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pboogerswbb · 4 days ago

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SO IT GOES - prologue

Paige Bueckers x oc Warnings: language, none Wordcount: 5.6K A/N: LILA IS BACK with a new series. this is the prologue, purely here to give people an insight to our oc Izara (who i already love btw), so not as much paige here, but she will make a much bigger entrance come first chapter of the series. again, ty so much for everyone who hyped this up based solely on the synopsis i wrote and ty for your support! i am so excited for this series you guys don't even know!! this one will be a looooong one so buckle up

Passport? Check. Silk pillowcase? Check. Laptop? Check.

The list seemed to go on and on, filling out three sheets of paper, both front and back. Some people called it excessive but to me it was necessary. It was better to be over prepared than leave things up to chance. I had been making lists all my life, I wasn’t about to stop now. They have worked for me so far.

Flipping through the maroon moleskine notepad in my hands, my green eyes skim over one page after another - grocery list, changes I must make to my skincare routine, presents to buy next Christmas, wedding registry. There’s a sting in my chest as I stop, my french manicured hand brushing over the soft paper: Vitamix blender, Ginori 1735 cake plate, Baccarat candlestick set.

Inhale, exhale. The pain won’t relinquish. I bring my hand to the soft cotton of my turtleneck, rubbing soothing circles on my chest just like my mum used to when I was little.

“There you go Izara, don’t you feel better? It’s a magic trick, it takes the sadness away.”

The black suitcase is laid out on the floor in front of me, clothes folded neatly in their own nooks. I keep rubbing and rubbing but the sadness won’t go away. So I stop, my fingers carefully flipping a few pages forward.

Move to The US

Pros

Good career move?

New experiences

Cons

Leaving my family and friends

Boss talked about promotion for me in the next year

Leaving London

Visa hassle

Expenses

Wedding delayed off

Leaving Jasper (pro?)

My memories of the day resurface, the way I was locked in my car, dreading walking inside where my husband-to-be was expecting me. I had spent all day trying on wedding dresses near Soho, my mom and her sister fawning over Jasper the entire day. To everyone he was the perfect man, charming, nurturing and protective. But they didn’t know half of what I put up with. All day I wanted to scream, to throw a fit, tell everyone that they don’t know anything about my perfect fiancé. But instead I kept my mouth shut, and waited till I got into my car to cry. I didn’t like being vulnerable, for my relatives to see me weak. I had told no one about the conflicting feelings inside me, or the way I had applied for an open position to be a social media producer for the Dallas Wings. That very same morning the position had been offered to me.

So I sat in my car with my trusty lists, as usual. The moment I wasn’t sure whether to write leaving Jasper into the pros or the cons, I knew I had to go. It had been gnawing at my subconscious, making me sick to my stomach. Even according to the list this decision made absolutely no sense. But in my gut I knew had to go - desperately so.

“Izzie, are you done yet? We have to leave soon.”

My brother bursts into the room, watching the way I had undone all the packing that I had naturally finished a week prior. Clothes were all over my childhood bedroom, piles of them standing neatly. After calling off the wedding with Jasper I had decided to move back home, not wanting to stay with him and his temper under the same roof.

“What the hell have you done here?” He chuckles, shaking his head as I stand in the middle of the bedroom, notebook in hand, staring at the half empty suitcase.

“I think I’ve gone crazy Kiran,” I admit with a sigh. Two weeks ago when I accepted the job I had been so sure - now I wasn’t. This was insane, mad, completely, utterly unlike me. To get up and move, to disappoint my parents, to disappoint everyone. I just couldn’t stand it anymore, my life here. Every year I grew older I became more and more unsure. Now at 25 I felt like a complete fool, not knowing anything except this wasn’t the life I wanted. Something had to change - I had to change.

My younger brother walks over, wrapping a hand around my shoulder.

“Yes you have.”

I scoff and push him off. “That’s not helpful!”

He chuckles and begins to pack for me, just as neatly as I had done earlier. Guess being high-strung ran in the family.

“It is mad. But that doesn’t mean it’s not the right thing to do,” my brother mumbles, neatly folding my black cashmere sweater. “I think it’s good Iz, no matter what mum and dad are saying. Don’t mind them. They’ll come around.”

“I wasn’t raised not to mind them,” I chuckle, looking out the window, ours just one of many of the semi-detached houses extending along the road I grew up on. The cherry trees had just bloomed, pale pink blossoms covering the branches, decorating the pavement.

“Funny that, neither was I,” Kiran laughs and finally zips up my suitcase, picking it up and preparing to carry it to the car. “You got everything? Passport? Wallet? Documents?”

I nod with a smile. Even if we didn’t look almost exactly the same (though, we certainly did), it was impossible not to pick up on the family resemblance.

“I have everything.”

The drive to Heathrow Airport is quiet. Truthfully, I was far too nervous to speak. I could feel my stomach twisting uncomfortably, a nauseating weight on my chest. I watch as we pass the streets of London, the only streets I had ever known. We pass the red double-decker buses, the abandoned phone boxes, eventually making our way onto the highway.

London is cruel, relentless to its residents, yet simultaneously captivating and thrilling. I had travelled enough to know there was no place like it. Nowhere else I could hop on the Northern Line in the bohemian, eclectic Camden, switch tubes and step out to Canary Wharf, where skyscrapers stand tall above you and the streets are buzzing with men in suits, just in 40 minutes or so. The diversity of the city, the way it could feel like a large metropolis as much as a small charming town all at once, depending on where you were. I loved this city, I always would. But it was time for me to move on at least for now. I wasn’t getting what I wanted, not that I knew what that was in the first place.

“Can’t believe my sister’s gonna be working for the league,” Kiran interrupts the silence. “When you meet Bronny you must tell him hi.”

I let out a laugh, turning to look at him. “Yeah, I don’t think that’s happening anywhere else except your delusions.”

“Hey, you never know!” He scoffs as we pull up to terminal 3, the butterflies growing deep in my abdomen.

“You’re such a guy,” I roll my eyes. “I’m working for the WNBA and all you want is to say hi to Lebron James.”

“Well who else is there, Steph?”

In reality, my brother loved basketball, he was the sole reason I knew the first thing about the sport. But he loved pushing my buttons more - and nothing pushed my buttons further than women being underestimated by men.

“A’ja, Stewie, Sabrina, Jewell? Arike plays for the Wings!”

“Never heard of any of them.”

I smack him on the shoulder as he’s parking the car, making him yelp. He was joking of course, but I wasn’t in the mood. Some would argue I was rarely in the mood to joke around but it’s just how I am. High-strung, intense. It was just me, I couldn’t help it. You know how some people have that spark to them? The kind where they step in the room and the place just lights up? That wasn’t me, and I was okay with it. At least I got shit done.

“Okay sorry,” Kiran whines, rubbing his arm. Neither of us wanted to get out, to face the goodbye looming ahead. So we sit for a while.

“Paige Bueckers was drafted there though, right?” My brother asks, staring at the big sign for Terminal 3 above the sliding doors.

“Yeah, she was.”

“She’s tough,” he says and I nod in agreement. I had followed her college career quite a bit, saw her go through injury and rise to the top again. She wasn’t my favourite player, I preferred focusing on the league - but it was undeniable she was a generational talent.

“She’s also really fit,” my brother adds, making me snort.

“Kiran, I'm fairly sure she’s also really gay,” I laugh. My brother turns to me with shock written all over his face.

“You really think so?”

I roll my eyes, “I- well yes. It’s pretty obvious, don’t you think?”

“Damn,” he sighs, shaking his head. “Takes one to know one I guess.”

Another smack on his shoulder, another yelp spilling from his lips. One drunken night years ago I had come out to Kiran as bisexual and now it was his favourite joke in the world. I don’t think he realised I was serious, or that at points in my life I had dated girls as well. Honestly though, I hadn’t even thought about girls that way since I met Jasper. Not that I’d found any girl remotely attractive in the past years, perhaps it had just been a phase.

“You’re going to come back with some 6 '5 American basketball lesbian aren’t you?” He teases, making me roll my eyes.

“We need to head inside,” I laugh, climbing out of the car. I didn’t know much about what would happen, but I certainly wasn’t going to come back with anyone. The time I spend in Dallas would be time dedicated to me, to figuring out who I was, what I wanted. I had no time for love.

I pull the suitcase towards the doors, Kiran on my tail until we both come to a halt right inside. Quickly I check my purse again - passport, phone, wallet, charger, documents. All there. Just one thing left to do.

I turn to my brother and hug him. We had never spent more than a month apart since the day he was born. I had always been the annoying, bossy older sister, ordering him around since he could barely talk. But still, it had all been out of love. I wanted him to be safe and it was my job to protect him. He was my baby brother after all, even now at 23 as he stands 6’0 tall.

“Take care of yourself Izzie,” he whispers, squeezing me tight.

“You too, and of mum and dad please,” I tell him, holding my breath in as to not let any tears fall, though they’re already burning in the corners of my eyes.

We pull apart, and he smiles at me assuringly. “Call mum when you land, we don’t need her getting loopy.”

“I will,” I chuckle. There’s a few seconds of silence that stretches across us, our green eyes locked in each other’s gaze. We don’t need to say these things out loud, we both knew we loved each other.

“Well, have a safe flight and have fun in Dallas,” Kiran says and waves bye, turning around to walk away. “YEEHAW!” He turns around and yells before slipping out through the sliding doors. Laughing, I watch him, the ache in my chest growing exponentially. It was all becoming real. Me in Dallas, Texas.

A couple hours and a long security line later I’m sitting on the ascending plane, gazing out of the window. I stretch out my legs, glad to be short enough to fit in the seats comfortably. I’m holding a copy of War and Peace by Tolstoy in my hands, simply flipping through the pages, my mind too conflicted to focus as I watch the ground beneath me retreating further every second.

I could see Big Ben, The London Eye, Thames stretching across the length of the city, shrinking until we ascend through a thick layer of clouds, making it impossible to see anything. It’s only then I let myself cry, the first tears after ending my engagement only a couple weeks prior. I had no other plan, I needed this to work out desperately.

Jet lag was killing me, but I knew I could never allow it to show. It was the following day of arriving in Dallas. I spent all of yesterday sleeping, trying to let my body adjust to the time difference before my first day on the job.

Of course I had woken up three entire hours before my alarm went off. So when I get to the first media team meeting of the season, I have already had time to drink two coffees, go to the gym, shower, shave, do my jet black hair just to have a crisis and pin it up in a slicked back bun, do my makeup and send emails and make calls to the wedding venue to cancel it. I was on fire and wouldn’t let a little jetlag hold me down.

The maroon turtleneck and black slacks I was wearing had already been decided on the evening before as to avoid any clothing disaster. I wasn’t exactly sure how to dress for a job like this - but as I step into the tall building from the busy streets of Dallas I can tell I’m overdressed. Many of the people around my age are dressed much more laid back than I’m used to, wearing hoodies and jeans - and to my biggest shock of all, sneakers.

As I walk across the entryway the sound of my heels tapping on the tiles echo around the building, my cheeks turning bright red. I knew people were turning to stare, but instead of looking back and checking, I rush to the elevator, slipping in through the doors and facing my reflection. Maybe I was overdressed, but I look nice. The gold earrings decorating my ears contrast against my light brown skin and black hair, making them pop. I smooth over my belt, fixing the way the golden buckle of it was sitting on my slacks when a man around my age walks in just as the doors are about to close.

“Hey there!” He greets me, a charming smile on his face and brown eyes twinkling. His friendliness is so intense it nearly startles me.

“Oh, hey!” I reply, turning towards him. For a moment he looks at me, blinking, perhaps waiting for me to keep talking but when I don’t he’s quick to pick up my slack.

“I’m Trey, I do media stuff for the Wings. Basically a glorified cameraman,” he explains lightheartedly.

“I’m Zari, they just hired me to do social media actually,” I reply, shaking his hand firmly just like my dad always taught me to. There’s a sliver of recognition on Trey’s face as he takes in my words.

“Oh yeah! They said they hired someone new! Didn’t mention you were a Brit tho. Well shit we’re prolly gon’ be working together a lot then,” he says. It’s at that moment I decide that his enthusiasm isn’t fake even though it’s suspiciously intense. Maybe he’s just an energetic guy - maybe he’s just an American.

“I suppose yes!” I chuckle and look over the buttons of the lift. “So, perhaps you know which floor I need to go to then because I don’t?”

“Oh sure thing.”

Pressing on the number 10, the elevator finally begins to move upwards. I’m fiddling with the rings around my fingers, a nervous habit I had.

“You nervous?” Trey asks, picking up on my queues quickly. Guess I wasn’t as composed as I’d liked.

“A bit,” I admit.

Trey chuckles and wraps an arm around my shoulder comfortingly - or I suppose it’s meant to be comforting but I didn’t particularly find it so. “You’ll do good, everyone’s chill here. Except the boss but you get used to her. You can relax, Zari.” As much as the man’s enthusiasm and touchiness shocked me, I was glad to have someone show me where to go instead of wandering around the floors aimlessly.

In a corridor full of doors Trey picks the right one, opening it for me. Inside we find a team of 10 people or so sitting around a table, their discussion immediately coming to a halt when we step in, all eyes turning to me. I feel unease settle over me, but instead of panic I inhale and exhale. I knew I could do this, this was the only plan I had. I had never not had a plan B, a plan C before. This had to be it.

“You must be Izara,” a gravelling voice says as a red haired woman, likely in her 50s, stands up. She’s dressed much more corporate, a fitted blazer and a pencil skirt accentuating her curves. I immediately notice her brows, thin and sharp, appearing almost angry. I didn’t have to be told who this was, Trey’s description had been colourful enough for me to know she was my boss.

“Yes, well I go by Zari actually, if you don’t mind,” I say in a friendly tone, walking over in my black stilettos to shake her hand.

“You kids and your nicknames, oh well. Zari’s fine, but don’t complain if I forget,” she sighs, clearly already bothered. “I’m Linda Halford, the managing media director for the Dallas Wings. We spoke on the phone.”

Her eyes are blue and piercing, but there’s something about her straight forwardness that feels intriguing in contrast to the excessive friendliness of everyone else I’d met so far. Hell, even the cab driver tried to strike up a conversation after my flight. I wasn’t sure if I liked Linda or feared her - perhaps a bit of both.

“It’s nice to meet you in person,” I smile, sitting myself down on the chair Linda pulls out for me right next to her. All eyes were on me of course, the new girl. I just had to get through the first week and I’d be old news. Good old boring Izara. Just get through the week.

“I hope your travels went well,” Linda says distractedly, scrolling through a document on her laptop. As I open my mouth to answer, she keeps talking.

“Now, there are many big changes this year, and our media team has been… not up to par so to speak,” she glances up at Trey, and a couple of girls sitting next to him who I suppose I would be working with as well.

“Thanks to Bueckers, we’re about to have a lot more eyes on us. So I hired Izara-” Zari. Just call me Zari. I bite the inside of my cheek not to correct her, she didn’t seem like the type of woman you correct. “and she’s gonna help us. She’s here to innovate, to come up with ideas to boost online exposure and to boost clicks. We need to get active on Tiktok, and whatever the kids use. I need daily content. No more editing videos for weeks before posting them on Youtube, Trey.”

“My bad,” Trey says, making everyone chuckle, his eyes sparkling when they land on me.

Linda looks at him disapprovingly before continuing.

“We are sitting on a goldmine now guys. Paige Bueckers has over 2 million followers on Instagram. She is incredibly marketable, how do we use her best?” Linda asks, everyone going silent immediately, looking around, waiting for someone to bite. Fine, I will.

Clearing my throat I begin. “Well, I think it’s important that while we do use her to get clicks, we don’t make the Wings the “Paige Bueckers team” and repeat the same mistakes I personally think Indiana Fever did with CC,” My voice is steady, sure, even though deep inside I’m not quite certain about what I’m saying. I pause, composing myself - if there was one thing I was good at it was selling things with confidence. Even when I wasn’t.

“I think we use her for clicks, make loads of content with her but use that content to uplift other players and the whole team. Not just Bueckers, not just Arike, but everyone.”

Linda nods. “Yes, Izara. How do we do that?” Zari. Just say Zari.

I shrug. “A lot of Paige’s fans are young, I’m not sure if some of them even watch the sport at all. So we try to get them intrigued. Not posting purely basketball content, but including some fan service should help with that, incentivise the young girls to get involved with the sport. There needs to be a balance.”

To my shock, when I raise my eyes from the table, Linda is smiling. It’s not the warmest smile, but one nevertheless.

“And this is why we had to hire someone all the way from England, because you guys couldn’t figure this out in this hellhole,” Linda scolds my colleagues. The praise feels good, but I really didn’t want to come off as a show off or soon my only friend in all of Dallas, Texas would be Linda Halford.

“Good job Zari, welcome to the team,” the redhead says firmly before returning to her notes. “Okay tomorrow we are all having a little Dallas Wings get together. The coaches, players, everyone so be prepared to go out after work.”

As I write this down in my calendar I’m interrupted by Linda again. “Izara.”

“Yes?” I ask.

“By the end of tomorrow I’m expecting you to be friendly with Bueckers. You’re gonna be working together a lot, I need you on her good side.”

“Thank God!” I groan to myself, kicking off my black stilettos the second I step into my new home. The league had provided me with an apartment until the end of the season. It was modern, nice, sleek but so incredibly impersonal it pained me. It didn’t feel like me at all, the blank white walls, the dull grey furniture. It wasn’t home.

I crash into the couch face first, mixture of jet lag and stress of the first day on the job taking over. Not only was I the new girl, but I was also the English girl. All day I’d been asked if we really eat beans on toast, and if I’d ever seen the Queen - mind you she passed in 2022.

With too much left to do, I only let myself rest for a few minutes before getting up reluctantly, tiptoeing to my bedroom to start undressing. Throwing on a matching set of knitted cream coloured sweater and pants, I let my hair down, finally feeling comfortable.

Suddenly I hear a loud crash from the hallway, followed by even louder giggles and muffled yelps echoing around the building. Too curious about my neighbours, I step into my slippers and carefully open the door to see what’s going on.

“Bro, it’s not that heavy,” an accented voice groans probably a floor below me. Heavy steps on the stairs are closing in. Two people, I think.

“Lou, you’re kidding right?” Another girl complains, her voice bright.

“You’re too weak, just give it to me,” the other person argues, steps approaching me.

“Ha, no way, you’re just gon’ break my new plates. Ion trust you.”

“Next time you’re getting an at-home deliver- oh hey!”

A brunette girl with her hair down, only in basketball shorts and a sports bra sees me as she turns the corner, meeting my gaze as I peek through my door. She’s holding a cardboard box, full of pans and pots, hair sticking to her forehead from the humidity.

Suddenly the other girl appears, blonde, hair in a bun but other than that pretty much wearing the exact same thing.

“Who you talkin to- oh,” the blonde notices me, her blue eyes so intense my knees nearly buckle.

“Sorry, we’re being really loud, we’re gonna try and keep quiet,” the brunette apologises. The blonde is still watching me, never breaking eye-contact. Feeling uneasy, my eyes flicker to the brunette and I smile politely.

“That’s fine, I was just checking if you were okay?” I ask. The blonde walks past my door, my eyes lingering for a millisecond on the way her biceps flex as she carries a large and apparently heavy box of plates towards the next flight of the stairs.

“We’re good, sorry ‘bout that,” the blonde answers, her voice now much quieter, less lively than before when it echoes around the halls.

“Okay well, maybe next time you should get at-home-delivery?” I suggest, watching as the girls struggle slowly up the stairs before retreating back into my apartment.

“That’s what I SAID!” The brunette complains loudly. I can still hear them bickering when I close the door, a smile spreading to my face. The first time I’ve genuinely laughed since I landed.

It’s as if I knew those girls from somewhere, but couldn’t quite place it. Something about them was so familiar. It’s not till I hear them jogging back down for the next batch of boxes to carry upstairs, their voices loud enough to echo into my apartment, when I realise.

“Paige I’m about to call Bob Bueckers to come help us soon, I’m dead serious.”

“You don’t got my dad’s number.”

“Pretty sure I do!”

Oh. Peeking out through the peephole my suspicions are confirmed. Walking past my door it indeed is Paige and Lou, bringing more kitchenware upstairs. And I didn’t even recognise them. I look down at my knitted set with a deep sigh. So much about being professional huh? I better make a good impression tomorrow.

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#paige bueckers #lilas writing #so it goes #paige bueckers x oc #paige bueckers fanfic #paige bueckers fic #paige bueckers smut #paige bueckers x female oc #wnba x oc

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desultory-novice · 10 months ago

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White-Haired Noir (Older)

I wasn't kidding when I said Noir has become more of "my OC" than before. Anyway, they tell me cringe is dead, so let's get on with it!

BE HAPPY TEENAGE BOY ...Uh... ADULT MALE??!

(Pictured: Would you believe this guy was once my Dark Matter Swordsman???)

No longer a teary-eyed apprentice, White-Haired Noir in ~the future~ (circa Star Allies??) has become a knight in his own right, swearing his service to Dedede as thanks for helping house the bruised, battered, emotionally unstable teen boy so many years ago.

Dedede Stop Adopting People Challenge (impossible)

Over the years (and with plenty of hard hitting, gloves-off training from Meta Knight) Noir has both grown up and grown accustomed to life on Popstar. He's regained some semblance of a life (gasp!) and inner peace. (...When Popstar's not being invaded, that is.)

He has friends (and rivals), is able to stomach food and drink a bit better, and has accepted Gooey, finally. He can even speak positively of his lost childhood with his little sister, on occasion.

Despite Popstar's generally warm weather, the Shiver Star native continues to dress in highly concealing fashion, as his upper body still bears the scars of his interrupted Dark Matter transformation; one reason he grew his hair out long was to help conceal the ones on his neck better, so as not to frighten the younger Waddle Dees.

[Assorted Text Wall Below]

Age Range: Mid 20s and up (Tbh, his specific age'll probably fluctuate depending upon the kind of story I want to tell. This is, quite simply, an adult Noir who's got his life more together.)

Abilities: Mild regenerative abilities, magic reflection, healing/purification, light projection [Rainbow Sword]

Protective magic and various physical ability-boosting magic [These come courtesy of the crystals adorning his jacket, a gift from the Queen of the Fairies. Noir is still a squishy human, after all. His fine swordplay aside, he needs magical enhancements to not get accidentally steamrolled by Kirby's other friends.]

Hobbies: swordplay, stargazing, crochet (Taranza taught him the last one, both as a mental grounding exercise and to help rehabilitate Noir's Dark Matter corrupted hands for performing delicate tasks. Half of Dream Land has one of Noir's early crochet octopi sitting in their storage. Nowadays, he makes toys for the younger Dees.)

Etc: Because of his closeness with King Dedede (and in large part due to their matching scarves/sashes), his general protectiveness of the Waddle Dees, as well as his fairy-tale outfit (which Ribbon helped with) Noir has picked up nickname of the "Prince of Dream Land"

A highly unfitting one, Noir has been heard to privately complain. In what world could an unwashed, damaged, sharp-tongued orphan with hands near-literally dyed in blood become a prince...?

Height-wise, if we consider King Dedede to be one of a breed of extinct "mega penguins" then Noir, fully grown, is of comparable height. (Dedede insists he's taller because of this crown puff. Huzzah! His title as king is safe!) In human terms, this does make Noir a short king :cough: prince, which in his case is due to malnourishment, physical abuse during puberty, and just plain genetics. ^^;

Anyway, despite how shockingly decent he looks cleaned up, Noir is still a feral cat at heart, and he hasn't lost his sass either, even if the edges have been somewhat filed off with time.

(Even the most angsty and tragic of emo boys can only go so many years with sparkly, shimmering, pastel rainbow hair (1) before they give up the act and start smiling ju~st a little more! ^_-)

(1) It is completely impossible for Noir to return his hair to its original dark maroon/black, btw. Even the strongest dye refuses to stick.

...And yes, he has attempted.

(Q: When is this...? Cause he still looked 16 in that FL comic you did.) (A: That's because I hadn't thought ahead when I wrote it! This form is basically meant as something to pull out for the later games with some extra padding for any future games/events. >w< )

(Q: So... is that FL comic still Apologies canon?) (A: ~ish! He would definitely be his older self now. That said, this Noir did still encounter Elfilin by chance, immediately recognized him as ID-F86, and had a PTSD episode over it, dredging up old memories he'd believed he had come to peace with. It was the closest the Dark Matter in Noir had come to re-awakening in years. Elfilin's sincere apology to the innocent victims of Forgo's rage helped Noir keep from losing himself completely and he was able to recover.

Also, following Crystal Shards, Noir DID resume having daily nightmares about Adeleine and her fate. That was why MK encouraged him to stay with the fairies of Ripple Star for a time and recuperate; that Noir could resume his training with Meta Knight later on. The grateful fairies all turned out to completely ADORE him - particularly, his shining rainbow hair. This period away from Popstar meant that he totally missed out on Amazing Mirror though.)

(Q: If he missed Amazing Mirror, what games DIDN'T he miss?) (A: He was actually there for a somewhat altered version of Meta Knightmare Ultra in Planet Robobot! It was his first "mission" with his teacher. (And I have a fanfic brewing about that, thanks to the anon who asked what if Noir got within wishing distance of Star Dream...)

Unlike Meta's relationship with Kirby, where Meta trusts Kirby to bounce back from everything and is excited :wipes drool off face: to see how much Kirby will grow, Meta Knight tries (somewhat) to keep his very human disciple out of danger, if he can. He's not soft on him by any means, with hard blows and even harder life lessons, but he knows that Noir came to them hanging onto life by a very frayed thread and he only pushes as far as he believes Noir can take.

Nowadays, he's much more trusting of him to handle himself.

(Q: Assuming he was in SA, where was he during TDX, RtDL, and FL? (A: In both Triple Deluxe and Forgotten Land, he was away from Popstar. Record of Stopping Dedede Abductions: 0/2. He rolled his eyes at a giant beanstalk erupting from Dream Land leading to a kingdom in the clouds "...You're kidding?" and Dedede was stomping mad when Noir laughed outloud about the story of the abduction - which concealed the fact that Meta Knight WAS LAUGHING TOO.

In Return to Dream Land, Noir was still on Popstar but didn't participate in the adventure in any capacity. When everyone returned and told the tale of Magolor's betrayal, his response was a deadpan, "Okay but you all saw that coming a mile away though, right? .........Tell me you saw that coming." He was a little less sassy when he heard Magolor's downfall came at the hands of a corrupting artifact.)

(Q: Wasn't Noir taller than Dedede in that one random sketch?) (A: As an Earth human. Noir eventually became Popstarian size.)

(Q: It's nice that he's okay but... but Adeleine... ; _ ; ) (A: Yeah... However, similar to Blade and Gooey in the main verse, in the AU AU, it was Painter who took care of and sheltered the Dark Matter outcast. Noir initially hated Gooey, because he despised Dark Matter for destroying his family and he hated it every time Gooey tried to approach him - like a sign that he would never escape his mistakes. Only later was he forced to confront Gooey and realize that Gooey was always seeking Noir out because of Adeleine's memories Gooey had taken in. They eventually had a painful heart to heart, where Noir was able to experience his sister's last memories through Gooey. Noir now lets him wear Painter's beret in memory of her.)

Anyway, that's now two (and a half (?) if you count "Snowflakes") Noirs who have escaped the cycle of misery! Hooray!

Don't worry, Main Timeline Noir, your salvation comes next............Probably???? >w<

#Kirby #Kirby OC #Apologies AU #Apologies AU AU #Noir (human form dms)#I've got more sketches of him cooking but this post was already getting long with just the text alone #Has Dess said how much Dess hates costume design??#(He takes a LOT of elements from MK due to his training)#The hair ribbon was gift from... Ribbon #I wonder if White-Haired Noir needs a new tag now #Seeing as how the DMS elements of him are running low #cw: character death #...for Adeleine ^^;#King Dedede #Adeleine #I may let him play in the OC Reindeer Games now maybe???#I am not sure who WANTS to yet ^^; ... plus I feel like not drawing humans is why a good chunk of us are here but! XD #(Stop being nervous Dess and indulge in the cringe!!!!)

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things-of-fire · 7 months ago

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The Power of Sky 🌩️🌼

Harpy is a SkyWing animus who’s part of a future AU I made a while back. This art is a little old, but I think it holds up. I’ve been thinking about this AU more lately and I’ll probably come back to it.

In short, Harpy discovered their powers when they were a dragonet. Not knowing that magic was banned in the Sky kingdom, they excitedly showed it off by enchanting a field of flowers to bloom. They were sentenced to death the very same day. However, a NightWing dragonet born beneath blood moons had a vision of Harpy’s death and convinced her tribe’s prince to go save them. Harpy grew up in the rainforest alongside the NightWings and RainWings. Eventually, they become a key player in a continental war.

The NightWing dragonet who saw Harpy’s death has had a few names, including Bloodmoon and Warteller. I’d like to give her something different—maybe Omen? Sanguine? Who knows! She and Harpy have a tense relationship, made worse by the fact that they’re pining for each other. The NightWing feels responsible for putting Harpy in a difficult situation, while Harpy struggles to be loyal to anyone in the face of war.

[ID: A digital illustration of the creator’s Wings of Fire OC, a SkyWing named Harpy. They are a wyvern who has deep scarlet-orange scales with darker orange accents and a lighter underbelly. Their wings and the spikes on their neck and tail are a deep maroon. Harpy wears a black cloak lined with dark iridescent feathers, as well as a simple moonstone necklace and gold earring. Their piercing yellow eyes match a glowing flower that hovers between their talons. Harpy is floating in a background of abstract purple clouds. Three circles resembling dark moons frame Harpy’s head. They’re staring determinedly to the left, as if deep in thought. End ID]

#wings of fire #wof #wings of fire oc #wof oc #wof fanfic #dragon #anthro #my art

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averagewriter-inthedark · 2 years ago

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She’s Still Preoccupied With 1985 🎤 | Bob Floyd x Rockstar!reader Imagine

Takes place after the events of TGM

TGM Masterlist

Characters & Pairings: Lt. Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd x modern-day rockstar!reader (childhood best friends/romantic), dagger squad (platonic), Bob x female!oc (past romance), male!oc x reader (past romance), The 1985’s!BandOCs (platonic)

Content Warnings: major fluff, angst, profanity, canon divergence (Bob is born in 1985 in this, making him roughly 34 during TGM & 37 in the year 2022), pop culture references, second chance romance troupe, suggestive content and light smut + implied smut (MINORS DNI!!) inspired by the song ‘1985,’ by Bowling For Soup | Female!reader—afab!reader (she/her) | wc: 17.2k

Premise: Join Lt. Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd as he looks back on his fairytale love story with childhood best friend and real life rockstar, who’s set to perform one last time on the country’s most iconic stage, in her band’s final show of their farewell tour.

Note: so after I wrote ‘It’s A Long Way To The Top’ with Maverick x 80sRockstar!reader, I had inspiration for someone from the dagger squad x modern-day rockstar!reader. I was going back and forth between Rooster and Phoenix, but this anon suggested Bob with a rekindled childhood best friend and I thought that was the bullseye. Once again feel free to imagine your friends as your bandmates, I just gave names to make it easier to write. I do not own any of the song or pop culture references, this is for fictional purposes. Let me know what you think! - Bee 🐝

Songs that are real life songs, but are used as ‘your’ songs in this imagine: ‘1985’ by Bowling For Soup, ‘Iris’ by the Goo Goo Dolls, ‘Some Nights,’ by Fun, ‘Pompeii’ by Bastille, ‘Payphone,’ by Maroon 5, ‘Let’s Get Lost,’ by Bats for Lashes & Beck, ‘Where Do Broken Hearts Go’ & ‘Little Black Dress’ by One Direction.

——————————————————

Lt. Robert Floyd had seen a lot in his 37 years of life. Growing up on the plains of Montana, there wasn’t much for him until it came time to leave for college. There, life seemed to pass by quicker than the night sky. He’d experienced the hype of a Navy vs Army football game, getting wasted to the point he hated alcohol. Endless nights of studying that paid off when he received not only his diploma but also the rank of Ensign in the U.S. Navy. Then there was that time he nearly married his college sweetheart only to end things weeks before the wedding because he realized his heart belonged to someone else. In his career Bob pulled Gs with his pilot against the speed of sound in an F-18 and most recently, dogfighting SAMs out of enemy territory.

But no words could describe what Bob felt as he stood on the floor of Madison Square Garden with the people he called his best friends, waiting for the appearance of his one true love on stage.

The love that was once thought to be impossible, until fate was like, “These souls belong together. Once the time is right, I will work my magic.”

17 years prior in 2005, Bob was certain he’d never get the chance to tell Y/n L/n he had loved her since they were fifteen years old after hearing her voice on the radio.

“That was Kelly Clarkson’s ‘Since U Been Gone,’ part of her Grammy nominated album Breakaway released last summer. Clarkson is the favorite to win the award for ‘Album of the Year’ at next year’s Grammys. Up next is a new group recently signed to Capitol Records….here is ‘1985’ by, funny enough, The 1985s”

Something about the name of the group and title of the song had an odd feeling swirl through the then college student. Driving the car he was in was his roomate Derek and their buddy Adrian along with Derek’s girlfriend Willow.

Nothing could’ve prepared Bob for the voice coming through the speakers, the lyrics bringing back the memory of when she showed him the paper with them written down in her semi-sloppy handwriting.

“Debbie just hit the wall, she never had it all.”

“One Prozac a day, husband’s a CPA.”

“Bob, you okay?” Adrian tapped him on the shoulder, “You look a little pale.”

“Her dreams went out the door when she turned twenty-four.”

“Only been with one man, what happened to her plan?”

“This has a good beat,” Willow bopped her head.

“She was gonna be an actress, she was gonna be a star.”

“She was gonna shake her ass on the hood of Whitesnake’s car.”

“My mom could definitely relate to that,” Derek joked, stopping at a red light. He too was enjoying the song. It gave that classic rock feel that the 80s music his parents listened to had. Nowadays Hip-Hop and Pop are becoming the main genres of music on the radio.

“Her yellow SUV is now the enemy.”

“Looks at her average life and nothin’,” *guitar riff* “has been,” *guitar riff* “alright.”

Bob, who’s eyes were wide and heart racing, breathed in awe, “No way.”

“Since Bruce Springsteen, Madonna,”

“Way before Nirvana,”

“There was U2 and Blondie,”

“And music still on MTV.”

“Her two kids in high school,”

“They tell her that she’s uncool.”

“‘Cause she’s still preoccupied,”

Tears spring in Bob’s eyes, wiping them away before his friends could see when Y/n sang the final line of the chorus.

“With 19, 19…1985.”

That was how the future naval aviator discovered his childhood best friend had accomplished her dream. Breaking into the music industry. It’d been nearly four years since he’d seen Y/n, the two parting ways after her father took an accounting job in California, uprooting the teenager and her family from their home state of Montana.

They’d grown up on the same street, both their moms teaching at the elementary school. The two had pretty much gone through every grade together considering their school was small with few teachers. Every year they were in the same class, often sitting next to each other and spending time after school on the playground while their moms finished up for the day. Bob spent nearly every moment with Y/n as kids, becoming best friends when they were only five years old. But it wasn’t until the boy was twelve that he realized what a crush was….and boy did he have one on her.

Cherishing their friendship, poor Bob didn’t say anything about his surfacing feelings for his best friend. Even when the news of her moving was announced when they were 16, Bob remained quiet. It pained him to do so but he’d rather have her in his life than risk losing her if she didn’t feel the same.

In all the years Bob Floyd knew Y/n L/n, music was her life. It consumed her entire being with the young girl always humming a tune or singing along on the radio. When she was given a keyboard and guitar for Christmas, Y/n self-taught herself how to play until they could afford to put her in lessons. Then there were the notebooks.

At first it started as sticky notes with a verse or two, then it turned into loose pages of lyrics before finally the teenager wrote them all into notebooks. Anytime inspiration came to Y/n she was writing it down on whatever she could find. Napkins at a restaurant, receipts from her mother’s grocery run, hell even on her arm Y/n was writing lyrics so she wouldn’t forget. Sometimes she’d have the whole song complete before settling on a title, or a catchy title would come to mind but the lyrics would take time. Bob would always get annoyed when she’d steal his pen from out of his hand, but would let it go, understanding she had to write it down before she lost it.

At a football game he witnessed her unable to find a pen in time to write something on her arm before the lyric faded away. The teenager nearly sobbed right there in the middle of the stands, face in her hands as though to will herself to remember. “Are you okay,” Bob whispered, to which he received a sad groan.

“No….please don’t interrupt my thinking. I’m having a crisis, Robby.”

Y/n’s mom, who mentally still lived in the 80s, was the inspiration for her song ‘1985’, Y/n wrote at 15. Bob could still remember the day she raced up to their reserved lunch table, planting the paper in front of him, “Read this,” she was out of breath, but smiling nonetheless. Picking it up, Bob adjusted his glasses and let his eyes read over the words scribbled down that were separated into: intro, verse 1, chorus, verse 2, chorus, bridge, chorus, & outro.

“Wow,” he reads over the lyrics again, brows raised and feeling a connection to the song. It wasn’t hard to pick up on the fact it was likely titled ‘1985,’ which also happened to be the year they were born. “This is amazing, Y/n. Almost like….wait is this about your mom?” As her best friend growing up, Y/n’s mother was like a second mom to him….so Bob knew her obsession with the 80s and how she had plans to be an actress before she and her high school sweetheart, Y/n’s father, got married after college and had Y/n when they were 24. Then they had her siblings afterward and both changed their course of careers in order to raise them. The line that said ‘husband’s a CPA,’ is what really gave it away considering her father was an accountant. Debbie wasn’t her mother’s name, but even a rocket scientist could piece it together Debbie represented her.

Glancing up, he sees her guilty expression, offering a light shrug. “Is it that obvious?”

Bob never forgot that song. Even with all the ones Y/n showed him afterwards and when they lost touch two years after she moved, he never once forgot the song, ‘1985’.

It was a sad day when she told him the news. They were halfway through junior year, college applications around the corner and setting up for SATs/ACTs when she dropped the bomb, “My dad’s being transferred to California.”

The Coca-Cola he’d been drinking nearly went all over his steering wheel when he coughed, her words sending him into shock. “W-what-you’re moving?!”

“Next month,” she mumbled, head down to hide her face from his view. “My dad is there now looking at places for us. In the meantime Mom is dealing with the house while also applying to schools in the area my dad’s gonna be working.”

“Where?” Bob asks after a moment of silence, allowing him to fully process the news.

His best friend—who he was in love with—was leaving him.

Y/n sighed before replying with a sad chuckle, “Los Angeles. You know I would feel excited, seeing it was my plan to move to L.A after graduation, but I just can’t bring myself to.”

“Why?” Bob says softly with a frown, “This is your dream, Y/n. All you’ve wanted was to go there and audition for American Idol—or whatever that singing show is.” He was trying really hard to cheer her up, pushing down his heartbreak all the while. “This is your chance.”

“Yeah, but….” She glanced out the window, “what if it doesn’t work out? I don’t even know if I wanna go to college—which my mom still scolds me every time she gets the chance because she thinks I’m a fool to wanna pursue music. You know how it is,” Y/n gives Bob a knowing look, “she thinks of her life and wants me to go to school before selling my life away to a 9-5. I know she’s looking out for me, but God, let me make my own mistakes.” Her head leans on the window, “If it doesn't work out then that’s on me. But I’m not gonna give it up just because it seems out of reach. That’s what back up plans are for.”

Silence fills the car, the two letting their thoughts wonder. “Promise me something, Robby.”

“Anything,” he doesn’t hesitate.

“Promise me that even though I’m leaving, we’ll still be best friends. We’ll still write letters or talk on the phone…just don’t give up on me.”

Taking her hand in his, hoping she doesn’t feel the slight tremor as the words he so desperately wants to say are on the tip of his tongue, Bob gives her a look of love which she likely would believe is one of sincerity, “you’re my best friend, Y/n. I believe you will accomplish everything you set your mind to. When you make it big, I’ll be cheering you on every second and until then, we’ll talk every day if we have to,” he makes a face after thinking, “though maybe narrow it down to once a week so my mom doesn’t kill me for the phone bill.”

That makes Y/n laugh before reaching over the console to hug him. Arms go around his neck while his one arm awkwardly wraps around her side.

“I love you, Robby,” she tells him, sending his heart soaring. “You’re the only person I can count on in this whole damn world.”

“I love you too, Y/n.” ‘More than what you could possibly know.’ “I’ll always be here for you. Forever.”

He never thought he’d break that promise. But around the time of graduation things became so hectic in Bob’s life on top of the fact he was hurting. Hurting because he loved Y/n, and anytime they would talk on the phone or send letters he was reminded of the fact she was in California while he was stuck in Montana and they could never be together. Bob felt the only way he could save his heart and move on from that love was by cutting contact. It was his fault and he knew it when the letters eventually stopped coming and the phone stopped ringing every Friday. His mother could only relay an excuse to the girl so many times before Y/n eventually gave up. The last letter she sent him came two months after their last phone call, “So much for always being there, Robby. Have a good life, I hope it treats you well. -Y/n.”

He didn’t know what happened to her until two years later when ‘1985’ played for the first time on the radio for the whole world to hear. Tears lined his eyes, the man having to look out the window away from his friends. The flooding of emotion was overpowering, forming a sob in his throat.

She did it. She’s on the radio like she always dreamed.

“That was ‘1985’ the debut single of incoming rock band, The 1985s. Hits the nostalgia I gotta say—I feel we’re looking at some fresh new faces to the scene. Can’t wait to see what they have to offer in the future.”

The prediction of the radio host came true, when in 2006 the group released their debut album Established in 1985. Like their name, it referenced the year all members were born in which included frontwoman and occasional guitar player Y/n L/n, bassist Thomas Quinn, guitarist Farrah Cortez, drummer Xavier Hernandez, and keyboardist Pepper Renolds. All met at the University of California Los Angeles, and funny enough none were students in the music program. They were all in STEM/humanities with Y/n studying sociology with a minor in music, meeting the others when they formed a study group after they all had the same prerequisite classes their second semester.

It was at one of their meetups that Y/n couldn’t help but sing along to Journey’s ‘Faithfully’ and The Who’s ‘We Don’t Get Fooled Again,’ as they played on the little radio in the corner. “Damn Y/n,” Thomas looked amazed, “You got a voice, girl. How come you’re not studying music?”

“Same reason why you aren’t—don’t give me that look, Quinn, I saw that bass in your place when we were there last week.”

Next thing they knew Pepper mentioned she was a pianist who was progressing onto keyboard. Then Farrah said she played guitar and Xavier smirked, “all y’all need is a drummer and you can be a band….oh wait, have I ever told y’all I play drums?”

And thus, the 1985’s were born.

Months were dedicated to them building their sound and learning to be a band all while keeping up with their school work. Y/n was the brain behind all their songs, literally dropping the pile of notebooks onto the table one day saying, “I’ve got at least four albums worth of songs in these…maybe even more.” Working little by little they eventually got the tunes for several that they knew they’d want to release first if they managed to get discovered. MySpace was just starting out and Y/n took it upon herself to be bold, creating a profile for them. She listed her information since they didn’t have a band email set up. That would hopefully come in the future.

It was on MySpace that their lives changed forever.

Roughly after a year of working nonstop to create songs and develop their sound, the band uploaded a video onto the platform for ‘1985,’ in May of 2004. It almost looked like a music video, teaming up with students from the drama programs who were in need of doing their end of semester project. They had someone play Debbie, her husband, the two kids, and a group of extras. Even the yellow SUV Y/n’s mom drove was used as well as a poster of Duran Duran for the line in the second verse. The band would be in clips throughout the video, Y/n singing and playing the guitar. It took them the whole night spray painting a makeshift logo of ‘The 1985’s’ onto Xavier’s drum set.

When they first uploaded the video they were all like, “Even if no one sees it, this was still fun as hell to make.”

But little did they know it was going to be seen by many eyes…..including an executive of Capitol Records.

Y/n was just coming home from her shift at a local diner when she checked her email, dropping the water bottle in her hand and letting out an ear-piercing scream that woke her roommates.

“Y/n, my name is Martin Plaza and I’m a talent exec at Capitol Records. A member of my team came across your video on MySpace and we were impressed by your band and song, ‘1985’. We’d like to set up a meeting if you all are interested and please bring any demos you may have. Email me back as soon as possible or give me a call using the number listed below. Hope to hear from you soon. Regards, Martin Plaza.”

Y/n and the group could hardly contain their reaction at the meeting when Martin and a few members of Capitol Records were visibly pleased with what they were hearing. With so many songs they had recorded, they settled on bringing five, including ‘1985,’ and ‘Some Nights,’ which they were planning on uploading to MySpace next.

Martin and the team had excused themselves briefly before returning with the offer: a six year contract with Capitol Records releasing at least three albums during that period.

You can bet your ass they agreed. Signing their names before the sun could set on the horizon.

Champagne popped that night with Y/n crying against the receiver of her pink Motorola as she informed the news to her family. Her mother cried with her, her dad celebrating in the background while her siblings were like, “Don’t forget me when you become famous, sis.” What made her sad though after the call ended was when she went to dial Robby’s number, only to close the phone with a sigh. It’d been over a year since they last spoke, Y/n unsure where he even was or if he had a cell phone. The only number she knew was his home phone.

Curiosity and slight anger rising, Y/n dialed the number saved as his home landline, not surprised when his mother answered. “Y/n! Why hello, darling, I wasn’t expecting your call tonight.”

“Hi, Mrs. Floyd,” she sniffed, feeling tears prick in her eyes again. Y/n was not used to addressing the older woman by her last name. It felt awkward now to call her by her first. “I know he’s probably not going to come to the phone…but if Robby—Robert is there, could I…could I just speak with him please? It’s important.”

“Oh honey,” that was enough to indicate it wouldn’t happen. Y/n looked up to the sky, heart breaking in two at the fact her so called best friend, who she loved more than anything in the world, had completely discarded her. “Robert is uhh—he’s at the Naval Academy, sweetheart, I can give you his email or cell number—.”

“No-no-no,” Y/n interrupted, stunned by the news. “It’s fine. Uh, just never mind.”

“Honey—.”

“Sorry to bother you so late, Mrs. Floyd. Take care and thank you for your help.” Placing the phone in her pocket, Y/n allowed the tears to flow freely before moving back inside to where the party was. Only she could hardly enjoy it now. Instead she let her feet carry her over to the notebook placed on her backpack, removing a pen hastily from the pencil pouch and scribbling down the lyrics that were screaming in her head. The words that took over the paper went onto become their Grammy award winning singles, ‘Iris,’ and ‘Payphone.’ Iris became so popular it was used in several movies and tv shows after its release in 2006, earning the band the Grammy for ‘Record of the Year,’ to go along with their ‘Best Rock Performance by a Duo/Group’ and ‘Album of the Year’, three MTV moonmen including ‘Video of the Year’ and the American Music Award for ‘Song of the Year.’ Payphone was just as successful, topping the Billboard Hot 100 for 20 consecutive weeks and winning just as many awards as Iris.

Anytime the songs played on the radio or wherever he was, Bob had to change the station or frown until it ended. Deep down, he could feel they were about him—hurting him even more at the realization Payphone was basically saying how Y/n loved him and was trying to move on. Just in the way Y/n sang combined with the lyrics telling a story, it was obvious he had broken her heart. And they weren’t even together. They were just best friends…..who were too stupid enough to not admit their feelings for each other.

His senior year of college Y/n and the group were starting to become big, all the members taking a break from college in order to build their careers as musicians. Often Bob would check in to see how Y/n was, tuning into award shows to watch them perform. Pride and awe filled him watching her sing, living her dream just as he believed she would. He hated that he broke his word to her, and it seemed to affect Y/n whenever she performed Iris and Payphone, putting every ounce of emotion into each lyric.

At 21 Bob had finally entered a relationship with a nice girl from the Naval Academy. The possibility of him reuniting with Y/n was long out of the picture and his friends were getting on him to finally break out of his shell. They had no idea of his connection to the rockstar, but they could tell anytime they were on the radio Bob’s demeanor changed. Abby, a sweet pre-law student at the Naval Academy, was his first serious commitment, the two bonding over similar interests and plans for the future. Hope rose at what it could hold.

Until she and their friends decided they wanted to go see The 1985’s concert.

It was 2007, they’d just graduated and were commissioned to the rank of Ensign’s waiting to be shipped off to their respective duty stations. And Bob was engaged…..but he hadn’t really proposed in the traditional way. It was more of Abby pointing out if they wanted to get stationed together then it was best for them to get married and he just agreed. But a big part of him was hesitant to go through with it.

The news of Abby and their friends' desire to go to the concert made his stomach drop and head spin. Still in Maryland, they had gotten tickets to the show in New York at Madison Square Garden which was only a couple hours away. Abby had went ahead and got them as a surprise for Bob, not telling him until the day before the show.

“You guys go,” Bob initially said, praying she couldn’t pick up on the anxiety in his voice. “I—uh—I’ve got some things to get done—.”

“What things?” She scoffed, shaking her head as she laid out the outfit she planned to wear. “School is over, you aren’t planning to see your family until next week, and you don’t leave for flight school till the end of summer. What could you possibly do tomorrow night, Bobby?” He mentally cringed at the nickname, unconsciously thinking of how Y/n would call him Robby.

This wasn’t a good idea and he knew it. Already he was starting to think of her again. More and more by the second. Feelings were resurfacing, and Bob was fighting them hard. If he saw her on stage it was only going to confirm what he already knew.

That Y/n owned his heart. And no one else would have it. Not even Abby.

In the end, Bob found himself on the floor of Madison Square Garden of all places, wondering just how the hell their friends managed to get the area. The band was touring for their debut album, selling out within seconds and what made it more historic were they managed to get The Garden in their first ever tour. Usually groups/artists had years before they played at the Garden, settling for smaller venues in New York, but the 1985’s had become sensations.

The entire time they waited for the band Bob’s hands were shaking, the man unable to contain his tremor with each minute. Abby asked at one point, but brushed it off as him being excited when he didn’t give her an answer.

He was a little excited….but mostly fucking terrified.

Especially because they were very close to the stage. Like if one of the members happened to walk close to where they were standing they’d be spotted.

Bob should’ve fucking knocked on wood.

When the band came out Madison Square Garden erupted, Y/n belting out the lyrics to their opening number, looking like an actual dream. Her look was more of a modern take on rock n roll but still looked classic. Black leather adorned her body with cutouts to showcase some skin, arms covered in ink from the various tattoos and hips rolling to the beat of the drums causing the crowd to go crazy.

Y/n really knew how to work the stage and make it her bitch.

Bob was mesmerized. Utterly speechless as his eyes glued to the woman he once called his best friend. All he could do was stand there and stare, while willing his heart to calm down by how fast it was beating.

It was to be a two hour show at the least, and Bob didn’t know if he wanted to leave as quickly as he could or wishing the show would last forever. Seeing Y/n up close and performing before a crowd made him feel things he didn’t know were possible. Her dazzling smile, dancing across the stage and playing the guitar was everything he could’ve dreamed for her.

He loved her. Bottom line, Bob loved Y/n like no other.

When their eyes connected 30 minutes before the concert ended, causing Y/n to drop the microphone and throw her off for the remainder of the concert, Bob knew he couldn’t marry Abby.

He wasn’t sure if Y/n recognized him at first, but the rockstar had approached the side he was standing at to interact with the crowd when her gaze landed on his. Eyes widening, Y/n literally dropped the microphone causing the impact to echo through the speakers. Bob’s cheeks went bright red, unable to look away in their 2-second staring contest until Y/n blinked rapidly and cursed.

“Shit,” he saw her mouth as soon as the microphone hit the platform, bending down quickly to pick it up. “Sorry about that guys,” she nervously laughed, eyes glancing at Bob as though to make sure they weren’t deceiving her. A sharp intake of breath indicated she realized it wasn’t a trick. Walking backwards until she was back to the middle of the stage where the band was, Y/n’s tone became flustered, “U-uh, we only got a couple songs left in the show. We’re gonna take a quick five minute break so just hang tight.”

Bob could see the looks of concern from her friends/bandmates as she ran off stage, the group following behind. His heart dropped, rubbing a hand over his face to calm down the anxiety in his veins.

“What the hell was that about?” Derek laughed, “It was like she saw a ghost or something.” Everyone besides Bob agreed, none seeing the way Abby was staring at him with an unreadable expression.

When the band returned for the final act Y/n did her best to not look at the section Bob was in. Unlike everyone else in attendance, the Navy officer could pick up on the fact she was more tense than at the start of the show. Her voice shook lightly when delivering the lyrics to ‘Iris’, although it was as though she was putting more emotion than ever into the song, bringing tears to Bob’s eyes. Y/n also appeared to hold back tears, quickly transitioning the song to their next to avoid breaking down.

‘1985’ was the last in their set, everyone in MSG jumping up and down to the chorus and screaming the lyrics. Y/n smiled the entire time, finally letting a tear slip when the concert came to an end. To everyone it may have looked like the rockstar was overwhelmed with emotion at the fact she just played Madison Square Garden before a sold out crowd. But for Robert Floyd, he knew those tears were because of him.

Especially when they connected eyes again, Y/n’s lip quivering before turning away to hide her face. When she walked off with the band Bob felt his heart go with her.

“You’re hiding something,” Abby said with a soft tone when they arrived back home late that night. It was nearly 3 in the morning, the concert having ended at 11.

Bob tilted his head back, eyes closing to block off the rest of the world, “Please, let’s not do this.” He just wanted to go to bed and sleep the night away.

“You know, I always wondered why your knuckles would tighten around the steering wheel when their songs played on the radio, or why you look like you wanna cry anytime I sing ‘Iris’ at karaoke, why you can’t even look at me when I do,” she lists off, voice slightly rising. “Then there’s that box of letters you hide in the closet. And….and the photo album you won’t even let me look at. We’ve been together for a year, and you have not once told me you loved me.” By now Abby’s voice wavered, sniffing as she continued.

“I’ve been a fan of The 1985’s for close to a year now, but it wasn’t until tonight I actually read up on them. On Y/n…..” she saw how his body reacted, confirming her suspicion even more. “How she was living in L.A when they got discovered, but she grew up somewhere else…..She’s from Montana. The same town as you, Robert.”

“That’s just a coincidence—.”

“She went to the same high school as you!” Abby shouted, pushing off the wall she was leaning against. “You told me your town had less than four-thousand people—and only one high school. She would’ve gone there, Robert—in fact it said her mom was a teacher at the elementary school. The same one your mom taught at!”

By now Bob had enough, mouth tightening as he spoke calmly to his ‘fiancé’, “What do you want to know, Abby?”

“Who was she to you? Don’t fucking say shit like ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’—I saw her look at you,” tears pricked in her blue eyes. “How she looked like she’d been punched straight through the heart. She fucking dropped the microphone—and looked like she wanted to faint! Like you were a walking ghost. And you….you looked the same.” Pausing, she thought back to his face at the concert. There was no doubt Y/n and him had locked eyes, she heard him audibly react despite the noise.

“You looked like someone with deep regret. Someone who longed for a second chance. You looked like someone in love, Robert. Never have you looked at me that way.” Abby waited for him to respond, but Bob was unable to speak, expression unreadable causing her heart to break.

“Just please,” she breathed out, “tell me the truth, Bob. What was she to you?”

Silence filled the room, causing the tension to rise. It stayed that way until Bob finally sighed, face falling as he admitted what she already knew.

“She was everything. She is everything.”

When it came time to ship out two months later Bob was not the married man he expected to be. In all honesty, he was relieved. That night the argument had ended with Bob telling Abby he couldn’t marry her—he’d be hurting her even more if he followed through with it. Never could he love her the way he did Y/n and wouldn't put her through that. Going their separate ways was for the best. Even though he’d likely never be with Y/n, no one could compare to her.

Abby was angry as one could expect but part of her knew it was for the best. What good was it getting into a loveless marriage? She almost resented the rockstar, feeling like she could never enjoy the 1985’s anymore knowing the man she thought she spent the rest of her life with was hopelessly in love with his former best friend, who was the frontwoman of her favorite band. But then Abby took some time to think, and felt her heart break for Bob. She couldn’t imagine what it was like loving someone you couldn’t have.

Ending their engagement and agreeing to be friends, Bob told stories about growing up with Y/n—even bringing out the letters and photo album for her to see. It amazed the woman, flipping through the pages to see the singer when she was a child and teenager. It was almost funny to see how polar opposites the two best friends were, Y/n with her 80s band t-shirts and ripped jeans next to a Bob in his cowboy hat and flannels. As teenagers Y/n dabbled more in the grunge makeup. One photo made Abby laugh as it showed Bob with black eyeliner and glitter on his cheeks.

Coming across the end of the album was a half of a ‘Best Friends Forever’ necklace taped to the page. Abby frowned, “What happened between the two of you?”

This was a question he never thought he’d answer, thinking he’d go the rest of his life without anyone finding out his history with Y/n.

“After she moved we stayed in contact for about two years. We’d call every Friday—send letters from time to time ....” He paused, biting his lip as the frown took over. “But I stopped responding and answering.”

“Why?”

“It hurt too much,” he admitted, hating the way his heart clenched. “I never said anything because I didn’t want to lose what we had,” he looked to the ground, “but then it just became too overwhelming and I thought if we….if we drifted apart then I eventually could move on.”

Abby is silent, glancing at the picture of him and Y/n before looking back at the necklace, “Wanna hear something, Bob? Something you probably won’t believe, but I promise you it’s more likely than you think?” He looks up from the floor, brow raised slightly.

“What?”

“I think Y/n loves you.”

“Not in the way you think, Abby,” Bob deflects with a shake of the head. “And she definitely doesn’t anymore—she hates me no doubt.”

“No, listen to me,” she closes the album, setting it aside. “When did you two stop talking?”

“Around fall of 2003,” he tells her, look of regret in his visage, “in 2004 was the last time she phoned the house.”

Abby thinks back in her research of the band, shoulders dropping slightly, “That’s when they got signed to Capitol Records. ‘Payphone’ and ‘Iris’ came out last year, but Y/n said in an interview she wrote them the night they were signed—which had people confused because they’re sad songs that were written on a night that was supposed to be happy. Don’t you see?” She waves her hand at his now confused gaze, making her huff. “She probably had called your house hoping to tell you the news! Anyone who hears those songs knows it’s about heartbreak. And not the type of heartbreak you get by a friendship disintegrating, Bob. That’s the heartbreak when someone you love with your entire soul hurts you.”

“Abby please,” Bob pleads with her, water lining his eyes. Falling silent the woman leans away, solemn in her expression.

“All I’m saying is she loved you more than you think. And judging by her reaction to you tonight, I think I’m right when I say Y/n would give anything for you to talk to her again…..”

For years Bob thought about what Abby had told him that night they broke up. It kept him up at night especially when The 1985’s came up that day either in conversation or on the radio. There were times he was tempted to write a letter, but life would get crazy with the Navy and then in 2011 he was invited to Top Gun.

Devastated couldn’t even be the right word to describe how Bob felt when it was revealed Y/n had eloped with a Hollywood heartthrob. Not a fan of social media, Bob had just returned back to his squadron after graduating from Top Gun to turn on E! News where they were covering the story.

“Wedding bells are in store for rockstar Y/n L/n of The 1985s and actor Enrique Lorenzo from The Walking Dead. The two have been spotted throughout the year looking cozy at award shows and Lorenzo attending The 1985’s concerts in L.A and Atlanta. An inside source has gotten word the two applied for a marriage license two days ago and earlier this morning had a private ceremony with close friends and family in West Hollywood. Neither has confirmed if they have in fact tied the knot, but I would keep your eyes out. In the meantime, congratulations to the happy couple and we’re looking forward to seeing Y/n’s ring.”

It seemed like all the air had left Bob, turning off the tv in a flash but still pointing the remote as he stood stunned. Then his phone buzzed with messages.

“Honey, just checking in. Call me when you get home,” was from his mom, trying to avoid the obvious elephant and would rather discuss it over the phone.

“Have you heard the news?” Abby wrote. “I’m so sorry, Bob.” He actually appreciated that she wasn’t walking on eggshells. That she was upfront with him. Though it’d been over four years since their breakup, and Abby was now married with children, the two remained friends and often checked in with each other occasionally.

“It was bound to happen some time,” he replied before turning off his phone so he couldn’t receive any more messages.

The rest of the night he was pretty much a walking shell, then as the years went on Bob closed himself off. Hardly did he date, and when he did they only lasted a few months before the girls realized he was not ready for the commitment they were wanting. Some understood, others were more aggressive when spitting out their feelings. Never did he admit why he couldn’t love them the way they wanted. The only people who knew who his heart belonged to were Abby and his family.

2015 Bob was transferred to Lemoore when the news broke that Y/n and Enrique had divorced after nearly four years of marriage, however, they had been secretly separated for almost a year before it was finalized. Cursing mentally, Bob couldn’t help but feel a slight relief—which was completely fucked up knowing Y/n was going through a difficult time and here he was silently celebrating, as though he really had a chance now to make things right.

That should’ve been his sign to call her mother and ask for Y/n’s number, with the hope she’d give it to him. But then Bob felt it was too soon. Her divorce had just been finalized, he didn’t know the exact reason despite the former couple citing irreconcilable differences. Whatever it was, Bob wasn’t sure he wanted to know but at the same time couldn’t help but be curious.

He’d get his answer almost two years later in January of 2017 when he flew home to Montana to celebrate his birthday. It was his 32nd and his mother literally begged him to come home so they could all be together now that Bob’s sister had recently had twins and were there to visit. Wanting to meet his nieces, the WSO relented and booked a flight for the weekend after confirming his leave.

Suspicion filled him with the way his family was acting when he arrived. Almost like they were excited but nervous, which only confused the officer. He was in his service khakis, pulling his cap off when they got inside and removing his windbreaker before setting it on the coat rack.

That’s when he saw the black suitcase in the corner.

“Who’s is that?” He asked with a raised brow, noticing his mother slightly tense. It wasn’t a luggage he recognized as one of theirs, and it was as though it had just been placed there.

And his sister had already unpacked in her old room. So it wasn’t hers.

Blushing, his mother tried to find the right words, “Oh-um, It’s—.”

“It’s mine.”

32 years had gone by in Bob’s life and never did he think he’d experience anything close to cardiac arrest. But hearing Y/n’s voice, so close as though she was behind him, made him think he was about to die right then and there.

Then he turned around, slowly, heart beating so fast it was about to explode from his chest, and she was there. Standing at the end of the staircase in a beautiful black leather dress with matching knee high boots, her hair slicked back into a bun and minimal makeup showcasing her gorgeous face.

She was ethereal. Absolutely breathtaking.

The last time he saw her in person was when they were 22, before that was 16. Here she was a grown woman who’d been through a hell of a life. She looked beyond gorgeous, and Bob felt the heat rise to his cheeks.

Only her gaze was not as warm as the emotions Bob was feeling. Honestly he felt like he could be six feet in the ground with how she was looking at him. Betrayal, heartbreak, anger, but underneath it there was love and hope.

“Hello, Robert.”

He didn’t even know how to react. All he could do was stand there, speechless with his mouth slightly agape. Eventually he just breathed out, “Y/n.”

Stoic, Y/n glanced at his mother, “Mrs. Floyd, could you please give us a moment.”

“Of course,” the older woman nodded, bidding her son a glance, “We’ll all be out on the porch.”

Nodding in thanks, Y/n waited until she and everyone in the house had moved outside before facing Bob again. Chills ran up his arms when she let her eyes trail over his figure, remaining emotionless.

An awkward silence passed, neither really knowing what to say. Bob was hesitant to break it, hoping she would but Y/n just continued to stare at him. Both unable to form the words.

Finally he tried to say, “y-you uhh, wow.” He swore he heard her scoff under her breath.

“Yeah, wow,” her tone broke his heart, but then again Bob couldn’t blame her. After all, he’s the reason they drifted apart. When he didn’t reply, instead glancing to the ground, she scoffed louder, “That’s all you can really say? ‘Wow’? After thirteen years, Robert, all you have to fucking say to me is ‘wow’? No, ‘I’m sorry,’ no ‘I can explain everything.’”

Anxiety rising, Bob sighed which only made her angrier. “Y/n, I-I—.”

She couldn’t stop herself, “Why?” The question haunted her for over a decade. “Why did you just throw me away like trash—a-after everything we’d been through? You owe me the reason why you broke your word to me and made me feel like shit. I have waited and waited for years, Robert, hoping you would call or send a letter but now I’ve had enough so you can’t run away from me now. So start talking.”

“Y/n, I didn’t mean for y-you to feel like that,” he tried to explain, but the words were not the best, causing her to explode.

“How else was it supposed to make me feel!?” She threw her hands out. “That’s how it came off as to me! ‘All always be here for you,’ my ass, Robert. You remember telling me that? It was only two years—two years of us doing so well with the distance—I was even planning on surprising you for fucking Christmas and then it was just gone in the blink of an eye,” snapping her fingers, Y/n emphasized her point. “No explanation, no warning. Nothing to tell me you didn’t want to be friends anymore, having your mom give me excuse after excuse why you wouldn't come to the phone.” She pauses to calm herself, her tone kept rising with each word.

Bob takes the moment to speak, “It’s…Y/n, you have to understand it was never my intention to hurt you,” when she made a sound of, ‘yeah right,’ he rushed out, “Please! I fucked up, I know I did and I’ve regretted every second of it since then—and as much as I wanted to reach out and apologize, explain to why it happened…I just felt so ashamed and then I heard you on the radio,” a sad smile comes to his lips, seeing her stiffen at the mention of her debut. “And when I heard your voice, I just thought that was it. You didn’t need me anymore and believed you would forget about me eventually.”

“Forget about you?” Her tone went soft, eyes glistening. “You were my best friend—since we were fucking five, Robert!” He flinched, shame filling his veins. “We did everything together, I shared everything with you. My music—some of which were inspired by the fucking things we did,” the confession had his eyes widened a bit, “You think I would just forget all of that? Thirteen years worth of friendship down the drain? Sorry, but I’m not like you—I wouldn’t just ditch the only person I trusted most in this world because I was starting to become something. Did your mom tell you I called?” She suddenly asked, not letting him answer before she was ranting again, “It was almost a year after you threw me to the winds. The night I fucking met with Capitol Records and got offered the opportunity of a lifetime….I wanted to share that with you. Despite the fact we hadn’t talked for almost a goddamn year, I desperately wanted to hear your voice and tell you I did it,” her voice cracked at the end, causing tears to prick in Bob’s eyes at the sight she was fighting back her own.

“That I did it,” Y/n held back the sob threatening to escape. “You were the only one who believed in me, and I couldn’t even share that with you. Because you didn’t want me in your life anymore—and you know what that’s okay. Friendships come and go, but you couldn’t even give me the fucking respect to tell me. And then you come to my show!” Now she was shouting, “Yeah I know that was you, don’t even try to deny it. It may have been four years at that time but I know damn well that was you in New York. I cannot fucking believe you would come to my show and not even tell me! And then to not reach out after was a fucking slap to my face.” Her breathing was starting to get heavy, the woman pressing her fingers to the bridge of her nose.

“I don’t even recognize you honestly. The Robert I knew would’ve never hurt me like you did. He would’ve at least shown me some respect. He wouldn't leave me to wonder what I did wrong.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he said sternly.

“Well it doesn’t feel that way now does it?” She said just as harsh, “Why?”

“Y/n, it’s complicated,” he put his hands to his neck, looking at the ceiling as he started to lose composure.

“Then tell me why!”

“Because I fucking love you that’s why!”

The words had left Bob’s mouth before he could stop himself. Silence ignited, the WSO covering his mouth with a hand as he went pale, staring at Y/n whose own mouth was parted. The confession had hit her full blast, causing her to stumble back as though she physically felt them possess her. A shaky hand came to her own mouth, looking away from the man when her eyes closed allowing the tears to spill on her cheeks.

“I love you,” Bob whispered, mirroring her expression. “I’ve loved you since we were fifteen, Y/n. I knew I felt something when we were twelve, but I just brushed it off thinking I was confused. But then I couldn’t stop thinking about you—and what we could have. But I didn’t want to lose you if you didn’t feel the same.” Opening his eyes, they locked on hers. God even when she cried she looked beautiful. “When you left…I thought it would be easier to move on. But then we talked every week and the feelings wouldn’t go away. No matter how much I tried. You took my heart with you to L.A. and you’ve had it ever since.”

He waited for her to respond, chest on fire with how bad his heart was racing. Fingertips were going numb as Bob stared at her with pleading eyes. “I’m sorry. I can’t go back in time and change it as much as I wish I could. Please know, Y/n, I’m so fucking sorry. I’m so fucking sorry for hurting you. I won’t ask for your forgiveness because I don’t deserve it. I won’t blame you if you walk out that door and we never see each other again. But just when you do, know that I’m truly, deeply, sorry.”

Time seemed to slow now with the two adults staring at each other. Now that it was all out in the open, Y/n seemed to be processing the whole thing. Bob couldn’t tell what she was thinking. Unbeknownst to him, Y/n’s brain was screaming, as was her heart. Lips quivering, the woman sniffed.

“You love me?”

“I do,” Bob signed after a moment. He no longer could keep it in, feeling the immense relief at being able to finally say it aloud.

“For years?”

“Almost seventeen.”

“Seventeen,” she repeated with an unreadable tone. “Y-you, I thought—your mom told me you were engaged.”

“That was in college,” he explained softly. “She was at the show with me that night. Saw how we reacted to each other and realized things I tried to hide. I ended things with her—I couldn’t trap her in a marriage that would make her unhappy—make me unhappy. She understood after a while and we stayed friends.” Bob rubbed his jaw, adding, “everyone else that came along was the same. I couldn’t love them the way they wanted me to. My heart wouldn’t allow it.”

Y/n leaned her head against the wall behind her, gazing at the ceiling, “A-and you were just going to go through life alone? Never planning to settle or be happy?”

“What good would it be hurting someone by committing to them when I couldn’t offer everything they would give me in return. They could love me, but I couldn’t love them, Y/n, and that’s unfair.” He wiped away a tear that slipped from his eye, no doubt his irises were red, “I’d rather be alone than do that to someone.”

She took a sharp inhale at that, more tears falling. “You should’ve told me,” her voice cracked, making him look away. Only to freeze when she said in almost a whisper, “Because we could’ve had all this time.”

“Wh-what?” Was his mind playing tricks on him? Or did she really just say what he thought she did?

Y/n chuckled, but it was more of laughing at how sad the situation was. Shaking her head, her eyes stayed on her boots as she said, “Did you ever wonder why I rejected Tyler Davies when he asked me to homecoming junior year, insisting I wanted to go with you instead?” Tyler was the quarterback of their high school football team. A senior, who asked Y/n to the dance and became the talk of the school when she said no. Many were jealous she even got his attention, riddled with shock she would reject the star player.

“Because you felt sorry for me I didn’t ask anyone?” He asked like it was obvious, causing her to huff.

“Because I wanted you to ask me,” his heart skipped again, “And whenever Melinda Perry would flirt with you in government I would literally send her daggers because of how jealous I was. Why do you think I warned you not to go out with her when you asked for my advice? Yeah I knew she was a snake to most of her boyfriends, but I was also selfish because I didn’t want you dating someone else. God, Robby, you were so blind. Even with your glasses you still couldn’t see that I loved you.” It was though he was on cloud 9, disbelief at what he was hearing.

Y/n loved him. At least she did when they were teenagers.

The next question couldn’t even form in his mind before she was lifting her head back up, shrugging when allowing the confession to fall from her lips. “And as much as I want to hate you right, I can’t bring myself to. Because I’m still hopelessly in love with you, Robby.”

Now he was the one stumbling back. “Y-you do?”

“I do. I’ve loved you since I was sixteen.”

He didn’t recall much that happened after that. Just that his feet were carrying him over to her, cupping her face in his hands and moving their faces close together. Lips just barely brushing over, he waited for her to make the next move. Y/n wasted no time, pressing her mouth to his and the two felt the eruption of warmth and love consume their bodies. Her arms around his neck, her fingers ran through his blonde hair causing Bob to groan. The sound made her gasp, allowing Bob to slip his tongue past her lips and heat up the kiss.

“I love you,” he whispered against her lips, bringing them back together.

“I love you too.”

“I’m sorry, Y/n.” His arms went to cradle her, pressing her against the wall. She simply nodded before kissing him back, “I forgive you, Robby.” God he missed that name. Only she could make him feel some type of way when she said it. He chuckled when she added, “Even though I should slap the fuck out of you.”

It was a miracle they made it up the stairs and into his childhood bedroom which was now a guest room. He had to remember to lock the door after setting her on the bed, praying to God his family would stay outside. There was music playing from what he could hear through the window so it made things easier when the two got lost in each other.

Clothes scattered the floor, kisses and hushed whispers shared between the two. Bob worshiped Y/n, letting his mouth kiss along every inch of her, trailing down any tattoos that coated her skin and paying extra attention in the places that brought her the most pleasure.

When he entered her they both sighed in bliss, moving as one until they reached a climax that brought them both to tears. All the time Bob whispered how much he loved her, Y/n repeating it each time. She moaned with each thrust and whenever she pleaded with him to do something Bob delivered it without hesitation. With her leg over his shoulder, chests pressed and mouths attached together the officer believed if he died right there it would be with a smile on his face. They came together, Y/n gasping his name as he eased them through their climax. When it was over Bob leaned down to capture her lips, wiping away her tears before removing himself to clean her. They basked in the afterglow, Y/n laying her head on his chest while he lightly traced the tattoos on her arm with his finger.

“Can I ask you something?” He asked, making her humm in response. “Enrique…”

The woman made a sound, lifting her head to gaze at him. “Enrique and I had been friends for some time—and we did drunkenly hook up once to get the sexual tension out of the way but that was it,” Bob controlled his reaction, though he couldn't say anything for he too had his fair share of one night stands. “The band’s contract was renewed and The Walking Dead was just starting out. The label and his producers thought it was a good idea for us to be seen together. Just to bring in some press for our upcoming album and the show. But we never felt anything more than friends for each other.”

Bob sat up a bit, causing her to lean on her elbows as she rested on her stomach. His expression was unreadable, “but you two were married.” Again Y/n let out a sigh.

“Enrique and I were friends so we shared things. He confided in me, I confided in him—Enrique was in love with someone who he couldn’t have. Ring a bell?” She raised a brow at him. “I was in the same boat. Just like how you said you couldn’t bring yourself to love anyone else, I couldn’t either. But at the time I thought you were married, Robby.” That had his eyes widened. “I called your mom after the concert that night, hoping to get to you and she told me you were engaged. So when I met Enrique and we both were going through the same thing, we thought ‘instead of being miserable alone, let’s be miserable together.’ Our publicists hated the idea, but we both believed we wouldn’t get our fairytale ending.”

Something in the way she said that last sentence had Bob think about Enrique Lorenzo. Most recently it was revealed he was in a relationship with fellow costar Simon Zahir, coming out as bisexual to the world with an instagram post of the two sharing a kiss.

“So you married him even though you didn’t love him?” Kinda like how he almost did with Abby. It made Bob frown thinking about it.

“I did love him, just not the way a wife should love their husband. And he understood because he couldn’t love me the way a husband would their wife,” she sadly smiled, “It was a mutual understanding where we would go and support each other at premiers and award shows, kiss for the cameras, all that was needed to show the media we were a happy couple. But behind closed doors we actually lived separately.”

Hesitant to ask, Bob waited a moment before saying what was on his mind the last couple years. “What made you two divorce?” The question made her give a small smile.

“Simon confessed to Enrique he loved him after they finished filming season four, and that he and his wife were divorcing. When Enrique told me… I could just see the hope in his eyes, and who was I to deny him his chance at happiness just because I didn’t want to be alone. It would have been selfish of me to. No, I told him the first thing the next morning we’d file but our publicists called and asked to wait until Simon was divorced before we went through with ours. That’s why we were ‘separated’ for a year,” she put quotes around ‘separated’. “We didn’t want to cite irreconcilable differences since it was a mutual decision, but the lawyers thought that was the best route to go.”

Bringing a hand up to caress her cheek, Bob asked the second question he wanted to know, “What made you come here?” She leaned into his touch, “you said you thought I was married. How did you even get here?” The last question was more due to the fact The 1985’s were currently on tour. It was another reason why he was so shocked to see her there when he arrived.

“We played in Helena last night. After the show I had this feeling I needed to come here, so I called my mom to get your mom’s number. That’s when she told me you were flying in today.” Her face turned to one of guilt, “I sorta feel like a bitch because tomorrow is your birthday and I came here knowing there would likely be an argument. Even though I thought you were married, I just really wanted to know the truth. It was eating me up. And with that feeling I needed to come here again after so many years, it sorta felt like a sign—if you can call it that.”

Leaning more into his hand, Y/n added, “I didn’t come with the intentions of winning you over or anything—especially under the impression you were married. I wanted answers, that was all. Although,” she kisses his wrist, “I’m not complaining with how things turned out.”

“Me either,” he agreed with a laugh. As he moved in to kiss her, a knock on the door interrupted causing the two to look like deer in headlights.

“If you two are presentable,” it was his sister, “then we’d be happy if y’all joined us for dinner sometime soon. But by all means, take your time.” She ended with a cheeky laugh before footsteps indicated she had walked away.

Bob let his head fall back into the pillow with a groan while Y/n giggled. She went to get up, but the man wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to him. “Five more minutes,” he mumbled into her neck. “I’ve waited too long for this.” Humming, he felt her hands go to his air, maneuvering them so he was on top of her.

Y/n gasped at the feeling of him becoming hard again, causing Bob to smirk as she wrapped her legs around him to offer assistance. “Me too, baby. Me too.”

In the haze of it all and as the weeks passed, the two began to live the life they dreamed of with each other. Neither realized they had forgotten protection that night….until Y/n was puking on the tour bus and counted the days since her last period.

“Look at me,” Bob held her hands. They sat in her hotel room in Sacramento, the band finishing out their tour in California before setting to work on their next album. When she called him that morning about her possibly being pregnant Bob got in his car and drove straight there. Thankfully it was a Saturday so he was off and had great timing. Pepper was kind enough to give her a spare pregnancy test she had on her, so Y/n waited until Bob arrived to take it.

Relieving herself on the stick, she kept it in the bathroom to wait for the results while she sat with him on the bed. She was crying, unsure how to feel. Part of her was excited at the idea of being pregnant and having a baby with Bob, but also feared it was too soon. They had just started dating, she was on tour until the end of the month, and they had been keeping their relationship quiet from the public so she was scared of what could happen.

For the WSO, he was going to be happy regardless of the outcome. “Look at me, Y/n. Everything is going to be okay. I am not leaving you—I swear to you, baby. If that says positive, then believe me when I say I will be the happiest man alive,” she whimpered, making him press kisses her cheek lovingly, “We’ll get through it together. You’re gonna be done with the tour in a few weeks and then we can take it from there. And if it’s negative then that’s completely okay too.”

When the results did come, the stick reading in small letters pregnant, the couple cried together with Bob pulling Y/n into his lap. “I love you—I love you,” he kissed all over her face, her cries turning into giggles. “It’s going to be okay, Y/n. I’m so happy, darlin’. So so happy. I want nothing more in this world than to have a baby with you. You’re going to be the best momma ever. I know it.”

October of 2017 brought Marcel Brandon Floyd into the world. Keeping her pregnancy a secret, no one besides the band and their families had knowledge of the birth of their son. Thankfully Bob’s identity was still hidden, both very careful to not let paparazzi catch them together. Especially with Y/n being pregnant they didn’t want to add on the stress of the media discovering their relationship. They planned to announce it on their own at some point once the baby had arrived.

It wasn’t until Marcel was roughly a month old that Y/n posted an Instagram picture with his tiny hand wrapped around her finger, ‘my world has arrived 🤍 10.20.17.’ The announcement had Y/n trending #1 on Twitter and talk show hosts calling to have her on the show. Y/n declined, she only really made television appearances with the band if they were performing, but that was only when they released new music.

Around the holidays was when Bob proposed. They were sitting by the fire, Y/n in his lap with Marcel in her arms when Bob simply said, “Marry me.”

At first she thought he was joking, but then he removed a velvet box from his pocket. Her eyes watered, “Are you serious?”

“More than I’ve ever been. You’re my person, baby. I’ve waited for this moment my whole life—and I won’t waste another second. Marry me, Y/n. Be my wife and I promise to love you even after death.”

He truly meant it when he said he didn’t want to waste another second. After she said yes, they put Marcel to bed and Bob made an appointment at the courthouse, both agreeing to get legally married and wait for a big ceremony some other time. They made love all through the night until the sun rose. In the morning the little family and the band gathered in the courthouse and tied the knot.

Y/n already knew the media was going to have stuff to say about her when the news broke. This was her second marriage, also happening in the spur of the moment like her first one. Only this time around it was with her soulmate so the rockstar couldn’t give a fuck what they had to say. She and Bob were coming up on a year, had a child, and planned to spend every second of their lives together. She loved him with every ounce of her being.

On instagram the picture posted was of their rings followed by one of them kissing where his face was hidden. “I’ve been keeping a secret from all of you. In January I reunited with my childhood best friend, who I was in love with way before The 1985’s were even thought of. Things happened in life causing us to drift apart, but we recently found our way back to each other and I plan to never let him go. He is my second half. The person I was meant to grow old with. I can’t put into words how happy I am and with the birth of our son, our little fairytale seems to be working out. Some of you may think this is all too fast but let me tell you this, we’ve waited a long time for this moment. I ask that you please respect our privacy and thank you to all who have supported me over the years. Much love, Y/n ♥️”

For almost two years the two kept their relationship under wraps from the media. Then in October of 2019, just before Marcel’s birthday Bob was called back to Top Gun. It’d been several years since he graduated from the program, surprised they even wanted him for the mission. With how timing was the WSO would have to report to Fightertown a couple days after his son turned two. Y/n had a beach house in San Diego, deciding her and Marcel would stay there while Bob was in his detachment and what made it better was Xavier and Farrah—who fell in love over the course of their years as a band— were both from San Diego, both currently there while the band took a small break. Bob would have to stay on base with candidates, but after training ended he’d come to the house to be with them.

Pepper and Thomas were back in L.A, but we’re working on beats for their upcoming album and sending the three what they had for them to add on or scrap if they felt it didn’t fit. They had a meeting with the two Zoom with Xavier and Farrah and their two young kids at Y/n’s place the day she got the call Bob was in an accident.

“Hello?” She answered the phone, moving to the side away from where Xavier was drumming. Marcel was in his little playpen, a pair of baby earmuffs over his ears to protect them from the loud noise.

“Hi….” The guy on the opposite end let out a soft chuckle. “I’m looking for uh, Y/n L/n?” His tone was that of someone who found it funny he was asking for someone he definitely thought wouldn’t be on the other end of the phone. Like he saw the name on the card and said, “there’s no fucking way this is the guy married to Y/n L/n,” but because of his job he had to call the number anyway.

“This is her. Who am I speaking to?”

The man went silent for a moment, before clearing his throat. “This is Lieutenant Royce from NAS Miramar medical group,” Y/n’s heart picked up as dread filled her, “Can you confirm you are the spouse of Lieutenant Robert Floyd.”

“Yes,” she rushed out. “I am. Is he okay? Did something happen?” Closing her eyes, she prayed she wasn’t about to receive the worst news imaginable. No, Bob had to be okay.

“There was an accident with his F-18 this afternoon, he had to eject—.”

“Excuse me one second,” she apologized before bringing the phone back slightly to yell at the drummer, “Xavier! Stop drumming for five seconds—I need to fucking hear right now!” The man winced as he mouthed, ‘sorry’ catching the ashen look on her face. Both he and Farrah set aside their instruments, watching Y/n turn away to speak again, this time more calmly. “Please repeat that for me, Lieutenant.”

When Royce heard the name of The 1985’s drummer being shouted at, the Lieutenant nearly forgot what he was calling for, “U-uh, yes. There was an emergency ejection in your husband’s F-18 this afternoon during training. He is okay minus a few bruises, but he will be staying overnight in our facility for observation.”

“Oh my gosh, okay,” she breathed in relief, bringing a hand to her mouth to calm herself. “Is there any way I can see him?”

“Do you have a dependent ID card?” She tells him yes and he says with a light cough, “Then yes you can come onto base and see him.” Royce gave the address, still finding it hard to believe he may have been talking with the frontwoman of the most popular rock band in the last 15 years. He really thought it was just someone who shared a name with her. But then again, they sounded very alike.

Thanking the officer, Y/n wrote down the address and rushed to grab her purse. “I have to go to base—something happened with Bob. Can you guys watch Marcel until I get back?”

“Of course,” Farrah told her, “go go, we’ll stay here and clean everything up.”

Practically speeding onto base, it was the first time she ever had to use her military ID, which had the guard at the front gate jaw drop. He maintained professionalism, scanning her card and nodding to the rockstar. As much as he wanted to ask for a photo the guy could tell she was in distress and it wasn’t a good idea. “Have a good day, Ms. L/n.”

“Thank you, sir. You too.” She waved apologetically, recognizing the look she often got from fans. Had the situation been different she would’ve happily chatted a little longer.

It was the same when she got to the infirmary. The receptionist, who looked to be in her mid twenties, dropped the apple in her hand while other young servicemen were doing double takes and whispering. “That’s fucking Y/n L/n.” “Are you sure?” “I’m serious! I had a huge crush on her in college. I’d recognize her anywhere.”

“Hi,” she offered a small smile, aware the guy to her left had his phone out trying to sneak a picture, likely tweeting the fact she was in a Navy hospital. “I’m looking for my husband, Lieutenant Robert Floyd. I received a call from a Lieutenant Royce saying he was here.”

Upon hearing his name, the gentlemen seated behind the girl with his back to her spun around, eyes bulging when they landed on Y/n. The chair almost fell when he stood abruptly. “T-that’s me. Yes I’m the one who called you, Ms. L/n. If you would follow me I’ll take you to him.”

“Thank you,” she walked behind him, ignoring the whispers and comments made by those around. By now TMZ probably got tipped off, she could already feel her phone buzzing—no doubt from her publicist wondering what the hell was going on. She made a mental note to call her back later to explain.

Royce knocked gently on the door before opening it, “Lieutenant—oh you have visitors I apologize,” he glanced over his shoulder to Y/n, still in disbelief on what he was about to say. Turning back to Bob, Royce gives a nod, “your wife is here.”

“She is?” Y/n heard Bob, and some murmurs of voices going, “Wife?” “When the hell did he get married?”

Pushing past Royce, thanking him briefly, Y/n entered the room only to stop short at the several pairs of eyes landing on her. Off to the side she saw a man with a buzz cut drop his bag of chips, choking on the one in his mouth, “What. the. fuck.”

The two standing in front of the bed—mouths agape—parted away allowing Y/n to see Bob sitting with his flight suit unzipped and tied around his waist. Exhaling in utter relief the woman rushes to him, throwing her arms around his neck. “Oh, Robby.” She felt his arms go to her waist, pulling her closer as she hid her face in his neck. Y/n could literally cry with how happy she was to see him in one piece.

“I’m okay, darlin’.” He rubbed her back, aware his fellow aviators were staring at them with mixed expressions. They looked confused, disbelieved, shocked, and in awe.

The quiet, reserved, yet sometimes sassy WSO is married to the woman who's been ruling the radio over the last decade.

Who had seven fucking Grammy’s under her band’s name.

Pulling away, Y/n ran her hands along his shoulders, checking for any visible wounds. “What happened? Lieutenant Royce told me you had to eject?”

“There was a bird strike,” he explained, taking her hands and soothing them with his thumbs. “We lost both engines—Phoenix tried to get back control but we were going too fast and couldn’t save the jet. Had to eject at the last second—we’re okay though, I promise. Just a little shaken.”

“Thank God you’re alright,” she sniffed, hugging him again while kissing his cheek. “Leave it to you getting in an accident that makes me use my ID for the first time.”

“How was that?”

“Interesting. I was tempted to run the gate because I had no patience, but controlled myself. Getting arrested would not have been good.”

“No it wouldn’t,” he chuckled, pressing his lips to her forehead.

The clearing of someone’s throat ended the moment, Y/n removing herself from Bob to face the group of aviators who were still speechless by the scene. Smiling shyly, Y/n took in each of them. “Hello, I’m Y/n.”

“Oh we know who you are,” Fanboy said with awe, groaning when Payback smacked his shoulder with a disapproving look. “Sorry that was not the best thing to say. What I-I meant was we’re all fans of your work.”

“And by that he means we were all jamming to your music on the tarmac just yesterday, not understanding why Bobby here looked so smug when Seresin said he could totally get a shot with you if he ever got the chance,” Rooster added on, resulting in the blonde pilot to glare at him before blushing when the others started to laugh.

“Well now I sure as hell won’t try—I’m not that shallow to hit on a married woman, Bradshaw. Made that mistake ages ago and it was not pretty. Anyways, sorry Bob for what I said,” he held a hand up, “but let me be the first to say what a fucking G you are. And Y/n, it’s an honor to be in your presence. Big fan.”

Y/n raised a brow, smirking to her husband to see his reaction. He sure did look smug, keeping his arm around her waist. “A fucking G, huh?”

“He’s the one who said it,” he smiles before noticing she was alone when she arrived, “Where’s Marcel?”

“With Xav and Farrah. They were at the house when I got the call—we were working on some songs.” In the corner of her eye she saw Coyote and Fanboy visibly react to the mention of her bandmates.

“Forgive me for asking,” Phoenix finally spoke from her bed that was seated right next to Bob’s. “But weren’t you two childhood best friends if I’m not mistaken? Sorry if it’s too personal, but I remember seeing your post on instagram two years ago and I thought it said something like that.”

The couple smiled, confirming her wonders. “Yeah,” Bob looked at Y/n with love in his eyes. “We grew up together. Took a hell of a long time before we could get our chance at love, but it was worth the wait.”

For almost an hour the aviators learned more about Y/n and Bob’s relationship, literally saying it should be a romance novel with what life threw at them. The hopeless romantic in Phoenix couldn’t help but awe, feeling so much happiness for her backseater and the rockstar she’d been listening to since sixteen. They truly were the ultimate love story.

When it came time for the mission with Bob and Phoenix selected as one of two foxtrot teams, Y/n held onto him the entire night prior to him shipping out. He made love to her for hours, very slow and sensual ensuring she felt every inch of him. And when they climaxed a tear spilled from her eyes, “You better come home to me.”

He kept a picture of her and Marcel in his pocket the entire time. Before the jet took off of the carrier Bob gave it a small kiss before keeping it safe in his flight suit. The second they got back after successfully completing the mission he called his wife to tell her he was coming home. She practically catapulted into his arms when she picked him up from the docks, not giving a shit that the paparazzi had followed her there. By now the whole world knew who Bob was to her.

The rest of 2019 seemed to go by in a blur. They first thought 2020 would be the best year of their lives when it was discovered Y/n was pregnant again, having conceived the night Bob had left for his mission. She was just at the end of her first trimester when the entire globe shut down. When the rumors spread of a possible pandemic with the outbreak happening across the ocean, the 1985’s all took up camp in San Diego now that Bob had become an instructor with Phoenix at Top Gun. Thomas and his fiancé, who was an actress, didn’t mind moving, neither did Pepper and her girlfriend. The group were working on their sixth studio album and had celebrated 15 years as a group.

But they were starting to get burnt out, thinking it was time to go on hiatus.

Concerned with the virus and what it could have on her pregnancy, the two were very strict on keeping up with covid restriction. For at least three months Bob was working from home, the base shutting down with only certain personnel allowed on. Marcel was still too young to be in pre-school and daycare wasn’t needed since Y/n was home most days. And when she did have business meetings to attend or studio sessions he often traveled with her. Zoom became their best friend during the lockdown, with meetings happening frequently at the beginning to figure out what they were going to do going forward.

Y/n spent weeks going through what were the best records to put on the album. If this was going to be their last for a while then she wanted it to be their best. Two songs she knew she wanted were ‘Pompeii’ and ‘Little Black Dress’, while the other 13 were going to take time to decide. ‘Pompeii’ could definitely have people relate with how this lockdown was making them feel. On the other hand, ‘Little Black Dress’ was mostly for her, inspired by the time Bob went absolutely feral when she walked into the room wearing a little black dress.

It was one of her favorite memories.

And so the months went on and before they knew it they were welcoming a baby girl in July—right smack in the middle of a pandemic. The whole ordeal was unlike anything they ever imagined. Only Bob was allowed in the room, not even their son could come visit so little Marcel didn’t even get to meet his sister until days later. He was with Y/n’s mother who traveled down from L.A and quarantined in the weeks leading to her due date. Y/n hated hospitals, looking forward to bringing their daughter Brenda Rose home. Unfortunately no one else in their family or friends could meet the baby girl until spring of 2021 when things were starting to settle out.

That was also when The 1985s made the decision to go on hiatus, planning to release their album that summer before going on a final tour in 2022.

“This just in, pop rock group ,The 1985s, have announced a hiatus following the release of their upcoming album End of An Era set to drop at the end July. Frontwoman, Y/n L/n, posted on her Twitter a photo of the group in a sweet embrace with the caption, ‘when one chapter ends, another begins. Join us in 2022 as we say goodbye to the stage—thank you to everyone who has supported us since we were kids on MySpace. We hope to see you as we close this chapter in our lives, but don’t worry, the future can always surprise you. In the meantime, as Elvis would say, ‘The 1985s have left the building.’”

“It’s a sad day for fans of Grammy award winning rock band The 1985s. Earlier it was announced they are going on an indefinite hiatus once completing their impending world tour for their sixth studio album. Formed in 2003, the 1985s skyrocketed to the Billboard charts after debuting with their single ‘1985’ in 2005, going on to dominate the late 2000s and early 2010s with features on The Twilight Saga: Eclipse soundtrack, the 25th anniversary of We Are The World to raise charity for the Haiti earthquake, and accumulating a total of seven Grammys including taking home the big three: ‘Record of The Year,’ ‘Song of The Year,’ and ‘Album of The Year’ in 2008 for their second studio album Sugar, Spice, and A Little Bit of Rock ‘N’ Roll. The announcement of the hiatus has succeeded the news of bassist Thomas Quinn tying the knot with longtime girlfriend, Oscar Winner Amelia Bandera, who recently revealed she was pregnant with the couple’s first child. Last year frontwoman Y/n L/n welcomed a daughter with her husband—the couple’s second child since they wed in a private ceremony in 2017. And word on the street is keyboardist Pepper Renolyds is looking to adopt with partner Jenna Langdon. The married pair of the band, Xavier and Farrah Hernandez have had two children following their wedding in 2010 and have hinted at possibly wanting to have a third. It is unsure when the group is likely to regroup after 2022 comes to an end, but one thing is for sure: The 1985s have embedded their name as one of the bestselling groups of the 21st century. I’d say we could be looking at a possible induction to the Rock ‘N’ Roll Hall of Fame in the future, and a Star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame.”

Now here they were, November of 2022 at Madison Square Garden to take the stage one last time. Would they ever come back? Probably, but it would be some time before they did.

So they were gonna go out with a bang.

“I have twenty minutes until my ass needs to be on stage, Robby,” Y/n mumbled between kisses, back pressed against the door of her dressing room. His mouth went to her neck, roaming his hands all over her body that was covered in her usual leather, “That’s plenty of time.” The response had her giggle, moaning when he attacked her sweet spot making him smirk.

“Then you better do double time…we’re on the clock.”

Her glam team was going to be pissed when she came out with messy hair, glistening of sweat, and slightly smudged makeup, but she didn’t care. Not when her husband was rocking her world as he had her bent over the couch. His chest pressed to her back and hair in his fist, whispering absolute filth into her ear—saying he was going to have her on stage full of him and only he would know. But Bob also gave words of praise and love.

It wasn’t the first time he snuck backstage to rile her up before a concert. When they started the American leg of the tour in California he was at almost every show and would bring her flowers. Sometimes the kids came along, other times they stayed with Phoenix, but each time Bob would either get her pent up by teasing her as the minutes counted down…or would full on rail her. He'd be lying if he said he didn’t get off on the thrill of almost getting caught….or the fact anyone passing the dressing room could figure out what they were making their own music.

This time around in The Garden their kids were with Phoenix and Rooster, who were all waiting to get to their spots on the floor after wishing her and the band good luck. The others were already there, ready to have the time of their lives with the sold out arena. Bob needed to hurry because the stage manager was going to be knocking on her door any second.

They finished with minutes to spare, out of breath and panting with a light layer of sweat coating Y/n. Fuck she looked sexy in her leather and messed up hair, glistening as the light hit her. A smug look took over Bob, winking at his wife who just shook her head with a smile, “I’m gonna miss that now that the tour is over.”

“Don’t worry, baby. We still got after party.”

The rockstar ushered him out when the stage manager appeared, the aviator delivering a smack to her ass as he told her good luck. She smacked his in return causing him to yelp, “Naughty boy.”

Yeah he got some looks from his fellow officers when they got to the floor, Jake whistling under his breath as he went to check his watch. “Jesus Bob, you two were at it for a while. Were you trying to go for baby number three? I hope she’s able to walk on stage.” The comment had Phoenix slap his shoulder, “Can you not? We have kids with us,” she gestured to not only Bob’s children but also Payback's ten year old son and Hondo’s seven year old daughter. Then there was Mickey’s girlfriend carrying their toddler with baby earmuffs, the same Brenda and Marcel were wearing. “My bad,” Jake said, though the smirk remained on his face when Bob sent him a wink.

When the show started it was the most amazing thing any of the squad had witnessed. Some of them had seen the band in their college days, but it was obvious they were gonna top what they did ten years ago. There was a light rumble to Madison Square Garden with how loud it was. Flashing lights and smoke covered the stage, the countdown with a video montage hitting zero before The 1985’s opened with ‘Where Do Broken Hearts Go,’ sending everyone who was still sitting on their feet. Bob put Brenda on his shoulders, Rooster doing the same with Marcel who were clapping and pointing to their mother, “Mommy!”

“Now, I’m searching every lonely place,” Y/n belted out the first line of the chorus, moving down the stage’s elongated platform that split the floor. “Every corner calling out your name. Tryna find you, but I just don’t know.” Xavier hit the drums with Farrah’s riff, Y/n holding a hand to chest, “Where do broken hearts go?”

“Are you sleeping, baby, by yourself? Or are you giving it to someone else? Tryna find you, but I just don’t know,” Pepper and Thomas joined the vocals, “Where do broken hearts go? Where do broken hearts go?”

When the song came to an end, Y/n let the audience scream for a moment before introducing the band. “Madison Square Garden!! New York City!!” The crowd screamed again, smiles on every member. “Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, theys and thems and anyone in between…. welcome to the ‘End of An Era’ world tour—our final show as we close out an actual end of an era,” Y/n moves closer to her friends with a sad laugh, hearing the sounds of protest from some fans.

“Let’s start off by introducing ourselves…..Mr. Thomas Quinn on the bass!” Tom hits some chords against the audience’s cheers, Y/n doing a little dance off to the side. “Miss. Pepper Reynolds on keys everyone!” The former pianist lets her fingers move along the keys, grinning wide and waving when she finishes. “Show me what you can do, Ms. Farrah Cortez,” the guitar solo sends the crowd into a frenzy, which only increases when Y/n introduces Xavier. “And last but not least, Mr. Farrah Cortez,” laughter rings out before she corrects herself, “I meant Mr. Xavier Hernandez,” the drums go crazy when his last name leaves her lips. She waits till he’s finished to do a bow.

“And I’m Y/n L/n,” she has to pull her mic away to hide her laugh, cheers ringing from every corner in the sold out stadium. “And we’re The 1985s.”

The energy throughout the concert was insane. Even during intermission and 5-minute breaks the audience was having a blast. The dagger squad, plus Hondo and even Maverick were dancing and singing along—the older man getting a literal PowerPoint lesson from his former students on everything there was to know about the group.

Y/n was very entertained when Bob told her that night, saying Maverick aced his test they’d given him. “You gave your old instructor, the famous Captain Mitchell….a test on our band and music? And he got a 100%?” His little nod and smile had Y/n jump in his arms, kissing all over his face, “You’re so fucking adorable, Robby. I love you so much.”

The first part of the show was mostly dedicated to songs on their most recent album, including ‘Pompeii’ and ‘Little Black Dress’. The latter had Bob blushing mad during the set, especially when Y/n came over to where they were at, eyes on him and curing a finger to get him to come to the edge of the floor. There the stadium exploded when she practically laid on the platform to lean over and kiss him, the cameras catching the scene to display on the giant screens.

Blowing kisses to her kids, she got back up and finished the song, smirking at how the dagger squad were whistling and howling in cheers. “Sorry I couldn’t help myself,” she giggled, moving back to her bandmates to prepare for the next set.

Though the tour mainly focused on their songs from their latest work, they called back to some old hits, including ‘Let’s Get Lost,’ which was written for the third Twilight movie soundtrack. “We got any Twilight fans here tonight?” Y/n chuckled at the screams, “I got one thing to ask then….Team Edward or Jacob?”

‘Some Nights’ was one of her favorites to perform, feeling a wave of nostalgia each time she did. It was a fan favorite as it was their second single ever released. The band harmonized on the track, all of them showing off their vocals with the ‘Oh come on,’ part of the song.

Y/n was hesitant to sing ‘Iris’ and ‘Payphone,’ considering they were about her husband, but he assured her when they were planning the tour set list that he wouldn’t be offended. They were some of her greatest works, the audience should hear them.

They even covered the iconic, ‘Don’t You Forget About Me,’ from the Simple Minds—most notably from the movie The Breakfast Club. “I hope you never forget about us, New York,” Y/n said when they finished, “Cause we’ll never forget you.”

Finally they were coming down to the final ten minutes and they had yet to play the song that started it all. “As we come to the end of tonight’s show, we just wanna thank each and every one of you for the support and love you have shown us tonight and through the years. None of this would’ve happened without you all—and we cannot thank you enough for sticking by us, you all play a giant role in what we do. And we’re going to miss you the most as we close this chapter in our lives,” Y/n pauses, feeling the tears prick her eyes. Glancing at her friends, she could see they were fighting back their own. They knew it would be an emotional night, and now they were minutes away from stepping off the stage for the final time.

“We started this journey when we were only seventeen and eighteen—and it’s been a hell of a ride since. Next year marks twenty years since we became The 1985s, seventeen since we made our radio debut, back when MySpace was still a thing,” she has to laugh at that, “What better way to end this tour—end this chapter, than by traveling back in time to the year that started it all.”

The reaction in the dome had little Brenda have to cover her hands over her muffs because it was so loud, Bob holding her on his hip and asking if she was alright. “Loud,” she said in her small voice, causing him to mentally awe.

“I know, baby, it’s loud. But the show is almost over and then mommy will be done, then we go home. Can you hold on for one more song? It’s your favorite one,” Brenda’s eyes brightened at the mention of her favorite song, nodding frantically making him laugh. “Okay munchkin, I expect to hear you sing along—except don’t say the bad word in it, understood?”

“Yes, dada.”

Phoenix was jumping up and down with Marcel in her arms, head banging with the little boy along with Rooster and Javy. Everyone was in delight, rockin out to the final number. Brenda sang along with Bob, the crowd harmonizing with them.

“She’s seen all the classics,” Y/n belted the second verse, hands moving on her guitar, “She knows every line. Breakfast Club, Pretty In Pink, even St. Elmo’s Fire.”

“She rocked out to Wham, not a big Limp Bizkit fan. Thought she’d get a hand on a member of Duran Duran.”

Her and Farrah were leaning their backs against one another, “Where’s the mini-skirt made of snakeskin? And who’s the other guy that’s singin’ in Van Halen? When did reality become TV? Whatever happened to,” she hit a riff, “sitcoms,” she hit another, “game shows? Sing it!”

The entire squad, the kids, and Madison Square Garden echoed, “ON THE RADIO!”

“Was Springsteen, Madonna. Way before Nirvana there was U2 and Blondie, and music still on MTV. Her two kids in high school, they tell her that she’s uncool. ‘Cause she’s still preoccupied with 19…19…1985!”

Her mini solo before the bridge had the crowd wild. Smiling the entire time, Y/n even went to the side where her friends and family were, making them all go crazy. “She hates time, make it stop. When did Motley Crue become classic rock?”

“Classic rock,” the band repeated.

“And when did Ozzy become an actor? Please make this stop,” Y/n hit a riff, “stop,” another, “stop!” Only the cheers could be heard during the slight pause before Y/n brought her hand back on the chords.

“And bring back Springsteen, Madonna. Way before Nirvana. There was U2 and Blondie, and music still on MTV. Her two kids in high school, they tell her that she’s uncool. ‘Cause she’s still preoccupied—sing it!”

“1985!!!”

“One last time Madison Square Garden!!” Not a single person in them dome didn’t sing along, everyone shouting the final chorus at the top of their lungs.

“Since Bruce Springsteen, Madonna. Way before Nirvana. There was U2 and Blondie, and music still on MTV. Her two kids in high school, they tell her that she’s uncool. But she’s still preoccupied, with 19….19….1985!!!”

All the band members continued playing an extended outro, lights flashing all around as the crowd whistled and screamed. Y/n ran over to each side of the stage before coming to the middle, waving a hand to her band who were still going hard on the instruments before raising it and finally bowing.

On the floor, Brenda still in his arms, Bob wiped away the tears falling from his cheeks with his free hand. His friends were cheering, the entire scene overwhelming for the WSO as he stared at his true love as she took her final bow. Y/n was also crying, as were her friends when they finally closed the show shouting, “Madison Square Garden—New York City we love you! Thank you so much for being here with us and being the best crowd ever. Safe travels wherever you’re going and we hope all your dreams come true. Until we meet again….as Elvis would say, The 1985s have left the building!”

The crowd was still screaming, the five adults coming to the middle of the stage holding hands in the air before bowing. Then they all met in a tearful embrace, Y/n full on sobbing with Farrah and Pepper, overcome with emotion that it was all over. Waving to the crowd, they spotted dozens of fans in their line of vision crying, some even throwing flowers onto the stage. They all went to each side of the platform to blow kisses and wave, until finally walking off into the arms of their crew who’d been with them since 2005–where another heartfelt moment took place.

As soon as their families made it backstage, Y/n was dropping to her knees to allow Brenda and Marcel to run into her open arms. “My babies!!” Peppering kisses against their cheeks, Y/n held them tight as they said words of praise. “You were amazing, mommy!” “That was so fun!”

“Thank you, baby,” she kissed Marcel’s head, looking up to see Bob staring at her with absolute love and admiration. Gently moving him and Brenda to the side, Y/n stood up, only to squeal when Bob’s hands went to her thighs to lift her up, spinning them around.

“You were incredible!” He exclaims, stopping still but still holding her up. Their lips met in a searing kiss, “absolutely spectacular.” Her hands came up to cup his face, deepening the kiss as their children wrapped their arms around Bob’s legs. It was like they were in their own little world, oblivious to everyone celebrating around them. The band were with their kids and partners, the crew were popping off champagne.

“I love you so much, Robby,” she said against his lips, kissing him again when he said, “I love you too, baby. More than anything in this world. I’m so fucking proud of you.”

When they pulled away, Y/n was a flustered mess, mirroring that of Bob who was looking at her like she was a goddess. “Don’t give me that look, Floyd. Not until we get to the hotel.”

“Can’t help myself, darlin’,” he chuckled, adjusting her in his arms before giving her another kiss.

“Eww,” Marcel groaned, making the couple laugh into the kiss. Bob set Y/n down, but pulled her close as Brenda and Marcel squeezed in between them.

“So what’s next then?” Bob whispered in her ear. “I know you can take the girl out of rock n roll…but she’ll always be a rockstar.” Y/n laughed, pulling away to gaze deeply in his beautiful blue eyes that she fell in love with as a teenager.

“Now, we live our lives. One day at a time. Together.”

Y/n really needed to thank her mom one day. It was because of her that the woman got to live her dream. After all, she was the one still preoccupied with 1985.

……….

TGM tag list: @avaleineandafryingpan, @caitsymichelle13, @poppyalice2001, @cutelittlepotatofry, @luckyladycreator2, @americaarse , @elenavampire21

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thenumberonelistener · 8 months ago

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My Hero Academia playlist (and why the songs are there)

(pls reblog with further suggestions i wanna add stuff to my playlist because I made this playlist 2 years ago)

Dirty Little Secret (all american rejects) : idk it originally went with my main oc ship because it was with shouto and they needed to hide it from his dad

Bakugo! (KVMIL) : I mean, duh.

Me and My Broken Heart (Rixton) : I gave this to todoroki. I'm not sure why. for some reason I thought it matched the angsty vibe

Hey, Soul Sister (Train) : Dekuchaco. That's all.

Rude (MAGIC!) : This gave me really big Kirishima vibes when I made it and it still does.

All Star (Smash Mouth) : This is my All Might song. thats it.

Starships (nicki Minaj) : Minaaaa <3

Pound The Alarm (nicki minaj) : This gives me so many... Present mic dj vibes

Bang Bang (K'naan) : This is just so cute and I like using it for any ship I'm thinking of.

Boss Bitch (doja cat) : another Mina song. It's probably in here because it used to wake me up.

Hot 'n Cold (Katy Perry) : purely JUST for the icyhot memes.

Va Va Voom (Nicki minaj) : I think i thought this went with mina when i put it in here? i don't know but i like this song. Could go better with midnight though.

Peach Sign (Kenshi Yonezu) : this is one of the theme songs.

You make me feel... (good) (Cobra Starship) : This song is just such a bop?? soOO GOOD? and it was one of my dance team songs at the time. It's just a good, sfw kind of ship song? but can really be used for found family too? I think?

Uraraka (GameboyJones) : OBVIOUSLY I HAVE TASTE

The Red Means I love you (Madds Buckley) : this song was made about Himiko Toga, and i love it

Class 1-A (Rustage) : This seems obvious

A World Alone (Lorde) : i put it in here for my oc, honestly <3

Get Him Back! (olivia Rodrigo) : I have no idea whY, but it reminded me of hitoshi?

Sora ni Utaeba (amazarashi) : it's one of the theme songs

Here with me (d4vd) : made me sad and reminded me a little of the empty oboro-shaped hole in Mic and Aizawa's friend group

Everybody Talks (Neon Trees) : Gives me denki vibes honestly

Good old fashioned loverboy (queen) : ERASERMIC!!!! gay.

Dear Future husband (meghan Trainor) : no idea why it's in here, take your best guess.

Still into you (paramore) : ERASERMIC!

Moves Like Jagger (maroon 5) : Present mic. thats it.

Don't Threaten me with a good time (Panic!) : I think this is in here because of Mic, but I'm not sure.

Sweater Weather (The Neighborhood) : bisexual anthem... it's just the vibe

Airplanes (B.o.B) : the memes, but also because I just like this song. and it fits with the rest of the playlist vibes

The Record player Song (Daisy the Great) : This song was more attributable to one of my ocs, Sairento

Prom Queen (Beach Bunny) : I related this to Sairento but also to Ochako

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mintquetzal · 1 month ago

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Posting my ocs I have refs for put the fixation into hyperactive so I'm adding some rambles/info for Noctus Datura and other stuff I have cooking. Feel free to read if interested, if not then that's OK ✨️

Noctus Datura College staff:

Headmage (Chernabog): Ahmya

History Professor (Yokai): Toshiko

Alchemy Professor (Madam Mim): Mira

Gym Teacher (Gantu): Kaimana

Shop Owner (Helga Sinclair): Claire Preston

------

Much like NRC, Noctus Datura College performs its orientation with its signature magical item. The school hosts a large Sundrop flower, its magic powerful enough to help power for the school. In order to keep it protected, a barrier is put up 24/7.

When freshman are inducted into NDC, they are given a potted datura flower bud for orientation. The freshman will approach the Sundrop, allowing its magic to allow the datura bud to bloom into the color of the dorm they most resonate with.

The flower colors are as followed:

Pradegala- orange

Felinox- white

Intica- pink

Sonneblum- maroon

Navisur- red

Cemuera- golden yellow

Samhaia- bright green

------

Ahmya (NDC headmage) and Crowley's dynamic in a nutshell:

Crowley: all my students love me ✨️

Ahmya: *turns to the students* raise your standards

------

Ahmya:

-originally from Briar Valley and is a fae

-sister dated Crowley and she was happy when they broke up because wtf did she see in him OR dobwhat a friend suggested with Crowley and her being bitter divorced peeps but idk if her standards would go that low.

-is strict with the NDC students, but will make sure all their needs are met as they attend school and help provide advice after graduation.

-24/7 Crowley hater

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When a student is named housewarden at NDC, the stained glass that adorns the windows of the Sundrop's room morphs into their image. Beside their image is a portrait of their vice housewarden, allowing new students to identify who is in charge of their dorm. If a housewarden is beat, the stained glass will instantly morph to the new housewarden.

-------

NDC Housewardens:

Navisur: Fara Rogers (Captain Hook)

Intica: Yasmin Salazar (Yzma)

Pradegala: Imara Sarma (Shere Khan)

Samhaia: Scolia Nyx (Oogie Boogie)

Sonneblum: Althea Bellefleur (Mother Gothel)

Felinox: Rochelle Lechat (Pete)

Cemuera: Cecilia Montenegro (Ernesto de la Cruz)

-------

Hallow's Valley has a diverse array of fae, many of their cultures dating back since the kingdom's establishment. The abundance of species flocked towards the Hallow's Valley during the era where humans started to invade fae villages for resources. In order to avoid a war that could have resulted in many fae species facing extinction, the reigning Nyx family made a deal with the humans. In return for resources from the fae, the humans were made to work with fae to maintain those resources so neither would risk starvation. In order to keep an eye on the human population to ensure the terms were met, the Nyx family cast a barrier that hid the kingdom from plain sight. If the humans tried to cross them, no other human settlements would be able to know of their sudden disappearance.

Despite some opposition from both sides, the Nyx family were able to stabilize the human/fae relationship for the centuries followed.

In modern times, both fae and humans intersect in order to help each other as a community as opposed to Briar Valley's relationship with humans.

------

Hallow's Valley is a country home to various cites and towns with an abundance of cultures, thanks to the intertwining of human and fae. One of the most popular locations is Santa Cruz de Solaria, Cecilia's hometown. It's known as the birthplace of instrumental magic which the citizens have kept alive for centuries. Many spirits of the past roam the city's streets during the Festival de los Muertos, an annual tradition that honors the dead and let's loved ones reunite. However, if a spirit no longer lives on in the memories of the living, they vanish to the Isla de Olvidar where they can no longer wander with the living.

------

Ok thats all ✨️

Let me know if you want to read more! I love talking about my bbys 💖

#twst wonderland #twst oc #twisted wonderland oc #twst #twisted wonderland ocs #twisted wonderland #oc rambling #twst oc lore #oc shenanigans #im so hyperfixated on this damn game

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ashiemochi · 1 year ago

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(don't) go easy on me - iii ♰

✠ (don't) go easy on me ↳ not bad for our first time, huh?

➶ pairing: OC x Piers Nivans ➶ genre: mostly fluff, slight angst, gore (like a broken bone), first time! smut, cliche mean clique (like two girls) ➶ word count: 13.8k

♰ Content includes: dry humping, dirty talk, nipple play, foreplay (f receiving), oral play (f receiving), your typical sexy moment with coke can girth piers

prev -> next

Gently dabbing the softly scented vanilla oil on her hands, So Ah smeared it all over her hands, arms, and legs, and focused more on her neck and the spots under her ears.

She stood by the tall mirror to add her final touches before straightening up once done.

The berry-coloured dress hugged her waist to give her that curvy look before draping over her hips and stopping at her mid-thigh. The sleeves were puffy and loose over her upper arms. The tie around her waist gave the illusion of a plunging V-neck collar, vaguely making out her chest.

The cotton fabric was cool on her skin, perfect for the summer heat of Washington DC. She won't lie that she didn't wear a lingerie set underneath the dress. The darkly desaturated rose-patterned maroon tights also reached her mid-thighs with a strap attached to her panties of the same colour and pattern. The bralette she wore was also of the same set.

Just a little precaution, she convinced herself, if something were to happen, I'd at least be prepared for it.

The doorbell echoed, jolting her out of her thoughts and she hastily ruffled her hair to her liking and applied her cherry chapstick before skipping out of her room to get the door.

She swung the door open, partially hiding behind it involuntarily and she couldn't hide the smile on her face at Piers standing there with a hand in his pocket and the other holding onto a big fancy paper bag of her paint.

"Hey!" She widened the door to let him in.

Piers walked in, mimicking her grin as she shut the door, "Someone's excited to see me."

She rolled her eyes and reached for the bag only to hold onto his wrist gently, standing on her tippy toes, "Says the one who invited himself to my house."

She pecked his pinking cheek and took the bag, letting out a small huff at the sudden hefty weight. You can always count on heavy supplies and tools when it came to being an artist.

"Oh crap, that's heavy!" So Ah set it down on the ground.

Piers pursed his lips to hold back any quips once he took off his shoes, taking it and easily picking it up, "Here, I'll take it. Where do you want it?"

"In my office." She answered bashfully, walking towards that room and she could sense his silent chuckles.

The office was a sunroom but it was clear the apartment layout had it as a bedroom instead. So Ah, living alone, had it changed into a suitable place where she could easily work on her art projects.

It was also Piers' favourite room because anyone could easily figure So Ah out with just one skim of the place.

It was cluttered but in a way, you'd expect it from an artist. There were shelves upon shelves filled with art books, notebooks, and sketchbooks. a stroller tray was next to it, also filled with tubes of paint of different sizes and shapes, some more used than others.

In the corner were the easel and the half-painted canvas, having a moving table next to it with all the brushes and a mug for dipping them.

Across the room were a chaise lounge and a coffee table in front of it. There were scattered papers and pencils on top of it with charcoal pens nearby. Finally, a plain white desk and chair on the other corner where she usually sits to have any of her online conferences or get stuck on video calls with her family as she had told him.

"You can put it here," She chirped, gesturing to her desk, and she noticed his gaze lingering all over the place, growing flustered, "Ah, sorry about the mess."

"Don't worry about it, this is where the magic happens." Piers put the bag onto the table and then looked at her, not thinking too much about her darkening blush, "So, what did you get this time?"

"Oh!" She skipped up to the table and opened the bag to take out the fancy box, "It's a sample of the new paint set that's coming out this spring!"

Nabbing the palette knife next to her, So Ah cut open the plastic wrap before popping open the box. Stars instantly appeared in her eyes at cherry blossom-themed tubes of paint. It came with extra sets of brushes.

Piers tilted his head at her silently, barely listening to her excited rambles about all the paintings she could do. She always had that glow in her eyes when it came to art – he wondered if he ever could earn that look too.

He trailed his eyes to the small canvases on the table, humming as he picked one up, "Aren't these too small to use?"

So Ah stopped her ranting, already hands deep into the box and she blinked at him, "Ah, I use them whenever I wanna paint something simple or try out a new style."

"Huh." Piers picked up another, turning to her with a subtle grin, "Why don't we give your new paint a try?"

She stilled, letting out an incredulous chuckle, "You want to paint?"

"Why do you sound so surprised?"

"You just don't look like an art guy to me," She continued, picking out one of the next brushes to check the bristles, "I don't think I've ever seen you draw before actually."

"Well, lucky me, I’m dating a professional artist to teach me the ropes then," Piers shot back smugly, waving the two canvases slightly.

She giggled, nodding as she started taking some of the tubes into her hands, "Okay. If you mess up, you're paying for the paint."

"Fine, these are samples so they're free," He scoffed, helping her and moving to the sofa, "And the real thing can't be that expensive anyway."

"Just around $500."

"Excuse me?"

✠

Soft hums came from the girl who was on the sofa and painting on the small canvas, placing down each stroke precisely and exactly where she wanted it to be. So Ah reached over to dip the tip of her brush into the small puddle of paint that she mixed, looking over at Piers to see how he was doing.

A permanent scowl was on his face, etched in concentration as he was leaning over to the table to have the canvas on it to keep it still and using his other hand to draw. His grip on it was as if he was a kid trying to learn cursive, shaking and all to make one smooth line.

His choice of colours on the other hand... Very questionable.

She could peek at the colour white, peach and brownish red, then there was a random splash of saturated red, pale yellow, and black. It made her involuntarily cringe as he was focused on whatever he was using black for.

It was adorable and quite hilarious but she wasn't going to say that. Instead–

"How are you doing over there, Picasso?" So Ah teased lightly, twirling her brush slowly and he shot her a quick glare.

"You make it look so easy but it's difficult as hell." Piers retorted, swearing under his breath, "Shit, I messed up."

She held back her giggles when he let out a grumble, roughly dipping the brush as if he was waterboarding it.

"Okay, okay, you don't need to do it like that," So Ah quickly stopped him with a nervous laugh, more concerned with the state of her brush and he looked at her, "You do it like this,"

She gently dipped her brush into the water, swirling it around before bringing it back up, "See?"

"Ooh," Piers hummed, mimicking her action and he went back to the task at hand silently.

Straightening up and scooting next to him, she tried to indulge in her curiosity and peek at what he was drawing but he hid it from her, red creeping up his neck and he gave her a look.

"No peeking."

"Oh come on!" She whined playfully, "I won't laugh!"

"Like hell," Piers shot back, "You'll laugh and then the next day, everyone at the BSAA would know about... This."

He gestured to the canvas vaguely and she pouted, "Awh, Chris told you, didn't he?"

Piers nodded, quipping as he leaned back against the sofa with the canvas up to his face and the brush, "For a quiet girl, you sure do like gossiping."

"No one laughed, though!"

"Chris did."

"Well, it's Chris. He laughs at anything." She tried to point out but Piers scoffed, shaking his head.

"You must have a different captain then." He said, brows furrowing for a moment at a certain line.

Maybe she was growing perceptive lately but she could pick up the way his tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip subtly, hazel eyes as sharp as she'd see them during a shooting range. It was strangely attractive and her heart rattled behind her ribs.

Piers glanced at her without moving his head, noticing her lovestruck cinnamons on him. Assuming she really wanted to see his piece, he let out a defeated sigh, snapping her out of her gaze.

"Fine, I'll show you mine if you show me yours." He spoke nonchalantly and she blinked, laughing a little.

She picked up her canvas carefully, aware of the wet paint and she turned it to show him with a toothy grin. His eyes widened lightly.

It was a classic cherry blossom park. Though the colour placement was a little messy, it was good enough to make out the brick floors, the steel fences, the blue sky with several white clouds and the distant city. All that in a small 3-inch by 3-inch canvas.

"How did you manage to fit all that in this tiny thing?" Piers asked, visibly impressed with it all and her cheeks reddened.

"Ah, doing so little is enough." She answered, pointing at the city, "I didn't add any details to these buildings so it would look okay from afar."

"Okay?" He shot back with a raised brow, "So Ah, this is goddamn amazing."

Praises from him were absolutely god-tier.

She bit her inner bottom lip, growing flustered as she avoided his eyes shyly, looking down at her art piece. It really was only a quick sketch and it'd need more work to complete; especially the trees.

She trailed her eyes up to him and then to his canvas, "Your turn."

Piers hesitated in showing her his piece, eyeing her suspiciously, "You promise you won't laugh?"

"I pinkie promise." She put out her finger with a grin and he chuckled, the corners of his lips twitching up.

"What are we, five?" He joked, earning a huff from her before he linked their fingers, "You do know if you laugh, I'm gonna have to cut your finger off, right?"

She giggled, rolling her eyes, "I won't laugh."

"You just did right there!" He gasped dramatically, "You suck at this."

"Because you're being an idiot!" She defended herself, "Stop messing around and show me what you did! I showed you mine!"

"Ugh, fine," He scoffed, trying to appear annoyed but he seemed nervous, handing it to her.

"It can't be that bad," So Ah reassured him with a smile then looked down at it.

She froze.

It was badly drawn like the eyes you'd draw all over your notebook during a boring math class. Yet her artistic-wired brain was able to make out some of the shapes.

It was only a single brown eye with hints of smudged red which she recognized as the colour of cinnamon -- or an attempt of such colour. The skin was peachy with tons of blush and shading in the wrong places. The lashes were chaotic spider legs.

"What..." She didn't know what to say, "Well, it's a good-looking... Eye."

Piers grunted, growing more embarrassed than irritated as he repeated what she said, "It can't be that bad, right?"

So Ah coughed to muffle her snort, plastering on a small smile, "It's fine but uh, what inspired you to draw this in particular?"

He perched his arm over the armrest and leaned his chin on his hand, speaking quietly as he wouldn't look at her, "You."

She stilled, shoulders tensing up as she couldn't hide her surprise, "Me?"

"Yeah," He shrugged slightly, "It's... It's your eye."

She was speechless, staring at him and then down at the canvas, "This is my eye?"

Piers grumbled as if he was a kid getting annoyed from having to blabber nothingness again. He leaned towards her to look at the painting and he pointed at the blob on the supposed waterline of the eye.

"Yeah, stupid," He said, "That's your mole right here and your... Well, I tried to draw the freckles but they're so fucking faint."

So that's why there was an extensive use of brown and red.

The more she stared at the painting, the less it made sense.

One, it was horrendous but endearing.

Two, Piers had paid enough attention to have picked up the tiniest of details on her face. Hell, even she'd forget that there was a mole on her waterline.

Piers was immediately amused by her silence, noticing how her cheeks were growing redder by the second and he could feel his own face flush.

"You... Uhm," So Ah trailed away, trailing her eyes up at him, "Why would you paint my eye?"

He rubbed the back of his head, shrugging nonchalantly, "You told me to paint whatever's on my mind – I would've drawn the other eye but I don't want to spend five hundred bucks on paint."

He was so blunt about it and it only made her more so curious. Yet, shyness was catching up, coiling over her vocal cords when she'd try to speak.

"Wow, uh, sorry, I..."

Piers glanced down at the canvas and then at her, "I know, it's horrible."

She nodded quickly, "Yes, very but uhm," A soft smile reached her face, shoulders going up slightly to her ears, "I like it."

He blinked, cocking up a brow, "You gotta be kidding me, this junk?"

"Yeah," She giggled, pulling it closer to her but careful not to taint her dress, "It's very sweet. It shows you pay attention to details and that's a good trait for becoming an artist."

He huffed, feigning pride as he playfully waved her off, "No chance."

She laughed a little, covering her mouth and Piers picked up on a hair strand falling over to her face. Reaching over, he pushed it gently behind her ear, eyes growing softer by the second.

"I prefer observing art rather than creating it," He admitted tenderly, his thumb caressing the apple of her redred cheek as he hummed, "Like the fact you also have another mole on your nose."

A single peck landed on the tip of her nose, making her scrunch it up with a flustered giggle. He grinned and he brought up his other hand to cradle her cheek, keeping her still from shying away from him.

"And you've got one right here," Piers brushed the faintfaint mole on the bottom lip line with the pad of his thumb, making her lips part slightly, "It's my favourite one."

He glanced up at her eyes to find any sort of reluctance to this but all he could see were her dilated pupils. Hearts might as well bubble and pop over her head at this point.

Piers kissed her slowly to cherish every second of this. Her eyes instantly fluttered shut, lowering one hand to set it onto his knee and push herself closer to his plumplump lips. Parting his lips, he tugged on her bottom lip, his hand trailing to the back of her neck and the other reaching down for the canvas.

She pulled away with a pout when he took it from her hand and casually tossed it onto the table, opening her mouth to protest, "Hey! Be careful with that, the paint's still we – mmh!"

Piers didn't give her room to do so though, silencing her by pressing his lips on hers. That gnawing feeling in her gut returned and her lungs were finding it a bit hard to breathe.

She practically melted into his touch, setting her hands on his broad shoulders and he reciprocated it by wrapping an arm around her waist, pulling her closer to him. Piers moved his lips against hers sensually, kissing her with utmost passion.

Her cheeks went redred when the side of her knee barely brushed past his hips and she could've sworn something poked her for a split second. A subtle tug on her waist to his lap was more than enough to shoot her anxiety sky-high.

She hummed, patting his shoulder and she pulled away, breathing heavily, "Wait, wait…"

Piers stared at her like he had done something wrong, pupils were blown as his swollen lips were parted for his heavy panting. His hands went down to her waist, frowning when she sat down back on the couch. Internally, he was already scolding himself.

She clearly wasn't comfortable going to the next stage just yet. Why won't he get that into his head?

"Was that too much?" Piers asked concerned, gingerly squeezing her waist as he licked his bottom lip.

Fuck, that cherry chapstick was going to be the death of him.

They did make out before, but the vibes of his certain one were teetering into a new area. He felt it. He knew she felt it, which was why she was the first one to pull away.

"No, no, it was... Good, uhm," So Ah stuttered, avoiding his eyes by looking over at the canvases and then she sighed, looking back at him, "Look, about what happened... You know..."

Piers was confused for a second before annoyance made its way to his eyes. His hands on her firmed up with that protective scowl on his face.

"What the hell did she do now?" He snapped, surprising her at the change of demeanour, "Did she say anything to you or hurt you again?"

She stared blankly at him, brows furrowing in a completely puzzled expression, "What? What are you talking about? Who's she?"

It was Piers' turn again to go silent before saying, "Cindy Lloyd, kinda hard to forget who broke your hand, So Ah."

"Why would I want to talk about her?" She pressed on, growing more so irritated rather than concerned, "Piers, what did you do?"

He released a heavy sigh, but it was clear he wasn't very remorseful, "I had a talk with her and told her I'd report her if she were to lay a finger on you again."

Her jaw fell slack, eyes widening and he seemed to tense up when she reeled back from him.

"You..." Her voice came out in a whisper, "You threatened her?"

His silence answered her question.

“Why the hell would you do that?!” She exclaimed in shock, “That itself can be reported!”

“Am I supposed to sit aside and watch you getting pushed left and right by her?” Piers shot back, growing frustrated, “By anyone who believes the same shit she does?!”

“Yes!” She snapped in a whine, silencing him and she exhaled heavily. She rubbed her face as he stared at her, baffled by her outburst when she muttered, “God damn it, both of you are so alike.”

He was taken aback as if actually offended, “What is that supposed to mean?”

“She made it her life mission to be part of the BSAA like you did. She trains every single day even on the days off, like you do. She looks up to Chris and hopes she'll make it into his team, she practices all the time, and she does everything in her power to climb the ranks to be one of BSAA's perfect soldiers, just like you.” She elaborated, gesturing to him for enunciation.

“Me joining out of nowhere was... It's unfair to her and everyone else involved. And it doesn't help that she obviously likes you and wants to impress you all the time.” She rubbed the back of her neck and looked away, voice heavy with guilt.

Piers frowned, his eyes darkening gradually, “You deserve to be at the BSAA as much as–”

“No I don't, Piers, and you know it!” She cut him off, groaning as she covered her face, “God... I don't train as much as any of you, and I'm always stuck at the infirmary for my condition. I joined for my family. Cindy joined for the world because it's her dream to make it a better place.”

"You think that little of yourself? All those people after the outbreak are alive because of you.” Piers glared at her, getting closer to get her to drop her hands, “You are part of Green Life Pharmaceuticals for God's sake, your whole thing is making the world a better place. Why would you let yourself be trampled by people like Cindy Lloyd?"

She frowned as she slid her hands down but one went to the back of her neck, gripping her nape with a subtle flinch and she looked down, whispering, "Because everyone at the facility died but me. You and Chris were the only ones who made it out alive, but the rest of your team..."

"Soldiers like us are willing to put our lives on the line no matter what. The mission's the priority."

"Yeah, but–"

"Hey, look," He gently grabbed her hand to encourage her to look at him, determination made his eyes glow, "None of those lives is on your shoulders. You were just another civilian caught in it like all the others. It doesn't mean you have to be punished for it.”

He continued, “You're using the anti-virus for good, and because of that, millions of people were given another chance at life. Doesn't that at least overshadow the bad?"

So Ah was quiet, lips parting but nothing came out, completely speechless. She knew Piers was an opinionated guy, debating with him with pure dogshit with that stubborn brain of his but hearing those words come from his mouth; it soothed her. She fully thought he'd at least agree to half of her thoughts but no.

Her eyes twitched, inhaling deeply and she held his hand, "I don't want you to fight my battles, Piers."

He dropped his head with a sigh, knowing she was talking about his confrontation with Cindy, "I know, I know. Why won't you report her, though?"

So Ah shrugged slightly, "Like I said, she reminds me of you. Pretty sure she learned some of your fighting techniques too."

"Copycat." he scoffed, lip quirking in the corner in annoyance, "At least I don't break bones or some shit."

She giggled a bit, earning a faint smile from him but then it fell when she trailed her eyes down, dreading something.

"What do we do now?"

Piers hummed, thumb caressing the back of her hand, "Well, I was thinking about watching a movie or–"

"I'm talking about Cindy."

He shot her a look, "I really didn't come over and planned on talking about her on our date."

She returned the look, "Well if you didn't go ahead and threaten her then maybe we wouldn't be in this situation."

He narrowed his eyes down at her and she mimicked it, standing her ground. Ah, he can't be too mad at her. She was also just as stubborn as him.

Shaking his head, he relented, "Fine, I'll apologize the next time I see her."

Cecile was right. Communication was fun and healthy.

A toothy smile came to her face and she patted his hand, "Thank you. Now we can watch a movie."

She went to stand up but he only tugged her down by her hand with a small 'hold on' when she gasped, tumbling back onto the couch. Her hand shot out to the cushion in surprise and she looked over at him.

"Wha–"

"If this was never about her, then what were you talking about?" Piers questioned curiously.

Nope, no.

Communication is scary. I repeat communication is scary.

Her eyes widened, tensing up and she tried to play it off, chuckling nervously. He raised an eyebrow at her when she removed her hand from his hold as she spoke, avoiding his eyes.

"Ah, it's nothing. Forget about it."

"So Ah," He pressed on, furrowing his brows a little and he leaned his arm down on his knee to look at her and the other was pressed to the couch behind her, "Is it something I did?"

She blinked, darting her eyes to him in surprise, "What? Why would you think that?"

"Well..." He suddenly seemed nervous, ticking his head to the side, "Whenever things get more intimate between us, you tend to stop whenever I try to go further."

She stared silently at him, eyes unblinking.

"I don't want to make you uncomfortable or if it's something about me that's not... You know, it for you."

Piers didn't think he was living up to her standards – which he was, and more. She absolutely hated having made him feel that way about himself. Seeing that subtle frown with the low eyes, she wanted nothing but to change them into something better.

Piers looked over at her, gazing into her cinnamons, "I don't want you to feel pressured into telling me or any–"

"It's me. I'm insecure." She blurted out before she could stop herself and her eyes widened even more, quickly slamming her mouth shut.

Piers blinked at her, taken back and his eyebrows relaxed, eyes softening, "What? Why?"

She sighed defeatedly, cheeks blazing as she grew shyer by the second when she admitted, "It's... I'm worried that I might make it too awkward. I haven't done this in a while and you know... I don’t want it to seem like I’m inexperienced."

“That’s nothing to be ashamed of, baby,” His voice dropped to a tender tone, “Even I haven’t done this in a while.”

“Ah, well,” That only managed to make her feel a little better and she cringed, “It’s different for you.”

He cocked up a brow, already knowing where this was going, “How is it any different for me?”

It was a constant topic.

“Because of... Uhm…” So Ah trailed away, shoulders going up to her ears, “You're young and–"

“If you bring up the age thing again, I'm going to flush all of this paint down the toilet,” Piers threatened and she really didn’t know if he was completely joking or not till he exhaled, “So Ah, c’mon, how many times did we talk about this? You’re not that old.”

“You’re only what, 27? That's still young.” He reminded, genuinely.

She blew a raspberry with a frown, finding the situation embarrassing and she looked away, "You say that because you've never seen me naked."

He shrugged casually, "As much as I'd love that, I don't have to. I'm pretty sure you look just as gorgeous beneath that dress."

Her cheeks reddened as her timid self made her want to coil up into a ball and disappear. So Ah never knew how to respond to compliments or praises. Piers knew that and he was amused about it.

“Look,” The hand behind her goes to her hip and the other gently grasps her wrist, thumb caressing her skin. His voice was calm and soothing; genuine even. The way he looked at her eased her bubbling anxiety down. “We don't have to do anything if you're not ready, but you really gotta stop worrying about your age, So Ah.”

“No, no! I want to! It's…”

The corner of his lips twitched at the sudden enthusiasm and she whispered, tugging and twirling her hair that was cascaded over her shoulder, “I don't want you to think… bad about it.”

“I won't, I promise.” He reassured her before straightening up for a second only to move closer so their knees were brushing, “Why don't we start off slow and see how it goes from there?”

The atmosphere around her seemed to have shifted into a sensual one and she could already feel something hot spreading in her. Letting out a heavy inhale to calm her nerves, she nodded.

Piers flashed her a grin, releasing her hand to cup the back of her neck with his thumb tracing her jawline. His eyes dropped to her lips, minty breath merging with cinnamon. Glancing up into her eyes for any indication that she was unsure, he sealed his lips on hers.

Piers was passionate like always, but now slower in case he’d accidentally make her uncomfortable. His hands stayed in their spots but his thumbs would caress her skin occasionally to offer some sense of comfort.

So Ah felt her heart banging out of her chest, setting her hand on his knee to push herself closer to his lips – which he more than accepted. His tongue swiped her bottom lip and her lips parted shyly only for him to deepen the kiss. He instantly earned a soft moan from her, tilting his head to the side as he fought back the smile.

Eventually, Piers trailed his hand down to her waist, tugging her subtly to lead her to his lap. So Ah crawled up onto him as he leaned back against the couch, keeping his lips on hers which were growing needy by the second. Her legs were on either side of him but she didn’t sit, barely hovering over him as he bit her bottom lip.

Piers grasped her hips, fingers digging into her plush flesh with a faint hum and he pulled away from the kiss a little. His lips were red and swollen, subtly shimmering due to her cherry chapstick as his voice was breathy.

"Sit."

The neediness and demand in his tone were so unbelievably sexy; it did nothing but make her comply – though hesitantly.

Then she knew why; something was pressing up against her subtly. It seemed the surprise had shown on her face, making the corner of his lips quirk up faintly. Her hands were grasping his jacket on his shoulders, hips as still as a wooden board as if afraid one slight movement would be too much for her.

"What is it?" He got her attention by pecking her jaw chastely though his hands were nothing but enticing, "Wanna tap out?"

His hips stayed still, if not shuffling his feet a little to get comfortable and thus widening his legs just slightly. His hot breath brought goosebumps as he peppered her neck with small kisses. She managed to whimper out a small 'no', fighting the urge to rock her hips to indulge in the heat spreading in between her legs.

It was only when a hitched faint whine came from her did he pause at the spot that he brushed past.

Her hand went to the back of his nape, fingers brushing the short hair at the back as he focused more on the spot right under her ear. He reached down to her thigh, squeezing her and the other hand went to the side of her ribs. His teeth grazed her skin and she found it hard to stay quiet, especially when his sneaky thumb pressed into the side of her breast.

So Ah muffled her moan, squeezing her eyes shut and his ears pricked up at the sound. He trailed his kisses up her neck and jawline, leaving the now obvious growing hickey behind. He cocked up a brow, noticing just how red she was.

There was something incredibly hot with how responsive she was to just kissing. Was she just playing along or was she actually that sensitive?

"Is there something I should know?" Piers asked, half curiously.

So Ah avoided his eyes shyly by looking down at his military tag, nervously toying with it, "I'm... I can be a little loud."

His eyes gleamed at that, smirking smugly, "I don't mind." He brushed her strand away from her face, pushing it behind her ear, "I think it's pretty sexy."

"Do you ever shut up?" She grumbled, fully sure that she must've looked like a freshly grown tomato.

"And not cause these cute reactions of yours? Never."

He laughed, shaking his head and he leaned forward to give him enough space to take off his jacket and toss it aside. He relaxed against the couch, leaving him in a white fitted shirt. He wasn't naked and she still thought he was so goddamn hot.

He kissed her again, this time, swiping her bottom lip instantly with his tongue. Parting her lips, Piers easily explored what was once his, making the kiss a tad noisy as he hummed against her softsoft lips. She gripped the collar of his shirt, moaning quietly and he pulled away a little, eyes hooded as he licked his lips.

"You gotta keep wearing that chapstick." Piers murmured, locking his lips with hers as they grew hungrier, and his voice came out muffled, "Never stop using it."

That was good enough for So Ah's restraints to start breaking.

As he tugged on her bottom lip, she shifted her knees slightly to push herself closer before grinding once. His breath hitched up and his hands shot down to her hips in an instant. Her clothed cunt pressed up against the growing tent, rubbing herself up on his bulge.

Piers panted when he broke apart from the kiss, a string of saliva connecting between their swollen lips. His nose scrunched up a little, guiding her hips with a groan.

"Shit... Yeah, that feels good." Piers trailed his eyes down.

Her dress was long enough to cover what he really wanted to see, draping over his hips like a curtain. His fingers itched to rip it off or at least move it out of the way and he looked up at her. Her hips stuttered to a stop and she grew flustered at the intent glow in his hazel eyes.

"Should I stop?"

"No, don't stop," Piers started with a breathless chuckle and then ticked his chin down where they were touching, "Can I see if that's okay of course?"

So Ah swallowed thickly, nodding and she reached down, "Yeah, it's okay."

Pulling on the dress, she lifted it up enough to expose the lingerie she wore. His eyes practically shone in glee, the hands on her thighs shamelessly caressing her bare skin, thumbs sinking under the straps of her panties as if teasing her.

"Holy shit," He whispered, brows furrowing a tick when he felt himself get harder, "You got all ready for this?"

She shrugged timidly with a soft smile, her ego being stroked by the starstruck look on his face, "Better to be overprepared."

"You're so goddamn cute, you know that, right?" Piers chuckled to himself when she darted her eyes down, the compliment instantly causing her to blush.

Not like she needed more with how flustered she already was.

Clenching his shoulder, she lowered herself down to grind on him whilst biting onto the hem of the dress to hold his other shoulder for balance. His hands stayed on her hips to guide her, his hawk eyes not once blinking at the slowly growing damp spot on her panties.

Her moans were coming out muffled, eyes fluttered shut at the feeling of her pussy rubbing on the rough fabric of his trousers. The belt he wore held her back though.

"Fuck, you're so wet already?" Piers breathed out, squeezing her hips as he got her closer so her clit bumped against the buckle of his belt, and her sound came out hitched.

He wanted nothing but to discover every decibel she made. His hard cock was practically pushing against the jeans where the zipper was, needing more of her. With how responsive she was, he could only guess she was extremely sensitive.

God, he was fighting everything in himself to not rip off her panties and his own pants, pin her down and fucking her like there was no tomorrow. It made his mouth salivate at the mere thought of having her gushing around him; screaming his name.

Though luckily, it was the weekend.

"Mmh mmb," She tried to speak but her dress hindered her and she only earned a confused look from him.

Dropping her head, she grabbed a handful of his shirt and shifted her weight to one side so she could free her other hand and take the dress out of her mouth.

"The belt," So Ah repeated breathlessly, "It's annoying."

"Take it off then," He snickered at the annoyed look she gave him, "I'm all yours."

That made her stare soften and she looked down at the belt. Sitting down on his lap, Piers watched her reach over to undo it, her hands fumbling with it due to her excitement and nervousness. Once the belt was left dangling, she returned to her previous position.

Piers bit back his grunt at how closely she seemed now that the belt was out of the way and she moaned softly from behind her dress. He was rutting up against her, his lips parted for his breathing at the growing and heavy tension. The damp spot was beginning to imprint on his crotch and his abdominals tensed up at the sight.

He leaned close to plant his lips on her neck, teeth brushing over her smooth skin and a small keen came from her. The pressure intensified when he pulled her hips flush with his, his eagerness beginning to show.

"Mm–fuck," So Ah whimpered, squeezing her eyes shut. Her climax was right over the horizon but the ministrations weren't enough. Her knees were beginning to grow uncomfortable, easing a hitched sound from her.

Piers picked up on it and leaned back to look up at her, seeing the neediness in her eyes. The dress in her mouth had gone wet with her drool at her attempt to keep the dress up. He wasn't any better, cheeks flushed with his chest heaving and his eyes completely blown black at the dilation, intensely staring at her.

"What's wrong?" He asked, trying to stabilise his tone but it was wavering a little, his cock throbbing for more stimulation and he knew it was the same case for her, "Not enough?"

She shook her head rapidly with a whine. He nodded, patting her hips, "Okay, hold on."

She stopped, thighs shaking at having her orgasm held back but she only grew excited once he hastily unbuttoned and unzipped his pants. He pushed them down low enough to expose his clothed dick and her eyes widened.

The bulge was massive.

It was visibly straining the thin cotton of his boxer briefs; visibly thick.

Biting harder onto the fabric of her dress, she caught Piers setting his hands back on her hips, inching closer to her ass but never going there. He threw her a look, seeing if she didn't think this was too much.

"Is this okay?" He asked, clearly on the edge of his climax but he held himself back for her sake, "We can try something else."

So Ah shook her head, a silent ‘it's okay’ as she readied herself. Piers' eyes lingered on hers when he tilted his head low before he looked down. With the thick and rough texture out of the way, the grinding was heavenly, scratching that itch that they both had longed for.

Instantly, her dress muffled her moan of relief, rubbing herself all over his bulge. Piers groaned, his hips rutting up to meet hers, pressing her onto him harder for more friction. Her eyes widened with a squeak when the curvature of his cock bumped her clit, her dress toppling down over what he considered was one of the seven wonders.

"Crap," She whispered, breaths laboured as she slowed down and reached to hold her dress, "Just gimme–"

"I got it." Piers bundled up her dress into two handfuls and gripped her hips, resuming their humping.

Her whine would've echoed off if it weren't for the cluttered mess of her art room. With the dress out of the way, Piers could catch a glimpse of his own boxers growing wet. Her pussy was practically slobbering all over him. He could feel the heat emitting from her core.

"Oh, f–fuck," He moaned, throwing his head back with his eyes fluttered shut, letting himself go in the feeling of her wetwet cunt riding him – not entirely – just right.

If this felt way too good to be true, how was it going to be if he was inside of her?

The thought itself made his hips grow desperate, cock thirsty for a release.

Her sounds started going choppy and stuttery, "Pier–s' oh god, I’m–nnh~" she whimpered, curling over him to have her face snuggled into the crook of his neck at the slowly tightening knot.

One hand gripped his bicep, feeling it tense up beneath her touch with every hump, and the other shot to the couch behind his head, digging her nails into it as a means to keep her bearings.

"M–me too, shit," Piers grunted into her neck, biting the spot between her shoulder and neck that had her mind reeling, guiding her hips to speed up steadily just enough to tick her off.

Her lips parted for a silent gasp when her orgasm hit her first, making her tighten her hold on his bicep and couch. It sent her thighs shaking as Piers groaned lowly at her coming undone, her cum soaking through her and his underwear that left his cock trembling in ecstasy.

"F–fuck!" Her voice ended up hitched when Piers practically pinned her hips down to his and thrusted upwards, directly against her clit to bring her down from her high and trigger his.

He gritted through his teeth, muffling his loud whine when his hips stuttered, cumming within his boxer briefs. He squeezed his eyes shut, his fingers bruising her flesh when he dug them through her dress. Her hips slowed, gently grinding on his softening cock to ease them down from their cloud.

Piers released a heavy sigh, half-lidded eyes staring up at the ceiling as he rubbed her thigh gingerly. Her face was still in the crook of his neck, panting heavily.

Orgasming together for the first time despite no actual intercourse happening was ineffable. The BSAA soldier was basically relishing in the lingering buzz of his climax, in love with the faint breaths wafting on the skin of his neck that brought goosebumps down his back.

So Ah melted over him with a final soft exhale, his big hands reaching up to caress her waist as he peppered chaste kisses on her collarbone and the crook of her neck, trailing them up to her ear.

"You good, baby?" He whispered and she pulled away to look at him.

She gave him a shy smile, her lips red from all the attempts to keep herself quiet, "I'm good, you? Was it..."

Piers chuckled with a tilted smile, nodding as he cradled her cheek, "It was amazing. I don't think I've ever felt it this good before."

She giggled as she slid her hands down to his chest where she proceeded to lean back to dart her eyes down – only to feel like her face was on fire. His boxers were ruined, damp with both their cum. The traces of his white climax was peeking through, the cotton subtly framing the girth of his cock.

It was a filthy mess – and it rekindled that heat in her again.

"Not bad for our first time, huh?" Piers joked, looking down with a smug grin, "If you could call it that."

"You wanna..." She trailed away quietly, catching his sharp eyes on her and her voice was thrown out of the window, "You know..."

His eyes lit up as he tilted his head, feigning a confused look with a pout, "What? I can't hear you, can you speak up?"

An annoyed grumble came from her as she rolled her eyes, knowing what he was doing. He adored seeing her flustered, so of course he'd want to hear her say it.

"Don't be an asshole now," So Ah scowled light-heartedly, "You with your dirty mind know exactly what I mean."

"Accusations." He shrugged nonchalantly, setting both of his hands back on her waist before trailing them down to go under her dress. His big hands settled on her thighs where his fingers grazed the side of her ass.

He snickered at how red she seemed with that bottom lip jutting out, murmuring, "We can go again. I just need a couple of minutes to get ready."

Stars appeared in her eyes as her chest fluttered in giddy and anticipation, "O–okay! Uhm," She glanced down then up at him as he raised an amused brow at her excitement showing, "What– should we move to the bedroom?"

That was when it settled in Piers. She wanted to go again – not the same grinding. He could do the latter or nothing, and he'd still enjoy her presence. Hearing those angelic moans of hers and how sensitive and responsive she was to every kiss and touch, was hyper-aware of everything that was happening – Piers was more than intrigued to know that side of her completely.

No man whose right in the head would say no to that proposal.

He gave her a smile, pecking her lips, "Yeah. I'm okay with that."

She grinned toothily at this, feeling bashful as she attempted to move off of him. Her thighs still felt like jello, causing her to instinctively grab onto his shoulders so she wouldn't fall off. He cocked up a brow, now cocky.

"Finished so hard you can't move, doll?"

"Eat one," She muttered quietly, earning a chuckle and his hands slid down to the back of her thighs, bringing her closer.

"I prefer eating something else." He joked sultry, enjoying the way her cheeks blazed up and he winked, "Hold on."

In one swift movement, Piers stood up with her in his arms. So Ah gasped, wrapping her legs around his waist to lock her place, utterly surprised by this gesture. Piers stared up at her with a shit-eating grin, his hands squeezing the back of her thighs as he made his way out of her art room.

Embarrassed by the turn of events, So Ah hid her face under his jawline and she could feel his amused laughter rumble within his chest. That was until she gently cupped the side of his neck and pressed a sweet kiss right under his ear.

His feet instantly stumbled but he quickly regained his composure, his voice coming out a bit strained, "Careful or we'll both fall."

"Then don't." She shot back softly with a giggle as she continued her not-so-innocent ministration to mark a small hickey, not realising they were in her bedroom.

A hitched sound emitted from her when she was dropped onto the bed with a subtle bounce, and Piers hovered above her with a titled smirk. Her heart pounded at the sight.

His eyes were blown in desire, the hazel colour barely peeking behind his pupils. His lips were red and swollen, and his hair haphazard but in an undeniably sexy way. The military tags dangled in front of her face as he had her basically pinned down.

Her eyes caught a spot on his neck growing redder, making her smile a bit as she swiped it with the pad of her thumb. He irked a brow at the gesture.

"What?"

"I gave you a hickey." So Ah said shyly, and his eyes softened with a snort.

"Yeah, well, wait till you see what I've done to you," Piers grabbed a hold of her chin and tipped her head up only for the smug look to drop at the clear skin, "What the hell?"

She swallowed thickly with a giggle, eyes coy, "What? Can't find them?"

Piers rubbed the side of her neck gently, brows knitted in the middle, "I swear there was one right here."

She squirmed a little under his intense but confused gaze before she spoke, "Did you forget?"

He darted his eyes up to hers, now noting the nervousness in them.

"I can't get injured – in any way."

It clicked.

"Ah, that's really inconvenient." Piers exhaled, visibly annoyed, tapping the side of her neck with his index finger lightly, "So how long does it take for it to heal, then?"

She blinked up at him, humming as she darted her eyes to the side to think, "Uh, I don't know. I've never really tested it."

She did get tested on other stuff that was actually painful but that's beside the point.

That was more than enough to make him grin, tilting his head down so his nose bumped along the side of her jawline, his breath on her skin making her shiver and her hands shot to his shirt by his waist.

"Let's test it." He spoke, butterfly kisses trailing down her neck before his lips found their place near that certain spot.

So Ah stifled her sounds as he started his erotic experiment. His lips were soft and wet on her, teeth would barely graze and bite the skin just to keep her on the edge of her seat. His hands had other intentions, one roaming up to her chest. His hesitance showed just a little but hearing a moan from her when he gave her bosom a gentle squeeze took that way from him.

As Piers kneaded her breast through her dress, he focused on that sweet spot under her ear, earning a louder whine and a slight arch of her back to his hand. It was then he knew – she had sensitive bosoms.

"Mmh," So Ah breathed out, growing dizzy from all the stimulations that just was not enough – but it was enough to make her cunt squeeze around nothing. She could substantially feel her arousal beginning to soak her once damp panties again.

Piers was more than amused about his, purring against her neck as he licked the sore spot. His other hand was pressed onto the bed by her side to keep himself up with one knee mere inches away from her core.

"Who knew that the shy woman from the BSAA," Piers murmured coyly, gazing down at the bruising spot before directing his attention to her jawline, "Would be this responsive?"

The hand on her bosom reached down to untie the ribbon around her waist and the dress loosened on her form. It exposed her heaving chest and the bra caught his eyes. He leaned up a bit and lifted up the edge of her dress to take a peek at her underwear.

It was a matching set.

"Jesus Christ, baby," Piers exhaled heavily, a groan seeping its way through at the sight of her in lingerie.

His stare itself would’ve made her blush for days – and it just might. Her brain was racking for something to break the stare and to, feebly, distract her from his enticing touches on the skin of her thighs that were inching higher and higher by the second.

“W–wait,” The quiver in her voice stopped him, the tips of his fingers mere inches away from her panties and he looked up at her, “Can we, uhm, put some music on?”

Piers blinked, tilting his head to the side a little with that confused puppy look, “You wanna… Play music while we’re doing this?”

“Yeah, I mean,” She cleared her throat, cheeks dusted red, “Everyone has a playlist for… Instances like this.”

Piers snorted at her wording, trailing his hands up to caress her knees gingerly, “You have a sex playlist?”

So Ah sputtered before shutting her legs with a huff, denying him from herself, “Can’t believe you’re still bullying me despite what we’re doing.”

“No, no, no, okay, okay.” Piers laughed at her action of hiding herself which he found very endearing, shaking his head as he cooed, “I’m sorry, baby – we can play something. Here, I’ll use my playlist.”

He leaned back onto his knees and brought out his phone from his pocket as she shot him a look, “Of course, you’d have a playlist.”

He chuckled as he was seemingly searching for it though his eyes were focused on something else she couldn't quite put a finger on – she shrugged it off that he was just skimming to pick the first song.

"You said it yourself," Piers looked up at her as he towered over her whilst maintaining eye contact and set the phone down by the nightstand with a cheeky grin, "Everyone has a sex playlist."

With that, he kissed her deeply as her ears pricked up to the smooth song playing from his phone. Obviously, it was about – you guessed it – sex.

Very classic.

Piers pulled away a bit, nose bumping hers in the process, a faint smile coming to his lips when her legs had widened to give him more space. He bundled up her dress once he scooted closer, giving her a look that only said; Do you want to?

So Ah only managed a nod, “Mhm.”

Piers pulled her by the arm to sit up before taking off her dress. His eyes shone, enthralled by the sight of her softly toned body. The lingerie she wore complimented her skin to the T and he could swear he had never seen something so beautiful before. His eyes land on the tattoo of a potted plant under her right bosom on the side along with a cute mole next to it.

“Woah,” He caressed the skin, voicing his surprise, “I didn’t know you had a tattoo.”

“Ah, I got one after dealing with the outbreak in California,” So Ah said, growing shy under his stare, “Even though the one I currently own is not the same one, the original Minty kept me company when I was living in LA.”

“M… Minty kept you company?” Piers furrowed his brows, remembering a similar potted plant at the table by the balcony, “Were you living alone?”

“Yeah, my siblings visited at some point but other than that, I was alone.” She then shrugged, “Not that I minded it, to be honest… Though I think I… Wished I knew someone around.”

Living in LA was absolutely new to her. She didn’t know anyone other than the self-proclaimed neighbourhood lady. Her neighbour next door barely spoke to her, keeping his distance. Again, she didn’t mind as she was introverted – but having a friend back then wouldn’t have been such a bad idea.

“I had Minty to talk to at least,” She sighed, trailing his eyes down to his hand and then blinked at his silence, snapping her eyes back up at him, “Oh no, did I ruin the mood? Shit, I didn’t–”

“No, you didn’t ruin anything,” He shook his head, cradling her cheeks and gazing intently into her eyes as he teasingly asked, “Did you seriously talk to a plant?”

She pushed him away with a whine, scoffing, “You try living in a foreign city on your own.”

Piers snickered as he kept his hold on her, “It’s very adorable,” His thumb swiped the apple of her cheeks, eyes growing gentle, “Insane, but adorable.”

He pressed his lips against hers to get her to lean back to the bed. His lips plush against hers, soft but assertive. His hands roamed lower to the sides of her torso, the pads of his fingers caressing her skin along the way as his lips moved passionately with hers.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, moaning softly against his lips and her back arched a bit off the bed when she felt his hands trying to ease under her back. Piers smiled at her responsive nature, humming lowly into the kiss as his hands snuck to the bra’s clasp, unclipping them with little to no struggle.

The kiss teetered into a breathless and airy territory, Piers pulling away for a moment only to kiss her again, his brows furrowing at the intensity. He slowly, but eagerly, slipped down the straps of her bra before pulling it all away.

Piers broke the kiss with a moist pop, panting as his eyes darted down to her chest. So Ah gulped heavily, staring up at him as he mindlessly tossed the bra aside. It toppled off the edge of the bed but really, none of them cared.

Her bosoms were definitely the perfect size for him, her buds were rosy pink and hardened, revealing to him just how sensitive they were. There were a small mole under her right breast with her hips being faintly decorated with stretch marks. Her cheeks were redder than even under his desire-blown gaze.

“You’re staring…” So Ah mumbled, growing shy as she covered her chest.

Piers blinked as if whatever trance he was in was broken only to chuckle, tenderly grasping her wrists to ease them away, “Sorry, you’re just too damn pretty.”

His smile only widened into a cheeky one when he noticed how heavily she was blushing, leaning down to peck her lips once before trailing his lips lower. A shaky sigh emitted from her, her chin tilting up at the butterfly feeling of his kisses going lower and lower till–

“Nnh!” So Ah couldn’t conceal the sudden squeak when Piers dragged his tongue over her nipple, his eyes fluttered shut to relish in her heavenly sounds and the feeling of her soft skin beneath his tongue.

His lips pursed down, sucking on her bud as his free hand kneaded the neglected bosom. Her chest was heaving as she held onto his arm and the other gripping the pillow beneath her head. Her sounds were constant, sometimes ending on a higher pitch whenever he’d teasingly and lightly bite the sensitive nipple.

Her head fell back onto the pillow, her back arching once again as Piers noisily sucked and licked her bosom, leaving behind a trail of wet kisses and obvious hickies – that would be gone within a minute.

Piers peeled his eyes open, trailing his sharp gaze up to her flushed face as he grinned at the loud moan she made when he nipped at the hardened bud. It was practically a devious grin, snickering to himself and he shifted his kneading on her other breast to have her nipple placed between his index and his middle finger – and he pinched, earning a hitched sound from her.

Curiosity got the best of him, trailing his other hand down even lower to her panties when he pressed the pads of his two fingers against her sore and needy clit through the thin fabric of her underwear. She was soaked, in addition to her first orgasm, Piers knew she was drenched.

“S–shit,” So Ah let out a whimper, legs trembling a little when she felt him rubbing her slowly and her hand shot to the back of his head, her heart starting to pound at being stimulated just right.

Piers was such a tease, and for what?

He applied an experimental pressure, picking up the pace and he audibly chuckled at the erotic sound he pulled from her lips. In a moist pop, Piers pulled away from her nipple only to start kissing up her neck, nearing her ear to give her a little break from all the pleasure.

She was sure if he kept this up, she’d cum again – and he was well aware of that.

“Did anyone ever eat you out?” Piers shamelessly asked lowly, his lips brushing against the skin right under her jaw.

So Ah’s throat was running dry, swallowing thickly to regain some of her composure, “Uhm, my ex… But rarely.”

“And how was it?”

So Ah blinked at the ceiling, her attention diverted from his sinful kisses, “Why do you wanna know?”

Piers exhaled, scooting his knees closer to have her legs on either side of his hips and he leaned up to look at her, shrugging nonchalantly.

“Just curious.” He replied, his hazels plainly scanning her face and body to see just how flustered he’s got her.

She eyed him suspiciously before bringing up her shoulders, avoiding his eyes, “I wouldn’t know. I never… Finished.”

He visibly froze and he looked up at her, shocked, “What?”

“I faked it just to, you know, get to the last part of this.” So Ah continued as if it was a normal occurrence in her previous relationship – which it was.

For a second, Piers stood there dumbfounded before he cackled, but not at her, “What a loser – wanna know how it feels to cum like that?”

She gave him an unimpressed look, hiding her anticipation, “What, are you like… The greatest guy alive to eat a girl out?”

Piers only grinned cockily, “Is that a yes?”

Again, she swallowed down her heart that bounced up to her throat at how confident he looked and she nodded, face flushed.

“Better hold tight then, I’m about to give you the best head ever.” He whispered, leaning down to peck her cheek, “And don’t worry about being a mess. I like it messy.”

Piers scooted down, dragging his fingers down her sides to tease the hem of her panties. His eyes darted up to her for a quick glance, “You can tap out whenever, okay?”

“Okay…” She nodded, fighting the urge to cover her face and close her legs when he slowly slid her panties off.

“Just relax…” He mumbled, feeling how tense her legs were, pining her thigh to the bed with one hand and he gently squeezed the plush flesh. The other arm goes around her thigh, and he flattened his hand on her abdomen to try and keep her still.

His eyes were half-lidded, practically glued to her soaking cunt, glistening right beneath his gaze. One last reassurance, he shot her a quick glance.

“You can tap out whenever, okay?”

She nodded shyly, "Okay…"

Piers was different from what she expected. He was always full of surprises in every possible aspect she could think of. She didn’t even know that he’d make her–

“Oh~!”

So audible.

Piers focused on the task at hand – or tongue in this case. His tongue was greedy and eager to explore all of her, from her core to her clit, he was ruthless. A giver. Messy. It didn’t help that he was precise with his ministrations, instantly finding that pattern to repeat over and over again.

His hand tightened on her thigh when it twitched up, forcing it back down onto the bed as he pinned her hips by her abdomen down as well. His tongue trailed up and down before lapping at her pearl, pursing his plum lips around it to give it a suck.

That pushed a loud hitched mewl from her lips, her eyes almost squinting shut and her hand shot down, fingers tangling on his messy spiked-up hair. He peeled his eyes open, staring intently up at her through his lashes, his mouth and tongue still at work.

His ears would prick up at the heavenly sound of her attempting to call out his name but it falls to a whimper, her chest heaving with her face flushed red. The sight was sending his mind and body into overdrive, his hips grounding into her bed uncontrollably to receive some friction.

“Fuck, you taste so good…” Piers groaned into her pussy, his lips and chin shimmering under the warm light coming from her table lamp, and his fingers dug into her flesh, nearly tugging her closer to him, “Can’t get enough.”

“Nnh! Piers!” So Ah managed to cry out when she felt his persistent tongue trace infinite circles right into that spot, making her see stars – and she didn’t even cum.

Yet.

Piers knew she was close, humming in acknowledgement which sent vibrations right through her sensitive bundle of nerves. He kept his movements intense but steady, knowing better than to let the sensations rise and fall too fast on their own – that way when she crashes, she crashes hard.

Her hips writhed, pushing him to ease her thigh over his shoulder and he grabbed onto her forearm instead. That caused her to release his hair and latch onto his arm, her nails digging into his skin.

The slurping and smacking noises only became more audible and constant, mixing sinfully with her moans and pitched hitches of breaths. The tension in her lower abdomen was tightening to the point she felt it deep within her heart, and she could’ve sworn the pounding of her heart was reaching her ears. Her breaths grew laboured, unable to inhale completely without breaking it with a whine.

Piers grunted as his hips rutted into the sheets, his cock aching behind his boxers for actual friction. The bed wasn’t doing it any justice. Her cries got louder that he was so sure they would get a noise complaint, but let’s be honest, while So Ah cared what others thought of her, Piers couldn’t give less of a fuck.

All he cared about was making her scream, and that meant both with an ‘s’ and without.

Her grip on his arm showed that she needed something to make her feel grounded, and so he released her arm only to grab her hand which she instinctively interlocked fingers with his. He pulled himself closer to her sweet cunt, dragging his crotch on the bed which pushed a groan out of him, muffled by her folds.

That sent her over the edge, her whole body convulsing as her back arched off the bed with a cry. The fiery pleasure shot through her chest and straight all over her body, gushing over his tongue as she went cross-eyed for a split second before she squeezed her eyes shut.

The high sent her back down to the mattress, pushing a heavy shuddered breath out of her lungs as if she got the air knocked out of her. Her legs were trembling as small moans escaped from her lips.

Piers let her ride it out, his tongue keeping up that insistent circles as he gulped down her juices, feeling ever so egotistical and cocky at her orgasm. Soon enough, he released her visibly pumping clit and rested his head on her thigh with a lazy and satisfied – very smug – grin on his glistening lips. His hand caressed and squeezed her thigh, easing her tremors down, observing the way her pearl was twitching from the intensity of her climax.

So Ah breathed heavily, having her arm over her flushed face as her body felt all melted and droopy.

“So?” Piers had the audacity to ask, his voice gravely, “How was that?”

“Wow… Just wow…” She panted, dropping her arm to the pillow next to her and lifted up her head a bit to look down at him only to notice the mess he had made.

His saliva was coating her cunt, and that was mixed with her cum. He wasn’t lying about making a mess. He caught her bashful but surprised stare and kissed her inner thigh before releasing her thigh and hand.

“You good to go another around?” He asked, raising himself up to his knees with an exhale as he took off his shirt, exposing those abs for her eyes to feast on and her mind to instantly study for an art piece in the future.

“Did you have to be that… Messy?” She answered with a question, looking back up at him and his grin just widened.

He chuckled, swiping his thumb against her clit to make her breath hitch, “I’m just getting you all ready for me, dollface.”

So Ah found herself finally able to catch her breath properly as he got off of the bed, sliding down his pants and boxers completely and her eyes widened comically at the girth of his cock.

Describing it won’t do justice – not one bit.

He climbed back onto the bed, crawling to be in between her legs and she shook her head profusely, her cinnamons frozen at the stiffened erection of his.

“Fuck no.”

Piers blinked, freezing up and he looked at her, “What?”

Did I do too much?

Should I have stopped before?

Did I do something wrong?

Did she not feel goo–

“That thing is not gonna fit, are you insane?!” So Ah exclaimed, pulling her legs close to her body where she shut them.

Piers stayed still, now unsure with a breathy laugh, “I don’t know whether to take that as a compliment or not.”

So Ah went silent for a bit, looking down at his crotch and then up at him, swallowing thickly as she reminded, “Piers, I haven’t done this in a while…”

Those hazels of his softened and he leaned over her, cradling her cheeks as he gave her a look of reassurance, “Hey, we can stop now and I can take care of it on my own – I’d just need some time in the bathroom and–”

“No, I… I still want to do this,” She interrupted, releasing a sigh as she relaxed her legs slightly, “Can you be gentle?”

Piers smiled and pressed a soft kiss on her lips, “Yeah, of course. I’ll take it slow.”

He sat back, his hands rubbing on her thighs as he lined himself up but then he stopped, seemingly a bit panicked as he turned to look at his jeans, “Shit, I didn’t bring a condom.”

“There’s no need.” She whispered with a shy smile on her face, “I’m on birth control.”

His eyes visibly lit up at this, relaxing as he joked, “Christmas came early this year, huh?”

She snorted at this and tilted her head down so she can watch him scoot closer. His hand was jerking himself off to ease some of the tension, his brows furrowing deeply with muffled moans.

Reminder that describing it won’t do any justice.

His bigbig cock was visibly throbbing, with angry and bulging veins trailing up to a red tip. It was almost the girth of a Coke can, and probably around five and a half inches – if not a bit bigger. It was already oozing with pre-cum, and he was well shaved with faint hair crowning his dick and trailing up to the bottom of his belly button.

A happy trail.

He rubbed her clit with the blunt tip, grinding his hips back and forth to drag the underside of his cock over her wetwet pussy. A muffled moan emitted faintly from her, grabbing onto his arm as she caught on that he was using her arousal and previous orgasm as lubrication.

Piers traced circles on her clit with the tip with an airy chuckle as he held her leg apart, “Fuck, d’you hear that?”

He tapped his cock against her clit numerous times, making her yelp and her hips twitch. The moist smacking noise emitted audibly in between her legs, showing exactly just how drenched she was.

“All nice and wet just for me, hm?” He murmured, wincing at yet another ache of his boner, “Jesus Christ, just seeing this might make me cum.”

Her lips moved before she could even have a second thought, “Why don’t we have a bet then?”

Piers raised a brow at her sudden suggestion, “A bet?”

It was clear it was her anxiety trying to impulsively prolong the moment before he’d actually slide into her. She didn’t seem to be aware of it, nodding with a faint and nervous smile.

“Yeah.”

He humoured her, humming, “Okay, what do you wanna bet on?”

“Uhm… Whoever finishes first gets to, uh…” She trailed away for a second, “Cook breakfast tomorrow.”

Piers snorted before laughing light-heartedly, shaking his head. It surprised him enough that it sent him into a giggling fit, giving her a teasing but challenging look.

One of them hated waking up super early in the morning.

“You sure you wanna do that?”

And it wasn’t him.

“Mhm, I like my eggs runny.” She squirmed beneath him, smiling coyly, “Besides, I just came like a minute ago, unlike you.”

Piers followed her glance to his cock, seeing that he was clearly not lasting a minute in her. That fueled his competitive side, throwing him back to that game night. His smile turned into a devilish one as he aligned himself up, the tip teasing her core.

“Feels deja vu, doesn’t it?” He tilted his head to the side, “Think you’re going to win?”

So Ah shrugged as if nonchalant but he could see the devious sparkle in those fiery cinnamons of hers, “Think you can last?”

“Oh, babe,” Piers gave her a pout that was nothing of pity, “You’re in trouble.”

Huh–

Her voice died up in her throat when he pushed himself in – but not all the way, keeping in mind to be gentle just for her.

He didn’t go all the way in, but the stretch was–

“Oh, shit,” Piers cursed under his breath, stopping halfway and his brows knitted deeply, eyes narrowed, “You gotta be fucking kidding me…”

Never mind the stretch right now, the way her walls were squeezing the ever-living hell out of him was tensing up his grip on her thigh. He was already breathless, if not unsure to keep moving without cumming first. He was soso close from all the grounding against the bed, but he was so caught up with the taste of her to realise.

He inhaled through his nose before exhaling a faint okay, shifting his grip to her hip and the other hand shot to the sheets next to her body.

So Ah held onto his arm and the other around his wrist, pressing her lips into a thin line to muffle her whimper when he slowly moved his hips back. It was obvious by the shakiness of his breaths and by how hard he’d dig his fingers into her flesh before loosening up a little, careful not to hurt her.

Her lips parted, trailing her eyes up to him only to see him staring down at her body as if one look at her face would make him crumble. Pushing a soft moan out of her when he slid into her again, Piers muffled his grunt, squeezing his eyes shut at the intensity of this all – and he stopped.

“F–fuck, wait…” He shuddered, “I… Give me a sec…”

It was so difficult to hold back the massive urge to spill – but what faltered his patience was the way she looked so ravished. She had the audacity to be an angel laying beneath him all bare, her cinnamons shimmering under the warm light of her lamp, her skin redder in some areas, indicating that all those lovebites were almost healed, and god forbid, her sounds.

God, why would he agree to that useless bet when he could’ve just fucked her stupid instead?

“W–what?” So Ah panted, gulping heavily as the corner of her lips went up into a cunning smile, “You look like… You’re gonna c–”

“I said give me a fucking second.” Piers snapped harshly and avoided looking into her eyes, and on any other day, So Ah would actually shut up but seeing how hard he was trying to keep his composure, this all made her feel hotter on the inside.

“M–mh… Fine,” She hummed, her leg twitching when she could practically feel his cock pulsing inside of her – or halfway inside.

“It’d be a shame… If you came first.”

Someone should’ve taught her not to poke a bear with a stick.

That hit Piers’ huge ego hard, and his patience shattered. His glare would’ve bore holes into her skull, releasing the sheets and for a second, she thought he had had enough.

Maybe she poked fun a little too much. He thought he wasn’t all that for her just half an hour ago, she should be kinder. Gentler. Swee–

His fingers travelled between her legs, the pads of his middle and ring making contact with her sore and swollen clit, still sensitive from her previous orgasm, and he rubbed it expertly and fast.

A shriek left through her lips, her voice hitching up in her throat as her body convulsed and her sound echoed loudly in the room. The adrenaline shot through her veins, her pussy on fire from his assault on her puffy clit with his cock still inside of her.

“Pier–!” She squeaked, tears of pleasure brimming in the corner of her eyes, “Not f–fair!”

“We’re not playing fair. You never did.” Piers pressed the palm of his free hand against her abdomen, pinning her to the bed and stilling her writhing and squirming.

He was rough with it, bringing her closer and closer to another explosive orgasm. He barely moved his dick, if not a little deeper just so she’d be well aware of how he’s got her.

All slutty and needy.

“What’s the matter, doll?” Piers mocked whilst flicking her clit in a chaotic pattern, leaning over her slightly to meet her eyes that were now refusing to connect with his.

His hand reached up for her jaw, gripping it and forcing her to look at him, a smug smirk growing on his face at how much of a mess he’s got her, “Are you cumming already?”

“F–fuck! Yea– god!” She cried out and held onto his wrist with both hands, a tear escaping down her temple before the knot snapped, her teary eyes rolling to the back of her head as she gushed all over his cock.

Piers failed to hide his wince but she didn’t notice it anyways, too lost in the haziness of it all before he finally released her clit and grabbed her trembling thighs to wrap them around his hips and–

Stars.

Piers didn’t stop, fucking into her so ruthlessly with his whole girth and length. His hips were slamming against her as if actively attempting to bruise her and her body bounced uncontrollably with each powerful thrust. Her cinnamons were seeping tears, mixed with her mascara and eyeliner, her lipstick smudged and she was just fucked out of her mind.

She could do nothing but moan and whine helplessly and loudly. Not like she could do anything else.

Piers growled, pinning both of her arms down beside her and pushing his knees closer to keep her legs hooked over his waist. That consequently sent his cock even deeper, a smidge away from her cervix. The stretch was godly.

While her ex was on the longer side, Piers was on the thicker and heavier side. Her silken walls were tighttight all around, breaking the rest of his restraints and merely forgetting ever needing to be gentle with her. He would’ve remembered if it weren’t for her moans and cries of his name along with all the sensations and the way her squelching pussy was squeezing his cock.

It was messy and filthy, her cum on her inner thighs and the bedsheet, coating his thick cock. It went in sort of dry once and now it was just glistening with her slick juices. His hawk eyes followed the motion of her body, seeing how her bosoms were bouncing, her buds hard and rosy. Her face was redred, unable to hide it with how her arms were pinned.

And then he caught a glimpse of a bump in her lower abdomen, realizing he could see his heavy girth fucking into her. It shot fiery pleasure through him at the sight.

“Pier–ier–ier–s’ oh, god!” Her voice was whiney and pitched, shaking with each thrust, “Plea–he–he–heas! S–s–slow dow– I’m gonna c–hum!”

“Cum for me, baby,” Piers grunted, the skin-slapping skin sounding off along with the moistness of it all, “C’mon, you can do it, can’t you?”

“Y–yes!”

“Good girl,” He let go of her arms to grab her squirming hips, pinning her to the mattress once again as his thrusts went erratic, “Now, don’t move one little bit.”

That praise.

That godforsaken praise.

Her back arched, her hands grasping onto his arms so hard that her nails marked his skin and a vulgar moan left through her lips. Her world darkened for a moment, her head tilting back into her pillow with a cry as the pleasure sent burning tremors all over her bones.

Piers failed to muffle his moan, tugging her hips closer to have his cock as deep as he could go and he wrapped his other arm around her arched back, pulling her chest to chest where his face pressed up against the crook of her neck.

His cum spurted out thickly, the orgasm so intense it left his thighs shaking and toes curling over the sheets. His moan was boyish, almost a whimper when her walls clamped even tighter around his pulsating cock, practically milking him dry. The hotness and warmth of it all was felt, filling her up so that some of it seeped out of her in between them.

Her voice fell to a broken whimper and her arms went around his torso where her nails clung onto his toned back, the virus within her spreading in an instant to patch up any bruises or marks Piers had involuntarily caused.

The aftermath left both of them panting heavily and utterly spent. It was quiet, minus their breathing and the playlist which was on a loop because the first song was playing once again. So Ah didn’t dare to move, chest feeling heavy from blooming and her dazed eyes barely open, staring at the ceiling.

Lazy kisses were pressed onto her sweaty skin, trailing up to her jaw and the corner of her lips before stopping. Piers gazed into her eyes, letting go of her hip to cradle her cheek gingerly. His thumb wiped away a stray tear, his fingers threading with her sprawled hair under her head.

There was nothing but love in that look – and it nearly spilt from his tongue.

“Not bad for our first time?” He murmured, his mint breath wafting over her face as she could feel his lips brushing against hers with every word.

So Ah couldn’t help but smile faintly, knowing those three special words were on the tip of her tongue as well. Her hands caressed the angry red marks on his back. Although she’d heal overnight, Piers was going to be having scratches for a few days.

And he’d wear them with pride.

She whispered, her voice hoarse, “Y–yeah… Not bad at all…”

Piers chuckled breathlessly at that, grinning when a giggle came from her, and he closed the distance between them for a searing but gentle kiss. His lips moulded with hers like they were made for one another.

Maybe they were.

#piers nivans x oc #piers nivans fanfic #piers nivans headcanon #resident evil #piers nivans x reader smut #resident evil fandom #piers nivans imagine #resident evil fanfiction #leon kennedy imagines #resident evil memes #canon x oc #oc x canon #piers nivans x reader #piers nivans smut #piers nivans #resident evil 6 #piers nivans x you #Spotify

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sunflowervolvimp3 · 2 years ago

Text

from eden: I

A/N: alright SO!! if you were around in summer 2020, then you know I started planning and writing a witchrry au that got pushed to the back burner when drea and I began collabing on you're someone I just want around. that fic quickly took over our entire lives, and every other story got put on pause, including this one. flash forward to present day, where after finishing one degree, moving, finishing ANOTHER degree, and beginning a career in my profession, I finally have a bit of time to write again!! I'm so excited to FINALLY be able to share witchrry with you, as well as my first OC on here. I haven't officially written in...a long time, so I apologize if I'm a bit rusty. but any and all feedback is greatly appreciated!! letting content creators know that you're enjoying their content helps motivate us to create more 💌 I really hope you enjoy this story and these characters, because I have a lot planned for them!! someone asked me yesterday if this story was going to be fluff or if it was going to get twisty, and the answer is always, ALWAYS twisty, so I hope you stick around to see it 💌 also!! i would like to give a big thank you to drea for creating this beautiful banner and story dividers (graphic design is not my passion)!! go give her a follow @adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy if you haven't already!!

masterlist : askbox : read on wattpad

word count: 15.7k

content/warnings: YOU get mommy issues!! and YOU get mommy issues!!! EVERYONE GETS MOMMY ISSUES!!!!, an overwhelming use of hand imagery, the normalization of talking to pets as if they can respond, Harry doesn't understand how to use figures of speech, drugs: just say no, time to meet the man of your dreams (literally), Rowan "well mark me down as scared AND horny!" Frances, and the beginning of a journey to see how many references to Practical Magic (1998) can be made in each chapter.

When Harry first stumbles through the door of the shop, the rain pounding on the roof is reaching biblical proportions, and Rowan is convinced that the universe is playing some sort of cosmic practical joke on her.

If the day, which had just entered it’s thirteenth hour, hadn��t already been bad enough—if she hadn’t already spilled coffee down her front, staining her favourite ivory shirt and forcing her to change; if she hadn’t already misplaced her favourite pen, the one with violet ink that glides so delightfully over the countless inventory forms she has to fill out; if she hadn’t already knocked over a flower arrangement that had taken two hours to construct and two seconds to destroy, shattering the sea-glass green vase that she had waited three weeks for in the mail; if none of that was enough—she had forgotten to flip the sign on the door to say that her floral shop was closed for lunch (which, because of her rush this morning, would be her first actual meal of the day), and now there is a soaking wet stranger standing in her doorway, who is shaking out his sopping hair with an urgent glance around the store, and his eyes settling on Rowan with unspoken need.

The moment she heard the bell of the door tinkle from his disturbance, Rowan had turned toward the entryway, a strained smile pasted to her face before she even made eye contact with the stranger. “I’m sorry, sir,” She says, her voice barely meeting sorry, and edging more on irritation with every passing moment. “But we’re actually closed for lunch. You can come back at two, if you’d like.”

The man—who is dripping all over her freshly cleaned hardwood floors, she notes wryly—looks up at her with a raised brow, as if he’s surprised to find that there’s someone inside the small shop. Perhaps he’s just flustered from being caught in the storm, Rowan thinks, because it’s clear that the rain has soaked straight through his thin army jacket and maroon knit sweater, and is coating his entire being in ice, right down to his bones. The rain had come on rather quickly; Rowan recalls hearing the sudden thundering outside just after she had shattered the beautiful vase. It makes sense that the man looks like he hadn’t been expecting it. In fact, he still looks rather unmoored as he runs his ring-covered hand through his sopping wet chestnut ringlets once more, his hunter eyes darting another round over the store before refocusing on Rowan.

“I’m very sorry to disturb,” Rowan is surprised to hear the silky British accent that slips from his raspberry mouth, the hue matching the ruddiness of his cheeks—a sure side-effect of the freezing weather in which he’d found himself caught. “But I’m in a bit of a hurry, and I was wondering if you had any yarrow flowers.”

Despite her mouth already open to inform the man that, once again, her shop is currently closed, his incredibly specific request makes Rowan pause. Yarrow flowers are hardly a popular arrangement choice for someone who’s annoyed their partner—which she assumes this man has, given the hurry that he says he’s in. Normally, when men show up in her shop with a desperate look on their faces and urgency in their voices, they’re searching for flowers such as roses, calla lilies, daisies—things known to bloom for love. Yarrow flowers, with their small clumps of pastel petals offset by long, wiry stems, hardly match that description.

The curiosity peaking inside her chest, more than anything else, is what prompts Rowan to change the response that’s resting on the tip of her tongue. “I, um, may have some in the back,” She says slowly, as if feeling out the words as she utters them. “I use them as fillers, sometimes, in arrangements. I can…check for you, if you’d like.”

The man visibly breathes a sigh of relief, his face relaxing just the slightest bit as his shoulders slump beneath his soaked clothing. “That would be lovely, thank you. I’d really appreciate it.”

Rowan nods again, giving the man one last look of pensive confusion before stepping out from behind her (messy as usual) desk to make her way to the back of the store to the workshop. As her shoes echo against the wooden floor, she wonders if this is a smart idea; should she be leaving a strange man with even stranger requests unattended in her shop? Should she be turning her back on him while walking towards a private back room that contains multiple objects of the heavy and sharp variety? Objects that she’d hate to see catalogued by a forensics team when her body is eventually discovered with a pair of gardening shears protruding from her chest?

Reaching the half-opened door of her workshop, Rowan pauses in the frame just long enough to glance back over her shoulder at the man. With her promise to check her inventory for his requested flowers, he’s allowed some of the tension to slip from his body, and is busying himself by extracting a leather journal from an inner pocket of his jacket to thumb through. No, Rowan decides as she studies his furrowed brow and focused gaze. The man, albeit a little strange, isn’t a potential 48 Hours suspect; he’s just a little frazzled by the unexpected events of the day, a feeling to which Rowan can relate. And perhaps, if she wasn’t as frazzled as she is, she would have noticed the peculiarity of the man’s entire person being soaked while the yellowed pages of his leather-bound journal remain completely dry.

Or maybe she wouldn’t have. After all, she’d spent her entire life ignoring the irregularities around her. What’s one more anomaly to turn a blind eye to?

Rowan doesn’t bother to close the door behind her, knowing that she’ll only be spending a few minutes inside her slightly chaotic workshop. The long wooden table and decorating stations are just as she left them an hour ago—meaning they’re covered in tissue wrappings and loose, wilted petals, with clipped leaves and discarded stems littering the floor below her—and she bypasses the mess to pull open the heavy insulated door that leads to her freezer.

She shivers as she steps into the refrigerated room, pulling her cable-knit cardigan tighter around her shoulders as she begins to scan the alphabetized shelves. Rowan’s eyes quickly scan one label to the next until she finds the little label that says “yarrow” in her neat writing on the lower half of the second metal shelf, nestled neatly beside a pile of violets. There are only a few of the little white flowers left in her stock, enough for about two small bunches, so Rowan removes both from the shelf before stepping out of the freezer and shutting the door tightly behind her to preserve the other flowers that are stocked away.

Clutching the two miniature bouquets in her hands, Rowan nudges the door of her workshop open a bit more as she passes back under the frame, picking off a few browning petals from the blossoms. She wishes the blooms were fresher—it wouldn’t be easy for the man to make amends for whatever he had done if he showed up with wilted flowers. Still, Rowan thinks as she flicks the dried petals to the ground, it’s better than nothing, and hopes that the small bouquets will be enough to appease whoever the soaked stranger had managed to piss off.

“I found a couple bunches, and I wasn’t sure how many you needed, so I brought both—” Rowan stops short as she enters the front of the shop again, expecting to find the man near the door where she had left him, but finds only a damp spot on the wood where he’d dripped after his entrance. “Hello?” Confusion settles into her voice as she tentatively steps forward again, her gaze sweeping the perimeter of her shop.

“Oh, thank you,” The voice emerges from around the corner and behind a shelf of succulents, making Rowan half jump in surprise, and a small and shocked gasp leaves her mouth as the curly haired man steps out from behind the greenery.

“Oh—!” She clutches the flowers to her chest, taking a deep breath and releasing a strained laugh at her own over the top reaction, the sound both an apology and a nervous tic that’s lingered from childhood. “You scared me.”

With his emerald eyes tinged with regret, the man offers a peacemaking smile that borders on a grimace as he peers at her from the aisle. “I’m sorry,” He says slowly, his voice accented with sincerity as he presses a tattooed hand to his soaked chest, as if needing to catch his own breath as well. While it’s the movement that originally catches Rowan’s eye, it’s the tattoo inked into his skin that keeps her attention—it’s a strange symbol, resembling nothing she’s ever seen before, and yet…something about the crossing of lines and gentle curves of ink seems familiar.

Shaking herself out of her thoughts with a quick jerk of her head, Rowan offers a smile to the man in return for his apology. “It’s fine,” She eases her tone to match the tilt of her lips, holding out the previously requested flowers to him. “Will these be enough for you?”

The man’s strawberry lips rise to mirror Rowan’s smile as he gives a gentle nod, relief and gratitude dancing through his sea glass irises. “Yes, thank you. You’re a lifesaver.”

“Oh, it’s no problem,” Rowan waves off the praise with a casual flick of her hand before beckoning him back towards the counter, doing her best to ignore the strange spark of pleasure in her belly upon hearing the stranger’s praise. “C’mon, I’ll just ring you up at the front.”

The man follows her to the front of the store, his polished shoes squeaking against the floor with every step and keeping his presence in her peripheral thoughts—as if Rowan could forget it. Reaching the counter, however, provides her with a familiar sense of comfort that she didn’t realize she’d been craving until the mahogany bench is between their two bodies. It’s strange, though, she thinks as she curls her fingers around the edge of the counter, drumming them once against the wood before beginning to ring in the flowers on her tablet that’s housed on the front counter. Despite the distance bringing her comfort, there’s a distinct sense of lack that comes with the separation; her eyes flicker to the stranger in front of her once again as she sets the bouquet of flowers onto the tissue paper lying in front of her. The brunette man is searching for his wallet in his rain drenched pockets, extracting a misted phone and the surprisingly dry journal from his jacket in his vain efforts. His eyes flicker to hers in apology, his smile growing back into a sheepish lilt as he clutches the objects within one hand while still searching with the other.

“I know I have it—somewhere��” He mutters, his drenched locks curling into his eyes as his head drops back down to examine his clothing. “Sorry, I’m usually—a little more organized than this, I swear—”

“No, no, it’s alright,” Rowan offers the usual method of banter she employs with customers, in which she just agrees and relates to anything they say to put them at ease. It’s a little fake, to be sure, but what isn’t fake about customer service? It’s not like she can roll her eyes each time someone makes the “it must be free!” joke when her debit machine takes a moment to boot up. “It’s been a strange day for everyone, I think. I spilled coffee all over myself, knocked over arrangements…and then to top it all off, the weather began to act up, when it had been so nice for the last few days.”

Cocking his head to the side, the stranger considers her small talk for a moment—which is more than most customers have ever considered her in her life. The curiosity of his gaze ignites that unfamiliar feeling again, once more making her contrastingly thankful and remorseful for the mahogany barrier between them. “Yes, it has been strange,” Despite the lightness of his tone, Rowan doesn’t miss the way his eyes shift a hue darker as he speaks. “Certainly seemed to come out of no—got it!”

The florist watches as he triumphantly extracts a brown wallet embossed with a marking she doesn’t recognize (a brand logo, perhaps? For a company more luxurious than she’s used to?), tucking the rest of his items back into his jacket with one swift motion.

“Wonderful,” Rowan means every syllable of the word as she begins to key in the purchase on her tablet, her expert fingers tapping away as relief flows through her body, both from having a new center of attention, and knowing that she’ll be able to really take her lunch break soon. “I’ll ring those in for you—”

“That’s an interesting marking,” The man interrupts her focus with the offhand comment, and when her gaze snaps up to him once more, she finds him nodding to the door of the shop as his ringed fingers open his wallet. “Do you know what it means?”

Rowan tears her eyes from his flushed skin to where his own gaze rests, settling her sights on the top of the door frame, where a black hand painted symbol sits in stark contrast with the white of the walls. “Oh, it’s just something my mom used to draw all the time,” She explains with a shrug, dismissing the symbol as her eyes turn back from the familiar six petal flower wrapped in a circle to the questioning man in front of her. “She used to say it was for protection of homes, so when I opened the shop, I figured…well,” Rowan offers a sheepish smile in return for her superstitious explanation. “New York can be a dangerous place. It can’t hurt to have extra protection, right?”

Not for the first time, an undecipherable response flits through the man’s hunter eyes, but it disappears just as quickly as it appears, before Rowan can make anything of it. “Right,” He agrees quickly, his nod more serious than it had been a moment before. “You can never have too much protection.”

Although his words echo the very phrase Rowan just spoke, something about his cadence of voice gives the simple saying a double meaning. The florist ponders it for a moment, her eyes searching the stranger’s as much as she dares, but decides it’s best not to pry. It’s not her place, really. She doesn’t know this man, and she doubts he’d bother to recommend her shop to anyone he knows if she tries to interrogate him over his expressions.

Clearing her throat, Rowan decides it’s time to change the subject, and refocuses her attention to the task at hand. “So, um—” She glances back down at her tablet, forcing herself to remember her usual spiel with her customers. “I’ll just need your name for records—your first name, if you don’t mind. It just helps me with counting and keeping track of stock.”

“That’s no problem,” The tone of his voice flips back to something more casual with ease as he rakes a hand through his damp curls once more. “My name is Harry.”

“Harry…” Rowan quickly types the simple name into her inventory logs before setting her tablet down on the counter. With nimble and practiced fingers, she begins to wrap the yarrow flowers in tissue, but Harry interrupts her with a shake of his head.

“Actually,” He gives an apologetic smile—something he seems to do a lot, she’s noticed (not that she’s noticed much about him, she tells herself). “I don’t need any wrapping for them; I’ll be using them right away, and I’d hate to waste the tissue.”

“Oh,” Rowan’s movements pause at his request, and she removes the flowers from the wrapping carefully before handing the bouquet to Harry. “Are you sure? It’s still pouring, and the rain will ruin them…”

The stranger—Harry, she reminds herself—waves away her concern with an unbothered flick of his hand. “Yeah, it’s alright. I’m going to be pulling apart the blossoms anyway.”

“You’re—” Despite the majority of this interaction being the strangest she’s had in a long time, this is the first comment of the man that’s made Rowan pause completely. Were these flowers not a gift for someone, like she’d originally assumed? “What?”

“I needed yarrow blossoms for a little…project of mine,” The molasses-like speed at which Harry utters the words gives Rowan the impression that he’s choosing them very carefully, and the florist can’t help but wonder what explanation pertaining to flowers would ever need to be so carefully considered. “Normally I keep a stock of them, but I ran out last month and forgot to order more, and I was in the middle of my project by the time I realized…” As if realizing he’s beginning to ramble, Harry offers another shy tilt of his lips before laughing lightly at his own antics. “Well, anyways, I don’t need the wrapper. But I really appreciate the help; I know I kept you open past your usual hours.”

The strange—albeit rambling—explanation leaves Rowan speechless for a moment as she debates whether or not it’s worth questioning Harry more about his project—what kind of project would so urgently need yarrow flowers? What kind of project would be worth running out into this increasingly raging storm, soaking oneself clean to the bone just to retrieve the small bouquet currently clenched in Harry’s hand?

A project that’s none of your business, Rowan tells herself firmly. None of your business. “It’s—don’t worry about it,” She straightens her spine in resolution, mimicking his earlier action of waving off concern as he sets a twenty dollar bill down on the counter. “Oh—no, it was only twelve dollars, actually—”

“Keep the change. As a thank you.” Harry tucks his wallet back into his pocket, as if his soaked jacket could do much to protect the object from the rain. “Oh, by the way—” His jade irises brighten once more as he extracts his tattooed hand from his pocket, holding out an object to Rowan in offering. “I found this on the floor—meant to give it to you…”

Grasped between his long, lithe fingers (that she is not staring at. Not in the slightest.) is Rowan’s favourite pen—the one with violet ink that glides so delightfully over the countless information forms she has to fill out. Her mouth drops open as realization lights up her face, and she retrieves the pen from him with a new and genuine smile painted on her lips. “Oh, I’ve been looking for this! It’s my favourite.” Clicking it once as if to test if it’s working, Rowan regards the soaked man with newly warmed eyes. “Thank you, Harry.”

Harry’s expression molds to match her own the moment their eyes meet, and he tucks the flowers under his arm before sheathing his hands within his pockets. “No need to thank me, Rowan. I’ll be seeing you soon.” His shoes click against the ground as he retreats back to the front door, casting one last glance at the floral symbol painted over his head before pushing the barrier open. “Stay dry, alright?”

Rowan nods automatically, repeating the phrase back to him as she waves goodbye with her pen still grasped between her fingers. The moment the door closes behind him, her previous hunger returns with more insistence than before, turning her stomach and effectively erasing all aspects of the strange meeting with the reminder that she needs to walk upstairs to her apartment to find something to eat.

It’s not until she’s sitting at her kitchen table, her cat sprawled languidly across her lap as she takes a bite of her cobb salad, that she realizes she had never told Harry her name.

…

“Oh, Christ—Butternut!”

The ginger cat scatters from underneath Rowan’s feet as the girl manages to catch herself on the edge of the kitchen counter, using the fern green cabinets to support her weight as she regains her balance. With one hand still holding the cat’s plastic food dish, Rowan uses the other to push herself away from the counter with a roll of her eyes, and resumes walking to the corner of the small kitchen to set the food dish down in its regular spot as Butternut watches from beneath a kitchen chair

“There you go,” Rowan sighs in exasperation as Butternut scurries from his hiding spot to the dish she’s just set down, and begins to feast on his wet and dry mix while Rowan brushes her fingers over his soft auburn fur. “You have to learn how to be patient, you know that?” She murmurs with a quirk of her brow. “You’d think after ten years, you’d have figured that out.”

The cat meows in response at her between bites of his food, and Rowan smiles softly as she gives one last stroke to his plush fur before straightening herself up and grabbing her mug of tea from the kitchen counter. It takes her the usual three steps to reach the small living room of her apartment, and she sets her mug on its usual spot on the coffee table as she grabs her journal from the couch, where she’d left it that morning, just as she always does when she realizes she’s running late for work. She’d hoped that owning her own flower shop would have cured her of her perpetual lateness that had plagued her childhood, but it seems that her lack of punctuality is just one of the many traits she’d inherited from her mother, in addition to being one of her least favourite traits she’d inherited from her mother.

“What did you get up to while I was at work today, Butternut? Anything interesting?” Rowan asks, only half-rhetorically as she picks up her mug again once settled into the couch. “Any important business I should know about?”

Rowan receives the usual meow in reply, and she hums thoughtfully in the back of her throat as she takes a small sip of tea. The boiling liquid scalds her tongue just the way she’s grown accustomed to—another trait she picked up from her mother, who had had a habit of setting down her teacups and promptly forgetting their existence for the better part of an hour. Drinking the piping hot liquid immediately, Rowan had learned the hard way, saves her the disgruntlement that comes with discovering ice-cold tea three hours after she’s made it.

Blowing over the steaming mug, Rowan watches as Butternut continues to munch on his food. “I thought as much,” She replies to the cat seriously, giving Butternut a stern look as he continues to eat his food and pay her little regard. “I told you to stay away from Mrs. Piper’s cat, didn’t I? We both know Zipper is a bit of a heart breaker, and I just don’t want to see you get hurt again.”

Butternut squeaks out another meow, this one sounding more indignant than the last, which Rowan greatly appreciates. It’s easier to talk to the cat without sounding crazy, she rationalizes (as she has hundreds of times before), when the cat’s responses vary in tone, as if he can actually understand her.

“You’re a glutton for punishment, you know that?” Rowan clicks her tongue as she opens her journal, reading over her messily scrawled entry from that morning that she had barely managed to finish. “I’m just trying to look out for your best interests, and—”

A tapping sound from outside the living room window interrupts Rowan’s one-sided conversation, and she twists her head towards the source of noise with curiosity sparking across her face. When the tapping occurs again, sharper and more insistent this time around, Rowan stands up urgently, nearly spilling her tea in her haste to set down the mug and walk the short distance to the window. Although she can’t see anything that could have caused the noise when she arrives in front of the pane, Rowan’s curiosity is still unsatisfyingly unsatiated, and she quickly flips the latch on the window in order to push it open, the half-rusted mechanics squeaking in protest as they always do before she leans out towards her fire escape.

With half her body now hanging out of her living room window, Rowan swiftly scans over the familiar view of Greenwich Village. Having lived in the Village her entire life, Rowan has to admit that there’s a satisfying, pleasurable comfort in her stomach every time she looks at the skyline of the neighbourhood. It’s a feeling of home, she thinks, as well as belonging, and she knows that she could never find anywhere else quite like it. There was a reason that her mother chose this as the place to settle down after moving from London; she had always told Rowan that the city called to her, even from across the Atlantic Ocean, like a siren stringing her towards her deepest desires. And when Rowan has the honour of watching the orange autumn sun sink down in the sky, staining the tops of buildings in a burnt glaze, she feels the same call. And, in a perhaps more easily explainable way, the Village reminds her of her mother. She’d never be able to leave it, even if she wanted to.

A now familiar tapping pulls Rowan from her admiration of the city she’s called home for her entire life, and the young woman cranes her neck to the left just in time to settle her eyes on the source of the sound, her brows creasing together in bemusement as she does so.

The crow perched on the edge of her fire escape has to have the blackest and shiniest feathers that Rowan has ever seen. The onyx tone of its wings is accented by the golden light of the setting sun, which sparkles in the creature’s knowledgeable eyes. Knowledgeable, Rowan observes, because the crows eyes seem to meet her own, both with purpose and some sort of recognition.

Rowan cocks her head to the side as she engages in the staring contest with the bird, her state of mind growing more and more confused and unsettled with every passing moment. Were crows known to be the kind of bird that stared back at you? She wondered, her mouth opening and closing as she pondered the question without speaking it aloud. And were they not skittish? Rowan had made enough ruckus as she opened her window that she would have thought the bird would have long flown away by now, and yet, its piercing black eyes continue to stare back at her own. It’s ridiculous, and she knows this, but Rowan can’t make herself look away. Who loses a staring contest to a crow? She scoffs internally, leaning a little further over the ledge of her window. She refuses to be the first to blink. Surely it’s not that hard to outlast a bird; after all, she’s the one with a brain bigger than a ping bong ball. She can outlast a bird in a staring contest. Not that any sane person would ever actually challenge a bird to a staring contest, of course, but Rowan is sure stranger things have happened. And, furthermore, she’s not the one who started this. If anything, the bird challenged her—winning the imagined contest is a matter of honour.

And then Butternut jumps out the window, effectively breaking her perfect concentration, and sets all hell loose.

If Rowan hadn’t been so distracted by the crow’s strange behaviour, she would have remembered the dangers that come with leaving her window wide open as she had. Part of the reason the old mechanisms had squeaked so much when she yanked the fixture open was that she—save the few times she’d burned something while cooking and had to air out her apartment from the smoke of her failed dinner endeavors—very rarely opened the window more than a crack. Just as Rowan has a long list of troubling habits, so does Butternut, and one of those habits includes jumping out of open windows and giving Rowan a heart attack.

The young florist had discovered this habit the first day she met him when she was twelve years old and found him wandering the streets of New York. His burnt orange coat had been speckled with mud and dirt, grown long from what seemed to be months of a lack of attention, but that hadn’t stopped her from scooping the surprisingly pliant cat into her arms and carrying him home to her mother. She’d been prepared to beg and plead on behalf of the animal and her right to keep him, but as it turned out, that hadn’t been necessary; all it took was one look at the poor creature, and Winnifred began to fill the copper sink with hot water and soap to bathe him. Rowan had been delighted at her mother’s acceptance of the new pet—until said pet jumped from the counter and out their kitchen window, which had been open to release steam from the soup Winnifred had been making. To this day, Rowan remembers peering out the window with horror as Butternut scurried along the ledge outside of their sixth floor apartment, and how she’d had to coax him back to safety with strings of shredded cheese. As terrifying as it had been, however, Rowan had learned her lesson—if Butternut is in the room, windows have to be closed. There had been a few close calls over the years, but never anything as bad as that first day, when she thought she would lose her new friend before she’d even had the chance to truly befriend him.

Until now.

The moment Butternut’s paws meet the rusted metal of the fire escape, he bounds after the crow, leaping for the ledge of the fire escape before Rowan can even absorb what’s happening. The crow, however, doesn’t have the same processing delay that she does, and flies away before the cat can sink a claw into his shiny feathers. Unfortunately, Butternut has always been determined, and by the time Rowan has scurried out through the window and onto the fire escape, Butternut has already begun bounding down the rusted metal steps and onto the street below.

“Fuck—” Rowan curses loudly, nearly tripping over herself in her hurry to clamber back from the window ledge and into her apartment. Grabbing only her keys from the catch-all table by her door, Rowan throws open the door of her apartment and slams it behind her, not bothering to check if it’s locked before hurling herself towards the stairwell of her building.

Brushing her chestnut hair out of her eyes as she rounds the corner of the stairwell, Rowan has to give credit where credit is due; for a cat that’s over a decade old, Butternut moves fast, and that knowledge only incites more intensity in the girl as she tears through the stairwell and onto the street. Rowan pants as she surveys the bustling crowds, scouring the bottom of every black and grey raincoat until she just barely catches the yellowish hue of Butternut’s tail disappearing around the corner.

“Butternut!” She yells loudly, receiving a scoff and a dirty look from an old lady whose ear she’d just accidentally yelled in. “Sorry, ma’am, I just—sorry!” Rowan offers one more quick apology before dashing down the street towards Butternut. “Come back!”

Although she does her best to avoid pedestrians around her in her pursuit of her pet, Rowan still manages to ram her shoulders into four different people as she runs through the crowded Greenwich Village street. She spits out speedy apologies whenever she does so, her hickory eyes flashing with what she hopes is sincerity and not annoyance, but she doesn’t stop to say anything more; already, Butternut is disappearing in a sea of New Yorker ankles, and she’s worried that if she doesn’t grab him soon, someone else will.

After five blocks of pursuit—how does an aging cat have better stamina than she does?—Butternut seems to disappear completely, his fluffy tail nowhere in sight amongst the throngs of people. Rowan slows her pace to a light jog, her legs aching and lungs burning in protest as she pants so loud that passersby keep giving her concerned stares. There’s a feeling of dread beginning to coil itself around Rowan’s intestines, and she’s not sure if it’s the fear of losing Butternut, or the oncoming asthma attack, but it nearly doubles Rowan over as she struggles to move breath in and out of her lungs.

“I need—to work—out more—” Rowan puffs to herself, folding one hand over her stomach as she continues to push her way through the crowded sidewalk at a reduced pace. “I—” Her eyes widen as she spies an amber tail among the crowds. “Butternut!”

Although her loud exclamation once again startles an old lady (seriously, just how many old ladies are wandering around the village right now?), Rowan doesn’t stop to apologize this time, and instead simply offers a flash of an apologetic grimace before jogging after the fluff of golden fur that she just caught ducking into the open door of a shop.

Still wheezing loudly when she reaches the storefront, Rowan manages to crane her neck up to catch sight of the sign above her. The white washed wood plank with dark green letters reads Verbena & Birch Apothecary, and Rowan only takes a moment to admire the craftsmanship that must have gone into carving the plant sprigs next to the logo before she remembers the reason she’s here, and yanks the wooden door open to run inside.

“Butternut?” She calls out, still breathless from her impromptu marathon down the streets of Greenwich Village. “C’mon, stinky—” Her eyes scan over the countless shelves lined with delicate-looking glass bottles, and a feeling of dread grows in her stomach as she tucks her wild locks behind her ears. All it would take is one pounce from Butternut to destroy everything on these shelves, something she wouldn’t put past the mischievous cat that just scampered down five city blocks. “You can’t be in here! Let’s go!”

Rowan pauses for a moment and listens closely for the sound of familiar paws against the wooden floor, or the usual indignant meowed response when she calls Butternut stinky, or any sign that the cat is wandering the breakable-filled store, but hears nothing save for her own laboured breathing. Bracing her hand against her heaving stomach again, Rowan lets out a groan, hanging her head and letting her hair fall into her face as she bends over, submitting to another cramp that’s working its way through her insides.

“Does he belong to you?”

The lilting British accent that rings through the quiet shop pricks Rowan’s ears with familiarity as she snaps herself back into more appropriate posture, her palm still massaging her belly over her shirt. “What—?” Rowan whips her head around, searching for the source of the voice behind the towering shelves surrounding her. A flicker of movement from the corner of her eye catches her attention, and Rowan turns slowly towards a tower of white candles organized in glass jars as the owner of the disembodied voice emerges from behind it.

The first thing Rowan notices—to her immense relief—is Butternut happily situated in the man’s arms, purring contentedly as he stretches out languidly, seemingly pleased by the stranger’s body heat. This odd response is the second thing Rowan notes, as Butternut has never had an affinity for those he doesn’t know, and usually prefers to claw at strangers rather than flop over within their grasps. The third thing that Rowan notices, however, might be the oddest thing of all; the stranger in front of her is, in fact, no stranger at all.

Or, at the very least, she’s met him before. Although his clothing isn’t soaked to the bone from a surprise thunder storm, his curls a bit lighter in colour and bouncier than ever when dry, and his cheeks displaying a tint of rosiness to them in the heat of the shop, Rowan recognizes Harry the moment she’s able to get a good look at him, even before noting the forest green apron with his name embroidered in the corner over his white t-shirt and tan cardigan. It’s his eyes, she thinks, cocking her head to the side as she appraises the familiar young man in front of her. The way his jade irises appear to swirl and shift in the light filtering through the storefront windows is so unmistakable that it’s branded into Rowan’s head from just their one brief meeting. And if the way those eyes are crinkling in the corners as his expression twists into a grin, Rowan can tell that Harry recognizes her, as well.

“Yes,” The florist finally replies to him, breathing a sigh of relief as she steps towards him. “Yes, that’s my cat. I’m so sorry, he just escaped from my apartment and ran all the way here, and I couldn’t stop him before he got inside—”

“It’s alright,” Harry assures her with a small smile that tugs at the corner of his reddened lips as he scratches Butternut behind his ears. “Worse things have stepped into this shop, I can assure you. And given how cute this particular intruder is, I can’t bring myself to mind it.”

Rowan’s upturned lips, while tentative, slowly lift to match the grin on his face as the full relief of knowing that Butternut is safe washes over her. “Thank you, really,” She reaches out and scoops Butternut into her arms, pressing the cat into her chest protectively while ignoring the burning feeling of Harry’s fingertips brushing over her own. “He didn’t break anything?”

“Oh, no, everything’s fine,” Harry says easily, waving one nail polished hand without an air of concern or notice of the contact. “No harm, no foul, and all that.”

“That’s a relief,” Rowan bounces Butternut in her arms absentmindedly as she glances around the shop, appraising the fragile wares more thoroughly than she had when she first entered. “His second worst habit after jumping out of windows is breaking things, and a lot of things here seem breakable.”

Rowan isn’t exaggerating for effect. Now that the relief of finding Butternut has uncoiled her stomach and she can take a moment to really look around the shop, she’s amazed that she managed to collect him without paying a small fortune for items destroyed in his wake. Every wall of the store is lined with a wooden built-in shelf, each one filled with an assortment of products, with the types of products varying from each wall. It’s much more organized than she’d thought at her first glance, and she allows herself a moment to sweep over each product with errant curiosity.

The wall to her left has shelves labeled with what she assumes are different kinds of teas, sorted by their uses, such as “awake and alive,” “blood pressure support,” and “happy tummy,” as well as sorted by flavour and blend. Another shelf is lined with small dropper bottles labeled with various types of oils, and the shelf to the right of that one is lined with small brown bottles labeled as various tinctures. The opposite wall to her right hosts a wide variety of salves and balms, also sorted by uses such as “super healing,” “anti-anxiety,” and “mood boost.” Along the back wall are rows of bulk bins usually found in the grocery store, except these bins are filled with large amounts of ground dried herbs, all labeled neatly to match everything else in the store. Despite the great quantities, however, there are also jars filled with unground herbs still attached to their host plants sitting neatly above the bins. The last wall, however, has the greatest variety of anything else in the store, and stocks row upon row of various crystals, stones, and minerals, all hosting neat labels with their properties and meanings underneath the names. And if all that product wasn’t enough—enough to pique her interest as well as her anxiety at the thought of Butternut roaming free in here—there’s stand-alone shelves throughout the store, displaying more tinctures, oils, and products, as well as candles, incense, and things that Rowan can’t even put a name to.

If Harry’s tone when he interrupts her observations is any indication, then her curiosity about the products is written clear across her face. “See anything interesting?” He asks conversationally, tucking his ringed hands into the pockets of his apron.

“I’d think it’s all interesting,” Rowan murmurs in reply, keeping a firm grasp on Butternut as she steps closer to a shelf of incense, squinting her eyes to read the—quite messy—handwritten labels. “What is all this stuff?”

“Well, they’re a wide variety of things, but to put it simply…they’re natural and organic products. I make them all here, in the back of my shop,” Harry untucks one hand to motion his thumb over his shoulder as he watches Rowan lean down to smell the incense, Buttercup meowing indignantly in her arms as she tightens her grip once more. “Well, except for the incense and candles. I have a supplier in Brooklyn that provides those for me, as well as some of the herbs. But all the oils and balms…I make those in house.”

Rowan doesn’t miss the hint of pride that lingers in the back of Harry’s voice, nor can she blame him for it. If she’d concocted all of this, she’d have more than just a hint of pride. “You make these?” Rowan repeats back in amazement, walking slowly to another shelf, this one housing a variety of creams and balms. Each row has a neatly labeled tester pot, and she runs her finger over the cool glass of the jars as she reads the labels out loud.

“‘Patience’… ‘prosperity’… ‘protection’…” Rowan tilts her head towards Harry and raises a brow as the alphabetized names fall from her tongue. “How does a cream offer protection? Protection from what? Dry skin?”

The corner of Harry’s lips twitch. “Well, yes. Among other things,” He strides over to stand next to her, picking up the tester jar labeled “protection,” and dips a jewelled finger into the surface of the light cream. “May I?” He requests, extending his other hand to her.

“Oh, uh…” Rowan shifts Butternut’s weight to her left arm, freeing up her right arm for Harry to take between his fingers. “Yeah. Go ahead.”

Harry’s left hand grips her wrist with a warm and gentle touch, the curves of his fingers molding into the shape of her body easily. Despite feeling it a few moments earlier, Rowan isn’t prepared for the strange feeling that hums up and down her arm when Harry’s skin meets her own. Her walnut irises capture his own hunter pair, and the question that flashes through them quickly tells her that she’s not the only one noticing the buzz.

Harry, however, seems to be better at keeping his expression unreadable, because as soon as the question appears in his own eyes, it disappears again, his gaze returning to her hand. His fingers begin to dance over her wrist as he carefully rubs the cool balm into her skin, and Rowan watches the practiced motion for a moment before her attention slips to the strange tattoo that occupies the back of his hand, the one that she’d noticed in her own shop a few days before. It almost seems to dance over his skin, flexing and flowing with the movement of his muscles as he works the cream into her own palm.

If the smell of sage and sandalwood filling the air hadn’t distracted her, Rowan might have begun to center her attention on the lithe movements of Harry’s calloused fingers over her hand, and how warm and welcoming his touch felt along her body, which would have led to her thinking about his hands traveling up her arm, following the natural line of her body to her collar bones, and then—

“That smells so good,” She says quickly, struggling to keep her voice balanced and even as she allows the fragrance to fill her senses, rather than her thoughts, which seem to be getting away from her at the moment. “Is that sage?”

Admittedly, the smell is quite distracting all on its own, even without Harry’s tantalizing touch working the scented balm into her skin, but Rowan can’t help but think that the relaxed and tranquil feeling flowing through her body has less to do with aromatherapy and more to do with the way Harry’s fingertips are pressing between her knuckles. Despite her brief encounters with him, there’s a familiar feeling in the way they interact; when he touches her, it doesn’t feel uncomfortable or unfamiliar, like the touch of a stranger should feel. Instead, the sensation that hums over her skin and settles inside her chest reminds her of the warm burn of a hearth, as if her body were a home that has been waiting for him to arrive and light the fire for the night that will keep the dark and damp away.

“I’m glad you think so,” Harry’s low and lilting voice cuts through Rowan’s trance as he rubs the last of the cream into her skin. Although his fingers cease their gentle massage, he still keeps her wrist clasped within his hand, the pad of his thumb brushing over her knuckles absentmindedly.

“I make the oils for these myself. This one has some sage, angelica, clove, and sandalwood. I mix it with organic cocoa butter, organic coconut oil, and beeswax from my supplier in Brooklyn, and melt it all together while—” Harry stops talking abruptly, his poetry-like tone cutting off with a nervous glance and a sheepish smile. “Actually, I shouldn’t be telling you all this. S’a trade secret, you know. If I tell you, then you might tell someone else, and soon I’ll be boarding up my windows because everyone is cooking up their own balms in their kitchens. Won’t have any need for me anymore.”

Rowan, who had been more focused on the hypnotic cadence of Harry’s voice to process exactly what he’d been saying, offers a half-hearted laugh as she shifts Buttercup within her arm. “Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me,” She does her best to reassure him, but it’s hard to sound convincing when Harry squeezes her hand within his own, because for some reason, Harry is still cradling her wrist, which only stokes the hearth within her chest. “I don’t really understand it, anyways. You said it…offers protection?” Rowan blinks at his simple nod of explanation. “Um…protection from what?”

Harry loosely lifts his shoulders into a noncommittal shrug. “Anything, really. Whatever the wearer feels like they need protection from.”

“Okay, but…if I felt like I needed protection from…I don’t know, a robber…” Rowan spins an imaginary scenario as she speaks, shifting Butternut in her arm once more as the cat begins to fuss (she should extract her hand from Harry’s. It would make holding him a lot easier). “How would a cream protect me from that?”

“It’s not so much the cream as what it’s made from,” Picking up the jar again with his free hand (despite his eyes flickering to the increasingly annoyed cat within her grasp, he still hasn’t relented his own grasp on her), Harry twists the container so that the ingredient list faces Rowan, leaving him to speak from memory as he recites it. “Sage, angelica, clove, sandalwood…all of those things have protective properties. Their aromas bring comfort and tranquility to those who smell them. Using them in a cream allows their fragrance to go anywhere with the wearer, so it can bring continual comfort. Think about that symbol above your door, the one you said your mum used to draw. That was for protection, wasn’t it? It’s the same idea.”

“Oh…” Realization sparks in Rowan’s mind as she glances around the shop again, taking in every item with newly opened eyes. “Oh. Like in a metaphysical sense, right? Like how lavender is meant to bring luck?”

Harry’s brows arch up in surprise at the connection as he sets the jar back on the shelf. “Exactly like that, yes,” He says slowly, his emerald eyes watching Rowan’s renewed examination carefully as he finally relinquishes her wrist. “How did you know that?”

Rowan clutches Buttercup tighter to her chest, and while the movement is easier with both arms at her disposal, she can’t deny that she misses the sensations Harry’s touch provided her. “It’s another thing my mom told me when I was a kid. She always kept a little lavender plant in a window box.” Her eyes settle on the glass bottle filled with lavender sprigs on the shelf nearest to her, the sight jogging memories she hadn’t played in her mind in quite some time. “She used to make me lavender and chamomile tea when I was a kid, because I had trouble sleeping sometimes. It always knocked me right out,” The florist shrugs lightly. “You know, looking back, she probably mixed in some Nyquil too, but…”

Although Harry offers a small chuckle at her joke, the sound that falls from his mouth is strained, and when Rowan turns her attention back to the man again, his face has shifted into an expression she can’t read. His previously relaxed brow has furrowed and creased, and his cherry lips have transformed from an easygoing grin to a thin pursed line. The dimples that had adorned his rosy cheeks have all but disappeared, and without them, Harry looks ten years older, and ten times more intimidating.

Rowan clears her throat in an attempt to ease the newfound tension. “That—that was a joke,” She mumbles with a weak laugh, stroking the amber fur of Butternut’s back as he fusses once more. “She, uh, she didn’t do that.” Turning back to the shelf of teas, Rowan scans over the labels swiftly to find one like she’d described. “You sell one too, huh? A bedtime tea?”

Harry gives a terse nod of his head as his eyes follow the gesture of Rowan’s chin, his gaze seemingly glued to every one of her actions. “I do, yeah. Would you—?” Although he cuts off the question before he can even ask it, he only pauses to run his tongue over his darkened lips once before beginning again. “Would you like to try some? I can make a little sample tin for you. Or…” When his irises meet her own, Rowan finds they’ve shifted once more, moving further and further from the brightness she’d first seen upon their initial meeting. “If there’s nothing here you’d like to try…I live above the shop, in the flat upstairs,” He jerks his chin upwards, as if the motion is supposed to convince her he’s telling the truth. “I’ve been testing out some new blends that you might like, if you want to try them…?”

The sudden invitation to come up to his apartment isn’t exactly unwanted, but still leaves Rowan taken aback nevertheless. It’s not so much the invitation itself, Rowan reasons, her fingers massaging down Butternut’s back lightly, but the way it was delivered. Every interaction she’s had with Harry so far has felt organic, as natural and easy as breathing. This, however…this request feels anything but. “Oh. Uh—”

“You’re under no obligation, of course,” Harry clarifies, straightening the jars on the shelf while his cheeks stain a darker shade of crimson. “I just thought—you may like to see more of—of some things I’ve made, or—”

“No, I would!” Rowan’s heart hammers in her chest as Harry stumbles over his words, the apparent anxiety in his strained explanation endearing him in a way she hadn’t expected. “I would, and it sounds wonderful, but…” She raises Butternut in her arms in lieu of an explanation. She’s not exactly sure what’s bothering him, but from the way he’s been fussing throughout their entire conversation—especially when he’d behaved so well while in Harry’s arms—it’s clear that there’s somewhere he wants to run to. Or something he wants to run from. “I should be getting this guy home.”

A sheepish look paints itself onto Harry’s features, dragging down his eyes and creased brow, and before Rowan can say anything else, an apology tumbles from his downturned lips. “Right, of course. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—to make you uncomfortable—”

“I’m not uncomfortable!” Rowan assures him just as quickly, giving a firm shake of her head as reinforcement. “I—actually, I’m very comfortable with you, which is strange, given we just met—” Her own cheeks flush at the candid admission, growing to match Harry’s in hue. “But I just—I have to get Butternut home, but—”

“You don’t owe me an explanation, it’s fine—”

“But if you’re free tomorrow afternoon, I’d love to come over for tea.”

Harry’s hasty apologies cut off before they can echo out of his throat, the unspoken words practically visible as they hang on the tip of his tongue. “You would?”

“I would,” Rowan confirms, the corners of her lips tugging up at the endearingly dumbfounded expression that sweeps over Harry’s entire face. “Maybe 2 o’clock, if that works for you?”

Tugging on his chestnut curls as his grin begins to grow once more, Harry gives a sharp nod of agreement. “That would be wonderful, yeah. I’ll see you here at 2 o’clock.”

…

At 1:59PM the next day, Rowan stands beneath the cream and hunter sign reading Verbena and Birch Apothecary, and re-evaluates her life choices.

She’d like to consider herself a smart girl. Her mother had raised her to be thoughtful, introspective, and aware of her surroundings, as well as the people in them. If she had a bad vibe from Harry, or believed him to be dangerous in any way, she would turn on her heel and march back down the streets of the Village until she reached her own apartment. Or, even more, she probably wouldn’t have left her apartment in the first place, and would have let 2 o’clock come and go without a second guess. But Harry hasn’t given her any reason to think that he could hurt her; if he’d wanted to hurt her, it would’ve been much easier to have dragged her upstairs the day before. No one had seen her quickly ducking into his shop, and she’d been so busy chasing Butternut that she hadn’t told anyone where she was going. Their meeting today, however, has been pre-planned, meaning that Harry could assume that she’s told someone where she’s gone, or at the very least, left a note in her apartment in case police search it after she goes missing. There’s no reason for her to be concerned.

Then again, Rowan remembers the stranger danger lessons given to her in elementary school by New York police officers, and is reminded once more that the decision she’s making is probably a stupid one.

It’s just… Rowan touches the stone pendant hanging around her neck. The shining tiger’s eye had belonged to her mother before she passed, and Rowan could remember her rubbing a worried thumb over the smooth surface any time something was troubling her. Rowan herself thumbs over the honey-streaked stone, her own brow furrowing. Just.

It’s just Harry. It’s just something about him, something coded within his emerald eyes that makes her question everything she’d been taught. Of course she shouldn’t be having tea with a strange man she’s spoken to for barely fifteen minutes over the course of two encounters. Of course she shouldn’t accept an invitation into his home as if she was a lamb volunteering for her own slaughter. But Harry doesn’t feel like a stranger. At least, he feels unlike any stranger she’s ever encountered before.

The minute hand of the watch on her wrist slips past the twelve, leaving Rowan with no more time to dwell on the matter. Taking a deep breath as she tucks her shoulder length waves behind her ears, she pulls open the front door of the shop and steps inside.

Harry is standing behind the counter, writing in the leatherbound journal she’d noticed on his person the day he stumbled into her own shop. Upon hearing the tinkle of the chime above the door, his head turns up, and his emerald gaze meets her own.

“Rowan, hi,” Harry smiles easily at her as he shuts the journal, looping the leather tie around the bindings with practiced ease. “Right on time.”

“For once in my life,” Rowan jokes in an attempt to hide her nerves. She slips her hands into the pockets of the worn trench coat she’d found at an estate sale the previous year, trying to curb her habit of twisting her rings around her fingers when she’s nervous. “Sorry, am I interrupting your work?”

Tucking the leather bound journal underneath the counter in one smooth motion, Harry shakes his head. “No, not at all. It’s been a fairly slow afternoon. Not much to interrupt.”

“Really? No stray cats have run into your shop today?”

The small laugh that falls from Harry’s lips is light and easy, and lodges itself somewhere deep within Rowan’s chest in a way she doesn’t quite understand. “No, but the day is still young.”

Harry steps out from behind the counter, and for the first time, Rowan notices that his outfit is devoid of the hunter apron he’d worn the day before. Instead, Harry is dressed in a chunky knit chestnut coloured sweater with green detailing around the cuffs and hem. His pants are olive toned, baggy in their fit, and pool just above his black vans. He looks comfy. Cozy, Rowan thinks. Like he could laze back on a couch in the evening, his hands a bit sooty from stoking the fire, but that doesn’t matter, because he’ll laugh and try to swipe a charcoal covered finger over her cheek, and leave fingerprints along her skin when he—

“So you said you live upstairs?” Rowan’s voice is breathless when she pulls herself from her daydream, and she fidgets with the tiger’s eye around her neck in an attempt to calm herself with the familiar motion.

“Uh, yeah, I do. I—sorry, is that…” Harry’s gaze drops from her eyes to her fingers, watching as she twists the pendant up and down the old chain. “Is that tiger’s eye?”

Rowan glances down at the pendant caught between her fingers. The honey-streaked stone is cut in the shape of an oval and set into a metal backing, worn smooth from two generations of Frances women habitually rubbing it. It’s pretty, to be sure, but it’s never drawn anyone’s attention so quickly. But then again, Rowan’s sure the stone is stocked on the shelves behind her; it’s no wonder Harry’s noticed it.

“It is, yeah. My mom gave it to me,” Rowan says, letting the pendant fall back against her navy turtleneck. Technically, her mother didn’t give it to her. In all actuality, Rowan had claimed it after her mother passed away five years ago. However, now didn’t seem the time to dump all her mommy issues onto a virtual stranger, no matter how familiar he felt. The death of your only parental figure is more of a second date conversation, she thinks.

Not that they’ve had a first date. This is tea. She’s just here to try tea that Harry’s made. This rendezvous probably falls more under the category of a sales pitch than a date, and Rowan’s not sure why that fact makes her stomach churn in discontent, but she’s determined to ignore it.

“It’s lovely,” Harry says, seemingly unaware of the debate that’s playing out in Rowan’s mind. “May I?”

He reaches his right hand towards her, and Rowan’s eyes once again focus on the strange symbol inked into his smooth skin. A shiver runs up her spine as the uncomfortably familiar feeling of deja vu settles over her. His words are identical to yesterday, when he offered her a sample of the protection balm he made. But underneath that memory, there’s something else, something that settles at the very edge of her mind’s eye, just out of reach of clarity. That same phrase— “May I?”— echoed in a lilting British accent, a flash of a ringed, tattooed hand tugging at blush coloured sheets, the dangle of her tiger’s eye pendant over a flushed chest that’s inked with tattoos she can’t quite place…

The hand in front of her pauses, and its owner’s eyes find her own. Harry flicks his eyebrows up as if to repeat his question, and Rowan realizes he’s waiting for her to give him permission to examine her necklace.

“Yeah, sorry—” She hastily reaches behind her neck to undo the clasp, brushing her bobbed hair out of her way. “Let me just—”

She cuts off her speech with a stuttered gasp as Harry’s nimble fingers find the pendant that hangs over her turtleneck, carefully securing the stone between his digits without touching her.

It’s not until this moment that Rowan realizes that Harry is standing close enough to her that she can see the flecks of gold in his emerald eyes, which are trained on the pendant in a focused manner. The tip of his nose is flushed the same shade as the strawberry of his mouth, and the hue also skirts along the apples of his cheeks, barely visible with the concentrated expression that’s painted on his face.

Rowan doesn’t know much about Harry, but she stocks this new knowledge—how he’s careful to ask for her permission to move towards her, but merges his personal space bubble with her own once that permission is given—in the back of her mind. It’s so familiar that it produces an ache deep within her chest that confounds her.

“It’s a beautiful necklace,” Harry keeps his eyes on the pendant as he twists it between his fingers. “You said it was your mother’s?”

Rowan forces herself to sound calm and collected when she answers. “I did, yeah. She used to call it her lucky charm.”

“Tiger’s eye provides protection,” Harry murmurs the words quietly as he lets go of the necklace. It falls lightly back onto Rowan’s chest. “It’s a lovely piece. She was very kind to give it to you.”

“She was, yes,” Rowan fidgets with the necklace, fixing its position around her neck. “She’s—she’s a very kind person.”

Rowan’s not exactly sure why she slips into the present tense to describe her mother. Sure, she’s already decided that the death of a parent is a second date topic, but she’s also already decided that this isn’t a date. From past experience, she knows it’s better to rip off the “my mother passed unexpectedly when I was twenty years old and it tore apart my life” bandaid sooner rather than later, but she also knows that most men tend to stray away from the topic of mothers when they invite women up to their apartments for tea.

Then again, Rowan thinks ruefully as she follows Harry behind the counter a moment later at his request, Harry hasn’t acted like most men she’s ever met before.

The small corridor that leads towards the back of the shop is dark, lacking the sunlight that illuminates the front of the store. Instead, the floor creaks under Rowan’s feet, accented by the click of the heeled boots she may or may not have worn to bring herself closer to Harry’s height.

Harry pauses before an open doorway, and Rowan can smell the room before she sees it— lavender and sage, lemon and cloves, cinnamon and rosehips, and a thousand other scent combinations that Rowan can’t name. She peers over Harry’s shoulder to see a cluttered workbench, not unlike her own, covered in little glass bottles, bunches of greenery, and the familiar petals of yarrow flowers that she’d sold to Harry previously. Along the back wall, under a small window, is a row of bottles with different oils inside, and to the left is a gas range with two separate pots set on top. One of the pots is still steaming, the vapor coiling lazily above its contents, despite the range being off (Rowan checks with a flick of her eyes).

“This is where I make most of my inventory,” Harry says with a motion of his hand. “I had to add the range myself when I bought the place, but the butcher’s block and the work spaces were already here. I got pretty lucky.”

“It’s gorgeous,” Rowan replies, and she pauses a moment, waiting for the invitation to step inside and explore. When the invitation doesn’t come, and Harry turns his attention to the door to the left of the corridor, just before the entrance to the back room, Rowan can’t deny that she’s disappointed. However, part of her understands; she hates when anyone steps into her backroom. The organized chaos is always just one stray hand away from descending into madness, and what she stores in her workroom isn’t nearly as breakable as what’s inside Harry’s.

Instead, Rowan turns her gaze to the door that Harry’s unlocking with a key from his pocket. The key itself is small and brass, with a tarnished, well-worn handle and a detailed head. The object resembles something Rowan would expect to see in a movie set in the early 1900s rather than on the keyring of someone around her age, but it fits perfectly into the lock on the inconspicuous door. As Harry slips the weathered key back into his pocket, Rowan notes that it’s the only key on the keyring. She can’t say she’s surprised that there’s no car key present— hardly anyone she knows in New York has a car, much less their license. She’s one of the few of her friends that does, and that’s only because her mother had insisted she learn when she was eighteen. However, she is surprised to see no key to the shop on the ring. Rowan has three separate locks on the door to her own store, and keeps all the keys jumbled together with her apartment set.

“Like I mentioned, I live just above the shop,” Harry interrupts her pondering as he nods up the steep set of dark stairs. “Follow me, and try to watch your step. These stairs tend to trip people the first time they climb them.”

“Right, okay,” Rowan does as Harry says, following his practiced steps at the pace he sets. She lasts about three stairs before stumbling, and grabs hold of the worn railing to catch herself before she falls forward.

Harry turns around as much as the small space lets him, and the look on his face is concerned, but not surprised. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just regretting my choice of shoes right now,” Rowan laughs airily, hoping the darkness of the stairwell hides the blush she’s sure is working its way over her cheeks. “You really weren’t kidding, huh?”

“No, I wasn’t,” A set of fingers brushes over her hand that clings to the railing, and there’s a moment of hesitation before Harry tugs her hand away from the railing and grasps it gently within his own. “Here, just go a little slower. I’ll help you.”

It’s clear that Harry’s dashed up and down these stairs hundreds of times, because he has no trouble navigating the steep flight with his body turned sideways to guide Rowan to the top. His hand stays locked around hers, comforting without being controlling, until he pulls her onto the cramped landing at the top of the stairs.

“There we go,” He grins at her, his dimples barely visible in the dim light as he releases her hand. “You made it.”

“I did,” Rowan hopes the embarrassment isn’t detectable in her voice. “Only almost died once.”

Harry laughs, low and melodic, as he fishes in his pocket for something, and pulls his ringed hand back out with the same key he used to unlock the door to the stairwell. He presses the key into the silver lock on the door, and Rowan is surprised to hear the click of the lock two seconds later.

With a quick twist of the squeaky doorknob, Harry pushes open the door and leads Rowan into his apartment.

Although she’s only known Harry for a short time, she can’t really say she’s surprised by anything she sees in front of her. Harry’s apartment is big by New York standards, with exposed brick walls and greenery draped along every shelf. There’s a large set of windows along the far wall that sends a spark of jealousy down Rowan’s spine, and a velvet emerald-coloured couch that turns the spark into a flame. The scent of incense floats through the air, evidenced by the multiple holders she sees scattered along the living room, and pressed against the left wall is a bookshelf that holds multiple aged books set in leather and embossed with gold.

Harry’s apartment is earthy, and centered, and quite possibly the most beautiful space Rowan has ever seen.

“This is gorgeous, Harry,” She says breathlessly, her hand rising of its own accord to touch the frame of a print hung in the hallway by the door. “How long have you lived here?”

“God, about…eight years now, maybe? To tell you the truth, I think I’ve lost count,” Harry toes off his vans, and Rowan follows suit, tugging off her own boots and thanking her past self for deciding to spend the extra time to find matching socks this morning. “Can I take your coat?”

“Sure, thank you,” Rowan begins to slip the trench coat over her shoulders, unsurprised when she feels a second set of hands help slide the fabric down her arms. She’s adjusting to Harry’s easy way with touch— revels in it, actually, which is new for her.

Harry hangs her coat on the stand just beside the door, and that same dimpled smile is on his face when he turns back around. “The kitchen is just through here, I’ll show— Jesus—”

Rowan nearly slams into Harry’s back as he comes to a quick stop in front of her, his arms braced against either wall in the small front hallway. Before she can stumble more from the sudden pause, his hand reaches behind him, finding her waist and steadying her.

“Harry?” Rowan’s skin feels as if it’s burning underneath her sweater, the sensation warmest at her core where Harry is touching her. “Is everything—?”

“Yes, sorry, it’s just—” Harry lets go of her with a sigh, stepping over what appears to be a large smoke coloured furry pillow in the middle of the hallway. “It’s just Clint.”

Rowan regards him with confusion, her chestnut eyes searching his own emerald for an explanation. “Clint? Who’s Clint?”

“That’s Clint,” He nods down to the furry pillow and nudges it with his sock covered foot. The pillow twitches, stretches when provoked, and Rowan suddenly realizes it’s not a pillow at all, but in fact—

“You have a rabbit named Clint?”

Harry’s already walking towards the kitchen, unconcerned about Clint’s nap spot that blocks the entryway of his apartment. “I do.”

A million questions flood through Rowan’s head, a million different things she could say about this new tidbit of Harry trivia. But instead of asking how owning a rabbit works in a New York City apartment, why said rabbit seems to have an infinity for inconvenient nap locations, or if tripping over him is an everyday occurrence (which, based on Harry’s exasperated sighs, she thinks it might be), the comment that leaves her mouth is, “Clint is kind of a weird name for a rabbit.”

Harry pauses his movements in the kitchen, one hand frozen on a mahogany cabinet while the other holds a jar of a dried tea blend. “You think so?”

Rowan flinches inwardly, still stuck frozen behind the rabbit in the hallway. “I— shit, sorry, that was rude. I didn’t mean—”

“It’s okay. It is weird, I know,” Harry laughs, and the sound immediately drains the tension that had seized Rowan’s entire body. “But he likes it, and refuses to change it, so…yeah. Clint the rabbit. You can just step over him, by the way,” Harry says as he notices Rowan has yet to leave the entryway. “He’s pretty used to it, because he’s also stubborn about where he takes his fifteen daily naps, the lazy bugger…”

Stepping carefully over the rabbit as instructed, a smile plays on Rowan’s lips as she makes her way to the kitchen. “Damn. Sounds like Clint really needs to start pulling his weight around here.”

Harry snorts as he picks up the copper kettle located on his stovetop and fills it with water. “Try telling him that,” He says, flicking the gas range onto high and setting the kettle on the burner. “Even Atticus contributes more to the household, and I hardly have to feed him.”

Rowan leans over the stonetop counter, her eyebrow raised in curiosity. “Who’s Atticus? Another pet?”

“No, not a pet. More like a…friend…” Harry’s voice is barely above a murmur as he looks between the jar of tea in his hand, and the multiple jars lined up in his open cupboard. “Sorry, just…trying to choose what blend to give you.”

Tapping her index finger against the knuckle of her other hand, Rowan watches as a crease of concentration forms between Harry’s stern brow. “I can try any blend,” She offers, hoping to help with the indecision that seems to be plaguing him. “I’m really not picky.”

“No, but I am. I don’t want to give you the wrong one.”

“The wrong…?” Rowan tilts her head to the side, her own forehead creasing identical to Harry’s. “How can a tea blend be—?”

“This one,” Harry says triumphantly, swapping the jar in his hand with another stored at the very back of the cabinet. “I’ve been tweaking this recipe lately. I think you’ll like it.”

Harry opens another cabinet full of dishware, and grabs a midnight blue teapot with white detailing along the sides. After he sets the teapot on the counter, he pulls out two teacups with the same white detailing over midnight paint.

It’s fascinating to watch the practiced ease with which Harry brews the tea. He’s added a few scoops of the blend into the diffuser that’s set inside the teapot by the time the kettle starts to whistle, and once he’s taken the kettle off the heat and poured the boiling water into the teapot to steep, he immediately reaches for a glass container that’s set on the counter. From her vantage point, Rowan can tell that it’s filled with honey.

Harry doesn’t ask her if she takes cream or sugar in her tea, and Rowan doesn’t interject to say she prefers one scoop of sugar and a dash of milk. Instead, she lets Harry dictate exactly how she’ll test out his own blend, observes carefully how he fills each teacup almost to the brim, but leaves enough room to add a few drops of honey with the glass wand that he keeps inside the matching jar. It’s clear that all of this is a science to him, from the amount of golden liquid added, all the way down to how he carefully stirs each cup before setting the drink down in front of her with a shy smile.

“Keeping with yesterday’s theme…” He says quietly, turning the cup so the handle faces Rowan for an easy grip. “Tea for protection.”

Rowan slowly lifts the delicate china to her mouth, blowing over the boiling liquid before inhaling the steam. “I smell…cinnamon, I think? And a little bit of lemon?”

Harry’s smile grows until his dimples flash at her. He’s still leaning over the countertop, mimicking Rowan’s curved posture. When she inhales again, she can smell the light scent of Harry’s cologne mixing in with the vapours of the tea.

“Good catch,” Harry praises her easily, tapping his ringed fingers against the countertop. “The base of the tea is a black tea blend, but there’s cinnamon and lemon balm in it, along with a few other things. A little cardamom, clove, nutmeg, ginger…a couple other spices. But they all do a really good job of keeping away things that could hurt you.”

Rowan doesn’t bother to inquire about how lemon balm can keep away something that could hurt her again; she doubts she’d get an answer that she really understands. Instead, she just blows over the surface of the tea one more time before taking a small sip. The flavours Harry listed rush over her tongue at a just below scalding temperature, swirling in her mouth before running down her throat and leaving a pleasant warmth behind.

Harry watches intently, his body still leaning across the countertop towards her. “What do you think?”

Rowan takes another small gulp of tea, more mindful of the heat this time. “It’s really good, Harry. The honey in it, too…adds just the right amount of sweetness.”

Rowan hadn’t realized the amount of tension that had strung itself between Harry’s shoulders until she watches it roll out of him. “Thank you. I’m glad you like it,” He says, straightening up before grasping his own teacup to take a sip.

“Were you nervous I wouldn’t?”

Harry’s answering shrug is just on the edge of sheepish. “Maybe a little. I’m always a bit nervous when someone tries one of my products for the first time. I want them to like it, you know?”

“I get the same way when I design custom arrangements for clients,” Rowan confesses, swirling the tea in her cup. “There’s this moment, right before I show them their arrangements, when I swear I can feel my heart in my throat. I used to get so nervous that I felt like I was going to pass out.”

“Really?” Harry raises an inquisitive brow. “How did you stop it?”

“I started using this trick my mom taught me. Right before I show the arrangement to a client, like right before, when I’m getting it from the fridge, I picture what I hope their reaction will be. Excitement, surprise, happiness, things like that. More often than not, clients usually react the way I imagine they will. It helps keep me calm.”

That crease appears between Harry’s brow again, but smooths out a moment after Rowan takes notice of it. “Your mother is a smart lady.”

“She…yeah,” Rowan clears her throat and takes another sip of tea, the temperature more comfortable now. “And she keeps coming up in conversation, which is probably pretty annoying. Sorry.”

It takes all of Rowan’s self control to stop herself from pressing her thumb between Harry’s brows as that damn crease comes back. “Why are you sorry? I like hearing about your past. It makes it easier to understand you in the present.”

The sincerity in his tone brings a flush to Rowan’s cheeks. “Is that something you’re having difficulty with? Understanding me?”

Harry hums in consideration as he brings his teacup to his lips. One of his rings, the one set with a red stone— a garnet?— flashes under the light. “It’s becoming progressively easier the more I’m around you. But there’s still so much that seems…clouded.”

Rowan can’t suppress the shiver that runs down her spine at his words, but tries to disguise it under a humorous tone. “Well, we only just met. I’d be a bit concerned if you knew everything about me.”

“I didn’t say I wanted to know everything about you; I said I wanted to understand. You don’t have to know every facet of someone’s life to understand who they are,” Harry argues in a tone that borders on defensive.

“And is…understanding people something you’re good at?” Rowan asks after a moment, fighting to keep her own tone light.

“Usually. It’s easier to understand some people than others.”

“Where do I place on that scale?” Rowan pitches her voice lower than she means it to be, as if she’s whispering something in the dead of night. As if she’s afraid to be heard. “In, like, terms of difficulty…if one was the least difficult person to understand, and ten was the most difficult. Where do I sit?”

“The difficulty of understanding you…” Harry trails off, and for the first time, Rowan realizes that understanding is a placeholder word for Harry. It’s a word that’s almost synonymous with what he means, but doesn’t carry the same intention. It’s a verbal facade, disguising what he’s really trying to say behind a half truth.

But the thing about half truths? They’re always half lies, as well.

“I don’t know,” Harry says after a weighty moment, his tongue swiping over his lips. “I can’t quite place you yet.”

This time, Rowan detects the half lie right away. But she doesn’t push it. In all honesty, she’s a little afraid of the answer. There’s something in the way Harry’s jade eyes regard her, the way he leans into her space, both mentally and physically…she’s almost convinced that if Harry were to tell a whole truth instead of a half, the answer may break her.

Which is dramatic, and unfathomable, and even as Rowan repeats that to herself over and over internally, she knows that only half of what she’s repeating is true. A half lie, born of her own mind.

“Well,” Rowan drops her eyes to the contents of her teacup as she lifts the drink to her lips. “Let me know when you do.”

If Harry’s aware of the charged nature of her words, he doesn’t say anything. The two of them finish their tea with casual small talk, rather than more evaluations of the other’s character. Rowan reveals that she’s a born and raised New Yorker, while Harry tells her about growing up in London (Rowan mentally pats herself on the back for restraining her instinct to tell Harry that’s where her mother grew up). Harry talks little about his family, mentioning an older sister who’s married, a mother who passed away when he was a boy, and a father who still lives in his childhood home. When Rowan asks when Harry last visited the country of his birth, his eyes drift a shade darker, and his tattooed hand drifts upwards to his chest, rubbing the area with the same subconscious movement that drives Rowan to fidget with her necklace. The tone of his voice when he says that he hasn’t been back since his move brings her to drop the subject altogether.

The two of them learn that they both share the same love of the first snowfall of the season, and a sense of melancholy when it rains. Both Harry and Rowan experience deja vu frequently, as well as knock on wood to prevent themselves from indirectly jinxing things they say. They both record their dreams in a journal, both sleep better with the sounds of the city as a lullaby. And by the time Rowan stands up to leave, they’ve both agreed to see each other again.

As per Harry’s request, Rowan types her number into Harry’s cell phone as he carries their used teacups to the sink. When she hands him back his phone (her number is saved under the name Flower Shop Girl, which Harry had confessed he thought of her as before he knew her name, and the admittance brings so much warmth to her chest that Rowan forgets again to ask how he knew her name during their first meeting), Harry has a small satchel in his hands, which he gives to her in exchange.

“This is another new blend I’m working on,” Harry’s fingers just barely brush over hers as he slips the satchel into her hands. “It has chamomile and lavender in it, so I recommend drinking it before bed.”

Rowan brings the satchel to her nose, inhaling deeply at the pleasant scent. “I can smell the lavender, and…cinnamon?”

A small smile plays on the corners of Harry’s lips as he walks her to the door (he takes Rowan’s hand to help her step over Clint, who’s still asleep in the entryway). “You’re good at that.”

“Thanks. I guess spending pretty much all my time around flowers is useful for…scent identification,” Rowan flinches internally as she slips her boots back onto her feet. Who the hell says shit like scent identification? She switches the topic back to the satchel in her hand, hoping she doesn’t sound as awkward as she feels. “Is it meant to help with sleep? The tea, I mean.”

“It can, yeah. It’s, uh…well, it’s meant to help with clairvoyance,” Harry slides Rowan’s trench coat off the coat rack and holds it open for her to slip on.

Goosebumps prick up along Rowan’s skin as she slides on her jacket. “Clairvoyance? What do you mean?”

“Just…someone’s perception of things,” Harry shrugs nonchalantly, tucking his hands into the pockets of his slacks. “It helps clear the mind, keep it open, that sort of thing.”

Rowan looks down at the unassuming satchel still clutched in her hand. “There’s not, like, magic mushrooms in here, is there? Because I had a really bad experience once in university, and I’d rather not—”

Harry’s laugh is loud and rolling, echoing enough through the entryway that Clint’s ears prick up. “No, no psychedelics. Not in this blend, anyways. But I’d love to hear about your experience with shrooms, if you’d like to share.”

“Maybe some other time,” Rowan rolls her eyes as she tucks the satchel into her pocket. “We can swap embarrassing intoxication stories another day.”

“We could, yeah. Maybe over dinner?”

There’s a note of hopefulness in Harry’s voice that fans that flame inside her chest. “Yeah. Maybe over dinner.”

Harry’s shoulder brushes against hers as he reaches past her to open the door. “It’s a date.”

…

In her dreams, Rowan is in Central Park.

At least, she thinks it’s Central Park. It’s pitch black, with the only light to illuminate her path being the shine of the full moon above her head. Rowan knows the trail through the park like the back of her hand, having walked them most of her life. However, she’s never traversed through the park in the dead of night, let alone by herself, and there’s a sense of uneasiness resting over her.

She wants to turn around. She wants to find her way back to the busy streets, and hail a taxi that’s surely still cruising through the city that never sleeps. She wants to make her way out of the freezing cold of the night, and retreat back into the comfort of her tiny apartment. She wants to be anywhere but here.

And yet, her feet keep taking measured steps forward, further and further into the only forest in the middle of a suburban sprawl. When she was a child, she’d been fascinated with photos of the park from above, by the stark contrast of nature and industrialization. She’d often dreamt of being a bird, and flying over the city so she could make the comparison for herself.

Dream, Rowan thinks, and her steps pause. This is a dream. She doesn’t need a taxi; all she needs to do is close her eyes, and think about being back home, and then—

A hand wraps around her waist from behind, and before Rowan can scream out in surprise, another clasps itself over her mouth. Fear courses through her body, freezing her limbs more than the bitter winter air ever could, and she shudders as a pair of lips brush over her ear.

“It’s okay,” A voice says in her ear, and the low British lilt is familiar to her now, as easy to place as her own. “It’s alright, love. S’just me.”

Rowan relaxes in Harry’s arms, but only by a fraction. She tries to mumble against his hand, but he keeps it pressed tight over her mouth, careful not to obstruct her nose as well.

“You need to listen to me, okay?” Harry’s breath is hot on her neck. While Rowan typically finds sensations to be dampened during dreams, the feeling of his breath rolling over her skin is so pleasurable that her knees almost buckle. “Nod if you’re listening.”

Rowan nods, the urgency in Harry’s words being just enough to keep her from succumbing to the newfound desperation supplied by his proximity.

“Good, that’s good. I don’t have long, so you need to listen carefully.”

Humming against his hand, Rowan knows that Harry senses her meaning: get on with it.

“When you get to this night— this night, this specific night— you need to pause when you reach the fork in the path, alright?” Harry’s thumb strokes over her cheek as he murmurs the instructions in her ear. “Look up to the sky. Do you see the moon?”

Rowan’s chocolate eyes tilt up to the sky as she hums her understanding. It would be so much easier to communicate if he would uncover her mouth. Why won’t he uncover her mouth? She could talk to him if he did, tell him she understands, tell him what the feeling of him pressed so tightly against her back is doing to her, tell him to bring his lips just a bit closer to her skin…

“It’s a full moon. Memorize what the cold feels like against your skin,” Harry’s voice reaches hypnotic levels as he commands her. “The smell of pine in the air. You need to remember this moment, okay? Remember this night, remember this dream, and remember to pause when you get to the fork in the path.”

“Harry…” Rowan tries to whisper his name from underneath his hand, but the plea comes out muffled, barely audible over the whistling of wind through the trees.

The hand over her mouth tightens reflexively, rings pressing so hard into her skin that Rowan thinks it’ll leave an imprint of the metal band once she’s released. The thought sends a ripple through her body.

“You need to be quiet, love. It’s almost time, and it’ll hear you,” Harry squeezes her body tighter against his, almost like an apology. “I have to go in a moment, before it knows I’m here.”

The sound that falls from Rowan’s lips is involuntary, and strays so close to being considered a whine that she’s glad Harry’s grasp on her is muffling her words.

“I’m sorry,” There’s a new note in Harry’s voice, a tone of distress just barely straining his normally soothing speech. “I wish I could tell you more. I wish I could explain, but I can’t. Not yet. Just— just remember what I said. Pause when you reach the fork in the path. Promise me you’ll do that.”

Rather than try to speak incoherent words behind Harry’s hand, Rowan raises her own and brings it to her mouth. With her index finger, she draws two lines over the back of his hand, hoping he gets the message.

Cross my heart.

The sigh that Harry heaves blows the hair around her neck in separate directions, and Rowan’s eyes flutter closed for a moment as the sensation rolls over her.

“Good girl,” Harry breathes the words into her ear, and the breath that Rowan pulls into her chest is shakier than ever. “I have to go. And you need to wake up.”

Rowan shakes her head as her hand settles on top of Harry’s, keeping his palm pressed over her mouth. It feels so good, so much better than she ever could have imagined. It’s been so long since someone’s touch has made her feel like this, like she’s falling into their heat without a second thought. She doesn’t want to leave this moment.

“You need to wake up, Rowan,” Harry’s voice grows more persistent in her ear, more urgent. The wind picks up around them, whipping her hair around her face as she leans into him more. “Wake up!”

…

It’s still dark outside when Rowan jolts upright in her bed.

For a moment, she thinks she’s still in her dream. She reaches behind her for Harry, but instead of finding the warmth of his body, she encounters the smooth cotton of her pillow. There’s a movement to her left, and she whips her head around, almost expecting to see Harry there, his emerald eyes intent on her. Instead of emerald, she finds ochre, and sees that Buttercup is watching her, clearly awoken by her own abrupt start.

Finally accepting that she’s in her bedroom, Rowan flops back into her pillows, ignoring Buttercup’s meow of indignation at being jostled. She pulls the cat into her arms, and the familiarity of his fur against her skin calms her racing heart.

It was a dream, she tells herself. It was an incredibly vivid dream, one that brought to life desires that she didn’t even know she had, but a dream nonetheless. With a sigh, Rowan glances at the mug of tea on her bedside table, still containing liquid that’s turned icy cold while she’s slumbered. She hadn’t even finished half of the brew before it knocked her out. Rowan wonders if it’s possible to ask Harry if the tea contains anything that could cause strangely vivid and…Christ, she can’t deny it— arousing— dreams without giving away the fact that he was the star of them.

Buttercup purrs against her chest, and Rowan sighs again, gently moving him back to his preferred spot next to her before curling onto her side. She can worry about her weirdly touch-centered dreams in the morning, she decides, when she’s more fully awake to process them. It’s been a long day, and Rowan is tired. She needs some rest, proper rest. She’s too exhausted to think right now.

And too exhausted to notice the imprint on her lip that resembles the band of a ring.

#harry styles fanfiction #witch!harry #witchrry #witch!harry styles #witch au #harry styles au #harry styles fic #harry styles x oc #harry styles x original character #one direction fanfiction #one direction fic #one direction au #harry styles #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff

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lucygraybaird · 23 days ago

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Part 3!

Dolly Rose was the first awake. She quietly got out of bed before going downstairs. It was early- around 5:30 am but she had things to do before school. She had to have a bath, get dressed, do her hair and makeup before she could even leave. The sun was barely up yet so she grabbed a small candle, walking around as she used the candle to light up her surroundings.

She walked into the bathroom, flicking on the old flickering light before getting ready. She brushed her teeth before getting into the cold bath. She didn't have time to heat up her water. The covey didn't get heated water due to how far they lived. She sat in the cold water for a while, trying her best to stop shivering as she washed her hair and body before getting out after half a hour.

She grabbed her school issued uniform. It was a dark blue pladded skirt which was a few sizes to small although Dolly Rose tried her best to hide that it didn't fit anymore. She had gone through a recent growth spurt a few weeks ago. She finally hoped she was going to have her first period so she could finally fit in with her classmates. She also put on her white school shirt and her blue sweater before putting on her knee high white socks with a matching dark blue bow which matched the sweater. She put on her dark blue strapped school shoes on which were again two sizes to small.

She also needed to heat some water before school for Sky Jade's bath later. She grabbed the small tub before taking over many buckets of water till the tub was full. She put it close to the fire so it would be warm in a few hours hopefully.

Dolly Rose checked the time, it was already 6:30. She began to finish her essay quicky but taking care with her handwriting. She had to do all her work in cursive otherwise he'd rip up your essay, Dolly Rose had heard rumors of it happening but never saw it before. Anyways- she was afraid of it despite the probably untrue rumors.

The rest of the covey slowly woke up, Barb Azure got up a very tired Barb Azure, trying to get Sky Jade to get dressed. "Mmm- don't wanna do school-" sky Jade whined softly to Barb Azure.

"You gotta learn how to read and write and do your math. I ain't gonna have you strugglin' like I did. I had to learn by myself when I was 12. Now ain't wanna hear anymore complain' off you" Barb Azure told her. She was strict on school till the kids could do basic math, read and write. After that they could decide if they wanted to drop out and live a more traditional covey life. After 7, the kids learnt a musical instrument and at 8 were able to perform. Sky Jade started a few years early. She sang with Maude Ivory sometimes although she was often out of tune. Since she was small and adorable, the audience didn't mind. Sky Jade also went around, collecting money with Maude Ivory occasionally but most time she was at home, sleeping as it was still a little to late for her.

"But I don't wannnnnnnnnna!!!!!" Sky Jade whined as she put her sweater on. She had the same uniform as Dolly Rose.

"Sky Jade. It's only 3 hours. You'll make it" Barb Azure said clearly, giving her a look. Despite being only 7, Barb Azure couldn't stand her whining.

Sky Jade flopped on the floor dramatically. "I'ma dyin' then!" She complained as Marigold came down the stairs, hearing this. "Guess we're burnin' her then!" She said with a smirk, getting the matches which immediately scared Sky Jade. "NUH UH I AINT DEAD!!!!!! IMA GONNA GO TO SCHOOL!!!!" Sky Jade said, jumping up immediately to get ready for school.

Meanwhile Dolly Rose was looking for Magic Maroon. Despite not having to go to school as she could do basic reading, writing and maths Dolly Rose wanted her to. Magic Maroon was hiding under her bed, trying to keep as silent as possible. She didn't want to go again-.......

"Magic Maroon. Come on I don't want to be late!" Dolly Rose called out but was met with silence. Dolly Rose came upstairs, knowing where her sister was probably hiding. She looked under the bed. "You ain't even dressed!!" She snapped.

"Don't wanna go-" She whispered softly, hiding her face in her lap as she felt the tears threating to spill. She didn't want her sister to worry about her.... Did she?-

"I have told you thousands of times. You must!" She grumbled, dragging her out before shoving the uniform in her arms. Magic Maroon quietly sighed before going off to change. Maybe she could run back home in a few hours if she planned it out? Magic Maroon looked at herself in the mirror, trying to adjust her pigtails to be straight but they never were. She quietly left the bathroom, grabbed her pin filled school bag from the counter before leaving.

The pins were handmade from a small craft store. They were expensive, 5 dollars just for one but Magic maroon had tons. She had probably spent over $100 for her collection. She quietly walked with Dolly Rose as Sky Jade struggled to keep up. "I want Maudey to come to school with me!" She whined. "Maude Ivory is smarter then you. She aged out remember?" Dolly Rose said, not realising how harsh it actually sounded. The walk was quiet till they got there.

Sky Jade immediately ran off to go play with her friends while Dolly Rose went to her friends, leaving Magic Maroon alone. She sat under the massive, old, thick tree which had been there since before Panem even started apparently. She opened her sketchbook, quietly drawing a rabbit. She wished she could have a small rabbit for her own. She'd call the rabbit 'trick' so the two of them could be the 'Magic trick' Truthfully she thought that was kinda smart. After what only felt like 3 minutes, the bell rang for school to start.

The school was small- only having a few classrooms. The morning classes were for the older kids while the afternoons were for the younger kids, 7 below but Sky Jade had just graduated to the older kids classes due to being 7. Sky Jade excitedly ran inside with her friends while Dolly Rose walked in, chatting.

Meanwhile Magic Maroon quietly stood in the back of line, waiting to get in. She immediately made a beeline for the back of the glass, sitting down as she watched everyone talk to their friends but at least she had the mockingjays and the covey back at home..... Right?- it wasn't that depressing.... Right-?

She waited for the teacher to come in. As soon as the teacher came in, the whole class stood up to greet Mr. (Insert name here). "Good morning Mr. (Insert)! Good morning everyone!" The class chatted as Magic Maroon mouthed the words, not really saying anything. She sat down as the class stared silent reading. She grabbed her reading book she had gotten from the library. Despite being the poorest district, the school had a small library which was also open to the general public during none school hours. She opened her book and pretended to fake read. The book was boring and very captioly- Lucy Gray's stories were better anyways!!!! Not even after 5 minutes the boredom was getting to her..... Magic Maroon wanted to go home. So... So badly.... Maybe... Just maybe she could fake sick?-. She knew Dolly Rose would find out sooner or later and maybe mad at her if she found out she was faking but what other choice did she have?- She didn't want to be in school anymore. She didn't like it plus she had no friends. She raised her hand, not high enough to everyone to see but high enough for only the teacher to see.

"Yes?" Mr Fern said.

"I don't feel well. May I go home?" Dolly Rose asked.

"You may. Rest well and I hope to see you tommrow" Mr Fern said, giving her a knowing look. Well shit- but Dolly Rose hoped she could fake her sickness for a little longer.....

As she grabbed her school bag, she walked out. As soon as she got out of the classroom, she quicky skipped home as fast as she could although she slowed down as she got into town, sneaking into the bakery. She didn't have much- only a few pennies to spend on something. She walked into the bakery, giving Mrs. Fox. Despite the strange name- She wasn't a fox.... Or maybe she hid it extremely well?-

"Mornin'" Magic maroon said, walking into the small bakery.

"Aren't you supposed to be in school?" Mrs. Fox smirked, joking around with her.

"Aren't you supposed to be makin' the gross bread?" Magic Maroon smirked. D12s bread was slowly getting introduced despite Mrs. Fox hating to make it- she had to but she still made basic brown and white bread although- it was extremely expensive.... £12 dollars for one loaf- The covey could never afford that- ever.

"Yknow I don't like that bread-" Mrs. fox said quietly, afraid who would hear. "Now. What does my favourite girl want?' she asked.

"Anythin' for- uh-' she said slightly before opening her small cat purse that was a birthday gift from Maude ivory a few months ago. She opened it up, finding only 5 pennies. "5 pennies?-" she asked softly, hopefully.

"I can rustle you up some candy?-" Mrs. Fox said as she looked in the back. "Oh! I have some small gingerbreads!" She said, bringing a small brown paper bag.

"Thanks!" Magic maroon giggled as she gave over the money, waving her goodbye before running into the forest. The bakery was close to the forest- maybe Mrs. Fox started the bakery there so she could turn into a fox into the night?-. As she got further into the forest, she found an old oak tree, immediately climbing into it before opening the small bag of gingerbread, taking in the beautiful scent of the cookies. She took a few bites of some cookies before seeing a young mockingjay."

"Psssst pssssst-" she whispered softly to the mockingjay. "Come here sweetie-" Magic Maroon softly begged as the young mockingjay sat on the branch. "Good girl-" she said softly before whistling a soft tune which the mockingjay quicky copied. "Good... Girl- or boy? I don't know mockin' jay genders-" she said softly, giving the small bird a nibble of some gingerbread. "Lucy Gray ain't taught me yet-" she smirked. "But I mean- I know a gender of a bee so that's somethin' ain't it?" She asked the mockingjay as the mockingjay titled their head slightly. "Your very cute ain't you?" She asked with a soft smirk before blowing a kiss to the mockingjay with a soft smirk.

Only after a few moments, she saw Lucy Gray coming towards the school. Shit-. She quietly jumped off the tree, seeing Lucy Gray. She waved softly at her, knowing she'd be in trouble for skipping. "Hey-" she grumbled softly, looking down at her as Lucy Gray gave her a small look.

"Whatcha you doin' out of school sweetie?" She asked as she climbed into thet tree with her.

"Dunno- Just didn't feel good or something" Magic Maroon said softly, fidgeting with her hair slightly and quietly.

"Cmon sweetie. Let's go home-" she said softly as Lucy Gray helped her off the tree as they walked home. The walk was quiet most of the way but Lucy Gray tried to talk to her. "So sweetie- you wanna help me make somethin'?" She asked.

Magic Maroon nodded softly. "Like what? I still have some paint you made me from last month-" she said softly, looking down at the floor anxiously. She felt super guilty for lying to the teacher and leaving school early. She quietly walked in, going upstairs almost immediately as she walked home. She curled up in her bed, quietly crying. She didn't see that Marigold walked in.

"Why you cryin'? Someone mean to you? I'ma gonna get my knife and axe and murder them!" Marigold smirked despite not being allowed a pocket knife after almost stabbing her hand a few year ago because Billy taupe though it was an amazing idea to give a 10 year old a pocket knife for her birthday. That present lasted about 2 hours before getting taken away from her forever.

"Just don't fit in-" Magic Maroon whispered softly.

"Ain't no one does in school-" Marigold tried to comfort. "'part from people who change 'emselfs-" she said, sitting next to her. "Yknow what- wanna me play with you. Somethin' you wanna do-?" She suggested, trying to comfort her.

"Can we play jump rope?" She asked softly, knowing Marigold hated usually playing 'girly games'. Marigold gave a quick nod, helping her up from her bed before running off to go play.

#part 3 #covey fanfic #covey #lucy gray #my writing #ocs #ocs: marigold #the hunger games #ocs: dolly rose #ocs: briar green #ocs: sky jade #ocs: magic maroon #my ocs <3

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juniaships · 4 months ago

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*sits in chair and looks at the camera* So you made an OC for a childhood show...

I've been back on my nostalgia shit and now i made a self insert for - of all things - tommy the choo choo. She's for both it and Shining Time Station, since i tend to mix the 2 together in my headcanons.

So the story is I planned on visiting my sister in Durham but end up boarding the wrong train to shining time valley. While staying there I met its cast, including a certain magical blond. This may after TATMR, or could be different events from the canon. But I start to fall in love with the cozy town and its history. That and Im the only other adult besides stacey and Burnett who can see the conductors. Eventually i do visit my sister but come back to visit as kuch as I can. Finally i decided to quit my job and move in at the local motel to work in bookkeeping.

After I help stop PT Boomer and his gang from stealing Lady, and further adventures, I end up joining Shining Time full time as a conductor/guardian.

Now I have several designs: one of them is green and Im called the Green conductor, as a refernce to the line "green for glory" and the cut song "Girl in Green." I want to form something of a trip with the conductor cousins (blue) and stacey (red).

Other outfit is a maroon-pink get up inspired by Lady. I also carry a sword because im the brawler. Yes I do like figthing. No i do not need to see a therapist. And since I have a connection to Lady I want to stick to a victorian theme, like by day i dress up to talk to visitors about the history of the valley and Lady's creation. Third outfit is a mix of the two.

#gb asks #oc x canon #self insert #tatmr #thomas and friends #ttte #shining time station #si x canon #meiker.io

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kumo-inyanga · 2 months ago

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Side-Side Characters

Characters so unimportant I can easily spoil them.

(Basically OCs)

Heartslabyul

Name: Usagi Hollow

Age: 20

Species: Jackrabbit beastman

Height: 173 cm

Third year at Night Raven College

Unique Magic: “Running out of Time”

Catchphrase: “I’m late! Sorry, pardon me, coming through! I’m late!”

Magic type: Light

tea to the left, tart to the right, dormouse in the middle and jam at mid height. all forks are to be shining, all knives bright with care, and every spoon, kettle and teacup are to be cleaned with fresh air. not one thing out of place or a hair out of sway, this tea party should be perfect as the queen’s cabaret.

this was a chant that usagi knew through and through, one he sang every time he had to prepare a tea party. not only was it quick, it helped him set it up without hitch! ah goodness, it’s even making his inner thoughts rhyme. but alas, there’s nothing usagi can do. he’s already fretted and waited enough, any longer and he’d be late! let him review…

the table has a table cloth, checkered red and white and aligned horizontally to the east rosebushes, the tea is on the left side within quick reach of the white rabbit to serve after the third word of the queen. the tart is to the right for the brown hare to serve the table after the sixth word of the queen’s guest, and the dormouse is in the middle just next to the jam for the guest to spread should the dormouse awaken. the forks are catching the light so any unwanted birds fly away, the knives are carefully cleaned like a mirror to remind the queen of her beauty, and the spoons, kettles and teacups are perfectly air dried to create a light taste in the tea.

good! now he just needs to actually bring the dishes and his first task is–

“usagi! please help! need a little assistance over here!!” someone yelled from the hedgehogs pen, his ears pricking up to catch the sound.

“b-be right over!” he looked around frantically, spotting a nearby sophomore who was painting some stray roses, “sir, would you please bring these crepes to the table? i shouldn’t be long!”

the student looked a little put off, but quickly nodded, telling his friend to do the roses for him while he tended to the table. usagi ran off, finding the student that called him covered in hedgehogs of pink, green and blue, but some were yellow and even maroon!

“goodness me, what happened?” usagi couldn’t help but ask as he brushed away the hedgehogs, them happily rolling along the fresh-cut grass, no longer than a snip. he counted them as they rolled, a perfect deck if you include the flamingos.

“i was coloring them when the paints mixed together, and then my partner left to help someone else and they all covered me!” the student explained as he collected the paints, showing the odd mixtures of color.

“couldn’t you–” use magic, was what usagi would say, had he not spotted the collar around his neck. he quieted in sympathy, looking back to the hedgehogs.

“..yeah. i missed singing to the hedgehogs after they sneezed, but i was at a mandatory club meeting and wasn’t even informed…” usagi looked back up at that, confusion in his warm red gaze. though he did break a rule, his circumstances should pass.

“did you not have a trial?” he asked as he pulled out his pen, waving it to the critters and fixing their colors. pink and green and aquamarine, but never black or brown or white, and never red or gold or snow cold.

the student looked surprised, as if he hadn’t considered that option, “a trial? we can have trials?”

“why yes, we can, for any complicated case. in fact it’s protocol according to rule 73 of the Queen Handbook, “always have a trial even for the most inane and mundane cases”.” usagi explained, helping the student fix the paint.

“the…the queen’s handbook?!” the student exclaimed, shocked beyond belief. usagi looked at him oddly before remembering something.

“ah, yes. it’s lesser known, but it’s the same as the law of the queen of hearts, except it’s written directly by her. i tend to use it more but i know the rules for both editions. i would’ve expected riddle to do the same…” although his explanation was true, his reason was different in truth. the queen’s handbook was simply much more lawful and logistic, and was a requirement for lawers of the queendom to read and memorize.

“w-well you need to bring that up to rosehearts! i can’t believe this! i’ll read that handbook, this might be the one thing i can safely use against him!” the student was excited, hurriedly putting away the paints and double checking the lock on the door, quickly waving to usagi and running off.

“o-oh, goodbye!” usagi waved back, taking the pocket watch he had and checking the time. he almost had to adjust his monocle, it was ten minutes til!

his very next job was to return to the table, seeing it half finished and the student nowhere in sight. he sighed, not blaming anyone as he quickly rearranged the food and brought out the last of it, then moving to his last task of preparation. he had to ensure all the students were finished or close to, and help anyone who isn’t.

he walked through the sections that needed attention, seeing it done but with hesitance, and with a few things out of place. he fixed it quick, for not a leaf could be out of place, not for this party and not for the queen! he gathered the students, told them to hurry, get in their seats before they face the queen’s fury.

then he came to a section so sad, so sad that he couldn’t just pass. the flamingos, oh dear! they were out of their pen, colored red and white and green, blue and black and aquamarine! he looked to the students, yet no one was there, so usagi had no choice but to clean up the mess.

he fixed the terrible colors, and herded them to their pens, giving them each a small pet, before checking the time.

four o’clock sharp was when the party started, and his rabbit ears twitched as he heard the trumpets. the trumpets of arrival, inviting the queen. but he was in the maze, and she was in the fringe!

“i’m late, i’m late! oh what a disaster!” he ran from his spot, feet kicking up dirt. he checked the time again, and couldn’t be more hurt. he had no choice now, as he muttered these words, “i’m late, i’m late, i’m running out of time!”

the grass around him stilled, the leaves stopped rustling, the wind stopped whispering. the trumpets cut short, yet his heart stayed pumping. he checked his pocketwatch one last time, the dial spinning as it lost track of the hour. he passed by fallen petals and discarded cards, a few other late peoples, but he could not surrender.

soon, soon he arrived, it was still four o’clock when he felt the wind rise. as the world went back to normal, the tunes playing in faith, the queen locked eyes with him, and inquiring state.

all he did was smile as he pulled out his chair, letting the queen sit as he bowed and felt the fresh air.

“let us begin,” the queen said three words, prompting him to serve tea to his tyrant, rose-red king.

#DaE #twst #disney twst #twisted wonderland #oc #unique magic #Heartslabyul #white rabbit #it was definitely spoilers for the next dae chapter

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bonelessghoul · 1 year ago

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The Lion and the Snake |2|

< Hope everyone liked the first part :3 still revamping the story with a new OC in case anyone comes across part two and is confused! >

Part One

Summary: The nights are colder and sleep is a stranger to Rosemary Peverell in the wake of what happened at the Winter Ball. But Tom Riddle hadn’t forgotten her yet and when he makes an unexpected visit to the infirmary, Rosemary just might be more open to his change of heart.

~~~

The infirmary had one singular candle alight the following night after the Winter Ball.

Rosemary Peverell sat up in the creaky bed, the pillow propped up behind her back to ease the strain the wooden headboard put on her aching back and her mind would not allow her to rest after what occurred that night.

The tattooed man’s face was stuck on her mind—his teeth in particular— and the fear leaving her body cold and the curse he had used leaving her still trembling at any given moment of the day. But now that it was night and there was little left to do, it all felt ten times worse. Grabbing her wand, Rose whispered a spell to light the candlelit chandelier above her head, bringing a little more life to the towering walls of the empty infirmary.

But the moment the dim lights came to life, Rose heard the urgently shuffling footsteps of the head healer in her maroon and white gown, tiredly rushing into the room.

“Oh, Ms. Peverell, are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine. I just wanted to keep the lights on!” she gently called back.

The woman sighed in relief, nodding her head as she turned back out of the room.

Once Rose was in the silence, she grabbed one of her books to read, but after a few moments of trying to keep her eyes still and turn the pages, the shakes returned, and she heaved out a frustrating sigh.

During the day she was allowed to walk, eat, and have visits from Margot, Adis and her other friends, but her last night in the infirmary was becoming restless without having anything to do but sit and think.

“I’m afraid we cannot allow you to speak with any family members at this time, Ms. Rose Marie.” said the Ministry man, his voice lacking any empathy as he stared down at her with his hands clasped together behind his back.

“My family? I need to be with them! Why won’t you tell me where they are?!” Rose cried, sprinting forward in the bed.

At her side, Rose and Adis sat upon the uncomfortable infirmary bed despite how little space there was for them.

“It’s a great national security issue, I’m afraid.”

Dumbledore glared at the Ministry representative and sighed heavily, stepping forward in his place.

“Rose, the Ministry has put forth all of its efforts to protect your parents in this time. We insist you must stay here, and we limit any communication for now due to the risk of any interception. But I assure you it’s safe and we will have an update on your parents as soon as we can. Grindelwald and his men would dare not make this mistake again.”

But Rose’s pained and tired body was growing agitated, and she wasn’t sure whether she wanted to cry or scream. Nothing was adding up.

Her eyes drifted up to the Ministry official situated behind Professor Dumbledore and Headmaster Dippet, having already briefed her on the things the professor just said.

But the void of a man merely nodded along and offered no other advice.

“By the looks of it, it was one very calculated mistake. He knew where I was. He knew my family, he said we have something to do with these objects that no one has seen in decades. What do I even do?” Rose argued.

At her sides, Margot and Adis were there for comfort, but they only began to feel like more bricks piling atop her back.

The Headmaster, Dumbledore, and the healer sighed in defeat. It was clear they were at a loss for words.

“The information the Ministry of Magic has on the Deathly Hallows and Grindelwald’s involvement in the magical artifacts remains confidential, I’m afraid.” the man spoke.

Rose’s head whipped in his direction.

“My parents never spoke of any of this! If I happen to be involved, I should have all the information!”

“That’s what you may believe, Rose, but I fear your family may have withheld this information for this exact reason.”

Tears stung her eyes, but she wasn’t sad, she was absolutely fuming on the inside. Whatever lies there were hiding in her family, she didn’t want to wait around for Grindelwald to find them first.

That was the only thing on Rose’s mind now. The only thing that had brought some comfort was the moments leading up to the second the windows came shattering down, replaying in her head over and over again; the dance with Tom Riddle. If there was one thing more bizarre than the wizard version of Hitler entering the school, it was the fact that she had found yourself in his arms dancing in front of everyone in the school.

Maybe hell had truly frozen over.

As if on cue, the heavy wooden door to the infirmary had opened again, and Rose sighed, trying to keep herself looking pleasant in bed knowing the nurse was going to pester her about not getting her sleep.

But to her surprise, it was Tom Riddle who appeared behind the door and immediately, her stomach churned.

“What are you doing here?” Rose seethed, trying to straighten out her knotted hair and the Gryffindor Quidditch sweater she wore.

Rose felt absolutely disgusting after spending a whole day in there despite having all the necessities she needed and yet, she began to panic and scramble around as the boy grew closer to the edge of her bed.

“Visiting you.” he replied dumbfounded.

“After visiting hours? How kind.” Rose mused, sitting up straighter to cross her legs. “Please, for Merlin’s sake this is embarrassing. I look wretched.” she added with a scowl.

“Relax, you always do.” Tom grinned, standing awkwardly at the foot of her bed.

His hands were in his pockets, and he wasn’t quite dressed to the nines as he usually was, and yet his relaxed look did not match how stiffly he stood before her. She thought of his hand and how tightly she held onto it that night.

Rolling her eyes as the flustered wave took its toll, she waved him down.

“Well come on then, sit.” Rose quietly ushered. “What are you doing here, actually?”

Tom had decided to sit on the empty space before her, one leg folded up while the other rested off the side of her mattress. She was perhaps as flustered as he was, and she had the feeling that he didn’t expect to find himself here anymore than she did. But then she remembered, where had he been all day?

“I wasn’t sure when the appropriate time to visit would be.” Tom said, eyes flicking from hers to the pile of gifts and cards on the next bed over. “Perhaps I missed the memo.”

Leaning back, Rose sighed heavily.

“Truth be told, you being here is a gift in itself. I didn’t think you would come.”

Tom’s face scrunched up in his faux offended look.

“Am I truly that bad?”

“Up until that night I thought you would rather see me at the bottom of that lake, so pardon me for thinking the one time you showed some pleasantry towards me you would get scared off.”

Even Rose had to choke on her words sometimes, realizing that came off a little bit too harsh when Tom’s lips had pursed into a thin line as he took them with their full force. Not even Daniel and Theo visited her, therefore she wasn’t really expecting him of all people either.

“I was worried. One minute you were squeezing the life out of my hand and the next, you were screaming on the floor. That is something I don’t wish upon you, for your information.” Tom stated.

Rose rested her elbows on her knees and dropped her face into her palms, looking at him apologetically.

“I’m sorry.”

“Well, I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner.”

In that awkward silence, she fiddled with her fingers before muttering a spell to summon a box of chocolates from Hogsmeade that were sitting among the gifts.

“Here, I hope you're in for a midnight snack. I can’t finish all this by myself.” Rose offered, setting it down between the two of them as a peace offering.

“I seriously don’t think it’s possible to finish all of that.” Tom laughed, referring to the remaining snacks that awaited her. As he picked up a piece of chocolate, she felt his eyes on her again. “How was today?” he shyly asked.

Shrugging, Rose picked up a cream filled piece of chocolate.

“Absolutely horrible. The Ministry official who came by to investigate told me plain and simple that I can’t risk contact with my family. They couldn’t tell me anything about why Grindelwald seems to think we have anything to do with the Deathly Hallows— it’s just all hopeless.”

As Rose reached for another one, her hand ached and brought on a new bout of trembling in her bones. She shook her hand, wincing slightly as the aching pain burrowed deep down.

“And I can’t stop shaking. Whatever the healers gave me today wears off pretty quickly.”

Tom’s eyes had saddened to her dismay.

“I suppose it's not everyday someone takes on an unforgivable curse.” Tom shrugged.

The mere thought of what she endured made him curious, thinking back on his notes of the Horcruxes he had jotted down in his diary, wondering how it will feel the day comes to make his first one. He wondered if the splitting of his soul would hurt as bad.

“And I took it like a damn champion so I hope people will stop feeling sorry for me and realize that.” Rose giggled, her humor feigning quickly as her optimism failed.

Tom was caught off guard by her enthusiasm, a smile spreading across his own lips, and he shook his head at her.

“You are truly a Gryffindor at heart. I absolutely hate it.” Tom said, shifting in his seat. “Just as much as I hate this bed. How have you been sleeping in this thing?”

Rose shrugged, her eyes falling to her lap. “I haven’t slept.”

Tom thought more on just how important she had to be for Grindelwald’s men to break into Hogwarts just to even get a glimpse of her. It made him shudder thinking what it would be like when it wasn’t a warning.

“You just became one of the most important pureblood families in the world. I don’t think I would sleep either knowing that was on my shoulders.” Tom sighed, taking another piece of chocolate.

Rose snickered.

“The worst part is, I don’t even care about all of that. If this was Grindelwald’s way of trying to recruit some pureblooded family into his hunt, he’s a terrible salesman. I suppose coming to me directly means my family wasn’t so reluctant to give in though. I’ve been worried sick. That’s why I can’t sleep.”

“You don’t care about it?” Tom asked.

Rose eyed him curiously.

“And you do?”

Tom shrugged. “I suppose not, but it’s been a heavy topic of debate since Grindelwald’s rise to power. Purebloods and the non purebloods. It’s the basis of his entire regime.”

Tom would be lying if he said he didn’t agree with what Grindelwald was trying to do to the wizarding world. He and the friends he surrounded himself with all felt that way, and in these times of war, most people took that side. When he thought of his future, it was people like her he thought would be on that side too.

“Whatever.” She brushed off, leaning forward on her knees again. “Regardless of what side is what, it just changed my life for the worse and I have no idea how to go about it. I need to find out what my family is hiding if they’re not going to tell me.”

Tom had refrained from dwelling on his own ideas too much. He had known Rose for years, perhaps more than most could say, and yet, something was different from her now that he could see plain as day that made him feel like he was in uncharted territory.

“Why don’t you go and find out then?”

Rose scoffed.

“And leave the castle? I’m essentially on lockdown, Riddle. Even you are not that conniving.”

The boy shrugged, smirking at her and she tilted her head, not sure whether she liked where this is going.

“Try me, Peverell.”

She had laughed every so faintly, the most she had done all day, and Tom paused mid breath as he watched her find humor out of his bold idea.

“It’s nice to hear you laugh and not screaming bloody murder.”

As his mind raced back to that night that already felt like ages ago, his eyes drifted to the few scratches on your arms from where you had fallen into the glass. He tried to look away and hell, he wanted to hear anything else but her laughter for a moment because it was swallowing him whole.

“It’s nice to have you sitting here and not ready to throw an entire cauldron at my head.” Rose chuckled, feeling her ears and cheeks grow warm as she watched him grow restless in that spot.

“I would never throw a cauldron at your head.” Tom scoffed, teasing her with a cunning grin. “A book, perhaps, but never a cauldron.”

“You bastard, I knew it!” Rose cackled, swatting him with the small lap pillow that sat at her side.

It was definitely late and as her laughter died down, the exhaustion crept in. Neither of them wanted to leave though.

“I’ve been trying to read that stupid book Grindelwald based his little fantasy off of but my hands keep shaking every time I try to turn the pages.” She frowned, picking up the book that rested on your nightstand. “It’s such a grim story to try and read at night.”

“It’s grim that you’re reading a children’s book as is.” Tom poked, reaching over her legs for the book she had swiftly dropped.

“Don’t remind me. It feels pathetic.” she sighed, the smile fading.

Watching as he had grown comfortable at the end of her bed, she had to ask herself if she was dreaming. Tom Riddle dancing with her at the winter ball was one thing, but to have him willingly sit with her in the infirmary in the middle of the night was another.

Deep down a part of her believed it had to be some prank.

That conversation after she left Hogsmeade together stuck like glue and she wondered had there been something there the whole time? Of course, he expects everyone to fall at his feet and she never wanted to do that.

“And page one...” Tom read aloud.

‘Stop it!” Rose cried, laughing as he opened the first story of the book.

But here she was, falling for it.

The coming weeks passed by in one anxious riddled blur.

Christmas came with no word of Rose’s parents, Dumbledore assuring her that they are being hidden safely by the Ministry and that they’ve agreed to keep her at the school for her safety. She asked at least three times a day though whether or not anything had changed and every time she was told she couldn’t have an answer.

Needless to say, she didn’t like that answer.

The same official from the Ministry had come back weekly to repetitively ask for her rendition of what happened, and it was beginning to drive Rose mad. She poured her heart out to them and in return, she still could not know the whereabouts of her parents.

“Here, Rose. My mother sent something to cheer you up.” said Margot, shying her way into the nearly empty common room to where she sat on the lounge chair by the Christmas tree and fireplace.

Rose had been staring into it, clutching the newspaper that talked about her accident on the front page after reading it a dozen times. Truth be told, she was losing her mind, but when Margot had dropped a heaping lump of fabric on her lap she jolted up in surprise.

“Oh, Margot, she didn’t have to.” Rose forcefully beamed, holding up the burgundy scarf.

At the end of it was the logo of the Gryffindor house in gold with her name stitched into it.

It was beautiful and yet, the smile could not reach her eyes.

“It was the least she can do. Your family has been all over the papers and she assumed you would be quite lonely without them...which, I’ve been meaning to ask--”

“Don’t” Rose frowned, lightly inferring that she didn’t want her to ask again. “The Ministry considers me an on going investigation and won’t let me know a thing.”

Margot put her hands up in defense, plopping down on the floor with a pillow from the sofa Rose laid upon. The girl was less unruly than usual as she eased into the cushion, her eyes drifting up to the tree with a childlike adoring glare.

“You’re my best friend, I know we don’t talk about certain things because we hate it but we’re all worried. You went through something quite horrible, Rose.”

Shrugging, Rose wrapped the scarf around her neck and admired it so.

“I’ll admit I’ve had my issues coping with the whole ordeal but I’m fine. I have you, Adis, and more time to prepare for the next semester. It’s not the worst vacation following what happened.”

Rose was academically driven, sure, but Margot’s face even couldn’t hide the disdain of what she had said.

“I suppose whatever keeps your mind off of what happened.” she grimaced, eyes narrowing in on the book she placed beside her. “Are you trying to look more into Grindelwald’s moves?”

“No.”

“Rosemary.”

Sighing in defeat, Rose had thought back to the one early morning her and Tom had crossed paths shortly after her departure from the infirmary. It was merely one fleeting conversation in passing, and the last time the two had spoken actually. He made a point to her about an article he read once that speculated Grindelwald was the sole holder of the Elder Wand and that sent her down a rabbit hole.

“How did you know?” Rose sighed, leaning back in the sofa.

“Well, my parents used to read that story to me...the one about the Deathly Hallows.” Margot said, laying on the floor now with her eyes still on the towering tree. “So naturally, I had to ask them about it when my mother sent the presents, and she really didn’t want to dwell. It’s some dark stuff, those items. You’d be surprised the amount of people that believe in them.”

Rose snickered. “Clearly, if the one man successfully targeting the Wizarding world is hell bent on finding them.”

A smile pulled at her face.

“Exactly. But my point is, you’re not crazy for wanting to find out more. I’d be happy to help if it means you can be at peace until you have more answers. I know Adis would too. We all have the brains, but she has a knack for ancient runes and whatnot.”

The more her thoughts dwelled on that night, the more far away she felt and as her eyes bore into the fireplace once again, she felt a heavy burden on her shoulders.

“I know what the Deathly Hallows means...” Rose trailed off, feeling the guilt creeping in. “I don’t need to know more about the symbol. I want to find the items within that symbol. I want to find what it has to do with my family other than a stupid last name. I need to know why all this trouble has been caused.”

“You can’t be serious.” Margot scoffed, raising her head. “Grindelwald waltzed in here like we were a playground for him just to assert his passion for not only finding you, but those items!” she cried.

“I know it’s crazy. I at least need to find answers but with my family in hiding, I need to start somewhere!”

The girl raised her brows at her. “It’s your death wish, but as your best friend I am obligated to help.”

A wave of relief washed over her. She couldn’t bear the scolding and the reminder that it was, indeed, crazy. Margot was a good friend as such and the two have arguably done crazier things together.

“You bet you are.” Rose chuckled.

For a little while, they enjoyed the silence with nothing but the cackling of the fire and its embers that spewed up into the chimney.

Rose’s mind kept drifting back to Tom and how surreal it was that he had suddenly changed his attitude towards her. Despite being bundled in warmth on the comfortable sofa, she almost wished she could be back in that rackety infirmary bed with the chocolates and him at the end again.

Glancing down at Margot, her lips were itching to spill everything that had happened, wondering if she even remembered them dancing together that night of the Winter Ball.

But for now, Rose kept it nestled deep in her churning stomach, wishing for the days to pass til they spoke again.

Two Weeks Later

The students who returned home for the holidays swarmed the castle once again as the new year began. After weeks of what felt like too much quiet for Rose, it quickly became too loud again.

Rose was seated in the common room early that morning, not really thrilled to return to classes and face all the students as a whole, waiting for Margot to join her on her way to the Great Hall for breakfast. Through the tall window she sat before, Rose was looking at her reflection in the palm sized mirror she held, carefully dotting her eyes and cheeks with makeup to hide her dreariness.

Daniel sat across from her, occasionally throwing a weary glance her way and finally, she glared at him.

“I would appreciate you not looking at me like a porcelain doll about to fall off a shelf.” Rose said sternly as she focused on her mascara.

The boy heaved a sigh as he leaned forward on his knees. He looked up at her through his raised brows, and when she looked over at him again, she realized how silly he looked with his large frame on such a small stool.

“I’m just making sure you know you don’t have to start classes today.” Daniel assured. “And also, we can have Saorise play Seeker this evening.”

Snapping her little compact mirror shut, Rose abruptly turned in her chair to face him head on now.

“I am fine, Daniel and I sure as hell will not be missing this game today. Got it?”

Mildly started, he put his hands up in defense and leaned away.

“Got it.” he answered, finally backing off.

“Who’s ready to kick Slytherin’s ass today!” Margot shouted from the stairs that descended from the girl’s dormitory, leaping off of the last two with a resounding thud on the carpet.

Cheers erupted from the other students in the room and Rose turned, a smile on her shaking head as she practically skipped over to her in her Quidditch sweater stitched with her number on it. She sported an annoyingly bouncy high ponytail today while hers remained in two braids, one of which she had began toying with as she watched her friend bounce around.

“Are you ready?”

“Depends on what I’m supposed to be ready for, you’re scaring me.” Rose laughed, standing from the seat and tucking her journal and textbooks under her arm.

“Breakfast is the most important meal on game days, silly. Am I wrong, Theo?” Margot asked, staring at someone behind her head.

Turning back as they began to walk, the head Prefect and Quidditch star Theodore Prewett, more famously known as Ignatius’s twin brother, had approached them and she wanted to crawl in her own skin.

The boy came up to Daniel’s side, clasping his shoulder as he was in the middle of yawning.

“Not wrong at all. Especially for this one.” he said, pointing down at Rose.

He was like a golden retriever compared to his brother in Slytherin and essentially the golden boy of Gryffindor with sleek, light brown hair and a very charismatic yet almost too happy of a face. He was much slimmer than Daniel but both boys had beanstalks for legs and both were strong in every movement they made. Theo’s golden hair was cut and neatly combed like Daniel’s, like two sharp soldiers ready to march off into duty.

Instead, Daniel marched over to her with an assuring arm over her shoulders now as they all walked out of the dormitory.

“We’re going to have a good day, Theo. Stop trying to coach everyone before the game even starts.” the boy said with a very tired attitude to his tone.

Needless to say, Rose did not approve of Margot’s desire for this golden boy, but she wouldn’t dare fight the notion that opposites surely do attract.

“I am fine. I don’t want to hear a word about what happened...from any of you!” Rose scowled, playfully pulling away from his arm as she moved next to Margot. “I am fine.” she added in a whisper.

While they chatted away with Daniel and Theo trailing behind her and Margot, she was quickly honing in on the fact that every student they passed by had begun whispering and staring.

Not only was it crushing her but it was becoming frustrating as the friends that bordered her were seemingly oblivious. What did they find so important to sneakily whisper about? Everyone who passed by made it feel as if what had happened to her was a crime and not on Grindelwald’s part.

“Speaking of not talking about it, I hate to bring it up, but it seems like you’re going to have to worry about everyone else more than us.” Theo said quietly, lowering down to her height to keep the words hushed.

Rose swiftly elbowed him, nose flaring in anger.

“No shit!” she hissed.

Margot was giggling and shaking her head, Daniel even trying to stifle is snickering by covering his mouth.

“I think this is the best thing that ever happened to us. Maybe people will respect our house for once. Maybe they’re even terrified of you!”

The sound of that wasn’t so horrible and while she chuckled at that idea, her eyes fell on Theo.

“Probably not quite. We have him as the head of our house still.”

“You are so rude.” Theo sighed.

But the humor quickly subsided when they entered the Great Hall, making a b-line for their end of the table, and it wasn’t unnoticed that everyone’s conversations were suddenly quieter, whispering even now. Nothing could have prepared her for the way it sat on her shoulders, and as her eyes frantically darted around the heads at their table, she felt like she was back in that ever so tightening grip of Grindelwald again.

Rose was never easily spooked, never had outrageous nightmares or fears, and she was okay with that.

But somehow this all felt more terrifying than anything.

“Hey, you okay?” Margot asked, gently grabbing her wrist.

Immediately Rose felt pulled out of that trance, but every fiber of clothing suddenly felt hot and sticky against her skin, so she reached for the cup of water sitting beside your plate and all the decadent breakfast foods to chug it down.

“I’m doing wonderful.” Rose nearly choked.

“Drink some coffee, sunshine. Don’t worry about everyone else.” Daniel said from across the table, attempting to distract her.

“Oh, for fucks sake.” Margot whispered, rolling her eyes as the she turned around on the bench to face him now too. “Stop trying to act like you know what she needs! Coffees going to make her heart rate shoot to the skies!”

“Thank you, Daniel” Rose said softly, reluctantly reaching for coffee as she discreetly glared at her friend.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to reciprocate the feelings for Daniel, it was just that he felt that way about multiple people and sometimes all at once and she had grown tired of it.

As her eyes had swung back to her friend, glancing at her from over the rim of her coffee mug, they had caught sight of another just behind her entering the Great Hall.

That wretched, horrible, gut sinking feeling returned at the sight of Tom Riddle entering with Abraxas Malfoy and Orion and his younger sister Lucretia at his sides with a few more trailing behind. Lucretia’s right hand girl Druella Rosier with her brother Evan. Ignatius, Walburga, and the others awaited them at their end of their table.

“Oh, there’s that incestuous family lot.” Theo Prewett teased.

“That’s your family too, you idiot.” Rose muttered under her breath; hearing Margot nearly spit out her drink.

But Rose’s eyes had been unmoving from Tom Riddle, watching the damn near angelic glow from the sunlight through the newly repaired windows beam down on him and somehow it was the most angelic shadow she’s ever seen. When his eyes flickered over to her, her lips seemed to tug away themselves into a smile, and her hand instinctively twitched, wanting to wave.

But Tom Riddle’s eyes averted straight ahead before she could, and that was the last straw she could take today, and it wasn’t even nine in the morning yet.

“Who did you just wave to?” Margot whispered, flashing a dirty look over to the Slytherin crowd.

Rose turned both her legs over the seat, the food now nauseating her as her heart sat in the pit of her stomach. What was that for? Why did he have to suddenly revert back to that awful person she had known for years.

“We’re not having a dance anymore.” was all Rose could say, shrugging it off as another weight she didn’t want to hold today.

Headmaster Dippet made his morning announcement, the first one of the year, and it was a grim undertone to the say the least that she was expecting.

“Good morning, students! It brings me joy to see every face returning happy and healthy from the holiday. I can assure you, as well as the faculty have assured your families, Hogwarts School is going to continue to remain open despite the ongoing war and serve as one of the safest places in the United Kingdom today. Regretfully, Gellert Grindelwald did make an appearance the last time we all stood together here and have caused harm to one of Gryffindor’s brightest students.”

Rose’s blood was running cold as her eyes zoned out on the wooden table before her, replaying it over and over again. She didn’t want to hear the Headmasters speech that more or less called her out plain as day.

“But rest assured, the Ministry has brought forth extra resources to protect our students so we can live out another successful year here at Hogwarts. In these times, it is most important to keep morale and faith and that is why we have orchestrated the Quidditch season having an early start this year with Gryffindor vs Slytherin this afternoon on the pitch...”

Many cheers erupted, faintly, but they were there to compensate for those who sat silently.

Everyone around her was excited, but at this rate, she wanted to hide in your dorm again. It swallowed her whole, a feeling she wasn’t too keen on as she hadn’t really felt such a way before.

But as her head was sunken into the palm of her hand, what she didn’t see was Tom Riddle glancing over her way, wondering what was going on in her mind and somehow able to feel her turmoil from so far away.

Passing on a full breakfast already set Rose up for failure today as she tried to stuff down some snacks while getting ready for the game. She’d be damned if she ever admitted Theo was right though. It was only two hours away but everyone was expected to be warming up at the Quidditch pitch soon.

Needless to say, Rose was scrambling to put on a uniform let alone fly a broom as she was already running late.

With her gear on and hair tightly secured, Rose grabbed her broom and hurried out of the Gryffindor common room over to the North Hall to meet Margot after class. Most students were either still in class or in their own dorms to get ready for the game this evening, leaving the hallways nearly deserted, but when she come through the door to the bridge, she had nearly struck Tom Riddle.

Standing frozen as the chilly air around her, she wasn’t sure whether to move or speak and her frazzled brain let out an awkward sound.

“Um, hi.” she nervously quipped, immediately ducking around him.

“Wait, Rose?” Tom had called out while she was already pacing halfway down the bridge.

Skidding to a halt, Rose sighed in frustration and turned around.

“Now you want to say hello?” Rose snapped, immediately regretting the harshness she had chosen to let out.

Tom’s face scrunched with confusion as he looked at her. In her defense, she was already running late.

“What on Earth are you talking about?” Tom scowled.

Now it was her turn to be confused.

“Nothing, you just —it’s stupid. Never mind.” Rose sighed, rolling her eyes as she averted them over to the landscape beyond the castle that could be seen through the wooden posts that held the roof to this bridge.

She could just make out a piece of the pitch from here.

“Are you really getting cross with me because I didn’t say hello?” Tom questioned, a knowing grin upon his lips as he neared closer.

“Truthfully, I was angrier at the embarrassment of trying to say hello more than I was about getting ignored.” Rose grumbled, clenching the broomstick in your hand as her palms grew sweaty “It is easily forgivable, though. I suppose we resume our normal antics now that the school year is back on.”

“That would be the wise thing to do.”

It was just a coincidence they shared the dance. It was just obligatory for him to visit her after she was hurt. Even when he offered help on her on her quest for more information about the Deathly Hallows, it was just a quick passing suggestion.

“I am sorry, by the way.”

The words took her by surprise, and it was clearly written across her face because she could easily sense how hard it was for Tom Riddle to apologize for hurting someone else’s feelings.

“But hello now.” he added, his face flat.

“Hello.” Rose responded cautiously, her lips turning upwards.

Rose shouldn’t have expected him to say or do anything, his rowdy bunch of friends seemed to be under the impression that the one boy they admired most also hated the other houses with a burning passion.

“Have you found anything on the Deathly Hallows?” he asked, clearing his throat as his eyes finally fell back on her. “Or heard from your parents?” he quickly added.

She had almost forgotten the precedence that took while she was staring up at him.

“Not really. I’m starting to believe I might have to go digging in places I really shouldn’t be. There’s nothing in these books.”

“Have you tried the Restricted Section of the library?” Tom asked.

Gawking at him, Rose laughed.

“Are you kidding me? You say that so casually as if I can just stroll in there with a free pass!”

But the amused look on his face told her that was in fact what he meant.

“Right, the snakes you are, I’m not surprised you would have found yourself in the restricted section with ease.” Rose mocked.

“Ouch.” he winced. “Meet me after the Quidditch game. I’ll find us a way in there.”

“Are you serious?” she asked, erring on the side of caution.

“Don’t trust me?” he asked, raising a brow at her.

“Not one bit.”

Tom smirked. “Good. See you then.”

It was only a few moments, but she felt like she had been standing there too long and nodded at him, immediately rushing back on path to get to the Pitch. Fire spread over her chest as she turned away. But her thoughts got the best of her, still reeling from their conversation and something had occurred to her.

“Wait, Tom!” she called out, just catching him before he disappeared behind the doorway. “Are you not coming to the game?”

Rose was hanging on her words, feeling that fire spread to her face as she braced herself, wishing she had never even turned back around to speak. But Tom reluctantly turned, leaning back out from the doorway with a pondering look upon his face.

“I don’t think so.” Tom said, his words drawn out.

Did he want her to ask him point blank?

“You should! It’ll make up for you ignoring me.” Rose pushed further, nearly standing on your toes with excitement.

“I already did.”

The door shut and she sighed, left with nothing but the draft that barreled between the nooks and crannies of the castle. But nonetheless, Rose had a Quidditch game to get to.

#tom riddle #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle x oc

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