#a downtown stroll and some books

[trashmouth-richie]

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞: 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐢 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: eddie takes a drive down memory lane, a situationship is revealed, clove finds herself in some harrowing situations in a feeble attempt to cope with eddie’s return.

𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: dark! fic, dark themes, ddlg type of relationship but not what you would think, controlling behavior in a relationship, controlling finances type of abuse, narcissist behavior, emotional abuse, hint at sex trafficking/ trading sex for business 18+. drug use/addiction etc.

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

That night Eddie didn’t sleep. 

He watched your figure bounce to what he assumed was the dressing room as he sat in solemn silence for what felt like a decade, your eyes engraved into his. 

Jeff understood, or rather wasn’t too upset when Eddie called it a night, dropping off the beers you had poured. He was preoccupied with one of the girls, twirling her pigtails as she sat in his lap, crimson lip stains on his deep cheeks. 

The sweet dew of spring night air met him as he pushed the door to the club open, letting the night’s darkness swallow him as he crunched through the gravel to his motorcycle. 

Turning the opposite direction from where he should have been heading, Eddie cranks the handlebars to head downtown. The lonely hotel mattress could wait another hour before he slipped his body into the pilling worn sheets. 

The steady rap of his bike hammered into his chest as he drove down the broken unwelcoming streets of Hawkins. Down town was desolate, the Radio shack was boarded up and closed, graffiti tagged and windows shattered. Melvald’s windows showed handwritten posters for heavily discounted items. Newspapers tumbled along and caught on light poles, Hawkins resembled a town post apocalypse. 

He couldn’t remember what it used to look like. 

Back then his biggest worry was leaving and taking you with him. For all he knew, Hawkins could have always looked like this. Getting you away from here, that was the only thing on his mind. 

Pushing the thoughts away he cranked the throttle and sped through the streets, unconsciously driving further, his memory taking over. 

He drove past Hawkins High, vague memories formed like wisps of smoke around the parking lot. A younger version of him and you sitting in his van listening to his new Motörhead cassette before Higgins would eventually stroll the parking lot and hand out each of you detentions. 

Hawkins Middle School where he doodled in the margins of his composition book and passed you notes about Mr. Walter’s toupee. Your giggle hidden behind chipped fingernails and a fresh tattoo, eyes squeezed tight to stop from laughing. The memory burned a hole in his heart.

The familiarity drove him on, leading the path down to where you and him used to call home. 

The dust kicked up when his tires wove around the gaping holes of the driveway to Forest Hills Trailer Park. His chest was tight, all air punched from his lungs at what lay before him. 

The trailer he once called home was standing like a decrepit omen. The tires it rested on were flat, wires bulging from the rotting rubber. The entire trailer had sunk into the soft earth beneath it, creating a funhouse effect to the back side, putting it on a tilt. 

The windows that weren’t busted out by rocks were covered with foil, a cheap attempt to keep the sun out. 

What was left of the aluminum siding glistened in the moonlight, taunting him. 

From the way the door stood wide open, and the accumulation of last falls foliage littering the entryway, he guessed that no one lived here anymore—save for the fat mice that kept the trailer cats fed. 

Years of decay and neglect replaced any sort of nostalgia he would have felt being back here. The bad memories came easy, it was the happy ones that he had to dig for. 

Glancing behind him he didn’t notice it at first. The frail frame of a burnt trailer. The roof was swallowed in on itself, charred and soot surrounding the dead grass. Whatever caused this fire had taken the trailer fast, engulfing its matchbox body like kindling. 

His one tiny flicker of hope that maybe you still lived here, maybe he could catch you when you weren’t working, was put out like this fire surely wasn’t. 

Ghost flames danced in his eyes as he blinked back tears. The agony of years away filled him with grief. He didn’t grieve for his loss. He had no reason to. Al Munson was the last person he needed closure from. He hoped for his death. Wished for it. Hoping that some inner dimensional being would crush him like a coke can. But he’d never get that lucky. 

People like his dad, and yours, seemed to live forever. Cockroach luck with bodies that were pickled by alcoholism— they’d roam until they saw ninety, tainting everyone they got close to, poisoning their veins and stealing their dreams.

As he rode away, tears spilled down his face, not for him and his misfortunes. But for you. A little girl lost. A girl he had failed. 

—

1974

ping, clink

You could hear the radio through his bedroom window, the new * tape he had bought  crooning out in muffled tones. 

clink, ping, clink

“c’mon!” you muttered under your breath. The rough cinder block you were balancing on was starting to dig into your bare feet, jagged rocks and concrete stuck out every which way. 

She hadn’t come back. 

Hours had passed and she said she was going to the store with the baby, getting some milk and cigarettes. You watched as the short hand on the clock moved from 3 then 4, 5 to 6, and now it was at 11, moving closer to 12 with each tick that went by. 

Dad wasn’t home, spending the night with friends in Indianapolis looking for “fresh meat” whatever that meant. 

You were left home alone. Not a first time occurrence, but definitely not on a night when the wind was howling like a wolf. 

The trailer groaned, shadows appeared in all shapes over your shared empty room. Scary faces with pointy teeth. Long witch-like arms that scratched against the aluminum siding, the air vent whistling against the tin roof had you yelping, hiding beneath your covers. 

When the power went out, it took the tiny brightness from the shell nightlight with it, leaving you in an eerie darkness, and you had enough for one night.  

Eddie’s trailer was one down from yours, a quick 15 second run through the tall weeds would get you there in no time. Tucking the oversized shirt you wore as pajamas into the waistband of a pair of cotton shorts, you opened the trailer door, your blankie tucked safe into the crook of your arm. 

The screen door was ripped from your hand by a large gust of wind, but you couldn’t be bothered with that upon realizing that the entire trailer park was cast into darkness, not a single stitch of light to be seen. 

Your feet found the familiar path from Eddie’s trailer to yours with ease as you raced past the Peterson’s chained up rottweiler. His bark loud enough to scare a grown man into hiding. 

Racing up the front steps you knocked quietly, not wanting to wake up Eddie’s dad and deal with his wrath, his fuse shorter than your own fathers. Wiggling the handle you realized it was locked, which was strange considering that the Munson’s didn’t even own a house key. 

And that was what led you here, knocking on Eddie’s window at 11 o’clock at night, standing on tiptoes on the cinder block used as a step ladder. 

“Eddie!” you whisper yelled into the night, your voice traveling away with the wind, “Eddie! P-please, it’s me!” 

Giving up on silent little knocks of your knuckles against the glass, you hit the window hard with a fist and an open palm, tears flowing down your cheeks in desperation. 

The sheet covering his window that served as a curtain, moved back quickly the same time a round orb of light shined in your eyes. 

His hair was a god awful mess, smushed to his head from sleep, curls limp and frizzy. He mouths your name in a question, tucking the flashlight under his chin, his fingers work to lift the window up the broken track. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be asleep, like I was…hey are you okay?”

The tears slip down your face faster than you could stop them, and you wipe them away hastily with the corner of your blankie. 

Eddie moves stuff from his dresser, sliding books into a milk crate and plastic army guys to the floor. 

“Put your foot there,” he instructed, pointing to the siding of the trailer, “like if you were climbing a tree or something.” 

You do as your told, and Eddie leans through the window, grabbing your hands and hoisting you into his room. 

When your feet are on the warm carpet you take a shuddering breath, “thanks, the wind is—”

“Scary, I know, that’s why I have the stereo on… makes it hard to hear it.” 

You stand there for a few seconds, fingers fiddling around the hem of your blankie, embarrassed, not sure what your plans were after making it inside. “Your door’s locked.” 

“Oh, my uncle Wayne is here, he must’ve done it, I dunno.” 

Your face stays puzzled, “your uncle?” 

“Yeah,” Eddie chirps almost gleefully, “Took me to supper and then we went bowling! I’ve met him once or twice, seems cool.” 

“Cool.”

Eddie whispers loud, “Hey! I know some good ghost stories if you wanna have a sleepover?” 

“Um sure, okay.” 

You help Eddie arrange his room, placing the flash light on his bed and angling it towards the closet so he can find an afghan he swore was in there. 

When all was said and done his bed held a thin sheet and a frumpy couch pillow. A smile on his face as you sat side by side, backs pressed into the thin walls.  

Your voice was small when Eddie placed the flashlight under his chin, illuminating his face and casting shadows against the walls, your blankie tucked beneath your nose.  

 “Eddie, I—I changed my mind, don’t wanna hear any scary stories tonight.” 

“Yeah, ’course,” the flashlight falls between you to shine lazily on his dresser, and he hesitates a question that had been burning since you crawled through his window. 

“Clove, where's your mom? Didn’t see her car when we left, or when we got back.” 

Tears squish against your eyelashes as you try to stop them from falling, and your chin quivers. “Th—the store.” 

His voice is soft, “Is your dad home?”

You shake your head, pressing your face into the worn comfort of the thread bared blankie. A hand lays consciously on your back rubbing in a little circle between your shoulder blades. 

Eddie hadn’t had to comfort someone before he wasn’t even sure he was doing it right but he just kept trying. Hoping whatever he was doing would make it better. 

After a few minutes you perked your head up, wiping the wet from your eyes and looking at your friend with swollen eyelids.

“Do you know any happy stories?” 

Eddie’s lips stretched into a small smile as he leaned partly off his bed to find a cream paperback from his nightstand, “The Fellowship Of The Ring” written on the cover. 

He holds it towards you, “Wayne gave me this… I haven’t read it yet but he said it was good.” 

You nod your head, “okay.”

He wiggles his hips down into the blanket, and hands you the flashlight, clearing his throat he begins. 

“When Mr. Bilbo Baggins of Bag End announced that he would shortly be celebrating his eleventy-first birthday with a party of special magnificence, there was much talk and excitement in Hobbiton…..”

—

1989

“…wake up..”  

Bilbo was very rich and very peculiar, and had been the wonder of the Shire for sixty years, ever since his remarkable disappearance and unexpected return. 

“fuck, did you hear me?”

…The riches he had brought back from his travels had now become a local legend, and it was popularly believed, whatever the old folk might say…

The young boy’s reassuring voice morphs into a woman's panicked squeak. The warm arm that was buddied next to yours, the soft lumpy texture of your blankie, the Pert shampoo smell of the percale pillowcase drifted away like smoke from a fire. Traveling higher and higher into the sky until it blended with the atmosphere, weaving and connecting until it was nothing more than a euphoric elevated induced memory. 

You close your eyes to try to find your way back to Eddie. To hear him, see him, feel his voice booming in theatrics as he changed characters. The solace he brought you just by being him. 

A splash of something cold and wet hits your face causing you to gasp, sputtering from the passed out dream land you were in. 

“Oh my God! Shit, Clove! I almost called 9-1-1!” 

Veronica was standing before you with a glass in her hand, water dripping from the mouth of it, falling in unison with the ones from your chin, your hair. 

Her eyes were larger than the moon, staring down at you like she was looking at a ghost, a hand pressed to her chest in relief. 

“Cold,” you muttered, wrapping your fingers around your arms, teeth chattering. Looking out from the confined corner of the cooler, sheltered by cases of beer and an empty keg.  

“What are you even doing in here, thought you left already.” Veronica asked, lending a hand down to help you up. 

“Inventory,” you say motioning around you as if it was the most obvious thing in the world and she was being ridiculous for even asking. 

“Oh..” Veronica’s voice goes small, “you looked… dead.”

You chuckle to hide the shake in your voice, straightening your wet shirt. 

“Never heard of throwing water on the dead, but you’re into that weird voodoo shit so it makes sense.” 

Your joke falls flat. 

Her green emerald eyes let on that she's not stupid enough to think that you had just fallen asleep. Her eyes stare back at you and you roll yours, “swear I just got a little tired and sat down for only a minute, haven’t been sleeping much lately.” 

Veronica knew better than to challenge you. She was your friend, and like Jolene had done with you, you’d  taken Veronica in like a school pet, teaching her the do’s and dont’s of the industry. 

“Okay.” she says in defeat, and you lower your shoulders a bit to look relaxed.  “I thought you’d left already, Rick’s looking for you, he’s called twice.”

Shit.

—

Hawkins was quiet this late. And the drive to Rick’s house gave you just enough time to get your shit together. 

Eddie always came to you in your dreams but never that vividly before. It was almost as if it were real. Just two kids, finding solace in one another. 

God you’d give anything to go back to those simple days.

When the solution to being scared was just a few steps from your trailer found between the pages of a paperback book and the heart of a best friend who knew you better than you knew yourself. 

Books were a luxury, an easy way to escape reality when things were worse than they’d ever been. Outside of a car magazine in the bathroom and the black book that held numbers, dates and dollar amounts, your parents didn’t keep anything like that around, not even a cookbook. 

But the fantasies kept you company, kept you safe, and Eddie’s voice was like a lullaby, always keeping you grounded. 

It was simple when your demons weren’t fought alone. The armor Eddie wore then was scuffed and scarred by countless swords, its job of keeping you safe accomplished. 

But the armor was tossed aside and you had to put it on yourself—finding it heavy, digging at your shoulders, metal pinching your skin, bruising your body in places. The armor wasn’t made for you, it was made for him, the gaps between you bared yourself to the danger, and before long— the strength of the armor was challenged, broken down. 

Did he know? That you were defenseless? That the armor didn’t fit you? 

Rick’s house was dark when your headlights shone against the cedar plank siding. Steering wheel cranking to straighten your tires, rocks crushing against the concrete. 

Grabbing the nightly ledger and the tin lock box from the passenger seat, your door swings open with a grinding thud, and clanks back into place when you slam it shut. 

A single table lamp was glowing when you knocked with a tight grip on the front door. A cleared throat and the burning end of a cigar meet you on the porch, lounging in a wicker chaise. 

“I don’t like tardiness young lady.” leaning forward into the moonlight, Rick finally showed his face. 

The breath you were holding goes out in a shudder, but you plant one of your famous smiles on your lips and twist your body towards him, landing softly between his legs on the corner of the lounge chair. 

“I’m hardly younger than you are,” you tease, offering up the deposits like you’re bestowing him a gift. “b’sides, I’m not that late anyway.” 

“Tardiness and back talk?” He questions bitterly, “surely this won’t be a habit for you?” 

Grabbing the tin from you, his cologne burns your nose, a minty scent you’ve always hated. “You have enough little habits the way it is, niñita.” 

His thick fingers rattle a pill bottle out from his pocket, but keep it just out of your reach, as he counts the intake from the night. You waited silently as he thumbed through the large stack of money, looking over the ledger and ensuring that everything was all there and accounted for. 

The girls were allowed to keep their tips from the stage, but anything more than that.. other services that kept the laundromat in business with bedsheets, went to Rick. 

He leans back against the lounger when he’s satisfied,  setting the tin box down and carding fingers through his short brown hair. “Tommy stopped by tonight, had a lot to say about your little attitude problem.” 

fuck, Tommy has had it out for you since high school… but that’s a story for another day. 

“I guess I’m confused on who you think you are, Clove.” 

Cocking an eyebrow you shift your shoulders, “I know who I am.”

“You’re late, mouthing off, do you not remember the things I’ve done for you?” 

Of course you remembered, it wasn’t that long ago when you were made into his. Traded like a baseball card. One good for another. 

“Such a shy little thing when you came to me, but I taught you well bunny..” 

In all the time you had known him, Rick never raised his voice, and he didn’t now. His tone was almost formal, and he spoke with sophistication licked with malice that made your blood run cold. 

“…I-I know.”

His head cocks, and he leans forward, peering down at you. “You forget so easily how your life was before me…” he coos, running a finger along your jaw. “Would you like to go back to that?”

Not answering, Rick continues, “sharing a room with whatever loose pussy your daddy was fuckin’?” 

You shake your head, remembering countless times how your stuff would be ransacked with each new “talent” that had the misfortune of crossing paths with your old man. 

“Fending for yourself and your sister for weeks on end?” 

His fingers dig into the skin on your neck, pressing harder with each reminder, and you suck a breath through your teeth.

“Crying yourself to sleep hoping your whore mama would come back home…” his voice drops an octave and he whispers into your ear, the heat of his words itching your skin, “..or maybe you’re still waiting for that Munson loser to show up?” 

“Quit it,” the tears were welling in your eyes now.

“Aww, did I strike a nerve?” he holds your cheek, “that deal was the best thing to ever happen to you, but I'm afraid you’re starting to forget who you belong to.” 

“I’m not,” you blink, “I promise.” 

Rick’s eyes watch as the tear travels down your cheek.

“Maybe you have too much freedom, living in the apartment complex with the other girls?… Do you need to come back here? Have me treat you like you’re insubordinate and reckless?”

“N-no, plea—”

“Then why do I have to listen to that inbred spit complaints about you? Do you think I want people coming to my home?”

You shake your head, fingers working the hem of your skirt. He hooks a finger under your chin, making you look up at him.

“I thought my expectations were clear… or am I deceived?” 

Rick liked power, he got off on the idea of submissive relationships. Dominating weak and frail women was his main job, drug smuggling was a hobby. You’d been playing his game for years now, and you knew what he wanted to hear. 

Your hand skirts up his thigh and rests daintily, “I’m sorry, I understand my place…always have.”

Like any other dick driven man, Rick was easy to please. 

“Good,” his lips close around yours and your stomach rolls, the sickly sweet cigar he was smoking lingered and surrounded you in a clutch you couldn’t get away from. 

“Stay tonight,” a command not a question, “my flight leaves in the morning.” 

Looking in the window you notice his house is still dark, “what about Karen?” 

Rick places his hand on your lower back, guiding you towards the front door, “she's with her husband tonight, graduation party.” 

The pills rattle in his robe pocket, and the sound of them sets your teeth on edge, aching for the high. Rick’s hand engulfs the knob and he swings the door handle open, holding up a baggie filled with white powder, “what do you think little rabbit?” 

—

The highway was anything but quiet behind the rickety bricks of the motel walls. Semi engines braked loudly adjusting to the sudden speed limit change, teenagers squealing their tires out of town to impress their girlfriends. 

It was a mistake going to Forest Hills, what did he expect would come from it? You haunted him wherever he went, but being back home was a deeper kind of pain he hadn’t felt in years. 

A cricket played a lonely song in the corner of the outdated room, teasing him by being just out of reach, hidden away.

Watermarked ceiling tiles and a countless number of sheep later, the clock still hadn’t seemed to move. His eyelids showed him your face, the horror of realization when you recognized who he was. 

Pillow pressed into his eyes he couldn’t see anything else, and maybe he didn’t want to. 

He laid there motionless, bare chested in the chilled room, air conditioner broken on the coolest setting. Regret looming around him. 

Back then it was life or death. He didn’t have a choice, he wondered if you ever figured that out. He couldn’t tell you that then… probably not even now. 

He was a coward then. 

Sitting up he tossed the pillow across the room, folding his knees up to rest his forearms against them. Sleep wouldn’t come, not when your eyes were playing in his head whether he was awake or asleep. 

Your face. 

Something else was written between your brow when you saw him tonight, just a small flicker, a ripple to your eyes, but it was there— plain as day. 

Fear. 

—-

Rick had passed out next to you, his naked body slung over yours in some lame attempt of cuddling. You didn’t know how many lines you had done, or the number of shots you took, before stumbling in here. 

Didn’t remember the lick of his tongue in your mouth, the feel of his hands on your curves, your was body numb from the drugs and to him. All you remember is right now, waking in a puddle of tears, the taste of blood on your lips, your nose full of it. 

Peeling Rick’s limp form from you, you make for the bathroom connected to his master bedroom. Your reflection was horrific. blood dripped from your nostrils and coated your teeth, eyeliner dragged down your face like a halloween mask gone wrong. Your body, stark naked except for a purpling hickey on your collar bone, and white residue between your cleavage. 

You look away in disgust, hatred for the eyes that stared back from the mirror.  

It wasn’t uncommon for you to wake up like this. Having spent the better half of every night for the last seven years the same way. Reaching for his hand, watching him slip through your fingers. Voice hoarse from crying, yelling, screaming his name. 

Reaching for the plush hand towel Karen kept, you plop it into the sink and turn the faucet to hot, wetting it completely. 

“So I'm a stranger now huh?” 

Eddie’s words from early stuck with you long after you had left. Eddie fucking Munson. Seven years…No high or amount of time could ever make you forget his face. 

The pain was always there. You were only able to paint over it with each new high you could conjure. But no matter the number of brush strokes, no matter the opaqueness of the paint color, Eddie always showed through. Like a ghost in the background of a photo. 

The sink was nearly overflowing before you pulled the towel covering the drain, wringing the scalding water from it as you sat on the toilet lid and draped it over your face. The heated temperature having your skin raw and burning, a welcomed kind of pain.

Seven years and here he was, waltzing back into town like he hadn’t left you in shambles. Although him being back brought forth memories you wished would stop, seeing him alive and in the flesh settled a sore in your soul. 

It also dug up anger. And under the wet towel you saw red. 

Answers. That’s what you needed from him. You were just a kid then, you couldn’t understand, and maybe you still didn’t want to know why. But you craved to know, your mind gnawing at your skull to make sense of why he would decide to leave. 

You had adapted to your surroundings, learned how to survive. He couldn’t. He was weak and spineless, that’s what everyone had said, and after a while you believed it too.

Stronger than Eddie Munson had ever been, you kept going. Living this god forsaken life because you didn’t have a choice. 

You had your own place, a cute little two bedroom apartment. One you decorated to your liking. You had a job that paid your bills. You had someone that loved…someone that took care of you in ways you didn’t know were possible. 

You were different, and so was he. What did he have? Nothing. No one.

The towel dripped water onto your bare thighs, and you concentrated on that little tick rhythm until it picked up, sending water down in almost a wave. 

Maybe that’s how he wanted his life to be, maybe that was why he left in the first place. Maybe you were standing in his way the whole time like a roadblock.

You didn’t realize the heave of your chest, how your breathing was uneven and shallow, choking off. 

Then you heard it. The gut wrenching sobs coming from yourself. 

It didn’t work anymore. Quite frankly you wondered if it ever had. 

Pretending Eddie was an asshole and that you were better without him was the only way for you to deal with him leaving in ‘82. 

The lies you continued to tell yourself about Eddie were falling flat. Your brain could be fooled, but the space he lived in your chest couldn’t be coerced that easily. He was inescapable, nightmares or not, you yearned for the hours when he would visit you. 

In your dreams he was real. Still in Hawkins. 

Your sobs turned hysteric. Lungs burning with no reprieve as you felt the same loss and emptiness that burrowed in your chest seven years ago. 

Why? How could he leave without you? 

The towel fell with a slap to the floor. Your body slinked alongside it like a doll falling from a child’s fist. Hugging your naked body, you wept on the cold tile for an unknown amount of time. It wasn’t until dawn broke through the window and Rick’s alarm clock went off that your cheeks were finally dry. 

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#eddie munson #eddie x fem!reader #eddie x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #stranger things #eddie fan fiction #eddie fanfiction #eddie fanfic #stranger things fanfic

[steve-hen-grant]

Pas de deux (Jake Lockley x reader ) 🌙🩰

A/N: So! Kinda my first fic? Trying to exercise my writing skills. (You won’t believe how many times I had to just write “excersize” for autocorrect to save me.) So I hope y’all can enjoy the product of my practice!

In a previous post, I mentioned Jake crying while watching ballet. But what I meant to say was I had already developed a fic to this very concept. Needed the confidence to post it- which the reception to the first post got! It said Swan Lake, but for the plot’s conflict it’s Nutcracker.

Warnings: Fluff, mild comfort, reference to MK lore but you can pretend it isn’t, reference to Tchaikovsky mourning his sister, No use of Y/N, may be read as the POV of Layla, or yourself, mentions of Marc and Steven, no direct use of Spanish but reference to Jake speaking it, Reader may or may not know Spanish, it’s ambiguous this way for a self insert!, and again, my first full fan fiction. That is a warning. Surprisingly unserious. implied that narrator and the moon guys are visiting the US for this show.

Gender Neutral reader, but with uncomfortable formal shoes because they plague us all no matter

Word count: the word counter website broke so let me know when you get down there kk

You and Jake go to the Opera house in downtown Chicago. However, the loyal servant of the Moon God reacts unexpectedly…

Hours earlier, Jake struggled with his tie while I mulled over walking into the opera house together. His dark mustache furled as I helped arrange the black fabric and romanticized the pair of us strolling down the Chicago street: dressed to the nines, my arm in his, with the Christmas lights illuminating our path to the theater. Jake refused, mumbling something about how he didn’t want to make me walk longer in formal shoes than I had to. Knowing how I wouldn’t say anything, refusing to complain or burden the evening, until my Achilles tendons were shot by the time we got back to the hotel.

Among the three of them, Jake’s love language was having foresight to make life as accommodated and comfortable. But he forgets that he has a place in it.

Right now, in the brisk December evening, I trotted towards the warmly lit-refuge of the Civic Opera House. Jake dropped me off directly in front, rolling away to park his sleek Rolls Royce Phantom somewhere secure.

The exterior was like that of most concrete high-riser buildings. Though at ground level, in stark contrast, a sculpted arc entrance stood on the corner of the street. A light snow casted over the figures shaped into the stone. Tall preview posters displayed the principal dancer for the evening: the sugar plum fairy.

My pace towards the ticket booth was quick in the biting cold. The Opera house clerk smiled.

“Reservations under… Spector?”

“No- wait, yes. Yes.”

At my hesitation, I was rightfully earned a disconcerted expression. Marc must have booked the tickets. Before the words left her mouth, Jake appeared to save the day. Showing his- or Marc’s- ID. The clerk was satisfied and gave us two red tickets for entree. Jake took my arm in his, like a Highschool couple in a 50s movie. Between the regal opera house, the way he supports my arm, and opens the car door- truly old fashioned.

“Thanks, Marc,” I teased. He nudged me with his arm.

“Oh please, he made Steven book them,” Jake took off his gloves and stuffed them into his pocket. We handed our tickets off, and at last, we were on our way through marble floors and high ceilings to find seating.

Maybe that’s why we both enjoyed viewings in this specific opera house. It was completed in 1929, yet shined as brightly as ever. Velvet red fabrics and amber blown lights. If you weren’t careful, you could become easily motivated to write a romanticized novel.

In a world of my own, I don’t notice Jake looking over my face. But he wasn’t appreciating the interior of the architecture. Maybe the exterior of me.

Some hors d’oeuvres later, we situated in a balcony, closest to the stage. Jake insisted this would be ‘the best spot in the house’. From the balcony overview, patterns in the snow droplet’s sequence could be figured into the shape of snowflakes. Once again, Jake’s love language would make the evening special, by meticulous design. Jake’s prior knowledge of ballet was limited, yet his relationship to the music goes back.

No one would assume that, from what meets the eye. Even if you knew of his nightly servitude to Khonshu- there was less reason to believe he keeps a special mix of Tchaikovsky’s Greatest in his car’s dash. His work isn’t easy, and who doesn’t wind down to music? An avatar to the god of the moon is no exception.

Live orchestra has become a small thing for us. One that Marc chuffs at and Steven… would probably like to be apart of.

The elevated booth was tailored to the best view possible of the tilted stage. Below, forms of people moved to their seats, shed overcoats, and checked the time. Soon, the red curtains would pull apart to reveal the iconic home of the Stahlbaum’s, and delicate Clara center stage. It was a matter of time, and based on Jake’s mild leg bounce, not soon enough. I place a hand over his palm, steadying his nervous habit to a somber sway.

INTERMISSION

We returned to our secluded seats from the main area. Maybe or maybe not, pocketing some cheese squares and fancy crackers in napkins. Jake put his arm over the back of my seat and smirked, “You think I could do that?”

“Do what?”

“The dancing,” He grinned like a ferret. I pause for a moment to process the idea literally. You know what? Maybe. I’ve stayed in the car while Marc or Steven took care of their missions. From what I’ve seen, Moonknight is pretty agile. Mr. Knight is comparably a Gymnast. Making- often unnecessary- flips and turns over bullets and blades.

“Try asking Khonshu when you can take classes- conveniently between delivering justice.”

To which, Jake snickers. He takes his contraband-horderve from the lobby and speaks, “Oh yeah, it will happen. I’ll just borrow Steven’s tutu.” Jake looks aloft and grins, for a moment, it’s like I can hear his alter too.

“THOSE CLASSES WERE A ONE-OFF TIME!”

The second act. Clara and the Nutcracker prince have crossed the forest into a world of her childlike creation. Her and the prince are welcomed by flowers, candy, and snow. It seems like the defeat of the rat king would be the last of the room’s worries. Except for me.

Nearing a majestic finale, the nutcracker prince shares a dance with her majesty, the sugar plum fairy. He takes her hand and holds it, as her powder pink leg ascends. But this isn’t what Jake is thinking about. His eyes are hardly on the scene below, but he is paying attention to the music. The Nutcracker, Op. 71, Act II: No. 14a, Pas de deux. He holds his breath for a moment. A small gesture I might have missed if he didn’t drop my hand when he does so. I glanced at him, not wanting to disturb his fixation to the show.

And maybe I didn’t want to disturb the way his locks messily fell on his forehead and ears. He’s a gentleman, so he wouldn’t wear his hat into the event. But by removing it, the bunched hair underneath fell loosely. Marc and Steven were supposedly relentless about on the way downtown, if his passive looks to the rear view mirror meant anything.

Does a family of birds live in your hat, mate?

Cmon, Jake, everytime I get the body I have to run a comb through it.

After Jake lowered his hands from applause, he took mine in his again. As if he six whole minutes without it was too much. I press my thumb into his knuckles. He pulls my hand closer to him, holding it totally casually to his heart.

The Finale had wrapped up in a roar of an audience. The evening’s dancers made their bows and the orchestra had begun to pack up their bows and sheet music. Neither me nor Jake were one for crowds, but fortunately, the box seats were close enough to a flight of stairs that crew members likely took. We stood and peeked down the flight that turned around the ivory painted walls.

Jake held my arm and smirked, “Do you want to take a shortcut?”

I gave him a puzzled look. “That way? Are you sure there is an exit? We might get a meet and greet with the rat king,” I half-joke. Jake grins and his eyes light up at that risk.

My eyes narrow,

“You want to meet the rat king don’t y-“

“Yes.”

It’s Christmas. Might as well give Jake the gift of following through one of his mischievous schemes- together. Jake is laughing and throughly unserious as we move closer to the landing of the stairwell. I slide my hand down the glossy railing, “If we find this rat thing-“

“When. When we find the rat thing,” Jake interrupts.

I pause and continue, “Yes, my apologies. When we find the rat, are you going to valiantly slay it, and save me?”

Jake thinks for a moment, stopping on the stairs. He responds, “I’ve fought weirder.” I nod agreeably as we continue hand in hand. But he mumbled something I couldn’t hear, perhaps some Spanish intonations, but too low to react to.

But I had a pretty good idea what he meant to say out loud. Jake will show his affection in careful planning, a car ride anywhere, but not typically his words. In those tender instances where he has to resort to sweet nothings, he expresses it in Spanish. The words flow so naturally that they aren’t being filtered by a process of translation. Just his feelings, as they are.

I smile, and pull him into my arm tighter. It was more than likely he was protectively, lovingly ranting about how well he would protect me. How he would welcome the chance to prove it. In the dimly lit corridor we found ourselves in, we located an exit door and push it. I recall the December air and hold his arm closer.

Jake holds up his keys and presses down on his buttons. Immediately after leaving the back door, we are greeted by the flashing headlights of his car in a neighboring lot. Jake looks at my face of surprise and laughs, “You thought I was going to let you walk so far in those shoes?”

While in the car, on the way back to the flat, Swan Lake plays over the radio. I clutch my coat in the warm embrace of the car’s heating system. Jake is tapping his finger along while letting cars through, but he stops as the piece ends and the next begins. The Pas de deux. This time, I don’t miss my chance to ask. My hand grazes his leather coated arm, “You alright?” Jake keeps a deadpan look through the droplets on the windshield, blinking several times. I lean in a touch closer, “Jake?”

“Uhm, I just read where, you know, what’s-his-face, wrote this piece for his sister who passed. It uhm…” Jake, agitated by the way his mouth wants to curl into a grimace in front of me, lays his arm down in a finalizing gesture. He was done talking about it, not without losing clear vision while driving. I hold his gloved hand, and without thinking, hold it to his chest. His shoulders finally lowered. The light turned green. The music filling the gentle silence.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~🌙~~~~~~~~~~~~

#moon knight #jake lockley #steven grant #marc spector #jake lockely x reader #fluff #steven grant x reader #marc spector x reader

[adore-laur]

CRYSTAL SHOP BOY

— harry works at a crystal shop & falls hard for the sweet girl in a sundress 🔮

——

WEDNESDAY

It's a sun-drenched afternoon in St. Helena, California. Jade is visiting the quaint town for two weeks and staying with a friend she hasn't seen in a while. She decided to lodge at their place for the duration of the trip so she could spend more time with them before they went back to college for the fall semester. It's her second day here. She spent the entirety of yesterday unpacking and unwinding inside since the August heat left her deadbeat tired. 

Currently, she walks through the downtown area with her friend, looking for places to shop. Her mother's birthday is coming up at the end of the month, so she plans to find a special gift for her. She keeps an eye out for a spiritual shop that might hold remedial treasures.

It's unbearably humid, and Jade's frog bucket hat on her head does a mediocre job shielding her face from the sun's scorching rays. She readjusts the straps of her overalls as she strolls, regretting wearing denim since her sweaty skin is digging into the rough fabric. 

Her eyes squint into painful slits due to the sun directly facing her, and after another minute of thigh chafing and upper lip sweat, her sight lands on an intriguing shop with a purple and white striped roof. The letters pasted on the window read: The Crystal Shop.

Bingo. Right up her mother's alley.

Jade's mother has always been fascinated with the spiritual side of life, her brain full of astrological facts and drawers full of crystals that all have a specific purpose. Jade supposes it's only natural for herself to be interested in it, too. Her name is a gemstone, after all.

Grabbing her friend's arm, she stops them both in their tracks. "I need to get my mom something for her birthday," she says, nodding toward the shop. "This place seems cool."

"Sure, let's go," they reply while already halfway through the front door.

Jade jogs to catch up while admiring the shop's exterior. There's a huge display window with various expensive-looking necklaces, rocks, and crystals. She begins to worry that she might be unable to afford a single item. If so, she'll just have to buy the cheapest thing available. She knows her mom will appreciate the thoughtfulness that went into it.

The door is already propped open with a wooden wedge to provide easy access for customers and allow the summer weather to waft in. Jade suddenly feels a prickly wave of anxiety wash over her. She realizes that she has absolutely no clue what to look for. She just hopes a snobby employee who judges her lack of knowledge about crystals doesn't own the shop. She's been in that situation far too many times before with her mom.

Her friend is already inside, so she follows closely behind. They've always been more fearlessly outgoing than her, while Jade prefers observing instead of talking. She makes a mental note to have her friend ask an employee to help her find something worth buying.

Jade instantly feels the coolness from the air conditioning once she's inside, and it feels heavenly. She glances around, overwhelmed by the endless shelves and boxed displays of crystals, books, and tiny bottles of unknown liquids. This is way too advanced for her brain.

"Hello."

Jade jumps at the deep voice that comes from somewhere behind her. Spinning toward the back of the clustered room, she notices a boy with their back turned behind the cashier counter. He must work here. In fact, he's the only other person in the shop.

"Hi!" her friend says, smiling at the boy who has turned around.

She gets a full view of him. He's tall and has tousled brown hair that looks professionally styled to make it look like he just woke up. He has a child-like smile, his lips pulling into his mouth as tempting dimples dent both sides of his cheeks. His bright, green eyes dart between Jade and her friend before he looks down and fidgets with some loose crystals next to the cash register, with slender fingers adorned with several bulky rings.

With a delayed reaction, Jades politely smiles back at him even though he's not looking anymore. She then turns back around before she embarrasses herself by staring at him for too long. But he's so cute! And was that a cardigan she saw him wearing?

Jade takes a quick peek at his outfit. He's writing something down on a piece of paper now, his tongue poking out slightly in concentration. She surveys his cardigan. It's thin and black with two yellow flowers stitched on one side and a snake, star, and heart with an arrow through it on the other. Underneath it is a white graphic tee. The whole ensemble is oddly endearing. The boys Jade knows from college never dress like that.

She realizes that when the boy speaks, it sounds like he has a British accent. Now, there's really no chance she'll be able to talk to him without making a complete fool of herself. So, she joins her friend in the back of the shop, looking at what they have their eyes on. Their head is tilted as they read the titles of books snug together in a tall, mahogany bookshelf.

"I have no idea where to start," Jade mumbles, still overwhelmed by the amount of stuff in such a small shop.

"Just get her something she doesn't have yet," her friend replies while distracted by a book that seems to be about witchcraft. "Ask the employee what some good birthday gifts are."

"I am not asking him for help," she whispers tightly. She's trying to avoid embarrassment at all costs.

"Dude. Here, let me ask."

They walk to the counter before Jade can process what they just said. Her stomach drops. Sometimes, she wonders how she became friends with someone so unafraid of social interaction. It makes her envious. Meanwhile, she gets nauseous when ordering at a restaurant.

Swallowing hard and facing away from them, Jade distracts her nerves by running her fingers along the book spines and pretending to be interested.

"Hey," she overhears her friend saying to the boy. "Sorry to bother you. My friend over there needs a birthday present, and she's struggling with what to get. She needs something for someone who's into spiritual stuff."

Jade continues to purposely act nonchalant, but it only lasts so long before she turns around out of sheer terror that she's being watched. The employee's eyes are on her when she looks up. He smiles shyly before walking around the counter and toward her. She's going to hurl.

She puts her hands behind her back, nervously fiddling with her fingers and trying to appear calm even though she's on the verge of passing out. The humidity coming in through the open door isn't helping her case. The man walks in long strides toward her, and he eventually gets close enough so that she can see a name tag pinned to his cardigan — Harry.

It's written with messy handwriting in black marker. There's even a smiley face, leading Jade to believe he wrote it himself. Can this guy get any cuter? He stands next to her right, her friend on her left. Being in the middle is making her tense.

Jade decides to be confident and peer up at him. "Hi," she says, barely audible. "Thanks for helping me."

"Yeah, of course," he replies kindly, rubbing his hands together. The slight clinking of his rings has Jade subtly glancing down at them. She notices a small cross tattoo on his left hand.

Pushing down her nerves, she bravely chooses to start speaking to him. She can't stand awkward silences, no matter how much she dreads being the one to fill them. "Um, like my friend said, I don't know much about this stuff. I'm looking for something nice for my mom's birthday. If you could just point me in the right direction, that'd be great."

Harry nods and taps the front of his shoe on the wooden floor twice. "Well, usually a nice gift is something homemade, you know? And this place has tons of things like that, so I guess we could head over to the naturally-made section to see if anything sticks out to you?"

Jade puts her hand out for him to lead the way. He clears his throat before walking over to a shelf by the window, and she stops next to where he stands, taking in the wide range of lip balms, essential oils, and candles organized neatly in front of her. The smell is overwhelming but in a pleasant way. She reaches out to pick up a random bottle of what looks like an essential oil and turns it around in her hand to read the back — frankincense.

"My mom would like this," she says, skimming the lengthy list of complex ingredients. "Maybe a type of oil to put in a diffuser or something. She has sleeping problems, so is there an oil that could help with that?"

Harry picks up a tiny bottle with a purple label and twists the cap. "I would say lavender is your best bet. It's scientifically proven to help with relaxation and sleep. Smells lovely, too."

She moves her nose to the bottle and takes a sniff. "Wow, that's really nice. I think she'd love that. Thank you."

"Not a problem." He fiddles with the sleeves of his cardigan. He must be sweating in that thing. "Is there anything else either of you needs help with?"

Jade looks at her friend, and they casually shake their head. "No, I think that's all," she says, fixing the strap on her overalls that slid past her shoulder. "I'm ready to check out."

"Cool," he whispers, quickly shuffling over to stand behind the register.

"I'll be waiting outside," her friend calls out, already out of the shop. "I want to look at the stores on the other side of the street."

Jade lightly rolls her eyes at their antsy nature. Harry releases a breathy laugh while scanning the lavender oil and putting it in a brown paper bag. He writes his name on it with a permanent marker, then adds a small smiley face. He must do that for every customer. That's sweet.

He taps a few things on the register screen, scratching his jaw. Jade hasn't even noticed his nails, which are painted with chipped red polish.

"That'll be $8.23, please."

Jade takes nine singles from her pocket and slides them across the counter, admiring the crystals and stones on display.

"Thank you," he says while gently grabbing the money from her and opening the register.

He skillfully takes out her needed change, shaking it a little before holding it toward her. She cups her palms so he can place the loose change in them. His hand briefly brushes against hers as the coins fall into her grasp. One corroded penny accidentally drops onto the counter during the transaction.

"Oops," Harry murmurs, picking it up and pinching it between his fingers before handing it to her again. "Sorry 'bout that."

"That's okay," Jade assures while putting the loose change in her pocket. "Thanks again for the help."

"My pleasure," he says, rolling up his sleeves. "Um, before you go, is this your first time shopping here?"

"It is, yes. I'm not from around here. I'm staying with my friend, and we're checking out all the downtown shops today."

Did that count as flirting? Is having a normal conversation with a boy she'll never see again considered flirting for her now? She's reached a new low.

"Oh, cool. So... there's this thing we do if someone's a first-time customer. We give them a free crystal with their purchase." Harry removes a shallow cardboard box filled with translucent crystals from under the counter. "You can pick one out if you'd like."

"That's so nice! I'd love to." Jade grabs a random, pink-colored one. "This place is so cute, by the way."

"Yeah?" Harry says with a surprised smile, putting the box away. He flicks his finger under his nose before saying, "Um, I really like your bucket hat."

She watches him point his finger at her head. She reaches up, suddenly remembering she's wearing a frog bucket hat. Her cheeks grow hot. He complimented it, though, so why is she getting embarrassed?

"Thanks," she says meekly, pulling her hat down further. "I like your cardigan."

Looking out the window, Jade realizes she should get going. "I'm gonna go before I lose my friend." She takes the paper bag and crystal. "Thanks for the oil and free souvenir. I'll try and come back again this week sometime to buy something for myself."

"Cool, yeah. I'll be here. Well, I'm always here. It's my job, obviously. I work here almost every day, so you'll probably see me. I'm rambling, sorry." Harry glances down with a pink tint to his cheeks. "Uh, have a good day."

Her face warms as she nods and waves farewell, walking out the door and into the sun.

When Jade arrives at her friend's apartment a few hours later, she sets the paper bag down on the kitchen island. She opens it and takes the lavender oil out to wrap it for her mom, but she feels two extra items at the bottom when she reaches inside. Her heart pounds as she lays them in her palm.

A 20% off coupon redeemable for any book in the shop.

And a tiny green frog sticker.

                                           ——

                                    SATURDAY 

Harry arrives for his weekend shift at six in the morning, an entire hour before the shop even opens. He does it to give himself time to set things up and have a few peaceful moments.

After unlocking the front doors, he leaves them open for another beautiful summer day. He picked out a pastel yellow cardigan with dark, horizontal stripes to wear this morning. It's a little itchy, but it was a gift from his aunt, so he doesn't mind it too much. It's thrown over a plain white shirt, and he tops the look off with a pair of black sunglasses atop his head, knowing he'll be done working when the sun is at its prime brightness. He also wants to walk down to the beach for ice cream before visiting his mother for dinner at her house.

His eyes are still puffy from a rough night's sleep, so he heads to the back room and starts making himself a coffee. He sets his black leather purse down and starts the Keurig machine, looking at the array of flavors he can choose from. He decides on the lavender and honey and inserts the cup in the slot. He grabs the mug he keeps under the counter, a baby blue one with a chick hatching out of an egg on it, then sets it on the machine's tray. While his coffee is brewing, he returns to the front to set up the register and ensure nothing was left a mess from whoever closed the store last night. He scratches his stomach, feeling full of the vegan donuts he ate before he left. He needs to stop buying them from the lovely old lady who works at the bakery a couple blocks away. Otherwise, he'll need to start working out.

Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, Harry slowly walks back to collect his steaming mug of aromatic coffee. He enjoys the quiet mornings when it's just him working. His manager is more behind the scenes, handling the financial and promotional aspects. It's early, so usually, it's pretty slow and only gets busy in the afternoon. Luckily, he gets off at one-thirty, so he won't have to suffer through the tourist rush.

Most days, when he opens the shop, it can take over an hour before the first customer comes waltzing in. That means he can do crosswords or read one of their stocked books. There are also instances where his cousin will bring her three-year-old daughter to the shop when she needs a babysitter for the day. Harry gladly watches her, letting her roam the area. He lets her scribble drawings in the back room on stray pieces of paper he finds lying around the shop.

He genuinely likes his job. It's peaceful, and he meets kind people every day. And what better way to feel safe than to be surrounded by thousands of crystals?

Harry whistles a tune, holding his mug in one hand and a No. 2 pencil in the other, when he suddenly hears footsteps coming through the front doorway. He turns around in curiosity and feels a bizarre mixture of emotions when he sees the girl who stopped by with her friend last Wednesday—the one who wore a frog hat, complimented his cardigan, and made him feel like a teenage boy again.

Closing his crossword book, he says, "Hi. Sorry, I wasn't expecting anyone. We don't open for another" — he checks his leather wristwatch — "half hour."

He begins clearing everything off the counter. He's got the daily newspaper spread open, a container of blueberries that he bought from the farmer's market down the street to snack on throughout his shift, and a cardboard box of rose quartz that was delivered last night that Carol, his most forgetful co-worker, didn't stock like she was supposed to.

"Oh, my bad," she says quietly, a slight rasp noticeable in her voice. "I was up early and decided to visit before my friend woke up. I can leave if you're still opening."

"No, you're fine. I find things to pass the time when no one's here. I'm glad you're my first customer of the day."

He's desperately trying to come across as confident and unfazed even though a pretty girl is in front of him wearing a sundress.

"Okay, good." She nervously laughs and looks around. "Um, I'm just now realizing I don't know what to buy. I came because, I don't know, it's really comforting in here, and I didn't know if you'd be working today, but you are, so I think I'll hang out for a bit before I have to go back to my friend." She releases a heavy exhale of air before sheepishly adding, "They don't know that I left."

Harry stares at her, hopelessly mesmerized. She came to hang out because she felt comfortable. Harry thinks he might be in love.

"No worries." He pauses before laughing, lightly smacking his forehead with his palm. "I just realized I don't know your name."

"I'm Jade."

What a coincidence. It's the perfect name for charming someone in a crystal shop.

"Jade," Harry repeats, smirking and turning around to secretly grab something. "You wouldn't perhaps know anything about this little thing right here, would you?"

He holds a green gemstone between his fingers. Jade stifles a smile, knowing exactly what he's doing. She may not be an expert at identifying crystals and gemstones, but her name is Jade. Thanks to her mom, she obviously knows what the gemstone looks like and basic facts about it.

She matches his sudden confidence by replying, "I believe that's a jade stone, Harry. Symbolizes luck, I think? Also increases love and nurturing."

Harry blows a low, impressed whistle while putting a hand on his hip. "I mean, shit, do you want to switch spots and take over the rest of my shift?"

Smiling amusedly, she quips, "That was the extent of my knowledge about gems, so probably not the best idea. I think I'll leave it to the expert."

His tired eyes brighten as he looks at her. "Well, the least I could do to thank you for keeping me company is give you this," he says, sliding the jade stone across the counter towards her. "I think it only makes sense for you to have it.

Jades takes it, feeling how smooth the surface is, before putting it in the breast pocket of her dress. "Trust me, my mom has given me plenty. You would think she's a dealer or something."

Harry sputters a boyish laugh before taking a sip of his coffee. "Consider that one special, then."

She can smell a familiar scent from his coffee but can't quite place her finger on it. She checks the time on her phone, seeing it's almost eight. She doesn't want to bother Harry, especially if customers are going to start coming in. She also needs to get back to the apartment in case her friend magically wakes up earlier than expected and calls the police because she decided to talk to the cute crystal shop boy she's only just met. Oh God, she's going to sound crazy.

"Thank you. I'll make sure to keep it safe."

"You're very welcome, Jade."

She perks up, suddenly remembering the extra stuff he put in her bag on Wednesday. "By the way, the coupon and sticker you gave me were thoughtful. You didn't have to do that."

Harry flushes under his cardigan, completely forgetting about his spontaneous decision to give her additional goodies because he thinks she's lovely. He's also scared he'll never see her again; if that's the case, he wants to leave an impression.

And speaking to her now, he realizes he quite likes her company.

Clearing his throat, Harry scratches the back of his neck and says, "I, uh... I don't know. You were a nice customer, and I just wanted to give you something nice back." He's only partially lying. "I have animal stickers I keep here when my niece visits, and I happened to have a frog one. Figured you would get the reference."

"I did. You're adorable."

Lord above, did she actually just say that out loud?

Harry inhales sharply in shock, rolling his lips inwards so much that his dimples pop out from trying to hold back a smile. His tongue pokes his cheek, and he can't help but break out into a full smile. He feels a rush of giddiness that begs him to be bold and seize the opportunity.

"Sorry—"

"Hey, I—"

They both start talking and clamp their mouths shut at the same time. Jade nods for him to go first, not wanting anything stupid to come out of her mouth again.

Harry fidgets with his necklace and says, "I get off work at one-thirty today, and I know you need to get back to your friend, but if you're not busy, I was going to walk down to the beach and get some ice cream. Do you... would you like to come with me?"

Jade almost chokes. This attractive boy wearing a fuzzy cardigan in ninety-degree heat wants to take her for ice cream. Her friend would be deranged to be mad at her for going.

"I would love to. I'm sure my friend wouldn't mind." She anxiously nibbles on her bottom lip before continuing, "Um, I can meet you back here at one o'clock? I could get some lunch from a nearby restaurant if you want?"

"That's perfect. A couple of stores down to the right is a nice sandwich shop called Gott's Roadside. I can text you my order before you get there."

"Yeah, great! Here, let me write my number down somewhere."

Harry doesn't hesitate to lift the cash register to grab a loose-leaf sheet of paper he keeps under it for emergencies, then tears a small section off. He picks up the pencil he used for his crossword and hands it to her. Jade scribbles her cell phone number, adding a smiley face at the end before sliding the paper scrap back to him.

"Cool," he says, his hands clammy with anticipation.

Jade smiles. Is this a date? Is she dreaming? "I'll see you in a few hours with our sandwiches. I'll bring my frog hat."

"Can't wait," he replies, pushing his hair back. "And tell your friend I said hi, yeah?"

"I will. Have a good rest of your shift, Harry."

"I have sandwiches, ice cream, and a frog hat on your head to look forward to," he says, cradling his chin in the palm of his hand. "I'm pretty sure it's going to be good."

She feels her heart speed up as she waves goodbye and walks outside with a skip in her step.

——

When noon rolls around, Harry decides to text Jade his order. When she left, he put her number in his phone and refrained from texting her about the strange customers he encountered earlier. He doesn't know if she'd think it's annoying of him.

He waits until there's no one in the store, everyone most likely out for lunch, before sending a text.

Hi, it's Harry. I would like the grilled pesto chicken sandwich with a side salad. There's a fridge with drinks in the back room, so don't worry about getting me one. Thank you :)

Locking his phone, he resumes his crossword puzzle, but his mind drifts. He thinks about changing his outfit before Jade comes back, knowing the cardigan he wears now will make him sweat bullets under the sun. He obviously can't leave the shop unattended, so he texts his mother and asks if she can bring him his white tank top and patchwork cardigan from the house as soon as possible. It'll be breezy by the beach, so a loose cardigan will be better. He also asks her if she can bring his Polaroid camera. He wants to capture some memories of how beautiful today is.

Once his string of panicked texts is sent, he starts thinking about Jade again. She mentioned she'd wear her frog hat, which he really likes. He realizes he's whipped when he considers buying one for himself. There must be a store around here that sells them. Or is that too weird of a thing to do? Now he's panicking tenfold.

Harry likes her. He likes her so much that he says screw it and picks up the company phone without a second thought. He begins flipping through a free pamphlet for tourists listing the shops downtown in St. Helena, looking for nearby accessory stores. After four phone calls with managers, he gets the answer he wants. A souvenir shop two blocks away says that they have some in stock. He plans to run down there quickly when his mother comes with his clothes. She's visited enough times to be able to handle any customers.

It's a quarter to one when she rushes in with his clothing and camera. She doesn't question why he needed them so suddenly. Harry lies to her and says he needs to pick up a store delivery, and she lets him go after telling him she'll help him finish his crossword while she waits.

He's speed-walking to the accessory shop, his eyes glued to the directions pulled up on his phone. When he turns the final corner, he gets a text message from Jade.

Hi, sorry I didn't get back to you right away. I was swimming, so I wasn't on my phone. I'm leaving in about five minutes to get our lunch! I'll bring sunscreen and a blanket so we can eat by the beach <3

Harry grins and replies with a casual See you soon.

After five minutes of looking for a frog hat in some dingy souvenir shop, he buys a green one that looks just like her yellow one. He stuffs it in his purse so his mother won't see what a hopeless romantic he is, then quite literally jogs back to the crystal shop. Once he's inside, his mother leaves with a kiss on both of his cheeks. Harry goes to the back room, and since no customers are lingering around, he changes into his tank top and the other cardigan. The sporadic green patches on it will go nicely with his new bucket hat of the same color.

It's a little after one o'clock, and he assumes Jade is getting the sandwiches. In the meantime, he goes into the employee bathroom to double-check how he looks. His denim flare jeans and white sneakers are sticking to his skin because of the summer heatwave, but he doesn't have time for an outfit dilemma. With a deep breath, he tousles his hair and tucks his sunglasses in the front of his shirt.

He's ready.

Harry returns to the front and cleans up for when the person working the next shift comes in. It's helping distract from his nerves. He just wants this to go well. They'll eat, get ice cream, talk, and maybe hold hands. Right? Is that how dates play out?

Okay, he's not ready. He needs some good luck.

Opening a glass display case under the counter, he grabs a tiny citrine crystal that can be attached to a necklace chain. Citrine is known to strengthen self-esteem and bring about positive energy, so he takes a stray chain, hooks the golden crystal on it, and then pulls it over his head.

"This better work," he murmurs to himself.

His phone suddenly vibrates, and he sees that Jade texted him that the food will be ready in another couple of minutes. That's okay. He has time to hype himself up and daydream about her. Will she be in a different outfit? Will her hair be damp from swimming? Will she still have the jade stone he gave her in her pocket?

It's twenty after one when Carol walks into the shop to start her shift. She may be forgetful, but she comes in early sometimes so Harry can get out an extra few minutes early. She smiles at him and heads straight to the back. Harry stuffs his Polaroid camera in his pocket and puts on the frog hat. He feels foolish now that he thinks about it. How does one pull off a frog hat and rainbow cardigan? He prays that Jade will appreciate his efforts.

Kissing the citrine crystal for luck, he grabs a water bottle and his wallet and clocks out. He prints off the sales receipt for the morning shift and signs his name. After that, he passes Carol, who is sweeping the floor and humming to herself, and sends a little wave before leaving and standing against the wall outside to wait for Jade.

Ten minutes pass until Harry hears a gasp come from his right. He looks over to see Jade holding the food bag in one hand and her bucket hat, sunscreen, and a plaid picnic blanket in the other. She's wearing a different dress than earlier, this one with tiny blue flowers on it. Her hazel eyes are fixated on the hat atop his head, and he can't stop himself from blushing like a blooming rose.

"No way!" she says, walking up to him. "I didn't know you had one!"

He smiles awkwardly, feeling a smidge better now that she seems to like his last-minute decision. "Um, I really like yours, so I thought I'd get one for myself to match. I bought it at a shop around here, like, thirty minutes ago."

Jade pouts at the sweet gesture. "You're so adorable." She holds out the plastic bag. "Here's the food. It took forever, but it smells delicious."

"You're just on time," he replies, offering his elbow to her. "Shall we? I can carry everything."

She hands him the two bags and carries the rest by herself. Putting on her bucket hat, she loops her arm around his elbow to start walking. She looks him up and down, taking in his outfit. She had been so caught off guard by his hat that she didn't even notice his colorful, oversized patchwork cardigan.

She leans into him and confesses, "You look really handsome, by the way. I love your style."

Harry glances down at her, smiling softly. "Thank you. You look so pretty."

Jade shyly scrunches her nose at him before peering out at the street. As the beach comes into view, she boldly moves her arm out of his hold and wraps her hand around his, the coolness of his rings feeling nice against her skin. Harry's eyes fall to where their hands meet, and he squeezes them together. His red nail polish contrasts with her baby blue polish, and he admires how small her hand feels in his. He rubs his thumb over her knuckles as the pavement turns into sand, and he guides her to where they have to pay to access the beach, his hand slipping from hers to reach into his pocket for his wallet. Jade doesn't try to argue about him paying since she willingly paid for lunch. It's only fair.

After Harry pays, he takes her hand in his again and leads her through the entrance to find a spot to sit. It's a little busy with the weekend, so he takes her to an area away from the water where the long grass and coastal flowers grow. Jade begins unfolding the picnic blanket and then spreads it out. She sits with her legs crossed and starts putting sunscreen on. Harry gets comfortable beside her and removes his shoes before rolling the hem of his jeans up slightly.

"Do you mind getting my shoulder blades for me?" Jade asks, passing him the bottle of sunscreen.

Harry makes a twirling motion with his pointer finger to get her to turn around. She faces away from him and shifts her hair to one side, waiting for his hands to touch the bare skin of her back, but it takes a while, so she turns her head to glance at him. She sees him remove his rings one by one before putting a dollop of sunscreen in his palm.

Then, unexpectedly expected, she feels his hands on her shoulder blades moving in soothing circles. The warmth of his hands and the coolness of the lotion is almost erotic. His hands are so big. Only one of them takes up half of her upper back.

After another few tension-filled seconds, Harry lightly scratches the top of her spine to indicate he's done. She thanks him before settling next to him and sliding her sandals off. She then grabs her bag of food and unpacks the sandwich that she got along with a side of fries. Harry does the same, already diving into his salad. The sound of people talking and waves crashing is peaceful.

Jade is fully aware that her legs are almost touching his, and she desperately wants to make some type of flirty move. Well, there's nothing quite like the art of subtlety, so she casually reaches up for his bucket hat to switch it with hers. She puts his green one on and then puts her yellow one on his head, feeling more content around him with each second that passes. Harry just smiles cutely while shoving a crouton in his mouth.

Feeling even more daring now, Jades picks up a fry and holds it to his lips. He gently grabs her wrist as she feeds it to him, feeling his fingers squeeze her pulse point. He chews slowly, his jaw flexing attractively.

"Good?" she asks while scooting a little closer.

He hums an affirmation, smirking at her. Reaching over his lap, Jade steals one of his croutons, her arm brushing against his stomach. She swears she feels it tense. Harry notices she's getting more comfortable with him, so he takes his Polaroid camera out of his back pocket. She gasps, nonverbally asking if she can use it by wiggling her fingers towards it like a toddler. He laughs and hands it to her. One of his arms rests behind her, the other resting limp on his thigh.

Jade starts by taking a picture of the sparkling lake in front of her. The camera spits a Polaroid out, and she sets it face down on the blanket to dry. She then aims the lens to an arguably even more beautiful view. Harry throws up a peace sign with a closed-lip smile, dimples carving his reddened cheeks. After setting that one down to dry, she turns the camera around to aim at their faces. She leans in and presses her cheek against his as best she can with a bucket hat on. They both smile widely as she captures the moment.

Harry takes the camera from her after it develops and mimics the same position, both their faces hopefully in the frame. Before he presses the button, though, he turns his head and presses the gentlest kiss to Jade's dewy cheekbone. His lips feel warm and plush as the flash goes off, and he quickly takes the photo to look at it. Jade rests her head on his shoulder, pressing a light kiss to it. He wraps his arm around her and puts his leftover salad in the bag and her garbage. His other hand faces up on his leg, and she doesn't hesitate to play with his slender fingers.

"I haven't felt this relaxed in a while," Harry softly breaks the silence, looking ahead at the water.

"Me too," she says. "You're a really calm person. Like, your energy relaxes me naturally. And you're not too shabby of a person to look at."

He playfully scoffs and pinches her side. "Excuse me, I didn't run to the nearest store and buy a froggy hat to match you for you to say I'm not too shabby to look at."

"I kid, I kid. You look like an absolute dream, Harry."

"Yeah? You're looking like a dream yourself, Jade."

She pecks his cheek and stands up to grab the garbage bags and sunscreen. Harry also stands, putting his rings back on and folding up the blanket while putting his camera back in his pocket. He dusts the sand off his jeans and picks up his shoes, opting to walk barefoot to the ice cream shop not too far away.

Standing behind Jade, he bends down to dust the sand off the back of her legs. He then grabs the pictures and her sandals, giving her a look that asks if she's going to put them back on. She shakes her head and reaches out to grab them, but he pulls them out of her reach and simply interlocks his fingers with hers instead. He guides her back up the path where they came from, swinging their arms dramatically to get her to laugh.

Jade sneakily grabs the Polaroid camera from his pocket and aims it at him. "Smile like the dream you are." When he looks at her and smiles naturally, she brings the camera close to photograph his left dimple. "I'm framing this," she says, waving the Polaroid.

"Give me that," Harry says, letting go of her hand to pull the camera from her grasp. "Need something to frame, too."

She complies, wondering what he could have up his sleeve. He stops walking and puts two fingers behind her head to make bunny ears. She gives him a flat look with narrowed eyes while he joyously clicks the button, and then he hides the developed picture in his cardigan pocket.

"You are so funny, you know that?" Jade says sarcastically. "A true comedian. You should do stand-up at the shop."

Harry walks ahead of her and boyishly laughs twice, the second one slightly higher-pitched and longer than the first one. It makes Jade's heart flutter.

"Honestly, mate," he says, "I think you're right. You'll never meet anyone funnier."

"Do not call me mate!"

"No? What about lad?"

"Stop."

"Bro?"

"Absolutely not."

"What if I called you another gemstone? Amethyst? Topaz?"

"I'm getting ice cream," she says lightheartedly, striding ahead to the blue building just off the beach. She takes off the bucket hat on her head, feeling hot.

"We were already on our way there, darling."

Jade stops dead in her tracks. Darling.

Seconds later, she hears him behind her, his hands dropping everything so he can tilt her chin. She's looking at him upside down now, his fingers cradling her face as his thumbs stroke her temples.

"Liked that one?" he murmurs softly. Jade nods in his gentle grasp. He smiles, pinching both of her cheeks. "I'll keep that in mind," he says before sauntering toward the ice cream shop.

Jade grumbles behind him, feeling flustered. Harry tilts his head back to look at her and gives her a smirk. In return, she gives him the middle finger, and he makes a heart with his hands. With a huff, she sits under an umbrella at a nearby table, trusting him to order something she'll like. After a few minutes, he sits across from her, holding two cones — one blue moon and one cookies and cream. She takes the blue moon scoop from him and takes a lick. A shiver runs throughout her body.

Harry bites down on his, and she cringes. It also makes her strangely endeared. "What?" he asks with his mouth full.

"Nothing. Stop being annoying."

"What did I do?"

He's not understanding her frustration with his apparent nature of how cute he's being.

"You're just... different. I hate saying that, but you're so sweet and funny. And cute. It's annoying."

He stares at her longingly before saying, "Thanks, mate. Cheers."

"You know, I've had enough of your British humor."

That's a lie. Jade could listen to him talk about the ingredients in a salad, and she would listen on the edge of her seat.

"I'm kidding," he says, nudging her foot lightly under the table. "That's kind of you to say. I think the same things about you; however, I don't find it annoying. It makes me want to kiss you, actually."

Leaning across the table, Jade plucks the hat off his head and sets it down on the table. Then, she reaches her other hand out to wipe a small remnant of ice cream on the corner of his mouth. Harry clears his throat. There's no one around them, and he'd be a fool to waste his chance.

"I know almost nothing about you," he starts, his voice gentle, "but I would really like it if I could take you out again sometime. We can learn more about each other, talk about anything and everything, and go anywhere you'd like."

She feels like she's in a summer fantasy with her dream boy, and she has to pinch her arm under the table to make sure it's real and not a figment of her imagination. Setting down her finished ice cream, she stands up to slide around the table and sits beside him. She cradles both of his warm cheeks and kisses his forehead. She does it again for good measure, pushing back the curls falling over his eyes.

He blesses her with that same frog-like smile that makes her heart falter. She pokes her thumbs into his dimples and says, "You're so cute. Stop it. Stop being cute."

Harry moves his head slightly to kiss her palm. "Can't help being an absolute dream all the time," he says dramatically. "It's exhausting, mate."

She rolls her eyes and tickles his sides so that he squirms. "If I recall, you said you'd remember that I liked it when you called me darling,"

"Gotta kiss me first."

Jade purses her lips to keep a massive smile from taking over her face. "Seems fair," she whispers. "Come with me."

Standing, she takes his hand and heads towards a more private place, throwing away their cones. Harry stumbles behind her, still barefoot and riding the high of flirtatious affection. Eventually, she leads him to a flower field past the beach that's completely empty of people. A cypress tree shades the area, so they go behind it, shielded from everyone and everything.

Harry leans his back against the trunk, setting down his shoes and the blanket. He holds his hands out, waiting for Jade to step into him. She puts her stuff down, too, and wipes her clammy palms on her dress, then slowly takes both of his hands and moves toward him. He's taller than her, so she reaches up to cradle his face again, her new favorite thing to do, and guide his face down to hers. She stares at his green eyes with her lips brushing against his. Softly and with ease, she captures his bottom lip in her mouth. Harry lets her take the reins, the only movement he grants himself being his hands gravitating to her wrists that hold his blushing cheeks. He grips them not too tight, rubbing his thumbs along the inside.

When Jade pulls back for air, Harry chases her lips for another kiss. He initiates it this time, kissing her top lip before delicately enveloping her bottom lip. He inhales through his nose when she kisses him back, and a weak groan crawls up his throat. Six seconds go by before she pulls back again, only for a moment, and then takes him by surprise by using her tongue to dive into his mouth, parting his already swollen lips even more. His tongue fits over hers, kissing her deeply for a little longer. She tastes sweet from the ice cream.

Harry needs to breathe, so he stops before getting too far ahead and blissfully smiles at her. They inhale and exhale heavily, glancing between each other's lips.

"Fuck's sake," he says, pulling her in for a hug.

Jade giggles. She sticks her hands into his back pockets and sways with him while he kisses her hair and sets his hands on her shoulders.

"Can I walk you home?" he asks, brushing his thumb along her collarbone.

"Of course."

Harry kisses her again before intertwining her fingers with his. He slips his shoes back on, and Jade does the same. They pick up their remaining belongings. Once everything is packed, they walk away from the beach. She tells him where her friend's apartment is, and it takes ten minutes before the building comes into view. Harry walks up to the front door, and they stand across from each other.

"I had so much fun today," Jade says, taking her — Harry's — bucket hat off. "Everything was perfect."

"Yeah?" Harry scratches under his eyebrow. "Well, I don't work Sundays, so we can text and make plans for next week if you're not sick of me yet."

"I'm not sick of you yet. Text me tomorrow. I've got nothing going on."

"Sweet. I have to go to my mum's house for dinner, so... I have to leave, unfortunately."

"Go ahead. I won't keep you any longer."

"I'll see you soon," he tells her. "Thanks for today. I had a wonderful time."

"Here's your hat back," she says, holding it out.

Harry shakes his head with a smile. "Keep it. I'll keep yours. We can give them back when we see each other next."

She laughs. "What a clever way to keep me around."

He hands her the blanket and the pictures he put in his pocket. "Are you sure you don't want them?" she asks, taking them and seeing the one of his dimple on top.

"We can share," he says, rolling up the sleeves of his cardigan. "The next time I see you, I'll take them for the day."

Jade bites her lip before saying, "You're on a roll today. And I was serious, by the way. I'm framing the dimple one."

He beams at her, and Jade sets everything down on the bench by the door so she can kiss him. "I'll see you very soon," she whispers.

"Bye, Jade." Harry leaves with one last kiss before walking down the sidewalk. Once he turns the corner, he rubs the citrine crystal against his chest with a giddy smile on his face the entire way back.

                                           ——

                            FIVE YEARS LATER

Harry has been at the shop for an hour, setting things up for the day. Coffee is brewing, the smell of peppermint wafting to the front. Candles are lit, and delightful whiffs of cinnamon are in the air. 

It's November, so it's always chilly in the morning. His baby blue sweater with a hatching chick on it keeps him warm. He got it as a gift when he was promoted to shop manager since the previous owner knew he had a mug that looked just like it.

It's definitely going to be slow since it's a random Tuesday in autumn. The streets are quiet, and a grey gloom darkens the sky. The shop doesn't open for another forty-five minutes, but he still likes the extra time, so he grabs his hot coffee and takes out his crossword puzzle book. Sitting on the rickety wooden stool behind the register, he blows away the steam from his #1 Dad in St. Helena mug.

He's whistling "Wild Heart" by Stevie Nicks to himself while rhythmically tapping his pencil against the counter when the bell above the front door suddenly chimes. He doesn't need to look up to know who it is. Baby babbles give it away, and he softly smiles as he finishes filling in the answer for 9-Across.

"Someone's talkative this morning," Harry murmurs, turning to his wife and sipping his coffee.

Jade is wearing a beanie and one of his many cardigans. She holds a coffee in one hand and a box of donuts in the other as she walks around the counter to greet him, giving him a kiss. His precious baby boy, Sterling, is secured in the baby carrier strapped to her front.

"Good morning," he says, tasting an unfamiliar trace of something on her lips.

"Hi. Try this." She raises her coffee cup to his mouth. He takes a sip and immediately smacks his lips while shaking his head disapprovingly. "It's the new pumpkin pie latte they have down the street," she explains.

"Not a fan, love," he admits truthfully, kissing her forehead and then carefully lifting Sterling out of the carrier.

"I thought as much." She takes the carrier off and sets it to the side. "How's it going? Did you get all the math out of the way?"

Now that Harry is the shop manager, he's taken on the accounting aspect of the job. It's not his favorite task, so he gets it out of the way in the mornings. He'll put on his reading glasses and hunch over the table with complete focus, feeling his wife's eyes ogling him whenever she visits. He's been told she finds it attractive.

"Finished not too long ago," he replies, cradling his sleeping son against his chest. He's still dressed in his pajamas with a brown beanie snug on his head. Harry sits back on the stool to continue his crossword, and Sterling stirs a little, fisting his hand around his sweater. "Morning, little man," he says gently, knuckles stroking his chubby cheeks.

Jade opens the box of donuts, and Harry squeezes her hip in a silent gesture of gratitude. She begins eating a chocolate one as she peers over his shoulder. She hums thoughtfully while swallowing a bite and tapping the boxes on the page. "Coated is the answer for 21-Across."

Harry's eyes move to the clue and then to Sterling, who is slowly waking up. "What do you think, mate? Do you think mummy's right?"

"I'm definitely right. Covered in sugar... it has to be coated." She excitedly pokes the pencil in his hand. "Write it down!"

"All right," he says teasingly, scribbling her answer down. "Sharp thinking at seven in the morning isn't usually like you, honey. Can't blame me for being hesitant."

She lightly smacks his shoulder before taking a sip of his peppermint coffee. Apparently, she's not a fan of the pumpkin one, either.

After a few peaceful moments, Jade takes Sterling into her arms, much to Harry's disappointment. She smatters kisses onto his cheeks before setting him on the ground to crawl. At eight months old, he's constantly on the go. The floor is carpeted, so she sits on the ground with him. Harry can't help but join them while grabbing a donut on his way down. He groans when he sits--his back is not in the best shape lately.

Jade scoots closer and begins massaging between his shoulder blades, causing him to let out a soft, relieved moan as he closes his eyes. She's badgered him countless times to replace the stool he sits on with an actual chair, but he's stubborn and has trouble getting rid of sentimental furniture.

"What time do you get off again?" she asks, moving her hands to his neck.

"Three," he murmurs, wiping drool from Sterling's mouth. "It's my last week before Thanksgiving break, so that'll be nice."

"Yeah," she agrees while kneading his lower back.

Harry's work schedule is perfect. He's at the shop Monday through Friday until three. He's home for dinner and weekends and even gets paid holiday breaks. He became manager shortly before he got married to Jade. Currently, she owns a flower shop just down the street. She absolutely loves it there. It's a two-minute walk from the shop, and she always tries to visit if she gets off work before him. She has Mondays and Tuesdays off every other week, so she brings Sterling to visit for a few hours in the morning. They stay in the back most of the time, but sometimes customers come in when they're up front and fawn over their baby boy with dimples and cute sweaters.

Harry eventually stands and cracks his back by twisting side to side. Jade stands as well and picks Sterling up, handing him to Harry. He cradles him in one arm, the other wrapping around his wife's shoulders.

"Love you," he whispers with a kiss to her head. "Thanks for always keeping me company with the little bugger."

She hides her face in his chest, the jade necklace he wears daily pressed against her cheek. She kisses the stone before puckering her lips in request. He obliges, meeting her halfway to take her top lip between his. She then leans over to kiss Sterling's head, his eyes sleepily shutting.

"My boys," Jade says, smiling fondly. "I love you guys more than anything."

Harry can't help but find it remarkable how everything started in the place he's standing now.

——

#harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #harry styles fluff #harry styles au #harry styles one shot #harry styles #adore-laur #the crystal shop boy

[aliasnz]

Undesirable Presents: Le/vi Acker/man for @nametakensff and @kawaii-kushami's snzblr secret santa event <3

Tags: aot/snk-canonverse, allergies (pollen), cold, contagion mention, spray, mess, language. Word count: 2000 (and counting) A/N: I have several apologies to make about this fic >-< First of all, I am so sorry that it is so late! Secondly, I apologize for being unfamiliar with the other fandoms requested, I couldn’t help but feel guilty for writing for my fav. Third thing: just so I can have something out sooner rather than later, please consider this a part 1 that will be edited, updated, and self-reblogged upon completion. Finally, this fic may be too indulgent, but I am crossing my fingers that it is enjoyable anyways ~ 

If Levi had his way, he would have spent the day in solitude. 

His ideal birthday was simply his ideal day. In the warmer months, it would have been a sunrise run followed by a cold shower, his warm sweat and clingy pollen swirled down the drain. Then, his civilian clothes and a walk to the brick cafe at the edge of town. Black tea, white croissant, yellow pages of his favorite novel. Head ducked down and buried in his book, anyone who recognized him - for better or for worse - received the message: leave him be. He would sip until the porcelain ran dry, would stay until his stomach rumbled. With the last hours of daylight, he would stop at the butcher stand and purchase a few ounces of meat. It was about all he could afford on his military salary, but with rare optimism, he preferred to say it was all he cared to buy. Steak dinner for one. Lights out by dark. It was his way.

But Levi hardly ever had things his way.

He was a December baby, as Hange so mockingly put it, who loathed winter cold and winter colds. Instead of that morning jog and downtown stroll, he shuttered himself in his room with intermittent napping and tidying. Some considered his celebration traditions pitiful, but he could not complain. In ways as weighty as a family to visit or write to, yet also in aspects as miniscule as a good night’s sleep, Levi had been cheated in most realms of life. In time, he had come to live with it, found comfort in little joys, and wished the others understood that. That wish was most wanted on his own birthday, for everyone else seemed to celebrate it more than the man himself.

In the depths of his heart, he knew they cared about him. The yearly plethora of visits all accompanied with gifts should have proven that, but he loathed the treatment he received. Perhaps the early symptoms of the annual cold were to blame for that. No matter how hard he tried to avoid it, contagion made quick work of the barracks. Sooner or later, it would catch up to him, and that onset always seemed to hover around his birthday. On occasion, he wondered if he would be better off facing that inevitable infection head on rather than repeating the futile delay, but his train of thought was always cut off one way or another. A pang of headache, a harsh cough, a runny nose, or a sudden sneeze. This time, it was a knock at his door, the first of the day, one of many sure to come. 

Levi swung his legs over the side of the bed. Bright rays reflected off the metal buckles of his gear and reflected into his eyes, garnering a wince and dawning thought: just how late did I sleep in? Standing up, he immediately noted how his shoulders felt heavy, his breaths labored. If he had to guess, his cold would take hold of him before the 25th was over. Lucky him. 

Hand clamped down hard on the handle, startling the two on the other side just before he creaked his door open. The tall couple cast shadows over him: Nanaba and Miche with -

Shit...

Levi braced himself for their scream, but instead, they spoke calmly, handing over the bouquet with a pair of matching smiles, “Happy Birthday, Levi.”

He startled, not because he was surprised by their presence, but intimidated by their present: a bundle of bright-red poinsettias, pointed with specks of pollen he doubted they had noticed. They were far too innocent to have purposefully gifted him such a slew of allergens. Others, however, he was less sure about.

Instead of reaching out to grab them, Levi crossed his arms and tipped his tongue in refusal - refusal of their gift and refusing to indulge in the sneeze he already felt budding. Speaking quickly, he aimed to rush them out before they could witness his unravel, “I don’t want them.”

“C’monnn, Levi!” Nanaba pleaded, bending at the knees and shooting up again quickly. In her eager bounce, his eyes widened as he watched the petals flutter with her. His arms instinctively flinched before him as if he could block the microscopic wave. “Miche and I stood outside for hours in this freezing cold -”

Great, two more patients upcoming.

“- waiting for the flower shop to open.”

“First in line,” Miche added. “Do you know how popular these things are at this time of year?”

Levi’s stance remained unchanged, Nanaba saw his disinterest and felt compelled to play it up, selling the present rather than gifting it. “They smell good, too!”

Miche, on the other hand, preferred the path of insistence. Snatching the stems from his partner, he thrust them to Levi’s face, nearly touching, “Go on, smell them, you’ll see for yourself.”

He held his breath, reluctant to inhale as long as those were within reach. Aiming for subtlety, he feigned to nonchalantly scratch his nose with his wrist, “If you like them, keep them.”

“Someone’s ungrateful…” Miche teased, unhurt by the shorter man’s attitude, but never passing up an opportunity to rag it. “Y’know, most people would say ‘thanks’ or something…”

Levi frowned, he wasn’t ungrateful. Deep down, he was touched. On the exterior, though, he was objectively irritated, and could understand why they misread him. With a pang of guilt, he sought to correct the miscommunication, but that pang was miniscule compared to the burn of his nostrils, a flame that the leaves were now fanning.

“No, it’s just…” his face scrunched as he attempted to fight it off, just until he could finish the sentence, at least? “It’s… just…” 

However, that bouquet was set on denying him. Throwing in the towel, a rare occurrence for humanity's strongest, he whipped around and buried his nose in the crook of his elbow, “Hah’AESCH-ihh!” 

Fuck, all three parties unknowingly shared the same thought. For Levi, the nature of his curse was multifaceted. Foremost, the unexpected harshness of that sneeze, the wind knocked out of him first thing in the morning. From that, the daunting notion that this was the first of many sure to come, either from allergies or the cold. Finally, the flush that flooded his cheeks. That outburst had shown enough vulnerability already, Levi lingered behind his arm and remained turned away, waiting for the blush to disappear as well. 

Yet, even after those awkward seconds of silence, neither Nanaba nor Miche could erase that image from their mind: his tan coat spotted brown, the mist that shot from beneath his elbow and faded into the room’s sunlit atmosphere. With the captain turned, they allowed their faces to contort with disgust. When his audible sniff confirmed what they thought they saw, they looked to each other and cringed, agreeing that this birthday visit was over.

His comrades did not put the dots together, that the sneeze was a symptom of his allergies rather than the cold that was notably floating through the halls. Fearing for their own immune systems, they retreated several paces, but not before Miche thrust the flowers in Levi’s grip and snapped his hand back, no chance of handing them back now.

By the time Levi turned himself around, arm still bent at his nose, the pair was already a distant blur.

Nanaba waved over her shoulder, “Feel better soon! Don’t come near us until you do!” A joking-not-joking singsong to her departure.

“Have fun with those!” Miche cupped his hand around his mouth, allowing his bid to beckon from down the corridor, “You can thank us later!”

Levi dropped his arm, prepared to call back. Doing so, however, meant that his guard was let down, and he should have known better, that his assailant would be quick to take advantage. With the distance, Levi did not turn or cover - not that he had the time for that - and instead ducked his head down, sneezing onto his own torso. “Hnn’kkshu! Heh-ISHhew!!”  

Unfortunately for him, the height at which he landed placed him adjacent to the very bouquet that set him off. A dire proximity, each inhale killed every second - any hope - of relief. 

The mess was not only audible, it was tangible, piercing the threads of his button-up and sinking through to his undershirt, summoning a shiver. The clean freak could not bear the sight, nor was it his habit to. After each sneeze and before opening his eyes, he assessed the tickle. If it remained, his lids likewise remained shut until his system managed to kill it. The first attempts at regular breaths informed him outright: you’re not done yet. Levi kept his head down, bangs intercepting his eyeline with each jolt. “Heh’tchew! Kk’shuu!!” 

Once again, he paused to survey his own state. Although he beckoned for a break, his body merely mocked him. That all you got? Clearly unsatisfied, with frustration, he submitted to its demands, exacerbating the expulsion as best as he could, aiming to please. “Hah-ESHhew!! HIH’kit-chew! Hah…Hah-AEshih!!” 

His intakes had been audible even from those meters away, his fit an early alarm clock for all still asleep in the vicinity. Dammit. As an insomniac, he was especially remorseful to have been responsible for waking anyone on the weekend. Even redder now, he tried to convince himself it was not his fault, that they should have known better than to shove those flowers in his face. However, as his voice crescendoed, it became more of a stretch to blame the gifters rather than the receiver, the inducer over the screamer.

The burn in his sinuses was unbearable, he decided to look to the windows behind him, hoping to coax relief. Before he could lure his gaze that way, though, he caught a glimpse of pity on his teammates, and somehow, that was what bothered him the most.

Fuck, this has to stop. At this point in the fit, breaths were hard to come by, and his life-or-death experiences had molded his mindset to meet his most urgent needs first. Perhaps counterintuitive, Levi understood that defeating the irritant meant battling with it. Working through rather than around. Meeting their eye contact, Levi yanked their gift to his face and took a deep, deliberate intake, figuring that his unconventional strategy could get two messages across: he was allergic to their gift, but at least it was good for something. And maybe they’ll remember this scene come next year.

Indeed, they would, and Levi would be lucky if the memory remained confined to those two. The finale was a sneeze that made them cover their ears and made the last few sleepers snap up in panic. For him, the aftermath resembled the end of a workout: tire and exhaustion, yet inexplicable relief. For them, it read like a newspaper headline: steadfast, hardass germaphobe of the branch soaked in his own saliva and other unspeakable substances. The tight-lipped, ever calm captain engaged in the toughest battle of his life: no titan in sight, but tiny irritants also impossible to see. Screaming the barracks awake, he would have been the last culprit anyone suspected. Only true friends would keep this episode a secret, maybe he shouldn’t have been so terse with them.

Vengefully, and with the slightest bit of told you so, Levi motivated himself through the end with the anticipation of seeing their guilty faces, but by the time he opened his eyes again, they were long gone, either cowering from contagion or gossiping already. Around here, viruses and rumors spread like wildfire. 

Worked up and let down, Levi released a shaky exhale, wiped his face with his sleeve, flung the door shut behind him, and tossed the bouquet onto his bed.

One down.

tbc!

#snzblr secret santa 2023 #snz kink #snez kink #snz fic #snez fic #aliasnz's #snz #snez

[astrodances]

Oooo for the drabble thing how's about

"Would you kill me if I sent you flowers?"

and you know this just oozes scroldie 😆

Yes, it most certainly does!! 😁 And thank you for the prompt!

Happy (belated) Valentine's Day, and I hope you enjoy this! 💜

AO3 link here

_____

The Love Language of Nature

Want to send a special message to your Valentine? Say it with flowers!

Goldie’s eye caught on the flier taped to the inside of the window in front of her. She’d been walking through downtown Duckburg, between errands, heist-planning, and errands for heist-planning, doing some window-browsing. Every window display was making her painfully aware of the upcoming holiday, yet she still took time to take note of things she couldn’t help but want to get for her special someone. Because of course she would.

The flower arrangements displayed before her were admittedly beautiful, and Goldie had seen plenty to compare around the world in her years. But these were close, were here, and the store offered free delivery with purchase if booked a week or more before the big day.

And the flier’s implications were making it all the more tempting. It listed a whole slew of flowers, and their special, hidden meanings.

She wasn’t the best with words, she knew that; maybe flowers were her love language?

Browsing through the list still, she pulled out her phone and asked Siri (Louie had given her a smartphone 101 walkthrough a while ago, insisting that she needed to “up her tech game to at least the basics, c’mon” if she was going to pull off schemes in the modern age, and especially with him) to call Scrooge. She couldn’t wait around for him to answer a text (which she was very good at, thank you very much) lest she lose her nerve.

It took him three rings to answer.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Sourdough. Would you kill me if I sent you flowers?”

“That depends, are they poisonous?” Scrooge asked, not missing a beat.

There was an elevator ding in the background on his end, then more of an open din, and Goldie knew he was at the Money Bin. She automatically turned to the behemoth structure in the distance, as if it would amplify their conversation, and her ensuing indignation.

She let out an offended squawk. “Hey! No they are not, thank you, but if you’re gonna be like that, then never mind!”

He laughed, and the sound reminded her why she did want to send the flowers, darn him. “Hey, it wouldn’t be the first time,” he unfortunately had to point out.

“Yeah, well...”

So sending him a bouquet of lilies, tulips, and lupine from a mythic beast’s wedding from the Underworld to rid herself of a curse hadn’t been her finest hour.

He lived.

“Would you kill me if I sent you flowers?” Scrooge asked, reversing the question.

A blush bloomed through her cheeks instantly. “I...n-no...” So much for not being cursed - her heart was getting softer by the second these days, it seemed.

“Then there’s your answer, dear. Look at you, being so thoughtful.”

Goldie’s brain was ready to self-combust at that, but she had to recover some of her dignity as this call came to a close. A quick, stabilizing breath, and- “Yeah, yeah, just try to forget this conversation ever happened, Sourdough. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Sounds grand.” There was a squeak of his old desk chair as he sat down. “I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

Despite the teasing, the warm smile was what remained as Goldie hung up and scanned over the flower list once more before strolling into the flower shop. The air was intoxicating with lovely, fresh scents - heck, all flowers were poisonous if they made her feel like this, this...light, giddy, and airy, and despicably drunk with love.

“Hey there, welcome to Rhoda’s Dendrons! Anything I can help you with today?” the young duck with curly black hair behind the front counter asked.

Goldie’s roving gaze snapped to her as she approached. She tapped a finger on an identical flier from the window that was laminated and taped to the counter’s glass top. “Yeah, I’d like to order some flowers for delivery...”

_____

On the evening of Valentine’s Day, an elaborate arrangement of flowers sat atop Scrooge’s dresser in a tall, multi-tiered golden vase. A pamphlet version of the store’s flower guide, with the bouquet’s choices checkmarked with hearts in a sugary pink ink, laid waiting on the floor next to the bed, its seal broken despite the bashful protests the sender had put up for its recipient to wait to read until the next day (or until her near-impossible death, thanks immortality).

(She had insisted that the pamphlet be included, on a whim of courage, because as embarrassed as she would be, she was also pretty sure he wouldn’t have a clue about the language of flowers, as far as she knew.)

And thankfully, he had read it (as she sat next to him on his bed in half-mortification, half-burning-desire, holding his hand and looking away, his own squeeze growing stronger by the second between sounds of amusement and adoration), because she had been immediately bombarded with hundreds of loving kisses when he finished reading, and now they laid entangled together, happily exhausted, utterly closer in heart, and basking in a symphony of floral aromas.

On the pamphlet, the following flowers were checked off:

Blue salvia - I think of you

Dahlia - good taste

Heliotrope - eternal love, devotion

Lady’s slipper - capricious beauty

Lilac - joy of youth

Pink rose - happiness

Red camellia - you’re a flame in my heart

Red carnation - I admire you and am missing you

Red rose - love, I love you

Red salvia - forever mine

White camellia - you’re adorable

White chrysanthemum - truth

White clover - think of me

Yarrow - everlasting love

#DuckTales #Goldie O'Gilt #Scrooge McDuck #scroldie #my fanfics #the flowers in the wedding bouquet I mention are actually poisonous to ducks!! #if you get the flower store name reference I love you #thanks again for the prompt GJ!!

[leiawritesstories]

Stick Season (Part 1)

Rowaelin Month 2023, Day 1: Song Fic

inspired by "Stick Season" by Noah Kahan (giggles in Frederick) I've had so much fun writing this and I am beyond excited to share it with all of you! happy Rowaelin Month once again! <3

Word count: 2,480

Warnings: swearing, bad decisions, heartbreak, not-great parenting, angst, simmering sexual tension, pining idiots in love but they won't admit it

Enjoyyyy! (yes there will be more, i promise)

@rowaelinscourt

Prologue

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Downtown Orynth, Vermont, still looked exactly the same as it always did when Aelin paid her occasional, brief visit to her hometown. Same “cozy” wooden buildings, same storefronts lining Main Street, same pine boughs wrapped around the light posts, same dusting of snow brushed across the rooftops in a postcard-picture kind of perfection. Same kindhearted shopowners waving at her as she strolled down the cleanly swept sidewalk. 

If she smiled hard enough, maybe she could pretend there wasn’t a gaping hole in her heart. 

Three years since she cut the other half of her soul out of her life, and no amount of friendship and laughter and girls’ nights could fill the empty chasm that leaving Rowan left in her. 

“Aelin?” The voice came from her left as she passed the local bookstore, a place where she’d spent some of the happiest hours of her youth. 

She turned. “Philippa!” A genuine smile curved up her lips. “I didn’t think you were still working here all the time.” 

Philippa waved off the mild protest with a flippant hand. “You know how busy it gets at this time of year, my dear.” She pulled Aelin into a warm hug. “It’s so good to see you again!” 

Aelin melted into the older woman’s motherly embrace. “Want to know a secret?” 

“Is that even a question?” Philippa laughed, opening the bookstore door and nudging her inside. “I live to collect secrets.” 

“Of course you do,” Aelin chuckled. “Well, here it is: I wasn’t planning to be back home this year. Or next year. Or anytime soon, really.” She blew out a short, sharp sigh. “I’m only here because…well…” She trailed off, not fully ready to voice the reason she’d returned. 

Philippa patted her arm. “It’s alright to let yourself grieve, dear. Your mother’s passing was a shock to all of us.” 

“And something of a relief,” Aelin mumbled under her breath. 

Ever tactful, Philippa pretended not to hear. “Will you be here through New Year’s?” she asked, smoothly changing the somber subject. 

Aelin nodded. “Yes. I’ll drive back to New York sometime around January fifteenth, unless Dad needs me for longer. I’m working remotely until then.” 

“Thank goodness for modern technology, right?” 

“Right.” She half-grinned. “I don’t suppose you’re still resisting that modern nonsense, hmm?” 

Philippa pretended to hide. “You caught me.” 

Aelin fake-groaned. “How many times have I told you that it will help the bookstore grow? Think of all the customers you could reach with something as simple as a website and maybe an Instagram profile!” Pasion seeped into her words, coloring her thoughts with excitement. “And you could easily keep up with the online orders–that crappy old monitor you have barely runs basic word programming, let alone internet.” 

“You be nice to Mort, now,” Philippa teased. She’d named the bookstore’s ancient computer Mort in honor of the many times it had brushed with death. 

“Mort deserves to be laid to rest once and for all,” Aelin laughed. “Are you trying to keep me in town or something, asking when I’m heading home?” 

“Maybe.” The older woman’s laugh lines crinkled as she grinned. “Or maybe I’m just planning to offer you a job here while you’re in town.” 

“You know I work in publishing, right?” Aelin raised her brows. “I’m pretty sure that’s enough books and book stuff for one woman.” 

“How long has it been since you remembered why you work in publishing in the first place?” 

The question made Aelin stop in her tracks, mind whirling as she sifted through years of memories. “I…years. God, it’s been…years.” For a moment, yearning flickered across her face. “Maybe not since the last time I volunteered here at Christmas.” 

“Exactly.” Philippa gave Aelin’s hand a motherly squeeze. “Christmas season is far too busy for one old woman to handle alone. So…will you help me?” 

A fond smile curved Aelin’s lips. “Of course I will.” 

~

Snow-dusted evergreen boughs adorned the lampposts of downtown Orynth, weaving their crisp pine breezes through the early evening air. Hands tucked into the pockets of his quilted flannel jacket, Rowan strolled down Main Street, determined to avoid being sidetracked into one of the golden-lit shops that smelled invitingly of cedar, maple sugar, pine, and spiced cider. Christmas scents always had been his weakness, despite the pain he couldn’t separate from the holiday. 

A single paper bag dangled from his left wrist, the only sign that he’d been out shopping for the holidays. His entire brood of cousins was about to descend upon Doranelle, the next town over, for the next few weeks, so he’d come into Orynth to pick up a few things. He refused to admit that the massive canister of peppermint hot cocoa mix was an impulse buy–it had been on sale, and he knew how much his relatives adored all the sweet holiday treats. 

It had nothing whatsoever to do with peppermint hot chocolate being Aelin’s favorite. Nothing.

“Whitethorn?” The call came from his left. 

Rowan turned towards the voice. “Who–” 

“Whitethorn! It is you!” Aedion Ashryver stepped out of Staghorns Tavern, a popular local brewery. “Come inside, man, have a drink.” He pulled Rowan into a brief, back-slapping hug. “Good to see you again.” 

“Good to see you too, Ashryver.” Rowan returned the hug but hesitated at the offer of a drink. “I dunno about the drink, though.” He raised his shopping bag. “Gotta go home and prepare the place for the Whitethorn horde.” 

Aedion snickered. “You’re still letting them crash at your place, huh? Thought you would’ve liked the house to yourself every once in a while.” 

Rowan shrugged. “It’s a big house, and I live alone all the rest of the year.” He flashed Aedion a smirk. “Besides, Sellene and Enda would just barge in anyways, so I might as well allow it.” 

“Fair enough.” Aedion glanced into the brewery, waving off someone inside. “You sure you don’t want to grab a quick drink? I feel like we haven’t seen each other in forever.” 

“Yeah, give me a rain check on the…” Rowan trailed off into silence, his brain stalling at the sight of Aelin Galathynius opening Stag’s door and grabbing her cousin by the arm, halfway through a teasing jibe about Aedion wasting his body heat trying to warm up the December chill. 

“...not worth it to–oh.” Her wide-eyed turquoise gaze slammed into Rowan with all the force of an avalanche. 

“What are you doing here?” The question, though whispered, tore out of him with the force of a deafening scream. 

Aedion brushed a protective touch over Aelin’s shoulder, murmured something softly into her ear, and slipped back into the brewery, wisely leaving the two of them alone. 

She swallowed thickly and steeled her spine, meeting his stare head-on. “I’m home for my mother’s funeral and the holidays.” Her tone was cool, detached, nothing more than an old acquaintance responding to a casual question. 

“I–I had no idea,” Rowan murmured. “I’m so sorry, Aelin.” 

“Don’t be.” She snorted quietly, her shields snapping back into place as swiftly as they’d fallen. “About Evalin, Rowan. Don’t be sorry.” A pause, a crack in her controlled exterior. “I can’t say I am.” Her expression sharpened. “Can I ask what you’re doing out here…um, by Staghorns?” 

He read the unspoken question, finding himself surprised that she hadn’t asked outright. “I was in Orynth to pick up a few things before my cousins get here tomorrow, and I was heading down towards the parking lot.” Downtown Orynth was strictly car-free, so the town had built parking space by the edge of the no-traffic zone. “Your cousin saw me, so I stopped for a bit.” And held off the alcohol, he added, silently. 

She nodded in understanding. “I…I should go.” She turned. 

“Wait!” Unexpectedly, he reached for her hand, stopping himself with bare millimeters between his skin and hers. “I…when are you leaving?” 

“After New Year’s.” The words were clipped. 

The shields encasing his heart slammed back down with finality. “So you’ll just up and leave again, no warning, not telling anyone?” He laughed, a sound as brittle as the winter air. “I don’t know why I expected any different.” 

“Some things never change,” she whispered, half to herself, her voice teetering dangerously close to anguish. Without another word, without a backward glance, she yanked open the brewery door, walked in, and vanished into the crowd packed into the bustling space. 

His heart a tangle of stormy emotions, Rowan turned on his heel and strode down the rest of the street, not stopping until he reached his pickup. There, he dropped his shopping bag in the back seat, leaned himself against the truck’s battered old green frame, and breathed as deeply as he could. Eyes screwed shut, he allowed the flood of memories to wash over him, sinking into the aching familiarity of her golden hair and wild laugh, her burning resilience and unwavering strength. The watery croak of her voice when she told him she was sorry three years ago. The tsunami of anger and rage and grief and torment that had ripped through his whole being for weeks after that afternoon.

Then he locked those precious, shattered memories back into the dark recesses of his mind, swung himself up into the truck, and drove off into the December night. 

~

Three Years Ago

Rowan pulled into his driveway in shell-shocked silence, muscle memory guiding him out of his truck and into the house. He kicked off his boots in the mudroom, shook the loose snow off the soles, and placed them neatly on the rack. Numbly, he shed his thick winter jacket and hung it on its peg, made sure he was free of tray snow and ice, and walked into the warmth of the wood-paneled house. 

A beer bottle shattered at his feet the second he came through the door. 

“The hell y’been, boy?” His stepfather’s slurred words were barely distinguishable. 

“Work, then the store.” Rowan had learned years ago to keep his words as brief and subdued as possible, lest he face another of Arobynn’s famous eruptions of drunken wrath. “Picked up another six-pack.” He placed the case of beer bottles on the kitchen counter. 

Arobynn squinted at the six-pack. “Leas’ y’did one thing right,” he sneered. “Clean up the fuckin’ floor, boy.” He grabbed two bottles of beer and stumbled back out into the living room, where he collapsed into his reeking, tattered old leather recliner and lost himself in his usual world of alcohol and blaring television. 

Rowan clenched his fists and jaw and picked up the broom. He made quick work of the broken glass, dumped it in the trash bin, put away the broom, and grabbed some food as he hurried off to his room. Arobynn’s alcoholism was a blessing, in a way–he confined himself to that side of the house, not moving much between the den, the kitchen, and his bedroom and bathroom. It meant that Rowan could stay in the master bedroom, which was at the other end of the house, and keep the rest of his family home as clean as possible. 

Every time he looked at the single portrait of his parents that adorned his bedroom wall, he swore he could hear their sorrow at the state of their once-beautiful home. 

That goddamn crash had taken so much from the Whitethorn family. 

Rowan was only a child when he lost his dad, and his mother had been so buried in her grief that she’d failed to see the giant blaring red flags of the first man that showed her any affection. She’d married Arobynn Hamel partially out of what she thought was love and partially out of necessity; the property needed another pair of adult hands to maintain it, not to mention another income. It was only a few months before Arobynn’s true colors showed themselves. 

For five years, Rowan’s mother had stayed strong, protecting her son by sacrificing herself. She’d protected her son from his stepfather’s fits of drunken rage, from the anger that reverberated through the house, and even from the knowledge of her medical diagnosis. When he lost her, too, Rowan lost all hope that his life could be anything but alcohol and anger and abuse. 

Then he went away to college and met Aelin, and her warmth rekindled his frozen soul. 

Watching her drive away from him mere hours ago had ripped the fragile, carefully patched scraps of his heart into bleeding shreds. 

Fuck it. If he didn’t blow off some steam now, he’d do something he’d regret later.

As silently as possible, Rowan slipped out of the house, crossed the snowy yard to the barn, hauled open the door that desperately needed some oil, and flicked on the overhead lights, illuminating the large, chilly, wooden-beamed space. He’d slowly transformed the barn into a gym over the years, picking up old equipment at estate sales and local gyms who were remodeling or getting rid of old machines and other stuff. Right then, he only had eyes for the punching bag–his favorite way to release the pent-up anger his fists itched to rain down upon Arobynn’s worthless face. 

He took off his jacket and sweatshirt, pulled on his well-loved boxing gloves, and strode over to the punching bag. With a grunt, he launched into a punishing round of strikes and punches, pummeling the taut leather sandbag with enough force to send it rocking on its chain. That first volley loosened the knot of tension in his chest, opening the floodgates, and every tangled, indecipherable, raw emotion he’d bottled up came pouring out in the erratic rhythm of his gloved fists (and occasionally his shoes) against the punching bag, interspersed with hoarse yells, broken shouts, curses, groans, and grunts. He lost himself in the slap of leather on leather, barely remembering to draw breath, slapping and punching and kicking until the flood of grief and pain and rage had subsided enough for his head to clear. 

Chest heaving, rare tears seeping hot and salty down his face, Rowan sank to the weathered wooden plank floor, buried his head in his hands, and felt the crushing weight of abandonment, an old familiar companion, press down upon his shoulders once again. 

Although he didn’t know it, Aelin was curled in the same position on the floor of her childhood bedroom, her face buried in her hands, tears streaming unchecked down her cheeks. The same anguish tore through her ruined heart, a white-hot knife of grief and guilt piercing her to her core. Leaving him was the last thing she ever wanted to do; it was like splitting herself in half. Yet she had left him, tossed him to the snowy curb without a backward glance. Leaving him shell-shocked on the edge of the highway, heart in his throat and the winter wind whistling through his empty hands.

~~~

TAGS:

@live-the-fangirl-life

@superspiritfestival

@thegreyj

@wordsafterhours

@elentiyawhitethorn

@morganofthewildfire

@backtobl4ck

@rowanaelinn

@house-of-galathynius

@tomtenadia

@julemmaes

@swankii-art-teacher

@charlizeed

@booknerdproblems

@chronicchthonic14

@earthtolinds

@goddess-aelin

@sweet-but-stormy

@clea-nightingale

@autumnbabylon

@darling-im-the-queen-of-hell

@llyncooljones

@silentquartz

#my writing #stick season #aelin galathynius #rowan whitethorn #rowan x aelin #rowaelin #rowaelin au #rowaelin fanfic #rowaelin fanfiction #rowaelin modern au #based off a song #song fic #rowaelin month 2023 #rowaelinmonth2023 #stick season the fic #inspired by noah kahan ofc #rowaelin winter au #rowaelin holiday au #winter holiday au

[b4b3tte]

Thank you for answering my question earlier! I was wonder if I could get some headcanons for Dwight Manfredi from Tulsa King? And thank you😊

TULSA KING

꒰ ⊹ ˚ Summary — Some Head Canons of dating Dwight Manfredi!

Contains of — Physical touches, Dates, Love languages, Romantic atmosphere, etc. ♡

My note — Hii!! Tysm for this request, very much appreciated! Honestly I didn’t know what type of relationship you wanted with Dwight like lovers or friends so I picked lovers but if that isn’t what you wanted then please let me know I’ll be happy to change it! Otherwise thank you for requesting and reading!!⭐️

— Dwight can be sorta complicated, being in prison for over 20 years has definitely left him touch starved but he will always stick to his Old-School manners.

— Which leaves you like “ should I touch him or no “ but you notice that behind close doors he will insist physical contact, while in public he’ll tone it done a lot by just a kiss on your forehead and his hand on your waist once in awhile!

- it gets obvious that his love language is Touch & quality time together, As much as he loves holding you while you are on his chest, he also adores just being in a room together and reading without a word being said

- But again he loves having you hold his hand or show him any sign of physical affection although he won’t verbally admit it. Speaking of that, he can be stubborn and won’t admit when he likes certain things at least affection wise

- For a second let’s retract to the first head canon, His “ Old School Ways “ dating someone in their seventies is completely different than dating someone in their twenties, not that you mind but let’s look at those differences

- He is an absolute courteous man ( gentleman ) and will always pay attention to your needs and wants. He loves to be a man of his word so whatever he tells you or promises you, he will do it without a doubt

- He believes that you deserve the highest of treatment, He will always pull out your chair and push it back in when you’ve sat down, Open all the car doors and doors to places for you, Pay for almost every meal, give you massages whenever you are stressed or tired, Make you coffee or tea when you wake up and whatever else you can think of!

- damn he is setting the bar high for me 💀 anyways😓

- For date nights it will always be incredibly romantic and seem like something straight out of a romance novel. The most regular and common one you guys would have is a Fancy Candle Lit dinner at a high end restaurant with top notch service and food that always manages to amaze you

- Another one will be a lovely night at a small cozy book store somewhere near downtown it can just be you two reading for hours while drinking caffè latte or latte macchiatto with tunes of piano in the background

- Lastly it can be around the afternoon maybe sunset, you guys will have a picnic at a beach or park and have a couple of books with you, eat while reading , maybe talk about the plot/authors and after take a stroll on the beach or park after the lunch and just talk for hours until night

- he adores spending large amounts of money on you, he understands money might not be everything for you or isn’t as special as quality moments but he still wants you to have nice things wether it’s jewelry or the newest skincare products you know?

- Whatever you add to your shopping car, whatever you stare at longer than 5 seconds, Whatever you talk about, he will manage a way to buy it, he believes giving you whatever you want has no price and he sometimes takes it quite literally

- One time you were upset your favorite artists album sold out quickly and Dwight being Dwight he found a way to get one, one with a personal signature of the artist he says no harm done but that’s obviously a lie.

- Another time you were eyeing a new food item on your phone that looked delicious, you never spoke about it but Dwight being observant and sometimes not intentionally, he picked up on it, figured which restaurant had it, picked it up and surprised you with the meal!

- when you were ranting about your friends new Vivienne Westwood necklace he quickly searched up where and when he can get it as soon as possible and it didn’t take long for you to receive a fancy package outside your door

- He loves seeing your reactions to romantic dates or expensive gifts he randomly gives you or even the random acts of service he does for you but nothing beats it better then your smile in the morning when he asks you how did you sleep 🤍

Hii!! Thank you so much for reading and liking this I truly appreciate it!! Stay disciplined and be consistent do the hard work especially when you don't feel like it, love you🫶🤍

#fanfic #paramount+ #sylvester stallone #sly stallone #tulsa king #oklahoma #headcanons #dating #dwight manfredi #dwight manfredi x reader #x reader #x female reader #x make reader #x gender neutral reader #tulsa oklahoma #tulsa king show #b4b3ttee #Babette writes #female reader #nameisbb3tte #thank you #follow #first fanfic #fanfication #tysm <3 #my love #love you 🤍 #slyvester stallone #rocky balboa x reader

[lovelyladyabsinthewrites]

Love Song for a Vampire Pt.24

Pairing(s): Edward Cullen x Wolf!Reader, Jacob Black x OC

Warnings: slight OOC? I tried to keep Edward as close to character as possible, kinda kept with book Edward vibes

Words: 2432

Summary: Returning for your trip to Port Angeles, your pack entertains Evita at the weekly bonfire.

Part 1    Part 2    Part 3    Part 4  Part 5  Part 6  Part 7  Part 8  Part 9  Part 10  Part 11  Part 12  Part 13  Part 14  Part 15  Part 16  Part 17  Part 18  Part 19  Part 20  Part 21  Part 22  Part 23  Part 25  Part 26  Part 27  Part 28  Part 29  Part 30  Part 31  Part 32  Part 33  Part 34  Part 35  Part 36  Part 37  Part 38  Part 39

Though it caused Alice a great deal of pain, she centered her focus and thrust her mind into (y/n)’s future. For now there was nothing she could do but wait for Edward to either intervene or let the wolf girl go through with her plan to disrupt fate.

She slipped into the dark recesses of time itself and simply let her selfconscious freefall. Whipped this way and that as she attempted to stay course, Alice felt like her mind was being torn to shreds. The repercussions of her actions would result in her being indisposed for several days, but she just had to know if (y/n) would succeed.

The gentle touch of a pleading Jasper brings her back to her physical form. Her head spun as she forced her eyes open. “Why did you do that?”

“You looked like you were in pain. What did you see?” Jasper didn’t mind the snap that was in her tone.

“Nothing. I was trying to see into (y/n)’s future. But it’s not something I can simply conjure up. . .” Alice continued to tell Jasper about (y/n)’s visit and Alice’s phone call to Edward. She had no right to intercede in Edward’s life, but there was something inside of Alice that told her the two star crossed lovers were meant to be.

The pain was like a nail into her skull as she doubled over in Jasper’s arms. In his embrace, Alice was safe.

Her safety was never Alice’s concern though. “I just want to help them.”

“I know.” Jasper pressed her even more against his chest. “But you have to let events play out as they will. If it’s meant to be, well, they’ll figure it out eventually. And you have to accept that it may not happen right away.”

Her tear ducts, though non functioning, burned at the rim with tears that could not produce anything. Edward was not her brother by blood, but through pain and genuine familial love that neither had squire experienced before.

And since meeting and getting to know (y/n), Alice knew with all her heart that she was the one who could truly make her brother happy. They were at least on the same spectrum; from the same world that consisted of supernatural beings such as vampires and werewolves.

Bella was a sweet girl and at her worst she was a little too naive for someone as old as Edward. Transforming into a wolf had rapidly matured (y/n) like it did with her packmates. Even her manner of perceiving situations was from a mature aspect. (Y/n) was fierce too when she was forced into it. Edward had retold of the two of them fighting back-to-back. Protecting one another in perfect unison.

She wanted him to have a mate that could protect him. Like how Alice had Jasper. Someone who could brave this tough underworld of their’s and live through it all.

Finally parking in the popular downtown area of Port Angeles, you and Evita eagerly spring from Sam’s car

Managing to keep your interaction with Alice to yourself, you’d put on a cheerful facade in the car.

Evita looks at her phone screen to affirm the store address, she leads everyone onto the Main Street that was buzzing with people enjoying their summer. Leisurely you stroll by and peek into shop windows. It wasn’t often you got out of La Push. Cities like Port Angeles remind you that the world was so much bigger than the protective forest of your home.

Not like you had much money to fuel any visits to the city. Your parents were right with one thing, being a wolf warrior did not pay. Jacob did have a part-time job as did Quil and some of the older members of your pack.

When your trio steps foot into the metaphysical store Evita guided you to, you’re hit with the strong accent of incense that made your nose curl until you grew accustomed. Sam too wipes at his nose to try and lessen the intensity.

Peacefully quiet except for the soft whispers of other customers, Evita is already on the hunt for the remainder of the ingredients she needs. Leaving you and Sam to linger in the shape that possessed so many dazzling items. Crystals of all shapes and sizes were sold as were devotional items of gods and goddesses from nearly every religion. A nook in the back was where the walls were lined with books. Mythology books, herbs, and other literature based on magic and the supernatural.

“I never knew stores like this existed.” Sam mutters to you as he squeezes himself through the narrow aisles. His hulking frame made him a bull in a china shop. There were too many things for him to potentially break.

“Besides the smell, I like it.” You pick up a bead bracelet to admire. “Some of this stuff was used by our ancestors.”

Sam chuckles. “Some of the elders still use stuff like this.”

Tonight Evita would be attending your weekly bonfire session with the elders and rest of the pack. Part of you hopes Jacob won’t show up. “What do you think is going to happen with Jacob?”

“He just needs time.”

“What if Evita. . .”

Neither of you finish that sentence, not wanting to think about what would happen to Jacob if Evita rejected him. You’d experienced that pain.

If her bond breaking spell worked, then you wouldn’t even have to worry about it. Jacob could use it too.

Warily, Sam says in a low voice “I haven’t had the time to ask you, what with Jacob imprinting on Evita and the Denali vampire visit. . .” He lingers a bit trying to best formulate his question. “Do you still intend on breaking your imprint?”

You figure he would’ve figured it out sooner rather than later. Absentmindedly, you run your fingers along the spine of a book with the title “The Alchemists’ Meditative Guide”. “Yes.”

He was disappointed, you could tell by the manner he closed his eyes and breathed through his nose in a sharp hiss.

“You don’t approve anymore?” Great, the second person to disagree with your choice.

His near black eyes flick open and he looks down the aisle where Evita was slowly coming back up with her items she intends to purchase. “I’m not going to tell you how to live your life. And I’m not going to lie and say I didn’t wish I’d found a way to break my own imprinting in the beginning. If such a thing had existed for me back then, I might have used it as well and possibly still be with Leah.”

They had been so in love, Sam and Leah, before shit hit the fan. Much like Bella and Edward.

“Now though, I don’t think I would go back and change things. I’ve finally found peace with my life and what has happened.”

Things between himself and the one other female wolf were still fractured. Leah knowing that Sam didn’t imprint on Emily on purpose would not make her forgive either of them anytime soon and they understood that.

“Keep the spell to yourself. Don’t tell Jacob.”

You open your mouth to protest, whipping your head to your alpha who stood there motionless. His eyes trained on you.

“Sorry for taking so long.” Evita apologizes as she readjusts the plastic bag handles in her grip. “I couldn’t find all I needed so I had to think of some substitutes.”

Forcing your face to brighten, your trio makes the long car ride back to the seemingly remote area of La Push.

With each mile, your resolution was crumbling if even Sam thought you shouldn’t go through with it. You want to discuss more about it with Sam but the car ride back was a relatively silent one. While your circumstances were similar to that of Sam’s, in the end it was still leagues different due to the matter of what Edward was. How could anything between the two of you work long term?

Imprinting worked so that your future offspring would be strong. Could Edward even get you pregnant?

That thought made you blush and any other thoughts were squashed from embarrassment.

Once Sam’s wheels crunched the gravel of his driveway, you went about prepping for the bonfire that would be starting in a few hours. As Sam was the pack alpha, even the elders agreed to hold it in his driveway. Collapsible chairs would be brought and stuck into the pebbles as The older members of the community built the fire.

Evita helps out by setting up the long table that held plates filled with food and beverages. Other members who showed up early also happily lent a helping hand. Even as a small girl, you loved these nights where everyone got together and shared in laughs and stories.

The young witch’s own community was not as big as your own. In fact it resided to only her close family. Everyone at her school and in her city were relatively normal people. Not that her country lacked brujeria and magic in all of its shapes.

While bringing out blankets for the elders that were expected to show up, you happen to catch Sue’s car pulling in. The passenger seat was occupied by Billy, his favorite hat being situated on his head as he was helped out by Paul and Jared.

No sign of Jacob though.

You allow relief to soften your body. At least there wouldn’t be any scene tonight.

The members of the pack were the last ones to get there as they were finishing up securing the perimeter. They were allowed at least one night to let loose and not have to worry about vampiric strangers stepping foot on their land. There was the reassurance that the Cullens would catch them before doing any real damage if they even got to that point.

You and Evita say hello to Quil and Embry. Normalcy almost seemed feasible in the moment of revelry and watching the warm faces of those you had grown up with smile.

Finally, as everyone has filled their plate and taken their seats, the elders greet those in attendance. The summer night air is tepid, neither cold nor hot and making that night even better by the perfect weather.

At one point, Evita checks the time on her phone and gently nudges you. It was time for your bond breaking.

You were losing faith in your resolve but quietly followed her back into the forest and provided you with a long strand of hair plucked from your scalp. As she walks, Evita winds the hair around a long, black, taper candle. The screen on your phone did not show any messages that had gone unnoticed. None from Edward.

“Let me try calling him.” You put your phone up to your ear and walk a few steps away, allowing Evita to lay out the rest of her tools on the ground.

The other end picks up immediately. “(Y/N)!”

“Hey, Edward. Did Alice-“

“Don’t do it. Please don’t do it.” Was he really out of breath? And from what.

“Edward, this would solve everything! No Volturi. No more fighting. And you and Bella can get back together.” You nearly snap at him. Why was no one else thinking about the positive things that would result because of this decision?

An intruding sound of leaves crunching under foot makes you snap your gaze upward to Edward standing right there. He dropped his phone into his pocket, hesitant to advance towards you. He glances over to Evita who had stopped working and cautiously watched their interaction.

You put your phone away too and nervously rub your hands together.

“I don’t want that.”

You stumble over words that couldn’t be forced out. Taken by utter surprise by his appearance, you summon your courage to face him. “This is a good thing. Didn’t you hear me? No more fighting and you and Bella can go on with your life together.”

Shaking his head, Edward says “I can’t go back to Bella with an honest heart. (Y/n), I want to get to know you. You are the most interesting and warm person I have met in a very long time. I want the chance to experience what it’s like to. . . Be loved by you.”

An uncontrollable nervous laugh escapes you. Anywhere but Edward’s face was your target. This wasn’t real. Couldn’t possibly be real. Edward would never say anything like that. He was devoted to Bella even if she was the one to break things off.

This was simply too much for your brain to handle all at once.

Never did you imagine Edward saying such sweet words to your.

“I heard your heart when you told me you really didn’t want to be in love with me. It screamed the opposite. The love song that was in your heart made me quake in my shoes. Your heart beat, your entire being, has since enraptured me.” Edward spits out the thoughts he had been so afraid to say out loud. Judgement from his family and hurting Bella kept them dormant inside.

He. . . He wanted to try and be with you.

In slow motion, he bravely walks closer to you as you struggle to even breathe. None of this felt real, but his scent was too overwhelming to not be real.

Your imprintee was looking at you with molten warmth nearing to being in awe.

Edward closes his eyes in bliss at the rapid thumping of the large muscle in your chest. “I can’t hear your thoughts, but the beating of your heart is close to it.”

Nothing else matters. Not when Edward cups your cheek and a spike of excitement jolts through every layer of your skin. That was something your brain could not easily conjure.

Near bursting from joy, you hold onto this moment before succumbing to his touch in such a pathetic way but you didn’t care. After giving up hope of Edward ever reciprocating any sort of feeling, he was the one to come and stop you. Edward wanted this bond to stay and to figure things out together.

“If you’ll have me, I would like to try.” He whispers out of Evita’s hearing but enough for you to hear the soft pleading tone in it.

“Yes. Okay.”

If things didn’t work out, well, Evita’s spell was there in the back burner.

For now you would through caution to the wind and let whatever may happen, happen.

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TAGLIST: @saltedcoffeescotch , @dangerouslittlefairy , @burn-crash-rqmance , @casedoina , @avadakadabra93 , @daryldixonstorm , @blue-aconite , @xanniestired666 , @esposadomd, @godinho11 , @arin-swear-rose , @alexizodd , @melaninsugarbaby , @lyeatoalinatoheaven  , @ronwownsme , @itsmytimetoodream , @afro-hispwriter , @mutandis-extremis993 , @hxgemxscles , @nightly-polaris , @corrodedcoffins-slut , @ellesalazar , @itgetzweird08 , @crybabyatthediscooffandoms , @sassyandclassyx , @scarlet2007 , @theroyalbrownbarbie , @jennyamanda8 , @stevenandmarcslove , @biancaindaeyo , @loversjoy , @turningtoclown , @vixorell , @xxthackerybinxxx , @daredevilonmyheels , @dumbbitch-juice , @southern-bell-give-hell

#edward cullen #edward cullen fanfic #edward cullen fanfiction #edward cullen x reader #edward cullen x you #reader #reader insert #reader insert fanfiction #twilight #twilight saga #twilight fanfiction #twilight fandom

[xinyansho]

Genshin men carrying their s/o when their feet hurt

GN READER

FT: Childe, Diluc, and Thoma,

Yes ooc sorry!

enjoy! এ

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Childe

Childe would notice you slowly walking behind him

Not keeping up with him like u usually do making him a little annoyed because he's a fast walker

He noticed when u stopped walking and your legs starting to hurt too

"it's quite downtown." Childe said "The streets of Liyue are never like this that much right y/n." he said with a big grin on his face. Childe and you had been walking for hours your feet began to hurt. You slowed down behind him almost trailing behind like a snail "that's not good he thought." "Hey Y/N are you tired." Childe said acting as if he literally didn't know the answer your face showed that you were a little annoyed by his remark so he stopped making the stupid face and picked you up. "Woah HEY Childeeee what are you doing." you said in a whisper voice embarrassed by the people looking at you your cheeks changing to a light pink. "Why my sweet darling is tired how could I not help you out and carry you." he said smiling, you allowed yourself to be carried by this Ginger headed man covering your face all the way until you reached your destination.

Diluc

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It started off as a little run around him following you like always as you run errands

You ran everywhere their was no stopping you everytime he tried to catch up with you, it's like you ran farther away from him

It wasn't until he finally caught up to you did he notice you bending down holding your legs to help you warm them up

A little stroll around Mondstat sounded nice to you. Getting out the house was something you always loved especially when your boyfriend came with you. He didn't come out the house a lot unless it was for work or to help maintain the garden of berries growing in his yard infront of the Dawn winery. You walked a little faster than him wanted to get to good hunter soon to buy some food,

you unfortunately ended up leaving him behind you not noticing until you asked him if you should cook for dinner or no. "Diluc..." no reply "Diluc." you turned around thinking your red head was behind you nope he wasn't their "did I walk to fast you thought." you looked around and sighed "quess I have to run errands by myself" you said mumbling. Buying the food from good hunter you speed walked over to the fruit stand near the front entrance and bought s few apples, and grapes walking to knights of Favonious headquarters you went to rent out a book you we're lucky too it was the last one.

You walked down like ten flights of stairs when you saw a red haired Male look frantically around for you, running up behind him you scared him making him tense up a bit. "Hello diluc." you smiled as you fixed your shoe your feet hurt so bad from walking so fast so you tried to stand still to stop the pain but it didn't work. "Ahh Feeling a little tired today are we." he said bending down next to you as you fixed your shoe and grabbing the bags from your arms. "A little, but I'm oka-" he picked you up very fast you felt like you had been lifted up by the archons. You felt the muscle on his chest making your cheeks a little pink. "I hope you don't mind me darling you seemed tired." he said and had a small smile on his face. You stayed their not wanting to move his chest and arms were comfortable after all.

Thoma

----------------------------

HE WAS SO MAD AT YOU FOR HELPING YOU WITH HIS HOUSEWORK

HE LITERALLY PICKED YOU UP AND CATERED TO YOU FOR THE REST OF THE DAY FORGET HIS WORK.

--

"Thoma it's just a few things I wanna help you." a sigh left his mouth "Fine just this once Y/N just don't get hurt." he said "it's a little housework what can you do wrong." He gave you a blank stare and then walked away he had given you less than half of his list of chores. You wante to help him out today because he had seemed tired but it's just him sometimes. Your list was simple make beds, clean the floors and sweeping. I see he gave me all the easy one. You sighed a little annoyed you hoped he let you help him more. Walking over to Ayaka's room you fixed her bed and fluffed her pillows folding the clothes she had slept in and placed them in the laundry basket and set out a new pair of sleepwear for her tonight. You took the basket downstairs too the washing machine and put the clothes in, you went to Ayato's room and did the same it seemed as if his room was untouched though because he barley ever slept in his room he was always on the move can't blame him he's a hard worker. So you remade his bed and dusted the shelfs inside his room. You helped in the kitchen and after that you helped outside with the weeds and planted new flowers too. You finally had gotten a break but before you could even get up from the ground You feel someone lift you up... It's Thoma! "What are you doing?" you asked in a quiet tone, he smiled and said "We'll you've been working pretty hard today so I thought I would let you take your break and relax for the rest of the day, besides you did like nearly all of the housework today too, also it's my job to be doing this stuff too." he looked at you dead in the eyes at the last part, you looked away from him and smiled at least his caring you thought...

Anyways yeah sorry for not posting but I literally couldn't I was low-key forgot about the but I just finished it so yay

#genshin impact x reader #reader x genshin #diluc #Thoma #Childe #genshin x gn reader #genshin inpact x fun reader #genhin impact #malereader #Femreader #Carrying #ilysm #Kaeya #zhongli #liyue #mondstadt #inazuma #thoma x reader #diluc x reader #childe x reader

[freesia-writes]

REBLOG CHAIN! For funsies!

Please, if you feel so inclined, reblog this and add a little blurb of what you would do if you had this weekend to spend with your favorite clone. Considering where you live, what you like to do, etc... Let's all just take a little mental vacation with our favorite boys?? <3

I'll go first! :D And it got a little long, LOL.

Eep -- it got a lil NSFW at the end, so minors be gone! <3

After all the duties of the week were finished on Friday night, Howzer and I had a wee bit of edibles, sinking into the couch into each other's arms and giggling about random things. We popped a batch of break-n-bake cookies into the oven, cooking them to the PERFECT softness in the center, and ate far too many because they were so warm, gooey, and incredible. We dragged ourselves up to bed, curling up with each other in bubbly-brained bliss, feeling heavy and content.

Saturday didn't really begin until noon, when we finally hauled ourselves out of bed and made some espresso drinks. We watched a recording of The Price is Right, calling out our guesses and teasing each other competitively. We threw together a cozy breakfast (around 1pm, haha) of sourdough French toast, eggs, and sausage links, and ate it on the garden patio. It was a warm, breezy day, and I was tempted to suggest going back to bed, but we opted to head to the bay instead.

We walked through downtown, aimlessly perusing the charming little shops that included everything from antiques to plants, books to confections. We pretended to critique the art in a gallery, putting on airs and snickering at our complete lack of refinement. Our stroll took us down to the pier, where we spent a leisurely hour watching the fishermen huddled over their rods and buckets, the salty scents of the sea ruffling our hair as it blew past. His hand in mine was warm and strong, and we paused at the end of the pier to lean over the rough wooden railing, gazing at the bridge in the distance and marveling at the unusually cloudy sky. It was filled with layers of every shade of grey and white, blending together seamlessly in a cozy canvas of calm. He leaned behind me, wrapping an arm around my waist as we took in the sights, whispering some inside joke in my ear that made me guffaw like an idiot, which made him grin even more.

The sun was sinking below the horizon, barely visible behind the thick layer of clouds, but the fading light of the sky and our growling stomachs clued us in to the late hour. We headed to an adorable blue and white building that was an old house turned into a restaurant, with all sorts of nooks and crannies stuffed with tables with expansive views of the bay. We opted for the balcony, pushing our chairs together on the same side of the table to snuggle into each other's sides, his arm around my shoulders. We decided to splurge, sharing our steak and salmon dinners with each other, enjoying a sparkling drink that complimented the food, and ordering two desserts because we couldn't decide on just one. When I gave him a bite of my flourless chocolate cake, he took the fork into his mouth with a slow suggestiveness, sliding his lips down the metal as he fixed his brown eyes on mine. My heart did a flip, and though I laughed on the outside, he knew he was kindling the flame within.

We rolled out of the restaurant, equipped with bags of leftovers and stuffed beyond belief. The train station across the street broadcasted the impending arrival of the last train of the night, headed out to the coast. With a glimmer in his eyes, he took my hand and ran for the ticket kiosk, and the next thing we knew, we were sitting in window seats in a plushly-upholstered train car, rocking gently down the tracks toward the ocean. The world faded to black outside, the passing cities indicated only by the twinkling lights of people gathered in their homes, stoking fires and tucking in for the night.

The small beach town at the end of the line had a variety of charming bed and breakfasts, but the one that advertised the "in-room fireplace" caught our eyes immediately. The entire wall that faced the sea was a sliding glass door that included a screen, and the combination of the sound of the waves crashing on the shore, the fresh breeze cooling the room, and the flickering gas fireplace made the little room impossibly cozy. We took showers, pulled on the impossibly soft robes in the closet, and flopped across the large bed.

We talked about everything and nothing, lazily caressing each other, hands exploring further, robes slipping off of shoulders and thighs. It was a languorous exploration of my other half, appreciating everything that made him who he was. A slight graze of the wrist across a breast, the shift of a thigh against his hips, sent tingles through each of us and slowly increased the intensity until we were both naked, slithering against each other in a tangle of arms and legs illuminated by the warm glow of the fireplace. Breathless sighs and little quips punctuated the sounds of the seashore. He pressed into me, my legs wrapped around his, my hands caressing the curve of his back and grasping his strong forearm next to my head.

It was truly "making love" in every sense of the phrase, the comfort and pleasure weaving us together in blissful contentment. When we collapsed in delirious release, cleaning ourselves up and matching every curve of our frames against each other in warm, satisfying spooning, it was only a matter of seconds before sleep greeted us with a warm welcome. Just kidding, we got too hot in less than five minutes and peeled apart from each other, sprawling across opposite sides of the bed and drifting off in real comfort. ;)

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ARTISTS, FEEL FREE TO DRAW ANY OF THIS AS ALWAYS!! ;)

NPT: @wolffegirlsunite @littlefeatherr @dystopicjumpsuit @arctrooper69 @foreverdaydreaming1 @stunkbiggu @mxkyrie @starrylothcat @sinfulsalutations @littlemissbshine @atomickidsoul @dreamie411 @skellymom @nobody-expects-the-inquisitorius @followthepurrgil @the-hexfiles @1vlouds @sunshinesdaydream @anxiouspineapple99 @wings-and-beskar @ughhhhfoff @coraex @moonlightwarriorqueen @idontgetanysleep @clonemedickix @gt13tbbart @lune-de-miel-au-paradis @523rdrebel @ghostperson69 @rain-on-kamino @secondaryrealm @hellhound5925 @thew0nderer2342 @blueink-bluesoul @cloneloverrrrr @kashasenpai @lightwise @drafthorsemath @nahoney22 @kaminocasey @neyswxrld @amorfista @zaana @mythical-illustrator @angrypaperearthquake-tbbb-main @arctrooper69 @ghostperson69 @littlemissmanga @starqueensthings @nika6q @vimse @savebytheodoresnonjosestuff @mandos-mind-trick @clonethirstingisreal

#the bad batch #tbb #star wars fanfiction #the bad batch fanfiction #howzer fanfic #howzer one shot #howzer fluff #clone fluff #star wars fluff #fluff #clone love

[separatist-apologist]

I'll Bet You Think About Me

Summary: Feyre Archerons neighbor stands out on their shared deck each morning.

Totally naked.

Read what the critics are saying: "ITS LIKE YOU DONT CARE THAT YOURE KILLING ME" and "IM CHOKING OH MY GOD RHYS 😂😂😂"

moodboard by @velidewrites, beta'd and written for @the-lonelybarricade who gave me explicit permission to rip off her own neighbor fic, You Look Like Bad News (which you should all go read so she will UPDATE IT FOR ME)

Read on AO3

Feyre worked strange hours. 

She didn’t have to, of course. She rented out studio space downtown that offered twenty-four hour access via a keycard and Feyre found she much preferred to paint at two in the morning…and again at two in the afternoon. In between, she taught a painting class to rambunctious hospital children all the way across the city, and three painting classes at night for adults who liked to drink wine. She had enough money, thanks to some wealthy business man purchasing one of her paintings, to afford one of the nicer townhouses in a quieter part of the city. Did she need that much space? No. But she liked it.

She liked the dark wood floors and the bay window that overlooked the street. She liked the crown molding and having two bathrooms upstairs and half of one downstairs.

And most of all, Feyre liked her neighbor. Rhysand. She knew because she’d once gotten a piece of mail for him, numbered for next door but slid into her box. She’d returned it, turning that name over in her mind.

He didn’t realize she lived there. At least, that’s what she assumed, given every morning he bade his strolled onto the back deck they shared totally and utterly naked. She’d been standing outside the sliding glass door, about to introduce herself to him. 

He’d introduced himself, instead. 

Rhysand. 

Rhysand with his golden brown skin and his muscular body. Rhysand, with his raven’s black hair and eyes so blue that they seemed violet in the early morning sun. Rhysand, with those dark, black inked tattoos over his broad shoulders and chest.

And Rhysand, with his absurdly large cock. She’d heard the phrase shower versus grower, but never had Feyre understood what that meant until she saw the thick, heavy appendage hanging casually between Rhysand's muscular thighs. 

Feyre made sure she was home every morning to see him strut out on the deck. Sometimes he went alone, nothing in hand, to lean against the railing and stare out at the river in the distance. Other times he had coffee or a book. A few times a very naked woman would join him—always different, which made her feel a little better.

It wasn’t as if she had a shot in hell with him. Rhysand looked like he had an expensive job. Like he’d been born into money and his life was merely a natural extension of that. He certainly wasn’t covered in paint at any given time, and the women he brought home weren’t, either.

Still, he was a nice little fantasy. Most morning’s Ferye lied to herself about why she watched him. It wasn’t, she swore, because he was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen.

He was merely a good body study. Examining him so closely, watching the way his muscles shifted and pulled, made her a better artist. And Feyre was consumed with being a better artist. She’d never been able to get past the awkwardness that came from studying nude figures, but since Rhysand didn’t know he was being watched, Feyre didn’t have to feel uncomfortable. 

It took her three months of living in the townhouse to work up the nerve to sketch him. He’d been leaned over the railing, one leg popped out, the other stretched behind him. No penis—only his rather nice ass and the bunching muscles in his back. He stayed that way just long enough for her to get a rough outline of him. 

She hadn’t slept that morning—Feyre had to finish her charcoal drawing. It had made her class that night hell and still, was well worth it. She’d managed to capture his contemplation rather well, which always made her giddy.

A week later, she’d pulled it out again to draw him spread in a chair. That sketch was more self-indulgent and yet the way his cock hung between his thighs, the head pressed to his leg, was more good work. New work. She’d transferred it onto an easel, using oil to draw out his mood and the world around him. 

If he hadn’t been a real person, Feyre was sure she could have sold it. He was absurdly beautiful, even drawn from her own hand. The world deserved to know someone like him existed. 

It was a violation in and of itself to even draw him, let alone put one of those pictures up for auction. It wasn’t as if he knew and Feyre was positive if he learned he had a neighbor, he would have put on pants. 

She managed to stay out of his line of sight for a full six months. She might have managed it forever had they not met on the sidewalk just outside their shared walkway. He had his arm around a giggling brunette. Her dress was riding up over her ass and his tie was pulled off his neck.

Feyre was covered in paint.

The three of them paused, looking at each other. His dark brows furrowed, keys in his hand. 

“Hey, neighbor,” she said awkwardly. He blinked those violet eyes, his expression illuminated under the porchlight.

“How long…” his words were slurred. “Neighbor?” 

“Six months,” she informed him sheepishly. Fuck this was so awkward. Her stomach sloshed with jealousy, unable to take her eyes off the woman running her hand up his broad chest. She wished that was her. 

“Have a nice night,” she told him, jogging towards the stairs before he could ask her anything else. Feyre’s heart pounded just on the other side of the door. He was drunk, she reasoned. He wouldn’t remember this in the morning. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what he was up to, though despite their shared walls, she didn’t hear a peep out of him. 

Whiskey dick was a real bitch, she told herself with more than a little glee. 

Feyre was certain she was in the clear the next morning. She had her sketch pad at the table, coffee steaming from a paint covered mug, when a knock on the front door sent fear skittering up her spine. Feyre turned towards the long hall, well aware of who would be waiting.

It was Rhysand, in a dark suit, and box of donuts in hand.

“I didn’t know I had a neighbor,” he said by way of greeting. “Six months?”

“I’m surprised you remember,” she said breathlessly. Watching him from her window was one thing. Standing just on the other side of the door frame, close enough to breathe in the salt and citrusy scent of his masculine cologne was wholly another. Rhysand was tall, looking down at her with open amusement.

“Can I come in?” he asked when it was clear she wasn’t going to invite him. 

Get it together.

“Yeah, sure,” she agreed, stepping aside. He practically ducked in, eyes sliding over her walls. They snagged on one of her paintings, squinting as though he recognized it. She wouldn’t be surprised. For a whole year, Ferye had advertised her pieces in various restaurants as a way to drum up interest. 

“Do you know what happened to the last woman who lived here?” he asked conversationally. Feyre led him to the kitchen, not bothering to think about what he might see when he stepped in.

“She passed away, I think,” Feyre replied. He nodded, gaze pinned to her closed sketchbook.

“She was nice. Used to bake.”

Did she watch him naked from the window, too? Feyre didn’t blame her if she had. Rhysand set the donut box on her little table, positioned perfectly to watch him on the deck.

“This was really nice,” she tried, unable to take her eyes off him. Rhysand went straight to the closed balcony doors, peering out into the morning light. Was he missing his usual routine? 

“It’s my pleasure,” he assured her, turning so suddenly she stumbled back a step. Hands braced on the counter, Feyre had to blink in order to really look at him. “Six months, huh?”

She nodded, swallowing hard.

“Never wanted to say hi? That’s not very neighborly.”

“I work late hours,” she told him breathlessly. His eyes flicked back out to the deck. “Out late? Up early?”

“Something like that.”

He nodded slowly. “And when do you sleep?”

The question was innocuous. Polite, even. Or, it would have been were it not for the predatory look in his eyes or the way he managed to make that question sound like a suggestion.

“I…” Feyre walked around the kitchen island, putting a healthy distance between them. “When I can.”

He nodded, glancing back at her sketchbook. Nodding towards it, he asked. “You draw? Can I see?”

She lunged, snatching it out of his hands before he could flip it open. He was so close to finding multiple drawings of his own cock. All but panting, Feyre said, “That’s private.”

“Oh, I’m sure it is,” he agreed. She wanted to die. Did he know? Had he guessed? Or was her guilt making her project? 

“Thank you for breakfast,” she told him, holding her sketchbook protectively to her chest. He smiled.

“Maybe you’ll return the favor once you get to know me. I’m Rhys.”

Rhys. 

“Feyre,” she breathed.

“Feyre,” he repeated. He spoke it like a prayer—like a lover's caress. “I look forward to getting to know you better, Feyre.”

And that was it. He left her with twelve really nice donuts and his lingering scent in her apartment. 

She convinced herself it was all in her head. Locked up in her studio, Feyre reassured herself that was just how he was. Flirty. He didn’t know shit. He was just nosy and too nice and she felt guilty that she watched him every morning.

Not so guilty she didn’t return that next morning. If he knew, she reasoned, he would stop. Any sane, rational person would. She was relieved to see him out there, sitting in one of the deck chairs with his legs wide open. It was a familiar pose…though the erect cock wasn’t. Neither was his gaze, pinned to her form. 

“Good morning,” he called, lifting his mug of coffee in the air. “Care to join?”

She couldn’t stop staring at his penis. She’d just assumed the flacid version was as big as he got, but filled with blood and pointed towards the sky, Rhys’s jutting dick pressed against his belly button easily. 

She didn’t move.

“I thought you might prefer drawing me if you were outside, too. Naked, even?”

She turned away to a cajoling, “Oh come on, Ferye, darling—”

Feyre spent the rest of the day hiding in bed, utterly mortified. 

He was more brazen the next morning. Still naked though not erect, Rhys knocked on her backdoor as she was thundering down the stairs for coffee and her sketchbook. She’d never closed the curtains, so Feyre was greeted with his gloriously muscular form and that wicked smile.

“I had a bad day yesterday,” he told her when she froze on the tile of the kitchen, eyes immediately fixated on his cock. “Ask me why.”

“Why?” she breathed, wondering if he could even hear through the glass.

“My pretty neighbor didn’t want to draw me,” he replied. Feyre exhaled a huff of breath. “Am I going to have another bad day today, Feyre?”

“You’re unhinged. Do you know that?”

He smiled. “C’mon. Sit outside and talk to me, at least.”

“Are you going to put on pants?”

He scoffed. “Absolutely not. This is my time, and in my time, I don’t wear pants. Why don’t you take off yours. Turnabout’s fair play, is it not?”

Feyre rubbed her eyes. “Do you want me to say sorry?”

“I want you to show me your sketchbook. Ideally while you sit in my lap,” came his quick reply. 

Jesus Christ. 

“You’ll really let me sketch you?” she asked, stepping a little closer. Rhys grinned, running a hand down his naked chest.

“I’ll let you do anything you like to me.”

She held his gaze. “Give me a second.”

Feyre scrambled back up the stairs for her set of charcoals and her sketchpad. She didn’t dare let herself think about what she was doing, instead running a brush through her tangled mass of golden blonde hair. She braided it quickly, tossing the tail over her shoulder before yanking on a slouchy sweatshirt and a pair of clingy leggings. The more layers, the better she reasoned.

Especially if she was going to sit across from her neighbor, who was so absurdly hot it made her knees shake.

Rhys was waiting in his chair, ankle crossed over his knee. He frowned when he saw her. “You’re wearing more clothes.” “I need them,” she informed him frankly. He uncrossed his legs just in time for her to press her thighs together. 

“I’ll bet you don’t.”

“Is this how you treated the last neighbor?” Feyre demanded, as if she had any leg to stand on given how many pages of his naked form she had to flip through in order to get to a blank page. 

“Mrs. Robinson would have loved an offer into my bed,” Rhys said with a suggestive wink. “Honor her memory, Feyre.”

“Have we graduated from nude drawings to…” God she couldn’t even say it.

“I wouldn’t say no,” he agreed, his words practically a purr. 

“You were bringing a woman home two nights ago,” she snapped, hating how jealous she sounded. Ferye couldn’t look at him as she began thumbing through her set of charcoal. “I’ll bet your sheets still smell like her.”

“You think I wouldn’t wash my sheets for you?”

Fuck him.

“I like drawing you,” she managed, heart pounding in her throat. “I’m sorry if I made it weird.”

“Draw me again,” he insisted, some of his teasing. “It’s not weird at all.”

Feyre wasn’t sure that was true, but for an hour that morning, Rhys sat utterly still and Feyre sketched without having to move so quickly, fearing he’d move or shift or leave. It was odd to show him in the aftermath and worse still when he yanked the sketchpad from her hands and flipped through it, wide-eyed.

“Are these all of me?” he asked her, turning one to the side so he could view it better.

“There are others that aren’t,” she mumbled, embarrassed. “You’ve been my muse since I moved in.”

He caught her wrist before she could escape back inside. “I’m happy to be your muse.”

Their eyes locked. “Sorry for watching you naked.”

He smiled. “Don’t be.”

Feyre spent the rest of her day all but floating. 

I’m happy to be your muse. 

She wanted to show him the oil painting she’d done—which, despite him not realizing he was even the subject, was still some of her finest work. She thought he might appreciate it, if only to make some lurid comment about having sex with her. 

Ferye was still in a good mood as she set up her classroom for painting with adults. People—usually couples—paid for a two hour art class during which they could also drink while they did it. Very rarely did Feyre get a painting that looked good when a bunch of novices added alcohol to the mix, but it was her bread and butter in terms of getting her rent paid. Feyre was looking forward to that night because she had an interesting prop—a large, gleaming sword. Set atop a faded purple pillow, and when the light overhead hit the metal, different colors shone over silver, depending on where that person sat. There was depth, there was the chance for nuance. She, herself, spent her prep time painting an example from where she sat, setting it on an easel behind her.

People started pouring in around seven fifty…including her fucking neighbor and the most beautiful blonde she’d ever seen in her entire life.

“Don’t be annoying,” the blonde said the moment she stepped inside. She was immaculate, dressed in a tight red dress that hugged her body and tall heels that made both her and Rhys nearly the same height. His cheeks were inflamed the moment those violet eyes landed on her. 

Oh fuck him.

“Sit down,” the blonde ordered, practically shoving him into the chair at the far end of the room. It wasn’t uncommon for women to drag unwilling partners…but usually it wasn’t because the teacher had drawn their cock just that morning. 

Any decent person would have left. Rhys, apparently, had no decency in him. He shrugged off his crisp black jacket and began rolling the salmon colored sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows. He looked stunning in gray slacks and a belt she might have been fantasizing about had he not brought a date to her class.

Feyre was forced to wait for the rest of the pairs to arrive. A giggly bachelorette group occupied the front row, clearly already drunk, which gave Feyre something to fixate on. 

“Hi!” she said, too brightly despite how firmly she was gripping a paint brush. “I’m Feyre–”

“Tell us about your credentials, Feyre,” the blonde interrupted. Her painted red lips curled with amusement. Rhys elbowed her hard in the ribs. “And your hobbies. What do you like to do for fun?”

“I’d like to know that, too, actually,” a man—who’d come in a larger group of couples, and was clearly their seventh wheel—added with hopeful eyes. “Are you single?”

Rhys started to stand, only to be yanked back in his chair by his date. 

“I can’t imagine how that’s appropriate,” Feyre replied smoothly. “Why don’t we pour a drink and then I’ll describe what we’re painting—”

“Looks like a sword,” that guy called again. “I can show you–”

“Shut the fuck up,” Rhys called darkly. “And let her talk.”

“Right.” Feyre swallowed hard. “The bar is at the far end of the room. Pour yourself a drink and grab a case of paint on your way back.”

Feyre leaned against the wall behind her, heart hammering in her chest. The rest of the room moved towards wine and other spirits—except for the blonde. She sashayed towards Feyre, tossing a long lock of her golden hair over her bare shoulders.

“I still want to know the answers to my questions,” she said, revealing two rows of perfectly straight, utterly white teeth. Fuck, she was so pretty. Not a drop of paint on her. Feyre’s chest tightened.

“I got a BA in fine art from Velaris U—”

“Good school,” the blonde murmured appraisingly. Brown eyes swept over her, framed by mascara coated lashes. She looked so well done, and Feyre couldn’t blame her. This was obviously Rhys’s type. 

“And your hobbies?”

Feyre blinked. “I paint.”

Her laugh was pretty. She chuckled, nodding. “I guess I walked right into that. Anything else?”

“Can I ask why you want to know?”

The woman stepped closer, clearly about to offer Feyre some secret but Rhys’s voice interrupted.

“Mor!” he barked. “Come get some fucking wine.”

Mor rolled her eyes, as if to say men, amirite? The whole thing was so utterly strange that Feyre had to walk back with the group to pour herself some wine, too. Mor was there, and when Feyre reached her, she murmured, “Red or white?”

“White.”

“Hm. I like red,” she said, though she handed Feyre a little plastic cup of white wine all the same. Mor turned again, to ask some other question, but the man who’d interrupted her was also waiting.

“Sorry about that guy's outburst,” he told her earnestly. “I wasn’t trying to be weird.”

“Sure,” Mor said on Feyre’s behalf smoothly. “What were you gonna say, anyway?”

His cheeks darkened. “I just think a sword is a cool prop. Can’t wait to show you what I do with it.”

“Oh, gross,” Mor whispered while Feyre smiled. 

“I can’t wait to see what you come up with,” Feyre said. This was still her job, and the last thing she needed was some man complaining because she couldn’t be friendly. It wasn’t the first time someone had hit on her.

It wouldn’t be the last. 

“Morrigan!” Rhys hissed, earning another eye-roll. 

“You could do better,” Mor whispered, “Than my terrible cousin.” 

Feyre choked on her breath of air. “Cousin?”

Mor merely laughed, walking back to Rhys who, to his credit, looked as if he wished the floor would open up and swallow him whole. 

Cousin. He’d brought his cousin to her painting class? Why? Feyre couldn’t tease it out…but she could punish him for all the jealousy she felt when he’d first walked in. Mor was having a lovely time, despite being a terrible painter. She spent most of her time drinking and telling loud stories about Rhys as a child, which the group of bachelorettes loved.

Rhys didn’t. He kept elbowing Mor, his eyes darting to Feyre as if to say I’m so sorry.

And maybe he ought to be sorry. If only a little. Feyre walked around the room, surveying people’s work and offering help when they muddied their colors and drew something absurdly phallic—like the guy who asked if she was single. Feyre frowned when she saw it, leaning closer.

“What is this?”

“A sword,” he replied, holding his wine close to his lips. “Do you like it?”

“Seems misshapen,” she murmured. “Something you should see a physician about.”

His friends beside him choked with laughter, drawing a scowl from Rhys across the room.

“One of your talents?” he crooned, smoother than she’d prefer.

“Not likely.”

She sent everyone home with their terrible drawings, grateful to shut the door in their faces—including Rhys and his very lovely, very nice cousin. He’d tried to speak to her on the way out, his eyes all but pleading but Feyre lacked the emotional capacity to hear him out. 

As if it mattered. As she began cleaning up the stations, Feyre found Mor had left her a little note on the clean piece of paper beneath her own painting.

Rhys has a crush on you. You should ask him out.

Feyre stared at it for a long time. Long enough the shop next door went dark and she had to walk to the parking lot herself. She took that piece of paper with her, folded up in her pocket as she drove home.

Rhys has a crush on you.

Rhys has a crush on you.

Rhys should think she was a pervert, she thought wryly. Had he told his cousin about her? And—oh God, what had he said? 

He was waiting on the front steps when she pulled up, parking in their shared driveway just beside his own nicer, shinier car. He pulled open her door before she could cut the ignition.

“I’m so sorry,” he breathed, the scent of his cologne overwhelming her senses. Even under the harsh porch lights, Rhys was too handsome to stay mad at. And she wasn’t even mad.

Just embarrassed. 

“I told Mor I liked you,” he rushed out, his cheeks flaming red. “And she suggested we catch up and talk. I didn’t…I didn’t think she was insane enough to look you up.”

“She seemed nice,” Feyre offered mildly, walking towards her front door. It was so odd to see Rhys stumbling over his words. Where had his smoothness gone? 

“She’s a menace,” he retorted. “I ah…”

Ferye turned to look at him. 

“Can I show you something?” he asked, hand on his own door. “Pants on, I swear.”

“Is this the part where you chain me up in your basement?” she teased, following just behind. She was curious about his place, if nothing else. 

“The only chains I keep are on my bed—no don’t go, that was a joke—”

Feyre crossed her arms over her chest. “Don’t make this weird.”

Rhys only sighed, gesturing for her to come in. 

Their set-up was exactly the same. Dark wood floors and crown molding. The same layout, the same ivory colored walls. He’d done a much nicer job decorating than her, which included several really lovely pieces of art on his wall.

“Up here,” he said, hand gliding over a mahogany wood rail as he led her up. Feyre’s heart pounded, well aware Rhys was taking her to his bedroom. To see the chains? A big part of her almost hoped so. She was so busy thinking about what he could do to her and how much she’d like it, that Feyre didn’t register what he was showing her when he pushed open his bedroom door.

She only saw the bed, draped in black with a pretty white throw tossed over the bottom edge. Rhys cleared his throat, as if he realized what she was looking at—his headboard, free of any restraint at all. 

On the unbroken wall the two of them shared, was a painting that was all-too familiar to Feyre. Framed in silver lovingly, it was her work. 

Feyre whirled to look at him. “You?”

He swallowed hard. “I keep it there so it’s the first thing I see in the morning,” he admitted. “It makes me feel…” he paused, hand pressed to his chest. 

“You paid too much for it,” she whispered. “It’s how I bought my place next door.”

His eyes lit up. “It's my fault you’re my neighbor.”

“In a way,” she agreed with a laugh she didn’t quite mean. 

“Lucky me,” he murmured, taking a step towards her. Ferye needed to get out before she did something stupid. Something wholly foolish, like fucking her neighbor as a thank you for buying my artwork. 

“I uh…” she cleared her throat. “It's been a long day.”

“Have breakfast on the deck with me tomorrow,” he told her, his hands clenched to fists at his sides. 

“Pants on?”

He shook his head. “No pants, Feyre.”

She took a breath. “We’ll see.”

Feyre fled on trembling legs, not daring to take a breath until she was in her own bedroom, back pressed to the wall her painting hung on. She could hear him moving faintly on the other side, though whatever he did wasn’t clear to her. Not immediately, anyway.

Not until Feyre slipped into her own bed naked, hand snaking between her legs. In the dark, every little noise her neighbor made was magnified. 

He grunted. It was such an obscenely sexual noise that Feyre whimpered in response. Silence settled between them, and then Rhys’s voice called through the wall. “Can you hear me, darling?”

Don’t respond, don’t respond, don’t respond— “Yes.”

He exhaled a loud, almost needy sounding breath. “Why don’t you go in the kitchen and see what you do to me?”

“I’m not wearing any clothes,” she told him, speaking louder than she wanted to so he would hear her.

“Fucking kill me,” he groaned softly. “Go downstairs, Feyre.”

Maybe it was her lust that drew her upwards. Or maybe it was knowing that Rhys had liked her before he’d ever even met her. Maybe he was just hot and it had been a year since she’d been the object of anyones sexual desires. Whatever it was, Feyre wrapped a blanket around her body and padded down the steps, calling, “I’m going,” before slamming her door loudly, just in case he hadn’t heard.

He must have run. Rhys was outside, chest heaving, by the time Feyre pulled back the blinds on the sliding door. He was utterly naked, illuminated by the light he’d flipped on and his massive cock was all but twitching in his hand. He was watching her with an intensity that made her whole body ache. 

“Take off the blanket,” he ordered, walking to her door to open it. Feyre was grateful she’d locked it. Rhys could tug all he liked. She wasn’t letting him in. 

Not tonight.

She did drop the blanket though, scooting forward in the chair so her toes were pressed to the glass. Legs spread open so he could really look at her. Rhys pressed his broad hand against the glass, resting his forehead against the door.

“Feyre,” he practically begged. “Open the door.”

“I don’t think I will,” she whispered, running her hands up and down her thighs. “That wasn’t the deal.”

“Feyre—”

“Show me what I do to you, Rhys.”

His free hand was still wrapped around his cock. When he stroked, Feyre couldn’t stop the soft whine that escaped her lips. He was exquisite and watching him pleasure himself while staring at her spread open pussy was so erotic Feyre could scarcely breathe.

“Touch yourself,” he rasped. “Show me how you like to be touched.”

“Thinking about touching me?” she tried to tease, though her fingers brushed her swollen clit all the same.

Rhy’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment. “Open the door, Ferye. Let me show you.”

She was tempted. So tempted her arm jerked without her consent, her body desperate to know what it would feel like to have his big, broad hands on her. 

Feyre dipped two fingers into her body, her stomach flipping when Rhys practically whined at the sight. Coating herself in her slick arousal, she trailed upwards, leaving a glistening path over her stomach as she toyed with her breasts. 

Rhys looked like he was seconds from falling to his knees, to begging and pleading to be let in. 

“Tell me what you would do,” Feyre ordered, bolder than she’d ever been in her life.

Rhys’s lips parted as her hand left her nipple, sliding back to rub indolent circles over her clit. 

“Feyre.” His voice was the softest plea, his breath fogging the glass. “Let me taste you.”

She arched her neck. “You talk a big game.”

“Let me show you,” he ordered roughly, pulling the door handle again. Stupid, she was so stupid. 

She leaned forward, fingers still sticky, and flipped the latch. Rhys pounced, pulling the door open so hard it bounced on the hinges. He didn’t care, not when cool air poured into her kitchen and certainly not if he broke the thing. 

He took four steps, hitting his knees so hard she could hear his bones groan in protest. Hands gripped her hips, yanking her forward until she had to drape her legs over his shoulders. He didn’t ask, didn’t say a gloating word. Feyre wasn’t certain he had any speech available to him at that moment. 

Feyre squealed when his tongue slid up the length of her. He hadn’t been lying on the deck. Rhys only adjusted his hold, pulling her to the edge of the chair until she was practically sitting on his face.

“Fucking hell, Feyre,” he moaned, the sound muffled as he sucked her clit between his lips. 

Oh God, she thought. He was so obscenely good with his tongue it ought to be a crime. Feyre gripped the edge of her chair, the only thing keeping herself from sliding into a puddle of wet nothing. 

Feyre had to press the balls of her feet against his naked back to keep from flying upwards. Rhys didn’t offer tentative licks or act like her last boyfriend every time he’d been between her legs. No hesitance—Rhys kissed, practically swallowing her with an urgency that made her whole body ignite with pleasure. 

Rhys ate pussy like he was hungry. It wasn’t pretty or elegant—he was messy. She couldn’t take her eyes off him, watching how his jaw worked, how his eyes held her gaze. Gauging, she realized, to see if she was enjoying herself. It took Feyre a moment to let go, to realize he wasn’t doing this just long enough to get her wet before he pushed himself into her. 

He was eating pussy because he liked it. 

Feyre carded her fingers through his dark, silken hair. “Rhys,” she panted, digging her heels into his back until there was no way Rhys was breathing. If he cared, he didn’t say. Hands kneaded at her thighs, her ass, anything he could put them on to heighten her already hot pleasure. It was a crime that a man as hot as him was as good with his mouth as he was. How did anyone stand losing him? 

“Rhys,” she breathed again, wondering if their neighbors could hear how loud he moaned into her. He’d figured her out too quickly—fucking her with his tongue until she was all but riding against his face, before dragging upwards to circle and suck at her clit. She felt wild, utterly out of control. Feyre pulled at his hair, all but ripping it from his scalp. It only made him moan louder.

“Rhys!” she pleaded a mere moment before she detonated around him. Her legs shook, clamping against his ears. Rhys pulled her closer still, tasting her release with hungry abandon. She had to push him off her to get him to stop.

Rhys yanked her to the floor, pulling her into his lap for a wet, messy kiss that tasted like her arousal. She was practically dripping wet, could feel the sticky slickness coating her thighs. Feyre clung to his powerful shoulders, sliding her tongue over his until they were both grinding on the floor, overcome with near feral desire. 

Rhys was the one who lifted her in the air like she was feather light, breaking the kiss long enough to keep them both from toppling back to the unforgiving tile. He walked her out into the late evening chill and set her atop the smooth rail of the deck. 

“Tell me,” he began, nipping kisses over her collarbone. “Is this what you imagined when you watched me?”

She didn’t answer at first—he sucked her nipple into his mouth, reigniting her arousal all over again. She could practically feel his tongue back on her clit. She wouldn’t have stopped him if he’d gotten back on his knees. Feyre slid her hands down his chest, halting when she felt the wet tip of his cock brush the back of her hand. 

Rhys moaned against her skin as she gripped him, pumping the thickness of him in a hand that hardly felt big enough to hold him. 

“Is it?”

Oh God, she’d forgotten he’d been speaking.

“No,” she whispered. “I just thought you were beautiful.”

The hungry look on his face softened for a moment. “You’re so lovely,” he whispered, teeth against her neck. “I’m going to fuck you, Feyre, and afterwards I’m going to take you to my bed and show you just how lovely you are.” She was still pumping his cock, her thumb slicking through the precum practically weeping from the tip. How did he seem so controlled? Feyre was losing herself entirely.

Rhys replaced her hand with his, pressing closer until he was notched against her. Feyre waited for him to thrust in and when he didn’t, too busy teasing her with his wicked mouth, she wrapped her legs around his waist, dug her heels and his ass, and pushed him into her body.

“Fuck,” he cried, loud enough to disturb nearby crickets singing sweetly in the grass. Speech eluded Ferye entirely as she adjusted to the fullness of holding him. It was almost like her first time—the stretch was a pleasant sort of pain. 

One hand on her hip, the other around her neck, Rhys began driving into her. The slap of their skin meeting was louder than the singing crickets and the street traffic just outside. Feyre didn’t care. She hoped someone looked out their window and saw what he was doing to her. 

Rhys’s hand was big enough to span the entirety of her neck, his fingertips pressing just enough to leave her breathless. 

Rhys dipped his head, licking just behind her ear. “You should have told me you were watching,” he whispered, teeth sinking against her lobe. He tugged and Feyre moaned, tightening around him. “I would have fucked you months ago.”

She dug her nails into his shoulders, pushing her feet until he was practically pounding with bruising force into her body. She’d never been more turned on in her life. The air kissed against her overheated skin, stimulating her just as surely as his hands and cock was. He was dragging her up back up in a way no one had ever managed before. The precise roll of his hips, the way he paid such careful attention to each little whine and whimper all added to the exquisite drag of his cock. He knew what he was doing.

“Rhys—” he covered her mouth with his own, swallowing her scream greedily as her pussy clamped tightly around him, drawing him deeper and practically holding him still. Feyre was wrecked, could barely breathe as a second orgasm ripped its way through her.

Rhys was all but rutting into her, whimpering with need. He was going to come—Feyre could practically feel the way his heart throbbed. His careful rhythm faltered, hips pushing and pushing until he dropped his hand around her throat to bite against her shoulder. His own release was dizzyingly erotic, only adding to her pleasure.

“Up,” he whispered, kissing her neck as he lifted her back up against him. He was forced to withdraw so he could walk. She whined in protest.

“I’m not done with you,” he informed her, walking her back through his place. Rhys dropped her on his bed where she could see that painting hanging on his wall. Proof, perhaps, that they’d been meant to find each other.

Rhys crawled up her body. “I’ll never be done with you.”

Feyre thought she wouldn’t be either.

#feysand #feyre archeron #rhysand #feyre x rhysand #a little smut on a tuesday afternoon #sometimes thats just self-care

[understandableparadox]

Bottom of the barrel isekai review #1

content warning: Mention of sexual assault

This series is to point a spotlight at the worst and best isekais that float innocuously throughout the internet. Trash and treasures shall be sorted for your amusement and entertainment. 

Reincarnation coliseum

This was a Strong choice for my first trash manga review, but I believe that it is perfect as a tone setter for what this series entails. You may have memories of some anime that fits within the nebulous concept of an isekai, perhaps a portal anime, perhaps reincarnation, perhaps abducted to another planet.

I don't think it would be a misnomer to say that these older titles were softer in general, the concepts, the characters, the romances. The escapism was not rooted in frustration but instead fascination of what could be.  In that we have the true difference between modern and classic isekai. 

Modern isekai authors a great majority of the time are frustrated at a concept of society and want to escape from it in their stories. Although an even larger majority of the time, an isekai is made because the author is both irrevocably hornt up, has a chip on their shoulder about something and has decided to make this a problem for the world to deal with. 

A problem we will be dealing with today. 

The story of reincarnation coliseum is fairly simple. An average japanese college/highschool student is summoned via some magical means into a brand new world by a priestly order and its leader zayd. 

The moment you are introduced to zayd, who for lack of better words is an 8 foot amazonian women with tits the size of regulation basketballs and a outfit that would make even the sleaziest fantasy costume designer snear with a little bit of disdain, you understand a very simple fact about the story you are about to read. 

This is porn. It is not labeled as such but that is not due to the author's efforts. 

Everything in this story revolves around the concept that this is porn, every step it makes is in service of hurrying itself along to a secluded space so it can rip away the millimeter fabric of clothing it bothered to pretend to draw onto its women. 

Which isn't a sin in and of itself. I'm not going to pretend anime doesn't have a rich history of stuffing people in the bare minimum of fabric one can get away with without triggering a public indecency charge, perhaps im being a tiny bit of a prude by jumping the guns and bemoaning the duel blimp chested woman before me before I even get a chance to understand the basic plot!

So we learn that our protagonist has been summoned to the world at great cost! Why? Because the cost allows the summoned to gain a divine skill or cheat ability…

God Damn It. 

Ok im going to judge a cover by its book and a book by its cover and an author by their fucking lemming mentality desire to follow the fucking leader. 

There are…So Goddamn Many cheat skill mangas, its mind numbing. I’m being accosted by skill stealing, ability absorbing, mind washing fucking losers. Here I am swaying my way downtown, attempting to enjoy my stroll through the familiar roads of fantasy when out of the corner of my eye I spot a quaint and cozy little restaurant/manga. 

Oh my

I say, a slice of life in another world with a lovely protagonist that's here to learn how to do some blacksmithing for their local community? Oh be still my beating heart! My fingers wrap around the door as I throw it open, my heart open to the rapturous joy of simple blue collar trade skill living. Yet sitting before me radiating a malicious stench is some god damn rando with a super skill like… “Insta crafting”, “item shop”, or God fucking forbid, “hyper level”. IF YOU HAVE INSTA CRAFTING YOU ARENT FUCKING CRAFTING YOU JUST HAVE GOD MOD ONE YOU FUCK, PICK UP THAT HAMMER YOU SHODDILY DRAWN TWINK AND SWING IT, MAKE A FUCKING IRON TOOL FOR YOUR FELLOW VILLAGERS, OLD FAMER JANKINS HAS A GOD DAMN FAMILY TO FEAD AND WHILE YOUR TWIDDLING WITH YOUR MIGHTY SWORD IN HAND HES GOING TO MISS PRIME HARVEST TIME, YOU ARE RUINING THE LOCAL ECONAMY BECAUSE YOU WONT MAKE A FUCKING HOE. PERHAPS AND PLEASE TAKE THIS WITH THE EVER SO SLIGHTIST BIT OF SALT BUT MAYBE YOU DONT FUCKING NEED TO HAVE EVERY SINGLE GOD DAMN HERO POP OUT THE METAPHORICAL WOMB WITH THE STRONGEST SKILL, MAYBE HAVE THEM BE ACTUALLY WEAK, MAYBE ITS OK TO HAVE TO WORK TOWARDS A GOAL INSTEAD OF GIVING THE FIRST LIMP DICK LOSER THAT MANAGES TO SASHEY THEIR WAY INFRONT OF THE NEAREST TRUCK SUPERMANS TESTOSTERONE INJECTIONS BEFORE INTRODUCING THESE INVASIVE FUCKWADS INTO A NEW UNPREPARED ECOSYSTEM, IS THAT PERHAPS TO LARGE OF AN ASK?!

Where was it…? Oh yeah, the manga then takes a turn, the once kindly priestess shows her hidden colors and sells the protagonist to slavery, a life of fighting within the coliseum within the town. Ok, ok. We are finally getting somewhere. We are moving towards something we can describe without the nasty nerdy wink wink nudge nudge joking attitude as Plot. 

The protagonist is stuck in a jail cell with another young lady who describes herself as a sword slave. A slave who fights within the coliseum as entertainment. A concept we are not unfamiliar with, the gladiator may come to mind. 

She then goes along to explain the basic premise of the coliseum and its rules. There are both slaves and regular fighters that attend. Two fighters enter the arena and whoever loses will “belong” to the winner. In addition the winner may decide to change the sex of the loser. With the winner then gaining male genitalia. 

Could a concept like this have some nuance? Maybe, the idea that even a single loss is literally emasculating may play some part in a better story, the idea of a society where gender is as easy to change as a pair of clothes, to the point of even mixing and matching body parts, but it's not. In this story it's treated as something fetishy enough to warrant a demonstration panel but still scary enough to motivate the main character into both swearing vengeance against this society and winning at all cost.

Hey real quick, Imagine all the nuisance of the gambling and addiction and the willingness to throw away your life in pursuit of true hedonistic joy and thrill that we see in kakegurui. You got it? You imagining those big amazing psycho smiles the girls make? You remember the isekai the author nearly got sued for making? Good good, throw it all away. 

Because this is where the story decides to discard itself in blind pursuit of its carnal desire. Or to be less of a pretentious prick about it, it becomes porn, porn with a horribly predictable, horribly paced and horridly set up punchline. 

The plot or whatever semblance survived the suspiciously shaped holes poked into it becomes thus: Woman of the week shows up at the arena. The woman is strong, tall, well endowed and astoundingly cocky of their abilities, promising to assault the mc the moment they win because even when creating foils, the women are not allowed to express any sexual disinterest in the main character AT ALL, i mean, we gotta throw a bone for the trash readers that like fem dom right?

Anyways the special skill of the main character always allows them to counter, adapt or supersede whatever skill this apparent master combatant has trained with. They are soundly beaten and then added to the main characters harem by force where after one night they and please do pardon my words here, if i could i would shoot the author and help them with their hormone imbalance “Become slaves to their baser instinct and subservient to the main character.”

Each character becomes submissive and a prop for the next sexual escapade of the main character as they get ready for next week's fight. Occasionally the rules will be changed up or the main character will do something vaguely different for their fight, either because the skill for whatever reason wont work or because they want to pretend the main character is Gamer Batman. 

The manga I regret to inform you is both somewhat successful and has a slowly growing cult following. It's also still continuing on, it will likely gain merch and an anime adaptation that people will call “Cultured” because god will settle into a nice coffin before another joke gets invented.

Is it worth the read? No. no it's not. Is it worth learning about? No, not really. Is it capable of pulling emotion out of your dead heart? By god yes it fucking can. ‘

"Is the underlying story, barring any other concept, good?"

No, the story is a tournament manga but without the cool character designs. Each character is a basic human with slight alterations, the costume design makes my soul hollow. 

 "on a sliding scale of min to max, how much is the author using this to explore fetish" 

Scale set to max. Every character is just an introduction to a new fetish, every female character was drawn one handed. 

"How many story crutches does the author use to explore the story" 

There is no story, it's just porn that has story cosplay. 

 "Is the author attempting to use the story as a way to explain why he is not weird."

Yes, the author has an innate fear of male penetration and also seemingly believes that sex can make people submissive, obedient and loyal even if it's forced upon them. 

#trash #manga #isekai #manga review #do not recommend

[badbreadpuns]

Soft Wings (2/4)

Characters: m!moth x f!reader Content: a charming bookstore, tsundere moth boy, protective monster boyfriend Rating: Lemon (first 3 parts sfw) Word count: ~1,100 words Content warning: intrusive thoughts (this story is about the reader recovering but this could still be upsetting.)

Wednesdays are the highlight of your week now.

Each appointment, Ms. Maxwell sends you to Saturn’s room so you can spend time with him. The two of you have fun together, reading, drawing, playing board games. It’s nice to have something to look forward to.

This Wednesday is no different. Stepping into the room, you’re greeted by a beaming Saturn.

“Welcome back.”

You sit in your favorite chair, a soft smile forming.

“What would you like to do today?”

“I wanted to read, but noticed on the bus ride that I forgot my book…”

“That’s no good.” He holds his chin as he ponders. “My family owns a bookstore, I can take you there.”

“I love that idea.”

Saturn takes you to Ms. Maxwell’s office. She turns to you as the door shuts.

“You’re back early. Is everything alright?”

“Yes, Ms. Maxwell.”

“I want to take her downtown. May I?”

She’s silent for a moment, but her smile lets you know it’s okay. “Sounds fine to me. Don’t get lost.”

Saturn chuckles. “We won’t, don’t worry.”

Stepping outside the building, the cold greets you like a slap to the face.

“Brr.”

“Are you cold?” He holds out a lower arm and lifts his wing. “Here.”

Your cheeks heat up, and not because of the chill. “Thanks.”

An arm wraps around your shoulder, drawing you close—the fuzz warms you instantly. His wing covers your back like a cape.

“Does that feel better?”

You nod, your eyes darting away from his. You’re not used to being so… Close to someone.

His chuckle is soft and playful. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

You appreciate the quiet stroll to the bookstore under Saturn’s wing. Downtown soon comes into view. Water soars into the air and cascades into the waiting fountain. Trees circle the street, their leafless branches covered in lights.

“Have you been downtown at night?”

Shaking your head, you give him a “no.” You don’t leave your house after dark if you can help it.

“The trees are pretty when they’re lit up.” His smile is enough to keep you warm. “Maybe we could see them together some time.”

That sounds nice.

Saturn passes by the buildings, stopping in front of one.

“We’re here.”

Between a nail salon and an electronics store is Black Cat Books. A cat-shaped sign hangs from its side, dangling in the winter breeze. Below it is a large window, displaying several books both new and old. Printed on the window in a serif font is the name, and underneath are the words “Want new books? Check meowt.” The pun makes you chuckle.

“I’ve wanted to visit here.”

A bell rings as you open the door and step inside. The scent of old paper almost overwhelms you, but it isn’t unpleasant. Near the back of the shop is a figure moving around and placing books on the shelves. A lavender moth, much smaller than Saturn, stands behind the counter, his back towards you.

“Greetings, welcome to-” The bug boy turns, his face souring once he sees his customers. “Oh. It’s you.”

“Nova, that’s no way to treat a guest!” He gestures towards you. “Save the sibling rivalry for later.”

Nova squints, his frown dissolving as he registers your presence. “Didn’t see her. Welcome to the store.”

Saturn bends his knees, whispering into your ear. “He forgot his glasses again.”

Nova rolls his eyes, pitch black like his brother’s. “My eyesight isn’t _that _bad.”

“At least your hearing is good!” Saturn gives you a wink and a grin. “Don’t be afraid to look around. While you do that, I’ll head to my room real quick.”

Saturn goes through a door on the back wall, leaving you with his brother. Nova’s expression softens, though a small frown lingers.

“He’s only cocky because of his size.” He sits his elbow on the counter, resting his chin on an open palm. With an annoyed puff he blows his antennae away from his eyes. “Males of our kind are usually smaller… Like me.”

Sounds like a sore spot. Maybe you should change the subject. “I love the store. It’s so cozy.”

A hint of a smile crosses his face. “Thanks.” He turns back to what he was doing before. “Let me know if you need help finding anything.”

You’re drowning in a sea of books, unsure where to start looking. This isn’t even the only room; on the eastern wall is a doorway leading to more shelves. Colorful covers and intriguing titles compete for your attention.

Signs hanging above the shelves, each with a black paw print and cutesy font, point out the home of the genres. Fantasy and sci-fi books lurk in the next room, so you start your search there. By the time Saturn returns, you hold a space adventure starring a centaur.

“Did you find something good?”

“I’ve read stories by this author before. Her romances are always cute.”

You place the book on the counter. Nova rings it up, placing your purchase in a bag.

“Have a good day.”

“It was nice to meet you, Nova.”

Nova almost smiles. Or is less grumpy than earlier, at least. He waves you off as you and Saturn leave.

As the door closes behind you, you huddle into Saturn’s fuzz to fight off the cold. He chuckles, wrapping a lower arm around your shoulder.

“Sorry I left you. I went to feed my cat.”

“It’s okay, I had fun.”

“Nova’s nice under all that grump. He’s shy, like you.”

During your trek back to the office you reach an intersection. Cars zoom by as you wait for the light to turn red.

Step into the street.

Grasping at Saturn’s side, you hide your face in his fuzz.

“Is something wrong?” You can’t see his expression, but there’s worry in his voice.

“It’s… Okay.” The fluff muffles your voice. “I’m okay.”

“Ms. Maxwell told me about your intrusive thoughts.”

Words fail to leave your throat.

“You won’t act on them. You’re safe.”

Wet fuzz brushes against your cheeks. Saturn’s hand rubs your back as you cry into his side, his wings flapping softly against you.

“Take a deep breath.”

You breathe in. As you breathe out, your worry slowly flows out through your nostrils. The tears wind down as you calm yourself.

“That’s it. Do you feel better?”

You look up at him, answering with a quiet nod.

“Good.” His concern melts away, replaced by a warm smile. “Let’s go back to the office.”

Saturn holds you close as you head back, guarding you from the road.

#exophilia #moth boyfriend #monster boyfriend #monster husband #monster lover #monster x reader #lemon #azure writes #f!reader #m!monster #c: nova #c: saturn #s: soft wings

[michelleleewise]

The Prince and the God

Pairing: Loki x reader

Warnings: violence (not graphic), swearing, spell casting

Summary: you and the team get called to a mission involving a sorceress, chaos ensues.

Part 1-

====================================

You strolled through the compound making your way to the kitchen. There hadn't been too many missions lately leaving a bit of down time for everyone. You didn't mind cause you got to spend more time with Loki. Since he and Thor had come to the tower about a year ago you hit it off pretty fast. He didn't have much interest with anyone else seeing their history with him after New York, but you weren't around for that. Quickly bonding over your shared love of poetry and art, you found yourself in his company more often then not.

You had taken him to every library and book store in the city. Helping him amass his book collection. You had decided to show him the finer side of Midgard as well, taking him to museums and art galleries. He always said asgardian art was superior, but most always had a smile on his face. He shared his books from Asgard with you, but ended up reading most of them to you because you didn't know the language. Truth be told, you didn't mind, you loved his voice.

making two cups of tea you headed to the library. You and Loki were in the middle of a book of poetry he was reading to you and you were excited to finish. You walked in, seeing him in his favorite chair by the window, feet outstretched on the ottoman, ankles crossed. He looked up as you approached "Hello dear, come to finish our book?" He asked setting his book aside. "Yes please." You smiled handing him his tea. He smiled, motioning the chair across from him. You grabbed a blanket from the couch, curling up in the chair "ok, I'm ready." You smiled. You heard him laugh as he grabbed the book finding where you had left off.

As he read, you felt your eyes getting heavy, his silky voice lulling you to sleep, you could listen to him forever, when Thor burst in "Loki, y/n, we need to get the conference room. There's been an incident." He said as you and Loki looked at eachother "We'll finish later dear." He said setting the book down, you both getting up following Thor. You made it to the conference room seeing the entire team there, this must be big you thought taking a chair between Loki and Thor. "Alright, so as you know there's been an incident downtown that needs handled immediately." Director Fury said pulling up some images of a woman dressed in green. "That's not possible, she's supposed to be dead." You heard Loki next to you. "Well apparently she isn't, and she's destroying the city." Fury said. "You need to neutralize her and bring her back here, you leave in twenty minutes." Fury said leaving the room.

"Brother, how is this possible?" You heard Thor ask Loki. "I have no idea, I killed her, or so I thought." You heard Loki. "Who is she?" You asked looking at them. "She is Amora, a sorceress from Asgard, her siedr skills surpass even mine. I thought I had killed her on our last encounter, apparently i was mistaken." He said clearing his throat. "Well, let's go get her now." You said patting his shoulder. He nodded as you all went to grab your gear and head out.

As the jet landed you all made your way off, seeing the woman, Amora, shooting green blasts at everything, you assumed it was her seidr if she was like Loki. "Ok, stay alert. She is fast and unpredictable, and she won't hesitate to kill you." Loki said looking at you. You nodded before joining everyone, surrounding her. You were throwing everything we had at her and nothing was working. She deflected every blast Tony sent, blocked every arrow Clint shot. You pulled a dagger out, inching closer to her when she saw you and blasted you againt a building. You sat there gasping, seeing Thor try to get to her when she shot him into a building. "Y/n, are you ok?" You heard Loki ask kneeling next to you. "Yes, I'm fine." You coughed. "We can't even get close to her." You said making it to your feet. "I have a plan." He said wiggling his eyebrows. "Im not sure I like that." You said looking at him. "Oh just come on." He grabbed your arm dragging you around the building.

"OK, remember, wait for my signal." He said taking off. You crouched behind some rubble, watching Loki split in two, sending his clone towards her. You slowly made your way behind her as his clone walked directly up to her. "Amora, I thought you dead. Why are you here?" He bellowed at her, making her look at him. "Ah Loki, the fallen prince, I was hoping to see you." You heard her say. "I can't say the same. Why are you here?" He demanded again. "Just seeing what my princes are up to since the fall of Asgard. I see you're no better then these pathetic mortals now." She sneered walking closer to him. You inched up behind her, slowly lifting your dagger about to pounce when you froze, seeing a green mist around you. You tried to move but it was impossible.

"And what have we here, one of your mortals Loki?" She asked looking at him. You saw his clone looking at you. "She is not mine." He said looking at you. "Oh, then you wouldn't mind if I kill her." She said smiling. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw the real Loki coming up behind her. "Do what you must." His clone said staring at you. She smiled looking back at you, when suddenly Loki dug his dagger into her chest, breaking the spell on you you dropped to the ground. "You bastard!" She yelled looking between Loki and his clone. "Go back to the hole you crawled out of" He yelled. You saw her eyes glow green as both Loki and his clone were engulfed in a green mist.

She pulled knife from her chest, glaring at Loki. "Well, God of Mischief, let's see how you handle this." She said, as the mist swirled around Loki and his clone, she was saying something in another language you didn't understand. "Loki!" You yelled running towards her but she smiled and sent you flying into a pile of rubble. You leaned up on your knees, shaking your head. You stood, leaning against a piece of destroyed building when you heard her laugh, and vanish. Your vision was blurry, you rubbed your eyes as you heard Loki "y/n. Are you ok?" He called, running up hugging you. "Oof, yes, I'm fine Loki. Are you ok?" You said pulling away. "Are you sure your ok? I was terrified." He said looking you over. He never seemed this concerned before. "Yes, I'm ok, what.." you started when you heard Thor "Brother!" He yelled running over "Yes Thor, I'm here." You heard behind Loki.

"Wait." You said looking at Loki, leaning over seeing...Loki. "why are there two of you?" You asked looking at them. The rest of the team came over, looking between them as they stared at eachother. "He's the clone." One said "no, your the clone" the other said. "OK wait!." You yelled, your brain not processing any of it. You walked up to both Loki's, pressing your hand to each of their chests, they were both solid, real. You retracted your hands looking at them. They looked at eachother as one put his hand on the others shoulder closing his eyes. You saw green around his hand but nothing happened.

"Brother what is it, what has happened?" Thor asked looked at them. One of them cleared his throat "Well it would appear that Amora has made my clone real." He said looking at Thor. "So wait. There are two of you now?" You heard Tony ask. "It appears so stark, until I can find a way to reverse it." He said walking towards the jet, leaving the team and other Loki behind. You saw Loki looking down fidgeting with his hands "Hey, we'll figure it out." You rubbed his shoulder smiling at him. He looked at you nodding as you all made your way to the jet.

you heard Bruce talking to Tony, telling him they needed to get both Loki's to the med bay at the tower to examine them. You saw Thor sitting with the other Loki and went to sit next to them "get that thing away from me." He sneered at the Loki you came In with "Loki! You don't need to be rude!" You yelled at him as he glared at you. You grabbed the other ones hand, leading him to the other side of the jet. "Don't let that get to you, we'll figure out a way to get you back together." You said rubbing his back. He sighed, putting his head in his hands. You head was spinning. One Loki was enough, but two. And why was one so mean, while the other seems almost docile. "Try to relax ok, I'm here. We'll fix it" you said but he didn't respond. You sat back closing your eyes. How on earth were you going to deal with this.....

💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚

*I wasn't sure who all wanted to stay tagged. Let me know of you want me to take you off*😁💚

@vbecker10 @lokisprettygirl22 @sinsandguilt @usagishira @cabingrlandrandomcrap @daggers-and-mischief @stupidthoughtsinwriting @catalina712 @kat-nee @mcufan72 @lokiprompts @123forgottherest @asgardianprincess1050 @midnights-ramblings @el-zef @froggiecky @sweetberry47 @xorpsbane @huntress-artemiss @lovingchoices14 @camelblogwithoutcamels @lucylaufeyson3 @howdidurhammergrowchris @itsamedeemonee @lokixryss @lonadane @storybrook-beck @someonesleftshoe @buttercupbestie @elegantcheesecakecrown

#loki #loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #loki imagine #loki x reader #loki x you #loki x y/n #loki x female reader #loki odinson imagine #loki odinson fanfiction #loki odinson x you #loki odinson x reader #loki odinson x y/n #loki odinson #loki laufeyson fanfic #loki laufeyson imagine #loki laufeyson x y/n #loki laufeyson x reader #loki laufeyson x female reader #loki laufeyson x you #loki laufeyson #loki mcu #mcu fanfiction #mcu loki #mcu imagine #loki and reader #loki and you #loki angst #loki fluff #loki odinson angst

[merrock]

It's the holiday season! And Merrock is one of the very best places to be to celebrate all things winter, festive holidays, and joy and love. Let this post be your guide to happenings during the holiday season, places to visit, things to see and do, and much more!

Hop under the cut to fill your holiday season with even more joy and love (and plots).

EVENTS IN MERROCK:

December 2 -- winter fun party!

December 17-23 -- holiday market!

December 31 -- new year's eve party!

January 1 -- polar plunge!

January 20 -- winter gala!

HOLIDAYS / FUN DAYS AROUND TOWN

November 23 -- Thanksgiving!

November 24 -- Black Friday!

November 25 -- Small Business Saturday!

December 7 - 15 -- Hanukkah!

December 21 -- First Day of Winter!

December 25 -- Christmas!

December 26 - January 1 -- Kwanzaa!

December 31 -- New Year's Eve!

January 1 -- New Year's Day!

January 21 -- World Snow Day!

PLACES TO VISIT / THINGS TO DO

The Brownstone Inne (downtown) -- help Brownstone decorate their windows on the first floor!

Cityview Park (downtown) -- stroll through the park for a look at their many light and decoration displays, lit up from December 1 - 31 (help set up before!).

Merrock Railway (downtown) -- every weekend from now until the end of the year, catch a train ride through Merrock to look at community decorations at night!

The Mirage (downtown) -- Friday night karaoke night with all of your favorite holiday staples, every Friday night!

Stubs (downtown) -- along with the Christmas movies, the theater will be playing 8 Crazy Nights during Hanukkah!

Azure Spa & Salon (coastal) -- come get pampered with their holiday special treatments! and book your spa time before events!

From Brush to Canvas (coastal) -- a beautiful exhibit of snowy, festive paintings and pieces of art has been put out for the month of December, and decorated up!

Cassidy's Candies (coastal) -- make sure to stop in and grab some Hanukkah Gelt, if you're looking for something special to share.

Santa's Hut (suburbs) -- stop in any afternoon from 3PM until 7PM to visit with Santa! If he's not there, leave a letter in his mailbox. We promise he'll get it!

Children's Museum (suburbs) -- daily Christmas movies and activities held for children after school hours.

Community Center (suburbs) -- games and movies held in the common room every evening for kids and adults alke, as well as free food and warmth for those who need it.

Flour Co. -- is having a class on how to make a traditional Sufganiyot, and will be selling them, as well! they will also have cookie making classes, and gingerbread house making events every weekend.

Cul-de-Sac Diner (suburbs) -- have added latkes to the menu for the holiday season, as well as a few other favorites!

Animal Sanctuary (countryside) -- visit with and have pictures taken alongside some of Santa's reindeer if you bring a donation for the sanctuary!

Blades (countryside) -- perfect for time out sledding, skiing, snowboarding, building snowmen and, of course, doing a little ice skating! Opens December 2nd!

Harmony Ranch (countryside) -- take pictures with our festive, holiday animals, and see the Harmony Healers do their holiday program on December 16th!

Lavender Lane (countryside) -- stop by for wreaths and swags, pick out a Christmas tree from the lot, or cut your own from the farm in the fields beyond!

North Shore (countryside) -- volunteer some time to the elderly in the community, helping them with Christmas crafts and decorating their rooms.

Paradise Gardens (countryside) -- stop by to enjoy some beautifully decorated indoor garden space for the holidays!

State Park (countryside) -- take a hike on one of the many trails around the state park! Just be careful and avoid closed trails that might be dangerous for novice hikers.

HOLIDAY MOVIES AT STUBS

Stubs will be showing holiday movies every Friday, Saturday and Sunday during the season (unless an event is taking place!), with Tuesdays thrown in for fun. With a flat fee of $10, you will get admission to the movie, a large drink, and two snacks. Kids are $5. On Christmas Eve, the movie is free with the donation of a toy for a child. Come enjoy with us!

November 24 -- Christmas Vacation

November 25 -- How the Grinch Stole Christmas

November 26 -- Home Alone

November 28 -- A Christmas Story

December 1 -- The Polar Express

December 3 -- A Charlie Brown Christmas (meet Snoopy!)

December 5 -- Miracle on 34th Street

December 8 -- White Christmas

December 9 -- Holiday Inn

December 10 -- Elf

December 12 -- The Muppets Christmas Carol

December 16 -- Rankin Bass Christmas movie marathon night (Rudolph, Frosty, Santa Claus is Coming to Town).

December 24 -- It's a Wonderful Life

STOP BY TO SHOP

HIDEAWAY MARKET -- stop by to do some shopping in Hideaway, whether you're looking for handmade goods at Collabs, custom furniture from Creekside, new crystals from Universal Rocks, or want to do some painting or eating, we have something for everyone.

DOWNTOWN -- Bookends, The Vinyl Hub, Wild at Hart Florals.

COASTAL AREA -- Bella's Boutique, Cassidy's Candies, Malibu & Co.

SUBURBS -- Jack in the Box, Little Corner Market, Sprouts, The Supply Shack, Treasure Chest.

COUNTRYSIDE -- Farmer's Market, Great Outdoors, Pet Haven, Polished Brass Market, Rocky Ridge Hardware

FUEL UP ON GOODIES

HIDEAWAY MARKET -- Rooftop Cafe.

DOWNTOWN -- Cobblestone Cafe, Evolution, Mack's, Rossi's, Taste, Touchback, What's the Tea.

COASTAL AREA -- & Chips, Anchors Away, Deidre's Deli, Fresh, The Hut, Mawk Tales, Sandcastles, Sea Breeze.

SUBURBS -- The Creamery, Cul-de-Sac Diner, Flour Co., The Garden, Golden House, Paco's, Pizza Thyme.

COUNTRYSIDE -- Handpick'd, Overlook, Tumbleweed.

AND MAY WE SUGGEST...

Merrockites are always full of love during the holiday season -- call up a friend and ask if they need help decorating their tree, invite a friend over to do some baking, go shopping together, wrap your presents, do something silly like coloring in an old coloring book, or make felt crafts that you picked up at a dollar store. Make some ugly holiday sweaters, do a photoshoot together in the snow. Dress your pets up and take them to meet Santa Claus, decide to go on a shopping spree to donate the presents to charity, make floral arrangements to put on the graves of loved ones, fix up donation boxes to take to those in need, drive around town looking at Christmas decorations. There is no such thing as too much holiday spirit!

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[linnamonrolls0]

Disarming

Lin-Manuel Miranda x Reader

Summary:

Stealing a kiss with a gorgeous leather jacket-clad stranger in the back of a New York City bookshop sounded like something straight out of a rom-com, and, well… maybe it was.

T / no warnings / 3366 words

Let’s hear it for New York, New York, New York…

Good old NYC; it was nice to be back. The city possessed its own brand of beautiful chaos, with people running in all directions and Empire State of Mind playing on every street corner. You were in the city on business, not that you could ever call the place home; but on this particular free morning, you were in Times Square, having planned to meet up with a guy you’d matched with on Tinder before you headed downtown for a conference later in the day.

That sounded like a great plan… until the asshole canceled on you ten minutes before you were supposed to meet, without even the decency to apologise.

You’d never had a great deal of luck with dating apps but you were reasonably disappointed; this one actually seemed nice. Not wanting to waste the day, you did the usual touristy things instead; took a few photos, got through some of your shopping list and took a stroll down Broadway. You followed your feet and eventually ended up outside the Drama Book Shop, which looked pretty cute. You’d seen it all over Instagram, and you figured it would be the perfect place to pick up a gift for the only theatre kid you knew.

When you entered the store, you were welcomed with the comforting scent of coffee and books. You gazed up in wonder at the cascading tower of books that stretched from the back of the store to the front; it was spectacular. You may not have been the biggest theatre fan, but your inner bibliophile was losing her mind over the aesthetics. The store was quiet, save for a few patrons sitting at the tables near the front, either reading books or sipping coffee whilst working on their laptops; a stark yet welcome contrast to the busy streets outside.

You snapped a quick picture of the stunning book display for your insta story before you began perusing the shelves for the books your sister had specifically asked for - rather, demanded. Amongst a few titles you recognised and many that you didn’t (but wished you had the time to look through), you carried on scrutinising the shelves, struggling to find the book you were looking for.

When you took a step back, you heard the dull thud of books collapsing to the carpeted floor as you collided with someone else who evidently was equally distracted.

You whirled around, fazed, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks in embarrassment. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry!”

The stranger turned to face you, speaking at the very same time. “Sorry! Are you okay?” he asked, his warm brown eyes apologetic and concerned.

You nodded and you both laughed, shaking your heads at your mutual lack of spatial awareness.

He crouched down to collect the stack of books he’d dropped, and you followed suit - you figured the least you could do was help. You found yourself looking over at him through your lashes, distractedly gathering the tower of books that had tumbled to the ground when you collided. 

The fleeting thought crossed your mind that he was… kind of hot? His eyes were a deep shade of brown, almost reminiscent of dark coffee, and coupled with his endearingly kind smile, disarming was the perfect word. Sporting short dark hair and an almost-goatee, he wore a leather jacket over a crisp blue oxford shirt and smart trousers; he was a perfect combination of put-together and chaotic. He was a little older, but there was a magnetism about him that got you. Like, you’d swipe right without a doubt, although he didn’t seem like the Tinder type.

You internally brushed off your spiralling thoughts - this was not the time.

When you reached for the last book, he did too. His hand brushed yours and you almost leapt back at the jolt of electricity that shot between you; when you looked up to see if he’d felt it too or if you’d just imagined it, his gaze met yours, those eyes searching for an answer to the same question yours asked. You slowly drew your hand back, letting him pick up the book.

Shifting his stack of books into one arm, he stood and offered you his other hand to help you up. Not wanting to risk that weird spark again, you passed him the books you’d collected instead, before standing on your own; he took them and reached over you to place the books one by one onto the shelves behind you, effectively trapping you between him and the bookcase.

“Thank you,” he smiled down at you. His smile was warm and genuine and oddly familiar, but you couldn’t place why…

“After causing that mess, it’s the least I could do,” you said, your tone light.

“Were you looking for something?” he asked, evidently taking note of your somewhat lost expression.

“Actually, yeah…” You briefly consulted your phone to confirm the title you were searching for, “Do you know where I could find the Hamilton revolutionary…thing?” you finished feebly. See, you weren’t bad with words, but there was something distracting about the way he looked at you, like you were the most important person in the world. Surely that wasn’t just good customer service. Like you thought - disarming. 

“You mean Hamilton: The Revolution?” he corrected, not condescending despite your cluelessness.

“Yup. That’s the one,” you answered with an awkward little laugh, “Sorry.”

“Don’t be!” He chuckled, “It’s over here, I’ll show you.”

You were relieved he knew what you meant, and you tiptoed after him as he strode across the shop floor like he owned the place. 

Well, who knew, maybe he did; this guy didn’t look like a bookstore clerk, not in the slightest. Between his badass leather jacket and a smile that could put the sun to shame, you weren’t entirely sure what his actual vibe was, but… He was the furthest thing imaginable from a drama nerd. Not that there was anything wrong with being a drama nerd, but he was just a little too sexy to fit the stereotype. You were already pretty sure those eyes would make an appearance in your dreams at some point…

He halted between a set of bookshelves towards the back, all but hidden from the rest of the store. It was so sudden that you bumped face-first into his back when he stopped. In a reflex reaction, he turned around and quickly grabbed your upper arm to steady you from falling.

“Sorry!” you squeaked, immediately jumping back to put some distance between you as he let go of your arm. Why, did he feel that spark too? Shit, the voice in your head cursed. Why were you getting so worked up over a complete stranger in a random corner of a Broadway bookstore? Calm down, you told yourself.

He looked down at you, in too close proximity between the bookcases. For a brief moment, your gaze flickered to his lips. His eyes lowered to yours. Good to know you were on the same page, you supposed. Stealing a kiss with a gorgeous leather jacket-clad stranger in the back of a New York City bookshop sounded like something straight out of a rom-com, and your cancelled Tinder date didn’t seem like such a setback now.

You wondered what would happen if you closed the gap between you… 

Who were you and what did you think you were doing? He could be a creep for all you knew. If You had taught you anything, it was not to trust an attractive, attentive bookstore clerk.

But this guy… What was it about this particular stranger that made him seem trustworthy? God, maybe you were the creep, not him.

You attempted to level your breathing, but it was proving slightly difficult at that moment in time. The scent of new books and fresh coffee still surrounded you, only now it was mixed with his crisp, clean cologne and fine old leather. You took a deep breath, letting the cocktail of pleasant fragrances flood your senses. The lights were dimmer in this corner compared with the rest of the store and it was suddenly warm, a little too warm as you and him stood between those shelves, too close for comfort. You bit your bottom lip as you took a small step backward, unsure, and felt your back hit the bookcase behind you.

You weren’t entirely sure who made the first move; but what you did know was that you both simultaneously leaned in, closing the gap between you, and your eyes fluttered shut when his lips tentatively brushed yours, almost asking for permission before going any further. You parted your lips without a second thought, giving him access, all the permission he needed. He cautiously reached for you, cupping your cheek with one hand, holding your waist with the other, his touch delicate and deliberate, as though he feared you would run away if he went too far. You hesitated for a split second, fearing the same, before slipping your arms around his neck, gripping the collars of his annoyingly sexy leather jacket as you kissed him with just as much fervour.

The vague thought crossed your mind that this was far too romantic, far too intimate to be an encounter with a total stranger and yet, there you were… You had no idea what made you think this was a good idea, but that didn’t matter quite so much when his lips were on yours and you held each other like you’d been lovers since the beginning of time.

And yet, you’d only known him for a matter of mere minutes. 

For heaven’s sake, you didn’t even know the man’s name - nor did he know yours.

It seemed like this realisation dawned on him at the same time as you. You both drew back, separating out of a mutual need to breathe, releasing your hold on each other - physically, at least. You looked up into his eyes and for a moment, you shared a look that said more than words ever could - attraction, longing, amusement, confusion… This evidently wasn’t a thing that ever happened to either of you.

You held that look for a few seconds, and when you finally broke the silence, you both attempted to speak at once.

“I -” he began awkwardly.

“That -” you started, “Sorry.”

“Sorry!” he apologised over you, and you both laughed lightly. “Go on.”

“No, I just…” You shook your head, “What were you saying?”

“Just that… I don’t do that. I’m not -”

“I don’t either… What?”

Unsure of what the hell else to do, he laughed and ran a nervous hand through his hair, leaving it adorably disheveled. “The book you were looking for, it’s…” He reached for the shelf conveniently just above your head and retrieved a rather heavy tome. “Here.”

You felt that spark again when his hand brushed yours as he handed you the book. He took a step back, clearly feeling it just as strongly.

“What, no leather-bound special editions?” you joked, attempting to lighten the mood. What else do you do after sharing possibly the best kiss of your life with a man you’d just met? Who does that?

“Hmm, there’s only one of those, and I’ve been told it’s priceless.” He smirked. His flirtatious tone wasn’t lost on you, and you laughed along with him.

“Well, this it is, then.”

“Awesome. Anything else you’re looking for?”

“Unless you sell spellbooks or love potions, I think I’m good for now…”

“I know a thing or two about disarming charms, but the magic of the theatre is all we got here,” he joked, leading you to the counter in the middle of the store. “And who needs love potions when you have coffee?”

You couldn’t help but smile. He was endearing to say the least… “Coffee sounds perfect, actually.”

He nodded. “Ring this up for this beautiful lady, please?” He handed the book to the young woman stood behind the counter. She nodded meekly and took the book from him as you watched on, a little baffled as you tried to fit the pieces of this puzzle together in your mind. He clearly had some authority here, but you narrowed your eyes at him when he casually hopped behind the counter and had two cups of coffee ready within a minute. He handed one to you, keeping one for himself. 

“Thanks! Where do I pay for this?” you asked, practically beaming. You sipped the coffee, “Ooh, this is good.”

“It’s on the house,” he grinned, leaning over the counter. 

The girl behind the counter placed the book in a bag and handed it over to you. You tapped your credit card on the reader, whilst he gave her a subtle nod and she scurried away, which only made you wonder more about him.

“Something tells me this isn’t for you,” he observed, interrupting your earlier train of thought.

You shook your head, “Nope. My little sister is our resident theatre kid, so, it’s for her. She’s obsessed, it’s insane.” You laughed dismissively.

“The kid has taste,” he nodded, sipping his coffee with the slightest smug smile.

“Yeah, well, this is her consolation prize. She screamed at me when I told her I wasn’t seeing any Broadway musicals on this trip!” you confessed.

“Damn, I mean, I’d probably agree with her,” he chuckled. His smile was… sweet. Honest, even. You found yourself thinking he could convince you of anything with that smile. He was beautiful, no doubt…

“Hmm,” you mused aloud, “You don’t strike me as the kind of guy that would.”

“And you strike me as the kind of girl that absolutely wouldn’t.” His gaze trailed appreciatively over you, and you felt that telltale blush creeping up your cheeks again. Damn those eyes. “You’re cool. Hot. Whatever. Sorry.” He suddenly sounded flustered; thankfully you weren’t the only one struggling to keep your wild thoughts in check. Disarming was definitely the word.

“You got that right, dude. And just for the record, so are you.”

“You’d be surprised,” he grinned, a little sparkle of mischief in his eyes, “I think your sister will thank you for this…” He reached below the counter and grabbed a Sharpie, gesturing to you to hand over the bag.

You obliged, but watched him, mildly confused. What was he playing at? 

He opened the book to the first page and looked up at you, leaning against the counter. “What’s her name?”

You told him her first name, quickly followed by a, “Why?”

He said nothing, but scrawled something onto the first page and placed the book back in its paper bag. He handed it to you with that same sunshine smile that already had you floored.

“Did you just deface my purchase?” you asked incredulously, not sure whether to laugh or yell at him.

“Maybe?” he offered with an innocent smile. Perhaps he was a little too charming to be particularly mad at…

“Lin!” someone suddenly called from the staircase a few feet away from where you both stood.

“Oh, duty calls. See ya!” Your mysterious stranger smiled that million-watt smile one last time before he leapt back over the counter and jogged down the stairs, taking his buzzing energy and disappearing into the basement.

You quirked a curious brow at this strangely sweet specimen of a man as he left, before you retrieved the book from the bag. You flipped it open to the page he’d vandalised… only to find an autograph, addressed to your little sister. Lin-M M?

Oh, shit.

Of course this guy wasn’t an ordinary clerk, or even just some spoilt-ass pseudo-intellectual bookstore owner. He was the fucking creator of the damn show. And you had no idea.

You gaped at the page. No wonder his voice had sounded familiar - it had blasted through the speakers of your car during every family road trip when your sister hijacked the aux cord. You mentally facepalmed - trust you to commit such an idiotic folly.

~

During your meetings that afternoon, you found yourself distracted. Lin had occupied a large proportion of your thoughts through the afternoon… You weren’t quite so preoccupied by his status or your stupidity, but you couldn’t get his eyes and his smile out of your mind, or the memory of his lips on yours…

You needed to see him again. You asked yourself if that was because he’d told you who he was, but you quickly realised that wouldn’t have changed a thing. He was still devilishly handsome, and you knew you were only grateful your Tinder date had cancelled when he did - that guy had nothing on your bookshop beau.

You wondered what would’ve happened if you hadn’t stopped when you did. Where would things have gone? What would it be like to have him closer, to feel his touch again, to get to know him?

Well. There was only one way to find out.

~

Most of the lights were off, but there was still movement inside the store. You cautiously peered through the glass exterior of the shopfront. Lin was still inside, leaning on the counter as he chatted with a couple of clerks from earlier whilst they were seemingly cashing up the register.

Lin looked over in your direction, almost as if he knew you were there on the other side of the door. His gaze caught yours, holding eye contact for a moment. He nodded, beckoning you to come in. You pushed the door open and sheepishly entered the store.

“Go on home, guys. I’ll lock up,” he told the two employees, his gaze fixed on you all the while.

“Okay. See you, Lin!”

He gave them a distracted wave as they walked past you to leave the store. They looked at you curiously, but said nothing. Lin locked the door after them and turned back to you. 

It was already dark outside and the lights of passing vehicles outside the window shone through the glass storefront, bathing you both in a shifting glow.

“Hey,” he whispered.

“Hey, yourself.”

“It’s… nice to see you again.” You could tell he was resisting the urge to smile, but he couldn’t hide the surprise in those deep brown eyes, or the hint of amusement that carried through as he spoke.

“You too,” you breathed, trying to muster up the courage to say what you had planned to. You bit your lip nervously, looking up at him. “Actually, I came back because… see, there was that priceless leather-bound special edition you got me wondering about this morning, and a certain disarming charm…” You trailed your gaze over him, still in that distractingly attractive leather jacket. The double entendre wasn’t lost on either of you.

“Hm. You could stay…” he said slowly, smiling the slightest bit as he continued, “I hear the owner’s kinda into you. Or, y’know, maybe he wants to be…”

“Yeah? I couldn’t tell. Can’t see what he’s thinking, really…” you teased.

“I’m an open book. Disarm me, you can read me all you want…” He made the first move this time, striding across the store to you. At least now you knew why he walked around like he owned the place - he did.

“Is that a challenge or an invitation?”

Lin stopped in front of you, taking your hands in his. “Both,” he said, his eyes meeting yours again as he gently pressed his lips to the back of your hands. You let out a dreamy sigh; you weren’t getting over this any time soon.

You were interrupted by a knock on the glass storefront. Lin whirled around immediately, whilst you peered over his shoulder. A streetwear-clad young guy stood outside, rattling the door as though he could somehow unlock it without the keys. “Hey, are you still open? My Tinder date -” 

“No way,” you laughed, “That was the asshole that ditched me this morning.”

“Thank you, Tinder asshole,” Lin grinned.

“Closed!” You and Lin shouted together, exchanging a look of amusement and bursting into laughter. Lin flicked off the last light switch, leaving the store in near-darkness, illuminated only by the streetlights outside.

“Consider me disarmed.”

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