#i missed his geometric adorable face

[kharonion]

🚬

[ reference image | ko-fi ]

[bapufishing]

Some Shoppe drabbles~

Fionn & Beo

Glinting, turquoise eyes followed the length of the viera standing rock still at the end of the bar; from his steel toed boots to the tips of his crimson, floppy ears. It was rare to see viera with ears like his own - Fionn couldn't help himself looking.

"They say it's rude to show up and not order anything," he called out eventually, and watched as the carrot-topped viera's stern expression faltered in confusion to the source of the noise.

When finally the viera caught his unapologetic gaze, Fionn lifted his drink in salute, a small smile on his lips.

"I can fix that for you."

The viera's ears pulled back a little.

"I couldn't. I'm on duty."

The armor getup made sense then. But who would need a mercenary at such a harmless hole in the wall bar? Fionn had been to much, much worse bars.

"Oh, sure," he drawled. "Hope they're paying you enough for the privilege to stand there then."

The viera made no reply as Fionn returned to his drink, but he could feel the eyes on him. Maybe it was rare for him to see floppy-eared rava like himself too...not to mention any male viera at all. Fionn was a long way from the Wood out here, in both time and distance. He often mused upon the lives of other vieras he'd spy in the cities now and then, curious as to their stories, their hardships, their own demons they each had to contend with now. Growing in number these days. His people...steadfast, cruel...he did not think their way of life was long for this world.

That was the way he'd always thought, a defiance that kept him going ever since he was a kit - so long ago now.

He did not see the gloved fingers reaching for his face, until he felt them rough on his brow, sweeping his hair to the side. He jerked, heat rushing to his face.

The carrot-top was standing so casually, the back of his knuckles at Fionn's cheekbone - how did he not hear him approach all the way from the door with his chunked up armor-

"Your marking," he explained, hesitant but not stuttering. Steady, murmuring voice. "I'm...same green."

Fionn saw it now, in the glowing candlelight from the bar, a familiar marking and colour: a banner-like pattern under the eye that pointed down to a point at the corner of the mouth, intricate geometric vines dotted with simplified flowers...and an afterthought on the bridge of the nose, an empty triangle. His heart slowed as he stared, like looking in...looking in a mirror.

Numb fingers reached up and gently grasped round the wrist of the other's glove, something to hold on to as something heavy dropped in his chest.

"How old are you?" Fionn asked, almost under his breath.

His question was met with a quick exhale and much blinking, he'd startled the viera out of his reverie. "How old? What a question." His hand relaxed in Fionn's hold, the fingers dropping the hair, and finally a smile was reaching his lips. "Much, I suppose."

Fionn remembered his mentor. A severe, dark-haired rava who had swept through the village like an oncoming storm, wordless and rumbling and unstoppable.

He had looked so big to him then, so impossible. The day his marking had healed was the day Fionn ran away from him; too young, too cowardly. He would do his best to cast his mind back now, to remember the rava in front of him from before, the red-haired kit from his clan.

"And your name?"

"Beo, now. Beo An'tine."

Fionn could feel flashes of heat from it, like a fire escaping the sparks in the grass and rushing up the trees, consuming the acres in light and ash.

"Fionn Soleil," he replied, a name of the dawns he adored so much, the burning sun.

--

P'apapu Returns Home

It was the sea air that she missed. Just hearing the low groans of the ship and the rush of the waves, breathing deep the brisk air - already it was filling a hollow space in her heart she hadn't realised had grown there.

The rough sands of Ul'dah were exciting and warm, and as a Miqo'te, of course P'apapu had taken to it gladly, but the air...too dry, too stuffy. Too many people shouting. Not enough singing about freedom.

"I won't deny it, you sure look much grown these days," said a kind, gravelly voice. P'apapu loosened her grip on the rail, glancing over her shoulder, the wind picking up one of her braids.

Back in the old days, her father would hum tunes everyday when he fileted the morning's salty catches, ditties about the depths of the ocean, the cliffs, the unreachable skies, and dear Papu would sit on the grass in the sun, listening and learning. Now he sat, surrounded by satchels aplenty, returning at long last once again to port, this time a richer Lalafell.

"I always look grown to you, Pa," she grinned, a smile that's always reached her eyes despite everything.

"Bah, I mean it," he replied, waggling the fishing rod in his hand in her direction. An old one, for old time's sake, in case the ship made stops along the way.

"Your shoulders are squarer," he observed, "And the heirs you carry yourself with..." his eyes softened as the Miqo’te came to sit beside him. "It's quite remarkable," he finished quietly.

P'apapu met his gaze with love of her own; relief, mixed with contentment, tinged with sadness. Looking at him now, the growing splotchy freckles on his face and the grey in his eyes - her adventuring felt incredibly long, and her stint in with the Ul'dan brass blades even longer.

"I'm sorry that Ma isn't coming back with us," she replied.

Bapu Bapu put his hand over hers, and squeezed it.

--

The docks were not quite what she remembered - new faces almost everywhere, and new systems to follow. But other changes came from inside, like how she felt no fear striding past the "nun's association" building anymore, and didn't feel awkward in the least as Bapu reingratiated himself with the fishing guild on the way up to their transport, talking miles a minute about the business of mackerel trade and refrigeration in warmer climates.

A noticeboard hammered to the wall outside the guild kept her occupied as he talked, interesting bright flyers of all sorts. Perhaps there was something there that would help her now she was so untethered - a new job, or a quick quest. One flyer in particular had an adorable ship anchor motif and was looking for artisans of all kinds...perhaps she could pick up seamstressing again, the hobby that she'd dismissed as superfluous back then, brush off her rusty crafter skills.

It said it was called Shoppe and was based in Mist, a place she'd heard was built for adventurers only. It wouldn't be hard to fit in.

--

Apothecary Office - Meris

The sun was setting a glorious firey orange when Meris began to pack up for the day. Since relocating her business to the Shoppe, her client base had dropped significantly, but she'd found that she hadn't minded it. Less clients meant less chances for idiotic requests such as love potions, and more time for her own research and experiments.

Her current project, the reactions of yellow ginseng when infused with various elemental shards, took up almost all available flat surfaces, and so she took her time carefully packing clinking glass back into their neat trays. The light from her candles danced on the glass, and each flittering shimmer brought with it a familiar, rising feeling in her chest, a feeling of urgency, a feeling that she shouldn't be here any longer.

She hadn't heard the door shift open, but she did see the small shadow obstructing the sunrays from the open patio.

"Ahem, hem," came a soft clearing of the throat, and Meris turned to find her tiny confidante of late waiting politely, her two tufts of pigtails neatly adorned with the usual bows.

"Oh, hello dear Nuggie."

The lalafell's gaze darted around the office, her hands tugging the hem of her shirt. Perhaps she was uncomfortable never having visited the apothecary office before.

"I was informed by someone that you are adept at the art of alchemy," she spoke clearly, despite that.

Ah, alchemy. Yes. That was what Meris was there for, at present, in this moment. The certain someone was Tha'ella, Nuggie informed her with a grimace, and she made a mental note to thank the other viera later as she strode to the table on the patio.

"You seem displeased at that," she mentioned. Nuggie followed her over, still keeping some distance.

"I like doing things on my own merits," the lalafell said carefully. "I am at an empasse at this moment."

"Ah," Meris replied warmly. "Here. I'll make us some tea."

There was still some tea in the pot; she always had enough to last her a day of work, a recent habit of the last several years since leaving the wood. With a flutter of her fingers, she willed the aether-charged heat of fire into her palm, warmth rushing down her arm into the tip of her forefinger. She pressed it to the base of the pot, and the heat spread through it, warming the tea, the gentle red glow of her finger not so obvious in the light of sunset.

The lalafell only sat at the table when Meris poured her a steaming cup, a proper teacup on its saucer. She pushed scrolls of her research out of the way to set the ornate plate of cookies on the tablecloth closer to Nuggie, and then sat to pour her own cup.

Meris didn't notice the other sniff her teacup first before sipping a taste.

"This is good tea...where did you acquire it?" Nuggie asked.

Meris hummed, putting the pot down with a clink. "It would have been...from across Thanalan way. A large batch from some time ago..."

She held her own cup in her hands, tapping its sides and contemplating its contents, her worker fingertips unbothered by the heat. Thanalan...she hadn't been down that way in a while, and the leaves supply was running thinner now. The steam warmed her face as she thought, should she go down there again? Perhaps again to the Gladiator Guild, the Adventurer's Guild-

"...I was hoping you would assist me with something."

-the glint of adventurer swords clashing in her dreams was still fresh in her mind, the metallic sounds of moving in armour. Those dreams hadn't happened in years and yet she still remembered them vividly, heavy greaves on legs that felt slightly shorter than hers, packing down sand, red like Ul'dahin sand, a dry heat, a smell of spice. And then the smell of salt water, the icy spray of waves. When did it change, when the dreams became less frequent, but the ache in her chest grew stronger? Why was it harder to grasp threads, like fading inked posters, but the urgency-

"Hmm. That won't do at all."

Meris blinked. Nuggie was peering at her.

"Oh. Yes," Meris replied. "What was it you were saying?"

"You are troubled." Nuggie shook her head. "From one artisan to another, we both know the creative process can be hindered when one's focus is on something else."

The lalafell took a sip, in semblance to that of a punctuation mark. Meris had always thought the lalafell rather remarkably poised and graceful.

She sighed, dropping her shoulders. "Ah, you're not wrong. Forgive me, Nuggie, I have been in my thoughts today."

The lalafell reached out a hand for hers.

"Please, call me Milificent," she replied, "or...Mel. Nugget is my street name."

"Street...why- why did they...?"

As the sun sank into the sea, Mel divulged a secret, and in turn Meris divulged some of her own, and plans and promises were made towards another visit to Ul'dah. After all, the tea was in need of restocking.

[full-of-mercy]

Vash's plan is...

Something else. Something at once unexpected and so quintessentially Vash that Wolfwood cannot help but chuckle in incredulity while squinting at the offhand brilliance of it. Of course a man who's lived and walked and wandered and had access to Lost Technology so advanced that it seems like magic to the uninitiated would have absorbed plenty of media, would have seen and done much.

Even if he admitted to missing out on so many things. Nicholas can extrapolate, even if they have not spoken much about the past-past. About the time before they walked the wastes together. Maybe that time will come. Now that there is space, there is room for curiosity.

"Heh, yeah. Alright. I'll be over here."

Close at hand.

Nicholas leaves the Punisher leaned up between rows of benches. They were initially part of an observation gallery, converted in the intervening century into angled rows of pews with knobbed kneeling plates. Penance in discomfort. Penance in pyramid-shaped spikes jutting like dull teeth into nerves, into bone. Pain as instruction.

Twisted.

More so now that he has more of an understanding of the luminous being in the plastisteel encasement. Serum production has stopped. The training rooms are inactive. Life support and scrubbers are online, the doors are open, and the lights are on, all of them, affording a view of cramped quarters and vaulted rooms, the spare utility of a town-sized structure meant to carry hundreds of lives through the vacuum of space juxtaposed with the grandiosity of ground-bound men seeking to touch the face of God.

This seems... simpler. Truer. More honest.

Wolfwood presses his palms to the cold glass, spreading his fingertips to match the print-halo Vash left behind. He looks up at the shrouded shape, ivory petals tipped in violet. Imperfect. Worn, but resting.

"Somethin' tells me that for all they sang and preached, they never actually looked at you and said 'thank you,'" he begins, quiet, a little awkward, a little halting. "So. Thank you. For lookin’ after us. And for keepin' the tree, even when this place cleared out."

But that isn't enough. It doesn't begin to cover it. What to even say to a being who is older than he will ever be?

What would he say to Vash?

"I'm... sorry that you were alone as long as you were."

Maybe that's the orphan speaking. Abandonment is deep-rooted, and the bone-chilling echo of sorrow still lingers in recent memory. Nicholas inclines his head, closes his eyes, rests his brow to the cool, smooth surface.

"What they did, it doesn't matter whose name they called or what reason they gave, even if they said it was in your honor, it wasn't your fault. You were doin' what you had to do to stay alive. You give someone a gift, it ain’t on you if they use it wrong. What they did isn't your responsibility. I hope you know that."

You don't need forgiveness, you've done nothing wrong, you bear none of their sins. People can be Good, they can do great things, more people are helpful rather than harmful, the ones who used you and caused your pain won't do so again, you'll have kinder company soon. All things he might say if he weren't struck silent.

Nicholas does not hear Vash's call for consultation, does not answer. Vash can see why as he looks over.

Filaments of light flicker-glow, razor-thin and geometric, and wrap around the undertaker's crown like a circlet, coalesced at his temples. A few feeble lines glimmer lambent along his knuckles and fingers, coiling about his wrists. His eyes, lidded, twitch as if caught in a dream, streaming with tears that reflect watery blue-white on the gold of lucidum. The Dependent has unfurled again, pressed to the clear enclosure, meditative posture mirrored with a smile that almost seems wry.

A pluck of complicated emotion carries, tonal, like a singing bowl struck and left to ring, modulated with a deft touch.

Curious-adoring-warm.

Protective-beatific-hopeful.

She withdraws her hands, tapering the brief connection closed. At the speed of thought, moments can feel like hours. A rivulet of blood trickles from Nick’s nose, but he remains standing for now, wide-eyed and dazed, breath hitched and wet.

“Yeah, buh why they gotha be tho hard?!” 

Traumatized, Vash spits the seed into the earth at his feet and finally retracts his tongue. 

“Don’t be mean to me,” Vash whines, pausing to distractedly lick his molars. He squints a forced grin while Wolfwood laughs away: Are all my teeth still there? Nicholas's laughter is a good sound, even if it comes at his expense. Tonguing over the crowns of his teeth, he half expects to find cracks in the enamel. After a few seconds of checking and finding none, Vash hunches over in relief, then juts out his hip to bump it against Wolfwood’s. 

This time, he nibbles tentatively at the edges of his “bread” to avoid his earlier mishap. 

“Sister?” Vash finishes, his head slowly canting to one side. Farther and farther he goes, until he grows close enough to vigorously rub his face against Nicholas’s and rattle his lips against stubble with a loud smooch. Fingertips gloved and bare brush briefly against the outside of Nicholas’s wrist when he pulls back with a smile. “You can thank her yourself.”

He pops what’s left of the carob into his mouth while taking care to organize the hard seeds into the pocket of his cheek to discard later. “She can’t talk to humans really, but she can hear you just fine. She’ll understand when you go up to her. Besides, it’ll mean more coming from you.”

They have to go back that way anyway if he wants to take another pass at the activity log on that console. 

Vash looks around them one last time before they depart from the green room. 

"I think there will be." Even if his smile is tinged with sadness for what came before, he's hopeful for what comes after. "Good, I mean."

Along the way back to the control center, Vash gives Wolfwood a brief overview of his plan. He's never actually tried fooling a fingerprint scanner this way before nor does he know if the technology is sufficiently advanced to detect attempts at fraud, but it's worked in crime novels and he's read plenty of those, so–

"That counts for something, right?" Vash laughs as they re-enter the room with its softened blue lighting and the murky Plant shroud. He gestures towards his sister with a head tilt. "I'll be working the computer in the meantime."

Not far.

Vash snatches a lab booklet from one of the tables and tears the clear cover off and sets to work stripping the wood from the graphite so he can crush it into a fine powder between the fingers of his prosthetic hand. Sprinkle a bit of that over the thumbprint on the contract, blow off the excess, lift with the clear sheet, hold it over the scanner’s eye…

Huh.

Somehow a part of him hadn't actually expected that to work. Now that he has access to the submenus, Vash revisits the subject directory and scrolls down through the activity log. The first few file-opens were clearly part of Tedra (or Tedra-Zazie) getting over a learning curve and opening random profiles before figuring out how to filter through all the subject data. Specifically, acting members of the Eye who were still alive from before the Citadel had been abandoned. Wolfwood included. 

Drill-downs through various listed serums, trial results, and compatibility scores.

Suddenly, all that worm activity around Hopeland feels rather ominous. Vash chews on his bottom lip while he thinks about the feeder worm that had managed to sink its stinger into Nicholas’s arm earlier.

Vash pokes his head out from behind the monitor. “Hey, Nick? I might need your help interpreting some of this stuff.”

[the-fiction-witch]

Dec 25 Moscow Snow

Media the Queen's Gambit

Character Benny Watts

Couple Benny Watts X Reader

Rating smut + adorably sad

25th of December 2022

Smut love bites/ fondling/ stripping/ fingering/ spanking/ nipple play/ eating out/ 'babydoll' & 'good girl'/ full sex/ raw/ biting/ hair pulling/ squirting/

I slowly woke, being faced with the room that made me smile widely. With the light cream wallpaper and its various cubic line works across it, the wooden floor well polished and cared for, the furniture all matching the bedsheet of geometric shapes of black white and red. The little red lamp beside the bed turned off of course with the room in a low darkness as light was coming from around the curtains but not enough to worry about. I laid between the soft cotton covers, all of it tucked around my body tightly to prevent the harsh Moscow cold from reaching my warm skin. I had done my best to stay all wrapped up in my sleepy state as I'd likely freeze if I even put so much as a toe outside the covers luckily I did have my own little hot water bottle to keep me warm. 

Technically I wasn't supposed to be here. I had my own room just two down the hall given the church who funded the tickets and hotel views but that was of course ignored. So I shared the biggest room Nd the cosy wa bed with his body to keep me company, His arm lazily draped around my waist as usual holding my stomach, his chest against my back, his head nuzzled snuggly into the back of my neck, the heat coming off him keeping me snug and warm. And it was then as I woke up a little more I noticed him more. He wasn't just nuzzled into the back of my neck, he was softly and tenderly kissing my neck and shoulder, his hand was moving slowly from my stomach across my silk nightie to grasp my breast firmly. I blushed hard as his hand began to fondle me between his more passionate kisses often in these moments moving his hips to rub against my own giving him some friction on to his already erect manhood. I laid happily tucked up with the warm covers listening to the clock tick on the bedside table and his sharp lustful breaths between kisses, the slight sound of shifting in the sheets. Feeling his sweet kisses with his hair gently tickling me, his warm body against me in all places and his soft gropes exciting me more and more. Until I couldn't help but giggle

"Benny" 

"Ummm" he groans getting far more passionate with his kisses leaving a trail of wet open mouth kisses from my jaw to my shoulder his other hand now coming around me and taking a grip of my other breast 

"Good morning"

"Humm" he groans moving his hands under my nightie to fondle my breasts directly with his warm hands 

"Benny we shouldn't -" I began

"Shh shh shhh" he muttered moving his hand away from my breast stroking down my silk nightie, stroking up my bare thigh before slipping below my nightie and between my legs to stroke my folds 

"Benny" I gasped gripping the pillow 

"Ummm so beautiful" he groans finding my clit and stroking it mercilessly in a clockwise circle

"Benny we shouldn't, the tournament" I reminded him 

"My ability to dismantle the Russian chess games will not be affected by if I have or have not fucked you the morning before." He whispered "however. It will make me feel better" he smirked moving his hand to let two fingers slip inside me 

"Uhhh" I gasped trying to be quiet as Weiss was sleeping in the hotel room next door our beds sharing a wall between them 

"We're heading home after the tournament anyway, it's our last night in our cosy Moscow hotel. If I don't now I'd have missed an opportunity"

"I just don't want to break your focus, that's time you could be using to practice"

"It won't break my focus babydoll."

"I could always just do something for you if your horny" I smiled

"Umm, you're so sweet. But save that for after the tournament. So you get to experience the first time you'll have a grandmaster's cock in your mouth" he smirked "but you can do something for me?"

"Yes benny?"

"Let me go raw." He growled in my ear

"What?" I blushed turning bright red

"When will we ever get another chance like this baby doll? Come on, let me feel you… all of you."

"Alright" I smiled

"Good girl" he growled moving his hand away immediately pushing me into the mattress on my back to be faced with his smirking face 

"Hi"

"Hi." He growled kissing down my neck as he tugged the spaghetti straps of my nightie down tugging the whole thing off my body leaving me naked my nipples hard in the cold of the room and of course I was wet from his earlier playing "loud for me babydoll" he demanded

"But benny-"

"I don't care. I want all of Moscow to know who fucks your pretty cunt" he smirked 

"What about Weiss? He's just next door?" I remind him

"Humm. He's been asking me to let him hear you scream for months babydoll. So give him a show but make sure to remind him who you belong too" he smirked tugging his boxers down and wrapping my legs around his hips, it didn't take long for him to slip hilt deep Inside of me making me gasp holding the sheets tightly, he began slowly moving from tip to hilt grinding his hips slowly but efficiently quickly leaving me a mess of moans each time he drove deeper often he nibbled at my neck to allow the sounds I made no matter how small not be missed by his ears, gradually he got faster and more merciless which caused my moans and groans to increase, his hand moving to rub on my clit in time with his thrusts 

"Ughhh-benny please!" I gasped as my eyes rolled back a little my head rolling against the pillow in pleasure 

"Not till you cum babydoll" he smirked biting on my neck to leave a love bite getting even faster causing me to scream with each of his thrusts "fuck- babydoll not so tight. You'll make me cum" 

"I can't help it" I whined 

"Awww what my little baby too close to control herself?" He smirked "I can work with that" he smirked pulling out and grabbing my hips pulling me down the bed leaving my hair against the pillows my back further down the bed and my hips off the mattress completely he kept my hips in the air and my ankles in his hands pushing them as far apart as physically possible, and smirking with that evil sky grin before burying his head between my legs nibbling at my inner thigh, kissing my clit, running his tongue across every inch of me even pushing his tongue inside me at moment's which left me a screaming mess often uncontrollably kicking my legs from the pleasure

"Ahhhhh benny please!" I squealed as he mercilessly continued enjoying my pleads but still ignoring them as he worked I knew how close I was so I began desperately tugging on his hair which made him pull back

"Awww you're so cute when you're desperate" he smirked throwing me completely against the mattress again looming over me "umm look at you. Bright red. Hard nipples. Dripping cunt. This" he smirked, stroking his hand down my body "is why I love edging you babydoll." He smirked "you look so beautiful when your body is craving me" he growled "say it. And I'll let you cum"

"I need you benny" I cooed as breathy as I could pulling him into an intense kiss which he happily worked into before pulling back

"Good girl. Down. Now." He demanded so I did as he asked and went down on my knees holding the wooden headboard in my hands he smirked and stroked my waist from my stomach around my side to the small of my back "umm perfect babydoll' he whispered in my ear before slipping back inside me making me moan loudly given how close I was and that he always felt so much bigger when on my knees he didn't waste time being gentle or slow going back to his merciless pase immediately holding my hips hard as he moved often causing the bed to bang and creek his hand moved to cup my breast often twisting my nipple which only increased my moans of pleasure

"Come on a babydoll" he growled getting even faster slapping my ass hard 

"Ahhh!"

"Louder" he cooed playfully firmly taking each breast in his hand to grope me hard 

"Uhhhh benny!" 

"That's better" he smirked moving a hand down to rub on my clit making me scream even louder 

"Ahhhhh benny please im-"

"Close?" He smirked and I nodded "well.. can I cum inside you?"

I blushed hard but nodded which only made his smirk grow

"Then my babydoll can cum" he smirked rubbing even faster on my clit as he thrusted 

"Uuuuuuuuuuughh uhhhh benny!" 

"Louder!" He demanded slapping my ass hard and at that moment I hit my wall making me squeal loudly slightly squirting a little as my orgasm rushed through me leaving me a shaking moaning mess, which only fueled him letting me ride it out still playing with my clit before he moved back to fondle my breasts again still at his merciless pace he got louder too more throaty 

"Uhhh fuck. Babydoll! Y/n..y/n!" He growled before biting my shoulder as his hips jerked in a few odd angles and ways finishing deep inside me before he gasped and collapsed his weight onto me. It took a couple of seconds of us both gasping before he pulled out and laid on the bed, I smiled and moved onto the floor grabbing my nightie to put away in my bag "humm. You made a mess" he smirked playfully glancing to the bed where I had slightly squirted

"Well that's what happens when someone decides to torcher me" I complained 

"Oh don't pout y/n. You love it as much as I do" he smirked 

"I'll go get your shower hot" 

"Thank you babydoll." He smiled leaning over to give me a kiss "not too hot" he reminds as I headed to the bathroom

"I know benny" I smiled shutting the door I went to the bathroom and started up the shower for him while I brushed my teeth and washed my face as usual, and he came through a few moments later slapping my ass as he went past me I rolled my eyes and headed back to the main room getting dressed for the day into my best dress and shoes given it was the last day of the Moscow invitational tournament a very important day for benny and of course our last day in Moscow so as I was dressing and doing my makeup I was also packing up the hotel room.

"Don't you look glamorous" he smirked coming out the bathroom post shower

"Well just trying to look nice for today" 

"You look beautiful babydoll" he Cooes getting dressed himself for the day going over his practices and notes from the last few days while I finished up until it was time. "Right. Let's get down there." He says fixing his hat and heading to the door 

"Benny-" I said grabbing his arm before he could go

"Yeah?"

"I… I just want to tell you, no matter what happens today. I'm still incredibly proud of you"

A smile cracked across his face a slight blush on his cheeks before he gave me a kiss 

"Thank you y/n. Really. And thank you for… coming all this way with me"

"Well I want to support you. And I didn't want to miss a chance to see Moscow. But no matter what happens I'm still proud of you and I still love you"

"I love you too" he smiled putting an arm around me "come on we'll get a coffee before we go" 

We headed down to the hotel having some breakfast which honestly was just some toast and coffee but I was awake enough anyway Weiss did come down and join us after a while but he wouldn't make eye contact with me which only made me blush more the boys went over there plan of attack for the day and who and how they where to go up again the remaining Russians. Once all done the boys where funneled into a car and myself into another one I watched the sweet city hurry by my window noticing the flutters of snow falling down, it was lovely to be here a dream indeed to see Moscow in the sweet midwinter I was very happy benny decided to let me tag along even if he didn't completely admit that he wanted me here I think he really wanted me here with him. Once we arrived at the grand building we were all ushered in quickly away from what press there was the first game going to start in just a few moments, I kept out of it letting the boys debate between each other not wanting to be a distraction for him until they called to begin opening up to the grand impressive room full of competitors, reporters and others to watch, I smiled and went to go to my small seat but he took my arm stopping me 

"Where's my lucky kiss?" 

I blushed and gave him a little kiss before I hurried to find my seat on a little wooden chair getting my notebook from my handbag. I watched game after game making notes in my little book of every play and it's time he was doing very well for a while. I actually got myself excited at the prospect that he could win. He could become world champion, a grandmaster. I did try not to get my hopes up just to be happy he got this far but I couldn't help being hopeful. They took a break before the final game between Benny and Bogov everyone filed into the bar for a drink weiss included having prior been humiliated by a Russian player. 

"You did so well" I smiled giving him a cuddle

"Well it's not over yet" benny laughed but giving me a cuddle anyway

"I'm still proud of you. Coming to Moscow and beating that many Russians is not an easy feat benny" 

"I know, but save your celebrations for when this is all over." He says "notes?"

"here" I smiled, handing over my notebook for him to read over checking for patterns and such until they called back for the final game. He handed me back my book as everyone filed in and I smiled giving his hand a squeeze for a moment seeing through his cocky confidence and seeing nerves. So I smiled sweetly to him giving his lips a little kiss "no matter what I'm still proud of you and I still love you"

"I love you too" he smiled giving my cheek a kiss before we headed back in, I gave him a smile and went back to my seat starting a new page of my notebook but I found myself not making notes, I was nervous biting my nails a little as I watched everything from Benny's hair adjustments, his ring fiddling, how he sat his feet under the chair, every breath and movement of his face but I did the same to borgov his every movement I watched for any type of sign of his play. As the game went on I worried more and more, still unable to pick up my pencil on my nerves at times holding my breath when waiting for a move until.

Fuck. He led him into a trap.

A trap I didn't see.

That benny didn't see.

And now it was far too late to escape. 

This trap had been building since his opening yet Benny hadn't picked up on it at all, in his confidence he walked into the bait waiting for him and now was trapped with very few options. I admit I'm not as smart as Weiss and Benny but I saw no possible way out of this, only delaying the inevitable fall.  

I wanted to cry, it broke my heart to watch as Benny realized this too. Making what few moves he could in the hope to escape this but the moves got faster and faster all of us knowing this to be the sign of impending victory even men around me began to chuckle at benny failure and subsequent humiliation. After another hour there was nowhere else to go. No other option. It looked like it killed him to give in but eventually he did.

And it was over. 

Borgov shook his hand and left his chair to go talk to press everyone, leaving of course to congratulate him and to hear his statement even Weiss left to see what he said. Benny didn't move, he just sat in his chair, hands together, his head slightly leaning on his hands, covering his mouth a little, hiding his expression. 

I got up from my seat leaving my bag and book behind my heels across the wooden floor. The only sound left now was the doors closing to the shuttering and speaking from the lobby. For a moment I loomed beside him unsure of what to say, or what to do. 

Benny was never the easiest person to read so I simply closed the gap between us and wrapped my arms around him pulling him into my warm body, my head on his softly stroking his jacket and the moment I did. His stern unreadable confident persona shattered.

Emotion ran across his face, of anger, sadness, frustration for a moment tears welled up in his eyes but he batted them away running a hand through his hair.

"Fuck" he muttered his voice slightly breaking as he said it 

I didn't know what to say do I just held him tighter 

"You saw it. Didn't you?"

"Not till it was too late" I answered "I couldn't have told you even if I did" 

"I know. Come on. Long way home" the says getting up and fixing his jacket

"Benny are you -'

"Y/n. I just wanna go home." 

"Okay" I nodded "if your sure" 

We headed out back to the car luckily the room had already been packed up so we just had to stop there for them to load the car up, when the driver left to help the porter load the car Benny left too.

In panic I followed him through the piles of snow to the little River that sat beside our hotel. He went to the bridge and stopped looking out down the frosty river where icy trees loomed. I didn't go too close , I wanted to give him some space. 

"I don't know what I'd do without you y/n." He says 

"Really?"

"Really. I'm sorry"

"For what?'

"Dragging you all this way with me"

"Oh benny. You didn't drag me here. I always wanted to see Moscow, and I'm happy that I got to be here with you even for a couple of days" I smiled hugging his arm

"You mean it?"

"Course I do"

"I'm sorry for being a dick"

"You're not being a dick. It's okay I know what you get like I just wish I could help"

"You do help. More than you know. I don't know what sort of state I'd be in if I did have you" he says cuddling me tightly into his chest giving head a kiss "I'm just mad. At myself. For fucking up"

"Benny, Borgov is the best player in the world for a reason. It's not like you made a stupid mistake -"

"But I did though. Russians work together they planned it all out to fuck me"

"And we worked together too and none of us saw it coming till it was too late. You plaid incredibly well. Bested everyone but him while on god knows how little sleep from traveling all the way to Moscow. I am incredibly proud of you benny"

"Even if I lost?"

"Even if you came second" I smiled tapping his nose and giving his cheek a kiss 

"Your too sweet to me"

"I am?"

"How'd I ever get such a sweetie?"

"A very long list of reasons"

"You're not disappointed at all?'

"Not at all. Still there's always next year"

"Yeah Always next year," he smiled, "but next year. I want things to be different"

"Of course they will. We'll be better prepared next time"

"Not just that. We were technically breaking the rules given I've had you in my hotel room this whole time"

"I guess so" I giggled

"I don't want us to have to lie, and break the rules again."

"Well it's the silly church groups problem because of their views we only did it because they were paying part of the cost for you" I laughed watching the river a little too 

"True. But I'd want it to be different next year"

"Well good luck trying to change their minds on anything" I giggled 

"I know a way." He smiled "y/n. I didn't just want you to come with me because I wanted you here for the tournament"

"Oh?"

"I wanted to bring you with me, because I thought It would be a nice snowy place to give you one of your Christmas presents"

"Benny I don't need any of my presents early I'm happy to wait till we get home"

"I know but. This one's special." He smiled "I had planned to give you it when I won but I still want to give you it here before we head home" 

"Alright, what is it?" I smiled

"Shut your eyes" he Cooes 

So I did as he asked closing my eyes as he held my hand softly I waited for a moment my body starting to really feel the cold now my feet deep in the snow little fluttering flakes often hitting my skin until he kissed my cold nose 

"Open" he whispered

I didn't know what to expect so I slowly opened my eyes to the most beautiful sight a girl could dream off.

He knelt in the almost knee high snow jacket around him tightly snow in his hair where he had left his hat in the car, his skin pale where he was clearly very very cold down there a little black box in his hand open to reveal a small but still beautiful silver ring with an impressive black square cut diamond with a line of small white diamonds around it it wasn't too big of too flashy but wouldn't have been cheap I was stunned in utter silence as snow fluttered around us 

"Will you marry me babydoll?"

"You - you mean it?"

"Of course I do. I want you with me for every tournament as my wife. I don't know what I'd do without you do I wanna make sure I'm never without you again."

"Ohh benny" I smiled unable to stop my tears 

"Whoa whoa whoa are you crying?" He asked very concerned moving to his feet

"Yes"

"So?'

"Yes I'll Marry you" I smiled between my tears 

"You will?"

"Of course I will!" I smiled, hugging him tightly. He happily hugged me, unable to stop our kisses till they called us from the car clearly sick of waiting, so I held out my hand and he blushed a little slowly putting the ring on my finger "perfect" I smiled "How'd you?"

"I guessed. Did I guess right?"

"It's perfect for me"

"Hu. I just got them to measure mine and said go a size or two down for you."

"Well it's perfect" I smiled "I love you so much"

"I love you too, come on before we miss your flight home" he encouraged so I nodded holding his hand tightly as we headed back to the car.

[neg-l3ct]

secret FESTA

💌 in this one-shot:  It’s no secret that BTS adores their ARMY. In fact, they never fail to greet them a happy birthday every July 9, but what happens when the maknae celebrates with Army face-to-face, in secret of course, because his heart also belongs to a special ARMY.

💌 listen to: Winter Blossom

💌 pairing: idol!jk x army!reader

💌 warning: teeth rotting fluff ☁️

💌 word count: 901

💌 ria says... This was supposed to be posted last FESTA T_T Didn't finish it on time but here it is! I really hope you liked it. Didn't have time to proofread though :c

⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫷⫷⫷⫷⫷

“Kookie, Hurry! I don’t want to miss the program!” you shout from the hallway trying to put on your sandals. 

“Yeah, yeah! Don’t order me around. This wouldn’t happen if I weren’t here.” he scoffs, raising to similar-looking sneakers. 

“Which do you think is best?”

“Yah! I told you to tone the Jung Kook down. Army might recognize you.” you ogle him.

He’s wearing a pastel green tea with geometric shapes top and khaki cargo shorts that wants to scream for attention but at least it doesn’t scream Jung Kook. 

“I am! Isn’t this too bright for Jung Kook?” he tilts his head and asks.

“Hmmm, you kinda look like Hobi.” you laugh. 

“What about your tattoo though?”

“I got it covered…. literally.” he laughs while holding an arm cast long enough to meet the ends of his shirt sleeve. 

“My Kookie is a genius. But I really hope we could’ve just attended the Army Birthday event as us.” 

“I hope so too baby. Maybe in the future.” he smiles 

“Now help me put this on so we can get going.”

Both of you try to put in on and finally cave into watching a YouTube tutorial.

While walking to the garage, you suddenly realize. “Wait, so who’s gonna drive?” 

“Good question baby.” he smiles as he pulls his car keys out of his pocket and tosses them to you. 

⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫷⫷⫷⫷⫷

You finally reach the public park that holds a small BTS & ARMY exhibit, bazaar, and game stalls. You both agreed to keep it low-key to avoid catching the attention of people. Jung Kook agreed on wearing a black mask and snapback that covers his eyes. He also didn’t wear his usual piercings and most of all, to avoid slip-ups he told you one of the funniest requests he ever made. 

“Call me Soo-hyun.” he looks him dead in the eye and burst out laughing inside the car.

“Are you insane? Why can’t I just call you Baby like I always do.”

“Hmmm….. What if you get lost or I get lost? You can’t go around calling out baby.” 

You laugh “That’s if you get lost. I won't leave your side… baby.” you emphasize and lean on his shoulders. 

“Okay. Let’s go! Don’t want to miss the flashmob performance.”

⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫷⫷⫷⫷⫷

He sees the sparkle in your eyes, something he has adored every since he first laid his eyes on you during a fanmeet. You greeted all the boys with a wide smile, offering them a letter and mouthful of thank yous. Heck, you even cried in front of Suga, saying you adore him for his passion and hard work. He quickly panicked once you started sobbing and held your hands telling you it was okay. Jung Kook saw the whole thing sitting next to his Hyung. He made a mental note to make you smile the moment you moved in front of him, but he was the one who was shocked. You handed him a crochet figure of what seemed to be a banana milk bottle and a small bunny clinging to it. Let’s just say everything that followed was history.

Now here you are, celebrating July 9 together, secretively attending an Army event. He wasn’t supposed to be here, but he was the one who insisted to go with you. Jung Kook says he wants to celebrate such a special day celebrated by the people he loves. 

Although you both wanted to enjoy the day freely, he watched everything from a safe distance. 

“We made it just in time.” the familiar intro of Idol starts playing as you see people from the flashmob gather in a formation.

“Ohooo, Army dances so well.” he says in amusement. 

“It's because BTS dances so well too.” you say back

“I’d show you my moves if I weren’t injured.” he said winking and lifting his faux cast. 

“Y/N, baby, go dance… for me.”

You look up at him, big eyes peeking from his cap, and squint your eyes. 

“Hmmm, maybe tonight. It’ll be a special show.” you wink back.

The intro to Permission to Dance starts playing as the Armys part of the flashmob performance forms a circle. Some of them were actually inviting bystanders to join. To your advantage, Jung Kook’s cast seemed to make the two of you invisible. 

“Baby, can you take a photo of me watching from the back? Make it look candid,” he said handing his phone to you, which you gladly take and snap a photo of him. 

“For memory.” he said when you handed the phone back to him.

⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫷⫷⫷⫷⫷

You and Jung Kook continue walking around the park and decided to seat on a park bench in a more empty part of the park. You both got corndogs to snack on, but of course, Jung Kook uses his cast situation as an excuse so you can feed him instead. And you do, but not without rolling your eyes at him. 

“Are you happy?” you ask him as he turns his head to you. 

He’s looking like a baby with some ketchup and mustard on the side of his lips ask he flashes his bunny grin. 

“Of course, I’m with you and I get to be close to Army on their special day.” 

“C’mon let’s go home as much as I want to go. I want to celebrate Army day with my favorite Army.” he winks.

[angelisverba]

thinkin’ bout you

in which harry owns a flower shop and has a major crush on a girl who comes in to buy flowers every once in a while (and he’s too shy to ask for her number) 

word count: 17.3k

paring: florist!h and y/n

warnings: just some pinning and lustful yearning. m for mature...

author’s note: i’ve been working on this forever. not to pick fav’s but i think florist!h comes second to sl23... hes just so.......well, you’ll see!!

*    *    *    *    *    *

When Harry was given the option to go on a playdate with his car-loving and dirty-nailed schoolmates or spending the weekend at his nan’s house, he would often pick the latter. 

He preferred to spend his afternoons frolicking with her Siamese kitty in her wild-flower filled garden, sunbathing in the open grass, or napping on a quilted blanket under the large, round oak tree, with the kitty nestled into his tummy, keeping him warm. When he woke in the arms of his nan as she carried him inside the house for a glass of cool lemonade, he bore a band of pink sunburn over his button nose, and the blue and white striped Mickey shirt was sticking to the areas where his furry friend had provided an extra heat. 

So, it was safe to say that from the start, Harry’s tastes weren’t what could be considered ‘average’ or ‘normal’ or ‘straight’ for a heterosexual male of his age in current society. 

Not that he ever valued those opinions, but their impressions rang in the back of his loving head when the women who he brought to the comfort of his home made hurtful ‘joking’ comments on how ‘peculiar���  his choice of decor was or giving him prolonged strange looks before shaking their heads and yanking their clothes off so that they landed in a forgotten heap in some unimportant corner of his room. 

Granted, he still got a good shag, but it wasn’t enough to fulfill his desires regarding any actions associated with relationships. He wanted someone warm and soft and kind. Someone who wouldn’t judge his home, his music choices, his clothing, or anything else about him. A girlfriend, not a fuck. 

Long ago, he’d stopped caring about what others said about him. Adopting this mindset had given him some of the happiest and healthiest moments of his life (albeit occasionally, doubts merged with the ghastly shadows of his loneliness). Business at his flower shop increased as his charm increased with positivity, and a new life within him bloomed like a baby rose bud when he accepted that being single was okay. The ribbons of his bouquets bouncing with an added umf and the mist that landed on his skin when he changed the water in the flower buckets only enhanced the golden hue of his skin. 

Harry even took to renovating his home a bit. 

 Coincidentally, his apartment was located on the floor above his flower stop, and contained a significant amount of singular flowers in vases or bouquets in empty corners to prove it. An array of pastel colors smeared on the once blank walls. Bambi pink in his bedroom, sage green in his kitchen, and a French blue in his living room. The couch was a suede papaya three-seater with black and white checkered pillows, and the coffee table was an emerald-tiled piece standing on top of a geometric lavender carpet, a soft contrast against the dark oak of his floorboards. Harry’s taste in pop-culture, art, and literature was displayed on the frames hanging off his walls. Pictures and posters of his favorite pieces like Matisse’s Blue Nudes and Goldfish and The Dance II. An enhanced, enlarged photo of maraschino cherries and a raven haired pin-up girl. Another glass table by the end of the couch held a silver candlestick and a small statue.

Sometimes, the miniature Greek statue he bought at a thrift store of a man with his nakedness pure and unobscured to the viewers' eyes made his dick bloat against the seams of his pants. If he stared at it for too long, his eyes drawn to the softened cock between thighs that looked so flesh-like even though it was carved out of some clay or ceramic material, his mind would travel to sensual, honey-red places that he hadn’t been in so long. Harry’s imagination explored- as cheesy as it sounds- the sexual aspects of the male genitalia, and therefore his own sexual expeditions and how much he missed giving or receiving a good fuck. More often than not, he ended up with himself in his fist, forehead sparkling with perspiration under the candle lights in his room as his thighs and abdomen clenched with every buck of his yearning hips. 

The doorknob of his room was in the shape of an eye, the iris colored a brilliant blue. His king bed- no, frame, just a minimalist white base, pushed up against the wall with two tables on either side, both of them loaded articulately with vintage trinkets and ceramic ring trays shaped like seashells to hold his jewelry. His bedsheets were a stylish combination of pastel colors; lilac comforter, mint and sky pillows. Previously, they had been snow white sheets with strawberry print, but a woman he brought over said they looked like the sheets her five-year-old niece had. 

He changed them the week after that.

On the windowsill, a pot in the shape of a white, blue-eyed kitty with vines of string of hearts kissing the floor. A mirror in the shape of a heart with a pink trim besides the lightswitch, above his brown dresser. In the corner, a bookshelf stuffed with books that spilled over the seams, and perpendicular to it, the home of his pet chameleon, Owen (he wanted a cat, but when he went to the pet store and saw the dehydrated creature, he couldn’t leave him there). A 16 x 16 x 30 inch tank filled with a branch that cut across halfway. It was full of all the things he might need, maybe even too much of it, but it didn’t matter because when Harry was home Owen spent most of his time hanging off the collars of his shirts or snuggled in the ruffles of his hooded sweatshirt on his shoulder. The small, color changing friend adored his owner, and only morphed into a mild red color when Harry didn’t feed him more mango. 

The renovations occurred in his bathroom; a cherry-red covering the walls because it looked boring before (at least in his opinion).  The gold piping of the sink accentuated nicely with the darker color, and the sun seemed brighter when it streamed in through the window above his ceramic claw-footed tub. Owen particularly liked the misty showerhead stall in the corner, and as long as he kept his eyes to himself, Harry didn’t mind it if his green friend wrapped around the showerhead and enjoyed the mimicked tropical atmosphere. 

For awhile now, it had been just him and his chameleon (and maybe his mum’s cat if she was going out of town and needed a sitter) but he didn’t mind it. 

He got to meet new people everyday within the parameters of H’s Garden, and they all tended to overshare when it came to buying a bouquet. ‘My wife just had our son, want to see a picture?’ or ‘my boyfriend and I have our anniversary on Saturday’ and even ‘my sister had plastic surgery so me and my dad need something that says ‘congrats you look like Kim Kardashain now’ how ‘bout it?’ 

Stories ranged from sweet, to grotesque, to sad, to funny, and sometimes even evil- Harry didn’t like customers that gave flowers as a ‘fuck you’. He thought it was a waste of beauty and sacrifice. Flowers were living things that had their lives cut short in order to provide momentary satisfaction and life long memories to the receiver, not bitter feelings of revenge. Although it was still business, it pained him that such a pretty arrangement be misused. It was one of the cons of his work. He created what he considered to be masterpieces, and had no control over where they would end up, whether it be as a centerpiece for a candlelit dinner, or in the trash after the apology for a strong argument hadn’t been enough. 

However, Harry couldn’t deny that he didn’t love his job, because he did. 

When he turned 16, he’d determined that he wanted a peaceful life with a job that wouldn’t bore him. He wanted to be as stress free as possible, with his spirituality as a prominent highlight in his lifestyle. When he turned 18, he had determined that he wanted to be a florist, and began to save up to open his own shop with the occasional help of his friends and sister. He refused to take anything from his mother because he wanted to be the one giving her gifts and money and everything good after all of her sacrifices in raising him. Call him a momma’s boy. Harry loved his mother. 

Online seminars and college classes became his best friend, teaching him everything he needed to know about accounting, stocks, and how to keep his business going. He was a businessman first, florist second. During the slow seasons (the start of winter and an awkward half-week between summer and spring) he relied on his investments to triple-ensure that he had enough money to stay afloat. 

On his 22nd birthday, as a gift to himself, he signed the lease to the building that housed all of the pretty plants in temporary buckets full of flower food and water, and hired a graphic designer to design the cursive, golden letters that spelled out the name of his shop above the front door. 

 Now, three years later, he lived as happy as can be. 

And he wasn’t lonely anymore. 

Well, if you wanted to be technical, his relationship status was still a checkmark over the box labeled ‘single’, but his heart couldn’t be fluttering any harder at the sight of one of his regular customers, and she was there, creeping around in his brain to keep him company. 

She was the complete opposite of every girl he’d ever been with. She was sweet, kind, funny, and didn’t judge him for the way he dressed, or his profession. In fact, they bonded over things that previous women had… slyly berated him for. The color of his nails, the lace of his collar, the pattern of his flared pants,  and even the sheep on his baby blue sweater vest.  

She stole his heart the moment she walked through his door with a soft smile on her face, a sparkling gleam in her warm eyes, and placed it in her pocket the moment she said, “it smells lovely in here!”

Harry, awestruck and blushing because well, she was pretty and wore a shade of purple that somehow made her hair look so soft. Two strands of hair were pinned at the back of her head, essentially keeping the rest of it away from her face save for the few baby wisps that rested gently against her cheeks like a lover’s caress. The stuttering, stumbling cupid’s-bow-struck fool replied with, “thank you. It would be my pleasure to help you with anything you’d like,” and that had been his name, signed on the dotted line of a soul contract. Only she was not the devil. She was an angel. 

But even then, it wouldn’t matter. If she was the devil, if she was an angel, something in between or something new entirely he wouldn’t care because he was half gone for her already. 

“In that case,” she smiled, and Harry’s heart sang a melody it never had before. It was like the sun beamed from the spaces between her teeth and tickled the fuzzy spot beneath his earlobe. She had the most amazing voice, tranquil and clear and ethereal. “I just moved into a new apartment and wanted the place to feel like home. I thought maybe flowers would give it a little life.” 

He vividly remembers that the color of her cheeks changed to that of what is called a ‘blush’, but he didn’t know if it was a trick under the light, or a product of his wistful imagination. Her fingers gently skimmed the petals of a rose from it’s bucket near her hip, and one of the straps of the tote bag on her shoulder disrespectfully dropped away from her shoulder. He wanted to simultaneously rush over and fix it for her, and yell at the inanimate object for not being grateful of the fact that it had the opportunity to cling to her shoulder.

But, before either of these inner-conflicts met a sound resolve, her delicate fingers righted what was once wrong, and Harry cleared his throat, embarrassed because he’d stared for a little too long. He wanted so badly to ask for her name and how she liked her eggs in the morning, but instead he said, “there’s nothing like a bit of something pretty to brighten your day. Did you have something specific in mind?”

He hoped that the meaning of his words wasn’t caught on her, or that would be totally embarrassing and ‘loser’-like. 

When she walked out the door with a content smile on her lips, his own heart was beating faster than the flapping of a hummingbird’s tender wings. He was sure that he had never laid eyes on a pair of lips like hers, neither the feeling that blossomed in his chest at the thought that she might be smiling just for him to see and enjoy. 

Of course, it was a silly crush. One that clawed and gripped onto his sweaty palms with no sign of letting go. Maybe, Harry thought, it was because he hadn’t wet his wick in so long, and the interaction he’d had with her had sparked irrational, poem-inspiring feelings within the love cavern of his ribs. Because how could he fall head over heels with someone he didn’t even know? Surely, the swarm of hormone-pumped butterflies in his stomach was the beginning of a dead-end infatuation. 

Right? 

Harry went that entire day, appalled at the apparent angel he had the fortune of being in the presence of in her short fall from the tender heavens. He wondered where she placed the flowers she bought (an arrangement he was particularly proud of, full of lilac, delicate stems of lavender, and puffs of baby’s breath wrapped with a white bow) and where that tiny extension of him was. At the entrance of her home, right below the place she rested her hand against as she tugged her shoes off? At the center of her table? Maybe besides her bed? Where she would see the purple petals and white of him as he wrapped it every time she woke up or went to bed? He hoped- as much as it was a romantic thought- that it wasn’t the last one. He’s been so awkward, so pink. A blush on his cheeks he hadn’t remembered being there since the time he yelped, startled, at the unexpected pain of a tattoo needle, the artist pointedly peeved. Acting like such a boy. 

Right before crawling up the steps of his apartment, heart still bleeding with love-blood from the deadly tip of Cupid’s arrows, he made himself a mini version of the bouquet he’d made her, and placed it at the center of his tiled coffee table. 

*********

A few days trickled by, and the memory of her face drifted in and out of his mind like a giant sway of fabric slowly billowing in the wind. He was just so… struck by a slab of awe, stunned by her kind of beauty. Natural, the kind that hooks you in it’s purity, like the golden beams streaming in through transparent curtains on a warm spring afternoon. 

Her strawberry lips curved elegantly under her nose, and displayed a smile that leaked some sort of heady drug into the air because the air was sweet when he breathed it in. And when he handed the bundle of flowers over to her, the pads of her delicate fingers skimmed the rough ridges of his knuckles. He wondered immediately what kind of moisturizer she used, and if it smelled like honey or lavender or peaches. She smelled sweet. Sweeter than all of the flowers in his colorful soul shop put together. The colors that belong to her, on her person and worn by her, were more captivating than any of the tones that painted the petals on his plants. 

Owen got a kick out of this whole ordeal, though. Harry’s passionate mood had him divulging in munching and nibbling on things that tasted the way he felt; ambrosial, fresh and pure. It resulted in the purchasing of endless amounts of fruit, with many bites given to the tiny chameleon. Mangoes, strawberries, oranges, grapes, pears (Asian pears, if the store carried them, they were Harry’s favorite), peaches and guavas. The sudden craving for fruit might be explained as just a casual craving, but deep deep down inside, Harry knew that it was because he wanted to replicate the feeling that coursed through his golden veins when she giggled at something she happened to find funny. 

He wished that he had caught her name. The girl had paid in cash (and left a five dollar tip Harry fawned over), so he couldn’t have read it on her card, and he was halfway between charming and awkward that he didn’t even think of asking for it until the minute the door closed behind her, bells tinkling in announcement of her exit. He wished for a hundred different things, but he was not the type to live in regret. Not anymore. So after about a week of floundering in her memory, he meditated for an hour, tropical incense on one of his bedside tables, and cleared his mind as best he could. 

The next morning, he did the same thing. Woke up with heavy limbs, plopped himself down on his blue mat and stretched in various positions, his white boxers hanging low on his hips. His lips and eyes were sticky with sleep, and the back of his nose ached with cold air that he must’ve breathed in throughout the night after forgetting to close the window (again) but the pleasurable twinge of stretching aches between his joints were the perfect way to start his day. They urged his mind to transform into the still surface of water, clear and collected from any unproductive-pinning thoughts towards a girl he would most likely never see again. 

Even his clothes reflected his refreshed mindset.

Harry donned his favorite pair of flared  trousers in an earthy brown color, nestled snugly on his slender hips and around his thighs. The tight fit accentuated the way his back tapered into his waist, glutes shapely and sculpted. A maroon sweater vest that had a teddy bear embroidered on the middle of his chest, the small latte-toned stuffed animal seemingly childish, but on him it only directed attention to the spotlight daze of the velvety heart sheltered underneath his breathless plate. Underneath, a mustard long-sleeve shirt with tiny cherries printed on them. Some straight, some tilted or lopsided. His shoulders and biceps were hidden in the floofy bunches of cloth, anonymity given to the true thickness of his ink slathered skin. 

He looked like a corduroy dream. A thick milkshake of patterns and colors, but he managed to pull it off.

A tiny gold hoop on his right ear gleamed under the morning sun coming in through the windows and a pearl necklace rested against the downy skin of his throat. Slender fingered tipped with a coat of pure white, with his ring fingers accented in a shimmery pink. Chunky rings adorning the base of his digits; a silver rose, a band of dancing teddy bears (a running theme with him), two gold rings with his initials H and S on one hand, and a simple ruby stud from his graduating class. 

He looked good, he knew that he looked good, and was ready to begin a bright, healthy, non-pretty-girl-thought-polluted day. Even the old woman had pinched his cheek whom he had been assisting- a regular-had said he looked like a proper ‘nice boy’ along with ‘when are you going to her a lovely girl to help you run this place, Harry?’. He didn’t have the heart to tell her that he had momentarily sworn off women until his broken sentiments healed, and they had a long way to go. 

In the middle of wrapping a smashing set of tulips and fern stems with a cherry red bow, the bells adorning the top of the door frame dinges, announcing the entrance of another pleasant customer and giving passage to a gust of chilly air. Harry looked up to greet the customer with his usual pleasantries of ‘welcome! I’ll be with you in a moment!’, but the words died on his throat in a desperate hussle, just as the little mermaid had given up her voice to meet her gallant prince.  

It was his own personal little slice of heaven presented to him on the black and white checkered floors of his shop. Hair loose against her shoulders again, eyes cast downwards to inspect a bucket of fresh daisies that tickled the space above her bare knees. How she could wear a skirt in this biting weather, he didn’t know, and it partially prevented him from continuing his pursuit of admiring her because the first thought his caring mind jumped too was, ‘is she cold? And if so, does she need a sweater? Because I will gladly give her one.’ His second thought, however, was ‘how could someone be that beautiful?’. The third was something along the lines of ‘all my yoga has gone to shit, and I’m okay with that’. 

He cleared his throat, tightened the bow around the stems of the flowers in his hands and said, “I’ll be with you in a moment, love!” His head bowed, looking at his work because he wasn’t sure he could afford the medicals for the paralysis that was sure to take over his meek self if they made eye contact so soon. Harry needed a moment of homeostasis, his soul adjusting to her dulcet presence. 

The woman he was assisting, Edna, spoke, drawing him out of his daze, but he had been so deeply in thought that he had not heard what she said. 

“What was that?” He asked her. He grabbed Kraft paper from the roll by the register to wrap up her arrangement. 

“The girl. You like her?” She was smiling at him, wagging a finger the way his nan used to do when she caught him with his hand in the cookie jar. “Don’t lie to me, I recognize that look. I’ve given and received that look many times throughout my life.” 

The woman was not wrong. With age, comes wisdom, Harry thought, smiling to himself at being caught. A dimple carves itself into his cheek, nestling onto the space above the corner of his mouth as if he had no choice in the matter. The apples of his cheeks were shadowed with a dusky pink, and the tip of his nose was twitching like a rabbit when it stood on its rear and sniffed the air, only he was coy after just being caught and wanted to avoid the question as much as possible. 

“I’ve got no idea what y’talking about,” he chuckled, keeping his voice low so that the intriguing stranger in the store didn’t hear that their topic of discussion was her. He moved over to the register to ring her up, and even slid in a discount he applied to customers he liked. 

“Next time I come in,” Edna said, passing Harry her debit card, “I hope to hear that you got her number, dear. Don’t let these opportunities pass you up. Life is short. And who knows? She could be the one.” Harry gave her the card back after charging her, and handed her the flowers, too. All the while Edna was grinning at him, shaking her head like she knew something he didn’t. 

“Take care, Edna. And don’t forget to change the water every 2 days with the flower packets I placed at the stems,” he reminded her, sweetly wiggling his red-lacquered nails at her retreating woman as butterflies awakened in his stomach in a furious flood of nerves. The girl was looking around, her hands hovering over the up-turned faces of a bundle of lively sunflowers, browsing and quietly humming to herself as she waited. 

There was no backing out of this, even if he wanted to. And he didn’t! He didn’t want to back out. The girl was a customer, and he would have to approach her no matter what. But she was so pretty it was also intimidating. He doesn’t remember ever being this nervous while approaching someone, especially one he harbored feelings for. His heart was pounding so loud, he was sure it was audible. 

“Hello,” he wanted so badly to add ‘love’ at the end of his greeting. “Are y’finding everything a’right?” He asked her, his hands wringing themselves, palms moist with sweat from his unyielding need to impress her. The pink tip of his tongue poked out to swipe across his full bottom lip, and soon after that his teeth sunk down into it, nibbling with uncertainty. Harry made sure that he was standing straight, body aligned to face hers because in that psychology course he took once, he learned that it was a subconscious tactic to engage interest and pleasant replies to attempts at wooing another. 

At the sound of his voice, the girl jumped, startled at the sudden vibrations of Harry’s husky voice. Her delicate feet, he noticed, skittered on the floor from her tiny jump, and her doe eyes widened, shouldered rising and falling at a quicker pace than before from the new rush of light fear. When she realizes that it’s just him her hand flattered over the base of her neck and her collarbone in attempts to soothe her racing heart. 

“M’s sorry,” he whispers, his hand clamping over his mouth, and then lowering to his chin when he speaks again, “didn’t mean to scare y’love.” This time he can’t restrict himself. It comes so naturally, like the endearment was meant for her, and when a flush covers the bridge of her nose his first instinct is to coo at her for looking so cute. The second is a surge of guilt for having scared her to such an extent. 

“It’s okay,” she says, a little out of breath. The blush on her face was partly because she was embarrassed at her own reaction, while the other was that she had let herself act so freely and uncoordinated in front of someone that looked like him. Handsome and sweet and eyes so green they refreshed you upon first glance. Like the cool burn of water going into a mouth that had just chewed a stick of minty gum. “I want to buy these flowers.” 

God help him. Her voice alone was enough to make him melt. The lilts and melodies of her voice swarming all four of the ventricles in his heart with warmth, and every blood cell that passed contained a glowing heat, buzzing with her energy. 

She points to the sunflowers, her gaze lingering on them with longing. A soft smile toying on her mouth, and Harry could see the tendons in her throat stretch as she inhaled to add another thought to her sentence, “Do you sell vases by any chance?” The girl looked at him shyly, her eyelashes almost twinkling as she blinked, and his heart soared, “I had a really nice one in the shape of a big Coca-Cola bottle, and I accidentally knocked it over, so now I have nothing to put them in.” 

Harry is incredibly enamoured by subconscious gestures that take over her hands as she speaks, fiddling as if the vase she spoke about was in her hands, all in one piece before it was broken. He’s quiet throughout her tiny ramble, listening and taking note of her enticing antics. She’s looking down at the floor or the flowers or her hands, and when her eyes dance over to his steady gaze, “I’m rambling aren’t I?” she murmurs bashfully. 

“No, no it’s a’right. I can look in the back for something if y’like?” He suggested, arrowing a thumb to the ‘back’ he mentioned. “Did y’want anything in particular?”  

“Oh, I don’t wanna be a troubling customer!” She squeaked, concerned with becoming a nuisance she didn’t want to be. 

“Y’not a bother, love. M’promise. I’ll go look f’you. What color did y’have in mind?” He asked her, tone calm and soothing to reiterate his sentiment. She was not a bother. The only thing about her that bothered him was the fact that he did not know her name, and even that was his own fault for not asking her. 

His hands rest on his hips, tattooed cross momentarily hidden by the bunch of his sweater vest  as he waits for her to respond, his eyes locked on her mouth, her own tongue subtly licks her lips, adding a sparkly sheen to it that only drove him crazy. Ever the jilted fool, his mind jumps to what it would feel like to kiss her, or what it would feel like if she kissed him in other places. What fruits she tasted like, and what kind of kisser she was. A timid one? With a patient mouth waiting to be broken open with the force of his own? Frugal? Opening her mouth and giving him everything she had to offer. 

“Something pink, please. If you have it.” That smile again. One that told a million apologies it didn’t owe, with her eyes pinching at the corners with whatever nonsense culpability she felt. Her voice was sweet, Harry thought, like wind chimes on a summer morning. 

Feeling guilty for allowing such dirty thoughts to gallop through his mind when she was so… so pure. Like an angel. Even her way of presenting herself was shy and sweet, yet he was thinking about kissing her. Was that perverted? She was a customer he had seen twice, and his mind was already running wild with luscious assumptions; a sunday topped with a red cherry of sensuality. How awfully dirty of him. 

But! But those were not the only thoughts he had. He wanted to ask her what happened to cause her to drop her vase, and where she had bought it. If it was vintage, considering it was a Coca-cola bottle, and if she had any accidents while cleaning up the mess of broken glass. He wanted to hear her thoughts. No, better yet, he just wanted to hear her talk. He wanted to get to know her. To know if she was as nice as she looked. 

“‘Course,” he mumbled, his eyes shamefully downcast to the floor. “Be righ’ back.”

Harry stalked off to ‘the back of the store’. Truth was, there was no back of the store containing vases. There was only a small closet with boxes of items he might need around the store, like flower food, rubber bands, and decorative paper for the bouquets. A crate of bottled water for when he got too lazy to climb up the back stairs and into his home. 

His home. 

Plucking the keys from his pocket, a ring that held a ceramic swan his closest friend Mitch had gifted him with a humble admission of ‘saw this at a thrift store and thought about you, H, I had to buy it’, and five keys: one to the front door of his shop, one to the cash box in the register, one to the mailbox, another to the front door of his apartment, and one to his car. The one to his front door was painted at the head with pastel pink nail polish, so it was easy for him to pick out when he was dead tired after a long day of being on his feet (spunky shoes that he liked to wear sometimes didn’t help ease the ache on his back, and neither did his posture). 

The back door that led to the stairs had locks on both the inside and the outside. A deadbolt and chain on matching sides of the door to ensure comfortable sleep at night, and peaceful work time during the day. Not having to worry about curious children opening doors or nosy customers relieved him. It was a little amatuer, but the door made a loud noise when opened because it wasn’t quite level, and he had a tiny key so he could lock it from the outside, too. 

A loud shucking noise resonated through the store as he pulled the door open, and then again when he closed it behind him. The delicacy of his dainty yet large hands were nearly comical around the tiny golden pin stud that hung from the chain, almost slipping from his hands with nerves as he slid it in place. Harry didn’t think that she was nosy or anything like that, bit if he was going up to give her a vase of his own personal collection, he didn’t want her to find out and feel even more intrusive that she already did. 

He was a huge giver, and upon hearing her say that she broke her flower pot, his mind was already thinking about the perfect one to replace it. It just so happened to be sitting on his shelf with a bundle of dying lavender. Climbing up the stairs (the ache in his thighs was a mere twinge compared to what it was when he first moved here), Harry huffed and thought to himself all the ways he could ask for her name and number. 

Listen, I really like y’and would like to have y’number?”

Do y’wanna have my number so we can go out sometime if y’feel like it?”

“Is it alright if I get y’number so we can go out sometime?”

“Hey, love. What’s y’name?”

Nothing’s making sense to him. The pick up lines he had stored in his head for the rare times he would flirt with a girl were slipping from him. None of them seemed worded right to use with her. Too abrupt or too brisk. Not sweet enough. He wanted to treat her gently and to be worthwhile of her time. Plus, it also had to be smooth enough that it made her forget she was paying him for flowers or it would be awkward. He was a twenty-six man for crying out loud, not a twenty-one year old smile at the bar looking for a good time. This wasn’t a ‘good time’. This was… a courting. An inquiry to a relationship. A rose rose in a candlelit room. 

Harry opened his front door and moved in a quick jog to a table besides his hi-fi that held a translucent pale pink glass, fat at the base before twirling and widening a few inches at the lip. An image of a nude mermaid puffing out at the front like an engraving. Cuddling it into his breast, he grabbed the lavender, speed walked back to his kitchen where his toe banged against the metal of the trashcan as he pressed on the lever to open it. He hissed fuck under his breath and shucked the dead lavender into the bag before turning back to his door, closing it behind him, but not locking it because he didn’t want to keep her waiting. His feet moved quickly down the stairs, the one hand not holding onto the vase cupping a hand over the side of his hips that held his keys so they didn’t make much noise. 

The button on the chain slipped from his fingers a few times from their repeated clamminess, and when he was ready to finally twist the knob, he paused to take a breath and collect himself. Harry ran a hand through his hair, fixed his collar, and dusted off his pants legs. He wanted to look perfect for her. 

“Don’t be stupid,” he murmured to himself. He had a good feeling about this. About her. And if he messed this up because he looked bad or said something weird he would kick himself into a muddy ditch. 

Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and calmly walked back, “I’ve got the last one,” he said, tapping the tip of the vase with his pointer finger. It was a lie, right through his teeth, but he was happy to tell it in return for the way she was looking at him in that moment. His eyes rounded out as he approached her, like the curves of hearts that made up the heart-eye emoji, or the puppy-dog face. Just another physical display of his growing affinity towards her. 

“Oh my god!” She said,  “It's so pretty!” The trapped crystals in her irises twinkled with bewilderment at the treasure Harry’s presented her with.  She’s got a smile on her face, and he can’t help but think, ‘wow, she looks like a freshly bloomed white lily’. 

There’s a vintage print hanging in his corridor, a ‘flower language chart’ with different types of flowers and a sentence beneath them describing the messages they send. For example, red carnations= my heart aches for you. The description beneath white lilies reads ‘my love is pure’. 

She asked him if it wasn’t too pricey, and he made up some fake sale he had going on about a hybrid BOGO in which if she bought an arrangement she would get a vase included in her purchase (he added “I’ve got a shipment of new ones coming in an I need the space cleared out before they get here” just to make sure his fib is believable.) And he explains this so shyly. Harry can’t keep his eyes locked on hers because she’s staring at him with an intensity that lets him know she's really listening, and it makes him squirm.  The tips of his fingers tap against the vase, and he’s tripping over his tongue, which is ridiculous because he already talks so slow. 

“I guess I was right in waiting then,” she said casually, waiting for Harry to finish ringing her up. 

His finger froze over the touch screen of the sleek, modern device (he wanted nothing but the best for his store) and listened to the exciting roar of blood through his eardrums at her words. I guess I was right in waiting then? What did that mean? That she was planning on coming back to see him and didn’t? Of course, it could also mean that she was going to buy something else somewhere else, but he couldn’t stop the vine of ripe hope that swelled around his chest. And she looked so apprehensive while saying it. As if she was walking on glass and was looking for cracks as she stepped. As if she was waiting on him to catch on to something.

Harry cleared his throat and looked at her through the corner of his eye, trying to be as discreet as possible as his fingers continued their deliberate work on the screen, “What d’you mean, love?”

“I was going to stop by sooner, but I just got in my head about it,” the girl shrugged, and adjusted the ends of her cardigan so they wrapped around her torso. She had a different bag this time, one of those reusable market bags that was made up of holes, and it was filled with two books and a can of green tea from the vegan store down the street. Harry thinks he can make out one of the titles on one of the spines, which looks suspiciously similar to something that he has on his own shelf. 

“Why would y’get in y’own head about coming to m’flower shop, hmm? It’s hardly that intimidating,” he chuckles to play off the dashes of pink and red that are painting themselves across the bridge of his twitching nose, “I don’t bite, either.” 

And he hopes that his wistfulness isn’t meddling with his vision because he swears that he can see a matching reaction on her own doll face. “I know! I know, it’s just that I can’t help it sometimes. Talking to other people makes me nervous.” 

Harry could coo at her right now. He doesn’t, though. He nods and smiles at her before reading her total out to her, “That I get, too. But y’doing just fine with me, love.” 

Waiting patiently as she digs through her bag for cash, he tries to not stare. However, it’s impossible. His eyes had a mind of their own dragging against the forces of his will to feast on her image again. Her hands and the tip of her nose. The base of her neck and gentle swell of her clavicles. The swoops of hair that hung in a curtain from her shoulder as her head tilted in search, and the how her teeth bit down into her lip in concentration. Harry counted the amount of times her eyelashes met her waterline in those few seconds of comfortable silence. Three. 

“I thought I had cash on me today,” something in her bag clicks, and she pulls out the rectangular card Harry’s become familiar with, holding it out to him between two deft fingers, painted with red hearts on a white base. “I guess I used my last twenty at the organic food store down the street,” she said. 

“It is pretty easy to get lost in there, isn’t it?” He took her card from her, and tried not to make it obvious that he was eager to read her name off of it as he inserted it into the machine. The embossed letters into the plastic read y/n y/l/n, and when he turns back to look at her, he can’t help the smile that spreads across his boyish features.

Y/n. 

Y/n, y/n, y/n.

This is what it must feel to be let in on a secret that’s worth millions of dollars. It must, because Harry’s heart is soaring with a closure he didn’t know he needed. Y/n, y/n. Her name tickled him. Stroked him. Lathered him with the honey smoothness of the beeswax shampoo he bought at that fateful organic store. It was a fitting name. Sometimes, one could tell a person ‘you know, I actually thought you were a Amy or a Jessica’, because their looks and style just didn’t match the strength or modesty of their name. But not y/n. It fit her like a glove. There was no other way to make sense of the way Harry’s brain was thinking. The name was her. 

“What?” Her lips quirk up into a smile and her eyebrows dip in confusion. Why was he looking at her like that? Did she have something on her face? Here she was, opening up to a cute stranger and she had something on her face? This, she thought to herself, is humiliating. Her finger dusted off non-existent crumbs from the corners of her mouth, “do I have something on my face?”

“No! No, no.” Harry’s careful beam simmered down from it’s previous brightness, and his hand nervously filed through the swoop of chocolate curls sitting on his head like a cinnamon roll. “I just think y’name is pretty thas’ all.” 

He murmured the last part so that it was practically incoherent, and lowered his gaze as a searing heat stretching like saran wrap around his head and the divot on the nape of his neck.  Oh, God. He was fucking blushing. Great Harry. A normally favorite among the ladies had been reduced to murmurs and thick, uncoordinated movements. 

Like dropping her card when she piped up again. 

Voice as small and quaint as his had been, "you think my name is pretty?” Her fingers are wrapped around the frail straps of her bag, tight enough that her knuckles were white and Harry was scared that she’d bury her fingernails into her palm. 

“I think y’very pretty.” He whispered back. He can’t even bear to look at her in fear that he’s totally fucked himself over once and for all. His logic was this: what girl wants to be told by the guy they’re buying flowers that they’re pretty after he reads her name from her debit card? Especially one who (if outside female sources are to be believed) dresses “the way my mother did when she was a girl in the seventies”? Jesus, fuck. He must’ve looked ridiculous. 

Harry opened his mouth to backtrack and apologize for being so unorthodox in his workspace, a breath sitting on his tongue with words ready to spew out, but the bell began to chime and it yanks his head from the register to the front and instead he said, “welcome! I’ll be with you in a moment.” 

Flustered and full of regret, the flower connoisseur returned his wired gaze back to y/n, who… was smiling at him? The kind of smile that said ‘oh my god, I can’t believe you just said that. Now please say it again’? Was he… dreaming? Did he have to pinch himself in order to verify that he wasn-

“Thank you... what’s your name?” Y/n looked at the card from his hands and sunk her hand- carefully, as to not get her fingers stuck in any of the tiny holes- and there was another clicking noise before she took her hand back out. That angel-like smear of girlish happiness was still on her, decadently radiating positivity and secret affection. Goodness leaked from the seams of her bones; through the cracks of her breastplate, radiating from her chest to Harry’s. He could feel it now. He could feel that his previous assumptions about her nature were true. She was altruistic and tender, like the inside of a bird’s wing. 

“Harry. M’name’s Harry.” This time, he didn’t hide his happiness. Even his eyes shone with a heightened, clear and sparkly shade of liquid evergreen. The joy that bounced inside of him like ricocheting metal balls in a pin game machine. His slender hand, fawn-skinned and graceful like the legs of a deer, stretched out between them. His mother had taught him that along with the first introduction of his name, a handshake must be present, always. Dipping his head slightly, and his words spongy with love-ditz, Harry rumbled, “Nice to meet you, y/n.”  

She placed her hand in his, and was practically swallowed by only his palm. He curled his fingers around her, thumb and middle finger overlapping around the clammy center of hers. So she was nervous, just as he was. Y/n was trained on their embracing limbs, and he could feel a spot on his neck where the skin palpated from the rush of blood as she observed their entwined digits. Their hands moved up and down, up and down between them for longer than necessary until her chin twitched back up to meet his, and she blinked mawkishly, slowly, like the videos of rehabilitated barn owls Harry sees on his Instagram. 

Then, suddenly, as if she remembered she was not the only one present, y/n jolts upright and shakes her head dazedly. “It’s nice to meet you, too, Harry. I like your nail color,” she added. 

He’s cheesing. A shit-eating grin too big for his face and it carves dimples into the flesh of his cheeks. His name on her tongue had never sounded so appealing, like it was made for her and only her to say. Not even the turtle-doves that cooed outside his window in the mornings sounded as beautiful as she did saying his name. And she complimented her nails! She hadn’t scrutinized him like others had, instead, she displayed her admiration for them. No one- well, actually he can’t say that without offending Mitch- no female of his age had ever received him with such open-mindedness as hers. If he didn’t have any self-restraint, he would giggle. Instead, Harry pulled his hand back so that their perfect moment wasn’t sullied with bouts of bad timing, “thank y’love. I like yours, too. You’ll have t’come over sometime and paint mine, yeah?” 

Y/n laughed, and he breathed a sigh of relief that he hadn’t been too bold, “I’d love too!” With glee frozen on her, she turned to look over her shoulder at the customer who was browsing the flowers Harry had in buckets, “I don’t want to hold you back from a customer for so long. I’ll stop by again soon, Harry. Thank you so much for your help.” 

The moment her hands reached for the wrapped bundle of sunflowers and the mermaid vase, a metaphorical grey cloud of rain and thunder manifested in the space above his head, and blocked all of the sunshine from spanning across his toned, lithe body. Did she really have to go? He wanted to whine. Maybe even wrap himself around her ankles like a child that refused to leave the park. They were only just getting to a mutual spot of comfort! Forget the other customer, he wanted to shout. Harry would kick them out and flip the sign to ‘closed’ if it meant only a few more minutes in the presence of her candy-coated charisma. 

But he knows that’s unrealistic, and settles with, “it was my pleasure, y/n,” a flirty wink (at least he hopes it is), “I’ll be waiting f’your next visit.” His taffy lips wrapping effortlessly around his smooth words, fueled by her welcoming receptiveness to his advances. It would be easy to be himself in the future, a little smoother and eloquent in his language and feeling. He was usually clear with what he wanted from anyone, and made it a pleasurable experience in all aspects for both parties involved (once it was three). Harry wanted to sweep her off her feet, and he wanted it to be an enjoyable experience for the both of them. Revel in that feeling of blooming emotions in a new relationship. A healthy one, in which he wasn’t receiving back-handed compliments all the time. 

He wasn’t superficial enough to push anyone off the table based on looks alone, but it did help that y/n had the disposition of an angel. An ethereal voice, supple lips that looked so silky and soft they had to feel that way, too, and hands that felt so tender in his. Perfect for holding on a late night stroll, or over the center console of his car when -if they go out on dates. 

What really hooked, reeled, and sinked him, though, was the fact that she was so nice to him. From the start, she’d been nothing but polite and sweet with him. Don’t even get him started on the way he swooned at the tone of her voice when he said that her name was pretty! So quiet and velvety, careful and calculated like she wanted him to know that it was okay. That she wasn’t thrown off by his comment. He nearly toppled over, clutching his heart with his legs jutting straight up into the air like a frightened goat. 

It wasn’t until the bells stopped ringing the sad notice of her exit that Harry realized he passed up the perfect opportunity to ask for her number, and as he kicked himself over it, he walked with the perfect customer service face he could muster to help the other person in his store. 

***

Harry was having a shitty morning. 

Not the kind of morning where every aspect of his routine is a terrible mishap, but like the water being too cold and the stove not working or the bottle of oat milk in the fridge being empty so he couldn’t make coffee. No, everything was fine and rolling smoothly, as it should. 

His water was the perfect temperature and ran down the toned bumps and divots of his muscles like the relaxing thrums of a lover’s caress in the midst of prowling heat. As soon as it hit his back, he released a sigh of contentment, his shoulders hunching and head rolling back and his hands roamed his shoulders and the back of his neck, rubbing away any aches that existed. The branch of eucalyptus that hung from the golden pipe of his showerhead fused a thick minty scent into the steam that fogged the glass wall, and the calming aroma helped the tendons loosen like the deflating limpness of untied shoelaces. He spent a few minutes just standing there, inhaling and exhaling deeply and feeling his lungs open and stretch beneath his rib cage. 

It almost made him wish that he’d opted to use his tub for a hot bath instead. 

He was able to cook an egg just fine on his stove, with dashes of Everything Bagel Seasoning with a side of avocado and a slice of toasted cranberry walnut bread, the same thing he had every morning. The carton of oat milk was brand new from his trip to the market the day before, and his coffee tasted the same as it always did. But… he was just... sad. An melancholy soreness that eroded against the insides of his body, consuming him slowly but surely and leaving him with a lost feeling of emptiness and unimportance. 

He thinks he might know why he’s feeling this way. 

While he’s stirring his scrambled eggs, he’s wondering how y/n likes hers. Over easy? Sunny-side up? Scrambled, like him? Did she even like eggs in the morning? What did she eat in the morning? He knows that some people ‘aren’t hungry’ in the mornings, though that’s only because they’ve gone hungry in the mornings before for an extended time period, and after so long of not feeding their growling stomachs, their brain discontinues the signals of hunger. Harry hopes that isn’t the case with y/n, and that she’s eating the proper three meals a day every day. 

And while he dipped a mini vegan chocolate croissant that he got at Whole Foods, he also wonders what she likes to dip chocolate croissants into, or if she even likes chocolate croissants. If she was a person who likes sweet treats, like strawberry tarts with powdered sugar over them or something lighter, like fruit cut into small squares in a bowl. When Harry was younger and would visit his nan on the weekends, she would pick fresh strawberries from her garden and cut them up for him when he’d woken from his nap. Sometimes, she would even sprinkle half a tablespoon of sugar over them. He wonders if she’d ever eaten strawberries like that. 

It’s been a week and a half, he still hasn’t seen her, and his heart is yearning. 

Harry knows he’s not in the correct headspace to assist other people with a cheery disposition about an hour before opening time, and decides it’s best if he writes a note on the door about how the shop wouldn’t open that day because he didn’t want to taint the reputation of his business by snapping at a customer for the only bundle of sunflowers he had, or dissolve into a puddle of love-sick tears in the middle of ringing someone up. Though really the notice just says ‘H’s Garden will not be opening today. Sorry for the inconvenience!’ followed by a frowning face and a lopsided, filled-in heart. 

Harry drags his feet back up the stairs, his lower lip jutting out in a discreet but depressing pout, and grabs Owen from his tank so that the chameleon could curl into the shoulder of Harry’s hoodie while he moped on the couch to sappy rom-coms that would only make him think about her more. At least there was someone there with him, even if his small green friend only used him for mangoes and papaya. They sit together for the entirety of Romeo + Juliet, and when it’s over, Harry’s sniffly and standing up to return Owen to his enclosure and to clean because the riotous emotions that whirl within him are too much to process while sitting down. 

Cleaning wouldn’t help him solve his problems, but it would help him cram all of his worries into a tight corner at the back of his mind- sort of like when dirty laundry began to overflow in the hamper and it requires extra force to shove it all in, only to come all back out like a memory sponge. His tormented thoughts on y/n could be compared to a dramatic inner monologue, very similar to how Romeo feels about his Juliet. But, soft, what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and y/n is the sun. Harry has the play on his book shelf (the one with the side-to-side modern English translation because he was never quite gifted in the English department) and as he reaches for a bandana to tie his hair back, he finds himself resonating with a particular line: parting is such a sweet sorrow.

There was no need to change any of his clothing, since he was already dressed in one of his more impromptu outfits; grey sweats and a white t-shirt that read ‘women are smarter’ in black across his chest. He tied the red bandana into a knot at the back of his head, and lifted it over his chin so that it settled on his forehead, sweeping his hair back with a final push back. It doesn’t get in his way when he crouches to clean his various tables, spraying cleaning products with his shirt pulled over his nose, another organic product that’s supposed to be less harmful and smells like cinnamon and sandalwood. His shoulder blades begin to ache because he’s being a little more aggressive than he has to be, but the green tiles were sparkling so he was content. 

He washes the dishes, mops the kitchen floor, vacuums the carpets, cleans Owen’s habitat, and tidies the mail that piled up on the table when he finally calls it quits. Scouring his brain for something to do, to keep him busy- his brain busy, Harry settles on the floor with his back to the edge of his bed. He’s shirtless now, and is in need of another shower but he’d rather not because he knows he might end up crying over the possibility that he’s scared y/n off. There’s a book in his hands and a Frank Ocean record playing softly in the background that mentions something about ‘I've been thinkin' 'bout you, do you think about me still?’ and it’s not helping his case at all.    

It’s no use. 

There’s a plague of darkness buzzing like cicadas in his ears. He fears rejection and criticism. That maybe, she was only pretending in order to make the situation more pleasant so it ended sooner. Most of all, he feared that it would always be this way. That he would never find someone who embraces who he is as a person. Always met with mean side-eye glances or second looks of displeasure and confusion. It isn’t always that way, though, because then that would mean he gets absolutely no action, and that isn’t true. 

Harry is very… well-educated in matters that concerned sexual intercourse, but it was always a one-night stand ordeal. It was never ‘I really like you we should go out sometime’. In fact, he noticed that only time his approaches were well received were those in which he was dressed in a calmer manner. Simple, solid colors with sneakers or a t-shirt. Girls would flirt back, make good conversation, allow him to buy them a few drinks, and when he’d take them to his apartment they’d ask why he lived on top of a flower-shop, and if it was his sister or female-friend’s palace that he was crashing. Sex would ensue, but his heart wouldn’t be as present and engaged as he wanted it to be. 

Wrong. It was always so fucking wrong, and God, if he didn’t get out of this apartment he’s going to breakdown and cry and there’s no one to call to come over because Mitch is on a trip with his girlfriend, Sarah, and his other friend Jeff is on his honeymoon in Sweden. They were the only two on his mental speed dial list during the rare occasions he had a crisis, as they were the two that Harry had ever really opened up to. Mitch was a bit closer to his heart. They’ve known each other since their school days and practically grew up together (at one point they had small crushes on each other, which were confessed years down the line). Jeff was the owner of Winsome where… where y/n had mentioned spending her last twenty dollar bill. He didn’t have an issue opening up to them. He liked opening up to them, but he didn’t understand why they were the only two that ever truly opened their arms to him. 

A walk, he decided, would help him… air out his brain. Calm down. Breathe a little deeper, a little easier. 

He threw his white shirt back on, and a forest green sweatshirt that donned the emblem of the school he went to earn his business degree that fit him wide around the shoulders and felt like a marshmallow. Putting on a pair of beat up shoes, he shoved his keys into his pocket, hobbling and nearly losing his balance because he was moving way too fast. The door closed behind him with a slam, and even though he was still wearing the bandana around his head, wispy stray curls framing his face in a wild mane, his distress palpable through his appearance, but he doesn’t care. He just needs to get out and feel the cool air against his skin. 

There’s a backdoor behind the stairs that will take him to a small alleyway that leads to a back parking lot where other shop owners that live at the top of their stores on the same side of his street parked their cars. He unlocks it from the inside, and throws his shoulder into it, desperate to her out. When it shuts behind him, he doesn’t turn back because it’s the kind to lock from the outside when closed. His fingers curl into the ends of his sleeve so that the tips of his fingers (nails now changed to a sparkling silver color) are the only parts of his hands visible. 

Rounding the corner, he whistled the cheeriest tune he can muster. His lips are puckered and his cheekbones high with the extension of his mouth. He’s not very happy on the inside, though he remembers reading something somewhere that if you pretend to be something long enough, you’ll eventually become it. If he pretends to be happy, then he’ll actually be happy. 

Right?

Harry rounds the corner of the parking lot and turns on to the main street. It’s only two in the afternoon, so there's people crawling in and out of shops anywhere. He even sees a man and a woman peeking into the window of his store, and he would feel bad if he wasn’t in a shitty mood already. He’s so out of it, that he nearly yells ‘get your hands off my windows!’. He doesn’t though, because for a moment the woman becomes y/n and the man becomes him, wrapping a ringed hand around her waist and whispering in her downy ear ‘they’re closed, darling, let’s go somewhere else’ and she straightens dejectedly, pouting playfully and standing up and her tippy toes so that she could press a quick kiss to his lips. 

That image fades though, and the couple continues with their stroll, hand in hand, and his heart is wrenching, writhing and trying to yank itself free from it’s place in his chest because it hurts too much to stay. 

Cars whizz past, and he skirts in and out of people on the sidewalk, keeping his pace fast and focused. There’s no intended destination, he’s just moving with the intent to forget the pretty girl who haunts him. Her voice is all he can hear. Her smile is all she can picture. And the rest of her is all he can imagine, which is exactly what hurts the most. Imagination only goes so far, fulfils so much with uncertainty of what the truth was and what wasn’t. Harry could imagine her with her feet up on the lip of a bubble filled tub, a glass of wine in her hands, but then…what kind of wine did she like? Or did she even like wine? And did she even have a bathtub to stretch out in after a long day? 

He curses the crimes he may have committed in past lives to deserve this torture. This unbearable pain that felt like he was being dunked in a slow-acting acid. He can do nothing about it but keep walking with labored will power. He passed his shop, and a bakery and a small thrift store that sells used clothing for way too much money. At the propped open double-doors of Jeff’s Winsome, he decides to talk in and browse. There’s so many items that smell good and taste good, that it was fun to just walk in and look. 

“Back again so soon, H?” 

Spinning on his heel, Harry comes face to face with Niall, a brunette, fit, Irish bloke with a chummy smile and a killer sense of humor. The two have brokered a sort of friendship, considering the amount of time (and money) that Harry spends there. Niall has even started calling him ‘H’ in silent homage to his flower shop. 

“Y’know I can’t stay away,” Harry attempted to joke, his lips pulling up in a weak smile, “plus, I think I needed s’more of the peppermint essential oils f’my diffuser.” 

“‘Course ya do! You're worse than the bloody vegan mums that come in asking for gluten free baby powder!” Niall cups a hand over his mouth and loudly whispers to so that only Harry catches his verbiage. There was a woman in the back of the store, looking through soaps in the limited kid’s section, the same exact kind that Niall was speaking about. “Go on and look around then, I’ll be here when you’re finished.” He said. 

Harry only nodded his acknowledgement, and moved in between wooden walnut shelves. The entire store had a caramel brown color scheme, with only the inventory adding color to it. Macramé potted succulents and plants added to the natural, outdoorsy feel. Winsome had an interesting mix of smells from all of the aromatherapy based products it housed, but it only added to the appeal. 

Currently, he held a packet of four lip balms that advertised to be ‘100% all naturally derived ingredients with no artificial additives' infused with ‘healing power of crystals’, two of them ‘citrine cherry' flavored, and the remaining ‘garnet guava’. The brand name is something in Italian that he can’t read, packaging thick and a triangle made of arrows in the corner signaling it can be decomposed and/or recycled. He had the same exact ones at home, only they were all misplaced and- 

“Harry?”

A small, timid voice called his name from behind him, and he froze. He knew that voice. It was the same one he had repeated over and over in his head for the past week, waiting for her promised arrival with a hopeful heart. 

His eyes go wide with recognition, body still and stiff like a deer caught in headlights. His heart begins to rump at a furious speed, loud in his ears like a million stampeding hooves. The packaged products in his hands shake, and then she speaks again, “Harry, is that you?” 

Is this really happening right now? He’s embarrassed at having been caught with lipstick in his hands of all things, but he can’t put them back now. It was too late for that. He lets them hang at his side, and turns around. He hopes there isn’t perspiration dripping from his temples because all of a sudden he wants to yank his sweater off. 

Harry turned, slowly. He feared that if he moved too fast she would fly away like a startled dove. 

“Y/n…” He’s breathless, but he manages a pitiful quirk of the corner of his mouth, which he licks over right after, “hi.” 

She’s wearing a dress this time, frilly at the hem which fell just above her knees. It’s pink and covered and lined with blood red trim at her forearms. A string of pearls glistens at the base of her throat, and her lips are covered in a sheen of lipstick. Her hair, however, is a tousled mess, pieces of it framing her face and untucked from her bun as if she had been jostling around. Her cheeks are flushed with the cold, and clearly that thin beige cardigan hanging off her elbows is doing nothing to keep her warm.

Y/n smiles at him, with the same shakiness, “f-for a second I thought I was talking to the wrong p-person.” 

 It’s quiet again, and they’re both fidgeting. Y/n’s knees knock together as she shifts her weight from foot to food, and Harry idly rubs his finger under his nose and sniffs boogies that aren’t there. She’s staring at the ground and rocking back and forth on her heels and he can’t think of anything to say because he’s so paralyzed by the fact that she’s actually standing in front of him, and looks as gorgeous as ever. Had he somehow manifested her presence? 

While she’s hiking up the ends of her sweater so that they’re situated properly on her shoulders, he says the first thing that comes to his mind. “Aren’t y’cold?”

Her head snaps up and she peeks at him from under her lashes while flattening a hand at her thigh, “a little bit.” 

Harry watches her tuck her hair behind her ears and wonders if she came walking from her apartment again. In the cold. Dress as she was. Not that he had a problem with the way that she was dressed! He understood that sometimes when people grew bored they used the smallest occasions to dress up and have some fun and get out of their homes. He did it too, sometimes. To clear his head. Hell, isn’t that what he was doing now?

“D’you need a ride home?” He stumbled over his tongue to backtrack, not wanting her to think that he was a wierdo or anything like that, “t-that is if y’walking, I wouldn’t want you to get sick or anything like that. S’bit chilly out today.” 

Y/n smiles shyly at him, a blush on the highest points of her cheeks, and rubs the side of her face against the fabric of her cardigan, “thank you, for the offer, but uhm… it’s my friend’s baby-shower-gender-reveal thing today and I came with my other friend to some last minute gifts and some flowers. I was going to buy some stuff from here because she’s crazy about the whole ‘no preservatives’ and all but, and I was also going to stop by your shop to buy some flowers, but I saw you were closed so I…I’m rambling again.” She sputtered out the last bit, and pressed the tips of her three middle fingers to her lips to stop the words from coming out. 

Harry smirked at her antics, but it’s more of a repressed smile, and the rest of his humor gleamed in the sea-glass of his eyes like a message in a bottle. 

“S’alright, love.” He’s still holding the lip balms in his hand, and he can feel the moisture that’s collecting on his palms dampening the Kraft like material as he gestured to her dress with the tip of his chin. “Y’wearing pink. I take it y’want the baby to be a girl?”

“Actually, I know it’s a girl. She told me,” y/n pips, shrugging smugly. 

Harry laughs at her this time, “Did you finish with all your purchases here? I can make an exception and open up f’you.”

“Oh, Harry, I don’t wanna bother you! Because if this was your day off then-”

He lifts a hand to get her to stop, and uses the opportunity to twist around and put back what he had in his hands. The conversation is flowing so smoothly now, that all of his previous worries are gone. He can only focus on her and the way her eyelashes fluttered and the crystalline sparkly in her voice. 

“Y/n, it’s fine. D’ya finish here? We can head over to the shop now if you’d like.” Harry points a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the door. 

“Uh, no. I just got here so I still have to go grab some things,” she said, pushing her hair past her ears again. He thinks that she can probably tell the disheveled state her hair was in, because she begins to pop off a pin in her hair to readjust it. He doesn’t mind it, though. He thinks she looks cute. Angel-like. 

He nods, rolling his hands into fists within his sleeves so that the cuffs hang over his knuckles, and tries not to trip over his legs as he backs away. “A’right. I’ll wait f’you in the front, then. Take y’time, love.” 

“‘Kay,” she gleams at him, biting down on her bottom lip, and Harry turns away fully before he starts whining about how cute she is or before there’s a dent in the heather grey fabric of his sweatpants.  

At the front, Niall has his chin at the palm of his hand, and as he gets closer, Harry lifts his head to see that the brunette is wiggling his eyebrows mischievously. There's a shit-eating grin on his face that clearly points to a mountain of teasing in the near distance. 

“A little love-struck, mate?” He said, as soon as Harry was within hearing distance. At least he had the decency to keep his voice down, he thought. 

Harry flips him off, “oh, bug off.” 

Silver glitter sparkling on his nails, and his gaze strays to the floor, bashful of how clear his affection was. He turns to rest his bum against the counter and pulls out his phone to appear busy as he waits for y/n, mindlessly opening Instagram to have something to do (and to stop him from glancing at her ever two seconds).    

“Yup. I knew it. Have y’asked her out yet?” Niall doesn’t stop to let Harry refute his question, “y’know she comes in sometimes, after stopping by your place? And she just will not stop talking about how nice yeh were to her.”

Harry’s head snaps up from his screen so fast, something at the back of his neck creaks with the force. Instagram is long forgotten.

“What? Are you fuckin’ with me right now?” He doesn’t mean for his words to come as aggressive as they do, but the thought of her speaking to someone else about him is… well, it’s thrilling. 

Alarmed, Niall’s hands come up near his face in the motion of surrender, “no, man! Dead serious. Think she likes yeh, honestly.”

He can only say: “Fuck me.”

Niall is about to respond when a quiet voice breaks their stares, “I’m all finished.” 

“Already, babe? I’ll rig ya up, then!” 

He’s quick to slide the few products over the scanning square, and y/n and Harry stand beside each other silently, their height difference laughable. Niall’s gaze flickered between them with no commentary, and his lips pucker with a wiggling smile when he finally announces her total. A bit too much for a small changing blanket, oatmeal-based baby lotion, pacifiers with a lavender infused towel attached to ‘aid with goodnight night’s sleep’, and a bamboo hairbrush with a tuft of soft bristles. 

Nonetheless, she provides the money with a pleasant smile. Harry can see a bit of tightness around her eyes that suggests discomfort, but he doesn’t say anything. Niall hands her a paper bag with her purchase, “there yeh go! Have a good day now, y/n! And be good, to Harry!” 

Harry’s eyes widen at Niall’s last comment, and it takes every bit of self-restraint in him to not reach the other counter and whack him in the back of the head. Instead, he shakes and ducks his head in near shame.

Y/n, however, quips back with “I’ll be nice only if you’re nice,” and bumps her shoulder against his before walking towards the door, looking over her shoulder at Harry who’s smiling wide now, and trailing after her with no regard to Niall at all. 

He shouts something after them about being rude lovebirds, but Harry doesn’t care. He’s floating after this heaven-sent like cartoon characters being led to a freshly baked pie with their nose on the scent. His rump high in the air like the Lorax disappearing into the light in the clouds, utterly ignorant to everything else. 

When they’ve both stepped outside, they speak at the same time, 

“Let me just-”

“Do y’wanna put-” 

Harry and y/n giggle at each other, 

“You go first.” 

“Y’speak first.” 

And then they laugh again. Harry pretends to zip his lips and throws away the key, and she says radiantly, “I’ll drop this off in my friend’s car really fast and we can walk to your flower shop.” 

Watching her approach a car parked two spots away, a girl with blue, pink, and brown hair leans over to the passenger side, seat belt straining against her throat and when she sees Harry, she waves and it makes y/n push her back to her spot behind the driver’s  side. Whoever this girl is, she and Niall have to meet, seeing as they can’t mind their own business. He chuckled and waved back, that girl laughing along with him and it made y/n cover her face with her cardigan covered hands. 

“I’m sorry about Charlotte,” she said when she got back, “she doesn’t know how to mind her own.”

“A bit like Niall, it seems.” Harry said. He waits for her to catch up before beginning to walk down the street. Side to side, shoulder to shoulder. They’re so close, Harry can feel the warmth of her body heat through the fleece of his sweatshirt. It’s cold, and she’s still this warm? 

“Maybe,” her eyebrows raise, and her head tilts towards him, “they should meet.” 

“Tha’s exactly what I was thinkin’!” His voice rises with his excited agreement, and the tip of his nose wiggles as he scrunches his nose. 

As they get closer, to H’s Garden, Harry reaches into his pocket for his keys, fingering through them so that they wouldn’t have to stand in the cold for so long. He didn’t want her to get sick. 

“I’m sorry, Harry. I feel really bad about this,” she whispered beside him, looking up at him with doe eyes as she worried her lip between her teeth, the sheen of gloss adding an extra allure to her image at that moment. “It’s your day off, and I’m bugging you.” 

They stood in front of the door now, underneath the green umbrella cover that extended from the top of the door and down the side of the window. Harry waited for her to step into the little alcove created by the indent of the door before stepping in after her and jiggling the key into the lock. He resisted the urge to pull his lips down into a cooing frown at the look on her face. She really was worried about disturbing him. If only she knew that he spent the entire day moping (and nearly crying) over her. 

He sucked on his teeth, “oh, love, please worryin’ about it. Don’t wanna see that frown on y’pretty face anymore okay?” His confidence was slowly coming back, “s’not my day off, I just didn’t feel like speaking to customers today.” 

Shrugging, he opened the door, and took a step back to allow her to step through first. Y/n ducked her head as she passed him with a murmured ‘oh, okay’, and he followed right after her, wanting to get away from the cold too because he knew that his nose was probably pink at that moment, but what he didn’t anticipate was for y/n to stop right after breaching the threshold, and bend over at the waist to pick something up from the floor, causing Harry to bump into her at such an awkwardly sexual angle with all of his momentum. 

Considering he was half twisted away from her and in the middle of pulling out the key from it’s slot, the amount of force in Harry’s push from behind was enough to cause her to nearly fall forward, a surprised whimper slipping from her lips. Harry, determined not to see her fall, lets go of the key and reaches out just in time to grasp her hips on either side, pulling her back towards him mid-fall so that she doesn't collapse on her face. 

However, in the midst of all of this Harry forgets himself and uses a bit too much force. Not to mention, the implications of their position makes him hyper aware of every single place their bodies touched, her small frame against his lithe, tattooed body. 

This moment only lasts for a few seconds, but he can feel everything. 

He can feel the easy give of the skin of her hips underneath each finger that touched her, the softness of the flesh on her thighs against his sturdy knees. The fabric of his sweatpants is suddenly non-existent, and it’s almost as if he felt every taught tendon of her legs, frozen with efforts of helping catch or brace herself. The heat of her groin is flush against his, and it makes him want to scream with a sudden sensitivity. Her ass is practically seated on him, full and malleable against the points of his laurel covered hip bones. Harry’s semi-hunched, as her weight also pushed him back, and the position is doing nothing to help his frenzied mind settle. He feels like shit because he’s being a horny, pubescent kid instead of asking her if she’s okay, but then y/n moves back into him to straighten fully and their centers grind. Her dress is semi-bunched at the halfway point of her bum, and he can feel heat emanating from her, radiating back on his bloating cock. He has to stifle a moan when she pushes herself up with the tips of her fingers. 

Just as quickly as it started, it’s over. Y/n is dusting her bum off so that her dress falls and covers her modesty, and she’s beet red in the face, not looking at him. Which was fine by him, he was too ashamed to look into her eyes. 

He clears his throat (something he’s doing a lot around her) and asks if she’s okay. 

“Yes. Yes, I’m okay. This was on the floor,” she squeaked, holding up a neon yellow notice sheet in her hand. That damned thing was what caused all of this?

It’s a notice from the delivery men that said, ‘sorry! We missed you!’ with a time and date messily scrawled on the dotted lines. Harry had forgotten that he was getting a shipment of several plants that morning. 

Cursing, he takes it from her, “t-thank you. Now how ‘bout those flowers?”

It’s awkward, obviously, but y/n is severely silent. Harry’s still stuffy in his pants, but he ignores it and doesn’t add any fuel to the fire because there’s more pressing matters at hand than a boner. Y/n is the most quiet she’s ever been around him, considering all of her word vomits and ramblings, and he’s suffering. Definitely beating himself up in his head for having ruined the moment. He held onto her for a second too long, frozen. She must feel so embarrassed, and he was self-endulging like a fucking asshole. 

Harry asks her questions on what flowers she’d like, and she answers by pointing or bringing a stem to him, laying it on the counter without a word. A mixture of dahlias and baby’s breath with a handful of feverfew to make the pink in the dahlia’s stand out. He lays them out on his work table, cutting the ends at an angle where they need to be cutted and laying them out on a sheet of clear, dusty rose paper. Three packets of flower food are strewn at the corner, and y/n busies herself by fidgeting with them. He grows concerned when he makes a comment on the kinds of ribbons he had stored and she doesn’t say anything. Not even a nod or a hum. 

Eventually, he decides he’s had enough of her neglect, and pauses his work to devote her some attention.  

“Love, I’m sorry about what happened,” he said softly, trying to catch her eyes, “I know it probably made y’uncomfortable, and I didn’t do much to make the situation better, but I just didn’t wanna see y’fall.”

Y/n’s head is already dipped, so he can’t see her face, but when her shoulders begin to shake, he knows he’s utterly fucked. She starts to sniffle, and his eyes go wide. The paper crinkled as he set down the baby’s breath he’s holding in his hands. He hates seeing people cry, not because he didn’t know how to deal with it, but because he often ended up crying along with them. Also, he just didn’t want to see her cry. Harry wanted her to be happy, glowing, and smiling. Not dull with dollops of woeful distress in liquid form.

He rounds the corner and spares a look out to the street, wanting to make sure that there is no strange onlooker eavesdropping on their interaction. His hand reaches out to stroke her back or shoulder comfortingly, but he thinks better of it and drops his arm. She most likely would not like to be touched, considering what just happened between them. He drops his head, seeking face-to-face interaction, and speaks as gently as he can, “y/n, what’s wrong?” 

She avoids his search, and turns the other way while sniffling, “you probably think I’m weird now or something after that.” 

“No!” Harry exclaimed, jerking his head back as if he’d been struck, and her words practically had. He can’t believe that she would think that and even go as far as verbalizing her thoughts when he worshipped the ground she walked on and didn’t even know her that well, yet. “No, no. I don’t think that. Y’tripped, that’s all. Happens to everyone. If anythin’ I’m the weirdo for grabbin’ y’the way I did, and I’m really sorry about it.”

Y/n dig the heels of her hands into her eye sockets, “that was so embarrassing, I should’ve told you I was gonna stop or something. I always embarrass myself in front of cute boys and I never know what to do. I just-” 

Harry interrupts before she can dig herself further another hole. He highlights a segment of her words, dropping everything else in hopes of changing the conversation and taking her discomfort away, and mostly because he was bursting with relief and happiness. She had said that she thought he was cute, just how he thought that she was adorable, and nice, and everything good. They were on the same level, their minds in sync. Did that mean…

His voice is airy and light because of what she had just admitted, “y’think I’m cute?”

She stills with awareness of what she’s just said, and a puppy-like noise seeps from the back of the throat before her hands sink further into her eyes, embarrassed. Harry tenderly wraps his fingers around her small wrists and pulls her hands away from her face, murmuring about ‘don’t rub y’eyes anymore, love, y’gonna hurt’ with nothing but kindness. A millisecond of distraction speeds through his mind at the softness on the inside of her wrists. 

There’s a trickle of blubbering in her part, her bitten lips bumping against each other as she attempts to backtrack, “I mean- I- I-”

Harry decides that it’s now or never. It was a bit inconvenient, perhaps, but with her revelation his confidence soared and he was more prepared now to ask than he ever had been. So, he goes for it, “can I have y’number?” 

A moment of semi-uncomfortable silence as the unknown tips the scale. Would she say yes? Would she say no? His head was spinning and he hoped his nose didn’t start bleeding or something because y/n nods slowly, smiling, and then, “okay.” 

He’s elated. He was the polar opposite of what he had been that morning. If only Owen could see him then. He doesn’t waste any time reaching into his back pocket and handing her his unlocked phone. They don’t share any words, only coy glances and flirty quirks of the lips as the tips of her fingers move on his screen. Harry can’t believe that he’s finally getting her number, after nearly a month of pinning. 

When she’s finished, she clicks it off and sets it next to him with an added pat to the back of his suspiciously clean white phone case while he’s tying the flowers together with a loose rubber band at the ends to attach the food packets. He’s fine with working in silence now that she's not crying anymore. He throws occasional glances in her direction, and catches her watching his hands while fiddling with her own. Her brows were furrowed and her mouth was twitching. 

“Will you text me?” She asked him. 

He’s careful not to bruise any of the petals as he sets them down again, pausing with his ministrations to pick up his phone. He wiggles his eyebrows at her and types a quick ‘Hi. It’s Harry :)’. He hits send, “until you’re sick of me.”

“I don’t think that’s possible.” She shakes her head, and Harry’s reminded Rachel McAdams in The Notebook while she’s in complete denial of her feelings for Noah. The comparison makes his heart flutter, considering the romance of the onscreen couple. “How much do I owe you?” 

Harry waves her off, “it’s on the house.” She begins to argue, but Harry stops her before she starts rambling again, “y’better go or you’ll be late, love.” He holds out the arrangement to her, tufts of baby’s breath poking out from between the vibrant dahlias like fluffy clouds, the feverfew looking like miniature white daisies in the center. 

She looks at it, and back at him before huffing, “fine, but you’ll have to let me return the favor.”

“Of course,” he smirks, “with dinner, maybe?” 

They’re both gleaming at each other now, “okay.” Y/n takes a step back, her body half twisted as she walks away, but it remains like that for a moment as her eyes rake him up and down, a murmur following, “bye, Harry.” 

His veins charge with electricity, and his dark taffy lips part at her actions. Had she just checked him out? He doesn’t recover quick enough to return her goodbye because the previous swirl of arousal in his navel was bristling back to life at the implications of that look. Calm, slow, steady, and her eyes remained doe-like and innocent. 

She had to have known exactly what she was doing, whispering his name the way she had, looking over her shoulder and under her eyelashes the way she did. Deviously provoking his thoughts to begin a new with a reinspired fervor. The space in his underwear was growing tighter by the second, a blissful ache swelling. 

Before any other customer stepped in after her, Harry locked the door, and jogged up the stairs to prepare himself a nice, hot bath, simultaneously cursing and thanking the stupid fucking delivery men.  

********

Harry can’t stop thinking. 

Obviously, this is a huge issue for him. He was constantly thinking, and well, who wasn’t? The process of thoughts wisping around in his brain was one that he often put an unnecessary amount of energy into because he had no one to filter these thoughts onto, releasing them through a conversation to prevent the exhaustion of his brain and heart. A prime example of these mishaps being the depressing slump that occupied his demeanor that very morning. 

This?

This was different.

As soon as the apartment door was shut behind him, Harry pulled the suffocating sweatshirt off of his upper body, fingers hooking in at the collar and yanking it off with a swift tug. It landed somewhere on his kitchen floor, and he didn’t stop to take note of its final destination. Instead, his legs instinctively took him to his bathroom. 

Chest heaving, Harry walked to the small window leaking sunlight and rolled the stick between his fingers to close the blinds. His thumb dipped into the waistband of his boxes and dragged them down lopsidedly, the tiger tattoo roaring as it became exposed. When the blinds are fully closed, the white extension clangs against the shutters from his aggressive release. His body was slowly being consumed by a raging fire stoked by the illicit images his brain conjured of the innocent, unsuspecting y/n.

His inner turmoil consisted of guilt for using her image that way and justification from the conspiring rake of her eyes along the upper half of him that was visible behind the counter. He was so fixated by her, that her look alone felt like a tempting caress along his skin. And it all happened in a matter of fucking seconds. That’s how gone he was. That’s how fucking gone he was. Harry guesses that the easy excitement also had to do with the fact that he hadn’t gotten laid in a while (he only ever gets lucky when he goes out to the bars with Mitch or Jeff, and they’d been gone for a significant amount of time) and the strong affinity he had for the girl who bought flowers from him.  

Explanation or not, he had to do something about the problem in his pants. He was painfully hard, and when he shucked his pants off fully, his underwear dragged with the movement and pressed against the tip of his swollen prick. A darkened patch of moisture bloomed where the head was, and he saw stars at the short pressure. He wouldn’t take his pants off just then, though. He liked to stall his pleasure as much as he could so that when he finally did cum, his stomach muscles contracted and his toes remained curled for more than ten seconds. 

He twisted the golden knobs of his tub so that the water would come rushing out at a borderline scalding temperature, and opened the small cabinet above the toilet for a bottle of almond and coconut shea butter bubbles. He uncapped it and bent over the edge of the tip, the cool, porcelain lip touching his crotch and provoking a choked whimper to leave him. Jerking his hips back, he poured the soapy liquid into the spot where the water cascaded, and retracted his hand when the beginning of froth formed along the surface. 

The heady sweet smell permeated the air with the rising levels of bubbles, and Harry couldn’t wait any longer. Because he liked to torture himself, he closed his eyes and slowly dragged the hell of his hand over the outline of his cock, a groan ripping though the silence. It’s so painfully good, that he does it one more time, and he jolts forward. He removes his hand, slips his thumbs underneath the waistband of his boxers, and lugs the fabric down his hips at an excruciatingly slow pace. The head of his member smearing precum all along as he moves and when he gets caught in the ripples of his boxers the muscles in his thighs flex at the ripple of pleasure that zips into his nerves. 

“Fuck,” he hissed under his breath. His mind was a spinning vintage reel of slideshow images of y/n. Y/n on bruised knees, her mouth wide open and her own drool on her tits, the tip of his cock flat on her tongue as she pleads with weepy eyes for him to cum down her throat. When he finally springs free of his underwear, a hefty slap rings out as his dick collides against his abdomen, right on the space underneath his belly button. 

There’s a stripe of liquid on the trail left by the mushroom head of his prick, and Harry’s eyes roll to the back of his head, throat straining as he hovers over the bathtub. He doesn’t remember the last time he’s ever been this hard over a girl before, and it’s driving him crazy. He doesn’t know if he’ll be able to last as long as he usually does. As he swings a leg over the edge of the tub, the hot water encasing his calf, he’s thinking about how soft she is. The inside of her wrist and the palm of her hand. If she’s that soft on an external part of her body that’s used everyday, he can only wither away at the idea of what the inside of her thighs feel like. 

Bubbles are swarming up now, swathing his thighs and buttocks as he sinks into the sloshing water. When he’s completely seated and satisfied with the belly-button level of water, he clumsily throws a hand in the direction of the knobs to shut them off, and reclined his head against the curved end of the tub with his eyes shut. 

He hikes up his knees so that they’re resting against the porcelain walls, and mindlessly ruts up into the water at the filthy images he’s picturing, white foam collecting in sparse clouds over the math on his chest. He doesn’t know what’s gotten into him. It’s as if his body is being transported back to the moment his hips clashed with y/n’s. At the recollection, his mouth drops and his eyebrows pinch in a silent moan. The feel of her flesh underneath his fingertips has him bobbing in the water, and the next ideation has him gripping the base of his cock. 

Vividly, he pictured her on all fours, keening back onto him as her pussy enveloped him in warmth, a warmth that is almost replicated by the temperature of the water, dripping and making a mess of him but what’s turning him on most of all is the easy flushness of their bodies. He had felt the way her bum gave way under his hold, and he imagined the bounce of her flesh as he thrusted into her. 

He moaned a broken call of her name with his eyes still shut, and heard the trickling of water as his fist rolled up his stiff prick, squeezing at the tip so that a few more droplets of precum dribbled out. With his thumb, he rubbed over the red mushroom head and lathered it in slow, leisurely circles, a throb pulsating with the beat of his heart as he returned to flicking his wrist over himself. 

The way that he looked at him and the sound of his name on her lips seared into his memory. Airy and willowy, similar to it resonated in his brain with the fantasy of sinking into her for the first time, stretching her and having her preen and arch with desperate whimpers of his name for more. Harry considered himself to be ‘well-endowed’ and his size was a factor of what sent him careening over the edge as girls mewled over his size after he’d bottomed out. He wanted y/n to mewl under him, both of them falling apart at the seams at the mutual pleasures because if Harry’s this broken over just the thought of her, then he’s sure he’s going to lose himself beyond recognition after he’s buried himself into her velvety walls, slick with her arousal and so fucking warm. 

Just as she had been earlier that day. There had been two layers between them- the fabric of Harry’s pants and her panties- yet, he was still able to feel an immense heat from the apex of her thighs against his cock. He needed more than this. He needed her, not just his hand driving him closer to the edge. 

His jaw clenched as he bit back on a particularly loud moan, for no reason other than he enjoyed self-sabotage from time to time, and the speed of his jerking hand increased. His other hand gripped the side of the tub, and his legs flexed as he began to thrust up into his own fist, a trail of bubbles sticking to the tanned muscles. The cut rectangles of muscles of his abdomen glistened like freshly chopped cubes of apricot with the droplets of water that remained clinging to him. His breath came in labored, strained puffs as the palm of his hand twisted, tightening at the tip and loosening at the base. 

For a moment, he paused and cupped his balls, massaging them as the fantasy in his head continued. His mouth wrapping around y/n’s nipples, her eyes glazed over from previous orgasm that he wanted so badly to give her. She’d whine something soft and quiet to match her personality, ‘please, Harry, please I want more. Need another Harry, please’, and he’d speed up the movement of his hips, driving deep into her and cooing into her ear about, ‘c’mon, darling. Give m’another then. Y’want it so bad, yeah? Give me a’fucking ‘nother’, and she’d release a peircing moan that explodes in his eardrums while arching into him. She’d squeeze impossible tight around him, gushing with her own cum. 

The water in Harry’s tub sloshes around his ankles, and the muscles of his abdomen clench so that he’s closing in on himself, sputtering on an outrageously loud cry that he can’t contain and his hand increases the speed of his filthy ministrations because he’s right on the edge. He’s about to fucking cum and the back of his eyelids burns with the possible variances of y/n’s face in ecstasy provided by him with his nose deep in her cunt, lapping at the sweet honey that spills with every whimper of, ‘please let me cum, Harry. I’ll do anything, I’ll be good, please let me cum. 

He tensed violently, his face contorted painfully as white ropes spurt from the tip of his cock over his fist and onto his chest, blending with the white almond foam. His feet are braced against the edge of the tub and his head falls back and his stomach tenses even further, the final leaks of his cum dribbling out. 

With the fuzziness that comes after an orgasm, his body melts back into the water that’s still warm, and his jerks with a pant as he allows his softening prick to sink into the water. The head on his hair is matted in a chocolate smear across his forehead, and his lips are a raging heart of cherry blossoms, parted with arduous gasps of recovery breath. His hands fall into the water at his sides, and with the lapping movement of the liquid against his sensitive member, he ruts into nothing again. 

Reclined with his eyes closed and heartbeat slowing, Harry murmurs a final, “fuck me,” at the extreme sensations that had raked through his body. 

Somewhere in the muffled distance, his phone dings with the notification of a text message, and with a tired noise of resentment, he sits up and reaches for his sweatpants that lay in a messy puddle besides the tub. His fingers drip darkening spots onto the grey material as he rummages for his phone, and then he finally clicks it on...

It’s her name, lighting up his screen, and the text reads: 

y/n <3 : so… dinner? 

Harry doesn’t think he’s ever crushed on a girl this hard before because even though he’s just completely physically spent himself, there’s something stirring in the depths of his tummy just at seeing the heart she put next to her name. 

He couldn’t be happier. 

*    *    *    *    *    *

and here he is!! what do you guys think?? pls pls pls leave your feedback in my askbox! i’d love to hear your thoughts! and if you really really loved it, don’t be afraid to press that reblog button <3333

[cognacdelights]

a little thing called hope

the domestic pleasures of indie routledge series masterlist

the later years of indie routledge series masterlist

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summary: as indie and jj settle into their new roles as parents to their bouncing baby girl, a blast from jj’s past comes knocking on the door. 

warnings: swearing. slight nudity. mentions of sick. mentions of death. mentions of addiction. mentions of abuse. 

author’s note: so the angsty chapter is here and i hope you all enjoy! feel free to leave a coment or reblog giving your thoughts and feedback on the chapter! or come talk to me in my inbox! asks are always welcome!

It really was the simple, little pleasures in life that made the world go round for Indie Routledge; the comforting warmth of laying beside the man that she loved oh so dearly as his tattooed arm draped lovingly over her waist, her baby’s tiny fingers wrapping around her own finger or thumb and clinging on for dear life as she held her in her arms — snuggled against her chest, the adorable way in which Axel would insistently sleep at the very foot of the bassinet as if on guard duty and would carefully eye anyone who dared to step foot in the direction of the new, sleeping baby, the way in which her brother’s eyes would light up like Las Vegas in the night time whenever he saw or even so much as mentioned his niece, and the tired grumbles of “I love you” that they still remembered to say every night — without fail — before falling asleep after the long, exhaustive day they had had. It was those moments, those extra special split seconds in time, that she cherished the most.

It was also those heartstring-pulling moments that made the five-thirty wake up calls to feed her sweet, wailing daughter all the more tolerable. Indie allowed herself to get comfortable — leaning herself backwards against the assortment of patterned and fluffy accent pillows as the light duvet halted at her waistline. She was careful not to disturb her suckling daughter, who was very much occupied in gulping down her breast milk at record speed and filling the messy bedroom with loud grunts and gulps as she sucked on Indie’s nipple for dear life.

A silent laugh slipped from between Indie’s lips as she watched her baby with an awe-like twinkle in her eyes, “shhh, baby girl. You’re gonna wake your daddy up.” Her voice was soft and quiet as she cooed at her daughter, her gentle words followed by an ever so tender brush of her thumb over Tilly’s reddened cheek. Of course, Tilly was as unaffected as ever and continued to slurp, guzzle, and gulp obliviously and to her heart’s content.

Indie took a moment to peer over at JJ, her mahogany eyes wandering across the geometric-patterned bed sheets to his overgrown tousles. He was laid face down and shirtless — his stubble-lined features shoved into the freshly-washed pillowcase as quiet, grating snores slipped from between his parted lips with every cadenced breath. “I take that back,” Indie teased light-heartedly, “not even a hurricane could wake your daddy up. He’s dead to the world.” She reached across and lovingly ran the very tips of her ring-cladded fingers through his straw-like waves and pushed them out of his face.

Tilly’s loud slurping noises had woken Axel, who was instantly alert and at his feet upon not sensing the sleeping infant by his side. His silvery eyes scanned the dimly lit room swiftly before landing on Indie. The mere sight of Indie cradling a suckling Tilly relaxed the blonde pup, who returned to his usual, nonchalant manner; with an effortless jump, he had climbed up onto the duvet-covered mattress and had laid himself comfortably between JJ’s comatose body and Indie. His dark, wet nose rested itself in Indie’s warm lap as he shuffled himself as close to a feeding Tilly as he could possibly get. His reflective eyes watched her intently for a moment, before allowing himself to relax fully — closing his eyes once more.

“Missing your new best friend, huh?” Indie joked lightly as she scratched the very back of Axel’s ear, in his favoured spot. His head cocked to the side in an ever so adorable fashion as the very tip of his pink tongue peeked out from his mouth; he was very clearly enjoying the attention that Indie was giving him as he nudged his head ever close to her in approval. “Oh, I see,” she laughed softly, “you just felt left out and wanted some tickles too.” She continued scratching the spot behind his pointed ear roughly as she continued to coo at him, “don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten about you. You’re still mama’s special boy.”

Eventually, Tilly had had her fill of breast milk — instantly falling asleep, into a milk coma, as soon as her tummy felt full. A proud smile etched itself into Indie’s tired features as she peered down lovingly at the now sleeping infant, finding a slight amusement in the way her head tilted backwards against Indie’s supporting arm and her little mouth hung open — all covered in breast milk. Quiet but heavy breaths filled the otherwise silence of the cosy bedroom as she slept peacefully. It was such a beautiful sight to behold; one in which Indie could savour forever.

Alas, she knew that she couldn’t and ever so carefully moved Tilly so that she laid flat against her stomach on Indie’s chest. A princess-themed burp cloth lay strategically across Indie’s bare chest as she ever so lightly rubbed slow, circular motions against Tilly’s back. With the delicate corners of the burp cloth, Indie’s gently wiped away the excess milk from around Tilly’s rosy lips before changing up her burping motions — patting against her back lightly. Tilly wasn’t a sick-prone baby — however, on the odd occasions in which she drank herself drunk of milk, there would be the odd bit of spit up. That early morning was one of those occasions; a small puddle of spew dampened the white, cotton burp cloth that lay between Indie and her baby as Tilly hiccupped once more.

Satisfied that Tilly had been fully winded, Indie wiped around her mouth once more with a clean corner of the princess-themed burp cloth before peeling it off her bare skin. With a disgusted grimace, she balled the soiled cloth up and tossed it across the room. It fell short of the designated baby laundry basket by a long shot but in that very moment she didn’t care; it was a problem for future Indie to deal with. As of right there and then, she was cherishing the new-born cuddles whilst she still could.

Out of the very corner of her eye, she noticed her phone screen illuminating from the nightstand. It hadn’t been the first time her phone had lit up since she had been woken by her wailing daughter, but it was only now that she had gotten the chance to see what the notifications were. So, as Tilly lay sound asleep against her now drained breasts, she picked up her phone and scrolled through the long list of notification tabs. The majority of notifications had come from their family groupchat — of course, which included her, JJ, John B, Madi, Pope, Liberty, Kiara and Cleo — and consisted of everybody’s comments on the recent photo that Indie had sent of both Tilly and JJ asleep; JJ was slumped, almost flat, on the sofa with his sock-covered feet propped against the wooden coffee table and his head resting backwards against cushioned back of the sofa — mouth hanging wide open, catching flies, as he snored loudly. Tilly was curled up into a ball on his chest, the new-born-sized, giraffe onesie that Pope and Liberty had bought just that little bit too big for her as she too slept peacefully.

However, several of the most recent notifications had come from the security camera and doorbell app that JJ had recently installed on their property. With a confused and furrowed brow, Indie clicked on one of the notifications and watched as it automatically brought up the app. She pressed on the highlighted and bolded time stamps and watched as the darkened figure of a tall, scruffy-looking man hobbled up their porch steps. He then peered into the living room window — although the drawn curtains blocked his view inside, before wandering further down the wooden decking. As the footage ended, the app returned to the master view page showing the live feeds of all the cameras located around their property. Indie swiftly surveyed them, before noticing the one in the left hand corner; the scruffy-looking man was sat, still and patient, on their porch swing.

Indie was concerned, and ever more so now that Tilly was here. With a rough nudge of her elbow, she woke JJ. He grumbled and groaned loudly as he was abruptly woken from his deep slumber and squinted his cerulean eyes into thin slits as she adjusted to the dim light of the cosy bedroom. He took several deep breaths as he adjusted his position — bringing his rough, tattooed hands up to rub the dried-up crust from his eyes before stretching his neck. s,

“I’m up,” he announced groggily — his throat dry and gravelly as he sounded still half asleep, “what does she need?” Scrunching his tanned features together, he stretched out his long, muscular arms — his eyes still half clamped shut, “bottle or diaper change?”

“Nothing,” Indie told him, a wariness evident within her quiet tone, “I’ve already fed and changed her.” JJ went to open his mouth, presumably to question why Indie hadn’t woken him up sooner but was abruptly cut off before he could even form so much as a syllable by Indie’s hushed tone once again. “There’s somebody on our porch.”

“Huh?” he responded with a questioning tone to his voice — the words not entirely registering in his still sleeping brain, “what do you mean there’s somebody on our porch?” His stubble-lined features remained creased in confusion as he lifted his head from the comfort of the floral-smelling pillows. “What time is it?”

“There’s somebody on our porch,” Indie repeated plainly and simply, “it’s nearly six and they’ve been there a while. My phone kept going off, so I checked it and it’s the cameras. Somebody came up to the door, looked through the windows, and now they’re just sitting on the swing.” Enlarging the night-vision doorbell camera on her phone, Indie reached over Axel’s sleeping body and showed JJ the live feed of the scruffy-looking man, who was gripping tightly onto a grey, plastic bag, as he sat stiff as a board on the cushioned porch swing. “Should I call the cops?” she questioned with uneasiness, “what are they doing?”

It took JJ a pro-longed moment for his heavy-lidded eyes to focus on the bright phone screen in front of him. He was quiet for an extended minute as a flurry of emotions travelled through him; he knew exactly who the scruffy-looking man was. The silvery-grey streaks running throughout the unkempt beard and the faded ink across the side of the neck gave it away almost immediately. It was Luke — his father.

There was an extremely uncomfortable cocktail of emotions brewing deep within JJ in that moment. He hadn’t seen his father since their fated exchange several years ago, in which JJ beat his intoxicated self to within an inch of his life whilst drunk himself. As far as JJ had heard along the gossiping grapevines of the town tattle tales, Luke had been incarcerated for an indefinite period of time and had since been transferred to a low-security prison on the mainland. In his mind, and as far as JJ was concerned, he was gone; Luke Maybank was merely but a distant memory of a life that he no longer lived or cared for. He was free of the net cast by his father’s reputation.

Yet, here he was, in stark black and white, passed out on his front porch in a way which was eerily reminiscent of his childhood; the sight brought back a deeply engraved memory of JJ returning from school, no older than eleven or twelve, to find his father passed out on the shabby, wooden steps of the front porch — doused in a disgusting, foul-smelling puddle of his own vomit and unable to get inside their locked house. In all honesty, JJ had thought he was dead; Luke — the ever fidgeting and restless addict — was as still as the dead and as quiet as a mouse as he lay comatose for all the world to see. In that very moment, even from within the deep-rooted memory, there was a lingering feeling of hope; hope that he was in fact dead, and that JJ was free. But all hope was shattered for the young and helpless boy as a loud, obnoxious snore tore through his vocal cords. Luke Maybank, in all of his grimy sleaziness was indestructible. He was invincible, even when the odds were entirely stacked against him. Much to his son’s dismay.

“No,” he spoke rather gruffly as he peeled back the warm duvet and pulled himself reluctantly out of bed, “I’ll sort it.” With long, purposeful strides, JJ made his way towards the doorway — pulling on one of the crumpled-up t-shirts from the laundry basket as he swiftly passed. “Just—” he began, abruptly cutting himself off when he realised his tone was rather stringent and snappy, softening his voice into something more mellow, “stay inside with Tils, please.”

Indie merely responded with an agreeing nod of her head, bundling Tilly up in her fluffy, pink blanket against her chest as she slept ever so peacefully — her shrieking cries for attention a forgotten memory.

JJ, satisfied with his fiancé’s response, made his way out of their cosy, dimly lit bedroom and down the darkened hallway. He descended the wooden staircase in a matter of seconds before reaching for the keys that hung from the lock of the front door. In one swift motion, he turned the lock and slid the shining, metal bolt out of it’s hold. He then proceeded to open the door, and step outside — his sock-covered feet slapping against the varnished wood of the decking in a somewhat menacing manner.

As his emotionless, indigo eyes set on Luke, he expected to feel a secondary wave of anger; he was fully prepared for all the bitter resentment and volatile hatefulness to resurface as his gaze locked onto the familiar set of dull, grey eyes. However, as he stood — peering down at his sorry excuse of a father with his burly arms crossed loosely over his chest — he didn’t feel any of what he had expected. In fact, he felt nothing at all. Not even so much as a shred of pity. There was no seething anger, no heavy weight crushing against his chest and suffocating him, and no subconscious, innate violence begging to released. It was just nothingness; nothing but the desire to remove him from his porch, and not for his sake — for Indie’s peace of mind. Quite honestly, if it weren’t for his daughter and fiancé being there, JJ could have quite contently gone on with his day ignoring his father’s presence.

It was a strange feeling of nothingness, having no reaction whatsoever to the man who had made his childhood nothing short of a living hell; one that had taken him aback more than the initial presence of his greying father in the first place. He knew deep down that the therapy sessions that he had attended following his arrest had done wonders for his emotional and psychological health; he had worked through so much internalised trauma and suffocating emotions that he had buried deep within his subconscious memory that the anchor-like weight of his past that had been dragging him down had finally been set free. He was a new man now, a better man; a better man who had the capabilities to fully love and be loved by those around him, who understood the importance of communication and voicing his emotions and had the determination to break the cycle. Nevertheless, he always thought he would harbour at least some of the volatile emotions he had held against his abusive, addict father for so long until the very end of time. Time doesn’t heal all wounds, after all.

Oh, how wrong could he be. A surprising wrong, although; it was somewhat comforting to know that he could stare into the same callous, grey eyes that struck fear into the very depths of his soul as a child and feel nothing, not even resentment. It meant that he was finally free of the suffocating hold Luke Maybank had undeservingly held over him for twenty-five years of his life.

“Before you say anything—” Luke was lightening fast to stand to his feet, pulling an unused, white napkin from the depths of his jacket pocket and waving it slowly in a metaphorical sign of surrender. The meaning behind his actions was completely lost on his messy-haired son, who merely sent him a confused frown in response. With a slightly defeated exhale, Luke raised the rough palms of his hands and spoke calmly, “I’m sober now. Been off the shit since I went to prison. I got chips to prove it, too.” His voice was low and gritty — most likely from the years of constant smoking of cigarettes — and exactly how JJ remembered it.

“Good for you,” JJ responded without a single shred of apathy, sincere in his lack of care as his broad shoulders shrugged nonchalantly, “now get off my porch. You’re setting the cameras off and disturbing my daughter.”

“I, uh— heard you had a kid…” his words trailed off slowly into the thin air of the ocean breeze. Luke was treading extra careful with his words, knowing that even his presence was pushing the boundaries of their difficult and explosive relationship immensely. He sucked in a sharp breath of air out of nervousness and pressed his stubble-lined lips together, unsure of how to follow up his previous statement in a way in which would get the conversation rolling in the direction that he wanted it to.

“And I heard you were shipped off to the mainland.” He was unforgiving in his tone, refusing to give even so much as a millimetre of leeway in their conversation. Whilst he neglected to feel any kind of raging anger or bitter resentment for his father, that didn’t mean he desired to sit and have a catch-up conversation like two brunching ladies from Figure Eight having some kind of jolly reunion. They certainly weren’t on good terms.

“Yeah,” Luke nodded his head solemnly, “got caught up in a couple of fights with a dealer I owed money to, so they shipped me off to Butner. It took a while, but I got myself straight. I cleaned my act up. Enrolled in a rehab programme and got my ten months chip last week. I even got myself a job working with Old Man McNally again out on the boat, and a little bedsit across from the marina.” Pulling the gold-coloured chip from the depths of his jacket pocket, his rough fingertips toyed nervously with the sobriety chip. His gaze travelled to his feet for a brief moment, before returning to look his son in his clouded, sapphire eyes. “So…” he paused for a second, “how old is your daughter?”

“Better late than never, I suppose,” JJ shrugged his t-shirt clad shoulders once more — adjusting his tattooed arms so the tips of his fingers rested comfortably atop his bulging biceps, “you only had a family to do it for back then, but what does that matter?” He went silent for a moment, internally debating whether or not to give out information of his precious, little princess to his father — however, the proud daddy inside of him overruled his perhaps better judgement. “She’s almost three weeks. Born April 7th. Tiniest little dot at five pounds and four ounces.”

“I know that I wasn’t the best husband or dad—”

“Wasn’t the best dad?” JJ scoffed incredulously as he leant his muscular shoulder against the wooden door frame, “you beat me black and blue more times than I’ve had hot dinners and then claimed it was all out of love. Saying you weren’t the best husband or dad is an understatement. By hell of a fucking way.”

Luke nodded solemnly once more, “I’m just trying to make amends, Jesse, if you’ll let me.”

“What?” a somewhat amused laugh rippled through JJ’s muscular chest as he raised an unkempt eyebrow, the subtle action brimming with doubtfulness and accusations, “you dying or something? On your last-ditch attempt to get into heaven or some kind of bullshit?”

“Not that I know of,” Luke replied slightly down-hearted — discouraged by his son’s response. He continued to slowly pass the gold-coated chip back and forth between his over-worked fingers before eventually shoving them into the warm abyss of his pockets. “It’s part of my recovery. Making amends with the people that we’ve wronged so we can move on with life, and so can you. It’s good for clearing the conscience and taking away the temptation to drink or take pills.”

Another entertained chuckled slipped from between JJ’s thin lips, “I’d say you’re about fifteen years too late to make amends. Give or take a couple of years. And, don’t worry, I’ve moved on with my life. I’ve been to therapy, worked all my shit out. Got myself a business, a nice house, a beautiful baby girl, and a beautiful fiancé. I’d say I’ve done alright for myself without your amends, wouldn’t you?”

“Worth a shot, right?” a blatantly hopeful expression contorted the ageing man’s weathered features, “you don’t get if you don’t ask. I mean, you still standing here and talking to me has to be, at least, worth something. You didn’t slam the door in my face or go straight in for the upper cut. Right?”

JJ remained silent, pressing his peach-toned lips into a thin line as he thought about Luke’s words.

Luke took his son’s silence as a cue to continue speaking, a little more vigour in his gruff tone as the words rolled off is tongue, “and, yeah, you have done well for yourself, son. It probably don’t mean much to you, but I’m proud of you. You’ve put a good reputation on the Maybank name. First one of us not to do time and all that. Even got your own business. All legit.” A small smile tugged at his rugged lips, curling them upwards as he proceeded, “does your daughter got a name?”

“Tilly,” JJ answered plainly, drumming the very tips of his fingers against his tightened muscles, “Tilly Adelaide Maybank.”

“Do you think—” Luke started hesitantly, “I could — maybe — see her?” He knew damn well that his request was so far out of pocket, but as stated in his earlier sentiments — if you don’t ask, you don’t get. So, throwing all caution to the metaphorical wind, he asked for the outrageous just on the off chance that JJ may relent to his change. Of course, he expected nothing less than a harsh rejection. It was, undoubtedly, what he deserved.

JJ was silent once more for a pro-longed minute, before eventually speaking up, “okay.”

His response took Luke utterly by surprise, immediately launching into a pre-prepared apology that he had somewhat rehearsed as he ambled nervously down the dimly lit cul-de-sac, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked that of— wait— really?” His sparse, grey eyebrows knotted in complete and utter confusion as he stared blankly downwards at JJ.

“On conditions, though.” His voice was now serious and stern as he took a deep, consolidating breath. “You don’t touch her, you don’t come anywhere near her, and you stay exactly where you are. Then, after this, you don’t come near me or my family ever again. As far as we’re concerned, you don’t exist. We don’t exist to you. I’m dead, you’re dead. We’re not family, not related, we don’t even know each other. The only Grandpa that Tilly has or needs is Scooter. You stay out of my life, and you stay the hell away from my daughter. That’s the terms. Take them or leave them.”

JJ’s words cut through Luke like a scalding, thousand-degree knife. They hurt — completely tore his heart out one pumping blood vessel at a time. Especially the part in which Scooter Grubbs would play more of a role in his granddaughter’s life than himself; however as much that he knew it was of his own making, that these were the consequences of his own, disgusting actions, it still hurt. For all of his efforts to rebuild his life and regains soberness, it was still a knockback. A painful, punch-to-the-chest-like knockback. Yet it was one that he had to accept and move forward from for the sake of his recovery journey.

Luke Maybank nodded his head in defeated acceptance and muttered lowly, “deal.”

With a leisurely manner, JJ turned on the heel of his sock-covered feet and disappeared back into the cosy warmth of the house — ensuring to shut the painted-wood front door behind him. His sapphire eyes immediately met with Indie’s, who had migrated to the pillow-filled sofa during his conversation with his father. He watched intently for a fleeting moment as Indie gently rocked Tilly back and forth in her dainty arms, whispering sweet, lullaby-like nothings to her daughter. She placed a soft kiss against her forehead before peering back up to meet with JJ’s gentle gaze.

“Do you trust me?” JJ questioned sincerely, his acute eyes boring directly into his fiancé’s.

Indie knew what he was about to ask of her; she had been discreetly eavesdropping through the doorbell camera in the app and had heard every word of their conversation. An uncomfortable pit buried into the very depths of her stomach at the thought of introducing her sweet, helpless, and defenceless baby to the monster that was Luke Maybank. It wasn’t something that she had ever intended, or even so much as thought, of doing. Nevertheless, this was JJ’s battle to fight and with a reluctant exhale, she answered him honestly, “yeah.”

Taking the several steps towards Indie, he asked, “let me take her?” His brawny, tattooed arms opened for his blanket-bundled daughter as Indie carefully passed her over. Her tiny, baby-grow-clad body instantly curled into the radiating warmth of his chest as he attentively wrapped her back up in her powder pink blanket. He leaned his head downwards, placing a soft kiss against her delicate cheek as he spoke to her in a hushed tone, “there’s daddy’s little girl.” Tilly, disturbed by the swift passing, reached her arm out from beneath the fluffy blanket — stretching herself out as a lone sob slipped from between her rosy lips before gripping tightly onto the thin cotton of JJ’s t-shirt. “I know, you were comfy laying on mama, weren’t you?” he cooed sweetly, “daddy won’t keep you long, I promise. Just five minutes. Then you can go back to snuggles with mama and her milk cartons.”

Cautiously, he made his way back outside to the porch where he had left his father waiting on him. He held his daughter in a secure hold, his eyes concentrated on Luke at all times as Axel perched himself at his feet. With a slow and gentle rhythm, JJ rocked himself back and forth — slowly luring Tilly back off into a deep slumber with each cadenced movement.

“She’s a bonny, little thing,” Luke admired from his spot at the very opposite end of the porch, a small smile tugging the very corners of his thin lips upwards.

“Spitting image of her mother, that’s why,” a low, quiet chuckle rumbled through his sturdy chest as Tilly let out a wide yawn. “Aren’t you?” he continued to coo in his saccharine tone as he placed yet another, tender his against her reddened cheek, “just like your momma.” A similar, subtle grin quirked at the very edges of his mouth as he peered down at his sleeping daughter for a quick moment.

“I almost forgot,” Luke interrupted the serene moment with his abrupt words — his ring-cladded handed delving into the depths of the grey, plastic carrier bag that he had been holding onto, “I got a little something for her.” After several seconds of fishing around the feeble bag, he retrieved a small, elephant teddy. “I didn’t know whether you had a little girl or boy when I bought it, so I went for something for either.”

JJ merely casually accepted the elephant teddy, resting it against his muscular chest beside his daughter and tucking the bottom half beneath the thick blanket. “Thanks,” he said plainly.

They stood for several more minutes — Luke admiring his granddaughter and asking intrigue-filled questions about both JJ and Tilly. Then, JJ swiftly put an end to the interaction. A cold, bitter breeze from the far stretches of the horizon had made it’s way inland and he had deemed it too cold for Tilly to be outside. JJ nodded a firm goodbye to his father and left him with the parting words, “I meant what I said. Don’t come around again. Good luck staying sober.”

And with those final, chapter-closing words uttered, JJ ushered his on-guard pup back inside and followed suit. He swiftly locked the painted, wooden door behind him — turning the jangling keyring and sliding on the top bolt — before making his way further into the cosy living area. He took the soft, elephant plushie that Luke had handed him and, with no remorse whatsoever, dropped it into the lined trash can. Then, he placed his sleeping daughter down into the wooden bassinet, tucking the blanket up beneath her tiny chin and tilting it towards him — setting it off in a slow and gentle, rocking rhythm.

Satisfied that Tilly was settled, he laid himself down on the cushioned sofa. His messy, straw-like tousles rested against Indie’s sore boobs lightly and his burly arm draped around her waistline. He secured her in a tight, needy hold as he nuzzled his down-turned features into her bra-less cleavage. A saddened sigh slipped from between his stubble-lined lips as he relaxed under the tender touch of Indie’s fingers coming lovingly through his hair.

“Talk to me,” she urged with a soft tone. The light weight of his head resting against his half-full breasts was ever so slightly painful, but in that very moment she cared more about JJ and his feelings than anything else. So, she allowed him to stay — the very tips of her short nails grazing against his scalp, just as he liked it.

“My dad’s finally clean,” he mumbled lowly into her, a sadness to his voice. Another, melancholic exhale dissipated from his lungs before he elaborated, “why couldn’t he have done this for me, or for mom, all them years ago? Why wasn’t I good enough? Why wasn’t I enough of a reason for him to get clean? Instead, it takes being locked up in the same place as his dealers that he owes god knows how much money to, to finally persuade him to get clean. He wouldn’t get clean for his own son, but he would just to get out of paying his damn drug debts? That’s so fucked up, Ind.”

“I know, J,” Indie reassured him quietly.

“Even when he’s doing everything I wished he would do, he still manages to fuck things up for me.”

“He’s not fucked anything up here,” she spoke adamantly, “we don’t and haven’t ever needed him. We have a family that loves us and loves Tilly. Him being around doesn’t change that, or affect it in any way. You are still you; you’re still the amazing man that I love and you’re still a good dad to our daughter. You did the right thing not letting him back in. Not only for yourself but for Tilly. It will be okay. You will be okay. We will be okay.”

JJ just nodded his head, allowing himself to melt into Indie’s embrace.

“Oh,” she teased playfully, bringing a more light-hearted note to the moment, “and if you ever call my boobs milk cartons again, you’ll be jacking yourself off for forever more.”

He laughed deeply, responding mischievously, “just calling them as I see them.”​

[marvelous-harry]

Please please some Harry being edged!!!

17 Minutes Harry/OC!Erica Words: 2.1k Warnings: Sub!Harry, Edging, Dom!Erica Summary:  "Please, I want to watch," Harry shifted on the bed and bit his lip, looking up at her adoringly. "I know you do but I don't want you see what I'm going to do to you. I just want you to feel,"

Erica loved the headboard over the bed in their master bedroom. It was sleek. Black painted metal in a geometric design. It was modern but not boring. She might be slightly biased since she had designed it herself and had had it custom-made. She’d been asked quite a few times what had inspired the design. She gave a different answer every time.

It was hardly appropriate telling the truth... That she wanted a solid headboard that had several options for how she could cuff or tie Harry to it.

Making sure Harry’s leather cuffs were secured properly around his wrists, she lifted them up before locking them to the headboard.

Looking down at Harry, Erica smiled as she watched him tug on the cuffs lightly as he squirmed on the bed, his hard cock resting against his stomach. “The cuffs good?” She asked, stroking his cheek.

Harry leaned into her touch. “Mmm, perfect,” he replied, pressing a kiss to her hand. Erica leaned down and gave him a kiss. “You just need one more thing before we can start,”

Standing up, she walked over to their dresser and pulled out a blindfold.

“Please, I want to watch,” Harry shifted on the bed and bit his lip, looking up at her adorably.

“I know you do but I don’t want you to see what I’m going to do to you. I just want you to feel,” Erica came back over to him. She could see Harry wanted to object more. He was still clinging to some notion that he was in control. That he had a choice.

Putting the blindfold over his eyes, Erica hummed as she secured the buckle on the side of Harry’s head. Admiring the sight in front of her, she tested the function of the blindfold by slapping Harry across the cheek.

“Fuck!” Harry gasped, his cheek going bright red and his cock did a little jump in excitement.

“I think we’re ready to start,” Erica grinned as she got on the bed, sitting between Harry’s spread legs. This was one of her favorite games to play with Harry. Have him at her complete mercy as she could do whatever she wanted to him. The thrill from being in control was almost too much sometimes… but just almost.

She could see that he was listening carefully for any hints. A minute or so had passed since she’d sat down, and she still had yet to touch him. Moving around a bit on the bed to keep Harry guessing, she leaned forward and pinched one of his nipples hard, making him yelp.

Grabbing the bottle of lube she had by her side she poured some into her hand before letting some drip down on Harry’s cock head. Harry was doing his best to lie still, his legs and stomach twitching every now and then as he wanted to do something. Anything.

Wrapping her fingers tightly around Harry’s cock, Erica moved her hand up and down slowly. The room filling with the sound of the slick of the lube and Harry’s long, low moan. “So good,” Harry’s mouth hung slightly open after he spoke.

“It’s been a while..” Erica said while stroking Harry’s shaft, focusing on just his cock head now. “I wonder what your time is going to be” she mused. Running her fingertips down his cock, Erica grabbed his balls loosely and rolled them carefully in her hand. “What was your record again?” She asked while reaching for Harry’s cock ring. They had a few but the adjustable rope ones and the silicon rings were their favorites.

“44 minutes,” Harry told her shakily. “Please, I’m going to cum,” he pushed his heels into the mattress and thrust into her hand.

Pulling her hand away, Erica listened to Harry’s whines as he thrust his hips into the air. “Lie still,” she ordered as she pushed his hips back to the bed. Doing one last check on the cock ring rope, she started putting it on.

“Miss, no,” Harry protested and tried to squirm away. “I want to cum, please,” he begged.

“Harry, I thought you wanted to show me how good of a boy you are? Lie still. Now,” Erica said sternly, giving Harry’s balls a little slap to encourage him to listen even more.

“M’sorry, sorry! I’m a good boy, promise,” he sniffled and did calm himself down, lying completely still on the bed.

Making sure the cock ring rope was on properly, Erica got some more lube onto her hand before holding his cock with one hand and teasing her fingers tips over his cock head.

“Fuck, fuck, miss, please,” Harry gasped, tugging on his cuffs, his fingers trying to grasp onto anything at all.

Watching him closely, Erica kept teasing his cock head. Only backing off when she thought he might cum.

“Turn over, up on your knees,” Erica said while giving Harry’s cock a little tug.

“Yes, miss,” Harry mumbled before licking his lips and managing to gather his shaky legs. Rolling over he moaned as his cock rubbed against the sheets. Knowing Erica was watching him, he hoisted himself up on his knees and lifted his bum into the air.

“Good boy,” Erica praised him, stroking his bum tenderly. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen your lovely bum bright red and bruised. Felt how warm it gets after a nice beating,” she mused, grinning as Harry pushed back against her hand with a little moan.

“I know, I know, you’d love that, baby boy but we’re not doing that right now,” Erica let out a little laugh at Harry’s disappointed whine. Giving him a few hard slaps on his bum cheeks, she smirked while grabbing the bottle of lube.

Making sure her fingers were properly coated with lube, she shuffled closer and got up on her knees. Circling her finger around Harry’s hole, Erica held a hand on Harry’s hip while slowly easing in her index finger.

“S’not fair,” Harry keened, shuddering in pleasure as he pushed his ass back. “You know how much I love being fingered, m’not gonna last,”

Laughing quietly while easing a second finger in, Erica moved them slowly in and out to prep him. “Hardly my fault you’re a little slut is it? You would love to be filled all the time if you could,” she pointed out.

Harry let out a long whine. “Not nice,” he mumbled with a big pout on his face.

Letting out a laugh, Erica reached between his legs and stroked his cock while fucking him with her fingers. “But it’s all true,” she told him while bringing him close to the edge. Pulling her fingers out of him, Erica grabbed the buttplug and lubed it up.

“Hold still,” She said while she started to slowly ease the buttplug in.

Harry let out a long guttural moan as he arched his bum up, his hole easily swallowing the plug as it was pushed in.

“That better? All filled up,” Erica teased as she moved the buttplug slowly inside of him.

“Mmmm,”

Grinning, she pushed it all the way in before giving it a little tap and grasping his hard, weeping cock. She’d closed her fingers in a loose fist so she was barely making any friction as she stroked him slowly.

“Please, please let me cum,” Harry begged, his back muscles tightening as he thrust into Erica’s hand. “I can’t,” he whimpered as he pressed his forehead down into the mattress and took several shaky breaths.

“Sweet boy, we’ve only just started. We’ve got a bit to go yet,” Erica smirked as she poured some more lube onto her hand before wrapping her fingers around Harry’s cock once more, jerking him off quickly this time.

Harry moaned loudly. “Been too long, I can’t, please, been too long since last time, have to cum, fuck, I’m gonna cum,” he rambled.

Erica stilled her hand but kept it on Harry.

“Please, please, I can’t do it, I need to!” Harry cried as he thrust into her hand, trying to rub off on the mattress.

“Hey!” Erica said sharply and spanked his bum twice. “On your back now,” She told him, helping him roll over the right way so his cuffs wouldn’t tangle up. “You’re going to be a good boy, do as I say and let me have fun with you. If you’re good, you’ll get to cum,”

Harry nodded quickly as he whimpered. “Sorry, sorry, gonna be good,”

Grabbing the vibrator wand, Erica gave Harry’s cock a few quick strokes before cupping the cock head and turning on the vibrator, holding it against the tip of his cock.

“Oh my god,” Harry moaned, twisting and squirming as he planted his heels into the mattress and pushed up, trying to get more pressure. She could see that his thighs were trembling and hear the little groans he kept letting out.

She’d have to train him a lot more to come close to his record. She knew that once Harry went back to work, she would have to insist on training when they were apart, even if it wasn’t Harry’s favorite thing in the world. They were just shy of ten minutes and he was already close to the edge.

Turning off the vibrator, Erica stroked one finger softly up and down Harry’s shaft while he let out a string of whimpers and mewls. She kept up the teasing as she grabbed the base of the butt plug, moving it equally slow in and out of him.

“Please, more, harder, please,” Harry begged as he rolled his hips.

“You want more?” Erica asked sweetly, pulling the buttplug out all the way before thrusting it back in.

“Please! Yes, more,” Harry cried out.

Erica smirked as she pulled her hands away and enjoyed the cry of despair coming from Harry. “I can give you more, sweet boy,” she told him as she poured some more lube onto her hand. Wrapping her fingers around his cock, she swiped her thumb over his cock head a few times before she started jerking him off fast.

She grabbed hold of the vibrator again and held it to the cock head for a few seconds at a time as she let it vibrate at the highest setting.

Harry was a moaning mess now, and it was such a beautiful sight.

Erica moved the vibrator down, giving him the tiniest little break before torturing him some more.

As Erica held the vibrator wand against the spot between his cock and balls, Harry arched up. She kept the pressure steady with the wand while stroking him fast.

“Gonna cum, gonna cum, please, gonna,” Harry babbled on before holding his breath as he started shooting his cum all over his chest. Letting out a choked moan, he dropped down on the bed completely drained of energy to hold himself up.

Shutting off the vibrator, Erica put it down on the bed. Harry was heaving for his breath as he tried to calm down.

Carefully opening the cock ring rope, she ignored the whimper coming from Harry as she was touching his overly sensitive cock. Reaching for a towel she had at the end of the bed, she wiped off most of the spilled lube and the cum on his chest with gentle little dabs.

“You were so good, baby. Such a good boy for me,” Erica praised Harry as she got up and opened the cuffs, helping Harry bring his hands down, they always got so heavy and spent after being restrained.

“I’ll be right with you,” Erica whispered as Harry reached for her. Quickly grabbing the items on the bed, she put them and the dirty towel on the floor to clean later. Throwing a blanket over Harry, she lied down next to him and held him tight. Harry snuggling close and grabbing on tightly as he pressed his face against her chest.

“Sweet boy,” she murmured while stroking his back. Reaching up, she undid the buckle on the blindfold and eased out from between her and Harry. “Lights are still on, might be a bit bright,” Erica commented as Harry tried looking up at her but quickly ducked his head back down.

“I love you, my favorite little good boy,” Erica whispered as she pressed a kiss to Harry’s head, smiling slightly as she felt Harry shiver and hold on tighter. He didn’t reply but he did nuzzle closer and press a kiss against her chest.

She’d let him rest and recover for an hour or so then they’d see what happened. He still had his buttplug in him after all. Next part in the series Masterlist

[tiffdawg]

The Light of Stars | Chapter Nine: Curiosity

Gif: @bestintheparsec​

The Light of Stars

Pairing: Din Djarin/ The Mandalorian x Reader (no y/n)

Word Count: 8.5k

Rating: M | Warnings: Rating change for some snuggling, just to be safe and, if it wasn’t already clear, one (1) touch-starved Mandalorian. But really, hurt/comfort and angsty pining is all we know. Mild language.

Story Summary: In pursuit of the Child’s people, the mysterious Jedi, Din Djarin and his foundling find hope in a woman who shares the kid’s strange powers. Newly partnered with the Mandalorian, you are trained in the ways of the Force, but you’re no Jedi. You’re just trying to find your place in the galaxy.

A/N: So… I always intended for this story to be rated-T through the end to try and match the overall tone/content of star wars... but uh, these two, am I right? I’m just going where the story takes me. Big shout out to  @leo-moon for this stunning edit. Like, I seriously can’t stop looking at it. Thank you so much Leo!! And, as always, thank you so, so so, much for reading. When I say that your comments and kudos and support keeps me going, I really mean it. I love and appreciate you all so much!

Read on AO3

TLOS Masterlist | My Masterlist

… . …

Chapter Nine: Curiosity

When you woke the next morning, a soft cooing sound pulling you out of your deep slumber, you found yourself still curled into Mando’s side, his strong arm heavy around your shoulders. Beneath you, he was warm and solid, and you could feel the rhythm of his heartbeat in his chest as you rested against him. That steady sound never failed to ground you.

As you drifted into consciousness, you thought about how the normally stoic Mandalorian had surprised you with his forwardness when he asked to hold you. You knew he was capable of being gentle, but aside from his recent tendency to reach for your hand, that tenderness had never been directed at you in such a way. To share a bed, to hold someone through the long, dark night, felt like a sacred act. Intimate in its innocence. Other’s had warmed your bed – or rather your temporary bunks at various Rebel bases back when you’d scorned the way of the Jedi – but spending the night with a Mandalorian, especially that Mandalorian, was something else entirely. And it crossed some unspoken line between friendship and something you shouldn’t have dared to associate with the man next to you.

Although you knew reading into his actions would only make things worse for you, you couldn’t tame the spark of hope it ignited. He’d become your closest friend and confident, but you wondered if he didn’t feel something toward you. And so, the rational part of your brain couldn’t stop your heart from saying yes to him, to inviting him into your bed. You wanted to be close to Mando, always, but never more so than after you opened up to him about your vision. He’d been so kind and understanding. His empathy had poured through the cold armored exterior and washed over you, and you wanted to wade in that feeling for as long as possible. A selfish, foolish part of you just wanted him to hold you and never let go.

Knowing that moment was a gift, something stolen that wouldn’t last, you tried to commit to memory the feel of his body against yours while you had the chance.

At the sound of a happy trill, your eyes fluttered open slowly. The Child, now wide awake, sat upright on Mando’s chest, gurgling happily with a toothy grin every time Mando tickled him, poking playfully at the baby’s belly. You felt Mando’s short, breathy, modulated laughs beneath you rather than hearing them aloud. His affection for his foundling was endlessly endearing. You watched their little game quietly, loath to disrupt their fun.  

You realized Mando must’ve moved at some point because the lights were on the lowest setting and a quick glance upwards showed you that while he was still missing the rest of his armor, his helmet had been replaced. The only thing that mattered was that he’d returned to you. Unlike last time when he’d slipped his hand out of your grasp and left you, he’d come back. And this was so much better. For whatever reason, he wanted to lie with you and hold you close for as long as possible. The pleasant feeling that realization sent through your system warmed your cheeks and pulled a lazy smile across your lips.

When the baby finally caught his hand, grabbing onto his index finger with six claws, he held it tightly as he looked up at his father with shining eyes full of adoration. 

“Your son loves you,” you said, quietly voicing the thought as it passed through your mind. Mando’s visor tilted towards you, only just noticing that you were awake. He made an uncertain noise and turned his attention back to the little one. His body suddenly felt tense beneath yours. You repositioned yourself so that you could look at him properly, holding yourself up with a bent elbow. “You must believe that, don’t you?” you inquired pointedly.

The vocoder emitted a soft crackling sound, nothing more than static, and you imagined he was struggling to find the right words. It was one of those moments when language seemed to fail him. Before he could form some sort of response, the baby drew both of your gazes away from each other as he attempted to scale down the side of the bed, unwittingly relieving the tension that had settled between you. Mando pried him off the bunk, parting from you as he sat up to set the Child on the floor.

The kid waddled to the pile of new playthings he’d collected in the short time at the base, and Mando shook his head at the sight. “We’ve only been here two days,” he muttered.

“He’s quite popular,” you quipped.

“Raising a foundling is communal,” he informed you. “But they’re going to spoil him at this rate.”

“I’d say he deserves it,” you responded, laughing softly as the baby tossed around a geometric puzzle toy one of the older children passed on to him. He’d successfully solved it once, but, apparently, he was over that. Mando nodded his agreement before looking back to you, watching you quietly as he was prone to do. You knew you must’ve been quite the sight first thing in the morning, even if you’d had your best night’s sleep in years.

“Are you hungry?” he asked.

You hummed a little as you considered his question. “Not yet, which is quite surprising for me.” He huffed at that but said nothing else. Just when you thought he was going to move to get up for the day, he reclined once more. At the low groaning sound he made as he settled, you instinctively soothed a hand over his side. “How’s your injury healing?”

“I’m fine,” he insisted as he shifted stiffly, seeking a more comfortable position, “Some aches are just age. But I’d feel better if– If you’d come here.”

Failing to fight the grin breaking out across your face, you returned to your place next to him. “Is that better?” you asked playfully. His only answer was the slightest squeeze of your shoulders. The two of you watched the baby play, moving from one toy to the next in rapid succession.

“You said he healed a mortal injury once,” you started, thinking out loud as you idly ran your hand over Mando’s injured side, “Is that why you pushed us away the other day?” 

“Yes,” he answered, “He was weak after. I couldn’t let him do that again.”

“Wow,” you said excitedly. You propped yourself up so that you could look at him again. “Theoretically, I thought that might be possible, but I never knew of anyone who did it. That’s absolutely fascinating.” Your ramblings trailed off, as you lost yourself in your own mind for a moment, recalling some old text that you’d read years ago. “He’s such an impressive kid. And he really would do anything for you.” 

“It wasn’t me he healed. It was an associate of mine.”

“Associate? Do you mean friend, Mando?”

“Maybe now. He wasn’t at the time.” He paused for a breath, visor trained on the baby. “I didn’t have friends until recently.” 

“I would have never guessed,” you teased lightly. The helmet rolled sideways to catch your gaze. You could read his annoyance in that once simple movement, and you had to stifle a laugh. “All I mean to say is that you have a lot of armor protecting you. More than the Beskar,” you explained. “Personally, I really like the man underneath.”

He placed a hand over yours where it rested on his stomach and the two of you fell into another long silence at your words. But even as he was perfectly still, unmoving save for the rise and fall of his chest, you felt his eyes watching you, roaming your face. “You see me,” he said softly, a hint of something akin to disbelief in his voice, “More than anyone.”

If he was anyone else, you would’ve kissed him then. It wasn’t the first time you were overwhelmed with that exact desire. Instead, you brought his hand to your lips, hoping the chaste brush of your mouth against his skin would mean something to him. His hand gripped yours impossibly tighter, flinching at your touch.

“I’m sorry–” 

“Stop apologizing for that,” he said, his voice resounding from deep in his chest, “It’s not you.” He left your grasp only to place his hand against your cheek, letting the pad of his thumb tentatively trace the curve of your mouth, lightly kissing your lips.

“Are there any other exceptions?” you asked, remembering your conversation from the night before. “Besides your foundling?” Mando’s hand fell away from your face, but before you could mourn the loss of his touch, he twined his fingers with yours, squeezing slightly. 

“Are you trying to find a loophole, cyar’ika?” There was something light about his tone, but you still felt like you were asking something you didn’t have the right to ask.

“No,” you insisted, shaking your head. “I just­–” Unable to look him in the visor, your eyes flicked across his chest, from one shoulder to the other. “I wonder sometimes, that’s all.”

“You’re not missing much.”

His comment drew your gaze back to his helmet and you narrowed your eyes at him. “I don’t believe that for a second, Mando. I don’t have to see you without your helmet to know that you’re beautiful.” 

Mando was quiet for a drawn-out moment, practically motionless. You fidgeted under his stare, chewing on your bottom lip as you started to regret the words that had slipped out without your permission. You believed every word you said, but it was not something you’d intended to voice.

“My wife,” he answered finally, “If she swore the creed.” 

“Your wife will be a Mandalorian,” you stated, thinking more out loud to yourself than asking a question. The exception made sense – of course his family should be able to see him – but it still stung in a way you didn’t want to acknowledge.

“That doesn’t matter,” he said quickly, his grip on you tightening, “I won’t marry.” You weren’t sure why, but it sounded strangely like a promise. 

“I meant what I said before. You are loved. By your son, by–” You caught yourself, knowing you’d already said more than you should’ve. “You deserve to be loved, always. You deserve to be happy, Mando. I– I want that for you.”

His helmet was as expressionless as ever as he regarded you. You weren’t sure where the need to make him believe you stemmed from, but, in that moment, it felt like the most important thing in the galaxy. If you were going to leave him in a few short days, the least you could do was ensure that he would have a fulfilling life. You couldn’t look into his future, but you wanted whatever would make him happy. That mattered to you more than it probably should have. 

When he finally spoke, it nearly broke what was left of your heart.

“I want that for you, too,” he said softly. 

You felt your chest hollow as you lost your breath. You already knew that sort of happiness would escape you. No matter how much you wanted that life with him. Once again, it had been so easy for your playful banter to evolve into a more meaningful exchange – something that you couldn’t afford to indulge in. Needing to put some distance between the two of you, you sat up and tucked your legs under you, shifting away as you tried to remember how to breathe. “We should, um, get up. And start work on the ship so we can get to Lah’mu as quickly as possible,” you suggested, not truly meaning a word of it. 

“Yeah,” he agreed, swinging his legs off the bed as he righted himself. Just before he made to stand, he looked back at you as if he wanted to say something. Apparently, he thought better of it, and the rare, slow morning in bed came to an end.

 . 

Deciding the best course of action would be to enjoy the last of your time with Mando and the Child, you pushed your heartbreak aside. With the morning’s conversation out of your mind, you spent half of the day with them both in the bunker’s large underground docking bay watching him work on the Razor Crest, helping where you could despite his insistence that you weren’t needed and could relax. Admittedly, you really didn’t know much about fixing starships.

Still, you sighed dramatically at Mando as he discussed how to maneuver a particularly heavy engine part up to the left wing with two other Mandalorians. Normally you weren’t so cavalier about using the Force around strangers, but you’d shared more of your skill with others in the past couple days at the base than you had with practically anyone else in your entire life. You’d always kept yourself a secret, but the Mandalorians knew who you were, and you felt safe with them. So, without even thinking about it, you silenced their conversation by using the Force to lift the massive engine for them with minimal effort.

“Show off,” Mando muttered as he walked by you.

“Learn to ask for help, Mando,” you retorted.

Later, you were playing with the kid, both of you having tired of the work going on around you, when Mando called down to you.

“Jetii!” he teased. It never held the same reverence as when the others said it. “Help me out and pass the carbon chisel,” he requested, waving a gloved hand at you. 

With a retort on the tip of your tongue, you smirked up at him where he stood on the ship’s wing. However, the Child beat you to it. He speedily floated the exact tool Mando needed up to him. Only, he put a little too much force into it and the heavy metal chisel flew through the air, hitting Mando square in the helmet and knocking him back a few steps.

You gasped, watching with wide eyes as Mando staggered on the edge of the wing, but quickly righted him with a wave of your hand. When you were certain that he was safe, unbridled, slightly hysterical laughter burst from within you and you fell into a fit of giggles at the close call. As did everyone else in the hanger. Even the baby found his father’s near-fall funny. Mando stared down at the two of you unamused. You couldn’t stop laughing and the sight of him with his hands on his hips only made it worse.

When you finally wiped the tears from your eyes, you noticed the slight shake of his shoulders. He was laughing too. You imagined him smiling again, and your heart fluttered in your chest at the thought.

When the docking bay’s mirth finally subsided, you scooped the kid up, deciding he needed to expel some of his energy playing with the other children rather than causing undue bodily harm to his own father. 

… . …

If Din thought traveling with you and the kid was making him soft, it was nothing compared to seeing the two of you among his tribe. He was still amazed at the way his people accepted the both of you. He was even more impressed at your ease around the Mandalorians. Though he supposed it shouldn’t have surprised him – not only had you been shockingly respectful of his culture since the day he met you, but you seemed to make friends everywhere you went. 

Sometime after midday, he’d snuck away from the Crest in search of something to eat and instead found you at the center of attention in the main hall. A couple dozen younglings, including his own little foundling, surrounded you. That accounted for almost every child between the different tribes. Nearly as many adults listened to you speak from further away. Everyone seemed to hang on your every word as you told the children a story from your Rebellion days. It appeared he walked in at the end of your tale.

“And then the Imperial Star Destroyer exploded!” you announced dramatically with a sweeping wave of your hands. A chorus of excited exclamations rang out around you. And then question after question was thrown your way.

“How did you escape?”

“What did the Imps do next?”

“Which explosives did the Rebels prefer?”

Strategy and weapons appeared to be their biggest concerns. They were Mandalorian children, after all. And you answered each question with ease and a smile, encouraging their curiosities. 

Din realized then that one day that would be your life. You’d seen yourself training young Jedi in your vision and he imagined it would look much like the scene before him. And you would excel at it. Of that he had no doubt. 

But he couldn’t bring himself to be happy about it. He remembered what you said about that future. I was sad. I could see it in myself. Even surrounded by all those students, I was alone. He could still hear the shake in your voice as you held back your tears. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t bring himself to want that future for you. 

Of course, if he was being honest, he wasn’t particularly fond of either possible future.

He returned to the docking bay having forgotten why he left his work in the first place.

. 

Hours later, as Din made his way through the underground maze of corridors, that scene of you surrounded by the children replayed in his mind. He despised everything about the situation you found yourself. Hated how impossible it proved to ignore his feelings for you. Couldn’t believe that it made him a sentimental, pensive man, completely lost in his thoughts when there were pressing matters to attend to. 

And yet, he continued to struggle to reconcile your future, one that appeared to be perfect for you, with the knowledge that you were also destined to be alone. As was he. But as much as he wanted to be with you, he knew the two of you couldn’t stay together. You had a path you were determined to follow, and he couldn’t ask you to give up your code. Not to be with a man you could never truly know. You would never expect him to abandon his creed. He couldn’t give you something like what you say in your second vision – no matter how appealing – without breaking his oath.

It was a problem with no solution. 

But he had an idea. A simple, indulgent idea that wouldn’t fix a damn thing but might offer you the smallest hint of comfort over the years. And if that was all he could do for you, then he would. 

When he heard the familiar sound of fires of a forge and tools shaping steel, he realized he’d reached his destination. He moved into the armory quietly, but his alor noticed him even with her back turned. Nothing ever escaped her.

“I expected you would come around,” she intoned as she inspected her current project. It looked to be a pair of durasteel cuisses. She held both pieces in front of her visor, turning them in sync as she compared the two. “I must say, your Jedi proved impressive.”

“Vizsla deserved it,” he retorted.

“That is probably true. He usually does. But it is not what I spoke of.” Dissatisfied with her work, she returned to her anvil and continued shaping one of the pieces, molding it with each solid strike of her hammer. He waited patiently for her to continue, knowing she would only speak again in her own time. When she finished her task, setting her tools and the matching thigh plates on her worktop, she finally turned to him. “She has the spirit of a warrior, but the temperament of a leader.” 

“Yes, she does,” he agreed. Something akin to pride swelled within him.

“And she is an excellent teacher. Everyone is taken with her. Especially the younglings,” she assessed correctly. Din offered a curt nod of agreement. “As are you,” she stated simply, looking at him for some sort of an answer. He couldn’t offer her one. Couldn’t even try to deny it. “You want something, Din Djarin. What is it?”

Din would never understand how the armorer, for all of her skill and wisdom, always seemed to know everything. He demagnetized his cuirass, setting it gently on her worktop. “I have a request.”

“The nexu scratch?” she asked, running a gloved finger over it, “That should come out easily enough. You could’ve done it yourself.” 

“No,” he corrected quickly, “No, I’d like to leave that.”

“The mark of a battle won.” 

“Yes.” The mark of a battle won together, he thought to himself. 

“Something else then?” his alor prompted. 

He swallowed hard, summoning up more courage than should’ve been necessary to ask for something so simple. “Yes.” 

… . …

 It was late in the day, well past the evening meal. That night it was a deliciously spicy stew that nearly had you in tears. However, there was something about their predilection for spicy flavors that seemed to fit the Mandalorians, and it only further endeared you to their culture. They were a unique people, but you found that you enjoyed them immensely. They were warriors with unmatched spirit. Although you could feel the palpable mark of generations worth of loss – something that weighed heavy on them all – they carried on with a fierce resolution that you admired. 

At that hour, the base was quiet as most had turned in long ago, but a few of your shadows had returned to you. Four little girls, all probably no older than eleven, had knocked on the door to your quarters, politely asking for you and the Child. Even as tired as you were, you didn’t have it in your heart to deny them. 

Which was how you ended up back in the main hall, now strangely peaceful as the usual crowd had disappeared into their quarters for the evening save for a few stragglers continuing their work and, as always, several more who remained on guard.

One of the girls, Syana, sat next to you, closely inspecting your hand and asking question after questions as to how you were able to channel the Force. She was definitely the oldest of the bunch, and relentlessly inquisitive. It was something you noticed the first day you met the young girl and you admired her for it. Two of the others, Mai-Sen and Ename, sisters only in that they were found together, played with the baby. They’d made up a game just for him, but, despite their best efforts to explain it, you still didn’t quite understand the rules. But they seemed to enjoy it and the kid was more than entertained.

Perched on your knee was the smallest and youngest of the group by several inches and a few years. She was a soft-spoken girl with a mauve-colored helm. Unlike the others, she was from Mando’s tribe and did not give her name. She had taken to exploring your features, caressing your face with her slender fingers. At first, her actions had confused you, but you reasoned that she was probably unused to seeing someone bare their face, and so you didn’t try to stop her. Even the four girls, as young as they were, each wore a traditional helmet. You couldn’t help but think they seemed too young for something like that. Of course, you realized, silently chastising yourself, you’d started your own training around the same age. That was hardly different.

The pad of her finger traced a circle following the arc of your brow and the bone of your cheek and she whispered to you. “Mesh’la,” she said softly. 

“What?” you asked, perking up at the word. You’d heard it once before. The day you showed Mando your lightsaber. “What does that mean?”

“Beautiful,” she explained. 

“Oh,” you gasped, your mind spinning at the translation. Of course, he’d probably been talking about the saber. He had to have been. He was a Mandalorian; his weapons were practically part of him. Still, you dared to ask your next question despite your better judgement. “What does cyar’ika mean?”

All four little girls giggled at you.

“You’re saying it wrong!” Ename called to you from where she sat with the baby.

“It’s not sah-ree-kah,” Mai explained cheekily, “It’s shar-ee-kah.”

“Of course. Forgive me,” you said hastily, “But what does it mean?”

“Sweetheart,” the littlest one said quietly. It felt like a punch to the gut, like all the air had been forced from your lungs and you couldn’t draw in a breath. 

“No, it means beloved,” Ename corrected. 

“That’s the same thing,” Syana placated. 

The girls’ bickering fell away as you processed the meaning of the diminutive. Some part of you suspected Mando used his new name for you purposely, but you hadn’t imagined it could mean something like that.

Ename shook your shoulder, drawing you from deep within your own mind, and practically scolded you. “Mando’a is a special language. You’re only supposed to use words like those if you really mean them. That’s what my mother taught me.”

“That’s what my buir said too,” Syana agreed, looking up at you from her place next to you. Somehow that only made things worse. You finally realized why he was so hesitant to translate Mando’a for you. Because that one word meant that he felt something for you, even if he didn’t want to admit it. Who knew what else Mando and the others had been saying?

“Kayden called me mesh’la once,” Mai informed the group from where she sat with the kid. That was promptly followed by a few disgusted noises. You’d met Kayden; he was a rather typical boy for their age. It was enough to make you laugh even as your heart was crumbling in your chest and your stomach twisted itself into knots. 

“Jetii, Jetii,” the little one in your lap said, tugging on the collar of your tunic, “Does Beroya call you that?”

“Beroya?”

“You really need to learn Mando’a if you’re going to stay with us!” Ename demanded, crossing her arms over her chest. 

“The bounty hunter!” Syana explained, “Does he call you cyar’ika?” 

Your crowd fell silent as they anxiously awaited your answer. Four T-shaped visors and a pair of large, dark eyes stared at you. You forced the word out. “Yes.” 

Their excited, modulated gasps resounded throughout the hall.

 . 

After setting the Child gently on your bunk, you all but collapsed onto the bed next to him. A long-withheld, frustrated groan tore from your lips, muffled by your pillow.

The idea of Mando not returning your affections had been comforting. Even as his actions suggested otherwise, you clung to it to ease your own pain. While you weren’t normally one to take the advice of children on matters of the heart, according to them, the bounty hunter was in love with you. They’d stressed that fact. Repeatedly. And, much to your dismay, you were inclined to believe them. 

He called you cyar’ika. On several occasions. Once, for the very first time, as he consoled you after your visit to the temple. Another time after he’d narrowly escaped death. When he held you in that very bed. And then half a dozen times more. Each moment was seared into your memory. 

If it was as special a word as the girls said it was, you knew he wouldn’t use it if he didn’t feel something toward you. Not when he was as dedicated to his people and culture as he was. Mando always acted and spoke with purpose; he never did anything lightly. Which meant your fondness for him, the love you were trying so desperately to quell, was reciprocated. 

And it made sense. Why else would he hold you at night? Share his secrets and memories with you? Wipe the tears from your eyes? You’d done everything you could to ignore the signs, but that was a hopeless endeavor. 

A tiny hand resting against your shoulder drew you from your thoughts, and you turned your head to see the baby looking at you with a worried expression, his pointed ears turned downwards. 

“I’m so sorry, little one,” you sat up and held him in your arms, “You don’t need to worry about me like you do. I’m just– I don’t even know what I’m doing anymore. Being dramatic, perhaps?”

He made a cooing noise you took as his agreement. “You think so too?” you asked, tweaking his nose. His ears perked up and you smiled at him.

“How about we meditate together for a bit? That usually puts you right to sleep when it's late.” And it typically helped you when you felt overwhelmed. At the moment, it felt like your entire universe was collapsing in on itself like a black hole. You set the Child in front of you and let your eyes fall shut as you tried to center yourself. A few minutes later, you heard a soft snoring sound, and when you opened your eyes just enough to peak at him, you found him fast asleep against your pillow. “That’s what I thought,” you whispered to yourself. 

You returned to your practice, focusing on steadying your breathing and uncoiling the tension in your shoulders. As you cleared your mind, reaching out toward the Force that surrounded you, you felt a familiar pull. Something you’d only felt once on Nar Shaddaa.

Curious, you moved towards one of the unused bunks where your belongings sat in a cluttered heap. Whatever was calling you, was inside your own satchel. You dug around for a moment before pulling out the old, broken datacron. It looked the same as the day you’d bought it, except for the unnerving fact that it glowed bright blue.

Acting on pure instinct and the slightest bit of hope, you placed the cube in the center of the room and knelt before it. You resumed your meditation, focusing intently on the object before you, seeking out it’s unique signature through the Force. Your eyes shot open at the faint clicking sound of the cube’s corners turning. The soft blue light of a holo filled the room.

It wasn’t a piece of junk after all.

… . …

“Mando!”

You skidded to a halt in front of him, nearly crashing into him as he exited the armory. Din placed a hand on either of your shoulders in an attempt to steady you as you caught your breath. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere!”

“What’s wrong? Where’s the kid?” he inquired.

“He’s fine! Everything’s fine. But you’re never going to believe–” You stopped short, head tilting adorably to the side as you looked over him. Or at least he found it adorable until he realized what you were looking at. “Why do you look crooked?” 

You were probably the only person in the whole kriffing galaxy that would notice something so small. “I don’t know what you mean,” he said hoarsely.

“Your chestplate doesn’t look right” you reached out as if to adjust it, “You always look perfect.”

“Your mind is playing tricks on you, Jedi,” Din deflected, ignoring the hint of a compliment. 

“Very funny, Mandalorian,” you teased even as your eyes lingered on his cuirass. “Which reminds me – come on!” You grabbed his hand and sped down the long hallway toward the barracks.

 . 

“Do you remember that old datacron I picked up on Nar Shaddaa?” you asked as you pulled him into the bunkroom. There was a nervous excitement about you he hadn’t seen before.

“Sure,” he answered, glancing between you and the baby sleeping on your bunk. The kid didn’t seem to mind the sudden intrusion.

“Well, it’s not just some datacron,” you started, producing the object from your bag, now glowing bright blue in your hands. “This is a Jedi holocron,” you announced with a bright expression. “It’s probably from the old temple on Coruscant! That’s where the archives used to be, until the Empire destroyed every holocron they could get their hands on.”

“What was this doing in a junk shop on Nar Shaddaa?”

“I can only imagine. But these are extremely rare,” you said, gently placing the holocron in his hand. He inspected the Jedi artifact, tracing the golden edges with a gloved finger. “I haven’t even told you the best part yet,” you added, failing to repress your smile.

“What’s the best part?” he asked, playing along.

“This holocron–” the grin you’d been fighting broke out across your face, “–Is dedicated to the Jedi’s history with the Mandalorians.”

“Really?” Din questioned, not bothering to hide the excitement in his voice. He couldn’t believe that this palm-sized device, something he’d initially dismissed when you’d showed it to him, might hold answers to his questions about the Jedi. “Have you read any of it?”

“Not yet. I was waiting for my favorite Mandalorian,” you said coyly, a bright glint in your eyes.

“I’m here now,” he teased, “Open it.”

. 

A few hours later, the two of you were still sitting on the floor of your shared room, backs against the bunk where the baby slept, sorting through the hundreds of files stored on the holocron. With each new piece of history revealed to you, your excitement had faded until you were slumped against the bunk, pinching the bridge of your nose in frustration.

“Our people have fought each other across the galaxy for millennia,” you concluded, “And they absolutely, unequivocally hate each other.”

“You might be right,” Din conceded reluctantly. His alor had once called the Jedi enemy sorcerers. But the extent to which that was true had surprised even him.

“I mean look at this,” you continued, ignoring his agreement. With a wave of your hand you recalled the files on the Mandalorian-Jedi War you’d read over earlier. “The Jedi destroyed your people’s homeworld. Mandalore is basically uninhabitable because of what they did. And, if that’s not bad enough, because of that war, everything that you wear is specifically made to combat the Jedi. The Beskar, the jetpack, your weapons, your vambraces, your helmet…” you trailed off as your eyes scanned over each piece of his armor, “It was all created to protect you from someone like me.”

He would’ve liked to refute you, but you were right. According to everything the two of you had read so far, the Jedi and Mandalorians were enemies even at the best of times. Learning that the Jedi were responsible for the destruction of Mandalore was a particularly brutal blow. As was discovering that the very beskar’gam he wore was designed to compensate for and overcome the abilities of a Jedi. Your abilities. It was clearly detailed right there in the text with accompanying schematics. Apparently, that fact upset you as much as it unsettled him.

And yet you were still the first person to get past his armor. And you hadn’t even needed your powers to do so.

“How does everyone here not hate me?” you sighed, as lost in your own thoughts as he was in his, “How do you not hate me?”

“I could never hate you,” he stated, “And I doubt most people here know about half of this stuff. Hell, I didn’t know about the Jedi or the Force until I met the kid. There’s– There’s got to be something good in here.”

You banished the file with a flick of your wrist and brought up a new piece of history. You repeated the action several times, switching between documents when you came across something that frustrated you. “Would you like to read about the best ways for a Jedi to strike down a Mandalorian in close combat?” you muttered as you disappeared that file as well, “Or maybe about the Jedi’s proposal to banish Mandalorians to Wild Space a few hundred years ago? I’m sure that’s a lovely read. 

He had to admit that none of that sounded particularly helpful. When Din said nothing, you continued your rapid-fire scan of the holofiles. Just as he was about to give up hope, you gasped and sat straight up.

“Look!” you said excitedly, “There was a Mandalorian inducted into the Jedi Order. That means they didn’t always hate each other. Although,” you added, your face falling as you read more, “That was a thousand years ago.”

“It’s something,” he quipped. A small smile broke the sad expression that had marred your features only a moment ago. “Tell me more.”

“Well, it looks like Tarre Vizsla joined the Order,” you said as you quickly scanned the text. Din rolled his eyes behind his visor. Of course, it was a Vizsla. “He later broke away from the Jedi and became the Mand’alor.”

You turned to him and he answered your question before you could ask it. “The sole ruler of the Mandalorians.” 

“Oh, interesting. You had a Jedi ruling your people at one point, Mando” you said, elbowing him playfully in the soft padding covering his side. 

“Former Jedi,” Din corrected, earning an exasperated look from you. “Keep reading. Please.”

“Only because you asked so nicely,” you retorted before returning to the holo. “As the first Mandalorian Jedi, Tarre Vizsla crafted a unique weapon called the darksaber. It says here that after his death the Jedi kept the blade until Clan Vizsla stole it from the Temple.” You scoffed at that. “Why do I get the sense that it was really the other way around? Either way, it became an important unifying symbol for all Mandalorians. That’s absolutely fascinating.”

Before he could say anything, the holo shifted and the text was replaced by an image of a lightsaber not unlike your own save for the angular black blade. When you were quiet for a beat too long, Din glanced over and found you staring at the image with wide, unblinking eyes, your former excitement replaced with something that looked more like fear.

“Cyar’ika?” he prompted, resting a hand on your shoulder.

“I’ve seen this…” The light in your eyes dimmed as you stared off in the distance past the holo, looking at something Din couldn’t see. 

“In your vision,” he finished for you.

“Yes.”

While he was afraid that he would be right again, he ventured another guess anyway. “The second one?”

“The man I was fighting wielded this exact weapon.” 

He looked at the lightsaber again. “A Mandalorian?”

“I’m not sure. I didn’t get a good look at him, but it was definitely this saber. There must only be one like it.” You turned to look at him, concern written all over your face. “But what does that mean?” 

“I– I don’t know,” he offered lamely, frustrated at himself for not having anything more to add than that.  

“Shit,” you cursed, completely unlike you, “Gods, somehow these visions keep getting worse.” 

“But you’re not choosing that future, so it shouldn’t matter,” he reasoned. 

“Well– I suppose that’s true.” You seemed to shrink in on yourself at the concession.

As much as you insisted that you’d made your decision, Din remained unconvinced. Your future weighed heavy on you. And he wanted nothing more than to make those worries go away. Wished he could take those visions from you so you wouldn’t feel all of the pain and anguish they’ve caused anymore. His grip on your shoulder tightened just enough to draw your attention back to him. You set a hand over his, absentmindedly tracing the raised lines of the blue triangle on his handguard. He watched your repetitive movement, mesmerized by the touch couldn’t feel, and his next words tumbled out uninhibited. “Are you sure you don’t want that other future?” 

“Of course I do,” you said quietly, “But not with– And not if it means giving up on the Jedi. I know that this doesn’t cast them in the best of light,” you said, waving toward the holocron, “But the Jedi have always been a beacon of hope for people. And after what happened to them…” You faced him again, and he watched you steeled yourself, a hard, resolved expression falling across your features. “There are few like me. And even fewer with any sort of knowledge of the way of the Jedi. I have a duty to finish my training and pass on what I learned from my master. Otherwise the Jedi will die. After everything that’s happened, the galaxy needs that hope, that light.” 

“And you can give it to us all,” he mused, “Your light burns brighter than all the stars.”

“Mando,” you sighed, already attempting to contradict him, “That’s–”

“It’s true,” he said firmly.

“Then how could I turn my back on the Jedi now? How could I be so selfish?”

Din had no response to offer you at that, nor could he push the matter further. He understood your devotion. You’d made up your mind, and he would respect that. There was nothing more he could do. 

“We can read more of this later,” he suggested, gesturing to the image of the strange saber. “I think I’ve learned enough for one day.” 

“I agree,” you said dryly while you flicked off the projection 

“Then get some rest. We’re leaving tomorrow so–”

“The ship is fixed?” you interrupted. 

“It’ll be ready by the evening meal.” 

“That’s–” you paused as you toyed with the holocron, twisting one of the corners. “That’s good. Tomorrow’s our last day here?”

“Once the Crest is fixed, there’ll be no reason to stay,” he answered.

“Right.” You agreed, seeming to refuse to meet his gaze. 

“You should get some sleep,” he repeated. 

“We both should,” you corrected. “With our luck, or lack thereof, who knows what will happen next.”

He gave a huff of a laugh at that. Truer words had never been spoken.

… . … 

After he gently placed the baby in his carrier, pausing for a moment to adjust his blankets before sealing the cover, Mando switched off the lights, removed his helmet, and laid down in his own bunk. An uncomfortable silence fell over the shared sleeping quarters, broken only by the rustling of your sheets as you fidgeted in your bed across from him. It stretched on for what felt like an hour but was probably only ten minutes. Despite your exhaustion, sleep eluded you.

Of course, he knew what he wanted. If your time with him was coming to an end, you wanted to savor every last moment with him. And you were tired enough to not think twice about it. 

“Mando–”

“Cyar’ika–”

He didn’t hesitate. He crossed the room, fell into your bed, and closed the distance between the two of you, his arms encircling you and pulling your body to his.

“That’s so much better,” you sighed as you relaxed into his hold. He hummed his agreement as he held you impossibly tighter. You didn’t seem to mind. “I don’t want to leave,” you admitted.

 “Me either, cyar’ika,” he stated simply. The name pierced the very fabric of your soul as you remembered what you’d forgotten in your excitement over the holocron.

“I know what that means. Why you call me that,” you whispered against his chest. You let your statement hang there in the open, let the truth of it sink in.

When he didn’t say anything, your heart collapsed in your chest. Maybe the little girls didn’t actually know what they were talking about. Perhaps you’d been wrong to think that the term held that sort of sentiment for him. 

But then you felt a light hand against your chin, tilting your head up to face him in the dark. A pair of soft lips brushed against yours in a ghost of a kiss. And yet it was enough to send a shock of electricity through you. He had a way of overwhelming your senses until you couldn’t think straight. The rest of the galaxy faded away and all that was left was him. That would be your undoing.

You shifted closer, just a fraction of an inch, but it was all he needed, and he captured your bottom lip between his, giving you the sweetest kiss. He pulled away just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his nose bumping yours as the two of you delighted in your closeness. 

“Cyar’ika,” he whispered to you, his voice still rough around the edges but softer than you’d ever heard it before. He was smiling just as you were. Of that, you were almost certain. Seeking some sort of confirmation, you placed a hand on his cheek, finding it full and rounded from the grin that pulled on his lips. Without even being able to see him, you knew it was the most beautiful smile, made all the better because it was for you. 

He kissed you again, firmer, but still so careful, and your hand fell from his face, finding purchase in the fabric of his shirt to pull him closer, asking for more. He was generous enough to give it to you, cradling your head as he deepened the kiss. Wanting to feel him again, your hand traveled lower and you dared to slip under the hem, trailing your fingertips lightly over his warm skin. His abdomen contracted under your touch and he broke the kiss, but he didn’t stop you that time. It occurred to you that no one ever touched him. No one, besides maybe you and the kid, ever saw him without the armor. And doubtlessly no one was allowed to feel the man underneath the Beskar. Perhaps no one ever kissed him either.

Just you.

Feeling emboldened, you splayed your hand across his stomach. He let out a shaky exhalation in response that seemed to confirm your suspicion. “Is this okay? Do you like it when I touch you, Mando?” 

“Yes,” he rasped, his breath mingling with yours. 

“Why me?” you asked because that was the question that tormented you the most. Why did he have to pick you?

“Sweetheart,” he whispered, soft and full of emotion as he finally gifting you his translation of the endearment, “Don’t make me say it.” 

Deciding it would be better if neither of you said much of anything, afraid of what the truth might be, you took a different approach. “Do you want to touch me too?”

“Fuck­–” he swore. It sounded like he was choking on the curse. “Yes.”

At his response, you sat up and lifted your tunic off your body, flinging it haphazardly across the room. He followed your motion and pulled his own shirt off with your help. As soon as it was over his head and off his arms, it followed the same trajectory as yours. You wanted nothing more than to feel him against you and he seemed to want the same. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pressed your chest to his so that your skin was almost perfectly flush so that only the thin fabric covering your breasts separated the two of you. And Mando– He made a sound most unbecoming of a Mandalorian. His arms engulfed you as he brought the two of you back down to the bed, your body on top of his.

His calloused hands wandered, caressing every bit of your exposed skin. You knew that if anyone before you didn’t touch him, then he didn’t get to feel anyone else either. He seemed to relish the sensation of your skin against his as he traced the curves of your shoulders, followed the arch of your back, and kneaded the softer parts with just enough pressure to earn delirious whimpers from you. Your mouths meet again with more fervor. Your lips came together and pulled apart, each kiss lingering longer than the last as your shared hesitancy turned to confidence and urgency. It was hot and breathy as neither one of you wanted to part long enough to draw in air.

You felt his affection for you in every warm touch and every passionate kiss. That moment was the culmination of your developing feelings, and you gave everything you had to it. You could only hope that he would finally realize that what you’d told him that morning was true. That he was loved. That you loved him. Truly and deeply. 

Mando chased your lips every time you broke apart. He was eager and greedy, and you would’ve happily given him anything. His enthusiasm only spurred you on – you could feel the same excitement that coursed through your veins pouring off of him – and your hands found their way to his hair. You threaded your fingers through his wavy locks to pull him even closer, eliciting a low moan from the back of his throat.

“This feels–” he sighed, “You feel so good.”

“So do you, Mando,” you said breathlessly, smiling against his lips.

“Wanted this, wanted you,” he murmured his lips moving lower to your jaw to leave a warm trail of lingering, openmouthed kisses, each one lower than the last, “Since kriffing Vrogas Vas.” You practically whined under his ministrations and at his words, enchanted by the pleasure he pulled from you. “Why didn’t we do this sooner?” 

Reality set in suddenly and sharply, and you stiffened in his hold. He stopped his movements immediately though he wouldn’t let you go. “Because we shouldn’t,” you answered wetly. 

“I know, but­–” He never finished his sentence, only spitting out a single word of Mando’a. Something that sounded like a curse.

“I’m so sorry. I want this, but I– I can’t–” you murmured, burying your face against his neck and fighting back a sob as your emotions threatened to overwhelm you again. You were so tired of feeling like you would break anytime you thought of your future. Or the future you wouldn’t have with him.

“I know. It’s okay. Just– Just let me hold you.” You’d never heard him sound so sad before, and a whole new wave of sadness washed over you. It wasn’t just your heart that was breaking. He felt it too. He ran his hand up and down your back, trying to soothe you. It sent a shiver through you, and you were keenly aware of the cold bunker around you after stopping your feverish touches. He pulled the threadbare blanket pooled around your waist over your half-bare bodies.

“I don’t want to leave,” you repeated, sounding strangled by your own words.

“Me either, cyar’ika,” he echoed before pressing one last kiss to your temple.

... . ...

Mando'a Translations

Cyar'ika: beloved, sweetheart

Mesh'la: beautiful

Beskar'gam: armor

Mand'alor: sole ruler

... . ...

Thank you for reading!!

Forever Tags: @leo-moon @readsalot73 @frietiemeloen @huliabitch @jerusomeeno @benedrylcumbersnatch @b0n-chann

The Light of Stars Tags: @roxypeanut @mrsparknuts @evidenceofzoe @holographic-carmen

[darthbecky726]

Bad Batch 1x01 spoilers

I've never done something like this before, but I figured I'd start. Reactions to the first episode of The Bad Batch. (This ended up being a lot longer than I intended, but whatever)

Spoilers under the cut

Red logo burning away starts strong

Yay narrator dude!!

Feels like clones wars

Animated rots scenes!!

And what grevious did after the rots beginning

HOLY SHIT DEPA!!!!!

And caleb right???

And we're in

Omg who voiced young caleb bc it sounds a lot like fpj but aged down and he def doesn't sound like the 14 I know he was when this happened

I like how we started out on familiar characters but not ahsoka or anyone from tcw. We started w young kanan and his master and we know what happened to them and all but if anyone watching hasn't seen rebels they wouldn't be lost as to who caleb and depa are, they'd just assume they're random jedi in o66

Good ol droid screaming as it falls off a cliff

Wow. Them.

I love crosshair

And wrecker

And tech

And echo

And hunter

B1's are so dumb

Lmao the salt from hunter

I feel like depas forehead pearls are a bit unrealistically large but I have no cultural standpoint to really know so...

Caleb's voice is too deep in the same way that jack frost from rotg's voice doesn't match his character model

Ah wrecker not really knowing what she means and echo, the one who has been trained to deal w people and hung out w ani and obi is just like 'thanks general'

Obes kenobes mention

Why is echo so pale

Depa and caleb feel a little too pale too tbh I wonder if it's the lighting or the whitewashing

Wow caleb is a lot like ezra, I can see why kanan wanted to train him lol

Is this what separates caleb and depa, leading to her telling him to run??? Do I need to read dume???

Oh no

Noooooooooo

Bb didn't get the order!

Oh caleb nooooo! Nooooooo they didn't receive that order, they can help you!!!

And he's gone

Oh I need an au where caleb stayed with bb and they helped him after depa died

Hunter sounds so much like rex it's weird like ik they're supposed to sound the same but it feels like wrecker is replacing rex or something. Even tho ik rex's story is over for the time being

Crosshair, no! Don't shoot at him! He's baby

Oh no did crosshair get o66???? It didn't seem to trigger anything in any of the rest of them, but is crosshair close enough to 'reg' for it to have triggered???

😭😭good soldiers follow orders

"sure thing, boss" "hey hunter got a sitch"

Crosshair acting sus

Oh I love watching padawans fight, they're so good!!

I hope that hit to the tree did a lil cognitive recalibration for crosshair, he was acting crazy

Caleb looks so scared!! He just watched his master get gunned down by his friends and now strange clones are trying to kill him/confusing him

Oh caleb

Oh no crosshair don't try to kill him!! Hunters trying to help!

Also hunter doesn't sound as much like rex w the helmet off, but it's weird bc most of the clones are distinguishable by voice even w helmets on. I guess it's the 'im in charge' voice

Star wars if caleb had gone w the bb

Oh hunter u sly dog lying to crosshair so he doesn't go after him. U gotta figure out why crosshair responded to o66 and no one else in ur unit did

Oh crosshair knows he's been lied to

I will always love coming-out-of-hyperspace shots

Ooh kamino, always nice this time of year

Echo is done w wrecker

Why hasn't crosshair taken his helmet off yet, lil bit sus

They better get his chip out on kamino, I don't wanna deal w this

Oof hunter 

Oh who’s that, giving me cloud city vibes

Extreme cloud city vibes wow

Never realized how many clones are just on kamino

Coruscant guard?!?! FOX?!?!

The vibes here, omg

‘The war is over’ wow

Oh no who was that

A female jedi, doesn’t appear to be shaak, couldn’t see any montrals but never know, we don’t officially know how or where she died

Ok wow none of the bb has their helmets on except for crosshair, who got the order. The regs around kamino all have their helmets on. That scene in victory and death when ahsoka took rex’s helmet off- 

And crosshair, he’s actins strange too

Oh tech, do u guys get bullied by regs a lot??

I love their barracks

Lol he finally took his helmet off only to stick a toothpick in his mouth, can he get anymore cliched?

Wrecker is seeming a lot more infantilized than he was in the s7 eps...

Yeah crosshair’s being sus

Ooh, he shifted his toothpick

Lmao ‘what programming’

Well documented my ass

Tech’s speech patterns are so stiff and robotic, it’s like he has to remind himself to talk in basic instead of binary or some shit

Tech throwing shade at crosshair

I can’t quite tell if we’re supposed to like crosshair at this point

Lmao we been knew

Oop ‘more machine than man’ the vader parallels are serving folks

Understatement.

Ugh sheev

Crusty ass bitch

Straight from rots wow

Who is the mystery child and why does he look mandalorian

Ooh he gone

Oh no, the beninning of the empire

Cheering?? Why?!?

That imperial march fade in tho

Thank you echo

Oh shit mystery child is female

Omega, I would not have guessed the pronunciation of your name by reading it wow

She def seems mandalorian

Ugh kaminoans

Oh the kaminoan pronounced it as it usually is, huh.

Omega’s character model def seems more masculine than female, I now headcanon her as trans

Ugh tarkin, I hate that crusty bitch

Empire politics ugh

I love how much shade is being thrown at tarkin and his stormtrooper proposal lmao

Why do all these clones have the standard haircut?? ik them boys like their variety, even if these boys are still under o66′s programming

Wrecker you’re being extremely loud

They’re all being loud in the mess, why

They remember, kid

Lol child

Oh my sweet summer children

The dad instinct was clearly passed genetically from jango lol all these clones got it

Why are background characters so mean? What about it, shiny? Why is ur hair regulation, reg??

The Sad Batchn omg the slander

Lol the food fight I’ve read about in the fics, its finally happening!

Is she.... australian??

The over-animation of character movements in this is reminding me of the looser style of rebels, as opposed to the more clunky style of tcw

Lmao he’s still got food on him

Food fight!!

‘Not again’???!!! Echo!! Wdym not again?! Food fights have happened before?!?? Wait. W bb or w torrent, bc I can see torrent having food fights on the resolute-

Crosshair’s just eating his food until someone messes

I like how echo still has his kamas

Oh no echo!!

Oh echo’s trauma, he doesn’t trust medical droids! Where’s kix when u need him, huh?

Lol, comically long name for a robot trope is alive and well, huh

Lmao the droid lowers his voice like ik this is a perceived bad thing, but I will not tolerate this slander, boys u need to get off kamino

‘The shock’ lmao whyyy

Lmao tech!!

Oh, echo recognized tarkin from the citadel!

‘When you blew up’ lmao

Oh they make me sad

Aaaaah fox!

Man the domino squad nostalgia

Those droids look cool

This is a neat scene, I like seeing them in action

Wrecker reminding me of hevy, but he’s got the training and success to back it up

Live fire???? No!!

Ugh I hate tarkin

Oh no wtecker

Did he just get shot!???! 

Oh no crosshair, be careful!

Tarkin’s trying to kill them!!!

Lol wrecker I love you

Echo using his mech hand as a weapon, truly an arc

Now I wanna see what happened on felucia

I like how tech’s just sitting on the droid’s shoulders

And hunter just had a knife

These boys, I love them

Oh no tech bby

Hot damn that was cool

Wrecher things so too lmao

Tarkin’s like “why didn’t that work??’

Oh new baby clones

No tf they could not, they would never serve the empire and those bitches

I love that they have a window apartment lol

Ugh tarkin u shifty

They all stand at attention, only after glaring at tarkin

Oh no onderon

I hate tarkin, he’s a bitch

How quickly could bitch lord and darth sad have replaced the armory on kamino??

Crosshair still acting sus

Neither does echo, kid

No.

I like omega.

Crosshair, with the sassy hand on the hip-

What does that even mean?? Or elude to??

Lmao tech messing w wrecker, they rlly r bros

Its prob the vegetation

Oh, I missed onderon, but not this much

Lol the put-upon sigh

Its clearly saw and his rebels

Saw! Looking sharp, what’s w the hair....

That’s a very geometric beard, saw

They didn’t kill any jedi!

That’s not what happened, tech

‘The clones’ bitch that was rex and ahsoka, check urself

Aw, I’ve always like the design of imperial probe droids

Thank you, echo

It seems like crosshair’s o66 programming and his mutation are warring w his morals

Lmao the shade

I knew she was an enhanced clone!

Oh, so she is (at least on paper) trans! She’s a clone of jango, and yet she’s female! That must be her modification, but it makes me wonder why

Lol *flicks toothpick*

Aw, they have a picture of themselves! Recent-ish, too, its got echo!

Oh no, AZI!

The difference between them arriving earlier and now, the lack of escort...

Creepy how they had to open the hanger door themselves

Oh no! Everyone!

The coruscant guard, I wish they had gotten better

Tarkin u dramatic bitch

‘The brig’ this ain’t some tallship

Lol echo that shade

Their blacks are different from the ones seen in the past

Crosshair, stop being a bitch

Oh, I don’t like that phrase!! And the fact that crosshair screamed it in echo’s face makes me uneasy. Did rex fill echo in on why fives died?? I hope so...

Crosshair, ur chip hurting??

This child, I like her.

No! Don’t hit hunter!

No crosshair!!!!

I dislike this immensly

So they do still have inhibitor chips!

Tarkin you monster

Oh poor crosshair

ihatethisihatethisihatethis

Lol tech I love you

Wrecker you sweet pea

Lol that’s adorable

I love how they form a “wall” its so suspicious 

He was about to say that, omega

Aaww, echo protective boi

Wrecker shut up tf

That was cool

Sneaky bois

This reminds me of rex and ahsoka sneaking around in v&d

Echo runs so stupid

Oh no they winter soldier’d him!

If he says who the hell is crosshar, I will lose my shit

Yes, he has. They took it from him.

The toothpick

I wonder how they’re gonna get crosshair back to normal

Not good that they nabbed the sniper

Oh, crosshair shot him in the same place he got hit during training!

Ooh, a kaminoan on their side!

I hope omega doesn’t die

Poor trigger etiquette, crosshair

Wonder if omega has any speciality training

They’re just gonna leave him there!?!?!?!?!

Nooooooooooo!!!!!!!

Omega reminds me of young boba 

Oh, so its in her dna

Go back for crosshair!!

Holy fucking shit that was amazing! I didn’t expect it to be that long, but I’m not complaining! This ended up being a lot longer than I anticipated, but I don’t feel like cutting anything out, so sorry for the long post but at least I put it under a cut.

[songbookff]

Valentine's j/7 ❤

I’m making this an established janeway/seven. Set whenever you want it to be. Also it turned out a waaaayyy longer than I thought...so I also posted it on A03. Thank you, anon. If you want me to gift you the fic on A03, just message me your username. Or if you want to stay anon, that’s fine too. 

In the early morning, Captain Janeway entered her office and went straight for her replicator. Coffee was calling. She gave the computer her normal order, but to her surprise, when her coffee appeared, so did a single red rose. 

Tentatively, she reached out to touch the vibrantly colored rose. Attached to the green stem was a note. It was odd, to see the cardstock, although replicated and the small ribbon that secured it in place. In printed script, it read: “Roses are red...” 

Kathryn pulled the rose up to her face, knowing that the scent was replicated, but reveling in it all the same. She turned away and made it halfway to her desk before she remembered that her coffee was still sitting in the replicator. Even a red rose couldn’t completely distract her from her morning cup of survival. 

Rose in one hand, coffee in the other, she slipped into her chair behind her desk, only to find a small bouquet of purplish-blue flowers. A blue ribbon tied the stems together and another note attached. This one read, “Violets are blue...” 

She set down the rose and her coffee (after a quick sip of course) and picked up the bundle. These felt different than the replicated rose. Katheryn’s eyes widened when she realized these were from Voyager’s own botanical gardens. They were real violets, not generated by the computer. They felt much more delicate than the rose and she could see the tiny imperfections of being grown rather than created. They were truly beautiful. 

After replicating a small vase with water to set them in, Kathryn tried to start her day. However, there was the faintest smile on her face and she was convinced her coffee tasted better this morning. Finally, she pulled up her data padd to review the reports from the night shift. When the padd turned on, a single message appeared, marked urgent. 

Odd. Usually urgent messages were reported by the computer so that she didn’t miss any when she was sleeping or off duty. She pressed open and the text read: “...I would like to spend dinner in the holodeck just with you.” 

This time, Kathryn didn’t attempt to suppress the smile. Whatever Seven was up to, she had gone out of her way to surprise her this morning. The poem sounded familiar now. It was an old Earth romantic ballad of sorts: “Roses are red, violets, are blue...” usually followed by a rhyming ending that expressed love and adoration. It was clever, really. 

And very unlike Seven of Nine. This of course, only intrigued Kathryn more. 

However, she did have a ship to run. So she pulled up the reports and began reading, trying not to let the beautiful flowers on her desk distract her. It seemed everything had been quiet the night before, so the reports were short. A blown fuse on deck three had been the only excitement of the night and had been resolved within a half hour. 

The door chimed after an hour, and she rose for her morning meeting with Chakotay. He entered the office was a pleasant smile, hands tucked behind his back. “Good morning, Captain.” 

“It has been...” admitted Kathryn with a smile. She couldn’t help but noticed he had a mischievous look in his eyes. “Chakotay, what’s going on?” 

“Can’t slip anything past you,” he chuckled. “Nothing new to report, although B’elanna claims to have come up with an idea to maximize our warp capacity by another percentage. I’ll be sure to have someone double check her math before she begins any experimentation. Although, Tom has volunteered to do the preliminary fight tests on the shuttle. So she can’t think it’s that dangerous.” 

“Just make sure Harry is there to monitor,” replied Kathryn with a smirk. 

“Will do. Also, I have been asked to make a delivery.” From behind his back, Chakotay produced a red box that had been formed in the shape of a geometric heart. He was grinning from ear to ear now, obviously in on whatever Seven was planning by the looks of the box he was holding out to her. 

Curiously, she took the box, surprised a little by the weight of it. Under Chakotay’s excited gaze, she opened it to find an assortment of tiny chocolates also shaped as hearts. They appeared to be different flavors and if she could guess, different fillings as well. 

“What is going on?” she repeated, astonished at the chocolates. 

Chakotay laughed and shrugged, innocently proclaiming, “I’m just they delivery guy. But I do have strict instructions that you are to try one before we get out on the bridge.” 

Chocolate wasn’t something she normally indulged in, especially not for breakfast, but the warm feeling in the pit of her stomach, knowing somehow this was all Seven’s design, forced her to comply. She picked a dark brown piece with a red swirl design and popped it into her mouth. 

“Well?” asked Chakotay, eyebrow raised in anticipation. 

“Dark chocolate with cherry. Absolutely delicious,” declared Kathryn. Then she let out a chuckle at the ridiculousness of the situation. She set the chocolates on the desk next to the rose and the vase she had put the violets in. 

Together, they exited her ready room to start the morning on the bridge. Her crew was bustling as usual. To be honest it had been a dull week, but after all the excitement they had recently, Kathryn was glad for the down time. There was maintenance to be done and the crew were rotating on new shifts to get some down time. So for the next hour, Kathryn read reports in the Captain’s chair, tuning out the business of the bridge. 

That is until Harry Kim was at her elbow. He cleared his throat and hesitated, “Captain...” 

“What can I do for you, Ensign?” asked Kathryn. Noticing the nervous expression on his face, she added, “What did Lieutenant Paris do now?” 

“I’m right here!” came the exasperated call from the helm. Tom whirled around in his seat, throwing his hands in the air. The tension broke and Harry managed a short laugh. 

“As you were,” ordered Kathryn. Tom turned back to his helm, but not before giving Harry a wink. 

“Captain, I need to borrow your badge...and your pips...”

“Excuse me?” 

“Just for a few minutes,” he hastily said. “I just need to upgrade the badge!” 

“And my pips?” Kathryn raised an eyebrow. Harry stood firm under her gaze and reached out his open palm. 

Chakotay leaned over in his chair and whispered, “Don’t interrogate the poor kid. Just give him what he asked for...” 

It suddenly dawned on Kathryn that this was another part of Seven’s elaborate plan. Of course, she had no idea what in the world Harry would do with her badge or rank, but wordlessly she plucked the badge from her chest and allowed Chakotay to help her unpin the four pips from her collar. 

Eagerly, Harry hustled away without another word. Amused glances were being exchanged between her bridge crew and she swore she saw Tuvok give Harry a nod of approval as he left the bridge. Kathryn spend the next half hour wondering what in the stars everyone was up to when Harry returned, velvet box in hand. 

Wordlessly, he handed it to her before scurrying back to his post at Ops. Chakotay was staring at the blur of stars on the viewscreen now, purposely giving her a moment of privacy. Kathryn opened the box to reveal her comm badge and four shining pips staring back at her. She hadn’t seen them this polished since they were new, well before Voyager had entered the Delta Quadrant. 

It wasn’t that she didn’t take care of her hardware, but keeping them shining was the last thing on her mind during most of the journey. But here they were, good as new. The badge gleamed too, no residual fingerprints any more. She pinned it back on and nudged Chakotay to help her put the pips back on her collar. 

Harry cleared his throat from Ops and she turned in her chair to face him. With the slightest red in his cheeks he said, “I think you’ll find I took care of the problem you were having with your badge sticking.” 

“Very good, Ensign,” was all she could think to say. For the past two weeks, she had been complaining that her badge needed to be hit twice on occasion to connect to the computer. If they were in Starfleet space, the comm badges would be replaced regularly so this wouldn’t happen. 

The rest of the morning went on as normal, although now Kathryn was wondering what else could possibly happened. Lunchtime came and she made her way to the Mess Hall. There were a few crew members already enjoying lunch. However, she reached the replicators, a voice called out. 

“Captain! Your lunch is already ready for you.” Standing behind her was Icheb, proudly holding a tray. “Today the kitchen has prepared a vegetable and bean stew with a side of crusty bread.” 

Icheb, still learning about human cuisine seemed unsure of what he was saying, but a steaming bowl sat atop the tray and a slice of toasted french bread rested on a napkin next to it. The stew was reminiscent of one that she had grown up eating, although it was usually replicated if she remembered correctly. It was a favorite of her father. 

“Thank you, Icheb,” she said politely, taking the tray from him. He gave her a quick nod before turning on his heal to go back into the kitchen. Kathryn gave a small shake of her head in amusement. What a day this was turning out to be...

The stew was tasty, if a little heavy on beans and the bread was as crusty as Icheb had said. Still, it was a good lunch, one she had not been expecting. As she wiped up the last of the stew with her bread, Naomi Wildman slipped into the chair across from her. 

“Hello, Captain.” The girl had a broad smile on her face. 

“How are you, Naomi?” asked Kathryn, wondering what Seven could have put the child up to. 

“I have something for you,” replied Naomi with excitement. From her lap, hidden from Kathryn’s view, she produced a small stuffed bear. It was brown with a red bow around the neck and wasn’t much bigger than Naomi’s hands. She pushed it over for Kathryn to grab and then slipped off the chair and skipped out of the Mess Hall. 

The bear was soft and fit perfectly into Kathryn’s grasp. The little thing made her smile, right there in front of the other members of the crew in the Mess Hall. Most were grinning back at her and now Kathryn was certain that the entire ship was in on Seven’s escapade. 

She took the bear back to the bridge with her and said nothing when Chakotay tried to cover a laugh at the sight of it sitting on the arm of her chair. She had no idea what had possessed Seven, or rather Naomi, to give it to her, but she enjoyed the little stuff thing. It was silly, but sweet. 

Two hours later, Tuvok called her attention, “Captain. I believe it is time to report to your quarters.” 

“I’m on shift for another three hours, Tuvok.” 

“I will escort you to your quarters.” The answer was firm and when she looked behind her, he had left his post and was waiting by the turbolift doors. 

Everyone on the bridge seemed to be determined to stare at their consoles and not look directly at her. Well, she had played along all morning, why stop now? With a sigh, she pushed herself out of the Captain’s seat and walked towards the exit. 

“Forgetting something?” asked Chakotay, holding up the little bear. He was failing miserably at keeping his face neutral.

“You have the bridge, Commander.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

Kathryn retrieved the bear with a roll of her eyes and then allowed Tuvok to escort her back to her quarters. “Tuvok, will you please tell me what is going on?”

“I have been sworn to the strictest of confidences.” He continued to look straight ahead. 

“I know Seven is behind all of this...but it’s interfering with my job now.” 

He didn’t answer until the reached her door and then he slowly turned and spoke, “I would never place you or this ship in any precarious situation. I assure you that this is in your best interest and should a situation arrive that would need your direct attention, I will be the first to summon you.” 

“Thank you, Tuvok.” He held up the Vulcan salute and then left her to enter her quarters. 

When the doors whooshed open, she could hear soothing music playing. The lights were dimmed and there was a large porcelain bathtub where her coffee table used to be. And Neelix was standing behind it, grinning from ear to ear. 

“Captain! Welcome to Neelix’s home spa treatment!” he greeted her with a grand motion of his arms.

“How...?” Kathryn glanced back at her closed door and then back at Neelix. 

“We were worried you may not have appreciated the intrusion. But I promise that I haven’t been in any of your personal belongings. I brought all my own things. Your table was the only thing removed.” He winked at her and then, like the showman he was, waved his hands dramatically and began by lifting a small bowl from the small table he had arranged next to the bath tub.“Today I have for you the most luxurious and moisturizing face cream that will leave you glowing and relieved.” 

Placing the bowl back down he reached for a bottle and wine glass also sitting on the table. Pouring the red liquid into in the glass, he said, “A top of the line red wine that comes from Earth, the French region, I believe. It is dry with a hint of blackberries and oak.” 

“And here,” he pulled a leather bound book from seemingly thin air, “Is your entertainment for the evening. A romance novel circa the twentieth century, for your enjoyment.” 

“All of this in what is called a ‘bathtub’.” Neelix motioned towards the tub with a sweep of his hand. “I made some adjustments to make it more comfortable. I have no idea how humans could stand sitting for long period of times with that shape. Seven wanted everything to be as historically accurate as possible, so we’ll just have to keep that secret to ourselves. The water will remain the most comfortable of temperatures for the human body and it has bubbles that give off the scent of lavender.” 

“Thank you?” Kathryn eyed the bathtub wearily and then back to Neelix. 

He had produced a plum colored robe and walked towards her. The silk was soft on her hands when she grasped the it. “I will leave you know. Just let the computer know if you need anything. Your next guest will be arriving at eighteen hundred hours to help you get ready for your dinner on the holosuite. The computer will give you a fifteen minute warning.” 

Neelix left with a wink and a smile, leaving Kathryn alone with the robe and bathtub. Self care like this wasn’t something she indulged in anymore. It made her a little uncomfortable at first, as she stripped off her uniform and put on the robe. 

A sip of wine helped relax her senses and she liberally applied Neelix’s face cream to her face. She figured that even if Neelix had somehow given her something that she was allergic to, the Doctor would be able to set it right. Once the face mask had been applied, she slipped off the robe and climbed into the tub. 

As she lowered her body into the perfectly warmed water, she found the modifications that Neelix had been talking about. Instead of the rounded bottom of the tub, she found a soft, almost cushiony chair, waiting for her to rest on. She sunk back against the porcelain with a sigh. 

After another sip of wine, she reached for the book. She hadn’t read it before, but it looked like something she would enjoy. It as written in the twentieth century, but appeared to take place in the eighteenth. Soon, she was entranced in the story, with nothing but the soothing music, warm water, and delicious wine to fill her mind. 

The computer chimed some time later, altering her that she needed to get out of the tub. There was a towel hanging from the edge of the tub that she used to dry off and then put the silky robe back on. The door chimed and she said enter without even asking who it was. 

To her surprise, B’Elanna burst through the door, a black garment bag slung over her shoulder. She took one look at Kathryn, frowned, and said, “What the hell do you have on your face?” 

Kathryn had completely forgotten about the face cream and hoped she wasn’t supposed to have removed it after a certain amount of time. “I’m not sure she admitted.” 

“Well, go wash it off while I get these out.” B’Elanna made a shooing motion while she walked over to Kathryn’s bed. Kathryn went into the bathroom to wash off the cream. To her relief, her face appeared to be fine. In fact, she felt light and refreshed. 

When she came back in, B’Elanna had laid two pieces of clothing on the bed. One was a dark green gown, with a lace pattern overlaid on the silken material on the chest. It was belted at the waist and floor length. The second was a light grey suit, with a silken green shirt beneath it that matched the dress. Both had obviously been tailored to her size. 

“I have no idea what Seven was thinking, putting me in charge of getting you dressed. So I got some opinions from the other women in the crew and we decided on these two. There is a bet going about whether you will pick the dress or the suit. I’m betting on the suit, so don’t let me down.” 

Both garments were beautiful, but B’Elanna was right, the suit was probably more her style. The dress was beautiful, but the thought of wearing it down to the holosuite for anyone to see made her uncomfortable. 

“I’ll wear the suit, but leave the dress.” Maybe later she could put it on just for Seven. 

B’Elanna clapped her hands together in triumph. “Alright, so Seven wanted this to be authentic, hence the real clothes, but I’m not a stylist. So I programmed the holodeck to do your hair and makeup when you enter. She’ll never know. And don’t worry, I am a firm believer that no one needs makeup, so it won’t be anything heavy.” 

If there was one person on this ship that Kathryn trusted wouldn’t overdo her hair or makeup, it was B’Elanna. “Thank you.”

“Alright, let’s get you into this thing. Wouldn’t want to keep the Borg waiting...” she grinned at her own joke and Kathryn rolled her eyes. It was a teasing that had been occurring since Kathryn and Seven had made their relationship public. 

The pants and shirt fit like a glove and B’Elanna helped her get the suit jacket on. B’Elanna stood back, admiring her work. “Huh. It does look good.” 

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” replied Kathryn sarcastically. “But seriously, thank you.” 

“Don’t mention it.” B’Elanna straightened her collar and added, “Seriously. Let’s never mention this again.” 

“Deal.” 

The two women left the Captain’s quarters and headed toward the holosuite. There weren’t too many crewmembers in the corridors. Kathryn wondered if they had been instructed to make themselves scarce or if everyone was just busy. Waiting by the holosuite was Tom Paris, bottle in hand, leaning against the bulkhead. 

Tom let out a whistle when Kathryn and B’Elanna approached him and his wife punched him in the shoulder for it. Kathryn only rolled her eyes. “Is that bottle for me?” 

“The finest champagne I could replicate. I did a little magic with the replicator to get around the safety features, that that there is the real deal. Harry and I tried a dozen just to make sure you got the best one. It’s authentic as you can get this far into the delta quadrant.” Tom handed her the bottle with a wink. Then he slung his arm around B’Elanna’s shoulder. “My fair lady, would you escort me back to our quarters. I seem to have lost my way.”

“How much did you drink, you idiot?” B’Elanna grabbed ahold of Tom and as they walked away, she called over her shoulder, “Have a good evening, Captain.” 

“Go get the girl!” shouted Tom, encouragingly. He let out a hoot that was quickly shushed by his wife. 

Bottle in hand, smile on her face, Kathryn entered the simulation. She walked into what appeared to be a countryside vineyard of old Earth. A single table for two was set on a stone patio that had fairy lights strung up in the air. A pair of candles lit the table on a white table cloth. Long stemmed champagne glasses were paired with white china plates. 

“Hello, Kathryn.” Seven of Nine walked out of the vineyard across from Kathryn. She was dressed in a beautiful, shimmering full length red dress. The neckline dipped to reveal just enough of her chest to make Kathryn blush. It was held up by slender straps and blonde hair was curled on her shoulders. The color was gorgeous and Kathryn was sure that her jaw dropped. 

“Seven...you look...” Kathryn gripped the neck of the champagne bottle tighter as she tried to find the right words. “You are beautiful.”  

“I am partial to the dress,” replied Seven, looking down at herself. “It is impractical, but I believe it has the desired effect.” 

“All of this is beautiful,” said Kathryn as she approached the table. “Today was been wonderful. Quite surprising, but wonderful.” 

“Your suit fits you well. I find that my attraction to you is heightened in that outfit.” Kathryn allowed herself to blush under Seven’s gaze. Seven motioned for her to take a seat. 

Suddenly, the Doctor, dressed in a tuxedo appeared out of thin air. “May I take that bottle from you, Captain?” 

“I...yes...” Kathryn handed it over, surprised by his appearance. He deftly popped the cork and poured out the two glasses as the women seated themselves. 

“Tonight, I will be serving a lobster linguine. We will begin with a light salad to prime the palate and then we will move to the main course. A decadent chocolate cheesecake will be served for dessert.” He gave them a smile and then snapped his fingers and the salads appeared on the plate in front of them. With another snap, he had disappeared. 

“Seven, what is all of this?” asked Kathryn. “Not that I don’t appreciate it, but I don’t understand.” 

“As you know, I have been studying Earth history to help reconnect with my humanity. I came across several holidays and traditions that have intrigued me. Some of them were based on religious or political movements of the time. I found one particularly of interest now that I am in a relationship with you. It is called ‘St. Valentine’s Day’. Have you heard of it?” 

A smile graced Kathryn’s face. “I have.” 

“I was confused by the history at first. There are conflicting thoughts on the origins of the holiday, but all seemed to be grim. However, it transformed into a day to celebrate lovers. When calendar dates were still being observed, it occurred annually on February fourteenth. I decided to make today Valentine’s Day for just the two of us.” Seven tilted her head to the side. “I thought it would be romantic.” 

“It is...” murmured Kathryn. She took another bite of salad. “I don’t know that much about the history of Valentine’s Day. I understood your poem this morning. I think it is a traditional Valentine.” 

“Yes. Roses and violets. Although, the name violets implies a purple color rather than blue, I did not correct it in order to continue the rhyme. I read that a dozen roses is a common gift, but a single red rose often implies more intimacy. Therefore, I provided a single red rose and a dozen violets.”  

“Chocolates are a traditional gift for lovers, even now. I can’t wait to eat the rest of them.” 

“I too am found of chocolates,” admitted Seven and Kathryn filed that information away for use at a later date. “Another traditional gift is jewelry. However, necklaces, bracelets, and rings are against the dress code. And you do not wear any off duty.” 

“So you had my pips and badge cleaned.” Her heartbeat quickened. Seven had thought all of this through. It really was romantic. Kathryn wasn’t sure she could love the woman more, but somehow, she still had the ability to surprise her. 

“Another common gift was stuffed animals. The Doctor explained that these are not taxidermized animals, but fluff stuffed fake figures. They are more commonly used by children for comfort. A ‘teddy bear’ is a traditional stuffed animal.” 

“It was cute,” laughed Kathryn and to her pleasure, she saw Seven’s eyes light up at her reaction. “The spa was nice, too.” 

“I am pleased that you enjoyed it.” Seven gave her a natural smile. Goodness, she was so beautiful, especially over candlelight. 

The Doctor cleared his throat to announce his return. He snapped his fingers and announced, “Dinner is served.” 

The salad plates disappeared and were replaced by a delicious looking pasta dish, topped with pieces of lobster. Breadsticks appeared in the middle of the table. Seven motioned to the food and explained, “Many references sourced traditional pasta from the Italian region of Earth was a common Valentine’s meal. Others reported that a home cooked meal that was nostalgic was also a good choice.” 

“So you made my father’s favorite stew.” 

Seven nodded. “You don’t have many favorites, but you talk about your family so often. I thought it would be the correct touch.” 

“It was perfect.” Kathryn reached across the table to take Seven’s hand in her own. “All of it was perfect.” 

“I believe the correct response would be that you are perfect. But I think that is incorrect. Everyone has flaws. It is in our nature.” Seven gave her hand a squeeze. “But I feel like you deserve to be treated with perfection, because I love you.” 

“I love you, too, Seven.” The candlelight twinkled in their eyes. 

“We should engage in eating this meal. My research says it will be pleasing to the palate,” added Seven with a tiny smirk. Kathryn laughed and picked up her fork to dig into the pasta. 

Seven was right, it was delicious. And so was the slice of cheesecake that they shared for dessert. When they were finished, the Doctor appeared again. “I hope you enjoyed your dinner tonight. If you will stand please, I will delete the table and leave you two ladies to enjoy the rest of your evening.” 

Both Kathryn and Seven rose to their feet. The Doctor snapped his fingers and the table disappeared. He gave them both a little bow and then snapped himself out of the simulation. Upon his departure, music starting playing. Soft, but with a dancing rhythm. Seven offered her hand and Kathryn accepted. 

The two began dancing, slowly turning on the stone patio together, beneath the moonlight and the tiny string of lights above them. Kathryn pulled Seven’s thin body tightly against her own. She dropped her face to press their cheeks together, breathing in the scent that was Seven. 

Kathryn loved being this close to Seven. They fit together so well. It was something that Kathryn had never experienced with anyone else. She loved the feel of Seven’s body against her own. 

“I am pleased that you are my Valentine,” whispered Seven in her ear. Kathryn smiled and pressed a kiss to Seven’s collarbone. 

Then she pulled back just enough to lock eyes with her lover. Gently, Kathryn raised her hand from Seven’s hip to cup her face. Then she firmly pressed their lips together. Beneath the moonlight, Kathryn kissed her Valentine. 

[realityhelixcreates]

Dance of the Spheres Chapter 5: Martian March

Chapters: 5/?

Fandom:  Marvel Cinematic Universe

Rating: PG 13

Warnings: drugging, kidnapping, forced marriage

Characters: Loki(Marvel),

Additional Tags:  Loki Goes Overboard, But When Doesn’t Loki go Overboard, Mature Reader, Disabled Reader, Political Intrigue

Summary:  

I'm going back to Saturn where the rings all glow

Rainbow, moonbeams, and orange snow

On Saturn, people live to be two hundred and five

Going back to Saturn where the people smile.

                                              Saturn-Stevie Wonder

our rooms glittered. They were faced in massive scale pietra dura stone patterns from floor to ceiling. Gray, black, and white dominated, with a surprising amount of green mixed in, as well as startling pops of orange-red, blue, yellow, purple, and bright pink.

The designs were large and geometric, almost a sister style to the classic Art Deco that you saw on the older buildings downtown, mixed in among the flavorless glass towers and Brutalist boxes that defined the 'modern' era.

This main room housed a delicately carved stone couch and chairs, around a low stone table, and several stone shelves and storage boxes. These were all made of a black stone that held numerous yellowish-green crystals in their matrix, all polished so that the crystals shimmered.

This same stone appeared in the patterns on the walls and floor, as very thin panes on a pale backing, highlighting the colors of their crystals. This, along with a similar black stone with reddish-orange crystals, and a dark gray, large-grained stone that sparkled at any angle, was contrasted against the now familiar creamy white and pale orange. Here and there, inlays of silvery wire brought organic shapes to the mix.

The cloudy crystal made a reappearance in a round, well-lit, domed room Loki described as a 'Solar', even though no sun could reach this place. Instead, the clearest of the crystal had been set into the dome, all of it covering the mysterious lights, creating a bright light source that illuminated the room to something close to midday. The walls were covered in the cloudy crystal, which, in the bright light, shone with veils and flashes of iridescent blue.

On one wall there was a subtle inlay of  translucent gray stone, in the shape of clouds, that shone in splashes of blue and purple. Cleverly inlaid within them were specific pieces of the same type of stone, in the shape of lightning bolts that sparked yellow when viewed at the right angle, but were invisible from others.

He showed you the antechamber that connected your rooms and his, all in black and green. Even the lights were covered in thin panes of green crystals thickly packed in black matrix, casting a dim, viridian light over the whole chamber.

You decided that room was extremely creepy, and you never wanted to be in it.

The bath room was much better, ridiculously large, with a shower just out in the open, a wide counter with a mirror of polished metal, a huge tub carved right into a semi-finished block of stone, and a strange toilet tucked away in a stall in the corner. It was all big enough for you to move around in easily, though you mentioned that you would need a chair for the shower. Loki vowed to have one brought immediately.

But your bedroom was the obvious jewel. Loki puffed up with pride as he showed it off, as if he were the one who designed it. There were jewels in here, bright, bubblegum pink, golden yellow, and apple green in elaborate platinum settings, affixed to the walls. There was more cloudy gray and white crystal in here, with their blue and purple, pink and yellow flashes. The lights were clustered around the ceiling like stars, and the bed was another of the precious rare wooden objects, a four poster canopy bed, draped with a gauzy veil.

Most surprising of all, the bedroom had a window-or rather, a doorway out to a semi-circular balcony that overlooked what must be the main palace courtyard and entrance. When you stepped out onto it, you could see lines of guards-more people than you'd seen in one place since you'd been here. They framed the long, rectangular space every ten feet or so, in bright, brassy armor and sunny yellow capes.

This was clearly a cape kind of place.

It was very strange. You could have sworn you hadn't climbed any ramps, and you certainly hadn't gone up any stairs, but here you were, at least six stories up, and there were more stories above you.

“You must be clever builders.” you said without thinking about it.

“Our engineering capabilities are the envy of the galaxy, it's true.” Loki boasted. You believed him. All around the courtyard more balconies jutted out. Several dozen feet to the side of yours, the balcony you assumed must belong to Loki was connected to another large balcony on the opposite side by an elegant walkway, supported by slender pillars. There was a round platform in the center, and red curtains obscured the balcony on the other side.

“We can address large crowds from there, or call emergency meetings of the guards, or the other high nobles.” Loki said, following your gaze. “That's who lives on this floor. Myself, my brother, all of the most important Asgardians, and now you.”

But not for long, if you had any opportunity. “Uh, I'm honored.”

“How do you like them, though?” he pressed, “Is the décor to your liking? The size? We've been working on it for months, but we can still change things if you need.”

“Months?” you gasped, shocked. “You guys did all this in just months?”

Asgard had come to Earth a little under two years ago, decimated and begging for assistance. Thor led them, but no one knew Loki had come along. Thor himself served as his own liaison to the United Nations, bringing his case before the leaders of Earth, to secure a place for his people.

Obviously, it had worked. Thor's reputation and high-profile friends, as well as his surprisingly diplomatic and optimistic outlook had both charmed and discombobulated most people who spoke to him. People liked and respected him, but no one expected him to be savvy.

It had worked out very well for him and his people. They had secured some secret land that the entire U.N. had remained tight-lipped about. Then, a few months in, Thor had stopped making appearances, leaving Earth-Asgard relations to his advisors; an abrasive, undiplomatic woman whom you loved to watch, and a stoic and imposing man with unsettling eyes. Rumors flew for a while, but you hadn't paid much attention. There had been so much to fight for at home.

Did anyone even know you were gone? You were supposed to attend a march tonight. Or last night? You didn't know how long you had been asleep. Surely someone noticed you were missing.

But if they did, how would you even know?

“-harness the sun's energy over the long rotation period so that we can build even more efficiently.” Loki was saying. “We've done an admirable job for such a reduced population, but there is so much more to do.”

“And you took them away from that to build this for me?”

“I took them away from this to build special chambers for the princess of Asgard.” Loki corrected, “It was not a waste, nor was it superfluous. It was for someone important.”

“I'm not.” you insisted, “I'm just some rando they snatched up and tossed at you. I'm not princess material.”

“I will find out what is behind this.” he said, “But until I can, I want you to feel comfortable here. This is all yours now, and more.”

You couldn't, you couldn't allow yourself. You weren't supposed to be here. It was only a matter of time before this mix up was discovered, and a swap was arranged. You'd go home, and some other woman would take your place.

How horrible.

“But is everything to your liking? Do you need more light? More space? Is the bed all right for your leg? A good height?”

You were more than a little wary about getting into bed with him here, but as you hobbled over to it, he remained at a distance. You sank onto the plush mattress, with it's silky green sheets and thick comforter. It was very nice, soft and smooth, and warm, despite being placed on solid stone. Hopefully the blanket would ward off the slight chill that followed everywhere you had been so far.

“It's a good height,” you said, “especially if I get a new cane.”

“Excellent. Would you like to see my quarters?' he asked, “You may come and go between them as you please.”

Which meant that he could too. You didn't find that reassuring.

“Uh...isn't that, um, inappropriate?” you asked, casting about for any reason to refuse. “We haven't even, um, there hasn't even been a wedding!”

He paused, then his face broke into a beautiful, glowing smile. “Of course. I understand. You want that big celebration, naturally. Well, it is only fair, isn't it?” He sat down on the floor next to your bed, as if forgetting that he was a prince and a god, a powerful figure, abandoning his dignity to sit on the floor like a child.

“Do you want to plan it, or leave it to the advisors? Asgard is very good at grand weddings, but if you've had some specific plan for it, I'm sure we can accommodate it.”

“Uh...” This would be the perfect opportunity to stall. You could buy so much time with this! “I would like to plan it. There's things I've been wanting to do since I was a little girl. It would be a dream come true, to plan my own wedding.”

Not strictly true. Certainly, as a little girl you had contemplated flowers and a dress. There being a groom was far less important.

“Then begin any time you like.” Loki said warmly. “I'll have notebooks brought to you, and you can plan out whatever you want. Whatever it is, we can do it for you.”

You almost felt bad for what you were going to do, but on the other hand, you didn't trust him and his terrifying adoration, and horrible power over your life and safety. You'd make as many impossible demands and take up as much time as you possibly could. If it kept you safe. If it kept you from the nightmare scenario.

“I will have your bathing chair brought. You seem tired; shall I have dinner brought to you? We can dine in your audience room. We can have you measured for a new prosthetic, and for a new cane as well. The artificers will set to work on them immediately.”

“Um, sure. That sounds fine.” Dinner would be welcome, after only one apple and one cup of water. And a new, higher tech leg and cane might help you escape faster. You should take every opportunity available to you.

Loki helped you out to the largest room, with it's bookshelves and seating, and saw that you were comfortable. Then he bid you stay put and wait for a bit, while he got everything set up. You were in no shape to try for an escape right now; you would just bide your time.

You waited patiently, taking in the details of the beautifully precise stonework that made up your new-temporary-living quarters. What incredible workmanship. Shame it had been wasted on you.

Maybe someone else would have been thrilled. To have wealth and power, security and luxury, a handsome prince just handed to them with no effort on their part at all. That wasn't what you wanted though; you didn't want to join the lucky ones. You didn't want to be lifted out of your hardships and set above your peers, you wanted those hardships to be eliminated for everybody. You didn't want to be a social climber, you wanted a more equitable society. This fantasy was worthless to you. It had all been done without your consent.

A quiet knock on the door grabbed your attention. You didn't answer immediately, and the knock was hesitantly repeated.

“Um, come in?” you called.

The two adolescents you had run off before cracked the door open and peeked their heads in.

“Your highness?” the girl asked.

“May we enter?” the boy finished.

“Yeah, come in. I'm in a better mood now.” you said calmly. No need to be rude to them now that she knew what was going on. If Loki hadn't even known about the kidnapping, there was no way these kids were in on it.

“We were sent here to get measurements?” the boy-Andvarri wasn't it-asked shyly. “For a prosthetic leg, and a cane?”

“Yes, I was told you might be coming. I'm sorry about earlier: I was very disoriented and confused.”

“No harm done, your highness. This won't take long.”

The girl-Bjarkehilde-helped you stand as Andvarri took several measurements and asked about your preferences in weight and materials, flexibility and points of articulation, even colors and decorations.

They were going to put in a lot of effort to help you escape. A fine efficient leg, a sturdy lightweight cane, and Bjarkehilde even asked about what kinds of medication you needed, and for what.

Bjarkehild was surprisingly close to your height and build as well. That stayed in the back of your mind for a while after the two of them left.

As the minutes passed, you began to realize that you were going to need some kind of clock. You had no idea what time it was. There was no visible sunlight, the lights in your rooms hadn't changed at all, and no one had mentioned it at all. How did the Asgardians know? Was some kind of internal timekeeping part of their natural abilities?

Maybe it was the nebulous grasp of time, maybe it was the fading adrenaline and setting in of weariness, maybe it was residual drugs working their way out of your systems, but you began to feel strange as you waited for Loki to return. Either you felt hot, or the slight chill that was prevalent in this place was getting worse. Perhaps you had been staring at the artistic walls for too long, because the colors seemed to be vacillating between painfully saturated, and fuzzy at the edges.

It seemed to take forever for Loki to return, carrying a tray of food and drink. This he set on the lovely stone table before you, and then took a seat in a nearby chair.

“You must be ravenous by now.” he said, and you were. You leaned forward to inspect the offerings. The metal tray was filled with small stone bowls and plates, and two small cups of liquid. Was this how meals were traditionally served in Asgard? A great variety of small portions?

One of the cups turned out to be orange drink, from powder. You recognized that taste from your childhood. The dry air had made your tongue rough, and the acidic flavor was a blast on your tastebuds, as bright as the colors on the walls. The second cup was some kind of brown broth, possibly also from powder, as it got thicker at the bottom of the cup. There were dried apricots, soaked in honey, and dates, a barley porridge with a swirl of honey and a dash of cinnamon. There were common Saltine-type crackers that went with a very strange stew that looked like it was made, not just with re-hydrated vegetables, but re-hydrated meat as well. It tasted fine, but the texture left something to be desired.

You barely noticed. You wolfed it all down as Loki just sat and watched, having brought nothing for himself.

“I see you needed the fuel.” he commented, after every bite was gone. “Yes, I think you will need it. Beloved, I must tell you something about that apple you ate earlier. I can see it's effects are starting to take hold. Like I said earlier, I had thought to feed it to you slowly.”

“The apple? What...what's it doing to me?” Beloved? He was taking things a bit far, wasn't he? But you definitely were feeling weird. Uncomfortable. “I had just woken up and I didn't know where I was, or what was going to happen. I didn't know where my next meal was coming from.”

“And I understand that now, as I did not then, or I would have refrained from putting it out at all. But it's too late now. For several things. We will simply have to adapt and endure.”

“Endure?”

“I will not leave your side, you may count on that.” He promised. “But that was a special apple. Its tree came from a cutting, taken from a remnant grove in Vanir territory, as part of their peace treaty with us. A sacred tree whose fruits provided the Vanir with ageless warriors. For us, they heal terrible wounds and sickness. But for you, they are known as the Apples of Immortality, and they confer a great gift indeed. But it is not without price.”

You doubled over in pain.

[spacegaywritings]

Little Tales (An age regression series) - Story 4: Stories

General Audience

Little!Patton

Summary: Patton felt the fuzzy feeling his whole day and now it is time to give in to his coping mechanism and prepare some nice things.

Tags: nostalgia mention, food, eating, snuggles, cuddles, self-care, babyspeak babytalk!, also I write like a smol at points, mom/grandmom mention, pasta, story, cartoons, hugs, blankets, comfort, Eurus the uwu snatcher!,neo pronouns, nb rep,

Please be mindful to not tag/ add any ships or shipping content - this is age regression and there are no relationships of any kind happening. Please respect that. Also don’t add any NSFW comments to this work. I appreciate this.

My KoFi  - Support me ♥ or Commission me

Note: If you miss any tags, have issues with links or any other concerns, please feel free to contact me. Anon is on and my DMs are open.♥ Links broken? Inform me, please!

Previous parts: 1 // 2 // 3 // ao3 1 // ao3 2 // ao3 3 // ao3 overview //  story on ao3 4 // masterlist.

 Story under the cut - Word count: ~2.7k

Patton snuggled up into his bed. It was time for a seriously calm time.

 In the background, his TV was running. It was a baking show with little kids and Patton smiled just hearing it. They had pretty things to bake with!

But he had used pretty things today and he had made special choccy cookies for himself. They had extra choccy because he really liked them.

 Patton snuggled up, hugging his favourite blanket. It had little cats and dogs on them and they snuggled and made him really happy! He smiled and cuddled the bundle of blanket in his arms. Another blanket was over him, covering him with its thin and rather cool fabric. It was patchwork and pink and had lotsa flowers on them. He had made it himself over a looooong amount of time.

 He smiled, satisfied with himself and brushed over his happy blanket.

 His soft blanket in his hands and his light blanket on his body had him snuggle up happily and just retreat into his pile of pillows. It was his soft happy place and he couldn’t feel better.

Well.. except he could because he had made himself happy tiny noods! His noods were perfect bc they were cut tiny for himself and they had nostalgia in them. He had made them like his granny and mommy used to make them for him when he was a kid.

 He pulled his bowl of pasta close to his chest and hugged it along with his little blanket. He had tiny cutlery ready. It was made of wood and for small hands and small people and he was more than happy to use it. Seeing the tiny pieces of kitchenware had him go all soft already.

His little heart was yearning for his time to come.

 Well, the time was now.

 The last bit he had to had was just this one thing..

 Patton pulled his phone up to him and opened a bookmarked website. His phone was put on “Do not disturb” which disabled all apps for him that he did not want to access or be notified about when regressed.

 “ ‘Cus ‘m a gud boi..”, he mumbled to himself.

 The praise left a reddish mark all over his cheeks and made his heart feel really soft and warm.

 Patton curled up on his side and slowly put the first spoon of tiny pasta into his mouth. There was so much cheese on it, it had to be good. Nostalgia exploded within him as the flavour hit his tongue. The familiar taste of childhood-impatience engulfed him and sparked the simple joy of being alive and having tasty food in his heart.

 “Aw..”, he mumbled to himself, nodding as if to show appreciation for the person who had made it. Neither his momma nor his grandma was with him but he routinely did so as a kid. So, now he did it, too, because he was small and a good and appreciative boy!

 Patton munched on his happy food, enjoying the savoury tastes.

 The regressed bean cuddled his food and focused on eating. No spill, no nothing but his light brain and simple mind made it harder to coordinate his hand movements in regard to his field of vision. Patton squinted a bit but the fact he got nostalgia food out of it made him more than compliant to the task.

 “Not the pretty blankie”, he reminded himself with a content smile.

 Meanwhile, the website he had opened was loading his favourite little gem. It was fanfiction, sure. It was not from his childhood like the happy cartoons he was watching (it was about little geometric figures befriending one another) but it was just as good in his opinion. It made him soft.

 There.

 He was done with his bowl of food and slowly put it aside, patting the bowl after resting it on the table. The bowl had done a good job in not spilling anything and holding the food for him. He, in turn, had done a great job in not spilling anything.

 “Gud bowl.. gud fud..”, he commented gently.

 The cartoon friends hugged and Patton cheered.

 “Yay!Frens!”

 He put his arms up, hands spread out as if to show his palms ever so proudly. The little beamed up at the TV and giggled along with Mister Triangle, Darling Circle and Miss Square. They were friends and he felt like a friend of them.

They turned to the viewer - Patton - and opened their hug to include him and the little squeaked into his room.

 “Fren!!”

 Patton giggled along with the geometric shapes who were his little friends. He hugged his blankie close and simply relished in the feeling of a warm and nice hug. Upon imagining this was what it was like to be snuggled at the moment, he focused on the softness of his blanket and its weight in his arms.

The regressed adult sighed out in relief, in contentment. A feeling flooded his insides like the ocean, waves rising and falling, breaking all over him with the sheer happiness of being “touched” and loved.

 He let out another squeak, mumbling to himself.

 “Fren ! Frens!”

 He giggled.

 His mind was fully smol. All adult worries and thoughts had slipped off his shoulders by now. The food, the cartoon, the happy blanket and the soft snuggles.

It was great, albeit not perfect.

 Patton clicked his tongue, thinking about his name. It was so soft! Pat pat - hihi. Patt-on. He giggled more and buried his face in the snuggle companion, rolling from side to side with his blanket hugged close to him. The soft bundle was tightly held by his arms while the little shook his body, thrashing around like an exited puppy out in the fields. The overwhelming urge to just roll and turn and wiggle around on his couch was strong and amplified his innocent joy.

 It was pure and it felt real and genuine in his heart.

His whole soul was taking the vacation of feeling and experiencing. Something he often abandoned in favour of being a reliable and fully functioning adult.

 But adult time was nu now! Bad adulting! It was nice time!

 “Nu adult, only baby!”, he assured himself.

  He bapy! He B A B Y !!!

 “b a p e y”, he repeated to himself.

Sometimes he had to voice his thoughts. It made him grin like a dummy but he liked it and it was happy feels for him! Gud feels!!

 Now that he was smol, there was the final step. Back to his story.

The website was fully loaded and Patton blabbered to himself in impatience, in childish, pleasant anticipation.

 “Euwus..”, he softly whispered to himself as he drew his phone close like the little treasure it was. To his mind, a smartphone was akin to magical power. He could watch cats and dogs and look at cute pictures of them, too! He could also just read and play anything and enjoy soft little games.

For now, he settled on reading.

 He wanted to read his favourite little story. It was content made by a creator called “Faeling”, someone using really fancy pronouns like neo-pronouns and such. Hence the name according to their primarily used pronouns: fae/faem

The story was written by faem and was about a hero stealing all the uwus! Or rather, making other people so soft, they gave faem these uwus. It was funny and cute and ended in a lot of nice smooches and cuddles and snuggles.

 Patton smiled and started scrolling.

 Prinxe Eurus was a well-liked person and so adorable and soft, everyone squeaked and said “uwu” when fae was around. There were happy pictures of faem with red hair. Fae walked around in funky gowns and hugged people who would say “UwU” and other things like that really loud. Then Eurus would reach up to snatch these things. The prinxe was young and short than others but fae was athletic.

 “Euwus has uwus..”, Pat observed happily.

 His heart was throbbing in happiness as he read. It was beating fast and hard with how excited he was, anticipating any action that had yet to happen.

This was the best day! Bes!!

 The story continued and Patton read.

Eurus was termed “Euwus” for possessing so many uwus. In fact, Eurus-Euwus had all the uwus of faer kingdom! Faer parents were upset but had no right to intervene. People had given their uwus to Eurus consensually and the people had risked getting their uwus snatched by interacting with them. A lot of people called to stop interacting with the prinxe but a lot of them only talked and were too captivated to stay away from faem.

The vicious circle continued.

 People worked hard to regain more uwus and feel the same rush of happiness when Eurus-Euwus did adorable things like giggle, do the happy stimmy thing or gently just get excited. Fae would gasp and make really funny faces. Sometimes, the prinxe would squeak out nice words, compliments and other things alike and absolutely rob everyone of their uwus.

 Pat hugged his blankie closer.

He was all soft for Euwus and was convinced fae had all his uwus. If not, he would make sure fae would get them.

 There was another illustration. It was the parents looking at Euwus while people secretly smuggled their uwus over under skirts, in bags and other things. It was a row of people, so so long that the queue reached faaaar outside of their castle’s realm. The window showed people standing outside, trying to juggle their uwus in their arms.

 Patton giggled.

There was a little dog and a snake bringing their uwus and putting them down before a delighted-looking Eurus-Euwus.

The little shook his head at the cute puns. They were adorable and made him tear up in happiness. All the good emotions welled up inside of him and piled up - stacked up - until he was full of all the good feelings.

It was called a “recharge” - at least he called it that when he was tol and realised he ran out of patience and adulting juice, so he knew it was time to be smol for a while.

 Without further worrying, the little scrolled more. The best part was yet to come.

 The prinxe soon had all the uwus and collected so many uwus that even neighbouring kingdoms were empty after people travelling from all the lands to come over and experience the lovely joy that was the younger royal.They all had lost their uwus to the charming giggles and delightful demeanour of Eurus. Still, they all hungered for more interaction.

There was an illustration of people lacking ALL the uwus to give to Eurus but they did nto look mad. They looked sad about not having the uwus to fully enjoy Eurus’ company.

 Meanwhile, the next page showed how fae was desperate too, in a way. Fae had so many uwus, it was hard to move around as they took up all this space. Eurus could not even stop taking the uwus as they seemed to just come over and stick to faem as soon as the others were so excited, they just revealed the happy feelings in the form of uwus.

 Patton gasped at the turn of events.

 Eurus had too many uwus and the villages and kingdoms had too little! Fae had become Eurus the uwu snatcher, known to all people in all the lands!

 The prinxe was a clever bunch of royal genes and decided to do something about the uwu situation. Fae decided to run tests while also silently smuggling the uwus back into faer people’s systems. Uwus were used to cook and everyone was invited to a special celebration. The extra sprinkles of uwus made the food even tastier. It was usually tasty because the royal cooks and bakers were great at their jobs and always made the best of foods, using the right ingredients. But this time, the food was astonishingly scrumptious.

 Patton nodded at the words, his mind slurping up the story like Euwus snatched uwus. It was his favourite part.

 He had to admit, he was silently blabbering little uwus whenever he saw them in the illustrations. The next illustration had some uwus too! There were uwus put into cooking pots, pans and other kitchenware. The cooks and baker were busy processing all the uwus in order to make the best of all the meals.

 The citizens deserved regular free meals via invitation of the royal family. This one meal was just a bit more special than usual.

 “Uwu uwu..”, Patton nodded.

 His lips were moving, slightly curved in euphoria. His fingers were wrapped tightly around the phone, his excitement flowing into holding the phone as if even the least bit of letting go could lead to the story vanishing forever.

 (To soothe this fear, he had saved it online, offline and had it ordered as a physical book.)

 Patton kept reading.

 Eurus had fed everyone these uwus and they all felt happiness filling them again but when fae announced this, they realised the change. They had interacted with one another so much, they were happy even without uwus! Being together was a delight and upon seeing the precious prinxe, people fell into a chorus of “aww”s anyway.

 “I snatched all your uwus!”, Eurus had said.

 The people were awestruck but oddly impressed. They agreed but everyone was delighted, still. Filled bellies and glasses provided a satisfaction that paired with the pure gift that was being around fae. But Eurus continued.

 “You are still happy to see me. I could feel your uwus even before I gave you the food.”

 They all agreed, a realisation slowly dawning on the faster thinkers among them. Eurus made sure to explain it to everyone for knowledge was important and fae appreciated faer clever people.

 “I gave you all your uwus back! I had them be put into the food and now you all have your uwus back. Order is restored. I now rule you to use your uwus on one another!”

 The people looked up at Eurus, still too stunned to react.

After a while, people clapped.

 There was another illustration.

Eurus was on the stage, before a few benches and tables of wood standing outside. It was a sunny day and people were dressed casually.Everyone had bowls of food and cups of drinks and seemed to laugh and enjoy all around them. There was a big uwu around faem.

 Fae continued and explaind how all were happy without uwus and that they had a wrong belief about it but had to learn and move on with the new knowledge. Still, as celebration, the prinxe explained fae would send and process uwus from everywhere to give to people who smiled less, so the uwus would be more evenly distributed.

 The people cheered and Eurus was crowned to be “Euwus”. Everyone remembered fae as hero and equaliser of uwus. The food festivals became more regular and the kingdom was the happiest and richest in all the lands.

Not to speak of, it had all the uwus and prospered in people and nature.

 Patton smiled contently and looked at the last illustration.

It showed the people being happy and the kingdom becoming exceptionally green and opulent. There was life everywhere and Euwus and faer family looked at them from their castle and they smiled, having all their own uwus.

 The little put the phone away and snuggled his blanket. Soft noises escaped his mouth. He was blabbering himself to sleep as some young beans did.

His mind was soft and his heart was heavy and all he kind think of was the story.

 “mmmuwu.. mwuwu..”, he mumbled deliriously.

 His head rested on the mess of pillows and he curled up a bit, eyes heavy and slipping close. It had been a successful little time and he was ready to nap in his little happiness now. His mind mind promised dreams of snatching uwus alongside Euwus, the heroic figure of his favourite story.

 “Mw..Euwuw..”

 Patton’s eyes were too heavy to open anymore albeit fluttering a bit for just a moment. He put his face into his soft blanket and curled up like a sleeping dog, innocence in his heart and dreams in his head.

[justasparkwritings]

Cardigan: Once in Twenty Lifetimes

Pairing: Seokjin X Reader 

Genre: Fluff / Slice of Life

Rating: PG

Word Count: 1,154

Warnings: None

Listen: Cardigan by Taylor Swift 

          In the midst of preparing for their latest comeback, BTS found themselves at Big Hit, each member taking time to work on various aspects of the project. Two were writing lyrics, one was working on choreography, another set were mixing beats, and Seokjin was taking a call. As you sat looking at the members around you, you felt warmth spread through you. How lucky were you to know them and maybe love them?

         “Hey, Tae, question” you asked turning your attention to Taehyung.

         “Yes?” He responded, turning to face you. He stuck his tongue between his lips, licking them gently. He was a gentle soul, silly at heart, love overflowing.

         “How do you say I love you in Korean?” You asked.

         “Oh my god, you love me?!” He said, geometric smile overwhelming his face.

         “Tae,” You said, shaking your head.

         “Do you?” He asked again, energy bounding out of him.

         “Yes, you’ve become one of my best friends,” You responded. You hadn’t admitted that before … that in the last year or so, Taehyung had become a friend when you needed it most, when you were lonely or when Jin was unavailable. He was there, always ready to be a shoulder to cry on, always offering jokes or silliness to brighten your often-overcast demeanor.

         “Did you hear that? She loves me!” Tae’s energy surged and he jumped up, started twirling around. The rest of the guys staring at him and you, a quizzical look on all of their faces. “She loves me!” He yelled again, running to hug Yoongi, who had decided he needed to take a break from his work.

         “Namjoon, how do you say I love you in Korean?” You asked, turning to the voice of reason. He had been locked away with Yoongi, mixing something for their newest album.

         “사랑해,”

         The look on your face came unfettered as you stood up slowly, careful not to knock your jaw out of place.

         “What?” You asked.

         “사랑해” Joon repeated.

         “I love you too!” Tae said, finally leaving Yoongi to come back and hug you, blissed out on the fact that you called him a best friend.

         “Where’s Jin?” You asked.

         “He went down the hall,” Jimin said entering the room.

         You barreled past him, boots ready to walk all over him.

         Jin was seated in an empty conference room, phone pressed to his ear. He looked at you enquiringly, unsure why you had entered in such a fluster. He had mentioned having to take a call, something with the restaurant, and that he’d be back when he was done. He didn’t know why you had come in and with eyebrows furrowed, he turned his back to you and tried to wrap up the call. Your mind was racing, pouring over months of conversations and texts.

         How did you not know? How did he think he could get this past you for so long? Didn’t he know what this meant?

         When you had started dating Jin, you’d been hesitant, reluctant. How could you entrust your heart to him, the self-proclaimed handsomest man in the world? How could you move past trauma, the devastation of your parents’ divorce, heartbreak after heartbreak, to let him love you? No one had loved you like Jin wanted to. But here he was, all shoulders and pouty lips, stating a sentiment you hadn’t known anyone could or would feel about you.

         “Jagi, are you okay?” He asked, setting his phone on the table.

         “Do you love me?” You whispered. Your tone had softened, giving way to a wave of anxiety. Maybe that wasn’t what he said?

         “What?” He asked, the embarrassment and shock written on his rosy cheeks.

         “Seok-Jin, do you love me?” your resolve was fading. Maybe you were totally wrong.

         “Why?”

         “Because I asked Joon what I love you in Korean is, and I’m realizing that you, Seokjin, have been saying that to me for months. Before I go to sleep, every time we talk on the phone, when we’re laughing, in bed,” You were nearly inaudible as you mentioned the time you spent exploring one another bodies. There were always prying eyes anytime the boys, management or anyone a part of their team was around. You looked up, “Do you love me?”

         Listing the occurrences in which he’d said the phrase began to overwhelm you. Had he been telling you his heart this whole time and you didn’t know?

         “I,” he sighed, eyes resigned to stare at his hands. He took another deep breath before standing up and walking to you. He pulled you to his chest, arms enveloping you. You rested your head on his chest and heard his heart rate pick up. Pulling away, he tilted his head to stare into your eyes. “Yes, I love you, very much.”

         “You asshole!” You said pushing him away.

         “What?”

         “You’ve been saying it for months! Why didn’t you just tell me?”

         “I didn’t want to scare you,” He said, incredulous that you even asked.  

         “Scare me? Now I feel like a total jerk. How could I miss it? You’ve been saying it for months and I’ve just been, what, ignorant to the fact that you love me? Didn’t you feel so,” You sighed and stared at the man in front of you. “Didn’t you feel sad that I didn’t say it back?”

         “That’s why I always said it in Korean, or Japanese. I didn’t want to push you into saying it, but I had to get it off my chest, out it into the world, so maybe you’d feel it back.”

         He hid his shyness behind bold comments and impenetrable good looks. It was rumored that Jin was the shyest of the seven BTS members, overcompensating by having unwavering confidence in himself. You could see it now, his façade giving way to his feelings, Jin letting his heart out.  

         “Jin. You’re an absolute idiot.” You said shaking your head.

         “Why?”

         “Of course, I love you! Of course, I’m in love with you! I would’ve said it back the minute you did. I love you, so much.”  

         His smile could set the sun ablaze as he pulled you to him, kissing you fiercely.

         “Thank god, now I can say it all the time,” Jin whispered, forehead resting on yours.  

         It was then that Taehyung came in shouting “She loves me! We’re best friends!” and left again, to tell anyone.

         “What?” Jin asked between laughs.

         “I made the mistake of asking him first,” You said.

         “You asked him if I loved you?” Jin continued laughing.

         “No, I asked him how to say I love you in Korean,” You informed him.

         “Ahh,” Jin said, understanding the interaction with Tae.

         “Then I asked Namjoon.”

         “Best to always start with Namjoon,” Jin said.

         “Jin?” You asked.

         “Hmm?” He hummed.

         “Love you.” You stood on your tiptoes to place a kiss on his cheek, warmth and adoration flowing like water between you.

Next: Thrill Expired

[junkyardlynx]

As the wind stroked his boyish face, Gran found himself smiling softly. Not one of previously unrealized joy, nor the fragile countenance of someone on the edge of sorrow. No, it was a smile of resignation. Not over anything huge, really, but more a persistent fact of his strange life.

He would always be underestimated.

The breeze’s affection turned fickle and slipped away, leaving only stillness and birdsong to fill the tree he was perched in. The light armor he wore fit him well - a black ensemble, decorated with geometrical splashes of red and trimmed in gold. The plates were near-weightless, but they were tough enough to take all manner of punishment; the master artisan six islands back claimed the whole set was forged from adamantite. The matching gauntlets fit him like a second skin, responsive and pliable and even as he leaned forward on the spindly branch, the greaves gave not a creak or a groan.

By all accounts, the armor was fit for a majestic king, or perhaps a revered general. Not a boy who barely looked sixteen summers. So, who then? One would be forgiven if they mistook him for a prince, or perhaps an up-and-coming knight-commander. His features were handsome, if boyish, and people always told him that he had a “very dashing” air to him. As if that actually meant anything.

No, Gran was none of those things. By birth, he was a nobody from the edge of the known sky, left with his friend that was definitely not a lizard. By trade, he was a skyfarer captain. By destiny, one who shared his life with the Girl in Blue. And by effort? Well, that was the one he was most happy to share. Not that anyone ever believed him at first. 

By effort, he could be summed up in four words. 

Conqueror of the Eternals. 

A boy of sixteen, now going on twenty-two, was the one who bested all ten Eternals in single combat? Even to himself, it sounded like a nice story and nothing more. Even though he lived every moment of it. The more spectacular details, like the defeat of the Erste Empire and his rejection of the True King’s offer were public knowledge. Though, well, it was true that they tended to draw his likeness a bit taller, and his face a bit more rugged. Artists paint what they feel, even if they don’t know it, even if they try and hide it. The bias creeps in. Surely whoever performed these fantastic deeds couldn’t be a sixteen year old kid. It was probably a part of the tale added later to spice it up and make it marketable for local papers.

Well, they were sort of right. When he rejected the “True King” and his poisoned wish, Gran was just about to turn twenty-two. Four months later, he now found himself intervening in a messy war between two kingdoms with his friend and crewmate Altair.

Six years. Six years had passed. Six years that showed nowhere on his face, his countenance. Nowhere save his eyes. 

It started six years ago. He’d died protecting a terrified girl. A girl he didn’t even know. Even now, if Gran was left to his own devices, he could taste that choking pain -- not the way his lungs seared from the hydra’s flame, nor the gash in his side from the hydra’s claws. No, it was the pain of being powerless. The pain of not being able to reach his hand up to the sky and ask his father in hated grief if he was proud. Proud that unlike his old man, Gran didn’t abandon a child in their time of need.

So when that girl in blue did something impossible, he made two little promises inside of his weak heart. 

One, never let anyone hurt her again.

Two, never feel that way again. 

Six years and four months showed only in the tone of his muscles and the strength of his gait. The softness of his steps, the way he would round a corner like a prowling lion due to the endless combat he found himself engaged in. How long was it until he figured out the peculiarities of his resurrected body? His hair and nails grew, he still had to eat and sleep and still smelled awful when covered in silverslime after a successful hunt. Open wounds bled and illness forced him to bed. 

But he didn’t age. 

He probably realized it after teasing Rackam about his patchwork scruff one day. Rackam had lost his razor and was pilfering through the kitchen for a spare, muttering about the “damn gremlins” who “sneak aboard even though people are on watch duty.” 

The exchange wasn’t noteworthy, really. Rackam had laughed and jabbed his index finger into the captain’s cheek, wondering when his peach fuzz would finally pack its bags and leave for more hairy locales. 

Rackam’s voice echoed in his head. 

“C’mon cap, aren’t you eighteen now? You gotta have more than this in ya!” 

---

Weird how such a statement could open a can of worms. Last he checked, he wasn’t in the worm business, either. Well, unless Altair’s little solo mission for me involves worms somehow. 

Gran hadn’t honestly asked for details since Altair didn’t seem to think they were important. The gist of his part in the greater plan amounted to “stop the western advance.” Simple and concise, really. The field he was scouting below the tree was still and peaceful, seemingly unaware of both the passage of time and the rumblings of war. The breeze kicked up again, carving gentle waves through the grass, and memory pulled him back under.

---

After that, it was impossible for Gran not to notice everything strange thing going on with his body. Despite nearing the age of nineteen, not a single hair managed to grace his face. Meanwhile, he could still tan (and burn) under the blazing sun and if he chose, he could grow the hair on his head as long as he liked. As an experiment, he’d left one toenail to grow as long as it could, just to see what happened. Other than a supremely stubbed toe one early morning followed by a string of swears angry enough to make Eugen blush, nothing came of his experiment.

If was as if nobody has given his body the blueprints for life after sixteen, as if the existence of “Gran as a person” was tied to his current general appearance, as if something altogether removed from natural biology had decided that “this” was Gran. Whatever was supposed to come after simply...didn’t. Naturally, Gran lost his mind a bit. Only a bit, though. He had the good sense to seek out the  famous alchemist and self-proclaimed cutest girl in the world, Cagliostro. She’d joined the crew a while ago and had a keen intellect when it came to matters of the body and it’s intricate workings. After all, she’d made one for herself, probably countless times. Her verdict?

She was stumped. 

Apparently, senescence - the process of cells deteriorating after copying themselves over long amounts of time, leading to aging - had stopped in Gran. Sort of. The truth was much stranger. She’d been having him report to her little workshop on the Grancypher twice a week, taking blood and tissue samples much to his immediate and mildly painful dismay. This process continued on for three months before her exasperation and wonder lead her to discuss her findings with “cute, baffling little Gran.”

“Basically, captain! You’re aging just right for the first eight samples. The only way to tell is to be able to “find” the itty bitty little bit of info that goes missing from the blueprint of “you” every time your cells divide. I imagine the Astrals put it in as a sort of safety fe-errrrr, moving on! So! Being the inimitable genius I am, I noticed something about the ninth set of samples. They’re alllllmost the same as the first. Way too close. You don’t just get that bit back for no reason, and you really don’t get THAT much back for any reason.”

Gran nodded slowly, already onto what she was talking about. However, knowing that Cagilostro loved a.) having a captive audience and b.) herself, he let her continue.

“I didn’t say anything because I wasn’t sure, and positing a hypothesis that early on when I might have just mixed up the samples would be irresponsible. So I waited until that Saturday when I got to stab and slice you again, triple-checking that alllll the samples were out of my workshop. Same result! They looked just like the second sample, even fresh farm-to-table.”

She turned an adorably calculated and seemingly malicious smile to Gran as her explanation ended. Though it wasn’t exactly news, her words were still unnerving. After all, his cells were basically rolling back the clock of aging every four weeks. You know, normal things.

“You know how much I’d give to figure out your secret? Even ignoring the fact that it certainly has to do with whatever Lyria did to you three years ago, this is a discovery so amazing you’d think I’d invented it. Your body is pretty much just removed from time! It’s almost envious enough to make me cry. I can’t believe you, making a genius cry. It’s honestly ridiculous. You can obviously still put on muscle mass and your brain isn’t fried like one of those Golden Friday SHRIMP.”

For a bit there after that, Gran lost a...well, a bit more of his mind. If he had to be honest. Three days locked up in his room, not letting anyone in, not even Vyrn. He poured over alchemical texts, medical documents, arcane and state secrets, anything the Grandcypher had that might be pertinent. After three days of intense study, stopping only for the necessities of life, Gran came to an answer. Well, his answer. 

Did it matter?

Had his sword arm stayed the same over those three years? No. Was his cut not deadlier, his stab not sharper, his fist not faster? Had his body not taken on the tone and muscle of someone who fought primals -- and prevailed? The difference between the weak Gran of three years ago and the Gran of today was immeasurable. The young man who had once fallen to a single tortured hydra now found himself battling ancient primal beasts of war and guile on a monthly basis.

He may not ever have a thick Draph-sized mustache and his cheeks might permanently retain their tender charm no matter his age, but his body was fit to fight. To protect. To chase his absent father until the end of the sky. That’s what mattered. Though he was quite sure Cagilostro would tease him endlessly for his answer.

With newfound determination, Gran threw himself into what the rest of the crew considered hellish training simply because he knew he could endure it. It was a way to prove himself - even after death, even after abandonment, he was worth something. He had value and merit and talent, but also the drive and yearning to turn it into something. In the wake of this new regiment for himself and his little visit to a certain alchemist on board, rumors crept up. Slow and steady at first, they soon burned like wildfire through the decks of the Grandcypher, spreading out of context and control. He finally became privy to a good chunk of the downright goofy rumors via his afternoon footwork training on the vast open deck. 

His footwork training was simple. He would empty his mind and fill it with visions of attackers, then repel those attackers as they came at him from all sides and angles. Though it didn’t hold up to real battles, it offered a sort of vision training and group combat scenario that duels never quite could and best of all, it could be performed anywhere with ample space as the only thing required was himself.

Being simple in those relative terms, it provides opportunities for a capable multitasker to easvesdrop things they shouldn’t, like the hottest Grandcypher gossip. On one such afternoon, in the early days of summer, things came to a head as crewmates found themselves unable to contain the rumor mill around their captain any longer.

“I heard the captain’s immortal!” 

Not entirely inaccurate. His nonexistent blade swung a tight arc, lopping off the head of something never there. With his arm extended, he challenged the thin atmosphere between the islands. Nothing came.

“Yeah, I heard he was like a six thousand year old primal beast?” 

Missed the mark a bit there, he quipped internally. It seemed both directed at the conversation and himself as he danced between the attacks of no ones and nothings. His sweeping kick, though near-flawless in form, barely grazed the torso of his last imagined attacker in that scenario. With a click of his tongue, he noted to himself that an actual attacker couldn’t simply stop on a dime like the one he imagined did. Even in his mind, he was tough on himself, as no one else seemed to want the responsibility. With a little consternation, he ended up giving himself the point for his made up little game. The points didn’t matter, but they made him feel better.

“We have a few of those in the crew, so it makes sense.” 

It would, but that’s not the case. Gran’s feet shuffled to and fro, dancing softly across the wooden deck of the Grancypher. To the casual observer, it almost appeared as if he was simply rehearsing one of the dances Anthuria had choreographed with him. He ducked under an imaginary bullet, fist rising from below to smash the jaw of the illusory gunman.

The nothings and nobodies fell to his invisible sword strikes, his matchless kicks and punches, to the spells he snap-conjured between the thrust of a lance and the flight of an arrow. Finally, panting hard with exhilaration and the flow of combat, Gran slew the final “attacker” with a quick reversal and stab to the gut, ending the dream with its own weapon. Nothing and no one fell, other than comfortable silence, but he still felt a measure of success as he picked up the warmed vacuum flask that had his lunch in it.

“No, no, he’s only thirty-six and he’s the son of that one legendary adventurer. It’s his hero’s blood. I hear his dad bathed in the entrails of the primal beast he slew, though, so maybe that’s what caused it in the end?” Why would a hero be forced to stop aging before he could legally drink?  The snort of his barely contained laughter sent soup up his nose, straight from his vacuum flask. Hot soup. Hot, spicy soup. 

“That makes a lot of sense.” 

More than the six thousand year old primal beast bit, yes.

“He’s still our captain, so who cares? That’s good enough for me.” Oh. Ah. I...

That last overheard comment had humbled him, but the clear ring of all the affirmations that followed from crewmates in it’s wake shook him to his core. Somehow, he’d gained the loyalty and friendship of some of the most accepting people under the great blue sky. His training, already considered to be a form of self-punishment by the rest of the crew, grew in scope and desire. If there was a mountain in his way, he would cut it. If there was a river in his way, he would part it. If even the great ocean of stars spanned the distance, it would be crossed. 

For all the things he could still protect. 

For the dreams he had thought beyond him.

For the sake of surpassing the absent father that had abandoned him long ago, leaving only a note.

When still a boy in a backwater nothing, Gran wielded a simple short sword and fancied himself a sort of knight as he grew up. Wearing a slightly ragged blue tunic with a hood, a few pieces of spare platemail strapped to his right arm, and holding a sword containing more rust than blade. Training with Vyrn in the forest every day, the boy dreamed of something bigger.  A fighter, a protector, a guardian of what he loved and treasured, not a bandit that cut and run from his family. That’s what he wanted to be... That dream was, for lack of a better term, driven from his chest. By a hydra. Just so we’re clear. 

He abandoned defensive posture after that, seeking to end fights as quickly as possible. An axe found it’s way into his hands and for a time, he was satisfied by the devastation it wrought. Teenage postmortem angst seemed to be quelled by a felling cleave to an enemy’s collarbone, and chunky plate scraps held together with red leather and white fur served him well enough as protection from the elements and the enemies he faced. 

Nothing so simple satisfied for long, though. Gran took to himself in a sort of hermitage for a while, studying magic under the occasional tutelage of his talented crewmates. There was a certain ripple of insecurity in his scouting party’s mood when he’d shown up late one day, his usual armor stripped down to basic protection and his axe nowhere to be found. They tossed light jeers at his green cloak and the staff he carried, even as they set off for their destination - a bandit camp they had been hired to uproot. Peace talks were attempted by the bandit’s leader and an Erune comrade of Gran’s, one better suited for diplomacy than the boy-faced captain.

Things deteriorated quickly. Gran had quietly stepped forward once the leader made it clear he had no intention of retreating peacefully. With the green hood still covering half his disappointed face, Gran slashed the tip of the staff in a dismissive motion to the right, as if telling them their time here was over. Before they could protest or retaliate, wild magic burst into life around them, sealing off all escape and action. Concentric rings of frost and fire cradled in the stony embrace of the earth, carved into being with the fierce wind tore at everything inside the bandit’s camp. With the oxygen burnt out, the earth lashed and the encampment in shambles, the dazed and injured bandits were easy prisoners. 

No one jeered after that. 

As his prowess grew and the crew took on more work, that cloak had weathered with time. It faded to an almost dull grey, and with this Gran had added a black half-mask to the ensemble. Admittedly, it was mostly to hide his youthful features and force enemies to take him somewhat seriously for once, as the sting of his blessed curse grew more apparent as he approached his twentieth year.

For combat, a middle ground was found. He embraced not pure swordsmanship, nor did he place his trust only in magic. Instead, he channeled his power into debilitating his opponent’s often unworldly vigor and vitality, then coaxed those weaknesses open with his unmatched swordplay. Victory after victory piled up at the crew’s feet, and the legend of the “boy captain” grew.

It also provided the fodder for what Gran considered a highly embarrassing piece of “art.” Somebody had caught him resting his right hand on his jaw, leg crossed over the other almost lazily as he read a scrap of paper in his left. It was a failed betting ticket, so close to winning millions of rupees, save for the upset victory in the sixth match. An enterprising somebody, who’s name begins with L and ends with -unalu, had committed this terrible and dreadful sight to memory. She then committed that memory to paper with her talent. 

Only, well. 

She’d used her license of artistic interpretation to replace the slip of paper held in contempt with a comically oversized sword. Stabbed unceremoniously in the ground. The barstool? That was now a throne carved of stone. The title of the piece, an unknowing and fortunate soul might ask? 

“Chaos Ruler.” 

The print she made was reproduced and sold to more than a handful of people on and off the Grandcypher. Copies of it hung from stray support beams and walls on the ship, as if to lovingly taunt him and people switched their mode of address from “captain” to things like “my liege” or “ruler” or “chaos kid” for the better part of a month. Gran said nothing, choosing to keep what little of his dignity he felt he had left.

Nobody saw Gran wear that outfit again. 

In hindsight, he had to agree that the metal half-mask was a little much. But, ah, Ejaeli and Predator had convinced him it was cool. They made masks look cool, after all. The palpable disappointment from them almost made him walk back on that decision. Almost. 

From then on, he’d taken to wearing a simple outfit when on duty, reminiscent of his teenage years. Having turned twenty some time ago, he decided to make a simple blue hooded tunic the mainstay of his combat attire. On top went a basic but functional steel breastplate, covering his heart and ribs. His arms were covered in gauntlets of the same make, and steel greaves offered his feet and shins ample protection as they went on over a pair of loose beige pants. What it lacked in flair it made up for in comfort and capability. A sensible choice. It gave nothing about his combat style away either, other than the obvious caveat that he might engage in it at some point.

---

Funny to say teenage years, he supposed, looking down at the peaceful field. Fires were beginning to rise and march in the distance, headed this way. An army. For now, though, he had time, and the world seemed to move so perilously slow. Memory reeled him in once more, as if the grass and the trees of this island made him long for another time and another place.

---

Thinking seriously on it, the reason his legend had spread as that of the “boy captain” probably had to do with two things. One, the Grandcypher traveled an awful lot between three different skydoms, and two? The crew of the Grandcypher loved events. 

It probably had to do with a third thing, too. 

His crew really, really loved to tease him about his age. 

Every birthday, it’d be “Happy sixteenth, Cap!” They reused the same banner six times now, adding a tally mark just above “sixteenth” every single time. It was as endearing as it was maddening. Eugen and Rackam pulled the same thing at every new bar, ordering three beers and then pretending to flip out at Gran when he took his. It caused its fair share of problems for Gran, so sometimes Gran would flip the script before they got the chance and get angry at his “dad” and “brother” for getting drunk while “mom” was at home alone. 

Some of the Grandcypher ladies would tease him with lines about “when he was older” and what an “earnest young man he was” if they saw him during the more romantic holidays, much to his chagrin. He learned to reverse that too, going on the offensive by playing the straight man to their act. He paid them straightforward compliments with toothy grins and presented them with chocolates during White Day as a form of playful revenge. 

A few times every year, the crew would be called to an ancient island where a sort of...war game took place between skyfaring crews. An Astral experiment run amok meant that otherworldly and ferocious beasts overwhelmed the singular island now and then, and their presence courted the attention of primal beasts. As the people of the skydoms always sought to turn misery into growth, they established a way to turn it into a competition. Extremely rare treasure was brought in from all across the skyrealms and the monster problem on the island was handily taken care of in what they called Guild Wars. 

Ten times, the Grancypher emerged victorious. Each time, for his troubles, the Captain would receive an ancient weapon of unparalleled power, power that courted disaster - and inevitably the attention of those that would protect the sky from unparalleled threats. 

The Eternals.

Ten times over the years, Gran wore his convictions on his sleeve and fought the strongest people in the sky, all to prove that he would remain himself in the face of that dread power. In truth, Gran didn’t plan to use those relics of war. He simply reveled in the chance to face those brilliant, blazing souls in single combat. 

It was a way to prove himself. Both to those who he had grown to admire after hearing their legends, and to his eternally absent father. Surely, even his father would have to notice if he conquered the ten strongest people in the sky--

He didn’t, but it didn’t matter. 

In the end, the people he met and bonded with mattered.

After an incident involving the mafia bearing down on Stardust Town, the Eternals got together and presented Gran with a suit of armor and his own cloak, signifying his status as the eleventh Eternal, an irreplaceable part of their group. While Siete was still the de-facto leader and Uno was the first of the Eternals, Gran - given the new title of Jedenáct - was the end-all-be-all when it came to pure combat strength. As they had joined the Grancypher’s crew, they wanted him to join the crew of the Eternals and share in that camaraderie. 

He might have felt sixteen behind those misty eyes when they draped the white jacket over his shoulders and popped the celebratory drinks open, but he’d never admit it. Openly. Nio knew, because of course she did. His heart’s plaintive melody was clear to her ear from the moment they’d met. He’d been seeking a place to belong, a place that respected him since the day he understood that his father had abandoned him. Between the Grancypher and the Eternals, he’d finally felt like part of a family. 

A family more real than the blood that spawned and abandoned him, all the while burdening him with purpose. 

This is where I belong.

---

Of course, it was just after this heartfelt moment that Altair had been roped into this awful and brutal war. As a member of the Grancypher family, Altair’s problems were Gran’s problems. And now, that advancing army was coming into ambush distance. Concentrating his mana for a second, Gran summoned forth an ethereal bow, shaped like the one Song used but made of pure, blue light. Standing up on the branch of the tree, he took aim at the ground some twenty metres in front of the enemy general’s advance. Luhua was said to be a fearsome combatant, and Gran secretly hoped for a chance to resolve things with a non-fatal, honorable, one-on-one duel. The best kind of fight. 

Of course, he would always be underestimated. There was a chance that no such duel would be found, and it might turn into a bloody melee.

Either way?

Time to keep the sky’s sweet peace.

[basenji18]

Cloaked

For  bellacardoza16. Destro tries to give Baroness some points on disguises.

“...these sensors here...and...aye.”

At Destro’s final touch, her arm disappears. Baroness jumps.

“Did that hurt?”

“No.” She gives a little laugh. “No, it startled me.”

She moves her arm back and forth. From the shoulder up, her arm swings, but everything below the elbow is invisible.

No, not quite invisible. Just at the edges, the air looks wrong. Only enough to tip off someone already looking for it, but as she curls and uncurls her fingers, there’s a definite shimmer to the air.

“It’s like you’ve bent the light around it.”

“That’s the essence of it. Liquid fiber optics. As close to invisibility as you’ll find, short of actual magic.”

Baroness focuses on a spot a foot away from her face, marveling at her invisible hand.

“Cloaking that’s effective on the human eye as much as on radar,” she muses. “We could march a thousand android troopers up through Times Square, and the only thing people would notice would be the noise.”

Invisible fingers press against Destro’s chest. His tie slips out of his jacket and floats in the air, waving like a dancing cobra. Baroness laughs like a child. Destro slides his own hand down his tie and grasps a handful of air that feels like warm fingers.

“A concept, my dear. But so far the technology has only been applied to human suits.”

She stops playing with his tie and looks surprised.

“’Been applied’? This wasn’t in the prototype you showed me before?”

“Aye, it was. An earlier model.”

“Why didn’t I see it then?”

Playful pouting. She runs her visible hand up and down her missing arm, looking for the sensors.

“The controls for that version were located in the lower half of the helmet,” he explains. “And you have what we in the armor business call, ‘a delicate little lady skull.’“

He slips down and presses the sensors by practiced feel. Her arm blips back into view.

“Your jaw didn’t come down low enough to activate it.”

She gives him a wry look, but can’t hold it long. The grin is back as her shows her the buttons, and she flips her arm off and on a few times.

“Here:”

He manipulates the flat sensors, flush with the rest of the fabric, woven of nanocrystals, soft as microspun cotton. The natural silvery tone goes invisible, then comes back blue, red, green, striped. He scrolls through a few basic geometric patterns. Baroness purrs in delight. She follows his motions, getting the hang of the controls. She settles on black that fades to bloody red at her fingers. The ferocity in her smile raises the hairs between Destro’s shoulder blades, but brings a matching smile under his mask.

“Wonderful...But why?” she asks. “Isn’t invisibility the best camouflage? Why the rest?”

She touches each of her bloody fingers one at a time against the tip of her thumb. He’s going to have to let her shoot something to get rid of the excess energy.

“More traditional camouflage may help if the optics become battle damaged. As I said: this is for human use. There’s times it’s too crowded to barrel around unseen. Invisible people can’t hail taxis. Or ambulances. Better to change a face and fall off the radar completely.”

“We have biovipers and android troopers. The ninja can take care of himself. What human troops are you expecting to cloak?”

He lifts her gaze away from her hand with a finger under her chin. He strokes her cheek, the bridge of her nose, the curve of her eyebrow.

“I’m working on suspending the cells in a silicone solution that mimics skin. I know you don’t like contacts, but - “

“Wait a moment.”

She shakes out of his hand.

“You want to cloak me?”

“You’d be very comfortable. You’ve felt the fabric. The silicone is merely a stopgap - “

“People pay Cobra good money to be associated with this face. You want to hide it?”

Her smile is still there, but her eyes are sharp.

“I don’t want your pretty face shot off.”

“Who is going to?”

“Nastya. You know the Joes are getting closer.”

Her mouth turns into a hard line and her eyes go flat and closed off.

“I’m handling it.”

“I know ye are. And I just want ye to be safe doing so.”

“And this will keep me safer than a laser rifle?”

Both of their accents thickening with emotion trying to stay hidden.

“This gives you another option. A way out, a safe retreat - “

The look she flashes him. He holds up his hands as if warding off a physical strike.

“An option,” he repeats. “To change your face and walk away. If you need to.”

“And you’d know all about hiding faces.”

Her words smack like a blow and stun the both of them. She claps her non-gloved hand over her mouth, but the venom is out. Their wide eyes meet, but neither one can speak. She breaks first, turning, tightening in on herself like a fist. Half of him wants to comfort her distress; the other half is stunned cold.

“Ya...ya ne...I didn’t...”

Mean it? I’m sorry? What’s the right word here? What’s the accurate word here?

She nullifies the glove from its bloody colors to its neutral grey. She starts to tug it off, but it’s difficult with both hands shaking. She wilts, empty fingers like decaying flower petals, her hand still stuck in the glove’s wrist, other arm holding herself. Her voice is thick. She doesn’t look at him.

“I wish I hadn’t said that.”

She risks a glance around her glasses frames.

“I’m sorry.”

He softens, and when he moves to help her out of the glove, she doesn’t back away. When her hand is free, she falls into his hug. She’s a full head shorter than him, and smushes her words against his chest.

“There’s no retreating from this. The Commander is impatient. He has threatened to replace me.”

So that’s it, is it? He strokes her hair.

“Nastya, you’ll always have a home with - “

“Nyet.”

She brushes away his attempt at comfort. Wild eyes, magnified by glasses look up at him.

“You know what happens to people who get replaced.”

Destro’s stomach drops at the memory of hard muscles pulling him down a giant gullet. He pulls her close until her bones creak and breath hisses out between her teeth, but she doesn’t complain.

“I have to fix this,” she says. “I have to fix this. No running. No new faces.”

He lets up the pressure, but cups her head and presses it back against his chest, over his heart.

“Aye. Aye, alright. But if you ever need to, run. From the Joes, the Commander. Anything. Just run, and I’ll come get you. And this will help.”

They stand that way, leaning against each other until the tension eventually drains out of them. She turns her face into his palm and kisses it. Dark eyes grin slyly between his fingers.

“Would you still love me if I had another face? Or would you prefer it?”

“I love ye for your personality.”

A bark of laughter.

“Now I know you’re lying. My personality is terrible.”

“Nonsense. Ye’re a ruthless, power-hungry she devil. I adore ye.”

She laughs and he joins her.

“But I do like your face.”

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

Wow, this got long. Hope this was something like what you wanted.

A few years back I went to a horror con and got to try on a really cool mask with a movable jaw, but I couldn’t get it to work. The guy apologetically said it was because of my delicate little lady skull. XD We can’t have cool helmets.