#some areas of the trim are green and some are a dark blue both in different kinds of paint

[kerosene-saint]

my bedroom is such a fucking weird room

[zeciex]

A Vow of Blood - 57

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on. This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: “You will be trapped by the obligations of love and duty, unable to escape the web of expectations others have woven around you,“ the witch said….

Chapter 57: Wisps of Smoke

AO3 - Masterlist

In the lush sanctuary of the Red Keep’s gardens, Daenera strolled leisurely, her gaze drawn to the small, lively figure of Jaehaera darting ahead of her. The young girl flitted from flower to flower, her excitement palpable as she searched for the perfect bloom, her movements as graceful and fleeting as a butterfly.

The garden enveloped them in a serene embrace, bathed in warm, golden sunlight that filtered softly through the branches. The air was fragrant with the scent of countless blossoms and herbs, a heady mixture that hinted at both nature’s sweetness and its wildness. Flowers spilled over in carefully tended beds, their colors bright against the deep green foliage, while bees and butterflies drifted lazily from petal to petal, lost in their quiet work.

Jaehaera danced between the plants, her pale blue dress swishing against the leaves with each step. The fabric seemed to shimmer in the sunlight, brushing against the blossoms as she moved. She paused beside a flowering shrub, captivated by a cluster of small, white flowers that stood out against the leaves, like a scattering of fresh snow amidst a summer scene.

With a child’s delicate curiosity, Jaehaera reached out, her fingers barely grazing the petals as she selected a single stem to study, marveling at its beauty up close.

Daenera watched her fondly, allowing the moment to linger as she drew closer, her own hands busy with a gentle harvest. She plucked a few lavender blossoms, their soft purple hue and soothing scent a perfect addition to her basket. As she gathered the flowers, she found herself captivated not only by the garden’s beauty but by the wonder that sparkled in Jaehaera’s eyes–an innocence that reminded her of her own youth, running through the gardens and pestering the workers with questions. 

“What are these?” Jaehaera asked, her gaze lingering on the delicate white flowers clustered in her hands.

“They’re called baby’s breath,” Daenera explained, crouching beside the young princess, her voice soft and inviting. “How about we weave some into your flower crown?”

At this suggestion, Jaehaera’s face lit up with a brilliant smile that seemed to capture the warmth and brightness of a summer’s day. Her sky-blue eyes sparkled with excitement, and a rosy blush colored her cheeks, giving her a sweet glow.

She brushed a hand through her silver hair, smiling at the girl’s pure joy.

“Oh, yes, please!” Jaehaera exclaimed, her grin widening as she eagerly leaned closer, her small fingers already reaching for more blossoms to add to her growing collection.

Daenera carefully trimmed a few sprigs from the bush, her movements precise and gentle, ensuring the plant was left unharmed. Just as she placed the freshly pruned stems into her basket, she noticed Jaehaera rise from her crouch, her attention now captivated by a peculiar bloom that stood out among the more familiar flowers around them. The petals were an unusual shade, delicate and marked with slender black stripes, and each flower bore a single vivid yellow dot at its center, like a tiny burst of sunshine against the softer colors.

“These look funny! What are they?” Jaehaera asked, her wide eyes blinking up at Daenera, curiosity radiating from her expression.

Daenera smiled, tucking away the small knife she’d been using to trim the stems. “They’re called eye bright,” she explained. “They’re often used to soothe swelling in the mouth and nasal area. Quite a helpful little plant.”

Jaehaera reached out, her small fingers brushing the petals with a gentle reverence. She lingered there, her voice soft with wonder. “Do you think Mother would like it?” she asked, glancing up at her with hopeful eyes.

“I’m sure she would,” Daenera replied warmly, selecting one of the flowers and snipping it with care before placing it gently in her woven basket alongside the other flowers. As she looked up, she noticed that Jaehaera’s attention had already been captured by another bloom–a soft pink flower with elegantly ruffled petals that fluttered in the gentle breeze.

Anticipating her niece’s inevitable curiosity, Daenera stepped forward with a smile. “These are called carnations,” she explained, her voice filled with a quiet enthusiasm. She began gathering a small assortment, choosing both the delicate pinks and pristine whites, each one carefully inspected before joining the growing collection in her basket.

Around them, the dense foliage and towering greenery created a natural frame for the small, blooming world they occupied. Here and there, Daenera caught glimpses of Jaehaerys and Patrick as they darted in and out of view, their laughter and gleeful shouts ringing through the garden like notes in a joyful melody. The sound of their play filled the air, mingling with the rustle of leaves and the soft hum of bees flitting from flower to flower.

Drawn deeper into the lush heart of the garden, Jaehaera’s boundless curiosity continued to guide her steps. She soon paused, her attention captivated by a quaint tree standing at the garden’s edge. Its leaves were uniquely lobed and finely serrated, creating a delicate texture against the vivid greenery surrounding it. From its branches blossomed an astonishing array of pale, cloud-like flowers, so densely packed that their white petals nearly concealed the green leaves beneath.

As a gentle breeze drifted through, the white petals began to fall softly, swirling like snow around them, the air filled with a light, sweet fragrance. Daenera watched Jaehaera, enchanted by the child’s fascination, staring up at it. 

“What tree is this?” Jaehaera asked, her small hand pointing towards the crown of the tree. 

Daenera smiled at her, “This lovely one is a hawthorn tree. After these flowers are pollinated, they’ll transform into hawthorn fruits. You can see they’re starting to transform, that’s why the petals of the flowers are falling.”

Jaehaera’s face was lit with both wonder and perplexity, her brow furrowing slightly in thought as she clutched Daenera’s skirt. “Hawthorn fruit?”

Bending to Jaehaera’s eye level, Daenera’s hand rested on the girl's back, her smile one of amusement. 

“Exactly,” she spoke gently. “Hawthorn fruits are akin to tiny berries, a vivid red. They’re somewhat like small pomegranates. From these fruits, we can make jams and wines, and you can even eat the leaves of the tree.”

Jaehaera’s face morphed into a skeptical expression. “Eat the leaves? Really?”

Daenera chuckled. “Indeed, the leaves. They might surprise you with their sweetness.”

Jaehaera, still doubtful, continued incredulously, “But they’re leaves…”

Rising to her feet, Daenera gently plucked a leaf from the hawthorn tree, presenting it to Jaehaera like a treasure. The young girl chuckled and shyly turned her head, only to watch in astonishment as Daenera popped the leaf into her mouth. The leaf’s sweetness was delicate, a whisper rather than a shout. 

“You ate it!” Jaehaera gasped, her eyes wide with surprise. 

“I did,” Daenera replied, amused. “As I said, it’s edible.”

Jaehaera animatedly shook her head. “I don’t want to eat leaves!”

Daenera laughed, brushing her hand over Jaehaera’s head in a reassuring gesture, “That’s perfectly fine. It was merely an offer. I won’t make you try it if you don’t want to.”

“What if there was a bug on that leaf?” Jaehaera asked with a mix of curiosity, amusement and disgust. 

“Then I guess I would have had a little meat with the leaf,” Daenera replied with a chuckle, leaning down to plant a gentle kiss on top of Jaehaera’s head, her pale curls tickling against her skin. “It’s certainly better than accidentally nibbling on you.”

Jaehaera wiggled playfully, her laughter mingling with Daenera’s lighthearted tone. 

“Let’s go find your brother,” Daenera suggested. 

In a burst of energy, Jaehaera titled around and called out with youthful exuberance, “Jaehaerys! Auntie Dae just ate a leaf, and it might have had a bug on it!”

Her voice carried through the garden, a playful accusation filled with the innocence of childhood. 

Daenera trailed behind Jaehaera as the young girl eagerly darted through the garden, her quest to find her brother fueling her swift movements. As they ventured into the more secluded area dedicated to medicinal plants, Daenera gently beckoned Jaehaera back to her side. With a tender grasp, she took the girl’s small hand, guiding her along the pathway that meandered between the rows of carefully cultivated plants. 

This peaceful section of the garden was meticulously maintained, a testament to the importance of the herbs and plants it harbored. Each species, with its distinct appearance and aroma, was a natural treasure trove of healing properties. The air here was infused with a blend of earthy and herbal scents.

Together, Daenera and Jaehaera strolled down the path.

Jaehaera’s small hand pointed eagerly toward a tree nestled in a shadowed corner of the garden, its gnarled, twisting branches scattered with clusters of tiny, jewel-like red berries. The berries gleamed enticingly in the dappled sunlight, their vivid red hue stark against the deep green, needle-like leaves.

“Auntie Dae, look! That tree has little red berries!” she called out, her voice a blend of excitement and innocent curiosity.

Daenera’s gaze followed her niece’s pointed finger, taking in the tall, ancient tree with its thick, rippled trunk, appearing almost as though several branches had melded into one over centuries. The branches reached outward, crooked and twisted, casting a shadow over the delicate herbs growing beneath its canopy. Birds flitted between the branches, some pausing to nibble carefully at the bright berries among the dark, spiky leaves.

“That’s a yew tree,” Daenera said softly, stepping closer to Jaehaera. Her voice grew gentle but firm, sensing the need to temper the girl’s curiosity with caution. “These berries may look bright and tempting, but you must never eat them.”

Jaehaera turned to her, her eyes widening. “Why not? They look just like candy,” she murmured, her gaze drifting back to the berries.

Daenera knelt beside her, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Though the red flesh around the seed isn’t poisonous, the seed itself is extremely dangerous. Swallowing even one could make someone very sick, or worse.” Her eyes held a quiet seriousness as she watched Jaehaera, hoping her words would settle into her young mind. “And it’s not just the berries–the entire tree, from the bark to the roots, even the leaves, carries poison. It’s a beautiful tree, but one we must only admire from a distance.”

Jaehaera gave a solemn nod, her gaze shifting from the berries to her aunt’s face as she absorbed the warning.

Daenera’s eyes traveled back to the twisted branches and thought briefly of how this tree, for all its danger, held a strange, layered beauty. Its wood, both deadly and powerful, was often used for crafting longbows, weapons of great strength that could change the course of battles. In its own way, the yew embodied the dual nature of power–a force that could protect as well as harm.

Jaehaera’s brow furrowed as she looked up at Daenera, confusion evident in her young face. “But why keep it here in the garden if it’s dangerous?” she asked, her voice quiet but curious.

Daenera smiled gently, her gaze scanning the garden as they strolled, keeping an eye out for the two boys. “Sometimes, the difference between poison and medicine lies only in how much is used,” she replied, her tone thoughtful. “Many plants can be both–if you understand them.”

She raised her voice, calling into the deeper foliage, “Jaehaerys! Patrick! Where are you?”

Almost instantly, Jaehaerys bounded into view, cheeks flushed with excitement, knees scuffed and dusted with soil. The energy of his play was infectious, radiating off him as he skidded to a halt in front of his aunt. Just a step behind him was Patrick, who bore even more evidence of their adventures; his hands and knees were caked with dirt, and a rogue smudge streaked across his chin. Clearly, he had been the one eagerly digging in the earth, likely at Jaehaerys’ urging.

Daenera’s gaze turned sharp with concern as she took in their disheveled state. She knelt down to meet their eyes, her expression serious but calm. “You two haven’t touched or eaten anything from this area, have you?” Her question was firm, her tone laced with a quiet authority, as she gently brushed a bit of dirt from Patrick’s cheek.

Jaehaerys shook his head with a grin. “No! We just ran through the plants. That’s all!”

Patrick nodded, a bit more sheepishly. “Didn’t touch a thing,” he muttered, though his fingers still bore evidence of some dedicated digging.

“Auntie Dae, look!” Jaehaerys called out, his voice bubbling with excitement as he approached her, hands carefully cupped together. He slowly opened his palms to reveal a small, iridescent blue beetle that scurried about, its tiny legs tickling his skin. His silver hair, catching the sun’s rays, seemed to glow like a crown atop his head, adding to his youthful, eager expression.

Jaehaera leaned in to examine the beetle, her natural curiosity drawing her close. But as she caught sight of the tiny insect crawling over her brother’s hands, her expression shifted, her nose wrinkling in faint distaste.

“Do you think Mother will know what kind of beetle this is?” Jaehaerys asked, looking up at Daenera with bright, hopeful eyes. His voice carried that unmistakable tone of anticipation, eager to hear her response.

Daenera opened her mouth to reply, but before she could, Jaehaerys leaned closer, a spark of mischief lighting his face. “Do you think she’ll be impressed?” he added, clearly hoping his small discovery would earn him some admiration.

Not one to be outdone, Jaehaera quickly straightened, clutching the small bouquet of flowers she had gathered with Daenera. Her voice rang with the playful challenge of sibling rivalry. “But she’ll like my flowers better, won’t she, Auntie Dae?”

Daenera offered a diplomatic response, her smile gentle, though a flicker of amused exasperation played at the corners of her mouth. “She’ll certainly treasure both of your gifts,” she assured them, hoping to satisfy their competitive spirits.

With a spark of purpose, Jaehaerys declared, “I’m going to show her right now!” He spun around, his excitement radiating as he sprinted across the garden, his laughter echoing among the trees and flowers.

“Wait! Wait for me!” Jaehaera’s voice called after him, her eyes bright with determination. She took a few hurried steps, then turned back and grabbed Daenera’s hand, her grip firm and insistent. Clearly, she wanted her aunt involved in the pursuit, unwilling to let her brother claim all the glory.

Daenera let herself be tugged along, laughing softly as they moved together. She felt the soft earth give way beneath her feet as they wove through beds of flowers and herbs, their vibrant colors a blur as they passed. The warm sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting playful shadows around them, and the air was filled with the fragrance of blooms and the faint hum of insects busy at work.

Stepping out from the hedges, Daenera and Jaehaera entered a secluded, grassy clearing bathed in soft sunlight. At its center stood a towering, dome-shaped cypress tree, its branches spreading like a gentle embrace over a yellow blanket spread on the ground beneath, where Helaena sat, beneath the tree’s protective canopy.

Jaehaerys was already there, kneeling beside his mother, his eyes fixed intently on the small blue beetle Helaena held in her hand. Her poise was one of calm curiosity, completely unbothered by the creature crawling along her fingers–a quiet courage that set her apart, defying the usual expectations of a noblewoman.

Seeing her mother, Jaehaera released Daenera’s hand and darted forward, her excitement spilling over as she joined her mother and brother on the blanket. The three of them formed a cozy cluster, with Jaehaerys animatedly pointing out the beetle’s tiny legs and Jaehaera presenting her carefully gathered flowers.

Nestled nearby in the shade, their youngest sibling, Maelor, slept peacefully in a wicker basket, wrapped snugly in soft linens. His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, undisturbed by the gentle hum of life around him.

Daenera lingered at the edge of the blanket, a warm smile on her face as she watched the children huddle close to their mother. In this quiet clearing, away from the demands of court and duty, the scene was one of pure, unguarded affection. 

From the corner of her eye, she noticed Aemond standing at the edge of the clearing, partially hidden in the dappled shadows cast by the cypress branches. His gaze was steady and inscrutable, but a spark of amusement lit his blue eye as it settled on her. She met his look with a subtle, knowing smile.

Helaena’s attention remained absorbed by the beetle skittering across her open palm. “This is a blue ground beetle,” she murmured, her voice gentle and filled with fascination. “They’re nocturnal, preferring to stay hidden during the day. They’re good for the garden because they hunt pests that can damage the plants.”

Daenera knelt down beside the blanket, setting her basket of freshly picked flowers beside her. She moved with a comfortable ease, brushing away the bits of earth clinging to her bare feet as she settled herself. Her attention on Helaena and the children, even as Jaehaerys’ curious voice broke through the quiet.

“Auntie Dae, why aren’t you wearing any shoes?” he asked, his face alight with interest at this small rebellion against convention.

Daenera smiled, reaching out to ruffle his hair. “Sometimes, it’s nice to feel the earth beneath your feet,” she replied. “Shoes can be confining. This way, I’m closer to the garden, to everything growing here.”

Jaehaerys nodded, as if trying to absorb the sense of it, glancing down at his own sturdy boots with a mixture of doubt and curiosity. Helaena smiled softly, her gaze still on the beetle, but a gentle warmth spreading over her features as she listened to her sister’s words.

She watched as Patrick joined them, his hands busy twisting and weaving tall grass and straw together. His focus was unwavering; his brow furrowed in concentration, and the tip of his tongue peeked out as he carefully crafted what could only be described as a humble, improvised flower crown.

Jaehaera, watching him briefly, leaned closer to her aunt with a hint of worry clouding her face. “Grandmother says we should always wear our shoes outside our rooms,” she murmured. “She says it’s not proper.”

Daenera let out a soft hum, entirely untroubled by what the dowager might think of her bare feet in the garden. “Well, it’s rather lucky your grandmother isn’t here to scold me, isn’t it?” she replied with a wink, causing Jaehaera to stifle a giggle, her worry melting away.

With a sudden burst of purpose, Jaehaera moved to her mother’s side, holding up the single flower she had so carefully chosen earlier. “Mother, this is for you,” she said, her voice soft with affection.

Helaena accepted the flower with a gentle smile, murmuring her thanks. “It’s beautiful, my sweet. Thank you.”

With delicate fingers, Jaehaera tucked the flower into her mother’s braid, placing it just above her ear. She stood back to admire her work, a look of pride lighting her face. “Now you’re as beautiful as the flower,” she declared softly, her words filled with sincerity and admiration.

“Your mother is always beautiful,” Daenera teased, a playful warmth in her voice. She watched as Helaena’s cheeks flushed a delicate pink, her gaze dropping shyly back to the beetle in her hand, as if suddenly uncertain where to focus.

Jaehaera, grinning, returned to Daenera and nestled herself comfortably between her legs, watching intently as she began to weave a crown from the basket of freshly gathered flowers. Jaehaera eagerly handed over blossoms, her small hands moving quickly to select the prettiest blooms. Inspired, she picked up the straw Patrick had collected earlier and tried her hand at crafting a tiny crown, imitating Daenera’s steady movements with the earnestness of a child determined to learn.

They sat together under the dappled shade, their work illuminated by soft rays of sunlight filtering through the branches. The quiet hum of the garden surrounded them–the gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze, the occasional buzz of a bee flitting from bloom to bloom. 

Together, they sat in the shadows, enjoying the summer day.

Gravel crunched beneath Aemond’s every step as he ventured down the well-trodden path that meandered through the splendid gardens. His keen gaze scanned the surroundings, searching for the familiar figures of his sister and Daenera. 

In a quiet, shaded alcove beneath the sprawling canopy of a towering tree, he spotted his sister. She sat with an air of serene concentration, her delicate fingers weaving through threads of embroidery work that captured her full attention, while she gently murmured to herself. “Weaves, weaving, wove, woven. Strings and spools. Weaves, weaving. Strings and spools. Wove, woven. What is, what was, what could be, what will be. Weaves, weaving, wove, woven.”

The dappled sunlight filtered through the foliage, casting intricate patterns of light and  shadow upon her, a familiar expression upon her face. 

Beyond the hedges and the verdant barricades of the tall plants, the joyful snicker of his nephew and the hushed murmur of Daenera created a symphony of laughter and whisperings. 

Aemond, his footsteps now on the soft grass, approached his sister, drawn to the tranquil atmosphere that enveloped her. He reached the tree’s trunk and leaned against it, embracing the stillness of the moment. The garden seemed to hold its breath as his sister continued her murmurings. 

Nearby, nestled in a basket, the youngest of their family, Maelor, lay in peaceful slumber. His round face was a portrait of innocence, cheeks red, his eyelashes resting upon them. Beside him, his mother continued her meticulous work, her nimble fingers expertly guiding the needle through the fabric as she stitched down the intricate design of a spider. 

“Storm clouds are gathering,” she whispered, her voice laced with a foreboding undertone. “Do not chase the storm. Vengeance hungers with it maw wide open, its teeth gleaming. Vengeance hungers, and from the storm, death’s jaws snap shut, the thunder of war resounding.”

She tilted her head slightly, her fingers tugging at a thread, “Vengeance has its price–blood begets blood begets blood begets–in an endless cycle. Vengeance hungers, and it seeks to be fed–yet, do not feed it, lest it consumes you.”

The thread was pulled taut, causing the fabric to pucker and twist under the stitch. “Vengeance is a beast with no master, insatiable once fed.”

As Aemond ventured through the peaceful garden, his sister’s foreboding words washed over him, like dark tendrils creeping beneath his skin and taking root. They found a place to settle within him, a chilling presence lurking deep within the void where his eye had once been, nestled behind the sapphire that now adorned his gaze. The weight of the words lingered, and he was about to question her, when movement caught his attention. 

From the garden’s edge, a burst of youthful energy catapulted into view. Jaehaerys, with his pale curls that caught the sun’s radiant light and seemed to shimmer like spun silver adorned with hints of gold, emerged with an infectious grin splashed across his reddened cheeks. His nimble feet carried him over the grassy expanse, like a playful sprite on a mission. 

“Uncle Aemond! I caught a beetle!” Jaehaerys greeted with boundless enthusiasm, playing no heed to the possibility of waking his slumbering brother. 

Aemond acknowledged him with a nod, his stance unwavering as he leaned against the tree, arms folded across his chest. His gaze, however, couldn’t help but shift upward, drawn by the magnetic force. It settled upon Daenera and Jaehaera as they emerged from the garden, their silhouettes painted by the gentle sunlight. 

A sense of longing stirred within Aemond as he watched Daenera’s dark curls cascade freely around her face, capturing the light and offering an ethereal glow. She held Jaehaera’s small hand in her own, her smile radiant as she walked beside the young princess. 

Jaehaera, unable to contain her excitement, released Daenera’s grip and bounded across the grass with the same exuberance as her twin. She joined her brother at her mother’s side, as Helaena examined the beetle. 

Aemond observed the tender moment with rapt attention, lingering at the outskirts like a ghost, a shadow cast by the radiant presence of Daenera. Her smile, so gentle and warm, reached out to him, gripping his heart with an unfaltering embrace, squeezing it tightly. He hated the stirring as much as he longed for it. 

Jaehaera nestled against Daenera’s chest, her curious gaze fixed on the intricate dance of fingers weaving a crown of delicate flowers. With each plucked blossom, she passed it to Daenera, contributing to the growing creation. Nearby, the young boy, Patrick, watched the weavings with keen interest, trying his best to mimic the process using straw and tall grass. 

Meanwhile, Jaehaerys, his curiosity momentarily diverted from the blue beetle he had found earlier, had settled beside his wooden toys. His fingers traced the intricately carved figures of a dragon, feeling its wooden scales beneath his touch.

Aemond found himself caught in a contemplative moment, silently pondering whether this was what it would be like. 

Aemond’s heart ached as he glimpsed a life that he could never truly call his own–a life filled with the unrestrained freedom of emotion, the bonds of marriage, the laughter of children, and the simple joys that flowed effortlessly from a love that knew no bounds or limits. He could vividly see it all, painted with the radiant hues of light and warmth, a life where love flowed freely, unburdened by the weight of their reality. 

Yet, he was acutely aware that what he envisioned was nothing more than a dream, a wistful fantasy that danced on the periphery of his consciousness. In that dream, perhaps they could have found the happiness that had always seemed just out of reach, a life unencumbered by their differences and the constraints of their circumstances.

But like wisps of smoke dissipating into the air, the dream slipped through his fingers, leaving behind a lingering sense of longing. This was the cruel reality they faced–their existence, a mere fraction of the dream, a fragmented fantasy. It was less than what the dream promised, yet it was tangible, it was real, and Aemond clung to it with a possessiveness born of desperation, willing to grasp onto even the smallest sliver of what could have been.

He acknowledged the potential for growth, even if it would be a twisted and gnarled sort of growth, stunted and restrained. But it was his, and he would seize it with unwavering determination, a monstrous resolve to make it his own. 

She was his. 

In the depths of their complex and imperfect reality, he found that glimmer of hope. 

Aemond embraced it, for he knew that even if it never fully blossomed, he would settle for the fraction of a dream that was now within his reach. It was his, and he would grasp it tightly–grasp her tightly, no matter how twisted or fragmented it might be.

Jaehaera’s voice broke the stillness, her request carrying the sweetness of a child’s desire for storytelling. 

“Aunty Dae,” she mused, her small fingers brushing strands of hair away from her face as she reclined against Daenera’s collarbone, calling her ‘aunty’ despite them being cousins. “Tell us a story.”

Daenera’s concentration remained focused on the flower crown, her brows slightly furrowed in thought. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips as she worked, her voice echoing with the gentle hum of contemplation, “A story?”

Jaehaera, ever the enthusiast, eagerly chimed in, “Yes, a story! A story about a princess.”

Her brother, however, had his own vision of the narrative. “No, a story about knights and dragons.”

Their playful debate echoed through the garden, as Jaehera pouted and countered, “No, a story about princesses and love!”

“Death comes from above and below, shrouded in the raging storm, its maw agape with gleaming teeth. With a resounding snap, the jaws shall close, and the sea shall devour the rest,” Helaena emitted a low, haunting hum, her voice resonating an otherworldly chant. It seemed as though she was lost in her own thoughts, her words flowing as if she was unaware she was speaking. Her gaze drifted towards her youngest, her delicate hand coming to rest upon his chest, her fingers gently tracing a path along his cheek. 

The children, accustomed to their mother’s enigmatic musings, appeared entirely unfazed by her haunting words. They had grown accustomed to her moments of distant contemplation, her mind often lost in the labyrinth of mysterious omens. Daenera observed Helaena for a brief moment but chose not to press for further details, her eyes lifting to meet Aemonds, before opting to instead alleviate the tense silence with her own soothing voice. 

“Once there was a princess,” Daenera began, her voice carrying the promise of a captivating tale. 

“Was she beautiful?” Jaehaera eagerly interjected, twisting within Daenera’s protective embrace to gaze up at her with wide, curious eyes. 

A soft smile graced Daenera’s lips as she indulged the young princess. Leaning down, she placed a tender kiss upon Jaehaera’s forehead, filling the moment with warmth.

“Yes, she was beautiful,” Daenera confirmed before the girl nestled back into her comforting hold. 

Aemond felt it like the warmth of the sun, and he tilted his head in curiosity as he watched Daenera and his niece. 

Daenera continued her story, her voice a gentle cadence in the tranquil garden. “She was the daughter of the heir to the throne, but she was not the firstborn. She spent her childhood away from the castle, raised alongside her brothers. And when time came for her to find a husband, she embarked on a journey to the castle.”

“The King organized a grand tourney, a spectacle that drew lords and knights from every corner of the realm,” Daenera narrated as she skillfully wove the flower crown. She used the supple stems of the flowers to hold the delicate creating together, the soft colors harmonizing to create a crown of gentle elegance. Her voice held the children in rapt attention as she continued her tale. 

“There was the Raven Knight,” Daenera recounted, her words flowing easily. “An old friend of the princess, he was of a similar age and possessed the qualities suitable for the royal maiden. However, he was not the sole contender for her hand.”

She paused, allowing the intrigue to build before continuing. “Among the competitors stood the Antler Knight, a formidable figure known for his immense strength and unyielding pride. Truly, there were many valiant men who desired the princess’s hand in marriage, but none more fervently than the One-Eyed Knight.”

Jaehaerys exclaimed with a bright grin, “Like uncle Aemond!”

Aemond couldn’t help but smirk at the playful jest, silently awaiting the unfolding narrative. He interjected, “I don’t think the One-Eyed Knight sought her hand in marriage by the time the tourney arrived.”

Daenera playfully chided him, “Oh, please, he would have been fortunate to have such a prospect. Now, am I the storyteller here, or are you?”

Her words were imbued with a playful banter as she scowled amusedly at him. 

Aemond raised a conceding hand in a gesture of surrender before folding his arms, eager to hear the rest of how the story played out. 

“The tourney commenced with the jousting,” Daenera continued. “Knights, resplendent upon their steeds, faced each other with lances and shields adorned with their noble sigils. In that fateful contest, the Raven Knight clashed with the fearsome Black Hound. Their lances shattered upon impact, and the Black Hound was unseated, tumbling unceremoniously from his mount.”

Jaehaerys, fully engrossed in the tale, inched closer, picking up his wooden sword and placed it in his lap, ready to spring to action should it be needed. 

“While the Raven Knight displayed valor and skill, it was the Antler Knight who truly stood out.” A faint crease marred her features, her delicate brows knitting together. Aemond could almost sense her thoughts drifting towards her husband, and the memories of his brutality. 

“With ferocious determination, he unseated opponent after opponent, dispatching two knights with splintered lances and injuring a dozen more. The Princess, watching the carnage unfold, couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of unease at the prospect of marrying such a man. After each victory, the Antler Knight would point his sword towards the Princess, a macabre display to revel in the glory of bloodshed.”

Curiosity brimming, Jaehaerys posed his question, “What of the One-Eyed Knight? Did he not participate in the tourney?”

Daenera offered a knowing smile, “The One-Eyed Knight was renowned for his exceptional skill, but he considered competing in such tourneys beneath him. He believed no true honor to be won in mock battle.”

“But I thought he wanted to win the Princess's hand?” Jaehaera questioned her brow furrowed in thought. 

Daenera nodded, her gaze thoughtful. “Indeed, he did. However, he understood that even if he emerged victorious in the competition and crowned the Princess as Queen of Love and Beauty, it would not secure her hand in marriage. There was deep-seated animosity between him and the Princess’s father, and so, he resolved himself to watch the Princess and dream of her love.”

“As the jousting continued, knights unseated their  counterparts, and the contest for the princess’s hand gradually narrowed down to just two contenders–the Raven Knight and the Antler Knight,” Daenera said, her voice carrying a dramatic undertone. “These two formidable adversaries took their positions at opposite ends of the tilt, their steeds pounding the sand beneath them. With lances poised and shields held firm, they awaited the signal to charge. As the banner wavered, they spurred their steeds towards each other, intent on a collision. But just as their lances were about to find their marks, the Antler Knight made an abrasive move. He aimed his lance at the legs of the Raven Knight’s horse, causing the steed to fall and sending the Raven Knight tumbling to the sandy ground.”

Jaehaerys, his sense of honor deeply offended, exclaimed, “That’s dishonorable!”

Daenera nodded in agreement, “Indeed it was. You see, the Antler Knight was determined to claim the princess as his prize by any means necessary. He had secretly loosened his opponents’ saddle straps and fed their horses plants that would make them ill.”

Jaehaerys’s indignation flared once more. “That’s cheating! He can’t win the princess that way!”

“But no one else knew of his deceit,” Daenera continued with a dramatic pause. “So, the Antler Knight believed he had secured his victory. However, the Raven Knight, undaunted, rose from the sands, drawing his sword in a powerful display of determination. He challenged the Antler Knight to combat, who responded with laughter and taunts, warning the young knight to stand down unless he wished to meet his demise. The Raven Knight, resolute and unyielding, refused to back down, and so, the Antler Knight drew his sword and descended upon the sands.”

Daenera’s voice held an eerie hush as she continued. “The Raven Knight was indeed a skilled swordsman, but he was younger and considerably smaller than the hulking Antler Knight. Although he fought valiantly, the Antler Knight’s brutality knew no bounds. He tormented the young knight with his sword, breaking bones and spilling blood. As the Raven Knight lay defeated on the sandy arena floor, surrender obvious, the Antler Knight remained true to his word. He drew his sword through the Raven Knight, robbing him not only of his life but also his honor.”

Aemond watched with a smile as Daenera artfully condensed the story, simplifying it for the children’s understanding. Her eyes briefly met his, and he smirked playfully, savoring the subtle amusement in the narrowing of her eyes. 

“The Antler Knight crowned the Princess as the Queen of Love and Beauty and claimed her as his prize,” Daenera narrated. The children’s expressions twisted into scowls, but they remained engrossed in the tale. “They were wed, but true to his character, the Antler Knight was no honorable husband. He mistreated his wife, the Princess, and dishonored her by engaging with other women. The Princess felt lonely and isolated in her marriage, and as the months passed, that feeling grew until one night…”

“Unable to sleep, the Princess ventured into the castle’s hallways, her steps leading her outside to the starry expanse in the moonlight. Here, she encountered the One-Eyed Knight, who was training with his sword. He had been watching her from afar all these months, filled with longing.” Their eyes met again, and Aemond could sense her challenging his amusement, but he continued to wear his smug expression.

“Under the cover of the night, the two grew closer, their heart beating in unison,” Daenera spun her tale. “They knew that their love could never be realized as long as she remained married, so they contented themselves with yearning for each other, concealing their emotions. However, one fateful night, the Antler Knight noticed his wife’s absence from their bed, and concealed in the shadows, watched as the two danced beneath the moonlight. A fury consumed him, and upon her return to their chambers, he unleashed his anger on his wife.”

Jaehaera gasped, her lips pouting in sympathy for the princess. “How could he do such a thing?! What did the One-Eyed Knight do?”

Jaehaerys, ready to defend the princess with his wooden sword, chimed in, “If he couldn’t protect the princess, I would.”

Daenera chuckled and continued, “When the One-Eyed Knight learned of this abuse, he couldn’t bear to see the Princess suffer any longer. He challenged the Antler Knight to a duel. They met in the heart of the forest, where they drew their swords. The Antler Knight, blinded by his arrogance and pride, didn’t realize that the One-Eyed Knight possessed the spirit of a dragon. The One-Eyed Knight brought the Antler Knight to his knees, pressed his sword to the knight’s throat, and with a smile on his lips, he thrust the blade through the Antler Knight’s throat, spilling his blood on the forest floor.”

Jaehaerys cheered, brandishing his wooden sword in excitement, while Jaehaera turned to Daenera, her curiosity piqued. “Did he marry her then?”

Daenera nodded and answered, “Indeed, he stole her away and married her in secret.”

“What did the Father say to that?” Jaehaera inquired. 

“The Father was angered by his daughter’s actions, but he could not oppose the marriage, for it was already consummated,” Daenera explained. “In truth, he himself had done the same with his wife.”

“So, they lived happily ever after?” Jaehaera asked.

Daenera contemplated the question before responding,” What do you think?”

“I think they did,” Jaehaera replied with a wide smile. 

“One flesh, one heart, one soul,” Helaena mused quietly, putting aside her finished embroidery, one leg of the spider twisted from the pulled thread. “One funeral pyre.”

“I want to be like the One-Eyed Knight when I grow up!” Jaehaerys declared, rising from the blanket and wielding his wooden sword. “I will vanquish dishonorable men like the Antler Knight.”

“And you, Jaehaera, can become the Queen of Love and Beauty,” Daenera remarked, placing the now completed flower crown on Jaehaera’s head. “With this flower crown, I crown you as such.”

The girl stood and twirled around, her light blue dress adorned with golden embellishment shimmering in the sunlight, her curls caught in the whirl, fluttering around her grinning face. 

“Here, Lady Princess, this is for you,” the young boy, Patrick, offered, handing Daenera a delicate crown made of grass and straw, adorned with a few blooming flowers. Daenera thanked the boy and gently placed the crown on her own head, her dark curls making the pale blossoms bloom. 

“Uncle Aemond, will you teach me how to fight?” Jaehaerys turned his big eyes towards Aemond, pointing his sword at him in challenge. 

Aemond pushed himself off the tree and picked up one of the wooden swords, feeling its light weight in his hand. Although he was accustomed to heavier weapons, this one would suffice for training. “Very well.”

Aemond knelt down to give his nephew a lesson on properly gripping the sword. Jaehaerys’ small fingers wrapped tightly around the hilt, and he furrowed his brow in deep concentration. Aemond began with deliberate movements, demonstrating how to bring the sword down and parry, while the young boy tried to mimic his actions with his own inexperienced ones. They repeated these slow and precise motions for some time, with Jaehaerys determinedly honing his skills until he felt confident enough to challenge his uncle.

With a small, indulgent smile, Aemond accepted the challenge and moved to stand in front of his much smaller nephew. He couldn’t help but chuckle inwardly at the determined and stubborn expression on Jaehaerys’ face. 

Jaehaerys initiated the duel by slowly swinging his sword, practicing the techniques he had just learned from Aemond. 

Aemond expertly parried and deflected the wooden sword with ease, encouraging his nephew. And as the practice continued, Jaehaerys’s movements became quicker but less precise, and he began to swing his sword from side to side with little concern for proper technique. 

With each swing, Jaehaerys accompanied his movements with a fierce roar and spirited shouts that filled the garden with his youthful enthusiasm. 

Aemond skillfully swatted the wooden sword away, sidestepping the charging boy who had almost tripped over his own feet but managed to regain his balance. Jaehaerys spun around on his heels, his pale curls swaying as he held the sword high above his head, and then charged again with a resounding “AAAHHH!” followed by a dull thud as the sword’s tip thudded into the ground.

“Stop dancing around, uncle!” Jaehaerys exclaimed, lifting his sword again, its tip scratching the earth as he lifted it and pointed it accusingly at Aemond. “Fight me like a knight! fight me like a man!”

Aemond couldn’t help but be amused by the boy’s determination, deftly avoiding the wooden sword while responding with moves of his how. 

“You are a boy.” Aemond remarked. 

“I am not! I’m the One-Eyed Knight!” Jaehaerys declared, closing one of his eyes for emphasis, only to instinctively open it again as he swung at Aemond. “I will best you and win the Princess’s affection.”

Aemond’s smile grew even wider at the boy’s determination, skillfully avoiding the wooden sword once more while playfully challenging Jaehaerys. “If you are the One-Eyed Knight, what am I?”

Jaehaerys shrugged, brushing his hair out of his face, cheeks a vivid red. “You can be the Raven Knight.”

A snort of amusement escaped Daenera, drawing Aemond’s attention away from his playful duel with his nephew. He glanced over at her, finding her smiling with amusement, a light chuckle escaping her lips. She cradled Maelor in her arms, gently swaying from side to side as she held the blond babe close. 

Aemond might have acknowledged the irony of being labeled as the Raven Knight and the source of her chuckle, but he was too entranced by the sight of her with her arms wrapped around the baby. 

Maelor nuzzled into her warmth, his lips gleaming with drool as he gnawed on his tiny hands, yet devoid of any teeth. Daenera’s affectionately smile down at the boy, her gentle rocking, and the soft murmurs she whispered to him seemed to tug at Aemond’s heart. 

The mere sight of her cradling the baby pulled at something deep within him. He felt a stirring in the pit of his stomach, an undeniable yearning. He couldn’t control this desire; perhaps, it had taken root all those months ago when he offhandedly offered to father her children. 

Now that thought seemed to grow, sprouting wildly and delving deep, strong in its presence. 

He yearned to see her carry his child, to witness her belly swell with the promise of life–and all it entails, to feel the baby’s movements within her womb, and to see her cradling their own child, nursing it with her love and care. He longed to read to their child, to teach it how to wield a sword, and even how to soar through the sky on dragonback. But this dream, this fantasy, was sharp and cruel in its realism–it was just that, a dream. 

Amid his reverie, Jaehaerys swung his wooden sword, slipping past Aemond’s defenses to strike him across the shin with a loud rap. Aemond’s attention snapped back to the present as pain radiated up his leg, throbbing insistently. Nonetheless, he managed to deftly circumvent Jaehaerys’s next attack, only to dramatically sink down on one knee, pretending to have lost the use of his leg. 

Jaehaerys, caught up in the play, ran towards him and mimicked thrusting his wooden sword through Aemond’s heart with a triumphant roar. Aemond fell backwards, feigning death as he stared up into the sky, the dream as tangible as the drifting clouds, just out of reach.

Daenera gently nestled Maelor back into his cozy basket, her fingers tenderly picking up the delicate silver rattle. The rattle, adorned with intricate dragon imprints, shimmered in the light and chimed as it was shaken. Maelor’s chubby, robust fingers wrapped around it, giving it a spirited shake before he amusingly popped it into his mouth, his tiny feet playfully fluttering in the air. 

Settling herself beside Helaena, Daenera watched the children’s lively play. Helaena, setting her embroidery aside, joined her in observing. Jaehaerys and Patrick had teamed up, brandishing wooden swords in a mock battle against Aemond, while Jaehaera was engrossed with her doll. 

“Aunty Dae, do you have any sisters?” Jaehaera inquired, sweeping her silver-gold hair back to peer at Daenera. The flower crown on her head added a splay of color to her.

“I have two stepsisters, Baela and Rhaena. They’re twins, just like you and your brother,” Daenera replied, leaning her head affectionately against Helaena’s shoulder. 

Jaehaera’s lips formed a thoughtful pout. “But do you have any real sisters?”

“To me, they are my real sisters,” Daenera responded, an amused glint in her eyes. “As for those I share blood with, I have my older brother, Jacaerys, and my younger brothers, Lucerys and Joffrey. And then there’s my younger half-brothers, Aegon and Viserys.”

“My father’s name is Aegon too!” Jaehaera exclaimed almost excitedly. 

“Yes, your father is Aegon the Second, whereas my brother is Aegon the Third,” Daenera clarified. She didn’t think elaborating on their family tree would bring any more clarity to their relations, especially given how young Jaehaera was. It was best to leave that conversation for another day. 

Jaehaera’s face crinked in bewilderment. “Doesn’t that get confusing?”

“Some might think so, yes,” Daenera mused. 

Abruptly shifting topics with the unpredictability of a child, Jaehaera then inquired, “When will you have children, Auntie Dae?”

Daenera’s eyebrows arched, and a soft, musing sigh escaped her lips as she thought about the question. “Someday, perhaps. But for that, I would need a husband.”

“Why?”

“It’s a matter of propriety.”

“But why?”

“Because that’s how things are. I need a husband to have a child.”

“But you have a husband?” 

Daenera responded gently, “I did. My husband died, remember?”

“Oh, right,” Jaehaera murmured, and Daenera couldn’t help but suppress a small chuckle at the child’s reaction. Jaehaera and her brother Jaehaerys had been present at Boris Baratheon’s funeral, participating in the ceremony. Yet, being so young, their grasp on the concept of death was as tenuous and elusive as the true meaning behind being a prince and princess. The intricacies of loss and finality were still worlds away from their innocent minds. 

Helaena reached out, taking Daenera’s hand into her own, pressing her pointy against each of Daenera’s fingers as though she was counting. She spoke softly, her words almost like a poetic musing, “The seed sown in shared blood will thrive and dream. It grows, yet not every blossom reaches its full potential, cut down before it can bloom.”

The young girl continued her inquiry as she ran her fingers through the tangled hair of her doll. “Do you want children, Auntie Dae?”

Daenera’s gaze locked firmly on the girl, even as she saw him out of the corner of her eye, lifting Jaehaerys into the air, the small boy a bundle of giggles. 

“Yes,” she affirmed, feeling a flutter of emotion in her stomach. “One day, I do want a child.”

Jaehaera seemed pleased with this answer, her face brightening. “I promise to play with them and I will show them my dolls!”

“I’m sure they’ll like that very much,” Daenera hummed. 

As Daenera and Helaena observed the children’s playful antics, the serene summer day enveloped them. Jaehaera was absorbed in her dolls, while Jaehaerys, Patrick, and Aemond were still engrossed in the mock sword fight. The day was graced with sunshine, the air fragrant with floral scents, and a gentle breeze whispered through the trees, its soft rustling harmonizing with the children’s laughter. Helaena nestled against Daenera, her fingers delicately tracing over Daenera’s hand, creating invisible patterns that sent tingles across her skin. 

“People say that the line on your palms can reveal your life’s journey,” Helaena mused thoughtfully, turning Daenera’s hand to study her palm, her fingers gliding from the middle finger down to the wrist. 

Daenera gazed at her palm, reflecting on this notion. “Perhaps they can tell stories of one’s past and present through the hands’ appearance, but I doubt they can predict the future from them.”

Helaena continued, tracing a line on Daenera’s palm. “Some believe these lines can foretell the length of your life.”

Curious, Daenera inquired softly, “What do you think my hand reveals about my life?”

Helaena pondered, carefully examining Daenera’s hand. “Your hands are soft, and indicating a life of care and attention,” she noted, running her fingers over the faint silver scars that was etched into the overside of her hand from minor cuts.

“Yet there’s a defiance in them—you’re not one to shy away from getting your hands dirty.” Helaena observed the remnants of stems under Daenera’s nails from plucking flowers and the small patches of dirt clinging to her skin. 

“These hands also speak of luxury and nurture, suggesting a life of comfort and meticulous grooming.” She flipped the hand to study the palm again. “The lack of callouses signifies a life more genteel than laborious. The hands of a noble lady.” 

Helaena traced a line gently. “Your life, as I see it, will be long, marked by challenges, struggles, and heartaches. But you will persevere through all of them. You are stronger than you think you are, and you will grow into your power.”

Her finger traced the pink scar that drew through her palm. “You are loved.”

“What do the lines on your hands reveal?” Daenera asked softly, her voice filled with gentle curiosity. 

Helaena hesitated, a hint of apprehension in her voice. “I’m too afraid to look.”

Her hand balled into a tight fist. 

“Then let me look for you,” Daenera suggested warmly, carefully taking Helaena’s hand into hers and gently coaxing it open to reveal the palm. She first examined the back of Helaena’s hand. Her fingers were long and immaculate, lacking the scars of outdoor escapades. Her nails were meticulously maintained, trimmed to the perfect length. “Yours are the hands of something with a tender touch. They’re nurtured and refined, delicate and soft.”

She then flipped Helaena’s hand over to inspect the palm. “These hands are creators, dream weavers. I can discern the tiny calluses from years of needlework, the testament of that of a skilled artist.”

Daenera’s fingers flipped over the soft lines etched in Helaena’s palm. She noted one line that was shorter, almost fragmented, while others diverted in different directions. “In these hands, I see the nurturing touch of a mother. But there’s also the strength of a dragonrider, forged for soaring among the clouds. 

Daenera pressed her own palm against Helaena’s, their fingers intertwining. 

“I wish for my children to have hands that are resilient and strong,” Helaena whispered, her voice tinged with the familiar hint of melancholy. Her grip on Daenera’s hand tightened slightly.

“They will be,” Daenera reassured her confidently. There was no reason the children wouldn’t grow up to be strong and resilient. 

Helaena leaned closer, a soft smile playing on her lips. “Had you been born a boy, I would have married you too.”

Daenera chuckled warmly. “I could always cut my hair and whisk you away to Lys or Braavos, though it seems more like you’d be the one abducting me, especially since you’re the one with a dragon.”

At that, Helaena’s laughter filled the air, light and at ease.

Alicent stood at the garden’s edge, concealed by the lush, meticulously tended foliage that surrounded the area. Her gaze remained fixed on her children and grandchildren as they reveled amid the vibrant blossoms and the verdant scenery. However, her attention was primarily drawn to the subtle interaction between Daenera and Aemond. With each passing moment, her apprehension grew, etching lines of worry and dread onto her features. 

It was not long ago she had ordered Aemond to devote careful consideration to the matter of a marriage alliance, to choose one that would best serve their family’s interests. 

Her deep-rooted apprehensions weighed heavily on her mind, a gnawing dread that kept her awake for many nights. The negotiations for marriage contracts and the establishments of alliances were slow-moving, filled with diplomatic intricacies and courtesies. It was a process that required a patience she did not have. 

Aemond had dutifully sent letters to various noble houses, including the Tyrells, the Tullys, Greyjoys, and the Reynes, expressing an interest in potential marriage alliances. His compliance with her wishes had been commendable, but his apparent lack of enthusiasm cast a shadow of uncertainty over her. 

She knew that forming such alliances took time. Negotiations were meticulous, involving delicate considerations of dowries, titles, and political implications. The future depended on these arrangements, and they could not afford to rush into ill-considered unions—nevertheless, Alicent feared more that word of her son’s affair would get out, reveal itself for what it was and ruin any prospects with Houses such as Baratheon… And worse yet, that it would see him married to her.

The information that had reached her through Larys Strong was deeply disconcerting. Aemond’s visit to the Tyrells had resulted in a meeting with a prospective bride who was described as beautiful and of the appropriate age. Despite these favorable qualities, Aemond displayed no further interest in her. 

Worse still, the Tullys, whose alliance could be instrumental, had withdrawn their interest in a marriage alliance when Aemond had left their daughter in tears. 

It was a troubling sign that had planted seeds of doubt within her heart. 

Alicent fidget with her hands as she contemplated her son’s behavior. The weight of her responsibility bore down on her shoulders, and she could not afford to let this matter languish. Her family’s future depended on it, and she was determined to guide Aemond towards the right decision. 

“Why are you lurking in the gardens, Mother?” Aegon’s voice broke through the silence, his casual demeanor belying the palpable tension in the air. His unkempt hair, a stark contrast to his princely status, irked her deeply. She wished he would compose himself with more dignity, particularly when he meandered about in the castle. 

“I am not lurking,” Alicent replied tersely, her gaze still fixated on the scene before her.

“Then what are you doing?” Aegon inquired, shifting his attention towards the garden, mirroring his mother’s intense scrutiny. 

Alicent’s eyes flitted briefly from her son, her lips forming a disproving line. Her response was curt, her eyes returning to the garden. “I am observing.”

Aegon redirected his gaze as well, his discerning eye landing on his siblings and children, and when he spoke, there was that infuriating smugness in his tone. “He’s smitten by her.”

“He is not,” Alicent countered, her fingers inadvertently digging into her own flesh as unease gnawed at her. 

“He absolutely is, Mother. Just look at the way he gazes at her,” Aegon argued, a hint of fascination in his tone.

Her narrowed eyes watched as Aemond seemed to lose himself in contemplation, his gaze unwaveringly focused on Daenera. The way he looked at her, like a boy struck with awe, filled her with dread. It seemed to swell within her chest, creating an oppressive weight that pressed against her lungs and heart. 

“He understands his duty,” she stated firmly, turning her discerning gaze towards her eldest son. 

Aegon regarded his mother thoughtfully. “He appears to be delaying, though, doesn’t he? You could have arranged his marriage by now.”

“I have faith in him,” she responded with unwavering resolve as her grip on her own flesh grew tighter. “Aemond will fulfill his responsibilities. He will marry, and he will honor his marital vows. That is his nature. And in time, he may come to genuinely care for his wife.” 

“Perhaps you should have accepted Rhaenyra’s proposal and had Jacaerys marry Helaena, and I marry Daenera,” Aegon remarked, his tone carrying an unsettling nonchalance that sent shivers of apprehension down her spine. She couldn’t quite put a finger on the source of his eagerness, whether it was a genuine desire for Daenera or simply a childish yearning for what was forbidden. Regardless, it filled her with even more dread.

Alicent turned to her son, her gaze sharp and warning. “Stay away from her, Aegon. She’s a Princess, and you mustn't forget that.”

Aegon’s response was defiant, bordering on insolent. “She’s a bastard–”

With a stern look, Alicent cut her son off, her voice laced with authority. “She’s a Princess, and you will treat her as such. We cannot afford any scandal involving you and her, do you understand?”

Aegon’s demeanor shifted, his arms folding defensively over his chest as he leaned against one of the ornate pillars. His frown deepened, and he spoke with a note of bitterness. “I am not the one you should be concerned with. I am not the one in love with her.”

Alicent let out a dismissive sound, akin to a scoff, as she refuted his claim. “He is not in love with her, Aegon. His duty will guide his actions, as it always has.”

But Aegon remained resolute, his tone carrying a sense of resignation mixed with petulance. “He is in love with her, Mother. He may delude himself, and you may believe his delusion, but he is very much in love with her. For once, he should be your disappointment, not I.”

Alicent released a slow, measured breath. “I am not disappointed in you–”

“You are, Mother. You’ve always been,” Aegon interrupted, his voice carrying a hint of vulnerability that tugged at Alicent’s heart. He looked so much like the little boy he once was, wounded by a perceived lack of trust. “If only you’d afford me the same faith you have in him.”

Alicent took a tentative step towards him, her maternal instincts urging her to comfort her son. Her hand rose to brush against his cheek in a gesture of reassurance, but Aegon swatted it away. He turned and walked away, his posture that of a petulant child, leaving Alicent with a heavy knot forming in the back of her throat. 

Her gaze returned to Aemond, who was still engrossed in the playful sword fight with his nephew. She reminded herself that, ultimately, her son would prioritize his duty over his infatuation. He had always been the one she could rely on, and she would not let Daenera take that from her.

**Lavender: Happiness, love, devotion. **Baby's breath: Innocence, purity of the heart. **Eye Bright: Mental Clarity, psychic powers. (the flower Jaehaera puts in Helaena's hair.) **Pink Carnations: A mother's love, I will never forget you. **White Carnations: Sweet and lovely, innocence, pure love. **Hawthorn Tree: Hope, fertility. **Cypress Tree: Death, mourning, despair, sorrow. **Doll's Eye: Toxic/Poison.

[ladyniniane]

FE OC WEEK DAY 1: Introduction

Here is another FE3H OC I'm introducing for @fe-oc-week! (Though I won't be doing all the prompts with her).

Please note that English isn’t my first language!

❧Name: Maude Yuehua Blaiddyd (Maude means “mighty in battle” and Yuehua is from chinese “Yue”: moon and “Hua”: flower). Also known as Rong Yuehua and Maude Lescure.

❧Age : 25 years old in 747

❧Affiliation: Holy Kingdom of Faerghus

❧In short: A heroine of the War of the Eagle and Lion (yes, she's the "maiden of wind" from Ashe's book!). Maude was born in Dagda to a Faerghian father and a Dagdan mother. A powerful magician, she spent 8 years in Morfis, both as a student and a teacher. Longing to discover her father’s country, Maude traveled to Faerghus where she met Loog and the two fell deeply in love. Seeing Faerghus’ suffering under Adrestian rule, she joined his cause and fought bravely during the ensuing war. She later left her mark in history as Loog’s wife and co-ruler...and Dimitri's ancestress.

❧Apparence: Maude is 1m73 tall with a slender, athletic figure. Her dark hair is cut shoulder-length for practical reasons. She has a sweet oval face and slightly slanted dark brown eyes. Her nose is straight and regular. She has a noticeable scar on her forearm due to an accident when training with magic.

She mostly practical traveling clothes, with pants and a knee-length round collar vest, and a fur-trimmed coat to face the Faerghian winter. Her favorite colors are blue and green. When she arrived in Faerghus, she was still wearing a white garment under her clothes as she was mourning her mother and white is the color of mourning in Dagda. She always paints a blue or red flower on her forehead, between her eyebrows (like this) and likes mixing Faeghian and Dagdan elements in her clothing. Her mother's sword and her father's dagger are always by her side.

❧Theme song: “Shake it out”, Florence and the Machine 

❧Her pinterest

❧Skills: 

Strengths: Reason, sword, authority, brawling (budding talent) 

Weaknesses: lance, axes, bows

Maude exhibited a gift for magic from a young age. Her stay in Morfis allowed her to develop her full potential. She knows rare spells and formulas. Upon her arrival in Faerghus, she teaches the local mages and her formations will later inflict important damage on the Adrestian troops. 

She possesses tremendous magical power and the skills to use it adequately. Among Loog’s close allies, only Pan rivals her in terms of magical ability. As her nickname indicates, Maude has a natural affinity for wind magic and can summon powerful gusts or cutting wind blades. She also uses thunder spells, including Bolting.

With a taste for physical activity, Maude was taught martial arts and swordsmanship during her childhood. She neglected this discipline while in Morfis, but underwent rigorous military training with a former general before she departed for Faerghus. Maude is thus a fast and nimble swordswoman, using a traditional Dagdan Jian. She can also fight without weapons. Training with her new friends allows her to improve her skills in unarmed combat.

❧Personality:  Maude has a bright and energetic personality. She’s extremely sociable and can put even the most timid people at ease. As a teacher, she was patient and knew how to make difficult concepts understandable. She was thus well-liked by her students. She likes exercise, such as fencing, martial arts, running or games such as cuju and exploring new places.

She’s also hardworking, having reached her current level in magic with much perseverance and discipline. When she began studying in Morfis, she realized that she was lacking in some areas and promised to improve. She gives herself the means to reach her objectives.

Another major trait of hers is curiosity. Whether it concerns magic or the world’s mysteries, Maude thirsts for knowledge. Present her with a riddle and she will do her best to solve it. She has been dreaming for a long time of going on an adventure, sailing into the unknown. and discovering the other half of her origins.

This, however, caused her undoing. Maude was so hungry for knowledge that she was once overwhelmed and stayed in Morfis longer than she had planned. Because of that, she missed her mother’s funeral. Though traumatic, this even was a wake-up call and showed her how much Morfis had changed her. She had become so proud of her abilities that she wanted to see how far she could go and amass more power and knowledge. When thinking of this, she now feels guilty and tends to be harsh with herself.

She thus won't be led astray again and won’t waste time dreaming. Since she’s discovering the world, she’s still unaware of some realities but isn’t naive or blind and desires to face them. Clever and resourceful, she knows how to handle herself and analyzes new situations with a practical mind.

She also has a strong sense of justice and longs for a cause. When she discovers Faerghus' situation, she refuses to run away and stays to fight with her friends. She is very much aware of the dangers she faces but isn’t afraid of undertaking long and arduous journeys. Maude is merciless with her foes and doesn’t think twice before striking. During her first battle, she has no qualms about using Bolting on a pirate ship. She won’t let anyone cross her, be they family members.

Stay tuned for her backstory!

[treesandwords]

The World of STOSK: clothing

I've been wanting to talk about costumes in my WIP for a while, and I made an older post about it but it's not super detailed. So I'm back, this time with pictures! Let's get down to business and talk typical clothing in the main land of this story -- known as the Gamilaric Region.

Edit/note: I have no idea how to get the later images to stop being Like That. They look perfectly lined up like the two just below are when in the edit window, but as soon as I hit post they stack on top of each other. I hate it help me.

The Idrinics

Of the three main civilizations that have settled in this region, the Idrinic people were the first. Despite this area being significantly warmer than what they were used to at the time (being originally from the far north), their fashion styles retained reflections of that earlier environment such as fur trimming, knitting (including vests/sweater-like garments, gloves, scarves, and shawls), layering, and often head coverings.

I've taken a scattering of inspirations from different places for these folks; pretty much if it's layered, warm, embroidered in a subtle way, and somehow involves knitting, it could work. Often families or chiefdoms would have symbols and patterns that were knitted into garments. They really really liked knitting ok guys.

The Idrinics tended to wear soft shades of blue, grey, and green.

The Dviric

The Dviric came from the northeast, a group of people just narrowly escaping the then-forming Saldigan Empire. They eventually formed an empire of their own in the land of the Idrinics as well as further south and inland (many Idrinics kept to the northern coasts), but to begin with they assimilated into local Idrinic cultures for the most part.

In Sons of the Summer King, while the Dviric empire is long gone, the Dviric people are the dominant cultural-ethnic group in the region. Most of the current/"modern" fashion is some combination of the three main settled groups. However, I've been thinking a lot about Dviric traditional clothes/what they were wearing before they came to the Idrinic lands as well.

There were a lot of long coats/surcoats for both men and women, as well as decorative aprons and shawls. Much of their clothing was in bold, dark colours like brick red, dark green and navy blue, copper, black, and gold, and heavily patterned or embroidered. They also incorporated plenty of jewelry and ornamentation into their clothing, often as a status symbol.

Red was worn predominantly by Saldigan nobility, so at first after breaking away from their influence the Dviric deliberately avoided it in their clothing. However, it later came back into popularity and continued to go in and out of fashion for a while.

The inspiration for their clothes came from a lot of sources, including the traditional costumes of Iceland, Latvia, eastern Europe, parts of western Asia, and a few different Balkan countries.

The Gamilars

The Gamilars were the final major group to settle in the region, taking control of it at the height of the Dviric Empire. They came via boat from a smaller western continent, and brought new styles of architecture, clothing and, most importantly, government.

The Gamilars favoured looser silhouettes than their predecessors, as well as richer, more vibrant colours - especially shades of teal, orange, gold, and emerald green. They wore a lot of intricate and delicate jewelry, usually in geometric or nature-themed motifs.

Patterned fabrics were also common, and outfits in a mishmash of potentially clashing tones a popular fashion statement. The warmer climate they came from (and that of the parts of the region they inhabited the most) allowed for lighter, flowier fabrics. Generally they were more "flashy" than the existing civilizations of the region.

A lot of my ideas for their clothing came from pre-raphaelite style fashion and a combo of Art Noveau and Art Deco patterns and jewelry.

Present Day

So what's really fun is that, while all these cultures had a distinct look and feel, the latest major migration - Gamilars arriving - occurred roughly 500 years before the start of the book. So since then there's been quite a lot of merging and variety in clothing style. For our main characters, who are mostly Dviric in ancestry and were raised mostly in keeping with their people's traditions, their clothes take on a somewhat muted version of their historical costumes.

Long coats and over-layers are still very much in fashion, as are sleeveless garments worn over underlayers. There's also a lot of side-lacing that tends to happen. Clothing is durable and more likely to be on the heavy side than on the light, as these characters live in the north where it gets quite a bit colder. The colour palette usually consists of greens, browns, blues, and golds - the warmer and brighter tones tending to be Gamilar influences.

Generally the characters specifically in the location I'm writing about don't wear a lot of jewelry, but woven and leatherwork belts, pins, and buttons are common accessories. And yeah, they still love their knitting.

Anyway, that's that! This took me way too long to make. Hopefully soon if I have the energy for it I'll get around to painting some of these so you can have a glimpse of what they look like in my head. Bye bye for now!

Taglist: @kaatiba (lmk for addition/removal)

[homerenovationhillsdistrict]

Achieving the Perfect Finish: Choosing the Right Paint for Your Home Renovation Hills District Sydney

When embarking on a home renovation in the Hills District of Sydney, choosing the right paint is crucial to achieving a stunning finish that enhances both the aesthetics and functionality of your space. Paint not only provides protection but also sets the tone for your home's overall look and feel. In this guide, we will explore how to select the perfect paint for your home renovation in Hills District Sydney, ensuring your project stands out for all the right reasons.

Understanding Your Paint Options

Before diving into specifics, it's important to understand the different types of paint available and how they can affect your home renovation in Hills District Sydney.

1. Latex Paint

Latex paint, also known as water-based paint, is a popular choice due to its ease of use and low odor. It dries quickly and is easy to clean up with water. Ideal for interior walls and ceilings, latex paint offers a range of finishes from matte to high gloss.

2. Oil-Based Paint

Oil-based paint is known for its durability and smooth finish. It is commonly used for trim, moldings, and high-traffic areas. However, it has a longer drying time and requires solvents for clean-up.

3. Acrylic Paint

Acrylic paint, a type of water-based paint, provides excellent color retention and resistance to fading. It is suitable for both interior and exterior surfaces and is known for its quick drying time and ease of application.

4. Enamel Paint

Enamel paint is highly durable and often used for surfaces that require extra toughness, such as kitchen cabinets and bathroom fixtures. It comes in both oil-based and water-based formulations.

Choosing the Right Finish

The finish of your paint can dramatically influence the final look of your home renovation in Hills District Sydney. Here are the common finishes to consider:

1. Matte (Flat) Finish

A matte finish offers a non-reflective surface that hides imperfections well. It is ideal for ceilings and low-traffic areas where durability is not a major concern.

2. Eggshell Finish

Eggshell paint has a slight sheen and is easier to clean than matte finishes. It’s suitable for living rooms, bedrooms, and other areas where a subtle glow is desired.

3. Satin Finish

Satin finishes provide a soft sheen and are more durable than eggshell finishes. They are a great choice for high-traffic areas such as hallways and family rooms.

4. Semi-Gloss Finish

Semi-gloss paint offers a noticeable shine and is highly durable. It is commonly used for trim, moldings, and cabinets.

5. High-Gloss Finish

High-gloss paint provides a reflective surface that is easy to clean and maintain. It is often used for accent walls, doors, and high-traffic areas.

Colour Selection Tips

Choosing the right color is one of the most important aspects of your home renovation in Hills District Sydney. Here are some tips to help you make the best choice:

1. Consider the Room’s Function

The purpose of the room can influence your color choice. For example, calming colors like blues and greens are perfect for bedrooms, while vibrant colors can energize a home office or playroom.

2. Reflect on Natural Light

Natural light can affect how colors appear. Test paint samples on walls and observe them at different times of the day to see how they look under varying light conditions.

3. Match with Existing Décor

Ensure your chosen colors complement existing furniture, flooring, and fixtures. Creating a cohesive look will enhance the overall appeal of your home renovation in Hills District Sydney.

4. Create Contrast

Incorporating contrasting colors can add visual interest and depth to your space. For example, pairing a dark accent wall with lighter furnishings can create a striking effect.

Preparing for Painting

Proper preparation is key to achieving a flawless finish. Follow these steps to ensure your painting project goes smoothly:

1. Surface Preparation

Clean the surfaces to be painted and repair any cracks or imperfections. Sanding the surfaces will help the paint adhere better and create a smoother finish.

2. Priming

Applying a primer can improve paint adhesion, especially on new or repaired surfaces. It also helps to block stains and provide a uniform base for the paint.

3. Choosing Quality Paint

Investing in high-quality paint can make a significant difference in the final result. Quality paint typically offers better coverage, durability, and color retention.

Application Tips

To achieve the best results for your home renovation in Hills District Sydney, consider the following application tips:

1. Use Proper Tools

High-quality brushes, rollers, and painter’s tape will contribute to a cleaner and more precise finish. Ensure you have the right tools for the type of paint and finish you’re using.

2. Apply in Thin Coats

Applying multiple thin coats of paint is preferable to one thick coat. It allows for better coverage and reduces the risk of drips and streaks.

3. Maintain Even Strokes

Maintain a consistent application technique to avoid visible lines or uneven patches. Using a “W” pattern when rolling can help achieve a smooth finish.

4. Ventilation

Ensure proper ventilation during the painting process to facilitate faster drying and minimize fumes. Open windows and use fans to improve air circulation.

Common Mistakes to Avoid

To ensure your home renovation in Hills District Sydney turns out perfectly, avoid these common painting mistakes:

1. Skipping the Primer

Skipping primer can lead to poor paint adhesion and uneven coverage. Always use primer when necessary.

2. Choosing the Wrong Finish

Selecting the wrong finish for a specific area can affect the durability and appearance of your paint job. Choose the finish that best suits the function and traffic level of the area.

3. Rushing the Job

Patience is crucial in painting. Allow sufficient drying time between coats and avoid rushing the process to achieve a professional-quality finish.

Conclusion

Choosing the right paint for your home renovation Hills District Sydney is a critical step towards achieving a beautiful and lasting finish. By understanding your paint options, selecting the appropriate finish and color, and following proper preparation and application techniques, you can enhance the look and feel of your home. Whether you opt for a classic matte finish or a high-gloss shine, the right paint choice will contribute significantly to the success of your renovation project.

FAQs

1. What type of paint is best for high-traffic areas? For high-traffic areas, semi-gloss or satin finishes are ideal due to their durability and ease of cleaning.

2. How do I determine the right color for my room? Consider the room’s purpose, natural light, and existing décor. Test paint samples on walls to see how they look throughout the day.

3. Is it necessary to use a primer before painting? Yes, using a primer helps with paint adhesion, covers stains, and ensures a more even finish, especially on new or repaired surfaces.

4. Can I paint over existing paint without sanding? It’s best to sand the surface lightly to ensure proper adhesion of the new paint. However, if the existing paint is in good condition, you may be able to apply a primer and paint directly.

5. How can I avoid paint streaks and roller marks? Apply paint in thin, even coats and use a high-quality roller. Maintaining a consistent application technique and using proper tools will help minimize streaks and marks.

[nopynopa]

Call My Name

Chapter 2.1

This area of the garden was the raised part. There was a long pond along the length in the middle and a large fountain inserted between the two ponds. Next to the pond were wide walkways covered with cream almost square tiles. On the side of the walkway, there were small rectangular gardens lined up along the path on both sides of the pond. On the outside of the these gardens, there were light pink rose contrasted with dark green from rose leaves. There were white stones arranged into four frames inside each small gardens. Inside each frame there was red shrub and green plants trimmed into a pattern. In the middle of this small garden, there were flowers in the shape of flamingo but they weren’t only pink, but cyan, blue, orange, purple or even yellow! Next to those gardens, there were many finely trimmed trees lined up. If Carorina didn't see it with her own eyes, she wouldn't believe that there was a real place.

Although the garden was beautiful with the trees and flowers delicately decorated, Carorina didn't care more than the statue of the gods between the small garden. The woman thought that there were at least twenty of them. Those statues were small statues standing on quite short bases between each small garden. Although they were small, but they were elaborately built. The woman had been watching at the statues that she walked through in detail until she was attached by the statue in front of her.

"The god of sculpture or maybe you know the name of the god of construction Some people are called the gods of architecture."

Listening from the owner of the castle, Carorina immediately understood. She knew this god as The god of construction for all time. She had read in the tales, the scripture or from other women when she still worked for the previous lord.

"Do you know how poor this god is?" A familiar voice came into the woman's ear. She looked for the voice beginning. "If you read the legend of other sects, you will know that This god died in every legends and in different ways" Arthur said with ridicule face.

"Arthur! what are you doing here!"

"If she can come, why can't I?"

"She has never seen my garden, so I had to take her to see by myself as the owner of the castle."

"Carorina, I have listened him raving about his garden for a hundred times. I will take you to see myself."

"I think it will be better if he take me to see the garden himself. He knows this place better than you."

"Carorina...did you choose him more than me?"

"My lord, I just think he knows this garden better than you so I want to hear it from his mouth."

The man in green shirt grabbed the other man’s hand and went down the side stair. "Excuse me, may we have a moment? Gentlemen have something to talk privately." The man in green shirt said. "Really private," Arthur added.

[rikas-things]

Twisted Wonderland: Keys to the Future part 1

||||To check for updates on chapters, feel free to check out the TWST table of contents below👇👇

If you're interested in other content I have, please feel free to check out the Master post

Thank you and have a great rest of your day!

★☆★☆★☆(⁠◕⁠ᴥ⁠◕⁠)★☆★☆★☆

When she awoke, the room she was in was a dim, ominous green hue, with the only light coming from the floating coffins that dotted the area.

In the middle of said room was a large ornate mirror the likes she had never seen, floating just above a fountain that oozed an odorless green liquid.

She tried to move her body, but she couldn't feel anything; every inch of her felt as light and intangle as air.

Was she even in the room itself?

Despite this strange lack of sensing her body, this didn't bother her, oddly enough.

A strange calmness washed over her as she was fixed in this one place, forced to observe this personless room.

Before she had time to ponder even further, a shadowy figure emerged from some unseen place before it knelt in front of the large mirror.

The clicking of heels rattled her brain and felt oddly familiar, though she couldn't place why.

The mirror roared to life as its surface was briefly set aflame with green fire.

"Ah, my dear esteemed benefactor...", a man's voice began,"my proud, beautiful flower of evil."

Flower of evil? She wondered in her head, what does that mean?

"You are truly the fairest of them all."

Quickly, she felt a pang of dread rise in her, but only for a moment.

She wasn't sure why but this place felt familiar to her despite never setting foot in it, and that voice...where had she heard it?

"O magic mirror, thy wisdom I entreat... reveal to me the visage I seek—"

His words cut off and she was plunged in pure darkness.

She felt around it and was surprised to find it was solid, like a stable floor.

Soft murmurs could be heard from outside the dark space, and she could hear the running of water.

Or was it water?

She wasn't sure, but something was nudging her, no pressing her to go.

She needed to get out of here-

The sound of someone's steps growing closer to her stopped her train of thought and she paused, not sure what to do.

Was it that strange shadow she saw earlier?

Somehow the idea of meeting such a being didn't scare her-

Again, before she could ponder further, the surface of her...whatever this was, rattled.

Was someone trying to open it?

"Crap," an unfamiliar, child-like voice began, "people are coming. Gotta get a uniform while-"

As if on instinct, she decided to push the surface again, this time being met with a blinding light.

Once her vision adjusted, the first thing she saw was a strange sight indeed:

A small cat-like creature with large blue eyes and fire coming out of its equally large ears jumped back as the lid to her...entrapment slid open.

It's already large eyes grew big with shock and horror as it raised its paws.

It let out a shrill scream.

"Why are you up?!"

She blinked.

"A talking raccoon?" She asked rather calmly.

The creature's fear was overrid with rage at her question, his already thin pupils turning into slits as he glared at her.

"Just who are you callin' a raccoon!" He sassed as he put his paws on his hips.

"I am the Great Grim!"

She cocked her head as she adjusted her glasses.

She jumped for a second- when did she put these on?

"Well, whatever, human," his words interrupted her pondering yet again, "hurry up and gimme those clothes!"

He ended his sentence with a cocky grin.

She looked at herself and noticed she was wearing a silk black robe with the collar lined in purple.

Every inch of it, from the sleeves to the helms were embroidered with elaborate gold trim.

Underneath were black pants and a black shirt, trimmed with the gold as well.

It looked beautiful and very expensive; she could certainly see why he would want it, but wondered how he'd carry such big fabric given his small body.

As she looked from beyond him, she noticed the nearly endless sea of hooded figures chattering loudly, their faces obscured from their long hoods.

As she scanned the room, a familiar sight had beheld her:

Same as in the vision, endless rows of chandeliers lined with rows of candles ignited with the green flames she saw in her vision.

This room had to be one and the same as the one in her vision-

"Hey! I'm not gonna ask again!" Grim interrupted her once more, this time with a bright blue fireball behind him.

For some odd reason, she didn't feel the least but threatened by it.

Blue flames are usually hotter than red ones, and this one was close enough that she could feel its heat.

She was sure his threat wasn't an empty one, yet she just stood there.

"I can't recall a time where I had a dream about a raccoon dog threatening me with fire."

"For the last time, I'm NOT a raccoon! Do you wanna get roasted?!"

Something exploded above her head, and when she looked up, she saw her head was on fire.

The fire was certainly hot, hot enough that she was worried it would burn her hair and face as she frantically patted it away.

In the first time that she got here, she got the idea that she should get away from here before he made good on that threat!

She jumped over him and ran into the crowd, ignoring the befuddled whispers of the people as she ran into the large double doors and into the corridor.

[goldenplaceholder]

SwapFell Crystalized

•World lore- SFC is a swapfell au where crystals are all over the underground and are commonly used by monsters as currency, and symbols of status.

The way they’re used for currency is the more common a crystal the less buying power it has. The way they’re used for status is the fact that some crystals contain magic, and can store/make it, most monsters get crystals embedded into them when they join the royal guard or pay for it to happen to them.

•Character appearances-

Chara: imagine swapfell chara combined with the tiredness of underfella’s frisk. Also darker colors.

Temmie: so it’s swapfell temmie, but the plush has more wear and tear.

Hapstablook: they mainly look like swapfell hapstablook with a few changes. The bottom part of them is sharper and more worn and torn looking, while their eyes are sharper with slight bags under them, and they usually carry an annoyed look.

Asgore: wears a black cloak with the royal insignia, shadows cover his face when he has the hood up, though in fights his eyes shoot a piercing glare at the opponent (aka eyes are slightly visible in fights). In his right arm a Taaffeite is embedded with a crack running along it and some magic trailing out like smoke.

Papyrus: wears a jacket with an amethyst color and sweat pants. He only has a right eye socket and an amethyst is embedded where his left eye socket would be, his skull slightly cracked from the crystal’s embedded area. He is always slightly sweating and looks nervous almost all the time (Whenever he’s face to face with someone or talking with them he always sweats a lot more heavily) (in geno routes he is heavily sweating and has slight tears, though his facial expression is a shaky intimidation).

Sans: he’s literally 4’2 he wears a white shirt, green suspenders, green pinstriped pants, and his clothes usually have dirt stains on them. He also has his sleeves rolled up about half way, also an emerald is embedded in each of his palms.

Alphys: looks more on the side of underswap alphys with a few changes. Larger head spikes and claws, the scar on her left eye is worse, her armor is lighter/less. A topaz is embedded on their chest.

Undyne: her hair is loose (aka not in a bun or something of the sort). They wear googles covering their eyes both lens being cracked a bit. She wears a lab coat that’s open and torn and tattered at the bottom, rubber gloves, and brass knuckles on he right hand. She also has a peridot embedded in her right shoulder.

WDG: a bit taller than Undyne. He wears an open lab coat, a tie that’s barely even tied together, a black turtleneck shirt, black slacks, black shoes, he wears a black rubber glove on his left hand and a obsidian is embedded through his right hand.

Napstaton: he has 2 arms floating at his left and right and 2 extra arms attached to his back that can extend. He has no legs but there is a large sapphire at his base keeping him afloat. He wears an open vest which is dark blue in color, with a black top hat with the same dark blue as a stripe a set of a slightly lighter blue headphones are forced through the top hat.

Toriel: she wears a dark yellow cloak (no hood) with dark purple trims. Some scars on her face and worn out armor. A Taaffeite is embedded in her left arm.

•Character lore-

Chara: Chara ran away from the town they lived in after a few years of working in a factory, they planned to just hide away in the mountains for a few days but after hearing some explosions they tripped into the underground. Chara prefers not fighting though will fight if nothing else works.

Temmie: They had awoken one day in new home as a temmie plush. After a while Toriel found them and cared for them for a bit, though Toriel occasionally punished temmie for stuff she thought they did, which caused temmie to run away and into the ruins. They usually avoid asgore seeing how aggressive he usually is.

Hapstablook: tbh in this au they’re angry at the world since they’re usually left alone, but want people to be with them even if they try and push them away.

Asgore: After Toriel killed frisk asgore took their body and fled to the ruins. While living in the ruins asgore was attacked by many monsters an attack hitting the crystal in his right arm, causing it to crack and have magic float out from it like smoke. Because of this he is a lot more aggressive to others, and usually only talks when someone is unable to fight, or shows to threat.

Papyrus: papyrus at a young age was born with any their right eye socket and strangely no magic. So their guardian at the time wdg, the royal scientist, decided to test a new crystal and embedded it where a left eye socket should’ve been. The procedure almost failed causing papyrus’s skull to crack a bit, but it succeeded and gave papyrus a new kind of magic which wdg simply called crystal magic. After a while papyrus moved to snowdin with his brother sans, and due to the incident above he barely trusts anyone and is constantly sweating from what they could do if he fully lets his guard down, the people he’s a bit more calm around are sans and the person behind the entrance to the ruins. Because of his constant nervousness he isn’t the judge, but instead a sentry.

Sans: at a surprisingly young age of 8 sans fought alphys (who was 25 at the time) for the position of guard captain, and sans succeeded beating alphys and becoming the guard captain.After his victory he got 2 crystals embedded in his palms to symbolize his strength over others. Sans actually doesn’t care for many monsters except royalty and family, with very few exceptions. Usually when sans isn’t busy with royal guard duties he tends to his garden, the ‘prison’ being a greenhouse in this au, where sans usually grows either cooking ingredients to make his famous pizza or some flowers for decorating.

Alphys: Alphys at the age of 18 took charge of the royal guard after beating former leader gaster. Alphys tried about 20 times before finally beating gaster, during her first try she was 15 and suffered a serious injury across her eye from gaster (who hoped it would deter her). Once sans had beaten her she respected him, especially since he did it first try.

Undyne: since she was young she was always bored, so to pass the time she messed around building random stuff. Eventually she started making robots but most of them didn’t work, then she met napstablook and they struck a deal. After a while she got the idea of joining the and becoming the royal scientist, though she became the assistant to the current one. But she plots on taking the position through almost any means, but she isn’t desperate enough to kill… yet.

WDG: after losing his position as guard captain he decided to become the royal scientist. After a few years he became the royal scientist, he mainly focused on researching crystals and what they are and how they store new types of magic. He started testing them by embedding a new and highly rare crystal in papyrus who had no magic, the test succeeding he started a new test of how many crystals can a monster handle. Gaster took random monster volunteers of many ages and began the tests (he didn’t exactly say what the tests were). None of the 6 volunteers could handle anymore than 23 crystals before they lost their minds. Though this didn’t stop him, he had an idea that a higher ranking monster would be able to handle more, so he kidnapped river person who was the old royal scientist and began embedding many crystals into them, after embedding about 30 crystals in river became unresponsive, and after 50 they were more crystal then monster, though weirdly enough everytime gaster tried removing a crystal the crystal grew back.

Napstaton: he was originally a ghost who lived with their cousin hapstaton. Though after bargaining with Undyne they struck a deal. He left without even saying anything to hapsta. After a day Undyne made the robotic body for napsta and then napstaton was made. His music is the only kind in the underground the only other ones being from the dump, but those don’t even work.

Toriel: after losing the war against the humans and being sealed away, she grew annoyed at the situation with growing distain towards humans. Once frisk had fallen down she pretended to be caring, but one day she slipped some cyanide into frisk’s food in an attempt to eventually steal their soul, but mk took frisk’s soul before Toriel could and ran above ground where they were promptly shot and they fled back into the underground dying. Toriel seeing the failure die, finally publicly declared war on humans using the death to seem sympathetic and have better control over the populous.

•characters powers-

Chara: … none of course

Temmie: they use the stuffing from themself to either form around themself to look a bit different, or concentrate to make it hurt or heal (the stuffing has to be replaced when it’s used to heal or harm).

Hapstablook: they can make ghostly hands to be able to interact with stuff or attack. These hands last indefinitely, unless they are attacked or sustain even a small scratch.

Asgore: he mainly uses fire magic. But the magic that trails from his crystal can be used as a whip or rope.

Papyrus: he can summon crystals out of thin air to attack, being able to block heavy attacks or even absorb magic. Though these crystals only last a few seconds. (In the gen routes papyrus collects the crystals of all those who’ve died and uses their crystals to attack too)

Sans: he can use bones and blaster along side blue magic (him being able to toss it around like ut sans). His crystals let him conjure healing magic and fake healing magic (fake healing magic looking the same as healing magic but it hurts instead of heals).

Alphys: She wields a large dual sided axe with a spear like tip in between both axe heads. She also uses electricity, while her crystal lets her shoot the electricity.

Undyne: She usually uses the brass knuckles, though if she’s low or being conscious she commands some of her robots to attack. Her crystal lets her increase her or someone else’s speed (only once at a time and then only for 10 seconds in total before she has to wait 20 seconds to use again. Also she controls how much faster from 1.1x faster all the way up to 2x faster).

WDG: he can summon bones and has a decent control over blue magic (takes a bit more effort to move the soul around like ut sans). His crystal lets him create copies of himself (the copies are physical and can deal dmg and use magic, but they die in one hit).

Napstaton: they can change their hands between blasts or shots (blasts being like blasters and shots being like yellow soul shots). They usually carry a shotgun around in their chest. Their crystal lets them float (from 1ft off the ground to 6ft, though the higher they go the more magic it costs).

Toriel: Her weapon is a gray mace that can change into a flail, she usually makes the mace double sided as well. She also uses fire magic, while her crystal slowly heals her whenever she is damaged.

This au mainly came around due to the idea of how many swapfell aus there are that are based off of gems and such

[vancouverkitchenrenovation]

Choosing Bathrooms With Gray Tile

Whether you’re looking to redecorate your entire bathroom or just a few walls, choosing bathrooms with gray tile is a great way to brighten up your space and create a fresh, updated look. The key is choosing tiles that will suit your space and your personality.

Grey metro tiles

Whether you want to add a little style to your bathroom, or are after a modern finish, grey metro tiles are a great option. These tiles are highly versatile, and can be used on the walls, floor, or even as a splashback in the shower.

The classic design has been around for ages, and is hardwearing and stylish. Metro tiles are also available in a range of colours, meaning they’re perfect for adding a modern finish to any room. They’re also available in matt or gloss finishes, making them perfect for bathrooms.

Metro tiles are also available in a number of different laying patterns. You can lay the tiles in a vertical, diagonal or herringbone style to create a stunning focal point in your bathroom.

Penny tile

Adding penny tile in bathrooms is a great way to create a chic, contemporary look. Penny tile is available in a wide range of colors and can be used in any bathroom style. Penny tiles are also a great way to add texture and volume to any space.

The most popular use of penny tile in bathrooms is in the shower floor. However, penny tiles are versatile enough to be used in any room of the house. They are great for high traffic areas. They are also easy to install, and they have a non-slip surface. They are also available in a wide variety of shapes and colors, which means they can add unique flair to any bathroom.

If you want to create a traditional look in your bathroom, consider gray penny tile. The gray tile pairs well with a variety of other colors and materials, making it a great choice for a bathroom.

Ivory tones of white

Using ivory tones of white in bathrooms with gray tile can create a clean, relaxing and refreshing look. It is ideal for walls, especially when gray tiles are tilted to the cooler side of the color spectrum. It works well with a wide variety of other colors. It can be used as a background color for accent pieces, or as a trim color for a bold design scheme.

Ivory tones of white in bathrooms with gray tile work especially well when paired with warmer tones of gray. Darker gray tiles in the shower complement light gray floor tile. The contrast between the two colors is beautiful. The tile also provides a great contrast for the darker gray cabinets.

The same effect can be achieved with a darker blue wall. Medium blues are not overpowering, but add a lot of personality to the space.

Dusty pink

During the 1950’s, pink tiled bathrooms were the rage. Today, many older homes still have this popular theme. They make a fun and welcoming color statement. They can also be updated with new hardware and lighting. Here are some ideas for reviving your pink tiled bathroom.

Pink is a beautiful color and can be used with other colors to create a bold statement. For example, soft pink tiles paired with dark green bathroom paint are an elegant power couple. They are opposites on the color wheel and make a striking statement. You can also use a pale blue or turquoise to complement the pink.

A pink bathroom has a warm and inviting vibe. You can find pink tiles in different shapes and sizes. You can also use pink bathroom tile to create a colorful patchwork design. These are perfect for small powder rooms and bathrooms that have limited space.

Pistachio green

Whether you are renovating your bathroom, kitchen, or living room, Pistachio green bathroom tile is an excellent choice. The colour is perfect for those who like a touch of whimsy and the glossy finish will make your new bathroom look brand new. The tiling has been crafted with ancestral techniques to ensure durability and elegance for years to come.

The most notable feature of Pistachio green bathroom tile is that it is suitable for use in both indoor and outdoor environments. Aside from being non-toxic, it is also low absorption meaning less water waste. The tiles are available in a variety of colours and are available in both matt and gloss finishes. This plethora of choices means that your tile is sure to complement the decor of your home.

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The bathroom is often the last room people consider renovating, which makes sense since it’s usually the smallest space in the house. With Vancouver Kitchen Renovation, you can expect a spa-like bathroom that feels luxurious and is built to last. We’ll create a custom bathroom design based on your preferences and budget and handle everything from demolition to installation.

We understand that to be successful is to stay ahead of the curve. That means staying current with the latest technology and design trends. We always want to improve our products or services without breaking the bank. That’s why we stay connected to the latest technologies of NKBA, National Kitchen and Bath Association. In addition, at Vancouver Kitchen renovation, our primary focus is providing sustainable bathroom design and renovation packages, and we believe in sustainable living. Sustainable living is a way of life in harmony with nature. It is a lifestyle which focuses on the preservation of our environment. Sustainable living is a philosophy emphasizing respect for the environment and concern for its well-being. This means we should take care of the planet and treat it as if it were our home. We should try to preserve what we have and protect it from destruction. If we do this, we will enjoy the benefits of the earth’s resources for many generations. Whether you’re planning a major remodel or adding finishing touches to your current bathroom, we’d love to discuss your project. Book your showroom consultation online.

Main Areas of Service in British Columbia:

Vancouver

North Vancouver

West Vancouver

Burnaby

Coquitlam

Squamish

Whistler

Frequently Asked Questions

How much is it to replace a bathtub?

A complete shower remodel in Vancouver, British Columbia can run up to $10,000. This is for an entire project that would include the following:

Shower base (including drain)

Tiles (floor and walls)

Glass shower door or shower curtain

Fixtures (shower head, taps, soap dish, etc.)

Plumbing work

Waterproofing and tiling

Ventilation

Permits

Which 2023 bathroom design is the most popular?

The bathroom design for 2023 will emphasize natural materials such as wood, stone, steel, and glass.

Bathrooms will have more water features such as spas, showers, and baths with whirlpools and jets.

There will also be fewer mirrors. This will allow for more socializing and relaxation.

The bathroom will be created to suit the user’s needs and lifestyle.

The bathroom will place a strong emphasis on hygiene and cleanliness.

It will also feature technology such as smart toilets and heated towel rails.

Bathrooms will have a range of storage options, including drawers, shelves and cabinets.

Integrated lighting and controls make it possible to easily access the components in the bathroom.

The bathroom will be both energy-efficient as well as eco-friendly.

The bathroom will have a comfortable and inviting atmosphere with warm and welcoming people.

How do you do a facelift in a bathroom?

It’s not enough to replace fixtures and fittings when renovating a bathroom. You need to create an environment that makes you feel at home. Your bathroom should be inviting and relaxing for you and your guests.

Here are some suggestions:

Plants are a great addition. They add beauty and cleanliness to your home. You can choose from various indoor plants, such as ferns, mosses, succulents, and cacti.

Be sure to have the right lighting. Lighting is crucial in creating an inviting and beautiful space. Consider using indirect lighting sources in place of direct. These will produce soft, diffused lighting.

You should create a comfortable area for sitting. This could be a small table or a bench. For photos and art, shelves can be mounted to the wall. To brighten your room, you can add a mirror to reflect the light.

A bathrobe hook can be used to hang your robes or coats.

We have plenty of information about bathroom remodelling and accessories. Our experts are happy to help you plan your next renovation. Give us a call today!

How can I make my bathroom feel Zen?

A great bathroom can be a place for reflection and relaxation. It’s where we go to unwind after an intense day of activity. It’s where we go to relax after a long day of activity.

It is easy to answer: bathrooms are places where you can relax. When we shower, our stress is washed away. We clean ourselves and then brush our teeth to remove all the debris from the day.

There are many ways to make a bathroom quiet and peaceful while still providing all the amenities.

White walls, for instance, make a room feel brighter and cleaner. White can also reflect light and make rooms appear larger.

A large mirror allows us to see how we look without turning around.

You can make your bathroom a peaceful place by adding candles. Candles add warmth and a sense safety. Scented candles can create a sense of calm and security.

It can help promote peace and tranquility by adding plants in the bathroom. Plants have been shown to increase focus and reduce stress.

Lighting is an additional way to set the mood. A warm atmosphere can be created by lighting. Warm light, such like candlelight, can create an atmosphere of tranquility.

Take some time to rest your body next time you use the bathroom. This is where we can be totally free of all outside influences.

How can I make my bathroom beautiful?

You don’t need to spend a lot of money to beautify a bathroom. We have some suggestions for you:

Paint Your Bathroom Walls. This will create a feeling of freshness and cleanliness in your space.

Add Some Mirrors to Your Bathroom – Mirrors can add a sophisticated touch to any bathroom. Mirrors are also able to reflect light into dark areas. Mirrors can be a great way to enhance your bathroom for a low price.

Use Simple Accessories – Use accessories to create a stylish appearance. To make the tub look more stylish, you can hang a basket of towels above it. For a decorative element, add a few candles to the mirror.

Hanging a Picture – This is a great way to transform the decor of your bathroom. The theme of your bathroom should be chosen. For instance, choose a mountain landscape photo if you live by nature.

Make Your Bathroom More Artistic With Stenciling. You can simply use stencils to cut shapes and place them on your walls. Make sure you apply several coats of paint before moving on to the next shape.

Get a new toilet seat cover – People often forget about toilets when they think of changing their bathroom. Toilet seats are inexpensive and can be easily replaced.

You can change the colour of your sink faucet. You can create an original style in your bathroom by changing the colour of your faucet.

Install A Laundry Hook – A laundry hook can transform your bathroom. You can hang clothes and shoes from the ceiling, instead of storing them in drawers.

Add plants – Plants can be used to clean the air in your home. Plus, they can be used to hide unsightly objects. Place plants near windows for a beautiful view.

Towels that have been used up should be replaced by baskets. You don’t need to worry about guests arriving in a mess.

Add Storage Space – Storage space can help keep your bathroom tidy. Consider installing shelves over the sink, beneath the countertop, and along a wall.

You can improve your lighting by installing better lighting fixtures in your bathroom. Consider installing recessed lights underneath the vanity instead of track lighting.

Get creative with tile designs. You can use tiles to create unique designs for your bathroom. You can combine different textures and patterns with this technique.

Create A Quiet Bathroom – Create a quiet bathroom by removing all clutter. Take everything off the countertops and cabinets. Clean off surfaces and remove anything that could get wet.

Update Lighting – Install new bulbs and fixtures to upgrade your lighting system. This will give your bathrooms a fresh look.

Paint Walls They can be used as a backdrop for artwork.

Mirrors are a great way to add light to cabinets. They can also reflect natural light into dark areas of your bathroom.

Hang Pictures and Artwork. Adding beauty to your bathroom with hanging pictures and artwork is a great way to add visual interest. Find pieces that go together and compliment each other.

Statistics

Glass tile is one of the greenest bathroom flooring options because it can be 100% recycled. (caddetailsblog.com)

This article will reveal more about AntiBac surfaces and how Villeroy and Boch products have 99.9% fewer bacteria. (superbath.co.uk)

According to a 2019 remodelling report from the National Association of Realtors, 70 percent of consumers “have a greater desire to be home” after a bathroom renovation, so read on and soak up the secrets. (housebeautiful.com)

2023 bathroom design trends: Chromotherapy, which uses coloured lights to stimulate relaxation, was chosen by 25%. Preset lighting schemes for different times during the day were favoured by 29%. (https://nkba.org)

According to the EPA, a conventional toilet uses 1.6 gallons per flush, but that old pink one could use between 3.5 to 7 gallons per flush. (elemental.green)

The average midrange bathroom remodels costs $27,164, according to the latest Remodeling Cost versus Value report, and it’s projected that you will recoup 58.9% of that cost when reselling your home. (architecturaldigest.com)

Keep in mind: they advise that, all told, your bathroom project should cost no more than 5 to 10 percent of your home’s value. (remodelista.com)

2023 bathroom design trends: Large format tiles were favoured by 59% of those surveyed.mSlab surfaces were favoured by 40% of those surveyed. (https://nkba.org)

I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve had someone call and say they have an existing old tub (which, 99% of the time, is 60” wide once they’re pulled out) and want to convert the bathtub to a shower. (blog.innovatebuildingsolutions.com)

WaterSense-labeled bathroom sink faucets use a maximum of 1.5 gallons per minute, reducing water use by 30 percent or more from the standard flow of 2.2 gallons per minute – without sacrificing performance. (elemental.green)

2023 bathroom design trends: Windows above tubs were favoured by 51% of those surveyed. Skylights were selected by 37% of those surveyed. (https://nkba.org)

If possible, allow a 15 to 20% contingency fund so you’re prepared for the unexpected. (loveproperty.com)

External Links

thespruce.com

How to buy a new toilet for your home

houzz.com

2020 U.S. Houzz Bathroom Trends Study

Storage niche and eclectic tile – Contemporary – Bathroom – Other – Katie Monkhouse Interior Design

How To

How to hire a contractor in a bathroom remodeling project

From finding the right contractor to hiring them, getting estimates and signing contracts, the bathroom remodeling process is complex. The process takes place under pressure because you don’t want to make mistakes but want to get things done as soon as possible. Here are some tips that can help you in your search for the right contractor to handle your bathroom remodelling job.

Start looking online. You don’t have to be limited by your options when it comes bathroom remodeling. You can search through sites like Trustedpros or Houzz to find contractors. Most sites will let you enter your zipcode to view local contractors with positive reviews. Always check their google reviews and portfolio.

Ask your friends and family. Your family members and friends may know of someone who recently remodelled a bathroom. Ask your friends and family if they’d be willing to share their experience with you. You might be eligible to receive a referral fee if they refer you.

Look into forums on the internet. You can find many forums for bathroom remodelling on Facebook. Here, people can post photos of their projects and get advice. Reddit as well Pinterest are popular.

Do your research. Verify the credentials of anyone you hire to do the job. You should check their licenses, qualifications, and insurance. You should also take note of past jobs. Are they familiar with bathroom design? Do they have experience in working with spaces of similar dimensions?

The post Choosing Bathrooms With Gray Tile first appeared on Vancouver Kitchen Renovation.

source https://vancouverkitchenrenovation.com/bathrooms/choosing-bathrooms-with-gray-tile/?utm_source=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=choosing-bathrooms-with-gray-tile

[angelisverba]

thinkin’ bout you

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

word count: 17.3k

paring: florist!h and y/n

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

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

*    *    *    *    *    *

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

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

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

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

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

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

Harry even took to renovating his home a bit. 

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

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

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

He changed them the week after that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he wasn’t lonely anymore. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Right? 

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

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

*********

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

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

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

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

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

Even his clothes reflected his refreshed mindset.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His home. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, love. What’s y’name?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Y/n. 

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

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

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

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

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

Like dropping her card when she piped up again. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

Harry was having a shitty morning. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s no use. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Right?

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

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

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

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

“Back again so soon, H?” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Harry?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Harry flips him off, “oh, bug off.” 

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

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

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

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

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

He can only say: “Fuck me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Let me just-”

“Do y’wanna put-” 

Harry and y/n giggle at each other, 

“You go first.” 

“Y’speak first.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Will you text me?” She asked him. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

********

Harry can’t stop thinking. 

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

This?

This was different.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

y/n <3 : so… dinner? 

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

He couldn’t be happier. 

*    *    *    *    *    *

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

[shokobuns]

green light.

PAIRING: gojo satoru x reader

GENRE: angst, smut, gatsby au

WORD COUNT: 2.9k+

WARNINGS: smut (17+), angst, major character death, size kink, unprotected sex, implied overstim, praise

NOTES: this is for @erensbunny's collab! thanks for betaing @mitsuluv <3

Miles away from your own household, there’s nothing and no one.

Only a flower field that stretches beyond the horizon, the hues of orange and purple in the sky, round sunglasses and a picnic blanket. It’s miles of pink and green, far from family fortune, far from status, far from your own obligations. Places like these were too few and far between, but it doesn’t matter because life hasn’t started and there was nothing to tie you down just yet.

He interlocks his fingers with yours, bringing the back of your hand to his lips while you giggle, staring into his cerulean eyes. Your sundress stops at your ankles, ruffles following down in a pattern, and his button up fits loosely around his torso, the first few undone revealing his pale chest. His other hand comes up to caress your cheek, causing you to pull the brim of your hat down to hide your face, but he swats it away, wanting to admire your flushed cheeks.

The sunset perfectly illuminates your skin and while there was nothing to separate the two of you just yet, there will be something that does. And so, he treats every moment as if it was the last, memorizing the creases of your face when you smile, the pearls complimenting your skin, the sound of your laughter. You, on the other hand, don’t think much about what’s to come. Because for right now, you feel too much love, too much to the point where it clouds your thoughts of the future.

“I love you.”

“Love you, too, Satoru.”

A small phrase that can only be uttered when you’re miles away, a place where it is just you and Satoru and you and Satoru only. And while you can fall into the rabbit hole of what they would think and what they would do and what might happen, you can also enjoy the way Satoru kisses down your neck, how he gently lays you down on the floral picnic blanket and hikes up your long dress.

A bright past and a dark present.

Both of you are miles away, yes, but not together.

Satoru faces the dark present in which you’ve slipped through his fingers and into the arms of Naoya Zenin. The dark present in which you have it all, a husband, a daughter, and a house to call your own while he is simply just a lonely man in a large, empty mansion. Even when he can see the green light flashing just across the bay, you still feel far away.

Despite the distance, he’s thankful that he gets the chance to see you at all, watching his neighbor and quickly introducing himself as the owner of the house. It was one party after another after another after another and at this point he’s lost count of how many dollars were spent on this single hope—the hope that you’d show up someday and he found it in his new neighbor.

You still remember that night that you ripped off your necklace, gorgeous and costing hundreds at the least, the pearls clattering on your hardwood floors, a tear stained letter—it was all so vivid. Drowning in your own sorrow and missed opportunity, the stench of alcohol on you and your bedsheets, it was not a night you would like to remember. Mostly because it reminds you of what you could have had and stirs up feelings of regret that makes you sick to your stomach every time you see your husband.

His face, chiseled perfectly and flat hair, sharp eyes and soft lips. When you wake up in the mornings and see his face, it only brings you disappointment. But the sound of your daughter’s feet pitter pattering through the hallways somewhat makes up for it. She doesn’t look like him and you thank whatever higher power is up there that she doesn’t. With wide set eyes and chubby cheeks, you only wish her an easy life where she can do the same—be a fool—but this time, with a man she loved.

Cradling her in your arms made the dark present not so dark. And your younger cousin being nearby only brightened it up just a little bit more.

What a lovely boy, inviting you over for tea. You had missed him in the years he was gone and it would be nice to escape the house once in a while. With a simple purple dress and pearl earrings, you’re out the door and into the car. After a silent fifteen minute drive, the driver stops in front of a quaint cottage, lively green grass and flowers growing along the little columns. The area surrounding his house is perfectly neat, trimmed, and organized. Already, you can tell the interior would be pleasing to the eye.

Megumi comes out of the house, politely walking you to his door and keeping you dry as the rain poured down onto the two of you. Just as you expected, the interior is just as beautiful, varieties of flowers on almost every surface, the colors complimenting each other. You stare, admiring the whites, the yellows, and the pinks of each petal, thankful that your little cousin went to such lengths for a small visit.

“Did you ransack a greenhouse, Gumi?”

He’s silent, still at the door, but you hear a small chuckle. “You know, it’s funny.”

“What’s funny?”

Just as the words leave your mouth, there’s a knock on his door and goes up to answer it. You go back to admiring the flowers for a few more seconds, but you feel a presence behind you and turn around only to be met with a man in a white suit, matching his newly styled hair, blue eyes piercing through you with an intense gaze, his sunglasses in hand. You’re frozen in place and your feet are unable to lift from the ground, but he takes a few hesitant steps towards you, waiting for some kind of reaction.

“Well, I’m certainly glad to be seeing you again.”

With that, he smiles, “I’m certainly glad to be seeing you, as well.”

“It’s… beautiful.”

“You like it?”

“I love it. But how do you live here all alone?”

“I don’t. It’s always full of interesting people.”

Every single shrub is neatly trimmed, water flows gently in the fountain, flowers blooming in the garden. The mansion is huge, too big for only one person, and pristine on both the inside and the outside. The first place Satoru takes you is out on the water where you sit by him, a drink in your hand, Megumi taking pictures of the scenery and the people around him. He holds out his hand for you to hold as you try to steady yourself on the float, a drink in one hand and the other holding onto his shoulder.

“Smile.” You hear Megumi say, but you’re far too busy with Satoru tickling your sides, squirming as he coos small teases. The camera clicks, capturing the both of you in the moment.

When he brings all of you back inside his home, you’re in awe of the sparkling chandelier hanging from his ceiling, the gold lining the walls of the second floor, the sturdy architecture, shiny black and yellow floors. It’s a contrast from what you would have expected from Satoru who was once a humble soldier, plucking from your bedroom in the night and bringing you to a faraway place just to escape. You were once ready to accept the reality that status set the two of you apart, but now you wonder if it even is an issue.

But you’re old money and he’s new money.

How did he acquire all of this? His house? His clothes? The entirety of his wealth? You’re not exactly sure, but you don’t let your mind wander, opting to run up the grand white staircase, getting to the second floor only to be met with a black floor so spotless that you can see your own reflection. Along with Megumi, he follows behind you, watching every single movement and every single expression on your face. Eventually, he catches up next to you, motioning for you to follow him into a room with a single bed and another small set of stairs, rambling about where he gets his clothes.

“I’ve never seen anything like it.” You reply, excitedly looking around the room where there’s countless shelves, all full of fabrics. “They’re so beautiful.”

He smiles at you from above, beginning to pull the clothing from the shelves and throwing them down for you to see. You giggle, a wide smile plastered on your face as different pinks, whites, and purples take over your vision. “Satoru, you’re gonna ruin them!”

He’s careless, letting half of his wardrobe fly out in the air and you struggle to catch them all, falling over into the bed. You’re elated, the variety of clothing making you squeal in delight as you jump onto the mattress, sitting in the middle, surrounded by fabric of different patterns and colors. You’re buried in them and he doesn’t stop until the sound of your laughter starts to die down. His chest fills with concern as he races down the stairs to comfort your disoriented figure on the bed.

Tears start to form in the corners of your eyes, sliding down your cheeks and soon you feel his fingers come down to your chin to turn your head towards him. Although, you avoid eye contact, not wanting to confront the reality that it’s been five years. “Hey, shhh,” he coos, his voice softening, “What’s wrong, bunny?”

It’s a loaded question and you already have the answer in your head, on the tip of your tongue, but the more you think, the more you realize that there isn’t a right way to express it to Satoru. A daughter, a husband that you supposedly love, a life supported by old money. Five years away from the love of your life only for him to randomly appear back into your life during a time of stability. And even with your vague knowledge of Naoya’s mistress, you’re the perfect wife for him, foolish and obedient.

But still, your heart is drawn to Satoru—it always has been and it always will be.

“It— It makes me sad…” you reply with a meek voice, “The shirts… they’re just so beautiful.”

He chuckles, kissing the side of your head.

“Fuck! Satoru—” you squeal, his leaking tip prodding at your slit. It’s all familiar, but it doesn’t make it any easier to take him. After five years apart, you forget how big he is, veins running down the side of his pretty cock, long and heavy against your inner thigh. You’ve already lost how many times he’s made you cum on his mouth, your overstimulated cunt aching for more.

“I got you,” he mutters, rubbing your pearl in lazy circles as he pushes in, slowly filling you up inch by inch, “S-So big—”

‘“Yeah?” he coos, maintaining a bruising grip on your hips, “I’m barely halfway in. Just hold on, bunny.”

You nod, tears streaming down your face as he tries to distract with more kisses on your cheeks, gently brushing them away with his thumb. Your hole stretches to take him, splitting in half until you feel his tip kissing your cervix. His mouth latches onto your breast, his hips moving in slow strokes, his hands rubbing reassuring circles on the side of your thigh. “Such a good bunny,” he praises, “Pretty girl.”

“Mhm,” you squeak, feeling him as he starts to fasten the pace, wet squelches echoing throughout the entirety of the bedroom, “I- I missed you.”

“I missed— fuck!— you,” he replies, groaning at the feeling of your walls tightening around him. A string of drool connects his mouth to your nipple, drunk on your pussy, becoming more and more mindless as your cunt sucks him in. The pain of him stretching you out subsides, replaced by the heat building up in your lower tummy. His cock drags against your gummy walls, his fingers interlacing with yours as he fucks into you, juices flowing from your folds down to the white sheets.

“Say you love me,” he whispers against your lips, your eyes half lidded and mind empty, “Please…”

Your eyes open only slightly, making out cerulean eyes with blown out pupils, your own fingers threading through messy white hair, “I— I love you,” you reply, your mind hazy with lust, “Fuck, give it to me. Satoru, please—”

He kisses your bottom lip, knowing exactly what to do, his thrusts becoming harder and erratic, warm skin slapping against yours, balls tightening as he gets closer and closer to his high. His cock is covered in milky white and your grip on his hand tightens at the same time he can feel you squeezing around him like a vice, the coil snapping in your tummy. He brings his lips to yours, swallowing your moans.

“Hold on for a little while longer, bunny. For me, alright?”

You nod as he tucks a piece of hair behind your ear before fastening his pace, pounding against your cervix at a rapid speed. Drool spills from the corner of your mouth, eyes rolling back as the knot starts the build once again, your mind going numb as he blows his load into your swollen pussy, squeezing the plush of your hips.

“Love you,” he murmurs in your ear at the same time you’re ready to doze off, your post orgasm haze taking over you, “So much.” He continues, kissing your head.

“I love you, too,” you respond as he turns you to the side before interlocking your fingers together. It’s calming, it feels right and every moment eases your mind off the lost five years between the two of you. “Would you run away with me if you had the chance?”

You’re not sure if your mind is clouded with lust or if it was the feeling of finally being cherished by a man you wished you married or if every sense of rationality had already left you, but in a heartbeat, you respond easily.

“Yes.”

He presses his lips against your bare back before the both of you doze off together in a dreamless sleep.

It all feels surreal.

The last time you see Megumi, he tells you about the emptiness of the mansion, the vines growing against the walls, how the once trimmed bushes are now overgrown and you ask him to stop talking. As much as you love your little cousin, a mention of the house was just another reminder of what you could have had. It only fills you with regret and guilt.

Naoya kisses your head, but it’s not the same.

While you have your daughter to take care of, your husband to serve, it’s only natural for your mind to wander. It’s only natural for your heart to ache, your stomach to turn, your fists to clench. There’s too many questions of what if or what could have been. Would Satoru still be alive if you had followed through? Would you be happier? Did you make the right decision?

But once someone, anyone, walks into your room, reality hits you like a truck and you’re back to where you’re supposed to be. And your life isn’t horrible at all because when you snap back to reality, you snap back to green grass, the finest silks, and the pearls around your neck. You snap back to the perfect family, a strong husband that can protect you, a beautiful daughter that can live a simple life. It’s all old money, acquired not by bootlegging or running a speakeasy, but passed down through generations. While things aren’t perfect, they nearly are.

Still, what if you had taken your daughter with you, living in that huge mansion where the floors are spotless and gold lines the walls and ceilings?

Day by day, it eats at you and when moving day comes, it doesn’t get any easier. Maybe you weren’t cut out for this life—one where you had to worry about your status, one where you tied down to your family. Maybe you were perfect for it, overthinking each and every single problem that five lost years had caused you. You would forget about him one day, at least you think you would.

But you still remember cerulean eyes so clearly, round sunglasses, a pink tint on pale cheeks, soft lips, tousled ivory hair. And it hurts you every time because even after life, the image has a tug on your heart. He didn’t ever get to hear your last words to him, you weren’t there to comfort him, you didn’t even bother to attend his funeral. Megumi knows not to mention him around you, too. He keeps his filter on, processing his grief on his own.

Satoru reaches out to the green light across the bay, too afraid to go there on his own, but the hope of seeing you once again fuels the fire in his heart. He goes through the trouble of sacrificing his money and his time, replaying old scenes of you in his head and is thankful that he even made it this far, that he was even this close to calling you his. He reaches out one moment and he’s gone the next.

And the green light simply guides boats to the dock. It’s all it does anymore.

© this is a work of @crybabygumi, all rights reserved. do not plagiarize, copy, or repost my work on other platforms.

[captain-barnes-writes]

Mafioso

Summary: Mob boss Bucky Barnes enjoys his vacation in Colombia in more ways than one.

Pairing: Mob!Bucky Barnes x Latina

Warning: Language, mafia, maybe a little dark?, age gap, daddy kink (or should I say papi kink😏), unprotected sex. Smutttttt—18+

[one-shot with possibility of a second part...]

NOT PROOFREAD.

Word Count: 5.9k

The thick air under the Colombian night sky had made James Buchanan Barnes break out into a slight sweat. Trickles of perspiration stuck to his forehead and his perfectly combed hair was starting to falter under the South American hot breeze. There was something in the air that night, the air so warm it even made someone like him, someone of his stature, want to wear a pair of shorts and a tank top. He’d pushed aside those thoughts though and opted for a dark ensemble that for the first time in a long time didn’t include a suit. He put the choice on the weather, but knew it was a mere excuse to a much needed laxed relaxation--his muscular frame donned a fitted midnight blue polo and expensive black chinos. A pure gold chain with a thick round pendant hung from his neck. Despite the somewhat more relaxed clothing choice, it still spoke greatly for the person he was, for the power he bore in his hands. He was away from New York, away from his many enemies, yet despite that he couldn’t let his guard down even while in a beautiful place like Medellin, Colombia.

He was a mafioso. Leader of a renowned and feared mafia, James, or as many of his closest confidants called him Bucky, was powerful beyond measure. One of the most remarkable features of the feared man was the way his dark profession didn’t at all really relate to the way he looked. With sharp blue eyes and dull clementine lips, Bucky stood over six feet tall and oftentimes used his honeyed voice to get his way. It was a shrill contrast to the person he truly was with his enemies, or those he was not familiar with, a booming menace with toneless manners and gestures. A darkened soul.

More often than not, he would not be recognized or even thought to be a huge asset of organized crime. He was too handsome, too respectful and was a masked businessman to the public but a true bandit underneath. The way he looked and the way dressed so professionally and gallantly with perfectly tailored dark expensive suits and shiny black leather shoes was his greatest disguise. Unbeknownst to whoever that he carried a sharp blade and fully loaded gun with him at all times.

The work was tiresome, physically and emotionally draining. For a man who was so often toneless in the way he spoke of death, in the way he so often wished it and caused it on others, and emotionless with tragedies, he was still a person beneath all the darkness—all the guns and all the violence. Upon a tormenting year filled with too much bloodshed, he’d decided to take some much needed time for himself in a place where there’d been similar violence and crime to that which he was partially responsible for back in the states, but still felt like a secluded place away from absolutely everything. With his turf being monitored by those he trusted most, to some extent he felt free.

For Bucky, Colombia had felt like an excellent choice upon making it and planning the trip to the t a few weeks prior. It’d taken so long to arrange in order to leave things in place and to choose those who were best skilled for the arduous job that was keeping order to such an unbalanced thing that was the mafia. He’d lied about his whereabouts to many, not wanting to compromise everything he’d worked so hard for.

Now Bucky was in the city of Medellin—rich in culture, food and most importantly filled with women. It had barely been his first day and he’d already eyed far too many beautiful women with their dark features and alluring accents. It was nighttime, past 9 pm and he’d just taken a seat under an umbrella-ladden table with a few of his many bodyguards. They were brooding and menacing figures in dark attire. They were simply doing their job, but Bucky wished they’d take it down a notch especially in a bar where nobody knew who he was and what he stood for. Though he couldn’t say that to them because letting his guard down meant showing weakness and he couldn’t have that. Not now, not ever.

The vibrant graffiti art on the rustic building the restaurant and bar was situated at went so well with the multicolor knitted flag garland that stretched from one side to the other. The twinkling yellow lights illuminating the beautiful scene before him; people dancing, foreign and natives of the land. Hands joined at the hip, on the shoulders, bodies moving one way to the other and faces etched with a liberating kind of happiness. It was a fresh spectacle he hadn’t witnessed in far too long.

The country that had birthed magical realism and the rhythm and sound of cumbia was lit with shining bulbs and people whose bliss was of no comparison and it was slightly, just slightly, rubbing off on him when he found himself with a small smile. The people dancing before him were in their own little world as the unfamiliar music emanated moves from them that he knew he probably wouldn’t be able to replicate.

And then there was her. A gleaming light of a woman with tan skin that glowed underneath the superficial lighting. Her face seemed to be in such a deep concentration that didn’t seem to emanate from stress or from taking on a hard task, but at the simple task of dancing.  

She was the epitome of magic in his eyes—a Colombian who bore beauty so devastating it had dried his mouth. The tan skin, dark flowing tresses that reached her lower back and dusky inviting eyes. A charmeuse emerald green dress with a blood orange floral print design clung effortlessly to her body and much to his pleasure, the frill hem of the dress ended just above the middle of her smooth thighs. The radiant energy that emanated from her was more than Bucky could even imagine; she was more than he could even have imagined. Not that he had before. Compared to all the women he’d encountered during the last few hours he’d been on the foreign soil she took all the medals with her. She took absolutely everything and he wasn’t even near her, hadn’t even touched her, or felt the delicate skin of her neck or even felt the glossy lips that he felt desperate to take a hold of.

Her hips were shaking side to side, tips of her toes translating the music that she so deeply felt. Her bones were burning with the sound of her native music, the sound of Cumbia. Se me perdió la Cadenita’s tune playing in the background as the movements of her hips followed every beat far too perfectly.

She was dancing alone unlike the many people that surrounded the large dancefloor who had their partners. Many times, She found herself in this bar in the famous little plaza of Medellin. Frequented by locals and non-locals alike, it was always a party. The ambiance was a delicacy, the drinks were great and the music never missed.

Today, for the first time ever, she found herself arriving at the bar alone due to her friend ditching her for last-minute plans with her boyfriend. She understood, but still wanted to come out on her own for a much needed distraction because work had been hectic and her personal life was even worse. Drinks and a good sweat-inducing dance always did the trick. Just this time she’d have to dance with herself.

Or maybe not.

Y/N felt heavy cerulean eyes burning holes on her back. She’d peeked once or twice and was well aware of the handsome, well-dressed man sitting amongst a group of menacing looking men whom she could tell were most likely white. He was too, and while she wasn’t particularly attracted to white men, he was something else. Had a little kick, a little spice and how did she even know that? She didn’t, but the man was in Colombia so she’d deduced that he had good taste so far. Blue eyes, she’d noticed, short dark tendrils neatly combed and a trimmed beard. It wasn’t until she’d gotten lost in her own thoughts that her eyes lost sight of the alluring man and a flick of disappointment shot through her.

With a scoff, all her movements had come to a halt and she made her way to the bar area to get herself yet another drink. She’d had two so far and already felt the alcohol contents doing their godforsaken job, alleviating the stress from her shoulders,soothing her wracking brain and letting her have a form of tranquil fun. She wasn’t the best drinker and knew that two more drinks and she’d probably have blurry vision and slurred speech. Consumed in her own thoughts, she suddenly heard the bartender ask what she wished to order.

“Un mojito de aguardiente.” She responded.

“Yo tambien.” Me too. A voice chimed next to her. Strong and laced with a very thick accent that had almost made the words incoherent to any ear. It was the polo-clad man who’d been gawking at her from his table just a mere few minutes ago and now he was standing right next to her. He was so close, the skin of their arms were brushing against each other; she thought of how he felt so warm.

“Good choice.” She commented, eyes trailing up to meet his. An abyssal of blazing blue with a glint of mischief and many things she could not make of stared back at her. The crinkles at the end of his eyes came to shape as he offered her a small nod and smile. He was slightly taken aback at the way the English words slipped past the plumpness of her lips, slightly thick but still more than understandable. Far better than his Spanish.

“We both ordered the same thing so I think we both have great taste.” Bucky with all his influence and overwhelming power was overcome with a yearning for the woman beside him and felt as if he’d become prey to her. But he knew far too well that despite the confidence she so easily oozed and the way she had him almost salivating, she was the victim here. It would never be him.

When the bartender came back with both drinks, Bucky had immediately placed a one hundred dollar bill on his hand, paying for both drinks despite her protest, and told him to keep the change. The man’s face beamed and proceeded to thank him profusely to which he waved him off with nonchalance because to him a bill of such value was simple pocket change.

“You didn’t have to pay for me, really.” The woman pleaded, thick brows furrowed as she fumbled to get money from her purse. Bucky was amused as he placed his hand on her arm trying to stop her movements and at the sudden touch, her head snapped to look at him. It was then when her lips were agape with wide brown eyes that he thought she looked so young, and concluded that she was most likely in her early 20s. He became even more curious, pining to know little details about her.

“It was nothing. Just tell me your name, that’ll be enough.”

It was nothing.  At this, she became a little nervous. She couldn’t deny he was really easy on the eyes, even that was an understatement, he was as handsome as men came. With the crisp and costly clothes he wore along with the heavy gold chain that adorned his chest and not to mention the fact that he had just carelessly spent 100 dollars on two drinks that couldn’t have cost more than twenty. And the burly men clad in black who stood at the far back of the large bar just staring at them, at him, not letting him out of their sight as if their lives depended on the very man himself. It warned her that he was a man of money and even the way he carried himself spoke of the probable immense power he held.

With a voice that faltered, accent heavy she responded with her name.

“Y/N.” He tried it, weighed it on his tongue and savored it because it complemented her so well. Said it loud so she could hear him and she did, becoming just a tad flustered as she opened her mouth and closed it again. No sound coming out.

“Such a pretty name, darling.” His honeyed voice caused a flutter in her stomach, but she put it on the alcohol and not at the way the nickname sounded too good coming from him. She felt flushed, and at the sensation that her face had become hot she placed her drink down and put her cooled hands on her cheeks. It was embarrassing that she’d become such a mess in front of him and to try to distract him from this she asked for his name too.

“Bucky.” He replied.

“Never heard of that name before...maybe just because I’m from here, um but is it short for something?”

Just like she had paused earlier when he asked for her name, he became slightly agitated too. He took a large sip of the drink, the aguardiente was a tad powerful but the anise accents mixed with lemon and mint were comforting and gave way to a refreshing taste. He turned his face to look at her after a few seconds, having mulled over the meek possibility of the girl recognizing him, elbows propped on the wooden bar counter.

“It’s just a nickname.” He finally succumbed to the way her doe eyes waited for an answer, but he’d lied to her face. It was actually short for Buchanan. Instead he would give her his first name, a simple name. He wished so ardently that she’d be moaning it in no time.

“My name is James.”

“Oh.” Was all that came from the beauty beside him as she sipped her drink. She didn’t seem to hiss at the alcohol and he deduced that she probably drank it quite often.

“How old are you?” Bucky enquired after she’d grown silent, seemingly too interested in the drink that was more than halfway gone. She’d had such confidence earlier on the dance floor, with hips that weaved and swung to the rhythm of the music and her face expression had been so jaunty. Carefree and relaxed. Now in his presence she seemed quite shy. He wondered why she’d taken on this form now, he didn’t think of himself as being too pushy. At least not now because there was no need, she was compliant enough. He only showed that harsh edge when necessary.

“22.” She uttered. He’d been right, she was in her early 20s. God, she was so young and he was already pushing 40. The age should’ve had him walking away, but he wasn’t at the thought of being between her pretty thighs savoring her, tasting her. He wanted to teach her a few things only men his age knew. Taking one last sip of her drink before placing it on the counter. Her waves cascading down to her lower back slightly moved as she yet again twisted to gaze up at him with burnt sienna eyes. She was sensual without even meaning to and he felt his pants tightening.

She adjusted her feet, feeling a slight ache at standing with the bronze pumps and placed a hand on her hip. The plunging neckline of the dress was enticing him. Smooth skin peeking at the bright material that complemented her far too well as if it was made just for her. He himself had just finished his drink as well, placed it on the counter and moved to adjust his pants. The pressure was becoming uncomfortable. He’d moved his gaze away from her to look at his surroundings, a mere habit of his. It was then that her eyes trailed to his hands and that the sleek black object caught her eyes. She stared intently, feeling herself more agitated, and the black metal gleamed as if to alarm her. She let out a small gasp and averted her eyes to look anywhere else, but him

She was panicking at being in such close proximity to a deadly weapon. It was normal to carry a gun and sometimes it did seem as a necessity to ward off danger, but it didn’t ease the discomfort Y/N felt. She placed a hand on her chest while placing the other on the counter and taking a deep breath. She was having an internal battle, one side was chastising her for judging Bucky for the simple act of carrying a gun while the other side was pleading with her to get away.

“Let’s get out of here, yeah?” He whispered so softly in her ear suddenly. Hot breath fanning on her side of her face and goosebumps arising on her skin. She stuttered, not even coming up with a coherent thing to say. His hand found its way to hers, gripping it, and bringing it up to place his lips on it. His eyes ablaze that she felt them burning holes on her forcing her to yet again meet them.

“Come on, darling.” He hummed, waiting for a response. Her hand was still entwined with his but now he was just holding it at his side, not letting go. His other hand had fallen to the waistline of his dark chinos, the sleek object coming to view. Her breath hitched and she felt as if she was speechless. Had he done that on purpose? To show her that he had the upper hand and that she had no choice but to say yes.

In the most twisted way the one thing she was holding onto was the deep rasp and slowness of his voice and the mere invitation to leave with him had allowed a current of heat creep to her stomach, a pooling sensation in between her legs. She yet again put it on the alcohol because had she been completely sober she would’ve escaped already.

She blinked at him, words continuing to fail her. Bucky was growing impatient at the girl before him who seemed to be fighting with herself. He knew she’d seen the pistol hidden inside the waistband of his pants, but he didn’t even want to hurt her. Not like that anyway.

“It’s a gun, just for protection. I’m not gonna hurt you.” He defended.

She remained quiet and at the sound of no response, he let go of her hand and took hold of her face with both his hands. Gripping it, he brought his lips to hers in a forceful kiss. Her lips tasted like lemon and alcohol, so warm and soft he already felt addicted. She didn’t respond at first, her dainty hands coming up to grab the bottom of his arms to try to let go but it was no use because Bucky was far stronger. When his teeth lightly took hold of her bottom lip, she inadvertently let out a small moan. It was her first reaction and it had him wanting more. Groaning, he pulled away. Eyes filled with so much lust he thought it would seep out of him.

“Shit, come on.” His head turned to his men, signaling them it was time to go. She was going to come with him, she had to. He wanted her to grip the sheets of his bed tonight, bury her head in his pillows and moan his name. He gripped her hand again, dragging the girl through the exit of the bar. She wasn’t fighting, just struggling behind him with her bronze pumps.

In seconds, she was inside a sleek car with the engine revving and Bucky cruising through the Medellin streets. From her quietness, posture and the way her dainty hands fiddled on her lap Bucky deduced that she either didn’t do this often or at all.

In a haze, Y/N wondered what he did for a living. He had an expensive rental, donned tailored clothing of fine quality and had bodyguards for protection. They were trailing behind him in different cars, one in front and one at the back. With one hand on the steering wheel, Bucky rubbed soft circles on her thigh with the other . Her skin was smooth and it dawned on him than in no less than 5 minutes he’d get to have the woman next to him at his disposal. Completely naked and at his mercy. At the thought, he hardened.

“Touch me.” He commanded, voice laced with a yearning need it felt as if it was eating him alive.

“What?” Y/N sputtered, brown eyes growing wide. She wasn’t inexperienced, but this was a man far older than she’d ever been with. He seemed to be nearing his 40s with his fluffy locks already showing signs of graying. And she was still slightly scared that on the other side of his hip was a gun.

“Stop thinking about it. I said it’s not to hurt you.” He sounded slightly peeved, voice sounding a bit rough. He’d caught her eyeing his hip where his gun was. She nodded while taking a deep breath. She knew perfectly well what he wanted, her hands on him. With shaky hands, she began to unzip his pants and though he had groaned at the small action he stopped her with his hand.

“Just through the pants, baby. We’re almost at the hotel.” She blinked, pressing her hands to the prominent bulge on his black chinos. She began palming him through the thick fabric, feeling the ridges of his erection and she shameless bit her lip at the feel, at how big he felt. Through long lashes, she ogled at the man before her. Ruggedly handsome beyond words with a strong build she knew she’d be left aching. Even though she still felt remnants of uncertainty, she mostly felt a deep gust of excitement building within her.

Bucky’s mouth was watering at the actions of the young girl beside him, her small hand touching him in the most sensual way. And it felt like a huge step forward with her hands on him, but he also felt her lingering gaze. It prompted him to remove his hand from her thigh and accelerate on the roads he was not even familiar with but the need to get to his hotel was one of his top priorities. It was silent for the most part besides a few jagged groans that emanated from his chest at the way she was still touching him. It almost pained him to not be buried inside her yet. God, he just knew she'd be tight and sweet.

When they did arrive at the towering hotel building, he’d leaned over and wrapped her up in a sweltering kiss before he had her hand in his hand waltzing through the lobby and into the elevator. The tension was thick and he’d managed to get his hands on her waist pulling her closer to him. He knew better than to try anything on the elevator especially not with his bodyguards in tow.

With his key card already in hand, once in front of his suite, he hastily swiped it and dragged her inside. With a sigh of relief he pushed her against the door, shutting it. In a change of roles, she was the one grabbing at the collar of his polo and pulling him in her to crash their lips together. It was sexy in the nastiest way possible--mouths engulfing each other, him biting her lips, sucking on them and her fitting her tongue inside his mouth. It was sloppy and brought a wave of satisfaction, it just wasn’t enough.

With greedy hands he groped her ass, massaging the roundness through the soft charmeuse material of her dress before he lifted it up through her body forcing them to pull away in order to fully remove the dress. Once it had come off, he threw it in a heap on the floor and savored the girl in front of him. Lips swollen, cheeks flushed and her hair already in disarray she looked just about ready to take him. He could have just come at the sight of her with the pretty white lace set she sported. So tiny it barely covered anything.

“Look at you baby. You look so pretty, ready to take me huh?” He’d lifted her into his arms ushering her to wrap her tanned legs around him while his hands held the fullness of her bottom. She hated that he was fully dressed. She wanted to feel him against her, wanted to see the toned muscles of his torso and touch the bulge she’d had her hands just a few minutes prior, just this time without the thick material of his chinos.

She nodded at his question as a small yes fled from her lips when he brought their lips together again in another needy kiss. This time, he maneuvered through the large hotel room and finally dropped her on his bed. He’d stayed on his feet, removing his shirt and revealing his taut and strong chest.

“You look so good, Bucky” She hadn’t meant for her English to sound so thick, not only laced with a deep onset of lust but with complete delight at the sight of him. She blushed at the way she’d sounded, but he loved it. Loved the way his name fell from her swollen lips.

With a bite of his lip, he watched as her expression went from that of need to one filled with fear as he removed the gun from the waistband of his pants. The dark metal in his hand the only thing her eyes were focused on. He was amused at the innocence she carried. Even in a country like Colombia where crime and death rates were one of the highest back in the day because of people like him, she’d managed to keep that angelic essence. He admired her refusal to let go of it.

“I told you this is only for protection, baby. The only thing that’s gonna hurt you is this dick.” He was half joking, gun still gripped in his hand he walked around the side of the bed to place it on the white nightstand. It seemed as if even that wasn’t enough for her so with a roll of his deep blue eyes, he decided it was best he placed it inside the nightstand drawer. Sure, he had better access and more maneuver to reach for it if it was on top, but he wanted to fuck her so bad and wanted her to enjoy it not have a gun be the reason she couldn’t get wet over him.

She swallowed, a little more calm as she saw the weapon safely stored inside the drawer and offered him a timid smile. He chuckled at her newfound expression and felt the same yearning bubble up again. Desperate to feel her skin on him, he unbuckled his pants in a haste and threw them carelessly on the floor. If he wasn’t so damn hard to the point it pained him, he would’ve had her remove the pants with her small hands. Another time, he thought.

He climbed on top of her, expectant doe eyes staring back at him when his face prodded down at her. She reached her soft hands to touch his face and used it to pull his face towards hers. Lips meeting in a desperate kiss as if starved of human touch; so eager, so needy. His hands didn’t waste time exploring her body. They wanted to be everywhere at once, her breasts, her thighs and the sweet place between her thighs. For the time being, he’d stopped at the swell of her breasts, pushing down the thin lace cups and rubbing her perky brown nipples slowly. Fingers trailing on the smoothness of her areolas had turned to kneading. His lips had parted from hers and trailed down to the sensitive skin of her neck and made sure to take the skin between his lips. Sucking and biting at the skin until blood had risen leaving behind  deep purple marks that looked rather painful. She was a withering mess underneath him, soft little moans falling from her swollen lips and thighs widening.

She was so compliant especially when he’d patted her thigh and she’d opened up to him without a single word. His fingers had grasped at the thin lace material of her panties too roughly and it had ripped. Y/N yelped and he didn’t know what to make of her face expression whether it was anger or disappointment that had shown, but he promised her he’d buy her more. Expensive lace just for his pretty girl.

Without waiting for a response, 2 fingers had slowly delved into her cunt. Long fingers forming a slow and torturous rhythm that had her wanting more. If this was his way of making her talk then he was on right track as her little whines grew the more he kept the same pace

“Faster.” Y/N pleaded, hands grasping at the sheets below her. He felt himself gloat as her soft voice egged him on, finally voicing out her needs. He’d given in, fingers pumping in and out of her in briskness all while loving the little sinful moans that she gave out. Within seconds, his tongue had taken place of his fingers licking a long patch of her pretty pussy before he brought them back inside her. Her cunt was soaking wet with her juices and she was so damn sweet. His tongue was swirling against her clit, a move that had her body shuddering in the process. His fingers continued their pace inside her while his tongue drew long licks on her little petal, sucking and swirling that within seconds she’d gripped his hair tightly and came without warning. She’d come right on his fingers, room filling with the sound of her cries. When he withdrew his fingers, glistening and sticky with her unbelievably sweet nectar, he licked a long stripe against her before coming up for air. He looked wildly erotic—hair unruly and mouth wet with the fruits of her orgasm.

When Bucky climbed his way back on top of her, she was breathing so hard her chest was heaving up and down, a thin sheen of sweat clinging to her skin, meanwhile her eyes were fluttering in the aftermath of her orgasm.

“Open your mouth.” Bucky ordered, voice laced with desire as he stared at the mess of a girl. Her brown eyes fluttered open again and with a bite of her lip, she opened her lips wide for him. Almost immediately his fingers were inside her mouth. He wanted her to taste herself, to taste how delicious she was.

“You taste so fucking sweet, baby. You like it? Like the way you taste?” God, he sounded so sexy. She hadn’t expected him to be such a talker, but he was making her skin tingle with just the sound of his voice and with the things he spewed out during their sinful acts. She moaned with his fingers in her mouth and gave a slight shake of her head to let him know that yes, she tasted damn sweet but that she was sure he tasted even better. At this thought, she grabbed hold of his arm and pushed his fingers out. Taking charge for the first time that night, she pushed him on his back. His olive skin meeting the black silk of his sheets.

Mischievous burnt sienna eyes peered up at him as she removed his boxers causing the thick bulge to spring out. He was so big and thick in her hands, and she thought of how much discomfort the stretch would be just taking him.

She tried to focus on the task at hand, dainty hand wrapping around the thick shaft moving up and down. He was groaning above, husky and loud. It drove her hand to move faster against him, a line of precum already seeping from the swollen head. It was so enticing seeing the milky substance leaking from him that her head bowed and lips wrapped around the very tip. Tongue swirling against the tiny hole before she sucked it savoring the salty taste of him. She began to bob her head down the thickness of his cock, unable to take him all but making sure what she couldn’t take her hand would. He was just so damn big, she wanted to take him all but when he hit the back of her throat her eyes had watered and her throat hadn’t allowed more to fit in. But he seemed satisfied as his hand tangled itself in hair, urging her to keep the same momentum. Her red lips sucking him , coating him in her saliva. Almost too soon, he’d pulled her off him and pushed her on top of him. Swollen lips meeting in the middle, fervent and needy. She tasted like him but he didn’t care.

She wrapped her hand around his shaft again, pumping him once more before she lined up to her entrance. She pushed herself down slowly, taking him inside her warmth. It was an uncomfortable stretch, the dull ache clear on her face as she grimaced. She took her time, barely moving for a good few seconds before she felt his hands on her hips. Kneading the soft skin there, almost as if pleading for her to move. With the tips of her feet on both sides of him, she began a slow up and down movement. He watched as her pussy devoured his dick, disappearing inside her.

Her breathy moans, shaky feet and slow movements were driving him wild. He wanted to fuck her until she screamed. Bucky’s hips had began bucking up, fucking into her desperate to feel more of her tightness. It wasn’t long before he’d taken the reigns again and her body was shaking above him, helplessly taking the deep thrusts.

“Fuck, that’s my good girl. Your tight pussy can take this dick right, baby girl?”

“Si papi.” Bucky’s ears had perked up at the naughty words. She’d called him daddy in Spanish and it had his dick twitching inside her. He could just cum at the sound of that word.

“Shit, call me that again baby girl.” He pleaded, breathing loud as his thrusts continued to piston inside her before he came to a momentary pause. He pushed her body backwards, her back hitting the silk sheets with a small thud. He lined himself at her wet pussy and drove forward again, feeling her tightness engulf him.

“Fuck me papi. Fuck me hard.” She was driving him wild with her velvety voice and the vice grip her cunt had him in. He began with full rough thrusts, the sound of skin slapping filling the large hotel room. Her breasts were bouncing before him, gaining the attention of his lips and his mouth wrapped around her nipple before he gazed at her neck. Ladened with purple marks from his mouth, he wrapped his large hand around it. He’d taken her aback, eyes rolling as her breathing was slightly restricted. He was still fucking her to the brink of insanity and with the added pressure on her neck, she felt the familiar heat building within her stomach, balling up in a crazed manner. He pushed himself inside her with need, wanting her to break apart in front of him so he could follow suit with his own pent up orgasm.

“Oh shit, I’m cumming.” She yelped, voice hoarse with his grip on her neck. She was spasming underneath, tears rolling down her reddened cheeks as she felt the wave of ecstasy shake through her. Her cunt had tightened around his dick, still moving inside her, but the constriction had unexpectedly gotten him to the edge too. He felt himself come with hot spurts inside her, a loud groan slipping past his lips. His stomach shuddered, heaving heavily. He felt as if she’d milked him of all he had.

She grimaced when he pushed himself from her and collapsed beside her. She was spent, sore limbs and a terrible ache between her thighs she knew she’d be spending the night. There was no way she’d make it home without falling asleep. She turned to look at him, and he did too , sharing drained smiles. Noticing her eyes fluttering close, he pecked her lips softly, a stark difference from the roughness of their previous acts.

“I’ll take you to buy new panties tomorrow.” Was the last thing he said, before she succumbed to sleep.

oooooof, this took me hours to write but I felt so inspired. I watched the devil all the time and I, Tonya again (the mustache really does it for me honestly, he’s so hot)  and I was like lemme just write a mob bucky one-shot. 

Any tips or comments, lemme know. Hope you guys enjoy!

P.S. can someone please tell me they’re as disgustingly obsessed with Lee Bodecker as I am, I’m literally burning inside. The little pouch and the PEPSI CUP. OMFGGGGG

[widowsofchaos]

ill wind

summary: A drunken one-night stand takes a turn. pairings: dark!Wanda x black!reader x dark!Natasha warnings: (malevolent advantage of alcohol consumption, power manipulation, dub non-con/smut) I hope ya’ll enjoy! <3 ao3 a/n: Written for @that-damn-girl ‘s PRIDE challenge. Chose a scenario prompt “drunken one night stand” with my two of my fav marvel women. Many apologies for being rusty at my writing! Beta: by the beautiful @imanuglywombat Thank you, Laura for being such a great friend & for proof-reading! Thank you for the amazing commentary, you’ve been such a huge help on this fic! Xoxo psa: I had to repost this story again due to the original post being reported by tumblr for adult content, so here it is once again! Also, a big thanks to everyone liking this fic, I didn’t realize it would be a fan favorite until I kept getting tagged by other writers’ answering asks of readers asking about it! It means a lot, thank you!!

do not repost my works!

A surge of throbbing pain hits your head.

Somber shades of yellow and white marinate into a dewy flourish; trying to break through your fluttering lids. Three hearts beating under smooth silk sheets, limbs entangled, a blooming migraine bestows your crown.

A cheeky god who’s shit-eating grin is flashing before your squinting eyes, you huffed. Serves me right, I guess, you mulled. The rowdy tyke biting more than she can chew.

A cheeky god who’s shit-eating grin is flashing before your squinting eyes, you huffed. Serves me right, I guess, you mulled. The rowdy tyke biting more than she can chew.

Your hooded eyes sharply scan the bedroom, realization hits like a freight train – this isn’t your room. It’s familiar to memory, your mouth curves into a frown, you rub your eyes roughly. Trying to clear your vision, studying your surroundings thoroughly. Powering through blurry perception, your senses are a bit irregular, groggy.

You attempt to twist your body, metal clanks against the skin of your back. Nerves frigid at the slender-shaped leather sensation, your breathing is shallow, your brain is driving into overdrive, grasping at the assumption that it’s a belt; the horizontal form, and the shape of metal is a big clue of it’s identification.

The slick leather sliding against the nape of your back, traveling against the slope of your lower spine, regarding the patterns of the buckle that grazed against your ass.

Peering out of your blurry haze, your moist skin recognizes the flood of body heat.

Overwhelmed by your flush state, your crown shifts down and you almost choke on your spit and you almost choke on your spit. On your right, lying peacefully on her back is the Slovakian witch herself, Wanda. On your left, her face half-smooshed in the pillow, the Russian beauty herself, Natasha.

Anxiety rolls off of you in waves. Naked, and satiated with pouty sleepy lips – yourself bare as the day you were born. Arm draped gracefully over her face, the twinkle of a glimmering rock adorning Wanda’s left palm mockingly winks at you.

Whining very lowly, you leisurely twist your head to face Nat, curled near her head was another shiny rock snickering at you. “Fuck.” You cringe. Biting the bullet, you navigate through the migraine, bent elbows dig into the mattress, lifting your head up, weak fingers grip the sheets to cover your indecency.

On the floor, spews of clothes are scattered – your Alice Cooper shirt, your lace black thong, your denim shorts, your strapless bra – along with other familiar articles of clothing. A red string thong, a pair of high-waisted blue panties, a black button clad blouse, a leather skirt, – it was an Armageddon of fabric.

As your brain fizzles to calculate your escape, a featherlight fingertip grazes and tickles your neck, you gasped at the intrusion. Your head snaps to your left, green orbs pierce through you, “Hey.”, it was sultry, yet raspy.

A twinge at your core – no, no, no – this can’t happen. Becoming a homewrecker isn’t on your bucket list. “Hey – um, I don’t fully remember–” You were stuttering, never have you lost your cool. “I – fuck.” Your eyes downcast from Natasha’s intense stare and shame seeping through your bones; a dark chuckle erupts from her.

“It’s okay.” She cuts you off, with her knuckles caressing your cheek. “No need to be worried – or scared”, a feral grin, all fangs. Your mouth gaps opened, and closed like a blubbering fish. “I’m so sorry, Nat.” A bit breathless, tears form in your eyes.

Your head running miles per hour, tongue thickened with sincerity – worried that you definitely ruined one of your best friendships.

“I shouldn’t be here.” Your fumes are running on auto-pilot. A coy flutter of her lashes, “Why are you sorry? You weren’t saying that last night.” Your chin wobbles, “Excuse me?” A devilish smirk dons her mouth, you can tell she’s entertained by your confusion.

Natasha’s calm stature, coolly lifting herself by the elbows to sit against the headboard, bare milky breasts bounce free from the blanket – it throws you for a loop.

“Whatever I said last night –” Your fidgety fingers grip your messy curls, seeking an ounce of control, “–I was drunk. I – can’t remember. I know I probably said some stupid shit.” You harshly bite your bottom lip, drawing some droplet of blood through split skin, “Not at all, miláčik.” A soft Slovakian timber looms behind you, your entire body stiffens.

French manicured nails graze your tender shoulder blade, weaving a hiss through your teeth. Crudely tracing red claw marks, a shiver crawls through your spine; Wanda stifles a chuckle. “No need to worry, Y/n.” A peck on your shoulder, you gasp, flinching a bit away from her lips.

“No, this is so wrong. I ruined everything – I – need to go.” You stutter, averting your teary gaze away from both women. Fumbling and shaky hands tugging off the sheets, embarrassment surges inside of you due to your bareness.

Covering your breasts with your arms in shame, a disappointed sigh can be heard, a whizz of mesmerizing magenta energy floats and surrounds you. Your brain becomes fuzzy – dizzy numbness infiltrates you. Brown orbs criss-cross, a force heaves on your chest, pushing your body forcefully against the mattress – an ungraceful huff escapes you.

“Oh miláčik, you’re not going anywhere.” Wanda whispers, her knuckles softly caressing your cheek. “I–” Your mouth gapes to speak but you are cut off, “Quiet.” Natasha sternly demands, trimmed brows pinch menacingly. Wanda’s slender fingers flicker hairs-away from your lips; muting you.

“Do I really need to refresh your memory? Or do you want Wanda to just show you?” Natasha pucker lips sporting a faded tint of pink – a hint of last night’s rendezvous. Something is different in their eyes now; something darker. It nerves you, a force is weighing on your chest slightly more — leaving you gasping a bit.

You nod your head in Wanda’s direction, peering through squinted glossy eyes. Wanda’s open palm waves over your face, a flared energy of fluid orchid pink and creamy white whisk in a blurry mix.

Transporting your subconscious through a tunnel of faded memories – a film reel of the past — neon rainbows of worldly splendor travel around you. Kaleidoscope splendor.

Through a murky veil, your airy presence arrives at the living area — Stark’s late night party from last night in full swing. You are befuddled yet amazed beyond belief. The scents of alcohol roars in your nostrils and the crisp clear cadence of your tipsy friends flow through your eardrums – goofing off, and chatting – you can feel the atmosphere differently on your skin.

The chilled air that flows from the open balcony imbibes your flesh, goosebumps littering your translucent skin in its wake; your breath hitches at the tingles soaring through your body.

The powerful gifts Wanda possesses never fails to impress you.

Nimble feet waltz through the hallway, reaching to the common area, it felt as if another unknown force was guiding you – searching for your past self. Assuming by this time of the party you were already impaired off your ass. Your silent steps were transparent, featherily light against the flooring; the cool sensation grazing your toes.

The cheers rising in volume, the coil of anxiety curling in the pit of your belly. Forcing yourself to cease your pace, nerves overriding. Afraid to face the truth – realization that you slipped. How easy of you fall into their bed, like a slithering snake. Tears formed at the brims of your eyes – wiping the droplets away by the back of your palms.

A push collided against your back, an ungraceful yelp escaped you as you toppled over – your entire form floating, twirling a bit. Wiggling legs falter mid-air, hovering over the ground; trying to find your bearings. A force guiding you towards the common area. The aroma of liquor tickles your nostrils and boisterous laughter rings in your ears.

Easily you found past you hanging off of Thor’s extended bicep – like a monkey climbing a damn oak tree. You attempted to face-palm yourself, but your hand went straight through your ghostly face. It was free reign to wonder about the compound.

Fascinated to just linger around, seemingly waiting for your own mistake to be replayed for you. In the corner, you see Sam and Clint chuckling like a couple of knuckle-heads at you trying to bounce off of Thor. It was odd, you felt like you were in the film Ghost.

Wandering among friends, they walk right through your invisible disembodied form. In the corner, you see Bucky and Steve smooching on the couch, stealing cheeky kisses – a bit tipsy chuckles from Thor’s ale.

Your drunken form catches your eye, incoherent words to Thor, Sam, and Clint --- most likely you’re telling them that you were gonna rest for a bit. You saw your past self flop ungracefully on the couch, your eyes wearily fluttering open and shut.

Two shadows peer upon your body and you almost choke on your own spit. Wanda and Natasha sat on both sides of you, petting your hair and caressing your cheeks. Delirious you were, you slurred a hello. You squinted darkly at Natasha’s palm – it was a flask in her grasp.

Taunting you with a shake, promising more alien ale, in exchange to ‘hang out with us’; Wanda’s fingertips grazing your temples, snickering lowly. You are frozen in your spot as if the soles of your feet grew roots planting in the flooring. Deceit. It was a simple trick dealt by your own hand, your own inebriation used against you.

For a millisecond, you feel it was your own fault – following the wolves in sheep’s clothing. Aided by the sneaky claws of Wanda, and Natasha; trolling towards the elevator. Your breathing is sharpening, choppy pants squeezed from your lungs. The walls of the living area began shaking as if an earthquake was occurring.

Your subconscious begins deteriorating piece by piece. Vibrations begin surging throughout your body and in a glimpse, you see every member of your team in a mid-frozen state.

But in a flash, you see Bucky and Steve grinning with toothy Cheshire Cat smiles – following the direction of their gaze, staring at Wanda and Natasha dragging you away. It gives you a weird uncertain vibe, making you shiver.

The walls of the compound begin to crumble upon you. Vibrations surge throughout your body, almost losing your balance on your toes. You hold onto yourself, hugging your head in your arms. An efflux of bursting colors blinds you, swirling and erupting upon you. A force pushing you through the familiar tunnel of mist.

Deafening white noise pound in your ears, as if you are breaking through the ocean surface – wheezing for air, a heavy weight crawling off your chest. The blurry veil clears, your vision sharpens to see Wanda and Natasha hovering over you, smiling like the cats that got the cream. “You tricked me,” You stammered, fuming with rage but a flailing thread of humiliation.

Wanda clicked her tongue, wagging her finger at you – scolding you like a child. “We didn’t trick you. You came willingly. Right, Nattie?” Wanda cooed to Natasha, dreamily gazing at her. Natasha hummed, “Indeed, Maxie. All we did was follow –” the tip of Natasha’s finger softly grazed Wanda’s chin upward, a slow turn back to you, “--- You lead the way.”

“I was fucking drunk. I don’t even remember shit! You took advantage of me!” You barked, green and hazy blue hues darken. Natasha’s palm grips your jaw, emanating an ow from you – a bruising touch.

“Would you like Wanda to give you a repeat of it? I must warn you –” She leaned forward, lips almost brushing yours, “–you were very loud, and wet.” Nat’s voice was laced with malice.

“No.” A muffled whine slip from puckered lips pinched between her fingers. “You know – we could just give her a demonstration.” Wanda purrs, delicate hands find your body; snagging the sheets off your body, Natasha groans at the sight of your bare breasts.

Bending forward Wanda’s pink tongue darts from her plump lips, licking long strides against your dewy skin. Starting at the navel, her tongue traveling up to the valley of your plush breasts.

Cowering thighs clench shut, “Nuh uh, none of that.” Wanda’s sing-song reprimand makes you twitch at the pit of your belly. A fiery carmine mist infiltrates the air, twirling presence swirls around your crotch, and thighs – the force snatches your legs spread eagle-wide.

“You have no clue how long we have wanted you, huh?” Natasha coos crudely as your thighs slowly lift upwards, slowly your thighs lifted upwards, your kneecaps coming to rest against your supple breasts.

“You’re soaked, miláčik.” Wanda’s body glides with smooth precision, downward like agile feline; legs dangle in the air, ankles locked. Comfortably tucked between your legs like it was her rightful reign. Inhaling your sweet tangy scent emanating from your glistening cunt, her pink tongue darting out to lick her bottom lip. Long strides stroking inside your wet folds, shamelessly delving between short-fuzz mound.

“Delicious. Like a peach.” Tip of her moist tongue, twirling on your clit, “Hmph – fuck.” Your eyes fluttered to the back of your skull. Natasha licks a trail of warm saliva from your lush breast to your baring neck.

Suckling on your pulse point, you gasp a breathy groan. Teeth nip and scrape the skin ravenously, baring her fangs --- resembling her infamous Araneae emblem.

Sweet kisses to your collarbone, teeth nibble at your brown nipples, tantalizing tugging on the sensitive flesh – red nails painfully scraping into your ass cheeks, whimpers slither pathetically from your lips. Mewls from Natasha, a click of her tongue, tsking you as if you were a cat, a mere pet to play with. Your lips form into a thin line, forbidding any involuntary moans to slip.

“Twah. Don’t hold back those sweet noises, baby.” Wanda lulling you, following with a salacious bite on your inner thigh, you yelp trailing into a pathetic moan as she licks against the mark. “We had you singing like a canary last night,” Natasha speaks huskily against your cheek, nibbling a bit. “You may be restraining, trying to be quiet. But you’re just one loud girl, just like your mind.” Natasha said lowly, your dazed eyes trying to concrete.

“Loud thoughts, and vivid fantasies.” Wanda’s lips pucker to suckle throbbing clit. You grunt, Natasha pinches your nipple — earning a squeal from you. It was painfully delicious — you can’t lie — your body definitely can’t hide the fact. “There you are, darling.” Natasha’s voice drips with husky lust, a second twist.

You yelp, your head tilts back and strains against the pillow — welcoming the sting whole-heartedly. Natasha cups your breast jiggling it a bit; flicks her tongue against the erected nipple and suckles it in her entire mouth. Your whole breast devoured, you hiss, peeking through your lashes — it was sinful how her pink saliva glossed lips engulf your tit.

How her tongue lapped at your nipple with such hunger. Worships you into the cave of her mouth. Her sneaky fingers snatch the other one — twisting and twirling mercilessly between her finger-tips. It’s sloppy, filthy, and fucking dirty — and wrong. You feel as if you could pass out. The soppy slurps from Natasha and the leg-shaky clit bites from Wanda were pushing over the edge.

You push your waist up and down, riding Wanda’s tongue; for a moment you lose yourself. Her hot tongue gliding between your velvet folds, how her tongue coats in your essence.

Wanda’s soft palms glide against the curves of your thighs, her nails scraping against the flesh. You jolt as she swats against your underthighs. Harsh painful slaps, as she eats you out. The heat of the slaps is scorching in your pores, adding salt to the wound — Wanda digs nails a bit more to relish in your squirming.

“Ow.” It’s small, but it’s heard. Wanda removes her lips from your pearl, you pitifully whine — frantically, you hoist your head to glare at her. A trail of white saliva connects from her bottom lip to your clit, she twirls her tongue in a languid twirl; collecting all of it.

Licks her upper lip, like a feline just drank the dairy. “Don’t pretend you don’t like it.” Wanda smacks your glistening cunt, a wicked snicker. You wail, it’s a tug of war for you. You don’t want to be here, getting eaten the day-lights out of you, and your tits suckled.

You need time to decompress on the fact, you had sex with two of your best friends — who are married. Who you had the biggest crushes on – but you can’t risk losing a full-fledged friendship over lust.

Two sets of slender fingers plunge inside you, snapping you out of your thoughts, as the pad of Wanda’s thumb rubs manic circle motions on your throbbing clit.

“Get out of your pretty head, miláčik.” Tears form at the brims of your eyes, shaking it no — you can’t risk losing this friendship. “Do you really think you can bypass a spy and a telepath?” Natasha’s voice was like a crackling fire, dragging you out of your conflicted thoughts.

“Did you think we wouldn’t see how you gaze at us, huh? All those thoughts swarming in there?” Her index gently taps the center of your forehead. It was difficult to fully concrete or even speak coherent words as Wanda was teasingly inserting her fingers in and out of your wet cavern; ceasing her thumb a bit.

Speechless — what could you say to that? “Worried on becoming a homewrecker?” You were stuttering a bit, you still needed space to adjust, what if this doesn’t work out, and you were stuck in the awkward middle? “I–I need some time —” Natasha’s eyes darken, refusing to accept your rejection. You didn’t even have the proper choice — you didn’t have a choice.

It was a drunken one — barely a choice filled with manipulation and trickery. “No.” She hisses, gripping your jaw, you whine lowly in your throat at her harsh grasp.

Without wavering her eyes from yours, as she steals a bruising kiss. Wanda’s eyes ignite to fiery red, hitting your sweet spot hard, and brutal. You shriek, trying to worm yourself from Wanda’s grasp — but no success. Wanda’s mist restricts and pins you against the bed, her jaw tightens and clicks.

“You can’t escape us. We want you just as bad as you want us.” Wanda’s viscous fingers split you open, squelching; not once allowing a second of adjusting. As if her powers were electric at the tips of her witchy fingers, you felt a zap inside you. Oh, how a wicked bulb lits upon her head. “I have an idea.” Wanda hums with an evil smirk, stopping her actions.

“I don’t even have to touch you to make you cum.” Wanda guides Natasha away from your aching body by the shoulder. Her slim fingers contort as she sits on her knees, red energy emits, and swirls from her hands.

Manipulating your senses, fire brewing at your nerve endings, unadulterated ecstasy brimming at the pores. Wails leave you like hymns, your lips forming into an O; eyes pinched shut as your back arches off the mattress.

Hissing through your teeth — it’s electric. Enthralling as you twitch under Wanda’s command. Jittery spasms as a coil at the pit of your belly began twirling bigger, and bigger. “She’s getting close. I can smell it on her.” Natasha whispers, her breasts heaving a bit from her chest swelling from excitement, her smug smile curling from her lips.

“I can feel her energy. It’s heavy and intoxicating.” Wanda’s head was in a haze, as she connected with your spirit, along with Natasha’s. A connection. To intertwine — but not for herself, with extra concentration, it is sizzling erotic as Natasha’s charka intertwine with Wanda’s as it chokes your inner essence.

Wanda’s fingers pinching in the air, weaving your life-force, your hips bucking into the air, as your impending orgasm is roaring — your pussy is swollen and soaking. Your soppy hole clenches and pulsates against an enigmatic fullness, Wanda exploring yet violating your cavern — touching against your moist walls, your clit throbbing and hot.

“Fuck — I — I need to c–cum!” Sputtering over your blubbering lips, a snarl rumbles in Wanda’s chest, as she hovered a bit by the knees, the power over three energies was carnal.

Natasha’s head tilts backward, her fiery hair curtaining her face, her baby-hairs sticking against her forehead from brewing sweat; pinching her nipples painfully between her fingertips, groping her breasts in the cups of her palms. “I need to feel her cunt against mine.” Her voice is hardened and desperate.

Natasha’s head snaps upward, staring directly at your sweltering face, the greenery in her pupils darken and dilate.

A growl seethes from Natasha’s wet lips, low and dangerous. Your muscles shake; pleasure engulfing your limbs, weakly trapped in this mystic force, forced to enjoy Wanda’s manipulation. Moving like rivers upon your skin, unraveling waves washing over you — suffocating, painfully sweet.

Despite Wanda taking unbridled control, ravaging your body as if she owns it, weaving pleasure from you as if she knows your body from the inside out, as if she knows every sweet-spot, and tick inside you for years — there is a layer of gentility. Impulsive, yet soft. A tender lover, a pinch to savor.

Groans, grunts, and high-pitched moans echo as corrupted sympathies and bounce against the wall pavements, ringing in your ears. Flushed cheeks, sepia skin now tinted with pinkish shades spreading throughout your body.

Bliss swelling and sealing in your limber legs, aching in the best possible way. Cattle-wails of desperation, a dribble of cum trails between your wet folds and between your cheeks hitting your puckered asshole.

Wanda’s witchy slender fingers fiddle, makeshift claws to create more pressure — releasing more telepathic vitality for Natasha and yourself to ride out your orgasms.

With a flicker of Wanda’s index finger – maneuvering to the form of a pistol – a trigger, a jolt of energy bolts at your navel. A bullet. You convulse, airy pants, your torso heaving with your thighs quaking in its tight hold.

A snap bursts within you, your eyes opening widely, translucent colors combust upon your vision — worldly satisfaction manifesting into reality. In unison, all three souls unleash guttural moans.

Wanda’s fingers tremble, sucking in breath through her teeth, her energy fading into thin air, retreating back into her palms. A sharp guttural groan spilt from Natasha, a skin-peeling frenzy; basking in the astral aura that is the Slovakian witch. Your thighs collapse down debilitating from your torso.

Almost falling like an empty sack, Natasha tries to steady her breathing, as she loses herself completely at the heightened senses of her orgasm. It was such a sight, heaving over, crooked elbows denting against the mattress — on all fours, her spine heaving upward as tremors convulsed.

Never have you ever seen Natasha lose her stature in all the years of knowing her, ever so the chilling demure nature — only in your wildest fantasies have you dreamt of Natasha torn at the seams.

At the corners of her jaw, was tinged pale pink upon a damp milky surface, with her glossy eyes, adding to the primal gaze. Zoned out, peering through her lashes, her eyes are feral. Unhinged, ready for the kill.

“Keep her legs open.” Natasha hisses, nostrils flaring. Wanda slithers away, wobbling a bit by her knee-caps. Humming with a knowing smirk at Natasha, licking her upper lip with her pink tongue – she knows what Natasha wants. “I want her mouth.” Wanda snickers, a glint of mischief at her eye. Hastening breath fans over your bare shoulder, from her button nose against your sculpted collarbone.

Choking a bit, gasping for a full breath to tame your heightened nerve endings; your mouth parted. Gulping back your dry throat.

Wanda clicks her tongue, her nimble fingers trace the lines of your lips. “Keep that mouth open, dove. I’m going to quench your thirst.” Sneaky mind-reader. Sultry thick accent spells you for a momentary lapse.

“Please, wait. Give me a momen — aggh!” A plea falling on deaf ears is strangled into a wanton cry. Your hands shake, hugging yourself against your chest, arms crossing; trying to comfort yourself.

A painful slap against your clit, over-sensitive and squirming. Heat blooming throughout your hooded clit. “I don’t think so. We’ll stop when we say, got it?” Natasha snipes.

A pregnant pause.

Smack.

“Understood?” Natasha barks again, with a vengeful clap of her hand — as if it possesses the power of a god, unmerciful; but worships you in the smooth rubs on the stinging flesh. Your lips parting into a moan, a few sniffles muffled — it’s whiny and pathetic.

“Don’t cry. We’ll make you feel good again. Don’t you want that?” Wanda’s lips hover over you, against your cheeks, her teeth slightly grazing against your skin. A bite at your inner thigh, a warning. Natasha’s more aggressive. Wild, impatient, and just savage to devour you, for you to comply with their demands.

“Yes. Just wait, I’m sensitive.” You needed a reprieve, a breather from the intense third-eye cosmic orgasm you just had a few minutes ago. “No time to waste.” Wanda perks, a soft kiss on your lips. The witch balances herself over your head, trapping your skull between her thighs. Above your lips was her peach-fuzz cunt, dripping and inviting.

A tiny voice at the back of your head informing you that this is beyond wrong, red flags and alarm bells ringing that the circumstances after this will be catastrophic.

Fingers sliding in your curls, glides open-palm against your head, “C’mon, dove. Open wide. We know you’ve dreamt of having a taste. Don’t be shy now. You weren’t last night.” Wanda’s clutch shifted into an iron grip, pain over-riding your humiliation.

“Loud, wet — very eager to please, to impress.” Natasha kept listing off how you acted in bed, closing your eyes shut in embarrassment. What if this is just a tryst? A mere game for a married couple to spice their sex life? Years worth of emotional baggage and scars begin surfacing to your murky mind. A good lay.

And when Wanda and Natasha are done with you without a second thought, using your body after a good late night and morning fuck, despite questionable undertones --- confusion.

Your body yearns for their touch, going against your better judgement; it’s best to sit down and discuss this like rational adults. Another part of you wants to claw at both of them, for lying to you. Using Thor’s ale against you to lure you to the lion’s den. What if after this, they don’t want you? A mind-game to throw you off. Fearing to lose a friendship over a momentary lapse of hot sex.

Restricting back burning tears, ‘very eager to please, to impress.’ That’s you, always ready to bend over to get people to like you — it even transcended into your sex life. Motivated by liquor and you lost yourself to lust and temptation, although these two used your drunk state against you. A humiliating sight you probably were.

“Get out of your head, miláčik.” You sigh, slowly opening your eyes. Your breath hitches, Wanda stares down at you with sympathetic hues. “We’re not going to throw you away. We’re not going anywhere.” Relenting her harsh grip, the pads of her fingers soothe the remaining ache.

“You’re ours.” Firm and demanding. Natasha spreads your weak legs open once again, positioning herself to sit interlocked with you. Natasha hums, “Don’t even think of leaving us. You know we’re capable of catching you. Chain you to the bed if we have to.” Her cunt against yours, clit to clit.

You can feel the wet slick that coated between her asscheeks, a slip n’ slide as her ass sprawled against your wet thigh. Her fingers clawing against your thigh to top it over her leg. Quaking a bit, a shiver crawls up your spine.

The insanity of it all, you just wanna hide away. “Be good, miláčik.” Wanda descends upon your face, her natural essence wafting deeply in your airways — flooding your senses. You shouldn’t be thriving off of this sex but it was hot and incredible.

Wanda comfortably situates herself as if she sits on a throne —- as if she owns you. Your protests are muffled into mumbles, as your lips wrap around her swollen snatch. Your nose nestled against her short curls, the tender skin was like silk against your palate.

A crude shift from Natasha’s waist, a strident thrust as she begins tribbing you, you are moaning against Wanda, herself shuddering as her hips sway up and down upon your cheeks.

Vulgar Russian curses heave from Wanda’s lips, high-pitched and transcending into orgasmic nirvana. Natasha is growling — slipping into Russian curses and wanton moans — taking what’s hers as she keeps riding herself on you. Sucking through your teeth, you nibble on Wanda’s clit, and tugging her slippery labia between sucked in lips.

Vociferous wails and whimpers, a cadence of sticky slick mixing from one cunt to another. A lubricant that was chafing against flesh. The lewd differences between these two women is clear as day.

Wanda is the bright sunny day and Natasha is the inky night. Soft is Wanda in shades and colors; with benevolent timbre. Amorous is Natasha but in darker tints, with a reserved mask; with raspy timbre. Both ravenous for control. The pinnacles of what many women strive to be with superior intellect, beauty, and brawns.

Being the gay bottom you are, it’s no surprise for you to be charmed by such powerful women. After many hookups with women over the years, this was the most intense and enthralling one yet.

Years of crushing on them from afar has led up to this. Fresh-faced and more enchanting than before, Wanda sighs in content and victory, as she gawks down at you from her tottering head. Her tousled tresses curtaining her cheeks, riding with more enthusiasm as your lashes flutter. With a dominant drive, Natasha’s groans as she’s close to cum.

Her wetness and yours adds to the sensation on your clit. All three bodies fumbling at bit from the brutal-pace of face-fucking and cunt riding. The headboard hits the wall a bit, matching the frenetic grinding of skin to skin.

Shedding their heroic femme skins and turning into savages. Nasty. Filthy. Corrupt. Your fingernails dredge into Wanda’s femurs, prowling skyward the sweaty region of her hips, to the toned plains of her tummy to finally the mountain peaks of bosoms.

Pinching her pink nipples between your fingers to the point of making her yelp, it was an unspoken incentive for her to ride your mouth harder. Teeth tenderly gnashing inside her pussy lips.

Ragged murmurs, clipped curses, and taunts – You like it? Yeah, you were made to be under us, withering, and shaking. You want me to cum all over your face, pretty girl? Have Natasha drown your pussy with her cum? Yeah, dove, I can feel your clit pulse against mine!

Shocked silence as your astonished eyes widen, your mouth is flooded with cum. Rendered speechless, airy gasps from Wanda and Natasha is still upon your cunt, small mewls from her, now beyond sloppy and wet; a mixture of your cum and hers. Natasha’s hips juddering against yours, riding the last of her orgasm.

“What a good dove, we have,” Natasha speaks through the thick silence. Wanda hoists herself up by the knees, as you gasp for more air — your entire mouth now glistening with her fluid.

“Yes, she’s so good. Took everything we gave her like a good girl.” Wanda coos at you, hooded lids with a sultry curve of her lashes flutter at you; jolting away as she laid back on the bed with a wheezing breath. Regaining her composure, her dainty fingertips graze against your sweaty forehead to flip curls that strayed on your eye-lids. It was intimate, too intimate — it is the touch of a lover.

Natasha releases your leg, it was a bit strained from her fingernails and tight grip. Her hands cup your tummy, kissing by the navel; as she repositions herself by your side, mimicking her wife’s action. Caressing hands on your arms, dainty fingers soothing against your breasts, and shushing your rapid breaths.

Sandwiching you between themselves, a sudden direction on your belly was taken. Both Wanda and Natasha soothe the smooth clammy skin, with curling smirks that were both devilish yet attractive.

With a silent conversation that you aren’t privy to, confused as they both looked at each other with knowing gloating stares. Wanda takes her own pillow and fluffs it between her hands, as Natasha upraises your curved hips. Once again, you’re left in the dark, thrusted back into demoralization and bewilderment.

Is this it? Now that this married couple — who you idolized, and cherished this friendship with — has had their fill, who are you to them? Words birthed during the mist of lust are empty promises most of the time. Is this friendship over? Do you even have the mental capacity to continue this friendship after this tirade?

Bone-shattering orgasm after orgasm was ripped from you, and yes, it was amazing to the core, but there was a part of you in the midst of clouded hazy sex, that you didn’t want it. To be touched, you just wanted some space to recollect and process your feelings about this entire messy ordeal. You’re not sure what you want really out of life --- especially out of a polygamorous relationship.

What does this say about Natasha and Wanda?

This was a scene contrasting their usual masks of personalities, yet it molds and blends into their psyches just accordingly. It’s terrifying.

You stiffen at the revelation, serrated images were slowly circulating around your mind like the stingers of raging wasps; the small brushes of knuckles against yours, the over-friendly back massages, the persistent need to have you in their presence at all times that was mislabeled ‘just to hang out’ and ‘we miss our best friend.’ And with your yearning affection, it was easy to follow the wolves to the den for the slaughter.

Facades of kind smiles, words of advice, late-night talks that delved into and entrusted girl nights — was something darker, something sinister boiling underneath the surface.

Palms driven with cursory attached upon your arms, gripping and digging; it is demanding. Scooping underneath your bum, open palms gripping your globes, and heaving upward so your hips are positioned in the air. Wanda grabs an extra plush pillow, and Natasha maneuvers your bottom down on the pillow.

“What are you two doing now?” You are a bit irritated – tone clipped – at your running-at-a-mile per second thoughts, and sore at the muscles.

“Hush, you’ll see.” Wanda snickers, as she plushes the pillow underneath your bum. Natasha gingerly holds you down as Wanda dashes to the nearby bedside drawer. Her open-palms caress your belly, ogling with much affection and pride.

“I can’t wait.” A soft smooch above your located uterus. Anxiety filling your veins at the unknown, you begin wiggling in Natasha’s tight hold. Wondering what in the fuck, she meant. “Relax. Let it happen.” Natasha’s words were not settling your nerves, it only makes the panic hitch.

In Wanda’s palm was a turkey-baster, filled to the brim with white sloshing liquid. Eyeing the baster with pure excitement shining in her eyes, her eyes nearly criss-cross as she inspects the foreign fluid almost oozing out of its confinement.

“Perfectly curated semen for the perfect womb.” A bulb breaks and explodes in your head — emptying your dome into nothingness — thrashing in Natasha’s lethal lock. She sighs with a disapproving shake of the head, stretching your arms into a pretzel lock against your chest; painting brown skin in splotches of lavender hand-prints.

Whilst Natasha confines your fore-arms in her restraints for hands, putting weight on your upper body into the bed; Wanda’s eyes glow with fury, once again forcing down your legs. “Relax, dove. This is what we wanted with you for so long. Don’t you want to be with us?” Wanda seethes with a crooked grin, as she leers down at your shaking body.

How she revels in your weak state under her touch. Makes her urges to fuck you with her strap and make you scream like the perfect little bitch you are. Their perfect dove.

“Why?” A watery cry, before succumbing to your fate — who are you to fight against a powerful telekinetic, and one of the world’s greatest retired assassins? The only outcome would be death.

“Because we love you. You’re the one to carry our baby. I can just —” Natasha groans, her eyes rolling back in yearning. “– imagine your belly swollen, waddling bare-foot. Breast-feeding — fuck — you’re already breath-taking, miláčik, but God, you’re going to give us heart-attacks.” Her voice drops an octave lower. Natasha leans her head lower, a kiss on the crease between your brows.

Your body shivers as you feel the chilled tip of the turkey-baster nearing your gaping hole, you begin weeping quietly.

Wanda shushes you, “It’s okay, milacik. You’re going to be a great mommy. Three mommies and two daddies. The baby will be the most beloved and protected little one.” A warm smile graces Wanda’s rosy cheeks. Three mommies? A dream of having a family now enforced upon you, this is a clusterfuck. Firstly, tricked by your own drunken state, second, pinned down for morning sex, and now you’re going to be impregnated by a fucking baster?

Wait --- two daddies?

“Two daddies? What? Wait, who’s the father?” You shrill, your head struggling to peak down at Wanda as she paused mid-way from inserting the cum; your eyes wild and glossy. Wanda chuckles, it sounds genuine — it’s anything but.

“Not just one father, miláčik. Our dutiful Captain and Sergeant.”

You feel light-headed, a hay fever flooding your dome. The tips of your ears feel hot, your head flops back down onto the pillow with a fluffy thud.

An incoherent whisper. “What was that, dove?” Natasha’s thumb rubbing your wrists, coaxing you to speak up. “How is that possible?” You wept, fresh tears coating your face.

“Anything is possible with modern enhanced technology. Now a baby can be genetically linked to two fathers. Isn’t that marvelous?” Wanda gleamed a cheeky smile, her eyes twinkling with unnerving mirth. “Why Steve and Bucky? Do they know what you’re doing?” You almost choke on a strained whine, your face scrunching up tightly.

Praying that Steve and Bucky didn’t have any involvement, nor a speck of encouragement of this insanity. “Of course, they know. We all made the plans together.” Wanda’s hand rubs your thigh to calm you but it only adds to your fright.

“Steve and Bucky are ready to settle down, they always dreamt of having kids. They love you and know you would be the perfect mother to their child. Our child. We’re all going to be one happy family.” And without any moment to spare, Wanda gently thrusts the baster inside of you, squeezing the silicone bulb firmly. You gasp as you felt every drop paint your walls white, drowning inside you.

You twitch in discomfort, your head thrashing side to side, your cheeks hitting the wrinkled sheets. Mutely screaming, teeth gnashing at the air, refusing to accept the inevitable. Natasha peppers your face with kisses to calm you down.

Whispering declarations of love, you restrain any more tears to escape. Wanda cups your belly, it was very subtly swelled from the massive load. “Look how much went inside, Nattie.” Wanda alleviating your distress by small circular motions.

Natasha halts her kisses. She titters a bit, “Well, I’m not surprised. Two enhanced soldiers will deliver a copious amount of cum.” Natasha joins in on the soothing strokes by her fingers. A splotchy memory of Steve and Bucky wickedly smiling while your drunk-self was dragged away to your fate.

Betrayal.

Two people you trusted for years – who you considered close friends — played a role in this capture of enforcing a life of motherhood upon you. You didn’t realize lone tears were trickling down your face until you felt a thumb wipe away.

“Don’t fret, milacik. This will be good for you. For all of us. We know what you need.” Wanda kisses your waist and travels upward your chest in a trail of kisses; as she climbs on you, cuddling by your side, wrapping her arm around your hips, and a leg around yours.

“We’ll treat you so well. Like a queen.” Natasha loosens her grip on your arms, easing the aches in your muscles, but detaining you, to ensure you won’t escape from their grasp. Natasha plants a leg over your legs, positioning next to Wanda’s, sandwiched, and suffocating.

Laxing your body from stiffening under their touch, just trying to mindlessly drift into an impending hazy slumber. “Let’s rest. We’ll tell Bucky and Steve the good news later.” Natasha says in a lulling tone, as both women cuddle to squeeze much closer to you as if they want to reside underneath your skin — tightly, and smothering.

Sedately, your eyes close. Tentatively, their breathing morphs into your focal point, to hear Natasha’s and Wanda’s settle into steady rest. Urgently needing your privacy in sound, and body --- away from nosey intruding psychic.

As you lay there, mute and digesting the perverse treachery like a dry pill ripping down your throat, your tongue weighing heavy, barely registering reality.

Murky thoughts try to align in correction, not to bemoan over the guile that is Natasha and Wanda that was akin to pistoling barrage upon your spirit.

The soft fabric of the pudgy pillow wedged underneath you was burning against your bum, an indicia that could compel an unsought future. The tact to force maternity upon your life, your womb is now without doubt, fertilizing soldier swimmers.

What can you do now? How can you battle against the odds of the inevitable? Cuffed emotionally, and intimately by ex-friends deformed into duplicitous lovers who are now dead to you, and buried in deep, fresh graves in the crevices of your heart.

You must learn from the suffering, and brace the ugliness of being a fool. Your shudder, and bite back a sob as jagged remnants began floating behind your lids of last-night that was thick of debauched moans as slim fingers plunging into your cavern; it was a fleeting splash of excitement but it simmered and dwindled into a piercing ache in your chest.

It was euphoric, but not simply euphoric, there was fear and confusion intertwined too. For many years, you had grappled many weights of trauma, but you couldn’t stomach two damaged hearts.

Love me, love my dog — or so the saying goes. Can you handle being a mother? Are you even capable of being a good mother? You almost snort at the ridiculous notion.

What if aborti--- Jesus, you wouldn’t be able to go far with that option. It’s not even a fucking option. ‘Not with these two.’ You internally huff.

So you’ll wait. Wait it out, move in silence, map out your next course of action. Figure out escapes, leaving behind your life as an Avenger, and the only family you’ve ever had — just be quiet, comply and wait.

All you could do is wait.

[gr-ogu]

Hello! As requested, here is a tutorial on how I make my gifs. I would like to preface this by saying there are many ways to make gifs, and there’s no right or wrong answer imo. This is just how I personally go about doing so!

I will be using PS CC 2017, but as long as you have the video timeline option, it shouldn’t matter too much; on any version of PS, you should be able to adapt anything I mention here! You will also need some kind of screen recording software. I’ll talk a little more about that under the cut.

To start, you need the source material you will be making the gifs from! I get mine from snahp(.)it (avoiding links so tumblr hopefully doesn’t banish this from the tags lmao) and I always opt for either 1080p or 2160p. Not all laptops will support 2160p as it’s 4K, but either works great! You just want your gifs to be the best quality possible.

Next is where the screen recording comes in. I don’t use the screencapping method to make my gifs (where you use a program to cap a clip and then load those caps into a stack in PS). This isn’t for any particular reason… it’s just how my friends, (who very kindly taught me to gif), had always done it, so it’s now how I do it too. Personally, I find the quality to be just as good as the screencapping method, and have never noticed a difference between the two.

As I have a PC, I use the software built into it for screen-recording. If you go here: theverge(.)com/2020/4/21/21222533/record-screen-pc-windows-laptop-xbox-game-bar-how-to – you can see how to use the XBOX screenrecorder to record from files you have d*wnloaded. This also works on some streaming sites, but I think it depends on what browser you use. Personally, I recommend Firefox, as that seems to bypass a lot of the blocking and ads that occur when trying to do this sort of thing.

For MAC users, I have been told handbrake works well, as it converts MKV files to MP4, which can then be used to make gifs. You only need to convert part of the file to MP4 depending on how much you want to gif, and this also bypasses the screenrecording stage, as you can edit MP4 clips on Quicktime. I am told you can split them into smaller clips by going to edit > trim and it saves the new clip!

I have also used anyvideoconverter for small clips, but I can’t say what it does to the quality of your video, or how big of a file it lets you put in! With the XBOX screenrecorder, it doesn’t matter what type of video files you get, as the recording will save to MP4 anyway.

LOADING YOUR FRAMES

Now, go ahead and record whatever clips you want to gif. Make sure you have the video timeline open, by going to window > timeline. Then, go to file > import > video frames to layers.

Next, select and open your clip from where it has saved (with the XBOX recorder, it saves in video > captures). You should see a little window pop up, where you can move the sliders back and forth to clip your recording to whichever part(s) you specifically want to gif. I recommend trying not to load a lot of frames into photoshop at once, but I would be a hypocrite to say that, since I do it a lot lmao. Just be patient if you do!

Once you have chosen the length, click okay. Never, EVER, I repeat NEVER click the button that says “limit to every __ frames”. This really ruins the flow and quality of your gif—it’s better to have shorter, but smoother gifs, I promise. And with tumblr’s new 10 MB limit, it shouldn’t be a problem anyway!

Then, your frames should open up. What we want to do is make them into a smart object, so we can edit all the layers at the same time. To do this, click the small button in the left-hand corner. ALWAYS click this first. If you don’t, it will only convert the first frame to a smart object and the gif won’t work.

Give it a second to sort itself out, then, on the right-hand side, select all your frames at once using the shift key.

Then, go to filter > convert for smart filters. This might take a minute. Don’t click anything else in case PS gets angry lmao, just leave it for a second and it’ll do its thing. The more frames you have, the longer it takes! Now we have our gif, but it needs to be cropped, sharpened and coloured!

CROPPING

You want to start by selecting the rectangular marquee tool on the left-hand side, then drag it across by clicking and highlighting the area you would like to crop your gif to, like so:

What I tend to do is select everything inside the black lines you sometimes get around your gif (this depends on what file you d*wnload), and also the tiniest bit inside the sides. This is because I’ve found if you crop it right up to the edge, you get a tiny bit of transparency on the sides of your gifs, which I’d rather avoid.

Once you have your desired selection, go to image > crop. Now, the dimensions for tumblr are 540px width, so all your gifs have to be that width. However, the length is up to you. I really like big gifs, so sometimes I even make a full square, or even longer. It’s entirely up to you, and what kind of set you want to make.

For the purposes of this gif, I will stick to what I usually go for, 540px by 350 px. This will mean you’ll have to crop some width off, but that’s okay, since Marisa isn’t central anyway. The cropping is always trial and error for me, as sometimes people move out of the frame within in the gif. The best thing to do is just try it, and then move the slider in the timeline window at the bottom to see if the person stays inside the gif, and if not, adjust accordingly.

Next, go to image > image size:

In this box, if I put the width as 540, the gif is a smaller height than I want, as it keeps to the dimensions of the gif when you load it into PS. That’s okay, just put the height you want instead, and we’ll crop off the excess.

Then click OK. Using the rectangular marquee tool again, we need to remove the excess width. Part of the reason I like this version of PS is that it tells you the width of your selection as you do it, but you can always use the ruler as a guide, and check the size of your image by going to image > image size again.

Again, use image > crop, and your gif should now be the correct size!

You can also use the crop tool in the timeline window to crop the length of your gif:

However, I tend to wait until later on to do this (which will be explained further down!)

SHARPENING

Next you want to go to filter > sharpen > smart sharpen.

These are my settings. However, 0.4px is very sharp, too much so, but that’s easily fixed.

Go to filter > blur > Gaussian blur and then set it to 1.0.

Now on the right-hand side, we need to reduce the blur, so double click the little adjustment button, and change the opacity of the blur. I usually go for 20-30%!

Then click OK, and that’s your sharpening done!

COLOURING

I picked this scene on purpose as it’s dark, so good for showing how to colour a gif. I have a base psd which consists of some very basic adjustments, but it mostly exists so I don’t forget what adjustment layers I like to use. I adjust them every time I make a gif, essentially colouring each gif from scratch.

In this case, the psd actually makes it darker. So, what I will do is turn each layer off, and adjust as I go. A lot of people say using lots of adjustment layers ruins the quality of your gif… I have never found this to be true, as long as you are gentle with them. If you whack the brightness right up to the top, it’s going to ruin your gif no matter if you use 1 adjustment layer or 100. I would just say use your common sense, and adjust a little at a time!

I start with a simple black to white gradient map set to soft light, because I think it helps you see depth once you add some brightness to it. I usually do this on about 10%, or more if needed. It’s probably unnecessary, I just like how it looks!

Then, I move onto using curves and levels. This is where things can diverge depending on who you’re colouring. If this person is white, it doesn’t matter too much. If they’re not white, you don’t want to white wash them. My best advice is to play around with it. By adding vibrance and other (usually the red) selective colour settings later, you can ensure you don’t change the person’s skin tone from what it originally was. You can also use layer masks at varying opacities (various shades of grey), on your curves and levels, to remove some brightening so that you’re not changing anyone’s skin colour. Just brighten slowly and check in with yourself honestly about how your gif looks.

Some people don’t like using levels, or curves. It’s completely up to you. I tend to use both because levels are good for bringing depth, even if not brightening (though I like to use them for that as well). 

One thing you can do is use the white point of the gif to make PS adjust the curves itself, however I like to drag the sliders myself and see what it looks like. Just make sure it’s not too bright, as we will be using further layers to brighten more, after.

Next is levels. The slider on the left controls the black point, the one in the middle controls the midtones, and the one on the right controls the white points. The black brings depth, the midtones adjust the overall brightness, and the white points produce stronger highlights. Again, you’ll get a feel for how this works as you practice. Just don’t use the white point excessively, especially if your characters are not white.

Then I add vibrance (+20!), because we’ve removed a lot of it when lightening the gif. Next is exposure, which I find brings out the highlight and shadow areas more effectively:

Then colour balance! This helps with scenes that might be a certain colour, i.e. too blue, too green, too red, etc. Moving the sliders in the opposite direction of the colour your gif is will counteract it. The best thing to do when accounting for different colours, is to make a new layer every time you change colour, so that you don’t get confused. I always add a new layer for colour balance and selective colour if I want to change more than one thing. So one for red, one for yellow, one for pink, etc. 

A layer of brightness just to make the gif pop, and because the scene is extra dark, I added a very gentle extra curves layer:

SAVING YOUR GIF

Time to save the gif. You can go ahead and file > export > save for web (legacy) now, but then you’ll have to reopen the gif to reset the frame rate from 0.07, to 0.05. Instead of doing that, I use a modified action. The original was made by the very talented @elenafisher! So I do not take credit for that at all. You can find the original here: elenafisher(.)tumblr(.)com/post/190817437374/gif-sharpening-action-2-preview-download and in my resources tag. Please reblog it if you’re going to use this!

To use an action, first make sure you have actions turned on in window > actions. To load in your action, go to the little lines circled, and then load the action from your downloads:

Obviously if you don’t want to sharpen your gifs yourself, you can use the action as it is, and it will give you a beautiful glowing effect. If you’d just like to use it to flatten your gif into frames like I do, make sure to take out all the items I have highlighted:

Until it looks like this!

Make sure you have the layer under the file name highlighted, and then click the play button at the bottom! (If you get a screen saying select all frames cannot be found, don’t worry, just click continue!) You can delete the layer that does that if you want, I just keep it in case I realise I’ve forgotten to do something, because you can click cancel and edit your gif before you flatten it. Of course you can undo the steps to get back to the smart object version of your gif, it just takes longer!

And now your gif is in frames and set to 0.05 already, so you don’t have to change the speed! All you need to do now before saving is change the gif cycle to “forever” in the bottom left-hand corner:

Then to save the gif go to file > export > save for web (legacy). Sometimes, the gif is bigger than the tumblr 10MB limit. You’ll be able to see this in the bottom left-hand corner of the gif save settings. If this is the case, I like to preview the gif, to see whether it would be best to cut frames off of the beginning or the end, or both. When you’ve decided, you can select the frames at the bottom, and in the right-hand side panel, and delete them both using the little bins/trash icons.

I keep checking and deleting frames until I get the gif under 10 MB! Just don’t delete frames from the middle, as then you’ll have the same issue as if you selected “every other frame” when making the gif: it won’t flow!

Lastly, these are my save settings:

So that’s it! That’s how I make all my gifs. Blending I do when the gifs are in the grouped, smart filter stage, whereas text I add on during the framing section above! Really hope this is helpful, please feel free to ask any questions you may have! 💖

[akiraink-no]

Empires SMP-Spirts/Fae AU

Hey! So I was watching Shubble’s stream(right after her first episode and as she was playing, I got some ideas for the Empires SMP!  Note: I haven’t watched everyone’s episodes on Empires, but I highly suggest that you check them all out. Pearl and Gem’s videos on Empires are some of my favorites, but I also love Shubble, Scott, fWhip, and Pixlriffs.

Initial World-building:  I like to think that the Empires SMP is a story of spirits/fae/royal courts. For example some of the players would be spirits or fae creatures. (Think Scott, Shubble, Jimmy?? And maybe Pixl), and the rest would be normal, human players that are royals. (Again, fWhip, Mythical, Pearl, Katherine, Joey, Gem, etc…)  I’ll start with the fae creatures first and if I’m up to it, I’ll post my ideas for the others. 

Scott Smajor: Ice/Wind

So in my head, I like to think that Scott is a fae creature from the court of ice and wind. (Mostly because ice powers are cool and because he’s in a mountain). He has explicitly stated that he’s building in an elven sort of style, which can still match with him being from a fae court. 

Personality: 

I would like to say he’s cold, calculating, and even ruthless or cruel at times (He murdered Gem after she died, guys, come on). He sees the people around him as assets that can help him, but he doesn’t form a real connection with any of them just yet. Everything is very strict and formal around him

I like to think that because wind spirits are pretty mischievous and free spirited, he has a softer side to him as well. He likes to pull pranks, but doesn’t know when too far is too far. His pranks can border on cruel and sometimes insensitive, but it’s because wind/ice spirits are probably the most detached from the other spirits

Appearance:

As for his appearance, I’m taking his skin as part of my inspiration. I like the idea of him in whites, blues, golds, and silvers. He has a crown of diamond shards that mimic ice and is held together with silver and gold that mimic branches. His robes are mostly white(representing snow) and there would be a trim of blue for the skies above his lands. He might have either arm bands, bracelets, or rings that are made of silver or gold(representing the times when the sun or moon hits the snow). 

Powers(?)

Because Scott is an ice/wind spirit, I think it would be cool if parts of him would reflect that. Maybe his skin is super pale and cold to the touch. Maybe he doesn’t wear furry coats because he doesn’t get cold. 

The air around him gets colder when he’s angry or stressed, and if he gets really pissed, he could make it start to snow around him. When he’s sad, ice starts to freeze the ground under his feet or plants around him. Maybe it gets windy when he’s happy or dies down when something shocks him

I also think it’d be cool if he had like… frost walker(?) on his feet. Like the water freezes should he get too close and he doesn’t even realize it until someone points it out. It makes travel easy for him, but also an annoyance when he is doing a build or getting a bucket of water

Shubble: Nature/Decay

So Shubble’s kingdom/empire is called the Undergrowth. When I think of that, I think of mushrooms, soil, roots, and trees. It’s pretty close to what she’s planning right now. Her style of building gives me very cottage core vibes that’s very overgrown. I like to think that she’s a nature spirit because she has said that nature provides and that just seems like a very spirit thing to say. 

So I know I said decay, but when it comes to decay, it has an interesting look to everyone. Sometimes it’s bleached bones and withered grass, sometimes it’s spongy soil and mushrooms. I like to think that Shubble is the kinder side to decay(That’s saved for someone else). Something that must happen for the cycle of life to continue, she isn’t ruthless or cruel, she’s just trying to help the earth along.

Personality: 

Shubble would be very kind, sweet, and overall very trusting. That doesn’t mean she’s stupid or naive, it just means she’s willing to be kind to people first and give them chances to show their kindness. (I spent a long time in her chat during her streams and… yeah, wholesome energy). 

She doesn’t see the people around her as assets and rather hopes to make friends rather than enemies. I won’t say she forms connections quickly(mostly because I haven’t seen her interact with others just yet). But she is very trusting. (remember fWhips potatoes and Pearl’s shovel). During her stream after her first episode aired, she talked about hoping to be friends with Katherine from House Blossom and is aiming to stay as peaceful as possible during the time of the server. 

Appearance: 

So I haven’t seen her skin yet(mostly because this is coming out before we see it.) But she’s using a lot of browns, yellows, greens, and reds. I would like to say that her outfit would sort of reflect that. Instead of a crown of precious gems and metals, it’s maybe a crown of twigs, branches, leaves, and maybe some smaller mushrooms. (Antlers would be cool, so… ) 

I don’t think a dress would work, since she does a lot of work around her base. (Her stream was having her working with trees, leaves, and mining), so I think maybe a pair of overalls (maybe a brown?), a yellow/red undershirt and maybe a dark green jacket. Her outfit would be perfect for her to get on her hands and knees and dig into the earth(Gardener! Shubble). 

Powers:

I feel like because Shubble has this overall sweet and kind energy, I think mushrooms would grow from around her feet. Maybe she can sense when things are about to pass on and tries to make them as comfortable as possible. She can communicate with the earth below her(again, nature provides), and can speak with the animals to some degree

I would like to see spore blossoms react to her. Since spores are also the seeds for mushrooms, it’d just make sense in my head. Maybe she can coax plants to bloom or grow slightly faster around her if she’s happy. Maybe when she’s sad, things start to wilt or shrivel up. Her anger makes things die or age rapidly around her. Her touch can either harm or heal. Knitting the body’s wounds or it could tear into them, causing them agony. 

Jimmy: Ghosts/Decay

I like to think that maybe Jimmy started out human. Or maybe he’s half human. Like one of his parents was human and the other was a fae. (It would certainly explain his skin) 

Personality:

So I haven’t watched a lot of Jimmy, but I wanted to get this off my chest because it’s been in my head for a while now. I think Jimmy, like Shubble, is trusting. Not as much as Shubble, but he does aim for friendship first and then enemy second. So, maybe he’s an opportunist instead. 

Another thing that he might be is petty or spiteful(see his and Sausage’s argument over a music disc). Another ruler might negotiate or bargain their way to what they want, but I think that either Jimmy is pretty young(for fae standards) or his mixed bloodline makes it hard for him to act with a clearer head. It’s pretty clear that he wants others to take him seriously, but at the same time, he can act very impulsive and rashly(See all of 3rd life). 

Appearance: 

It’s pretty clear that Jimmy has that green tinge to his skin. But I think he would have colours such as green(for obvious reasons), browns, and maybe some greys(for clay in the swamp). He wouldn’t have a crown, instead, he’d have a set of gills on each side of his neck. Since I like to think that he swims around in the swamp to talk to the cod in his kingdom. 

For more formal events, he might have a brown cloak and pants with a rich green tunic. He doesn’t look the most royal, but maybe that’s okay because he doesn’t want to be seen as super royal to the rest of his kingdom. Maybe he feels like if he appears to be too royal, the people of his kingdom wouldn’t approach him. 

Powers: 

So Jimmy’s was pretty difficult. Swamps aren’t like ice and wind or nature. But he is a spirit of decay. A less kind version of decay, but not overall cruel. Maybe his decay strikes faster than Shubbles. Where she is understanding and aims to help those along, Jimmy is buried with memories, sunken bodies, and ghostly apparitions. 

So maybe he can see the dead, ghosts who haven’t passed on and simply wander his empire. His eyes glow a faint green whenever he talks to them and tries to aid them to move on to the afterlife.When he’s happy, he shines in the dark backdrop of the swamp, drawing more of the dead, eager to pass on. 

Maybe his anger results in ghostly wails or being dragged into the soft earth around his home. His sadness draws more of the dead to his area, even if they didn’t die there. His pain and grief is like a blackhole, pulling souls in and forcing them to stick around, stuck in his orbit. Maybe a certain few stayed because he was the first one who spoke to them, who reached out to them, who made an effort. 

Pixlriffs:Time/Death

So Pixlriffs has said that he wants to watch over the others deaths with his vigil and he lives in a desert, so I thought they would work with each other. When you think of time, you think of hourglasses, they have sand so that’s the connection I made. 

Personality: 

So Pix has shown an unhinged side to his overall calm and collected composure.(Example, Episode Ten, I think?) His: I sent five people to their deaths and they granted me wings(paraphrased) line is both chilling and is also perfect for a spirit of time/death. 

He, like Scott, is a bit disconnected from the others. Not by accident or nature, but by choice. As a spirit of time and death, he sees the clocks above everyone’s heads, knowing when their last breaths will be taken and when those clocks finally stop. 

It’s not that he’s apathetic to his fellow kings and queens, but rather he is scared. He doesn’t want to form connections only to see them disappear like a drop of sand in a desert. He wishes to honour the people who have weaseled their way into his heart. So he keeps the vigil to count their deaths and remind them that they will not be forgotten. Pixl is a watcher, an overseer that is afraid of the day his friends will pass on and leave him alone. 

Appearance:

The man calls himself the copper king, so I have to have those shades of copper in his outfits somewhere. Teal, brown(for bronze), and those shades between (for copper)are very good(both in builds and on clothes). I also think that pale yellow(representing the sand) is also a nice touch and green for his lush gardens is also a wonderful tone. 

He has a cape that is mostly teal(I’m thinking the shift between the third to final stage) with a bronze belt. The pale yellow would be his shirt and his pants would be a darker brown. Matching his boots. 

I think he would have a crown with pale yellow crystals(yellow zircon or topaz) with bronze wires making up the rest of the crown. Maybe there are pieces of turquoise or aquamarine, that would be cool too. 

Powers: 

The man is basically a watcher. He has wings and can see through time. Like I said before, he can see the clocks ticking above the other players’ heads. Seeing how long they have until their last breath. Pixl is equal parts chaotic and calm. So I think he has a good control over his emotions. 

When he’s stressed things start to wilt under his feet(another reason he lives in a desert), in his anger, he can cause death. Maybe he’s just an omen or something that draws in death. (See his end raiding attempts one and two). I like to think that maybe he has the ability to hold flames or make small ones(just for his candles), he isn’t violent or uses them to hurt others. He simply just uses them to light his candles. 

He’s more than capable with his other abilities. 

This is all I have for now. If I decide to do the others, I’ll add a link to this post. I’d appreciate some information or ideas for the other players since I haven’t had the chance to touch down on all of them. If you have any ideas, feel free to send them to me too!

[smoll-ratt]

Dr.Junkenstein X Maid!Reader

Part Five:

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While laying in your sleep you began to stir. A headache began to fall upon you and you softly opened your eyes before they rolled back into their sockets. Taking a deep breath you turned onto your back and sighed, gently stretching your legs as an attempt to find comfort. You swam inside the cloths that kept you warm as a chill crept it's way up your torso. It was an uncomfortable and unwelcoming sensation, as if  the very hands of death were holding onto you, caressing your body.

There was a light tug at your leg and you stirred with a murmur. Then followed another tug, more aggressive than the first. In a daze you stretched your arm to cover your leg, but came to find that the soft touch of your blanket was nowhere to be found. Your tried again, annoyed and on your back, searching both sides of your frame with your eyes still shut. The dark shadows of strain and decay travelled further up your leg and pulled once again with such forces that you were physically dragged down to the end of your bed. You gasped in the dark, shooting straight up with your struggling eyes, but with nothing to see, and a headache most painful, you fell back asleep.

There was a fog during the night, traveling through any crevasse it could slither through, stalking the halls for prey and dancing in the gardens before the sun began to rise. As much as you have slept in discomfort, the king did so as well. Almost knowingly aware of the stressor who had snuck their way through the castle walls.

The morning that followed was grey and crisp with cold air. Giant clouds of melancholy rolled over the sun and casted a harsh white light as they dominated the sky. A gloom was presently beginning to set before a dreadful winter would take its place with a slow shift of seasons where the leaves took their time to show it. Long before baring their place of home they blessed a sight of reds and yellows against the harsh monotones of the day. It was the sound of mourning doves which began to wake the people of the land and a stray ray of sunlight that woke you. In the middle of the room, closer to the door, the other maids dressed and chatted amongst themselves as you sat up in bed. Briefly one of the maids looked at you as you searched for the blanket which had gone missing through the night. Amongst the other beds in the room all other blankets remained tucked in nicely, but on top of the sick frame of the maid you've been caring for, laid your warm blanket cruelly resting there. That morning and for the proceeding three days.

"Don't be bothered, the ma'm is sick." One of the maids called out. "No one else wanted to give up their blanket."

"I can see that." You responded.

"Can you now? Don't get smart here, just ready up already for the day."

The maid shared a look with another and continued to brush her hair as you sat your old white gown.

You listened to the orders given out that morning by a maid with chestnut hair in braids wrapping around the bottom of her head and in place for her white cap. Her voice was low and modulated as she spoke to her gathering. You thought back on the sick woman resting behind everyone at the opposite side of the room. Barely motionless with no change in comparison to when she began taking the medicine you've given her. A steady, slow recovery, and fading fever.

"Anything not assigned means you'll continue yesterday's work as perusal. Lena, Amelie, and myself will be assisting rounds in the castle alongside the laundry maids."

You fiddled with the sleeves of your uniform, adjusting it so the sleeves fit nicely on top of the under layer added to combat the weather.

"Eventually we'll need travels to the fair and work in the gardens. Y/N instead of caring for the women return back anon and join those in the gardens nearby."

You gave a silent nod as a reply without turning your attention away from your sleeve.

Many gardens were hidden within the castle walls, unique to its custom design. The main court yard was what you could see out of the castle from the servants area opposite to the hall you were walking upon. Beyond that; stairs, much like the one you hated, stretched up into a hall - officially part of the castle on the left side of the garden.

Once venturing through the castle, down the decorative halls aligned with glorious overpowering windows sided with thick solid curtains, pass the familiar throne room, and ball room dorned in glistening objects, would one arrive to a series of doors. Libraries, studies, and most importantly guest rooms guarded by rich cherry wood.

Then there is a return to those stairs which mainly separated the two sections of the castle. The main castle and the servant living quarters.

As the main castle had one large garden outside of the ballroom with a small division of another -separated by a flowered arch- the extension of the castle and servant area had several less intricate gardens. They held their beauty satisfying yourself and the other maids who enjoyed the gardens' minimal beauty but they didn't amount to the glory outside of the ballroom.

You yawned passing the kitchen hearing a brief commotion as they began breakfast for the king and a tiny squeak as a little thing darted passed your feet. Down the hall, the torch by the scientist's door was out and remained dark.

To your left you entered the garden space. A large rectangular plot of land where the grey light in the sky blinded you momentarily. A few maids were already working on some rose bushes as others trickled in from behind you. Instead of cleaning up some sticks blown over from the wind last night or trimming some hedges by the benches seated at both ends of the garden, you sat in the middle of garden where smaller flowers were being planted and weeded.

"These aren't going to survive long" you pointed out to the gardening maid. She rolled her eyes and shook her head.

"The rose bushes is where you should help." She waved her gloved hand at you.

"Very well, but it's getting colder and-" she cut you off with another wave.

The roses stared at you with sad dry petals, begging for forgiveness. The greens of their leaves curled and the only thing barley standing was the sharp thorns out against you as weeds peered out from the roses' base. You sighed.

You lifted one of the weeds for a better look and it pricked you with tiny thorns of its own. In continuing your work you discovered how deep the root of the weeds went, entangling themselves with the roots of the roses.

You dug your hands in the hearts of the weeds as a crow above head screeched.

All other maids in the garden looked up at the passing bird as you continued your work. The thorns, sharp and cold as both plants, dotted your hands. Scrapping your nails loaded with the uncomfortable sensation of dirt under them, the dirt rejected you, numbing the movement of your fingers. There was a strange feeling of nostalgia that came from the numbing pain in your hands. Picking at the ground while unknowingly listening to the older women who cared for you, shaming you in secret for not being capable to help around the castle. It was a memory or memoric sense after the events at the stairs where the unnerving presence of that women followed you through the twisted stair case. After you were pushed and shoved around in the hall as well. Sitting in the garden like now, you were planting small white flowers you didn't know the name to. The soil was also just as unwelcoming as it was now. You're throat dried at the memory.

There was crows above head calling that day, much like today. The maids ignored it then with a few muttered comments you couldn't quiet make out.

What was it they said?

It had been disapproving. A curse to someone.

Now all the women glared at the black bird as it landed behind you. The bird kept crying.

You swiped a tear from your face with your sleeve. You fought to remember that day. As you plucked the weeds your hands held themselves to close to the roses and a thorn etched itself into your skin. You raised your hand in the air, shaking it as a response to the sting but kept attending to the weeds. As if the deep cut signaled an acceptance to the scratched pain you continued aggressively, ignoring the thorns that kept digging into your skin. After creating a large hole you found the base of the plant. Tugging at it, you remembered when you were younger and had reached what you wanted to plant those white flowers.

When you had placed the small flowers and could feel something else aside from yourself move in the earth.

You patted the soil on top, closing the hole at the bottom of the roses and could still feel the rumbling and small vibration of something definitely moving through. For a closer look you leaned in to see the soil break, revealing a set of fingers. A hand reached out and grabbed your own hand which resided by the flowers. You screamed out, falling back at the horror with your heart racing in your ears.

You tore the weed from the soil and tossed it to the side, panting. You reached back but instead of your skin catching itself in its thorns the fabric of your sleeve held you back. You tugged and pulled at the roses until the same hand grabbed your wrist, it's flesh as cold as ice. Frantically you shook your arm but the hand pulled you in. Through the thorns, deep into the bush you were forced to see a face emerge out. Her eyes opened and you screamed again, freeing yourself and falling back onto someone else.

"Y/N!"

You stared at the face melting back into the rose bush as the murder's wings above head sounded almost directly beside you. In a distance, your name was called out again but the piercing dazed eyes of the bush stared back. Holding an opaque blue, you could see a slow movement of smoke dancing within them. The face sank in slowly and the thorns dragged on its skin drawing the deepest blood you have seen.

"Y/N" the maid called out again, grabbing at you arm and pulling you up. "Y/N you damn wench pay attention to me! Can't you hear me?" She dragged you to your feet and slapped your arm repeatedly, but as you were still in shock you paid no attention until she slapped you across your face.

The world fell silent once the slap of her hand grazed across your face with an echo. You could feel the gaze of the other maids working in the garden. From where the maid had hit you a stinging sensation arose. She held onto both of your arms but what she proceeded yelling at you was unclear. Your ears rang and the maid began to shake you. Before she could say anymore and react to your silent response you pushed her back. As she walked back to you with another raised hand you pushed her again with a following punch.

Now your knuckles stung and the world began to make a sound again. The ringing in your ears was slowly replaced with the yells of the other workers. The maid who stood with the one you had hit rushed up to you before you could continue to fight the one on the ground. She looked up at you with a snarl and pulled herself up. The maid intervening stood in front of you with her hands raised in protest. 

"Y/N" she called out as you tried to catch your breath. "Y/N, we needed you with the king!" As the other maids helped the one on the ground, with you, they stopped at the mention. "We need more help within the castle and need to have a conversation before an announcement was made. You weren't responding, you never  answer to Amelie. What is wrong with you?"

"She hit me."

"Because you were dreaming off again and scaring everyone. I understand you're strange, all the maids do, but Amelie is bleeding, look at your hand!" The maid grabbed the wrist of your aching hand before tossing it to the side. You looked around you and the entire garden had their eyes locked. You began to protest shakingliy with the staggered murmurs of "but " as you tried to recollect yourself.

Looking at your hands again in a confused daze you gained an odd sense of familiarity, not of the situation, but of the sight of blood on your hands.

They've hit you before, you acknowledge now. A forgotten history of some ill treatment.

You wiped your hands on your gown, hiding the stains of blood in its brown color.

"What does the king want?" You asked.

Amelie stood in front of you, annoyed and in pain. The other maids tended back to their business,  lending one ear out in case of anymore drama.

"There's plans for a celebration for the upcoming harvest. All the maids are to be involved but for the time being just a few. You, are needed to give updates about the madam."  She began leading the way down the wall of your work space to the second set of stairs in the area, parallel to the scientist's end of the hall way.

"I spoke out about how I've shared some of the care for our beloved madam but they still wish for you to be present."

Amelie groaned as the second maid assisted her up the stairs.

"I've mention that I've assisted myself, but there's more to it."

As you entered down a small hall that still held an outlook to the garden you were previously in, the three of you entered the castle officially once passing three smaller steps and the entrance of a gated door. The harshness of the grey light lit up the acoustic halls, emphasized by the echoing steps, as the grey light poured in similarly to the way rays of sun do without the golden colour. Inside this little bit of the castle the cold air trailed along behind you from the gated door. Now out sight or ear range from the others the second maid turned back at you for a quick look.

"We need a report from the doctor."

"And as you've been so kind to relieve the burden of stepping in his deranged space you can understand why we're turning to you-"

"As you fancy him and all," Amelie slapped the girl's shoulder with a laugh of her own. "Don't be so cruel," she insisted as you responded with an uncertain chuckle of your own while recollecting the encounters in your head.

You remembered the first instance you've seen him and how you felt. There was soft curiosity dwindling in the background until you had heard the miss matched steps of his missing leg. Your heart beat began pounding against your chest with an intensity that only rose when hearing the rejection from others. How carelessly they dismissed him as a character in a story told to scare one another. He presented an opportunity to really push the kingdom forward with time and the anger he possessed infested yourself. A passionate anger which correlated with appropriately attractive sharp features.

The curious thought of whether or not what the maids had said was right followed you throughout the castle as they continued to explain other preparation details until eventually they conversed amongst themselves only. With yourself outside of the conversation you  pondered on the idea until it was interrupted by the thundering bellied laugh of the king. You had known you had returned to the throne room where you had first seen the scientist when you heard the king and felt a busied energy that breathed life then what actually stood.  As you wouldn't converse with the king directly, you and the two other maids walked along the scene's edge to a man in dark brown clothing standing in the corner with a scrolled book at hand.

"Wynston, Y/N as requested."

"Ah yes, thank you," he read through his book again. You scanned the man again taking in his appearance, dark hair and beard, tidy brown fabrics, and polished shoes. He was of thicker stature, built surprisingly of muscle and fat that may be better fitted or common with the knights. Especially those of tired experience. Never once had you been this close to the man or address directly with importance, but due to your age it had been a matter of time for you to be brought up more. Still this, you betted, would be the minim of involvement.

"How is Mina progressing with her illness?" You eye the two maids. Amelie scowled.

"Slowly."  You responded.

"I assumed Jamison is not needed if you have control over it and the housemai-"

"Jamison?"

"Yes, Jamison."

The man continued his dialogue about the elder maid and a usual routine expected to take place to care for her until a dire instant calls to grab the scientist who now had a name.

'Jamison ' you thought, awe founded.

"For the harvest there'll be guests from a far staying in the company of his majesty so a division among the maids will be needed as well as isolation from Mina and those caring for her. I originally placed you three with Aria in care for Mina, but I can switch the positions between Aria and Amelie around," he turned to her, ripping a page from his book. "I'll have you in charge with Aria in creating some of the division amongst the appropriate classes. For now here is what I have arranged, tweak as fit."

"Y/N remains with Mina." Amelie spoke aloud as if to offend you secretly by keeping you at a distant from the party.

"Yes that's what I have written." Wynston reassured while distracted by another in need of his attention. "Y/N before its forgotten, what are the details with Mina?"

"Fever remains but she regained some colour. Can't actually tell if she's better at first glance,"

"Good. I'll need a report,"

"The girls informed me." You spoke out now with an internal desperation to see the scientist again.

"Then I'll leave you to your duties then and have you continue with the plans."

Wynston left the three of you and you followed the maids around as they discussed the given sheet of paper. You had half expected to remain with the sick maid and distant from the event as Amelie knew of your one incident with the stairs and mysterious guest. She had poked fun of you multiple times before after finding you pale and shaking. Then you thought back about the scientist's remark about the maids.

"Y/N, I don't believe Mina has received her turn of medicine. I was left to track that as Aria went to town. She said to mix the medicine with a soup as a trick remedy to lessen the taste."

You nodded and parted ways, relief to be alone and process what you had learned. You felt a strange disconnection almost always throughout your life in a comforting sense. A feeling of displacement but passing peace where moments like this, knowing his name as if it was a dark secret, grounded you. This state of mind drove you back into the throne room where the king still laughed with his order of chivalry; made out of a woman quiet liked by the kingdom, her father (the shortest person you may have ever seen) charged with constructing knights armour and weapons, and a male, age shown by his greying hair.

Heading through Wynston's exit you found yourself by the extended hall of rooms, armoury, and library just before the stairs of terror to the kitchen. You paused for a moment, peaking your head in to an empty labyrinth of books.

'Jamison' you thought.

You knew the library held a record of names to every soul that made up the kingdom. An archive of dates and ends, and locations of homes too. Maneuvering you're way through, you reached some wooden tables centred in the middle of the numerous shelves that exceeded your height. Three of them stood as two sectioned off to the side for privacy with crafted chairs waiting to seat you. On the third table, furthest from you and leading to the back of library, laid a book already open for your viewing and a chair pushed to the side. Unknown to yourself the scientist you were searching for had scurried moments prior before you could've caught sight of him. Though you hadn't known then that he was, there a suspicion which arose as you sat down and sworn to hear some movement behind the shelves away from you.

Turning the pages of the book you began reading the listed names. You expected all names were truly of belonging of those outside the walls as the only ones you could recognize were of those you encounter regularly, both personally and through others. Passing through the pages the order of chivalry caught your eyes:

'Brigitte, Torbjorn, Jack...'

Then the listed names of the maids:

‘Mina, Aria, Amelie, Lena, Hana ..."

Strangely as you reached the end of the list of recorded maids you noticed that you're  name wasn't listed.

You continued to turned the next page, eyebrow raised. The kitchen staff were listed, gardeners, outside help, all but yourself. As you examined the book closer you noted 'Jamison Junkenstein' wasn't listed amongst the villagers either. Turning the final pages, past a space saved for new birth, you came across you're own name imprinted on a thinner page separated from the rest by the remains of a ripped page.

Your first name was written in a different style of cursive , alone, with a start date and frighteningly an end date.

'Y/N……….1204-1209’

Stepping away in bewildered confusion, you heard the sound of a book falling on the carpeted ground. Turning behind you saw that there was nothing there and returned to the book. About two other thin pages proceeded the one with your name but they were left blank with no other name to read.

1204-1209

Another thump in the library caused you to snap back behind you to see the source of the sound. The aisle behind you again laid empty. Another sound and you froze, waiting to hear what would come next. Slowly, you made your way to the back and aisle beside your left and there laid a book fallen on the ground.

Picking it up, it read of some farm land on the outskirts of the village outside of the castle. You placed the book back in it's vacant spot on the shelf and walked to the next aisle where another book laid. As you stretched back up from retrieving the book you saw a glimpse of white and finally heard the muffle sounds of miss matched steps. With eyes wide of realization you ran in the same direction it fled. Each end you've reached you seen the same white turn the corner and raced to catch up.

"Jamison?" You called out. Your heart began to run down each aisle of books as they grew longer. "Jamison?" You called out again and the muffled steps stopped. You found yourself lost in a labyrinth of books. Not once did you come across the table again and as you looked around you realized you have lost your complete sense of direction. Walking down one more aisle the sound of steps and fabric rubbing against itself picked up and this time you caught the glimpse of the scientist's purple glove as he ran off. Out in a sprint you fought to catch up, calling out his name repeatedly. With one last push you turned one final corner and could hear the man's breathing, even a giggle of sorts. But as you sped around the corner you met the ends of two shelves and a blank wall. Dr. Junkenstien was gone.

The library untwisted itself and you found yourself not far from where you started. The book still laid open but away from your name and at the end of the chivalry's list, now short due to a newly ripped page. You grabbed the book and proceeded to place it back into a vacant spot on the shelf where another one, above the shelf you had placed your book, stood. Wether or not Junkenstien had taken it was a mystery to you as you would've heard his steps behind you from the table if he had.

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                You thought about the library while gazing into the bowl of soup back in the maid chambers as your patient laid fast asleep, a bit of her spit still sliding it's way down your cheek.

How was it possible to have been lost so suddenly and out of breathe despite moving a few feet away from the book?

You were sure you had seen the scientist too.

This curious thought continued as you tried to sleep. Turned to your side you brain ache to solve the mess you had found. Your name was missing as part of the maids. If it had been scribed it should've been with a last name you've never heard of or the name attached to your estranged mother. Similar to Aria, a daughter also taken instead of birthed. Her's was written with the same ends of Mina.

Still, your name remained alone. There was something about each letter on the page that resonated with you.

It is your name.

You turned to your other side, facing away from the other maids. While staring at the wall you tried to remember your childhood within the castle walls and with time your eyes began to grow heavy. You could hear and feel the beat of your own heart, and the deep breathes of the other women in the room. You could hear the candle left by the empty soup bowl and the wind just outside. With enough effort you could even hear footsteps approaching the room,  and on que, through the darkness and with your squinted eyes, you could see some movement at the bottom of the wall.

Little bits of stone fell out of place to reveal a small tuff of white fur. A rat squeaked it's way out and smelt the air, scurrying off in the dark and leaving you with a smile. You pondered at the newly made hole and returned to the question from before, coming to a conclusion that maybe you do fancy the scientist after all.

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