#this actually happened twice but the clip wouldn’t save

[purplesurveys]

1669

What made you happy in the last 24 hours? Getting home has never made me happier as it did yesterday. After dealing with a 2 AM calltime and a 7-hour hike, I was just SO happy to see my mom and sister and play with the dogs and lie down on the floor and take a shower and nurse all my battle wounds from the hike and finally SLEEP. I legit slept for like 15 hours save for the quick time I woke up at 10 PM last night to eat something.

What was the last book you read? Around the World in Eighty Days but I don’t think I’ve resumed reading it since January...

What was the most fun thing you did in the last 24 hours? I watched a live feed of Yoongi’s third show of the tour this morning. I wouldn’t have done so since I really only had to see the premiere show (which I already did last Thursday), but word was spreading that Jimin was at earlier’s show so I had to see if they were doing Tony Montana haha.

Anyway, he joined the show just as a viewer and there was no collab performance but I had a lot of fun still.

Have you done anything adventurous lately? The hiking thing I guess but I felt furthest from adventurous.

What was the last thing you regretted doing (or not doing)? Ordering too much rice for my hiking party yesterday. My first wave of orders went by QUICKLY and like half of the group clearly needed more food to eat, so I made an order for more rice but by the time it came, everyone was starting to say they were full -_____- So then we had rice good for like 15 people that nobody was touching and it all felt like a big waste. Luckily they all felt the same and everyone just kinda took their own portion for takeout lol.

What was the most delicious food you ate in the last 24 hours? BAGNET KARE-KARE HOLY FUCK. I’ve been eating kare-kare my entire life but I’ve only ever had the kind where it’s all the soft parts of the beef, but yesterday I finally got to try the bagnet version and oh my fucking god changed the actual trajectory of my life. I’m itching to go back to that restaurant to have it again.

Do you like the way your hair looks right now? It’s the way it usually looks when the weather is nearly 40ºC, so meaning to say I hate how it looks but I don’t really have a choice.

Do you think it rains too much where you live? There’s a time of the year where it’s supposed to rain too much, but apart from that, no.

What color is your laptop? Silver/grey. Is your computer slow? Is it having problems? It’s a 2015 model so it’s definitely run its course, but apart from a considerably poorer battery life and not being eligible for newer software updates, it’s fine. I never use my personal laptop except to take surveys anyway so there’s also no reason for me to be shopping for a new one either.

Do you worry a lot, or do you live carefree? Somehow I am a mix of both, if that makes any sense. I overthink a lot, but when things go wrong it’s also easy for me to think “if it happens, it happens.” Like I can’t change the past anyway, so I just move on. 

I still think it’s an improvement from my past self though – all I used to do is worryworryworry and then let regret eat me up when I make mistakes.

Do you have a Bible that’s falling apart? We still have the actual Bible that was used for my parents’ wedding 26 years ago – but I wouldn’t say it’s falling apart. It’s just that the pages smell very, well, old book-y, which is expected.

What did the last pair of earrings you wore look like? I haven’t worn earrings and even clip-ons in years but if I had to guess, the last pair was my favorite hoop clip-ons.

What is the next fun thing you are planning to do? I’m watching a wrestling show tonight – which I honessssstly want to cancel on since my entire body is screaming in pain – but I don’t want to flake on Andi lol so I’m going. It should be fun anyway; Tajiri is on the card so that’s exciting.

Do you suffer from chronic pain? No.

What was the last thing you did outside? I had an OC moment and went out twice to check if my car’s interior light was on. I’m pretty obsessive about that these days because a couple of weeks ago it was my mom who forgot to turn the light off, so then a whole weekend passed and when I started the car the next time I took it out, it wouldn’t start anymore haha.

Do you need to clean your room? No, it’s fine right now.

Have you ever read the Bible all the way through? No.

Do you collect mason jars? No. I remember when that was a fad...

What was the last thing you decorated? The living room.

What’s on your floor? Napping dogs.

What was the last piece of candy you ate? A brownie bar, if that counts?? I know that’s not candy though lol

Are you wearing shorts right now? No because I’m headed out in like 2 hours anyway. I really want to wear shorts though :((((

Who was your first best friend? Kaye.

Who was/is your last or current best friend? Angela, Andi.

Do you have a best friend currently? Yep.

Are you lonely? No.

Have you spent most of your life lonely? No, I wouldn’t say most.

Did you answer your phone in the last 24 hours? Yes and no? I ignored all work calls that came through, but when my mom video called yesterday I had no problem picking that up.

What’s your favorite magazine to read? I don’t really read them anymore, unless Weverse Magazine comes out with something new OR if there’s a foreign magazine that publishes a BTS interview. Even then I don’t have a favorite.

What color is the sky right now? Blue.

Do you like the name Skye? No. That -e makes me want to grind my teeth. Do you want to have kids? Continued from yesterday. I would love to, but I don’t think it’s in the cards anymore.

When was the last time you ate taffy? Not sure...I don’t have those a lot at all. It’s probably been years.

Name three toppings you like on a salad. Spicy mayo, croutons, and...idk those are all I can think of. I don’t have salads frequently.

Do you like pineapple? One of my least favorite food in just every context. Hate it as a flavor, hate it on my pizza, as a juice...

Would you rather visit Asia or Europe? Europe would be a nice once-in-a-lifetime trip, but culture and cuisine wise I really prefer to go around Asia.

Do you know anyone who travels all the time? Yes, a handful of people.

Do you think it’s selfish to travel all the time, when most people can’t? For me, it depends on the context. I have a co-worker a couple positions above me who is almost always exclusively traveling for leisure and living out their hobbies and it’s honestly very baffling because it’s like hello? we are in the same workplace and every other employee is dying at how fast-paced everything is? how are you in Korea for the 107th time? are you still employed maybe I just missed the memo?? hahaha. Would you ever consider studying abroad? Maybe for a masters, yeah; but back in college I never thought about it as it didn’t seem worth the eventual hassle of getting delayed.

What was the last thing you ate? Pasta with tuna and broccoli. Are you happy with your life right now? It’s a solid 7/10 right now. I’m comfortable, but am also feeling like life has been too routine-y lately; it’s why I’m really excited for my Thailand and Malaysia trips. More than seeing Yoongi, I also just feel like I’m long overdue a vacation even if it’s just a bit short of two weeks.

What color was your first phone? The case was red but I don’t actually recall what color the actual model was.

Do you remember your high school locker combination? Continued again from the night before. I actually don’t. Knowing how big of a fangirl I was in high school though (I still am, but you get me lol) it was most likely either 319 or 904.

If you’re a YouTuber, list three companies you’d like to sponsor you. 24 Chicken, School Tteokbokki, and Yabu.

Do you miss someone? My dad.

If applicable, how long did it take you to grieve the loss of your best friend? A little over six months. I thought it would be a lifetime long, but fortunately I was surrounded by a great support system who helped walk me out of it.

Do you wear flip-flops? Only when I go outside to briefly do an outdoor chore or am at the beach.

Which do you like better: cacti, palm trees, or maple trees? I don’t have a preference.

What type of tree do you see most of where you live? I don’t actually know; they all look the same to me.

Have you ever seen fireflies? Yes.

Can you see the moon from your bedroom window? Nope.

[bookishable]

top candidates for Death in vol 2 of stranger things

eddie - a beloved new character is always in danger. vecna targets people “haunted” by something, and eddie is literally being hunted by the basketball team and the entirety of hawkins... he might die another way but it’s an interesting link. also i can see him sacrificing himself because everyone thinks he’s a murderer and he has nothing left to lose. it could be good character development for him to change from someone who runs away from danger to someone who faces it head on

steve - i don’t actually think they’ll kill off steve, because apparently his death was written out of season 1 and since then he’s become such an iconic character. but i don’t think he’s 100% safe because he is often putting himself in danger to protect others and is also currently suffering from like 30 wounds in the upside down. i also think the love triangle introduced with nancy is a set up for something bad to happen to one of them (which could have been nancy’s last scene but we have yet to see how it turns out). i actually think steve’s death could work in the show. like i would be sad (especially with dustin’s reaction) but i wouldn’t be mad?? especially if it’s done well and he gets a heroic death scene

max - it would be INCREDIBLY disappointing if max died because her entire arc this season is about staying alive and recovering from mental illness. killing off characters that deal with those things rubs me up the wrong way but it’s exactly how vecna targets people so it would be pretty poignant. she’s also written those letters to her friends which might be brought up again. maybe she dies in season 5 and the letters are a callback? i’m not sure max is entirely safe but i’m really hoping she makes it. here’s another reach based on the vol 2 trailer: the scene with lucas screaming at something above him looks very like eddie’s reaction to crissy’s death. him fighting jason is making me think maybe the basketball group came along and ruined the plan and caused a character’s death which is why lucas is completely losing it. but the fight could easily just be a well deserved punch up. it might be interesting if jason were looking for revenge for chrissy and then caused the death of another basketball player’s girlfriend but this is absolutely just manifesting

hopper - i think it would be lazy writing for hopper to die twice, he’s already had a fake death so i think he’s probably in the clear. but i can definitely see him sacrificing himself for joyce, el or murray. and we don’t know if they’re safe from the russians yet

enzo - it’s hard to believe all four of them will make it out of there alive, and i don’t think joyce will die. with all the bonding talk between hopper and enzo about their kids i think his death could be quite impactful?

murray - same reasons as above. there’s a clip of him setting what looks like the prison on fire, which he could be doing to allow others to escape

owens - another death i think would work really well in the show, even though i like him as a character. with el likely to return to hawkins with her powers and the us military on their way to destroy the nina project, owens’ work is done and i can easily see him giving his life for the cause and going out with a bang. almost the exact opposite of brenner but there’s time for that meta another day

brenner - i just want hopper to kill him

nancy - my money was originally on her but i’m less sure now. she’ll escape vecna but due to the love triangle going on she’s easily a contender what with how steve and jonathan would react. it would make for interesting character development between steve and jonathan in the next season. also due to her harbouring guilt over barb’s death all these years i think she might be likely to sacrifice herself in the process of saving everyone else

#the brenner one is mostly a joke #stranger things #stranger things 4 #shows #shut up alice

[zukuist]

beach [hcs]

“you go on a beach vacation with them”

includes: todoroki shouto, shinsou hitoshi, bakugou katsuki

your name is shortened to y/n, f!reader, no corona au, engaged au with shouto, bilingual reader??

notes: i thought of this because i watched twice’s momo and sana hawaii vlog, and they literally looked like they were having the best time of their life?? so i decided to make this <3

-

todoroki shouto

so this is how it all began

todoroki comes home to you sitting on the couch, scrolling on your phone

and he moves behind you to rest his head over yours, and he sees you looking at hawaii pictures

todoroki’s like “do you wanna go there?” since you were just staring at that one particular photo

and you’re like “maybe?? i would visit hawaii if i got the chance.”

todoroki’s like.. “i have money, and time so.. do you wanna go to hawaii?”

but you’re like “but.. aren’t you a pro hero? what if something happens?”

“i can take a few days off, and besides— we’re engaged so staying in hawaii for a bit doesn’t sound bad.”

and that’s how it all began

the both of you guys are so hyped for this vacation, well.. most especially you since you wanted to go there

you wanted to split the expenses with him, but he already paid for the nicest hotel </3

todoroki can only watch in amusement and adoration, as you sit there all cute beside him on the plane going there

japan and hawaii are really far from each other so.. the both of you guys take a lot of naps— heating you up with his left side as y’all do so.

people stare at y’all a lot, but most especially shouto because.. hello? who wouldn’t (he doesn’t stare back at them though, his eyes are glued on you.)

shouto has basic english knowledge, so it’s not as good as yours— so he has to rely on you for a bit.

but the actual trip was super enjoyable

he purchased you some cute clothes for you to wear, and he absolutely loves seeing you in summer dresses

the dress compliments your skintone so well, insert todoroki simping

will also probably buy you a cute lil hair clip

lots of pictures taken there. have mercy on his storage bc it’s all jusy burst photos of you

his cheeks go a little red when he sees you in your swim attire— but gosh! look at him in his swim wear, that fine mofo

he’ll help you apply sunscreen on your back if you need help, and he’ll just watch you play in the water from afar

but don’t get me wrong, you’ll eventually drag him into the ocean

he’ll help you dry off after swimming (if you have curly hair, he’ll just watch you dry your hair, as he dries your body off.)

then, y’all will take a walk around the place— enjoying the scenery while talking about whatever

then he’ll bring you to the restaurant for some dinner, and he’ll get you anything— dessert, drinks, etc (uGH pls marry me)

at the end of the day, y’all head back to the hotel extremely satisfied—

and the both of you guys fall asleep in each others arms, his right side cooling you off

shinsou hitoshi

shinsou’s not a big vacation person, so y’all don’t go on vacations a lot

but he feels like he should do something for you, since the crime rate has gone done drastically

and he wants to celebrate with you, but he just doesn’t know what to do yet.

until he sees you looking at bahamas pictures on pinterest, and suddenly— he knows what he wants to do

“do you want to go to the bahamas?” he’ll bring it up when y’all are eating lunch

“hm, i want to! but there’s just no correct time.”

“ah but, the crime rate has gone down by a lot— so i want to celebrate by bringing you there.”

your eyes brighten up, and it seems to be that bringing the bahamas up has made you happy

y’all both plan it out maybe 5 days before, and the both of you split the expenses

i headcanon that once you guys are old enough, you get a cat

so you had to drop off the cat at a friend’s house, because you’d be at hawaii for nearly a week

encourages you to sleep on the plane ride, but this man won’t sleep on the plane at all (you won’t catch him lacking)

he’s a little overwhelmed when he gets there at first, because.. it’s so bright tf

but it’s actually a really relaxing place.

compliments you when he sees you wearing your swim attire. he looks very casual but on the inside, he’s freaking out

he’ll watch you play around in the water from the shade,

and if he thinks you’re going a little too far, he’ll probably jump right in and bring you back lol

another person that’ll take a lot of pictures, but they’ll be so memey </3 so he’ll have something to tease you about in the hotel room

but don’t get me wrong, he takes good pictures of you

he’ll let you lay your head on his lap while he dries your hair (that is, if you don’t have curly hair)

but if you do, he’ll just let you rest on his lap— as he checks your body for any sun burns

ugh you look so fine in your sundress though, he’s tracing your sides as he tells you how “pretty you look in that dress, kitten”

y’all will probably get room service, since hitoshi prefers it in there— since he can talk about how good you look so openly

then, you’ll take a walk around the shoreline, enjoying how the beach looked at night time— brieflu before returning back

will ask if you enjoyed the entire experience, hand in yours as he luls you to sleep

bakugou katsuki

okay.. but you have to convince him for a long time, and you have to be consistent

at first, he’ll scoff at you and say “no, do you know how expensive that is?”

but you’re rich? tf bakugou

okay but he actually wants to go with you, he just wants to plan this trip at least 2 months prior.

and he’s a big tsundere

but he does all the planning, because everything has to be correct for y/n!

but he’ll still go to you for confirmation.

okay but.. he’ll make y’all leave at 6pm for your flight at 10pm, and then he’ll nag you to go to sleep on the plane

like smh— why are we so early??

anyways, once y’all arrive there— he’ll watch you run around the beach, basking in the beautiful scenery

he’ll just smirk in amusement as you do so

you’ll buy those flower clips, and he’ll just laugh and say they “don’t look that bad”

but he’s actually simping hard for you, so don’t be misguided.

when he sees you in your swimwear, his cheeks will be red,

then he’ll say stuff like “can we just stay in? you look so good rn it’s unreal, y/n”

a lot of people stare at him for multiple reasons.

one— he’s hot

two— he’s such a beefy pro hero

but he’s actually trying his best to be on the down low, because this is a trip for you and him.

he doesn’t care about anyone else rn.

he’ll take a few pictures of you and him, and he’s surprisingly a good photograper

(i feel like all of them are, but in their own way.)

will laugh at you playing in the water, and he’ll probably take one video of you being absolutely wrecked by a wave

but if he sees you getting dragged in too much, he’ll come and save you lol

“idiot,” he scolds as he dries your body off, flicking your forehead as he goes on a tangent about how you almost drowned

man’s the son of 2 fashion designers so you bet he was the one that bought you new clothes for you to wear

he’s still pleased by the appearance of you in a pretty dress.

y’all will probably buy ingredients in hawaii, so he could cook y’all something (you could do that there)

then, he’ll probably feed you the food— as he asks you how you feel about everything, and if the experience was perfect

after dinner, he’ll probably offer to massage your feet just because he can (he doesn’t do this a lot so !!)

bakugou really enjoyed going to hawaii, surprisingly. he’s just very tsundere about it

he’ll probably arrange more vacations with you from now on

—

©️izukulie 2021, bnha|mha belongs to horikoshi kohei. do not steal ❕

#bnha x reader #bnha x you #mha x reader #bakugou imagines #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugou x you #bnha headcanons #bnha x y/n #mha x you #bakugou x y/n #todoroki shouto x reader #todoroki x you #todoroki x y/n #todoroki x reader #todoroki imagines #shinsou x y/n #shinsou x reader #shinsou x you #todoroki shouto x y/n #shinsou imagines #shinsou hitoshi x reader #shinsou hitoshi x y/n #shinsou hitoshi x you #bakugou katsuki x y/n #🖋epiphany.writes #bnha fluff #mha fluff

[byeoltoyuki]

ENEMY  ⇾ KNJ

↳Pairing : You x Namjoon

Genre : Smut / Gang au

Words: +3.5k

Summary : What could be worse than fucking your dad’s enemy? Actually liking it and wanting more.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ 

The moment you spotted Kim fucking Namjoon among many foreign faces, you regretted instantly saying yes to your stupid best friend going by the name of Park Jimin. Why in the world did you say yes, you weren’t so sure anymore but the result announced nothing good for you. 

Let me explain. 

You were, from outside, what looked like a normal twenty five years old young, brilliant, beautiful woman who agreed to go to a huge party with her best friend. Nothing extraordinary so far, nothing to worry about. Except, you were also the daughter of a notorious crime lord. Not a big deal. At all. 

Now, Kim Namjoon happened to be another problem because he was your father’s enemy, a pain in the ass he had been complaining about for about two years now. Your father had tried to get rid of him, desperately, without much success. 

And you?

Well, you thought it would be nice to get fucked by your father’s enemy. Not a big deal, was it now?

You cursed and emptied your glass before hurrying to get to Jimin with who you had some unfinished business. 

Jimin was busy dancing with a girl, jet black wavy hair, in a very short and tight red dress, definitely Jimin’s type of girl. You would have felt bad for interrupting whatever he had on mind, but you were upset and terrified to find yourself in the same room as Kim fucking Namjoon. So you, without hesitation, grabbed Jimin’s arm and pulled him towards you.

"Sorry girl, I have some business with this asshole." You glanced over your shoulder to have a look at the girl. You really were sorry for both of them. Then, you pushed Jimin further towards the stairs, making him groan at your behavior.

"The hell, Y/N?!" He complained while trying to get rid of your strong and almost painful grip on his arm. Who said girls were weak? 

"What is Kim Namjoon doing here?" You asked instead. You were nervous and before Jimin could give you a proper answer you were already peeking over your shoulder to check where the man was. 

"Oh? He’s here?" Jimin didn’t sound too surprised or annoyed any longer with your interruption which bothered you.

"Why is he here, Jimin?" You glared angrily at him. You had a very bad feeling about it.

Jimin shrugged, feigning innocence which only caused your blood to boil. He could pretend that he was innocent but your guts told you otherwise and your guts were never wrong. 

"For fuck’s sake Jimin!" You buried your face in between your hands, muffling this way a loud groan of frustration. "What were you thinking about?"

Jimin took a step towards you, leaning close enough you could feel his warm breath over your skin. "Because you want to see him, Y/N. I know what you did." He whispered to your ear.

That was not true, you wanted to say but your voice got stuck in your throat instead. Jimin pulled from you, smirking proudly, he wasn’t your best friend just because he had decided so. No, he knew you, he read you like an open book.

"Have fun, babe." Was the last thing he told you before going back to his conquest (prey) of the night.

Fuck you Park Jimin.

You could have chosen to go back home and avoid all trouble that would follow. You still had time before you to turn your back and forget that you had seen this man. But no, you stayed, eyes glued to his body. 

You watched Namjoon from afar. Watched how he greeted with a smile or a fist bump some people. Watched how he grabbed a glass of whiskey and took a sip. You followed his every move without realizing how your heartbeat fastened or how unconsciously you bit on your lips. Your body grew hot without you noticing it either. 

It could have stopped here, but then, Namjoon’s eyes landed on you - it was game over. The moment his eyes widened in slight surprised at the sight of you, you knew there was no turning back. Namjoon quickly regained composure, in fact, if you hadn’t been staring at him for a moment, you wouldn’t have known there was a change in his behavior. But this slight change sent sweet tingles down your spine. 

Namjoon acknowledged your presence with a nod and a knowing and dangerous smile. He took a sip of his drink before staring back at you and while he did so, his thumb stroked slowly and gently the glass which was an absolutely normal thing to do, except your hazy and thirsty mind got distracted and thought of something else. The images of that one night with him were back in your head. Images you tried so bad to forget, without much success you had to admit it. 

Fucking with your father’s enemy was bad enough. No. Being in the same room as his enemy was bad enough, but what you did with Namjoon was worse. But the worst part of it was probably the fact that you absolutely loved every moment of that night and wished it could happen again. 

Kim Namjoon was dangerous and you should be running from him. But no, you couldn’t. Your body acted on its own will and before you could realize what you were doing, you were already on your way to the dark and pretty empty hall. 

Nothing could guarantee you that Namjoon would follow you and risk it all. 

But he did. 

Before you could move any further, firm and rough fingers wrapped around your arm and pulled you backwards resulting in your back colliding with a strong chest. Your breath hitched in your throat as your heart missed a beat - Namjoon held you tightly against him.

"Hello princess. Missed me?" He whispered to your ear, his voice alone got your knees weak and core throbbing; it was deep and husky and full of hot promises. 

"Don’t be so full of yourself, Namjoon." You snapped back to save yourself, to save your pride. Or maybe you just wanted to provoke him some more and see what he could do in a place where anybody could see you. Oddly enough, that idea didn’t displease you that much.

Instead of getting annoyed with your attitude, he only chuckled and leaned closer to you. "Hmm, someone is being brave tonight." His warm breath was ghosting over your exposed neck. He was so close you could almost feel his pretty lips on your skin and oh how much you wished you could. 

Namjoon’s free hand found its place on your hip, fingers digging slightly to your covered skin. "So I was asking, did you miss me princess?" He repeated and something in his voice had changed. It got deeper, if possible, with a hint of danger that got you more excited than threatened.

"Why would I?" You said instead of confessing to him just how badly you had missed him. 

"Why would you indeed." He repeated more to himself than to you.

For a second, you wondered if you had offended him, after all you had met him only twice. Yes, you had fucked, but you didn’t know each other. At all. But your worries vanished the moment he slid his hand from your hip to your thigh; his hand felt rough and awfully hot against your skin. His hand moved higher, hiking your dress up in the process - you pressed your back harder against his chest as he palmed your heat.

"This doesn’t look like you didn’t miss me, princess." Namjoon chuckled, fingers moving up and down, feeling how incredibly wet you were. He pushed your panty to the side to let his fingers touch you properly. "Baby girl, you’re such a liar." He gave your clip a strong slap making you arch your back as you let out a loud moan. 

"Hey Y/N." He bit on your lobe playfully. "What would your daddy say if he knew you let his sworn enemy ruin this pretty pussy hm?" With that he slid a finger inside your throbbing core. You welcomed him easily, swallowing his finger in your warmth.

"Fuck!" You swore under your breath; you grabbed his thighs, squeezing them tightly for support. 

Namjoon smiled against your skin at how responsible you were. Namjoon would be lying if he said he forgot all about you after that night because he didn’t. He thought about you a lot. About your pretty moans, about your pretty mouth wrapped around his cock, about your body covered with his cum. What he did was wrong, he knew it. It was dangerous for both him and you but he found it hard to care. Especially now that he had you pressed against him, wet and willing. 

"Such a dirty girl." He clicked his tongue as he withdrew his finger from your cunt making you whimper helplessly at the loss. He spun you in his arms and before you could start complaining his hand was on your neck and his mouth was on yours.

You were a goner. 

Kissing Namjoon was just as intoxicating as you remembered. His lips alone set your whole body on fire. The kiss was hot and bruising with a lot of biting just like you liked it.

Namjoon gently pushed you towards the closest wall, without stopping kissing you. He had you trapped and terribly wounded with just some kissing. He pulled from you, only to stare at your swollen lips. He was in trouble.

"What am I going to do with you, princess?"

You stared at him with hazy, completely blown eyes. "Anything."

"What a dangerous thing to say." His thumb found your lips. He started caressing your lips, imagining what he could do to you. "What if I chose to kidnap you?"

He wouldn’t.

"What if I bring you to my place and tie you to my bed?" His thumb slipped in between your parted lips and you welcomed him eagerly. "What if I use blindfold? You would like it, wouldn’t you?"

All you could was to mewl and suck on his thumb. His every words made your core clench around nothing and you just wished he would stop and fuck you. But Namjoon loved seeing you helpless and needy.

He pulled his finger from your mouth only to replace it with his mouth.

"Tell me." He bit on your lower lip. "What," he bit on your jaw, "You want." And your neck.

Namjoon made it hard for you to think straight. His lips were distracting, his hands were everywhere except where you desperately needed him. You tried to grab his hand but Namjoon was faster and had your wrists pinned above your head with just one hand.

"Oh I don’t think you can touch me, princess." He disapproved your attempt. "Tell me with words."

"Namjoon!" You whined helplessly. All attempt to free yourself had resulted in failure; Namjoon was just too strong for you. And maybe you didn’t try very hard either. But you persisted on disobeying him. Instead of answering him, you chose to hook a leg around his waist and pull him towards you, towards your center, seeking for any friction which only caused Namjoon to growl. You were pushing all his buttons at once and if you weren’t in public, he would have showed you what it costed to provoke him. Instead, he kissed you, pouring all his feelings in the kiss.

"Let me take you home, Y/N." It wasn’t something Namjoon was supposed to say, to admit, but he couldn’t stop himself. You were a temptation, a forbidden fruit that he highly desired. 

It touched you, in a way. But no matter how tempting his offer was, you couldn’t accept it without turning your life into a mess. 

As he let go of your hands, you reached for his hair, fingers raking gently through it, almost affectionally. "You can’t." Even if you wanted it. 

Namjoon leaned closer till his forehead bumped lightly yours, he closed his eyes and let out a disappointed sigh. "You’re sure?"

It was, in a weird way, endearing how sweet he sounded, your heart melted at his disappointment and you almost wanted to wrap your arms around him and hug him. You couldn’t of course. 

"Then, will you let me fuck you again?" 

You nodded all too eagerly which made him smirk. He licked his lips, satisfied. "As you wish." 

Namjoon spun you in his arms so you would face the wall. He bent you slightly and with a light nudge he pushed your thighs apart. His hands were everywhere at the same time; caressing you, pinching your skin, you didn’t know what to do with yourself, feeling suddenly completely overwhelmed and on fire. Incredibly on fire.

"Look at you." Namjoon slid his hands along your inner thighs, up and down before deciding that he needed to see more. He hiked your dress up exposing your beautiful ass. "A princess acting like a whore." He caressed your butt, gently, lovingly. "Wanting to get fucked, to get filled."

He gave your ass a strong slap that would have sent you flying right into the wall if he wasn’t holding you with his other hand. "What if someone walks on us?" He spanked you again. "Will you let them join us?" And another one. This one was harder than the previous one; your ass was bright red, you felt it which only made you even more aroused. 

"Would you like them to fill all those holes, princess?" He whispered, caressing gently your ass; you felt his thumb circling around the puckered rim of your ass - you tensed, breath hitched in your throat but then, when his thumb slipped inside you gasped and closed your eyes. 

"Namjoon." You whimpered, feeling incredibly needy. There was no way you could take this torture any longer. You needed him, now.

"I asked you a question, baby girl. Would you let them fill those holes?" Came another strong smack.

"Fuck no!"

"No?" You felt his fingers digging into your skin.

God this man was ready to ruin you.

"No." You repeated and nodded furiously your head. 

"Good. Because this ass is mine. And this cunt?" He tore the panties from you and slipped two fingers inside you. He growled as you were dripping, coating his fingers with your juices. "This was made for me."

You moaned softly, body shaking at the feeling of his fingers inside you, stretching you nicely, preparing you for his cock. As he moved his fingers, you pushed against his hand, wanting to feel him deeper.

"Really, princess?" He chuckled, "You’re supposed to be a nice and patient baby girl." He curled his fingers, you couldn’t stop the moan that left your mouth. "Instead ,you’re acting like a desperate slut."

‘So what’ was on the tip of your tongue but those words never left your mouth as Namjoon added a third finger. With a ring.

"Fuck." You clenched hard around his fingers.

Namjoon watched you with a smirk on his face. Your reaction to the ring didn’t go unnoticed. "It appears your cunt adores my ring."

He was right, it did. You did. The addition of the ring to his fingers brought you closer to your release. Except Namjoon had felt it too.

"You’re not allowed to come until I said so." He withdrew his fingers.

You sobbed at the loss of his thick fingers and the fact that he had robbed you of a powerful release. You tried to glance over your shoulder, ready to share a piece of your mind but Namjoon was fast - he yanked your hair, lips dangerously close to your ear.

"You take whatever I give you, baby girl." He growled, "And you say thank you." 

Still upset with the loss of your release, you considered disobeying again but the fear of not getting anything  at all was stronger so you complied. "Thank you."

Namjoon gave your clit a harsh slap, your whole body shook, still sensitive. "Thank you who?"

"Thank you, sir." You choked

Namjoon hummed, pleased as he stroked your now red ass. You were gorgeous and he couldn’t wait to get inside you. 

He pulled his cock, brushed it lightly against your clit, teasing you - you bit on your lips forcing yourself not to push back against him.

"Namjoon." You begged which got you a harsh spank. "Sir, please."

"What is it, princess? What is it that you want?"

"I want your cock, sir. So badly. Please." You begged shamelessly, it was driving you crazy.

"Good girl." Namjoon eased himself slowly inside you to your utter surprise. You expected him to pound into you mercilessly, without letting you any time to adjust to his girth. He did none of that.

Namjoon filled you slowly, inch by inch, dragging his cock slowly against your walls, making sure you would feel all of him. And like a good girl, you took all of him.

You supported yourself as best as you could, the stretch making you both groan in pain and pure pleasure. Namjoon was thick, huge and reached your deepest spots. It drove you absolutely crazy. He was right, your pussy was made for him.

As Namjoon waited, he caressed your butt, you could melt if not for his cock. You pushed lightly against him and he took it as a sign to move. He withdrew half way before pushing back, making both of you moan in satisfaction.

All traces of gentleness vanished the moment he got your sign. His past got fast, his thrusts sharp and deep leaving you no choice but to completely surrender and let him have his way with you. Not like you minded. Hell, you enjoyed it fully.

"Fuck, Namjoon, your cock feels so good." You mewled, forgetting completely that you weren’t supposed to call him by his name, not when he was pounding so hard. But his cock felt too nice, making you forget all about your manners and all about your place in this world. 

For once, Namjoon didn’t mind, in fact, he was too lost in the feeling of your walls clenching around him. He dug his fingers into your skin, making sure that he would leave marks for you to remember, for you to regret not accepting his offer. 

"God, i’d love to make a video of you, taking my cock like a good slut and send it to your daddy. Aren’t you ashamed?" He grunted 

"I don’t care!" You half screamed, legs almost giving up because of a strong thrust.

"Oh? You don’t?" He chuckled half-surprised with your honesty."Good. We should do it one day. Just to spite him."

If you weren’t so lost, so consumed with pleasure, you would have rolled your eyes at this stupid rivalry that was going on between Namjoon and your father. They were both annoying but you couldn’t possibly tell them that. Yet.

"Namjoon." You whimpered, lost and so close to your release.

"I know baby girl, I got you." He reassured you

And he did. When your release came crushing down, his grip on you tightened as he kept thrusting, slower as you convulsed around him. For a second, your vision faded to black and the only sound you could hear was the crazy beating of your heart.

Namjoon leaned over to kiss your shoulder, slowly thrusting into you. 

"I’m close too." Namjoon confessed, panting. "Fuck Y/N. Tell me where I can cum."

"In me. Please."

Namjoon did not expect that, but your pleading pushed him over the edge. With one last strong thrust, he finally exploded inside you, spilling his hot seeds inside you. He half collapsed, squishing you against the wall but it didn’t bother you, his arm was safely wrapped around your waist while his head rested in the crook of your neck. 

You both stayed silent for a while, panting but feeling satisfied. Almost. You realized that you didn’t want him to leave you yet, so when Namjoon tried to pull from you, you grabbed his hand and forced him to stay still.

"Y/N…" 

"I know." You hurried to say before he could remind you that your reality was waiting for you. "I know."

Namjoon sighed and forced you, always gently, to let go of him. He pulled his cock out (and you wished you could pull him back already), and quickly adjusted his clothes before finally facing you. 

"Look at me, Y/N." He asked nicely. 

You bit on your lips, not wanting to look him into the eyes because you were too scared to face him, too scared for rejection. But Namjoon only sighed, followed quickly by a chuckle as his hand found your face. His thumb caressed your cheeks as he stared at you fondly. "How about a date hm?"

You blinked. Once, twice, proceeding very, very slowly his words, before finally your face broke into a big smile.

"Would love to."

#namjoon #bts #bts smut #namjoon smut #bts fanfic #namjoon x reader #bts x reader #rm

[maeve-writes]

Beautiful Hell

Inspired by:  Beautiful Hell by ADNA 

Pairing: Bucky Barnes (tfatws) x Reader (experiment/mutant!Reader) Rating: 18+, Minors DNI Warnings: Angst, fluff, smut, fingering, unprotected sex, dirty talk. Summary: Your past shows up in an unexpected way thanks to Bucky Barnes. You just wanted to be... normal, not caught up in the life of a hero or worse, and yet you’re drawn to him, addicted to him even. You thought that part of your life was over, but your relationship opens up a whole new chapter that you’re not sure you’re ready for. a/n: Unbeta’d, any mistakes are my own and please forgive me. I have not written anything that wasn’t work related in about three years, so I’m a little rusty. This is just a dip of my toe back into the water. I’d like to continue this if there is any interest! Thanks for reading!

There’s very little that makes you upset these days. You have a great job, a cozy apartment, and wonderful friends. It’s taken a long time for you to find stability and even longer for you to accept that it was okay to have it. Most of that struggle was on your own, but you eventually found others like you that were dealing with the same inner turmoil and you’ve grown.

The group still meets twice a month, but now you run it. You see the same pain and anger in the eyes of strangers that you once held, you’ve been in their shoes and you want to help start their journey of healing and self discovery. You would never turn someone away who wanted help, who sought out the chance to better themselves, but six feet of muscle and adamantium shuffles into the recreation room of the local Boy’s and Girl’s Club, and you bend the already folded aluminum chair in half. 

The squeak of the metal catches his attention and his brow knits together. His eyes dance between your face, the chair, and back again. “Cheap material,” you say weakly with a lift of your shoulders. You watch as he puckers his lips in thought and his hands are shoved into his jacket. 

One of your regulars, Sarah, takes the chair from you and tries to right it once more, but finds it more difficult than you played it up to be. “Set up the rest, I’ve got this,” you tell her, happy to tear your attention away from the man. You reset the bars of the chair and unfold it, placing it on the floor to see if it will act as it should. It’s a little wonky, the bend leans it too far back, but it will hold you - it’s a chair.

You sit among the circle and begin. People sip their coffee and share their stories for the week. The new people introduce themselves, including him, but everyone already knows his name. He didn’t share this time, but you could tell he wanted to from the way his jaw clenched and the uncomfortable shifts in his sheet. You were like that once, you know just how he feels.

Two hours pass and the crowd slowly trickles out. You start the clean up, the putting away of the chairs. You move around the room and do your best to ignore his eyes burning into you - into your soul. “You could at least help clean,” you tell him without looking up from the sink against the far wall where you now stand. “Chairs still need to be put away.”

It takes a few beats, but you hear his heavy footsteps fall behind you and the eventual scrap of metal as the chairs are being folded. There’s a steady rhythm to his method, a clink of his metal arm against the chair, the screech as the chair is closed and his footfalls to the corner to put it away.

You finish your last coffee pot, drying your hands and turn to see the wonky chair in his hold. “Cheap material,” he repeats, looking down at it before he bends it back and forth. You see him trying to mold it back into better shape than you had earlier as your face grows hotter by the second. When he deems it “good enough,” he brings it over to join the others. “Who are you?”

“No one,” you reply instantly. 

His head snaps around, blue eyes burning, “You’re a horrible liar.”

“Not true,” you counter, “I’ve lied to myself for years.”

He turns to you fully and crosses his arms over his broad chest. He doesn’t find your attempt at what he thinks is a joke funny. “Who are you,” he asks again, his voice becoming clipped and impatient. 

You tell him your name, your full name but it does not ring any bells to him. It wouldn’t, not in a way he would realize. “You saved someone years ago, not as… you, but as,” you pause and wave the towel you used to dry your hands, “you know.” You try your best to ignore how his body tenses up and you continue, “You killed his wife and his unborn son. You changed him. Changed everything, really. Somehow, I got caught up in it all.”

His hardened stare quickly shifts into curiosity and you force yourself to look away before you crash into the stormy blue. “They pumped us full of all sorts of stuff. A lot of us didn’t make it. I can still hear the screams if I try.” You grind your teeth to make yourself stop falling into that abyss. “But my dad raised me by himself, he taught me how to survive, how to be strong. He always told me: Girl, if you’re gonna go down, go down swingin’. And I forced myself to keep going, no matter what they did, I wasn’t going to let those assholes get the best of me.”

The towel was back in both of your hands now, pulled and stretched as you tried not to think about the pain and the loneliness that followed. “But eventually I was freed, just like you freed that other guy. I got a chance to be him now… but I didn’t take it.” The terry cloth ripped in half and your arms fell by your sides. 

You dared to look up at the man and you inwardly swore. His face was so painfully beautiful, full lips were in a pout and his eyes twinkled blue in their sadness, in their empathy. “They wanted us to be something and I wasn’t going to let someone else define me. I ran for years, scared and alone. I had to change my life over and over because I didn’t want them to find me, then I realized I was actually doing what they wanted… I was being someone I’m not.”

You crossed the room to the trash can nearby and not too far behind he followed. The two of you began to toss half-eaten pastries and empty disposable coffee cups. “So, I settled down here, started to go by my real name and took any threat that came my way.” You watched him sniff at an uneaten danish, “Cherry, I think.” His shoulder lifts in a ‘what-the-hell’ kind of way and he takes a bite. “It took about two decades for them to stop,” you finish, “and I was able to finally start to live my life.”

He silently offers half of the danish to you, which you decline. “And when the world went to hell in a hand-basket, you what, sat here and lived your life?” The blow was meant to sting and it did. He didn’t know if you were gone in The Blip but from your recoil, he got his answer. “I don’t know what they did to you, but you obviously have the ability to help people, you should use it.”

“I do,” you reply, offended. “This,” you wave your hands around for the second that evening, “helps people. Just because I don’t strap on leather and beat up bad guys doesn’t mean I don’t make a difference.”

Bucky stills completely, even his breathing, and he looks down into the trash can he has been pushing around for you. It looks as though he wants to toss himself in it. “You’re right,” he says with a heavy exhale, “that wasn’t fair of me. It’s just… the world is running low on heroes, they’re now relying on a guy in a bird suit.”

“I thought that guy was your friend,” you ask with a tilt of your head.

When the corner of his mouth tips up into a boyish smile, you mirror it with a toothy grin because of how infectious it is. “Yeah,” he nods, “I guess he is. But I just hate being the only muscle.”

“You’re plenty enough for this hemisphere,” you laugh and reach out to pat his shoulder, when you feel the muscle packed there, you whistle through your teeth, “and maybe the other one, too.”

He laughs and rolls the shoulder you tapped, tossing off your hand playfully. “Yeah, well it wouldn’t hurt to have more because getting hurt hurts.” You two exchange smiles and finish trash detail. He ties up the full bag and prepares to bring it out while you work on putting a new one in the can. 

You lead him out back to the dumpsters and he tosses the bag in after you open the heavy metal lid. When it falls closed again with a loud, ringing bang, you pull out a pack of sanitizing wipes and offer him one which he gladly accepts. “This might not be the right time,” he begins, eyes drawn to the large, smelly trash bin next to the pair of you, “but would you like to have dinner with me sometime?”

“Who knew you were so romantic, Sergeant Barnes,” you tease to hide your fluttering heartbeat that he can undoubtedly hear. Under the pale yellow beam of the streetlights you can see the flush forming on his face that mirrors your own. “I’m free tomorrow around seven.”

Bucky straightens to his full height and his eyes sparkle brightly when that boyish curl makes its way back to his lips. “Then it’s a date,” he nods as you both pull out your phones to exchange numbers and you give him your address.

“Don’t be late,” you warn him, tone playfully serious, “I get angry if I don’t eat before eight. Bad things happen if I don’t eat.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he nods with a low rumbling chuckle, “I don’t plan to disappoint you.”

Your face splits into a smile and you lead your way back in, “See you tomorrow, Sergeant.”

“Tomorrow,” he says, his eyes trained on your every move. “And it can’t come soon enough,” he adds under his breath.

x

Your day goes by in a blur. Work is stressful but rewarding. Even though you love your job, your mind was not completely on it. Just past noon you received a text: Just seeing if this works. I’m looking forward to tonight. Have a good day. BB

It is unclear if he does not really know how texts work or if it is his excuse to send you one, but either way it makes you giddier than a schoolgirl. You reread it several times, answer a few work related calls and emails before you finally answer back: It works! I’m also looking forward to tonight. My day was good, but your text made it better. Hope yours is fantastic! xx

You are hesitant to hit send, but if you are going to shoot your shot, then you might as well go all in. Your phone doesn’t even go to sleep before you get another text in return: I’m about to see the prettiest gal in town, my day will be more than fantastic. How do you feel about sushi and bowling? BB

Of all of the things to do, especially together, you would not think of Bucky Barnes to pick that as your first night out together, but you had a weakness for sushi and your competitive side could never say no to a game or two: I haven’t been bowling in years, but I’m sure I can teach you a few things. xx

Oh, sweetheart, you’ll be learning a thing or two before the night is over. BB

You aren’t sure if you guys are talking about bowling anymore and that thought lights a fire in your belly. With a shaky breath you send your last reply: I’ll be happy to learn anything as long as I get to call you Professor Barnes and I can stay after class for extra credit. ;) xx 

It isn’t until two hours after your lunch that you get your last reply from him: Looking up that reference sent me to the part of the internet that I’m still not used to, but I’m glad I did. You don’t happen to have a skirt and some of those socks that go up to your knees, do you? Don’t answer that, I won’t be able to make it through dinner. See you at 7. BB

You did happen to have just what he asked for and it was tempting to wear it, but you tucked the idea into your pocket for another time. Instead, you picked something more appropriate for bowling, a pair of navy skinny fit cotton dress pants with enough stretch to not rip when you bent over to toss a ball, a curve hugging camisole that was draped by a soft, cream colored cashmere sweater. 

After messing with your hair for an hour, you settled for a messy bun and just finished your makeup when your doorbell rang. You call out to him to “hold on” as you shuffle through your apartment, trying to wriggle into your loafers on the way to open the door. “Sorry. Sorry, sorry,” you apologize as you pull open the door.

He’s standing in the doorway dressed in a canvas jacket over a plain black shirt, dark jeans over his long, thick legs and his normal boots top it off. “You look gorgeous,” he says, forcing you away from your lingering gaze as it continues to travel up and down his body like he’s the one for dinner. “These are for you,” he presents a bouquet of flowers with an unsure smile. “They’re beautiful,” you say wistfully, taking the flowers and stepping aside to let him in. “Thank you.” He nods and stands near the door as you finish putting on your shoes. “Let me put these in water and we can go.” “Take your time,” he says and trains his eyes on you. They follow you through the apartment, to the kitchen as you look through your cabinets for a vase. When you bend over, his head tilts ever so slightly which you can see out of the corner of your eye, but when you turn to try and catch him, he just smiles innocently. “Need any help?”

“I’ll manage,” you laugh and eventually find a vase. The flowers are arranged not so elegantly into the glass, but you add water and place them in the center of your kitchen island. “Now, I’m starving and getting hangry.”

“Hangry,” he repeats. “That doesn’t sound good. I guess I should feed you before that happens.” He holds out an arm and like a magnet you are drawn to him and latch to it, maybe it’s because of the metal. Nevertheless, you walk arm and arm to the sushi hole-in-the-wall two blocks away, eating in a small booth in the corner to hide away from prying eyes.

You learn about Bucky Barnes for the first time. Like everyone else, you hear things from the news, from the internet, you try to shift through the lies and mess. But here you’re learning what he likes, what he’s learned, what he wants to learn. He doesn’t give his past up as freely as you did, it’s obvious he’s still coming to terms with it, but everyone travels at their own pace.

He learns about you, too. He asks you about things none of your past dates have asked. Hell, even your past boyfriends and girlfriends weren’t interested in half of the stuff Bucky manages to squeeze out of you. And you find it so easy to talk to him, so natural. You’ve only known him for two days, but it feels like decades.

Your hand slips into his when you leave the restaurant and head to the bowling alley. He laces your fingers together two blocks into your walk and you once again wrap your free hand around his arm. It pains you to move away when you have to go in and put on the bowling shoes.

“Before we begin,” he says to you as he watches you put your names into the computer, “let’s make a bet.” You finish entering the ‘y’ of his name and lift an inquisitive brow his way. “If you win, you can have one thing you would want from me.”

You twist in your seat and narrow your eyes, “And if you win?”

His tongue darts out to lick his lips, you watch it disappear with a pout, “I get a kiss.”

“You could just ask for one,” you laugh and slowly lean towards him.

Bucky, too, leans in and bumps noses with you, “Yeah, but it’s more fun if I work for it.” He sits back and winks, trying not to laugh at your deflated and deepening pout. “C’mon, sweetheart, you’re up first.”

You sigh heavily and pick up the bright green ball that you picked from the line waiting to be thrown. “Okay, if I win, then I get to wear that skirt and socks for you,” you say over your shoulder before you toss the ball down the lane. It rolls down the center and knocks down all ten pins as STRIKE flashes on the screen above you.

When you flop down in the chair next to him, he’s still staring at the spot where you stood moments before, gears still churning. “Hey,” you laugh, snapping your fingers in front of his face to knock him out of his daze, “are you okay?”

“Would it be wrong of me to lose on purpose,” he asks sheepishly. You roll your eyes and cross your arms and he lifts his own in surrender. “Okay, okay. I get it, that’s no fun. Just know, darlin’, I don’t go down without a fight.” He steps up and takes the same ball you used and chucks it halfway down the lane before it, too, knocks down all ten pins. He turns to you, a smirk plastered on his face.

As much as you loved to have fun, you loved to win more. “Is that how it’s going to be,” you asked, getting up to pass him on the way to take your turn.

He laughs, pressing close as you both slow when you come into each other’s orbit. “That’s how it’s going to be,” he nods and rakes over his lip with his teeth. A challenge is set and you don’t back down. Strikes and spares are thrown by the both of you in between lingering touches and whispered sweet nothings. 

In the hour you two have rented the lane, you managed two games and with one point over you, Bucky wins. He doesn’t claim his prize right there, it’s too public and there’s far too many people around. Instead, he offers to walk you home and you happily accept as long as you can wrap yourself around him once again, which you do.

You two try to take your time on the way back, enjoying the crisp evening air, but more so each other's company. The conversation from dinner continues as a flow of likes and dislikes between more sweet nothings. You’re lovedrunk by the time you’re at your front door and you don’t want the night to come to an end.

Reluctantly, you release him from your hold and he looks as disappointed as you feel. “Tonight has been wonder-” “I had such a great-” you both begin simultaneously and trail off together, ending in nervous laughter. 

“Thank you,” you tell him, leaning up to kiss his cheek, “for such an amazing night.”

“I should be thanking you,” he says, a hand timidly reaching out to rest on your hip. “I’ve been a little rusty at this kind of thing, but you made it easy.” His thumb traces the arc of your hip bone and you step closer to him. “But, you know, I might need some more practice.” You resisted to roll your eyes, but the laughter bubbles between the both of you. The distance closes by one of you, and you don’t care who, but you find your hands splayed across his chest, “I think I can help you out there.”

“That would be my second win of the night,” he grins down at you, his eyes trained on your lips.

“Speaking of my win,” he trails off. His flesh hand raises to your cheek and you instinctively lean into it. Your nose wrinkles at his chuckle but it doesn’t stop you from raising on your toes to close what little space there was between you.

You could sense his hesitation, the silent question of what was enough and what was too much. A small hum bubbled in your throat as you pushed your hands up his chest, nails scraping up his neck and into his hair. You could feel the shiver ripple throughout his body and his teeth came out to bite down on your bottom lip.

It was your turn to laugh now and he licked into your mouth in return, turning it into a whimpering moan. You could feel his triumphant smirk against your lips and you reward it with a tug of his hair. His hips instantly buck against you which throws you off balance, but he catches you with his metal arm winding around your back and pins you against him. 

Your tongues slip and slide against one another, the taste of his sushi and beer choice mixes with your own. Your nails once again claw along his scalp and cause him to growl into your mouth. He surges forward with you in his grip and crowds you against your door, reluctantly breaking away for air, “We should say goodnight,” Bucky whispered against your kiss swollen lips.

“You can tell me good morning when you wake up next to me tomorrow,” you shoot back and roll your hips against his, causing both of you to react with a strained moan.

“Are you sure,” he asks, tucking a stray hair behind your ear.

“I’ve got a spare toothbrush with your name on it,” you nod. You watch him debate the issue with himself before placing one last chaste kiss on your lips before losing his grip just enough to let you open the door.

You two stumble in, Bucky pulling you back to him, his mouth kissing along your jaw as you try to lock up for the night. You barely got the deadbolt turned when his teeth sank into your sink causing you to cry out. He instantly licks at apologetically and turns his attention to getting you undressed instead.

When your sweater is pulled over your head, you push off Bucky’s jacket, both falling to the floor near the door. Shoes are next to go, sloppily kicked off near each other and once again you two are drawn back together, tongues dancing. Your fingers twist into the short brown locks and his hands snaked down to your ass. He lightly cups each cheek, using them to bring you as close as possible, and even though your bodies leave very little room for air to pass through you still try to move closer.

“Bed,” he breathes into your mouth. You give him a quick nod. With a happy groan, he squeezes you by your bottom, picking you up to carry you to your room, your legs instantly wrapping around his waist. 

Your small one bedroom apartment isn't anything special, but it is yours and it has the biggest, comfiest bed that you are in love with. Bucky easily guides you both there, not once breaking your kiss aside from grunting or growling from your teasing hair pulls or the rolls of your hips. 

He climbs onto the mattress with you still wrapped around his upper half, crawling up to the pile of pillows near the headboard where he eventually lays you down. His weight settles above you, and normally, you would welcome it’s warmth and comfort, but at that moment, you want it to be rough and needy. “Bucky,” you whine, this time the one to break the kiss.

Flushed cheeks and blown pupils, he looks down at you, boxing you in with his arms on either side of your head. “What is it, sweetheart?”

“You’re wearing too much,” you tell him as you try to pull off his shirt, it makes it up to his shoulders before it stops. His laugh shakes his entire body and yours, which makes you pout in return. 

“You’re wearing the same amount, doll,” he reminds you, looking down to see your breasts sway in your camisole. “Far, far too much, in my opinion.”

You roll your eyes and playfully slap at his chest, “Then do something about it.” He mutters something about impatience and sits on his knees between your parted thighs as he pulls his shirt over his head to toss it aside.

“Your turn,” he nods to your shirt while he works on the buckle of his belt. You hastily pull the top over your head and work on your slacks, wriggling out of them just as does his own. He sits back on his hunches and looks you over, laying spread out in a matching white lace bra and underwear set. Now at he’s down to his boxer briefs, you can see how big he his, how hard he is, and when his wandering eyes rest on your covered sex, you can see it twitch with anticipation. “Holy shit, you’re beautiful.”

You didn’t think your entire body could blush from embarrassment, but Bucky just proved you could. “That’s my line,” you return, taking in every inch of his exposed skin over hard muscle. Super serum or not, Bucky Barnes was a gorgeous specimen. When you two finally lock eyes once more, you both shiver. “Are you going to touch me?”

He lets out a shaky breath and reaches out to run a hand lightly over your damp panties, slick from your want for him. “I’m afraid I’ll never stop,” he replies honestly, instantly addicted to the needy whimpers you are giving him.

“I don’t think I would want you to,” you groan. “Please?” You feel his fingertips dance over the lace, tracing over the pattern and causing you to throb with need. “Bucky!”

“You need me, don’t you,” he asks, voice dropping to a low rumble that hits you right at your core and makes your toes curl. “You need my touch. Need me to satisfy that ache?” You nod desperately trying to sit up to pull him down on top of you, but he pins you down before you could rise. “Tell me,” he purrs.

“I need you,” you respond instantly. You’re rewarded with his fingers pushing the panties aside and begin to dance along the slick folds.

“You need what,” he goads. He finds your clit and rubs it once to draw a happy mew from you but stops much to your disappointment.

“I need you, Bucky. I need you to touch me, to kiss me,” you whine with a rock of your hips, trying to get him to move again, but he doesn’t. “I need you to taste me, to lick me, to fuck me.”

Smile on his kiss bruised lips, his thumb swirls around your bud and he sinks his middle finger into you with a groan. “You’re tight,” he hisses as he sinks knuckle-deep, “and dripping. Shit, you’re going to feel like heaven.”

You can’t focus on what he’s saying too much. The feel of his fingers pumping in and out of you feels good, feels right, but it’s not enough, even when he adds two or three. He works you open, your slick starting to run down his fingers, and he palms himself over his briefs.  “Bucky, please,” your voice cracks, “I need more.”

He nods, he has time to take you apart with just his fingers later, but it’s been so long since he’s been with someone like this, someone he’s felt like this with, he needs it as much as you do. When he removes his fingers from you, you whine at the loss but it cuts off into a gasp as you watch him lap and suck off your slick from his hand. Bucky freezes, eyes narrowing, and for a moment you’re wondering if you did something wrong. “What? What is it?”

“Trying to stop myself from eating you alive,” he says through clenched teeth, jaw visibly flexing with the effort. You blink up at him, confused, but he shakes his head and forces himself to remove his boxer briefs. “I’m having you for breakfast,” he decides.

“Uh huh,” you reply absently, your mouth watering as his cock bounces against his stomach when it’s free. It’s long, thick, and leaking, trying to hypnotize you and very much succeeding. 

“I’ll let you return the favor, sweetheart,” he laughs. His flesh hand spreads his pre-cum down his shaft and he pumps slowly while his metal hand pinches your chin between his forefinger and thumb. “Still with me?”

Blinking free of your daze, you stare at his lustful gaze and nod. He moves closer, hooks your legs over the bends of his elbows and runs the head of his cock along your folds. Your hole twitches desperately for him, “Such a pretty little pussy, so needy.” Your hands wrap around his wrists and grip at him tightly, hard enough to make him hiss. “You’ve been a good girl, I guess I can give you what you want.”

He pushes in agonizingly slow, the head of his cock sinking in what felt like centimeter by centimeter. You clench around him, trying to draw more of him in, but Bucky takes his time to bottom out. When he is finally fully seated in you, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, and apparently so did he. “Fuck,” you say simultaneously. 

Your legs are positioned around his waist and he once again frames your head with his forearms, which, in turn, pushes him further inside of you. “You feel so good, doll,” he whispers against the ‘o’ of your lips. “So warm, so tight, taking me so good.” Your hands find their way up his arms and into his hair. All it takes is one tug that has him growling, “And I’m going to ruin this pretty pussy so good that it’s going to feel me all week.” He rolls his hips back as slowly as he originally pushed in, “And I wanna hear you tell everyone who it belongs to while I do it.”

He snaps his hips forward driving you up the bed and further into the pillows, a cry getting caught in your throat from it. His pace is brutal, skin slaps against skin, and his mouth seeks out yours. The kiss is sloppy, but hungry, just as primal as his pistoning hips. You hold on to him the best you can as the bed rocks, headboard slamming against the wall. Your nails trail against his skin, egging him on and drawing sinful noises from love-swollen lips. 

His hips shift angles and eventually find that spot that makes you see stars. “Bucky,” you cry out breathlessly, uncurling your toes and removing your nails from his shoulder blades. He buries his face in your neck and marks you with his teeth and tongue as he relentlessly fucks towards your brink. “So… f-fuck- so close.”

“Cum for me then, sweetheart,” Bucky growls against your skin, snaking a hand between your bodies to work at your clit. “Show me how good I make you feel. Cum for me.” His thumb rubs over your bud once, twice and a white hot punch in your gut blossoms throughout your body as you let out a strangled cry of his name. 

You can feel yourself clamp around him, working him impossibly deeper, begging him to fall down into the abyss with you. And he does, hard. He chases his bliss with you, your name a mantra spilling from his lips as he spills inside of you. He doesn’t stop until you’ve both become too sensitive to handle anymore. He pulls out of you with a heavy sigh and falls next to you on the bed onto his stomach. 

“Holy shit,” you finally break the silence, “that was…”

“Yeah,” he agrees, his head turned to look at you with tired, blissful eyes. “Goddamn, yeah it was.”

You weakly reach around to search for his hand and eventually find it, he lances his fingers with yours. You don’t break eye contact when he leans over to share a few chaste kisses before collapsing again. “You’re fantastic, Bucky, and I want you to know that was the hottest sex I have had to date.”

His post orgasm bliss is shattered and replaced with a furrowed brow, “I sense a ‘but’ coming.”

“...but as hot as it is feeling you drip out of me, I need to shower,” you finish. You can see the relief wash over him and he nods in understanding. 

“I’ve got a good memory,” he yawns and taps at his head, “that image is stored right here.” You fight a blush and slide off of your bed to head to the bathroom when seconds later you hear him do the same. He shrugs at your questioning look, “No need to waste water, right?”

You laugh as you turn on the faucets only to be crowded against the wall and your mouth is covered with his once more. The water splashing against your bodies and the echoing sounds of your moans drown out the repeated calls to Bucky’s phone. Mission. Suit up. SW

Answer your damn phone. SW

It’s the green button. SW

Green button and slide right. SW

Dammit, if you blocked me again, I stg. SW

Man, what are you doing in Soho? Yes, I’m tracking you. OMW. SW

a/n: To be continued? 

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes tfatws #bucky tfatws #bucky barnes fatws #bucky fatws #Beautiful Hell bb fic

[pinkoptics]

Cherik ‘Fallen Angel’ Fic

Part 2 (of Chapter 1)

Find Part 1 (of Chapter 1) here.

Charles is an angel. He loves Erik. He saves Erik. God takes issue with that. Hilarity and adorableness (with a smidge of angst) ensues. In this part, protective!Erik makes an appearance at the hospital.

*

“I don’t know what his last name is!” Erik growled at the nurse, just barely managing to hold back the ‘fucks’ he wanted to pepper the sentence with. “I wasn’t exactly trying to get all of his info while he was bleeding to death on me.”

Erik released them in his mind— Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. She’s just doing her job. She’s just doing her job. Don’t strangle her with metal.

“I told you,” Erik gritted his teeth and repeated a variation of the same combination of sentences he had already uttered twice. “I was crossing the street. The car barrelled through the red light. He jumped in and saved my life. I tried to return the favour. His name is Charles. He’s cute. I promised to take him to dinner. That’s all I know and that’s as far as we got before he passed out.”

How was Charles? Was he okay?

It didn’t seem like he could be. It had looked like so much fucking blood. The utterly insane things the man had said (“You should know you’re beautiful. Before I leave this mortal realm, I want you to know that”). Those spectacularly bright blue eyes fading to a frightening dullness. Not that Erik knew anything about anything medical, but none of that had seemed promising. So, not only was this nurse annoying as all fuck, she was stonewalling him. They wouldn’t tell him a goddamned thing because he wasn’t Charles’ next of kin. No one, in fact, knew if he had any next of kin in New York because he didn’t have a wallet, ID or phone on him. This was why the nurse was presently grilling him for information he did. not. have. They hadn’t let him ride in the ambulance, so he’d taken a cab and prayed that the ambulance had made a hell of a lot better time than he had. The only reason they were talking to him at all was because he had been there, had a name, a first name, and that was it.

The swinging doors opened and a woman in scrubs emerged. Erik nearly lunged.

“Are you Erik?”

“Yes.”

“He’s asking for you. I don’t want to let you in at all, but I don’t think we’re going to be able to start anything beyond emergency treatment until he talks to you.”

Asking meant conscious. Living. Thank fuck. The relief was powerful and nearly knocked him on his ass. Later, when he wasn’t teeming with barely contained frustration, and desperately trying to ascertain just how okay Charles was or wasn’t, he might spare a moment to think about how unexpected it was to be so powerfully moved by a stranger (a cute stranger who’d saved his life, granted), but not now.

“How is he?”

“He lost some blood, will need stitches on his arm and he has a few fractured ribs, but he’s stable. He’s going to be fine. After he stops trying to get out of bed to talk to you, we might actually be able to treat those things with something other than bandages.”

If Erik had thought the first wave of relief was powerful, he was not prepared at all for the second.

She sighed deeply and gestured to the double doors from which she had emerged. “This way.”

He followed her a short way down the hall, nearly stepping on her heels each step of the way. She stopped so abruptly before they entered the room that Erik nearly ran straight into her back.

“I should warn you that he’s... well, you’ve both been through a trauma. The mind processes such things in all sorts of ways. If he doesn’t seem... ‘all there’ don’t be overly concerned. Play along, don’t distress him further.”

Charles certainly hadn’t been ‘all there’ at the scene of the accident. His bizarre last words kept spinning through Erik’s head at random intervals— you are so loved. On their own, they were strange enough, but the reverence of Charles’ tone had sunk the words into Erik’s bones like a telepath projecting the emotion behind what they were saying. He hadn’t heard the words, he’d felt the words. Even if Charles was a telepath, it didn’t make them make anymore sense. More forthcoming then... he nodded at the doctor.

“You’re here!” Charles beamed at him from his sitting position on the hospital bed, looking much happier than anyone had any right to be in his situation. “And, you look well. Are you well?”

Charles did too, relatively speaking. He was a little pale, a little bruised but nowhere close to as bad as Erik had expected. Though the car had clipped him as he’d tackled Erik out of the way, it seemed to have been a case of looking much worse than it was at the scene. Small miracles.

“I’m fine.” Fine enough, at any rate. Like Charles, he was understandably bruised, and it was probably going to hurt more in the morning, but his suit had taken the harder beating. Between contact with the pavement and Charles’ blood, there would be no saving it, not that that mattered in the slightest. “You’re the one who was bleeding out all over me. How are you?”

Erik was sitting at his bedside now, the doctor presumably hovering in the background for all Erik’s attention was on Charles. The man in question blinked, cocking his head slightly to the side and giving Erik’s question a more thorough consideration than Erik would have thought necessary.

“I really don’t know,” he finally answered. Charles stretched his injured arm out in front of him, now bandaged (if not stitched) and looked at it with a plainly perplexed expression. “I’ve never been hurt before you know. It’s curious... interesting, but I don’t at all recommend it.”

“You were hit by a car.” Erik couldn’t help but be amused. Perplexed Charles was endearing. “Not something that happens to a person every day.”

“Quite.” Charles conceded the point. He went from staring at his arm to deliberately poking his own rib cage, and subsequently wincing. “You’re all very fragile, you know. So much could kill you every single minute of your life and yet so many of you manage to survive until old age. How do you do it? I’ve only just arrived and I’ve already nearly died.”

He turned his focus from his ribs to Erik and genuinely looked as though he were waiting for a response. Erik opened his mouth and then closed it. Despite the doctor’s suggestion to ‘play along’ he didn’t have one. Erik decided to change course.

“The hospital needs your personal information— last name, address, insurance.”

“Oh, well, that’s easy enough. I don’t have a last name. Just Charles. Or an address for that matter. I feel it’s unlikely my former profession came with any benefits.” Charles suddenly laughed. “That’s not true. It absolutely had many benefits, but certainly not State Farm. Besides, I’m no longer working for Him.”

The emphasis on the last word was... odd. Was Erik supposed to know who he was?

“I was... goodness. I was fired I suppose. Fired. That means I’m—I’m unemployed. For the first time in a millennia, I’m... on the pogey!” He laughed a little harder, the edge of hysteria he’d had at the scene worming its way back in. “Wait, no, you don’t say that anymore, do you?”

Pogey?

“Oh you look so confused. I apologize. It’s a Canadian phrase come to think. Or it used to be, a century ago.”

Shit.

Had Charles hit his head? Was this some kind of bizarre amnesia? The doctor hadn’t mentioned either possibility but... Erik side-stepped again.“How about family? Is there someone I can call and let them know you’re here? Maybe they can provide your information?”

The shift in Charles’ expression and demeanour was so abrupt and dramatic that Erik’s gut clenched. The stunning blue eyes that had stared up at him with such naked concern and relief, took on an unmistakable sheen. The wetness made them impossibly bluer, an unnatural colour that was as striking as it was otherworldly. The tears did not fall, yet Erik somehow knew that Charles would cry beautifully if they did. Erik somehow also knew what the response was going to be before he uttered it.

“No. There is no one. Not anymore.”

Erik surprised himself by doing something he would normally never do, under any circumstance, even with someone he knew well, let alone someone he had just met. He reached out and took Charles’ hand, squeezing it gently. His was a pain Erik was all too familiar with.

“It’s all right. We’ll... we’ll figure this out. You’re Charles. You saved my life. You have me. That’s all we need to know right now. Don’t worry about the insurance or anything else.”

Charles stopped staring out into the middle-distance and focused on Erik. “Truly, you don’t owe me anything.”

Erik snorted. “The hell I don’t. Besides, we’ve got to get you healed up. I can’t take you to the diner in this state. We’ve got date, remember? So there you are. Here you think I’m indebted, but really my reasons are purely selfish. You’re hot and I want to date you. Humour me.”

The wetness retreated and that red mouth quirked up into a small smile.

“As long as you’re being self-centred.”

“Oh, trust me, I am.”

Somewhere behind them, someone cleared their throat. Erik turned. Oh, right, the doctor. “As much as I would love to watch the two of you keep flirting, we need to take care of those injuries.”

She was right, so Erik reluctantly stood and even more reluctantly released Charles’ hand.

“I’ll be back later, so stop trying to leave and let them take care of you, all right?”

Charles nodded. “If you insist.”

“I do.”

Erik forced himself to turn and exit the room. Only after he’d left it, did he truly exhale. Charles was okay. Charles was okay. Charles was flirting even... well, possibly. They were still on for that date. Erik took a few much needed breaths and strode more determinedly, and much less frantically, back toward the nurses’ desk. He would take care of this.

He would take care of Charles.

*

Thanks for reading 😊. I really hope inspiration continues to strike because I’ve had a lot of fun with this thus far.

On to chapter 2 part 1

#cherik #cherik fan fic #cherik fanfic #charles xavier #erik lehnsherr #pinkoptics fic #fallen angel fic

[bopbopstyles]

ROSE COLORED GLASSES: PART ONE

SERIES RATING: R (cursing, smoking, alcohol use, violence, PTSD, and sex)

WORD COUNT: 19.5k (long boi)

CATEGORIES: boxer!Harry, gang/mob!Harry, 1920s!Harry, Peaky Blinders!Harry (?)

As the daughter of the most powerful man in Birmingham, there were expectations of Cicely King: an advantageous marriage to save her father’s business, for one. But Cicely had never been one to follow orders. So when she woke up after an accident in the home of Harry Styles, the illusive boxer, she took it as an opportunity to escape her life. What she didn’t intend on was falling in love with him.

MASTERLIST | INSPO TAG | PART TWO

a/n: IT’S HERE!!!! Cicely and Harry dropped into my head and have lived in there rent free ever since. strap yourselves in for a ride, my friends! this story is hugely inspired by Peaky Blinders, and i willingly admit that characters and elements of the story resemble parts of PB, including Cicely’s appearance (Grace).��thank you @hsogolden for making this beautiful banner,  and thank you to @bfharry @harrysclementines​ @stellarboystyles and @havethetimeofyourstyles for beta reading this, ilysm!

historical notes: i’ve got a couple of things to alert the public of for this story. 1. this story is set in Balsall Heath, Birmingham, UK in 1920 or so, and i did as much research as possible on the area, but it is by no means all accurate. imagery and descriptions of the neighborhood are largely my own. 2. Church Hulme was the name of Holmes Chapel until 1974, so it is used in this story. 3. The Magnificent Ambersons is an actual book that was a bestseller in 1918. you can read it here. 

without further adieu, here is part one of ROSE COLORED GLASSES - come talk to me about it in my asks! pls reblog and share with your friends 💕✨

The cool spring air swept around Cicely like a cloud, the hem of her skirt ruffling in the wind. She was miles from home, the landscape around her having turned to just rolling hills of green, just the way she liked it. Here, she could finally breathe. At home, all she could smell was fear and secrets, while here, out in the open, she was anyone and everyone. It was just her and Joseph, her beloved horse, on the empty road.

Father had told her it was going to rain when Cicely pushed her way out of the house, stomping away from him in anger at the news he had given to her, but she hadn’t given it a second thought. She loved rain, loved being caught in it and getting drenched, not minding the weight of the water on her skin. If anything, it made her finally feel something, even if it was cold. In hindsight, she probably should’ve thought twice about going out so far in the rain, Joseph being a bit skittish as he got older, but now here she was, having ridden over halfway between her estate and the city, and she could feel the droplets falling onto her blond coiffed hair that her maid, Polly, had done this morning.

She sighed and looked up at the sky—it was grey and angry, the wind swirling around her. It was going to be a downpour, she suspected. Joseph stopped when she pulled on the reins, and she considered whether she should turn for home or find somewhere to ride out the storm. It seemed to be coming soon, after all. She glanced around and there was just open space of hills and trees, but none large enough to provide any sort of suitable protection. Plus, she was closer to the city than home, anyways, so maybe it was better to just keep on going the direction she was heading. She could stay with friends in town if need be.

So she dug in her heels and Joseph continued, her urging him to go faster as the rain began to come down harder around her. It was like a curtain, the combination of the rain and the dark skies making it hard to see very far in front of her. The water licked down her face, and her chiffon blouse was sticking to her skin, the one her maid had made her promise not to get dirty, as it had just been mended for the second time. But she could make no promises—it was her favorite one, after all. And now, it would most definitely be ruined as dirt road beneath her turned to mud and it splattered Joseph and her clothes. She held fast though, wishing now more than ever that her father let her wear the new fashionable pants to let her ride more easily because side saddle was simply not cutting it at the speeds she was urging Joseph to achieve.

All of a sudden, a crack rang through the clouds, bolts of lightening littering the path far ahead. But the sound was enough for her to tense and Joseph to whinny, his front legs leaving the ground, her hold on the reins slipping as she was thrown from the saddle.

The last thing she remembered was the sight of Joseph taking off into the rain, saddle empty and reins flying around his body.

Harry could barely see in the storm, the downpour causing sheets of rain to fall on the windshield, his vision completely obscured. So he inched along as slowly as he could without endangering his ability to drive—or the car, since it was a gift from Josiah—and kept the headlights on full blast. He was exhausted after a weekend of fights in the town over, ones that left his body aching in ways he preferred to ignore. But he had a pocket full of earnings and he knew Josiah would be happy with that, so he paid it no mind.

He was running through the fights, thinking about the missteps and wrong moves he had made, spots for improvements, when he saw a girl lying down on her back in the mud a few feet in front of the car. He slammed on the brakes immediately. What the fuck was a girl doing out in a storm like this? When she didn’t move as he sat in the car, surveying the scene, he couldn’t help but wonder if she was dead. It wouldn’t be the first time someone had been killed on a road, left there to be found by the next car.

Slowly, he pulled himself out of the car, lifting his hand to shield the rain from his face. “Miss?” He called into the storm, eyes drifting over her body. She looked well to-do—her blouse seemed to be some type of lace material that the girls he knew were always fawning over, skirts bright and recently washed. What was she doing out here, alone and in the mud? And how had she gotten there?

He took a few paces closer to her, and she didn’t make a move when he brushed the hair away from her face. Hesitantly, he leaned down, an ear to her mouth to see if she was breathing—which she was, to his relief. She must be unconscious, although he could only begin to imagine how she had gotten that way. But Harry wasn’t the type to leave a young woman in need, alone on a dirt road in the middle of a storm. So he bent down, slid his aching arms under her body, and lifted her from the mud, cradling her against his chest as he walked back to the car.

She fit perfectly on his back seat when he tucked her knees in closer to her chest, blond hair draped over the seat. He grabbed his coat from the passenger side and draped it over her body, her skin cold to the touch from the rain. The thought crossed his mind of where he should take her—the police, perhaps? Or maybe a hospital? But Harry hated both of those establishments after years with Josiah. Plus, if she needed any protection, in town it was best if it came from Josiah anyway. The police were useless, a bunch of pompous assholes too big for their britches, Harry thought. And a hospital, Harry believed, was where people went to die not where they went to be healed. So he decided to take her to his flat, despite the fact that the prospect went against most principles he was raised on.

Although, everything Harry did went against his childhood principles.

When she opened her eyes, the first thing she saw was green peeling wallpaper. It wasn’t a wallpaper she recognized, and as she came to, looking around the room, she realized this was definitely not a place she had been before. Her heart seized as she inspected her surroundings. She was in a wire-frame double bed, a red duvet cover pulled around her shoulders, a soft light coming in the heavy curtains against a small window in the middle of the room. Clothes littered the floor—men’s clothes, from what she could tell—and a rug sat in the middle of the room amidst the chaos. An ashtray and the butts of cigarettes laid on the bedside table next to her, as well as a glass of water. Maybe it was a stupid choice, but her throat was raw and so she took the glass, gulping down the water without a second thought.

Faintly, she could hear the sound of a whistle. Tea, she realized. Someone was making tea.

Which meant she was not alone.

Her hands dove under the covers, inspecting the clothes on her body. Everything was still intact, her green skirt and the lace blouse she had put on,  every button done up exactly as she had left it. She didn’t have her shoes on, but on closer inspection, they laid on the ground next to the bed, but her stockings were still clipped to her garter at least. A sigh left her mouth at the prospect of some semblance of safety in this foreign place.

She tried to remember what had happened last—she had been riding through a storm after a fight with her father. Then, there was a bolt of lightning, she thought to herself, piecing together the memories in her fuzzy brain, and then remembered Joseph bucking her from the saddle. She couldn’t keep herself on, so she let go, knowing that was better than being dragged along. The last thing she remembered was Joseph riding away, her lying in what she believed to be mud.

Which would explain the brown marks all over her clothes.

Polly was going to kill her for the stains.

The whistle she had heard earlier suddenly stopped, and she heard the thud of something. Then, a soft hum of a song she recognized from the gramophone her father had in the sitting room. After a few beats, she heard the sound of footsteps on the wood floors, the creak of the footsteps growing closer and closer. Someone was coming. She was going to finally discover who had picked her up off of the road and where she was—hopefully it was some nice old lady and she was in their son’s room.

But instead, a boy about her age stopped in the doorway, a cup of tea in his hand, wide eyes at the sight of her sitting up in bed. His brown hair was tousled in soft curls across his forehead, and just trousers, a shirt, and suspenders adorned his body, his feet bare. His shirt sleeves were pushed up and she could see tattoos on his arms, something she had never seen in person before, just in photographs and magazines.

He was, she thought to herself as he stood there in shock, quite handsome.

“You’re awake,” he finally said, voice croaking in his throat. “I—uh, sorry, would you like a cuppa?”

Cicely considered the question for only a beat before nodding. He seemed nice enough, judging solely from his embarrassed reaction to the croaky sound of his voice. The boy disappeared and she waited patiently in the bed, flexing her toes to bring some feeling back into her limbs. She wondered how much time had passed—it seemed to be daylight out, so maybe not much time at all.

The boy returned, a second tea cup balanced in his other hand, his face more serious and put together than before. “Here you are,” he said, making his way over to her, his presence instantly changing the feeling of the room. Before, it was small, but not too small. Now, with his large frame and dark eyes, it seemed as if all the oxygen had been sucked out of the space.

“Thank you,” she replied, accepting the cup with cold hands. It was chilly in the room, probably from the draft coming in from the windows and her skirt which was still a bit damp in spots. The tea, though, was delicious on her tongue, plain, just how she liked it.

The boy grabbed a chair from the corner of the room and pulled it over to the edge of the bed before sitting down, eyes darting between the tea cup and her face. “I’m Harry, by the way.”

“Cicely.” She took another sip of the tea before resting it on her lap. “Is this your flat?”

“Yes,” Harry said, eyes glancing around the room. “My room too—sorry about that. It’s just me here, so I didn’t have anywhere else to put ya.”

So no wife or family then, Cicely thought, filing the information away for later. It was interesting, a boy of his age living alone. He must have moved away from home and made decent enough wages to get a place of his own, she decided, eyes fluttering around the room to see if she could pick up on any other clues about him. But she couldn’t find anything. “How did I get here?” She asked after leaving them in silence for a few moments, the curiosity getting the better of her.

Harry placed his teacup on the nightstand as he spoke, eyes avoiding hers. “Found ya in the road in the rain. Cold as ice and unconscious, all covered in mud. Didn’t want to leave ya out there, so I brought you here—thought I could take you home once you came to and all that. Call your husband.” He added the last sentence as an afterthought, and Cicely couldn’t help but smile internally at the thought of him thinking she was married.

Which she wasn’t. At least, not yet. And not for a while, if she had any choice in the matter. “No husband,” she informed him, thumbs brushing over the duvet. “How long have I been out for?”

He pulled his lip into his mouth and Cicely didn’t know if she had ever seen something so enticing. “Almost a day.”

A day? God, her father would have her head. He probably thought she was dead after she didn’t come home. Although it wouldn’t be the first time she had let him think that, her flair for escaping after an argument a reoccurring personality trait that her father despised. Which of course, was exactly why she did it. “I hope I wasn’t a bother,” she said, tucking her hair behind her ear.

Harry shook his head, and Cicely studied his face, the sharp angle of his jaw, the high rise of his cheekbones. He had a bit of scruff around his lips, which looked soft and pink and she tried not to think about what they would feel like. Cicely didn’t usually pay men all that much mind—sure she noticed them, but did she study every feature on their faces like she did Harry? No. She was intrigued by him, the rings on his fingers and the tattoos on his arms, the way he licked across his bottom lip. And perhaps that was why Cicely made no mention of needing to go, or that she should call her family.

“Are ya hungry?” Harry asked, pulling her out of her thoughts.

At the concept of food, suddenly her stomach grumbled and she blushed, embarrassed at the sound, but Harry didn’t even react to it. “Yes, actually.”

He stood immediately, wiping his palms on his trousers as he did so. “I don’t have much here,” he said, taking their empty tea cups with him as she walked towards the door. “But I’ll put something together.” She watched him, unsure if he wanted her to follow. She was a bit curious as to what the rest of the flat looked like, she had to admit. “Ya comin’?”

Cicely scrambled to follow him, her stocking-clad feet nestling into the rug by his bed. Her skirt was crinkled from sleep and she straightened it as much as possible before sighing and exiting the room and into the hall. When he turned down a set of stairs, she realized that what she thought to be a flat was actually a little townhouse. When she reached the base of the stairs, she found that the rest of the home wasn’t much—dimly lit, only one other window in what seemed to be a small sitting room and a kitchen. A table was pushed to the side, two chairs tucked into it, a plate with crumbs on it sat on one side. The green wallpaper from the bedroom covered all of the walls of the home, and when she looked around, she saw a noticeable absence of most personal effects. He had only one photo up on the side table next to the couch, of what Cicely assumed was his family. Next to it laid another ashtray, a pack of cigarettes, an empty whiskey glass.

At the sound of a plate on the counter she turned to see Harry placing a slice of bread on a plate and tenderly spreading jam across it. Cicely tried to imagine her father even entering a kitchen and she had trouble with the idea, while here was Harry making her a slice of toast. The thought was actually quite endearing, despite the fact that Harry had not once smiled at her.

“Thank you,” she said when he set the plate down on the table, grabbing the dirty one and taking it to the washbasin in the corner. Harry didn’t reply, so she took a bite. The jam wasn’t quite as good as what she was used to and the bread was a tad bit stale, but it was food all the same, and she didn’t mind all that much. As she ate, she watched Harry wash the plate, dry it with a dishrag, and place it back in a cabinet that held a few dishes.

He turned around when he was done, eyes trained on her with an intensity she was beginning to grow accustomed to from him. “I have work in a bit. Can I drop you someplace before that?”

Should he? Yes. Did she want him to? Not in the slightest. She pushed away the plate, and tried to figure out how to say this. “Would it be a bother if I stayed?”

Harry blinked at her a few times, his face finally changing from the usual intense stare that he gave her to one that was more curious in nature. “Is home not safe for ya?”

Cicely tried to decide whether or not she should lie to him. He seemed kind, generous, probably understanding, despite his inability to speak to her for very long periods of time without stretches of silence. Maybe he would understand that her desire not to go home wasn’t because home wasn’t safe, but because the life that was waiting for her was one she despised. So, she decided not to lie, but not to tell all of the truth. “No, it is. I’m just not eager to go back right now.”

“Oh.” Harry twisted a large gold H ring around one of his fingers, contemplating her words, before looking back up at her. “If ya want to stay, ya can. Know what it’s like to wanna hide for a bit.” Before she could request more information, he came towards her, snatching the plate and taking it back to the sink. He seemed to be awfully set on a clean kitchen, despite the messy state of his room. “You’ll have to come with me tonight, then.” He still had his back to her, so she couldn’t study his face as he said the words that piqued her interest.

Most girls would have probably requested to stay home, but Cicely wasn’t most girls. “Ok,” she replied, pushing back the chair. “Could I—uh—wash up somewhere?” The prospect of a bath sounded utterly delectable, although on second thought, she didn’t expect him to have a bath quite like the one she had at home.

Harry whirled around, eyes looking everywhere but her. “Yes. Um, there’s a basin in the washroom. Don’t have the water for a full bath right now, but…”

Cicely realized what he was so flustered about—he was embarrassed. Perhaps he had realized that her social station was a bit higher than his, that in her home they didn’t have to go fetch water somewhere, that she could have a bath relatively whenever she liked. And when she did it, someone else filled it for her. “That’s fine. I’ll manage.” She stood and made her way towards the washroom, following his directions, and shut herself inside. It was dark in there too—far less than she was used to. A silver bathtub was on one wall, and a smaller basin on a pedestal, a toilet in the corner. It was simple, bare bones, but she didn’t mind too much. Her father had put in running water when she was an infant, so she had never washed without it, but she decided it wasn’t too much of a change.

Quickly, she undressed, making sure the door was locked, and hung her clothing over the lip of the bath so it didn’t touch the floor. She took a rag and dipped it into the water, exhaling softly at the feeling of the cool water on her skin. There was some mud on her skin from when she had fallen, although she thought that perhaps Harry had washed some of it off—there wasn’t quite as much as she thought. A small mirror allowed her to wash the crust of mud from her forehead, and by the end of her washing she felt rejuvenated, even if it wasn’t a proper bath. Slowly, she slipped back on her clothes and considered for a moment the idea that she might need to purchase some more. Her clothes were stained from the mud, and she imagined she wouldn’t quite be able to get it out.

Although it would’ve been convenient, she didn’t imagine Harry had extra ladies clothes lying around for just this purpose.

She ruffled her hair slightly, the curls unfortunately having dropped for the most part, and sighed before letting herself out of the washroom. “Harry?” Cicely asked, turning the corner into the kitchen, where he stood, holding a glass of what she thought was a whiskey, a cigarette between his lips. “You wouldn’t happen to have a set of ladies’ clothes lying about, would you?”

Harry furrowed his brow before taking the cigarette from between his lips. “No—why?”

Cicely gestured at her stained clothes. “Mine are a bit dirty, and I wouldn’t want to wear them to your place of work like this.”

The chuckle that left Harry’s lips surprised Cicely in more ways than one. One, that he was laughing at all, for she didn’t find it to be a laughing matter. She didn’t want to make a bad impression to whoever his employer was, especially if she was going to have to be there. Second, his laugh was sweet, syrupy, one that rocked his shoulders, and made her heart flutter in a way she wasn’t used to. “You wouldn’t want to wear your Sunday best to my place of work, love,” he told her, tapping his cigarette in an ashtray on the table. “You’re fine the way ya are, but we can track down some clothes for ya tomorrow.”

Where would he work where her appearance would be adequate? But rather than question him, she just nodded. “Well, I’m ready,” she told him.

“Gimme a mo’,” he told her, tucking his cigarette back between his lips before heading out of the room. Cicely decided to check out the sitting room a bit more, investigate the people in the sole photograph in the whole home. She picked up the photograph and studied it, a man, woman, and young woman, probably a few years older than Harry, stood outside of a family home, a younger Harry nestled between them. It was curious to see him younger, his face less defined, an obvious softness to his facial features. But what stuck out to her the most was the uniform he wore.

He had been in the war. Of course. Her father had avoided it because of a years old injury to his leg, although she had secretly always throught he had gotten his doctor to make it seem more severe than it actually was. Many of the men her parents had set her up with, including the horrid one they were currently trying to force her to marry, were in the war, but when she asked them about it, they only talked about their medals, heroism, the beauty of France’s countryside. But she also knew most of them had been officers, their social ranks earning them a certain level of protection, and she couldn’t help but wonder what it had been like for Harry who had none of those privileges.

Footsteps came from behind her and she turned, dropping the photograph back to the table when she saw Harry in the hall watching her. He had changed while she was looking at the photo, a charcoal jacket over his shirt, a pin with a J on it buttoned to the lapel that she thought was a bit curious. He had a bag over his shoulder, and she wondered what was inside. “You were in the war,” she said, not acknowledging his appearance.

“Just like everyone else,” he replied, his response a stark departure from how the men she knew would’ve replied. “Come on, we’re goin’ to be late.” She followed him out, wishing she had a hat or a small purse with her at the very least, but she had nothing but her dirty clothes and scuffed boots.

When they stepped onto the street, the sight of a wide and long street, row houses lining each side met her gaze. They were in working class Birmingham, she thought to herself as Harry locked the door behind him. Most men would’ve made to put their arm through hers, but not Harry—he just began walking, letting her catch up to him, struggling to keep pace with his longer legs. His bag swung at his side as they walked, and Cicely took in their surroundings, the silence stretching between them. It was dusk and women were calling their children inside, the games of football on the street breaking up. Two young children squabbled until their mothers separated them, tugging their little hands inside. Doors shut behind them and Cicely snuck a glance at Harry. His eyes were trained on the ground in front of him, most likely adjusted to their surroundings.

He didn’t want to talk, she understood from his body language, and she decided in a choice completely against her normal mannerisms, not to push him.

Cicely didn’t know what she expected from Harry’s place of work, but it was definitely not a boxing ring in an empty warehouse. She could hear the shouts and laughter of men from outside, and she had looked at Harry with confusion written all over her face when they approached the warehouse, but she followed him inside anyways. The smell of stale beer and sweat overwhelmed her immediately, and she had to squint in the darkness of the entryway. The ring had some lights rigged up around it, some chairs around it, but it was by no means someplace fancy.

So this was what Harry had meant by her not wanting to wear her Sunday best.

“You work…here?” She asked, turning to Harry, who stood beside her, watching her take in the surroundings. He nodded, offering no additional information. “And you box?” Another nod. “Is this legal?”

That’s when he gave another one of his chuckles, and then under his breath he said, “Doesn’t need to be, love. Josiah McClemmons runs it.”

Cicely may not live in Birmingham proper, but that didn’t mean she didn’t know who Josiah McClemmons was. Everyone did. He basically ruled Birmingham, especially the working class neighborhoods, having built up his stronghold there. Her father complained about him at least once a week, about the violence and bloodshed in the city where his garment factories were. Although, Cicely had always thought to herself, her father probably shouldn’t complain too much because a dead husband meant a wife who had to work to feed her children, which meant a larger workforce for her father.

From the way Harry was greeted, Cicely assumed he was the reigning champion, the usual fighter here. Which meant that he was probably McClemmons’s payroll, if she had to extrapolate. “Do you work for McClemmons?” She asked when the few men who had come up to them walked away.

Harry adjusted the bag over his shoulder, and then nodded. “Could say that.” His eyes darted around the establishment, taking in the sight, before resting back on her. “C’mon, I’ve got to get changed and don’t want ya waitin’ out here.” He ushered her over to a man standing against a wall who wore a J pin on his lapel like Harry, which she now realized stood for Josiah’s name, a brand of who they worked for. “Tommy,” he said, the man’s gaze turning and settling on them. “This is Cicely. Keep an eye on her while I change?”

Tommy stood up straight immediately and when he took her hand in his and pressed a kiss to it, Cicely couldn’t help but smile. “Pleasure to meet such a beautiful lady,” Tommy said to her, a wink gracing across his face.

When she turned to speak to Harry, he was already gone, a few paces away towards a door. “Is he good?” She asked Tommy, turning back to her new acquaintance.

Tommy’s eyes widened. “The best,” he informed her before taking a sip from a mug of what she assumed was beer. “You’re in for a treat if you’ve never seen ‘im fight ‘fore.”

Cicely agreed, the prospect of a sweaty Harry in the ring a bit more enticing than she perhaps wanted to admit. She was able to get some information on Harry out of Tommy, the combination of a pretty girl and a mug of beer not a combination meant for secrecy. He fought with Josiah McClemmons’s youngest brother in the war, the experience making them nearly brothers, and came back to Birmingham with them. No one knew where Harry was from, but people had a number of guesses, everything from London to Liverpool. Apparently before the war he had been learning to fight, and the war sharpened his skills, so when they came back it seemed natural that Josiah would use the rings as a way to make money, using Harry as his prized fighter.

She couldn’t help but think it made Harry sound a bit like the Spanish bulls she had learned about in a magazine, a caged animal. But Tommy assured her Harry loved it when she asked, so she tried to put her mind at ease.

“Who is he fighting?” She asked Tommy after refusing his offer for a beer of her own.

“Peters—a local bloke,” Tommy replied. “Harry’s expected to win.”

Cicely gathered as much from the grumblings of his name that she could hear when the betting started, money flying in the air. It was fascinating to her, and she thought that she also fascinated the men—she was the only woman in the room and she tried not to squirm against the wall she leaned against.

But then, she heard a cry go up, and Harry’s opponent came out of a door, trailed by two men. “He’s massive,” she told Tommy as she watched the man walk to the ring.

Tommy grunted in response. “Harry’s fast, though.”

She hoped he was fast enough. Peters crested the ring, pushing himself between the ropes. One of his men handed him some gloves and Cicely watched as he pulled them on, his massive chest glistening under the gas lighting.

All of a sudden, a louder cry sounded, whoops and hollers of Harry’s name, and her gaze flickered to the door she had last seen him go into. There he was, walking towards the ring, a determined look set on his face. Tattoos littered his body and Cicely realized the few she had seen were a mere teasing of the real deal. And seeing Harry without a shirt on, his broad shoulders and narrow waist, tanned skin in the light, she couldn’t help but think he was even more attractive than she had thought.

A man helped Harry into the ring, and when he stood up, she caught sight of tape covering where his nipples should be. What in the world? She turned to Tommy and pointed at Harry. “What is the tape for?”

Tommy guffawed immediately, beer sloshing in his mug. “He’s got ‘em pierced.”

“What?”

She expected Tommy to tell her he was joking, but instead he nodded. “Got ‘em done durin’ the war, apparently. Some dare from his mates. Now he’s gotta have ‘em taped up or they’ll get ripped out.”

Cicely truly didn’t have the words for a response to that. She turned back to the ring, eyes set on the two pieces of tape over each of his nipples, entranced by the idea of them being pierced. She had heard rumors from her friends of ladies getting them done, but men? Why on earth would they want them done? She had never understood it on women, but the prospect of them on men completely confounded her imagination. Although, her best friend had told her it made them more sensitive, so perhaps that worked on men as well.

The thought was tantalizing at the very least.

“Sure ya don’t want a beer, love?” Tommy asked.

She had grown to quite like his company. He was a bit crude, but for some reason she liked that he didn’t treat her like she was made of glass like most of the men she knew. Her gaze darted between Harry, standing in the ring, and Tommy’s mug. “You know what? Sure.”

Tommy beamed. He was overjoyed at the idea, and Cicely was as well. She had never actually had beer before, just sips of champagne and wine here and there when she snuck it from her parents or during parties. But nothing as normal as beer—she didn’t even think her father drank it, to be honest. Perhaps that was why the idea was so exciting to her. Tommy left her on her own for a few minutes and she tried not to let the stares that still lingered on her bother her. Instead, she watched Harry, listened to the announcer, some chap in a jacket and askew flat cap, read out their names and weights. The part about Harry being the reigning champion stuck with her.

Cicely had never seen a boxing match before. Sure, she had heard of them, but actually been to one in person? Never. And much less one that was definitely illegal and held in a warehouse, a bunch of drunk men betting and still in their work uniforms. It made her heart race and she liked the feeling—usually she just got it when she rode Joseph, who she hoped had gone home to her estate.

“Here ya are.” Tommy had reappeared, a full mug of beer in his other hand for her. “Got ya somethin’ my sister likes.”

Cicely took the mug. It was heavy, heavier than she was expecting. Would she even be able to drink it all? She stared at the murky brown liquid, the foam on top, and then up at Tommy who she could tell was stifling a laugh. Fuck it, she thought. And took a long sip. It wasn’t as bad as she expected. Sour, sure, but it was also refreshing. A bit heavy, and considering she had only eaten some toast today, that wasn’t a negative thing. “It’s not bad,” she told Tommy, who gave her a grin in response.

She was about to say something else when she heard a bell sound—she had been so focused she had missed the start of the match. Whirling around, the first thing she saw was Peters’ arm fly through the air. The breath knocked from her chest at the possibility of Harry getting hit, but to her pleasant surprise he ducked it completely, feet helping him to move away from his attacker. The crowd cheered and Cicely took another sip, the action of having the drink in her hand helping calm her nerves as she watched Harry dance around Peters, ducking at every punch. She could see the frustration in Peters’ eyes, and the focus in Harry’s eyes making her scream out his name along with the men in the room.

She could feel Tommy’s eyes on her as she did it. She didn’t even need to look at him to know that surprise was written all over his face. If Cicely was going to be at a boxing match for the first time in her life, drinking her first beer, she was going to enjoy it. And watching Harry take a swing—and make contact—at Peters was exactly the excuse she needed to scream his name again.

The match passed quickly, and by the end of it Cicely had reached the end of her beer and her and Tommy were laughing at the fear in Peters’ eyes as Harry’s punches landed. He was winning by a long shot, and she had to admit, she was proud. During the whole match she had barely been able to take her eyes off of him, gaze trained on the sweat dripping down his cut body, his broad shoulders and tattooed skin glistening. His hair was stuck to his forehead and neck with sweat, and for some reason she had the innate desire to twirl it off of his forehead and see what he did.

She also desperately wanted to see his nipples without the tape.

Desperately.

He was beautiful in the ring, his steps almost like choreography she had learned as a child to all of the dances she had to know for parties. Except Harry looked like a natural up there, his body moving before Peters made the move, as if he could read his opponent’s mind, his reflexes faster than anything she had ever seen before. She had a million questions for him the minute he stepped out of the ring, but the first thing she wanted to was clean the blood off of his body—blood which was a mixture of Harry’s and Peters’.

The end of the match happened so quickly that Cicely barely caught it. One minute, Harry was boxed into a corner, his arms up to protect his face, and the next, he was throwing a powerful punch to Peters’ face, the sound of bone crunching at Peters hit the ground so loud she could hear it over the men yelling in the ring. The announcer counted and she watched Harry’s chest rise and fall, his breathing ragged. Everyone else was staring at Peters, but her eyes were glued on Harry. And then, his lifted to her, their sight lines catching from across the room, and she could’ve sworn she saw him smile at her.

As much as she wanted to rush to the side of the ring as many people did, she waited where she was. She knew Harry would come find her eventually, since she was sleeping in his home, as weird as that sounded in her brain. So she turned to Tommy while she waited, her bones feeling light in her body. “He’s good,” she said, her words slightly slurring. Huh. That was weird.

“Told ya!” Tommy replied, taking her mug from her. “Forgot to ask you, love, how do you know our fighter?”

Her eyes trailed across the room to Harry, who she noticed was making his way towards them, a towel draped around his neck. “He saved me,” she said, watching his body flex as he moved. And her words were true, but in that moment she didn’t know quite how true they were. Only later, would she look back on the moment she met Harry and consider how he had changed her life by picking her lifeless body up on that dirt road in the middle of a storm.

Harry had fought the desire to look at Cecily throughout the match, and now that he was done he couldn’t stop. She looked so relaxed, leaned against the wall with Tommy laughing, her blond hair messy and her eyes bright. It was if his feet were carrying him towards her without a second thought, weaving through the crowd of sweaty drunk men in pursuit of the girl made of light. The closer he got, though, the more he noticed how she stumbled on her feet, how rosy her cheeks were, how loud she laughed.

Fuck.

Tommy had gone and gotten her drunk. Tommy might have been Harry’s friend, but that didn’t make him the smartest bloke in a room.

As he reached them, she took an uneasy step and Harry was there immediately. His hands fit around Cicely’s waist like it was the place he belonged, the lingering smell of perfume in his nostrils before he could clear the fog of his mind. “Ya okay, love?” The words slipped from his mouth, the pet name he had never called a single woman before just finding his way into his speech, as if his brain knew that she was special. He sure thought so.

Cicely turned her head, her gaze catching his and a smile broke across her face. “Harry! You were incredible!”

“Thank you,” he replied, gingerly removing his hands despite the fact that all he wanted was to hold onto her hips for the rest of time. “Tommy, did you give her beer?”

“He did,” Cicely answered instead, a hiccup escaping her mouth. She rushed to cover her lips, a blush creeping across her cheeks at the sound. “It was quite tasty.”

“I’ll bet,” Harry said, giving Tommy a hard look that Tommy only shrugged at. “I’ve got to change and get you home,” he told her, processing the situation here. Although he trusted Tommy with his life, in this moment he didn’t trust him not to give Cicely more beer.

Before he could say anything though, Cicely was speaking, her fingers brushing across his arm. The feeling sent sparks up his spine, delicate compared the touches he was used to, the ones he had just experienced. Her fingers weren’t callused, but soft, as if she hadn’t seen a day of work in her life. Which she probably hadn’t. “Can I come with you?” She asked, eyes on his, a slight pout on her lips that drew his gaze in no matter how hard he tried to avoid it.

“While I change?”

She nodded. “I’ve got some questions about the match that I want to ask you.”

Harry glanced at Tommy who he could tell was barely holding back a laugh, a grin on his face that told Harry he would never hear the end of this exchange. “Fine,” Harry told her, the word coming out gruff. “Tommy, I’ll see you later.”

Cicely slipped her fingers around Harry’s wrist as he stepped away, and he tried to resist the immediate urge that came over him to rip them off, the touch something he hadn’t experienced in ages. The feeling of a woman’s hands on him was one of the things he had not indulged in when he came back from France, preferring drink and alcohol to drown the memories in. The prospect of one of them experiencing him at night, while he slept, was enough to make him frightened enough to avoid the concept.

So when Cicely touched Harry, even in the simplest of ways, it stirred something in him that he hadn’t felt in a very, very long time. Something that he hadn’t experienced since before his life changed, since before he saw men die in front of him, his friends lose limbs and call out for their mothers in their final moments. He had always thought that his ability to feel had died on the battlefields of France, but with Cicely’s fingers on his skin, perhaps he was wrong.

She didn’t remove them, either, as they moved through the throngs of men. When they reached the hallway that led to the room where he got dressed, though, he had no reason to let her continue touching his skin. So he wrenched his hand from her grip, as much as he wanted to let her touch every inch of his skin if she could continue to make him feel something again.

“I need to wash off,” he said when he shut the door behind them. “Wait over there.” He pointed to a couch in the corner of the room. Usually it was an office of some kind, but for Harry it was his dressing room. A basin of water sat on a table, cold and full, and he was itching to wash his sweat-coated skin. Surprisingly, Cicely followed his directions, and so he turned to the basin, using a rag to rinse off his skin, the feeling of the cold water like heaven on his pores.

“When did you learn to box?”

His head perked up at her voice. He could barely see her in the dimly lit room, but the outline of her was enough, her legs thrown over the arm of the couch in a complete unladylike way. “I was sixteen.” He surprised himself with his honesty, but in the room with just Cicely, for some reason he let a piece of his past slip through.

“Do you like it?”

The question had Harry pause. Did he like it? He cupped some water and ran it through his hair, the sound of the water dripping into the basin filling the silence between them. “It’s a job,” he told her simply. It was the best answer he had. He didn’t really have the luxury of considering whether or not he liked his job. It paid the bills and earned him a reputation that meant no one tried to talk to him, which was all he wanted. After France, all he wanted was to be left alone, save for a select few.

He was focused on his thoughts and the murky water in front of him that he didn’t see Cicely move from her position on the couch. Suddenly, she was there, her fingers dancing across his back that faced her. “Hand me the basin,” she said, voice firm in his ears.

Harry considered fighting her, but his body exposed him. His body craved her touch on his skin, and so he slid the basin to the side so she could reach it. The rag was wrung, and then she was brushing it over his back, reaching the places he couldn’t reach. He could smell her perfume, the faintest taste of beer on her tongue as she breathed lightly in his ear, the traces of jam on her breath from the food he had given her hours before. It made his fists clench against the table and he hoped she didn’t notice.

They stayed that way, Cicely brushing the rag across his skin, wiping away his sins from the night. Her fingers brushed a cut once or twice and he hissed, stopping her in her tracks. She halted her motions each time and wrung out the cloth with fresh water, cleaning the wound with a delicate touch he had never felt. She murmured how they needed alcohol when they got home, how she needed to properly clean the wound. It was something his mother would’ve told him, he thought to himself, a thought he quickly pushed aside as he clenched his jaw.

“Turn around,” she said, voice so quiet he barely heard it above their breathing.

And Harry did as she said. She had made him pliant under her touch, his desperation not to let her stop clouding his ability to speak. His bum pressed against the table and his eyes caught hers in the dim lighting, the gaze that passed between them making Harry stop breathing for a second. But when she brushed the cloth over a bruise, the wince that fell from his lips drew him from his fog.

The rag criss-crossed his body, covering the area he had already cleaned, but he didn’t stop her. It was only when her fingers brushed over the tape across his nipples that his hand shot up, grabbing her wrist and halting her movement. But her eyes zeroed in on him, a determined look in her eyes that made him pause. “Let me see them.” Her words were gentle, but firm.

That made him release her hand, and he sucked in a breath and she pulled the tape from his nipples, the air on his sensitive skin making his stomach clench. He stood there under her gaze as she looked at him, the bars through each nipple that he had gotten on a dare. At first, he had been embarrassed of them, regretted them because they hurt like hell and scratched against his uniform. He considered getting them removed, or just ripping them out, but each time he paused. Paused just enough to let the thought pass, and his best friend’s voice entered his mind. “Who gives a fuck, anyways?” And that was the voice that made him keep them.

Now, it was too late to turn back. He was a boxer and the moment he stepped into the ring with taped nipples, it became something he was known for. The stories circled, tall tales that made Harry chuckle to himself, but he never told the truth. He liked the mystery around them. They became a sort of badge of honor, something that set him apart.

But he had never experienced a woman’s gaze on them, and he couldn’t help but fear her reaction. Would she be disgusted? Ridicule him?

Cicely, though, just looked at them, and then up at his face. “What do they feel like?” She asked tentatively.

It was a question he had never been asked before, actually. And one he didn’t quite know how to answer, because after two years with them they had become normal to him. “They heighten everything,” he replied honestly. It was about the only answer he could give.

This seemed to pique her interest. “Can I touch them?”

Fuck yes, his body screamed, desperate for her fingers on the most sensitive part of his body. His gaze zeroed in on hers, searching her eyes for a hint of a possibility she would ridicule him. But instead he found just genuine curiosity. And perhaps a hint of desire. So, he told her, “Yes.”

When her fingers grazed the bars, her warm touch on the cold metal that ran under his skin, he tried not to flinch, but it was difficult. Her touch was like a lightning bolt through his body, setting every one of his nerves on fire. Holding in the desire to moan was one of the hardest things he had done, and as she touched the other, fingers curiously exploring his skin, it became more difficult. And then she whispered, “I like them.”

Harry’s eyes snapped from where her fingers touched his skin to her eyes, and he found her already looking at him. He watched her lick across her top lip, the flush to her cheeks and wide eyes that stared at him making his body boil. It was too much. He pulled away, desperate for space, for something to allow himself to calm down.

Cicely must have sensed the change in his demeanor, because she immediately stepped back, the rag dropping into the basin of dirty water. Sweat, grime, and blood all mixed together and Harry thought as he looked at his reflection in the water that a mixture had never described him more.

“Let’s go, I need to eat,” Harry said, bending to grab the shirt from his bag on the floor.

Cicely didn’t reply with anything but a nod, and when he had laced his boots she followed him out of the room. The warehouse had emptied out, just some of Josiah’s boys around to help direct the cleanup. Harry knew he’d stop by the office tomorrow to get his cut of the winnings, so he didn’t bother to stick around. Instead, he pushed open the front doors and led Cicely out into the nighttime Birmingham breeze of coal and horse shit.

Cicely awoke to the sound of someone moaning and talking. Her eyes blinked to adjust to the darkness in Harry’s bedroom, her mind taking a second to gather her bearings and remember where she was. Then she heard the sound, something that resembled an injured animal, the edge of fear and pain that made her skin crawl. Last night Harry had given her one of his shirts to sleep in after she said she wanted to wash her clothes and leave them out for the night, and the cotton material bunched under her thighs and she swung them over the edge of the bed. She paused to see if she heard the sound again.

This time, a scream ripped through the house, and Cicely knew something was wrong. She pulled open Harry’s door and moved through the hall, eyes searching to see if she saw anyone, but it was empty. And then she heard it again, and this time without the barrier of a wall, she could tell who it was.

It was Harry.

Her feet didn’t bother to avoid the creaks on the stairs as she moved down the stairs to where he was asleep on the couch. The only light was the faintest bit from the moon, high in the sky, and it was just enough to make out the pained expression on Harry’s face and the thrashing of his body on the couch. He was talking to himself, something about the dark and the word No repeated over and over again, his voice cresting in panic.

It was a nightmare, she realized as she crouched next to him on the floor.

“No, please, it’s too dark, please—“

“Harry,” she said firmly, hands reaching out to grip his wrists to hold his arms to the couch cushions underneath him. “Harry, wake up.”

His eyes didn’t open though, and his body only trashed more under her. She didn’t know what to do, how to wake him up. The only thing she could think of was how when she was scared it helped when she felt safe. She didn’t know what made Harry feel safe, but for her, it was when her mother held her. So carefully, she lifted Harry’s shoulders, trying to avoid his arms trashing as she did so. Once she was seated on the couch she tugged him into her, letting her arms wrap around his chest and pin down his arms.

She murmured his name over and over again, softly in his ear to try and rouse him from the dream. “It’s Cicely,” she told him, “You’re safe, Harry, you can wake up. Wake up, Harry, you’re safe.” With their bodies this close she could feel his heartbeat, the way it raced in his chest. What was he experiencing? Where was he? She wanted to rouse him, pull him out of it and bring him back to her, but she was powerless.

After a few tries, she saw his eyes flutter open, his arms immediately trying to himself free from her grip.

“It’s me,” she said softly. “Hey, hey, it’s me.”

“Cicely?” His voice was rough from the screaming and it broke her. It was raw in a way she hadn’t heard from him, honest and open. Nothing protecting him from her.

She could feel his heartbeat slowing already, and the thought put her at ease. “Yes.”

He didn’t say anything for a few beats, and Cicely just ran her hand up and down his back, hoping to calm him as much as she could. His breath was ragged, big inhales of air and deep exhales, but it was becoming more normal as time passed. “I—I’m sorry,” he eventually said, voice small in the room.

But he had nothing to apologize for, Cicely thought to herself. The last thing he should do is apologize—it’s not his fault. “It’s okay,” she told him earnestly. “Do you want to talk about it?”

That made him pull away from her arms, her skin immediately missing his. Her arms fell to her side and Harry sat up, swiveled, and laid his face in his hands. “No,” is all he told her, not even lifting his head.

She didn’t know what he needed from her in that moment, but she knew she would do anything. Somehow she had only known this boy for a day, and yet the sight of his pain made her heart break. “Do—do you want me to stay?” It was the only thing she could think of to help, and if it would work then she would do it.

But he shook his head. He didn’t want her there. And the last thing she would do is push him after what had just transpired, so she stood, the hem of his cotton shirt reaching an unladylike mid-thigh. When he finally looked at her, she saw that he noticed, his eyes falling to the place where the material ended and her skin began. She tugged at it, hoping he didn’t judge her—she didn’t exactly stop and think about getting dressed, she just moved. “I…”

“Looks good on ya,” he said, words reverberating in Cicely’s mind.

She stood there, as still as stone, trying to figure out what to say to him. No man had ever seen her like this, and she had always been taught that they shouldn’t. And yet, the idea of Harry seeing her exposed legs, her hair messy from sleep, her in his shirt, it didn’t bother her in the slightest. So she didn’t disguise the blush that she could feel in her cheeks, and tucked her hair behind her ear. “Try and get some sleep,” she told him, and then she turned away, heading up the stairs and back to his room.

When she looked back from the third stair, Harry’s eyes were transfixed on her figure, gaze locked on her. For a moment, she held it, letting him watch her, but then she turned her head and went the rest of the way up the stairs, leaving Harry behind in the darkness.

Harry didn’t sleep for the rest of the night.

The prospect of having the dreams again (although he got them most nights) and Cicely waking up again was too frightening a thought for him to allow himself to go to sleep. Instead, he ended up having a glass or two of whiskey in the wee hours of the morning, smoking too many cigarettes on the doorstep, and thinking. His thoughts revolved around Cicely, weaving in and out of the snatches of moments they had spent together—of which there were few—and the bits he knew about her. Which was very little. He didn’t even know her last name, where she was from, or why on Earth she was out in the middle of a rainstorm, lying on her back in the mud. He hadn’t asked, not wanting to make her uncomfortable or push her to talk, because he had this feeling that she was more than some spoiled rich girl.

The fact that she was rich was an assumption on his part, but one he felt was probably right. First, there were her clothes, which were nicer than any he had seen a girl around here wear, boots that looked like they were new, unscuffed.  Then there was the way she looked at his neighborhood—as if she had never seen something like it before. When she had walked out of his room and into the rest of the house, he had had the fleeting thought that perhaps he should be embarrassed, and at moments he was. But as they spent more time together, he began to get the feeling that even though Cicely may not be used to the way he lived, she didn’t seem to care all that much.

It intrigued him, the way she looked at his world. The way she had watched him during the match, the feeling of her eyes on his skin something he couldn’t shake, the way she had adapted to Tommy like a chameleon, blending in with ease. The way she had slid into the booth at the pub last night where they had eaten a late meal, complete disregard for the fight breaking out in the corner, her focus only on him and their meal. He kept expecting her to fit into the mold he had created for her, but she continued to slip away. And he didn’t quite know what to make of it.

Or the fact that she seemed to want to stay. When she had asked him if she could stay, and she said she didn’t want to go home quite yet, he immediately jumped to the worst of conclusions. That her father hurt her, that something had happened, and she was running from a past as dark as his. But then he reminded himself that she had money, wealth, status. Problems like the ones he knew didn’t exist in their world. Perhaps it wasn’t fair to cast her in a mold of wealth and opulence he had read about and encountered on a handful of occasions, people who used people like him and tossed them aside when they had had their fill. But the world wasn’t fair.

He flicked his cigarette butt into the street, the sounds of horses and distant rumble of cars, clap of house doors as men left for work telling him that the day was beginning. It was time for him to see Josiah and pay a visit to Nellie, who he hoped wouldn’t slam a door in his face. Inside, Cicely was still asleep—he couldn’t hear any footsteps from upstairs—so he decided to dart out while she was still sleeping. With any luck, he’d be back before she awoke.

The walk to Josiah’s offices was a well-remembered one, the row houses, shipyards and factories he passed old friends. He waved to the children he passed on their way to work or school, and nodded to the men he knew from matches or Josiah. He lived deep in Josiah’s territory, a requirement for what he did, and as a result every man was on Josiah’s payroll in some way. They all knew when to turn their heads, when to lock their doors, and when to pull out their guns. It used to unnerve Harry, but with time it became as normal as the nightmare that plagued his sleep.

He knocked on the back door as he was trained, a nod to Cyril when the door opened. People congratulated him on the match last night, and he didn’t respond. They all knew he was quiet most of the time, knew not to expect lengthy replies. Before France, he used to not shut up. Now, he preferred to think rather than talk.

Josiah’s door was ajar, his ankles propped up on the desk, the telephone stand in one hand, the handset in the other. His eyes darted up as Harry opened the door wider, shutting it quickly behind him. Josiah never changed much—a mustache on his upper lip, hard brown eyes that only lightened if he had enough drink in him, lips that curved into a smile when someone made a very bad mistake. He wore exclusively charcoal suits, saying black was too common, and he wanted to stand out, and a dark blue tie every day, a silver pocket watch chain tucked into his vest. Josiah had built his operations from the ground up, a man of barely 25 years of age when he came back from France, determined to make a name for himself and protect the community that had been, in his eyes, murdered by the British government for a war they had no business being conscripted for. His hatred for the government ran deep, deep enough to line the pockets of the police across southeast Birmingham, especially in Balsall Heath.

“Alright, but don’t fuck it up, ya hear?” Josiah said, nodding for Harry to sit in the leather chair across from his desk. It was the chair where Harry had sat during many conversations, both good and bad. “Yeah, okay.” Josiah hung up, resting the telephone back on the desk and running a hand through his longer dark brown hair. He picked his cigarette up from where it was burning in the ashtray, and swung his feet off the desk. “Heard ya won,” Josiah said, finally speaking to Harry.

Harry took the offer of a cigarette and nodded. “Peters wasn’t as bad as everyone said.”

“Mhm. I’ll tell Billy that when I see him.”

“He was Billy’s?” That was a surprise. Billy had been on the rise in the neighborhoods bordering Balsall Heath, his power growing to become something threatening to Josiah’s operation. So for Harry to be fighting one of Billy’s boys was unusual to say the least. Josiah didn’t usually like to risk the fights turning into something more—at least, not when they weren’t meant to be.

Josiah nodded, pushing aside a stack of papers and resting his elbows on the oak desk. “Newer kid. I was promised no trouble, thought I’d take the gamble.”

“Warn me next time, eh?” Harry wouldn’t have had Cicely within a mile of the warehouse if he had known his opponent was one of Billy’s. The prospect of guns coming out while she was in the room made his skin crawl.

But Josiah just chuckled and stubbed out his cigarette. “Goin’ soft on me, boy.” Harry hated it when Josiah called him that, but he always had. So he wasn’t going to start correcting him now, even though he was anything but a boy. “Heard ya had a girl there.”

Cicely. He knew Josiah would hear, but he had hoped he’d have a bit more time. “Yeah.”

Josiah wrenched open a door, reaching around for what Harry hoped was his pay. He wanted to get out of this damned office. Harry tolerated Josiah for Jack’s sake, but in truth Josiah had always been a bit too much of a wild card and a short fuse for Harry’s liking. But he gave Harry work, so he didn’t let his feelings get in the way. Plus, most men were short fuses after the war. “Where’d she come from?”

Harry chose not to answer, and thankfully Josiah didn’t push. He knew Harry didn’t like to talk, and most times he didn’t push too hard. “D’ya have the money from Manchester?”

Josiah didn’t reply, just pulled out a stack of bills, crisp and ordered, and placed them on the desk. “Manchester and last night,” he said and Harry took it, folding the bills over and shoving them into his pocket. It was more than most should carry, but Harry was anything but most people. “Don’t spend it all in one place, yeah?”

Unable to help it, he rolled his eyes, the tension in the room lifting. Josiah smirked and Harry pushed back the chair, the thought of getting back to Cicely making him eager to leave. “When’s Jack back?”

Josiah pulled a ledger from a drawer before responding. “Sunday.”

Harry nodded. Jack had been in London since last week, working on some deal that Harry didn’t have the status for the details on. “Tell him I’ll come by?”

“Sure.” Josiah didn’t look up as Harry took his leave, shutting the door behind him and giving Josiah’s secretary a nod. Next was Nellie’s, which he hoped would go smoothly, at least.

Unfortunately, he was not so lucky. Nellie stared at him when she opened the door, hair swept up on her head, clothes disheveled as usual. She cocked her hip against the door and rolled her eyes at him before asking, “What d’ya want, Harry?”

It had been over a year since he had rejected her, and yet she still treated him like he had broken it off with her after months. When in actuality, she had been the one to pursue him, and he hadn’t had it in him to tell her he wasn’t interested until she tried to kiss him. To say the least, things had been icy ever since. “Can I borrow some clothes?”

Her eyebrows furrowed. “Clothes for who?”

“A girl.” To her credit, she didn’t react to that news with anything but a sigh.

“What happened to hers?” She asked, opening the door wider. He stepped inside, the sound of children from upstairs wrapping around him, the sound making his body itch. It was too loud.

“Mud,” he replied simply, looking around for something to keep his hands busy, but he turned up empty. “So?”

Nellie pointed to the couch in the sitting room, a bit sunk in and worn with love. “I’ve got some that no one picked up. What size is she?”

Harry sat down the couch, folding his fingers together. “About yours.”

Nellie gave him another pointed look, but said nothing. She just disappeared to where she kept the clothes she mended for ladies, and he had to sit there and listen to her younger siblings squeal and yell up the stairs. When she reappeared, she had a few things in a stack for him, which she set on the table next to him. “There.”

He looked at the stack, the fabric without anything around it. He would have to walk home with them under his arm. “No wrap?”

“No,” she replied, and he decided that she purposefully didn’t give him any. “3 shillings.”

Harry pulled the coins out and pressed them into her hand, taking the clothes and tucking them under his arm. “Thank you,” he said, and headed for the door, knowing when he wasn’t wanted.

“Bye, Harry,” Nellie said, and proceeded to slam the door in his face. Which he didn’t deserve, but wasn’t the type to protest. He checked his pocket watch—a little over an hour had passed since he left home. He wondered if Cicely would be waiting for him.

Walking into his home to find Cicely in his kitchen in nothing but his shirt made Harry stop in his tracks. While he knew he had seen her like this last night, last night it had been dark. In the dark he couldn’t see the lines golden curl of her hair, the milky white of her skin that seemed to go on for miles. It should be illegal, he thought to himself, to look as beautiful as her.

“You should put some clothes on,” he finally said, words gruff in the distance between them.

Cicely looked down at her legs and then at Harry. “I was waiting for you to come back, hopefully with clothes. Which I see you did.” She nodded at the stack of clothes under his arm and Harry knew he should move to give them to her, but he was frozen in place.

Seeing her in his kitchen, a plate with a piece of bread on it, an open jar of jam on the counter next to it, tea in his cup, it made him wonder for a split second what it would be like if she stayed. Like, really stayed. He knew that what was happening wasn’t permanent, that eventually she would have to go back to wherever home was for her. But having her in his home was making him realize that perhaps he didn’t like being alone as much as he had thought.

“Harry?”

His thoughts cleared and he jolted into action. He set the clothes on the table by the door and walked into the sitting room leaving her make her own decisions. Space, he thought to himself, he needed space from her. It was a push and pull inside of him—a pull that drew him to her and a push when he got too close. He stood by the fireplace, eyes trained on the black metal of it, as he listened to Cicely move through his home. Across the room to get the clothes, feet creaking on the stairs as she went up. When he heard her door shut he let out a breath, his body softening, tension leaving him.

The prospect of breakfast was enticing—he hadn’t eaten this morning. Porridge was what he had every morning, and this wasn’t the time for that to change. He shrugged off the jacket he had on, dropping it onto the couch, and headed for the kitchen.

When Cicely reappeared, the porridge was done and he was pouring it into two bowls, one for each of them. “Did you make me breakfast?” She asked, and his eyes drifted up to her. Nellie’s clothes fit her perfectly—a bit more snug on the curves of her body, but he wasn’t complaining.

“S’just porridge,” he replied and took the two bowls to the small table. He returned to the kitchen to grab his cup of tea, and he immediately felt her presence next to him as she picked up her own cup, left on the counter. Somehow he would have to get over the tension that raked through his body whenever she got near, but he didn’t know how he would manage that.

Cicely turned away from him and he followed her to the table, eyes trying to land anywhere but her body. She pulled out a chair and smiled at him softly. “Thank you. I’m not used to men cooking for me.”

Harry realized that him making breakfast for both of them meant they would have to eat together, that they would be forced to talk. The idea made him falter as he went to sit, but he forced himself to do it anyways, knowing that she would probably make him. “Mum taught me,” he mumbled, chair scraping against the floorboard as he say.

“Is that her in the photo?”

He knew exactly which photo she was talking about—the only one he had up. “Yes.”

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and dipped her spoon into the porridge, taking a bite. She was probably used to better quality, an actual chef maybe (he had heard rich people had those), but she didn’t give any indication that it was bad. Instead, she just took another bite before opening her mouth again to speak. “Where are you from?”

Harry didn’t tell people where he was from. It was a decision he made when he came to Birmingham, to leave his past behind him. The photo was up in his sitting room because he would’ve felt like shit for not putting it up, not because he particularly wanted it there.

“Harry?” She prompted, gaze fluttering over his face.

His grip tightened on the spoon in his palm, eyes on the food in front of him. “I don’t talk about my past.” Why did he want to tell her? He could feel it on the tip of his tongue and he tightened his jaw, trying to keep it from tumbling out on its own accord.

Cicely considered his statement as she sipped on her tea. “What do you talk about?”

The question made him look at her, her brown eyes already waiting for his. “What d’ya mean?”

“If you don’t talk about your past, then what do you talk to people about?”

He didn’t talk to people, he thought to himself. That was how he dealt with it. He only spoke to people who he felt safe with—Jack mainly, sometimes Tommy, Josiah if forced. They all knew his past, knew not to share it around. “Dunno.”

The sigh that slipped from her lips made Harry grimace. He had disappointed her and he didn’t like the feeling. “How about this? I tell you about myself, and you do the same in return. We each get a question.”

The idea was enticing, mainly because Harry desperately wanted to know more about her. She was like a period to him and he wanted to know everything that came before it in the sentence. Was it worth telling her about his past? Perhaps. “Fine. What’s your last name?”

Her eyes twinkled, a playful grin sliding onto her face. “King,” she said, that one piece of information rocking Harry’s world immediately. The Kings were as notorious as Josiah was, just in a different way. They owned dozens of garment factories in Birmingham, controlled a handful of shipyards, one or two coal factories. Harry estimated probably half of Birmingham’s working class was employed by the King family and he assumed properly, by Cicely’s father.“Where are you from?”

“Church Hulme,” he told her. “Who is your father?”

He searched her expression to see if she recognized it, but she didn’t seem to. And why would she—it was nothing but a small farming town, some local businesses and a forge. “William King. How old are you?”

So she was the daughter of the head of the King family, an heiress to a fortune larger than anything he could imagine, no doubt. He knew the Kings had only daughters, but he didn’t know how many, or if Cicely was the oldest. The importance of staying up to date on the lives of the King family was never something he felt inclined to do, but now it was vital information. “22. How did you end up on that road?”

“I went riding,” she said after taking another bite of porridge. “The lightning scared my horse and he bucked me off. I must have passed out when I hit the ground.” Cicely considered him for a moment before speaking. “Where did you fight?”

Harry’s blood ran cold at her question. It dredged up memories he didn’t want to talk about. “We’re done,” he told her, pushing away his finished porridge and standing abruptly.

“Harry, wait.“ Her hand wrapped around his wrist, catching his arm as he stepped away, and the feeling of her skin on his made him have to close his eyes to get his breathing under control. Did she know what she did to him? “I’m sorry.”

“‘m not talking about that,” he said, not budging from his position.

Cicely’s thumb brushed across his forearm, the thinner skin meaning he could feel the press of her fingers on his body. “That’s okay,” she said, voice soft. “Will you come back?”

Although he probably shouldn’t, he opened his eyes and turned back around. “Why don’t you want to go home?”

Her hand dropped from his wrist immediately at his question. “My father is forcing me to marry Clifford Stevens. Do you know who that is?” Harry shook his head. He didn’t exactly keep up with high society Birmingham circles in his free time. “He’s thirty and disgusting. He never even acknowledges that I might have a brain, much less that I’m a human being. If I marry him I’ll end up shut in his estate to raise his children for the rest of my life and I would rather die than sentence myself to a life like that.”

Clifford Stevens immediately became Harry’s least favorite person in the world, with the second being William King. To sentence a girl as kind, spirited, and open-minded as Cicely to a life as a glorified hostage was deplorable. “Why is your father forcing you to marry him?”

“We’re nearly broke,” Cicely said with a sigh. That was news to Harry. “Father has been losing money for years. He gambles most of what he makes away and because he’s a fucking idiot he never wins, and he hired a series of treasurers who are apparently inept at balancing the budgets. The factories are bleeding money and rather than take any responsibility for it, his solution is to marry me off with the knowledge that Clifford will bankroll my father’s lifestyle.” Perhaps it was the look on Harry’s face that gave him away, but Cicely gave him a weak smile. “Didn’t know the truth of the Kings, did you?”

“No.”

She fiddled with the cuff of her blouse as Harry considered her words. Was there any way to get out of her future? Probably not, unless she left behind everything that came with her name. Although from what she told him, it didn’t sound like there was much left. “Will you tell me about your family secrets in exchange for mine?”

His family secrets? God, where did he start. His gaze drifted across Cicely, her fingers brushing through the ends of her hair. What would she say to his answer? He supposed it didn’t hurt to tell her, since it wasn’t like she would tell anyone in his life about it. They were from different worlds, after all. “I found out when I came back from the war that ‘m not my father’s son.”

Cicely blinked at him, face softening as the words settled in. “What?”

“It’s just what it sounds like,” he said, leaning back in the chair and taking a breath. “Grew up my whole life thinking I had one father, when in reality it’s not him at all. My mum had an affair with some bloke and the man who raised me,” he spit out, hating the word father when he thought of him, “decided to keep me.” The feeling of her hand on his warmed his skin, but didn’t have the calm effect that he expected she intended. “Haven’t been back since.”

“Harry,” she murmured, calling his eyes from where her hand covered his to her face. “I’m sorry.”

It was the first time someone had told him that, now that he thought about it. He had told Jack, who said, Fuck mate, that sucks. Want another pint? And that was that, but he didn’t mind it. Somehow though, Cicely’s compassion made his chest ache, his throat close up. He could feel tears rising inside of him and he panicked—he hadn’t cried since France and he wasn’t bloody going to start now, not in front of her. “I—I need a second,” he said quickly, scooting back in the chair and walking into the hallway, leaving her behind at the table.

He rested his forearms on the wall and let his head fall on his neck. Deep breaths in and out, his eyes shut, struggling to keep his brain together as his ears buzzed. They didn’t deserve his anger, he reminded himself for the millionth time, they didn’t deserve shit after the secrets they had kept from him. That his sister wasn’t his sister. The man who had taught him how to play football, how to tie a tie, wrestled with him as a kid, wasn’t his father. His fists clenched against the wallpaper, knuckles hurting from last night, but the pain almost felt good to Harry—it was a feeling he knew.

All of a sudden he felt a hand on his shoulder and he whipped his head to the side to find Cicely standing there. “What?” He asked, not moving an inch, but just looking at her, trying to understand for the life of him why she was there.

Instead of responding, she ducked her head under his arm and wrapped her arms around his waist, pulling his body into hers.

She was hugging him, he realized.

He was frozen, unable to move. He could smell the faint scent of flowers on her skin, somehow still clinging to her despite being in Balsall Heath for almost two days. The darkness of this place seemed to not even touch her, the light from her repelling all of it away. Her fingers gripped the back of his shirt loosely, but just enough to where he could feel her through the fabric, her body feeling impossibly close to him.

No one had touched him like this in years. And he didn’t know what to do, how to respond, how to act.

The only thing he could think to do was to lift one of his hands from where it was clenched in a fist against the wallpaper, and brush it down her hair. It was soft against his skin, the strands of it darting between his fingers and petting the rough calluses he had from years of hard work and fighting. They stung against his cuts from the past week’s worth of fights, but he didn’t care. The prospect of touching her was enough to push all of the pain away.

Slowly, she lifted her head, eyes finding his. She was sandwiched between him and the wall and it was way too fucking close, so Harry immediately took a step back, giving her space. “Will you show me your Birmingham?” She asked him softly, voice echoing in the narrow hallway.

“What d’ya mean?”

“The Birmingham that’s your home,” she offered as an explanation. “I want to see it how you do.”

His Birmingham, the one that he had made a home, full of people who knew him as he was now. Respected him, feared him even—because what was the line, really, between fear and respect? The prospect of her wanting to understand his world the way he saw it was one he had never expected, but appreciated more than he could say. “Okay.”

Harry took her on a grand tour of Balsall Heath, them weaving through the streets with children playing, horses and cars  making their way down the thoroughfares. He showed her the factories her father owned, which he assumed she had never seen before, and he studied her as she saw the conditions of the workers her father employed. Cicely seemed to be everything her father wasn’t and he hoped that that continued to her views on labor.

Parts of Balsall Heath were more well-to-do, people who could afford to send their children to the art school opposite the public baths. But Harry showed her the parts he knew, the parts where people scrapped together money to make ends meet, where they relied on wages from people like Cicely’s father. He was thankful he had gotten her clothes from Nellie because at least at this rate she blended in more, although her nice boots still stuck out like a sore thumb. Although, he expected her being with him drew a decent amount of attention. When men stopped him to talk about a match and their children were with them, Cicely would squat and talk to them, not minding that her skirts got muddy from the unpaved roads. Harry had a difficult time understanding her when she did things like that. She was so unlike so many people of her station, and yet here she was crouching to talk with grubby children on unpaved streets with a pile of horse shit just a few feet away with a smile on her face.

For a second, he let himself consider what it would be like if she stayed. But he didn’t let that thought linger for too long.

They visited his favorite pub for a pint and she laughed at the barkeep’s jokes and charmed every man they met. Perhaps Harry should have been hesitant to introduce Cicely to so many people in his world, but at the same time he didn’t care what people thought of him. If Cicely wanted to see his world, then by God was he going to show it to her.

It was getting dark by the time they made their way back to his flat, bellies full from a roast they’d had at the pub. Harry watched her walk beside him, her eyes darting around the homes as they passed. “I like it here,” she told him, not meeting his eye. “Everyone is so nice.”

He couldn’t help but scoff at the thought. “Not everyone is. See all these houses?” She nodded. “In every one of them is a man who works for Josiah in some way. There’s a gun in every one of these houses for when Josiah calls.”

“Does he call?” Cicely asked, eyes finally turning to him as they walked.

He nodded, hoping that was the explanation she sought. From the way her expression changed, he assumed it was. Harry didn’t know what to do with her naivety, because it mystified him that someone could know so little of the world around them. Although, he thought as they rounded the corner to his street, he couldn’t exactly blame her.

“Does he ever…call for you?”

“Yes,” he responded because it was the honest answer. Even though he got to avoid a lot of the action because he specifically had told Josiah when he signed on to box for him that he didn’t want to get his hands dirty, it came with the territory. Sometimes they needed all the people they could, and with someone as skilled at fighting as Harry and the experience from the war that he had, it would be idiotic for them not to call on him.

They reached his house in silence and he unlocked the door before pushing it open. She stepped in, and leaned down to wipe off her boots. He liked how she had already made herself feel at home in his space, knew that he always wipes off his shoes in the entryway on the mat, because otherwise the filth from the streets ends up inside. “Do you have a match tonight?” She asked, moving to the side.

“No.” It was his night off, but he had one tomorrow.

Her fingertips grazed the table and he watched them trail, the thought of her fingers on his skin drifting into his mind. “What do you do in the evenings you have off?”

Harry considered her question. He didn’t know, really. The evenings all passed, though, somehow. Time was irrelevant to him since the nights dragged on, plagued by nightmares most of the time. He spent a lot of time staring at the wall in the dark. Sometimes he took walks. Sometimes he drank enough to where the dreams didn’t come, but that was when it was really bad. “Nothing, really.”

Cicely rotated to see him, the sliver of moonlight those shone through his curtains hitting her blond hair perfectly. “Do you do anything but box?”

“No.”

“Do you read?”

Harry hadn’t read a book since before France. “Not anymore.”

Cicely turned to his bookcase, which had collected dust from disuse. “Then why do you have so many books?”

“They make me think of my sister,” he replied, the truth shocking both of them. Gemma loved books, always had—she would be curled up on a chair all day with a book in her hands if their mother didn’t make her stop. When he was young, she would read to Harry sometimes, his childhood memories a mixture of fantasy and historical tales from his sister’s lips. Perhaps the books were his way of keeping her close.

Her fingers grazed the spines of his collection, dust falling around her. “Do you talk to her?”

“No.” He’d picked up the telephone a handful of times, ready to say the number to the operator. But then he’d think again, and set down the stand.

“I like this one.” Cicely pulled a bound volume off the shelf, her eyes dancing across the cover. “The Magnificent Ambersons.”

The name meant nothing to him. He bought bestsellers because he knew his sister did the same. Sometimes he considered reading one just to see what she would’ve thought about it. One time he almost mailed her one on her birthday. But each time, he did nothing.

“Can I read to you?”

Her voice was hesitant, nervous of what he would say. No one had read to him since the war, when his friends would read aloud their letters if someone didn’t get one. It made them feel like someone was looking out for them, even if they didn’t get a letter themselves. If it had been someone else, he probably would have said no. But it was Cicely and her voice was like his favorite church hymnal, entrancing and meditative. He would have listened to her talk for hours. So he said yes.

She directed him to lay down on the couch and he did, while she sat in the chair to the side. Harry lit a cigarette as she opened the cover, the sound of her tuning the pages the only noise except for the flick of his lighter. And then, she began. “Major Amberson had ‘made a fortune’ in 1873, when other people were losing fortunes, and the magnificence of the Ambersons began then.”

Cicely’s eyes fluttered open and at first she didn’t know why. But then she heard a shout and a long, deep moan from downstairs. It was Harry again. Her hands pushed at the duvet and she flicked on the light by the bed. As she left his room the sound of him moaning in his sleep, words she couldn’t understand reached her ears, but louder without the muffling of the door. She didn’t bother to keep her footsteps quiet as she made her way to the stairs and down to the first floor, her eyes adjusting to the dark.

A scream, blood curdling and filled with anguish, ripped through the house, and Cicely flew the remaining few feet to the couch. The sound of Harry’s scream, sharp and frightened, shook her to her core. She just wanted him out of there, free from the clutches of whatever demon robbed him of his sleep.

“Harry!” She said, loudly, jostling his shoulder to try and rouse him. Unlike last night when she had knelt by the couch, Harry wasn’t flailing around. He was stick-straight, as if held in a straight jacket, but she could feel his pulse racing when she pressed her fingers to his sweaty skin. It was almost more frightening—seeing him unmoving but mumbling nonsense in his sleep. The only part of him that moved was his head, ever so slightly shaking back and forth, a stream of Nos leaving his lips.

“No,” he mumbled, “please, it’s too dark, please.” His words from last night were back again, and she wanted to know where he was. What endless circle of hell he had found himself in and how to dig him out of it.

She decided to do what she had done before, and tried to lift his shoulders from the couch. But this time, Harry’s body was so tense that she couldn’t lift him, as if he had made himself a thousand pounds. As he let out another loud groan, she grimaced—she had to wake him, she just didn’t know how. “Harry,” she said again, “wake up, please. Please, Harry.”

But her words didn’t seem to do anything, because the next thing she knew his scream was filling her ears, the sound ripping at her heart. Her body seemed to move without her knowledge as she threw herself on top of him, her knees falling to either side of his hips, her palms cupping his face. “Harry,” she said softly, brushing her thumbs across his cheekbones. “Wake up for me, please. It’s Cicely. It’s safe, I’m here.”

Somehow, that seemed to rouse him, because his eyes fluttered open, his hazel eyes meeting hers in the dark. She was inches from his face, and she wondered if his sight was filled with her face just as hers was. “Cicely?”

“It’s me,” she said, brushing his sweaty hair off of his forehead. “You’re safe now.” She could feel the sigh that left his body intimately, her skin touching his in parts. That was when she realized how close they were, how completely improper her position was. She was on top of him for Pete’s sake. Her knees were on either side of him, their most intimate parts just inches from one another. If her elbows weren’t propped up on his shoulders, her chest would be touching his.

She scrambled to move, but Harry’s hands moved to her hips, halting her in place. Her eyes flickered to his, trying to read him, decipher what he was doing. Usually she had a hard time reading Harry, understanding what he wanted and needed. But now she had no problem. She watched him lick his lips, his pupils still blown out from the dream trained directly on her. When his grip didn’t shift from her body, but his thumbs brushed across the shirt she wore—it was his—and she knew.

He wanted to kiss her.

Cicely had never been kissed. Boys had tried, but they’d been disgusting, as had every other man she had ever known, and she had no interest in them. Until Harry, she hadn’t ever understood romance novels, the attraction people described in them. Every man who had ever showed interest in her had been boring, unattractive, and more than anything, just made her want to run in the opposite direction. But Harry made her want to race towards him at full speed, the darkness in his gaze and warmth in his heart made her want to know his stories, the way he looked at her made a part of her heart race that she had never felt before. He made her feel alive, as if she had been sleeping for nineteen years, just waiting for him to arrive.

One of his hands moved from his hip, inching through the air until his knuckles softly brushed across her jaw. Her heart was beating in her chest so fast she wondered if she was going to pass out again. It couldn’t be possible to go this long without breathing, right? Because Cicely didn’t know the last time she had taken a breath, all of them swallowed up in the look on Harry’s face.

She wanted him to kiss her.

Desperately. With every bone in her body. Cicely wanted to know what he tasted like, what it felt like when he kissed her. She wanted to know everything about him, to uncover every piece of him like gifts on her birthday, ripping back the pieces of wrapping paper walls that kept him from her.

“Harry,” she whispered, her voice one she had never heard before. It was soft, yearning, the encapsulation of everything she wanted in that moment.

He seemed to understand, because his fist uncurled, his palm moving to cup the side of her face. Slowly, his hand moved around her head, his fingers threading through her hair, the feeling of his callused hands on her skin alighting every inch in her body. Then, he pulled her head into him, his fingers on the back of her neck, delicately pressing at her skin. His eyes fluttered shut and perhaps hers were supposed to, but she wanted to see every moment of this—she wanted to know what he looked like when he kissed her.

When he did, his wet lips meeting hers, it was like returning home after a long trip, a homecoming she had been waiting for her whole life. Her eyelids shut, lost in the feeling of him, of the faint taste of cigarettes and whiskey on his lips, the smell of him that she had grown to look forward to when she walked into the room he was in. Fingers drifted from her neck to her hairline, and he lifted his chin, changing the angle, and Cicely fell into the kiss. Her arms gave out, elbows falling from his shoulders to the cushions of the couch, her body suddenly flush with his.

Harry’s hand moved from her hip to curl around her lower back, tugging her impossibly close to him as their lips parted and met again. It felt like there wasn’t a centimeter of space between them and Cicely didn’t want any. Their noses were pushed against each other, foreheads touching, lips moving in a dance they somehow both knew by heart. She pushed her fingers into his hair, nails scratching at his scalp lightly. A sound left his throat, and Cicely went to move her fingers, thinking she had hurt him.

“Do it again,” he mumbled.

Cicely’s eyes flickered open, studying him with her lips just a centimeter from his. He looked at her as if the rest of the world didn’t exist—it was a look she had never seen but one she wanted to see for the rest of time. So she brushed her nails across his scalp and slotted their lips back together, squeezing his hips with her knees. Under his shirt she could feel his heart racing, and she wondered if he was as affected by what was between them as she was. Because for her, it felt like her world had become Harry, even though she had known him for only two days. Somehow, he was her every thought and she didn’t want another thought to grace her mind ever again.

Harry shifted his head, nudging at her jaw and pushing it up so that her neck was stretched out. In rapid succession, he pressed soft kisses to her jaw and Cicely’s head lolled back to make room for him because it felt so good to have his lips on her skin. Then, his tongue flitted out and licked over her pulse point, making her squirm against him. His hands gripped her tightly in response, before ducking his head down, pulling the collar of her shirt to the side, and nipped at the juncture of her shoulder and neck.

A breathy moan left Cicely’s mouth, mixed in with the undertones of Harry’s name. It seemed to spur him on, because he opened his lips and sucked on her skin softly. It was a sensation Cicely didn’t even know what to do with, how to process, but she knew it felt good, so she held his head to her skin, urging him to continue. Which he did—laving his tongue against her tender skin in between nips and harsh sucks, and when she looked down and saw the mark he had formed, it didn’t bother her in the slightest. She just pulled his head up to meet hers, desperate to have his lips back on hers again.

His hands fell to her waist, clutching at his shirt that hung there. When he pulled at it, the hem crawled up, leaving her thighs mostly exposed to the cool air inside the room. But to Cicely, her flesh was burning from Harry’s touch and the cold air was welcome, and she didn’t mind that more skin than was appropriate was on show. She had a desire within her for Harry to see all of her, every inch of her skin if he would keep making her feel like this.

Harry seemed to not notice her exposed skin until his palms drifted downwards and gripped her skin, his eyes fluttering open and his lips pulling away from hers. “Cic—“

“It’s okay,” she whispered, brushing at the hair on his forehead. “I trust you.” And she did. She trusted him more than she did anyone else in her life, who had just let her down in a series of lies and cheats. He was the first person to take her for as she was, not demand her to be some prim and proper version, to show her the truth of their life, even if it was in pieces. It didn’t matter to her that she didn’t know it all, she knew enough. Enough to know Harry could never hurt her, at least, not in the ways that mattered.

His head bent, and he rested his forehead against hers, sucking in air and quick puffs. “We—we should stop.”

“I don’t want to,” she said, barely trusting her own voice in the moment. She didn’t even know what it was that she wanted, but it was everything, anything he would give her. She would take scraps at his table, if it meant one more moment in his arms.

Harry pushed her hair behind her ear, and then let his fingers fall to the mark he had left on her skin. She thought she could see a blush rising to his skin and it made her smile. “I want you to be sure,” he told her earnestly. “And I—I haven’t done this in a long time. I need…I want it to be perfect. Does that make sense?”

“Yes.” It did, and the fact that he wanted her to be sure made her trust him even more. Because even though she wanted it, she had barely thought about it. Cicely was impulsive, and her impulses had a tendency to get her into situations she regretted, and she didn’t want to regret a moment with Harry. “Will you come back to bed with me at least?”

His breath shuddered, eyes closing. She could see the wheels of his mind turning, and she thought she had an inkling as to why.

“Harry,” she murmured, pressing a tender kiss to his brow bone. “Your nightmares don’t scare me. I want to know every part of you, even the dark bits.” That made his eyes open, his pupils found her in the moonlit room. “Will you come to bed and tell me about them? It doesn’t have to be everything, I just want to know how to help you.”

Slowly, he nodded. She scooted back, letting him sit up on the couch. Tentatively she pulled her knees up from the couch and dropped back to the floor, coming to a standing and taking Harry’s hand in hers to help him up. He was a disheveled mess, his hair standing in all directions, and she realized it was from her. She liked it, seeing the results of something she had done on him.

With his hand in hers, they walked up the stairs to his bedroom, to the unmade bed she had been sleeping in before. Knowing he would be hesitant, she got into bed first, scooting against the wall and turning, so she could watch him get in behind her. The moment his head hit the pillow, the duvet cover around his waist, Cicely leaned into him, wanting to be close. She rested her head on his shoulder and his arm cautiously wrapped around her, holding her to him. One of her hands rested on his chest, just inches from the nipples with barbells through them, the ones that she wanted to see again but didn’t know how to ask about. The bed suddenly smelled like a mixture of them, a new scent that she already adored. She hoped she didn’t have to go to bed again for a long time.

She brushed up and down his chest over his shirt, drawing light lines across his skin. After a few minutes of just lying there, Harry cleared his throat and began to tell her the horrors he saw when he closed his eyes. “I’d barely been there a few weeks,” he said softly. “It was still all new to me, the landscape of France, the sound of bullets in the distance, the smell of smoke and dead bodies in the air. We were in this open field, the only protection was an occasional tree, but we spent all of it in trenches.”

His voice was like gravel, rough in the silence of the room, and Cicely kept rubbing at his chest, hoping it would keep him calm enough to keep going. She didn’t want him to stop, no matter how bad it got. “There was this massive offensive in motion from the French, and we were a piece of it. We were supposed to take Arras, to gain a strategic advantage against the Germans, break the deadlock we were in. All of us were itching for action, something just to keep our minds from spiraling in those fucking trenches. I’d never really been in battle before, so I didn’t know what it was like. But god, the minute we started moving, when we came up out of the trenches and the firing started, it was like the world was ending.

“Everyone around me was dropping, partly from the German fire, but more so from the shells from the air. It was so loud—they don’t tell you that, how loud war is. Your ears never stop ringing, and you’re almost able to like, drown it out for a second? But then something goes off near you and your whole body is jolted and it draws you back to the Earth. And I was just trying to like, reload my gun, right? And keep my body from shaking. Jack was there, and he was telling me to keep it together—that’s how we met actually. He found me on the field, my hands shaking so bad I couldn’t reload.

“It went on like that for days. Weeks, even. We made it three or so miles on the first day, but we also lost so many fucking men. We had to figure out who was gone, and it was easier to figure out who was still there. We made it into the town and there were all these houses with no roofs, tanks covering every inch of the road. It was like walking through the end of the world. And you can’t sleep, but you also can’t do anything but sleep because it’s this bone exhaustion you’ve never felt before in your whole life.”

Cicely could feel the fast beat of his heart and his voice was speeding up, the anxiety settling into his bones. “I’m here,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to his shoulder where her head laid. “I’m still here.”

His head shifted, tilting to his chin rested on the top of her head. “I thought I was going to die. Sometimes I feel like I did, on that battlefield. Everything I knew before that moment was gone. It was just echoes of the dark trenches at night, the feeling of rats crawling across your boots and the niggling feeling that you can’t go to sleep because something might happen. And the death...I think I stopped believing in God on that battlefield, because how could any God ever want that many men to die? And for what, a few measly miles that didn’t even fucking matter in the end?”

“How many did you lose?”

He paused before answering, but when he did his voice cracked as he said the number. “158,000. There were conflicting numbers, but that’s the one I heard the most.”

Cicely couldn’t even wrap her head around that number. What did 158,000 people look like? Who were all of those 158,000 people? Who were their families, their children, their loved ones? How many lives were changed forever by those days? “I’m glad you survived,” was all she could think to say. She didn’t want to say she was sorry because that didn’t really mean anything, did it? Not in comparison to everything that had happened.

“For a long time I wasn’t,” he said.

“What changed?”

His fingers brushed through her hair, tender, soft caresses that made her eyes flutter shut. “A girl who showed me there was still someone left inside of me.”

Cicely looked up at him, at the exhaustion in his eyes, the light bruise on his cheekbone from the fight the other night, the curls of his hair. “You know what I see when I look at you?” He shook his head slowly, eyes never leaving hers. “Someone who has experienced more pain, hurt, and loss than any one person should be allowed to. But who still manages to be kind, to be generous, to care. Someone with a life worth living, someone who is worth loving.” She reached up and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth before pulling back slightly. “Someone who is worthy of everything in the world.”

She felt the tears on his cheeks when he kissed her, their lips molding together just like before. His hands gripped her face, as if he couldn’t have her close enough, and she didn’t blame him. She wished with every kiss she could drink away the pain inside of him, pull it from him piece by piece until none remained. But she couldn’t. She could only hold him and tell him who he was to her, that he was everything to her, someone she didn’t know was waiting for her out there in the world. But who now she couldn’t imagine a life without.

The days melded together in beautiful technicolor. Seven days had passed since Cicely had woken up in Harry’s bed, and each one made her more thankful it was him who had picked her up on the road. She stood in the crowds during his matches, cheering his name with Tommy and becoming less floaty every time she had a pint. At the end of each night, Cicely cleaned the blood and sweat from his skin with a tenderness he had never experienced, pressed kisses to his forehead and told him how good he did. Each night in the pitch dark, she chased away his nightmares with reminders that she was there, she was real, this was real and the battle wasn’t. He clutched the shirts of his she continued to sleep in and held her close, letting the beat of her heart and the exhales from her chest lull him back to sleep.

He hadn’t slept this well since before the war.

Cicely had discovered a new routine. While Harry was meeting with Josiah and Jack, training, or just generally out of the house, she went next door and helped teach the Rollings children to read. She had stumbled on Pippa and Clarence the morning after she had kissed Harry, almost stumbling over them in the daze she carried. They were playing outside and she had a book under her arm, a plan of finding the nearby park and reading for a few hours. But when she stopped and apologized, Pippa asked what she had, and at the sight of the words and Cicely’s description of what a book was, she was intrigued. After asking their mother, Cicely began to spend her mornings with the children curled up on their couch or at their small table, or even on their front steps, teaching them their alphabet and how to sound out words, how to form sentences and read them on the page. They were ravenous for learning and their mother was happy to see her children entertained by someone who wasn’t her for a change, so Cicely quickly became a fixture in the house.

When she had told Harry, he gave her a small smile, the first one she had seen, and a quick peck to her forehead. It was exactly what she needed from him, a vote of support and nothing more. In the afternoons she washed the blood stains from Harry’s clothes and towels, or carried water into the house and ran herself a bath, a task well worth it. One time Harry almost walked in on her and the flush on his cheeks made her almost let him in. But that wasn’t how she wanted him to see her naked body for the first time, so she squealed for him to shut the door and he did, none the wiser.

After he had told her about France, about the demons that followed him into the night, the secrets between them fell away. It was if a damper had been lifted, and at night when they laid in bed, he shared more about his past and she told him of her family, the life she was supposed to live. She tried to avoid the topic of the future, because it made them both anxious. It felt a bit like they were living in a bubble, as if the outside world and its pressures were nonexistent. One morning Harry brought up how they hadn’t heard anything from her family, and Cicely nodded in reply. She had thought about it many times, and she didn’t quite have an answer for it. Although maybe Harry was just so far from the expected answer that she would never be found.

Just as she was starting to settle into the prospect of her life becoming this permanently, her past came knocking. She was with Pippa and Clarence on Harry’s front steps, their own ones being swept by their mother. A book was spread open on her lap, one she had found at a bookstore for children, and she was helping them decipher the sentence. She could feel eyes on her, which at face value wasn’t something to worry about—people were always looking at her, at the new person in the neighborhood, although once they found out she was Harry’s, they stopped. But this time, the feeling of someone watching her didn’t let up.

So when they reached the end of the page, she looked up in search of whomever was so interested in her. And what she found were the eyes of a policeman, the black uniform and intent stare raising the hair on the back of her neck. She knew immediately what it meant, that this wasn’t some normal policeman, because the ones in this area normally didn’t pay her any mind. Josiah had made clear she was not to be trifled with the minute Harry had told him that Cicely was with him, for all intents and purposes.

This policeman, though, wasn’t from around here. He stuck out, the shine of his shoes a bit too bright, the cocky attitude obvious from a mile away. He didn’t know the people or the area.

Which could only mean one thing.

Her father had found her.

TAGLIST: @autumn-sunflowers @afire-hes @harrydobedirectioning​ @harryinsweatersandbandanas @vapingisntmything @frindgeyy @froggystyles @magical-mischief-makers @heslilac @ursogoldenshan​

PART TWO

#harry styles fan fiction #harry styles fic #harry styles one shot #harry styles drabble #harry styles writing #harry styles x reader #harry styles x mc #harry styles smut #boxer!harry #boxer!au #1920s!harry #1920s harry #boxer harry #peaky blinders x harry styles

[lampmeeting]

D for Charles/Magnus, I for Magnus/Toki, L for Charles/Pickles, and F for Melm/JT.

eeehEHEHEHE DILF *rubs my little hands together* don't mind if i do~

D for Drunken Love Confession - Charles/Magnus

pre-klok. :') magnus has been chipping away at charles' resolve. there's just something about the bookish, put-together little chuck offdensen that makes magnus wanna break through all his defenses and see him come undone. he always did like a challenge. they have heated, passionate debates about the direction of the band. they get in each other's faces. magnus even kissed him once, but charles pushed him away, furious and blushing, and demanded he leave his office.

after six months of this weirdly charged back-and-forth they have, the band invites charles to come drinking with them to celebrate pickles' birthday. charles declines, concerned they're just inviting him to come because they want someone else to play designated driver. but magnus intervenes like "nah i'm driving tonight, promise. so go nuts." and charles seems to think it over... and eventually agrees.

so they all go out! at first charles seems to be pacing himself, but pickles gets shots, and it's all downhill from there. magnus, staying dutifully sober, watches the rest of the band + charles get sloppy and silly, not minding in the slightest the way charles leans against him a little in the booth and touches him when he laughs. he starts to regret not getting drunk himself, but he'd promised charles. it's enough just to see charles' mask slip, albeit not quite in the way magnus wanted. but he'll take it for now.

at the end of the night, magnus drops the band off at the apartment and then continues on to charles' place. he pulls up, and charles tries to get out of the car, but stumbles and falls. he's a lot more fucked up than magnus suspected. magnus helps him to the door, but charles seriously looks like he's about to black out, so he takes him inside, cleans him up a little, and puts him to bed (on his side, in the recovery position, he knows the drill). before he leaves, he can't help himself... he runs fingers through charles' sweaty hair and strokes his jaw. charles opens his eyes, seeming surprised that magnus is still there, and then... he smiles at him. a genuine smile. and as his eyes close again, he whispers something that freezes magnus in place.

"...mmfm...mmlove you..."

"...what?"

but charles is under again, and magnus leaves in a panic. charles doesn't, can't, have feeling for him. that's too much. magnus just wanted some fun, right? maybe get charles worked up enough for an angry fuck. but...love?

magnus can't sleep. the next time magnus sees charles, charles pulls him aside. "i apologize that you had to babysit me like that the other night. i can't exactly recall everything that happened, so if i said or did anything, ah...embarrassing, i'm very sorry."

so charles doesn't remember what he said. or he does and he's just trying to save face. magnus should be relieved about this, but for some reason his heart feels suddenly sore...

"oh, yeah, no...you were out like a light. don't worry about it."

--

I for "Idiots in Love" - Toki/Magnus

post-post-galaktikon. weirdly enough i'd probably write this from like nathan's pov or something. he's having everyone over to the house for some reason, maybe a holiday or his daughter's first birthday or something (her cool uncles wouldn't dream of missing it). this means..... rrugghhgh magnus is coming over. it's the first time he's interacted with magnus since pickles and charles' wedding, so maybe a good couple years, and he's not looking forward to it.

everyone arrives. toki and magnus are the last to show up, and nathan has to do a double-take because this is SO not magnus. half his hair is back in a ponytail, he's let his beard grow in some, and he's wearing a sweater?? and he's smiling? he genuinely seems happy to see nathan, gives him a hug, says a warm hello to abby.

over the course of the afternoon nathan has to keep looking at him and reminding himself that's magnus fucking hammersmith because he's just so... animated? friendly? he's sitting next to toki and they're holding hands, and when others are talking the two of them are making eyes at each other and cuddling and laughing at little things they seem to be sharing between themselves. they're being a couple of absolute goofballs together, and honestly it's a bit sickening to watch. is magnus just faking this?

at some point nathan excuses himself to the kitchen for something, and while he's in there he's joined by magnus, considerably more subdued.

"sorry, man, i just...i thought maybe we could talk for a sec."

so they talk. they catch up a little. nathan learns magnus has been hitting the therapy especially hard over the past year, making some meaningful strides. it's not an act, he's genuinely happier now. or at least trying to be.

"i mean, you know how it is, nate, right? doesn't abby make you wanna be better just because she exists and she loves you?"

okay, nathan can understand that. he still doesn't understand... them. but it really seems like magnus has turned a corner, which... good for him, he supposes. as long as he's treating toki well.

when they return to the party, nathan watches magnus sit back down with toki and give him a kiss like he'd been gone all month, and they giggle to themselves again. this time, it seems...all right.

--

L for "Love at First Sight" - Charles/Pickles

i'm gonna flip the script here!! i've already done the whole "charles sees pickles on stage and goes gaga for him" twice now... so i'd pull away from the 80s and do a fic where they actually did meet for the first time in the mid-90s when pickles was in dethklok.

so they've got their shitty original manager (the one from doomstar) still, and he's just not pulling his weight. he's managing a few other bands and his heart isn't in dethklok the way it used to be. pickles is worried they're stagnating, and when he learns that it's been magnus lately making sure they get booked, that's the last straw. they all come together, and they tell the dude to fuck off. but then this leaves them without a manager. magnus offers, but pickles has already been wary about how possessive magnus seems about the band recently, so when pickles says no the rest of them vote the same.

pickles blows through his old contacts looking to dig up some manager from his past who can either wants to manage dethklok or has connections to someone else. no dice. skwisgaar comes up with no one. magnus is still trying to campaign for himself. shit gets dire when somehow seth finds out dethklok is lacking management and leaves pickles a voicemail offering his "valuable fuckin' services". pickles blows his fucking top, swearing and screaming. "HOW HARD IS IT TO FIND ONE GUY CAPABLE OF MANAGING A FUCKIN' BAND??"

the doorbell rings, and pickles, still raging, throws it open.

"WHAT??"

"ahh!"

it's just... a dude. like a normal-ass dude. glasses. a nice dress shirt and slacks. nice hair. handsome. he's nervous as shit, but that almost makes him more handsome.

"i, ah...i-i was told that van on the street belongs to, ah...to someone here? i clipped the, ah, the bumper. just a little. but it's noticeable."

anger forgotten, pickles just... stares at him. are his eyes green or brown? and that jawline...

the man shifts his weight just a bit, peeking into the apartment with wide, curious eyes. "sorry, that, ah... that's quite the drum kit."

"huh?" pickles looks back at it and steps inside, and the man follows as if he's simply meant to be there. "oh, yeah, thanks. you play?"

"hardly. a small jazz kit in college for a friend's music project but it, ah, obviously didn't go anywhere." the man glances around and seems to realize that he's just waltzed inside. "right, ah, so about the van--" he pulls out his card. charles f. offdensen of finch & associates. an honest-to-god lawyer. huh. so he's a smart guy. good-looking to boot. knows a bit about music, apparently. and he's looking to make things right about hitting the van...

pickles smiles, hearts in his eyes. "ya like metal, charlie?"

--

F for "Fake Dating" - Melmord/Twinkletits

aaahahah... okay. so, this would be when melm is living with john as part of his continued therapy. a few months pass, and they've actually become good friends, melm thinks, not just therapist and patient. it's nice living there with john.

and then, john gets a call from his ex-wife, joy. she's in town, and she wants to come over for dinner one night before she leaves. the only thing is, she's got her new fiance in tow. she and john ended on pretty mutual terms, so there's really no bitterness there, but even so, john knows it's going to be an unpleasant evening. and then there's the question of what to do about melmord.

"you can just stuff me in a back room and pretend i don't exist. i'll be real quiet."

"absolutely not, you've been watching too many sitcoms."

"excuse you, that's jane eyre."

john just doesn't exactly know how to approach explaining melmord's presence in the house. because he knows joy, and joy will ask.

"tell her i'm a friend who needed a place to crash?"

"joy knows i don't do friends anymore."

ouch go melm's feelings.

"well, uh... you could just tell her the truth? that i'm your patient and i live with you?"

john pulls a face. "absolutely not."

in a flash of sitcom inspiration, melm snaps his fingers. "i got it! i'm your boyfriend! we'll pretend to date!"

"pretend to--?? mel, honey, no. okay? i understand you're trying to help, but--"

"but what? what's your brilliant idea, doc?"

cut to john introducing melmord to his ex-wife.

"and this is my... well, he's uh, my boyfriend actually. my boyfriend melmord."

melm is all smiles as he leans in and takes joy's hand. "please, just call me mel."

and then of course at the end of a long night, joy and her fiance leave, and john and melm pat each other on the back for a job well done. they really gave it their all, put on a convincing performance full of long embraces and doting glances and romantic touches. neither of them really want to talk about how easily it came to them, and how unwilling they both are to bring it to an end.

"well, uhh... good night, then." john chuckles. "darling."

"yeah, haha, sleep good, uh... sugarbear."

they laugh. they're standing in the hall laughing. they should really move apart from each other and go to their respective rooms if they're going to sleep, but they're not moving. and they're still laughing. and now melmord is touching john's shirt, fingering a button, and john has a hand on melm's hip...

"maybe," melm says quietly, "we can just pretend for, like... a little longer?"

#thank you jean!!!! #these are turning out so long omg hahaha #my writing #okay NOW i sleep fdgdgd

[blackberry-gingham]

This was kinda inspired by the previous anons request but could you write headcannons/imagines (whichever you think fits best) about being an actress and meeting their lad on the set of one of their movies/a movie

(Ok ik I have other requests waiting looong behind this one, but it's going to bug me if I don't do this first, so I'll post my next chronological request tomorrow instead of my usual every other dayish schedule! Thanks guys ❤️)

Honestly, the absolute MOOD™ of this gif has been on my mind for like all of the following imagines. Like the on periodt FLAVOR that actress is rocking, all done up and everything ?? John or [insert one of the other three] ob-sessed with you ?? Literally yes. So yeah, there's my overview lol, the rest is up to your imagination!

Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy! 😌

George

You meet George on your way to grab a little refreshment before your scene in between takes

You've got a nice little flute of wine, to calm the nerves of course, when suddenly you get bumped rather harshly from behind!

Luckily your drink spilled on the floor and not your nice costume, but still, you're about to give whomever it is a piece of your mind!!

You turn on a dime and come face to face with... Oh

There, only inches away, stands the George Harrison, with a mouthful of food, a wrapped up snack for later, and eyes wide as saucers

It's a race to see who can apologise first

While you over come your shock at nearly cursing out one of the stars of the show, he hurriedly chews and swallows the last of his snack

"I'm so sor-" "-eg your pardon!"

You overlap each other with your apologies, causing a similar scenario again as you both accept the other's apology

The two of you chuckle a bit at that

At this point, George feels like he's just now getting a good look at you

He wonders if you're a recent hire, bc otherwise he certainly would've noticed the most beautiful woman in the building before now

Suddenly a touch self conscious, he wipes the crumbs from the corners of his mouth and scrambles for a way to make small talk

It's not really his forte, you see

Luckily, you come in to save him

You cock your head to look at his napkin of snacks

"What have you got there?"

"Oh these? N-nothing, just some scones or something like that"

He crosses his arms behind his back, like he's embarrassed to be caught smuggling snacks

"Oh! Have you tried the cream cheese and raspberry ones? They're to die for!"

George loosens up a bit. He wouldn't have guessed you were something of a food fan too...

He brings around his napkin of goodies and unwraps it a bit for you to see

"I have actually, would you like one?"

You thank him and take one, savouring the flavor while he pops another into his mouth as well

"See, quite good! Although, I'd dare say mine are better"

You laugh, but George simply stares

"You bake?" He says through a mouthful of scone, eyes alight

Of course you confirm that you do indeed, and your cooking is fantastic too, thank you very much!

The two of you talk about some of your favorite treats to make and from there... Well, George is pretty sure he's met his soul mate

John

Now when you meet John, I think you approach him!

He's backstage taking a smoke

You'd think he's just having a quick break to relax before filming starts, but the way he's looking around, shifting his weight, and fiddling with his outfit says it all

Classic stage fright

You remember those days, but as a seasoned, successful actress, you've learned a few tips and tricks you think might help!

For one thing, getting to know more then just your co-stars is a bit of a relief

Plus, I mean... It's John Lennon! And have I mentioned you're a bit of a fan?

So you approach, completely unfazed, and poor old Lennon does a double take

Out of gentlemanly habit, he immediately puts out his dart when he sees you coming

You come right up and introduce yourself with a "how do you do"

Now at this point, normally he'd respond with a witty but dirty pick up line, but...

He can't tell if he's just not in the mood from his nerves or what, but he just can't bring himself to do it

Or maybe... Maybe there's just something about you?

It's not every day such a fetching woman approaches him without screaming her head off and begging for an autograph in the process

Besides, there's just this air of confidence about you that puts him at ease

You make it look so effortless too!

He wishes he could be like that...

John nods respectfully with a quiet "just fine thanks"

He doesn't bother to introduce himself, he simply assumes everyone here knows who he is

You tilt your head and smile invitingly

"Are you sure? Excuse me for saying so, but you seem a bit nervous"

Well, regarding the filming coming up, he was a bit, but standing here, talking with you?

He certainly is now!

"It's fine, just thinking about my lines and such"

You can tell he's lying, but you let the matter go to switch up tactics

"Well I'm sure you'll be just fine out ther- Oh? Hold on..."

You casually saunter up to him as though you've known him for years to straighten his tie and smooth down his lapels

Despite your boldness, John puts up no resistance. In fact, he finds he rather enjoys your touch

He's so use to a more... different sort of touch when it comes to women, to the point that he's nearly forgotten just how fulfilling soft and gentle contact like this can be

Forgetting himself, John leans into your palms a bit as you finish petting them across the chest of his suit

You definitely notice, but decide to have mercy and say nothing about it

"Just remember, if you need a little stage advice out there, I'll be around"

You wink at him and walk off to your dressing room

John waits a moment until your out of sight, weighing what just happened in his mind

You know what?

He smiles to himself and jogs after you

Maybe he does want some advice...

Paul

Now Paul I think is the one guy of the four to seek you out!

You're relaxing in your dressing room adding just a few small touch ups to your lipstick and so on until you're on

When the gentle knock comes to your door, you assume it's your assistant come to fetch you

You check the time and then hurry over to answer the door

"Yes yes, I-"

Paul is standing with his hands clasped behind his back, a respectful distance from your door

When he'd heard you were the leading lady of this film, he knew he simply had to see you in person

He's a bit of a fan himself you see, and he can tell you right now, the camera doesn't do you half justice

Paul's mouth forms a little "O" as he looks you up and down so quick, it's almost subtle

Not at all impressed, you look at him expectantly, but try to hold back any attitude

"Can I help you, Mr. McCartney?"

He snaps out of his daydream and at last looks at you with the respect you deserve

"Oh, my apologies love, I just wanted to greet my co-star!"

Paul gingerly takes your hand and kisses your knuckles

Alright, maybe you're a little impressed

"I've heard so much about you, I couldn't believe it when they told me you were going to be a part of our little film"

He laughs, and then clears his throat awkwardly

"Sorry, I guess I'm just something of a fan"

You're a bit taken aback to see Paul, the ladies man himself, McCartney acting flustered, but what a compliment for one of the Beatles to be a fan of you

Needless to say, you're nice about his being awkward and hang around for a little conversation

He tells you about all the movies he's seen you in and how wonderful a job he thought you did

You're really enjoying the moment, after all, what a rare one it is! Until your assistant comes to fetch you and Paul for filming

"Oh yes, we'll be right along!"

Paul calls after your assistant and more or less shoos them away

Once you two are alone again, Paul fidgets a moment fishing around in his pockets

"Now I know you get this a lot-"

He pulls out a newspaper article and a pen, then holds them out to you

Upon closer inspection, it's the headline from when you were recognized for your first acting award

"But could I please get your autograph?"

Then he leans in and whispers, "and please don't tell the lads..."

You laugh and assure him his secret is safe as you sign your name in flowing script before handing him his prize

Paul looks like a child in a candy shop, he's so excited

You smile sweetly and begin heading towards the filming site

Before you know it Paul trots up beside you, following close

He looks from you to his newspaper clipping once and then twice before his eyes linger on you

"You know, I have a record from one of your plays back at the hotel... Could you-?"

At first you shoot him a look, but the puppy eyes he's giving you assures you he means no funny business, so you promise him ❤️

Ringo

You meet Ringo backstage in between sets, right before your scene

And when I tell you the first time Ringo sees you, he immediately knows he would die for you...

!!! RINGO. IS. STAR STRUCK !!!

You're already gorgeous as is, so when his first time seeing you is all done up with your hair, outfit, and makeup for the movie he's just BLOWN AWAY

And as he should be 💅🏻

There's still a decent bit of time before he needs to take his place or anything like that, which is good bc his brain is in a whole other dimension rn

You're absolutely magnetic and all he can think to do is approach

"Oh, hello Mr. Starr! Can I help you?"

"hi"

You blink at him for a moment, not quite sure what's happening

But when it hits you, you quickly cover your mouth with a gloved hand, trying your very best not to laugh at the poor guy

Ringo however, is completely under your spell at the moment

"I uuuuh, I'm Ringo"

His big droopy eyes are absolutely transfixed in a dreamlike haze on your beautiful face, and he offers you his hand to shake

Now you're REALLY trying not to laugh

You give his hand a shake, brushing off any awkward feelings, and introduce yourself

Ringo repeats your name aloud, looking now as though he's been transported into a dream

That's your name? He loves that name! How did you know!

After a moment of awkward silence while you let him process, he thankfully seems to return to reality

"Ahem, sorry, I didn't mean to bother you"

He looks away quickly, now starting to realize he's made himself out to be quite the fool

"Well I feel rather silly, uh"

He scratches his neck and sneaks a glance up at you

Thankfully, you're very understanding! You have a lot of fans, and his behavior isn't quite unheard of in your experience

"Oh, no no! It's no trouble at all!"

You give a genuine laugh and tell him you're always glad to meet a fan

Ringo responds with a little humor to relieve any last traces of tension or awkwardness and then laughs his deep, goofy laugh

You contemplate what a strange but wonderful sound it is

And you know? wouldn't mind sticking around to hear it again...

Besides, he's clearly already very interested in you

That, and it's nice to meet a gentle soul amongst your fan base, rather then the clamoring men and women you're used to

Ringo smiles at you with pure admiration, before picking up some easy small talk with you, just as though you're anyone else

It's at that moment you officially fall for him

#the Beatles #beatles imagines #beatles x reader #paul mccartney x reader #ringo starr x reader #john lennon x reader #george harrison x reader

[everybodyscupoftea]

i just wanna be with you

ole miss rafe x reader

freak snowstorm in your hometown keeps you trapped in the airport

future fic!!!

(warnings: cursing, no editing)

It hardly ever snowed in your hometown, like you couldn’t even remember the last time there was a white Christmas, you were that young. So of course, the year you and Rafe decided to fly there for Christmas, it snowed. Hard.

The flight was early on Christmas Day, you and Rafe left your apartment at 3 a.m. to get to the Jackson airport and through the busy airport for your flight at 6:30. He made the coffee and you loaded the car, both sleepy.

Rafe picked the music, playing his hype playlist softly to stay awake while you dozed in and out of sleep in the passenger seat. There was no one on the road until you got closer to the airport.

“Babe,” he called out softly, “almost there.”

You picked your head up and saw the parking garages coming up in the distance, so you sat up and started putting your shoes back on and gathering your stuff. When he parked and got a tag, you followed after him carrying your duffle bag in one hand, his hand clasped in your other.

He’d made good time, and the airport was still fairly quiet. Your gate was far from the entrance you’d parked near, so the two of you speedwalked, still sipping the to-go cups of coffee Rafe made at home.

You’d just made it to security when you drank the last bit, and both of you threw the cups away before walking through. They let you through pretty quickly, and you were back on your way, this time him carrying both duffle bags while you handled the booksacks. 

“You know,” Rafe spoke for the first time since getting out of the car, “I haven’t been at an airport in years.”

You furrowed your eyebrows, “I thought your family was rich. Even with a private plane you need an airport right?”

“Ward has an airstrip.”

“Holy shit.”

He laughed humorlessly, “Yeah.”

“Well, my parents usually drive, but I kinda hate it. I’d much rather just fly.”

“How long is the drive?” he asked.

“Seven hours.”

“Jesus Christ,” he whistled lowly, “they drive it every time?”

“My father prefers it.”

Rafe snorted, “Not for me.”

“Me neither.”

By the time the two of you reached your gate, there were a few people sitting around, phones and laptops plugged into various outlets. Rafe glanced around before finding two chairs alone and nodded, “Wanna sit over there?”

“Sure.”

He led you over and you leaned onto his shoulder. You could hear the smile in his voice when he asked, “Gonna take a nap?”

“Maybe.”

“You have about 45 minutes until it’s time to go.”

“Wake me up in 30,” you mumbled, breathing evening out.

It couldn’t have been 30 minutes when he shook you awake. Blinking at him, confused, glanced at your watch. He was frowning, “Flight’s delayed.”

“Huh?”

“It’s snowing at the other airport pretty bad. And it’s supposed to be just as bad when we land.”

“Did they say when we could go?”

“It’s supposed to clear up after like an hour and a half or so.”

“So we’re delayed that long?”

He sighed and nodded, “I’m afraid so, sorry sweetheart.”

“It’s okay, nothing we can do. I’ll call my mom.”

Rafe frowned, “Want me to? Since it’s technically my fault.”

“What? You control the weather now? Kinda sick.”

“No,” he laughed softly, “we had to wait so long so that I could finish at work.”

“Rafe, there literally hasn’t been snow there in years. There was no way you could’ve predicted this, surely you don’t actually think you’re at fault.”

With an embarrassed shrug, you realized that he actually did. Before you could say anything, he told you, “You were ready to leave like a week ago. You should’ve just gone.”

“To leave you to fly alone when I know you don’t like it the most.”

“I’m a big boy.”

“I know,” you sassed, “but I want to be there for you.”

“Well,” he paused, “you are. And I’m sorry this isn’t working out.”

You shrugged, “Shit happens. Guess it isn’t meant to be.”

He suddenly looked determined, “It is. We’ll get there even if we have to change flights and rent a car and drive.”

“Babe, neither of us knows how to drive in snow,” you reminded him with a laugh.

“We’ll figure it out,” he told you, standing to go to the ticket counter. Before he could walk away, you grabbed his sleeve, pulling him back with a laugh.

“I promise it’s okay. Even if we spend most of Christmas at this stupid airport, at least I’m spending it with you.”

“That’s,” he sighed, “like I’m glad you aren’t mad at me, but that’s not fair to you.”

“To us,” you corrected, “you’re also missing Christmas with your family.”

Rafe’s eyes widened and his lips pressed together. You weren’t entirely sure what emotions were crossing his face, but they looked good. Complicated, but positive. 

You let him work through it quietly, holding his hand, and eventually, he spoke up, “I guess you’re right.”

“No need to guess,” you told him cheerfully, dialing your mom’s number. She didn’t answer.

-

There was no progress an hour later, and you were starting to wake up finally. Rafe, on the other hand, was fading fast. His head kept drooping, falling onto your shoulder before jerking back up. 

You reached up to run a hand through his hair and he pushed into it. With a smile, you scratched his scalp and he sighed quietly, eyes shutting fully. Finals week and grading had tired your poor boyfriend out completely, so you deep down hoped the flight would stay delayed so he could get some sleep.

He slept for an hour and a half, no progress made, though the gate across from you had emptied and filled twice in the time yours had stayed packed. There were people stretched out across the floor, and the flight attendants were even starting to look a little squirmy.

Rafe jolted up, forehead clipping your chin, and hissed, rubbing over his forehead with a confused look on his face. You laughed, holding your chin, “Good morning, handsome.”

“Hey,” he answered, smiling sleepily.

“How was your nap?”

With a hum, he answered, “Good. What time is it?”

“9:00.”

His eyebrows shot up, “And we’re still not on a plane, huh?”

“We are not. Are you hungry?”

“Hmm,” he tapped his chin, “a little bit, yeah.”

“There’s a sandwich place a little bit down. If you’ll save seats I’ll go grab us each one?”

Rafe nodded and reached for his back pocket to get his wallet. You waved it away and he frowned, “Why not?”

“I can pay.”

“But I want to pay,” he argued.

Rolling your eyes, you bent down and kissed his forehead, “Let it be part of your Christmas gift.” And before he could answer, you were gone. The stand had breakfast sandwiches and coffee, so you bought two of each. 

Rafe had stretched out when you left, his legs taking up your seat so no one would sit down. You snorted and he grinned, “Saved your seat.”

“You couldn’t have just put my booksack on it?”

“Someone could move the booksack, moving my legs is a lot more difficult.”

You hummed, playing along, “They are pretty hairy, I wouldn’t touch them either.”

Rafe smirked, “You sure about that?”

Shoving the sandwich in his face, you nudged his legs away and sat back down. Rafe took it and one of the coffees. The two of you started eating in silence until he made a noise to get your attention, “Did your mom ever call you back?”

“Nope,” you popped the p.

“So she thinks we’re in the air right now?”

“Most likely.”

“Rough. Hopefully she hears my message before dad drives to the airport to pick us up.”

-

Another hour passed, and your mom answered finally. She sounded frustrated, and you felt bad, but there wasn’t much you could do. Rafe also felt bad, he’d gone kinda quiet, and you felt extra bad.

“It’s going to be fine,” you reassured, squeezing his hand.

“We still have a four hour flight, babe.”

“Yeah, but we’re going back, it’s only like 8 there, so it’ll be fine!”

Rafe unclenched his jaw, “I guess you’re right.”

You shook your head, “What’s up with all this guessing today?”

He snorted, and pushed your head away, “Yeah yeah, leave me alone.”

Right as you started to respond, a very relieved-sounding flight attendant announced that the plane was ready to board. Rafe hopped up and held his hand out to help you up. He grabbed both of your bags, “If you go throw the trash away, I’ll go get in line.”

Texting your mom that the plane was finally boarding, you threw the cups and wrappers away before joining Rafe in line. Even when the plane was full, they still didn’t have a takeoff time, so you settled in, looking out the window next to you.

Rafe sighed and you turned, “What’s up now?”

“This is all going wrong.”

“I mean it’s not that big of a deal.”

Shutting his eyes, he told you, “It is. I had plans.”

“Plans?”

“Yes.”

You waited a few seconds for him to elaborate, and when he didn’t, you nudged him with your elbow, “Plans?”

“I said yes.”

He was smirking, and you rolled your eyes with a huff, “Stop messing with me, Cameron.”

“Never.”

“Bro,” you groaned, “why can’t you just tell me.”

“Bro, I’m not ruining this for myself.”

“Ruining what?”

He shrugged, “Christmas.”

“Ah yes, Rafe Cameron who notoriously controls the weather, ruins Christmas for us all.”

Rolling his eyes, Rafe chose not to respond, and pulled a book out of his booksack. 

“Oh are you ignoring me now?” you asked, poking him.

“Until the caffeine wears off, I’m ignoring you.”

“Rude.”

“You’re rude.”

The lady on the other side of Rafe sighed loudly, ending your giggling and Rafe elbowing you. Biting your lip to hold in your laughs, you grabbed his hand when he tried to poke your side where you were ticklish.

“Asshole,” you whispered, holding his hand as tightly as possible while he fought against you.

“Me? Never,” he answered, shaking his hand free and poking you in the side. 

You arched away, whacking your head on the wall next to you. With a groan, you rubbed your forehead, “Fucking ouch.”

He laughed, reaching forward to grab your head, “Watch it, don’t want to give yourself a concussion. Then you’ll be ruining Christmas too.”

“Neither of us are ruining Christmas.”

“Ruining my Christmas,” he responded cryptically.

You tried, “All I want for Christmas is you?”

“No, Mariah. You want to see your family.” You opened your mouth, and he cut you off, “And don’t say you’re my family, I know that, but the rest of your family.”

“Well,” you answered weakly, “as long as you know.”

“Was trying to make it more official,” he muttered, but you heard him.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Something,” you argued back.

He mimed zipping his lips, and you sighed, “Fine, be that way.”

“I will.”

And before you could say anything else, the flight attendant came over the speaker and started the pre-flight spiel. You sighed in relief, sending your mom a quick text that you were finally about to take off.

By the time the plane took off, you’d forgotten about Rafe’s weird behavior. Happy to finally be flying and not sitting in an airport.

~

day 19 of @obxmermaid​‘s holiday challenge: delayed flight

#rafe cameron #college rafe #ole miss rafe #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron fic #outer banks #outer banks fic #obxmermaidholiday

[qhazomb]

SO IN THIS ALTERNATE VERSION OF THE SPACE DRAGON GORDON AU, in which Benrey is also still not at all human... (also whoops this got long) they both meet in the woods. Benrey had been living there for a few years, when suddenly this dimensional tear opens up for a few seconds, just long enough for this.... weird orange dog to come stumbling through. except, wait, no, that’s not a dog. dog’s don’t wear pants. Benrey hasn’t interacted with many dogs before but he knows them well enough to know they do not wear pants. he also knows they don’t look anything like whatever the heck this guy is. obviously, the best course of action here is to try and make friends with him.

which goes a little rough at first, as this kid doesn’t speak english, or any other earth languages. he does seem to kind of?? get the general vibe of the different sweet voice colours though??? so after enough friendly green and non-threatening body language, he gets the idea. they eventually figure out how to at the very least give each other their names, though Benrey misinterprets his new friend’s name as “Gordon,” as it sounds p much the same as the human name. Benrey’s better at catching food on his own (something lil’ babby Gordon never had to do, relying on the adults in his pack), so he was the one who handled that. after about a year of living hidden in the woods together, while Benrey’s off on a food run one night, he hears some big noise going down around where he last left Gordon. he gets back in time to see his first and only friend getting carried off by a big helicopter with some orange logo he doesn’t recognize on it. he’s too young at this point to try and chase after it- hasn’t yet developed all his abilities in his physical body- so all he can really do is just. sit there and sing out a bunch of sad purple and blue :( sometime later, a group of humans in weird gear come searching through his neck of the woods. Benrey recognizes the logo on their clothes as the same one on the chopper that took Gordon, and thus realizes that they’re probably trying to catch him now, too. on the one hand, if he got caught, they might take him to where Gordon is, and he could try and break them out! but on the other hand, he might not be able to break out of wherever they’d keep him, and then he definitely wouldn’t get a chance to find and save Gordon. he opts to avoid getting caught, though he almost fails in that. he manages to shake them when he gets to a residential area, and clips through the wall of a house and into its garage, trying his damn hardest to keep his scared/nervous sweet voice quiet. the alien hunter dudes give up and leave, but Benrey’s still a little too scared to go back outside, just in case they didn’t actually leave. and then some guy walks into the garage and is like “What the HELL?” which gets the attention of some lady and she’s like “Oh my god??” ‘cause like, how else would you react to finding some weird monster kid cowering in your garage in the middle of the night?? the dude and lady are married couple Alan and Kathrine Lover (random fun fact: when they were getting married, Kat had their wedding invites themed with ‘the lovers’ tarot card, after realizing that her and Alan would be called, well, ‘the Lovers’ once they were officially wed :P ) Alan was pretty wary of this freaky lookin’ monster (can you blame him?), and Kat was too, but she did note that it looked like a little kid. a very scared and distraught little kid, at that. now, up to this point, Benrey had only tried interacting directly with humans twice, and both times went very poorly. so he himself is pretty on edge when this human lady starts slowly approaching him. he’s keeping a couple of eyes on the dude behind her, too. but when it finally clicks that, oh, she’s trying to be non-threatening and?? soothing???? friendly calm down tone and vibes??? she offers a hand, and he accepts it, and then goes in for a hug, which she returns, and honestly at this point Benrey’s feeling a little overwhelmed so he just starts crying again into her shoulder. Kat turns her head to look back over at Alan and give him a big sad eyed “we can’t NOT keep him :(” look and Al’s just “SIGH yeah okay guess we have a monster kid now.” once Benrey’s calmed down enough, Kat and Alan bring him inside to the living room because couch is comfier than concrete floor, and they ask him “what happened?” but also “what even are you?” lil’ five-year-old Benrey explains to the best of his ability that he’s from space (”Do you know which planet?” “no not a planet, space. with the stars ‘n’ stuff.” “Uh... Okay.”) and he’s upset because some... alien hunters or something were trying to catch him, and that they’d caught his best friend a few days ago! he really wants to save his friend (who isn’t the same kind of creature he is, “he’s orange an’ has a mustache.”), but he doesn’t think he could do it if he got caught too, BUT he doesn’t know who those people who took him are or where they took him so he STILL can’t save his friend and now there’s more tears and sad sweet voice oh no :( in comes more hugs from Kat. Kat and Alan honestly have no idea what to do to help this poor kid. well, in regards to saving his apparently abducted friend, anyway. they have a decent enough idea how to keep him from getting snatched himself. lucky for Benrey, Alan’s got a sister who knows a thing or two about forging legal documents (shhhhh don’t ask). so yeah. the Lovers have a kid now, if a bit sooner than they were expecting to get one. and a lot less human than they were expecting them to be. Benrey manages to get his body looking actually, convincingly human sooner rather than later, not just to hide better but also out of a big desire to go interact with the other neighborhood human kids and go to school with them ‘n’ stuff. make new friends. he never forgot about Gordon though, or gave up on finding him again one day. around when Benrey’s about 13, the Lovers move down to New Mexico for reasons related to Alan’s work, like in the other version of this monster Gordon au. also like in that version, their new neighbor is 20-something-year-old Tommy, who Benrey ends up bonding with big time. Benrey eventually finds out Tommy’s working at a research facility that bears that orange logo the guys who took Gordon had, and he becomes dead-set on getting into that place and finding his old friend. Tommy, who found out Benrey wasn’t human pretty early on in their friendship, even agrees to help him. Benrey’s 25 when he snags a position on the Black Mesa security team. he doesn’t tell his parents why he wanted to work at this place so bad. well, not the real reason, anyway. the reason he does give is that he wanted to be co-workers with Tommy, and plus, with Tommy being able to put in a good word for him, why not take advantage of that? after almost a year of working there, Benrey still doesn’t have clearance for any of the departments where his friend might’ve been kept, nor has he had any opportunities to go snooping around after hours. not even with his powers, which feel... dampened in this place. he’s not a fan, not at all. his resolve is threatening to die out on him, until one morning when he’s standing at his post in Sector C, and this new guy he’s never seen before strolls on by with a wave and a ‘howdy.’ there’s... something about this dude that he just can’t quite put his finger on. weird vibe. doesn’t feel right. he can’t figure out what it is, though. clearly, Benrey needs to follow him until he can figure it out. besides, this guy is suspicious, and keeping an eye on suspicious people is part of his job. gotta do his job, or he’ll risk getting fired, and he won’t be able to find his Gordon if that happens! eyes on the prize, bro. on the prize, and on this highly sus dude whose name is... also Gordon. huh. that’s a weird coincidence. Benrey idly wonders if this human Gordon knows there’s an orange space dragon with the same name somewhere in this facility. nah, he probably doesn’t.

#monster gordon #monster gordon au v2 #<- that'll be the tag for the version where ben and the team are still augmented/non-humans #hlvrai au #benrey #benry #adopted monster benrey

[sassytrickster666]

Fluff alphabet : Donny Donowitz

A while back I saw a couple of templates this Fluff Alphabet concept is based on. Unfortunately I cannot remember which(really not intentional, id never copy ideas/templates on purpose) . If you think I've gotten inspired reading your work, please let me know! 

A = Admiration (What does he absolutely adore/admire about you?)

-Your ability to always stay calm. It amazes him how you stay calm no matter what happens. When there's an emergency you´re able to keep your shit together and do something about it. 

-How ballsy you are. You can't stand when people are being a jerk for no reason and you call them out even if they are twice your size. 

-Your reliability. Donny knows you will always be there for him. A thought that calms him and makes him feel warm and fuzzy. You won´t leave him for no reason. You comfort him when he needs it (even if he says he doesn't) and you support him. 

B = Baby (Does he want a family? Why/why not?)

Yes. Yes. Yesssssss. I cannot express how much this man wants to start a family with his one great love.  Even with all the crap he has seen, the idea of bringing something as pure and innocent as a baby into this world with you is very appealing. 

When you're pregnant he´d be giddy. Completely and wholly his. He'd spoil his princess even more than usual. Extra pillow underneath your head, accompanying you everywhere, opening up doors for you. Honestly, his ´helpfulness´ drives you crazy sometimes. 

C = Cuddle (how do you cuddle each other?)

-Big spoon. Every time. Tends to throw his leg over yours in his sleep, which in turn makes sure you´re not going anywhere. -Very intense cuddler. Likes to surprise you by grabbing/cuddling you from behind and lifting you up (especially when there's other people present like his friends).

-Really loves it when you snuggle up against him, laying your head on his chest. When you do this it is another reassurance that you feel utterly and completely safe and relaxed when you are with him. 

D =Doll (What pet names does he use?)

Doll, babe, sugar, cutiepie , and his favourite; princess.

E = evenings (how do they spend their evening? So they go out? Do they read?)

While he loves hanging out with the boys he loves it even more when you join them. You get along really well with Wicki and Aldo so why wouldn't he try to take you with him? As soon as you guys had the baby he preferred just staying home with you both being wholesome and all. 

F = first date (what was it like?)

He took you out to play pool. After both of you getting over your nerves there was lots of banter. He discovered you were better at it than he expected you to be. Tough, you totally did pretend you sucked at first so he had no choice but to show you how to play. He didn't mind ´having´ to be so close to you one bit. 

G = Gentle (Are they gentle? If so, how?)

He tries to be. He is such a bull in a china shop. He's big, he's loud… and secretly quite clumsy. The sheer amount of times he accidentally headbutted you is astounding. He makes up for it by giving you the gentlest of kisses on you forehead when he leaves for work or simply thinks you're being cute. 

H = Hands (How does he like to hold hands?)

He likes holding hands, but he prefers it when you hook your arm through his. What can I say, he likes having you close to him. It also makes it easier for him to sneak kisses. 

I = Impression (What was his first impression?)

The basterds introduced the two of you. He thought you were hella pretty and had a good sense of humour. The fact that you could hold your own around these men sure said something about you too. 

J = Jealous (Does he get jealous easily?) Depends who gets close to you. He never gets jealous when any of the other basterds get near you. You could have Aldo hanging around your neck and Wicki winking at you and he won't give it a second thought. He trusts these boys with anything. However, these are not things strange men should do if they like having nuts. Or eating without a straw. Seriously, he knows you can handle yourself perfectly fine but he just doesn't trust others. He knows what men are capable of and he is protective AF. No one gets near his princess. Not that anyone that knows this huge man belongs to you would try anything. 

K = Kiss (How does he kiss? Who initiated the first kiss?)

He kissed you on the lips first. You´d kissed his cheek long before that. You usually did when saying goodbye. This time he just couldn't help himself. You were so close to him, laughing at his jokes, touching his arm. He kissed you firmly on the lips, waiting for a response from you. Once you realised what was happening and kissed him back he immediately grabbed you and held you close to him, deepening it. 

Donny is a passionate kisser and never passes up a chance to kiss you hello or goodbye or goodnight. He also likes to kiss you to assert his dominance over other men. 

L = Love (Who said I love you first?)

He looooooves going picknicking with you. Just chilling out in the park or in the woods, enjoying some good food and each other's company. It was one of the first dates you went on and he will never forget the way you looked in your navy coloured dress, smiling up at him. It was the moment he realised he would never let you go. That he loves you to bits. It took him another week or so to casually tell you this when going to bed. As if it weren't anything significant or interesting. 

M=Mad (Do you often disagree? What happens if you do?)

You do tend to bicker about the stupidest things. But it's a nice way of bickering. It's usually playful and you just try to convince one another. If you do actually get in a fight, Donny gets uncharacteristically quiet. To be honest, it kind of scares you, even though he would never do anything to hurt you. After you've cooled off he comes up to you to make up. 

N = no (what is their pet peeve?)

Loud chewing, rude people, people that clip their nails in public, and socks that get lost in the laundry. WHERE DO THEY GO??? 

O = Orange (which color reminds him of you?)

This is so utterly fucking cheesy, but the colour that reminds him most of you is red. It is the colour of love. Donny always has been and will be a sucker for cheesy things. He also likes to ask you if it hurt when you fell from heaven. Get matching coffee cups. 

P = parent (what kind of parent would they be?)

He's quite protective of his kids, especially of his baby girl. Real papa Bear material. I pity the boy that wants to date his daughter…. He can be tough at times, especially when they did something he really dislikes like being disrespectful or lying. He would never hurt his kids but he would ground them in a heartbeat. That said, he would do anything for his kids as he´d do for you. 

Q = Queasy (How they handle being sick or you being sick)

When you get sick, he's such a sweetheart. He fluffs your pillow, gets you medicine and attempts to make you soup to help you feel better (he can't cook to save his life, so you can imagine how well that went). You often tell him you can actually get around and so some chores with a bit of a temperature or a simple stomach ache. He won't have any of that though. 

Donny doesn't get sick often, but when he does he is such a man about it. 

R = Rainy Day (what does he like to do with you on rainy days?) Stay in. Get cozy. Play games. Have friends over. Have some drinks.

S = smile (what makes them smile without fail) Your face when you have to get out of bed in the morning: a slightly grumpy, sleepy bed head looking up at him. You being overly excited about a pet or animal. You surprising him with a hug.

T = together (how clingy are they? How long do you two spend together per day on average)

Donny works quite a lot and he works hard. He takes care of his family and likes to spend a good amount of time with them (he takes you with him of course ). You don't have a lot of alone time. However, as soon as he comes home from work he quickly makes his way to you to sweep you up in his arms and shows you how much he missed you during the day. He then spends the next half hour following you around in the kitchen.  

U = Unencumbered (what helps him relax?) Doing sports (have you seen him?), having fun with friends, he also finds watching you cook or bake (and eatin it afterwards) very relaxing and mostly, actually, having sex. 

V = videos (do they take lots of videos or photos during your relationship?)

He keeps a photograph of you with him wherever he goes. It's his lucky charm. You two also keep a small photo album with photos of the most important moments. This includes some pictures of him and the guys, pictures of your wedding day and pictures of your family and kids. 

W = Wedding (What is your wedding like?)

It's a given that Donny likes to joke around and pull crazy shit. Not on his wedding day he doesn't. He is a nervous wreck when getting ready. He takes everything going well very seriously. What will you look like? Will you have gotten cold feet at the thought of spending your entire life with his crazy, annoying ass. Are they stupid and ungrounded thoughts? 100 percent. Do they successfully drive him nuts and jittery? Definitely. And definitely a couple sips of Aldo´s bourbon worthy. The wedding itself was pretty simple. The people you loved were there. Traditions were honored and the food was good. Donny couldn't hold back the tiny tear that slipped down his cheek when he saw you in your dress.  

X = eXtra (what’s an interesting fact about them that they don’t tell anyone about?) Once upon a time when you were dating he decided to steal your bathrobe to open the door for the delivery guy and he kind of never stopped stealing your bathrobe. Have in mind your bathrobe is really big (for you) and pink. And Fluffy. And Donny is a tall man so it comes up to just about the middle of his hairy thigh. It's hilarious that you actually had to buy yourself a new one.

Y = yuck (what do they hate? Could be a food, sent, word anything)

This isn't really a hard one honestly. The thing he hates most in this world are nazis and bigots alike. It makes his blood boil like nothing else. 

Other things he hates are: people that are unnecessarily rude or disrespectful, wet socks, and smelly cheeses. 

Z = Zebra (if he wanted a pet, what would he get?)

A dog. He thinks they´re great companions, and you can get crazy with them. Also, he wants a big dog. He doesn't get along with cats at all. Wouldn't know how to act around them. He always gets scratched.

#Donny Donowitz #donny donowitz x reader #donny donowitz imagine #fluff alphabet #donny donowitz fluff alphabet #inglorious basterds imagine

[frogsmulder]

Maybe There’s Hope: chpt 4 Home is What I’ll be Dreaming of

Starting from the final events of 09x20 The Truth,  Mulder and Scully tackle their new reality as fugitives. When they  finally settle into things, Scully finds out she is pregnant again. A canon divergent AU where I thought, what if Scully got pregnant whilst on the run instead of at the end of season 11?

6k words; rated e; tagging @today-in-fic; read on ao3

  "Mom?"

 "Dana?"

The image of opening the door to her daughter's frightened face flashed before her eyes as she put the key into the lock of Dana's apartment.

 "I'm sorry, mom, I don't have much time... but I'm leaving."

 "Leaving where? Dana, you're not making any sense."

Margaret Scully stepped into her daughter's world still smelling fresh like the owner had popped out to work that morning. She half expected Dana to appear around the corner at any moment.

 "I can't say. I don't even know myself. The trial– it's–"

 "Fox. I understand."

Running her finger along the top of a cabinet, she rubbed the particles into the pad of her digit– the dust had barely started settling on the surface. She remembered embracing her daughter, Dana clutching back like it would be the last time she would get to. Maggie liked to believe she had more faith than to believe that.

 "Mom, there's something I need you to do for me because I won't be there and I don't know if I'll be back."

She picked up the envelope on the side; held it firmly in her hands as she took a long look at the room; all the idiosyncrasies scattered about, neatly organized on bookshelves and the mantelpiece in the way that was so Dana. Sitting down on the couch, she sized up the task at hand: pack a life into boxes, for everything must go. She opened the envelope– the lease on the apartment ended next month.

She started in the bedroom, where all of Fox's possessions hadn't been unpacked yet. They were stuffed into the bottom of the closet, hidden away like bad memories. Maggie knew what it was like with her husband away at sea, not knowing when– if he'd be back. But she'd had her children, her friends, her church group, her faith. She may have felt lonely at times, but she was never alone. She knew her daughter; knew her tendency to shut people out when she needed them most; her need to prove her strength. She worried for Dana.

Pulling the first box out, she lifted the lid and looked inside. Scraps of newspaper clippings littered the bottom, disguising a picture frame and what she suspected was a case file.

"Oh, Fox," she sighed, returning the lid and his privacy. She was transported back to her own doorstep again, hugging Dana before she left. "You promise me one thing: you look after him."

In another box were all of his university books, editions of the Lone Gunmen magazine; another family heirlooms like silverware sets, photographs, inscribed books, a velvet box, a pocket watch. Maggie sat down on her daughter's unmade bed: the only sign that Dana had left in a hurry. The pillow askew revealed a knot of cloth, the top of William's baby hat. "Oh, Dana." She whispered like when she had hugged her tighter on the doorstep. "And you let him look after you."

Maggie shook her head. She wouldn't do it. All of their things, they were not things to be thrown out. She took the hat and carefully folded it, putting it away in a box, saving the good memories, saving all of them.

----------

 "Mom?"

 "Dana?"

Dana stood dumbfounded on her mother's step, pinching herself with excitement, relief, and nervousness. She rushed into her mother's waiting arms, finally coming home after what had been an eternity. "Oh my God, mom, I've missed you so much!"

The thud of crashing into the embrace jolted Scully, opening her eyes to the bright Mexican sun beating down through the windscreen of the car. Gasping, she bolted upright, clutching her hands by her thighs, before she bolted out of the door. Stood in the bright sunlight, she caught and held her breath. In. Hold. Out. It wasn't the first dream like it she'd had, but she was shocked every time by how real they felt and how tangible her mother seemed. Calmer now, she looked at Mulder in the passenger seat, drifting roughly in and out of sleep. His eyes opened groggily as he slowly stirred, stretched, and groaned. He offered her a warm smile that melted some of the ache in her chest and watered a different, better kind into bloom. When he stumbled out of the car and over the dusty ground to join her, Scully turned away, looking out across the open land. He slipped his hands around her waist from behind, stooping to rest his chin upon her shoulder.

"You had a bad dream again," he mumbled into her shoulder.

Scully leaned her head defeatedly against his. She turned in his arms and buried her face into his t-shirt, breathing in his warm, sleepy scent and sighing. Rubbing her hands up and down his sides, she huffed and pushed herself from the wrap of his arms. "I thought I was home again," she said simply, looking up at him.

"Yeah, me too," he hummed. "Well, actually, we were in the office and you were throwing paperwork at me, telling me you would chew my ass before Skinner could even get to me if it wasn't done on time."

She might have chuckled but Mulder doubted that she would share her dream so freely, despite his effort to tease it out of her. He understood her need for privacy but he wished at times she would be a little less unforgiving, building her walls twice as quickly as he could chisel them away. Resolutely, he stood up straighter, holding out his hand out in invitation. She queried him with her eyebrows, so he flexed it imploringly. "Take a walk with me."

"Where?" she laughed.

"Anywhere, everywhere." He chipped away at her guard with a smile. "This fine foreign land has many fruits to offer."

"Okay–" she took his hand cautiously– "but not too far."

They ambled awhile aimlessly with no destination in mind. Taking each step at a time, it was pleasant living in the moment with no expectations. The liberation of no judgement from the open expanse drew them closer together. Between them, they spoke in silences, admiring the craggy landscape decorated with scraggy bushes. As Scully walked along, her thoughts drifted like the thin, wispy clouds on the breeze, back to her mother and the home she no longer had. She hadn't told Mulder yet, not because she couldn't bring herself to tell him, but because with all that had happened, it had slipped her mind. Everything she had now was all ahead of her and everyone to the side of her, holding her hand and swinging it gently like a pendulum. Life seemed simple when reduced to its basic measures: food, water, shelter, Mulder. She wondered how long she could live on that.

Mulder's voice broke through the cloud of her thoughts like a siren returning her to the moment. "Tell me what you're thinking."

Scully looked at him, surprised that he could see into her mind so easily.

"You may keep things closer to yourself these days, but I know your thinking face when I see it." He said it kindly but the honesty of his words punched a hole through her gut. She tried to tell him these things but she also had to figure them out for herself first. She only regretted that she'd ever hurt him in any way being caught in the brunt of her storm.

"It's been a month." The words surprised her as they tumbled out without her knowing.

He cocked his head. "What has?"

"Us..." she breathed. Scully made a point of looking him in the eye, even if it stole the breath from her lungs to see him focused on her so intensely. "... living like this."

His thumb shakily stroked the back of her hand. "You're counting?"

"I find it hard not to."

Mulder nodded.

She sighed. "I– I couldn't tell you what day it is, but I... I don't know– have the need to keep a tally; a record of some kind." It was like her body clock was scratching tally marks on the walls of her mind. Like she was a prisoner in her own skull. "I do it to keep me sane but does it make me mad?"

"Sometimes the only sane response to an insane world is insanity," he answered.

"That's not helping."

"Sorry." He paused in thought, taking a breath whilst trudging onwards. "I know what you mean... When Samantha first went missing and I was waiting for her to come through the bedroom door, I used to count the nights she didn't."

Curiosity claiming the better of her she asked, "When did you stop?"

"If I'm honest, I don't think I have. I just lost count somewhere along the way; found other days to count. Like when I was in hiding–" He took her other hand and pulled them to a stop, standing in front of her and looking into her blue eyes flickering with worry. Mulder could tell she would take what he was about to say the wrong way, so he tried to assure her with a squeeze of his hands and a loving look. "Every night I would cross off another day until I could see you and Will again... Sometimes that was the only thing that kept me going."

He felt her tense in his hands anyway, saw her eyes mist up as the walls grew thicker, yet she refused to let the tears spill. He steadied her at the shoulders, rubbing tender circles gently through the cloth of her t-shirt. Bending lower, he brushed his lips softly over hers, pulling her from the pain she harboured. Yet Scully remained frozen, unresponsive to the warm life of his lips, the hole in her gut tearing a little more. Pulling away to see her stone-faced, he whispered, "Scully, please don't do this to me. You have nothing to be sorry for."

She licked her lips and swallowed, allowing herself to sink to the bottom and the troubled waters calm over the top. Moving out of his grasp, she continued on their wander as if she could physically leave the memories behind.

Mulder's hand loosened on her shoulder, trailing down her arm as she walked away. A sharp tug drew him from the well of despair. As their hands met, she held on tightly coaxing him to follow, which he did so gratefully. She stopped them after a few paces, placing a hand upon his chest. On tiptoes, she raised herself to meet his lips, returning his kiss with mellow grace, not breaking until she had to breathe.

"Scull–" he questioned but was cut off by the press of her lips back against his, delicately answering him.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled against his mouth.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," he repeated in a whisper. His hand rested at the small of her back, guiding her as he turned back the way they had come. "Come on, let's get some breakfast."

----------

Along the back roads of Mexico, they traveled for some time before they came across a small town. The one street through it was lined with sand-coloured buildings that glinted in the sunlight, some rising tall, others spread wide. All of them looked welcoming and homely and Scully, gazing out of her window, wondered what it would be like to live in one of them. As they drove past, she wondered about the lives of the people who did live in them. Did they argue about who took the trash out? Did the children constantly ask what was for dinner? Did they gather around a television in the evening with their families? It was a life that for the longest time she had dreamed of and at one point had mourned the loss of. Now, she was indifferent to the idea of getting out of the car, hardened by years of abnormalcy, or so she told herself. Home was just a dream; the car was all she had for a life. Yet still a small part of her dared to dream; dared to envy the people in this town of their families and their homely comforts. And at the same time, she feared that normalcy wouldn't be enough for her.

Mulder pulled up outside a storefront, eyeing the swathes of people moving in every direction. Despite its size, the town was full of bustling people going about their daily lives.

"How good's your Spanish, Scully?"

She gave him a withering look. "You know I took German in college."

"Mhmm, and I did French in high school. Where's Monica when you need her?"

Scully followed his line of gaze to the crowds of people. "Mulder, I don't think we should go in together."

"What?" He whipped his head around to look at her. "Scully, we're fine. Nobody knows us out here."

"I still think we'd be better off if only one of us went in."

"But what if one of us needs help?" he questioned quietly, scared by her sudden urge to be alone.

"I'm sure I'll be fine," she smiled, unbuckling her seatbelt. "Anyway, you need to drive the getaway car."

Scully left him in the car to his own thoughts spiraling with concern.

It was eerily quiet inside the store. The jingle of the bell above the door and the radio playing quietly in the background only heightened the silence within. Scully perused the shelves, picking up odd pieces like cereal bars, bottles of water, and a packet of sunflower seeds. By the counter, there was a rack of postcards, mostly just pictures of the map of Mexico or the flag with writing she didn't understand. She picked one up and thought of her mother who had no idea where she was or how she was. It would be too complicated to send without revealing their location, she knew that, but maybe when she got home she could give it to her mother like documentation of where they had been.

Scully had always wondered what it would be like to go traveling– her father's worldly trips had partly inspired her and she had been raised with what he called the Scully Adventurer's Spirit. Charlie had started his world trip in Mexico, although his journey had been an entirely legal affair. He hadn't crossed into new territory miles away from border control. Scully turned the postcard over in her hands, reminding herself how far from home she was. Yet strangest of all, she didn't feel like she was.

"Do I know you?"

The voice made Scully jump and instinctively she held the postcard behind her back.

"I'm sorry?" she asked, trying to keep her tone as calm as possible whilst blood pulsed in her ears.

A man, who looked to be in his late forties, had appeared behind the counter with his brow furrowed in concentration and his sight set on her. He rubbed his chin contemplatively. "I know you. You are American, no?"

Scully stuttered, unsure of how to answer. "No, I– I don't–"

"Yes!" he interrupted her. His smile grew with his enthusiasm, unnerving Scully more by the second. "I see you before somewhere, on the television perhaps?"

"I'm sorry, I have to go."

Scully left some money on the counter and swiftly weaved back through the aisles. At a brief glance, she plucked a random box of hair dye from a shelf, self-conscious of her entire appearance. If she had to, she would scrub down her skin until she looked like someone else, but first, she had to get out.

The man behind the counter clicked his fingers in recognition. «¡Ah! ¡Cops! ¡Y el hombre lobo con el FBI!» he laughed and shook his head.

Mulder saw Scully burst out of the shop, arms laden with groceries and an expression he couldn't fathom. She crumpled into the passenger seat, quickly stuffing the things into the footwell. "You'd be no good in a robbery," she quipped.

"Scully, what's wrong?" he immediately asked.

She gave him her usual answer, passing him a cereal bar and his seeds. "I'm fine. Let's just get out of here."

Mulder took the food and started the engine, driving away despite the uncomfortable feeling that told him she was hiding something. He didn't want to press her further though, so he bit his tongue and focused on the road.

After a couple of minutes, Scully turned to him, worrying her lip between her teeth. She relented, speaking softly. "There was someone in there, Mulder, he recognised me."

Mulder let go of a breath that he didn't know he was holding, relieved that she had finally said something. "Are you sure? I mean they couldn't have been mistaking you for someone else?"

She shook her head, doubting herself already. "I don't know, he said he'd seen me on TV. Mulder, what if they have our pictures out on the news?"

"I don't think they'd do that. They don't want to draw unnecessary attention to themselves," he reasoned.

"But they could dress it up as something else. Get the unsuspecting populous to do their dirty work without telling them who or why. Mulder, seriously, how haven't we been caught yet?"

"Don't know, but I'm not going to question it either."

"But don't you think it's strange that if they really wanted to find us they could have easily done so already?" She looked at his profile, judging the minute movements of his jaw muscles, saw them flex unconsciously as they did whenever he was forced to admit a hard truth.

"Perhaps we're not as important as they would have us believe," he tried, glancing at her for reassurance. "Maybe they're busy developing a vaccine or ordering their super soldiers into neat, indestructible lines. Everyone's got bigger aliens to fry." He chuckled perfunctorily.

"Mulder, they were determined enough to kill you that they rigged your trial," Scully turned to gaze at the roadside zipping past and said quieter, "I think there's something bigger at play here."

Mulder properly laughed and she stared at him with a frown stitched upon her brow.

"You're doing a very good impression of me, Scully," he chortled.

She smiled despite herself, trying to hide it in a dip of her head. She hummed, having to agree. Maybe she was being paranoid, maybe she should be. The little Mulder voice played in her head, It's not paranoia if they're really out to get you. Shifting in her seat, Scully scuffed her feet on the box of hair dye in the footwell. She was reminded of the haunting feeling of being reeled into the snare, the need to change shape and escape. I see you before on the television.

"Could we find a motel tonight?" she asked warily, cognizant of the contradiction to her previous argument.

"Yeah, sure." He reached out for her hand, lacing her fingers with his.  "You sure you're okay?"

"Yes," she smiled. "I'm fine."

----------

Scully stood behind Mulder at the front desk, listening vaguely to him trying to communicate to the owner of the motel. She stared out of the window at the fading light, smiling as she clutched their only bag of belongings. Resting her cheek to Mulder's shoulder, she heard the muffled sound of his broken Spanish.

«Uno habitación. Uno err noche,» he stuttered earnestly.

She chuckled, remembering of all the times they had booked two rooms just to keep up appearances and Human Resources of their backs. It wasn't that both rooms never got used, more the connecting door left open was an invitation too tempting to resist taking. Mostly, she relished the frequent nights he had slipped into her bed under the cover of darkness and fallen asleep curled around her.

«¿Te gustaría una o dos camas?» The man nodded towards Scully and she smiled politely.

«¿Excusa?»

«¿Una cama o dos?» the man repeated.

«Una cama por favor, señor,» Scully answered.

Mulder muttered, "Feel free to save me from looking like an ass any time."

"I was enjoying listening to you butcher a beautiful language," she teased.

As soon as Mulder was through the door, he flopped onto the bed and sighed contentedly. "One day, Scully, we'll have a place of our own and I will never sleep on a couch again."

She eyed him suspiciously as she rummaged through their bag. Was this where he thought this was going? The end goal a house out in the country with a little wooden porch and surrounded by fields to play baseball in? She tried to imagine it, sitting on the porch, drinking ice tea on a sunny day, a good book and Mulder for company. A cozy log fire crackling in the stone fireplace on long winter evenings. She sometimes thought about the fairy-tale ending but she couldn't imagine herself in that story. Somehow, Scully was always on the outside looking in.

Clutching the box of hair dye behind her back, she stood purposefully. "I'm going to use the bathroom."

Mulder followed her with his head until the door clicked shut behind her. Hearing the water run in the en-suite, he turned over on his side. The creaking of the pipes was oddly comforting and he closed his eyes to it. The mechanical lullaby was, however, annoying enough to keep him from drifting off even though it was the first time he'd laid his head down on a pillow in a month.

A month– Scully was counting. Every day he had woken up next to her and gazed into her clear, blue eyes, she had been counting. He now understood half of what had been wearing her thin, forcing her to guard herself as he'd forged ahead to try and break through. Maybe now was not the best time to pick at her walls. Instead, he promised to find a small window and let in some light. He lay flat on his back, exhausted, and rubbed his hands down his face. Maybe he shouldn't find a window. What if he did find one and somehow manage to block the light out against his own intentions? Perhaps all she needed was space and time to heal. Time away from him and pain he brought with his existence. It was so hard to know what to do when she didn't speak to him. Not about the important things; the things that truly mattered. Not that either of them had been very good at it in the past. It had only ever been drips of conversation at a time, providing a Petri dish for overthinking and false assumptions and doubt. Things that built up like a damn over time until the structure burst and it all came flooding out at once. He didn't want to lose Scully and he didn't want her to get lost.

Restless, he turned onto his other side.

Emily's little face peered up at him from over the side of the bed.

"Jeez, Em," Mulder laughed nervously. "You scared me."

Her young face, too innocent still to be morose, hung dejectedly before him. Her eyes were wide, almost tearful, trying to tell him something he wished he could understand.

"Emily, what is it?"

She simply padded over to the bathroom door and pointed.

"Dana," he breathed, rushing onto his feet and knocking on the door. "Scully? You okay in there?" he called urgently.

"It's open," she replied and he noticed how she avoided his question. Turning the handily delicately, as if he was intruding, Mulder opened the door ajar and peered inside.

"Scully?"

Her t-shirt was crumpled on the floor with a towel next to the bathtub. She had her head hung over the ledge, damp tresses of hair dangling before her face. Various bottles from a box were scattered around in an unorganised mess that was so unlike her.

"If you need to use the toilet, just be quick," she said.

He cleared a path and kneeled down beside her. "Scully, what are you doing?"

Scully turned her head to look at him, dragging her tongue across her top lip in a condescending manner. "Mulder, what does it look like I'm doing?"

"Is this why you wanted to stay in a motel tonight?"

"Does it matter?"

He carefully reached for her hands, untangling them from the ribbons of her once red hair. "Of course it matters. Why didn't you tell me?"

She looked down at their hands. "Am I obligated to tell you everything, Mulder?" she quizzed, returning her gaze to him as she uttered his name.

"No," he searched her eyes for some meaning, but it was hidden away in some depth he couldn't swim to. "But you hardly tell me anything anymore. I think I see a glimmer of what you keep locked away in your heart, but I don't know if it's just a smokescreen, Scully, I can't tell."

She pulled her hands away, combing her fingers through her hair again. "I would never lie to you, Mulder," she said candidly.

"That's not what I said."

Huffing, she stopped, resting her arms over the rim of the bath and giving him her full attention. "Then what are you saying?"

He didn't know. He'd lost sight of his thoughts when he'd seen her troubled; only ever her in mind. He paused, taking a breath. "Why do you need to change yourself?" he uttered softly.

"I'm not changing myself, I'm just dying my hair. It's nothing new or special."

"Why now? Why so suddenly?"

She stared at him in disbelief. "I told you: someone recognised me. I can't just shrug that off like it didn't happen because it did. This is our reality, Mulder, we can't wander through it blindly an– and just hope we'll make it out alive!"

She caught her breath, taken off guard by her own sudden outburst. Licking her lip, she composed herself, affecting an even tone. "I'm not shutting you out, Mulder, if you'd just listen..."

He watched her silently, absorbing her words. Eventually, he nodded timidly. "Let me help then," he whispered.

"No, I'm fine," she brushed him off.

But he refused to lose her. "Scully, let me help."

She sighed, giving in. Snapping of the rubber gloves, she handed him the pair: they had been too large for her hands anyway. "I've died my hair before, but this is bleach, and all the instructions are in Spanish," she admitted.

"I think you're doing fine, Scully," he smiled, rubbing the mixture from the tips all the way to the roots of her hair. Once he'd checked everywhere was covered, he sat with her, waiting patiently by her side until it needed to be washed out. Grabbing the showerhead, he made sure that the water temperature wasn't too hot and massaged her scalp. Scully hummed in appreciation as the warm water cascaded over her head and his fingers worked their magic.

"Do you think I should bleach my hair too?" he asked, partly to make her laugh and partly because he knew that she was right: this was their reality. And she did laugh: the shaking of her shoulders accompanied by a small chuckle made him sigh in relief.

"What's so funny?" he teased. "Would I not look cool with bleach blond hair? I could take up surfing."

Laughing again, Scully elbowed him playfully, making the shower spray everywhere. Her giggle was a welcome sound for sore ears, breathing life back into the empty silence that had followed the burst of the damn.

He turned off the water and handed her the towel. She sat on the ledge of the tub, patting carefully at her now blonde hair, eyeing the alien colour curiously. Mulder grabbed another towel and started on her other side, drying her hair with just as much care. He seriously thought about how he should change his appearance, although he didn't want to. He didn't want to look in the mirror and see someone else's reflection staring back, his own image lost and forgotten. Seeing Scully now, she didn't look like the same person he had known for nine years. The blonde brought out the ice in her blue eyes; her stares once hot like fire now cold and hard. He knew it was just a costume to wear; an act to play, but he feared it becoming a warped version of reality. He should find his own costume to don too; if not becoming the obnoxious surfer-dude type, then what other outfit should he assume? Mulder doubted novelty glasses with the big nose and moustache would cut it, not least because he already wore reading glasses and his nose– well...

Absentmindedly, he asked, "What if I grow a beard?"

Scully turned suddenly serious. Her icy, blue eyes, still fiery, melted his heart.

"Don't," she said definitively and pulled him into a searing kiss. Her fingers curled through the hair at the nape of his neck, dropping the towel and bringing him closer. She felt a well of hunger for him build in her like she'd been starved of his touch.

His hands traveled from her sides, down around the shape of her thighs, lifting her from her perch on the bathtub. He pulled her body into his, pressing them together, all the while she stole his lips with fever. With his hands under her ass and her legs wrapped around his waist, Mulder maneuvered them towards the bedroom.

"No. Here," she breathed.

"Dana–"

She rested her forehead again at his. "Please."

Mulder turned around and placed Scully on the corner of the sink unit. Grinding softly into her, he traced a hand up to cup her jaw, locking lips reverently. She tightened her grip, pulling him closer at the hips and binding her ankles behind his legs. She sucked his full bottom lip, ripe and refreshing like a plump summer fruit, biting it and soothing it with a swipe of her tongue. He hissed when she continued down his neck, leaving a trail of wet kisses and lovebites until she reached the neckline of his t-shirt. Impatiently, she tugged at it and set him free, dropping it by his feet.

Her hands wandered his torso. It was softer than before, leaner and less muscular. There was still tension in his muscles, a defined shape to them, but she could feel the difference. She reached the waist of his jeans, slipping her hands down further, but Mulder grabbed her wrists, making her look up at him. When Scully saw into his eyes, she understood that he wanted to slow down, but there was a fire unfurling through her, setting her body alight and cultivating an insatiable thirst. The last time they had taken things slow, she'd had too much time to think, and she didn't want to think: just feel.

The moment passed between them, eyes locked onto one another, their telepathy flying with the sparks.

Mulder tenderly let go of her wrists and cupped her cheek, brushing his thumb across the rose flush that tinted it. Scully sighed, leaning into his hand and placing her own on top. He bent down to capture a kiss, his lips soft yet firm with resolution. She responded in kind, opening up to the taste of his tongue, of desperation, of hope, of the sunflower seeds he cracked between his teeth all day. Her fingers wound around his hand, bringing it from her cheek to her hip. She slipped down off the cabinet and he unbuttoned her pants. They fell to the floor with a rumpling sound that seemed to echo off of the tiled walls. She stepped out of them, climbing on top of the unit, tugging him between her legs. A second rumpling of jeans and he was buried inside of her, clutching her closely.

He began to move leisurely, kissing her with indulgence. But his body was strung like an archer's bow, taut with resistance, holding something back. Scully moved against him insistently, one hand scratching at his shoulder, the other twined through his hair. She kissed him like a diver plunging into deep waters; the taste of exploration too sweet not to bite.

"Faster," she pleaded in his ear.

Mulder complied, giving in, releasing built-up tension with the snap of his hips forward. In quick and jarring thrusts he drove into her until it was too much and she came with a gasp, collapsing into his chest. Time seemed to slow. The pulsation of where they were joined throbbed up through him to his ears and pounded through his chest. He heard every lungful of air he took; every small, panting breath Scully puffed. Every plunge pushed him further until he too, gasping for air, broke the surface, floating euphorically on the waves of the ocean.

An indeterminate amount of time later, when it was moving at roughly the normal speed again, Mulder lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling with his arm outstretched and Scully's head resting on it. She was drawing aimless patterns around the scar tissue of where she had shot him. Moby had been rescued from their bag of belongings and the white whale was snuggled in the space between them. Everything should have felt easy.

"Scully..."

"Yes?"

"I– I..." He thought of Emily's face staring up at him. He wanted– needed to tell her about the hallucinations that haunted him but he didn't know if he could place that kind of burden on her. He shuffled onto his side and watched her watch him back. He was about to open his mouth when he saw Emily sat on the bed behind Scully, frantically shaking her head. He itched to make Scully turn over and see for herself the impossible. But there was something in that little girl's eyes, so like her mother's, that made him think of Scully first: how angry she would be if he said he could see her; how broken she would be if she saw her for herself.

"Why did you get those sunflower seeds?" he eventually fabricated to fill the silence, bottling his ghosts up and burying them for another time.

"What?" she asked, understandably bewildered.

Ignoring the nagging feeling that he was walking down the wrong path, aware it was still early enough to go back, Mulder sighed and continued, "You didn't have to get them, so I just wondered why you did."

"Because you like them and I saw them." She leaned away from him, questioning him and trying to gauge what was running through his mind. "Did you not want them?"

"No, it's not that. I wasn't expecting it– I didn't ask you to get them..." he continued to ramble.

She silenced him with a kiss, smiling. "You didn't have to."

When Scully pulled away from him, Emily had disappeared and he wondered why at all he was taking advice from his own deluded mind. Mulder looked up at the ceiling again. There were things he needed to get off of his chest, but Emily was right, even if she was only an apparition or a figment: he couldn't tell Scully, not at the moment. Maybe sometime in the future when the moment was right. Yet the longer he left it, the harder it would be to explain what was happening– to explain why it had taken so long to confide in her. The longer he left it, the harder it pressed against his chest; another weight to carry around. The harder it pressed, the more it weighed on his mind; another thought to worry about. The more he thought about it, the harder it pressed against his chest. It was like something inside him wanted to scream when he reflected upon it. So, he didn't. Instead, he pulled Scully closer and lost himself curled around her. Her warm skin against his own grounded him; her scent wrapped itself around him and tied him down. He focused on her breathing, matching his own to the same pattern until he was made up of a tiny piece of Scully that kept him sane and whole.

"Mulder," she mumbled. "Are you okay?"

"Shh, it's nothing," he whispered. He stroked her hair and kissed her forehead. "Try and get some sleep."

#my fic #msr #on the run #fox mulder #dana scully #maybe there's hope #the x files #xf fanfic

[azaffranist]

Frozen 2 deleted/early content

On the road to F2 there were tons of leaks and I saved as many of them as I could in the fear that Disney would delete them (because they loved to shut down whole websites because of that back in the day). As a result I have a lot of pictures saved on my phone and looking back on them... some don’t sound quite right because it’s definitely not what I saw in the movie. So here’s everythinggg I have. I did my best to organize stuff a bit but there are so many things it was... hard. Feel free to add more stuff in reblogs, replies and such!

Something to note is that we won’t take into account the “officially” released deleted content, which would include everything that’s in the Blu-ray, because basically everyone already saw that (Home, I Seek the Truth, Get This Right, Unmeltable Me, the Secret Room scene, Hard Nokks, etc). Generally, we won’t be analyzing deleted scenes from the official trailers, either, because of this very reason. Something “official” that we will consider, though, are the deleted clips animators have been releasing on Instagram and other sites, because those aren’t that popular.

Before starting here’s the link to all the deleted F2 lines I could find as well as some other additions. The post itself has even more links to other posts containing deleted content so have fun clicking on links. 

Last thing to mention, none of the merch photos here are taken by me. I got most of them from the leaks channel of the Arendelle Kingdom server during 2019. If any image in this post belongs to someone here and you want to be credited please let me know and I’ll edit the post.

This post is long. Like really, really, lagging-my-browser-as-I’m-writing-it long. So grab some popcorn and get comfortable or just take a look at what interests you.

So without further ado, let’s get started!

Deleted Artbook Content

One of the most exciting leaks we got were definitely these sample artbook excerpts. None of these pages made it into the final artbook, though.

This piece definitely belongs in Iduna and Agnarr’s backstory, in which the Northuldra leader wasn’t an ordinary man but a shapeshifter.

The biggest picture in this page points to yet another version of Iduna and Agnarr’s backstory. It’s possible to deduce Bruni hadn’t been fully developed yet or created at all since the fire isn’t pink.

The one on the bottom right seems to be an earlier version of the “forest freed” scene in the final movie, or maybe it happened in another moment altogether.

The most interesting of the three, though, is this one. Nothing in the movie points to the existence of a place like this. It’s interesting to note that this peculiar house looks very similar to Iceland’s “elf houses”, tied to the myth of the Huldufólk, “hidden people”, who were said to be small and live in a parallel world, being able to make themselves visible at will.

These are definitely the inhabitants of the Enchanted Lands, who look completely different than in the final movie with their long cloaks, hoods and staves. They look like mages. Were these the very first concepts of the Northuldra, or another group of characters altogether that ended up being scrapped? Only Ahtohallan knows...

Even though the tree and the vegetation illustration is in the book, there’s one missing and that one is the bottom left. One of the most popular theories in the fandom regarding that illustration is that it was an Arendellian military camp tied to the expedition to the Enchanted Lands. I think what we got in the movie is a watered down version of a much more violent and sinister endeavor to invade the Northuldra. The above mentioned deleted scene of the battle of Arendellians agains Northuldrans is proof of that.

This one shows the Arendellian gang and most likely Mattias looking at the walls of a cave with drawings on it depicting the Nokk among other things that I can’t quite make out. I’ve heard people say that an earlier version of F2 involved the gang encountering Mattias in a volcanic cave and that’s where this scene would go, but I don’t know if those are rumors or there’s an actual source. If someone happens to have knowledge on this topic in particular please let me know and I’ll update the post.

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Incomplete Frozen Fan Fest books and their alternate scenes

As I’ve mentioned in another post, Frozen Fan Fest happened on October 4th, 2019, and it was the official release of the movie’s first merchandise. We were all super excited to look at the storybooks and read the ending!

Except there was no ending and the books ended abruptly right before Olaf’s death, completely skipping over Show Yourself.

You hear that? “Elsa bravely dives into the Dark Sea”. We know the Dark Sea scene was shortened and that’s more proof.

This section of a Frozen 2 storybook explains how it went a bit better. After Elsa was defeated twice by the ferocious waves she climbed up some giant rocks and dove back in. Only Ahtohallan knows how that would be effective in this situation and not a waste of strength, but hey, I’m sure it looked super cool and I’d be down to see it.

”Elsa trudged through terrible winds and thick snow”... um... she didn’t? This might’ve been created when Show Yourself wasn’t a thing yet and her path through Ahtohallan was just that, trudging through terrible winds and snow, and not an inspiring song about self-love and finding yourself. I wonder how that scene would’ve looked.

Maybe we can find something relating to that “unused” section of Ahtohallan in a book called “Anna, Elsa and the Secret River”. Basically Iduna tells them that there’s a secret river out there and after the lullaby Elsa and Anna go nuts and try to look for the river outside. Seems like it was all a shared acid trip because next morning they seriously consider it was a dream.

Maybe here they didn’t realize they were in front of a river, because “Glaciers are rivers of ice” and this is what that Ahtohallan Elsa ventured into originally would’ve looked like? The white river doesn’t know...

This is by far one of my favorite ones. I wouldn’t exactly describe post-Show Yourself as a moment of calm and peace. Maybe peace but definitely not calm. Then it says that the signal meant that “she managed to cross the sea”. That’s a really weird way to describe “horrifying ice statue of colonialist grandpa killing an innocent native man”. I don’t know if they’re hiding the actual plot here of if they hadn’t yet worked out all the details of SY and the moment Elsa found the truth.

Anna has her cloak on as she finds the truth. Readers have no idea what this enlightening truth is because the ice statue is indistinguishable.

As it shows here, the original Iduna being Northuldra reveal was going to happen in a different way. I’m glad we got that final version... Because wow, Elsa and Anna are completely unable to connect the dots here. Anna was smart enough to figure out what to do after receiving Elsa’s message, c’mon! This should’ve been piece of cake...

 Iduna called Elsa “Little Snow”. This points to an alternate All is Found scene and we’ll talk about that more in depth later.

Same scene. Translation is: 

“While tucking the little princesses in, Queen Iduna sang them a lullaby about a far-away river called Ahtohallan, which holds all the answers about the past.

“Does Ahtohallan know why I have powers?” asked Elsa her mother.

“If it exists, it definitely knows that and much more,” answered the Queen.

So in this earlier version, Elsa has always asked herself if Ahtohallan had the answer to her powers... Doesn’t this make Show Yourself work even better? Here she always looked for that answer and she’d learn that she is the answer. I wonder why they took it out because it makes a lot of sense and would give buildup to Show Yourself.

Here what really matters are the squares with text. Olaf never ran through moss or became covered in it. Olaf never looks down a brook to be met by Nokk’s gaze from below. Maybe it’s an alternate When I’m Older?

And relating to that particular piece of merch:

Seems like in an earlier version, the Nokk was associated with waterfalls.

Everyone shut up there’s SWORD ANNA here. Found in a coloring book. I don’t speak Italian but Google Translate says: 

“Anna is a brave one: she does not hesitate to draw her sword to defend her sister Elsa and her friends from any new threat.”

GOOD FOR HER! This is definitely from the version we were shown in the teaser, when Anna wielding an actual sword and slicing someone with it was still a thing. Man, how I wanted that to happen...

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Alternate fully animated scenes found in animators’ posts

After the release of Frozen 2, animators started to post scenes they had worked on and showing the process behind them. Some of them were deleted, are different in the final movie, or have a completely different score accompanying them.

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Adam Green (@agreenster) on Apr 6, 2020 at 5:31pm PDT

A completely different dialogue during the boat scene. Pretty heartbreaking and it’s even more buildup for TNRT, when Anna was left by literally everyone she loved in the planet.

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Trent Correy (@trentanimation) on Apr 14, 2020 at 8:50am PDT

Apparently, for whatever reason, Gale was going to appear in the castle first.

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Trent Correy (@trentanimation) on Mar 29, 2020 at 10:51am PDT

Olaf’s revival was going to be way different, and this implies that his death might’ve been different, too. Maybe his snow just dissipated and didn’t go anywhere? Maybe instead of being neatly placed by a waterfall, it fell all over the Enchanted Lands? I have no idea.

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Mariusz Furmanczyk (@mariofurmanczyk) on Mar 21, 2020 at 7:11pm PDT

I absolutely LOVE this one, okay, and I have no idea why they’d leave it out. Turn your sound on and listen to the much more tragic alternate score. But more importantly, pay attention when she turns to solid ice: just like in F1 with Anna, her last breath is visible. Beautiful parallels, poetic cinema, and I’m hurt and confused and I want it in the movie. Excuse me while I call the police.

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Mariusz Furmanczyk (@mariofurmanczyk) on Feb 26, 2020 at 5:47pm PST

Here the only change is the different score as she unfreezes. I love it so much. It’s so tragic, heavy and powerful. You can basically hear the fragility of Elsa’s fate as the ice breaks and she falls. Help. Here, here, and here, you can see other glimpses of this beautiful alternate score. Once again I’m calling the police and telling them Disney hurt my feelings by leaving this out.

I’ve hit the 5 videos limit already, but here is a link to an animation by jdublish. The change isn’t the scene itself but the completely different siren call Elsa hears. Much more ominous and creepy and I also love it, even though I have to admit the final siren call sounds catchier and more iconic. Also, kids under five won’t start crying of fear when they hear it.

Then there were also plenty of changes in the Elsa vs Nokk scene and we got to see one. Thanks to @justlookatthosesausages for pointing this out and letting me use her gif! The original video was set to private for some reason so I can’t post a Youtube link, but this is @justlookatthosesausages‘ gif:

Elsa struggled way more in the original version. Go to her post to see a comparison with the final version.

And now the awaited All is Found alternate scene! Thanks a lot to @lovewillthaw-j who helped me collect all the scenes. 

First two scenes from the trailers: the Official one, Elsa looks up and Iduna gazes at the northern lights.

The Japanese one, in which Iduna kisses Elsa’s hands. @catloafs pointed that out after F2′s release so thanks!

And the last two were found by @antoineharrakblog, so thanks for that! Here and here.

BUT there’s no need to click a bazillion links because @lovewillthaw-j‘s post reconstructs in a single video what the original scene would’ve been like. Go watch it!

UPDATE: Additions by @antoineharrakblog​. Thanks a lot!

Here we can see that originally, as the elements fled and Kristoff held Olaf, he yelled, “Wow, you’re heavy!”. Don’t know why this would be removed. Maybe they wanted to keep the scene serious? Maybe they needed to shorten the movie so that it didn’t exceed 100 minutes and cut little jokes like that?

 And here, showing Elsa seeing how Iduna saved her father, there’s some deleted dialogue: “Get the prince out of here!” “King Runeard, what did you decide?” in addition to a much more tense score in general.

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UPDATE: Screencaps of deleted/alternate scenes

Thanks a lot to @antoineharrakblog for bringing all of these pictures to my attention! Multiples screencaps have appeared in different magazines or books that clearly didn’t make it to the movie.

Anna never makes that movement in the final movie. There’s more proof of an alternate/extended “Elsa and Anna talk” scene.

This is another one. There exists a lower quality version of this picture which I can’t find right now, but it shows that Anna and Elsa are sharing kransekake in this particular scene (the particular food that we can see at the beginning of OFA).

These are all part of the All is Found scene we’ve been talking about. In the final movie we can see that All is Found serves as a sort of “bridge” between the past and the present, as it transitions from Iduna singing the song to Elsa to Elsa in the castle, reminiscing. But originally, Iduna finished singing All is Found in the past. There’s proof of this here. 

_________________________

UPDATE: Novelization deleted content

This information was provided by @theupsidedownpyramid​ so thanks a lot! There are some really interesting deleted scenes in the novelization.

In this one, Elsa felt the urge to release her magic after hearing the voice at the end of All is Found.

In the novelization Mattias and Yelena’s (or Yelana? Disney will never decide) relationship was a lot deeper than what was shown in the movie.

For more information and a more thorough analysis, read @theupsidedownpyramid​‘s reblog!

_________________________

Miscellaneous

So there’s only one image in this section but believe me, it’s so worth it. 

An animator casually mentioned that there was going to be a head kiss scene. Process it. Can’t? I can’t either.

_________________________

Wow I’m TIRED. I must’ve missed something but that’s all my brain can handle as of now. Thank quarantine for giving me the opportunity to work on this post all day.

Disney committed war crimes when they deleted some of these scenes. I have only one question: Why in the world would they do that? And more information might see the light of day in the future. I’ll never get tired of trying to piece together the convoluted puzzle that is the original Frozen 2.

I will update this post if I remember something else or if someone else has more content to share. Let’s reconstruct F2 together to visualize that movie Disney deemed too cool for us!

UPDATE: Into the Unknown: the Making of Frozen 2 Documentary finally has a concrete release date, June 26th. Let’s hope we can see more stuff then!

#frozen 2 #frozen #elsa #anna #frozen analysis #frozen 2 analysis #kristoff #sven #olaf #frozen 2 deleted content #disney

[thosequeenboys]

My Tumblr One-year Anniversary

Appreciation Post: Shout out to some great creators!

I put together this post of creators whose work I’ve enjoyed as part of my One-year Anniversary. Many create in multiple categories: Art, gifs, moodboards, writing, history, humor. My mind boggles daily at the talent on this site! Thanks to those here and many others for contributing to a great year!

Enjoy their work-and you know what to do!

I’m no doubt leaving people out-sorry if I upset anyone-I actually maxed out the allowed @‘s!

@warriorteam1924. “I want it all!” And this Renaissance Woman delivers: Gif/video/photo editor/moodboard creator—and talented writer of many styles! And Bestie! Recent fave offers a glimpse into Roger’s past As far as the Eye Can See And other gems on this Masterlist

@johndeaconshands Dear friend with great sense of humor! Lovely Works including this BoRhap Boys with Families: it’s the little things

@roger-taylors-car Here’s the glorious Masterlist of this great writer & lovely supporter

@bohemianartsfarts: This amazing artwork inspired my Joger Week submission.

@freddie-moments Curator of stunning Freddie photos and gifs. Here’s one of my faves as I am a huge fan of Fred in Arrow-wear ™️ and Hot off the press: 10-day Freddie challenge

@angrylizardjacket Especially love this writer’s Unspecified Reader works like this Soft Sunrise with Roger

@seventhmoonforreal I was in tears upon discovering this artist’s graphic novel of 39

@onegoldenglance posts rare photos and beautiful gifs-also does scientific study (x)

@debdarkpetal “Everyone knows Deb” as Joe said about Ben. Curator and Editor Extraordinaire of Queen photos and gifs. (X)

@quirkysubject For the Day I Take your Hand is a gorgeously written work of time travel that weaves in Queen, AIDs and NYC history. Hold the handrail, kids-it’s 88 emotional chapters.

@his-majesty-king-mercury Freddie expert and Historian!! Lovely pal - And talented writer too: Loverboy

@an-abyss-called-life Historian esp. for Roger and Brian. Love this interview with Roger (x)

@melisa-may-taylor72 Amazing historian, gif creator and lovely pal. Yoyogi ‘85 concert clips and all Japan tour gifs-and stories are stellar!

@cumberbitchposting Hilarious creations and comments. I feel called out with this one - as do many (x)

@doctorqueensanatomy All around great contibutor, humorist, supporter-and writer: Masterlist

@stesichoreanpalinode: Leads the humor brigade. This post almost made me choke. And why am I being called out as John? It happened ONCE ok maybe TWICE— but I did find plates!

@mephisto92 Gawd what talent! Here, combining two of my loves: Queen and Monet moodboards And one of the Best Fandom creations: Let me tell you the story about the sun and the moon

@drivenbybri Gorgeous artwork and mood board creator. This stunning Queen 30-day Song Challenge will kick-off my second year!

@natromanxoff posts amazing historic photos and gifs. Gosh, I love this Queen Backstage mood board made for me. Thanks, Dear! (x)

@queensilveryrog Talented writer and mood board creator plus lovely person and supporter! Also leader of the Small Writers Discord Group!Can’t choose one work so have at it! (X)

@captvinswaan This Joe and Ben gif-Moodboard is a fave-and puts me in a damn good mood!

@stardust-killer-queen Amazing contributor! Must-see compilation: feel good Queen vids Gifted me this stunning moodboard for the Possessed by Love event. I love it so much!

@heybuddy-drabbles @halfasleepoetry This creative duo penned the beautiful slow burn Parallel Hearts and supports Hardzzello writers.

@yourlocalmusicalprostitute great work in Masterlist. This Brian HC is •gulps•

@benhardypout Incredible writer, Moodboard creator and supporter. Masterlist

@slutforbritdick Darling pal and supporter & writer. Love this hot and lovely Ben work.

@bohemiansweede a multi-faceted contributor Totally blown away by this art work (x)

@mirkwoodshewolf: Treasured pal. creative brainstormer. Gifted writer. Smart as hell. Was Thrilled to receive this amazing work as my Secret Santa: Two bassists in rhythmic love Elton John+Queen John=Happy TQB. Blessed!

@jessahmewren Talented writer who has inspired me. This Poly!Queen Four Eyes is a fave. Who wouldn’t want to show Rog how sexy he is in his glasses??!!

@queeme-machine Interesting and insightful poster - this one about The Prophet’s Song. (X)

@jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels Dear friend & supporter, skilled Sunflower 🌻 grower - and writer. Faves: Very Mazzello Thanksgiving & Don’t you hear my call

@im-an-adult-ish Lovely pal and supporter and a skilled writer to boot: Morning Surprises

@deakysgurl Curator of beautiful Deaky pics, great supporter and writer. Love this present day John love story My Life Has Been Saved.

@amethyst-serenade Blessed to be friends with this lovely, fun & talented writer. Must read!: In the Name Of Love

@mazzell-ro Lovely pal, supporter and writer. Love this creative depiction of Joe as Villian.

@stephydearestxo. Lovely pal and supporter-and wonderful writer! Play the game

@ramblingqueenfangirl insightful and lovely posts. This of Freddie is beautiful (x)

Much gratitude to the following dears who support, reblog and comment and also have great blogs. Love seeing u on my dash: @jennyggggrrr @captaincoffeegirl515 @marianaletosnape @oniriquex @punkebass @stewielover95 @mrsjosephmazzello @igotsuckedintothevoid @lapofthemusicgods @fairestkillerqueenofall @hellysthings @roger-hardy-taylor @pastelhybristophiliac @nickie--picky @orionis8689 @brinteylovesaliens @supernaturalee @39-ers

Here’s all the ways I measured my great tumblr year!

#hope all the links work #one year anniversary #queen band #queen fan fiction #queen fandom #bohemian rhapsody fan fiction #borhap fic #amazing fandom #bohemian rhapsody #blessed #so much talent #roger taylor #john deacon #brian may #freddie mercury #joe mazzello #ben hardy #rami malek #gwilym lee #queen fan art #love you all

[thistreasurehunter]

Outer Banks: Reality TV AU

Okay, this was supposed to be a quick little imagine/headcanon, but it kind of got away from me… I actually feel like I’ve just experienced an entire season of Big Brother in the last 30 mins while I was writing this! (The images above are from Pinterest)

*********************************************************************

Okay, but imagine if they all met on a reality TV show instead. Big Brother, for instance…

VTs + entrances:

JJ would be set up by the show as the sexy one that all the girls are going to love – a 2D dumb hottie.

He’d love his entrance, grinning and waving and high-fiving the cheering audience.

And Pope’s VT makes him sound like a bit of a straight-laced nerd.

And he’s a bit shy on his entrance walk, but he still gets a big cheer.

Sarah and Rafe would come in as a brother and sister duo,

But as separate housemates.

Rafe makes a couple of ~questionable~ comments in his VT and he gets a mixed reaction from the live audience.

Sarah wears a slinky floor length gown and looks amazing as she makes her way in.

Kie mentions sea turtles twice in her VT.

She opts for more of a casual-glam look, but still owns that catwalk as she enters the house.

The Kie/Sarah arc:

Kie and Sarah are framed by the producers as powerful, confident, head-strong women.

So at first, the audience all think they’re going to clash over which one of them gets to become queen bee of the house.

And, to be fair, they do clash a bit to begin with,

Because they’re both so strong-willed and sure of their own mind.

But really, it’s actually all just low-key sexual tension.

Because those girls have the hots for each other!

But they’re both a bit too proud to say anything at first.

Then, slowly, they realise they’ve got so much in common.

And they bond over environmental issues and feminism and convincing their housemates to recycle more.

And they become friends.

Friends who both look really hot in their bikinis when they hang out in the pool or the hot-tub;

And who have long, soft chats late into the night, kind of curled up in the cosy chairs in the garden;

And who often sit with the other’s head in their lap.

And who take turns doing each other’s hair and make-up;

And who talk about how hard it is style different hair types or apply good make-up on a skin tone other than your own, so they teach each other.

Then one night they’d be messing about in the pool, laughing and splashing each other, and suddenly Kie would just lean forwards and kiss Sarah. And Sarah would kiss her back and they’d both be wet and pressed up against each other in their bikinis, and all the cameras would suddenly be pointing at them.

The video of it online would become one of the most watched clips of the show ever and it would go down in BB history.

And then they kind of become an awesome power couple.

And everyone would just know that the house was ruled by two queens.

The JJ/Pope arc:

At the beginning, the audience think JJ and Pope are going to annoy each other. Because they’re just so different: like, stereotypical cautious nerd vs stereotypical reckless jock.

And in the first few days, they don’t spend much time together, because they both did kind of low-key judge the other from a distance too.

But then to spice things up, Big Brother teamed them up together for a task.

And to begin with, they were both so dejected at having to endure the task with the other.

But when they actually started the task they ended up getting along so well.

Like, their personalities complemented each other’s, and they worked really well together.

And they were surprised by how much they could make the other laugh.

And they ended up acing the task.

And then they just sort of… fell into hanging out together.

All the time.

JJ brought out Pope’s fun side and Pope brought out JJ’s sensitive side.

JJ would do something daft, and Pope would join in and they’d both end up creased in laughter.

Or Pope would be a bit sad about something and JJ would be right there, making him feel better.

And their bromance literally became the highlight of every episode.

The entire show, really.

Because everyone just LOVES watching them hanging out, having fun, looking out for each other and just hyping each other up every chance they get.

It was the friendship that shouldn’t have worked, but just did.

And they form a little friendship group with Kie and Sarah. And they all just get along and have a lot of fun together.

One time, one of the other housemates said something mean and unfair to JJ. And JJ was about to get angry in his direction. But then Pope cut in and just verbally took that guy down!

And JJ was just so bewildered, because nobody had ever stood up for him like that before.

And then in letters-from-home week, JJ is happy for everyone, but also a bit sad because he knows he won’t have one – I mean, he knows his dad definitely wouldn’t have bothered.

And Pope asks JJ to read his letter from his parents and it’s beautiful and JJ chokes up a bit and they both hug afterwards and it’s really emotional.

Then just when JJ thinks they’ve finished, there’s one letter left at the bottom of the box, and it’s from his JJ’s BFF from back home – John B.

And Pope reads it out to him, and it’s really lovely and John B tells JJ all the funny things that have happened since he was gone and also that everyone on The Cut is really behind him and JJ is laughing and welling up and just so happy. And all the other housemates – the nice ones – kind of get that this was a big deal for JJ and sort of envelop him in a big group hug, Pope right there in the middle holding him.

And throughout their whole friendship, the camera doesn’t miss the way Pope and JJ look at each other.

And they become the will-they-won’t-they pairing of the series.

They both get asked a ton of leading questions about the other in the Diary Room.

And they get such a huge audience following and end up having a load of fan accounts dedicated to them.

They even get a ship name.

Well, two ship names.

And nobody can really decide which one to use.

But the boys just keep it completely bro-mantic and platonic, to the dismay of the audience.

Even though it’s completely obvious to everyone that they clearly have ~feelings~ for each other.

The Rafe arc:

And, of course, every season has it’s ‘baddies’.

This year it was Rafe and his gang of stuck-up, snobby ‘Kooks’.

Rafe gets a little bit too drunk on the first night and decides to go for a middle-of-the-night swim.

There’s a lot of flexing.

And some of the housemates are a bit wary of him because he comes across as quite unpredictable.

In general, Rafe’s ‘popular group’ are a bit mean to some of the other housemates, particularly JJ, who they keep tormenting,

They try to provoke him into getting so angry he’s removed from the house.

And they keep nominating him for eviction.

But week after week, JJ always survives the public vote.

But then one week he’s up for eviction against the most popular ‘Kook’ housemate and JJ is sure he’s going to leave.

And he’s sad because he knows how much he’s going to miss Pope and his friends in the house.

And on eviction night he can’t keep still and his leg keeps bouncing with nerves.

And the Kook is so over-confident.

Pope, Sarah and Kie all sit around JJ as the results are read out…

And the Kook is evicted and he gets booed when he leaves.

JJ is saved and gets a huge cheer from the audience outside and Pope, Kie and Sarah all pile on top of him in a big group hug.

And Sarah tries to talk to Rafe about cooling it. Telling him to stop being a jerk to everyone, especially JJ.

But it isn’t until Rafe has to do a task with Sarah, Kie, JJ and Pope that it really starts to sink in.

Because the task is really hard and they have to spend quite a bit of time just the five of them in a separate task-room.

And Rafe gets to know the others a bit better and sees how much fun they are and how much nicer they are to be around than the people he hangs out with.

And they all work together and win the luxury shopping budget.

And afterwards, Rafe kind of rejects the ‘popular’ group and starts hanging out with Sarah and the others.

And he just doesn’t tolerate any of his old friends saying anything mean about his new crew.

And so he gets a bit of a redemption arc on the show and the audience go from loving-to-hate him, to just sort of loving him in a he’s-a-bit-flawed-but-aren’t-we-all kind of way.

The Final:

Rafe, Sarah, Kie, Pope and JJ all make it to the final.

John B is in the front row of the audience with a massive sign that just says “JJPope Nation”.

And it’s really emotional when they say goodbye to the house.

Because they all know how life-changing the last couple of months have been.

Rafe’s exit interview is intense – he’s grilled about his change in attitude and he gets a bit emotional. He explains how eye-opening the experience was and how he want to move forwards as a better person and the audience all fall in love with him a little bit.

And Kie and Sarah both look incredible and work that catwalk as they leave.

In their interviews they both get asked a lot about that first kiss…

But the girls are more interested in talking about equality and sexuality politics.

And that just end up solidifying their new roles as LGBTQ icons.

Pope and JJ are the final two.

And as they wait for the final result, they just sit on the sofas a little in shock because neither of them ever expected that they could get this far.

And they both think the other deserves to win much more than they do.

And just before they get the results, Pope takes hold of JJ’s hand.

And when the winner is announced they both just hold onto each other and end up sobbing into each other’s shoulders, because they’re just so happy and shell-shocked.

And when they finally exit the house they both get such deafening cheers and they can’t keep the smiles off their faces.

And their Best Bits videos are amazing, because it’s basically like a montage of their whole friendship.

Their funny, chaotic, sweet, intense, glorious friendship.

And of course they get asked about whether there’s anything more between them than friendship.

And they’re both really evasive.

And they just cannot believe they have fan sites!

And the after-party is loud and wild and brilliant and lasts all night.

Afterwards:

Rafe has redeemed himself in the public eye and ends up being universally loved by the female audience.

After the show, he does a series of work-out videos that become hugely popular.

He also becomes a regular guest on TV panel shows.

After the show ends Sarah and Kie start their own ethical, environmentally friendly beauty brand and later add a fashion line.

They make sure they promote true representation and employ models of all ethnicities and body types, showing girls everywhere what true beauty looks like.

With some of the proceeds of their company, they set up a number of charities that focus on environmental and humanitarian projects all over the world.

And they live their best lives, knowing they’re helping make the world a better place.

After the first wave of interviews and photo shoots die down, JJ and Pope both sort of fall out of the public eye.

There’s still a lot of speculation about them.

And the fan sites never really give up on the ship.

They both occasionally post things to their Instagrams,

JJ mainly posts photos of the ocean or his surf board,

And Pope posts food shots and inspirational quotes.

Occasionally a photo shows up of them hanging out at one of Kie and Sarah’s glitzy fashion events.

And Rafe once posted a photo of the old BB gang, and also John B, in a bar somewhere. They were all crammed into the shot. But JJ and Pope were sitting really close, JJ’s arm slung over Pope’s shoulder.

That photo ended up getting a lot of likes.

And then a few years after the show ended, Pope posts a photo of a heart drawn in the sand with the letters P + J inside.

And then at almost the exact same moment, JJ posts a close up photo of Pope’s hand resting on his own, their golden wedding rings shining.

And so many people like the photos at the exact same moment the boys temporarily break the internet.

#jjpope #mayward #siara #sarah/kiara #jj/pope #jj maybank #pope heyward #kiara carera #sarah cameron #rafe cameron #john b routledge #outer banks #outer banks imagine #outer banks headcanon #obx #reality TV au #au #thistreasurehunter #thistreasurehunter fic #my headcanon turned into a saga #sorry #but also not sorry