#and I thought raven might have been my name for like five seconds before I was like Nah that was someone else | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

s0dium · 3 years ago

Text

Tattoos

Tattoo artist!Geto x Reader

A/n: Idk ive been pretty depressed thinking about sad Gojo and Shoko since their best friend left so I wanted to make this as ‘fluffy/crack like’ in the beginning because I love their friendship. Also with so much tattoo artist geto out there I decided to make a fic! It was mainly inspired by this beautiful piece of work right I found but I forgot the account name 😭

Warning: College AU, tattoos, oral (fem receiving), public sex, fingering, squirting, begging, pet names

Synopsis: In which your friends convince you to get a tattoo.

Word count: 4.1k

“Come onnnn y/n get a tattoo with us”

Haibara pleads where incessant, even moving forward to clasp your hand in both of his and looking at you with wide eyes.

“Yeah it will be fun, your only young for a bit anyways, might as well do something impulsive” Said Shoko, shrugging as she took a swig of beer from one of the many bottles scattered across the floor you were all sitting on.

“I cant believe you out of all people are for this idea” You said as you looked at your room mate Shoko in disbelief.

“Well she's gonna die from lung cancer soon anyways, viva la vida.” Chuckled Gojo earning a potato chip to be thrown at him.

You weren't exactly the impulsive kind, and even though a decent amount of alcohol was pumping through your veins, the voice of reason in your head was still strong. You look down at your hand which was still in-between Haibara’s and pulled it away, shaking your head.

“Nope, no way.”

All three of your friends groan in unison.

“Aw come on y/n cant you squeeze out the stick up your ass just for a day?” Gojo whines and your about to go off on the man before Shoko speaks up

“Geto’s gonna be doing the tattoos, he said he’ll give us a discount.”

You pursed your lips and shot a death glare to your room mate. Damn, she knew your weak point all to well. Everyone and their fucking moms knew about your massive crush on a specific raven hair man in your friend group. And it wasn't like your affection was completely unreciprocated. Like how he’d give you his coat when you were cold, stay behind to talk to you while the rest of the group walked ahead, or even wink at you from across the room. But it never went pass that, teetering on the edge of something else but never quite making it.

The room was envolped in a silence as everyone intently stared at you, waiting for your response.

You let out a sigh and threw up your hands.

“For fucks sake, FINE! I’ll do it.”

“Lets gooooo!” Yelled Gojo, high-fiving haibara like they just fond the cure for cancer.

“But to make it clear, im not doing this because Getos gonna be there.”

“Oh yeah sureeeeee and Gojo opens up his ass cheeks to let the water in when he takes a shower.” Shoko rolls her eyes and leans over to grab a pack of cigarettes laying on the floor.

“The fuck does that mean? My ass is spanking clean for your information.”

“Not true, when ever you bend over I can smell the fumes wafting in my nose, I thought I was going to die once when you bent over to pick up a pencil.” Haibara pinches his nose and waves his hand, making Gojo lunge at him. You and Shoko were hunched over in laughter, desperately trying to catch your breath.

“LIES, IVE HAD MANY WOMEN TELL ME I HAVE A LOVLEY ASS”

The night air is cool against your skin, not so cold that its biting into you but instead immersing your warm body in refreshing waves. Despite it being night the cityscape was a constellation of LED lights and signs; lighting up the streets of Tokyo in a colorful array of hues.

“I bet Gojo will tap out first, right y/n?”

Your brought back to reality when Shoko links her arm up with yours and pulls you close while the four of you walk to the tattoo shop.

“Oh please im a god, im like the second coming of Jesus Christ for fucks sake I DONT FEEL MORTAL PAINNNNNNN!”Gojo yelled on the top of his voice into the night sky. Though there was few, the people walking past gave strange looks making you roll your eyes at Gojos intoxicated state.

“OH YEAH? Then take a poop in front of us!” Haribara demanded with just as much vigor to match Gojo’s proclamation.

“And turn that poop into wine!” You added through a loud grin.

“TURN THAT POOP INTO WINE TURN THAT POOP INTO WINE” You and Haribara chant on repeat, making Gojo flip the two of you off. Your so into it that you don’t even realize your at the shop and Haribara had stopped chanting.

“TURN THAT POOP INTO-……..oh.” Your face flushed a deep red when you felt all eyes on you and you harshly bit your lip.

“Yikes that’s embarrassing, for you.” Gojo snickered and you elbowed him in the side making him bend over dramatically in pain.

“Damn y’all dont know how to be quiet do you?”

You sucked in your breath when your eyes met the owner of the voice who stepped out from a curtain, and you couldn’t help but take in his appearance. Getos raven hair was tied in a messy bun, a singular lock of bangs falling over his eye brow piercing. He was wearing a black wife beater and black sweatpants, showing the multitude of traditional Japanese tattoos that covered his arms in a uniform sleeve. You could see how people mistook him for yakuza, his massive muscular body that towered over anyone with the added addition of tattoos made him look very menacing depending on how you took him.

He must’ve caught you staring because a shit eating grin spreads across his face.

“Hey y/n.”

“oh... hey?” You wave your hand at Geto, a stupid girlish grin on your face and in that moment you wanted to fucking punch your self from how absolutely dumb you sounded.

Getos attentions diverted to his side where two girls open the curtain and walked out. They were dressed in tight clothing, fabric hugging their curves and an intense amount of cleavage on display. It made you slightly concious of what you were wearing; a large grey sweatshirt and a short black skirt with black leggings. A pang of jealously courses through you but you quickly remind you self that they were obviously just clients.

“You two ladies are done, thank you for coming here.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to take a break and come drink with us? It’s too late to be working any way.” One of the girl pouts and touches his forearm, but geto quickly steps away and responds with a bright smile.

“Sorry ladies but I got new clients at more door step, duty calls.”

The girls huff and walk away, the door ringing as they leave the store.

“God damn maybe I should become a tattoo artist.” Gojo mumbles just loud enough so you could all hear and you roll your eyes.

“Don’t you get enough chicks?” Shoke moved to reach into her pocket to light the cigarette that dangled in between her lips.

“Nope. Never enough bitches.”

“Man whore” Haribara says in between a loud cough.

While the three of them shot remarks at each other you took the time to fully take in the studio. It was relatively big, with different parts along the side being sectioned off by curtains. The walls were plastered with rock posters and tattoo designs ranging from eccentric skulls too beutiful realism of geishas. The room smelled of intense cigarette smoke and weed, and loud music played from a speaker located somewhere.

A lamenated binder that sat on top of the glass counter caught your eye and you walk toward it, flipping through the content which were numerous amounts of tattoo designs.

“You see any you like?”

You slightly jump at Getos voice and look up to see he was leaning over the counter, face inches away from yours.

“I-uh, I don’t know, I want something simple probably, I’m no good with pain.” You stutter out.

“How about this then.” Geto points to something in the book and your eyes follow your his finger. It’s a small cherry blossom branch, the flowers are colored in a pastel pink and the lines are relatively thin.

“Oh wow yeah” you nod “that’s perfect.”

“Great, where do you want it?”

“Where’s the least painful place?”

“The ass” Geto deadpans and you choke.

“Seriously?”

“Nah I’m fucking with you, as much fun as that would be for me though.” Getos lazy grin has your brain running laps and you genuinely don’t know if he is joking or not about the last part. “In all seriousness I recommend the thigh, it’s easy to cover and all the fat surrounding the muscle makes it relatively painless.”

You nod, taking a second to contimplate before responding. “Ok then, thigh it is.”

Getos grin widens and you think you catch something glimmer in his black fox eyes, like he just caught you in a trap or something.

“Great, come with me.” Geto walks out of the counter and beckons you to follow him into the curtained room, but before you do a voice stops you both.

“Hey what about us?” Gojo yells while holding a struggling Haribara in a head lock.

“Sukuna and todou can take care of you guys, they should be almost done.” Geto gestures to the other curtains.

“You mean the Yujis brother with the face tats? Oh HELL NO he hates me! He keeps challenging me to a fight!”

“I’d be happy to do Satorus tattoo.” Says a deep voice that emerged from the curtains. You had seen Sukuna a couple times, and of course heard Gojo complain about him too. He was a big guy, similar build to Geto with interesting black tattoos along his forehead jawline and face. There where rumors that they weren’t actually tattoos but instead birth marks and you didn’t doubt that, something about them seemed too natural.

“Great, come on y/n” Geto hovers his hand over the small of your back, slightly pushing you past the curtains and into the room.

In front of you was a long black tattoo chair with enough room to put up your legs and a smaller chair on the side which was surly were the tattoo artist sat. Next to that chair was a small table which held the tattoo gun and an array of ink bottles.

“You can strip for me angel.” Geto said non chalantly.

“W-What?” You whipped around to face him, face engulfed in a flush red at the suggestion.

“You know, take off your leggings, can’t do the tattoo over clothes. I’m gonna print out the stencil while you do that, give you some privacy.”

Your mouth formed to shape a silent “oh” and you nodded, your embarrassment somehow doubled now.

“I’ll be back in a sec lemme just print out the stencil. I’ll give you some privacy”

You nod and as you watch him open the curtain to leave your ears perk up when you hear Geto mumble something barley loud enough for you to hear.

“Dirty girl.”

It takes a couple seconds to register what you just heard or if you even heard right, and before you could say something Getos already gone, leaving you completely speechless.

“You ready y/n? Can I come in?”

Your bit your lip before responding, fiddling with the edge of your black skirt. There was a reason why you wore leggings under your skirt, what made you regret choosing the tattoo on your thigh. Because your skirt was short, really short. It barley covered the pastel pink panties you were wearing and if you looked from behind you could just see the crease from where the fat of your ass hung over your thigh.

“Yeah you can come in Geto.”

You watched as the curtain parted and Geto walked in, holding a piece of transfer paper with your design. He glances at you, quickly looking up and down before situating him self on the stool next to the tattoo chair.

“You can sit down.” Geto gestures to the seat.

There's a slight pang in your heart from how he barley pays any mind to you, like your panties weren't basically on display. But you quickly dismiss it.

Right he probably sees stuff like this everyday. He’s a professional, not someone who’d drool over you.

You scurry over to the chair, sitting so half of your body is laying flat while your upper body sat up right, head resting against the cushion. You let out a small squeal when you felt a cold cotton ball of alcohol run over your skin, and you watched as Geto laid the stencil on your upper thigh, peeling it off to reveal the design. The next couple moments of him preparing the tattoo gun pass by in a blur and you can feel your chest tighten up from the barrels of adrenaline that were currently building up through your body with every passing moment.

“You ready y/n?”

You feel a gloved hand on your thigh and you look up to see Geto staring at you intently, waiting for your answer.

You gulp and nod. “Yeah just... dont fuck this up, or I'll kill you.” A strangled chuckle escapes your lips to mask your shaking nerves.

“Dont worry sweet heart” A reassuring grin spreads across Getos lips “im quite good at my job.”

Your stupid ‘Geto-obsessed’ brain is too hung up on the pet name he just called you to register the buzz of the tattoo machine until you feel a slightly painful prickling sensation on your thigh.

“Oh, shi-” You immediately bite your lip to contain your squeal making Geto chuckle, his eyes continuing to stay trained on your skin.

“Not good with pain are we?”

“Depends on the situation.” You quickly retort, mind reeling when you realize the implications of what you just said.

“Oh? Is that so. Well dont worry, if it hurts too much after, I’ll kiss it better.” A smirk spreads across Getos features and his thumb on the hand that's holding your thigh starts to stroke your skin, making something sickly sweet pool in your stomach.

Oh no.

Your mind immediately goes blank when you feel something warm excrete from your pussy.

Were you getting off too this?

With the way your skirt was hiked up, you were praying that Geto couldnt see the small damp spot on your underwear, especially since the position he was in would make it extremely easy too.

“Almost done, just have to do the color. Hang in there ok?”

You nod, your brain trying to find something to distract you from the feeling in your core and the tiny bee stings on your thigh.

Your eyes land on the person in front of you, and its then you choose to take in Geto, like really take in geto. How his thin eye brows furrow from concentration or the way his fox like eyes remain trained on you, even to his black hair which was tied in a loose bun. Its then you realize just how utterly handsome Geto is. Sure you’ve been around handsome men before, as much you hate to admit it Gojo is a prime example. But there is something different about Geto that sets him apart from men like Gojo, like how his sharp features gives an air of mystery around him. Something that you cant quite put your finger on but what Geto exudes.

“I can feel you staring you know.”

Your eyes immediately go wide and you quickly look away, your face flushed from embarrassment.

“Ah sorry.” You mumble. Maybe you should keep a count of how many time you could embarrass your self in one day, that would be fun.

“Nah, dont be.”

There's a silence, the buzz of the tattoo gun emanating through the room before Geto speaks up again.

“So what did you think?”

“Of what?”

“Me.”

You check Getos features to see if there is any hint of a joke or playfulness but his face remains concentrated on your skin.

“Oh well uh,” You clear your throat, racking your brain for what would be the best answer to satisfy the man in front of you. “Well your very.... pretty.”

Geto lets out a sudden laugh “Really? I though I was the handsome one and Gojo was the pretty one. Besides that's what im supposed to say to you pretty girl.”

“You treat all your costumers like this?” You say with hesitance, apprehensive to what the answer might be.

“Nah, only the ones I find cute.”

Your mouth is moving too fast for your brain at this point.

“And are there a lot of those?”

Geto grins, sets the tattoo gun down and finally looks up at you, making your heart practically stop.

“Just you right now pretty girl. And im done by the way.”

There's a silence, just the two of you looking at each other, waiting for the others next move.

Screw it.

“It hurts too much.”

“Oh? It does?” His voice is dripping with playfulness and he sits up, taking his black rubber gloves off but not once breaking eye contact with you.

“A-a-and you said-” The shakiness in your voice surprises you, but Geto quickly cuts you off saving you the embarrassment of repeating his words.

“I know what I said angel.”

“So please-”

He's towering over you now, putting his hand under your face to slightly tilt it upward.

“On it.”

Before you can form a thought, a pair of warm lips immediately clash with yours a fit of passion. His first taste of you is hungry and messy and desperate — his tongue exploring every inch of your mouth. Little whines escape your mouth but Geto hungrily swallows them up, a hand coming behind your head to press you closer. You are so eager to abide by him, lapping at his tongue with yours and tracing over his straight teeth.

“W-w-we should go Geto” You say in between breaths before being pulled back into a brain melting kiss. You jump when you feel two fingers tracing over your panties and your once again reminded of the sticky substance dripping out of you.

“Not when we haven't taken care of your problem yet, cant leave you high and dry baby.” Geto smiles at how you weakly nod, knowing the exact words to say to make you puddy in his hands. Slowly he pushed you till your legs are dangling at the edge of the tattoo chair. Then he kneels on the floor, pulling down your frilly pink panties and hoisting your legs over his shoulder so he is face to face with your cunt. Getos hot breath against you makes you shiver and when you realize just exactly where you are, how just a measly curtain is preventing all of your friends from seeing you in this compromising position, you try to shimmy away, but Getos strong hands on your legs glue you in place.

“Geto I-”

“Shhhh baby ill be quick I promise, just stay quiet ok?”

And your about to respond when you feel Getos warm tongue flatten against your clit and swipe up, making you slam a hand over your mouth to muffle your moans. He eats out your pussy like a staved man, tongue licking over every crevice and suckling greedily on your clit. He sinks his thumbs into your cunt and spreads, watch your folds drip with slick and your hole tighten before his eyes before diving right back in. Two fingers easily glide knuckles deep into your hole and curling deliciously to tap against your g spot.

You immediately clamped down around his fingers due to the sudden intrusion. Your hips trying to get away from the surge of pleasure.

"Ah ah ah. Don't run away." He whispers, a sadistic grin plaster on Getos face.”Be a good girl and take it.” A hand flies down to hold his arm but it was hardly to pull him away, no this was just you needing to feel any part of him under your fingers. Geto grins as he returns to delicately sucking your clit and rolling the bud with his tongue while two fingers bully into you.

Soon a new type of feeling presses down on you, completely different from all the times you’ve touched your self. It has your body tickling with tingles of ecstasy like every energy core in your body was suddenly ignited.

“Mmm f-feels weird Geto I dont-” You quietly try to warn the man in between you but a particularly harsh thrust of his fingers into you as you harshly biting your lip to quiet your moans.

“You gonna cum baby? Cum for me.”

Your feet are kicking against Getos back as you try to fight the rising tide, the deep-seated dismay that comes with the very thought of him making you cum when your friends where so close making your stomach twist.

Soon the tension pressing against your core is too much, it has your writhing against Getos tongue until you finally fall, releasing a spray of liquid all over Getos face. He continues to lap up your juices, groaning into your pussy and mumbling something about how good you taste.

When he finally pulls away, your left panting, a silver line of drool slipping past your lips and onto the leather chair. Your too lost in the after haze of your intense orgasm to realize that Geto had started to pull down his sweat pants until your eyes catch his dick spring out.

Its large, really large, your imagination doing no justice to it at all, winning in both girth in length the word impressive barley covered it.

“Ah n-no we cant you said...” You protest meekly but Geto quickly cuts you off by pressing the mushroom tip against your fluttering cunny.

“I know what I said angel, but you look so pretty right now, just cant help my self.” He lets out a deep groan when he slips into your tight hole down to his balls, and your whole body jumping at the feeling of being so helplessly full.

“G-geto~!”

Every vein on his cock dragged against your velvety walls, catching on your entrance as he pulled back before thrusting back in. his thrusts were deep, the tip of his cock reaching spots you could only dream of hitting with your fingers. His eyes caught how good you take him - the fat of his head have a hard time popping out with how greedy your cunny is being

"You are really .. a piece of work." There were veins popping on his temple as his cynical grin broaden before he pinned your body on top of the long chair and thrusting into you. Its all so overwhelming, the heat of his body, how the tip of his dick presses deliciously against your cervix of his breath in your ear. It has you a moaning mess, whining loudly about how good you felt, your worries of people catching the two of you becoming fleeting thoughts. Every time you tighten a surge of pleasure courses through your body.

“f-fuck– that’s fucking good.” he says between grunts. “You’re such a good girl, Y/N, my perfect good girl,”

“So good- don’t stop, please don’t stop!” your babbling strung out of your lips without much of a thought other than how good he was fucking you, his thick cock driving in and out of your velvet walls. It was as if you were made for each other, your cunt sucking him in with each push and shove that hit at just the right spots.

“Not gonna stop till I fill you up-fuck, cum for me baby I know your close”

The heat on your stomach is unbearable, you can’t take it anymore, it’s consuming you, driving you over the edge so fast that you can’t put a stop on it. Geto muffles your screams with a kiss, your pussy tightening so hard around him that he nearly has to stop his thrusts.

“M’want your cum p-please.” You say as you pull back from the kiss, electing a loud groan from Geto.

“Fuck s-sweet heart.”

Your words make him chase his high with with renewed vigor until he feels his own release approach on him. His thrusts became sloppy, his hips stuttering before he stilled his hips flush against your pussy. His grip tightened significantly, a loud moan of your name slipping from his lips as his own orgasm washed over him. Geto cums in you, strings and strings of hot cum filling you up as he held you in his arms. It made your body shake, his load weighing at your stomach.

“Fuck,” you pant, needily searching for his mouth with yours, letting yourself melt against his body as you kiss him lazily, your tongue sleepily twining with his.

“HEY YOU TWO DONE BONING IN THERE? CAN WE LEAVE?” Gojos voice yells from the over side of the curtain making you and Geto groan.

A/n: Im too lazy to write an ending

#geto x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jjk x reader #geto smut #gojo x reader #sukuna x reader #jjk smut #geto suguru #getou suguru x reader #toji x reader #toji smut

3K notes · View notes

kinfinite · 4 years ago

Text

Maybe all of our names (or nicknames) were nature related. Like kinda edgy goth kids. Thorn, Raven, Wasp.... something like that. Don’t remember the other persons name though and I believe we called the creature a few different things

#thorn tag #my sibling called me June sometimes but #they went by a nickname that may have been wasp #and I thought raven might have been my name for like five seconds before I was like Nah that was someone else #I know I thought of the creature as a shadow it was the best descriptor for it #I wish I had my mems written down time stamped but I keep them all together so the date is whenever I last updated the list #I kinned thorn in sept I just don’t remember when all the mems I have under that are from #hmm maybe I’ll timestamp mems from now on if I remember to

0 notes

erodasfishtacos · 3 years ago

Text

Crackin’ the Code

prompt: Harry and YN tie the knot in a beautiful castle off the coat of Italy. Harry reflects back on his life before his love. YN has past insecurities creep on on her before the wedding.

note: this is the necklace that YN receives as (one) her wedding gifts from H and she wears it during the ceremony.

word count: 9k

warnings: smut

***<-- click for visuals throughout (super important for this one shot!)

if you enjoy this fic (which i worked REALLY hard on) please reblog, like, comment, and come talk to me!

please please considering donating to my kofi since all my work is FREE to you guys!

---

The world expected an extravagant wedding with week-long festivities, celebrations in destinations only the richest could afford, and all the big names of the business world who ran in his circle.

The media outlets were just waiting, quite impatiently, for the day that the richest man in Europe settled down with a significant other. They would have news stories for decades when it came to the couple.

Of course, Harry Styles was going to marry a household name - the public thought.

Whether it be an heiress, a model, maybe even an actress? The choices for the most eligible bachelor were limitless.

Any time he was at an event, usually a charity gala or black-tie dinner, paparazzi would take candid pictures of him with any female and then the following day publish an article about how they were a couple.

However, what the world didn’t know was that he’s been in a relationship for a year and a half, has already been engaged after the eight month mark, and moved into pretty soon after but that was hushed.

Nearly no one except a few key employees and family members knew about the couple. Everyone in his office building in the heart of London had to sign NDA’s at the beginning of their job - though almost all of them didn’t know she existed.

Harry did not put any limits on YN for the wedding planning.

No price, no expectations, nothing. If she wanted ten-thousand people or zero people in attendance that was her call. If she wanted to drop ten million dollars on a wedding or a hundred that was fine too.

The CEO never fantasized about a wedding.

Well he had but no in the terms most do. He didn’t sit and imagine the venue, the food menu, or the decorations.

No, he didn’t care about any of that, he daydreamed about the fact that he and someone would commit themselves to each other for the rest of their lives.

Harry wanted to marry his fiance after their first date.

He was usually a very patient man, couldn’t have gotten where he was if he wasn’t. When it came to this, each day he wasn’t married to the love of his life felt like torture.

Since he proposed to her in his briefs in their bedroom, he had imagined her looking immaculate in whatever she chose to wear, exchanging vows of devotion, and then being tied together for life.

He never thought he would get here. He’d never felt a connection with someone like he had with the feisty waitress who bumped into him. Begin to believe that he was broken or lacking emotion because no matter how sweet the girl was he couldn’t see himself with the person.

Don’t get him wrong.

He took many women out on dates that were downright awful. Asking him about money, suggesting he take them on expensive vacations or buy them a designer item, being too forward and palming his crotch in the middle of dinner.

One of the last dates he went on before he gave up was the one that made him stop looking all together, about six months before he ran in YN.

---

It was an expensive restaurant in the heart of London. It had a waitlist for months but one call and they could magically make an available booth for the billionaire within the hour.

The girl he was sitting across from was a so-to-speak blind date.

A set up by one of his business partners who stated that they would be a good match. Harry had rolled his eyes at that but couldn’t come up with an excuse fast enough to say ‘no.’

Her name was Aria, she had a respectable job at a local law firm as an assistant to a very well-known lawyer in the area.

She was beautiful in the way of looking just like an instagram model with long dark extensions, false eyelashes that made it hard to determine what color her eyes were, and an outfit that made Harry a bit embarrassed to be seen with her - short and low cut at a five-star restaurant.

“Yeah, I just got back from Mallorca with a group of friends,” She tells him, flipping through the photo album on her phone to show him pictures.

When she ‘accidentally’ swipes (and slowly swipes) again so that Harry definitely gets a glimpse of a nude selfie.

Harry internally groans, couldn’t be less turned on by that, and doesn’t acknowledge it - much to Aria's disappointment.

She was fishing for a compliment, maybe a request for him to take the phone and look closer at the picture like most men would.

Instead he sits back, takes a sip of his wine, and nods curtly, “It looks like you had a good time.”

She stumbles for a second, confused by his sudden standoffishness, and clicks her phone locked before putting it next to her on the table, “Did I offend you?”

He was already done with the date, with the dating scene, with fucking everything honestly.

What a goddamn waste of a night.

Harry barks out a cruel laugh, “It takes a lot more to offend me than a picture of y’tits but it’s a bit offensive that y’think so little of yourself that you think that’s how y’going to impress me. Those tits didn’t impress me much, darling.”

Aria’s eyes narrow in blatant disbelief at how much of an asshole he was being.

Granted, she did feel a bit of embarrassment creeping up in her stomach about thinking showing him that picture was a good idea but still, he didn’t need to react like that.

“It really makes sense why you don’t have a girlfriend, it’s because of what an asshole you are,” The girl sneers with venom as she tucks her phone into her clutch, swigging down the last drops of the expensive wine.

He shrugs like he’s unbothered, a nasty feeling quilling in the pit of his stomach as he keeps an outward expression of nonchalance and ease, it make the raven-haired woman even more furious as he replies cooly, “I’m not being an asshole, honesty hurts sometimes. Maybe if you think the way you attract someone is by nude pictures, you should try Tinder or Bumble.”

“I hope you have fun living the rest of your life alone. You may have your money but you’re going to end up alone and it will be all you fucking have,” Aria tells him before pushing out her chair and leaving before the main course even arrives.

Harry sits there for a moment, swallowing and pleading with himself to not let the nasty words set in because they felt too real and too personal - she had actually struck some type of chord within and it had his stomach churning.

When he pays the bill, apologizing profusely for leaving dinner before the entree arrives but with an excuse of a company emergency - it’s eerily quiet in his car as he drives home to his massive home with no one in it.

It doesn’t happen often.

He should call his mum, Gemma, Dorothy even to talk it out but he feels so fucking alone because he can’t get it right. He can’t connect with anyone and it is starting to feel hopeless.

He is angry, so angry at himself, that he can’t shake the feeling of it and he feels like he’s losing control because he never fucking talks about his emotions.

A beautiful set of dishware was sitting out his dining room table, the housekeeper had carefully unwrapped them earlier in the day.

They were imported from Beijing, decorated with real gold, and handcrafted. It had cost him nearly forty-thousand dollars for a set of fucking plates and bowls.

I hope you have fun living the rest of your life alone. You may have your money but you’re going to end up alone and it will be all you fucking have.

It is repeatedly on a loop in his head, glares at the items on the dinner table like they’re mocking him, and he has no wits about himself before he’s taking one of the beautiful bowls and throwing it against the wall as hard as possible.

I hope you have fun living the rest of your life alone. You may have your money but you’re going to end up alone and it will be all you fucking have.

By the time he’s done, his chest is heaving, and his face is red.

When reality starts to set back in, every single item from the set is destroyed on the floor, the wall’s paint chipped from where he’d hurled them.

He was so fucked up.

Harry couldn’t help but relieve the feelings of that nasty flashback. He couldn’t believe that he had been at that point in his life - not when he had the most all-consuming, amazing in every single way woman laying next to him in his bed.

YN had shown Harry that he had never been broken, he had just been waiting.

She was his soulmate and he had been waiting for her since forever. He truly believed that as he looked at the girl next to him with enough emotion his heart might burst.

She was just...everything.

YN was so fucking funny - the funniest person Harry had ever met. She was loving in a way that made you feel like you belonged. Compassionate in a way that makes you want to be more selfless yourself. Intelligent enough that it was breathtaking and unreal - and that was just the tip of the iceberg.

She was uncaring of who Harry was - in the most perfect way.

Money wasn’t a personality trait that she defined him with. She loved him for who he was at the bare basics, stripped away from his public life.

She was confident in a way that girls rarely were.

Bared face and more beautiful than the highest-paid models.

Her body was her own, embracing every curve and inch of it without any shame. Let herself be authentic in front of Harry which made him feel like he had won a secret lottery.

Right now, she was fast asleep next to him in bed after stuffing herself full of oreos that she was dunking in milk. She ignored Harry’s looks of disgust at the soggy cookies and munched away happily which made him happy in turn.

She still had a dark crumb on the corner of her puffy lips, her mouth parted just the slightest amount, and her face smushed halfway into the pillow.

The shirt she had on was so oversized she was swimming in it and a pair of soft pink cheeky underwear.

Currently, she was the farthest thing from graceful and Harry loved that so fucking much.

As they lay mere days away from their wedding, remembering that nasty flashback, he can’t help but remember their first date and how he had known from them that he had finally found a spark, a connection to another human being.

Harry cannot remember the last time he had been nervous.

Maybe back in his teenage years? If that.

It was an unsettling feeling that was currently pooling in the pit of his stomach as he changed his outfit for the third time before finally being somewhat satisfied with the suit he had picked out - tighter black jeans, black button-up, black blazer - couldn’t go wrong there. ***

YN had texted him asking what she should wear for their first date when Harry told her he was going to keep it simple and take her to a restaurant.

He had to dress nice, it was an expensive restaurant that he had not taken any other dates to before, it was right outside of London - going towards the countryside with a beautiful view of a meadow and stream.

When he had arrived in front of her apartment, well he had never been on this side of town, and it quite frankly looked like the roof of her building was about to collapse at any minute. It was rough to say the least.

Harry had picked out a car he thought would impress her. He remembered her saying the doors of his Lamborghini were stupid so he picked a car with normal doors this time. It was his new Audi Quattro that had cost him upwards of 170,000 pounds. ***

YN had popped out of the front door, her face didn’t read impressed when she saw the car like he had hoped. It was interesting before YN, he did not care whether or not his dates were impressed by him - now he craved it.

She looked extraordinary in a form fitting silky black dress that hugged every single curve of her body perfectly while accentuating them at the same time. Minimal makeup, loose waves, and simple high heels - it was like a dream that he was taking this girl out on a date. ***

When she slips into the passenger seat, the smell of her floral yet cinnamon perfume makes the car smell heavenly, she looks over at him and says, “You didn’t even come open the door for me. We’re off to a bad start, Harry.”

His heart sinks, fuck - he had been blindsided by her beauty that he wasn’t even being a proper gentleman, “M’so sorry, I wa-”

She chirps out a tender laugh, patting his arm, “You’re face, oh my god. I was just fucking with you.”

Harry’s frown turns into a pout, “S’not nice, pet.”

YN shrugs before a bit self-consciously adjusting the fabric around her midsection, “Erm, I hope this outfit is nice enough? It’s really the only semi-decent thing I own.”

He shakes his head in disbelief, “Y’look absolutely stunning. I can’t even believe y’real to be honest, so fuckin’ pretty.”

YN gives him a shy, unsure smile but he can tell she’s preening at the compliment internally (which she totally is).

The restaurant is one of the nicest in England, let alone London.

There wasn’t even a menu, they just served eight courses over a few hours time by servers in suits with bowties on.

YN had never felt more out of place.

As they sat down, Harry was proud that he was able to show off his abilities for a good date, YN was looking around nervously before looking up at the server and saying, “We didn’t get menus yet.”

The man gives her a humorous expression before telling her, “We don’t do menus here, miss. Your date is a regular, I am sure he can fill you in. However, we are starting off with a Cabernet from 2001 imported from Napa, California.”

As he pours the wine into their sparkling glasses, she asks unknowingly, “I don’t really like wine. Is there any way I could get a Coke?”

Harry frowns when the server laughs meanly at her, “Ma’am this isn’t McDonald’s. We do not carry soda. I can provide you with water, if you so wish.”

Harry can’t help but snap at the waiter, “Oi, she’s never been here before. Lay off with the attitude alright?”

“My apologies, Mr. Styles,” He murmurs obediently before finishing the pouring off the whine and retreating from the table.

YN is trying to hide how uncomfortable she is but it is still obvious with how she fidgets in her seat, doesn’t quite know what to do with her hands as she doesn’t even bother to reach towards the wine glass.

“This isn’t really your scene, is it?” Harry murmurs, embarrassment with his failure to impress her with an expensive car and dinner.

It was falling flat and it was the only thing he knew how to do - flaunt his wealth, everyone else had always been impressed.

“No, it isn’t,” She agrees quietly, fingers folding the edges of the cloth napkin to keep her anxiousness directed somewhere, “I appreciate this, er, dinner. I thought we were going to go somewhere like Mary’s.”

Mary’s was a restaurant that was considered ‘nice’ to the commoners in the city. It was a bit more expensive than a pub and the attire was a bit fancier than if you were going out to a bar.

For someone like Harry, that was not considered a fancy restaurant.

However, YN was not him and this was not something that she had ever been accustomed to. He now definitely felt like an idiot.

It’s made even worse when a massive plate is put in front of each of them.

The plate is huge but the dish is merely one scallop with a lemon sauce and sprinkle of parsley on top. YN can’t even try to hide her confusion at the food.

“I’ve mucked this date up,” Harry sighs, nearly thirty minutes into the actual date.

YN had taken a small bite of the scallop before setting down her fork and not touching it again - it tasted like dirty feet. Did rich people like that taste?

She decides not to answer directly, “I already know you have money. It doesn’t ‘wow’ me. I was hoping for a fun date, this is….nice but quite truthfully, not for me. I prefer a pub or bowling - this feels more like a business meeting.”

Harry usually doesn’t have dates that are this honest with him.

He feels embarrassed but he really did appreciate her honesty. He should have known to do something different than this but he was comfortable with his normal pattern.

“Can we get out of here?” YN asks, placing the napkin back on the table and gathering up her small purse to swing over her shoulder.

He feels defeated as he nods, paying for the meal in full as he accepts that he’s fucked up the date beyond repair by being an arrogant, ignorant asshole who doesn’t truly know how to talk to a girl he likes.

It’s quiet as he starts the car and pulls back onto the road, he startles a bit when YN points to a glowing sign of a golden arch and demands, “Go there.”

With a bit of confusion, Harry pulls into the McDonald’s parking lot and then to the drive-thru as she motions for him to do so.

God, he hasn’t been to a fast food joint in years now if he was being honest.

When they pull up to the screen, YN leans across and shoots out their food order with ease before sitting back with a smug smile, “We’re going to have a date my way.”

Harry sighs with relief when he realizes the date isn’t over - but really just beginning. They sit and chat in the parking lot. He is thoroughly impressed when YN manages a box of nuggets, a fry, and a milkshake without shame.

Not like she should be shameful - just usually on dates women were hesitant to actually eat and instead picked carefully at their food instead. Their conversation in the car is bright, at some points deep and meaningful, but refreshing. It made him feel young again.

After they finished eating, she’s ordering him to drive a bit further out into the country where he can’t help but make the joke, “Are y’taking me somewhere to kill me?” YN smiles happily with a wide grin, “You’ll just have to wait to see.”

It ends up being a lake. A beautiful body of water that was surrounded by trees that were being reflected into the ripples with the light of the moon. The only sounds were of crickets chirping and the light lapping of the water against the small shore. ***

“I used to come here a lot in the summer in high school,” YN murmurs as Harry takes in the scenery of everything. It had been so long since he had appreciated nature - not the bright clear waters in the tropics but something like this.

“S’beautiful,” Harry replies, can’t help but observe this girl he’s infatuated beauty in the moonlight.

Her skin looks like it’s glowing, the moon sparkling off the twinkle of her iries, and she just looked...ethereal. Like she belonged in the beauty of the wilderness.

He couldn’t believe his eyes - had to blink harshly a few times to make sure he’s not imagining it when she pulls the thin straps of her dress down her shoulders and shimmy the garment down her body until she’s left in a delicate lace bra and cheeky pair of underwear.

Harry, always the gentleman, keeps his eyes (with effort) on her face. Unsure of what is going on in her mind before she turns around with a little run and dives headfirst into the deep waters before popping back up and giggling, “Jump in!”

She’s just so...carefree, adventurous. Harry hadn’t felt free in fucking years.

It has him shucking out of all of his clothing, just down to his tight black briefs before he’s diving in, right next to her, and feeling around. He wraps his hand around her ankle to teasingly tug her under with him before they both surface.

As they wad in the water, YN swims over to him, and wraps her legs around his waist, arms around his neck. Her soaking wet hair was dripping and he was breathing heavy, feeling his ribcage expand against her soft tummy.

She murmurs quietly over the light lapping over the water, “You haven’t even looked at me once.”

Harry swallows, feeling like a schoolboy again, “I...I didn’t want to without permission.”

“I want you to look at me,” YN replies, letting her nose nudge his and her eyes searching into his nervous ones.

He nods, closing his eyes when he feels her lips brush his, letting his large palms grip at her sides and pull her closer to his chest. Their lips not breaking when his hands begin to explore the intricate, plush curves of her body.

They don’t do anything else, don’t go any further but he groaning when she traces her fingertips down his muscular, defined abs and thumb rubbing over the trail of light hair leading into his briefs.

After a swim, filled with splashing and dunking, they retired to lay in the grass. Both of their backs, looking up at the clear night sky, moon full and stars glittering against the stark darkness that surrounds it.

YN wriggle until she’s tucked into his side, hand running up and down his chest, as she says, “I’m sorry your date didn’t go as planned. I ruined it.”

“Y’didn’t ruin anything. I...I haven’t felt like this in a long time,” Harry admits as he gives off an embarrassed laugh, “I..I’m a little bit scared, to be honest.”

“Scared? Of what?” YN asks, lips pressing against a tattoo on his bare shoulder.

“Because I already am falling for you,” Harry utters, heart racing and his eyes glued upwards and pointedly not wanting to see her interaction.

“That’s a relief.”

His eyebrows shoot up, “A relief?”

“Yeah, I would say. I’m falling too,” YN whispers before leaning up to connect their lips once more as the moon rises further in the sky and the crickets sing a little louder. They lay like that for a very long time.

Harry went home that night for the first time not feeling the empty weight of his loneliness, instead he feel asleep imagining the beautiful, spontaneous girl next to him in his bed.

It wasn’t going to be the wedding everyone expected for The Harry Styles. **

There was not many invites set out for this event. It wasn’t the wedding of the century or the most expensive wedding of the decade.

Harry would have let his wife-to-be have this day however she wanted without complaint but could say he was very happy that it was going to a be a low-key event. It was going to be some of YN’s family, though she didn’t have much, and Harry’s extended family. No one from work or business. Just family.

They had just gotten finished with the rehearsal dinner, the couple being ordered to separate rooms for the final night before they were married. It was tradition.

Harry had walked YN to her hotel room, they were staying at the venue, and pressed her up against the door. His hand coming to weave into her meticulously curled hair and cupping the back of her head, bring her mouth to his.

He wastes no time in letting his tongue find hers, hips coming to press her further back against the aged wood, and his teeth nipping roughly at her plump bottom lip, “Baby, y’gonna be m’wife tomorrow.”

YN’s eyes twinkle up at him like they did during their first date, “I can’t wait. I can’t wait to spend forever with you.”

His fiance laughs kindly as he gets a bit watery eyed, her thumb coming to swipe under his eye, she jokes, “Are you regretting proposing now?”

“Just never knew I could be this happy,” He murmurs against her lips, can’t help but reach around to grip a generous amount of her backside and pulling her flush against him where he’s hardening quickly.

“Mm, down boy. You don’t get the goods until tomorrow,” YN scolds, hand wrapping around his wrist and squeaking when he squeezes harder to get the point across - how much he wants her, all the fucking time.

“Want it now, pet,” Harry whines lowly, grinding his hips forward into her, “Give it t’me, y’mouth, y’cun-”

“Alright lovebirds! Separate now!” Gemma barks to interrupt with the laughter of their childhood friend Chloe.

They pull Harry by the back of the shirt and push him forward towards his room, Gemma smiles back at YN, “Make him put a ring on it before you give it to him!”

“Gem!” Harry scolds with a whine, giving his fiance puppy dog eyes and a pouted bottom lip, “Baby, don’t let them take me!”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, I love you!” YN shouts back, waving and smiling to herself as she opens up the door to her room and then locking it after she steps in. It feels weird being in a hotel room without him but she was a bit sweaty and her nerves were wiry so she decided a nice bath would be a good idea.

It’s past two in the morning and she was no less ready to find sleep. The worries of whether everything will be set up properly, if she’ll stutter during her vows, there were just so many things that could go wrong.

Life didn’t even seem real at this moment.

She was marrying her husband at an amazing castle on the coast of italy with family to surround them in love. She had the perfect dress, the perfect flowers, the perfect partner. ***

She had never had it easy. Never thought she would deserve something like this. Harry had made her feel worthy of all this, they deserved to have a happy ever after.

When it hits three in the morning, she can’t stand the quiet of the italian countryside anymore, and is swinging her legs over the bed. She pockets the keycard Harry gave her earlier in the day in her cotton shorts before sneaking out of her room.

After she taps the card to the sensor, the large oak doorknob clicks, she slips in and closes the door as silently as possible. YN steps in to the room, Harry's asleep in his bed on his stomach, face smushed into the pillow.

Harry’s facial expression and body language while he was awake was so severe, serious, intimidating. In sleep, his face was lax and his limbs loose. He looked more boyish when he was dreaming.

YN’s heart aches at how much she loves him, pulling the covers up, and crawling under them until she’s jostling him unintentionally, waking him from his light sleep with a mumble, “Baby, y’okay? Wha’s wrong? Y’alright?”

She giggles at his dazy panic, “I just missed you.”

“Mmm,” Harry agrees, pulling her all the way down and rolling on top of her, “Missed y’more.”

“You’re like a toaster!” YN squeals as he’s encompasses her, laying on her with his weight. His lips finding her pulse point and gently sucking. He was barely awake and he still couldn’t stop himself from her finding comfort in her body.

“I’m warmin’ y’up,” Harry growls against her neck before giving her a lick which has her giggling even more and pushing him off until he falls on his back and she’s swing her legs over his waist, straddling him.

“Y’breakin’ the tradition, m’heart.”

YN shrugs, humming while he palms at her belly, and she (much to his disappointment) ignores where he’s hard and waiting for her.

“I want t’sleep with you,” She pleas sheepishly, leaning all the way over to connect their lips in a quickie peck before she’s moving off of him and into his side.

“Never say no to you, y’know that, dovie,” Harry replies as if it’s obvious (it is).

“We’re getting married tomorrow,” YN whispers into the dark, like it’s a secret just between the two.

Harry nuzzles his nose against her temple, “Never wanted anythin’ more than I want you.”

YN can’t help but sniffle softly, overwhelmed with emotion and love, “You’re so good to me. I don’t deserve you.”

“You saved me. You saved me from myself, from where I was going. You gave me hope, feeling again. Y’are m’heart, it fuckin’ beats for you.”

It may not be tradition but YN wouldn’t of had it any other way, sleeping in a magnificent castle on the ethereal coast of Italy in a classic hotel room, and the excitement of their wedding rumbling in both of their stomachs.

“You sneaky bastards!” Bethany screeches, door flinging open with Gemma in tow as they intrude into Harry’s room - finding the couple curled up under the covers with Harry spooning YN with his face tucked into her hair.

“Fuck off,” Harry groans, pulling his fiance closer into his chest as she wriggles awake and whimpers lowly, “Mornin’ lovie.”

“Out out!” Gemma shoos, pulling the covers off of them and the sisters showing no mercy while they yank YN out of the bed and titter about how she needs to start getting ready, no time for cuddles, breaking traditions.

“Bring her back!” He whines childishly, hurling a pillow at his sister’s retreating back as they guide YN back to her own room.

“You’ll see her in a few hours!” Gemma shouts back before slamming the hotel room door and leaving Harry to doze off for just a few more minutes.

Hair and makeup went fast.

It was getting closer and closer to actually walking down the aisle towards her soon-to-be life partner and she’s never felt more nervous.

Rosemary and Bethany were all rushing around - attempting to get ready in the midst of getting the bride ready.

YN didn’t want to look like a doll or have any intense makeup. It was a soft champagne smokey eye with dewy skin and a glowing highlight. A nice lip with a bit of glittering gloss.

Her hair was in big, loose curls that cascaded down her back with the front pulled off of her face. A real white flower holding it back.

Then it was the dress. She was anxious about whether Harry would like it or not. She wasn’t sure what he was expecting her to wear - a massive ball gown, a form-fitting mermaid, or something less over-the-top?

It was a show-stopper that had her memorized when she had first seen it - could automatically imagined herself getting married in Italy with this on her body.

It was also one of the only times she didn’t even care about the price tag - she knew this was it. Yes, it was absurd to spend fifty thousand pounds on a dress but it was the one time she took advantage of Harry’s wealth.

It was flowy, reminding her of the soft waves that lapped at the coast of the italian beaches. It was sophisticated, classy with a sharp starch white that billowed into a dreamlike beauty.

What had made her fall in love was the sheer, detailed sleeves that gave the dress more of a vintage, glamour appearance than the modern tight-fit, overly sexy gowns that most brides wore nowawadays. ***

The train was long and sleek. It would trail beautifully down the aisle before being bustled for the reception. It made her feel confident in a way that an item of clothing next had made her feel before.

“Your tits look amazing,” Bethany compliments before giggling when their grandmum pinches her arm for her crude language.

YN couldn’t find it in her to laugh. She felt like her voice was stuck in her throat and it wasn’t moving.

It started to feel real.

The fact that Harry had proposed, had planned a wedding with her, that he was agreeing to marrying her today.

It was starting to scare her - no, not cold feet but anxiety that he would realize that he could do better than the lowly waitress.

Now, on a normal day, she wouldn’t be having these irrational thoughts. Today was different and it felt too good to be true.

Rosemary and Bethany sense the tension in the room, rub her shoulders, and respect her wishes when she asked for a moment alone.

YN debates picking up her phone, knowing he was busy with his bigger side of the family in the groom’s suite.

She finds herself picking up her mobile, dialing his number, and waiting with bated breath for his syrupy, warm voice to pour through the speaker.

“Everythin’ okay?” He answers, she can hear Anne and Gemma tittering about in the background, yelling at him to get a move on.

“I’m scared,” YN whispers, she holds back her tears because the last thing she wanted to do was ruin her meticulous makeup.

“Leavin’ me at the altar?” Harry jokes lowly, stepping away from prying ears.

YN giggles at his teasing tone, “Never. I…I feel like this is all too good to be true. Like it’s a dream and I’m going to wake up.”

Harry huffs, “Sweetheart. Y’my soulmate, if y’wake up - I’m right there with you, okay? God, if anyone is dreamin’ it’s me. I get t’marry the most beautiful, intelligent -“

Gemma’s voice interrupts him, “You already seduced her into marrying you! We don’t have time for this sweet talk!”

The line goes dead but YN feels much better now.

—

Rosemary was going to be the one walking her down the aisle to her new husband. It didn’t feel right to have anyone else do it as she was the one who raised her into the strong, independent woman she was today.

YN knew she wanted to have an outside wedding.

What would be more perfect than a cool evening in Italy? It was what she had dreamed about since she was little without the idea that it would ever happen.

The weather was absolutely perfect. There was a slight warm breeze that would keep the guests from being overheated, the sun was peeking in and out of vibrant white clouds that complimented the blue sky.

She knew exactly where Harry would be standing.

Underneath a beautiful, dated archway with intricate designs about.

The old material had lovingly grown luscious ivy that kissed the walls in a swirling, natural design.

YN would never forget how beautiful that ivy had looked on her wedding day, encompassing the magnificent that was her soon-to-be husband.***

The venue was open, airy but still gave off an intimacy. There weren't many rows of chairs because not many were invited to share in such an ethereal experience where soulmates have found each other and were announcing their commitment to the world.

“Are you ready, my daughter?” Her grandmother had asked quietly as they lined up behind the expansive, old brick wall that hides them from the rest of the ceremony and crowd. She could hear the whispering as people took their seats.

YN nods, her vocal cords refusing to cooperate as she imagines Harry just as nervous on the opposite side with his family.

When the twinkling, traditional music begins from the small orchestra off to the side - the realization hits her - it is actually happening, right now.

Bethany puts her bouquet in front of her, giving one last meaningful smile at her sister before she takes her cue to turn the corner and begins her walk down the aisle.

It meant Harry was up there, watching as she was about to appear.

Then the orchestra’s melody became louder, more grand in the signaling for the guests to stand and turned toward the back of the room - awaiting the bride’s entrance to the ceremony.

Rosemary takes the initiative to hook their arms and guide her past the wall.

YN clutches onto her own flowers as if it’s her lifeline. ***

Every fear, insecurity, moment of self-doubt dissipates when her eyes connect to Harry’s. There is no longer a doubt in her mind that she wasn’t enough. It was a deep, unbreakable stare as Harry’s mouth parts in a gasp of awe.

He was in a suit that was undeniably him. It displayed how fucking regal he was, how it looked like he was handcrafted into the italian design, how it fit him just perfectly.

It wasn’t a normal tuxedo. It was a perfectly tailored, custom (of course) Gucci suit that excentuate his broad shoulders and the nip of his narrow hips *** ***.

YN can’t even hear the noise of the guests - whispering about how beautiful she looks.

All she can see is her future husband, who swallows harshly as an unexpected sob wracks through his chest at the sight of his bride.

The guests can’t help but look with wide eyes as the man they know - who they’ve barely ever seen smile, let alone cry, cannot control his emotions.

Gemma, who was his ‘best man’ which they deemed ‘best woman’, rubs his back soothingly with a watery smile herself at seeing her brother so estastatic as he looks at the woman of his dreams.

Harry rubs his eyes before meeting hers again.

YN is holding back her own tears as she reaches the end of the aisle.

In tradition as old as time, Harry steps forward and Rosemary passes her hand over to him in a signal that she trusts him to take care of the girl she’s spent meticulous time raising and cultivating into the person she is today.

“I trust you to take care of my girl, she is now yours,” Rosemary tells Harry, her tone is calm and full of emotion as she allows Harry to lean over to kiss her cheek softly.

Harry nods, his usually stable voice shaky as he replies, “I promise, I’ll take care of her until the day I die.”

Rosemary nods before patting his cheek and finding her seat in the audience.

When they are finally standing face-to-face, YN reaches over to thumb off a stray tear that was sliding down his cheek before he turns his head to kiss her thumb then kissing her palm.

Harry didn’t even acknowledge that there was anyone else watching - it was just him and her.

“Y’look breathtaking, can’t believe y’mine,” Harry murmurs trembling, his chest moving faster than usual and it felt like it was nearly impossible for him to catch his breath as he looked at the woman in front of him.

When it comes to the vows, Bethany hands over her small piece of paper that she had scribbled onto and scratched out multiple times - never quite able to get the wording just right and she says just that.

“I couldn’t find the right words to explain my love for you,” She starts, voice raspy as she looks up to see Harry watching her raptly, eyes intense and only focused on her.

“And maybe there aren’t even words to explain it because nothing felt like enough. It is how I feel a lot of the time with you. I’ll never have enough of you because you’re all-consuming to me. I have never felt happiness like I have with you.”

YN is trying to stifle her tears as she continues, Harry reaches out to rub her arm in reassurance then he lightly brushes over the new necklace he had gifted her, “You’re by far the most complex, closed-off person I have ever met. I feel like you’ve allowed me to crack the code and once I did, I wasn’t disappointed. I’ve cracked my own code, you see.”

“The code to explaining my feelings for you will come with my dedication, love, loyalty to be your wife for the rest of our lives.”

Harry can’t help what he does next despite it not falling in line at the ceremony.

His hands come up to cup her jaw and he sears his lips to hers, kissing her with all the passion and emotion he cannot seem to keep in any longer. It’s too much, has to show her in that moment how much he loves her.

A few of his uncles whistle from the crowd as their wives smack their chests in warning.

YN giggles, returning the kiss before pushing him off.

The look in his eyes is one she knows extremely well - it sends shivers down her spine and makes her hair stand on end -, the stare down of lust and want.

“Mr. Styles,” The officiant redirects, nodding towards the piece of paper he has in his hand.

“Yeah, sorry,” Harry mumbles, unraveling the wrinkled notecard he had tucked in his inner suit pocket.

“I knew I was in love with you the moment you spilled that drink on me and undressed me in that dodgy employee bathroom,” Harry says with full sincerity, smirking at YN’s blush when he brings up the way they met.

“I tried to talk myself out of it. It was impossible to fall in love in mere minutes of meeting someone but it was the truth. I knew after our first date that I wanted y’to be m’wife. I knew after the second that I wanted y’to be the mother of my babies one day. And by the third date, I was planning on buying you a ring.”

“It sounds insane because it is. I’ve never been an impulsive, spur-of-the-moment, hopeful person before you. You made me throw all that out of the window, you make me feel alive, and when I tell you that you saved me. You saved me, m’love.”

“There is a lot of uncertainty in this world but I can tell you one thing that is absolutely fuckin’ certain -”

“Harry,” YN hisses with an eye-roll at his crude language.

“The one thing that is absolutely certain in this world is that I will always love you, always take care of you, and always do everythin’ in m’power to make you happy.”

The guests in the chairs are quite speechless.

They’d never heard such passionate, meaningful vows from a couple.

This was not what they were expecting of Harry who had never once put his heart on his sleeve and right now he’d laid it all out on the table.

“YN LN, do you agree to take Harry Edward Styles as your husband? To have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for better or for worse, until the end of your time on earth?” The officiant asks, voice ringing against the walls of the castle.

YN has to take a big breath before she replies in a strong, firm voice as her eyes bore into Harry’s, “I do.”

“Harry Edward Styles, do you agree to take YN MN LN as your wife? To have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for better or for worse, until the end of your time on earth?” The officiant repeats.

Harry, in ever typical fashion, in his loud, booming voice replies, “Of course I fuckin’ do.”

The guests in the audience laugh lightly as the officiant states, “I now announce to you, Mr. and Mrs. Styles. You may now kiss your bride.”

It doesn’t take more than a second for Harry to step forward, grip her face and pull her in for a kiss, it doesn’t matter that their family is there to him as he licks into her mouth which is bordering on obscene before YN brings it back to a softer, more appropriate one.

He whispers against his lips, barely audible, “Can’t believe y’my fucking wife, m’fucking heart.”

As people are moving towards the reception area, Harry manages to find a secluded area of the outside gardens where there is no one in sight.

“Baby, baby, y’married me,” Harry is nearly chanting, like he’s in disbelief, at the same time he’s cornering his new bride up against the brick wall with his mouth trailing sloppy wet kisses down her shoulder.

“Mmm, it was everything I ever imagined, it was so beautiful. Everything I had imagined for our day,” YN replies blissfully, hands running carefully through his meticulously styled hair.

When he bends down and lifts up the bottom of her dress, she giggles when he ducks his head underneath all the tulle and fabric, finding a very skimpy pair of white lace panties that are supposed to be saved for later.

“Harry,” YN scolds half-heartedly, it would only take one person to find them in this undeniable inappropriate situation but she willingly let him push her further against the brick and take one of her legs over his shoulder.

“Baby, these fuckin’ panties,” He groans, muffled by the barrier of the heavy fabric, and she hisses when pulls them down to the thick of her thighs and his mouths finds her center within moments.

“Fu-fuck,” She hisses, trying to keep her moans down as he wastes no time in pushing in two thick fingers to curve towards her front as his tongue laps quickly and sloppily on her clit until it feels like she’s about to explode.

“S’right, fuckin’ m’cunt. I have it f’the rest of my life, found the best one,” Harry mutters against her wet skin, almost to himself like he can’t even believe the words, before he’s back to speeding up his fingers to match the rhythm of his mouth until she’s quivering for a whole other reason now.

It takes a few minutes for Harry to calm himself down enough to be able to go into the reception, he tells YN that he can’t even look at her right now because if he does he’ll be perpetually hard throughout the whole thing.

The reception is more of a dinner than a party.

Fairy lights strung above the two long tables where decadent, mouth-watering food was served with the orchestra playing light, melodic music in the background. ***

It was perfect.

Their family drank, laughed, ate, and were merry.

Everyone was basking in each other’s company, congratulating the new couple, and enjoying all the beauty that was surrounding them at the castle.

There is not much more to say than that.

The honeymoon suite was located on one of the highest floors of the castle, away from all of the other wedding guests and staff.

YN was sure it was beautiful but from the moment she was carried over the threshold, she didn’t see anything but her new husband - he was blinding in his beauty. His skin was glowing, a slight sheen of sweat from the reception, and the still warm bite in the breeze. ***

“Sweetheart, baby. Please let m’undress you, y’my wife,” Harry pleas softly, his hands are everywhere - her face, her shoulders, hips - continuously wandering as if it’s impossible to find one place to settle.

“Please, c’mon. I need you, H,” She agrees, letting him take down the zipper on the side of her gown.

The expensive garment discarded on the floor in a pool of fabric as he fully takes in her lingerie set. ***

“Fuck me, darlin’,” Harry chuckles in amazement, fingertips tracing over the delicate lace that was stitched by Alessandro Michele himself for the bride, "Y’body is a god damn dream, look at you. - fuck.”

“Please,” His wife whimpers, voice desperate as his light and careful touches are no longer enough.

She needs him close, she needs her husband.

“Okay, okay,” He simpers, moving her back until he can have her right where he wants her, on her back in the middle of the massive, blanket-ridden bed - her white lingerie standing out against the dark duvet.

Harry had always imagined this night.

To have someone laid out underneath him.

No rush, no urgency but to truly, physically show that person through touch that you love them.

He starts near her collarbone, feathery heated kisses that warm her skin as she welcomes him with heavy weight on top of her so eager he wasn’t even undressed yet.

When his mouth finds her nipples through the sheer fabric, she pushes her chest up in encouragement as he bites at the nubs with sharp but careful teeth that wet the fabric.

“It feels so good, baby,” YN mewls, letting him nip and suck for a moment before pushing him up until he’s rid of every inch of fabric that had been covering his body.

“M’always gonna make y’feel good. I’ll fuck you wherever, wehenver cause you’re m’wife,” Harry grunts, impatiently reaching behind to unclasp the corset until her breasts spill free and jiggle in a way that makes his mouth water.

“Wait, wait,” YN puts a hand to his cheek when he already has his mouth darting out to lap at her hardened nipple.

“Don’t make me wait, m’heart,” Harry grumbles with a furrowed brow, his hand still unable to stop from reaching up to palm at her full breasts, thumbs rolling the nipples as he stares fiercely up at her.

“You know how you got me a present?” YN murmurs, biting back a whimper when a zip of electricity shoots from her nipple down to where she’s already dripping for him, “I got you something too.”

Harry’s face relaxes, it’s like he finds his grounding again, “Baby, didn’t need t’get me anythin’. Y’the best fuckin’ gift I could have gotten. Does look beautiful sittin’ between y’tits though.”

His new wife giggles, “Well I really hope you like mine….it’s non-refundable.”

He looks at her with confusion even more so when she wriggles down her panties and flips on her belly with her arms resting under chin.

Of course, Harry finds it immediately and she can tell by the deep, pleased growl he emits from the back of his throat, “You fuckin’ didn’t.”

“I did.”

It was his name, small and cursive right on her bum cheek.

After they got engaged, he went out and got her name tattooed on his pec - much to her dismay.

She had never talked about returning the favor and had kept it the ultimate surprise.

“I think I almost just came from this,” Harry rasps, his fingers tracing the small ink over and over in awe, “Baby, y’put m’name on your bum. It makes y’look like my property, sweetheart.”

“I am yours,” YN giggles, yelping when she feels his teeth graze the sensitive skin before he’s suckling and licking at his name - can’t take his eyes off the beauty of her.

“Yeah, you fuckin’ are,” He agrees whole-heartedly, his hands calming to cup and palm at her cheeks as he fawns over his wedding present, “This is the best present I’d ever fuckin’ received, fuck - never goin’ to get over this.”

He doesn’t want to look away from the tattoo but knows how he wants to fuck his wife for the first time so he flips her onto her back once again, lips finding hers.

She whispers, hand wrapping around his cock, “Still have to pay you back for earlier.”

“No blowies tonight, pet. We’re goin’ to do it the right way, m’gonna make love to you,” Harry murmurs, his lips finding hers as he bats her hand away to grasp at his thick base. He teases the sensitive head over her clit and entrance a few times before slowly sinking in.

“Ohh, been ready for you all day. You looked like a fucking wet dream standing at the alter, waiting for me,” YN sighs happily, wriggling her hips to adjust a bit before she spreads her legs and lets Harry rest in between them, “Ever since I saw you in the suit, I’ve been waiting.”

“Yeah, baby? I can tell, y’so wet, warm f’me,” Harry praises, his movements are slow and unrushed, their hips meeting gently as he pushes in each time with care, “Can’t believe y’gonna let me have this for the rest of m’life.”

“I love you so so much,” She utters breathlessly as he continues to make her feel so fucking full - emotionally and physically, “Best husband ever, can’t believe it.”

Harry chuckles tenderly, “Baby, I need y’to come soon. I’m so close, never come this quick. The thought of y’being my wife is making it impossible to last then with the tatto-”

YN soothes his hair in understanding, pushing up to meet their lips and allow their tongues to dance as he lifts her thigh against his hip to thrust in with a bit more force. His thumb comes to her clit to spur her along which doesn’t take much with how aroused she’s been all day.

Harry follows right after, much to his embarrassment of his lack of stamina but can you blame him? He has the hottest fucking wife on the planet.

“Round two?” YN smirks as he leans down to pepper kisses all over her cheeks. She knows the night has just begun.

“Mmm,” He agrees instantly, “Now that we made love, m’gonna fuck y’from behind so I can watch my name jiggle on your arse.”

And that’s what he does. It takes nearly no rebound time, flips her on her belly again to gaze and worship his name as he fills out in no time again. His fingers occasionally dip back between her thighs to tease at her entrance before he swipes her own wetness on the tattoo to lick it off.

She’s tired, exhausted from the events of the day but wants to reach that last orgasm before sleep overtakes them.

On her hands and knees, Harry doesn’t pound into her like he normally would.

Instead, he eases back in with eyes darting between his wedding present and where they’re connecting, his thumb diligently rubbing hard and steady circle on her nerves.

“C’mon wifey, need y’to not be stubborn,” Harry goads, feeling his release coming again - he pinches her clit with just enough pressure that has her whining before Harry has to hold her up by the waist as she quivers.

It has him finishing right after with a gentle smack to her bumcheek, the skin already tender and sore from all of his attention on the spot as it was.

“I loved your vows,” YN murmurs against his chest. He had wrapped her up in one of the plush blankets and he had pulled on a tight pair of briefs and they were laying on a lounge chair on the blacony under the italian stars.

“I loved yours just as much, y’did crack the code m’love ‘cause now I’m yours forever,” Harry rumbles, his voice raspy with drowsiness.

Little did they know that in a few short years, they would be back under these italian stars with knowledge that they were growing a little product of their love in her belly.

A litte baby named Ivy, just like the beautiful, lucious nature that had decorated the place in magneificent as they spoke vows - dedicating their lives to each other.

if you’ve ask to be on my taglist and you’re not here - please check your settings because i’ve tried to add you and it didn’t work.

taglist babies (thank you): @dioc4ne @hazgoldenstyles @harrysdimple05 @wonwooen @ficnarry @leeroysdancer @harrysloveheart @harryscherrysugar @pradastardust @rish-haz @wildcstdrexms @evanstylestan @wisetoadbonkbiscuit @meredithhuntt @tpwkvictoria @lovely-him @haymix @eiffelmezarry @pilgrim-harry @soullessbabee @afterglowstyles @tulsasjesus @elenagilbert01 @meh–mood @pretty-pop-princess-hs @msolbesg @localfalsegodstan @evanjh @i-just-like-fanfics @harrys-hs-gf @lightsupdoyouknowwhoyouare @afterglcwswift @harrystyles-tpwk @amyvandijk @godilovetheenglishx @harrys-cherrry @theprofessionalfanby @your–sweetest–downfall @la-cey @bdbtchdir @killerqueencapstan @elizabeth23567 @camflowervol6 @its-a-finee-line @rish-haz @solonelytobe @nav1234 @harrynamjoon @hopefullimaginer123 @westallenhes @awesomebooklover17 @will-be-a-fineline @vasilikir5 @your–sweetest–downfall @pretty-pop-princess-hs @harrynamjoon @harrypinks @ivyirenehoax @harryspink @sunsetcurve-h @goldenstylesh @mouthfulloftoothpastehs @hello-34583 @prettylovley @nicolecarsley @lamariettes @imavirginhoe @unknown7549 @mellamolayla @kiwitsayedsugar @hopefullimaginer123 @harrysmatcha @weaslettesstuff @saintsmotels @hi-yekaterina @aubreyfineline @harrysgoldenbum @ebstylesx @goldeng1rl8 @tnqueen @percysaidnever @bebecalpal

2K notes · View notes

angelisverba · 4 years ago

Text

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

3K notes · View notes

robinofgothamcity · 3 years ago

Text

scenario: you start seeing Jon which leads to the two of you having to hide it from your family and especially Damian.

pairing: jon kent ( superboy ) x fem! reader

note: not checked for grammar or spelling mistakes / can you tell my kent family hyperfixation hasn't left yet? i swear it's becoming an issue lmaooo but this might actually be the longest fic i've written for this blog.

you talked with your friends who you had snuck into the gala with. Rachel had begrudgingly agreed to come to meanwhile Cass and Steph were the only other ones who agreed to come on their own accord.

"Damian, your only friend is here," Dick said, earning a kick from his younger brother before getting up and leaving you and Raven alone. you knew it was a rare occasion that she even decided to show up so you didn't want to leave her alone. "we probably won't see my brother for the rest of the night. whenever his friend comes, it's like everyone becomes a background character. for him being my adopted 'twin' brother, I have yet to meet this friend."

Raven laughed as you saw the wine that the couple on the dance left on your table drunkenly. the bottle was little more than half-filled and you gave one quick look to Raven before pouring the wine into both of your glasses and discarding it right away.

"to not having fun for the rest of the night," you giggled as the two of you chugged the wine down in a mere few seconds, "drier than I thought it would be but it beats having to pay for it," Raven muttered as you agreed to sneak another bottle from the bartender so you wouldn't have to pay for it. even with your dad paying for all your necessities, the drinks at his galas were far too expensive for you to even willingly pay for them yourself. the only reason why he even paid for all your expenses was because you agreed to skip out on college to help run some parts of Wayne Enterprises with your brother.

another reason why you couldn't exactly go and pay for it yourself was because Bruce was not one to exactly be chippy at the idea of you getting plastered drunk at one of his public galas. "I got one of two ideas. one: I'll go flirt with the bartender and you can sneak behind him and get the other bottle or two: I can flirt with the bartender for enough time to see if he'll just willingly give it to us," you told Raven as she nodded with option two.

the bartender happened to be in his younger 50s. you recognized him from previous WE events and although he was familiar with your family, you doubted that he would say anything to your dad about you flirting him with. all you had to do was push the top of the dress down a bit and hike up the bottom to get his attention.

"hey Martin," you said, leaning up against the bar table and smiling, "enjoying the night?" you asked as you saw him flinch back in surprise. he nodded, trying to divert his eyes from looking at you in anyway you could have felt to be disrespectful.

"I was thinking, how much does the bottle of Lafite Rothschild go for?" you asked, giving him a pouty face. he gulped nervously, "almost ten grand ma'am," he replied, grabbing it from the wine stand, "even for me? I mean, my dad must've paid for it so does it even go for that much considering I am his child?" he asked.

you could tell that you had caught him in a predicament, "I would assume not, I assume you're twenty one, right?" he murmured, handing you the precious bottle. you smiled (a fake one that anyone could see through) and nodded before giving the old man a light kiss on the cheek, "thanks Martin, I appreciate it," you said, giving him a wave before leaving.

Raven perked up seeing the bottle in your hand, "snagged a ten thousand dollar bottle," you said excitedly as you waved it in your hand. Raven stared at you in shock, "you got a ten thousand dollar bottle in less than five minutes?" she exclaimed.

you giggled before whispering in her ear, "the benefits of being a child of Bruce Wayne is that you can practically get away with anything. especially when you're the daughter." you popped open the bottle as you handed her the wine glass and poured the drink with care. you gave her a slight cheers before taking a small sip and being pleasantly surprised that it wasn't as dry for a wine with a huge amount of alcohol percentage.

as the night progressed, you and Raven got actively more drunk. you hadn't realized how hard the wine had hit you until Raven was drunkenly getting pulled home by Gar as you sat at the table with a little less than the bottle still full. you hadn't seen your dad or brother all night and you figured they must've been pulled into doing Batfamily work at some point and left you alone with Steph or Cass. hell, maybe even Dick if he was still around.

you weren't actively apart of the vigilante work all of your siblings did but you did help them out with the technical parts of it when Tim wasn't available. you didn't really like fighting or risking your life so after you graduated, you interned at Wayne Enterprises under Tim's orders while Damian worked under your dad.

at the age of twenty-one, you still hadn't met most of the league for the exception of Wonder Woman and The Flash. the rest were strangers in your head and much to Damian's luck, he wanted to keep it that way. at least in his case with Jon.

"ow, I am so sorry," you slurred as you managed to hit someone on the shoulder. he chuckled seeing as how you were not attempting to get up, "you okay there ma'am?" the man with a southern accent asked. you giggled as you attempted to get up, "I'm ( your name ) and you are?" you asked.

"Jon Kent, pleasure to meet you," he said, kissing your hand. you blushed as you heard one of your favorite songs come through the speakers, "would you like to dance?" you asked, not even caring that you had met this just a few mere seconds ago. he nodded, figuring that since Damian left him stranded at the gala, he had nothing to lose.

the song 'telepatia' by Kali Uchis played throughout the ballroom. Jon immediately took the reigns as the lead as the lights got dimmer and you danced against Jon sensually. "what got you dragged here?" you asked Jon. "my best friend invited me as his plus one. you?" he whispered in your ear, "I work for the company so I kind of had to attend," you managed to say before turning around and facing him.

you looked at Jon with drunken yet loving eyes, "you're handsome, you know that?" you said with no hesitation in your face. Jon laughed, placing his hand on your cheek, "right back at ya, darlin'," he replied as the song switched to another one of your favorite songs.

side to side by ariana grande started.

you shrugged, feeling as though you had nothing to lose and got up on your toes gave Jon a kiss on his lips. he was slightly taken back but played it off by returning it. the two of you remained kissing through the entirety of the song until Jon felt a familiar tap on his shoulder.

"I gotta go but if you're up for it, I'd love for ya to give me your number," you nodded excitedly as you practically snatched his phone from his hand and typed it in as quickly as possible with your name having a hundred emoji's next to it, "text me in the morning!" you screamed.

Jon laughed before following Damian from behind, "you suck, you know that!" Jon exclaimed, "I meet one girl I actually like and you drag me away!" Damian rolled his eyes, "please, you act like there isn't more girls out there to hit on." this time, it was Jon's turn to roll his eyes, "I got her number so I guess that's a plus."

you woke up the next morning with a pounding headache but to a few messages on your phone. you smiled realizing that it was the boy you had met the night before.

"good morning...or actually good afternoon!"

Jon laughed from his side of the phone.

"good afternoon darlin'. I hope you had a good sleep."

you were texting your way down the stairs, greeting Alfred and Bruce before grabbing a plate of lunch and sitting down on the bar top. "what time you'd make it home?" Bruce asked, sensing the hangover you had. "a bit past midnight. drank a bottle of Lafite with Raven before dancing with a boy you invited," you said honestly.

Bruce felt himself go stiff at the admittance of you drinking the Lafite bottle but remained silent as Alfred placed Advil and one of your Gatorades next to you. "yeah, whoever must've danced with you last night must've been drunk too because you'd want to dance with you?" Damian said coming down the stairs.

you threw him a fork, Damian dodging it with ease, "I'd shut up if I were you. I'm actually getting coffee with the guy in like an hour," you replied, chugging down the rest of the food before getting up and going to your room, "yeah and I pray for the man who now has to deal with you," Damian screamed loud enough for you to hear.

you pulled on a skirt and tights before slipping on a sweater and fixing your hair and quickly doing your makeup. you grabbed the keys from your bag and took the back entrance to get to your car. one of the benefits of getting paid so much was that you were able to afford cars that were out of price range for a lot of people your age.

the coffee shop you decided to meet Jon at was a few blocks into the heart of central Gotham. you got a table farthest from the crowd as you didn't want any attention on you and your potential boyfriend. you saw Jon approaching at the front of the coffee shop and pulled on your sunglasses so no one outside could see who you were.

"nice to meet you, this time with me not being drunk," you told Jon, giving him a friendly kiss on the cheek, "pleasure is all mine sweetheart," he replied, putting his arm around your shoulder. you got up to the front of cashier and scanned the menu.

"I'd like a venti mocha with oatmilk, what about you?" you asked Jon as he scanned the menu nervously before muttering that he hardly orders coffee. you smiled, "and an order of a grande peppermint hot chocolate," you added on as you took your card out, Jon's eyes widening at the black American Express card.

"wow, Wayne Enterprises must pay you really well," he exasperated, "yeah, I guess you could say that," you said as hesitantly as possible. after the two of you got the coffees, you got back to the table as you took off your sunglasses in a sigh of relief.

"do you really wear sunglasses everywhere you go?" Jon asked. you debated on telling him the actual reason but decided on a vague answer, "eh, it's more for secrecy. I guess if I get another date, I might tell you the real reason," you winked, making Jon blush.

through the weeks, you decided to keep the biggest part of your life a semi secret to Jon still. he knew vaguely of a few things but one mistake on your end managed to throw all of that away in more ways than one.

you were walking downtown with Jon, his hand grasping yours as the two of you roamed an area of town that you knew didn't have major significance to WE. you were holding a coffee in one hand as you walked about a few things that happened to you that week to Jon. it wasn't until you walked towards a busy street that your heart fell to your stomach.

a huge billboard, like signs you would see on highways, of you and Damian representing Wayne Enterprises stood in the middle of an intersection. you stared at the ground, your one secret given away as Jon stared down at you, a look of shock in his eyes.

"wait, you work with Damian Wayne?" he asked as he could tell that you did not want to look at him. you sighed, a bit scared, "work partners might be a little too far from what we are," you gulped, finally realizing that you had to admit to your family ties.

Jon looked at you, now more confused than shocked.

what you didn't know was that at the same time that you were about to confess everything to Jon, a paparazzi had taken dozens of photos of you and Jon that were immediately uploaded to various Twitter accounts and gossip magazines.

"Damian Wayne is my adopted brother. Bruce Wayne is my adopted dad. that's why I have a lot more money than any regular Wayne Enterprise worker."

Jon immediately stumbled to the ground, not expecting that answer coming from you. you immediately felt tears hitting your eyes as you figured that maybe Jon didn't want to be with someone so rich and famous. someone's whose family was always in the spotlight.

"DAMIAN WAYNE IS YOUR BROTHER?" Jon screamed, catching you off guard as this was the first time Jon had ever screamed at you. you nodded, trying not to look at him in the eyes, "he's going to kill me. your entire family is going to plot my murder. I'm a dead man. Clark is going to find me in a ditch," Jon started talking to himself.

it was now your turn to look at Jon confused, "wait, what?" you asked, wiping your tears. "YOUR BROTHER IS MY BEST FRIEND. Damian Wayne is Robin and I'm Superboy!" he whispered the last part, "I've been dating my best friends sister this entire time without realizing it!" he screamed.

you finally connected the dots. every time Damian said he was going on patrol with Superboy meant that he was going to hang out with Jon and every time Damian said that Jon turned down a patrol session usually meant that you were going on a date with him. both of you stared at each other, not knowing what to say.

"small world, eh?" you asked, trying to defuse the tension, "guess we better figure out a way to tell them, huh?" Jon replied as you both heard your phone going off with texts and calls. you opened it to see that Dick, Bruce, Tim, and even Jason and Alfred were frantically calling you.

"hello, what happened?" you asked, picking up Dick's call. "GET HOME NOW!" he yelled through the phone as you heard Damian's screeching voice from the other side, "why? what happened?" you asked, staring at Jon now in fear.

"SHE'S DATING JON? I'M GOING TO KILL HIM BEFORE I KILL HER!" you heard Damian scream before something broke, "pictures of you kissing Jon came to the public on Twitter and he saw them," Jason said, half annoyed.

both of your hearts fell to your stomach as you realized it was now or never. everyone knew of your relationship and it wasn't even something both of you tried to do intentionally. you grabbed Jon's hand, yours shaking in fear as you got into the passenger side of his beat up red truck. he could tell you were beyond scared to go home and he now knew it was time. he had to man up before it got worse and you attempted to break up with him.

once you arrived to Wayne Manor, you sat still, not moving an inch. "it'll be okay darlin', I promise it won't be too bad," he murmured as he opened your door. you nodded as you hopped off and started walking towards the door.

you could hear Damian's yells still going on from the other side door as you opened it. you grasped Jon's hand and walked into the living space, Damian's eyes immediately looking at you before charging to Jon with every ounce of strength he had. Jason quickly grabbed you as Jon dodged him and Damian went straight to attack him again. you couldn't bare to look at the sight and felt tears spring to your eyes as you hid your face into Jason's side.

"hey, you okay?" Jason asked. he could see the tears in your eyes which instantly made him a bit upset. "enough," Jason screamed, catching everyone's attention. Jon and Damian saw the hurt look on your face and as soon as Jon realized you were upset at the fight he was having, he kicked Damian off of him and walked towards you.

he grabbed your hand and whispered an apology into your ear as he stroked your cheek lovingly, "I'm sorry dear but I wasn't expecting Damian to do this," Jon said as Damian watched the way Jon was treating you. a part of him knew that Jon would treat you right. Jon wasn't like your typical average boy but the fact that neither of you told him is what set him off and seeing you being so lovingly with Jon set him off again.

Damian ran towards Jon again but this time, you shielded him which made him stop immediately, "Damian, stop, please," you croaked. Bruce saw you trying to neutralize the situation and stood next to Damian, hinting at him to quit it, "I'm sorry we never told you but the reason why we never did was because we had no idea who the other was. I didn't know Jon was your best friend and clearly didn't know that he was Superboy and he had no idea I was even related to you nevertheless your sister. please, if it's anyone's fault, it's mine," you explained.

Dick, Jason, and Tim stared at Jon who grabbed your hand and pulled you to the side, "and I would have never made the move if I knew she was your sister but we fell in love and it was like a soulmate connection. we were meant for each other and I want her to be in my life. she's it for me," Dick sighed mesmerized as Tim and Jason gagged at the cheesy confession.

Damian growled, "if you even think of hurting her, Clark will be down one son and I mean it. that's my sister and no man will ever be good enough for her. you are my best friend and she might be a pain in my ass, she means the world to me. I will not hesitate to dig your grave and bury you alive if I see one tear of sadness coming down her face," Damian stated before hitting Jon on the shoulder purposely before walking away.

you smiled, your heart swelling at Damian's speech. he never once said anything like that about you and in his Damian way of being, you knew this was his way of accepting your relationship with Jon. you smiled at Jon before giving him a huge kiss on the lips, making your dad and all of your brothers gag at the sight.

"okay, save that shit for privacy, no one needs to see that," Jason said as he walked away. Bruce gave you one look before turning to Jon, "your father knows in case you were wondering but feel free to stay for dinner if you'd like," Bruce said before walking away with Tim and Dick walking away with him.

"I love you," you whispered to Jon as he let out a laugh against your lips, "I love you too and I'm all of this was cleared out." you nodded in agreement as you grasped his hand, "wanna come up to my room? I figured we should catch some sleep before Alfred calls everyone for dinner and Damian starts another fight," Jon agreed, giving you a kiss on your head as the two of you walked up the stairs.

#dc comics #dc x reader #dc imagine #dc #jon kent x y/n #jon kent x reader #jon kent imagine #superboy x y/n #superboy x reader #superboy imagine #damian wayne imagine #damian wayne x reader #robin

304 notes · View notes

bokettochild · 3 years ago

Text

Legendary Cousins

So... I promised @peachy-scars that I would write them this a while back when they posted this, and after consulting y’all (I think it was @attllhak and several anons who helped the most) I finally had enough to just go ham and write this beautiful piece of garbage.

Hope you like it, Peaches!

They had landed in a new Hyrule, and Legend’s instant reaction was to blink and stare about with a conflicted expression on his face while the others had stared in confusion at their surroundings.

“Why’s this look so weird?” Wind demanded eloquently as he pulled himself out from beneath a giggling Hyrule, who always laughed nervously when they landed in a new Hyrule and seemed particularly giddy today.

“Wind, manners.” Time chided softly, pulling himself back up and working with Wild to pull his protégé back up, Twilight looking around dizzily as he leaned on his mentor for balance. “You don’t know whose home this might be.”

“I do.” Legend hissed softly, hooded eyes staring towards a nearby path while a slight smile touched his lips. “New Hero everyone.”

Glances were exchanged before shooting to the vet in confusion. “How...”

“You knew there were more heroes?” Warriors sputtered, staring at the vet in surprise while the hero in question pulled himself to his feet and shook out his limbs, knuckles crackling painfully and making the others wince.

“Time travel mixed with world hopping and the occasional visit to other countries.” Legend answered in a low voice, stretching towards the sky and standing on the tips of his toes (eyes turned away as the vet’s already short tunic rode higher). “I’ve met plenty of other heroes. Five- maybe six? Not sure.” He shrugged, arms falling back to his sides as he moved further into the forest. “Come along, if we want to check up on things we’d best get headed to the castle. Monsters out here are brutal, even if they are bloody crazy.”

Glances were exchanged again, Wind’s wide eyes growing wider as he mouthed the words ‘six other heroes’ to his brothers.

“Who met Legend before all this went down?” The captain hissed, pulling Four up onto his back. “Because it sure as heck wasn’t me.”

No one answered, and they didn’t have much of a chance to as the Vet’s voice broke through the forest, a harsh hiss for them to hurry. “You stay there all day the ‘blins’ll eat you!”

Eight heroes pulled themselves along, following after as Legend trailed silently through the forest.

Each stumble or loud noise earned a glare from the vet, and if it didn’t come from them, it made him freeze, steps stopping immediately as his ears would prick towards the sound. More than once, Twilight or Sky had to muffle a laugh in their respective wraps as the image of a bunny starting to alert entered their minds.

Maybe it’s the laughter. Maybe it’s just their dang Hero of Courage luck, or maybe it’s just because Hylia thinks it funny, but even with all Legend’s glaring and stopping and sneaking, they are attacked just as they reach the edge of the forest.

The monsters are... horrifying. Nothing most of them have ever even seen, and the only thing they can do as they fight is to take the vet’s advice. “Aim for the eyes! And if you can’t reach them, the ankles!” The vet shouts as he kicks into a spin attack. The other heroes follow suit, ripping into the beasts as Wild pulls back from the group, setting off volleys of arrows as best he can do by himself, and successfully blinding a few of the monsters.

They’re thick into the song of battle when an unknown voice rings out. “Good golly! Hang on there, sirs!”

It’s hard to see past the swarms of monsters (seriously, they’ve never been this thick!) but blonde hair and a swinging sword assure them that whomever it is, is likely the hero Legend had told them about. Enemies fall as bombs explode and various weapons pierce through hearts and heads.

Once the dust has cleared, they take careful stock of their injuries and weapons (Wild’s shattered another sword and Four is sighing wearily) before turning their attention to their unexpected help.

Legend and the other hero stand over a dead bokoblin, shaking hands in a friendly manner while the one chatters to the other, the vet smiling thinly but genuinely as he listens.

“Vet, who’s this?”

“Ah! You have friends!” A bright smile is turned their way as the swordsman releases Legend’s hand. “Greetings! I’m Link.”

“The Hero of Koridai.” Legend adds on, rolling his eyes.

“Aw, come on, Other-Link!” The newcomer grins, jabbing Legend playfully in the side and effectively stealing his breath. “I’m just Link is all.”

“That’s all of their names too.” Legend wheezes, glaring up at the other.

The chain of heroes takes in the newcomer, who, much to the captain’s dismay, seems to share Legend’s opinion of pants, as well as a preference for pegasus boots. Bright brown eyes stare back at them, a dopey grin on the hero’s face, but beneath the welcoming grin there's a glint of something sharp and dangerous that has Warriors shuffling back warily.

“What adventure is this? Finish meeting up with your lovely cousins?”

The vet huffs a breath, clearing his throat as he straightens up again. “Thereabouts, this’ll be adventure seven.”

“Ooh, seven. Ouch.” Bright brown turn towards the vet with a sympathetic wince. “Sorry about that.”

“You had your own quests.” Legend dismisses, as if his words don’t confuse the others. “How’s Zelly by the way? We haven’t heard from her.”

Link, for lack of a better current name, smiles cheerily. “Half a minute yet there.” Turning to the others he offers yet another impossibly wide smile, it’s very nearly uncomfortable to look at, and Legend is the only one who seems unaffected by doing so (he has seen far, far worse from this world). “We should skedaddle over to the castle.” A halting motion is made towards the castle just in front of them as the newest hero laughs nervously. “As long as you’re there, you won’t be attacked.”

And for lack of anything else to do, they agree, following after as Legend and the new Link chat in the front, Legend with an amount of patience that has never in their memory presented itself and the new Link with an almost irritating amount of pep and cheer. “Zelly’s doing great, and we’re hoping to visit all of you soon too! Or, we were, but the monsters started getting real bad an’ Zel figured we’d better stay behind to make sure they didn’t cause too much trouble.”

“How bad?” The vet’s brows quirk with concern and Warriors nearly stumbles at the gentle expression on Legend’s face.

“Just a bit stronger.” The new Link shrugs, but smiles brightly up at Legend. “It’s not as bad as last time though, so don’t worry your pink head about it.”

And Legend... Legend actually laughs, reaching up to tug the cap of the other Link as they cross into the shadow of Hyrule Castle’s walls.

“What the-” Warriors is cut off with a blaring ‘Beep!’ from Wind, who looks up at him cheekily when the captain looks down at him.

“Censoring.” Wind chirrups.

”Soooo...” Twilight drawls, a smile pulling at his features as he looks between the duo, the heroes all relaxing as they enter the castle gates. “How do you two know each other?”

“We’re cousins!” Link chirrups happily, shooting another smile over his shoulder that’s just a bit too wide and a bit too sharp.”

“Third Cousins or...” Legend waves his hand vaguely. “Somethin’. Their father is my second cousin or some sort of thing, it’s unclear honestly, all we know is that Zelda is my cousin somewhere down the line and with those two dating-” The other Link flushes at the statement, face as dopey as Sky’s gets. “He’s bound to be thrown in there somewhere too.”

“Wait!” Four looks from one of the cousins to the other (there is a bit of resemblance, uncannily enough, even though Link smiles far more than Legend). “Whose time is this?”

The two share a look, nodding firmly before turning to the others and speaking together. “Both.”

“Two heroes? In one time?” Time cocks a brow.

Legend throws his hands up. “You can talk to Hylia about that!”

“Oh!” Link’s grin widens further as he bounces in place. “And how is Aunt Hylia? Golly, I haven’t seen her in ages!”

“Aunt Hylia...” Sky blinks slowly.

The vet huffs. “Fine. She’s letting Fable back into the fighting ring this weekend, figured since the Master didn’t mess things up that it’d be okay to let Hylians head back out there. Hide the evidence if they send me an invite, yeah?”

“Will do!” Comes the chipper reply, but the other heroes aren’t done.

“Wait, wait, wait, how many heroes are there in this time?” Warriors looks from one to the other with panic building in his gaze.

Link frowns in what seems an over-the-top expression of thought. “Do the colors count?”

Four chokes.

Legend flushes. “They count.” His voice is strained and nearly wheezing as swirling hazel stares a hole in his head.

“And then there’s the Hytopian wannabe, who might very well actually be one.” Link continues. “And the two of us. Does Great-Grandfather Raven count?”

“Not in this time, he just traveled here briefly when Nayru became corrupted.” Legend drawls with a head tilt, as if talking about meeting your ancestors and de-corrupting a goddess was normal for this world, and with the way Link just nods along, they are all beginning to worry that that is the norm here.

“Right, so five heroes.” Link nods slowly. “And then we have great-gramps Raven, and whoever- wait.” The new Link’s eyes fly wide open as he motions to Time. “Isn’t that Great-Gramps?”

Legend and Time both splutter as the vet hurries to correct the other hero. “No! He’s...” Legend looks from the startled Time to his cousin. “That’s the Hero of Time.” He whispers gravely, and Link’s eyes blow even wider as he looks to Time, who winces. They’ve all heard of what happened to the Hero of Time in this world.

“Oh!” Link breathes, before another smile stretches over his face. “Great-Great-Gramma Lon’s husband!”

Legend just facepalms while Time stands with his mouth flapping and fingers twitching, the old man now trying to calculate exactly how many children are now officially his while Warriors proceeded to have all the color drain out of his face.

“How are there two heroes of Courage here!!!!” The Captain hisses, and Link and Legend both look at each other. “And for the love of Hylia! Stop looking at each other all the time, what, can you read minds?!?!”

And both stare at the captain with the deadest of dead expressions, which actually makes Link all the more unnerving and Legend all the more intimidating. “Yes.”

It takes a while, but once they meet Zelda, she takes the time to explain.

“Our fathers are cousins.” She says, smiling at the heroes as they all sit and have lunch in the courtyard, motioning to Legend as she speaks. The vet is currently pulling his hat back off of his face after having it tugged down in vengeance for earlier. “Once both had married into the royal family, there was contention in the kingdom so Auntie Hylia sent Mapa and Papa out here to take care of this part of the kingdom while she handled things in central Hyrule.

“Most folks call Papa a king because they forget that it’s one country, but what with the high borders and all, it may as well be its own country.” She shrugs as she pops another piece of food in her mouth. “And there aren’t two Courage Wielders, technically. I mean, there are, but Link isn’t one of them.” She smiles in a sly sort of way, too wide, too knowing, too creepy for many of the heroes to be comfortable. “He just happens to care a lot and does what he can.”

“Oh yeah,” Hyrule nods knowingly, chewing slowly on his own meal. “My brother is like that too.”

The others, even Legend and Link, turn to Hyrule in shock. “Your what???”

162 notes · View notes

prfctethereal · 3 years ago

Note

Can you write James Potter smut please. Thank you

frosted hearts. | james potter

pairing: single dad!james potter x preschool teacher!reader

word count: 3.5k

warnings: NSFW. smut, sub!james, dom!reader, talk of masturbation, talk of punishment, mommy kink, praise kink, tit sucking, thigh riding, slap and degrading kink only for a short amount of time at the end

summary: you are harry’s preschool teacher and one day james is late to picking his son up from school

It was hard to be around screaming toddlers, all day, every day. By the end of your long shifts, your head was blistered by the engraved sound of whining, moaning, and that smacking sound the children make with their lips.

But for the most part, you loved being around kids. Their tenderness brought so much joy to you and you were happy to have become an early childhood teacher. Your workplace was loving, with your fellow teachers continuously supporting you through everything. Even the kids were decently nice.

The age old stigma that kids were devil spawn seemed like the most foreign concept to as you coddled a near sleeping three year old, his warm body curled up to your side. Reading a children’s story to the kids, you felt so much adoration for the children around you, enough to make your cheeks rouge. All of them looked at you with doe eyes as you finished the last page.

“And the princess and the prince fell in love and lived happily ever after.” You closed the book with a soft clap. “The end.”

Looking around, the children beamed, flashing their pearly, toothy smiles towards you. In that moment, you felt at peace, almost content, knowing that you were bringing enjoyment to the kids surrounding you. Gently, you stroked the arm of the nearest child, Harry, as he slowly unraveled from your side.

“Miss?” Harry asked placidly, his tiny fingers down playing with the hem of your skirt. He looked up at you, fluttering his long eyelashes.

“Yes, Harry?” You responded, once you knew that he wasn’t going to speak without permission.

“Do you have a prince?”

At those words, you frowned, your smile disappearing from your face. Admittedly, you have been quite lonely for the past year. Focusing on work has been devastating for your social life. After your messy breakup with your previous partner, you felt like it was unnecessary to rush into another relationship. Quickly enough, those days turned into months, and eventually a year. Your dry spell was becoming quite unbearable.

As the winter months closed in, you wished for more comfort at night. The smoking fireplace could only fill your lonely apartment with so much warmth before you got desperate - needy - for something more. Some nights were spent with your fingers curled up into your cunt, tight from the months of neglect, desperately trying to churn some pleasure out of you, but, there was only so much your own fingers could do. They couldn’t go nearly as deep enough, or stretch you nearly as much as you so deeply desired. You were starting to become flustered just thinking about it.

“No.” Your reply was short, until you realised the kids around you would want a longer explanation. Sighing, you folded your hands in your lap, pursing your lips forward. “I’m not a princess of any sort. Even then, sometimes people don't have someone with them.”

“Just like my Daddy.” Harry babbled unprompted, dawdling away from you to join the midst of his pre-school friends. “He is all alone too.”

You knew Harry’s father, and just the thought of him made you curl your toes in delight. He was one of the most handsome men you had ever seen. Deep hazel eyes that light up when he laughs. Plump pink lips that frame his mischievous smile. Strong, muscular arms, complimenting his toned hands, that you can imagine wrapped around your neck...

Before you could even process the dubious insult thrown your way, you felt a sprinkling of fingers press lightly against your shoulders, snapping you out of your daze. Furrowing your eyebrows, you traveled your eyeline up, locking eyes with another teacher who worked there, Lily.

She looked absolutely wrecked. You knew she had been on the phone for most of the afternoon, for reasons you didn’t know, but you expected that you were going to be told now, as she beckoned you away from the kids.

“One moment.” You held up your finger, showing the kids an example of counting. As you walked away, you saw the kids out of the corner of your eye. They too had one finger in the air, repeating the same word - “One!” - over and over to each other. It was very cute.

“Roads have been closing because of the weather.” Lily started, her nimble fingers gesturing out of the frosted window panes. She was right; the roads were starting to look pretty bad. A thin layer of snow seemed to be shredding downwards, coating the town like powdered sugar. The sun stayed behind the clouds, not even daring to peek through, keeping the town in a cold flurry, and keeping the children inside. This was going to be a long shift.

“So, we’ll have to stay here longer tonight?” You asked, an exasperated sigh leaving your lips. You brought the pads of your index fingers up to the window pane, feeling the chill of the temperature seem into your skin. WIthout realising it, you traced a heart shape into the frost, your own heart sighing as you exhaled.

“Hopefully not.” Lily replied. “I’ve contacted all the parents and have told them to come pick up their kids as soon as possible. This storm seems to not be slowing down any time soon. So, potentially, we might be able to go home early, if the children all get picked up before the snow gets too thick. And, don’t bother coming in tomorrow. The snow’s gonna settle, meaning there will be road closure all across town.”

“Great.” A sarcastic laugh poured from your mouths as you turned back to the kids, who were still being occupied by the thought of having one finger in the air. “We should start getting them ready then.”

You and Lily worked diligently side by side, bundling the kids up in layers of soft clothing, keeping them secure from the storm. The kids joined in too, helping to clean the classroom, picking up litter off of the floor, and clearing off tables. As you sprayed down the surfaces of the tables and kitchen counters, you hummed a soft tune, getting into the rhythm of cleaning.

While you were occupied with cleaning, parents started arriving, greeting their kids with loving smiles and gentle touches. You melted as the kids ran excitedly into their parents arms, wrapping themselves around their mums and dads, wishing to not let go. In those sweet moments, you felt a fleeting pang of loneliness. You longed for your own child, and with that, a loyal husband. You breathed out a sigh, something that was becoming quite regular for you by now.

As more and more parents arrived, you saw the sun trickle behind the horizon. Soon, the night sky appeared, painting the sky in hues of indigo and cerulean. As much as you loved the night, you didn’t love the idea of being stuck here all night, and neither did Lily, who was looking even more restless than you.

Her ginger hair fell across her face, partially blocking her vision as she lethargically signed out the second to last kid. Deep, violet bags were forming under her eyes, her skin borderline white from her exhaustion. It was getting hard to look at.

“Why don’t you just go home?” Your offer made Lily perk her head up. “You look way too tired to even continue standing on two feet.”

“I couldn't do that to you.” Lily yawned, clasping her perfectly manicured hand over her mouth. “And besides, Harry hasn’t been picked up yet. I still have to do my job.”

You looked at her with pity in your eyes. You hadn’t seen her this exhausted in years, and you knew her anxiety was bubbling up as more and more snow fell onto the ground. “Please just go Lily. It’s only Harry; I can monitor him by myself. You need to get home before the snow gets heavier.” Before she could butt in, you continued. “Besides, Harry much prefers me over you.”

Lily laughed, closing you tightly into a friendly hug. “Thank you so much. I’ll get you back another day. Are you sure you’re all good closing up on your own?”

“Go home.” You waved her away dismissively. Lily bounced around and in only five minutes, she had collected herself, and had dashed out the door, leaving only you and Harry in the pre-school.

He was looking quite tired himself, which was understandable. By now, it was nearly eight o’clock at night, a time you knew was well past his bedtime. Harry had curled himself up on one of the naptime beds himself, his raven hair falling over his eyes. Staying by his side, you caressed his back, until he fell into a soft slumber.

You felt lonely again. Harry was asleep and there was nothing left for you to do until Harry’s father arrived to pick him up. You knew a few things about Harry’s father, from the fleeting conversations you had had over the time Harry had been at this school. You knew his name was James, and he looked like heaven. Everytime you glanced his way, you felt yourself grow wet. It probably was a problem, but your secret crush didn’t hurt anyone, so you kept it secret.

Long after it had become dark, you finally saw canary coloured headlights glint in the distance. It was a relatively nice car, something you’d expect a well paid ministry worker, like James, to drive. You watched attentively as the car parked slowly and surely. Then, the car door opened, and you got your first look of James for the day.

He definitely looked a little tired but there was something endearing about it. His fluffy brown hair was slightly disheveled, as if he had run his fingers through it greatly. His round glasses sat low on his nose bridge, with his natural eyes scanning the area. There, he locked eyes with you through the window, the same window you had drawn your pathetic heart on. Right then, James was positioned right in the middle of the heart, condensation like a halo.

Before you knew it, James had opened up the door into the school, realising a sigh of relief when he was hit by the warmth of the classroom. Dramatically, he closed the door behind him, leaning up against the frame, apologies falling from his lips like rain from the sky.

“I’m so sorry I was late. Traffic was crazy. Too many road closures.” James seemed frantic, but the solidarity of the preschool was definitely calming his mood down.

“There’s no need to apologise, Mr Potter. Harry is delightful to look after.”

“Please,” James held out his hand, “call me James.” You intertwined your fingers with hsi, shaking his hand ever so lightly, the same hand you had fantasised about. It was everything you dreamed of.

“I should drive Harry home now.” James broke the silence, his voice cutting through the tension, making you want to salivate. You didn’t like the idea of James driving in his state, especially since he looked so tired. If anything, he would need some caffeine in him before the journey.

You reached your hand up, stroking his right cheek with your left hand, concern filling your eyes. “Oh, please James, you look so tired. Let me make you a cup of tea before you journey back home. You look as though you need it.”

James chuckled. “Alright then, just one though. Besides, Harry seems to be having a lovely nap. Wouldn't want to disturbed him now, would we?”

You guided James into the back kitchen through a secret door. Here was your break room where you could have some peace and quiet away from the kids. It was one of your favourite places in the entire school, because even though you loved the kids, sometimes you just needed a place to help you unwind, and unwind you did. Countless times you had fallen asleep back here and had dreamed of James.

“We have Earl Grey. Is that okay?” You looked through your cupboards, eyes locking onto a small red box, tea bags flooding out of it. Personally, you weren’t a big fan of it, that's why there were still so many, but James didn’t seem to mind it.

“Please, sounds lovely, dear.”

You worked in silence, turning the kettle on to boil. Carefully, you dunked a tea bag into a mug, swirling it around in your fingers as you waited for the water to boil. The emptiness of volume was killing; you could’ve heard a pin drop. James was the one to speak up first.

“Harry really likes you. He talks about you often.”

“Oh really?” You chuckled in disbelief, facing away from James, fiddling with some lint of your sweater.

“Yes. Sometimes, he even calls you Mum. I’m happy that he has a mother figure like you to look after him.” You chuckled when hearing James’ words, which confused him. “Why are you laughing?”

“Oh, it’s nothing.” You said, reaching for the kettle. “He’s just not the only one to have called me Mommy before.”

James furrowed his brows, even more confused. “You have kids of your own?”

“Not quite.” You swung your head around, throwing James a cheeky grin. That’s when he understood what you meant. He gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, his pants seeming just a bit tighter than before. It was definitely hotter in the room.

“What normally happens when people call you that?” James asked, testing the waters. As you stood to move around, the chair scraped against the wooden floors, alerting you of his prowling presence.

When he was a mere inch away from you, you smirked once again. “Why don’t you kiss me and find out?” You weren’t sure where this rush of confidence was coming from but you both seemed to not want to slow down.

Consciously, James raised his hand to your cheek, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. His soft hands lingered a little too long, before his eyes flickered downwards towards your lips. You knew what he wanted, but you never took him for the shy type. Something about this made you aroused. Needing relief desperately, you lunged forwards, connecting your lips to his.

It was everything you thought it would be. Hungry, passionate, skilled. Your lips melded perfectly together with his, as his lips sucked gently on your top lip. Yearning for something more, you moved your hands down to his ass, giving James an experimental squeeze. Just like how you wanted, he gasped, giving you the perfect entrance to insert your tongue into his ready mouth. He moaned, his lips vibrating against you.

“Show your Mommy how much you need her.” You pulled away, whispering those words at the shell of his ear. You could hear James whimper in front of you, positioning himself so he was straddling one of your thighs, as you were pushed up against the counter tops.

James’ fingers worked at the hem of your sweater. Eager to remove as many clothes as possible from you, he tugged at the edge, slow whimpers escaping his pretty mouth, as you tilted your head down to his neck, aching to leave soft love bites on his skin.

He was getting needier and more submissive by the minute, but to you, he was acting like a brat. “That’s not how we ask for something we want, is it baby? Use your words.”

“Please Mommy, may I take your sweater off?”

With a curt nod, you obliged, watching James’ eyes light up in fascination. Quickly, he pulled your sweater over your head, glad to see that your thin shir had stuck to the material of your sweater, leaving you in just a bra on top. His eyes were transfixed by the way your nipples were hard on your pert breasts, sticking out from your bra.

“Can I take your bra off please, Mommy?” James’ hands had already made their way around your torso, preparing for the inevitable.

“Yes love, good boy for asking.” You felt James grow harder against your thigh as you praised him, a thought that made you smirk in delight and what could be in store.

Like you were made of glass, James slipped the bra off of your shoulders, dragging it slowly off of your arms. You knew he wasn’t teasing on purpose, as it seemed that he was distracted by the sight of your tits, but you needed relief anyway, bucking your thigh up against his crotch as encouragement. “They’re all yours.”

Delighted, James leaned in, his whole mouth engulfing your nipple. With vigour, he bagan sucking, the pleasure of it going straight down into your core. You moaned loudly, something you learned that egged James on. Greedily, he started rubbing his hands down your side, eager to feel all of your skin. You didn’t mind though, as you were lost in your own moment.

“Good- good boy.” You stuttered out as James’ mouth left the centre of the nipple, beginning to suck small bruises into the side of your boob. Normally, you would punish him - well, anyone - for doing that without permission, but you didn’t care at that moment.

Content with his handiwork, James moved onto your next nipple, ready to give you the same amount of pleasure as last time. As he worked your nipple to a bright scarlet like the last one, you noticed a curious movement with his hips. Looking down, you saw James, rutting his hips into you, humping your thigh as if he was a bitch in heat. You moaned at the sight.

“You like that, huh? You like,” - you jolted your thigh upwards - “Mommy’s thigh?”

“Mmm, so good.” James mumbled against your tit. You knew he was close to coming, but you weren’t quite done with him yet. Pulling him away from your body, you looked into his eyes to see a hurt expression, something you didn’t like seeing. Luckily, it wasn’t going to last long.

“If you can make Mommy cum from your tongue, then I’ll let you cum on my thigh, alright?” With an excited nod of his head, James immediately sunk to his knees, diving his head underneath your skirt. His fingers worked quickly, stretching the fabric of your panties to the side so he had the best access possible. When you heard a muffled “Oops” against your thigh, you could tell that your panties had snapped from James’ force, but you didn’t mind. He made up for it by being so damn skilled.

He dove in nearly straight away, his tongue licking straight up the lips of your cunt, lapping at it as if it was his first ever meal. The end of his tongue teased the entrance to your velvet walls, pressing in ever so slightly and pulling away, creating tension and frustration for you. But it felt so good.

“Feels so good, darling. Doing so good, my good boy. My good, good boy.” You knew he was spurred on by praise, so you gave him what he needed. Threading your fingers in his hair, you held him down slightly, taking the tiniest amount of control back.

When he began sucking at your clit, that's when you really felt the tide going out. It was ebbing at your senses, the only indication being your shaking body and the mewling whimpers coming from your mouth. This only encouraged James further to topple you over the edge.

Slowly, James brought his fingers up to your cunt, teasing your entrance with his finger. Then, he slipped it inside of you, feeling the way you clenched around his finger. You were so tight that James dreamed of how you would feel around his cock, these thoughts going straight to his straining dick in his pants. He needed relief, so he worked faster, inserting another finger and pumping faster.

You were so close by now. The combined stimulation of James’ lips suctioning at your clit and his fingers working in and out of you was too much. With one last hard suck, you felt your orgaasm wash over you like a tsunami. You could hardly hold yourself up, and that was evident by the way you toppled to your side. The only reason you didn’t hit the floor was because of James’ lightning fast reflexes, keeping you upright.

“Did I do good, Mommy?” James asked, his shiny eyes looking up at you with adoration, his lips glistening with your cum. You smiled sweetly down at him, stroking his cheek with your hand, until you pulled it back and gave him a harsh slap across his face.

“It was so good baby, but I thought I said only using your tongue?” James had the look of realisation on his face, but you kept going. “Naughty boys who don’t follow rules have to be punished, and I don't think you want to get put in the Naughty Corner, do you?”

James whimpered, but it sounded like he was enjoying the degradation. A smile spread across your face.

“Oh so you do? Good boy.”

#James potter #James Potter x reader #James Potter fluff #marauders era #marauders #harry potter

185 notes · View notes

rodr1cks · 4 years ago

Text

manic pixie pizza girl | 1.4k

fluff; you’re rodrick’s favorite delivery girl

“12 Surrey Street,” you mumbled to yourself, plopping down into your car. You sped out of the parking lot, ready to get your last delivery of the night over with.

You pulled up to the house and grabbed the five pizzas from your passenger seat and headed towards the home.

You knocked on the scarlet colored door a few times. And then a few times again when the first knocks went unanswered. You were met with silence.

You could hear ridiculously loud music from where you stood outside and you were growing irritated. You knew there was somebody home and if these pizzas didn’t get paid for you were a deadman.

You tried one last time, delivering three extra hard knocks to the door and ringing the doorbell at least twice.

At last, the door swung open, revealing the most attractive boy you’d ever seen. Your annoyance quickly reduced to a dull afterthought.

The boy called back inside, “Yeah these mom bucks are a gold mine!” He turned to face you again.

“H-hi, uh, pizza?” You stammer. He nodded at you curiously, “Yeah… Pizza.”

“Right, that’ll be $52.50, please.”

What was happening to you? You had laid your eyes on the raven headed boy for less than sixty seconds and you felt like you were disintegrating in front of his gaze. Shakily, you took the cash from his hand.

“Keep the change,” he winked at you. Suddenly, you couldn’t move, or speak, or breathe. You held up your hand, waving awkwardly as he closed the door.

You practically sprinted back to your car, ready to soak in the humiliation from your previous interaction.

The next day, you couldn’t stop thinking about the interaction you had on Surrey Street. The boy’s deep brown eyes were ingrained into your memory. You even made a note of the small mole that sat next to his eyebrow. He was tall and slim and wait, was he wearing eyeliner?

It was agonizingly painful to get through your day.

It was a saturday, so you were delivering pizzas back to back the entire day.

Your night was finally coming to an end. You had one more delivery slated before you could go home and absolutely crash. Your coworker handed over the order.

“Oh, and they specifically requested you to deliver this, by the way,” your coworker rattled off, nonchalantly. “They said to send the awkward girl with the black car.

That was you alright.

Your heart skipped in your chest. You tried to contain your hope, telling yourself there was no way he would ever ask for you.

You cleared your throat, “And what is the address on that one?”

“Hmm, let’s see. Looks like it’s 12 Surrey Street.”

Your jaw fell to the floor.

“Do you know them, y/n?”

You stuttered, unsure of what to say, “Oh, u-uhm, no, not exactly.”

The drive over to the now familiar house was nerve-wracking. Your mind was racing.

Oh, god. You probably smelled like pizza and you probably looked like garbage and- Your navigation system pulled you from your thoughts. “You have arrived,” the electronic voice droned out.

No turning back now.

Before exiting your car, you made an effort to somewhat fix your appearance. It wasn’t easy, but you improved your looks at least a little bit. You also made sure to reapply your perfume.

You grabbed the pizza from the passenger side, only one box this time. You slowly approached the door, your anxiety running rampant.

You rapped on the door three times and rang the doorbell. Tonight, the door was answered almost immediately, as if somebody had been awaiting your arrival.

“Hey,” the boy from the previous night greeted you with a slight smirk.

So he does wear eyeliner.

He was leaning against the doorway, one arm elevated, holding the top of the doorframe. You allowed your eyes to linger on his biceps a little too long.

“Is that for me?” He asked, knowing good and well it was.

You nodded, drool nearly departing from your bottom lip.

You opened your mouth to tell him the total, but he spoke before you.

“This might be weird but do you wanna come in? I won’t kill you or anything, promise.”

What? The? Fuck?

Is he serious? Okay, play it cool, y/n.

You nodded again, letting out a small squeak. So much for playing it cool.

He stepped back into the house, holding the door open for you. You passed under his arm and into the inviting atmosphere.

You hovered awkwardly in the entryway, waiting for him to say something, anything.

“Well, are you gonna tell me your name?”

“Oh right, of course, I-I’m y/n. Do I get to know your name?”

“I guess I can tell you. I’m Rodrick. You might’ve heard of me. I kinda run a band, Löded Diper.”

You’d never heard of it.

“Oh, yeah! Sounds familiar, actually!” You lied to protect his ego.

His eyes lit up, thrilled by your response.

“Wanna see my setup?” The pizza you brought was long forgotten.

Part of you knew that wasn’t really a question. Rodrick led you through the hallway and into the garage. It was covered with string lights and Löded diper posters. There was a small couch and coffee table against one of the walls.

“Please, y/n, have a seat. Take a moment to digest the man cave.”

He played a couple sets for you and honestly, he was better than you had expected.

After what was probably half an hour, he retired his drumsticks. You gave him a small round of applause and he gave you a dramatic bow.

You smiled up at him.

He plopped down next to you, resting an arm on the couch behind you.

“So… y/n, the ‘rents won’t be home for a while. We could… watch a movie or something. If you want.”

You still couldn’t believe this was happening.

“U-uh sure, what do you have?”

He smiled, immediately rattling off movie titles until one piqued your interest.

“Scream it is.”

Rodrick showed you up to his room. It was decorated similarly to the garage, complete with band and movie posters, colorful lights, and some miscellaneous items scattered on the floor.

One item being a playboy magazine. You blushed and he kicked it under the bed, attempting to laugh it off.

“Uhm, sit anywhere you’d like.” He was the awkward one now. Rodrick fumbled with the dvd, eventually sliding it into the disc player.

Despite this being your favorite movie, you found it impossible to pay attention. Rodrick had found a seat right next to you on his couch.

You were staring at Rodrick through the corner of your eye, unable to break eye contact from his fiddling hands. You watched the veins in his arms contract and flex with every small movement he made. You were enamoured.

Your breath caught as he moved his hand to rest on your upper thigh.

He looked over at you, searching for your approval, “Is this okay?”

You nodded as your heart rate increased rapidly. He began rubbing his thumb in gentle circles over your smooth skin. You could feel heat blistering in your cheeks and you were suddenly grateful that the only light illuminating your face came from the flickering tv.

You glanced over at rodrick, his pale skin and rosy lips glowing in the dim lighting. You wanted nothing more than to feel his plush lips on yours.

A surge of confidence rushed over you and you rolled onto his lap.

You repeated his own question to him, “Is this okay?” You could see his jaw fall open slightly as he nodded excitedly.

He placed his large hands on the small of your waist. He smirked at you, “How about this?”

You rolled your eyes at the little game the two of you had begun.

“And what about,” You leaned in and kissed him slowly. Your lips moved in sync perfectly. He tasted like sour candy and gas station icee.

“This?”

He pretended to think for a moment, “Hmm… not quite sure about that one. Let’s try again so I can be sure.”

He didn’t have to ask you twice.

You kissed him again, prying past his pliant lips with your tongue. This kiss was far longer and far more sensual. Rodrick’s grip on your waist tightened as your lip lock progressed.

You pulled away from him and broke the silence, “You owe me $15.29 for that pizza, by the way.” You smirked at him playfully, having a feeling the rest of the night was going to be more fun than you could’ve imagined.

+ hi guys i promise i see your requests and i will write them!! this was in my drafts and i wanted to post hope u enjoy c: also pls feel free to message me or send me asks abt anything and everything!!!

#rodrick heffley #rodrick heffley x reader #rodrick #rodrick fanfiction #devon bostick #diary of a wimpy kid

857 notes · View notes

free-pool-trash · 3 years ago

Text

everything - peter maximoff

PART 2 TO DISAPPOINTMENT (you can read it on its own but it might be a tiny bit confusing)

hey guys, i missed peter and i hope this makes you guys feel better abt the first part of this fic <33

comments/reblogs/asks always appreciated <3

word count: 4k

warnings: angst, panic attack, fluff, probably some mistakes its 3:33am 😩✋🏻

summary: peter comes to your new reality <3

masterlist

His fingers drummed rapidly against the metal table located in the jet hanger, beneath the basketball court. Hank waited too, although, the beast was considerably calmer than Peter was at the moment.

“The radio has been quiet for like twenty minutes… do you think something went wrong?” Peter forced the words out in quick succession as he gnawed on his lips.

Hank sighed as that was the fourth time Peter had asked that question, every five minutes for the past twenty minutes- like clockwork, he’d asked Hank the same thing. The only varient was that the question started with, “It’s been five minutes...,” then, “It’s been ten minutes…,” to, “it’s been fifteen minutes…”

Hank understood that the boy was nervous, he was too, afterall Peter wasn’t the only one with a girlfriend on the uncharacteristically sketchy mission. However, if Peter asked him the same question one more time, he’d turn blue out of annoyance.

“Peter, I’m begging you to stop asking. They’re probably fine, the mutant’s energy surges probably just fried the radio,” Hank explained, trying to sound convincing for his and Peter’s peace of mind.

Peter gaped in response, “And that doesn’t worry you?”

Hank threw his head back with exhaustion and groaned, “Of course it does,” he started, running his hands down his face before continuing, “But stressing out about it isn’t going to do anyone any good. All we can do is wait for them to get back,” he finished, fixing Peter with a stern look as he’d began to bounce his knee relentlessly- annoyingly.

His fingers drumming faster than the human eye could see, his knee jolting at a similar speed, a feeling of unmistakable dread had started forming in the boy’s stomach, and no amount of finger tapping or knee bouncing could make it go away.

He had a feeling in his gut, one that he wouldn’t be able to back up with any type of logic or reason, but regardless, he had a feeling seated deep in the pit of his stomach that told him, extremely definitely, that something wasn’t right.

As best he could for the next hour and a half, Peter tried to stay quiet. Leaving the hanger to run laps around the basketball court; his attempt at exerting some nervous energy, his attempts were fruitless though as all he could focus on was that feeling in his bones that told him that you, his longtime girlfriend, were in danger. What only served to amplify his anxiety was the fact that if something terrible had indeed happened to you at the hands of the reality jumping mutant; there probably wasn’t much he could do to reverse it.

The conversation he’d shared with you last night rang through his head while he weighed up every possible outcome of your situation, and in conjunction; the situation he could possibly find himself in.

“So say your lovely girlfriend does get sent to an alternate reality… would you follow?” Within a second of your question, Peter had flipped your positions so that your back was against the mattress and the man in question was hovering on top of you with a cheeky grin.

“Sweet cheeks, I’d follow you anywhere.” He told you and you giggled at the stupid pet name before pulling him down to kiss you.

He meant it, he knew he meant it. Peter Maximoff had never been so sure of a fact in his entire existence; he’d follow you anywhere. His issue was that anywhere usually didn’t extend to alternate realities, but to him, if it meant rescuing you, he’d figure out a way to work out the kinks. Peter shook the thoughts from his head, he needed to be rational. You were probably fine, but yet again, he found last night's words echoing in his brain, the promise you’d made rattling around the confines of his head as violently as a screen door during a hurricane.

“Pete…” You whispered, moving your arms to wrap around his neck. “I’m gonna be okay. Raven and Charles will be with me the whole time, we’ll be in and out. I promise.”

When his heart began to beat out of control, he stopped running at lightning speed in favour of leaning against a thick tree adjacent to the basketball court. Aiming to steady his pulse he briefly closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath. He thought about you; about how you’d play with his fingers to stop him from drumming them, how you’d cause any and all of his intrusive thoughts to be ejected from his mind when your lips would meet his in surprise kisses, or how you’d drape your arms around his shoulders and rest your cheek against his chest at random times. Those were the small interactions that brought him the greatest amount of serenity. Just as his heartbeat returned to its usual overactive pace, the jet you’d left on earlier was flying overhead.

Peter rushed back to the hanger, nervous energy at an all time high when the jet landed before him and Hank. Peter bounced on the heels of his feet as he waited for you to bound into his arms and pepper kisses all over his face. But that didn’t happen.

Peter’s heart dropped into that familiar pit in his stomach when Raven and Charles stepped out of the plane, looking crestfallen and solemn when their eyes met Peter’s wide, fear filled, brown eyes.

Before anyone could say a word, Peter sped into the plane, unfortunately confirming his suspicions; you weren’t there. Only a second later, the boy was back in his original spot in front of Charles and Raven.

“She better not be where I think she is right now or I swear to God, man-“ Peter began to threaten as Hank let out a shaky breath of disbelief.

“Peter,” Raven placed her hand on his shoulder when he looked like he was about to hyperventilate, Charles had yet to speak, no doubt trying to find an appropriate way to tell a young mutant that the only constant in his life, his only pacer, had been lost on a mission due to his negligence.

“Where is she? Tell me where she is, I’ll go get her I can be there in back in like five minutes just-“ Peter immediately rushed to speak, ignoring Hank’s confused gaze and Charles’ pained grimace.

“Slow down, bud,” Hank voiced when Peter neared the point of vibrating where he stood.

“The mutant, Galan, he said he’d bring her back, if, and only if, we complied with his demands,” Charles started to explain, grimacing again when Raven cut him off rather bluntly.

“But we can’t. His demands are insane.” She glared at Charles as she spoke, she believed that he shouldn’t have even brought up the option in front of Peter, there was absolutely no way they could accept the deranged mutant’s demands, Charles knew that, and Raven hadn’t wanted to give Peter false hope.

“So what?” Peter yelled, anger replacing nervousness. He’d warned them it was a bad idea. You’d warned them it was a bad idea. It could’ve been avoided. Had he been there, he could’ve saved you. “So what, she's just gone? My girl is just gone and what? I’m supposed to just be okay with it?” He seethed, his breath heavy while his chest heaved with rage.

When, after a moment, nobody spoke, Peter shook his head, “Come on you guys… you’re not seriously considering leaving her in some wacked out world all by herself, are you?” His voice sounded pleading, like a child, stripped raw and entirely vulnerable in a way that made them all wish they’d been more careful, hell, even Hank felt guilty and he hadn’t even been there. He, too, had been against the whole mission in the first place, actually.

“We’re really sorry, Peter,” was all Charles said before he exited the room, Raven stayed rooted in place though, at a loss for what to say or do next.

Peter swallowed thickly, his throat closing and his heart pumping at a rapid rate as tears welled in his eyes and oxygen seemed to disappear from his general area when the reality of the situation set in. You were gone, he’d get you back; even if it took him the rest of his life he’d get you back, but right in that moment, you were just gone. He hadn’t heard Hank’s and Raven’s “Woah!”s as the silver haired boy stumbled on his feet, his knees buckling before he had a chance to steady himself. Nor could he hear the gut wrenching rasps that left his mouth as he slipped into a panic attack that would surely result in him passing out.

“Peter,” Raven was in front of his face, but it wasn’t right- no, you were the one who talked him down, not Raven, it wasn’t right. “—you need to calm down, breath—“ her voice was distorted, as if he was hearing her from beneath a surface of water.

The older woman looked to Hank in desperation, he only furrowed his brow and gradually lowered Peter to the ground. He watched as the speedster rasped and muttered, he only managed to pick up a few words, his heart pulling with each one.

Hank rubbed a soothing hand up and down Peter’s back, while Raven prompted him to breath, eventually they managed to get through to the boy, though, Hank could tell it was more a matter of him having worn himself out.

“You’re alright,” Hank tried to soothe but Peter only whimpered.

He sniffled and met Hank’s gaze, hollowly and miserably, his lips quivering as her spoke in a desperate whisper, “I have to get her back, man. I just have to.”

The kettle screeched out a whistle from the kitchen, letting yourself and Wanda know the water was boiled, “I’ll get it,” you told her, you stood from the porch steps, squeezing Wanda’s shoulder on your way in as she gave you a grateful smile.

It’d been a few months since Wanda had sought you out after WestView broke down, you recalled the words she spoke fondly; “You don’t have to be alone. Remember what I said when we first met? We could help each other.”

Of course, you’d agreed to go on the run with her. And true enough, you’d both been extremely helpful to each other. She was a true friend and if nothing else, she was a bright light in the confused foreign world. As much as you adored Wanda, and as much as she adored you, neither of you were so naive as to think you weren’t still swamped in a pool of loneliness, craving for what you’d both respectively lost.

“Wands, was it peppermint you wanted?” You called from the kitchen, grinning slightly when she responded.

“Ya! With honey!” She yelled softly, “Please!”

Dutifully, you made the two cups of tea before returning to your spot next to Wanda on the steps, holding the hot cup between your hands and breathing in the minty steam. The scenery that surrounded you was gorgeous, nothing short of breathtaking. Rolling hills, huge lakes and flower fields that surrounded the cabin gave it the vibe of something plucked right from a storybook. If it was taking yours and Wanda’s story into consideration, you thought, it’d be one tragically dark storybook, but all the good classics were like that, you supposed.

Despite the eye catching backdrop, your mind was elsewhere today, more so than usual.

Wanda’s voice pulled you from your thoughts, “May I ask you something?”

Taking a sip from your tea you gave her an amused smile from over the rim of your ceramic cup, “Always.”

With that, Wanda turned her body to face you and you mirrored her action, then, she tilted her head curiously, “I’ve been wanting to ask you this for a while, but I didn’t want to pry,” she began causing you to snort out a laugh.

“Never stopped you before,” Wanda rolled her eyes, but smiled, continuing to her actual inquiries.

“When we were in WestView, you woke up a few times, but only when the imposter acting as my brother was near you,” you let out a heavy sigh, which stopped her in her tracks. This conversation had been brewing for a while, you could see it in the way Wanda sometimes hesitated before bringing up certain topics.

“In my reality, I have a boyfriend. He’s my everything, really,” you told her, staring blankly out into the fields as you spoke, “We’ve been together since we broke his father out of a high security prison together in ‘73– did I ever tell you that our timelines are different?” You wondered, losing the thread of your thoughts as you recalled the most significant few days of your life that had transpired in 1973, when you and Peter were just eighteen. It was only five years ago for you, but in this reality, the 70s were more than forty years ago.

“You’ve mentioned it,” she reminded you and you nodded, clearing your throat and getting back to the explanation that Wanda was expecting.

“Well, he’s a mutant like me. He’s got super speed, like your Pietro. His birth name is actually Pietro but he hates it, had it changed to Peter when he moved to the states— kids used to pick on him for it,” you explained, laughing lightly, thinking about the way his nose would scrunch up cutely when you’d call him Pietro.

“That man in WestView… he was identical to my Peter and he had the mutation and… his last name is Maximoff so, I don’t know, I guess it made sense that he’d be playing your brother. When we met I thought nobody was ever going to come for me, then I saw him and I was so happy…” Wanda rested a gentle hand on your knee when your face grew mournful.

“I thought he’d come to save me, bring me home, you know? But it wasn’t him at all, just some guy called Ralph Bohner,” you shrugged with a small pout, attempting to diffuse the weight of the confession with a light, humourless chuckle, “Stupid name.”

Wanda fixed you with a genuine smile, “Tell me about him,” she promoted and you sighed, dreamily this time.

“He’s kind, and funny, he makes me laugh more than anyone I’ve ever known— seriously, I could be having the worst day of my life and all he’d have to do is look at me and everything would feel better,” Wanda’s smile widened, she understood, her Pietro had that effect on her too.

“He’s honest, he’s so good hearted but he can be so full of mischief sometimes, he’s a huge prankster back home,” you paused, biting back a smile for a second, then carried on, “He’s got killer taste in music, before we actually started dating he used to lend me his favourite vinyls and make me mixtapes… he used to write crap on the top of the cassettes with black sharpie, like, “kinda cool songs for a sorta cool girl” or, and this is my personal favourite, “songs that make me think of you”, he drew a little winky face so, naturally, I thought it was going to be super cute,” your own laughter cut you off, Wanda’s mingled with yours and she raised her eyebrows.

“And was it?” She asked, chuckling when you shook your head, your smile the widest she’d ever seen it. She couldn’t help but smile too, the more you told her about him, the more she realised he really was just the alternate version of her brother.

“The only song on the whole thing was ‘Let’s Get It On’ by Marvin Gaye!” Wanda threw her head back in laughter, your cheeks hurt from smiling but your heart felt lighter having spoken about the boy you love.

Once she’d stopped laughing, Wanda took you in before speaking the thing she’d been thinking about since you became friends, “You know, I think Pietro would’ve liked you very much,” she joined you in staring off into the fields, “Peter sounds a lot like him.”

“You’d like him, I think,” Wanda nudged her knee against hers and sipped her tea.

“I hope I get to meet him someday,” she stated, causing your tone to dampen ever so slightly as you agreed.

“I hope so too.”

Peter hadn’t slept in weeks, by now, the speedster was running on nothing but twinkies and redbull. He hadn’t gotten a chance to sleep really, he’d left the mansion almost two weeks ago on what he was calling a solo mission. By solo mission he meant; finding the mutant that sent you to another reality and asking him, politely, to just plop him wherever he sent you. He had no return plan, but he knew what the X-Men had planned, well, more specifically Erik. He was going to kill Galan, and if that happened that eliminated every chance Peter had of getting his soulmate back.

Peter made a choice the second he left the mansion, he’d rather be in an alternate reality with you than in this reality without you.

Besides, he was sick of his friends telling him he should “move on”, you’d only been gone six months and everyone was acting like waiting for you was a hopeless waste of time, it was driving him insane.

You were it for him, he wouldn’t move on for as long as he lived and he knew you felt the same, but, regardless of that, he wanted to find you sooner rather than later.

Your side of the bed didn’t smell like you anymore, your favourite blanket (which Peter had shoved in his rucksack that he brought with him) didn’t hold the same warmth as it did when you’d wrap it around his shoulders. To put things simply, missing you was eating him alive.

He was following leads to get to Galan and finally, in a dingy motel in some lesser known area of the south, Peter found him.

“You’re one of the X-Men aren't you? Here to agree to my terms? Took you long enough,” the mutant spoke lowly, his grumbling voice all the more intimidating in the dimly lit room.

Peter stood awkwardly, out of place, while the mutant stared at him expectantly, “Uh, no, actually,” Peter finally managed to choke out after a moment of silence.

Galan scoffed, “Look, like I told your buddies; I’m not bringing the girl back-“

Peter shook his head, cutting Galan off frantically, “I don’t need you to bring her back. I want you to send me to her,” Galan raised a scarred eyebrow at the young man in front of him, he looked like all hell, bags under his eyes so prominent they almost didn’t look real. He had something of a nervous quality about him, Galan thought.

“You’re Quicksilver, am I correct?” Peter simply nodded his head in confirmation and Galan rolled his shoulders, “I gotta admit, it’d be nice to get you out of my way.”

Peter looked at him pleadingly, “So? Will you send me to her?”

Galan nodded his head, there was no downside for him, really. “Don’t see why not. But humour me for a second, kid. What’s so special about this girl?” Galan asked, a smirk on his face that unnerved Peter.

Peter took in a deep breath and looked Galan straight in the eyes, “I love her, she’s sorta my other half. I’m a total loser without her,” Peter tried to sound aloof but his body language and pleading gaze weren’t fooling anyone.

Galan snorted out a laugh, muttering something along the lines of “Ah, young love” but that was the last thing Peter heard before the world around him faded away.

When he came to, all he knew was that he was freezing, which was saying something considering he was nearly always too warm. He jolted into a sitting position, darkness surrounded him and all he could smell was grass and a very faint smell of smoke coming from somewhere in the distance. After a few seconds, Peter’s eyes adjusted to the darkness and all he could gather was that he was somewhere very, very hilly. The noises of wild animals in the distance spurred Peter to get onto his feet and start running.

He ran for maybe one minute until he reached a cozy looking wood cabin. The lights were off but smoke still poured from the chimney.

Too cold and too exhausted to think too much, Peter walked up the porch steps and knocked three times on the door.

“Hey, uh, anyone home?” He called when nobody came to the door after a few minutes. Just as he was contemplating running away a girl he didn’t recognise opened the door. Her eyes were wide and her mouth hung open in shock, Peter wasn’t sure why.

“Come in,” she told him immediately, and again, Peter didn’t question it, the strawberry blonde led him to a sofa and motioned for him to sit down, with a flick of her hand the fire sparked to life and Peter let out a silent breath of relief. Whoever this girl was, she was a mutant like him. “I’ll be- I’ll be right back.”

Wanda practically ran into your room, shaking you awake roughly, a crazed smile on her face like a child on Christmas, “Y/n, wake up!”

You cracked your eyes open with a groan and hid your face against your pillow, “What?” You asked in a whine and Wanda would’ve been endeared by how much of a child you were when you were sleepy, had it not been for the love of your life sitting on your living room sofa.

“Just come on, will you? You’ll sleep better once you see this,” she prompted, you let out a weak groan but threw your duvet off your legs anyway, sluggishly following Wanda into the living room, your fuzzy socks helping you shuffle over the hardwood floors without needing to lift your feet off the ground too much.

“It’s like 3am, Wands, this better be—“ you cut yourself off with a sharp gasp immediately upon seeing him, “Peter?” You asked, this time you had to be sure.

His own eyes widened and before he could even consider giving you a verbal answer, you were completely encompassed by his arms, but that was all the answer you needed.

A choked sob left your lips as you wrapped your arms around him, his back shook and his tears were already soaking through your tee shirt, letting you know he was crying too.

“Y/n,” he muttered against you, pressing feverish kisses all over your face while he took in your appearance, “You’re okay?”

You nodded your head, eyes watery and smile shaky. Yours hands cupped his cheek, your thumbs brushing the tears away from under his tired eyes, “I’m okay.”

Peter’s eyes continued to rack over you, his fatigue catching up to him as your soft thumbs stroked his cheekbones, “When was the last time you slept, Pete?” A sleepy smile formed on his lips at the sound of your voice, he would never be able to articulate how deeply he’d missed you.

“S’been a few weeks,” he answered and your eyes widened.

With a sad smile, you placed a kiss on his cheek before taking both of his hands in your own, “C’mon, you need rest so you can answer all the questions I plan on asking you in the morning.”

Wanda, it seemed, had already slinked back to her own room.

Once you arrived in your bedroom, Peter shimmied out of his jeans before crawling into your warm bed and opening his arms, beckoning you in. You didn’t need any convincing, you happily crawled into bed and let Peter wrap his arms around you as you laid your cheek against his chest.

“I have so many things to say but I’m pretty sure I’m about to pass out,” Peter said softly, squeezing you against him as closely as possible, burying his nose in your hair and sighing gently.

As gently as you could, you leaned up and placed a tender kiss against his lips, “You can say everything you need to say when you wake up.”

“I love you,” Peter whispered, chasing your lips with his languidly, “You’re my everything, you know that?” Of course, you wouldn’t know how much weight the statement held just yet, that didn’t matter to Peter, though. He had you back, the other details didn’t seem so important anymore.

#peter maximoff #peter maximoff x reader #peter maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #wandavision x reader #x men x reader #wandavision spoilers #wanda maximoff imagine

224 notes · View notes

earthfire-75 · 3 years ago

Text

You Send Me Flying

Chapter Seven:

(Author’s notes: co-written with @nature-and-music, beta’d by @lady-jane-revisited. Based on The Dirt movie as I don’t yet own the book. Warnings: language and smut)

We headed down stairs and piled into her car, her driving and myself in the passenger seat with the other guys in the back. My fingers were itching to reach out for her, but I fought off the urge. No reason to give those idiots any more fuel. When we pulled into the place, I prepared myself for their antics, because where of all places does she take us? A sex shop.

They’re whooping and laughing in the back seat when they realize it and even she giggles a bit. “Alright, get it all out now. I expect you to act like adults when we get in there. Got it?” She was trying to be stern, but her unsuccessfully-stifled giggles weren’t helping. It was infectious and I cracked a smile as well.

“Good luck with that,” I commented as I got out of the car.

We went inside and she got the clerk to help us with the boots while she looked out for a few other things to pull the costumes together. It went surprisingly smoothly and we met her at the checkout where she pays for it all. I let the other guys go ahead of me, but I pulled her off to the side.

“Have you been paying for all this?”

“Yeah. I mean, Nikki put me in charge of costuming.”

I must have looked as furious as I felt, because she was suddenly standing up straighter and placed her hands on my cheeks with concern on her face. “Mick, what is it? What’s wrong?”

“You’ve been paying for everything out of your own pocket! I’m guessing without help?!”

“Wait…No. Mick, look at me. Nikki and I pooled some of our savings together. Tommy and Vince threw in some too and we opened a bank account for the band. We didn’t ask you, because you’re paying child support.”

My eyes shot to hers for a second before looking away again. I quietly replied, “They weren’t supposed to tell you about that.”

“Yeah, well they were supposed to tell you about the account. What are we going to do with our children, dad?”

Something stirred in me, hearing her call me that. It surprised me that I would react like that, but I pulled her flush against me, letting her feel how hard I was getting. “Screw the kids, say that again.”

“What? Dad?” She asks, sounding confused at first, but then her eyes lit up as the dots connected in her mind and she leaned her head a little to the side so her lips just grazed my ear. “Or would you prefer “Daddy?” She pulled back, looking up at me with innocent eyes and started to back away.

A low growl escaped me at the game she was playing and I managed to hook my fingers through her belt loops before she could turn around to escape. “Oh, no you don’t, Princess.” I tugged her back to me and she gasped when our hips met but there’s a loud honk from her car before I got the chance to kiss her. The trio of idiots were staring straight through the shop’s glass windows from outside at us.

“Get a room!” came their collective cheer.

“I’m gonna kill them.”

“No, you’re not.”

I grumbled under my breath and she shot me a look that told me it would be better for me if I didn’t. “Fine. I won’t.”

She put the bags in the trunk and we headed back to the apartment. The guys and I practiced some more while she locked herself in her unit again to tirelessly work on putting the costumes together. She came back up a little after lunch with her arms full of red and black pleather, one of the boot boxes and a small sewing kit. She handed the pleather material and boots to Nikki before shooing him off to go try it on.

***

Reader’s POV

Nikki took the pile from my arms so I could take the sewing kit. His face lit up, like a kid being given his first present on Christmas, and he ran off to his bedroom. I paced around the front room of the apartment waiting for the bassist to come out. I almost sighed in relief when he finally did with a serious look on his face.

“How does it fit?” I asked, sounding as nervous as I felt.

“Like a fuckin’ glove, man! This is awesome!” He enthused, now cracking a smile and turning for all to see the outfit, front and back before coming up to me and giving me a bear hug.

I laughed and returned the hug. “Are you sure it fits ok?

“Yes, stop worrying! I promise I love it!”

“Ok…if you’re sure. Do you want to keep it here, or do you want me to hold onto it?”

“It’s probably better if you hang on to the costumes. They might get ruined here.”

“Alright. Go change back.”

“Am I next, dude?” Tommy asked, practically bouncing on his feet.

“No. Yours is last because it’s the easiest.”

“Aww, man! Wait, shouldn’t Mick’s be the easiest? His is all black, dude!”

“It might be all black, but I had to sew a damn jacket! Sounds easy, right? It’s not.”

“Oh…damn, dude.”

I turned to the singer, “Vince you’re up.”

The man jumped up from his seat and happily grabbed the outfit, giving it a look-over before trying it on “Sweet!” He comes out looking just as excited as his fellow bassist, “This is so awesome! Check me out, man.”

“And it feels alright? It’s not too tight or too loose or anything?”

Vince was a little busy running his hands over the material at first, but then answered me nonetheless, “You kidding? It fits great. We’re gonna be so badass! The chicks are gonna love it!”

The rest of the gang could agree on that matter, giving each other high fives. I smiled and let him know that I could hold on to it all for them. I gulped as I gathered the next outfit for Mick, clearly seeing the rest of the guys lurking over him like a group of vultures. The guitarist kept his cool and said nothing, aside from a slight grunt as he got up from the couch. He gave me a quiet expression of thanks and headed over the bedroom once Vince returned with his clothing and placed it on the table. Some minutes passed while he was changing and though so far there were no complaints, l still wondered if he was alright, or if he needed any assistance. After seeing him in pain like that, I was getting a little worried.

“Hey I need a little help here,” Mick notified.

I made my way towards the room, ignoring Tommy’s repeated attempt to get under my skin by commenting not to take too long. I knocked on the door, “Mick, are you decent?”

“Yeah, come in, just shut the door.”

The man was nowhere to be found after I closed the door and looked around. However my heart started to slam against my ribcage when he stepped out of the bathroom wearing his full ensemble, a big smirk across his face. The black on black look was absolutely perfect on him. The pentagram headband, the studded boots with the intertwining chains, the belts across his chest, the pleather, and the collar. Jesus Christ. The pleather and collar were too much for me. Minus the make up, he was so close to looking the way he did in my dream, the sinister and demonic creature that put me over the makeup table and took me for a ride. I wanted him, no I wanted nothing more than to let him have me anywhere]: pressed against the wall, letting him roughly pull down my pants so that I could spread my legs and he could taste me. Then grab me by shoulders, hurl me onto the bed, and beg for him to fuck me until I couldn’t walk. Still, the costume would get ruined and of course we would never hear the end of it from the idiot patrol.

“This is really cool, you really outdid yourself with this,” he remarked, walking closer to me.

It finally hit me, “You didn’t really need any help did you?” I asked, closing in the gap by hooking my finger in the ring of his collar, biting my lip as I stared deeply into those sparkling blue eyes. That must have done something to him, his breathing becoming a little shaken, and his eyes widening when I whispered to him, “Daddy...”

His pupils were suddenly dilated, blackness engulfing the pale irises. The next thing I knew, Mick held me very close to his body, his hands grasping my back. I tried to keep my sighs quiet as he kissed my lips, however I couldn’t help but let a squeal slip out when he deliciously devoured my neck with his mouth. The heat from our bodies only increased when he pressed me against a wall, his kisses becoming hungrier by the second as my own hands tugged at his raven black locks.

“Mick, oh Mick...” I whispered.

However reality had reared its ugly head back into the frame when we heard banging from the other side, “Hey! Quit fucking around you two!” Tommy wailed. “Come on, that’s our room!”

Mick shouted back, “Fuck you, you fucking teenager! Open those legs, Princess. Daddy needs you-”

“No, no Mick. Please not now, it’s not a good time. Not with those three right outside the door.”

He was clearly frustrated but took his hands off of me, groaning ast he backed off. Still, I wanted him just as badly, so I thought of a different alternative as I clicked the door shut, lifted up my shirt, and pulled down my bra, “Mark me then, please Daddy.”

Without hesitation, Mick immediately held my breasts and pressed his lips to my skin. He was gentle at first, looking at me to see if I was enjoying the feeling of his mouth. I could feel the pulsations between my legs increasing as I whispered his name. I gasped when he took a nipple and suckled on it with ease, but I needed more from him. No sooner did I settle my hand onto the back of his head that he increased the speed of his sucking. His lips were wet, creating a very moistened sound that invaded my ears. He switched over to the other side and did the same, biting down a bit and moving his head back until my sensitive bud was released from his ivories. The sounds of Tommy’s knocking had completely drowned out as he pleasured me with his mouth and I moaned loudly. I couldn’t stop watching the way he pleased me, feeling my panties getting soaked, especially when I saw the fresh blemishes and crescent marks that were upon my chest. I was nearly there and so was he, yet he had to stop for both our sakes.

He gave each breast one gentle kiss and one little lick to my nipples, he leaned into my ear and growled, “You took that like a good girl, Princess. But Daddy doesn’t want to ruin all your hard work.”

I was in a trance as I responded back instinctively, “Thank you Daddy.”

@nature-and-music @lady-jane-revisited @mickmarstookmyheart @sophiazeppelinchick

#mick mars x reader #mick mars smut #mick mars fanfiction #mick mars fanfic #motely crue #motley crue fanfiction

55 notes · View notes

theres-an-impulstor-among-us · 3 years ago

Note

*claps*

So, sequel ideas. Specifically for Wormman shenanigans. What if he goes to scout out the Evil X shop to see exactly what’s going on, and he spots the exploiter himself and just tackles him because friends

Also I can imagine Zed is literally the only one who knows that they’re different people, so EX just thinks it’s Zedaph and won’t show any weakness, so he pushes WM off and Helsaph is just like “Dude we’re friends :DDD, what the hels”

i love Raven ideas :D

this is a sequel to this one

...

Helsaph has absolutely no trouble finding the right building. After all, it’s got a giant statue of his old friend atop it, towering over the surrounding area. As he approaches, he’s delighted to see his friend themself just leaving the building. “Evil X!” he calls, picking up speed. “Hi!”

EX turns but their impassive expression doesn’t change. “Uh… Hello. Can I help you?”

Helsaph grabs them in a hug, delighted to see his friend again. “It’s been so long! How’s it going?”

“Um…” Clearing their throat awkwardly, EX detaches themself from Helsaph and pushes him away. “Sorry, I’m a bit busy right now. If you want to buy some derpcoin, there’s signs inside instructing you how to do that.”

“Why are you being so weird?” demands Helsaph. “I thought you’d be happy to see me again. It’s been years.”

“Years?” EX stares at him as if he’s crazy. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I have to go.”

As EX turns to walk away, Helsaph suddenly realises exactly what’s going on. “Oh, wait, no I- EX, wait!”

They pause, glancing back at Helsaph with a slightly suspicious look. “What?”

“You think I’m Zedaph, don’t you?”

EX blinks. “Who else would I think you are?”

Helsaph quickly digs the pink mask out of his pocket and holds it up to his eyes.

EX’s own eyes widen and they quickly drag Helsaph into the building. After locking the door, they pull Helsaph up some stairs and into an office overlooking the rest of the interior.

They stand in front of the closed door and cross their arms. “Explain.”

Suddenly put on the spot, Helsaph stammers over his words. “I’m, um… I’m Ze-Zedaph’s Hels counterpart. He recruited me to be Wormman back in Season 5. The “Zedaph” you befriended and battled was me.”

EX stares at Helsaph. “You’re NOT a helsmit.”

Not expecting this reaction, Helsaph frowns. “I am.”

“Helsmits are evil,” says EX. “Helsmits don’t run around in pink spandex and yellow underwear pretending to fight a quasi-evil clone.”

“I AM a helsmit,” Helsaph insists. I’m not sure if I can prove it but I am. My name is Helsaph.”

EX scrutinises Helsaph closely, causing him to feel slightly uncomfortable.

“I can’t go get Zedaph to prove that there’s two of us because I’m not actually supposed to be on this server so only one of us can leave the base at a time.” He hesitates. “I could take you there if you wanted? To prove that there’s two of us?”

“Oh I believe there’s two of you,” responds EX. “Knowing Zedaph, I’m not surprised in the slightest that he’s managed to clone himself. I just don’t quite believe that YOU are a helsmit.”

“Not sure I like the way you said “you” there but okay,” Helsaph says slowly. “How can I prove to you that I’m a helsmit?”

EX doesn’t even hesitate in their answer. “Kill me.”

Helsaph considers this for a moment. “Will you respawn?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

Helsaph draws his sword and slices it straight through EX, killing them immediately.

He nearly has a heart attack as he suddenly remembers that his name might show up in chat. But when he hastily checks the communicator Zedaph lent him, he sees something entirely different.

EvilXisuma was slain by [Entity]

“Oh my god,” he breathes.

Imagine if my WHOLE existence on this server was exposed and ended by me killing EX just because they asked me to.

It takes less than a minute for EX to appear back in the office and start to collect their items.

“It occurred to me about half a second after I did it that my name might’ve shown up in chat killing you,” Helsaph says, watching them. “Went through the five stages of grief in less than three seconds.”

EX chuckles, straightening up. “I’m guessing you were reduced to [Entity] because you’re not registered to any server so it didn’t recognise your code. Well anyway, I’m impressed. Now why did you kill me?”

“WH-?!” Helsaph yelps. “Because you asked me to!! What the frick is this?!”

“You could’ve refused,” EX points out. “Why did you actually do it?”

Helsaph stares at them for a moment, then sighs. “Because I want to prove I am who I say I am and I knew the real Zedaph would never in a million years kill you like that.”

“You’re right,” responds EX, nodding approvingly. “I believe you. So what on earth persuaded a helsmit to dress up in the world’s most ridiculous superhero outfit and chase me around for several months?”

“Honestly, just the fact that the prospect of THAT was better than my current life at the time,” says Helsaph honestly. “Which really says something about how I was living back then, doesn’t it?”

EX scoffs. “Oh boy, it sure does. Where’ve you been since Season 5?”

For the briefest of seconds, EX thinks they see a flash of red in Helsaph’s eyes. But it’s over so quickly that they can’t be sure of what they saw.

Helsaph clears his throat. “Not really something I want to get into now. The point is I’m back and I heard on the grapevine that you’ve been running a little scam.”

“S-Scam?!” splutters EX.

“I’m guessing that this derpcoin thing is that.” Helsaph points down at the shop floor. “I came over to find out if it really is a scam but I’m not really sure how to do that.”

EX crosses their arms. “Why don’t you just ask me?”

“Okay,” says Helsaph. “Is it a scam?”

“No.”

A pause follows this.

“I’m really not sure what I expected there.”

EX lets out a chuckle. “Heh. Witty, goofy, gullible. You really are Wormman, aren’t you?”

Helsaph frowns. “Why does that feel suspiciously like an insult?”

“It wasn’t really. You know, I actually kinda missed having you chase me around all day.”

Helsaph’s frown clears into a smile. “Aww, you missed me?”

“Nope!” EX says quickly. “I said I KINDA missed you chasing me around. It was kinda fun.”

“That means you missed me,” responds Helsaph sweetly, rocking from his heels to the balls of his feet.

“It really doesn’t.”

“You said you missed ME chasing you around. Not BEING chased around. Therefore, you missed me.”

EX rolls their eyes. “Add “annoying” to that list too.”

Helsaph beams innocently. “That’s something we helsmits have in common.”

“I’m not a helsmit,” EX responds.

Helsaph opens his mouth to respond that he had meant helsmits in general when he properly registers what EX just said. “Wait… y-you’re not?”

EX shakes their head. “Nope. Xisuma’s hels counterpart is Helsuma. I don’t actually remember how or why or when or where I was brought into this universe.”

Silence follows their words as Helsaph’s gaze flickers to the ground. EX isn’t a helsmit. What are they then? Are they a clone? Where did they come from? How did they come into being? What are they made of? Helsaph’s mind is racing with all sorts of experiments he could perform on his friend to find out the answers to these questions.

“...Helsaph?” EX prompts after a moment. “You still with me?”

“Huh?” Helsaph blinks himself out of his thoughts. “Oh, yeah, sorry. That’s cool. Anyway, I’m gonna need to investigate your little not-a-scam. Mind showing me around?”

Still a little shaken by the sudden darkness they had seen in his eyes, EX nods. “Sure.”

…

EX finishes up the tour back at the front door. “-so that’s pretty much it. Any questions?”

Helsaph nods. “Yeah. How is this not a scam?”

EX gives a chuckle. “Tell you what, since you’re clearly still not convinced, how about you take this premium derpcoin for free?”

They hand Helsaph a coin the size of their palm.

“I gotta head out now but take a look around for yourself, read the signs and books, then decide what you wanna do. Okay?”

“O-Okay.”

Helsaph watches EX leave, before turning his attention back to the coin they gave him. He can’t stop staring at it, turning it over in his hands, admiring the way it glistens. There’s no way he’s going to spend this. Not because this is a scam - because obviously it is. For a different reason.

This is the first gift EX has ever given him.

#hermitcraft #evil xisuma #helsaph #worm man #vaunna’s requests

56 notes · View notes

tsukiihime · 4 years ago

Text

Heartbreak (Bakugo x Reader, Shinsou x Reader)

Hey everyone! This is my first BNHA piece, something I wrote when I was bored and thought what the hey, I’ll post it! Feedback is appreciated!

Word Count: 3.4k

Pairings: Bakugo x Reader, Shinsou x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of cyberbulling, swearing, breakup, angst, just kind of a sad piece overall?

Next Chapter

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

When you started dating the Explosion Hero Dynamight, you knew that you were throwing yourself to the wolves. The media is cruel and the fans even crueller - if they deem you unworthy for their Hero then you’re in for a hell of a time - and not in a good way. But you loved Bakugo - you’ve loved him more than you’ve ever loved anyone, and for two years of your life you’ve been by his side as he climbs through the Hero charts.

But recently, the media has been sniffing a little too close to home. Someone has tipped the tabloids off to your existence and ravenous fans have been finding your social media day after day. Your selfies on Instagram are being bombarded with hateful comments on everything ranging from your weight to your skin color to your fashion sense, while your Twitter messages are flooded with paragraph after paragraph full of venom and vitriol. You can no longer take the headlines, the hate, the disgust being dished out at you day and day out. You beg your boyfriend to do something, anything to make the media leave you alone. Which brings you to tonight - in a heated argument with the Hero Dynamight.

“All I’m saying is that if you address the media, if you tell them that I’m your girlfriend, they might back off. I can’t do this anymore Katsuki, I can’t keep waking up and seeing this shit on my feed!” You’re so angry you’re shaking, and it’s pissing you off even more that Bakugo stares at you, unblinking and unfazed, arms crossed in indifference.

“You know I can’t do that. I do that, and my ratings plunge.” Your eyes widen in disbelief as soon as those words leave his mouth, you can’t believe he even said that.

“Are you serious Katsuki? Is beating Deku and becoming the number one hero really worth more to you than us? Than me?” Tears threatened to spill over at any moment, your fists clenching until your nails left tiny red crescents in your skin. You stared at vermilion eyes refusing to back down, waiting with trembling lips for his answer.

“You knew what you were getting into when you started dating me. I don’t know why you need so much fuckin’ reassurance that you’re different from all those other damn extras.” That sentence sends you from angry to fuckin’ pissed in less than a second.

You jab at his chest, practically screaming: “Excuse me? When we started dating, I was promised that you’d protect me from everything, including the media. Do you see the shit they say about me Katsuki? What they say about my body, my family, my upbringing? How they call me a slut and a whore because my Instagram has ‘Toshi on it and now I’ve been spotted with you? I can’t even visit my parents because I’m afraid they’ll follow me. I can’t go and see “Toshi because they’ll shit talk me even more! And you sit there and do nothing. Say nothing. All I want is for you to tell them the truth, that we are dating and that we are a couple.”

Now, it’s Bakugo’s turn to bite back. “And I’m sayin’ my hands are tied. They know I’m with someone, and I lose fans. Which means, I ain’t gonna beat that damn Deku at the rankings next month.”

“Fuck the rankings Bakugo! Can you get your head out of your ass for a second?! How in the world,” you turn to go to grab your phone, pulling up the latest headline about you on the tabloid’s website, “can you let them say this about me? Don’t you at least care that I’m being attacked on the daily?” Tears fall freely from your eyes now, and Bakugo flinches for a second, but only a second. You laugh in anger, turning away from him. “I already know the answer, Katsuki. You care more about the rankings than me. I’m in the way of your dream if you say I’m with you, so let me remove myself from the equation.” You grab a jacket, an umbrella and your phone, and put on your shoes. “It’s over Katsuki. I’m done. If you won’t say that we’re together, then we shouldn’t be together.”

You turn to leave, and a part of you hopes that he’ll follow - that he’ll grab you and hold you tight and tell you that he loves you, loves you more than the stupid rankings and that he’ll stand by you no matter what the media says.

But he doesn’t.

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

You walk a couple of blocks to another apartment building, ring the doorbell and wait for the response to come from the other side. A deep voice responds, belonging to someone who had obviously been sleeping. “Who the hell is it?”

“‘Toshi, it’s me.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming? It’s raining idiot, get in here.” The doors unlock and you make your way inside. You know this building like the back of your hand, it’s the home of your best friend and your second home. You make your way to his apartment and he’s waiting for you in the hallway - purple hair tousled and messy, body heavy with sleep and dark undereye circles accentuating violet eyes as he scratches the back of his neck. It’s a tic of his, one you know well - he’s nervous.

“A fight huh?”

“Worse. I broke it off.” Shinsou immediately tenses at the mention of this, and if you weren’t so pissed and hurt by Bakugo you would’ve laughed.

“Shit...I’m sorry. Come in, tell me all about it.” He steps aside and lets you into his apartment, closing the door as he prepares himself to listen to you complain until the sun rises. He agrees to help you get your things when you’re ready to return, and says you can crash at his place until you find somewhere else to stay.

You return two days later, punching in the code to the apartment you and Bakugo share - well, you supposed shared was the better word. It felt so foreign, being here after everything. Memories of the last two years flooded into your mind - lazy days where you spent all day with Katsuki on the couch doing nothing but watching horrible horror flicks and laughing the night away, those early mornings that had you waking up at five o’clock in the morning to cook pancakes while the sleepy blonde wraps his arms around your waist while teasing your culinary skills. Even the late nights when schoolwork kept you awake well into the twilight hours and your exhausted body dragged itself to the bed you and he shared, breathing in the caramel scent of the man you loved as your head hits the plush pillows and you drift off to sleep. But now, all of those memories have disappeared into the wind, replaced with the fight you and Bakugo had before you had stormed out of the house that night. He’s been texting you like mad, calling you like there is no tomorrow, but you ignore his calls. He never leaves a voicemail, so you don’t know what’s on his mind.

As the beige door swung open, you breathed a sigh of relief that Katsuki wasn’t home. You had neither the heart nor the energy to see him after all that had happened and instead resolved yourself to get all of your things before his shift ended at his agency. You spent the next hour rounding up everything you owned - books, pictures, everything that you had room to take and that you knew you wouldn’t miss if you left it behind. When you had a breather you sent a quick text to Shinsou to let him know you were almost ready to go - and took a deep breath as you entered your bedroom. No, your former bedroom now. “That’s all it is now.” you remind yourself.

You start dumping all your clothes into trash bags and gather up pictures and toiletries that belong to you as you clean up the bedroom from one end to the other. As you grab a pile and place it on the bed, an article of clothing falls that you don’t recognize. You bend over and pick it up to inspect it closer.

You know your clothes, all of them. But this lacy lingerie set that is discarded on the floor isn’t yours, hell, it isn’t even your size. Your throat feels like sandpaper and your nose crinkles as you drop the clothes as if burned by a flame. You can’t help but stare at it as a million things run through your mind at once: whose is it? How long has it been here? Was this before or after you and Katsuki broke up? Did he already move on? The last thought is something you know you shouldn’t dwell on, it isn’t your business what he does after you’re the one that ended the relationship. You know this and yet the tears come anyways, endless and stinging without end. Your legs give out and you fall to your knees clutching your heart as sobs fall from your lips, as your emotions bounce all over the place. The molten hot anger you felt at first is now transforming into deep sadness, all the bittersweet memories racing through your mind now replaced by images of Katsuki holding another woman, another lover just like he held you. You can’t stop as your brain formulates these what if situations - what if he was waiting for you to end it so he could be with her? You start to imagine him kissing another with the same passion he held for you. You see another in your place, eating the food that he insists on making to spoil you after a long night of homework, running their fingers through his hair as he falls asleep on their lap, and seeing another wrapped in his arms as they fall asleep together under the moonlit sky.

“I can’t stay here” you whisper to yourself, desperate to stop the tears that won’t end - desperate to feel anything but this pit of agony. You’ll take numbness over this endless heartbreak, this disappointment, this feeling of self-deprecation that tells you over and over that you weren’t good enough. “I-”

The door opens and you hear Shinsou’s voice behind you, calling your name and making his way through the hallway at the front of the apartment. “You didn’t answer my texts so I came up to check on you and-” The purple haired man freezes when he sees you, sitting on the floor with your head in your hands, sobbing uncontrollably as a waterfall of tears spill from your eyes dripping onto your fingers. You can no longer hold back your sobs as everything comes to a head - your insecurities, the hateful comments left on your social media, Katsuki’s own dismissal of your feelings as you two fought that night two days ago. Shinsou immediately drops to his knees in front of you, wrapping his arms around your frame and holding you close. “It’s okay...let it out.” You peer up at him from tear filled eyes, lunging at him to wrap your arms around his neck as you bury your face in his chest.

“Hitoshi…” is all you’re able to say before another sob wracks your body, tears staining your cheeks and dampening Shinsou’s hoodie. You try desperately to explain why you’re crying, and why you’re so upset but you can’t find the words as your tongue feels heavy like a bunch of bricks. Indigo eyes drift to the underwear discarded behind you, anger seething in his veins as he puts two and two together.

“Bakugo, you fucking tool.” He thinks to himself as he holds you, letting you cry out what you can’t tell him but he knows. He knows you better than anyone, just as you know him better than anyone. He remembers the vibrant little girl he met on the playground all those years ago, who spoke to him without a care even with his “villainous” quirk. He remembers your ecstatic scream as he calls you to let you know that he was able to get into the Hero Course at U.A, and he remembers you celebrating his acceptance at getting into a Hero Agency by getting blackout drunk and waking up with you in snuggled in his arms as you wear his favorite hoodie. He remembers being the one to introduce you to Bakugo at a Hero Ranking after party when you accompanied him as his plus one. He remembers how breathtaking you looked that night - an obsidian dress that hugged your figure closely, long legs accentuated by black stilettos and your plush lips painted in a ruby red hue. He remembers being the man of the hour, the hero Mindjack accompanied by a beauty on his arm, the envy of the venue. He remembers dancing with you, his most beloved childhood friend, his most precious person. He remembers watching you stride to the bar, smiling as you greet the bartender with glee and and he remembers watching you bump into Bakugo as you apologize quickly to the blonde before making your way back to him. He also remembers Bakugo following you to him, prompting him to introduce you to the man who would eventually become your boyfriend.

“If only you hadn’t bumped into him that night”, Shinsou thinks to himself, “Katsuki Bakugo, I’m going to give you a piece of my mind when I see you next.” How helpless he feels watching you cry as your heart shatters into a million pieces, how powerless he feels as he holds you tighter than he’s ever held anyone before. “C’mon, let’s get you home. I’ll take what I can and I’ll get the rest another day.” he smiles as he looks at you, giving you a small grin that he hopes makes you feel a bit better. “Don’t worry, I grabbed your Switch and your laptop, so the lazy girl hours can still happen” you punch him in the shoulder playfully as you wipe tears away on your sleeve, pouting as you roll your eyes at his lazy jokes before he continues, “and I’ll send Bakugo a text on what’s happening. You won’t have to deal with him. I promise.” It doesn’t escape his notice how you tense up when he says Bakugo, but the small smile you give at his joke makes him feel just a bit better. You stand up and press your lips to his forehead, tippy toeing to reach. “Thanks ‘Toshi. I really appreciate it, truly.”

“Anything for my Animal Crossing buddy.” You cross your arms and give him a questioning look, eliciting a chuckle from the taller male. “I’m jus’ kiddin’. You know I’d do anything for you. And your Switch.” You laugh as you turn to grab your boxes and make your way to the front of the apartment, the lingerie that had shattered your world moments ago momentarily forgotten in the corner of you and Bakugo’s bedroom. “It’s only Bakugo’s now” you remind yourself as you walk out into the living room, “this place belongs to Bakugo only.” You take one last look at your home for the last ten months, and quickly turn on your heels to make your way to the elevator with your entire life packed into a few boxes. A small sense of regret lingers in you, but you quickly shove that aside to stop yourself from crying some more. Shinsou grabs the rest of the boxes left on the table, and places your key to the apartment on the counter next to a picture frame with the glass faced down. He then turns and follows you out the door to his car.

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

The next few nights are the hardest - Shinsou’s apartment only has one bedroom, one bathroom and the living room which means you’re on the couch until you find your own place. You’ve known Shinsou since childhood and you wouldn’t mind sharing a bed but you’re so distraught from your discovery in Bakugo’s room that you want to be alone to cry it out if you need to - you already feel like a burden to Shinsou despite his protests against the idea. He’s not home tonight - on patrol around the city as you sit in the living room wrapped in a blanket and wearing his favorite hoodie. You flip through the channels and stumble across the Hero Rankings red carpet. It’s been ages since Hitoshi attended one, becoming more of an “underground hero” and avoiding the spotlight if possible. In fact, the only time he attended one was with you around the time you met Bakugo. You cringe at the thought of him, trying quickly to remove him from your mind. The rational part of your mind wants to change the channel, to watch those documentaries you love so much and wait until Shinsou gets back home but you don’t. Instead, you decide to remain on this channel, watching as heroes come and go on the red carpet with their dates and hear the host gush about each one’s accomplishments. This is torture, you know Bakugo will appear since he’s the number four Hero, you know he’ll be there and yet like a train wreck, you can’t look away. Maybe you’re curious as to what he’s up to, or maybe you want to see if he looks as miserable as you know you do. In any case, you wait with baited breath to see a pair of scarlet eyes and ash blonde hair to satiate your curiosity. A flash of green catches your attention and you see Izuku Midoriya appear on screen in front of you. Deku is the number three Hero and on his arm is his girlfriend Uraraka, another Hero ranked at number seven. You’ve met the both of them at parties you attend with Bakugo - they both received a lot of hate from “fans'' when they announced they were dating, but the love they exuded for each other made the media change their tune really fast. They truly adored one another and didn’t care if their ratings took a dive. You had wished Bakugo would do that for you, but you weren’t a Hero and you didn’t have an impressive quirk, so his agency decided that it would be better for his ratings if he kept you a secret and he agreed. At first, you didn’t mind but the comments on social media and the tabloids made you feel as if he wasn’t yours at all - instead all you felt was that he was ashamed of you.

Then you see him. You grip the remote so hard it almost hurts, but you keep on looking anyway. There stands the number four Hero Katsuki Bakugo, wearing a red and black suit and looking as he always does - confident to the point of arrogance, a grumpy face that makes him unapproachable, arms crossed in annoyance. The cameras go off flash after flash, and the announcer goes over his stats - how many people he’s saved, his amount of solved cases, so on and so forth. You smile at his ranking, he’s gone from eleven to four in such a short amount of time, and you know he has his determination to thank for that. He works hard, that you can’t deny.

Then you see her. You recognize her, from the tabloids and the makeup commercials. The Illusion Hero, Maboromicamie. She’s tall, beautiful, and has a gorgeous figure as well as a comfy place ranked as the number ten Hero. Her arm is linked with Bakugo’s, and he has an arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her close for the photoshoot. The announcer raises their voice in excitement, as a headline appears on your TV: “Dynamight and Maboromicamie an item? Seen together getting close at the awards ceremony!”

You shut off the TV and close your eyes. What were you expecting? Why did you do that? You can’t help the tears that escape, but they do. There you sit, alone in the apartment with the image of those two stuck in your head, burned into your memory. When Shinsou gets home, he says nothing and you’re grateful for it - you know he’s seen the ceremony and he knows you well enough to know that you’ve seen it too. Instead, he showers, lays down next to you, and holds you close as you cry quietly into his arms.

#bnha #bnha x fem!reader #shinsou x reader #bakugo x reader #bnha x you #hitoshi shinso x y/n #katsuki bakugo x y/n #bnha angst #mha x reader #my writing

196 notes · View notes