Jack Lowden Imagines

so I don’t really write for jack anymore, but I’ve started a new fanfic blog over at @bensakindofmagic for ben hardy/borhap/queen content. if that’s your bag go give it a peruse  

Aight chums, it’s been a wee while (I’m aware that that’s a slight understatement). I won’t make excuses as to why I haven’t written in so long, and I won’t tell you I’m back either - I haven’t a clue if/when I’ll write more. All I know is, after Jack’s post the other day, I was struck with inspiration. This is the result. Enjoy. 
Painter/Decorators 
You stood, staring down an empty hallway, and took a deep breath. You were finally there; after months of house-hunting you were finally in your new home. All the ups and downs — trying to find a place within your budget, on the right side of Edinburgh so that travelling to Jack’s parents’ place wasn’t too difficult, big enough to start a family but not so big that you would rattle around in it while Jack was away — all of it had finally paid off. You’d found a beautiful townhouse, three bedrooms, with gorgeous high ceilings and fireplaces. It was bright and airy and everything you’d dreamed of, even if it was a little more than you care to spend. But Jack’s career was going so well that the indulgence didn’t feel too bad — after all, if anything is worth splashing out on it’s a home. You stood with your hands on your hips, imaging the place with furniture, your pictures on the walls, lamps, houseplants… 
Two large hands snaked around your waist and pulled you in tight, and a slightly bearded chin came to rest on your shoulder. 
“Are ye gonna stare at an empty hall all day or do ye fancy helping me bring the gear in?” He softened the sarcasm in his question by nudging the collar of your oversized shirt out of the way with his nose and kissing the bare skin just below your neck. You spun to face him and he stood up straight, his arms draped lazily over your hips and clasping his hands together behind your back. You cupped his jaw softly and gazed into his blue eyes, noticing their mossy tinge against his green t-shirt.
“Might just stare at you all day…” you purred, a smile landing faintly on your lips. 
“Then we’ll never get anything done.”
You sighed, “No, I suppose not.” 
You kissed him tenderly, then allowed him to disconnect you from each other. You trudged out to the car, collecting cans of paint, paintbrushes, and rollers from the boot. 
Before long, old sheets were laid out on the floor, tape carefully covering the edges of the door frame, skirting board, and fireplace, and the slightly bluish green paint had been poured into trays. Your sleeves were rolled up and you had a bandana tied around your head to contain all those wispy stowaways, in full Rosie the Riveter mode. With paintbrush in hand and classic rock blasting from your little speaker, all that was left to do was start painting. Jack looked over to you, a grin stretched across his cheeks, dimples in full force.
“Ready?” 
This felt like the beginning of the next stage of your life. The first step towards making your new house a home. This townhouse was going hold so many memories with Jack; it felt as though the walls and floor were imbued with promise. Your dreams for the future were coming true. Visions of your future children chasing each other through the room raced through your mind, images of penciled marks on the doorframe charting their growth. A dog lying quietly in the corner, keeping one eye on the commotion. The smell of freshly baked bread wafting in from the kitchen. The jangle of keys in the door marking Jack’s return home from work in the evening, his beautiful children leaping into his arms the minute he walks through the threshold. That life that you had always wanted, that home, was finally in your grasp, and the fact that Jack was beside you, building it with you, made it all the sweeter. That first stroke of paint was the start of it all.
With a nod and a smile, you dipped your brush in the paint and began. 
Just as you finished painting around a plug socket, humming along to Fleetwood Mac, Jack walked in with two cups of tea and handed one to you. You mumbled a quick “ta” and took a grateful sip, letting the warmth trickle down your throat and into your soul. You hummed, “I needed this.”
“The hard work’s paying off though, it looks really good. Almost ready for a second coat.”
“I think we’ve earned a break before diving into round two.”
Jack chuckled and pulled you into his side, planting a kiss on your head before turning back to admire your joint handiwork. 
“We should have a big painting over the fireplace,” you mused. 
“Of what?” 
“A landscape, the highlands or something. The greenery will match the paint.” 
He hummed in approval, a deep vibration that resonated in your body. It was filled with comfort and warmth. If home was a sound, that was it. 
You slid your arm around his waist, only to find the crust of dried paint on this t-shirt. 
“You’ve splashed your shirt.”
He looked down, and picked at it, “Ah it’s fine, it’s the same colour anyway.” 
You sniggered, and pulled his face to yours, capturing him in an embrace. 
Hours, and much spilled paint later, the wall was a solid, pine green. Jack had picked up a takeaway and a bottle of wine. You sat, cross legged on the floor due to an evident lack of furniture, eating Chinese from the foil dishes and drinking wine from a mug like you had done in your student days, because they were all you had brought with you. 
“Ye know, this is our first dinner in the new place,” Jack said. 
“Yeah, I guess it is. Nothing like starting in style,” you grinned. 
“Cheers. To us, and the start of a beautiful life together.”
You clinked your mugs together with a grin, locking eyes as you both took as sip.
The early evening passed with easy chat, musing about the decor, plans for tomorrow (you were going to make a start on the kitchen), logistics of moving, and the like. But all the while the air was draped with the unspoken promise of what the future held for the two of you. You were excited and nervous and elated all at once. 
A comfortable silence settled over the room as you finished the food. Jack shifted, releasing a foot from beneath him and massaged it with a grimace.
“Pins and needles?” 
“Aye,” he nodded. 
You snickered and collected up the debris from your food. “I’ll clear up.” 
You wandered into the kitchen and did your best with the washing up, considering there was no washing up liquid and just a tatty old sponge. The plan was to move in properly in a week or so, once the bulk of the decorating was done, but for now you had to make do with the few bits you’d brought with you from the old flat. Once you’d disposed of the last remnants takeaway, you went back to find Jack, only to find the room empty. 
“Jack?” You called. 
“M’upstairs,” you heard him reply faintly. 
You found him in the doorway of the smallest bedroom, leaning against the doorframe. He was silhouetted against the dim evening light, his hair tousled and arms flecked with paint. Even with his back to you, he looked so inviting. You strolled over to him, allowing yourself to be drawn to him. You stroked his back gently, tracing your fingers over his shoulder blades and tangling them in the hair at the nape of his neck. He seemed quiet to you, lost in thought, contemplative. He would tell you what he was thinking when he was ready, so you contented yourself to wrap your arms around him from behind, and rest your cheek against his back. You breathed in the scent of him, musty with sweat and infused with paint fumes. 
After a while he muttered, “I think this room would make a good nursery.” 
You smiled as he turned towards you, gently tucking an escaped hair behind your ear. Your eyes met, and you saw the same hope for the future in him as had blossomed in you. Reaching up on your toes, you captured his lips in yours, wishing to express all the affection in the world in that embrace. All the love you shared would one day create a family, the prospect of which excited and delighted you. 
You settled into his arms, wrapped up in him, imaging the room with a crib and mobile. You giggled to yourself. 
“Maybe we should start with a dog.”