#I feel like it’d be real easy for me to develope some really expensive habits tho so for this to be a done deal you’d have to be like either

[henreyettah]

Someone should sponsor me for the rest of my life so I can stop doing mundane things like studying and working, and instead focus on what matters: making intricate pieces of jewelry and thinking about the womanly physique and different ways of depicting it

[kirieshhhka003]

Pairing: La Squadra x GN! Reader

Warnings: language

La Squadra harem

Risotto Nero

Risotto, as a leader of the hitman squad, immediately notices the change of atmosphere among La Squadra once Y/n appears. Albino, to his huge dismay, understands that he’s not the only one who’s developed feelings for Y/n. Albino knows every member’s habits and usual behavior, capo is the first one of all hitmen who figures out that everyone is his rival now (but only when it comes to Y/n, he’s still their leader and he respects every member equally)

Risotto is more of a father figure to Y/n. He warms up to you shortly, pampering you with his attention and genuine care, always being there for you. You’re hungry? The two of you are going to the nearest cafe for you to have a proper meal and Capo won’t take “no” as an answer. You’re stressed and something messes with your pretty head? What a poor thing, come here, Risotto is always ready to listen. Others immediately catch on the change of Capo’s treatment, every day it becomes even more obvious that he has a huge soft spot for Y/n

Least favorite rival: Melone. Risotto hates how smooth purple-haired is around you, how he is open with his flirting, how sincere all of his words sound. Nero wishes he had at least half of sans gêne Melone has. He’s a Capo and he has a reputation to uphold, but behind closed doors Risotto has tried flirting with Y/n and it was so so clumsy and awkward, it’s just… not his style

Prosciutto

The second father figure for Y/n, but if Risotto is more of a sugar daddy, indulging you with expensive gifts and foods, Prosciutto mostly acts like a real father would, scolding you for going outside at winter without your hat on (tho he never wears a hat himself) or for petting stray animals on the streets

Even despite all of his parental sternness, Prosciutto is really caring and attentive towards Y/n, even more that Risotto is. You got scratched accidentally because of your clumsiness? We gotta clean the wound up and patch it, don’t even try to protest; it may be a simple graze but what if some dirt got in it? Your shoulders ache after a long tiring day? Come hither, your dear Prosci will rub all the pain away

Least favorite rival: Risotto. Prosciutto doesn’t hate or despise albino, no. Risotto is a capo, and he got this status for several reasons, so blonde man still respects his boss, but both man have pretty familiar tactics of charming Y/n, and that definitely annoys Prosciutto

Formaggio

Formaggio is one of the most oblivious of all La Squadra men, he doesn’t realize that he’s not the only one having interest in Y/n and even when other guys flirt openly with Y/n in front of him red-haired just thinks that his teammates just try to be friendly towards a newcomer

He’s definitely that type of macho from all the cheesy movies - attractive, excellent smooth talker with constant flirtings. Formaggio is not opposed of using all possible cringy lines what annoy everyone in La Squadra, even Risotto has hard times restraining the urge to roll his eyes at all those shitty teasings. But Maggi is an easygoing guy, it’s so easy being around him and even all his pick up lines don’t repel you from him

Least favorite rival: doesn’t have one. As I said, this man doesn’t notice that other guys try to get Y/n to themselves, the thought of having possible rivals doesn’t even cross his mind

Illuso

It’s not a secret to anyone that Illuso is a little nasty bitch with a huge god complex and all his wooing is no better. “You wanna spend time with me? Shit, you’re such a pain in my ass! Okay, I guess I will indulge you this time, but that’s only because of your cute face” - doesn’t sound so appealing, does it? And that’s exactly the way brunette flirts with Y/n (well, at least he tries to)

Illuso wants to make you crawl to him, to make you crave for his presence and his touch, you make you fall in love hard. Brunette wears his best outfits, uses the best of his perfumes make up stuff just to show you that he’s better than all of his teammates. Surprisingly, even his behavior changes slightly when Y/n is around - he’s not that unbearably churlish towards you, on the good days he may even compliment you - “Your hair… looks good today, I like it”

Least favorite rival: he hates all of La Squadra equally. Illuso is certain that he’s the only one who truly deserves Y/n’s attention, he’s the best partner for you and only he can treat you properly. Doesn’t even try to hide his hostility towards teammates - why would you want spending time with such a trash?

Ghiaccio

Ghiaccio is a tsundere, do I even need to explain why? Is obvious to everyone in La Squadra that he’s head over heels for Y/n, but he still aggressively denies everything if someone points that out. He’s also very protective of you, if Formaggio or Melone or Sorbet try to flirt with you in front of Ghiaccio - they’ll get their nose bleeding soon (blue-haired gets scolded for that by Risotto often)

Blue-haired tries his best to hold all his outbursts in front of you. Even when you ask the stupidest questions, Ghiaccio would clench his fists til his knuckles turn white, grit his teeth, try doing breathing exercises - everything just to remain calm and not to get tantrum in front of you. And you guess that means really a lot

Least favorite rival: Sorbet and Gelato. Those guys (gays, lmao im sorry) don’t even try to hide their interest in Y/n, pinning for you, prying your attention only to themselves. They flirt so openly with you, some of their lines and allusions make even Melone feel slightly uncomfortable, so Ghiaccio sees those almost as if two husbands were shamelessly molesting Y/n

Melone

Melone knows that at times he may be a little bit… too much, so he turns it down for as much as he can so his “strange” tendencies won’t scare Y/n off. For the first few months purple-haired is nothing but sweet and caring, looking pretty normal, just like an average man that doesn’t think of breeding and all possible kinks every two minutes of his time

Even though, he acts like a gentleman with Y/n. Carrying heavy bags for you, giving you a hand when you get up, and if you’re studying medicine he’s up to help you if you have problems with understanding something. Melone had been studying for almost four years at medical uni but got kicked out for having sex with his cogrouper right in the uni. So he may be pretty helpful if you don’t get something or if you’re just interested in medicine

Least favorite rival: I can’t say that he cares much about other guys from La Squadra, but if he had to pick out one it’d be Illuso. It’s not about the way brunette tries to charm Y/n, purple-haired from every beginning didn’t like this guy. All of his conceit and arrogant behavior - it all just pisses Melone off

Pesci

Pesci is so so timid with Y/n, every time you walk by him, saying hi or just smiling at him, poor boy’s heart twists into tight knots. How are you so sweet? How are you so perfect?

Despite all your friendliness green-haired is still incredibly bashful, he is simply afraid of approaching Y/n. It doesn’t matter how much he likes you, Pesci just can’t force himself to try and initiate a chat. Sometimes Prosciutto helps him out with that a little (even though he doesn’t realize that he helps), but blonde is still careful with his actions, not letting even his precious Pesci get too close to Y/n

Least favorite rival: Formaggio. This guy is so noisy and vigorous, every time Pesci finally pulls himself together and finds the courage to approach Y/n this guy seems to appear from fucking nowhere, hogging your attention all to himself and leaving green-haired an angry blushing mess

Sorbet and Gelato

At the very beginning it feels more like you are Sorbet’s and Gelato’s child and they’re your parents fretting over you. They often take you with them on some trips, Gelato helps you with your school (if it’s something he knows about), Sorbet picks you up from work/school and drives you home etc

Sorbet is more of a tease, playing around with you, shamelessly flirting with Y/n, littering with not so pure compliments and comments. His touches are a little bit too long, his gazes are slightly too intense, even stupidest one would notice brunette’s longing for Y/n. Gelato is way less intense than his husband, blonde is way easier with his words, charming you with his sweet talking and constant doting. He’s more of a pillow that eases the expression Sorbet gives you

Sorbet’s least favorite rival: Risotto. Brunette hates how calm and well-composed Capo is, what if Y/n thinks that albino is cooler than he is? But Sorbet immediately makes a new plan in his head: if Risotto is more of a dad to Y/n, always doting on you and being so kind, Sorbet’s going to become your daddy, making you fall for him and Gelato, make you hungry for their attention

Gelato’s least favorite rival: blonde is pretty acknowledged that everyone in La Squadra tryies to get Y/n to themselves, he sees everyone (except Sorbet ofc) as his rival. Man dislikes everyone, seeing them as his opponents, but he doesn’t have a least favorite one. Yes, other members are hella pain in the ass, but blonde is pretty sure that Y/n will end up in his and Gelato’s arms anyways, so there’s no need to jangle his nerves

Masterlist | Smut Masterlist

[yooseung]

( park jimin, cis man ) have you seen YOOSEUNG HO ? i heard HE is a WAITER at MAL’S DINER. they’re TWENTY-FIVE years old and they’ve been living in san verto for SEVEN YEARS. they tend to be CLEVER & DOGGED, but rumor has it they can also be SPITEFUL & SELF-CENTERED.

basics

name: yooseung ho

nicknames: yoo, seungie

pronouns: he/him/his

birthdate & age: 1st of november, 25 years old

current residence: living with yohan park at a spacious apartment

sexual orientation: bisexual (leans towards  men :nauseous_face:)

childhood home: brooklyn, new york

strengths:

+ quick-witted

+ loyal

+ straightforward

weaknesses:

– obnoxious

– dogmatic

– quick-tempered

likes: black coffee, overwatch, sunday roast, cotton candy, caramel, trashy pop music

dislikes: early mornings, sports, heights, clowns, horror films, books, sea food

tattoos: yes :~)

piercings: multiple piercings on his ears and a navel piercing

fam background that i copy and pasted from my notes app </3 (tw: brief mention of abuse)

- yooseung’s childhood was polarising, to say the last. in the eyes of yoojin and junghoon ho, both more convinced by the prospect of heirs than the prospect of children, their son was little more than a vague annoyance on his best days and an intolerable menace on his worst. though extended family and close friends threw around words like “charming” and “handsome”, yooseung was every bit as likely to be beaten with his mother’s velveteen slippers and his father’s belt as he was to have his cheeks pinched and his praises sung.

- their lives were ruled by tradition – a very unhealthy amount of it, and some very backward views. eight-year-old yooseung felt awkward at family gatherings and was unable to form bonds or conversations with his family.

- for all his too-clever comments and small acts of rebellion, however, yooseung secretly longed to please his parents. more than anything, perhaps, he wanted to make them happy in the hopes that it might sway them to affection. needless to say, that dream was never realized and yooseung, to the surprise of no one, became an arrogant and volatile product of his upbringing.

misc

- yooseung moved to san verto as soon as he turned 18,  coerced by his parents to pursue a bachelor’s degree in business administration, except he dropped out of college after failing most of his classes. he isn’t smart, he hates reading, absolutely hates studying, and enjoys spending most of his time playing computer games and shopping

- his parents got Absolutely Pissed and financially cut him off, which prompted yooseung to begin working at mal’s diner RIP

- he is very materialistic and has a habit of splurging on expensive clothes and living a lavish lifestyle ,,, doesn’t really have self-control ,,, mans probably got a sugar daddy/mommy somewhere ngl because he only works at the diner four times a week and streams himself playing overwatch for fun (he’s steadily gaining followers because he’s really good at it)

- can’t live without a pack of cigarettes. when he began smoking as a teenager, it was just something that he had picked up from the other kids in an effort to fit in. however, he quickly found himself attached to the sensation, finding temporary relief and relaxation in the bad habit. throughout the years this has switched from a casual, social habit to something that he gravitates towards whenever he’s stressed, anxious, or needs to occupy his mind

- he doesn’t really have a dream as of the moment, but is flirting with the idea of becoming an e-sports player

- he’s v arrogant, is practically in love with himself, and makes fun of people all the time :sob: it’s how he protects himself from getting hurt, though it’s a very unhealthy method

- that being said, he’s had a pretty bad record with relationships. no matter how serious things became, he dated with an emergency exit strategy in place. despite the trail of broken hearts he’s created, he finds comfort behind the walls that keep him emotionally guarded

- but as mean as he is, he values and is extremely protective of the close friends he has

- also a potty mouth. :/

wcs? <3 rly rackin my brain rn these r all i can come up with for now im sorey

- smth spicy, like exes that ended on bad terms (i doubt yooseung would end a relationship on good terms honestly) or fwbs that kind of got serious so yooseung dipped because he hates Feelings awh </3

- !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! the one (1) person who curb stomped on his heart n is practically one of the causes of yooseung’s fear of commitment :flushed: could be someone he knows from high school, or could also be someone he met after moving to san verto (he was still shiny and dumb and easy to trick) haha who gnna give me this... <3

- a childhood friend from brooklyn (or somewhere else i can change stuff up)!!!!!!!! could be estranged, could also have kept in touch with yooseung bc facetime calls & letters are real cute

- neighbors!!!!!!!! maybe a neighbor yooseung likes to annoy bc he thinks they’re hot and he wants to sleep with them <3 UIERUIEWROUEWUR

- platonic stuff like unlikely friends, someone he met in university that he still speaks to, a mal’s diner regular? someone he plays overwatch with?

- a good influence... he needs it. He Really Needs It. he needs someone who can tell him that its ok 2 b nice to strangers sometimes <3

- yooseung is usually the devil on his friends’ shoulders but mayhaps it’d be fun if he had someone to be Bad with we can plot this out 4 more details

- enemies <3 he is Very easy to hate <3

- i have a wcs tag here <3

IF ANY OF THESE INTEREST YOU, HIT ME UP! SOME ARE MORE DETAILED THAN OTHERS BUT ALL OF THEM ARE OPEN TO MODIFICATIONS TBH, WE CAN DEVELOP THEM HOWEVER WE WANT :) FEEL FREE TO  CHOOSE MULTIPLE PLOTS TOO..,.,. GO CRAZY

ps if u have any wcs yooseung can snag please im/dm me <3

[hcpefulmarshmallow]

@eris-the-phantom-thief replied to your post: SDR2 trials ranked from best to worst, based on...

While I love the development we got from fuyuhiko as a result of mahiru’s death, I didn’t really feel anything for the character other than intense loathing so I was kind a like “oh thank God she’s finally dead. “ It also really grates me the fact that Mahiru is always treated as a good person despite how badly she treated anyone who wasn’t a girl. It feels like her past it is written in a way that it excuses her shitty behavior towards anyone without 2X chromosomes rather than explains.

A characters past should explain their current behaviors, and it certainly shouldn’t basically condone any shitty behavior that comes as a result. I still say Maka from soul eater is a far better version of Mahiru, Her past is written in a way that it explains her behavior but at the same time it’s never treated as good.

When her distrust towards men causes friction between her and her weapon partner it’s played straight in as it is it’s never treated as acceptable. She takes full responsibility for her actions afterwords and does try to do better. 

That’s a pretty good comparison for Mahiru. I have to admit, I’ve always wanted to know more about her, but we’re never given the chance. Not just her past, but her thought process and stuff. 

 DR has a habit of recycling a lot of the same character archetypes, which is fine because many of them are integral to the functioning of a murder mystery plot. Most of them are dressed up enough that they feel different. But the vaguely endearing misandrist who will tell off any man for any reason is such a weird and specific trope to keep reusing, I need to wonder why. We get Toko who is, albeit, a radical take; but a take nonetheless. Then Mahiru, and finally Tenko. Mahiru was probably the most placid of the three, which sadly only made her forgettable. 

 Though I haven’t seen Soul Eater through yet, the misandry!!1! could’ve been used well, much as you described. The only thing worse than a bad character, is a character that could’ve been good. Say, for instance, she acknowledges her thought patterns aren’t healthy, and she asks herself why. She slowly realises the guys here aren’t like her father, and starts to believe maybe the world is more than she grew up with. The way she treats Nagito, who is arguably more soft-spoken and even effeminate than the other guys, at least to begin with, gives me hope this is possible. They didn’t have to remove it to make her likeable, just have her flaws acknowledged as flaws instead of an unpleasant personality trait. Things that can be resolved, and need resolving. Her reasoning is tangible and, to some people, relatable, but it’s so easy to be numb to because it’s really shoved into the background.

 But if it could play a real part in her character role, perhaps it’s something she could overcome, working with the boys rather than expecting to be used by them. It’d be a compelling arc, but nah, Sparkling Justice - a character who never even appears - was more important, I guess. I’m happy the second trial gave Fuyuhiko, and to a much lesser extent Peko, some great character moments. But everything came at the expense of Mahiru. And it just occurred to me that, whenever I say “X came at the expense of *character*’s development” it’s pretty much always a female character who gets left behind, and I don’t know how to feel about this. 

[shieldhearted-blog]

♫ five times my muse swears it’s not a date, and the one time it maybe is. [[omg pre-war? if that works?]]

♫  five times my muse swears it’s not a date, and the one time it maybe is. (  tw ; minor knife-injury, blood ment in [ i ]  )

[ i ]

So maybe it isn’t the most practical idea, but that doesn’t mean it won’t be fun. 

It’d started with Steve’s mom insisting that she teach Steve to cook, something he readily agreed to — and even more readily agreed when she suggested that he invite Bucky over, too. Everyone needed to know how to cook; Sometimes, she said, wives need a break. You need to know how to help them out and let them rest, honey.

She repeated this sentiment on Bucky’s first time joining them, and he immediately hid a laugh, whispering to Steve, Does it count as you giving her a break if you don’t have one?, for which he immediately got an elbow in the ribs. 

( Not that it hurt. Steve knew it wouldn’t; he’d put some force behind it, but Buck probably didn’t even feel it underneath his clothes. )  

They both learned a lot from her, and it was Steve who suggested that they try it alone — that is, alone, together; just without her supervision. So she left out her supplies, a vague handwritten recipe, and instructed them to produce the best apple pie they possibly could and, with the enthusiasm and confidence of 14- and 15-year-old boys, they set out to do just that.

That’s how it began. It quickly develops into a flour-throwing match, which Bucky definitely won. Steve argues that there are no real winners in a flour-throwing match, though, and Bucky tells him he’s only saying that because he lost. Steve throws more flour at him. 

They do get back to the recipe eventually; Steve pulls Bucky back over to the counter where they’re desperately trying ( and failing ) to make a pie crust, and they have about half the apples cut up. Steve bumps into Bucky continually as the two of them try to use the small counter space effectively, leading to a small shoving battle that is quickly stopped when Bucky nicks his finger. 

Steve wastes no time rushing to get their dingy first-aid kit: a few bandages and gauze on a good day. Mumbling admonishments under his breath about how Bucky needs to be more careful under his breath, Steve dabs at the small injury, wiping off the tiny amount of blood that’s welled up before carefully applying a bandage. 

It’s hardly even visible, calm down, Bucky mutters, as though any injury on Bucky isn’t a cause for concern. 

You calm down and just let me do this, Steve says. We take care of each other, okay? I don’t care if you say you’re fine. Just...let me do this, he repeats lowly. 

Bucky quiets down, and with the cut taken care of, they return to work; now much more conscientious. 

A couple hours later, the pie has turned out...Steve’s not sure how exactly it turned out, but, well, it sure...is out. Of the oven. And it sure...is visible. To their eyes. And it...it doesn’t exactly look like a pie, but, well, that’s... that’s okay. 

Steve’s mom returns to check on the finished product, voices the fact that it looks terrible, and then, in the same breath, congratulates the two of them on doing such a good job. The pie does taste rather good, after all. 

Steve’s mom makes a comment that her first date was baking with a boy she liked and Steve’s heart jumps in his chest. He and Buck obviously hadn’t done something like that but the idea is still.... It makes him happy. For some reason.

[ ii ]

Sneaking into the theatre isn’t something Steve wants to make a habit of, but, well, Bucky’s right — they deserve a night out, after how rough the past few days have been. So what if it involves just a little law-breaking?, Bucky argues. That honestly makes it more fun.

( Part of Steve agrees, but he’s not going to admit that. )

They sneak in to the high-class theatre, shoulders back, trying to look like they belong, and sit at the very back, hoping no one will notice that two teenagers who definitely shouldn’t be there were huddled close together, practically sharing a chair, watching the stage with wide eyes. 

It’s a musical — something Steve is cagey about admitting he likes, but of course Bucky knows. What doesn’t Bucky know? So when they sneak in and the orchestra begins playing, Steve grips Bucky’s arm tightly to show appreciation. Steve rarely speaks during movies, let alone live performances, but Bucky doesn’t have the same qualms; he’s just quiet about it.

The first thing Bucky says is, Worth it, wasn’t it?, leaning in close and ghosting the words over Steve ear, and Steve nods, not sure why he has goosebumps when it’s not even cold. 

Bucky continues making soft comments for Steve’s enjoyment only, and it’s nicer than it should be, considering he’s talking during a musical; Steve can’t but help love it. He loves the additions, how clever and well-timed they are, how quick Bucky is to pick up on plot lines and foreshadowing. And they’re still close, so close, and Steve doesn’t know how to ask or even properly think about it, but he wants Bucky to wrap an arm around his shoulders and keep whispering to him. In the dim, barely-there light that’s covering the audience, Steve wants Bucky to hold him ( or the other way around; he’s not sure; he’s not picky either way ) —

He’s not sure why he keeps thinking things like this. He knows, knows that if he were someone else then this would be intimate and — and romantic, but it’s not with him. It never has been. It’s not even close. 

He ignores the pang of disappointment when the musical ends and Bucky pulls away. They slip out of the theatre, and in the afternoon sunlight, Steve thinks it’s okay to think weird things, sometimes; as long as he ignores them.  

[ iii ]

They need to get out of the city. 

Not forever, not even for a long time, but Steve can tell how the constant bustle of the city is starting to harshly affect a very sickly Bucky. And when Steve’s Come on, follow me, is met with Bucky trailing behind him quickly, with comment but without question, Steve can’t help but wonder where, exactly, Bucky thinks they’re going. 

They walk slowly through backstreets and alleys, finally making their way out to the edge of the city, houses getting dingier as they near an almost-rural area. Bucky looks around — Steve thinks he knows where they are, or whereabouts, but not where they’re heading. And they make it to that destination without incident, thankfully, and Bucky lets out a long, deep breath and plops down at the edge of the creek — now, at least, he knows where they are.

It’s tiny; pitiful, really. The creek in front of them is a yard across as its longest point, easily able to be hopped at practically any location. But the water is clear and the sounds it makes are soothing. 

How long has it been? Bucky asks, and Steve shrugs, because the answer is too long but he’s not sure how to say that without making himself feel like he’s neglected something important. 

He doesn’t know when they found this place; he knows that one time when they were younger, Bucky ran; he started running from everything and Steve followed him here and tackled him in this creek, and they were both soaked and cold and out of breath and Bucky was frustrated and Steve was determined, and Bucky said Why won’t you let me go? and Steve said You can’t make me leave you, and Bucky wouldn’t look at him.

( Maybe that was when things changed from we’ve got each other to we’ll always have each other and nothing you do will change that, which should have been a bigger deal than it was; But they were young and forever seemed so easy; And even now Steve can’t bring himself to regret that sentiment; He still wants a forever and in the quiet of the world broken by the babbling of the creek, forever seems easy again. )

Steve sits down next to Bucky, and he suddenly doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He wants to hold Bucky’s, or wrap an arm around his waist; he settles for throwing one over Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky leans in closer to Steve and after a few minutes, his weight is heavier, and Steve realizes he fell asleep. 

Steve doesn’t move to wake him, but he does move to make him more comfortable. 

Bucky was sick and tired; needed a break. Steve thinks he was able to do that. He hopes he’ll always be able to make Bucky calm down and feel better. 

( He can’t think of a time when he possibly couldn’t. )

[ iv ]

It isn’t that Steve’s exactly keen to sit-in on a date with Bucky and a cute girl, but it’s his job as Best Friend to be there to support Buck through anything, and that includes sitting at a nearby table while Bucky has a date. For, you know, moral support. That’s normal, right? 

So here he is, sitting at a booth and drinking a coffee while picking at his appetizer in a restaurant that is much too expensive for him to be in under normal circumstances. Bucky is sitting at a nearby table, his hands folded politely in his lap, leg bouncing rapidly, sweating almost as much as his class of water. 

Steve couldn’t help but wonder what’d gotten Buck so worked up — or rather, who. Bucky hadn’t told him very much about the mystery girl, so Steve is left to wonder. 

Maybe she was much older than them, well past her 20s; maybe she was remarkably beautiful, breathtaking; maybe she was incredibly intelligent and well-educated; maybe she was —

A sigh pulls him out of his thoughts, and Steve looks over at the table, where the rhythm of Bucky’s bouncing leg has increased to its maximum tempo. Steve’s eyes flick up to the clock. 

She’s late. Like, really late. Bucky had said she’d be there around 5:15, and it’s closing in on 6. 

Bucky’s leg starts bouncing faster than it ever has, and Steve breaks.

He stands up, grabs his coffee, and plops down at the couples’ table across from Bucky, who looks up at him with wide, still-nervous eyes, and says, Alright, if this mystery lady isn’t gonna take this spot, then I will. What do you wanna order?

And something about it is so casual, natural, normal; but at the same time significant, important, heavy; and Steve can’t ignore it. Especially not when Bucky is looking at him like — like this is good, like it’s great, like he’s done something so right and wonderful. Like he’s wonderful. But he manages to focus on light conversation, on eating food and picking bits off the other’s plate; normal stuff. 

( He stoutly ignores the way his heart pounds against his chest, like he’s doing something more than what he’d intended; like he’s doing something — something — )

It’s just normal, right? This is normal. This is good. This doesn’t have to be anything serious.

When they get the check, Steve goes to pay, and Bucky grabs his wrist. Hey, I’m the one who was saving up to pay here. Let me, okay?, and Steve can’t imagine Bucky being here with anyone else and he desperately doesn’t want to, but he nods.  

He bites back what he wants to say. 

( As long as you let me pay next time. )

[ v ]

Movie night’s always a good night, and this time is no exception. But it’s good for a different reason than usual. 

When Steve thinks about his favorite parts, he thinks of the way Bucky would lean closer to him. When he thinks about what parts gave him goosebumps, it’s Bucky gripping his leg in excitement as something intense happens on-screen. His overall favorite part is easily when Bucky threw back his head and laughed, loud and genuinely lost in the moment, even if that moment only lasted a few seconds before he was back to holding himself upright and his amusement had to be regulated to a much more manageable smirk. 

Yeah, well, what was your least favorite bit? Bucky asks when they’re walking home together, and that’s easy.

When it ended. ( Bucky laughs at that, too. )

They make their way up to Bucky’s place, and Steve can’t help but think that if he and Bucky didn’t know each other like they do, if Bucky were a girl Steve had met before the show and bought movie tickets for — then it would be normal, entirely expected for him to lean over and grab Bucky’s hand and pull it up to his lips and gently ghost his breath over his knuckles with a word or two about how Steve’d had a wonderful evening, and he hopes they can go out again soon. 

But it’s not going out — Well, sure, they’re out together, but — it’s not  going out  when it’s him and Buck; no matter how much his thoughts are telling him he should do something that’s entirely inappropriate. 

Bucky isn’t exactly helping, either, as he gives Steve a little half-bow when they get to his door and jokingly says, I had a wonderful time, sir, his voice high and his lips pulled up in a smile. 

( Kiss him kiss him kiss him — )

Steve laughs and hits Bucky’s shoulder. Get some sleep.

( This isn’t anything serious. So why does he feel so alone when Bucky turns around? )

[ vi ]

Walking together, window-shopping in New York in early December is a popular pastime for couples. Or, for those who aren’t couples:  ‘‘ Pairs wherein one half desperately wishes the other would give him a sign that their friendship is more than that, is so much more serious than what people think it is; and that he’s not making things up, that this can actually be something more than what they act like it is, right? ’’

The two of them are staring at the insides of shops that they don’t have a reason to enter, looking at things that are too expensive to be in a local boutique and things that are too useless to be priced so high.

The air is filled with swirling, small snowflakes; not nearly enough to be a cause for dread, as anyone could easily tell these flurries won’t stick on the roads, but enough to make everything feel oddly scenic. Bucky is walking a bit ahead of Steve, hands stuffed deep in his pockets, occasionally throwing back comments about what they’re seeing.

Bucky thinks the sun dresses they’re seeing across the street are an affront to nature. You’re tempting it, he says, falling back closer to Steve, walking in time with him. You’re counting on the sun coming back. Now, it’s gonna be winter forever out of spite.

I don’t think that’s how seasons work.

Yeah, yeah, we get it, you believe that the clouds aren’t secretly listening to all our conversations. But where’s the fun in that, Steve?

I prefer to call it realism. 

Boring’s what it is. Imagine being up there, looking down. It’s like having your own personal movie going on all the time. 

Sounds like a pretty boring movie. 

Yeah, well, we could make it more interesting for them.

Oh?

Mm-hmm. Just confess your undying love for me. 

...

Come on, it’s a neat plot-twist.

Really, now?

Well, not too much of a plot-twist. We are in the perfect environment for a proposal. But...just enough elements are here to make it unlikely, but not impossible. The perfect plot-twist. No one will see it coming. 

I’d hope so, considering it’s not like we’re on a date, Buck.

( He wishes he didn’t have to say that. )

Bucky wiggles his eyebrows in a way that rides a fine line between I’m leaning into a joke and I want you to take this seriously. Steve can only huff and shake his head, not sure if he trusts himself to speak; and then Bucky reaches out his hand, grabs Steve’s in a manner that’s too hurried and worried to be entirely brushed off as a joke, and Steve wants to ask Bucky what the hell he’s doing ( and why hasn’t he done it any sooner ) —

But he doesn’t; doesn’t ask what this is, what they’re doing; doesn’t question if this is really a good idea or if they should stop right now; he doesn’t ask. 

He just runs his thumb over the back of Bucky’s hand and feels his pulse fluttering beneath his palm, and he doesn’t say anything about it. 

( He’s still pretty sure it’s a date. )

@facemypast​. [ Send me a symbol. ] Accepting.

[havokangel]

Shape Of You - Part 1/2

Warren Worthington III x Reader

written by @kurtwxgners & @alexsunmners

a/n; aka, the artist au no one asked for.

so first and foremost, this has been in the works since NOVEMBER. NOVEMBER. alex and i have been busting our ass for MONTHS over this fic and we hope we did it justice. sorry for keeping you all waiting, but we hope it was worth it! enjoy guys!

also on ao3

part two here

tags; @mvximoff @madelyne-pryor  @rax-writes @paperclipmac @v-writings @dicckgrayson @emmcfrxst @iamplaguedwithideas @hastyscribe @softwarren @jubillee @mutantlaura @idontknowwhattocallthisposts @theatricalenthusiast @themidnight-train @thequeen-ofnerds @xxencagedxx 

artist!warren playlist

ILYSB // LANY

Sex On Fire // Kings of Leon

The Less I Know The Better // Tame Impala

Comfortable // Lauv

Holy Ghost // BORNS

Why’d You Only Call Me When You’re High? // Arctic Monkeys

Never Be Like You // Flume 

Sex // The 1975

Post Break Up Sex // The Vaccines

Idfc // Blackbear

Nothing’s Gonna Hurt You Baby // Cigarettes After Sex

Trouble // Cage The Elephant

She Moves In Her Own Way // The Kooks

R U Mine? // Arctic Monkeys

I Walk The Line // Halsey

Boys Don’t Cry // The Cure

Summary; You know Warren better than you think anyone else does; you know about his art and his habits and a bit about his dad, and you know that he’s reckless and self-destructive and that he doesn’t do relationships.

 Which wasn’t a problem until now.

There’s no denying that Warren Worthington III is incredibly attractive. Girls and boys alike always seem so naturally drawn to him, and you wonder if the universe had specifically put him in your life to make you angry. Warren may be the Adonis of your university, but there’s always a catch with boys like him: his ego, which may as well be bigger than the sun, and you’re almost positive that he knows he’s got everyone in your art class wrapped around his finger. You’re first hand witness to that, for an hour and a half three times a week. Everytime he cuddles up to some wide-eyed girl and suggests that they swing by his place that evening, you roll your eyes so hard you’re almost surprised they don’t fall out of your head. He tells them he’d love to have them model for him sometime. You’re pretty sure that’s what he tells every girl he wants to fuck. It makes you cringe. So, that’s why you usually kept to yourself in that class - that is, until Warren actually acknowledges your presence.

The project you’re working on, is simple, so simple that even someone who was just taking this as an elective, like yourself, could pass with flying colors without giving it too much attention. It’s still life week and you’re meant to be drawing the fruit bowl in the middle of the room, which feels like a cliche or something, but who are you to argue with the teacher’s assignment. You had put your headphones in a while ago, before Warren had started making his usual rounds of the class, to project his ‘artistic advice’ onto other students who didn't know any better, who were probably only taking his incredibly condescending advice at all in the hopes of gaining his affection. Or an invitation home. You’re pretty sure Warren has fucked half the class already and for reasons that escape you, the rest of the class hasn’t figured out that they should probably just steer clear of him. So when you see out of the corner of your eye a stool being pulled up next to you, a sigh leaves your mouth. You pull out a headphone, and look at Warren, who’s oh-so-carefully examining your sketch through his probably fake and definitely expensive glasses.

“Y’know, if I were you, I’d shade in this area,” He suggests, finger pointing to the bottom of the bowl. “It’d really make the drawing more realistic, and it’d give it more depth.”

“Excuse me?” You say with offense, looking down at your paper.

“M’just saying, it’d look good if you shaded there.” Warren repeats, leaning his chin against his hand.

“Look, just because you’re some ‘up and coming’ artist, doesn’t mean I’m going to do what you thinks good,” You tell him, using air quotes around your words to make your point. “Besides, the prof is always telling us to develop our own art style.”

“Ouch!” Warren petulantly says, clutching his chest. “Didn’t expect you to be so sassy, princess.”

“Don’t call me that.” You say with a roll of your eyes, ripping your completed sketch out of your book. You get up to go turn in your sketch, Warren quickly following behind you.

“Look, we haven’t really talked before, I was just trying to break the ice!” He says petulantly, though the effect is ruined by the smirk tugging at his lips. You swear that he was born with that permanent smirk on his face. The teacher points to the pile of sketches, and you place it there. “You’re always so observant, and I just want to get to know you.”

“Way to break the ice,” you mutter under your breath, moving back to the table where your things are.

“Why don’t you swing by my place tonight, I’m having a little get together with some other art majors,” Warren suggests casually, as you gather your things. “I’ve got lots of good wine, and you could check out my portfolio.”

“Sorry Warren, I’d love to be around people I have nothing in common with, but I've got plans tonight,” you retort, hitching your bag a little higher on your shoulder.

“And that's what? Netflix bingeing until three a.m.?” Warren calls after you, watching as you make your way towards the door. You just turn and give him a blatantly fake smile, flipping him off to the amusement of the students watching. He just sighs with a smile, his hands moving to his hips. He'd always see you during class, and he always wondered how a girl like you was always so quiet, and observant during class. And to be quite honest, he was getting pretty tired of the usual girls he flirted with during this class; so he took an interest in you, initiating the conversation with you today. You looked like you could be fun, and the way you had snapped back at him only confirmed the idea.So as the next few weeks unfold, he’s not too sure why his usual lines and tricks aren't working on you, like they had on everyone else. And you're pretty sure you might wring his neck, if he asks you to come to one more of his art shows; or to his loft for “modeling purposes.”

Warren finds out that when you get angry or annoyed, you look undeniably attractive. He also finds it attractive, that when you think no one is paying attention, how you'll chew at the tip of your pencil out of concentration. And, when you're in the dark room together, you look otherworldly under the red lights. He hasn't felt the need to pursue someone like this in a long time. No matter how much you two may argue and banter, there's no denying the underlying chemistry between the two of you. Between hook-ups and Uni, he’d kind of forgotten what it was like to “chase” someone he’s taken an interest in, so when a partner project comes along that requires a human canvas, he’s quick to sign your name along with his.

“I'm sorry, but when did I agree to be your partner?” You question him, seeing your name scrawled out in his handwriting.

“Oh c’mon princess! I'm a good partner,” he winks, as you roll your eyes at him. “We could get a head start on it tonight. I got plenty of ideas, and not to mention, some good wine.” You can't deny that he's the best artist in the whole damn class, and you've heard from others that he actually does have the best wine, and he's a pretty decent host. You're positive he’s also got way better art supplies, which would no doubt increase your chances of getting a nice grade.

“Alright, alright,” You give in, rummaging around your bag for a spare pen and paper. As you scrawl your number on the paper, Warren’s smirk on his face grows. “Text me your address, Worthington. I'll see you at 7.”

And like you had planned earlier, that’s how you end up in Warren’s loft; watching him pour you a glass of wine. (You’d be lying if you said you weren't at least a little nervous. Worthington may be an asshole, but he's also definitely easy on the eyes.) Kings of Leon is playing softly in the background, as he hands you the glass of wine.

“Well, I’d never thought I’d see the day,” Warren says, leaning back against the counter, as he takes a sip of his wine.

“And what’s that?” You ask, even though you're pretty much certain of what he's going to say.

“The day I got you to come to my place. It's a miracle, it really is, princess!”

“God, you're an asshole,” you reply with a laugh, bringing your glass to your lips.

“Yeah, but you like it. Don't lie to yourself,” he teases, causing you to roll your eyes.

“Oh, you're right! I love when you tell me everything I draw is fucked up,” you quip, as he shakes his head with a grin.

“In the art world, that's called constructive criticism,” he says defensively, as you just laugh.

“Well in the real world, that's called being a douchebag.”

Warren grabs the bottle of wine, and circles around the island, cueing you to follow him to the living room. He plops down on the couch, patting the space next to him. You sit, crossing your legs as he rests his arm on the back of the couch. “Alright, down to official Uni business!” He exclaims, reaching to grab his notebook off the coffee table. “I have some experience with using human canvases, so I've got a few ideas.”

“Human canvases, huh?” You comment, swirling your glass. “That human canvas wouldn't happen to go by Emma, from our class, would it? I've heard some pretty good stories from her about you, y’know.”

“Ha, ha,” Warren says, rolling your eyes petulantly and making you chuckle. “Anyways, as I was saying, you know Tumblr, right?” You nod. Of fucking course, he’d have a Tumblr. “Well, you've seen those pictures of paintings on people's backs and shit, right?” Warren asks, his brow raising. It takes you a second to think of what he's describing before it clicks in your brain.

“Oh, Worthington, you've gotta get a couple drinks in me before I do that.”

“I knew you'd say that.” Warren laughs lightly, moving to grab the bottle of wine. “It's a good thing I got this, and more options.”

As the wine begins to flow, so do the ideas. None of them really sound that appealing or creative, and you're pretty sure you're closing in on a decision. As Warren, it’s the alcohol that’s affecting your decision making, but you’re almost certain that it’s the way Warren is so effortlessly making you feel at ease; like he’s taking down the front to an act he puts on all day.

“Fuck it,” you say, interrupting Warren’s list of ideas. “Let’s do the back painting.”

He actually looks slightly taken aback for a moment, his plump lips parting for a moment as if he’s going to say something; but closing them, lips curling into a small smile. He closes his notebook and stands, your gaze following him. “Alright princess,” He says, offering his hand to you. “Let’s get started.”

Warren rearranges his furniture in the living room, pushing the couches out of the way so he would be able to paint. He rummages through his closet for some old sheets, spreading the already paint stained sheets on the floor. You hurriedly finish your wine and pour yourself another large glass as you watch Warren set things up because it’s hitting you that you’re going to be pretty much half naked on his floor, with his hands all over you. You watch him as he sets up a couple lights around the area, arranging them to his liking. He leans down to the couch, and grabs a pillow, chucking it to you with a playful smile.

“For your comfort,” He says simply, running a hand through his curls. “I’m-I’m just gonna go into the other room. Take… take your shirt off, and get comfy. There’s an extra sheet over there, in case I get paint on your skirt, or whatever.” Warren quickly excuses himself, much to your amusement. You’re actually quite flustered if you’re being honest; you expected him to make some suggestive comments throughout the night, but he's been a gentleman so far.

Taking one last sip of your wine for some courage, you slip off your shirt and place it over the back of the armchair. You unclasp your bra and put it on the armchair as well. You wrap your arms around your chest for a moment, feeling the vulnerability set it. You can do this, you convince yourself, as you settle yourself on the floor. You're gonna be fine, and you're going to get a really fucking good grade.

“Worthington!” You call out, raising your head to look over your shoulder. “I'm ready!”

Warren comes into the living room, his hands full of his supplies. It takes everything he's got, not to drop them. He really thought he wouldn't be affected by you being half naked on his floor, but he was so wrong. With your hair splayed over your shoulders and sheet over your legs, you look like you had just fallen asleep after…. after some pretty suggestive activities. And it doesn't help that you look like this, on his floor. He just clears his throats and tries to get his shit together as he makes his way over to you, setting down his supplies beside your body.

“Uh, do- do you want me to play some music or something? Do you want any more wine?” He asks, trying to maintain his professionalism.

“Yes to the music, no to the wine, unfortunately.” You reply, earning a laugh from Warren. “I'm pretty sure I'm past tipsy.”

“Aw, that's cute,” Warren teases, as he puts on some soft music. Of fucking course, he listens to Tame Impala. “You're a lightweight.”

“Shut up,” you retort, as he makes his way back to you. “Not all of us binge drink as often as you do.”

Warren chuckles, and gets to his knees, pondering the best way to go about painting. If he wants to get precise strokes and details, he's going to have to be close to your back. “Is it… is it alright if I sit on your thighs?” He asks carefully, preparing for some snarky comment. You're quiet for a moment, and even though he can't see your face, he's sure that you're cringing. But he's proven wrong, as you just burst into a fit of giggles.

“Yeah, sure, that's- go for it,” You reply, between giggles. “Just don't crush me.”

“Was that supposed to be an insult?” Warren quips, moving to straddle the upper part of your thighs.

“Definitely not. You're like, way more ripped than an artist should be.”

“Wait, what?” Warren asks, not fully processing your statement.

“Uh, nothing, just- just sit already, Worthington!”

Warren feels his cheeks heat up, and shakes his head with a fond smile. When he settles on your thighs, that’s when he realizes how close he actually is to you. Christ, his dick is pretty much pressed against your ass at this angle. NO, Warren thinks to himself, Do not think of her ass. Focus on the painting. Focus on the painting.

Taking one last deep breath, he picks up a brush to start. He dips the paintbrush into a deep purple, moving his hand to the middle of your back. You instantly shiver when the paint comes in contact with your spine, eliciting a small squeak of surprise from you. Warren just laughs softly and asks you if you’re good. When you just nod against the pillows, he starts again. As he works, you’re pretty sure you’ve entered Heaven. His free hand is soft and inviting as it occasionally touches your skin, and the strokes from his brush are soothing against your skin. When Warren leans down to examine the details of his work, you feel his breath against you - and you’d be lying if you said that didn’t make your heart flutter. The music in the background fades as you slip in and out of consciousness, the mixture of wine and the paint making you sleepy. You’re not sure how much time has passed because before you know it, you feel Warren’s weight leave you; making you frown.

“Is it done?” You ask, voice laced with grogginess, as you turn to look at him over your shoulder. His hair is slightly disarrayed, and his white shirt has splatters of blue and purple on it.

“Yeah, it is,”  Warren starts, searching through some bags to dig out his camera. “Do you mind if I take a few for class?”

“No, not at all.” You answer, turning to rest your face back on your arms.

As Warren adjusts the lighting once more for the photographs, he realizes just how dangerously attractive you look. With your hair sprawled out and your body half covered with a sheet, you look like you’ve just fallen asleep in his bed. It’s almost a little too much for him, as you yawn. He shakes himself from his thoughts before he finally starts to snap some pictures. With every click, he can feel himself stray to thoughts of how you’d look underneath him, and how your lips would feel against his. He won’t admit it, but he definitely snaps more than he should, for nights when he can’t shake off the feeling of how your ass felt underneath him. When he sets down his camera, he takes note of how you’re more or less fast asleep on his floor. He kneels down to your face, where he gently places a hand on your shoulder.

“You want to take a shower?” He asks softly, as you rouse from your lax state. “Or I could wipe you off if you don’t want to move.”

“You do it,” You mumble back as if it was the obvious answer. “Don’t wanna move.”

Warren nods in understanding, moving to the kitchen to grab some washcloths. He runs them under hot water, and rings them out, before going back to you. He takes his place on your thighs once more, pressing the warm washcloth on your back. His free hand finds its home on your side, balancing himself as he wipes carefully down your spine. Your reaction is entirely unanticipated and it sets him reeling.

The groan you release is muffled, but not muffled enough for Warren not to hear it. It sounds akin to a pleasured groan; one that is produced when a person is in the midst of a climax and it shakes him to the core. He freezes, and tenses above you. It’s only then, you realize, that Warren fucking Worthington III is hard against your ass.

You’re suddenly not so tired anymore.

It takes Warren a moment for him to collect himself before he starts wiping off your back again. You do your best to stifle your groans, but you’re sure he’s doing it with more pressure deliberately. It’s not long before Warren is done wiping off the paint, and you’re about to thank him before the washcloth is replaced with his hands. The moment his thumbs dig into your shoulders, you know, that you’re completely and utterly fucked.

You’re sure he knows what he’s doing to you, as his deft hands travel around your back, his thumbs digging in all the right places. Warren bites his lower lip, as you’re underneath him, a wicked thought crossing his mind. His hands drift to the base of your spine before he lowers himself so that his lips are level with your ear. You physically shiver when you feel his lower lip brush against the shell of your ear, his fingers dancing across your skin.

“You okay, princess?” Warren’s voice is three octaves lower than usual, and the slight lust in his tone is enough to make a heat of wave surge through your body. You can’t physically make the effort to actually form any coherent words, so you just opt to make an ‘mmh’ that sounds pathetically desperate to your ears. There’s a long, tense pause, as he takes in your answer. You’re about to say something, say something to convince you both that this is maybe a bad idea, but your words are caught in your throat as he places a kiss to the nape of your neck, and he doesn’t stop there. His lips place hot, wet kisses down your back, and you’re pretty sure you’re going to lose it right then when his tongue traces the dip of your spine. His calloused hands travel down your sides, pulling down the dirtied sheet to reveal your skirt, that in the process of painting, has been hiked up a little. The way you’re fisting the pillow underneath you is enough permission for Warren to continue.

He pushes up your skirt and just lets out a dark laugh at what he’s met with. Your lace cheeksters make your ass look fantastic, and he loves the way they look against your skin. His large hands suddenly grasp the swell of your ass, causing a surprised moan to fall from your lips. “Goddamn, princess,” he groans, voice gravelly. You barely even process the feel of his lips suddenly sucking hard at one of your cheeks, his thumb moving to stroke you outside of your panties. You let out an absolutely wrecked moan as he marks up your ass, his thumb rubbing at your clit in uneven circles over your underwear.

He grows quickly impatient with that and opts to scoot forward slightly. Your back arches the second he starts mouthing at your clothed heat, a yelp escaping your lips. Warren hums in approval at your reaction, and that's when he takes the cue to rid you of your underwear altogether. His hands make quick work of the underwear, throwing them behind his shoulder, long forgotten. Your breath is ragged and short as his rough hands grasp your ass, and you all but scream his name when his tongue presses against your cunt.

The angle’s a little awkward, but you don't really care: because all you can focus on is the feel of his tongue lapping at you like a starved man, and the feel of his hands spreading your ass apart. Warren alternates between deep, longing licks and short, teasing ones. Your knuckles are turning white from how hard you’re grasping the pillow underneath you, and you nearly lurch forward when you feel his tongue against your ass.

“Fuck!” You curse loudly. Your voice cracks from how dry it is, but you don’t care. Warren fucking laughs at your reaction, because he knew you were close, too.

He keeps up the teasing, deep licks for a couple more minutes. He wants to see how far he can push you until you’re begging for the release you need. He’s always been a tease. It takes Warren by surprise when he feels your hand place itself in his curls, fingers digging into the roots of his hair. You impatiently press him harder into you, and he seems to get the point. His tongue immediately moves down to your clit, where he focuses his attention. With every movement of his chin, you could feel the day old stubble rub against the apex of your thighs, only increasing the pleasure. The second Warren’s fingers nudge at your clit, you gasp out his name; finally getting that release you’ve needed for the past ten minutes.

Your eyes shut tightly as you cum, your grip on Warren’s hair tightening as he rides out your orgasm. His fingers are still rubbing at your clit, making your body pulse and writhe underneath him. It’s not long before he finally detaches himself from your aching cunt, and hastily making his way up towards your lips.

He leaves a couple more kisses on your ass and spine before you’re resting your weight on your elbows to meet him halfway. You’re pretty sure a first kiss has never been so utterly filthy before. His tongue is immediately in your mouth, and you’re kicking yourself for being turned on by the taste of yourself on his lips. At the taste of yourself, you can’t help the needy little moan that leaves your mouth, which causes Warren to actually fucking growl.

It’s a blur, as Warren’s hands plant themselves on your hips, practically manhandling you to your back. He leans back on his heels to pull off his shirt quickly, returning to give you a bruising kiss. It’s a mess of tongue and teeth, as his hands greedily knead at your breasts. Your hands shove themselves between your bodies, fingers trying to unbuckle his belt as quickly as you can possibly manage. The second his belt falls to the floor with a ‘clink,’ Warren detaches his mouth from yours once more. He kicks off his jeans and briefs hurriedly, wasting no time to come back to you.

When he comes back down to you, you can’t really help yourself, as your hand slides down once more to grip his length. The second you stroke him, Warren gasps heavily into your mouth; his eyes screwing shut. His tongue darts out to wet his lower lip, as you stroke his cock. You let out a small noise of surprise when he regains his focus, his hand moving to hold the base of your throat.

His hips grind forward, the length of him sliding across your wanting entrance. When you whine in response, Warren just chuckles darkly, ducking down to brush his lips against yours.

“You want me to fuck you, baby?” He whispers, the hold on your throat tightening. “Want me to fuck you good?” You’re so far gone that your body feels like one huge pulse; controlled by the single hand on your throat, the soft lips ghosting against yours. Your slightly trembling hand moves to grip his wrist as your hips roll into his, your head nodding almost frantically, giving him the green light. He smirks down at you, and you can practically see the lust in his eyes. The second he tightens that grip around your throat, you can already tell that you’re going to have trouble walking straight.

He slides into you easily, filling you to the brim. The ragged moan that the two of you let out is so fucking filthy, that it makes the whole situation even sexier. He doesn’t waste any time in setting up a deep, punishing rhythm. Warren’s lips seem to be connected permanently connected to your jaw as he fucks you, his teeth scraping at biting at the skin there. Your gasps are loud but you don’t care because they’re quickly muffled by Warren. Your hands move under his arms, nails digging into his back, only causing Warren to thrust harder into you.

You’re already sensitive as hell from earlier, which makes you cum quickly around him. The second Warren feels you clench around him, eyes rolling back into your head, he knows he’s got you.

“Fuck, yeah,” He groans, his hand leaving your throat. “So fuckin’ hot when you cum.”

You wrap your arms around his neck to yank him back down for a bruising, mean kiss, his tongue fucking into your mouth, as he feels his orgasm creep up on him. All it takes is for him to pull back and take one good look at you, to finish; the fucked out look you give him is what does him in.

He cums with almost a yell, his hips slamming hard into yours and stilling; his hot cum spilling into you. Warren collapses against your chest, his breath ragged, his heart rate elevated. It seems like you both just lay there for an eternity, as he keeps his head resting in the crook of your neck. Part of you wants to believe that this whole thing was a mistake; something to blame on the alcohol. The other part of you wants to feel his lips on yours once more and to feel his hips thrusting against yours.

It feels like ages before Warren stands, moving to the kitchen to grab a warm cloth to clean you up with. You lie there feeling almost jaded as you let him clean you up, shivering at his touch when he moves the cloth between your legs. He leans back on his heels and offers you his hand, helping you up. You stumble slightly, but Warren is quick to catch you. Warren just coughs out a small laugh, which causes you to scowl at him playfully.

“I... I think I may need that shower now,” you tell him quietly. Warren just chuckles and nods in understanding. He helps you to the bathroom because lord knows your legs don’t work properly after that. In the bathroom, he starts up the shower and throws you a towel, turning to make his leave. Warren is surprised when you pull him back by his wrist, a tired smile playing at your lips. Your eyes are half lidded, high off the sex and still drunk off the wine. Warren wonders how you still manage to look beautiful, even after he just fucked you senseless. His breath hitches when your finger grazes the dips of his abs, his eyes following your finger, tracing over the paint smears that litter his skin.

“I know you’re sweaty from the sex, but don’t think I didn’t notice the paint,” You tell him, as you look up at him through your lashes. Your fingers idly trace up his torso and to his neck, tracing his collarbones. Warren’s adam’s apple visibly bobs as you move them to his lips, tracing them gently. His lips part, and as a natural reflex, they slip into his mouth. His tongue laves over them for a fleeting moment, before you’re caught off guard by his hands gripping your hips. He all but slams you against the counter, your fingers popping out of his mouth. Warren mouths at your neck, one of his hands moving to inevitably finger you again. You’re quicker than him though, your hand wrapping around his wrist to stop him. He pulls away like a docile dog, probably thinking he pushed your limits. Pushing his curls out of his face in reassurance, you say,

“Not that I’m opposed to the idea, it’s just that the water’s probably getting cold.”

The confused visage melts away, replaced with an almost bashful smile. He just leans forward, resting his face in the crook of your neck. It takes you slightly aback when he presses a chaste kiss underneath your ear - a kiss lovers most likely share. You try not to think about it too hard. He pulls back, and you both get into the shower. It’s quiet, but not uncomfortably so. You both clean up and share small, fond smiles as you pass the shampoo back and forth. When you get out, he wraps you up in a towel and leaves you be to change. As you dry your hair with your towel, the reflection in the mirror is only what can be described as a hot mess. He surely did a number on your neck, that’s for sure. Looks like it’s going to be nothing but scarves and turtlenecks for the next week.

He offers you his bed to stay in for the night, and as pleasing as it sounds, you have to deny. You have work early the next morning, and you’re sure if you spend the night he’ll add more damage to your neck, which you just can’t have. As you gather your purse, Warren comes up behind you. His arms wrap around your waist, and you squirm a little when he presses light kisses to the marks he’d left earlier. Your arms overlap his, as you try to break free out of his grip, only to fail. He spins you so that he can mouth at your jaw. The bastard.

“Warren,” You all but stutter out, with a smile. He pulls back with a smug grin, raising his brows in fake innocence. “You’re making it so hard for me to leave.”

“That’s the idea, princess.” He quips quietly, his lips ghosting over yours as he leans in for another kiss. You turn at the last second and push out of his grip with a mischievous grin. Warren sighs in defeat, pushing back his damp bangs.

Cutting him some slack, you stand on your tippy toes and press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. When you pull back, he’s got a crooked grin on his face, and almost a wicked gleam in his eye. You back up to the front door, and before you turn the knob to leave, you say,

“See you in class, Worthington.”

The next few weeks are slightly surreal. Neither of you acknowledges that you had sex, but the dynamic between the two of you is very obviously different. You’re friends now-or at least friendly. Warren reigns in his ‘constructive criticism’ in class, and you work together on another project, and everything feels normal, besides the whole ‘being friends’ thing. You still roll your eyes when you see him smooth talking the other people in the class and you definitely don’t cut him any slack for his ego, but it’s less aggressive and more bantering now, and you don’t really know where this is going, but you like being his friend, so you just figure you’ll let it happen. You don’t go to his parties though, and you don’t show up to any of his exhibits. They feel like you’re committing to something, though you’re not sure what, or even why it feels like that, and it sets you slightly on edge.

Warren doesn’t keep asking you to things either, which is why you’re feeling almost as surprised as he looks when you push open the door to one of the campus art galleries where his latest exhibit is being displayed along with other top student artists from the area. He glances over reflexively as he hears the faint noise from the door, and then freezes when he sees you. You’re pretty sure this is the first time he’s seen you put any significant effort into your appearance, and you’re not hating the distinctly appreciative look in his eye as he takes in your dress and heels.

“What’re you-” he starts, and breaks off, still staring at you as if this is unfamiliar territory and he doesn’t know how to proceed. “I don’t think I mentioned this show to you,” he remarks with feigned nonchalance, and you smirk at him.

“You didn’t. But I’m here to see if you can back up all that shit you like to talk about being an ‘up and coming artist’ or whatever,” you quip, and a small answering smirk of his own curves his lips as he hands you a champagne flute from a passing waiter.

“Princess, I can back up all my talk,” Warren retorts, a slightly suggestive emphasis in his tone that makes you laugh as you take hold of his proffered arm and he begins to lead you around the small gallery.

He takes you through the other student’s sections first, and you expect him to trash talk everything about their exhibits, but he doesn’t-well, not all that much. He points out details in the pieces that you wouldn’t have picked up on and he tells you about the process and the techniques you’re unfamiliar with without being overtly condescending about it. You’re almost hyper aware of the other girls in the gallery throwing lingering glances his way, but not once does he leave you to fend for yourself.

It takes you the better part of two hours to reach his section of the exhibition, in part because he seems to have taken it upon himself to explain the aesthetically and technically impressive aspects of the other artist’s work and because he keeps being stopped by unfamiliar, but important looking people. When he finally reaches his own display, you’re astonished by his lack of overt arrogance, actually looking a little unsure of himself as you stand in front of the first big piece. It’s a hazy, unfocused, dimly lit photograph of his apartment living room in weak evening sunlight, and while you can certainly appreciate its aesthetic value, you feel like you’re grasping at straws as you try to come up with a deeper meaning for it.

“So what does this mean?” you say eventually, still studying the enlarged photo on the wall before you. “I mean, it’s a good photo, and I get the technique, but is there a message you’re trying to send or whatever?” Warren laughs sheepishly, one hand ruffling his hair unconsciously.

“I-uh-that shot was a total accident, to be honest. I told my professor that it was an attempt to capture the intangible sense of melancholy brought by the ending of a day, but actually, I fell asleep on the couch and my glasses fell off, and then when I woke up again the light was gorgeous, but I could barely see, so I grabbed what luckily turned out to be my good camera and sort of hoped for the best,” he explains, cheeks slightly flushed, and you can’t stop the giggle that escapes you as your gaze drifts from him to the photo and back to him again.

“Y’know,” You remark after taking a second to compose yourself. “I definitely thought you wore those glasses to be some ironic cliché hipster or some bullshit like that rather than actually needing to correct your vision.”

“Yeah, I’m blind as a bat.” Warren nods complacently at your remark and the utterly unperturbed manner in which he accepts your jab brings on a fresh wave of laughter from you, leaving a slightly inscrutable smile on his face as he watches you. The next block of work is a small spread of still life charcoals, and as you examine them a little more closely, you let out an incredulous chuckle.

“These are from class. Our class. I thought you were an edgy boundary pushing artist or whatever but you actually put some honest to god fruit bowl still life in your big exhibit,” you giggle in an almost accusatory manner, and he glares at you in mock offense.

“Hey, don’t knock the classics. My technique is really good in these and I gotta counterbalance my edgy stuff with something so the old people don’t have heart attacks,” he says defensively, and you roll your eyes, taking his arm again and tugging him on to the next display board.

“Whatever you say, maestro.”

Warren watches you as you pull him around his exhibit, asking questions about his work and more often than not teasing him about his answers, not taking any of his gracefully articulated pretentious explanations seriously when you ask what the art means. He’s utterly unaware of the other girls watching him enviously as he walks with you around the gallery and the thought crosses his mind that he hasn’t had this much fun with someone else in a long time. Your skin is warm against his and even though neither of you has mentioned that night in his loft, he sure as hell hasn’t forgotten it. That night and the events that transpired aren’t far from your mind either, and as you approach the final photograph in his exhibit, you can’t stop the soft gasp that escapes your lips, because it’s you.

The photo is familiar, but it’s not one of the ones the two of you handed in as your final project. The painting on your back is a technically excellent as you remember it being, but something about the lighting of the photo and the drape of the sheet over your lower back makes this one infinitely more suggestive, and you look away after a couple of seconds, heat rising to your cheeks.

“What, no questions about this one?” Warren asks, teasingly and you roll your eyes, even as you avoid looking over at him.

“No, I think I’m already pretty familiar with the details of this particular photo, thanks,” you retort, and he chuckles. Looking around the gallery, you notice that the rest of the guests have more or less cleared out now, and the staff hired for the event are starting to clear away the tables. You don’t check the time but you know it’s getting late, and yet you’re not quite ready to leave because you like spending time with Warren when he’s like this. No arrogant superiority and not blatantly flirting with anything that breathes. Glancing up at him, you make a split second decision, tightening your grip on his arm and starting to tug him towards the door.

“C’mon, let me buy you a drink. There’s a really good bar not far from here,” you say decisively. He doesn’t resist, but he gives you a quizzical look as you pull him along the sidewalk.

“I’m not complaining or anything, but is there a particular motivation to buy me a drink?” He asks and you let out a short laugh, leaning into his side a little because the night is colder than you had expected.

“Let’s just call it payment in kind, or whatever. I’ve talked a lot of shit about your art, and you proved me wrong tonight, so it’s the least I can do. Besides, I’ve been having a good night. Have you?” You tease him, and Warren chuckles in response, unwinding his arm from yours and tugging you to a brief pause as he takes off his jacket and drapes it around your shoulders before offering you his arm again. You give him a surprised look as you hook your arm through his, leaning a little more heavily against him than necessary because you never expected him to be like this with you, but you definitely don’t dislike it in the slightest. “Look at you being a gentleman, Worthington,” you quip, and you can’t quite tell under the dim glow of the streetlights, but you think he might actually be blushing.

“Don’t spread it around, I have a rep to maintain,” he jokes, and you roll your eyes and elbow him lightly in the side as you continue down the sidewalk together.

It takes five minutes to reach the bar, and when you slip inside, it’s fairly empty, only a few other patrons nursing drinks in booths or at the counter. You hand Warren his jacket and point him at a table in the corner as you head to the bar to order drinks for the two of you.

“Did you-you didn’t need to buy me a drink,” he starts and you scoff, cutting him off.

“I said I would and it’s not like one beer costs me all that much. You can buy the next few if you really feel you have to for whatever reason,” you say, and he just laughs, clinking his bottle to yours before taking a sip.

The two of you sit and drink for another hour, and true to his word, Warren buys the next few drinks for the two of you. It’s a little surreal, spending time with him like this, and as the night wears on, this unfamiliar tension starts to build between the two of you. It makes you feel like there are sparks skittering over your skin and you can’t stop thinking about the first time you and he were drinking together. His hair has gotten progressively messier and his shirtsleeves are rolled up and it could be your imagination or the alcohol or a whole range of other factors, but his crooked grin seems to be getting more and more suggestive by the minute and you can’t help but consider just how of big a mistake it might be to kiss him.

It only takes one or two drinks for you to be on Warren’s side of the table, leaning into his side with his arm around your shoulder, and you don’t really want to think about what the consequences might be if the night goes where you’re steering it. Not long after that, the pool table in the corner of the bar clears out and you get up from your seat with a smirk, grabbing his hand and pulling him over.

“You know how to play, or am I gonna have to ask someone else here to teach me?” You ask with a wicked smirk on your face. Warren smirks back at you as he downs the last of his drink, rising to his feet and following you as you tug him over to where the pool table stands in the corner.

“Don’t you worry sweetheart, I know how to play,” he drawls, slinging an arm over your shoulders and pressing in close to your side as you survey the table. You know how to play pool. You play pretty damn well. But Warren doesn’t need to know that. Though, you’re not sure he’d care that you were strategically miscommunicating about your skill level, given that result is having you pressed up against his chest as he leans over you, his arms around your shoulders to help you guide the pool cue.

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t enjoying the warmth of his body pressed up against yours or the way his arms felt as they wrapped around yours, repositioning you gently. His breath is warm on your neck and on an impulse, you deliberately rub your ass up against him. The way his breath hitches in his chest is enough to bring a satisfied smirk to your face as you do it again, a little less subtly this time. Warren lets out a low, muffled groan as you line up the next shot, hitting it dead on. His grip on your body is getting steadily tighter as you continue to deliberately roll your hips back against his, gratified when you feel his hard on against your ass.

It takes all of about ten more minutes of this teasing before he takes the pool cue from you, setting it on the table before gripping your waist tightly and ducking his head to graze his lips along the column of your throat. You let out a low sigh of contentment as you turn in his arms to face him, a hint of a challenge glimmering in your eyes as you wind your arms around his neck, briefly taking in the empty bar before smirking at him.

“Bathroom. Five minutes,” you whisper, voice low and suggestive, before pulling away, walking over to grab your bag from your chair and then past him to the bathroom in the corner, incredibly aware of his gaze on you as you go.

He’s there in less than five, but the bar is almost totally deserted so it doesn’t really matter. The second the door is locked behind the two of you, he’s pushing you up against the sink counter, hands heavy on your hips as he kisses you hard. Your tongue is sliding against his as you wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him in closer as you slip back to sit on the edge of the counter. As Warren dips his head to mouth along your neck, you reach blindly into your bag, feeling around till you pull a condom out. He lets out a breathless groan of arousal when he sees what’s in your hand.

“You came here knowing you wanted to fuck me, didn’t you princess?” he growls, his voice rough and hoarse, and you just shoot him a coy smile as you undo his belt buckle, pushing his pants and boxers down past his hips to roll the condom on, feeling a surge of satisfaction at the low hiss he lets out at your touch.

“Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t. It’s not like you don’t wanna fuck me, though, is it?”

That’s all it takes for him to push you back further onto the counter, shoving your dress up your thighs as he hauls your panties down your legs and discards them before parting your legs with rough hands, pushing into you with an urgency that makes your head spin as he tugs the neckline of your dress down to knead at your breasts.

It’s quick and rough and hot and when he pulls away from you to dispose of the condom, you have an assortment of marks along the neckline of your dress that you can’t quite hide. Warren gives you a crooked, tired grin as he re-buckles his belt.

“That was a damn sight more fun than the gallery, sweetheart,” he says and you smile at him in the mirror as you touch up your lipstick.

“I know how to have a good time, Worthington.”

He pockets your panties before heading back out to the main bar, and you follow a few seconds later, a self-satisfied smirk firmly in place as you leave the bathroom. Neither of you mentions the sex as he walks you back to your apartment, and he doesn’t kiss you goodnight.

[chasingeast]

Day 53- 7:37 P.M., Tuesday, February 11, 2020

Now that it’s been over 50 days of this new process, hopefully some new habits are beginning to form to support better things. 

 I’ve been journaling more often which is a plus. I’ve always loved to journal to get my thoughts out. I just always struggled with choosing the correct medium that would work for me. Traditionally, I would write in a notebook and my handwriting would be a hit or miss. I would get tired after a while. It would take me ages to get out what I needed to write due to the fact that my hand would always tire after a short period of time. Typing is effortless. It doesn’t tire out my fingers. In fact, I could probably go on endlessly until my eyes tire from screen fatigue. I’m not sure if that’s what I’m feeling now or if I’m just generally really sleepy. I am sitting up rather sloppily against my dresser which is flushed against my bed. My eyes are getting droopy but I’m not sure if it’s because the end of the day is drawing near or I’m just feeling comfortable. My toes are definitely not agreeing with the rest of my body. Each little digit is icy cold and frozen. I’m trying to warm them up by simply tucking them under my legs even though it doesn’t seem to be working. 

 I am keeping track of how many days have passed since I first started my new resolutions. I am also keeping track of all the things I’ve done in the meantime to work on these resolutions. I do notice that I did spend a majority of these posts hoping and longing for someone. Even though I still feel that way, I won’t be able to improve myself if I don’t spend more time working on deeper topics if I’m always stuck at the surface. 

 These new found resolutions were established to help me get a better understanding of myself in order to make the necessary adjustments I need to continue moving forward. I know that I’ve come to a point in my life where I can no longer stay standing. I must move forward. My parents provide me with a comfortable home. I truly have no worries or concerns. I have no need to drown my sorrows in bills or payments to survive the week. It’s just not something I have to worry about. I also know that that’s a situation that will come to an end. Could I ride it out until the end? Certainly. I probably wouldn’t save any money from it anyway so it’s really just money better spent elsewhere. I’ve been putting in the time and effort to look into different rental units. The overall consensus is that nothing is cheap. Everything is expensive and I wonder how I’ll ever be able to afford anything. One of the biggest calculations I tried to consider was how much I could realistically save and how much I could spend freely. It’s not much. If I count my overall savings in terms of long-term planning then I could be in a good spot. I’m not saving all that much each year, however, between the amount I have put towards my two retirement funds, that equals 30% of my salary. I’ll at least have a minimum amount to begin with. On the other hand, the amount of money that I’d have remaining to use for other forms of savings would be very limited unless I decide to take on other jobs. I will probably need to do so in order to have money for the things I want without having a credit card statement that charges interest fees. I admit that I spend a great deal of money each month. I’m trying very hard to curb my spendings but it’s not easy. I just love to swipe my card. It’s this incredible form of power that is not accessible by any other logical means. I mean I have power at work- I’m responsible for all these little humans, but that’s different. I love to spend money. I just wonder if I’m able to stick within a budget. 

 I have a certain amount set aside for “savings”, “vacationing”, and other expenses. At the moment it’s a luxury to be able to plan like that. In the future, I don’t know that it’d be possible to plan for vacations unless I was cutting back my budget as is. At least, going back to the feeling of luxury, I have the ability to safely and leisurely test my boundaries. I wonder if I enjoyed more solitude and video games then I too would be able to cut back on my expenses in general. It’s probably best because that also means less plastic consumption and waste in general. I plan on trying to practice cutting back for as long as possible in order to see if I can truly maintain this time of lifestyle. 

 When I was younger I never knew what type of life I wanted. The only vision I had in the forefront was to survive college and to get a job once college spit me out into the “real world.” I never planned for a life after getting a job. It seemed to already be such a difficult task. I didn’t know if there was a life after that. Now that I am finally in a time and place where it’s appropriate to address these topics, as well as having the openness and readiness to learn about them, I have a clearer idea of what I hope to see. It’s not too far fetched from an idea that a thought process that I developed back in college. In college, I wanted to surround myself with the people that I care about. I wanted to spend my time with those I value and cherish the most. Post college I wanted adventure. I wanted to face every moment and experience every thrill to the last drop. I never wanted to sit still and was constantly on the move. I would not slow down for anyone or anything. Now, years later, I find that my wants and desires have fused together. I still want to spend time with those I cherish, but even more so I want a reason to work hard for something everyday. I want a reason to come home and be home. That doesn’t necessarily mean a person, though I would love to have someone that I’m working towards building a relationship with. I get attached easily. I love spending all my time, energy, and effort towards one incredible source. I would rather do that than to go back to sprinkling a piece of me everywhere for the affection to never truly be reciprocated. I love love. I love being loved. I love loving someone. I don’t think I’ve necessarily given up, I just don’t like the methods I have to use. I don’t have anything against online dating. I think it’s one of the more common ways to go about finding a partner in this day and age, especially considering the fact that I don’t exactly spend all my time out and about the town and bumping into people all that often. It would honestly be the only interaction I could get that would be purposeful. I just don’t want it to be like that. I know myself enough. I don’t flaunt myself well. I also don’t really have an interest in doing so. I’m fun loving, kind, and sweet but I have a thirst for adventure and thrills. I feed off of human interactions and physical presence. I need to know that I get these rushed butterfly feelings that last for more than a few seconds. It needs to infiltrate every crack and crevice. I want someone to make me blush. I want to be awestruck by someone. I want to laugh wholeheartedly and roll my eyes at the silliness of something. I just want more. I don’t know how to get more, but I promise that I will find it. 

 I was asked today why I’m not acting myself. What they meant by “acting myself” was why I wasn’t exploring the world or hiking every possible track out there. I’m not by any means trying to avoid nature. I just haven’t felt inclined to go. I still love it. I still look up photos. I still read articles about the outdoor conditions and check in with my favorite social media posts. I just don’t feel obligated to put myself out there. I’ve been directing my energy towards other things and I don’t necessarily see that as being a bad thing. It’s just different. I would really just love to get out and see everything around me. Though I may say that, even now I don’t go out and about. I haven’t gone outside to walk around other towns. I want to. I want to explore other places. I have actually been itching to get back on my bike. I’m considering fixing it this weekend so I can make use of it on the couple days off for President’s Day. I don’t know where I’ll bike. Maybe I’ll drive around and stop at a park to bike around. I haven’t come to a decision yet. I just want to be able to get out and about. I want to see what’s around me. I want to appreciate every little thing and everything I’m surrounded by. I am still very much myself. I just have other parts to me. I know I had gotten into a habit of labeling and categorizing myself. I want to be more than just “the girl that goes hiking.” I don’t need a label. I just want to be myself. 

 I want a simple life. Well, I would love to live a lavish lifestyle but I know that I’ll never be able to afford one. I could never afford much on my own. I would probably forever live paycheck to paycheck unless I find other means to improve upon. Even if I did end up having a very simple lifestyle, I wouldn’t mind. I know how to find ways to occupy my time. Taking pictures of different sights. Driving to find new locations. They’re all very important things to me. I think everything is very much doable. It’s just a matter of whether or not I’m open to it. I guess that’s also one of the big reasons why I’m pushing myself to truly plan for a life moving forward. I’ve lived such a privileged life free of responsibilities. That time will come to an end. It’s not a negative thing. It’s just a matter of reality and accepting it. Is it the most fulfilling at times? Probably not. But it’s a lifestyle. I just hope that I can provide myself with the type of life that I want. I’m just hoping at the very least I can have the furniture I want. Hahaha. I do think I’ll make it. I definitely think that I’ll survive. It’s just a matter of getting started. Maybe also study a few things to educate myself a little more as well. Don’t just drown myself in social media all the time. Do something a little more productive.