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angelisverba · 4 years ago

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thinkin’ bout you

in which harry owns a flower shop and has a major crush on a girl who comes in to buy flowers every once in a while (and he’s too shy to ask for her number)

word count: 17.3k

paring: florist!h and y/n

warnings: just some pinning and lustful yearning. m for mature...

author’s note: i’ve been working on this forever. not to pick fav’s but i think florist!h comes second to sl23... hes just so.......well, you’ll see!!

* * * * * *

When Harry was given the option to go on a playdate with his car-loving and dirty-nailed schoolmates or spending the weekend at his nan’s house, he would often pick the latter.

He preferred to spend his afternoons frolicking with her Siamese kitty in her wild-flower filled garden, sunbathing in the open grass, or napping on a quilted blanket under the large, round oak tree, with the kitty nestled into his tummy, keeping him warm. When he woke in the arms of his nan as she carried him inside the house for a glass of cool lemonade, he bore a band of pink sunburn over his button nose, and the blue and white striped Mickey shirt was sticking to the areas where his furry friend had provided an extra heat.

So, it was safe to say that from the start, Harry’s tastes weren’t what could be considered ‘average’ or ‘normal’ or ‘straight’ for a heterosexual male of his age in current society.

Not that he ever valued those opinions, but their impressions rang in the back of his loving head when the women who he brought to the comfort of his home made hurtful ‘joking’ comments on how ‘peculiar’ his choice of decor was or giving him prolonged strange looks before shaking their heads and yanking their clothes off so that they landed in a forgotten heap in some unimportant corner of his room.

Granted, he still got a good shag, but it wasn’t enough to fulfill his desires regarding any actions associated with relationships. He wanted someone warm and soft and kind. Someone who wouldn’t judge his home, his music choices, his clothing, or anything else about him. A girlfriend, not a fuck.

Long ago, he’d stopped caring about what others said about him. Adopting this mindset had given him some of the happiest and healthiest moments of his life (albeit occasionally, doubts merged with the ghastly shadows of his loneliness). Business at his flower shop increased as his charm increased with positivity, and a new life within him bloomed like a baby rose bud when he accepted that being single was okay. The ribbons of his bouquets bouncing with an added umf and the mist that landed on his skin when he changed the water in the flower buckets only enhanced the golden hue of his skin.

Harry even took to renovating his home a bit.

Coincidentally, his apartment was located on the floor above his flower stop, and contained a significant amount of singular flowers in vases or bouquets in empty corners to prove it. An array of pastel colors smeared on the once blank walls. Bambi pink in his bedroom, sage green in his kitchen, and a French blue in his living room. The couch was a suede papaya three-seater with black and white checkered pillows, and the coffee table was an emerald-tiled piece standing on top of a geometric lavender carpet, a soft contrast against the dark oak of his floorboards. Harry’s taste in pop-culture, art, and literature was displayed on the frames hanging off his walls. Pictures and posters of his favorite pieces like Matisse’s Blue Nudes and Goldfish and The Dance II. An enhanced, enlarged photo of maraschino cherries and a raven haired pin-up girl. Another glass table by the end of the couch held a silver candlestick and a small statue.

Sometimes, the miniature Greek statue he bought at a thrift store of a man with his nakedness pure and unobscured to the viewers' eyes made his dick bloat against the seams of his pants. If he stared at it for too long, his eyes drawn to the softened cock between thighs that looked so flesh-like even though it was carved out of some clay or ceramic material, his mind would travel to sensual, honey-red places that he hadn’t been in so long. Harry’s imagination explored- as cheesy as it sounds- the sexual aspects of the male genitalia, and therefore his own sexual expeditions and how much he missed giving or receiving a good fuck. More often than not, he ended up with himself in his fist, forehead sparkling with perspiration under the candle lights in his room as his thighs and abdomen clenched with every buck of his yearning hips.

The doorknob of his room was in the shape of an eye, the iris colored a brilliant blue. His king bed- no, frame, just a minimalist white base, pushed up against the wall with two tables on either side, both of them loaded articulately with vintage trinkets and ceramic ring trays shaped like seashells to hold his jewelry. His bedsheets were a stylish combination of pastel colors; lilac comforter, mint and sky pillows. Previously, they had been snow white sheets with strawberry print, but a woman he brought over said they looked like the sheets her five-year-old niece had.

He changed them the week after that.

On the windowsill, a pot in the shape of a white, blue-eyed kitty with vines of string of hearts kissing the floor. A mirror in the shape of a heart with a pink trim besides the lightswitch, above his brown dresser. In the corner, a bookshelf stuffed with books that spilled over the seams, and perpendicular to it, the home of his pet chameleon, Owen (he wanted a cat, but when he went to the pet store and saw the dehydrated creature, he couldn’t leave him there). A 16 x 16 x 30 inch tank filled with a branch that cut across halfway. It was full of all the things he might need, maybe even too much of it, but it didn’t matter because when Harry was home Owen spent most of his time hanging off the collars of his shirts or snuggled in the ruffles of his hooded sweatshirt on his shoulder. The small, color changing friend adored his owner, and only morphed into a mild red color when Harry didn’t feed him more mango.

The renovations occurred in his bathroom; a cherry-red covering the walls because it looked boring before (at least in his opinion). The gold piping of the sink accentuated nicely with the darker color, and the sun seemed brighter when it streamed in through the window above his ceramic claw-footed tub. Owen particularly liked the misty showerhead stall in the corner, and as long as he kept his eyes to himself, Harry didn’t mind it if his green friend wrapped around the showerhead and enjoyed the mimicked tropical atmosphere.

For awhile now, it had been just him and his chameleon (and maybe his mum’s cat if she was going out of town and needed a sitter) but he didn’t mind it.

He got to meet new people everyday within the parameters of H’s Garden, and they all tended to overshare when it came to buying a bouquet. ‘My wife just had our son, want to see a picture?’ or ‘my boyfriend and I have our anniversary on Saturday’ and even ‘my sister had plastic surgery so me and my dad need something that says ‘congrats you look like Kim Kardashain now’ how ‘bout it?’

Stories ranged from sweet, to grotesque, to sad, to funny, and sometimes even evil- Harry didn’t like customers that gave flowers as a ‘fuck you’. He thought it was a waste of beauty and sacrifice. Flowers were living things that had their lives cut short in order to provide momentary satisfaction and life long memories to the receiver, not bitter feelings of revenge. Although it was still business, it pained him that such a pretty arrangement be misused. It was one of the cons of his work. He created what he considered to be masterpieces, and had no control over where they would end up, whether it be as a centerpiece for a candlelit dinner, or in the trash after the apology for a strong argument hadn’t been enough.

However, Harry couldn’t deny that he didn’t love his job, because he did.

When he turned 16, he’d determined that he wanted a peaceful life with a job that wouldn’t bore him. He wanted to be as stress free as possible, with his spirituality as a prominent highlight in his lifestyle. When he turned 18, he had determined that he wanted to be a florist, and began to save up to open his own shop with the occasional help of his friends and sister. He refused to take anything from his mother because he wanted to be the one giving her gifts and money and everything good after all of her sacrifices in raising him. Call him a momma’s boy. Harry loved his mother.

Online seminars and college classes became his best friend, teaching him everything he needed to know about accounting, stocks, and how to keep his business going. He was a businessman first, florist second. During the slow seasons (the start of winter and an awkward half-week between summer and spring) he relied on his investments to triple-ensure that he had enough money to stay afloat.

On his 22nd birthday, as a gift to himself, he signed the lease to the building that housed all of the pretty plants in temporary buckets full of flower food and water, and hired a graphic designer to design the cursive, golden letters that spelled out the name of his shop above the front door.

Now, three years later, he lived as happy as can be.

And he wasn’t lonely anymore.

Well, if you wanted to be technical, his relationship status was still a checkmark over the box labeled ‘single’, but his heart couldn’t be fluttering any harder at the sight of one of his regular customers, and she was there, creeping around in his brain to keep him company.

She was the complete opposite of every girl he’d ever been with. She was sweet, kind, funny, and didn’t judge him for the way he dressed, or his profession. In fact, they bonded over things that previous women had… slyly berated him for. The color of his nails, the lace of his collar, the pattern of his flared pants, and even the sheep on his baby blue sweater vest.

She stole his heart the moment she walked through his door with a soft smile on her face, a sparkling gleam in her warm eyes, and placed it in her pocket the moment she said, “it smells lovely in here!”

Harry, awestruck and blushing because well, she was pretty and wore a shade of purple that somehow made her hair look so soft. Two strands of hair were pinned at the back of her head, essentially keeping the rest of it away from her face save for the few baby wisps that rested gently against her cheeks like a lover’s caress. The stuttering, stumbling cupid’s-bow-struck fool replied with, “thank you. It would be my pleasure to help you with anything you’d like,” and that had been his name, signed on the dotted line of a soul contract. Only she was not the devil. She was an angel.

But even then, it wouldn’t matter. If she was the devil, if she was an angel, something in between or something new entirely he wouldn’t care because he was half gone for her already.

“In that case,” she smiled, and Harry’s heart sang a melody it never had before. It was like the sun beamed from the spaces between her teeth and tickled the fuzzy spot beneath his earlobe. She had the most amazing voice, tranquil and clear and ethereal. “I just moved into a new apartment and wanted the place to feel like home. I thought maybe flowers would give it a little life.”

He vividly remembers that the color of her cheeks changed to that of what is called a ‘blush’, but he didn’t know if it was a trick under the light, or a product of his wistful imagination. Her fingers gently skimmed the petals of a rose from it’s bucket near her hip, and one of the straps of the tote bag on her shoulder disrespectfully dropped away from her shoulder. He wanted to simultaneously rush over and fix it for her, and yell at the inanimate object for not being grateful of the fact that it had the opportunity to cling to her shoulder.

But, before either of these inner-conflicts met a sound resolve, her delicate fingers righted what was once wrong, and Harry cleared his throat, embarrassed because he’d stared for a little too long. He wanted so badly to ask for her name and how she liked her eggs in the morning, but instead he said, “there’s nothing like a bit of something pretty to brighten your day. Did you have something specific in mind?”

He hoped that the meaning of his words wasn’t caught on her, or that would be totally embarrassing and ‘loser’-like.

When she walked out the door with a content smile on her lips, his own heart was beating faster than the flapping of a hummingbird’s tender wings. He was sure that he had never laid eyes on a pair of lips like hers, neither the feeling that blossomed in his chest at the thought that she might be smiling just for him to see and enjoy.

Of course, it was a silly crush. One that clawed and gripped onto his sweaty palms with no sign of letting go. Maybe, Harry thought, it was because he hadn’t wet his wick in so long, and the interaction he’d had with her had sparked irrational, poem-inspiring feelings within the love cavern of his ribs. Because how could he fall head over heels with someone he didn’t even know? Surely, the swarm of hormone-pumped butterflies in his stomach was the beginning of a dead-end infatuation.

Right?

Harry went that entire day, appalled at the apparent angel he had the fortune of being in the presence of in her short fall from the tender heavens. He wondered where she placed the flowers she bought (an arrangement he was particularly proud of, full of lilac, delicate stems of lavender, and puffs of baby’s breath wrapped with a white bow) and where that tiny extension of him was. At the entrance of her home, right below the place she rested her hand against as she tugged her shoes off? At the center of her table? Maybe besides her bed? Where she would see the purple petals and white of him as he wrapped it every time she woke up or went to bed? He hoped- as much as it was a romantic thought- that it wasn’t the last one. He’s been so awkward, so pink. A blush on his cheeks he hadn’t remembered being there since the time he yelped, startled, at the unexpected pain of a tattoo needle, the artist pointedly peeved. Acting like such a boy.

Right before crawling up the steps of his apartment, heart still bleeding with love-blood from the deadly tip of Cupid’s arrows, he made himself a mini version of the bouquet he’d made her, and placed it at the center of his tiled coffee table.

*********

A few days trickled by, and the memory of her face drifted in and out of his mind like a giant sway of fabric slowly billowing in the wind. He was just so… struck by a slab of awe, stunned by her kind of beauty. Natural, the kind that hooks you in it’s purity, like the golden beams streaming in through transparent curtains on a warm spring afternoon.

Her strawberry lips curved elegantly under her nose, and displayed a smile that leaked some sort of heady drug into the air because the air was sweet when he breathed it in. And when he handed the bundle of flowers over to her, the pads of her delicate fingers skimmed the rough ridges of his knuckles. He wondered immediately what kind of moisturizer she used, and if it smelled like honey or lavender or peaches. She smelled sweet. Sweeter than all of the flowers in his colorful soul shop put together. The colors that belong to her, on her person and worn by her, were more captivating than any of the tones that painted the petals on his plants.

Owen got a kick out of this whole ordeal, though. Harry’s passionate mood had him divulging in munching and nibbling on things that tasted the way he felt; ambrosial, fresh and pure. It resulted in the purchasing of endless amounts of fruit, with many bites given to the tiny chameleon. Mangoes, strawberries, oranges, grapes, pears (Asian pears, if the store carried them, they were Harry’s favorite), peaches and guavas. The sudden craving for fruit might be explained as just a casual craving, but deep deep down inside, Harry knew that it was because he wanted to replicate the feeling that coursed through his golden veins when she giggled at something she happened to find funny.

He wished that he had caught her name. The girl had paid in cash (and left a five dollar tip Harry fawned over), so he couldn’t have read it on her card, and he was halfway between charming and awkward that he didn’t even think of asking for it until the minute the door closed behind her, bells tinkling in announcement of her exit. He wished for a hundred different things, but he was not the type to live in regret. Not anymore. So after about a week of floundering in her memory, he meditated for an hour, tropical incense on one of his bedside tables, and cleared his mind as best he could.

The next morning, he did the same thing. Woke up with heavy limbs, plopped himself down on his blue mat and stretched in various positions, his white boxers hanging low on his hips. His lips and eyes were sticky with sleep, and the back of his nose ached with cold air that he must’ve breathed in throughout the night after forgetting to close the window (again) but the pleasurable twinge of stretching aches between his joints were the perfect way to start his day. They urged his mind to transform into the still surface of water, clear and collected from any unproductive-pinning thoughts towards a girl he would most likely never see again.

Even his clothes reflected his refreshed mindset.

Harry donned his favorite pair of flared trousers in an earthy brown color, nestled snugly on his slender hips and around his thighs. The tight fit accentuated the way his back tapered into his waist, glutes shapely and sculpted. A maroon sweater vest that had a teddy bear embroidered on the middle of his chest, the small latte-toned stuffed animal seemingly childish, but on him it only directed attention to the spotlight daze of the velvety heart sheltered underneath his breathless plate. Underneath, a mustard long-sleeve shirt with tiny cherries printed on them. Some straight, some tilted or lopsided. His shoulders and biceps were hidden in the floofy bunches of cloth, anonymity given to the true thickness of his ink slathered skin.

He looked like a corduroy dream. A thick milkshake of patterns and colors, but he managed to pull it off.

A tiny gold hoop on his right ear gleamed under the morning sun coming in through the windows and a pearl necklace rested against the downy skin of his throat. Slender fingered tipped with a coat of pure white, with his ring fingers accented in a shimmery pink. Chunky rings adorning the base of his digits; a silver rose, a band of dancing teddy bears (a running theme with him), two gold rings with his initials H and S on one hand, and a simple ruby stud from his graduating class.

He looked good, he knew that he looked good, and was ready to begin a bright, healthy, non-pretty-girl-thought-polluted day. Even the old woman had pinched his cheek whom he had been assisting- a regular-had said he looked like a proper ‘nice boy’ along with ‘when are you going to her a lovely girl to help you run this place, Harry?’. He didn’t have the heart to tell her that he had momentarily sworn off women until his broken sentiments healed, and they had a long way to go.

In the middle of wrapping a smashing set of tulips and fern stems with a cherry red bow, the bells adorning the top of the door frame dinges, announcing the entrance of another pleasant customer and giving passage to a gust of chilly air. Harry looked up to greet the customer with his usual pleasantries of ‘welcome! I’ll be with you in a moment!’, but the words died on his throat in a desperate hussle, just as the little mermaid had given up her voice to meet her gallant prince.

It was his own personal little slice of heaven presented to him on the black and white checkered floors of his shop. Hair loose against her shoulders again, eyes cast downwards to inspect a bucket of fresh daisies that tickled the space above her bare knees. How she could wear a skirt in this biting weather, he didn’t know, and it partially prevented him from continuing his pursuit of admiring her because the first thought his caring mind jumped too was, ‘is she cold? And if so, does she need a sweater? Because I will gladly give her one.’ His second thought, however, was ‘how could someone be that beautiful?’. The third was something along the lines of ‘all my yoga has gone to shit, and I’m okay with that’.

He cleared his throat, tightened the bow around the stems of the flowers in his hands and said, “I’ll be with you in a moment, love!” His head bowed, looking at his work because he wasn’t sure he could afford the medicals for the paralysis that was sure to take over his meek self if they made eye contact so soon. Harry needed a moment of homeostasis, his soul adjusting to her dulcet presence.

The woman he was assisting, Edna, spoke, drawing him out of his daze, but he had been so deeply in thought that he had not heard what she said.

“What was that?” He asked her. He grabbed Kraft paper from the roll by the register to wrap up her arrangement.

“The girl. You like her?” She was smiling at him, wagging a finger the way his nan used to do when she caught him with his hand in the cookie jar. “Don’t lie to me, I recognize that look. I’ve given and received that look many times throughout my life.”

The woman was not wrong. With age, comes wisdom, Harry thought, smiling to himself at being caught. A dimple carves itself into his cheek, nestling onto the space above the corner of his mouth as if he had no choice in the matter. The apples of his cheeks were shadowed with a dusky pink, and the tip of his nose was twitching like a rabbit when it stood on its rear and sniffed the air, only he was coy after just being caught and wanted to avoid the question as much as possible.

“I’ve got no idea what y’talking about,” he chuckled, keeping his voice low so that the intriguing stranger in the store didn’t hear that their topic of discussion was her. He moved over to the register to ring her up, and even slid in a discount he applied to customers he liked.

“Next time I come in,” Edna said, passing Harry her debit card, “I hope to hear that you got her number, dear. Don’t let these opportunities pass you up. Life is short. And who knows? She could be the one.” Harry gave her the card back after charging her, and handed her the flowers, too. All the while Edna was grinning at him, shaking her head like she knew something he didn’t.

“Take care, Edna. And don’t forget to change the water every 2 days with the flower packets I placed at the stems,” he reminded her, sweetly wiggling his red-lacquered nails at her retreating woman as butterflies awakened in his stomach in a furious flood of nerves. The girl was looking around, her hands hovering over the up-turned faces of a bundle of lively sunflowers, browsing and quietly humming to herself as she waited.

There was no backing out of this, even if he wanted to. And he didn’t! He didn’t want to back out. The girl was a customer, and he would have to approach her no matter what. But she was so pretty it was also intimidating. He doesn’t remember ever being this nervous while approaching someone, especially one he harbored feelings for. His heart was pounding so loud, he was sure it was audible.

“Hello,” he wanted so badly to add ‘love’ at the end of his greeting. “Are y’finding everything a’right?” He asked her, his hands wringing themselves, palms moist with sweat from his unyielding need to impress her. The pink tip of his tongue poked out to swipe across his full bottom lip, and soon after that his teeth sunk down into it, nibbling with uncertainty. Harry made sure that he was standing straight, body aligned to face hers because in that psychology course he took once, he learned that it was a subconscious tactic to engage interest and pleasant replies to attempts at wooing another.

At the sound of his voice, the girl jumped, startled at the sudden vibrations of Harry’s husky voice. Her delicate feet, he noticed, skittered on the floor from her tiny jump, and her doe eyes widened, shouldered rising and falling at a quicker pace than before from the new rush of light fear. When she realizes that it’s just him her hand flattered over the base of her neck and her collarbone in attempts to soothe her racing heart.

“M’s sorry,” he whispers, his hand clamping over his mouth, and then lowering to his chin when he speaks again, “didn’t mean to scare y’love.” This time he can’t restrict himself. It comes so naturally, like the endearment was meant for her, and when a flush covers the bridge of her nose his first instinct is to coo at her for looking so cute. The second is a surge of guilt for having scared her to such an extent.

“It’s okay,” she says, a little out of breath. The blush on her face was partly because she was embarrassed at her own reaction, while the other was that she had let herself act so freely and uncoordinated in front of someone that looked like him. Handsome and sweet and eyes so green they refreshed you upon first glance. Like the cool burn of water going into a mouth that had just chewed a stick of minty gum. “I want to buy these flowers.”

God help him. Her voice alone was enough to make him melt. The lilts and melodies of her voice swarming all four of the ventricles in his heart with warmth, and every blood cell that passed contained a glowing heat, buzzing with her energy.

She points to the sunflowers, her gaze lingering on them with longing. A soft smile toying on her mouth, and Harry could see the tendons in her throat stretch as she inhaled to add another thought to her sentence, “Do you sell vases by any chance?” The girl looked at him shyly, her eyelashes almost twinkling as she blinked, and his heart soared, “I had a really nice one in the shape of a big Coca-Cola bottle, and I accidentally knocked it over, so now I have nothing to put them in.”

Harry is incredibly enamoured by subconscious gestures that take over her hands as she speaks, fiddling as if the vase she spoke about was in her hands, all in one piece before it was broken. He’s quiet throughout her tiny ramble, listening and taking note of her enticing antics. She’s looking down at the floor or the flowers or her hands, and when her eyes dance over to his steady gaze, “I’m rambling aren’t I?” she murmurs bashfully.

“No, no it’s a’right. I can look in the back for something if y’like?” He suggested, arrowing a thumb to the ‘back’ he mentioned. “Did y’want anything in particular?”

“Oh, I don’t wanna be a troubling customer!” She squeaked, concerned with becoming a nuisance she didn’t want to be.

“Y’not a bother, love. M’promise. I’ll go look f’you. What color did y’have in mind?” He asked her, tone calm and soothing to reiterate his sentiment. She was not a bother. The only thing about her that bothered him was the fact that he did not know her name, and even that was his own fault for not asking her.

His hands rest on his hips, tattooed cross momentarily hidden by the bunch of his sweater vest as he waits for her to respond, his eyes locked on her mouth, her own tongue subtly licks her lips, adding a sparkly sheen to it that only drove him crazy. Ever the jilted fool, his mind jumps to what it would feel like to kiss her, or what it would feel like if she kissed him in other places. What fruits she tasted like, and what kind of kisser she was. A timid one? With a patient mouth waiting to be broken open with the force of his own? Frugal? Opening her mouth and giving him everything she had to offer.

“Something pink, please. If you have it.” That smile again. One that told a million apologies it didn’t owe, with her eyes pinching at the corners with whatever nonsense culpability she felt. Her voice was sweet, Harry thought, like wind chimes on a summer morning.

Feeling guilty for allowing such dirty thoughts to gallop through his mind when she was so… so pure. Like an angel. Even her way of presenting herself was shy and sweet, yet he was thinking about kissing her. Was that perverted? She was a customer he had seen twice, and his mind was already running wild with luscious assumptions; a sunday topped with a red cherry of sensuality. How awfully dirty of him.

But! But those were not the only thoughts he had. He wanted to ask her what happened to cause her to drop her vase, and where she had bought it. If it was vintage, considering it was a Coca-cola bottle, and if she had any accidents while cleaning up the mess of broken glass. He wanted to hear her thoughts. No, better yet, he just wanted to hear her talk. He wanted to get to know her. To know if she was as nice as she looked.

“‘Course,” he mumbled, his eyes shamefully downcast to the floor. “Be righ’ back.”

Harry stalked off to ‘the back of the store’. Truth was, there was no back of the store containing vases. There was only a small closet with boxes of items he might need around the store, like flower food, rubber bands, and decorative paper for the bouquets. A crate of bottled water for when he got too lazy to climb up the back stairs and into his home.

His home.

Plucking the keys from his pocket, a ring that held a ceramic swan his closest friend Mitch had gifted him with a humble admission of ‘saw this at a thrift store and thought about you, H, I had to buy it’, and five keys: one to the front door of his shop, one to the cash box in the register, one to the mailbox, another to the front door of his apartment, and one to his car. The one to his front door was painted at the head with pastel pink nail polish, so it was easy for him to pick out when he was dead tired after a long day of being on his feet (spunky shoes that he liked to wear sometimes didn’t help ease the ache on his back, and neither did his posture).

The back door that led to the stairs had locks on both the inside and the outside. A deadbolt and chain on matching sides of the door to ensure comfortable sleep at night, and peaceful work time during the day. Not having to worry about curious children opening doors or nosy customers relieved him. It was a little amatuer, but the door made a loud noise when opened because it wasn’t quite level, and he had a tiny key so he could lock it from the outside, too.

A loud shucking noise resonated through the store as he pulled the door open, and then again when he closed it behind him. The delicacy of his dainty yet large hands were nearly comical around the tiny golden pin stud that hung from the chain, almost slipping from his hands with nerves as he slid it in place. Harry didn’t think that she was nosy or anything like that, bit if he was going up to give her a vase of his own personal collection, he didn’t want her to find out and feel even more intrusive that she already did.

He was a huge giver, and upon hearing her say that she broke her flower pot, his mind was already thinking about the perfect one to replace it. It just so happened to be sitting on his shelf with a bundle of dying lavender. Climbing up the stairs (the ache in his thighs was a mere twinge compared to what it was when he first moved here), Harry huffed and thought to himself all the ways he could ask for her name and number.

Listen, I really like y’and would like to have y’number?”

Do y’wanna have my number so we can go out sometime if y’feel like it?”

“Is it alright if I get y’number so we can go out sometime?”

“Hey, love. What’s y’name?”

Nothing’s making sense to him. The pick up lines he had stored in his head for the rare times he would flirt with a girl were slipping from him. None of them seemed worded right to use with her. Too abrupt or too brisk. Not sweet enough. He wanted to treat her gently and to be worthwhile of her time. Plus, it also had to be smooth enough that it made her forget she was paying him for flowers or it would be awkward. He was a twenty-six man for crying out loud, not a twenty-one year old smile at the bar looking for a good time. This wasn’t a ‘good time’. This was… a courting. An inquiry to a relationship. A rose rose in a candlelit room.

Harry opened his front door and moved in a quick jog to a table besides his hi-fi that held a translucent pale pink glass, fat at the base before twirling and widening a few inches at the lip. An image of a nude mermaid puffing out at the front like an engraving. Cuddling it into his breast, he grabbed the lavender, speed walked back to his kitchen where his toe banged against the metal of the trashcan as he pressed on the lever to open it. He hissed fuck��under his breath and shucked the dead lavender into the bag before turning back to his door, closing it behind him, but not locking it because he didn’t want to keep her waiting. His feet moved quickly down the stairs, the one hand not holding onto the vase cupping a hand over the side of his hips that held his keys so they didn’t make much noise.

The button on the chain slipped from his fingers a few times from their repeated clamminess, and when he was ready to finally twist the knob, he paused to take a breath and collect himself. Harry ran a hand through his hair, fixed his collar, and dusted off his pants legs. He wanted to look perfect for her.

“Don’t be stupid,” he murmured to himself. He had a good feeling about this. About her. And if he messed this up because he looked bad or said something weird he would kick himself into a muddy ditch.

Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and calmly walked back, “I’ve got the last one,” he said, tapping the tip of the vase with his pointer finger. It was a lie, right through his teeth, but he was happy to tell it in return for the way she was looking at him in that moment. His eyes rounded out as he approached her, like the curves of hearts that made up the heart-eye emoji, or the puppy-dog face. Just another physical display of his growing affinity towards her.

“Oh my god!” She said, “It's so pretty!” The trapped crystals in her irises twinkled with bewilderment at the treasure Harry’s presented her with. She’s got a smile on her face, and he can’t help but think, ‘wow, she looks like a freshly bloomed white lily’.

There’s a vintage print hanging in his corridor, a ‘flower language chart’ with different types of flowers and a sentence beneath them describing the messages they send. For example, red carnations= my heart aches for you. The description beneath white lilies reads ‘my love is pure’.

She asked him if it wasn’t too pricey, and he made up some fake sale he had going on about a hybrid BOGO in which if she bought an arrangement she would get a vase included in her purchase (he added “I’ve got a shipment of new ones coming in an I need the space cleared out before they get here” just to make sure his fib is believable.) And he explains this so shyly. Harry can’t keep his eyes locked on hers because she’s staring at him with an intensity that lets him know she's really listening, and it makes him squirm. The tips of his fingers tap against the vase, and he’s tripping over his tongue, which is ridiculous because he already talks so slow.

“I guess I was right in waiting then,” she said casually, waiting for Harry to finish ringing her up.

His finger froze over the touch screen of the sleek, modern device (he wanted nothing but the best for his store) and listened to the exciting roar of blood through his eardrums at her words. I guess I was right in waiting then? What did that mean? That she was planning on coming back to see him and didn’t? Of course, it could also mean that she was going to buy something else somewhere else, but he couldn’t stop the vine of ripe hope that swelled around his chest. And she looked so apprehensive while saying it. As if she was walking on glass and was looking for cracks as she stepped. As if she was waiting on him to catch on to something.

Harry cleared his throat and looked at her through the corner of his eye, trying to be as discreet as possible as his fingers continued their deliberate work on the screen, “What d’you mean, love?”

“I was going to stop by sooner, but I just got in my head about it,” the girl shrugged, and adjusted the ends of her cardigan so they wrapped around her torso. She had a different bag this time, one of those reusable market bags that was made up of holes, and it was filled with two books and a can of green tea from the vegan store down the street. Harry thinks he can make out one of the titles on one of the spines, which looks suspiciously similar to something that he has on his own shelf.

“Why would y’get in y’own head about coming to m’flower shop, hmm? It’s hardly that intimidating,” he chuckles to play off the dashes of pink and red that are painting themselves across the bridge of his twitching nose, “I don’t bite, either.”

And he hopes that his wistfulness isn’t meddling with his vision because he swears that he can see a matching reaction on her own doll face. “I know! I know, it’s just that I can’t help it sometimes. Talking to other people makes me nervous.”

Harry could coo at her right now. He doesn’t, though. He nods and smiles at her before reading her total out to her, “That I get, too. But y’doing just fine with me, love.”

Waiting patiently as she digs through her bag for cash, he tries to not stare. However, it’s impossible. His eyes had a mind of their own dragging against the forces of his will to feast on her image again. Her hands and the tip of her nose. The base of her neck and gentle swell of her clavicles. The swoops of hair that hung in a curtain from her shoulder as her head tilted in search, and the how her teeth bit down into her lip in concentration. Harry counted the amount of times her eyelashes met her waterline in those few seconds of comfortable silence. Three.

“I thought I had cash on me today,” something in her bag clicks, and she pulls out the rectangular card Harry’s become familiar with, holding it out to him between two deft fingers, painted with red hearts on a white base. “I guess I used my last twenty at the organic food store down the street,” she said.

“It is pretty easy to get lost in there, isn’t it?” He took her card from her, and tried not to make it obvious that he was eager to read her name off of it as he inserted it into the machine. The embossed letters into the plastic read y/n y/l/n, and when he turns back to look at her, he can’t help the smile that spreads across his boyish features.

Y/n.

Y/n, y/n, y/n.

This is what it must feel to be let in on a secret that’s worth millions of dollars. It must, because Harry’s heart is soaring with a closure he didn’t know he needed. Y/n, y/n. Her name tickled him. Stroked him. Lathered him with the honey smoothness of the beeswax shampoo he bought at that fateful organic store. It was a fitting name. Sometimes, one could tell a person ‘you know, I actually thought you were a Amy or a Jessica’, because their looks and style just didn’t match the strength or modesty of their name. But not y/n. It fit her like a glove. There was no other way to make sense of the way Harry’s brain was thinking. The name was her.

“What?” Her lips quirk up into a smile and her eyebrows dip in confusion. Why was he looking at her like that? Did she have something on her face? Here she was, opening up to a cute stranger and she had something on her face? This, she thought to herself, is humiliating. Her finger dusted off non-existent crumbs from the corners of her mouth, “do I have something on my face?”

“No! No, no.” Harry’s careful beam simmered down from it’s previous brightness, and his hand nervously filed through the swoop of chocolate curls sitting on his head like a cinnamon roll. “I just think y’name is pretty thas’ all.”

He murmured the last part so that it was practically incoherent, and lowered his gaze as a searing heat stretching like saran wrap around his head and the divot on the nape of his neck. Oh, God. He was fucking blushing. Great Harry. A normally favorite among the ladies had been reduced to murmurs and thick, uncoordinated movements.

Like dropping her card when she piped up again.

Voice as small and quaint as his had been, "you think my name is pretty?” Her fingers are wrapped around the frail straps of her bag, tight enough that her knuckles were white and Harry was scared that she’d bury her fingernails into her palm.

“I think y’very pretty.” He whispered back. He can’t even bear to look at her in fear that he’s totally fucked himself over once and for all. His logic was this: what girl wants to be told by the guy they’re buying flowers that they’re pretty after he reads her name from her debit card? Especially one who (if outside female sources are to be believed) dresses “the way my mother did when she was a girl in the seventies”? Jesus, fuck. He must’ve looked ridiculous.

Harry opened his mouth to backtrack and apologize for being so unorthodox in his workspace, a breath sitting on his tongue with words ready to spew out, but the bell began to chime and it yanks his head from the register to the front and instead he said, “welcome! I’ll be with you in a moment.”

Flustered and full of regret, the flower connoisseur returned his wired gaze back to y/n, who… was smiling at him? The kind of smile that said ‘oh my god, I can’t believe you just said that. Now please say it again’? Was he… dreaming? Did he have to pinch himself in order to verify that he wasn-

“Thank you... what’s your name?” Y/n looked at the card from his hands and sunk her hand- carefully, as to not get her fingers stuck in any of the tiny holes- and there was another clicking noise before she took her hand back out. That angel-like smear of girlish happiness was still on her, decadently radiating positivity and secret affection. Goodness leaked from the seams of her bones; through the cracks of her breastplate, radiating from her chest to Harry’s. He could feel it now. He could feel that his previous assumptions about her nature were true. She was altruistic and tender, like the inside of a bird’s wing.

“Harry. M’name’s Harry.” This time, he didn’t hide his happiness. Even his eyes shone with a heightened, clear and sparkly shade of liquid evergreen. The joy that bounced inside of him like ricocheting metal balls in a pin game machine. His slender hand, fawn-skinned and graceful like the legs of a deer, stretched out between them. His mother had taught him that along with the first introduction of his name, a handshake must be present, always. Dipping his head slightly, and his words spongy with love-ditz, Harry rumbled, “Nice to meet you, y/n.”

She placed her hand in his, and was practically swallowed by only his palm. He curled his fingers around her, thumb and middle finger overlapping around the clammy center of hers. So she was nervous, just as he was. Y/n was trained on their embracing limbs, and he could feel a spot on his neck where the skin palpated from the rush of blood as she observed their entwined digits. Their hands moved up and down, up and down between them for longer than necessary until her chin twitched back up to meet his, and she blinked mawkishly, slowly, like the videos of rehabilitated barn owls Harry sees on his Instagram.

Then, suddenly, as if she remembered she was not the only one present, y/n jolts upright and shakes her head dazedly. “It’s nice to meet you, too, Harry. I like your nail color,” she added.

He’s cheesing. A shit-eating grin too big for his face and it carves dimples into the flesh of his cheeks. His name on her tongue had never sounded so appealing, like it was made for her and only her to say. Not even the turtle-doves that cooed outside his window in the mornings sounded as beautiful as she did saying his name. And she complimented her nails! She hadn’t scrutinized him like others had, instead, she displayed her admiration for them. No one- well, actually he can’t say that without offending Mitch- no female of his age had ever received him with such open-mindedness as hers. If he didn’t have any self-restraint, he would giggle. Instead, Harry pulled his hand back so that their perfect moment wasn’t sullied with bouts of bad timing, “thank y’love. I like yours, too. You’ll have t’come over sometime and paint mine, yeah?”

Y/n laughed, and he breathed a sigh of relief that he hadn’t been too bold, “I’d love too!” With glee frozen on her, she turned to look over her shoulder at the customer who was browsing the flowers Harry had in buckets, “I don’t want to hold you back from a customer for so long. I’ll stop by again soon, Harry. Thank you so much for your help.”

The moment her hands reached for the wrapped bundle of sunflowers and the mermaid vase, a metaphorical grey cloud of rain and thunder manifested in the space above his head, and blocked all of the sunshine from spanning across his toned, lithe body. Did she really have to go? He wanted to whine. Maybe even wrap himself around her ankles like a child that refused to leave the park. They were only just getting to a mutual spot of comfort! Forget the other customer, he wanted to shout. Harry would kick them out and flip the sign to ‘closed’ if it meant only a few more minutes in the presence of her candy-coated charisma.

But he knows that’s unrealistic, and settles with, “it was my pleasure, y/n,” a flirty wink (at least he hopes it is), “I’ll be waiting f’your next visit.” His taffy lips wrapping effortlessly around his smooth words, fueled by her welcoming receptiveness to his advances. It would be easy to be himself in the future, a little smoother and eloquent in his language and feeling. He was usually clear with what he wanted from anyone, and made it a pleasurable experience in all aspects for both parties involved (once it was three). Harry wanted to sweep her off her feet, and he wanted it to be an enjoyable experience for the both of them. Revel in that feeling of blooming emotions in a new relationship. A healthy one, in which he wasn’t receiving back-handed compliments all the time.

He wasn’t superficial enough to push anyone off the table based on looks alone, but it did help that y/n had the disposition of an angel. An ethereal voice, supple lips that looked so silky and soft they had to feel that way, too, and hands that felt so tender in his. Perfect for holding on a late night stroll, or over the center console of his car when -if they go out on dates.

What really hooked, reeled, and sinked him, though, was the fact that she was so nice to him. From the start, she’d been nothing but polite and sweet with him. Don’t even get him started on the way he swooned at the tone of her voice when he said that her name was pretty! So quiet and velvety, careful and calculated like she wanted him to know that it was okay. That she wasn’t thrown off by his comment. He nearly toppled over, clutching his heart with his legs jutting straight up into the air like a frightened goat.

It wasn’t until the bells stopped ringing the sad notice of her exit that Harry realized he passed up the perfect opportunity to ask for her number, and as he kicked himself over it, he walked with the perfect customer service face he could muster to help the other person in his store.

***

Harry was having a shitty morning.

Not the kind of morning where every aspect of his routine is a terrible mishap, but like the water being too cold and the stove not working or the bottle of oat milk in the fridge being empty so he couldn’t make coffee. No, everything was fine and rolling smoothly, as it should.

His water was the perfect temperature and ran down the toned bumps and divots of his muscles like the relaxing thrums of a lover’s caress in the midst of prowling heat. As soon as it hit his back, he released a sigh of contentment, his shoulders hunching and head rolling back and his hands roamed his shoulders and the back of his neck, rubbing away any aches that existed. The branch of eucalyptus that hung from the golden pipe of his showerhead fused a thick minty scent into the steam that fogged the glass wall, and the calming aroma helped the tendons loosen like the deflating limpness of untied shoelaces. He spent a few minutes just standing there, inhaling and exhaling deeply and feeling his lungs open and stretch beneath his rib cage.

It almost made him wish that he’d opted to use his tub for a hot bath instead.

He was able to cook an egg just fine on his stove, with dashes of Everything Bagel Seasoning with a side of avocado and a slice of toasted cranberry walnut bread, the same thing he had every morning. The carton of oat milk was brand new from his trip to the market the day before, and his coffee tasted the same as it always did. But… he was just... sad. An melancholy soreness that eroded against the insides of his body, consuming him slowly but surely and leaving him with a lost feeling of emptiness and unimportance.

He thinks he might know why he’s feeling this way.

While he’s stirring his scrambled eggs, he’s wondering how y/n likes hers. Over easy? Sunny-side up? Scrambled, like him? Did she even like eggs in the morning? What did she eat in the morning? He knows that some people ‘aren’t hungry’ in the mornings, though that’s only because they’ve gone hungry in the mornings before for an extended time period, and after so long of not feeding their growling stomachs, their brain discontinues the signals of hunger. Harry hopes that isn’t the case with y/n, and that she’s eating the proper three meals a day every day.

And while he dipped a mini vegan chocolate croissant that he got at Whole Foods, he also wonders what she likes to dip chocolate croissants into, or if she even likes chocolate croissants. If she was a person who likes sweet treats, like strawberry tarts with powdered sugar over them or something lighter, like fruit cut into small squares in a bowl. When Harry was younger and would visit his nan on the weekends, she would pick fresh strawberries from her garden and cut them up for him when he’d woken from his nap. Sometimes, she would even sprinkle half a tablespoon of sugar over them. He wonders if she’d ever eaten strawberries like that.

It’s been a week and a half, he still hasn’t seen her, and his heart is yearning.

Harry knows he’s not in the correct headspace to assist other people with a cheery disposition about an hour before opening time, and decides it’s best if he writes a note on the door about how the shop wouldn’t open that day because he didn’t want to taint the reputation of his business by snapping at a customer for the only bundle of sunflowers he had, or dissolve into a puddle of love-sick tears in the middle of ringing someone up. Though really the notice just says ‘H’s Garden will not be opening today. Sorry for the inconvenience!’ followed by a frowning face and a lopsided, filled-in heart.

Harry drags his feet back up the stairs, his lower lip jutting out in a discreet but depressing pout, and grabs Owen from his tank so that the chameleon could curl into the shoulder of Harry’s hoodie while he moped on the couch to sappy rom-coms that would only make him think about her more. At least there was someone there with him, even if his small green friend only used him for mangoes and papaya. They sit together for the entirety of Romeo + Juliet, and when it’s over, Harry’s sniffly and standing up to return Owen to his enclosure and to clean because the riotous emotions that whirl within him are too much to process while sitting down.

Cleaning wouldn’t help him solve his problems, but it would help him cram all of his worries into a tight corner at the back of his mind- sort of like when dirty laundry began to overflow in the hamper and it requires extra force to shove it all in, only to come all back out like a memory sponge. His tormented thoughts on y/n could be compared to a dramatic inner monologue, very similar to how Romeo feels about his Juliet. But, soft, what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and y/n is the sun. Harry has the play on his book shelf (the one with the side-to-side modern English translation because he was never quite gifted in the English department) and as he reaches for a bandana to tie his hair back, he finds himself resonating with a particular line: parting is such a sweet sorrow.

There was no need to change any of his clothing, since he was already dressed in one of his more impromptu outfits; grey sweats and a white t-shirt that read ‘women are smarter’ in black across his chest. He tied the red bandana into a knot at the back of his head, and lifted it over his chin so that it settled on his forehead, sweeping his hair back with a final push back. It doesn’t get in his way when he crouches to clean his various tables, spraying cleaning products with his shirt pulled over his nose, another organic product that’s supposed to be less harmful and smells like cinnamon and sandalwood. His shoulder blades begin to ache because he’s being a little more aggressive than he has to be, but the green tiles were sparkling so he was content.

He washes the dishes, mops the kitchen floor, vacuums the carpets, cleans Owen’s habitat, and tidies the mail that piled up on the table when he finally calls it quits. Scouring his brain for something to do, to keep him busy- his brain busy, Harry settles on the floor with his back to the edge of his bed. He’s shirtless now, and is in need of another shower but he’d rather not because he knows he might end up crying over the possibility that he’s scared y/n off. There’s a book in his hands and a Frank Ocean record playing softly in the background that mentions something about ‘I've been thinkin' 'bout you, do you think about me still?’ and it’s not helping his case at all.

It’s no use.

There’s a plague of darkness buzzing like cicadas in his ears. He fears rejection and criticism. That maybe, she was only pretending in order to make the situation more pleasant so it ended sooner. Most of all, he feared that it would always be this way. That he would never find someone who embraces who he is as a person. Always met with mean side-eye glances or second looks of displeasure and confusion. It isn’t always that way, though, because then that would mean he gets absolutely no action, and that isn’t true.

Harry is very… well-educated in matters that concerned sexual intercourse, but it was always a one-night stand ordeal. It was never ‘I really like you we should go out sometime’. In fact, he noticed that only time his approaches were well received were those in which he was dressed in a calmer manner. Simple, solid colors with sneakers or a t-shirt. Girls would flirt back, make good conversation, allow him to buy them a few drinks, and when he’d take them to his apartment they’d ask why he lived on top of a flower-shop, and if it was his sister or female-friend’s palace that he was crashing. Sex would ensue, but his heart wouldn’t be as present and engaged as he wanted it to be.

Wrong. It was always so fucking wrong, and God, if he didn’t get out of this apartment he’s going to breakdown and cry and there’s no one to call to come over because Mitch is on a trip with his girlfriend, Sarah, and his other friend Jeff is on his honeymoon in Sweden. They were the only two on his mental speed dial list during the rare occasions he had a crisis, as they were the two that Harry had ever really opened up to. Mitch was a bit closer to his heart. They’ve known each other since their school days and practically grew up together (at one point they had small crushes on each other, which were confessed years down the line). Jeff was the owner of Winsome where… where y/n had mentioned spending her last twenty dollar bill. He didn’t have an issue opening up to them. He liked opening up to them, but he didn’t understand why they were the only two that ever truly opened their arms to him.

A walk, he decided, would help him… air out his brain. Calm down. Breathe a little deeper, a little easier.

He threw his white shirt back on, and a forest green sweatshirt that donned the emblem of the school he went to earn his business degree that fit him wide around the shoulders and felt like a marshmallow. Putting on a pair of beat up shoes, he shoved his keys into his pocket, hobbling and nearly losing his balance because he was moving way too fast. The door closed behind him with a slam, and even though he was still wearing the bandana around his head, wispy stray curls framing his face in a wild mane, his distress palpable through his appearance, but he doesn’t care. He just needs to get out and feel the cool air against his skin.

There’s a backdoor behind the stairs that will take him to a small alleyway that leads to a back parking lot where other shop owners that live at the top of their stores on the same side of his street parked their cars. He unlocks it from the inside, and throws his shoulder into it, desperate to her out. When it shuts behind him, he doesn’t turn back because it’s the kind to lock from the outside when closed. His fingers curl into the ends of his sleeve so that the tips of his fingers (nails now changed to a sparkling silver color) are the only parts of his hands visible.

Rounding the corner, he whistled the cheeriest tune he can muster. His lips are puckered and his cheekbones high with the extension of his mouth. He’s not very happy on the inside, though he remembers reading something somewhere that if you pretend to be something long enough, you’ll eventually become it. If he pretends to be happy, then he’ll actually be happy.

Right?

Harry rounds the corner of the parking lot and turns on to the main street. It’s only two in the afternoon, so there's people crawling in and out of shops anywhere. He even sees a man and a woman peeking into the window of his store, and he would feel bad if he wasn’t in a shitty mood already. He’s so out of it, that he nearly yells ‘get your hands off my windows!’. He doesn’t though, because for a moment the woman becomes y/n and the man becomes him, wrapping a ringed hand around her waist and whispering in her downy ear ‘they’re closed, darling, let’s go somewhere else’ and she straightens dejectedly, pouting playfully and standing up and her tippy toes so that she could press a quick kiss to his lips.

That image fades though, and the couple continues with their stroll, hand in hand, and his heart is wrenching, writhing and trying to yank itself free from it’s place in his chest because it hurts too much to stay.

Cars whizz past, and he skirts in and out of people on the sidewalk, keeping his pace fast and focused. There’s no intended destination, he’s just moving with the intent to forget the pretty girl who haunts him. Her voice is all he can hear. Her smile is all she can picture. And the rest of her is all he can imagine, which is exactly what hurts the most. Imagination only goes so far, fulfils so much with uncertainty of what the truth was and what wasn’t. Harry could imagine her with her feet up on the lip of a bubble filled tub, a glass of wine in her hands, but then…what kind of wine did she like? Or did she even like wine? And did she even have a bathtub to stretch out in after a long day?

He curses the crimes he may have committed in past lives to deserve this torture. This unbearable pain that felt like he was being dunked in a slow-acting acid. He can do nothing about it but keep walking with labored will power. He passed his shop, and a bakery and a small thrift store that sells used clothing for way too much money. At the propped open double-doors of Jeff’s Winsome, he decides to talk in and browse. There’s so many items that smell good and taste good, that it was fun to just walk in and look.

“Back again so soon, H?”

Spinning on his heel, Harry comes face to face with Niall, a brunette, fit, Irish bloke with a chummy smile and a killer sense of humor. The two have brokered a sort of friendship, considering the amount of time (and money) that Harry spends there. Niall has even started calling him ‘H’ in silent homage to his flower shop.

“Y’know I can’t stay away,” Harry attempted to joke, his lips pulling up in a weak smile, “plus, I think I needed s’more of the peppermint essential oils f’my diffuser.”

“‘Course ya do! You're worse than the bloody vegan mums that come in asking for gluten free baby powder!” Niall cups a hand over his mouth and loudly whispers to so that only Harry catches his verbiage. There was a woman in the back of the store, looking through soaps in the limited kid’s section, the same exact kind that Niall was speaking about. “Go on and look around then, I’ll be here when you’re finished.” He said.

Harry only nodded his acknowledgement, and moved in between wooden walnut shelves. The entire store had a caramel brown color scheme, with only the inventory adding color to it. Macramé potted succulents and plants added to the natural, outdoorsy feel. Winsome had an interesting mix of smells from all of the aromatherapy based products it housed, but it only added to the appeal.

Currently, he held a packet of four lip balms that advertised to be ‘100% all naturally derived ingredients with no artificial additives' infused with ‘healing power of crystals’, two of them ‘citrine cherry' flavored, and the remaining ‘garnet guava’. The brand name is something in Italian that he can’t read, packaging thick and a triangle made of arrows in the corner signaling it can be decomposed and/or recycled. He had the same exact ones at home, only they were all misplaced and-

“Harry?”

A small, timid voice called his name from behind him, and he froze. He knew that voice. It was the same one he had repeated over and over in his head for the past week, waiting for her promised arrival with a hopeful heart.

His eyes go wide with recognition, body still and stiff like a deer caught in headlights. His heart begins to rump at a furious speed, loud in his ears like a million stampeding hooves. The packaged products in his hands shake, and then she speaks again, “Harry, is that you?”

Is this really happening right now? He’s embarrassed at having been caught with lipstick in his hands of all things, but he can’t put them back now. It was too late for that. He lets them hang at his side, and turns around. He hopes there isn’t perspiration dripping from his temples because all of a sudden he wants to yank his sweater off.

Harry turned, slowly. He feared that if he moved too fast she would fly away like a startled dove.

“Y/n…” He’s breathless, but he manages a pitiful quirk of the corner of his mouth, which he licks over right after, “hi.”

She’s wearing a dress this time, frilly at the hem which fell just above her knees. It’s pink and covered and lined with blood red trim at her forearms. A string of pearls glistens at the base of her throat, and her lips are covered in a sheen of lipstick. Her hair, however, is a tousled mess, pieces of it framing her face and untucked from her bun as if she had been jostling around. Her cheeks are flushed with the cold, and clearly that thin beige cardigan hanging off her elbows is doing nothing to keep her warm.

Y/n smiles at him, with the same shakiness, “f-for a second I thought I was talking to the wrong p-person.”

It’s quiet again, and they’re both fidgeting. Y/n’s knees knock together as she shifts her weight from foot to food, and Harry idly rubs his finger under his nose and sniffs boogies that aren’t there. She’s staring at the ground and rocking back and forth on her heels and he can’t think of anything to say because he’s so paralyzed by the fact that she’s actually standing in front of him, and looks as gorgeous as ever. Had he somehow manifested her presence?

While she’s hiking up the ends of her sweater so that they’re situated properly on her shoulders, he says the first thing that comes to his mind. “Aren’t y’cold?”

Her head snaps up and she peeks at him from under her lashes while flattening a hand at her thigh, “a little bit.”

Harry watches her tuck her hair behind her ears and wonders if she came walking from her apartment again. In the cold. Dress as she was. Not that he had a problem with the way that she was dressed! He understood that sometimes when people grew bored they used the smallest occasions to dress up and have some fun and get out of their homes. He did it too, sometimes. To clear his head. Hell, isn’t that what he was doing now?

“D’you need a ride home?” He stumbled over his tongue to backtrack, not wanting her to think that he was a wierdo or anything like that, “t-that is if y’walking, I wouldn’t want you to get sick or anything like that. S’bit chilly out today.”

Y/n smiles shyly at him, a blush on the highest points of her cheeks, and rubs the side of her face against the fabric of her cardigan, “thank you, for the offer, but uhm… it’s my friend’s baby-shower-gender-reveal thing today and I came with my other friend to some last minute gifts and some flowers. I was going to buy some stuff from here because she’s crazy about the whole ‘no preservatives’ and all but, and I was also going to stop by your shop to buy some flowers, but I saw you were closed so I…I’m rambling again.” She sputtered out the last bit, and pressed the tips of her three middle fingers to her lips to stop the words from coming out.

Harry smirked at her antics, but it’s more of a repressed smile, and the rest of his humor gleamed in the sea-glass of his eyes like a message in a bottle.

“S’alright, love.” He’s still holding the lip balms in his hand, and he can feel the moisture that’s collecting on his palms dampening the Kraft like material as he gestured to her dress with the tip of his chin. “Y’wearing pink. I take it y’want the baby to be a girl?”

“Actually, I know it’s a girl. She told me,” y/n pips, shrugging smugly.

Harry laughs at her this time, “Did you finish with all your purchases here? I can make an exception and open up f’you.”

“Oh, Harry, I don’t wanna bother you! Because if this was your day off then-”

He lifts a hand to get her to stop, and uses the opportunity to twist around and put back what he had in his hands. The conversation is flowing so smoothly now, that all of his previous worries are gone. He can only focus on her and the way her eyelashes fluttered and the crystalline sparkly in her voice.

“Y/n, it’s fine. D’ya finish here? We can head over to the shop now if you’d like.” Harry points a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the door.

“Uh, no. I just got here so I still have to go grab some things,” she said, pushing her hair past her ears again. He thinks that she can probably tell the disheveled state her hair was in, because she begins to pop off a pin in her hair to readjust it. He doesn’t mind it, though. He thinks she looks cute. Angel-like.

He nods, rolling his hands into fists within his sleeves so that the cuffs hang over his knuckles, and tries not to trip over his legs as he backs away. “A’right. I’ll wait f’you in the front, then. Take y’time, love.”

“‘Kay,” she gleams at him, biting down on her bottom lip, and Harry turns away fully before he starts whining about how cute she is or before there’s a dent in the heather grey fabric of his sweatpants.

At the front, Niall has his chin at the palm of his hand, and as he gets closer, Harry lifts his head to see that the brunette is wiggling his eyebrows mischievously. There's a shit-eating grin on his face that clearly points to a mountain of teasing in the near distance.

“A little love-struck, mate?” He said, as soon as Harry was within hearing distance. At least he had the decency to keep his voice down, he thought.

Harry flips him off, “oh, bug off.”

Silver glitter sparkling on his nails, and his gaze strays to the floor, bashful of how clear his affection was. He turns to rest his bum against the counter and pulls out his phone to appear busy as he waits for y/n, mindlessly opening Instagram to have something to do (and to stop him from glancing at her ever two seconds).

“Yup. I knew it. Have y’asked her out yet?” Niall doesn’t stop to let Harry refute his question, “y’know she comes in sometimes, after stopping by your place? And she just will not stop talking about how nice yeh were to her.”

Harry’s head snaps up from his screen so fast, something at the back of his neck creaks with the force. Instagram is long forgotten.

“What? Are you fuckin’ with me right now?” He doesn’t mean for his words to come as aggressive as they do, but the thought of her speaking to someone else about him is… well, it’s thrilling.

Alarmed, Niall’s hands come up near his face in the motion of surrender, “no, man! Dead serious. Think she likes yeh, honestly.”

He can only say: “Fuck me.”

Niall is about to respond when a quiet voice breaks their stares, “I’m all finished.”

“Already, babe? I’ll rig ya up, then!”

He’s quick to slide the few products over the scanning square, and y/n and Harry stand beside each other silently, their height difference laughable. Niall’s gaze flickered between them with no commentary, and his lips pucker with a wiggling smile when he finally announces her total. A bit too much for a small changing blanket, oatmeal-based baby lotion, pacifiers with a lavender infused towel attached to ‘aid with goodnight night’s sleep’, and a bamboo hairbrush with a tuft of soft bristles.

Nonetheless, she provides the money with a pleasant smile. Harry can see a bit of tightness around her eyes that suggests discomfort, but he doesn’t say anything. Niall hands her a paper bag with her purchase, “there yeh go! Have a good day now, y/n! And be good, to Harry!”

Harry’s eyes widen at Niall’s last comment, and it takes every bit of self-restraint in him to not reach the other counter and whack him in the back of the head. Instead, he shakes and ducks his head in near shame.

Y/n, however, quips back with “I’ll be nice only if you’re nice,” and bumps her shoulder against his before walking towards the door, looking over her shoulder at Harry who’s smiling wide now, and trailing after her with no regard to Niall at all.

He shouts something after them about being rude lovebirds, but Harry doesn’t care. He’s floating after this heaven-sent like cartoon characters being led to a freshly baked pie with their nose on the scent. His rump high in the air like the Lorax disappearing into the light in the clouds, utterly ignorant to everything else.

When they’ve both stepped outside, they speak at the same time,

“Let me just-”

“Do y’wanna put-”

Harry and y/n giggle at each other,

“You go first.”

“Y’speak first.”

And then they laugh again. Harry pretends to zip his lips and throws away the key, and she says radiantly, “I’ll drop this off in my friend’s car really fast and we can walk to your flower shop.”

Watching her approach a car parked two spots away, a girl with blue, pink, and brown hair leans over to the passenger side, seat belt straining against her throat and when she sees Harry, she waves and it makes y/n push her back to her spot behind the driver’s side. Whoever this girl is, she and Niall have to meet, seeing as they can’t mind their own business. He chuckled and waved back, that girl laughing along with him and it made y/n cover her face with her cardigan covered hands.

“I’m sorry about Charlotte,” she said when she got back, “she doesn’t know how to mind her own.”

“A bit like Niall, it seems.” Harry said. He waits for her to catch up before beginning to walk down the street. Side to side, shoulder to shoulder. They’re so close, Harry can feel the warmth of her body heat through the fleece of his sweatshirt. It’s cold, and she’s still this warm?

“Maybe,” her eyebrows raise, and her head tilts towards him, “they should meet.”

“Tha’s exactly what I was thinkin’!” His voice rises with his excited agreement, and the tip of his nose wiggles as he scrunches his nose.

As they get closer, to H’s Garden, Harry reaches into his pocket for his keys, fingering through them so that they wouldn’t have to stand in the cold for so long. He didn’t want her to get sick.

“I’m sorry, Harry. I feel really bad about this,” she whispered beside him, looking up at him with doe eyes as she worried her lip between her teeth, the sheen of gloss adding an extra allure to her image at that moment. “It’s your day off, and I’m bugging you.”

They stood in front of the door now, underneath the green umbrella cover that extended from the top of the door and down the side of the window. Harry waited for her to step into the little alcove created by the indent of the door before stepping in after her and jiggling the key into the lock. He resisted the urge to pull his lips down into a cooing frown at the look on her face. She really was worried about disturbing him. If only she knew that he spent the entire day moping (and nearly crying) over her.

He sucked on his teeth, “oh, love, please worryin’ about it. Don’t wanna see that frown on y’pretty face anymore okay?” His confidence was slowly coming back, “s’not my day off, I just didn’t feel like speaking to customers today.”

Shrugging, he opened the door, and took a step back to allow her to step through first. Y/n ducked her head as she passed him with a murmured ‘oh, okay’, and he followed right after her, wanting to get away from the cold too because he knew that his nose was probably pink at that moment, but what he didn’t anticipate was for y/n to stop right after breaching the threshold, and bend over at the waist to pick something up from the floor, causing Harry to bump into her at such an awkwardly sexual angle with all of his momentum.

Considering he was half twisted away from her and in the middle of pulling out the key from it’s slot, the amount of force in Harry’s push from behind was enough to cause her to nearly fall forward, a surprised whimper slipping from her lips. Harry, determined not to see her fall, lets go of the key and reaches out just in time to grasp her hips on either side, pulling her back towards him mid-fall so that she doesn't collapse on her face.

However, in the midst of all of this Harry forgets himself and uses a bit too much force. Not to mention, the implications of their position makes him hyper aware of every single place their bodies touched, her small frame against his lithe, tattooed body.

This moment only lasts for a few seconds, but he can feel everything.

He can feel the easy give of the skin of her hips underneath each finger that touched her, the softness of the flesh on her thighs against his sturdy knees. The fabric of his sweatpants is suddenly non-existent, and it’s almost as if he felt every taught tendon of her legs, frozen with efforts of helping catch or brace herself. The heat of her groin is flush against his, and it makes him want to scream with a sudden sensitivity. Her ass is practically seated on him, full and malleable against the points of his laurel covered hip bones. Harry’s semi-hunched, as her weight also pushed him back, and the position is doing nothing to help his frenzied mind settle. He feels like shit because he’s being a horny, pubescent kid instead of asking her if she’s okay, but then y/n moves back into him to straighten fully and their centers grind. Her dress is semi-bunched at the halfway point of her bum, and he can feel heat emanating from her, radiating back on his bloating cock. He has to stifle a moan when she pushes herself up with the tips of her fingers.

Just as quickly as it started, it’s over. Y/n is dusting her bum off so that her dress falls and covers her modesty, and she’s beet red in the face, not looking at him. Which was fine by him, he was too ashamed to look into her eyes.

He clears his throat (something he’s doing a lot around her) and asks if she’s okay.

“Yes. Yes, I’m okay. This was on the floor,” she squeaked, holding up a neon yellow notice sheet in her hand. That damned thing was what caused all of this?

It’s a notice from the delivery men that said, ‘sorry! We missed you!’ with a time and date messily scrawled on the dotted lines. Harry had forgotten that he was getting a shipment of several plants that morning.

Cursing, he takes it from her, “t-thank you. Now how ‘bout those flowers?”

It’s awkward, obviously, but y/n is severely silent. Harry’s still stuffy in his pants, but he ignores it and doesn’t add any fuel to the fire because there’s more pressing matters at hand than a boner. Y/n is the most quiet she’s ever been around him, considering all of her word vomits and ramblings, and he’s suffering. Definitely beating himself up in his head for having ruined the moment. He held onto her for a second too long, frozen. She must feel so embarrassed, and he was self-endulging like a fucking asshole.

Harry asks her questions on what flowers she’d like, and she answers by pointing or bringing a stem to him, laying it on the counter without a word. A mixture of dahlias and baby’s breath with a handful of feverfew to make the pink in the dahlia’s stand out. He lays them out on his work table, cutting the ends at an angle where they need to be cutted and laying them out on a sheet of clear, dusty rose paper. Three packets of flower food are strewn at the corner, and y/n busies herself by fidgeting with them. He grows concerned when he makes a comment on the kinds of ribbons he had stored and she doesn’t say anything. Not even a nod or a hum.

Eventually, he decides he’s had enough of her neglect, and pauses his work to devote her some attention.

“Love, I’m sorry about what happened,” he said softly, trying to catch her eyes, “I know it probably made y’uncomfortable, and I didn’t do much to make the situation better, but I just didn’t wanna see y’fall.”

Y/n’s head is already dipped, so he can’t see her face, but when her shoulders begin to shake, he knows he’s utterly fucked. She starts to sniffle, and his eyes go wide. The paper crinkled as he set down the baby’s breath he’s holding in his hands. He hates seeing people cry, not because he didn’t know how to deal with it, but because he often ended up crying along with them. Also, he just didn’t want to see her cry. Harry wanted her to be happy, glowing, and smiling. Not dull with dollops of woeful distress in liquid form.

He rounds the corner and spares a look out to the street, wanting to make sure that there is no strange onlooker eavesdropping on their interaction. His hand reaches out to stroke her back or shoulder comfortingly, but he thinks better of it and drops his arm. She most likely would not like to be touched, considering what just happened between them. He drops his head, seeking face-to-face interaction, and speaks as gently as he can, “y/n, what’s wrong?”

She avoids his search, and turns the other way while sniffling, “you probably think I’m weird now or something after that.”

“No!” Harry exclaimed, jerking his head back as if he’d been struck, and her words practically had. He can’t believe that she would think that and even go as far as verbalizing her thoughts when he worshipped the ground she walked on and didn’t even know her that well, yet. “No, no. I don’t think that. Y’tripped, that’s all. Happens to everyone. If anythin’ I’m the weirdo for grabbin’ y’the way I did, and I’m really sorry about it.”

Y/n dig the heels of her hands into her eye sockets, “that was so embarrassing, I should’ve told you I was gonna stop or something. I always embarrass myself in front of cute boys and I never know what to do. I just-”

Harry interrupts before she can dig herself further another hole. He highlights a segment of her words, dropping everything else in hopes of changing the conversation and taking her discomfort away, and mostly because he was bursting with relief and happiness. She had said that she thought he was cute, just how he thought that she was adorable, and nice, and everything good. They were on the same level, their minds in sync. Did that mean…

His voice is airy and light because of what she had just admitted, “y’think I’m cute?”

She stills with awareness of what she’s just said, and a puppy-like noise seeps from the back of the throat before her hands sink further into her eyes, embarrassed. Harry tenderly wraps his fingers around her small wrists and pulls her hands away from her face, murmuring about ‘don’t rub y’eyes anymore, love, y’gonna hurt’ with nothing but kindness. A millisecond of distraction speeds through his mind at the softness on the inside of her wrists.

There’s a trickle of blubbering in her part, her bitten lips bumping against each other as she attempts to backtrack, “I mean- I- I-”

Harry decides that it’s now or never. It was a bit inconvenient, perhaps, but with her revelation his confidence soared and he was more prepared now to ask than he ever had been. So, he goes for it, “can I have y’number?”

A moment of semi-uncomfortable silence as the unknown tips the scale. Would she say yes? Would she say no? His head was spinning and he hoped his nose didn’t start bleeding or something because y/n nods slowly, smiling, and then, “okay.”

He’s elated. He was the polar opposite of what he had been that morning. If only Owen could see him then. He doesn’t waste any time reaching into his back pocket and handing her his unlocked phone. They don’t share any words, only coy glances and flirty quirks of the lips as the tips of her fingers move on his screen. Harry can’t believe that he’s finally getting her number, after nearly a month of pinning.

When she’s finished, she clicks it off and sets it next to him with an added pat to the back of his suspiciously clean white phone case while he’s tying the flowers together with a loose rubber band at the ends to attach the food packets. He’s fine with working in silence now that she's not crying anymore. He throws occasional glances in her direction, and catches her watching his hands while fiddling with her own. Her brows were furrowed and her mouth was twitching.

“Will you text me?” She asked him.

He’s careful not to bruise any of the petals as he sets them down again, pausing with his ministrations to pick up his phone. He wiggles his eyebrows at her and types a quick ‘Hi. It’s Harry :)’. He hits send, “until you’re sick of me.”

“I don’t think that’s possible.” She shakes her head, and Harry’s reminded Rachel McAdams in The Notebook while she’s in complete denial of her feelings for Noah. The comparison makes his heart flutter, considering the romance of the onscreen couple. “How much do I owe you?”

Harry waves her off, “it’s on the house.” She begins to argue, but Harry stops her before she starts rambling again, “y’better go or you’ll be late, love.” He holds out the arrangement to her, tufts of baby’s breath poking out from between the vibrant dahlias like fluffy clouds, the feverfew looking like miniature white daisies in the center.

She looks at it, and back at him before huffing, “fine, but you’ll have to let me return the favor.”

“Of course,” he smirks, “with dinner, maybe?”

They’re both gleaming at each other now, “okay.” Y/n takes a step back, her body half twisted as she walks away, but it remains like that for a moment as her eyes rake him up and down, a murmur following, “bye, Harry.”

His veins charge with electricity, and his dark taffy lips part at her actions. Had she just checked him out? He doesn’t recover quick enough to return her goodbye because the previous swirl of arousal in his navel was bristling back to life at the implications of that look. Calm, slow, steady, and her eyes remained doe-like and innocent.

She had to have known exactly what she was doing, whispering his name the way she had, looking over her shoulder and under her eyelashes the way she did. Deviously provoking his thoughts to begin a new with a reinspired fervor. The space in his underwear was growing tighter by the second, a blissful ache swelling.

Before any other customer stepped in after her, Harry locked the door, and jogged up the stairs to prepare himself a nice, hot bath, simultaneously cursing and thanking the stupid fucking delivery men.

********

Harry can’t stop thinking.

Obviously, this is a huge issue for him. He was constantly thinking, and well, who wasn’t? The process of thoughts wisping around in his brain was one that he often put an unnecessary amount of energy into because he had no one to filter these thoughts onto, releasing them through a conversation to prevent the exhaustion of his brain and heart. A prime example of these mishaps being the depressing slump that occupied his demeanor that very morning.

This?

This was different.

As soon as the apartment door was shut behind him, Harry pulled the suffocating sweatshirt off of his upper body, fingers hooking in at the collar and yanking it off with a swift tug. It landed somewhere on his kitchen floor, and he didn’t stop to take note of its final destination. Instead, his legs instinctively took him to his bathroom.

Chest heaving, Harry walked to the small window leaking sunlight and rolled the stick between his fingers to close the blinds. His thumb dipped into the waistband of his boxes and dragged them down lopsidedly, the tiger tattoo roaring as it became exposed. When the blinds are fully closed, the white extension clangs against the shutters from his aggressive release. His body was slowly being consumed by a raging fire stoked by the illicit images his brain conjured of the innocent, unsuspecting y/n.

His inner turmoil consisted of guilt for using her image that way and justification from the conspiring rake of her eyes along the upper half of him that was visible behind the counter. He was so fixated by her, that her look alone felt like a tempting caress along his skin. And it all happened in a matter of fucking seconds. That’s how gone he was. That’s how fucking gone he was. Harry guesses that the easy excitement also had to do with the fact that he hadn’t gotten laid in a while (he only ever gets lucky when he goes out to the bars with Mitch or Jeff, and they’d been gone for a significant amount of time) and the strong affinity he had for the girl who bought flowers from him.

Explanation or not, he had to do something about the problem in his pants. He was painfully hard, and when he shucked his pants off fully, his underwear dragged with the movement and pressed against the tip of his swollen prick. A darkened patch of moisture bloomed where the head was, and he saw stars at the short pressure. He wouldn’t take his pants off just then, though. He liked to stall his pleasure as much as he could so that when he finally did cum, his stomach muscles contracted and his toes remained curled for more than ten seconds.

He twisted the golden knobs of his tub so that the water would come rushing out at a borderline scalding temperature, and opened the small cabinet above the toilet for a bottle of almond and coconut shea butter bubbles. He uncapped it and bent over the edge of the tip, the cool, porcelain lip touching his crotch and provoking a choked whimper to leave him. Jerking his hips back, he poured the soapy liquid into the spot where the water cascaded, and retracted his hand when the beginning of froth formed along the surface.

The heady sweet smell permeated the air with the rising levels of bubbles, and Harry couldn’t wait any longer. Because he liked to torture himself, he closed his eyes and slowly dragged the hell of his hand over the outline of his cock, a groan ripping though the silence. It’s so painfully good, that he does it one more time, and he jolts forward. He removes his hand, slips his thumbs underneath the waistband of his boxers, and lugs the fabric down his hips at an excruciatingly slow pace. The head of his member smearing precum all along as he moves and when he gets caught in the ripples of his boxers the muscles in his thighs flex at the ripple of pleasure that zips into his nerves.

“Fuck,” he hissed under his breath. His mind was a spinning vintage reel of slideshow images of y/n. Y/n on bruised knees, her mouth wide open and her own drool on her tits, the tip of his cock flat on her tongue as she pleads with weepy eyes for him to cum down her throat. When he finally springs free of his underwear, a hefty slap rings out as his dick collides against his abdomen, right on the space underneath his belly button.

There’s a stripe of liquid on the trail left by the mushroom head of his prick, and Harry’s eyes roll to the back of his head, throat straining as he hovers over the bathtub. He doesn’t remember the last time he’s ever been this hard over a girl before, and it’s driving him crazy. He doesn’t know if he’ll be able to last as long as he usually does. As he swings a leg over the edge of the tub, the hot water encasing his calf, he’s thinking about how soft she is. The inside of her wrist and the palm of her hand. If she’s that soft on an external part of her body that’s used everyday, he can only wither away at the idea of what the inside of her thighs feel like.

Bubbles are swarming up now, swathing his thighs and buttocks as he sinks into the sloshing water. When he’s completely seated and satisfied with the belly-button level of water, he clumsily throws a hand in the direction of the knobs to shut them off, and reclined his head against the curved end of the tub with his eyes shut.

He hikes up his knees so that they’re resting against the porcelain walls, and mindlessly ruts up into the water at the filthy images he’s picturing, white foam collecting in sparse clouds over the math on his chest. He doesn’t know what’s gotten into him. It’s as if his body is being transported back to the moment his hips clashed with y/n’s. At the recollection, his mouth drops and his eyebrows pinch in a silent moan. The feel of her flesh underneath his fingertips has him bobbing in the water, and the next ideation has him gripping the base of his cock.

Vividly, he pictured her on all fours, keening back onto him as her pussy enveloped him in warmth, a warmth that is almost replicated by the temperature of the water, dripping and making a mess of him but what’s turning him on most of all is the easy flushness of their bodies. He had felt the way her bum gave way under his hold, and he imagined the bounce of her flesh as he thrusted into her.

He moaned a broken call of her name with his eyes still shut, and heard the trickling of water as his fist rolled up his stiff prick, squeezing at the tip so that a few more droplets of precum dribbled out. With his thumb, he rubbed over the red mushroom head and lathered it in slow, leisurely circles, a throb pulsating with the beat of his heart as he returned to flicking his wrist over himself.

The way that he looked at him and the sound of his name on her lips seared into his memory. Airy and willowy, similar to it resonated in his brain with the fantasy of sinking into her for the first time, stretching her and having her preen and arch with desperate whimpers of his name for more. Harry considered himself to be ‘well-endowed’ and his size was a factor of what sent him careening over the edge as girls mewled over his size after he’d bottomed out. He wanted y/n to mewl under him, both of them falling apart at the seams at the mutual pleasures because if Harry’s this broken over just the thought of her, then he’s sure he’s going to lose himself beyond recognition after he’s buried himself into her velvety walls, slick with her arousal and so fucking warm.

Just as she had been earlier that day. There had been two layers between them- the fabric of Harry’s pants and her panties- yet, he was still able to feel an immense heat from the apex of her thighs against his cock. He needed more than this. He needed her, not just his hand driving him closer to the edge.

His jaw clenched as he bit back on a particularly loud moan, for no reason other than he enjoyed self-sabotage from time to time, and the speed of his jerking hand increased. His other hand gripped the side of the tub, and his legs flexed as he began to thrust up into his own fist, a trail of bubbles sticking to the tanned muscles. The cut rectangles of muscles of his abdomen glistened like freshly chopped cubes of apricot with the droplets of water that remained clinging to him. His breath came in labored, strained puffs as the palm of his hand twisted, tightening at the tip and loosening at the base.

For a moment, he paused and cupped his balls, massaging them as the fantasy in his head continued. His mouth wrapping around y/n’s nipples, her eyes glazed over from previous orgasm that he wanted so badly to give her. She’d whine something soft and quiet to match her personality, ‘please, Harry, please I want more. Need another Harry, please’, and he’d speed up the movement of his hips, driving deep into her and cooing into her ear about, ‘c’mon, darling. Give m’another then. Y’want it so bad, yeah? Give me a’fucking ‘nother’, and she’d release a peircing moan that explodes in his eardrums while arching into him. She’d squeeze impossible tight around him, gushing with her own cum.

The water in Harry’s tub sloshes around his ankles, and the muscles of his abdomen clench so that he’s closing in on himself, sputtering on an outrageously loud cry that he can’t contain and his hand increases the speed of his filthy ministrations because he’s right on the edge. He’s about to fucking cum and the back of his eyelids burns with the possible variances of y/n’s face in ecstasy provided by him with his nose deep in her cunt, lapping at the sweet honey that spills with every whimper of, ‘please let me cum, Harry. I’ll do anything, I’ll be good, please let me cum.

He tensed violently, his face contorted painfully as white ropes spurt from the tip of his cock over his fist and onto his chest, blending with the white almond foam. His feet are braced against the edge of the tub and his head falls back and his stomach tenses even further, the final leaks of his cum dribbling out.

With the fuzziness that comes after an orgasm, his body melts back into the water that’s still warm, and his jerks with a pant as he allows his softening prick to sink into the water. The head on his hair is matted in a chocolate smear across his forehead, and his lips are a raging heart of cherry blossoms, parted with arduous gasps of recovery breath. His hands fall into the water at his sides, and with the lapping movement of the liquid against his sensitive member, he ruts into nothing again.

Reclined with his eyes closed and heartbeat slowing, Harry murmurs a final, “fuck me,” at the extreme sensations that had raked through his body.

Somewhere in the muffled distance, his phone dings with the notification of a text message, and with a tired noise of resentment, he sits up and reaches for his sweatpants that lay in a messy puddle besides the tub. His fingers drip darkening spots onto the grey material as he rummages for his phone, and then he finally clicks it on...

It’s her name, lighting up his screen, and the text reads:

y/n <3 : so… dinner?

Harry doesn’t think he’s ever crushed on a girl this hard before because even though he’s just completely physically spent himself, there’s something stirring in the depths of his tummy just at seeing the heart she put next to her name.

He couldn’t be happier.

* * * * * *

and here he is!! what do you guys think?? pls pls pls leave your feedback in my askbox! i’d love to hear your thoughts! and if you really really loved it, don’t be afraid to press that reblog button <3333

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yanderenightmare · 4 years ago

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Hun omg you are a my favorite author ever ugh HAHSKSJFJD SO I ALWAYS LIKE THE BULLY TROPE AND U HAVE PROVIDED ME SO MASTERPIECE OF THAT KIND. I mean Bakugou is not really my most favorite character in BNHA but I always searched him up because I like bully trope and he’s by far the only one who suits that kind. SOO IM SO FREAKING THANKFUL FOR U

also do u think shoto would be like suited for that not obvious bully but like lowkey if u know what i mean. liek he will purposefully bump into u then catch u if u fall or push ur pencils and book of ur desk and act like he didnt notice it

PS: if u think shoto doesnt suit thag its okay and ill still thank u for ur thoughts and masterpiece hehe im sorry if this was too long huhu

YANDERE ! BULLY ! TODOROKI SHOTO x FEM ! READER

Yeyeyeye, I always thought Shoto was the type to play with his food… here’s a short little oneshot regarding those thoughts

goodiebag WARNINGS: profanity, slight yandere, abuse, bullying, threats, manipulation, gaslighting

PRINCESS

Shoto was so kind to her. That’s what people said. Such a gentleman who caught her when she fell, who helped pick up her books when she dropped them, who said such sweet things, called her such sweet things. She was being rude. She was being ungrateful and even cruel, being such a brat, such a bitch. And by All Might, she couldn’t get anyone to believe her when she told them he was the one tripping her, he was the one pushing her around, that he was the fucking devil in disguise.

That just didn’t make any sense. Why would he bully her only to be her knight in shining armor? He’s the most handsome boy in school, why would he feel the need to play such games? She was just flattering herself. She was being crazy, delusional.

It wasn’t even as though she thought he had some twisted crush on her. All she was preaching was that he was a sadistic sociopath, but all anyone would hear was how he paid an obsessive amount of attention to her, no matter and no concern for how that attention was unwanted on her side. She was just ungrateful, she was just selfish.

“Princess!” She groaned at once at the sound of that title on his lips, knowing immediately she had failed to make it to her dorm without running into him. It seemed, no matter where she was, he was always just two steps away. “How has the day been treating you so far?” He sounded so cool, so nonchalant and suave it made her blood boil, but then… she didn’t want to care, she was just so bloody tired and done, not wanting to get wrapped up into any of his antiques. All she wanted was to get to her dorm, no more games, no more energy wasted on trying to convince people she wasn’t some deranged lunatic who leached off of Shoto’s attention, and no more time spent trying so desperately to bargain with him to leave her alone.

“Can we not do this today, Todoroki.” Several things were wrong with that sentence in his mind. First: his name. How many times would he have to correct her until she got it through her stubborn skull that she should, no, she will call him by his given name? Secondly: the absence of a please in her request. Such lack of manners, he ought to teach her a lesson.

She was quickly pushed against the wall, pinned by her wrists to each side of her head, knee riding up between her thighs, heart in her throat. “We’ve gone over this, Princess, you call me Shoto.” Still, so calm in his tone, collected and determined.

Yet, she was used to this and knew by experience that things didn’t escalate any farther, usually. “And you don’t call me Princess, but we can’t always get what we want.” A thing she never got used to though… was his eyes. His dual-colored orbs, one so soft and warm yet dangerous like jagged rocks, cliffs, caves, and the other one so cold, so cold the freeze seemed to seep into her heart like winter, deadly like the blizzard, riding her full of frostbite.

She felt his breath on her chest, warmer as he came closer, nearing her neck. “Oh yes, I can, Princess.” That tone, licking her ear like flames, so confident and so righteous, cocky with a wintry chuckle and threatening with edge like a knife to her throat. “If you won’t say my name…” His lips brushed her jawline, and despite knowing it was futile, she jerked to try and free her hands. It only resulted in him tightening the hold around her wrists, making her wince and whimper as those same lips moved to hover above her own trembling ones. “Perhaps I should have you scream it.”

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kaiparker-avengerssmut · 4 years ago

Text

Selfish Part 3

Pairings | Bucky Barnes x Reader, Steve Rogers x f!reader (kind of?)

Warnings | smut, vaginal sex, swearing

Word count | 1798

Summary | Steve's selfish choice brings Bucky and y/n much closer

Part one | part two

Masterlist

Y/n hummed, her hands working nimbly as she folded up the last of Bucky's t-shirts. She lifted the pile of clothes and placed them onto the bed, somewhere she knew Bucky would find them to put them away himself.

"Y/n?" His unusually chipper voice sounded from behind the girl.

"Yeah, Bucky?" Y/n sighed, turning around with her hands on her hips to face Bucky, who had his pleading face on. It had been nearly three months since the first night Bucky stayed with her, and they hadn't slept in different beds since.

Bucky and y/n had taken to running the compound until the remaining members of the team decided what they were going to do with it. So far, they'd cleaned the place top-to-bottom almost weekly and Bucky had even learnt to cook.

"Can you cut my hair?" Bucky's voice was soft, his eyes alight with hope. Y/n scoffed.

"You trust me to do it?" She frowned, reaching up and ruffling the man's shoulder-length locks, that were still wet from his shower. Bucky chuckled and y/n faltered for a second, before her small smile was resumed. It was a sound that she'd seldom heard since the incident with Steve, and it still caught her off guard every time it happened.

Fuck, Steve. Y/n didn't quite know how she should feel about him. Angry? Sad? Guilty for holding him back? Hurt? Betrayed? She shook off the thoughts quickly and refocused on Bucky, who was now stood in front of her with scissors outstretched from his hand.

Y/n scoffed, rolling her eyes before snatching the metal from him and making her way into their bathroom. Well, it was Bucky's bathroom, but as they shared his room now, she liked to call it theirs. She used to share a room with Steve, and going back into it was too painful for her after she found out what he did.

Y/n pulled out the stool that Bucky usually sat on whilst shaving - the man was secretly such a drama queen and straight up refused to stand long enough to shave - and Bucky follow closely behind her. He got comfy on the stood, his cerulean eyes piercing y/n's through the slightly foggy mirror.

"Okay, Bucky. If I mess this up, it's on you." Y/n sighed, running her fingers through his hair whilst deciding where to start. Y/n cursed herself, the girl finding it increasingly harder to not admire the super soldier she was living with. Sure, she always knew that he was attractive - she wasn't blind. But y/n hadn't ever taken a second look at his personality and hadn't needed to, either; she'd always thought Steve would be it for her.

But now, after him taking care of her for months, y/n was starting to fall more and more. She wanted to hate herself for it, she really did. But she couldn't. Steve had done much worse, so why should she feel guilty about harbouring a small crush on his best friend? It's not like he was coming back, anyway.

"There we go, all done." Y/n announced, placing the scissors on the counter with a clang before fluffing his much shorter hair with her fingers. Bucky smiled at her through the mirror as she tilted his head from side to side so he could get a look.

"It's not bad." The soldier smirked, reaching up and carding his own fingers through the pillowy brown locks.

"Not bad? I think it's a damn masterpiece, Barnes." Y/n retorted and Bucky couldn't help his grin. He loved seeing her like this - carefree and happy again. Bucky would never forgive Steve for what he did to her. The resentment he felt towards his former best friend only grew as his feelings for y/n did, too. He'd always felt an attraction to y/n; she had a warm smile, a great sense of humour, was extremely smart and not even to mention incredibly beautiful.

"You're right, doll. I'm sorry." Bucky admitted, turning around and standing up before her. Y/n took a shaky breath, suddenly much too close to Bucky for what could be considered friendly. Bucky breathed out, slow and controlled as his hand raises to cup y/n's cheek.

"Do you like it?" Y/n whispered, eyes unable to leave Bucky's as she ran her fingers through his now much shorter, fluffy locks. Bucky nodded, his head dipping down to meet y/n's lips in a kiss.

Y/n moaned against his mouth, fingers tangling into Bucky's hair as his metal arm slipped around her waist. He pulled her flush against him, their hips starting to grind slightly as the kiss became more and more heated.

"Is this okay?" Bucky mumbled against her lips as he walked her backwards, y/n making a little oomph sound as her back collided with the bathroom wall. She nodded before quickly returning her lips to his, hands trailing over his body until they reached the hem of his shirt.

After she gave it a little tug, Bucky got the idea. He pulled away long enough to get the shirt over his head before his lips were latching onto y/n's jaw. He began to kiss down y/n's body, his lips barely dancing over her navel before y/n was pulling Bucky back up to face her.

"We can do that later, I just need you inside me." Bucky nodded, hands grasping at her shirt until it was torn over her head. He hastily unbuttoned her jeans, y/n kicking them off once they were far enough down her legs. She toed her socks off whilst fumbling with Bucky's belt, pulling the leather from its loops before letting his jeans and boxers pool at his feet.

Stepping out of them, Bucky finally discarded the last of y/n clothes before hooking his hands under her thighs. Y/n let out a short, high squeal as he lifted her from the ground, his hips pinning her to the wall as he braced a hand next to her head.

Bucky moaned when his tip ran through her wetness, hand wrapping around his length as he lined himself up with y/n's core. Bucky leant in, pecking y/n's lips once, twice, three times.

"Ready?" He mumbled and y/n moaned his name when he sheathed himself inside of her in one, slow thrust.

"Fuck, Bucky!" Y/n moaned, head dropping forward to rest on Bucky's shoulder as he let his thumb rest on her clit, teasing circles rubbed over it making the coil in y/n’s stomach tighten already, blue eyes now turned black as he looked into hers.

"I want you to come around my cock, pretty girl." He murmured, lips at her ear as he slowly pulled out to the top, cock dragging deliciously against her walls. Y/n's hands clung to his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin only spurring Bucky on as his pace became slow but strong, knocking the air out of y/n's lungs with every thrust.

Y/n's fingers traced over the scars littering his shoulder, before clinging to the cool metal and moaning out at the contrast of cold against her flushed and hot skin.

"Good girl." Bucky moaned, the praise sending an unexpected wave of wetness tumbling down to y/n's core, his cock pushing in and out of her almost effortlessly now with how wet she'd become.

"I'm gonna come so hard, doll.." He mumbled into the skin of her neck, dropping his head to nip and suck at y/n's jaw line. Y/n knew there'd be marks there tomorrow, but she couldn't care less in that moment as her walls began to clamp down on him in a vice grip.

"C'mon, cum for me. I can feel how close you are." Bucky moaned and y/n's mouth dropped open into a silent scream against his flesh shoulder, eyes rolling back into her skull. Bucky's pace picked up as he tried to push y/n to her release before he hit his.

When y/n came it was a sudden, the coil snapping and opening the flood gates. Y/n's hips were bucking, stomach tight and legs shaking around Bucky's waist.

"There we go, good girl." Bucky groaned, chasing his own release now. "Shit, y/n." He moaned, stilling his hips as a final thrust sent him over the edge, cumming in y/n in hot spurts.

Their heavy breaths mingled, the smell of sex filling the bathroom as y/n panted against Bucky's shoulder; his own breaths were laboured.

It was a few hours later that y/n found herself in a familiar place - tangled up in Bucky's sheets while the super soldier laid beside her. The only differences now were that they were both still naked, and y/n was practically sprawled over the super soldier's chest.

She was humming, fingers tracing little circles over his bare chest as Bucky's soothing hand ran over her thigh.

"This wasn't just...a one time thing, was it?" Y/n was almost stunned with how weak Bucky's voice sounded, as if he was scared her answer would be wrong.

"I don't want it to be. I want you, Bucky. If you'll have me, that is." She grinned, lip tucked between her teeth as she stared at the soldier. Bucky couldn't contain his own smile as he gazed lovingly at her, his knuckles caressing her cheekbone softly.

"Of course I want you. I just didn't know if it would be..."

"Awkward? Appropriate? Look, I know you and Steve were close, inseparably so, but don't worry about me and him. He hurt us, remember. If he's happy, we deserve to be too." Y/n murmured, eyes twinkling as she took in Bucky's face.

"Are you? Happy, I mean." Bucky asked. She leant forwards, placing a small peck to his lips, before doing it again and again. She giggled between each kiss, hands now flat on Bucky's chest as he squeezed her thigh gently.

"I'm happy." She mumbled between kisses, "are you?"

"As happy as I've ever been. Now come here and let me kiss you properly." Bucky whispers against her lips, his hand curling around the back of her neck before his lips were pressed to hers in a passionate kiss.

It was then that Bucky realised that he'd made a selfish choice. And he didn't regret it one bit.

Because Bucky Barnes was a selfish man.

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lnc2 · 4 years ago

Text

this time next year

Summary: Marinette is worried about the future. Adrien wants to know where he fits into it.

A/N: This piece was written for the @mlwriterzine and I’m so excited to finally share this with you! I hope you enjoy it and also go check out the zine because there are so many amazing stories/art pieces collected there.

AO3

The party was well underway by the time Adrien knocked on Nino’s door. Alya was the one who answered, half of her face obscured by gold tin foil pinned to a green beret.

“Speak of the devil,” she grinned, leaning heavily on the door frame.

Adrien bussed her cheek and passed over the bottle of rosé he’d swiped from his father’s wine cellar. “Sorry, Alya. The show ran late. You know how those things go.”

She waved him in, whistling at the bottle in her hands, and shook her head. “Thankfully I don’t. Everyone’s in the living room.”

Adrien followed her into the kitchen instead, eyes straying over the tipsy, crowded apartment. Back against the wall, where Nino’s faded and cracked leather couch usually sat, was a long table covered in gold plastic sheeting. Green and gold hats of various styles were littered across, as well as glitter, rhinestones, netting, feathers, and any other number of crafting materials.

He smiled. “I see you’ve all started without me.”

“Naturally,” Alya said, putting his gift in the fridge to chill. “You’re several drinks behind us now, Agreste. Pick your poison.” She gestured to the half-empty bottles of liquor scattered across the bar.

“No tequila?”

She snorted. “You’ll have to track down Marinette for that one. She ran off with the bottle half an hour ago.”

Something warm filled his chest. “A cup of ice and a lime then.”

“Good luck with that,” Alya said, bumping his shoulder as she passed him the glass. Adrien laughed as he followed her into the living room, his smile widening as he spotted Kagami fussing with the green flowers on her gold newspaper hat.

“I’m not sure how I feel about this.”

Alya batted her hand away. “It’s tradition!”

She pressed her lips together. “It’s archaic.”

“Boo,” a familiar voice called from behind him. Adrien’s heart stuttered as a familiar pair of arms slipped around his waist. “It’s just for fun. No one takes it seriously.”

Adrien thought back to earlier in the evening and Gabriel’s annual Saint Catherine’s Day gala and couldn’t agree. There was a stark difference between the frivolousness and whimsy of Nino’s house party and the staid sobriety of his father’s fashion show.

As if reading his thoughts, Marinette’s eyes sparkled up at him beneath gold netting. “At least no one here.”

“Speak for yourself,” Alya said. She adjusted her hat and threw an accusatory look towards Nino. “Tick tock, babe.”

“You won’t let me propose until you’re out of grad school,” he whined.

Adrien hid his grin as the familiar argument ensued. Instead, he tipped his cup of ice towards the half-empty bottle in Marinette’s hand.

“You’re one of the few people I’d share with,” she said, filling his glass. Adrien leaned down to whisper his gratitude only to be pushed from the other side, causing them to knock heads.

Marinette laughed waving off his apologies with a squeeze to his waist even as their assaulter continued to elbow into the group.

“I’m never getting married,” Alix announced from her position on the back of one of Alya’s coworkers. There was a crown on her head but no decorations. She gestured wildly with her free hand. “Just call me Queen Catherinette.”

“All hail,” Alya said, clinking her wine glass against a reluctant Kagami’s. Her glassy eyes strayed towards Marinette. “What about you, girl? It’s been a while since I’ve heard about Emma, Louis, and Hugo.”

Adrien tried not to sound too interested when he asked, “Who?”

Marinette laughed, her flushed cheeks flushing further. “I’m afraid that future is on hold, Al. I need to find a boyfriend first.”

She removed her arm from around his waist then and Adrien had to restrain himself from pulling her back to his side. Instead, he took a healthy swallow of tequila and let the conversation drift into less turbulent waters.

Now was hardly the time to volunteer his name to the top of her list.

Adrien could think of two, maybe three very important conversations they needed to have before he could even approach that topic. The most pressing of which weighed heavy on his right hand and sparkled like precious gems on his lady’s ears.

He watched over the rim of his glass as Marinette giggled with the other women in their silly hats. One of them—Alix’s roommate, he thought—burst out with a jubilant, “For pity’s sake, give us a husband!” only for the others to raise their glasses with various tipsy rounds of, “Hear, hear!”

He smiled as Marinette wrestled Kagami’s fidgeting hands away from her hat. It had only been a few weeks since their reveal but Adrien was struggling to see how he could have missed the woman he’d loved for a decade in his dear and wonderful friend.

“Some party, huh?”

Adrien coughed as Nino slapped him on the back just as he was swallowing. Nino laughed at his accusing glare.

“Sorry man,” he said, grinning. “I thought you heard me coming but I guess you were distracted.”

Adrien ignored the teasing lilt in his friend’s voice.“It’s a good crowd,” he said instead. “I’m sorry I was so late.”

“No worries. Although if everything goes well hopefully this will be the last Saint Catherine’s party we’ll be hosting.”

Adrien laughed. “You think you’ll have worn Alya down by then?”

Nino shrugged. “Fingers crossed. I’ve had this ring burning a hole in my pocket for two months now.”

“Maybe you should be the one wearing the hat.” He grinned, only to receive a rough shove to his shoulder.

“You’re one to talk.”

Adrien pretended not to understand.

“Seriously, dude?” Nino shook his head. “You’re not that slick. If you like her you should just ask her out. I know for a fact she used to have a thing for you.”

And even though Adrien already knew that, even though Marinette told him so several years earlier when her crush was a thing of the past as she’d laughingly put it, hearing his heart’s desire put into words so matter-of-factly did things to him.

Things like make him want to punch a hole in the nearest wall or tear out his hair in frustration.

Because really, how was it fair that the one woman he’d spent years chasing had actually spent several years of her own chasing him right back?

It wasn’t.

Not when Adrien still found himself in the chase and she had apparently just … stopped.

“That was a long time ago, Nino.”

“I don’t know if I’d say that.”

“... Why?” Adrien stared, stomach clenching. “Did she say something? Did Alya say something?”

His heart raced like hummingbirds wings in his throat as he tried to catch his friend’s gaze.

Adrien grabbed his shoulder and shook. “Nino.”

“I can neither confirm nor deny anything.” He laughed, before hiding his smile behind his glass as they caught Alya’s attention across the room. Adrien met her suspicious frown with a wave even as his other hand tightened on Nino’s shoulder.

“But …?”

“But … I wouldn’t count myself out just yet.”

Adrien’s hand fell to his side as all of his breath rushed out of him. “Oh.”

“Although, that may change if you don’t do something about it. Sooner rather than later if Kim’s roommate is anything to go by.”

Nino nodded towards the corner of the room where Marinette was chatting with a tall brunette. He was leaning towards her, his fingers playing at the edge of the netting on her hat as he whispered something in her ear that made her laugh. Adrien was already halfway across the room when Nino shouted, “Good luck!”

He wasn’t exactly sure what he was going to do to break up their little tete-a-tete but he needn’t have worried. As soon as he was in her line of sight Marinette’s smile lit up like the Eiffel tower and there was little left for him to do other than introduce himself before the interloper tried his luck elsewhere.

“Come outside with me,” she said, tugging his arm. “I haven’t seen you all week.”

“Your fault,” Adrien said, happy to follow her anywhere. “You canceled patrol.”

Marinette rolled her eyes. “You know I had to finish up those pieces for your father’s show.”

“At least you weren’t forced to go.”

She laughed and leaned back against the balcony railing. It was cooler than usual tonight as fall slowly gave way to winter and they had the little patio all to themselves. “Perks of being a lowly intern.”

“Please,” he said, bumping her shoulder. “You’ll be a junior designer by next year.”

She hummed, taking a swig of tequila from the bottle only to cough as it hit the back of her throat.

“You can mix that with something you know?”

His lady winced and took another sip, smaller this time. “Who has time for that?”

“You if you’d just slow down.”

It was only half a joke. Lately, even before their Big Reveal, Adrien noticed something changing in Marinette. She was a little less scattered, a little more single-minded. There was almost a frenzied focus about her, like some great fear was nipping at her heels, spurring her forward.

It wasn’t until her timer ran out during an akuma attack that he began to understand why.

“It was ten years this September,” she murmured, turning out to face the cobbled streets below.

Adrien hesitated before wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her into his side.

“We’ll get him, bug. I promise.”

“But when, Chat?” She started to lean her head against his shoulder only for her hat to get in the way. Frustrated, she ripped the little masterpiece off her head and crushed it in her hands.

“Stupid holidays aside, I do want a life, Adrien.” She ripped lightly at the netting. “You said I’ll make junior designer by next year? I don’t see how that’s possible when I’m running out of work every other day because someone couldn’t control their emotions.”

Her voice caught on the last word and he was horrified to realize she was crying. “I want to run my own business someday. I want –– I want to fall in love and get married and have babies.” She looked up, teary gaze meeting his. “How can I do anything when I always have one foot out the window waiting for the next catastrophe? Who could put up with that?”

“You’re not someone a person has to put up with, my lady.”

“Yeah.” She sighed. “Right. Tell that to my exes.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, because really that’s all he could do.

“Don’t be.” She sniffed, giving him a sad, sad smile. “You can’t do anything about it any more than I can.”

That wasn’t entirely true though.

Adrien turned his attention towards the scrunched up hat in her hands. Marinette followed his gaze and gave a watery laugh.

“I want it all, Adrien,” she whispered.

“I know,” he whispered.

“Do you?” she asked, eyes wide and blue and wet and angry. “Do you really?”

Adrien pulled her to him then, giving her the hug her fears deserved. Marinette clutched at his back, her arms sliding beneath his coat to wrap around his waist, giving as good as she got.

“I don’t want to wait anymore.”

Tears stung his eyes and words, the right words, stuck in the back of his throat as she gave voice to desires he’d never been brave enough to even dream. Not when Ladybug said no and not when Marinette said not anymore and not when they merged and became everything he’d ever wanted but feared he’d never have.

She wanted it all.

Adrien closed his eyes and breathed in his lady’s perfume. Freesia and jasmine and something he’d never been able to name. Marinette’s arms loosened around his waist when it seemed like he would pull away, but Adrien only held her tighter.

“I––” He stopped. “You said you don’t want to slow down?”

Marinette nodded.

“Well … how—how would you feel about a chaser?”

She pulled away so she could see his face. “A chaser?” she repeated, frowning.

Adrien bit his lip, feeling heat rushing up his neck and ears. “Ah, yeah,” he said, doing his best to hold her gaze. “Like—like a partner. To your tequila, I mean.”

Adrien watched as confusion gave way to understanding in the form of a perfect little open-mouthed oh. His heart was pounding hard enough he was starting to suspect she could hear it when her eyes glistened up at him beneath the dim porch lights.

God help him but he couldn’t trust himself. He couldn’t trust the gentleness in her gaze or the way her body went soft against his or the purse of her lips as she watched him with that pleased little half-smile as realization gave way to something and that something could only be called wonderful as she ducked her head beneath his chin, pressed her lips against the open collar skin of his neck and finally, finally whispered in that small, hopeful impatient way of hers,

“Are you volunteering?”

And even though he knew she knew and even though the question really didn’t require an answer, Adrien tightened his hold on her until they were swaying together chest to chest and repeated the only thing he’d ever wanted to give her.

Yes.

#miraculous ladybug #lnc2 writes #post reveal pre relationship #adrinette #ml writer zine #adrienette

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alreadyblondenow · 4 years ago

Text

I’ll never leave again

Yuta x reader // SMUT, ANGST, fluff? Summary: A Japanese transferee added color to your already colorful and perfect life and you both find true love as you help him with his battle against drugs. Word Count: 7k Warnings: MAJOR DRUG USES, wearing, explicit mature themes, mentions of alcohol, blood, hospital, rehab, unprotected sex, mentions of other idols Note: IF YOU ARE SENSITIVE WHEN IT COMES TO DRUGS, PLEASE CLICK AWAY. THANK YOU. this fic is 100% came from my imagination, unlike my other works that are inspired from true events and personal experiences, this fic is 100% made up.

Spaced out and really not in the mood to socialise, you were busy thinking how you’re going to break things off with your boyfriend Jaehyun. The perfect captain of the cheerleading squad and the handsome captain of the basketball team, together and being high school sweethearts is kind of getting old to you. And by getting old you mean you don’t love Jaehyun anymore. Not that he cheated on you or he treated you badly, no Jaehyun’s a great guy. It’s just that maybe he is not what your heart wants anymore.

It’s hard to explain something you cant even understand. You can’t actually pin point when did you start forcing yourself to see Jaehyun and why is this happening. “I can’t just stage a cheating scenario, that’s not me. I think Jaehyun deserves the truth” thats your response when Yeeun suggests to stage a cheating act where Jaehyun will see some random dude in your bed. “He will not buy it. Because he knew I can’t cheat” you added making Yeeun more frustrated.

To finish all your problems regarding breaking up with Jaehyun, you decided to just tell him the truth. He believed everything you said. “I felt it. Your kisses became different” Jaehyun said after you explained your part, you were glad that the breakup was mutual.

Now that you’re on your senior year, you wanted to focus on studying and trying new things. You gave up cheerleading and entrusting the squad to Yeeun. Giving up cheerleading was not a problem even though literally all of your friends are part of the squad, but they understand you. You’re just following your heart. Cheerleading is soon replaced by art, your second passion next to dancing and you couldn’t be more happier.

Everything was going smooth, having good grades, self love, and more art. Although, people in school still see you as this popular cheerleader who used to be with the school star player, you’re having a hard time making new friends. Until you met Nakamoto Yuta. A Japanese transferee who’s always quiet, private and scary because he had a lot of piercings. Not to you of course, you never see him that way. You met at the football field while you were having a quick sketch of the sunset with all your coloring materials just after a long day at school. “You should try using soft pastels, they’re more easier to blend” he said peaking from the back bleacher, you turned around to check who it is.

“I’m Yuta by the way, we have the same art class” he’s a little shy and awkward, but nice enough to introduce himself first. You knew you go to the same art class, actually he is quite an artist. He can be top of the class if only he submits his works.

“Hi, I’m y/n” you smiled at him offering a hand shake but you realised your hand is dirty because of the oil pastel. “We can fist bump instead” you suggest and he let out a small laugh. He looks beautiful under the perfect orange light from the sunset, his skin is unbelievably white and flawless, he looks unreal and you can’t stop staring.

“So...” he snapped out of you, “it’s nice to me you y/n. I hope you take my advice” you nod and waved goodbye as he leaves you alone with your drawing session. Your heart is beating so fast and you don’t know why but one things for sure, you find Yuta attractive. Really attractive.

The next day, you made sure to buy soft pastels and it did made your life easier. You wanted to thanked him but he didn’t come to school for two days. It really is useful to you, it made you work faster and easier, you couldn’t stop drawing and filling your sketchbook with colors.

After three days, he made his appearance again in school and he looked like shit. Maybe he got sick? That’s why he haven’t been showing up. Whatever the reason is, it made you shy to talk to him and tell him all about the things you already create with colors that he recommended. But destiny was being a little too friendly, he caught you again sketching your heart out at the bleachers.

“You work fast” he came out of nowhere again.

“Yes! Actually I’ve been meaning to talk to you, but you seem not well I couldn’t bother you” he smiled at you like there’s nothing wrong, “If you want, I could show you some of mine, a- at home if you want” you noticed he’s being friendly and who are you to refuse.

Yuta brought you to his house, just five streets from your home. Turns out Yuta is rich... and alone, he lives with his Japanese butler, Ruka. “My family is in Japan if you’re wondering” he tells more information about him while you two walk upstairs to his room. The house is simple but it was too spacious, it feels lonely and cold but you kept that thought to yourself. Good thing Yuta’s room is full of colors, different kind of masterpiece are put up on his wall, lots and lots of drawing and coloring materials neatly stacked on his working table, and a beautiful view of the town from his window.

“Uhm, if you need something from my stuff I’ll gladly give it to you” still amazed by what you’re seeing right now, all you want to do is look at all of his works. “Wow - that’s uhm, too much but I’m happy you can introduce me to a lot of art materials” you can’t hide your excitement, everything in his desks looks new to your eyes and you can’t help but ask questions about different materials. ‘What’s this for?’ ‘How do you use this?’

Not to mention you’ve been praising his works for almost half an hour already. He’s happy that you find him as a great artist and that you’re willing to be friends with him, seeing you in his room gives him hope. Ruka knocked at Yuta’s door and invited you to have dinner with them, you didn’t notice it’s already dark and you definitely need to go home already. But you didn’t want to leave Yuta yet, “Sure. I’d love to”

Even the smell of their freshly cooked dinner is new to you, since their both Japanese they only eat Japanese food everyday. “I hope you like Japanese food, I asked him to order takeout but Ruka insists. Told me you should try his cooking” he whispers beside you while Ruka is busy preparing the table. “It’s fine, I don’t get to eat Japanese food always so I don’t mind” you smiled to Yuta, taking away his worries.

The food was delicious, and the dinner table was full of laughter and stories from Ruka. They were both exchanging stories, telling you too much information you don’t need to know, but they tell you anyway. You found out that Yuta plays soccer and he’s a really good player, he’s an impulsive buyer when it comes to his art materials and your favorite information for the night, Yuta has seventeen piercings. The three of you laughed and laughed the whole dinner time while enjoying the delicious Udon and a lot of deep fried seafood.

Later that night Yuta walked you home and endlessly thanked you for spending time with him. “Everything that happened today is so random, but I could get used to this” you said, secretly hoping you could spend some more time with him. “This is my house. I would normally invite you to come in, but its pretty late - which reminds me” your voice and your hands were shaking, pretty sure you’re blushing too. “We have this thing every Friday. Me and my family- uhh, just meet me here at 7?” How brave of you to ask.

If Yuta could only shout and scream from happiness he would, instead he just gave you a nod and a sweet smile before he waved goodbye to you. “See you tomorrow” he shouts before you get inside.

There’s no way of hiding it, you have a crush on Yuta. And you cant ruin this wonderful friendship by being obvious, you told yourself. The next day you made an effort to look cute, “so much for not being obvious” you talk to yourself through the mirror. As you get on with your day, you can’t stop thinking how Yuta is a complete charmer and a really nice guy. Gentleman enough to walk you home in the middle of the night and smiling so sweetly before he leaves.

Yuta on the other hand, has been asking about you to his friends. It’s either they tell him that you’re smart, pretty and popular or they tell him that you are the former captain of the squad. No one told him the things that he single handedly found out about you. In Yuta’s eyes you’re this simple girl that has her life all planned out already. He understood the whole popularity thing because whats not to love about you?

Hiding his excitement, he was pretty early but you told him it’s perfectly fine. Your family adored Yuta, they were all talking nonstop the whole night asking questions about Japan. Which made you worry actually, what if Yuta was hurting and he misses his family or miss Japan in general. Yuta seemed to enjoy everyone’s company, at least that’s what you think and you could only hope that he’s not faking it.

“Sorry, this is the least I can do. The dinner last night was so great, I wanted to invite you over” you brought him to your room so you could have some privacy. Which is not normal. The last guy you brought to your room was Jaehyun, and that happened two years ago.

He was busy looking around your room with an amused smile, looking at the pictures taken from crazy parties, cheerleading competitions, and basically every important event of your life. Yuta let out a small laugh when he saw your cheerleading uniform framed and hanged on your wall.

“What’s so funny about it?” you giggle while you both look at the framed uniform.

“I’ve never seen something like this before, I guess I’m amazed” to be honest he really is amazed that your uniform became something like a trophy that you display around your room. “I bet you look good wearing it” he was smiling while looking at you when he said that. Suddenly the room became hot.

“You should smile more often, your smile is nice” to divert the attention, of course you praised him again.

“If you think my smile is beautiful, you should’ve seen yours” there’s no getting away with that so you just accepted it.

On the following days, you’ve been spending more time with Yuta talking, drawing and getting to know each other more. And the more you spend time with him, your feelings grow and grow. In a matter of weeks, you’re sure you’ve completely fallen in love with him.

He became your friend, in fact your only friend since you left cheerleading. Every friend of yours is either a cheerleader or jock, given that they’re all athletes, they don’t have time for you anymore. That’s why you think Yuta is a life saver.

Not long ago, you discovered about Yuta’s drug addiction. Weed, Meth, Heroin, all kinds. Maybe that’s why sometimes he’s so spaced out and he miss school a lot. “Yuta’s parents sent him here because of his drug addiction, only he can help himself” Ruka explained to you over coffee while Yuta is out doing whatever he’s doing. Even though he has problems, you still stick with him. He’s still a nice guy who loves his art, the same nice guy your family adored. With or without drugs.

One night, you were playing Jenga with him on his bedroom floor with a few bottle of beers and snacks on the side. “I’m going to win, I’m good at this” he totally loves teasing you whenever you two get competitive with each other. “You wish. Okay my turn” you said after drinking your beer in one down, but the Jenga tower fell off and Yuta laughed so hard he has tears on his eyes. He saw your face completely pissed off as you open another beer and building the tower again for another game.

“Who’s Jaehyun?” you were surprised at his question, something a student from your school wouldn’t dare ask because the whole school knows him.

“Oh right, you’re a transferee” he sat up and sat closer to you, legs crossed and both arms are supporting him on the floor “Uhm. He’s my ex. We’ve been together for two years? I think. And then I broke with him, over the summer because I don’t love him anymore - the breakup was mutual, if you’re wondering” He nods, and ready to ask you another question.

“Do you like someone now?” he reached for your hand which made you stop building the tower and intertwined it with his. You wonder why he’s suddenly so bold and confident. You nod, completely speechless.

“Is it me?” Yuta bravely asks, and you nod without hesitation.

He reached for your lips and kissed you gently, cupping your face as his thumb swipes on your cheeks admiring your beauty. Time stopped the moment you touch lips and you feel the happiness in your stomach balls up, ready to explode.

“This is probably wrong”

And suddenly that happiness you felt was replaced by confusion. He pull away from your touch leaving you so confused and still in shock. “What’s so wrong about this?” you asked him while getting him to look you in the eyes, tugging his arm so he wont’s get too far.

“I’m a drug addict y/n. You can’t be with someone like me. Cliché as it sounds but, I’m scared to ruin your life. You’re this perfect person who I happen to meet at football field and you’re just nice enough to welcome me in your life”

He looks frustrated and confused as you are but you knew damn well that meeting him is something you don’t regret. “You don’t get to push me away just because you decided to be honest with your feelings and somehow decided to be a coward afterwards” it wasn’t easy to stay calm but you tried so hard, your grip on his hand was becoming tighter and he noticed it. “I like you! And you make me happy. You’re the one who put color in my life, well literally and figuratively. But my point is, don’t throw us away” you decided to be brave and kissed him again. This time, hungrier and full of need. You sat on his lap and pushed him down slowly all the way to the floor. Hands all over each other, switching positions and rolling on the floor without stopping the kiss.

It was not a surprise for everyone when you went public, they already foresee what’s going on between you two. Your family still adored Yuta just like how they adored him from the first time they met him. The whole popularity problem in school completely changed in a good way because of Yuta. More people from school are talking to you now, they’re not scared or shy to be friends with you anymore because Yuta somehow changed everyone’s perspective. With Yuta you’re this normal person who’s happy to be with his boyfriend.

Happy days are nothing but pure laughter and great memories with Yuta. Movie night with Yuta and Ruka with a bunch of Japanese treats on the side is your new Friday night schedule. And inviting Yuta and Ruka for family dinner during special occasions has been a thing that made Yuta happy. He told you he’s a sucker for spending time with family but his family is in Japan and he can’t go home until he’s clean. That was the night you decided that you will never leave Yuta’s side.

Yuta is this bright color that made your life even more colorful. He is this man, full of surprises and definitely no dull moment. You learned how to take care of him in your own ways without making him feel sorry for himself. Vulnerable, important and ordinary, that’s what he made you feel. And by ordinary, you mean no social pressure from the people around you. Just two normal people who fell in love in a normal way. Sometimes, situations can be a handful but it was never a problem for the both of you. Yes he has drug issues but for you, Yuta deserves to be loved. And no one can stop you from loving him.

Your love for each other grew and grew until you reach being intimate with each other.

It was raining hard and the wind was strong, you decided to stay over at Yuta’s house. Already washed up and fresh, you wait for your boyfriend in his bed as he turned off the lights in his room and replaced it with scented candles.

“You look comfortable there” he giggle as he crawls in bed and sat beside you leaning on his headboard. It’s chilly and cold in Yuta’s room, you cant help but be closer to him. Closer as possible.

“You like that?” You hum and nod with eyes closed to answer him. Surprisingly, he kissed you and your eyes opened only to see Yuta’s handsome face close to yours. The kiss was slow and you were both taking time savouring this quiet memory. It went on like that for some time, until the kiss became wet and needy. He hungrily kissed you bitting and licking your lips. Hands creeping just under your shirt, all the way to your clothed boobs and skilfully unclasps your bra. Gently kneading your right boob and doing a circular motion on your nipple.

“We’ve never gone this far” you said as you catch your breath, and went back to kissing him a little bit slowly this time.

“Do you think its time?” He managed to ask you in between those soft kisses, giving you sweet pecks. You nod excitedly. “Sit between my legs” you followed what he told you, completely clueless on what he’s going to do next.

“Spread your legs wide” it suddenly became hotter as you spread your legs nervously. Your head is resting on his shoulder, back against his chest, heart beating so fast as you wait for his next move. “Yuta, can you kiss me?” your voice cracked but he just smiled, and shook his head. “Not until you remove your shorts and panties” and so you did. Hurriedly removing your thin shorts and laced panties, throwing them on the floor.

The moment his finger had contact with your wet slit you gasp and grabbed his shoulder gripping it tightly as you moan. You feel like this is new to you but it isn’t, of course you’re not a virgin anymore and Jaehyun did a fair share on that. “Yuta- Ah! Baby I’m almost there” with heavy breaths and sharp gasps, you warn him and at the same time stopping yourself from cumming too early.

“Wider” he said so calmly, you followed spreading your legs wider. Fingers drilling a little harder than before and you finally let go. Shivering and catching your breath, eyelids already heavy. He licks your parted mouth as you enjoy your high, filthy but fucking hot. His breath smells like mint.

“You seem so calm the whole time you were finger fucking me” with all the energy left in your body, you went back to laying on his side.

“Yeah well my cock isn’t” he kissed you on the forehead and tells you, “i love you, you sound beautiful the whole time. I was busy listening to you”

You have something on your mind right now that you’re somehow scared to ask because he might refuse, “I have a question” you sat up and sat on his lap. Your legs and pussy are still exposed, and you’re making Yuta’s cock even more hard. “Why did you not ever asked me to have sex with you?”

“Well will you have sex with me baby?” Just like that, straightforward and calm like the Yuta you know. You were both giggling like little kids for some time while waiting for your answer. It’s not that you don’t want to but you were just shy to say your answer out loud.

“You’re shy, aren’t you?” of course he knew you’re being shy. He’s your boyfriend who happens to know everything about you. “Well, I’m horny” he sat up to reach your lips, kissing you gently but enough to prove that he is horny. Slowly his kisses went to your neck, making you moan softly. But you pull away not telling him anything. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking right. Please don’t be mad-“

To his surprise, you removed your shirt and your unclasped bra. Now you’re fully naked on top of your boyfriend, “It’s not fair that I’m the only ones naked here, baby” you grab the end of his shirt and helped him to removed it. “You scared me” he managed to tell you in between hungry kisses, “you’re so in trouble” he added and pushed you on the mattress.

Laughing like a little girl, while Yuta is busy kissing your naked body beneath him. Your head is dangling on the edge of the bed seeing his room upside down. His cock is poking your thigh the moment he’s on top of you naked, and you’re positive that it made you nervous. “Baby, I think your cock wont fit me” your boyfriend was amused by what you just said, “It will” is the only response he said before licking your nipples and sucking them gently. He grabbed your right leg putting it on his shoulder and kneeled in between your legs, lining his cock in your entrance.

Slowly he pushed his cock inside you making you bite your hand and close your eyes to stop yourself from moaning too loud. “See? it fits” Yuta is doing the opposite, he’s groaning with every thrust he give you letting out sounds you didn’t know he can make. Whimpering like a little boy beside your neck, you can hear him clearly. As his pace goes faster you were losing your mind at how good he fucks you for the first time.

“Don’t fucking stop” with heavy breath and gasp, you reached for his neck and encircled your arms around him. Legs spreading wider for him, moans becoming a little bit louder. The bed is shaking you’re sure Ruka can hear you both.

“Y/n, if you don’t stop moaning like that- I swear” his thrust became quicker and sharper leaving you speechless. Your pussy clenched the whole time trying to fight the sensation and trying so hard not to be on edge yet. But it’s a battle you can’t win, Yuta is so good at making you let go. You didn’t say that you were cumming but he can tell because your legs were already shaking and you were grabbing everything you can on bed and gripping it a little too hard. He pulls out and pumped his cock in front of you making his cum land perfectly on your boobs. Just the sight of his cum on your beautiful body, makes him hard again.

You grabbed him with both hands through the neck, and pull him on your chest kissing him a little too harsh. Filthy as it looks but you don’t care. You spread your legs again and put a hand in between the two of you and grabbed his hard cock. Pushing it inside you again, he let you do what you want. In a matter of seconds, he’s inside you again.

“I was disappointed, you didn’t cum inside me” you pout and he thrust again without a single word making your head roll back again, smiling like a fool because you got want you want. Yuta fucked you again, but this time rougher and he get to cum inside you.

“Sorry if I didn’t cum inside you earlier” he kissed your forehead while you calm down from your orgasm. You still can’t talk and you’re still catching your breath, all you can do is smile as you wait for your legs to stop shaking.

And that was the start of having sex with Yuta with every chance you get. Making out in your room that leads to sex before doing homework. Watching the sunset through his window still naked and all over each other. Sex was different with Yuta, it was damn wild and filthy but full of love. Something you never felt before.

Whenever you’re busy working on something in the art room and Yuta needed to fetch you there, you make out with him for some time because he missed you already. Even though anyone can just enter and catch you two, he never cared.

If you’re not allowed to go out on a Friday night, he will sneak up to your room through your open window while you were sleeping and kiss you quietly until you wake up. You love having quiet sex with Yuta in your room because its funny how you two try to stop moaning too loud. On top of that, he needed to stop himself from fucking you too hard and remind him to go slow from time to time.

Your fear of giving him a blowjob because you’re not that confident with it completely changed when one day you were just so hungry for his cock and you went down on your knees and gave him a blowjob for the first time. That’s during lunch and you brought him to the locker room where you and Jaehyun used to make out before practice. To your surprise Yuta came three times in your mouth, for some reason he loved it. From there on he always ask you for a blowjob and you always gladly give him what he wants.

If there are days with him that are nothing but pure happiness, of course there are days that are almost impossible to bare. All you can do is be strong and keep your patience long, remind yourself that you love Yuta no matter what happens. You really don’t know where it all started, or what triggered him to go back on drugs but you noticed he’s been busy and he’s not telling you the whole truth whenever you ask him ‘what’s up?’

After spending six beautiful months together, suddenly Yuta is gone again for days. He’s been missing a lot again and that can only mean he’s out somewhere taking drugs or he’s taking drugs and he’s in trouble. When you came to his house, Ruka was stopping you from entering the house but you insist.

“What is it Ruka?” you know he’s hiding something from you and Yuta is inside. So you shout from the outside, forcing Yuta to come out. He did. Limping and face all beat up. You’re not mad or disappointed, you were simply worried about him. “He got home this morning, and he’s still high from drugs. I don’t think this is a great time y/n.”

You look at each other’s eyes from a far, both hurt but yours is not physical. Broken heart, that’s what pains you. It’s hard to step away from his house, looking in his eyes full of hurt. Deep down you know he wanted to hug your kiss but he can’t because he can’t fucking move and he’s too humiliated.

What you saw today was too much and you needed a breather. It’s good that its Friday, you can be with your friends and somehow divert your mind. “People can get beaten up with a lot of reasons specially when drugs is involved” Johnny says while drinking his beer and playing beer pong with the others. “Don’t think about it too much, he’s going to be okay” Yeeun shouts from another side of the table. All of your friends were supportive with the relationship you have with Yuta even though they know about his drug problems. You spent days being with your friends while Yuta is recovering and there’s not a day where you don’t check up on him.

A week passed already and theres still no sign of Yuta. You can’t just show up in front of his house again, you didn’t want to disturb his recovery. Besides, school works are pilling up you need to focus studying and finishing some of the requirements. Your mind is buried into Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet and you didn’t notice you passed out. When you woke up, you found Yuta beside you all snuggled up and waiting for you to open your eyes.

“Am I dreaming?” you closed your eyes and opened them again, no you’re not dreaming. He smile a little, you figure he’s still in pain. “Are you alright now? How did you get in?” you sat up to check his face and his arm. “I’m alright, I just needed to see you. I can’t take it anymore. I missed you so much” he reached for your hands and kissed your knuckles. He pats the mattress telling you to come lay with him in bed, and you did. Fingers intertwined and bodies close to each other, just how you like it.

“Why do you stay with me? You’re this perfect girl that fell in love with an addict”

For some reason you were scared of how he asked you that question. It almost felt like he’s going to leave you. There was a minute of complete silence before you answer him, “Because thats what you do if u love someone. You don’t give up on them. And just so you know I love you, and Im in love with you”

He chuckled but still careful not to overdo it because of the bruises in his face, “I know. I know that all too well” he placed his hand just above your jaw, and left a kiss on your forehead. “I’m trying to be better for you so I wont have to leave you eventually and go to fucking rehab. I can do this right?” hearing Yuta say that made you realise you were wrong about him wanting to leave you. He doesn’t want to leave, he wanted to be better for you. You kissed him on the lips pouring everything from the past couple of weeks in it. The kiss was wet but it wasn’t because of spit, but because of tears.

After what happened, he tried being clean but he just ends up taking drugs over and over again. There was a time that you caught him taking cocaine in his bathroom and he shut the door with a loud slam and told you to go home. Seeing him do things like that pains you to the core. He never wanted to hurt you like this, he never pushed you away because deep down he wanted to be better and if that happens he wants you to be on his side.

A week before prom, Yuta made sure he’s clean and he promised you he will never ruin prom night for you. As a way of celebrating for being fourteen days clean and spending time with each other, you had sex after a wonderful night spent with Yuta.

“Fuck I missed being inside you” he whispers behind your ear while his fucking you with a steady pace. As always, the way he fucks you can make you lose your mind and smile like a fool while moaning and gasping at the same time. You closed your eyes as you let go of the feeling and cum for the first time tonight, the moment you open your eyes you see Yuta’s eyes closed completely blown by the frenzy on being on edge. And bleeding.

His nose is bleeding uncontrollably.

“Baby- you need to stop” opening his eyes to ask if he hurt you, he saw the blood on your boobs, completely panicking. “Did I do this to you baby- where does it hurt?” you were crying already, not talking to him as you quickly wore your clothes and screamed for help, calling Ruka as loud as you can.

Yuta was completely clueless but his head was spinning and he feels so weak suddenly. “Baby! Don’t close your eyes, you can die- please stay with me” you were practically slapping his face to keep him awake as you help him wear his pants.

Everything happened so fast the moment you see his nose bleeding nonstop. You and Ruka rushed him to the hospital as quickly as you can. You were alone at the waiting lounge as Ruka takes care of everything Yuta needs to stay in the hospital.

All of your friends weren’t picking up because maybe they’re sleeping and tired from practice. But one person picked up and made his way to the hospital and brought you some clothes as soon as he can.

“I’m sorry Jaehyun, I didn’t know anyone else to call. I cant just simply call my family” Jaehyun was holding you close and comforting you as you cry for a whole hour. After changing to clean clothes, Ruka called you in to talk to Yuta. While Jaehyun is hesitating to come with you, “Jae, come on its okay. He’ll be happy to see you”

You were happy to see Yuta completely awake and smiling once you opened the door and entered the room with Jaehyun. You sat beside Yuta and kissed him on the forehead, “the sex was so good, you made me bleed” he joked around making all three of you laugh and you tear up again. “What’s happening to you?” you weren’t sure you wanted to know but you do know it’s nothing good.

“I’m fine baby, no need to worry” of course he will not tell you what’s going on because he didn’t want to make you worry. “Thank you Jaehyun. For being with her” Jaehyun nods at him and pats Yuta’s arm.

Suddenly your excitement for prom is replaced with worries for Yuta’s health. He needs to stay in the hospital for a week, and that covers prom. “We’re still on for prom right?” you were laying with him on the hospital bed as he shower you with kisses. If there’s anything he hates more than anything, that is making you disappointed. “Of course” you kissed him back, making him blush. “Can’t wait to see you crowed, Prom Queen” even though that’s not important to you anymore, you just nod and rolled your eyes on him.

He did got out from the hospital a day before prom, leaving him with only a day to rest. Ruka got him a nice tux that fits him really well, and you on the other hand tried to forget things that happened last week that completely ruined your prom excitement.

After working so hard on your hair and makeup, you finished getting ready just in time for your friends to pick you up. But Yuta is not yet here, when he’s supposed to be here already an hour before your friends arrived. “I think you guys should go, I’ll wait for him a little longer. I’ll see you there, okay?” you wave goodbye to your friends as you wait for Yuta on your porch.

You called Ruka to ask about Yuta, hoping maybe he just got problems with his tux. “Hey, Ruka uhm, is Yuta still there?” his answer broke your heart. The excitement was replaced with worries again, you called Yuta’s phone a hundred times but he never picks up.

A car parked in front of your house, hoping it’s Yuta. But it’s not, it’s Jaehyun. He drove to your house because he was worried, “What’s happening?” he worriedly asked. You were still trying to call Yuta’s phone, still no answer.

“Come one y/n, I’ll take you to prom” Jaehyun offered, but as much as you wanted to accept his offer Yuta’s excitement from the other day, flashed in your mind and you know you can’t go.

“I can’t Jae, thank you and I know you mean nothing but kindness. I’ll wait for Yuta here, he will get hurt if I go without him” Jaehyun didn’t really want to leave you but you made your choice.

The moment Jaehyun left, your tears finally fall. You were crying when your mom gave you a blanket and invited you to go wait for him inside. “I’m fine, thanks for the blanket” you were so hurt to even move. And you’re not hurt because he ditched you to prom, you’re hurt because you can’t reach him and you’re worried for him. A lot of things may have happened to him and that’s what worries you.

A week later, Ruka met you after school and told you that Yuta is finishing high school through home study under your school’s supervision. “He’s still part of the school, I’ll convince him to attend graduation. But,” something bad is about to happen, you thought. “he wanted me tell you that, he’s breaking up with you” and that’s it. You burst into tears after hearing the bad news. It was so hard to breath, hearing those words from Ruka and not directly from Yuta. But you trust Yuta’s decision and maybe it’s for the best. With a heavy heart, you hugged Ruka goodbye and left without another word.

You tried putting up a big smile during graduation and hugging everyone you knew all throughout high school, except for one important person. A week after graduation, you left for college. Still with a heavy heart but you wanted to move on and have a fresh start.

Ten years later

It’s impossible to forget your first love specially if that someone made an impact to your life. You’re sitting on the very spot where you met Yuta remembering how you were charmed by his smile. Mouthing the exact same words he told you before introducing himself first, ‘You should try using soft pastels, they’re more easier to blend’ smiling after you realised you’re completely a fool for still dwelling from the past.

You shrug it of and decided to go back to your high school reunion, maybe people are already looking for you. You stood up from the bleacher, “hi” and you almost fell from where you were standing and the person in front of you is to blame.

“I didn’t mean to startle you. I’m sorry” you told the man that it’s okay and you should get going, not even bothering to look who he might be. It’s weird that the man isn’t letting go of your hand, “Excuse me. I need my hand-“ your heart beats fast like the moment you first saw him. Nothings changed that’s for sure, except his hair color.

“Yuta” your eyes were full of tears but you were smiling the whole time. He pulled you in for a tight hug, holding you close like how he used to. It feels like a dream, you thought. A dream that you never want to end. Catching up with lost time, you spend the night with him forgetting about the high school reunion and watching over the same blue sky you used to look at years and years ago from his room.

He’s now an owner of a popular art gallery in Japan, which you happened to know about. “No way! You own that place, I went there just last year for work” he nods, and told you he knew. And he can’t believe you’re standing inside his art gallery. “I got scared. That’s why I didn’t talked to you” then you remember, on that day you were supposed to meet the owner of the gallery, “That’s why we talked to your secretary instead of the owner… which is you” he was nodding the whole time like a fool. It’s fun laughing the whole night not minding the time, he’s the same man you fell in love with.

“We missed prom because I was busy getting high” he suddenly blurted out when the both of you was silent.

“I went to your house I saw you waiting for me outside, crying because I ditched you” he’s wrong, you were crying that time because you were worried sick. But you saved your explanation for later, for now you just wanted him to explain his part.

“And I know I’m ten years late but, you look beautiful in that red lipstick. And oh! That dress on you, Mmm! I was admiring you from a far, and you were perfect” there he is again, making you laugh “and me I was high that time and I couldn’t ruin your night even more. I cant ruin your life even more” he reached for your hand and kissed it like he used to.

“That was my breaking point. After I finished the home study program, I begged my mom to put me in rehab, I want to be better for you. As always y/n. But as I got better I figured maybe you forgot about me already so I focused on getting better for myself. Went to college, had a job and now this. All better. Never want to go back” he left you speechless again, but he deserves to know the truth.

“Im sorry Yuta, I didn’t know. But for the record I was crying because I just wanted to see you that time. It doesn’t matter if you were high as a kite. I couldn’t care less about prom. I was waiting for you until the sun goes up and you never showed up. I was blaming myself maybe, I didn’t loved you enough thats why you left”

“No no, don’t say that. You were more than enough” tears never stopped falling from your eyes and Yuta hated seeing you cry. So he kissed you on the lips for the first time again for so many years. You rest your forehead on his, taking time to process everything that’s happening right now. Completely aware of what’s running in your mind right now he suggests to take things slow before coming back to each other’s lives again.

“Take all the time you need. I’m sorry. I swear I’ll never leave again”

................................................. Masterlist

Thank you for reading if you get up to this point hihi. Million thanks to every reader like you.

I had a hard time finishing this fic because the word count is originally, 9k+ and I’m not sure if my readers are up for that long fic... because I usually post fics that are 6k max long. But I guess it is what it is.

Hope someone enjoyed this fic huhu

#nct-writers #nct yuta #nct yuta smut #yuta smut #yuta nakamoto x reader #yuta nakamoto smut #nct angst #nct yuta angst #yuta angst #nct smut #nct aus #nct au #smut

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jezy · 3 years ago

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My Ben 10 Reboot/Grim Dawn OC-- Libra Renov! :D

Warning! Some of these parts have uncomfortable stuff, so if you don't like it. Might wanna either scroll down faster or endure it if you still wanna read it.

Libra has a lot of expertise with being a Sage of Illusions but she's also a healer and wild card in case missions go south. Which is about 50/50 percent most of the time.

She's also one of the smartest sages there is. But she sometimes focuses on the puzzles way too much so she doesn't notices anything going on around her.

Libra has a few friends but they're just a bunch of royal jerks. Except Hex, she liked him when they've met. Disa and Libra are friends too, but she trusts Hex more than anyone.

Before Libra died, she was a human with wavy chocolate brown hair with deep blue eyes and fair skin. Now, she's an aetherial with messy black charcoal hair with glowing green eyes and her skin's pale white.

She is an adopted royal, let me elaborate : Her real parents' kingdom got dethroned by another kingdom in ledgerdomain. The king and queen who has a tomboy daughter which they don't like, and resulting for said daughter to left them with no heir. So when they dethroned Libra's parents, they took toddler!Libra under their wings and taught her how to be a girly-girl princess.

At first, Libra loved it but when she grew older she became a rebellious child (in secret) and would often read her adopted father's books about magic without permission.

When she met Hex (when she first sneaked out for the first time), she realized she can be so much more than just be a useless princess in her kingdom. She could help people on the front instead of doing it behind the walls of the castle.

So ever since then, whenever she gets the chance to do something rebellious, she would do it using illusions as distraction then she helps the people in need with a disguise. (Like Robin Hood).

Her adopted parents didn't liked it obviously and were trying to figure out who would do such a thing. They still haven't found out it was her.

Libra & Hex are the "friends to lovers" couple. They're glue you can't easily separate and will hurt you if you hurt one of them.

When she found out that she's getting arranged marriage to Hex's younger brother, she didn't liked it. Yes, she knew about Hex's younger brother, Spellbinder, but she didn't liked him like that.

So when Libra & Hex became 18 years old, they eloped to Cairn and became Sages since then. They're not exactly married in legal standards, but they don't mind it one bit.

When Hex gets pissed at someone, its Libra's job to calm him down.

Since she's the only thing that stands between Hex and his anger to the whole multiverses. That is, when she died in the first cataclysmic war.

Libra deeply cares about Hex and is deeply hurt whenever Hex does something he regrets. Like, cursing his brother when Spellbinder forcefully kissed her lips.

Of course, Hex hid away from her for a few years because of the fear he'll hurt her too.

This made her depressed and longed for him, even to the point on not eating or sleeping because she misses him too much. Till Disa slaps her from her depression and yells at her to get a grip.

Libra was slightly thankful for her, even though it hurts like hell. She now learned a lesson that Hex would come back. Which he did, and Libra basically sprung out to crush him with her hug.

Libra cried rivers when Hex came back, as well as him.

After that, they now have more love to each other. Which is a blessing for the other sages since they now feared/despised Hex because of what he did.

They were peaceful, until the cataclysmic war....

Now, the cataclysmic war isn't just some war, it was a war between The Gods of Cairn and The Aetherial. (I'll probably make a post about the Aetherials and Gods of Cairn, since I can't explain everything in here)

It affected everyone even The Sages, half of the faction died including Libra. Who got trapped inside the spell of the Handmaiden Shield and burned alive by the aetherfire the aetherials had caused.

When she died, her soul got flung down deep into where the aetherials (now just spirits) had now reside. When they noticed her and found out she wasn't one of them, they tortured her for eons till they came back to take over the world. But she held it together for as long as she can take.

That was until... Theodin Marcell, The Master of Flesh, had began experimenting & reanimating the bodies of humans. He searched for test subjects (alive and/or dead) and found Libra's corpse in an ancient graveyard, and decided they will make her their most perfect masterpiece.

And so he did, first they forced Libra's soul to go into an aether crystal (a sort of physical form of aetherials). Then, he sliced open Libra's body's chest and planted the crystal inside her heart. Then he started reanimating her.

When she first came back to life, she was strapped naked in an electric chair. She tried to get out obviously until she saw Theodin Marcell coming down.

"Ah, so you're awake..."

"What do you want with me?!"

"The higher ups of the Aetherhold has accepted my request to test on you, Miss Libra Renov..."

"That still doesn't my question bastard!"

"The higher ups also want you to join our army. A special soldier, if you will."

"I'll never join you! Not after what your kind has done many eons ago!"

"Of course, I know you won't accept, so we'll do it the hard way instead..."

"Wha--" Then she screamed. Theodin had activated a switch that activated the electric chair. There were iron nails, nailed through her hands, and seemingly connected to the wires up to the switch. Making her feel the pain through her nerves system.

It hurts like hell, it felt like she was on fire. Her organs felt on fire, her brain-- Everything felt like on fire.

Theodin kept doing this to her till she threw up bile onto herself. Coughing up the remaining bile in her throat.

"Hmm, interesting, a human body can take so much of electricity before they perish. But you however, since you were blessed by the gods, you can take so much more..."

"What the hell does that mean?!"

"That means, I have to do more experiments on you. But since you just woke up, I'll let you rest. Tomorrow, we will continue, and by then... You will sooner or later become a masterpiece....."

She only glared daggers at the possessed man as she was dragged away to a cell. They threw her and pinned her down, then they chained her up against the wall to make sure she doesn't escape.

Her hands felt numb from the electrocution, her body was shivering from the cold and shaking from the electricity. Her brain felt dizzy, if she focuses too much on an area, she would throw up.

Whatever the hell Theodin has in store for her, she'll endure it. She won't break from him. She'll get out and escape as soon as she finds a way how.

Besides, how worse can it get?....

Surely it won't be too much for her? Right? She's seen disturbing things, she has the confidence that she won't break.

Oh how wrong she was...

How very wrong she was...

The next day, when she was being escorted to the experimentation room. She tried to escape.

There were many aetherial possessed soldiers and once they saw her, they started shooting at her. Unfortunately, she was hit multiple times and died.

But that wasn't the worse part, the worse part was when she started to wake up. What she saw was scarring.

Her body's opened up like some frog in a science class, she could see her organs and everything from her perspective. Bloody equipment on a table, her beating heart, and Theodin poking and putting something inside her. It was enough to make her nauseous.

"Oh? Awake already?"

She was freaking out and started to squirm a lot.

"I suggest you don't squirm, unless you want an important organ to get cut from your recklessness."

She immediately froze from his words.

"Good pet." She growled at that nickname, she was very disgusted by him.

She tried to look around for any places where she can run, or anything nearby that she can use to break out of her confinement.

But she couldn't do anything, she knows that. She can't escape and she'll just bleed out if she somehow miraculously did. She was trapped.

She had no choice but to stare at what Theodin's doing to her for hours, mortified. And when he finished stitching up the slices he made, he did one more thing.

"Oh, and since you tried to escape. A little torture will be necessary."

And so he did, by stabbing her leg unexpectedly, in which she screamed. He kept doing this to different parts of her body until she began crying and whimpering.

Her face was covered in cuts and limbs that have stabs all over them. There were a few close calls to her neck making it look like scratches.

"Oh, you're crying? That's pathetic."

"...."

"Still not answering?"

"....."

"Whatever, because of your recklessness you got shot down by our troops. So I suggest you stop being stubborn and just accept it. You can't escape. And if you do, we'll be coming after you."

Those words slowly drilled down into her brain, she tried to ignore it but couldn't. In the next few days of those horrible electrocutions and mortifying tests that include getting her shoulders dislocated in the process, she was beginning to starve.

Theodin doesn't cares though so he just ignores Libra's whimpers of starvation and continued on the experiment. Even if it means Libra gets slammed like a bruised ragdoll.

There's more, more worse than that. When Theodin realized he couldn't do more experiments on Libra due to her lack of energy. He feeds her near-expired food, by literally shoving it down her throat till she chokes on it.

She absolutely doesn't likes it and tried to escape once after that. But she got stabbed from behind her and died once more.

Everytime she tried to escape, she keeps dying. And everytime she was brought back to life, she was punished. Either it was electrocution, beating her up, stabbing her randomly, or really painful whips in the back.

Her brown hair became darker until it was charcoal black due to getting electrocuted many times, her skin was so pale that you would barely see the cuts in her face. She has spots of burns on her skin when aetherfire was shot at her, body that has stitches everywhere, and her hands was beginning to glow bright green due to prolonged exposure to electricity.

Her head hurts, a lot and her chest feels funny every time she exhausts herself.

She cries in her sleep everytime, she can't take it anymore. She is in so much pain, so much stress. That she didn't even saw the worst part that happened to her.

"Fuck you..."

"Oh my, how dirty your mouth is."

"Screw. You. I can tell whatever I want to say."

"Oh my... Don't tell me you've forgotten one of the rules of your faction... That would be very disrespectful of you."

"Wait, the rules??"

"Yes, don't you remember the faction you joined and its rules?"

"My faction? Yes, my faction!... The err... S..So...The Sorcerers!"

"You meant 'The Sages'?"

"Wait, 'Sages'??? I thought--"

"Oh don't tell me you don't remember, The Sages of Cairn? The faction you dedicated your whole life into."

"Of course I remember! Its just err..."

"You seem to have forgotten your faction."

"N-No I don't! I do remember them!"

"Oh then please, tell me all about it."

"Its..erm, ugh! Why can't I remember?!"

"So you don't remember anything? Anything in particular. Your friends, your family, even your lover?"

"I...I don't remember....." Then laughter erupted from the man, as she tried to remember.

That was the worst part, she couldn't remember anything. Her memories full of holes, fuzzy dreams with no meaning to her, and sometimes nightmares would crawl into her mind. The only thing that she held onto was her name and the name of her lover, Hex, but memories of them being together was long gone.

And soon, Theodin had managed to succumb Libra in her weakest point. Where she was easily manipulated by the aetherial....

After a couple more years of experiments, torturing, etc. She was empty both inside and out. Her eyes were dull of life, her vision (sometimes) was such a haze but she didn't really cared.

Theodin had turned the once stubborn Sage into one of his mindless (very scarred soldier) soldiers for battle.

She couldn't feel pain no longer. After what she went through, she slowly became numb to pain. Which was good for Theodin Marcell, as they now have a perfect masterpiece, ready to go and do their bidding.

But the downside is that she became a masochist so every wounds inflicted to her, was a pleasure for her instead of pain. So she had to wear a mask, so people won't find out she loved the pain on herself.

She became a Mage Hunter, a mixture of an Inquisitor and an Arcanist. She disguised herself using illusions (that she vaguely remembers) and infiltrated the barracks of The Black Legion.

She then proceeded what Theodin tells her to do, smuggle the aetherial spirits to people who are the weakess mentally and with most negative emotions.

After Malmouth had fallen she continues hunting down humans for Theodin to "make a masterpiece" out of them. That was until Hex arrived.

One day, she received a mission to protect Warden Krieg in his home. So she used a rift to get there quickly, and when she did...

She saw none other than Hex who's fighting aetherials at the moment.

She stood there staring at him, thinking about how familiar Hex is to her. Though, she didn't know it was him. Until she decided to call out for him when he was finished with killing the aetherials.

"...Hex?"

That immediately caught Hex's attention and saw Libra standing there, shock mixed with confusion.

"How do you know my name?"

"I..I don't know, but I remember someone named Hex.... I'm not sure.... I just called out to you..."

"Well people don't know my name unless--"

"I'm Libra..."

That made Hex shut up quickly and come up to her with widened eyes before hugging Libra. Her mask was quickly swept to the side as Hex kissed her.

The hug and kiss really made her feel nice and warm. Like, they've been doing this for who knows how long.

But soon, the warm feeling disappeared when he let go, "How can I know you're Libra??? She died eons ago..." He said with sadness in his voice. That was a good choice, being skeptical was a good choice.

"I don't know either.... I can't remember anything, my memories are filled with holes..."

"Can you remember maybe a little bit?"

"Well, I've been getting nightmares more recently... My dreams were always different but I think I remember burning in one of them..."

"So it really is you... What happened?"

"I'll tell you, but first, we need to go somewhere and then we can talk."

Hex only nodded and followed her to a hidden place. That was when she told him everything she remembers so far, after the end of her talking Hex looked like he was going to rip Theodin Marcell into two. Which makes her scared.

She doesn't want to lose the only warmth that she has now, she needs to protect him. That was how she betrayed the aetherials and helped Hex with his missions.

This doesn't please Theodin though....

But she doesn't care, she's obsessed with Hex's warm feeling and she doesn't want to lose it.

Even though her memories is filled with holes, Libra felt like she belongs to Hex.

And since Hex is now together with Libra again, he can help her with those hole-filled memories.

And maybe now she can slowly remember what they used to be...

Here's the current gacha design for Reboot!Hex and Libra (Since I can't draw, lel)

Hope you enjoyed it!

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mightysteelix · 4 years ago

Text

The Sin Of Gluttony

Because this, after all, is still a fic blog. Here's my newest story - and my longest so far. And it did not take as much time as I expected, being finished in two-three weeks. Written to fix the lack of Shirou/Dantes fics and the lack of male "Fate/" kink fics.

Rating: Mature Category: M/M Fandoms: Fate/Grand Order Relationship: Amakusa Shirou Tokisada | Ruler/Edmond Dantès | Avenger Characters: Amakusa Shirou Tokisada | Ruler and Edmond Dantès | Avenger Summary: Shirou Amakusa had been sneaking in Chaldea's kitchen to indulge his gluttony. Thus, Archer enlists one Avenger to help him.Weight-gain kink fic. Don't like, don't read.

WARNING FOR KINK CONTENTS UNDER THE CUT

Additional Tags: Weight Gain; Belly Kink; Rapid weight gain; Magically assisted weight gain; Main character is 18+; Force-Feeding; Teasing; Erections; Mildly Dubious Consent; Feeder Edmond Dantès; Feedee Amakusa Shirou

LAST WARNING FOR KINK

Amakusa Shirou sneaked into Chaldea’s kitchen. Coast - clear.

The last master of humanity was snoring in their bed, lulled by Nursery Rhyme’s tales. The Servants had taken the opportunity to sleep - expect the most obsessed, who tried to barge in Ritsuka’s room. Even EMIYA, usually restless about his domain, had holed with the rest of his not-exactly family.

As expected. Amakusa planned every heist months in advance, manipulating Servants for the perfect night. As a saint - even if apocryphal - he should reject the pleasures of the flesh: forget the buttery cookies, the fluffy desserts, the sweets that melted in the mouth... Snapping from the trance, he caught himself drooling. His eyes sparkled with desire. He had to fight the sin that would lead him astray.

Yet he crossed the large dining area in a single leap and entered the kitchen. The enthralling taste of gluttony, as captivating as EMIYA’s food, lingered. His own desires were controlling him. For a third night, he would indulge his longing in secret, fill his craving stomach with the most masterful food the world could offer. He would stuff his stomach past the norms of sense, lose himself in the pleasure of food. Perhaps the Fiendish Bodhisattva had cursed him with the unquenchable hunger.

Amakusa licked his lips, imaging the feast tonight. “Or my sins crushed me and I am their slave.” He should have rejected it. Yet those greedy desires took over the priest, stealing any control. Against the craving, he had no power. Gulping down his dry throat, he opened the fridge slowly, as if performing a holy rite. Sweet, sweet aroma tickled his nose. His fingers shivered. The light blinded his eyes, used to the dim darkness. As he adjusted, the outlines of the dishes took a concrete form. A large tray of cookies sprinkled white with powdered sugar; a few batches of thick, sweet, and fluffy ice cream.

Above them stood the crown jewel of EMIYA’s cooking - a five-layered cake, patiently decorated. Sugar flowers colored the frosting, each one with crafted petals. Fine glaze ribbons circled each tier. The Archer must have put an entire day in his masterpiece.

And Amakusa would destroy it in sheer, unbridled gluttony - a grave, unforgivable sin. Once he was stuffed, unable to stomach another morsel and pinned in one place by the pain and the weight of the food, he would polish down the cake in the most wasteful, decadent show of greed. His heart beat faster in his chest.

“The feast has started,” Amakusa whispered and took the chosen dishes. The light thinned, before disappearing as he pushed the door closed. Alone in the dark, hidden from everyone’s stare, he snatched a cookie and pressed it between his teeth. They tore the sweet dough. The sugar melted over his tongue.

“EMIYA,” he moaned, “you have outdone yourself again.” After gulping the cookie, he took another. The sweetness excited his tongue. His greedy fingers reached for the next one and it disappeared as quickly. The risk of capture at any moment, red-handed at the crime scene; the off chance his plan could fail drove him to gulp faster. If he did not finish before the others woke up, he had lost.

The ritual ended as the last cookie traveled down in Amakusa’s belly. A whole tray and he was barely stuffed. He had laughed at the tales of Saber’s hunger yet now was outeating her. His fingers rubbed the small curve of his stomach, hidden under his baggy clothes. A solid beginning, yet so far from the gluttony he desired.

“What should I pick now?” he asked himself. The cookies - however heavenly - had dried his mouth further. Some ice cream would serve as a relief. Amakusa opened one tub, a fresh, chocolate wave of coldness pinching his cheeks. “It’s decided.”

Standing like a hero against their sworn enemy, Amakusa held his sword - a spoon - and broke the dark brown, almost black, layer of syrup.

“Huh?” Shadows hissed out of the ice cream and twirled around his arm. The curse chilled his skin, leaving a deep chain mark. Amakusa tensed. He tried to free his hand, yet the darkness pulled him closer, even more chains shooting at him. One bound his free arm, another warped his legs painfully tight.

They held him above the ground, unable to move a single finger. Only his mouth remained free. Should he scream for help? No, his captor desired that - to break his pride by forcing an admission out of him. He would never allow himself to be caught.

“Do not hope you will escape!” Thundering, evil laugh boomed. Pale sparks flared around the core of the curse. The shadows grew like smoke. Two legs formed under the cloud, covered by a long, dark coat to the ankles. “For your sin has already claimed your very soul!” The Avenger - the Count of Monte Cristo - cackled. His eyes flared brightly like the flames of hell. “No salvation awaits you!”

“This noise for me? Ah, you flatter me, Avenger.” Amakusa smiled, far more sweetly than any pastry. “I doubt you will release me if I ask.” He closed his eyes and lowered his voice to a sly whisper. “Would at least tell me why you took your time to curse me?”

“Politeness will lead you nowhere! The Archer yearned for vengeance.” Edmond walked closer to Amakusa, leaving a trail of shadows behind himself. “His thirst summoned me. The perpetrator must suffer and regret his crimes.”

“Have you stolen Holmes’ job? He will hate it. Very well, you caught me. You can turn me to the Master.” The pleasant way out. The preferable one.

Edmond shook head, his long hair swaying. “No, mon ami. Our Master will forgive you. That would be justice - their justice, yet the Archer does not care about it. He wants retribution, he wants punishment.” The fire in his eyes died as he held Amakusa’s cheek. “You will bear the weight of your sins.”

Amakusa gulped - an exaggerated jest of fake fear. “Does he plan to hang me until my limbs become numb? He must have a strange taste.”

The Count’s manic laughter filled the kitchen, making the utensils on the wall shake. “No, he gave me full right over your punishment. If the greatest Avenger accepts it, it will satisfy his dark desire. No one is observing us, nor anyone will wake in the following hours. Until our time runs out, I will plunge you in my curse.” He took the spoonful of ice cream from Amakusa’s hand. “Enjoy your greed, sinner! Rejoice as you become the embodiment of your sin!”

The spoon aimed for Amakusa’s mouth. He shut his mouth and bent his head backward. Whatever the Count had prepared, he would not comply. Although empty curiosity (or greater hunger) gnawed on his thoughts, eating him alive, he resisted. One word and the Count would stab with the spoon.

“Too late!” The magical sparks lit the kitchen with their pale colours. “You should have fought your sin before eating the bait!” Another shadow - thin like a piece of cloth - forced Amakusa’s mouth ajar.

He struggled to close it. His jaws shivered, pulled back by the bindings.

"Now," the Count continued, “you can repent only through punishment!” As soon as Amakusa’s lips opened, he lunged the loaded spoon in his mouth.

The ice cream had already molten a little. Thick and syrupy, it chilled Amakusa’s tongue. Sweet chocolate excited his taste buds, before emptying in his throat and leaving him craving more. He licked his teeth - some of the treat had stuck there. “Do you plan to feed me the entire night?”

“The punishment must fit the sin! Tell me, priest, how else should I discipline you?” Edmond scooped more ice cream, before pushing it in Amakusa’s mouth. “Three nights I prepared the perfect curse for you.” The shadow loosened its hold. “A curse to please Archer’s and my lust!”

Amakusa had to stop. The Avenger’s plans could only end badly for him. If he clenched teeth again, he could fight the spoons: sweet, sticky, pleasuring… The lingering chocolate taste flared up in the pit of his stomach. He wanted - no; he needed the creamy, thick confection down his throat.

A priest should reject any temptation.

And yet once the ice cream touched Amakusa’s tongue, he gulped down desperately.

“That’s it!” More frantic than a Berserker, Edmond forced a spoonful after a spoonful in Amakusa’s mouth. “Fall in your sin! Embrace your desires and suffer!”

The priest obeyed like a trained pet. He could not reject the tingling pleasure of the sugar. Each gulp moistened his throat, making him shiver with delight before a stronger, fresher taste replaced it. Closing his eyes, he waited for the powerful, familiar fullness. Once hunger had left him, he would eat because he wanted to blow in size: bloated, overfed, huge, indulging. Most thoughts were pushed away, only one lingering. The Avenger must have realized Amakusa enjoyed his punishment.

“You are shaping up perfectly!” The chocolate taste died without a new hit to replace it. “Now everybody in Chaldea will realize your gluttony!” Edmond pressed hands over Amakusa’s belly. “Did you believe I will only feed you?” The black shadows let him on the kitchen counter. “No! You will suffer the results of your sin: your lustful, decadent greed!” Where Amakusa used to have solid abs, now there was a chubby, small belly.

Intriguing. Out of all possible torments: the hellish tower; the soul-sucking nightmares - the Count chose to feed him in person and curse him with fatness. Amakusa smiled like the sun. "You do not lose points for originality. But what are you going to do now?" He took a spoon and fed himself a large scoop of the cursed ice cream. His body tingled as the sweet taste washed over his tongue and he felt himself pluming the slightеst bit.

Edmond snorted. "I have already broken you? Pity. I expected you would rebel for longer. If you had tried to run, I would have had you tied and stuffed for the whole night."

"Not at all." Amakusa's warm eyes locked on the Count. "You have not broken me. I would have eaten the ice cream anyway." He cupped his chin - a little thicker than normal. "Cannot let my careful planning waste. Thank you for speeding the process and feeding me."

Sparks flew around the Count, making the kitchen glow. "Don't talk!" he ordered, tying Amakusa with the shadows once again. "I will fatten you up until you need to be rolled around Chaldea! How could you still eat despite the curse?"

So cute. The big bad Avenger was flustered and his it behind anger.

Amakusa scratched the flab lightly. Small ripples formed around, disappearing at the limits of his newly gained fat. It was a real, permanent part of him; a definite proof of his gluttony. "Be fast, please." He wanted to grow soft, enormous, fattened by his inevitable obsession. And he would make the Avenger admit he enjoyed the night as much. "Perhaps I should have tried to run. I'd rather not waste time on small talk when there is still food."

"I shall make you eat your words along with everything else!" Edmond flared as if burning alive. The shadows boiled and squirmed behind him. One coiled around Amakusa's legs and pinned them to the base of the counter. "Even if you enjoy it now, the night is still young. I have endless time to make it a worthy punishment!"

"Would you drop the pretences already?" Amakusa leaned forward and his shirt rode a little, showing a silver of tan skin. He held Edmond's palm in his hands. "If you admit we both seek pleasure, the night will be more enjoyable."

"What pretences?" The Count pulled his hand free. "I work in the name of vengeance! My only pleasure is the pain of my victims!" He draped over his prisoner and fed him so fast that Amakusa could not talk.

The overfilled spoon left his lips and came again, even more full, forcing him to gulp or drown in the ice cream. With each course, his belly expanded - even more extra weight piling on it, stretching his black shirt tighter and making it ride up higher. The speck of revealed skin grew as his little bit of flab engorged in a proper gut - and Amakusa would not stop.

Not that Edmond would let him. Frantic sparks shot around, giving short bursts of light - Amakusa bigger at every one. Laughing madly fast, he scooped through the tub and ensured that all of its contents ended in the priest's mouth. Any moment he expected to break Amakusa's bliss and make him beg for mercy.

But it did not happen. As Amakusa’s body widened, so did his grin. A decadent desire possessed him; he sucked the ice cream from the spoon before Edmond had finished putting it in his mouth. He poked his hands sideways in his stomach and shook it up and down, the vibrations jolting through his flab. The weight over his hands increased, and he put more force to jiggle his forming rolls. The next dose could not come fast enough.

And even though the Avenger controlled Amakusa, he was fighting on the defensive, unable to find an excuse. Tied and speechless, the priest still rebelled against him. Not only rebelling, but he also held swath over Edmond’s actions. His joy would not end soon; the Count’s anger was burning up. And how could it stay, when Amakusa ate every fattening spoon and took the full bunt of the curse?

The Count dragged the spoon out of Amakusa’s mouth but did not fill it again with ice cream.

“What happened?” Amakusa asked, his nimble tongue licking the ice cream on his lips. “Has it run out? Too bad,” he laughed, his chubbier cheeks jiggling along. “I was just starting to enjoy it. Can we move to the cake now? A bit earlier than I expected, but if there’s no more ice cream left…”

“How?” Edmond broke the spoon in two as if it was a mere twig. “An Avenger - a Servant born of hatred - to bring pleasure? Impossible!” With a flick of his hands, he cleared his pale sparks, drowning the kitchen in total darkness. “I hoped to keep this as my finishing move, but your joy has continued for too long!”

He took the second tub - the first truly empty - and imbued it with his dark power. It glowed a sick green color as the ice cream boiled, bubbles forming and exploding with a strong ‘Pop!’. It melted, leaving a thick liquid full of sugary calories. As soon as the light died, he pressed the tub to Amakusa’s lips.

The viscous liquid slogged down the priest’s throat, and the empowered curse fattened him faster. Even in the darkness, he felt himself expanding, stretching the black shirt to sizes Amakusa never imagined it would reach. Each gigantic gulp sent shocks through his gut. It flopped, pulling the shirt higher. Now it covered only the topmost part of his belly - and soon would free it as the mass of lard did not stop growing.

His pants proved somewhat more resistant, digging deep in his gut. The waistband stretched to its limit, a mound of flesh falling over it. Amakusa tried to reach under it and unbutton his pants, but his chubby fingers could not budge the button. He would have to pop it with his growing gut. An even heavier gulp made his abdomen sag lower, resting on his tights.

Of course, the fattening had not spared them either. His legs filled the dark pants, pushing the material beyond its limit. He felt the brush of air on his bare skin, small holes having formed around the seams. The fabric pressed deep, but with each second the thread unraveled further.

His arms also expanded, losing any muscular definition. Even with the powers of a Servant, he moved them with more difficulty than before. The arm flab quivered with his movements, doubling the pleasure of exploring his flabby body.

And the cushion of his ass softened, taking more and more place over the counter. Amakusa sneaked his hand down his back, squeezing the thick globe of pure fat. His nails dug in the flesh and the ripples traveled to his knees, the flab a perfect conductor for them. Moving up, he groped his large love handles - they have united with the bulk of his gut, forming a flabby ring around him.

How huge was he? He could see nothing, only feeling his belly bulge and his shirt rise and his pants tighten… Once the lights came back, Amakusa expected incredible joy and disappointment. He would find how enormous he had become, yet it would never reach his imagination. If his lardy ass covered the counter, the floor would be the next challenge, then the rest of Chaldea…

After each gulp, he leaned back more and more, the sudden weight of his gut proving too much for a Servant’s body - or another effect of the curse? The more his belly surged out, the closer he came to lying down, pinned under the always growing weight of his own fat. Could he even stand up on his own once done? Or he would rely on the Count’s whims: seemingly unpredictable, but completely under Amakusa’s control and in an endless game of cat and mouse?

As Amakusa lay on his back, the warm fat insulating the cold counter, the last spurt of the ice cream fell in his throat and pushed out his flabby sphere of a gut.

“Perfect!” The Count dissolved the shadows and jabbed his fingers in Amakusa’s stomach, above his belly button. The vibrations shook his mass, reaching to his now-ample moobs. “With all this fat pressing you down, you must feel -“

“Perfect.” Amakusa cut in Edmond. He huffed as he sat up, mashing his bulbous gut and forcing more pressure on his soft ass. “Did you believe that you can make me regret it? Abandon my gluttony?” He laughed, feeling his chubby cheeks wobble. “Avenger, this time your plans failed.”

The Count clenched fists. A storm of sparks flared around him, throwing blinding light over the kitchen. Amakusa bowed head, avoiding the sudden brightness. He saw his rolls: wide and flabby, daring almost to touch the counter.

“I failed!” The Count stomped away, causing the kitchen to shake - Amakusa’s fat body included. “I had only to force you to regret your sin, make you detest your desires - to punish you in Archer’s name! And now the night has fallen to ruin.” His body vacuumed all the sparks but the palest light.

“It does not have to be,” Amakusa said. “We have not touched the cake. Your last chance to make me detest the curse. Will you take up to the challenge?”

“Yes,” Edmond muttered. “Yes!” he roared, clenching fists in a triumphant pose. “You, mon ami, will curse my name by the end of the night!” He burnt bright with sparks. The closer he walked to Amakusa, the more air around him heated. “I swear it! As the sun rises, you will curse the Count of Monte Cristo!”

“And I swear,” Amakusa replied in turn, “to make you admit that you have enjoyed the night.” It was a deal with a handsome devil; a bet he would win. He extended his pudgy hand to Edmond’s slender one.

Edmond fell in the trap; once their fingers pressed, Amakusa pulled him closer, making him fall in the mountain of his gut. The sudden movement made Amakusa’s whole body jiggle like a ball of squishy jelly. Trying to push himself up from the soft pile, Edmond only sent greater tremors through it. He spoke horrible curses, his fiery tongue licking Amakusa’s skin. The priest wanted only to keep him there forever, worshiping and feeding him.

Alas, the momentary happiness had to end. Using his shadows, the Count pulled himself free. “I have never thought a priest as you would fall to such nasty tricks.” He draped over Amakusa. His hands groped his flabby moobs for support. “You could have asked.”

“You would have refused,” Amakusa smiled without a trace of regret. “Or I have won?”

“Not even close. I am merely -“ he leaned even closer, above the priest’s lips, “- casting a bigger net.” Edmond massaged Amakusa’s moobs, his fingers squeezing the two sacks of flab. His knees gently kneaded the gigantic mass of his gut.

Amakusa’s pants tightened even more. His erect dick pressed in the flab of his tights, and each ripple of his belly sent a stronger joust of pleasure through it. “And how it helps you to give me more pleasure?”

Edmond’s heated breath touched the priest’s face. “I could chain you with the shadows and leave you here.” One of his hands slipped lower and stroke Amakusa’s dick slowly. “Begging on the verge of a release that is not coming.”

“Is this your rumored cruelty, Avenger?” Amakusa smiled and pulled Edmond in a tight hug. “Then I will reply in kind.” He dragged his flabby hands over the Count’s back, holding them over his tight, tiny ass. Edmond’s dick poked into Amakusa’s stomach. “Now we are even.”

“Do not overstep your bounds, Ruler.” Pressing hands on the counter, Edmond pushed himself up above Amakusa’s face, close, but out of reach. “I might just decide to leave you packed in shadows as a present for the Archer.”

“Perhaps it is your fault. If someone was… I don’t know - feeding me too fast - I would have no time to play with you.” Amakusa trailed a finger over his fat, empty gut. “Bear the responsibility and keep engorging me. Ensure I grow constantly.”

“Your tendency for shameful moves should have made you a Caster. A warning to the people, who don’t expect sneaky priests.” Edmond jumped off the counter and turned his back to Amakusa. “No.” He snorted, shaking his head. “I knew your nature and still chose to fight against you.” The flame in his eyes glowed. “Enfer Château d’If!” His body tensed and in the next second, he had Amakusa gagged again, while he leaned over his mouth with a chunk of the cake.

One shadow had coiled around Amakusa’s calves, squishing the fat on them, and slammed them to the base of the counter. A second bound his hands, forcing him to lie down on the table.

Amakusa smirked and opened his lips. “I won,” he muttered before the Count pushed the pastry down his throat. He gulped the light, extra buttery dough, letting the curse do its job. His tights fattened around his hard dick, embracing it in hot flab. Almost cuming, Amakusa ground them together. The movement shook his stomach, its bottom roll falling onto the tip of his cock and pressing deeper.

The Count moved at a fiendish speed; before Amakusa could gulp, a new portion of the cake had filled his mouth. Using both hands, he tore from Archer’s masterpiece, all in the important goal of feeding his priest. Amakusa twitched, his erection throbbing.

His moobs - two balls of fat that could rival Raikou’s - strained the black shirt which fought in vain to cover them. His sleeves fared even worse; bits of exposed skin oozed out of the large tears. The tight pants endured the longest, yet as Amakusa’s gut pushed out heavier, fatter, more decadent, the waistband groaned. After an especially heavy chunk, the layer of fat forced it stretch more. The fabric could not take it and with a loud sound tore all the way down to his crotch.

Amakusa moaned as he felt himself cum, soaking his tight underpants. The Count paid no notice, only using the opportunity to force even more food into his wide-opened mouth. The priest’s body heated even more as a haze of incredible pleasure clouded his thoughts. He ate on autopilot, not caring how big he would end - it would not be enough. Thus, they would repeat the night’s session later, when…

The sweet flow of the cake ended. “What happened?” he asked, licking his lips. “Have I eaten the entire cake?” Already? Even with Edmond’s Noble Phantasm increasing his speed, the doughy tower should have lasted longer. Amakusa wanted to check, but his fattened neck and the tight shadows restricted his movement.

“Not yet.” The Count gritted his teeth, turning his head away from Amakusa. The long shade of his collar hid his face. “But I lost my only advantage. You have won. I do not have to feed you further,” he said in a weak tone. Melting away, the shadows released their prisoner.

‘You have won.’ The hollow words did nothing to fill the void in Amakusa’s stomach. He lay unmoving, staring at the dark ceiling of the room while Edmond walked away. “Wait,” he said, just as the Count stood in the door, ready to leave him. “As long as there’s some cake left, you have chances. You can fatten me so much that I would regret it. So fat that I would depend on you for everything.”

Edmond leaned on the door. “And yet you would still like it. Tell me, priest, one reason not to leave.”

“You will never know. I might just realize I dislike my size once the cake is over. Would you risk missing the chance to taunt me over it and mock me? Would the Avenger miss his vengeance? Besides,” Amakusa whispered an octave lower, “I am sure you are as aroused as I was.”

“Even the goddess of pleasure cannot compete with you.” The Count turned, his coat fluttering behind him in an arc. “Very well, priest. You will entertain me for some more time.”

Tomorrow, Amakusa would deal with the questions, the stares, and the consequences. The Great Order, the King of Mages, even simply moving became a distant goal. Tonight he had a cake to finish and a Count to tease.

#weight gain stories #male weight gain #male weight gain stories #weight gain fanifction #Fate Grand Order #amakusa shirou #edmond dantes #chubwritings

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artificialqueens · 5 years ago

Text

Love Connections and Other Works of Art (Sashea) - Estuary

Summary: Sasha becomes infatuated with a mural. That’s not the only thing she’s infatuated with.

A/N: I had an idea and ran with it. A meet cute and all the fallout. I hope y'all enjoy it! AO3 Link

“Ma’am? Ma’am, I am so sorry, but my boss wants to know why you’re loitering.”

Sasha flushed, becoming painfully aware of how long she had stared at the mural on the side of this building. The mural was captivatingly colorful and practically pulsed with geometric shapes that were just abstract enough to draw in the viewer with the desire to discover what they were. However, even after staring at the mural for upwards of ten minutes on her way to work, Sasha could not determine their meaning. At one moment, the shapes became silhouettes of dancers, at another an architectural landscape, and at yet another, angular clouds.

Upon tearing her eyes from the wall and spinning around to face the chiding voice, Sasha’s pale complexion deepened to a strawberry red as she laid eyes on a truly stunning woman. Her deep, creamy skin glinted under the sunlight, long, tight curls piled on her head’s right side. Her mouth formed a smirk as Sasha stared, but even with that smug expression, the lady looked beautiful. A pink blazer paired with a cobalt blue skirt usually wouldn’t seem professional, but with her stature and poise, she looked expensive and unique.

Sasha looked down instinctively, not wanting to ogle this poor woman any longer. However, staring at the concrete sidewalk only led Sasha’s eyes to a pair of frighteningly tall, pink stiletto pumps. Pumps which then connected to a pair of slender, toned, mile-long legs.

“Um.. girl? Are you good?” The woman asked. The question seemed to reflect concern, but the smirk had transformed into nothing short of a full, shit-eating grin.

Good job, Sasha. You look great. Get yourself together.

Sasha steeled herself enough to meet the woman’s eyes.

Talk about art. You can do that.

“I’m so sorry, I just was looking at this mural. The colors and composition are so wonderfully vibrant. The style speaks to traditional cubism, but the interplay of light, shade, and color reminds me of a Charles Demuth.” Sasha explained, eagerly gesticulating. Even then, she cringed slightly when her hand movements caused the pins littering her own blazer to rattle loudly.

After a brief pause, the woman responded.

“Well, I’m happy you like it so much. In fact, do you want to meet who designed it?”

“Absolutely! If you could give me a phone number, or an email, I’ll contact her. And I’ll get out of your hair, sorry about all that.”

“Oh, I’m not gonna go through all that trouble. You can just talk to me now.”

Fuck. Sasha was a goner.

“Really?”

“Yes! Do I look like I’m playing?”

“Oh my god…” Sasha muttered, the expression slipping from her lips. And upon seeing Sasha so flustered, this beautiful, perfect woman threw her head back in a full laugh.

It was the most lovely laugh Sasha had ever heard. It sounded deep like thunder in the mountains, and it sounded warm like an embrace or a crackling fireplace. It sounded like all these things, and Sasha felt like she was experiencing all of them at once. Maybe this mystery woman of Sasha’s dreams was laughing at her, but she would be ridiculed at forever if it meant she got to hear that laugh.

Double fuck.

“I’m Shea Couleé,” the woman said, sticking out her delicately manicured hand.

“Nice to meet you, Miss Couleé,” Sasha replied, earnestly (probably too much so) grabbing Shea’s hand and shaking it, “I’m Sasha Velour.”

“Oh, call me Shea. It’s Miss Couleé only if you nasty.”

Sasha felt more blood rise to her cheeks, opening her mouth to only remain silent. Shea pulled Sasha in slightly close, so her cheek practically touched Sasha’s ear. They were much too close for strangers, but for an enamored woman, perfectly fine.

Whispering against Sasha’s ear, Shea muttered, “By all means, continue to call me Miss, then…”

Shea (damn her!) let go of Sasha’s hand and stepped back into her original position.

“You know what, Sasha? Why don’t we talk about this,” Shea flippantly gestured to the mural, “over drinks later today?”

How can she treat such a masterpiece so casually?

“I’d love to do that, Shea.”

“Catch you later, Miss Velour,” Shea tossed the phrase over her shoulder, strutting back into the shop, leaving Sasha standing bug-eyed on the sidewalk.

As Sasha hurried away to work as initially intended, she could only focus on Shea’s breath on her ear and the weight of her hand on her wrist.

————-

Sasha’s job mostly consisted of staring at a screen for hours on end, so going out to the bar provided a nice change of pace. She enjoyed her job authoring write-ups of local art galleries, but the near-silence of the office and the polite hushed tones of artistic display spaces felt suffocating after long stretches. In places built on self-expression, the most primitive form had to wait until after work to shine.

The additional mounting excitement and nervousness of Sasha’s meeting with Shea didn’t help with anything. Shea had slipped Sasha her business card before returning to her job, and all-day, Sasha couldn’t help but run her fingers over the cardstock to remind herself that the interaction that she had was real.

While Sasha might typically reject the stereotype of the helpless, love-stricken woman (particularly when viewed through the eyes of men), Sasha felt like nothing short of François Boucher’s The Love Letter. Normally, she found the grazing animals, the flowers, the women swathed in layers of pastel silks to be patronizing and suffocating in its delicacy and adorable pleasantries. Sasha now could not relate more. Maybe her pastoral paradise could be a desk and ergonomic chair. Perhaps her love letter could be the business card of a beautiful stranger.

Even later, at the bar, Sasha’s fingers carefully traced the edge of the card. The repetitive motions felt soothing, although it was hard to calm the tidal wave of nervousness in her head.

What should I say? It’s been five minutes since 7:30. That’s normal. That’s fashionably late still. Was I supposed to change before I got here? Does she… like me?

Sasha’s mind raced, but it kept getting stuck on that final question. Like a record player skipping over and over.

It’s been ten minutes since when we agreed. She should be here. She won’t come. It’s a joke. I hope it won’t look strange if I just leave the bar alone when she doesn’t show up. She can’t like me. Could she like me?

Sasha hooked and unhooked her heels on the rest of the barstool. She took a pen from her purse and began to draw on Shea’s business card.

It’s been fifteen minutes. I’ve been duped. I should have known. It was too good to be true–

“Sasha! Sorry I’m late.”

Triple fuck.

Sasha needed to get used to how gorgeous Shea looked because constantly getting this flustered was frankly getting embarrassing. However, Shea wasn’t making it easy.

Shea had changed into a vibrant, pink, crushed velvet minidress that shone under the bar’s lights. As she approached Sasha at the bar, she smiled widely and met Sasha’s eyes.

Putting her hand on Sasha’s back, Shea took the seat next to her.

“You wear pencil skirts to the club?” Shea asked, bemused eyes flickering from Sasha’s blouse to the aforementioned skirt.

“I didn’t have time to change, I’m sorry,” Sasha said, torn between her desire to examine how she looked and her desire to continue staring.

“No, it’s all good, girl! You look just stunning here as you did on the sidewalk today. So you wanted to talk about my mural?”

This casual, kind, and flirtatious manner kept throwing Sasha off her rhythm. One second she had her–very professional–thoughts and questions organized, and a whim, her thoughts were cast into the sea.

“Um, well, yes. I just thought your mural was so lovely and captivating. It captures such a specific artistic feeling, and I wanted… I wanted to know what your inspiration was?” Sasha forced the first part of the question out but gradually took a stride as her mind focused and settled itself once more on the topic at hand.

“I’ve always loved, like, cubism and the reduction of big things to more abstract shapes. I wanted to do that, but for something that was already semi-abstract, leave it up to the viewer. I love pop art and bright colors, and I figured, this’ll attract shoppers,” Shea leaned in, smiling again, “and some hot women.”

Sasha, to her delight, learned so much about Shea as the dinner continues.

Shea hadn’t had formal painting or visual arts training, instead studying fashion and design. Her job at the store exists mostly to pay the bills, but she volunteered to do the mural for free. Shea loves pairing pastels and saturated colors. Shea likes savory foods more than sweet foods. Shea was raised in Chicago and moved to New York for school. Shea was single. Shea was very single.

As the conversation continued, Sasha found herself in turn revealing more and more about herself. Her love of Keith Haring’s Unfinished Painting and Jean Michel-Basquiat’s Untitled (Skull). Her dream of owning a gallery specializing in queer art. Her disdain for salty snacks. Her beloved dog Vanya. How she was single. Very single.

The conversation also served to distract Sasha from the copious amounts of alcohol she and Shea were consuming. Alcohol that loosened Sasha further and further, to the point that her inhibitions began to evaporate.

“I’m glad that you liked my mural. If you hadn’t looked at it for so goddamned long, we wouldn’t have met,” Shea and Sasha both laughed, and as Shea rested her hand on Sasha’s shoulder, Sasha just looked at her.

Sasha had already heard the sound of Shea’s laugh, but being able to watch her laugh added an entirely new dimension to the experience. When Shea laughed, she’d throw her head back, tossing her long black curls. Her eyes would scrunch, and the light caught on her cheeks.

God. Every part of her shone and sparkled. Just existing near her made Sasha feel strangely buoyant and pleasant. It felt like she got to witness someone massively special and joyous and who, in turn, made Sasha feel special herself.

“What are you thinking about?”

“How beautiful you are when you laugh. And smile. And do most anything.”

“I like the way you talk, Sasha”

“That I do it about you?”

“No, bitch!” Shea says, giggling, “Your voice and the phrases you use. I love it. I feel like I’m listening to a hot, hipster audiobook. You don’t think that’s creepy, right?”

“I don’t think it’s creepy. I don’t think I can think ill of you at all right now”

Shea laughs again.

“I like you a lot Sasha,” Shea says. Suddenly, she stands up and grabs Sasha’s hand. “Dance with me?” Shea asks, nodding her head to the masses of people on the main dance floor.

Sasha eagerly followed Shea, and as the lights and alcohol blurred the edges of her vision and the writhing bodies bumped into her own, Sasha couldn’t look away from the vision of Shea’s beautiful hand clutching her own. That beautiful, warm grasp. Even in a sea of stimulation, the only thing that mattered was Shea’s hand.

After making it to an open spot, Shea dropped Sasha’s hand and they both began to dance.

When Sasha danced, she danced mostly with her hands and upper body, in a style some might call “stilted” and the more charitable might call “interpretive”. Sasha liked to claim that it came from a slightly limited range of motion caused by a pencil skirt. While that might have been somewhat true, Sasha preferred not to dwell on the fact that she had turned up going to parties in exchange for spoken word poetry nights.

Shea, meanwhile, danced like water. She kicked, jumped, and shook, but each movement blended into each other. Her braids had been tucked into a ponytail, but still swished back and forth as she moved, emphasizing her movements.

What changed?

The music didn’t slow down.

Maybe it was Shea saying that she “loved Sasha’s ‘dad dancing’”.

Maybe it was the lights shifting to an electric blue color that shone on Shea’s hair and skin, making her look like an ethereal vision.

Maybe it was Shea pausing from her dance to touch the assortment of pins on Sasha’s blazer, holding each one up to the light and pausing to read it.

Maybe nothing changed.

But Sasha felt so wonderful, so magical that she threw her arms around Shea’s neck. The music still pounded and shook her bones, but all Sasha knew was that she wanted to see Shea’s face. Wanted to feel it.

Lifting her hand from Shea’s neck, Sasha traced Shea’s cheekbones. The curve of her ear. Her smile lines.

Shea wrapped her arms around Sasha’s waist, rubbing small circles with her thumb, delicate circles that Sasha could feel through her skirt. As Sasha gently ran her thumb along Shea’s cheek, she saw Shea’s eyes flutter as she let out a large sigh.

Sasha felt like Henri Matisse’s Icarus. So obviously plummeting at lightspeed into this love, but for a brief moment in the unknown, the uncertain, silhouetted against the sky.

Wingless and among yellow stars. The only aspect of her being, a red, glowing heart. A brief moment of glory.

Shea’s sparkling eyes.

A brief moment.

Shea’s smile.

A brief moment.

They had danced around it long enough.

Sasha leaned upward, catching Shea’s lips with her own. Her hands moved downward, clutching Shea’s back, pressing Shea towards her. Shea sighed, and Sasha could feel the corners of her lips move upwards.

“Why?” Sasha whispered breathily onto Shea’s lips. “Why me? Why not anyone else?”

“Because no one else blushes so profusely at my words in their ears. No one else wants to talk about the philosophical implications of French impressionism on gender roles. No one else is a beautiful, unique, unibrowed and pin-covered woman who looks at my mural like it’s the greatest piece they’ve ever seen and then looks at me like I’m, like I’m some kinda magical being.

I wanna witness you, Sasha. I wanna witness you all the time.”

As they held each other close, Sasha put her racing mind to rest. Resting her head on Shea’s shoulder, she felt the music and sweat of the club gently fade away, replaced by the sound of two beating hearts.

#rpdr fanfiction #sasha velour #shea coulee #sashea #fluff #estuary #submission

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neoculturetechxgot7 · 6 years ago

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WayV// The Flight Journal:

|| Lucas ||

gang!au (can't tell yet but it's coming in the next chapters:)

pairing: Lucas × Reader

words: around 2k

warnings: suggestive, language

summary: Lucas left lovebites on your neck and bruises on your heart.

[00:02 AM]

Your cheek lays flat against his back, the leather jacket cold and rough, infused with his dark aura and musky scent. Lucas' red Ducati rolls smoothly on asphalt to have spring wind lick at your skin and leave a trace of midnight behind as your hands stay wrapped around his torso.

"Why can't I come with you?" He catches your sulky tone but absolutely misses to see the little shards of hurt in your voice.

He is about to disappear, again, like he's been doing ever since you met him and unknowingly dived head-first in the pit of a painful love. You hate it. Hate every cold moment without him that makes it seem like you live days in the shade of an despaired eclipse, until he comes back.

His kisses blow stars into your lungs, his touch inks maps of the universe on your body, as if he means to claim your skin to infinity. Every night with him drowns loneliness in the sea of his warmth. You're sure Lucas is the only one that can lift you up to the high heavens, a destiny carved from the same dust that stars and planets are made of.

"You just can't."

But he also crushes your heart and leaves you bleeding love and broken promises after getting a taste of his absence.

"When are you coming back?" You try to hide the slight tremble in your voice, fail nonetheless

"l don't know, baby."

You always wonder if that answer is a lie. You always wonder many things, like where he goes when ne rides that damn motorcycle and leaves a void on your bed and a knife in your chest. Each time you dare to speak that question out loud though, you are faced with a wall, thick and sturdy with his secretive nature.

You even wonder if he truly feels anything or if you're just a trophy solely to decorate his nights with breathy moans and forbidden kisses.

But the way his eyes peer into yours, lovestruck, even through the secrets, will never let you believe that.

[00:29 AM]

The bike abruptly comes to a halt on gasoline stained concrete and an indiscreet smell makes your nose twitch. Lucas swiftly takes off his helmet and jumps to the ground, his skin tainted drunken crescent from the gas station's neon sign. With eyes that seem darker than night itself, luring you to unravel the mystery behind them, he leans close and meets your impatient lips under the stars. It's a hasty peck but his softness never fails to make the blood in your veins boil, heart skiping one or two beats at the contact

As he pumps gas in the almost inaudible music coming from the store behind, you stand observing the empty country road, its faded white lines setting an uncertain melancholy in your chest. You can hear a clock ticking faintly in the back of your mind, counting crooked seconds to the moment you'll wake up alone on one side of the bed, the only remain of him being the dip his head left on an empty pillow

Thinking about it, you can never find the right words to describe your relationship.

What you have with him is indefinable. It is him texting you he's away and then shutting you off, ignoring every call, every message, as if you don't exist in this world and he's solely a memory to you. It is him showing up on your doorstep 2 weeks later later, spilling out the sweetest part of his soul and caging you in a searing embrace until your heart's wounds are all healed. It is meaningful midnight conversations and slow, passionatee goodbye kisses; you never know how long these goodbyes will last though... Dusk finds you soaked in his intoxicating scent and dawn finds tears pooling on your sheets.

It is you, giving your absolute everything and Lucas, hiding an entire life, fleeing away for days and then coming back to trap your breath in a million thirsty kisses. He never tells you anything about him, never shares more than what you're unsatisfied with, never let's you take a glimpse of what his reality is like, only makes sure yours is filled with thoughts of him and his bittersweet taste on your lips.

"What are you thinking about?" His voice pulls you back to now.

You turn on your heels and watch him lean away from the motorcycle to stand before you within a few steps.

"Nothing." You nonchalantly answer, a lie.

Eyes locking yours like he's trying to pin your spirit to his own thoughts, an endless abyss holding you captive, he sneaks one arm around your waist. Cool fingertips caress your cheek so lovingly, leaving trails of moonlight behind and for a moment you wonder if all of this is the haze of a dream

But it's not, it's real, he is real.

Tender lips brush over yours like so many forsaken times in the past, only that this once his kiss feels bitter and makes an ache arise in your chest. It means he'll leave again, you can tell by the way his tongue is desperately trying to save your taste.

A pitiful act of a lover that doesn't want to forget.

"Let's go home then." He says and you break to pieces, knowing the irony behind this one sentence.

[02:39 AM]

Your bare back is flush against his chest hearing Lucas' heartbeat and feeling every breath as the pad of his finger paints a little masterpiece on your stomach with soft strokes. The air is steaming with the fumes of late night and whatever's left of your love making, sheets damp and heavy over your exhausted bodies.

He leaves a golden kiss on your shoulder, something precious, and you turn on your side to find his gaze skim your body with icy touches and him, biting a plump lip like a sinner.

"I could do this forever." He says and your response comes out as a genuine chuckle.

"You sounded like an asshole."

Lucas sprinkles two gentle pecks on your forehead and you can feel his smile on your skin, making you delirious.

"I wasn't talking about sex." His eyes are deep, the nest of all the angelic grace. "I meant laying here, with you."

Maybe he lit a fire on your sheets with those words or maybe the heat of the moment is unbearable, but either way, an overwhelming warmth starts spreading from the bottom of your chest to your fingertips, so comforting.

You can do this forever too. Stay tangled under white cotton and sweat, bodies stuck skin to skin as if you melted into each other long ago, and hold on to that orange euphoria only his presence can bring you. Feathery touches, dirty whispers, drunk confessions and the purest of love.

Maybe this can be your future and spend every night sinking in those moments of affection, two souls intertwined.

But this can never happen, can it?

You hum, hurtful thoughts letting their venom seep into your mind, and lay back into the plush mattress. Your fingers squeeze his palm, a silent prayer to those above to let him stay by your side, to cut the flow of time so that you don't have to see your heart ripped out brutally again, like countless times before.

He shuffles around and tightens his grip on your bare waist.

"I hate leaving you." His voice echoes, cutting the silence deep, as if your thoughts had reached his ears.

"W-What?" You hesitate to believe, every word falling on the messy bed like a missile, because there is no way he means that after all those nights he allowed miles to separate you

"I said, I hate leaving you."

A knot ties your breath to your throat and you swallow, as if that will make the suffocating tension a little lighter, feeling your heart racing.

"Then why do you leave me?"

The weight of every memory without him pushes traces of tears to gloss your eyes, threatening to spill and release everything you've been holding deep inside with them.

Lucas keeps silent. His gaze can't bare to linger on you anymore, moving out the window, to the dome of night sky where stars shine a dull white.

"Because l have to, baby."

You can feel agony nip at the edges of your brain, struggling to find words to plea him, make this night different.

"Just this once, don't." Your whisper caresses him like a ghost.

Lucas kisses you, deep and burning with hidden emotions, his lips like two unstoppable serpents, their only mission being to drink every last drop of you. His thigh props between your legs, allowing him to hover above you like a saviour, fallen from heaven, his halo lost after loving you so passionately. Your lungs are drained of oxygen, pulsing with red and blue flames that he breathes into you with this kiss, as if he's the only who can truly give you life. And maybe he is, since the world is long forgotten when his arms eradicate the last bits of distance between your bodies and he slips under the covers one last time.

[09:10 AM]

You wake up, head banging with the daze of a flowery dream, last night's deeds tattooed on every curve of your star painted body in purple, his hoarse voice staining your memory. Sun's beams wrap around your hair, as you slowly flutter tired eyelashes open, vision still blurry with sleep's last breaths, as your hand reaches to the side. Only to grasp morning air and icy sheets.

He left. Again.

You're all alone in the eternal emptiness of your room, and thank god for that, because no man could ever bare to hear the sad, ominous crack of your heart as it breaks down into a thousand sharp shards scattered all across the floor, waiting for a breeze to lift them and lead them back to him where they belong.

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urwarriorangel · 6 years ago

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‘tis the season (thor odinson au)

person a seducing person b into taking a few steps back/backing them against the wall (”oh look, how did that mistletoe get right there????”)

w: language, insecurity, slight smut but not really, um thor mfing odinson??? (no gifs are mine)

a/n: hello! i’m going to try to get as many christmas/december themed fics out while i can bc a bitch is determined!! i really hope you guys enjoy this bc i do. i love thor <3 also i’m doing a 2018 fic rec list, so please submit your recs here <3 as always please let me know what you think and click here to read my tony stark christmas au!

You have spent all day decorating your place to be fit enough for a Christmas party. You’ve hung up lights, put up mistletoe, bought ingredients for a gingerbread house, made some hot and cold holiday drinks.

And it’s finally time for Wanda to come over and just watch things while you shower and get ready for the party. But, of course, she has a trick up her sleeve you had no idea about.

At three o’clock, you hear your doorbell ring and you run over to open the door: hair up in a messy bun, flower painting your cheeks, cropped t-shirt just barely covering your tidbits, sweatpants probably the only decent thing about you… minus the syrup stain on your sweet mid roll.

“Wanda! I was scared you wouldn’t come! You didn’t respond to any of my--” You finally look up and feel your heart in your throat. Turns out, it’s not Wanda it’s-- “Thor!”

“Y/N,” he gives you a big smile, eyes appreciatively running down your length. “Did Wanda not tell you that I would be coming in her place today?”

He walks past you into your apartment and you have to force your jaw shut before closing your door and making your way to him.

“No, Wanda didn’t tell me anything. Was she busy?”

“She sent me an urgent message this morning, saying nothing more than ‘something came up, go to y/n’s at 3’ and so here I am,” he turns around to face you, his normally happy face turning into one of concern as soon as he sees your less than excited face. “Is everything okay, Y/N?”

“No, it’s not,” you pout and run a hand through your already messy hair. “Wanda was supposed to come in and keep an eye on the place while I shower and get ready for the night. Wanda why?”

You walk around your place, groaning and slowly cleaning everything up. You know why Wanda asked Thor, the god of fucking THUNDER and FERTILITY, to come here. Thor, of all people. She knows you have a crush on him and this has to be a part of some trick that she has to get you two together.

While you’re fuming to yourself, Thor just watches you. He tries his best not to stare at your slight underboob reveal every time you bend over to pick something up. He appreciates the way the sweatpants cling to your waist, chuckles at the bit of syrup you’ve gotten on your blessed tummy roll. He can’t seem to get enough of you. But when you catch him staring, he has to think fast.

“Well I’m sure I could keep an eye on your apartment. I won’t set any fires. I’ll stay out of your way,” he shrugs and your eyes rest on his shoulders for a second too long. “Y/N?”

“Y-Yes?” Your eyes meet his and you swear you can see a smirk on his face, but it’s gone before you can blink.

“I said I will happily keep an eye on the apartment. I will finish cleaning up, it seems as though you’ve done everything else humanly possible to make your place look christmassy,” he shrugs looking around. “I’ve got this. Trust me.”

You look around, contemplating whether or not to take Thor up on his offer, not that you had much choice but still.

“Fine,” you bite your lip and Thor’s eyes catch the action before quickly looking away. “I’m sorry you got roped into this, Thor. I swear if I wasn’t covered in flour in places I’d rather not say, I swear I wouldn’t make you do this.”

“It’s no worries, Y/N,” he smiles at you and both your hearts skip a beat, his because he imagined the parts of you covered in flour and yours because his smile alone could make you do ungodly things.

“Thank you again,” you smile and move closer, standing on your tippy toes to kiss the now blushing god. “I’ll be back very soon.”

You walk away and as soon as you’re out of the room, Thor lets out a soft sigh. He’s finding it harder to control himself than he originally thought. The young witch knew of his feelings for you. She had to have. How else would she have known to call him instead of any number of worthier Avengers?

But the second he thinks of anyone else seeing you like this-messy, lovely, so entirely warm-his hands fist up at his sides. No. He’s so very glad that Wanda chose him. He shakes his head and notices a mistletoe that’s fallen on the floor and puts it up against a slightly hidden wall in the hopes of maybe pinning you against it and taking you then and there.

After somewhat coming to terms with his feelings, Thor takes off his coat and starts cleaning up. He wipes down countertops, quickly vacuums the living room, puts everything in what he assumes is its place, and stands in the kitchen, looking proudly at his masterpiece.

“Wow,” you whisper, from right outside the bathroom-Thor’s massive arms are the first thing you see as soon as you step out and you can’t stop the admiration from all but pouring out of you.

Thor’s throat dries up as his eyes land on you. You’re dressed in a bathrobe, wet hair falling across your shoulders and back and down your chest, eyes wide as you stare at him unabashedly. He swallows a moan once he sees your hardened peaks through your thick robe, was it really that cold?

The doorbell rings once, breaking you of your initial trance but now your eyes meet and neither of you can seem to look away. Were his eyes always this stormy? Were yours so warm and honey-like?

The doorbells rings again and this time you’re pulled apart by the reality of it all: Thor was here to help you clean up… in place of Wanda… who’s probably now here for your party.

Your eyes widen and a small gasp leaves you as Thor clears his throat, very clearly trying to adjust his pants. Your cheeks are burning red and you turn on your heel just as the bell rings again.

Thor whispers a “fuck” under his breath as he readies himself to open the door.

Once you make it to your room, you take a second to calm your heart. Thor was adjusting himself… because of you. Thank you, Wanda.

You quietly scream into your hands and get ready as fast as you can. You put on some very little, glowy makeup, put up your hair in a half bun, wear a typical small red dress and some gold heels before finally walking out to greet your friends.

You feel confident, the dress definitely helping matters as you walk into the living room and do everything in your power to avoid Thor’s gaze, which you can feel on you.

“I see you guys have all gotten comfortable,” you raise your brows at Peter and Steve who both have way too much whipped cream in their mouths and not enough on their hot chocolate.

“Well we had to,” Wanda smirks, walking up to you. “You weren’t here to welcome us.”

“Not, but Thor was,” you look over to the god and give him a thankful smile before looking back at Wanda. “Which is more than I can say for you.”

“What, did my plan backfire?” She smirks at you and your eyes widen immediately and Thor’s head turns to the two of you.

“What plan?” He raises a brow, studying you as you subtly shake your head at Wanda.

“The plan to get you two idiots together,” she smiles and your cheeks redden.

For a moment, there’s silence. You feel your heart beating out of your chest as Wanda looks at you, slightly concerned. Thor’s eyebrows haven’t come down since Wanda’s confession and just as everyone else starts asking questions, you decide to speak up.

“You all stay here, I’ll be right back with some spiked cider,” you give everyone a tight smile and head to the secret corner at the far end of your kitchen.

The cider’s not there, but you need a moment to collect yourself. So Wanda wasn’t busy this morning, she sent Thor because she knew about your crush on him. Thor, who probably doesn’t have a crush on you. Thor who was just entertaining Wanda. You feel silly: silly for thinking Thor is into you, silly for wearing this damn dress that’s probably doing you no favors.

You feel a couple tears creep up and while you’re trying to swallow them down, you don’t notice Thor. So when he places his hands on your cheeks, you’re startled.

“Why are you crying?” His voice is soft and you’re immediately comforted, and at the thought, your tears fall freely. How could they not?

Thor’s heart softens at the sight of your tears, at the way your wide eyes trusted him immediately.

“Hey,” he presses a kiss against your forehead and you whimper. How could a man the size of him be so soft, so caring?

“S-Sorry,” you murmur and pull back with a thin smile, steadfastly wiping away the few tears that manage to escape. “I’m okay.”

“Is that so?” His hands move down to your waist and they wrap around you, give a new meaning to the word home.

“Y-yeah,” you ignore the shiver that runs down your spine and lean back against the wall.

“So,” Thor’s eyes move up and he smirks for a split second before looking back down at you. “Why were you crying then?”

“Just feeling silly I suppose,” you shrug and look down, hands instinctively moving to his neckline and you play with his buttons to avoid any questions.

“Why silly?” He furrows his brows and you bite your bottom lip to keep it from trembling. “Hey.”

One of his hands moves to cup your face, thumb slowly pulling your bottom lip out of your mouth. His free hand pulls you in closer and all sane thoughts leave you as you take in the proximity.

“Tell me what’s wrong so I can fix it,” he whispers gruffly, trying not to get lost in you.

“It’s a lifelong battle, Thor. No fault of yours,” you shake your head and he moves his head lower, bringing a gasp out of you as he nuzzles his nose against yours.

“Why do you feel silly, sweet angel?” He kisses the side of your mouth and you pout at the action or lack thereof.

“I feel silly because of this,” your lips brush against his as he speaks and he stiffens for a moment before pulling back, confused. “I feel silly because Wanda knows I have a crush on you. She bothered you, sent you here, because I have a crush on you.”

“Why do you feel silly about having a crush on me?” You look up at him and can see the hurt in his eyes.

“Because look at you, Thor,” you smile softly as you study him, raising a hand to trace his face. “You’re perfect. You’re a god: a powerful, kind, so incredibly beautiful god.”

“And what about you?” His brows furrow again as he realizes that you think *you’re the issue*, not him.

“What about me?” You look down again, doing your best to keep yourself covered as Thor now studies you.

“You’re incredible,” he pushes you back a little further until your back hits the wall and your breath is knocked out of you. “Your lips,” his thumb traces your mouth, teasing it inside for a second and pulling back before he loses his fucking mind. “Your sweet smelling hair,” his hand moves up and bunches your hair in a fist. “Your spine and the way it arches when I’m watching you,” his head moves down and on instinct, your back arches. His fingers teasingly trace down your back and you whimper against his open mouth. “Jesus, fuck. And this,” his hands move up and around to lay flat against your chest. “Your precious fucking heart. I can’t get enough of it, of you.”

He leans forward, gently, lovingly pressing his lips against yours. His hand move down your chest, barely skimming where you needed him most, and finally wrapping them both around your waist.

“Don’t ever,” he kisses your jaw, your neck, your nose, your collarbones. “Ever think you aren’t more than worthy. You are. You’re everything. And if you ever need a reminder, please let me know.”

You nod, unable to stop looking at those lips. And the way the quirk up when he notices.

“I’m glad you’re in the mood to kiss again because guess what?” He tilts your head up and you see a small bundle of mistletoe. “‘Tis the season, as they say.”

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hxarrysbabe · 6 years ago

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Forbidden - H.S. fanfiction

Prologue

___

Chapter 1

Only four months left - Jane thought to herself as she scratched off one more day of the calendar, hanging on her bedroom wall. She had to live with her parents and her annoying brother only for four months more. Then she would leave for college (hopefully, Oxford) and she would have to deal on her own.

Even the thought of it scared her and made her feel nostalgic. She neved admitted it but she was a daddy's girl and she never learned to cook as good as her mother so she would miss them terribly for sure. Damn, she would even miss Hugo, who was nothing more than a pain in the ass with his pranks and stupid jokes.

She would miss her father who taught how to ride a bike and how to throw rocks in the lake. She would miss the times they would go fishing for hours and come home hungry and cold, trying to hide their muddy shoes from her mother.

She would miss her too, even thought she sometimes hated her for being so demanding and for expecting so much from her. She would miss her because she had shaped her in the person she was today. She would miss her because when she looked at herself in the mirror, she could see her - her blond hair and her green eyes which had blue thick rings around their irises. They looked so much like each other, yet they had a very different way of seeing the world and they fought a lot with each other.

She would miss her brother as well. She had grown up used to him always being around and pissing her off, that she didn't believe she could just leave home and go somewhere far away from him. Hugo was twenty-three years old which made him five years older than her. His hair was dirty blond but he had eyes similar to their father's - warm brown eyes which shined like gold when being exposed to the sunlight.

Jane loved their house. It was on two floors and had a beautiful front porch and a backyard with a stunning flower-bed. She loved to spend her spring days, taking care of the flowers, and her summer nights, reading in the wooden swing on the porch. She loved every single memory she had in this house and it was definitely a home to her.

It was the middle of April now and the clock in the shape of an owl on her desk signalised her with a funny "coo" that it was already two in the morning. Her parents were on a vacation somewhere in Nevada for the whole week and her brother was on one of his mate's birthday party with his girlfriend, Mary, so she didn't expect him to come home earlier than sometime tomorrow.

She took the chance of the empty house and the lack of distracting noises and started studying from five p.m., finishing just now. Her parents were always scolding her because she studied way too much and Hugo was always making a fun of her for not socializing enough, so this was the perfect oppurtunity for her to do extra credit stuff for school.

Just as she brushed her teeth and was finally ready to read a little before going to bed, she heard the door bell ring. Scrunching her eyerbrows and growling, she stepped out of the bathroom and walked to the corridor, wondering who for fuck's sake was bothering her at this hour. It could be Hugo only if he had forgot his keys or was drunk out of his fucking mind and couldn't think of a way to open the door. But if he and Mary wanted to bang, why didn't they go to her apartment? She lived on her own because her parents were in Oregon and...

"Coming!", Jane yelled, almost sprinting to the door.

Who was the crazy bastard, who didn't want to stop knocking and ringing the bell at two fucking o'clock in the morning?

She unlocked and opened it, her eyes widening at the boy in front of her. Her best friend stood outside their house, with only a t-shirt on in this chilly night, and his hands on the two sides of the door frame.

"Harry?" She murmured, rubbing her eyes.

She was sleepy and tired from studying but she couldn't be dreaming, right? Was he really here when he should be in Mat's house, drinking and chatting with the boys?

He didn't say a thing and continued staring at her, the only evidence that he wasn't sleep-walking were the soft breathes he exhaled and the slow way in which he was blinking at her. His dark hair was messy as if he had runned his fingers throught it multiple times (she knew he had a habit of doing it when he was nervious about something) and his lips were slightly parted.

"What are you doing here?" Jane asked, confused with him.

Harry finally showed a sign that he was alive and pinched his nose with one hand, the other one was still on the door frame. "I just...", he started with a husky voice but then stopped, thinking of a way to express himself.

What was going in his mind that he couldn't tell her? What could it possibly be? They were used to sharing everything with each other. His attitude was starting to scare her a little bit - not because she was worried about what he could have done or what he could do, but because he's never acted this way before. He's always so confident in himself and it always seems that nothing really bothers him, and he made her feel secure and believe that everything is possible, and... He just had that thing about himself. So what was wrong now?

"Mat has a birthday", he blurted out out of a sudden, confusing her even more. "He's a great guy really, one of my best mates after your brother and you, you know."

"Harry, what's up?" Jane shivered, the cold air easily sucking through the thin material of her pijamas.

"You", he shrugged. "I'm partying with all of my friends and all of a sudden... you. You pop in my head and make me leave Mat's huge house, get in my car and stop in front of your house. And now i'm standing here like an idiot, wandering what to say to you and how to explain all of this shit that's going in my in my head right now."

"You're drunk", she shook her head, crossing her arms in front of her chest. "What the fuck made you think it was okay to drive in this state?"

"Just two beers", Harry moved his hand in a dismissive gesture. "I can still think properly but the thoughts in my mind... God, i just wish to forget about all of this."

"About what?"

He pressed his lips into a thin line and silenced himself, clearly not wanting to overshare something with her. She sighted and he forgot how to fucking breath because she stood there in front of him only with a baggy white T-shirt (it was probably an old one of his brother's) and pink shorts on. He lost his words because he had a crush on her from ten years now and he wasn't even ashamed to say that the time was half of his life.

"Jane", he said her name in a certain pleading way and she didn't know what was going on anymore. "Can i-"

But before he could continue he gave up on saying whatever it was on his mind in that moment and leaned in, grabbing her face in his hands and kissing her. He had dreamed of her pink lips almost ever since he remembered himself but in none of his dreams they weren't as soft and as tasty as they were in reality. He could smell the trace of the toothpaste she was using and he felt a little guilty because he was sure he didn't smell like anything but beer.

Jane was taken aback by his actions and didn't return to his kiss at first but when he stepped closer to her, pressing their bodies together, and lifted her chin with two of her fingers, parting her lips with his tongue, she started moving against his mouth. Her tongue welcomed his in her mouth and he could swear that his heart was going to fly out of his chest.

But before he could fully process what was happening, she pulled away and, keeping her eyes closed, she put her hand on his chest. "Harry", she sighted, shaking her head. "You're drunk."

"I'm not", Harry squeezed her hand just the slightest, making her open her eyes. "I drank, yes, but i'm sober enough for this, trust me." His voice was pleading and his dark eyes shined with a new-found light in them now. "Please, just let me kiss you once more..."

"We're going to regret this", Jane exhaled harshly.

Her nipples were poking trough her T-shirt.

"Oh, trust me, i know."

He stepped in, closed the door with the back of his foot and pushed her against the wall. His arms pinned hers above her head and his lips crashed against hers once again, this time with so much more force. She smiled into the kiss, loving the way he was man-handling her.

She's never seen this side of him, not until now. He was always a gentleman around her, helping her carry her bag to school and driving her home every afternoon. She didn't know he could be like this and she loved the beast, unfolding in front of her right now. So she collected all of her confidence and pushed her lower half against his, rubbing herself on him. His leg momentarily parted her two by sliding between them and he pressed his chest to hers even closer.

There wasn't any space between the two of them now and the thought of it made her lose her breath too soon. He felt her hands gripping onto his hair and he pulled away, looking at her eyes. She watched him with an amusment, written all over her beautiful face, and he felt himself throbbing in his pants for her.

The temperature in the room had quickly excalated and now they were both hot and unsure of where was this going to now. Bleise rested his forehead against hers and gulped heavily, wanting her more than ever.

How was this even possible?

"Let's go in my room", she suggested and lifted his T-shirt, exposing his stomach.

He closed his eyes and tried to calm himself just for a minute. She was his best mate's little sister, the girl who he watched growing up in front of his eyes. But she was also the girl who he loved since he was thirteen.

So he noded and he followed her to her bedroom, her small hand stil in his. Once they got in there, she took off his T-shirt completely and he bended a little, starting to kiss her neck. By the time she had took off his belt too, her neck was covered in red spots. Harry smiled against her skin, proud of his masterpieces.

"Fuck", he growled, her hand on his crotch suprising him. "Mischievous little thing, aren't you?"

Jane bit on her bottom lip, stepping back just enough to look at his muscular stomach and his V-line, showing above his jeans. Harry pushed her on the bed, quickly undressing her and kissing every inch of her pale skin. She was so fucking soft and smelled like lemonade, he wanted just to eat her all up.

But this was Jane and he had to be careful, he had to be gentle with her. So he kissed her one last time and, trying not to look down to her boobs, he concentrated on her face, exploring every little detail of the way she was watching him. Her lips were already a little puffy from all the kisses he gave her and her cheeks were a little red, showing her embarrassment of being naked under him.

"Don't stop", she whined and tried to pull him in again, but he looked at her with some sort of seriousness in his eyes and that's what made her calm down a little.

She felt smaller and smaller under his heavy gaze and her face kept getting more and more flushy. Her hands dropped from his shoulders to the mattress.

"Do you have a condom?" He suprised her by asking.

Even thought he was the one with two beers running in his veins, he thought more soberly than her.

"I'm on the pill", she shook her head.

"What?" Harry's eyerbrows scrunched up in confusion.

He had suspections that she wasn't a virgin because she had a serious boyfriend before six months but... On the pill? Did she hook up with other guys after the prick who was Norman?

"Just in case", she shrugged, wanting to dig a hole in the bed and fall in it.

"Good", was all that Harry said, planting a quick peck on her lips before kicking off his pants.

He pushed a finger in her, feeling how tight she was. Rubbing himself against the mattress and teasing her clit with his other hand, he added a second finger in, making her arch her back.

At that moment Jane was careless about him, being older than her and her best friend since their childhood. At that moment she could only think about the way he was watching her from inbetween her legs with his big eyes with the color of the darkest night sky and his messy hair, which was a bit longer than usual because he hadn't cutted it in a while.

Harry opened his mouth to say something but quickly changed his mind and putted it on her pearl instead. She could feel his stubble against herself while he pumped three fingers in and out of her.

"Har", she moaned, pulling his hair.

He looked up and stopped sucking on her clit for a moment, intrigued by the needy way she called his name in.

"Hm?"

She giggled, finding him a bit cute with his nose, pushed against her pussy.

"C'mon, i want you in me."

He didn't have to be called again, pulling his fingers out of her and lifting himself on the bed with his arms. Even thought there was no light on in the room, Jane could still see her juices glistening on his lips and his chin. She kissed him, tasting herself from his mouth. And as he entered her just with his head at first, she yelped in suprise.

"Can i go deeper? Is it okay?", he asked, wrapping an arm under her back.

"Yes", she encouraged him and felt him kiss the tip of her nose instead of saying "thanks".

Jane knew it was probably hurting him by now because he was a little impatient and by the years she spent with him, she knew well that he never got tired of waiting if he wanted something that much. Norman wasn't really big and the guy after him, who's name she didn't even remember, too. So when Harry filled her to the brim, she couldn't stop herself from digging her nails into the skin of his back. Moaning and tightly holding onto him, she heard him groan.

"So tight", he buried his face in the crook of her neck, sniffing her hair which smelled like strawberry shampoo. "You're so fucking sweet and your skin is so soft, and..."

He felt her clenching around him and looked up, mesmerized by her pink lips and the way she was squeezing her eyes because the pleasure was getting the best out of her. She was trembling underneath him with her legs, wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer to her hot body.

"Jane, look at me", he managed to say, wanting just to see what was hiding behind her eyes.

She quickly followed his order and blinked at him with her long eyelashes. His hand cupped one of her breasts and gently squeezed it, while he was continuing to fuck into her. In the corners of her eyes there were little tears from how good it felt to be stretched out like this.

"Do you want me to make you cum?" Harry smirked and pushed himself even deeper in her. "Just say the word and i'll give it to you all."

Jane nodded, not really being able to say a word, and got up on her elbows so she could kiss him. His lips moved against hers and his tongue played with hers with a certain experience, which made her want to never stop kissing him.

But before she could love on him enough, his hand settled between their bodies and two of his fingers started rubbing on her clit. This took her by suprise and she fell back onto the pillow, gasping. His lips continued to plant kisses down her chin and her neck, sucking on the skin from time to time. Her fingers were pulling onto his hair and she was calling his name again and again, closing her eyes, when he growled out of a sudden.

"Look at me while you cum. I want to see how beautiful you are when you do it."

This was everything she needed, clenching around him one last time before she came, shakening with convulsions. He came just a second after her with his lips wrapped around one of her nipples, feeling like he wouldn't be able to ever stop spilling himself in her.

When the both of them calmed down and were able to breath properly again, he layed down next to her with his arm still underneath her body. He didn't ever want this night to end as she cuddled into his side, looking like an angel. Too bad the halo above her head was a little broken.

"You were amazing for me, sun", Harry complimented her, pulling her even closer to his chest.

She smiled and only hummed to him, too tired to answer him. Holding her in his arms, he thought that it was impossible to love someone so much but yet, he somehow had found a way. And god, was he scared of what was going to happen when they woke up tomorrow morning...

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles writing #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles story #tumblr writing #forbidden #tumblr fanfic #masterlist #wattpad

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stansbooty · 7 years ago

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unspoken thing vi // reddie

“When are we gonna do something about this unspoken thing between us?”

words: 3913

ao3 link || 1 2 3 4 5

chapter 6: junior year part iv

The kiss wasn't mentioned. Neither was Stan's freak out. In fact, if Eddie wasn't there that night, he wouldn't have known that anything out of the ordinary happened. Unfortunately, Eddie was very much present for the whole situation. Very much aware now of what Richie's lips felt against his and very much aware of what it felt like to be afraid that his best friend would be gone forever.

But, the losers went back to being almost absolutely, completely normal. The only difference now was that Eddie could see a hesitancy in Richie's movements when he would say something to Stan. Almost like he was making sure that the words that would come out of his mouth weren't something that would be considered cruel. It was the first time Eddie had ever seen him think before he spoke, even if it was only slightly, and everyone agreed that it was a good thing.

Stan claimed that he was now over Richie, that he didn't care for him any more than a best friend should. Eddie didn't know if he was telling the truth or if he was saying that just for his sake. Because once secrets came out, there was no shoving them back in. Stan knew Eddie's secret that he had tried so hard to keep from him. To keep from everyone. But now it was like he could feel everyone's eyes on him when he was in the same place as Richie. Like they were staring at him, waiting to see what he would do next. He knew realistically that no one was actually looking, and it was his own feelings manifesting themselves into paranoia. But he didn't like the feelings. He was itching with nervousness all the time and wanted it to go away more than anything. And so began his plan to get over Richie.

It started where all deep conversations happen, in dance class.

"You know, we can switch dance partners if we want. After the test." Beverly said as they were practicing for their midterm exam. They would have to combine several dances to create one fluid 'masterpiece', as their teacher put it.

Eddie frowned. "Do you not like being partners with me?"

"No! Eddie, I love you." Bev smiled sweetly. "I just figured, you know, you had someone else in mind."

"Who?" Eddie asked dumbly.

"Richie!" She whisper-yelled.

Eddie's eyes went wide open. "Uh, no, I'll pass. That's not what I want."

"Yes, it is. I know you like him."

"I don't, we've been over this before. Attracted, yes. Like, no."

"That was forever ago."

"It was honestly not even a couple months ago."

Bev let out an exasperated sigh. "Exactly, forever ago."

Eddie matched her sigh. "Can't a person just be attracted to one of his friends in peace?"

"Not if that person would be so cute with his friend." She smiled.

Eddie glared at her. "Be quiet. It'll never happen."

"Nothing will ever happen if you keep flirting like you normally do."

"I don't flirt. If I did, I could definitely get a boyfriend." Eddie readjusted his grip of her waist, leading her further away from the majority of the class, not wanted them to hear his conversation.

"Prove it, date Richie." She grinned, and her eyes shown with mischief.

"I don't like him, though. Once, I like a person, I'll date them, I promise." Eddie spoke without thinking about it, suddenly aware that he had not had a high school relationship and didn't know a single thing about starting one.

Bev bit her lip, thinking. "Okay. But you actually have to like them, don't use someone just to prove something."

Eddie spoke with confidence that was fully faked. "Never. I'm gonna form a crush."

The world seemed to want Eddie to succeed, as only a couple weeks later, on the first day of the second semester, it brought a boy to his history class. He transferred from another class and he was cute. In a very conventional way, with light brown straight hair, green eyes, smooth, tanned skin, and a fashion sense that didn't look like he was going to a rave. Everything Richie wasn't. And, as luck would have it, a small little gay pride flag pinned to his backpack.

Eddie had been attracted to people before, but normally he didn't form crushes on people in such a short amount of time. But when the boy sat next to him at the beginning of class, pulled out a notebook and began taking notes in an organized way, with neat handwriting, Eddie swooned just a little bit.

The boy was someone who wasn't chaotic, he wasn't loud, he wasn't disruptive. He was polite (smiling at Eddie before he sat down), he was neat, and he was cute. Someone Eddie could very well see himself with.

At the end of class, Eddie put on his friendliest smile and stood by his desk. "Hey, I'm Eddie."

The boy looked up from packing his things and gave him a soft smile. "Logan."

"If you don't mind me asking, why'd you transfer?" Eddie tried to strike up a conversation.

"Just scheduling issues," He placed the last of his things into his bag and swung it onto his back. "I had to drop one class and take another, and things got complicated."

Complicated, Eddie thought, he definitely knew complicated.

"Oh, okay." Eddie let out a small giggle. "Well, do you have anyone to sit with at lunch? I know since you changed classes, it messes with your lunch period."

"Actually, I don't know." Logan responded.

"Wanna sit with me and my friends? They're a bit crazy, but they're nice enough."

Logan let out a laugh. "Nice enough?"

"I know what I said."

The two smiled at each other and walked out of the classroom. Eddie found that he was incredibly easy to talk to. He was someone that didn't leave any awkwardness in the air, he was always talking but every word seemed to have a reason for being said. Nothing was said simply to just say it.

Eddie led Logan over to the losers' table in the cafeteria, the same table they've always sat at. The majority of them were already sitting so Eddie grabbed a seat from the closest table, dragging it over.

"Guys, this is Logan." Eddie announced, their heads turning to him. Only Richie and Mike were missing from the table.

"Hey!" Bill smiled in a way that seemed like he had spoken to him before.

"Do you know each other?" Eddie asked.

"We've been in a couple classes together." Logan answered.

"Oh, that's great." Eddie clapped his hands together, sitting down and looking at his friends. "Well, Logan is in my history class now, so I figured he could sit with us."

"Of course." Stan smiled.

Bev watched as the two sat down, her eyes squinted in a glare and her lips pursed. Eddie could see her trying to catch his eye, but he ignored her, keeping his line of site on Logan, who had started up a conversation with Bill. He was glad that Logan knew someone else at the table, it would make the whole situation a lot less awkward, especially if he ended up liking Logan enough to sit with him every day.

"What's up, motherfuckers!" Richie's voice boomed around them as he sat down in a seat across from Eddie. Logan jumped slightly at the loud noise, but the losers ignored him, used to his loud voice.

"Oh, hello." Mike sat down and immediately stretched a hand out towards Logan, introducing himself. "I'm Mike."

Logan smile, taking his hand. "Logan, I'm in Eddie's history class."

Richie turned his head towards the unfamiliar voice, looking the boy up and down several times. Then he looked at Eddie, his head cocked slightly in a questioning way. Eddie smiled at him, ignoring the pain in his chest.

"I thought he could start sitting with us." Eddie explained. "We got lucky this period with everyone sitting here so I figured an extra body wouldn't hurt."

"Yeah, sure." Richie grumbled and looked down at his food.

Eddie watched as Richie and Bev shared a glance before they went back to their food, Bev occasionally looking up at him. Eddie purposefully laughed at everything Logan said that could be considered even remotely funny, he made sure his chair was close enough that he could set his hand on his arm without it being strange, and he inserted himself into several conversations with Logan. Maybe he wasn't the best at flirting, but he was going to pull out all his tricks in attempt to get this boy to like him.

In fact, by the third week, Eddie was exhausted. He had flirted his little heart out, even asked Mike for some advice, and then flirted some more. He and Logan talked every day and Eddie didn't think he could be more obvious that he actually did like Logan. Eddie couldn't find anything wrong with him and found himself thinking less and less of Richie and more and more of Logan. He sat with them at lunch after history and he was beyond happy that his friends seemed to like him.

His friends seemed to be noticing his frustration with the situation as well, as Stan dragged him off to the side of the school after classes.

"Are you and Logan, like, a thing?" He asked.

Eddie sighed. "If the boy would stop being so oblivious and flirt back, we would be."

Stan narrowed his eyes. "Since when do you like him?"

"Since I brought him to the lunch table, Stanley." Eddie rolled his eyes. "Where have you been?"

"Excuse me for not knowing you have a crush on someone you've never told me about only weeks after you said you liked Richie, who you kissed in front of me." Stan let out a groan and leaned against the wall of the school building.

"I thought you were over that?"

"I am, but I wasn't then, and you did anyways. We've been over this -"

Eddie cut him off. "Been over what?"

"That you had to like Richie a fuck ton to do that to me. So, don't go backtracking on what you said."

"Why are you getting so pissy?" Eddie crossed him arms in front of his chest.

"I'm trying to understand what the hell you're doing here." Stan responded. "I'm not getting pissy."

"I'm flirting with a boy who I like and want to date. But I've been waiting for him to make the first move, that's it, that's the story. It's not a big deal." Eddie threw his arms in the air, trying to make a point.

"It's a big deal when it's out of character for you."

"You can't put me in a box, Stan. Anyways, I don't want to argue with you." Eddie turned to walk away but Stan grabbed onto his arm.

"Then look me in the eyes and tell me something. Just one thing." Stan said.

"What?"

"Just tell me you aren't doing this because of Richie." Stan's eyes were wide and hopeful.

Eddie took a deep breath, his eyes flicking down to where Stan was gripping his arm then back to his eyes. He liked Logan, he really did. "It's not because of Richie."

Stan's face fell but he let go and nodded nonetheless. "Okay." He said before walking away, leaving Eddie at the side of the building.

As he was walking away, he saw Logan and maybe it was the adrenaline rushing through his blood from the small argument with Stan or maybe it was his need to prove that this wasn't because of Richie. Because fuck Richie at this point, it was a little crush, and everyone made a huge deal out of nothing. But, Eddie ran up to Logan, his heart racing and stood in front of him, effectively blocking him from going anywhere.

"Hey, Eddie." Logan smiled widely. He was a couple inches taller than Eddie, nothing extreme but enough to have to look down at him.

Eddie smiled back and, before his brain gave him a million logical reasons not to, he threw his arms around Logan's neck and kissed him. The taller boy stumbled back slightly, and Eddie panicked for a moment before Logan kissed back, wrapping his arms tightly around Eddie's waist. Eddie kissed him with everything in him, desperate to put his emotions into the kiss. It was a nice kiss, Logan was the perfect height and his lips were soft, moving nicely with his own. And when they finally pulled apart, Logan let out a soft "Wow" that made Eddie giggle.

"I thought I was being pretty obvious that I liked you." Eddie said, a little out of breath.

"I didn't want to assume." Logan replied, grinning brightly.

"I invited you to sit with my friends the first day I met you. I haven't had any friends people in that group my whole life. Everyone else clearly knew I liked you."

"Oh." Logan's face flushed red and Eddie bit his own lip to stop him from smiling too widely. "Well, then do you wanna go out sometime?"

Eddie nodded enthusiastically and leaned up to kiss him again.

A week later, the two were official. It had taken only one date for them to decide they wanted to date for real and they couldn't keep their hands off each other. Whether they were just holding hands in the hallway, making out outside of school, or practically sitting on each other's laps during lunch, they were always touching.

Eddie was grateful to Ben, Bill, and Mike. As soon as they heard the news, they were beyond happy for him, congratulating them both. They let Eddie gush about Logan all he wanted, and they were at least interested in his stories.

The opposite of that was Richie, Stan, and Bev, who, from the moment Eddie announced they were together, hit him with a series of questions and intense statements like he was in an interrogation.

"Do you even like him that much?" Stan had asked.

"What do you know about him? I don't trust him, he could be a serial killer." Richie said.

"This is a bad idea." Bev had given him a look of pity. "Are you sure you want this?"

Eddie had yelled at each and every one of them, especially Beverly, who had been the one to tell him to go out and find someone in the first place. Stan and Richie had shut up as he yelled at her.

"Can't you let me be happy, Marsh?" He paced around the room. "I like him, I'm dating him, we're happy. You're the one who told me to fucking prove to you that I could flirt. So, I went and found a nice boy and you have no right to question that."

"Eddie…" She tried to speak but Eddie wasn't done yet.

"No. If you were my friend," He looked around at Richie and Stan as well. "If any of you were my friends, you'd be happy for me."

Richie was chewing on the inside of his cheek nervously, his hand coming up to run through his hair. "I'm sorry." He whispered.

Eddie smiled softly and let out an enormous sigh. "It's fine, Richie. But your guys' support means the world to me."

Richie smiled back but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "I'm sure Logan will be good to you."

Beverly just let out a huff that Eddie chose to ignore, still looking at Richie. "I hope so."

Logan was good to him, and Stan and Richie came around, accepting him and even becoming friends. Logan had that type of aura about him that made everyone love him, much like Mike did. The two of them became the closest, their personalities being very similar. However, Beverly never did accept him. It made Eddie's blood boil, but he never brought it up, and if it bothered Logan, he couldn't tell.

Logan started to hang out with the losers during everything. He was invited to sleepovers and hang outs and study groups. He became a real part of the group and Eddie couldn't be happier. He had stopped thinking about Richie, unless it was as a friend, and he couldn't remember the last time in his life that everything was working out perfectly. When he wasn't freaking out or stressed and he could simply just live life as it came to him.

They dated for a few months and Eddie could see himself being with Logan for a really long time, but the first home baseball game of the season proved to be a disastrous night.

They all sat on the bleachers (well, stood, for the most part). Bev, with some help from Mike, had made a huge sign with Ben and Richie's names on it that she kept lifted up for nearly the entirety of the game. She cheered loudly, like always, and got the crowd to go along with it. Logan happened to be a huge fan of nearly every type of sport and joined her in the cheering. Bev, who still didn't like Logan, was so invested in the game that she ignored her feeling towards him, the two turning into a pretty good cheerleading team. Eddie sat next to Bill, cheering, but mostly laughing at their ridiculous friends, who were covered in more sweat than the players.

They lost the game, by quite a lot, but Richie ran towards the bleachers with a grin on his face, sweat flying from his hair.

"We suck!" Richie announced loudly, yanking Beverly into a hug as she laughed.

Ben approached slowly, significantly less cheery than Richie. "Why are you so happy about that?"

"Oh, c'mon, it's all about the fun of it." He ruffled Ben's already messy hair, who swatted his hand away.

"I actually think it's about the winning." Stan spoke up, crossing his arms.

"Oh, Stan, what would I do without your negativity?" Richie grinned.

"It's not negativity!" Stan protested. "It's thinking about the actual point of the sport."

Everyone muttered noises of agreement and Richie feigned hurt, clutching his chest. "Betrayal."

Eddie laughed and shoved his shoulder a bit, Richie fell into his body, wrapping his arms around Eddie's neck. "My Spaghetti, please don't tell me you're against me, too."

"Oh, shut up." Eddie pushed on his chest, trying to get him off.

"Eddie, the world could be against me, but I just need you." Eddie shoved him, hard this time, and Richie fell to the ground, dirt and dust being kicked up. He let out some curse words, groaning in pain. "Goddammit, why'd you do that?"

Eddie shrugged his shoulders and grabbed Logan's hand, linking fingers with him.

"Do you want to go get some food?" Logan leaned in, speaking softly.

Richie jumped up from his spot on the ground. "We're all going."

"Oh," Logan let out a noise of surprise. "I was just thinking Eddie and I could go."

"Actually," Bev stepped in, helping Richie brush off the dirt. "We all go out after the first home game. It's a tradition."

"Tradition?" Logan questioned and Eddie squeezed his hand hard, trying to get him to stop talking. "Haven't you only been friends for a year?"

"We did it last year." She responded, poison in her voice.

"Is it really a problem if my boyfriend and I go out?" Logan let go of Eddie's hand. Eddie tried to grab him again, but Stan pulled him back.

Eddie cursed himself for not fixing the issue with Bev and Logan when it started.

"Your 'boyfriend'," Bev put air quotations around the word. "Was my friend first and deserves someone better than you."

"Beverly!" Ben and Eddie yelled at the same time.

"Why do you say that?" Logan asked, his jaw twitched.

"You're boring, Logan, can you really not see that? I don't know what Eddie sees in you or how he could go from wanting passion to wanting mediocrity."

"Beverly fucking Marsh, shut up!" Richie grabbed onto her waist, trying to yank her away.

"No, Richie," She pulled away. "You all decided you were going to accept him but we all questioned why Eddie started dating him. It was out of nowhere and we still don't know shit about this guy."

"It's been a while, we know him now." Stan spoke up, who was still gripping Eddie's arm.

"We questioned it for a reason." She shrugged.

Logan took in a large breath. "You're a bitch, you know? I tried my best to like you because you're Eddie's friend but don't think for a moment that I didn't see your facial expressions or hear what you said about me."

"I wasn't trying to hide it."

"Eddie, I'm leaving." Logan turned to him.

"Okay, we'll go." Eddie tried to walk towards him.

"You're going to leave with him!?" Bev screeched.

"No, I need to go alone. Go continue your tradition." Logan said, smiling.

"No, Logan, I'll go with you."

Logan just shook his head and before he could even begin to walk away, Eddie grabbed Ben's baseball cap from his hand and started smacking Bev with it.

"What -" Hit. "-the-" Hit. "-fuck!" Hit.

"Eddie, you know I don't like him." Bev tried to defend herself from him.

"That gives you no right!" He screamed. "He is my boyfriend, not yours. You don't even have to be friends with him! He's my boyfriend! How could you act like that, so fucking immature?"

"He was trying to get you away from us!"

"He didn't know!"

"Oh, I'm sure." Her voice was laced in sarcasm. She turned to Ben and Richie, who were standing behind her. "You guys agree with me, don't you?"

"Bev, you know I love you," Ben started. "But that was out of line."

"I was defending Eddie!" She protested and walked towards Richie. "You would've done the same thing!"

Richie shook his head softly. "Eddie likes him."

Bev screamed out in frustration and turned on her heel, stomping away. Ben chased after her and Eddie could hear him trying to talk her down. He turned around, trying to see if Logan was anywhere to be seen, but he must've left during his yelling at Bev.

"I'm s-sorry, Eddie." Bill whispered, finally speaking up after everything, his stutter coming out due to the stress of the situation.

"We like him, you know." Mike spoke as well. They both tended to stay out of drama when it was happening.

Eddie chewed on his lip, hard. He could feel it getting raw and was sure it would start bleeding if he didn't stop. He was trying to stop the tears from spilling out of his eyes. "Why?" He asked softly, his voice breaking. "Why would she do that?"

"I don't know." Richie whispered, pulling him into a hug. Normally, Eddie would be disgusted with the dirt and sweat on his body, but he was too focused on what had happened to care. "It'll be okay. Logan knows that it wasn't your fault."

Logan didn't care whose fault it was. The next day, he showed up to Eddie's door with a nervous look on his face. And when he left, Eddie burst into tears, his first real relationship now over. Stan and Bill were over in mere minutes and Eddie cried himself to sleep, his best friends stroking his hair.

Fuck Beverly Marsh.

tag list: @gazebhoes @i-is-gazebo @eddieswolfhard @reddietoroll

#i finally updated #woah i'm a piece of shit #there's lots of arguing in this #reddie #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #reddie fic #fic #it 1990 #it 2017 #it #mine #unspokenfic

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lordofassgard · 7 years ago

Text

Hurt People {Part 1}

Requested: | yes | no |

Pairing: Derek Hale x f!Reader

Summary: Derek and the reader are both hurt by their past and rely on each other to heal. Until one day he just leaves.

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: cursing, angst, mentions of alcohol

A/N: Shout out to my friend @snowflakes-and-sparks for helping me decide who to write about thank you babe ❤️️ Also, this is based on a personal experience and it really means a lot to me 🌸

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Part 1 || Part 2 find part 2 in my masterlist

At first it was for the looks, you had to be honest. Then you got to know him, see what was under the hard shell that was so easy to break if you knew were to touch.

You were jogging in the woods but that day you took a different path. After a while, you stopped to tie your shoes when you noticed a house a few feet away from you. It seemed like no one had lived there in years. You walked towards it just to take a look, being too curious to turn back.

The wood creaked under your feet as you walked up the porch. The door was unlocked and the house was dark. With the flashlight from your phone, you took a look around. Dust all over the place, except for a few particular spots, like the stairs. You noticed the muddy footprints that you assumed belonged to other curious teenagers just like you.

“What are you doing here?” A voice behind you starled you.

You screamed and tripped over your own feet before turning around to face the person.

“This is private property.”

And holy shit he was gorgeous. The stranger was tall, broad shoulders, green eyes and jet black hair. You blinked a few times, getting back to reality where the stranger was looking at you weirdly.

“Uh, right. I’m sorry, I...I thought that this was abandoned.” You said but didn’t move.

“So...” He raised his eyebrows.

“Oh, yeah. Sorry.”

You left the house and the stranger without looking back and returned to your morning run.

You found him a few days later, his car was parked outside the school and he seemed to be waiting for someone. Quickly checking your reflection in the window of Jackson’s Porsche, you walked over to him.

“I know that this is not a private property, but I’m pretty sure you’re too old to go to this school.” He looked surprised with your sudden burst of confidence. Hell even you were.

He laughed. Fuck, it was such a beautiful sound.

“I’m Derek.”

“(Y/N).” You smiled.

Someone calling you broke your eye contact with him and you turned around. Jackson was standing by his car, annoyed by the fact that you were making him wait.

“Your boyfriend is waiting.” You laughed in his face.

“Gosh no, he’s just giving me a ride home. He’s not my type.” You shook your head “But I have to go. See you around Derek.” He smiled at you before you walked towards Jackson.

“Who the hell was that guy?”

“Derek.”

“Who’s Derek?”

“I don’t know.” You answered as you got inside the silver Porsche.

You looked at the place where Derek’s Camaro was parked minutes ago, but the space was empty and Derek was no where to be seen. Who the hell was Derek?

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ .。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・

His eyes held galaxies, his laugh was your favorite song although you didn’t hear it often. He was a walking masterpiece. Poems, books, paintings, could be created just by looking at him and God you wanted to draw him so bad.

“What are you staring at?” Derek asked one afternoon where you were hanging out at the loft. A drawing book on your lap as your pencil lightly tapped the paper where the outlines of Derek’s face were drawn.

“You.” You chuckled.

“It’s rude to stare you know?” He smirked.

“It’s also rude to be this cute you know?” You sassed.

“I’m not cute, I’m a man.”

“Men can be both.” You shrugged.

“Shut up.” He mumbled but failed to hide the smile on his lips and the blush on his cheeks.

“Aw, look at you. You’re blushing.” You teased.

“Are you...are you drawing me?” You looked down at your lap realizing that your drawing book was no longer there, instead it was on the floor still open on the page you were drawing.

“No, I...” You tried too pick it up but he was faster.

He turned the page and saw the little text that you wrote on the back of the drawing.

The first time I saw you, you were wearing a leather jacket. You never took the damn thing off. It was almost like it was your most prized possession, maybe because it was. You usually wore it with a tight shirt and a pair of jeans. I came to the conclusion that you loved that stupid jacket, and then I learned to love it too. It was warm, comfortable and it smelled like you.

It's hard for me to talk about you, your physical appearance because it's been a while since I've paid attention to it. What I do know is that it aesthetically pleasing. I no longer see your perfect smile or your green eyes or the shape of your eyebrows. All I see is colors, like an explosion of gray, black, blue and a little bit of green. I see art instead of your face, I hear thunder instead of your steps, I hear clapping when you laugh and music when you talk.

You deserve to be pinned against a wall at the Louvre next to Mona Lisa because you are a true masterpiece, not for the way you look, but for the feelings that you give away. The false sense of peace and hope, shallow life and fake pride. Knowing that we all struggle with that. Knowing that we're real, we exist, we are alive. We'll be okay.

But at the same time I don't want that. I don't want the world to see you, I wanna keep you unknown, a no one to the rest of the selfishness of human kind. Maybe I'm the selfish one but I want to be the only one who feels this way everytime I look at you. I don't care about your leather jacket or your tight shirts. I don't care about your selfishness or the excess of pride that lives inside your chest. I don't care about your desire for attention and materials. I don't care that you don't care. As long as I'm the only one.

D.H.

“Is...is this about me?”

“I told you, you were cute.” You tried to play it cool, but failed miserably.

He ripped the page with a smile on his face as he threw you the drawing book and walked away.

“What are you doing?” You got up from the couch and followed him.

“I’m keeping it.” You could hear the smile on his voice.

And that was when you realized, no one ever told him how much he meant to them.

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ .。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・

You hated him at first, before you loved him. In fact, you never stopped hating him, you hated him for making you so vulnerable, so weak. He had you wrapped around his finger and that little bastard knew. You would melt in his hands, turning puty with his touch and he took advantage of that.

“Love makes you weak.” He confessed you one day under the stars “It makes you vulnerable.”

“I agree.” You paused “To love is to destroy and to be loved is to be destroyed.”

“You saw that on TV.” He chuckled.

“Maybe.” You laughed “But it’s true.”

You were silent for a few moments.

“I hate you, you know?” Derek looked at you surprised “I hate you because you make me vulnerable, because you make me weak, because you have me wrapped around your finger and you know it, because if you want to can easily crush my heart with your bare hands, you made me weak, you made me love you.”

“Then I guess I hate you too.” He smiled.

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ .。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・

Being around him was like being high, your feet wouldn’t touch the ground, your head spun and all the time in the world wasn’t enough when you were by his side. Being around him was hard, even though he was good to you, most of the times he was in a bad mood. He had been through a lot, no one could really blame him.

You weren’t a saint either. You were aggressive, sarcastic, selfish. You had seen a lot, more than someone should at your age. People said you were good for each other. They say opposites atract, but equals belong together. You were cold, he was ice.

People were right, you were good for each other. You made each other better people, you learned about love and hate and how they always walk hand in hand, you learned how to warm your heart. You were surprised when he didn’t come back, everybody was. The sympathetic smiles and the comforting words did nothing to soothe your heart. You weren’t warm, you weren’t cold, you were frozen just like him.

You waited patiently at the Sheriff’s station for news. You were preapered for the worst, ready for the best but the silence was killing you. When you heard that they were back, you rushed to Scott’s house.

You sighed in relief when you saw that everyone was okay. Tired but okay. Looking around, you didn’t spot Derek so you turned to Scott.

“Where’s Derek?”

The room went quiet as everyone stared at the Alpha waiting for his answer. You noticed the sympathetic expression on their faces as they ocasionally glanced at you.

“He...I...” Scott scratched the back of his neck nervously “He didn’t come back.”

“Is he...dead?” You felt a lump in your throat as you imagined life without Derek.

“No, he’s fine but he...he took off with Braeden.”

“Okay...” You had no idea how to react to the newly acquired information.

“I don’t think he’s coming back.”

That was the last thing you heard before you left the house. You got in your car, your hands fumbling with the keys, your vision blurry and your breathing heavy. You drove to the loft, you knocked on the door. No answer. You dialed his number, once, twice, three times, four. No answer.

You screamed, you cried, you wanted him back. But it was like he never existed in your life, it was like you had imagined him all along. There were no traces of him, you were sure that the loft was empty. How could he do such thing? How could he be so selfish?

Eventually night fell, you had spent your day sitting by his door waiting for him to come back. Maybe he regretted, maybe it was all a misunderstanding. Your phone was blowing up but it wasn’t who you wanted.

Deciding that you still wanted to keep some dignity, you left with your throat dry, your hands shaking and your chest heavy. You went home and you decided to do the same thing he did to you. It was like he never existed.

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ .。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・

That was when you learned that hurt people were lethal, they hurt everyone around them. It was a vicious cycle, someone hurt him, he hurt you and you were going to hurt the next person and so on. Deep down you wanted him to come back but you knew he wouldn’t, you were alone. And it wasn’t your fault as much as you tried to convince yourself otherwise, you did nothing wrong. And you knew they wouldn’t but you were still hoping that things got a little better.

You still called him from time to time, you just wanted an answer, you wanted to know why. But it would always go to voicemail.

“Derek, it’s me again. It’s been three weeks and I...I don’t know if you’re listening to your voicemail but I...I just want to know why, that’s all. Please call me.”

“Derek it’s me. It’s been two months. I feel lost. I don’t hang out with the pack anymore, it doesn’t feel right. I was so harsh on Liam the other day, he looked so heartbroken, he’s just a kid. I just want to know why. I miss you”

“It’s been six months and I found one of your old t-shirts in the back of my closet. It still smells like you. Since I’m sure that I’m not going to get an explanation I don’t see the point of leaving you voicemails anymore. I guess this is goodbye”

“To love is to destroy and to be loved is to be destroyed and I guess I let you destroy me. Fuck, Derek I’m trying to move on and right now it’s 3am and I’m half drunk and all I can think about is you. No one heard anything from you since that day and I’m here alone and heartbroken because of you. I hate you and I hate that I don’t hate you...I...I love you”

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ .。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・

Your recovery was slow, it took you a long time to get back on your feet and you knew that you weren’t the same. You dated other boys but you just toyed with their hearts, your heartbeat didn’t change around them like it changed around him. The damn vicious cycle. But you never prepared yourself for the fact that he could actually come back. You healed yourself as if you were never going to see him again. So your heart crumbled to pieces three years later when he stood a few feet away from you like nothing ever happened. Like he never left, like he never broke you like the way you pick a flower just to let it die later, like you didn’t mean anything.

“You didn’t think you could actually do this without me did you?” Stiles grinned at you and Scott.

“Without us?”

feedback is appreciated :) i’d link my ask box but tumblr is a dick

#teen wolf imagine #teen wolf preferences #derek hale imagine #derek hale x reader #derek hale one shot #derek hale fluff #derek hale smut #derek hale #teen wolf #writing

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gutterballgt · 7 years ago

Note

Can you do a "paint me"? Raleigh and Chuck of course. :D

Leave a “Paint Me” in my ask, and I’ll write a drabble aboutone character drawing a picture of another [like one of your french girls~ beit painting them or drawing them, maybe offering a picture of them as a gift,feel free to specify.]

Heeeee. Your wish is my command! *waves magic wand*

"This is the stupidest fucking thing ever. Why the fuckdid I agree to this?"

The stupid American wanker that had somehow become Chuck'sbest damn friend in the year since Pitfall brandished his stupid fake gun witha stupidly broad grin. "Because you're bored out of your mind and Hercbanned you from the big bag until you replace the one you knocked off the chainand split open?"

Dammit.

Giving in with admittedly bad grace, Chuck took another,less caustic look at his weapon of meager choice. The stupid fake gun lookedbasically the same as Becket's, though Chuck had gone with a larger reservoirto extend times between reloading. Otherwise, they should be fairly evenlymatched.

Which didn't matter because paintball, as the wanker calledit, was stupid. And a waste of time. Wasn't like it caused any lasting woundsto show off. Fuck, even the paint was washable.

"Let's just get this over, wanker. Most hitswins?"

"And careful with headshots. The goggles only protectso much."

Unimpressed, Chuck glared flatly at the silly fuck."Really. You worried a little paint will ruin your pretty face?"

But the wanker just smiled sunnily. "Aw, Chuck! Youthink I'm pretty?"

"Oi, fuck you, ya ratbag." He definitely was notblushing. It was just hot in here. "Just for that, you're buying foodafterward."

"You're on. Let's go."

Grumbling all the way, Chuck followed his unlikely best mateinto one of the designated battle zones -- unable to avoid rolling his eyes atthe thought of calling this shite "battle" -- and eyed the schematicjust outside the gate. For all that this was fucking stupid, he had no doubtBecket would make the most of his prior experience and be damn goodcompetition. If he wanted to keep up, he'd damn well better remember thehidey-holes and high ground areas.

Upon stepping into a warehouse-sized room mocked up like asparse forest -- they both agreed that the crumbling cityscape might bring upbad vibes and ruin the experience for one or both of them -- they mutuallyagreed to giving each other a ten count to run in opposite directions for coverbefore starting. They broke, and without a second glance, Chuck headed for acopse of fake trees on a slight rise he'd seen on the map. High ground and abit of cover sounded just the thing for getting a feel for how mobile Becketplanned on being.

But this was still fucking stupid.

He held that opinion until the first paintball slammed intothe side of his ass, feeling enough like a shot out of nowhere that he yelpedand rolled away and reached for the spot, half expecting to be bleeding fromsomething that hurt so bad. It didn't help that he touched a wet spot, and hewould've panicked if he hadn't remembered. Paint.

Thankfully, bluepaint, or he might've thought the worst.

But seriously. Paintballs fucking hurt.

Game. Fucking. On.

Refocusing now that there were physical stakes to be had, heignored the heat of a bruise settling into the swell of his ass and tried todetermine where the shot came from. These guns weren't that powerful, and theroom wasn't so huge that there were infinite options.

His best guess, based on a quick peek through the heavygrouping of plaster tree trunks he lay behind, he guessed the irritatingbastard had burrowed down in a makeshift cave off to the side. Smirking, Chuckstarted picking his way nearer, figuring if he was stealthy enough, he couldpin the wanker in and unload his whole clip. Winner winner chicken dinner, asBecket said when he was being particularly insufferable.

Which was often.

It took some doing and more time than he'd expected, but heeventually sidled up beside the cubbyhole without making a sound, grinnedmadly, then leapt over in front of the opening and fired off three shots beforerealizing... the bloke wasn't there.

Pop pop pop!

"Jesus fuck ow!!"

The shots landed in a diagonal up his back, the lastsmacking into his shoulder hard enough to start a spin-around that he allowedto turn him all the way, his gun raised to return fire.

Nothing. No sign of the sneaky wanker.

"Oi, Becket, stop fucking about!"

Silence.

He... might have underestimated the situation. Refocusingagain, he eyed the nearest cover for a sign of the wanker, trying to rememberwhere on the diagram he currently was. Nothing moved in the false underbrush.Not a fake leaf twitched.

Frankly, it was eerie.

The afternoon progressed in much the same vein. Chuck wouldthink he caught the wanker's wind, track him carefully and silently to a likelylocation, only to take exactly as many shots as he wasted on the scenery. Bythe fourth such set-up, he was furious, sporting an even dozen hot littlebruises on his back, chest, ass, thigh, and arms, and more determined than everto beat the irritating fuckwit he'd befriended for no goddamn good reason hecould remember.

He hadn't landed a single fucking shot, and that, mates andnobs, would not fucking stand.

But he had the rotten sod now. He actually had his fuckingnemesis in his sights. A few more steps, and he'd be in effective range. Andyes, he planned to empty his whole fucking reservoir.

Crouching behind the last scrap of cover -- a plasterboulder pushed almost right up against the wall, which was painted to look likemore scrub forest -- he paused to savor his oncoming victory, then squeezed thetrigger.

Five shots in, he realized the shirt he'd targeted had givenaway under the onslaught and was fluttering down from... shit. From the fakebranch the tricksy bastard had draped it over. Where the fuck was--

Pop pop pop poppoppoppoppoppop!

The painful stings backed him up as the sadistic fuck neareduntil Chuck tripped over the stupid fake boulder, paintballs splattering allover his stomach, chest, and -- more painfully -- his neck. At least the wankerhad the grace to reach out and snag him by the arm so he didn't go ass over teakettle, but all that did was spin him around until he faceplanted on the wall,then slooped dizzily off to collapse on his side. The strap on his helmetslipped, knocking the whole damn thing askew.

Aching and frustrated, he lay there and groaned.

Then, the giant walking asshole that was no longer his bestmate... snickered.

"You okay, kid?"

Refusing to even roll to his back, he addressed his rebuttalto the wall just before him. "Fuck. You."

"What?" Now, the wanker was laughing at him."I just painted a portrait of you, Chuck. You are now immortalized here forever.They'll talk about it for years to come."

Groaning again, he slumped further. "The fuck are youflapping about now?"

A hand cupped under his upper arm and tugged. To bestubborn, he refused to go at first. Unfortunately, he had no intention ofspending the rest of his life curled up against a stupid fucking forest-paintedwall, so he eventually gave in and let the wanker haul him back to his feet.

Then, the wanker -- shirtless and smug as fuck at the lackof any paint on his person -- gestured at said stupid fucking forest-paintedwall. And the extravagant swoop of blue paint from where Chuck had faceplantedand fallen.

"I call it 'The Fall of a Hero'."

Fucking. Wanker.

"Aw, c'mon, Chuck." The asshole had the nerve toelbow him. "You are the tool with which I have created mymasterpiece."

Tired and cranky and sore from all the fucking paintballsbruising the fuck out of him, he glared. "I fucking hate you."

Undeterred, the sadistic wanker shrugged, still grinninglike a goddamn sunrise. "You'll do better next time."

"There won't fucking be a next time. I fucking hatethis stupid game."

"Oo! We'll bring the Weis and team up againstthem!"

Un. Fucking. Believable.

Beyond done with the whole fucking day, he tried to shovepast, but -- as usual -- the rotten sod was too fast and shot an arm out to clotheslinehim across the chest. He struggled reflexively, fucking up their balance untilthey both ended up stumbling back against the wall, chest to chest, the stupidblue paint smearing the bare skin pressed against him.

Their eyes met.

Chuck held his breath.

Becket blinked, those baby blues wide and surprised atfirst, then... warmer. Crinkling at the corners. The skin under Chuck's handswas warm and damp, firm and smooth. Maddening.

"We pair up with the Kaidanovskys and destroy theWeis?"

That... would be terrifying. And awesome. Almost as awesomeas being crushed back against a wall by his best mate whose perfect ass he'dbeen hard-pressed to ignore all these months.

And the crushing might somehow happen again if they cameback.

Well, fuck.

A smirk twisted his mouth. "Those speedy little fucksdon't stand a chance."

The corners of Becket's eyes crinkled further on a wide,wicked grin. "Damn right, they won't."

If he just leaned a bit further....

Blue eyes lowered to Chuck's mouth, and his breath caught.The urge to wet his lips was damn near irresistible. The warm weight againsthis chest increased, increased, increased...

...and stopped.

Becket took a deep breath and stepped back, and without thinkingit through, Chuck reached out and snagged the bloke by the belt, hauling himback in close. He'd been waiting almost a year to taste this silly fuck'smouth, and after the shit he'd just been through, he reckoned he'd earned it.

Thank fuck but the wanker kissed back with equal verve,crowding him back against the wall and groaning softly. A warm hand cuppedChuck's cheek, and he tilted his head just that much, and the kiss heated evenfurther with the better angle.

At which point, Chuck gave him a mighty shove and let loosean upward-arcing spray of paintballs at point-blank range, splattering thewanker from left thigh to right shoulder with green paint.

"Ow, Chuck, what the fuck??"

"Now we're even, ya wanker."

Though he had no doubt those shots had hurt like a bitch,what with the point-blank range and the lack of clothing between skin andpaintball.

In fact, now that he'd done it, he felt a little bad andimmediately dropped his gun and put both hands up in surrender. "Sorry,mate. But you earned it."

Sort of.

Maybe.

Jesus, the bloke had to be pissed. And just when they'dfinally admitted there might be something between them besides friendship andcomradery. What the fuck was wrong with him?

But a sheepish glance up told him Becket wasn't entirelyfurious. The poor sod's jaw was clenched, yes, but his mouth was also twitchingup at the corners.

"I'll forgive you on one condition, jackass."

Fair enough. He shrugged, hands still up.

Oh, fuck. The wanker lowered his head and looked up at himthrough those thick eyelashes, and if that wasn't flirting, Chuck didn't knowwhat was.

"You have to wash off all the paint."

His heart kicked up a notch, his pulse throbbing in histhroat. "Deal."

"Then what are we waiting for?"

"Not a fucking thing, mate."

They couldn't get back to the shatterdome fast enough.

The paintball place refused to paint over the blue splotchon the wall. They ran ads bragging about the famous hero, Raleigh Becket,painting the portrait of his fellow hero, Chuck Hansen, in their facility.

It was a surprisingly successful campaign. The scraggyforest became the best-selling room in company history.

The Kaidanovskys absolutely destroyed the Weis. Raleigh and Chuck didn't have to fire a shot.

Thus, they spent their time making out in the fake cave.

It was a success all around.

THE END

#chaleigh #pacific rim #ask meme #mwahahahah!#not exactly painting him like one of his French girls #but hey #silverserpent22

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floggingink · 8 years ago

Text

Riverdale: “Chapter Thirteen: The Sweet Hereafter”

six seconds in, we’re hit with the pun “cliffhanger,” which meant I had to pause the recording immediately after it began and brew a very strong tea

“Life’s not an Agatha Christie novel,” Jughead mumbles, reminding himself, standing in line at Stumptown for Betty’s latte

Jason “I’ll Sell These Drugs But Not These Drugs” Blossom, killed for his moral relativism

is there quite a business for heroin in Montreal? is Montreal the hub of heroin in Canada, the Philly of Canada? I tell you, I have heard more mentionings of Montreal on Riverdale than I have my entire life before it (what I’m calling “Phase One” of my life, or maybe “B.R.”)

where did the Hiram Lodge leather satchel come from to be planted at Mustang’s? didn’t Hermione give one stuffed full of cash to the Mayor?

what, if anything, did Clifford think of Jughead Jones, to spew at FP while threatening his life? (write this fic for me)

FP tossing his Sabrina comic to the side becomes Pop sliding Jughead’s coffee across the counter: LEE TOLAND KRIEGER. this is going to be one of THOSE episodes

is Jughead’s dream to be a sort of Alice, drinking coffee and writing his scoop in a real newspaper office?

“75 MORE YEARS OF PEP!”

“last vestiges of corruption crushed”—ma’am, you took a BRIBE

can we get FP some new clothes in there, in holding? maybe a DVD player? is there so little other crime in Riverdale that FP has been free to lounge in solitary relaxation there for days?

I don’t know why Jughead was allowed to sit in on the meeting between FP and Sheriff Keller, but it means he gets to lounge against a wall in the blue prison lighting without himself being detained, which is always welcome

the Serpents only deal in “dime bags of weed,” so whatever else they do to be a Scary Gang is up in the air, menacing public spaces

FP is SO COOL AND COLLECTED in the face of a 20-years-to-life threat, truly an inspiration for those in tight corners with authority: smirk at your legs, chin pointed down, show off your cheekbones, reveal nothing

not enough column inches devoted to Archie’s waistline. while not the coveted martini glass Chuck Clayton sported, Archie’s waistline is instead a gently tapered pilsner glass, deceptive in its easy concealment under a heavy letterman jacket or zipped-up hoodie, until, draped only in a grey T-shirt, it shows its full force and effect

(Jughead is a hand-blown lead crystal sommeliers champagne flute, designed with a thin rim to heighten the effect of the bubbles on the nose)

you know LEE TOLAND KRIEGER has Fred Andrews brooding in the steamy sunbeams of his kitchen window!

there’s a rose gold French press and a porcelain green tea kettle on the counter behind him

Maturing Friend points to Archie for acknowledging that his “dealing” is different from Jughead, Betty, and Veronica still being in the thick of it

I’d give $30 to know what huge book Veronica is reading

“He’s your father, not the Godfather”: Godfather reference #1

Betty is unbelievably self-possessed at the breakfast table that she looks that calm while ripping up her palm

difference between telling Jughead your problems and telling Archie your problems: Betty’s like, My family’s acting happy, and Archie’s like, That’s great, babe!

Archie laughs at Betty’s “Greek suburban tragedy,” which she gives him a look for, but this is just what Archie has been conditioned to do. he doesn’t totally understand everything, so he’s learned to just laugh gamely

Archie doesn’t understand Veronica’s “pas de deux”

Mayor McCoy is doing some frantic PR, looping Archie and Betty into the Jubilee

“What about Jughead?” GOD I LOVE THIS ARCHIE

Mayor McCoy “likes” Jughead. will we ever learn how Jug wrangled his way into a meeting with her about the drive-in?

along with baby showers and birthday parties, jubilees aren’t Jughead’s “thing”

Jughead doubts it: “Kevin, relax. This isn’t The Wire.” Jughead is doubtlessly one of those people who think The Wire is the greatest TV show ever made (which it is), and I want to say he might also be one of those people who sits down their SO and makes them watch it from beginning to end (which he should)

throughout this incredible West Wing circle-around of Sad Breakfast Club eating lunch, Kevin tersely bounces an orange on his tray, Veronica has a salad, Betty has assorted fruit, Jughead has a sandwich, Archie appears to be drinking apple juice (MY MAN)

Veronica, and this happened, stood up to deliver the news about her and Archie. it’s because she knows how important it is!

Archie, mouthing: Don’t. No. No. No. No. What’re you doing.

Please protect Betty: Betty’s like, And this is coming from me, I’m telling you to relax.

“Instead he was buried like a pauper.” I’m picturing the burial in Amadeus, where Mozart’s body is dumped out of a reusable coffin into a heap of bodybags, blessed in the rain by the priest on duty, dusted with lime, and walked away from, already forgotten

“Why are you crying? You hated him.” I really have difficulty conceptualizing or putting into words the particular scariness of Penelope Blossom, like the quiet venom things she does, the way she sneers and her subzero motionless rage stewing, like how she was staring into the fireplace last episode? DAMN. Penelope Blossom is like an 80’s psychological thriller villain transplanted into a 2010’s teen soap, and she begat Riverdale’s greatest thematic creation, Cheryl Blossom, who lives her life as if every moment is the dramatic bombshell scene before cutting to commercial

Penelope...just...unambiguously endorses hanging yourself instead of “this awful limbo,” “living,” “being alive,” “reality”

Every triangle has three corners, every triangle has three sides: Archie double-checking with Betty is sweet, Betty stopping Archie before he gets started on his “But I always thought…” is ESSENTIAL

he’s still thinking about it! COME ON ARCHIE. his little yeeaahhhh... microexpression

the 2001 Josie and the Pussycats movie was a masterpiece: Josie: Oh...we’re not going to sing it. Oh, did you think we were going to sing it?

I will give Hal Cooper credit for smiling proudly at Betty while her mom compliments her article

but ONLY FOR THAT

Betty’s heavily structured trench coat is righteous

Cheryl “abdicates” as the Vixens’ “directoress,” like she’s the tsar

she could be, with that choker!

“I’ve shed my tears for the Blossom men.” and now she’s in grim business mode, sooooo

Betty wasn’t allowed to publish in her mother’s newspaper so she published in her own damn newspaper

thank you Veronica for telling me how to pronounce “Bechdel”

“Swear on the September issue?” “And on my copy of Forever by Judy Blume.”

Fred Andrews had a fast, serious talk with the social worker: “You gotta call him ‘Jughead.’ I know his name is Forsythe. You gotta call him Jughead or he’s not going anywhere with you.”

I’m writing a scene where it’s gay.: Archie and Jughead coming back from doing who knows what together, Archie tosses his jacket onto the staircase, Jug is like, NICE

this is a new jacket from Jug! the boy loves a fleece lining!

Certified pedigree: Fred is juuuust on this side of too poor and sad to be able to house Jughead

Jughead’s “It doesn’t sound completely horrible” is a radical concession from him, perhaps has been waiting for this moment for months, for Children’s Services to catch up to him

Archie runs to FP to save Jughead. is there a revolving door to FP’s cellblock?

“It tears me up, red, but the Serpents are my tribe.”

FP calls his son “scrappy, a survivor,” which is what everyone wants their father to know for a fact about them

“He’ll try and pull away inside himself. . . He’s got some darkness in him.” he will! he does! cut to: the burger

a one-on-one Jughead and Veronica scene? I’ve not only already signed up, I’m standing at the entrance with a clipboard waving down passersby on the street for more signatures

“You and I have a lot in common”: Jughead goes straight for the superficial prison thing, and Veronica counters with the superficial dating-the-best-friends ergo thrown-into-each-other’s-company thing, but what else could we mention here? fixation on “truth”? fixation on outer appearance as social armor? fixation on father’s legacy as relates to nature-versus-nurture destiny of self? fixation on Betty Cooper as a means to salvation? so many options

I would appreciate an explanation for why sometimes Jughead has lunch with the rest of the gang and sometimes he’s not there. and now he’s at lunch and no one else is there with him except Veronica. do high schools have two lunches now? is one like an extended breakfast before homeroom, or a free period? what different electives do they have that their schedules are slightly different? for instance Archie still presumably has his MUSIC THEORY

Cheryl’s pins: blue cherry pin on her soft cornflower blue wrap top

it’s validating to know Cheryl considers her Bakelite spider pin to be as fantastic as I do

also I love the word “recompense,” so Cheryl is skyrocketing

Veronica recognizes this, the second instance of Cheryl giving away a treasured possession, as the red flag it is (plus making amends!), while Jughead, NOTABLY, pockets the pin as advised

the hanged Betty doll strung up on her locker with twine is like something Nikolaj Coster-Waldau’s nieces would have played with out in the woods in Mama

the phrase “Go to hell, Serpent slut” is so, SUCH a mix of high and low art, the plebeian and proletarian, “GO TO HELL” is so bourgeois and chill and indignant and after that they still have enough pig’s blood to call her a slut, which is like SO trashy Draco Malfoy?

what is FP Jones innocent OF in Betty’s article? he’s not being charged WITH murder, and he IS guilty of some murder-adjacent villainy, so I assume Betty’s article is more about his character assassination

Betty’s already in the dazed later stages of absorbing and/or filing this under “emotionally deal with later,” Polly is about to cry

Jughead, who watches Carrie every Wednesday, is always ready to tell Betty the ugly truth, the viscera of the truth

BUT he like whispers it as she, SLIGHTLY in denial to herself while knowing she’s slightly in denial, attempts to tear it down and he’s like mmmmmmmm standing in front of it to redirect her attention and he GETS HER OUT OF THERE, he’s like Agent Toscano in the back kitchens at Georgetown with Zoey

Archie doesn’t know where you could get pig’s blood and this ENRAGES HIM

Betty and Jughead appear to be strolling home together through a graveyard, because Betty and Jughead

Jughead is so coded as an outsider that I’m afraid for his peace of mind once he relocates to his southside pied-à-terre and feels like he’s among kith and kin. the multiverse indeed

there have never been two people more devoted to touching each other’s faces, with the possible exception of Bella and Edward in Dan Bergstein’s Blogging Twilight, than Betty and Jughead. their heaven would be a night at the Ritz-Carlton by Central Park, eating three-egg omelettes and scrubbing each other with Lush face masks. Betty is Rosy Cheeks, Jughead is Cup o’ Coffee

Betty doesn’t let Jughead “Sure babe” his way out of resolving their conversation

plus then he gazes at her like she is the only source of light in his life

Veronica was rich: Hiram Lodge is partial to black orchids? did Hermione get it from the Blossoms’ ORCHID ROOM?

These students are legally children: “Sure, mom, I’ll just sexually manipulate Archie into doing my bidding.” “As long as you’re in control.” WHOA!

Hermione, to be clear, as gone full dark side, while not bitterly sanctioning suicide in front of her emotionally shattered daughter but in a fallen-1%, Madame du Barry sort of way

I like how the show is setting up Hiram Lodge as a scary cloak of paternal/paternalistic/patriarchal malevolence, wherein at the beginning of the series Hermione was at least fronting to distance herself from Hiram’s name and influence and history, and now that he’s “coming back,” she is getting ready for his return left and right through her turning away from Town Upright Fred Andrews, her business loyalties, her aesthetic choices, and her hypothetical manipulation of, of all people, Archie

Betty could run the Iditarod in that trench coat

my man LEE TOLAND KRIEGER coming in with Alice Cooper and the reflection of Alice Cooper flanking Betty while they fight in the kitchen!

“It’s so hard, Mommy. Pretending every—” “I. Don’t. Care.” there has never BEEN a daytime soap, Lifetime Original, Ryan Murphy production, or Sharon Stone exploitation period piece as GOOD as the scenes between Cheryl and Penelope

Cheryl is wearing this drapey see-through black lingerie robe while she dashes around her haunted mansion like sexy Bertha Antoinetta Mason

Mädchen Amick, MÄDCHEN AMICK: you know shit is about to get a confessional when Alice walks into Betty’s room with no eye makeup on and a cardigan that covers her hands

“I have a secret brother out there in the world.” for half a second, I was terrified, in a fabulous lurid way, that the secret brother was Jughead, because I would not put that past Riverdale, before, you know, he’s gotta be like ten years older than Betty

but I mean, he’s got to be FP’s child. right? like—RIGHT?

Fifth period is AP English: “Positively Dickensian.” does Archie know Dickens? surely he knows CHARLES DICKENS

“A blond Adonis, no doubt.” or a sloe-eyed greaser with a DEEP VOICE and Alice’s cheekbones???

WITNESS ME: it is at this point, 21 minutes in, that Ep. 13 starts moving at 10,000 mph

“GO TO THE DARK SIDE”!!!!! like Southside High is MOS EISLEY

the music in the background picking up like some shit is about to happen, like they’re about to BREAK HIM OUT OF PRISON!!!!

What damn high school in America: our boy LEE TOLAND KRIEGER INDEED had Archie, Betty, and Veronica do the Breakfast Club hallway slide, because—BECAUSE WHY NOT! why not just LEAVE SCHOOL to go to a different school to get your friend out of school!

Veronica is in like a black sable stole, because SHE IS!

it is impossible to see what book Jughead is reading, and this haunts me!

Gay.: this is our first viewing of SOUTHSIDE TEEN, taking one of Jughead’s fries, wearing a very conservative white tee and blue jean jacket with a simple side part/2-setting shave down haircut!

honestly Southside High looks fantastic for Jughead in the sense that everyone is wearing a flannel and everyone’s hair is rebelliously long or styled archaically

Cheryl’s sheaths: local hero LEE TOLAND KRIEGER has those white-cold sunbeams coming down over the back of Cheryl’s Gothic grand duchess bed as she lays out her Jason dress!

“Where would he be?” “...cafeteria.”

if you look, there is literally just a female Jughead sitting on the table to Jughead’s right, she’s in black skinny jeans, black Chuck hightops, a DARK BLUE JEAN JACKET WITH A FLEECE COLLAR, and a soft stretchy beanie! she is right, like, hit me up! I cook!

it’s been one afternoon and already Jughead has more friends at Southside High than he had the entirety of his life in the northside school system

Betty, Archie, and Veronica just reaching the table with Jughead surrounded by ne’er-do-wells about to beat him up but it turns out Jughead is merely the beloved communal focal point IS the scene in Guy Ritchie’s Sherlock Holmes when Jude Law’s Watson shows up at the prison and makes his way through the circle of Victorian roughs about to massacre Robert Downey, Jr., just as Holmes delivers the punchline to a ribald joke to the delight of the motley ruffians and it turns out he’s basically their king

Jughead is technically like Serpent royalty, so it makes sense all these Slytherins would at least make the gesture to seek him out and adore him

awww, Betty Cooper embodying the north side, Jughead embodying the south side, hugging each other, nothing shall tear them asunder, YET

Jughead says something to make her laugh while Archie and Veronica look on

it might not be a stole. it might be the collar of her jacket. is that her Homecoming jacket? I wouldn’t put it past her to have a black sable stole

Veronica getting Cheryl’s text and being like, “We have to go!” is literally the third or fourth time THIS EPISODE someone has been like, “WE HAVE TO GO!”

I could not believe we were actually getting a scene with these guys running through THE FOREST to stop CHERYL BLOSSOM from KILLING HERSELF—just—pause to reflect???

first there’s some sort of bonkers Titanic ice splintering under their feet

and Cheryl is beating her way through the ice with her hands and the power of grief? like—my god. Emily Brontë is like, He’s dead, girl, let it go

Summer + Blair = Veronica: Veronica is truly, as she has been in the past, embodying her true self, with is to reach out with her haughty, beautiful, self-aware, compulsive love and connect with everyone she sees: “WE’LL FIGURE THIS OUT TOGETHER OKAY.”

Cheryl is of course in her all-white mourning dress, her hair down, her spidery mascara, her lips turning purple, bathed in the BLUE FILTER OF HORROR as she sinks into the ice, the ice claims her like the blood sacrifice it demands each year to keep the maple syrup flowing

Archie barrels across the frozen river like a ginger Balto

pretty sick underwater shot looking up at Archie from below the ice!!!!

remember when Veronica told him to be careful with that hand, that his hand was going to be worth millions someday and he needed to be gentle with it during football or he couldn’t play guitar, and now he’s punching through a frozen river? ARCHIE?

the Blossom corpse: okay…..okay…..Cheryl seeing Jason’s corpse reach out to take her like Frodo being dragged underwater by the ghosts of the soldiers claimed by the Dead Marshes

the bloody juice milkshake on top of the water as Archie finally beats his way through by the power of his ripped bod

Archie > Dawson: you know Archie knows CPR!!! how delicately he pinches Cheryl’s nose shut!

however cold Cheryl was upon being thrust into the winter air as Archie & the Gang brought her to A HOSPITAL was not half as cold as Hermione regarding her in front of the fireplace and saying, “What is she doing here?”

Betty starting to cry immediately after putting on mascara is real-life drama

Archie, bullheadedly warming up to perform with his hand in a cast after he saved someone’s life, doesn’t know the word “wistfully,” and I think this encapsulates everything great about Archie Andrews

again, again, AGAIN, I want to JUST POINT OUT that Veronica-noticing-Archie staring “longingly” at Betty-plus-Jughead and wondering if this meant Archie secretly liked Betty is a plot point that would have been stretched out over the course of at least one entire episode, if not the undercurrent of an entire relationship arc of a season, on a lesser teen show, AGAIN AGAIN AGAIN, but Riverdale does not have time! we have to get everyone to the scene where Reggie is threatening to run Principal Weatherbee through with an epee on top of Veronica’s apartment building by the end of the episode!

for the Jubilee performance, Melanie has a shiny white skirt and big hoop earrings, Valerie is in some sort of phenomenal Sgt. Pepper blazer, and Josie is in a studded bustier

the drinking game of listening to Mayor McCoy’s speeches for the phrase “my daughter Josie and her Pussycats”

Jughead and FP have what might be their healthiest, most productive conversation in years on either side of the prison bars

Archie, clearly having the time of his life performing his song, strumming his guitar with two fingers

GOD KNOWS JUGHEAD SHOWED UP WITH HIS JACKET OVER HIS SHOULDER TO HEAR HER SPEECH

some first grader is a big fan of Archie

it seems like Betty’s speech is a rerouted, condensed version of her “FP JONES INNOCENT” article imploring Riverdale to embrace its pain, rebirth itself, and get a new town motto

Jughead listening to Betty call him “the very soul of Riverdale” is probably the moment, you know, he was like, The trailer is empty...

oh Jesus he starts the slow clap

can you imagine being an everyday going-about-your-business Riverdale resident without a kid attending high school, only tangentially paying attention to the news, being like, Who is Veronica Lodge? Does Betty Cooper know Jughead? Why is he called Jughead? What?

Fred is damn right about Hermione being at a damn crossroads

Betty, who signed in pink, Veronica, who signed in purple, and Jughead, who signed in black with his crown, are the only signatures on Archie’s cast yet

Veronica and Archie appear to have chocolate milkshakes, while Betty got a vanilla, and Jughead has Betty’s usual strawberry, with her arm slung around his leg

I know you had forgotten about Penelope!!!!!!!!!

Cheryl’s a psychopath: there are no words in Elvish, Entish, or the tongues of men to describe the sight of Cheryl Blossom standing at the fireplace holding a candelabra with a tub of gasoline at the floor, (helpfully labeled “Gasoline”) in a white Super Sailor Moon dress, about to burn down her house

Jughead really did clean that shit up!

in the annals of sexy cinematic history, where Rear Window, Secretary, The Handmaiden, and the 2005 Pride & Prejudice all reside, there is a little shelf space saved for the shot of Jughead, out of focus, pulling his hat off behind Betty’s back and throwing it onto the couch

there were only five minutes left in the whole episode when the heavy percussion started and Jughead LIFTS Betty off the ground by her waist. YOU KNOW!!! SOME PEOPLE ARE ABOUT TO GET LAID!!!!

Veronica and Archie slip into her apartment, her mother is passed out on tranquilizers. THEY’RE REALLY DOING IT THIS TIME, THIS TIME I’M NOT DELUSIONAL

Veronica truly did make a Prince Valiant reference

you know I loved Veronica’s beautiful tiny stockinged feet coming off the ground!

the little shot of Veronica exploring Archie’s chest in the dark, by silhouette, whispering to him, was all I really needed from a sexy Riverdale scene, you know? I was sated. all the happy couples were making out and heading for great things, their first happy nights in so long. like, “We’ve had this date with each other,” etc., everything is finally good. I thought that was THE END. I thought that was the end! I WAS ALREADY HAPPY. I DIDN’T KNOW WE WOULD GET JUGHEAD SLAMMING BETTY INTO THE KITCHEN CABINET. I DIDN’T KNOW!!!!!

only, ONLY Betty and Jughead, even with all that chest exposed between the two of them, they still go for each other’s faces, in, dare I say, a clever reprisal of Archie’s mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, kissing like they want to consume each other

it really has to be seen to be believed, how up in there Jughead is between Betty’s legs, the dimple of his back muscles while he’s kissing her like he’s going to push her through the wall

NO ONE EXPECTED Jughead to hold his hand to the side of Betty’s neck and go down to like BITE her collarbone ONSCREEN, what, like, what the fuck, who blocked this? YOU, LEE TOLAND KRIEGER? A MASTERPIECE

Jughead eats: he brought her to the kitchen. “The cafeteria.” he was planning on eating

poor things Betty and Jughead conditioned to assume it’s Alice Cooper interrupting their heavy petting

Jughead’s hair twanging around his forehead cracks me up

I’ve seen Brick like thirty times: TIME Person of the Year LEE TOLAND KRIEGER giving us one last rack focus of the line of lights on top of the trailer, dripping with rain, what else could possible happen in the last two minutes of this episode??? stay tuned bitches!!!

Gay?!: Jughead Devotee Southside Teen is back! WITH SCRAGGLY CANON SHEEPDOG HOT DOG. Jughead is like…...hi…...

mangy gruff Serpent daddy has a nose ring, which is always cool

Best costume bit: though it looks like various interviews has RAS saying otherwise, I didn’t read Jughead putting the Serpent jacket on as an unambiguous, wholehearted, instantaneous joining and acceptance of the Serpents on Jughead’s part, for me it was more a mix of A) a thank-you B) “Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad” C) a “trying on” of what it might feel like to maybe live this life D) indulging in a moment of being sought out, validated as a member of a community (complicated! because Betty just called him the soul of Riverdale!) F) Cady slowly realizing she’s the new Queen Bee E) a bomb-ass jacket

of course we know Jughead must be incredibly important to the Serpents, whether he knows it or not, so is this them coming to him and being like, The king is dead, long live the king!, or is he a sideways, sometimes-Serpent, or does he even have to “BE” a “Serpent” for them to still take him a bit under wing and protect him—from whom?—while FP is gone? did FP tell them to leave him alone, what was understood, what was ordered, WHAT IS JUGHEAD? what are any of us? who am I? aren’t we all just going to die? (write this fic for me)

the point is that Jughead looks REAL good shrugging the leather jacket on

Fwoopy hair is the best hair: in the silence, in the rain, and the curl of his bangs on his forehead, YYEEEEESSSSSSSS

with a BOOM shot of the Dark Mark taut on his shoulders, like in the fourth episode when FP walked into frame

Sixth period is Intro to Film: Betty’s “Juggie” from behind the door, and he looks back at her? Godfather reference #2

I KNOW YOU FORGOT CHERYL WAS BURNING DOWN THORNHILL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Cheryl’s hair: all of Jughead’s surprise sexual dexterity aside, the greatest moment is the slow-motion shot of Cheryl and Penelope. Cheryl is staring at her work, entranced, okay, having finally been able to take irreversible action to cleanse herself, but Penelope behind her is, understandably, going berserk, and repeat Nobel Laureate LEE TOLAND KRIEGER has her lash out to strike Cheryl, but she’s one step too far back, and there’s an explosion of Cheryl’s hair over her shoulder and it’s got to be one of the most beautiful things ever to be on television

of course Veronica slept in Archie’s dress shirt

the female gaze: Archie’s back is always, always worth it

“Damn good coffee”: oh, he’s so happy in the bathroom mirror

WITH LITERALLY THIRTY SECONDS LEFT IN THE EPISODE, THERE IS AN ARMED ROBBERY OF THE DINER

who would rob Pop’s? is this a hit on Fred Andrews? DID SOMEONE ORDER A HIT ON FRED? JUGHEAD SAID IT WAS “ANYTHING BUT RANDOM,” WHO WOULD KILL FRED ANDREWS????

are you going to sit there and tell me fucking Riverdale hired Luke fucking Perry and then it KILLED OFF LUKE FUCKING PERRY? when the fucking blue neon “RIVERDALE” came up after that, I lost my SHIT. FUCKING RIVERDALE LIKE JESUS CHRIST

next season: full-time student Veronica Lodge finds herself in the midst of a viciously civil power struggle with her father, freed felon Hiram Lodge, over ownership of Andrews Construction, the Pembrooke apartment, half of the town, and the love of her mother. while investigating the true extent of her best friend’s father’s illegal activities for her next exposé, Betty Cooper starts receiving death threats, political pressure to “let the story go,” and mysterious late-night voicemail tips concerning the business dealings of her gangster boyfriend which “might be interesting” to her should she choose to “look closer,” all of which she documents and files in alphabetical order in a fireproof safe beneath her bed (the tips are from her secret brother). Archie Andrews, who is now Batman, must hunt down the masked bandit who killed his father, helped by his best friend Jughead Jones, who, unbeknownst to Archie, has taken his father’s place as the leader of the biggest criminal empire in Riverdale and masterminded a coup for control of the Canadian heroin cartel in Clifford Blossom’s absence to buy Betty as many structured jackets as her heart desires (write this fic for me)

#riverdale #commentary #i say #tropes

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