#I think this is the first time I’ve ever drawn him in a white shirt and it looks so weird to me

[flamet-draws]

Tfw your new bff (former enemy) saves your life, almost dying in the process, and now you’ve gotta wait for him to wake up so you can tell him to never do something so stupid and reckless again

[nohoney]

touya x drug dealer! reader has been an idea that i’ve been wanting to do for a while. i had thoughts of cute flowing dresses, flutes of champagne, strawberries with brown sugar, and a powdery compact mirror with a credit card lined with white at the edge ♡

Touya hates going to the country club. He hates having to get ready to wear the stupid polo shirt and pressed pants his mother picked out for him. He hates having to take out most of his face jewelry, only leaving his eyebrow piercing as a slight rebellion to irritate his father. It’s all so annoying to him but to be fair—

They all hate going to the country club together.

It’s only an obligation for them to attend as a family. To show up so that Enji’s professional business ties can remain intact if the event is important enough. It’s the only time everyone agrees together as a family. Despite the fact that going to the country club is meant to be a luxurious get away, the Todoroki’s see it as anything but.

With the exception of Shouto who is too young to partake in anything, the rest of the family cope in their own ways to survive an agonizing event that none of them want to attend.

Enji smokes in private with the other men, Rei quietly nurses a glass of white wine as she makes polite conversation with the other wives, Fuyumi and Natsuo discreetly pass a weed pen between one another, and Touya…

Well he’s got his special friend that he knows where to find.

All throughout the club, there’s little signs that lead to a certain someone who exchanges little treats for just the right price. It could be money or it could be secrets or something else entirely, but the exchange given has to be deemed equal in value to what is handed out. There’s bouquets that are found throughout the entire club, all seemingly of the same variations except for one flower that’s meant to point you in a certain direction.

Touya walks through the club, noting the one flower that sticks out in the bouquets as a subtle sign of where to find you.

Following the secret path, it leads him this time to a room with only a single piano in the center and the white curtains drawn over the windows.

It’s a beautiful grand piece of shiny, lacquered black and is maintained regularly in its tuning. No music is being played though, all that’s heard is the tinkling laugh from one of the two people that are sitting on the piano bench. Touya walks with his hands in pockets, leisurely in his step when he approaches you. Next to you is the caddy that often accompanies your father on the golf course, amber eyes lifting to him and giving him a friendly nod.

“Touya, so nice to see you again!” you greet with a warm smile. You’re graceful in the way you stand up from the piano bench, sliding your hand along the caddy’s shoulders as you make your way to Touya. He leans down, used to the customary greeting of kissing each cheek from you. The perfume you wear is new, smelling more like citrus and freesia than the usual florals he’s used to.

Turning back to the caddy, you wave him off. “I’ll meet you later Keigo, okay?”

The feathery blonde haired caddy stands from the piano bench, pressing a kiss to your temple first before making his way out.

“So, what can I do for you today Touya? You wanna be perked up? Or you wanna relax?” You ask him immediately, leaning against the grand piano and clacking your manicured nails against the surface.

“You ever think that maybe I’m just here to see you? And nothing more?” Touya playfully nudged his shoe against your ankle, also noting the clean polish of your pedicure. Strappy white heels are your choice of shoe today to compliment your tea dress.

You’re this vision of a good girl, prim and proper, soft and sweet. All the mannerisms you exude are perfected and practiced, taught firmly from the all girls school that you attended. On the surface, you’re just simply the rich daughter to the man who owns the country club. You’re known to love lounging by the pool or reading under the shady trees by the garden. The older adults love to fawn over you, even trying to set you up with suitors but only if they’re screened through your father first.

Rolling your eyes at him, you flash him a smile that sends the message of ‘yeah right’ before you wave him over.

You lift the piano bench where your current stash resides. It’s organized meticulously of all types of different pills and already measured bags of different powders. Nude colored nails hover over the selection that you know him to always get, but you’re polite enough to ask first for confirmation before plucking the packed substances from their spot.

“The usual?”

Touya pulls money out from his pocket, the same exact amount that he’s paid every single time he’s seen you. “The usual.” he confirms.

You hold two baggies for him, one with two blue pills and the other filled halfway of white powder. Touya takes it from you and waits for you to take out the held out cash.

“Mm, this dress doesn’t have pockets. Can’t take it.” you smile as you shut the piano bench, “I’ll take a kiss though.”

Touya smiles back, pocketing his cash alongside the goodies you’ve given him. “Is that how you’re taking payments today? With kisses?”

He knows you want him, you’ve been wanting him ever since he had fucked you at your father’s birthday party just a few months back. He can still recall the champagne he tasted on your lips, the silky material of your party dress as he pushed it over your hips, the smell of peony and honey spritzed onto your skin when he had bit your shoulder. It was an amazing fuck, one that he thought about going back for, but he liked to see you dangle yourself for him. Beg him with those pretty eyes and try to seduce him with low cut dresses or leave lingering touches that you hoped pull him in.

You shrug your shoulders and play coy, stepping into his personal space to smooth your hands along his shoulders as if you were going in to hug him. “Special just for you, I’ll figure it out with the rest.”

His hand slides along the small of your back to pull you in and close the space. “You are so bad.”

“I happen to be a very good girl, my record shows that.”

“Your records were expunged by your dear daddy.”

“So therefore, I have done nothing wrong.” you giggle, “C’mon, stop teasing me like this. You never want to see me outside of this place. I only see you when you and your family come to the club for an event, and you guys always look so miserable.”

“And that’s why I’m here,” Touya’s hand drops lower, grabbing at your ass and relishing your little gasp, “because you help me get through these aggravating events.”

He teases you, has you chasing after him and keeps him entertained whenever he comes to this ridiculously posh club. You play the polite girl when you’re out among the crowd but he’s always felt your eyes on him whenever the two of you are in the same room together. If you could keep your eyes on him the entire time you would, but sadly you have to get pulled aside from so many people. From your inner circle, to polite introductions to your father’s colleagues, to the ones who want a little something to get them through the night. You carry yourself with grace and good posture, more than any girl that he had ever met.

You’re the classiest little drug dealer he knows.

And like every deal, a transaction has to be completed. So he leans down to kiss you, holding you tightly by your waist to bring you closer to him. You’re so eager for him locking your fingers behind his neck, sighing sweetly that makes him reminisce of that night you had together. The plush of your lips takes him back to that night, back when you smelled more floral and warm, when he had found you lounging alone at the pool and bored from your father’s party.

Surprisingly you pull away from the kiss. “I like you Touya, c’mon we had so much fun together at my daddy’s party. Don’t you wanna have fun again?”

“I never said that I didn’t want to do it again.” Touya points out as he takes a seat on the piano bench, “It’s crossed my mind.”

You pout at him, the gloss from earlier kissed off slightly sticky on his lips instead. Carefully you wipe away the remnants of the gloss from his lips, smudging it on the pads of your fingers. “You’re so mean, you know that? Don’t you know to not make your plug mad?”

“Ah, how can I make it up to you, princess? Please oh please,” Touya wryly plays along with you, “what can I do to get back in your good graces?”

You hold out your hand to him, “Take a walk with me.”

Walking out hand in hand with you, he is led out of the piano room and allows you to take him to wherever it is you have in mind. You pass by one person that you give a subtle signal too, Touya observing how they make their way to the piano room with a key in hand. He wonders how much you’ve paid off certain workers inside the country club to help and protect you.

He admires that about you, not being afraid to exercise your power. Maybe it just comes with being a spoiled brat who can get her record wiped clean when she calls her daddy with crocodile tears. All this wealth at your disposal and the only thing that entertains you is being the unofficial country club girl scout for xannies, oxies, and other treats.

Touya is led to different halls throughout the club, some he recognizes more than others, but not as well as you do. These are your grounds after all. The caddy from before is seen talking to a group of gentlemen, the elders clearly enjoying conversation with him if the boisterous laughter and the friendly pats on his back are anything to go by. Hell, Touya’s father is apart of the group and even he looks to be amused from whatever quip the feathery haired young man doled out.

Keigo must sense your presence nearby as he immediately looks up to see you. You blow an air kiss to him and he pretends to catch it in his fist. Touya can swears that when he looked at you, you mouthed ‘love you’ to him as they passed by.

He doesn’t know much about Keigo, only that he was brought on by you and that he happens to be very charming with many people. Looks wise, he can see why you went for him but Touya hasn’t taken any personal interest to get to know the caddy.

People pass by and give you pleasant greetings, all of which you returned kindly but never paused to have a conversation. There’s excitement running through you as Touya follows behind, wondering where exactly you’re taking him. He can tell by how eager your pace is that gives it away. It’s precious, he enjoys it too much.

You want him that badly.

━━━━✧

Touya’s not sure how he’ll explain to his mother how his pants got so wrinkled, but it’s a thought that gets pushed out of his mind as he smothers you in a kiss. He’s trying to recall his last excuse when his mother questioned how he became so unkept. The answer isn’t quite coming to him; all he can recall is just the adrenaline he had afterwards from fucking you so good. Normally he’s very smooth with his words, lying easily to anyone when it pleases him, but he had gotten pussy drunk off of you and his brain just wasn’t operating the same.

You and that cunt of yours.

He’s almost upset that he’s been denying himself this entire time. There were plenty of nights recalled the sloppy kisses from you, the elegant way you crooked your finger to bring him to you, and when you pulled on the roots of his hair when he had eaten you out. Truthfully he had wanted to chase you just as much when the deed had been done. But as he’s got you on your knees for him, Touya remembers why he decided to not give into you so easily.

“Please Touya? Please, pretty please?”

It’s so sweet when you beg.

He remembers after coming down from the high that arrogant look on your face when he had helped zip your dress back up. That because he had shagged with you then he was surely to come at your beck and call. Instead of giving in, Touya decided that he’d like to see you chase after him. To have you be the one sending text messages or letting late night calls go unanswered, declining private invitations from you to keep you frustrated.

He still has all your voicemails of you breathless and needy, begging softly for him to just want you back.

Your voice is small and pitched, whiny almost as you pathetically tug at his belt as you sink to your knees. You’re practically drooling for it, eyeing his bulge and caressing it gently through the fabric. Christ, he really made you that in love with his cock. “Oh princess, don’t tell me you’ve been pining after me.” He coos over you and tilts your head up to look at him, “All this time?”

“Yes, god yes!” You admit and jut your lower lip in a pout, “I would wait around for you, hoping you’d answer me or even come visit! I’ve always been so nice to you Touya, and you just ignore me!”

It is the spoiled brat in you that’s making you act this way. You’re such a good girl, a nice girl, a pleasant and sweet and pretty girl that there shouldn’t be any reason to give you this awful treatment. That’s how you see it. That you’re the one who blessed Touya with the rare gift of giving him personal access to you so therefore, he should be grateful and be falling at your feet.

Touya has his own pride though.

“Is that darling caddy you’re so fond of not enough for you?”

“I adore Keigo, I love him,” you admit, “but I want you too.”

You want him desperately, slowly crumbling your pride as you beg softly for him. This is what Touya wanted from you. To see you throw a bit of dignity away just for him.

“Yeah? You mean that?” he asks you, using a single finger under your chin to lift your gaze up to him.

“Yes.”

He could probably ask anything of you in this moment if it meant that he’d give himself up to you. Something that you would find worth it for him to finally cure your ache. Admittedly one of his fantasies with you is to use one of your fancy lipsticks to draw the filthiest names on your body and take pictures for evidence. He wants to write slut at your tits, whore written in fat letters on your back, maybe even cumdump on your tummy with an arrow pointing down to your cunt. Touya wonders if that would be too much though.

He wants to demean you so bad, knock you off your high horse and make you look pathetic.

Yet there’s also some desire in him to cherish you too. You are the darling of this club, adored and revered and Touya falls into that crowd too. That it wouldn’t be so bad if you were to wear a dainty necklace with his initial, have you in his car for leisurely joy rides down by the coast, and go on those stupid fancy picnics that you posted on your instagram.

“Need you Touya, need you!” you whine, catching his hand and leaning your cheek into his palm. Aw look at you, trying to look sweet for him, giving him doe eyes and batting your lashes.

There’s some laughter outside, just a small group passing by the room you’ve locked yourselves in for privacy. There’s a little sign that you hung on the door handles: the art gallery is closed. Nearby is a sculpture of a nude woman, crafted by one of the local artists here and was in the club’s newsletter not too long ago. Touya glances to it, finding it beautiful and better in person than in the photo they had taken of it. Art is usually better to see in person anyway-

“Touya!”

You’re not on your knees anymore for him, standing to your feet and smoothing down your dress. Ah, you’re upset now—actually upset at him. “If you don’t want me, then just fucking go. You’ve been playing these games with me and I’m tired!” you huff and try to pick up your heels that you discarded onto the floor when you had locked up the room, “Keep the stuff I gave you, I still won’t charge you for today.”

His hand goes to your wrist and he’s pulling you back to him, wrapping you up in a hug as he hushes you, “Don’t be so upset, it’s not a good look for you.”

“Well I wouldn’t be if you would just look at me!” you almost cry, sinking into his body and making a small noise when he hugs you tighter. “Everyone else wants me, why don’t you? Don’t you want me?”

It surprises him how genuine you’re being. You can’t be this upset, can you?

It makes Touya happy that he can make you this way.

“Never said that I didn’t, princess.” he admits finally, “I like you back, is that all you need to hear?”

He’s given a little nod, feeling your hand press at his bulge again. Your hand caresses his cock through his slacks and you sigh a little, slightly tilting your head up and nosing along his jawline. Touya bites down the smug smile that wants to sprout up on his face—this is how he wanted you, on his terms and not on yours. So now that he’s got you right where he wants you…

“Ow!” you cry out when Touya roughly grabs a handful of your hair right at the root, pulling you just enough to make you look up at him. He holds tightly and coos over your shocked expression, your wide eyes looking up at him with a small sense of betrayal. How could he switch up on you so fast like that? “T-Touya..!”

You pout up at him, your lips tempting him to kiss you.

“You’re not the good girl you make yourself out to be. Like you got everyone wrapped around your little finger, huh?” Touya speaks haughtily, his grip flexing slightly and tugging slightly on the roots of your hair, “Good girls don’t sell drugs out of a piano bench and fuck around with the piss poor caddy that’s so popular around here.”

“Maybe not other girls,” you hiss through your teeth, “but I can.”

You can do whatever you want, it’s how you lived your life. If there are any rules you’ve broken, you’ve always been very good to take care of it yourself mostly. Look at how you flout about, walking around with your pretty heels and waving the help over with darling manicured hands, discreetly handing cash and speaking with the sweetest lilt to get people to do what you please.

Touya snorts, but he does admire you all the same. If he had more drive to do anything, he’d probably be working under you too.

But he hates being inside this stupid country club, which is where you typically are when you’re not traveling or with your own gaggle of friends. This is where you like to work after all, and will be yours to run once your dear daddy passes.

“God, you’re fucking beautiful.” Touya sighs out before leaning down to kiss you. He’s unexpectedly soft considering the tight grip he still has on you, slotting his lips against yours too intimately for someone who also wants to ruin you all the same. It’s a long kiss he gives you, that it even gets the butterflies fluttering inside of his chest.

He pulls back and releases the hold he had on your hair, twirling his finger in a circle to indicate for you to turn around. You present your back to him, getting flashbacks to when Touya had first undressed you. His fingers are cold as he fiddles with the zipper at the back and pulls it down slowly. The dress loosens from your body and you shrug off the thin straps. It falls to the floor in a pool surrounding your feet, and you’re left standing in a little cotton panty that’s lined with lace. Your nipples are perked due to the chill of the room but you don’t bother to cover yourself to retain some modesty.

You’ve been wanting to be like this in front of Touya for the longest time.

You’re given another wordless command, blue eyes briefly glancing down to the hardwood floor. Kicking your dress off to the side, you kneel down in front of Touya once more and watch as he unzips his slacks and pulls his cock through the opening. Your mouth practically waters upon seeing his dick again, so thick and with the prettiest color at the tip you had seen. You’re about to go in when he stops you with a simple little tut.

Glancing up at him, you wonder what he could possibly have to say.

“Don’t get too sloppy, can’t walk out of here with fucking drool stains on my crotch.”

Touya hopes to fuck you in his bed one day, have you squirt on his sheets, and then cum all over your face. But while the two of you are here, the two of you have to be able to come out look presentable. He can’t go as wild as he wants on but he fucking swears that he’s gonna make you fucked out by him one of these days.

You nod in understanding before swallowing his cock into your throat. There’s some dreamy sigh from you as you bob up and down on his cock; you really must have been aching for this. There’s enthusiasm as you swallow all his inches, looking up at Touya and going all doe eyed for him. See how much you wanted him?

He admires your small gags, the way your body lurches when you choke deeply on his cock, but he reminds you again to try to keep your drool from getting on him. Touya wants to fuck your face, he wants to make you cry from fucking your mouth too hard, and even slap your cheek. There’s so much he wants to do but this isn’t the time or place to do any of it.

You’d be pissed off too if he even attempted.

You pull off his cock, a line of drool connecting your lips to his cock still but it gets wiped away quickly by the back of your hand.

Touya grabs your wrist to bring you to your feet, pulling you to the nearest wall to fuck you against. Your hands brace the flat surface, grunting when Touya uses one hand to jut your ass back to him and the other presses your head to the wall. With your back arched, he admires your elegant form under the soft lighting of the art gallery. The lovely still life painting of a bouquet does not compare to how fucking beautiful you are in this moment.

He can’t wait until he can ruin you to tears.

He offers his fingers to your lips, your mouth obediently dropping to lick and spit on them. It tickles a little with the way your tongue drags along his fingers but he doesn’t allow it for long. Touya only needs just enough to finger your hole, even spitting on his own fingers before he does a careful but quick prep after pulling down your panties.

“Oh god… oh fuck…” you mutter, your eyes shutting as relishing in his touch, “Fuck me please!”

“Relax.” Touya is firm in his tone, acting cool and masking the equal desperation that is surging throughout his own body. He wonders if you notice how eager his fingers are to be inside you, biting his lip to force down the wolffish smile on his face when he feels how wet you are. All that teasing before that he had done to you was worth it.

It was worth all of it to lead up to this moment.

His fingers withdraw and he sucks on them, savoring the taste of your slick along his tongue. Touya recalls how he ate you out at your father’s birthday party, driving you wild with his tongue on your clit and the sweet noises you made. It would be nice to do it again.

Your body shudders a little as the head of Touya’s cock nudges against your pussy, a sharp little breath sucked in as the first few inches sink into you. “Fuck!” you quietly curse.

Touya would like to savor this, to take his time and work you up into a sloppy, pretty little mess. To finger your clit until you cry out of frustration and then choke you if you give him an attitude. There’s so many things that he wishes he could do in this moment. But you remind him—

“Please hurry, we can’t be in here for long.”

Because you’ve got people waiting for you. People waiting to eagerly meet you, whether at your piano bench or if you’re needed somewhere else to help maintain your father’s appearance. No matter how much Touya has this vision of what he wants, he knows that he truly can not have you in his own way.

But he’s grateful to get you anyway.

He thrusts in, sinking in smoothly but with a sharp clap of his body meeting yours. Your pussy tightens up on him from the brief shock that is also coupled with a small gasp. His hands grasp your hips tightly and he pounds away at you, noticing how you help with the motion by moving back into him as well. It’s quiet inside the art gallery so all Touya can hear is you and the sound of his skin slapping against yours as he fucks hard into you.

“T-Touya!”

It’s just as sweet as the first time, observing how you occasionally look over your shoulder at him and give him sweet doe eyes again. But this time they’re glazed over, your eyelids dropping as you get lost in the pleasure, relishing in everything that you had been waiting for. Touya wonders how many nights you spent fingering yourself to him, he imagines your embarrassment when he would leave your needy voicemails or nudes in his inbox unanswered, and he dreamt more than a few times of you riding that pretty boy caddy in front of him.

I want to fuck you again.

Those words almost slip out as he reaches a hand to finger your clit. Your knees buckle but you maintain yourself, your own little sounds struggling to be kept in. Touya can feel it already, he can feel you just about ready to snap if the way your cunt is clenching around him is any indicator of anything.

“Please cum, please cum!” you desperately whisper, “Please cum in me!”

I need to fuck you again.

Touya fucks harder to get himself to cum, looking down to see that you’ve creamed all over him. He’s grateful that he pushed his pants down enough so that none of it catches onto his clothes. It’d be nice if you could clean up his cock with your mouth after he cums in you, but you’ve got to come out looking as proper as you can be.

So no hair pulling, no spitting in your mouth, no crying to ruin your makeup, and no marks are to be left.

But if you’re going to beg him to cum in you, you should be able to accommodate a reasonable request.

Touya leans over, feeling his control ready to let go as he’s about ready to burst as he mutters in your ear, “Keep my cum in you, keep me inside you.”

His words have your eyes rolling back, answering him with a jittery nod and a sweet yes hissed into the air. “Yes, fuck yes!”

I am going to fuck you again.

Touya jolts into you one last time, pressing himself so deep that you whine his name. He’s emptying himself into you, spilling cum into that delicious cunt of yours. He chances putting a hand at your throat to choke you, his fingers careful at your windpipe and peering down at you as your orgasm wipes your mind blank and has you going limp that he has to catch you.

And then there’s silence.

He’s holding your body against him, carrying your weight as your mind tries to start back up again. Touya drinks in this moment because he knows he won’t get a repeat of this. He may never get the upper hand again now that he’s given you what you’ve been aching for.

He wants to keep coming back not to just buy off you, but to keep seeing you.

“Good, Touya?” you manage to find your voice and lean back against him, patting your hand against his arms that are still holding you tightly.

“The best.” He answers

You chuckle, nodding your head and still remaining in his hold with his cock in you. He wonders why you haven’t bothered to start making yourself proper—

The door to the art gallery unlocks and it has Touya jolting. All the curse words he knows flash in succession in his mind but you pat your hand against him. “It’s okay, it’s Keigo.”

Sure enough, it is.

The pretty caddy with blond hair is approaching the two of you with two small towels in hand. Had he been waiting outside the entire time?

Touya wonders if every move you’ve made has been calculated. Did you know for sure that he would finally fuck you today after keeping you waiting for so long? And to have your favorite toy waiting on hand to clean you up as well?

He takes the offered towel from Keigo but doesn’t offer a thanks. Touya wipes off the remnants of you off his cock, throwing the towel over his shoulder as he pulls his pants back up. His belt buckle clinks as he makes himself presentable.

“Can we stay and talk for a little Keigo?” you ask leisurely as the caddy places the towel over a wooden bench for you to sit on. You’re smoothing down your hair as you sit down, Keigo kneeling down on one knee to massage your calves. Your dress and heels still lay discarded as you appear to take your time getting ready to leave.

“Just for a little, okay? Hana is looking for you—“ Keigo informs you and laughs a little as you groan at the name. It seems he has the sense to not continue the sentence.

Touya is dressed, his pants not as wrinkled as he hoped they would be. Rei will probably take notice like she did last time but this time, he has enough clarity to give an answer that he knows his mother will not believe but does not have any backbone to question.

He supposes that he should go out there.

He’s got what he wanted anyway.

“See ya princess.”

“I’ll see you out there Touya.” You call to him just as he’s out the door.

Stopping by a restroom first, he puts himself in the privacy of a stall after locking the door. He retrieves the dime bag and admires the scaling of the cocaine inside the plastic. He fishes out a key from his wallet, using the tip of it dip into the bag. He inhales a sizable bump into each nostril, wiping his nose clean before flushing the toilet for the sake of seeming as if he had used the facilities.

He joins Natsuo and Fuyumi, the weed pen offered to him as well but he declines. Just a little further down, Shouto is with two boys that he seems to have made friends with. One of them is blond and huffing his chest while the other has hair the color of an evergreen tree and seems to be the mediator of whatever fuss is going on.

Touya leans back into his seat, just a touch more awake as he tastes the drip at the back of his throat.

━━━━✧

It’s a relief when it’s finally time to leave.

Enji and Rei are side by side, she’s holding onto his arm for balance, teetering slightly to the right but is corrected by her husband as he helps her into the car. Shouto is waving his friends goodbye before going along to Fuyumi’s side. She asks him if she had fun and he answers yes. She is no longer high but Natsuo takes a small hit of the pen one last time to tolerate the car ride.

Touya is about ready to take his place inside the car when he hears his name. He looks back to see you walking towards him and he decides to walk to you so that none of his family eavesdrops.

“Thank you for seeing me today, I really enjoyed your company.” you speak with a bubbly lilt and your smile more pleasant than usual. Of course you’re happy—you and Touya finally fucked again.

“Thanks for having me.” Touya responds a little flatter than he intended to, just trying to keep his family off his tail so that they don’t ask questions.

“Text me later.”

It’s not framed as a hopeful question; you’re telling him to text you.

“I will.”

He means it.

No more ignoring or being coy, not anymore since you got what you wanted and Touya knows that he’s given up the power to you. It was nice to briefly wield it but he knows in the end that you are the one to hold all the cards and have things aligned with how you want them.

Touya avoids his father’s gaze as he gets into the car. He leans back into his seat at the very back of the car, crossing his arms over his chest and feeling the buzz of the coke starting to wind down. He chances looking back and you’ve hung around in your same spot, appearing to see him off.

The windows are tinted and he’s sure that you can’t see him through the glass but you wave anyway, as if knowing that he’s looking at you. He resists waving back.

And as the car starts, someone joins you. Wearing all black and with slightly unkempt white hair, Touya recognizes your foster brother. He’s only seen Tomura around a handful of times—unlike you that leaves a trail to be found, he’s a bit elusive.

The car starts to pull away, Touya watches from his seat as your foster brother leans down to you. One would think that he just leaned down to kiss your cheek but he swears that it was a kiss on the lips. It was hard to tell when enough distance had blurred the interaction.

Not that it matters to him anyway.

Later that night, Touya does as promised and he texts you. All the previous messages in his inbox from you were one sided but now he’ll be expected to reach out to you. Maybe you can meet him at a different place occasionally, take you for a ride in his white mustang or share a sorbet with you in the downtown area.

He knows that he will have to meet you more often at the country club though—it is where you work after all.

Touya hates the country club but he’s only ever gone to have a chance to see you.

[thatgirlstrawberry]

The Shoebox Under The Bed

Feb. Request-8

In which Spencer has a box of all of the things Y/N had ever given him and she finds it

Warnings: fluff, kissing, cursing, he gets a lil embarrassed

Spencer Reid x fem!reader

“Babe, do you know where my white heels are?” Y/N asked, walking through her and Spencer’s apartment wearing nothing but one of his shirts and a pair of socks.

It was Valentine’s Day and they had dinner plans. “Uh… check the bedroom closet?” He called from the kitchen.

Y/N hummed and she walked into the kitchen. “Are you excited?” She asked, standing on her tippy toes and kissing his neck innocently.

Spencer smiled and leaned down to kiss her. “So excited.” He nodded.

Y/N damn near squealed. “This is our first Valentine’s together since we moved in with each other!” She said, poking his chest.

“Baby, I love that you’re so excited but it’s 9 am. We don’t have dinner until 7 tonight.” He chuckled.

Y/N rolled her eyes with a smile. “I knoooooow….” She drew out. “I just wanna be ready. Last year I left my place super late and we almost lost our reservation.”

Spencer shook his head. “Okay, babe. Whatever makes you feel better.”

Y/N squeaked and tore away from him, going to look for her shoes.

In the room, she had searched high and low for those heels but hadn’t even found one.

She sighed and spun around, collapsing on the bed. She shut her eyes, groaning loudly.

After a moment, her left eye peeked open when she got an idea. She got off of the bed and got on her hands and knees next to it. She bit her lip and lifted her arm up to feel around for her phone on her bedside table.

She hummed in victory when she grabbed it and brought it down, turning the flash light feature on.

Underneath the bed lit up and she smiled. She moved clothes and blankets out of the way before her eyes lit up. The black shoebox sat there with a picture of the particular heel she was looking for.

She grabbed it and pulled it out from underneath the bed, opening the box quickly. She was expecting a shoe or two but instead she found a stack of Polaroids, letters, jewelry and a bunch of other tiny gadgets.

She bit her lip when she pulled one of the Polaroids out and studied it. She had been obsessed with taking pictures of things with her camera. In this one, Spencer was holding a lemon and wearing a big wicker sun hat. Why? She couldn’t remember but she smiled and laughed anyway. She remembered she gave it to him on the last day of 7th grade.

Spencer and Y/N grew up together. They realized that they were in love at a very young age.

She looked behind her to make sure that Spencer wasn’t watching from the kitchen and then pulled out one of the letters.

She smiled as she saw the little star she’d drawn by her name.

May 23

Dear Spence,

It’s been a while since I’ve seen you. I still have that sweater you leant me last winter. I wear it all the time. I wish the summer would be over so I can see you again. The last letter you sent me, you said you would come back soon but July 17th isn’t soon enough.

Anyway, how’s your Einstein summer camp going? I read that they teach you how to read minds there. Is it true? If so, can you tell me what I’m thinking about now?

I also got cast as Wendy in our schools summer theater program in Peter Pan. If you make it back home in time you might be able to catch closing night. I hope you can. I would love to look out when we’re doing our bows and see you there.

Anyway, I gotta go. We’re running lines.

See you at my show!

Love

From Y/N <3

She rolled her eyes, wondering why she’d scratched the end out even though Spencer could clearly read it. She tossed the letter aside and bit her lip, digging through the box some more.

Her eyes lit up when she picked up a stupid charm bracelet she’d made for him in fifth grade. It had a pair of glasses next to a star and a bead that had an ‘S’ in the middle.

Her tongue pressed into the inside of her bottom lip as she tied off the end of the elastic string. She glanced behind her seeing Spencer reading a book.

Her heart pounded as she turned and walked towards him. “Uhm… Spencer?” She cleared her throat. He looked up at her, pushing up his glasses.

“I-oh hi, Y/N!” He smiled setting his book down.

She held out the bracelet to him, closing her eyes. “I made this for you.” She spoke quickly.

He took it from her gently and her eyes opened. “Thanks! This is really nice.” He nodded at her.

Y/N smiled to herself, peeking behind her again just to make sure Spencer was still occupied in the kitchen.

The next thing she pulled out was a sock.

Yes, a sock.

Spencer in exchange for a book he was reading asked for something that Y/N held near and dear to her heart. She gave him a sock with Stitch from Lilo and Stitch. She almost cried giving it to him and he almost caved and let her keep it AND the book but she told him that it was fine.

She never gave the book back, he never returned her sock.

She put the sock back in the box and kept digging finding a really dried up daisy flower and a wrapper to a Crunch bar amongst many many other things. She paused when she felt something different.

It was a small velvet box. She pulled it out slowly, biting her lip. “What the fuck?” She whispered. She swallowed, opening the box and almost gasped.

A ring and a receipt sat inside that box. The ring was beautiful. It had a rose gold band with a rose colored diamond—a big ass diamond. She read the receipt, not paying attention to the price but the date.

He had bought that ring ten years before. They hadn’t even been dating then.

Her mouth was agape, she was so in shock that she didn’t even hear Spencer coming.

“Babe did you find your sh— oh my fucking shit.” He groaned. Y/N looked up at him slowly.

“Oh my God, Spencer, I’m so sorry!” She said, shutting the box quickly and shoving back underneath the piles of letters and other stuff. “I was just looking for my shoes, I swear!”

Spencer chuckled and sighed, walking over to sit on the bed in front of her. She bit her lip smiling at him, completely disregarding the ring. “You kept all the stuff I gave you.” She said quietly.

He reached down to cup her cheek. “Of course I did.”

She shut her eyes. “And you bought a ring.” She shook her head, her face heating up. “You bought a ring 10 years ago— we were 15 Spencer!” She smiled.

He blushed. “Well… I just— i knew that it was you, Y/N/N. Ever since you made me that charm bracelet in 5th grade.” He shrugged. “So, I saved up all my money from working at the ice cream shack that one summer and I went and bought it.”

Y/N stared into his eyes with a soft smile on her lips. “I love you.” She whispered.

Spencer smiled and leaned forward to kiss her deeply. “I love you.” He said in between kisses. “But you’re gonna have to wait for me to propose because that was the plan for tonight.” He chuckled.

Y/N rolled her eyes playfully. “Fine.”

So at the end of the night, Spencer proposed to her in front of a bunch of people at the restaurant. She acted like she had no idea it was gonna happen so they’d get free cake.

[fandomsandflyingstingrays]

Luz has been here before.

When she stood between two different worlds, between two different families who needed her, and watched one of them disappear behind a door she didn’t know how to open. When she bridged the divide between dimensions as an echo to reach out to her mom, only to watch her mom's tears mix with the rain as she shrank into a memory and Luz was pulled away. When she watched her mentor’s eyes fill with darkness, the shadows sealing Eda so deep within herself that Luz didn’t know how to call her back. When she sat in a white-walled room facing a separation beyond portals or curses, seeing her dad right beside her and knowing, at the same time, that he would never be with her again.

Luz has been here before, again and again and again, and she never manages to find the right goodbye.

All she can do is admit that to Eda and King before she can no longer see them through her tears, before they splinter into light and she is obscured by shadow, unable to conceive of anything but the embrace of a dark ocean and a single thought.

I know what I should have said. I should have thanked them.

The lost words, the goodbye that she has never, ever been quick enough to get out, lodge and swell in her throat before finding their release in a single sob. She watches the tears mix with the water that holds her and relaxes into its embrace.

Then, all at once, there is a hand around her wrist, and she is being yanked upwards into light and air.

It feels exhausting just to stand, and she sways, blinking at her rescuer through bleary eyes. At first, all she can see is a blurred form, a sort of worm… bird worm… Hooty? Only, when she blinks again, she realize that this Hooty is still, expressionless, and tiny, protruding from the eye socket of someone who looks like…

“King?”

The figure chuckles in a voice that is decidedly not King’s, deep and measured. “No. But he does get his good looks from me.”

In the last twenty-four hours, Luz has faced down a dragon of eyeballs and mold, been chased through a celestial playground, and seen Mattholomule with a drawn-on mustache, and she’s managed not to get overwhelmed. But this? She feels like her brain is a plate of warm spaghetti, being twirled around and around on a fork.

“Oh, Titan,” she breathes.

“Oh, me!” her rescuer says, pleased. “Nice to meet you, Luz the human.”

He’s wearing a Bad Girl Coven shirt, Luz realizes half-hysterically. And glyph-patterned pajama pants. But still, she reaches out and takes his hand. He might be some kind of mold-blast-induced dream, but that’s no reason not to be polite.

“You can’t actually be the Titan Titan, right? You’re the Boiling Isles, and that Titan is all—“

“Dead-looking?” he asks. His expression is sad, but there’s no denial in it, and Luz feels her knees go weak. She wraps her arms around herself, slowly sinking back into the embrace of the water.

“Does that mean I’m also…”

“Ah, no, nope, no, you don’t want to do that.” He reaches out, pulling her back to her feet. “If you go under without a portal, you really will be dead-looking.”

So… she’s not? And neither is he? Luz finds herself beaming. “I can’t believe this. You’re King’s dad!”

“I think King said it best once: ‘I am both king and queen, best of both things!’ But dad works fine.”

This might be the coolest being Luz has ever met.

With her most pressing questions answered, Luz looks around, and realizes to her surprise that her surroundings are familiar. The liquid below her, the floating cubes above… this is the space between the Human Realm and the demon one. Only, she’s never been clear about where exactly that is.

“What is this place?”

“This is the space in between… well, in between a lot of places. And I’ve been stuck here for quite some time. But at least I can keep an eye on my child, and those who have been kind to him.”

King’s dad grabs hold of a passing cube and watches images pass over it. Luz grabbing King in a hug, the two of them laughing over a pile of bread slices, Eda embracing them both. Luz feels warm and cold all at once. She’s thrilled for King, eager to tell him, that the parent he felt so far away from him was watching him with so much love. But behind that happiness is the question of her own dad, and the breathless wish that he could be watching her and the people she loves in the same way.

As soon as she thinks it, shame rises in her, so thick and choking that she has to look away. Does she really wish her dad could see what she’s become? This person who was nearly responsible for the deaths of an entire island of people, who can never make a plan that doesn’t fall apart almost immediately, who has turned so angry and vengeful?

“I’m not so kind,” she whispers. “When I saw the Collector fly up to Belos, I hoped with all my heart I would see them blast him away, and—"

“Hey, I can relate. I was willing to do anything to keep my kid safe. But I attacked the wrong person, dragged the Collector down here for nothing.”

“Does that make us as bad as Belos?”

To Luz’s shock, King’s dad laughs. “What? Have you been drinking Eda’s homemade apple blood?”

“Well, Belos says he’s trying to save humanity, and we’re saying we want to save our families, so isn’t that the same thing, don’t those feelings come from the same place?”

“Well, you assume Belos’s goal comes from a genuine place. But that man doesn’t care about anything but his need to be the hero in his own delusion. And because of that, he fears what he can’t control.”

“And now that fear is going to win.”

“Ah, dang.” Luz turns to see King’s dad staring down at his chest. She gasps.

There’s a glowing tumor there, eating a hole into it. It’s the same fungus that’s covering the Isles, she knows, the one Belos conjured— but it looks so much like her childhood nightmare, like the way her younger self began to picture her dad’s insides as his outside grew weaker and weaker, that a single look at it is enough to burn her eyes.

“I thought I had more time left,” King’s dad says, “but Belos will have full control soon.” He looks at Luz. “You ready to stop him?”

“What? What can I do?” 

Nothing. It’s the obvious answer, the lesson Luz has learned time and time again. She moved to Gravesfield without complaint because she thought it would fix her dad, and she was wrong. She did that stupid book report because she thought it would fix things for her mom, and she was wrong. She tried to fix things for the Isles, again and again and again, and she only made things worse— and then, when she attempted to set that right, she ended up here.

“You’ve already helped King so much. Now let me use my last bit of life to help you.”

King’s dad extends his hand, glowing with a combination of glyphs Luz has never seen before. But she knows what it means, what he’s offering: a second chance. A new body. Magic.

“Are you sure you want to give this power to me?”

“Well, you’re the one here, and you seem like a good witch. But I can’t give you anything unless you choose to accept it. So the question is, will you choose yourself?”

Luz has a flash of seeing the Titan as she knew him, watching his skeleton in the sea from high above on Owlbert, Eda on one side of her and King on the other. Look, kid, everyone wants to believe they’re chosen. But if we all waited around for a prophecy to make us special, we’d die waiting. That’s why you need to choose yourself.

Luz came to the Isles wanting to be a savior. If the person she was then had been in this position, she would have taken the Titan’s hand without hesitation, overjoyed to fulfill her fantasy. To be the hero in her own delusion. But she knows now that she’s not a hero. She’s just the one here.

The one here... because King’s dad believed she was a good witch. Because even when she was caught up in her fantasy, he still saw enough in her worth empowering to show her the glyphs she withheld from Belos. That has to mean something.

You’ve helped King so much, he said, and she believes him. She knows King loves her. And if she had given up after her dad died, if she had let herself believe it would be better for her mom if she became someone neither of them recognized, she never would have found him. Never would have found Eda and reunited her with Lilith, helped Amity leave her parents’ shadow and reconnect with Willow, helped Hunter see the truth about Belos before it was too late. She tried to help people, and yes, sometimes there was nothing she could do. Yes, sometimes she hurt people in the process. But she never meant to. Not like Belos… not like Philip.

Luz has been here before. Standing before a father she can’t heal. But there is still something she can do. It’s something she did for her mom, opening The Good Witch Azura for the first time in her black dress and reading it through puffy eyes. It’s something she did for Eda and King, following Owlbert through the portal door. It’s something she did for Amity and Willow and Hunter and Gus, running to that same door with them as it threatened to splinter apart. It’s something she did for all of them when she stepped back into the Isles two months later.

Luz can choose herself.

She reaches out to take King’s dad’s hand. And she comes back to life.

[quibbs126]

hi!! you said it'd be okay to request oc/canon fankids, so i thought i'd toss one of mine into the mix! her name's salt lick cookie, and she's a farmhand on a ranch. she mostly helps with the horses (hence 'salt lick'), and is a HUGE Horse Girl™. she has that THICK southern drawl, and is pretty laid-back in general. her pet would be a little living hobby-horse toy, y'know, the kind on a stick that you'd stand over and run around pretending to ride as a kid.

i think it'd be REALLY cute to pair her with potato cookie, since they both work closely with animals, and potatoes and salt tend to work well together lmao!

i do wanna apologize for a couple things regarding the reference image: since i can't draw, i used a mobile dollmaker app, so the colors aren't 100% accurate… salt licks run the gamut from pure white to a deep, pinky red, but nothing's as dark as the red on her overshirt, so that red should be lighter and more pinkish. (her bandana is supposed to be white and pink, too, not. yellow.) and the website i used to make the background transparent decided to also make her pigtails, shirt, and half of one boot transparent… hopefully that won't make a difference if the canvas is white?

ah, sorry, one more thing, if you ever decide to draw this, i'd prefer if you tagged energy-drink-cookie, since that's my cookie run sideblog!! even if you pass on this, i think it's really cool that you're open to ocs and i hope you're having a good day!

Here you are, this is Potato Chip Cookie

You said to tag @energy-drink-cookie so here you go

Oh and by the way if you’re wondering why the oc looks different in my ref than the one given, it’s because I redrew it myself and afterwards I was told I could use that version if I wanted

Anyways on to the show, so I named him Potato Chip simply because they’re potatoes and they’re usually salty. I mean one’s salt and the other potatoes, what else was I gonna do if not some form of salty potatoes?

Potato chips:

Funny enough when making the initial rough sketch, I thought he looked a bit too much like Salt Lick, but around the time I was finishing up, I thought he looked a bit too much like Potato. I’m willing to say now he’s probably more of an even balance

I do admit that I kind of just gave him Salt Lick’s top hair, just with some more rounded ends to resemble Potato more. I was always planning on making his hair blonde with white streaks since he’s still a potato, but I also made the blonde slightly more orange, though I don’t think it’s very noticeable

I also gave him those dark brown flecks in his hair just because the potato chips I was looking at had some pepper in them. And it tied in with the eyebrow color

I gave him pink eyes because it was supposed to represent the salt, but also I realize that if I didn’t give him pink eyes, he’d definitely look too much like Potato

So with his outfit, initially he was going to be a farmer, but I ended up think “what if he was a chef instead?” and went with that for everything below his scarf (since that was what I had drawn first). But also I didn’t change the initial look, mostly because I really liked it, so I think his top part and his bottom part may not entirely coincide with his theme

When trying to finalize the colors, I wasn’t sure about giving Potato Chip his yellow shirt, since I thought it looked off, but my friend told me to make it flannel and make his scarf red, so I did. I think I’ve gotten flannel mostly down, but truthfully I’m not sure

But yeah overall I quite like his design

Now onto his character

So I said before he’s a chef. Well he still lives on the potato farm with his family, but he also acts as their cook, since he’s got aspirations of one day being a famous chef (though he’s currently a bit too young to pursue these dreams, he’s still a teenager). His dishes mainly consist of various things made of potatoes like potato salad, potato chips, potato pancakes, loaded potatoes, you get the picture. Also if they have a mill for potato flour/starch, I imagine he mans it as his main role on the farm

Other than that, he’s a sweet guy. A bit shy and sometimes easily startled, but he doesn’t have an ounce of malice in his dough. He just likes to make food for the people he cares about

And yeah I think that’s about it for Potato Chip, I hope you like him!

[1d1195]

I feel like it has gone by quickly?? But at the same time THE CONCEPT OF TIME IS SO WEIRD TO ME I SERIOUSLY DONT KNOW ANYMORE LOL and Friday I was a bit busy :( it was a friends birthday so I out! But trust me I was ITCHING to pull up tumblr, read and talk to you! You know I love your book recs! And honestly that book sounds creepy! But you’re right I probably would end up reading it and liking it! Definitely added to my list! But I am surprised that you read it solely because you like “easy reads” , things that basically aren’t too stressful! Glad it wasn’t horrible though lol

I SERIOUSLY CANT LOOK THAT MAN IN THE EYES😭 when i turned in my exam to him my heart was beating out of my chest! And UGH IM A SUCKER FOR A HEIGHT DIFFERENCE LIKE MY BRAIN GOES CRAZY!! And idk he’s such a hot DILF lol and YES I DID SEE THOSE HARRY PICS AND I SWEAR I FELT LIKE DROPPING ON MY KNEES FOR THAT MAN😵‍💫😩 he looks so good it makes my head all fuzzy lol

Trust me I WAS CRAZY TOO!! All I wore were band t shirts and merch during my emo phase like I had no normal clothes or clothes that weren’t from hot topic bahaha and honestly I see why you were team Edward! I FINALLY saw the Twilight movies this past summer for the first time! I was never drawn to it when it was popular or the books BUTTTTT if I did have to chose I would have been team Edward lol there was no competition in the first place lol and yes I knew ALL the emo bands lore and stuff! Specifically twenty one pilots’s lore which is all lot lol but taht was like when i was 11 lol now i simply CANNOT due to lack of brain power lol

ANOTHER COUPLE MIGHT BE GETTING ENGAGED?! HELLO?! IM GONNA CRY FOR SURE!! And I’m sure part 4 will be great! You’re really great with coming with such detailed and unique! And you take such classic tropes and give your spin on it! I genuinely think you’re so talented Sam!

What’s crazy is that in my head I call you “ Samantha” when you literally do something crazy in your stories or like make me giddy?? Like “omg SAMANTHA!!!?” Idk if any of that made sense lol anyways Noah would have been cute! But Kyle is definitely more of a frat boy name lol and yeah I know about icebreaker never read it but I’ve definitely seen the girlies go crazy over it lol

My Kyle is literally so sweet! I met him at my schools IT services thing and he helped me out! Then I saw him again and he’s very nice!

And you know I love your long responses and I love you!!!-💜

HAHAHAHAHA I TALK TO MYSELF ALL THE TIME. I CONSTANTLY say “get it together Samantha.” That’s hilarious. I love that! If you’re inclined you gotta let me know which part/line in particular you do that for every once in a while 😭😂💕 please do not apologize for having friends and plans and being social. I’m glad you went out! That sounds like fun! My best friend and I are November birthdays so we celebrate the whole month of our births (our significant others LOVE it almost as much as we do, obviously).

The book was SO CREEPY. Stress level 12/10. So OBVIOUSLY I know the deeper meaning behind “don’t judge a book by its cover” but I’ve literally never picked up a book without judging its cover. Or at the very least the back cover. I’m pretty close with my sister so I often give books about sisters a thorough twice over. ALL THIS TO SAY I had no idea what it was going to be about when I picked it up hehehehe

Omg I could cry. Height difference, DILF, unable to look him in the eyes ughhhh I will also cry. I’m swooning just thinking about it 😭 I gotta write a professor/TA situation one of these days 😍😍😍

I don’t think I had an emo phase. A pseudo emo phase for sure. I never got into bands the way I was supposed to (but if I hear Fall For You I turn into a puddle). I’m obsessed with the image. I am spiraling at the idea you only saw Twilight last summer. I went to the midnight premieres I’m CRYING 😂

I have a lot of ideas in my head but they all boil down to happily ever after, marriage, 2.5 kids, and a white picket fence. I feel bad yall gotta keep reading the same story over and over 😂

Okay Kyle def is more of a frat name that was also what I thought when I switched it over. Noah was too cute I think hehehe maybe another story.

OBSESSED WITH YOUR KYLE MEET CUTE. CAN’T WAIT TO WRITE ABOUT IT 😍💕

Have a lovely start to your week bestie! 💕💕

Xoxo

P.s. Don’t read my update tomorrow if you’re having a good day lol I have been struggling with seasonal depression (I think it’s just regular depression actually at this point. But ya know) I am being dramatic honestly. Please don’t worry about me but regardless I’m probs going through an emo phase NOW hahahahahaha so it’s a little bit of a tear jerker imo

[hollandorks]

saved

matt murdock x original female character

chapter seven

Summary: Fleeing from an abusive relationship, Grace St. James goes to the only place she still has a friend: Hell’s Kitchen. She’s forced to live in her car and beg for a job from the law firm Nelson, Murdock, and Page all the while making sure her past doesn’t catch up to her. Enter Matt Murdock: cocky, handsome, and willing to let her live with him for free until she can afford to get a place of her own. Grace is drawn to Matt in a way she’s never been drawn to anyone, causing sparks to fly as they inevitably grow closer and closer.

a/n: I know I’ve already said it but this fic is so self-indulgent that it’s hard to even formulate an actual plot. Oh well! I’m having fun and that’s all that matters! Also I definitely think Matt Murdock is extra sleepy grouchy in the mornings due to his late nights devilling. 

(side note: I just passed 80k words on this fic...I have no idea where all of those words came from) 

Series Masterlist

word count: 4608

He knew he was lying to himself, but he pretended he wasn’t.

He was in a lot of trouble, having her there, but there was nothing to do about it now.

Grace woke up slowly. She knew immediately that she had slept long and deep, muscles stiff in an almost luxurious way like she had been in bed for too long. 

Awareness seeped in as she dragged her heavy eyelids open. Warm sunlight poured through the windows across from the bed. She inhaled and stretched languorously, the silk sheets sliding across her skin like the touch of a lover. 

Grace jolted when she realized just how rested she was. That could only mean one thing–she was late for work. 

She scrambled for her phone, only to find that it was ten minutes before her alarm was set to go off. She frowned at the time. Apparently sleeping in a real bed had done her body wonders. 

She quickly got ready for the day, made the bed, and then tiptoed into the living room. Matt was already up, however, and setting a pot of coffee to brew. His hair was mussed, his t-shirt wrinkled, and he seemed to be operating with his eyes closed. 

Grace paused in the doorway, taken aback by how….cute Matt Murdock was first thing in the morning. 

“Good morning,” she said, grateful that he wasn’t aware that she had stared at him for a full minute. The coffee maker percolated cheerfully on the counter and the smell wrapped around them. 

Matt grunted and then yawned. “How’d you sleep?” he finally asked in a voice that was rough with exhaustion. 

“That was the best night of sleep I’ve ever gotten in my entire life,” she said truthfully as she made her way into the kitchen. Matt half-smiled, eyes still partially closed. “Any chance you made enough coffee for two?” 

“Of course,” he said, then reached to open a cabinet. There were four plain white coffee cups and one in the back in the shape of the Death Star. 

“Star Wars fan?” she asked as she grabbed one of the plain mugs. 

Matt’s brows drew together for a moment. “Oh. No, that was–Foggy said he wanted something fun for when he was over here, so he brought one of his own.” 

Grace laughed softly as she poured herself a cup of coffee. She and Matt moved at the same moment and bumped into each other. “Sorry,” she murmured with heat in her cheeks. One of his hands gently brushed her arm as if to steady himself, or maybe her. “I’ll–I’ll get out of your hair.” 

“It’s alright,” he said. His brown eyes were unerringly close to meeting hers. “I’d offer to walk you to the office, but Foggy and I are meeting with a potential client this morning first thing.” 

Grace ignored the pang of disappointment. “I’ll probably go ahead and get going then so I can get breakfast. Good luck.” 

She quickly gathered her things for the day while she finished her coffee. Matt seemed to be in no hurry, simply leaning back against the kitchen counter while he sipped from his mug. She quickly washed the cup and put it back in the cabinet. Matt was lost in his own world, hardly moving as she maneuvered around him. 

“See you later,” she said, the words feeling strange on her tongue, as she got ready to leave. She hefted her bag over one shoulder and let her gaze trail along Matt’s frame where he leaned. He was still in that tight shirt and the sweatpants. She could see how muscular he was, how fit. The tight shirt left little to the imagination. She forced her eyes away as he said a soft goodbye. 

He was still leaning against the counter as she left, his head tipped towards her as if he were listening to her go. 

Grace locked the door behind herself, keys jangling as she pocketed them.

As she walked, she couldn’t help but replay the morning over again. It was strange to live with an attractive man and not be dating him, she mused as she went to her new favorite breakfast place. She wondered if it was weird for Matt, too, though she didn’t think he found her attractive. 

Karen was already at the office when Grace arrived a little while later. 

“So,” Karen said as she hung up her jacket. “How was your first night at Chateau Murdock?” 

Grace laughed a little. “It was fine,” she said with a shrug. There was a big box waiting on her desk–her new computer. “Matt’s definitely not a morning person though. I caught him walking around with his eyes closed this morning. How was your night?” 

Karen gave a surprised laugh. “Yeah, I’ve always gotten the impression that mornings make him grumpy. And it was…weird.” 

As they got to work setting up the new computer, Karen launched into a hilarious story about Ellison roaming around in his robe late at night, muttering to himself as he looked at paper layouts and articles on a tablet. She had apparently startled him so bad he’d screamed like a girl and thrown said tablet into the air. 

Grace enjoyed Karen’s company, probably even more so without the other two there. She was quiet but not reserved, her mind sharp and her humor even sharper. 

They were still laughing and talking as Matt and Foggy returned from their client meeting, Karen’s office door open so they could talk freely from their own desks. 

“Great news, team!” Foggy announced loudly as he came inside. “My bride to be has sent an actual paying client our way and we have ourselves a nice, big case. And a nice, big paycheck, might I add.” 

“They saw our new website,” Matt said as he stopped before Grace’s desk. He lightly tapped her desk twice. “They said it looks great.” He gave her a slightly crooked grin. 

Grace flushed with pleasure. “Really?” she asked, hardly daring to believe it. She’d put a lot of work into the website and was still tinkering with it, but so far she was happy with how it was turning out. “It isn’t finished, but–”

“Grace, if I wasn’t already engaged, I’d kiss you,” Foggy said with his own grin. They all laughed. “I’ll admit, I didn’t look at the website until they mentioned it. But it looks great.” 

“Oh, God, Foggy’s in a kissing mood,” Karen said. She rolled her eyes and met Grace’s gaze. “Quick, we’ll barricade ourselves in my off–” She cut off with a shout as Foggy strode over to her and planted a wet kiss on her cheek. 

“He just kissed her, didn’t he?” Matt said with a laugh. Grace was trying not to laugh but it was hard. Matt leaned against her desk and shook his head. “I’d tell you the website looks great, Grace, but I’ll have to take my colleague’s word for it.” 

“Actually–” Grace said as she straightened. “I’ve been looking into making it accessible for the blind and visually impaired. I could use a guinea pig at some point, if you don’t mind.” 

Matt dipped his chin and opened his mouth, then closed it again. 

“Really?” Foggy said, no longer trying to kiss Karen’s face. “That’s awesome!” 

“Great idea,” Karen added with a nod. 

“I don’t mind helping,” Matt finally said, voice soft. There was a note of emotion underneath the words. 

Grace felt that little sting of pride again. “Great. I still have a ways to go, but I’ll let you know when it’s ready.” 

The rest of the day was a blur as Grace split her time between figuring out her new desktop computer, working more on the website, and beginning to help prepare for the big case Matt and Foggy had secured. 

While she worked, she contemplated just how much of a difference a good night of sleep made. Even before sleeping in her car, she spent many nights awake and in fear. Since she was a deep sleeper, she’d never known if Dean would react badly to her sleeping later than him or falling asleep before him and not waking when he came to bed. His expectations had always changed rapidly along with his moods. And oftentimes, when he was angry about something, the mood lasted for hours, lingering beneath the surface of soft words and gentle apologies. Then he’d snap again over some small thing. So she would lie awake, wondering if he was going to hit her again, dreading it, anticipating it. 

But now that she was away from that she was so much more…settled. She’d slept deeply, all night long, for the first time in a while. And even when she switched to sleeping on Matt’s couch, she knew she’d still sleep deeply, comfortably. 

The four of them ended up eating dinner together at a small restaurant around the corner. Grace had been surprised to be invited, but pleased. She really did like hanging out with them, all of them, and liked how well they all got along. Even though the three of them had been friends for years, Grace never felt out of place. They always made sure to include her, to tell her the stories they were referencing, to make her feel like she belonged. 

She and Matt walked back to his apartment in companionable silence after dinner. She’d offered him her arm when they left, still uncertain about the etiquette for being around someone blind. 

His grip was strong and warm at her elbow. 

“You know,” Matt said as the building came into view. “You don’t have to feel obligated to hang out with us.” 

Grace’s heart stuttered. She glanced at him in surprise. “What?” she asked, because she wasn’t really sure she’d heard him right. Did they not want her to hang out with them? Was she only being invited as a courtesy, because they felt bad for her? 

“Me, Foggy, and Karen. You don’t–I feel like we’ve kind of been dragging you into things.” He looked a bit sheepish. 

“I…no, not at all. I like hanging out with you guys.” Her stomach sank. An odd, prickling sensation crawled across her skin. “Unless you don’t want me intruding. I know you’ve known each other for–” 

“No, no,” Matt said hurriedly. “That’s not it at all. I just didn’t–I didn’t want you to feel like you had to.” 

Grace’s face was hot. “Oh. Well, I like hanging out with you guys. You’re fun.” 

Matt flashed her a smile as they entered the apartment. “Good. I know Foggy has a…strong personality sometimes and can be a bit of a bulldozer when it comes to things.” 

Grace laughed. “That’s one way to put it. Trust me, though. I like you, all three of you. It’s been a while since I’ve been around people who were so…easy.” 

“Easy?” Matt repeated skeptically, brows raised behind his tinted glasses. 

“Yeah, easy. You guys are easy to get along with.” She shrugged, hoping he’d feel it since his hand was still on her elbow. “I feel like there aren’t any expectations when I’m around you.” 

“I’m glad,” he said softly. 

They parted ways in the living room. Matt went and changed while Grace made a shopping list on her phone of things she’d need to purchase, namely food. 

“All yours,” Matt said a few minutes later as he came out of the bathroom. He was in sweatpants and a tank top. 

Grace’s eyes widened when she took in his very muscular arms. Matt rubbed a hand absently over the back of his head. 

“Right,” she said, because she’d been staring. She cleared her throat. “I’ll shower.” 

She gathered her pajamas and bolted for the bathroom, embarrassed that she kept reacting to Matt like that. He’s attractive, she told herself firmly as she waited for the shower to heat up. So what? You live with him. Chill out. 

She showered quickly. She wanted to do more research on accessibility for the website before bed. 

Matt was on his way out with a duffel bag when she emerged from the steam of the bathroom. He paused when he heard the door open. 

“I was going to go to the gym,” he said, hefting the duffel bag that was in one hand. 

Grace perked up. “Maybe–Maybe I could come sometime?” she asked, thinking of those self defense classes. “I take self defense classes on the weekends, but I wouldn’t mind somewhere else to go during the week.” 

Matt winced slightly. “I…Don’t usually like people to be there. It’s–I have an arrangement with the owner to go after hours…” He trailed off. Even from across the room, she could see his blush, mirroring her own. 

Mentally, she kicked herself. She didn’t particularly like people watching her either, and she wasn’t blind. “Oh, that’s fine.” She almost winced at the palpable awkwardness in the air. “Have fun?” It came out like a question. 

Matt gave her a fake looking smile. “I’ll be back late.” 

“Night, then.” 

“Goodnight.” 

When he was gone, Grace groaned and put her head in her hands. Two awkward conversations in one night. She wanted to scream or hide or both. It really was like college all over again, two people who knew nothing about each other forced to live together. She hated the awkwardness. It was almost as if hanging out with Dean and Dean’s friends for so long had caused her to forget how to act around, well, anyone else. 

Grace pulled out her laptop and settled on the couch in order to get her mind off of the lingering embarrassment. She set to work researching accessibility options, trying out various ones on the Nelson, Murdock, and Page website until she found a few that would work well. 

A couple of hours passed, and her research turned into a search into Matt Murdock.. She read about his accident as a child, blinded saving an old man in a traffic accident, only to lose his father not too long after. 

The most prevalent articles were about Wilson Fisk and Frank Castle. She went down a bit of a rabbit hole looking through those and reading about the firm’s involvement with them. The articles about Frank Castle debated the pros and cons of vigilantes, when led to her clicking through to articles regarding Daredevil specifically. 

Then, somehow, she was watching old cell phone videos and grainy security footage of the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. He used to not have the armor or the horns, back when he was simply known as the “man in black” or the “man in the mask.” The devil moniker and the suit had come later.  

Grace had watched a lot of the same videos of Daredevil after he’d saved her. She had read a lot of the same articles and information and forums, too. But she found herself going over it again, the curiosity still burning bright within her. 

She kept reading as she got ready for bed and then shifted from her laptop to her phone so she could lay down on the couch as she grew more and more tired. 

She slipped into sleep with the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen on her mind and dreamed of smoke and shadows with horns. 

–

Grace woke the next morning in Matt’s bed. 

She startled awake, sitting up in one fluid movement. Hadn’t she been on the couch? She blinked blearily at the room around her before realizing that her alarm had woken her. She smacked her phone to turn it off and rubbed at her face to try and dispel some of the cobwebs in her brain. 

She vaguely remembered Matt shaking her awake and then…nothing. 

Grace swung her feet over the edge of the bed and sat for a moment trying to remember if she’d walked to the bed or if Matt had carried her. But why would he have carried her? 

She yawned hugely and decided that any more thinking could wait until she’d been caffeinated. She brushed her teeth and pulled her hair back and dressed for the day before going out into the living room. There was no evidence the couch had been slept on at all. Her laptop was still on the coffee table where she’d left it. 

Matt was in the kitchen, already in his suit, tying his tie. 

“How and why did I end up in the bed again last night?” Grace asked as she greedily made a  grab for the coffee pot. 

Matt tilted his head towards her. “You don’t remember me waking you up?” 

Grace frowned. The vague memory resurfaced. Matt’s hair had been damp with sweat, or maybe from a shower. “I…no, not really.” 

“You weren’t kidding about being a deep sleeper,” he said with that disarming smile of his. 

Grace glared at him over the mug as she sipped the too-hot coffee. She didn’t even care that it burned a bit. “Again, how and why?” 

Matt shrugged and slipped his suit jacket on. “I told you I was taking the couch. I got you awake enough to help you to the bed.”

“Matt, I told you I’d sleep on the couch. I was already asleep on the couch, why didn’t you just take the bed?” She crossed her legs and widened her stance. 

Matt set his jaw. “You’re my guest,” he said. “I’ll sleep on the couch from here on out. Besides, I got in late–I wouldn’t have woken you up if you’d been in the bedroom.” 

Grace threw up her hands. “There’s no point in arguing with a lawyer, is there?” 

A crack in the stubbornness as he smiled. “Nope.” 

She pointed a stern finger at him even though he couldn’t see it. “Watch it, Murdock. Pink shirts.” 

Matt laughed, and the tension around them eased. The argument was far from over–Grace would make sure Matt let her sleep on the couch if it was the last thing she did. But it was time to go to work. 

As they walked to the office, Grace thought about various arguments that would change his mind. Or maybe she could simply figure out how to lock him in the bedroom until he went to sleep while she took the couch. 

Grace’s phone went off with the chime she’d set for Google alerts right as they got to the firm. 

She glanced at the headline and jerked to a halt. 

Harold Spencer found dead in Hudson River near Hell’s Kitchen. 

Grace’s hands shook as the scent of blood filled her nose, the sounds of creaking metal doors and the rattling of chains echoing in her ears. 

“Grace?” Matt asked as if from very far away. “Are you alright?” 

She blinked and mentally shook herself. “Yeah I just–someone I used to know was found dead, is all.” 

Not technically a lie. Harry Spencer had gone to college with her and Dean and their circle of friends. 

“I’m sorry,” Matt said softly. “Do you need to…go?” 

She shook her head vehemently. “No, it’s–I haven’t seen him in a long time.” Another half-truth. 

Matt reached out and his fingers brushed her forearm. He patted her. “I’m sorry,” he said again. 

Grace forced herself to focus on work and work only for the rest of the day. She emailed Foggy, Matt, and Karen about lists of accessibility things they could add to the website, scheduled a couple of appointments, and started working through some paperwork for their newest case. 

Her concentration was so single minded that she didn’t notice it was time to leave. 

“I’ll catch up,” she said to Matt, who was hovering near her desk. “I need to finish a couple of things.” 

The other three bid her goodnight. 

The moment the door closed behind them, Grace pulled up the news on her computer. 

She clicked the breaking news article. 

Harold Spencer, 27, was found dead early this morning in the Hudson River near Hell’s Kitchen. Details are limited at this time. No statement has been released by the police or the family of the deceased. Spencer supposedly went missing after failing to return from a business trip six months ago. 

Grace’s breath caught again. She closed her eyes and rested her forehead on the cool wood of her desk. 

“Fuck,” she whispered. 

She looked up every article related to Harry Spencer that she could get her hands on. None of them had any other details. His body had been found–that was the extent of the information. Some websites even claimed that he hadn’t been missing, since his family had never formally filed. 

She clicked out of the windows and gathered her things. It was later than she thought.

She knew that she should tell someone what she knew, or at least what she had pieced together. But that was the crux of the problem, wasn’t it? Dean Bennett was too powerful. No one would believe her. Not a single person. 

Maybe Matt, Foggy, and Karen would, a small, hopeful voice whispered in her mind. She shook the thoughts away. She was already relying too much on their charitable hearts, especially Matt. She couldn’t ask them to believe the impossible of her, the unprovable, something that would bring at the very least bad press to their firm but most likely ruin. 

Grace bit her lip as she stalked to Matt’s apartment. 

She’d left Dean for a reason. She wasn’t going to look back, not anymore. She was working a job she liked with people she thought could become good friends, and she didn’t care about Dean Bennett and the things he may or may not have done anymore. 

To further occupy herself, she stopped at a grocery store to stock up on food. Even if she had to live off of cereal and instant ramen, she would save money for a place of her own. 

Maybe she could sell her car, she thought as she lugged the heavy bags back to the apartment. Having a car in New York was more trouble than it was worth. She’d barely used it in the past week other than as a bed. 

Matt was nowhere to be found when she let herself into the apartment. It was just as well, because she was spiraling so much that she knew she’d probably get on his nerves. She put all of her groceries away, showered, then spent another hour eating cereal and reading more news articles and scouring social media for more information. 

She started pacing as she read some posts on her phone, her laptop battery dead from her obsession first with Daredevil and then with Harry Spencer. 

A picture she recognized was being circulated around social media. Young, handsome Harry in his Cornell sweatshirt, the picture splashed everywhere. But on a certain social media site, the full picture was posted, revealing a second figure. 

Grace dropped her phone as if it had burned her. 

No wonder the photo was familiar. 

She had taken it. 

She sank onto the couch and pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes. 

From the floor, Dean and Harry smiled up at her, arms around each other in matching Cornell sweatshirts. 

Grace fumbled for her phone and closed the app. 

She started pacing again. The room was suddenly too hot, too small, too much. 

She grabbed her keys and went up the stairs to the roof. 

Cold air hit her in the face. She shivered as the sweat on her body cooled. It wasn’t too cold yet, summer giving one last dying gasp before the autumn frost came. 

Grace inhaled greedy gulps of air to calm herself. 

She needed to forget Dean. To forget Harry. To forget her entire life up until the past week. None of it mattered anymore. She was starting over and there was absolutely nothing she could do to change anything except her own circumstances. The only thing she could change was herself and her own situation, so she needed to focus on that. Nothing else.

“Goddammit,” she muttered as she started pacing around the small rooftop area. 

There was a soft scrape somewhere behind her. Like a shoe against the asphalt.  

Grace whirled. 

There was a shadow standing there, watching her. 

She opened her mouth to scream but the shadow stepped into the light. 

Daredevil.

She immediately relaxed. “Oh,” she said a bit breathlessly. Her heart started pounding for an entirely different reason. She pressed her palm against her chest to calm the racing of her heart. “It’s you. You probably don’t remember me–” 

“Of course I remember you,” he said in a low voice. She had to strain to hear him over the noise of the traffic and other city noises below them. 

Grace stared at him a moment, stunned that he had remembered her. “What are you…doing here?” she asked when she recovered. She crossed her arms, aware of her flimsy pajamas and lack of a bra. 

He spread his hands. “The rooftops are kind of my thing.” A hint of a smile. He kept his voice low, almost too quiet. “Besides, I could ask you the same question.” 

“Right, yeah. The whole vigilante thing.” She shifted and glanced away. “I was just…clearing my head.”  

“You should be careful,” he said. The low timbre of his voice made her shiver. It made her think of the shadows wrapping around him, ready to swallow him up at a moment’s notice. It made her think of bruised knuckles and blood. 

“My friend is downstairs,” she lied. “I’m just staying here for a few nights.” She didn’t know why she lied to him. It came naturally, not to give too much of herself away to a stranger. 

Daredevil hummed. He still hadn’t moved. His hands hung loosely at his sides. 

She took the moment to study him in the low light. Now that she wasn’t afraid for her life or suffering a head wound like she had been the last time they’d met, she could take him in. The tight suit revealed a muscular frame, built solidly even though he wasn’t incredibly tall. The line of his jaw was sharp. She couldn’t tell if it was another shadow or a shadow of stubble that shaded it. She stared into the glass eyes of his mask. He tilted his head slightly and the eyes glinted red, making her shiver all over again. 

“You should go inside, it’s cold,” he said after a moment. She wondered if he had been studying her like she’d been studying him. 

“Do you–want a drink or something? A snack?” she blurted. She didn’t want to leave, not when he was so close. She might have developed a slight obsession with him after he’d saved her but–who wouldn’t? Half of Hell’s Kitchen was obsessed with him, based on what she could tell from her internet sleuthing. 

That head tilt again. “No thank you.” Again she could barely hear him over the noise of the city around them. He seemed puzzled by her offer. 

“I just–I figure being a vigilante is hard and you might need some water or a granola bar or something.” 

A sudden grin, the flash of teeth in the low light almost predatory. “I’m alright, I promise.” 

She shrugged and bit back a nervous laugh. “I just want to thank you somehow,” she finally said. Her voice quieted even as her face heated. “If you hadn’t been there–” 

“You’re welcome,” he said, his voice growing even deeper. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides again. “Goodnight, Grace.” 

“Goodnight,” she said with a small smile and wave before she ducked back inside. 

She pressed her back against the door after locking it and bit back another smile. 

But she didn’t question how the devil of Hell’s Kitchen had come to know her name.

Next Chapter 

taglist: 

@zaminoo​​ @yanna-banana​​ @bellal1 @thetrinitytest​​ @harry-bowie-mercury​

[mostspecialgirl]

Insiders (2023) - redrawn from 2019

(rambling under the cut)

thank you tumblr for compressing my image down to disgusting crusty poop pixels on the app

i love to do a new big reference piece for my babies every few years, and the time has finally come due… and WOW !!! LOOK AT THAT IMPROVEMENT !!! everyone looks Normal And Alive and Non Bugeyed !!! everyone is a little less pasty white (im talking about you, tanith) !!! i think they all show a lil bit of nice personality in their faces now too which is lovely for me. i love to see my children happy. now to write about each of them

angelo’s line art has the least effort into it here and i was GONNA redraw him but honestly if anyone is going to look like a scrunkly little bug IT IS GOING TO BE HIM !!!!!! It’s been a minute since i’ve drawn his body-saws and on a whim i made them red AND !!! IT WORKS !!! I’M A FAN !!! i think he’s due for a main-outfit change though. not sure. i struggled with finding him a natural-looking skin color too because i’ve slowly made him as a person less undead-corpse-like and i think i’ve found a good spot. for now.

i pulled the perfect angora out of my mind and honestly i am shocked at what i have created. she looks so sweet and kind and innocent here (as she should) that to any unfamiliar observers you’d be hard pressed to tell she’s a big lazy gross vulgar piece of shit rat of a fishwoman. and that is EXACTLY how it should be. i have lost the plot for too long, giving her more sharp edges and a hunched back and wild expressions, but the standard angora really should be deceptively pretty. because that’s my girl.

Mila looks great as always. What more can I say? She’s always perfect. I had fun giving her lips for the first time!

AMPH … MY ADISHESHA … (slamming my fist down) I’ve finally perfected him… isn’t he pretty? isn’t he so pretty? I chose to draw him in his naga/incarnated form instead of the shadow form this time because i wasn’t lazy. I decided to throw a big coat on him, originally intended to be more lab coat-y, but influenced by how fucking cold it is outside i allowed myself to give him a big fur collared one. because if you can’t tell i love giving characters though. i think it worked out well for AMPH here, and now I have to be putting him in all sorts of cowls and capes until the end of time.

TANITH !!!!!!!! GGGGYRRRRAAAAHHHHH!!!! LOOK AT MY GIRL !!!!!!! I’M FERAL OVER THIS!!!!!! LOOK AT MY IMPROVEMENT !!!!!!! it’s been a hot minute since i’ve colored her, but i changed her palette in my mind a while ago AND looking at it here ? existing ? i’ve done it again. My lovely little sword daughter … i know i JUST doodled her but christ something was in the water here because SHE LOOKS SO GOOD. this is the best ive drawn any of them. i gave her some nice clothes this time instead of her usual big t-shirt because i realized i only gave her that in the past because i didn’t know how to draw clothes.

speaking of “best ive ever drawn any of them” somnus … THIS IS HIM … i’ve gotten close to capturing him in all the times i’ve drawn him but i think i’ve finally pinned him down here. and of course, he’s hitting the same pose as his wife because they’re cute like that. i ripped his colors straight from the solo reference piece i made for him a while back which has held up quite wonderfully.

FINALLY !!! SETH IS HERE !!! HE HAS ARRIVED IN PROPER INSIDERS GROUP ART !!! he looks pretty good here. i think he could still look BETTER, but for the purpose of having a nice group reference piece he looks pretty great i think. I struggled pinning down some colors for his clothes and was pretty lazy with the Purple Under His Hair That Glows BUT WHO CARES !!!! LOOKS GOOD TO ME !!! LOOK AT MY HANDSOME SON !!! i also decided to stick his full name on here that i’ve kept vaulted up for the reason that i’ve never had to put it anywhere before. if you know why he has “-zoe adamiel” as his chosen full name, congrats, you’re a huge fucking nerd.

eventually, i’m probably going to tack daisy, kane, sampi and demiurge onto the right side of this piece, but that’s for another day down the line. thanks for reading!

[horizontalsplash]

tell me one fun fact about all your ocs

kris what have you wrought i have at least 60. i’m going to need read more. this. oh boy oh man oh shit oh fuck it’s so many kris.

anyway. enjoy me actually using caps for once ig.

(in order from oldest to newest)

Ignacio (Cinnamon): He was a character from a very old story that I figured a backstory for way after I’d given up his story and how he just exists in another universe. Also he has a flamethrower. And invincible lungs. The invincible lungs are not plot relevant.

Amber: She is my only remaining female protagonist because I shot all the others with my enby beam. She does get a leather jacket as compensation though.

Mosaic: He has antlers and can make magic string. Just a little boy. Also he’s twelve.

Lil: They have giant round glasses that are cracked and broken. They cannot see. They’re a visual artist.

Glacia: Uh idk she’s got ice powers and pronouns.

Terra: Uh idk he’s got earth powers and pronouns. Specifically likes clay disks.

Woodwork: They have a reverse secret identity. Their public self is them in like a t-shirt and their private self has to cover their entire body by law.

Grady: He smokes whenever he wants to remember what it was like when his hometown burned down.

Silvia: Her hair is partially dyed bright aqua and pink and would also be blue, but is not because that would be considered impersonating monarchy.

Rebel: She exists solely because Feel It Still by Portugal. The Man played on the radio too many times.

Ash: She was almost married off to the royal family.

Ruben: They accidentally predicted my gender and (lack of) romantic orientation. They were also initially based off of K.O.

Chaos: I accidentally chose the same name for myself online as them without realizing and for completely different reasons. Also it’s technically the first character I made for its universe. And they like heart-shaped rocks.

Memns: They love popcorn to a concerning level. They are also twelve.

Quantum: They’re supposed to take inspiration from every horror character ever but actually look like none of them. She was also initially based off of P.K.O.

Heir: He knows everything there is to know about algebra ever. He was also initially based off of T.K.O.

Patricia: She lives in an endless green meadow.

The Lake: It is a lake. Possibly made of snakes. Don’t worry about it.

Ru: Representation of innocence. Forgets.

Rise: Loves electronic music and flashing lights.

Kaitlyn: She constantly carries a backpack with the most unnecessary shit in it, making her buff as fuck.

Aaron: He thinks e-boys are gender.

Antonio: He curls his hair because Charlotte (below) has curly hair and he’s a fanboy.

Em: She thinks blasting meme songs over school intercoms is the peak of humor.

Winter: Their head is connected to a giant database of information that they have to utilize and update. The more I think about it the worse it gets.

Elliot: He constantly wears formal clothes, regardless of the situation.

Pehr: Developing her has been hell. I gave her superpowers and then got rid of them. I gave her a name and then changed it. I don’t know what I’m doing but she exists.

Adelmar: He can shapeshift and usually grows either feathers and/or scales without thinking.

Stacey: They have a massive scarf collection.

Fen: I know she had OSDD and have no developed anything to do with that. She’s like. Two steps ahead of Pehr.

Lemongrass: His color palette is supposed to consist of highlighter colors, white, and muted pink to beige, but I haven’t ever drawn him full-body with color so I have no idea if it actually works. He is also twelve.

Thyme: For some reason I decided she would commit tax fraud despite being nine years old.

Inkberry: I’ve renamed him three times—Peppermint, Winterberry, and Inkberry.

Etta: She makes bangin’ nachos.

Piera: She likes opals.

King: He’s an unhinged nine-year-old. That’s it that’s the fun fact.

Charlotte: She can “tell the future” and didn’t know she was just reading people’s subconscious thoughts and predicting from there for 60 years. A 15-year-old had to tell her.

Telezing: Her favorite food is parsnips and honey mustard.

Dimitri: I associate him with white sweatshirts even though I’m pretty sure he doesn’t wear them anymore.

Crest: In the original concept of their story, null was originally an antagonist.

Kweli: Xe has a special interest in vampires and (theoretically) wants to become one, which becomes interesting when he finds out that they’re real (in xyr universe).

Coral: She’s part of a subculture based on fae and collects pronouns and names related to the color red.

Natalie: Her favorite drink is an orange creamsicle float.

TJ: He periodically gives people roses that remind him of them.

Jericho: He likes to stand intimidatingly by Delphin (below) and scare people. Delphin did not ask hir to do this.

Honey: She only owns brightly/elaborately decorated pants.

Delphin: He is gay and feminine but it has nothing to do with him being gay. He’s like. Barely grasped that that’s a stereotype.

Silence: She’s a giant red sea serpent eel siren. Kind of a MILF.

Styx: They’re able to sense and differentiate specific vibrations in the ground through their feet.

Jingle: He’s the only reason his story/universe went from being a concept to a full-fledged thing. Also he has severe mommy issues.

Licentia: She likes old and reused things.

Leuis: He knows basically everything there is to know about mushrooms ever.

Breiget: Ae makes handmade lace.

Thatch: They can read perfectly fine but are horrible at fitting the words together to understand what the meaning and context of sentences are.

Death: They’re 48 feet tall.

Anise: He has an interest in plants and paints them often, which is fine other than the fact that they try to strangle him a lot.

Hearth: She keeps a (usually lit) candle on her at all times.

Trick: They have a strange obsession with organs (instrument).

Zalif: She’s like five or something and more aware of her family’s issues than anyone else in their family.

Bee: She has only understood the concept of responsibility once.

Ell Alarie: I accidentally named her “Sell Salarie” without the s. She’s a capitalist.

Certamen: Deep down it really just wants to look nice.

Deflexus: He’s killed 37 people.

Competum: They only know Latin. This is normal for their species and situation. They are basic.

Shade: They’re uncannily good at making beverages.

Delanie: She used to live in Alaska.

Tobiastsi: His name is made up of all of his favorite sounds. It’s very much not pronounced how it looks but I can’t figure it out.

Beseech: She had a crush on a pair of twins, confessed to both of them, and got rejected by both of them.

Ono: She reincarnated into Teddy Roosevelt and is now living in shame about it.

[angelisverba]

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

[nushy]

It is time.

I still don't have a title for this one, but... part 1 is here. also: part 2 and part 3

A/N: besties, i needed something positive after s4, vol.2 so here we don't have anything supernatural - just a normal Hawkins, normal kids, etc, etc. Our pretty boy is alive and well.

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: you are the new girl in town and Eddie is seeing something he likes. And you too. (i am sooooo bad at summaries)

warnings: a lot of spelling and grammar errors (sorry, english is not my native language), blood, punching, cursing, drug use, smoking, strong language (?), maybe SA if you squint, in the next parts there will be smut. idk

word count: 1.4K

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You knew the day was going to be bad the moment you woke up. First, the milk had gone bad so you just skipped breakfast, then your car broke so you had to walk to school and on your way there your favorite bracelet tore and you just threw it away. And to top it all off – well, you had to go to school.

The day only got worse when, while strolling through your locker and searching for a pen, someone stood by you and started talking to you.

“Hey, new girl, wanna come with me tonight to show you the town?” You looked at the guy – and, oh my god, the most generic white boy was smiling stupidly at you. What’s more, he was part of the basketball team. Fuck, you thought to yourself. Yes, of course, new girls always get the attention, especially when they were dressed like you – short black skirt and pretty cropped top handmade by you from one of your favorite band t-shirts (very against the school dress code but you really didn’t care). But what was he thinking, trying his luck with you – what were you going to talk about – you doubted that he knew any of the bands you liked, or the scary movies, or the fantasy books. Plus, he was soooo far from your type.

“No, thanks, I’ve got plans” you responded and then resumed your pen search.

“What plans can you have, I doubt that you have any friends here to have plans with” he chuckled at his own joke. You took a deep breath, trying not to scream right there and then. And in this moment, your salvation came by – you knew the boy vaguely, cause you saw him yesterday at lunch and were immediately drawn to him – his long curly hair, leather jacket and denim vest with Dio stitch on the back and of course, you favorite, his big metal rings. When you passed by his table you heard him talking about the gig he was having the next evening with his band and you noted that in your head. Now this was your alibi. You stretched out your hand and grabbed the boy that was passing by, drawing him to you.

“Well, yeah, tonight I’m going to see him playing with his band” you said pretty conveniently, one of the boys was shocked and the other one was a bit… disgusted?

“What? Eddie Munson? This freak? You better be joking” he scoffed. The boy next to you, Eddie, just signed but still didn’t try to escape your grasp, he was intrigued. And you were pissed so you decided that it will be the hard way.

“You talking about yourself? You a freak?” you asked dumbly and laughed. His face became red, and Eddie reacted for the first time with a sincere laugh.

“You bitch, I was just trying to be nice.” the player was angry. But the way he called you made you furious. And Eddie immediately knew because your hand, that was still on his, grasped him harder.

“What did you just call me?” you asked, your jaw clenched.

“What you are – a bitch. I was trying to be nice but apparently you like the weirdos.” He was a total douche and you knew what those needed, so you let go of Eddie’s hand, and you punched the idiot in the face. Right in the nose – and that was the best feeling of the day. He immediately put his hands on his face, a small trail of blood got to his mouth. Eddie gasped, then let out a small laugh.

“Don’t ever dare to call me bitch…. or him a freak.. ever again” you said, standing close to his face, his eyes wide and shocked, but full of anger. With him still standing shocked in front of you, you turned to Eddie and said calmly:

“Wanna skip the next class and go somewhere far from this shithole?” He was a bit taken aback but still nodded and you grabbed his hand and guided him to the exit. 

Outside of the school building you managed to take a deep breath and to think clearly about the situation you were in, Eddie’s hand still in yours.

“Wow” was all he could say. You looked at him and started laughing, not knowing how else to react. He looked at you, confused at first, but soon joined you in the laugh. “It was a really good punch tho.”

“Yeah, my father taught me how to punch, said I had to be like the boys or better.” you explained, dryly smiling.

“This one was definitely better.” Eddie looked at you, from head to toes, for the first time. And, boy, was he impressed. Not just by the outfit – but by your face, the fire in your eyes, the messy, yet beautiful, hair, the chipped black nail polish and the several skull rings on your fingers. You blushed. And for some minutes there was silence.

“So, where are we going? And can you drive, my car broke this morning.” you broke the silence. Eddie looked around, thinking, then smiled and grabbed you by the waist.

“I have  the perfect idea. And we don’t even need a car.” So you two left the parking in front of the school.

It really was a short walk through the woods, until you got to a clearing with a wooden table in the center and two wooden benches.

“My favorite spot, no one comes here.” he said with a delight in his voice. And, to be fair, you liked the place – it was quiet, it was nature, and there was no one around. You sat on the bench, Eddie sat on the opposite one, there was silence once again. You got your backpack on the table and started to search for something, Eddie looking at you with confusion. He really didn’t know what to expect next from you.

“Want some?” you took out a blunt and handed it to him. And, boy, was he shocked, because he expected everything, but definitely not this. “Or you don’t use those kind of things.” You continued when you didn’t get a response. Eddie finally managed to react letting out a loud laugh.

“Sweety, I sell those things.” It was your time to be shocked, as he put his black lunch box that you noticed just now, and he opened it. You looked inside and nodded with a grin on your face.

“Yep, you definitely sell those things.” then you both laughed. You lit the joint and took turns until you both were feeling light as feathers. 

“So, you new here?” he asked. You took a deep breath, your thoughts were a bit scrambled but not that much.

“Yeah, came here 3 days ago with my father. He’s a truck driver, his station is near, so we settled here, in the trailer park.” Eddie’s eyes grew bigger.

“No way, I live there too.” You honestly didn’t know that but it was a really cool coincidense.

“Yeah, basically I live mostly alone, as my father is always on the road, but he makes good money and he sends me to help me. But I still consider finding a job. Shitty part is I have to finish school, and I’ve changed a lot of those. Good thing is, this time I managed to go two days without punching someone, last time I punched the guidance lady on my first day… but it was her fault, she acted like I was stupid.” The weed made you chatty, but it seemed like Eddie didn’t mind as he was carefully listening to you talking about your life.

You had no idea how much time has passed as you talked about everything there is to talk about (you definitely clicked as your interests were basically the same), but it was slowly getting darker and Eddie suddenly jumped.

“The gig!” he looked at his clock. “Damn, it starts in two hours, gotta go or the boys will be pissed.” you looked him with heavy eyes but still stood up.

“Yeah, but Eddie, I will be heading home, not feeling like going to a bar right now.” You looked him in the eyes and for a moment you could have sworn there was a trace of sadness (or were you just high?). He lifted slowly his shoulders and tried to be casual:

“You lose.” he said with a grin. And with that said you both headed to the school parking lot for him to hop on his van. You sobered up quickly while walking through the woods, Eddie also looked quite fine. There was silent once again but it wasn’t an awkward silence, it was nice. Your hands brushed lightly, you smiled not sure if it was because of the weed, or you just started to fall for the boy, not knowing that he was thinking just the same.

“Want a ride? I can give you a lift to the trailer park and then head to the Hideout. " You declined.

“I need a bit more fresh air, I will walk. You go or you will be late.” Eddie smiled so sincerely that you wanted to jump right away in the van next to him, but you just waved goodbye and walked away.

[sagechanoafterdark]

An Old Fashioned Remedy

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: language, awkward but he still gets laid Bucky, light fingering, some oral, sex, soft ending

A/N: I had the next chapter of Dead Men Tell No Tales finished last night and an unfortunate crash on my google drive lost the entire chapter. So enjoy this while I rewrite it from scratch for you guys. Thank you to my darling wife  @iwantutobehapppier​ for always reading my work for me first to make sure it’s up to par. 

It was around 3 am when you woke up out of a dead sleep. Eyes drifting to the digital clock on the bedside table before cursing yourself. Sleeping in new places didn't settle well with you, especially when you didn't feel like they were your own. 

It had been more than a month of living with the Avengers and you still couldn't manage to sleep a full night. 

Rolling over onto your back with a sigh you closed your eyes and tried to force yourself back to sleep.

It wasn't working.

So with a grumble, you kicked the covers off your body and made your way out towards the kitchen looking for a night remedy you hadn't done in years.

Feet tapping against the cold tiles your finger reached for the light switch and you jumped out of your skin at the shadowy figure standing in the kitchen.

"Fucks sake, Bucky," you cursed holding a hand over your heart. "You scared the hell out of me."

Wincing Bucky stood near the sink in a loose pair of pajama pants and a well-worn t-shirt with a glass of water held in his hand, "Sorry I didn't think anybody would be up. Can't sleep?"

The question piqued your curiosity, a month of living here and the two of you had only briefly spoken before. It was a polite conversation and nothing really out of the ordinary, except Bucky didn’t ask additional questions. From what you’d gathered Bucky only ever had surface conversations with most people, never asking additional questions less it was to Sam or another member of the team. 

So this? This was new.

Shaking your head no, Bucky snorted before taking a drink, "Me either."

"Actually I came out here to get help for sleep," you said, drifting over to the counter and reaching into the box on the counter. You pulled out the loaf of white bread from inside and wiggled it in the air.

"Bread? Really?"

Humming you pulled the bread knife out of the block before slicing yourself a thin piece, "It's one of those old-fashioned remedies. Doesn't work every time but it's better than counting sheep."

"Don't think I've counted sheep in a long while, doll."

"Well in that case you want a slice?" You offered, holding out the sizable slice and wiggling your eyebrows. Bucky eyed it suspiciously, brow drawn together and blue eyes flicking from the slice to you and back again. "What do you have to lose Bucky? Just try it."

He took the piece from you slowly, setting his glass down as you cut another slice and started eating it. Soft and pillowy with a perfect crust and flavor, this was quite possibly the best white bread you'd had in a long time.

"So bread huh?"

You nodded, "What I strike you as a chamomile tea kind of girl?"

Shaking his head Bucky smirked, eyes flitting down to the slice in his hand. “Nah, you’re strictly a, two melatonin tablets with a shot of tequila, type.”

You almost choked on your bite, snorting with laughter. Bucky smiled at you and it was then that you realized something. Was, was he flirting with you? With a sudden realization, you looked down at the slice of bread in your hand, it was taking much longer than normal to eat it while Bucky had been tearing his own slice with his fingers. You’d seen the man devour a stack of pancakes the size of his head before, that made zero sense.

Glancing up at him you pretended not to notice how his eyes would flick up and down your body on occasion. Oh my god, he was flirting.

“You this smooth with all the girls you have a crush on?”

This time Bucky choked, sputtering slightly and you smirked, leaning smugly against the counter and enjoying just how red Bucky’s face became, whether it was from embarrassment or lack of oxygen you’ll never know. “That obvious is it?”

“Only when you stare at me,” you said with a hum, tearing the last piece in your hands apart. “Tell you what. You’ve got until I finish my bread to make a move, otherwise…”

He didn’t wait. 

Closing in on you so you swiftly, slice of bread tossed onto the counter behind you while his mouth descended onto yours. Bucky leads with his tongue, sliding along the seam of your lips until they parted and the deepest of groans rumbled in his chest. Your hands slid over his chest tangling in the short hairs at the back of his neck, holding your hips before sliding down to your thighs and hiking you up and against the counter.

Your hands pulled at his shirt, lifting it over his head and tossing it to the floor as he did the same. His hands ghosting over your breasts, grabbing a rough handful, kissing the swell before his mouth took a nipple in a brief lick. Pinching between thumb and forefinger that had tingles shooting through your whole body and your hips rocking against him.

Looking up at you with heavy-lidded blue eyes Bucky smirked before capturing your lips again. The strength in his vibrainum arm jerking your hips roughly against his hard cock, straining and tenting the pajama pants.

“You know. I think. I just. Remembered. Another. Sleep. Remedy.” You managed to get out between kisses.

Bucky groaned against you, “I like the way you think, doll.” His hands pulled you tight against him and you wrapped your legs around his waist. The whirling of his vibrainum arm was barely noticeable as he lifted you from the counter and began steadily walking towards his room.

Getting there was not without incident. His grip slipping as your hips rocked against him forcing him to slide you against the wall briefly, his hand dipping below the band of your shorts and pressing a finger against your soaked folds. 

“Already ready for me huh,” he teased against your mouth.

“Shut up and kiss me again,” you snarked back, mewling against his lips when his fingers thrust into you a couple of times. His hands were shoving your sleep shorts down then wrapping your legs around him again leaving them crumpled in the hallway.

Then against the wall next to his door, Bucky managed to shed his pajama pants leaving you both in just your underwear. Before you knew it you were on the bed and honestly, it was a miracle you’d made it here. Bucky's warm body over top of you pressing you into the perfectly made covers.

Leaning back from you Bucky’s thumb traced over your kiss swollen lips briefly, blue eyes studying your face and growling when your lips parted. Teeth nipping at the pad of his thumb before his mouth was on yours once again, the warmth of his vibrainum hand caressed over your thigh briefly before pulling your panties down.

“You feel so damn good,” he said to himself, pecking your lips before trailing down your body. Soft caress of lips dragging down your chest and to the swell of your breast contrasting with rough drag of stubble covering his jaw. The tingle making you bite your bottom lip to hold back a moan. 

“You know it’s been a while since I’ve done this,” he mused, pressing a kiss against the soft inner edge of your thigh. “You gonna tell me how I’m doing, doll?”

Fighting the urge to wiggle you stretched your neck out, feeling every muscle in your body tighten in anticipation, “I’ll be sure to give you feedback.”

Kissing slowly up your calf and the sensitive skin near your knee Bucky slung your leg over his shoulder, before diving between your legs. The touch of his tongue against your clit made your hips jerk up against him and the breath shudder from your lungs and you decided there was no way he hadn’t done this in a long time. 

Lapping at your folds Bucky feasted like a man starved, fingers spreading you open as his tongue dipped into you. Tasting your sweet slick and moaning when you squeaked at the sensation. Tides starting rising higher and faster in you as he quickly worked you into a frenzy, cool metal fingers spreading you apart as one dipped inside and his lips wrapped around your clit.

“Bucky,” you shrieked, back arching off the bed and hips bucking against his mouth.

A second metal finger slid into you, pumping, curling, and probing against your soft velvety walls. Heart hammering in your chest, moans and obscenities spilling from your lips as Bucky took you apart. You were well and truly riding his face, hand tangled into his hair as he held you down with an arm wrapped around your thigh.

The coil in your belly ratcheted down tight, the combined feeling of his fingers inside of you and mouth on your clit too much. It snapped before you could warn him, thighs clenching around his head as your back arched and a high-pitched shriek devolved into a moan. Riding out the wave as it ebbed, Bucky’s mouth still lapping at you, fingers slowing with your release.

Legs dropping open you felt positively boneless as you caught your breath. Feeling him laughing against your thigh, lips pressing hot wet kisses against the skin, “Hmm, did I do good?”

Breathing heavily you wiped at the sweat that had formed on your brow briefly with a breathy laugh, “Buck, stop playing around and get up here and fuck me.”

Chuckling Bucky climbed over you again, capturing your lips again as his cock brushed over you, teasing against your clit before sliding just the head in. Your hands grabbed his hips to still him, “Slow Buck.”

“I don’t know if I can go slow,” he growled against your ear, his hips shifting as he sunk in a little further. His breath hitched in your ear as you almost held your breath, his thick cock stretching you perfectly as he seated himself deep into you. “Fuck your tight.”

Tipping your head you pressed a kiss just below his ear as he pulled back, rocking his hips into yours slowly. Your moan mixed with his as his lips brushed against the curve of your jaw. The moment more intimate than you’d expected it to be as he kissed you softly this time, not with the fevered hunger from earlier.

Slow calculated thrusts slowly began turning more jarring, his hips snapping against yours. Spread wide around his frame, a chill prickled through you as he pulled back for better leverage. Blue eyes blew with lust, mouth parted with kiss swollen lips quirked into the smallest of smirks. “Fuck me,” you encouraged with a breath, chanting it over and over again. “Come on Bucky fuck me.”

“You’re so mouthy,” he scolded, flesh hand dropping around your throat holding you in place. You gasped, clenching around him and making his hips stutter in their rhythm. “Like this?”

His hand squeezed around your throat, not choking you but just adding to the pressure in your body. “Yes,” you gasped out. The edge was again rising fast for you, eyes fluttering and muscles tightening as you worked your hips against his. “Bucky, I’m gonna cum.”

“Shit,” the curse slipped from his lips as his hand trailed from your throat down to your breast with a squeeze before dropping to your clit and rubbing in tight circles. “Me too, doll. You’re squeezing me so tight.”

You felt your walls tighten around him, fluttering as the coil in your belly snapped. Bucky leaned down capturing your lips in a sloppy kiss of teeth and tongue. His hips bolting forward in three long thrusts, fucking you through your orgasm as he followed quickly. Cock pulsing and twitching as he released inside of you, grunting against your mouth before kissing you deep.

Breathing heavily you felt light as air and if it wasn’t for Bucky’s weight you were sure you’d float to the ceiling. Rolling to the side Bucky pulled you with him, curling you against his chest as exhaustion began to prickle at the edges of your mind.

“Fuck that was….”

“I know,” you giggled, tracing a finger over his chest. “You want me to…”

“No,” he interrupted quickly, arm tightening around you slightly. “Stay here.”

You tried and failed to hide the lovesick grin on your face, “Alright. I’ll stay.”

Quiet stretched between you both and it was then you realized that Bucky’s radio was on. The station playing garbled morning news as the dial read it was just past 5 am. Tipping your head up you looked at Bucky, his eyes were closed, mouth parted slightly in rest.

He must have sensed you looking at him as he lifted his head, looking down at you with a lazy smile. Before dropping back down to the pillow with a contented sigh. You wiggled against him, head resting in the crook of his arm listening to the beat of his heart lull you to sleep.

“G’night Buck,” you mumbled into his chest.

All Bucky could respond with was a soft snore.

That morning Sam woke up promptly at six am. Went for his morning jog. Came back, showered, brushing his teeth, and dressed before leaving for a quiet breakfast. When he came into the kitchen he was surprised to see your tank top hanging from the pendulum light above the kitchen island.

“What the hell,” he wondered aloud, picking up the garment and noticing Bucky’s shirt laying there as well. Peaking down the hallway he spotted your shorts and Bucky’s pants laying in little piles just outside his bedroom door.

Wanda’s conversation with him just a few days ago ringing in his mind, “You don't have to be a mind reader to see the sexual tension between those two.”

Sam cursed to himself, “Now I owe Scott five bucks.”

[littlefreya]

Good morning sweets!

How about a lil boost of serotonin if you're up for it? XD

What would a perfect day with Daddy Walker sound like to you? :3

Aww baby, it’s been a busy day and it’s the afternoon by now 😪... but we could all use a serotonin boost anytime.

Summary: A perfect day in rural Italy with the most dangerous CIA agent on earth.

Pairing: Soft!August Walker x Female Reader (No ethnicity or body type description)

Words: 1k

Warning: 18+, smut to heavy fluff. Mentions of oral sex performed on a woman, male masturbation, and bodily fluids. 

A/N: I’ve never been to Italy, but these photos of Henry in Italy make a girl could dream so I tried to be subtle about the descriptions of the village. Tried to keep this short but then I just kept going without even know where I was heading. No beta, I’ll die on my mistake like August Walker falling off a cliff with a hook splitting his head.

Please reblog and comment if you enjoyed my work. 🖤

Perfect Day

A brass coloured kiss warms your cheeks through the waving drapes of his window, gently it draws you out from slumber into a reality that might as well be delirium.

Your man, your August, is the bed you lay upon; his fury pecs - your pillow, his vast mountain-arms - the blanket which keeps you protected. Dragging your lids open, you look around, and with a vision still blurry, manage to detect the empty bottle of wine, the many books scattered on the floor and the fire that shyly burns at the mantle.

“Oh.” You hear his drowsy groan, and he shifts below you, arms squeezing you tight into his bare embrace. You hadn’t even realised you are naked before, and now there is pressure amidst your thighs and the stickiness of a dry cocktail made out of your union.

“Did we fall asleep here?...” he drawls, and by his thumb strings a line across your spine.

“It was a busy night,” you retort and lift your head to look into his eyes.

His lips crack into a slanted smirk, and then carefully, he flips you, hovering above you with his hand cradling your cheek. 

“I was too rough for you, angel. You are sore.”

There is remorse in his voice, a tenderness only shared with you. He never asks. He already knows and forever seeks to comfort. You peer deeply into his cosmic gaze, reading into the colourful nebulas and starry constellation written in his eyes before breaking into a smile yourself. 

“I am,” you nod with the scant space of motion he allows, “I like it when you hurt me. It reminds me that I’m yours.”

August’s eyes lit, and he takes your hand to his lips, kissing your fingers deeply before beginning to trail down each region of your naked form. He is all rough bristle, but his lips are soft as precious silks, showering you with love until he reaches the apex of your thighs and unfolds them to his curious tongue.

“Let me kiss it better.”

If by chance you’ve fallen into a dream world, if you died and this is heaven, you don’t ever wish to be reborn.

He feasts on you with the desperation of a vampire hungry for warm blood, and like a victim, in an erotic horror film, you sway and moan unwittingly, breaking as he pulls so many ecstasies from your body you lose control over the pacing of your heart. 

He finishes himself on his knees between your spread legs, his darkening eyes altering from your face to your battered flesh. With a guttural shout, he comes all over your slit, coating it with his creamy milk.

“Shower now? Or head to the village first?” He asks, still heaving from his climax.

“Town, I want to be filthy and covered by your essence.”

“Oh, my nasty angel,” he tuts playfully and then helps you up from the floor.

August’s Alpha Romeo Spider rips through the sunny countryside, speeding up as an act of pure machismo whenever another car passes by. Sated, you twirl a hand in the open air, indulging the breeze blowing onto your face and neck and the squeeze of his fingers around your thigh.

The village nearby is lively that time of day but not too packed. The locals seem to be in both awe and envy of how beautiful the two of you look together; August wears his white fedora and a matching loose shirt while you’re in a lithe floral dress he picked for you on the last visit you had in one of the main cities.

“I’ll get ingredients for dinner. You can wander, but don’t get too far,” he warns with a tone of care and pecks the back of your hand before heading toward the farmers market.

Following the cobblestone path, you descend down the alley, smiling at the residence and shopkeepers who wave their offerings and compliments your appearance. The air is fresh with spring and the different aromas of the region; traditional spices, rosemary and alpine oaks.

Relaxed, you pause and close your eyes, inhaling the false sense of freedom when a peal of yapping and whines stir your attention.

By the corner of the florist, you see them; an old man with a basket full of large pups.

“Aw!” Your entire body softens in an instance, engulfed by a tepid wave of ease. Immediately you stride closer and crouch to pet each one of the five.

“They’re so adorable,” you say to the man, who doesn’t understand a word but still smiles and speaks back in his native tongue.

“What you got there, princess?”

August appears behind you, with two paper-bags full of groceries and a bouquet of pink roses. He stares down at the pups, remaining stoic though you can tell by his glossy blues he is ensnared by the sight of softness as well.

You bite your lip, not saying a word, but August sighs. He already knows what you’re thinking.

“That’s a German Shepherd, sweetness, that’s going to be a big dog.”

“I love big dogs,” you shrug and pout, rolling your upper body as you sway from side to side with your wrist held in your palm. “It will protect me, like you do.”

August shakes his head and sighs again. He looks at the old man and in perfect Italian, asks for the price.

“Which one of them do you want?”

You crouch once again, looking at the lot. The pups all jump to reach you, staring back with their eyes swimming with hope, but out of all, the solely black one that mischievously chews on the edge of the basket is the one you can’t stop smiling at.

The creases in August cheeks deepen as you pick the puppy up and hug him tightly. 

Of course, his angel of light will always be drawn to darkness.

The sun rests upon the horizon as you head home. The breeze now warm and humid with the evening drawing near. You hold the puppy close to your bosom, letting him nibble your index finger while August peers at you from time to time.

“This thing better not pee on the bed,” he warns, though the corner of his lip threatens to give into a smile.

You scrunch your nose and then lean toward him, languidly kissing his stubbly cheek and then resting your head on his broad shoulder.

“I love you, August.”

August’s battle with his mouth immediately wanes. He never says the words back but wraps his arm around you and pulls you near.

You might have to live your life in constant threat of being found by Haunt, but as long as you live by August’s side, every day is the perfect day.

Disclaimer: I don’t own August Walker or Mission Impossible. 

Dividers by @firefly-graphics​

[passable-talent]

anakin skywalker x gn!reader

redeemer: part 7

new chapters every two days at 10 am EST :) until all eight parts are posted

first | previous || next | last

He takes you to the lounge, and both of you settle down onto the floor, knees just about brushing. He’s discarded his cape, now, too, and even the armored chest plate and belt. With only the flight suit, he looks much less sinister. How old is he, anyway? If he’s a few years older than you, that would make him almost thirty, wouldn’t it?

“I haven’t done this in a long time,” he says quietly, “letting someone in.”

“I’ve never tried.”

He looks up at you again, that look back on his face, that one that makes him look scared, and alone. 

“I can- I can teach you,” he says, the words choked out of his chest. You roll your hand, which had been resting on your knee, forward onto his knee to offer him the slightest comfort for whatever made him feel so terrible. 

“What is it?” you ask him softly, quietly, not wanting your voice to carry across the metal ship, wanting to drown in the soft humming of its motion through space. 

“Just. . . thinking about my padawan,” Anakin answers, closing his eyes. He’s so young, even now; older than you, maybe, but he’s no old man. And to think that all of this happened a decade ago. . . he was too young, then. Too young to have a padawan. Too young to fall.

He shakes himself off, but you know it’s still there, in the back of his head as he speaks. You can’t get a clear picture, the bond between you too new and too weak, but you can see white sabers. 

“I’m going to open my mind to you, and you’ll be able to explore any memory you want. You’ll feel as I did during them. I’m sorry if it’s overwhelming.” 

Your heart hurts that he would apologize for his own emotions. 

“You have to enter my mind. It’ll be easier if we’re closer together- it’s not quite a mind probe, but similar.”

He tugs on your calves slightly, as though trying to prompt you closer, but it’s hard to be closer with your knees already touching. You lift your legs and pull them both to the left side of his hips, scooting close enough that your thigh presses against his. 

“Give me your hand,” he adds, and you slip your palm into his. “It’ll help.”

You close your eyes once settled and reach out to the force. 

He’s blinding, even with your eyes closed. He still glows, solar flares exploding from him and washing over you. It’s not burning as it once was, it’s warm, and it’s too easy to be drawn into it. 

An image starts to take form. At first, all you can feel is sensation: hot, scratchy clothes; hot, dry air. There are goggles on your forehead and you’ve scraped your elbow; you can feel the wet spot in your tunic where it’s bleeding. You’re climbing down from something, some sort of vehicle, and you cry out for your mom as you walk through the threshold of a white cement door. 

She hugs you and kisses your forehead. She helps you take off the bloody shirt and bandages you up. When you still have watery eyes, she kisses the bandage and pulls you into her arms again. You feel safe; you feel loved. 

It blurs like a dream, skipping through time unnoticeably, intangibly. You’re older now, you don’t hurt yourself nearly as often, even though you’re doing much more dangerous things with your podracer. There’s nothing quite like the feeling of podracing: the speed, the adrenaline of making fast, deadly decisions. You hear whispers that you cheat, but nothing sticks, because their only evidence is this: you’re too young to be this good. You think it’s just that you’re better.

Jedi come to town, two of them. You look up at Qui-Gon Jinn and he smiles, encouraging your risk-taking behavior. He gambles with you. He shows you his saber. You shake hands with Obi-Wan Kenobi, and he makes you laugh. They come at the sides of Padme Amidala, the most beautiful woman that you’ve ever seen. 

They take you away from your mother, and some part of you stays with her, some part that you’re afraid you’ll never find again. You cry against her, and you cry on the ship, and you cry at the Jedi temple. They teach you that you aren’t supposed to, but it hurts too much not to. 

The pain stays as you grow, but you grow around it, holding it carefully but living in spite of it. You grow to be a padawan, not to Qui-Gon Jinn, the warm and fatherly old man, but to the young and serious Obi-Wan Kenobi. You love him dearly, and you remind yourself that his sharp yet caring criticisms prove that he loves you, too. You try not to think about what Qui-Gon would have been like. You try not to let yourself cry over him, too. You hadn’t known him long enough. It’s not fair.

Padme. . . she’s fiery and beautiful, just like she was. She’s a senator, now, breaking rules at your side, laughing on Naboo with you, framed by meadows and waterfalls. 

She’s there when the memory grows hot and dry again. She’s there when the piece of you left behind with your mother dies, leaving you broken, a hole forever within you missing its final piece. You try to fill it with revenge, with the death of those responsible and more, but it doesn’t work. 

So you try to fill it with love, instead, the love that your mother would’ve wanted you to have. Padme wears a white lace veil, and she looks like an angel. 

It’s wartime, so you don’t see her as much as you’d like. The longer you go without seeing her, the more you’re tortured by visions of her death, and it’s just like your mother, it’s the same thing all over again, you can’t let it happen again. You try to find help, but your masters don’t offer any. She’s going to die, and they won’t help. 

Palpatine offers to help. 

He’s always sort of. . . been there, like a shadow following you around. It’s a little bit unsettling, but you’ll accept that if it means that she lives. Especially now that. . . 

You smile when you think of the child she’s carrying for you. It’s hope, and love, and you discuss their name in hushed whispers in late nights in Padme’s apartment, illuminated by the glittering Coruscant skyline. Padme always smells like flowers on nights like that, as terribly holonet-romance it sounds. Leia, if a girl, the name meaning lioness or flower, depending on who you ask. Padme’s idea, but you love it. Your idea: Luke. 

The thought of them dying along with your wife tears you apart, attacking the piece of you already missing and making the hole bigger and bigger and bigger until it feels like there’s nothing of you left, and it’s terrible, it’s eating you alive, and your saber is cleaving through Mace Windu, a master you trusted and confided in, and you’re given a new name as tears run down your face. It’s swallowing you in darkness as you kill children, and the pit of black you’ve fallen into rips at you, filled with spikes and blades and the screams of the same children you once hoped to raise your own beside. 

You’re jarred. You’d gotten lost in Anakin’s mind, but a tactile sensation on your actual body pulls you out. You have to readjust, for a moment, still swallowed by his memory but on your own, just enough, to realize that he’s slipped his fingers between your knuckles, and he’s holding tightly. 

You fall back into his mind with no trouble, because this is familiar. Dreams of scorching lava and stone, and the overwhelming feeling of falling, but not physically- falling deep into depths of betrayal and loneliness and grief. 

He’s alone on a planet of lava, and just for a moment he feels like it might be alright, because he ends the war and sees his wife. But even then, things fall apart. You feel something a bit different, because you feel how Anakin thinks about the memory instead of feeling it on its own. You feel his rage, not at Obi-Wan, who stands in front of him, but at himself. His wife was dying, and he just stood there, focused on someone else. 

Their sabers came to clash, rage at an old friend, hatred where love used to be, and still there are tears on his face. You watch it like an observer, Anakin’s darkness in his every movement, up until the instant that Obi-Wan proclaims his victory. Anakin thinks about jumping, yells about it with his yellow eyes, but he doesn’t get the chance- a superstructure whose heat shields had failed crashes down between them. Anakin flips back onto a piece of debris in the lava to avoid it, and looks up at the melting structure and through its heatwave to see Obi-Wan struggling up the black sand banks. 

There’s no victory here, he can see that now that they’re separated by more than a few feet. He’s tired, and angry, and his master needs him to return. 

Once again, you feel his rage at his choices. His wife was dying, and he left. 

The memory blurs, after that. Ten long years of the hatred and rage and, overall, profound loss that he forces the rest of the galaxy to feel rather than feel it within himself. You start pulling from the memory, seeming to have caught up to everything you needed to know, but he pulls you back, like he needs you to see more. And surprisingly, you see yourself through his eyes, the kindness that he hadn’t felt in ten years, acceptance, hope. The promise of a son, the child of Padme, but someone who would help him. . . he shows you Arusieum, a forest of light and life that made him feel the way that Padme’s waterfalls and meadows once had. 

It all fades away slowly, until you’re only aware of yourself. Your hips are a little tired of sitting on the hard metal floor, and your right thigh is cold, as the left is pressed to him. He grips your left hand tightly, fingers intertwined, and your right hand has found its way to them both, clasping his palm between yours. The climate controlled air of the ship cools tracks of tears over your cheekbones. 

Your eyes open slowly, and only then do you realize that you both had leaned in closer, foreheads only inches from each other. He hasn’t opened his eyes yet, and so you get to take him in as you could never have before now. Not as a former Jedi, or a Sith, or a Republic General, or an Imperial Commander, but only as him. Anakin Skywalker, Darth Vader. He showed you the path that he had walked so that you could understand him, and now, you do. 

He had lost so much. Including himself.

You don’t much think about it, just lean forward more and throw your arms around him, hugging him tightly. Why you did it, you didn’t even know, it just. . . it just felt right. And when his arms come around you as well, clutching onto you and pressing his fingertips into the muscle of your back as though he fears he is going to fall right from your grip, you let him. 

You can’t even fathom a man who had suffered more than Anakin Skywalker. 

“I trust you,” you breathe, turning down your head to press your face into his shoulder. “I’m sorry.” 

He says nothing, but you think you feel him sob. 

***

first | previous || next | last

[storiesforallfandoms]

i don’t need your help ~ jace herondale;shadowhunters

word count: 2524

request?: yes!

“Alec Lightwood or Jace Herondale (either one works) smut? If you're comfortable with writing for shadowhunters, ofc <3″

description: after a run in with a demon that almost turns bad, a fight between her and one of her fellow shadowhunters turns into something so much more

pairing: jace herondale x female!reader

warnings: swearing, mentions of violence, smut

masterlist (one, two)

Izzy helped me limp into the Institute, my body feeling run down and exhausted already. She laid me down on a bed and it took me a moment to register that it was my own bed. I was aching all over, but I tried to keep a brave face. At least, I thought I was keeping a brave face. For all I knew I was sobbing like a baby.

“I’ll get my stele,” she told me. “Just...just stay awake, okay?”

I tried to respond but it came out as a pained moan instead. Izzy quickly raced from my room to her own. I could hear her in the distance furiously looking for here stele. I tried to stay awake but my eyes were starting to grow heavy and my head was lulling back against the pillow under me. The thought of drifting off into unconsciousness felt like the best idea I had ever had in that moment.

I heard someone at the door and thought it was Izzy coming back. When I looked up, I saw it was Jace standing in my doorway. His face was pale and he was staring at me in horror. I could only imagine how awful I looked.

“(Y/N),” he breathed. He quickly raced to my side and pulled his stele out. “What the hell happened to you?”

“She had a run in with a demon while she was alone,” Izzy responded, appearing at Jace’s side. “I got there just in time. Can you help me draw healing ruins? She’s going to need a few.”

“I’m way ahead of you.”

The slight burn of Jace’s stele touching my arm caused me to let out a yelp of pain. He looked at me with sympathy as he continued to draw the healing Rune. Izzy moved to my other side and started drawing a Rune there too. It hurt as they were drawing them, but I felt a numbness wash over my body as the Rune started to take effect.

Jace started to stroke my hair after drawing another ruin on me. He looked down at me, his face full of concern. “Rest while the ruins do their work, (Y/N).”

Getting Jace’s permission to finally rest felt like a blessing, and within seconds I was passed out.

~~~~~~

I wasn’t sure how long I was out. When I woke up again, my head still felt heavy and my vision was spinning a little. I tried to lift my head to look around, but it felt like someone had poured nails into my head and shaken it. I groaned and laid back down again, raising my hand to put it on my forehead. I realized then that the pain had completely left my body, except for the headache I had, and I felt good as new again.

“How long have I been out?” I asked, turning my head to see who had stayed with me while I was unconscious. I knew either Jace or Izzy had. They weren’t going to leave me when I was in such rough condition.

Through the slight darkness of my room, I could make out the figure sitting down as Jace. I was slightly shocked to see that Jace was the one who had stayed. Despite his caring and concerned nature when Izzy had first brought me home, the two of us weren’t exactly close. We didn’t hate each other or anything, but we were constantly fighting and he irritated the hell out of me. I didn’t think his kindness would extend to staying with me while I was unconscious.

“A few hours,” he responded. “It’s 2am now, you got back around 8 or 9pm I think.”

I groaned. “I definitely feel like I’ve been out for five or six hours.”

“What were you thinking?” Jace questioned, rising from his seat. “Facing a demon alone? You were lucky that Izzy had known where you were or else you definitely wouldn’t have been feeling as good as you do now.”

“Thanks for that, Captain Obvious,” I muttered. “For your information, I didn’t go out with the intentions of facing a demon alone. I was just out and I got cornered by a demon that knew I was a Shadowhunter. I wasn’t expecting it and it got the jump on me.”

“You shouldn’t have gone out on your own at all. You know the dangers of being caught are high, especially when you can be spotted at any time by a demon.”

I braced myself as I sat up, the pounding feeling in my head intensifying for just a moment, before slowly numbing again.

“I can’t stay cooped up here forever, Jace,” I retorted. “I’m more than capable of taking care of myself.”

“Obviously you’re not or else you wouldn’t have been on death’s doorstep when you got back here.”

“I was not on death’s doorstep. Izzy found me in time, but even if she hadn’t I would’ve been fine.”

“You didn’t look fine.”

I groaned and rolled my eyes. “Listen Jace, I appreciate this...concern you have for me, but I’m fine. I don’t need this lecture, I don’t need anyone’s help, especially not yours. You’ve made it very clear that you don’t actually like me all that much, so you don’t need to continue this caring act, or the lecture. I’m fine and I can take care of myself.”

The tension hung in the air. I expected Jace to walk away and to finally leave me alone. You can imagine my shock when he approached me suddenly, putting one hand behind my head and pulling me in for a kiss.

I was shocked. I didn’t know how to respond to it. I thought for a second that Jace had gone insane, that maybe some Downworlder had scrambled his brain or something. There was no way in Hell that Jace Herondale would willingly kiss me. I was just a torn in his side, and he was one in mine.

But something just felt right about the kiss. His rough hands were gentle as one cupped the back of my neck while the other was wrapped around my waist. He pulled me forward to the edge of the bed, nudging my legs open so he could stand between them. My hands were gripping the t-shirt he was wearing, taking in every last bit of him that I could.

I felt myself laying back on my bed against, Jace’s hand still under my head. He moved with me, hovering over me as our lips moved perfectly in sync with one another. His other hand slipped under my shirt, softly trailing up my side until he reached my bra. We broke away from the kiss just long enough for Jace to pull my shirt over my head and unhook my bra in one swift motion.

He looked down at me, his beautiful different colored eyes soft but full of lust. He gently ran his fingers over my cheek before pressing his lips against mine once more, then moving to start kissing cheek, my jaw, my neck. His lips hovered a moment over the fresh Runes that he and Izzy had drawn on my skin. When he pressed a kiss against them, it almost felt like he was soothing the slight burn that was still there. He continued to gently brush his lips over the white scars left behind from other Runes that had been drawn on my skin for years.

My head fell back against the pillow underneath me as Jace’s lips continued to kiss down my chest and stomach, stopping just above the hem of my jeans. He looked up at me, waiting for permission. When I nodded, he made quick work of pulling my jeans and panties off at one time. He pressed another light kiss just above m aching core before diving in with his tongue.

I gasped at the pleasurable feeling. Of course, being a Shadowhunter doesn’t mean you never have sex. Quite the opposite, really. All four of us in the Institution were no strangers to sex. But this...this was a feeling of pleasure beyond what I had ever experienced before. I blamed the fact that I had only ever had sex with Mundane men before now.

I ran a hand through Jace’s hair and grabbed hold of it. The action caused him to moan against me, the vibrations running through my body.

He lifted his head for air, replacing his tongue with his fingers as he lightly played with my clit.

“I can’t describe how long I’ve been waiting for this,” he said, placing gentle kisses against my stomach again.

“You have a weird way of sh - oh  - owing it,” I said, trying to tease him through the pleasure he was giving me.

He smiled in response and moved his hand away. I whimpered from the lack of contact, an action I wasn’t too proud of afterwards but in the moment I could care less.

Jace kissed my lips again, the taste of my arousal on his lips and tongue. It turned me on even more and I just wanted to have him inside of me.

I pushed him down onto the bed and climbed onto his lap, straddling him. He looked impressed by my action. I ran my hands down his still clothed chest, reaching the bottom of his shirt.

“I hardly think it’s far that you’re still dressed while I’m completely naked,” I said.

“Well, we can fix that,” he responded.

I made quick work of taking his clothes off, discarding them somewhere on the floor with my own. When I pulled his boxers down, I audibly gasped at his length. He chuckled at my reaction. “Surprised?”

“Surprised that my fantasies were true,” I responded.

Jace raised an eyebrow at me. “You’ve fantasized about me?”

I took him in my hand and started to slowly stroke him. A breathy gasp escaped from his mouth as he fell completely helpless to my touch.

“It’s hard not to sometimes,” I admitted. “When you’re walking around here in your tight clothes, or with no shirt on. You’re so confident and cocky, it’s hard not to imagine what you’d be like in bed.”

“You finally have the real me here,” he said. “Why not make those fantasies a reality?”

He didn’t have to asked twice.

I spit onto the head of his dick, using my hand to spread it all over him before lining him up with my entrance. The moment his tip slipped inside of me, we both moaned in pleasure and relief. So much built up tension between us, sexual and otherwise, finally being released.

I slowly sat myself down on him, taking in every inch. His hands found their way to my hips, his fingers digging in so harshly that I was sure I’d have bruises there. Once I had adjusted to his size, he started rocking my hips against him, the friction starting to build between us.

I placed my hands on his chest, trying to steady myself as I took over rocking my hips. He looked into my eyes, his mouth partially open as moans and whimpers escaped from his lips. Even with these small movements he was hitting a spot inside of me that I had never felt before. I was almost sure I’d orgasm within seconds.

Jace sat up then, wrapping one arm around my waist while planting the other one on the bed behind him. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, holding on tightly as he began to thrust up into me. The motions were rougher and faster, hitting that spot inside of me with a force I hadn’t felt before. I buried my head in Jace’s shoulder, trying to muffle my moans as I remembered there were two other people living in the Institution.

“Does that feel good?” he asked.

“Fuck Jace,” I moaned. “That feels so fucking good. I might...I might...”

“What are you gonna do, princess?”

Fuck! And a pet name, too? I was putty in his hands.

I couldn’t even finish my sentence. My climax built up quick and hit me before I was even ready for it. I moaned Jace’s name against his shoulder as I felt myself clenching around him, a warm sensation running through my body.

“Fuck,” he breathed, his thrusts becoming sloppier. “I’m gonna cum.”

“Cum in me,” I whispered. “Please, Jace.”

He threw his head back and groaned as I felt him finish inside of me. I gasped at the feeling, which was almost enough to make me orgasm again.

Jace fell backwards onto the bed, taking me with him. I giggled as I settled against his chest, still wrapped around his softening member. I could stay like that for hours if Jace wanted to.

“Maybe I should get attacked by demons more often,” I mumbled to myself.

Jace tensed under me. “I would much rather if you didn’t.”

I moved my head to look up at him, raising an eyebrow. “Relax, I was only joking. I meant what I said earlier, Jace, I can handle demons on my own.”

He relaxed again, starting to trace his fingers up and down my back. “I know you can. I shouldn’t have overreacted earlier. I’m sorry.”

Normally I’d make some quip about him apologizing, but some things were starting to add up in my head. “You were always hounding me and shit because you were worried for me.”

It wasn’t a question, but Jace responded anyways. “Yeah. I...I just never wanted you to get hurt.”

“Jace, I’m a Shadowhunter just like you. I’ve faced numerous Downworlders before, both by myself and with you guys. I can take care of myself, you don’t have to worry about me.”

“I’m well aware of that. I’ve always been impressed with your fighting skills. It’s just...I care for you in a way that I’ve never cared for someone before. I always worry when you’re out with Izzy or Alec or anyone who isn’t me because I’m afraid of the day that...maybe you don’t come back. When I saw you earlier today...I was so terrified that I was actually going to lose you.”

I propped myself up a bit to take Jace’s face in my hands. “I appreciate how much you care, but you have to have faith in me, Jace. This is the first time I’ve seriously been injured while fighting a Downworlder, and I promise you it’ll be the last time too.”

Jace nodded. I smiled a little and leaned down to kiss him again. I finally decided to untangle myself from him, although I felt empty without him inside of me. I laid down next to him, feeling sleepy from our earlier activities.

My eyes were starting to close when Jace said, “Hey (Y/N).”

“Yeah?”

“Maybe we should close the door next time we decide to have sex.”

My eyes popped open to see that my bedroom door was wide open. I hadn’t noticed that earlier, what with being...“preoccupied” and all. I groaned and buried my face in Jace’s chest as he laughed.

[nxrthmizu]

kill em’ with kindness

fandom | miraculous ladybug 

genre | lila salt, so much salt 

summary | marinette takes the high road to a better life. 

w.c | 8.1k 

author’s note | had this idea for a few days after i wrote victory tastes bitter, which really blew up on ao3 (thanks for all the support <3). always wondered what it would be like if marinette just. played nice. so here she is, being an absolute badass. 

author’s note.2 | okay so since i did not write this in one sitting, i get that the story probably doesn’t flow as properly as it should. will edit if i ever find the will to do it. 

Marinette was done. They wanted her to be a model student? Fine. They wanted her to stop being mean? Fine. They wanted her to be friends with Lila? Fine.

Luckily for Hawkmoth, no akuma plagued the sky of the previous night, or she would rain hell on him. There was no more tolerance left inside her to spare, and she certainly wouldn’t go out of her way to make some for the manipulative pest problem Paris has had for way too long.

She looked up into the mirror, having exchanged her pigtails for a low ponytail, strands curled to frame her face. Bluebell eyes glistened with a fire that burned brighter than hope— Hope that her ‘friends’ would see sense. Hope that Adrien would be there for her. Hope that the good guy would always get the happy ending. No more being patient, no more being passive, no more putting up with things she didn’t have to.

If Lila Rossi wanted a battle, then fine, a battle she would get. Marinette was lowering her white flag, replacing it with a battle emblem that scorched red, redder than blood and redder than the anger her friends would feel when she was finished. No more peace negotiations. Rossi wanted a fight, Rossi wanted a challenge. Who was Marinette to deny her from what she wanted?

They didn’t know what was coming for them.

The power of makeup was truly one that reigned apex among the world. A few touches of her makeup brush was all it took to erase her dark eyes from existence, give her skin a more radiant glow (She promised that she’d take time to give it a natural glow after she was done being nice), and ease a cherry-pink blush onto her cheeks, making her freckles stand out more in contrast. Marinette Dupain-Cheng meant business, and when she meant business—

“Good morning, Marinette! You look great today!” The head of the student council, a sensible, down-to-Earth blonde by the name of Noelle smiled, speeding up slightly to catch the bluenette on the steps of Francois Dupont. “Love the new look.”

Ah yes. The new look— A royal blue blazer, detailed with golden embroidery of cherry blossoms bursting at the sleeves and the collar, accompanied by a classy-looking silk blouse tapered with a soft, black felt. The pleated black skirt (Made from heavy cloth so that it wouldn’t flap about in the wind) was lined with a beautiful scarlet at all the edges to complete the look. Knee-high black socks trailed all the way into the slight heels that Marinette had added flower adornments on, just so she could tap a little of her own touch on it.

“Thank you,” Responded the bluenette with a smile.

“Woah! Someone looks like they got a good night of rest.” Madeline, the president of the Art Club teased, flocking to the other side of the girl. “That mascara looks sharp enough to kill, girl!”

Sharp enough to kill?

Oh, that wouldn’t be necessary, Marinette mused to herself, sending out thanks to those who had complimented her on her way to class. Nothing sharp was going to be required for the liar’s downfall— No, no. That would just be too messy, and she wouldn’t even think of staining her new outfit. Of course, the ensemble was crafted from her own hands, as stated by the classic MDC that graced the inside of her blazer, the collar of her blouse, and one of the pleats of her skirt. Besides… Lila wasn’t worth getting her hands dirty.

She was going to do things the right way.

The kind way.

“Good morning, everyone.” She greeted, walking into the classroom, garnering their attention with her punctuality. Every set of eyes in the room were attracted to her, like iron fillings to magnets. Some of the gazes were malicious, hateful; Some were doubtful, wary; One was pleading, as if spelling out ‘Please keep taking the high road!’— And then there was Chloe, who was entirely uninterested.

Good, Lila was already present.

“I’d just like to take a minute of your time. Won’t be too long, I promise.” She took a deep breath, ignoring the imploring gaze that dug at her side, courtesy of a blonde that sat in the front row (And no, it wasn’t Chloe she was referring to). “I’d just like to say…”

The class watched with bated breath.

“I’m sorry.”

Alya blinked. So did everyone else in the room. Stunned faces greeted Marinette’s apologetic one, including Lila’s— She didn’t even have to fake her reaction. What on Earth was Marinette trying to pull off? What kind of stunt was this?

“I realise that I’ve not really been the best version of me lately,” She admitted sorrowfully. I haven’t been the best version of me because I was being boycotted and isolated, “It wasn’t fair to put you all through this,” It wasn’t fair that you idiots had to lose all your reputations because of the words of one liar, “And people got hurt as a consequence,” Me. I was the one who got hurt. “I realise that things haven’t been all smooth-sailing in our class lately, so I’d like to apologise to everyone.” I’d like to apologise for not being able to save you from a liar who only sees her own personal gain.

A practiced breath escaped Marinette’s throat as she waited for her cue— The school bell— And set her bag on the teacher’s desk. Good, everything was unfolding right on time. Not quite far away, there was a distinct clack-clack-clack of someone’s heels— An auburn teacher, perhaps? Marinette reached into her backpack and drew out a package she had meticulously wrapped in brown paper and tied in golden ribbon. Sitting passively on top of the package was a small note, decorated in hand-drawn flowers and a hummingbird in the corner.

“Here,” Marinette strode up the steps of the class, stopping right in front of her former seat— Now Lila’s— Internally taking pleasure in the first time she’d seen the Italian’s true expression. “For you, as a token of my apology. I understand if you don’t want to forgive me,” Marinette swallowed painfully, biting her lip, as if she was trying not to cry, “But I just want to make things right.”

Lila blinked.

What the hell was happening?

The silence was broken by a quiet sob, one that did not originate from Marinette. Instead, Mlle. Caline Bustier stood in the doorway of the class, clutching her books and notes for the day’s lesson, wiping away a tear that dropped from her eye. “Oh, Marinette,” The teacher sobbed, “I’m so proud of you.”

“That’s so sweet of you, Marinette.” Rose sniffed, wiping away a few tears of her own that had started dripping during the bluenette’s speech. Juleka patted her girlfriend’s back, trying to calm the emotional blonde before she cried out a tsunami on top of her textbooks, giving Marinette a thumbs up to show her approval.

Alya beamed, seemingly proud of her former best friend, who had (In her opinion) finally started to see sense. “I’m so proud of you, girl!”

(Adrien was too shocked to form any words.)

“Could you… Open it?” Marinette asked hopefully, ignoring the teacher for the favour of the liar who ruined her life. “I… Just want to know if you like it.”

The Italian could do nothing more than grit her teeth when Alya urged her to open it. What kind of trick was Mari-Brat up to? Never mind— She’d just spin it into something stupid and the class would take to it like starved animals. With no other choice, she tore apart the brown paper, discarding the golden ribbon on her desk. The class gasped, oohs and aahs echoing all around as the package unfolded to reveal a pretty, beige-coloured cardigan, hand-stitched with murals of foxes, jumping livelily among berry bushes.

Stitched into the inside of the cardigan in pastel blue were the words ‘Lila Rossi’, done in an exquisite cursive that could no doubt only come from Marinette’s hand.

“I made it for you myself,” Marinette sniffed humbly. “I know you’re a really great model and you’ve probably seen clothes that are much better than this one, but I poured all my feelings into it. I spent every night of last week working on it, and—” She hiccuped rather loudly, instantly covering her mouth with her hand in embarrassment. “I just hope you like it.”

“I…” Lila was at a loss for words. She had an itinerary full of the lies and stories she would spin that day (“Marinette texted me mean things last night,” she would weep tearfully to Alya, sniffing and wiping away tears on Alya’s shirt sleeve, “I just want to be friends but she just keeps… Attacking me!”) but no matter. A smirk danced along the Italian’s lips. “Did you design this yourself?” 

Judging by the smirk that Marinette could practically hear in the other girl’s tone, the liar already had a trick up her sleeve. If Marinette had to guess... 

Something along the lines of she stole this design from [random designer], who just coincidentally had the time to be Lila’s friend. Or maybe the friend of Lila’s grandmother. Whichever didn’t matter much, because Marinette was prepared. 

Marinette crossed the room in mere seconds, returning back to Lila’s seat with a sketchbook that she’d pulled from her bag. “Here!” She chirped, flipping open the page with an exercised movement, not even having to shuffle through the pages to find the correct sketch. “I brought the original sketch, just in case you wanted to see it so you could get a professional to redo it for you.” 

Lila opened and closed her mouth like a gaping fish out of water. Beside her, Alya’s eyes sparkled, envy still glowing in her eyes at the sight of the intricate foxes, coloured in hazel, gold, and orange threads. 

“Thank you, Marinette.” Lila gritted through her teeth, basically seething at the thought of having to thank the girl in front of her, who was smiling like an innocent sunshine child. 

The bluenette then turned her attention to her homeroom teacher. “Sorry for interrupting and taking up class time, Mlle. Bustier.” 

“It’s not a problem, Marinette,” Mlle. Bustier wiped at her eyes, slightly embarrassed now that the whole class was watching her cry at the sight of her ‘model student’ correcting her wrongs. “E— Excuse me.” She mumbled, clearing her throat. “Let’s pick off from where we stopped yesterday. Open your textbooks to page 63, please.” 

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

The rest of the day went along smoothly. Marinette sat at the back of class, as usual, sighing in boredom as class was derailed off course, whisked off by another one of Lila’s tall tales. Honestly, they were already weeks off schedule— How the hell were they expected to sit for the final exam, at this rate? 

She huffed quietly to herself, watching Bustier trying (and failing) to act like she wasn’t interested in Lila’s story. The woman— An actual adult— Fell for Lila’s usual tricks like a fool, taking in every single word in drunken thirst. Did Mlle. Bustier really have nothing better to do than get absorbed in a teenage girl’s wild fantasies (in a way it was like that). At that thought, Marinette sat up straighter in her chair, an idea going off like a lightbulb above her brain. 

Was it...? 

After further thought, Marinette settled back into her chair, humming thoughtfully as she drummed her fingers against her table quietly. Yes... Yes, perhaps. 

Perhaps it was possible. 

The rest of the lesson passed in wasted time as the class took a major detour to go on a warped journey through Lila’s lies, and before Bustier knew it, the lunch bell had rung. Students chattered animatedly as everyone got up, Mlle. Bustier’s announcement of ‘please go home and study this chapter by yourselves, everyone’ was pathetically drowned out by the rest of the noise. 

Marinette collected her things quickly, needing her exit from the classroom to go off without a hitch, exactly the way she planned it. “I’ve got to go back to my parents’ bakery for lunch,” She said shyly, shrinking into herself as her classmates turned to look at her. “I... Was thinking of bringing some macarons back later. Before I go, though... Lila, is there anything you’re allergic to?” 

“What?” The girl being asked snapped back as a reply, the words leaving her mouth too fast for her to register. Before she knew it, the whole class was staring at her, mouths agape. “I... I mean.” Clearing her throat, the liar plastered on a sweet smile. “What was it, Marinette?” 

“I wanted to bring some macarons back for everyone.” Shyly, the bluenette repeated her plans. “And... Since I’ve been in class with everyone else here for a while, I know their allergies, but not yours. Is there anything you’re allergic to that could be in baked goods?” 

The Italian cursed under her breath— Mari-Brat really wasn’t letting up. The bluenette had made sure to cover any ground that the Italian could use and turn back against her. “As far as I’m concerned, I’m not allergic to anything.” 

Brightening visibly, Marinette nodded, shooting the Italian a smile. “I know things between us aren’t going to get better immediately, but I promise to do my best in fixing things! See you guys after lunch.” 

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

Lila was getting really, really fed up. For the whole morning, she wasn’t able to come up with any reason to blame Marinette. If things kept going at the rate that they were, the class would be fully convinced that the bluenette was a changed woman, and that couldn’t happen. There was, in the end, a downside to having such a gullible bunch of classmates— Sure, they swayed easily to her side, but that meant that they swayed back to Marinette’s just as easily. 

Hissing under her breath, Lila looked up to catch Alya and Nino’s concerned looks. 

No. 

She was Lila Rossi. She was resourceful. She had Gabriel Agreste behind her back. She was powerful. She was not going to let Mari-Brat halt her plans in their tracks ever again. 

“I’m going to go use the bathroom real quick,” She said, excusing herself from the lunch table. Perfect! Now all she had to do was come back in tears, saying that Marinette confronted and mocked her in the bathroom, and the class would be all hers, once again. 

Little did she know that Dupain-Cheng was one teensy step ahead. 

As soon as Lila rounded the corner of the cafeteria, Marinette appeared, having just had a lovely chat with Rose (And Juleka, although it was Rose who did most of the talking). The two were at the front steps of Francois Dupont, having a lovely couple moment that Marinette hated to interrupt— But she needed to have at least a word with them. 

“Rose, Juleka!” Marinette greeted, box of macarons held carefully in her arms, as if it were a box of important jewelry instead of just a box of pastries. “Oh— Rose, is that a new watch? I’ve never seen you wear it before!” 

“Yep, it is!” Rose beamed, delighted that someone (Besides Juleka) had finally noticed it. “Isn’t it pretty?” Indeed it was. The watch in question was a pretty, intricate-looking thing done in rose-gold metal, with a pastel pink leather strap holding it down. The background of the watch face was a white background with a thin film of rose-gold metal, cut to resemble a wall of precious rose vines. 

“It is!” Agreeing wholeheartedly, Marinette offered her classmate a smile. “Oh by the way, what time is it?” 

Rose peered at the watchface, returning the answer with an equally-bright smile. “11.47.” 

“Thank you.” Marinette thanked, continuing her way through the school until she reached the cafeteria. Just before she fell into line of sight, though, she hid behind a wall, peering over the corner until she spotted the table she was looking for. 

Perfect— Lila just walked away. Marinette thanked the gods for all the luck that she was having— Okay, maybe she thanked one god in particular more than the others. Gently, she patted the secret pocket that was sewn into the lining of her blazer— Tikki, who had magic powers, managed to create a miniature ‘room’ inside the secret pocket, with the pocket itself acting as a portal of sorts to the room. After a few seconds, she felt the pocket tap back, managing a small smile of gratitude for her kwami’s constant love and support. 

“Hey, Alya, Nino.” Marinette greeted shyly, box of macarons propped up against her hip. “Where’s... Lila?” She hesitated slightly with her question, acting as if it was a little out-of-place to ask about the Italian girl. 

“She went to the bathroom.” Nino provided, mouth still full of unchewed food. This gifted him with a smack from his girlfriend (“Don’t talk with your mouth full!” she scolded,). 

“Oh, I see.” I definitely see. I know what she’s going to try and pull later— I have to time this properly. Timing is everything. 

Marinette continued to make small talk with the two, whom she had not talked to for a very long time. Much to her surprise, they were very warm and accepting, quite unlike the people who slung slurs and accused her baselessly a few days ago. One morning made all the difference to people who believed anything, she supposed. 

All of a sudden, something in her chest buzzed, as if it were a fire alarm, vibrating in warning— She had to go. “It was nice talking to you guys again.” She admitted, having briefly dipped into a pool of what their friendship used to be like. “But I have to go. I promised Kagami I’d meet her for a few minutes before lunch ended.”

Alya’s eyebrows jumped up comically in surprise. “I didn’t know you still talked to her. I thought you two were… Love rivals.”

“So what if we were love rivals?” Marinette shrugged with a simple smile. “Adrien is… As much as it’s odd to admit, he’s just a boy. Neither of us let him get in between us. He’s just a boy, and it’d be stupid for us to not get along just because we like the same boy. It doesn’t bother Kagami that we used to like the same boy, so why should I let it bother me? Besides,” Marinette tilted her head slightly. “It’d be stupid to give up a great friendship just because of a boy.”

With her last words still hanging in the air, Marinette turned tail and left, walking faster than usual. She had little time left— As she neared the wall that would shield her from the view of the cafeteria, she sped up her footsteps, practically half-sprinting just so she could get out of sight before Lila Rossi returned, looking like someone just killed a puppy in front of her very eyes.

“Oh my god, what’s wrong?” Alya jumped to her feet instantly, reaching out to comfort her best friend, who was moments away from having tears stream down her cheeks.

“I… I thought she’d changed.” Lila sniffled, biting her lip to appear as if she was desperately trying not to cry.

Alya frowned. “Who?”

“Marinette.” Lila stated as if it were obvious, faltering for a moment— Why had Alya bothered to ask? Shouldn’t it come pretty obvious? The liar dismissed the thoughts and continued in her performance. “She threatened me in the bathroom. She… She confronted me and mocked me, saying… Saying that all of you… All of you are idiots for believing that she’s changed. She… She said everything was an act to turn you all against me.”

Nino’s jaw dropped so far that it touched the floor. “Uh… Dudette, are you sure it was Marinette?”

“Yes!” Lila spun to look at him so fast that it was a wonder she didn’t break her neck. “Are… Are you doubting me? Oh my god, it’s working. She’s turning you guys against me. I just want to have friends, I don’t get why she hates me so—”

“You’re… Absolutely sure it was Marinette? You saw her face?” Alya repeated her boyfriend’s words, emphasising each and everyone of them as she looked Lila in the eyes.

“Alya, not you too.” Lila sniffled, tears basically dropping out of her eyes like big, fat droplets of salt water. “It was her— I saw her blazer, it had MDC stitched onto it.”

An uncomfortable silence settled in between the girl and her boyfriend, neither quite knowing what to say. “Oh. I… I see.” Alya said at last, turning back to her food. “Well… Lunch is almost over. Let’s… Let’s get back to class.”

“Marinette just threatened me in the bathroom!” Lila puffed up, clearly upset now. “She mocked me! She called you guys stupid for believing her act!”

“Dudette.” Nino shattered the ice-cold silence at their lunch table, swallowing heavily. “Marinette was with us the whole time you were in the bathroom.”

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

The tension inside the room was so thick that Adrien could cut it with his bare hands. God, what had happened? The day had started off so well— Marinette agreed to be friends with Lila, god bless the girl— But as it turned out, one hurdle folded over only to be towered over by a taller one. 

“Alya—” Lila began tearfully, her pitiful look attracting the sympathy of those who still didn’t know what was going on. 

“You claimed that Marinette threatened you in the bathroom.” Alya interrupted. “While she was with us the whole time in the cafeteria.” 

Faltering, the Italian struggled to find a way to squeeze herself out of the tight spot. “M— Maybe it was someone else.” Reluctantly, she backed out one trap into another one. 

“You said that you were sure! You said that she was wearing a blazer with MDC stitched on it. Marinette was wearing that blazer during lunch!” The reporter shot back, Nino at her side, trying to extinguish the conflicted fire blazing inside Alya’s heart. 

The seeds of doubt had been sewn, and Lila was going to have a tough time weeding them out. “I... I’m sorry!” She burst out into tears, sobbing pitifully in front of the class, most of which were already in attendance. “My lying disease is acting up again. I... I can’t help it. I didn’t mean to hurt anyone!” 

“Uh... Is this a bad time to ask if anyone wants macarons?” Marinette cleared her throat awkwardly, standing at the front of the room. Her royal blue blazer had been shed, and it now hung over her arm, properly folded into half. Earlier, she had asked Rose for the time to make sure that she had a witness in case Lila tried to pull another act— But as it seemed, the Italian was determined to dig her own grave and all the work had been done. 

The students of Mlle. Bustier’s class shared looks. 

“I’ll... I’ll have one.” Mylene cleared her throat, hoping that it would diffuse the situation. 

“Me too.” Kim followed, not missing the way Marinette flinched slightly at his words. Most of the words he had said to her of late had not been nice at all— But he justified that with the fact that she was being a bully to Lila, like Chloe had been to Marinette herself. 

“Great!” Marinette cleared her throat awkwardly, slapping on a strained smile. She passed the box to the front row, where Sabrina and Chloe were, gesturing for them to pass the box along until everyone got their fill. 

Internally, Lila seethed, anger burning like a wildfire that tore down every lush sign of life in her path. The girl had never felt that livid in her entire life— Who did Dupain-Cheng think she was, having a change of heart out of nowhere, pretending to play along with those oh-so-innocent eyes of hers? 

“I... I think I know why my disease acted up again,” Lila sniffled, loud enough to gather attention again. Unsure glances passed around like an object that no one wanted, carried from hand to hand forcefully as no one wanted to hold onto it for too long. “It... It must’ve been because of... Of the cardigan that Marinette made me! You must’ve known that...” The Italian squinted at the cardigan on her desk, “... Cotton triggers my lying disease!” 

The bluenette, still passing around macarons, stopped in her tracks. Inside her mind, Marinette was shaking her head, an amused smile on her cheeks. She had to give Lila credit for that one— She would’ve never anticipated that lie from her nemesis. “That’s terrible!” She sucked in a breath, putting on a dismayed look. “I’m really sorry, Lila! I know it seems like I did this on purpose, but I promise I didn’t! To make it up to you, I’ll make you another one.” 

Is she serious right now? Lila scoffed mentally. How long does she plan to keep this going? No matter— She’ll eventually drain herself out and I won’t even have to meddle in this matter. 

Marinette sniffled, collecting the cardigan pitifully from Lila’s desk. “But to prevent future incidents, Lila, I just want you to know that this isn’t made of cotton... It’s made from the highest-quality of star silk, which is incredibly difficult to produce and is rather expensive. It’s such a pity... I thought that only the best of materials would be deserving to be used to make an apology present... I guess you can’t wear it. I’ll just make another copy of the cardigan with some normal-range silk.” Sighing, the bluenette pretended to mull in sadness for a few seconds before an idea struck her. “Alya! You aren’t allergic to star silk, right?” 

The flow of conversation redirected suddenly, with the reporter snapping to attention and nodding eagerly as she realised what was about to happen. 

“Then... Since I’ve spent so long on this, I don’t want it to go to waste... Why don’t you have it, instead?” Offered Marinette with a sweet, shy smile on her face. 

Lila, still caught up in shock by the reveal of the material— Was then slammed with a wall of flaming anger as Alya squealed, coddling the soft, fluffy material that made the cardigan the exquisite product it was. 

“Marinette’s right,” Adrien chipped in with his own two cents, “Father can rarely get his hands on that material— It costs a fortune, and if hand-made... It takes forever.” 

“Oh, I wove the silk by myself,” Marinette added shyly after Adrien’s contribution, “So I apologise if it’s not up to the quality of industry-level star silk.” 

The reporter gushed, still cooing and running her hands over the gorgeous threads of fabric that made up the cloud-like base of the cardigan, eyes sparkling and the details of the embroidery. 

Marinette smiled, returning to her seat without a fuss. The rest of the class continued to pass the pastries around, the perfect description of ‘ignorance is bliss’ as they pretended as if they couldn’t see the way Lila was shaking in anger. Alya, on the other hand, could see nothing but the garment in her hands, her ‘best friend’ having become invisible for the time being. 

Just as well that it turned out this way, Marinette hummed, twirling her pen in hand, Let that be my departing gift to Rena Rouge. 

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

Tomorrow arrived like clockwork, never late and always on time. The crowd of students clamouring by the front of Francois Dupont hushed to silence as they parted for two dark-haired women, both of which were giving off waves of confidence. Simple conversation flowed between the two, who were perfect examples of elegance and grace, their traditional-inspired attire complementing the royal-like aura they had. 

“This dress is really lovely, Marinette,” Kagami smiled gently, admiring the way the fabric flowed around her. The designer had gifted her friend with a maroon-coloured hanfu-inspired dress, complete with hand-sewn embroidery of a golden dragon curled around Kagami’s waist and neck. The dress was completed with a pleated skirt that went all the way to the heels. At first, the fencer was reluctant about the skirt due to the limited maneuverability, but then Marinette revealed that the skirt was very simple to take off as it was just tied around the waist. 

“You look gorgeous in it. It suits you.” Marinette replied, dressed in a similar looking dress. Her hanfu-inspired dress was light pink in colour, with silver threads depicting cranes flying about freely. The pleated skirt was grey in colour, lined with a soft circle of white. 

Kagami blushed slightly. “Thank you.” Briefly, the Japanese girl wondered why on Earth Marinette would go and embroider a dragon onto her dress— Was it purely a coincidence, or...? 

“I’m really glad you decided to transfer here,” Marinette smiled softly, her dark blue bangs framing her face as the rest of it was gathered into a braid that Kagami had helped weave. “It’s going to be nice! I’ll get to see you a lot more often.” 

“We’re in different classes, though.” Frowning, Kagami wondered if she should request a change of homeroom. 

“For now.” The designer winked playfully. “Oh, I have to get to class. See you during lunch?” 

Without waiting for a reply, the blue-eyed girl moved away gracefully, leaving Kagami in confusion. 

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

“Good morning,” Marinette greeted gracefully, sweeping into the classroom with her bag over her shoulder and a package in her hands. This package was clearly not as exquisitely-wrapped as the one from the day before, as it was just brown paper and some rough string. 

Alya brightened at the sight of her friend, shrinking away slightly whenever Lila tried to say anything. Sure, the reporter did shake off the initial reaction and respond to whatever her ‘best friend’ said, but the damage had been done. 

“Here’s your new cardigan. It’s made from the same material as your shirt,” Marinette smiled warmly, placing the package on Lila’s table. “It’s a little different from the one I brought yesterday, but I still poured in all my emotions when I made it, so I hope you’ll accept it.” 

Through a gritted smile, the Italian thanked the designer, clenching her fists under the table. That was the second time in two days she had to thank Mari-brat! She swore that if she had to do it again a third time, she was going to slap someone. 

“Oh, Marinette!” Alya called out excitedly, wearing the cardigan that was originally supposed to be Lila’s. “This cardigan is so soft! It’s really amazing to wear! As expected of you, girl!” 

The bluenette stared back at the reporter, wavering for a bit. She had a feeling that Alya wanted something from her... 

“So... I was wondering...” The reporter’s expression turned sheepish, with Marinette’s internal thought-train going ah, there it comes— “Could you remove this and put my name instead?” Alya picked up the corner of the cardigan, pointing to the inside of the garment, where ‘Lila Rossi’ was embroidered on. 

“Ah...” Marinette didn’t even have to fake her nervousness. We already agreed on this, She told herself, No more doing free stuff for people. No more. “Sorry, Alya. My parents need a lot of help in the bakery recently,.. You know how it is! Family always comes first. I’ve already taken out a lot of time to make the cardigan for Lila... And I promised Kagami I’d go out with her this weekend. I’m afraid I don’t have time...” 

There was no missing the way Alya’s face fell instantly. “Couldn’t you put off Kagami for me? Aren’t we best friends?” 

“I thought Lila was your best friend,” Feigning an expression of innocence, Marinette tilted her head slightly. “You shouldn’t go around saying things like that, Alya. You might hurt Lila’s feelings. Besides, a promise is a promise. I wouldn’t want to hurt Kagami’s feelings either. Not to mention— I gave you that cardigan for free. That was two weeks’ worth of hard work. I’m afraid I don’t have the ability to take time out to alter it for free either. If you really want to get it done, you could ask an external tailor to do it for you. I know a few who can do really good embroidery.” 

Alya faltered. “But... We used to be best friends...” 

Snorting mentally, Marinette continued to hold her calm composure. “Like I said, you really shouldn’t say that, Alya. Lila might get upset and we don’t want to hurt her feelings— Right, Adrien?” 

The blonde jumped when the conversation turned to him out of nowhere. All of a sudden, every eye in the classroom was fixed on him. “R— Right, of course.” He said, forcing out each word. 

Satisfied, Marinette nodded, still wearing her ever-so-kind smile. “Exactly.” 

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

“Hey, why don’t we all go out and have a picnic outside during lunch?” Alya suggested loudly, jumping up as soon as the lunch bell rang. “Marinette, you can come along too!” Something inside the reporter’s chest was stirring, and with the events of the past few days, Alya felt like she just had to quench that unsettling feeling— And the first step to that was to mend things with Marinette, even though it was the bluenette’s fault for always having been biased to Lila. Alya smiled, proud of herself. She would be the bigger person, she would forgive Marinette, she would integrate the designer back into the class again. 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Marinette replied just as quickly, “We don’t know what Lila might be allergic to— She could easily trigger a reaction if we go out, especially since it’s spring.” 

A collective choir of groans rounded the class. 

“Well, I’m going to go back to the hotel to have a first-class meal,” Chloe turned her nose up at her classmates. “... Dupain-Cheng, would you like to come?” 

Shock painted the faces of the whole classroom. Did Chloe just... Ask Marinette something... Politely? 

“I’d love to take that offer, Chloe.” Responded the bluenette, graceful and flawless as ever. “Perhaps tomorrow?” 

“Suit yourself. They’re serving lobster today.” Chloe huffed. “If you’re really that busy, then fine. We can discuss...” The Mayor’s daughter trailed off as she blushed. 

The bluenette giggled knowingly. “You’d like to commission a dress from me, right?” 

“... No.” 

“...” 

“... Maybe.” 

“Alright.” Marinette nodded. “Then maybe it’ll be more convenient if I head over to the hotel after school. I’ll need to take your measurements and we can discuss the prices after.” 

“Whatever.” Chloe waved her away haughtily, a poor effort to cover up her embarrassment. “Sabrina. Let’s go.” 

“Chloe?” Alya guffawed. “Why are you commissioning something from Marinette?” 

Rolling her eyes as if Alya had just asked the stupidest question ever, Chloe answered plainly. “Because she’s one of the up-and-rising designers in the industry? Have you seen what Dupain-Cheng is wearing today? Celebrities are already fighting for spots in her commission list. Even my mother and Gabriel Agreste acknowledge her talent. I’m not dumb, Cesaire. I can recognise a future fashion queen when I see one.” 

Wow, Marinette breathed, looking at the stunned faces around the room, Chloe sure knows how to create an impression. 

“W— Well.” Stuttered the reporter after Chloe made her big exit. “Then... What about going to the bakery for lunch?” 

“Didn’t Lila say she saw a rat in the bakery the last time she visited it?” Marinette pointed out. “The health officer checked the surveillance and the claim was dismissed, of course, because my parents make sure the bakery is as hygienic as possible— But I’m sure Lila is traumatised from that incident. I wouldn’t want to force her to come along to the bakery— And we wouldn’t want to leave her out either, right?” 

This elicited another round of groans. 

Oh, I am enjoying myself way too much, Marinette chuckled mentally. 

“Then— Then...” Alya struggled visibly before she was put out of her misery. 

“It’s fine, Alya.” The designer reassured her. “I wouldn’t want to bother Lila. I’m sure she’s still upset at me. You guys go ahead. I have to go back to the bakery to help my parents out. See you guys after!” 

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

Slam! 

Lila fumed, hand still pressed on her locker door. What. The. Hell. Was Mari-brat trying to do? She didn’t miss the way some of her classmates sent her unsatisfactory looks after that pre-lunch stunt that Marinette had pulled. 

And what was the thing about high-and-mighty Chloe commissioning from Marinette? 

Sure, Lila would admit that the cardigan that the designer made was indeed gorgeous, and the fabric was smooth and velvety, a quality unlike any of the clothing that Lila had ever had the privilege to touch— But surely a lowly brat like Dupain-Cheng couldn’t be that popular... Right? 

Dammit, hissed the Italian girl, Maybe I should’ve tried being friends with Mari-brat instead of Cesaire. 

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

“Is that... Marinette and Kagami?” Nino gaped, prompting Alya to turn around. It was true— Walking up the steps of Francois Dupont together were the two blue-haired girls, a gentle smile dancing on Kagami’s lips as Marinette talked animatedly, her hands waving around quickly to further elaborate her point. 

Students lounging around the entrance for lunch couldn’t tear their eyes off the two and their matching dresses. Sure, the two girls had walked into school the same way that morning— But now that the afternoon sun was high up in the sky, the golden and silver embroidery was glinting luminously, revealing the true caliber of Marinette’s craft. 

“But... They’re rivals.” Stuttered Alya. She just couldn’t understand... Weren’t they supposed to hate each other? 

“They both like Adrien but they can still get along,” Nino remarked thoughtfully, taking a bite from his sandwich. “So Marinette wasn’t lying about going to meet Kagami yesterday.” 

Alya was silent. 

“Alya? What’s wrong?” Worried, Nino put a hand around his girlfriend’s shoulder, care and concern shining through his honest eyes. 

“If... If Marinette doesn’t get jealous or biased over someone who also likes Adrien...” Alya started quietly, eyes still fixed on the two girls, “Then why was she so against Lila?” 

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

“Mlle. Bustier?” The teacher looked up at the voice of her favourite student. Fondly, she smiled. Marinette had finally seen the light and changed her ways, becoming the helpful, generous, kind Marinette that served as a great example for her peers. “May I make an announcement before class ends?” 

“Of course, dear.” Mlle. Bustier gave permission instantly— Marinette was taking up the reins of leadership again! The teacher couldn’t help but do a happy dance internally. 

“I have an announcement to make, so if everyone could listen, I’d be really thankful.” Marinette started, her clear blue eyes meeting those of her classmates. 

She took a deep breath. This is it. I’ve done what I needed to do, now it’s time to finish the job. 

“These past two days... Have been great,” Marinette started wistfully. “I really missed hanging around everyone, just like we did before,” Before you all turned your backs on me and stabbed me when I wasn’t looking, “But I can’t deny— And neither can you— That the things that have happened... They had a really deep impact. And I’ve realised that I can’t just ignore that damage that has been done.” The damage that has been done to me. “So, for the better of everyone— I’ve decided that I... Will transfer classes.” 

It was as if an explosion had gone off in Mlle. Bustier’s classroom. 

“Girl! You can’t do that!” Alya exclaimed in dismay, “We can fix things! Everything has been going well these few days, haven’t they?” 

“Dudette! Honestly, we forgive you.” Nino sighed, “Things just aren’t the same if you’re not here anymore.” 

Adrien didn’t say a word, but the imploring gaze he wore said enough. Please don’t leave me here alone. We promised we’d fight together, right? As long as both of us know... 

Marinette held her hand up to silence them, and the classroom, just as swiftly, became the deadly silence that followed post-disaster. “I understand. But once again, this is for the better,” — Of my mental health, “I’ve talked to Mlle. Mendeliev, and she’s agreed to take me in. I believe that once the changes have taken place, we can all grow more freely without restrictions.” 

In the corner, Mlle. Bustier was tearing up and dabbing at her eyes with her sleeve. 

“Mlle. Bustier,” Marinette turned to her teacher, no malice in her eyes. “I’ll be under Mlle. Mendeliev’s care now.” 

“Marinette...” The teacher sobbed quietly, with Chloe shooting her a look of disgust from the front row. 

“It’s not going to be easy for any of us,” Marinette turned back to the class, “But with time, I’m sure we will all prosper. Especially since you will now be under the care of our one and only Lila Rossi.” 

Adrien looked like someone had just killed a puppy in front of him. 

“Since I am the current class president, I thought I’d pass on the duties onto the most capable person in our class.” Marinette explained warmly, never moving her gaze away from the bewildered Lila. “Lila has the most connections in our class out of all of us, and she’s met so many CEOs and entrepreneurs that she must know a lot about organising and planning. I’m sure you can do it, Lila, but...” She paused. “You can handle it, right?” 

“Y— Yeah. Of course.” Lila stuttered. 

“You promised the class that you’d get BTS to perform for the year-end fundraiser since you were supposed to be in an arranged marriage with their youngest member, Jungkook.” Marinette continued, God I am enjoying myself too much honestly, but I ain’t going to stop now, “And you said you could convince your godfather, Bruce Wayne, to allow the class to go to Wayne Enterprises for this year’s class trip.” 

“She said she could convince Tony Hawk to give me an internship, too!” Alix chipped in. 

“And that she’d bring me along the next time Prince Ali asks for her help for a charity cause!” Rose smiled. 

“She said she’d introduce me to the CEO of Graham Films!” Nino’s eyes shone at the idea. 

The class continued to talk all over one another until Marinette silenced them once more. “Now, now. Let’s not overwhelm Lila. We wouldn’t want her to be overworked or to feel like the expectations are set too high, right?” 

The class agreed, nodding along. 

Marinette made eye contact with Lila, offering her a sweet smile as she did so. Lila, on the other hand, had no taste for such politeness. Instead, she straight-out glared at the former class president. 

This is your problem now. 

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“Marinette! I was hoping to catch you before you went home,” Alya panted, having been able to find the bluenette in the locker room before the designer slipped out of her reach. “You... You’re really serious about leaving?” 

“Yeah.” Smiled Marinette, organising her textbooks into her bag, dusting down her skirt. Noticing Alya’s crestfallen expression, she took the initiative to continue the conversation. “Is there anything else, Alya?” 

“Did you... Did you really hate Lila because she liked Adrien, too?” The reporter asked somewhat timidly. 

Marinette giggled. Normally, when the girl giggled, you could hear a gentle tinkling of wind chimes— But at that moment, Alya heard the freezing winds on Mount Everest instead. “Don’t be silly, Alya. All this over a boy? Besides, I’m over him.” 

“Then...” Alya swallowed difficulty. “Lila... Really was lying this whole time?” 

The gaze that swept across the reporter was stone cold, and it made Alya feel as if she was dangling over a valley of jagged rocks. “What do you think, Alya?” Even so, the bluenette maintained a sweet smile. 

“She was. She was lying the whole time.” Alya suddenly felt as if she had a shortness of air. “This whole time—” 

“Oh, good for you. You finally learned how to see further than one feet in front of you.” Marinette hummed. “I’m proud of you, really. But I’m afraid that I don’t have the time to listen to you slowly come to conclusions after I’ve tried making you see sense for the past half a year. I tried to stop you from ruining your futures, but I guess determination was always one of your good traits.” 

Alya slipped to the floor, having lost the feeling in her legs. She placed one hand against the lockers for support as she shook, weakly looking up at the girl who she was once so proud to call her ‘best friend’. 

“Marinette?” Kagami’s voice rang through the room, indicating that the girl was waiting at the doorway. “You said you were heading to Bourgeois’s hotel after school— Would you like a ride?” 

“That’d be nice, Kagami. A moment.” The designer looked down at her friend and smiled, albeit a little sadly this time— And then she lowered her voice. 

“Determination was always one of your good traits.” 

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“Marinette,” Adrien perked up at the sight of the bluenette leaving the school doors— Side by side with Kagami, who looked ready to draw a sword and start a duel then and there. 

“This’ll just take a minute, ‘Gami.” Marinette reassured, gently patting her friend’s arm. “Why don’t you get in the car first? It looks like it’s going to rain.” 

Reluctantly, Kagami nodded. “Alright.” Warily, the fencer stepped down the stairs and into the car— But even as she sat in the vehicle, she watched over her fellow bluenette like a hawk, ready to jump out and challenge the blonde if the situation called for it. 

Adrien rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, not quite knowing what to say. Luckily for him, the designer decided to start the conversation. 

“I just wanted to say thank you.” Marinette smiled softly. A few months ago, when she looked at Adrien, she would see the kind, generous, pure-hearted boy with the finest golden hair and the brightest green eyes. Now? All she saw was a spineless, sheltered, passive child that was afraid of confrontations. 

“For what?” Adrien looked at Marinette, and no longer did he see the cute, pigtail-adorning girl that would blush fiercely everytime he tried to talk to her. Instead, he saw a beautiful, young woman, a rock that had pulled through all the odds to become a vibrant, iridescent diamond. 

Marinette was glowing with confidence, her presence diffusing into the air around her and triggering eyes to look up every time she walked by. There was something about the way she held herself that just made the woman demand awe and respect from those that crossed her path. The old ‘Clumsinette’ had been shed like an old snake skin to reveal a treasure, a better version of the bluenette that had always been waiting for her time to come. 

Bluebell eyes met green ones just as rain began to patter down onto the streets of Paris. Marinette glanced up slightly, not at all bothered as she smoothly retrieved an umbrella from her bag, holding it out for the blonde to take. A flush of deja vu burst through Adrien’s veins and through his skin as he took it with a mumbled thanks, eyes blown wide as Marinette let loose her hair from her ponytail, pulling her blazer over her head to avoid getting her head wet. 

Adrien could only gape as Marinette uttered familiar words back to him, a knowing smile dancing across her lips as she ran off into the rain as if an invisible weight had been lifted off her shoulders. The bluenette looked lighter, brighter, ready to take flight and soar towards the success that her crops of hard work had finally started to bear. Before the blonde model knew it, Marinette Dupain-Cheng had slipped out of his grip, already spreading her multi-coloured wings to land among the stars. 

“Thank you for telling me to take the high road.”  

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this was both satisfying and tiring to write...