#There was a mint/open box one I was looking at but it got bought out from under me while looking at other ones soooo refurbed it is

[venacoeurva]

Looking at the queue, it's almost done and the phone was (marginally, at least) more expensive than anticipated--refurbished unlocked SE 3 gen in great condition though, for anyone curious-- and the recent slot is pretty easy to get done, so I'll open another comm slot today (Fri afternoon or night) on Ko-Fi.

[b0n3s-is-gay]

Winter/Christmas with the Gang: How they'd spend it with you (Dividers by @/thecutestgrotto)

Master list: Here

Darrel "Darry" Curtis:

Kisses under the mistletoe, slow kisses under the cover of warm light from the christmas tree

Wrapping gifts together! Buying gifts for the gang with the money you two pooled together. He'll either listen to the radio with you, watch christmas specials while wrapping, or he'll tell funny stories revolving around the holiday.

If it's after the events of the book, you two head out to Johnny and Dally's graves. You light candles and sit out there with the gang, spending time with the two kids until you're reminded of the December chill and your own humanity.

Christmas Day, you sit with Darry, cuddled on his lap so he can't be like that dad with the trash bag on Christmas day/eve.

If you two get carollers, which you probably won't because of where you live, you'll stand with him and his brothers (if they're not too tired) and listen.

Decorating with him and his brothers, it's soft and domestic. It reminds him of how he used to decorate the tree and the house with their parents.

Throwing flour at one another when baking christmas treats. It's nice to make him let loose with the holiday, even when you're goofing off with the gingerbread.

If a smell were to describe the winter months with him, It'd be Nutmeg and vanilla

Keith "Two-bit" Mathews

Mickey Mouse Christmas specials while cuddling. Any animated show like, Charlie Brown, that has a christmas special, you bet you're watching it.

Christmas day, you either spend the morning with his mom and sister or the Curtis gang. There is no in between. He's either spending it with his sister and mom who put up with him or he's getting shit faced at the Curtis House while enjoying the day.

"I wish you'd suck me like that candy cane" "Maybe I will, but wrap it in a bow first."

When (if) you or the curtis brothers make eggnog, he spikes it. No reason at all other than Christmas cheer.

After the events of the book, if you two go see Johnny and Dally, he's quiet. He talks to Johnny, telling him about how his mother and father got arrested. When he talks to Dally, he pours a beer for him and talks to him about everything from how Ponyboy is doing to joking with him (I like to think they were really close when Dally wasn't a hard ass).

When you open gifts from him, there's always one joke gift. It could be a card with monopoly money to a box with an I.O.U for a gift (He gives you the gift afterwords.)

If it snows, he's going to throw some at you. Throw one back. Build a Snow man that looks like Two-bit and he'll build one that looks like you.

If there was a scent to describe this, it'd be aged whiskey and mint.

Dallas "Dally" Winston:

For starters, don't expect your gift to be bought. It's stolen, it's all stolen.

When it comes to Christmas, he's the Grinch. If someone slips on ice, especially a Soc, he's smiling like a mother fucker like he's the one putting ice around.

Winter time, especially Christmas time, you bet your ass you're spending it with either Johnny and Ponyboy or the whole gang as they are his family (as much family as a guy like him has).

If you get him a sweater, he'll wear it but only in the comfort of his room at Bucks. He loves you, but no, he wouldn't be caught dead wearing it in public as he doesn't want people to think he's getting soft (he has).

Christmas eve, you're in his arms while humming christmas tunes. He'll tell you to be quiet, but he doesn't mean it... It's nice, it's domestic...

If you're baking a cake or something of the sort, he's either smacking your ass or hugging you from behind. There is no in between as this man either does it all or does nothing too much.

Three words, Hot Coco Kisses. Kiss him after you take a sip, he'll deepen the kiss for the full flavor. He'll do this for just about holiday sweet you eat because why not? I personally think he likes winter treats

If there was a scent to describe his holiday, it'd be leather and dark chocolate.

Steve Randle:

Winter with Steve is like any other day, just a bit colder. Being from a house of abuse (I get you Steve, ur one of my favorites), he never got a chance to see the appeal of the Christmas spirit before he met Sodapop.

Spending time with Steve during the holiday season is mostly at your house or the Curtis house. He's not bringing you home when his dad is in one of his relationships with Whiskey Bubbles. So you better get used to the constant chaos of the Curtis Household or try and get your parents to be real cool with a greaser real quick.

If you two decorate your tree or deck the DX with all these lights and decorations (with permission from his boss), he's going to be staring lovingly at you. His heart swells when you ask him to lift you up so you can hang some garland, trying to bring some life to the work place.

Christmas songs on the radio, you two dance along to them with a smile. When "I Saw Mommy Kissin' Santa Claus" plays, he kisses you and smiles brightly when he hears your muffled giggles.

If you're at the Curtis household, you're going to be sitting on the couch with him all cuddled up. Watching christmas specials much like what Two-bit does. Sharing a slice of chocolate cake or a beer if sweets aren't your fancy.

If you get him a gift for Christmas, his heart is going to melt. As I stated before, he never got that christmas or gifts of the sort. So when he does get those gift, he feels so happy. Anything you give him will be cherished and held close to his heart. It doesn't have to be fancy, it's the thought that counts.

After the events of the book, I think he'd go out to the Grave yard with the gang. He wouldn't say much until it was just you, him, and the graves of your fallen friends. He'd talk to them, telling them how he wished they found their peace because nobody should go through a mortal hell and then a spiritual hell after.

The scent of this would be hard to describe, but I would say it smells like oil or grease with chocolate cake.

Sodapop Patrick Curtis:

Sodapop loves Christmas, it's no secret. The gifts aren't needed, he'll be so happy if he's surrounded with the people he loves. The gifts are a plus though.

Mistletoe! Much like Darry, Sodapop loves kisses under the mistletoe. Quick and loving or slow and passionate, it doesn't matter. Mistletoe just makes it magical, the winter scene outside made it seem like a Hallmark movie (yes, they have been around that long. Since 1951!).

If you plan on baking with him, rethink that idea. Sodapop Patrick Curtis cannot cook or bake for shit. This point has been made time and time again. He can decorate, but he can't cook or bake. Maybe consider getting him a cook book or teaching him for christmas.

At work, much like Steve, he'll help you decorate the DX with permission to make it more welcoming. It's not needed, but it brings a smile to his face as you hang garland and set up a little faux tree on the counter with little soda cans and candy bars. It's funny, more tensil ends up on you and the floor than the tree.

Post Book, Soda would still be smiling. Picking up the pieces of what happened in that short span of time made the winter months a bit hard. Visiting Dally and Johnny, talking to them... Sandy cheating on him and then only telling him that baby isn't his by sending his letter back, unopened. It's rough, but he powers through it with a little help with you. (TL;DR, he's depressed for the first week or so but it's easier as you help)

I see and think about this a lot, but the Curtis Brothers are slow dancers in their own elements. Soda's slow dancing element is when you're doing something alone. Soda will slow dance with you to anything, anywhere, at the most random times. It just tends to get a lot worse when the snow starts falling.

Speaking of snow, he actually doesn't like it. I see this man as a summer creature. He gets tired in the snow, like a lizard. If his feet get cold, it's like ice. That has lead Ponyboy to establishing a rule where he has to wear socks to bed until spring when it starts to warm up. He is not having it.

If there was a scent for this, it'd smell like that fresh laundry smell and apple cinamon candles that have just been blown out.

Johnny "Johnny Cakes" Cade:

Johnny Cade... My beloved, this man has only ever had a christmas with the Curtis gang. Not very many gifts but that's fine, a day where he's not near his parents and getting abused is a win in his book.

When winter does finally roll around, he tends to spend it at the Curtis Household or at yours as it gets too cold to sleep in the lot unless he lights a little camp fire. When he stays at your house, he tends to leech onto you and steal your warmth like a cat. It's adorable.

When it snows, Johnny likes to bundle up and go out with you. You make snow angels, build snowmen, throw snowballs at each other, and over all have fun in the snow. It's not often he can let loose and have fun without having to fear Socs, so when he does relax... It's a far cry from what he's usually like.

When you two start setting up the trees and decking the halls with boughs of holly (fa-la-la-la), he's smiling with you. The radio is on or the tv is on playing some kind of christmas program that he's not paying attention to. When the Mistletoe goes up, he smiled and shyly kisses you before letting you continue. If you want him to put the star on the tree, his smile will widen. He'll either use a step stool or sit on your shoulders to do so.

Johnny likes when you read to him while cuddling next to the tree or in bed. Read him a random book while the snow falls outside, he'll fall asleep while cuddling or look up at you with a big smile while you turn the pages.

On christmas eve a few years back, when everyone is opening their gifts, there's one at the back of the tree. The present is for Johnny. Everyone smiles as they pass it over to him, watching as he unwrapped the little box. Inside the box was his iconic jean jacket. Every christmas season, he smiles as he puts it on. In his head, it's a reminder that people love him and it spurs him on to keep going.

If you cook for your family or the Curtis Household, he'll help. He's not Darry level chef, but he can mince an onion really even. It'd be a bit out of the ordinary if he didn't spend so much time over at your house where he'd do his homework while you made dinner.

A scent that I'd feel would describe this best is fire (not because of the church) and chocolate oranges.

Ponyboy Michael Curtis:

Sunsets in winter! When the turkey is destroyed and the carb coma has faded away, Ponyboy is ready for Christmas. He'll take you out to the lot on a day where he knows Johnny won't be there and watches the sunset with you. The first sunset of winter is always his favorite one to watch.

If you try really hard, you can maybe get him to sing along to some christmas songs. He can sing, don't get him wrong, but it's embarrassing and he knows that Steve will make fun of him. He enjoys singing as he used to sing all the time with his mom and dad before the accident, but he just doesn't sing a lot because of the gang and because he doesn't have the time.

After dark, when Sodapop and Darry are asleep, he'll sneak out and meet you at the lot. You'll walk around at night, talking about the winter months.

Post book, I think Ponyboy will use these night walks to go to the grave yard to sit with Dally and Johnny (Someone talked about how the gang pooled their money to buy a bench between the two graves for Ponyboy, I agree with that). He'll sit with you after you light candles and read from "Gone with the Wind" to Johnny.

Decorating the tree with him and his brothers is fun. Again, tinsil is all over the place rather than on the tree. You and Ponyboy get your hands tangled up in the lights and garland, lauging as Darry and Sodapop untangle you both. The brothers would talk about the orniments and were they're from. Come time for the star, Darry lifts Ponyboy up on his back to put the star on.

When Darry starts his christmas baking, he insists on you and him helping. It's like a bonding moment between the oldest and youngest with you there as a bridge between them (Soda is at work or spending time w/ Steve).

Say it with me now.. MISTLETOE! Ponyboy is the opposite of Darry. Usually his kisses are soft, but under the mistletoe? He's passionate. He's always got a little sprig of mistletoe in his pocket to use when he goes over to your house where you two can close the door.

A scent to describe winter with him... It'd have to be a blend of cigarettes and milk chocolate.

Tag list: @witchyleehibernates

[hughes86-43]

Girl Scout Cookies | L. Hughes

warnings - none. just fluff.

note - first little fic/blurb, if you would call it that. i just had an idea and ran with it. i don’t usually write soo. there could be some grammar errors and such, please look pass those.

It was the time of year when everyone’s favorite cookies would finally be out, of course Girl Scout cookies. The moment you saw them when walking out of the grocery store, it caused you to move ten times faster so you could finally get your hands on some for the year.

After buying three different kinds- Thin Mints, Samoas, and Tagalongs - you said your thank yous to the children and headed right home to your apartment to where you knew that your boyfriend would be patiently waiting. Mostly to see what you bought from the store, but you had no doubt he would not be surprised to see what else you bought.

As you walk through the door while carrying several bags filled with various groceries, you spot your boyfriend on the couch. Instantly seeing you, Luke gets up and grabs some bags from your arms.

“Hey, baby. Let me grab some of those. Did you stick to the grocery list or get distracted by the various ice cream flavors again?” Luke smiles as he knows you like to stay an extra five minutes in the ice cream aisle.

As you follow him to kitchen, smiling you say, “I mostly stuck to the list this time.”

While putting some fruits away in the fridge, he turns slightly eying you, and saying with a laugh, “How much is ‘mostly’ sticking to the list?”

“Well, I grabbed everything we needed, and just one more ice cream flavor that caught my eye - this time it was strawberry shortcake!” You say with a shy smile. “But as I was walking out, I saw some Girl Scouts selling cookies, so of course I could not say no! So, I bought three different kinds!” At that, Luke just ends up laughing and shaking his head and goes over to wrap his arms around your waist as you are opening the bag filled with various cookies.

“You and your sweet tooth! At least, you got my favorite - Thin Mints! You are going to get me in to trouble with my trainer, ya know.” Luke says as he instantly starts tearing the thin mints box open and taking two cookies out.

“Haha! I knew you would love them! You can have those as long as you don’t touch my Tagalongs!”

“And what if I did?”, Luke says while taking a bite and laughing.

“Then I have no other choice than to tell your trainer about what type of sweet treats you have been getting into…”, you say with a teasing tone.

“You wouldn’t!”

“Guess we will have to see if you touch my tagalongs!”, You say as you start to head to your guys’ bedroom leaving Luke to indulge in the cookies.

All Luke does is just laugh and shake his head because he knows there is no way he is going to touch his girls’ cookies… he will just go for the ice cream instead.

[vantekoos]

Thought of a cute yet angst kind of drabble so here it is!

------------------------------------------------------------

Pairing: Jungkook x Female Reader

Genre: angst, smut

Word Count: idk I forgor 💀

Summary: Jungkook made you mad so what's better than trying to communicate with his girlfriend? Bringing a huge boombox to her house to beg for her forgiveness.

------------------------------------------------------------

Okay. You have to admit.

Maybe you were being a little bit extra with what's going on, but who can blame you?

Your boyfriend of five years wasn't exactly ugly and you were a little insecure with how any woman throws themselves on him. So when you both went on a date weekend to the movies and he did absolutely nothing to stop his ex from hugging him and flirting, it irked you a little.

Well, a lot.

Enough to argue with him the whole ride home and block him on everything because he doesn't see his wrongs.

However, Jungkook did manage to find ways to try to talk to you by making fake accounts and stealing his friend's phones to text you.

You just needed space for a bit and that was okay, right?

Wrong.

So wrong because you missed him so much.

His smile.

His laugh.

The way he treated you like a princess out in public and in bed.

Because of your actions, you had to suffer the consequences.

Beside your bed was your newly charged vibrator that you bought before your fight with Jungkook so he could use it on you.

Before you have a chance to even think of using it, a knock is heard at your window along with two thumps that sound like pebbles. Your brows furrow when you leave bed to look outside your window to see your boyfriend standing outside.

"What are you doing?" You sigh when you open your window.

Jungkook looked tired and confused, but he had to get you back in his good graces. He brought flowers, candy, and a huge boom box sitting on the grass.

"I'm sorry baby. I've tried to call you and do everything but you got so mad at me-" he rambles before sighing loudly.

This was killing him to fight with you and it breaks his heart.

"I got mad because you let your ex hug you and flirt with you while we were together," You state rather bluntly. Thinking about the fight made you upset again.

"Baby, look. I love you and only you. No one else!" Jungkook tells her desperately.

Of course, you were convinced, but who knows if he'll do it again.

You cross your arms and sigh at his excuses.

Though, Jungkook wasn't done.

He places the flowers and candy on the ground before picking up the boombox and pressing play. He holds the boombox over his head and you could tell that he was nervous.

Playing on the boom box was Breaking My Heart By Mint Condition which had to be a song you two would always love to sing together.

You couldn't help but bite a laugh back and cover your smile.

It's cute because he most likely saw this in a movie or had the idea from a friend. You look down the street to see if your neighbors could hear and sure enough, their porch lights were turning on with the dogs beginning to bark from how loud it was.

You couldn't hold back your laugh anymore and broke from the serious glare you gave him.

"Jungkook, turn it off," you chuckle but Jungkook persists.

"Forgive me then."

Oh, he was insane.

"You're forgiven! Now come in before the cops get here," you shoo him over to you with a grin on your face. He turns the boom box off and grabs the flowers and candy before heading to the front door.

You welcome him inside with a soft kiss to his lips almost as if you've been craving his touch. He drops his bags to the ground with a loud thud before engulfing you in his embrace.

"You missed me a lot, didn't you?" He mumbles against her lips, pushing her back to her room to lay her on the bed. He doesn't even wait to tear apart his shirt, grabbing your hand so you could feel his chest.

"Shut up," you roll your eyes with a chuckle to follow. You sit enough to pull your shirt off so Jungkook can take off your bra for you.

One thing about Jungkook was that he loved your boobs.

He leans down to latch his lips along your nipple. sucking and nipping your mounds while he sneaks his hand lower down your stomach, getting closer to your pussy.

He pushes past your panties and rolls his fingertips through your lower lips. You couldn't help but release a sweet moan of his name in a whisper.

“Don’t tease me,” you whisper but he didn’t really care to listen. You made him suffer for a whole week. He was going to do whatever he wanted with you.

He trails his tongue from her nipple to her neck, biting her skin at her neck enough to leave a purple hue on her skin. He knew how much you liked to be known to other girls as his girlfriend so why not mark you up?

He presses his fingers to her clit, rubbing slow circles against her sensitive pussy just to get her wet enough for him. He needed to fuck her tonight. He craved it.

“How should I have you tonight?” He whisper before sliding his hand from her pussy to taste her on his fingers.

His eyes shift to the nightstand that held the vibrator and it was like a light bulb when off in his filthy mind. “Get undressed,” he pats her thigh before leaving the bed to take his pants off.

You didn’t waste any time pulling off your pajama pants to be left completely bare for him in the bed. How was he going to have you tonight?

Cowgirl?

Missionary?

Doggy?

Fuck, you needed him asap.

You reach down to touch your sensitive bud, rolling your fingers slow enough to get any satisfaction from this wait.

Jungkook tosses his boxers and pants on the ground and prys your legs open when he kneels between your legs. His dick was hard, long, and curved that you knew you wouldn’t last.

He grabs the base of his dick and spits on his length to rub it along his length.

“Come on,” you sigh, grabbing your boob with one hand.

Jungkook bites his bottom lip and alines himself to you before sliding in slowly.

A moan of content is shared when he rolls his hips in and out. His brows are furrowed and his bottom lip is caught between his teeth when he finds his rhythm that you both loved.

“Grab the vibrator,” he instructs, but that addition would make you fall even more apart.

You whine and grab the toy, turning it on medium before pressing it to your clit. You squirm a bit in his hold, clenching onto his length at the new sensation,

“Oh baby…” you cry.

“Feels good Hm?” He grins. God, he was deep. Enough to hit that sweet tender spot over and over again to make you see stars.

And Jungkook seemed to feel the same when his thrusts grow sloppy and his breathing grew quicker. The vibrator was tosses to the ground when you wrap your legs around his waist to keep him close, gripping the bedsheets when you finally climax.

“Oh fuck!” You squeal before exhaling in relief from cumming.

Jungkook slows his hips until he comes to an abrupt stop, having him groan from his throat when he cums. His body was sweaty but he wore a smile on his face nethertheless.

“Fuck, I love you. I’m so sorry for everything,” you apologize softly.

“Don’t be sorry. I won’t hurt you like that again,” he shakes his head.

He leaves the bed to start a bath, but you couldn’t help but to think how lucky you were to have a crazy yet romantic boyfriend who would get a boom box to win his girlfriend back.

—————————————————————————————————

I couldn’t figure out how to end it but all well! This isn’t my best so best with me💀

Exciting news! I graduated college and I’m going to grad school now (yay harder school)

I will be around during the summer so more drabbles in the future

[i-literally-cant-with-this]

A/N ::: Here is the second part of my Throwing Down the Gauntlet stuff. Series? Idk. Anyway, if you're here for the smut, hold tight. We'll get there.

C/W ::: Angst, broken heart f!reader, language. I think that's it. I read this 243983489 times. But it's like, when you see the words but they don't really absorb into your brain? It was like that. So if I missed anything awful, lemme know, please! Hope you guys like Part II. Thanks!

WC ::: Just under 1,120

Part I ___ Part III ___ Part IV ___ Part V ___ Part VI ___ Part VII

PART II

On the way to the coffee shop across town, you thought about how going there is only a delicacy now. It used to be that you'd grab something several days a week on your way to work when you lived here. On weekends you and Kats would walk over there and get something if you fell asleep the night before without thinking - or caring - to set up the coffee.

Nights like that you'd drift off tangled up in each other's limbs. Coffee was the last thing on your mind. You had to smile a little bit at how coffee-centric your lives were. But the ease of the warm memory faded the closer you got to your old neighborhood.

Everywhere you looked held some story the two of you shared inside the life you built.

The park down the street was where you had your first picnic date.

The corner store was where he bought you your favorite candy on Valentine's Day because he wasn't able to get you anything else. He had to work that day and everything was closed by the time he got off. You still have the wrapper from that. Stuck away in a shoebox that holds so many other perfect moments that you'd successfully frozen in time.

The little deli you two had brunch at often for the past 2 years was where he handed you a little black velvet box with the key to his place inside of it. It was a Sunday that he asked you to move in. You said yes immediately and sat on his lap to kiss his smiling lips. You remember the taste of sugar-rimmed blackberry mint mimosa on his tongue as it slipped past your smiling lips.

You drove past all of that and pulled up to his building. He still hasn't changed his code to get into the lobby. You wondered if he ever would. If he would trust you to hold onto that ridiculous secret.

His apartment was on the 5th floor. The elevator ride up was agonizingly slow. There was a part of you that hoped it would just plummet to the basement/storage level. You got so lost in your little fantasy of being taken out of your misery that when it did stop, your heart leapt up into your throat and your hands reached out for anything to find safety on. But there was nothing. There was no one.

The elevator door opened and you fantasized him standing there holding his cell, scrolling through old pictures of the both of you. And suddenly he looks up and sees you there in his clothes. He falls at your feet and begs you for a second chance. To please give 'you' another chance. As if each of your souls belonged to the other and it was just the merged one from the moment the first 'I love you' had been confessed.

Walking up to his front door, you felt your body tense up. Like it was protecting you from what you were about to walk into. Your hand reached out for the doorknob, but you couldn't bring yourself to turn it. It was like everything stopped. Like something was waiting for you to come to a decision that you had no intention of making. Especially by yourself.

You sighed, pushed it open and pulled out the key. You took a deep breath in and looked around, tapping the little piece of metal that weighed more in your hand than every sorrow you'd ever endured.

Everything seemed to be exactly the same as you left it. The throw pillows he let you put on the oversized couch were still fluffed against the armrests. 

The ficus stood tall and healthy in the corner you both agreed on. "They get pissy if you move them around too much. We’ll have to pick one spot and leave it there." You told him.

“So it's basically a tree version of you?" He retorted, without a moment's hesitation. 

Tears began to pool in your lash line. You thought about all of this; being here. The time that you're here now, alone, felt a lot like it was your day off and he would be home anytime between 6 and 6:15.

He'd come through the door and call for you to come kiss him hello. These memories were slowly making you crash in on yourself. It hurt so much that your time here was now finite.

The bedroom was the last room you went into. It was the last room you wanted to go into. You didn't want to see your side of the bed empty. Worse yet, you didn't want to see his side of the bed - period. It somehow hurt more to know that his side would be filled when he got home. But yours would - "Oh god, oh fuck."

You started to breathe heavily. Dare you say it, you were close to hyperventilating. The thought of someone else laying on your side of the bed brought everything to a screeching halt. You couldn't take a step forward or backward. Your feet were locked into place on the floor. The rug had become a huge piece of Velcro and the soles of your feet were the other half to the grabby, scratchy loops.

Deep down, you knew that the only way to get over this was to face it. So, you did. You walked up to your side of the bed, and stared down at it. It was some fucked up form of exposure therapy if you’d ever seen one. Staring down at the place you'd slept for the last 3 years of your life, you tried to stay composed.

But as you sat down and pulled out your phone, you couldn't hold back the tears - again. They came pouring down your cheeks, soaking your clothes as they fell to your knees. You dialed 9 of the 10 numbers needed to reach him and waited for your better judgment to kick in before you made the mistake of pressing the last digit.

"Any ... time, y/n. Don't … don't do it. Calling him isn't going to fix anything. He told you to get your shit and go. Leave the ke- the key." Your words were coming out as shaky as your breathing was.

You opened your hand and saw just how tightly you'd been squeezing the key. It was symbolic how the shape of it was almost a part of your flesh. The shape was a part of you now, if only for a little while. If you put it down, it would disappear. You'd no longer know that comfort of having immediate access to the one place you actually felt you belonged.

Taglist ::: @arlerts-angel @darkstarlight82 @millennialmagicalgirl

[therecordchanger62279]

A FAIR TO REMEMBER

The third, and final installment of my book fair adventures.

     ‘Fess up. You did a double take when you saw that title, didn’t you? You thought, “Wow, he finally got some sex into his blog!” Sorry to disappoint you, but the title refers to the day’s activity. This weekend was the annual Dayton Book Fair at the Fairgrounds. It’s the one day of the year my wife lets me leave the house without a chaperone. Fortunately, it was worth the nearly three extra hours on my feet today. (I worked a full shift before hitting the fair this afternoon.)

     The weather was lovely today, if a bit windy at times. I arrived about 1:30, and found a parking spot not far from the entrance. When I got inside, I saw a lot of open floor space. I guess everyone was home trying to find the Ohio State game on television. (They were on a bye this week, so most of those people probably spent the afternoon getting liquored up – which is what they would’ve done anyway if there had been a game – but I digress.) The layout was different again this year, and I left my book fair GPS in the car so I had to make my way around “The Coliseum” (a fancy name for an old gymnasium) on my own. They’d moved the collectibles section to the front, and most of my favorite tables were not where I remembered them - although the hot dog stand was in the same spot, and that’s the important thing.

     The first friendly sign I saw read Poetry, and I suspected Short Stories would be close by. I was correct. But the only book I bought at that table was a collection edited by somebody named Milton Crane. Titled 50 Great Short Stories, and originally published in 1952, the paperback edition I found for $1.10, was the 16th printing from 1962, and featured names like Hemingway, Poe, Faulkner, Joyce, Thurber, Chekov, Forster, Salinger, Wolfe, Conrad, McCullers, Huxley, Steinbeck, and…well, you get the idea. I like a good short story, and since I’ve begun writing them, I get ideas how to make mine better from reading the masters. (If you’re going to steal, steal from the best.)

     It looked as if all my other favorite book haunts were on the other side of the gym, so I ambled over to the boxes of records spread over about eight tables. There were almost as many people browsing the records as there were browsing the multitude of book tables. Clearly this was a hipper, less bookish crowd than I was use to seeing at the fair. Needless to say, I fit right in.

     I cozied up to a pair of honeys browsing the rock records and chatting to one another about what they were finding. Sometimes it’s easy to forget that there are women out there who collect records instead of different shades of lipstick. One of them was complaining to the other that her mother had actually given away her own record collection. She couldn’t believe it. She found a Supremes collection she was interested in, but the cover was torn. Still, she had a look telling her friend that she could live with that as long as the record was in good shape. He pal agreed, telling her she needed to be careful so she didn’t ruin her stylus.

     Since they were lingering in the rock section, I moved over to jazz for a look. (If one of them had made a move to jazz, I might have been tempted to solicit her, but chicks don’t dig jazz as a general rule. So I remained on my best gentlemanly behavior.) By the time I finished browsing just two boxes of jazz records, I feared for my wallet. I found Arthur Blythe’s da-da LP, The Griffith Park Collection featuring several members of Return To Forever, along with the greats Joe Henderson, and Freddie Hubbard. Ralph Towner & Gary Burton’s Slide Show on ECM was in mint condition. I found a pair of LP’s on A&M Horizon – one by the great Chet Baker (You Can’t Go Home Again), and the other by Mel Lewis and Friends. Mel has some cool friends – bassist Ron Carter, pianist Hank Jones, Michael Brecker on sax, Freddie Hubbard (again) on trumpet, and more. The Best of Bobbi Humphrey on Columbia also caught my eye because I’ve been listening to a lot of light jazz from the late 70’s recently, and flutist Bobbi hit her commercial peak then. I also found Wynton Marsalis’s Think Of One – one I didn’t have from 1983. But as thrilled as I was with all of these, the most exciting finds turned out to be a Joe Zawinul collection on Atlantic titled Concerto Retitled, a set I had never seen or heard of before that turned out to be an overview of his Atlantic recordings prior to founding Weather Report, and an Impulse album from 1974 called Impulse Artists On Tour that features Gato Barbieri, Keith Jarrett, John Klemmer, Michael White, and Sam Rivers along with a who’s who of great backing musicians recorded at various shows. This was another album I’d never seen and didn’t know existed.

     Since the classical records were hosting several long hairs, I veered over towards the book tables on the other side, but not before I overheard an old couple talking. The wife (70, if she was a day) said to her husband, “Are you ready to go, baby?” And he replied, “You’re buying all those books? Didn’t you just get rid of a bunch of books?” Another woman standing next to me said, “He sounds like my husband.” And I patted myself on the back for being Mr. Tolerant in all things where my wife is concerned. (Cough!)

     I whiffed completely at the Sports table. I love a good baseball book, but there weren’t any today I didn’t already own. The People table (biographies, mostly) was also a bust, and it was beginning to look as if the records were going to be the last money I spent that didn’t target my stomach. But Philosophy, Plays, Classics, History and Government and Science yielded a Bertrand Russell’s Best, Camus’s Caligula and 3 Other Plays, Chekov’s The Major Plays, Dostoyevsky’s The Brothers Karamazov, Richard Feynman’s Surely You’re Joking Mr. Feynman, Norman Mailer’s The Presidential Papers (about the Kennedy administration), Situations by Jean Paul Sartre, and Walter Kauffman’s Existentialism from Dostoyevsky to Sartre. (You can always find plenty of books on existentialism at book fairs because existentialists are usually miserable, and end up committing suicide. Their families donate their books to book fairs. It’s a fact. You could look it up.)

     By this time, my arms were drooping, and my knuckles dragging on the floor as if I was a member of the Bush administration. So I decided to pay the piper, and take my treasures to the car, then double back for a farewell tour around the gym one more time.

     Next time around, following my traditional can of Pepsi, and hot dog with mustard and onion from the food vendor, I visited all the fiction tables looking for books by a favorite author of my wife. I found none, thus vindicating my wife’s choice not to attend the book fair with me. I also looked through the record boxes that had been inaccessible to me earlier. (By now, the sparse crowd was down to a trickle of die-hards.) Country yielded a couple of collections by Del Reeves whose old records are usually hard to find, and priced higher than a gallon of gas during a Middle East crisis. A section at the end of classical labeled ?????, had in it a blaxploitation soundtrack by Booker T. & The MG’s on Stax called Up Tight. Regular readers of this blog know of my affection for soul music and for blaxploitation films. (Clearly the book fair staff does not have anyone who knows anything about music because they also didn’t know where to file records by Jody Watley or Mike Oldfield (yes, it was Tubular Bells). These and many more familiar artists were in that section under the heading ?????.

     My last stop was the Comedy box where I found a Mort Sahl album On Relationships. I never knew Sahl to do anything but political humor, so I decided to pick it up. Of course, one could argue that all relationships are political in nature. In any case, Sahl was one of those comics whose humor was aimed at intellectuals. As there’s little, if any, of that kind of humor around today, I thought it might be a good listen.

     So the take turned out to be 9 books, and 13 records. Adding the three bucks for the Pepsi and hot dog, my wallet was all of 29 dollars lighter. You might be able to beat that, but I doubt it.

     I promised the wife I’d pick up some fast food and bring it home – before the government sucks all that tasty trans fat out of it. I got in line at the McDonald’s drive thru behind a Honda van sporting a pair of bumper stickers, the first of which read, “Jesus Is The Answer” while the second chimed in with “God Rules – Always Has, Always Will”. I had a lot of time to memorize more than the bumper stickers because this vanload of morons couldn’t decide what they wanted to eat. I came very close to getting out of my car and going up to them and telling them that if they didn’t make up their mind and place their order within the next 10 seconds, they were going to be seeing Jesus a lot sooner than they’d planned.

     So, the 2013 fair was a good one. Next year, though, we’ll just order a pizza when I get home.

©2013

[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

[semisgroupie]

Diamonds Are a Girl’s Best Friend

Sugar Daddy!Nanami Kento X College Student!Female Reader

Warnings: age gap, dumbification, degredation, unprotected sex (don’t be silly wrap your willy), creampie, car sex, hints at a corruption kink, daddy kink, use of a vibrator, mean dom Nanami, dom/sub dynamics, public sex, light spit play, use of the word “cunny”, overstimulation

Word Count: 3.6k words

This is my contribution to the Ditzy n Diamonds collab check out everyone else’s amazing work!! A huge huge huge thank you to @aransangel​ for allowing me to participate. Enjoy!

Kento wasn’t a lonely man. He had his fair share of women in his life but they were always after his money. He would go into a relationship and they expect him to buy them the moon and the night sky after one date. Always wanting to go on shopping sprees and wanting to be spoiled. So he took himself out of the dating scene. 

Until one day his friend offered a sugar daddy website to use. Kento had more money than he could keep track of, being the head of two Fortune 500 companies he had the cash rolling in. So he decided to just join it, not like he was going to find someone worth his time or money until he stumbled across your profile. 

You weren’t like any of the other girls on the website. You looked so innocent, so soft and so pure. He messaged you immediately after going through your profile. You were so open about everything he asked you and you were able to keep a conversation. 

You never thought you’d find yourself looking for a sugar daddy, you were in your second year of college and the little job you had was not enough to pay rent, tuition, buy food and buy textbooks. When telling your roommate you’d be late on paying your half of the rent for the third month in a row she recommended you’d look for a sugar daddy.

She helped set your profile up, putting the right pictures and making the bio perfect for older men looking to spoil a sweet girl like you. It was going well at first then you hit a snag, the men were too old or had too many rules or wanted too much for the first meeting. Then you received a message from Nanami Kento. 

You looked through his profile and he was perfect, being in his late 40s, extremely attractive and his first message wasn’t anything creepy. He genuinely wanted to get to know you. So when he offered to set up your first meeting a week after getting to know each other you jumped at the chance. 

It went amazing and when your allowance started flowing in it was even better. He got you your own penthouse apartment in one of the buildings he bought making it rent free for you. The first night you moved in he fucked you in every room and on every piece of furniture, making you scream and cream around his cock over and over again. 

That was two years ago, that was when you first started the arrangement. A year in he asked to change the title of your relationship wanting you to be his and only his, not like you already weren’t. He still spoiled you senseless, keeping your allowance and when you were a good girl he gave you a little bonus.

Tonight you were his date to a masquerade ball that one of his friends were hosting. Kento was helping you into the corset that went with your dress. A dress he bought for you of course.

“You look so beautiful princess and you haven’t even put the dress on yet. Ready for me to tighten this corset?”

You nodded making Kento tsk.

“What does daddy say about using your words?”

“I’m sorry daddy, I am ready for you to tighten it daddy.”

“Good girl, now breathe in for me and let me know if it’s too tight or hurting you.”

“Yes daddy.”

You inhaled and he tightened the strings on the back of the corset, hugging your curves and making your tits pop out making Kento eye them hungrily. His hands moving up and down your waist and hips moving them back to grab at your ass. 

“Daddy! We can’t do this now, the party will start at 8 and we can’t be late. You hate being late.”

He reached up squishing your face between his fingers bringing you face to face with him.

“Don’t tell daddy what he likes and don’t tell him what he can and can’t do silly little girl.”

“’m showwy daddy” you spoke with your cheeks still being squished. 

“Good, now lets get this dress on you.” 

You pouted because you’d have to redo your makeup. Kento slipping the dress up your body, zipping it and grabbing your tits from behind. You sat down in front of your vanity reapplying your makeup while Kento was fixing his tux. Once you were done you slipped on your heels and grabbed your purse while Kento grabbed your masks. 

He escorted you arm in arm to his car, a black Bugatti Chiron Super Sport 300+ the leather interior, a dark cherry red, matching the dress you were wearing. He helped you inside the vehicle and went to the drivers side. 

“Babygirl do me a favor and look in the glovebox for me?”

He would often get you gifts every time you went out, little surprises under your car seat or the trunk or in the glovebox. He watched you open the glovebox and pull out two boxes. One rectangular box and one small box. You opened the smaller box first, your eyes widened at its contents. 

“Daddy what do you want me to do with this?”

In your hand was a small black egg vibrator.

“Are you that clueless my dumb baby? Open your legs and take that vibrator and put it inside you.”

“But daddy my dress.”

“The dress has a slit so use that to slip your hand to that sweet pussy and insert the vibrator inside you.”

You did as he told you, thankful he bought a dress with a slit high enough for you to do it. You turned to him for his next command but you got nothing, just as you were about to open your mouth the vibrations started. 

“Daddy! H-how did you—ah—do that?”

“Is my little baby so stupid to realize I had the remote for it? Now we’re going to see how many orgasms can be pulled from you until we get there—if we get there.”

“D-daddy w-what do you mean?”

“I-if I don’t end up p-p-pulling over to f-f-fuck you. Now open the other box.” 

His mocking would hurt any other girl but not you. You loved when he treated you like a brainless slut. You opened the rectangular box inside a beautiful ankle bracelet with his initials on it and covered in diamonds. He only bought you diamonds because they signified light and it was fitting for you since you’re the light of his life. He increased the vibrations to the highest setting knowing you would cum immediately.

“This is—fuck—so beautiful t-thank you dad—fuck I’m cumming daddy fuck fuck!”

He lowered the vibrations back to the lowest setting after your orgasm you leaned down and clasped the ankle bracelet on your left ankle. Kento started the car bringing the vibrations up again. 

“Don’t mess up the leather in my car, I just bought this last week. You should remember that since you were beside me as I signed off on it. But you probably forgot since I fucked you brainless afterwards.”

You nodded dumbly not even listening to a word he said. About halfway to the party and many orgasms for you later Kento made a turn into a secluded parking lot. 

“D-daddy what are—shit—what are you d-doing?”

“Use your brain princess.”

You stood silent completely forgetting about what he told you at the start of the ride. His laughter filled the car and he shut off the vibrator, a sigh of relief leaving your lips. 

“My dumb little girl, I am going to fuck you now. Then I am going to take you to one of the hotels I have a share in and fuck you in the president’s suite. Got that?”

“But the party.”

“Fuck the party, with the amount of times you squirted and orgasmed around that toy you ruined the dress. Unless you want to go with soaked panties and your slick running down your legs.”

You shook your head no.

“Now go in the backseat so I could fuck you. Hearing your moans and pleas made me so fucking hard.”

Before moving to the backseat you took a quick look at the bulge he was palming over his pants. He followed you to the backseat and laid you down along the cushions. He scrunched the dress up to your hips and pulled your panties off you throwing it to the side. 

“Fuck baby such a mess. What a dirty dirty girl.”

“Daddy stop, it’s embarrassing!”

You tried closing your legs to cover up but a quick pinch to your thigh made you open back up for him. 

“Don’t tell me what to do and what not to do dumb slut” he grabs your face with one hand bringing it close to his, his breath fanning your face the smell of mint filling your senses, “and don’t fucking dare try to keep me away from what’s mine, got that?”

“Yesh daddy” you spoke with your cheeks still being squished a small tinge of pain beginning but it turned you on even more.

He let go of your face and you went back down, as he undid his belt and pants he just stared at your pussy. Your winking hole made his cock throb. 

“Oh my dumb baby’s cunny is making such a mess. It’s going on my leather seats too” his condescending tone made you clench around nothing again, more of your juices leaking out. To say you loved when he baby talked you would be an understatement, “What did I fucking tell you about my leather seats?”

“I don’t remember daddy.” 

“You’re that fucking dense? Too busy thinking about getting stuffed with daddy’s cock to think about anything else. How fucking selfish. Wow you’re selfish, stupid and a cockslut. How lucky am I?”

Before you could say anything back, apologize for making a mess on his expensive leather seats, he thrusted his length inside you. Your back arched and you felt yourself having another orgasm.

“I haven’t even started fucking you yet and you’re creaming around my cock. Dirty fucking whore, all you’re thinking about is my cock. Look at that facial expression so fucking lewd, you look like a pornstar. Is that what you are? My little pornstar?”

He lifted your legs and wrapped them around his waist as he started thrusting into your gummy walls with a newfound speed. You weren’t sure what was turning you on more whether if it was the fact the two of you were in public or the words leaving his mouth or maybe both. 

“Fuck your cunny is so tight baby, I fuck you almost every day but you’re still so tight for me. Like your pussy is molded to my cock.”

“D-daddy feels—ngh—feels—ah fuck daddy!”

“Can’t even finish your fucking sentence, is there even a brain in your head or do you just think with your body? What am I even paying the college for? Obviously not your education, my sweet little dummy.”

“Daddy! Too m-mean!”

Tears were threatening to spill out from a mix of the degradation and how hard and fast he was fucking you. Just using you as his personal toy.

“Oh I’m t-t-too mean? Too fucking bad. Now open your mouth and stick your tongue out for me.”

You did as he told you and Kento leaned down his face hovering over yours as he collected the spit in his mouth to spit into your own. Once you felt it hit your tongue you clenched around him again.

“Fuck you’re gonna make me cum. I’m gonna fill you up baby.”

“Daddy please need your cum. Need it please please.”

You were babbling pleas as he gripped your hips and relentlessly pounded into you. His heavy balls clapping against your ass over and over, he looked down and the translucent white ring around his cock and it drove him mad. Someone as beautiful as a goddess letting a man like him be with you so intimately.

“Fuck baby I’m cumming—fuck!”

He held your hips close to his as ropes of his cum filled you. He leaned down and kissed you as you both let your bodies relax. He pulled out of you and shoved two of his fingers inside your pussy.

“Don’t want to let any of this leave you, want you to be nice and filled with this load until we get to the hotel. Get your rest because we have a long night ahead of us.”

“Mkay daddy.”

He pulled his fingers out of your pussy and tapped your cheek. You opened your mouth and he shoved his fingers inside feeling your warm tongue swirl around them collecting every drop of cum. He pulled his fingers out of your mouth and adjusted his pants.

He looked at you one last time before going back behind the steering wheel. You looked so fucked out and in bliss.

“Remember don’t fuck up my seats any more.”

The drive to the hotel was quick, well since Kento was going double the speed limit. You brought out this side of him that made him feel like a teenager again. He just wanted to fuck you everywhere and as much as he could.

“We’re here now. Let’s see if you listened to me again or if you were too fucked out to acknowledge what I said.”

He got out of the driver's seat and opened the door to the back of the car. He leaned in and looked at your pussy.

“Tch, messy little girl. I should make you clean this shit up. Yeah make you clean it up like the nasty cum slut you are.”

“Daddy I’m sorry, didn’t mean to make a mess.”

“Of course, now get out. We’re going to the president's suite and that pretty little anklet I got you is going to be jingling right next to my ear as I pound your sweet pussy.”

You nodded and made your way out of the car. You could barely walk from all the orgasms you had, your legs felt like noodles. Kento made his way next to you wrapping an arm around your waist as you both walked to the front desk.

“Hello Mr. Nanami, here are the room keys and the champagne is in the room on ice. Please enjoy your stay.”

As he took the keys your eyebrows furrowed trying to put everything together but your brain was like mush. As you two made it to the elevator you heard a deep chuckle from Kento.

“I can see the gears turning in your head. Maybe it’s a little more than your brain can comprehend but I planned this beforehand. Satoru throws parties like that all the time so we’ll have another night to party.”

You nodded and went inside the elevator with him. As you two went up the floors his hand on your waist traveled south until he reached the curve of your ass giving it a nice squeeze, leaving it there until you two reached your floor. He led you out the elevator and into the room. 

Once the door shut he was on you, grabbing at the fabric of the dress pulling it down and off of you as he placed sloppy kisses along your lips, jaw and neck. Once your dress was off he untied the corset practically ripping it off your body.

“Oh looks like I forgot your panties in the car. Not like you needed them anyways.”

He took your bra off you and walked you to the king sized bed, gently pushing you on it while he undressed. Your hand roamed on its own down your body to your clit rubbing gentle circles until Kento reached down and pulled your hand away.

“Are you serious? Can’t wait for me to pull my fucking boxers down before touching that messy pussy? If you want pleasure so bad” he pulled your legs putting them on his shoulders as he kneeled on the bed. “I’ll give you all the pleasure you need.”

He lined up with your glistening entrance and thrusted inside you, his cum mixed with your slick acting as lube. He held the backs of your knees and thrusted into you, hitting even deeper than before. Your mewls and whines echoing throughout the room. Your mouth falling open, saliva spilling from the corners of your mouth and your eyes roll to the back of your head feeling his cock enter you over and over again.

“Fuck look at you. Like a desperate whore in heat. When I first met you, you were this cute little thing so innocent then once you got a taste of my cock you turned into a braindead slut. I wonder how your friends would react to you fucking a man that’s old enough to be your father. Your little cunny is leaking all over my cock, all my cum leaving you but don’t worry I’ll fill you up more.”

You closed your eyes and opened them again looking at Kento. Your gaze went to the ankle bracelet he got you, the small charm with his initials dangling and moving with each rough thrust. Your gaze turned back to Kento, his lip between his teeth, his normally perfectly styled hair falling out of place, strands of blonde and white hair sticking to his forehead.

Kento brought his thumb to your mouth and you wrapped your lips around it, your tongue swirling around it, getting it slick with your saliva. You let go of his thumb with a soft pop and he brought it down to your clit rubbing small circles on it giving the right amount of pressure.

“Daddy, daddy please gonna cum! Please please please.”

He gave a particularly hard thrust brushing against your g-spot sending you head first into an orgasm. Your back arching and a loud moan leaving your lips. He kept thrusting into you brushing against your g-spot over and over again your sensitive pussy couldn’t handle all the pleasure.

“Daddy p-please slow d-down, too much too much, too sen-sensitive!”

“Too bad, you’re gonna keep cumming on my cock until I fill you up. I don’t care how s-s-sensitive you are.”

His mocking made you clench around him again. His thrusts were keeping their roughness and speed. He pushed your legs further back and looked down to where you two were connected. The burn from the stretch adding to the pleasure he was giving you.

“Fuck baby this slutty little cunny is just swallowing my cock.”

He tapped at your clit a couple of times, the rough pads of his fingers mixed with the continuous brushing of his cock against your g-spot brought you to another orgasm. Your manicured nails running down his arms leaving red scratch marks in their wake. A moan of ‘daddy’ leaving you as the aftershocks of pleasure coursed through you.

“Let’s see if we could get you to one more orgasm before I fill you up.”

You nodded the only word you acknowledged being ‘orgasm’. He rode you through your orgasm his grip on your legs getting tighter likely going to leave marks. Kento leaned down and took one of your nipples into his mouth swirling his tongue around it, nipping and sucking then moving his head to show your other nipple the same attention.

His pelvis rubbing against your clit with each thrust, the roughness of his trimmed pubic hair sending waves of pleasure throughout your body. Your hands went through his hair scratching at his scalp.

“Gonna cum for me? I’m gonna cum too, cum for me baby and I’ll give you my cum.”

You weakly moved your hips gaining more friction and Kento kept his mouth on your nipples. Your back arched as you hit your peak again that night, the feeling should be familiar with how many you had that night but it just rippled through your body. Your pussy clenching around his cock and your nails running along his scalp sent Kento into his orgasm. He painted your walls white for the second time that night.

Heavy labored breaths filled the room, once Kento finished he pulled out of you some of his cum followed leaking out of you onto the sheets. He laid next to you and held you close to him both of your limbs intertwining with each other. He placed a kiss on the top of your head.

“I’m sorry about the seats daddy.”

“Don’t worry about the seats princess, I’ll send it to get cleaned tomorrow. Just remember while I say those mean things to you I don’t mean a word, you’re a smart, beautiful young lady and I love you.”

You lifted your head to look at his face, worry was spread across his face, his crows feet and small wrinkles on his face deepened as he looked at you.

“I know daddy! I love you too! Love you so much Kento.”

He leaned down, cupping your face with one of his hands as he placed a kiss to your lips. A small smile on his face as he pulled away.

“Good, now rest up baby we have quite a long weekend ahead of us. This hotel has a private pool and I want to fuck you there.”

“Daddy! I don’t even have a bathing suit and I doubt I’ll be able to move without being sore tomorrow.”

“We’ll worry about your soreness tomorrow and don’t worry about the bathing suit, we’ll go shopping for some and you’ll get whatever you desire, it’s not like you’ll need it anyways.”

Kento traced small shapes on your back as you fell asleep and soon fatigue hit him as he fell asleep right after you.

[cookieswithay]

A visit to Orihime's house. (🧡Contains Ichihime,some swearing, and slight suggestive themes🧡)

*Ichigo's pov* About a week ago, I went to Orihime's house for the first time. When I say the first time, I mean by myself.(A few months ago, I asked her out.) So we were trying out all sorts of dates. (They've all been successful😏) This time, I was heading to her house for tea. But, I planned on suprising her with a new cake I bought. (Since Orihime works at a bakery, she knows every cake flavor) I was busy fixing my jacket, when I heard a familiar annoying voice. "Ichigo! Your seriously going to Orihime's house!?" It was Kon. Ever since we started dating, Kon's started desperately trying to go with me. Everywhere. "It's a no." I said flatly. I didn't have time for that. "Godammit, Ichigo!" Kon yelled. "You never take me anywhere!" I scoffed. "What kind of idiot would walk around with a stuffed bear?" I said. (I'm 18 years old, for god's sake.) He huffed. "Why can't you just tell Orihime I'm a stuffed bear you bought her!" He shouted. That's when I started getting pissed. "That way, I can finally be squished in between her massive-" Before he could finish his sentence, I stomped on him. "Your not gonna do jack-shit." I said through clenched teeth. He was shouting other things, but I couldn't understand him. That's when I remembered something. I glanced down at my watch. It was 1:00. I was supposed to be at Orihime's place 12. I grabbed the cake and zipped down the stairs. .

*Orihime's pov*

I was so nervous at the time. I was pacing back and forth, wondering what could be taking Ichigo so long. Was it a hollow? His sisters? A kungfu rabbit? I couldn't pick one. I didn't know if he was in trouble or lost track of time. That is, until I heard the doorbell ring. I opened the door to Ichigo. A out of breath, sweating Ichigo. (I still hope he didn't see how red my face got) "Orihime," he said through breaths. "Yeah?" I said. My heartbeat was getting quicker by a minute. (I'm gonna be honest, seeing Ichigo like this. Opened my eyes to whole new world of attractiveness) "Suprise." He said holding a white box. I wasn't sure what it was, until a sweet scent hit my nose. "Is this the new apple crumble cake, I saw?!" I know that aroma anywhere. Ichigo smiled and nodded. Then muttered 'So much for a surprise' I laughed to myself and grabbed his hand. "Come on in, I bought a new candle!" I said pulling him inside. In a way, it was a good thing Ichigo was late. The sun ended up shining right in my window! (Perfect lighting!🤩)

*Ichigo's pov*

When I walked in, a blast of Caribbean peach hit my nose. (I was at the store with her when she bought it) Her livingroom looked alot different than I remembered. Sure, I was only there once, but it looked completely remodeled. "Nice place you got here." I said. 'Was that too casual?' I wondered. She gave me a cute smile. "Thank you, Tatsuki and Keigo decorated it for my birthday." She said, twirling a bit. I chuckled, and sat down. (Keigo?) Then Orihime grabbed my arm. "Oh, we're not sitting here." Huh? "We're going to my room!" She said smiling again. (Well, she's always smiling when I'm around😏) Embarrassingly, my face did turn red. "Y-your room?" I repeated. She nodded and offered her hand to me. I inhaled and grabbed her hand. Apparently, Tatsuki redesigned her room as well. My heart pounded when a picture of me and her on Orihime's night stand. While I was admiring the picture, Orihime was setting up. "Ichigo," She said. "Yes?" I said putting the picture back. "Here's your pillow!," she said passing me a mint green pillow. "I'll be back with the tea." Before I could reply, she said dashed out of the room.

*Orihime's pov*

I slowly closed the door. (Well after I saw Ichigo sit down) I took a breath, and squealed. I couldn't help it, Ichigo was actually in my room! I'm covered my mouth, but couldn't help but giggle. This was really happening. I skipped to the kitchen, feeling better than ever. When I grabbed the tea tray, I started to remember Tatsuki's boyfriend tips. Bring to the room, talk,... what else did she say? I couldn't remember at the time (or now😅) so I decided to shrug it off. Unfortunately, I couldn't skip back, since I didn't want be break anything. After somehow opening the door with my foot, I was ready. "Ichigo, I got the tea!" I said gleefully. My voice immediately cut off when I saw Ichigo. His face was stuffed into one of my teddy bears. I had to stifle the laugh in my throat. What was he doing that for? When he pulled his face out, he was breathing hard again. "It smells just like her." He muttered before putting his face back into its stomach. This was a bit much for my heart. (And my arms were starting to hurt) I cleared my throat. "Well it is my favorite to hug." I said, startling Ichigo.

*Ichigo's pov*

The moment I heard Orihime's voice, I tossed the bear aside. (She simply smiled at me.) Since I didn't have a believable excuse, I quickly changed the subject. "Lemme get that for you." I said standing up. "I got it." She insisted. As usual, I took it from her anyway. As I set the tray down on the table, my foot nearly slipped from under me. Luckily, I braced myself, but that didn't stop me from letting a few cuss words fly. Like anytime I swore, Orihime snickered. (I still don't why she thinks it's funny) After getting situated, Orihime poured the tea, and I was gonna cut the cake. That is until I saw the whole thing was crumbled. On instinct, I slapped my hand against my forehead. (I don't what I expected, I ran pretty fast) "Something wrong, Ichigo?" Orihime asked, pressing her shoulder against mine. I didn't say anything, just pointed at the cake. She looked at it and then back at me. My face reddened a bit. Why was she staring at me? "Ichigo," she said. I braced for impact. "Did you run all the way here?" Wait... how'd she know?

*Orihime's pov*

From his expression, I was right. ( They were leaves in his hair🤭) Ichigo's cheeks turned red and he looked away. Which made me feel bad. I didn't mean to poke fun, I was honestly asking a question! I hugged onto Ichigo's arm. "But, I'm sure it still tastes good." I said, hoping that'd cheer him up. He turned and smiled. "Only one way to find out."

After alot of cutting, we finally managed to get 3 pieces. (1 for Ichigo, 2 for me) Unfortunately, most of the apples fell of the cake, so Ichigo asked if I wanted one. It was whipped cream on the apples, so of course I said yes. He grabbed one, motioned to me to bring my plate over. But, I opened my mouth instead. (Something Tatsuki said I should do) "What are doing?" He asked, with a confused smile. I pointed at my mouth. He chuckled and placed the whipped cream covered apple in my mouth. When Ichigo pulled his hand away, I remembered something. Tatsuki told me to bite down on his fingers! "Shoot!" I accidentally said out loud.

*Ichigo's pov*

Uh, wait? Did she break her tooth, or something? (Believe me, it happens) "Are you okay?" I asked. I was gonna worried. Her cheeks turned red. "I'm fine!" She said. "I just bit my tongue." She said looking elsewhere. I kinda had the feeling she was lying, but didn't press the subject. As long as she's okay. I laughed in my throat. "Does it taste good?" She nodded. After eating in silence for awhile, Orihime crawled up on her bed. I was content with the pillow, until she patted the spot next to her. So I got and sat next to her. Unfortunately, I didn't know her blankets poofed up her bed, so I nearly felt into it. Orihime laughed and kissed me on the cheek. Which made me blush. "That's not funny." I said under my breath. "It was too, Ichigo!" She said. "You were all 'Holy crap!'" She said imitating the way I fell. Not gonna lie, it did look really funny, but I didn't want to let her know that. "Alright, alright, stop it." I said starting to laugh. Which immediately cut off when I saw Orihime stuck her tongue out at me. That's it. Time for revenge.

*Orihime's pov*

I was busy having a laugh, when I felt Ichigo's hands on my waist. "Ichigo-" my voice cut off. He started tickling me! I burst into laughter. This wasn't fair. I tried to get away, but he laid me down. (Still tickling me🤭) "Hold still, geez." Ichigo said with a big smile. I was having fun, until Ichigo brought his hands up further. Which did tickle. But in a completely different way. I had to stop him. I intended to move my hands, but moved my leg. Right into Ichigo's *ehem* (😶) We froze. He inhaled sharply, and spoke. "All you had to do was say stop." He said in a weak voice. "I'm sorry!" I said. What kinda girlfriend knees her boyfriend in the treasures? He simply shrugged it off. (Although his eyes looked wet) A laugh started to build in my throat, but I stifled it. But the more I thought about it, the funnier it got. Ichigo must've noticed me wavering, because he stared into my eyes. "Don't laugh, I'm in pain." That got me. I burst into laughter again. I couldn't help it. Apparently, Ichigo couldn't either, because he started to laugh with me. After a few more minutes of laughing, we stopped for air. It immediately got hard to breathe, Ichigo's chest was pressed against mine! Unfortunately, this led to me thinking about the other stuff pressed against me. "Orihime." He said, pulling me from my thoughts.

*Ichigo's pov*

My heart was beating like crazy. I stared into her beautiful brown eyes. Before I could stop myself, I kissed her. (We've only kissed a few times) When I pulled away, Orihime's face was red. Once again, my body moved on its own. It's not like I didn't want to kiss her, I just wondered why I felt like I had to. I pulled to breathe and then continued. In the middle of it, I felt Orihime's arms wrapped around my back. I felt a shiver up my spine. That's when I finally realized what might be happening. I raised up. "Orihime." I said, through breaths. "Can... I continue?" I asked, starting to tug on my sweater. She blushed and nodded. I smiled and laid her back down. Right before I got started, Orihime's phone rang. Let's just say, it scared the hell out of the both of us. I got up so she could get her phone. Turns out, it was Tatsuki. Figures. After Orihime rushed Tatsuki, there was a awkward silence in the room. "Um," She thought for a second. "So, Tatsuki and Keigo will be here in a bit, so..." Her voice trailed off. "Mm." I simply nodded.

I wanted to ask her she wanted if wanted to "finish up", but my throat felt closed.

*Orihime's pov*

I wanted to say something, but I couldn't find the right words. So I simply used body language. I walked over to the bed and hugged him. I stroked his hair. His arms curled around my back. "Maybe next time?" I offered. Sure, the mood was perfect right now but they'll be other chances. ...Right? He chuckled. "It's a date, then." I sighed of relief. I was so glad he wasn't mad. That's when something struck me. "Ichigo," I said. "Do you think Tatsuki and Keigo are dating?" Ichigo's eyes widened. He probably didn't think of it before🤭

The end🧡

*Extra*

The moment they walked in, I was onto Keigo. I simply slung my arm over his shoulder and smiled. "So, Keigo, how've you been?" I was trying to fake the friendliness, but apparently the real was showing. "Uh, I've been fine." He answers, looking for way to escape. "Muziro isn't still stealing your girls, is he?" I said, starting to hint. "Nope, not at all." Now I knew he was lying. Only a few girls are immune to Muziro. I was about a ask another question, when Tatsuki cut me off. "Let him go Ichigo." She said in a stern tone. I immediately pulled my arm away. (Tatsuki was still scary as ever) Keigo sighed. "Whew, thanks, babe." The whole room stopped. Tatsuki blushed, Keigo slapped his hand over his mouth, and me and Orihime were in shock. I inhaled and started cracking up. "Shut up, Ichigo!" Tatsuki said, blushing. Orihime simply stared at Keigo. (Who buried his face in a pillow) I'm on the other hand, couldn't laughing. "Of all the guys, you chose Keigo!?" I said through laughs. She frowned and clenched her fist. Before I knew it, I was whacked in the face with a pillow. Looming over me was Tatsuki. "Don't you ever talk about him like that!" She said while tapping her elbow. Holy shit.

[landinrris]

A few of my mutuals have done this in the past, and starting the new year off (since we're still in January) I wanted to have some accountability for myself while working on WIPs. Some accountability from me and a bit of content for those who are interested.

To start off, this week's bit is from the first chapter that's part three of the Taste My Disaster mini verse (a.k.a. "uni au part 3" and "sleeping with other people part 3").

---

The meeting is full of the same people who have been here the last two times. The same watery coffee and store-bought cookies sit on the foldable table off to the side of the audience of foldout chairs. 

They’re in the rec hall of a church down on the lower west side— which means it’s basically the room every after-hours meeting gets held. Anywhere from monthly women’s club meetings to the local Girl Scouts chapter. Tonight, it plays host to the illustrious tales of self-proclaimed sex addicts.

One of the reasons Carlos doesn’t mind coming to these meetings occasionally is that they don’t require everyone to speak. The lectern is pretty much an open mic to vent one’s gripes about any and everything after the chairman says a few opening remarks. A few usual suspects can always be counted on to speak with a smattering of newer people as well. 

Carlos listens politely enough. His phone remains in his pocket, and he only dissociates a small bit when the speaker starts going off on an unrelated tangent (he’s surprised how often it happens given the number of times he’s been here).

And then suddenly, Carlos is looking up and sees a ghost seated diagonally from him and three rows up. A ghost with dark curly hair that’s styled up from his forehead sitting there with his arms crossed over his chest and sunken into the chair— like he’s trying to hide from the rest of the room. He’s familiar in a way that unnerves Carlos— in a way that makes his blood freeze in his veins and his stomach drop out from beneath him. The guy adjusts his shoulders and reaches up to scratch at the edge of his eyebrow closest to Carlos with the tip of his index finger. 

Up at the front at the lectern, the guy ranting on about a Tinder date has launched into a bit about his feelings and miscommunication, but towards the back of the room, Carlos’ brain finally clicks in a rather mortifying way. 

The name pops into his mind so abruptly that he nearly screams because how could he forget. How could he forget that the guy sitting three rows up diagonal to him is Lando. Lando Norris. The one-night stand from the Spring of his first year as a master’s student that turned into so much more. Lando, who he spent the next year with before having to go home to Spain with his newly minted master’s in Sports Management while Lando stayed behind to finish his bachelor’s degree. 

Lando, with whom Carlos tried to make it work long distance— and succeeded for a time— before time differences and meeting other people eventually got in the way. Lando, who Carlos guiltily realizes now, he hasn’t thought about in a few years. 

Carlos’ heart lurches in his chest at the memories that come flooding back, at the pictures buried deep in his iCloud that he could probably still find fairly easily. Hell, if he digs through his box of documents and school things from back then, he could probably find a picture or two that Lando had printed out for them to have. 

His throat feels tight then, his eyes pricking at the edges with what feels suspiciously like tears. There is no way he’s doing this right now— no way he’s getting emotional over a relationship that more or less mutually ended almost ten years ago. Carlos pinches the skin between his thumb and forefinger with his nails to pull his mind away from thoughts of the past. 

Thirty-four-year-olds don’t get emotional at Sex Addicts Anonymous meetings about their graduate school boyfriends.

[finelinevogue]

Hi can you write wondering about Harry proposing! Do you think it would be angsty like Harry is being all secretive and detached until the reader confronts him and he tells the truth or do you think it would be complete fluff or maybe he proposes during sex?? I have no idea. You’re just a great writer so I know you can do it.

ok i actually have a cute idea for this so if you’re a tea lover stick with it ;)

You were a tea addict.

Green, lemon, breakfast, Yorkshire, PG Tips; you name it and you had an addiction for it. It was your can’t-live-without drink.

You’d always have a cup of Yorkshire tea in the morning to start to the day, which was often brought up to you via your loving boyfriend Harry - who was up earlier than always necessary - and then you’d have green tea in the afternoon, and finally you’d have another tea in the evening to send you sleep. It was an addiction, maybe… You loved it so much though and were ridiculously grouchy without it.

It was known that you liked it so much to the point where that’s what people would buy you for your birthday. Tea sets or mugs or spoons or pots. In fact, you got a tea tasting afternoon as a gift once and it was the most wonderful day because it was filled with your two favourite things - tea and Harry. Harry had then took you out for another afternoon to a Paint-A-Pot shop, where you got to paint an item of your choice. You both chose to paint individual tea mugs and then also painted a tea pot together. It was the best date activity he’d ever come up with. He was in love with the worlds biggest tea addict and he knew it.

In fact, he was so in tune with the fact you loved tea that he was walking into the room right now with your steaming hot mug of Yorkshire tea.

“Good morning gorgeous.” Harry smiled when he saw your eyes faintly open, watching him cross your bedroom. The covers were up to your nose and your hair was definitely a mess, but he didn’t quite with the compliments.

He had a cup of tea for him, too, in his hands, because you’d managed to get him hooked.

“Hello handsome.” You chuckled, sitting up in bed, bringing the duvet up with you to cover your bare chest and taking the cup from his hands. “Thank you.”

“How are you feeling today?”

Harry clambered into bed next to you, laying his body on top of the covers. He was only in his boxers and a necklace - a necklace in which you had made for him when you were bored one weekend. He had made you a bracelet and you had made him a necklace. It was made out of an array of rainbow beads and a little extra pearl bead that had your first initial engraved into it.

“Tired.”

“I’m not surprised after last night.”

“You didn’t have to be so rough.” You took your first sip from your tea, loving that first burn onto your lips and tongue from the hot water.

“Wait, baby, was I really that rough?” Harry asked quickly, putting down his mug on the table to give you his undivided attention. He turned on his side, and you used one of your free hands to play with the necklace you’d gifted him.

“No,” you spoke softly, “no, you were perfect.” You pulled him in by his necklace to give him a kiss, it tasting like mint and tea.

“I love you.” He whispered against his lips, and giving him a few extra pecks to affirm that you felt the same way.

Harry moved away to pick up his tea, and his phone to check his daily notifications. He’d turned off all his social media notifications so he didn’t have to worry about them, but he did turn on all notifications for you on those apps. He hated to miss when you posted something. He would always pride himself on being the first like and the first comment. He loved that it was usually him that had taken the photos or him that had made you laugh in that particular photo. His notifications normally consisted of work messages from Jeff or messages from his mum reminding him to wish a family member ‘happy birthday’.

“Anything important today?” You always asked him this question, in case it affected you or Harry just needed someone to talk to about a certain issue. You took a few more sips as he began talking.

“Mum’s just bought a new cat and sent me about 30 photos of them! My grandad’s sent me my joke of the day and Jeff’s sent me some information I need to read over for tour.”

“A new cat ooh show me the photos!”

“I’ll send them to you.”

You smiled so brightly when the photos came through, drinking the rest of your tea so that you could spend your time looking at the newest addition to the Styles’ family.

But you couldn’t.

“Harry…”

“Yes my love?” He asked, with a smirk to his face.

“Wha—”

“Hmm?”

You blinked back the tears in your eyes, making sure you were reading the bottom of your mug right, lips parted slightly from shock.

“You...”

“Mhm?” He prompted you.

“Yes.” You answered. “Yes, yes, fucking yes!”

“Yes?” Harry laughed in shock, putting his stuff on the side of the table, as did you, in preparation for you leaping on him. You landed with a grunt from him and wasted no time planting your lips on his. You deepened your kiss with him, pushing your lips and your whole body into him. Your hips grounded down, making him grunt in sexual frustration. “Wait, wait.”

He stopped you both and reached over to the drawer, making you pout from being without his warmth. He pulled out a royal blue velvet box and opened it up in front of you, making you gasp in awe. It was the most perfect ring you’d seen. It was simple and beautiful. You couldn’t get over how he’d chosen so perfectly.

“Harry it’s beautiful.”

“Yeah I thought so too.” He smiled, reaching for your left hand to slide it onto your ring finger. “Sits beautifully there too.”

You couldn’t waste a second more to not have his lips on yours, so you you dove down and captured his plump lips to yours. You could feel the love bursting from his cherry lips, filling you up and making you fee so warm.

“When did you do all this?” You asked breathlessly, taking a moment away from his lips and kissing down his jaw and neck.

“Went back to that paint a pot thing, didn’t I? I had the idea the other day to combine tea and me for the proposal and this was the best way to do it! Was it alright? I can do it again if—”

You cut him off with your lips before he said something he didn’t mean. “It was perfect.” Your tears were trickling down your face in patterns.

“You are perfect, future Mrs Styles.”

“I’ve always been future Mrs Styles.” You cockily added to the moment, making him chuckle into a stretch.

“And now you have a ring to prove it.”

[ohheyitsokay]

Home

this all takes place in my poly frontier universe

pairing: triple frontier guys - Will “Ironhead” Miller, Santiago “Pope” Garcia, Francisco (Frankie) “Catfish” Morales, and Ben “Benny” Miller x (f) reader

wordcount: 3k

warnings: obviously a poly relationship, which includes kissing, domestic intimacy with all of them (not just with the reader, but not in-between Will and Ben because nope), mild sexual themes

summary: scenes at the beginning of making a house with five people feel like home

<<

The manicured grass is soft where it peaked around the edges of your sandals. Hands running over the grooves of they key in your pocket, you gaze around the little front yard, mind conjuring daydreams that fit on the weathered porch of the house.

Two bathrooms will be enough right? Your thoughts are running - creating and erasing images of the future, trying to squish them like magic into the home in front of you. The yard is big enough to extend the garage and for plenty of home projects…

Across the fence and a long stretch of field, a woman is hiking her skirts up, making a beeline for you. The neighbor’s house is a considerable distance away, being out in the countryside, but she must have been watching your tour from her garden with interest.

The others had left moments before, Santi promising to come back whenever you were done. After weeks of looking at houses, it became a little ritual of yours, to spend a few minutes looking around without the clutter of wonderful distractions.

“So which one of those strapping young men is your beau?” She asks conspiringly, eyes gleaming. It catches you off guard – the lack of introduction, but she seems harmless enough.

Your smile is equally mischievous, and your head tilts a hair.

“Well, which one do you think?”

The woman considers, boot tip tapping away at her grass. You replay the moments she could’ve seen, which were few, wondering if you’d leaned in any particular direction, and wait.

“Now that I think about it, I haven’t got a clue,” her smile is wide, softer and more genuine than before - polite. “As long as you’re good neighbors,” she explains, “I guess I wouldn’t care if it was one or all of you next door.”

You smile, thanking her as salutations ring in your ears, watching with grateful eyes as she hikes back towards her home. Then you move, wandering through the empty rooms for long, quite minutes before you peak over the fence again. The woman had gone inside, and if you squint you can see who you think is her husband, sleeping with a dog on the porch.

In the other directions, there isn’t a house within a reasonable distance. A knot loosens in your chest, as an unexpected feeling of freedom from judging eyes blooms in its place.

When Santi comes back to pick you up, you take his hand across the console. His skin is warm, and his thumb automatically begins to gently move across your knuckles.

“I think it’s perfect, Pope.”

He looks at you curiously, minding his thoughts for a moment.

“Yeah, love?”

The sun was beginning to set, and you look at the peaceful little home in the rear view mirror, and smile.

“Yeah.”

-

“What?”

“We need to … break in every room.”

“I’m just saying -"

“Oh he’s talking about – wait are you really horny, right now?”

“There are boxes everywhere, idiot.”

You walk in carrying a single plant and a stack of pizzas and the conversation hushes.

“Ah – payment,” Frankie kisses your cheek, moving the plant by the window as Santi clears the table.

Someone makes a quip about it being Santi’s house and you wince, the utopia popping.

“We don’t get paid to move our own stuff, Catfish.” His dark hair is damp with sweat but he seems otherwise unaffected by the hours spent hauling. It was still surreal – that this is actually happening, that this unanimously became a long term desire.

He has the most money and Will has the best credit score, so they bought the house to save you all from questions. The movement isn’t lost on your Ironhead, and he rubs a soothing circle on your shoulder as he reaches for a plate. Of everyone, he was the one who most understood your anxiety – close proximity always led to arguments at first.

“You got lucky,” Benny takes the first slice, accepting a napkin for an additional piece. “You fell in love with a pretty good moving crew.”

“I think so,” you grin, trying to ignore your anxiety. He inhales the food, pulling you into his lap as he bickers with Will about whether or not more needed to get done today.

Eventually Frankie dictates that at the very least some cleaning should be started and the bedding should be unpacked for the evening. The agree with varying degrees of enthusiasm and after a handful of innuendos your loves begin to disperse, too dutiful to let work go unfinished. The bedframe practically builds itself, and a portable speaker makes Santi’s hips twitch as he floats through the half-barren rooms.

When Will rolls his eyes at Frankie’s choice of screw, you duck away, nerves thrumming.

And you wander around, fake cleaning, until you find your Benny clearing pizza plates. Even amongst boxes and bins and old blankets, he could be at a photo shoot. The evening light make his hair look like silk, and his eyes shine like he’s making you promises this very moment.

“I wouldn’t worry too much,” he says, drawing you into his arms as your head tilts. “We spent years in bunks and tents, and we were younger then.”

His chest was warm and you press your cheek to it, nodding. You hadn’t thought he had noticed, how anxious you’d been about the change, but you had been foolish. Even through his shirt, you can feel the thumping of his giant heart, steady as a drumbeat.

Replaying the evening in your mind, you let go of some of your worries, one by one, and he kisses the top of your head. It’s a thoughtful thing, and it never ceases to amaze you how easily he can wrap you around his finger.

“Ben?”

He makes a noise, somewhere between a hum and a grunt.

You pull his face down to yours, kissing him hard. It was a kiss that says you're grateful, and a kiss that says you love him for being… him.

He accepts it eagerly, and tiredness from the day long gone ad he presses hot, open-mouthed kisses to your lips. The world spins and you feel him shove something heavy off the couch before replacing it with you.

The cushions are dusty from everything but he makes space, and you stop caring as he moves on top of you.

The others would find you soon, their instincts kicking in, but you savor it. Benny, pressing into you, kissing you in the evening light.

The beginning of their conversation from earlier blooms in your mind and you grin as his lips trailed down your neck. It suddenly didn’t seem implausible that he planned this.

“Breaking in” aside, this was the first room you where you truly felt like this could be home.

-

You feel his hands gently replace yours on the zipper and you jump a little - he stands just outside the mirror reflection as you watch the skirts around your ankles. Behind you the big bed is made neatly, there’s a ridiculously large closet, and a tangle of phone chargers.

The bedroom: the place that set apart your home from others. The room that housed five individuals, a web of relationships, a miracle of mixed bodies and minds and hearts.

It looks big, behind you.

Warm, daft fingers tie the extra strings, a neat little bow hanging just between your shoulder blades. The silence is thick, weighted with adoration, but when he breaks it, it’s as if he can’t resist.

“You’re beautiful,” he moves closer, kissing your temple and drinking you in. Turning, your heart aches.

Will is in his dress uniform, crisscrossed with crisp lines and newly shined awards. His hair is lighter after the summer, and he tried to comb it neatly to one side. Compliments catch in your throat as you stare and he smiles, turning you gently so he can kiss you properly. His mouth tastes like mint and you can smell hints of his cologne lingering on his skin.

“Look at you,” you murmur, lips still brushing over his. Letting your hands wander over his face, smoothing his eyebrows, you feel almost in awe of him. Still, he flushes, pleased at your reaction.

“Thank you.”

His chuckle is warm, almost raspy as he tries to enjoy the quietness of your conversation, and he shakes his head. Really, you were sure he was thankful that he was been the only one free for your special evening.

“Thank you,” you correct him. “You didn’t have to do any of this.” The dinner, for your job.

In the mirror, he looked like diamonds and sapphires and gold. Will was like an action figure sometimes, solid and sculpted and stoic, but… he was looking at you like you’d hung the stars in the sky.

It made you blink, his eyes sliding over you, pupils just a little more blown than the lighting required - a gentle reset demanding your attention.

Looking back in the mirror for a moment, the room didn’t seem quite as big, or quite as revealing. It was comforting, how out of place the two of you looked, dressed to the nines because… this was your place. The softness surrounded by details perfectly woven into your life.

Turning, you slip your arms around his neck, gently musing his hair, and his eyebrows draw together, accepting, but confused.

And as you tuck your hand into his elbow and step into your heels, you resist the urge to thank him again.

“I like it better like this,” you admit, and he flushes again, beaming. Looking around, you realize you’re actually looking forward to coming home more than you’re excited to leave. It’s a new feeling, in this space with the four of them and it hits you, hard in your chest. Still, the man beside you is unwavering and you let the feeling consume you, knowing that you’re safe.

-

“Frankie, what is that?”

He flinches, nervousness cutting the excitement on his face.

“Rhetorical question,” Santi says, grinning at you. “He got it from a friend who was going to toss it out.”

It’s a hot tub, taking up a decent chunk of your back porch.

“If anyone can make it work like a dream, it’s Catfish.” Will’s tone is matter-of-fact, all honesty and pride.

Your sweet Francisco drops his tool and grabs your hand, his dark eyes big. “¿Cariño, por favor? From me, to you?” You can see his laptop up, replacement parts on saved tabs, and you tiptoe to kiss his cheek. He likes to have projects, needs to have somewhere to do things, fix things, create things. Maybe at one point it was because he liked the distraction, it was a … replacement coping mechanism, if you will, but it became his pride, to use his hands to improve your lives.

It doesn’t take long, two weeks at most, between his job and his loves, and his long list of honey-dos, but he does it.

“Please and thank you,” you say, and when he kisses you, slow and deep and happy, you hear cheers and high-five and you almost can’t kiss him because he’s smiling.

And it takes awhile to fill, (Will thanking the stars that the water bill is reasonable,) and even longer to heat, and then it’s ready. The boys yank on swim trunks, thanking Frankie with enthusiasm, and you watch them sink into the steaming tub with as they sigh.

You have a bathing suit, of course you do, but you pull on one of his work shirts, knowing he won’t mind the chemicals from the water making the stains blur. And you pair of shorts you caught him watching your butt in, thinking of acknowledging his hard work in your own way.

The volume of your bodies makes it overflow, hot water sloshing onto the ground, but it’s bliss. It’s big, and they shout over the bubbles, talking excitedly about the future, and your heart feels warm in your favorite way.

The others leave early, taking loud laughter with them, and it leaves you and your Catfish. You let yourself float, moving right on top of him, and his hands grab at your hips, slipping and sliding over your skin as he kisses you once, twice. Slow.

It’s late – the stars stretch, there’s a bit of a breeze, and there’s not a light on for miles.

“You like it?” his voice is raspy, quiet, intense, but almost shy. Like if you said no it would break him in two.

“Of course I do, Frankie.” He looks pleased, hand absentmindedly running under his shirt and over your side. Even with the heat of the water, his hand feels like socks warmed in the dryer some cold winter morning. Comforting, maybe a little electric.

You let out a long, happy sigh, and settle against him, content to stay with him until you’re pruny.

“I think…. This is exactly what this house needed.” He starts a little, surprised, but it’s not an exaggeration.

There was always work to do and things to change, but it was the first time you looked out, and didn’t feel a twinge of fear, that anyone was looking in. It would’ve felt vulnerable, intimate to be so exposed, but… it was perfect, because he created it for you. Confidence and pride bubble around you, and Frankie’s eyebrows dip as he smiles – understanding.

-

“Yeah.” Its simple, not too hot, not too cold. Just… right.

It feels like… tar and lava, hot and dark and thick, bubbling and sticky and you want to punch something. Or scream, or cry.

Your Pope finds you standing rigid, smudges of flour on your skin and clothes, pans and spatulas strewn.

“Are we out of sugar?” To your credit, you try to keep your voice even, but he knows you better than that.

Santi shakes his head, plucking it from the pantry and looking guilty. Your mind pauses it’s rampage, and you wince, because you should be the one making that apologetic face, not him. Hot tears bubble in your eyes and you hate it, hate that they’re coming for what feels like no reason.

“Baby,” he says, tone pleading, setting the sugar down and reaching for you. The afternoon sun makes his eyes like rich, deep pots of gold, his hair somehow both soft and statuesque.

When he pauses, the tears fall against your will, just two thick drops down your cheeks. His hand encompasses your whole jaw, thumb gentle as it rubs away the saltwater, and he looks a tad helpless.

And there’s understanding in his eyes and through the blur you think maybe it’s pity. He stands, and your heart clenches, knowing he’ll go get Will, or someone because you’re being ridiculous but… he doesn’t.

You’re saying something about how the kitchen is wrong, how it’s been building for days, you’ve been here almost a week and you can’t fucking find anything. Panic and frustration locked horns in your chest and you couldn’t breathe and all you wanted to do was make something nice –

Instead, he’s pulling out things and piling them onto the floor in categories around you. It’s almost comical the stacks he makes but he seems determined and in your confusion the tears slow to a stop.

“Santi –” he hushes you. The cupboard doors hang open, and he guides you, lifting you up and up and into his arms. It’s solid and grounding, and he’s not as tall as the others and you needed him desperately.

And slowly, you begin to put things away where it makes sense, to you, and he helps. Not once does he argue with you, not even a moment when his dark eyebrows knit together in judgement. Dutifully he cleans and places everything just where you tell him, and you can almost feel the steam rising off of you as you begin to cool.

The final pile is a mountain of cloth, aprons and oven mitts and… something you’ve never seen before. Or actually, something you had, just not in your house. A set of hand towels you’d wistfully looked at awhile ago, before talking yourself out of the purchase. You had dozens at this point and didn’t need more but…

The man seating on the floor, folding them into perfect squares, is the answer to the question your mind produces.

You feel like you’ve been hosed down from head to toe, almost cold from the absence of frustration in your blood.

Pushing the pile to the side you climb into his lap, as determined as he was, and he looks surprised. It’s silly: sitting in your lover’s lap on the kitchen floor, but it feels more real than a movie. It’s your kitchen, yours and his, in this moment.

You kiss him, slow and purposeful and –

He knows you like the back of his hand.

-

You’re sitting on the bathroom counter distracting Santi as he shaves when Benny bursts in to tell you a story.

Will trails behind him, patiently waiting for his brother to take a breathe so he can set the record straight. Absentmindedly he weaves between them to pick up a fallen hand towel, passing it to Pope to wipe the shaving cream from his jaw. They share a moment and Benny’s story stutters out. Looking up from your nails you see Frankie leaning against the doorframe, a toothbrush hanging from his mouth.

There’s hardly room to move – and you couldn’t have it any other way.

His eyebrows are bent as he takes in the four of you, crammed into the spare bathroom, and Ben laughs.

<<

taglist:

@fangirl-316 @scribbledghost @writeforfandoms @beautyagegoodnesssize @princess76179 @mrsbentallmadge @horton-hears-a-honk

for the poly frontier:

@grogusmum

[r0zyp0zy0zy]

✾M.I.- Heat✶

Make a request!

Master list

Warnings: smut, neko!reader, virgin!Izuku, talk of heats

Words: 2773

Pairing: Midoriya Izuku x FEM!reader

Summary: Having a neko quirk is all fun and games until you desperately want to fuck your virgin boyfriend.

HOLY MOLY FUCKARONI 200 FOLLOWERS?? Thanks sm!! <3

===NSFW below the cut==

"Wh-what does that mean?" The nervous boy looked at you curiously, scratching the back of his head.

"Uh-," well, this was certainly unexpected. You guess it made sense when you thought about the lack of experience he had— and the lack of cat facts he obtained. "A heat, uh, since I have a cat quirk, means that uh..."

"Does it mean that you're gonna shed?" Midoriya asked, struggling to think. "well, no, maybe you're growing some more hair..?"

You couldn't help but giggle at his suggestion, your tail swishing airily. "N-not quite, sweets."

You eyed his thoughtful expression as he tried to figure it out himself, brow furrowed and lips mouthing nonsense. Izuku was so cute, even if he was just mumbling a mile a minute.

"It just means I'm gonna be really horny," you interrupted, causing Midoriya to sputter and cough.

"—what?!" He managed to squeak. His face was flushed a deep red as he peaked into your eyes, his hands winding together restlessly.

"The cat in me just really wants to get knocked up, is all," you shrugged, basking in his speechless state. "The birth control I'm on makes them a lot more bearable, and a plus is that I won't actually get pregnant!"

Izuku stood stiff as a board, not sure what to do or say. You... were going to get really horny? When? How soon? His face felt extremely hot, and his palms started clamming up. "Uh, w-what s-should I do t-to support you so that y-you're comfortable?"

You licked your lips and flicked your tail, leaning closer to him, "hm, maybe a heat pack, one of your sweatshirts, snacks, water, cuddles..." you trailed off, grinning at your nervous boyfriend, "..and a good fuck."

Izuku's breath hitched in his throat at your last words, and tried desperately to ignore them, "j-just get all comfy i-in your dorm, a-and I'll get you some t-things."

"Thanks a ton, 'Zuku," you purred, heat rising in your chest at the thought of him making sure that you're all right and comfortable. "See ya there," you wiggled your fingers in a wave as you slipped out of his room, heading back to your own.

Midoriya let out a heaved breath once you closed the door behind you, and he flopped onto his bed. He let his muscles relax, allowing arousing thoughts to run through his head. His eyes were still wide as saucers as he stared at the ceiling, trying to process what the actual shit just happened. You proposed to fuck him. The two of you haven't done that yet! And he was a fat virgin.

"Gah," Izuku grumbled into his palms at the thought of your beautiful pussy clenching around him. He sighed in frustration at how hard he was, and decided to quickly jack-off before he made a list of things that will help you through your... heat.

You lay in a throne of cushions, cuddling up to your body pillow and waiting for when your heat would arrive. You would often feel it's approach a day or so beforehand, giving you time to prepare. You were curled up in your bed when Izuku arrived at your room, clutching a plastic bag in a shaky hand.

"I-I didn't know what you needed so I grabbed a few things," he squeaked out, holding the bag out to you.

"I'm too comfy," you complained, burring your cheek into a pillow. "C'mere."

Izuku tip-toed forwards, apparently scared of 'awaking' your inner horniness. He placed the bag on your bed and dug around, pulling out some of your favorite snacks and handing them to you. You happily grabbed them, setting them beside your mass of pillows and blankets.

"Thank you, Izu," you smiled at him, flashing your sharp canines.

You went to grab the bag he brought, curious to what else was in it. Midoriya, for some reason, pulled the bag away and blushed profusely. What was in there that he was so embarrassed about? You flared your nostrils, taking advantage of your enhanced sense of smell. Plastic... juice.. and latex?

"Izuku," you stifled a giggle, "did you buy condoms?"

"W-what?!" He panicked, face heating up. "W-well since you— uh. Well, I mean— yeAh."

"Puurrrfect," you hummed, snatching the bag from his sweaty hands. You shuffled through the bag and retrieved a small box. A grin split your face when you saw the 'ribbed for her pleasure' label, looking up and gave him a wink.

His face flushed harder, going on about something probably irrelevant to the current situation. He was a cute stuttering mess as he tried to collect himself, but one glance into your eyes drove him to blabber on again. You looked him over and noticed that the hoodie he was wearing was plain, which was unusual for him. Normally it would be some sort of AllMight merchandise.

"Izuku, baby, calm down," you shushed, grabbing his sleeve to pull him closer. "Give me some cuddles."

He almost sank into your embrace, but quickly sat up, "I-I can't right now, y/n-chan. I promised AllMight that I would train with him."

"Awh," you huffed, "at least let me have your sweater, 'Zuku."

He only stood for a moment before he grabbed at the hem and pulled it over his head, his T-shirt riding up with the hoodie. You grinned with your lip between your teeth, admiring his abs and scars.

"H-here," he stuttered, flushing at your staring. "I'll probably be back in a few hours."

You nodded your head as you crumpled up his hoodie and pulled it to your face, inhaling his sweet scent. He smelt extra good— probably your heat kicking in —and you hummed happily, "thank you, Izu."

"I-I'll see you later," Midoriya squeaked as he practically ran out the door, shutting it firmly behind him. You laughed into empty air as you heard him rush down the hall, trip, and continue running.

You pulled his hoodie over your body, putting up the hood, and bringing the sleeves to your face. It felt so nice to be engulfed in his scent, and it sent you into a peaceful cat-nap.

When you woke up from a particularly steamy dream— you couldn't help it —you felt so hot that you had to strip down, but you refused to take off Izuku's precious hoodie. Your hand trailed up your thigh to your pussy, and you shuttered thinking about Izuku's hands. You had gone down on each other, sure, but he was too inexperienced to tease you. Your head fell back onto a mound of pillows and you delicately ghosted a finger over your folds, imagining Izuku's nervous smile as he teased you.

You slid your finger up and down your slit, feeling how wet you were. You rubbed at your sensitive clit and let out a soft moan, hips slightly bucking up. You craved to be filled, and groaned just thinking about Izuku's pretty cock and how it would feel inside of you. You reached under one of your many pillows and grabbed your dildo, desperately gliding it over your folds. How would he do it? You thought. Maybe he would slap his cock on your pussy, or maybe even use your slick as lube for himself. Your back arched, and a desperate plea left your lips. You got on your knees, shoulders all the way down so you could reach over and tease the head of the dildo into you.

A startled squeak came from your doorway, and you peaked over to see Midoriya slam the door behind him. His eyes were wide and blown out, cheeks dusted with a heavy rouge, and he stuttered awkwardly.

Izuku couldn't tear his gaze from you. He had never seen such a lewd position, and his mouth began to water. Your eyes were heavy lidded as you looked at him, letting out a soft whine. God, you looked so good. Midoriya could see how wet you were even in the dim room, and he wanted to reach out to touch you.

"Izu," you whimpered, wiggling your hips, "I'm so horny it hurts."

Well if Izuku wasn't hard already, he certainly was now. He shuffled forward and tried to say something, anything, but his mouth blubbered open and closed like a goldfish. Seeing you fuck yourself on the mint green dildo petrified him, but he couldn't get himself to move. He was hypnotized by the rutting of your hips as you drove the toy deeper into yourself, moaning out his name.

"Please," you moaned, "it's not enough."

Izuku was finally able to move, but he didn't dare speak in fear that he would say something that ruined the moment. He shakily reached forwards and gripped the end of the toy, pushing and pulling it to hear the soft squelches of your pussy.

"Harder," you whined, your hands grasping the sheets beside you, "fuck me harder."

Izuku let out a deep groan, putting a little more strength into his movement. His cock felt strained against his tight boxers, trying to escape from its prison. You thrusted your hips back, creating a rough rhythm with him. Your soft squeaks made Midoriya's brain malfunction, and he seriously thought he was dreaming.

"Get your cock out, 'Zuku," you ordered impatiently, wiggling your hips towards him. "Fuck me, please."

"I- I've never— uh. Can we do this in— uh— a better position?" Izuku managed to choke out.

You huffed at him and rolled over onto you back, the toy still inside of you. Midoriya gulped as the dildo slowly slid out of you, revealing more and more of your wetness. Izuku scrambled to the bag he gave you, and pulled out a towel. You swivelled your pelvis up so he could lay it underneath you, and he gently pulled the toy outside of your vagina. He groaned as he watched your cream spill out onto the towel.

You spread your legs farther apart, and gripped the backs of your knees, "please, 'Zuku."

Midoriya's vision was slightly blurry from nerves, and he groped around for the box of condoms he bought. He quickly tore it open, and fished out a square plastic package. He shakily ripped it open, and rolled the latex over his twitching cock.

"I-I'm not gonna last more than a minute," Izuku blushed. "Well at least according to my research—."

"'Zuku, I don't care how fast you cum." You whined impatiently, "just put your dick in me already."

Midoriya squeaked, his hair covering his eyes as he looked down to guide his cock into your perfect pussy. He slowly inched into you, gasping at how you sucked him in. You impatiently dug your heels into his lower back, forcing him to bottom out inside of you.

"Shit!" Izuku yelped, falling forwards and catching himself with his forearms beside your head.

"Feels so good, 'Zuku," you mewled, looking up into his wide eyes, "fuck me."

He slowly stuttered his hips, struggling to stay sane. He could already feel the build up of cum in his balls, and he desperately clutched the bedsheets. His face was growing redder as he forced his orgasm back into his body, letting out little whimpers as he tightly shut his eyes.

"Harder, Izuku," you complained, pushing your hips closer to him.

His breath hitched, and a waterfall of words fell from his mouth, "I-I'm sorry! 'M gonna cum... gonna cum, y/n."

"Please cum, Izuku! Can't wait for you to fuck me harder," you moaned, trying to thrust your pelvis in sync with his erratic ruts.

"Gahh!~" he groaned, letting his guard down. His abdomen was more relaxed, easing his orgasm through his body. Your warm walls coaxed his cum out, and he cried out loudly as he came inside the condom.

You whimpered frustratingly at the loss of Izuku's cock, and looked up at him with pleading eyes, "more, Izu. Fuck me more."

"G-gimmie five minutes," Midoriya heaved, trying to tie the condom closed. "I'll be ready in five minutes."

You huffed, reaching for your dildo again. It was still slick with your juice, and you easily pushed it inside of you. Izuku's eyes never left yours as you pumped yourself with the toy, your eyes only grazing down to watch his semi-limp dick slowly twitch back to life. You smiled and bit your lips, pounding yourself harder at the thought of Izuku fucking you again.

Midoriya's hand couldn't help but wrap itself around his length, and the green haired boy let out little moans, "a-almost ready again, baby. I'll last a little longer this time... I hope."

Your heart rate sped up as you watched your boyfriend roll another condom on his now fully hard dick, and you slid out the toy and gave it a lewd suck before you put it back down. Izuku gave you a swift kiss before gliding himself into you. You moaned at the feeling, and rolled your hips up closer to him.

"So tight," Midoriya mumbled, burring his face between your shoulder and neck. His sweet smell invaded your nostrils, and you turned your head to get another whiff.

"Fuck, Izu," you encouraged, clutching onto his broad shoulders. His rhythm sped up in a burst of energy and thrusted harder, a loud moan leaving you.

He moved his head to have a better look at your face, and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to your parted lips. One of his hands snaked down your torso to your clit, circling the pad of his finger on the sensitive bud. He swallowed your moans, speeding up is fingers as you struggled to stay still.

"Hmmhngn," you griped, clawing his back. You were so close, and you could tell that Izuku was too. His kisses became messy and rushed, the sweet sound of slurps and slaps echoing through your room.

"F-fuck," Izuku peeled off your lips, increasing the strength of his thrusts, "you're so good, doing so good y/n. Go on and— c-cum for me."

You whined in felicity, ears flattening as your tail struggled to contain itself. Izuku's words rattled your brain, and in another few thrusts you clamped down on his cock and came hard.

"Fuckfuckfuckfuck 'Zukuuuuu~!" You wailed, throwing your head back and rolling your eyes.

"Holy— s-shit," Midoriya admired your fucked out state, and he felt himself cumming again, "cumming! F-fuck I'm cumming for you!"

Your pussy clenched so hard around him that he was seeing stars, and he was forced to stay inside of you. You wriggled your hips breathlessly, eager for more. Izuku was starting to shake his head when he locked eyes with you, and he couldn't help but continue fucking you. His labored groans filled the room as he struggled with overstimulation, just trying to not fall on top of you.

In a flash of strength you flip Midoriya onto his back and started bouncing on his cock, tongue lolling out of your mouth. Izuku's eyes were half shut, shakily holding onto your waist. He clenched his jaw and fucked up into you, and he could feel his cum slowly leaking out of the condom. You were on birth control. You were fine, he was fine. He scooped a hand through his sweaty pine hair, tugging on it lightly.

"So- so good, Izu~!" You mewled, cupping your breasts and tweaking your nipples. "Want to cum again."

"I-I c-can't," Izuku weeped. He writhed underneath you, carelessly fisting the sheets beside him. "I don't h-have anything left in m-me."

"Please just get me to cum one more time," you pleaded, bouncing harder. "Touch me, 'Zuku."

Midoriya's brain struggled to send signals to his hands and fingers, but once he found your clit he rubbed it in fast circles. He was gasping at the lewd noises coming from your mouth, and tried his best to propel his hips harder. His mind was spinning, and he thought that he might be cumming again.

"Izu! Izu! Yes!" You sobbed on top of him, pinching and rolling your nipples. "Coming! Fuuuck, Izuku."

Midoriya felt his abs clench, and a weird erotic fueled pain crawled up his body. He couldn't help but cry out with tears in his eyes, confused in his pleasure. He babbled intelligibly, eyes almost crossing.

You begrudgingly slid yourself off of Izuku, still not completely satisfied. It would have to do for now, because you were exhausted and your boyfriend couldn't handle anything more. You carefully slipped the condom off of his limp dick, biting your bottom lip as he whimpered quietly.

"This is only the start of my heat, baby," you purred in his ear as you curled up beside him. "I'm not done with you yet."

[omg-im-such-a-masochist]

PLEASANT SURPRISE

Prompt: Requested by the lovely @romanreignsgirl20 , as a surprise to her friend @jazzy-bella02 I hope you girls like it 😉

Word Count: Long-ish

Pairings: Jon Moxley x Reader

Warnings: +18, smut, rough sex, degradation kink (name calling), dirty talk, asphyxiation kink (breath play), cursing, dom x sub dynamic

Editor: @rheacanbreakme

Tag: @marlananicole , @bellalutionn , @yungbludjazz360 , @sassymox

Notes: *insert passing out gif here* I wish, girl, I fucking wish! You can check out my previous stories on my Masterlist if you’d like (it would make me your girl here very happy 🤗). And now, let’s get to the fun part, shall we? Hope you’ll enjoy...

My first AEW live event, how exciting is that? I’m excited for everything, but to be honest, the thing I was most excited about was to see my favorite wrestler (and my eternal crush) Jon Moxley. The only reason I had bought tickets for this live event was because of him. And I couldn’t wait to see him face to face.

Suddenly his music started, and there he was. Beautiful, with that bad boy attitude and swagger. He passed through the middle of the audience, cutting his way through the people to get to the ring, and that’s when he stopped by my side to stare at Darby, who was waiting for him in the ring.

He smelled amazing! Masculine, earthy, fresh, spicy and kinda musky. That was when he looked down at me.

“Hey there, doll” Jon said, winking

My voice got caught in my throat and I could only nod as a greeting

“Are you gonna root for me?” He asked, seriously

“Y-Yes...I- I came here just to see you” I said, my cheeks beginning to flush pink in embarrassment

“Oh really? So why don’t we make a deal? If I win you come backstage with me” He proposed

“And what if you lose?” I asked

His only response to me was a loud laugh as he ran to the ring.

The match ended as fast as it started. Jon took over Darby like he was nothing, and when the match was over, he asked for a microphone, squatted down next to Darby’s body and said

“What you have witnessed, is a message for anyone backstage who wants to fuck with me. Try your luck, buddies, but don’t you never forget that” His eyes searched through the audience until he found me, and while smirking, he continued “Jon Moxley NEVER loses! And at the end of the day, I always get what I want” He dropped the microphone on top of Darby’s chest, and made his way to the audience. When he was in front of me, Jon picked me up in his arms bridal style, and walked towards his locker room.

He placed my feet softly on the floor of his locker room, locked the door, and asked

“So, what’s your name, kitty cat?”

“Y/N”

“Is it true that you came here today just to see me?” Jon slowly started to get closer, and closer to me

“Yes..I-I drove five hours just to see you, Mox” I shyly responded

“Five hours?” He whistled “Wow, that’s a whole lot of effort just to see my sorry ass” He cackled, lighting up a cigarette

“I have a sore spot for you, so..” I joked and Jon chuckled

“Oh yeah?” He sat on the black leather couch, and patted his thigh, almost as a hint for me to sit down on it

“Tell me, kitty cat, besides that sore spot is there any other spot that you might have for me? I don’t know, maybe like... a wet and warm one?” He asked, as one of his hands caressed my ass through my jeans

My face escalated through one thousand shades of red reacting to his words..

“Oh,” Jon laughed, amused, “Kitten is one of the shy ones, huh?”

“I’m not used to hearing those things..”

“It’s ok, doll. I like the shy ones! They always surprise you anyways” He smirked “Will you surprise me, Y/N? Will you make me believe that you’re all sweet, innocent and collected and then, when I’m fucking you, you’ll say the most filthiest things that can even make ME blush?”

I don’t know where the courage that took over me came from, but I grabbed him and said

“I guess you’ll have to find out”

Jon’s eyes became a darker shade of blue, as an mischievous grin took over his lips

“Oh, you’re definitely one of the fun ones! We’re gonna have a good time, kitten. I can already tell”

I straddled his hip and asked “Are you gonna talk the whole night through, or are you gonna do something, Jon Moxley?”

He quickly grabbed my thighs and laid me down on the couch, pinning my body down with his weight.

“You’re gonna wish you never said that” He threatened, coldly. And I believed him.

One hand quickly came up to my throat, and squeezed, hard. Jon leaned down to kiss me, but when he got close enough and I closed my eyes to savour it, the fucker leaned back, laughing

“How bad do you want it?” He asked, with mischief dancing upon those blue orbs

“Very badly” I panted

“Yeah? Are you gonna scream for me? Let everyone know how much of a whore you are for me?”

“Yes, sir” I moaned

“Oh, she’s a trained slut! That’s good. At least I won’t have to waste my time teaching you shit” He bit my lip forcefully

“Safeword?” Jon asked

“Color system, sir”

“Good” He released my neck and stood up “Strip for me” He commanded, sitting down on the armchair across the couch

I clumsily stood up, and began to mechanically take my clothes off.

“Stop” He said, making me look at him in confusion

“What the fuck are you doing, Y/N?”

“Taking my clothes off, as you requested, sir”

Jon shook his head in disappointment “Unbelievable” He muttered under his breath

“Are you deaf, Y/N?”

“No, sir” I replied, still confused

“I told you to strip for me! Not for you to take your clothes off without any passion” He said with disdain in his voice

“I’m sorry, sir”

“Start again” Jon commanded, unbuttoning his jeans and pulling the fly down.

I swallowed my embarrassment and did as I was told, and began to strip for him

I removed my t-shirt slowly, followed by my bra, which I let teasingly slide down my arms. Jon groaned at the sight of my bare breasts and started to touch himself through his boxers.

When I began to pull my jeans down, Jon said

“Come closer, Y/N”

I obliged and he told me to turn around, so my back was facing him now.

“Pull your jeans down, slowly” He said and I did as he wanted, pulling my jeans down, torturously slow.

“Hmmm, fuck. That’s it, kitten. Just like that” He cooed and I could hear him spitting on his palm “Take a few steps back, doll” He requested

I walked backwards until he told me to stop, that was when he told me to continue

“Fuck, you have a beautiful ass” Jon said, licking my (now exposed) ass cheeks.

He asked me to turn around, and so I did

“See through?” He asked, caressing the thin layer of light blue lace that covered my mound.

His soft and lazy caresses soon found my clit, and he began to circle the nub through the lace panties, making me moan at the friction.

I could now see that Jon’s cock was completely out of his boxers, as he was stroking himself. And I could already feel the pressure of my release, building up. As I was about to cum, he stopped the action on my clit and told me to lose the panties.

“Go to the couch, kneel on it, and rest your chest on the backrest” Jon quickly said, as he opened the condom.

Seconds after, I felt his presence behind me. He pushed my hips back slightly, and positioned himself on my entrance

“Are you gonna be a good kitten for me?” He whispered in my ear

“Yes, sir” I gasped, when I felt him sliding in

“Are you gonna scream for me?”

“Yes, sir”

“Are you gonna let everybody in this backstage hear how good I’m fucking you?”

“Yes, sir...please” I moaned

Jon forcefully thrusted into me, making the air escape from my lungs.

“Sir” I cried out, grabbing his wrist

“So fucking tight, kitten” He moaned “But don’t worry, we’re about to change that” As he moaned again and laughed.

Jon began to move slowly in and out, stretching my walls to fit him perfectly and once he could move easily in and out, his thrusts became so hard that my chest smacked the back of the couch each time he entered me. It all felt so good that I instinctively started to meet his thrusts

“Oh fuck yes, kitten! That’s right, baby, take it! Fuck yourself on my cock”

His encouragement made me move faster and faster and without noticing I began screaming

“I’m Mox’s good little whore”

Jon growled, pounding harder and deeper.

“Yes you are, kitten! Fuck, you’re such a good little slut! My perfect slut” He bit my neck and circled one arm around my waist, until he reached my clit and started to rub it

“I want you to cum for me, Y/N. I want you to milk my cock, baby. I wanna feel you clenching around me”

His words worked like magic on me, making me explode around him. My walls became so tight, it even got hard for him to move.

A few seconds later, Jon grunted as he came.

“I knew you would surprise me, but fuck!” He chuckled, as he slid out and took the condom off.

Jon threw the condom in the trash can and returned to the couch. I reached down for my panties, but he was quicker, taking the piece of fabric off the floor and tucking it in the front pocket of his jeans. Leaning down, he finally, for the first time, kissed me. An addictive kiss, that tasted like whiskey, mint and cigarettes.

“Wanna go get some burgers?" He asked, smiling

“Sure” I cackled

“Would you like to come to my place afterwards?” Jon questioned

I looked at him in surprise “You want to see me again?” I asked, shocked

“Of course I do! You’re my own little Pandora’s box, I need to know what else you’re hiding in there” He narrowed his eyes, making me laugh

“So, c’mon” He stood up and offered me his hand “Let’s go get our burgers, kitty cat”...

Please if you’re comfortable with it, let me know your thoughts on this? Feedbacks are always appreciated 🥰😘

[yoonieboonie]

The Substitute Lover (1)

word count: 2k

genre: fluff, angst hehe

pairing: myg x reader

summary: Finally meeting the college boy you've been eyeing on for months, everything goes wrong when you realise what you're really getting yourself into.

a/n: this is my first ever fic!! i hope you guys take time and read it 🥺 suggestions are welcome! NEXT | PREVIOUS

Moving to Seoul was a dream come true. For someone who lived in the farmland of Daegu, you always imagined what the city would be like. A concrete jungle far from the roaring fields that's all you've ever known, a breath of fresh air— metaphorically speaking.

Fuelled by dreams, and frankly a few wons to your name— you took the risk and moved your life in order to pursue your studies in the metro. Your thoughts drift to the heaps of paperwork that needs to be accomplished after this and frankly, you are exhausted.

You sigh, as you finally step in your worn down but still livable apartment. You got it for a really good deal since your mother is a friend of the landlady. You tried your best to make it as homey as you can. Placing a few touches of home to every corner.

"What does this even mean?" you wondered aloud, reading the email for the third time as if it would magically unsend itself. It was from the professor of your Humanities class, announcing the change of schedule. Your afternoon classes are now moved to morning, taking away all of the few hours of rest you get after getting home. You groaned and moved the cursor to tick the 'agreed' box. It's not like you have a choice anyways.

You drag your feet to class the next morning, sitting to the far right corner and preventing any interaction from the fellow victims of the change in schedule. Confused if your eyes are playing tricks, your hands flew to your thick-rimmed glasses to push it further up your nose. Then you saw it, the mint green hair that stood out in every room. To say that he intrigued you is an understatement. You are drawn to him, like a moth to a flame. You keep on looking for him at every corner of the campus, just catching a glimpse of him makes your day. He as usual is squished between his two friends who are chattering in the early hours of the morning.

The professor arrived not long after, immediately discussing the basic concept of Humanities, you scramble to get a pen and your notebook. If there's one thing you take seriously, it's your studies. You did not risk everything and moved here just to slack off.

The mint hair boy suddenly forgotten, you blink in shock as an orange head snapped to view your direction.

"Hi, I'm Hoseok. May I borrow a pen?" He asks, a hand rubbing his nape. You nodded mutely handing a pen, trying to show nonchalance that he is talking to me. The interaction had the student council president, if you remember correctly, shake his head.

"What? It's not my fault that you refused to lend me one despite of bringing a whole school supply store with you all the time." Hoseok muttered to which the president tried to counter, earning a snarl from the mint haired boy in the middle to shut the banter up.

Lecture flew by and hungry for a few hours more of sleep, you dash to the exit only to hear a voice calling out a 'hey'. You turned to look and see Hoseok waving your pen in the air.

You smiled and grabbed the pen from his hand. You bowed out of respect, and turned to leave. Only for Hoseok to grab your arm, making you halt and gently pull away.

He sheepishly smiled and apologised for catching you off guard. "It's just, I didn't get your name!" he chirped.

Panic bubbled inside you as you see his two friends catch up to him. You were not prepared at all to meet the boy you've been eyeing on for months.

"Y/N." You replied shortly and bowed again as you turned to leave. It was too late as you hear a new voice address you.

"Hey, Y/N? I've been wanting to know your name for months! Aren't you the one who stole my spot as the top Scrabble player in the campus?" The student campus president joked to which you gave a hearty laugh back, remembering the match.

"That's me." You replied curtly. You really want to leave, the zoo in your stomach will be the death of you. The boy who is silent until now is busy adjusting the case of his guitar.

"Well, it's nice to meet you. This is Yoongi." he gestured to the mint haired boy who just looked up. He gave you a curt nod that shot electricity to your veins.

"Let's eat lunch together, Y/N!" Hoseok beamed, catching all of us off guard. You racked your brain for an excuse but found none. Here you are 30 minutes later, trying to answer every question Hoseok and Namjoon have for you.

You learned that all of them are voice majors, Yoongi and Hoseok minored in guitar while Namjoon in flute. They had to retake Humanities because they failed to take the final exam due to the conflict of schedule thus the need to enroll again this semester.

Quietly finishing your meal, you nod off to the trio and started to gather your things. You fixed your thick rimmed glasses and your skirt that reached your ankles. Namjoon eyed you from head to toe, not bothering to hide the judgment that came with it. You shrugged and bid goodbye.

"Thank you for the company. See you guys around." You bid and thinking that it's probably your last and only chance to talk to Yoongi, you call for him.

"See you around, Yoongi." You beamed. Hoseok roared with laughter as Yoongi blushed from the sudden attention. Namjoon watched in amusement as the whole scene plays out.

You finally, turned to leave the trio behind.

  -----------------------------------------

  After a week, it was time for your Humanities class again. This time, you arrived earlier, sitting at your usual spot.

Not long after, students started filing in the the classroom. That's when you spotted a familiar orange head. He excitedly waved at you and grabbed onto Yoongi and Namjoon's arms for them to come and sit next to you.

You laugh heartily and paid them no mind. Hoseok whispered next to you if you wanted to eat lunch again after class. You nodded, truly enjoying the trio's company. Sure, you wanted to come because Yoongi was there, but also because Namjoon and Hoseok are cool to be with.

After class, you all headed to the cafeteria. You started to line up eyeing the dishes carefully. Just watching then made your mouth water. Distracted, you bump into the person in front of you. You gasped, as you mutter an apology, profusely bowing your head. That's when you heard surprised reactions from the small crowd that noticed the interaction. Slowly you felt cold liquid drip on your head, down to your clothes.

That draws the line. You may not be from here, and you may not look like much but you surely can defend yourself. You opened your mouth to speak when you were gently shoved behind someone's shoulder. As if shielding you from the student who poured the liquid on you.

"Is there a problem here?" Namjoon's voice was cold as ice. The student, probably in fear of getting in trouble tried to pin the blame on you to which another voice countered.

"I saw you from where I was sitting. Tell the truth, it's getting embarrassing." Hoseok, who is suddenly next to you, yawns.

"It's fine. It's water, it'll dry." You said confidently, smiling at the student who looked scared for her dear life. She looks younger, so you cut her some slack.

You bought your food and sat back at our table. You could feel the three of them eyeing you as you chomp down on your first proper meal of the day. You glanced at Yoongi, who for the first time since you've met was looking at you. You beamed at him before wiping your mouth with a napkin, as you cleared your throat.

"Yoongi, would you like to have coffee tomorrow?" you asked, my hands under the table over your lap.

Hoseok and Namjoon looked shocked beyond words. Yoongi on the other hand, didn't even spare you a glance. You winced internally but kept your composure cool. Namjoon cleared his throat and pushed a bottle of water towards my direction.

"Maybe you need a drink, Y/N." You accepted and drank. Then after, you faced Yoongi again.

"Is that a yes?"

It's Hoseok's turn to intervene now, using a napkin to get your glasses from your nose and wipe it. He tried to dry your hair too but you leaned away from his touch.

"Y/N, I think it's best you let this go." Namjoon spoke again.

"Why? Are you dating anyone?" You questioned further.

That seemed to be the last straw for Yoongi for he stood up, gathered his music sheets and left the three of us, not even bothering to carry his lunch.

Hoseok looked around the table before laughing in amusement. Namjoon joining not long after. You looked at them, confused beyond words.

"You are something else, Y/N. Now I know why we were always told to not judge a book by its cover." Namjoon beamed.

Hoseok just patted your head. Both of them bidding goodbye, as Namjoon stopped to browse in his notes. He slipped a paper to you and when you glanced down, it looked like their schedule this semester.

You smiled and bid them goodbye.

  You'll try again tomorrow.

  ------------------------------------------

  The following day, you woke up earlier than usual to buy two iced Americanos. If you're lucky, Yoongi might like something to drink before their recital's daily rehearsal.

As if on cue, you hear Hoseok's loud laughter at the campus yard and as expected Yoongi and Namjoon are there with him. You raise your hand and wave towards them as you see Yoongi's eyes darken.

You paid no mind and dragged your feet towards the trio. You stopped in front of them, fixing your glasses and smoothing out your green cardigan. Namjoon like his usual habit, eyed you up and down and scrunched his nose at your taste in clothes. That made you chuckle out loud.

"Hi, Yoongi. I bought you an iced Americano." I offered, handing out the cold beverage. He eyed it carefully, before accepting it and shoving it to Hoseok's face.

Hoseok winced and looked at you apologetically. You shook your head and smiled.

"That's okay, I didn't peg you as an Americano guy anyway. How about an iced Latte for tomorrow?" you quipped, not giving up.

"Look, Y/N, isn't it?" Yoongi started. "I do appreciate the gesture but I am not interested. I am taken, and will never be available."

You felt your shoulder slump. That makes sense, with how he looks and the entirety of him, it was impossible for him to be single. You nodded and started to apologise when you heard Hoseok chirp beside you.

"No he's not!"

  "Hoseok!" Namjoon hissed. Hoseok shrugged his shoulders and dragged you away. With one last look at Yoongi, you followed Hoseok.

"Look, I'll help you. Just tell me what you need." Hoseok bounced with excitement. You laughed, you honestly didn't think you'd get this far.

"It's okay, I got this." You whispered to Hoseok.

"Hey, Min Yoongi!" you called out. He turned to look at you and you raised your hand to point at the bulletin board. He quipped his head to the side as if challenging you to continue. You sighed and moved closer to the board to point at the upcoming examination schedule.

"Our finals is coming up soon." You stated.

  "If I beat you and score higher than you, then we'll go on that date. Otherwise, you'll never hear from me again." You challenged.

Namjoon whistled at that, onlookers started to get interested and eventually started to taunt Yoongi. You smirk and wait for his response.

Hoseok and Namjoon are in the sidelines, watching and honestly enjoying their friend's struggle. Hoseok lazily drinking the iced Americano that you bought for Yoongi.

Yoongi stayed silent and you took that as your cue to leave, only a few steps in, you turned and moved closer to a glaring Yoongi.

"Oh, I forgot something!" you exclaimed.

You then stalked towards him, grabbing both of his collar towards you. Eliminating the height difference, you inched your face closer to his until your lips met. It was a quick peck but just enough to make the crowd roar and make Yoongi burn red in embarrassment.

You slowly took a step back. Bidding Namjoon and Hoseok goodbye.

What the fuck did you just do? -------------------------------------------------------------------------

NEXT | PREVIOUS

[peachnewt]

Midnight Snack - Time Slips By

On September 15th, 2009, I posted the first chapter in the Getting In Deep series; Man on the Inside Part 1. This year, I completely forgot. Plague years have not been kind to my writing brain, but I wanted to do something to commemorate and thank everyone that's been sticking with me through the years. Whether you've been around since '09 or you just found the Getting In Deep series yesterday, I hope you enjoy this little snippet. ^_^

Thank you all for being here. Here's to eventually seeing these two lovable idiots get their happy ending!

This is a purely self indulgent midnight snack, no real vore happens though it is implied. And it is heavily implied that Will and Louis dabble in a bit of roleplay in the bedroom, though there is nothing further than kissing on the page. Enjoy!

Louis understood time had rules and scientific laws that others comprehended much better than him. He still cursed how time eluded him; tick-tocks vanishing like vapor when they were supposed to mark the hour, minute, second. Date. Even Reese occasionally messing with the insides of clocks and wristwatches at his desk hadn't been enough to give Louis warning that he was missing something in the cycle of the year.

But Louis figured something was wrong when Will brushed him off during a case that ate away at their free time and sleep.

"Can you get your own coffee?" snapped Will. "I need this report done yesterday."

Louis huffed and walked to the break room with his barren mug. He'd get a cup of tea for Will while he was at it, maybe then he'd cool off.

Of course the coffee maker was empty. No one else considered the caffeine needs of others. Barbarians.

He filled the coffee maker, and waited, eyeing the new signs HR had put up in the break room. He didn't know if they were supposed to be inspirational, or menacing.

Hang in there.

We are a TEAM!

Where were you five years ago? Where will you be five years from now?

Five years ago I was ending my tour, thought Louis. I would never have imagined doing this. Hell, three years ago I would never have imagined weekly shrink tests and going down my partner's throat on a regular basis.

The aroma of percolating coffee filled the break room, stimulating Louis memory.

And two years ago I was in...

And Louis remembered the event that started all the weirdness in his life. And a few of the good things too.

Two years and two days ago.

That was how long it had been since Louis and Will came to a whole new understanding with each other. And Louis plain forgot. No wonder Will had been acting as coarse as rock salt.

Anniversaries weren't something Louis did or thought about. Mostly because he hadn't been with anyone long enough to count anniversaries. But for Will...

Okay. I fucked up.

Louis grabbed a fresh cup of coffee and started the hot water for Will's tea.

New mission; unfuck up.

***

Louis didn't do romance often, but he could make it up on the fly. Will had to stay an hour late to run his report by Cetz and a few others. He could do something in the hour it took for Will to get back to his apartment.

Right?

Louis bought four packages of Peppermint patties and a leftover bouquet of tired daisies from a corner store. Flowers and chocolate, check. He let himself into Will's apartment with the spare key and laid a line of the individually wrapped mints from the door to the bedroom. He searched the far desk for the container full of the "dice geek" stuff. Bingo, a giant box full of fake tea lights. Romantic ambiance without the chance of a sudden fire. It was a good idea until he realized half the batteries in the lights were dead and he had to get more.

Could he afford to leave and get batteries? No. He called in reinforcements.

"Beni, can you come over to Will's with a package of triple As?"

"Do I want to know?"

Louis hefted the fourth untouched bag of mints in his hand. "I have candy." Translation: MOVE!

"Be there in eight minutes!"

Help on the way, good. He might need it for the next part.

Louis opened Will's second closet, the closet full of things almost as Don't Touch as Will's Star Wars shrine, picked the challenge of the night, prayed for forgiveness, and got to work.

***

Fifty minutes, and much cursing at fabric and buckles later, the door to the apartment creaked open. Louis dropped the last candle, grabbed the bouquet of flowers, and launched himself onto Will's bed, yards of cloth flapping around him.

Will cursed as he kicked something small at the doorway. "What the--?"

Follow the trail, Fanboy, Louis mentally urged while awkwardly trying to figure out how to lay seductively on the bed while drowning in so much freaking fabric. Jeeze, why is the hood so huge?

"Who-- Louis?" called Will, puzzled.

"In here," called Louis. "No lights please." I don't need to shrink the moment I kinda got this right. Okay, this laying on the bed like a gift ain't working. Should I stand? I should stand holding the flowers. Could be holding one of the light sabers but I know Will would kill me if I touched them. I- Holy crap, I can't even get up wearing this thing!

Before Louis could get to his feet, the door slowly swung open. Will entered and froze one step inside, holding the cheap chocolate peppermints he'd gathered. The soft glow of fake flickering lights bounced off the dark polished wood of the desk and bed like golden fireflies. Something soft and instrumental echoed from the stereo.

And on Will's bed lay Louis clothed head to booted feet in Will's Jedi Master robes.

"Happy late anniversary," Louis mustered.

Will stood frozen, mouth slack. "You..."

"It wasn't until today that I realized I completely forgot our anniversary two days ago. So this is me trying to make up for it."

Will gulped, eyes still wide. "I see."

He definitely looks surprised, hopefully pleased and not pissed that I touched his costumes. Okay legs over the edge and.... up we go. Oh, these boots are a bit too small. Ouch. "You gotta be at least a little impressed that I got most of this getup on by myself. There are ties and eyelets and layers and stuff." He didn't need to mention he'd needed Beni's help to get the belt on before he shooed her away with the rest of the candy.

Will stood there, shocked and awkward, like someone that walked into the wrong surprise birthday party.

"Will?" asked Louis, an inkling of what was wrong.

"Hm? Yeah?" Will's eyes shot up from looking at the folds of the long brown robe that flowed around Louis like heavy smoke. His cheeks burned. "Sorry. You laying there dressed in... My mind just rebooted and-"

Louis' hands went to his hips in indignation. "You have no idea what anniversary I'm talking about, do you?"

"No," admitted Will. "I'm sorry! If I had remembered I would have gotten you something nice!"

Louis paced started pacing, the long robe billowing behind him. "I've been racking my brain wondering why you've been so pissy lately. I thought I forgot something important."

"No! It's the case Cetz gave me. He wants me to work it on my own and I'm getting nowhere even with Watch Three input." Will pouted. "It was a bunch of little things making me mad, not you."

Louis huffed and stilled, the robes coming to a stop a few seconds after he did. "And you're not mad I'm wearing one of your costumes?"

"You're forgiven. And this is very nice," said Will, stepping closer. "The candles are beautiful, I'll be enjoying the chocolates for a long while, and you look absolutely gorgeous in those robes."

"How gorgeous?" edge Louis, back straightening under the praise. He needed the ego boost after the stress of the day.

"Majestic. Glorious." Will smiled, put the peppermint chocolates down on the dresser, and inched closer. He grasped the edge of the hood draping around Louis shoulders and lifted it up to crown Louis' head. "Mysterious. Powerful."

Will pulled the hood and Louis closer, lifting up on his toes and tilting his face to press a kiss to the mouth in shadow. Louis' lips lifted at the difference a one-inch heel made, and then tilted his face to the side to kiss a touch deeper. Will tasted of peppermint; probably eaten in the journey from door to bedroom. The fume of mint and dark chocolate filled the scant air between them.

When their lips parted, both were smiling. Will wrapped his arms around Louis' waist under the outer robe while the long sleeves dangling from Louis' arms enveloped Will's shoulders like bat wings. Whatever confusion or mistake between them had evaporated in the meeting of lips and mint.

"How do you even keep the hood in place?" asked Louis.

"Hair clips in the lining." Will leaned closer, chest to chest. His mouth quirked in a sheepish tilt. "I'm terrible with dates. I can barely remember my own twin sister's birthday. Can you remind me what we are celebrating?"

Hell, I ain't making this easy for him. "Guess."

"Uh, first time I met you?"

"Try again."

"Can't be our first date, that was in Winter."

"That true."

"First case?"

"Close."

Will's mental capacity was still in reboot mode from seeing Louis in full Jedi robes. "I give up."

"September 15th. The date of the Freewill raid. The first time I was inside you." Louis' hand drifted down from Will's shoulder to his stomach. "The first time I had to rely on you completely. And, if memory serves, that night you confessed that you liked me."

"Oh." Will's mouth curved into a smile, and his whole body curved towards Louis, warmed by the sentiment. "I would have thought getting you coffee every day and smiling at you was an indicator of liking you."

"Yeah, well I wasn't the most attentive partner until you said it verbally. That's what I'm counting."

"So Freewill is our anniversary. I can get behind that," agreed Will.

They slowly made their way to sit on the bed, Louis gathering the flowers that had fallen from the bouquet, and Will gathering the chocolates to share between them.

"So... I didn't forget our anniversary," said Louis around a mint. "But you didn't even realize we had one."

"Like I said, bad with dates." Will bashfully reached out to the hood of the long brown Jedi robe draped over Louis. "Does that mean you're not going to wear this anymore?"

Louis grinned. "The point of the costume was for you to take it off." He edged the collar aside with a thumb, flashing bare skin. "What do you want to do tonight?"

Will's eyes glimmered in the gold-light. A child with a new toy. "Anything?"

"Within reason."

"Maybe... roleplay?"

Louis hummed and nodded his head. He could do improv, especially if it lead to a happy ending.

"So... Jedi and Rouge?" mused Will. "I can get the Han Solo costume on real quick. Or the Hutt Slayer costume, but that will take some time to put on and maybe some double sided tape. I-"

Louis put a hand over Will's mouth and stilled his overly creative mind going fifteen directions at once. He didn't want to wait for a costume change; he knew how long one of those could get. "How about Jedi warrior fell to earth and needs more force energy. Luckily there is a nerdy earthling full of it."

"That's not how the force works," Will said, muffled.

Louis ignored him. "So he persuades the earthling to share. To save his life. It's a long process." Louis leaned in, bringing Will's face into the shadow of the hood, and then brushed his lips along the hinge of Will's jaw. He trailed a hand down from its place over Will's mouth, over trembling throat and chest, until it rested below Will's sternum. "It might even involve going inside the earthling, right into his core, to get what he needs."

Will gulped hard, caught in the image as deftly as Louis caught him in his arms and robes.

"So, what do you think?" asked Louis.

"Let me splash some water on my face and we can start. Same rules as before?"

Louis grinned. "Always."

***

Will woke overly warm and worn out under the wool Jedi robe. The bed lay in the golden glow of tea lights running their batteries and the dawn cracking through the window shades. He flicked the robe aside and turned from his side to his back, groaning at the lingering ache. Bits and pieces of Will's prized Jedi Master costume lay around the bedroom, part of the belt hanging from the headboard.

Last night had lasted hours, playing earthling and Jedi. One of Will's deepest fantasies come true. If only he could get Louis to join him at a convention wearing the robes.

Louis mumbled in his ear through the SkySprecht. One of the many rules they obeyed when adventurous in bed.

He'd have to take the robe to the dry-cleaner later, but after last night...

Will stretched, smiling at the small weight shifting inside his core.

Worth it.

"Happy Anniversary, Louis."

------

If you enjoyed this short, consider buying me a ko-fi!