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on-partiality · 7 months

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The Basics Of American Revolutionary War Uniforms:

Basic descriptions I wrote of each layer of a Continental Army soldier's uniform in order of what you'd put on first to what you'd put on last, starting with:

Shirts:

In the 18th century, a man with a shirt was considered naked, so the shirt was a part of every outfit (although it was often covered in other layers of clothing). The shirts worn by the soldiers in the revolution were designed to be as comfortable as humanly possible, so they were very long, often stopping mid-thigh or just below the knee, loose and flowy, and had lots of ruffles at the top. Shirts also had long, puffy sleeves. The shirts were so comfortable that they would function as nightgowns too. All a man had to do to get ready for bed was take off all of the other layers of his uniform. The shirts were plain white or a yellowish colour, depending on how many times they'd been worn. Collars were high but not as high as collars in the 1790s, and sleeve cuffs were either closed by cuff links (little button things) or they'd just have cute lace at the end. Contrary to some ridiculous but funny assumptions I've heard from people who don't study historical fashion, shirts were not hard to put on, and they were simply pulled over the wearer's head like you would put on any other shirt. Shirts were closed together using buttons (a favourite of mine), linen, thread ties, or different combinations of the forementioned. Buttons tended to be small and made out of either thread, horn, leather, or even leather. Because the shirts were made out of soft, thin materials such as linen, cotton, and light flannel and were worn all the time, they were usually the first clothing items to wear out and break. Due to supply problems, there were periods of time during the revolution where men had to wear their breaking shirts and couldn't replace them. Another thing about shirts that I read somewhere (can not find the source for the life of me) is that Washington told his soldiers to wear hunting shirts because he felt that they were practical in every kind of weather. However, the site did say that they only wore them towards the start of the war and in certain regiments.

Neck accessories (for lack of a better term):

Like I briefly mentioned with the shirts, people in the 18th century had a really weird idea of what counts as naked, and they believed that a man without any kind of neck covering over his shirt was still naked. Cravats and neck stocks were two commonly worn neck garments during the revolution. Cravats were made out of silk, linen, or cotton and could be put on in a range of different ways. When they were untied, they were simply long strips of fabric. There are many ways to tie a cravat. I'm not very good at explaining things, so if you need to figure out how to tie an 18th-century cravat, I recommend looking up a YouTube tutorial. Cravats could also be accessorised with cute brooches and such. There were two different, commonly worn in the continental army, types of neckstock in the 18th century. Number 1 was made of the same materials and had the same colour as a cravat, but number 2 was dark in colour and made of leather. The biggest difference between neckstocks and cravats is how you put them on. Neckstocks aren't meant to be tied like cravats; they have a buckle on one end, so they're meant to be put on more like a belt. Oh, and in case you're wondering, the buckle always goes at the back.

Stockings:

Oh my god, I could talk about revolutionary war stockings forever. They're actually so adorable and cutesy, and I just love them. So the stockings are the pretty little white tights that the 18th century seems to be known for, and they were mainly made via knitting and were made out of either wool, cotton, linen, silk, or a fabric blend of any of the aforementioned. Stockings were usually made using knitting machines, but there were still plenty of people who made them by hand. Stockings in the 18th century were not at all short either; they went above the knee (so basically thigh highs). One of my favourite parts about 18th-century stockings is the garters that secure them into place. The garters were belt things that would wrap around their legs to make sure the stockings wouldn't fall down, and they were usually made out of leather, cloth, lace, or a ribbon tied into a bow. I physically cannot speak of these things without saying aww in my mind.

Culottes:

Also known as knee-breeches, but lets be honest, culottes sound cooler. The culottes worn by 18th-century soldiers were a bit different; instead of having a line of visible buttons at the crotch area to put the culottes on like jeans, they had fewer buttons—usually about 1 or 2—at the top of the culottes, and those buttons would be hidden by the waistcoat. Culottes in the Revolutionary War had a much higher waistband; most culottes in the 18th century had a low waistband, but culottes of the Continental Army had a waistband that went just above the soldiers actual waist. And culottes never stopped lower than the shinbone (to show off the stockings). Culottes were white or off white and were made of either buckskin, elk, sheepskin, wool, linen, velvet, silk, or fabric blends of any of the aforementioned. Culottes were very tight because they were worn so that when the soldiers were riding their horses, which they did a lot, the horse needed to feel every movement of the leg so that it could understand what the rider wanted it to do, and that was much harder if the rider was wearing super loose, flowy pants. Culottes were closed at the side of the knee with more small buttons or ties. Buttons on culottes were usually made of either metal, leather, or horn and covered in cloth or wrapped in thread.

Waistcoats:

Although waistcoats with sleeves did exist in the 18th century, they weren't as popular as waistcoats without sleeves. Going back to the weird 18th century undestanding of what is nude, a man wearing breeches, a shirt, a cravat or neckstock, and an unsleeved waistcoat would still be counted as naked. This is one of the things I see a lot of period dramas get wrong. I understand the overcoat-less look looks cool and attractive, but in the 18th century, that would be like a man going outside wearing no clothes. Oh, and another thing that a lot of period dramas mess up on is that men did not show their shirt sleeves in public; that was considered crude and abnormal; it wasn't illegal, just something you'd get judged for. There were two sub-types of waistcoats: double-breasted and single-breasted. These sub-types actually have nothing to do with breasts at all. In fact, the sub-types are about buttons. Double-breasted means a waistcoat with two rows of buttons, and single-breasted means a waistcoat with one row of buttons. Back to the uniform of the continental army, at the start of the revolution, soldiers wore single-breasted waistcoats in the most popular style of the 1750s and 1760s, but by the end of the revolution, they'd switched to wearing the 1770s style waistcoat, just going by a general pattern I've seen in changes to parts of the uniform. I'm assuming that the switch would have happened in 1779. In case you're wondering, the difference between the 1750s–1760s style and the 1770s style is their length; the former stopped mid-thigh, the latter stopped just below the hip. Waistcoats were usually made of linen, wool, velvet, silk, or a fabric blend of any of the aforementioned. They were made with all different colours and patterns, but in the continental army, they wore beige and off-white waistcoats. The waistcoat buttons were made of horn, metal, or leather and were sometimes wrapped in thread or fabric to make them the same colour as the waistcoat.

Sashes:

Sashes are a detail of the continental army uniform that I see a lot of people (and sites explaining the layers of the uniform) skip over. Continental army sashes were very important because they showed the wearer's position in the army. Green means the wearer is an aide-de-camp or brigade major; pink means the wearer is a brigadier general or a major general; and finally, blue means the wearer is a commander-in-chief. This system was made by Washington in 1775 and was used by the army throughout the war. The sashes were likely made using silk or wool. There was another, separate system with sashes; colonels, lieutenant colonels, majors, captains, sub-alterns, serjeants, and corporals could wear a red sash around their waist. However, this system was likely an optional thing because I've seen many portraits of men in those ranks from 1775–1779—they ditched the system in 1779—and I've seen only one of them where the person is wearing one of the red waist sashes.

Overcoats:

At this point, you are no longer considered naked; congratulations. So there were two kinds of overcoats in the 18th century: frock coats and dress coats. Dress coats were for super-rich people, and frock coats were for everyone else. Dress coats didn't have functional pockets, and the only reason why people thought that they were better than a frock coat was that they were expensive and sometimes prettier. Frock coats had a double-breasted front (same definition as with the waistcoats), functional pockets, and a high, round neckline. You can probably guess what kind of coat the soldiers of the Continental Army wore. They wore blue wool and linen frock coats with large gold or silver metal buttons on the cuffs and facings. George Washington and his officers wore buff-coloured facings with thick buff-coloured cuffs, and most other officers wore red facings with red cuffs. The coats had coattails and stopped midthigh, but the whole button and facing thing stopped just below the hip. The overcoats had this interesting triangle coat tail design thing at the back that I tried to figure out how to describe, but I couldn't. Here's a picture of what I mean by the two different kinds of frock coats worn by the soldiers that I mentioned in this paragraph: the one on the left is the one worn by Washington and his officers, and the one on the right is the other one:

[image credit, Samson Historical and Common Threads: Army]

I have just been told the name of the triangle things, they're called vents and they're to make sure the soldiers could ride horses without messing up their uniform. :)

Epaulettes:

The epaulettes serve the same purpose as the sashes: to declare the wearers rank; however, epaulettes are much more confusing because the epaulette system changed halfway through the war. So, the epaulette system for 1776–1779 goes like this: commanders, major-generals, brigadier generals, colonels, lieutenant-colonels, and majors wore a gold epaulette on each shoulder; captains wore a single gold epaulette on their right shoulder; sub-alterns wore a single gold epaulette on their left shoulder; serjeants wore a red epaulette made of cloth on their right shoulder; and corporals wore a green epaulette made of cloth on their left shoulder. The system from 1779-1784 goes like this, commanders wore a gold epaulette on each shoulder with 3 silver stars, major-generals wore a gold epaulette on each shoulder with 2 silver stars, brigadier-generals wore a gold epaulette on each shoulder with 1 silver star, colonels, lieutenant colonels and majors wore a gold epaulette with no stars on each shoulder, captains wore a gold epaulette on their right shoulder, sub-alterns wore an epaulette on their left shoulder, senior non-commisioned officers wore a red epaulette made of cloth and adorned with a crescent moon shape made of brass on each shoulder, sergeants wore a red epaulette made of cloth on the right shoulder, corporals wore a green epaulette made of cloth on their right shoulder and lastly, privates wore no epaulettes.

Hats:

Tricorn, bicorn and round were a must. Round hats were hats that were cocked on one side, bicorn hats were hats that were cocked on two sides and tricorn hats were hats that were cocked on three sides. Most of the time Continental army soldiers pinned them and folded them on the sides. Soldiers carrying muskets wore the hat in a different way to normal civillians, civillians would have the hat the normal way, center point forward but when carrying a musket over their shoulder, soldiers would turn their hat so that the left part was facing forward. In this position, the two sides of the hat would be almost flat so they could sling their muskets over their shoulders without having to worry about knocking their hat off. The hats white edges were made using worsted wool braid and the hat itself if expensive was made of beaver felt or camel's down painted black and if it was cheap it was just made of black wool felt. Hats were not always worn, I'd say they were more of a formality because I have seen very few portraits of soldiers wearing them.

Hat Cockades:

Hat cockades were made of ribbon or wool and were a sort of decoration to be pinned to the wearer's hat. They were like sashes and epaulettes; they indicated the wearer's rank in the continental army. And the system changed in 1779. So the system before 1779 worked like this: subalterns wore a green hat cockade, captains wore a yellow hat cockade, majors and brigade majors wore a red hat cockade, colonels wore a pink hat cockade, and lieutenant colonels wore a green hat cockade. In 1779, they changed it to honour and celebrate America's military alliance with France, so the colourful insignia were removed, and instead every soldier, regardless of rank, wore a plain black and white hat cockade. French soldiers had a cockade with black in the middle, surrounded by white, and American soldiers had a cockade with white in the middle, surrounded by black. Later on, in 1783, the black and white cockades were named the union cockades and were to be worn on the left breast, close to the heart.

Shoes:

There were actually a few periods of time during the war where some of the soldiers didn't have shoes, such as during the Christmas Day crossing and the winter of 1777–1778. But when they were supplied with shoes (most of the time they were), they wore one of two styles. The classic 'little lad' shoes, as I call them, and riding boots 'Little lad' shoes were shoes made with black leather and secured with a buckle. Little lad shoes had a small heel bit at the bottom, likely meant to make the wearer look taller because, despite tall people being considered the most attractive, most people in the 18th century were very short. Riding boots had an even higher heel and a part at the top of the boots that could be rolled down to fit the wearer. When rolled down, they just look like normal riding boots but with brown cuffs at the top. Interesting shoe-related fact that I thought would be cool to put here: in the 18th century, they didn't make right or left shoes; they made what they called straights, and you were meant to switch which foot you wore them on every day to 'wear them off evenly'. Riding boots were made with leather and were black on the outside and brown on the inside. Riding boots were very tall (they went under soldiers' kneecaps) and worn for the same reason as culottes, to make horse riding easier. It's meant to prevent saddle pinching, have a sturdy toe to protect feet while on the ground, and have a big heel to prevent slipping through stirrups.

Hair:

Originally I planned on not mentioning it on this list because it's not something that you can wear but there were uniform rules about hair in the continental army so I guess it is technically part of the uniform. In the 18th century they viewed men with facial hair was considered wrong and unusual in normal day-to-day life so if course it wasn't acceptable in a military setting. In the continental army they had a rule that men needed to shave every three days. They went against this rule a few times but only when they were desperate. Now on the topic of hair as in, not facial hair, the hair on their head was usually tied into a low ponytail with a blue ribbon or - for some men - cut short. 18th century men LOVED their long hair and did not want to cut their hair short even though they were told it should prevent lice. Wigs and hair powder were fashionable in the 18th century but not many men could afford wigs and it's not like they had a ridiculous supply of hair powder so most of the time they had their natural hair colour showing.

It's important to note that this is just the standard uniform that most men wore; each regiment had its own unique uniform, so if your project has anything to do with a specific regiment, either do your own research or ask me about it in the comments or my asks. This is also post-1775 because 1775 had no uniform. If I have gotten anything wrong, please do not feel afraid to correct me in the comments, and I'll edit the post.

Sources:

https://historyofmassachusetts.org/uniforms-revolutionary-war-soldiers/

https://www.srcalifornia.com/flags/revuniforms1.htm

https://www.bostonteapartyship.com/uniforms-of-the-american-revolution

https://ufpro.com/blog/american-revolutionary-war-study-military-uniforms-across-battlefield

https://www.washingtoncrossingpark.org/continental-army-clothing/#:~:text=Over%20their%20shirts%2C%20soldiers%20would,unit%20a%20soldier%20belonged%20to.

https://www.crazycrow.com/site/tricorn-hat-history/

https://www.si.edu/object/george-washingtons-uniform%3Anmah_434863#:~:text=This%20blue%20wool%20coat%20is,buff%20wool%2C%20with%20gilt%20buttons.

http://www.colonialuniforms.com/revolutionary-war-coats.html

https://www.berkleyhistorical.org/revolutionary-war-uniform

https://www.samsonhistorical.com/en-ca/products/mens-riding-boots

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Riding_boot

#american revolution #american revolutionary war #amrev #american history #revolutionary war #history #historical fashion #fashion history #18th century #18th century fashion #continental army #military history #military uniforms #war history #war of independence #On-partiality's rambles

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amiharana · 1 year

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what do u think modern revalink would wear!! me personally I think link is either plain tshirt + cargo shorts every day of the week or crop tops and backless shirts and layers of jewelry, no in between 💀 and revali definitely thrifts bc he thinks it makes him look cool, he probably has 100 pinterest boards of outfits he wants to try, honestly if he wasn't so interested in pursuing flight school he might go into fashion 😭 OH he definitely owns a pair of aviator sunglasses, also I just get fur coat vibes from him

CARGO SHORTS HAHAHHA THAT'S VERY LINK VIBES FOR SURE!!!! like link either dresses like a dad or he's showing so much skin pastors everywhere are sweating. casually, link wears the most random graphic tee + sweatpants or old PE shorts from high school LMFAOKJDHFJKD and also flip flops. if he's feeling a little fancy he has the most beat-up pair of white airforce 1s. i lowkey think he has a pair of black af1s that he keeps in mint condition and wears on ~special occasions~ but i Love love LOVE the idea of link wearing crop tops, backless shirts, and jewelry omg 😭🤍 he only wears stuff like that also for special occasions like the usual job interview or date night with revali <3 u know that meme that's like. Steal the Look! $2,450 and it will be like Shirt -$30, Pants - $45, Shoes - $80, Lingerie Set - $2,325 because that's totally link. tell me he's not wearing the sexiest lingerie under his date night outfit like COME ON NOW! but i also believe in link wearing a lot of oversized hoodies, big shirts, and baggy jeans etc he's very stylish and in with the trends

I AGREE WITH REVALI THRIFTING he believes in sustainable clothing and Only wears clothes he's thrifted or are from sustainable and environmentally friendly companies. he actively despises those tiktok girlies who thrift and resell on fucking depop for like 100x the price like he calls them out and roasts them in an 45 min long youtube video 😭 it's so humiliating for them that some of the tiktok girlies be deleting their accounts...... i love the pinterest board stuff too, i have one of just clothes and outfits i think are neat and want, but revali has like 20 different boards for outfit ideas based on 20 different and specific vibes. revali believes in always looking his best before he leaves the house and regularly dresses like wisdom kaye or, i specifically thought of these concept photos of taehyung from proof since you mentioned fur coat? revali makes link match with him for a date night so link ends up wearing jungkook's outfit from the same concept photos. god these men r fine asf WHEWWW! revali is just as broke as the rest of us but he LOOKS rich with the way he pairs clothing together

yes to revali's aviator glasses but link makes fun of him for wearing them inside and revali's is like IT'S FOR THE AESTHETIC!!!!!!!! link wears bucket hats because i said so. idc argue with the wall for this one he would look so cute in a bucket hat and revali thinks so too. he has so many pictures of link in a bucket hat on his phone. they both have platform doc martens, link has the boots and revali also has boots but also the oxfords.

revali has a bomber jacket from his grandfather who was a pilot. link likes to steal it sometimes because it's oversized and smells like revali <3

link learned how to crochet for funsies and made revali a bright blue scarf as a gift, and revali was so touched he centered every single outfit he wore for the next two weeks around the scarf (dw he washed it, he's a clean freak). like revali cherishes it so much he has it displayed in their house 😭

last one for now and i'm gonna project even more onto link, but he luvs jewelry. he looks especially good in gold, but he rocks any piece he wears. he has so much jewelry, revali built him a whole vanity with multiple drawers and storage space for all of the jewelry. revali randomly gets him jewelry as gifts every now and then, and he always gets it custom-crafted by a jeweler who's a friend of urbosa. link almost always wears the first necklace that revali ever gifted him for his birthday and it's beautiful sapphire wrapped in gold. also link wears a body chain under his crop tops sometimes and revali is obsessed with it he cannot keep his hands off of link's waist or his eyes away from the way the chain glints against link's tummy :)

#revalink #loz #botw #loz botw #legend of zelda #amihan's revalinkverse #amihan's headcanons #ask #cryiling #i'm obsessed with this ask this is so fun #revali lost his fucking mind when he saw link wearing a body chain for the first time #link and revali have matching bracelets with each other's initials on it #revali likes to do outfits where they're coordinated to each other #like still exemplifying their own styles but related to each other's outfits and colors and stuff ykwim?#revali keeps up with the fashion world for sure #you would think he owns mostly luxury or designer brands but he actually hates name brands and capitalism #if he has a luxury brand item he thrifted it and he makes sure everyone knows it's thrifted and he would never put money in their hands #revali wants to create a luxury brain that's sustainable and environmentally friendly one day #link likes to come with revali on his thrift runs :)#link is like revali's personal mannequin #since link doesn't care That much about looking good all the time #(because he's already effortlessly beautiful according to revali)#he lets revali style him if revali insists and he enjoys it a lot bc it makes revali happy :>

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shining-gem34 · 5 months

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🛌 [SLEEP] //For all of them? What kinda pajamas (if any) do they prefer?

~Starlighttrain

Fashion/Outfit Headcanons @starlighttrain || Accepting!

🛌 [SLEEP]

Dan Heng/IL Dan Heng

I've already answered about Dan Heng favorite(s) here, but! Among his friends choices, he likes this combination: fuzzy light green pants with cartoon dragon prints, loose white shirt (plain), and fuzzy dragon slippers. They're very warm and comfy! Even if he thinks he looks a bit silly, he shows his appreciation for their help by wearing them time to time whenever March 7th has their weekly sleepovers.

IL Dan Heng choice would be no different, but he tends to wear robes so his tail can come out with no restrictions. However, he bundles up in more blankets than usual to keep warm. :P

IL Dan Feng

(Un)surprisingly, Dan Feng doesn't own any stylish/unique sleepwear despite his status. Like his reincarnation, Dan Feng prefers his sleepwear to be comfortable/inconvenient.

He wears a simple robe (at least 2 layers), different colors depending on his mood but typically white.

Scaramouche/Wanderer

In his downtime, Scaramouche will definitely spoil himself by wearing the softest sleepwear he can get. He usually wears Inazuma style robes with an outer coat (in a deep purple color). As someone who believes himself to surpass both humans and gods, a future God at that, must live lavishly, no?

Wanderer, if he's in a lazy mood, just sheds his outer robe (and his accessories), plops onto the bed, and calls it a day. If given a choice, he'll just wear anything Nahida gives him.

Bonus, Kabukimono: The concept of having sleepwear (or having more than one outfit) did not come to mind until the residents of Tatarasuna noticed that Kabukimono wore the same outfit for a while now. They aggressively and lovingly gave him more than one set of clothes.

Rook/Mallory

Rook (HSR Verse) doesn't have the luxury to change clothes during long travels or on the job. He'll sleep in his work clothes most of the time. If he has any downtime, Rook will wear a tight sleeveless top and sweatpants as his pajamas. Bonus: He uses his coat as a blanket.

Mallory...sleeps in what he wears or sleeps in the nude with just a blanket covering his modesty. No one visits him in his domain so he has no fear of anyone walking into his home while he sleeps naked.

#jade answers (a ask)#jade personal headcanons #starlighttrain #the guard of the express (dan heng)#lotus moon blooming from mud (il dan heng)#moon drinker (il)#space traveler rookie(honkai impact au)#papillio servant (mallory)#the not ascetic (the wanderer)#the cynical puppet (scaramouche)#||Ask and you shall receive >:)))#||I think I should've asked first if you meant ALL of my muses #||It is too late now

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yeocult · 4 years

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ATEEZ as fashion styles

HONGJOONG ━ ART HOE/VINTAGE

i can feel his ego boost whenever someone asks him where he got it from

“oh it’s thrifted” or “i made it”

wants to stand out and showcase his creativity and individuality

just wants to paint the world with his own colours

diy tied dye shirts, vintage graphic tees (usually thitrfted/Depop), embroidered denim jacket, corduroy pants, mixed match socks, hair clips, red blush everywhere, colourful sunnies, high waisted mom jeans, windbreakers, overalls, drawn on freckles, anything that stands out really, it’s all about being unique. a vibrant palette with red, mustard, and blue.

SEONGHWA ━ MINIMALISTIC

3 words; clean, fresh, and professional

simple outfits but make it look chic

ultimate boyfriend material

small selection of patterns and colours

turtlenecks, long trench coats, gold jewelries, thin black belt with a gold buckle, dress pants up to ankle, white socks, simple black/white shoes, plain t shirt, trousers, cardigan, blazers, nude tones such as beige/cream, white, and tan.

YUNHO ━ SOFT/CASUAL

oversized hoodies for the peak boyfriend look

his current peach hair fits really well too!!

probably smells like strawberries

all about comfort

oversized hoodies, friendship bracelets with cute beads and charms, berets, denim jacket, light colours slack/jeans, ribbed socks, corduroy, simple sneakers, collar shirts under sweater. pastels like lavender, baby blue, and light yellow

YEOSANG ━ SKATERBOI

do i even need to elaborate?

he’s been giving us skaterboi looks since predebut times all the way to his airport fashion

beanies, beat up sneakers (Vans/Converse), pant chains, hoodies and oversized sweater and shirts, hair down, black ripped jeans, stripped shirt underneath a tee, cropped chino pants, flat-bottomed shoes. simple colours like black, white, and hint of red.

SAN ━ DARK ACADAMIA

okok listen, san looks superior in round glasses

also dark academia is so badass but classy and that’s san??

their 2020 fankit photoshoot just proves it

wire-frame glasses, plaid, blazers, dark nude tones, dress pants up to the ankle, high socks, polo shirts, timeless watches, trench coats, slicked back hair, blouses, trousers, cardigans, shoes (Dr. Martens/Oxfords), broaches, belt matching shoes, turtlenecks. toned down shades such as navy, maroon, and brown/beige.

MINGI ━ STREETWEAR/TECHWEAR

i think mingi would look so good in techwear

his body portions and facial features are just so fit for this style imo

just imagine ‘win’ stage/‘pick it up’ outfits but bolder and edgier

chunky shoes, tactical/utility vest, heavy sliver jewelry and layering chains, cargo pants, rollercoaster belt that hangs off the side, shoulder bags/fanny packs, anything with straps (this sounds weird lol), be able to adjust anything to your waist/torso, baggy pants and jackets, make everything looks super spicy. colours like army green, red and white, or most of the time, full on black.

WOOYOUNG ━ GRUNGE/E-BOY

after 200626 happened, i had to

he had everyone, non-atinys included, whipped for him with this look

his current long back hair >>> anything else

platform boots, checkered/grid patterns, fishnets, chokers, ripped jeans, cuff the jeans, chains and more chains, those cross and locket ones especially, stacked on rings, sliver jewelries, buckle and eyelet belts, distress denim, one painted nail, collar under shirt, like a modern take on preppy. mostly black and white, usually paired with red.

JONGHO ━ HYPEBEAST

there hasn’t been a day where jongho doesn’t flex his Louie bag or his Chanel earrings that cost $5k

slap me with your gucci slippers please

his socks are probably more expensive than my whole outfit

fanny packs, fitted jeans, hoodies but with a brand name (Gucci/Balenciaga), two toned clothing, cropped bubble jacket, bucket hats, matching socks to the top, baggy pants/sweatpants, tucked in top to flex that belt, brand on brand (unless it’s done in an ‘artistic’ way), sneakers (Nike/Jordan), bold colours like blue, red, and sometimes neons.

what’s your fashion style?

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kingofkingdom-archive · 3 years

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So Much Like Stars - Part ONE

Pairing: Boba Fett x Fem!Reader

Part ONE (read part two here!)

Rating: Explicit

Summary: You’ve known nothing but snow and cold wind your whole life. When a mysterious hunter arrives at your village, you find yourself drawn to him.

Warnings: Explicit sex, p-in-v sex, vaginal fingering, breathplay, power dynamics/power play, royalty kink (?), dom/sub dynamics, naked female clothed male, come marking, unprotected sex, mentions of death (no character death)

Word count: 8.2k+

A/N: This fic is entirely self-indulgent. No one asked for it, but here it is. Boba Fett fucks and we all know it. Or maybe you disagree, in which case you’re wrong. Anyway, enjoy! As usual, there’s no use of Y/N here and please heed the warnings before reading.

Across the windswept, snowy plain, you watch as the ship approaches its landing. It slows, rotates, and then lands face-up on the flat expanse. It’s maybe a kilometer and a half away from the outlook you’re perched on; your binocs are old, no longer reading distance, so the best you can do is guess. The wind blows the snow towards the east, blurring the landscape into obscurity for anyone without a trained eye.

Your cloak, woven from the heavy fur of the Kintur that roam your planet, keeps the driving wind from seeping into your bones. Every inch of your skin is covered, from your leather boots and thick leggings to your goggles and well-worn face mask. You carry a pack, as you always do, to which are strapped your net-shoes that allow you to traverse over massive snowdrifts. At your hip is an old Republic-issue blaster and at your side is your staff, which often acts more as a tool to clear paths and knock snow from tree boughs than anything else.

This planet is nearly uninhabited save for the village you were born in. Seeing a ship is rare, and it’s even rarer to see one that’s unaffiliated with a galactic government. You take note of its location and strain to see if you can spot the pilot as he emerges, but you have no such luck.

You sigh, the wind whistling in your ears, the drifts of snow shifting and growing around you. Father will want you back soon. The newcomer is undoubtedly going to head towards the village, and you’ll need to be there when he arrives. You stow your binocs away in your pack and unstrap your net-shoes, attaching them quickly to your boots.

The trek back is one you’ve managed countless times before - that doesn’t make it any less dangerous, but the sheer cliff faces and howling, punishing winds are not strangers to you.

Your village is small by the standards of other planets in the galaxy, from what you’ve heard (the Elders’ stories of Coruscant never fail to amaze you), but in your eyes it’s vibrant and bustling despite the harsh climate. There’s almost always a tavern with its lights on and music flowing out, a friendly face and warm hearth never far.

It’s located in a secluded valley between towering mountains, out of sight of the vast plains from which the mountains seem to erupt without warning. There are no foothills; only flat land interrupted by harsh terrain. It’s very easy to find death in the mountains, but they have sustained your people for generations. Hunting is your main source of food, whether it be the Kintur that also provide their hide or the massive snow-bison whose fat and bones keep your diets regulated. In the warm season water flows endlessly - the streams that run from the mountain peaks are known to have healing properties, and often they seem to glow with a supernatural shimmer. There is a small mine some distance from the village where many men work, and though the job is a dangerous one, the mountains never run out of the ores you need.

Your people’s existence is not especially complex, but they are tougher than most. The landscape requires it.

You arrive back at the stone walls surrounding your village and greet the gatekeeper, a man who recently inherited the job from his father.

“Hello, Isrwill.” You plant your staff next to you and lean on it, taking your weight off of your feet. “Have you heard anything of the visitor?”

The man nods. He’s about a decade older than you, but underneath the goggles and mask his face is youthful, eyes kind and always merry. “Savakya returned not long ago. She says he will make it here within the hour.”

“Did she say anything of his appearance?”

“Only that he wears armor, and a helmet. She could not make out any features, other than that he’s shaped like a man.” Isrwill leans back against the wall.

“Ah,” you reply. “Well-dressed for the weather, then.”

He shrugs. “Yes, but also well-dressed for battle.”

You can hear the concern in his voice. The question is one you’re sure your whole community is asking: what has brought this foreigner here?

“Thank you,” you tell him, and he nods while pushing the gate open.

Once inside the walls, you remove your net-shoes as well as your goggles and immediately head toward the building where you know they’ll bring the stranger. Your father will already be there, conversing with the Elders and with the Committee to prepare for whatever news or needs this foreigner might have. There are protocols in place for such an event, but they haven’t been used in your lifetime. As you walk to the meeting-house, you try and recall the words you studied so long ago, when your father taught you your people’s laws and customs.

The meeting-house is constructed of solid, ancient wood, imported from a forest planet and stark against the gray stone that most of the village’s homes are built from. Inside there is a massive hearth cut from a single stone, the fire inside it already raging. In the center of the main room there is a curved table; on one side sit the Elders, on the other, the Committee. At the head sits your father, next to your empty seat.

“You made it safely, my child,” he greets you when you arrive, a swirl of snowflakes following you in. Smiling, you pull down your face mask.

“I always do, father.”

He smiles from his place at the table, giving you a look. “That does not mean I do not worry.”

Rolling your eyes affectionately, you lean over to kiss him on the cheek. The other people at the table chat amongst themselves, though you can feel the undercurrent of unease at the visitor’s imminent arrival.

You walk around to take your place, setting your pack, staff, and outer layers near the hearth to dry. You are left in a long-sleeved, high-neck shirt and tunic over your leggings, your hair done up in its usual braids. Usually you would go home and change into something more suitable for Committee business, but there was no time.

You turn to your father, who sits next to you with all the grace and poise befitting a benevolent leader.

“Isrwill told me the stranger is arriving soon. Do we know any more?”

He nods, though he doesn’t look entirely pleased. “Yes. From what Savakya described, it seems he’s a Mandalorian.”

The name isn’t familiar to you. “Is that a race?”

“No.” Your father leans back in his chair. His arched brows bely a concern that is rare to see on him. He strokes his white beard, staring off into space. “The Mandalorians are more of a culture, a people. I’ve only ever heard stories of them. They say they are fierce warriors, and that many of them are bounty hunters by trade.”

That’s odd. You frown, confused. “Bounty hunters? Why wo-”

You are interrupted by three sharp knocks on the doors. Beside you, your father calls out “enter! ”, and the doors swing open.

Two village men, two of the strongest of your people, flank a man clad in armor. His helmet has a T-shaped visor with a short antenna, and on his back is a rifle. You take note of the blasters strapped to his hips as well as something that could be a weapon at his knee.

Isrwill was right. Well-dressed for battle.

You sit up straight and keep your eyes trained on the Mandalorian. Though you are a member of the Committee, you are also well-versed in how to use a blaster, perhaps the best trained of any at the table. You are also a protector of your fellow Committee members, the Elders, and most importantly, your father.

“What business brings you to our planet, Mandalorian?” Your father’s voice is stern, strong in a way you hope to emulate when you inevitably assume his role.

“I am in search of a bounty, your excellency.”

The hunter’s voice is deep and slightly muffled through the helmet’s vocoder. He sounds weathered and rough, though you imagine that’s life as a man who fights and kills for a living.

“Sir will suit me just fine,” your father tells him, a hint of a smirk in his voice. “As for your bounty, it is highly improbable that any individual has survived outside of our village longer than a day. There is no stranger here but you.”

The Mandalorian sighs, looking down at the floor and then back up again. “I’m afraid I disagree, sir. The tracker isn’t wrong. He must be hiding somewhere in the mountains.”

Your father shakes his head. “Those mountains are impossible to pass without a guide. If he was there, surely he is dead by now.”

Though you can’t see his face, the hunter’s helmet is surprisingly expressive. He looks at your father for a long moment, and then glances around at the other people at the table. His gaze finally lands on you.

You set your jaw and stare back, unintimidated. A man with guns does not scare you, no matter how he tries.

“Alright,” he says, but you suspect he is not satisfied with this information. “Might I at least inquire about some lodging for the night?”

Later that evening, you find yourself in your favorite tavern, sitting in your usual booth, watching the townsfolk mingle and chat. Your drink of choice is a fermented ale that is produced in the warm season and aged for consumption outside of those short couple of months.

No one pays you any mind unless they’re a close friend or they have news. They know to leave you alone, to let you sit with yourself as you prefer to do.

You’re watching a young couple you grew up with dance to the music when the tavern’s door swings open. You glance over at it but do a double take when you realize who stands in the doorway.

The hunter.

Around you, conversation quiets as everyone takes in the stranger. His helmet scans the room, like he’s looking for someone in particular. Internally you scoff. The bounty would never show his face here, he’d stand out too much amongst your people.

The hunter’s visor stops moving, aimed directly at you.

Kriff, you think, taking a swig of your drink. He wants information, and he’s not going to give up quite as easily as he did with your father.

The Mandalorian walks into the room, headed directly towards your booth. People watch, heads turning to track the stranger’s movements across the floor. His steps are heavy, intentional, large frame imposing as he approaches you.

Certainly a man built for survival. For conflict. If he were a different person, you might find it attractive.

He stops when he reaches your booth, looking down at you just as you stare up at him, brow raised.

“This seat taken?”

You shake your head and gesture to it. “Not at all.”

From the corner of your eye you can tell the rest of the tavern’s patrons are watching, waiting. As the hunter sits, you wave your hand discretely, telling them to return to their conversations, to each other.

The noise picks up again.

“You’ve got some influence here, princess.”

The name both rankles and sends a shiver of something unwanted down your spine. Now that he’s closer, knees almost brushing your own, you really get a sense of how intense this man’s presence is.

A warrior, to be sure. None would debate that.

You narrow your eyes at him. “We are not the subjects of a king, hunter.”

He scoffs, leaning back and resting his arm on the back of the booth. “Forgive me. What are you to them?”

“I do not see how it concerns you.” The words are harsh but your face remains neutral. Your father taught you how to deal with men like this - how to steel yourself against posturing, against prodding, against teasing.

The Mandalorian chuckles. “I just like to know who I’m talkin’ to. No need for the theatrics.”

You don’t respond. He’s the one who approached you - you have no desire to get in his good graces.

He sighs, glancing over to the wall at your left, his right. “I’d never heard of this planet before the tracker brought me here, much less your people,” he tells you. It’s not a surprise.

“That’s how we like to keep it. We stand no chance against something like the Republic or the Empire. Our only means of survival is staying under the radar.”

His visor is trained directly on you, staring, studying your face. You stare back, wishing you could somehow get a sense of what he looks like underneath the mask.

“How long have your people lived here?”

You know it’s not because he’s genuinely curious. Your mind is buzzing with all the different reasons he’d have for asking - he wants to know how familiar you are with the landscape. He wants to know how well-established your system of governance is here. He wants to know if you know how your people arrived.

He wants to know how vulnerable you are.

“Generations. Since before the Elders’ grandparents were born. Memory of our arrival here has been lost to time.”

He tilts his head. “Is yours the only settlement on the planet?”

You nod. As far as you know, anyway. Attempts have been made to reach out, to try and see if any other peoples live in the outer reaches of the landscape, but none have returned successful.

The Mandalorian hums. He glances over into the tavern, at the other patrons and the bartender. You watch as the bartender, a woman a few years younger than your father, uses a rag to clean out a cup, but you can tell she’s watching your table from the corner of her eye. When she notices the hunter’s helmet turn towards her, her eyes flit up to you, then over to him.

The hunter waves, as if to signal that he wants something. The bartender glances back at you and you nod. She sets down the cup and begins walking over.

You look over at him. He’s already staring back, chin tilted down like you’re a riddle he’s trying to solve.

“What can I do for you, sir?” The bartender’s voice does not waver, but it’s tense nonetheless.

He gestures to your drink. “I’ll have what she’s having.”

The bartender nods and leaves. You take a sip of your ale, finding comfort and clarity in the warmth it brings you.

Across from you, the bounty hunter shifts in his seat, removing his gloves to reveal a pair of calloused hands. You glance down at them and follow their movement as they reach up, thumbs curling under the bottom of his helmet, and lift.

The hunter’s weathered face greets you. He’s a man, like any other, like you expected him to be. His brows are arched and dark, but the rest of the hair on his head has been burnt away by something that left scars across the crown of his head and his face. His eyes are cold, haunted, calculating as they look at you.

He sets the helmet on the table with a thud .

“You’ve seen death,” you observe, holding his gaze with your own. “Been close to it.” His brown eyes narrow and he crosses his arms over his chest.

“I wouldn’t expect you to understand, princess.”

Ah, you think. He underestimates me. He thinks you’re the coddled daughter of a village leader, fed by the kindness of your people and adored for your status. You raise an eyebrow and take another swig of your drink, smirking into the amber liquid.

You set the cup down on the table. “There is more in those mountains than snow and wind, hunter.”

He doesn’t move, save for a slow blink. “Tell me, then.”

You sense movement from the corner of your eye - the bartender has returned with his drink. He nods to her in thanks and she gives a tight smile, glancing at you before hastily returning to her station.

The hunter takes the cup and brings it to his lips. You watch as he takes a sip, swallows, and his eyes widen. A small cough forces its way up and out of his throat.

You smile at him, a hint of a grin that curls the corners of your mouth.

“A bit strong for you?”

He glares over the rim of the cup and pointedly takes another swig. He sets the cup down, large hand dwarfing it.

“What is in those mountains?” His voice has gotten lower, rougher, like you’ll be intimidated by a show of verbal force.

“Nothing you’ll concern yourself with,” you reply, refusing to back down. “Unless you want to encounter your own mortality again.”

“I am perfectly fine with a bit of a scare.”

You bark out a laugh. “You wouldn’t survive an hour out there without a guide. And no one here will take the job, not when the options are either a fruitless search for a dead body or a shootout between two criminals.”

He leans forward, face pressing close to yours, warm breath blowing across your cheeks. His nose is inches from your own.

His voice drops to a low murmur. “I didn’t come here for a bounty, little one.”

Your brow furrows and you draw back, pressing your shoulders against the cushioned stone behind you.

“Word has got out of a large deposit of kyber somewhere in this system. The Empire has not yet caught wind, but soon they will.”

You don’t recognize the name of the material he’s referring to, but you do recognize the Empire and know exactly what something like that might mean for a small, defenseless village such as your own.

It’s much different than a simple bounty hiding in the mountains.

“Why didn’t you tell the Committee this?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know if this is where the deposit is. I didn’t want to cause unnecessary concern, especially considering the… size and scale of your village”

You purse your lips and lean your head back, staring up as you consider this development. This man has come in search of something you aren’t sure exists, and if it does, it means certain death for you and your people.

You look back down at the man across from you. “Then why did you decide to tell me? You’d have been better off going to my father with this information.”

He huffs out a chuckle, then grabs his drink and takes a swig. He sets the cup back down and rests his arm on the table beside it. “Because I need a guide, little one. Someone with knowledge of the terrain, who I won’t have to watch out for. I’m willing to pay handsomely.”

The dots begin to connect in your brain. You raise a brow at him. “I have no need for your credits. They’re next to useless here. Besides, how can we know this - this kyber is there at all?”

“Is there anything unnatural about the mountains? Anything that would point to something powerful within them?”

You frown, thinking on it for a moment. All of the ores found in the mine are naturally occurring, the creatures that live on the peaks are all native, and the --

It hits you. Your eyes widen ever so slightly, and your heart rate increases. A falling feeling in your stomach takes the sensation from your legs for a moment, ice cold and burning all at once.

“The water.”

The Mandalorian tilts his head. You glance around to make sure no one’s heard you. Everyone in the tavern seems oblivious to the two of you, despite their stares earlier.

“We have to leave,” you tell him, fishing a couple of coins out of your pocket and depositing them on the table. “We can’t discuss this here. Come with me.”

Hastily you stand, taking your cloak from its hook on the side of the booth and pulling it on. The hunter follows suit, sliding his helmet back on and looking around the room.

You start towards the door, heavy footsteps following behind you.

You bring him to your home, the only place where you know you won’t be interrupted. You live in a small building tucked in a quiet corner of the village, between a storage silo and the village’s north wall.

Inside, the hearth has been going all day, fueled by coal and snow-bison waste chips. There are four rooms; three downstairs and a bedroom upstairs. You bring the Mandalorian to your study, where the fire roars and there’s a few soft chairs and a couch to sit on. He takes a seat on the latter and removes his helmet, watching as you search your bookshelves for something.

“Care to tell me what you meant by ‘the water’?” He slouches, thick thighs spread over the couch cushion.

Your eyes follow the movement of his legs for a split second. It’s supremely distracting, how inviting he looks right now. You glance up at his face and see a small smirk on his lips. A blush colors your cheeks, caught in the act of looking. To hide it, you turn back to the bookshelf, scanning the spines of your books.

“In the warm season there are streams that flow from the mountaintops to the valley. It pools in an area not far from here and forms a small lake, not much more than a pond, that freezes over once the cold sets in again. For centuries we’ve brought our sick and dying there to be healed.”

The hunter hums. “And it works?”

You nod, turning to look over your shoulder at him. “I was brought there as a child. I would have died of the fever had it not been for the water. Our Elders drink if regularly after they reach a certain age, once they haven’t been killed by the elements.”

“Are you saying your people live longer because of it?”

You pause. That has never crossed your mind, since using the water’s magic has always been normal to you, a yearly practice like any other. “I don’t know. How long does man usually tend to live?”

“It depends,” he says. “I’d say a hundred years at most.”

That has you taken aback. You look over at the bookshelf again - this is life-changing, world-shattering information. Dread begins to settle in your chest, like everything you thought was real is a lie.

The hunter leans forward, hands on his knees, concern etched on his scarred face. “How long do your people live, little one? How many years?”

You inhale and look over at him. “Hundreds. A thousand, if we’re lucky.”

��Kriff,” he swears, leaning back with a hand over his mouth and nose.

Turning back to the bookshelf, you resume your search to calm your racing mind. You find the book you were looking for, a collection of stories gathered by your family over generations.

“Here,” you say, sliding the book out of its place and taking it over to the hunter. He scoots over, but only slightly, so when you sit next to him you’re tucked snugly between him and the arm of the couch. His thigh is warm against your own and you get chills down your neck when he shifts to put his arm behind you, around your shoulders.

You clear your throat and open the book, letting it rest on your legs.

“There are a few accounts that speak of the water,” you tell him, flipping through the pages until you find the one you’re looking for. It’s half a page of writing, the other taken up by a crude map of the mountains.

“The waters are life-giving,” you read, tracing along the words with your index finger. “They shimmer and glow in the sun when it shines upon us. The source is deep within the mountain, covered by ice and snow in the cold season. No one has seen the source of the waters and survived. Many have tried. It lies in the heart of ongrol territory.”

“Ongrol?” The hunter’s voice is deep, low in your ear. You look up at him, absentmindedly biting your lip between your teeth.

“Yes,” you reply. “A vicious species of massive snow lion. It’s rare to see one and live to tell the tale. I’ve only ever seen their prints.”

He hums, eyes flitting across your face as he studies you up close. “How large are they?”

You shake your head. “We can only guess, but certainly bigger than this building.”

The Mandalorian nods, his eye contact with you intense and unwavering. You meet it head-on, the warmth you feel in your bones spreading into your thighs and your ribs and your --

You blink and turn back to the book. The map is shaded to indicate the creatures’ territory, with a dot to indicate the general location of where the source is thought to be.

You point to an area just outside the shaded region. “This is as far as I’ve been. I can get us to the source - it’s the ongrol that are the problem.” You look back up at the hunter. “You’re sure the kyber is what’s causing this?”

He nods. “It’s one of the most powerful materials in the known universe. Little else could heal your people the way it does.”

“How do we hide the signature from others, to keep them from finding it?” The unspoken question there hangs in the air as you speak; how do we protect ourselves from attack?

He furrows his brow, shaking his head ever so slightly. “I’m still trying to work that part out, little one.”

That does not do much ease your anxieties, but you have to accept it for now.

You close the book with a sigh and stand to return it to its place on the shelf. When you turn back, the hunter has placed his other arm on the back of the couch, spread out like a king on a throne.

He looks comfortable - at home, here in yours. It’s unlike you to bring a stranger into your dwelling and not feel uneasy about it. Yet here he is, and it’s like he belongs right there on your couch, armor and all. You cross your arms, observing him.

“Do you know the name Boba Fett, princess?”

You shake your head. “No, I do not.”

He smiles, like your answer pleases him. “It's mine.”

Boba. The name is unusual, but it suits the man before you.

“I’d tell you mine in return, but I’ve grown fond of the names you’ve chosen for me, Boba Fett.”

A deep sound pushes its way out of Boba’s chest through his throat - half a chuckle, half a growl. He gives you a once-over with his dark brown eyes, like he can see right through your thick base layer and loose tunic. You watch as he does so, trying to calm your nervous breathing. His gaze is so penetrating, so intense, that after a moment you have to turn away from him, towards the fireplace.

The orange-blue flames dance in front of you, warming your face even further. A mirror hangs above it, but your eyes are focused on the hearth.

You hear Boba shift behind you, metal on fabric. “Tell me, little one,” he says. You can sense him moving closer. “Do you have any suitors, here in the village?”

The question makes your heart race even faster. “No.” You refuse to look at him, knowing that what you see there will render words impossible. “I’ve not had any interest in them.”

“But have men tried? Asked to court you?” He’s right behind you now, the warmth of him nearly matching that of the flames in front of you. The hair on the back of your neck stands on end. You can see his shadow from the corner of your eye.

“Yes,” you nod. “They have tried.”

Boba hums. His hands come up to gently, but firmly, rest on your shoulders. He slowly smooths his gloved palms down your arms, taking them from being crossed over one another to resting loose at your sides.

You risk a glance up at the mirror in front of you. He’s already looking at you, eyes locked on yours. You meet his gaze and dip your chin ever so slightly, so you’re staring at him from beneath your lashes.

A ghost of a smirk dances across Boba’s lips. He breaks the eye contact and you watch as he looks down at the nape of your neck, one of few exposed pieces of your skin. His right hand brushes your hair from over your shoulder onto your back, gathering the long tresses together. The women in your village grow their hair out as long as they can, not only to use for braids, but also to keep warm.

Boba’s fingers brush lightly against you, the rough material of his gloves a contrast to the smooth skin of your neck.

“Why haven’t they been successful, princess?”

You clench your jaw. Boba looks back up at you, his hand resting across your nape, fingers curled ever so slightly. The feeling of it makes your thighs tremble, your core responding to this silent, easy display of authority. It shows on your face, how much you like this, and you know Boba sees it.

“None of them could give me --”

Your words are cut off by Boba’s hand snaking around your neck, firm grip tightening around the column of your throat. You gasp, a soft, breathy noise, and the man behind you chuckles. His thumb and forefinger press into your jaw, forcing your head up, though your eyes are still locked onto his reflection in the mirror.

You choke out the rest of your sentence. “-- Give me what I need.”

“Is that so,” Boba murmurs, the words a deep rumble in his rough voice. He presses just a bit tighter, and your eyes flutter closed in response. “I think I know just what you need, my dear.”

His words burn through you like fire on wood, like a cold wind rushing through an open window. Your legs grow weak and your hands grapple at him, trying to find something to hold onto. Your left hand catches on the gauntlet covering his arm and you draw it around, so his arm covers your hip and his hand rests possessively on your lower stomach.

“What a pretty thing you are,” Boba mutters, sliding his hand lower on your front until his fingertips brush your mound. You let your head drop back against his shoulder at the feeling of him cupping your most private of areas, like it’s his, like it’s always been his. Your legs shift further apart to make room for his wide palm. “A stoic princess who desperately needs someone to take care of her.”

You whine at that, at what he’s offering you. It’s true; of all the eligible men in the village, not one has taken you to bed and been able to let you fully cede control to them. They see you as a leader, as someone not to be messed with, as someone to be respected above all else.

“Oh, yes,” Boba hums, curling the fingers of his left hand into your cunt, hooking them into you through your clothes. “They might follow your orders, little one, but you’ll follow mine.”

It sounds like paradise, letting him have you like this. You nod against the armor on his chest, movement limited and head growing dizzy thanks to the hand around your neck. Boba presses his lips close to your ear, his large body now curled around yours.

“Listen to me, sweetheart.” The pet name makes you melt against him. “I am going to go take a seat, and then you’re gonna take your clothes off for me. Can you do that?”

You open your eyes and there he is, in the corner of your vision, gaze dark and full of heated promises. You study his face for a moment, memorizing his features while he’s close like this, and then you nod.

“Yes, Boba.”

“Good,” he tells you. He then moves his hands away, and though you mourn the loss of his touch, knowing what’s to come keeps you patient.

He turns, walks back over to the sofa, and sits. He spreads his legs as he did before, arms on the back of the couch, watching you.

Boba looks so much like a king in that moment that it makes you want to bow before him, to prostrate yourself like you aren’t the daughter of the Chieftain. To worship him as he demands.

The thought crosses your mind as your fingers begin to unwrap your tunic, taking the woven material from its intricate adornment on your body. You feel a blush rising on your cheeks at the implications - what would the village think of their leader’s daughter, the one to assume his role in the future, imagining such things about a stranger?

Your mind wanders, racing, thinking of seeing him upon a proper throne, all silent confidence and heated gazes from behind the visor of his helmet. Maybe he’d bring you there, show you off to a court, hold you in his wide palms like a treaty. Set you upon his lap like a rare trophy from your far-off snow planet. You’d wrap your arm around the back of his neck and listen to his dealings while he kept a firm hand on your upper thigh.

Dignitaries and crime lords alike would watch, whispering, unable to look away.

It thrills you, to have these secret desires.

You deposit the tunic on the floor next to you and toy with the hem of your top, pulling it out from where it was tucked in your pants. Boba’s eyes zero in on the strip of skin that is revealed as you raise the shirt higher, higher, and higher, until in one motion you’ve slipped it over your head and off entirely.

He stares at your chest and it makes you smile. Men will be men.

Feeling emboldened by the way Boba is looking at you, you turn around and hook your thumbs in the waistband of your pants. You slowly slip them down your hips, over your thighs, and past your knees, bending over as you do so.

Behind you, you hear shuffling. You toss the pants to join the tunic and shirt and turn to see Boba’s codpiece and gloves removed, his hand shoved down the front of his pants.

“I’m enjoying the show, little one,” he says, and waves at you with his other hand, even as you begin to see movement at the crotch of his trousers. “Continue.”

You smirk, a sly thing at seeing the effect your bare form has on him. You tuck your fingers under the band of your bra and pull up. Your arms block your view of Boba’s face as your breasts are revealed to him, but the hungry look in his eye once you can see him gives you a good idea of it.

“Kriff,” Boba swears, jerking himself faster, rougher. The sight of it makes your breathing become heavy, the labor of it causing your chest to heave. His eyes drop from your face to your tits - somehow, you don’t feel embarrassed or ashamed like you might usually.

You just feel wanted. It’s intoxicating, that he wants you for you , not your title.

There’s only one article of clothing left on your body now. You turn around again, your back to him, and take the front hem of your underwear in your fingers. Slowly, almost teasing, you slip it over your hips, arching your back and pushing your ass out towards Boba. The underwear slips down your thighs until it falls to the floor.

You straighten up again and look over your shoulder at him. He gestures with his free hand, a ‘come here’ motion that you’re all too eager to follow.

“Beautiful kriffing body,” he murmurs as you approach. He reaches out and puts his hand on your hip, fingers curling into your ass cheek. His eyes stare at your mound, at the patch of hair there. “Bet you’re already wet for me, huh?”

He glances up at you. You blush, watching as he removes his hand from his pants and snakes it in between your legs, calloused fingers feeling the evidence of his effect on you. His fingertips catch on your clit, rubbing and feeling and stoking the fire within. You moan wantonly, comfortable in the privacy of your home.

“You are. Kriffing soaked. Just begging for my cock, aren’t you?”

His words make your pussy clench just as he slips one of his thick fingers into you, surely spreading his own fluids across your tight, hot skin. The girth of it forces a whine out of you, brows furrowed, and your hand flies down to hold onto his as he fucks you with his finger. Your other hand comes to rest on his shoulder, gripping his armor.

“Look at you,” he mutters, baring his teeth as he watches you writhe on his hand, using his thumb to rub your clit just so. Your mouth drops open in pleasure, sparks shooting down your legs and up into your belly at the feeling.

Boba hums, circling his thumb and flicking it over your puffy, sensitive nub. “What would your people think if they saw you moaning like a whore for an old man, hm?”

Your legs turn to jelly at the force of the arousal that hits your cunt. You sway forward, knees buckling, and Boba catches you as you fall.

He uses the hand on your ass to guide you into a sitting position on his lap, so now you’re straddling him, bare chest pressed to the cool metal of his armor. You tuck your face into his neck and revel in the feeling of a second finger teasing at your opening.

“You like that, little one?” His words cause his throat to vibrate, and the deep tone draws your lips in to kiss at it. Your nose brushes against the underside of his jaw as you move from kissing to licking, getting drunk on the taste of his sweat on your tongue.

Boba groans, sliding the second finger into your cunt with ease. You sigh, blowing cool air across the skin you’ve just wet with your tongue. “You do.” He runs his free hand up your thigh, holding tight to the firm muscle there, toned and strong from a lifetime in the ice and snow. “So desperate for my cock.”

You nod, though your lips hardly leave his neck. “Please, Boba,” you whisper into his skin, pressing yourself as close to him as you can get.

His fingers still their movements within you and you whine. Boba shushes you, and you have to bite your lip to keep from pouting when he pulls his fingers from your pussy. He presses a kiss to the crown of your head and leans back.

“I want you on your hands and knees, princess. Right here on the couch.”

You nod frantically and there’s not a moment of hesitation in your haste to follow his order. You arrange yourself next to him, forearms propped on the arm of the couch and your knees keeping your ass aloft in the air.

Boba turns and positions himself behind you with ease, half standing with one foot on the floor, his other leg bent and kneeling on the cushion.

He may call himself an old man, but he’s got the physicality of someone half his age. It makes the spot between your legs hotter and wetter just to think of it. Your cunt throbs for him.

You look over your shoulder and watch as he reaches into his pants, hand spreading your wetness across his dick, and your eyes widen as he draws it out from the confines of his trousers. Your gaze zeros in on him; he’s thick and long, just as you suspected, and every inch is one you want to feel as deep inside you as possible. Honestly, it makes sense - you’ve always heard that the men with the most to make up for do so in their personalities.

Men like Boba don’t have to compensate, which makes them all the more attractive.

You glance up to his face. He’s smirking down at you, eyes traveling down to your ass, pushed out and open for him. He runs a hand along the soft swell of your rear, caressing you like you’re precious, like you’re prized.

“I could get used to this,” he tells you, guiding the head of his cock to notch at your opening. “Seeing a future queen all bare and ripe for me.”

Your eyelids flutter as you feel him press in further, deeper. The sight of him kneeling behind you, fully clothed while you’re naked as the day you were born, sends a wave of arousal through you. Your brain doesn’t even register what he’s called you, how wrong he is, because you can’t think of anything beyond his dick.

“C’mon, Boba,” you whine, his slow pace driving you mad. “Fuck me like you mean it, old man.”

The noise that comes out of his mouth is almost non-human with the way it reverberates around the room. His hands dig into your hips and he thrusts , unrelenting and rough, spearing you onto his thick cock until his balls slap your clit. You choke out a moan, your eyes rolling into the back of your head at how perfectly full you feel.

“Ah,” he grunts out as he immediately sets to fucking you roughly, deeply. “The little princess does want to be treated like a whore.” His words are accompanied by the lewd sound of his cock moving in your wet cunt, his hips slapping against your own. You moan, loud and uninhibited, unable to conceive of shame or propriety.

For your whole life you’ve been looked up to, treated as both fragile and untouchable.

Boba Fett fucks you like you’re nothing more to him than a pet.

He snarls his words into the air. “Woulda fucked you there on that table in the cantina, shown the whole village how well you take me.”

You keen, arching your back further to give him a better angle. He runs his left hand up your side, gripping your waist and pulling you back onto his cock in time with his thrusts. He’s deeper inside you than anyone’s ever been - you’re beginning to think men in your village must be small, or maybe Boba’s just unnaturally big, because you think you can feel the head of his cock bruising your cervix.

The thought of him taking you in the tavern has you clenching down on him even tighter. Maybe you would have gotten on your knees for him, hid beneath the tablecloth and kept his cock warm in your mouth.

“That turn you on, princess?” He slows his thrusts just slightly, drawing out so he can slam back in with even more force. You cry out, nodding, tears forming at the corners of your eyes.

“Of course it does,” he grunts, and you can feel the crest of your climax steadily approaching as he speaks, letting yourself get lost in the fantasies he’s bringing to life. His thrusts speed up again, rough and brutal, just as you need.

“You were just waiting for someone to -- ungh -- come along and fuck all the thoughts outta that clever little head, weren’t you?”

You whine, because he’s right - your normally sharp, observant brain has been put out like water over a fire. Boba leans forward, placing his hand on the arm of the couch next to your elbow, and brushes his lips against the back of your neck. It changes his position enough that his cock hits you just that much deeper, pounding against that elusive sweet spot deep within your cunt.

“Kriff, Boba --” You barely get the words out, your voice hoarse and strained and your mind turned to mush. “So -- so big.”

Against your ear, you feel more than hear him chuckle. His teeth catch on your earlobe, hot breath skating down the side of your face.

“Yeah? You like having my big cock in your tight little pussy?”

You keen, high-pitched and desperate. “Please, Boba, I’m gonna --”

His teeth trail down the side of your neck, biting firmly enough to leave a trail of red marks across your skin. Once he’s satisfied with his work, he leans up again so he can grip your hips more firmly.

“Gonna come, little one? Go on --” his words trail off for a moment - or maybe your hearing fades out as the crisis within you rises to its limit. Right as you’re on the edge, your face flush with sensation and your cunt fluttering around him, his rough voice fades back in.

“-- wanna feel you, princess. Come for your king.”

You have no choice but to do as he says.

Boba’s words scratch that small, hidden itch in your brain you’d taken a glance at earlier. Your mind whites out for a split second, as blinding as a snowstorm, before you return to yourself.

He’s still fucking you. Using you. Oversensitive and trembling, your senses absorb the world around you - Boba's hands on your hips, the scrape of his armor against your thighs, the crackle of the fireplace somewhere over your shoulder.

The rhythm of Boba's cock inside you, chasing the same high you'd found moments earlier.

You moan, pushing back, encouraging him to find his release. A glance over your shoulder gives you the sight of his eyes focused on where he's thrusting into you, lip curled, a drop of sweat trailing down over his jaw.

Boba glances up at you and smirks, though the flash of teeth makes it more of a sneer. "Where do you want me, princess?"

A serene smile crosses your face and you pretend to think on it for a moment, lazy in your post-orgasmic haze.

"On me," you reply. "Wherever you want."

He grunts, looking back down, and thrusts a few more times, deep and bruising. As soon as he pulls out you mourn the loss of him, the fullness inside of you, but you're rewarded with a vision unlike any you've seen before. Boba takes himself in hand, and with a loud groan, cums across your ass, his spend dripping down your thighs and onto your pussy lips. He covers you with himself, marking you up.

Once he's finished, Boba runs a hand through the cum on your skin, pressing firmly and rubbing it in.

"Been wanting to do that since I saw you in the meeting hall, little one."

You hum, eyes fluttering closed at the thought of it. What a scandal - the Chieftain's daughter falling for the stranger, the first foreigner to visit the village in living memory.

Behind you, Boba shifts off of the couch. He stands beside you and then you register that he's moving you, strong hands arranging your limp body so he can pick you up. One arm slips beneath your knees and the other under your back.

"Bedroom's upstairs," you murmur.

He brings you there, tucking you into bed carefully and then turning to undo his armor. As you watch him methodically remove each piece, you get the feeling that you're privy to something rare. Though you're sleepy, your eyes remain open, intent on keeping this memory clear.

The thought crosses your mind that this man must know so much of the universe. He's probably been to hundreds of planets, has hundreds of stories.

You've only ever known snow and wind.

"Boba?"

He's just finished with the last of his armor when you speak. He sits down on the edge of the bed next to you and puts his hand on your side.

"Yes, princess?"

You gaze up into his eyes, dark but soft when looking at you.

"What's the most beautiful place you've ever been to?"

He smiles at that, letting out a soft chuckle. "I've been to so many places that it's hard to keep track, little one."

You pout. He moves to settle into bed next to you, under the layers of fur and fleece that keep you warm.

"You must have a favorite," you insist, curling up against him, head resting on his bicep.

He's quiet for a minute, thinking. You wait, though sleep threatens to pull you under. Boba's words lull you out of the beginnings of your slumber.

"I think you'd like Naboo," he tells you. You've read about it, about their system of governance. You can't recall seeing any pictures or illustrations, though.

"It's very green," he explains. "There's meadows and forests everywhere. Their cities are vast, the buildings beautiful in themselves. I traveled there with my father when I was young."

You want to ask more, to learn about this place so different from anything you know. Your mind is racing with imaginings when you fall asleep, cozy and warm against Boba Fett.

In the night, your dreams glow as bright as the sun.

#boba fett x reader #boba fett fanfiction #boba fett fucks #mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfiction #star wars fanfiction #boba fett x female reader #female reader #reader insert #reader insert fanfiction

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hanoella · 3 years

Text

Affettuoso- With Feeling (Part 2)

Pairing: Bucky x Pianist!Reader

Set after the events of TFATWS: In an effort to start over and make a home in Louisiana, Bucky meets a friend of Sam’s who ends up being his landlord. With only a driveway to separate them, he finds that he’s not the only one looking for a fresh start.

Series tags/warnings: Slow Burn, Eventual Bucky x Reader, Mentions of Domestic Abuse, Canon Level Violence

Part 2 Word Count: 3.5k

Read Part 1; Read Part 3

Autumn

A few days passed and the temperature had started dropping to one appropriate to fall. Each morning, Bucky had gotten up to exercise. And each morning, he opened his curtains to see that the house across from him remained unchanged. Lights that never turned off. No noise whatsoever. If it weren’t for your car in the driveway, he would’ve thought that no one lived there.

On his runs, he was able to see various things that needed fixing, like a fallen tree that was slightly in the way of a path or a pothole in the driveway he could patch. This morning though, instead of his run, he decided he was going to look around the back of the house, which was fenced off into a yard. From the gate, Bucky could see an old in-ground fire pit in the middle of the yard, closer to the screened in patio of the house than the far end of the yard, where the grass was overgrown- he would have to get on that.

The sound of a vehicle crunching on the gravel driveway caught Bucky’s attention. He walked from the side gate to the front porch where a man in a postal worker’s uniform was straining to get a large box out of the truck. Jogging over, he helped the older man set it down on the ground.

“Phew, thank you kindly sir,” the older man huffed as he took his hat off and wiped the sweat off of his forehead.

After taking a few moments to catch his breath, he walked around the side of the mail truck to grab a tablet from the front seat.

“Can you sign for this package?” He asked as he handed the tablet over to Bucky.

“Uh, sure.”

As he was signing, you came out the front door with a bottle of water in your hand. Bounding down the steps, you handed the cold water to the postal worker.

“Sorry, I would’ve been out earlier but I saw that you were working so hard, so I went back to grab a water for you.”

Bucky handed the tablet back as the older man thanked you.

“I appreciate it, ma’am. Do ya'll need help getting this inside?”

You looked at Bucky who shook his head.

“I think we’ve got it from here.” He said.

“Okay folks. Have a nice day.”

The postal worker turned around and got back in his truck. As the car started to roll forward, he lowered the window and waved while saying,

“It’s nice to see a kind young couple move into this area!”

With the truck halfway down the driveway, there was no chance to correct him. You looked at Bucky, mouth slightly ajar before shrugging it off with a small laugh. He chuckled as he awkwardly scratched the back of his head.

“He seems like a sweet guy.” You said as you watched the truck disappear behind the trees.

“Yeah.”

You stood there for a moment in silence before you spoke.

“So…”

“I’ll help you bring this in.”

“Okay, great, because there was no chance I was going to get this in by myself.”

You watched as Bucky lifted the large box with ease. As he went up the porch steps, you quickly passed him to hold the door open for him.

“I’m pretty sure that’s my bed frame, so you can set it in the room at the end of the hall.”

He turned to head down the hall, being careful to not bump into any walls. Entering the open room, he saw a room with plain white walls and a light sand-colored hardwood floor. Delicate sage green curtains moved ever so slightly as the breeze brought fresh air into the room. There was a mirrored closet with clothes that was cracked open, a small white table close to the ground, some boxes stacked in the corner of the room, and in the middle of the floor was a mattress covered in sheets, blankets, pillows and a laptop paired to some over ear headphones. He set the box down leaning against the wall.

“Ah, sorry about the mess, I haven’t had a chance to really get anything set up.” You say as you pass him to open the curtains wider.

“It’s alright, I’m sorry you had to sleep on the floor.”

“Oh, that’s alright. I still had the mattress so it wasn’t bad.”

Another pause. Bucky cleared his throat.

“Do you want help putting it together?” He asked, gesturing towards the box.

You sighed in response.

“Yeah, actually, I could. I’m sorry to trouble you.”

“It’s no trouble.” He replied, seeing you smile tiredly from the corner of his eye.

You grabbed a pair of scissors sitting on the vanity and started opening the box. Once it was open, Bucky pulled out a large fabric cream colored headboard. You tried not to be too impressed at the fact that he pulled it out with one arm, flexing the muscles in ripples. It felt wrong to ogle so you shook your face slightly and dug into the box.

The material of the headboard was similar to canvas, reminiscent of the old cloth bags that flour used to come in when he was a child. As he set it down against the wall, he ran his right hand over the cloth one more time before letting his hand fall off.

The sound of you pulling out the metal parts to the actual bed frame snaps him out of his lull. Setting them down gently on the floor one by one, you attempt to make conversation.

“So, how’s the apartment? Is it okay? Do you need anything?” You asked, trying to hide how slightly out of breath that you were. Bucky walked over to grab the rest of the metal bars out of the box before you could try.

“Yeah, everything’s great. Thanks…”

There’s a lull as you fish the bag of screws and the instructions from the bottom of the box.

“Great. I couldn’t get down here soon enough to check everything myself. The real estate agent took pictures but it’s definitely not the same as laying your eyes on it in person.”

You open up the instructions and Bucky stands awkwardly before deciding to sit on the floor across from you. He leaned back onto his hands and enjoyed the fresh air circulating in the room. The slight chill was nothing compared to all the cold he had faced in his lifetime. That meant he could get by in a short-sleeved shirt and jeans. You, however, were bundled up slightly more. Bucky’s eyes trailed over you slowly as you focused on the instructions. Your hair was tucked back behind your ears in an attempt to keep it out of your eyes as you read, forest green shirt was layered with a cozy open cardigan. The black slim-cut joggers had fuzzy mid-calf socks layered over them to keep any warmth from escaping. Bucky wondered how much more you could possibly layer when the Winter comes and the true cold settles in the area. Before he could think about that, you flip back to the front page of instructions and tentatively spoke.

“Okay, so I think I get it…”

---

The next hour or so consisted of you telling him what parts went together and him screwing them together. It settled into a good flow, with scattered conversation sprinkled in between.

“So, how’re you enjoying Louisiana?” you asked casually as you skimmed over the next set of instructions.

“I haven’t been here long. It’s… different than New York,” he said as he twisted the screw in. At his prompting, you handed him another one. “Everyone’s friendly. It seems like a tight-knit community.”

“They definitely are,” you mused. “Brooklyn, right?”

He looked up at you, causing you to blink and then avert your gaze.

“Sorry,” you started to explain. “I saw the Smithsonian gallery during my last visit to New York… Do you ever have people recognize you?”

“Sometimes,” he said quietly, pausing for a moment before continuing on. “When I do get recognized, it’s not usually the kind of people I’d want to recognize me.”

Bucky thought back to shortly ago in Madripoor. Definitely not the kind of people that he wanted to recognize him. He shook the thought out of his head and continued.

“It’s strange to think that all those people who pass by the exhibit just know me now.”

You reflected on when you saw the exhibit. Right in the middle was a cutout of Bucky Barnes: Captain America’s Right Hand Man. The few paragraphs that were featured at the exhibit did not seem to fully encapsulate the man sitting in front of you, carefully screwing the metal pieces together.

“I think they know about you, but they don’t know you. There has to be more to James Buchanan Barnes than three paragraphs written by someone who’s never actually met you.” You say, meeting his eyes and raising your eyebrows comically.

For some reason, hearing his full name unnerved him. It made him antsy. He didn’t have any experience with being the center of any positive attention, and all of a sudden, your focus on him was scorching. He looked away and cleared his throat.

“Yeah, I suppose so.” He said gruffly.

You smiled gently before looking back down at the instructions to try to put him back at ease. It was funny, watching someone with such a hardened exterior be flustered so easily. There was definitely more to Bucky Barnes than meets the eye.

---

Bucky sat by himself, screwing the last piece in. You had left a few minutes ago to grab refreshments and hadn’t come back yet. He stood, dusting off his hands and pants before stretching his back and looking at the completed project. Picking up the mattress and all the blankets piled on it, he gently set it on the frame. Now it looked like you actually lived here. It was simple, but cozy.

The smell of butter and cheese wafted into the room, grabbing his attention. Looking up at the clock, Bucky realized it was almost noon. He followed the familiar smell to the kitchen where you were cooking, hair tied back and light-yellow apron. The delayed drinks were gathering condensation on the counter behind you. You looked over at him and slipped the apron over your head.

“Ah, sorry. I figured you could handle the last few screws so I started making lunch as well.” You said sheepishly.

“No, it’s fine. Thank you. It’s all done.”

He watched as you took the spatula and lifted a sandwich onto a plate, golden brown from toasting in the butter, matching the plate next to it. You had made the both of you lunch. Taking a knife, you cut the sandwiches in half and hand him the plate with the warm one that had just come out of the pan.

“It’s a grilled ham and cheese. I hope it’s okay.”

“You didn’t have to.” He responded, watching the melted cheese drip down the sides.

You shrugged. “I wanted to. Thanks for the help.”

“Thanks for the food. Do you need help assembling anything else?”

Your gaze flicked to the boxes leaning against the hallway. He looked behind at them and back, raising an eyebrow. Sighing in defeat, you spoke.

“… Yeah. But Sam is actually coming over later to help so you don’t have to do it now. If you do still want to help, you could come over then. I’ll be ordering dinner so you don’t have to worry about cooking. Though, please don’t feel like you have to. You’ve already done so much today.”

Bucky hesitated. He didn’t want to invade your life too much. After all, you were a woman living alone in a new area, the last thing you probably wanted was a strange man turning a contract into a forced friendship because you were polite. But then again, you had just moved down here. Of course, you needed a lot of help in the beginning. Soon, things will settle back to normal and then you’ll be back to just being neighbors who see each other outside occasionally.

“Sure. I’ll be back later when I hear Sam pull up. He doesn’t follow directions anyway so you probably need someone to supervise him.” He joked.

You smiled up at him.

“Great. You must be tired. You can take lunch to go and bring the plate back later.”

You didn’t want to keep him. He wouldn’t have minded staying. But he was still new to being an actual person again. His social battery was a little drained, and he appreciated the easy out.

“Okay, I’ll see you later.” He said, giving his classic low-key three finger salute.

“Bye,” you replied softly as you watched him open the screen door and walk down the porch steps. Lightly padding down the hallway, you peaked into your room, seeing the final product. It was sweet that he put the mattress down and you noticed he had also straightened out the blankets just a little. What a sweet gesture. He was a gentleman. Despite the gruff. You padded back down to the kitchen and sat at the counter to eat. It always felt wrong to make so much noise. You were just one person. One tiny insignificant useless person.

---

Bucky sat at his kitchen table, finishing the sandwich that he had started to eat on the way in. His attempt to eat it while it was still hot was so worth it, the bread still warm and comforting. As he took his last bite, he traced his finger on the little pattern of flowers and leaves on the border of the sage green ceramic plate. All of the little homey, slightly old-fashioned details were very reminiscent of home. Not his previous apartment in Brooklyn. But home back in the 1930’s when he was growing up. It was comforting. He sat back in the chair and closed his eyes, dreaming of a world that no longer existed.

---

Later, Sam knocked on the door way and shouted up the stairs through the screen door.

“Hey, anybody home?”

You bounded down the stairs and unlocked the screen door to let him in, giving him a hug in greeting.

“Woah, woah, don’t make me spill the goods,” he said with a laugh, holding the two cases of beer up.

“Good to see you too,” You joked.

Bucky saw the interaction from the garage window that faced your porch. He wondered if there was something between you two and quickly shook the thought from his head. He wasn’t jealous, just curious. It didn’t matter. After all, you were Sam’s friend first.

People can have friends, idiot. What does it matter to you? He thought to himself as he walked down the stairs to the garage.

Walking across the gravel to your front door, he knocked on the screen door as well.

“Come in!” You yelled from upstairs.

He opened the front door and walked up the stairs into the living room.

“Hey, Buck! How’re you settling in?” Sam said, giving him a hug as well.

“Good, it’s really nice out here.” He replied after they had separated.

“Good. I’m glad. You look like you finally got some rest.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that, he was over early this morning, hauling around a bunch of heavy stuff and putting furniture together.” You interjected, bringing the bottle opener in from the kitchen.

“Let me guess, he completely messed it up? Turned your table into a chair or something like that?” Sam teased. Bucky slapped him upside his arm.

“Despite the picture you painted of him, he was extremely competent.” You said while trying not to laugh at Sam’s face of fake hurt. “Now come on, there’s a beer fee, you get one beer for every piece of furniture you put together.”

“I’m the one who brought the drinks though!” Sam protested, following you down the hall to the room where the boxes were.

Bucky smiled a bit as he listened to you both squabble. Friends or not, it was nice to have someone else to annoy Sam with.

---

“You sure you’re okay to go pick up the food?”

You looked up at Bucky from where you sitting on the floor, reading directions while Sam, who was ever so slightly tipsy, was trying to get a leg of a night stand to fit straight.

“Yeah, I’m good. He looks… busy. And it’s probably better for me to go out this late. You know, ‘cuz you’re a woman... lady.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“Not to say that you’re not perfectly capable of handling yourself, I just mean… uh…”

“Pff-”

The laugh that Sam had been trying to hold back escaped from between his lips loudly as he covered his mouth. You rolled your eyes but regardless, a smile crept up on your face.

“Ignore him. I was just giving you a hard time. It’s very chivalrous.”

You paused thoughtfully.

“On a serious note, that’s very sweet of you. I appreciate it. You can just charge it to the card I gave you.”

He nodded and started walking down the stairs to the porch.

“Be safe!” He heard you call softly down the stairs.

“Will do.” Bucky instinctively responded.

The screen door shut behind him as he made his way across the driveway to where his own motorcycle was parked. A sleek modern black sports bike. Something he’d bought when he wasn’t ready to look at Steve’s old cruiser. He’d put the cruiser in the garage to work on and keep safe.

He mounted the bike and started it, the engine coming to life. He went to check what time it was on his phone when he realized he had left it inside. Swinging his leg over, he started to walk back up to the front door when he heard your conversation with Sam from the open living room window.

“Feeling at home?” Sam asked. There was a short silence before you answered hesitantly.

“Something like that.”

“How you holding up?”

“It’s been okay… lonely… I just can’t believe I let it go on for so long.”

Bucky hadn’t realized he had stopped in his tracks, eyebrows furrowed as he listened.

“The people who are trapped in the abusive relationship themselves always have a harder time seeing it than anyone else.”

Bucky blinked in surprise as Sam continued.

“It’s like that thing they say when you’re cooking with frogs. If the water’s boiling when you first put them in, they’ll hop right out the pot. But if you put the frog in cool water and slowly heat it up, they’ll stay, no matter how hot it gets. The more gradual the process is, the less likely they are to realize that they’re in trouble before it’s too late.”

“Yeah…” Your voice sounded heavy. Burdened.

“He was nice at first, wasn’t he?” You asked rhetorically.

“He was.”

“Fooled me…”

“Fooled me too. I never would’ve introduced him to you if I had known that’s what he was like. I should’ve known there was something off about him. I should’ve sensed it during the support group he came to at the VA.” Sam said regretfully.

“Hey, it’s not your fault, Sam.” You said, chastising him. “At some point, I knew that things were heading in the wrong direction. He got so angry. So spiteful. I knew I had stopped loving him and started being afraid of him. But then everyone was dusted, and I didn’t have anywhere else to be, anyone else to be with besides him. Being somewhere new by myself would bring struggles I couldn’t prepare for. At least with him, I knew what to be afraid of. Then everyone came back and he almost killed me. I guess I was just a poor little froggy.”

You tried to ease the heaviness of the conversation by being lighthearted with the last sentence. But there was still a sadness in your voice.

“Still. I wish I could’ve helped you when you broke your shoulder.”

“Don’t feel bad, Sammy. I ended up just fine. I’m here now. The only thing I regret is letting him trash my piano. It was old, but I grew up playing that thing.”

“I know how much it meant to you.”

“It’s okay, it's a new start. Besides, you were off fighting to be Captain America! Rightfully so. If this was the sacrifice I had to make for the right man to be able to take up the shield, I would’ve broken my other shoulder too!”

Sam must have given you a death glare because you laughed suddenly and your tone changed to defensive.

“Kidding! Kidding. Yeesh. But seriously, I’m proud of you. And thank you, for helping me start over.”

Bucky unclenched his hands. He hadn’t realized that he had gotten tense. Turning around, he headed back to the bike. He didn’t need his phone. He didn't want to let on that he overheard. Getting back on the bike, he waited until he heard laughter to sneak down the driveway, masking the fact that he was just now leaving.

Once he got out on the road, he sped up- letting the wind sting against his face and cool it down. The thought of a man using his own strength to hurt what was supposed to be his other half- it made him so mad. No wonder you were scrambling to get out here. He hoped that you never had to go through anything like that again.

Rest assured, if he can do anything to prevent that from happening, he will.

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes #bucky imagine #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x y/n

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sweetestlamb · 3 years

Text

Yoga

Summary: Vincenzo hides his jealousy as well as he hides being part of the mafia.

Author's note: it was supposed to be a cute jealous yoga story I don't know why this ended in angst 😂😂😂 I really need to get my life together. Also Vincenzo rubbed me the wrong way today and some people are trying to convince me that I'm interpreting the show incorrectly and explaining to me why it didn't offend them and why everything was fine and I just need you to know, my opinion isn't changing but listen if you had a great time today watching the episode please don't let me stop you. I don't need anyone to be outraged with me. I'll be mad all by myself I promise! But just to be clear my problem was the creation of yet another gay character who an awful person in a kdrama. I can count on one hand the amount of times I've seen gay characters not be predators or abusive.

Anywho I give you jealous aerial yoga fun that ends in man pain!

He probably believes that he's being inconspicuous again, hiding this side of him as well as he'd thought he was hiding being a member of the mafia. But he's just as obvious as he always is in her eyes, much like her he's too theatrical to ever really conceal how he's feeling. He talks too much and reveals his cards too easily- especially to her.

He's attracted to her that much is painfully evident, if her father's nosy assistant hadn't interrupted they would have kissed. She would have been laid across the table and taken apart, his eyes promised a great time as he devoured her. She was just as attracted to him, she wouldn't have stopped him from doing whatever he wanted.

It is getting more difficult to ignore the quiet moments though, when she can feel his eyes on her and it's not sexual at all. He's just looking at her and she feels bare, naked.

Those moments scare her in a way she hasn't felt before. Ergo she presses them deep, deep into the dark corners of her brain behind all the different ways that she has concocted to throw off others, she's used to being strange and having men overlook her for it.

She's never been what others would consider "sexy". But then he appears and suddenly men seem to see her in a new light. Or maybe he brings her attention to it.

It all begins at the coffee shop, they've made a habit of starting their mornings together by getting coffee. She doesn't analyze what exactly they're doing but some may consider it a date, she hasn't giving the outings a title there's no need to.

She feels comfortable with him and he hasn't been resistant to her pushing her way into his life. She has always been like this, too much and overbearing. Usually it drives people away and she pretends that it doesn't hurt that she's something that people need in doses, she's heard that so often that it's etched in her brain.

Friends in college, boyfriends and her colleagues to name a few.

But for some reason he keeps coming back for more doses, regularly smiling at her shenanigans even egging on her antics with full body laughs.

So he'd taken her to get coffee grinning once again as she dragged her caffeine deprived body dramatically like a puppet with its strings cut to the counter, plopping herself on the surface before crying out, "If I don't get a large sewage water in five minutes my death will be on your hands!" The barista behind the counter grinned over at her, used to her dramatics. He was young, barely nineteen and he'd tried his hand at flirting with her a few times. She had promptly laughed in his face the first time, spewing coffee everywhere before strutting out of the shop.

Laughing and punching a stranger in the arm, ignoring the loud "Hey! What are you doing," before she danced down the sidewalk, hand on her hip as she flipped her hair before shouting to the sky, "I've still got it, baby!"

That day he had glanced at Vincenzo before walking over to her, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

"I didn't realize I had so much power over you. What if I say I won't give it to you unless you let me take you on a date?" She remembered her eyes widening in shock and then disbelief and finally landing on bemusement, he was persistent she would give him that much but she was no cougar so his flirting was futile.

She opened her mouth to let him down easy- laugh in his face again and remind him that he had to be this old to ride her ride but suddenly her Italian was leaning across the counter, all cool lines with a deadly smile on his face.

With a his deep voice he chillingly said, "If you don't give it to her your death will be on my hands."

There was heavy silence.

He continued, "I know how to kill a man with only a coffee cup and a string."

The barista, Heon, stared at Vincenzo with all of the blood draining from his youthful face. She didn't blame him the man did sound unnervingly serious and the look in his eyes was a little too real to be purely acting. Plus there was conveniently a coffee cup and a string right there on the table, it was an oddly specific thing to say.

Then after a pregnant pause, he started laughing loudly filling the entire shop like a mad man and she looked over at him as if he had lost his damn mind but this was her favorite coffee shop, she couldn't be banned so she started laughing with him, guffawing and pushing the idiot on the shoulders.

"He's just joking! HahaHAHAHA, laugh it was a joke! LAUGH!!" She leaned across the counter to pat the scared boy on the back but then Vincenzo leaned into her, draping his arm around her shoulder and pulling her back until she was no longer touching him. His laughter static and too robotic to be anything other than a hoax.

She'd never seen anyone brew coffee that fast before. It was impressive what a person could do when they felt as if their life was in danger she'd thought, she gave him a generous tip before leaving.

Heon mysteriously stopped working when they would normally come to the coffee, another barista informed her that he had switched his hours. A certain Italian was really cheerful upon hearing the news, whistling an unknown tune as he sipped his tiny cup of espresso- double shot, traipsing away with a pep in his step and the wind beneath his suit coat.

His random violent outbursts continued.

Bartenders. Businessmen. Traffic officers. Other lawyers. A librarian who had flirtatiously whispered that she wouldn't need to be quiet when they were alone. Suddenly there were men everywhere and she was the hottest thing on the menu, her lower back probably had an imprint of his hand by now from all the times he would steer her away from her suitors.

Every time his excuses were the same, "I'm just protecting you. Guys like that are scum, you deserve better."

Well the one she wanted had no intention of staying so why was he blocking anyone else from trying?

Thinking about it makes her chest feel tight and she welcomes the weekend, she has booked an aerial yoga class to release some of the stress and tension just being around the Italian causes.

It's a warm day so she dons a small set, a light blue sports bra with matching shorts throwing a light jacket over in case the temperature drops at the end of the day. Looking in the mirror she scoops her hair into a low ponytail, pushing back baby hairs that frame her face.

She swipes a thin layer of chapstick across her dry lips before grabbing her phone, keys, gym membership card and her gym bag with a change of clothes.

The drive to the studio is short, she listens to BlackPink on the radio happily screaming about her dududududu complete with car choreo that consists of arm shakes and a lot of hair whipping. It's another miraculous day where she does not cause a car accident, she gives herself a high five for the small victory.

She parks her car haphazardly driving onto the sidewalk several times before getting it right. With a satisfied sigh she hops out of her car, opening the back door and bending over to grab her gym bag.

"Cha-young ah?"

A familiar voice surprises her and she jumps bumping her head into the roof of her car with a cry, she drops the gym bag and leans out of the car rubbing her throbbing head with a pained grimace.

Vincenzo is standing in front of her, in what is the most casual outfit she has ever seen him wear. A pair of navy blue sweatpants, a plain white t-shirt and expensive looking black sneakers, leave it to him to wear Balenciagas when trying to look casual.

Her mouth becomes very dry as she takes in the unexpected but very much welcome sight.

Shaking herself out of her stupor she raises an eyebrow at him, "What are you doing here?" She asks once again leaning into her car to retrieve her gym bag. When she turns around slamming the door shut she watches Vincenzo peel his eyes away, quickly looking away from her direction.

Had he been checking her out?

She smirks at the thought before openly checking him out. Eyes perusing his body up and down in a slow and thorough examination.

"Are you checking me out?" He asks amused as he folds his arms across his chest, making his already impressive biceps look even bigger and more enticing. She knows exactly what he's doing, he's about as subtle as a bulldozer.

"Yes, I am. Do you need me to turn around again so you can check me out?" She laughs easily as he sputters and tries to deny her claims, once he realizes that she doesn't believe a word he's saying he finally stops, admitting defeat.

"Those are...great shorts." He drawls, gone is the embarrassed act. Now he's freely eying her shorts clad body, eyes hot as they trail up and down her legs.

Shaking her head she smiles at him, "You never answered my question. What are you doing here?" He struts over to her prying her gym bag from her hand and throwing it over his free shoulder. She tries not to get too affected by his sudden closeness, his cologne filling her nostrils with the fresh earthy musk.

"My gym is here. I came to work out. You look like you had the same idea, you should have called me." There he goes again, making space for himself in her life although he has no intention of staying with her. It was cruel and she knows she should cut him off before it's too late.

"I don't think you'll be interested in what I'm doing." She answers walking ahead, holding the gym door open for him. They both show their card to the attendant at the front and the young worker smiles at her before saying, "Your aerial yoga class will be starting in five minutes. It's best to go early and secure a good spot."

She can see Vincenzo's questioning face in her peripheral but she ignores him to nod at the younger woman, tugging her bag off his shoulder and nodding at him in dismissal.

"Enjoy your work out." She climbs the stairs leading to the huge studio where the aerial classes are held. His eyes are like lasers on her back and she already knows that he's going to follow her, he's too intrigued to stay away. That's what she was banking on.

She would get him back for all his jealous tantrums this past week. There were so many places they were probably going to be banned from and all because he didn't know how to play well with others. She's wasn't some toy he could claim. Especially when she couldn't claim him back.

Finding a spot in the corner she puts her bag down on one of the mats that are provided, taking a few moments to do some light stretches. She bends over touching her toes before dipping her head and elongating her neck, then she does a few squats and jumping jacks just to get her blood pumping and her heart racing.

She can feel the exact moment that he comes, it also helps that all the women gasp and she can hear coy giggles about their new guest. She pretends not to notice him, stretching backwards into a perfect handstand holding it for a few minutes before tilting back and planting her feet until she's upright again. She almost loses her composure when she catches his expression in the large windows.

He looks shocked and aroused, neck redder than normal.

All the women settle down when the instructor comes to the front of the room, they have reached the point where he no longer shows them what to do instead he walks around the room correcting their form and giving tips or words of encouragement.

He's a beautiful man, with mocha colored skin and a lean muscled build and the most gorgeous head of coily hair. She has been coming here for months and they've become quite closer as they have a lot in common, most importantly they both love men. When they had run into each other and realized they were staring at the same guy's ass, it was love at first ogle.

When he comes over to greet her she immediately steps into his space with a mischievous grin. Sean grins back looking exasperated already but he still says, "What are you up to? I know that smile Ms. Cha-young." She leans closer certain that Vincenzo is avidly watching her every move. Trailing a finger up his thick bicep she whispers, "Nine o clock, don't look but I need your help to teach him a lesson. Are you up to it?"

Sean starts to turn his head before processing her order and stopping, he stares at her before a devilish look gleams in his bright eyes too.

"You know I'm always up." He replies voice full of innuendos and she fake swoons, bringing her hand to her forehead. "Don't tease me."

He chuckles at her before walking back to the front of the room, none of the other women react to their flirtations used to their antics and everyone already knows that Sean is as gay as the pride flag. Everyone except one fuming Italian.

She can feel his waves of anger crashing across the room and she tugs at the cloth in front of her testing the weight before easily hoisting herself up, letting it cup her bottom as her feet dangle.

She's ready to put on a show.

He hadn't stalked her per se, he'd merely overheard one of the tenants say that they'd seen Cha-young in a nearby studio on weekends so he'd went to see if she really did go there. And then there she was bent over in her car, pert little bottom sticking out the car and he wanted nothing more than to smack the flesh and watch it bounce and jiggle under his hand.

This was why he was so protective, not jealous. Protective. She was too careless with her body and there were salacious men out there ready to take advantage of that, she needed someone like him who had a pure heart to look out for her.

He was allowed to fantasize about spanking her while having a pure heart, it was called having duality.

So he'd followed her into the gym, a little peeved when she abandoned him without a word to attend something called "aerial yoga", he knew regular yoga and if it was anything like that he was very much interested.

In watching her do it.

Turning to the young worker who had been staring a hole in his face, he sent her a charismatic smile before leaning nonchalantly on the counter, he could tell that he had her full attention by the way her mouth fell open.

He almost felt bad, she seemed a bit wet behind the ears. But he wasn't really trying to seduce her so it was fine, he wasn't some old creepy predator.

"Hey, that aerial yoga class am I allowed to watch it? I want to see if it's something I might be interested in." He lies to the younger woman, watching her process his words before answering.

"Well technically that class is restricted for those who signed up..." She trails off looking at him and he smiles brightly, pushing his curly hair off his forehead he had forgo his products today and the way her eyes follow his fingers make him thankful that he did so. "But you won't do any harm by watching, I'm sure it'll be fine. Go on up." She finishes and he throws a mental fist pump, he still had it.

Outwardly he smiles serenely, thanking her before walking up the stairs that Cha-young just disappeared up. It leads to a spacious studio with a wall of gleaming mirrors and huge bay windows overlooking the city. He looks around before his eyes land on her, the reason why he's here.

He swallows a groan as he watches her stretch that slim gently curvy body, she's all smooth lines and feminine appeal. When she starts squatting he can't help but watch those firm cheeks tensing and tightening, he lazily leans back hungrily watching her.

Then he almost swallows his tongue when she bends backwards into a perfect bridge before lifting herself into a handstand, damn she was strong and deliciously flexible. Looking her in the eye was going to be even more difficult now.

His heckles raise when he sees another man approaching her suddenly, a Black man who seems way too familiar with his Cha-young based on the way they both grin and invade the others space. He sneers as he watches them whisper and grin at each other, who was this guy and why were they so close? He releases a sigh of relief when the man finally backs up, going to the front of the room before pressing a button and light soothing music begins to play.

He must be the instructor then. Wonderful. He prays that was the end of the unnecessary touching and standing too close to his lawyer. He doesn't want to have to make a scene.

It isn't the end. Not by a long shot.

The instructor who had introduced himself as Sean easily walked around, stopping every once in a while to correct someone or praise them for having good form. The ladies would preen and thank him and that was it, he would nod before moving on.

Cha-young was the only exception to this rule.

He watches mesmerized as the limber lawyer bends herself into a graceful pose that resembles a swan and he can't fight the images that start flashing in his mind of them in bed, her twisting around him with pieces of cloth. Tying him up and showing him just how flexible she is all night long until they both sore and sated.

When she suddenly releases the cloth and starts tumbling to the ground he finds himself jumping into action shoving the fantasy to the crevice of his mind, legs already moving to catch her before she saves herself with her ankles, her body swinging freely with her face only inches from the floor. His heart skips a beat before it starts chugging along again.

Why was she always worrying him?

"That was perfect Cha-young! You've finally let go of your fear of falling!" Sean praises her walking over and patting her legs, but he doesn't let go after the quick touch. He keeps those grabby hands on her thigh and helps her back up onto the cloth, he thinks that will be the end of it. He's wrong.

He moves her body into a new pose with the cloth wrapped around her shoulder and he glares when a hand runs down her back precariously close to her bottom before rolling back up. He pushes her gently on the cloth harness and she laughs gleefully before she whispers something to the instructor, it's hard to read her lips from this distance but he can make out, "with me."

He understands what she asked for when Sean nods and moves into position.

Sean wraps his arms around the same cloth and suddenly lifts himself off the ground, his face level with her groin and he wants to go over and rip the cloth from the ceiling and strangle the man with it. Then Sean pulls himself up and Cha-young slides out of her seated position, grabbing the cloth too until they're face to face and spinning in lazy hypnotic circles. They both have huge grins on their faces as they move together in perfect harmony, the last straw comes when she wraps her legs around his waist and their bodies are pressed together- he sees blazing red and disconcerting white and then finally pitch black.

He's fleeing before he's even aware of it. Bounding down the stairs, two steps at a time then shoving the entrance door open and letting the surge of cool air ease his anger. If he stayed another second the instructor would be dangling out the window much like that thug before except he wasn't sure if he would be able to pull him back up.

Why was he so anger? She'd looked fine, happy even. She clearly wasn't being taken advantage of. But his rage is bursting at the seams and he jolts when a hand suddenly grips his wrist. Instinctively he turns grabbing the person and slamming them into the nearby wall.

Cha-young looks up at him, face flushed and sweaty.

That will also be burned into his retina.

"You should know better than to sneak up on me." He warns taking deep breaths to suppress some of the frustration he feels looking at her, the memory still fresh in his mind.

"What's wrong with you?" She counters bringing her hands to his shoulders rubbing in a calming motion, "You look pissed. Did something happen?"

He watches her for a second, taking her in seemingly harmless question and recalls her legs wrapped around another man who wasn't him and he wants to punch that fucking handsy instructor right in his smug fac--

Wait.

She was smiling. No, smirking. Right up at him like she knew everything that was racing through his head.

He'd been played.

"Did you have fun?" He asks voice laced with snarkiness and he shoves her harder into the wall, red hot fury brewing in the pit of his stomach. She knew that he was part of the mafia but still acted like this. Did she not have any sense of self preservation?

"Were you jealous?" She asks in a ostentatiously cutesy voice like this is all a hilarious joke and he wants to kiss that damn smug look right off her face. No one has ever dared to treat him like this, acted like he was a joke.

She's playing with fire and he's not opposed to burning her up.

"Do you still think you have the upper hand right now?" He looms over her pushing his pelvis into her and she squeaks at the hardness that pokes into her. To his surprise she eagerly presses back, pulling him in by his waist until they are flushed chest to chest. He doesn't know if an upper hand exists anymore.

"Yes. I do, getting to see you jealous was the highlight of my day. Cute little jealous mafia lawyer."

He snarls at her feeling stupid because of how easily she can play him, and without thinking he wraps his arms around her.

"You looked really cozy with him."

She sniffs before pouting at him, "Yeah and you didn't fight for me at all. Where were the death threats and cold glares? Sean would have pissed his pants." Her giggles only make him angrier because she's seen through him all along.

He stares at her blankly before throwing caution to the wind and leaning down to capture her tempting lips, he runs a hand through her ponytail tugging her head closer to him and she moves easily with him standing on her tiptoes. He closes his eyes ready to put himself out of his misery when he feels a finger in his lips, he blinks his eyes open staring at her perplexed and a bit offended.

"What?"

"Are you staying in Korea?" She talks over him, her finger firm on his mouth.

They both stare at each other and her question spins in his busy mind, thoughts too full of her seductive moves earlier and how badly he wanted to destroy anyone who dared to look at her. He doesn't know why that question is coming up now, at this particular moment when he just wants to kiss her breathless. They can leave the rational thoughts for later, right now there should be more frenzied kissing. But when he tries to push her finger away she grabs his face hard, adamant.

He stares at her and finally he sees the chinks in her armor, gone is the overly confident Cha-young that he's so used to seeing and there's something softer in that stead, the vulnerability that always shrouds over her eyes when they have this reoccurring conversation is back and it leaves him feeling cornered as it always does.

He can't answer that question. The answer should be easy and it had been before her. He was going to take his gold and get the fuck out of this God forsaken country.

That had been the plan pre: Cha-young.

Now that plan was muddled and he could admit that he was jealous of other men stealing her away from him, at least to himself. Could admit that he wanted to wreck her completely, have her screaming in his bed those nimble limbs wrapped around him as he thrust into her over and over and over. But he wasn't ready to admit that he might feel something more than just intense attraction to her. That she had changed all his plans and made him consider settling down, with her. It was insane, he barely knew her and they weren't even in a relationship.

"No. I told you, I'm leaving."

He's a coward. He can admit that too.

She sends him a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes before ducking under his arms.

"Then leave and don't confuse me. I'm not yours to get jealous over. I'll see you Monday."

She doesn't look back, walking straight to her car and speeding away without checking any of her mirrors as she's wont to do despite him constantly reprimanding her for it, he's certain she's over the speed limit.

He punches the wall with a yell, the pain in his fist nothing compared to the pain in his chest. It was a huge mistake coming back here.

#vincenzo #vincenzo cassano #hong cha young #aerial yoga #don't try any of things I wrote about #you might die #i made this all up #man pain #emotional constipation

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governmentintelligence · 3 years

Text

happy birthday motherfucker <3

Here is a birthday fic!!

Words: 4910

MASTERPOST OF THE OTHER BIRTHDAY STUFF

KNOX INSPIRED ART <3 <3 <3 <3 GO LOOK AT KNOX ART

~~~~~~~~ no fun sexy linebreak sorry <//3 ~~~~~

It’s a slow mid-afternoon at Pigsy’s Noodles, home of the longest noodles.

Spirit is wiping down the outside tables, humming to themselves as they do. MK is basically laying on one of the tables, legs bent over the side as he scrolls idly through the restaurant’s email. Yes, email—the main network that nearly every business uses has gone down, citing a massive server outage.

“Ugh, no one even uses email anymore, and especially not for food orders,” MK groans.

“That’s not true!” Pigsy and MK had been going back and forth on this for about the past hour, since walk-in orders slowed. It had been almost thirty minutes before someone came in, and while this was an alarmingly slow state, it was unusual for MK to be waiting for orders to deliver rather than the other way around. “People use email for catering events! And if anyone really wants some good noodles, they know they can call in!”

Mei, leaning with her back on the counter, and Tang, sitting at his usual counter spot, share a look. These two had been ping-ponging their argument on and off since the server shut off earlier in the day. It had been demon related in one way or another, another one of Yin and Jin’s hairbrained schemes that MK interrupted before much irreversible damage was done. They’d been hoping to gain control over the city’s main set of servers, used by most mobile apps.

While they’d been swiftly defeated, it still left a remarkable amount of damage on the servers themselves, leaving most of the city’s biggest commercial apps down, including the delivery app.

“Okay, and how many call-ins have we gotten?” MK looks up, only to be met with a glare.

Tang shrugs at MK’s assertion. The argument’s been going in circles thus far; it feels only fair to try and interrupt it. “He’s not wrong. A lot of delivery’s based out of the apps. This is really why having a delivery app trust is helping to wear down independently owned businesses.”

None of us came here for a lesson in market monopolization and trusts, though, readers included. Mei groans, and MK’s arms flop over the sides of the table.

“I’m too bored for a lesson in macroeconomics,” Mei grumbles.

MK, from where his head is leaning over the table’s edge, makes a sound of agreement. Pigsy and Tang share a look, Spirit can see them through the window, before Tang leans back towards MK’s prone body.

“Hey, never too bored to become even more bored!” Tang sounded too chipper when he said it.

That got MK to look up from where he was tangling over the table, giving Tang a glare that mirrored the one Mei was sending him. Even Pigsy stopped stirring his noodle broth, turning to stare at Tang with his eyes squinted.

The silence is moreso what gets Spirit to look up, and once they see everyone staring at Tang, they stare, too. Mostly out of curiosity and partly out of confusion.

They can sense the tension, however light, from a mile away. It makes them hesitant to come back inside, but they have the dirty rags to throw into the laundry bin from cleaning the table. Then, they have to throw the laundry into the machine and change out the cycles, maybe fold the other load of dishrags and washcloths.

Having Spirit’s three extra eyes on him does get a nervous chuckle out of Tang, though. Pigsy spares him the plight of having to redirect the conversation. “I’m still goin’, til closing. It’s slow for deliveries but we’ve been getting some walk-ins and some call-ins. What if a catering order comes in, you know?”

“Aren’t catering orders supposed to come in, like, days before they want you there?” Mei hops over to the counter now, leaning over the side.

That revelation has MK leaping off of the table, landing light on his feet on its surface. Having his various Monkie Kid abilities has helped with some of the acrobatics he does, including his balance. “HANG ON, YEAH!”

He spins around, pointing at the clock on his phone while he flashed it towards Tang, Mei, and Pigsy. “Indoor seating closes soon! And Spirit just finished wiping down tables!”

Mei picks up what MK is suggesting first, throwing her arms up in excitement right back. “CAN WE GO TO THE ARCADE EARLY?”

Her voice is much too close to a shout for Spirit’s liking as they come back in and toss the towel they’re holding. It echoes around the restaurant, likely too sharp of a sound for anyone else here to hear. Mei means well, though, and Spirit knows the conversation doesn’t involve them.

Until MK says, “YES! Hey—Spirit!”

Hearing their name shouted, however friendly, gets their shoulders to hike. They turn around, expression just a tinge wary, and face MK’s excited grin head-on. “Would you want to come with us?”

Leave the restaurant? Well...it was slow. And Spirit wasn’t a cook, they were a waiter and a busser. If people were eating in the restaurant, it would make sense to have an extra hand on deck, just in case.

But right now, the only person eating in-house was Tang, and he’d gotten to the point where he was washing his own dishes when no one else was around. If Pisgy was okay with them going out….but they wouldn’t want to go to the arcade. It was loud and crowded. Many lights and many people and many machines making loud victory sounds. If they could avoid it, they would want to.

They pull at the sleeves of their shirt. It’s a plain white one, the kind that they prefer wearing to work so they don’t get any of their recognizable clothing dirtied. They only have so many sets in purple, after all, and they don’t want to get any dirty here. Plus the black and the white kind of helps to blend in.

“I don’t know. I, um….” They press their fingers together in thought, holding their hands together in front of themselves as they think.

A grunt from behind the counter drew everyone’s attention once more. Pigsy was still stirring the broth with one hand, watching the conversation over his own shoulder. “Maybe not the arcade with Spirit, you know how packed it gets at this time. All the kids getting out of school.”

There was something tender about Pigsy’s concern. Spirit smiles a little, lips pursed tight in the growing tension, and shrugs.

Mei wasn’t about to take a hard “no,” though. She nods to Pigsy’s suggestion that the arcade wasn’t the right place and then adds on, “How about the thrift mall?”

The thrift mall was a new installation of the city. A collection of thrift stores, auction houses, and antique stores all shoulder to shoulder in a multi-story shopping complex. It had just opened about a month ago and reviews were all positive. Plus, the idea of thrifting was returning to popular culture as something akin to recycling, so it would solve some of the fast designer fashion problems.

On a more personal note, too, Mei had been hankering to get a look at the place. She liked adding her own flourishes to the jacket she’d gotten MK years back, so much so that it was a thing she did to her own (to match with her best friend, duh?!) and to almost anything else she could get her hands on. Vintage patches, from the mid 2800’s, even some from as early as the 2500’s, could be found in the backs of antique stories. If she could get her hands on something from even the 2700’s, Mei would lose her marbles.

She’d been dying to go, of course, but every time she and MK were on their way, something would happen. Usually a demon would attack in some way, shape, or form, something small. Once, they made plans, and MK had completely forgotten he was on shift for delivery that day.

Things just kept misaligning, and MK very much knew how desperate Mei was to go to the thrift mall. Sure, there was the repeated asking, and now there were the current puppy dog eyes.

MK, also very much desiring to go, immediately follows suit. “Can you come to the mall with us?” he asks Spirit, bottom lip jutting out ever so slightly.

And now they were faced with two young adults giving them the saddest looks they’ve ever seen.

The thrift mall was new, yes. It was nearby the demon market, actually, and there were even some stores in the mall that were fronts to people whose names were in their book. It would likely be much quieter, no loud blaring music, no smoke machines or flashing lights.

More...agreeable, in a way.

They’re also pretty hesitant to say no to these kids looking at them like that. Not to say that that’s the only reason they’re going! They haven’t gotten a fresh new outfit, rather than clothes they wear to the noodle place or the variants of their own outfit, literally since Macaque took them to the tailor’s way back when. Clothes were just a societal necessity, not something that they cared much about anymore. Though, if they’re going to a store, it could be nice.

But, at the end of the day, how can Spirit say no to the expressions MK and Mei are giving them.

“If you would want,” Spirit answers.

They have no idea how they get themselves into it, honestly. MK and Mei both hiss a soft “YES,” slap palms, and from there, things go quite fast. They’re still in their human disguise, wary of any other humans seeing them in their monkey form, but they find that that’s for the best. Maybe when looking at clothes, though, they’ll change back. They wouldn’t consider themselves vain, but they’d like to see what looks good on both ends…?

Arriving at the thrift mall is interesting, because it isn’t the world’s most distinguishable location. Spirit lets themselves be pulled in behind the two chattering adults, Mei almost bouncing off the walls in excitement as she recognizes some of the stores.

Very immediately, too, she pulls them into a warehouse-looking location right inside the building. It’s lined with racks and racks of pants, and apparently the upper layer is meant for tops. There are many colors, many styles of clothing that Spirit hasn’t seen in fashion for years. They’re not caught up on pop culture in the slightest, but they catch sight of a band shirt that was definitely from the early 2900’s.

Another surprise is that the store is relatively empty. For a newly opened mall, you would expect crowds of people to be trying to pack into the stores, but this one’s labyrinthic nature seems to be separating the groups of people out a lot better than a regular store’s open flooring would be. Less people to run into when there is simply less road and so much more clothing to look at.

Spirit does their best to follow behind Mei and MK as they go up the stairs, into the similarly packed tops section. They weren’t really planning on buying anything, moreso just look and wistfully desire. But then Mei whips around with a purple varsity jacket, a dusty pink-purple in the middle, and whistles.

“Hey, Spirit, it’s a you jacket!” she laughs.

It does fit uncannily well with Spirit’s own color scheme. They look it over and nod slowly. “It is,” they say.

The peer pressure is on now, though, as MK leans over Mei’s shoulder. “Try it on! Let’s see if it fits!” he says.

Well, now….Spirit puts on the jacket carefully, knowing that it’s at least many decades old. It’s surprisingly sturdy and comfortable, likely from being worn by someone ages ago. It’s a little short but, in terms of width, it fits perfectly. They find that they can zip it up with room to move.

“It’s kind of soft,” they say. “I like it. I don’t know where I’d wear it, though.”

“Hey, you never know where you’d wear something until you’re going there,” Mei responds with a wave of her hand. “I don’t think through my outfits every day.”

“You don’t?” Mei looks pretty put together consistently, so that comes at a surprise.

Spirit remembers Macaque telling them that they need a serious outfit to be taken seriously, that their appearance is their first impression. They try to put a lot of thought into the things they wear whenever it’s not

Mei, however, just shrugs. “Nope! I usually just throw on a shirt and then my jacket over it.”

Interesting. And she still managed to look very cool.

Spirit follows Mei and MK through the aisles, watches as MK climbs on top of Mei’s shoulders to grab another shirt, this one with only one strap on the shoulder and a cute tie off. It looked like a very summery shirt. But it was purple, which Spirit didn’t consider MK or Mei’s colors, really.

Until he, still on Mei’s shoulders, leans towards them. “Hold up that one!” he says as he shoves the shirt into their arms.

They catch it and look over the fabric, soft and sturdy. They hold it up for MK and Mei to inspect, both humming in approval.

That was how the mall visit turned into a Spirit-centric fashion show, hosted by MK and Mei. Spirit was just along for the ride honestly, catching the articles of clothing that were just being dropped into their arms. MK and Mei were like a whirlwind, ripping out anything that looked remotely purple and showing it to the other for opinions. They murmured and schemed together, Spirit catching bits of “too rough” and “too loud” to describe some of the discarded articles.

It takes some time, but after about an hour, they’re walking around with a modest pile of clothes. Spirit thinks there’s a dress in there, even which is going to be a very interesting try. They haven’t worn many dresses.

MK and Mei were being intensely serious about this, too. They were inspecting each article before pushing it into Spirit’s hands, showing them to each other for confirmation. Most were actually hung back up, unfitting in some way or other that they weren’t privy to.

That was fine, though, because they don’t think they could have tried on everything that was purple in this warehouse. It was hour two, halfway through the bottoms section, before the tiredness began to kick in. Socializing was kind of hard, after all.

At least they weren’t having to talk for a lot of it. Mei stopped a few times to ask if they were doing okay, MK asked if they were hungry or if they all wanted to take a break, but Spirit wasn’t tired enough to want to leave just yet. And if these two were having a good time, then who were they to stop them mid-shopping.

At least the tops section went a little faster. Most pants weren’t built to handle fur, squeezing a little too tight, with the added limiting factor that MK and Mei were mostly looking for bottoms to match the tops they found.

The accessories section wasn’t as big as the tops or bottoms sections, of course, but there were still a series of wonders. The socks were in here, surprisingly. After one look at Spirit’s bare feet, though, MK and Mei only decided on one pair. They didn’t even glance the shoes section before grabbing what looked like a straw-woven fedora and pulling Spirit towards the changing rooms.

“It’s time to try on all the clothes!” MK proclaims, and Spirit kind of saw this coming, but they’re still confused.

“Why were you handing me the clothes?” they ask.

MK and Mei stop, both turning to Spirit with blank expressions. It must just now be registering that they never actually asked them if they wanted to wear the clothes, because they share a small glance before Mei goes, “Um….for a fashion show?”

Now, that’s interesting. Spirit’s not going to say no, of course not, but…. “Why?”

“Because you would look so cute in these,” Mei says. “I mean, vintage leather is all the rage now, everyone’s got one.”

She points out the purple leather jacket at the top of the pile and points to the fitting rooms. “It might be cool to have multiple sets of clothes that’re kinda, you know. Styling.”

“You’d be a fashionista,” MK adds on, pretending to swoon.

“What an icon,” Mei catches MK as he pretends to fall. “Stellar.”

They both hold pose, too, as they watch Spirit watch them.

And, come on. How can they say no to that.

Spirit gulps, then nods, almost worried. They don’t know what they’ll look good in. According to Macaque, it’s hard to find clothes that look at least acceptable, so they don’t enter the changing room with high hopes.

The outfits are all fairly modern, and Spirit wants to get the socks over and done with first. They pull on the socks, a deep purple with lilac dots, and notice that it’s a stretchy kind of fuzzy. They’re thick enough but hole-y enough to let their feet breathe in. Then, they pull on the cargo shorts, button up the purple shirt, and head on out for Mei and MK’s look.

They’re both sitting on a bench chatting outside of the fitting room, something about something on Mei’s phone. Probably another funny cat video, if we’re being honest. When Spirit walks out, though, Mei shuts off her phone at record speed.

They both “ooo” at the outfit. “Do a turn!” MK says, and Spirit obliges.

It feels comfortable. Almost summer-y in how the outfit was loose, yet contained itself in enough of a way for them to be mobile. The pants are a lot less tight than they seemed, and the whole outfit makes Spirit kind of want to climb something. Maybe a tree.

“You look so CUTE!” the exclamation catches their attention again as they notice MK clapping excitedly, Mei shaking her fists up and down, both unable to contain their excitement.

It was strange to see them so excited over Spirit’s outfit. They weren’t really expecting that kind of compliment over their appearance, especially after how quickly Macaque reminded them that they were hard to dress for.

“Really?” they ask.

MK and Mei nod their heads so fast it’s a wonder they don’t fly off.

“Hell yeah!” Mei jumps up, hopping to Spirit’s side. “I love the button down on you! The white one you wear at the noodle shop is pretty, too, but the color is,” she does a chef’s kiss motion as she hurries around Spirit for another 180 look.

“No one else is around, you could transform! We should see how it looks with all the fur,” MK suggests.

And he’s not wrong, per se. There aren’t any cameras in the changing rooms and there isn’t anyone else back here, not yet. Plus them being a monkey isn’t too big of an issue when they’re out of the restaurant. Some customers can get rude over the potential of fur in their soup and if they don’t have to change, they don’t always want to.

Spirit changes back, fur poofing out, and it surprisingly slots nicely into the spaces between the threads of sock. Their tail swishes right above their pants and their hands shake, almost in excitement, before they quell the movement.

“And it still looks awesome,” MK does a fist pump.

“Did you really have any doubt?” Mei says with a laugh, and MK shrugs.

The confidence almost washes off onto Spirit. Maybe it does, a bit, as they turn back to the changing room they’d exited.

The next outfit is one of the dresses. They’re feeling spicy, what can they say. It has a cute pink collar, a whole second layer of fuschia beneath a dress with semi-shimmering fireworks.

“You look gorgeous! Oh my god!” Mei says when she sees Spirit.

The next outfit is the one with the hat, along with a pair of jeans and the shirt with the tied off shoulder.

“I love that! The shirt looks so good on you!” is MK’s appraisal to that one.

An outfit with the purple leather biker jacket over a pair of black jeans and a pink shirt.

“You’re such a badass, so stunning!”

A dusty purple dress with white scalloped trims.

“That’s adorable, oh my—that neckline, though!”

Spiked cuffs, a choker, and a collared shirt with a smiley face design.

“You look so cool as a punk!”

Spirit was buzzing by the end of it. They hadn’t tried on this many outfits in this quick succession in a while, but every time they changed clothes, they would exit the room and do a spin for MK and Mei.

And every time, without fail, MK and Mei would applaud and compliment, which was the most surreal part. They weren’t used to that, not in the slightest, not when they were so hard to shop for. The last time, with Macaque, that must be….what, centuries by now? Absolute ages.

They’d assumed shopping would be hard, after that. But with MK and Mei’s cheering, they found it hard to be worried.

That didn’t mean they weren’t tired. They excited the changing rooms and began putting the outfits onto the rack to be taken back, when Mei hopped off the bench.

“Aw, did you not like them?” she asks.

Spirit blinks, surprised. “Um, no! They were really nice. I just, um. Don’t know where I would wear them.”

Mei blinks, as if she doesn’t really understand that sentiment. Spirit scratches the back of their neck, watching her and waiting for a response. It must be weird for her to think of that. She and MK hang out every night, once the noodle shop is closed. Mei must not understand that Spirit simply doesn’t have a place to wear them.

“Oh,” Mei hums.

It’s a fight that she doesn’t pick, it seems, and Spirit’s fine with that. MK sighs along with Mei. “Fair enough, if you don’t want them. I think Pigsy’d be okay with you wearing something flashy around, though!”

“That’s good to know,” they say, and they leave it at that.

Neither of the other two butt in, either, which is nice. Truth be told, Spirit’s not sure where they would wear the clothes, other than to the noodle shop. Plus, they don’t really know where they’d store it. Probably at Pigsy’s place. But would they want to take up even more space than they usually do? They wouldn’t want to just have stacks of it sitting by their hammock. That feels unnecessary.

They still leave the thrift mall with an air of relief and contentment. All of those outfits were really pretty. Very different, sure, but very pretty! Spirit could see themselves in them. Gosh, if Red were here, he would have been ecstatic over it. He has an eye for designs, they know.

While they’re happy to move on to the next store not having gotten anything, both MK and Mei keep glancing at them, as if worried. And they don’t really know what else to say, other than what they already have. The looks make them a little nervous, though.

At the very, very least, they spent a good four hours in that one giant store. It seems to be one of the mall’s super stores. Mei and MK bring Spirit around for a small walk at the others, coo’ing in interest at a vintage electronics store they found—Mei finds a perfect duplicate of the phone Spirit used to have, which they chuckle about. They enjoy being able to see the many emojis that everyone uses! Red’s fire emojis pack more of a punch now, as do Mei’s green hearts. They aren’t shocked at all to find that their phone’s dupe is labeled as “ultra rare,” and that it’s priced in the upper hundred thousands.

There’s also a vintage patch and accessory shop that Mei basically drags MK and Spirit into, though that’s not to say they need much convincing. She does buy a few there, too. Spirit just looks at some of the cuter ones, finding a blue skull that looks almost purple. Periwinkle, the store’s representative calls it. They think it’s cute, though they put that back, too. What need do they have for these things?

Sure, they’re pretty, and Spirit thinks it would be nice to own them. But….well. Where are they going to put it? Where are they going to wear it all? Would they have to do laundry more often? They just don’t really know, you know, and it’s not something they want to commit to.

On the ride back to the noodle shop, MK and Mei make jokes about how they should give Spirit’s old phone away to that antique store. The owner would probably lose it to see another one still functioning. Spirit just laughs along, social battery drained after many hours of working at the store and the four hours they spent at the mall. It feels nice, though. They don’t often go out for so long in such an agreeable space.

It’s a nice moment they think back on, and in their sleep, right before it overtakes them, they think of the varsity jacket. It looked a little like Mei and MK’s.

And that’s the last Spirit thinks of it.

Until a few weeks later.

It’s by closing of the shop that Mei approaches Spirit, holding something behind her back excitedly. She hadn’t been in earlier, since noon, and while MK hadn’t said anything about it, Spirit suspected something was happening. Pigsy had asked a few times, surprised to see Mei out doing something else during a time they’d’ve expected her to be taking up the seat next to Tang, and he’d been almost cagey over it. Spirit had just hoped that nothing was wrong.

But then, when Mei got to the shop, she bounded in with a whirlwind of energy right before stopping in front of Spirit. MK, too, hopped off of the chair he’d been sitting in as he listened to one of Tang’s tales.

Spirit, to their credit, was just washing dishes. And now they were, again, being bombarded with puppydog eyes from the duo.

They didn’t even say anything! They just stared at Spirit, who looked to the side at Pigsy, then at Tang, then back at the duo.

“Um, yes?” they were almost nervous now, despite the expressions, so they dried off their hands and stepped around the corner.

A package is shoved into their arms. They jump, taken aback by the sudden movement, but then look at the package. It’s just wrapped in clear plastic, so they can see exactly what it is. It’s the exact varsity jacket from the thrift shop, the purple one. But it has a special patch on the front, the blue skull they’d seen at the store.

Carefully, Spirit unwraps it. As the sleeves unfurl, Spirit notes that there are elongated white cuffs and a white trim along the bottom. Likely to make up for the space it lacks to fit Spirit’s body. Maybe other alterations were done, too, because it does seem generally bigger.

They flip it around and emblazoned on the back is a giant patch sewn on and hand-embroidered of Spirit’s face. There are two circles beneath their hair, too, in the same blue as the skull. They realize it might represent earrings, to the others. To Spirit, it represents something much different.

Spirit isn’t used to. Receiving things. They just stare at the jacket for a second, as if their brain can’t compute that this is a thing for them, with nothing attached. It was like Mei giving them an upgraded phone. But this doesn’t even have any value. This is just something that they saw that Spirit enjoyed, and then got.

“We know you didn’t know anywhere to wear the clothes, and we were throwing like, full outfits at you. But we did want to get you something, you know? No strings attached, I just wanted to get you something to fit with ours, and this one was just too perfect to leave! I loved making it,” Mei explains, hands pressing together as she watches Spirit’s face with her own wide grin.

“So, like, if you don’t want to wear it around, you don’t have to. There’s no pressure, at all! But we thought it’d be cool if you, uh. If you had the option to match,” MK jumps around, showing his own jacket. “Like you’re part of the team now!”

Part of the team.

Spirit couldn’t remember being a part of anything, not for the longest of whiles. Yet MK, the Monkey King’s whole successor, who they really shouldn’t even be talking to if you think about it, is proclaiming to be on the same team as them?

They don’t know what words there are to describe the feeling, but Spirit’s hands ball on the jacket, holding it tight against their chest. They don’t know when they started smiling but now they notice it only because it’s beginning to hurt their cheeks.

“I love it,” their voice is a whisper, almost afraid to raise it. “Thank you.”

#friends #writing #my shitting writing

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isitgintimeyet · 4 years

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Just a Friend

So I finally started to write another story...

I will try and post weekly, but can’t promise on account of real life and my inability to actually focus on translating what’s in my head onto paper (or screen!)

Getting the courage to post never gets any easier, but here goes. I hope you enjoy this frothy bit of fun. I will also post on AO3.

Thanks to @wickedgoodbooks for being an excellent beta.

Chapter 1: From Airport to Aggravation

Bank holiday crowds, on the whole, are hell.

And this one is rapidly turning into an even deeper level of purgatory. The hottest May for years in Scotland and I’m stuck at Glasgow airport with a dozen women, collectively known as ‘Geillis’s Hen Party Posse’, each displaying varying degrees of inebriation, hangover or general sleep deprivation, and all aiming for the luggage carousel showing the flight from Barcelona. Which apparently is where several hundred other disembarked passengers are also heading.

Eventually, I manage to get a view of the bags and cases slowly making their way around the belt. They’re pretty picked over by this time, apart from the couple of boxes covered in gaffer tape that always seem to be first off a plane—any plane—and last to be collected. They’re always there, on every flight. Why is that?

I pause from my musings to wave frantically at Geillis, who now has a trolley and is clearing a path straight towards me.

“I got us a trolley.” she informs me, stating the obvious. “I thought it’d be easier. Have ye seen ours yet, Claire? I canna see the others. They must have already gone through.”

“No,” I answer, keeping my eyes firmly on the little hatch, willing our bags to appear. All I want is to go home, put my sleep mask on and try and get some sleep. Three days in Barcelona celebrating Geillis’s forthcoming nuptials have worn me out, and, I glance at my watch, I am due in theatre in approximately seventeen hours time.

"It's there, it's there," Geillis points excitedly at the neon pink and green leopard print bag making its way towards us.

She makes a grab for it as I continue to look for my bag. Predictably, it’s one of the last ones on the carousel. I recognise it immediately from the piece of red gift ribbon tied to the handle of the plain black Samsonite. I load it onto the trolley and Geillis and I head through customs to join the rest of the posse.

We say our goodbyes loudly, with much hugging and kisses. A stranger viewing this scene might imagine we won’t be seeing each other again for weeks or even months. In truth, I’ll be seeing most of them in the next week or so at the hospital as our schedules coincide.

“Shall we two get a taxi, then?” Geillis asks me.

I start to answer as my mobile pings — a text from Frank...very nice, very caring, very predictable.

Darling, it’s been a long three days without you. I am ready to collect you from the airport if you would like. If not, might I see you later this evening? xxx

And that is very clearly Frank. Correct grammar and punctuation, even on his texts. I shake my head as if to drive away my inner bitch and pretend I haven’t read it. I will respond, of course, just later when I’m back at home.

So, I smile at Geillis and agree. “Of course, we can go halves.”

***********

As I walk into my flat, the peace and quiet and sheer bloody calm wraps itself around me like a swaddling cloth. It’s blissfully cool too, with all the shutters closed.

It’s not that I didn’t have a good time in Barcelona. It was actually great. But being in the company of others twenty four hours a day is wearing, much as I love them. And we all had to do everything together. No sneaking off for a solitary walk, or escaping to bed for a little siesta.

I deposit my suitcase by the bedroom door, slip off my converse, pour myself a glass of orange juice, settle down on the sofa and figure out how best to tell Frank not tonight without offending him.

Frank, Sorry but tonight isn’t —

I delete and try again.

Thanks for the offer to pick me up. I was already in the taxi when I got it. Can we give tonight a miss? Theatre in the morning and I’m knackered totally exhausted. You know what Geillis is like. Speak tomorrow, I promise. C

Frank knows what Geillis is like. Frank thinks Geillis is a bad influence on me, with her larger than life personality and wild ideas. I think Frank doesn’t really know me at all if he believes I can be influenced like that. I hang out with Geillis and my friends because they’re fun and we laugh… a lot.

Without realising, I feel my shoulder muscles relax as soon as I’ve sent the message. These are not good signs for my relationship with Frank. He’s investing far more into ‘us’ than I am willing to do. But as long as I’m honest with him…

There are advantages to being with Frank, of course. He’s punctual, very organised and a proficient and considerate lover. He always makes sure I come, even if I sometimes...er… exaggerate my reactions to hurry things along. So much for honesty, then.

I finish my orange juice and plan my evening. Four things to do - unpack, grab some food, shower and sleep. Not even going to wash my hair. That would really be too much effort, struggling with my untameable mane, and it’s going to be stuck under a surgical cap for most of tomorrow anyway.

It takes a bit of effort to actually move from the sofa. I could quite happily fall asleep there. But then I’d wake up in the middle of the night—starving hungry and still smelling of sweaty airports. Reluctantly, I haul myself into a vertical position and head for my bedroom picking up my suitcase en route.

Opening the suitcase, I am not greeted with the expected haphazard mass of sun dresses, t shirts and shorts—all with the evocative aroma of Hawaiian Tropic—but a layer of white dress shirts, immaculately folded and the faint scent of a musky cologne.

Shit, shit, shit!! Some else has walked off with my black samsonite with the red ribbon on the handle. My evening plans are rapidly going awry. I delve into my handbag praying that I kept my boarding pass with the sticky bar code luggage receipt. The relief when I find it lurking in the bottom of my bag is immense. Quickly I google the airline lost baggage number and dial.

After a few bars of some god awful plinky plinky hold music, I hear a recorded message. “Your call is important to us, please hold. Your call is important to us, please hold.”

Good to know, then back to the plinky plinky before another message. “The office you are trying to reach is now closed. Please try again during office hours nine am to five thirty. Thank you.”

“If my call is so important to you, why is no one there at six o’clock?” I yell down the phone, but the plinky plinky ignores me and continues its irritating melody.

I sigh. I don’t want to have to wait until tomorrow morning to sort this out. Besides, by nine am tomorrow morning, I will be somewhat unavailable - reshaping the hip bone of a seven year old boy. So, I have no alternative. I will have to have a bit of a dig around this stranger’s suitcase, looking for any clue or contact details.

As I start to have a feel around, it occurs to me that some stranger might, at this very moment, be doing exactly the same thing — having a poke around my suitcase in the hope of finding my details. No doubt judging me based on my choice of holiday attire. And, I suddenly realise, his judgement may well be coloured by the discovery of some items of a more adult nature.

I say ‘he’, based on the XL white shirts, the pair of battered jeans and faded Scotland rugby shirt, but I could be wrong. I don’t have to dig any further into the case as I spy, in a mesh pocket, a neat rectangle of card with a name — James Fraser — a mobile number and an email address.

Relief sweeps over me. Perhaps we can get this all sorted tonight. Unless this James Fraser lives miles away and was just passing through Glasgow on his way to, say, the Outer Hebrides. That could be a whole other level of problem.

I quickly reach for my phone. Another message from Frank awaits.

Are you sure, darling? I’m looking forward to seeing you. Would tomorrow evening work for you?

I ignore it for the moment. Let me sort my luggage issue out first.

I dial the number on the card and begin to pace around my bedroom as it rings and rings. I am just about to give up when, thankfully, it’s answered.

“Hello?” A female voice asks warily.

I clear my throat and put on my most pleasant phone voice. “Is there a James Fraser there please?”

“Ye’ve the wrong number.”

“Oh, sorry, I must have mis—“ I begin, but find myself apologising to dead air.

I try again, carefully comparing each digit to those written, very neatly, on the card.

“Hello?” The same female voice answers, more than a hint of annoyance in her voice.

“I’m sorry, but this is the number I have for James Fra—“

“And I already told ye, ye’ve the wrong number. Dinna bother again.”

In the days before mobiles, I’m sure this would have been accompanied by a deafening crash as the receiver hit the cradle. Pressing a soft key doesn’t have the same dramatic effect. But I get the message anyway.

So, new plan needed. All I can do is email this James Fraser and hope he actually has written down the correct email address. If not, I’ll have to sort it out with the airline tomorrow afternoon.

My stomach rumbles and I suddenly realise that I’ve not eaten since breakfast, unless you count the slices of fruit in my jug of sangria. I wander into the kitchen and peruse the contents of my cupboards and fridge. I’m not the most gifted cook, but I’m not too bad and can usually rustle up something edible and fairly tasty. The bread feels a bit on the dry side but will be fine toasted, and I know I have eggs.

I put a knob of butter in a pan and text Frank while I’m waiting for it to sizzle.

Think tomoz will be ok. Talk 2morrow. C

I don’t normally use text speak at all, but something about Frank’s perfectly formed text messages always makes me want to rebel. I can imagine him wincing right now. He’s a professor at the university and is forever complaining about the standard of literacy amongst his undergraduates. If he thinks he has problems, he should try dealing with junior doctors.

With my scrambled egg on toast all eaten, I focus my attention on the email to James Fraser. I write it quickly, brief and to the point: I have your suitcase and therefore presume you have mine, can we meet to swap them over and here’s my phone number.

The longing for a shower and then bed is now overwhelming. I strip off and bundle all my clothes into the laundry basket, tie my hair up with a scrunchie and step into my shower. This is undoubtedly one of my favourite places on earth and possibly the reason that I bought this flat. Large enough for two, I suppose. Although none have yet been invited to partake in this heavenly experience. Maybe I’m saving that for someone extra special. It has a huge overhead rainfall shower head and a handheld shower head too.

My indulgences are all in here — a selection of expensive shower gels, scrubs and lotions and an assortment of huge fluffy bath towels. I choose a lavender scented gel and scrub all traces of the day from my skin.

Wrapping myself in one of my pristine white towels, I slather shea butter lotion on my slightly sun-burnt skin, noticing the uneven red patches where the sun cream hadn’t quite reached but at least it’s not sore.

A quick check of my emails shows there’s no word from James Fraser as yet, so I decide to just settle down to sleep and leave luggage worries until the morning. Fortunately, I had changed the sheets before my weekend away, so I simply unwrap my towel, leaving it in a heap on the floor and slide into bed. The feeling of the cool, crisp bedding against my skin is wonderful. I assume a sort of diagonal starfish position, not having to worry about any other occupants. It crosses my mind whether to reach for the tiny vibrator in my bedside drawer, but I’m too comfortable and drowsy for that, so instead I check my alarm and settle down for sleep.

#outlander fanfic #outlander fanfiction #Jamie Fraser #Claire Beauchamp #Just a Friend #chapter 1 #Here goes

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seattlesea · 3 years

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Lorien Legacies Characters + Styles of Dress

One- Surfer + Cute She always dresses like she’s about to go to the beach. She wears a lot of tank tops, shorts, sandals, flip-flops, wedges, Vans, ripped jeans, tie-dye t-shirts, flannel shirts, bikini tops, and cute tops and always accessories with sunglasses and a small crossbody bag. She also likes wearing silver jewelry and sun hats or baseball caps. Her outfits are always on-point and super cute. Her main colors are blue and white with tan and light orange accents. She also loves shorts with beach-type prints like waves and palm trees, thin jackets, and high-waisted shorts, and when it’s cold out she wears a jumper or knit sweater with a natural tone, and she’ll wear a button-up jean shirt from time-to-time. Her style is really laid-back and looks super nice even when she doesn’t really try as she doesn’t care too much about fashion but likes the style. Her favorite article of clothing is a white and blue gradient tank top she ‘borrowed’ from a store while with Wade.

Maggie- Autumn + Academia Her style is really cute and warm, she looks like the human personification of autumn. She likes wearing scarves, cardigans, knit sweaters, stockings, skinny jeans, parkas, short and ankle boots, and flannel, long-sleeved, and button-up shirts. She usually looks like she’s about to walk into a coffee shop to read. She always carries a brown bag to carry all her books and accessories with plain gold jewelry- especially rings and earrings- usually has some sort of overcoat on, likes wearing layers, and her outfits are always precise and perfect. She accessories perfectly and her main colors are brown, black, and maroon with dark orange and crimson accents. Sometimes she’ll wear an overall dress and floral patterns so long as it has that fall-color palette, and she’ll wear the autumn style no matter the season. She’ll wear the perfect fall outfit in the dead of July without hesitation. She also likes wearing hair accessories like hairclips, headbands, bandanas, hats (especially fedoras, she’s one of the few people who can actually look decent in them), bows, and clips and she usually styles her hair really nicely when she doesn’t just put it down. She also steals clothes from all of the guys- mostly Adam, John, and Nine- like she did with Conrad cause they’re so big and comfy, especially on her. Her favorite article of clothing is an oversized maroon sweater Conrad knit for her.

Hannu- Trendy + Comfy He likes the classic, comfortable clothes most teenage boys wear. He wears a lot of sweatshirts and hoodies, brand-name shoes like Nikes and Adidas, sweats, jeans (most of which cuffed), zip-up sweaters, knee-shorts, khakis, and plain tees with the occasional turtleneck. Most- if not all- of his clothes are big and comfy and others love stealing them from him cause because of it. His main colors are brown and gray with black and white accents, and he owns most clothes everyone else own. He likes to keep it simple and straightforward and doesn’t care too much for fashion, but will experiment from time-to-time. He’ll occasionally wear a basic accessory like a woven bracelet, wristwatch, or chain necklace and a bolder color like yellow or blue every now and then but other than that he avoids anything too flashy or eye-catching. He also likes clothes fitting for long runs and playing basketball like tank tops, athletic shorts, and track pants. His favorite article of clothing is a black tank top with the Kenya flag on it he got while at the village.

John- Prep + Plain He kind of dresses like a white suburban dad (and Nine loves making fun of him for it). He likes button-up, striped, and polo shirts, khakis, plain tees, zip-up sweaters, jeans, knee-shorts, sneakers, sandals, and the occasional sweatshirt or hoodie. He owns a million different belts and sometimes wears a watch but doesn’t really like to accessorize. The number one thing the others hate about his style is his tendency to wear socks with slip-ons (it’s an Ohio thing), and he does it just to piss them off. Overall, he has a very simple and plain style. He doesn’t care too much about fashion but does like looking presentable, so he and his clothes usually look pretty neat and clean but most of the time there’s that one thing that tips his outfit off like a color that doesn’t match with the rest or an accessory worn with the wrong outfit, but no one bothers to point it out cause they all know John will just shrug it off anyways. His main colors are white and blue with brown, orange, and dark blue accents. His favorite article of clothing is a pair of lightly ripped jeans that used to belong to Henri.

Five- Emo + Grunge He’s the middle line between emo and grunge, really. He mostly wears skinny and/or ripped jeans, classic-rock band tees, Vans, Converse, leather or denim jackets, combat boots, faded clothes, parkas, distressed jeans, oversized shirts, black sneakers, and acid-washed jeans. He doesn’t really like accessories except a few pins and wristbands here and there, and when his hair has grown out too long and he doesn’t feel like combing it (which is most times) he wears a beanie to cover it. Overall he doesn’t really care about fashion (or his appearance at all) so he just throws on whatever he sees first and it may look bizarre at first but he somehow makes it work, even though he doesn’t really try. He also- to the others’ surprise- really likes floral-print, so he’ll be seen wearing a black and white floral-print t-shirt every now and then. His main colors are black and white with silver, dark gray, and dark green accents. His favorite article of clothing is a parka he got the first time he went to a non-tropical place during his run from the Mogs.

Six- Androgynous/Tomboy + Punk She acts like a butch and dresses like one, too. She usually wears army-print jackets, ripped jeans, sweatshirts and hoodies, button-up shirts, jeans, sneakers, trucker hats, leather jackets, baggy tees, flannel shirts, combat boots, and denim or leather vests. She rarely accessories but the few times she does, she goes all out with studs, chains, wristbands, pins, fingerless leather gloves, black accessories, and studded belts, and sometimes she’ll wear eyeliner (with enough begging from Ella), and other times she’ll wear suspenders, women’s suits, or polo shirts. Her right ear is covered in piercings and she has a diamond nose stud on the left, and it may not seem like it, but she actually doesn’t care about style. She just throws on whatever she thinks will look somewhat decent and leave, but it usually looks really good, though sometimes she messes a few things up like mismatching the colors. When she’s feeling nostalgic or she misses Katarina more than usual, she’ll wear a bow in her hair like she used to, and her main colors are black and blue with white and brown accents. Her overall style is down-to-earth, simple, and tomboyish with some punk-rock highlights here and there, or she’ll go full punk and it looks pretty good on her. Her favorite article of clothing is a black leather jacket, which was the first thing she got after she escaped from the West Virginia Base.

Marina- Hipster + Simple Her style is simple, but pretty cute. Out of all the Garde besides Ella, she probably cares the most about fashion and often wears fedoras, flannel shirts, jean shorts, stockings, beanies, combat or ankle boots, denim jackets, baggy sweaters, graphic tees, and cardigans with the occasional leather jacket (usually one of Six’s). She loves tying flannel shirts around her waist or throwing it into any of her outfits, even if it doesn’t match. She usually accessories with a bunch of stacked rings, silver necklaces, and sometime a bracelet, mostly beaded ones, but rarely wears earrings. She also loves layering, it’s almost impossible for her to go out- even in the summer- without wearing something over her clothes. She likes looking nice so has a very neat and cute style but doesn’t go overboard. When it’s cold out, she’ll throw on a cute knit sweater or nice-fitting long-sleeved shirt and also likes wearing beanies (a lot). Her main colors are brown and cream with black and tawny accents and while she does care quite a bit about fashion and presentability, she’ll always choose comfort over fashion. If she had to choose between a cute cardigan that itched and a plain and baggy but comfy tee, she’ll choose the latter in a heartbeat, but she’ll choose flannel over everything, it’s basically her trademark style and she owns like a million flannel shirts in a hundred different colors. Her favorite article of clothing is a dark orange and black flannel shirt.

Eight- Cozy + Eccentric His style will change every other day. One day he’ll be wearing basic, everyday clothes like hoodies, sweatshirts, jeans, sweats, baseball caps, sweaters, tank tops, baggy tees, and sneakers- the comfiest clothes almost everyone has just lying in their closet- and the next he’ll be wearing the weirdest array of bright, flashy colors and prints. He loves floral and animal-print shirts, silly graphic tees, skinny jeans, and bizarre accessories like fringe necklaces, friendship bracelets, woven bracelets and necklaces, and Silly Bandz (which are his trademark article of clothing). His right cartilage is pierced and he always has a small silver helix earring on, and he’ll wear the most offbeat and surreal colors together like a bright orange t-shirt with lime green skinny jeans and dark blue boots. They literally never look good but he doesn’t care (nor does he mind the staring from strangers) as he doesn’t care about fashion and just wears whatever he’s comfortable with, which just so happens to be the brightest, flashiest clothing and colors in existence. His main colors are basically every one with gold and silver accents. His favorite article of clothing is a bright yellow ‘Shut up, Karen’ t-shirt, a gift from Nine.

Nine- Athletic + Casual His style isn’t too bad when he actually wears clothes. He wears the basic workout clothes like track pants, zip-up sweaters, comfy t-shirts, workout shorts, athletic tops, gym shoes, and athletic tank tops that usually have a Chicago team logo on them (mostly the Bulls), but besides that he wears basic, everyday clothes as if he’s taking a quick trip to the grocery store like sweatshirts, large hoodies, plain tees, (ripped) jeans, sneakers, and knee shorts. Despite having the most money of all the Garde and living in a penthouse in Downtown Chicago, Nine doesn’t like flashy or expensive clothes and goes with the casual, daily clothes he’s seen the majority of people wear since he’s learned to adapt to and act like others around him while on the run from the Mogs. He also hates formal clothes like tuxedos cause they’re uncomfortable for him and he would never let Sandor make him wear one. His main colors are gray and blue with dark red and black accents and besides a basic watch and chain necklace here and there, he never accessories and usually throws on the first thing he sees when he wakes up. The others always steal his shirts and hoodies cause they’re so big, warm, and comfy. His favorite article of clothing is a gray sleeveless hoodie he had since he moved to Chicago.

Ella- Retro + Feminine Her style is easily one of the cutest out of all of them. She loves feminine, retro, old-fashioned clothes like striped shirts, cute dresses, flowy skirts, 90s band tees, overalls, button-up shirts, suspenders, sweaters, cute tops, shorts, and colorful sweaters. She usually accessories with sunglasses, bows, scarves, belts, bandanas, earrings, and small rings and always looks like she came out of a 90s romance film. She cares the most about her clothes and fashion so usually looks the best-dressed out of all the Garde with an exception for her lazy days where she usually just throws on a sweater and leggings. Sometimes she’s the epitome of the ‘Soft Girl’ aesthetic- baggy sweaters, denim skirts, scrunchies, white shoes, and cute t-shirts. Her main colors are pink, pastel purple, and vivid red with jean blue and soft orange accents and her style really reflects on her young and bright personality. Her favorite article of clothing is a red, orange, yellow, and blue-striped t-shirt she got while out with Marina.

Sam- Nerdy + Vintage For someone who doesn’t really care about his looks, Sam’s outfits are pretty damn nice. He mixes ‘nerdy’ and ‘vintage’ styles so he usually wears button-up shirts, suspenders, collared shirts, flannel shirts, plain jeans, zip-up sweaters, striped shirts, sweaters, and sometimes a denim jacket. He basically looks like Peter Parker if he was from the 90s. His style pretty much reflects his personality- nerdy, cute, sophisticated, and smart- and he rarely accessories besides watches and friendship bracelets he made for him and John. He won’t be caught dead without a zip-up sweater on, too. He’s obsessed with the things and refuses to leave the house without one, and he occasionally wears ripped or cuffed jeans. Mostly he likes wearing a collared long-sleeved shirt under a sweater and also likes funny shirts with cheesy jokes and puns on them. He doesn’t really care too much about his appearance or fashion, but enough to make sure his outfit isn’t absolutely hideous before he goes out. He usually goes for the comfier clothes and will often steal John, Nine, and Hannu’s clothes. His main colors are light blue, gray, and brown with cream and dark orange accents. His favorite article of clothing is a slightly baggy, dark blue zip-up sweater that was Malcolm’s.

Sarah- Fashionable + Girly She has the most feminine style, and it suits her well. She usually wears dresses, skirts, halter tops, tank tops, high heels, sandals, silk jackets, ripped jeans, jean shorts, tube tops, denim jackets, and cute tops. She always accessories and does so perfectly with earrings, affirmation necklaces, bangle or charm bracelets, and plain rings, and every outfit is always on-point and perfect as she’s one of the only ones who actually cares about fashion, cares the most about her appearance, and always wants to look nice and presentable. She’ll occasionally wear comfier but still cute clothes like beanies or knit sweaters and always has a bag or purse with her to carry all her regular ‘human’ items, including her camera. She also usually wears light makeup like mascara, lip gloss, and a bit of blush and either has her hair down or nicely styled if she has the time. Her main colors are pink and white with light blue and gold accents and her overall style is very neat, cute, and feminine and shows what type of person she is. Her favorite article of clothing is a white off-shoulder top she likes to wear with a silk pink circle skirt when she’s feeling extra pretty.

Adam- Alternative + Dark He has that ‘dark but not emo’ style, on the border of e-boy. He typically wears black aviator, leather, or bomber jackets, long-sleeved shirts, band tees, ripped jeans, striped shirts, denim jackets, baggy tees, Vans, collared shirts, and dress pants. He likes wearing leather belts with chains but other than that usually skips accessorising besides the occasional earrings as he has quite a lot of ear piercings (and either a nose ring, snakebites, or eyebrow piercing). Sometimes he’ll even dress like a skater boy- Thrasher and/or baggy shirts, distressed jeans, checkered Vans, studded belts, flannel shirts, light studs, beanies, long socks, and graphic tees, and he loves black and white flannel shirts and pocket-grid pants and jackets. His main colors are black and white with dark blue and gray accents, and he adores pins. He owns about a million different vests and jackets (most of which leather or denim and either black or dark blue) and he loves decorating them with pins, stitches, and even safety pins on the sleeves of his vests. He has too many pins to count like the stereotypical alien head, a UFO, a pride flag, rock band logos, a skull, a smiley face, and other random things he sticks onto himself every morning. His style is overall a little messy but pretty nice as he doesn’t care that much about his appearance but likes the style. His favorite article of clothing is a black denim vest with a hundred pins and stiches on it Malcolm bought for him.

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edward-andalasia · 3 years

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--- Edward’s Back to Uni Look

Inspiration: Since arriving in the real world, Edward has been fascinated by the various influences of the town itself, and this isn’t his first Fall in existence, he actually arrived in the world during the autumn, but this is the first one he actually has the freedom to do what he wants. Returning to Uni is a given, his friends are there, and Edward does tend to take cues for his wardrobe from both Barbie’s direction and Devyn’s stray notions, although lately the latter has factored in more as he isn’t depending on Barbie to do all his shopping for him. He also, granted, still sticks somewhat to the aesthetic colors that he prefers from home; softer, fantasy related tones rather than harsher ones, so even the Fall for him is more about softer reds, creams, oranges and tans more than brighter tones. Edward actually has a much stronger eye for color and how to use it and put things together than he realizes, even if his preferences can be a bit all over the place. He very much enjoys the muted colors in the autumn and that reflects in his wardrobe returning to Uni. (which...to be fair Edward never actually left campus since he lives there, but technically he’s just returning to classes now)

And this year he has a plan, sort of! Or at least a major, finally, after his interest in theater was sparked by the summer musical in town; who knows if it’ll stick or not but he’s trying to be an actual student this year and actually go to classes.

1. Distressed sweater

Because frankly Edward’s clothes already suffer during his random excursions, as he really has no impulse control when it comes to potential adventures, so starting out that was almost makes more sense. He’s recently discovered the wonderfully comfortable idea that is worn-in clothing, as that wasn’t really a thing back in his home; messy attire or things that weren’t lavishly ornate just for the sake of being so. As much as he does miss some of his royal finery at times he really can’t deny that there is something entirely pleasant about just warm, comfortable clothes. Plus his favorite colors are shades of pink/peach so salmon fuzzy soft sweaters? Perfect.

2. Bohemian Rainbow shirt.

Normally he’d go for the usual rainbow colors but it being fall, why not? The vibe is about the same either way; still cheerful! And it works great showing through those frayed spots. It actually took him some time to adjust to t-shirts, even button-ups weren’t quite the same as the style of dress he used to know as common, but whoever came up with the idea of clothing being less complicated really did the real world a favor. Plus layers, he loves layers. Summer seems like more of a time for brighter colors, earth tones feel more like Fall, and Edward actually recognizes that, his interest in fashion has started to show more on its’ own without needing Barbie to guide him.

3. Earrings

Edward has gathered a few piercings during his time in the real world, because it is nearly a fairytale princely habit to want to adorn himself in shiny things, his ears being his favorite spot. He owns far too many earrings of nearly every design, and is constantly distracted by new ones, it’s always just a given as a part of any look for him. He nearly always wears a gold rose stud in one ear, something that feels like a connection to home for him, and the other varies but is always some manner of dangling variety because he loves the mismatched contrast of the two styles.

4. Bohemian Rainbow Socks

Because they match his t-shirt, of course, and they’re warm and fuzzy. All things that are very dire when it comes to socks, yes, as Edward has discovered. Do people even see your socks? Not usually. But given the opportunity to wear socks that match the rest of his clothes, absolutely, Edward considers that practically a goal. And they match, which is an accomplishment for him some days because he really isn’t very organized and similar colors is usually good enough for him when it comes to figuring out socks. He does have some strange ones though, mostly via gifts from people.

5. Black, Orange and Salmon Dyed Scarf

It’s not that cold yet, but it does look nice and Edward does tend to overdo it a little with most things; but it’s one of his favorite scarves! So obviously he has to wear it his first day of classes, right? Said scarf was one of the first things that caught his eye when he started shopping around town himself, so it does make an appearance often in his Fall wardrobe. It’s another of those clothing articles that he attaches some degree of emotion to because it reflects that step into being more capable on his own; going into a year where he is seeing things as more possible, more lasting it’s a reminder that he’s more of a real person now than he used to be.

6. Black and White Jeans

He doesn’t really have any jeans that are just plain, most of his clothes are either ornate by design or end up being more so by intention and effort; the boy doesn’t own a pair of just regular jeans. And black isn’t a common color in his wardrobe, unless it’s with a purpose. And these were an adventure in bleaching and painting! So that makes them better; his first venture into altering his own clothing and a moderately successful one. Like many things for Edward, it can be blamed on either Youtube or Tiktok. Another art project with his roommate that Edward adores now and wears often.

7. Messenger Bag

Can’t really navigate classes without something to carry your stuff, and in his case the copy of his story that helps him keep track of how fast his curse is progressing and reminds him of home. Edward’s bag is fairly plain, not really much different than what most people carry, but also paint splattered from being too close at times to Devyn’s projects in their shared dorm room. It’s his favorite thing about the bag. It also has, at any given time, a rotating collection of keychains or other trinkets that have caught his eye at time. He still hasn’t gotten around to asking Devyn to actually paint on it for him, but he will.

8. Autumn Nails

Since he paints his nails often when he and Devyn talk in the afternoons, he’s gotten very good at it. He loves watching videos online to learn new techniques, quite enamored with all the creative things people do and what he can teach himself along the way. A habit that came from just idle distraction, it’s become a hobby that Edward puts a great deal of time into; his nail change colors practically every few days, or at least once a week. Fall is a great excuse for bright oranges and glitter! Actually any time of the year is in fact an excuse for glitter for Edward, but the Fall is an excuse for metallic glitter even if he can’t really accomplish some of the more impressive things some people online do as his nails are rather short.

9. Black Rose Etched Belt with Floral Buckle

By now it’s probably clear that he likes roses and floral accents, that sort of dreamy aesthetic that goes with them. They remind him of the beautiful pale pink and golden rose bushes that grew wild around his castle back home that his mother so lovingly cultivated. He has a flare for the romantic tones to things. Naturally, he has a fondness for them and they usually do show up in most of his outfits somehow. The faux leather belt engraved with rose patterns, with it’s golden carved floral buckle, is just flashy enough to fit the look, and it does match his ear stud.

10. Black and Orange Sneakers

Personally, Edward prefers boots, as that was for the most part all that existed back home and adventuring did of course require the proper attire when it came to footwear. One can’t climb rocky cliffs and go exploring the kingdom if they don’t have something to hold up to the task. He did learn last year that running around campus, while not as grueling, is made far easier with sneakers, so he’s willing to make that trade-off, occasionally as he isn’t doing much other adventuring these days beyond trying to figure out to passes those classes. However, if he’s going to do that, they have to look nice, and match his clothes, obviously.

#bdrptask

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milkcakejamun · 3 years

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Alice in KanwarLand

"You know, after all those times we read Alice in Wonderland together, I had a doubt," he laughed as he thought about the dirty thought that struck through his mind. Like always, he was unable to filter his words, and before he knew it, she had listened.

"And what's your doubt," she held the book close to her chest, and he glanced away as another dirty thought cross his mind.

Swallowing, he glanced away from her, trying to distract himself with thoughts that did not involve feeling up his co-star's chest (though, he wanted to do that as well if he were being serious). Scratching the back of his head, he shook his head, "Oh, it's nothing!"

Alice glared as she scooted closer to him, "Tell me!" Their arms were brushing against each other, and Kanwar swallowed as a wave of electricity zipped up his body.

He wanted to scoot away from her, but he knew it would be absolutely useless. She was Alice... bold and brave. The more he resisted and pushed her away, the more passionate she became to figure him out. And after spending almost a month with her, sharing his deepest, darkest secrets, he decided it wouldn't be so bad to share what he was thinking.

"Well," he chuckled softly and nervously. "R-remember how Alice was curious and ended up in the Wonderland?"

Alice nodded her head, "Yes..."

"Well... ha," he felt a rising heat invade his cheeks. "I kind of wondered whether you would be just as curious in exploring KanwarLand..." He wanted to slap himself silly. That sounded about stupid, if not more, once he said it aloud. He was absolutely regretting the entire conversation. Turning around, he hoped she would conveniently "forget" what he had just said.

But she stared at him, "KanwarLand," she blinked before her hazel eyes rolled up and down his body, lingering on some of the assets he had like his biceps, wide shoulders, and did she just stare at his pants?!? He glanced down and swallowed... luckily he wasn't hard... not yet at least, otherwise there would be an entirely new problem.

She crawled over to him, placing her hands on his thighs. Her mangalsutra, a remnant of her role as Raavi, was in plain sight. Even the sindhoor on her head was not entirely wiped off. Instead of calming him, making him believe this was all a fake conversation, it stimulated him even further. The mangalsutra... the sindhoor... it was almost as if she was married to him. And now that she was close enough to him, he could smell the whiff of roses and jasmines. Her two favorite flowers.

Was this how it felt like to be married to Miss Phoolkumari? He slowly closed his eyes, getting himself acclimated to her floral scent, light, feathery touch, and her soft, body.

"What makes you think KanwarLand is worth exploring?"

And just like that, all his dreams and hopes of tossing his co-star against the wall to kiss her senseless, of showering together in the morning, rubbing soap against her every crevice, and of wrapping against her soft body were fizzled with those words...

KanwarLand not worth exploring... ouch...

_____________________________________________________________

He tried to forget about the conversation the following morning. He really, really did! But, every where he went, she was somehow there too. And though clothes did not matter to him, it was almost as if she was teasing him. Instead of wearing her usual shirts, she wore something different today...

Her white top that was slightly see through... she normally wore it at night, but this time, she wore it during the day time... even going as far as to put her hair up in a bun. He could see the entire outline of her hot pink bra... Hot pink wasn't even something that attracted him, but after he saw how the material clung onto her curves... well he went into his own daytime fantasies with that... paired with the fact that she decided to wear shorts, showing off those long legs of hers... he wasn't able to stop himself.

He had to excuse himself multiple times during the day to go and take "care" of himself while the rest of his co-stars had a fun time filming reels and being generally crazy with each other. It truly wasn't fair in the slightest that he was spending his day taking at least 1 cold shower an hour while she was out there crushing his heart.

"What makes you think KanwarLand is worth exploring?"

He typically wasn't someone who took words to his heart or feel jealous or angry after someone rejected him. But, for the first time, he couldn't handle it. He felt jealous of the man who would eventually consider Alice to be his own... he felt jealous that the man would wake up in Alice's arms every morning, see her smile, hear her worries, become physically intimate with her.

It was why for the first time, he skipped meeting her for the night. Typically, they would spend at least 1-2 hours together, him going to her room because she was the one to fall asleep first, reading a chapter or two of Alice in Wonderland together since he would have no motivation to otherwise read the book. But today? He had no desire to be near her... because if he was, his eyes would be transfixed on the way her pink bra hugged her chest. Or if her shirt fell off her shoulder, his eyes would be transfixed on the curve of her breast.

He grabbed onto his blanket tightly and shut his eyes. Think happy thoughts. Think about the new car you will be buying! Think about the morning coffee you will be drinking... or the fact that you will go hiking tomorrow instead of staying at the haveli... She might be hot and gorgeous, but she is not yours... so stop hurting yourself over her, heartbreak is not-

"Kanwar," he heard a soft purr as his eyes widened.

Swallowing, he noticed how the bed dipped. Her hand reached out to his bicep, and he immediately felt a hot wave of electricity course through his body. Her touch was becoming more and more dangerous. So much so that even his dream Alice was becoming dangerous.

She leaned over him, her long hair tickling his body. Again, he could smell her roses and jasmines... Clenching his fists, he swallowed, "But I'm sleepy," he gruffly made out. He pulled the blanket up, covering even his biceps. For her sake, he hoped she just left. He didn't know how much more resistance he had after being tortured for the entire day. He might do something that both of them would regret... and he had no interest in ruining their friendship over his silly desires.

She placed her palm over his forehead, "You're not feverish," she murmured. She gently pushed him so he was on his back facing her. He was right... her shirt almost fell off her shoulders, giving him a very good view of the breasts she had hidden underneath. When she leaned over and placed her ears over his chest, he became entirely distracted with the feel of her soft chest. "And your heart beat is beating...." she sat up glancing up at him.

He lazily stared up at her as she straddled him. The layers between them prevented them from becoming one. They stared at each other for a long time, heat pooling in his lower body. He wasn't able to stop his erection, and this time, what slightly excited him more was that she would be painfully aware of that as well.

She leaned down, his heart pounding in his chest, as her lower belly pressed against him. She knew... Her soft chest pressed against his. His eyes searched hers, waiting for her next move... wondering if she was just as excited as he was.

"Kanwar," he loved his name a little bit more every time she said it aloud, but now, in her breathy, seductive voice, he couldn't imagine himself being named anything else. "Kanwar Deep Dhillon," she slowly enunciated. Her fingers trailed along his jaw and lowered to his neck, "Do you want any help taking care of your problem?"

Her hand trailed lower until it gently grasped onto his hip. He didn't know if she did it intentionally or not, but she almost rolled her hip, stimulating him and sending shock waves through his body even more. This woman is going to be the death of me... He was strangely excited, but he was also very, very cautious. If they proceeded any more than this, it would become problematic.

He placed his hands at her hips, "I don't think you can help me," his voice was so foreign to him. Croaky... strained... she was truly taking a toll on him.

"And why not?"

He swallowed remembering her words from yesterday, "Because little girls like you won't be able to understand."

Her eyes narrowed as she sat up, "Little girl?" her voice was absolutely bitter as he turned away from her. She grabbed onto his hands, and before he knew what she was up to, she pressed his hands against the body she had hidden underneath that shirt of hers. Her skin was soft and supple, exactly as he imagined it to feel.

As she trailed his hands up her body, her flimsy shirt rode up as well, revealing her crystalline body. She was slow, yet methodical, in how she moved his hands, letting him enjoy the velvety feel of her body without letting him become too bored or tired. And once his hands brushed against the soft material of her bra, he felt himself becoming hot and bothered.

She moved his hands so he was entirely cupping her breasts, "Are you sure I'm still a little girl," she pressed her hands against his chest, allowing him to get a good feel of her soft, pliable chest... it almost brought him back to his birthday party... when he realized just how flexible she was.

And with the same sense of curiosity, he glanced up at her with challenge, "I don't know...," he squeezed her breast gently with his right hand, enjoying how her eyes became slightly hazy. He moved his hands to her back, pushing her closer to him. "I think there's too many layers between us, don't you think."

She glanced up at him and narrowed his eyes. But, when his fingers grazed over the hooks to her bra, she said nothing, just looking up at him expectantly, and he took that as a silent form of acceptance.

He fumbled over the hooks, long enough, that Alice sighed. Instead of criticizing him, she guided his fingers, slowly teaching him how it worked. And once he was successful, he ran his fingers along her spine, enjoying the feel of her back... The first time he became excited over her body was the scene where she fell on him... He was so glad the scene was over in a single take and that she was fully clothed. If he grazed any part of her skin... he would've never finished the scene.

"You drive me crazy," he muttered as he flipped them over.

He stared at her, heat pooling in his body. Instead of blushing and looking away, she stared right back at him in challenge. And that caused him to be turned on even more. He always liked her confidence... because that made him more confident when dealing with her.

His fingers squeezed her hip, "Why don't we establish some rules here," he whispered. He gently guided her out of her shirt, "First... you're not allowed to suppress your desires. I want you to moan for me, scream for me," he kissed the small area behind her ear. "And if you don't," his eyes found her, "You'll be punished," he bit into the skin gently as Alice leaned back, arching her neck so he had better access.

"Next," his fingers reached for her bra. Instead of taking it off, he just pushed it up, exposing her breasts. His fingers circled around her nipple, "I get to do whatever I want with you," because this is the only time I can live out my fantasies, "but, I'm not unreasonable. Safe word is... kacchua!"

She frowned, "Kacchua?"

When she said it like he, he became embarrassed yet again. Damn... she's overpowering even in my dreams... I would not be able to handle her in real life. "Y-yeah... because slow and steady wins the race... right?"

A smile spread on her face as she looped her arms around his neck. Pulling him down, she leaned forward and kissed the tip of his nose, "How about kacchua is our code word for," she pulled him closer whispering into his ear, "Faster and deeper."

He swallowed, "I-I'm good with that..." he glanced at the time. It was only 9:42pm ... he hoped that was the time in real life... he didn't want morning to come to ruin his fantasies with dream Alicia. He pulled off her bra, leaning down and burying his head into her chest.

It was as soft as he imagined. He closed his eyes and smiled as her fingers ran through his hair. This is how he always imagined their future together. Spending time alone, becoming enveloped in her madness... being able to hear her gentle heart beat...

"Meri kacchua," she whispered. She gently pulled on his hair, "Shouldn't we quicken our pace?"

He kissed her breast gently, "We have all night, meri Aloo," he sat up and gave her a hazy smile as he slowly took his shirt off. He enjoyed how her eyes roamed over his body with carnal interest. Because she had been so generous before, he decided to return the favor. He placed her hands against his body, "So why don't we take it slow and steady?" encouraging her to feel his planes and muscles.

When her fingers grazed along his nipple, he bit back a moan as a wave of pleasure ran through his body. Alice glared at him as she squeezed his nipple, this time, he couldn't hold it back. He groaned as she pushed him onto the bed, "No chance kaddu, but rules are rules. If I have to be open about my reactions, you have to be open about your reactions," her fingers toyed with the drawstrings on his joggers. She pulled on it and glared, "Otherwise, you will be punished, muffin."

"And how will you punish me?" he was absolutely miffed. This was his dreams. Dreams. He should be the one in control... but even in his subconscious, Alicia had full reigns on him. Not fair...

She pulled down his joggers with a smirk, and he could already feel the pool of dread forming with him. Her hand gently cupped him, "Oh you know," she smirked as she squeezed slowly. His hands clenched into fists as he let out a slow moan.

"Oh, and muffin, since we're establishing rules," she leaned down and pressed her lips against his, slowly sucking and nibbling on his lower lip. "You can only enjoy yourself here," her hazel eyes darkened with carnal interest as she deepened their kiss.

He closed his eyes, enjoying the feel of her. Now that their clothes were largely off, he felt a different kind of intimacy. Every where he touched, he only felt closer to her, and as she pressed against him, he could feel her heart pounding against his chest... in perfect sync with his own heart beat.

His fingers tangled through her long hair as he gently flipped them over, breaking the kiss, he peppered multiple little kisses along her jaw and face, making sure to cover every inch, every mole. He knew how interested she was in art, and every time she spoke about a new painting or a new photograph she saw, he wanted to stop her and say there was no better piece of artwork than her.

Alice Saraswat... the most beautiful and enchanting woman this universe had to offer.

"We still need to establish a safe word-,"

"No," Alice gazed up at him with pure adoration. "I'll accept anything you do to me," her lips curved into a lazy smile, "because I trust you, Kanwar Deep Dhillon." Her fingers curled into his hair, twisting and pulling his hair, "But... do you trust me?"

He swallowed slowly, remembering her words from before. The words that real Alice said. He glanced at her with a pout, "Well...," his fingers traced slow circles around her belly button. Glancing at her, he bit his lower lip, "Y-you're interested in me enough, aren't you? You would want to explore me, right?"

Alice blinked before she laughed softly, "I don't need to explore you, meri kaddu," she ruffled his hair. "I'm doing this because I trust and know you more than you think." Her fingers slipped into the waistband of his underwear, "But I am interested in you... very, very interested in you." Her hazel eyes tinkled as she glanced up at him, "I've always been interested in painting you."

His brows came together in a frown as she slowly pulled him into a hug. Her fingernails sunk into his back, "You're like an open canvas... so many possibilities, so much to explore... but I want to change that. I want to mark you in a way where everybody in the world will know you're mine."

He blinked in surprise as excitement slowly coursed through him. She didn't need to mark him... he was hers... as long as she accepted him. Cupping her face, he pressed his lips against her forehead in a gentle kiss, "Fine... paint me in whatever way you want. I'm yours... and I'll always be yours."

She smirked as she climbed into his lap, "I know," she whispered before she leaned down to kiss the crevice of his neck. Before she began sucking, she muttered, "Oh... and if you didn't know already, this is what a hickey is..."

He closed his eyes as blood rushed to his face in absolute embarrassment. She watched that interview...

______________________________________________________________

Kanwar yawned and stretched... absolutely not liking how sore all his muscles were. Yes, he went on an intensive hike the day before... but he didn't think he worked himself this hard. Everything about him pained... especially towards the hips.

With another lazy yawn, he entered the dining hall and smiled at a few of his co-workers who were already ready to go, "Good morning!"

His eyes rolled around the table, wondering where he should sit... until he stopped. His eyes widened slightly when he noticed his orange marble pattern shirt. It was missing from his room this morning, and he wondered whether he just brought it out to wash without remembering it... but seeing someone wear... a special someone wear it...

He gulped as he rushed over to the table. The shirt was much too big for her small frame. When she glanced up at him with her innocent smile, blood immediately rushed to his face.

Last night was real....?!?!

"What's that on your neck?"

Kanwar immediately palmed the area that was sore. Pulling out his phone, he turned on his camera and noticed the large purplish/reddish splotch on his neck.

"I want to mark you in a way where everybody in the world will know you're mine."

He glared at Alice as Alice hid a smile behind her toast. He turned back to Kinshuk as he tried to come up with a quick lie. This is not good at all!! I still have to shoot... and this... this woman actually did much more damage than I thought! "I went hiking yesterday and I think a bug bit me," he laughed awkwardly as flashbacks of her sticking onto his body returned in his mind. She was certainly a passionate lover, with a stamina and sense of curiosity that exceeded his own.

"A bug?" Kinshuk raised a brow. "A bug can do that much damage?"

Alice solemnly nodded her head, "I've read about some wild bugs that can do that sort of thing," she turned to Kanwar with a lazy, smug smirk. "I think it's called the kacchua bug, don't you think?"

Kanwar grit his teeth. Sure, he and her established the "words" for the night, and sure, he might have used it more than her... but that didn't mean she had to announce their personal life like this!

He pulled on the seat and sat himself down, "I don't think so. I actually think it was a pesky, little, mosquito that bit me," he grit his teeth in anger as she had the audacity to look surprised while Kinshuk was positively lost.

"Oh... well that mosquito really must've loved you," Alice rolled her eyes as she took a bite into her toast.

As Kinshuk began to advise him to get medical attention, his attention drifted towards Alice every now and then, blushing whenever she mouthed things such as, "Mine," "Kacchua," and "Love you."

As she finished the last piece of her breakfast, she turned to Kanwar with a small smile, "Don't forget to use mosquito repellent, otherwise the mosquito will come back to your room... and who knows how much damage she'll cause this time," her voice had a gentle tone of teasing.

"Hmm. If you don't have mosquito repellent, I can give you some," Kinshuk offered seriously.

Kanwar smirked as he glanced at Alice before turning to Kinshuk, "No need... I think I can handle the mosquito tonight."

#new adult #mature theme #kdice

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agerefandom · 3 years

Text

Forever More

Fandom: Phantom of the Opera

Words: 1,900

Characters: Christine Daaé /Erik (The Phantom)

Summary: Established relationship: a sugar sweet fanfiction exploring Christine and Erik’s life together with a focus on Erik as a traumatized age regressor and Christine’s attempts to re-parent him.

Warnings: Erik and Christine are married as adults, but Christine thinks of adult!Erik and regressed!Erik as different parts of her life. Erik’s scars are present, and anxiety-ridden regression is mentioned but isn’t the focus. Erik calls Christine ‘Mama’ when he’s young. There is also a bathing scene with suggested nudity.

Note: Nobody requested this, I just rewatched one of my favourite stage productions of the show and the need for this fanfiction was consuming me... so here it is, brought to life! I hope at least one other regressor enjoys this ^-^

Christine had always known that living with Erik would be an adjustment, but there were many parts of it that she didn’t expect.

She had known that his sheet music would spread across the music room, always multiplying. She had known that he would have bad days, withdrawn or angry, that there would be nights when he wouldn’t come to bed because he was working or didn’t want to be near her. She had known that he would go back to wearing his masks sometimes, that he would leave entirely and go wandering through the catacombs or into the countryside.

Christine had also known that he would always return to her, removing his mask and kneeling at her feet, pressing his cheek to her thigh as she ran her fingers over the uneven scars on his head. This was their quiet ritual of forgiveness, marking his return as her husband.

There were other things about Erik that she hadn’t expected.

Christine was out during the day, teaching dance and singing lessons to children in the city, travelling from house to house. Erik made himself helpful, doing the chores, sewing Christine’s dresses, making their meals. Sometimes Christine felt like she had a new housekeeper instead of a husband, but she appreciated the help and made sure Erik received her thanks for every meal and new outfit.

Erik was a creature of many moods: sometimes he was playful, sometimes he was soft, sometimes angry or distant. Christine learned to navigate his emotional tempest, the times when she needed to leave before they fought and the times when she needed to wait him out.

Sometimes Erik was young. It used to happen when he woke up from nightmares, confused and afraid. He would cling to Christine, sobbing and vulnerable in a way she rarely saw. He was different in this space, but he was so different from day to day. It took her a while to realize that it was something different from his mood swings. He seemed disoriented in this space, confused by the house and even by Christine herself. He flinched at every movement but melted into her arms when she held him, clinging to her nightgown with a white-knuckled grip.

Christine asked Erik about it in the day, and he twisted his hands together, his shoulders squared. Said that sometimes he couldn’t remember that he’d grown up. Sometimes he thought he was still a child, lost and alone, but it always passed and he would come back to himself.

Christine’s heart broke for the boy that Erik had been, and what he couldn’t move on from: that abandonment, that fear that had been part of him for so long.

So she started to care more for Erik when he was young. Christine had never been very confident at sewing, but she modified a few patterns designed for children and made Erik a kilted suit, like the boys had worn when she was young. To her gratification, little Erik loved the kilt, running his hands over the fringed edges, and she ended up sewing three more from the same pattern so that he could wear them when one was dirty.

Erik started to be young more often, a few evenings a week, and they talked about it again. She assured him that she loved caring for him, that this was special to her, fulfilling a maternal spirit she’d never really intended to nurture. Christine told him that she always wanted to spend time with her husband, but she loved her little boy as well. Erik looked at her with that deep uncertain awe that he had sometimes when she told him that she loved him. It always made her heart feel like it was pressing against her ribs, like she wanted to take Erik and press him into her chest where he could be safe inside of her forever.

Christine knew that was impossible, but at least she could cradle him when he was young, teach him the love that his first mother had not given.

It became another part of their lives together, like the drawn curtains, and their country home, and Erik’s paintings scattered around the walls.

“Mama!”

“Erik!” Christine ran to embrace her little boy, wrapping her arms around his chest and squeezing tight. He was so much taller than her, but he fit inside her arms perfectly. “Little one, how have you been?”

“Mama!”

Erik wasn’t very talkative when he was young, and Christine thought he was probably very young indeed. Maybe two or three at the oldest, and she always wished she could carry him.

“Have you been drawing?” There were papers scattered across the floor. Erik was very proper about keeping his art on the desk when he was working, so it was probably a result of her little boy having fun with Erik’s art supplies. “May I see?”

Erik knelt to scoop up a handful of papers from the floor and held them up to her, smiling widely. Christine loved that expression. It had been hard-earned, and the switch from the scared little boy flinching at everything to an enthusiastic trouble-maker had been a long road. Erik still had his hard days as a boy, of course, days where he wouldn’t stop crying or where he was more confused than normal, but they were far less common than they had been when Christine had started caring for him.

“Oh, thank you.” Christine accepted the papers and started flipping through them. They were all charcoal drawings, and heavily smudged. That would explain why Erik had black all over his face: she had assumed that he’d gotten into the fireplace again. She would have to clean his hands before he started climbing on the furniture.

Erik was a talented artist as a grown man, but the ability did not translate to his younger self. Christine thought she could make out a stringed instrument in one of the drawings, and a figure with long hair in another. Most of them were scribbled messes of black, covering the page. Christine carefully shuffled the pages into an orderly stack and placed them on the table.

“Those are amazing, darling. We’ll have to add them to our scrapbook.” She had come across advertisements for children’s scrapbooks in a periodical and had immediately started buying the blank books to keep her little Erik’s work and interests in. He liked to help her arrange the clippings, and she liked having a record of his younger self. She would ask him what he’d been drawing when he was older again, writing his interpretations underneath. Her husband was always embarrassed but indulgent in the face of Christine’s enthusiasm.

“Scrapbook!” Erik echoed. He liked to say words back, usually in a way that made sense, but sometimes Christine thought he just liked the sound of certain words.

“We’ll do that later,” she told him, kneeling down to join him on the floor. “Right now, we need to get you washed off.”

“No!” Erik made a grab for the papers Christine had left on the table, and she intercepted his charcoal-smudged hands, gently interlacing their fingers.

“We’ll change you into your kilt afterwards,” she told him, and Erik’s expression changed to a less defiant one. Christine tried not to smile, even though the victory trilled in her chest. “Come on, little maestro, Mama wants you to play for her before dinner and you can’t touch the piano with dirty fingers.”

After that, Erik followed her to the bathroom willingly. Christine removed his clothes, waving away his attempts to help. He had clearly not been planning to be young when she got home, and he was still wearing his usual suit. Most of the charcoal smudges were on his dark wool trousers, which wasn’t much of a problem, but she didn’t want him to get it on the white shirt he was wearing.

She kissed his cheeks to distract him while she undid the buttons, paying equal attention to both cheeks, although she was gentle when she brushed kisses around the scars on his right side. He laughed, a carefree sound that she never heard from her husband. They both had lovely laughs, but they were so different. She loved them both so much.

Once Erik was free of his suit, she laid his clothes on the railing and sat her little boy down on a stool, bringing the washbasin over to clean his hands and face. He squirmed and whined, and she kissed his face again, cleaning off the charcoal with practiced sweeps of the sponge.

When the washing was done, she led him to their bedroom and pulled out his favourite outfit, a dark green kilt with a plain shirt and a vest. They had an English storybook with illustrations of a boy wearing an identical outfit, and it was one of Erik’s favourite stories when he was young like this.

With newly clean fingers, Erik dressed himself, although Christine swept in to tuck his shirt and straighten his collar.

“There we are,” she said, stepping back to admire her work. “My handsome boy.”

Erik blinked up at her contentedly, his right eye only closing halfway because of the scar tissue that layered his eyelid back on itself.

“What do you think, Erik? Do you want to play for Mama?”

“Sing!” Erik popped up from the bed, reaching for Christine’s hand.

“Yes, darling, of course I’ll sing for you.” She drew him close and kissed his forehead, running a hand over his head. She’d convinced him to shave what little hair he had on his head, and now it was a soft surface of wrinkled scars and divots, perfect for running her hands over when they were cuddling.

“Sing!!” Erik protested, pulling away from her embrace. Things were clearly not moving quickly enough for him.

“Yes, yes, alright,” Christine relented, letting him pull her down the hall to their music room. Erik’s piano stood in the center, stacks of sheet music all around. He was much neater with his paintings because he had to be: his music wasn’t threatened by a stray foot stomping on them.

Erik sat on the piano bench and Christine sat beside him, resting her hand on his knee. “What will you play me today?” she asked as Erik placed his hands on the keys.

He didn’t answer with words, simply beginning the song when she was done speaking. Christine wasn’t sure why Erik was so talented at music when he was young, yet could hardly draw a straight line with charcoal. Perhaps it was something to do with his natural talents, or something else entirely, but Christine wasn’t complaining as he went straight into one of the most recent operas they had been learning together.

His memory for music was less jumbled than his other memories when he was young. Sometimes when he couldn’t even remember Christine, she could get through to him by singing familiar lullabies, soothing him slowly and bringing him back, helping him to remember that he was safe, that she wouldn’t hurt him, that she was safe.

Erik played, and Christine sang. He loved to hear her sing, even though he didn’t know that he was the one to teach her. For now, she was his mother, and she was proud of his music, and that was all that mattered.

She was making sure that he knew he was loved, now and always. Forever more.

#fandom agere #agere writing #did i stay up until 2am writing this? yes....#my writing #sfw agere #agere community #agere fanfiction #poto agere #phantom of the opera #i can't get over how dumb the acronym 'poto' looks #anyways #cglre terminology #(not really but that's my general 'parental terms' tag for folks who want to block it)

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