Lale

summary: modern flower au, where Patty Newby is a model and Henry is a flower boy taken for one of her photoshoots

cw: hurt-comfort, death

Patty first saw Henry when she needed flowers for a photo shoot. Among all the vibrant flower boys and girls in the shop, the stylists had inexplicably chosen him—a fair-haired, pale boy with delicate burgundy flowers woven into his hair, growing along his jawline and near his large blue eyes. He looked so fragile and small that Patty initially felt a twinge of unease. When she asked, "Why him?" the stylists explained that her image would appear more striking, more contrasting against the backdrop of this little flower boy.

Receiving an approving nod from the clients, the florist opened the transparent door of the display case, its interior misted with humidity. She removed the mask of the life-support apparatus — which all the flower boys and girls in the shop were attached to — from the boy's face. Then, to Patty, rather roughly, she tugged the boy's arm, pulling him out into the main area.

"Here you are. That'll be…"

Patty tilted her head, studying the flower boy with interest. He stared at the floor, motionless, not even lifting his head when Patty stepped right up to him.

"Hi," she greeted him warmly.

The flower boy timidly raised his gaze to her, his pale blue eyes full of distrust. He didn't answer. But Patty wasn't fazed in the slightest.

"I'm Patty. Patty Newby," she introduced herself, extending a hand towards the flower boy.

Again, there was no response, but his look shifted from distrustful to puzzled. The handshake, to Patty's regret, also went ignored.

"Miss Newby, we're going to be late for the hairdresser!" one of the stylists called out.

"Coming!" she replied. "Let's go," she nodded conspiratorially to the flower boy, and he obediently followed her.

It was cold outside—despite early March, the snow showed no signs of melting, and the thermometer was stubbornly creeping downwards. Patty, accompanied by the stylists, got out of the car and noticed the flower boy remained inside. He was staring ahead, eyes half-lidded, occasionally exhaling faint little clouds of barely warm breath.

"Are you sure it's a good idea to leave him in the car?" Patty asked, gesturing towards the flower boy.

"Hmm, better to bring him inside, I suppose, otherwise he'll get cold. Miss Newby, could you get him, please?"

Patty opened the car door and once again reached out her hand to the flower boy.

"Come on. You'll freeze if you stay here."

He looked at her, then took her warm hand and stepped out, shivering from the cold and wrinkling his pale little nose, smudged with pollen.

"Are you cold?" Patty asked softly, even though the question was somewhat redundant.

The boy gave her a barely perceptible nod. Patty unwound the long, soft scarf from her neck and wrapped it around the flower boy.

"That should be better now. Do you have a name?"

"Henry," the boy whispered.

"Oh, so you can talk after all?"

"Flowers only talk to those who treat them well. You are good, Patty Newby." ***

"Please, have a seat," said the hairdresser. "We need to touch up your hairstyle before the shoot. You can put the flower on the windowsill."

"The window's open there," Patty noted, stopping Henry with a gentle gesture. "He'll get cold. Better give him some water."

"Nothing will happen to him. He's just a flower."

Just a flower... ***

Henry and Patty complemented each other perfectly in the frame. They leaned closer and closer to one another, and Patty could sense the sweet scent of the flower boy's hair.

"Messy," the photographer frowned, lowering his camera.

He walked over to the flower boy and began unceremoniously plucking green petals from his hair. Henry winced, clenching his teeth, but remained silent.

"What are you doing?!" Patty intervened, pulling the flower away from the photographer's hands. "You're hurting him!"

"Hurting who? The flower? Flowers don't feel anything."

"Well, he does feel it!" Patty pulled Henry close, shielding his head with her hand. "I'm sorry," she whispered to the him during the shoot. "They're all just ignorant. I won't let them hurt you again."

"Thank you…" the flower boy rustled faintly, tears in his voice.

*** "What will happen to me now?" Henry asked sadly, sitting on the table and watching Patty, now changed into her everyday clothes, pack her dress back into its garment bag.

"What do you mean?" Patty paused, looking at the flower boy in confusion.

"Well… You'll… throw me away later too, won't you?"

"What are you talking about?" she frowned, approaching the flower. Henry flinched back, startled. Patty helped him slide down from the table onto the floor and hugged him.

"I'm never ever letting you go," she whispered, promising.

"Really?…"

"For sure, Henry." ***

"Patty…" Henry whispered weakly. He was deathly pale now, barely able to stand, and his little flowers looked wilted.

"What's wrong with you?" Patty examined the flower anxiously. "Are you unwell? Are you sick?"

"I don't know… I have no strength left at all…"

Patty carefully helped the weakened flower lie down on the windowsill and gave him some water. "Drink this, it should help you feel better."

Henry drank reluctantly, but only a tiny bit. "No, it's not helping…" he shook his head, pushing the bottle away. With this movement the petals from his head began to fall.

"How can I help you? Tell me!" Patty squeezed the flower boy's hand.

"There's no way now, Patty… I'm dying…"

"What?! No, no, please, no! Don't you dare die!.."

"Flowers cut off from the life-support machine… they don't live long… Only a few days…" Henry closed his eyes.

"Henry… My sweet little flower… Please, don't leave me… I love you…"

With tears in her eyes Patty gently traced her fingertips along the flower's pale cheek. He smiled faintly, barely touching her hand.

"Thank you, Patty Newby…" Henry whispered through his tears. "Meeting you made me the happiest flower in the world… Please, keep a few of my petals…"

summary: AU where you are a rising star in figure skating, and Jamie has returned to the ice for the first time in 10 years after a serious injury.

cw: angst, mentions of trauma, panic attack

part 1 here

part 2 here

Thank you sm for ideas @baw16teen <3

To my beloved @creelvx @mewmewgirl101 @reignsgirl19 @harrystylesgirlie

The days went by, and there were about two weeks left until the competition. Under Jamie's watchful eye you trained almost every day, and your program was polished to near perfection. But personally, you were far from achieving all your own goals. You desperately wanted to find a crack in the psychological barrier Jamie had built between himself and figure skating, and if not break it down entirely, then at least understand the reason for its existence.

"Alright, sweetheart, a few warm-up laps and we'll start," Jamie directed as usual, taking his customary spot as an observer on the bench by the rink.

"Actually," you stopped decisively on the ice in front of him. "I'd like you to skate with me today. There's one element in the program that I’ve never told you about. I really want to perform it, but just in case, I'll need you to support me."

Jamie's face grew serious. His blue eyes darkened, and for a second you felt uneasy at how suddenly his expression had changed.

"And you decided to tell me only now?" he asked, looking at you reproachfully from under his brow.

"You wouldn't have agreed otherwise," you spread your hands guiltily.

Jamie threw his head back, rolling his eyes, then rocked forward, his gaze landing on the extra pair of skates in his size lying next to your bag. His look shifted from irritated to pained and helpless.

"I can't, sweetheart," he whispered regretfully, shaking his head.

"You can!" you assured him fervently. "Just try at least!"

Jamie sighed, glancing sideways at his cane.

"But my legs..."

"Just stop thinking about that cane, okay? You ran two blocks through the snow just to get my phone back, remember? Without that stupid cane! It's only holding you back, Jamie. Without it, you could fly like you used to," you looked at him encouragingly. "Or at least walk on your own and stand on skates."

Jamie gave a sad snort, but the corners of his lips twitched into a smile.

"Just so you know," he nodded, lifting a gaze that was almost childlike in its clarity to you. "If my legs give out again, you're paying my medical bills."

"Deal," you smirked.

Jamie fumbled with his laces for quite a long time – his fingers trembled and wouldn't cooperate. You didn't interfere, just waited silently and patiently for the former skater to manage his skates. Standing up and nearly losing his balance, Jamie took off his coat, left in tight jeans and a dark turtleneck, and combed his hair into a bun. Your heart fluttered – there he was, the idol of your childhood, in all his glory.

Jamie stood at the very edge of the ice, hesitating to take the first step. He looked at the ice with a hunted expression, like a skydiver with a fear of heights staring down from the hatch of a plane thousands of meters above the ground. You reached out your hands to him.

"Hold on to me. Come on, Jamie, be brave…"

He gripped your wrists with his cold, trembling fingers and squeezed his eyes shut like a child about to get an injection. You carefully pulled him toward you, leaving him no choice but to step forward to keep his balance.

"Open your eyes. It's okay, I've got you."

One by one, Jamie cautiously opened his eyes and looked around. The two of you were standing on the ice.

"I'd forgotten what it feels like… to have the ground disappear from under your feet," he muttered with a shy smile.

You squeezed his hands tighter.

"Do you want to skate one lap? Don't worry, I'll stay close."

Jamie nodded. Without letting go of each other, you skated one lap, then another… With every stride on the ice, Jamie's movements grew more confident. He no longer clung to you as if his life depended on it, and at one point he even began to overtake you. Emboldened, he spun around and started skating backward, still holding your hand. You caught his gaze, and his eyes — once again full of life and joy — made your heart flutter with happiness.

"You're doing it!"

"Old habits die hard," Jamie chuckled and winked at you. "Come on, try to catch me!"

He let go of your hand and darted forward with a quick series of strides. You followed. Together, you performed a few of the simplest figures and spins, but even in those Jamie was flawless. After finishing the last figure, you both stopped to catch your breath.

"That was amazing!" you exclaimed.

Jamie smirked.

"I'd forgotten how good this feels. Thank you, sweetheart. I had no idea how much I'd missed the ice."

He exhaled, shaking his head to brush the stray strands of hair from his face, then lifted his gaze back to you.

"Let's run through the program one more time. What element do you want to add?"

"Spot me on the last jump," you asked.

With an approving nod from him, you skated to the center of the rink and began your program from the start. Jamie followed methodically behind you, careful not to get too close in case you accidentally collided, but staying ready to join you in tandem at any moment.

"Good," he murmured after each clean jump you landed. "Very good… take your time… nice job… good…"

The program was nearing its end. Usually you stopped at the final spin, but this time, after your last jump, you began to pick up speed across the rink for the finale. Jamie watched your every move intently, but with each step his face grew darker with concern. He knew this preparation all too well. He knew with a painful certainty how it would end.

"Sweetheart, stop!" he shouted desperately, accelerating to catch up with you.

But you were already beyond stopping. With a sharp movement, you dug your toe pick into the ice and leaped. First rotation in the air, second, third, fourth… You tucked your body, ready to land cleanly, but Jamie, suddenly appearing in your path, prevented it. He tried to catch you mid-air, but he was too close, and the two of you collided and fell onto the ice.

Fear, as cold as a bucket of water dumped over you, stunned you so deeply that for the first few seconds you didn't even register the pain in your palms and knees from trying to soften the fall. What frightened you far more was Jamie. He lay on his back on the ice, just as it was ten years ago. Back then, sitting in front of the television, you had watched in horror as his motionless, sprawled figure lay on the ice. Now you were lying on his chest, feeling his heart hammering wildly, his breathing heavy, his hands trembling as they clutched you like a drowning man grasping at a fragile reed.

What if he had hurt himself again? What if he had broken something? Or hit his head badly on the ice?...

"Oh my God… Jamie?" you whispered, the words scraping painfully against your parched throat, dry with panic.

You managed to crawl off him and sat down on the ice beside him. The former figure skater still lay motionless, his glazed eyes fixed on the ceiling—flashbacks of his fall from a decade ago clearly racing through his mind.

"Are you hurt?" you asked, your voice trembling. "I'm so sorry, I—"

"You didn't think," Jamie's voice, irritated and desperate, suddenly cut through your hearing.

His gaze finally focused, and he turned it on you.

You were taken aback.

"What?"

"Do you even have any common sense?" Jamie sat up so abruptly that you flinched. "What on Earth were you thinking about , deciding at the last minute to add a quadruple Lutz to your program?!"

"But I almost landed it!" you protested. "If you hadn't gotten in my way, we wouldn't have fallen!"

"If I hadn't gotten in your way, you would have fallen," Jamie hissed—he was clearly frustrated that you didn't grasp the gravity of the situation as keenly as he did.

But your own blood was beginning to simmer.

"Just because you couldn't land that jump once doesn't mean other people can't!"

"I've watched you skate every day for two weeks. I think a former professional figure skater can assess your abilities by now."

"So why did you take on coaching me, Mr. Professional Figure Skater, if you think I'm so incapable?" you snapped.

Jamie's blue eyes flashed with deadly cold.

"Don't you really think, sweetheart, that I've been putting up with you just because deep down I miss figure skating, do you?" he hissed venomously in a low tone, not blinking as he held your gaze. "That night I ended up in the park only because my telly was broken, and my apartment was deafeningly quiet. Running into you was pure coincidence. The idea to help you was completely impulsive—I could just as easily not have done it. I was bored. And I missed being bored, not some old passion for sports. So don't confuse the two."

"But you were skating with such pleasure just a few minutes ago!" you persisted. "Your injury wasn't serious enough to make you quit what you loved, and we both just saw that! Why didn't you let it go and keep pushing forward?"

"Let it go?" Jamie's eyebrows shot up, and he glared at you from under his brow. "How can I let go of something that nearly left me crippled? And just now it could have left you crippled!"

"You're not crippled, Jamie. You're a stubborn, psychosomatic coward!"

Your last words came out so sharp and harsh that the silence that followed stunned you both. You felt as though your heart was about to leap out of your chest, your body so tense that if anyone dared to touch you now, they'd surely get an electric shock.

Jamie turned away, his gaze darting back and forth. He clearly wanted to say something more but held back, not wanting to make an already difficult situation worse. Finally, he braced his hands on the ice and struggled to his feet.

"Dammit girl," he cursed under his breath, barely moving his lips so you wouldn't hear.

A sharp pain in his bruised back made him wince and hiss. Managing to reach the bench, he grabbed his cane and coat and left the arena.

You remained sitting where you were, in the center of the ice rink. When the entrance door slammed shut and silence descended once more, a wave of pent-up emotions—anger, fear, guilt, despair, pain and confusion—washed over you, overwhelming you completely. Tears rolled down your cheeks, your shoulders trembling with sobs. Your body ached from the hard landing on the ice. It wasn't as if you hadn't fallen and gotten back up countless times before, but this time… this time you felt utterly shattered.

cw: angst, mentions of saviour complex and anxiety , mental breakdown

for @its-always-that-deep @baw16teen @astr0-z0mb13 @defuckinthrone @dollscvlt

~Fluff part~

He was as happy as a child when he discovered his superpowers, and immediately showed off to everyone he knew.

He wrecked half the kitchen trying to reach the toaster with his web without getting up from his chair.

At first, he was terribly clumsy, often misjudging his strength and crashing into road signs, billboards, and storefronts (not much has changed).

He gets terribly cold at high altitudes, which is why the hoodie and gloves are more than just part of the costume

He came up with 15 different versions of his superhero suit but never settled on a perfect one, so he changes things about it from time to time.

Due to his ADHD, he used to be terrified of heights, but gaining his powers forced him to confront his phobia. At first, emergency services had to rescue him from roofs and balconies because the poor guy was too scared to come down on his own. He's not nearly as afraid now, but if he climbs too high, he still gets dizzy.

Children absolutely adore him. They always shout and wave when they see him. He hugs every little fan, and he has a special shelf at home where he keeps all the drawings and trinkets the kids give him.

His clothes and hair are constantly covered in bits of webbing, and he often jokes that he doesn't need a cat or a dog to be covered in fur.

~Angst part~

He has a serious case of savior complex, which is why he often tried to help absolutely everyone, even to his own detriment.

Due to filming, he isn't always able to be in the right place at the right time, and he berates himself terribly for it. He still finds it difficult to strike a balance between his everyday life and his life as a superhero.

The first time he failed to save someone was a tremendous moral blow to him. After making it home, he sat in a corner for the next eight hours in complete silence and darkness, while his mind was ready to explode from the strain and the deafening cacophony of various thoughts. He couldn't fall asleep that night at all, and the terrible image haunted him in his nightmares for a long time afterwards.

Because of his spider-sense and heightened sensitivity, Jamie has become very jumpy, and he often finds it difficult to fully relax.

What if Jamie Campbell Bower

But as a Spiderman?

summary: AU where you are a rising star in figure skating, and Jamie has returned to the ice for the first time in 10 years after a serious injury.

cw: mentions of trauma

part 1 - here

for @harrystylesgirlie @reignsgirl19

You could barely wait for the next morning to arrive — you were so restless that you hardly slept a wink all night. After hastily drinking a cup of coffee and packing your things, you left the house and soon found yourself standing at the entrance of the ice arena building, hesitating to go inside. What if it was all just a joke? What if he had simply decided to play a trick on naive little you? It was too late to dwell on that now. Adjusting the bag with your skates on your shoulder, you pulled the door open.

The lights on the ice rink weren't on. The only source of light came from the windows high up near the ceiling — the pale winter sunrise painted the ice and the stands in shades of golden caramel. Just like yesterday in the park, Jamie was standing there, his elbows resting lightly on the boards. In one hand he held a paper cup of coffee. His long-suffering cane was carefully propped against the nearby bench.

"When I was young, I always came to practice early in the morning," he explained for a greeting, turning his head towards you. "There's nothing quite like the sunrise reflecting off the ice."

You nodded silently, an involuntary smile tugging at your lips. Your shyness didn't escape Jamie's notice: he mentally caught it with ease and tucked it away for later. Then, with a casual click of the tongue, he put on a look of innocent mischief and stepped towards you.

"Well then, since we're both here — let's start with a little warm-up. A few laps around the rink, some stretching exercises to get the blood flowing — and after that, we'll work on your program."

The next three hours flew by in an instant. Jamie guided the practice session patiently — he didn't yell at you, humiliate you, or make snide remarks when you made mistakes. On the contrary, he calmly offered advice, praised you, encouraged you. Sometimes, you got the feeling that he wanted to step onto the ice and skate himself, but whenever he got too carried away, it was as if an arrow pierced his back—he would freeze for a moment, then, with a poorly concealed sigh lean heavily on the boards with his elbows, clenching his jaw and lowering his head as if it had suddenly begun to spin.

"Are you alright?" you asked worriedly when it happened again.

"Yeah, yeah," Jamie huffed, as if he — not you — had been spinning across the ice for the last three hours. "Just my back acting up again. Looks like I'll have to go back to those horrible mustard plasters..."

"You really should have some rest," you said, taking him by the elbow and helping him sit down on the bench.

"Yeah..." Jamie sighed, and only then did you notice just how much older and wearier his face looked compared to the image you'd carried from childhood. The years were taking their toll, and the injury he'd sustained only added fuel to the fire.

"I think that's enough for today," Jamie's voice brought you back to reality. "Go get some rest and have a proper meal. You did great today."

"Should I call you a taxi?" you asked, still concerned.

"No, no," Jamie waved you off briefly, his cheerful mask slipping back into place. "I'll sit here for a bit, catch my breath, and then head out. I need some fresh air on my way home."

"Well, suit yourself," you shrugged reluctantly, picking up your bag of skates from the floor. "Thank you so much for the practice."

"Anytime, sweetheart. Take care," the former skater nodded, watching you go.

Conflicting feelings swirled inside you the whole way to the metro station. On one hand, you should have been overjoyed to receive a personal training session from Jamie himself — if you'd known this as a child, you surely would have lost your mind with happiness. But on the other hand, you couldn't get the image of his condition out of your head: no matter how much you'd observed him during the practice session, Jamie sometimes seemed to forget about his injury entirely—he could stand firmly without his cane, bend over without issue and walk without a trace of a limp. So why does he all of a sudden start feeling unwell the moment he gets near the ice?...

"Sweetheart!" Jamie's sudden shout from somewhere behind you made you jump.

You turned around... and couldn't believe your eyes: Jamie was running toward you, waving your phone in his hand. When he caught up with you, he bent over, resting his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath, and handed you the phone.

"You left it on the bench," he panted, looking up at you with his brown eyes full of lively sparkle and a grin on his face. "If this was your attempt to get my number and schedule another practice, I'm giving it a zero out of six—I barely managed to catch you."

Stunned, you took the phone from Jamie's hand, still staring at him with your mouth open in disbelief. You weren't imagining things, were you? He had actually run after you from the ice rink for two whole blocks? The man you'd thought couldn't even stand for long without his cane?

"What are you frozen for?" Jamie snapped his fingers in front of your face. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"You... your... cane... how did you even..." you barely managed to stammer.

A flicker of confusion crossed Jamie's face, followed by sudden realization. He slapped his forehead in exasperation.

"Damn it, right... Well, no way I'm walking back there now. It'll be fine. At least it gives me a reason to go back tomorrow," he winked at you. "You should come too—who knows, maybe you have left something else behind?"