like he was making excuses for himself, but he genuinely wanted her to understand the conclusion his big, stupid brain had come to.

“I let my fears take over,” he said, voice raw from crying and talking. “I didn’t realize what they were. And I didn’t realize how loud they’d gotten.”

“I understand,” Rose said quietly. “Believe me. I understand. Is there anything I can do to help you quiet them?”

James rubbed his hand beneath his clogged, stuffy nose and grimaced when it came away wet. He pulled away from Rose and stood, moving to the sink to wash his hands, then to grab a handful of tissues. He blotted his eyes then blew his nose before he sank into his seat beside her again.

“I don’t know,” he confessed. “I know this is a me problem, not a you problem. You’ve been wonderful, Rose. You and me… our relationship… it has all been wonderful. I don’t know why I was so quick to let ten minutes of screaming insecurities make me forget about half a year of loving you.”

Rose chewed on the inside of her cheek, contemplating. “If ever there’s a time those voices are getting too loud, I’d like you to tell me. Though I know sometimes they can go unnoticed. But if you realize you’re getting stuck in your head, let me know and I’ll try to help you out of it.”

James flashed her a grateful smile. “Same for you. If there’s ever a time I can help you with whatever’s on your mind…”

Rose sighed. “I need to get better about that. I’ve realized I have a bad habit of telling myself I will deal with something later, but later never actually comes.” She sucked in a big breath and blew it out again. “I’m sorry you saw that letter from Jimmy. Yeah, you were a bit of a twat for reading it and reacting like you did. But I’m sorry you were blindsided like that, and that I ignored how it made you feel. And I’m sorry for making you feel like I don’t trust you. I’m sorry I made you self-conscious for everything you’ve shared with me and that you feel like I don’t share enough with you.” She let out a sad little laugh that twisted his heart. “This is going to sound lame, but I honestly didn’t realize I wasn’t being as open with you as I thought I was. It feels like you know me better than anyone ever has, so I didn’t think to change anything. But now that I know how you feel, I want to work to be better at that.”

James shook his head and covered her hand. “No, Rose. I got caught up in my own head and in my frustration. You’ve shared more with me than I wanted to admit last night.” Jack’s words clanged around in his head. “I shouldn’t have expected the exact same level of sharing from you as I am comfortable with giving.”

“That’s not fair. I am comfortable with you…”

James cringed. “No, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m not accusing you of anything, Rose. Merely stating a fact. I’m not trying to make you feel guilty or upset, I swear. I want you to be comfortable talking with me, and forcing you to talk about things you aren’t comfortable with is counterproductive.”

“Thing is, I was always going to tell you everything about Jimmy,” Rose sighed. “When he first texted me, it sent me into a blind panic and I sorta… shut down. I wanted to take the time I needed to get into a better place before sharing it with you. But I guess I didn’t realize how long it was since he first texted me.”

James stayed silent, letting her get her thoughts together. He twined their fingers together, happy to be able to sit and touch her like this, when for many long, heartbreaking hours in the wee hours of that morning, he had been sure that he would never be able to do so again. Her hand fit perfectly in his, and he knew that he would do whatever it took to make their relationship whole again, to make sure he could hold her hand for the rest of their lives.

When Rose began speaking, he gave her his full attention and tried to keep his emotions in check. He listened to her explain how Jimmy had texted her out of the blue, having gotten her number from a “mutual friend”.

“M’still not sure who gave it to him,” Rose said with a sigh. “He never told me and none of my friends claim to have done it.”

James listened to her describe the early conversations she’d had with Jimmy, from telling him that she needed time, to working through her anxiety with the help of Elsa and a counselor, to coming to the decision to let Jimmy say his piece.

“He was very important to me at one time. He was the love of my life. He was my everything. He will always be important and special because I genuinely loved him, and like it or not, my experiences with him shaped me into the person I am today. I don’t love him anymore, and frankly don’t miss him or want what we used to have, but if this would help him and me move on, I really wanted to let him say what he needed to say.

“He apologized to me, and it wasn’t even a terrible apology. Though he did make it sound like we both were at fault, but you know what, it was better than I was expecting, so I sorta took it as a win. I figured we were done, but then he wanted to know if he could repay me for all the debts he’d left me with. I can’t remember if I told you before, but he stopped paying his part of the rent at the end of our relationship. I got so behind on those payments because I had other bills to focus on that by the time I moved out, I was six months behind.

“I refused Jimmy’s offer. Told him everything was paid off and he didn’t owe me anything.” Rose sniffled and smiled ruefully, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “You know my money insecurities. I couldn’t stand the thought that he might use this as a way to control me again. So I shut him down.”

“Good for you,” James murmured, his first words in a while. “You don’t have to go on. It’s okay.”

But Rose shook her head. “I want you to know all of this. I want to come to you when—as Elsa puts it—shit ties up my brain. And my brain has been in knots for over a month. I want to be better with being okay about my thoughts sometimes getting tangled; I realized if I waited until my brain was calm to tell you everything, I would never tell you anything. I don’t want secrets between us, and I’m frustrated with myself that I unwittingly kept secrets from you. I can’t promise I will tell you immediately when something is on my mind, but I will make more of an effort to be more open with you. I wish I’d told you all of this sooner, but I can’t go back and change how I handled this, so let me tell you all of this now.”

James nodded and brought their clasped hands to his lips for a soft kiss.

“After I told Jimmy I didn’t want his money, I thought we were done. I didn’t hear from him for a few days, but then I got a text from him, a selfie with some of our old friends. A harmless group photo. Then he started sharing news from home. Or he would send me playlists. Stupid, innocent stuff we used to. He has really good taste in music and I’m always happy to have new songs or artists to listen to.

“We started chatting a little more regularly. Not daily, but a few times a week. A few messages at a time. He shared updates about his life, told me about going to drug and alcohol meetings, financial counseling, and so on. I told him about America and school. I didn’t tell him about you, though. It’s stupid, and I should have because I don’t think Jimmy realizes I’m not single, but you’re mine.” The word sent a thrill up James’s spine, and he couldn’t help but kiss her knuckles again. “You’re mine and I didn’t want to share you with him. I didn’t want anything of Jimmy to touch you. And I wasn’t trying to lead him on or anything. Or keep him a secret from you. But all of a sudden it’s been five weeks since he first texted.

“Then he sent me that letter. It came two days ago. I cried when I got it. I never gave him my address, so I panicked that he had somehow stalked me and found me, that he would be waiting at the university for me. And I was just… so defeated. I thought maybe he’d changed. Grown up or something. Stupidly, I thought maybe we could eventually be friends. But the only thing he wanted was for me to get back together with him.”

Rose’s tears dripped down her cheeks and her breathing hitched. James wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her in for a hug. She willingly leaned into him and sniffled quietly for a long moment.

“Did you really think that was a love letter?” Rose croaked.

“Pardon?”

“What Jimmy wrote to me. Did you think it read like a love letter?”

James sucked on the inside of his lower lip. He tried to remember the content of the letter, but his memories were all tainted with the pain of their argument.

“I don’t remember enough of it,” he confessed. “I’m sorry.”

Rose lifted her bum off of her chair, reaching into her back pocket to pull out a piece of paper that had been folded into eighths.

“Here,” she said, giving it to him.

Tentatively, he took it. Rose pulled herself out of his embrace and grabbed a tissue from the crumpled pile he had brought over.

As he reread the letter, his stomach twisted into knots when he picked out several words and phrases.

I’ve found a piece of myself…

I’m not complete…

I hate the person I am without you…

…happiest of my life…

…nothing more I’ve wanted…

…(our life?)…

You make me feel like I can do anything…

I love how I feel when I’m with you…

I was scared about how much I needed you…

…something I always knew would be there for me…

I know I can make it work this time…

…enjoy your time there, while you can…

…we can work harder together to make us work…

I will do whatever it takes to make this work…

Over and over, James read the letter, his mind picking up more of the tone and the sheer selfishness in it. Everything Jimmy said was about him, about how he needed Rose, without giving a thought about whether Rose wanted or needed him. He plainly admitted to taking her for granted, and still, after all this time, he acted as though he and Rose were equally at fault for how their relationship had ended.

How must it have sounded to Rose, for him to go off on her about the letter?

“Oh, Rose,” James breathed, “I’m so sorry. God, I was a twat, wasn’t I?”

She let out a watery giggle. “Yeah, a bit.”

“Can I ask…? How did Jimmy find your address? I mean. Do you even know how he found it?”

Rose’s eyes welled with tears again, even as she scoffed. “My mum.”

“Your… mum?” That had not been what James had expected. “But… why?”

Rose shook her head. “Apparently Jimmy went ‘round the estate. Found my mum and told her we’d been chatting. Said he wanted to send me money to help cover the bills I’d paid. He said exactly the right thing—when I moved back home, my mum kept telling me over and over that Jimmy should cough up the money to cover his half of the flat and the expenses that had built up.

“A couple weeks ago, my mum asked me if I’d been chatting with Jimmy. When I said yes, I guess she assumed I knew Jimmy wanted to repay me but I was being unreasonable.” Rose’s face crumpled. “I know my mum didn’t know how badly Jimmy had treated me, and that's my fault for not telling her. But what if he’d been a murderous stalker? What if he’d physically or sexually abused me? What if he used that information and showed up alone at my flat one night and broke in and…?”

She coughed out a wracking sob and buried her face in her hands. James nearly began crying at the sight of her distress. “How dare my mum give out my address like that? I never thought she’d do something like that. My mum called to wish me a happy birthday and I told her a little bit about why you and I were fighting, and she told me she was the one who gave Jimmy my address. I got so angry with her, and she was gettin’ angry with me. I’ve spent the day crying ‘cos I was fighting with my two favorite people.”

James tossed the letter onto the table and wrapped his arms around Rose, holding her tightly to his chest. He had never been angrier with another person than he was right now with Jackie Tyler. Well. Jackie Tyler and Jimmy bloody Stone. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Rose. I’m sorry.”

“Joke’s on Mum, though; Jimmy didn’t send a single quid with that letter.” Rose sniffled and scrubbed her hands across her eyes. “I hate this. I wish I’d blocked Jimmy from the start, I wish I’d told you when he texted, I wish I’d told my mum not to talk to Jimmy. I wish I’d handled everything differently, and I wish I hadn’t gotten so upset with you last night. I’m sorry, James. I’m sorry for it all.”

James tightened his hold around her, burying his face into her neck while she wept into his. “You have every right to handle situations however you think is best. I should have had more faith and trust in you and in our relationship. I was unreasonable. But I forgive you, love. Of course I forgive you. I love you. I love you more than you can imagine, and I’m so sorry I doubted it last night.”

Rose began crying harder into his shoulder. Her breaths came out in harsh gasps as she managed to reply, “I love you too. I’m sorry for putting the doubt in your head… when you asked if I was breaking up with you and I said I didn’t know. God, I didn’t mean that. I didn’t mean it at all. I got scared too, same as you, and my brain sort of shut down because it couldn’t stop thinking of everything Jimmy had said or done in the past, and twisting it to look like what you were saying and doing. That’s something I need to work on because that’s insulting for me to imply that you’re anything like him, but I didn’t know what to do, so I pushed you out, and I’m so sorry.”

James merely held her tighter, his heart breaking at her agony, yet filling with more love for her than he’d ever felt before.

“You’re the strongest woman I know, Rose,” he murmured into her hair. “The strongest. You’ve overcome so much, and you’re working to make yourself the best version of yourself that you can be, and that’s so admirable. I am here to listen to anything you want to tell me, but I am okay with not knowing everything. I trust your judgement, and I know you’ll tell me what you want me to know.”

He continued speaking quietly, a combination of reassurances, affirmations, and words of love. She shed more tears than he’d ever seen her shed, and he shed just as many. He was exhausted and overwhelmed, and he wanted nothing more than to sleep for a very long time tangled with Rose.

When her tears finally dried, he pressed a lingering kiss to the side of her head before sitting back in his chair. He grabbed a tissue for himself and passed one to her; they noisily blew their noses and wiped their eyes.

“Well. Wasn’t that cathartic?” he said cheerfully, holding his hand out for her tissue to throw in the rubbish bin.

She chuckled. Though her eyes were red and puffy and her cheeks were splotchy, he didn’t think there was a more beautiful person in the world than her.

He washed his hands after throwing away their used tissues, then he grabbed a few more, just in case. His nose was still a bit runny, and he was sure Rose’s had to be too. He plopped into his chair with a groan.

“First fight,” he mused. “Can tick that one off the list, I suppose.”

“Was it everything you expected it to be?” she drawled, rolling her eyes.

“Admittedly it was a lot more painful than I thought,” he said. “But now we can go back to how we were, right?”

Rose paused. In the silence, his heart sank into his stomach.

“I don’t know if we should,” she said carefully, and his lungs were suddenly out of air. Her eyes widened. “No, not like you’re thinking. It’s just… everything we fought about, everything we talked about, it changed us. It changed our relationship. Not in a bad way, but it’s different now. We’re more aware of some things that we weren’t before. I don’t want to go backwards with you. I want us to go forward. Together.”

James nodded, shoulders slumping in relief. He slid his hand across the table, slipping it beneath Rose’s so her palm rested against the back of his hand. He splayed his fingers, letting hers fall between the gaps. She curled her fingers around his hand.

“You’re right,” he said, caressing his thumb along the side of her pinkie. “Absolutely, you’re right. Guess this means the honeymoon period is over?”

“Probably.” She flashed him a cheeky grin. “Hopefully we’re not over the horny hump though.”

“You’re never gonna let me forget that I said that, are you?” he whined, grimacing.

“Nope,” she said, popping the ‘p’ as he often did. “It was such a dorky thing to call it.”

He pouted. “You never complained about my dorkiness before.”

“I love your dorkiness. Doesn’t mean I won’t tease you about it though.” Her smile slipped until her face turned solemn. “I’m really glad we talked this out, James.”

He squeezed her fingers. “Me too.”

“Any time Jimmy and I had an argument, we never did this. We’d shout at each other, curse at each other, and then ignore each other and not speak for a day or so. Then we’d have angry make up sex and pretend everything was fine in the morning. I don’t want to ever do that again. I want to communicate with you and to compromise with you, then grow with you.

“Staying in love is a choice, and it takes work. It shouldn’t be hard, but it’s not easy either. We need to choose to stay in love, decide that our relationship is worth making an effort for. I want to wake up every day and choose you, to choose us, and I want to put in the work because I wanna enjoy the payoff. Because being in love with you, James… it’s the best I’ve ever felt. You make me feel like I can do anything, like pass a stupid chemistry class or tell my stupid ex-boyfriend to fuck off. I love the way you make me feel. I love feeling like I’m home whenever I’m with you. And though this home we’re building with each other might have a leaky roof every now and then, I wanna fix it with you.”

James’s eyes were burning again. How was anything even left in his tear ducts? “Oh, Rose. You make me feel the same way. And I feel so inadequate because you just waxed romantic poetry at me, but my brain has stopped working. But please know I love you with every cell in my body, and I want to keep loving you with every cell, all the way down to each little organelle contained within, every day for the rest of our long and beautiful life together.”

Rose grinned at him and leaned over to press a light kiss to his lips. They tingled at the contact, and he wanted to pull her close to kiss her again.

“You’re such a science geek,” she said.

“Well. I’ve already shown you I’m rather fabulous with many types of chemistry and anatomy,” he drawled, flashing her an over-the-top wink as he clicked his tongue lewdly.

She burst into a fit of laughter that he echoed, feeling at peace for the first time in twenty-four hours. The exhaustion of all those hours suddenly overwhelmed him. His laughter morphed into a yawn, which spread to Rose.

“I’m knackered,” he announced unnecessarily. “Will you come to bed with me? My bedroom’s a disaster, but the guest bed is made.”

Rose nodded and stood up from the kitchen table. She took their bowl to the sink and rinsed it out before leaving it there for them to clean properly in the morning. She then flicked off the light on top of the stove before she followed him through the rest of the house, locking up and turning lights off as they went.

“Can I see what you’ve done to your room?” Rose asked.

“Sure,” he said, continuing down the hall rather than peeling off into the guest room. When he got to his closed door, he warned, “It’s a mess.”

They were hit with the stench of paint fumes as soon as he opened the bedroom door. He flicked on the light, and the room was bathed in the yellow glow of his lamps.

“Love the color,” Rose said.

“Yeah?” he asked, pleased with himself that, even in his miserable, depressive state of trying to not think about Rose, he had managed to pick a color she would like.

“Mhm.”

“I have to put on the second coat. I’ll probably do that tomorrow��I’m not really feeling like going to my classes, so I’ll probably ditch ‘em again.”

“You rebel,” she teased. “If you want some help, I don’t have anything important going on tomorrow. And I don’t work this weekend. We can take a few days to finish up the painting and reorganize your furniture.”

James smiled. “I’d like that.”

“It’s a date.” She wrapped her arm around his waist and tucked her face against his shoulder. “Besides, it’ll go faster with two.”

Leaning down, James brushed a kiss to her crown then rested his cheek in her hair. “Faster with two. Better with two.” He gave her waist a tight squeeze as he kissed her again. “Better with you.”

#ficandchips #doctorroseprompts #dwfic #doctor who #ten x rose #ten x rose au #james x rose #university au #romance #hurt/comfort #angst #my fic #chemical reaction #catalysis series #chemical potential sequel

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jewish-space-laser · 5 years ago

Text

Stand Back

Wow! I’ve only been back for a few hours, and there’s already been so, so much support. I missed you all. This piece is one of my favorites, inspired by my R&RHoF excitement last winter. My dear friend, @for-fucks-sake-h beta’d this for me, and I loved her then and I love her now! Thank you all for believing in me! If you enjoy this story, shoot me some feedback :) 7.5k words

xoxo Tile

“Harry, c’mon!” Millie whined, tugging at his sleeve when he didn’t bother looking away from the TV. “This isn’t fair and you know it!”

“Millie, fuck’s sake, I already told you that it’s just not possible,” He rolled his eyes, reluctantly looking over at his puppy-dog-eyed best friend. She’d been pestering him for the better part of the afternoon, and he was beginning to get frustrated. She was definitely going to ruin his surprise.

“I just don’t understand,” she pouted, “I’m the one who got you into Stevie’s music in the first place, maybe I should be the one inducting her next week.”

“Yeah, you can do the performance bit, too,” he chuckled, “I’m sure the audience would love to hear your off-pitch, dying-cat screeches. Stevie would love it, too. Instant record deal- oof!”

The pillow hit his stomach with more force than he had expected, but it did nothing to wipe the shit-eating grin off of his face. Millie whacked him on the thigh, and then once more for good measure, before chucking his throw pillow – her makeshift weapon – across the room.

“I didn’t want to see your performance anyway,” she grumbled, “you’ll probably sing Edge of Seventeen, because you’re too basic to sing anything else, and I’ve already seen you perform that one.”

Harry smirked at the memory. They had been fifteen, almost sixteen, and Millie had managed to smuggle a few bottles of cider from her father’s ‘special fridge’ in the garage. Harry had climbed the tree outside her window for the umpteenth time, and the two of them had spent the entire night looking up youtube videos of their favorite rock singers, their virgin livers drunk off of just a few sips of alcohol.

“The 1983 performance was better,” Harry argued, throwing his hands up in outrage.

“You’re taking the piss,” Millie scoffed, swatting his hand away from her laptop, “The 1981 performance is clearly better. Her dance moves are absolutely insane, and the audio quality is better.”

“Her dance moves are mediocre at best in this one,” Harry stated, nodding his head to the guitar beat anyway, “anyone could replicate those.”

“I’d like to see you try!” Millie challenged. The duo regarded each other for a long moment, waiting for the other to back down, and completely oblivious to the hearts in their eyes, still too young to understand what they were feeling.

“Alright then,” Harry giggled, standing up on her bed, obnoxiously singing along to the music blaring from her laptop. He tried to imitate Stevie’s high kicks, the bounce in her step, and swung his arms around as if he were draped in the singer’s white shawl. Millie couldn’t fight the peals of laughter that bubbled up in her throat. He looked completely absurd.

“Just like the white-winged dove!” Millie sang, hopping up on her bed to join Harry.

The two of them bounced until the song was almost over, their voices riddled with gasps and coughs as they tried to catch their breath. The fun had ended abruptly, with Millie’s mother swinging the door open, asking the two red-faced teenagers if they knew that it was past midnight.

“First of all, that was a great performance,” Harry teased, appreciating the way Millie’s eyes softened as she too reminisced their teenage years. She’d always been a sucker for happy memories, and Harry had quickly learned that they were the best way to calm her down or change the subject. Most of her happy memories included him, anyway. “Second of all, this time around, you won’t be grounded for a week.”

“Yeah, because you won’t let me be there!”

“Millie, I told you, I promised Gemma I would bring her along and I only get to have one guest,” he lied, “she’s my sister, I couldn’t say no.”

“You say no to her all the time, in fact, you love saying no to her,” she pointed out, “plus, I’m kind of like your sister. We’ve known each other just as long.”

Harry felt his heart plummet into the pit of his stomach. It wasn’t the first time she had said something along those lines, brother and sister, but it still hurt. He was beginning to think that she would never feel the same way about him that he did about her.

It was a curse, really. He had the world falling at his feet, enough girls were interested in him, and he was successful. But it didn’t matter, did it? Not when the only person he wanted thought of him like a brother.

“Right, yeah,” he cleared his throat. He quickly stood up, mumbling something about getting them more tea, but really he just wanted to hide the burn of tears behind his eyelids. When he came back, Millie was squinting at the screen of her laptop, hunching over so her face was inches from the screen.

“I’m buying my own damn ticket,” she informed him.

Fuck, he thought.

“Okay, okay, stop,” he groaned, closing her laptop. Millie’s hands were still suspended in front of her, poised to type when he shut the computer in her lap. “It was supposed to be a surprise, but there’s a front row seat at the Hall of Fame with your name on it.”

“I KNEW IT!” She cried, shoving the laptop off of her legs and throwing her arms around his neck. “I knew you wouldn’t just leave me behind!”

Harry melted into the hug, winding his arms around her shoulders and back and subtly inhaling as he pressed his nose into her hair. She was practically vibrating with excitement, which made him grin with pride. It may not have been the surprise he had planned, but it was certainly the reaction he’d been expecting.

“You were making it really hard to lie to you,” he admitted, tugging her back when she tried to step out of their embrace. He wasn’t quite ready to let go of her yet. “I was going to tell you tomorrow at dinner, had a whole plan.”

“I’d say I’m sorry for forcing it out of you, but I’m not sorry in the slightest!” She wiggled out of his arms, successfully this time, and gave him a look of pure happiness that made his insides turn to putty. “Does this mean you’ll tell me what song you’re performing?”

Harry snickered, batting her hands away when she went to pinch his arm. He wasn’t about to reveal all of his surprises.

“Not a chance!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Oh my god, turn this up!” Millie squealed, already reaching over to twist the volume knob on the dashboard.

“Oi!” Harry snapped, swatting her hand away with a steely glare. “What did I just tell you about touching m’ new car?”

“You told me not to make fingerprints on the window,” Millie crossed her arms over her chest, “you never said I couldn’t touch the radio.”

“It was implied,” Harry said through gritted teeth. Normally, Millie’s stubbornness was oddly charming, but today she was truly getting on his last nerve.

Harry had finally saved up enough money for a new car. Grueling ten-hour bakery shifts, babysitting jobs, yardwork, any penny he could get his hands on, had all finally been worth it. He didn’t technically have his license yet, since he was only sixteen, but nobody really paid attention once you got out into the country. Most kids knew how to drive anyway, one of the benefits of growing up in small English farmtown.

The car, which he had bought off of a classmate’s older brother, was a complete piece of shit, but that didn’t stop Harry from polishing every last surface, inside and out. It was a Mustang, and even though the front bumper was dented and it had chips in the paint, it was his pride and joy. He’d overheard a group of girls talking about how sexy it was that Brad Hannagan, his lab partner, had gotten a car. Apparently, he’d taken Allison Fishman to the next town over for dinner, and then they made out in his front seat. Harry wanted his car to be sexy, too.

There was really only one girl he wanted to impress though, and she was currently spilling granola bar crumbs onto his leather seats.

“Millie!” He whined. “You’re getting everything all messy!”

“You’re being so anal, H,” she had just shoved the rest of her bar into her mouth, so her voice came out muffled and garbled, “this is supposed to be fun! Our first ride together in your new car.”

“It is rather special, huh,” Harry nodded thoughtfully, “how do I look in the driver’s seat?”

“Honestly?” She raised an eyebrow. “You look… kinda hot. But do not let that go to your head or else I’ll - ohmygod! Harry, seriously turn it up, it’s Stevie Nicks!”

This time, he didn’t complain when Millie reached over and pressed three different buttons on his dashboard, because the girl he liked thought he was attractive, his windows were rolled all the way down, and the chorus of Stand Back was blaring through his speakers.

This feeling was worth every window smudge, crumb on his seat, and unwelcome dashboard push, he thought. Especially if it meant seeing Millie like this: long hair blowing out the window, head thrown back with her eyes closed, and feet tapping along to her favorite song.

It was a miracle he could keep his eyes on the road.

Harry was going to sing Stand Back. He knew it, Stevie knew it, almost the entire crew backstage knew it, but Millie was still in the dark. It was her favorite song, and he had every intention of putting on a show for her.

He was already dressed in his suit. He’d chosen another custom-made Gucci, a deep matte black fabric with metallic bronze flowers twisting up his torso and down his legs. He’d even let the makeup artist apply some matching bronze eyeshadow to his face, something he’d always wanted to try out. His shoes were plain, black with a bit of a lifted heel, and his only other accessory was a bronze colored tambourine. This was a Stevie Nicks tribute, after all, it wouldn’t be complete without her signature instrument.

The moment he stepped on stage, he knew his outfit choice was a hit. He hadn’t even started his speech before the familiar screaming started, but he’d grown used to the high pitched noise.

He hadn’t been able to meet with Millie beforehand, but it was hard to look away from her now (not that keeping his eyes off of her had ever been easy for him). She was sitting in the front row with a proud smile on her face, and a sinfully tight silver dress on her body, and Jesus Christ she looked incredible. He gave her a lopsided smirk before squinting his eyes into the lights over the audience.

The moment the first notes of the song echoed from the speakers lining the walls, Millie’s jaw dropped lower than Harry had ever seen. He smirked at her, licking his lips cockily as he started bobbing his head. The cheers from the crowd only spurred him on. He took his bottom lip between his teeth, never looking away from his best friend.

“No one looks, I walk by, just an invitation would have been just fine,” he crooned, unable to stop himself from tapping his feet to the rhythm.

He’d opted out of playing the guitar during the performance, wanting to focus more on his vocals. He tore his eyes away from Millie, who was still watching him in awe. This song was for her, but there was still an entire venue crowded with thousands of people, and this was the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. He’d rather fling himself from the Empire State Building than give a poor performance.

“Stand back, stand back,” he ripped the mic from its stand, prancing across the stage and flipping the hair out of his eyes with a dramatic snap of his neck, “in the middle of my room, I did not, hear from you….”

“La la la la la la la, la la,” he closed his eyes as he turned his back to the crowd, seeing the bright bronze and burnt orange visuals on the screen through his eyelids.

He knew he absolutely killed the performance, if the whoops and hollers were any indication. He could hear the cheers, see people dancing, see her dancing. She seemed to have befriended the woman next to her, as they were both shouting out the lyrics along with him with their hips bumping.

“Take me home….” Harry belted, his voice turning grainy the longer he held the note. When the music finally faded out, he let out a low chuckle into the microphone, relieved to have done the song justice.

It took several minutes for the applause to die down enough for him to speak, and by the time it did, he had no idea what to say.

“Ehm, hello New York!” He called into the microphone, clearing his throat. “It’s an honor to be here.”

Writing a speech about Stevie was the easiest thing he’d ever done. All he had to do was be honest, after all; she was an inspiration, a legend. The definition of a powerful woman. The kind of person who supports young struggling artists, can whip out a killer song in less than an hour, who dedicates her life to bringing melody and emotion to her fans. A poet. A magician.

Giving the speech was another story. The sweat on his back was making the fabric of his undershirt stick to his skin in the most suffocating manner, and Millie’s burning stare had all but caused his brain to short circuit. She’d looked at him like that just once before. He thought about it often, usually when he was alone with his hands shoved between his thighs.

Millie was four drinks in.

Harry knew this because he’d been counting. He had gone to enough parties with her to know that she got a bit… loose once she’d had a few, and he’d taken it upon himself to keep her away from every man who dared look in her direction.

“Stop shooting daggers at everyone, H,” she’d complained, “I wanna dance with someone, but you’re scaring them off. They probably think you’re my boyfriend.”

Good, he’d thought.

“Mills, the men here look sleazy as fuck,” he’d said sternly, “I’m not letting you rub yourself all over some chav.”

“Well, I need to rub myself all over someone, or I swear I’ll lose my mind,” she giggled, her eyelids more hooded than usual as she leaned up against the bar, “you know how I get when I drink.”

Maybe he wouldn’t have normally responded in the way that he did, but he’d had a few to drink himself. The words were pouring out of him before he could stop them, his filter broken down by the whisky double he’d choked down earlier.

“Y’could dance on me.”

Millie hummed, slowly raking her eyes over him from his shoes to the stray curl on his forehead. Instead of giving him an answer, she leaned over the bar to whisper something to the bartender.

He wanted to kick himself. She’d said it time and time again: he was like a brother to her. He started running excuses through his head, things he could say to break the tension and make her forget that he’d ever uttered the words.

“Now that’s an idea,” she finally said, carelessly dropping a bill onto the counter beside her. Harry raised his eyebrows, shocked. When the shots she ordered appeared by her elbow, she slid one over to Harry wordlessly. He took it without hesitation, the burn of tequila tickling his lips long after the bitter taste faded away.

“A good idea?” He asked, cocking his head to the side. “Or a bad one?��

She had never looked at him like this before. Harry had long ago memorized every facial expression she’d ever thrown at him, and prided himself in being able to read her like a book, but this was brand new territory. Her eyes, which were normally bright enough to blind him, had darkened. She was looking at him like she could see right through his clothes… like maybe she wanted to see right through his clothes.

“Why don’t we find out?”

It had taken him weeks to stop dreaming about the way Millie’s ass had felt pressed against him, or how dewy her skin had felt as he ran his hands over it, but now it was all rushing back. Not even the bright spotlight could disguise the fire in her eyes. She wanted him.

But he couldn’t think about that night at the club, not unless he wanted to pop a boner in front of thousands of attentive onlookers. He delivered his speech perfectly, but on the inside his stomach was twisting and tangling into knots, and he hadn’t been able to look at Millie throughout the entire thing.

The rest was a blur. The deafening roar of applause as Stevie came on. The brief hug he shared with her as he passed the microphone to her. The hand he placed on the older woman’s back while a video montage played on the giant screen. More applause. Millie’s eyes.

By the time he made it offstage, all he wanted to do was shove his hand down the front of his trousers, but he still had one more surprise he had to follow through with. With his back pressed against the wall and a twitching hand on his stomach, he took a few deep, heavy breaths. He needed to calm the fuck down, or he was going to blow his load the moment he saw her in that dress.

“Shit,” he exhaled, closing his eyes.

He wasn’t near as composed as he wanted to be, but one of his security guards would be leading Millie backstage any second. He’d arranged for her to meet Stevie, something he knew she’d been wanting since they were children.

“Harry!”

He looked over to see his best friend galloping towards him, his frazzled looking security guard trailing after her.

“Sorry we’re late,” the man apologized, adjusting the walkie-talkie that was clipped to his belt, “she ran ahead and went the wrong way, so we had to backtrack and ended up getting lost.”

“That sounds about right- oof!” Millie clearly hadn’t pumped the brakes, barreling straight into him. If he hadn’t been against the wall, the two of them would have ended up on the floor. “You can take the rest of the night off, Dave.”

His guard didn’t argue, quickly spinning on his heel and leaving the pair to themselves. She’d glued herself to his chest, arms wrapped tightly around his waist as she swayed them back and forth.

“Missed you,” she mumbled.

“Just saw you last week, Mills.”

“Yeah, too long,” she nodded. Harry liked the way the tip of her nose rubbed against his dress shirt.

He chuckled fondly, gently easing her back with his hands on her shoulders. “How’d you like my song?”

“H, I can’t even describe how incredible it was. Like… I’ll be honest,” she blushed, “you looked… kind of hot. But do not let that go to your head, or else I’ll chop off your bollocks.”

Suddenly, he was fifteen again, bouncing all over her bed and getting her in trouble. He was sixteen, preening as Millie complimented him from the passenger’s seat. He was twenty-two, filled with euphoria as they moved on the dance floor. He was twenty-five, looking at her silver dress and feeling the overwhelming need to kiss her.

She was peering up at him like she might want him to, wide eyes and tiny smile, but one glance over her shoulder told him that there were more important things on the agenda. Stevie was walking towards them slowly, her ridiculously tall heels causing her to teeter with each step she took.

“Don’t kill me,” Harry said quickly, “I have one more surprise.”

“Harry, what- OHMYGOD!”

Millie had thrown her hands over her face, cupping them against her mouth and nose. The moment Stevie came into her view, tears burned at the corners of her eyes and a few fell down her cheeks.

“Oh my,” Stevie cooed, stepping close and placing her hands on the younger girl’s elbows, “I know Harry’s a handful, but there’s no need to cry!”

“Heeeey,” he whined, but it fell on deaf ears.

He stood to the side and watched his best friend tell her idol about all of the amazing memories she had with her music. She told Stevie about the first time she played Landslide at her fourth grade piano recital, how she’d listened Edge of Seventeen on repeat for hours on her last night of being sixteen, how she’d written an essay about Leather and Lace for her creative writing class at uni. Millie’s hands were flying all over the place, clutching at her chest, in the air above her head, wound around Stevie in a secure hug. He’d done this for her, and there was no better feeling.

“Harry talks about you constantly,” Stevie smiled. Harry widened his eyes at her.

“Oh he does, does he?” Millie pursed her lips teasingly. “Hopefully nothing too horrible.”

“On the contrary,” Stevie’s eyes twinkled mischievously. Harry shook his head subtly. He’d given her a long and detailed monologue of his feelings for Millie during a particularly vulnerable songwriting session, but they had never mentioned it again. “He’s said only good things. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”

Harry’s chest deflated with relief. He was going to send a very long, scolding text to Stevie later on this week.

When it was time to part ways, Harry left the two women alone to say their goodbyes while he made sure there was a car for him and Millie. They’d arranged for her to stay in his guest room, and all of her bags were already there. By the time she was walking over to him, mascara streaking down her face and a sad little smile on her lips, he was ready to have her all to himself.

“How’d I do?” He grinned, scooping her into his arms as she let out a shaky sob.

“I’m,” she let out a hiccup, “so happy!”

“Oh, Mills,” he cooed, rubbing a hand over her shoulder blade, “let’s go home, yeah? I can make you some tea?”

“Mhm,” she whimpered.

The pair began walking towards the back exit, clinging to each other. It made it harder to walk, being pressed together so tightly, but the thought of letting go didn’t sit well them them .

“My emotional Millie,” he hummed, “always so teary.”

“Shut up, Harry!” She cried as she slid into the car. He quickly followed, watching her buckle herself in and kick off her heels. “I can’t help it!”

“Didn’t mean it as an insult, babe,” the term of endearment slipped out before he could stop it, “means you’ve got a big heart. It’s sweet.”

“If anyone in this car is sweet, it’s you,” she sighed, “first, you fly me here all the way from London. Then, you perform my favorite song, and then you introduce me to Stevie Nicks… my absolute, complete, legendary-“

“It was nothing,” he said quietly, knowing that she’d never stop unless he cut her off. Millie scoffed, but he was telling the truth. He’d do anything for her, and if it made her happy, it didn’t feel like a chore.

“Nothing my arse.”

Millie had felt like she was high from all of the excitement, but the way Harry was looking at her was sobering. Despite the sharpness of his cheekbones and the hard line of his jaw, he looked soft, the pine green of his eyes turning to velvet.

“Why are you looking at me… like that?” She asked softly.

“Like what?” He mimicked the tone of her voice.

“Like…” she paused, gulping against a dry throat, “like you’re thinking about kissing me?”

“I am thinking about it,” he admitted, “I’m constantly thinking about it.”

She didn’t say a word, turning her head away and staring out the window. With anyone else, he would have been offended, but Millie was a deep thinker. She always took a bit longer to process things, lost in her own head. He twiddled his thumbs as they sat in silence for the rest of the drive.

He knew he couldn’t take it back. He probably shouldn’t have said it in the first place, but it was as if everything he loved about Millie had been amplified tonight. Hell, he’d just inducted a rock legend into the Hall of Fame, and all he thought about all night was her. She was in his head, in his heart, running through his veins, completely ransacking any rational thought he might have.

When the car stopped in front of his building, Millie was swinging her door open and marching across the lawn before he’d even gotten himself unbuckled. He quickly thanked the driver, scurrying after her like a madman, making sure to grab her forgotten heels before the car rolled away.

She had already walked into his apartment building, using the little fob he’d given her when he started renting in New York. His two level loft had an entrance on the first level, which is where he found her standing when he finally caught up. She was tapping one foot impatiently at his locked door.

“Mills….” he cleared his throat as he dug the house keys from his pocket, “I didn’t mean-”

“You didn’t mean it?” She hissed.

“No, no,” he rushed, “I meant it. I just, I didn’t mean to make things weird.”

Once again, he was met with no response. Millie pushed the door open as soon as it was unlocked, and he could hear her stomping up the stairs. He sighed, fighting the pinprick of tears that threatened to form.

Harry didn’t know why she was reacting this way. Sure, she’d told him just last week that she was like a sister to him, but the way she’d undressed him with her eyes earlier had given him some hope. Maybe he’d just imagined it, conjured it up in his head to cope with his desperate need for her.

As much as he wanted to follow her up the stairs, he knew it was a bad idea. She was angry with him, and he couldn’t figure out why, but leaving her alone to simmer down had always been the best course of action.

“Harry, what the fuck!”

Harry’s eyes widened. This was his first day back to school after missing an entire week, and he realized with horror that he’d forgotten to text Millie about breaking his leg.

“You just vanish for an entire week, and then you show up to homeroom with… with bloody crutches?”

“‘M sorry,” he ducked his head, “I fell off my bike last weekend, and we had to stay in Manchester for a bit to get everything settled. I swear I didn’t mean to worry you-”

“Worry me,” his friend rolled her eyes. They were only thirteen years old, but Millie was more terrifying than most adults when she was well and truly angry. “Understatement of the century. I went by your house, and nearly organized a search party when nobody was home! Have you even checked your phone?”

He hadn’t.

“You know what? If not texting me is so easy, why don’t we just never speak again?”

“Mills,” he groaned, voice cracking slightly. They’d both noticed that his voice was starting to get a little bit deeper, and normally she’d tease the hell out of him for a voice crack like that, but she wasn’t in the mood. “I said I was sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t change how scared I was when you didn’t answer me!” She huffed, storming off. Just as he went to follow her, the bell rung, meaning he was already going to be late. With an irritated moan, he hobbled his way to his first class, hoping to god his teacher would let his tardiness slide when she saw his crutches.

She had, and later that night, Millie’s flailing pre-teen limbs fell through his bedroom window, eyes filling with tears and apologies leaking from her mouth.

“I thought about it all day, and once I calmed down… I just missed you.”

He chugged an entire glass of water before slamming it on his counter, taking a deep breath. His ears perked up at the sound of footsteps in his hallway, so he turned around to look at her. She was still in her dress, but had wiped off her makeup. He swears she’d never looked more beautiful.

“I’m sorry for snapping at you,” she said sheepishly.

“I’m sorry for-”

“No,” she gulped, “you don’t owe me any apologies. I was just… surprised.”

Harry nodded, not knowing what to say. He watched his feet, wiggling his toes awkwardly as an uncomfortable silence fell over them. Millie was shuffling around as well, debating whether or not she wanted to ask the question she’d been wanting to ask for years. Eventually, she couldn’t contain it anymore.

“How long have you been in love with me?”

Her voice was loud, but the volume isn’t what startled Harry. Sure, Millie had always been straightforward, fearless when it came to confrontation, but they’d never had a conversation like this. People had teased them as kids, telling them that boys and girls couldn’t be just friends, but they’d let the comments roll off of their backs.

“I… I-” he stuttered, his tongue suddenly feeling like an anvil in his mouth.

“You… don’t hide it well,” she divulged, looking at anything but him, “you’ve always been like an open book to me.”

“I’ve… yeah,” he choked out, “I, um, most of my life, I think.”

She started crying, pressing the heels of her palms into her eyes. He wanted to go over and hold her, like he usually did when she cried, but it was as if he was stepping into cement, absolutely rooted where he stood.

“Most of your life,” she echoed.

Harry rubbed a hand over his face, his skin feverish and beginning to bead with sweat. He needed to get out of his suit.

“I- you, yeah,” he croaked, robotically moving across the room to slip his blazer over one of the kitchen chairs. His legs felt like jelly, as if he’d completely forgotten how to walk.

“H,” she whimpered, “why didn’t you ever tell me?”

“Why didn’t you ever say that you knew?”

Millie sucked in a breath, fiddling with the sequins on her dress. “I wasn’t completely sure. I mean, I was pretty sure, but then you’d talk about going on dates with other people, or… just, I had my doubts. But then tonight….”

“I was pretty obvious tonight,” he chuckled humorlessly, clearing his throat and scratching at his jaw, “and I never told you because… well look at us. We’ve never been this uncomfortable around each other.”

“H-”

“There were a few times I almost told you,” he gulped, “but… the timing was never right. You’d be in a relationship, or I’d be out on tour. It never lined up.”

This time, when Millie let out a sob, Harry didn’t hesitate to tuck her under his arm.

“You’re such a wanker,” she bawled, pressing her forehead into the skin between his sparrow tattoos, “obviously I love you too.”

Harry couldn’t breath. Had his heart stopped beating? Was he alive? Maybe he was hallucinating. The girl he loved, his best friend, was currently pressing her entire body against him, and she apparently felt the same way he did.

“How long?” He asked.

“Most of my life,” Millie giggled.

“Fuck,” Harry wept, licking the tears away from his lips, “we’ve wasted so much time. Could have been together ages ago.”

She looked up at his face with a watery smile. “We’re here now. Still wanna kiss me?”

Harry leaned down and mashed his lips to hers in one fluid motion, loving the way it felt to have her like this. Millie was pushing herself closer, the pressure of the kiss making them both smile. She tasted like salty teardrops and toothpaste, and he probably smelled like a gym locker after loping around the stage, but neither of them minded, completely captivated by the feeling of finally moving their mouths together.

Once the floodgates had been opened, there was no way of stopping it. What had been a sweet, almost innocent embrace, was suddenly rough and desperate. Their soft touches were now strong and unyielding, calculated movements gave way to impulse and speed. They were like a river breaking free of its dam; calm waters growing higher and stronger until the tension became too much, cracking the barrier and releasing every single pent up drop. They were white-capped waves, beautiful and chaotic as they crashed against each other.

“I’ve thought about this so many times,” Millie heaved, clenching her fist around the fabric of his shirt while he nipped at her jaw.

“‘Bout kissing me?”

“No, I mean, yes- oh!” She yelped, hissing through gritted teeth as Harry licked over the spot he’d bitten into her neck. “Yeah, b-but, also about what it would feel like to have sex with you.”

He’d been ignoring his semi since he walked off stage earlier in the night, but the moment she spoke, he could feel his cock chub up in his trousers, the blood rushing below his belt making him a bit dizzy.

“Thought about that too,” he was hunched over as far as his back would allow, his craving to taste the skin below her collarbones much stronger than the strain on his spine.

“We should probably do it then, yeah?”

Harry moaned. He had been suppressing his inappropriate thoughts about the way she looked since the moment he saw her in the crowd, but now he could let them roam freely. He wanted to gather her hair into his fists, peel the dress off of her body, absolutely ruin her lipstick (he was a little bit disappointed that she’d wiped it off). He couldn’t wait to make his fantasy a reality.

“We probably should,” he agreed, pushing the strap of her dress down her arm, “only if you want.”

“Obviously I do, bloody bellend,” she said impatiently, undoing the buttons on his dress shirt, “god, this outfit was so sexy tonight. When you were singing, all I could think about was how bad I wanted you to fuck me.”

“I know,” Harry smirked, “saw the look on your face when I was done. Nearly got a boner during my speech.”

“The sex eyes can’t be tamed,” she shrugged, finally unfastening the last button under his navel. She tugged the material from the waistband of his trousers and pushed it off of his shoulders.

“Don’t want you to tame ‘em,” he growled, moving closer to her when the zipper of her dress snagged under his fingertips, “want you to keep the sex eyes on, and get this fucking dress off!”

When he finally got the zipper down, he practically ripped it away from her body, tugging it roughly over her hips and letting it fall to the floor in a crumpled heap. Millie didn’t even have time to step out of it before Harry was lifting her bridal style.

“Don’t you fucking dare drop me!” She shrieked, lightly swatting his shoulder when he set her down on top of his kitchen table.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Mills.”

She opened her mouth to tell him off again, but her train of thought completely derailed when he got on his knees and sucked her clit through her underwear. She couldn’t suppress her moans, especially as he swept the flimsy fabric to the side and really dug in, tongue licking over every bit of her and calloused fingers plucking at her clit.

Millie sighed feverishly. The rough texture of his fingers and the smooth wetness of his mouth felt practically angelic, while the sounds filling his kitchen were sinful. Wet pops of his lips and hollow slurps when he suctioned his cheeks in wre driving her hellishly insane.

“I can’t come like this,” she panted, “I want to see your face.”

He pulled off of her, leaving one last kitten-lick to her folds before rising to his feet. His lips were swollen and shiny as he undid the zip on his trousers, quickly stripping the bronze and black fabric from his legs. He pressed his erection against Millie’s sopping core, letting her soak into the fabric of his boxers. Everything was warm and wet and smooth, just like he’d always imagined.

“Let me fuck you,” he pleaded.

“Condom?” She asked, feeling her walls twitch as if they were trying to guide Harry’s cock inside on its own. “‘M not on the pill….”

“Right,” he swallowed harshly, “Okay, yeah. I’ve got to run upstairs and get one.”

“I’ll stay right here,” Millie promised, peeling her undergarments off the moment he was out of sight.

Whenever she pictured having sex with Harry, it was romantic; white sheets and fluffy pillows, a warm summer breeze, maybe even some scented candles and music. She certainly hadn’t imagined it happening on the hard wood of his kitchen table, but in a way, it was even more perfect.

Their friendship, their relationship was unique. They were two people who had spent the better parts of their lives dancing around each other, orbiting like two planets, feeling the weight of the gravity but never touching. It was only fitting that their first time together was unconventional.

Harry practically sprinted back into the kitchen, wincing at how cold the tile felt against his bare feet. However, he didn’t focus on that long, too distracted by the skin Millie had revealed in his absence.

She was laying down still, and her exposed breasts fell slightly to the sides, their undersides resting on top of her ribcage. She’d splayed her legs open upon seeing him, giving him his first unobstructed view of her heat.

“Christ,” he wheezed, “let me just….”

He ripped the condom package open with his teeth, slipping the clear latex from its confines and pinching it his fingers while he ripped his briefs from his body. He rolled it on slowly, almost teasingly, when he noticed Millie watching with an attentive gaze.

“Ready?” He hummed.

“Please, H,” she nodded, wiggling her hips in anticipation.

He gave her a breathtaking smile before pushing inside. She was so slick that he managed to push all the way in with one single stroke, causing Millie’s back to arch off of the table. Harry’s knees nearly gave out when she clenched around him, so he gripped her thighs and locked them around his hips to keep himself steady.

This had to be his favorite position.

From where he was standing, he could see the entire expanse of her body, laid out so prettily against his table. He could watch himself push in and out of her, seeing how his cock glistened with her wetness all the way down to the base, admire the way the flesh of her hips creased as they bent to accommodate him, watch her breasts bounce and jiggle with every thrust. If he leaned forward just the slightest amount, maybe he could even reach up to roll her nipples between his fingers.

Millie loved it, too. She liked the way Harry’s stomach muscles concave with each flex, the rapid snap of his hips affecting every nerve in his body. She absolutely loved watching a red flush creep up his chest and neck, the black ink of his tattoos standing out even more against the rosiness. Most of all, she liked watching his face. It was almost as if he didn’t know where he wanted to look most, his blown-out pupils flickering over every inch of her body.

The smell of sex wafted over them, sweet, sensual, and uniquely theirs. Their bodies were sticky with sweat as they slapped together, filling the loft with wet claps and breathy moans. It was raw, carnal, a complete release of the tension they’d been holding in for years.

When Millie was close, Harry dropped one of her legs to play with her clit, knowing that he’d find his release the second she found hers. Her lips were mouthing his name, but no sound came out. He watched, utterly bewitched, as her fingers curled into her palms and a strangled moan fell from her throat.

She gushed her release onto him, and he felt it drip down the fronts of his thighs as she tightened around his cock. He’d never made a woman squirt this much before. Profanities poured from his lips as he felt his balls clench, cumming into the condom with so much force that he had to bend over and rest his torso over hers to keep from falling over. His face was nuzzled into Millie’s breasts.

It was Harry who broke the silence after several minutes of shallow breathing. “Well, fuck, Mills.”

“Holy cow,” she coughed, “okay, first of all, I need some water, second, we’re doing that again immediately.”

He chuckled into her skin, nipping at her breast playfully before standing upright and looking between them. They’d made quite a mess of themselves, not that he minded.

Millie slid off the table, walking her shaky legs over to the sink, where she stuck her entire head under the faucet. Harry smiled to himself; seemingly, nothing had changed about their dynamic. He was afraid that professing his love for her might change the way they acted around each other, but she was just as silly as she’d always been.

“Millie, no! That’s so unsanitary,” a twenty-year-old Harry complained. Millie had just stuck her entire head into the unisex bathroom sink, chugging at the stream of water, “this is a karaoke bar, probably germs everywhere.”

“I was thirsty,” she informed him, wiping the back of her hand over her mouth, “and there’s only one more person in front of me. How am I supposed to sing Stevie Nicks with a dry throat?”

“How are you supposed to sing Stevie Nicks when your voice sounds like a police siren?” He countered with a smirk. His best friend crossed her arms over her chest in offense.

“We can’t all be professional singers, you knob,” she bit out, swinging the door open with more force than necessary. She’d only had a drink or two, but Harry drank enough to make the room spin.

“‘M not a knob,” he muttered to himself as he followed after her.

“You sure are!” Millie called over her shoulder.

When it was time for her to take the stage, Harry made sure that his seat was all the way up front and his phone camera was at the ready. Millie had always been a horrible singer, but that had never stopped her. He couldn’t wait to post the video to his private instagram in the morning.

“Stand back, stand back!” She screeched, flipping Harry the bird when he started laughing, “in the middle of my room, I did not, hear from you!”

Her hair was flopping all over the place, hips moving back and forth while she hopped up and down. He wished he’d gone up there with her, wanting to wrap an arm over her shoulder or put his hands on her waist.

“I would cry… la la la la la la la, la la….”

He was in a perpetual state of wanting to be near her. It felt like it was part of his identity at this point. His name was Harry, he had curly hair, he wore tight jeans, and he wanted to be touching Millie.

Twenty-five year old Harry wished he could go back in time and tell his younger self that he’d get to touch her, whenever he wanted and for however long he wanted. He’d held her close while they showered together, placed a hand on the small of her back while she sifted through his dresser for pajamas to wear, and had her sprawled over his chest while she slept in his arms.

He closed his eyes, a smile never leaving his face as he imagined having her at twenty-six, twenty-seven, thirty. Maybe even fifty, sixty, and seventy. Trips down memory lane are much more enjoyable when there’s a future.

And yeah, he thought, revelling in the tickle of her soft snores as they puffed into his skin, there was definitely going to be a future.

~~~

Thank you for reading, if you’ve made it this far! Leave me a message, I’d love to know your thoughts <3

xoxo Tile

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles smut #harry styles fanfic #harry styles one shot #harry #styles #one direction #1dff #fanfiction #friends to lovers #stand back

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whyaretheyfictionalcharacters · 4 years ago

Text

Kinktober - Day 5

Ok so, second Sterek instalment. Good stuff.

Originally posted on AO3.

xoxo Lexi

“I don't think anyone is really taking this seriously”, Stiles comments, stepping over a tree trunk with the same grace Derek has just showed. Exactly the same. He flays around his arms a tid bit but apart from that? They could be mistaken for the same person.

Derek twists around and goes to help him. “Are you?”.

“Well, considering who thought about this you're damn right I am”.

The treasure hunt was Lydia's idea, a way to build in-pack relationships and create a more stable net of connections among them. If Stiles thinks her intention was to simply prove again to everyone else who's the smartest in the pack—he's certainly not going to tell anyone, he's not suicidal. And that's exactly the same reason he's taking this (honestly a bit ridiculous) relationship building exercise seriously. Or as seriously as he can take it, anyway.

“Lydia scares you?”.

“Of course she does! Doesn't she scare you?”.

“Oh, I'm terrified of her”, Derek answers with a frown. “And she's tiny”.

Stiles laughs, dried leaves crunching underneath his sneakers. “Don't let her hear you”.

“She's not a werewolf”. A small shrug. “Jackson is the only one around and he's at least a mile away”.

As they walk in silence, the only noise around them being their footsteps thudding on the ground, Stiles finally finds some appreciation for the quietness of the preserve. Being here with Derek, letting their shoulders and fingers brush against each other after the messy few weeks they've had with threats in the supernatural world feels comfortable and surreal. And probably it's his leftover-teenage hormones speaking but he can't wait for this treasure hunt to end so Derek and he can run off to his room and blow off some steam. Or blow off something else. That does sound like a plan.

His dad would not come back until later that night, probably after dinner, and that'd give them – Stiles calculates quickly in his mind – five hours to get funky, to jelly roll. Scrog a bit and schtupp together. To take old one eye to the optometrist. To play hide the salami. To dip Derek's cookie in Stiles glass of milk. Numerous times, if the werewolf's refractory period gives any clue. They could start small; make out on Stiles bed and test the sturdiness of the frame – which they've already done, by the way and sneaking out a broken bed slat out of the Sheriff's home is not as easy as it might sound. Which doesn't sound easy. At all. So one can only imagine the uncomfortable conversation he's had to have with Mrs Wunderby from across the road – and then get rid of their clothes because Stiles is a selfless person and Derek's body is something that needs to be cherished and admired. Keeping it clothed would be like...like clipping wings off of a mighty eagle. Or shut down the Smithsonian. It'd have that much of a cultural backfire. It'd be immoral.

So Stiles would take Derek's clothes off and admire that chest of his, all wide and muscly and warm and furry in a sexy way. He'd dip his hand down to follow the line of hairs to his navel, go over it and open his jeans because if unclothing Derek's chest is a cultural aid for the entire state of California, than the sight of his cock is a spiritual experience.

Derek Hale is big. Not impossibly big – Stiles is sure he doesn't live in one of those ridiculous stories people read with enhanced and horse-sized dicks – but nevertheless he's...gifted. Must have something to do with those werewolf genes of his and if that's the case, dear Mother Nature, wolves are a gift to them all. What turns on Stiles though it's not just the size of his shaft – still has a pretty high place in the list of 'Reasons why Derek Hale is a gift from the gods and Stiles is grateful he's his boyfriend' – it's the utter difference there is between the two of them. And that's not a euphemism about his own cock, Stiles is pretty content with his genitals, no complaints there. No, that's not it at all.

Stiles still remember when he recognised what the issue was and he probably has to thank Erica for that.

“You're such a twink, Stiles”, she had said once during their weekly coffee meetings and Stiles has seen enough gay porn after his surprising epiphany in high school to know what a 'twink' is. He's not oblivious, or his name would've been Scott McCall.

He had tried to deny that in front of his salted caramel frappuccino but as usual Erica had her own arguments. “You are, Stiles. You and Derek are literally the epitome of a bear-twink relationship”.

And God, was she right.

The werewolf might be only slightly taller than him but his presence is mightier, his shoulders wider and his arms definitely bigger. Stiles always feels dwarfed every time he's in close proximity with Derek and he does not complaint about that. Not. One. Bit. Dude can pick him up without breaking a sweat and fuck him against the wall as if he weighted less than a baked potato with bacon sprinkles on top. Jeez, those are good times. Hot times. As in Death Valley hot.

“Stiles”.

Surely they can do something like that today. There are so many options to spend five hours sexing up a werewolf Stiles gets a bit dizzy sometimes: this is literally his teenage dream, with no skinny jeans on and a comfy mattress instead of bedsheets forts in a motel room. Take that Katy Perry.

“Stiles”.

“What? Whassup?”, he asks turning to look at Derek.

Who is currently staring angrily at him. He seems pretty pissed actually, if Stiles has to tell the truth. Unfortunately he thought he had left all those annoyed stares and growled words in the past so this is turning out to be a shocking turn of events. In a not-so-sexy way.

“Uhm...Der? Everything okay?”.

Green eyes seems to struggle to not turn bright blue, flashing dangerously between the two shades. “Where's your head at?”.

Okay, this does seem like a trick question. Lydia taught me about this sort of things. “On my...shoulders?��.

Derek does not seem impressed. “You smell—you're stinking up the place”.

“Oh. Sorry”, he mutters self-consciously.

He thought Derek liked his smell. Sometimes he also finds him with his face deep into his own pillow when he comes back from the bathroom after Derek spends the night; or he would dip his nose along Stiles' neck while they're watching a film on the were's laptop in his apartment. When they're in public and Stiles thinks about sexy-times-ensuring things Derek always can smell him and he gets this intense expression that almost resembles his old…

Oh. Oh.

“Oh”.

“Yeah”, Derek agrees tightly as he steps forward. “Oh”.

“I think—I think my head is not taking this, uh. This treasure hunt as seriously as before, big guy”.

One step forward. “Really now?”.

“Mmh-mm”. Stiles steps back. “I mean. Can you blame me?”.

“I don't know. We were just talking about Jackson”. Another step.

Urgh. “Let's not mention him, deal?”. Last step backwards and Stiles' back hits the thick trunk of a tree. “I really don't wanna think about him and sex together. That's just plain wrong”.

He can see a gleam of amusement and coyness as Derek stops in front of him, face just inches away from Stiles'. “Oh, is that what you were thinking about? Sex?”.

“Uh, duh. I was thinking about, you know, when this stupid treasure hunt is other and we can go back to mine and the fact that my dad is going to be out for at least five hours – I know, I counted them – and we could, you know. Get some stankie on hang down—”.

“God, Stiles”. Derek's face scrunches up horrified. “No”.

“No? You don't like that? Okay, how about I ride your flagpole?”.

“Stiles”.

“Storm the cotton gin”.

“Stiles”.

“Hit a home run”.

“Stiles”.

“Sorry!”, he says with a small smile at Derek's exasperation. “Thought you'd appreciate the baseball reference. But another thing I was thinking was—”.

Derek glares at him. “I swear to God, Stiles. If you say one more—”.

“—you said Jackson is at least a mile away and we're all alone now”. Stiles looks down bashfully and hooks his finger in Derek's waistband. “And who knows when this awful thing is going to end. Might not have time when we get home”. Looking up from under his eyelashes he smirk a bit. “We could save time and...do this. Now. Here”.

He sees a shiver running up Derek's arms just before they're placed on the tree caging his head. “You want to do it here?”.

“Yes”, he whispers.

“Now?”.

“Yeah”. A breath and a whimper.

He has enough time to think about the possibilities when a mouth descends on him and sharp, human teeth bite his lower lip, pulling reverently before nipping it. Stiles gasps when Derek's body presses up against his through the many, too many layers of clothes they're currently wearing. Derek takes that opportunity to slip his tongue between the other's lips, teasing the wet muscle and probing the mouth with deep, hungry movements.

“Lydia's—shit. Lydia's going to be so angry”, Stiles weakly comments before moaning as Derek's hips press against his, trapping him between his warm, strong body and the cold trunk behind him.

“Do you care?”.

“Fuck no”.

He snakes his hands underneath Derek's t-shirt, revelling in the heat of his olive skin, the softness of his hairs and the hardness of his muscles. One of the wolf's thighs gets between his own, providing some blessed friction for Stiles' awakening cock. He rubs himself against Derek, feeling the need to open his legs for him and the sensation of emptiness is starting to get too uncomfortable to be ignored as they're kissing. He's never been an exhibitionist (he thinks, though he's discovering all kinds of kinks in his relationship with Derek) but the idea of having the wolf inside him, right here and now in the middle of the preserve with the afternoon light out still, the terrifying possibility of the pack finding them out—it seems to be exciting in all the wrong ways.

“Derek”, he sighs, lips sensitive from beard burn. “I need—God—I need you to—to fuck me. Like. Yesterday”.

Derek's mouth descends on his neck and at the deep inhale of his arousal Stiles shivers, feeling like the teenager he used to be five years ago. “We don't have anything”.

AH! With a dramatic flourish – probably more ridiculous than dramatic. If only that Sourwolf would stop doing what he was doing with his mouth on his ne—oh. Oh, that's nice – Stiles takes out his phone from his back pocket and slips off the case. “Speak for yourself”. The small packet of KY seems to shine in their eyes, a little lost treasure, their own small miracle. “I think I have a rubber in my wallet as well”.

“Have you always had lube inside your phone case?”, Derek asks with a shocked expression. “And do we need a condom?”.

“Don't want to leak all over my underwear. Especially not around a pack of werewolves, thank you very much”. Stiles takes out a wrapper from his wallet and hands it to Derek before he resumes touching underneath the other's shirt. “And the answer is yes. From the moment we've started dating”.

They kiss, lips open and sharing breath. “Nice to know”.

“We need to—god—”. An aimed thrust sends shivers up his legs. “Derek—we need to move”.

He gets one of his hands down, slipping in the tight fit of Derek's jeans and the hard, big cock he touches through his underwear makes him moan and spread his legs as he leans back to push his hips outward. Stiles has touched it an endless number of times yet every time seems like a new experience, a new discovery.

At Stiles' touch Derek exhales, relieved and aroused. Those lean, slender fingers massage his cock with experienced motions and the grip they use after teasing it into full firmness is heaven for Derek's spurred mind. It doesn't matter if they're in the middle of the woods with a pack of werewolves only a mile away and probably listening in, the Beta can't help but await impatiently to be inside Stiles body and thrust into that heated tightness in abandonment. Maybe there's a part of him – the wild wolf that seems to constantly seek out freedom and nature – that is turned on exactly by that fact; the possibility of being found out while collecting his prize and marking his territory, his mate in the open.

The moment their jeans are undone and their erections brush against each other, Derek grabs Stiles slim hips and turns him quickly but not violently, his cheek now resting on the roughness of the bark and ass pushed back to rub on the wolf's cock. There's only their erratic panting for what feels like ages as Derek rips the lube open and then, “God, Der—Fuck me already”.

“I'm not gonna hurt you, Stiles. Especially not out here”.

“Then shove your fingers in me!”, he cries out turning at an odd angle to plead the wolf with his eyes. “Please, I need you inside. Right now. Please”.

Derek wants that. Oh, he so wants that. And from around that pale, sinewy body he can see Stiles' red dick skim slightly against the trunk of the tree. It can't be comfortable nor pleasurable and even though Stiles seems to have other things in his mind, Derek pulls his hips back a bit more to put more space between the delicate part and the pine husk. He doesn't spend much time warming up the lube and the moment his forefinger touches the puckered hole in front of him he sees Stiles jerk up before quickly settling down again. He prepared him as swiftly and efficiently as standing in the preserve half-naked would allow, Stiles moans and whimpers accompanying each thrust of his fingers.

“Please. Please, just fuck me. Just fuck me, Der”.

Through his lust-fogged mind Stiles hears Derek opening the condom wrapper and sigh deeply as he rolls it on. He wants to reach behind him and touch his shaft, feel the girth of it and its size. Wrap his fingers around it and when noticing he can't fit it all in one hand envelope it with his other one as well. He wants to feel its thickness opening him up, make him almost worry he's gonna split in two.

The first few inches are painful, they always are: Derek might not be overworldly big but he's certainly packing down there and every time he slips inside Stiles needs to relax, bear down and bite his lip until the head is in. It's what happens now, particularly because it's not the most convenient place to have sex despite the packet of lube and the arousal he gets from being so exposed to the elements. After the head is in though...that's when Stiles can remind himself why he craved it so much in the first place. Derek is inside him balls deep and at Stiles' nod he starts to move, thrust in and out. In and out. It's slow at first, careful but they do need to be quick in this situation. The aim is a bit off, the head of the hard cock pounding him simply caresses his prostate in the most heavenly torture sending abortive shivers up from his toes, shocking through his hips and reaching the tip of his own erection like an electric shock. Each thrust, each withdrawal forces moan after moan from his mouth, noises he can't control. Mumbling reaches his ears and with a small sense of amazement he notices it's him.

It's not the best sex they've had but Jesus if it's not the hottest. Derek's hand gripping his hips in a tight hold, his puckered hole contracting around the fat shaft sliding inside and out of him in pure abandonment. Derek slides closer, t-shirt covered chest shaping around Stiles' back, and the slight change of angle causes the wolf to groan in the brunet's ear. It's a sound so primal, so inborn in Derek that Stiles needs to close his eyes not to come right in that moment.

He's so close, though. So close. After getting used to Derek being inside of him without a barrier the rubber desensitises the feeling of being fucked a bit but it's not totally unpleasant; it's smoother and easier. Stiles doesn't know if it's the build-up, the idea of being out here in the forest in broad daylight or Derek's fat, big cock beating into him but he's about to come. He spreads the legs as wide as he can manage with the jeans around his knees and he almost brings his hands back to grab his cheeks and expose himself even further. He doesn't. He needs an anchor and right now the roughness of the bark on his fingertips, under his nails is the thing that keeps him grounded.

“Oh, my God. Der—Derek. Oh, God. Fuck me. Please, fuck me”.

“I am. Shit. You're gripping me so tight”.

“What if—oh, fuck. What if they see us? What if they find us?”.

Stiles senses Derek breath itch next to his ear. “Let them. You're mine. Let them see”.

Oh. My. God. Possessiveness is certainly a kink he didn't know he had. “Say that again”.

“You're mine. Let them see, I don't care. I want them to see. I want them to see you're mine”.

Oh God. Oh God, oh Godohgodohgod.

The orgasm hits him like a blinding light. His back snaps and he arches with the force of it, his cock pulsating and trembling as his cum sprays white on the dark bark. It's seemingly artistic in an erotic way. His insides constrict around Derek and through the condom he can feel his rod vibrate as his thrust become irregular. Slower. Deeper. He misses the sensation of Derek's come hitting his walls but he guesses they still have five hours if they leave now.

“Derek—shit”, Stiles pants out after they both regain their breaths, cheek still against the tree and hips still held by Derek.

“Yeah”.

“Who would've thought? Public sex is hot”.

“What the fuck guys?!”.

They both jump at the disgusted shout from behind them, Isaac currently standing there dumbstruck, hand on his eyes. “I'm gonna need bleach”.

Yeah. Maybe not as hot around a pack of werewolves.

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mariequitecontrarie · 5 years ago

Text

The New Girl

Summary: David talks Gold into attending Storybrooke’s annual spring fair, and Belle has to sit in Gold’s lap in the car on the way there. Notes: For @rumbelleishope, an excuse for awkward Rumbelle mutual pining and Charming Gold friendship moments. Part of Cufflinks, but you don’t have to read the series. Rating: T

On AO3

Gold peered at his laptop screen with a frown.

The error-riddled marketing proposal for Seven Dwarves Landscaping wasn’t going to correct itself, but the juicy crunching sound coming from his doorway wasn’t going away, either. Someone was eating right outside his office.

With a disgusted sigh, he pushed up the glasses that had slid down the bridge of his nose. This would be the last time he tried to work with the door open. Open door policy indeed. Regina and he were overdue for another conversation about office dynamics. It would be short, simple, and to-the-point: he would make the rules and everyone else could follow them.

He clenched his jaw and tapped the keyboard with renewed vengeance, hoping to drown out the annoying noise.

Finally, the crunching abated. Blessed silence. And then, “Hey, Mr. Gold.”

“Nolan, you chew like a Missouri fox trotter,” he said, without taking his attention from the screen.

“How’d you know it was me?”

David sounded so impressed that Gold looked up from the overdue proposal. The company’s Director of Advertising was leaning against the doorjamb holding a paring knife and a shiny apple. “Since you’re here and clearly not busy, go fetch the centerspread for the Storybrooke Social,” Gold ordered. “And close the door on your way out.”

Satisfied that he’d shooed Nolan away, Gold resumed his work.

But the chewing started again, only this time, Nolan had the nerve to amble in Gold’s direction and make himself comfortable in the leather barrel chair opposite his desk.

“Fox trotter,” David said when he finally swallowed, “that’s a hell of a horse.”

Gold snorted. “It wasn’t meant to be a compliment.”

“Because if you like races, Mary Margaret’s parents have box seats to-”

He held up a hand to stop the invitation midstream. “I don’t socialize.” He didn’t care how well connected Nolan’s future in-laws were. And for reasons he couldn’t understand, the younger man was always inviting him somewhere.

“Right. I forgot.” David furrowed his brow, then grinned. “Why is that again?”

“Because I’m working. You should try it sometime.” Gold’s glasses slipped down his face again, and this time he used it to his advantage. “Get the spread,” he said, looking down his nose at Nolan.

“I’m on it,” David said. But instead of heading toward his own office, he stretched his long legs and carved off another wedge of the fruit. “Apple?” he offered, holding a perfect crescent out on the tip of the knife.

“No, thank you.”

“Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask.” He paused to swallow. “How do you like the new girl?”

Gold pursed his lips. Should he propose a six-month or a 12-month contract? “New girl? What new girl?”

“You know,” Nolan gestured with his knife. “Brunette, petite, blue eyes. She has the workspace next to Ruby.”

He pushed the laptop to the side, knowing a lost cause when he saw it.

They hadn’t hired anyone new since...Nolan couldn’t mean...He swallowed reflexively. ”Belle French?”

“Yeah!” Nolan slapped his knee in recognition. “She’s great. Pretty too.” He smiled, a sparkle in his eyes.

The telltale redness of embarrassment crept up Gold’s neck and toward his ears. Thank God for his shaggy shoulder-length hair that covered their pointy red tips.

Pretty didn’t begin to describe Belle French. On most days, he had to take a cleansing breath simply to enter the conference room and sit down opposite her or walk past her desk. The mere mention of her name turned him into a blushing, sweaty mess. Belle was more than a lovely face, though. She was intelligent, capable, and had been hired to do a job, one she performed with mastery and infectious cheerfulness. All the clients loved her. But he was her boss. He had no business thinking of her in any way that wasn’t professional.

He coughed, trying to clear the thickness in his throat.

“Two things, Nolan. One, she has a name. It’s Belle French. Two, Miss French has worked here more than six months now, which hardly qualifies her as new. And three—”

“You said there were two.”

“And three,” he said, glowering with all the superiority he could muster. “This is a boutique marketing company of 50 employees of which you are advertising director. As such, we pay attention to details around here. We get to know our people. Miss French has been an employee here for some time. Do you even know her?”

“You make a good point.” Nolan nodded his enthusiasm. “People are the heart of the business and it’s important we spend time together.”

“Exactly.” He clasped his palms in satisfaction, wishing Regina were walking by to witness this conversation. She claimed he was a poor people manager, said he scared their employees away and they wouldn’t confide in him. But hadn’t Nolan approached him today? And here he was, teaching Nolan about the power of valuing people. If his methods were a touch severe, so what? This was the workplace, not his bloody grandfather’s house.

“So I’ll see you tomorrow, then? At Picnic in the Park.” Smiling, Nolan tossed his apple core into the wastebasket and stood. “What a fun way to get to know some of the people we work with.”

Gold swallowed heavily. Blast, he’d forgotten all about that dratted event.

Picnic in the Park was Storybrooke’s annual spring fling. It was a company-wide outing--Regina was crazy for them--and everyone was expected to attend. With its fried foods, rigged games, and death-trap of a Ferris wheel, Picnic in the Park was part fair, part carnival, and one hundred percent nightmare. There was even a dunk tank that Regina was threatening to make him sit in.

Gold eyed the letter opener on the corner of his desk. He would rather gouge out his eyes with the blunt end of the thing than go, but he’d just lectured Nolan about the importance of caring for the people one worked with. No, there was no backing out now.

The sparkle in Nolan’s eye had progressed to a gleam, leaving Gold with the distinct impression that he’d been played.

“Picnic in the Park.” Gold bit back a defeated groan. “Can’t wait.”

xoxo

The plan was to close the office and leave work early. As Gold’s rotten luck would have it, the day was clear and beautiful. Warm, but not hot, and a light breeze ruffled the Oxford shirt and jeans he’d changed into. He felt ridiculous and underdressed, but he wasn’t traipsing about in a field wearing his favorite Armani. If only he were a wizard, he could make it rain and spoil the entire occasion. Why couldn’t one of their high-maintenance clients call a meeting that questioned the entire future of the company?

Work was something he understood. Contracts, words, the fine point of a deal--business made him salivate. Social events made him ill at ease.

But Nolan had thrown down the proverbial gauntlet yesterday, and he had no choice but to assemble in the parking lot with the rest of the sheep. The sun beat down on the back of his head and he ground the tip of his cane into the asphalt with a long-suffering sigh.

Regina, never happier than when she was ordering people about, clapped her hands and blew a whistle.

“What, no megaphone?” he grumbled under his breath.

“Okay, team!” she shouted. “Parking is limited at the event, so we’re going to carpool. Fit as many people into as few vehicles as possible.”

Things seemed to happen quickly, as people swarmed around Gold and darted toward vehicles like an army of ants. All of them seemed to know what to do. All except him.

A white minivan pulled up a few feet away, driven by the unflappable Mary Margaret Blanchard. Beaming, she beeped the horn and waved at him. She was the only person he knew who could get away with driving a minivan that wasn’t filled with children and marching band equipment. David Nolan, her fiance, rolled down the front passenger side window and grinned.

Gold acknowledged him with a cool nod, yesterday’s charade with the apple still fresh in his mind. He’d been tricked into going to this event today and even worse, he’d been tricked into getting his boxers in a twist about Belle French. Nolan knew Belle quite well if the way they were ribbing each other in the breakroom yesterday afternoon was an indication.

The back door on the passenger side slid open. “Hurry up, Gold!” Regina called. Seated next to her in the middle was her girlfriend Emma Swan. Ruby Lucas and her boyfriend Archie Hopper were crowded together in the third row, their knees almost touching their chests.

On the opposite side of Emma sat Belle French, looking so fresh and lovely she eclipsed the beauty of the fine spring day. Her cheeks were a delicate shade of pink, and her chestnut brown hair curled around her shoulders and down her back. The shy smile she sent his way made his heart turn over.

“Gold,” Regina said again, “we’re waiting.”

Where was he to sit? The van was filled to bursting. “Why not rent a bus?” he asked with a wave of his hand.

“Great idea. Next year,” Regina promised, deliberately missing his sarcasm.

He took a half-step backward. “I don’t need to go.”

A chorus of protests met his excuse. “You have to come! Plenty of room! Gold, you can’t miss this!” Only Belle sat in silence, watching him. He wondered what she was thinking.

He squinted into the shade of the building, where his roomy Cadillac was parked.” “My car is right—”

“Not enough parking, Gold,” Regina reminded him. “Come on, everyone else is already on their way.”

“Emma,” Ruby piped up from the back, “why don’t you sit in Regina’s lap?”

Regina pinched her red lips into a thin line. “Em’s wearing dark jeans. I’m wearing white linen.”

Gold nodded in agreement. The delicate linen would stain and Regina would be a crumpled mess by the time they arrived. All the more reason for him to sit this one out. He threw a longing look toward his office windows, which seemed to wink in the sunlight, beckoning his return. “Really, it doesn’t—”

“Hey!” Emma exclaimed, “Here’s a thought. Belle, would you mind sitting in Gold’s lap? It’s not a long drive.”

Gold squeezed the head of his cane, wishing the pavement would open up and swallow him. Why would a sweet young woman like Belle want to sit in the lap of a crippled old grouch? He shot Emma a glare, annoyed with her for putting Belle in an awkward position.

“I wouldn’t mind at all,” Belle replied. Her bright blue eyes seemed to search his face. “But only if Mr. Gold is comfortable.”

Seven sets of eyes were pinned on him, waiting for him to move. Regina tapped her manicured fingers on her thigh.

He wasn’t sure how long he stood on the warm asphalt frozen with indecision before Belle took action. She scurried out of the van and ushered him into her vacant seat with a gentle push.

The tan leather was warm from her body and smelled faintly of roses and mint. Even crowded in shoulder-to-shoulder with Emma Swan, he had to admit the seats were comfortable. Belle climbed in after him and sat down, straddling his thighs like a side-saddle. Her upper body was as straight as an arrow.

“Everyone ready?” Mary Margaret chirped.

Following a round of affirmatives, she set the van in motion and glided out of the lot.

“Is this okay?” Belle asked him quietly, settling more firmly in his lap as they made a right turn onto Highway 212.

“Yes,” he said, trying to sound neither put out nor too comfortable.

She was a delightful warmth against his body and his nerve endings zinged with the unexpected pleasure of holding her close. He thought back to the last time anyone had sat in his lap. Back when his son Neal was a little boy and loved to be bounced, they used to pretend Gold’s leg was a horse named Peggy.

Having Belle sitting in his lap was an altogether different feeling.

Unsure of what to do with his arms, he settled for letting his hands rest against the seat. The van hit a bump and Belle swayed to the side toward the window. He caught her around the waist, his fingertips digging lightly into the fabric of her blue sundress. He wondered if the skin beneath the dress was as warm and soft as the material.

She turned her head to offer him a private smile. “Thank you.”

Satisfied she was balanced, he reluctantly dropped his hands back onto the seat. He didn’t want to let go, but he could see no other reason to continue holding her.

Quiet conversations between the other three couples in the vehicle buzzed around them, but he was strangely unbothered by their presence. Instead, he focused on the woman in his arms. Her head was turned toward the window, her cheeks flushed. Up close, he was surprised by the length and thickness of her eyelashes. He also noticed she had a delightful habit of dragging her lower lip under her teeth, and it turned her plump lips a lovely shade of deep coral.

“You can lean back a bit if you like,” he offered. For some reason, it was important to him that Belle felt at ease. Maybe it was his ego, or maybe it was the confusing attraction he felt toward her--an attraction he decided was better left unexamined.

She settled back against his chest with a soft, contented sigh that sent a thrill up his spine.

At 5’7”, he wasn’t a tall man, but Belle was quite petite. If she were to lean back even more, her head would be resting against his shoulder. And if she turned toward him fully, he would be looking directly into her eyes.

He felt the stirrings of arousal, tamping down on his body’s reaction by biting the inside of his cheek. All she needed was to feel him poking her in the arse like some old lecher in a van filled with people.

Without warning, the van brakes squealed and Belle pitched backward. On reflex, his arms wrapped around her. At the same time, she twisted and threw her arms around his neck. Her breasts were crushed against his chest and her fresh, floral scent tickled his nostrils. He wasn’t sure if the rapid thudding he felt against his ribs was Belle’s heart or his.

“Everybody okay?” Emma asked, ever the policewoman. “Nice reflexes, Mary Margaret.”

Removing his nose from Belle’s hair, Gold looked up in time to see a family of deer scamper across the road.

“Sorry,” Belle whispered to the top of his head before she moved away.

“Quite all right, Miss French.” It was more than all right, which was a serious problem. Having Belle in his arms was quickly becoming habit-forming and he mourned the loss of her closeness.

From across the backseat, he saw Regina flash Emma a triumphant grin before she whipped her head back to stare out her window. He glared daggers at the back of her head.

Carpooling was turning out to be hazardous to his blood pressure.

xoxo

Belle dropped into the Ferris wheel cabin with a grunt, still dazed from her carpooling experience. They’d been here at Picnic in the Park for about thirty minutes, and she’d managed to avoid Mr. Gold for the entire time.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to see him, quite the opposite. When they’d piled out of the minivan and entered the carnival, she’d thought about asking him to join her for a game of skeeball or a funnel cake, but she didn’t want to prolong his misery any longer.

Although she knew he hadn’t wanted to ride with her sprawled across his lap, he’d been painfully polite about the entire episode. Ever the clumsy one, Belle had almost toppled headfirst into the side window, forcing him to catch her. And then when Mary Margaret slammed on the brakes to avoid a group of deer, she’d clung to his shoulders as though her life depended on it. Then she had held on for far too long, but she couldn’t seem to help it. The muscles of his shoulders were strong and smooth through the thin fabric of his shirt and he smelled divine. Like sandalwood and peaches and masculinity.

“Lonely rider!” the Ferris wheel attendant crowed, bringing her back to the present. “Single! Single!”

Belle winced as several people turned to stare at her sitting alone in the car, while everyone else was paired off. Riding alone was nothing to be ashamed of, but she didn’t want to be gawked at by everyone at the fair. “Do you have to yell it quite so loud?” she asked.

“Sure I do!” The attendant stroked his thick handlebar mustache with a grin. “Lonely rider! Single!”

Single . Belle groaned, wishing she had remembered to toss her well-loved copy of The Secret Garden in her purse. As the last person to be hired at Regal Marketing in the last six months, she was still fondly known as the new girl. The others at the office were friendly and fun, and they had made her feel like part of a large, silly family. But today almost everyone was paired off with their special someone and she was feeling single and new.

The only other single person in the office was Mr. Gold, and he barely knew she was alive.

A shadow fell over the Ferris wheel car and she looked up. There stood the man himself, shading his eyes from the sun, a bit of powdered sugar gracing his square chin.

“If you’ll permit me to join you, Miss French?” He offered a slight bow.

“Really?” This was more than unexpected. From the way she’d overheard him grumbling about the “death traps” at the carnival yesterday, she didn’t think he would care to ride. “Why, yes, kind sir, I would be delighted.”

He handed his cane to the attendant and took the swinging seat, settling beside her so their thighs touched. The attendant dropped the safety bar into place.

His long-fingered hands rested lightly on the bar, and the tiny silver cufflinks adorning wrists gleamed in the sunlight.

“It seems you’re to be my hero twice in one day, Mr. Gold,” she said, as the car began its slow ascent into the sky.

“Accompanying you on the Ferris wheel is hardly heroic. And it was you who saved me in the car. If you hadn’t given up your seat...”

“You’d have simply taken your own vehicle and driven home,” she finished. “Or perhaps turned around and gone back into the office?” From his conspicuous absence at office birthday lunches and bowling outings, it was clear he didn’t care to socialize with the members of the office.

His expression was severe and for a moment she worried she’d overstepped. Then his frown melted into a lopsided smile. “Touche, Miss French.”

Goosebumps spread over her skin, part relief, and part attraction. Gold’s silver-streaked hair and olive complexion made for a striking combination, but when he smiled his looks were positively devastating. For someone who never had a hair out of place and was always wearing a pressed suit with a coordinated silk tie, seeing him in jeans and his face decorated with powdered sugar only enhanced his appeal.

Why no one had snapped him up was a mystery, but selfishly she was glad. She’d been interested in him almost from the first day she’d started work at Regal. There was something magnetic about Gold that drew her closer, made her want to know him.

They stopped again about halfway up, the car see-sawing as another cabin was loaded, and Belle took the opportunity to study Gold’s profile in the bright afternoon light. He had a strong, sharp nose that looked infinitely kissable. The memory of his warm, strong hands on her waist in the van made her pulse skitter. “Out of curiosity, why did you board the wheel?”

“It should be fairly obvious, Miss French.” He waved over the expanse of the fairground below with another twisted smile. “I’m high on life.”

Belle giggled, then gripped his arm as the fully loaded wheel gained speed, carrying them around in circles, faster and faster.

By the time they reached the apex for the third time, her fingers were digging into his bicep and he touched her shoulder, moving his fingertips in a soothing circle. “Are you all right?”

“Oh yes,” she assured him, the wind rushing through her hair and lungs making her feel somewhat breathless. “I’m a bit afraid of heights.”

The glance he gave her was puzzled. “Then why ride the wheel?”

“For the adventure, of course.” She laughed, the exhilaration of the ride and the energy of the man beside her making her feel happy and carefree. “Why does that not surprise me?” His caramel eyes danced with amusement.

“My mother always says do the brave thing and bravery will follow,” she said. “Truth be told, most of my adventures have happened in books rather than real life.”

“I think it’s time to change that,” he said.

“Oh really?” She batted her lashes a bit, unable to resist the urge to flirt. “What do you have in mind?”

“Over there,” he said, pointing down to a large red tent on the ground, “are the best hamburgers in Maine. And once a year, at this event only, Mrs. Lucas does something rather shocking.”

“What?” she asked, her excitement mounting even as the wheel descended. Soon, it would be their turn to exit the car.

“Instead of using regular rolls, she sandwiches the hamburgers between…” Mr. Gold paused for dramatic effect, waving his hand with a flourish. “Glazed doughnuts.”

“Sounds like heaven,” Belle said. Her mouth watered with hunger; she hadn’t had anything to eat yet and the closer they got to the ground, the smells of buttery popcorn, sizzling meat, and fried, sugared dough became even more tantalizing.

Their Ferris wheel car approached the loading dock, coming to a stop with a rocking jolt.

“Lead the way, but first, there’s something I need to do.” She leaned toward him and carefully wiped his chin with her thumb. His eyes darkened at the contact and she swallowed a gasp. “Just a bit of sugar. From your first hamburger, perhaps?” she teased.

”Funnel cake,” he confirmed, an adorable flush creeping up his neck.“That’s been there the whole time, hasn’t it?

“I won’t tell a soul,” she promised, secretly delighted to discover that the oh-so-serious Mr. Gold had a sweet tooth.

They disembarked from the ride, Gold collected his cane, and they started in the direction of the hamburgers. “I hope you like ketchup,” he said.

“It’s one of my four major food groups,” she said with mock solemnity. “Along with iced tea, chocolate, and pickles.”

“Pickles, obviously,” he said. His soft laughter skidded over her, soaking into her bones like sunshine.

It was the first time she’d heard him laugh and she decided she liked the sound of it. Maybe she could get him to do it again before the day was through.

“Shall we?” He offered his arm and she took it, more than happy to allow him to guide her. The rides whirred, voices lifted in laughter and cheers, and the air crackled with glad expectation.

David passed by with Mary Margaret, each of them holding huge cones of cotton candy, and flashed her a wink. “It’s good to see you two having a good time,” he said.

“We are, Nolan, thank you.” Gold said pleasantly. He gave Belle’s arm a subtle squeeze.

Butterflies exploded in Belle’s stomach at the light pressure and she returned Gold’s lopsided grin with a bright smile of her own.

“Care to join us on the Tilt-a-Whirl?” David asked. “Afterward, we’re going to buy some candles from the convent. Mary Margaret helped make them this year.”

Belle’s good mood faltered a bit. She enjoyed David and Mary Margaret a lot, but she wanted to spend time with Mr. Gold. Alone. Alone in public, yes. But still. But before she could figure out how to respond without hurting their feelings, Gold was already answering.

“Can’t, thanks,” Gold replied. “The new girl and I have a date with a hamburger.”

Belle waved goodbye to Mary Margaret and David and sailed away with Gold, feeling like she was floating on a cloud.

Perhaps Mr. Gold could be interested in her after all.

###

#rumbelle #rumbelle fic #belle x mr. gold #rumbelle fluff #rumbelle is hope #mqc writes #the new girl #cufflinks

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elysianrey · 5 years ago

Text

tell me things you’ve never said out loud

[part 3 of it’s a slow cinnamon summer. read part 1. read part 2]

(a/n: okay...here it is. the final installment of this little series. thanks for joining me on this crazy ride these past few days! i’m not sure when i’ll get another chance to write for fun, but hopefully i will be nipped by the plot bunnies again soon. Anne and Gil finally get a resolution to this tension. And Gilbert is shirtless again... Enjoy!! xoxo Content T+)

Almost a week passed before Anne saw him again.

It was not so much by choice, at least not to Anne, but rather they were needed for other responsibilities around their respective households. Matthew had caught a late summer cold, which led to Anne tending to his needs, while Marilla cared for little Delphine at the Blythe-Lacroix farm. When Anne wasn’t checking in on Matthew, she was out in the fields with Jerry and his brothers, who offered their aid upon catching word of Matthew’s sickness. The hard labor of weeding out the bad crops or nasty pests allowed Anne to direct her mind onto something other than the single topic it would revolve back to as she laid in her bed each night. Even the exhaustion from the day’s activities was not enough to weary her brain into a dreamless state of sleep which she desperately craved.

For her dreams were where she slipped back into that sweet moment in the garden, or worse, entered new fantasies so vivid and lifelike, Anne would suddenly awake with a gasp, sweat beading on her forehead and along fair skin. She dared not tell a single soul about any of those dreams.

His lingering presence had intertwined itself so deeply into her being that she knew it was fruitless to try an escape it’s captive grip. Otherwise, she would be denying an integral piece of herself, as terrifying as the thought was to her.

Marilla woke her before dawn on Saturday morning with the news that she would be baking and cooking most of the day for the church picnic tomorrow. She was quite beside herself because with watching over Delphine the whole week, she had completely forgotten the important event.

“No worries, Marilla. I will take care of precious Delly today,” Anne reassured her comfortingly, her heart twinging anxiously at the prospect of the boy she was going to inevitably see. She needed to clear the air between them and make things right.

Marilla let out a grateful sigh, “Oh bless you, Anne. For all that you have done the past days,” she replied, her arms drawing the girl into a hug. “Now off you go to get dressed. Bash mentioned that he and Gilbert were going to be up early to start pruning some of the apple trees in the orchard.”

Anne nodded, a suppressed smile on her lips as she turned on her heel to dress herself, which did not go unnoticed by Marilla.

“Make sure Gilbert does not to overwork himself,” she called from the kitchen below as Anne hurriedly traipsed up the stairs.

“Will do!”

+++++

Anne gave the door of the Blythe-Lacroix home a gentle knock and waited patiently for an answer, rather hoping it would be a sleepy-eyed, dark-haired boy. Instead she was received by a groggy-looking Bash, who held a cup of steaming hot coffee in one hand and a fussy baby in the other.

“Good morning, Anne,” he greeted, motioning for her to enter, and pushing the door shut behind them with his shoulder. “It’s nice of you to come.” His attention turned toward the squirming bundle in the crook of his arm. “Shhhhh--there, there Delly. Papa will be back for you soon. Your auntie Anne is here to spend some time with you now,” he cooed, rocking her softly and taking a sip of his coffee.

The redhead couldn’t contain the fond smile that broke over face at the endearing title Bash had dubbed after the countless days she had spent with them upon Mary’s passing and the consuming grief that latched on to Sebastian’s being. Although he was not quite the person she remembered before his beloved returned to her heavenly home in the sky, he was beginning to finally settle into a different type of normal.

Anne stretched out her arms to take the baby, and Bash handed her off. “It is always a treat to spend time with this princess of yours,” she remarked lovingly, looking at Delphine with a sense of delight.

She followed Bash into the kitchen, holding the infant on her hip, and observing him as he set his cup down carefully. “Blythe is out in the orchard already, crazy fool,” he chuckled with a shake of his head. Anne tried her best to keep her face of coolness upon the comment.

“I’ll tell you Anne, the boy has been working himself to the bone lately. Can’t help but think something’s troubling him, but he dodges giving me a proper answer anytime I ask him about it. You wouldn’t happen to know what’s gotten him quieter than a church mouse, would you?”

A fresh wave of guilt overcame her as she bit down on her lip. “Uhhh...no...no clue,” she stuttered quickly, cursing herself for the unconvincing reply. She turned to begin making a warm bottle for Delphine as she searched for something more believable to add. “Maybe he’s worried about Queen’s?” she offered, picking up a glass bottle with one hand and setting it on the table. “I know I am.” This was true. It was a matter of weeks before Marilla and Matthew would be dropping her off at the school in Charlottetown and the remembrance of this fact made her heart ache in melancholy.

Several beats of silence passed between them before she glanced over at him. “Hmm…’suppose you could have a point,” was all he said, his eyes wearing an expression of curiosity and his tone full of doubt. Anne had a feeling he could see straight through her deceit. “Well I best be going out to the orchard. We’ll be coming in later for some lunch. See you my Delly Welly!”

“Say ‘Bye Papa’,” she replied with a grin, holding up Delphine’s hand in a waving motion. Bash returned the wave with one of his own and then turned around to exit through the back door, Anne’s nerves rattling almost as loudly as the darn thing when he shut it closed.

She sighed a breath of relief, turning back to finish her job with the baby’s bottle. His words had not been of a comfort to her in the slightest. The fault for Gilbert’s reserved behavior was entirely her doing, and to think, it could have been avoided altogether if she was not such a dunce when romantic feelings were involved. For an individual who spent a majority of her lifetime envisioning love and devising hundreds of stories filled with romantic dialogue and gestures, Anne Shirley-Cuthbert’s naivety toward navigating it in real-life was mystifying.

The redhead spent the rest of the morning, reading stories, singing songs, and watching Delphine crawl around the house, constantly having to keep an eye on her since the little girl had a tendency to put everything she found in her mouth. By the time the afternoon rolled around, the baby seemed to have worn herself out, and Anne sighed in contentment when she fell fast asleep in her basket.

Anne leaned her head on the wooden bench next to the baby’s basket and closed her eyes, intending only to keep them shut for a brief moment. Working in the field the day before and waking up early that morning had taken a toll on her. Not to mention the restless fits of sleep she experienced every night since Josie’s party. She would only rest for a few minutes longer…

+++++

When she awoke, the first thing she noticed was Delphine was gone. Anne jolted upright, her eyes scanning the floor around her, assuming she must have crawled right out of her basket. How long had she slept for? Muttering curses at herself under her breath, she pulled herself off the ground, smoothing down her dress as she went, and startled in a surprise at the person who sat before her.

“Gilbert,” Anne breathed in greeting, her heart quickening its pace, then dropping down to her stomach when she fully took in his appearance. His muscular, tanned, and very sweaty, exposed chest was on display for her to gawk at from where she stood. He glanced up from where he was eating, and she averted her gaze down to her hands, which she was wringing together desperately in an attempt to regain her composure.

“Anne,” she heard him say in acknowledgement, the sound of his voice like a cold glass of water on a dry day to her parched ears.

She risked a glance back at him, his eyes still very much glued to her. “Delphine--I was looking for--” Anne started, suddenly recalling the missing infant.

Gilbert cut in before she could finish. “Bash took her out for a walk in the orchard. He told me he thought that you could use the break.”

“Oh well that was kind of him, but hardly necessary,” she stammered, her face surely an unattractive shade of dark red. Gilbert took another bite of his food, leaving her to continue standing awkwardly across from him.

Did he have no sense of decency? Of course it was boiling hot outside, but surely that did not mean he could not put his shirt back on when inside of the house. Especially with her being in the same room as him.

“Anne, you’ve been asleep for at least an hour. Bash and I needed the break. It’s hot enough to cause a heat stroke if you’re out there for too long today,” he informed her indifferently, going back to his food again and finally looking away from her.

The girl chewed restlessly on her lower lip, the words that had been building up since the night of Josie’s party threatening to burst out of her at any second. “Gilbert I wanted---” she tried helplessly, her thought catching in her throat. His dark brown eyes lifted from his plate, a guarded expression to them. She had enough.

“I’m sorry. It was wrong of me to leave you without saying a thing about what happened that night. You have every right to be mad and hurt at me. In fact, I almost wish you would yell at me right now because I truly deserve it. You are a good person who is worthy of someone far more sophisticated and beautiful and coherent than me. I am no more than an intoxicated fool who assumed she had some right to kiss you and touch you,” Anne’s voice trembling with unabashed honesty for once, laying herself bare for him to see. “I miss you. Your companionship and wisdom. Your kindness and patience. For I know I can be as stubborn as a mule and hot-headed with my temper and brash with my words--”

“Anne,” Gilbert broke in before she could finish her lament of her worst features, which slightly annoyed her since she wasn’t done listing all of the reasons why he should be cross with her. He rose from his seat and walked toward her, leaning back against the edge of the table so they were only feet apart. Waiting nervously for him to speak, she chanced a glance down at the freckle on his chest, directly beneath his collarbone.

“I was hurt,” he admitted quietly. “You drive me mad sometimes, Anne Shirley-Cuthbert.” His tone raised slightly and the copper-headed girl braced herself for his assault. This is what she deserved and she would take every insult he threw with acceptance.

“But you Anne--you are the most sophisticated, beautiful, and coherent person that I know.” She could have sworn her heart stopped beating in her chest when she heard him utter those words instead. “You have been all of those things, and so much more, since the first day I met you,” he confessed reverently.

His fingers reached out to rest cautiously on her chin and she lifted her head to look at him once more. This time, daring herself to hope again. She could see the softness returning to his face as she lost herself in the affectionate glow of his eyes. Her flesh erupted in goosebumps as his knuckles trailed up and down her cheek in a gentle rhythm, just like they had after she kissed him.

“I--I think I’m desperately in love with you Gil,” Anne gushed so openly that she almost smacked her hand over her mouth in shock. Perhaps he would run for the hills now after hearing such a bold declaration.

To her dismay, a low chuckle bellowed from Gilbert’s chest, then he was laughing to the point of hysterics, tears streaming from the corners of his eyes and running down his cheeks. Anne didn’t know whether to feel offended or content that this is how he chose to respond to her admission of love. “Are you sure you’re not the one who is drunk this time?” she mirthfully questioned, swatting him lightly on the arm.

He regained his composure, pulling her into a close embrace as he grinned down at her, his cheeks dimpling and eyes crinkling in happiness. “Anne-girl, there has been no one for me, but you. The moment you broke that slate across my head, I was a gone man. Never would I have dreamed that you would ever--”

Anne pressed her lips against his, silencing him, for she had heard everything that she already knew to be true deep down. Kissing him in his kitchen, the sun beating down heavily through the window, his hands steadying her, his heartbeat echoing her own, was everything she had ever wanted. She brought her fingers up into his unruly hair, this time feeling damp from sweat, but she could hardly care. His lips broke from hers and started trailing along her cheek then jaw then neck, leaving a searing mark on each inch of skin as he went.

“Gilbert,” she sighed, her brain a blur of euphoria. She could feel his smile in the crook of her neck as he pressed another kiss to a freckle he was quite intent on appreciating.

“Oi Blythe! Shirley!” The teenagers broke apart so rapidly Gilbert nearly toppled over the table. “What are you thinking, setting an example like this, in front of your poor niece,” Bash exclaimed loudly, bouncing the baby in his arms. “Don’t worry Delly, your papa will protect you from these two heathens,” he teased mercilessly, covering Delphine’s eyes.

Anne and Gilbert both released laughs of pent up awkwardness from the unexpected guest and gave each other timid looks.

“Next time, put a shirt on Blythe,” Bash declared, tossing him the one long forgotten from on the table. Gilbert accepted the item and pulled it over his head as Bash left the room, shaking his own head and smirking to himself.

+++++

Gilbert took the opportunity to walk her back to Green Gables after dinner, her hand fitting securely into the crook of his arm. Her head rested lightly against his shoulder. The pair chatted amiably about the events that had unfolded during the week. She recited a new poem she had learned for Matthew, and Gilbert gave her a sidelong look of wonder like he couldn’t quite believe that she was real.

When they got to the gate in front of Green Gables, Anne was mournful to depart from him, despite knowing that they would be reunited tomorrow at the church picnic.

“So---that tragical romance you mentioned back at Mary and Bash’s wedding...,” Gilbert started unexpectedly, his gaze intent on her from across the fence.

“No longer remains to be seen,” Anne finished, reaching to stroke his cheek comfortingly.

Gilbert let out a sigh of relief and ducked to steal another kiss from her before Marilla called out from the front door. “Anne! Is that you?”

They both laughed quietly at the older woman’s outburst. “I guess that’s my cue,” the girl lamented, taking his hand in hers, not quite accepting the events that conspired today were real.

“Goodnight my Anne-girl.” Gilbert gave her hand a squeeze, and let her go, backing up slowly, his eyes remaining on her as he went. Anne watched him blissfully until she heard Marilla call her name again.

She spun around merrily and skipped to the house, her heart soaring with the knowledge that she was loved very dearly by Gilbert Blythe.

tagging: @hecksinki, @blarkeshirbert, @autummn-leaves, @ewolfwitchwisegirl, @leadingmehome, @melanneniel, @youcalledusremember, @neliel-deathberry, @blackxones BECAUSE YOU GUYS ARE THE BEST <3 <3

#anne with an e #awae #shirbert #shirbert ff #anne shirley cuthbert #gilbert blythe #anne x gilbert #anne with an e season 3 #no spoilers here though #final installment #here's to episode 5 my friends!#WE'RE ALMOST THERE #ellie writes

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dolphin-enthusiast · 4 years ago

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good evening caro mio, it's very lovely to see you~!! 💞🌹💫 oh my, i was gone for a little bit wasn't i? i apologize if i made any of you worry/wasn't there to help brighten your days like you say i do!! i was taking a little bit of a mental health break, and i feel a lot better now!!! i'm so happy to be back here, i missed you all so much!! (especially you morgy! ❤) (1/???)

"i hope your first day of school went alright,, i know how much it sucks, but i'm here alongside you to get through it all!! hopefully this school year can be at least a teensy bit easier on everyone,, but we do have to take it one day at a time, or as i say, baby steps 🌠 i should probably address this now so i can get the serious bits out of the way, but i assure you all that i'm alright!! that incident was just unfortunate, and my family made me take a rest from working because of it,, (2/?)

plus, that kind of situation is common for me unfortunately, so i'm used to sudden panics like that,, but i feel quite better now!! and i'm happier more than ever to be back again 💖💖💖 (3/?)

i do truly thank you all from the bottom of my heart for all of your patience, kind words, and support!! i'm honestly extremely surprised at how sweet everyone was about this,, it's such a nice change from daily life,, i have no idea how to put my utter gratefulness into words, but please know that i love you all so so so much!! i wouldn't trade any of you for the world, you matter so much to me 💌 (4/?)

it seems that so much has happened while i was gone,, all of these picrews (which i absolutely adore!) and quinn getting into my account?? ahhhhh oh gosh,, that's a lot!! i'm gonna have to scold her! i can't believe she would submit such candid pics of me and other stuff,, quite embarrassing! but i wasn't expecting such a positive response to me and my one cat,,, who knew that all you anons find me sleeping cute??? it's confusing to me, but i find it quite funny hehe 😖❤ (5/?)

luckily i was able to be a little more productive lately, even if i have been exausted!! i've been cooking, cleaning, modeling, sewing, dancing, and editing videos for people,, so much work! i do think it's worth it though, it helps distract me from the bad things in life, and other people end up happy,, i'd consider it a win-win for me!!! my dad also taught me how to fix up an angelo azzuro,, which is a cocktail i didn't learn yet! (6/?)

it took two days of hard work and practice, but according to him, i "nailed it right on the head" my papa is always my go-to for mixology, he taught me most of what i know, and he's always the first person to try my drinks! apparently it's a very interesting concept to my other friends, since they have so limited access to spirits,, it does make sense though! (7/?)

we italians just don't care about drinking ages hehehe, as long as we're responsible and cautious with age, it adds to our lifespan ;) during that short break, i suppose my narcolepsy flared up a lot since i was falling asleep left and right! it was awful having to constantly wake up with either a migraine, extra tiredness, or even a bruise or two,, thankfully though i had my family to watch over me,, at least i was finally able to make up for lost sleep hehe 💫 (8/?)

i also got to play a lot of minecraft hehe,, my friend and i actually spent a full day doing a speedrun world, and we killed the ender dragon and wither within only 2 1/2 hours!! it was crazy,, i guess me and him just make a dynamic duo (but i dare to say,, not quite as dynamic as you and me 😉) speaking of minecraft, over the weekend i decided that i'm going to start streaming on twitch soon as a hobby!! i'm very excited for this, it's something i've wanted to do for a very long time now (9/?)

all of my friends and my siblings are very supportive of it, which i'm super glad about!! i've always found little bits of joy in my favorite streamers, so why not give back to that community? an artist friend of mine even drew me a pfp as a gift, it's so cute! all i have to do is figure out a balance between school, personal life, and streaming, then i'll be set,, i'm always happy to get a new hobby 😊✨ (10/?)

oh my, it's almost 23:45 now!! sadly, unlike today, tomorrow is full of classes and work,, so i should probably get going to bed! i'll hopefully see you tomorrow then, darling! goodnight, and as always, sweet dreams,, make sure to rest extra when you can 💗- much much love and extra hugs, waifu anon xoxo 💗❤💖💞💓💕💘💌 ps: you say that you'd come all the way to america just to say such kind things to me?? it looks like i'll just have to return the favor then darling 💘 (11/11)"

This do b kinda late ngl since im assuming i literally leave for school just as u send those in💀💀💀 things r kinda hard w school here but today was actually one of the few decent days i had in what y e a r s??? Me n my friends went out after classes and spent the entire afternoon sipping boba tea (it was my first time having it since boba places r rare here and we had to travel in the opposite part of the city and holy shit my third eye opened bruh i A S C E N D E D) and talking abt anime and simping and basically clowned eachother constantly jahahhdkf

B u t enough of that bc i see u had some nice days goin on as well😳😳 as i said many times before i'd kill a man to taste the cocktails that u do and one day we finna do that on g o d 😩✌️ and STREAMING? DROP THE LINK WILL YA DARLIN ME N THE CLOWN ARMY WILL BE THERE IN A H E A R T B E A T HDJDJSJ honestly streamer waifu is such a nice concept....i myself dream of streaming but sadly i dont have the time, space, money and overall neccesary equipments for it which is lowkey depressing ngl💀

Either way im glad to hear u been balancing things out and taking breaks dear, i myself am t r y i n g to make time for other stuff too since i really wanna write and watch anime (u know what series i just finished and had a 🅱️REAKDOWN 🅱️ REAKDOWN over one hour ago🤡🔪) but the schedule do b wacky ngl....

And as always i say: of c o r p s e everyone had positive reactions?? W h y w o u l d n t t h e y-

#JESUS HAS A R R I V E D #also wow dear...bein a smooth criminal again i s e e👁️#the confessional

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etherealwaifgoddess · 5 years ago

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More Time - Chpt.8

Summary: Faced with an entire day to himself while Bucky is off at work, Steve finds himself struggling to fill his time. After a long afternoon at home he talks himself into going back the bar to see a certain redheaded bartender. Master list is HERE.

Warnings/ Content: Brief mention of Steve having poor body image.

Word Count: 2.2k

Author’s Note: Hello lovelies! I am so in love with the 70 degree weather right now that I can’t even think of anything clever to say about this chapter. Please know that as soon as this is posted I will be retreating back outdoors to my super awesome lawn chair to bask in the warm sun until I absolutely positively have to go in to feed my kids. Hope it’s nice where you are too and that you got to enjoy some sun today. XOXO - Ash

Chapter Eight

Steve felt oddly out of place the following Monday when Bucky was off to work and he wasn’t due back to the VA until the next day. He had his appointment with Bruce and Helen in the morning but that went quickly and he was still as healthy as he would ever be. He wandered around a few museums Bucky had gifted him with memberships to but that only filled a few hours of his morning. Steve was avoiding texting Bucky, not wanting to feel like a desperate little housewife, but he was running out of things to occupy himself with. He settled for watching a movie with General while he ate lunch. He heated up some leftover chicken and ended up sharing it with the cat who sat politely next to Steve waiting patiently for any scraps he was willing to share. After the movie, Steve holed himself up in his studio letting his art carry him away for the rest of the afternoon; he figured he could at least be productive that way.

It was past dinner time when Steve’s phone lit up with a ping of an incoming message.

Jerkface [6:42:17PM]: hey bb how r u?

Stevie G [6:42:26PM: I’m good. How did things go today?

Jerkface [6:43:48PM]: long tiring ready 2 b home

Stevie G [6:44:03PM]: What time are you guys getting in?

Jerkface [6:44:36PM]: leaving @ 1930 3hr flight

Stevie G [6:44:57PM]: Okay, I’ll probably still be up when you get back. Miss you.

Jerkface [6:45:04PM]: miss u 2 give general a pet 4 me

Steve sighed, he didn’t expect a day on his own to feel so long. He wasn’t thrilled at the prospect of sharing another lonely meal with the cat but his stomach rumbled and he knew he needed to figure out dinner sooner rather than later. Steve wondered what the odds were that Emma, the bartender from Friday, would be working again if he stopped in for dinner. He did want to apologize for his behavior despite Bucky insisting he hadn’t been as terrible as he feared. Steve slowly talked himself into going as he packed away his paints. The food there was decent and he had liked the cozy feel of the place, it would be nice to get out for a bit since Bucky wouldn’t be home until late.

General Meow looked up from his spot on the bed and watched with bored disinterest as Steve searched through the closet. He wasn’t dressing up, he told himself, he just couldn't go out in paint splattered clothes. He had been meaning to try out some of the soft, heavy dress pants he’d bought for the winter anyway. And if he was wearing dress pants, well then he couldn’t just put on a tee shirt. Steve adjusted the collar of his blue checkered shirt, tugged at the hem of the navy blue sweater he’d put on over top of it, standing back to assess himself in the full length mirror. He looked kind of nice, he mused. He tried to focus on the things he did like about himself as his therapist had taught him to do but it was difficult when all he saw was what was wrong. He tried reframing his negative thoughts and found that equally exhausting.

Logically he knew his thick glasses made his eyes stand out, and he had always liked his eyes. Just like he knew the layer of softness across his middle meant he was healthy and no longer underweight. But staring at himself in the mirror, he wished he’d given the contact lenses another try and was thankful that the heavy sweater covered him well enough that he could pretend he still had a toned body underneath it.

Steve shook his head at himself, when did he get so vain? He turned to the cat who had gone back to napping, “I’ll be back in a little bit, General.” He told him. The cat opened an eye to acknowledge he had been spoken to but went right back to napping. Steve bundled on his winter coat and gloves, grabbing Bucky’s scarf too at the last minute because it was cold outside and not because it smelled like Bucky and Steve missed him.

It was a short but bitter cold walk down the block to Matty’s Bar and Steve’s lungs were protesting fiercely by the time he got inside. He fumbled with his inhaler and his gloves, finally getting two good puffs in to loosen up the tightness in his chest the icy winter air had caused. Sighing a heavy breath of relief Steve started unzipping his coat and finally looked down the bar to see if Emma was working. He jumped, almost knocking over the stool next to him, when he realized Emma was standing directly across from him; watching with an amused expression.

“Hey Steve.” Emma said, giving him that same sympathetic smile she’d given on Friday when he’d let the bourbon go to his head. Emma had watched him race inside from the cold and struggle to get his breathing under control. She wanted to ask him if he was okay but he’d finally gotten his inhaler out and she waited while he got himself back under control.

“Hey.” Steve replied trying to pretend he hadn’t just jumped like an idiot, “Emma, right?”

“Yeah. It’s good to see you again. You want a Makers Mark?”

“No!” Steve said a little too loudly. Real smooth, Rogers, he chided himself. “No, just a coke please. Friday was… a special night out.”

Emma giggled lightly at his outburst and nodded in understanding while she poured him a coke from the soda gun. “Bucky said you guys were celebrating. So what brings you back again so soon?” There were no other patrons at the bar and Emma took advantage of the lull to lean on the glossy wood top and enjoy herself watching Steve flounder for words. It was endearing the way even the tips of his ears burned bright when he blushed.

“Well, I wanted to apologize for… um… for getting a little drunk on Friday. Your job is tough enough as it is, let alone adding a drunk guy to the mix. I appreciate how kind you were even when I couldn't hold my liquor.”

Emma wanted to hug him, he was so earnest but so misguided. Steve had been a delight compared to other guys who couldn't hold their alcohol, and even most who could. “You did not come all the way down here in the cold just to apologize to me.”

Steve nodded, his head bowed in embarrassment.

“Can I let you in on a little secret?” Emma whispered conspiratorially, leaning closer to Steve on his good side after noticing the tiny hearing aid in his other ear.

Steve nodded again, eyebrows quirked up in interest.

Emma was so close to Steve he could smell the soft lavender of her perfume when she whispered. “Seeing Captain America tipsy and giggling was the best part of my entire night.”

Steve leaned back, a little heartbroken at her words despite their good intent.

Emma frowned, picking up on his reaction to something she said. Maybe she had overstepped? She knew she came across as too flirty at times and, while it was great for tips as a bartender, sometimes it had some unintended consequences. Steve was so handsome though, moreso now than in any picture she’d seen of him in books and documentaries. Emma prayed she hadn’t offended him somehow. She pathetically hoped that he would keep coming in so she could pine quietly from afar over him, and Bucky too if she was being honest with herself.

Steve tried to keep the bitterness out of his tone when he explained, “Well, sorry to disappoint, but it’s just Steve Rogers now. Not an ounce of super anything left in me.”

Emma cringed, realizing her misstep. “Oh, no. I just meant… because you always seem so…” she waved her hands trying in vain to explain herself, “So… stern? Maybe that’s not it, but every picture I’ve ever seen of you seemed so stiff and dutiful. I always wondered if you ever got the chance to just be a normal guy.”

Steve was stunned at her explanation. “No, things were pretty much go-go-go after I got the serum.”

“I’m really sorry. That sounds pretty shitty.” Emma reached out and surprised both of them when she covered his hand with hers, clasping it tightly for a moment.

“I was just trying to do my part.” Steve told her with a shrug.

“So I’ve read. But you’re still a person at the end of the day.”

“You ever been told you have a very unique perspective on things?”

Emma laughed, “Yeah, a couple of times. I’m glad you’re taking it easy now though. You deserve it. And you Bucky seem really happy together. Is he your…?”

Steve nodded quickly, delighted he could share this so openly in public. “He’s my partner, yeah.”

“Good for you guys. Gives us painfully single people hope.”

Steve wanted to ask how someone so lovely could be single but he kept his inner Casanova to himself; that was Bucky’s forte, not his. Instead, he gave her a half smile and navigated the conversation to dinner, letting her talk him into a breakfast burger which sounded ridiculous but she insisted was worth trying.

Steve was thankful it was a Monday night and the icy weather had kept everyone else at home. He loved every minute Emma spent leaning on the bar chatting with him while he ate his meal. She even caved in after a bit and took the fries he kept pushing towards her. It was surprisingly easy to talk to her and Steve found himself opening up more than he meant to at times. She wasn’t hung up on his former mantel of Captain America, her questions all centered around Steve himself and her interest seemed genuine. Steve ended up hanging out for a while after his meal was done just to spend time talking and she didn’t seem to mind at all. He was stunned when his phone pinged with a new message from Bucky letting him know he’d be home in twenty.

“I’m so sorry, I took up your whole night! I gotta get back, Bucky is on his way home from work.” Steve told her while he pulled out his wallet to pay.

Emma tried to hold back her disappointment that Steve was leaving. She had enjoyed his company so much on what would have otherwise been a boring Monday night. Emma hated the way reality came crashing back in. Steve, though charming and sweet and so quietly handsome, was not hers. He had a man he loved to get back home to and she would be heading home to her quiet apartment to read a book and water the little family of succulents who lived in her living room windowsill. Emma realized she had been quiet too long and startled herself back to the present. “It’s okay, Steve. You were good company tonight. I’ll get your check.”

Steve smiled at her fondly and she stamped down the ache in her heart. Emma bid him goodnight, asking him to tell Bucky hello for her and to come back anytime he needed company. She watched him hurry out the door into the cold and sighed heavily, resigning herself to her quiet solitary existence.

Bucky was surprised to find Steve in the kitchen when he arrived home a little before ten. His hands were frigid when he hugged him and the tips of his nose and ears were tinged pink and also icy cold. “Did you just get home?” Bucky asked in disbelief.

Steve looked almost guilty, “I went out for a burger, it was too quiet around here and General isn’t a great conversationalist.”

“Where did you go?”

“Just down to Matty’s Bar. Emma was working again tonight. She says hello by the way.”

Bucky stared at Steve for a long minute. There he was, dressed all nice and having spent what must have been a few hours with the gorgeous girl they had both been mooning over a little. “You’re lucky I’m so secure with myself and our relationship. Otherwise I’d be wondering why you’re dressed like you’re meetin’ my mother and spending a night in the company of a beautiful woman.”

Steve was too easily rattled and fell for the ribbing. “Buck, you know I love you. I learned my lesson; God did I ever. You’re it for me. You have to know that.”

Bucky hugged Steve tightly, pressing firm kisses on the top of his fluffy golden hair. “I was just teasin’ ya. Besides, it’s not like we never brought a girl back for some fun before. Emma’s a real looker.”

“She’s gorgeous, isn’t she? And she’s so sweet. She spent the whole night keeping me company, asking questions about me and not about my time with the shield.”

“Feeling a little smitten there, huh?”

“Just a little. She’s too good for us though, Buck.”

“No one’s too good for you. But maybe I’ll go try a burger from Matty’s on my night off.” Bucky said it in jest but after it was out he considered it wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

Tag list lovelies: @godofplumsandthunder @remilupin22 @supraveng @hiddles-rose

If anyone wants added or removed please lmk!

#more time #stucky #stucky fanfic #stucky fanfiction #stucky x original character #stucky x original female character #stucky x ofc #steve rogers #preserum steve rogers #post winter soldier bucky barnes #shrinkyclinks #marvel #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #post marvel endgame #post endgame #endgame fix it #endgame fixit

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artificialqueens · 5 years ago

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Give you what you craving (branjie) - writworm42

A/N: Title from Big Ole Freak by Megan Thee Stallion. For a friend of mine who I’m wishing the absolute best <3

Thank u thank u thank u Holtz for beta-ing <3 <3 <3 <3

DISCLAIMER: In this fic, Brooke calls Vanessa mommy in bed without any prior conversation. Don’t do that!!! Just because I let it slip here for the sake of the story doesn’t mean it’s okay in real life. FIC IS NOT A MODEL FOR REAL LIFE! In reality, before you call your partner by titles during sex, check with them to make sure it’s okay. Always make sure to check in with your partner consistently and frequently during sex!!!

“Vanjie? Vanj? Earth to Vanessa!”

Vanessa blinks, coming back to her surroundings just in time to see Asia waving her hand in front of her face, looking bemused.

“Is it just as good as last time she walked by?” Asia jokes, and Vanessa feels herself flush scarlet, her cheeks burning as she tries to think of a comeback.

She doesn’t have time to say anything to defend herself though, because their third cubicle-mate, Kameron, looks up from her computer screen, removing her earphones to grin over at her two friends.

“Was she checking out Brooke’s ass again?” Kam’s eyes are lit up with scandal and excitement, and Asia nods enthusiastically.

“Her tits, too, don’t think I didn’t see you craning to get an eyeful when you first heard her heels, Vanj.” Asia notes, and Kameron lets out a big whoop, one which Vanessa almost hits her for.

“Shut up!” Vanessa hisses. “Are you tryin’ to get us in trouble? We supposed to be working on processing those orders for that new cake-baking cookbook, not gossiping about something I most definitely absolutely was not doing. ”

“Sure, baby.” Kameron snorts, but nonetheless, she and Asia settle, turning back to their own desks to attend to their work. Or at least, Kameron and Asia do - Vanessa herself is, for whatever reasons, struggling to focus.

Reasons that have nothing at all to do with how Brooke walks by again a moment later, and how for a moment, Vanessa swears that she sees Brooke glance at her and smile.

“You could just talk to her, you know.” Kameron offers kindly, but Vanessa only grunts in response.

Vanessa’s a junior sales rep for the entire cookbook company, while Brooke is a copy editor for the baking section. They may not work together directly, but they’re still part of two different worlds–one world that’s just a hair away from being an intern, days spent in a flurry of spreadsheets and scutwork, versus another world that comes with a postgraduate degree and a great deal of respect. Brooke couldn’t possibly want anything to do with Vanessa, and pretending otherwise…

Well, Vanessa would be setting herself up for heartbreak, to say the least. She’s sure it would. So it’s better not to get her hopes up; better to just keep things neat and tidy, limit her fantasies to watching Brooke’s ass whenever she walks by and hoping that when she walks back, she might catch another glimpse at that shy, beautiful smile.

“Oh, come on, now, don’t be like that.” Asia scolds, turning back around. “Kam is right, you know. We have that employee mixer coming up, and God knows the woman finds every excuse she can to walk past us all hours of the goddamn day. Just talk to her, Vanj.”

Vanessa snorts, not bothering to look up from her computer. “What would I even say, bitch? ‘Hey, mama, you got a fine ass, lemme eat it?’”

But there’s no laughter that follows the joke, nor any advice to soothe over the genuine question behind it. Instead, there’s an uneasy beat of silence, during which Vanessa looks up and realizes–

Oh no.

Oh God.

Brooke’s standing at the entrance of Vanessa’s cubicle, clutching a manuscript and looking absolutely mortified.

“I’m–Oh, God, Brooke, I’m so sorry–” Vanessa starts, but it only seems to make things worse; Brooke flushes red, mumbles something about sending in some pages as a preview for a prospective client, and then rushes off, leaving stunned silence in her wake.

“Okay, so when I said talk to her, I didn’t mean like that–”

“Shut up, Asia.” Vanessa puts her head in her hands, hoping in vain that the floor will swallow her up and never spit her back out.

The rest of the afternoon goes by slowly, shakily–Vanessa can hardly focus, the moment of her embarrassment replaying over and over in her head without reprieve, interrupting any task she tries to take on. Every time she tries to open a new document, her eyes fall down to her desk and onto the manuscript Brooke left her. And every time she tries to open an email, Brooke’s name appears at the top of her alphabetically-organized contact list.

It’s only when Vanessa finally gets ready to leave for the evening that Brooke fades from her mind, the space that the blonde occupied instead taken over by a list of all the snacks she’s going to eat and the reality TV shows she’ll binge when she gets home. She waves good-bye to Asia and Kameron, about to shut off her computer and get going, when suddenly–

EMAIL FROM: Brooke Lynn Hytes

RE: convo from today

Hi Vanessa,

Meet me in my office in half an hour… I want to talk to you about what you said today.

Vanessa’s head spins, her heart stopping dead in her chest and body going cold.

Oh God. Oh, Jesus fucking Christ. She’s going to be fired, she knows it–she’ll walk into Brooke’s office, HR will be sitting there to mediate, and she’ll be sent packing before she has a chance to contest the disciplinary action.

Vanessa’s about to write back, beg for forgiveness, or at least some other kind of recourse, when a second email comes through.

EMAIL FROM: Brooke Lynn Hytes

RE: Convo from today - oops

Hi Vanessa,

Just realized that makes it sound like im gonna fire you or something. Lol. Sorry about that. Can you just come by now? Easier to talk in person.

Sorry again.

XOXO,

Brooke Lynn Hytes

Vanessa can’t help but laugh a little to herself when she reads the text, her heart starting back up again and nerves dissipating a little. God, the fucking dork–maybe things will work out after all.

Maybe.

Probably not the way that Vanessa’s hoping for, though.

She scurries across the floor towards Brooke’s office, not bothering to return the waves and cheerful good nights! from coworkers as she passes. There’s only one thing on her mind at the moment–Brooke Lynn Hytes and her ass, and whatever she’s going to say to her.

Okay, three things, but it doesn’t matter. Because she’s outside Brooke’s office, and the door is open for her to walk through, and–

And Brooke is sitting at her desk, blushing and shifting nervously in her chair, gesturing for Vanessa to close the door.

“Brooke, I wanna say again, I’m—“

But Brooke cuts Vanessa off with a shake of her head and a kind smile.

“Did you—did you mean what you said?” Brooke stands up and walks towards Vanessa cautiously, slowly, her smile still gentle and gaze unwavering. “About wanting to rim me?”

Vanessa swallows hard, her heart pounding and mind racing. Brooke is close now, so close that if she reaches out, she could touch Vanessa, box her in against the door, do whatever she pleases with her—

“Yeah.” Vanessa admits breathlessly. Yeah I did.”

“Oh, thank God.” Brooke sighs, her shoulders relaxing and face smoothing out in relief. “I was afraid you were joking, and—“

But Brooke never gets a chance to finish that sentence, because before Vanessa can think about it, before she has a chance to stop herself, she’s leaning up and cupping Brooke’s face and pressing her lips to hers.

The kiss is electric, breathless and passionate enough to make Vanessa feel as if she’s floating, swept off her feet by Brooke’s lips, her sighs of pleasure when Vanessa tugs lightly on her bottom lip with her teeth. Brooke is gripping her tightly by the waist, pulling her flush against her body, and Vanessa is dizzy, held up only by the will to keep contact with the woman in front of her, entwined with her. She feels along Brooke’s back, down each curve and over every muscle, until finally, her hands sweep over the one thing she’s been drooling over for what seems like far too long.

Brooke moans, like really moans, when Vanessa’s hands reach her ass, and God, Vanessa would do anything to hear that sound again. She feels along the curve of Brooke’s ass, squeezing and kneading and listening for every little reaction, every repeated moan and little gasp.

“Keep–Oh, fuck, Vanessa, keep doing that.” Brooke separates from Vanessa, her eyes hooded and cheeks flushed, voice breathy with effort.

“Ain’t gotta tell me twice.” Vanessa giggles, and Brooke does too, pulling Vanessa even closer, and sticking her ass out a little and before grinding back into Vanessa’s hand to meet her movements.

“This might sound weird,” Vanessa starts to propose, before she can second-guess it, “But can I…” she trails off, her hands suddenly freezing.

How in the hell is Vanessa supposed to ask a woman she’s barely worked with, who she barely even knows , realistically, to let her spank her?

“Can you what?” Brooke repeats, and Vanessa realizes with a sudden rush of embarrassment and doubt that she’s already gone too far to turn back.

“Can I spank you?”

Vanessa pulls away, expecting Brooke to look at her strangely, to balk at the suggestion. Ask her what’s wrong with her, or why she’d want that.

Instead, she giggles.

“You’re cute when you’re embarrassed, you know that?” Brooke teases, and Vanessa blushes.

“I had to ask!” Vanessa gives Brooke a playful tap on her ass, rolling her eyes. “You telling me you’d rather I just popped your ass right then and there without no warning?”

Only, the way Brooke looks back at Vanessa in that second tells her pretty much exactly what she needs to know to answer that question.

“I think we oughta pick this up later.” Vanessa’s voice drops to almost a whisper, her hands clutching tighter at Brooke’s ass and stomach practically flip-flopping with glee and arousal when Brooke goes rigid, leans into Vanessa’s touch again. “Somewhere we can be private, so I can make that cute little ass nice and red.”

“I like the sound of that.” Brooke nods, and Vanessa answers by spanking her lightly again, grinning when Brooke lets out a soft, surprised oh!

“I gotta go home and feed my dog, but how ‘bout I’m over at eight?” Vanessa proposes.

“Sounds good.” Brooke smiles. “I can’t wait.”

“Me neither.”

Vanessa leans up and gives Brooke another quick kiss before turning on her heels, sauntering towards the door with a little extra swing in her step just to tempt the woman watching her walk away.

“Oh, and Brooke?” Vanessa turns around at the last second, only to see Brooke snap to attentively.

“Yeah?”

“Make sure you nice and prepped for me when I come. And whatever you do, don’t touch yourself before.”

Vanessa doesn’t wait for Brooke’s answer; she doesn’t need to.

She already knows that Brooke’s in the palm of her hand, and now she’s got to get home and get in the shower.

–

Vanessa knocks on Brooke’s door at 7:59 PM. Almost instantly, the door swings open and Vanessa feels her breath get knocked out of her body.

Brooke is a vision in satin and lace, dressed in a plain top with lace trim and a shiny, thin skirt that barely covers her ass, if it wasn’t for the identical lace trim that brings Vanessa’s eyes trailing downward to Brooke’s thighs, pale and toned and begging for Vanessa to grab them.

“You look beautiful.” It’s all Vanessa can think to say, but if the way Brooke’s eyes sparkle and her cheeks flush is any indication, it’s the right thing.

“I, um—Thanks.” Brooke brushes a piece of hair behind her ear, blushing deeper when Vanessa laughs fondly at the gesture. “Um, d’you wanna come in?”

“Absolutely.” Vanessa is already walking past Brooke when she stops to reach up and give the blonde a peck on her cheek.

“By the way,” Vanessa whispers, grasping at Brooke’s shirt with firm, eager fingers, “You’re cute when you’re embarrassed.”

The gasp that Brooke lets out as she shivers at the words is in itself enough to switch any thinking part of Vanessa’s brain off, her body moving on adrenaline and instinct as she practically drags Brooke towards the bedroom.

This time when they kiss, it’s slow, less frantic, less desperate. They take their time, exploring each other as they embrace, Brooke’s hands tracing Vanessa’s body slowly and carefully in a way that leaves goosebumps in their wake.

It’s only when Brooke lays her hands on Vanessa’s ass that a sharp arousal shoots between Vanessa’s legs, and enough is enough.

“Get on the bed.” Vanessa grabs Brooke’s arms and pushes them off of her body, holding firm despite how Brooke tries to bring her hands back onto Vanessa, tries again to grab and feel her. Seeing how her efforts are futile, Brooke whines, tries to lean down to distract Vanessa with another kiss, but Vanessa won’t have it; not now, when her heart is in her throat and she can feel herself getting wetter by the second.

“No, baby.” Vanessa grabs Brooke’s ass and squeezes hard, using the single moment when Brooke is caught off-guard to walk them backwards until Brooke’s knees are hitting against the edge of her bed. “I said get on the bed, now .”

Brooke whines stubbornly but obeys, grabbing onto Vanessa’s shirt and pulling her down on top of her as she goes.

“Eager beaver.” Vanessa rolls her eyes as she picks herself up, kneeling over Brooke to box her in with a knee on either side of her hips, a hand on either side of her head.

Brooke only sticks out her tongue, and Vanessa can’t resist leaning down to kiss her again, nipping at her bottom lip and smirking at the soft, surprised squeak that she lets out in response. Vanessa keeps going, kissing along Brooke’s jaw, down her neck, nibbling and licking and sucking experimentally as she pays attention to what makes Brooke tick.

It’s adorable how responsive Brooke is, how quickly her bratty demeanor fades when Vanessa pins once-again wandering hands down onto the mattress and sucks hard at her collarbone. How she moans and gasps and squirms like she’s being touched for the first time in years, an appetite whet after laying dormant for just a little too long.

“Lift up for me.” Vanessa prompts, tapping Brooke on the side, and Brooke sits up long enough for Vanessa to pull her shirt over her head, revealing the smooth, soft skin underneath.

“Really?” Vanessa smirks, tracing her hand over Brooke’s bare breasts, her nipples already hardened against the room’s cold air.

“Why wait?” Brooke shrugs, “We would’ve taken it off anyway.”

“So does that mean you’re not wearing panties, either?” Vanessa lazily traces over Brooke’s tits, circling and flicking her nipples as she lets her eyes trail down to the waistband of her skirt and the promise that it holds underneath it.

“Why don’t you check?” Brooke’s voice is laced with challenge, her face almost smug as she stares up at Vanessa, waiting for her to make good on the offer.

And so Vanessa does, and doesn’t regret it.

Brooke’s wearing panties, alright—ones that are white, made of thin fabric that Vanessa can practically see through and trimmed with lace on the waistband and leg holes. It’s tantalizing, how pure they look, how they contrast with Brooke’s mussed hair and hickey-bruised skin, and Vanessa almost wishes Brooke could keep them on.

“Like what you see?” Brooke grins, and Vanessa has to hand it to her—the bitch knows what she’s doing, she really does.

Fortunately, so does Vanessa, and so she knows exactly how to handle the situation.

“Fuck yeah, I do.” Vanessa breathes, kissing the nape of Brooke’s neck again, barely-there pecks that make Brooke squirm underneath her.

Excellent.

“Now how about you show me the view from the back, baby girl?” She lifts off of Brooke just long enough to trace a finger along the waistband of Brooke’s panties, watching with satisfaction as Brooke shivers at her touch.

“Yes, mommy.” Brooke gasps as Vanessa moves to cup her through her panties, pressing down just a little so she can feel Brooke’s slick soaking through them.

“Mommy kink too?” Vanessa can’t resist teasing a little as she finally brings her hand away, shuffling back to give Brooke room to reposition herself. “Damn, Miss Hytes, you a freak.”

Brooke blushes deeply. “I—I’m sorry, it just kind of slipped out, usually I talk to people before I do that—“

Vanessa swallows the rest of Brooke’s ramblings into a deep, affectionate kiss, one that makes Brooke soften enough that Vanessa can ease her back onto the bed again.

“Don’t worry about it, kitten.” Vanessa winks, her heart warming when Brooke beams. “Now, turn over for mommy, I wanna play with that pretty little ass already.”

Brooke flips over happy, eagerly lifting her ass off the mattress just a little and wiggling it in excitement.

It’s too hard to resist; Vanessa brings a hand down over one of Brooke’s cheeks, just hard enough to elicit a small squeak from the woman in front of her.

“What?” Vanessa cocks a brow when Brooke looks back and pouts at her. “You tellin’ me you really ain’t expect that, tryna tempt me like that?” As if to make her point, she lands another smack on Brooke’s opposite cheek, and Brooke melts, letting out a sharp exhale and wiggling a little again when Vanessa pulls back, almost as if she’s trying to ask for more.

“Uh-uhn, baby.” Vanessa shakes her head, crossing her arms in front of her. “You gotta use your words this time, or mommy’s not gonna do nothing to you.”

“Please, mommy.” Brooke whimpers in response, eyes wide and pleading. “Spank me more, please?”

“Of course, angel.” Vanessa coos, a calm sweetness before the storm she knows she’s about to unleash.

The next time Brooke squirms, Vanessa lets her spankings rain down, a flurry of impacts that make Brooke’s ass glow with a mesmerizing shade of red. Brooke, for her part, seemed to only take every slap in stride, moaning sinfully and begging for more, more, more.

“Alright, alright, that’s enough.” Vanessa chuckles when she feels the sting of her hits even on her own palm, instead beginning rub soft, soothing circles along the now-heated skin of Brooke’s ass. “Now what do you say?”

“Thank you, mommy.” Brooke sighs contentedly, melting into Vanessa’s gentle touch.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart.”

They stay like that for a few moments more, quietly enjoying each other, but then Vanessa’s own needs become too much to ignore–arousal is curling in her stomach, snaking between her legs, building up again until she feels like she might explode. She’s about to ask if Brooke is okay, suggest moving things along again, when Brooke speaks up suddenly, beating her to it.

“So… You gonna take my panties off now?” Brooke grins slyly, and Vanessa can’t help but laugh.

“So impatient.” Vanessa teases, but nonetheless moves back near Brooke, tapping her hip to signal her to lift up so that she can ease down her panties, noting with satisfaction the slick, soaked spot that sticks just a moment longer to Brooke than the rest of the fabric, just a little slow in being peeled away.

“Beautiful.” Vanessa breathes it out without thinking, the word rolling off her tongue because it can’t stay in, not with Brooke looking like that, laying bare for her like that. Vulnerable and delicate, all hers to enjoy, if only for the night (but God, what a night). At that moment, nothing else is in Vanessa’s mind except the curve of Brooke’s back and the way her hair splays across it, the flush of her cheeks and how they match the shade of her ass. Her smile, eager and warm and already a little blissed, like she knows she’s safe when she’s with Vanessa.

“You want my mouth or my fingers, or you got a strap?” Vanessa whispers, and God, Brooke’s eyes have never looked as beautiful as they have in that moment, when they look up at Vanessa and sparkle, her pupils wide and lids hooded.

“Mouth please, mommy.”

Brooke doesn’t need to ask twice. Vanessa kisses her way down Brooke’s body again, this time slowly, not teasingly but instead with devotion, her lips carrying admiration for every inch of skin they land on. Apparently, the message gets across, because Brooke seems to relax more with every kiss, her body melting into the mattress, sighing softly every time Vanessa’s mouth touches her skin.

“You ready, angel?” Vanessa pushes Brooke’s cheeks together, kneading them gently while she checks in, and Brooke nods.

“Please, mommy.” Brooke begs quietly, and Vanessa smiles, leaving one last kiss on the peak of Brooke’s tailbone before finally spreading her cheeks apart. She takes her time, licking around Brooke’s hole with short strokes, just the tip of her tongue, to find out what makes Brooke tick. She finds quickly that Brooke likes when Vanessa licks closer to Brooke’s entrance, honing in on one spot temporarily just to put her on edge. She shifts her position, brushes against Brooke’s perineum with the tips of her fingers, and Brooke goes rigid, lets out a sinful moan.

“Please, oh fuck, please, Ness, keep doing that.” Brooke trembles as Vanessa repeats the motion, timing it with a broad stroke of her tongue up Brooke’s crack. So she does, over and over, alternating with swirls around Brooke’s holes and little short darts into it, until Brooke is babbling and whimpering, a moaning mess underneath her that just can’t stay still.

“Come on, baby girl, come for me, I know you can do it.” Vanessa growls, continuing her ministrations. “Let me see you come for mommy, wanna see you lookin’ so pretty and fucked out for me…”

It’s as if the words are exactly what Brooke needed to tip her over the edge; without so much as a moment passing after the words leave Vanessa’s lips, Brooke goes rigid again, her cries cut off into a silent scream that ends with a final fuck before she relaxes again, panting and spent.

“Shit.” Brooke laughs breathlessly as Vanessa comes up from her place at the foot of the bed to snuggle at Brooke’s side, nestling into her arms. “That was amazing , Ness. Thank you.”

“No problem, baby.” Vanessa feels pride balloon in her chest at the words, but even that is secondary to the feeling of seeing Brooke’s smile, the renewed energy in her eyes even as she lays limp and sated, holding onto Vanessa like some sort of teddy bear.

It’s all she’s wanted, really–all she’s been after. Not just Brooke’s ass, or her body, or the way she walks and steals looks at Vanessa at the office.

Just for Brooke to look at her, really look at her. Smile at her. Thank her for something that isn’t work-related. See her not as Vanessa Mateo from distribution, but as Vanessa herself, as Vanessa wants her to see her.

“Vanessa?” Brooke pipes up again, snapping Vanessa out of her contented daze.

“Hm?”

“I asked if you wanted me to return the favour.” Brooke doesn’t seem to mind Vanessa’s temporary absence; if anything, she seems entertained by it, the shadow of a smile on her face.

But as kind as the offer is, Vanessa just shakes her head. “Nah, baby, I’m good for now. Unless…” she stops, biting her lip as her heart kicks up a bit, squeezing its way into her throat as she contemplates her next move.

It’s a risk–Brooke might very well say no, might very well want to keep their relationship to what it currently is.

But if how they’ve wound up here together is any indication, then it’s worth a shot.

“Unless?” Brooke prompts, and Vanessa takes a deep breath, shoving any doubt out of her mind.

“Maybe you could take me out for a date, and we could see what happens?”

Much to Vanessa’s relief, Brooke doesn’t even skip a beat when she answers, a wide grin spreading across her face.

“I would love nothing more.”

#rpdr fanfiction #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #branjie #lesbian au #smut #writworm42 #tw mommy kink

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needdl · 6 years ago

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One Spawn at a Time (Part One)

“The baby was due in T-minus four weeks- not that Tenten was going to let that slow her down.”

and YES this has been up FFN and AO3 for a while but in my defense: whatever

Part One Part Two

The light from the fire cast a warm glow over Neji’s features, softening them and gently casting the divets in his collarbone into shadow as Tenten nestled against his shoulder, clasping his hand in both of her own and tracing over his profile with her gaze. Hopefully Gai and Lee weren’t paying too close of attention to them, absorbed as they were in getting the chicken cooking over the campfire, because she knew her stare was undoubtedly sappy.

It couldn’t be helped- Neji had woken her from her (now daily) late afternoon nap with gentle kisses and soft touches, plus a snack, and she was feeling very fond of him at the moment.

And also very hungry. Hopefully dinner would be ready soon.

She knew Neji was still a little wary over camping right now, what with her due date being in a few weeks and all, but so far the experience had been nothing short of pleasant. Gai and Lee, normally very extreme in dragging Neji and Tenten into their exhausting physical activities, were more than happy to let Tenten stay in the hammock and read her book (aka nap) while they dragged Neji into white-water rafting or something.

It was a win-win, as far as Tenten was concerned, because she and Neji could go for walks in the mornings after breakfast while Lee and Gai did their own thing, then meet back up with them for lunch. Then they could all relax for a bit before the three men departed to go be manly in the woods (or something). Tenten would nap, wake up to eat a snack, and then be up and perky by the time they came back.

Today the three of them had gotten back a little early, but Neji had spent all the extra time cuddling her in their tent and getting her in a very agreeable and snuggly mood. She pretty much trailed him around the campsite after that, clinging to his arm.

Even when he was building up the fire, which probably was very annoying but he was smart enough not to say anything. Then he had to help her stand up from her awkward crouch on the ground.

Lee and Gai had volunteered to cook dinner, so Tenten immediately plastered herself against Neji’s side in Gai’s ugly two-person camping chair and hadn’t moved since. Every once in a while she tugged him down to kiss him. He seemed pretty all right with it, if his tiny smug smiles and gentle touches to her pregnant belly were anything to judge.

She was in such a good mood that she didn't even mind the touches, which normally made her roll her eyes and grouch a bit when anyone other than Neji did it.

(With Neji she bore it with more grace, given that he was like, the father of the baby and all that. Plus he knew she didn't much like it and limited his contact to non-invasive, short touches. Even so, she usually had to swallow her biting jibes- because Neji was sweet and thoughtful even though he was usually the unfair recipient of her bad moods and he deserved to feel their little spawn moving around if he wanted to.)

Neji wrapped his arm around her and brought his hand around to rest on the side of her tummy. She clasped her hand over his and held it there, smiling softly into the firelight as he dropped his head down to nuzzle her temple.

Lee studiously turned over a few pieces of chicken. “Almost ready!” He announced cheerfully. Gai, digging through the cooler in the car to get out the greens for their salad, cheered loudly in response. Tenten ignored them both, cupping Neji’s jaw in her hand and holding him in place while she kissed him thoroughly and admittedly, rather loudly.

“Please stop,” Lee said plaintively.

A week later (and one week closer to her due date), Tenten was feeling arguably the best she had felt for her entire pregnancy. Neji had helped her shave her legs that morning because she couldn’t reach them any more and he was the best husband in the world, plus a bunch of the baby clothes they’d ordered arrived and were waiting in a package on the doorstep when she got home from work.

She dragged it inside and ripped it open eagerly, then spent the next half an hour sitting in the foyer happily blubbering over the tiny socks and shirts and onesies and pants.

I’m going to have a baby, she thought joyfully to herself, and it’s going to be soft and fat and cute and my baby.

She paused to consider the mess around her, wiping at her eyes with the collar of her shirt. Neji would undoubtedly be anticipating opening the clothes just as much as she had, so she began to fold things back up and put them in the box for him to unveil. He probably wouldn’t cry as much as she had though.

She left the box on prominent display on the kitchen counter, then headed upstairs to change into maternity leggings and an oversized tee. (Bless maternity leggings, honestly.) It took her an embarrassing amount of time to get her maternity pantsuit off and the casual wear on, but hey, she was almost thirty-seven weeks pregnant. The whole “moving around” thing wasn’t easy.

She got back down to the kitchen to start on dinner and absently pulled her phone from her purse to find about ten billion texts from Neji checking to make sure she was home safely.

Oops. As she got closer to their due date Neji had gotten more and more tense about her safety, and it had become his norm to check on her at several key points throughout the day. If she didn’t respond promptly enough, she could practically feel his blood pressure rising.

Luckily he hadn’t called her yet, which always indicated peak worry. She sent a quick text confirming she was home, followed by ‘baby clothes came today! got distracted opening them. srry babe xoxo’

‘I see.’ He responded. ‘How do they look?’

‘so small and cute. it’s ridiculous.’

‘Well, babies are small and cute.’

‘omg u are truly a genius.’

‘Don’t be a smart ass.’

‘why? you gonna punish me? :3’

‘Don’t you make three-face at me.’

‘:3 :3 :3’

‘😑’

‘hehe ❤️❤️’

When no answer was forthcoming, she tucked her phone into the waistband of her leggings and moved into the kitchen to look at what food they had for dinner- but not before snagging a bag of chips and ripping it open as one of many early evening snacks.

After a moment spent contemplating their food options, Tenten started pulling out the things she needed to make xiao long bao. She’d cooked up the chicken-based (part of her always mourned the fact she couldn’t use fatty pork to make up a rich broth, but Neji didn’t eat red meat and she loved him so much that she would sacrifice it) soup broth the night before to use in the next few days, so now she just needed to make up the filling and her dough.

She made the filling first, with a chicken (sigh) and shrimp base. There was a moment that she spent looking at the Shaoxing wine and thinking longingly about having a cold beer on a hot day, but she overcame it and quickly used what she needed and put away the bottle. Better not to think of lost pastimes.

She was just about to start adding the hot water to her flour for the dough when she realized what an imminent mess she was about to make and paused to grab an apron.

Once upon a time, Tenten had one single dark navy apron that fit adequately and functioned well. Then she moved in with Neji, who was a disaster in the kitchen if his meals went beyond chopping up vegetables or using a rice cooker. They’d quickly learned that they needed several aprons, because they had to wash them quite a bit. (He was better at cooking now, thank goodness.)

Also, once upon a time Tenten hadn’t been pregnant and her aprons would go on and stay on with one quick loop and tie. Now it was a whole five minutes to get the damned thing on and tie it well enough to stay on.

The baby kicked at her ribs, seemingly catching her disgruntled train of thought and defiantly proving a point.

Making the dough was a labor-intensive and exhausting endeavor, and Tenten quickly immersed herself in kneading it into perfection.

She was concentrating so hard on the task that she didn’t even hear when Neji got home. He walked into the kitchen after she didn’t respond to his quiet greeting and froze, watching her rotund figure work at the dough.

After a moment, his eyes confirmed to him that yes, Tenten was barefoot, pregnant, and in the kitchen preparing dinner for her husband. Exactly the image she’d vehemently rejected in middle school and high school.

Tenten swore viciously in Mandarin at the dough. “WHY ARE YOU SO STICKY,” she demanded of it. The dough had no excuse for its behavior.

Neji’s soft chuckle caught Tenten’s attention, and she whirled around, startled. Upon seeing him standing there, her entire face lit up, and the resulting leap in his chest made it difficult for a few moments to concentrate on the excited speech she immediately launched in greeting.

He tuned in again in time to hear her say, “-and I’m just wrapping up with the dough and about to get the steamer ready, if you want to go get changed and then help me fold up the dumplings?”

“Very well. But first-” Neji set his briefcase on the counter and crossed over to her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her in for a kiss.

A few minutes later, he pulled away and met Tenten’s dazed eyes. “I’m home,” he told her.

She gazed up at him, looking starstruck, then let out a small, almost shy smile. “Welcome back.”

Another week closer to her due date- it was just a few days away now- and Tenten was over it.

She was ready to have an actual baby to hold and to coo over and to urp on her and to cry all night- she wanted all of it, especially if it meant no longer being pregnant.

She sprawled out on the bed and glared up at the ceiling, absolutely furious over the mere concept of getting up and dressed and breakfasted and going to work.

“Neji,” she said plaintively, “I’m ready to have this baby.”

There was a loud clattering noise from the bathroom, and Neji called sharply, “What?”

She jerked a little at the frantic tone in his voice, then realized what she had said. “Oh-” She half-attempted to roll over a bit to look at him, but gave up fast. “I don’t mean I’m in labor! Just tired of being pregnant. Didn’t mean to make it sound like that, sorry.”

She could hear Neji exhale in a gust. “Ah.”

They were both quiet again for a minute, as Neji went back to shaving and she went back to doing her best impression of a beached whale (at least, that’s what it seemed like to her. She couldn’t even see over the swell of her belly into the bathroom.)

Neji cleared his throat in the silence. “Maybe you should take ma-”

“Nope.” She called back promptly.

“You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

“You were going to suggest, again, that I take an early maternity leave. I’m not taking maternity leave until I go into labor or a week after our due date.”

There was a soothing pitch to his voice when he next replied. “But wouldn’t it be easier? You hate sitting at your desk all day, you’d at least be able to get up and do other things-”

“I do laps around exhibits with the tour guides.”

“But you wouldn’t have to worry about going to work, you could just focus on resting up and prepping for the baby.”

It was tempting, and Tenten cupped her belly with her hand as she thought it over. There was a hopeful silence coming from the bathroom.

“Eh, nah,” Tenten decided. Neji let out a whoosh of air.

“Tennie-”

“Come over here and help me up,” she raised her arms in the air and flapped her hands at him.

He sighed again, and a few moments later she could see his head over the top of her tummy. He stopped at the end of the bed and frowned at her.

She let her hands fall down to rest at her sides on top of the bed covers. “Hey.”

“Hello.” He wasn’t wearing a shirt. Neither was she, actually.

After a few more seconds of staring at each other, Tenten got a crick in her neck from craning her head to see Neji. She let her skull thump back against the bed.

“So, you’re not going to help me up?”

“I like seeing you stuck on your back like a beetle.”

Tenten let out a loud, startled laugh. “What?!” Neji didn’t make jokes very often, and it always delighted her when he did.

She continued chortling as he smiled down at her, stepping closer to smooth his hand over the tight skin on her belly. He held out his other hand to her and she took it, allowing him to pull her into a sitting position.

She grinned up at him. “That was a good joke.”

“Thank you.”

Tenten leaned over and wrapped her arms around his waist, nestling her head against his stomach and humming happily as he put one arm over her shoulders and cradled her head in the other.

“I like you a lot,” she told him, her voice muffled by his skin.

“I like you too.”

“A lot?”

“Yes.”

“Cool.” She mused on it for a few moments, then said, “Then maybe we should get married and have a baby.”

She could hear the smile in his voice. “I’ll have to ask my wife if she’s okay with it.”

“She probably will be. She seems pretty cool. A total babe.”

His chuckle rumbled in his chest, and she fought back a shiver over the low pitch. “You have no idea,” he told her, smoothing a lock of hair over her back.

He pulled away a few moments later and she pouted. “You need to get ready for work,” he reminded her, looking regretful.

“Ugh, work.”

Neji raised his eyebrows and a keen look came over his eye. Tenten cut him off before he could say anything. “Just because I complain about it doesn’t mean I want to stay home!”

He sighed- he was always sighing, apparently he was too refined to roll his eyes- and was about to speak, so Tenten reached around him to grab his butt.

He choked off rather abruptly, eyes wide, and she grinned up at him. Her hands flexed as she dug her fingers in, enjoying herself immensely (Neji’s butt was unreal. And it was her goddamn right to touch her husband’s butt as much as her heart desired.) Neji stared blankly at the wall in front of him as his cheekbones pinked and Tenten gleefully kneaded away.

After a moment, she leaned over- both hands still gripping his ass- and mouthed at his abs. The muscles twitched, and when she glanced up at Neji’s face through her lashes he was clenching his jaw.

Slowly, she drew her hands around to his front and lightly scratched her nails down his abdomen. Just above the waistband of his slacks, she paused, fingers tracing along the edge, then pulled away.

Tenten stood up cheerfully. “Well, I guess I should get ready for work!” She walked into the bathroom and started closing it with great relish.

She caught a glimpse of Neji through the gap. He was standing still, back ramrod straight, and scowling at the wall.

Tenten grinned and closed the door with a sassy little snap.

The day of their due date, both Neji and Tenten spent their time in a haze, flurrying over any movements from the baby and staying up for the entire night “just in case.”

When dawn came and there hadn’t been a single contraction, they realized that maybe it hadn’t been such a good idea, because now they had to go to work. (And also what if the baby had actually come, or came the next day when they were sleep deprived? They had not thought that one through very well.)

Tenten just pitied anyone who had to interact with Neji that day, because the man got very grouchy without his beauty sleep.

Not that she was much better, but at least she had “imminent baby arrival” as an excuse.

Work was uneventful, which was a mixed blessing because it meant she didn’t have to do anything, but it also meant she didn’t have anything to do.

(It made sense and she’d fight anyone who said otherwise.)

Neji texted her constantly throughout the day, checking in on her and complaining about clients. They had a nice long phone conversation at lunch though, which perked up Tenten quite a bit and hopefully did the same for him.

Still, once quitting time rolled around and Tenten was faced with the option of leaving, she took it quite gleefully.

Rather than going straight home though, she took a little detour to Neji’s building in downtown Konoha and rode the elevator up to his office floor.

Udon looked up at her in slight surprise, but gave her a polite smile. “Hello, Huang-hakase.”

“Hi Udon-san. Tenten-san is fine,” she reminded him. “Is Neji busy right now?”

“Nope, he’s clear for the rest of the day.”

Tenten stopped to lean against the reception desk, propping one hand on her lower back. “Was he in a bad mood today?”

“Er-” Udon had the grace to look a little uncomfortable at gossiping about one of his coworkers, even if it was with said coworker’s wife. “Well, he wasn’t in a great mood, but it’s not like he took it out on anyone, really, except maybe Hatake-bucho, and he usually kind of deserves it...”

Tenten grinned. “Sounds about right. Is it okay if I head in, then?”

“Sure, Huang-ha- er, Tenten-san. Would you like me to notify him at all?”

“Nah, we’ll see how snippy he gets before he realizes it’s me.” She waved to Udon over her shoulder and waddled over to Neji’s office, knocking once before busting the door open.

He was sitting at his desk and scowling, eyes on the computer monitor and pen in hand over some documents. At the sound of the door opening his jaw clenched and he snapped, “What.”

She snorted and closed the door behind her. “So it was that kind of a day.”

He jerked his head up and stared at her in surprise. “Tenten.”

“Yep.” She crossed the room and grabbed one of the chairs in front of his desk, then swung it around to sit next to him. “Teach us to not adhere to our sleep schedule, huh?”

“An unfortunate time for such a realization, given that we are due for a baby any day now.”

She gave him a wry grin and leaned in to kiss him briefly. “Well, I got off a little early today and figured I’d stop by. How were your clients from hell?”

“I’ve had worse, but they were… quite obtuse.”

She leaned back in her chair, linking their fingers together and smiling up at him. “I’m all ears, love.”

Four days after their due date and they were all ready for the baby to be born, including said baby. It had been doing somersaults for a few days and kicking up a storm, and while Tenten loved her little dumpling she was ready for the dumpling not do that anymore while she was trying to sleep.

Her obstetrician had recommended sex as ye old standby for inducing labor, so they’d been having a fun time with that, at least.

In fact, they’d spent the entire weekend, uh, trying to induce labor.

But as Sunday drew to a close and there was still no baby in sight, Tenten’s frustration reached its all time high. She had a rage-filled crying session in her bath that night, furious over the fact that she was unwieldy and had swollen ankles and stretch marks and she couldn’t always hold it in completely when she had to use the bathroom and her boobs were sore and she got shooting pains up her back and she didn’t even fucking have her baby yet, the only reason she went through all of this in the first place.

Tenten scrubbed at her eyes, upset with herself for even succumbing to her frustrations. She could hear Neji quietly moving around in their bedroom outside the bathroom door and made an effort to be as silent as possible, not wanting to tip him off and worry him even more.

After a few minutes of calming down, she grabbed her body wash off the rim of the tub and soaped herself up, then rinsed off and started draining the tub. She did feel better now.

Tenten went into labor a little after 11:00PM that very night.

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echoes-of-realities · 6 years ago

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sacred texts on post-it notes

Just a short fic because I work the next seven days and was inspired by The Worst Day at Work I’ve Ever Had.

Title from “Taste” by Sleeping at Last

[Read on ao3]

Santana had a shitty day at work; one of those days were everything that could go wrong, did go wrong.

It started out awful because Brittany left for work before Santana woke up so she didn’t even get to see her wife in the morning, which always makes her even more grumpy than normal. It was stupidly-sticky-hot even at seven thirty in the morning and Santana’s shirt was already sticking to her lower back by the time she started her shift at eight. But that was only the beginning of one awful thing after another; she got screamed and honked at for walking on the sidewalk (though that was a pretty normal incidence in Santana’s daily life so it didn’t really affect her mood, New York’s like that), the cook was late so Santana got the pleasant job of informing all the in a hurry patrons that they’d have to wait, she got yelled at by a grumpy old man for giving him cutlery with water spots, the dishwasher broke down right in the middle of the lunch rush and they had to waste time hand washing everything, patrons got frustrated by the slow times and left awful tips, one of the other waitresses was training and the new hire ran bucket-of-dirty-dishes-first into Santana and broke a bunch of plates, another waitress called in sick so they were short staffed and Santana only got to take one of her breaks, some dumb volunteers for the Sunday afternoon entertainment shoved knives at her blade first and shallowly sliced open her right palm (which was honestly more annoying than painful), the waiter on the shift after hers came late so she had to stay even longer, and, to top it all off, when she bent down to pick up some crayons a kid dropped while she was leaving a bowl of soup fell on her head.

The only good thing about her day will be coming home to her wife, who would pout sympathetically and wrap her into the hug Santana so desperately needed. All she wants to do is go home and take a hot shower and get the remnants of tomato soup out of her hair, and then spend the rest of the evening cuddling with Brittany.

Except, when she gets home, there is no sign of her wife. Brittany worked this morning but had the rest of the day off, and she should have been puttering around the kitchen and making supper like she always does when she’s home first, except the apartment is empty. There’s no quiet music drifting from the kitchen, no pots and pans being moved around on the stove, no scent of spices filling the apartment, no creaking floor under dancing socked feet, and no hey honey called through the apartment followed by a welcome home kiss. The only sign of life is Lord Tubbington wandering into the front hallway at the sound of the door slamming shut behind Santana.

“Hey Tubbs,” Santana says as the cat winds himself around Santana’s ankles, licking at the soup staining her pant leg, “Where’s our girl?” Lord Tubbington tips his head back and meows up at Santana, and Santana just rolls her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I know how you operate. Food first, answers later.” Santana drops her keys and wallet and phone on the kitchen counter as Lord Tubbington follows her for his supper, purring the whole way because he knows food is coming. “You’d be the worst protector in the world if someone broke in here,” Santana continues conversationally, “I doubt you’d even lift a paw to save us.”

Lord Tubbington just meows his agreement and waits impatiently for his supper. “Here you go, you dumb cat,” Santana mutters fondly. She turns and surveys the kitchen; Brittany’s coffee cup and cereal bowl are still sitting in the sink, but there’s a pile of mail on the table that wasn’t there this morning. Santana flips through the pile, sorting them into flyers and bank statements and bills to pay. Tubbs crunches his food loudly behind her, his tail twitching in happiness as he stuffs his face. Santana runs a hand through her hair but cringes as she hits the crusty, dried soup; she had tried to rinse some of it out in the bathroom before she left, but eventually she just gave up. Back in Lima, when she was insecure and scared, she would have never ever dared to show her face with soup dried in her hair, but here in New York, comfortable with herself and her life, she knows that she won’t even be the strangest person on the Subway today.

She groans and crosses the kitchen for her phone, intending to find out where her wife is and whether or not she has time for a shower before she comes home, when bright green catches her eye. There’s a frog shaped Post-it note stuck to the kitchen breakfast bar (because Brittany thinks they’re much cuter than the boring yellow ones, and who is Santana to argue with that logic), the sharpie words large and looping and familiar as Santana picks it up. Went to pick up something for supper, the note reads, Be back soon wifey. Love you, xoxo.

Santana can’t help but smile at the note; even though Brittany isn’t even home right now, she still somehow manages to turn Santana’s whole shitty day around. Santana carefully presses the adhesive strip back into the counter and grins at it again before heading to their bedroom. She strips by the hamper, careful to make sure she doesn’t drip any of the day’s awfulness onto the carpet, and drapes her work clothes over the edge to deal with later before heading for a much needed shower. She spends longer than she usually would under the hot spray, washing away the day, and when she gets out she feels refreshed and human again.

Warm spices fill her nose as soon as Santana opens the bathroom door, and she can hear Brittany puttering around the kitchen now, closing cabinets and jiggling cutlery. Santana sheds her towel and pulls on a pair of sleep shorts and one of Brittany’s university hoodies; the sleeves fall down past her fingertips, but it’s soft and comfortable and it smells like Brittany every time she breathes in. Santana takes a quick detour back to the bathroom to throw her towel back onto the shower rod, because Brittany being annoyed at her for leaving another wet towel on the carpet would be just icing on a really terrible cake.

Lord Tubbington meets her at the bedroom door with a haughty yawn. Santana sticks her tongue out at him as he struts into their bedroom, making himself comfortable on his cat bed. Santana loves Tubbs, but she doesn’t feel the least bad in banning him from the bed; though it actually has less to do with Santana being strict when it comes to him and more to do with him being really fat and the bed being to high for him to jump onto.

Santana heads to the kitchen, pausing in the entryway and leaning against the wall with a soft smile. Brittany is dancing around the kitchen, humming along to the radio in the corner, doing that cute little butt wiggle that means she’s happy and relaxed. The source of the delicious scent is the chilli simmering on the stove while Brittany tidies up the kitchen, one of Santana’s favourite comfort meals, especially when it’s Brittany who’s making it. Brittany catches her out of the corner of her eye and her face stretches into a warm, radiant smile, her blue eyes sparkling and her freckled cheeks scrunched up; despite living in New York, the June sun still freckles Brittany’s skin the same way it did when they spent their summers living in their backyards from sunup to sundown back in Lima, and the familiar sun-speckled smile makes Santana fall in love with her all over again.

“Hey honey,” Brittany greets as she crosses the kitchen to Santana, and Santana melts with all the warmth of a kitten curling into a sunbeam.

“Hey, Britt-Britt,” Santana murmurs. Brittany leans in to kiss her, and Santana’s hands fall to Brittany’s hips; she softens and tension she didn’t even realize was in her shoulders and back fades away under Brittany’s gentle ministrations. Brittany kisses her for so long that all of Santana’s annoyance at the day completely fades away until all that’s left are lips on hers and arms around her shoulders and BrittanyBrittanyBrittany. Everything, all of the irritable customers and frustrating staff and hot soup on her neck, simplifies and fades and Santana melts into Brittany’s arms.

Brittany kisses her until Santana pulls back, and then she kisses her even more, peppering kisses across her mouth and chin and cheeks. “Hi,” Santana whispers.

Brittany giggles and kisses her again. “Hi. How was your day?” she whispers back, her voice sweet and welcoming; she sounds like home and everything good in the world.

Santana groans and buries her face in Brittany’s chest. “Awful. But it’s better now.”

Brittany runs her hands over Santana’s back, one hand rubbing soothing circles on her lower back and the fingertips of her other hand probing underneath her damp hair and stroking the skin on the back of her neck, causing goosebumps to rise. “What was the worst part?”

Santana smiles as she thinks, running over the shitty highlight reel of the day; it’s a game they’ve played since they were little, where they always ask about the worst and the best parts of bad days, because Brittany always believed, even at about five years old, no matter how bad something is, there’s always something good in return. “The soup bowl that fell on my head,” she decides. The entire day was one worse thing after another, but the feeling of warm soup soaking her hair and slipping down the back of her shirt collar definitely takes the cake.

“Aww, honey,” Brittany coos, pressing soft kisses to Santana’s temple. “That’s why you took such a long shower.” Santana nods against Brittany’s chest and breathes in deeply, the familiar scent of coconut, honeysuckle, and jasmine soothing her; they’re all scents that Santana’s associated with home for most of her life, Brittany’s shampoo and body wash and perfume. “And the best part?” Brittany asks.

Santana doesn’t even need a moment to think about her answer. “Coming home to you.”

Brittany chuckles. “But I wasn’t even here when you got home.”

Santana shrugs and nuzzles further into Brittany, her fingers slipping under the hem of Brittany’s shirt and finding solace in her wife’s warm skin. “It was a really shitty day,” Santana admits, “But just the thought of getting to go home to you got me through. And even if you weren’t actually here, that note you left just reminded me that no matter how awful my day is, I always have you, in some shape or form, to come home to.”

Brittany makes a pleased noise and, when Santana draws back to look up at her, she looks like she can’t quite believe Santana’s real, shaking her head with a soft smile, adoring and bright. “You’re cute,” she says, “I’m so glad we made a home together.”

Santana leans up to kiss Brittany around her smile.

They eat their chilli curled together on the couch, watching Netflix and making fun of the plot and continuity and poor writing until Santana’s eyes are drooping and she’s dozing off against Brittany’s shoulder. Brittany extracts herself from Santana for about ten minutes to clean up supper. She returns to a barely awake Santana, and presses a kiss to her forehead before carefully moving Santana around so she can slip in behind her, moulding herself to Santana’s back and snuggling into her. Santana clumsily strokes Brittany’s forearms where they curl around her stomach, sleepy and soft.

“Love you, Britt-Britt,” Santana mumbles.

Brittany smiles into the mess of dark hair against her face, dropping kisses to Santana’s hairline. “Love you too, honey,” she whispers, but Santana is already asleep, her shitty day long forgotten in the circle of Brittany’s arms.

#brittana #brittany pierce #santana lopez #glee #brittana fanfiction #glee fanfiction #my writing #I don't wanna go back to woooorrrkkkk

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ahmerjohnny-blog · 7 years ago

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Good Morning Quotes

https://www.aswadwrites.in/good-morning-quotes/

Good Morning Quotes

Mornings are a special time of day. The day is all fresh and new as a newborn babe. All the possibilities are there, so much hope and expectancies in the ones few hours when most something can still appear. You plan and map out your day to the nice of your abilities and desire you’ll be capable to perform the whole thing you set yourself out to do. Let different serve as a terrific reminder that you have alternatives every day and can choose to rise with possibilities and desire and unfold it to all you meet. We have collected best collection of Good Morning Quotes.

Live in this sort of way that if someone spoke badly of you, no person could agree with it. Bean thought to others. Cease the day and have awesome good morning quotes from us! Check out this list of the best and the maximum stunning accurate morning charges and sayings. If you want to recognize what excellent human beings consider the miracle of a morning or you just want to recognize how to make your morning the quality to your life – you then need to read these adorable and humorous charges and sayings.

Beautiful Good Morning Quotes

As you wake up from your slumber, do not look at today as an ordinary day. Look at it as the day that marks the beginning of your journey to prosperity. So get out there and grab all the opportunities that dwell on this beautiful day because the sun will soon go down and all will be gone. Good morning.

Today is not just another day, but another possible chance to achieve what you couldn’t achieve yesterday. So get on your feet and chase after your success. Good morning.

Today has a lot of good things for all who are alive in it. Wake up and pursue life with courage and hope, and I can assure you that your future is going to be bright. Good morning, my dear. (Good Morning Quotes)

The appearance of the sun every morning is a sign from God to let us know that there is new hope. To see each day as a special day made for you to achieve what you couldn’t achieve yesterday. Good morning.

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The success you will achieve tomorrow depends much on the effort you put into the things that you do today. So wipe that sleep from your eyes, go into the world and make a better life for yourself. Good morning.

As I wish you a very good morning, I want you to know those mornings are there for us to start afresh and make people know that we can still become successful at what we failed at yesterday. So don’t stop pushing till you get what you want. Good morning once again, my dear.

Beautiful Good Morning Quotes

“Each good morning we are born again, what we do today is what matters most”

“Set a goal that makes you want to jump out of bed in the morning.”

Good Morning Quotes For Love

“The first thing I do each morning before I open my eyes is see you in my mind. That makes me excited to wake up because you are my reason to live. Good morning dear, I love you.”

“Thinking about you only takes a second each morning, but the smile it brings to my face lasts for the entire day. Good Morning”

“Hey wonderful, you gotta wake up! I know it’s hard as you were probably dreaming about me, but I’m even better in real life. Good Morning, Sleepyhead!”

“Being in love with you makes every morning worth getting up for, you are my motivation… Good morning my love!”

Sometimes I try to type in exactly how I feel about you, how much you mean to me. But, fingers make it hard to decipher the connection between hearts and even words fail. Have a Beautiful Morning!

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A look at your calm and serene face and all my insecurities evaporate, All my inhibitions about life fail, and I feel at peace just looking at you. Have a Serene Morning!.

My first prayer of the day when I wake up, and my last thought of the night. You are there with me at every moment, in every breath. Have a Lovely Morning!

Good Morning Quotes For Love

Sometimes, I feel sad for we are not together, lonely, for we are not together. But, then remembering your sweet face, I let go of every negative emotion and get all lost in your beautiful world. Have a Superb Morning!

Across the streets, in those long train of thoughts. Ever you find yourself lost, just turn back, and you’ll find me waiting with a smile and a hope to make you happy. Have an Adventurous Morning!

Funny Good Morning Quotes

“A yawn is a silent scream for coffee…”

“Trust me, when I woke up today, I had no plans…”

“I drink coffee for your protection…”

“Telling yourself that you’ll get up early in the morning…”

“I like my bed more than I like most people…”

“I’ve started drinking my coffee out of a clear mug…”

“Some mornings I just feel like breaking the damn alarm but then one thing always stops me. I paid hundreds of dollars to buy my phone.”

“I always say ‘MORNING’ instead of ‘GOOD MORNING’ if it were a good morning, I would still be asleep in bed instead of talking to people”

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“I wake up with a good attitude every day. Then idiots happen”

“Sometimes people want to have full conversation really early in the morning and its okay to kill those people”

Everyone wants me to be a morning person. I could be one, only if morning began the afternoon.

Every morning is a battle between the superego and the id, and I am a mere foot soldier with mud and a snooze button on her shield.

I may be drunk, Miss, but in the morning I will be sober and you will still be ugly.

“I woke up one day and thought something was missing. So I got up from my bed, grabbed my cell phone and sent you a morning greeting”

“Sometimes people want to have full conversation really early in the morning and its okay to kill those people”

“I hate when I dream of alarm clocks going off.”

Funny Good Morning Quotes

“Afternoons are hard. Mornings are pure evil from the pits of hell, which is why I don’t do them anymore.”

“Sometimes I wake up and think I should start wearing a beret, but I don’t do it.”

Good Morning Quotes For Him

Everything I am is because of you. You are my strength, you are my inspiration. Seeing your face in the morning is what keeps me going.

When I wake up and see you lying next to me, I can’t help but smile. It will be a good day simply because I started it with you.

I am grateful that I wake up next to you every morning and lay down next to you every night.

Getting up in the morning is exciting because you are a part of my life. You are the light of my life and the sun in my sky.

I don’t know what is more romantic – the thought of meeting you soon or the dream I had about you last night. Good morning.

I dream about you while rolling around in bed, remembering all the romantic things you’ve said. I think about you, with every breath I take… baby you are the icing on my life’s cake. Good morning.

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A cozy selfie with you is the perfect way to cherish the morning hues. xoxo

You have replaced my nightmares with dreams, my worries with happiness and my fears with love. Good morning.

It doesn’t matter if I have a coffee or tea. I will feel the same… as long as I know that you are thinking about me. Good morning.

Good Morning Quotes For Him

“Before you open your eyes and have your first yawn; before you step outside to meet the dawn; however before you sip your morning coffee, I hope that you close your eyes and think only of me.”

“You know what I’m doing right now? Gazing out the window at the morning sun while I sip on my morning coffee and think of you. This is the best part of the day. Good morning!”

Good Morning Quotes Hindi

बीत गई तारों वाली सुनहरी रात, याद आई फिर वही प्यारी सी बात! खुशियों से हर पल हो आपकी मुलाकात, इसलिए मुस्कुरा के करना दिन की शुरूआत!

ये सुबह जितनी खूबसूरत है, उतना ही खूबसूरत आपका हर पल हो, जितनी भी खुशियाॅं आज आपके, पास है उससे भी ज्यादा आने वाले कल में हो… सुप्रभात!!

खिलखिलाती सुबह, ताजगी से भरा सबेरा है, फूलों और बहारों ने आपके लिए रंग बिखेरा है सुबह कह रही है जग जाओ आपकी मुस्कुराहट के बिना सब अधूरा है!

मुश्किल भरी सुबह है, अपना हाथ दिल पर रखो। इसे महसूस करो। इसे मकसद कहते हैं। तुम किसी वज़ह से ज़िंदा हो। हार मत मानो!!

जो मुस्कुरा रहा है उसे दर्द ने पाला होगा, जो चल रहा है उसके पाँव में छाला होगा, बिना संघर्ष के इन्सान चमक नही सकता, जो जलेगा उसी दिये में तो उजाला होगा!! Read: 100+ Love Shayari for True Lovers

आँखों में पानी रखो, होंठो पर चिंगारी रखो, ज़िंदा रहना है तो तरकीबे बहुत सारी रखो, राह के पत्थर से बढ़ के कुछ नही है मंजिले, रास्ते आवाज देते है, सफ़र जारी रखो!!

में जब भी सुबह आँखे खोलूं में सिर्फ तुम्हे देखना चाहता हूँ!!

वादा किया है तो ज़रूर निभाएँगे, सूरज की किरण बनकर छत पे आएँगे, हम हैं तो जुदाई का गम कैसा, तेरी हर सुबह को फूलो से सजाएँगे!!

फूलों की वादियों में हो बसेरा तेरा, सितारों के आँगन में हो घर तेरा, दुआ है मेरी दिल से कि तुझसे भी खूबसूरत हो सवेरा तेरा!!

Good Morning Quotes Hindi

मैं आप के बारे में सोच रहा था, और मुझे आश्चर्य हुआ कि आप कितनी देर तक मेरे ज़हन में थे तब मुझे एहसास हुआ: जबसे आप मुझे मिले, आपने कभी मेरा साथ नहीं छोड़ा!!

तुम कभी भी मत बदलना क्योंकि तुम जैसी हो मैंने वैसे ही तुमसे प्यार किया है!!

Good Morning Quotes For Friends

The only thing more beautiful than the warm sunrise is our Friendship. Good morning.

Dreamers like you don’t need inspirational good morning messages. They need big alarm bells and annoying friends like me. Good morning, time to wake up.

Whether it is a hangover, headache or sickness, even the worst of mornings become happy and cute when I think of friends like you. I hope this message makes you happy too. Good morning.

Today’s forecast for all my friends: If you are reading this message, nothing can stop you from having an incredible day. Good morning.

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I was waiting for the morning..and the time has come now. Good Morning, Wake up my friend. Get ready and come immediately… I’m waiting.

Money is not the real wealth. It can’t buy love and friendship. So, I don’t run for the money in the morning but I wish you a good morning to buy the precious love from you, my friend.

Today’s morning I thought the special person of my life and you strike to my mind. The warm sun rising is beautiful but our friendship is more beautiful. Good morning friend!!

“God’s greatest blessing is God’s waking you up. That’s how marvelous He is, that’s how He shows his love. Good morning to my dearest friend!”

You can wake up and say ‘Good Morning, God’ or ‘Good God, it’s Morning’

Usually, I have a good mood in the mornings, until I start meeting people.

Wake up! it’s morning time with cheerful moments.

Good Morning Quotes For Friends

You may not be able to control every situation and its outcome, but you can control your attitude and how you deal with it. Good morning

“A beautiful morning to the best and most wonderful friend in the world. Good morning, best friend!”

Good Morning Quotes For Her

You have found true love when you realize that you want to wake up beside your love every morning even when you have your differences.

Sometimes I wish there was no alarm clock because that is the only device which wakes me up while I am dreaming of you.

I will always protect you and take care of you. I will shelter you and be by your side always.

Every morning is a joy because it is another chance to see your lovely smile, your penetrating eyes, and your sweet lips. I cannot wait for this night to pass and to see you again in the morning.

“I am sitting here on a park bench drinking coffee and watching the birds fly around as they sing their pretty songs. The only problem is that you are not here by my side.”

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“I used to be the type of person that would stay in bed for an hour and not want to get up. Now, I can’t wait to jump out of bed and see your beautiful face as fast as possible.”

“I always want to be the first voice you hear in the morning and the last voice you hear at night. This is your warning. I will be calling you in 5 minutes.”

“All of my fears and worries seem to disappear when I am with you.”

Today I promise to live without Facebook and Twitter if you promise to kiss me all day and make me feel better. Good morning.

Good Morning Quotes For Her

Hate to wake up because it takes me away from all the dreams I was having about you last night. Good morning.

Since I’ve spent the night dreaming about you, I want to spend the day cuddling up with you. Good morning.

Good Morning Sayings

You’ve got to get up every morning with determination if you’re going to go to bed with satisfaction. George Lorimer

The sun is new each day. Heraclitus

I never wake up in the morning and wonder why I am here. I wake up and wonder why I am not making here better. Jeffrey Fry

Now that your eyes are open, make the sun jealous of your burning passion to start the day. Make the sun jealous or stay in bed. Malak El Halabi

God’s mercy is fresh and new every morning. Joyce Meyer

I get up every morning and it’s going to be a great day. You never know when it’s going to be over so I refuse to have a bad day. Paul Henderson

It’s not possible to make everyone happy, but it’s possible to be happy with everyone! Good Morning!

Read: Attitude Quotes And Status (Latest Collection)

May sunbeams shine in your direction, May feelings of happiness fill the air, May blessings and good wishes be a part of your day and follow you everywhere, Have a nice day! Good morning!

A Good Morning prayer for you. God bless your day and keep you safe from harm and more and may you have a better one than the day before!

“Every morning, I wake up saying, I’m still alive, a miracle. And so I keep on pushing.” » Jim Carrey

“Think Happy and Positive. Have a beautiful day.”

Good Morning Sayings

“I used to love night best but the older I get the more treasures and hope and joy I find in mornings.” » Terri Guillemets

“With the new day comes new strength and new thoughts.”

Some people dream of success, while other people get up every morning and make it happen.

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