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buckets-and-trees · 2 years ago

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Into Cursed Pixie Dust

Characters/Pairings: Winter Soldier x female!Reader Word Count: 8.9K Summary: “He's credited over two dozen assassinations in the last fifty years…” but you don’t know that. You run into him once, then again, again, again. Destiny draws you together, and neither of you can deny the pull. And yet though he never ages, you do.

Warnings: morally grey Winter Soldier; infidelity; some angst/sadness/feels; explicit smut: penetrative sex, sex while pregnant, fingering; WS doesn’t stalk reader but territorially has his eyes on her/is aware of her when she’s in his orbit?

Additional Notes: First LENGTHY fic here. This idea crept up on me somewhat inspired by the feeling and some of the lyrics of Mazzy Star’s Into Dust, elements of Peter Pan folklore as he never ages and Winter Soldier also has that unconventional relationship with time, and the concept that he could keep encountering the same person – not every time he’s sent on a mission, but a few times, enough for it to be significant. Part of me also liked the challenge of trying to tie him to nefarious deeds/political intrigue/etc and going down some Google and Wikipedia rabbit holes to spin the timeline of encounters together (you can see the notes/significance/context for each date at the end of the fic).

July 1961 – St. Tropez, France

You are rushing as fast as your short heels would allow down to the docks. Your parents had left the house late for their weekend away to Cannes, which meant you were late sneaking out to Hank’s boat party, but you knew you could still make it if you kept a quick enough pace. You couldn’t run and show up in a huff of sweat and disheveled hair, but swift strides should still serve to get you there before Hank gave word to pull away from shore. Hank usually ran a little late himself, but you still needed to make good time.

Hank was the oldest of the Stanton siblings, and it was his youngest sister and your best friend Helen who was your connection to this social circle. It wasn’t going to be an excessively large party, but Hank hadn’t put a stop to any of the rumors of the various summer St. Tropez social elites that could be confirmed on his guest list. Brigette Bardot was among those names, but you were angling to catch Hudson Stanton’s eye – middle son of the Stantons and recently unattached and thus newly eligible bachelor.

You don’t give more than a glance as you approach the next street and made to cross, hearing no engines around this part of the town, and so swift is your pace that you are knocked clean off your feet as someone else appears from around the corner, colliding with your path.

You let out a small scream as you fall, not out of fear, but frustration.

“Are you alright?”

Your pride is smashed for the moment, and you can already feel that your right hip, right elbow, and the heel of your right hand would be very tender and sore, if not bruised, but you didn’t seem to be bleeding, thank goodness.

You frown but reach to take the hand of the offender, who’d leaned closer to help you get up. “You should be more careful and watch where you’re going!” you huff as he hoists you up almost effortlessly. You know you should have been looking more closely yourself, but it was definitely him, too.

After smoothing the fabric of your dress, you lift your face up to look at him, and your breath catches in your throat.

The stranger is tall and dressed in a black dinner jacket, with short brown hair, piercing blue eyes, and a firm jaw. “My apologies,” he said.

You take half a step back, pulling your hand out of his gloved hand, and smooth it over your dress again, looking down to see if it has torn or been soiled. “Is my dress alright?” you ask, looking back up to his face and turning slightly.

His eyes scan your figure, and suddenly you wish you hadn’t asked, heat rising up your neck and across your cheeks under the man’s intense gaze.

He reaches out and straightens part of your sleeve. “There. Good now.”

“Thank you.”

“Where are you going in such a hurry?” he asks.

“The docks; a boat party is leaving soon.”

“A young dame like you shouldn’t be walking through this part of the city alone.”

You frown at him. “I’m twenty-one and perfectly capable of getting somewhere on my own, thank you very much.”

The corner of his mouth twitches up. “I’d feel better if I could walk you there after our little incident.”

Maybe it would be good to have an escort for a few more minutes. “Fine, but only because you’re insisting, and only until we get to the docks. I can’t sneak you into the party.” And you didn’t want anyone to see this man walking you straight up to Hank’s boat. There were more than enough nosy Nellies that would immediately ask about him and spread that circulate the rumors like lightning.

With a nod of his head, he takes your hand and tucks it in the crook of his elbow, his gloved hand covering your fingers, a silent indication to keep hold of his arm.

“This way?” he asks, inclining his head to the left. You nod, and he whisks you away immediately.

He asks short, leading questions designed to keep words tumbling out of your mouth so he could stay focused on completing his mission, but of course you don’t know that. He’s too good at what he does for you to even question. You assume the kindness of a gallant, tall, dark, and handsome stranger. To him you’ve become the convenient cover as he puts distance between himself and the restaurant where three still bodies bleed out. Anyone looking for him won’t consider what looks like a young couple in love as they comb the streets for an assassin.

He’s walked you nearly all the way to the docks when tires screech as a car up at the corner ahead takes the sharp turn and begins coming your way, and no less suddenly, your escort has flung you up against the wall, a hand over your mouth before you can make a sound. You are breathless as your turn your head slightly to look at him. The two of you are not entirely in the shadows, and your bodies aren’t totally flush against each other, but the right half of his body has you pinned up against the wall, one leg planted between yours. You’ve shared a few kisses with some suitors, but this is the closest a man has ever been to you, complete contact from hips to shoulders. One hand is still hovering over your mouth, and the other has come up to brace your shoulder. He inclines his head down slightly to hover next to your ear, and the whisper of a breath you feel on your neck makes you shiver.

“Just a moment,” he promises.

It’s intoxicating.

The car passes. You both hear another car speeding down the road from the opposite direction, and he continues to hold you in what looks to anyone else like an intimate daliance.

Once the second car has passed, he steps away, and you can only blink at him for a few seconds before you recover.

He slips your hand into his arm again and tugs you back along the street.

He doesn’t usher you back into conversation, but it’s only another block before the buildings come to an end to give way to the network of St. Tropez docks.

He removes your hand from his arm and says, “Stay out of trouble,” before stepping back away from you and disappearing into the shadows, heading down another alley.

You shake your head and turn around, not knowing whether you really expect to see him or where he went. Ahead you hear another car pass, but this one has music playing loudly, and you smile and remember where you’re going. The more steps you take toward the docks, the more the music and then loud voices and laughter pull you in and push out the thoughts surrounding the man you just encountered. Helen calls your name, jumping and waving at the end of a small yacht, and then a smile beams across your face, and you forget the stranger almost completely.

November 21, 1963 – Dallas, Texas, United States

You didn’t think of him again until you see him across the way at the hotel bar, a small glass of something in front of him that looks untouched, his eyes on you. You bite your lip and incline your head to the side slightly. He gives a single small nod in response.

Suddenly Helen is arriving in a huff next to you, explaining the chaos of the last hour she’s had getting ready, the unexpected call from her soon-to-be mother-in-law, and the handful of other excuses that made her late meeting you here. Once she’s settled and ordering her drink, you look back across the bar, but your forgotten memory of a man is nowhere to be seen, the now empty glass the only indication you hadn’t made it up entirely.

You and Helen have a cocktail each before it’s time to head across the street to the restaurant to meet your respective fiancés for dinner.

The reason you hadn’t thought of that whirlwind encounter again was because that night on the yacht had exceeded your own expectations, catching Hudson Stanton’s eye early in the evening, laughing over dinner, dancing, watching the stars alone on the top deck, sharing your first kiss, and then, and then, and endless letters while you were apart, summers and holidays and weekends together while you finished school, and now an engagement ring on your finger, and you in Dallas this weekend to look at a house as Hudson’s firm has transferred him to head up their first office in the great state of Texas, your big New Year’s Day wedding less than six weeks away.

Dinner with Hudson, Helen, and Jack is just as you expected. Helen and Jack beg the pair of you to go dancing with them, but Hudson maintains he’s got to turn in early since he has to pick up his boss from the airport in the morning, Helen and Jack don’t press too hard, and you don’t expect to see Helen return to your hotel room that night, suspecting she’ll end up with Jack all night instead.

Hudson walks you back to your hotel and kisses you goodnight before you go inside. He won’t even walk you to the elevator because you both know if you get him that far, he won’t be able to refuse just the ride up, and then just walking you to your door, and…

You love and loathe how much of a gentleman he is.

Your thoughts are still sweetly lingering on Hudson as you walk through the hotel lobby. It’s busy tonight, music spilling out from the ballroom, and you start humming along with the familiar tune the band is playing.

You’re reaching to press the button for the elevator when a hand catches yours, and you whip your head to find it’s the stranger from the bar, the mystery man from that night in St. Tropez.

“You!” Your rockets into your throat.

“Come with me,” he insists.

His hand is warm, and your eyes are locked, and that intoxicating feeling you’d felt with your back pressed up against the wall floods back over you because even just the gaze from his intense blue eyes is too much. He’s not real. He can’t be.

But you nod, and he pulls you swiftly through the bodies milling about the lobby and into the ballroom. Once inside, he continues further into the room, and sweeps you into the swirl of bodies dancing in the middle. It’s darker here, but you can see every detail of his face, suddenly so close to yours again. There are too many questions you could ask, so you ask none. Your bones are melting as he holds your body flush against his, totally caught up in the movement and the music as he leads you around the dance floor.

You’re blissfully unaware that you have become an invisibility cloak to him again, this time an instrument to get close enough to his targets to verify them and register their voices in his head. He could have done this without you, but he ignores that. Using you as a cover make this easier, and his superiors don’t care how an assignment is completed if it’s done efficiently and without any trouble to clean up.

The first song you dance to is jaunty and keeps you smiling and feeling breathless. You don’t look at him much, your eyes moving around the room, taking everything in. He leads well, but the pace is so quick that you’re looking around as well to make sure you don’t bump into anyone. The next song is slow, a sweet Sinatra standard. You don’t know if he pulls you in or if you push your body closer to him, but within moments of the shift of the tone on the dance floor, you’re moving as one. His right hand has dropped to the small of your back and is not merely resting there, but intently holding you against him.

This was never part of his training, but his body knows how to move around the ballroom without a second thought. As you sway slowly together, he maneuvers you to a darker corner of the dance floor. Your head is inclined slightly, placing your cheek closer to his, and he presses his face to yours briefly. Then the two of you are in an alcove, hidden from nearly everyone, and your back is against the wall again. His lips brush your cheek, and you turn your head up to look at him. He keeps his right hand at the small of your back, but his left hand drops your hand and comes to the side of your neck, his thumb brushing softly over your jawline, his eyes searching yours. You nod, and his mouth captures yours.

The kiss is heated and hungry, he will devour you, and in this moment you don’t care. You cling to him, one hand snaking up his back to hold desperately to his shoulder as you pull closer to him, and the other clutching at his chest where you feel some sort of armored metal near his heart for a moment. He nips at your bottom lip, and you gasp and open your mouth to him. His tongue plunges in to stroke yours, to taste you.

He’s on an entirely different mission now, and his lips move from your mouth to trail along your jaw to that spot behind your ear, and you moan. You can feel an answering rumble in his chest, and his lips continue down the side of your neck, to your collarbone, making you gasp. You long to whimper his name but realize you can’t.

“Wait, wait,” you whisper, and his lips trail back up your throat.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asks, his breath hot as it ghosts over your ear.

“No, just–” you fight to coherently string your words together, “What’s your name?”

He pulls away slightly to look into your eyes, and you think you see a flash of uncertainty, but then it’s gone, and his lips move back to burrow in the crook of your neck, and he murmurs, “You don’t need to know that.”

“But I want to know,” you press, your fingers softly playing with his bowtie.

“We don’t always get what we want,” he says firmly, and suddenly there’s all kinds of space between you. He’s retreating, and you reach your hand out to touch his face, but he shakes his head, and then he disappears around the corner.

You stomach has plummeted, and so it takes you too long to step forward and look around the corner and back into the crowd. There’s no sign of him, so there’s no point in following, you know that. You fall back into the alcove and press up against the wall, hands clutched to your chest, heaving from the heated moment but also now from the fight to keep from crying.

You wait until you’re calm enough to step out of the shadows again, smoothing your dress and your hair. You keep along the edges of the party, careful not to draw anyone’s attention, then move across the lobby and to the elevator. You keep your eyes focused up on the arrow above the sliding doors that moves slowly from left to right as the lift rises to your floor, dinging when it hits the ten. Once you’re in your room, you close the door behind you, and rest back against it, letting your head fall back, eyes stinging again, but you bite your lip and shake your head and push away from the door.

As you move further into your room, your breath catches as you see an enormous display of more white and pink roses and peonies than you can count. You step quickly forward and snatch the card that is sticking out of the arrangement.

All my love, Holden

You smile and press the card to your chest, letting your other hand drift to touch the soft petals. With reluctance you set down the card and step away from the flowers to kick your shoes off and start to get ready for bed. Your eyes are drawn back to the flowers frequently as you move around the room and in and out of the bathroom.

The phone rings, and you pick up after the second ring.

“Hello?”

“Darling, did you get the flowers?”

“Yes, they’re perfect,” you sigh and sit on the bed.

The longer you talk, the more you’re glad you shared nothing more than a few kisses with your stranger, and the sting of shock and his sudden abandonment drift further and further away. Holden’s voice is a balm to your soul. You settle more comfortably into the bed, and you two talk until you fall asleep.

You wake again at some point not long after midnight to the beeping of the phone being off the hook, place it back on its cradle, and properly crawl under the covers, finding sleep again almost instantly.

Planning for a wedding and a move to a new home out of state would have been enough to occupy your thoughts and push the stranger and his intense blue eyes and heated kisses out of your mind, but added to that the following day in Dallas, minutes after you stood and waved at the presidential motorcade with Holden and Helen and Jack, you and the rest of the country and the rest of the world receive the horrifying news that John F. Kennedy has been shot, and then the news escalates from a shooting to the assassination of the American president. Trivial thoughts are long gone.

March 14, 1972 – Milan, Italy

You’re on a business trip with Hudson. Well, sometimes. Mostly you’re on a trip where you’re scheduled and bustled around with fifteen of the other office wives. You don’t usually mind, but there was no way you wanted to spend two hours on a bus to and then another two hours back from today’s excursion, and the women don’t fuss over you making your excuses to stay behind since you haven’t made them often on this trip, and you have ample valid excuses to draw from at the drop of a hat in your condition.

Today you wanted the day to yourself, just one day away from Marjorie, the middle-aged queen bee of all the wives. One day to do as you please.

You stay in bed just a little later than usual, eat breakfast on the patio of the hotel restaurant, then slowly amble around some of the tourist points of the city that your hired guides had whipped through in a frenzy the first few days with you and the other wives.

You think you see him first during your long lunch, but it’s across the street, and it’s probably not him anyway.

But it is him, and you didn’t see him first. You don’t know he saw you yesterday.

After you meander back to your hotel room, you draw a bath, intending to read for the rest of the afternoon. You twist your hair up, then sink into the tub. You read until the water’s lost its heat, then you wrap up in a silk robe and move out to the chaise lounge chair. You ring down to have afternoon tea service brought up to your room. It’s been years since you’ve had this kind of time – husband and house and two children already traipsing around your home while preparing for a third and the Junior League meetings and social and work functions. It’s been eight days in Italy, and half of you misses the hustle of home, but half of you wants to stay here away from the bustle like this forever.

A quarter of an hour later, there’s a quick trio of knocks, and you stretch and set your book down before rising to answer the door.

“Come in,” you offer, pulling the door open wide so the tea cart can be pushed in, and you quickly walk toward the small balcony and slide the glass door open to indicate that’s where you’d like them to leave your tea.

The tea cart has not been pushed along behind you though. It’s only been pushed a few feet into the room from the door, which the man, who is not hotel staff, is closing quietly.

He removes the uniform hat, places it on the corner of the tea cart, and runs a hand through his hair as he turns to look at you. His hair is a longer than it was in Dallas almost ten years earlier, but those impossibly blue eyes lock onto yours with the same intensity they did back then.

“It was you earlier today.”

He nods.

You stand motionless, but he strides across the room, not quickly, but not slowly either.

“What are you doing here?”

He does not answer with words, but with a kiss that pulls your soul from your chest up into your throat. Your hands come to his chest, and the natural inclination is to pull him closer, but somehow your brain registers that you should push him away. You can’t seem to put the effort into pushing against him, but you do hold him at bay and manage to turn away from him.

“I’m married,” you say.

“I don’t care that you’re married,” he responds, his hand brushing up your arm to your shoulder, then across to the base of your neck, drawing a shiver from you. “Unless he’s a bastard,” he adds.

“Why do you care at all?” It’s not a bitter question, just honest curiosity from you.

“I shouldn’t, but our paths have crossed too many times not to. We must belong to each other.”

He steps closer, and you feel the heat of him against your back. His hand moves to skim over your right collar bone, then down across your chest, slipping so easily into your silk robe, and palming your left breast. You moan sinfully, your right hand coming up to cover his, your fingers twining together.

Then another flash in your mind and you pull his hand away and turn back to face him.

“I’m married,” you repeat again, and you draw his hand down to the very new baby bump that is still mostly undetectable to others.

His eyes drop to your stomach, where your hands are resting together. The calculations are happening quickly, you can see it on his face. His eyes dart back up to yours, hand moving from your stomach to your hip.

“I came to claim what’s mine.”

He’s so close, and he’s looking at you with so much heat.

“I–“

You lose your ability to continue thinking clearly when both of his hands come up to capture either side of your neck.

“You,” he insists, his lips descending on yours, cutting off any more protest. “You’re mine.”

The kiss is demanding, and his hands don’t move from where they frame your neck until he can feel the moment you surrender to the kiss and to him. It’s a small sigh falling from your mouth that you can’t hold back, parting your lips, and his tongue slips in. Both of his hands from your neck across your clavicle to your shoulders, purposefully slipping beneath the silk robe, pushing it off. He easily releases the tie at your waist, and you don’t stop the robe from falling away completely, pooling on the floor.

His kisses are relentless, but his lips move to your jaw, and then your neck. Your head falls back, and he draws a moan from you when he pauses to tongue the sensitive spot where your neck and collarbone meet.

Then his mouth descends to your breasts, kissing along the curve of your left breast, then moving to the right. His right hand moves up to palm and gently squeeze one breast while he licks and sucks the nipple of the other. Finally powerless to fight anymore, your hands thread through his hair, urging him to continue. He easily scoops you up into his arms, bringing you into his chest, and your legs wrap around him, lips meeting each other again. He walks you over to the bed and tosses you onto the mattress.

You’re breathless, but so is he, standing above you at the edge of the bed. His blue eyes have blown with the lust he won’t deny, the lust he demands. He’s only looking at you, but the scorching heat of his eyes as they move over your nearly naked body have you burning in a way that you’ve never felt before. It’s overwhelming, and yet not unwelcome.

Before your head and your heart can catch up with your core, he reaches for your ankles and draws your body down to the edge of the mattress. He is quick in removing the last bit of clothing from your body, tossing the panties behind him without another thought.

Your arms are down by your sides, hands grasping at the sheets, watching as he undoes his pants, pushing them down around his thighs with his underwear in one go. His cock is hard and ready. Your eyes follow his hands now, and his right hand grazes along your inner thigh, coming to rest on top of your mound. He brushes his thumb over your folds and releases a deep satisfied hum, finding you hot and wet. You bite your lip as you look back up into his face. His thumb pushes inside you, and the small whimper that escapes you betrays what you were trying desperately to deny from him and from yourself.

He leans down over you, using his left arm to brace himself above you, removes his thumb from your entrance and slips in two long fingers, drawing a sigh from you.

“Just this moment,” he says, “this afternoon.” His lips seek yours again.

“Just this,” you agree and then continue the feverish kiss.

“Just you,” he murmurs against your cheek. He moves his hand and presses his cock warmly against you, teasing the tip in and out of your folds.

You look down to see where your bodies are connecting as he slides his into your cunt. Slowly he pulls back out, guiding the head of his penis over your clit, causing your hips to buck up into him at the sensation. You can feel him watching your face, taking in your reaction. You close your eyes as he slides into you again, and the exquisite fullness draws a moan from your lips.

He draws back out, then pushes in again, then another slow draw out, and back in till you take his length completely. Your breath comes in short gasps as you adjust to his size, and you clutch at the front of his uniform jacket. He brushes his right hand over your cheek, and you turn your head slightly to kiss his palm, a silent assurance that you’re okay.

He pulls your leg up to rest over his shoulder, and it seats him more deeply inside of you. The sound you make is one you’ve never made before as he starts thrusting again with this new angle. While his left hand stays planted at your side on the bed, his right hand freely explores your body, drifting up and down your neck, palming your breast, squeezing at your waist, brushing along your thigh, gripping your hips, threading into your hair to pull you in for another kiss, skimming over your shoulder. It’s a starved, hungry touch, and your body sings everywhere his fingers seek out.

Once he finds his rhythm, he is relentless, pumping more quickly. That he’s still mostly clothed while you’re naked beneath him is maddening but reassuring – you feel vulnerable beneath him, but if it was skin to skin with every inch of your bones pressing into his, it would be too intimate, completely undeniable. The single barrier keeps you from being consumed by this enigma, and since you know he’s going to disappear, you need that.

Both of you are breathing in heavy pants, and while he’s still drawing moans and whimpers from you, he’s been maddeningly silent. He adjusts his hips slightly so he can move his hand between you, fingers seeking out your aching clit, rubbing concentrated, furious circles over the bud. The band within you is pulling tighter and tighter, until and he achieves his goal in pushing you over the edge. You bite back a scream, and his mouth covers yours once again with a kiss to stifle the noise and possibly steal a bit of your soul – at least that’s how it feels as he fucks you through your climax, chasing his own end. You roll your hips slightly beneath him, and the shift makes his breath hitch. Two more powerful thrusts, and he stops, spilling his seed inside you, the low groan escaping him as gratifying to your ears as the feel of him sinking against you, pumping in and out of you slowly a few more times. Then he stills, and time seems to stop, the two of you just holding onto each other.

Satisfied.

He kisses the side of your neck again, and you hum contentedly. Your fingers brush gently through his hair. He squeezes your hip again, then suddenly rolls off you and moves from the bed. You want to reach for him, pull him back for more, but you don’t. He must disappear again.

After pulling up his trousers, he retrieves your robe and panties from the floor and sets them on the bed next to you. He does lean in for one final kiss, and you arch up to meet his lips. When he can feel you begin to melt again, he draws away, looking back only once when he reaches the door. You will remember that hint of a smile for years.

He disappears like a shadow.

December 16, 1991 – suburban area of Washington, D.C., United States

You sigh and drum your fingers against the steering wheel. You’ve just dropped your youngest off at high school and been to the grocery store. The traffic isn’t terrible, but it seems to be more congested and moving more slowly through this part of town than normal, and you’re bored and impatient. Suddenly you hear a commotion above the sounds of your radio, and you roll your window down and look around. There are cars honking, screeching of tires, and shouts in the street, but you can’t see clearly what’s happening as you crane your head to look all around. Only a few other drivers seem to be noticing the strangeness as well. You give up for a moment as the light changes and you pass through the intersection and then into the next block, but then you’re stopped again, waiting at another light, and the sounds grow softer, more distant. You look around again and still can’t seem to see any clue as to what’s going on, but you do see a man all in black with almost shoulder length hair walking incredibly fast down the sidewalk, moving quickly past the pedestrians around him. He is on the left side of the road, but walking your way, so it’s easy for you to follow his progress. He looks up and scans his surroundings, eyes naturally glancing your way, but when he does a doubletake your jaw drops because you know those eyes, that face, though the hair is longer.

His eyes now locked on you. He quickly but casually begins to cross the two lanes of traffic that separated you. “Let me in,” he says when he’s close enough before crossing in front of your car. You reach to unlock the passenger side door, and he slips in just before the light at the next intersection changes and the line of cars you were waiting behind begins to move again.

He sees a dark blue baseball cap left on the backseat by your son and quickly reaches for it, putting it on his own head. “Just drive like normal,” he says, “keep heading north or east.”

You nod and keep going, glancing over briefly to look at his face. He’s watching the streets.

The sound of sirens begins blaring behind you, and a glance in the rearview mirror shows a Chevy Blazer speeding through the quaint traffic, the cops in pursuit right behind. You and the cars around you move to the right and stop as quickly as you can as you’re supposed to – and to get out of the way – and you give your companion a quizzical look.

He shrugs, but there’s a hint of a smirk at the corner of his mouth.

“So, hello,” you finally say after the commotion speeds past and normal traffic has resumes.

“Hello,” he responds.

You tuck your hair behind your ear, then glance at him again. It’s been almost twenty years since that afternoon in your hotel room in Milan. Before you slept together in Italy, you’d been so blissfully and happily married to Hudson. After sex with this stranger, you remained happily married to Hudson – you had certainly reeled from the realization of what had occurred between you two, but you genuinely didn’t have a desire for anything in your life to change. You never told a soul what happened, and after years it finally faded from your conscience.

With this man in your car, however, all the heat and memories from every encounter have flooded back immediately, vivid and undeniable. Part of your core aches. And you try to concentrate on your driving and keeping your breath even. All of that seems like a lifetime ago, almost made up like a fairytale, and yet he’s here, beside you again today, hardly a foot away.

And now he’s looking at you.

“Are you alright?”

His gaze is as intense as it always has been.

Everything about him is the same as it always has been.

But that can’t possibly be true, can it?

“You haven’t changed at all.” The words tumble so quickly out of your mouth, after you finally think of something to say. “What are you… some kind of Peter Pan?”

“If you want.”

“Well, you’ve never given me any other name.”

And just how much he hasn’t changed magnifies in your own mind how much you feel you’ve changed. You’ve aged, with lines around your eyes, five children rounding out your body, elbows the only true angle you feel your figure still has to boast, you know the grey in your hair has started to become more prominent despite your efforts to cover it up. You didn’t do all your make up today, only the essentials, and you’d only tossed on a sweater and jeans for what was supposed to be a typical Monday.

After another few minutes, you’re outside of the town and driving down a stretch of wooded highway.

“When you want to pull over and let me out, anywhere is good, I can make it where I need to go.”

You nod but don’t know exactly how to respond. There’s not an immediately convenient place to pull off, but your mind recalls some of the turn offs up ahead that you’ve passed a few hundred times. You don’t notice you nervously biting your bottom lip.

But he does, his eyes on you more than they are on the road.

“Or we can drive for a while.”

You glance back over at him, then turn your attention back to the road, tapping your thumbs anxiously on the steering wheel, your hands diligently gripping the ten and two position, the speed a little ahead of whatever is playing over the radio because you’re not even aware of the music at this point.

“Are you alright?” he asks again.

You huff out a breath you’ve been holding in. “You make me nervous.”

“You know I will never hurt you, don’t you?”

“Not that kind of nervous.”

The last time you were this close to each other, this man thoroughly fucked you into a mattress, and two decades later your body can’t deny the memories.

Finally, you reach a turnoff for a relatively unimportant road, flanked by forest on both sides. You drive a fair distance from the main road before you finally stop. Then you turn off the car, and return your hand to the wheel, needing that grounding to turn and face those blue eyes.

“I don’t understand. How can you look almost the same? The only thing that’s changed is your hair, some stubble, a new leather jacket.” You turn your head back to look out the windshield at the empty road before you. “You even look at me the same way you did back then, but I’m in no way the same young woman you came across a lifetime ago!”

Hudson still loves and adores you, but he hasn’t looked at you the way this man does in years – with this much heat, so intensely you can hardly breathe.

He never buckled in, so he easily angles his body to face you. Slowly, he reaches across the short space between you, brushing the fingers of his right hand tentatively over your fingers, giving you time to react or stop him, before he eases your hand off the wheel, letting your hand gently fall to rest in your lap. His eyes move to your face, and you close your eyes, holding your breath. His hands move down to unbuckle your seatbelt, and you let your left hand release from its grip on the wheel and shift out of the strap, drawing your hand to your chest. You nervously inhale and exhale. You can feel your heart pounding in your chest.

Then suddenly the slow hesitation is abandoned, and he turns your head towards him to receive his kiss. Lips and tongue urging you to surrender immediately, and you do, mouth opening to him, and he angles your head to deepen the kiss further. The kisses are hungry, those of a starved man. Your hands come up to hold helplessly onto his wrists as he continues to hold your face in his grasp, the overwhelming desire he won’t hold back any longer sweeping you away with him to a neverland where nothing else exists.

After a few moments or a few minutes, you really don’t know, his hands drop down and quickly find the button and zipper of your jeans, unbuttoning and unzipping eagerly. Swiftly his left hand pushes your legs apart, his right hand slips down the front of your panties, and your breath hitches as his middle finger purposefully strokes from your clit down your slit, finding you very wet – all for him now. He continues to trace back and forth across your folds, but not quite back up to your clit.

When he finally slides that single long finger inside your heat, you moan, dropping your head back against the headrest. His lips move to your neck, pressing heated kisses slowly up and down the column of your throat, each press of his lips matching the rhythm of his finger moving in and out of you. You press your left hand up to the roof of your car, and the other clutches his forearm. He starts to draw his hand away, but you push him back, your hand sliding now over the back of his, holding him there, and now he slips in a second finger, curling deliciously into your core.

He pulls his head back to watch your face when he moves his thumb to start circling your clit while he continues pumping his fingers, seemingly fascinated by the whimpers and keens he’s pulling from you as he plays your core with expert touch, stroking that spongy spot that deliciously tightens the coil tighter and tighter within you. Your cheeks are totally flushed, and you feel like you’re flying as he pulls you closer to the edge.

“Please,” you rasp desperately, hips rocking into his hand.

He quickens his motions while applying more pressure, giving you what you ask for, and watches your face as you come undone with a breathy, wordless shout, body shaking, your other hand grasping his bicep, curling forward as he slows but continues stroking your clenching walls through the immediate comedown, slowly and more slowly until your breathing finally evens out.

“Look at me,” he says in a low voice that makes your stomach flip again, and you open your eyes. His face is still so close to you.

He withdraws his hand from your core and slips just the tip of his index finger into your open and panting mouth, urging you to taste yourself on him. You suck without thinking, but he only allows you a moment before drawing his hand away and then sucking each of his fingers clean. He wants you to see him enjoy the taste of you on his lips, and when he’s done, he licks his lips, reaches down and gathers more slick from your release on his index finger and then licks it off again, and you can only whimper as you watch, overcome by the still unsatiated level of his lust.

He places slow deliberate kisses up along your jaw, and when he reaches your ear, he whispers, “That’s how I still see you,” and licks the shell of your ear, making you shiver and melt back against the seat.

Then suddenly he withdraws from your personal space, and in the next second opens and closes the passenger side door and you only register the sound quickly enough to see him disappear into the trees.

October 11, 2001 – Seattle, Washington, United States

You are with Hudson in Seattle. Over the years you have been with him on many business trips, but this was a trip from one coast to the other to see a new grandbaby. The other grandparents have just arrived, so the two of you decided to go to dinner on your own.

As you’re led through the restaurant to your table, you think you see his familiar face far across the dining room, eyes catching briefly, but it’s likely not him.

An hour later you are taking one of the last bites of the dessert you shared with Hudson when the waiter returns. “Is there anything else I can get for you this evening?” he asks.

“Oh, no,” Hudson responds, “just the check, please.”

“It’s already been taken care of, sir.”

“What?” you both ask.

“I was told to say it’s compliments of someone who admires your relationship.”

Hudson reaches across the table to take your hand and says something to the waiter, but you don’t pay attention to his words.

You have no idea how to feel, but you know it had to be him.

2014

You have seen him a lot this year, but it’s been on the television screen. First as a piece in a storm of news and revelations the day S.H.I.E.L.D. launched and sank three hellicarriers in Washington D.C. and Captain America exposed the remnants of HYDRA that had burrowed within the organization – HYDRA and their “fist,” the Winter Soldier. Then there was the Senate investigation into what went on that day, preceded and followed by many news specials. Now you know more about him than you ever did before, and so much about him makes sense to you, though you imagine you will never know the whole story. Even now, so much that has been pieced together by the media and further sketched out by you is fractured, pieces missing, conjectures tying gaps together.

That he’s resurfaced in your life at this point is perhaps just as it should be. Though not physically present, he provides a consuming something else to think about in the new stage of your life where the other man who has been at the center of your life is also no longer physically present, as you awake and remember with a fresh wave of grief each day.

You’re not consumed by grief, there are still children, and grandchildren, friends, errands, hobbies, dreams, social obligations, but the person who was your constant is gone, and it’s always an ache.

You and Hudson had celebrated your fiftieth wedding anniversary at the beginning of the year, a stroke taking him one afternoon unexpectedly in the early spring. He was your best friend, and the two of you had certainly built a life together. It was not a fairytale perfect marriage, but pretty damn near close, and Hudson was the love of your life despite the man you now know was the Winter Soldier dropping incidents of indiscretion into your history. Over the years you had never spoken of the other man to anyone, reckoning with the incongruence on your own, knowing that the ties to both men existed but who your home was.

Nobody needs to know, all of that merely moments, unconnected to your true life.

Spring 2016 – Bucharest, Romania

You see him one last time as you lay in a hospital bed. He hovers just outside your door wearing the medical scrubs of the other nurses.

“Jane?” You draw your granddaughter’s attention from her book as she’s curled up in what can only be a moderately comfortable chair at your bedside.

“Yes, Gran?”

“Be a dear and go get me a real cup tea? You said there’s a good café just down at the corner, right?”

She stands and smiles. “I did. And if you’re craving tea, you must be feeling a little better.”

“Mhmm,” you hum. “It will be good for you to stretch your legs, too.”

“Alright, I’ll be back soon.”

“I’ll just wait here.”

She grins and shakes her head. “You better. No adventures without me.”

She slips her jacket on and slips out of your room.

A moment later, he enters.

“Hello, Sergeant Barnes.”

He smirks. “You know who I actually am.”

You nod. “How did you know I was here?”

“I saw you collapse this morning in the museum.”

You shake your head. “It’s nothing serious,” you say as he reaches for your charts.

“Cardiac arrhythmias.”

“Heart palpitations. Light fainting spell this morning. It hasn’t happened for a few years, and I hadn’t been eating properly the last few days. They’re keeping me for observation for twenty-four hours and then they’ll let me go if my heart behaves.”

“Good, you should have a good few years ahead of you still,” he says, almost admonishingly.

He stands at the side of your bed, but at the very foot of it seemingly trying to keep his distance, as if he doesn’t trust himself around others. Now that you know his story, his current behavior makes sense – especially why he was guarded but never hesitant before but keeps that buffer of distance now.

“She looks like you.”

“Jane? She’s a beautiful and brilliant young woman,” you say, a warm smile spreading across your face. “I’ll never admit aloud that she’s my favorite grandchild though.”

He doesn’t respond but gives you a tight-lipped smile.

“She’s my traveling companion for a grand adventure around Europe.”

“It’s only the two of you here in Bucharest?”

You hesitate before answering. “Yes.”

This ageless Peter Pan could capture her easily into his orbit. She’s twenty-one, the same age you were when you first ran into the Winter Soldier. He must suspect that’s what you’re thinking.

“I’ll make sure she stays safe.”

“She’s young.”

“No younger than you were when we met.”

The heat rises in your cheeks. “It’s different.”

He nods and you notice his face soften slightly. “It is. I’m ancient.”

“Come sit by me, old man.” You motion to the chair next to your bed, and he comes forward and takes a seat, perching on the edge, back ramrod straight.

“You said you saw us at the museum. Why do I have the feeling you’ve been watching us since before today?”

He regards you for just a split second before answering. “I stay near the train station, close enough to leave town quickly if I need to. I saw you arrive two nights ago when I was walking back to my place.”

“How often did you see me before I saw you?”

“Every time. There were times you never knew I was there.”

“Were you checking up on me?”

He shook his head. “Not at first. St. Tropez, Dallas, Milan, DC, and Seattle were purely circumstantial, but after DC I did check on where you were when I could.”

“But how did you remember me when they took so much else away from you?”

His face churns out a wry, bitter smile. “Yeah, they took away a lot of who I was, tried to overwrite my memories and what I knew before they took me, but after the initial programming,” his tone with that particular word is more vitriolic than the rest, ”they thought it was good for me to have context and history for the missions they sent me on, the new skills I learned, knowledge I acquired. Wiping was messy, and they had to know what to wipe. You were never an interference of any kind all those years and part of the Winter Soldier – part of me – I think never gave them a hint of your existence because I knew they knew everything else about me, had control over everything, and I didn’t want to risk losing this one piece I had found outside of what they made me. The Winter Soldier wanted the secret and thank God for that because If they’d ever found out about you...”

He doesn’t need to finish the sentence. He studies the pattern of the hospital bedding, and it gives you a moment to study his face – you’re sure he knows this, allows it.

After a moment, you say, “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you talk so much in all our meetings over the years.”

“I didn’t converse much as the Winter Soldier,” he replies, his eyes meeting yours again, his entire presence softening just a degree. “It’s still not something I’m used to yet.”

“I know so much about you now, and I thought I’d have a hundred questions to ask if I ever saw you again, but…”

“But?”

“But I imagine you are still searching and want answers about your own more than I do.” You move your hand to the edge of the bed and offer him your palm. “So just sit with me.”

You almost thought he would refuse, but he removes the glove from his right hand and then carefully puts his hand in yours, his gaze returning to your face.

“Just this afternoon.”

“Just us.”

You brush your thumb over the back of his hand. There isn’t heat between you today, but there’s still a closeness that is only the two of you.

2026

The next and last time he sees you is from a distance, laid to rest in a beautifully polished wooden casket covered in an abundant spray of white flowers, surrounded in a sea of people in black. He recognizes Jane among them, as well. Though the Winter Soldier had claimed a piece of you belonged to him, destiny entwining your paths too many times in those early years, he could see now and had always been glad to know you had a full life outside your scattered encounters. He sends his goodbye silently across the cemetery from where he watches unseen, and finally slips away.

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

If you want to see more of this, anything else I'm working on, or chat about anything about my stories, MY ASKBOX IS ALWAYS OPEN!

VERY INFORMAL HISTORICAL/TIMELINE NOTES:

St. Tropez 1961 = St. Tropez was a big port for shipping at the time, so these deaths were two problematic traders making moving things in and out of the port difficult for Hydra.

Dallas 1963 = Assassination of President John F. Kennedy

Milan 1972 = From Wikipedia: Giangiacomo Feltrinelli (45), who had during the 1950s published the smuggled manuscript of Boris Pasternak's novel Doctor Zhivago, but later became a left-wing militant during Italy's Years of Lead, was found dead at the base of a power-line transmission tower outside Segrate, near his native Milan, on 15 March 1972. It was believed that he had died when a bomb he was attempting to plant on the tower went off, and later testimony by other members of the Red Brigades supported this. However, the death was always viewed suspiciously, and in the 2010s forensic reports surfaced that suggested he had been tied to the tower before the bomb went off, with various intelligence agencies inside and outside of Italy suspected of responsibility.

…sounds like the Winter Soldier to me.

Washington 1991 = Howard and Maria Stark and the acquisition of the newly developed super soldier serum.

Seattle 2001 = Unsolved murder of former US Attorney General Thomas Crane Wales, announced by the FBI in 2018 to likely have been the work of a paid hitman – or the Winter Soldier.

2014 = Aftermath of Captain America: The Winter Soldier

Romania 2016 = Theoretically just before the events of Captain America: Civil War.

2026 = arbitrary future date, Bucky just came to pay his respects, no mission or happenstance connected

#bucky x yn #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes #bucky x you #the winter soldier #winter soldier #winter soldier x y/n #winter soldier x you #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier x female reader #winter soldier smut #bucky barnes smut #smut #peter pan influence #aspen wrote something #female reader

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jetaime-jespere · 2 years ago

Text

And The Sun Will Shine Again

A/N: well ... this came to me earlier today and I promptly texted Vic with the idea and her response was "yes. yes you should write this." So eight hours later ... here were are. It's part 2 of Have Yourself Another Dream, so the same trigger warnings/mentions of infertility apply here. I hope you enjoy, and as always thank you for reading.

Her fears are confirmed when they sit on the opposite side of their doctor, perching on the edge of two chairs in a room subtly decorated with pineapple motifs amidst a sea of diplomas and accolades. There’s a brass pineapple on a shelf on the wall, a ceramic one on the heavy oak desk just close enough that she could reach out and smash it into pieces as the fear fuels through her veins like wildfire. Emily learned quickly a few weeks ago that pineapples were a symbol within the infertility community thanks to another late night google search - and now it seems as if they came up everywhere she went. She learned some women battling infertility even got tattoos, proudly displaying their infertility warrior status. She’d always disliked pineapple, and now this turned her dislike to indifference. But she can't look away from the damn thing as the words soon became further away, as if someone pulled her underwater and she can only hear the voices around her, not understand them.

Their doctor, Dr. Esposito, reminds Emily a little bit of Dave. Personable and easy to talk to, with a sense of humor and quick wit. She’d liked him right away - he’s a straight shooter and honest yet human, and it was his assurance that helped her feel okay with any of this at all. He keeps talking, taking them on a recap of the last month of their diagnostic testing - multiple rounds of hormonal blood tests, infectious disease blood tests, genetic testing -and those were the easy ones. Some brought emotions she hadn’t anticipated - the internal ultrasounds a surprising reminder of what happened in Italy and the baby she willingly chose not to have. Ironic, considering the situation they’re in now. Others were downright painful - her lip bit to blood during the procedure that evaluated her fallopian tubes -the sharp cramps that radiated through her abdomen were some of the worst she ever felt not only then but in the hours that followed.

It’s Aaron who subtly brings her back to reality, gently nudging her knee with his own while nodding intently at whatever Dr. Esposito is saying. The doctor sounds almost impressed when discussing Aaron’s side of things - his testing coming back “optimal,” “all parameters within above average ranges for conception,” which makes all of this feel even more suffocating. That means I’m the problem, she thinks ruefully when his tone takes a different but inevitable turn - softer, more compassionate. The color drains from her face when he carefully explains the results and implications of her testing. He spends more time discussing the ultrasounds of her ovaries that suggested a diminished reserve - “not as many follicles as we’d like to see for someone within your age range,” confirmed by two different blood tests. It’s an entirely new language of acronyms and terminology - AFC, FSH, AMH to name a few of the many she’s learned over the weeks. She wishes she didn’t know any of it - that she could remain oblivious to the scientific side of this - the side that only the unlucky members of the infertility club get to learn. It’s supposed to be easy. Easy and fun and a happy surprise. It’s not supposed to happen this way - in a laboratory, putting her body through hormonal hell.

“What does that mean?” Aaron asks, shifting in his chair. Once again, Emily is reminded all of this is foreign to him. He never thought he’d be sitting here, that’s for damn sure, she thinks regretfully, reminded that Haley didn’t face these problems.

“Women with diminished ovarian reserve respond less optimally to ovarian stimulation - the hormone injections,” Dr. Esposito explains. “Typically, less eggs are retrieved, which can lead to an unsuccessful IVF cycle if embryos aren’t created. We aren’t there yet,” he adds quickly when he sees the doubt start to shade their faces. “A lot can happen between now and then. We’ll know more about how Emily responds to the medication once we start a cycle.”

“I’m only 37,” she says weakly, her throat dry and the back of her neck starting to sweat. I knew it. I knew it would be me with the issues. “I’m not that old. How does this happen?”

“Fertility declines for women at different rates,” he says kindly. “For some it happens even before 35. Others get lucky and it’s a nonissue. There’s nothing you could have done to prevent this, nor anything you did to make it worse. A lot of factors are at play but all of them are out of your control.” He offers a warm yet sympathetic smile, and Emily wonders how many times he’s given the same speech to other women sitting in her very place. She can’t bring herself to ask how many women like her actually get to have a baby.

“Not even the fact I terminated a pregnancy once?”

“Not even that,” he says with a shake of his head.

It does nothing to abate the guilt and something that feels a little too much like grief churning in her chest. Emily glances over at Aaron, who looks a shade paler than he did moments ago, his mouth pressed into a thin line. There’s worry all over his face and it crushes her more than she thought it ever could. He’d been the optimist throughout all of this, gently pulling her phone from her hands after one too many google searches. Aaron was the one who assured her in the dark it would work out, that they were doing everything possible to find answers, that soon they would be moving forward.

“Day by day,” he’d murmured to her one particularly rough night before their appointment, when she’s buried in his embrace with tears drying on her cheeks. “That’s all we can do.” His rational logic infuriates her when it comes to this, despite the fact he’s right about it all. There’s nothing else they can do. Yet the waiting is excruciating, watching time tick by as everything else stands still. Each passing day is a reminder she’s not pregnant. Sometimes Emily thinks about the baby they could have had by now. They’d have a three month old, a baby with dark hair and eyes like theirs. A baby she could rock to sleep and watch Aaron snuggle with on lazy Saturday mornings with Jack close by. A picture-perfect family, not months of disappointment.

It hurts to think that might never be within their reach.

“You have options,” Dr. Esposito’s voice brings her back to a reality she’d do anything to escape from. He explains with guarded optimism that given their diagnosis, IVF is their best option, the chances of a live birth from one IVF cycle is 25%, and Emily feels her world start to close in. She can’t bring herself to look at Aaron, who is nervously clearing his throat beside her. This very much feels like a worst case scenario. Of all that could be wrong, this feels the most daunting, unsurmountable even. “The chances increase to 55% with three full cycles.”

“I don’t like those odds,” Emily says quietly. Her head is spinning, caught in a vicious cycle of wanting to run like hell out of Dr. Esposito’s office and never look back. But the desperate side of her clings to the sickening realization this might be their only chance. But for the first time since the news was delivered she makes eye contact with Aaron and nods her head, a confirmation of their decision to move forward unspoken.

“We want to do it,” Aaron finally tells him.

“We’ll give it our best shot,” Dr. Esposito says to them both.

______________

As they anticipated but didn’t fully prepare for, IVF wasn’t for the weak of heart.

Each stage of the process had brought a new set of challenges. The first few weeks of birth control had made her almost unbearably anxious, and in a near constant depressed funk. It was quickly noticed by the team, which only made it worse as Emily uncharacteristically struggled to make it through each day without lashing out at someone. “I hate this,” she’d whispered to Aaron on the jet back to Quantico as a raging headache seared its way into her brain.

“I know,” he’d said simply; there was little he could do to comfort her. They were fighting this battle together yet separately - the innate unfairness of her body being the one forced to do all the work that was out of both of their realms of control. And while it was hell, a part of her felt as if it was somehow what she deserved for being the reason they were in this situation in the first place.

Their bathroom soon turns itself into a mini pharmacy full of several thousand dollars of IVF medications. The counters are littered with boxes of medication, syringes, and icepacks to ease some of the bruising that came as a painful side effect of the regimen. A medication schedule taped to the mirror quickly becomes their lifeline, and Aaron takes on the role of administering each of the shots daily. He mixes each one with precision, the cap firmly in his teeth as he calmly counts to three before quickly sticking the needle under her skin as quickly as he can. He takes great care to be gentle - anything he could do to make it slightly less awful for her. “You aren’t half bad at this,” Emily finally says one night when her entire stomach is covered in bruises and she’s exceedingly sore. “Despite the fact I’m becoming a human pincushion.”

“I doubt it,” Aaron tells her with a gentle smile, pushing her back against the pillows to press icepacks to the growing bruises. “But I’m glad you think so.” He frowns when he finds another one blooming, an angry dark purple splotch. These are getting worse.” He inspects them carefully, moving the icepacks to cover the discolored areas.

“They hurt,” she winces as he hits a particularly tender spot. “They’re ugly too.”

“The bruises are,” Aaron agrees. He brushes his fingers over her cheek and moves the icepacks before carefully laying down next to her and drawing her close. “But you aren’t. You better not forget that.”

She scoffs and rolls her eyes but snuggles into him even closer. “You’re too good to me, Aaron.”

“Because I love you,” he tells her simply, the honest truth.

The affirmation is supposed to make her feel better but it does the opposite. She goes rigid in his arms, the tension pulls at her bruises enough to make her wince.

“What is it?” He murmurs, brushing her hair from her face.

“What if this doesn’t work?” She whispers, soft enough that he can barely hear her. She has yet to say those words aloud - despite thinking them every day, multiple times a day. She hasn’t allowed herself to dull his hope - she can’t do that to him.

Aaron shakes his head, presses his finger to her lips. “No,” he says firmly, cupping her face in his hands. “We aren’t going there. Not tonight.” She tries to look away, unable to hold his gaze. “Look at me, Sweetheart. Please.”

Emily finally does, her lip pulled between her teeth. “I’m sorry. Sometimes this is all too much.”

“I know,” he whispers, still holding her face in his hands. “But we’re going to make it through this, Em. Together.”

If only she could believe him.

______________

The shots come with more side effects besides just bruising - fatigue and dizziness plague her for the entirety of the fourteen days of medication. The bloating starts not long after, rendering her uncomfortable and irritable from the sluggishness. “It’s only temporary,” Emily tries to reassure herself as she examines her changing body one morning in the mirror. Achy, tired, sluggish from the lack of normal workouts, completely vetoed by Dr. Esposito. “This won’t last forever.” Yet she feels unrecognizable, a shell of what she was before this journey started. Any remnants of hope she has are fragile, some days nonexistent. She still fears what will happen if they aren’t successful - if Aaron will be able to look at her over time - what if he grows resentful? What will Jack say if a sibling never joins them? The weight of it feels crushing, an intense pressure she wouldn’t wish on her worst enemy.

______________

By some miracle, they land on the right side of the less than promising statistics they were given that day with Dr. Esposito. “You are very lucky,” he tells them as he delivers the news their cycle was a success, culminating with three normal embryos - essentially giving them three chances at a successful pregnancy over the next few months. “I’ve seen couples with your stats get none.” It’s a sobering reminder just how lucky they got, for the alternative could have easily been their reality too, leaving them back at square one.

A month later, in arguably the least complicated and painless part of the journey and the last step of the cycle, one of those embryos is transferred. Both Aaron and Emily watch, hands wrapped together and eyes transfixed on the screen that shows the entire process, the small speck on the screen the size of a poppyseed making its way into her womb. Pregnant until proven otherwise is their unofficial motto, the final hurdle being the twelve day wait until the first blood draw pregnancy test.

And exactly five months to the day Emily had laid in his arms in a hotel in Princeton after yet another round of disappointment, they get the phone call they’d been waiting on - the transfer is a success and for the first time, they have a positive pregnancy test. “Congratulations,” the nurse says cheerfully, and for forty eight hours, everything feels like it finally settles into place, that it was meant to be after all.

Until it isn’t.

The second blood test is where it all falls apart before their own eyes. Emily knows something is wrong the moment she realizes it’s Dr. Esposito on the other end and not one of his nurses to relay the news. “No,” she breathes before he even gets a chance to speak, because she knows what he’s going to say. Aaron is beside her instantly, wrapping her into his arms before she dissolves into silent tears. His weight is steady beside her, the only thing keeping her upright as it all comes crashing down.

“I’m so sorry, Emily,” he says softly, sounding almost as devastated as she feels. “I wish it was better news. Your HCG levels are only minimally higher, which is typically indicative of a nonviable pregnancy.” There’s a long pause of silence that feels agonizing, like a knife twisting itself into her heart and settling there.

“What do you mean nonviable?” she croaks through tears, clinging to Aaron’s jacket and soaking the fabric of his shirt.

“We’re going to need you to come in for another blood test and potentially confirm where your pregnancy is located and what steps need to be taken,” Dr. Esposito explains carefully. “If your levels don’t decrease there's a risk of an ectopic, which means the pregnancy is growing outside of your uterus.”

She can’t bring herself to speak and she chokes back a sob that gets caught in her throat somewhere, making it hard to breathe, let alone think. This can’t be happening. Not now. We did everything right … Everything went perfectly. How is this happening? Aaron is the voice of reason, pulling himself together in time to ask about next steps, squeezing Emily a little tighter as their hearts continue to shatter into pieces.

______________

The third blood test, followed by an ultrasound a day later confirms an ectopic pregnancy in her fallopian tubes. If left untreated, it could kill her. Emily can’t bring herself to look at the images on the screen or even at Aaron, who has scarcely left her side in the last few days. Instead she stares at the ceiling and wills this miserable experience to be over. She’s sick to her stomach at the thought of it, lost in what feels like a trance or some terrible dream she can’t wake from. Beside her, Aaron looks despondent and exhausted - they’re both living the same nightmare yet experiencing it so differently, with seemingly little means to comfort the other.

“The best course of action is a methotrexate shot,” Dr. Esposito says from where he’s seated at the foot of the table Emily lays on, curled on her side. “It essentially terminates the pregnancy by stopping the cells from growing any further. By doing this, we won’t have to do surgery or remove your tube.”

Emily stares at him, eyes full of unshed tears. She’s heard of Methotrexate before - powerful enough to be used as a cancer drug, one that comes with a slew of negative side effects and some potentially serious ones down the road. The thought of taking it is terrifying - the alternative almost seems like a better one - but Dr. Esposito has never steered her wrong before. He wouldn’t steer her wrong now.

All she can do is nod, her entire body numb with grief. A small part of her is grateful someone else is telling her what to do.

“You should know,” he adds, his voice laced with sympathy. “After the shot is administered, you’ll have to wait three months before attempting pregnancy again to reduce the risk of birth defects. After three months, if you’re ready, we will talk about doing a second transfer.”

“Thank you,” Emily manages to whisper before the tears start again, the paper beneath her crunching loudly.

“Take as long as you need,” he says before slipping out to give them some privacy to grieve.

______________

When he hears the news, Morgan immediately offers to take Jack for a few days, so the house is silent when Aaron and Emily finally make it home. It feels empty and lonely, in disarray after the last few days of chaos that descended down on them all. Dishes are left in the sink, crayons and paper strewn across the counter from earlier that morning. Jackets slung across chairs that aren’t fully pushed in. They stare at the mess, both too exhausted to think about tackling it.

“I need to go lay down,” Emily mumbles, moving slowly towards the stairs as the cramps have already begun. “I feel like shit.”

“I’ll help you -”

“I don’t need help, Aaron,” she snaps a little too quickly. “I just want to be left alone.” She doesn’t mean to lash out at him but it comes out too fast, and she’s instantly regretful of her words. “I’m sorry,” she says almost immediately when the hurt bleeds across his face. “I - I don’t know what to do with myself right now.”

“It’s okay,” he tells her calmly, reminding himself what the toll of grief can do to a person. He’s been there before. Instead, he helps her out of her jacket, watches her grimace with the movement. “Why don’t you go upstairs and start the shower? I’m going to clean up a bit and see what there is to eat.” He touches the side of her face, swiping at a tear that’s already started to gather under her eye. “I’ll be right up.”

A shower sounds like a monumental amount of effort but it’s where Aaron finds Emily a short time later. She’s seated under the spray, legs curled to her chest and her head on her knees, rocking back and forth. He doesn’t bother getting undressed - just kicks off his shoes, leaving them next to her clothes on the ground before opening the double glass door. “Em,” he whispers, the scalding hot water hitting his skin like millions of tiny needles. “Sweetheart, it’s too hot.”

“I didn’t notice.” She doesn’t look up.

“Can I sit with you?” He asks, concern brewing in his chest. Emily doesn’t answer so he sits down beside her after adjusting the water, stretching his legs out. His clothes are soaked, the walls are fogged and the air is thick. Another five minutes of silence passes before he adds, “I made you a grilled cheese. It's in the bedroom when you're ready.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You need to eat something,” he says firmly. “We can split it once we dry off.” It was a ritual they shared - sharing a grilled cheese in bed after a bad day - that started over two years ago following a terrible case in Houston - and he can almost sense a slight smile on her face that he remembered today.

She considers the offer for a few moments and swipes water out of her eyes.“Fine.” Emily slowly uncurls her legs, bringing them down to rest over his and lays her head on his shoulder. “I should have known we wouldn’t have gotten lucky.” Her voice is laden with sadness, an overwhelming sense of defeat. “It was stupid to be so hopeful on the first try.”

“There’s nothing stupid about hope, Emily. Sometimes it's all we've got.”

“This is the second pregnancy I ended, you know.” She shivers; the water is no longer as hot as it was before. “How’s that for odds? Do you think it’s a sign that maybe I’m not fit to do this?”

“Em,” Aaron begins patiently. He’s unwilling to let her continue going down this path of blame. “This pregnancy could have killed you. What happened was not your fault.” He pauses, a thought crossing his mind. “Neither time was. You had to make two impossible choices. But they were the right choices for different reasons.

“Doesn’t make me feel any better.” She takes a shaky breath, her head still on his shoulder as she whispers, “I’m bleeding already.”

“They said that’s normal for a few days” Aaron reminds her as he reaches for her hand. “We’ll keep an eye on it.” He kisses her head, noticing the way she relaxes just a little bit when he does. “How are the cramps?”

“Still there. I think I’m used to them at this point.” Emily laughs bitterly. “I’m so tired of this, Aaron. It’s so unfair that others don’t have to go through this. And it sucks.”

“I know it does.” He shifts them both so that he can bring her into his arms, letting her lay against his chest as the spray hits them both. “We’re going to make it through this one day, Emily. Together. You and me.”

She’s silent for a few moments, contemplating his words before she finally asks, “When do we know when to stop?” Her eyes bore into his, her body heavy with exhaustion settling in. “Do you ever wonder how far we’ll have to go … if we’ll be able to keep going with this? I don’t know if I can handle the heartbreak again and again.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t know, Sweetheart. But I don’t think we need to make that decision today. One day at a time,” he reminds her. “Today it’s hard, tomorrow will be hard too. It might not get easier for a while, but it will one day, no matter what decision we make together. I need you to remember that.” He holds her against his chest, rocking her in his arms as the water starts to turn cold.

His words give her the slightest bit of comfort, some of the first she’s felt since this nightmare began. “I promise, I will. As long as you promise you’ll always love me, even if we can’t have a baby.”

“I promise I will,” he says without hesitation.

It’s all she needs to hear.

#aaron hotchner x emily prentiss #hotchniss #emily prentiss #aaron hotchner #angst #aaron x emily #this is pure angst sorry but thats the vibe these days

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jarvisisbetterthansiri · 5 years ago

Text

Only Human (sex pollen)

Pairing: Tony Stark x Reader Word count: 2143 Description: Despite being with Pepper, Tony is only human, and when you are both hit with sex pollen, he can’t control himself Warnings: *NSFW* Dub-con (due to sex pollen), smut, infidelity, overstimulation, dirty talk, unprotected sex ~ soft!reader + dom!Tony

A/N: Yes, this has been posted before, it’s still me, I accidentally deleted my account, so I’m just moving to here, and re-uploading my fics I had saved on Google Docs so they haven’t gone to waste. Hope this isn’t too confusing.

---

“Y/N, sweetie, can I borrow your hands for a few minutes?”

A slight blush makes its way onto your cheeks at the pet name, and you nod up at Tony Stark - your boss. Your very hot but sadly, engaged, boss.

Your job at Stark Tower consisted of bouncing between offices, making coffee, and helping with the filing. Not that you would complain, it was secure as you could ask for, and the pay was good. Also, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy spending time in the presence of Mr Stark, even if it was from a distance.

He moves towards a glass door, scanning his print for access, and you scurry behind before the door can shut on you.

“Just need you to help carry,” he squints at the cabinet, pulling out a key, “a few things. Careful. Don’t touch anything.”

You cringe at this, eyes widening at the objects locked in the shelves, bright warnings plastered on them: explosive, toxic, bio hazard, corrosive, radiation. Fuck.

Tony holds out a hand, passing you a small flask of dangerously pink liquid. And then the unthinkable happens - your hands shake with nerves, glass slipping through your clammy fingers, and smash.

“Shit!” you gasp, eyes wide as Tony mimics your expression. “I’m so sorry Mr Stark, I-”

“Goddammit!” his voice is raised, almost a growl, “F.R.I.D.A.Y, restrict access to this floor and evacuate the offices.”

He crouches to the floor, reading the label, and curses again, “Increase ventilation and purify the air in this room.”

“I’m so sorry Sir, I didn’t mean to,” you apologise, chest tightening, tears pricking your eyes.

Tony replies instantly, accusatory, “I told you not to touch anything.” Then he fishes in his pockets for a phone.

“I - it was an accident - I,” you stammer, stopping when he raises a hand, pressing the cell to his ear.

You step back, eyeing the spilled liquid. It was locked away. You’d had it in your hand. And you...dropped it. It was locked away. With the rest of the dangerous items. You really fucked up this time.

“Banner,” Tony speaks, clearing his throat, “yeah, I know. We had an incident.” Brown eyes glance over to you, sighing, “I didn’t - I don’t have time to argue right now. How long until the effects set in? Son of a bitch.”

He slams the phone on the table, fists clenching.

“What...what is it? Are we gonna die?” you manage to get the words out, hot tears spilling down your cheeks.

You were so stupid.

Tony freezes, frowning, “You’re not gonna die. Look at me, we’re fine.”

“I’m so sorry Mr Stark,” you say again, and it’s true. More than anything, you can’t stand the thought of disappointing him.

He offers a smile, kind eyes now like you were used to, “I know you are sweetie, it’s fine. You’re not gonna get in trouble. We’re good.”

Is it getting hotter, or is it just your imagination? You tug at your shirt uncomfortably, “So what...what is it?”

Now Tony is the one who looks uncomfortable, avoiding eye contact, “It...it’s something we found on an alien ship - a kind of aphrodisiac.”

“Aphrodisiac?” You repeat, hoping you heard wrongly.

He swallows, leaning against the table for support, “We know the species was...well, a lot larger than we are. So, we don’t know exactly the effects but it releases hormones, so extreme arousal.”

There’s a moment of silence, and a wave of dizziness swims over you. Something hangs in the air, a spicy and heavy scent, and suddenly there's a prickling heat clawing its way through your body.

Your breathing gets harsher, “Why is it so hot, Mr Stark?”

“F.R.I.D.A.Y, the temperature?”

“Seventy six degrees Fahrenheit,” the automated voice rings out through the speakers. But no, that can’t be right.

Tony groans, and your thighs clench at the sound, “Fuck.”

His eyes find you, and he drops his head, moving back, “Probably gonna want to stay over there, sweetie.”

The nickname has you gasping for breath, and a high pitched whine makes its way out of your throat. A dull ache spreads through your core as you watch Tony across the room; cheeks flushing at the way his pants strain against his bulge.

“How long?”

“Huh?”

You moan, shifting to the floor, fingers fiddling with the bottom of your shirt, “How long will it...will it feel like this?”

Tony pants, eyes fixed on your thighs, which he noted were rubbing together incessantly now, “All estimates...theory is to work it out.”

“Work it….oh,” a sense of dread settles in your stomach, “You mean…”

He nods, gesturing to the table, “Just, I’m gonna be,” turning his back to you, “so you can...however you need to.”

You stare at his back for a second, making out the movement of his arm moving up and down, then feel a pang of guilt at your actions and turn away. Tony was engaged, you shouldn’t be looking.

At this point, your clothing sticks to you oppressively, and you hastily unfasten the buttons of your blouse, shrugging out of it. Another wave of arousal hits and you inhale sharply, unable to even breathe when every movement has your nipples brushing against your bra, and your pussy throbbing with want.

Shakily, you press a finger to your bud, circling it roughly, moaning in a voice that hardly sounds like your own. With every rub you feel yourself becoming more overstimulated, thighs sticky with arousal but it isn’t enough. Fingers slip easily into your core, thrusting against the right spot but it isn’t working. And everything is too hot, too clammy, too much.

Tony groans, fisting his cock furiously. This was not how he’d planned to spend his evening. He was supposed to have a dinner reservation with Pep - he closes his eyes at the thought of her.

It wasn’t right to be doing this; jacking off just meters away from his sweet young secretary. His thumb drags along his length and he shudders when he hears those desperate little sounds coming from your direction. It definitely wasn’t right to be picturing what you were doing to make those sounds, either. He should be thinking about his fiance, he tells himself, willing to recall how Pepper blowed him just last night.

But then he’s thinking of your lips, and how pretty they’d look sucking on his thumb while he fucked into you. Was it the aphrodisiac?

“Mr Stark, this isn’t working. I can’t,” he could hear you sobbing now, and turns.

Tony’s breath catches. You’re laying back, skirt hitched up your slick legs, shirt unbuttoned, if you had been wearing a bra, it was gone now too. He’s startled by how scared you look, and just as frustrated at the fact he could do nothing to help either of you.

“I don’t...I don’t know what you want me to tell you, Y/N,” he clears his throat, tearing his eyes from your form, trying not to focus on how wet your fingers are.

You let out a cry of frustration, fists hitting off your thighs, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t...it’s my fault.”

“It’s gonna be okay,” Tony starts, ignoring the throbbing of his cock. “We’ve got this.”

“No, I can’t, my fingers aren’t working,” you whimper, “I need…”

Tony glances at his ring finger, swallowing any second thoughts, and lets himself look at you. It isn’t cheating, he tells himself. You’re in pain, he’s in pain, what else could he do?

“Tell me what you need,” his words are syrup, thick with desire as he wraps his rough fingers around your wrist, the smallest contact sparking you to moan again.If you’d been dizzy before, you were sure you’d pass out now.

God, you want to die. You can’t imagine a worse situation than the one you’re in now - what are you supposed to say? That you need him to fuck you? You couldn’t.

He moves closer though, finger pressing into your chin, forcing you to look into those honey eyes and see the lust in them, “Tell me. Tell me, and I’ll give it to you.”

“I can’t,” you protest weakly, shame eating away at your burning cheeks, “What about-”

“Don’t,” Tony cuts you off, not wanting to think about her right now. Not when you were looking up at him with those doe eyes, exposed all pretty for him. He lets his hand run down your side and squeezes at the curve of your exposed thigh, then adds firmly, “You can. Right now, tell me what you need.”

The words almost wont leave your lips, and you swallow thickly, “I need it. I need you.”

There’s a hint of amusement in his face behind the desperation you’re both feeling, “I gotta hear you say it, Princess.”

“Please Mr Stark,” you cry, fists clenching as the ache between your legs becomes so intense you think you might die.

Tony groans at your neediness and sits on the floor, pulling his cock from the painful confines of his pants. You feel all of the moisture leave your mouth at the sight - larger than your ex’s, swollen head glistening.

The amount of nights you’d pictured this exact scene while you touched yourself, and now it was real. Fuck.He motions for you to straddle him and you obey, crying out when his length grazes your clit. Tony’s breath is quick and shallow, nails digging into your thighs as he struggles to ground himself.

Then, as much as he would love to pull you onto his cock right now, he restrains, “Do you need my fingers first?”

You shake your head, “No, just need you. Please.”

That’s all the confirmation he needs, and in an instant he’s pushing into you, “Fuck, you’re drenched.”

Another thrust, and you’re a mess, scrambling to hold onto his shoulders. If it wasn’t for his grip on you, you’re pretty sure you’d have collapsed already. Despite not being completely innocent, the sensation of being speared by his cock, of being stretched and filled, has you struggling for air.

Tony almost uses your body, forcing you up and down, watching your tits bounce and the look of bliss on your face. God, he couldn’t get enough of that look. Every thrust is harder to get more of that face and your needy little gasps.

“Feels so good, Mr Stark,” you babble, stars in your vision, and this seems to do it for him, judging by the way he pumps into you faster than you even thought possible.

Before you can even speak, you feel his fingers make their way to your nub, rubbing circles. And oh god, it feels so good, but it’s so much. You spasm, clamping down on his cock, crying in ecstasy.

Then, the throbbing in your core is subsiding, and you suppose the effects of the plant are wearing off. But Tony isn’t stopping, his cock pounding into you with a force that makes you choke, hands trying to push off of him. You’re too raw, too sensitive, and the pleasure is so good it hurts.

He notices and stutters his movements for a second, hand moving from your clit and finding its way to your shoulder, keeping you in place, “I just need a little longer, can you do that for me sweets?”

“Yes,” you sob, letting him slam into you again.

Tony pushes your hair out of your face, chasing his own release, “Fuck. Such a good girl for me.”

You nod, using your hips to match his movements weakly, and he sits up to place a sloppy kiss to your lips.

“Fuck,” he groans into your ear - what has to be the hottest thing you’ve ever heard in your life, “you take cock like it’s your day job, babe. Think you might be in the wrong career.”

The familiar knot is building in your core again, and you let your hand guide his back to your clit, wanting more. He curses at the action, and starts palming you desperately, feeling himself getting closer.

“Oh god,” the words fall from your lips in a voice that is as wrecked as you feel.

The next moments are fuzzy, and you clench down, back arching as you feel Tony spend himself in you. It’s a sort of warm feeling, and you fall onto his sweaty chest when he releases his grip on you.

The room is silent apart from the sounds of heavy breathing slowing to normal. Tony lets an arm drape over your body, an action that should be comforting, but then you feel it.

Warm metal on your skin. A ring, his ring, his engagement ring. The guilt comes then, and he feels you freeze, tears falling onto his chest.

What have you done?

#tony stark #tony stark imagine #tony stark smut #tony stark x reader #iron man #iron man imagine #iron man smut #iron man x reader #iron-man #iron-man imagine #iron-man smut #iron-man x reader #sex pollen #avengers #avengers imagine #avengers smut #tony stark sex pollen #iron man sex pollen #iron-man sex pollen

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kimistorm · 4 years ago

Text

Late Night Shenanigans [Bang Chan x Reader]

Fandom: Stray Kids

Pairing: Bang Chan x GN! Reader

Warnings: None! <20% of this is actually a texting conversation

Summary: You’re a little doubtful of where Chan is taking you for your midnight date, especially since he looks to be taking you into the middle of nowhere, but by the end of the night, you end up with a very special wish.

You ran your hands through your hair in frustration as you looked at your assignment. You had been staring at this darn problem for the past half hour, going to google and desperately searching for something that wasn’t behind a paywall.

Armed with Chan’s answer and excitement for later that night, it wasn’t long until you received another text from your beloved boyfriend letting you know was outside.

You quickly shut off your laptop and grabbed your house keys before heading out to the front door of your home. You silently made your way through the house, straining your eyes to see from the small amount of moonlight peeking through the windows. A hand waved around cautiously in front of you in hopes that it would keep you from smashing into a wall. Once at the door, you felt it safe enough to turn on the flashlight from your phone. Enough to see which pair of shoes was yours. You quietly slipped them on, and eased out the front door as quietly as you could, cringing when the deadbolt clicked as you unlocked and locked it behind you.

Turning around, you saw Chan’s black car stopped in the street in front of your house. You quickly ran across the grass towards him, and pulled open the door to the passenger side, “fancy seeing you here.” You grinned as you slid into the seat, “come here often?”

He paused to think about it, “I’d say so, I have a beautiful significant other who lives in that house.”

“Aww,” you cooed as the two of you gave a quick kiss, “you’re too kind.”

“I see no lies.” He responded smoothly as he pulled on the shifter and released the hand brake to head towards your destination.

“Yeah?” he didn’t see your quirked brow as you admired his profile, “well there’s an even more beautiful man right next to me.”

He scoffed, “no.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Naurrrr.”

“I can do this all night.” You teased when you noticed the annoyance in his voice grow with each comeback.

“Please don’t,” he nearly sighed out, “Jisung kept on texting me awful jokes and puns.”

You let out a mock offended shout, “and he didn’t think to include me?”

“Consider yourself blessed.” He responded as his eyes stayed on the road. While it was quiet, and there were hardly any cars about, he was taking the two of you down a winding path devoid of lights except for the ones coming from his headlights.

“Wait, but I want to hear!” you continued excitedly.

“What do you call a baby computer?”

You tilted your head to the side and thought about it, “minitor?”

“What?” the shock in his voice was clear, “what does that even mean? Like a minotaur?”

“Ah, like a mini-monitor?” you tried to defend your answer, “nevermind that. What was the answer?”

“Data.” Chan deadpanned and it was your turn to be in shock and confusion.

“Data?”

“Da-ta-ta,” he added in a baby voice and you nearly snorted. Mostly from the sound of Chan doing a baby voice, and not really because of the joke. “Come on, it wasn’t that funny.”

“That’s such a Jisung thing,” you smiled as you watched the scenery pass by before turning on your phone to confront said person.

When did that happen? You quickly checked the group chat and scrolled through it a bit to see ‘Seungmo removed Jeekies from the chat.’ Without a second of hesitation, you quickly added Jisung back into the chat.

“Is that the group chat going off?” Chan asked and you took your attention away from the chat to look up at him and the road.

“Yeah, Jisung and I are tagteamming the data joke.” You replied with a smile.

Chan let out a groan, “it’s not a good joke.”

You let out a giggle, “I’ll tell that to Jisung.”

“Believe me, he knows.”

“Do you know why Jisung was proposing to Minho with a squid?” you turned off your phone to refocus on what was happening around you. The area had darkened quite a bit, and by this point you had no idea where you were. You were impressed that Chan seemed to know where he was going, considering how he didn’t even have any navigation system up.

The man in question nearly choked, “proposing with a squid?” he asked incredulously and even glanced towards you in confusion, not that he could make out anything from the darkness.

“Well, an octopus.” You admitted, recognizing the difference between the two.

His laugh blended into his next words, “no. About time though.”

You laughed along with him, “I don’t think Minho liked it that much. Or Seungmin.”

Chan already had a hunch as to what happened and clicked his tongue almost disapprovingly, “did he remove Sungie from the chat?”

“Yuup.”

Chan let out a sigh, “of course he did.”

You laughed at his resignation, “anyways, where we going?”

“You just thought to ask now?” he couldn’t help but laugh at the sudden question, considering how the past few minutes were quiet except for the typing from you and the background music from his spotify playlist.

“I mean, I trust you, so I’m not too concerned.” You hummed and gazed out to the dark expanse surrounding you, “I’d say Area 51 but we’re nowhere close to that.”

“This will be better than aliens,” Chan confirmed with a nod.

You glanced at your phone that lit up again with a picture of an actual squid, Jisung must’ve been running out of octopus pictures, “I think Jisung’s got the alien part covered.”

“Anyways, here we are.” Chan slowed down the car and the dirt crunched beneath the tires as he pulled off to a small clearing by the side of the road. It looked remarkably the same as what the rest of the drive looked like. Dark and empty.

You gave him a confused look that he probably couldn’t see well as he turned off the car, “the middle of nowhere?”

“Exactly.” He told you with a touch of giddy excitement in his voice, “come on!” he nearly jumped out of the car and to the trunk, where he pulled out a blanket and a bag.

You were a bit more skeptical as you slowly got out of the car, “Channie? What are we doing?”

“You said you trusted me?” there was a pout in his voice as he stopped fiddling with trying to lay out the blanket on the hood of his voice.

“Of course I do,” you told him and quickly gave him a hug. You could tell he wasn’t that upset though, judging by the way his voice jumped a couple octaves.

“Hop on,” his voice returned to its normal level as he patted the soft fabric that was laid out on the largest flat surface of his car, “it’s thick enough that the heat from the engine won’t burn.” He added after a moment of hesitation from you. You felt bad for your hesitation and tried to scootch yourself up the hood, “like lay back.” He added as he laid down next to you. You followed his words and what greeted you was a dark sky littered with tiny pinpricks of light.

You felt your jaw drop in awe as you saw an entire collection of stars that you had never seen before. “Oh wow.” You gasped as you tried to soak in the view. It was almost humbling. Each of those tiny pinpricks of white were huge balls of gas light years away. The light that you were currently had traveled the distance of several light years and for several years, now to be witnessed by you and your boyfriend. A warm hand came down to clasp around yours and you eagerly squeezed back.

“It’s my favorite place to stargaze.” He told you softly as you continued to gape up at the sky.

You used your free hand to point at the streak of stars in the sky, the area outside of the streak looking surprisingly empty, “that’s the Milky Way?”

“Yup,” he continued in the same soft tone, enjoying the night atmosphere and you at his side, “that’s literally our galaxy.”

“Looks smaller than I expected,” you laughed and Chan giggled along with you.

“It’s about 50,000 light years across,” he added and gave you a light elbow, “not exactly small.”

“Okay smarty-pants,” you laughed and gave him a slight shove in return. He let out a sound of protest, but let you have the last laugh. You sighed and looked up to the sky again, “do you feel small?”

“From this small glimpse of how vast our universe is?” Chan asked without any hesitation.

You couldn’t help but tear your gaze away from the sky to deadpan at him, “when you put it that way that just makes it seem so much more intimidating.”

He shot you a dimpled smile that you were able to make out as your eyes adjusted, “no.” He scootched over to press himself against your side, “I feel impressed. So many things had to go right. Gravity is the perfect amount that it allows expansion of the Universe, but also brings things close enough together to form atoms. Our planet is the perfect distance away so we’re not scorched or frozen to death. Life evolved from tiny organisms that lived in the ocean to living, bipedal, thinking humans. I exist today. You exist today. And we met, and here we are, gazing at the universe around us. So no, I don’t feel small.” At some point during his ramblings Chan turned his eyes from the twinkling stars shining above to fix you with an adoring look, so it was to your great surprise when you turned and found a pair of eyes looking fondly at you.

“Wait that scares me even more.” You put a hand up to your mouth in slight fear and also to hide the grin as Chan let out an exasperated sound and rolled over so he was on his back again.

“That was insightful!”

“Too deep!” you protested, “it’s midnight, my head’s empty. No thoughts.”

A hand found its way to your head and ruffled at your hair, “lame.” You feebly cried out and tried to fight off his hand but ended up giving up and dealing with it, knowing that nobody was going to see your tousled hair. The hand found itself on the other side of you (effectively bringing the two of you even closer together) and pointed out the brightest star in the sky. “That’s Sirius. Well, technically Sirius A and B since it’s a binary system,” he rambled under his breath, not that you really had any clue what he was talking about, “but we just see it as one point of light.”

“I think you’re brighter than Sirius,” you couldn’t help the cheesy comment as you planted a quick kiss on his cheek.

You could almost see his ears redden and the embarrassed and slightly shocked smile grow on his face as you watched his reaction, “that’s a good one.”

You let out a happy hum and rested your head against his shoulder again, “anything more I should know about Sirius?”

There was a moment of silence before his hand rose back to point at the sky, “it’s part of the Canis Major,” he continued and tried to draw out the shape of the dog with his finger. “Though, not as major as my love for you.” He let out an awkward laugh mixed with a screech and pulled his hand away to cover his face with embarrassment.

“Was that you trying to one up me?” you questioned with a light grin on your face as you propped your head up on a hand as he peered at you past his fingers.

“Maybe?”

You laughed and pressed a kiss to his hands, “nice.” You laid yourself back onto the hood of the car and snuggled up next to him as he continued to point out stars and constellations in the sky while simultaneously giving you more astronomy knowledge than you knew what to do with. It was enjoyable and peaceful as the two of you left your buzzing phones inside the car and there wasn’t a car that passed on the road behind you. The cool night paired with the chirping of insects, Chan’s warm body heat, and the two of you just cuddling up under the stars was your the perfect way to end the week.

“That was a shooting star!” Chan screamed as he pointed up to the sky, you eagerly nodded as you saw the tiny streak of light, “make a wish!” you hummed in agreeance and closed your eyes as you thought about it, but finding it hard as everything you wanted was already right here. “I love you.” He added softly, planting a kiss onto your head.

“Love you too.”

Masterlist

Note: The octopus proposal is a reference to episode 2 of mysterious kitchen! That's literally Han holding that octopus.

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malxlawson · 4 years ago

Text

— && guests may mistake me as ( halsey ), but really i am ( amalia 'mal' lawson + cis female + she/her ) and my DOB is ( 8/6/1995 ). i am applying for the ( maintenance manager ) position as part of the EHP and would like to live in suite ( 202 ). i should be hired because i am ( + passionate, charismatic, thorough ), but i can also be ( - prideful, dramatic, argumentative ) at times. personally, i like to ( creating street art, volunteer community work, organizing protests ) when off the clock, but that won’t interfere with work. thank you for your consideration!

aaaand here we come with our favorite revamped heathen! mal hasn’t had quite as much changed - just a nice lil face lift and we love that for her.

before we get super into it: we have a stats page and a pinterest for your viewing pleasure.

going a little heavy on the triggers just because i want to be sure to cover all my bases!! most everything is just a mention, but we gotta be safe kids! take care of yourselves and remember ilysm.

( pregnancy tw, miscarriage tw, police brutality mentions tw, substance abuse tw )

- amalia raelle lawson was born august 6th, 1995 to marshal and cherisse lawson in oakland, california.

- marshal owned a local bbq restaurant and cherisse was an er nurse. both grew up in rough neighborhoods with rough childhoods, but vowed to make their kids’ lives better than their own.

- three years after mal came into their lives, they had a son; jayden.

- from that day on, mal had a best friend and confidant that she’d go to the ends of the earth to keep by her side.

- their childhoods weren’t easy in the way most kids are - their mom worked long hours and their dad spent most of his days at the restaurant. when their parents were home though (if cherisse wasn’t sleeping off a shift change), they spent their time with their community - be it at the restaurant or at block parties - trying to better it in any way they could manage.

- police brutality mention tw despite their efforts, their community was still plagued by all the injustices every other predominantly black community faces. from a young age, mal learned that the justice system wasn’t built to serve her or the people she considered family.

- police brutality mention tw she was six the first time she heard about a family friend being a victim of excessive force; nine when she saw it. for years after that, she saw mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, and cousins coming to mourn their loved ones - either locked up or taken from them too soon.

- instead of becoming numb to these tragedies, a fire was lit in amalia to change the system - even if she had to dismantle it one piece at a time.

- in the mean time, mal found an outlet for her emotions in art - specifically painting. she started with watercolors and crayolas, but once her parents realized her abilities were beyond what they should have been for a kind her age, they put whatever extra they could manage into mal and her passion for art.

- she was fourteen when she was introduced to street art - graffiti, if you want to get technical. his name was trey and amalia was instantly enamored by him. trey ran with a rougher crowd than mal was used to, but he softened around her.

- pregnancy tw they were young, in love, and reckless. she was fifteen when mal found out she was pregnant. while she wasn’t thrilled about becoming another statistic, she was thrilled about the idea of having a child.

- not entirely pleased with the situation, but always willing to support their children, mal’s parents welcomed trey into the family with open arms and began planning what was sure to be a life full of love for the newest addition to the lawson family.

- miscarriage tw three months into the pregnancy, amalia started to experience cramping and spotting. worried it may be something serious, she had her mom take her to the hospital. it was there they confirmed that mal was experiencing a miscarriage.

- everything changed after that. amalia was no longer the girl who wanted to fight the world’s injustices - she was just a girl who wanted to fight the world. she was angry and bitter at everyone and everything.

- substance abuse tw her relationship with trey quickly began to deteriorate and she turned, for the first time, to the rougher crew he hung out with. booze and drugs quickly became a way for mal to cope with the pain she carried around. she started small - cigarettes and pot - before graduating to the harder stuff, like coke and prescription pills.

- substance abuse tw skipping school to get loaded became a regular occurrence and when the truancy officers showed up at the lawson’s front door, her parents sat mal down for an at home intervention. for as much as they yelled and cried and offered treatment, amalia wasn’t hearing any of it. it wasn’t until jayden snuck into her room late one night to ask if he was going to lose mal like one of his friends had lost his older brother that mal realized her actions weren’t only effecting her life.

- miscarriage tw just before her junior year - with the help of her parents - mal decided it was best for her to leave public school and finish the rest of her schooling online. the same time she started online schooling, amalia started painting again. something she hadn’t done since she found out she’d miscarried.

- being able to stay home meant mal had the space and time to heal in her own ways. when she wasn’t doing school work, amalia was painting to help clear her head. it took some time, but she was finally able to tell her parents what she was going through, both mentally and physically.

- miscarriage tw after she miscarried, mal started to suffer from chronic period and pelvic pain, as well as painful intercourse. she’d also been suffering from symptoms of depression, all of which help lead her down the destructive path she’d gone down.

- several doctor trips later, mal was diagnosed with endometriosis and depression and quickly began treatments for both. despite starting treatments for her endometriosis, doctors told mal the likelihood of her conceiving again was highly unlikely.

- mal hadn’t expected to hear at 16 that biological children may never be in her future and she was devastated, but she had her support system and their love and willingness to do whatever they could for her helped her cope in a much healthier way.

- by seventeen, amalia was feeling like her life was back on track, though drastically different than she’d imagined. she finished her diploma early and began working for her dad in the restaurant; serving, cooking, even helping fix things when they broke down. slowly but surely, mal mended her relationship with her parents and earned back their trust.

- one day, after some kids had vandalized the restaurant, marshal asked mal if she’d help cover the graffiti. jumping at the chance, amalia spent three days finishing her first big piece - which is still her favorite to this day - a portrait of her family and the community that kept the restaurant going. abstract and colorful, full of life and vibrancy, mal’s piece drew a lot of attention and several offers for her to commission other pieces.

- for the next three years, mal worked at the restaurant and took commissions when she could. life seemed normal again. she even reconnected with trey, mending the relationship that had been broken.

- the day trey proposed was the happiest day of mal’s life. she’d been beyond thrilled! after everything they’d been through, he still wanted to be with her. unfortunately, the bliss didn’t last. their engagement abruptly ended and mal decided it was best if she get away for a while, so as to not slip back into destructive patterns.

- a quick google search brought amalia to the malnati website and their employee housing program. applying was a no brainer and a month later she and jayden were packing their bags and moving to chicago.

- she started as a maid and, in the four years she’s been there, has moved up to the maintenance manager position.

hcs!

- when she’s not working, mal’s usually painting in her suite or sketching at one of the many parks in chicago during the day. at night, you’ll find her taking full advantage of chicago’s nightlife. night’s in for mal lawson are few and far between.

- drugs tw she skates a fine line when it comes to sobriety. she’s careful to drink or use just enough to be sure she’ll have a good time, but it’s a slippery slope. in the four years she’s been in chicago, mal’s slowly started doing more and more, telling herself she’s got a handle on it. truth be told, she’s teetering on the edge of a full blown problem again.

- super into video games, but partial to anything involving zombies. mal loves a zombie - don’t ask me why. she’s usually down to play among us, valorant, fortnight, and is always down for a little animal crossing when she needs something more chill.

- 90′s hip hop & r&b are mal’s shiiiiiit. she’s at her happiest when she’s got a little tupac on in the background.

- also don’t you dare try to tell her he’s not alive in cuba somewhere living his best life. she ain’t havin’ it.

- when she’s angsty/sad/angry her go to playlist is a lot of punk, rock, grunge. especially of the 90′s persuasion. she stays on brand. her favorites are the offspring, nirvana, the foo fighters, soundgarden, stone temple pilots, the smashing pumpkins, sonic youth, and pixies.

- she’s gluten intolerant and vegetarian.

- mal is a cult classic movie kind of gal. donnie darko, pulp fiction, rocky horror are all on her list of favorites. she’s never going to turn down a good horror/thriller marathon, either.

- she plays a little piano and a little guitar. she picked them up after she started online schooling. she finds both relaxing. she’s by no means going to make a career out of it, but it’s fun!

- hella resting bitch face, but she really is super friendly! she just doesn’t always look it.

- don’t test her, though. she’s got attitude for days and she isn’t afraid to let you know what she thinks or how she feels about you. we ain’t got no time for games, okay?! okay.

- amalia has also very much immersed herself in community work since moving to chicago, especially on the south side. if her parents taught her anything growing up, it’s that she should give back the her community as much as she’s able.

- a lot of her street art celebrates women of color and their beauty.

- not a fan of cops, still. soz pals.

- when it comes to work, she does her best to make the malnati a decent place to work. she’s all about positive reinforcement and making sure she takes care of her employees. she’s not gonna shy away from telling you ya fucked up, though. she’ll say it with love, though, while also calling you a giant pain in her ass. but with love. okay?! okay.

wanted connections!

- hook ups! : mal is a RAGING bisexual and is not at all afraid to make her appreciation for someone’s physical appearance known. just don’t expect to stay the night. once the deed is done you’ve got about thirty seconds to vacate mal’s suite.

- softies! : make. her. soft. give me someone who makes her break her no sleep over rule, pls and thank. she’s a stubborn, pain in the ass, and sassy af but someone who can make her melt? and act like a teenager in love again? all gooey and gross? yuh. pls.

- good influence! : someone she doesn’t have to drink and party with to have a good time! remind her that she misses things when she’s not sober - that the world is still beautiful and inspiring even when she’s not in a drug induced haze.

- chill baes! : drugs tw people mal just ~ v I b E s ~ with! probs smokin’ a decent amount of weed together.

- protest pals! : people who are also involved in the community and social justice movements. they happily bail each other out of jail (or, more likely, sit in the back of a squad car together) and attend protests together. bc the buddy system. overthrow the government safely ty.

- rivals! : mal’s got a big mouth and some seriously controversial opinions. she’s not afraid to call people out for being ‘wrong’ and calling them...creative names. she’s bound to have a giant list of people who aren’t her biggest fans.

- bad girl’s club : need i say more? give. me. the girl gang. constantly partying and constantly getting into some kind of mischief and leaving a trail of broken hearts as they go.

if you made it this far, you deserve SEVERAL high fives and literally all my love. ily all v much and uh, yuh. let’s plot pals. :)

#amalia | ooc #malnatiooc #malnatiintro #insert dj khalid *anotha one* gif here pls

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datingintampafails · 4 years ago

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Chapter 15: Aaron*

After Roger*, I don’t completely leave the app game, but I don’t go on any dates. I talk to a couple guys for a short bit, but nothing really sticks. One guy is kind of creepy, and even drops the “love” bomb on me, and I straight up yikes him.

I knew when I matched with Aaron* and saw “Conservative” listed on his Bumble profile, that it was not going to work out. However, I was still coming off my fucking with people state, despite this now being the end of June, almost a month after my last date, that had been with Roger*. However, he is a nice looking, all-American looking man. Blonde hair, blue eyes, decently tall, fit but not overly buff, also does jiu-jitsu, so I say fuck it let’s see what happens.

I even started my first message to him about this: “oh shoot you’re conservative” he asks if that is a problem, which I respond with “depends.” He asks what it depends on, and I say “if you own a maga hat.” He comes back with “Am I in more trouble if I own 2?”

Why would a person need two MAGA hats? I don’t know. This is something I will never know, and I’m okay with that information. He jokes about us both being able to wear one. I say definitely not. He asks why. I explain my DJT sentiments, “He’s constantly running his mouth when he shouldn’t/he has no chill. He’s terrible to women. His interests are biased to benefit businesses/his rich buddies and not the people.”

Expecting him to debate with me with some bullshit, instead, he says I have fair criticism and agrees with my first point. We talk more politics, I say the party system itself sucks, which he admits he thinks we are closer politically than he thought. He purposely changes the subject, with the all wonderful “what are you looking for on here?” question. Blah blah blah.

He said he says I have a good plan and he “matched with [me] cause [I’m] cute and seemed like [I’d] be fun to play some vidya with.” We then talk games and systems for a bit. He asks me for my Snapchat username, then our conversations continue strictly on there for the foreseeable future. He mentions something about feeding his dogs raw chicken, and due to my job working in veterinary medicine, I let him know that isn’t a good idea. He tries to mansplain me, and I clap back, saying that whereas raw red meat is fine for them, raw chicken isn’t and I’ve seen a lot of dogs get sick. He thanks me for the information and drops it. I respect how he backs off and listens.

We set up a date for a Wednesday, but then the day of, I get some news that my coworker I work closely with at one of my jobs, may have contracted coronavirus. I let him know that I don’t want to risk it, just in case I may have gotten it. Instead, I suggest we do a video chat instead.

Video chat actually ends up being pretty fun and is a nice way to get to know each other without going out out. He has two dogs and I get to see them. He mentions that he played World of Warcraft and I’m surprised. He looks more like a pretty boy type and not nerdy like that, despite us talking about other video games previously. I then suggest we play some video games together for the rest of the night. We even add each other on discord/Battlenet (Blizzard Games) and play Heroes of the Storms together. He and I actually work very well as a team and opt to play a character together which requires complete teamwork as you share a body with different powers. It’s a difficult character to play, so normally I don’t play it, even with my friends. This gives me a glimmer of, hey maybe I could make this work: naive.

I decide one day I should ask some non-superficial questions to get to know if the MAGA thing is something I can ignore for better qualities. I ask him about his goals and his future.

He mentions he wants to own a lot of land and grow his own food, have some cows. So basically he wants to be a farmer? Definitely not a life I could see myself in. I mention as well that my future doesn’t involve kids. He says he definitely would want to have kids.

I ask him why he feels the need to have children. He simply says, “Idk it’s just what you do.” TO which, I intelligently let him know, “just because it’s what you do, doesn’t mean it’s what YOU do.” Essentially, fuck societal rules, live your life as your own. He sticks to his guns, which are his rights. I kinda just remove myself from the conversation as it doesn’t go anywhere.

At the same time, I’m also chatting with another guy. This guy is way more compatible personality-wise, but he isn’t really physically attractive to me. I feel bad as I am practically stringing him along. I even had a video chat date with him around the same time as Aaron*, but whereas he is nice, I don’t see him as a romantic prospect, which makes me more confused.

Despite our conversation that would seem like an end-all for the relationship continuing, Aaron* continues to send me Snapchats, which are nice eye candy. He goes to the gym and would send me pictures of him in the sauna, ie shirtless pictures. He asks me out again, and I confirm that he is still interested. He asks fairly if he has indicated in any way that he was no longer interested. Also adds he wants to see where things go and at least give it a shot and is willing to risk the possibility of my coronavirus exposure. Fair enough.

We reschedule essentially the date we were gonna have earlier that week, going to the same Greek restaurant. I get there first and wait in my car. Somehow I am not paying attention when he arrives, and he says he is there but doesn’t see me inside. So I walk up to him in the restaurant and give him a hug. He is the only one there, so it is easy to spot him. We share a platter of hummus and veggies, just talk, and have a good time. I get a sense, as I did during the video chat as well, that he is more introverted than I am and on the quieter side. The restaurant is closing for the day, and we are done eating, so we head out. Walking to our cars, he asks if I wanna come over and meet his dogs since he lives ten minutes away. I agree.

I half follow google maps with the address he gives me, half just follow him. Jokingly when we arrive and we start to walk in, I ask him if he’s going to murder me. He laughs and says no. As I add “not this time at least.”

I get to meet his dogs, one is definitely a wild child. We play Super Smash Bros on his Switch, and after only winning one round and getting obliterated otherwise, I ask if we can play something more co-op. We bring out Mario Party but are kind of confused about how anything works. Instead, we opt to just watch a movie instead. We cuddle and watch Ferris Bueller’s Day Off.

At the end of the movie, it is late and I say that I’m gonna head out. He walks me to our car and we kiss goodnight a couple of times. Unfortunately for me, I was happy to kiss him goodnight. I do ask him that he actually give me his number, though he had given me a similar story like Darren*, saying his service isn’t good and he chats primarily via Snapchat.

We talk some more and set up another date. I invite him over for dinner. When he arrives he tries to kiss me at his car side when I greet him which catches me off guard. I’m not huge into PDA so I don’t really know what to do. He seems fine when I instead give him a kiss hello when we get inside. I make the food and all seems good. He gets along with my dog very well and they’re having fun. We eat our food then decide to go to the couch to watch a movie. We settle on Toy Story 4 as I determine that he should see it since he hasn’t. During the movie, he initiates kissing a few times. At some point though, it gets a little more heated as kissing becomes a true makeout session, and he lays me down on the couch. His kisses are a little more hungry, and honestly, I’m not super into his style and feel more like I’m just kind of there. I stop him and say “can w talk about something really quick?” I can tell that he is trying to lead up to things, and given the fact that we are on very different paths for the future, though it would be a good time to discuss where we are at. I pause the movie officially. I say I like him and ask him what his realistic expectations for us would be. He says that given our opposite feelings towards children, that “well we wouldn’t get married, but I definitely want whatever is the next step under that. Until I’m ready for something more serious with a person that would want kids” I simply respond that I am looking for something that would be potentially more serious, and don’t think we want the same things. I make a joke about him not wanting to get married, and that I already have the venue picked out, Sabrina has a flower girl dress, etc. Just to lighten the mood. He laughs and we continue watching the movies.

At the end of the movie he again initiates kissing me. I’m confused, I thought we had essentially ended whatever was going on via our conversation. He then just asks me, “hey would you want to fool around a little before I leave?” Again, given the conversation we had just had, I don’t think this man really understands where I am at. “No, I don’t really wanna do that now,” I say to him. We watch some short skits and then I say it’s probably time for him to go. I ask that he lets me know when he gets back home.

We video game together a couple more times, he sends me more shirtless pics, I just kind of ignore him/don’t respond as much, as especially after his reaction of trying to sleep with me, I am officially no longer interested.

We went from #1 best Snapchat friends with a 12-day streak to nada, but oh well. He still looks at my stories sometimes but never initiates contact. I wish him the best and hope he gets what he wants.

#bumble #tampabay #dating #tampa #stpete #clearwater #florida

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heartfulofsighs · 5 years ago

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Baggage Claim Part 8

Description: Seunghoon back from a business trip only has a mind for growing his company. You are in the middle of running from the by the book life that was drowning you. When a minor inconvenience sets you in his path will you be the reason he eases up? And could he be what you need to get serious again

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10

Thanks to everyone who has given me such kind compliments about this story. It really means a lot. This part is more domestic then anything and I really enjoy it. Here’s hoping our two love birds stay this rosy lol. @negrowhat Always the most thanks to you for being my forever sounding board.

He looked down at the picture on his phone for the millionth time. His day had started out with a lot of promise. Seungyoon had sent a long email chocked full of actually very good ideas for his new factory opening. His other smaller accounts were going well also. But he still felt...lost, scared, and a little bit annoyed. You hadn’t called him back. He stared down harder at his phone. Was it something he had said? Was he too clingy? What could he have possibly done to put you off? He thought back to holding you. You had tucked your head under his chin while you watched tv and talked. It had all felt so ideal. He scratched his chin as he put his phone down, he must have been wrong, he must have missed something. “Hey grumpy.”

He looked up to see Mino standing in his doorway, sucking on a lollipop. Instead of being more annoyed he shrugged and leaned back in his office chair. “You know, you aren’t exactly a ray of sunshine on most days but today you’re especially stormy.” He pulled the candy from his mouth his face full of concern, “is everything ok?” He asked. Hoon toyed with the idea of brushing him off, minimizing his feelings because logically he was being irrational. He leaned forward towards his desk and muttered, “she hasn’t called me, texted me, anything since we went to the club.” He said clearly. Mino came into the room, each stepped measured until he sat across from Seunghoon in the other chair. “Maybe she’s just been busy?” He suggested. “I mean she’s from another country, maybe something’s come up for her back home?” He tried. “That’s true.” Hoon granted softly. He swallowed suddenly feeling so selfish for not thinking of that possibility. “I just wish,” he started before he stopped to rub his head, “I wish that I didn’t care.” He finished his voice much lower than before. It would truly be a fling if he didn’t care. If he could brush off your silence then it would all be so much easier. Mino grinned, his face morphing back to it’s usual one of mischief. He had no idea how deep Hoon’s crisis was. He leaned forward. “I think it’s cute that you care. I’ve never seen you so broken up over a girl…” “I’m not broken up.” He snapped. “Overly touchy?” Mino tried. He rolled his eyes and decided not to answer. “Do you wanna eat?” He asked. A change of subject and scenery would probably be good for him. He needed to refocus on what he had to do for work. He didn’t have time to worry over… His phone buzzed to life. He looked down at the screen, a message from a number he didn’t know across the screen. He read it out loud relief coloring his voice with every word. “Sorry, I smashed my phone after you dropped me off. Yeah lunch sounds good but can we make it tomorrow?” The message read. He let out a long sigh and Mino laughed at him. “All that fuss…” He started in between giggles, “and it was because she’s a little clumsy.” He laughed harder. Seunghoon found himself smiling with him. The joy that the explanation was so simple filled his chest. You hadn’t gotten tired of him in the span of a night. You had just smashed your phone. He waited for Mino to calm down before asking again, “do you wanna eat?” “Yeah, the new mall they built down the way has an amazing food court.” He suggested. He started on his lollipop again with a more thoughtful face, “I wanna try the gourmet noodle place they have there.” He said. “Fine,” Hoon stood up and started to brush off his pants, “then back to work.” He said. “Awww there’s my taskmaster.” Mino copied his motion, standing tall and stretching.

“Tell me everything you want to tell me.” Cherry had been so calm when you finally got home from Seunghoon’s house. She was calm but you felt like a bottled storm. Talking about him didn’t help. It felt like lightening strikes in your heart describing how the two of you couldn’t keep your hands off each other. There was no way you could pull off the “long tease,” like she advised. It happened fast and it was wonderful. You told her all of it but held the part back that made you feel so...odd. When you were done Cherry must have felt something was shifting for you, changing. She spared making you explain. “Well this is a lot to digest,” she had said. “I know, I’m still…” you swallowed and the storm felt like it was churning in your stomach. Making your hands shake and your throat dry. Cherry had said something, maybe she wanted to get started on dinner or she had somewhere to be and then you were alone. You laid on your bed and sighed. You wanted someone to tell you what was a good idea and what was a bad one. Apparently you weren’t doing too well. You hadn’t left home to fall in love. You put your hands over your face and tried to block the word out. Not love, not with a guy who you just met, who you just slept with, who you had gone on two dates with. You couldn’t be in love with him and that’s why it felt like there were thunderstorms raging in you. “Should have just given him the bag and forgotten about him.” You whispered softly to yourself. But that would have been too simple and if you were being honest too boring. You took your hands off of your face and stared at the ceiling. Your heart was hammering but not in the bad way it did when you were home. In fact the storm raging was scary but it wasn’t the feeling that you ran away from. You decided to wait and see because what else could you do?

The next day you smashed your phone. It seemed to happen in slow-mo. Pulling it from your pocket, the smooth black device slipping free from your hand and sailing between the stairs to its doom. The sound it made on the concrete made you wince. You stood on the landing in disbelief and of course the first thing you thought of was, “how am I gonna text Hoon?” He had sent you a text yesterday that you hadn’t replied to yet. He was going to think you were ignoring him or playing some stupid hard to get type game. It was only after you freaked out about that did you even consider how your mother was going to call you, or any of your friends. You didn’t move from your spot on the landing not until Cherry came out. “What happened? I thought you said you were going to mail your mom that letter?” She asked. “I dropped my phone,” you responded in a complete monotone. “What the hell am I gonna do?” You whispered. “We could go to the mall? And get a new cheap one?” She suggested. “I won’t have anyone’s number,” you scratched at your arm, “god I’m so stupid…” She took your hand and started to lead you down the stairs, her face all patience. “Just take a breath. We’ll get it all fixed.” She said. “This is gonna blow my budget,” you complained. “Maybe we’ll find an older model that isn’t too bad,” she tried, “and you’ll just have to put up a post on your social media asking people for their numbers.” It all sounded so simple once she laid the steps out. “And I’m sure Seunghoon has an office number posted on google or something, we can call there and get his cell,” she turned just as the two of you finished the last step. There was a pretty sizable smile on her face, “cause I know that’s who you’re really worried about contacting.” You couldn’t even argue with her. The train ride down to the mall was quick. You had been in the city long enough to recognize you were near Hoon’s building. Your heart picked up a little. “This place is brand new.” Cherry told you while she looked through her purse, “we’ll go to the phone store then grab lunch?” She pulled out a chapstick and looked at you for confirmation. “Yeah that sounds fine.” You said, “and can we get something sweet?” You added. “Like frozen yogurt?” She applied the chapstick liberally before leaning back in her seat, “oh I wanna look in the new home goods store they have too.” She said, “I want some potted plants.” She made a thoughtful face, “for the kitchen, or maybe the living room.” She added. She pulled out her phone and showed you how she might want to set the kitchen up. Talking about something mundane kept you from worrying about your phone and how much a new one could cost. It was a nice little break.

He ate his noodles and watched all the movement in the food court. People flowed back then forth through the new building, shopping bags in hand, faces beaming. It was gorgeous inside, all gleaming floors and modern shops. Everything felt upscale, even the food court. He wondered who had done the advertising for the opening? “The noodles are good?” Mino asked as he slurped. Hoon nodded, he was nearly finished with his bowl. His mind now fully focused on work. You had texted him, he would see you, that was all he had cared about. “So, where are you planning on taking her for lunch tomorrow?” Mino asked. He drank the broth from his bowl then set it down, “you have to take her somewhere nice,” “I’m going to.” Hoon insisted. He leaned his head on his hand and sighed, “or maybe I’ll just cook for her.” “You can’t cook.” Mino pointed out on a snort. “I can try.” He argued. “You just want her at your apartment,” he leaned forward, “you just want a little afternoon...treat.” “Shut-up.” He snapped. But that wasn’t such a bad thought either. Suddenly he was picturing it. Making you something nice, smiling at you from the other side of his table, then delicately getting up and closing the distance. Hand on your cheek, leaning down to kiss you. “Well back to work I guess.” He blinked, the sound of Mino’s voice butting right into his daydream. He stared at him barely able to contain his annoyance. “Yeah, I guess,” he granted. He had work and recipes to look up. Mino stood and adjusted his jacket. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and managed to produce another lollipop. “When did you start eating candy so much?” Hoon pushed his chair in genuinely curious. They walked out of the fancy noodle place into the crowd of new shoppers. “Haven’t you ever heard of an oral fixation?” Mino laughed, dodging around a small group of older ladies. “Since when have you had that?” He stopped walking suddenly struck by two people coming out of a jewelry store. He cocked his head, it definitely was you. You and another girl arm in arm, bright smiles on your faces. He started out towards you two without a word to Mino. The other girl saw him first. She stopped abruptly and pulled you up short with her, “sorry, sir we’re having sort of a girl’s day, we aren’t interested.” She said quickly. You laughed a little at her and shook your head. “Cherry,” your voice wasn’t quite a whisper, “this is Seunghoon.” Her eyes widened. She put her hand over her mouth and made what he thought sounded like a squealing sound. “Nice to meet you.” He said to her before he turned his attention to you completely. “So this is where you came for your new phone?” He watched you nod. Mino has reached the group, lollipop in his mouth “What a coincidence,” he commented around his candy. “Did you guys do a little shopping?” He peered down at Cherry, “I’m Mino, you must be the friend?” He beamed, “there’s always a really nice friend…” “Cherry, it’s nice to meet you.” She extended her hand. They shook but these were small details to Hoon. “What kind of phone did you get?” He asked. You pulled a small black phone from your pocket and showed it off, “I had to get a little cheap one so I wouldn’t blow my budget.” He looked it over more critically then he meant to. He wasn’t trying to judge, he was just concerned about being able to be in touch with you. “It’s nice.” He finally got out. “Well,” Mino began, “we left a lot of work at the office…” His hand patted Hoon on the back. He realized that he had just been standing watching you. He cleared his throat, “yeah, I guess I have to get going.” “But I’ll see you tomorrow right?” You asked him. The smile on your face sent his heart going a million miles an hour. He nodded, “yes, for lunch.” His answer satisfied you. Cherry waved as the two of you started to walk away “nice meeting you!” She called. “Wow, it really is like fate with you two,” Mino draped his arms over his shoulders and began to walk him towards their exit, “everywhere you go there she is.” “I’ve never been so lucky.” Hoon agreed.

“So what are you going to wear to lunch?” The two of you were walking your way back from the train station. Still arm in arm. She seemed almost giddy about your date with Seunghon. Seeing him at the mall had fueled her talk about fate and people being destined. You didn’t have the heart to stop her but you tried not to let the talk get to you head. A fling a fling a fling. Cherry stopped herself short of saying love most of the way but when she got close you felt the storm cloud in your stomach again. “Just jeans Cherry, he said it wasn’t going to be anywhere fancy.” You didn’t mean to sound whiny but there it was. “We can look at options when we get home.” She satisfied herself with her answer and went silent for the rest of your walk. It wasn’t until you got back into your apartment that she spoke up, “I have a really cute crop top that would look good with jeans.” “Can we try on stuff later?” You tried. You didn’t have the energy to try on one piece of clothing then another. “I should probably call my mom.” You untangled your am from hers, “just to let her know that I’ve handled the phone thing.” “Oh yeah, no problem.” Cherry rubbed her arm and sighed, “I should probably check and see if I have any job emails. I’ve been neglecting that inbox.” She said on a laugh. The silence in your room was jarring. Once again here were your thoughts whispering to you how much of a bad idea seeing Hoon continuously was. In the mall you thought your heart was going to beat its way out of your chest. You had barely registered Mino was with him. That was bad right? To be so focused on one person when you had no business forming ties? You sat on your bed and tried once again not to think about it. You dialed your mother’s number and listened to the ringing noise with all your concentration. “Hello?” “Mom it’s me!” You waited for her to process. “Baby? What number is this?” She asked. You could imagine the look of confusion on her face. “ I smashed my phone and had to get another one.” You explained, “save this number ok?” “Smashed your phone? Oh my god, you said you were being careful out there…” An eyeroll, you were sure her eyes were rolling. “It was an accident.” You said. You swallowed the storm clouds making their way up your throat. “Besides your phone how’s it going out there?” She asked. You flopped down onto your bed. “Fine.” You kicked your legs in frustration, “everything’s fine.” “You sure baby?” She didn’t sound convinced. You closed your eyes, “positive, I’m having fun. This time off was just what I needed.” She paused and you thought you were caught. Well you hoped you had been caught, if she pried it would be like opening a floodgate. The storm would erupt from you and maybe then she could tell you if what you were doing was the stupidest- “I’m so glad you’re feeling better baby.” She said.You clamped your mouth shut and nodded as if she was there to see it. “Because that’s all I wanted...I really wanted you to feel better.”

Technically you didn’t feel worse then when you had first left home. You did feel very different, the crushing feeling was gone. That was old news. You felt alive and more vibrant than you ever had back home. Cherry couldn’t help you get dressed like she wanted. There were actually a few jobs waiting in her inbox that you convinced her to take. They sounded right up her alley and they paid well. “It couldn’t hurt to go.” You had said. “I guess you’re right. I haven’t done too much since I’ve been sick...and I want some new booties.” She had fluffed her hair and put on lipstick in the mirror while she talked. “You’ll be ok catching the train down there?” She asked. “I’ll be fine. You don’t have to worry.” You assured her, “two trains then two blocks and I’m there.” You reiterated. “Good, have fun, tell me everything when you get home.” “Will do.” You handed her keys over. “You have some condoms in your purse right?” She stopped just short of the door to ask you. “Cherry...really?” You shook your head surprised but not really surprised. “Lunch at his house...don’t act like you didn’t think about a little afternoon delight.” She wriggled her eyebrows at you before turning to go, “better safe than sorry.” She said as she opened the door to leave. You watched her go without another word. Two trains then two blocks and you were walking up to his building. You thought you looked nice, a pink crop top, your more shapely jeans nothing too daring. He had obviously told the doorman that you were coming. The small man stood up quickly and walked towards the bank of elevators. “Good Afternoon, floor 15 for you ma’am?” He asked. You nodded and he pressed the button for you, “have a good day.” He said before he pulled his arm back quick enough to let the doors close. You stared at yourself in the elevator door’s reflection and sighed. Did it look like you had tried too hard? You turned one way then the other, maybe the crop top was a bad idea? You put your hand over the sliver of your tummy that was exposed, maybe too much skin? The elevator dinged and you realized you didn’t have time to worry. When the door opened Hoon was there leaning against the far wall. He was looking down at his phone, chewing his lip as he scrolled. “Hey.” You stepped off the elevator. He looked at you and smiled brightly. There went your heart. It thudded hard in your chest as he got closer. He shoved his phone into his back pocket to free up his hands. It felt like you were watching him move in slow motion. He raised his arms and very gently took your face in his hands. His thumb stroked your cheek and it felt like he was studying you, taking you all in. Your heart somehow got louder as he leaned down. “You look really cute.” He said softly before he pecked you on the lips and let you go. He took your hand instead and started to lead you down the hall like it was the most normal thing. “I hope you like pasta,” he walked at an even pace down the carpeted hallway, “well pasta with shrimp.” He added, “because making meatballs didn’t work out for me.” “I like both,” you granted. He stopped at one of the last doors and entered the code. It beeped and he pulled you inside. This time you actually got to look around. He had good taste, simple but with hints of color throughout. It was bright in the living room and you could see the kitchen with all it’s perfect stainless steel appliances. You had been here before. Been ushered through this room before and down the hallway to the right. While he was trying his best to unzip your dress and you were whining at him because you wanted to keep kissing him. He stood patiently until you were done with your shoes, “sit at the table, the noodles are almost done boiling. Then I just have to combine everything.” “How long did it take you?” You followed him to the kitchen, “all morning?” “Well I may or may not have tried making the sauce for the first time last night.” He stood in front of the stove, “but some things...didn’t exactly go my way…” He admitted. “But you were determined,” you stood next to him and peered around his shoulder. It all smelled good. You were actually pretty proud of him, it looked like he had gone through a lot of effort. “Yeah, once I started I couldn’t give up.” He picked up a big wooden spoon. “Plus I knew I was on the right track because this sauce smelled much better.” He stated proudly. You couldn’t stop yourself from laughing. “You taste tested it too right?” You asked. He dipped the spoon into the sauce and started to float it towards your face, his hand tucked under it just incase it dripped. You blew a little on it before you tasted it. It was good, thankfully you didn’t have to fake the “yum” that came out of your mouth. “It’s good?” He asked. “Really good.” You said.

He had in his mind how he wanted everything to go. He would wow you with his cooking skills, then wow you again with his conversation skills, then, when you were all happy and full he even had a present for you. His plan purposely did not include touching you, because he realized the danger of it. But the not touching you part had gone out the window as soon as he saw you step off the elevator. He had to at least peck you, there wasn’t any danger in that really. Mostly. He combined the shrimp and the sauce just like he had seen in the video he watched. You were close to his side, watching. “Do you wanna get out the garlic butter and the french bread?” He asked. “It’s in the fridge.” He said. You moved immediately without a word. Sauce, shrimp, then drain the pasta- “Seunghoon.” He turned to the sound of your voice. “It’s on the second shelf,” You were staring at the photo of yourself that had fallen out of your suitcase when Mino opened it. “How did you get this?” You asked. You pulled it from magnet confused, “this is from my birthday two years ago?” You said. He swallowed, his heart in his throat as he tried to come up with what to say. “Man, this was such a good day, look how happy I am.” You didn’t sound upset. It was more like you couldn’t believe it was you. “Mino opened your suite case to see if there was anyway to tell where you were staying,” he started. “And the picture fell out?” You finished. “I found it under my couch, after we had given each other’s bags back,” He turned the burner down on the stove before he faced you completely, “I was under the impression that I would never see you again and I didn’t want to throw it away. So I kept it there...I’m sorry.” He was praying that you weren’t upset. You sighed as you looked at yourself before you put the photo back in place right next to the photo strip from the boardwalk. “You don’t have to be sorry.” You said, then you were opening the fridge as if nothing was wrong. He watched you get the bread and the butter out to set on the counter. You cut the loaf in half effortlessly then started to spread the butter. “I guess when you saw me at the beer booth it was a bit of a shock.” You said. He turned back to the stove, relieved that you were talking again. “I thought I was seeing things.” He said, “but then there you were saying that ugly tagline, under that god awful picture of the genie.” He laughed and you laughed with him. “Imagine having to say that the whole night.” You said, “but I guess it worked out to be a good thing.” “Because here we are.” He said as he stirred. He walked over to your side of the kitchen and pulled out the strainer, “the video mentioned something about al dente...which I think means harder noodles?” “I’ll eat them either way.” You said as an answer, “I’m not picky.” He didn’[t need to direct you when it came to the bread. You got the over started and put the loaf in by yourself. That freed you up to watch him carefully strain the noodles. “Make sure you shock it with cold water.” You said. “Ok,” He turned the faucet on cold, “go sit, I’ll serve you.” He said. You stayed by his side ignoring the instruction and he didn’t want to fight you. He got two servings together while you pulled the french bread out. He even had enough spring mix for salad. When the two of you did finally sit down it was together. “I don’t have wine,” He realized flatly. “Pour me some juice then, it’s no big deal.” You said. He did with a small smile because this was the only thing you allowed him to serve you. When he sat down again and looked across at you he felt that same warm feeling he felt when he woke up and you were in his arms. You were eating, laughing, smiling. He couldn’t help but notice it was almost as big as the picture on the fridge. He felt more proud of that then the food turning out well. He had done that hadn’t he? He could claim that smile as an accomplishment. The more he looked at you eating across from him, the more he was certain that this wasn’t casual at all. This had to be love.

#winner fanfic #deputy lee #baggage claim #Baggage Claim Series #sfw this time but next time who knows #thanks for bearing with me #eboni especially she's the best #kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction #my favorite series honestly #lee seunghoon #hoony #winner seunghoon #hoony fanfic

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out-of-this-dimension · 6 years ago

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Star Fox 2, Star Wolf Character Description Analysis

Star Fox 2 has been a mystery to the fans for years and even though the game was formally released recently, there’s still a lot we don’t know about the game. Fortunately, though, with it’s release we’ve gotten more information on some of the character iterations within the game. I was recently shown the Star Wolf character descriptions on a Discord server this last week and thought I’d share my thoughts/observations.

Wolf O’Donnell -- As it was pointed out to me by @androsswannabe, Wolf’s description is actually very similar to what we know of Pigma in the later games. This makes me wonder if we were supposed to get any form of dialogue at some point about Wolf formerly being part of the Cornerian Army, or maybe even a friend of James’s. Who knows, really, it’s all speculation at this point but I do find it interesting they chose to talk about his weak loyalty out of everything. I find a lot of Wolf in SF2 to be really inspiring for Wolf’s attire later in the series. Particularly his spiky shoulder pad motif that definitely carries on in Star Fox Assault and Command (and even into spin-offs like the Super Smash Bros series). Obviously his scarred eye was replaced for an eyepatch on the other eye later on and his coloration was changed have less of a fade between the white and grey. Note the yellow sclera of his eyes. Kind of glad that went away in later games.

Leon Powalski -- I find Leon’s one-liner to be arguably the most interesting out of the four members of the Star Wolf team. We know later on that Leon is meant to be Venomian (at least, according to Starlink). I wonder if this is to imply that Cornerians view Venomians as “aliens”, which seems... kind of dehumanizing (as dehumanizing as you can get when referring to space animals, that is). I actually had a dumb moment and forgot what the word “inscrutable” meant (because I thought it meant “cruel”) and that only added to the enigma, if I’m honestly. According to a quick Google search, it means “impossible to understand or interpret” which feels incredibly ambiguous. Is it hard to understand him because of his sinister mentality? Or is it hard to understand because he’s an “alien”? Is... Is Leon supposed to have a thick accent or maybe speak in another language?

Pigma Dengar -- Much like Wolf’s description, Pigma’s seems misplaced-- to the point in which I wonder if Wolf and Pigma’s characterizations just got reversed at some point in SF64′s development. While I would agree that Pigma is arrogant and cruel, I feel as though these words really wouldn’t be anyone’s first picks when they go to describe what they know of Pigma later in the games. However, it is important to note that this iteration of Pigma has nothing to do with James’s disappearance and never was part of the Star Fox team (that we know of, I guess). I find most interesting that they say he’s incredibly strong, which I had kind of headcanonned anyways, but that sort of confirmation made me feel good.

Algy -- What I find the most interesting about Algy’s description is that it’s definitely the longest of the four but he’s the character that got scrapped. His description seems to imply he’s an underhanded character who resorts to whatever lowblows he has to in order to win. Which, I really think you can argue about any of the Star Wolf characters, but considering Nintendo is choosing these statements to highlight their most prominent features, I find it interesting. The way the description reads makes me think he’s good at analysis -- which would pit him up nicely against Slippy as a rival. Another random note about Algy: Even after they had the chance to formally give him a last name, they didn’t. And in later concept art shown for SF2, he’s absent entirely in favor of Andrew. Poor Algy. Maybe one day we’ll see him and his deviousness again.

#star fox 2 #star wolf #wolf o'donnell #pigma dengar #algy #leon powalski #analysis #queue queue queue

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harryandmolly · 7 years ago

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like the back of my hand - 2020-2021 (final)

Summary: a relationship within a collection of moments

Warnings: language, NSFW, light BDSM

Word count: a hefty 12k

January 7th, 2020

“C’mon, if I don’t get pics of the boy, I at least want pics of the car,” she whines, shivering a little when she feels Shawn’s hand brush over her inner thigh. He’s looking down at her skin fondly, tracing her stretch marks. She reaches up and tangles her fingers in the back of his hair, making him smile wistfully.

“Google BMW i8. It’s white,” Lauren responds with a nervous giggle.

She takes her hand back from Shawn’s hair with a mumble of protest from him. She obeys Lauren’s instructions and gasps into the phone. Shawn glances over and does the same.

“This is his fucking car?!” Shawn whines.

“Yo, dude, is he loaded?!” Lilly cries.

“I know, it’s crazy, people like, wave when he drives around in it.”

“That is the sexiest car I’ve ever seen,” Shawn declares, squinting at it on the screen, “Does it have gull wing doors?”

“Yep,” Lauren confirms. Shawn’s grip tightens on Lilly’s thigh. She exhales sharply and looks down. He tilts his glance up to her devilishly. She watches his face as his fingers dance closer to the apex of her thighs. Her breathing shudders. She lifts the phone away from her mouth, but it doesn’t matter, she doesn’t know what Lauren is saying anyways.

“He asked me to be his girlfriend,” Lauren giggles. Lilly does hear that, managing to look away from Shawn as he runs his middle finger down the center of her thin Hershey’s Kisses boxers.

“Oh, Lo, yay! We have a boyfriend!” Lilly squeals, smiling up at Shawn. He nods placatingly, focusing on the task at hand. He traces the trail of skin above her boxers, dipping just his fingertips underneath.

Suddenly, he rolls on top of her, his body covering her legs. She slaps a hand over her mouth, listening carefully as Lauren tells the story of her new boyfriend’s family barbeque. Meanwhile, Shawn busies himself by tugging at the waistband of her shorts until she lifts her hips obediently. He pulls them off and kisses a jagged, wet line up the inside of her right leg until his face is above her underwear. She’s breathing heavy again and running a hand through her hair.

“Lo, babe, I’m sorry, I gotta call you back later. Shawn’s face is literally between my legs and I can’t concentrate. Ok. Bye.”

She hangs up as Shawn’s surprised laugh bubbles up from deep in his chest. “I can’t believe you just told her that.”

She shrugs, “You know how we are. Plus, you started this, bucko. You got turned on by a car.”

He nods, lowering his lips to her center that has partially soaked through her pink and white striped panties. “Fair.”

++++++++++

January 18th, 2020

She holds Shawn’s hand tighter as they round the corner and he knows it’s more for her than it is for him. Her other hand is separating some hair out over the front of her shoulder and tightening the line of her lipstick around her mouth. He snickers.

“Stop primping,” he orders, widening his eyes at her playfully.

“I just want to make a good impression on your friend,” she teases, bumping his upper thigh with her hip. He shakes his head and lets go of her hand in favor of swinging an arm around her shoulders. He tells himself it’s not possessive.

Niall is standing toward the back of the green room with a Stella in one hand and gesturing animatedly with the other. Lilly thinks it feels Irish in here, but maybe it’s just because she likes the idea of that. Childish Gambino is playing from the speakers but is only barely audible above the rowdy room. Since it’s LA, the guest list is larger than usual and there are more friends around. Lilly is prepared to wait her turn to talk to the Irish prince, but Shawn, ever so politely, moves them up to walk right into Niall’s story as he finishes telling it.

He’s shorter than she imagines, probably because she’s used to toting around Shawn the jolly green giant. His hair is done for the show and he’s in smartly tailored grey trousers and a navy short-sleeved button up. His attention falls to them immediately. Lilly’s heart smashes against her ribs when his big blue eyes turn on her.

“Ay!” he chirps, looking up from her face to Shawn’s. Shawn releases her to complete the bro hug transaction before holding Lilly out as an offering.

“This is Lilly, my girlfriend. You probably guessed that,” Shawn chuckles awkwardly, unsure how this interaction is supposed to go. Niall puts his fan face on and reaches out for a hug.

“Nice to meet ya, thanks for comin’, love.”

“Thanks for having us,” she says, managing to keep her voice level. His eyes are so blue. She suddenly has an unwelcome flash of her history of stanning Niall from her carrot days shrieking at their cover of “Use Somebody” on the Up All Night tour to imagining him sweeping her off her feet while she backpacked across Europe after graduating college.

“So you’re “Her,”” Niall giggles, tilting his head at Shawn with a dare in his eyes. Shawn laughs.

“I am she,” she confirms, face going red.

“’S a great album. Or, what I’ve heard of it. I’m so stoked to do the song. Have you heard it yet?” he asks her. Another flash of a video she has on her phone of him doing the famous crotch grab during “Heart Attack” in Boston.

“She hasn’t heard any of it,” Shawn pipes up, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear as it got stuck in her bright pink lipstick. Niall’s eyebrows shoot up, interested.

“Because I want to be surprised. I want to hear it all when it’s done. I want to sit down with my man and a bottle of wine and cry through the whole thing,” she laughs, reaching up to lace her fingers with Shawn’s on her shoulder.

“You’re not even going to listen to the singles when they drop?”

She shakes her head, looking back at Niall with a giggle in her throat.

“Wow, that’s… actually really romantic,” Niall admits with a bob of his head, tugging back a sip of beer, “So Shawn tells me you’re a Directioner.”

Shawn grins, ready for “let’s embarrass Lilly” time. Lilly huffs a sigh, nibbling her lower lip before she remembers the pigment she doesn’t want on her teeth while meeting one of her heroes.

“I… dabbled,” she jokes hopelessly, unable to sell it, “Huge fan. Crazy fan. I mean, I never stalked you at airports and stuff but, y’know…”

Shawn’s shaking his head, his chest rumbling behind her. She’s making it worse than he imagined. Niall’s used to it and pleased to hear it at a normal volume and from a pretty girl.

“We’ll get back in the saddle again, I promise you.” He nudges her arm and she swears she’s on fire.

He offers them drinks and she’s surprised by how much attention they’re getting given how many other people probably came to see him. Niall asks about DC, about college, about LA. He asks a couple curious questions about how she felt about the album morphing into a concept album about their relationship. She doesn’t give her usual PC answer.

“It’s a little scary. I’ve told him this. God forbid we break up and there’s just this… ode to me hanging over his head for the rest of his career.”

Niall nods. “’S brave. Also a good reason not to break up.”

She looks over her shoulder to Shawn who is enjoying seeing her like this. She blows him a kiss. He winks at her.

“Not worried about it right now,” she admits, cocking her head at Niall and laughing to herself. If her 16-year-old self could see her now…

“You two are adorable,” Niall murmurs a little wistfully. Lilly blushes hard, nodding.

“I’m the luckiest woman alive.” She says it with a sincerity that rocks her own boat a little. She’s sort of glad Shawn’s engaged in conversation elsewhere.

The pre-party gets the wrap-up signal from Niall’s tour manager. As people are saying their last goodbyes, Shawn reaches out for Niall’s arm. “Hey man, can we take a picture?”

Niall agrees quickly and they nudge Lilly in between them. Shawn hands his phone off and they take a few.

“God, I hope my face isn’t beet red, my heart is pounding. Fuck, my inner teenager is having a fit,” she admits, ducking her head in shame at Niall. He bursts out laughing at her honesty and brings her into his arms. He rocks her gently as she covers her face. Shawn takes more pictures.

“Thanks again for comin’, enjoy the show. I’ll see ya soon. We should go out when we record the song, yeah?”

Lilly nods eagerly, waving at him as he’s swept away for pre-show rituals. She turns back to Shawn, shaken and taking deep breaths.

“You did pretty good, I’ve definitely seen worse,” he teases, pulling her in for a kiss. It’s quick and gentle because they’re still around people. She swipes the color off his lower lip as he makes a face.

“Bad choice of lip color, sorry,” she murmurs.

“Had to look good to meet your mans,” he shoots back, looking smug instead of threatened.

“I can’t believe I just met him, I could cry,” she squeaks, pressing her face into his chest, “I’m going to feel the aftershocks of this star-strike for weeks.”

Shawn laughs and leads her toward the group of green room-goers that are being led to their VIP section. They spend the concert in each other’s arms and he forgets for a while how big her crush on Niall is until Niall spots them in the crowd and waves. She tightens up against him and almost actually swoons. Later that night, she sucks him off and he comes so hard he tears up.

+++++++++

March 22nd, 2020

Shawn’s been gone for two weeks doing album press so when he gets home, Lilly wants to show him a good time. She’s been dreaming about making him squirm underneath her, willing him to submit even though he’s got over a foot of height and at least 40 pounds of muscle on her. She doesn’t know if he’d be into it but her dreams are hers and they make her miss him even more.

When he walks in the door to his condo, she’s waiting for him at the top of the stairs. She doesn’t get a word out before he’s swinging her up over his shoulder and racing for the bedroom.

“Guess what I finished reading on the plane?” he pants, tossing her roughly on the mattress. Her eyes blow wide open.

“The Windflower?”

He nods, a look of sleepy lust on his face as he starts tugging at the buttons of his shirt. She makes a low whining noise and sits up to start at his belt buckle. He removes her hands gently but purposefully. She looks up and audibly gasps at the simmer in his eyes.

“No, my little windflower, tonight you’re mine to ravish.”

On anyone else’s lips, the words would sound cheesy and hollow. Maybe she just missed him too much. But when he says it, her head falls back a little, overwhelmed.

“Oh my god, you’ve got to be kidding me,” she purrs. When she musters the strength to look back up, he’s shedding his jeans and staring at her like a starving man. She whimpers.

He reaches for her feet and pulls her down the bed to him. He drops one leg to the mattress and she’s so in shock that she bounces a little, boneless and all too willing for him. He lifts her delicate foot to his lips, pressing his mouth to the tattoo on her cool skin. She closes her eyes, relishing the feeling of his detailed attentions, giggling when his teeth graze the soft flesh under her knee cap. When she opens her eyes again, he’s there hovering over her, hands planted on either side of her head.

“You’d make a very sexy pirate lord,” she comments, embarrassed by her ragged breath. He gives her a lopsided grin.

“Thank you, milady.” With that, he lowers his body onto hers and gets to work, making her feel every inch the lady she is.

Later that afternoon, when the sun is hot even through the curtains and they’ve abandoned the sheets in favor of lying naked together above the blankets, she looks up at him. He’s lying there looking like the goddamn statue of David, all curls and bone structure and hard-earned muscle. She runs a finger down his thigh to get his attention. He looks up from his study of the pillow under his arm and smiles placidly at her.

“What do you like, Shawn?”

He looks surprised. “Hmm?”

“We’ve spent months exploring my sexuality. And I realize now I don’t think I’ve really asked you what you like.”

He swallows, going just a shade pink. “I dunno. I like you.”

She breathes a laugh against her resting place on his stomach and watches the muscles contract deliciously.

He chews on the inside of his lip. It’s true, their crusade had been pretty centered around her. She was entirely in control of every situation, guiding him to please her as she became ready, unfurling in his hands like soft ribbon. He had never been a part of something like that before, that careful exploration, simplified and broken down to such innocence that kind of took his breath away. He was happy to be there for her that way, but he found something in himself he didn’t know was there.

He liked being at her disposal. He liked her using his body and his love to find herself. In fact, as she found herself, he did the opposite. He got lost in it and that clouded lack of focus somehow brought him clarity. He didn’t have to do anything other than be there and watch – he didn’t have to make decisions or voice opinions. This process of theirs wasn’t meant to be for him, but it served him, nonetheless.

“I like… being there for you. I like—” he stops to take a deep, shuddering breath, “I really like being under your control.”

The words stop her in her tracks. She keeps her eyes down on the plane of his chest, tracing her fingers up the inside of his arm to watch the muscles twitch. She blinks. She likes it, too.

“Has that been something you’ve tried before?” she asks, rolling her head so her chin is propped up on his sternum. He brushes his fingertips through the hair at her crown.

“No. I mean, a little. There were… maybe two one night stands where I took a back seat. But nothing like what we’ve been doing. I… really like what we’ve been doing.”

She lets her eyes graze over the large, gorgeous man underneath her, feeling him shiver under the weight of her gaze. When she reaches his face, he’s vulnerable and honest and she wants to swim in it.

“Do you want me to take care of you, Shawn?” she asks him quietly, feeling her heart race against his stomach. His breath catches. He nods.

She carefully lifts herself off his torso, tracing the rosy pattern her weight leaves against his skin. He lies there still, waiting for her. She’s deciding how to proceed when he clears his throat.

“Do you… I mean, would you want to tie up my hands?”

Her eyes snap up to his. The same vulnerability has multiplied. His heart is resting in her hands. She nods eagerly.

“Is that ok?” she whispers.

“Yes, please.”

She pushes herself off the bed on both hands. He goes to sit up and stops when her hard blue eyes meet his. “Stay there.”

He swallows and lies back down. She wanders naked into his closet where she’s left some things over the last few months. She pulls a short black satin robe off the hanger and slides it on, flipping her waist-length hair out from under the sheer lace back. She pads back out and finds him where she left him. She bites her lip, a little drunk on the power.

As she meanders back to the bed, slowly to make him sweat a little, she starts tugging on the black satin sash that tickles her legs until it releases from the rope’s loops and rests in her hands.

“This ok?” she asks him. He croaks something in assent, feeling the blush percolate under his skin when she reaches the edge of the bed. She climbs up on her knees and he admires the taut skin over well-worked muscle of her thick thighs. He finds his hand brushing up against the outside of her leg. She quirks a grin.

“Touch me now, babe, because you won’t be able to for a while.”

His heart stomps against his ribs. He giggles shyly and takes his hand back, lifting his arms over his head before she has to ask him. She looks pleased with his willingness. She scoots up the bed to cross his wrists over one another, looping the soft fabric around a couple times before she begins fastening the ends to the wooden headboard. He tilts his head back to watch, growing even a little harder at the sight of himself in restraints. He wonders if she’s wet yet and realizes with a short groan that he won’t know until she wants him to.

She leaves the robe on and climbs over him, straddling his hips, watching his body heave with the effort of his labored breath. She starts with her curious fingers, tracing patterns around his hairline, down his temples, massaging gently. His eyes shut and his lips part. He feels her nails graze over the end of his nose, making him smile until her fingers dance over his lips. Instinctively, he opens his mouth and her ring and middle finger drop in to the knuckle. He lavishes them with his tongue, opening his eyes to see her shocked and a little shaky with arousal as she perches over him.

“Holy shit,” she mumbles weakly, eyebrows pulling together at the sight of him like this, all pink and breathy and willing and sucking on her fingers. She lets him for as long as she can stand it, taking her hand back and shifting her legs down his lap. His cock is hard and waiting for her on his stomach, but she has a long way to go and a lot to admire before she’ll get there.

She drags her wet lips down from his temple to his jaw, hearing him pant in her ear while she traces the throbbing vein in his neck to where it disappears under his collarbone.

“Can I mark you up?” she whimpers. His eyes slam shut, brow wrinkling at the tone of her voice.

“Uh huh.”

She lets her whims guide her, leaving rosy ovular shapes wherever she feels like it – on his left shoulder, the inside of his right bicep, the ridge of muscle where his pectoral meets his ribcage. She leaves no inch of skin unloved, but now he thinks she’s completely lost in him and he has to start begging her or he’s gonna lose it.

“Baby, please,” he moans, shuddering when her fingers again bypass his aching length as they venture up his inner thigh to his belly button. The darkness of her eyes when her gaze snaps up to his makes him realize she was not lost, not at all. She was careful and calculated and he should’ve known. He knows her meticulous nature as well as his own.

She does get curious, though, and runs a fingertip so lightly down the underside of his cock that, if he wasn’t so absolutely fucked for her, he might not even feel it. As it is, the air whistles out his nose. He looks down to watch her sink her teeth into his inner thigh, sliding her tongue against the skin. He cries out, rutting up hard into nothing. She plants her hands on his hips and shoves down, pinning him.

“It’s ok, baby, I’ve got you,” she assures him, her voice secure and level. His head falls back and he stares up at his wrists, bound for her.

She leaves soft, plucking kisses over his intercostal muscles while her hand whispers down over his hot skin to wrap around the base of his dick. He gasps at the contact and bucks up into her hand a little. She raises an eyebrow at him, her lips pursed.

“Sorry,” he croaks, shaking his head a little, “Sorry.”

She runs the pad of her thumb up the same trail she took before, shifting her hand to grip the head and squeeze. He turns his face into his arm and mumbles unintelligible profanities.

Suddenly, her hand is gone and she’s holding his shoulders for leverage as she repositions her body up over him. He’s blinking, wondering if he could really be so lucky as to—

The thought cuts off hard and cold in his brain when she lowers herself so her core, soaked and ready for him, rests on his cock.

“Oh, Lil,” he moans helplessly, feeling his toes curl.

She flicks her hips so her wetness swipes up and back down again, too quickly for any real relief. He’s gasping air desperately and she’s got her hands planted on his chest for support as she watches herself tease him. He’s being so good, keeping his hips on the bed even though she can see him straining for release.

“Are you ok?” she whispers, tilting her head at him. His wide eyes, all pupil now, look up into hers. He nods gently, assuring her it’s not too much, that he trusts her, that he wants this.

After a few more teasing strokes, Lilly getting the stimulation she craves from grinding her clit on his length, she knows she can’t stop herself anymore. She sits up on her knees and takes him by the base again, positioning him at her entrance.

They both watch, entranced, as her body accepts the tip of his cock. As she inhales, he exhales. She clenches around the head experimentally.

“Oh my fucking god,” he hisses, body tensing. She slides down another inch and does the same. By the same he’s fully sheathed in her, he’s hiccupping swears into his arm.

She takes what she needs from him, sliding up and down slowly at first, getting used to him filling her out as beautifully as he does.

“God, Shawn, you feel amazing.”

He whimpers in return, still so obedient, putty in her hands. She thrusts faster, digging her knees into his mattress and throwing her head back. He watches her hair soar, catching the light and throwing gold strands over her arms. It doesn’t last, though, because she’s lurching forward to change angles and press her chest to his as she fucks him and her hair falls forward again to tickle his stomach, adding to the overwhelming litany of sensations.

“Lilly, Lil, please, I’m gonna come.”

She moans at the raspy growl his words take on. She lifts her face from the crook of his neck and that devilish look from before is back and better than ever.

“Not before me, you’re not.”

She swings down on him with purpose, racing for the finish line. He’s immersed in watching her until she stills her hips, mouth falling open as her eyes snap shut.

“Oh, oh Shawn!”

He’s reeling from her pleasure and isn’t ready when the wave of his orgasm knocks him down under her. He screams and it’s like nothing she’s ever heard. He’s out of control now, hips bucking wildly up against her until she loses her balance on his chest and flattens on top of him. As he roils beneath her, she hastens to untie him, unable to stand the absence of his hands anymore. As soon as he’s loose, he rips his hands from the constraints and holds her fast against him. The storm has passed but he’s twitching and sputtering breath and she’s soothing him as much as she can with soft pecks against his neck and warm caresses down his arms.

He falls silent and she lifts herself away, smiling at the noise of discontent they both automatically make at the loss of contact. She stumbles into the bathroom for a damp washcloth, cleaning herself up and making her way back to him to do the same.

He’s never felt more satiated in his life as he lies there limp, watching her wipe him up. She tosses the washcloth away, making a “swish” sound when it lands in his hamper. He barely has the energy to chuckle.

She’s perched next to him, cross-legged and flushed from head to toe, eyes sparkling.

“Was that too much?” she asks, resting a hand on his chest. He flinches a little and her eyes dart to his.

“That was so perfect,” he promises, “Thank you. Thank you for… doing that for me.”

“I really enjoyed that, if you couldn’t tell,” she chuckles, folding herself down beside him and resting her head inside his arm.

“I have a question,” he murmurs after a few minutes of comfortable silence.

“Shoot.”

“Do you still have your Catholic school uniform?”

++++++++++

May 16th, 2020

She’s plucking curiously at his 1959 Taylor, sitting on the edge of the air mattress, the only thing left in her room. He’s leaning on the mantle of her fireplace looking around at the naked walls and clean floors. He sighs and slides his phone back in his pocket, pitching himself off the wall to climb onto the bed behind her. He cradles her between his legs and smiles at the memory of the first time they sat like this and the electricity he felt positioning her fingers to play his song.

He hears what’s supposed to be “Surface,” one of her favorites that didn’t make the cut for his upcoming album. It doesn’t sound the same because she doesn’t know the notes and can’t play the instrument. He likes watching her anyway. When she exhales and goes to move the guitar out of her lap, he latches onto it, trapping her between himself and the instrument. He sits up straighter and slides an arm around her hips to drag her flush against his chest. He starts playing around her, feeling her laugh as the guitar’s vibrations sing through her torso.

She tilts her head back onto his shoulder and watches his face as he mouths the words and head bobs his way through the melody he worked so hard on. When the last note fades out, she noses at his jaw for attention and greedily accepts the kiss he offers.

“Last night in your house,” he whispers, his eyes wandering the room again.

She’s quiet for a minute. “Is it ok that I’m sad?”

He nods. “You get sad when the landscapers cut the coconuts off the palm trees by the pool. I’m surprised you’re not sobbing into my chest.”

She half-smiles wistfully. “Everything happened here. I took a little tiny life in Virginia and brought it out here and it grew and grew into something… something I know that I could tell my 13-year-old self about and she’d be so fuckin’ proud of me.”

He moves the guitar off her thighs and cuddles her close.

“She’s not the only one,” he murmurs into her neck, kissing a fading mark he left there days ago.

They make love on the air mattress that night and Lilly cries a little as he snuggles her to sleep. They wake up, make one last batch of coffee in the French press she’s broken half a dozen times and he sits downstairs and finishes packing her suitcase while she shares an emotional goodbye with her roommates of the last two years. Sammi will be by to help unpack tomorrow with her new boyfriend that Lilly and Shawn haven’t gotten to grill yet. The others will be women she knows she won’t see again soon.

They pack up the last few Goodwill bags and leave her key inside. He drops her suitcase in her trunk and walks back up to find her staring at the empty pool, clutching the wing of the gold dragon in her hand, looking studious. He notes the slice of thin plastic superglued to a hole in the wing she repaired on the day of the 4th of July party.

“That was a good patch, it held for two years,” he points out. She nods listlessly.

“I love this pool,” she whispers, her voice cracking.

“I know.”

“This pool brought me you.” She covers her mouth as the tears gather heavy in her eyes. He stands beside her at the edge and threads a hand in the back of her hair. He rubs her scalp gently as she tries to compose herself.

“Hey, I have an idea.”

She looks over at him as he shuffles his phone out of his pocket and opens the camera app.

“Let’s take a selfie in front of the pool, where it all started.”

Her heart swells. She nods and steps in next to him as he decides on the best angle. After some muttering and shifting, he pulls her into his chest by her shoulders, arm wrapped over her hair securely. He holds the phone high to catch as much of the pool in the background as possible. They smile and though she complains her eyes are red with tears, they agree it’s cute. He posts it on Instagram with the caption: this pool’s been good to us. Peace out, Burbank!

He decides to wait until they’re at their new house in Hollywood to tell her he’s already inflated the replica of the golden dragon he ordered. It’s waiting for them in their new pool.

++++++++++

Rolling Stone Magazine, June 2020

My first thought upon entering the warm and comfortable, but still sprawling Hollywood Hills home is this: Shawn Mendes has got it made.

At 21-years-old, he has four multiplatinum records under his belt and has played for over 120,000 people at once in festivals thousands of miles away from his hometown of Pickering, Ontario. It’s a far cry from his start covering artists like Ed Sheeran and John Mayer on the now-defunct 6-second video app, Vine.

But what he’s really enthusiastic about right now is this house. He greets me at the door in his now signature second skin-like black jeans and a Maple Leafs t-shirt. He’s built and beautiful, his face cherubic in its innocent perfection, and it’s easy to see why he leaves a mob of shrieking girls in his wake wherever he goes.

He gives me the grand tour and it is stunning. I comment on how remarkably put together it looks, considering how recently he and his girlfriend moved in. He’s proud of that and offers little anecdotes about hanging art and moving furniture as we make our way through the 6 bedroom home. I might’ve expected something more outrageous for a 21-year-old pop star, a la Justin Bieber, but knowing Shawn for five minutes gives me enough context to understand he wouldn’t go for that.

I see hints of her, one of the main reasons I’m here, throughout the house – a tiny pair of gold flip flops by the pool, family photos of a smiley strawberry blonde in Disney World, a box of nail polish on a coffee table. She is conspicuously absent as Mendes’s team warned me she would be. When I asked him about it, he doesn’t hesitate to explain.

“She’s busy, she works a real job with real hours,” he laughs, settling into a very comfortable but expensive looking sofa overlooking their pool deck. He sets a gorgeous acoustic guitar in his lap and fiddles with it, “She also doesn’t feel the need to be a big part of the press for all this. She doesn’t want to become a personality for the sake of the album.”

Titled “Her,” it’s a 24-track concept album in chronological order according to the events of their relationship, separated into acts by locations: Burbank, Barcelona and Malibu. Simplified, the album weaves a tale of a slow-burn romance. He met her at a 4thof July party at her house and was swept off his feet immediately. She shut him down, politely and sweetly, he promises, and their friendship blossomed. Eventually, inevitably, it became something more.

When asked about the acts as told by locations, he smiles.

“That was her idea, actually. I wanted a way to sort of map things out and I liked the idea of dividing the relationship on the album into meeting, friendship and love. She pointed out that certain significant things for us have happened in certain places. She was living in Burbank when we met and I didn’t have a place in LA so when I was in town, I was usually hanging out with her there. Then she visited me on tour in Barcelona, which is when we got together. And Malibu, Malibu was the tough one because early on in our friendship, we drove out there to the beach and had this, like, perfect day. And we kept going back every chance we got. So Malibu representing the current state of our relationship feels right because that’s our favorite place.”

This album is the ultimate love letter from Mendes to his girlfriend, Lilly Parker, 26, a native of Northern Virginia who transplanted to Los Angeles only weeks before meeting Mendes. Heart-rending without being lovesick or melodramatic, he says this album challenged his storytelling skills in a way that pays homage to her.

“She’s a writer, too, actually. A lot of short stories and a few screenplays.” He says it with a proud, if smitten, smile.

Like his last album, “Her” embraces a mix of genres, touching on Sheeran-y love ballads, blazing rock anthems and funky R&B. His beating heart is emblazoned in song (on CD and vinyl and, of course, your digital retailers) with unapologetically honest lyrics about falling in love with his best friend. I asked him what her reaction was when he admitted to writing more than an album’s worth of songs about her when they weren’t even an item yet.

“It was scary. I didn’t want her to feel guilty about it. She knew from the beginning of our friendship that all she had to do was say the word and that would be it, I’d be all in. It was kind of a weird power imbalance that I know bummed her out. But she was ok with it [the album]. I could tell she was curious about what the tone of it was, if it was broody and tortured, but she didn’t really ask. She just said she looked forward to hearing it.”

Mendes has been a sex symbol for the One Direction set since 2016 but this album has made him a romantic hero. Beyond the ins and outs of their relationship, every song gives us a piece of Parker to the point where Mendes’ fans, the self-appointed Mendes Army, feel like they know her as well as they know him. If he is their king, she is their queen, greeting her subjects through the medium of Instagram Stories that range from her babbling about breaking her beloved French press to thanking them whole-heartedly for supporting her boyfriend’s career. Having waded through dozens of these saved into compilation videos on YouTube, she is clearly as genuine as he is.

Their other window into her life, of course, is through Mendes. He writes about her earnestly and in a way that isn’t entirely through a love-drunk lens. He writes about her own insecurities, specifically her challenges with an eating disorder, in a way that is both respectful and completely selfless.

“Her” plays like a romantic movie with an ending that will break the hearts of all Mendes’ young female fans because he is very much off the market. He’s downright domestic at this point. She calls him as we’re wrapping up the first meeting of our interview to ask what he wants to order for dinner. He looks as enchanted as the day they first met and tells her he was just talking about her. I get the sense he tells her that pretty often.

When I return to the Mendes-Parker home, she’s there to answer the door. Barefoot and bare-faced, she’s as likeable as she seems without an ounce of falseness. We chat easily as she leads me to the pool deck where Shawn is on a patio chair strumming a battered acoustic. She has lemonade and lunch ready – her Italian father’s lasagna recipe – and I ask her if her hospitality is a result of her southern upbringing.

“Oh, no, not at all. I don’t consider myself southern. No, this came out of the Reese Witherspoon playbook. Doing stuff like this makes me feel like a grown-up, which appeals to me now that we have a house and everything,” she responds, gesturing to her cheat sheet, a hardback copy of “Whiskey in a Tea Cup,” Witherspoon’s 2018 lifestyle release.

“We tried to throw a grown-up dinner party last week, too,” Mendes says with a chuckle. She laughs at the memory and plants herself on the armrest of his chair. They graciously let me in on their inside joke.

“It started out very adult-y. We had wine in decanters and appetizers and stuff. And then it devolved into a drunken pool party,” Parker explains with an eye-roll.

Their shared childlike exuberance over getting to play house is very endearing. Despite their age difference, they rest on the same plane of emotional maturity that, with the exception of their use of words like “grown-up” and “adult-y” is beyond their respective years.

Parker, to her credit, seems exceedingly normal in a very stable, raised-well-on-the-East-Coast sort of way. She’s not around a lot during my time with Mendes because she works a steady job as an assistant in film production. She lends backing vocals on “In Her Skin” and even boasts writing credits on “Purple” but when she says she has no musical ambition at all, you believe her. She drives a 2016 Jetta, wears Vans and is so polite you assume upon meeting her she must be Canadian, too. It’s not hard to see why they’re compatible.

While we eat our delicious homemade lunch, I ask about their routines. Predictably, they explain that it depends heavily on his schedule. When he’s away, she has a tight-knit group of friends to call on so the house doesn’t feel quite so large and empty. When he’s in town, they are homebodies. They admit to venturing to hip new restaurants on occasion (she’s a lifelong foodie and converting him) but rarely hit up bars or clubs. Their favorite activity is roadtripping out to Malibu where they have their favorite spots and beaches and no, they won’t tell me where.

Looking around, I can see why they don’t leave the house often. It’s in a quiet, not-too-flashy neighborhood. It’s private without being completely withdrawn.

“I sit out here and write all the time,” Mendes says, gesturing around him to their tastefully elegant pool deck.

“We both do,” Parker pipes up. She nods to a set of chairs on the other end of the deck. “He’s there with the guitar, I’m here with the laptop and we ignore each other.”

Mendes laughs and agrees.

Parker excuses herself after lunch. She offers me a warm hug and explains her best friend is flying into LAX and she’s off to pick her up. She leaves Mendes with a peck on the cheek and a lingering look of affection that stirs something even in my old, cold heart. Below is the rest of my interview with Mendes.

Writer: So why a concept album?

Mendes: There are plenty of other things I could’ve written about. I have a ton of songs I have written that aren’t about her, or us. And for a while, that was the plan. I was going to write another album of mixed ideas and talk about stuff like touring and running around with my best friends, or about the anxiety that comes with all of this sometimes, kind of more in the same vein of my previous albums. But the songs about her were just… better. I tried to ignore it for a while. It felt like a bad idea at first.

Writer: Because it might not last forever?

Mendes: Partly, yeah. It is something that, god forbid if we ever broke up, it would be this big piece of my music that I couldn’t just shove under a rug and never play anymore. And that could be really painful, to keep playing it and keep revisiting this part of my life. But also because I was worried it might not be that relatable. That’s the thing about making an album with lots of different tones and stories – there can be something for everyone. But when you’re using an album to tell one story, and many sides of that story, about one relationship, I worried people might not get that and might not be into that.

Writer: What made you decide to go for it?

Mendes: Once I had all the songs written and a rough idea of the way the album would work, like with the three acts and the chronology of it, I played it for people. I played it for Camila [Cabello] and Ed [Sheeran] and Niall [Horan] and they all agreed it was the album I needed to release at that time. I told them my concerns and they reminded me that a good story speaks for itself and I shouldn’t question that.

Writer: Another thing that drew a lot of attention to this album was your music video for “In Her Skin.” Whose idea was it to include her in that?

Mendes: The director pitched the treatment and I said no pretty quickly. I didn’t think she’d have any interest in doing that. I was surprised when she said she was up for it.

Writer: Why did she say yes?

Mendes: Well, she also liked the treatment. She saw the vision. She knew it was going to be sexy and beautiful and tasteful and really commemorate us in a nice way.

Writer: What was it like to shoot?

Mendes: Tense at first. It was weird. We were supposed to just be us in bed but on camera. We both had a hard time with it. But Angela, the director, she just dragged us out of our own heads and made us feel really comfortable. I feel like, watching it now, it was exactly what we wanted it to be. It’s really beautiful, she did an amazing job. And now Lil and I have that forever, which is cool.

Writer: You have a tradition of getting a new tattoo to mark the release of each of your albums. Have you gotten your “Her” tattoo yet?”

Mendes: I haven’t, no. I have it planned, though. And before you ask, it’s a surprise, so I won’t tell you.

Writer: Does Lilly know?

Mendes: She doesn’t, no. She wants to be surprised, too. I love surprising her.

++++++++++

July 3rd, 2020

“This stuff smells really good,” she mumbles, rhythmically thumping her heels against his bathroom cabinets as she sits atop the counter. He stands next to her at the sink washing his face. She’s staring at the container in her hand when he emerges from a towel to look at her.

“That’s one of the reasons I like it,” he confirms, taking the container from her.

“Wait,” she says suddenly, narrowing her eyes at him. He stares back at her.

“Can I do your hair?” she giggles, grabbing his arm and guiding him stumbling in between her legs. He holds onto her thighs to right himself, rubbing his thumbs into her sore quads.

“I dunno, Lil, it’s a scientific process and you haven’t had practice.”

“I’ve seen you do it a thousand times. Plus, you don’t have that much hair, it can’t be that hard. C’mere, show me how much of this stuff you use.”

He knows he can’t resist her flights of fancy and he’s about to leave for tour again so having some time dedicated to her running her little hands through his hair doesn’t sound like a bad idea. Shaking his head with a smirk, he drops the container of hair paste in her waiting palms.

“Here,” he offers, dipping his middle finger into the tub and spreading the paste in her palm, “Rub your hands together. Then… just do what I do.”

She follows his instruction and hooks her legs around his waist to pull him in tighter so she has more control. His groin juts into her lower stomach, making her smile and him inhale sharply. He watches her face as she distributes the paste through his curls. She’s making a study of it, starting at the front of his head and running her hands backwards toward his neck. He’s impressed by how closely her movements mirror his – she must watch him more attentively than he realizes. The thought makes him blush. She sees it start on his bare chest and work its way up to his rosy cheeks. Her heart leaps in her chest at the notion that she can still have this effect on him. She decides to take advantage of it.

She slowly leans in toward him, cupping her sticky hands behind his neck and exerting control. His lips part expectantly as she brushes over them. Before he can gain any traction, she’s trailing her mouth up his cheek bone, kissing his closed eyelid. She maps out a route to his eyebrow, up to a little childhood scar at his hairline, down to his left ear, circling back down toward his jawline and hovering over his lips. He releases a shuddering breath like a chuckle, quirking up the corner of his mouth.

“I love you,” he whispers. She closes her eyes and lets the thought infuse her. The tour will be long and she’ll need those words in that voice with this feeling of him here under her hands, at her will.

“I love you more,” she says, the smile evident in her voice, though his eyes are still blissfully shut.

He makes a disapproving noise and hooks his hands under her thighs, lifting her to head back to the bed they just left. She knows she should remind him of their pre-tour to-do list. But now he’s doing that thing on her earlobe with his tongue that makes her forget her own name and definitely makes her forget that he has to do that last load of laundry to finish packing. She sighs, raking at the curls at the back of his neck as he lays her down on their bedspread and she feels so loved and cared for and cherished that it makes some emotion bubble up in her throat. She chokes out a breath and he lifts his attention from her soft ear.

“You ok?” he pants gently, tucking a hand under her neck and smoothing his thumb down her throat.

“’m ok,” she sniffs, “I just… love you. It hurts sometimes. Like it’s trying to bust out of me and I can’t hold it in. I think I only get like this when you’re about to leave again.”

His eyes drop to her necklace and he licks his lips. She doesn’t complain much about his leaving (if you could even call this complaining) because she can see instantly where it goes in his head. He tucks it away and lets it prick at him when he needs it the least. She feels a responsibility to shield him from her pain most of the time. It’s not a big hardship usually, it’s really the beginning and end of tour when it’s hardest. She tries to focus on their resilience when they’re four months into a six month romp and sometimes he can only shoot her one text in the middle of her nighttime and she doesn’t hear his voice for three days but she’s ok and she’s not falling apart. That strength, wherever it comes from, doesn’t come to her right away and it slips through her hands at the end.

Now it’s their last morning waking up together before he’s alone in a bunk or on a private plane, wondering if she’s sleeping in her shirts or his. He presses a tender kiss to her sternum, feeling soft skin over solid bone, reminding him that even though she feels perfectly sturdy and stable beneath him, having him gone for so long is as hard on her as it is on him. He mouths at her chest lovingly, deciding to leave her some marks to make her smile in the mirror over the next few days. She sighs and her hands are back in his hair and he’s pulling at the boxers she’s wearing, smiling until his face hurts when she kicks them off impatiently.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” he whispers earnestly into the skin above her belly button. Her abs contract as he noses his way lower, dragging his fingertips inward from her knees down to her quickly spreading inner thighs. He lifts one innocently probing finger to her folds and inhales as she hisses.

He slides further down the bed until he feels his knees fall off the mattress. He’s sitting cross-legged and focused, scooting her down to meet him by pulling on her calves. She giggles a little but is quickly hushed when he brings her level with his face and suddenly all she can feel and think about is his hot breath. She gnaws on her lower lip with anticipation. He takes inventory of what he notices about her like this, this perfect limbo moment between emotional pleasure and sensation. When he’s ready, and can hear her breathing start to break down from excitement, he separates her lips with his tongue and is ready to hold her jumping thighs down. He blinks in surprise when she makes that little “ooh!” sound she does.

He feels his cock stir in his boxers, but it’s a secondary concern. He takes her inner lips into his mouth, suckling gently, moaning a little at the taste of her. She’s quiet, apart from labored breathing, which isn’t unusual for her. When he’s done lavishing her inner labia for the moment, he swipes up around her clit, feeling her tense beneath him again.

“Oh,” she almost cries. He takes another lap around the same circuit, watching her fingers scrunch their sheets in her hand.

He makes his way around once more, adding a sharp flick over her clit. She practically purrs and it stokes his fire. He notices she’s starting to grind into the mattress, so he tucks a thick finger inside her and watches her double back the other direction, back arching off the bed.

“Oh, Shawn,” she moans like it’s the only word she knows. He wants her to hold on but by the looks of it, she’s so close and he doesn’t really want to play with her right now. He just wants whatever she wants. He slides another welcome finger inside and curls them toward her stomach, humming around her clit, which gets it done every time. She’s thrashing and whimpering and he’s watching her like the ending of his favorite movie.

She’s boneless and affectionate when he crawls back onto the bed and over her body, shedding his underwear on his way. She brings him crashing down onto her with a strong hand to his lower back. He makes a hmphf noise into her neck and chuckles, knowing she feels secure with his weight resting on her. He eases off enough to meet her needy lips, relishing the warmth of her tongue and its familiarity. She’s still a little shaky from the power of her orgasm and he’s happy to nibble on her collarbone until she’s ready. In the meantime, he nestles between her legs and brings eager fingers up to toy with her nipples.

She’s sure she’s the luckiest woman on earth. He’s clinging to her like she’s life itself, still not ready to stop pleasuring her in between stellar orgasms. She stares over his shoulder down the firm, hilly plane of his back. She lifts her heels and digs them into his ass. He laughs into her tender, throbbing skin, which will be all shades of bruised in the morning, and brings himself up to kiss her hard. She loops her arms under his and clutches his shoulders as he guides himself into her, swearing when he bottoms out. She wiggles underneath him teasingly as he’s getting ready to start moving. Propped up by his big, beautiful hands, he shoots her a look and she giggles, she actually giggles, and fuck, there’s nothing like being inside a woman when she’s laughing.

She laughs harder at the look of stunned pleasure on his face from the sensation. He latches onto her right leg and hitches it around his hip, driving in hard. She grunts with him, eyes slamming shut, not so cocky now. He grins, giving her another good thrust like he knows she likes. She tips her head, eyes rolling back as her jaw drops. He whimpers innocently at her expression, committing it to memory.

“God, baby, you’re perfect,” he promises her, smacking a wet kiss on her neck as he starts in earnest, letting the sound of sweaty skin meeting skin overtake them.

She’s never been particularly vocal in bed, so he swallows every utterance like a starving man. She’s meeting him thrust for thrust, gripping his shoulders. He knows she knows she’s leaving marks on his back. She likes that. He decides to up the ante, lowering himself onto his elbows so he’s driving his pubic bone into her clit with every stroke. Her head falls back again, this time with a keening whine. He’s so enthralled, he hardly notices himself peel one of her clawing hands off his back and pin it to the bed above her head, his fingers laced with hers. The intimacy draws her back from a plane of solely physical pleasure. It only intensifies her feelings of desire and overwhelming love. His eyelashes are fluttering on his ruddy cheeks. His lips are at her ear so she can hear everything he’s feeling.

“Shawn, I’m close,” she announces. He hears a reluctance in her voice, a tinge of sadness from the notion that this will be one of the last times they get to do this for a while (but, hell, they do have the whole day). He picks up pace and soon, sooner than he’d like because he swears he could go forever for her, she’s bursting like a ripe berry in his arms and he’s soaking her in. Her clenching, stuttering walls milk him for all he’s worth. A few strong swings and he’s stilling his hips against hers, crying out shamelessly into her shoulder.

A few moments after the strongest orgasm he’s had in a while, he feels her stroking through his hair again.

“I totally fucked your hair up.”

++++++++++

May 16th, 2021

“I just think we’re idiots if we don’t tarp it. I’d say if we were here all the time, we would just check the water levels and don’t worry about it but we’re not. It’s fine, ok? They make those easy retractable tarps and they don’t look too awful.”

He sighs and runs a hand through his hair, the other hand on the wheel. “That’s fine, babe. I just don’t want to worry about replacing those filters every few months.”

“Agreed,” she hums, settling into her seat and looking out the window as they wind down the tight mountain lane from their new weekend home in Malibu.

It’s early, just past 6am on a Saturday morning. They’re both a little hungover from the night before, having met their friends at their new house off Kanen Rd. for more than a few drinks. She woke him up puttering around their master bedroom searching for her wetsuit in one of the dozens of boxes that surrounded the bed.

He lured her back to bed with a cup of coffee and his assurance that her wetsuit was definitely in that bigger box in the kitchen labeled, rather unhelpfully, “STUFF.” When the coffee was drained, he persuaded her to stay a little longer, digging through her nightstand with one hand while she sucked relentlessly at his pulse point. When he came up with a close replica of that little purple vibrator they once got to know very well, she laughed. He shut her up quickly by flipping it easily into the base of his palm, turning it on with his thumb and pressing it between her legs.

They’re pulling up on the side of the road beside a handful of other cars. He helps her maneuver her longboard down off the Land Rover and argues with her briefly as she determines she can make it down the stairs by herself, of course she can, because he has to get his guitar and the beach bag. He rolls his eyes from the trunk when he hears her bump into a railing and swear. He gathers the beach bag and guitar successfully with one arm and hurries down the cascading concrete steps to hold up the other end of her board, which she acknowledges with a sheepish smile.

“It would be easier if my legs weren’t still shaking from the four orgasms you gave me this morning,” she snickers, glancing over her shoulder at his smug face.

“Orgasms are good for hangovers. It’s science.” She chuckles but doesn’t argue, realizing her head doesn’t hurt much at all anymore.

“You can’t be serious about shipping this thing to Hawai’i,” he comments as they reach the beach and smile at the half dozen or so other people catching surf this early in the morning.

She rolls her eyes and slides the wet suit up over her arms, holding her hair away as she yanks at the zipper. He plants himself on the beach towel he’s spread out and reaches for the bag with his water bottle.

“Buying this board was half the reason we decided to go to Hawai’i this year,” she reminds him, lifting the front end of it into her arms in preparation to head to the water.

“I know, I know,” he sighs placatingly.

“Plus, Mr. “I travel with 14 guitars everywhere I go,” you have no room to complain about my oversized baggage.”

He tips his head back and laughs. “Go get ‘em, Blue Crush.”

She grins at the reference and winks over her shoulder as she marches toward the crashing waves. “Call me if you need inspiration!”

She looks comical rushing out to the water with the longboard taller than she is trailing behind her. She bought it for herself as a “push present,” as she labeled it, for finishing her latest screenplay which is in development talks with a production company in West Hollywood.

He watches with a casual smile as she paddles out looking like something out of a Roxy catalog-inspired wet dream. He reaches for the guitar case and takes out the Martin, plucking aimlessly at it as something nebulously like a song starts forming in his head. He doesn’t bother to tell her as she’s headed for the surf that he doesn’t need her sitting there next to him to be inspired by her, that pretty much just comes with the territory of being her boyfriend. He winces when she takes a dive off the side of the board and feels a rolling sensation in his stomach until she pops back up safely, looking annoyed.

They’re miles from their old favorite haven, Zuma Beach. It wasn’t as good for surfing and word had started to get out that Lilly and Shawn haunted that place like ghosts every opportunity they got. They still go back sometimes either early morning like this or after midnight when they can walk in silence, hold hands and think. She prefers this little cove a guy at the Malibu Surf Shack entrusted her with the location of. It’s surrounded by craggy cliffs, making the descent to the actual beach tricky with any surfboard, much less the mint green vintage longboard she’s been fond of toting around lately. He likes the spot, too, though. It’s quiet and no one seems to mind that he’s always got his guitar. He’s got a whole host of songs ready for the next album, the heavily-anticipated follow-up to “Her.”

He smiles to himself when he considers it may be more of the same if he keeps sitting here staring at her while she frolics in the waves. Writing about her feels like a privilege and he takes every opportunity to do it when the mood strikes.

He turns back to the guitar and starts singing, knowing she can’t hear him from how far out she is, but she’s watching him all the same. He’s looking down at the strings but can feel her gaze as she bobs over the surf, waiting for her wave. She’s got a smile on her face -- he can feel that, too.

After a couple hours, she paddles back in, grinning as he wiggles into his own wet suit to join her. He reaches the water before she’s fully out of it and he helps haul her board back to their spot.

“You looked good out there,” he tells her, knowing he wouldn’t know the difference if she didn’t.

“I’m dying to get you on a surfboard, Shawn,” she sighs, throwing her salty hair over her shoulders and grabbing his hands. She’s pulling him back toward the cold spring Pacific looking mischievous.

“Not gonna happen, babe.”

She huffs and turns away from him, diving under an oncoming wave. He winces at the water temperature and follows her like a drunken sailor after a mermaid. They pop back up on the other side. He’s able to stand but she’s a little over her head. He pulls her in by her arms and wraps her limbs around him. She kisses his cheek and hangs there for a minute while he steadies them against the waves.

When she pulls away from his neck to look at him, they both smile goofily. He lifts a finger to those freckles he still loves on the bridge of her nose, tracing their constellations gently under his callouses. She says nothing and continues running her fingers through his sea-soaked curls, thinking absently he looks like a Beach Boys song.

“I love you,” she reminds him, kissing the pad of his thumb as it rests on her lips.

He grins. “I love you too, Lil.”

The real reason they bought this particular house over by Walnut Canyon is because of the tub.

A glamorous jacuzzi tub was not on the list they confirmed with their realtor as “priorities” for the properties they were looking at. It was merely a bonus that came with a house that matched their other, more grown-up requirements -- a three-car garage, a view of the ocean, and Lilly’s various kitchen specifications since she’s begun to fancy herself a Giada De Laurentiis wannabe. But when Shawn saw that tub on the tour of the home, he was a goner. She couldn’t argue with him, really, since he was the one making the actual purchase and she liked the house too, but his effervescent excitement about this tub stumped her.

Now, though, when they stumble in from the beach sometime after lunch at one of the beachside cafes, she’s so grateful for it.

Shawn curls an arm around her waist and kisses her hair, sticky with saltwater and sunscreen runoff. “Can I wash your hair, baby?” he whispers in her ear.

She closes her eyes, smiles and nods. It’s becoming a bit of a routine. They spend hours at the beach mostly away with their thoughts and return home for Shawn to run a bath while Lilly peels out of her wetsuit.

This afternoon, she strolls naked into the bathroom, attempting to brush through her almost waist length hair and struggling. He smiles at her from inside the bath, his chest and cheeks pink from the heat of the water he usually runs a little too hot.

“Stop, I’ll do that,” he assures her, nodding at her to join him. She hands him the comb and joins him slowly, easing her sore limbs into the water to sit in front of him. He gently tugs at her hips, eager to pull her back against his chest for a few minutes while they acclimate to the heat.

Her eyes flutter as he kisses her neck, nosing at a mark he left a few days ago during their make-up sex after an argument they had about whether or not to attend an event Shawn was too tired for. He wraps his arms around her shoulders and she feels safe closed in against him.

It’s been a long time since she squirmed under his touch with anything but intense arousal. It’s only a memory now, the way she felt that night he got back from tour. Now she knows his body almost as well as her own. This idea occurs to her suddenly, the far away-ness of that time in her life. She turns her head to press a kiss to his jaw.

“D’you remember the day we met?”

He frowns a little, unsure why she’s asking. “Yeah, your 4th of July party. Why?”

She giggles and the water ripples around their interconnected bodies. He motions for her to sit up and she does. He straightens up behind her and starts lathering shampoo in his hands.

“I can't believe I didn’t know who you were,” she whispers with a smile into her knees that are tucked into her chest.

He grins and starts massaging shampoo into the crown of her head. She mewls gently, so easily satisfied by his hands on her scalp.

“If I had, do you think we still would’ve ended up like this?” she asks, turning her head as he reaches the base of her skull.

He shrugs. “I like to think so. Why are you thinking about this now?”

“Just... with what we were talking about the other day. I've been thinking about how far we’ve come since 2018.”

Shawn tries not to physically tighten at her words. One night last weekend when they were at the Malibu house on the couch stretched out, drinking wine and watching The Fast and the Furious for some reason, he mumbled something under his breath about being the one to pick the movies when they get married.

It wasn’t the first time one of them had made some kind of casual comment about their future in their three years together. But Shawn had followed it up rather than kicking it at her and running away, which was their usual pattern.

He looked at her, bleary-eyed and beautiful, and said, “When do you want to get married?”

She flinched visibly and he retreated back into the couch, face going red. She raced after him, yanking at his arm and desperately trying to pull him back out of his embarrassed hole.

“Stop, stop stop!” she whined, shaking her head rapidly and squeezing his arm, “I just wasn’t expecting it, that’s all. Do... do you actually want to talk about this?”

He stared at her for almost a minute before his face cleared up inauthentically and he shook his head as though she'd just asked him if he wanted an extra order of french fries at In-n-Out. “Nope, that’s ok.”

They were weird until they fell asleep that night on opposite sides of the bed but woke up as though nothing odd had happened at all. Now, a week later, she’s bringing it up again.

“I didn’t mean to freak you out,” he murmurs, holding her weight as he dips her hair back into the water to rinse the shampoo. She stares up at his reverted face, still beautiful upside down.

“You really didn’t freak me out. You just... surprised me. I mean, this is a thing we should talk about,” she reasons, nodding to herself as he scratches at her scalp. He snickers.

“Very convincing,” he mumbles.

“Theoretically, we could have as long an engagement as we want. So it’s really a matter of when we actually want to get married, right?” she continues.

He stops with her head in his hands above his lap. He cocks his head down at her. “So... if I asked you now, you’d say yes?”

Lilly blinks at him, her eyebrows pulling together slightly. “Well... yeah?”

Shawn almost drops her head in the water but manages to pull her back up and start with the conditioner.

“I... uhm... ok. Good to know,” he stumbles, clearing his throat as he works the pasty strawberry scent through the ends of her hair.

“Just don’t do it weird,” she says after a moment.

“Do what weird?”

“The proposal. Don’t... like... oh god, please don’t ask me on stage. God, I’d die. I’d actually fall over and die. No public engagements, please, for the love of god.”

He tugs at her hair, tilting her head back to look at him. “Are you telling me how I am and am not allowed to propose to you?”

She beams. “No. I’m telling you under what circumstances I will say yes.”

He barks a laugh and pulls her back against his chest, her hair half conditioned and smearing on his stomach. She clamps her hands around his forearm as it straps across her sternum. They’re quiet for a second and Shawn smiles.

“What?” she giggles.

“I already know how I’m proposing to you.”

“What?” she asks again, no longer giggling.

He smirks. “I’ve had it worked out for months.”

She’s flabbergasted. “And?”

“And it’s a fucking surprise, Lil, I can’t tell you,” he chuckles, rocking her back and forth in his arms.

“But--”

“No.”

She huffs and leans her head back on his shoulder, eyeing him. He looks placidly determined.

“Fine. I think you should ask me next year, then.”

“Ok,” he agrees with a nod like that falls right into his plan.

“Ok?” she parrots.

“Ok.”

They’re quiet again. He pushes her out from his chest and finishes conditioning her hair, rinsing it under the faucet while he finger combs through it and she starts falling asleep in his hands. Ever so gently, he brushes a wet thumb over her cheek to wake her up, signaling it’s time to get out.

They stand up and dry off without another word, separating to their respective closets to change. They regroup on the bed for a midday nap with Shawn pulling at her drying clumps of hair and humming his favorite from the “Her” album, “Barcelona” under his breath. She passes out on his chest and it’s dreamless and perfect because he’s there and he always will be.

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