Assorted Imagines

The Neighbor Boy Who Mows Your Lawn Got Stung By a Bee

note: This is a scene from a book I was thinking of writing, so the characters may already sound kind of specific. It's still one of my faves, though. 

You and the new neighbor had been getting along quite nicely for about a year now. You would talk to him while he practiced basketball in his driveway, and your parents paid him to mow the lawn about once a month. This month, you walked outside to see him in your front lawn, wincing and holding his shoulder. He had been stung by a bee, so you offered to help him out inside. Your um... your family isn't home during this, not that that's... ahem, important...

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"Hop up." she said, patting the kitchen counter. He followed orders and sat on the counter top, leaning his hands flat on the tile. She moved to the kitchen cabinet to take out a bottle of hydrogen peroxide, anti-histamines, and an ice pack.  

"How long have you lived here?" he asked, looking around the slightly messy, but still bright and beautiful kitchen.

"Hmmm, going on... 8 years?" she said, counting the years in her head.

"Not too long," he commented. She wet the cotton with the peroxide.

"Yeah. When we moved from New Hampshire, we moved into a house that was too big for us and moved after a couple of years to a house that was too small. This one is perfect. It's the longest I think I've ever been in one home." she said.

"Hm," he said. The space between them shrunk as she moved closer to him, realizing the only way to properly reach his shoulder was to stand in between his legs. She swallowed and moved between them, refusing to make eye contact with him; to make it more awkward than it already was. Heat exuded from him after being in the sun for so long, and she found herself almost surprised that when she touched the cold liquid to his skin, it didn't sizzle. He pulled away slightly, reflexively at the touch, but didn't complain. She could feel his eyes on her.

He watched her, and felt his pulse quicken. Little did she know how much he had wanted to be this close to her for so long. He studied the sweep of her lashes and goosebumps formed on his skin despite the weather from the feeling of her small fingers brushing his skin. He would have found the silence awkward if his head wasn't so wrapped up in thoughts of her and her beauty. 

As she cleaned him up, he realized that as attractive as she was to him physically, his love of her spirit was what made his blood temperature rise when he saw her. But, with her this close to him, closer than she'd ever been, it was all he could do not to reach out and touch her soft, pink, freckled arms. Her light purple dress fell over her form gracefully, and the electric fan blew it gently so it floated around her slender legs. 

She looked up at him suddenly, catching him admiring her like a painting, and his heart seized up at the sight of her eyes this close, deep pools of dark, clean water he could drown himself in happily. A strand of her pinky-blonde hair had strayed into her face. Her cheeks were a clean, orangey rose color from the sun, scattered with freckles. She was so beautiful. She smiled at him, making him melt without her knowing at all, and she lowered her gaze back down to her work.

He didn't know what came over him; he was a man in a trance as he reached out and, with the crook of his finger under her chin, raised her eyes to his. Her eyes met his, wide and unassuming. He was completely helpless to stop himself, subject to someone else's will but his own (God's, he assumed. How could God not want him to adore such a beautiful creation?) as he leaned in slowly and found her lips with his. He kissed them softly, and swelled with joy when she started with a quick little gasp but didn't immediately reel back away from him and slap him. Her eyes were wide and wondering when he pulled away to see her reaction, and the sight of her surprisingly sweet lips slightly parted filled him with desire. He leaned in again, breath shallow and pulse slurring. She didn't retreat again as he took her by the waist, pulling her flush against him and covered her lips with his own slowly. 

She placed tentative, nervous hands onto his shoulders as a sign that she didn't want him to stop. He didn't. He kissed her again and again, slowly and firmly. She smelled like lemons and lilacs and peppermint. This was the only way he could think of to show her just how much he wanted her; just how much he had thought about her as more than just the neighbor girl. He adored her with every languid stroke of his lips.

It was like Christmas, here in the middle of July. Things would never be the same, and that thought thrilled both of them. 

Lavender: Howdy. I like that one, hbu? Idk I think it's sweet. I like that kind of build-up you know? It's intoxicating ;) Love you all

xx