#thinking of them again. and forget me nots (as always) and stained glass windows (as not quite always)

[soni-dragon]

remember all the things we wanted?

[resolvebound]

Her comment of an imposter brought him a slight laugh and he gave a little shake of his head. Amusement warmed him as she said she would defend him from Porlyusica, his smile hidden as he reached towards the back of the cupboard for a particular cup. “Thanks,” he said, “I could do without a lecture from her.”

The cup he retrieved was unlike the others in his collection, but then again, they were all rather different from each other, an eclectic group. Over the years, instead of buying a brand new set of them, he’d tended to pick up the odd mug or cup at markets whenever they caught his eye. It had begun simply because he’d only needed one mug when he’d taken ownership of the cabin, there was no point in having a whole set. And then when Cana and/or Loke would visit or stay when helping him work on the renovations, they each brought one of their own to add to the cupboard. From then, he picked up the habit of looking out for ones that reminded him of those he was close to, or ones that pleased his eye.

He looked down at the teacup he’d selected, chosen for the way it brought to mind other cups he’d seen Evergreen with. On the dainty side, crisp white with a golden edge and a delicate swirl of vines and blue flowers (forget-me-nots or something, he wasn’t sure). The matching saucer had not been found among the wares of the stall he’d found the cup in, but he admittedly hadn’t looked too hard.

Placing it down on the kitchen countertop beside his own mug (purchased at a pottery stall some time ago, crafted in a lovely midnight blue and glazed with great care), he set about getting the water heated and the tea ready as he listened to Evergreen.

Thinking back, it seemed Magnolia was hardly ever uneventful, although he supposed the seven years when most of the guild was missing must have been…almost a relief to the town in some ways. He thought of the cathedral and its multiple rebuilds as she mentioned it, it was certainly not the only building there that had needed repeated restoration. He hummed a little in interest at the mention of the new windows, wondering how they looked. Stained glass was always quite something.

“I’m not one for crowds either,” he said, frowning a little and imagining he would have skipped out on the unveiling himself too. “But that’s cool, that it’s all done now.”

He wondered about the rest of the town and any changes they might have made while rebuilding. Despite how he’d said he’d been meaning to visit, truthfully, he wasn’t sure he was quite ready for it. Or to visit the guild. He tugged idly at the collar of his shirt and sighed, pushing the thoughts from his mind.

The mention of Master Bob had him looking over to his guest, curiosity winning out and giving a soft tilt to his head. “Do you miss being in Blue Pegasus?”

She smiled and nodded at the mention of tea. While knowing that she preferred tea was hardly advanced knowledge about her, she still appreciated it that he had taken the time to remember this. "If I ever turn down tea, you can assume I've been replaced by a low-effort imposter---clearly, they didn't do their research," she said as she wiggled more into the blanket. "And no worries, I'll defend your stitchwork from Porlyusica. I think she's too busy with research of her own to hunt you down."

Both Laxus' grandmother and Gray, Carena decided, had been through enough weirdness. Neither of them deserved additional trouble. Porlyusica granted was involved in anything that concerned Laxus because . . . well, they were related. While Carena knew that this did not always count for much, it could count for something. She liked to imagine that if her parents were alive still, they were still close.

But that was always such a strange question.

Everything about 'Evergreen' existed because her parents were gone. Evergreen would not exist if her parents were still alive. She would be an entirely different person---and sometimes, this knowledge was difficult to reconcile with her grief. She widely liked who she had become, but the knowledge of the price was sometimes gnawing on her when she did not want to examine it. Then, truthfully? There was much that Carena did not want to examine too closely.

Retrieving her sandwich from her bag and taking a first bite, she took the time to ponder the question Gray had asked. Most of the exciting things that had been happening had been exciting in a stressful way, and she was not keen on chewing through her mountain of small frustrations again. "Well," she started as she propped up her chin and used her other hand to massage the bridge of her nose. "I think we're all happy when Magnolia is . . . uneventful." She was not just thinking of the war, there had been plenty of other incidents. "The rebuilding of the cathedral is done now, they hired a pretty good artist for the stained glass windows. I think the unveiling of the windows was the last big event. I didn't go---I don't enjoy crowds all that much, but I've been hearing about it. The appetisers were apparently really good, but the champagne was flat. They should've bought the champagne from Master Bob's vineyard, if you ask me. His champage is pretty good."

As were his mimosas . . . and she had never seen Master Bob drunk before noon. She could not say the same for Master Makarov.

[lovelybarnes]

verbena- b. barnes

pairings: bucky barnes x reader, mentions of other avengers warnings: none. this is all fluff about: y/n gives bucky flowers a/n: thank you to @hollandsvogue for the flower help!!

the smell of the verbenas in your hands wafts up to your nose while you jam your key into the lock of your apartment, grip tightening on the bouquet of gentle flowers. your dirty combat boots leave a small smear of dirt in the bottom of your door, even after you wipe them on the cheesy doormat sam gifted you when you moved in. you’re relatively clean for the hours after a mission, but the dirt and splatters of red that stain your suit and the stray twigs that reside in the messy strands of your hair show that it wasn’t a clean-cut undercover op. you prefer it; those types of missions, as clean as you come out of them, seem so much dirtier.

you push the door open with your hip, the gash on the palm of the hand that isn’t holding the assortment of flowers too angry and velvet to touch the cold of the doorknob. “hey, handsome,” you greet when you kick the door closed, walking towards the couch that your boyfriend is sitting on, watching one of the television shows you’ve referenced before.

“hey, doll,” he murmurs tiredly, his eyes clearly having just opened from a nap, but the pull of his cheeks as he smiles at you is bright. from his lap, alpine purrs, looking up at you and blinking as a hello. you lean over the couch to press a soft kiss on bucky’s forehead when he tilts his head at you. at the sound of alpine’s meow, you laugh, turning to her. bucky’s hand begins to pet her again, “she wants you to say hi to her, too.”

“i will,” you promise her, “but she’s very clean and white right now. the dirt on my hands will not go with her fur.” alpine meows again, almost in agreement as she settles back in bucky’s lap.

“how was the mission?” he asks, turning to you as you walk into the kitchen.

“it was a mission,” you hum, catching the reflection of the twigs in your hair in the microwave. you begin to pick at them with your free hand.

“what’s that?” bucky asks, eyes settling on the flowers in your hand. the sound of the cupboard when you open it leads alpine off of bucky’s lap to wander around the kitchen and stare at you. you look down at the bouquet, startling when you look back up and bucky is nearly in front of you.

“you’re sneaky today,” you inform, tiredness seeping into your words when you finally let it in the comfort of bucky’s eyes, “or maybe i’m just tired.” he scans you worriedly. “these,” you extend the flowers toward him, “are for you. i saw the flower shop selling them fresh when i was coming back home and i know they’re your favorite, so…” you offer them to him. “you always get me my favorite flowers after my missions, and i know you like verbenas, so…” you trail off again, beginning to feel nervous and foolish when bucky won’t react.

suddenly, he exhales quietly, shaking his head gently with a big grin adorning his face. he takes his flowers from you, tucking his nose between the petals to inhale. “thank you,” he tells you, pulling you in closer to kiss your nose.

you scrunch it up, “i’m all dirty,” you warn.

“i don’t care,” he replies flatly, kissing you again, “thank you. i love them.” he smells them again, before pulling one out as gently as you’ve ever seen anyone handle a flower before to place it behind your ear. he gazes at you for a few seconds before hugging his flowers to his chest, “i need a vase.” he announces, “where do we keep our fancy vases?”

-

a few days later, your apartment is warm with laughter and avengers, your friends sitting around your living room and kitchen.

“...and that’s how i found out steve wears captain america underwear. he wears my face on his ass,” sam chortles, making steve groan loudly, his pale cheeks warming with a sweet pink as he blushes.

“one time!” he says, “one time i ran out!”

“uh huh, then why were they in there in the first place?” natasha asks with a raised eyebrow, a wine glass pressed to her lips and her green eyes twinkling as she sits on the couch, alpine resting on her legs.

“i-” steve’s face contorts in thought, “gag gift. ‘had to be.”

you and bucky laugh again, unconsciously leaning into each other, “that’s nothing--” clint begins, settling his stare on tony, “last week, i saw tony step out of his suit naked--”

the avengers part into groups, those who want to have something on tony, and those who have enough. natasha and maria form their own where they talk about how exhausting it is to be the most mature in a room full of gods and ancient beings.

“nice flowers,” sam comments, eyeing the verbenas bucky put in the fanciest vase you guys have. “when’d you get them?”

“a day or two ago, i saw them in that cute little flower shop when i was coming back from a mission,” you reply. “i remembered verbenas are bucky’s favorite flower.”

steve nods, “his ma used to plant them every spring; daisies, forget-me-nots, and verbenas were always planted outside of the barnes household.”

you turn to look at your boyfriend, catching the pretty recognition in his eyes.

“so you just get them for him after each mission?” sam wonders after a econd, looking at you with his brows furrowed.

you nod, “there’s usually at least one bouquet with the ones he likes, so i get him one of them. why?”

sam’s shoulders raise, “i just think that’s interesting. ‘cuz i told you last week how much i liked orchids and i went on a mission two days ago.”

your lips curl into a grin, “i promise to bring you orchids from now on.” you offer him your pinky, wrapping it around his.

a day after everyone leaves, you and bucky begin to work on a small garden on your balcony, making sure to plant every single favorite flower of the avengers, as well as the same flowers bucky’s mother would plant-- right outside the apartment window so bucky would see them each morning.

[brokentoasterrr]

Blackinnon... and Marlene's death?

i can't tell if you're a sadist or masochist but either way i want you to remember that you asked for this

-

The house. The house is barely a house anymore; the wooden exterior is burnt to the ground, the roof has fallen in, and the windows are cracked. And it smells. Smells of fire and cursed magic and singed fabric. 

"Lena!" Sirius screams. "Lena!"

And he runs, toward the fire, hoping the save her, her family. Save them. But he can't. He Apparates home before the fire eats him too. 

Home. Home to their flat, where Marlene's clothes still hang over the hamper, and her perfume stands in the cupboard over the bathroom sink and her tablecloth lay over the kitchen table and her grandmother's old kettle stands on the stove. Home, which smells like her hair, where her shoes still stand in the hallway. 

She was only visiting her family over the weekend. She was coming back. She said to him, bag slung over one shoulder, I'll be back before you know it, and Sirius had said, I'll pick you up, and he was going to but he couldn't.

Sirius lands in the hallway with a crack that's so deafening that it persists as a ringing in his ears. Her shoes are there; her coat and the sunflower she'd left on the small table in the hallway. Above that table hangs a mirror, stained with Marlene's purple lipstick after she kissed it once, drunk and happy. Sirius kicks her shoes across the flat, and punches the mirror with a yell. 

It cracks, spreading out like a spiderweb for a split second before the shards fall to the table, onto the sunflower, and onto the floor. The shards that stay in the frame are sticky, red with the blood from Sirius' knuckles.

He sinks down onto the floor, anguished sobs wrenching themselves out of his body; wracking his chest and screwing up his face so much that it hurts. It all hurts.

Marlene is—was always full of life, brimming with it, with bright blue eyes and lean muscles from playing mock-Quidditch with Sirius. She laughed the loudest, stood the tallest. Everyone feels pain, and Sirius knows that Marlene did too, but she—his Lena—always seemed to just trudge through it. She was the last one Sirius thought would die.

Sirius doesn't cry more after that, because he just never does. He's been taught not to cry; squash his feelings down and pretend not to feel, simply because Sirius always feels too much.

He lays in bed for two weeks, feeling everything but nothing at all, his back facing Marlene's side where her pillow and Sirius' shirt which she always slept in still lay, untouched. When he closes his eyes and tries not to think, he still thinks about her; how she'd scoot closer to him, sling an arm over his chest and bury her face in the short hairs of his neck, or how she'd crawl over him, force herself into his arms and mumble, it's cold.

Lily and James comes over twice a week, brings food and forces Sirius out of bed for an hour. He looks at the floor when Lily sits in Marlene's chair by the table, and doesn't look up until he hears the scrape of a chair that tells him that she's moved. He doesn't touch the cup of tea that James prepares for him, and he sees that Lily is barely holding back her tears, but Sirius doesn't cry.

He feels numb. Numb and empty and sad. He chuckles when James tries to crack a joke, but stops short because laughing is incredibly close to crying and he feels how it rattles in his chest, and he doesn't want to cry.

And he lays in bed for another week. 

The window is cracked open. It's late August and it's warm, yet Sirius doesn't get out from the covers. He's sweating, drenching the sheets beneath him, and he just closes his eyes and imagines it's the way his chest feels sticky after a night of being cuddled up close with Marlene.

Several owls pass by, drop letters containing Marlene's funeral arrangements. August 27th, 1981. It hurts to read.

Sirius crumple each letter up and tosses it back out the window after the owls.

James stops by on a Friday.

"Come on," he says, staring at Sirius' back. Sirius stares out the window. "Up and at 'em, Pads, we need to get going."

"Go away."

James sits on the bed, carefully putting his hand over Sirius'. "You'll regret it if you don't go."

"I don't want to," Sirius whispers. 

"Get up," James says again. "Get up, shower, get dressed. Otherwise you'll regret it in two hours when you realise you never got a proper goodbye."

"Godric!" Sirius exclaims, suddenly, his voice hoarse and gravelly after a month of no speaking. "I don't want to go to her funeral, and see the casket surrounded by fucking… tulips and lilies when I know for a fact that her favourite flowers were sunflowers and forget-me-nots! I don't want to watch people mourn the woman I love and fucking…" Feel like his mourning is worse than theirs. Feel like the others don't have a right to cry because they didn't know Marlene like Sirius did; they didn't wipe her tears and she didn't wipe theirs, they don't remember every freckle on her back map out like new constellations so unlike the ones Sirius' family members are named after. He doesn't want to feel like sorrow and pain is a competition just because Marlene was his girlfriend.

"Fucking what?"

"Fucking… feel things," Sirius mutters.

"Bring your own sunflowers then," James says. "Please, just… Say goodbye, alright? She'd want you to."

Sirius sits, and doesn't snap back that Marlene doesn't want anything anymore because there's nothing left of her but the life in their flat. They're burying an empty casket today, the flames of the fire left nothing but foundations and cracked glass. Because no one could find her.

Sirius has to side-along Apparate with James, since he's not been eating consistently for a month and he's dizzy and empty and standing up is too much.

Numb. He feels so numb, and sort of like he's going to vomit all over James' nice shoes. Numb, numb, numb. So much so that he barely feels Lily's arms around him when they arrive at the small church somewhere or nowhere in Scotland. Doesn't feel McGonagall's little handshake she gives instead of a hug, and certainly can't meet their sad eyes with his own, can't give a sad smile or pretend that he's alright when this hurts too, too too much. 

James holds his hand when they walk inside the church, and right there, at the front of the altar, a white casket sits, beside it a gold frame with a picture of Marlene, tossing her hair over one shoulder and grinning from ear to ear, and all over the altar, everywhere, there's sunflowers, lifting their yellow crowns towards the windows, trying to find the sun. 

And Sirius cries. For the first time in a month, he cries.

[torialeysha]

Something beginning with M - Part 2

Read Part 1 here 

Warnings: NSFW swearing/fluff/smut (AKA - The what more could you want combo 😉)

Song: Notion - Tash Sultana

“Yahalom?” You heard Alfies gruff voice call you softly. “We’re back now.”

Rising groggily from the cushion of Alfie’s chest, you rub at your tight eyes which strained against the darkness outside the cars windows. You can just about make out a silhouette of the row of houses in which yours was wedged between. There was no sign of life coming from the succession of little homes. The only welcome was the light emanating from the army of street lamps that casted a warm orange glow upon the dingy brick and glass facades.

“What time is it?” You asked croakily.

“It’s almost 11.”

Due to the hour and the fact your house was in darkness you had assumed your Mother was asleep and for that you were grateful. At least it would save you an inevitable scolding...until the morning anyway.

Daniel opened your car door and you clambered out on sleepy limbs with Alfie following you. You turn to him.

“Thank you for today. It’s been wonderful.”

“You’re welcome, Pet.” He sighed heavily. Taking a purposeful pause before committing to the moment you had both been dreading.

“Well, You better get in before your ol’ mum comes out and gives us both a rollicking.” You gaze at the floor, laughing weakly.

With a ringed finger Alfie lifts your chin to look at him then without warning and a with a blatant disregard of Daniels presence, he leans down to press his lips to yours. It was a sensual union of your mouths. Soft, passionate and perfect. Far from the chaste peck on the cheek you were expecting.

“Until tomorrow, Yahalom.” He finally breaks away and let’s you go.

“Tomorrow.” You repeat, still in a slight daze from his kiss.

You bid the two men adieu and stumble giddily towards the front door.

Before entering you glance back at Alfie who along with a blushing Daniel is waiting by the car to make sure you get in safe. The light from the street lamp glistens off Alfies lashes as he winks at you and you fight the sudden urge to shout “I love you” at him.

Quickly and soundlessly, you disappear behind the door before you can do so.

In a euphoric state you slouch against the front door, allowing the chill of the glossed wood to cool your heated skin. Your fingers touch your lips that still tingled with the moistness of Alfies and with a contented sigh you make your way to climb the creaky wooden stairs with a practised caution.

“And where have you been?” Your mothers direct tone coming from the darkness startled you. Squinting up at the top of the wooden mountain her scowling figure appears from the shadows.

“I’ve been out. It was a beautiful day, I was making the most of it. I didn’t mean to wake you.” You pronounce nonchalantly.

“Wake me? I ain’t managed to get a wink of sleep thanks to you. I’ve had your uncle on the phone. He said you’ve been out gallivanting with that Alfie Solomon’s again.” The contempt in which your mother spoke Alfie’s name warned you where this conversation was going.

“And?”

“And?” She repeats angrily “What do you think you’re playing at Y/N? The man’s a bloody criminal. Your Father, God rest his soul, would turn in his grave if he knew you were associating with such villainous filth.” She spits furiously.

“You don’t know him!” You fire back, furious that she had the audacity to bring your Father in to this.

“And you do?” She scoffs. “Listen to me girl. Men like that are no good. He’ll ruin you. Use you for one thing and then hang you out to dry like the rest of ‘em. Or maybe he already has. Strolling in here at this hour? How could you be so stupid Y/N! I thought I raised you better than that. I forbid you from seeing him again.” You can just about make out her snarling features in the darkness.

“You can’t do that...I love him.” You admit to your disapproving mother.

“Love.” She smirks. “I’ve heard it all now.”

Your eyes fill with an angry swell of hot tears. There was no point trying to explain your feelings for Alfie to your mother, she would never understand. Turning your back on her and her slanted prejudice against Alfie. You make your way back down the stairs.

“Don’t you walk away from me, young lady.” You hear the rubber soles of her slippers slapping righteously against the wooden steps as she descends the stairs behind you.

“Leave it, Mother. You obviously don’t understand.”

“Oh, I understand better than you by the sounds of it. Selfish delinquents like Alfie Solomon’s are not capable of such things as love, Y/N. And I ain’t going to stand by and let that man prey on an innocent girl like my daughter.” She grabs your shoulder turning you to face her. You shrug from her grasp as if it burned.

“He is capable...” You try your best to whisper. Aware of the paper thin walls of the attached houses and their sleeping occupants. “He’s shown me more love in the past few months than you have in years. And I don’t care what you say. I’m not going to stop seeing him. He makes me happy.”

“Oh I’ve heard it all now. And please tell me how a cad like Alfie Solomon’s makes you happy?” She asks through an incredulous cackle.

“He takes me away from my miserable life with you.” You spat venomously, all consideration for your sleeping neighbours disappearing.

Her hand strikes your face forcefully. You gasp in disbelief, your hand darting to cover your stinging cheek. Your Mothers wide eyes told you she was just as shocked at her actions as you were.

“Y/N-I-“ She stutters skittishly but you dash passed her to the door before she can string together a proper sentence. Flinging the wood panel wide, you make down the street. Your Mothers calls echoing after you.

In a stupor you ran as fast as your tired limbs could carry you. Your heart pounded as fast as your feet on the uneven pavement. The dark, smoggy streets of Camden seemed never ending and you knew it wasn’t safe for you to be out on your own so late at night. picking up your pace, you made it passed the countless dark alleys and side roads until you reached the familiar parade of townhouses. Unlike you’re own street, this row of houses were double in size and housed the more well-off side of town. You came to a stop outside the house with a front garden filled with a muddy bed of forget me nots that lined a path leading up to a glossy black door - Alfies door. Holding on to the cool, wrought iron railings that separated his garden from the street. You eyed his abode carefully. To your relief a sliver of light peaked through the ineptly drawn curtains of the living room window and told you that Daniel had dropped him home.

Rubbing roughly at your tear soaked face, you tried your best to pull yourself together. Thankfully the temperature had dropped from the sweltering conditions earlier and a welcomed nippy breeze cooled the hot dampness of your sweaty skin. You walked the beautiful blue lined pathway slowly, taking a couple of deep breaths to regain control of your ragged breathing.

Your hand hesitated around the heavy brass of the door knocker.

Had you done the right thing coming here? Was you being too forward?

You looked down at the eerie loneliness of the narrowing shadowed street and Knocked gently.

The muffled bark of Alfies dog Cyril vibrated through the door in warning, followed by Alfies grumbling voice.

“It’s alright boy. Come, let’s see who’s got the bollocks to be knocking on my door this time of night.” Your heart was pounding in your ears as the door opened a crack, revealing half of Alfie and the nosey sniffing snout of Cyril.

“Y/N?” Alfie inquired dumbstruck.

You attempted a smile but it didn’t reach your watery eyes.

Without delay he releases the door, holding back an excited Cyril while you stepped inside. The Mastiff wiggled free from Alfies grasp and bounded over to you. You giggled as he sniffed and licked at your hand, begging for attention. Your hand moved across his short soft fur, scratching behind his ears just where he likes it.

“Alright, alright, that’s enough, Cyril. Buggar off to bed.” Alfie commands his furry companion as he’s about to collapse euphorically at your feet.

You turn to Alfie, noticing a gun in his hand.

“For protection.” He explains sheepishly, placing it on the sideboard next to the door. You nod as if you were well acquainted with the ways of his world.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to intrude-“ You begin to apologise but he cuts you off.

“-Don’t fucking apologise, right. You are always welcome here. But don’t be out walking the streets this time of night again. It’s not safe, is it? Especially for a beauty like you.” You blush at his compliment. “You hear me?” He scorns.

You give him a contrite nod.

“Good. Now tell me what’s happened? Your mum upset ya?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” You grumble.

“Hmm.” He grunts. Eyeing you with concern. His stormy orbs landing on your reddened cheek. You turn to block his view but he grabs your face, pulling it back so he can examine the pink blemish that stains your skin. The slight touch of his fingertips sends your pulse racing.

“She fucking do this?” His voice was tight, his eyes wide and alight with a frightful fury.

“This was my fucking fault getting you back so late.” He carries on bitterly and you’re unsure wether his rage is directed at himself or your Mother.

“It wasn’t your fault. It was mine! I insisted on staying to watch the sunset. I deserved it, Alfie. I said some really spiteful things...” You shake your head regretfully, holding back a fresh batch of tears.

“Ay, Come ‘ere.” He holds out his arms and you fall into them willingly. Closing your eyes you enjoy the comfort of Alfies embrace.

“I was wondering...if I could stay here tonight!” You ask falteringly.

Alfie stiffens, pulling back to study you with a tapered gaze.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea, Yahalom. Let me and Cyril walk you home, ay?”

You’d be lying if you said his dismissal didn’t wound you.

“I don’t want to go back there. Not tonight.” Your voice was bleak and on the edge of desperation. You were sure that a night away wouldn’t change much but it would at least allow you and your Mother some time to cool off.

He deliberates a moment before succumbing to the desperation in your Doe eyes.

“You’ve fucking got me wrapped around your little finger in’t ya?...” He sighs. “Alright then. Follow me.”

Along with a loyal Cyril, you follow Alfie up the stairs and into the room at the end of the hallway. Alfie flicks a switch and the room lights up.

It was a simple space, predominately cream with royal blue tapestries. The single, Victorian bed caught your eye. Its small, flimsy brass frame telling you it didn’t belong to Alfie.

“This isn’t your room?” You ask.

“No, but my rooms down the hall there.”

“Oh...” the disappointment was evident in your soft voice.

“I’ll leave Cyril in ‘ere with you for the night.” He looks down at Cyril who has already settled on the rug at the foot of the bed. “You’ll look after ‘er won’t ya, boy?”

Not that you at all doubted the capabilities of the sandy giant but you would much rather be tucked up in Alfies arms instead.

“There’s a bathroom across the way if you wanna get washed up and I’ll grab one of my shirts for you to sleep-“

“-I want to sleep with you.” You blurt out, interrupting him.

“...I mean, I want to sleep in your bed with you not on my own.” You explain, blushing furiously.

“No way!-“ He starts strongly but the hurt look on your face stops him from finishing that sentence. “Don’t look at me like that, Pet. You know what I mean. I can barely control myself when I’m with you in a room full of people. How am I gonna behave when we’re alone in the same bed? I’m sorry, yeah, but I’m just trying to do the right thing ‘ere.”

“What if I don’t want you to behave? What if I don’t want you to the right thing?” Your voice was merely a breathy whisper.

He scrubs at his face frustratedly.

“You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I know what I want, Alfie.” A boldness had possessed you, spurred on by the uncontrollable fiery lust that had been festering all day.

Alfies eyes growing wide and distant, strayed from yours. His brow furrowing diligently as he debated with himself the best way to handle this situation.

“What I’m trying to say is, Pet, I don’t trust myself. And I don’t want us to end up doing something you might regret in the morning. Don’t you want to wait until marriage to share a bed and what ‘av ya?”

Marriage? You bite back the urge to scoff. After overhearing Alfies tirade of rules and beliefs to his army of new factory workers the other day, he had made it very clear that the conjugation of Gentiles and Jews was prohibited. So you were pretty sure that thanks to your conflicting religions, marriage wasn’t on the cards for you. However, his condemnation bothered you. If he felt that strongly about it then why was he wasting his time with you in the first place? It was a puzzling, arduous revelation that had been nagging at you for days and you knew you’d have to address it sooner rather than later.

“You’ve gone quiet on me. What ‘av I said now?”

“It’s not what you’ve said...or actually it was.. Oh, I don’t know.” Your head spun. Your coveted feelings for Alfie made logical thinking almost impossible. Disoriented, your heart battled with your brain like it had the past week wether to bring it up or not.

“Spit it out for fuck sake.”

You sigh defeatedly and carefully approached the subject.

“The other day at the bakery, I overheard you speaking to your new workers... and you mentioned about Jewish women being off limits... and it got me thinking... Does it matter to you then that I’m not Jewish? Because I need to kn-“

“-That’s what you’re worried about?..” He starts incredulously.

You nod, unable to look at him.

“...Not that I’m ‘supposedly’ a murderous criminal? Or the fact that your mother fucking hates me and wouldn’t piss on me if I was on fire?...So that’s the reason you were all quiet the other day?”

You stay silent.

“Fuckin ell.” He shakes his head before continuing. “Alright, fair enough.” He holds his hands up in agreement. “it’s not an ideal situation, granted. But nothing ever is, is it, Yahalom?” He sighs with a sympathetic shrug before continuing. “I guess what it comes down to at the end of the day, right... Is you just can’t help who you fall in love with.”

Your eyes dart from the floor to his. In the dim light of the room it’s hard to tell but you’re sure he was blushing.

“What did you say?”

“I love you.” The deep timbre of his casual admission reverberated through you like a bolt of lightning, so hot and fast you couldn’t grasp it.

“You love me?” The last of your sentence is lost as your breathing falters.

He nods, eyeing you cautiously. You could do nothing except stand there stunned.

“Ya see, I knew from the very first time I saw you, right, that I was completely and utterly... fucked.” You frowned at him. That wasn’t the word you were expecting. “You had me hook, line and sinker, yeah, and there was nothing I could fucking do about it.” He carried on, stepping closer to you. Picking up your hand he places it on his chest where his heart is. You feel the muscle beneath the material, flesh and bone, pounding a rapid rhythm. The air was thick, crackling around you both.

“I know what people say about me and unfortunately, Pet, most of it is true, yeah. But whatever good is left of this ol’ heart ‘ere is yours.”

“Oh, Alfie! I love you too.” You revel in his proclamation. He stills. The pounding of his heart increasing against your palm.

“Say That again.” He asks, his voice low and dangerous.

You swallow hard before complying.

“I love you.”

“Again.” He commands with a grunt and you can see the dark glimmer of unworthiness in his stormy orbs.

“I. Love. You.” You pour your heart into every syllable to erase the redundant doubt that’s plaguing him.

Closing the gap, you align your body against his. Your hand that was at his chest has snaked around his neck, your fingers toying with the messy tufts of sweaty hair at the nape of his neck.

Nose to nose, your laboured breathing mingles. His hands grasp your back, stroking and needing your curves restlessly. His little grunts betraying his restraint as his body goes rigid against yours.

“Take me, Alfie. I’m yours.” You tell him.

“Y/N.” He speaks your name as a warning, a poor last attempt at fighting a losing battle. Pushing up on your tippy toes you graze your lips against his. Unmoving, he allows the chaste contact.

“I won’t regret anything..” You continue through pecks. “The only thing I do regret is not meeting you sooner.” His furrowed gaze studies you, catching the certainty of love and desire in your glossy eyes.

“Oh, fuck it.” He pulls you tightly to him. The last of his hesitance retreating as you become a frenzied mess of clashing lips and roaming hands.

He pulls away abruptly leaving you needy and breathless. You hold back a disappointed groan as you ready yourself for his excuse to stop.

“Not here...” He pants against your lips. “...I want you in my bed.”

You gasp in surprise as he hauls you up against the length of his body. You wrap your limbs around his torso. His blatant arousal stiff and thick wedged between your bodies. He carries you with ease from the spare bedroom and down the corridor, Cyril still in tow. You bury your head in his neck, inhaling the musky masculinity of his unique scent that fills you with an overwhelming urge to taste him. You place your lips to his neck, your tongue darting out to sample the saltiness of his clammy skin. Then remembering your promise from earlier you sink your teeth into him. A grunt erupts from his full lips.

“If you don’t stop that we ain’t making it to my room.” He grumbles hotly. Your blood heats and you grin impishly into his neck before kissing softly where you had just bitten.

A couple more strides and you make it to his bedroom. Alfie boots the door and it swings open with a creaky groan. One of his hands leaves you to blindly switch on the light. He sets you down at the foot of the bed. Leaving you stood there while he closes the curtains. Your eyes travel around the freshly illuminated room in amazement. This was no doubt Alfies bedroom. It was at least three times the size of the spare room. The perfect expanse for his larger than life character.

A rich, dark mahogany dominated the room, from the lavish furnishings to the waxed floorboards. The only colour that graced his chamber was an olive green that covered the walls and accentuated the decorative rug that you were currently stood on. A white mantle piece housed a torpid fireplace which faced you and the large four poster bed you were stood against.

It struck you how the room held no sign of life.

No photographs or paintings embellished the surfaces of the mantle or the walls. It was an impersonal space, void of any framed memories, illustrated landscapes or portraits. For a room so full it felt incredibly empty.

“Three’s a crowd, mate. Out you go.” Alfie ushers out a bewildered Cyril before closing the door and returning to stand in front of you. His fervent gaze assesses you hungrily. The rise and fall of your chest increasing as anticipation coursed through your veins. He places both hands on your hips and even through the material of your dress his touch is electrifying.

“I’m taking this off.” He tells you gruffly. He gathers the material of your dress in his dexterous hands. You lift your arms as the last of the hem rises into his deft fingers and in one swift movement it’s off over your head, leaving you in your undergarment - the most naked you had ever been in front of a man.

His fingers slip the straps of your cami-bloomers over your shoulders and the all in one falls to your feet leaving you completely naked. You tense, fighting the urge to cover your modesty. His fingers trail down to trace your hardening nipples and your breath catches. A gentle whimper leaves your mouth as his thumbs circle the sensitive hard peaks a couple of times before sliding down to rest underneath the curve of your breasts. His hands grip your ribs and in one swift movement you’re tossed backwards onto the mattress, landing with a gasping bounce.

Giggling you look up at him. His dark gaze, harsh with desire stopping you mid chuckle.

Slowly and deliberately he begins unbuttoning his shirt, all the while his very serious, wild eyes never leaving yours.

Your whole body felt like it was on fire. His admiring, animalistic glare empowering your nakedness.

You make yourself as comfortable as possible, propping yourself up on your elbows to enjoy the show. Completely riveted, you watch as he bares the alabaster skin of his arms and torso along with the contrasting array of black inkings that adorn them. Your fingers restlessly clutch the bedding beneath you in hot anticipation. Once the shirt had been dealt with, he bends to tug off the cami-bloomers that are still bound around your ankles. They fall to the floor along with your shoes.

“That’s better.” He grumbles hotly. Mimicking your earlier words from the beach.

Forgetting about the removal of his trousers he crawls over you, settling between your legs.

“If we’re going to do this, yeah, I’m going to need you to tell me what you want.”

You gulp nervously, how were you supposed to tell him what you wanted when you hadn’t done anything like this before? He waits patiently for you to give him instructions.

“Tell me what you want me to do to you?” His voice is low and quiet.

“I want you to touch me.” You can barely speak.

“Where?” He asks.

“All over.” You blush. Thrashing impatiently beneath him.

“You’re going to have to be more specific, my love.” You want to curse at him. You grab his hand and place it on your chest. He bares an impish grin and starts to massage your breasts. You arch into his touch.

“What about down ‘ere?” The sharp coolness of his gold bracelets scrape across your fevered skin as his hand travels down your abdomen.

Your eyes follow the burning trail left by his touch. The little crown tattoo on his hand was all that was visible as his thumb and fingers disappeared and began stroking you between your legs. Your head fell back at the the erotic vision and the feeling of his skin on yours teasing the silky folds.

“Fuckin ‘ell.” He growls. “You’re very wet, Yahalom. Tell me have you ever done this to yourself?”

Your hips begin to gyrate shamelessly against his working hand and a measley shake of your head against the mattress was all you could muster.

“Have you done this with anyone else?” He inquires darkly against the skin of your chest. You’re too spellbound by the pressure of his thumb as it swirls and intensifies on your sensitive flesh that you can’t answer.

“Answer me.” He commands. You gasp as he leans down and takes your nipple between his teeth.

“No-Only you.” You pant quickly. Arching your back as he tries to quell the smarting of his bite with a soothing lick.

“Good.” He grunts. Coming to rest over you, he leans all of his weight on to one arm. Your hands grip the other that’s rooted between your thighs. Your nails digging into the tensing muscles of his tricep and forearm as the rough pad of his thumb continues it’s lush rhythm against your clit.

Your lips were parted to accommodate your heavy breathing and you struggled to keep your eyes open as the pleasure took over your body.

“Tell me how it feels?”

“It feels... good.” You hold back a quivering moan to answer him.

“Just good?” His fingers slide down to tease your entrance.

“Really good.” You pant dryly.

“You sure? You’re not making much noise.”

You were purposely trying not to. Like your own home Alfies had houses either side.

“Your-ne-eighbours.” You stammer a vague explanation for your considerate discretion.

“Oh, fuck them!” He shouts. “Stop holding back, Yahalom. For months I’ve dreamt about making you moan. Now let me fucking hear you.” His authoritative tone made you tingle and you couldn’t help but groan loudly as his finger slid inside you.

“That’s it.” He encouraged gruffly. His experienced fingers enticing a pleasure so intense it caused you to quake. Restlessly you writhed against the bed, unable to take the sensation that was building deep within you.

“Kiss me, Alfie.” You pleaded.

Your hands fisted in his hair, pulling his lips down to yours, emptying the moans and groans which now emanated freely and helplessly from your mouth into his.

Every muscle in your body tensed and stiffened as Alfies lips and fingers worked in perfect unison.

“Alfie...” You called his name helplessly.

“It’s okay, Yahalom. Just let go.” And with one last stroke of his talented fingers you did just that. A hoarse cry left you as an explosive sensation rippled and rolled through your body, violently shattering you like glass.

After coaxing the last tremors of your orgasm with his talented fingers, he retreated his hand from your spent form and you watched panting and wide eyed as he placed one of the fingers he was pleasuring you with into his mouth, tasting you as if you were a fresh batch of rum. You flushed as he groaned in delectable appreciation of your flavour.

“Is that what you wanted, Yahalom?”

“I want more?”

“More?” He raised an eyebrow at your greedy admission.

“I want to touch you.” You raise yourself up on heavy, sated limbs. Gathering just enough strength to push Alfie down on to the bed next to you.

“I want to make you feel good.” Your curious hands begin explore his naked torso. Your gentle touch advancing downwards to the waistband of his trousers. Your fingertips stalling at the material barrier for approval.

“Carry on.” He prompted coarsely.

Eagerly and clumsily you fumbled with the button and zip of his trousers until you could pry them from his hips, wrestling them down his body until his cock sprung free and rested thick and hard against his stomach. Alfie kicked his legs, ridding himself completely from the starchy material.

He groaned vehemently when without warning you took him in your palm, your hand flexing timidly around the velvety softness of his shaft. Inexperienced and unconfident, you look to him for a sign that you were doing it right.

“Like this, Pet.” His hand wrapped around yours, guiding it up and down his length a couple of times before leaving you to it.

“Yeah, that’s it. Just like that.” He moaned as you continued to pump him. You watched enthralled as you pleasured him. His eyes hot and heavy with desire. The primitive sounds erupting from his mouth spurring you on, making you feel powerful.

“See, Yahalom. There’s plenty of ways we can still enjoy each other without going all the way.” He groans. His hips tensing upwards into your working hand.

“I still want you, Alfie.” He couldn’t avert you that easily. He had unleashed something inside you. A wanton desire that wouldn’t be satisfied until he had possessed you completely.

“You have me.” He tells you.

“You know what I mean...” you tighten your grip around him causing him to hiss. “I want you inside of me.” You were too enamoured, too consumed in the moment to be embarrassed by your boldness.

His hips stilled as he looked upon you dubiously. His lips parted on a reluctant objection. He could beat grown, begging men to a pulp without a sliver of guilt and not think twice about it. But when it came to you, you were his weakness. He couldn’t refuse you no matter what it was, nor could he deny his own selfish desire to be buried deep inside you.

“Fuck,” He drifts away for a moment, a familiar look of anguish taking over his features.

“You’ll be the death of me.” He grunts. Forcefully pulling you on top so you’re now straddling him.

You look down at him, once again at a loss of what to do.

“Wouldn’t you be better on top?” You question bashfully.

“I don’t want to get carried away. This way we can go at your pace, right. If it’s too much for you then you can stop, okay?”

You nod. Anxiously rising to kneel above his hips as he positions the tip of his cock at the entrance of your sex.

With both of your hands resting on his heaving chest to steady yourself, you lower yourself on to him.

Your movements feeling awkward and slow as your body stretched to accommodate Alfies size. You cried out, a tortured sound of pleasure and pain as you took him to the hilt before stilling, your body trying to acclimatise to the foreign fullness.

The gasping, raspy encouragements of Alfie drifted through your ears as you rose gingerly to take him again. You repeated the movements a few more times before the stinging discomfort began to ease and all you could focus on was the pleasure and intense connection of Alfie inside you.

Your chest shuddered as you gained speed. Rocking your hips against Alfies like your life depended on it, your breasts bouncing buoyantly as you did so.

“You’re fucking breathtaking.” He tells you. Sitting up to take one of your nipples in to his mouth. You moan as he grips your shoulders pulling you down firmly onto him. His ardent mouth leaving a sporadic trail of bites and kisses up your chest and neck before claiming your mouth roughly. You bury your hands in his hair as his hips jolt up into you. The feel of his sweaty body against yours and his incoherent murmurings of appreciation and ragged grunts only heightened the intense building of another orgasm.

“Alfie, get on top please.” You beg, needing him to take control.

He shifts, flipping you on to your back. Levelling over you until you’re pinned beneath his weight. With a wet kiss he rammed in to you, the exquisite fullness causing you to cry out again as he filled you completely.

“You alright?” His panicked blue gaze searches your face.

“I’m fine.” You assure him. “Don’t stop.”

You angle your hips up to his for him to continue and he obliges. His rhythm becoming more erratic as he pounds mercilessly into you.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” He curses with each thrust as you tense and clench around him. His name escapes you in a garbled plea as the euphoria of another sensory explosion consumes and leaves you a convulsing mess beneath him. He rears back, plunging his hips into yours one more time before quickly pulling out. Through a string of grunts, he empties his hot spurting release on to your stomach.

You’re just coming back down to Earth when you feel Alfies weight leave you and the bed. Distantly you register the sound of his heavy footsteps padding across the mahogany floorboards and the creaking of the door as he leaves the room. You stretch your exhausted limbs, wincing at the soreness between your legs.

Alfie re-enters the room and you can’t help but gawk at the glorious nakedness of his body.

The mattress dips as he joins you on the bed and you notice a wash cloth in his hand. Silently he tends to you.

You grimace as he gently glides the damp cloth between your legs and across the sticky residue on your stomach.

“I got a bit carried away. I didn’t hurt you did I?” Alfies fretful expression disappears as you grin up at him.

“Truth be told, I’d like you to get carried away with me again.” You notice the contrasting claret staining the white washcloth as he discards it to the floor.

“As relieved as I am to hear that, Yahalom. I think that’s enough for tonight.”

He extends his arm and gestures for you to lay on his chest. Your weary frame settles into him.

Securing his arm around your shoulder, he pulls you closer.

“But remember what I told you earlier? This is just the beginning. We’ve got forever to get carried away, you and me.”

“Forever.” You repeat sleepily, liking the way it sounded. Cosying into his chest you fell asleep with blissful thoughts of forever with Alfie Solomons.

@storm-bjorn​ @alsheyra​ @lililolli​ @jaegers-and-kaijus​ @lightwoodt​ @stars-trash-18​ @innerpaperexpertcloud​ @alitheamateur​ @pointlessbloger99 @hardygal69​ @valentine-in-my-quinjet​ @namelesslosers

[feel199x]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚apple of my eye ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ chapter III

I II III IV V VI VII VIII IX X

gang member!Jisung, bandmate!jisung, florist!reader 

a/n: this is a fluffier chapter? as always, the flower’s meanings will be at the end.  ʕ ♡ •㉨• ♡  ʔ  

masterlist

warnings: references to abuse

You hadn’t heard from Jisung in exactly two weeks today. You were upset, but you were always smiling, letting your fingers rest upon your lips or rub your cheeks when you caught your mind drifting off back to that night. You had texted and called, and you knew that it was somewhat in vain, but you did it anyway, on the off chance that he did answer. Your flower shop was finished being reconstructed, lucky that you ended up not having to pay for the damage. Luckier that the insurance didn’t make you file a police report. Actually, the truth was that they had finished a little over a week ago, but you had been working up the nerve to go out again. You knew there’s had to be a chance that he would be waiting. But life goes on.

 You had warned Jisung that you would be going today a couple days ago. You didn’t have anything to pack, the love letters you had read and received were crumpled in your pocket and the monkshood had long since wilted and died. What kept you reaching and pulling back from the doorknob at the entrance of Mrs. Han’s house, was in fact, the letter. You knew that the same person who had destroyed your flower shop, most likely had sent the letters too. But a part of you didn’t want to throw them away. Even though you had a hard time admitting it, you had deep emotions of devotion regarding Jisung, and if there was any chance…

 But you didn’t let yourself have hope, you didn’t want to add fire to a flame that to you, could only destroy. And it hit you like, well, actually the front door hit you as someone tried to enter the house. You assumed it had been Mrs. Han but she said she wouldn’t be back until the evening, and that she hoped you had made it safely back to your shop because she needed new arrangements. But it wasn’t.

 “I’m so sorry,” Jisung rambled and you heard him drop something, “Are you okay? Oh my god-”

 But you just laughed, you were happy to see him and hear his voice when the sun was still out. It felt normal, better, like for a moment- everything was okay. And when he smiled, the moment he heard your laugh? He relaxed, helping you get up, he remembered how small your hands felt in his. And for a few minutes, the both of you just stood there, the door still open, tight in each other’s embrace. You could hear the rhythm of his heartbeat, steady and consistent, reminding you that he was still here. He would always be here. You hoped that he couldn’t feel your heartbeat, the bass of it’s beat nearly making you tremble. But it was the good type of acceleration, like the feeling you get when your lover messages or calls. Like when you get new flowers, or when someone tells you how much they liked your arrangements. Things seemed okay.

Seemed.

“Hey ‘sungie.”

“Mm?”

“Can you close the door now please?”

 Before he closed the door, Jisung grabbed something he had dropped a few minutes before and handed it to you. He looked out into the streets, as if by habit, and finally closed the door. It was a messy bouquet, admittedly, but it was full of orange blossoms, forget me nots, primroses, white lilies, and yellow tulips.

“Look I know it’s not the best-”

 You were crying again. This time, it’s because you couldn’t help but feel like you were appreciated, like you mattered. You knew you should never assign your worth to a person, but Jisung was the best person you had ever met. He was constantly looking out for you, making you feel better. You couldn’t ask for a better friend. Anyone you’d meet in the future would be compared to Jisung, and you thought it was a good standard to have.

 “It is. It’s the best.”

 He kissed you, for real this time. The door’s glass window letting the midday sun shine through, a bright rainbow color prismed on your face, the gentle light warning your face. You thought he had wanted to forget about the night two weeks ago, but you regret ever having that thought.

 You leaned against Jisung’s chest as you watched a movie you weren’t really paying attention to. He had an arm wrapped around your waste, tracing circles on your collarbone distractedly.

 Or so you thought.

 “What’s wrong?”

 You didn’t want to ruin the moment, not again, and let something bad take this away from you. But you knew, that eventually, you had to ask. You moved to reach for your pocket, and pulled out the various letters.

 “Did you send these?”

 You turned to face him, but he kept his arm wrapped around you, afraid to let you go. He looked flustered, his face turning pink.

 “Yes,”

 You smiled, looking back down at the letters.

 “But not the red ones. I sent the white ones with the pink hearts to close it shut.”

 A wave of emotions crashed against you, you wanted to be happy that Jisung had sent you love letters. But if there was more people, then you were right.

 He had known for a long time that you were here, and he had watching, waiting. And that terrified you more than anything. Jisung grabbed the red envelopes and dumped the contents of them out, examining the words and the the flowers. On the floor was a pool of nasturtium, oleander, orange mock, and other flowers you realized weren’t flukes. It wasn’t a mistake of the sender, like you thought, like you hoped. You felt guilty all over again.

 “There’s no difference between how I wrote and how he did. He used the same font as I did, and none of these are passive aggressive.”

 “The flowers.”

 In the beginning, you dismissed it as a mistake because it was just one flower in the mix of  a larger group of seemingly well-intentioned flowers. Jisung gave you a concerned look, beckoning you to continue explaining.

 “There were only a couple of weird ones, they were in the mix of daisies and stuff. I ignored it.”

 “You can’t go back.”

 “I can’t stay here either.”

 You were scared. You didn’t want to have to face him again, but you didn’t want to make Jisung fight your battles either. You gathered up the flowers and red letters, and stood up to throw them in the trash.

 “___, what are you doing?”

 “He’s not going to take my happiness away from me. Not again.”

 You put the white envelopes neatly in your pocket, and braved yourself for whatever could possibly happened. Jisung knew that he couldn’t stop you, not when you got like this. The most he could do was follow behind and do whatever he could to help you calm down. Sadness was the voice in your head that kept you down. But anger? Rage fueled you like no drug could, because no high, no type of adrenaline drove you to act on something like the sense of injustice. You knew this feeling would probably pass before you had even reached your store, but as anger breathed down on the back of your neck- you decided that the only time to act was now. When you were unafraid and reckless, forgetting the skills you had developed to keep you alive. All the lessons you learned, everything that ruled your way of being, abandoned.

 If you were lucky, you’d be wrong. Maybe it was a freak accident, wrong place, wrong time. But you weren’t lucky, in fact, you thought, you were very, very, very unlucky. But not with Jisung. As you pressed your head against his back, you realized you had struck gold. Jisung was priceless, nothing in the universe, not even the core of a collapsing star was as valuable as he was to you. Because without Jisung? You didn’t even want to think about what could’ve gone wrong.

 “I would tell you to stay here,” Jisung said as you arrived, “But I don’t want you to be anywhere unless it’s with me.” He gave you a cautious smile as he held your hand, watching your shaky fingers unlock the finished shop. If you had time, you would’ve sighed and took a deep breath to smell the mixed scent of the garden of flowers. You would’ve noticed how they put the wind chimes back up, or how they put the stained glass window beside the orchids back. But you didn’t. Because even though it was completely silent, except for the muted footsteps by the pair of you, it felt as though any moment your shadow would creep up behind you and take you away.

 But it didn’t.

 Not tonight.

 That night, you fell asleep as exhaustion weighed your eyes down and Jisung sang you to sleep. You felt like finally, finally, you could have a happy ending wrapped in Jisung’s arms, in your bed, surrounded by familiar greenery.

 But your shadow, was in fact waiting. Watching.

                        ・‥…━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━…‥・

a/n: y’all really can't catch a break huh

orange blossoms: innocence, eternal love

forget me nots: true love 

primroses: i can’t live without you

white lilies: it’s heavenly to be with you

yellow tulips: there’s sunshine in your smile

nasturtium: conquest, victory in battle

oleander: caution

orange mock: deceit

red: anger, passion

white: innocence, purity

pink: love

[taliaxlatia]

Forget-Me-Not

@projectdestati Later than I expected, but here’s my contribution to the #XionLives challenge!  This is the only piece I’ll be doing, but this idea came to me, and Xion deserves it, so yeah.  And of course I had to go with “Unbreakable Chains” for the track I picked, because honestly, when was the last time I wrote something that didn’t revolve around Vanitas?

Summary:  Inside Sora’s heart, Vantias gets a new visitor - and for once, she’s actually awake.  (Probably not compliant with the KH3 trailers)

(Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2705612/chapters/32720790)

Vanitas cursed when Sora’s heart-pillar started shaking violently, as if someone was spamming a Quake command.  He stood up and brushed himself off despite the fact that there was never any dust in this place.

“What is it this time?”  He muttered, glancing over at Ventus, who - as always - was lying unconscious near the edge of the platform.  He was still half disappointed at that fact.  Stupid.  If Vanitas hadn’t been able to wake his other half by punching him, slapping him, or drawing on his face with a marker he managed to pull out of Sora’s memory, then the pillar shaking wasn’t going to make a difference.

“Is Namine screwing with us again?”  He glared up into the inky sky, where he could see chains in the distance if he squinted.  Sora’s memories.  It had been a nightmare when she’d first started tearing them apart - broken links raining down everywhere, leaving cracks in the stained glass of Sora’s heart pillar.  Leaving a lump on Vanitas’s head, too.  That particular memory had been of Sora, Riku, and Kairi eating ice cream though, so at least he’d been able to use it to summon a bowl of dessert for himself.

But there were no raining memories now - there hadn’t been in a long time.  Vanitas just saw them drift away from time to time, and more rarely, link back together.  He didn’t know why.  With Sora unconscious, it was difficult to get any idea of what was going on in the outside world.  He didn’t even know how long it had been, or how much longer it would last.  Thinking about it only made him want to stab things, which he couldn’t really do here.  Not without risking damage to Sora’s heart. And the last time he’d broken a heart he was trapped inside, it had nearly killed him.

He sighed heavily, plopping down at the edge of the still-trembling pillar and swinging his legs off the side.  Not very safe, but it wasn’t like he had much to lose.  He’d jumped off this pillar plenty of times before.  It hardly even hurt.  It wasn’t really worth it unless he got really bored, though; all that was down there were the dregs of Sora’s memories.  All the ones not important enough to be remembered.

Only… that wasn’t all that was down there, not now.  He could see something in the dim light filtering through the pillar’s windows - there was a person down there.  

An awake, moving person.

Without thinking, he jumped from the top of the pillar.  It felt best to dive head-first, but he did flip at the last second to land on his feet, scattering the broken chain links away.

The black-coated figure screamed.  That scream - too high pitched to be a guy.  Why was Sora’s heart always picking up girls?  At least this one was conscious, unlike Kairi had been.

The girl skipped back a few steps, nearly slipping on the clinking chains, and pulled her hood down farther over her face.  “You’re - who are you?  You look like Sora, but… different.”

Vanitas had been about to laugh in relief - another living person - but then it turned to a scowl.

“No, I’m not Sora.”  He had the urge to cover his own face too.  He hadn’t bothered to wear his mask here, considering there’d never been anyone to see him before.  “The name’s Vanitas.”

He stepped back into his fighting stance and summoned his keyblade.

“Vanitas?”  She frowned, not looking intimidated by his weapon.  Not that it would be easy to tell underneath her hood.  “I never heard of you in Sora’s memories.”

“Tch.  Of course you wouldn’t have, I never actually knew the guy.  Now, are you going to fight me or what?”

She tilted her head.  “Why?”

“Wh-why?”  His blade lowered.  “What do you mean, why?”  He met someone, he fought them.  That was just how it worked.  Was the first awake person he met in years really going to refuse a battle?

“Well, I…  I already died fighting once today.  So I guess I don’t feel like doing it again.”

She made as if to walk away, but Vanitas slid to block her.

“Wait, you can’t just leave.”

She shrugged.  “I don’t even know how I got here.  I should be gone completely.  And I just… I want to be alone right now, okay?”

It was only then that Vanitas realized she wasn’t shrugging.  Her shoulders were just shaking.  And there was something dripping out from beneath her hood…

“You’re crying,” he realized out loud.

“Replicas can’t cry,” she said quietly, tugging on her hood again.  “It was nice to meet you, Vanitas.”

He just watched in confused silence as she ran off into the distance.

                                                          XXX

“Hey,” Vanitas said when he finally found the girl again.  The memories under his feet had been acting up, floating off into the sky in huge chunks ever since she’d arrived.  That made it a bit more difficult than usual to navigate the wasteland around the heart-pillar, but he managed.

“Y-you again?”  The girl looked up.  Her face was still wet.  He should’ve waited longer; dealing with crying girls was the last thing he wanted to do.  But if he waited too long, he was afraid she’d disappear for good.

“What, you expecting someone else?”  She sat down beside her and stretched out his legs.  This spot was far enough out that there weren’t many memories around, so he had plenty of room.

“No…” she mumbled, fiddling with a memory link in her fingers.  She didn’t offer anything else.  Sheesh, was she going to make Vanitas do all the talking?  Maybe he should just attack her.  Then she would have to fight him.  But what if he accidentally killed her, and then she disappeared?

“So… uh… you got a keyblade?”  He asked awkwardly.  To his surprise, she stretched out a hand, and a silver and gold weapon appeared there.

“...I guess I still do,” she said, as if she were just as surprised.

“Looks just like Sora’s,” Vanitas noted.  “Bulky. Blunt.  Kinda stupid looking.”

The girl frowned.  “It looks just like Roxas’s, too.”

Vanitas didn’t particularly care who Roxas was, but he did want to keep the girl from running away again, so he asked, “Who’s Roxas?”

“My best friend.  Him and Axel both are.”  Her frown wavered for a moment, but stayed.  Vanitas wished she would take off her hood.  Was this how he made everyone feel when he had his mask on?

“Friends.”  He snorted.  “Doesn’t sound like they helped you out any more than Ventus’s helped him.”

“Why would you say that?”  She replied angrily.  He grinned.

“You want to fight me over it?”

She sighed and lowered her keyblade, letting it disappear in a flash of light.  “No.  Why can’t you just leave me alone?”

“I’m the only other person awake here in Sora’s heart.  You’re stuck with me.”

He succeeded in getting a frustrated sigh out of her.  A verbal fight might not be as good as a physical one, but at least it was something.

“You won’t be the only one for long.  Roxas will come back soon.”

Vanitas scowled as another chunk of memory links started glowing and then floated upwards.

“Why would your friend end up in Sora’s heart?”

“Because he’s Sora’s Nobody.”

Nobody?  Vanitas didn’t know a lot about Nobodies.  Xehanort had mentioned them briefly, a long time ago.  But didn’t you only become a Nobody if you were turned into a…? Oh.  Vanitas remembered - that had been the worst day of his not-life.  He’d thought Sora was going to go full Heartless, and then who knew what would happen to Ventus and Vanitas’s heart?  But Kairi had saved him, putting Sora’s heart pillar back together before it could crumble all the way into darkness.

“Huh,” Vanitas grunted.  “Maybe he’ll fight me, then.”

“Why do you want to fight so badly?”  The girl asked, still turning that link over in her fingers, over and over again.

“What else are we supposed to do?”  He asked back. Her head tilted.

“You… you’re asking that honestly, aren’t you?”

“I guess.”  He shrugged.  If she had some other idea of how to pass the time, he wasn’t going to complain.  Not much, at least.

She laughed, a small chuckle that startled him.  He hadn’t heard anyone laugh at something he said before.  Should he be offended? He put on a scowl just in case.

“I don’t really know what people normally do together, other than go to work and eat ice cream.  But I guess we don’t have either of those things here.”  She sighed sadly.

“I made ice cream out of one of Sora’s memories once,” he said.  “Tasted just like the real thing.  Or at least I think it did.  Haven’t had the real stuff in a while.”

“Out of his memories?”  She asked.

“Yeah.”  He took the link from her hands, feeling what memory it contained.  Something about flowers.  It was a really faded memory, so it was hard to get much else out of it.  Still, he closed his eyes and felt it, until the link had transformed into a small bouquet in his hands.

“Here.”  He shoved the flowers at her.  “Flowers are for girls.”

“Thanks?”  She laughed again, accepting the small blue blossoms.  “Wait… I remember these.  One of the Dusks left them at the castle before.  Luxord told me they were called... forget-me-nots.  Hah…”

Her hands trembled.  A small drop of water dotted the blue petals.

“For someone who says they can’t cry, you cry a lot,” Vanitas said.

“I guess… I’m lucky then.”  She wiped her eyes - or at least wiped something under her hood.

“You’ve got a pretty twisted idea of luck.”

“Well, when you weren’t supposed to exist, I’m just lucky to be here at all.”  She smiled a little.

“Not supposed to exist, huh?”  He leaned back on his hands. “I know a thing or two about that.”

“You do?”

He nodded.  “Xehanort pulled me out of Ventus so I could forge the X-Blade.”  He drew an ‘X’ in the air with his finger, in case she’d never heard of it.  “But I was never supposed to be my own person, and he never let me forget it.”

He wished he could find one of Sora’s memories of Ansem - the closest thing he’d know to Xehanort - and choke the life out of him.  But pulling actual people out of memories was beyond Vanitas’s abilities.

“Xemnas created me,” the girl said.  “Him and some other Nobodies on Organization XIII did.  I was a replica made of Sora’s memories, meant to copy his keyblade.”

Vanitas raised an eyebrow.  “Keyblade, or X-blade?”

The girl frowned.  “There’s a difference?”

“‘Key’ as in the letter ‘ex.’”  When she didn’t respond, he just said “Nevermind.  Probably just a regular keyblade, then.”

“Oh.”  She grew silent for a while, then finally said, “I’m sorry.  About what happened to you.”

She was… what?  He stared at her.  Sorry?  Was she… pitying him?

“Don’t be.  I’m fine.”  He shrugged, then stood up.  “We should get back to the pillar. It’s not safe to stay down here for too long.”

“Why not?”  She asked, though she stood too.  She still clutched the flowers tightly between her hands.

He gestured to the scattered links that lined the hard ground.  “This is where forgotten memories go.  Stay down here too long, and you’ll be forgotten too.”  He never really worried about it himself - there wasn’t anyone he wanted to remember him, anyway.  In fact, he’d be better off if no one remembered him when he got out of this place.  But this girl - she said she had friends.  She probably cared about stuff like that.

“Then you mean… there’s a chance I won’t be forgotten?”  She asked hopefully. 

“What, you expecting everyone to forget about you?”  

“Well… yes.”

He led her back towards the pillar, kicking chain links out of the way as they went.  “If your friends are anything like Ventus’s, I doubt they’ll give you up that easy,” he replied, a little bitterly.

“Did… did your friends forget about you?”  She asked.  He laughed.

“Hard for them to forget you if you don’t have any in the first place.”

She stopped. “You mean… you didn’t have anyone?”

“No one,” he snapped, then shook his head.  It wasn’t like it mattered.  Friends were for people of the light, like Ventus, and this girl.  Despite her black coat, he could tell she was bright on the inside.

“Do you think… I could be your friend, then?  If we’re both going to be here for a while…”

He blinked.  She was offering… to be his friend?  Okay, despite her light, she obviously wasn’t very bright, or she’d know better than to want to be friends with him, of all people.  But… he imagined the look on Ventus’s face when he finally woke up, and he found out that Vanitas had a friend too.  It would be priceless.

“Sure, why not.”  Vanitas shrugged.  “Just don’t expect me to make you feel better if you’re crying, okay?”

She laughed.  “That’s okay.  I don’t think Roxas or Axel would have known what to do about that either.”

Then, to his surprise, she reached up and lowered her hood, revealing short black hair and blue eyes.  Those eyes looked just like Ventus’s, and that hair was just as dark as his own.  He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but it wasn’t that.

“I never introduced myself, did I?”  She asked with a smile. He shook himself a little when he realized he’d been staring.  “My name’s Xion.”

“Xion,” he repeated, then paused, as if something were going to happen.  “Is that it?  Are we friends now?”

“Um… I think we have to eat ice cream first.”  She frowned thoughtfully.  That made sense; there had to be something more to making a friend then just saying the words.  Any idiot could do that.

“I’ll find us some.  But we need to get to the pillar first.”

“Right.”  She nodded.

They jogged the rest of the way there, with Xion clinging to the forget-me-nots the whole way.  Vanitas wasn’t sure why she bothered; they’d turn back into memories eventually.

Chains of memories peeled up from the ground in front of them; they jumped over and dodged around them.  Namine must be doing some serious work today.  

When they were almost to the pillar - only a few yards away - the chains did something different.  Instead of just falling up into the sky, two strands of them whipped out and formed an X in front of Xion.

“What the-” Vanitas spun, rolled his eyes, and jogged back to her.  “Come on, you lousy memories.  Out of our way.”  

He summoned his keyblade to slice through them - they were just brittle, forgotten things, after all - but his blow bounced off as if the chains had welded together.

“No,” Xion whispered.  She tried to dodge around the chains, under them, over them, but no matter which way she tried to move forward, they twisted to block her.

“What are you standing around for?  Help me smash these things!” He kept hacking at the memories, but they still stubbornly refused to budge.

“No.”  She shook her head.  He noticed that her eyes were getting wet, again.  “It’s not going to be that simple…”

“Why not?”  He demanded.  Smashing things was his favorite way of solving problems; he would make it that simple.

“I can’t be remembered.  Namine warned me.  I chose to go away, even knowing that.”  She pressed one hand to the chains; the other clutched the flowers to her chest.  “Go on, Vanitas.  I’ll be alright.”

He stared at her, his keyblade drooping to his side.  “You’re kidding.  You’re giving up?  Just like that?”

She forced a smile.  “It’s taken me a long time to decide this.  I know what I’m doing.”

“Fine,” he said, surprising her.  He dismissed his keyblade and wandered around the chains; they didn’t do anything to stop him.  “Let all those losers out there forget about us.  What’s it matter?”

“You - no, Vanitas.  You need to go back,” she insisted.

“What?  So all my non-existent friends can remember me?”  He snorted.  “I’m staying down here.  I got bored of hanging out on top of Sora’s heart, anyway.”  Sure, Ventus was still up there… but Vanitas needed to let go of the hope that his other half would wake up any time soon.  Besides, if he did wake up, Vanitas was sure he would know it.  And maybe, if he was lucky, Ventus actually wouldn’t remember him.

“But…”

“What, you want to get rid of me already?”  He smirked. “You can always fight me if you want to try.”

She rolled her eyes.  “I told you, I’m not going to fight you.”

“If you say so.”  He shrugged and knelt down on the ground, hands searching through the debris of chain links.  

“What are you looking for?”  Xion asked.

“You’ll see.”  He found it a second later - the memory he was searching for.  One that would work, anyway.  He drew on its power and ended up with two sticks of ice cream, one yellow, one orange.  “Here.  Since this is what friends do, apparently.”

She blinked before accepting the ice cream.  “I’ve never seen one like this before.”

“Just eat it.”  He said, biting into his own - he’d kept the yellow one for himself.  It tasted like pineapple.  He would’ve rather had strawberry, but it would do.

She took a tentative bite.  “It’s sweet.  But not salty.”

“Salty?”  Vanitas made a face.  “Why would ice cream be salty?”

Xion’s jaw dropped.

“You mean you’ve never had sea-salt ice cream?”  Judging from her face, that could’ve been the eighth deadly sin.

“...No,” he said carefully.  Was sea-salt ice cream the specific kind required by friendships?  He wouldn’t know.  But if Ventus did wake up, and he found out that Vanitas had ruined his only friendship by eating the wrong type of ice cream, he would never live it down.

“We have to find some!”  Xion leapt up; her orange ice cream dripped on the front of her coat.  “Come on, Vanitas!  If we both look together, I’m sure we can find it!”

“Unless Sora’s never had it, either,” he pointed out, but she didn’t seem to notice.  She grabbed his hand to drag him off, but he froze.

Someone was touching him.  He instinctively expected it to hurt, but it didn’t.  Her hand was really cold, though.

“...Vanitas?”  She asked.  He shook his head.

“Sure.  Sea-salt.  Whatever.”

He followed after her, still finishing off the last of his current ice cream.  She didn’t let go of his hand the whole time, almost like she was just as starved for physical contact as he was.  In spite of himself, he smiled.

If she was the one she he was stuck with, it might not be so bad.