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atlafan · 5 years ago

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Take it Slow - Part Seventy-Five

a/n: okay this is my first shot at a harry:y/n fic, and it will be multiple parts. y/n had a bad experience with an ex over a year ago, and finally accepts her coworker and good friend Niall’s invitation to go on a blind date with his friend Harry.

Warnings: SMUT RIGHT AWAY (with, um...bum stuff), and fluff

Harry holds you in his arms and kisses down your neck and chest. He kisses and sucks on your nipple through the material of the bodysuit.

“You look so sexy in this, but I’m takin’ it all the way off now.”

“Okay.”

You lay back on the bed and prop yourself up on your elbows. He kisses down your body while he slides it off. He spreads your legs and kisses from your knee down to your inner thigh. He looks at you while he sucks the skin into your mouth.

“Teasing?” You groan.

“For a change.” He smirks.

He kisses dangerously close to your center, but kisses to your other inner thigh and sucks another mark. He could see how wet you were. He blows on your clit and your hips buck up. He licks a flat stripe up your center. He does this a few times before wrapping his lips around your clit. Your hands slide to his hair.

“Fuck, that feels good.”

You watch as he slides his tongue all around your folds. He licks up and down and side to side, and you get to moan as loud as you want. He was straight up slurping on you, making you come over and over.

“Harry!” You yank his head up. His chin was covered in a mixture of you and his own spit.

“Wha’?”

“I love your tongue, really I do, but do you think I could have your dick now?” He smirks and nods his head yes.

“Sorry, I just…felt like I haven’t had a good taste in a while, and I got a little greedy.”

“Maybe I wanna be a little greedy too.” You bite your bottom lip. “Lemme suck on it, baby.”

He takes his pants off in seconds and gets on the bed. You lick him up and down and suck on him until he nearly comes, but you both wanted to save that for later. You crawl up his body and straddle him.

“Can I ride you first?” You pout. He runs his thumb over your bottom lip and nods.

You lift up slightly and sink yourself down on him, both of you moaning at the contact. He shifts so he’s sitting up against the headboard. You can feel him much deeper this way.

“Can I wrap my hand around that pretty throat, angel?”

“Yes, but, fuck, take your, ngh, rings off.” Harry chuckles but does as you say. He puts them all on his night table.

As you grind on him in a circle he slowly slides his hand up your body. His thumb rubs across your throat. He keeps a light grip on you at first.

“Yellow, remember?” He says to you.

“Mhm.” You smile.

You start bouncing up and down on him, and his grip tightens a little more. It was just enough pressure to heighten your other senses. When you come again he lets go of you and you kiss him, wrapping your arms around him.

“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful.” You suck his tongue into your mouth and he groans. “M’gonna put you on your side and drive it in deep.” You mouth falls open.

You get off him and get on your side. He straddles one of your thighs and lifts the other over his shoulder.

“Oh fuck!” You scream as he thrusts into you, hitting your g-spot immediately. “Harry! Right there, keep doing that, shit!”

He doesn’t let up, he drives in deep hitting your spot over and over. You had lost track of how many times you came. You eventually end up on your back with him rocking in and out of you.

“Here’s what’s gonna happen next.” He says into your ear, causing you to arch your back. “I’m gonna come inside you, fill you to the brim, and then you’re gonna fuck me, really fuck me.”

The thought alone almost you come again. Harry fucks into you and you feel his come shoot inside you.

“Shit.” He says. You kiss before he pulls out. “I’ll, uh, go grab the towel and lube.”

You nod and go grab the special box.

“Wait, um, could you just like take a shower quick?” You ask blushing.

“Sure, yeah, five minutes.”

Harry comes out of the bathroom a few minutes later good to go. He lays the towel down and tosses the lube to you. He grabs you by the back of your neck to kiss you. He lays all the way back, and you grab the lube. You warm some up in your hand and squirt some right on his hole. He winces as how cool it is.

“Sorry, sweetie.”

“S’okay.”

You get your middle finger covered and you stroke it around him at first before slipping it inside. He hugs his knees up to his chest for you. Once he’s stretched out enough, you put the strap on and lube it up.

“Ready, baby?”

“Mhm.”

You insert the tip and slowly slide your way into him. You watch as his lips part and his eyes roll into the back of his head.

“You look so good, Harry. Taking it so well.”

“Fuckin’ me so good, angel.”

You smile and start to rock in and out of him. You give him a good thrust and you hit his spot. You use a hand pump his cock. You run your thumb over his tip.

“Y/N.” He moans. “I’m gonna, ahhh, I’m gonna come babe!”

You thrust hard inside him and he screams, full on screams like you’ve never heard him before. From the way you were angling his cock, and from your surprise, his come gets all over your face. You didn’t even care because you had to clamp your legs together. You came from the sound of his scream.

“Shit, I’m so sorry.” He says when he sees his come on your cheek and mouth and chin.

“No, that was my bad, I got…caught up.” You slowly pull out of him and he whimpers. “Please, please stop making those noises, it’s too much.” You both start laughing. You take the strap off. “What, um, flavor do you want tonight?”

“You pick, you’re the one with come all over your face.”

“Thanks.” You giggle.

You fill up the tub and throw a vanilla bath bomb in. You wash your face off and call for him. He kisses the top of your head.

“Hey…do you think I could sit in front of you this time.” Your cheeks grow red and you shove your head into his chest.

“Yeah, babe, of course.” He wraps his arms around you. “You okay?”

“I feel shy all of a sudden.” He feels a wetness on his chest and pulls your face back.

“Why are you cryin’, what happened?”

“I have no idea, I’m just feeling overwhelmed.”

“Alright, no reason to be, okay? I’m okay. Did I do somethin’?”

“No, I, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“Nothin’, honey.”

He gets into the tub and you get in and lean your back against his chest. He wraps his arms around your stomach.

“I’m sorry, I should be the one taking care of you.” You say looking up at him.

“I’m fine.” He smiles. “You typically need more aftercare than I do anyways.”

“Aftercare?”

“Yeah, that’s what it’s called after you do stuff like that. It’s why you get so shy, you take a little bit of time to come back to me…you’ve done it since we became intimate. It’s why I always try to leave time to cuddle you after. Remember a while ago, when we were still livin’ at your place, you came home and we did it on your lunch break and you said you felt weird all day, and then you wanted me to lay on you?”

“Yeah?”

“Well…there yeh go.”

“I always thought that was something people did after like…BDSM or whatever. I mean, I know we do some different things, but…”

“Sometimes it doesn’t matter what you’re doin’. I mean, you were super shy after the first time I made you come, remember? Think I held you for most of the mornin’ that day.”

“I didn’t realize I was so needy.”

“No! You’r not needy at all.”

“I wasn’t always like that afterwards…I think what happened to me…made me close off and shutdown afterwards. I’ve always just felt realty safe with you though.”

“Good, I wanna always be the thing that makes you feel safe.” He pulls you closer to him.

“I love you, Harry.”

“I love you too, darlin’.”

“Harry, no offense, but you’re walking like you have a stick up your ass.” Mariah says to him.

“Yeah, and you look exhausted. Was the coffee I got not strong enough?” Isaac asks.

“No it was the perfect coffee, Isaac.” He smiles. “I just had a, um, long night.”

“Is everything okay?” Mariah asks.

“Yeah, everything’s great. Just had a pleasant evenin’ with my girl after my family left.”

He walks over to his set up for the day. Isaac and Mariah share a look.

“Define pleasant?” Isaac asks. Harry turns to look at them.

“Nothin’, we just got to spend some alone time together.”

“And that’s causing you to walk like that?”

“Walk like what?” Harry’s cheeks were starting to grow red.

“Like you-“

They’re cut off when the first client of the day walks in.

“Check them in, please.”

“This conversation isn’t over.” Isaac saunter over to his desk and checks the people in, a young girl and her father.

“Think she’s with me, I’ve got senior portraits all day.” Mariah says.

“Me too, I think. It’s been really fun. I wonder what Y/N’s senior photos looked like, bet they were cute.”

“I’m sure they’re on her Facebook. I know when I got mine I posted every single one, and the one my friends liked the most was the one I used in the yearbook.

Harry takes his phone out and goes to your Facebook page.

“Go to her albums, bet you she has a, yup! Senior year, 2012-2013.” She points to it and Harry taps on the album. “There! That one of her sitting next to the tree!”

Your hair looked slightly different. It was still long, but you had swept bangs across your forehead, and the blonde highlights you had were much more vibrant. You had a bright smile on your face, and your green eyes popped. You could really see the freckles on your face from your sun kissed skin. You had a blue top on with jeans.

“You were right, Harry. She does look cute.”

“She looks beautiful.”

“Good photographer.”

“Nah, she’s just that gorgeous.” She nudges him and he smiles.

“Maria, this is Alex, you’ll be taking her senior portraits today. Dad’s going to be at the coffee shop next door.” Isaac says.

“Great! We’re going to start outside, okay?”

“When’s my first appointment supposed to get here?”

“About fifteen minutes.”

“Great, I’ll be up in my office.” Isaac watches Harry slowly climb the stairs.

“Harry…”

“Stop watchin’ me!”

“Sometimes I wish we had summers off.” You tell Niall as you both walk Buster during your lunch-break. “Like, what really needs to get done?”

“I know, it’s hard on days like this. I miss just goin’ to the beach in the middle of the week when it’s not so crowded. We should go to Castle Island this weekend. Water’s probably still too cold, but at least we could sit out, go to Sully’s.”

“That’s my favorite place in the world, so obviously I’m in.”

“Right, your grandparents lived right around there.”

“Mhm.” You smile. “It would be nice to just get out, plus it’s dog friendly.”

“Does Harry have to work Saturday? I think just in the morning, he could always meet us later.”

“True, I’ll see what Sarah’s up to. I had no idea she online tutors in the summer…thought she’s have more free-time once school ended.”

“It’s really good extra money. Rachel scoops ice cream at a local place for extra cash. Being a teacher sucks sometimes, I don’t know how they do it.” You stop to let Buster pee. “Besides, with it being Saturday, Sarah should be free. I haven’t been to Castle Island in a while, this’ll be fun.”

You and Harry get home around the same time for a change.

“Hey you!” You say excitedly and kiss him. “This is nice.”

“I know! My dad actually ended at a reasonable hour. Mariah and Isaac are still there, but I’m the boss so I get to leave when I want.” He chuckles. “Actually they told me to go home. Felt like my eyes were goin’ to fall out from editing. I need to buy those glasses you have that take the blue light out of the screen.”

“Oh those work great for long days. I can get you a pair.”

“I can buy ‘em myself.” He gives your bum a pat and goes into the kitchen.

“I know you can…oh my goodness.”

“What?”

“Do we actually get to cook together tonight?” You gasp, and then so does Harry.

“I think we do! What is this domestic shit that we get to do?”

“Such a treat.” You giggle.

You both cook up a stirfry together.

“We should pick up some corn and grill this weekend, supposed to be nice out. I only have to work early Saturday mornin’.”

“Yeah! We could have everyone over for dinner. Niall and I were thinking of heading out to Castle Island, he’s gonna see if Sarah can come too, didn’t know if you wanted to meet up with us when you’re done.”

“Castle Island….” Harry looks off as if to jog his memory.

“You know, it’s by L Street Beach.”

“Oh right! I’ve been there a couple times.”

“My grandparents lived right near there, I practically grew up going to that beach and park…I haven’t been in a long time.”

“Gonna be too cold to swim still…”

“We won’t swim, might just sit out for a bit, walk around to the library, grab lunch at Sully’s.”

“That sounds nice, yeah I could meet you there when I’m done. Probably get there around lunch time.”

“We’ll probably drive over if you wanna just uber there when you’re done, then you can come home with us.”

“Sounds good, babe.”

Saturday morning, Harry’s out by 6AM. He gives you a long, sleepy kiss goodbye and out he goes. You get up around 7AM, not wanting to waste the nice day. You lather your arms and shoulders up with sunscreen before putting a crop top tank on, and some high waisted jean shorts that were loose around your thighs. You put your hair up in your high pony, and take out a few pieces of hair to frame your face. You slip on your tennis shoes and leash up Buster. You wave to Niall, and head across the street.

“No Sarah?” You frown.

“No, she had to go home this weekend actually. Her mum is paintin’ a bunch of rooms at her house and she needed her help movin’ furniture. Bein’ an only child must suck.” He chuckles. “Harry mettin’ us later?”

“Yeah, should be around lunch time. Let me just text him so he knows what’s up.”

You: hi baby, Sarah had to go home this weekend :( so you’ll be meeting Niall and I later

Harry sees your text and smiles at your courtesy.

Harry: sounds good, angel

You text Sarah too, letting her know she’ll be missed. You and Niall head to his car.

“What’s in the backpack?” He asks. You had a small backpack with you.

“Well, there’s water and a bowl for Buster, and I packed some extra sunscreen.”

“You’re always thinkin’.”

“I was thinking we could just hang at the beach for the morning, would that be alright?”

“Yeah! Don’t mind gettin’ sun at all.”

You and Niall drive to the beach and find a place to park. He had some towels in his trunk that you were able to lay out to sit on. You take a deep breath and put your sunglasses on.

“Alright?”

“Yeah…just a lot of good memories here.” You turn around and look across the street. “Nannie and I would sit on the beach, and Papa would sit across the street at one of those benches with his Walkman and a cooler of beer.” You laugh.

“He wouldn’t sit on the beach with yeh?”

“Well, I guess before I was born he was always in the sun, but he got skin cancer, so he couldn’t sit in the sun. So he’d sit in the shade. Then at lunch time we’d go across the street and sit with him. He was so cute, he always made sure to have a bucket hat for me, and to pack enough tonic for us.”

“No waves here, was it fun to swim?”

“Oh sure! I usually found another kid to play with too, and they had a ton of sand toys for me. There was this guy too that sold $1 fudge pops, and my Nannie would always get me one. Coming here, and the summers in middle school they were up in Seabrook were the best times of my life.”

“Maybe someday when you have your own kids you can bring ‘em here, and tell them all about your grandparents and how special it is.” You start to tear up. You smile and nod at him.

“C’mere.” He chuckles and throws an arm around you. You lean into him and sigh.

“I’m fine, I promise.”

“I know, you’re always fine.”

You both end up reading for a bit and listen to some music. Around eleven you decide to start walking towards Sully’s where you’d be meeting Harry. Buster was excited for the walk.

“Does he know it’s just fast food?”

“Oh god, you know, I didn’t even think to mention it. He could have fries?”

“Yeah, and ice cream.”

“That’s for on the way back after we walk around the castle.”

Harry’s uber pulls up to Sullivan’s, or Sully’s as you call it. He was wearing a pair of tan slacks, cuffed at the bottom, and a short sleeve white t-shirt tucked in. He had a dress shirt on earlier, but threw it in his bag. He gets out of the car and sees you, Niall, and Buster walking up.

“Oi!” He waves to the two of you and you smile at him. He jogs over to the two of you.

“I literally had no idea you owned sandals.” You say kissing him.

“I’m full of surprises.” He hooks an arm around your waist. “You look cute, baby.”

“Thanks.” You hand him Buster’s leash so he can take control of the dog.

“You two have fun at the beach? Saw your selfie earlier.”

“Yeah!” Niall says. “Started readin’ that book you recommended, it’s thrilling so far.”

“Oh good! I knew you’d like it, mate.”

You giggle as you walk up to the little fast food place you love so much.

“Harry, this is going to shock you, but I will be ordering chicken nuggets for myself.”

“Really? Why’s that?”

“This is the only fast food place I like chicken nuggets from, and it would be blasphemous if I didn’t get them now.”

“You won’t get sick?”

“Nah, I just won’t look at it while I bite into it.”

“Grab me a hot dog and a coke, I’ll stay out here with the dog and keep a table.” Niall says.

“Thanks.” You smile and head in with Harry. “How was work?”

“Good, it was just a quick engagement shoot.”

“You look really cute too, so summery.”

“Just wait until I break out the jorts, you’ll love it.” You laugh and walk up to the counter. “Hello, can I please have one hotdog and fries, chicken nuggets and fries, and…” You look up at Harry.

“Another order of fries. Two cokes, and-“

“A water please.”

You’re given a number and you hang off to the side after Harry pays.

“I could’ve gotten it.” You say to him.

“I know.” He rubs your back. “So you used to come here with your grandparents?”

“Mhm, all the time.” Your number gets called and you grab the box they put everything in. Harry grabs ketchup, napkins and straws.

“Thanks.” Niall says when you hand him his hotdog.

You and Harry sit, and he watches you carefully as you bite into your chicken nugget. Your eyes close and you’re transported to a much different, happier time in your life.

“Oh my fucking god.” You say. “That’s good.” You say opening your eyes. “I probably won’t eat all of these, but damn, if that’s not a good nugget.”

“I like that the fries are crinkle cut, very old school.” Harry says, popping one into his mouth.

You all enjoy your meal. You take the bowl out of your bag and put some water in it for Buster. After he laps it up you all throw your trash away, and make your way down the walking path towards the Castle.

“Can you tour it?” Harry asks.

“I think so, but I never have.”

“Sometimes I forget this part of Boston exists.” Niall says. “Like there’s a beach, this beautiful park. Everything yeh need.”

“It was perfect growing up.”

You walk down a certain path that leads you to the playground you used to play at when you were a little girl. You stop short. It looks the exact same. Not rundown or anything, they just hadn’t updated anything.

“Y/N?” Harry says when he notices you’ve stopped walking.

Your bottom lip starts to quiver, and you feel tears rolling down your cheeks. You lift your sunglasses up to wipe them away.

“I just need to sit for a second.” You go over to one of the benches facing the playground. Harry and Niall sit on either side of you. “My grandparents used to sit right here and watch me play after we’d go to Sully’s, and then we’d go back for ice cream. I’m sorry, I didn’t think I’d get so emotional.” Harry hands you a napkin so you can wipe your eyes. “Thanks.”

“It’s okay, love.” He rubs your back.

“Being here…just makes me miss those times even more, makes me miss my Papa even more.” You bite your inner cheek so you don’t get more emotional. You take a deep breath and stand up. “Let’s keep going, I’m fine.” You smile. “It’s all good memories.”

Harry holds your hand the rest of the time you’re out walking. You take a bunch of pictures and selfies with the boys. Niall takes a nice one of the two of you and Buster. It was nice hanging out with the two of them without any hostility for a change. By mid-afternoon you make your way back to the car. You go to sit in the back, but Harry stops you.

“Sit in the front, babe. I’ll sit with Buster.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I don’t mind. Mate, we’re gonna do a bit of grillin for dinner, wanna come by?”

“Sure! That sounds great. I’ll pick up some beer.”

Harry hums his response. Niall drops the two of you off so he can go to the liquor store. You and Harry get Buster upstairs and some fresh water. He was hot.

“I’m gonna change quick, I’m sweatin’.”

“Me too actually.”

You follow him into the bedroom. Harry throws on a different white t-shirt and a pair of gym shorts. You put on a different tank top.

“Much better.” You say.

He follows you into the kitchen to get all of the food out of the fridge and he goes out to the balcony to fire up the grill. Niall comes up with the drinks, and the three of you settle in outside.

“This is perfect.” Niall says, sipping on his beer.

“Right? What could be better?” You say.

Harry gets all the food off the grill and puts it on the table. You all make plates and sit back to eat.

“Y/N, what do you think you want to do for your birthday this year?” Niall asks.

“Honestly, I’d love to do what I did for my 21st and just rent a house by the beach and go nuts. Twenty-five is a big deal, you know?”

“I’m surprised you don’t wanna go nuts at a club in the city.” Harry chuckles.

“She did that last year.” Niall laughs.

“First of all, you came for like five minutes. Second of all, I’ve done the club thing enough. I just think it would be fun to do like a really long weekend, get an air bnb and have fun.”

“Think we could make that work.” Harry says. “Who would you want there?”

“You, me, Niall, Sarah, Rachel, and Mariah.” You shrug.

“Alright.”

“Harry, when do you go to London?”

“Middle of July, two weeks. Y/N’s comin’ for one week, even though I think she should come for two.”

“Harry, I can’t take that much time off.”

“When do you go to Ireland?”

“End of August, two weeks.”

“Good, I’m sure your family misses yeh. I was gonna go for three weeks, but since I just saw my mum and sister I figured I didn’t need to be gone for as long.”

Your phone starts ringing, a call from Seth Rowan.

“Oh, great, your ex-boyfriend.” Harry whines.

“He’s not my, I never, shut up.” You grab your phone and answer it. “Hello?”

“Hey Y/N!”

“What’s up, Seth?” You stand up to take the phone call inside. They hear you laughing from inside.

“Nope.” Harry says. “Nope, don’t like that.”

“I still can’t believe her and Sarah were hookin’ up with him at the same time…”

“We did the same thing.”

“I know, but girls get catty about that kind of stuff.”

You come back outside with a glass of water and sit down.

“I’ll have to ask, I’m not sure what our plans are yet.”

“Well, anyone’s welcome, bring your boyfriend if you want too.”

“Thanks, I’ll definitely ask. Thanks for the invite.”

“Course, talk to you soon.”

“Bye!” You hang your phone up and take a sip of water. “My friend, emphasis on friend, is having a party on the fourth of July. His parents have a house in Hull on the private part of the beach, are you guys interested? His parties are a lot of fun.”

“Could be nice to be out in the open air and not in stuffy apartment.” Niall says to Harry.

“He’s going to invite Rachel and Sarah too, and I know they’ll want to go. He even said I could bring my boyfriend, isn’t that nice?” You look at Harry.

“Sure, I guess we could that. But only if we all go.” He looks at Niall.

“Yeah, why not? I love meeting people that my girlfriend has fucked.”

“Hey!” You slap Niall in the arm. “That’s not very nice. It was so long ago, we were like nineteen or twenty for god’s sake.”

“I’m only kidding.”

“No you’re not. Jesus, you guys can be such babies sometimes.”

“So if someone Harry hooked up with invited him to a party and you’d have to meet them, you wouldn’t care at all?” Harry cuts you off before you can speak.

“This one? She’s the least bothered person I’ve ever met. Didn’t have a problem with Myk, and-“

“Yeah but you and Myk hate each other. I’m talkin’ about a friend.” Harry looks at you.

“I probably would feel…uneasy at first, but I’m the one sleeping with him now, not someone else.”

“What was so great about this guy anyways that you and Sarah were sharin’ him?”

“It wasn’t like that. It wasn’t like oh you get him Friday and I get him Saturday. Neither of us realized we were hooking up with the same guy until we both went to one of his parties. We were both hooking up with multiple people at the time so it wasn’t a big deal.” You take another sip of your water and scrunch your nose. “Also, I really don’t want to think about the people I used to sleep with, it’s gross.”

Harry and Niall start laughing.

“Gross?” Niall says.

“Yeah! I’m having the best sex I’ve ever had, why the fuck would I even think about anyone else.”

“God, don’t inflate his ego.”

“You heard that though right? Best she’s ever had. See if Sarah can say the same, mate.”

“She has said the same.” You say.

“See! Wait, how often do you two talk about your sex lives?”

“Um…like all the time.” You look at the two of them. “You guys don’t talk about it?”

“A little.” Harry says. “But not all the time. Don’t you have better things to talk about?”

“Not really.” You shrug. “All three of us do it. It was really helpful in school, we could compare notes.”

“Do you still compare notes?” Niall asks. You grab your beer and sip on it.

“Y/N, are you saying the three of you go into like…intimate details about us with your friends?”

“No! Not…super intimate. We just talk about things, that’s all. Like oh do you like it when a guy does this? No? Me either. Stuff like that.”

“But you talk about us specifically, right? You must if she told you-“ Niall starts, but you cut him off.

“Hey! I’m allowed to have girl talk with my friends, and that stays between us. Just like whatever you two talk about stays between you two. Harry said you talked about guy stuff on your camping trip. How do I know that doesn’t include a conversation about my vagina?”

“Okay! That’s enough of that.” Harry says. “We didn’t talk about sex once when we went campin’, did we?”

“No, actually we didn’t.” Niall starts laughing. “We had real, mature conversations.” He stands up and pats the top of your head. “Something you’re young mind clearly isn’t equipped for.” He goes inside to use the bathroom.

“You’re two years older than me you asshole!” You laugh and look at Harry. “What?”

“Do you tell your friends everything?”

“Define everything…”

“You know what I mean.” You didn’t want to lie to him, but you also didn’t want to start an argument.

“Sarah and I bought all that stuff together…”

“But does she know you’ve used it.”

“I know she’s used some things and she knows I’ve used some things. I didn’t get into the nitty gritty though.” You say quietly, unsure of when Niall will return from the bathroom. “Like they don’t know…the specifics.”

“Y/N, I don’t want you talkin’ about that in general. That’s just for us. Imagine if Niall knew you knew about Sarah usin’ a butt plug on him.”

“I didn’t say specifically what she used.” You sit back and smirk. “Seems like you guys have talked about it.”

“A little…but I certainly haven’t told anyone about…you know.”

“Are you embarrassed?”

“No, but I think that’s a really personal thing to talk to your friends about, even if you don’t go into specifics.”

“Sorry…I won’t talk about it.”

“Okay.”

Niall comes back out with a three fresh beers and hands you both one.

You couldn’t have asked for a better Saturday for with your two favorite guys. Niall left around 8PM. Buster got settled in his dog bed.

“I need to shower, get all this sunscreen off me.” You say to Harry.

“Couldn’t agree with yeh more. You know, you really tan nicely.”

“So do you.”

You both head into the bathroom to shower. You take turns washing each other and you wash Harry’s hair for him, just how he likes. You both get cozy in bed and he offers to read to you for a bit. You loved when he’d read to you. You hadn’t had much time for it lately, so you’d take it when you could get it. You hoped every weekend this summer could be just as perfect.

#take it slow #harry styles #harry styes x reader #harry styles y/n #harry styles x y/n #harry styles imagine #harry styles fluff #harry styles fluff fic #harry styles smut #harry styles smut fic #harry styles fic #a nice long one for yall #hope you like!

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wildroseofarran · 4 years ago

Text

When it Finally Hits || Captain Issott || January, 2021

Leslie: {Text from Leslie} Do you need me today on the ship?

Tristan: {Text from Tristan} For working, no

{Text from Tristan} For kissing? Always

Leslie: {Text} That's all I am to you. Lips.

Tristan: {Text} You're the whole world, sweetheart

{Text} That being said, it's not a pressing need but I do need to make a couple new nets if you wanna help

Leslie: {Text} Making me swoon.

{Text} I'll be right there baby

Tristan: {Text} Bring your most heavy-duty gloves

{Text} And wear something long sleeved

Leslie: {Text} Heard

And he would be on his way after finding his most worn flannel. A yellow and brown piece with a hole in its sleeve.

Tristan: When Leslie arrived, he'd find Tristan sitting on top of the ship's cabin surrounded by a massive unfinished net. He wore a plain blue work shirt and his hair was piled messily on top of his head to keep it out of his face as he worked, kept in place by what appeared to be a pencil and some fishing line.

Leslie: Of course it was. The man looked the part. He wished for a better memory, to bring his camera more often to capture moments like this.

"Where's Oliver?" he greeted, climbing aboard.

Tristan: Tristan looked up with a grin. "Hey, you! He's off selling our catch for today and hopefully gouging Bonnie for it. Watch your step, there's twine and rope everywhere."

Leslie: "Been years since I did this. You're gonna have to show me, or lemme watch for a little." He didn't mind either. He settled by his side and stretched.

"Much as I love Myrtle, I'm ready for this new chapter in my life."

Tristan: "We can do both," he said, clearing the heap of finished net off his lap so Leslie could see better. "Did you tell her all our plans? She upset?"

Leslie: "Kinda sorta. I couldn't tell. She wants her niece to take over but she doesn't see a restaurant. She sees work she doesn't want. So hearing I'll be gone by next year doesn't sit well."

Tristan: "Is there someone else who she'd trust to take it over?"

Leslie: "She'll try other family. When that doesn't work, I dunno."

Tristan: Tristan thought for a moment. "Do you think she'd trust someone who wasn't family?"

Leslie: "Me, and as much as I love her, I don't want it."

Tristan: "Can't imagine this place without the Pearl Pond. Makes me wanna find a worthy candidate for her."

Leslie: "We can do that. Net first, then the Pearl," he smiled.

Tristan: Tristan grinned and nodded. "Hell fuckin' yeah. I'll ask around, see if anyone's particularly good at cooking seafood."

Leslie: "Could steal Peter's chef," he chuckled. "I know a baker. That's all I've got. Chefs are gobbled up in Edenton."

Tristan: "If I know one thing for certain, it's that Pete would fight us both to the death before he let us take Bobby." An exaggeration, but only slightly.

"We should teach Logan how to cook seafood. She'd be great."

Leslie: "She burns pots on a regular basis. How she makes jams for cakes or fillings for pastries I have no idea."

Tristan: "She understands how to control the heat in those scenarios. There's always a thermometer in the jam and stuff telling her what to do. That's what we need."

Leslie: "You two have gotten close."

Tristan: "She makes damn good cake."

Leslie: "She needs many friends."

Tristan: "I think she's got a good few with all the jobs she has. Or if not friends then potential friends."

Leslie: "She has you now. I know what that means."

Tristan: Tristan smiled. "I'm nothing special. I just do what I can." He held up the net and examined his work. "Like make nets that won't devastate what puts food on my table."

Leslie: "You can never say that you're nothing special. Not ever. You're magic."

He pulled at the net, held out with both hands to check progress.

Tristan: He chuckled. "There is that. A magic prodigy even."

The net still had a ways to go but what had been completed was holding well and strongly. The twine it was composed of was made entirely of organic materials; no synthetics to be found anywhere.

"How's it looking?"

Leslie: "Looks like I'm not nearly as good at this as I thought I was." Which was an exaggeration; he'd always known he was shit.

"Is this all for today?"

Tristan: "It's like anything in life, just takes practice. And yeah, this is it apart from cleanup."

Leslie: "That's what I've been telling you and Charles. My words have been turned against me."

Tristan: Tristan laughed. "Yep! They sure have. They're good words though, and true. You'll be a master net maker before you know it."

Leslie: "The scars on my fingers are not the same kinda scars, baby."

Tristan: "They show you've been through some shit, as have we all. Some people just go through different kinds."

Leslie: "Majority of these are kitchen related, I promise." Though a few were from spells.

Tristan: "Comes with the territory. It's like making a mess when you cook. If you don't have at least a few scars, have you really cooked?"

Leslie: "They fade, eventually. Always do." He smiled softly. "Is it terrible of me to say I'm glad yours don't?"

Tristan: Tristan smiled and shook his head. "Nah, it's not terrible. Do you like that they add to my swarthy sailor vibe?"

Leslie: "I do, actually. My kind, we don't keep our history on our skin. I value each one you have."

Tristan: "There aren't any magical folk with scars? Is there such thing as a magic scar?"

Leslie: "There are. Just not Verbena. And yeah. They exist. Seen some absolutely... unforgivable ones."

Tristan: "So it's not anything good that leaves magical scars, huh?"

Tristan looked down at his hands. They were covered in gloves but underneath were thick callouses and puncture scars from many a crab and hook. Scattered among the tattoos and sun-given freckles on his body was more of the same. Old cuts, old burns, thin scars, raised scars.

He barely noticed them after living with them for so many years, but seeing them through Leslie's eyes, he could find an appreciation for them.

"You know I used to worry my hands were too rough for you?" he mused, smiling softly.

Leslie: "I think there are, but they'd have to be very rare." Permanent disturbance to the body, the opposite of healing. It had to be truly horrifying or truly beautiful.

Leslie looked up from the net. Noticed Tristan's gaze.

"We did a lot of assuming."

Tristan: "We did, didn't we? Glad all that's over and that you don't mind my caveman hands and that they make me have to carry around a tin of Nivea like Mrs. Pennyapple."

Leslie: "What happened to that woman," he laughed. But! that wasn't what was on his mind now. "I love feeling those sandpaper hands all over me. Those hands right there? I want them on me when this net's finished."

Tristan: "She grew up on a farm! And I'm pretty sure she still helped her family work it up until she married Mr. Pennyapple. Maybe even after that, who knows."

Tristan laughed softly and leaned over to kiss his witch. "Just you wait, babydoll, they're gonna be alllll over you."

Leslie: "Keep that up and the net'll have to wait," he laughed through his nose.

Tristan: "You say that like it's a bad thing. We've got all the time in the world for net making."

Leslie: Leslie arched a brow. "Keep that up," he said again.

Tristan: A wicked grin and another kiss.

Leslie: And just like that, Tristan had a man straddling his lap. Arms resting on his shoulders.

Tristan: He laughed and wrapped his arms around Leslie, pulling him in for more kisses. Yes, perfect. He'd had honest intentions of making the net together but feeling Leslie up was better.

Leslie: True to his word, he wanted to feel those rough hands against bare skin. Going so far as to tug at his sweater in silent plea. He did not account for current weather, and what the cold had done to Tristan's hands, hissing and writhing at his touch.

"Ah, fuck!" he laughed.

Tristan: "Sorrysorrysorry!" Tristan said around another laugh. Leave it to them to get carried away and forget they were outside in January.

He moved his hands away and tried rubbing them together for a bit to warm them. "The one time I'm not a space heater."

Leslie: "Bring em back. Warm up on me." He didn't mind a bit of discomfort.

Tristan: "They're freezing, gimme a second." Friction could only do so much but it did help a little.

He still winced when he touched Leslie's warm skin though, kissing him in apology.

Leslie: "Tight." And he in turn would hug Tristan's head, fingers disappearing into his hair, messing up what had been neatly tied.

Tristan: If Leslie wanted tight, then he would be hugged tight, both for closeness and for warmth.

"Careful, don't poke yourself with the pencil I shoved in the rat's nest."

Leslie: "You have hair supermodels envy. 'Rat's nest'. Pfft."

Tristan: "It's all tangled," he chuckled. "My hair tie broke so I made the pencil bun but it kept coming loose so I threw some fishing line in there."

Leslie: "Oh, Luna, look what you did," he laughed, looking over Tristan's shoulder to examine the crime scene of tangled hair. Already set to work on detangling.

Tristan: “Never gonna get it back to supermodel levels without a comb. I think I’ve got one in my office somewhere.”

Leslie: "I'll get it in a minute." He would much rather use his fingers for as long as he was able. Addictive, is what it was. As was much of Tristan's company. "You'll just have to have me in your lap a little longer."

Tristan: “Nah, that’s all right. I’ll go get it when you need it.”

Tristan grinned and nuzzled Leslie’s cheek. “Well, shoot. I guess I’ll just have to put on a brave face. Whatever will I do with such a beautiful witch in my lap?”

Leslie: "You'll be still," he laughed. "Or I'll...accidentally...tug...when I don't mean to."

Tristan: "We definitely don't want that," Tristan said with another chuckle. "Does feeling you up count as being still? I think it does."

Leslie: "Rub those rough hands all over me."

Tristan: "Don't mind if I do."

Tristan slipped his hands beneath Leslie's shirt, running them up and down his back, massaging gently.

Then, with a particularly self-satisfied grin, those hands dipped into the waistband of Leslie's pants.

Leslie: "Now, merman, those hands are gonna distract me something fierce." And had already, accidentally pulling just a little too hard on the next tangle.

Tristan: "Ah, that's okay. Work is more fun when there's a distraction." He'd never been tender-headed anyway; a couple of tugs on his hair wouldn't hurt him.

Leslie: "I prefer music over hair pulling, but that's just me." One more knot to go, and all would be well. "How do you let it get this bad?"

Tristan: "It was an act of desperation after the hair tie broke. It was tangle-free when I left the house, honest."

Leslie: He loved that hair more than his own. Probably why he was so determined to detangle. All was well with a final finger comb. Back to a loving assault of kisses and neck nibbles.

Tristan: He hummed, nuzzling Leslie any time he was in perfect reach. "All's right with the world again. Thanks, doll. Still want the comb?"

Leslie: "I'm your comb." He offered his lips. Arms returning around his neck. "Should get back to the net, though."

Tristan: "You're the most beautiful damn comb I've ever seen." He took those lips and kissed them until his lungs screamed for air. The net could wait.

Leslie: Such demand and urgency from Tristan's lips caused a firming ache between his legs. An inadvertent roll of his hips. How did they even get to this point? Did he care? He was too busy trying not to smile into their kiss.

Tristan: If they weren't so out in the open with the potential of Oliver or someone else coming along at any moment, Tristan would've undone Leslie's pants and given him some relief.

"Just you wait until I get you home," he murmured, kissing his way across Leslie's jaw.

Leslie: "Keep that up," he grinned, ready to threaten this as well. "We gotta - the damn net," he laughed.

Tristan: "Oh, I will. I'm gonna eat you right up." Just a few more kisses to that beautiful neck.

"We'll get there eventually." Kiss. "Gotta get you a netting needle." Kiss.

Leslie: Another roll of his hips. One intentional and lingering. A soft noise in Tristan's mouth.

Tristan: Tristan hummed and pulled Leslie's hips closer, encouraging him. He was having a hell of a time prioritizing the net over this precious witch in his arms.

Leslie: "Uhn, baby... we gotta..." Something. Another. And another roll. If Tristan weren't careful, they would have a mess between them. In broad daylight.

Tristan: "Hmm?" He didn't have it in his mind to be careful. His thoughts and his senses were all centered around Leslie, but what little brainpower wasn't devoted to him figured that as long as they were both clothed, everything was fine.

Leslie: Leslie had just enough sense not to dry hump his boyfriend to oblivion, but friction relief was a constant burden to his senses. He offered his tongue to their kiss, forgetting what it was he was going to say.

Tristan: Tristan wouldn't have minded one bit if Leslie had dry humped him to oblivion; in fact, he was actively encouraging it with his roaming hands.

But he was perfectly happy to have his brain turned to mush by Leslie's intoxicating kisses in lieu of that. Hell, he wasn't even feeling the cold anymore, much less thinking about the task at hand.

Leslie: All Leslie wanted was to feel Tristan firm against him. To offer the same sanity reducing friction and enjoy the little noises which would follow. The feeling of those leathery hands as he'd felt the night before.

But the sky grumbled, and the wind whistled through the ships and the deck and between them, waking him from his daydream.

Tristan: Of course the moment Tristan stopped feeling the cold it decided to assert itself again, along with the ominous looking clouds slowly growing darker overhead.

He heaved a great sigh and pressed one more kiss to Leslie's lips. "I think that's Mother Nature throwing a bucket of cold water on us, sweetheart."

Leslie: "I think so, too." Or a druid in a sour mood. He didn't know of any mages with an agenda here. Not that he knew everyone.

"Back to the net, then?"

Tristan: "Guess we better," he chuckled, indulging them both with just one more tiny kiss. "All right, lemme go get you a netting needle. Got some below deck."

Leslie: "Aye aye, captain." First, climbing out of his lap without tripping.

Tristan: Tristan sighed mournfully as Leslie left his arms. If he didn't need a new net as badly as he did, he'd be putting the whole thing off and taking his witch home.

"All right, back in two shakes. Don't have too much fun without me."

Just as he got to his feet, the wake of a motorboat tearing out of the docks caused the Adriana to rock suddenly. Unable to catch his balance in time, Tristan stumbled over the net that, without him realizing, had tangled itself around his feet, and was pitched headlong into the freezing water below.

Leslie: Leslie had turned towards the cabin when he heard the unexpected splash. Looking back over his shoulder to a man no longer there. His heart leapt to his throat for only a second. Not the first time someone had gone overboard on this ship.

"Not about to beat Oliver's title," he called, walking towards the railing. "You're supposed to have the best sea legs!"

Tristan: Any other day, Tristan would've emerged from the water roaring with laughter at his own clumsiness. It had happened before.

But it wasn't happening now. The swarthy, tattooed captain of the Adriana wasn't coming up for air. He was still below the surface long past the admittedly impressive capacity of his lungs.

The shock of the cold water had made his body tense and freeze up. He tried to swim toward the surface but his arms and legs refused to cooperate, as if something were paralyzing him.

Leslie: Leslie hadn't bothered to count the time; he knew the capacity of those lungs. Tristan's nickname wasn't at random. But something was wrong. He should have resurfaced by now. Calling to a man underwater was useless. If Tristan was going to emerge he would have.

Leather boots were argued with a grunt, tossed carelessly before throwing himself overboard.

Tristan: Had he hit something on the way down? He hadn't felt anything. But then what was this horrible pain in his limbs and his neck that felt like he'd been tossed around in a washing machine?

Tristan made one more effort, one more push to get himself to the surface. His lungs couldn't hold out much longer. They were screaming in their desperation for oxygen, still shocked by the cold.

It felt like an age passed while he struggled in the water. His skin burned with something that was probably cold. He was so tired....so tired...

Leslie: Leslie could hardly see a foot in front of him. Not for lack of trying. The water stung at his eyes. This was approximately where Tristan should be. His lungs weren't nearly as strong like this. Had he meditated before he could have held his breath for an hour, but in his panic...

He felt at the water, swam deeper. There, near the underside.

Tristan: The freezing temperature of the water and Tristan's own weariness had gotten the best of him.

He was struggling still, but only slightly. The pain and the burning and the desire to breathe were too much to fight all at once, he had to give in to one of them.

In the end, he'd given in to his lungs. He gasped breath back into them which had brought relief so intense he hadn't questioned being able to do so.

Was this what drowning was? Pain and relief. More pain than relief. So much more. Something was moving toward him; he could see a shape through his blurred vision. Keeping his eyes open was too hard.

He just breathed.

Leslie: Tristan was grabbed by his arm, looped to his right as he headed for the surface. Calm. Just keep calm. Too focused on his own burning lungs and the additional weight he hauled to notice what had happened. He would assess when they could both take a breath.

Tristan: Something was grabbing him. Someone? Someone.

Tristan couldn't tell who; he could only tell that he was moving and imagined that whoever or whatever had him, they were dragging him into the murky depths to meet his maker.

His exhausted brain didn't register the approaching light as anything but the comforting hallucination before death until his head was breached the surface.

The pain, cold, and oxygen-deprived desperation slammed into him all at once with brutal force, leaving him gasping and flailing and trying to call out.

Leslie: He couldn't think of words as he resurfaced. Only to breathe as he hoped Tristan would. He needed to get him to shore first. They were almost there. When his voice finally returned, all he could say was, "Calm, baby! It's okay!" He had to breathe to yell, so that was a good sign at least.

The first sensation of shore on his fingertips, every muscle in his body relaxed.

"What happened, baby?"

Tristan: Reaching dry land should've eased some of Tristan's distress, but he continued to struggle and gasp and the reason why was blatantly obvious.

Tristan hadn't been wearing a jacket when he went into the water, only his work shirt. At some point it had come partially unbuttoned and askew, leaving part of his chest exposed to reveal what appeared be slits on either side of his throat and patches of iridescent scales on his skin.

Even as Leslie watched, those slits would slowly start to close, improving Tristan's breathing and causing him to cough up a good bit of sea water.

Leslie: Tristan was placed flat on the shore. One hand holding his weight by Tristan's head, the other pressed underneath Tristan's shirt, just shy of his scales. Finally able to assess, his eyes were wide in awe and confusion. This man he had called merman for years was in fact...

Things he had been unable to feel, a wealth of new information. He had to steady his adrenaline filled body, calm his mind to better analyze.

"It's okay," he whispered. "It - It's okay. Slowly, baby."

Tristan: Tristan didn't hear Leslie, not fully aware of his surroundings yet. He was shivering hard, breathing still erratic despite his now clear lungs. All he could register was biting cold wind lashing into his skin and the ominous rumble of thunder signaling an oncoming storm.

Leslie: "Tristie, can y - you say something?" The wind was finally getting to him. Adrenaline could only carry him so far. Now his body was shaking. He could only imagine what Tristan was experiencing.

Tristan: He heard Leslie that time. Tristan turned toward the sound of his voice, able to make out the shape of his boyfriend despite his blurry vision and eyes still stinging from the salty water.

He managed a head shake. Speaking was a no go, his teeth were chattering like there was no tomorrow. They needed to get dry and get warm.

Leslie: Leslie was afraid to move him. With his scales, his gills... He searched for more. Felt at his hands and - his feet. He needed to see them.

"Okay," he breathed. "Okay..." Carefully, he pulled Tristan to his chest. Squeezed him close and struggled to his feet. He had to get them back on the boat at the very least.

Tristan: Although at first glance it appeared like the patches of scales were scattered at random, there was a pattern to them. They didn't cover the whole of Tristan's skin, however, and now that they were out of the water they seemed to be disappearing.

But his arms and his legs--sore though they might be--were still very much there.

Tristan had recovered just enough strength to cling to Leslie for all he was worth and had just enough will to try and force himself to stop shivering. Reality was, slowly but surely, coming back into focus.

He pointed. Ship was that way.

Leslie: "I know," he managed, voice as gentle as it was strained. Tristan wasn't normally heavy, but circumstance had knocked the wind from his chest and the strength from his arms for an effortless journey. Another tired scan of their surroundings. There were people, but occupied by their to-do lists, deep in conversations, music, left to their own devices on their own boats. Two arguing in a car too far away to detail their expressions. Little beyond the way of flailing hands and sharp head movement.

They could make it without being seen. So long as he kept his pace.

To the warmest room. They were in desperate need of towels. Tristan was placed on the nearest sturdy surface.

"Be right back, baby."

Tristan: The captain's cabin was the warmest place on the ship only because Tristan had put a space heater in there to make it comfortable in the winter months. And hell if it wasn't going to come in handy right now.

The sturdiest surface that was free of clutter inside the cabin was his chair; not ideal, but he was more than glad to huddle into it. He nodded at Leslie and closed his eyes.

Towels would be found in one of the storage compartments on the deck, along with an extra set of clothes that Tristan kept just in case.

Leslie: He couldn't feel his fingertips. He realized in his grab for towels that he couldn't feel his toes, either. Both clothes and towels were placed on the desk.

"Let's get you outta these clothes."

Tristan: Tristan opened his eyes as he heard Leslie's returning footsteps and made to stand. He needed to get the heat going before anything else.

Leslie: "What are you doing?"

Tristan: His throat felt too raw to speak so he pointed at the heater instead. Luckily it was only a couple of steps away from his chair because his legs felt like Jello.

Leslie: "Sit down and work on your shirt." He would deal with the heater, and anything else that might bring Tristan to his feet.

Tristan: He sank back into the chair. He wanted so badly to protest but he was too tired.

The buttons were a safer bet.

Of course, that meant looking down at his chest and the moment he did, seeing the fading but still very distinct scales covering his skin.

WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?

Tristan practically tore his shirt off in his panic to get a better look at himself, nearly falling off the chair in the process.

Leslie: The heater had just been switched on when Leslie heard the clumsiness of panic.

"Baby! Baby, it's okay. It's okay. I promise." But only he knew. What little he knew was still a mouthful. A towel was draped over Tristan's head. Face firmly held in both hands.

"Tristie, look at me. I un-understand your panic, but you're not dying. There's nothing wrong with you."

Tristan: Nothing wrong?! Tristan may not have been able to move with Leslie holding his face but he could still raise an arm and point to it and say, "Scales!" in a voice that sounded like he was recovering from a sore throat.

"Why scales!?"

Leslie: How to even begin. Hazel knew more about them. Kelly probably knew even more than she did.

A frozen hand covered Tristan's heart.

"You're very late to the party, or someone put a very powerful spell on you when you were little. Maybe before you were born. I can't tell you that. What I can tell you is that... your nickname... was a little too on the nose."

Tristan: Nickname? But...

Tristan looked at Leslie in desperate confusion before it clicked that Leslie hadn't meant 'Tristie' or 'Captain'.

"Wha--....no. No no." He shook his head. Leslie couldn't be serious. He couldn't possibly be serious, that was impossible.

Leslie: "I wouldn't lie to you." Drying Tristan's hair helped serve to warm his skin. On his knees, he began to pinch and kick off his socks.

"What do you know about your father?"

Tristan: Leslie wouldn't lie to him, and he liked to think his own eyeballs wouldn't lie to him, but the thought that he could be--no, it was impossible.

"Barely anything." He uselessly cleared his throat. "It's not--he can't--no. No."

Leslie: Now that his own feet were bare, he began with Tristan's shoes and socks, using the second towel for gently drying and warming his skin. He needed to see what else was happening, but more than that, they needed to get warm.

"Your pants, babe."

Tristan: Trembling hands clumsy from the cold undid his jeans and eased them off. Tristan tried not to look at his skin. The sight of those scales was more than he could handle right now.

Hell, for all he knew he had drowned and all this was a hallucination he was having in the back of an ambulance. That made more sense than suddenly being a merman.

Leslie: Leslie forced himself back to his feet for more towels and any extra clothes left for himself. The door was shut behind him upon return. The wind having stripped any warmth he had managed to accumulate.

"No matter what happens, I'm with you, Tristie."

Tristan: The storage bench only had one set of clothes, but there was another set in the galley that Tristan had left at some point when he'd stayed on the ship overnight. The frayed jeans and work shirt weren't the warmest, but they were clean and dry.

Leslie would return to a completely nude Tristan hunched over with his head in his hands.

He sighed. "I don't even know what's happening now, Les. I don't..." Another sigh.

Leslie: Finally, Leslie began to work on his own clothes, still clinging to his goosefleshed body.

"The only explanation I can think of I've said. You're not in any danger. What this is, is... it's what you are."

Tristan: "Is it even possible to do that? To--I don't--suppress what someone is? Is that even the right--ugh..." He rubbed his face.

Leslie: "Can be. Every species has magic. What you are is no exception."

The last of his clothes, his underwear, was pulled from his shivering body. The nearest towel used to warm his legs and between them.

Tristan: Tristan looked up with another sigh, staring at nothing for a few long moments until Leslie's shivering brought him to his senses.

Silently, he reached for his boyfriend and pulled him into his lap. Here he was stuck in his head when there were more important things to focus on.

He bundled Leslie into a towel and wrapped his arms around him, just...holding on for dear life.

Leslie: They could keep each other warm far better than the ragged clothes on the desk. He buried his cheek against Tristan's neck and simply existed. No matter his optimism, this was Tristan's journey, and it was only just beginning. All he could do is support him. But right now, right now they just needed to get warm.

Tristan: He had no idea how long they sat there, only that it had been long enough for his body temperature to return to normal and for the...stuff on his skin to go away completely. He had to deal with it eventually but for now seeing his skin look the way it was supposed to just brought relief.

Tristan pressed his lips to Leslie's hair. "How do you feel?" he asked. The long stretch of silence had brought the healing sore throat quality back to his voice.

Leslie: Dry, but still feeling almost every ounce of winter. The heater did little to shake the events from his skin.

"Like I'm still cold, and I wanna take you home. Just wanna be buried in bed with you, naked." His eyes had yet to open. "How are you feeling?"

Tristan: Tristan kissed Leslie's head again. He couldn't begin to vocalize how he felt because he had no idea. "Jury's still out."

Another kiss. "We need to go home. Eat. Do nothing for a good long while."

Leslie: For the witch, keeping busy was healthy. Movement was constant. Things to do, people to help, progress in his own life and that of others. Right now, he wanted none of that. He craved silence and Tristan's skin-to-skin contact. He wanted nothing more than to be where Tristan needed him. Right now, that meant forcing himself from his lap to dress.

"I'm driving."

Tristan: “You’re still cold. I’ll drive.” Tristan followed suit and got up to dress. “You can bundle up and keep getting warm.”

Leslie: "No. No way. You just went through so much. We'll crank the heater all the way."

Tristan: “You went through it too.” But he wouldn’t argue. He probably should’ve but he felt deflated and defeated in a dozen different ways. He just wanted to be home.

Leslie: "When you didn't come up..." No, not here. They weren't finished getting dressed. He could pour his emotions when they were in a better place physically and mentally. That in mind, now dressed, he excused himself to find his boots, still where he had yanked them off in desperation.

Tristan: Remembering how he had struggled in the water, how he'd seen and heard stories of it happening to other people, Tristan could imagine the fear Leslie had felt. He'd give anything to be able to take the memory of that away.

He finished getting dressed and gathered his things, meeting Leslie back on the deck once he made sure everything was locked up.

The keys were offered. "Let's go home."

Leslie: Leslie was staring down at the offensive water, leaned over the port beam railing. Shoulders hunched and head down. His left boot barely tied. It seemed for a moment he hadn't heard. Finally looking up when he was able to shake his thoughts.

"Away we go."

Tristan: They both seemed to be stuck in their heads today; Tristan didn't blame either of them.

This fuckin' day had been as changeable as the sea.

As Leslie had suggested, once they were in the truck Tristan cranked up the heat. He'd spend the ride back to the house leaning against Leslie.

Leslie: If only he could manage resting his head against Tristan's and having a proper eye on the road. He wanted his arm around him. He wanted him close. They would have to wait until home, which wasn't far. His body was still uncomfortably cold.

Once home, there was nothing but his single objective. Their soggy clothes forgotten in the back of the truck. Tristan was all but pulled through the driver's side and towards the house.

Tristan: A fresh wave of relief washed over him the moment they walked through the door. They were home, they were safe, there was nothing to bother them here.

He made sure the heat was on as he led them upstairs, shedding his clothes along the way in a practiced manner.

Leslie: Leslie nearly stumbled in his attempt to remove Tristan's jeans. Just a hair too small for his hips, anyway. He was grateful for their nudity, and the inviting blankets he began to crawl under as soon as within reach.

Tristan: Tristan crawled in after him and immediately pulled Leslie into his arms and wrapped himself around him. He needed to get his love warm, he needed him close.

Leslie: Easy to ignore the cold when there was nothing to compare it to. Tristan's nearness revealed just how frozen he still felt. It was as though nothing could shake it. It seemed deeper than physical. It had been fear and adrenaline.

"I think... it's safe to say... your ship needs a few more upgrades."

Tristan: Tristan squeezed him tighter. "I'm sorry for scaring you. I'll put in more railing this week. I promise." He kissed Leslie's head. "I'm so sorry, baby."

Leslie: "What? Don't apologize to me. You're the one with a whole new life."

Tristan: "I scared the hell out of you. Damn near gave you hypothermia."

Leslie: "I'd do it again. You would for me."

Tristan: "In a heartbeat." They couldn't get much closer than they already were but Tristan was damn well going to try.

"I love you."

Leslie: "I love you." They were safe. Tristan was safe and spooning. "Do you wanna talk about it? What happened underwater?"

Tristan: "I know I need to, and I will, but I don't want to. Not yet." He burrowed his face against Leslie's neck. "Just wanna be here with you."

Leslie: "I'm not going anywhere." He hugged Tristan's arms to his abdomen and shut his eyes.

Tristan: At some point cuddled up under the covers with Leslie, Tristan had fallen asleep.

He had no idea how much time had passed but by the time his stomach had woken him, the sun was almost completely set and it was dark outside. It had been early afternoon when they'd gotten home.

"Les?" he said groggily.

Leslie: It hadn't been long before Leslie had joined him in sleep. No nightmares, although they had been expected. What he had was dreams of Tristan's ship, and of iridescent scales beneath the surface. Something he could feel with his fingertips, leaning over Tristan's dock. Impossibly smooth in one direction. He knew opposing would cut his finger.

It was Tristan. Gorgeous, but, where was his face?

The witch buried his face against the pillow. Teeth began to grind.

Tristan: "Les..." Tristan hugged his witch closer and started kissing along his neck and shoulder. Although to be fair, they couldn't get much closer without melding together.

"Wakey wakey. We've gotta eat, baby."

Leslie: "You're wet," he murmured.

Tristan: "M'all dry now. We're home in bed." More kisses, everywhere he could reach. "Gotta feed ourselves and the noodle."

Leslie: Something about his statement struck Leslie with a jolt. "Fuck. My - My blood sugar." So wrapped up in what had happened, and the cold, the emotions, he forgot something so basic. He was exhausted and he knew now why. Yet still he sank into the sheets again, eyes falling closed, hand against his forehead.

Tristan: Fuck.

"Fuckin' fickle fuckin' day," he groaned, untangling himself with great reluctance and getting to his feet. "Be right back."

There was a meter in the bedside drawer but food required going downstairs, so that's what Tristan would do.

They'd have to cook or order in here in a bit but for now, some fruit and baby carrots and tea would do.

He returned a few minutes later with the food and Opal dangling from his arm.

Leslie: Leslie had nodded off again. The day's ordeal was only partially to blame why he couldn't keep his eyes open. He told himself to sleep it off, but he'd negotiated the same as a child. The reason he had been so adamant to master meditation to suppress the need for insulin. All flown from the window in the moment.

Tristan: Tristan would kiss him awake again, and for good measure, would set Opal down on the bed to scamper around.

"Gotta eat, baby. I've got tea and carrots and a banana and some blueberries. We'll get some proper food here in a sec. Want takeout?"

Leslie: Kisses reawakened his witch, blinking as though stirred for the first time.

"Banana," he managed before yawning. Opal demanded his attention. She would have to wait. Stacking pillows against themselves to lean against. "I'll eat wherever you pick. How'd you sleep?"

Tristan: He waited until Leslie was upright and comfortable before handing him the banana, placing everything on the bedside table in the meantime.

"I don't even remember falling asleep. Guess that's a good sign. You?"

Leslie: He began arguing with the skin of the banana, taking a bite before answering. "I think I dreamed of you. Feels like I had that dream before."

Tristan: Tristan crawled back under the covers and leaned against Leslie. “Was it a good dream?”

Leslie: "I think so. I saw... scales. Your scales. Just under the water. My hand barely submerged touching - your tail. I think it was your tail."

Tristan: What little magical knowledge Tristan now possessed knew better than to discount a dream like that.

"You dreamt that I turned into a merman?"

Leslie: "I think... Maybe it was just today." He hardly ever remembered things said in the twilight of unconsciousness.

Tristan: "Yeah, maybe." Tristan nuzzled Leslie's shoulder, pressed a kiss to it. "Or maybe it was a premonition of things to come. Can't help but wonder why it happened now."

Leslie: "I've only ever had them when awake. Just like - like when something on the tip of your tongue is remembered." Speaking of. "I need my insulin."

Tristan: "Yes, you do. And I need to make us something to eat." Tristan got up again. "Come on, doll."

Leslie: "Right." He'd finish the banana, first, or he was never getting out of this bed.

Tristan: "How about I bust out the grill pan and make us some salmon and spinach salad?"

Leslie: "That sounds like the best meal of my life."

Tristan: Tristan smiled and kissed Leslie's cheek. "And you'll get it. Want me to carry you down?"

Leslie: "I can - You're the one that went through trauma, baby!"

Tristan: "You're the one who needs insulin!"

Leslie: "I'll be fine, I promise!"

Tristan: Tristan squinted. "I'll feel better once we're eating. Kinda want potatoes too. Potatoes comfort me."

Leslie: "I'll make some roasted. It'll take a while."

Tristan: "You're gonna sit your butt down, is what you're gonna do. I'm cooking tonight."

Leslie: "Do you remember a few hours ago?"

Tristan: "Diabetes trumps merman....ness." Fuck it, he was going with it.

"It's insulin time. Come on, fuzz noodle," he added, scooping Opal up and draping her over Leslie's shoulder.

Leslie: Opal's tiny cheek was given a kiss, carefully making his way downstairs to the kitchen. Insulin was non-negotiable, but so too was cooking, if he was going to have any say - which he would fight for.

Tristan: Leslie would get a say, but Tristan wasn't about to let him do any of the heavy lifting, so to speak.

"You can chop potatoes but I'm taking care of the rest. Salmon and salad are quick."

Leslie: "We can let the salmon marinate while the potatoes cook." With the injection out of the way... he would concede to his role as sous chef.

Tristan: "Okay, deal. What do you want on this salmon? I was thinking some lemon and dill, maybe some spice?"

Leslie: "What kinda spice?" His mouth was practically watering at the thought. "We still have carrots? Thinking some carrots with this, coriander, honey, lemon, mint, parsley, and pomegranate."

Tristan: "We have...." Tristan poked his head into the fridge. "A single carrot and about half a bag of baby carrots. Also, I was thinking chili powder. Just a little, nothing crazy. Also also, please no honey. Only sweet potatoes have any business being sweet."

Leslie: "So no pomegranate, either?"

Tristan: “Pomegranate is okay. Carrot, too, if you end up wanting to use them.”

Leslie: "Hmm." He looked at the potatoes again. Constructing the dish in his head like a painter with a canvas. "Scratch it all. Black pepper, the compound butter with rosemary, sea salt. Keep it simple so the salmon shines."

Tristan: "Okay," Tristan chuckled. "How about this, we'll put the pomegranate and carrots into the salad. Hell, even the honey, we'll make a vinaigrette."

Leslie: "Boy, I sure do love you," Leslie smiled.

Tristan: He kissed Leslie's cheek. "I love you, too, doll. Gonna make a bitchin' salad for you."

Leslie: "Your heart is too big for your chest."

Tristan: "If anyone's heart is too big for their chest, it's yours. Oh, was that a yes on some spice for the salmon?"

Leslie: Tristan was given a smile. "Sure! Could use a tingle on my tongue that isn't ice cold."

Tristan: Speaking of, "You still feeling chilled at all? I can turn the heat up some more."

Leslie: "Maybe a sweater. Ooooone of yours?" he grinned.

Tristan: "Your wish is my command." Another kiss. "How about the light gray one?"

Leslie: "Oh, hell yeah." He watched Tristan a moment. "You alright?"

Tristan: Tristan nodded. "I think so yeah. Mind feels...tangled, but I guess there's no helping that. Well, dinner will help a little."

Leslie: "Is your mother going to faint?"

Tristan: "Nah, she's not a fainter. If I know her as well as I think I do, she's gonna be fuckin' pissed. Not at me, at him."

Leslie: "Sounds too good to be true, and that's coming from the witch in this house."

Tristan: "Maybe that's wishful thinking. The fainting thing. I know for damn sure she'll be pissed because I'm fuckin' pissed."

Leslie: "I don't want to place you in the same category as were-creatures, but this feels... I don't have anything more to relate to. Fae doesn't sound as similar."

Tristan: "Don't were-creatures need the full moon to transform?" His brow furrowed. "Is there a full moon tonight? Does pre-emptive transformation happen ever?"

Leslie: "To my knowledge, but there are always exceptions to everything."

Leslie looked around and back, counting days in his head. "Not yet. Soon, though."

Tristan: "Guess that's something to think about," he sighed. "Lemme go grab you that sweater."

Leslie: "Kay, babe." He'd finish prep in the meantime. Put the kettle on for some tea as well.

Tristan: Tristan returned a few moments later with the sweater. He'd briefly considered putting underwear on, deciding against it. He wasn't going to be frying anything so there was no danger of hot oil getting on any sensitive areas.

"All right, doll. Let's get you bundled."

Leslie: "This feels one-sided," he pointed out, slipping into the sweater arms first. "Gonna make some tea. Earl gray, herbal...?"

Tristan: He chuckled. "Didn't feel like putting anything on. Thought about it though."

Tristan began gathering things for vinaigrette. "I want earl gray but it's too late for caffeine. Let's go with herbal."

Leslie: "Is it really that late?" Perhaps another reason why he was tired. It didn't feel as though they had slept long, and yet the stove clock didn't lie.

Tristan: "Doesn't feel like it should be but yeah. It's dark out. We slept for a good long while."

Leslie: "You needed it."

Tristan: "So did you. We both got uncomfortably close to hypothermia today."

Leslie: "I didn't suddenly become something pent up for an entire lifetime in minutes."

Tristan: "But you did jump in to save me. We're on this journey together, baby."

Leslie: "Of course we are, but this isn't the same as the craft. I can only walk so far on your path."

Tristan: That made Tristan feel more than a little uneasy and...lonely almost. None of this was sitting well with him. If he dwelled on it too long it would make him sick to his stomach.

"So, what do we want in this vinaigrette besides the honey?"

Leslie: Leslie had stopped what he was doing. Both hands on the counter, watching his boyfriend intently.

"Um, some white balsamic, salt, pepper, oil - talk to me. What are you thinking?"

Tristan: He got a bowl and a whisk. "I don't know. Nothing. Everything. I just..." He sighed. "I don't know, Les."

Leslie: "I don't expect you to know what those thoughts mean. I just want you to spill them on me."

Tristan: "I don't know what I'm thinking. I'm just fuckin' pissed and wishing I'd stayed in bed this morning."

Leslie: "You have a right to your anger. Your father, whoever he is, he should have had the decency to stick around."

Tristan: "He should've had the decency to do a lot of things, like fucking wrap it if he knew he already had one foot out the door."

Leslie: But I don't think you should regret what you are, he wanted to say, but that was asking too much of Tristan tonight. He was jarred and overwhelmed and while optimism was Leslie's middle name, there was a time and place for even that.

"I'll whisk. Can you put the potatoes in the pan?"

Tristan: Tristan nodded. “Yeah, I got ‘em.”

This was good. Methodical tasks were always good when someone felt like they’d been tossed around in a blender mentally. You got to pretend everything was normal for a second.

Or at least until you went to wash your hands, and more scales appeared on your skin.

Leslie: Tristan was lingering over the sink. Had Leslie looking from his shoulder, waiting to see what was going on.

Tristan: He was staring at his hands, where a smattering of scales had appeared the moment his skin had become wet. They didn't cover the whole of his skin; they seemed to taper off in some sort of pattern extending to each fingertip, leaving his palms bare.

Leslie: That was a few seconds too long.

"Babe?"

Tristan: "I'm fucked," he whispered.

Leslie: "What?" He walked over, hand placed on the small of his back.

"Oh." His lips felt as tight as his stomach. He took some nearby paper towels and wadded them, took his hand and began to dab.

Tristan: "I'm fucked," he said with a humorless chuckle. The scales faded as his hands were dried but his problem only grew. "I'm completely and utterly fucked. He fucked over my mother and now he's fucking me over too."

Leslie: Leslie tightened his arms around Tristan's waist, chin resting on his shoulder.

"It's a horrible day, baby, but you're not fucked. We'll figure this out. I promise we'll figure this out."

Tristan: "Aren't I? How am I supposed to do my job, Les? How am I supposed to exist in public if every time I get wet this--bullshit happens to my skin? Am I supposed to wear gloves and pants and long sleeves for the rest of my life?"

He sighed and scrubbed at his face with his hands. "I'm gonna kill him."

Leslie: "I'll ask around, see what we can do." We, he would continue to say, because the last thing he felt Tristan needed was to feel alone. "I'll do everything I can. Just one step at a time."

Tristan: "I'm still gonna kill him. He knew. He knew what was going to happen the second he got her pregnant and he ran off instead of bothering to tell her. What kind of sick son of a bitch does that?"

Leslie: "It's not right," he agreed, swaying once, twice, squeezed his middle again.

"But we can't do anything about the past, baby. But we can help the now."

Tristan: Tristan sighed and closed his eyes, letting himself lean back against Leslie. Felt like he was doing that in more ways than one.

“I’m sorry. This is misdirected anger, you don’t deserve it.”

Leslie: "Yell if you want. I'll let you punch me for a buck," he grinned, trying his best for some levity in this heavy atmosphere. "I'm doing my best to understand."

Tristan: Tristan turned in Leslie's hold and wrapped his arms around him.

"Can't ask you to understand when I don't understand either. We're both in the dark."

Leslie: Both hands buried in Tristan's hair and squeezed. Fuck. What more could he do to help him, he wondered.

"One step at a time. Food right now."

Tristan: He took a deep breath. "Yeah, food. Gotta get you fed before you get sick."

Leslie: "Stop that. I'll be fine."

Tristan: "You will be after this salmon and these potatoes."

Leslie: "Well, let's get back to it."

Tristan: "Right. What's going in this salad?"

Leslie: "I... forgot," he laughed quietly, with effort.

Tristan: "I know we said the carrots and pomegranate."

He gave Leslie a final squeeze and walked over to the fridge. "We've goooot....baby spinach, romaine, cucumber, blueberries, a questionable looking onion, tomato, broccoli, artichoke hearts..."

Leslie: He just wasn't hungry. He knew he had to eat, but his appetite had diminished some time before he jumped into the sound.

"Um... okay. I'll - Potatoes first! Then the salad."

Tristan: "Potatoes, yes." Rosemary compound butter, salt, and pepper went onto the potatoes while the salmon sat in its marinade. Mugs were grabbed for tea, water put on to boil.

And sprinkled in there was affection for Leslie and for Tristan's own sanity.

Leslie: Potatoes, salad, salmon. Some semblance of normality for Tristan, and that's all that mattered. The food didn't matter, and what an odd feeling coming from a chef.

He pulled his chair closer, sitting thigh-to-thigh and sitting a bottle of wine center of the table.

Tristan: Tristan smiled and wrapped an arm around Leslie, leaning in to kiss his cheek. He fully intended to stay that way for the whole meal; he needed that closeness.

"Wine, tea, and salmon. We're having a very fancy dinner."

Leslie: "That we are." He caught himself eating in silence. Well aware that he wasn't being himself. He just had a lot on his mind, and he could only guess what Tristan was thinking.

Tristan: For his part, he was doing his level best to think as little as possible, choosing instead to focus on the meal they'd made and Leslie's nearness. Tomorrow he'd think about his situation and his deadbeat sperm donor and make plans to do something about it.

Right now he just wanted to exist in the right now.

Leslie: Leslie could certainly exist. That's all he wanted as well, until it was Tristan needed him. This was not the first time 'we' came before 'I' in a relationship. His family, his coven, Myrtle, Tristan. But Tristan had been different for some time now. This 'we' was not the same. A deeper responsibility than he thought himself prepared for, and only to grow with the potential of Ruby and Ester. Was he ready for this? To be without the independence he'd come to rely upon in order to give whenever and wherever.

What was he even thinking? He looked up from the dishes and forgotten how he'd even gotten to this point.

Took Tristan falling into the water to see how much their relationship had grown. How much he had changed. Moving into his home, preparing for the possibility of children. No more Peter Pan.

How long had he held his breath?

"Tristie?"

Tristan: Not wanting to confront his issue any more tonight, Tristan donned gloves so he could help Leslie with the dishes. It was just as well. He was probably going to have to wear them until he went toes up.

Did that count as resignation? Maybe a little. But there wasn’t much he could do about it just now.

He looked over at Leslie. “Yeah? You okay?”

Leslie: "Yeah. I uh... I dunno what I was gonna say." He wasn't sure why Tristan was next to him, or when that happened, either. A one person job, unless he wanted nearness. In that case, Leslie bumped hips and offered a smile.

Tristan: Tristan smiled back. “I love you, you know. I don’t know what would’ve happened if you weren’t there today. What I would’ve done. Thank you.”

Leslie: "I don't like the thought of you going through it alone, but I think... I think you would have been alright."

Tristan: “Maybe, maybe not. Just makes me that much more grateful that you were there, and that you’re here putting up with my...freak out.”

Leslie: "I'm not 'putting up with' anything, baby."

Tristan: He kissed Leslie’s shoulder. “I’ll never have enough life to deserve you.”

Leslie: "Maybe start a new life as a poet," he smiled.

Tristan: Tristan chuckled. “Maybe. Mama would like that.”

Leslie: "So we're telling her I'm a witch and you’re a merman all in one sitting?"

Tristan: "Do you think it's a good idea? Would it be too much?"

Leslie: "I don't know her as well as you do."

Tristan: "It's a lot to process," he sighed. "....Should we get her drunk first?"

Leslie: "Ha! No, baby, I don't think that's a good idea. Maybe start light. The world is magical... and then her son is magical."

Tristan: "And then we pour the bourbon, got it." There, a faint glimmer of his usual sense of humor.

Leslie: And his smile was given in kind. "Wanna go for a walk?"

Tristan: "I do. Guess I better go get some pants and shoes on."

Leslie: "Same..." And it just dawned on him, wondering how it was going to look and feel the next time Tristan took a shower.

"You still... have sea water on you."

Tristan: Tristan nodded. "Yep. Salt in my hair, too. Showering is now a source of bullshit instead of relaxation," he sighed. "If I'd known this morning's shower was gonna be the last one I would ever enjoy, I'd've stayed in there for an hour."

Leslie: "We don't know that, baby. We'll take one together after the walk. Deal?"

Tristan: Another nod. There was no avoiding the shower situation; might as well bite the bullet.

"Deal. Let's get some clothes on. Would it be weird to walk with a blanket wrapped around us?"

Leslie: "I won't complain. I don't think anyone will see us. It's pretty late." But this town was bigger than it seemed. Maybe. Not that it mattered to him, but perhaps to Tristan.

Tristan: His concern was more about the mechanics of walking while bundled as opposed to someone seeing them. People in this town saw far weirder things than them every day.

"Good. I don't have it in me to be cold any more today. We'll just walk carefully."

Leslie: "I have a king size quilt we could walk in? Pretty roomy, but a little heavy. How's that?"

Tristan: "Perfect. I'll take a heavy blanket if it keeps us warm."

Leslie: "I'll get my shoes on." After a quick kiss.

Tristan: "I'll get everything on."

Which meant shoes, a sweater, and pants. Underwear? He didn't much feel like it. Besides, they'd have a quilt to shield them from the cold.

Leslie: For Leslie, the largest sweater he owned, loose and faded in color. Whatever shoes were nearby - the man didn't match.

"Ready?"

Tristan: If Tristan's mother had taught him anything, it was that matching was vastly overrated.

"Yep. Got the keys. You got the quilt?"

Leslie: "That I do, sailor." He held his arms out, holding the quilt like heavy wings.

Tristan: Tristan walked into them and immediately sighed in relief. Perfect.

Annoyed as he was at his current situation, he couldn't not take them down to walk by the water. It was his whole life, his safety blanket.

Fuck if he was going to let some deadbeat take it away from him.

Leslie: The blanket was shared almost equally, giving a little more than half to Tristan without thinking. He wasn't going to say anything. Sometimes, silence was the best medicine. And nearness, he thought, wrapping an arm around Tristan's waist.

Tristan: Silence and nearness were exactly what Tristan wanted and needed. Apart from some answers, maybe. He couldn't get any tonight, and maybe not tomorrow, but he was determined to get them. He and Meg damn well deserved them.

"When should we go see her?" he asked once they were making their way back.

Leslie: "That's what's been on your mind?" His pace slowed to a near crawl. "Depends on what you want. If you want her to learn with you, or show her when you're in better understanding."

Tristan: He didn't much know what he wanted. Only that his mother deserved to know exactly what that bastard had done to her. "One of the things on my mind, yeah. Also wanna talk to Luke Graham. Maybe it's best to do that first."

Leslie: Leslie's brow knotted. "Peter's brother? What for?"

Tristan: "Because he works with a private investigator and I want his number."

Leslie: Not even twenty-four hours. He wasn't sure whether or not to admire or worry. Both felt right.

"Okay."

Tristan: "I'm gonna find him and fucking kill him. But first I'm gonna get some answers."

Leslie: "First, I just want you to breathe."

Tristan: "Literally or?"

Leslie: "Both. Both would be good for you."

Tristan: Tristan took a deep breath. Hell, he'd take two.

"I'll call Luke tomorrow."

Leslie: "Alright." He wasn't going to stop him, but he was going to follow every step, should Tristan need a place to lean.

Tristan: "Or we could go to the pub for lunch. Bobby's making shrimp and grits."

Leslie: "Lunch and then Luke?"

Tristan: "Chances are we'll be able to kill two birds with one stone. I think tomorrow he works at the pub."

Leslie: "Years, and I still dunno the schedule there."

Tristan: "Don't blame you. It's loose at best. Not even the menu is set, I only know what Bobby's making when he orders fish from me."

Leslie: A small smile. "The epitome of casual. Didn't like all the fighting there used to be. Seemed to chill after that one guy died."

Tristan: "Guess the deputy and sheriff reading Pete the riot act over and over finally worked. He only punched the assholes, though."

Leslie: "Surprised he wasn't sued."

Tristan: "One made a lot of noise about it until Pete pressed charges. Dude had broken a table and some chairs and felt up Mira Harley."

Leslie: "So he's been lucky," he laughed. "Mira... blonde?"

Tristan: Tristan nodded. "Yeah. Charmaine's baby sister. You know her, she plays the piano down at the St. James. Dude had Mira all the way in his lap with his hands up her shirt when Pete knocked him out."

Leslie: "Oh! Right. What a fucking tosser." There were a few exceptions to his opinion of a firm right hook.

Tristan: "If anyone's lucky it's that asshole. Never seen Pete so close to killing a man."

Leslie: Leslie swallowed hard and nodded, eyes to the ground. "When you think you're just, you're the most dangerous."

Tristan: "You ain't wrong. Charmaine was even closer to killing someone than Pete was. Like those poor girls haven't had enough to deal with already."

Leslie: "I don't know their story."

Tristan: "Daddy was in the Navy, died overseas before Mira was born. They moved back here, mama remarried then ran off with a biker. Left Mira and Char with their stepdad. He was a decent man before Brenda left and he set up camp at O'Charlie's. Stepped in front of a train and left them all alone."

Leslie: "Sounds like you just described a very heavily written novel by some... alcoholic sorting their demons."

Tristan: "He was. Personally, I don't think Brenda was worth throwing away his entire life. God only knows what ol' Eddie saw in her to begin with."

Leslie: "Why remarry if you're just going to leave? For the children? That's so..." His connection to family was too tight not to be riled. Blush warming his cheeks with emotion. The blanket was tightened to his chest.

Tristan: "I've always wondered that. They were married for like...four years before she ran off. Don't know what changed but my mama says they seemed happy before the biker."

Leslie: "I'm not about to blame a biker for her choices."

Tristan: "Takes two to tango, doll, but you're right. You can leave a spouse but you don't leave your kids. Saddest thing is, Eddie couldn't have loved those girls more if they were his own flesh and blood. Brenda just..." He sighed. "She had too strong a hold on him."

Leslie: "How do you know so much about them?"

Tristan: "Partly from mama, partly from Mrs. Pennyapple, and partly from Mira herself. Found her crying down by the docks one night, lent her an ear and a shoulder."

Leslie: Leslie sighed. "You're a good man."

Tristan: "I just do what I can. I know how she feels," he added with another sigh. "My old man didn't leave against his will like hers did, but even so. I was raised by a single parent."

Leslie: "We don't know why he left. I'm not sure what you're going to find in the next few weeks..."

Tristan: "I know why he left. He was no hero like Jack Harley or a depressed drunk like Ed. He's a goddamn reckless deadbeat."

Leslie: "I understand why you feel that way right now."

Tristan: "I've felt that way my whole life, this just confirms it."

Leslie: "He could have gone off for unfinished business and that business killed him."

Tristan: "He better hope it did."

Leslie: "Baby..."

Tristan: Tristan took a deep breath. "I know."

Leslie: "I know what anger can do, and I understand it feels good to ride that emotion, and you deserve catharsis but, don't let it be all you have."

Tristan: "Right now it is. I don't even know his name, Les."

Leslie: "She won't tell you?"

Tristan: "The name he told her was fake."

Leslie: "Now that's... curious."

Tristan: "Couple weeks after mama told him she was pregnant she went to see him, found his apartment cleaned out. Asked the manager where he went, manager had no idea who she was talking about. She figured he'd told him a fake name, too."

Leslie: "Typical of... not human...beings." Another sigh. "Ready to go home?"

Tristan: He nodded and leaned against Leslie for a moment. "Yeah, I'm ready to go back to bed."

Leslie: Leslie paused to rub up and down Tristan's arms. "Bath first, then bed. Maybe some more tea."

Tristan: "Gonna need a shot of whiskey in that tea."

Leslie: "You got it, baby."

Tristan: He nodded. "All right. Let's head back." He couldn't remember dreading a bath since he was a kid and taking one meant he had to come in from playing in the yard.

Now here he was, a grown ass man afraid to walk into his own bathroom.

Leslie: They needed the cleanse, and more importantly, they needed to assess the extent of this change. Perhaps it was unlike his endearing pet name, and something else. Something manageable. They wouldn't know until submerging, literally and figuratively.

The walk back, Leslie offered his hand.

Tristan: Tristan took it and gave it a grateful squeeze. One thing was for damn sure, he wasn't ready for a bath. Not after the day they'd had. A shower would have to do until he worked up the nerve to fill the tub and get in.

Would he sprout a tail? Would he be able to breathe? What if drying him off didn't return him to normal, what then? Would he just have to live in the tub?

He heaved a long sigh, remaining silent the whole walk back.

Leslie: Leslie slowly raised their hands to his mouth, kissing at Tristan's knuckles as he filed each what if and maybe of doom, thoughts the witch had already considered, which was why he would rather a bath, should anything dangerous happen without concern of a nasty fall on top of sprouting fins and gills. He could only encourage so much.

"What's a spell you wanna see?"

Tristan: Tristan offered Leslie a small smile. He wished he could absorb some of that Leslie hope and optimism. "Got any to make me waterproof?"

Leslie: Leslie would continue in such manner until some level of absorption took place. Just another layer of strategy.

"I know something kind of?"

Tristan: "I'll take anything, honestly. It'd be nice to have an alternative to covering myself up entirely when I work." If he could work with some sense of normalcy then he had it made, and he had to be able to work. He didn't want to spend the rest of his life in gloves but by god he would do it if he had no other choice.

Finally back at the house, Tristan swallowed his dread and went upstairs for some clean clothes.

Leslie: "It would cover all of you, the spell, so you'd still need your iron lungs. You'd still need to keep to yourself. If I'm remembering correctly, it leaves a sheen-like film over your entire body."

Leslie followed behind, slowly stripping along the way until naked.

"No matter what we see, you know I love you?"

Tristan: "I would settle for it covering my hands and my arms." In other words, the parts of him Oliver and Murphy could see when they were working and that had the highest chance of getting wet on any given day.

Tristan waited until they were upstairs to strip, tossing his clothes into the hamper.

"Yeah, I know," he said, smiling softly. "And I love you."

Leslie: "I can't change the spell, baby, but it's something to consider. If you want to learn, you'll have to work on meditation."

Naked and vulnerable, one considerably more than the other. Leslie mirrored Tristan's smile, albeit briefly. "I'll get the water started."

Tristan: "It'll probably be a while before I can do that worth a damn," he sighed. "But I'll try."

He grabbed some underwear and a t-shirt from his dresser.

"Water started? I thought we were just showering."

Leslie: "Didn't I say bath?"

Tristan: "I thought I said shower. Did I not say that out loud?"

Leslie: "What do you want, baby? I'm saying bath to take it slow. Literally dipping your toes in."

Tristan: He considered for a moment. "I don't think I'm ready to sit in a bath just yet. Showers are quicker."

Leslie: "We don't know what's going to happen," Leslie said gently.

Tristan: "I won't be wet long enough for another disaster. Navy shower."

Leslie: "Then I'll stand by."

Tristan: "Okay."

Tristan took a deep breath, both to calm himself and to stall. He didn't want to shower but he knew he had to, and the sooner he did, the sooner he could get used to it and learn how to deal with it.

He took Leslie's hand and led them back downstairs to the bathroom. Maybe he had to do this, but he was glad he didn't have to do it alone.

Leslie: Leslie followed behind, silent for the time being. Debated on jokes, but otherwise, felt conversation would only make things worse. Had circumstances been reversed, he knew he'd be rather deep in concentration, consideration all of the possibilities. He wished he would take a bath. Sit on the edge of the tub and allow his feet to soak. So concerned that Tristan was about to hurt himself, but, that's what he was for, to catch him.

Tristan: He would only let go when they reached the bathroom. His clothes would be put aside, the bracelet he always wore taken off and placed on top of them.

"All right. Time to face the music."

Tristan started the shower and used the moments it took the water to warm up to make one last effort to steel his resolve. He'd stalled long enough. He just had to do this and let the chips fall where they may.

Closing his eyes, Tristan stepped into the shower. Within moments the pattern of iridescent scales appeared on his skin, running up his arms, across his shoulders, down his back. They littered his sides in an artfully random sprinkle, fading at his groin before covering his legs almost completely.

Leslie: "You'll be alright." But, with that concern in mind, he made for the linen closet for a few extra towels. Just in case, he told himself. One for optimism, but circumstances such as this outweighed and overruled.

The witch couldn't help but near as the iridescent scales returned. They were... like his dream. He could kick himself. He understood visions and omens. Lived them. Why he ignored this as a mere fleshing of his beloved's pet name...

"Lean back, just a little?"

Tristan: Tristan had yet to open his eyes. He was trying to figure out if he could feel anything weird happening to his body without the visual of what was happening on his skin.

“How bad is it?” he asked, doing as he was told.

Leslie: "You're fine, baby," said softly. "Just wait a moment." Waiting to see if there would be any other changes, particularly around the groin. He looked up, also watching for gills, and the possibility of Tristan choking.

Tristan: So far so good. There was no indication of Tristan’s gills emerging on his throat and his breathing remained easy and steady.

His scales seemed to become more prominent the wetter he got but otherwise, everything was normal.

Leslie: He understood this was what Tristan needed to feel safe, but not knowing was only itching Leslie from the inside out. He could fall just as he had today, caught in the rain, a simple spill; they needed answers. Tristan needed to understand his body.

"It's not the same. I mean," he looked back up, "your throat, it's not - not the same."

Tristan: "It's n--what?!" Feeling a sudden rush of panic, Tristan felt at his neck. He probably should've opened his eyes to get a look at himself but he just squeezed them tighter.

"I don't..." He felt at his neck again. "It feels fine. What's wrong with it?" Aside from the definite feeling of scales.

Leslie: "You had something on your neck when I pulled you out. It's not there now. Maybe fresh water is different. Maybe not being underwater means something. I don't know. We're learning, baby."

Tristan: "Yeah, I guess we are." So far they'd learned he'd be able to shower semi-normally for the rest of his life. That was one hurdle out of the way.

Tristan felt around some more until he hit scale. He ran his fingers over them in one direction, then another. "These don't feel like fish scales. They're smooth both ways."

Leslie: "What kinda... fish is like that?" He couldn't think of any, despite his profession. His focus too narrow at the moment, too absorbed in Tristan's well-being rather than his culinary knowledge, which compared to the fisherman was all he had.

Tristan: "No fish I've ever pulled out of the water. Feel more like...reptile scales." He felt for more scales on his arm and lightly pinched a bit of skin between his thumb and middle finger, using his index to feel at the scales. "Yeah, these aren't your typical fish scales. Do they look the same as before?"

Leslie: "Pretty much the same. Didn't get a good feel before. Wasn't a forefront thought at the time." Leslie sat up then, taking Tristan's face in both hands to kiss. "It's okay to look," he whispered.

Tristan: "Right. The whole almost drowning and then teetering on the brink of hypothermia thing." He wouldn't be forgetting that any time soon, that was for damn sure.

His only warning of the incoming kiss was Leslie's touch, and Tristan leaned into it immediately. "Not just yet," he whispered back.

Leslie: "Okay." He wouldn't argue. Only gently encourage. "I'll wash you down. How 'bout that?"

Tristan: "Best offer I've heard all day. Scales won't hurt you, promise." Which had been a definite fear. "Smooth both ways."

Leslie: "Didn't feel anything when I carried you." But again, he hadn't looked for it. Probably wouldn't have felt anything after that dive.

Finally, Leslie climbed in front, gently guiding Tristan back a foot. "Hold your arm out. Test spot for soap."

Tristan: Tristan did as he was told. With two hurdles over with, they still had this one to go. He could still get in the shower and get wet in the shower but could he actually shower?

The test spot would indicate that yes, he could.

Leslie: A bar of soap passed the test. Now for shampoo and conditioner. Anything Tristan used was going to be tested, even excusing himself from the tub for shaving cream.

Tristan: After each product Leslie tested, Tristan felt at the patch of scaly skin. He wanted to know more about it but still wasn't brave enough to see it. And in any case, it didn't feel like there was anything new to learn; scales felt the same each time.

"It's like they were designed for this," he muttered to himself.

Leslie: "Immunity to cleaning products?" His smile reflected in his tone. "Maybe so. Gonna wash your hair now." Now that it seemed safe.

Tristan: Tristan tilted his head back. "More like adapted to them. Makes sense, natural selection is a very real thing. If you've gotta blend in with normal people to stay hidden, you need to be as similar to normal people as possible."

Leslie: "Mm," was all he could manage. He lathered and massaged at Tristan's scalp, breathed in deeply, and contemplated the situation. "Humans adapted to forget... pretty much everything. Push it aside. Not believe in it. Probably why - " he paused, staring at nothing in particular. "No, that doesn't make sense."

Tristan: He felt some of the tension ease out of his body as Leslie washed his hair and massaged his head with those magical healing hands. This situation was untenable but his witch was keeping him from losing his mind.

"Probably why what?"

Leslie: "Probably why you feel the way you do, I wanted to say, but - well, you're part human, no matter what this is."

Tristan: "Maybe I'd feel differently if it was like magic, you know? That didn't get thrust upon me against my will, without me knowing. You've been there to guide me and teach me. With this? I literally got tossed into the deep end of the pool and it damn near killed me. Then there's the whole separate issue of it being my sperm donor's fault."

Leslie: "I get it." To the degree he could manage. "Had my parents kept everything from me, I wouldn't... I'd feel distrusting. We still don't know the whole story. Only half. I reserve... 10% judgement."

Tristan: Tristan heaved a long sigh. "Distrusting is right. I feel that and a hundred other things. Can't tell you how much I would rather have been bitten by a radioactive fish or something. Then at least it would be my own damn fault."

Leslie: "Fish version of Spider-man? Piranha-man." His smile was tired and somewhat forced. Not that Tristan could see it. "Not really up-to-date on comic heroes."

Tristan: "I could live with being thrust into being Piranha-man." Living with this, that remained to be seen.

"It's your turn."

Leslie: "What about me?"

Tristan: “To get your hair washed.”

Leslie: "Oh! Gotta open your eyes."

Tristan: “I will in just one sec.” First he had to rinse all the shampoo out of his hair and slather some conditioner in there.

Only then would he open his eyes, keeping his gaze resolutely on Leslie.

Leslie: He could tell Tristan he was alright until his throat was raw. It would make no difference. So, for now, he simply smiled, patient.

"Okay?"

Tristan: Tristan smiled and nodded. “I’m okay, baby.” And even if he wasn’t, he’d fake it until he made it. “Duck your head.”

Leslie: Leslie was obedient, making no fuss in any measure as his scalp was pampered.

"I have no idea what we're doing after this."

Tristan: “Right after this? We’re gonna finish showering and dry off. I’m gonna comb my hair, or let you do it if you want to. Then we’re gonna head upstairs and get into bed. I’m gonna hold you as tight as I can, kiss you, and we’re going to sleep. And in the morning, things will be better.”

Leslie: "Yorkshire pudding for breakfast? Some... poached eggs and tomato from the backyard. Maybe... something with plantains for lunch."

Leslie, now blind, leaned forward to kiss whatever part of Tristan he could.

Tristan: Leslie’s lips landed on Tristan’s nose. “All that sounds great,” he said, smile evident in his voice. “I love your plantains. And you. So goddamn much.”

Leslie: "I feel it." His own smile evident in his tone, though less evident on his face, scrunched to prevent the shampoo on his eyelid from penetrating.

Tristan: "Good." Tristan guided Leslie under the spray to rinse the shampoo out. "Keep those eyes closed."

Leslie: "Heard," said through a yawn. "So when I open my eyes again, are you closing yours?"

Tristan: "I'll keep 'em open for you."

Leslie: "You mean on me?"

Tristan: Tristan chuckled. "You're the best thing they could possibly look at."

Leslie: "I appreciate it, but I know what you're doing, baby."

Tristan: "Taking baby steps, sweetheart. Been looking at my hands in your hair this whole time and I haven't freaked out."

Leslie: "They're still beautiful hands." He paused. "I know that's not what you wanna hear, but my optimism is relentless."

Tristan: "One of us has to be. Maybe one day I'll see them the same way you do."

Leslie: "It's been less than twenty-four hours."

Tristan: "In other words, every reason for optimism, right? Gotta have hope."

Leslie: "Absolutely. What you are isn't wrong. How you learned is."

Tristan: “Ain’t that the truth,” he sighed. “I really could’ve done without the shitty afternoon we both had.”

Leslie: "I'm always ready and willing to jump into a frozen ocean for you."

Tristan: Leslie was pulled back in kissing range. “Right back at you. Here’s hoping neither of us ever has to again.”

Leslie: "Well, I know you'll be alright, now." A soft kiss later, he felt at his hair for any remaining soap.

Tristan: Tristan did an inspection of his own hair, making sure all the conditioner had rinsed out. "I wash your back, you wash mine?"

Leslie: "Mhm." Washing Tristan's back would be more inspection than actual washing, but it too couldn't be avoided.

Tristan: He may not have been fine with what was happening to him or be comfortable in his own skin or even want to look at himself, but Tristan felt comfortable with Leslie touching him. Inspecting him. Washing him.

It made everything seem more normal somehow. And safer.

“Feels kinda different. Not weird, just different.”

Leslie: "Like a fever, kind of different, or something else?"

Tristan: “A different sensation, when you touch patches with scales.”

Leslie: "Is it numb? I mean, less feeling than normal?"

Tristan: “Not quite. It feels kinda like when you touch your elbow. The skin is a little thicker but you can still feel it.”

Leslie: Sort of what he'd been imagining. Tristan was better with description. "Sounds... protective."

Tristan: “Guess it must be. Might feel different if I’m fully wet like I was when I fell.”

Tristan crouched down. “Gimme a leg.”

Leslie: "What - What?" Leslie laughed from confusion.

Tristan: “Them legs need washing too. Gimme one.” Of course, washing was just an excuse for touching as much of Leslie as he could.

Leslie: "I can honestly say, no one has ever washed my legs before." So he held one up, pressed his foot to the tile for balance and let Tristan be his first.

Tristan: “Then I can honestly say, no one has shown your body the proper appreciation.” Or the proper reverence. Anyone who didn’t have to physically restrain themselves from touching Leslie at all times was stupid or blind or both.

Tristan kissed just above his witch’s knee carefully lathered the length of the first leg before giving the same treatment to the other.

Leslie: Leslie could feel that this was more than a washing. Had his suspicions for some time, the way Tristan stared at him. It was the same stare for years that he had somehow ignored. No longer, he thought, watching his boyfriend admire freckled skin.

"I love you."

Tristan: Tristan gave Leslie an adoring smile and kissed his thigh. "I love you too, baby. Turn around for me."

Leslie: He would obey. Hands loose at his sides, forehead to the cool tile. This was how Tristan coped, he realized. He tried to think of another instance with a similar reaction. Probably his mother, or Oliver. He wondered why, then didn't want to think about it.

Tristan: The gentle ministrations would continue as Tristan washed the back of Leslie. A kiss placed on the underside of each cheek, on each shoulder blade, and directly in the center of Leslie’s back.

“All clean.”

Leslie: Leslie hadn't expected to hear and then feel Tristan lowering to kiss there. It made him smile for sheer surprise.

"You're very thorough."

Tristan: “I pride myself on it,” he said with a grin that Leslie would be able to hear in his voice. “All of you deserves to be kissed.”

Leslie: "I can turn around now, or want more of my back?"

Tristan: He chuckled and pressed one more kiss to Leslie's back. "You can turn around. Ready to dry off and get snuggled into bed?"

Leslie: "Ready to turn." He wondered how much of himself Tristan had observed, or had he been so determined not to look at all, ignoring the glisten in his peripheral.

"I'll get the towels."

Tristan: Tristan hadn't gotten a good look, but he wasn't putting all his effort into looking away either. He was trying to...accept the bits of himself he could see and not try to move so he wouldn't see any of himself because that was weird and impossible to maintain.

He straightened and shut off the water. "'Kay. I'll be here squeezing out my hair."

Leslie: His towel was draped over his head and shoulders. Like a babushka, his mother used to say when he was a child. Tristan was given similar treatment, gently pulled by the fluffy towel into another kiss.

Tristan: He hummed happily, grinning at Leslie when he pulled away. "I feel...a hell of a lot better than I did before we showered."

Leslie: "Then it's been a success."

His own towel was used to aid in drying Tristan's skin. Scales? It seemed a delicate business.

Tristan: Like he had before, Tristan took a moment to take stock of new sensations. The scales didn’t feel fragile but it was probably best to err on the side of caution. Just in case.

“Still so weird.”

Leslie: "Mhm." Lastly, his legs. Less than a rub-down and more of a careful pat. He would wait, on a single knee, watching the transformation as though for the first time.

Tristan: He closed his eyes again. This time instead of doing it to avoid seeing himself, he did it to see if he could actually feel his skin change.

No such luck. Just like when he’d gotten in the shower; one moment scales, next moment gone.

Leslie: Leslie traced a patch of scales with that very thought in mind. Curious if that rough-sensation Tristan had mentioned would change instantly to usual sensitivity.

Tristan: The sensation itself was more gradual. As the scales faded, normal sensation came back. "Definitely weird," he said mostly to himself, rubbing at his arm. "The little kid in me wants to ask where they go when I'm not wet, but I'm guessing it's just magic?"

Leslie: "What I turn into is magic. You'd have to ask a were-creature. Someone born to it like...you."

Tristan: "You wouldn't happen to know any, would you?"

Leslie: Leslie bit his lip, looked at himself in the mirror.

"Mhm."

Tristan: "Am allowed to ask who or did you promise to keep it under wraps?"

Leslie: "I'll ask what he wants. To play messenger or maybe talk to you. I'll keep you anonymous, too."

Tristan: "Thanks, doll. Appreciate this and everything else you've done for me today."

Leslie: "Don't need to thank me, baby."

Tristan: Leslie was pulled in for another kiss. “I know. But I’m doing it anyway.”

Leslie: He nuzzled, inspected for any lingering patches. Satisfied, he said, "Let's get you warm."

Tristan: “Let’s both get warm and get in bed. Ready to cuddle you until morning.”

#When it Finally Hits chapter #leslieeissott #tristanseger

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if-weshadows-haveoffended · 5 years ago

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Binary Stars - Obi-Wan x Reader

A/N: Uh lemme just uh rant about my feelings about being in a secret relationship because I specialise on that front. 10/10 would not recommend that particular experience my dudes. You can read this as both reader and Obi being Jedi, it’s left fairly ambiguous.

Title: Binary Stars Tags: @fangirltothe-end , @hellotherekenobi Words: 1000+ Masterpost: here (x) Prompt List: here (x) Mixtape Archive: here (x) The Obi-Wan Kenobae playlist (x)

“But what is that?” The young Jedi sitting beside you had asked, pointing to two stars so close together they seemed almost as one.

“Binary stars.” You had replied, recalling some footnote in your lessons. “Two stars trapped within each other’s gravitational orbits and destined to eventually collide.”

“Inescapably so?”

“I guess.”

The first thing that alerted you was the idle feeling of wetness upon your cheeks, like the gentle fall of rain against your skin. Part of your mind was convinced that it was all part of a dream, the other- no the other began to rouse you from your sleep, eyes opening and adjusting to the darkness of your room. Speeders raced past your curtained windows, looking to all the world like blurs of passing colours and stars. And you became aware of a warm body pressed against your side, holding you fast.

“Forgive me,” His voice choked out, you instantly lifted your hand to Obi-Wan’s face, his forehead pressed against yours. “I shouldn’t have woken you up.”

You sat up, tucking loose strands of hair behind his ears, brows furrowing at the sight of his face. “No, no darling you haven’t done anything wrong.” Your lips found their way to the corner of his eye, feeling the wetness of tears as you tried your best to wipe them away with your sleeve. “What is it? Obi?”

His eyes looked down towards the tangled sheets for a moment before meeting yours again, words unable to come to his tongue. You continued to press kisses against the familiar warmth of his skin, fingers idly brushing the scruff of his beard as you traced a line of kisses from cheek to jaw. Your nose was now buried into the crook of his neck as you both sat in a tight embrace, arms looped around his shoulders as Obi-Wan’s wrapped around your waist. He smelled of comfort and the herbs folded into his robes for storage. Clean, honest, without pretention. And despite however much you thought the pain would stop, a wave of sadness washed over you once again. And you held onto him tighter, feeling him respond in kind.

No matter how long you’d both spent apart, you felt as if these moments together were never real. Like living a life that was not truly your own. And in those moments your heart numbed itself to the ache and desperation of longing, willing to let you act as if everything was fine. As if you didn’t spend each waking instant together yearning that the next and the one after and the one after that would be the same.

In the days after Obi-Wan would return to the war front, you would spend what felt like hours in bed, fingers feeling the phantom touches of a face you had become so intimately familiar with, your skin remembering what it felt like to have calloused hands gently skim along the curve of your cheek. You don’t know for how much longer you could do this, but you would. You said you would. You knew the price of that love, and you knew you would bear that pain in the knowledge that he was yours.

“Do you hate me?” You never thought he could sound so… so defeated. “I’ve caused you such pain and it’s all my fault.”

You raised your head, hand resting upon the side of his face. “Stars, how could I ever hate you?”

It wasn’t always like this.

Once you had both been reckless. Running through streets and racing speeder bikes, stealing kisses in alleyways where no prying Jedi Master could see. Perhaps you had both simply grown up, and the crawling nightmare that was the war weighing down upon both of you. But sometimes, even now, those stolen kisses behind senate buildings still felt as thrilling as the first. And sometimes you would hear Obi-Wan laugh as clearly as he had once done. He wasn’t built for infinite sadness, no, no how could someone who lit up the way he did ever deserve that?

“I made my choice.” You finally whispered back, leaning in to kiss him. It seared, feeling your very breath stolen from you as his hands buried themselves into your hair. As you pulled apart his teeth caught your lower lip for the smallest moment, nibbling a little, taking all of your self-control to pull away. There would be moments to continue this, but not now. He needed something else.

“You can always leave.” He murmured into your skin, pressing yet another kiss against your forehead. “Be happy.”

“But it won’t be you. It wouldn’t be the same.” You said back, tilting his chin down with your fingers so you could meet his gaze. “I could leave you, yes. But nothing will stop me from feeling as if the universe were pulling us together. Like heavenly bodies upon a collision course. I won’t leave you, and nothing you say can make me.”

“But am I worth this pain?” He was almost pleading with you now, both hands cradling the sides of your face. “I’m just a Jedi. Not some brilliant senator or wealthy nobility.”

Your mind raced with the memories of freckles on a padawan after too much sun, of a General singing idly as he made a mug of tea. You were consumed with the ache of all those quiet moments spent memorising the lines of his face and the shape of his lips and the way he frowned when he couldn’t quite understand something. The way he laughed about his former padawan just as much as he claimed Anakin would send him to an early grave. But above all else, your mind was filled with the memories of watching him work upon his datapad, a quiet intensity in his eyes as he strategized for yet another mission.

How could you want anyone else?

“No, you’re not.” Your lips met the palm of his hand, “You’re a good man Obi-Wan Kenobi. All the pain in the universe would be worth it just so I can see you smile.”

#obi wan x reader #obi wan kenobi x reader #obi wan imagine #userxkara #ewan mcgregor

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gunslingertales · 4 years ago

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Saving grace || A.M - Chapter 1

Story summary: Arthur struggles with his guilt and his loyalty towards the people he always thought of as family. He starts questioning the life they’ve been leading lately and wonders if there’s still a place for him somewhere out there in a world that’s so quickly chaning. Then he meets a woman with fire in her eyes and gold in her heart who seems equally lost in the great unknown that’s life.

Chapter One: “ Foolish thoughts”

Chapter summary: There’s a little Ranch just south of Valentine and the owners owe the Van der Linde Gang some money. Arthur is send to collect the debts thought instead of money he finds a sick and frail old man and a woman ready to fight for the people she considers her family.

Likes, comments and especially reblogs are more than appreciated ♥

[additional note: I am German. Sometimes I get the tense wrong or make mistakes. I am useless when it comes to punctuation. Go easy on me, please.]

A thick heat rests upon New Hanover as Arthur rides his horse through the fields and valleys, the sun beating mercilessly down on him. It’s a dry heat, one that clings to your lips and eyes and makes them feel like sandpaper.

He’s not really one for this weather, then again, he’s not itching to get back into the snow either. Those days up in Colter, holed up in those dingy little cabins not knowing whether they’d starve or if the storm would kill them first, they’ve left marks on all of them. Every time he looks around the camp he can see faces filled with relief yet guarded. It’s like no one really believes that luck might finally be on their side.

Dutch keeps repeating his mantras of “Just have faith” and though he’d die for this man, lately Arthur’s been wondering what exactly he’s supposed to have faith in. Life just ain’t what it used to be. The world, ain’t what it used to be. And maybe it has outgrown them. Maybe times ain’t meant for folk like them no more. He’s not gonna voice those thoughts though, not to Dutch or anyone else. Sometimes your own thoughts can be your undoing. So they stay in his head and in his diary. And anyway, what good would it do to undermine Dutch’s plan? It would just cause problems and unrest in the group. Then if they fall apart where would that leave him? They’re all he’s got. Mary ain’t taking him back anytime soon, that train had left years ago. There’s nothing else out there for him. He ain’t no rancher. Can’t fish really well. Hell, even though being out with Charles helped him get better, he ain’t turning into a hunter anytime soon either. He’s not bad at it but he can’t make a living from it either. This life, robbing and plundering and doing — well bad things, this is all he knows. All he’s ever known. Maybe, he thinks, life hasn’t outrun the group. He can see John, dull as he may be, turning his life around and becoming a rancher maybe. Mary-Beth, nose stuck in a book at all times, could make a great writer if given the opportunity. Hell, even Pearson could find employment elsewhere.

But him ? Nah. Maybe life hasn’t outrun the group. Maybe it has just outrun him.

Silly thoughts. Silly foolish thoughts. Thoughts he can’t afford. Not right now. He can’t grow soft right now. He’s got work to do. Work he ain’t particularly fond of but work nonetheless. Goddamn Strauss and his lending business. Though it may be legal it ain’t right. The fool is playing bigger fools for money they don’t have.

There’s a voice in the back of Arthur’s head nagging him about it. Telling him to just turn around and let Straus do the dirt work himself if he’s so keen on making business with desperate people he should be the one dealing with the consequences of his actions.

The idiot would probably get himself killed in the process though and while that wouldn’t be much of a bother to Arthur himself, he’s quite certain Dutch does not share that sentiment.

So once again he’s the one fixing other people’s mistakes.

There’s a small ranch just south of Valentine, close to Cumberland Falls. It ain’t big by any means but it’s calm and quaint and for a split second Arthur wonders if this could’ve been the life for him had he decided to stay with Mary and leave the gang behind. Probably not, Mary wouldn’t want to be a rancher’s wife either.

As he hitches his horse, Mouse on the closes tree, Arthur can already spot the poor fella Thomas Downes raking the ground by his crops. It’s not nice work, collecting debts.

The man is lanky and thin and he looks frails. With every step Arthur gets closer to the fence, he can hear the man coughing and wheezing. It ain’t right, beating money out of a sick man. It ain’t right at all.

“ Mr. Downes? Mr. Thomas Downes? “

“ Yup, that’s me.”

The man looks up at him with a smile and his words sound so goddamn chipper. It’s worse beating nice and friendly people. If they’re assholes, well, it ain’t so bad then. Least it doesn’t leave a sick taste in his mouth afterward.

“ You owe me money.”

The smile falls from his lips as realization dawns on him.

“ Oh, no no no - I “

Arthur steps through the gate, a terrified Thomas Downes facing him, rake in hand and ready to fight. What a nuisance, Arthur thinks. In the best of all cases, this man is sick, and in the worst, he’s actively dying, he’s not going to win any fight. Though Arthur commends his bravery, it’s a foolish attempt really.

He slaps the rake out of the man’s hand as if it’s a piece of straw. “ Really? Threaten me, would you? “

A deliberately placed punch straight to the jaw follows his words and immediately knocks the skinny man off of his feet. As he sits in the dirt, Thomas Downes looks up at Arthur through fearful eyes. It ain’t right.

“ Please. I have a family, sir. Please. “

It’s not fun to have them begging if they’re nice folk. Nonetheless, Arthur grabs the guy by his collar, lifts him up just a little. “ I don’t care about your family. You borrowed money from my business partner Herr Strauss. You owe him. You took the money, he wants it back. “

Downes cowers at Arthur’s feet like a beaten dog, there’s hopelessness in his eyes and desperation.

“ Where’s our money? “

“ I don’t have it. “

“ Sell your place. “

“ We already owe more than it’s worth. “

“ Well, that’s too bad for you then. “ Arthur lets out one of his signature grunts and is about to hoist the man up to his feet when a loud voice catches his attention.

“ Hey, you. Stop! Stop! Let him go! “

Arthur turns just in time to see a woman run up to him, her red hair pulled into a thick braid that hangs over her right shoulder, a few wildflowers intricately woven into the braid. Her appearance is one of sweetness and innocence though there’s a fire in her eyes burning brightly and her steps are fast and fierce.

“ This ain’t none of your business, Ma’am. Your husband owes us some money, I’m just here to collect what’s rightfully ours. “

“ He ain’t my husband. “ the woman hisses at Arthur, as she pulls Mr. Downes back to his feet and leans him against the fence. There’s blood dripping from a cut above his eye that the woman quickly wipes away with a handkerchief. “ I work here. “

“ Well, then it sure ain’t none of your concern. I just want my goddamn money.”

“ You’re not gonna find it here. Can’t you see he’s sick? The ranch ain’t doin well either. “

“ I don’t care, lady. We ain’t your idea of charity. “

“ So what ? “ she asks and steps up to him, her eyes burning with anger and wrath. She’s so close, Arthur can see even the smallest of freckles as they cover her cheeks like stars in the clear night sky. “ You gonna kill him cause he can’t pay back the few lousy dollars he owes you? “

“ If that’s what it takes. Ain’t no dollar lousy for someone who got none. “ he tries to reach around her, to grab Mr. Drownes again and instill a little more fear, get some cash out of him even if it’s not all he owes. Though the woman doesn’t have any of it, she steps back into his path, shielding the sick man from Arthur’s rage.

“ Stop!”

“ Woman, get outta ma damn way.”

“ No! “

“ Ma’am, I ain’t the kind of guy that slaps a woman around but you’re going on my nerves real bad. “

“ You are free to leave. “

“ Not without ma money!”

“ Okay, okay, “ she holds her hands out in front of her in a gesture to calm him down. Like he’s a wild horse stomping his hooves and bucking up on his hind legs. “ I’ll pay. I don’t got no money but I have something else. If I give it to you, will you leave him alone? “

Arthur considers it for a moment. For a second he wonders why it matters to her. Why she’d give her valuables for a family that ain’t hers. But then again, he’d give his life for Dutch and Hosea and the gang, and ain’t none of them bound to him by blood.

“ Is it worth anything? “

“ It’s worth good money. “

“ Then yes. “

“ I need to get it, follow me then. “

It’s not a question, it’s a demand. It’s really not her place to make any demands but Arthur doesn’t mind. As long as she’s giving him something valuable he can live with the attitude.

The woman gives Thomas Downes another look-over, making sure he’s fine to stand on his own before patting his arm affectionately and turning back towards Arthur.

Little fly-away hair sticks to her skin that’s slick with the summer heat and the sun reflecting in her eyes turns them a vibrant shade of blue. It’s quite the sight, a girl like her turning into a real firecracker.

She stomps past him, dirt clinging to her boots as she hikes her skirt a little higher. Her clothes are quite something, Arthur thinks. The skirt is a blue and grey gingham pattern and her blouse is white and flowy with several colorful flowers embroidered onto it. There’s some frilly stuff hanging from the sleeves and the collar. Quite … something. But hell, what does he know.

“ Lemme tell you, Ma’am. Ya better not try any funny business. I ain’t here to joke around.”

It’s not that he distrusts her in particular. It’s that all his life he’s been taught not to trust anyone except those closest to him. And even that seems questionable these days. His mom died before he could even really get to know her and his dad, he was a good for nothing bastard. Hosea and Dutch, those are the people he trusts. Charles, too. Even John with his hot-headed ideas and big dreams. But not strangers. Never stranger no matter how nice. No matter how beautiful.

Trust makes you vulnerable. Vulnerability kills you. Or at least it chips away at your heart until there’s nothing left.

There’s a small building a few steps away from the main house, not more than a shed really but there are several patches of colorful wildflowers growing by the path leading up to it. Though he doesn’t know her, Arthur can see her living here. With the flowers out front and the sun shining through the one small window.

Arthur feels uneasy as she lets him step into the shed. There’s a bunch of old photographs sitting on a cupboard in the corner and some hung up on the wall behind her bed. It’s been a while since Arthur’s stayed at an actual house, even longer since a place felt like home, if ever. He’s not quite sure if he ever had a one to begin with. Maybe his home’s the prairie.

But this, this place feels awfully homely. It’s bursting with personality and character.

With a groan, the woman reaches down and lifts one of the floorboards, picking up a small wooden box, adorned with several little amber stones. There are words engraved into the lit of the box though he can’t make out what they’re saying.

“ You know, “ she says as her fingers fumble around in the small box “ you ain’t a very nice man. “

“ Never said I was. “

It’s no lie. He’s not a very nice man. He’s robbed people, killed them. He’s beaten an old sick man for a few lousy dollars. He’s not living with false perceptions of himself. He knows exactly the kind of man he is and it ain’t a nice one. But to say the words don’t affect him is a lie. They do, for they are the same words he’s heard from Mary so many many times. Back when he tried to be a nice man. For her.

“ Here you go!” the woman pushes something into his hands before stuffing the box back beneath the floorboard. “ That should be plenty enough. “

Slowly, Arthur opens his hand to reveal several pieces of sparkling jewelry. Two sparkly gold earrings and a ring with a big red stone. Granted, Arthur doesn’t know the first thing about jewelry but even he can tell this stuff is worth a good dollar.

“ It was my mama’s. Was hoping one day I’d find a husband and he’d propose to me with that ring but I — I guess that ain’t happening no more. “

The fire in her eyes is gone and has been replaced with an infinite sadness. The uneasy feeling returns to Arthur’s stomach. It just ain’t right.

“ You ain’t gotta be doing this. They aren’t your debts. “

She lets out a deep sigh before looking back at Arthus, blue eyes brimming with honesty and sadness.

“ Life ain’t so easy, you know? The Downes are the only people I got left. Thomas isn’t doin’ well. If God has mercy on us he lets him live for a few more weeks. That’s the time I got to try and find a new place of work. Edith will lose the Ranch soon as Thomas is in the ground. The goddamn bank is already circling around like vultures. Her and Archie will go west, stay with some family of hers. I’ll be alone then. And the world is cruel to a woman who’s got no husband and no work and no possessions. This family helped me out when my daddy died and I had no place to go, this is just me returning the favor while I still can. “

“ You the maid or something. “

“ Or something. My daddy used to own a general store in the heartlands, close to flatneck station. We used to buy produce from the Downes. Then my mama died and my daddy — well I guess part of him died with her. Things didn’t look so good for us no more but the Downes always did good by me. Always made sure I had food on the table. Then, when my daddy died, they took me in. First I was taking care of Archie, their son, then when he was old enough I started helping around the house and with the crops. It’s why I cherish them so much, why I wanna help ‘em. Don’t even wanna think about what comes next. “

His heart is constricting in weird ways. He shouldn’t be feeling this way. Mercy is not something he can afford. Rich people can. Nice people too. But not him and not the gang. Life just feels so strange lately, like the world has shifted just a little. Enough to throw things out of proportion but too little to make any immediate impacts.

“ Sorry to hear that, Ma’am.”

“ Please don’t call me Ma’am. Makes me feel mighty old. “

“ I’m sorry … Miss ? “

“ Everly. May Everly. “

“ Well, then I’m sorry Miss Everly. I don’t mean no harm, I’m just doin’ ma job.”

That’s not the truth but sometimes it’s easier to tell little lies than to be entirely honest. He’s sorry, that part is true. Sorry that life ain’t being good to her either lately. But he did mean harm, to Mr. Downes at least. Had she not stopped him, worse things could’ve happened. Way worse things.

“ I understand. Just wish your job didn’t entail punching people into the ground. “

Arthur averts his eyes and lets them run up and down the pattern in the wooden floorboards. It’s one thing to be faced with our own shortcomings when your mind is screaming them at you but to have them laid out for you by someone else, a stranger no less, that’s quite a different story and it’s not pleasant.

“ We all gotta survive somehow, I guess. “

“ Maybe you’re right. Maybe we ain’t so different you and I. The world seems like it don’t want either of us no more. “

“ Maybe so. “

A soft hand is placed on Arthur’s arm. So gentle and kind and Arthur wonders how long it’s been since he last felt the touch of a woman. Quite a while if you don’t count the bath-girls at the saloon. He hates the fact that this is where his mind wanders. Ain’t no way this woman would ever even entertain the thought of showing him any affection that rises above a friendly pat on the arm.

“ What’s your name? “

“ Arthur. Arthur Morgan. “

“ Well, Mr. Morgan. Please take the jewelry and let the Downes live how little time they got left in peace. “

“ You sure? “

She nods, sending more hair to pull out of the neat braid and some wildflowers to fall to the ground.

“ But, if I can allow myself to make a request. Could you make sure the ring goes to someone who needs it? Maybe a couple in love. Someone looking to surprise their wife. Just — don’t just pawn it off please. “

“ I’ll keep it in mind. “

“ Thank you, Mr. Morgan. “

A silence settles upon them heavily just the way his heart feels right then. Heavy like the stones that seem to rest inside his stomach for a while now.

“ Have a good day, Miss Everly. Sorry, it has come to this. “

“ Yeah, me too. “

The acidic taste of guilt sits on the tip of his tongue as he steps back outside and walks the path down towards where Mouse is munching away on a patch of grass. Wildflowers are flanking his sides and with every step he takes, his conscience and his heart grow heavier.

When his eyes look up from the ground, Arthur spots another horse grazing next to Mouse. A beautiful Buttermilk Buckskin stands in the midday sun, fur shining like golden silk. It’s a gorgeous horse.

“ Oh, I see you met Beans. Sorry whenever he’s around other horses he naturally gravitates towards them. “

It’s not surprising to him that this horse belongs to May. Though he doesn’t know her at all, has only had one conversation with her, something about her intrigues him. There’s a mystery to her. A certain depth. The way she’s looked straight into his soul when she talked to him was both comforting and scary. Usually, the only person who even understood a tiny bit of his inner working was Hosea and even then with him, it was mostly a guessing game that sometimes hit the spot. Mary-Beth always had an open ear for his problems and seemed to understand whenever he chose to share but her head was always up in the clouds so it was hard to tell if she really understood or if she just repeated pretty words from those books she devoured all the time.

“ Beans.”

“ Yup. I got him when Archie was little, he helped me name him and it kinda stuck. Sorry, he’s bothering your horse. Lemme take him inside the barn. “

“ Nah, it’s alright. This is his home. Mouse doesn’t care anyway. “

“ Mouse? Well, that’s a cute name. Didn’t take her for a Mouse since her fur ain’t gray but … it’s cute. “

“ Sure. “

He doesn’t tell her that the only reason the horse is named Mouse is because back in the day, when they were still young and foolish and in love, Mary had read to him from a book her father had given her. It was about some girl who falls down a rabbit hole and then ends up in some weird fantasy world. He doesn’t remember a thing from it but the fact that there was a Mouse in this story. So his lovesick heart named his new horse after a character from a book the woman he used to love once read to him. Amongst fools, he really is the king. Mary probably doesn't spend a single second thinking of him and he goes around doing stuff like that.

“ Well, you take care Arthur Morgan. And get Mouse some sugar cubes from the money you make from my jewelry please. “

Arthur lifts himself onto this horse and tips his hat towards May as she leans against her own horse, fingers combing through the black mane.

“ I can do that. You take care too, Miss Everly. “

She bids him goodbye with a smile, one he is most definitely undeserving of. Even after taking something valuable from her, her mother’s ring, her dead mother’s ring, she still grants him a smile.

Life ain’t never been fair to him but he had never deserved for it to be either. Arthur knows he isn’t a good man by any means, today has only proven that further. But her, with her wildflowers and her Horse with the funny name, she seems like no bad thing has ever come from her. Life, Arthur thinks, should favor those who do good. That would only be fair.

But when has life ever been fair.

The encounter stays on his mind way into the night. At the campfire, as Javier strums along on his guitar and sings some Spanish song neither of them has heard before, his thoughts wander back to May and what she said about them being not so different. If only she knew. Women, Arthur has experienced, often don’t seem to grasp the severity of his wrongdoings, of his bad deeds. They like to see him for a romantic version of what they perceive an outlaw to be. He ain’t none of it though.

He looks around the campfire at the familiar faces. This is the first night they all got to come together and celebrate being down from the mountains and out of the snow. There are smiles on everyone’s faces and a mutual sense of belonging falls upon them. This, Arthur thinks, is why he chose this life. The community. The loyalty. The love.

Sometimes you have to fight against the restraints life gives you and find your own path. Find your own family. And he did that, all on his own. In Dutch and Hosea and yes, even fucking Marston. These are his people and if the world don’t want them, at least they’re going down together. A luxury miss Everly doesn’t seem to have.

“ Stop with the silly thought, Arthur!” He scolds himself. “ That ain’t none of your business. Nothing you need to get involved in. You got enough on your plate as it is. “

And he tries to stick to that, he really does. Silly, foolish thoughts are a luxury people like him don’t get to revel in.

Only that’s not entirely true for the next several pages of his diary are filled with sketches of beautiful wildflowers, a horse with golden fur and a black mane. And a girl with flowers in her hair and eyes a bright sky blue that hold the fire of a thousand flames.

#arthur morgan x oc #arthur morgan imagine #arthur morgan imagines #arthur morgan fanfic #arthur morgan fanfiction #red dead redemption fanfic #red dead redemption fanfiction #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 fanfiction #rdr2 imagine #rdr2 imagines #red dead redemption imagine #red dead redemption imagines

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alkhale · 6 years ago

Note

modern au ace modeling???? PLEASE????

you caught me in an ace kinda mood, anon, u sneaky u

“You know it’s four hours, right?”

Ace’s cocky little satisfied grin settled over his lips. Hoku snorted in amusement, setting up her work station.

The art room toward the west wing of the high school building was fairly spacious enough. Windows lined the outer wall of the room, curtains pulled up for privacy in particular to today’s focus of study. Her fellow classmates and club members were somewhat acting in usual fashion, the few unaffected by the new presence helping to hand out easels and boards, sharpening their pencils and getting ready for the four hour anatomy study.

The rest however, were lost.

Majority of the girls in Hoku’s art club–majority of which had been the ones always eager to rifle through her sketchbooks and swoon and sigh over her choices of drawings–she did join in when it was the occasional Shanks though–were gathered in clusters around the room. They watched with adoring eyes, fixing their skirts and their hair, whispering and chirping back and forth to each other as they watched today’s focus of study.

Who, clad only in a red satin silk robe that actually complimented the sun kissed tan of his body ridiculously well and also revealed the muscular ridges of his chest and the toned muscle of his arms and calves and that he was naked as the day as he was born under there–

Portgas D. Ace.

Her–metaphorical brother? Friend? Housemate? Kin? Very important person. One of the very important people in her life she happened to somehow manage the hassle of living with.

Ace scratched his neck. The robe shifted, revealing torso and abs and more Ace.

A few of her classmates swooned, cheeks flushing and one flustered boy rushed from the room.

“Your teacher’s paying me twenty bucks an hour for this,” Ace said, lips curling as he crowded her station and Hoku continued setting up all her stuff and getting comfortable. “With a break and food–this is the easiest job ever!”

“And you’re fine with the fact that you’re only getting a sheet up there, right?” Hoku added, pulling her hair back into a ponytail. Ace’s hands instantly went up in grabby motions. She sighed through her nose, relenting and handing him her hairtie. Ace shuffled behind her, gathering up her hair with long, larger fingers carding through bright white locks.

“I always wear the same at home–”

“That’s right, dumb question, you’re an exhibitionist at heart.”

Hoku squawked when he pulled back on her ponytail a little harder. She reached to smack his arm, but Ace simply grinned, the constellation dusting of freckles along his cheeks and nose more prominent. “Come on, you love having me here! Isn’t it a nice change of pace? You’re always drawing us at home anyway, now you get the real deal.”

“I’m foaming at the mouth,” Hoku said. Ace pulled at her cheeks. She swatted his hands away. “I only told you about the request cause they kept asking and you could make some cash, try not to fall asleep, yeah?”

“Sure, sure,” Ace drawled. He finally relented with one last tug to her ponytail–Hoku hissed at him and he grinned, crossing his arms behind his head as he sauntered off to the platform like one big cat. “Get my good side, shooting star.”

Hoku mimicked him behind his back. Her teacher came up, explaining to him the different types of poses he could consider. One of her classmates took a seat down beside her, finally in place.

“He’s so hot,” she whispered, face flushed.

Try not to get mauled by the high school girls. Hoku considered mouthing to him. Instead she laughed, shaking her head at her classmate.

“He’s the biggest, narcoleptic dork you could ever meet.”

“But he’s so hot.”

Hoku shrugged.

She tried.

Ace was an absolute bastard.

And she was absolutely going to get back at him when this was all over.

It had all started the way it normally should. Ace took position on the platform. Their teacher explained today’s assignment, four hours, four different poses meant to be captured, an hour for each. Hoku settled that she could probably finish them sooner or try something new while she was at it since she’d drawn Ace plenty of times as it was.

Their teacher gave him free reign of his choice of poses, saying to do whatever made him the most comfortable.

Ace had scratched the back of his head, looking around curiously while the entire class watched with avid, waiting eyes. He finally shrugged, grabbing the folded bedsheet and holding it up to his waist.

Ace let the satin red robe fall to his feet with a flourish, pooling around him like a ring of fire.

People swooned.

Hoku adjusted her easel, waiting for him to pick a pose. There was a bit of shuffling on the platform until Ace finally settled down. Hoku looked up.

Charcoal black irises smoldered right back at her. Straight at her.

Hoku blinked once. Twice.

Ace had one hand tangled in the thick mess of ink black locks, fingers propping up his head. He’d stretched out along the platform like a large jungle cat soaking up sun, bed sheet pooling dangerously over the sharp dips of his his, following a defined ridge line and teasing anything else. People positioned behind him were furiously working at the line of back muscles presented before them and Hoku stared back in disbelief.

Ace continued to stare.

Right fucking at her with that ridiculous face and those stupid hooded eyes while he was butt ass naked because he knew she’d get pissed off and–

You’re so stupid. She mouthed at him.

Ace merely winked, keeping still, looking absolutely content with himself.

An hour had passed since then–Ace had switched positions as asked, seating himself on a chair and turning it around so his legs hung on either side of the back, the chair’s back the only thing shielding his very naked front while he propped his arms on the top of the chair, leaning his head on them and dogging her down. His eyes smoldered mischievously, watching her intently and refusing to look anywhere else.

Hoku was almost certain the girl beside her was about to pass out. Or lose blood. Or both.

Stupid Ace with his stupid jokes and his stupid fucking staring. Hoku grumbled. Knows I hate being stared at for no good reason, asshole. Hoku glanced back to where chips of coal kept watching her and she almost groaned something ugly aloud, turning a page.

She’d drawn four of the ugliest figures she could possibly manage at first out of sheer pettiness. She contemplated drawing a ridiculous, gross caricature of Ace to top it off, but she had to turn something in and…

Hoku frowned at the blank paper in front of her. She glanced back to Ace.

He waggled his brows briefly, obvious grin hidden behind his arms before he returned to his intense, stoic staring.

Her eyes flickered to the potted flowers in the corner of the room. Hoku sat there for a moment, playing with the worn down pencil in her hand before she sighed through her nose, setting to work.

She might as well try something new out then.

She’d just tell Sabo on him later.

“C’mon, lemme see, how’d they turn out?”

Hoku ignored Ace, shoving her supplies back into her backpack.

A break–where many of her classmates rushed to Ace offering to bring him food and water and he promptly fell asleep three times before responding (he fell asleep four times during the modeling)–and two more hours later, they’d finally finished.

Ace had promptly chosen a cross-arms-behind-the-back look as his third pose, flexing a line of muscles and ridged abs from all the hard work he poured outside into all his jobs. The sheet had almost come undone until the teacher hastily rushed to reknot it (to some of her peers’ disappointment and her uncontrollable laughter). His final pose had been a simple one, sitting down with his legs spread–and the sheet over his hips to cover–and his arms resting on his knees. A comfortable position he fell asleep in until someone managed to wake him up.

And he’d never stopped staring at her.

Fucking once.

“Come ooooonnnnn,” Ace wheedled, crowding in her space. Hoku searched the room for a moment before crossing past him to her designated spot. Ace trailed behind her, sheet trailing behind him like a long train. “What’s it look like? Did ya like the angle I gave ya? What’d you draw–”

Hoku shoved his discarded clothes at him. Majority of the class had already dispersed, eagerly thanking Ace and graciously declaring that he had to come back and model for them.

“Put some clothes on, you dork,” Hoku said. “I’m hungry, so let’s get going.”

“Hoooookkkkuuuu,” Ace whined. “I wanna seeeeeee.”

Hoku reached for her sketchbook. Her stomach demanded retribution, reminding her that Sabo was making hamburger steak tonight and Luffy would be home before them.

Ace’s eyes lit up like an excited puppy, crowding even closer. She shoved at his chest, rolling her eyes and flipping the page he could see.

A stick figure with a triangle as the bedsheet and a stupid smile stared back.

Ace stared at it for a minute before tipping it down so he could peer at her over the top. Puppy eyes flashed at her as his lip wobbled, a pout on his face.

“You’re stupid,” Hoku said mercilessly. “I can’t believe you got paid just to be a naked idiot.”

“All bark no bite,” Ace teased. He played with the edge of her sketchbook, peeling back the next page. Hoku didn’t fight him, humoring him this time as she leaned back onto a desk and Ace turned it fully so he could see.

Ace stopped.

The other paper hovered in the air, blocking his face from her view.

“I draw you guys a lot,” Hoku said, only a bit sheepish. “I figured I might as well try exploring with something new with it. Your poses were pretty unoriginal.”

Hoku had sketched out with soft shading, Ace’s grinning, laughing face. The rounded curve of the wrinkles around his eyes when he laughed because he could only laugh fully and heartedly–just his kind of laugh. His head was half turned, eyes half peering back as though to talk to someone who’d just said something to make him that happy.

Ace turned the page.

His lips pursed into a sort of pout, head tipping to the side as though in deep thought. He looked dumb. Stupid. Arms crossed over his chest and–

Ace turned.

Several sketches of his face–different versions of himself perhaps from her imagination of what he might look like older. Different angles and grins and his older visage laughing about something and the future and the last one–

Ace stared at the drawing. A heartbeat. Two. He quietly lowered the paper.

Hoku was already turned around, shoving the rest of her supplies in. Her shoulders were relaxed, face content.

“C’mon,” she said. “I’m starving–”

“Hoku, c’mere.”

“I’m going to get–huh? Why?”

Ace set her sketchbook down. He stretched his hands out, fingers curling in grabbing motions. His face was set in utter determination, facing her down.

“C’mere.”

“No,” Hoku said suspiciously. “What the hell do ya want–I swear if you–”

“I really need to freaking touch you right now or I’m going to explode.”

“No! You’re making a gross face–no! Ace–no! Put some fucking clothes on first, I swear to god–ACE IF YOU COME ANY CLOSER I’M CALLING SABO!”

“JUST LEMME–”

“ACE–”

Ace laughing, in the last drawing, lips pulled wide, eyes shut from the force of it. His head was tipping forward a bit, hair curling all around him, hugging his chin and brushing wild and wavy like it always did. He looked alive and bright and full, full, full of life and–

Hoku had sketched a flower to tuck itself behind his ear. She’d started inking it in with red and pink ink, not quite finishing.

Bonus:

“Sabo, I have to thank you again for getting your friend to come in last minute for this shoot–it’ll only take a second! It’s for the midnight summer line and her tan is just like Ace’s, so she’ll compliment the color really nice with her eyes and–”

“It’s no problem,” Sabo laughed, walking into the shooting floor with his clipboard in hand. A pencil was tucked behind his ear–one of Hoku’s left lying around and she’d found it recently and thrown it at him to hold on so she wouldn’t lose it again but forgot to get back from him, so it was his now–white dress shirt rolled up to his elbows and a dark, navy blue tie knotted impeccably around his neck. “She said she could use the spare cash anyway.”

Hoku had also come rushing to him from the dressing room–wearing a bunch of clothes with curlers still in her hair where hair dressers rushed out after her, frantic about how to make her white hair look right–freaking out and gushing about the free cakes on the table outside and ah, Hoku.

“When you smile like that, it worries me,” Koala said absently, checking her own clipboard before glancing to the photo shoot set up. “Alright, let’s get started everyone! Is Hoku ready?”

“All dressed!” a worker shouted.

“Good to go,” the photographer for today said, fixing his lens.

Sabo heard Hoku’s muffled voice, asking something about a to-go box. He chuckled, turning on his heel as the door opened and she stepped out and–

Sabo blinked.

Satin white silk draped around Hoku’s bare arms. A few thin scars peeked through. Soft, thin straps of fabric looped around her neck like a halter, cropping short dangerously and loosely below the curve of her chest. Bare, smooth stomach showed for what seemed to be miles on end. Finally a pair of silk shorts hugged her hips, riding dangerously low and stopping just a short–thin straps started where the shorts ended, tight to her thighs before they stopped above her knees in thinly laced–wasn’t that basically a garter belt? Wasn’t that a–

The entire outfit, little that was there, was colored entirely in dark, satiny navy blue and–didn’t he love that color?

Sabo stared.

Hoku turned. She met his gaze and offered a lazy wave. Her eyes brightened and she pointed to the snack table in the back.

“Try raising your arms over your head,” the photographer suggested.

Hoku promptly raised her hands up as though she’d been ordered by a cop to do so.

Her top inched up.

“No, no, like behind your head, cross ‘em, hun.”

Crack!

The clipboard in Sabo’s hands snapped in half.

“Sabo? Oh my gosh, Sabo! What the heck–” Koala started, turning wildly. “Someone get some water and a tissue–Sabo’s finally cracked!”

- :)

#Memos #Portgas D. Ace #Sabo #Hoku #HASL #one piece oc #ace/oc #sabo/oc #one piece modern au #model!ace

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hermannsthumb · 6 years ago

Text

i wrote a quick newt/hermann ficlet last night and it doesn’t seem long enough to post on ao3 so i’m just.....dropping it here.....askbox promptless....... here’s some mildly botched marriage proposal, happy crying, and (at the end, way below cut) light 18+/not sfw

Hermann has always been the type to plan things very meticulously. He sets out each day’s outfit the night before he intends to wear it, just after he dresses for bed, but before he brushes his teeth. He has never been surprised by a birthday, nor an anniversary with Newton of any sort (not even the most inane ones, like the one year mark of their first date outside the Shatterdome, which was technically their fifth date altogether). He made a career out of meticulous planning, after all: every bit of code in its correct place, location of the Breach pinpointed to the last decimal, next kaiju attack to the last millisecond. It’s like second nature to him.

It’s why he can’t figure out why proposing to Newton is so bloody hard.

He knows, logically, that Newton will say yes. He knows that Newton loves him. Newton knows that Hermann loves him in return. They live together. They share a bed. They do exceedingly romantic things like hold hands as they walk down the street, and knock ankles under the dinner table (in public, or otherwise), and spend long mornings in bed doing nothing but kissing and laughing and teasing each other. Hermann has heard Newton, more than once, refer to Hermann in public as my partner, and then clarify he does not just mean in the sharing-a-lab sense, and he keeps a small photograph of Hermann (a Polaroid, taken during a lazy day in the sun the previous summer) in a frame on his desk and, often, Hermann will walk in unannounced and find him smiling at it.

Hermann’s run the numbers. He knows the odds. He’s bought the ring—simple, silver, with a small green stone he thinks would compliment Newton’s eyes—and had it sized accordingly after some very covert snooping through Newton’s cluttered jewelry box. It should not be a problem. The ring sits at the bottom of his neatly-folded underwear drawer for three months, anyway, collecting dust, sending a lump rising in Hermann’s throat every time his fingers inadvertently brush the velvet casing. It’ll need a polish by the time Hermann finally gets around to it.

He eventually settles on a completely random date, to kick himself into gear; a completely ordinary Tuesday three months into the future. He marks it on his cell phone’s calendar with a cryptic emoticon (a single flower) so that, should Newton see it by mistake, he won’t be able to decode it.

Predictably, when the date comes, Hermann chickens out.

He doesn’t mean to. He wakes up early for the express purpose of not chickening out. He means to make Newton breakfast in bed, to wake him with kisses, to hold the ring box out as Newton stirs sugar into his coffee and confess every sappy, over-the-top, sentimental feeling he’s had for the man over the course of a decade and a half of knowing each other: how alone he was before Newton, how Newton made him feel things he never knew were possible for him to feel, how Newton is the love of his life.

Hermann wakes early. He leaves behind a nude and drooling Newton, stretched out on their bed, to take a quick shower. He dresses. He slips the ring box into his pocket. He settles onto the edge of the bed and smooths his fingers through Newton’s hair.

The touch makes Newton stir.

He blinks awake, slowly, blearily, and Hermann is struck by how effortlessly handsome he is, how soft, how beautiful, down to the freckles dusting his shoulders and the small scar on his left pinkie. “Hi,” Newton mumbles. He swipes at the side table for his glasses, with no use; he’s nearly blind without them. “You’re up early.”

Handsome, and soft, and beautiful, hair messy, cheeks and chin unshaven, one hazel eye still ringed with blotchy red even years after their drift. I love you, Hermann means to say. I want to spend eternity with you, he also means to say. “You’ve left your underwear next to the hamper again,” is what he actually blurts out.

Newton squints at him. He’s still got a trickle of drool on his chin. It’s begun to dry. “What?” he says.

Face heating up, Hermann sticks the glasses, clumsily, onto Newton’s face. “Er,” he says, and then he repeats, “You’ve left your underwear next to hamper again. Is it really so difficult to take the extra second, open the lid, and—?”

“Ugh,” Newton says, and he drags a pillow over his face. “You did not wake me up just to yell at me.”

Hermann could say it, now, could seize the unknowingly offered second chance. He does not.

“Get up,” he says. “We have work soon.” He snags his cane from the side table, pushes himself up to his feet, and makes a beeline for the door, the ring box like dead weight in his pocket.

“Ugggggggh,” Newton groans again, though it’s moderately more muffled. “I hate you so much. You’re the worst. Oh my God.”

Hermann walks a little faster.

Newton gets up. He grumbles his way through shared breakfast at the kitchen island. They go to work. Newton grumbles his way through shared lunch in Hermann’s office. They come home from work. Newton’s forgiven him for their rough morning by dinner—a quick affair of reheated Sunday night Chinese takeaway, shared on the couch with the contents of their DVR and half a bottle of wine—and, indeed, to the extent that the moment Hermann polishes off the last forkful of rice and drains the last of his glass, Newton’s hands begin to rove and his lips make themselves very firmly at home on Hermann’s neck.

“Mm,” Hermann moans, at first, and then, when Newton’s nimble fingers work open the buckle of his belt and begin to creep down, cracks open an eye and says, “ah, darling, wait, not here—”

“Why not?” Newton says, and nips at his throat. He rubs at the slowly-growing wet patch at the front of Hermann’s briefs, then squeezes gently; Hermann nearly goes cross-eyed.

“The couch,” he gasps, even as he bucks into Newton’s touch, “it’s new. Don’t—don’t make a mess of it. Oh.”

“Fussy,” Newton says, eyes lighting up mischievously. He squeezes again. “Lemme help you unwind.”

“Newton,” Hermann says.

Newton’s hand retreats from his trousers. “Alright,” he says. “What, you want me to lay down newspaper or something? Towels? We’ve gotta christen it eventually.”

“We’re not going to christen it at all,” Hermann says, thinking back to their last unfortunate couch, which lasted them a mere two years before the combination of spilled coffee (Newton), soy sauce (Newton), ketchup (Newton), ink (Hermann), and—er—certain byproducts of sexual intercourse (Newton and Hermann) rendered it stained and filthy beyond use. This is, very firmly, a no sex allowed couch, a sentiment Hermann has already expressed numerous times.

“Hermann,” Newton whines, and flutters his eyelashes. “I’m horny.”

“We have a bed,” Hermann says.

They make it to the bed, to Hermann’s surprise, only stopping for messy, fumbling, giggling kisses twice in the hallway leading up to it. Newton pushes Hermann back onto the bed—unmade, from that morning—and Hermann props himself up on his elbows to enjoy the show as Newton begins to strip, comically slowly. The tie is lost first. Then each boot. He flings his button-up across the room, in the direction of the dresser, and it sends a framed photograph of their first vacation together crashing to the hardwood with an ominous cracking noise.

(“I’ll buy another frame,” he assures Hermann.)

When he’s finally stripped down to just his undershirt and hot pink boxers, he crawls up onto the bed and straddles Hermann. Hermann’s hands fly to Newton’s waist, at the stretch of tattooed skin exposed by his rucked-up undershirt. “How’s that?” Newton says, rocking his hips down, clothed groin catching clumsily on Hermann’s. “That feel good? You like that?”

Hermann nods, fingers digging hard into Newton’s soft skin. “Yes,” he moans.

Newton drags one of Hermann’s hands up to his chest and presses Hermann’s thumb to his nipple; Hermann begins rubbing at it instantly, enjoying the way it stiffens into a peak, the way it pokes the fabric out visibly. “Yeah,” Newton pants, tongue hanging half-out of his mouth, “yeah, that’s awesome, keep doing that.” He rocks his hips down more insistently. “Oh, Hermann,” he purrs, “is that a TI-84 Plus in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?”

A wide grin stretches across Newton’s face; Hermann breaks out into helpless, hiccoughing laughter at the absurdity of the question. Then two things happen at once: Newton squeezes his thighs, tight, vice-like, around Hermann’s, and Hermann suddenly recalls the ring box, stowed in the left pocket of his trousers, now pressing painfully into his skin with the force of those thighs. Pressing painfully into Newton’s skin.

Newton stops squeezing him. His grin fades into a look of mild confusion. Hermann stops laughing. “Do you have something in your pocket?” Newton says.

“No,” Hermann says quickly, but Newton is already grazing his fingers over the outline of the box through the fabric and laughing.

“Do you seriously carry chalk around with you?” he says. “Dude, that’s so—”

Newton pulls out the ring box. He stops laughing, too.

“Hermann?” he squeaks.

Hermann’s ears begin to burn with mortification, then his cheeks, then his neck. “Give it here,” he says, giving a desperate swipe for the box and missing entirely. His heart thuds madly in his chest. Newton can probably hear it. Feel it. “Newton, give it—”

Newton cracks the box open. His eyes bulge comically. “Hermann,” he squeaks again, “Hermann, what is this? Is this—did you—?” To Hermann’s horror, he begins to tear up. “Did you—?”

Seeing no way to save face, Hermann shuts his eyes. “I’d intended to ask you this morning,” he confesses, dragging his hand up to his forehead, “but I—”

Newton kisses him. It’s not very graceful. It’s a bit painful, actually: their glasses knock together, and so do their teeth, and it’s all a bit wet, too, because Newton has begun genuinely crying, little sobs that leave his shoulders and chest shaking. Hermann kisses back as best he can and strokes, soothingly, at Newton’s hair.

“I love it so much,” Newton says, once he’s finally calmed down enough to start speaking again. “And you. Hermann—” He sniffles and wipes under his glasses at his eye with the heel of his palm. “I’m sorry I ruined the surprise.”

“You didn’t ruin anything, Newton, love,” Hermann assures him. The ring box lays forgotten on the sheets; Hermann picks it up, and, pressing a kiss to the corner of Newton’s mouth, slides the ring out of it and onto Newton’s finger. “There.” He pats his wrist.

Newton sniffles again. He smiles at his hand. “I love it,” he repeats, and his eyes well up again. Hermann hasn’t seen him cry this much since their goldfish died two years ago. It’s a bit unnerving. “Hermann,” he says, “we’re gonna get married.”

“We are,” Hermann says, and smiles back tentatively.

Newton kisses him again. And again. And again.

Things devolve, rapidly, from innocent and chaste, to, well— “Already?” Hermann gasps, incredulous, as Newton begins rubbing the cleft of his ass down against Hermann’s groin.

“Uh-huh,” Newton gasps in return. He hasn’t even stopped crying yet. “It’s hot when you’re romantic.”

#newmann #maria’s fanfiction tag #not SFW //////

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cherryyharryy · 6 years ago

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Chapter 4: Vertebra

It drives you crazy, getting old

The sky was a beautiful shade of blue without a cloud in sight. The grass was freshly cut and the flowers were starting to bloom, decorating the walkways of each house Harry and Adeline passed by.

The windows were down and the sun was generous, grazing their faces with the perfect amount of warmth, not too hot, just enough to warrant the air conditioner and for Harry to ditch the jacket he’d brought.

He pushed the sunglasses further up his nose which had gained a few extra freckles, as did his slightly burnt cheeks and the tops of his shoulders, which had grown considerably since he finally put his New Year’s resolution into play and had been spending three mornings a week at the gym.

“It’s this left, up here.” Adeline slipped her hand into his over the console, flicking her eyes to his ridiculous jaw busy with a piece of gum.

“Stop starin’, love, you’ll make me blush.”

“Wasn’t staring.” She swatted his arm, and she definitely did not admire the way his smirk carved out his dimple or the way a vein in his neck swelled. “Couldn’t tell if you were blushing or not anyway. That’s a nasty burn.”

“Doesn’t hurt.” His hand left hers to tap at his rosy cheeks. “It’ll be gone soon. I’ll be a bronze god before summer even gets here.”

“Well before you golden up you need to slap some spf on that, especially since you’re gonna be in the sun all day, don’t wanna make it worse.”

“It’ll be fine, Addy. S’just a little burn.”

“Alright,” she mused. “It’s that house, the brick one with the oak tree in the yard.”

“You mean the one with a million balloons on the mailbox and a hundred cars parked out front?”

“Oh shut up.”

“Well I wouldn’t wanna miss it, now would I?”

“Just park the car, smart mouth. And help me get the present out of the trunk.”

***

Chatter and children laughing, the crackle of ice being stirred in a pitcher of lemonade and the high pitched barks of Daisy, the chihuahua, running around greeted Adeline and Harry when they stepped through the door. The house was full of family that she hadn’t seen since the holidays and plenty of people she’s never seen before.

“Which one’s your cousin?” Harry asked.

“Uuum, Grace is over there.” Adeline nodded towards a little girl in a soft purple dress. “Guess we should say happy birthday, huh?”

She adjusted the present in her arms, and only managed one step before Harry was yanking her back by the shoulder as a handful of kids ran by.

“If we can make it to the backyard before this tea set gets destroyed it’ll be a miracle,” he chuckled.

“Adeline!”

Adeline shoved the gift into Harry’s arms and ran to her sister, throwing her arms around her look-alike with a squeal. They latched onto each other like glue, only pulling apart when Brianne started to speak.

“Mom and dad driving you crazy?”

“They’re working on it,” Adeline chuckled. “And doing a fine job.”

“Well graduation’s around the corner. You’ll be free as a bird before you know it.”

Adeline looked over her shoulder, lips parting to call out Harry’s name but her voice was lost as soon as her sister pulled her back, resembling their mother more than ever with her brows scrunched in concern and her lips tight in a line.

“So what schools did you get into?” Brianne asked, holding her sister at arm’s length. “And you’re doing a double major, right? Oh, and you looked into internships I’m sure, before you picked a school?”

“Uuuh, well I applied to one and got in, so, that’s that.”

Brianne’s face twisted into a grimace, a disbelieving laugh matching her tone. “What do you mean, one? Addy...you need to make sure the school is a right fit for you and what you want to pursue.”

“I got a couple small scholarships. And my SAT score was good enough, sooo yeah, perfect fit. Plus it’s way too far to commute so I’m moving out in July.”

Brianne shook her head, but before she could continue Adeline beat her to the punch, pulling Harry over by his arm who’d been standing off to the side.

“This is Harry, I told you about him when you visited last month.”

“Hello, Harry, it’s nice to finally meet you.”

Harry nodded, shifting the present in his arms. “Nice to meet you too.”

“So, Addy,” Brianne continued, “What program—”

“Lemme help Harry with this, it’s heavy.” Adeline yanked the gift from his grasp and marched towards the back yard, leaving her sister mid-sentence with Harry following right behind her.

“God this was a mistake,” she groaned, setting their present down by the pile of other wrapped boxes and gift bags. “I should’ve lied and said I had, volunteer work or something.”

“You’ve never volunteered.”

“Well I should’ve started. Like today.”

Harry pulled her into his side and pressed a kiss to her temple. “Just ‘cause you don’t have your whole life planned out like she did doesn’t mean anything.”

“It’s not even—she just, did...everything,” Adeline complained, throwing her arms up and letting them fall against her with a slap. “Dual enrollment, paid internship, graduated early, got engaged, got promoted. S’fucking annoying.”

“Heeey, watch it there’s kids here.”

“Don’t remind me. Just how I wanna spend my Saturday, standing out in the heat for a seven year old’s birthday party.”

“We’ll have fun. There’s cake.”

Adeline sighed and shook her head, looking up at Harry with her hand cupped over her eyes to shield the sun from her view.

“You need sunscreen.”

***

Harry was eating his words. Neither of them had any fun whatsoever in the two hours they’d been at this party. The only attention they were getting were demands of their future plans, spitting out answers to the same questions over and over again.

“What schools are you going to?

“Are you gonna study abroad?”

“You’re not just getting an undergraduate’s degree are you?”

They were currently camped out on the swing set, doing their best to hide without being obvious, each with a juice box and sour attitude, watching the twenty or so kids chase each other around the yard.

“She didn’t like it.” Harry sucked the last drop of his juice and flattened the box with his grip. “I mean she actually said she didn’t like it. Who does that?”

“‘Least she was honest.”

“Who cares about honesty? D’you see the look on her face? Might as well of given her a bag of rocks as a present, would’ve gotten the same reaction.”

Adeline shrugged her shoulders. She kept her head down, engrossed with the grass she was pushing up with the toe of her shoes. “Her parents got her a phone. Can’t compete with that.”

“And that’s another thing—who the hell gives a seven year old a phone?”

Adeline sighed and reached over to tug on his sleeve, gaining his attention away from the crumpled box in his hands.

“In other news, I’ve had about fifteen people grill me about school.”

“Yeah I know. Apparently journalism isn’t a ‘wise career choice’,” he mocked. “If one more person tells me to major in advertising I’m gonna explode.”

“Did you tell them how successful your mom is?”

“As a matter of fact, I did,” he grumbled. “And the fact that my mom created her very own local magazine means jack shit to these people. Or that it’s what I want to do.” He thrust his finger against his chest.

She hummed in response, kicking up a patch of dirt she’d been working on with a dandelion now uprooted. “Well I had my aunt very generously berate me on us wanting to go to the same school together.” Adeline straightened up and turned towards Harry, lifting her nose in the air as her voice came out in a whine to imitate her aunt. “Addy, dear, you don’t need to be concerned with that boy. It’s better if he goes to a different school so you won’t have to see him after you break up.”

“Oh so now we’re breaking up?”

“Yep. And I should pick a major right now. Like right. fucking. now,” she grit.”

Harry looked over with an amused smile on his face, reaching over to link his hand with hers. “You okay there?”

Her eyes were big, and he knew what was coming before she even opened her mouth. “What if you don’t get into Peru? You’ve already been waitlisted on all the surrounding schools. The only other one left is basically on the other side of the state.”

He swallowed with a nod, no sense in trying to argue with her reason when he knew she was right. “If I only get into Chadron...then I only get into Chadron. If we wanna make it work then we will.”

“I want to.”

“I do too, love.” His thumb skimmed over her knuckles and he gave her hand a squeeze, forcing his own worries about being so far apart out of his mind. “Right now I’m just hoping I get into college. Those rejection letters suck.”

“You will,” she assured. “And—”

“Addy! Harry! We’re cutting the cake!”

They both groaned in unison, prying themselves off the swings and stretching their stiff muscles.

Adeline smoothed over the landscaping she’d done with her shoe, pausing to pick up the little weed to present it to Harry.

“S’kinda like a sunflower.”

He hesitantly took it, brows raising up in disdain. “S’nothing like a sunflower.”

“It’s yellow.”

“Are you two coming!?”

With another shared groan they sulked back towards the house, hands linked together with the dandelion tucked behind Adeline’s ear.

***

After the cake had been cut, which neither had an appetite for any longer, and the backyard was littered with shreds of wrapping paper, Adeline grabbed her purse and nodded towards the door.

“Go start the car, I’m gonna say goodbye to my parents and then we can leave.”

She flew through the house until she finally spotted her mom in the kitchen tying a kid’s shoe.

“Me and Harry are gonna head out. I’ll be home for dinner.”

“Wait!”

Adeline stopped in her escape already halfway out of the room. “What?”

“Can you just watch those three over there?” She nodded towards two little girls and a boy by the back door. “I’m taking Jeremy upstairs to change.”

The boy with now tied shoes smiled up at Adeline, a big pink stain on his shirt that he didn’t seem bothered by.

“Yeah, fine,” she grumbled.

Adeline trudged over to the kids and led them back outside, warning them with empty threats to stay where she could see them. She settled on a patio bench as they played in the yard with a few of the other children.

All was going well until someone called somebody else a mean name, and then a shove brought one of the little boys to the ground.

“Hey!” Adeline jumped up and ran to the crying boy, helping him up and dusting off his clothes. “You okay? Are you hurt?”

His whimpers grew louder until he was nearly screeching, tears pouring from his eyes.

“Hey, you’re alright,” Adeline cooed. “You wanna go inside? Do you want some candy? A popsicle?”

He pulled his hands away from his red eyes and nodded, his cries softening as she carried him in and set him on the counter while she dug through the freezer.”

“Okay, here you go.”

He didn’t waste a second grabbing the dessert from her hands, mumbling a thank you around the treat.

Adeline sighed and leaned back against the fridge, checking the time on her phone and answering Harry’s text asking what was taking her so long.

“I heard screaming is—oh my God!”

A woman with dark hair came barreling towards the little boy, yanking the popsicle from his mouth and pulling him towards her across the counter.

“What!? What’s wrong?” Adeline yelped.

“Did you give this to him?”

“Yeah, he—”

“He’s allergic! Why would you do that?”

Adeline’s eyes shot open as she shook her head, mouth fidgeting around apologies. The woman glared at her, lip curling up as she examined her child.

“You better hope nothing happens to him. What were you thinking? Are you crazy?”

“I—I was just trying to calm him down, he—”

“Leah what happened?” Adeline’s mother rounded the corner, her face twisted with concern.

“Your daughter gave William a red popsicle.”

“Oh, Addy,” her mother winced. “Why would you do that? He’s allergic to red dye.”

“I didn’t know! How was I supposed to know?”

Leah pulled William off the counter and settled him on her hip. “I think I’m gonna take him to the hospital. And Adeline, you’re not to watch my child ever again.”

With that she was gone, a melted popsicle dripping onto the floor and a teary-eyed Adeline left to clean it up.

“Where are the other two? Did you leave them alone?” her mother asked.

Adeline froze as she pulled paper towels off the roll, uttering a quiet yeah. Her mom rolled her eyes and ran outside, yelling at her to clean up the mess.

Once the counter and floor were wiped clean she headed towards the front door, forgoing anymore goodbyes in fear of an impending break down. But as soon as she reached for the door knob Harry came waltzing through, his smile dropping as soon as he saw the first tear slip down her face.

“Baby, what’s wrong? What happened?”

She shook her head, mumbling a quick let’s go as she went around him for the door again.

“Adeline.”

“Can I fucking leave?” She gritted under her breath. “What Brianne?”

“Are you two leaving?”

Adeline looked to Harry and rubbed her eyes. “Yep.”

“Well you could at least say goodbye to Grace. And me.”

“Bye, Bri.” Adeline rolled her eyes. “I’ll call you when I get my life together.”

“Adeline why did you give William a red popsicle?” Her dad appeared beside Harry, his hands shoved in his pockets as he rocked on his heels. “His mom’s really upset.”

“Oh my God! Why can’t anyone understand that it was an accident?”

“He’s allergic, Addy,” her dad continued, “that’s not an accident, that’s a trip to the ER. You could’ve seriously hurt him, you need to be more responsible.”

She rolled her lips in and sucked in a breath, filling up her lungs as much as she could while she counted to ten.

“You need to tell Grace goodbye before you leave,” Brianne chimed in.

“Fine,” she bit.

Adeline grabbed Harry’s hand and dragged him through the house and out the backdoor where everyone was standing around. Her eyes skimmed over every kid that darted by, her anger boiling by the second.

“D’you see her?”

Harry shook his head, taking a step back to peer into the house for any sign of Grace. “No not yet. Maybe we—Ahhhhh.”

When Adeline jumped around, Harry was lying on the ground, well, on the long table that he now broke which was bent under his weight, on the ground. The crash itself was spine-tingling, an explosion of something shattering mixed in with his shouts.

“My tea set!” Grace came bounding over, her tiny hands pulling at Harry’s shirt. “Look what you did!”

“M’sorry, I—I fell.” He pulled himself up with Adeline’s help, groaning as she picked out shards of pastel porcelain from his backside.

“You broke it! You did it on purpose!”

“I did not,” he grumbled, frowning down at the child who had a scowl on her face. “I slipped. Was an accident.”

Right on cue Grace’s mother stepped out of the house, rushing over to her sobbing child to assure her they would buy her a new tea set. She looked up at Harry with her brows pulled in. “Harry, dear, you need to be more careful. Both of you, really. You’re older and you need to set the example, stop acting so crazy.”

Adeline bit her tongue. Example for what? If it was possible there’d be steam piping out of her ears and fire shooting out of her mouth. She held back a bundle of words, and instead of furthering her embarrassment she tugged on Harry’s sleeve and headed back inside.

Silently they both made it outside and back into his car, where they both slumped in their seats. After a few minutes of stewing in peace Harry started the car, flipping the visor down to block out the setting sun.

“Well that was eventful,” Adeline groaned once they pulled out of the neighborhood.

“They expect you to have your whole entire life planned out, but then God forbid you make a mistake, you’re treated like a child. S’crazy.”

Adeline shook her head in understanding. She dazed off at the scenery passing by, deciding to do herself a favor and push today as far into the back of her mind as she could. Her eyes started to get heavy, and before she fell asleep with her head against the window she slipped the little dandelion out from behind her ear.

She twirled it in her fingers a few times before turning to Harry and sliding the flower behind his own ear, running her hand down his jaw and grazing her thumb over his cheek.

“Ah,” he flinched, pushing her hand down. “M’burnt, don’t touch me.”

#ribsfic #ribsc4 #harry styles #writing #harry styles writing #harry styles fic #harrystyles #cherryyharryy

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anonymousfiction-blog · 7 years ago

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It’s all the little things.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: Self esteem issues, swearing, lots and lots of fluff!, Dean being adorable

summary: this is a fic based off of little things by one direction, following Deans journey on how he comes to realise how much y/n means to him.

Your hand fits in mine like it's made just for me, But bear this in mind it was meant to be, And I'm joining up the dots with the freckles on your cheeks, And it all makes sense to me.

Dean's large hand slipped into yours as he reached down to gently lift you off of the dirty ground. You smiled thankfully as you reached for his hand, groaning slightly in pain when he pulled you to stand to your full height. Dean couldn't help but notice how he loved the way your hand felt in his, and the way that your tiny hands fit into his perfectly. A rare feeling slowly crept up inside him as he looked down at you, noticing that you had dirt staining your cheek from your hunt. With a small chuckle Dean brought his free hand up towards your face, refusing to let go of your hand that has occupied his other one, as he gently ran the pad of his thumb across your cheek and over your tiny freckles that you had gained from being in the sun. You felt your cheeks heat up at the sudden action, you didn't know it but Dean was falling for you slowly but surely and this was just the beginning. You couldn't help but look down to your intertwined hands, biting down on your lip and looking up at Dean through your thick eye lashes. "You can let go now, I'm Okay really." You mumble, causing Dean to cough awkwardly and gently pull his hand away, now running it along his dark washed jeans in nervousness. You giggled and nudged your shoulder against his side motioning for him to follow you to the impala so you could go back to the motel. As you walked away Dean stood back and watched you walk towards the impala, a small smile on his face as he started realizing just how important you were to him.

I know you've never loved the crinkle by your eyes when you smile. You've never loved your stomach or your thighs, The dimples in your back at the bottom of your spine But i'll love them endlessly.

You had locked yourself in your room, you couldn't hold in your emotions any more. While you were at the Bar with Sam and Dean celebrating finishing yet another hunt some drunkard sauntered his way over to you and began criticizing you and the way you look. From your stomach, to your thighs which were toned and muscly. You know deep down that you shouldn't of listened to anything that the man said but he had hit a nerve, you really didn't feel comfortable in your own skin but you did accept it until tonight. Now you stood in front of the small mirror wearing shorts and a sports bra. You bit down on your lip as you focused on everything that you thought were flaws, leaning forward to look at yourself closely to focus on your face, grimacing when you seen things that you didn't like. Little did you know that Dean had slowly opened the door, sticking his head in to see if you were okay when he noticed you standing in front of the mirror looking so beautiful. He couldn't help but watch you and take in your body that he thought was perfect in every way, from your beautiful curves to your toned thighs that you had gained from hunting, to the small dimples that poked out from bottom on your shorts on your back.You sighed as you ran a hand down your stomach attempting to make it just that tiny bit flatter, shaking your head slightly when you realized that you couldn't change it over night like you wished. You felt tears brim in your eyes as you looked at yourself full on, you felt horrible with your self and you didn't know how you could fix it.

At the sight of your tears, Dean slowly made his way into your room, closing the door lightly. He let his large arms wrap around your waist pulling you to him as he leaned his head on top of yours looking at you in the mirror and smiling lovingly at you; although at the time you didn't know this. "Dean, don't look at me please." You mumbled, wrapping your arms around your waist attempting to hide yourself from your best friend. Dean's large hands gripped your wrists and gently pried your arms away from your waist, leaning his head down towards your ear. "You have nothing to be ashamed of (y/n), You're beautiful." Dean's warm breath tickled your neck as you looked into his sincere green eyes through the reflection of the mirror. Dean couldn't help but stare at you, being completely entranced by your beauty and the way your hair fell in perfect tendrils that framed your face. Even in your upset state, Dean couldn't help but think that he should of notice all this sooner, but he was going to make it up to you.

You can't go to bed without a cup of tea, And maybe that's the reason you talk in your sleep, And all those conversations are the secrets that I keep, Though it makes no sense to me.

Dean knew the only thing to help you relax and fall asleep was a glass of whiskey. By the end of drinking the small glass you found your eyes dropping before you were completely asleep on Dean's lap in Bobby's lounge room. Dean never had the heart to move you to your bedroom that Bobby let you have while you were staying, so he sat with you and gently ran his fingers through your (h/c) hair, relishing this little time he got with you. He wished you knew how much he cared. You would sometimes stir in your sleep, cuddling Dean's waist more tighter as you grumbled. "Dean d-don't eat that, it's mine." You mumbled into Dean's waist, He couldn't help but smile down at you. "Why? It's yummy." He would reply waiting for you to reply. "Because it's mine. I bought it." You whined in your sleep, you slightly frowned. Dean chuckled, moving a few stray strands out of your face. "Okay sweet heart, you can eat it." Dean whispered into your ear, kissing your cheek softly. "You already ate it some it, you jerk. But thanks." You gently smiled at being able to eat the food in your dream. Dean would never tell you that you had these conversations pretty much every night, he loved the way you spoke to him in your sleep. Majority of the night, your dreams would consist of Dean making him smile brightly, glad that you were on his mind like you were on his mind.

I know you've never loved the sound of your voice on tape, You never liked to know how much you weigh, You still have to squeeze into your jeans, But you're perfect to me.

You finally had a day off from hunting and you and the boys were loving it. You had drove out to a small lake that no one went to and spent the day swimming. As you and Sam were laughing with each other Dean couldn't help but film you, catching Sam throwing you into the lake before jumping and landing on top of you. "I will actually kill you Sam, and you'll stay dead!" You yelled as you surfaced the water, pushing away your sopping wet hair. Dean laughed loudly as Sam tried to swim away from you but failing as you gripped onto his ankle and yanked him back towards you and pulling him into a choke hold. Dean watched as you and Sam both grinned from ear to ear, real smiles not forced ones that he usually seen on the both of you, and it made him happy. It made him happy to see you happy. "Hey lovebirds we should probably head back?" You and Sam both separated immediately, fake disgusted looks on your faces as you both fake gagged before laughing and slowly making your way out of the lake. Your eyes caught Dean's and you smiled shyly at him as you pushed Sam back into the lake, now running to Dean.

"I got a video of you guys down at the lake, it's pretty funny." Dean announced as you all sat on the hood of the impala wrapped up in towels. "Lemme see." Sam mumbled, taking Dean's phone from his hand and leaning over towards you so you could see the screen. You voice filtered through the speaker and you cringed. "I sound like a man!" You opened your mouth and pointed your index finger towards it. "It's because you are one." Sam replied back, nudging your shoulder and laughing. "Yeah yeah, what ever Sammy. I like that name, it's beautiful and cute... for a girl." Sam's smug smile fell from his face as you and Dean burst out into laughter. Before you knew it Sam pushed you off the hood of the impala. You grumbled as you rubbed your back, a slight pout visible. Dean found you behind a tree trying to squeeze into your denim shorts while you still had your swimming gear on, he watched curiously as you jumped around and yanked at the belt loops to try and get the fabric passed your butt. He smiled as you started to swear under your breath, attempting again to pull up your shorts, but once again getting the fabric stuck around your butt. Dean loved that you had trouble fitting in your shorts or any form of pants. "SON OF A BITCH!" Your voice rang out towards Dean, two loud billowing laughs could be heard soon after as Dean walked over to see if you were 'okay'. "Having wardrobe trouble sweet heart?" Dean casually leaned against the tree as you looked at him, your shorts stuck around your thighs. "You think?" You hissed, lifting your hands up from your sides to let them fall back once again. "Alright, alright, Calm down. I'll help you.." You furrowed your eyes brows as you looked at your best friend. "Look I know, I am usually the one taking them off-" Dean didn't get to finish his sentence because you slapped him on his arm before attempting to pull your shorts up again and succeeding.

You'll never love yourself half as much as I love you, And you'll never treat yourself right darlin but i want you to, If I let you know I'm here for you, Maybe you'll love yourself like I love you.

You screamed bloody murder as you slammed the door to Bobby's house. You had just gone out on a date with someone you met on a job and it was the worst mistake of your life. He was nothing but a slob who only wanted to get into your pants. Tears pricked at your eyes as you paced the small kitchen, wondering what was wrong with you. Why did you always go for the douche bags, the ones who never made you feel important or loved. At the sound of your entrance three men flooded the kitchen staring at you with wide concerned eyes. "You okay (y/n)? You gave us quite the fright." Bobby's voice pulled you out of your thoughts and you stopped pacing looking towards the three most important men in your life. "Yeah, Yeah, Sorry guys. You can go back to bed." You forced a smile on your face as you waved your hands in the air dismissively before you turned around to face the counter a soft sigh leaving your lips. Sam had nudged Dean's shoulder as you turned around gesturing for him to talk to you, Dean complied and made his way towards you pulling him into his large frame.

"Shh darling, shh It's okay." Dean's hands were rubbing soothing circles into your back attempting to stop your tears. He hated seeing you this way, it broke his heart knowing that he hasn't done everything to protect you. It was then that he realized that he was in love with you, memories of you flooding into his mind. Every single thing about you that he loved coming into focus. Your laughter rung through his head filled with your flushed cheeks and slightly messy hair, to your little quirks. To the moment he had held you in your room when you were self conscious, letting you cry into his chest as you fell asleep. To your little conversations you had while you were sleeping. Everything, he loved everything about you, and it took him this long to finally put the pieces together. "What's wrong with me Dean!? Why do I always feel like this!" Your voice cracked as you tried to calm down your breathing and slow your tears, you had your head in your hands as you shook your head from side to side. Dean let his fingers curl around your hands, pulling them away from your face before leaning his hands on both sides of the face he had come to love, guiding you to look at him. "There is absolutely nothing wrong with you. You're perfect (y/n), and I'm not just saying that to comfort you, I say it because I truly believe it. I wish you could see yourself through my eyes and see how beautiful you are to me, inside and out. I wish you knew how much I love your laugh, and how much I love everything that you don't like about yourself. He is the biggest dickhead for hurting you, and I will kick his ass when I see him, but (y/n) there is someone out there who is willing to be your everything, to love every single thing about you. You just haven't been looking in the right places sweet heart." Dean brushed some loose strands from your face with one hand and gently glided his thumb across your cheek, catching your stray tears as his forest green eyes looking into yours with so much adoration and care. You titled your head to the side as you took in his words.

"What are you saying Dean? "I'm saying, I literally cherish the ground you walk on (y/n). I want you to love yourself as much as I love you. I want you to realize just how important you are to me. It took me a damn long time to figure all this crap out, and I wish I had done it sooner but better late then never. It's you (y/n), You're the girl I've been waiting for to sweep me off my feet, make me feel something, and you make me feel so many things at once. I can't explain it. I want to be yours, to be there for you. I want you to know how beautiful you are, you're my angel. I just- I just want to be with you, so you can know what it is like for someone to love you properly." Dean's green eyes had slightly become glassy as he held your hands tightly within his own, looking at you for a reaction. A small smile slowly grew on your lips as you looked at Dean, a light shade of pink staining his cheeks as he looked down at you. "So are you asking me out Winchester?" You laugh gently, you watch as Dean's face lights up smiling brightly, causing his eyes to crinkle. "Yeah, And I can promise you it will be your last because I am going to spend the rest of my life making you happy." You bit down on your lip as you slowly leaned in towards Dean, gently placing your lips against his, that familiar spark you felt whenever you and Dean touched one another flooded through your body. Dean was glad he slipped up and let you know about his feelings.

And I've just let these little things slip out of my mouth, Because it's you, it's you that they add up to.

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x you #sam winchester x y/n #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural reader insert

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jiveammunition · 7 years ago

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Title: Glow Rating: Teen Pairing: Reaper76 Content Warnings: Fluff, Mutual Pining, Love Confessions, Kissing, Hand Holding Summary:

Gabriel could feel his breathing go a little shallower some days when the smog in LA was particularly bad, but the humidity of Bloomington — “We're not really in Bloomington, Gabe, it's just easier to say I'm from Bloomington for simplicity’s sake…” — made Gabriel feel like was outright suffocating on some of the worser days. And let’s not get started on the days when it rained...

Jack and Gabriel spend part of their summer vacation on the Morrison farm.

A sequel and companion fic to Melt. For the @reaper76summerevent.

It's hot in Indiana.

The summers in Los Angeles were hot, temperatures spiking to over 100°F on the worst of days — “Almost 38°C, Reinhardt.” “Unbelievable!” — but temperature-wise, it's surprisingly similar to Bloomington in terms of averages.

But the humidity, my god, the humidity… Gabriel could feel his breathing go a little shallower some days when the smog in LA was particularly bad, but the humidity of Bloomington — “We're not really in Bloomington, Gabe, it's just easier to say I'm from Bloomington for simplicity’s sake…” — made Gabriel feel like was outright suffocating on some of the worser days. And let’s not get started on the days when it rained...

“It's not so bad,” Jack laughed, patting Gabriel's head as if in an attempt to comfort him. Gabriel could only groan and turn over where he lay on the spacious deck of the Morrison family home, swatting Jack's hand away, as the sweat on Gabriel's scalp only made the touch all the more irritating.

“Speak for yourself,” Gabriel grumbled, tugging at the sweat-soaked collar of his shirt to fan himself.

“You can go back inside if you want,” Jack offered, “I know this isn’t the kind of heat you’re normally used to. Plus, I could probably finish digging the hole by myself.”

“Like hell I'm gonna bum around and be a freeloading guest, Jack. Your mom wanted this tree planted, and I promised I'd help her do it,” Gabriel grumbled back, letting go of his shirt and splaying his arm out once more. Sweat beaded on his face. It wasn't so much that the work made him tired, but the weather made him feel ridiculously sluggish.

“Well, you can't exactly do that laying sprawled out like a starfish on the porch, can you?” Jack teased, pulling off his cap and wiping his forehead with the back of his arm before putting it back on. Gabriel cracked open an eye to look at him and immediately regretted it.

Even in sweat-soaked farmer boy clothes, covered in dirt and grime — “They're just overalls, Gabe, they're normal. And comfy!” — Gabriel couldn't believe how much of a golden boy Jack looked. His blond hair was even more a mess than usual — thanks to the unflattering baseball cap — and dirt was smeared in patches on his cheeks, blending in with the almost ridiculous amount of freckles that showed up almost overnight on his sunburned complexion. The desire to pull Jack in and kiss those barely chapped lips until they were as red as those cheeks flared in Gabriel's chest for the briefest of moments before Gabriel waved it and Jack away.

“Yeah, yeah, give me a minute,” Gabriel groaned as he rolled over again and dragged himself up to his feet. He took a few steps towards the stairs before stopping in his tracks. Jack shot him an odd look, and Gabriel shook that off too. “On second thought, lemme take a piss first. I'll be back.”

Jack laughed and waved Gabriel off before picking up his shovel, and going back to the hole the two of them had been digging. Gabriel felt a little guilty, given how close they were to being finished, but his bladder really did need to be emptied, and he had every intention of helping Jack again once he was finished.

He pulled off his boots once he got inside, remembering how insistent Dana Morrison was about keeping her hardwood floors clean of dirt — not that Gabriel could blame her, the Reyes household had a similar policy in regards to shoes worn inside — and making sure to keep his shoes on the rubber mat by the door. It had only been a few days since he and Jack had arrived, and Gabriel had only ever been in the house once before, back in winter of last year, but everything was so familiar that it almost nostalgic to be in the Morrison House again.

It was a pretty big house, but even so, Gabriel knew the layout like the back of his hand, and wasted no time making his way to the nearest bathroom. His feet and bladder guided him like an autopilot, and without needing to actively focus on anything, Gabriel's mind began to wander. He couldn't help but reflect on his visit so far as he walked through the house, photos of Jack and his family lining nearly each and every wall, and thoughts he thought he had pushed aside during the flight into and drive from Indianapolis, slowly began to percolate back into the forefront of his mind.

When Jack had brought him here last winter, he claimed that he was bringing home Gabriel as a boyfriend to meet the rest of the Morrison family. It was news to Gabriel, of course, as Jack had sprung that little detail on him literally moments before Gabriel even walked through the front door for the first time, and Gabriel could only go along with it, doing what any best friend would do to help a buddy get his family off his back for being single still. And of course, let's not mention the fact that Jack had kissed Gabriel — rather intensely, mind you — just moments before dropping that boyfriend bomb on him.

And yet, despite all this, nothing between the both of them had changed after they boarded their flight home and passed out in the same bed the moment they got back to base. Jack went about his life as usual, as did Gabriel, acting as if the two weeks spent acting like a real couple with their hands in each other's back pockets nearly 24/7 for two weeks hadn't ever happened. As if they were still in the Best Friends territory. As if neither of them actually had any desire to escalate their relationship to a romantic one.

But Gabriel did. And he knew Jack did too.

The only issue was that neither of them wanted to admit that to each other.

Gabriel frowned, and cursed Jack for his cowardice.

But not before cursing his own, of course.

There had been so many chances for him to bring up the subject — this small vacation-slash-family-visit alone had enough that Gabriel couldn't even count them all — and each and every time, Gabriel had let them slip from his hands. Rather than making his idle, occasional daydreams — of holding Jack in a long embrace, pulling Jack into a heartfelt kiss, or hell, just telling Jack how he really felt — into a reality, Gabriel just let them stay what they were, thoughts and daydreams.

He flushed the toilet and washed his hands, still deep in thought as he splashed water on his face to wash away some of the gross feeling caking his skin. His eyes caught his own reflection as he wiped the water from his forehead. A scowl made its way onto his face as he got a good look at himself.

“Gabriel Reyes, what the hell are you doing…” he mumbled to himself, “Just fucking tell him already.”

He ran a hand down his face and sighed to himself, letting the water drip back into the sink. “What if it's not what he wants?”

He frowned at his own reflection. “What if it is? You won't find out unless you tell him.”

Gabriel bent down to splash at his face a few more times, only righting himself after he took a deep breath to calm himself.

“...I’m gonna tell him,” he said to himself, resolution all but burning in his eyes as he finished wiping the water from his face and left the bathroom.

He put his shoes on and felt his determination all but plummet when he walked outside and saw Jack sitting down on the front steps, hunched over so Gabriel could see the smattering of freckles that dotted the top of his spine and trailed lower into his shirt. An overwhelming feeling of wanting to press his mouth against that overheated skin left his heart fluttering a bit, pushing his previously bolstered confidence out the mental window.

“... Maybe later,” he thought to himself, picking up his shovel and going back to work, doing everything he could to distract himself from idle thoughts.

‘Later’ didn't come that day, nor the next, nor the day after that.

No, Gabriel spent the next four days constantly delaying himself for the most ridiculous and meaningless reasons, preferring to wallow in anxiety and self doubt until the perfect opportunity presented itself to him the night before their small vacation was scheduled to be over, like a spotlight aimed a silver platter with neon lights decorating the pedestal and spelling out the words TELL HIM in obnoxious, glowing magenta and teal letters.

The sun was setting on their second to last night in Indiana, and from the porch swing at the back of the house, Jack and Gabriel watched the sun slowly sink behind the horizon. Gabriel took a swig of his beer, blinking and making a noise of surprise when a flash of light on his knuckle caught his eye. He quickly swallowed the sip of booze, wiping his mouth with his free hand as he watched the flash of light return, blinking in and out slowly as it floated lazily around him.

Just as he reached out to try and grab it as gently as possible, his eyes caught a glimpse of another glow. Then another. And another.

“Whoa,” he breathed in awe, doing little more than watching the blinking, glowing balls of light flit about the porch and the back yard beyond it.

A quiet laugh rumbled from the other side of the swing, and Gabriel was about to turn and tell the laugh’s owner off when he saw how genuine the smile was on his face.

“You've honestly never seen a firefly?” Jack asked, holding up a hand as if cupping one of the fluttering, glowing bugs .

“Not in person, no,” Gabriel answered shrugging his shoulders at the same time. He reached out his hand in a similar manner, smiling to himself when a firefly landed in his palm briefly. “We don't have them in L.A., and most of the places I've been stationed in are the same way.”

“Oh?” Jack remarked curiously. Gabriel could feel Jack's eyes on him, and fought the urge to squirm beneath his gaze. Instead, he risked a glance at Jack himself, raising an eyebrow as Jack got off the swing and tucked his cell-phone into his pocket.

“Going somewhere?”

“Yeah,” Jack answered, smiling as a small gleam sparkled in his eyes not unlike the glow of the fireflies around them. “Come with me. I wanna show you something.”

Jack walked off before Gabriel even had a chance to answer, and what else could Gabriel do?

He peeked into the house from outside the bay window, motioning to one of Jack's brothers — was it Chris, Sam, or Braedon? Telling the triplets apart was always a puzzle he could never solve — that he and Jack were heading out, and quickly jogged off to follow Jack after the brother gave him a thumbs up from his seat on the sofa in acknowledgement.

Jack waited for Gabriel long enough for him to catch up, and they soon fell into stride with each other with Jack leading the way. They walked for quite a while in their usual, comfortable silence, walking dirt paths and through the woods nearby, until Jack finally stopped in his tracks near what Gabriel could see was a small creek.

“Watching fireflies from the porch is nice and comfy and all, but nothing beats this spot,” Jack said, taking a seat on one a rather sizeable flat rock. “Lot less light pollution and more importantly, no one around to ruin it.”

Gabriel's heart skipped a little at that, and he did his best not to read too much into it, lest his thoughts backfire on him. Instead, he let out a small noise of acknowledgement and replied, “Your brothers aren't that bad, Jack.”

Jack let out a small laugh, shaking his head, and patted the space beside him in lieu of a response. Gabriel could only go along with it, carefully sitting himself right beside Jack, with their shoulders barely inches away from each other, he situated himself. Gabriel tried not to focus too much on it, on the intimate proximity between the two of them, but the way Jack kept leaning into him, glancing at him as if sizing him up every now and them, made that nearly impossible to do.

Gabriel distracted himself as best he could, averting his own gaze to the sky to take in the last traces of the red, golden glow before it dipped behind the horizon. The slow appearance of the starry night sky did nothing to slow down the thoughts racing through his mind at a mile a minute, and Gabriel found himself focusing more and more on Jack's presence beside him rather than the spectacular view around him.

It was gorgeous — the kind of landscape you'd find only in movies and paintings — what with almost every star in the night sky visible above their heads and the gentle glow of countless fireflies blinking around them. And yet…

And yet…

Gabriel couldn't help the way his gaze gravitated towards Jack every so often, taking in the happy and relaxed contentment on his face, and finding himself wanting to see that on the pillow beside him every morning when he woke up. A warmth flared in his chest, and at that moment, Gabriel could tell his heart had made the decision of when he should speak for him.

He didn't even realize he was staring until Jack let out a laugh and nudged his shoulder with his own.

“Something on my face, buddy?”

Gabriel shook his head and took a deep breath, mustering as much courage as he could.

“Jack, can I talk to you about something?” he asked.

“Of course. What is it? Something wrong?” Jack sat up a little straighter, clearly on edge and concerned for what Gabriel might have to say.

“No, nothing's wrong,” he replied, shaking his head. He took a moment to gather his thoughts, trying not to let the worried expression on Jack's face fluster him into haphazardly expressing his feelings. “I just… Remember when we came here for Christmas last year?”

Jack nodded.

“And how you told me the truth about the ‘bringing my boyfriend to meet my family’ thing after I'd already suffered through two hours of dinner and dessert with your parents and your brothers?”

Jack hesitated for a moment before he nodded again. “Yeah…”

“And how you kissed me so many times in front of them before that? Once even before we got inside the house earlier that night?”

Jack visibly winced at that, his expression clouding over slightly. “Yeah,” he replied, the guilt in that one word so strong Gabriel could feel his own gut twist in sympathy.

“Well, I've been thinking since then — a lot since then — about last Christmas… about us,” Gabriel said, pausing briefly and glancing over to make sure Jack was still looking at him. He wanted to make absolutely sure Jack was seeing him and listening to his words, so that he'd know just how serious Gabriel was when he said his next words. “...about how much I actually wished that were real. That it wasn't just pretend. That this...” He reached over to take Jack by the hand, running his thumb over the scarred knuckles, and waiting for Jack to pull away. When he didn't, Gabriel pulled the hand to his lips, and kissed it on the on the knuckle, before turning it over to press another kiss into the open palm. He interlaced his fingers with Jack's own right after, gripping it firmly before he finished. “That this relationship between us was something more than just friends… That you knew how much you mean to me and how much I… how much I love you, Jack.”

A heavy sigh escaped from Gabriel's lips, relief at his own confession washing over him like some sort of cleansing. Everything was up to Jack now; the ball was in his court. It didn't matter how Jack was going to answer; Gabriel did what he had been agonizing over for so long. He told Jack how he felt, and that was all that mattered. If Jack didn't return his feelings, then…

Actually, scratch that.

Jack's response did matter, immensely so, and Gabriel loosened his grip on Jack's hand in fear of Jack feeling just how much he was shaking in anticipation of an answer.

A deafening silence fell over the two of them, sounds of the running water from the creek ringing in Gabriel's ears like white noise. Minutes felt like an eternity, and Gabriel found himself almost wishing for Jack's outright rejection of him with each passing second, if only so the agonizing torture would come to some sort of merciful end.

His ears perked up when he heard Jack take a deep breath beside him.

Unconsciously, Gabriel did the same, bracing himself for what might come.

“...Do you seriously mean that?” Jack asked, the hesitation and wariness heard in his voice so thick Gabriel could almost feel himself choking on it.

His heart throbbed in his chest, and he nodded in reply. “Yeah, I do. I love you, Jack Morrison,” Gabriel breathed. He dared to make eye contact with Jack, gaze falling to the side when a firefly hovering between them seemed to glow in warning. He swallowed the lump in his throat, trying to control the racing of his heart at the realization that Jack looked as scared as he felt in that brief moment their eyes met.

Another eternity of silence fell between them, and Gabriel could feel his heart both stopping and racing at the same time, palms sweating like a nervous schoolboy.

He nearly yelped when he felt Jack's hand tense around his, holding it so tightly that Gabriel could swear he heard some of his knuckles popping.

“Ow, Jack! What the-” he began to shout, voice cutting out completely when he was forcibly tugged by the arm.

He fell silent when he felt warm lips press against his, body frozen and unwilling to move lest his actions be misinterpreted and the moment between them shattered. The warmth was familiar in all the best ways, and Gabriel felt his pulse skyrocketing and his heart soaring.

But still…

He didn’t dare get his hopes up until he got a solid answer.

After a few moments, Jack began to pull away, and though Gabriel wanted to keep the moment going, wanted to keep kissing Jack and even hold him tight, Gabriel did the same. He sat back on the rock where he was before, making note of the fact that Jack still hadn’t let go of his hand even after the both of them righted themselves.

Gabriel looked at Jack expectantly, breath held in his throat in anticipation.

Jack smiled warmly, and simply replied, “I love you too, Gabriel Reyes.”

In that moment, Gabriel felt all the tension rush from his body in one giant wave, and he let out a huge sigh, body visibly deflating in that same moment.

“Oh, thank fucking god,” he said, clutching his chest with his free hand. He couldn’t help the rush of emotion overwhelming him, and nearly hysterical from relief, he began laughing.

Jack let him be for a few moments, unusually patient as he merely sat and watched as Gabriel laughed all his anxieties away, hand resolutely holding Gabriel’s own all the while.

When the laughter finally dwindled down, and Gabriel felt himself drifting back to solid ground emotionally, it was his turn to pull Jack towards him, open hand holding Jack by the cheek as he leaned in to return Jack’s favor. Their lips pressed together once more, eager and earnest as they met over and over again for heartfelt kiss after kiss.

Had it not been for the fact that Jack confirmed he felt the same way, Gabriel would have been as embarrassing as it was for Gabriel to admit, in that moment — despite all the war, despite the omnics, despite the SEP, and despite everything else that was going wrong across the globe — he felt as if everything was right in the world for once, and happiness glowed as warmly in his chest as the glow of the fireflies fluttering around the two of them and as brightly as the stars in the night sky above.

#reaper76 #reaper76summerevent #gabriel reyes #jack morrison #overwatch #reaper #soldier 76 #jive writes stuff

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