#he looks like the kind of guy who would write a beautiful work of art at the age of twenty three and then die tragically the next year

[only-lonely-www]

Hello

[sceletaflores]

"Dependence Is Weakness, Darling."

pairing: older!patrick zweig x fem!reader

summary: it wasn’t just the cigarettes or the lighters. it was the way you still find yourself thinking about him. patrick, with his tangled emotions and overwhelming presence, had left an inescapable mark on your life. and as much as you wished it, he wasn’t someone you could easily erase from yourself.

—or: it's been a little over twelve years since you've seen patrick zweig.

word count: 7.8k (hopefully this is long enough lol)

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, p in v, rough sex but in a loving way, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it y’all!), semi-public sex (fucking in a car, you know i had to...), angst, swearing, cigarette smoking as a love language, slight mommy issues lmao, hints of mean!reader cause i still live for that shit, love confessions, rain scene cause i'm corny as hell, porn with SOOOO much plot, no use of y/n.

author's note: this might me the filthiest thing i've ever written lols. i actually DID get a couple asks for some more angsty patrick fics and ofc i love writing angst i'm just a girl i live for that shit. look at me doing what was asked of me and not just whatever i wanted! i'm a giver, what can i say. this fic was revived because of a few anon's who demanded it and i'm so glad they did. you guys got me to give this a second chance and i'm so proud of how it turned out. extra special shout out to @bii-aan-ckaa who fiercely advocated and waited very patiently for this! i'm so obsessed with you and your beautiful kind words. hope you love it! mwah xoxo.

Fifteen minutes. 

That’s how long you can stomach sitting in the sticky booth of the bar watching Patrick Zweig flirt with a woman you don't recognize across the dimly lit room. Fifteen measly minutes until you were giving your friends some lame excuse of needing fresh air and leaving the table to escape out into the alley.

It’s been a little over twelve years since you’ve seen Patrick. A little over twelve years since you turned your back on him with tears spilling down your cheeks and your favorite racket a mangled, smashed mess gripped tightly in your shaking hand as you walked out of his life forever. 

Or at least what you thought was forever, you guess you were wrong.

To put it lightly, your relationship with Patrick was…complicated. You met him the summer before you started at Stanford. He was tall with green eyes and curly hair and he was kind of an asshole but he made you laugh, so you let him fuck you anyway. At the time, you thought that was it. One really good fuck with a really hot guy you’d never see again.

You thought you were hallucinating when you saw him on the campus courts two months later, when he sauntered up to you with an unmistakable “I know what you look like naked” smirk on his face. He was just as tall and had the same green eyes and the same curly hair and was an even bigger asshole than he was before. You still let him fuck you anyway.

You never thought you’d get sucked into the storm that was whatever the fuck was going on between Art, Patrick and Tashi. Never thought that it would completely ruin your self esteem, your tennis, your everything.

You weren’t particularly close to Art or Tashi in college. Sure, you were all in the same circle. That didn’t make you best friends. Art was nice enough, but he never went out of his way to talk to you. You and Tashi were on the same team but that didn’t mean anything. You respected the hell out of her and her game, and you could tell she felt the same. Even with that respect, there was still a tiny part of you that resented her. 

She was number one, the pride and joy of Stanford, had a constant slew of brands and scouts up to her ears. It seemed like no matter how hard you worked that she would always be number one. It felt like you were always just inches behind her.

Clawing and scratching your way through the ranks since you were twelve to be second best was never the plan. Your mother made sure to remind you of that every chance she got.

Then slowly, she started beating you at more than just tennis. Patrick wanted her, it was more than obvious. At first you didn’t care, he wasn't your boyfriend. He was just a guy you fucked, he could do whatever he wanted. You were friends. There wasn’t a problem.

When you realized you knew more about Patrick than just how he worked dick, then there was a problem. 

At first, all the things you knew about him were boiled down to the vulgar little tidbits you’d notice when he fucked you. You know that he has a birthmark on his lower back. You know when he’d be close because he’d always bite your shoulder before he came. You know his favorite position was really missionary even though he told everyone it was doggy.

Knowing all that was fine.

You also know that he’s allergic to kiwi. You know that he only holds his cigarettes with his thumb and his pointer finger. You’d always know when he was nervous because he’d start tapping his fingers on his thigh. You know that when he’d listen to music he loved, that his right hand would drum along to the beat just a little bit faster than his left would.

You knew all those things because you were falling in love with him, and Patrick Zweig is not someone you fall in love with. Especially not with Tashi Duncan in the picture.

You tried your best to push it down, to pretend you weren’t hurt every time Patrick chose Tashi over you. When he’d miss your games because he was with Tashi, when he’d blow you off to go meet Tashi, when he started to stop returning your calls or replying to your texts. All things you never cared about before started slowly eating at you. You felt awful most days, holed up in your room wallowing in self-pity. Your GPA was steadily dropping as the semester went on. Even your tennis started slipping, and you lost your winning streak to a fucking scrub. When you finally cracked and broke down to your mother over the phone one night she just scoffed.

“Well what did you think would happen when you started to depend on that boy? Dependence is weakness, darling.”

Dependence is weakness. You blocked Patrick’s number that same night.

It all came to a head when he blew up at you after Tashi’s injury. Everyone was pretty shaken up about it. You’d never forget the way it buckled, the way the sharp snap rang through the court, the way she fell to the ground screaming. You’d never seen her cry before. 

Patrick found you later that night, all alone on the practice courts trying to burn the day out of your mind by serving balls till you collapsed. It was the first time he talked to you in weeks. He was pissed. Screaming at you, calling you every nasty thing he could think of, getting up in your face. It was a fucking mess. You both said some things that should have never been said, but it ended when Patrick accused you of somehow being the cause of all of it.

“You hate Tashi, fucking hate her. You wanted something like this to happen. I bet you’re just over the fucking moon that she’s finally out and you can take her place. You can finally be number one seed and you're fucking ecstatic, aren't you? You’re so fucking pathetic, so desperate for validation. Maybe if mommy paid attention to you for once, you wouldn’t be so fucking needy. You're just a sad, delusional fucking runner-up, grasping at whatever shreds of importance you think you still have.”

You stood there, stunned by his outburst, each word hitting you like a physical blow. It was insane, nothing but Patrick blowing things way out of proportion in the midst of his anger.

You wanted to scream, to deny it vehemently, but the hurt and frustration choked off your words. Tears welled up in your eyes, a mixture of anger and heartbreak swirling in you. Vision blurring out everything but Patrick's face twisted up with rage as he glared at you, his words lingering in the air like poison. 

You told him about your mother because you thought you could trust him. You thought he was the only person that really understood you, his dad was a piece of shit too. Him using something so delicate as material to hit you where it hurts was the last straw.

You blew up, all the things you’d been keeping bottled up for months finally boiled over in you swinging your racket down on the green concrete over and over until there was nothing left of it to break. You didn’t even look at Patrick as you walked away. You never saw him again.

You’d love to say it was also the last time you thought about him, but that would be a lie. As much as he hurt you, and as much as you hated him for it, your mind refused to let you forget him.

You still smoke Camel Blues because that was your guys’ brand, even when you should have quit years ago anyway. You still buy the same color lighter, pink. You tell yourself it’s nothing more than an easy choice, that it’s a good color. It’s not at all because you can still hear Patrick’s teasing voice in the back of your head bitching, “I can’t believe you make me use a pink lighter.” when he always forgot his and had to borrow yours. 

It’s not based on a compulsive need to be reminded of him every single time you use it. It’s just convenient, okay.

You know deep down that they were the only remnants of a past that you still couldn’t fully let go of. As much as you tried to bury those memories, they lingered, melded into the corners of your mind like stubborn stains. 

It wasn’t just the cigarettes or the lighters. It was the way you still find yourself thinking about him. Patrick, with his tangled emotions and overwhelming presence, had left an inescapable mark on your life. And as much as you wished it, he wasn’t someone you could easily erase from yourself.

Even twelve years later you’re still trying to convince yourself that dependence is weakness, that you were better off without him. But sometimes, in the quiet moments like this when the smoke curls from your cigarette and the pink lighter flickers in your hand, you wonder if he ever thinks of you, if he regrets how things ended between the two of you.

Maybe it's not that you can't escape Patrick's grip on you after all these years, it's that you just won't.

You’re so lost in your own thoughts that you don't hear the heavy door to the bar swinging open, or the sound of gravel crunching underneath approaching footsteps.

“Holy shit,” a deep voice rings out from your right, “someone pinch me.”

Your whole body tenses, your cigarette freezing a few inches away from your lips. Something like fight or flight starts to quietly buzz beneath your skin. You’d recognize that voice anywhere, even despite the gruffer, more grown up tone that wasn’t there the last time you heard it.

Your heart’s already kicking into overdrive when you finally start to hesitantly turn your head, time almost slowing down as your eyes sweep over the alley. You kind of don’t want to believe that your luck is this shitty. That maybe it was all in your imagination, that you were thinking about him so much you were starting to hear things that weren’t really there, that he was still back in the bar feeling up that blonde girl. But it can never be that easy, and sure enough, there he is.

Patrick Zweig is standing a few feet away from you with both hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans and a wide, achingly familiar grin lighting up his face.

You’re quiet for a few long moments, completely shocked into silence. Your mind races with a million different things you want to say but can’t find the voice to. You should be causing a scene. You should be losing it, screaming, crying, throwing things, slapping him hard across his unfairly handsome face. But you don’t, too surprised to even move. 

Patrick speaks again, taking several steps towards you. “It is really you, right?” he asks, eyes wide and mouth pulling into an easy, lopsided grin. To anyone else, the laid back, carefree tone he was going for would sound genuine. You can barely pick up on the stunned, almost breathless edge lacing his words, like he also can’t believe you’re standing right in front of him.

He steps into the light shining from a dingy lamp above the door, it basks around him in a yellow orange glow.

Same eyes, same ears, same Patrick.

For years you’ve thought about this exact moment, what you’d say if you ever saw him. You lose all of that practice the closer he gets. He’s less than a foot away from you now, an expectant look on his face. He’s waiting for you to say something. 

You feel like running, like stubbing your cigarette on the pavement and making a break for the door. You already ran from him once, but old habits die hard. 

You don’t run, you refuse to take the easy way out. You’re a grown woman, you’re stronger than you were in college, you’re going to the goddamn Olympics. It’s only Patrick for Christ’s sake.

“What are you doing here?” It sounds harsher than you meant, but that’s probably for the best. He doesn’t deserve kindness from you. 

“Tennis.” Is all he says, fishing out a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket. Camel blues. “What are you doing here?” He parrots back, smacking the bottom of the carton, plucking the one that shakes out between his long fingers. “I’d think that Miss. Team USA would be too busy for bar crawls.”

You bristle, eyes narrowing skeptically. You can’t tell if he’s making fun of you or not. “It’s not a bar crawl,” you shoot back childishly, feeling defensive under his heavy gaze. “We’re celebrating.”

Patrick just nods, letting out a small hum in lieu of replying. He's close enough now that you can see gray strands streaked through his hair. He looks older, a few barely there wrinkles creasing his skin as he pops his cigarette between his lips. “Got a light?” he asks around the filter, holding his hand out expectantly before you even answer.

It’s still just as annoying. You roll your eyes, sighing dramatically as you fish your lighter out of your skirts pocket. You place it in the open palm of his hand, ignoring the fireworks that go off at the base of your spine when his fingers catch on your wrist as you pull away.

He mumbles out a half-assed thanks, cupping his hand around the flame to shield it from the wind. If he notices the color, he doesn’t say anything. It feels wrong that he doesn’t tease you about it, staying silent as he tosses it back to you when his cigarette finally lights. You ignore the hurt blooming in your chest as you pocket it.

Patrick takes a deep inhale, the tip of his cigarette burns bright red. The way his lips wrap around the filter has heat spreading through you. “Shocked you’re still smoking,” he waves his free hand at you vaguely, smoke flowing from his lips as he speaks. “It’s not super admirable.”

You let out a dry laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. “That’s really how you want to start this?

“Start what?” he asks coyly, leaning his shoulder too close to you against the brick. He’s playing dumb, the smirk on his face gives him away. 

You say nothing, not trusting yourself to speak. He has a beard now, sort of patchy and fairly new looking. You wrinkle your nose up at it. 

It doesn’t surprise you that he’s acting like this. All calm and collected like he’s catching up with an old friend, like he didn’t say all those horrible things to you. As if every single word he said that night isn’t still engraved in your mind and carried with you through your whole career. 

Patrick’s quiet for a bit, taking another slow drag. “Have you seen either of them?” His voice is hesitant, like he’s treading the water of your boundaries by bringing this up. “Or am I your first?” He lets the innuendo hang in the air, trying to joke his way through something neither of you really want to talk about.

You don’t look at him, keeping your eyes trained on the part of the street you can see through the alleys opening.

You don’t need to ask who “them” is.

You just shake your head no, not wanting to have to say anything out loud and make this into a whole thing. The smoke from your cigarette swirls through your lungs, warm and familiar. 

You’ve seen them both at multiple tennis events. Things like matches, and galas, and charity auctions. Hell, they watched from the stands when you won Wimbledon for the first time. You just make sure and avoid them like the plague, always running the other direction the second you see a short bob and cropped blonde hair.

You’ve been in the same room with them countless times over the years but you might as well have been in separate worlds. The only “contact” you’ve had with them since you all graduated was weirdly ominous.

Art followed you on Instagram after you got your third career slam, but he doesn’t like any of your posts. You’re one of the mere twenty accounts in his following. You never followed him back. 

Then, when your career first started taking off, the press somehow learned about your past with Tashi. They started using it to their advantage when picking headlines for any pieces written about you. “The only woman in the world to beat Tashi Duncan!” It pissed you off to no end. It was stupid, a way to get clicks on their sad little gossip sites. And it wasn’t even fucking true.

They finally stopped when you threatened to sue their asses. Apparently, Tashi noticed.

She sent you flowers. You threw them out.

Patrick nods back, taking his own slow drag. The sound of traffic hums in the background, the music from the bar bleeding through the wall mutely. 

“Congrats on that,” he says casually, looking you up and down slowly. You fight not to squirm under his gaze. “On making the team. That’s some serious shit. I always knew it’d be you, out of all of us.”

It’s a blatant lie. You were always four out of four in college, the one person in the group with the least potential for stardom. If it wasn’t for Tashi’s injury, she’d definitely be in your place — on top of the world.

He’s trying to pacify you, to butter you up. All it does is grate on your nerves and leaves a sour taste in your mouth. 

“Did you just come out here to interrogate me? To mess with me?” you ask sharply, frustration starting to get the better of you. “Do you want a fucking autograph or something?”

Patrick laughs, throwing his head back. “Nope, I wanted to catch up. It's been a while.” he shrugs, eyes darkening ever so slightly. “I just know how much you like talking about yourself, that’s all.”

You pause, picking up on the clear implication of his words. “Excuse me?” you question, turning towards him.

“Just saying,” he says, raising his hands in surrender. “When we were younger everyone always thought I was this arrogant, cocky, self obsessed prick…” he trails off, an infuriating smirk still playing on his lips. It does nothing to soothe you, only adding fuel to the fire of your anger. “And they were all right, I was. But, that’s also exactly what you are right now.” he finishes, tapping the ash off his cigarette.

You feel it, all the emotions swirling inside you of at seeing Patrick again threatening to burst. Anger and misery waging a war in your stomach. The wind is starting to pick up around you, making goosebumps break out over your skin. The fabric of your skirt swishes around your thighs. You feel clammy, but it has nothing to do with the temperature drop. 

“Was?” you ask, condescending and mean, crossing your arms across your chest defensively. “You really don’t think you’re still all of those things?”

Patrick chuckles, shoulders shaking with amusement. He goes to say something, but you beat him to it. “I’ve changed, Patrick.” you say sternly, brows furrowing in displeasure. Your tone is hard, frustration seeping into your words. Considering the last time the two of you spoke, this was almost going well. It’s just like Patrick to ruin something before he needs to.

You know distantly that you could deescalate the situation, but maybe you’re more alike than you thought. Maybe you’re just too greedy to keep the peace. “So fucking sorry that I’m not the same person I was in college, but I actually chose to grow up.”

Patrick snorts, exhaling a plume of smoke through his nose. “Yeah, clearly.” he mutters under his breath, it’s condescending and sarcastic. It pisses you off.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you ask sharply, cigarette now forgotten and steadily burning away at your side. 

Patrick shrugs, like it’s obvious. “You’re still so lost. I sure as shit don’t have a red, white, and blue track suit hanging in my closet, but at least I know who I am.” He doesn't sound angry, only sure of himself, like he may have been thinking about this for a while. His face is passive, body relaxed as he leans against the hard brick.

Your jaw clenches, anger running hot through your veins. He doesn’t know anything about you, hasn’t for over ten years. He doesn’t have the right to try and talk down to you, not after all the hard work you put in to get to where you are.

“My wrist alone is worth ten million. What are you worth now, Patrick?” You’ll be embarrassed about bringing up status later, you always try to stay as humble as possible, but you’re too mad to care. You just need to hurt him, to hurt him like he hurt you. You’d heard from a friend of a friend that Patrick’s parents cut him off a while ago, that he’s been slumming it ever since. “I know exactly who I am, I’m a fucking Olympian.”

The venom in your tone is sharp, each word from your lips like a knife stabbing through the tense air trying to draw blood. “You’re a fucking nobody, Patrick. You’re irrelevant. Washed up. Buried. Forgotten.” You pause when your voice starts to shake, taking a deep inhale of smoke to try and calm yourself. Your hand is shaking too, ash falls from the burnt out tip down to the gravel. Patrick just watches you, his expression doesn’t change. Smoke billows from between your lips, blowing away with the wind. “We’re not on the same level, not anymore.” 

Patrick’s unfazed, staring back at you with his cigarette dangling from his lips. He takes it between his fingers, letting his arm drop to hang at his side. “I’ve been thinking about you.” he says casually, head lolling to the side lazily. He looks at you through his lashes, eyes sweeping over your face slowly. “I was just thinking about you, and now you’re here. Right fucking in front of me.” he shakes his head with a dry laugh. “You look…” he trails off, green eyes taking in every inch of you. “You look amazing.”

Your pulse flutters wildly, you feel so light headed, like you could pass out any second. “I’ve missed you, missed you everyday since that night.” His expression is that same half cocked grin from before, all smooth bravado and easy smiles as if he’s not staring at you like you’re the very blood coursing through his veins. All the air drains from your lungs, mind racing what feels like a thousand miles per second. 

He sounds like he means it. He looks like he means it. He can’t possibly mean it.

A loud chant ringing through your skull is the only coherent thing screaming through all the mess. Don’t fall for it, don’t fall for it, don’t fall for it, don’t fucking fall for it–

“Well I don’t miss you.” A lie. “You were nothing to me, Patrick.” Another lie. “You were just easy dick.” Your stomach twists painfully, like your body is physically trying to stop you from lying to yourself any further.

His face stays neutral, it frustrates you to no end that you can’t tell what he’s thinking. Patrick had a terrible poker face in college, you could read him like a book with a single glance. It was one of your favorite things about him, how expressive his face always was.

Now he’s just staring down the bridge of his nose at you passively, the picture of indifference. It’s another reminder of how long it’s been, that he’s lived a whole life without you in all that time. He takes a long drag off his cigarette, never breaking eye contact with you as he does.

His lips are slick and pink, just how you remember them. The beard isn’t so bad, it makes him look more rugged, more like a man. It’s the most drastic change in his appearance, far different from the smooth skinned pretty boy he was before.

He exhales, a long stream of smoke blowing past your ear. “What are you still doing here then?” he muses with a small shrug. He leans in even closer, slowly, like you were a cornered animal he didn’t want to spook. You can smell him, something woodsy with a hint of musk. You can see the clusters of freckles scattered over the bridge of his nose, almost completely faded. “If I’m nothing,” he clarifies, simple, easy. “Why are you here?”

It’s a loaded question, one he obviously knows the answer to. It’s a dick move, forcing you to confront what you’re really feeling. Your eyes start to sting, complicated emotions welling up in your throat. “Fuck you Patrick.” you whisper weakly, all the bite in your tone getting lost in your dejection. Your lip wobbles warningly, you try your best to stifle it. You refuse to cry in front of him.

Patrick’s face does something funny, turning his eyes to the sidewalk. “I need someone like that again. Someone that isn’t afraid to fucking check me, that wants me to do better and not because they just see a check or a legacy or whatever the fuck else my parents expected from me. Someone that wants me to do better because they actually believe in me.”

The honesty in his voice takes you by surprise. He gets more worked up the longer he talks, chest rising and falling a lot faster than before. Rare vulnerability slipping through the cracks of his hardened exterior.  “I fucked up that night, I know. Now my life’s a fucking mess, and I need someone to help make it make sense again.“ 

You scoff thickly, shaking your head in disbelief as you fight back tears. “And I’m that person?” you ask skeptically, brow raised in question.

“You always were,” he replies easily, his face forming into a sad smile. He almost sounds like his old self. Your brain flashes the image of Patrick leaning outside the door of your science lecture, waiting to walk you back to your dorm. He’s smiling wide enough to show teeth, looking down at you with brilliant green eyes, just like he is right now.

Suddenly, he wasn’t the boy that broke your heart on a tennis court twelve years ago. 

He was the boy that held your hair back when you threw up after drinking too much at a frat party and still stayed the night even though you didn’t hook up, his chest pressed against your back like a security blanket the whole night. He was the boy that let you make friendship bracelets on the handle of his favorite racket, and secretly kept the one you made for him braided around the neck for weeks until you finally noticed the fraying blue strings still in place when he forgot his tennis bag at your dorm room one night.

Suddenly he wasn’t anything but the boy you fell in love with when you were eighteen years old.

You swallow hard, heart pounding against your ribcage. Your cigarette falls from the slack grip of your fingers, plummeting to your feet where it burns out on the pavement. 

It’s like you lose control of yourself, like all your morals get shot out of a cannon into the sun. You’re lunging forward before you know what you’re doing, fisting the fabric of Patrick’s shirt and pulling him down to meet you halfway. Your first kiss with Patrick in twelve years.

It’s a mess of teeth clashing together roughly, with way too much tongue and spit to be classified as romantic. It’s desperate. It’s angry. It’s fucking filthy and it’s exactly what you need.

Your tongue forces its way between Patrick’s lips when he gasps in shock, mapping out the familiar territory of his mouth like muscle memory. His big hands fly up to hold onto your hips as he eagerly returns your kiss, pressing you up against the brick and sucking your tongue lewdly. He tastes like smoke and bottom shelf whiskey. You moan into his mouth, wetness starting to seep through the thin material of your panties.

You stay like that for a while, just kissing until Patrick slides the hard line of his cock against your hip strategically. You moan at the size of it pressing onto you through his jeans, breaking the kiss to inhale a couple lungfuls of air. “You’re not fucking me in an alley.” You say bluntly as he trails wet kisses down the side of your throat.

He laughs, nipping at your collarbone teasingly. “My car’s a block away,” he offers between kisses.

You think about it for a second. Deciding on whether or not you’re going to let Patrick fuck you in the backseat of his car like you’re two horny teenagers and not full grown adults.

“Lead the way.” Is all you say, finally letting yourself smile when Patrick starts to drag you away from the bar. 

You shoot your friends a quick text letting them know you decided to head home early, already in the uber you ordered when you’re actually letting Patrick drag you across a blessedly empty parking lot to an old SUV parked in the middle. A completely one-eighty from the Porsche he used to drive.

He takes a second to press you against the door, capturing your lips with his again. It’s a slower kiss, sweeter than the one you shared outside the bar. You feel butterflies erupt in your stomach when he cups your face, gently rubbing his thumb over your cheekbone. He fumbles blindly for the car door with his other hand, pulling it open and pushing you into the back. He follows closely, climbing in and shutting the door behind him.

Patrick’s back on you in less than a second, yanking at the buttons of your shirt impatiently, fingers too big to work them through the holes as fast as he wants to. He lets out a frustrated growl, grabbing both sides and pulling hard. The buttons all go flying in different directions, landing in different spots around you.

“That was three hundred dollars,” you mumble against his lips, not wanting to stop kissing him for even a second. He looms over you, broad and all encompassing. He sits up to yank his own shirt over his head, tossing it aside and popping open the button of his jeans.

“You can buy another one,” he says simply, shucking his jeans and boxers off all in one go. His dick is long and lovely, tip red and drooling pre-cum that drips all the way down to his balls. Your mouth waters, desperate to taste it, to feel the weight of it on your tongue and down your throat. You push it to the back of your mind. There’s no time for that, both of you too keyed up to do anything other than fuck.

Patrick leans down, biting your bottom lip hard enough to make you moan. He turns his attention to your pulling skirt down, panties going with it and getting tossed onto the floorboard carelessly. His eyes zero in on your bare pussy, wet and on display. The cool air shocks your system, making you want to press your thighs together but Patrick’s hands keep you spread open.

“Fuck,” he whispers quietly, moving to roll the knuckle of his right index finger over your slick entrance, just barely rocking it into you. You gasp, your whole body trembling with need. “Just like I remember.” He mutters to himself, pushing in the smallest bit deeper. 

Your leg kicks out, patience starting to wear thin. “C’mon, Pat.” you mewl sweetly, bucking your hips up in a clear invitation. “Fuck me.”

Patrick shifts up onto his knees, silently shuffling closer to your spread thighs. His cock juts out from his body, so thick and heavy that it doesn’t point straight up, instead hangs angry and red between his legs. His big hands slide halfway up your thighs, you shiver at the way they skirt across your skin lightly. He presses you backwards by them, leaning over you with your legs slung across his shoulders.

His cock drags across your inner thigh, trailing a sloppy line of pre-come as it does. You nearly wail, wrapping your arms around Patrick’s broad shoulders as you beg for him to give you what you want.

“God Patrick! Put it in. Please, put it in. Let me have it, please, fuck–,” you beg frantically, arms tightening around his shoulders like you’re trying to drag him impossibly closer to you. He goes willingly, burying his nose in the soft skin of your neck. He presses a small kiss directly over your pulse.

“I’m gonna give you this cock, baby.” he whispers lowly, hot lips brushing against your skin with every word. He slides the head of his cock through your wet folds, stopping to rub it over your swollen clit a few times. “Gonna get all up inside you and fuck you exactly how you like.” He slides the length down, letting his tip catch on your empty, clenching hole.

You’re so damn worked up, writhing and pushing back and begging Patrick to just fuck you already, that you can’t take anymore teasing. Your hole contracts around the tip of his dick like it’s trying to suck him in. He sinks in deeper, slowly feeding every thick inch into your aching cunt.

“God,” Your name falls from his lips in a shuddery breath that fans over your fluttering pulse. “You still smell the same.” It’s the same stunned, breathless tone from when he first saw you. He presses his face cheek to cheek with yours, the rough texture of his beard scraping against your skin. 

Patrick moves his hips against you slowly, deep strokes that drag every thick inch of him against the walls of your cunt. The tip of his cock stabbing that sweet spot inside you that makes stars glow bright on the ceiling of his car each time you blink. The angle has his balls pressing against your cunt as he fucks into you, the excessive pre-come leaking from his tip mixing with the sticky wetness of your juices leaves an obscene ring of creamy white around the spread hole of your cunt. It sticks wetly to the base of Patrick’s cock with each thrust, shining back at you on his skin when he pulls out.

The slow thrusts feel amazing, but you know it’s not enough. You need him to pound into you, to bully his big cock into your cunt like he’s getting back at you for shutting him out. You need him to fuck you. 

“Harder, Pat…” you whine breathlessly, clawing desperately at the polyester seats.

He groans loudly, hips immediately speeding up, getting rougher, meaner. He leans up to get more power behind his thrusts, breaking your tight hold on his shoulders. “This is where you belong,” he grits out, sweat dripping from his forehead to fall onto your heaving chest. The sharp smack smack smack of his hips bruising your ass gets louder, the lewd noise filling the car. “Where you should have been this whole fucking time, spread open on my cock.”

The only thing you can even get out anymore are pleading whines and loud moans of Patrick’s name as he pounds into you like he’s trying to kill you. The harsh snap of his hips inching you further up the backseat until your head’s knocking against the doors handle on each mean thrust. Your feet bounce by his ears, body almost completely folded in half so all you can do is lie there and take it.

The car rocks steadily, anyone who spares a glance at the SUV will know what’s going on inside. 

Patrick sneaks a hand between your legs, fingers sliding over your swollen clit. You scream, throwing your head back in pleasure as the calloused tips over his fingers work you over. “Fuck yeah,” Patrick mutters, turning his head to lick and bite at your ankle. “You’re so fucking sexy, so fucking beautiful. I missed you so much, missed this pussy.” His voice is pinched, hips fucking into you impossible faster.

The wet squelching noise of your cunt is filthy, splattering against Patrick’s heavy balls with each thrust. “I know she missed me too, didn’t she baby?” he taunts, eyes wild and blown out. “Taking my cock so well, squeezing me so fucking good.”

“Close,” you gasp out. Patrick pitches forward, licking into your parted lips as he rubs tight circles over your clit faster. He kisses you sloppily, smearing spit all over your lips and chin. His sweat drips onto your face and mixes with your own, it should be gross, but it makes you even wetter. The primal part of your brain overjoyed to be claimed by him. He lifts his fingers up the tiniest bit, smacking them over your clit with the smallest amount of force.

Your orgasm hits you suddenly, back arching off the seat wildly as you gush around his cock. You claw at his back desperately, nails raking down his skin hard enough to leave angry red welts in their wake.

“Shit– that’s good, milk it out of me baby, work for this fucking load.” he groans, hips not slowing down as he chases his own release. His breath puffs over your skin, the rhythm of his hips starting to falter the closer he gets. You whine, trying your best focus on clenching your cunt over his cock in your fucked out state. “That’s it, baby– God – you’re gonna make me come, squeezing me so tight I can barely fucking move…” he growls, teeth sinking into your neck hard.

You hiss sharply, nails digging into his skin as the pleasure starts to become too much. He licks over the bite mark, like he’s apologizing. “Gonna fucking come inside you, fill you up so good, fuck–”

His rambling dissolves into a loud groan, hips giving one last thrust as he buries himself as deep in your cunt as he can. You feel rope after rope of warm come flood your insides, painting your walls with it. It feels like hours, him unloading into you with cut off moans and grunts. 

You're still desperately trying to catch your breath when he finally starts to pull out of you as gently as he can. The red tip of his cock popping free lets the river of his come leak out from your abused hole, spilling out of you to drip onto the car’s seat.

Patrick curses at the sight, scooping the white, creamy mess onto his fingers so he can fuck it back into you. You hiss at the over stimulation, thighs squeezing together around his hand. Your chest is still heaving, breathing erratic as you slowly come down from your orgasm. Patrick tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear, smiling warmly as he takes you into his arms and shifts around until he’s sitting up against the door with you curled into his chest.

The windows are steamy, melting all the streetlights outside into a swamp of warm colors on the glass. They shine through the car like sunlight piercing through a stained glass window. You feel light and hazy, like you’re in a dream. Patrick’s body grounds you, firm and familiar against your back. It’s quiet for a long time, only the sound of soft breathing fills the car. You're scratching your nails through the hair on Patrick’s chest when he finally breaks the silence.

“There’s…” he says into your hair, trailing off near the end. He’s idly tracing shapes on your lower back. A circle, a square, a circle, a diamond, a square, a heart. “There’s this challenger in New Rochelle in a couple weeks, I’m entering it. You should come.” 

Your heart drops, the delicate cloud encompassing you and Patrick forcefully ripped away in less than a second. You’ve already heard of this challenger, seen all the publicity it’s been getting since Art’s name came up in the conversation surrounding it. The ‘Phil’s Tire Town Challenger’ is all anyone can talk about. 

If Art’s there, she will be too. Sitting in the stands in a classy Ralph Lauren two piece, watching her husband and Patrick on the court, looming over the two of them for the first time in years. You can’t stomach the thought of seeing her. You can’t stomach the thought of Patrick seeing her, terrified that the second she spares him a glance you’ll be right back where you were in college, an afterthought left in the dust for something better.

Your stomach lurches violently, you feel nauseous. The heat of Patrick’s backseat becomes almost unbearable, making it harder to breathe. You rip yourself away from him, tearing through the backseat to find your clothes. 

Patrick startles, sitting up with a concerned look on his face. “Jesus, what's wrong?” You can feel the warmth of his hands hovering over your back, not sure if he should touch. “What did I do?”

You don’t say anything, you can’t. Your throat feels tight, chest constricted and heavy as you try to take in lungfuls of air. You tug on your skirt and panties haphazardly, grabbing the first shirt you find strewn across the car's floor and yanking it on. You know it’s not yours but you don’t care, too busy trying to shove your shoes back onto your feet and push open the door all at once.

Patrick questions you the entire time, voice confused and insistent as you tumble out into the parking lot. The cool air feels like a life jacket, the smell of rain fills your nose as you try to steady your erratic breathing. You’re still trying to tug your right shoe on as you start to speed walk away from his car.

You can hear the sound of feet slapping behind you on the pavement as you walk. A strong hand wraps around your bicep, whipping you around. Patrick only has his pants on, shirtless and barefoot in his haste to catch up with you.

“What the fuck are you doing? What’s wrong?” He sounds genuinely concerned, his eyes searching your face closely. It makes tears burn hot at your waterline, blurring your vision and falling to trickle down your cheeks when you try to blink them away.

“This was a mistake, Patrick.” your voice is thick with emotion, you try to wrench your arm out of his grip. He doesn’t let go, not squeezing tight enough to hurt but to try and keep you in place. You need to leave, to get as far away from Patrick as you can before you’re in too deep. “Please, let go.” Your voice is small, shaky and weak and so unlike you. The panic from the car is still wrapped around you, growing tighter every second you spend with him.

Patrick shakes his head wildly, raindrops slowly start to fall onto his bare shoulders. “No, fuck no! We can talk about this. We just need to talk–”

“Patrick stop!” Your voice cracks embarrassingly, loud and desperate as you double your efforts to free your arm. “Please just let me go!”

You don’t know if it’s the way you said it or the look on your face, maybe it’s a bit of both, but something makes Patrick let you go. Dropping your arm from his grip and letting his own hang limply at his side.

Rain starts to come down all around you, large drops hitting your skin and soaking the cotton of your shirt. You let yourself meet his eyes, they're sad in a way you’ve never seen before. The green turned dull and lifeless. It looks wrong on him.

When you can’t stand the hurt look on his face any longer, you leave. Walking away deeper into the rain, small puddles splashing up around your shoes with every step. You hope Patrick doesn’t follow you, that he lets you go. You’re doing him a favor by making the choice for him, it’s easier this way.

“You know, I think I really loved you.” He calls from behind you as the rain really starts to pick up. His voice almost gets swallowed by the thunder, you wish it would have. 

Against your better judgment, you look back. Patrick hasn't moved, still standing in the middle of the parking lot. The rain is making his hair stick to his forehead, starting to seep into the denim of his jeans to darken the gray. 

“I’m sorry,” you say quietly, voice tiny and pathetic. Patrick probably couldn’t even hear you over the wind whipping through the air. He stares back at you, there's too much distance for you to see the look on his face. You turn on your heels and keep walking.

It’s nostalgia in its sickest form, the dark familiarity of the situation washing over you with the rain as you walk away from Patrick again. Ignoring every call of your name and desperate pleas for you to come back is new, you can’t tell if it hurts more or less than the silence of last time.

You wrap your arms around yourself, tears mixing with the trails of rain running down your cheeks. It’ll make it easier to convince yourself later on that you weren’t really crying, that it was just the rain. Tomorrow you’ll wake up and this will all be behind you. Patrick will be fine, he doesn’t really love you. In a few weeks he’ll go to the challenger and forget all about you. 

You hear your mothers voice ring out in the back of your head as you walk.

"It's for the best, my love. Dependence is weakness."

You hope to God that she's right.

tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!

[gemini-atz]

Seonghwa as your Boyfriend₊˚⊹♡

('Realistic Imagines' + Astrology Based)

Background/Disclaimer: !!This is all my own interpretation based on my personal astrology knowledge and research. I consider myself an amateur!!

✩Gemini Notes✩ IDK what happened but I ended up getting really into writing the NSFW part of this and it got long so I'm making a part 2 for it which I'll post tomorrow night! I'll create a link at the end of this post and in my Astrology Series Pinned post. If you'd like a tag please comment!

SEONGHWA SUN Aries MOON Cancer MERCURY Aries VENUS Aquarius MARS Aries

Dating Seonghwa is pretty much like being with your best friend. He's such a caretaker and protector in your life almost from the moment he enters it. You guys probably had a base of friendship for a bit before you started dating, and it would have probably (definitely) been you crushing on Seonghwa hard first before he even notices his own feelings for you.

Aquarius Venus and really anyone with their Venus in an Air sign tend to seek intellectual or stimulating connections with people before falling romantically. For Seonghwa his partner should be someone he also considers a close friend. He'd be like the guy you'd meet in your second year of college in class because you were put in a group for an assignment and of COURSE you two turned out to be the only two that even gave a shit and tried. Showing a sincere interest in his hobbies or likes would really endear him to you, and he would try to return the favor by getting into yours. For Seonghwa, a comfortable kind of friends to lovers thing is ideal. He loves spending quality time with you but his idea of quality time is very much giving parallel play, where you both do your own thing in the same room, maybe listening to a playlist you made together. With his three Aries placements, he has the potential to have a really explosive temper. It's a little diminished by his Moon in Cancer but he's probably the type of guy who holds in all his annoyances until he can just get them out at the end of the day either through his hobbies or physical activity. Basically, he likes to keep his mind focused and his hands busy. Air Venus signs can come off as aloof occasionally to other passionate signs who literally want to be with you all the time. He's the kind of boyfriend that will give you some space if you need it, because he'll need it too. You'll be soooo tempted to go an interrupt him when he's focused on his Legos because he's just so beautiful and cute when he's focusing but the thing he loves about you is how much understanding you always give him; its all you can do to just kiss his forehead and go to read a book while laying on the couch. Eventually he'd come over to you, bouncy and energized and flop onto the couch, wiggling up to rest his face into your chest and wrapping warm, solid arms around you. "Can I show you the set I just built?" He'd ask, and of course you say yes! His eyes get so sparkly while he shows it off to you, smiling so proudly at your reactions. If you're a person who loves being spontaneous or adventurous with your plans, having Seonghwa as your boyfriend means you two will genuinely have a lot of fun together. He's the boyfriend that wants genuinely does want to go to art museums and fashion archive exhibits with you, and you guys can chat excitably about your opinions of different works, be it games, anime, fashion or music. As a couple, you are always ready to try something new and probably always have weekend plans.

As a Cancer Moon Seonghwa might gravitate toward the caretaker role in your relationship and tends to anticipate your own needs before you do, just doing little actions to look after you, like preparing your coffee or tea in the morning while you rush around getting ready for work. He isn't super big on PDA, maybe holding hands in public is as much as he's comfortable with but once you're alone....he's your personal giant teddy bear. So many hugs, so many cuddle sessions where you both play on your Switches and pause occasionally to show each other something cool or cute in your game.

You'll end up thinking its funny that some people have the impression your boyfriend is quiet or shy; If he's not saying anything, he just might not be interested in the conversation. Once you get him talking about his interests he's a certified YAPPER. And, surprisingly one of the most stubborn people you have ever met. Like, good luck feeling like you can ever "win" an argument. With both a Sun and Mars in Aries, Seonghwa feels like he can give you energy just from being near him. Aries men tend to have a lot of physical stamina and can push themselves pretty far in that aspect.

Which brings me to my next point......

NSFW

I see Seonghwa as someone who eventually gets into orgasm denial on his partner because of just how long he can go for. That Aries stamina feels like he's the type who can cum and be ready to go again faster than you were expecting.

Read More

[lovedandtouched]

Nerd Reader x Nerd Nanami = smart power couple

you and kento were sitting at a corner table on a café, your eyes glued on your notebook, fingers fiddling with your pen.

“you’re so focused, working on how to divide zero now?” kento chuckles as he leans back.

“haha, very funny. if could divide zero, i’d be solving the world’s fundamental problems, not this stupid equation.” you huff.

you were preparing for an upcoming exam and you thought about inviting kento to study with you.

because why not, right?

“there’s beauty in the paradox of diving by zero, maybe you should just stop looking for the answer and let the question be.” he shruggs.

“so, you’re saying that i should just stop solving and just appreciate it? will that get me a passing grade?” you look at him, eyebrows furrowed.

“pretty much. though, to be fair, i get it. numbers don’t offer room for interpretation. but language—language is fluid. it can mean whatever you want it to mean... have you thought about math as a language?” kento suggests taking his drink and sipping a little.

“sure, math is a language. but it’s a language about rules. it’s all about structure and logic.” you refute, looking back at your messy math notes.

“if you look at it this way, math is a kind of poetry. just like a metaphor works in finding the unexpected connection between two things—math finds connections between numbers. patterns show up and suddenly something new appears where there was nothing before.” setting his cup down as he looked at you.

“you’re starting to sound like those motivational quotes that you find imprinted on the side of a coffee cup. you have a point, though i don’t think i’m gonna start writing sonnets about theorems anytime soon...” you laugh softly, scribbling nonsense on your notebook.

“i’ll take that as a win. i think you could give shakespeare a run for his money if you ever wrote a poem about prime numbers.”

“‘shall i compare thee to an irrational number? thou art infinite and never repeating…’” you say sarcastically.

“hey, don’t knock it until you try it. you could write a whole epic poem on pythagoras and his theorem, i guarantee it would have a bigger following than every other poems.” kento leans back on the chair again.

“yeah, yeah. you’re distracting me! go read whatever shenanigans you’re reading, you’re making me lose focus!” you lightly slap his shoulders.

nothing could beat moments like this, just you and him—throwing playful banters against one another.

and you did end up passing your test! but you’re not sure if you’re still gonna invite kento anytime soon knowing that he’s just gonna go off and talk about things that you really can’t comprehend...

who are you kidding? of course you’d invite him either way...

an: english isn’t my first language so this made my head hurt, i think i drained my brain juice and idrk how i’d portray this type of trope so i just went w it 😿 + i believe that kento is a english literature poem stuff kind of guy and becomes a yapper when that’s the topic, you can’t change my mind .

[cursingtoji]

I am back for more

31… BUT HEAR ME OUT 😩 I can’t pick between Suguru and Choso because they both fit it SOO well so you pick ☺️💕

𝕿𝖆𝖙𝖙𝖔𝖔 𝕬𝖗𝖙𝖎𝖘𝖙!𝕮𝖍𝖔𝖘𝖔

⊱ fem reader x heavily tattooed choso, porn with a plot, dirty talk, semi-public sex, fingering, a tongue piercing; The Clichés ™;

note: winter i remember us talking about tattoo artist choso and i went feral with it, geto is mentioned but he does not participate (yet? 👀)

tattoo artist!Choso who is heavily tattooed mostly black and gray art. his fair skin contrasting with the dark ink on his arms and neck. black smudged eyeliner around his brown eyes make his look upon you feel a thousand times deeper

choso is a sight for sore eyes

he’s exactly the kind of guy you would expect to see working in a tattoo shop

when you go get a matching tattoo with your best friend is when you first see him, writing something down at the reception and not noticing you at first

his pretty face and deep eyes greet you both with a smile so pretty that makes you forget the name of your scheduled artist.

“matching tattoos…” he looks in a book as you hope him to be the artist, “ah here, Suguru!” he calls and a man with black hair tied in a bun comes to you and your friend.

“thank you” you smile getting a wink back from him.

suguru is very friendly, he asks your bestie questions about your friendship since she’s the first one to get inked while you look around the shop, more specifically at the art in frames hanging all around the walls.

one catches your eye: a traditional japanese dragon with some flowers and clouds around it.

you even get closer to take a better look at the intricate details

your friend has to tap your shoulder when shes done cause you completely spaced out thinking about that art on your body

suguru can’t help but notice how your eyes keeping swinging back to that piece on the art while he’s tattooing your forearm

“you know, that one is by one of our guys” he says, “Choso. You met him in the reception” he points with his chin to the handsome man

“really? that’s beautiful… was it done for a client or something like that?” you ask wanting to know if someone else already had that piece of art tattooed.

“no, not really. choso created that on his own” suguru smirks when sees you biting your lip “a dragon would look gorgeous on your back or thigh” you were already tempted without suguru pushing you.

by the time your matching tattoo is done, suguru had already convinced you to come back and get the dragon on your thigh, since choso was nowhere to be seen, suguru himself scheduled your appointment with choso for next week.

“got ya’ an appointment” suguru says finding choso on the break room

“oh yeah?”

“she’s gonna get the dragon with flowers that has been on the wall for months”

choso stops all he’s doing and looks at suguru with an empty expression

“i know i know, you’re afraid to tattoo it, client not liking and you ending up heart broken cause it’s your favourite drawing of yours…” choso delivered a light punch on his friend’s shoulder, “but come on, the girl was so cute and she really loved it”

it’s not like choso could just call you and say he wasn’t gonna do it, so after another punch on suguru he returned to his station and followed his week until the day you returned to studio

saying you were anxious is an understatement

it would be a pretty large tattoo that you decided to get on your thigh, but the expectation to see choso again played a big part on your apprehensiveness

your artist is already at the reception talking to a younger guy you haven’t seen around the last time

you greet them both and say your there for your appointment, the younger one asks who your artist is

“she’s mine, come on, sweetheart” he says so casually and leaves you trying to regulate your heartbeat.

choso takes you upstairs to the corner of the room and tells you to get comfortable on the chair after you okayed the size of the stencil

“i need you to take it off or it’ll get stained with ink” he pointed to your shorts and closed the curtain, he stayed there but turned around pretending to organize the caps to give you some privacy

you wiggle out of the article and sat back on the chair with your black undies and nothing else under the waist, thankfully you chose a good one. when you’re comfortable choso approaches to rub some alcohol and place the stencil

as soon as you agree he begins to trace the patterns with you sitting on the partially reclined chair.

“how we doing?” he looks up after half an hour, having finished part of the drawing.

“i’m alright” you sigh.

“strong girl, we can make a break in an hour, then i’ll have finished the flowers” he assures and go back to focusing on your thigh.

having a gorgeous man so close to your crotch was having an effect on you that didn’t match the pain he was inflicting.

of course it hurt but every time he got too close to your skin and you feel his hot breathing fanning over the sore area you unconsciously press your thighs together.

and choso is not stupid, of course he notices how aroused his cute client is, he has his hand on your inner thigh and whenever your reflexes kick and you try to close them he tights his grip on you to avoid you moving and screwing up his lines

“sure you’re okay?” he stops the machine to run vasiline on your skin very softly while looking in your eyes, you can’t find your voice to answer him “we can take a break now, maybe i can get you to relax a little” he doesn’t need to move his hand much to touch the covered shape of your pussy, when he does you whimper.

“i can almost smell how wet you are, does pain turn you on that much?” he removes his hand to snap his glove out and touch the wet patch on your underwear with his bare fingers

you shake your head “no? what was it then? don’t tell me it’s me” he raises from his stool staring from above while you look back at him with doe eyes “aren’t you cute…” he murmurs kissing your forehead and pushing your underwear aside to run his fingers on your wet folds a couple of times before pushing them in

“i need you to keep it down for me, can you do that?” he murmurs it so low you barely hear it due to the voices on the other side of the curtain, you nod and starts to move his fingers skillfully

“naughty girl, booked a tattoo just to get your pussy played with, tsk tsk” he adds a second finger keeping your clit under his thumb.

“no! i really want it” you reply immediately not wanting him to think for a second you didn’t love his art.

that seemed to be enough affirmation for choso, who leans taking your chin with his free hand, he stops right before your lips studying the little pout you have and how dilated your pupils are

he smirks and softly bites your bottom lip, which makes you yelp but he licks it apologetically.

choso feels like eating you whole, the way you respond to him is mesmerizing.

“c-choso i’m close” you grip his arm and he pushes his tongue in, swallong your moans cause the last thing he needs is one of his coworkers finding out about this.

you didn’t notice at first due to his ministrations bellow your waist but he had a tongue piercing, the cold metal rolls between your tongues, a new exciting addition to an already great kiss

his thumb flickers your clit and you press your thighs around his hand climaxing hard and silently

“good girl” he pulls away taking a string of saliva, you rest your head on the chair recovering from your high, for a second your eyes close but soon open them again when you feel a tissue touch your sensitive core

“wait aren’t you— aren’t we—?” you look down to his bulge, he was clearly aroused too

“calm down lady, this is just the first session” he laughs and gently cleans you and the chair and then places your underwear back, “lemme finish this and if you don’t tap out i’ll reward you in the end” he winks before disappearing behind the curtains for a couple of minutes, you take the chance to look down at your skin.

it was a bit swollen but you could see that the part he had inked already was perfect, the dragon was halfway done and you couldn’t wait to see it completed.

when choso gets back he’s pleasurably surprised to find you looking at your leg with a smile in your face.

“lemme see…” a few hours later you’re at the reception talking to the boy from before to schedule your return in order to color the rest of the tattoo, “choso is free next—“

“actually yuuji you can book her for this weekend” choso steps up, just walking down the stairs. moments before he told you to book the return with yuuji while he cleaned his station.

“you are not working this weekend” yuuji looks at him suspiciously.

“i am now” choso emphasize by tapping his finger on the date at the planner.

“hm okay” yuuji takes your information and you thank him before choso leads you out.

“you’ll be working just for me?” you ask once you’re out.

“yeah but you’ll buy us lunch after i’m done”

“done with the tattoo?”

“done with you” your eyes widen and you’re already excited for your date.

“okay, I’ll pay, but…” you step closer to him but not too much so the people inside the shop don’t notice, “you’ll have to use your tongue”

“you like it?” he rolls his tongue out displaying the shiny round metal, “fine i’ll show you what i can do with it next time”

See also: “who did this to you?” + Sukuna

[writingsfromhome]

In Plain Sight

A/N: I wanted to play with the idea of 2 characters falling in love at different points in a story and what that would be like on each side. Idk if I fully captured what I wanted but I liked writing from harry/reader pov like this even though I kept switching partways lol.

Would love to know for inspo purposes—how do you know you’re falling?

———————————————

This is a first, you thought as you and Claire walked into the art gallery—one of your friends had a show of their unique pieces, mixing tech with traditional art. All of it was inspired by their partner, the lead in an indie pop band so to tie it all together they were playing at the gallery while the pieces hung on the walls, rippling with their programmed light and movement.

Take a posh gallery and stitch it with a rave. That’s kind of what it looked like in there.

“Guess I didn’t need to look so fancy,” Claire says in your ear. You two had spent the last half hour sorting your closets to figure out what was art-show appropriate.

“Let’s find Mimi,” you shout back.

You weave through the crowds, staying on the outskirts and spot her all the way up the front by the stage. You both agree to find her later and opt for a drink instead.

“Maybe I’ll get lucky tonight,” Claire comments as a tall guy brushes by, eyeing the length of her with a smirk before walking away. “Maybe you will.”

“That’d be nice,” you sigh. You hated being the chronically single one of your friends but that’s just how it went. Well it went beyond that—you felt unlucky in love.

Every relationship you poured yourself into and every relationship failed, just like that.

You were unloveable, maybe. You were lonely, definitely. So you’d take the warmth of a stranger where you could get it.

“I have an idea,” Claire says. “We dance our way through the crowd, I’ll be your wingwoman and we can make our way through towards Mimi. You’re so going home with someone tonight.”

You hold your glass up in agreement, you’d learned to just go with Claire’s ideas. Somehow they never worked in your favour, but that’s what you got for having a best friend that was a smokeshow. It used to bother you, but now in your late 20s after seeing Claire go through men like she went through shoes, it didn’t matter. The guys she went for also wanted a fun time like her. You wanted someone in it for the long run.

The men who felt the pull of her magnet were never meant for you anyway.

It felt mature, to think like that.

As Claire pulls you in, you find yourself dancing with male body after male body, hands on parts of you you barely touched yourself. You feel the familiar hollowness of loneliness. It was a constant companion, and yet never made you feel any less lonely.

Across the room stand two guys, they both watch Claire throw her head back and laugh. The purple and blue lights from above dance over her skin, she looked like a muse come to life. Like she was born from this art gallery.

“Mate. She’s beautiful,” Harry, the taller of the two, comments.

“You gonna talk to her?” Dylan asks. “Because if you’re not…”

“Give me a sec,” Harry got stupidly nervous around beautiful women. Which was stupid because he interacted with them on a daily basis, but that’s probably why he was considered a bit shy by people who met him. Shy was the nice way of saying awkward.

The thing with Harry is that he grew up as a wallflower. But in his mid 20s he started earning the attention of women. Pretty women. He felt like his pot of luck had been filled and then some, and yet he only got lucky on occasion. The problem was he just didn’t know what to do with his newfound attractiveness. Even 5 years on.

“There she goes,” Dylan comments as their muse moves to the bar. “Go on.”

Harry swears under his breath but makes his beeline towards her before anyone else could swoop in.

“Hiya,” Harry slides in beside her and then curses. He should have gone for something more suave. “Can I get you something-“

“I already ordered,” she smiles and Harry confirms she’s more beautiful than any of the crazy art in this room.

“Well it’s on me.”

“Thanks,” she takes him in. He tries not to squirm or think about what impression he was making. “I’m Claire.”

“Right. I’m Harry.”

“Nice to meet you Harry.”

“Likewise…So, erhm, you like dancing?”

She tilts her head, “I do. I was just down there.”

“I know.” Harry says. She raises a brow. Shite. “I mean like I saw you dancing. In the middle. You made it look like a fun time.”

“It is. Is dancing not fun for you?” She laughs. Her drink arrives and Harry pays for it orders for himself.

“I don’t do it a lot.” Harry taps his fingers on the bar. “I like the music part. That make you want to dance.”

She gives him that look. The look that told him he’d tipped the scales too far off to recover. Why couldn’t he just explain he made music? And dancing and making music went hand in hand. Why was that so hard to say??

“Well I’m going back in,” she announces. “Feel free to join.”

And of course he doesn’t. Because she would probably inch away from him if he did until the crowd swallowed her away.

“How’d it go? Make a good impression?” Dylan asks but Harry just downs half his drink and hopes that answers Dylan’s question. He’d made an impression alright.

Meanwhile, in the middle of the dancefloor you move to the heavy drums. This was one of your favourite songs by this group; it was on replay on your Spotify. The girl beside you grins at you and you both move in sync, shouting the lyrics. It’s more fun than you’d had with any guy here tonight.

When the band takes their break and a playlist replaces the live music, you try to find Claire. It’s surprising she doesn’t have a bloke already wrapped around her this late into the night.

“The line to the toilet is stupidly long,” she complains. “I don’t feel so good. Can we get air?”

“Of course,” you grip her arm and help her out. The night air is crisp compared to the recycled air inside. You take in a lungful.

“Hey,” Claire spots someone she knows and she moves towards them. You trail behind her as she walks up to two blokes smoking off to the side. “I never saw you dancing in there!”

The guy she’s talking to shrugs, his cheeks taking on a pinkish colour. He’s cute in a boyish way, but you reckon if he trimmed his hair and grew some scruff, he could be a lot more interesting to gaze at. A face that could hang in this art gallery, a soft pink light shimmering on the highs of his cheekbones.

His eyes clash with yours and you throw a friendly smile and make a conscious effort to join the group. You hadn’t heard what was said in the time you were admiring his face.

“I would if I hadn’t broken my foot a month ago,” the other guy says. He was a cold good-looking. Sharp features accentuated by a buzzcut. You could imagine him in an avant-garde spread of a magazine.

“Excuses!” Claire teases. She was good at this. “I was telling your friend here how fun dancing was, that he should join.”

“And he didn’t?! Harry, mate, we all know you dance.”

“Not the right setting.” He replies. Almost mumbles.

“Any setting is the right setting for dancing,” his friend says.

“Right!” Claire latches onto him, you knew her well enough she’d chosen her prey for tonight. “I feel like dancing is such a good release, any time music comes on my foot just-“

“Can’t hold it in right?” The other friend laughs. “Me too. When I’m on the tube I’m like how do I get into this without looking like a weirdo.”

Claire’s laugh crackles into the air. You smile, she was going home with him for sure.

You glance at Harry, he’s looking after her like a sad puppy. You’d seen that look too many times—dejected.

“I bet you wished you liked dancing more huh?” You tease, quiet so it doesn’t travel to the couple.

“Huh?” He looks at you like he just noticed you were standing beside him. “Oh. No?”

“Right.” Well this was awkward. “So you’re Harry. I’m y/n.”

“Oh sorry,” Claire says when she hears your name. “We’re so rude we just closed ourselves off to these two. This is y/n. and I just learned that this is Dylan.”

“Nice to meet you,” Dylan smiles at you. “Harry are you okay if we split?”

Claire looks at you, asking the same question with her eyes. You nod, and she smiles at you gratefully. Her eyes widen and she motions subtly with her head to Harry. You smile like it was a good idea but you know he wasn’t an option; he was one of Claire’s castaways. But she was too oblivious for that.

“Then there were two,” you joke, reaching for the familiar line. “Are you going back in?”

“In there?” He shakes his head. “We already said our goodbyes. I might just head home.”

“Oh okay. Did you know the artist?”

“I don’t. Dylan’s cousin is the lead singer in the band? We came by to support the show.”

“That’s nice.” You respond back even though he didn’t return the question. “I’ve worked with the artist actually—Jemima.”

“Cool. I take it you’re an artist yourself?” He asks, finally looking at you instead of around you.

“Yep. I do photography.”

A group of people exit the show and their noise drowns out whatever Harry was about to say. Without warning, like a valve opened, your chest fills with the ache of a feeling.

What am I doing here, you ask yourself. You’d come by to support Mimi, but you didn’t owe this guy anything. You should go home, do your usual routine of staring at the ceiling, hearing Claire come in late, try to drift to sleep, and then finally doing so.

Sometimes being with others felt more lonely than being alone.

“Anyway, it was nice meeting you Harry. I’m gonna head home.”

“Oh.” He seems surprised. “You’re leaving for home?”

“Well, yeah?” You shrug. “I’ve made my rounds, danced enough to need a gallon of water. My feet are telling me to go home.”

“You ladies talk about dancing and I feel like I missed out,” he laughs but it comes off kind of awkward and shy. It’s endearing.

You change your mind then—you imagine posing him at 3/4 angle and snapping him from below. Maybe a shot looking through his lashes. Something mysterious yet welcoming. The longer you got to know him, the more he shifted.

“Does that mean you want to go back in again?” You ask.

“Fuck it sure. If you come too. I don’t want to dance alone.”

“Why not? Have you never?”

“Danced alone?” He holds the door open for you and you go in. His energy seems to have shifted. He’s less awkward, more relaxed, but it still feels like you don’t have his full attention. Or maybe that was just your insecurities projected onto a beautiful man.

“I dare you,” you have to tip toe for him to hear you once you’re back in. You use both your hands on his back and guide/push him through the crowd. When you let go you open your arms wide.

He shakes his head and tries to grab your hands but you back away. “Dance!” You shout. “Let’s see.”

He laughs, his head weighing backwards like the ceiling could grant him some confidence, the length of his neck glistening with something you wanted to taste.

When he looks at you again you chant to dance and he shrugs away his shyness. Before you know it he’s moving until he’s actually in sync with the beat. You try not to be a creep, sneaking your phone out. He was a complete stranger but god the photo opportunity was perfect.

You manage two before he turns and finds you in the crowd again. He pulls you closer to him, nearly chest to chest.

“I should be a lot more drunk to be doing this.” He says in your ear. Goosebumps erupt down your arms.

Take it easy.

The two of you end up dancing for a few songs, laughing at new moves you put on. It becomes a contest to do a silly but serious move and you’re in stitches by the time the two of you stumble out.

“Jeez that was fun,” you lean against the brick fence a few buildings down. You were sweaty and out of breath, your body demanding hydration now.

“I have not done something like that in years. It was nice.” He grins. It feels like a secret. “Thank you for pushing me in.”

You felt like you should be thanking him, for the fun and for making you feel included tonight. But of course he ruins it when he opens his mouth next.

“You can tell your friend Claire I ended up dancing. It was a proper good time.”

“Yeah,” you fake a smile, the aching wound reawakening in your chest. “Maybe I will. I’m headed that way though, I’ll see you around Harry.”

His face falls for a moment, you can see him try to figure out asking you to stay but wondering why you’d gone so cold. You hated how a good looking man could fool you into thinking he could be smart. But this one was as daft as they came.

You wave and turn towards the direction of your station, feeling a bitter chill that wasn’t coming from the weather.

***

The next time you see Harry is about a month later. Claire had been seeing Dylan—they hadn’t labelled it according to her so it was still casual. But she felt good about it because he was having a thing at his flat and he’d invited her. So you join Claire since he’d extended the invitation.

“Maybe you’ll see his friend Harry.” She sings as you turn the corner to his street.

“I already told you nothing happened that night.”

“Maybe because you went home after having a marvellous dance-off with him!”

“He kinda got like soggy bread!” You complain. “If it weren’t for me the conversation would have gone stale.”

“Same here. When he spoke to me I mean,” Claire laughs. “Dylan did say he’s a bit shy. Just give him another chance.”

“He’s not interested-“

“You’re so harsh on yourself. Of course he would be! He’d be lucky to be with you…”

You let Claire launch into her tirade. Although you appreciated it, it ignored the fact that someone could just not be interested in you. Especially after fancying your friend first.

Dylan’s flat ends up being nicer than you thought, a lot of windows and fancy tech things around.

“Just call her,” you and Claire walk up to Dylan, Harry, and another guy. Dylan seems to be lecturing Harry on something.

“Call who?” Claire asks.

“Hey,” Dylan kisses her hello. “This girl Harry went to uni with. He bumped into her when she was walking her dog. Harry thinks they hit it off, but he refuses to call her!”

“Why not?!” You and Claire ask. Further proof he wasn’t into you.

“Well I friended her on Instagram and she’s just ignored it!” Harry explains.

“So? Maybe she doesn’t use instagram.” Claire offers.

“She does. I had Dylan request too and she accepted his.”

“Oh?” You notice the pitch change in Claire but nobody else does of course.

“I unfollowed her after,” Dylan says. Or maybe he did hear the change. Smart man.

The friends gathered in the room shift and flow around each other, you lose Claire pretty quickly after the hour mark like you usually did. Eventually it’s you and Harry again, sitting on the couch.

Just like soggy bread, he’s mostly silent with beer in his hand. You get tired of the silence so eventually you slide closer to him.

“So what’s with the girl from uni? Do you have history?”

“Huh?” He seems startled out of his thoughts. “Oh. Her. No we had a few classes, saw her at parties that sort of thing.”

“But it seemed promising when you saw her recently?”

“I think so?”

Poor Harry, he couldn’t even tell the difference.

“What about her number? Or try DM-ing her.”

“I don’t wanna be desperate.”

“Fine,” you think. “Nevermind. She’s probably not into you.”

“But she kept touching my arm,” Harry recalls. “Why would she touch me if she wasn’t interested?”

You look at his physique. It wasn’t anything extraordinary but you can see the temptation to touch his arms.

Meanwhile Harry watches you eye him. It was kind of funny to him. He didn’t know why Claire’s best friend always remained at the end of the night but she was easy to talk to so he didn’t mind. Better than pretending to be interested in whatever Dylan’s tech-bros were talking about.

He hadn’t actually seen Dylan in a while. Probably off with Claire, he thinks with a sigh.

“Yeah nevermind.” Harry hears you say. It’s then he realized he’d tuned you out while his brain had been running. And you had taken his sigh as a response to what you were explaining.

The conversation falls flat after that. And when Harry goes for another drink you decline, deciding it was time to head home.

Surprisingly, Harry says he could use the time away and walks you to the station. Claire was spending the night but mostly he just wanted out of the flat. Walking you a few blocks away was a good enough excuse.

***

A few weeks go by before you find yourself alone with Harry again. It was someone’s birthday, or two people’s. You forgot what exactly was the excuse you took to get out of the house. All you had to know was there were people and an open bar.

Again, you started off in a group but couples drifted away until the two of you remained. You had been standing in Harry’s blind spot so when the last couple leaves, he notices it was you.

“Hey.” Harry says to you but his eyes look out into the room, even his body faces the crowd’s direction. He should have known you were here after seeing Claire cozy up with Dylan.

It should make you feel shittier but you’re almost used to it. After a week of working from home hunched over your table editing photos for yesterday’s deadline you would take any social interaction. No matter how stale. Or soggy.

“Hey!” You elbow him so he looks at you at least. “It's been a while hasn’t it? How’s life treating you these days?”

“Yeah, it's fine.”

“Cool, yeah. Any exciting projects keeping you busy lately or…?”

“Not really. Just the usual keeping me busy right now. Same old routine y’know.”

“Right, right.” You could feel him slip away again. “Yeah. Work can be a drag. I’m pretty sure I gave myself scoliosis being hunched over for 10 hours a day this week. I’d rather fold laundry than do that again, and you probably don’t know this, but I absolute hate folding laundry. But yeah that’s my thrilling life. Anything you've been doing in your free time?”

“Nah. Just trying to stay on top of work.”

“Right.” He was the busiest man on earth apparently. “So everyone at the party’s talking about the new Love Island season. You watch it?”

“Not really into TV these days. Busy with work and all that?”

“Right. You mentioned. I did too.” You nod. “I had a lot of deadlines this week so very busy too. Busy busy. I actually got so stir-crazy I started talking to my plants? It felt silly, but my nan was saying it does help them grow so…it’s a win-win. Or maybe it’s the isolation makes you appreciate the little things…”

“Right.” Harry nods along. He’s looked at you twice this whole time. Well, glanced was more like it. And suddenly you want to scream because it was utterly unfair that you only knew him at any of these godforsaken parties. And he never wanted to talk to you, or cared to.

You’d seen him with Dylan, even with Claire! He was more animated and interested then, even though he stammered through half of it. Was there something wrong with you that put you in gray-scale in this crowd of colourful people?

You’re not Claire, the stupid voice in your head reminds you.

I didn’t need to be Claire, you remind yourself.

“So what about that girl you fancied?” You try to ask him something he might be interested in; you hated how desperate you were getting for company. “From uni? Anything come of that?”

“What?” He finally looks at you. “Oh her. No she uhm. Well embarrassing but she has a bloke. I misread the whole thing-“

“You said she was all touchy!”

“Yeah she was wasn’t she?” He scratches his head. “I dunno, i suppose she’s always been like that. So yeah, nothing happened there.”

He chuckles like he’s embarrassed, yet the smile brightens his face. It makes you a little more upset and you don’t know why.

“Maybe you dodged a bullet. Anyway. I’m gonna make some rounds. I’ll catch you around-“

“What?” He actually turns to you now. “Why?”

“What?!”

“Why you leaving?”

“I’m not leaving. I’m just doing a circle. And getting another drink.”

“Oh,” his shoulders drop a little. You’re confused, because he didn’t seem interested in having you around at all until you were leaving. “Good.”

“I didn’t think you’d miss me if I was gone with your half-ass answers.” You say before you can think. He looks a little stupefied.

“Half-ass?”

“Or were you just being a whole ass?”

“Huh?” He closes the gap between you again. “I was listening to what you were talking about.”

“Yeah. Just listening. It felt like having a conversation with paint while it dried.”

“I’d think that’s better than houseplants?”

You’re a bit stunned—he had been listening. But still. He wasn’t keeping up conversation.

“Now see if you made a joke about it back then it would have been funny. A back-and-forth conversation? Now it’s just a desperate attempt to keep me around. I don’t know what for.”

“It’s not desperate,” he argues. “I didn’t realize you’re so needy.”

You raise a brow, “I am not needy.”

“I think you are,” he grins and with his full attention on you and that stupidly smarmy grin you feel that pull again. Too bad it was just one-sided.

“I’m not. I’ll prove it by leaving your presence for good tonight. See you next time Harry.”

“Don’t be like that,” he calls after you. “And I like to keep you around because I thought we were friends!”

Your stride falters as you’re walking away. You weren’t expecting him to say that.

But wasn’t he just friends because both your friends were dating each other?

What are you even doing here with these people, the thought comes back to you again. The same one that always floated through your mind being in these sorts of places.

If Claire wasn’t dating Dylan you wouldn’t even be here. God, you needed to hang out with friends other than Claire.

***

You unwrap the belt that ties your coat closed and drop it all to the floor. Well not all, your cameras get let down gently.

Your shoulders ached. And your back and your head and your arms. Jeez.

You had a wedding gig that was paying most of this month’s rent, so you had to take it. The only thing is your job started at 6am and ended at 8pm. That was more than half a day and you were spent.

“Hey you’re home!” Claire waves at you as you pass her. She has her phone held out in front of her face, you hear Dylan’s voice on the other end.

“Is that yn? Hii!”

“Hi,” you croak to Dylan. Claire juts her lip out at the sight of you.

“I’ve already done dinner,” she says over the top of the screen. “I’m going out with Dylan and some friends later you wanna come?”

You shake your head. She knows what a low battery yn looked like.

“Okay fine. Leftovers are in the fridge for you.”

“God I love you,” you tell her as you close your bedroom door behind you and collapse into bed.

You liked it when Claire was happy in a relationship, or whatever she called them, but when she wasn’t these were the nights she’d follow you into your room after a big shoot and ask about the details. And you’d complain about the pushy customers eventually moving to how beautiful everything was. She was usually the first person to see your raw images.

But tonight while she talks to Dylan you turn on your humidifier and let the low hushing noise lull you into a relaxing trance. You remember that you only had yourself. That you had to learn to be happy with that, lonely or not.

***

Claire promised to do kitchen duty for the whole week if you came out to Jemima’s partner’s gig. And you couldn’t deny a week of no dishes or meal prep, so you drag your ass out the door despite riding on 4 hours of sleep for the last few nights. But you met your deadline this afternoon so this was as good of a celebration as any. Even if it was a Thursday night.

“So you and Dylan are getting serious huh?” You ask Claire on the tube over.

“Kinda?”

“It’s been over 3 months. Half the time you were with you know who.”

You-know-who, her one relationship that actually meant something to her. Crashed and burned two years ago.

“No,” she blushes. “It’s just, he’s pretty great but we don’t really talk about labels.”

“Maybe you should.”

“Guys always run when you do.”

Do you want that sort of guy, you want to ask. Instead you shrug, “let them.”

She rolls her eyes, accustomed to your biting remarks around men.

The gig is electrifying as soon as you arrive. It gets you moving and your sedentary body remembers it has more flex in it than just your wrist. You’re alive and sweaty a few hours later, happy that you went.

“Hey,” Claire says when you drift back to her. “Dylan said the drummer’s inviting some friends to the place she’s staying at. Wanna come?”

“Yeah! Let’s go!” You were high on just being out and around people, the loneliness had been kept at bay, and you didn’t want to ruin that by going home just yet.

The drummer’s place is the bottom floor of a quaint house near Portobello. Most people are already there by the time you trail in behind Claire and Dylan.

“Look there’s Harry!” Claire shouts, pointing to the figure that was become too familiar to you. He’s listening intently to the couple in front of him. Nice to know he could do that.

You flash her a thumbs up. But her and Dylan start walking towards them. Ugh!

You eye the room, thinking you could make a run-in with alcohol instead of Harry but he looks up at the approaching couple and catches your eye. He waves.

Whatever.

The four of you eventually find a quieter room, mostly because there was a hookah circle going on and everyone there was talking in hushed voices. A stark contrast to the volume in the den.

“Hey, I wasn’t expecting you here.” Harry says when the two of you find yourselves alone again.

“Why not?”

“You didn’t show the last couple times we all hung out. I thought you were tired of us.”

“Maybe I am.” You raise your brow. “Did you miss me?”

“Hey!” Dylan appears in front of you two again before he could answer. “Nish is here, I heard.”

“Nish?” Harry becomes all fidgety.

“Who’s Nish?” You have to ask.

“Someone we know,” Dylan says. You look for Claire and she’s making her way to you. But before she gets there another body steps towards your group.

“Hi! Harry look at you—and Dylan, is it just me or you look more hideous than last time?” The girl cuts in and you take a step back instinctively. The group felt overcrowded.

You watch the two boys hug the new girl, Nish you assume, in greeting.

Claire approaches the group with curiosity.

Introductions are made and Dylan offers to show Nish the drinks.

Then there were three.

“She’s pretty,” you comment. You know Harry agrees what with how much he resembled a ruler.

“Yeah,” he nods stiffly.

“So were you at the gig Harry?” Claire changes the subject. “It was amazing.”

“Yeah! I was there with Dylan and some friends. Surprised I didn’t see you two.”

“Were you dancing?” Claire teases.

“I was,” he blushes. He glances at you. You recall that first night when the two of you had a lot of fun just dancing. “Maybe that’s why I missed you guys.”

You give a small smile at the in-joke. He looks back to Claire.

You all talk about the gig, and then a little about someone similar Harry was working with.

Eventually Claire wonders aloud where Dylan had gotten to and leaves.

And then there were two.

“I get this feeling something’s going to happen,” you say.

“What do you mean?” Harry asks.

You shrug, you didn’t quite know. The whole night was moving so fast, especially after the gig. You just had a sense you missed something and it was bothering you.

“Have you got a drink yet?” Harry asks.

“No, maybe I should.”

“Me too. I’m done mine. I think I want another.”

As you walk down the hall to where it might logically be, you hear a shout. Your stomach drops. Was this it?

“I’m sorry wait!” Someone shouts over the noise. The overall noise dies down a bit quieter. “It’s not what it-“

“Fuck off! I’m done!”

“Shite,” you recognized Claire’s voice anywhere. You rush past Harry and towards the voices.

You find Dylan shirtless and holding it against his chest. Nish is a little ways behind him, hair a lot messier than when you last saw her. Buttons undone on her dress.

You notice the lipstick on Dylan’s neck. A colour Claire would never wear.

Everything snaps into place.

You rush to Claire and try to comfort her but she hurls more insults towards Dylan over your shoulder. You manage to get her out of his sight and she fights you too, she was seething with anger.

“He’s a dick!” She screams. “Why did I think he was going to be any different oh my god! I shouldn’t have let him go alone with her, what was I thinking? Yn! Why didn’t you stop me!”

You knew it was all rhetorical. Claire rarely took romantic advice from you.

“He tried to say we weren’t even a couple I-“ her voice catches and then comes the tears. You pull her in, familiar with the routine. Next would be feeling sorry for herself, then the anger again, then telling you she needed to be alone. Then a few hours would pass before she crawled back to needing comfort again.

And it happens just so.

“I don’t need a mother right now!” Claire says as you convince her to stay with you. To head home. “I just need to clear my head! I’m sorry okay I just want to be alone!”

And you let her go.

And now you had to kill time.

You find a beer and down it. Someone nearby asks you what the drama was about and you strike up a conversation that ends in them trying to kiss you. Ew.

You wander until you find Harry again. He’s surprised you’re still here. Asks where Claire was but as you respond one of the girls from the band recognizes Harry—you’re pretty sure her name is Kate. Soon enough you’re sidelined while they talk about something you knew nothing about.

Well fuck him too, you think miserably.

You grab one of the few remaining cans and head to the back of the house. Past open doors and closed doors. The closed door intrigues you at the end of the hall.

The doorknob is stuck so you wiggle it. Probably locked.

You were tired. God, you were tired of it all.

In a moment of anger you bang your shoulder against the door and magically it opens.

It wasn’t locked, just stuck due to age.

Same, you think.

Inside is the smallest room you’ve ever seen. The size of 1.5 closets. There looks like a childs bed, the walls are covered in posters, and there’s a small set of drawers with a guitar resting on top. It’s cramped but cozy, something about it feels familiar.

You step inside and close the door.

Down goes another beer.

You hope the person who owned the room didn’t mind you crashing it. You lay in bed and let out a big sigh. And then another. It felt good. Cleansing.

You listen to the noises outside, people laughing and talking. You think about Claire. About yourself. All of your several issues combined. The dull ache of loneliness starts in your ribcage and spreads out.

The door handle rattles a few times but eventually you realize nobody’s angry enough to smash it open like you. Most people assumed it’s locked and leave.

You’re taken by surprise then the door does creak open a smidge.

Distant light travels through to paint a multi-coloured line across the floor and over the bed. You lift your fingers to touch it but it feels like everything else.

“Of course you’re in here; I wondered where you went to.” Harry reveals his face by opening the door wider, poking his head in. It looks like it’s floating and the image almost makes you laugh. Almost.

“Why?” You ask in your most disinterested voice.

He takes the question, despite it dripping with apathy, as an invitation. The door remains opened a crack, now just with Harry on the inside.

“Because you disappeared.”

“You started talking to Kate so I made my exit. Did she go home?”

“No.” He inches closer after closing the door. You have no idea how he knew exactly where you were and how to get in. With the door closed it’s not so dark that you can’t make out his figure. But he’s a shadow in the dark.

“Can you sit or something? It’s kind of creepy having you hover like that in the dark.”

“Sorry,” he laughs and again, he overextends the invitation and lays parallel to you. He’s close, with the bed being so small. Your ache spreads. “Kate’s dancing with another bloke.”

“Poor Harry.” You mock. “Every pretty lady wants to dance with someone else.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“I have this special ability to read between the lines.”

“Well my specialty is reading between the sheets.”

The comment lands like a third person on the bed. It’s a withering creature a cross between a baby and a calf. He scoops it off with, “sorry. I really don’t know where that came from.”

You laugh. It was so silly for something so bold to come out of his mouth.

“It’s fine. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you be that bold before. Usually I just watch you fumble around and finish up thoughts inside your head instead of out loud-“

“I do do that don’t I?”

“You said do do,” you giggle.

“Very mature.”

“Very manure.” Your giggles turn into a laugh, something’s cracked inside of you and it feels funnier than it probably is.

Harry nudges you with his elbow and it silences your laugh. It’s abrupt, and he notices. “Why’d you come in here anyway?” He asks. “I thought you’d be with Claire.”

“Were you looking for her? You could be with Claire now y’know,” you say. Some part of you knew you’re tipsy and you should shut up but in the darkness your cutting words feel blunted.

“What’s that mean?”

“Dylan the dick—that’s his new nickname just fyi. He fumbled the bag. She’s free for the taking now.”

“I feel like this violates some sort of girl-code. Shouldn’t you be warning me away?”

You scoff, “Harry don’t be coy. Everyone knows you tried to get together that first night we all met. You always look at her like a lost puppy.”

“I don’t.”

“Do so.”

“What’s it to you?“

You shrug. He’s close enough to feel it.

You were upset tonight. Angry. Angry at Dylan for being another a-hole. Angry at Claire for putting yet another man on a pedestal with all his potential he could never reach. They hadn’t labelled themselves for 3 months, what did she expect would happen?

Mostly you were upset at yourself. Because a part of you watched Claire put herself out there over and over, and you were upset that you couldn’t do the same. That your shallow bruises compares to Claire’s gashes had kept you locked up in your bedroom.

You admit it to yourself then: you kind of liked Harry. And you totally and absolutely hated it.

Because you watched him watch Claire, fumble his words with every woman you catch him with, push him away just so you don’t potentially get hurt. A part of you knows he wouldn’t like you like that. He treats you like you’re part of the furniture half the time. He’s given no indication of the sort. And you just weren’t the kind of girl to leave a confession like that hanging. You didn’t want a public unrequited crush.

It comes again. The wave of loneliness, the feeling that nobody ever has or ever will understand you. That you were an island with no dock, a house with no door. You were unknowable, and unforgettable.

“Why don’t I ever hear about your relationship exploits?” Harry suddenly asks. You forgot he was there and you startle. “Sorry were you falling asleep?”

“No.” You answer. “And because…because I’m not showy about that sort of thing. And it also doesn’t happen as often as you or Claire or Dylan the dick.”

“Wow the name’s really gonna stay.”

“Mhm.”

“Do you have a boyfriend now?”

“Nope.”

“What’s your last actual relationship?”

“A long time ago.”

“Me too.” He sighs. “My last proper girlfriend was in my early 20s. She moved city. We broke up after that, long-distance is hard. I feel like every year I age, I get worse at talking to women.”

“I can confirm.”

“Well not you. You’re easy to talk to.”

“Thanks,” you say dryly.

“Not like that.” He backtracks, sitting up as if you could see his face. “No not like that. You’re…nice. To look at. I don’t mean that I don’t see you as a women—because you are. I see that I uhm-“

“I think you’ll have to take back your previous statement.”

His head falls back on his pillow and he laughs, it sounds like he’s choking on air a little.

“Jeez, what was that?” He asks once he pulls himself together.

“Beats me,” you say with a smirk.

“It gets pretty lonely though right.”

You let his statement sit in the dark. You don’t agree or disagree. Doing so felt like admitting something vulnerable.

“Or maybe that’s just me.” He says after a while. “Maybe you have a great life and don’t fall in love with every other person you meet.”

“Do you actually?” Your interest was piqued.

“I can’t help it. I’m a musician, I just notice something small about them and suddenly a song is being written about them in my head without even realizing. So I just fall in love with a lot of random people. And I uhm, I don’t think I’ve ever admitted that to anyone!”

It was the dark. It was easier to be honest in it. No wonder churches kept their confessions in darkened corners.

You think about all the regular people you fall in love with every time you lift your camera to your face. How every person made you ache; there were whole worlds going on inside of them and you saw it all through the lens.

You wonder briefly if Harry ever wrote a song about you in his head but squash it. He barely took the time to look at you, definitely not long enough to notice you like you did him.

“Here’s my confession—same.” You try for the confession-in-the-dark thing. To make him feel better. “At least when I’m taking photos or making videos. Some people get camera shy but after talking to them they loosen up and getting to capture their whole essence in a picture or a video I just…makes me fall in love too. I like to imagine what everyone would be like in front of a camera. I dunno.”

“What a pair we make.” Harry reaches out and his hand brushes yours. You pull away, hating yourself while you do.

He clears his throat when you reject his bid to be closer, you feel his hand slide back to himself.

Harry didn’t know why sometimes it felt like you hated him and other times like you were friends. He just figured he didn’t understand women. On any spectrum.

“Y/n,” your name is loaded in the dark. You wait for him to continue but the silence stretches out.

“What?” You finally ask.

You feel the bed shift and move under you. He was turning. You feel his gaze on you. You turn your head to look back and he’s inches away. Alarms blare in your head, abort abort! But even in the darkness his eyes find some light to reflect.

Harry’s thinking the same thing about you. Somehow it’s dark but when you turn your head to look at him, your eyes twinkle with what little moonlight streams in from the window. Or maybe that was the streetlights. Either way, Harry wonders why it felt like this was the first time he’s ever seen you. How ironic that it’s in the dark too.

It happens without realizing, his mind starts to string together something about the girl laying in his bed shrouded in darkness, with light in her eyes. A girl with secrets-

The bed vibrates.

“Oh,” you turn away and take the intimate moment with you. You feel around and find your phone beside you. Claire’s face lights up the screen.

“Claire,” you sit up.

“I’m ready to go home,” Claire sniffles on the other end. “Where are you?”

“At the party. You’re still at the party right?”

“I’m just outside. I got some chips but I couldn’t find you so I finished them all.”

You laugh, “Lie. I know how you feel about sharing chips don’t worry.”

Harry watches you have this conversation. Your laugh finds its way right into his chest. He feels warm.

You look at him and hold your finger up, shimming off the foot of the bed.

“You bought two!?” You ask after Claire sniffles about how much she emotionally ate tonight.

“It’s your fault! I ate two because I couldn’t find you and they were getting cold.”

“Well I’m coming outside to save you now.”

You put the phone down and look back at Harry. He’s sat up in the bed and staring at you.

“I gotta go weirdo.”

“Yeah,” he says.

“Well…I dunno if we’ll see each other as much now that-“

“Yeah,” he agrees.

“So good luck? Until next time?” You laugh, but an awkwardness starts to creep in as Harry stays unresponsive and staring on the bed. “Uhm. Okay?? Bye…”

You leave Harry as he is. Did he get all weird because Claire was on the phone? Ugh. What a liar, you think. He was still just as obsessed with her.

You feel a little bad for goading him about it earlier but it doesn’t linger long. When you see Claire you gather her up in your arms and then the two of you set off arm-in-arm back to your small flat together.

***

“So what’s happening with Kate?” Dylan asks. Harry and him are sat at the pub a few weeks later, he’s already moved on from Claire to the girl on his arm. He didn’t know how his friend did it, if Harry had a girl like Claire he wouldn’t treat her like she was disposable.

But thinking of Claire didn’t have that same spark anymore. When he thought about it, she was beautiful and spirited, the kind of woman musicians like him write songs about. But there was someone else on his mind, the kind of woman someone could spend their whole career trying to compartmentalize into songs. Songs turning into albums. Only to find nothing beats her living spirit.

How could he be so dumb, he’d been beating himself up since that night in the dark. He’d had 3 months of being around her and he never actually looked at her. Always took her for granted. God, even that first night together had been the most fun Harry had had in ages. But he’d just turned her into a friend by proximity.

But weeks gone without her, knowing there was only pure chance of bumping into her, had made Harry a regretful heart.

“Hello? Did you scare her off?” Dylan asks.

“Nah. She’s not my type.” Harry responds.

“Harry I should set you up with one of my mates. She’d be perfect for you. She’s a teacher and…”

Harry listens to Dylan’s new girl describe a friend Harry couldn’t be arsed to go out with. All because he wanted something he couldn’t have anymore.

***

Harry runs into Claire at a pub a week later. His hopes soar as high as the sky when he thinks y/n might be here.

“Hi! Claire!” Harry awkwardly stops her as she walks past the bar where he sits. He was waiting for a few of his mates to watch the football match with. Dylan was luckily out of town today, otherwise this pub would have it’s roof blown off.

“Oh Harry hi,” she’s friendly. Harry didn’t think she’d be friendly towards him. She leans in for a hug. “How’ve you been?”

“Good! Ehm good yeah just making more music and stuff. You?”

“Better,” she rolls her eyes. “How’s Dylan the-“

“I’d rather not be in the middle. If that’s alright.” Harry says before he can think. He knew what his friend was, he didn’t want to talk about him.

“Fine.” She crosses her arms. “Yeah. I’m good.”

“Watching the game?”

“Sorta. My family’s down and I know y/n hates the ruckus my brothers make watching the game at home so I’m sticking them here.”

“Oh y/n’s not here?” Harry feels his hope evaporating.

“No. What’s the deal with you and her anyway? Why didn’t you ever…?”

“Y/n?”

“Yeah!”

“She’s not interested in me,” Harry laughs. He was also blind but he doesn’t say that.

“I mean, maybe not crazily but if you asked she would have said yes. She didn’t hate you.”

“Is that the standard now?” Harry jokes.

“It is with her,” she smiles with a look in her eye like there was more there. But of course, Harry doesn’t push.

“I…I dunno. I never thought she would be interested. It never occurred to me.”

“You’re such a guy,” she scolds. “You have anyone now or you’re still regularly putting your foot in your mouth?”

Harry flushes. “I don’t. And I don’t put my foot in my mouth.”

She rolls her eyes but the smile stays on her face. “Anyway, I’m grabbing the beers. I’ll talk to you later?”

Harry nods, suddenly unable to just ask for y/n’s number. Anything.

But as she walks away he realizes he’d had a whole conversation with Claire without overthinking or being a fumbling idiot once.

He thinks back, to the last couple weeks. He realizes it’s been a while since he’s done it.

Was I finally turning a corner, Harry thinks.

***

You had a gig today filming at a studio. Some indie duo but they were gaining popularity on Tiktok and wanted some bts footage of working in the studio for an upcoming music video. You weren’t going to ask questions. It paid decent money so you said yes.

You pull into the parking lot, grateful that Claire had a car you could borrow. It helped lugging around your equipment for videoshoots. Today it was just you as your PA was out sick. It wasn’t supposed to be a lot of angles so you figured it would be okay.

You consider the day a win by the time you pack up. The group were much younger than you but very outgoing and it made for a lot of funny and sweet footage. They also had amazing voices, you told them they were going on your playlists once you got home.

Your right hand goes weightless as you walk with your bags down the hall. You turn just as the helper speaks up.

“Looked like you could use a hand.”

“Harry I…what a surprise hi!” Your mood brightens at the sight of him, despite everything.

“Hi,” he shifts the bag in his hand to return your hug. His body is solid and warm. It made no sense but you missed something about him. “How was your shoot?”

“Really good! I was shooting a…wait how did you know?”

“I saw you in there?”

“I didn’t see you.”

“Yeah I um-“

“You had nothing to do with this right?”

“And if I did?” He meets your eye and you feel out of breath with whatever speaks through them. What was up with that?

“Uhmm I owe you a thank you!?!”

Harry offers a small smile, “I was looking at your work a couple weeks back. You’re really good. I just threw your name out to a few managers if they were looking for someone…”

Harry looks different with this new information. Or maybe this was a Harry that was actually paying attention to you, it was both intimidating and touching.

“Did I do something wrong?” He asks.

“No! No, thank you I…that’s…I’m grateful. Thank you. Can I get you a drink to say thanks?”

“Okay cuz your face was all scrunched up. I thought you were pissed.” He laughs. “And I have some things to finish up-“

“Oh right, you’re probably busy-“

“No no I would love to. Get drinks. With you.” Harry grows more awkward as the air between you crackles with something electric. Maybe, he thought, this is what happens when two people are on the same wavelength.

“Ok. Well when do you finish?”

Harry doesn’t quite hear your question. His head feels flooded with sand and he can’t stop looking at you, right in front of him finally. Why did he never notice your eyes and the way they take him in, your sweetness, the easygoing tilt of your head, or how how disarming your smile was. He chalked it up to being an idiot.

“Wait what-“ he laughs, feeling the blood flush his face. He was doing that thing again, where his brain stopped thinking in the attention of a pretty girl. “What’d you ask?”

“When you finish?” You ask, suddenly feeling shy yourself. You can feel the element of nervousness from him and it made this casual moment feel more intense.

“Maybe half hour?” Harry scratches his nose. “Are you heading somewhere now? You can hang out with me and we can go together?”

You thought about getting to see him work, it sounded promising. “Sure!”

Harry wipes his palm on his jeans and walks ahead, leading you down the hall and to the right. He opens it to a recording studio, gesturing to the chairs and taking the seat behind all the buttons. You set your things down and stand by the panel, curious what each of the controls did.

Harry glances up at you and you shoot a smile, about to ask if it was okay you watch, but he goes back to work just as quickly.

He was working on something that sounded like a pop song. You try to make out all the layers on the software he was using, it kind of looked the same when you edited a video. But there’s too many layers to distinguish.

Eventually you sit back down, admiring Harry in his element. Your mind drifts, and you wonder if everything that happened out in the hallway was a figment of your imagination or Harry was being weird with you. Because the thing about Harry being weird meant he was in his head about one thing.

You wonder, like you did every so often, what could have happened that night in the dark the last time you saw him if Claire hadn’t called. Harry had looked at you like he had just met you—with a good curiosity.

But then again, this was the same Harry that probably looked at Claire with the same look.

“Done.” Harry turns in his swivel chair with a grin an hour or so later.

“Great!” You shake off your thoughts and set your laptop down.

“Did you want to leave your things here?”

“I have a car I can put them in?”

“The place I was gonna take you to isn’t that far from here.”

So you agree, and leave your equipment in the studio. The two of you walk out, talking about what he was working on. He asks you about your shoot today and the conversation carries you to the pub he had picked out.

Conversation starts to fizzle out as you tuck into your booth seat.

“What you guys getting today?” The waitress appears almost instantly, it startles you.

You look at the menu and to her. She’s got a beautiful face, round cheeks framed by micro bangs and night-black eyebrows that made her look permanently unimpressed. And yet her rosy cheeks and button nose were a friendly addition to the severity of the rest of her.

You glance at Harry, ready for him to be a bumbling idiot around her. He glances at you from the menu when he senses you looking over and for a second you feel the loneliness creep in. Despite the warm smile he sends your way.

“Can we get a few more minutes?” Harry asks her. She pockets her things without another word and walks away.

“What’s good here?” You ask to fill the silence.

The two of you go over the menu and by the time the waitress returns you’re ready. You watch Harry ask her questions and place the order, confident and direct. His eyes slide to yours every so often and each time they do you feel your resolve slip a little more.

“What’s changed then Harry?” You tease when she leaves. You tease, but you seriously want to know. “I thought you’d be a puddle of words around a woman that gorgeous.”

“Her?” Harry glances back. “I guess. I’m not such a mess.”

“Oh you so are.” You laugh. “You’re all ums and uhs.”

“I’m…fine. I’m not so bad anymore!”

“Yeah so? What happened?”

He looks at you with such a serious look that your smile dies down.

“Drinks,” the waitress places them down on the table, saving the both of you from whatever would have come next.

“Thanks,” you tell her and pull the distraction towards you.

“Let’s just say,” Harry says after she leaves. “I gained some perspective.”

You raise an eyebrow, not wanting to push it any more. “Okay.”

For the first time in a while, your nerves overtake the anxious discomfort you usually lived with. Something was definitely happening here—you weren’t hallucinating. But you weren’t sure where it was going, and if you wanted it.

Of course you want it, stop convincing yourself otherwise, you tell yourself.

Why did vulnerability feel like facing mount everest in just your pjs.

“I bumped into Claire a few weeks ago, she seems to be doing well.” Harry says and you can’t help but overanalyze for a heartbeat. He’d brought Claire up after all.

“Oh she didn’t mention,” you reply.

“She was with her family? Said you kicked them out of the flat-“

“Oh!” You laugh. “Yeah her brothers get stupidly rowdy when the football’s on. This one time I had an interview early the next morning and—this was before I knew how loud they could get. And I was up. Until 2am nearly to tears! Finally I snapped, they call it the y/n-geddon. Then of course I felt so bad I couldn’t sleep for another two hours. Now we just draw boundaries.”

Harry laughs at your story. “Sounds scary. Now it makes sense though.”

“Better for everyone,” you laugh. “But yeah. Claire’s been good, it was nice her family was down she’s always more herself when they do.”

Your food arrives and you put the conversation on pause as you tuck in.

“How about you?” Harry asks. “Your family?”

You tell him about your family and the conversation moves on to moving out, living in the city. It branches out naturally like a tree, and both of you relax into each other’s company.

It was really nice, you admit to yourself. It felt like talking to an actual person rather than the shell of someone. Which is how it felt like talking to Harry in the past. The only soggy bread was the butty dipped in your soup.

You pay, as you insist it was to thank him for the help. It’s cooler out when you had back to the studio for your things and there’s more people out; those free of their office jobs and roaming for a drink to relax into.

The studio’s empty and you head towards your bags, asking Harry if he was heading home too.

“Yeah, I’ve been here since 6 so I think I’m ready to go home.”

“Shite that’s early!”

“Deadlines!” He sighs. “What can ya do.”

“Can I give you a ride somewhere at least?”

“If you’re going in the direction of the station I’ll hop in.”

“Yeah sure!”

“Good thing you have a car with all that equipment.”

“Yeah my thoughts this morning. But that reminds me of all the footage I have to edit.” You say. “Thanks to you.”

“Anytime. Anytime y/n. I’m gonna keep whispering your name around. You’ll be fully booked soon just watch and see.”

“You don’t have to,” you set your things back on the ground. It didn’t seem like Harry was in a hurry to get out.

“I want to,” he replies seriously. The room feels smaller than it did seconds ago, or maybe the awareness of Harry’s proximity tightened the space between you.

“Thanks,” you try to meet his eye as you say it but it’s hard to. His gaze strips away any doubt you had; his feelings are written all over his face. All you could think was: Holy Fuck what is this

“It’s my pleasure,” he says which just sucks any remaining oxygen out of the room.

When you’re on autopilot you don’t even think, you just go through the motions. That’s what it felt like, one second you’re standing opposite Harry. The next you’re standing right in front of him and his lips are on yours.

Maybe you just imagined this scene so much it became repetitive and now this—kissing him, felt so familiar.

He’s nothing like the timid and awkward Harry you watch at parties and pubs. He’s sure of himself, kissing you in the exact way to soothe your past aches; your loneliness is washed away like ocean tides over words etched in the sand. You get lost in it. In him.

You don’t know when his hands slide around your waist and pull you in. His lips are soft and gentle. Your mind blanks as the sensation of being held, of his touch, spreads. You don’t realize you stop kissing back, just for a second, until he pulls away.

Harry takes a deep breath, face pink and brows furrowed. This felt right, but was he reading it wrong? He did that often.

You take a small step back, needing the space to process. It felt right, better than your imagination, and you couldn’t deny the pull you felt to him.

“So um,” you bite your lip. “You still want that ride?”

“Where is it going?” He asks, the tightness in his chest easing a little when you look up at him, head tilted and a nervous expression on. He wasn’t reading it wrong. Both of you were just a little overwhelmed.

“Anywhere you want it to. I was thinking it could go home.”

“Mmm,” he nods. “Home sounds nice.”

With a smile exchanged, he lifts most of your equipment to the car. You have to take a beat outside the car just to force your brain to go from scrambled to whole so you can manage the drive home. It took every ounce of concentration.

Claire’s not home when you get there and you’re so grateful for that. Firstly, you just wanted to get him back into your bedroom. Secondly, you wanted this just between the two of you. At least for today.

You drop her a text in case, like you two usually did. You tell her you had company over.

The rest of the night can be spent uninterrupted.

You set everything in the living room and take Harry back to your bedroom.

He looks around curiously, taking in the photos on the walls and the things on the dresser.

You watch him, feeling a little exposed. he was looking. Seeing. You. It was different. Good different.

Harry looks at you with a question and you answer by closing the space between you; he reaches his arms out and your body is engulfed by him. Your lips meet, this time less hesitant.

It’s not long before Harry pulls you towards the bed, falling backwards with you on top of him. You straddle his hips and kiss him like a teenager. You feel his fingers brush your waist and tug at the bottom of your top.

It’s off in an instant and you try to hide the smile as Harry takes in the sight of you, his eyes filling with awe. He was such a dork. But it made you feel empowered, and seen. You reach for his shirt and he lets you take it off.

When you lean forward again, chests pressed together, his hands find the small of your back. They trace circles there, sending shivers up your spine.

You take the cue and kiss him slowly, rocking your hips against him. He gasps, his hands tightening as you trail kisses along his neck.

The sounds he makes go straight to your core and you feel the familiar flutter that tells you to hurry. You move back, undoing his jeans and helping him slide them off.

“You’re alright with this?” He breathes into your skin.

Your heart thuds in your ribcage, but mostly from anticipation; you never realized how long you wanted this for. Wanted him.

“Of course,” you pause and so does he. “Took you long enough.”

With a wry smile he covers your mouth with his and soon the two of you find a rhythm that no song could compete with. You find company in someone you’d sworn could never be yours.

It’s bliss.

***

The sun filters through the window and casts a warm light across your floor.

You were in your own bed, and in the middle of the mattress with a leg thrown over the edge was Harry, sound asleep. Tbe weight of his arm over your waist and the steady sound of his breathing is the proof you needed that this was real. He was real.

The two of you hadn't bothered to get dressed last night. It was an unspoken understanding that this wasn’t the end.

You turn onto your side; it was a nice view.

It was a nice morning, actually. The first morning in a while where you not only woke to a warm body, but one that felt like it belonged. That wasn’t going anywhere

Claire must be somewhere in the flat, you realize. You hadn’t heard her come in.

Harry starts to stir as light fills the room. His eyes squint open and his left hand comes up to cover his face.

You reach over to run your fingers through his hair and he sighs, his face relaxing into a smile.

Harry turns to you, eyes finally open and alert and your heart thumps happily.

There was no need for words.

You snuggle closer and he wraps an arm around you. You bury your face into his neck and breathe in his scent.

He laughs quietly, his chest rumbling under you. You kiss him and he responds in kind.

This time there was no rush.

The morning was warm, and so were you.

5 months later

You get there early, you wanted a moment before the guests to take in your accomplishment. Sure you’d been published on websites and magazines before. Your dream has always been to live forever on an album cover. And you’d finally done it.

The venue was a sparkly room thanks to all the disco balls. They contrasted against the rich fabric and wood beams all over the space.

You take a ton of pictures to send to your friends and family.

You mingle with guests as they come in, trying not to give in too much to the hollowed out feeling that came with a string of strangers and the tiresome small talk. You smile and introduce yourself, you know this was how connections were made. In rooms like this.

You feel him come in as you give in to a second drink. You’re at the bar, and your eyes lift up to the entrance and there’s Harry. Your Harry.

Harry’s eyes skim the crowd looking for someone. His someone. No other person mattered until he could locate her. That’s how it felt these days. A million faces could blur by but hers was the one he looked for every time.

He sees her. Looking at him. Of course she’s already spotted him.

You watch as his face splits into an eager smile, his hand raising above his head.

Harry was like fresh lemonade poured into a cup of ice, all of the tiring talks and fake smiles from before vanish as you drink him in. He’s looking at you, only you. You’re looking at only him.

“Sorry I’m late,” he says as a greeting.

“That’s alright,” you peck his lips. “I was just taking a breather.”

“Is the band here? My phone died on the ride so I couldn’t check in.”

“I thought I saw one of them somewhere in that crowd,” you point to the right.

Harry had gotten you this gig. It was the third thing he’d helped you get and slowly you were able to take on less and less wedding and marketing jobs and focus on the music industry. It filled your days and nights with passion-fuelled hard work. You loved every second of it.

And when you weren’t working, you spent time with Harry. It had been 5 months since you started dating. Neither of you questioned what your labels were. You just knew there was nothing else you two could be.

You teased him a lot, how he took the long way to finally recognize the truth. But he made up for it all the time. He made sure you knew how you were the only one for him.

“That is one perfect album,” Harry slips his hand around your waist. Your photograph is blown out to a tapestry and hangs in the middle of the space. It was a sophomore album for the band and with their debut a hit, this tapestry was going to be signed and auctioned. Eventually it would sit somewhere, your photograph, coveted as a piece of music history.

“This is unreal,” you squeeze Harry. “How amazing is it that we both got to work on this album in our own specialties?”

“A perfect match I’d say,” he kisses you.

“What a pair we make,” you grin.

“I see many more shared projects in our future,” Harry promises.

“I’d like that.” It was one of the things you loved about being with Harry, your creativity and how both of you shared a similar industry at times. It brought you closer together, swapping ideas and stories.

“One day I’m going to need album art for the EP I release.”

“Ooh yes,” you clutch his arm. Lately Harry has been spending some times with his head in a brand new notebook, he said he was working on his personal project. “I can’t wait for that day. I have so many ideas of styling you.”

You had a particular image that sat on your phone from the very first night you met. One where he’s dancing alone in a crowd, red lighting casting half his face in shadow and the other in a vibrant scarlet. His eyes are closed and his brows scrunched as his body flows with movement, even in a still picture. You adored it. It was one of the best photos you ever took.

“Me?” Harry looks down at you. He knew whatever songs he pulled together for an EP would be about you. His rush to write recently were from all the time spent being in your presence. It was intense, it had only been 5 months of dating, but somehow he thought you might understand. “I was thinking the cover art could be the subject of my songs.”

“Oh?” You tilt your head.

“Yeah,” he smiles. “How do you feel about self-portraits?”

Your face grows slack as it dawns on you. He had a whole EP in mind, about you.

“Well?” He twitches his hand on your waist, tugging you a little closer.

“Self-portraits sound a bit lonely,” you will your eyes not to tear up.

“But you won’t be,” Harry tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear. “You have me. You won’t ever be lonely.”

“I know,” you feel the emotion catch in your throat as you gaze up into his photographic eyes. You can’t explain it but your body feels grounded—more grounded than it’s ever been. Here in his arms you felt together, like you were a book finally finding a shelf to lean on.

The two of you stand side by side and look at the people this collaborative masterpiece brought together. The room fills with the energy of the music. It was special.

"I love you," Harry reminds you.

"I love you too," you respond.

Your life hadn’t change all at once, not really. The biggest thing that changed was Harry. His presence, his attitude, his attention—it shifted. He wasn’t just a guy on the periphery, in proximity. He had you in his sights and he in yours.

You noticed small new things about him, and you wondered if everyone did. He was more confident and present, rooted to and with you. Both of you had bloomed, like caterpillars into butterflies. A pair of butterflies—you should tell him that.

Sometimes you thought you were just born lonely, it’s how it always was and has been. With Harry, you felt less lonely. You felt like things could really change for you.

You extend your hand to him and motion to the dance floor. It was a tradition now—no dance floor would go unmarked by the two of you.

He takes your hand and you lead him there. And with you in his arms he feels set free, like always.

Out of the cocoon and into the embrace of belonging, two butterflies dance in plain sight.

[spiceofvy]

Sexting with SKZ

cw: gender neutral reader, sub-ish reader (Minho, Seungmin), accidental sexting (Changbin), consentually saving nudes (Hyunjin), Phone Sex (Hyunjin), slight exhibitionism (Jisung), edging (Seungmin), degradation (Seungmin), Sexting in public (Changbin, Minho, Jisung)

Chan: Contrary to popular belief he will not sext in the studio, just because he gets so caught up in his work that he doesn't realize his phone is ringing. You could send him 20 nudes in 5 minutes and get no answer all evening. Only for him to text you 4 hours later "sorry for the late answer, hope you had a good time… do you still want me to come over?" He is also not the type to initiate, he is always a bit unsure if you're in the mood or not, so he rather stays safe and leaves that to you. Which doesn't mean that he isn't really excited to reciprocate. The best time to start is right before dance practice begins, he will be hot and bothered the whole time, and check his phone during every water-break. After some more messages, he will cut practice short and fuck you at home. Scolding you for taking his attention away from his work.

Minho: He is such a romantic, thinking a lot about his word choice, crafting the best message he could think of: "Send nudes." If you're lucky it's followed by "please." He is absolutely shameless, no matter where he is, he will look at your nudes, zoom in. But if anyone dares to even glance at his phone, they will never come back. He accepts no disrespect towards you. He texts short answers, some basic praise, and simple orders. Just enough to not make you feel like you're being ghosted. He doesn't mean to come off as cold but behind his confident demeanor he is a bit unsure about himself. So don't expect any pictures in return, they won't come, your only reward is knowing that he is looking, watching, and savoring every little detail about you. But don't worry when he's back home he will show you just how grateful he is.

Changbin: He starts sexting you without actually meaning to. He sends you a picture from the gym, just a little update and you react like every good partner would and praise him for his progress. So he asks for a picture of you, but the way he words it makes it sound very… sexual. And so you send him a picture of you back, just a little bit more on the teasing aide and he will throw his phone through the gym, suddenly shy with what you send him and scared that someone could see his precious partner in such a way. But of course, he wouldn't ghost you, sending you paragraphs about everything he would find pretty about you. As you slowly send him more and more it shifts from praise to promises of what he could do to you. His face beet red. He is so shy. But this whole interaction is such a confidence boost for both of you.

Hyunjin: Our little artist is the kind of person to save your nudes (after asking for consent of course) to use them later as inspiration. Without your face obviously. You are his muse and even on the days when his inspiration is at its lowest seeing you; with or without clothes can always motivate him to paint. When receving the photos he will write some very flowery words about you in return. Also, the photos he sends back? Works of art. Every single one of them. Effortlessly beautiful. We all know that he is a very visual person, but to go all the way he needs to hear you, and how you react to him. But also see you. So Videocall it is. He acts very calm and cool but seeing you plead for him, writhing for his attention, does so much to him. Half of the fun for him comes from your desperation for him. He enjoys being sought after like a prince. And he will treat you like royalty in return.

Jisung: Just like Minho Jisung just straight up asks for nudes. Even in public. This guy doesn't care who's beside him, he misses you, and your body. But just like Minho, he is also very much willing to hunt anyone who tries to look at the pictures for sport. That's how far the similarities go though because with Jisung as soon as he is riled up enough he will do 90% of picture-sending. Starting with some subtle teasing, some selfies with his arms or chest in focus showing off his work at the gym, before it turns more and more scandalous. Until it's straight off full-body nudes. Extra points if other people are around. More than once he started sending you pictures of his bulge in his pants with Chan and Changbin still in the studio with him. Being extra sneaky while trying to show as much as possible to you without being caught. Ending it all with a shaky video of him jerking off in the public bathroom of the building.

Felix: With Felix, you never know his true intentions when he texts you. "What are you doing?" "Where are you right now?" "Are you with friends?" And boom there is: "Want some nice pictures?" Either ended with ;) or :). Depending on that he will either send you some snapshots of his last shoot or straight-up porn of himself. Nice boy who always asks for consent but has 0 shame when it comes to showing his body to you. Videos of him presenting his pretty body and playing with himself, while whispering the sweetest nicknames he could think of for you. Pictures of him with glazed eyes and bitten lips, hand wrapped around himself. And when you return the favor? He will spew the most beautiful nasty praises you can imagine. But he won't touch himself to completion, won't cum. Those pictures and videos are just foreplay for what plans he has for you tonight.

Seungmin: With Seungmin sexting is always a multi-day experience. It's usually the last couple of days before he gets home after traveling. Filled with edging some degradation and the sweetest praise. Not many pictures from either side. But lots and lots of orders, he knows exactly how he wants you to behave, when and how you touch yourself. Routine check-ups on you, asking if you are doing what he wants from you. Calls where he talks about everything but not the dirty promises he made to you just 5 minutes earlier on text. He makes sure you're okay, that you're eating enough, and don't overwork yourself with his sweetest voice. But as soon as the call is over he starts his game again. Slowly but surely pushing you to desperation. And when you finally beg and plead to him to finally let you cum, he still doesn't. You have to wait until he's home again to finally get released.

Jeongin: Oh poor guy has no Idea how to do this properly. What to say, what kind of photos you would like (all of them. Honestly. You appreciate any picture of him) but he is somehow a natural. The Selfies he sends you? Like straight out of an underwear shoot. The way he talks to you? The perfect amount of sweetness and filth to get you blushing. He won't ask for specifics, he's very easy to please, Just a sneak peek of your underwear? His imagination is already running wild. Full-on nudes? He will probably trip over his words when trying to compliment you. Always sexts you in private, locked in a bathroom stall, in his dorm room. Somewhere he can feel safe. But wherever he is, he will probably return to you earlier than planned, because what he just saw, got him pretty riled up.

[valkyyriia]

Trecento

Words: 3500+ CW: Female-bodied Reader, Bondage, Daddy Kink, Spitroasting, Cuckolding (for a bit; consensual), Blowjobs, Cunnilingus, Cum Swallowing, Established Relationship (Comte x Reader) with Third Party Sexual Partner (Leonardo) | NSFW Pairing: Comte de Saint-Germain x Reader x Leonardo Da Vinci

Note: I saw that screenshot and I kinda took it and ran with it. I have no idea where the screenshot even came from other than I saw it and had an idea, haha.

Screenshot in question included at the bottom.

A huge thank you to @natimiles and @candied-boys for some ideas and the support while I was writing this. You guys are amazing!

Also posted on AO3 here.

"C'mon, cara mia," Leonardo purred, gently grasping your chin and forcing your gaze to his. "Looks like Daddy says I have to tie you up. But in a fun way this time."

Leonardo took ahold of le Comte's discarded clip-on tie and wrapped the silk around your wrists and through the bedframe, finishing the knot with a bow.

Leonardo threw you a crooked grin, his fingers running sensually over the golden fabric binding your wrists above your head. He checked the tightness, making sure it was secure enough to hold but not enough to hurt.

“Does that feel okay?” He asked, eyes the color of burnished amber searching your face for any signs of discomfort.

You pulled on the binding, testing its fastness and making sure it wouldn’t cut or otherwise injure you. The last thing you needed was to end up with an open wound while in a room with two extremely horny pureblooded vampires. To your delight, while the smooth fabric of le Comte’s tie held your wrists securely, it was a comfortable kind of restraint. Something you could get used to.

You nodded, and Leonardo smirked, looking over his shoulder at the other vampire in the room.

Le Comte de Saint-Germain, in his shirt and trousers, overcoat discarded and clip-on tie binding your wrists together, sat behind both of you in his armchair. His golden gaze alighted on you, sat so demurely on his bed. The look in his eyes was a mix of unbridled lust and pure adoration as his eyes raked over your figure.

He crossed his legs and leaned back, ready to watch the show.

“Remember, if you feel uncomfortable at any point, just tell me and I will stop, no questions asked,” Leonardo implored, forcing you to look at him. “What’s our safe word?”

”Le chat noir,” you breathed.

“That’s a good girl,” Leonardo replied, tousling your hair affectionately. He then gave you a devilish smirk, leaning in to capture your lips with his. “Time to let Daddy watch you for once,” Leonardo growled, pulling away from you.

Leonardo’s large hands expertly unbuttoned your blouse, parting the fabric to reveal the voluptuous swells hidden beneath. A thumb, calloused from centuries of painting and drawing, teased the tip of your nipple, causing your back to arch as you hissed.

“Bellissima,” he murmured. “Molto bellissima.” Leonardo looked over his shoulder again at le Comte, who was watching you both with rapt attention. “I was surprised when you suggested I join you both this evening, ‘Comte’, but I can’t say I had never thought about it.” His other hand caressed your bare side.

You couldn’t lie either; you had certainly had the thought before as well, but never once considered it would ever come to pass. Leonardo’s very being oozed sex appeal, from the hands that had created some of history’s greatest masterpieces to the beautiful, mysterious amber of his eyes, to the toned muscles of his form. You would have to have been blind to not find him attractive, and even then you weren’t sure; the low baritone of his voice was alluring on its own.

Frankly, it wasn’t fair.

Leonardo’s gloved hands explored your body as if it were a work of art, mapping every feature to memory. The attention normally would have embarrassed you, but between your hands being suspended above your head and the exquisite pleasure he was giving you just by caressing your skin, it wasn’t like you could hide your face. All you could do was gasp in response.

“I haven’t even gotten to the good part yet, cara mia, and you’re already whining for more,” Leonardo teased, grasping your breast and giving it a squeeze. You arched at the contact and the feeling of his glove against your sensitive skin, pulling at your restraints. The golden silk of Comte’s clip-on tie held fast. You whimpered, rubbing your thighs together.

The thought of your partner watching his best friend touch you in the most intimate ways made every touch, every glance, all the more gratifying. You made eye contact with him over Leonardo’s shoulder, noting the darkened haze of desire in them. He looked at you and licked his lips. You saw the barest hint of a fang peeking out from his mouth. The added eroticism from seeing your partner’s raw desire like this caused warmth to pool in your belly.

Le Comte was so graciously allowing you to sleep with his very hot best friend. The least you could do is make it more fun for him, too.

You looked up at Leonardo imploringly. Fortunately, the other vampire was good at non-verbal communication, and responded with a cheeky grin and a wink before leaning forward, his lips settling on your neck. His tongue lathed over the smooth skin there as he mouthed along your pulse point. You gasped at the sharp pain before whining as Leonardo’s tongue soothed the red mark he left behind. His fingers gently brushed against the inflamed skin.

“Bellissima,” Leonardo repeated, voice reverent.

You could hear le Comte shifting in his chair, the leather creaking as he moved. Your gaze drifted back to your partner. He was wholly focused on Leonardo’s lips and hands at the moment, watching how they caressed and kneaded your flesh in ways that only he had done before. You could see how his pants were growing tighter and watched as he swallowed hard, his fingers digging into the plush fabric of his armchair as though he were having to hold himself back.

Considering this entire situation was his idea in the first place, you’d have expected him to be less possessive. You were pleasantly surprised to find out that you were wrong on that front.

“You make the most exquisite noises, cara mia,” Leonardo whispered against your heated flesh. “I want to hear you screaming so loudly you can’t speak tomorrow.”

Leonardo’s lips drifted further down your chest, taking a peaked nipple between the blunted edges of his teeth. You arched further, pushing your breast further into his mouth as you struggled against the fabric of your restraints. Leonardo’s free hand massaged the neglected flesh of your other breast before switching sides, his talented fingers teasing your saliva-dampened nipple.

“Leonardo,” you breathed. “You’re such a tease.”

He released your nipple with a lewd pop, looking at you with a Cheshire grin. “Have I ever given you any indication otherwise, cara mia?” His fingers dipped below the waistband of your skirt, slowly easing the fabric off of your hips and maintaining eye contact while doing so.

The sinful look in his eye caused you to clench around nothing, your thighs shifting in discomfort.

He sat back, fully admiring the view. You made to close your legs but Leonardo clicked his tongue, his hands quickly moving to hold them apart, his thumbs caressing your inner knees. “Maybe we should have gotten ties for her legs as well, ‘Comte’.”

“I’ll have a word with my tailor in the morning,” le Comte replied instantly, his voice deep with desire.

You bit your lip in response. With Leonardo holding your knees apart, there was no rubbing your thighs together to relieve any pressure, nor could you hide your arousal.

Leonardo’s hands moved up your thighs, his thumbs running over the soft flesh there. “You truly are beautiful, cara mia,” Leonardo murmured. He released your legs, sitting back for a moment and shucking off his shirt, followed by his fingerless gloves. He left his pants on for now, turning his head to look at le Comte. You adjusted yourself so you could see your partner as well.

Le Comte’s breathing was ragged, his nostrils flared; his eyes had darkened to the point they almost appeared black in the already dim lighting of the room. The vampire’s fingers were harshly gripping his armchair as he watched the both of you. From your position you could see the glint of Comte’s fangs peeking out over his bottom lip.

You shuddered. Le Comte’s gentleman façade was all but gone, replaced with the visage of a hungry, possessive vampire.

“Are you sure this is still what you want? It’s not too late to stop,” Leonardo asked his friend. His tone was amused, but you also knew he would stop if asked to. By either of you. You inadvertently let out a small sound of protest, causing Leonardo to chuckle under his breath.

He released the arms of his chair, leaning back in the plush seat as he breathed deeply, trying to re-center himself. “Continue,” Comte finally said, voice clipped.

Leonardo grinned coyly, his attention back on you. “We’re almost there, cara mia,” Leonardo purred, his now completely bare fingers settling on your calves. “You’ll get what you want soon.” He hooked a hand around the back of a calf, tossing it over his shoulder as he gazed at you hungrily. The deep amber of his eyes was almost like molten gold, smoldering with a barely restrained desire of his own.

You gulped. When agreeing to this situation your mind had glossed over the fact that both of your partners were in fact pureblooded vampires, instead focusing on the fact that two extremely attractive men with several centuries’ worth of sexual experience desired you enough to share you. Damned hormones.

Leonardo pressed a kiss to the inside of your knee, slowly kissing further and further towards your weeping folds. He dragged his fangs across the meat of your inner thigh, sending a shiver up your spine, a breathy whine escaping your throat.

Leonardo pressed a couple more open mouthed kisses to your inner thighs, eagerly tasting of the moisture dampening them, before swiping his tongue straight through your glistening center.

You gasped and moaned loudly, throwing your head back. You pulled at your restraints, wanting nothing more than to card your fingers through Leonardo's thick hair. Unable to do so, you instead locked eyes with le Comte, your eyes glazing over in pleasure as his best friend tasted every last inch of you.

Through your own haze of lust, you could barely make out the shape of your partner watching you, completely enraptured. His hand had drifted to the crotch of his pants and he had begun to lazily palm himself through the fabric. Every time a sound fell from your lips, Comte would squeeze his shaft through his pants.

Leonardo eagerly lapped at your folds, his tongue sweeping away your wetness. You whimpered as he slid a bare finger inside your aching entrance. “More,” you begged, your thighs spreading apart as though to invite him in further. Leonardo obliged with a sensual chuckle, slipping another finger inside of you all the way to the knuckle. The throaty vibrations spreading across your sensitive flesh was almost more than you could take, but you continued to endure.

Looking back at your partner once again, you saw one of Comte’s fangs digging into his lower lip. His eyes snapped up to yours when he noticed you looking at him. The look on his face was familiar; he was barely holding onto a semblance of restraint at the moment. You weren’t sure he’d be able to take much more before -

Your thoughts were cut off as Leonardo chose that moment to seal his lips around your clit, sucking hard on the sensitive nub. You let out a strangled cry at the sensation, your eyes falling closed in bliss as you clenched hard around Leonardo’s long fingers and you came on Leonardo’s skilled tongue. Your fingertips dug harshly into the smooth silk of Comte’s tie as you writhed around on your partner’s bed, simultaneously chasing the pleasure and trying to avoid overstimulation.

Leonardo finally pulled away from your pussy, releasing your clit with a wet pop. Your chest was heaving as you opened your eyes and turned your attention back to Leonardo. He grinned up at you from between your thighs, your slick coating his lips and chin. The sight was so sinfully erotic that you thought you might be able to come a second time just from the view.

There was just something about coming on your partner’s best friend’s face while the man in question willingly watched it happen; perhaps it was how utterly taboo the situation was, or maybe it was just the thrill of trying something new, but you were more turned on than you remember ever being before.

You looked up to see Comte’s reaction to everything that had just happened and were somewhat surprised to see that he had tugged his pants open and had his thick length in his hand, his thumb almost absentmindedly running over the swollen head. The tip of it was glistening with his own fluid, the sight making your mouth water. You wanted to taste him, feel his heavy cock slide along your tongue as he -

Leonardo pressed a kiss to the inside of your thigh, drawing your attention away from Comte and back to the vampire between your legs. “Are you ready for me, cara mia?” He asked, voice deepened with lust. You shivered and nodded your assent, unable to speak.

He pulled away from you and reached down to his pants, pulling apart the fastenings. Leonardo hissed as his erection was freed from its confines and he stroked it twice in anticipation, kicking his trousers off the rest of the way. You just barely caught a glance of the proud length jutting out from his hips, but your inner walls contracted in anticipation. He was longer than Comte, and at least as thick. Before you could really think about it, he settled himself between your legs, his flushed head pressing against your slick folds.

“Remember, just say the word and I’ll stop,” Leonardo reminded you as he dragged his cock through the wetness pooling between your legs, the tip catching on your entrance as he did so.

“I know,” you breathed. With a grunt, Leonardo’s length pushed inside of you, stretching your walls even more than his fingers had. You and Leonardo both moaned at the feeling, your head thrashing to the side as he filled you completely. He rocked his hips a couple of times experimentally before grabbing ahold of the backs of your thighs and pushing on them, folding you in half. You made unfocused eye contact with Comte, watching as the other vampire pumped his fist in time with Leonardo’s thrusts. The fingers of Comte’s other hand were digging into the arm of his chair again, his own eyes glazed over as he watched Leonardo impale you over and over again.

You whimpered and tugged on your bindings, attention returning to Leonardo, wanting to grasp onto the vampire’s back as he fucked you into Comte’s bed.

“Papi,” you gasped after a particularly hard thrust. Leonardo stilled inside of you, looking at you in surprise.

“Papi?” He questioned. Your response was an adorable flush to the cheeks and you looked away from both him and le Comte. Leonardo clicked his tongue, gently grasping your chin and forcing you to look at him once more. “I didn’t say I didn’t like it, cara mia,” he said with a smirk, resuming his ministrations with an even more punishing pace. The room was filled with the lewd, wet sounds of flesh slapping against flesh.

Leonardo released your chin and moved his hand back between your legs, his fingers circling your clit in time with his thrusts. You came hard and fast, moaning so loudly you wouldn’t be surprised if half of the household could hear you. You found you didn’t really care at the moment, though. Not that you were capable of much coherent thought at the moment, what with the intense pounding you were receiving. Leonardo’s relentless pace didn’t so much as falter; if anything he somehow moved faster.

Suddenly, Leonardo stopped, pulling himself from within you with a sinful squelch. “Took you long enough,” he laughed, a roughness to his voice that you hadn’t heard before. Before you could really question what was going on, you found yourself turned onto your stomach, ass in the air. A pair of hands roughly caressed your rear, teasing your hole, before your pussy was filled again, a familiar preternatural growl echoing around the room.

You moaned as the hands around your hips moved up to your waist, harsh thrusts forcing your face to press into the mattress of Comte’s bed, mouth open and drool dripping from the corner of your lips. Comte was fucking you so hard you could almost see stars, your vision being overtaken by bursts of white.

In your sex-fueled haze, you were surprised to see Leonardo move in front of you, swiftly untying your hands and tossing Comte’s tie towards the back of the room. You were about to question why you were untied, but quickly understood what was going on as you propped yourself up on your elbows.

“Think you can take us both, cara mia?” Leonardo asked, his cock edging close to your mouth. You nodded as best you could, your entire body shaking with the force of Comte’s rough thrusts into your wet heat. You adjusted yourself slightly to give him a better angle and Leonardo pressed the tip of his length to your lips. He groaned as his cock slid along your tongue. You could feel every ridge and vein on his shaft and taste the remnants of your mixed fluids as he pistoned himself into your throat.

Comte’s thrusts forced you to take Leonardo’s throbbing cock deeper into your throat, and Leonardo’s own thrusts pushed you back onto Comte’s shaft. All you were really capable of doing at this moment was taking what you were given from both of them as you were pushed and pulled in two directions. You were moaning on Leonardo’s dick as Comte’s hand found itself between your thighs, stimulating the sensitive nub there.

As Leonardo’s cock slid deeper into your throat, you started to apply pressure to the sensitive frenulum with your tongue. “Cazzo,” he swore, his hips stuttering as he pulled his length from your mouth. You kept your lips open, watching intently as Leonardo stroked himself a couple more times before finding his release. He groaned low and deep, his ejaculate coating your tongue in thick ropes. You swallowed every drop he gave you, the eroticism of it resulting in you clenching tightly around Comte’s thick cock, your third orgasm of the night tearing through your body in waves of pleasure.

Le Comte hissed through his teeth, pounding into you a couple more times before flooding your insides with his seed. Comte grunted, sinking into your warmth as far as he could before pulling out. You collapsed onto the bed, entirely spent. Your eyes drifted shut, nearly falling asleep where you lay.

Comte gently ran his hands over your rear, in clear contrast to the punishing pace his hips had made. Leonardo affectionately brushed hair out of your sweaty face, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, before looking over at the other vampire. With a subtle nod of Comte’s head, Leonardo stepped away from the bed and moved to grab a soft towel from the corner of the room.

“Are you feeling okay? Does anything hurt?” Comte asked, looking you over for injury. You were barely awake enough to reply at this point, completely exhausted.

You managed to mumble out a quiet “’m fine” before adjusting yourself to a slightly more comfortable position. Leonardo had returned with the towel at this point, handing it to Comte. Comte gently cleaned you up with it before carefully lifting you up. You let out a noise of protest and he laughed lightly, kissing your nose.

“I did tell you, ma cherie,” Comte murmured. “I may appear to be a gentleman on the surface, and I do try to remain kind and considerate to you, but in truth I am neither gentle nor man.”

When Leonardo had returned, he had tugged his pants back on and reclined in Comte’s bed. Comte laid you down on the bed in a much more comfortable position, with your body half laying on Leonardo. You contentedly snuggled into his warmth, Leonardo chuckling tiredly at the feeling.

“My bed isn’t large enough for three, unfortunately, so it’ll be a bit cramped. I apologize.” Comte was addressing his friend. You were just barely holding onto a wisp of consciousness at this point, feeling the bed dip behind you as Comte took his own place. He wrapped an arm around your waist, settling behind you. The combined body heat from both Leonardo and Comte quickly soothed you into sleep.

The last thing you heard before completely falling asleep was a murmur from Comte to Leonardo. “We can talk specifics later, old friend, but I wouldn’t be opposed to doing something like this again.”

Dividers by @/natimiles

Taglist: @natimiles @queengiuliettafirstlady @candiedcoffeedrops @goddesswitchmother @candied-boys

@fang-and-feather

Let me know if you'd like to be added!

[saruman-the-silly]

Oh hello... I wanted to make a request, I wanted to know how the Papas would react to seeing that y/n is a little chubby. Because I was looking in the mirror and I was so sad about what I saw, and now I'm lying in bed scrolling through Tumblr thinking about making this request... You don't have to do it if you don't want to, It's just that I love the way you write that I kept thinking about it.

I very much want to, thank you very much :D there is nothing, and I repeat, nothing wrong with being a little chubby, or being a lot more chubby! Whatever size you are, you are beautiful, remember that <3

This also gives me a reason to finally write something for Primo and Secondo so thank you hehe

soooooo I present to you, headcanons about the papas with a chubby reader! (gender neutral ofc hehe)

(I wrote this kind of quickly so if there are horrible grammatical errors, I will try and fix them as I find them lol)

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Headcanons: Papas with a chubby reader

Primo:

He's very old, and a bit old-fashioned, so he just instantly thought you were an angel when he saw you. Back in his days, the curvier you were, the more attractive you were.

When he got to know you as a person, he grew to love you very quickly.

All of your curves and imperfections were a work of art for him.

Primo is also such a gentle person, and would notice the instant you were feeling down/insecure. He doesn't pressure you to talk about it though, but he still makes sure you know that he's there for you.

If you wanna talk tho? He would listen really well, and after you had poured your insecurities out on the table, he would assure you that your curves just made you more, well, you. And you were his amore, the most beautiful thing in the world.

Secondo:

He's a serious guy who does not like to talk about emotions and stuff. (I don't think he even knows how but lmao anyway)

Secondo's usually serious and no-bullshit charade was quickly torn away by you and your delightful presence. (He was freaking out like crazy when he first met you, Terzo would not let him forget how he stumbled over his words when he was first introduced to you)

Also, fuck, he couldn't keep his eyes from you. Every time you are in a same room with him, his gaze almost involuntarily shifts back to you.

He loves you. So much. So when you came to him, telling how you didn't think you looked good, he was a little confused. How could you see yourself in such a light, when you had made such an impact on him?

He reassures you that yes, he wants to be with you and nobody else.

He doesn't really know say anything else. But he doesn't need to, his actions prove the endless love he harbours for you.

Terzo:

Ah, Terzo, our hopeless romantic.

Terzo has seen many different types of bodies up close and personal during his life, but not one of them could match your beauty.

Needless to say, when he first met you he fell. Hard. Like, head over heels. Out the door went his playboy days, he only had eyes for you.

He literally worships the ground you walk on.

You had trouble believing him, when he confessed his undying love for you. (Don't blame him he just likes to be theatrical but he really did mean it)

You confessed to Terzo about your insecurities, and he proved himself to be a great listener. After talking, he reassured you that yes, he meant what he said, yes, he wants to be with you.

He would then bring you in front of a mirror, and gently kiss and caress all the parts of your body you are insecure about.

Copia:

He would understand your struggles very well. Having a history with insecurities himself, Copia isn't a stranger to body dysmorphia.

Copia loves you. So much. You helped him get through a lot of his insecurities, so, now was his turn.

He let you vent, while making you a cup of tea, and wrapped you in a tight hug afterwards. You cried in his arms and he just held you and comforted you.

Copia is very direct about his feelings toward you. He lists all the things he loves about you, and tells you how you size just makes you all the more perfect. (the man loves thick thighs)

He would do his best to make you see yourself in the same light he sees you. Copia gently traces over your stretchmarks with his finger, then kisses them and whispers to you how beautiful you are.

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Thanks for the request annnd enjoy :D

Remember, you are beautiful no matter your size <3

[vintagetvstars]

Terry Jones Vs. Alan Alda

Propaganda

Terry Jones - (Monty Python's Flying Circus, Do Not Adjust Your Set) - I wish I could tell you all in a few sentences just how handsome, funny, intelligent, kind and soft-spoken Terry Jones was. How passionate he was about the things he loved, lacing his interests (like e.g. history) throughout all the projects he was working on. How he was supposedly always laughing and giggling when writing and reading out sketches. How he admired the art of silent movies/Buster Keaton and was obsessed with writing poems as a child. How he was described as a wonderful friend and a little as if he carried his own world around with him. But there is simply too much to tell and I adore him too much to pick the best facts, so this will have to do

Alan Alda - (M*A*S*H) - He is both the saddest wettest little meow meow and your kindly grandfather and your favourite eccentric uncle (mom's side). Somehow it works. Passionate Democrat, feminist, great writer, he and his books are hilarious. Did a cartwheel when he won an Emmy! How he met his wife is the best meet cute of the last two centuries, and they've now been married over 60 years!!!

Master Poll List | How to submit propaganda | What is vintage? (FAQ)

Additional propaganda below the cut

Alan Alda:

he’s just so good in MASH

he put so much bisexuality into hawkeye i think it fundamentally changed me when i was little and watching mash for the first time. anyway do we all know the story about how he met his wife when they were at a party together and they were the only two people eating the cake that fell on the floor and he fell in love with her over her laugh. i just think hes neat :) i love when theres a strange looking man. also feel it necessary to say that the guy that wrote the book mash was based on wrote himself as hawkeye and HATED alda's hawkeye bc he displayed his morals too much (alda had it in his contract for the show that every episode had to have an operating room scene bc otherwise you arent backdropping the fact that war is Not fun. actually. he almost didnt take the role bc he thought a war comedy would make too much light of the horrors)

please please please use this picture of him, he's so hot in it

His comedic delivery in MASH...

The story of how he met his wife is charming and sweet, and they've now been married 65 years

Just look at him. He's the most beautiful man I've ever seen but also he's completely average. He's got a weak jawlines and a round face and these big soft eyes and he's just so beautiful. He's capable of playing a silly charismatic sitcom protagonist in one scene, and a jaded army surgeon haunted by the deaths he's witnessed in the next. He's so hot that my dad once told me he decided to apply to medical school because of how much he was attracted to Hawkeye Pierce. That's literally how I learned that my father was bisexual.

He's also just a really great dude? He's been outspoken about his political beliefs for a long time, and has always been strongly and vocally anti-war, pro-feminist, and pro lgbt. He served a tour in the Korean war, and his experiences there informed his performance in the show. He (and honestly the entire cast, but especially him) really just soared above and beyond the standard for comedies of the day.

He's so funny and his eyes are pretty

He loves and is a champion of science (Source).

[lunerenzo]

Next Lifetime, 02

Art cred(s); @wacuoms

☆ Pairing(s). Barista!Suguru geto x Nursing student! reader 

☆ Content. Swearing, fluff, talks of food, reader is intended to be black but anyone can read, please let me know if i missed anything :)

☆ Notes. This chapter was a bit harder to write, but I'm still gonna try to update as often as possible. Words in bold is reader.

☆ Word count. 1.84k

REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED, Enjoy!

Masterlist. | Prev. | Next.

“Somethings off about you.” Shoko mumbles, eating one of the cookies she stole from the display cabinet. Suguru had been awfully cheery despite her and Satoru leaving him to do the morning rush by himself.“What are you talking about? I’m fine.” He responds with a  small smile, preoccupied with washing some of the tupperware. “No, she’s right. You’re not yelling at us for eating the food, what happened?.” Gojo bellowed with his mouth half full. Feet swinging as he sits on the counter. Suguru shrugs, turning off the water and grabbing the dish rag off his shoulder. “Well, if you were here like you were supposed to earlier, you would know.” “Okay, but we’re not talking about us. We’re talking about you.”

Suguru scoffs, squatting down and putting the cups in the cabinet. “There uh, was a girl that came in early this morning.” Behind him, Shoko and Gojo look at each other. A look of confusion on each others face. “Okay, a customer came in? So what?” He stands back up to his full height after putting everything away. Turning around and leaning against the back counter. “Yeah but like…i don’t know dude. She was beautiful.” Gojo hops off the counter after noticing a customer walk-in, dusting his hands off. Shoko groans, rolling her eyes. “I swear to god, if you hook-up with another-” Geto whips his head in her direction, scowling. “Oh, shut up.” “No, she's right. Do you know how many people we’ve lost because of you?” Satoru chimes in, ripping off the paper from the printer. Walking to the other side of the back counter and pinning the order on the assembly line above . “What was the last guys name? I think it was jay…Or was it Rowan?” Geto smacks the back of his head. “Ow!” “Shut the fuck up, this is different.” They sit there quietly for a while. Shoko walks by shaking her head, glancing at the order sheet before getting to work on the milk bread while Gojo works on the drink. “You’re just mad cause you know we’re right.” 

“Anyway..” Suguru grits, glaring at them both briefly. “She had came in as soon as I opened almost. I was kind of irritated because like..who is up and about that early in the morning, but when i turned around and it was like the world stopped..” Shoko and Satoru rolled their eyes simultaneously. “I don’t know if it was the sunset and the lights playing tricks on me or what, but it looked like she was literally glowing. And she had these gorgeous [e/c] eyes. Her hair was pushed back and so i could see her face and she was the most beautiful person I’ve seen. Her voice was nice too, was kinda velvety but still sounded sweet.” “What was her name?” Satoru mumbled, crushing pieces of mango in the bottom of the glass, adding flavored iced cubes in shortly after. “[Reader].” Shoko looks up from the plate she was preparing. “You get her number?” His lips part slightly before pressing them together, looking down before mumbling lowly. “No.” Shoko and Gojo snicker at his misfortune, watching as he wallows in a corner.

    •───────•°•❀•°•───────•

It’s well into the evening, things have slowed down. Few people, students, sitting in keeping to themselves as the trio have a hushed conversion. The bell that hangs above the door goes off, causing said employees to disperse lazily. “Good evening.” Shoko says with a smile on her face, The other two sit there on their phones. “Hello!” Suguru’s head snapped up, It was her. The girl from this morning. Twice in one day? He didn’t know what he did to deserve this but he is not complaining. He shoves his phone in his back pocket, straightening his clothes a little and tucking the loose hairs from his half-up, half-down, hairstyle away before turning around from behind the counter. 

“H-Hey!” He waved briefly, a lop-sided smile plastered on his lips as he tries to not sweat literal bullets. [Reader] looks at him briefly before doing a double take and her eyes widen slightly, a huge smile on her face. “Oh, hey Suguru!” His heart stuttered a bit. “What are you doing back here?” “I wanted to study but i didn’t want to stay cooped up at home either. Ya’know?” Geto chuckles a bit awkwardly, shaking his head. “Totally.” He had no clue what she was talking about. “Uh, what did you wanna get?” He lightly pushes Shoko away with his hip, taking over the register. She looks up the menu that hangs above, Suguru uses this as a chance to admire her. His eyes slightly lidded with a gentle and dreamy look in them.

“Uhhh, i’ll take a dragonfruit mocktail and a vanilla bean cake.” He jumps slightly, straightening his posture.  “Five, fifteen.” He pops open the register once he notices her pulling out cash. Handing her change once he takes it. “No need, keep the change.” His brow lifted, “Seriously?” “Yeah.” Suguru closes the drawer, pocketing the little money. “I’ll get it to you soon.” He nods, as she walks away with a small ‘thanks’. “So when's the wedding?” Gojo giggled. Geto rolls his eyes, he honestly forgot they were even there. “Oh fuck off.” “You should’ve seen the way you were looking at her.” Shoko added. He rolls his eyes moving past them to start on the order. “Okay, whatever. Can you not be so loud about it? She’s literally two feet away.” Gojo strolls to the side of him, leaning on his elbow to look at him despite Suguru deliberately avoiding him. “So, you gonna get her number?” He leans over him, grabbing the small pitcher of lime juice. “Uhh, maybe.” He says slowly, pouring a little of it before grabbing the bag of freeze dried dragon fruit. 

“If you don’t i will.” Shoko declared, leaning against the counter on the other side of Geto. Watching [Reader] as she sat in the bean bag across the way. Pulling out her laptop. “Like hell you will.” Suguru argued, smashing up the fruits at the bottom of the cup and putting ice in it. “Don’t even know if she’s single.” He grumbled, snatching the liter of sprite from the mini fridge.  “Just ask, and if she says she isn’t, get her number.” Gojo shrugs. “Yeah, you’re making a big deal out of nothing.” Shoko added, getting a slice of vanilla cake out and on a plate. He sighs. “I’ll try.”

☆A/N. I don't know how to feel on the ending. I'm making the masterlist for this soon. If any want to be on the tag list let me know!

© 2023 lunerenzo, please don’t plagiarize or translate work.

[blond3ang3l]

Lemme give you a megaphone so the ppl in the back can hear you bestie‼️🫶🏽

Like yes I wanna be longingly fucked sideways with fingers down my throat till I’m all teary eyed but….what if me and him just went to a museum and look at marble statues or paintings made by artists from long ago and point out the small details while sharing the historical context behind them. Or what if we held hands while going to a coffee shop owned by a small business then an old bookshop. We could read classic literature and write poems to each other or sum🤷🏾

I love this so much. Like the causal intimacy of being together with your girlfriend/boyfriend and being able to have interesting conversations and spending time with you is what makes doing things like this so great. Both of your phones away in your back pockets so that you both have one another’s attention. Time can go by so fast without the distractions of other people around trying to voice opinions. Learning together and growing together as you both grow older.

There are many different characters I can see this with. Especially when it comes to the women. Most time they are some of the most intellectual people and they just get thrown off. The AOT girls are the first ones that come to mind. Mikasa and Historia especially. Those two would absolutely love to do something casual with you. Historia is an absolute renaissance art lover. Michaelangelo is would be one of her favorite artists. She knows so many facts and can tell you for literal hours. Painting dates ejth Historia oh my lord. One of her favorite things to do. She’s so messy with it and it’s so cute.

Mikasa though? She’s all for cafe dates. She is obsessed with you. Now I think Mikasa and Historia had a bit more fancier taste because of who they are, but Mikasa loved being to be close to you and just hear you talk to her about just about anything. Her pretty nails that you did for her, twisting around your curls as she sat prettily on your lap while you fed the small cake that she bought for you guys.

Another girl I think this works for is Bulma from dragonball. Oh my god that woman is beautiful and smart. Museum dates are 100% guaranteed. She’s one of the smartest characters in that entire show and you think you’re getting out of hearing everything that woman knows? She is so graceful with it too. The two of you walking around hand in hand while she educates you on all the different facts is so amazing. She also loves how much you know on your niche and different interests. Especially if comes things about science or the body. She loves being able to talk to someone on her level or educate you.

When it comes to men the first thing to comes to men first people that come to mind are Nanami and Levi. We all know how Nanami is, he’s the hardworking man that we all love and there’s no way you guys don’t have a museum date at least once. But, I can see nanami doing bakery dates. Something small you both can fit in your busy schedules because nanami had made a vow to himself that you guys do at-least two times a month. He loves to use that time to discuss anything you think has been affecting you guys, whether to be in the relationship or just something bothering you at work or whatever. If there’s nothing bother you then you guys just talk about any events coming up or even planning the future you want to have for the both of you. It’s the ambiance of the bakery that makes you both feel so calm which is so different from the many things you have to do all day. He holds your hand as you speak, rubbing his thumb over your knuckle while watching your lips as he digest every word that comes from your lips.

Levi is totally the bookstore date kind of man. Sometimes you guys don’t really want or have anything to talk about. You just both miss each other so you sit together while reading. Both doing your own thing but being close enough to fill the need of being together. You both have your own books (headcanon that Levi prefers audio books instead cause of his lost of vision) and you rest your hand on his lap as you sit together on the small bench in for bookstore. He is retired so you two take a lot of time to yourselves, just enjoying the presence of one another..

Even people like Captain price and Laswell from call of duty, they love going out to drive in movies with you. You end up sitting on their lap while they laid in the back seat. Halfway through the movie those two aren’t even watchin anymore. Laswell would just be kissing the back of your neck while wrapping her arms around your waist, silently thinking about how lucky she is to have you in her life. While price is just happily watching all perched up in his lap, smoking his cigar, and thinking about how in love he is with you.

———————————————————————

Anyways I love all these ideas and a lot of people currently (especially men) don’t do dates and showing affection like people used to. I feel with how everything is on social media people just mostly look for someone sexually or they base a lot of opinions on the sexual aspect of the relationship. Like yeah that’s great and all but I want someone to YEARN for me. To want to be around me and miss me when I’m gone. Someone willing to remember small things because I feel like when someone knows you well knows what efforts to put in when it comes to loving you and showing you ways they do.

And I’m fortunately lucky enough to have a man like that❤️ @insane-juggalo

[emotionallyattachednerd]

Confessions | Knightverse Bumblebee x GN!human reader | SFW

Word count: 1800+

Warnings: None. Just a first kiss. ( for once there is no smut 😅 )

Notes: This is a art trade for @bi-polar-geminii. Loved trying out something different with Bumblebee and my writing style. Hope you enjoy. ❤️

☕ Coffee

Bumblebee enjoyed spending time with you whenever possible. You always made him feel special, and he returned the same by making you feel just the same. He understood you were very different, species wise, but that doesn’t stop his feelings from growing more fondly about you every passing day. The urge to confess keeps creeping, about to burst out at any moment, but he holds it all in fearing you’ll reject him, and so he continues to be your friend.

What he doesn’t know is that you feel the very same about him, but keep it all sealed up, despite just how much it’s bothering you. It feels like an itch you can’t reach and it’s growing more intense the more you spend time with him. You do ask yourself the worst that could happen and the worst scenarios always run through your head, over and over again it happens, and this is what holds you back. Its torture, and you’re unsure just how much longer you can hold it in.

On one of Bumblebee’s days off he drives you to one of your favourite spots to hang out together, someplace quiet, where it’s only just you two and mother nature surrounding. The drive is always nice and he places your favourite music, listening to you sing along with your hand out the rolled down window against the wind. The sound of your voice is a beautiful melody to Bumblebee’s audios, and he would love to sing along with you, but since he lost his voice all he can do is play whatever music you wanted. You’re happy, and that’s all that mattered to him.

Once you arrive, Bumblebee carries you across the thicket towards the river bank, settling you down once in the clear and you both take in your surroundings and nature's music. It’s beautifully relaxing. You breathe in deeply and let out a satisfied exhale while setting the sun observe into your skin. Bumblebee mimics this, just to be a part of your relaxation.

“Feel that sun, breathe in that fresh air, hear nature's music, this is the kind of life to live.” You say wearing a fond smile. “If only this was right in my backyard, it would be parricide.”

"Is that something you would like? Why not change your life to have this?" He asked through his radio over a few channels.

“Oh, as much as I would like to, I have work and friends I don’t want to leave. Sometimes that’s the way of life, but I have no regrets. What I already have is something that is irreplaceable, I wouldn’t trade it for the world.” That’s the truth you speak as you offer him a sweet smile.

Bumblebee listens closely, enticed by your speech. You were such a wonderful human being that saw so much beauty in everything, so caring, beautiful. Finding the right channel through his radio, he goes to speak, to confess something that's been nagging in his helm.

"You're perfect, kind, and you-"

“Oh Bee, look over there.” You didn’t mean to cut him off but you notice something in the water struggling to swim. It’s a tiny Bumblebee, who had made an unfortunate mistake and got themselves submerged in the water. Without hesitation you take your shoes off and enter the shallow bank, gently using your hands you scoop it up, saving its life. There is little care about your clothes getting wet or dirty, all that mattered to you was the poor little guy.

Bumblebee watches this happen and tilts his head curiously at the small creature sitting in your hands, tired from the struggle, but resting calmly as they try to get themselves dry and regain their energy. He’s seen cruelness in the universe, even earth. Such a creature wasn’t always looked out for and so are forced to take care of themselves without help, and in this creature's final moments near death, they are saved by the most kind hearted human this universe didn’t deserve. Bugs die all the time, every day, but this bug won’t be one of them today.                 

“Poor thing.” You coo calmly at it, bringing your hand closer to your face. “Don’t worry little guy, you’re safe now. You can rest there for as long as you need.” Looking back at Bumblebee you give an innocent smile. “I know it might seem strange talking to a bug, but I believe all living things can understand us somehow, even though we can’t understand them, but there’s a connection and it's up to us to find it, to make that connection work. They need help sometimes and it's up to us to offer that help, it’s a choice. There’s beauty in this world and these little guys have a big part in it, pollinating the world and bringing life everywhere.” You explain to him, all the while you watch the fuzzy bumblebee in your hand with a smile. “Thank you, little one.”

Bumblebee tilts his helm curiously. “Why…appreciation?”

“Well, like I said, they help keep our world thriving, and without them our world wouldn’t be anything beautiful like it is. Like you and the autoboots, you’re here to protect earth and humans from decepticons. Without you, our world would be destroyed.”

Then, Bumblebee feels a heavy emotion, a dread. "We failed our world. Protecting yours is our priority. I don't want to fail you."

Tilting your head up, you listen to what he says to you, curious by the tone you picked up on. "I believe in you, Bee. You could never disappoint me. Sorry, I think I cut you off before. What were you going to say?"

Now it's Bumblebee's turn to hesitate, a shy little child worried about the outcome of what he truly wanted to say to you. Humming buzzing sound from him, before he finally confesses through his radio. "You complete me."

His words make your heart skip a beat. "I...I complete you? What do you mean by that?" You need to make sure, to dig deeper, find the source of what he just said to you.

Bumblebee stares at the crawling bee on her hand, desperately trying to clean and dry itself. He knows there's no backing out of it, and answers without looking at her.

"When you realise you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible." A famous quote he found, and the only one he seemed to find and fit in the situation he brought himself in.

The confession truly takes your breath away, a warmth floods through your entire body, causing goosebumps to rush through your skin and tickling your tiny hairs. Still, as beautiful as his quote was, you needed more clarification, just to be sure.

"Bee, do you love me?" As forward as it sounded, it's all you could think of in the moment, to put it out there. Your eyes are fixed on him as you await his answer.

Through his sudden shyness, he tilts his helm at you and manages to give a simple nod, right before tearing his gaze away back onto the bug you continue to hold. It's something you've only dreamed about, a love confession from your favourite yellow bug, from Bumblebee.

Stepping closer you touch his surprisingly warm plating at his servo, gaining his attention, watching as his baby blue optics shift directly onto you, looking like a frightened child that tugs at your heart. There was no need to question further as to why he didn't say anything before, because you had also done it, keeping your feelings all bottled up. Both of you were worried about the outcome, but now it's all happening, and there is only one thing to do that struck your mind.

"Kiss me."

For a split second Bumblebee is confused before his optics glow brightly, happiness blooming through him hearing these words. Slowly he leans forward, his helm tilts, and you meet with him before sealing your soft lips over the grill of his mouth guard. It might not seem like it but you feel him kissing you back, gently pressing as you let the kiss linger for as long as possible. There's a concoction of emotions, your racing heart beats quickly, a bundle of nerves tightens at your chest, and a flood of happiness bursts through your whole body. The moment leaves you giggling silently on the inside, a love and affection latching onto the moment with what feels like butterflies fluttering around your stomach.

When the kiss is finally broken all you both can do is stare at one another closely, fond eyes and optics holding together before your beaming smile grows more. "Oh Bee, you've got a bee on you."

That he does. In the moment the tiny bee had crawled from her hand and onto his face, still crawling around but looking better than before. He doesn't mind, in fact he enjoys having the tiny bug on him, thinking it as a trust bond just like the bug had for you.

Your hand rests against his cheek plating, fingers gently soothing while he leans into your touch, humming in delight as the weight is lifted so quickly from the both of you, all worries and nerves no longer lingering.

"We're both a little silly." You hear yourself say. "But maybe that's what makes us perfect together. I want so much for us. You're not only my friend, but the one I've grown to love so much. Is this what you want, for something more between us?"

Bumblebee nods eagerly before looking up around, noticing the sun setting and the moon lightly appearing under the pink bubble gum sky and speaks through a channel of his radio. "What do you want? You want the moon? Just say the word and I'll throw a lasso around it and pull it down. Hey, that's a pretty good idea. I'll give you the moon."

Letting out a pleasant giggle you hold your hand over across his servo. "As lovely as that sounds I don't think mother nature would appreciate that. I want you. I want our fairy tale, that's all I need."

Bumblebee lets out another low hum before moving his servo up to his face to allow the tiny bee to crawl onto his digit and bring it back down between you both. Finally, the bee had enough strength, twitching its fuzzy body and taking flight, flying around them both as if it was trying to thank them, before flying away and back to its colony through the vibrant trees.

It was a beautiful moment, one neither of you will ever forget. Turning to Bumblebee again, you kiss his cheek plating and beam brightly. "Can we stay a little longer? Maybe we could cuddle?"

He's more than happy to do that. "Happily ever after."

[teatraps]

Would it make sense if I said that it feels like when people interpret Edgar, they’re more interested in Edgar as a concept than his actual character? Sometimes it feels like they’re fascinated with the idea of this guy who’s completely consumed by his love of art but then don’t go in depth on the actual build up to that love, his morals, his values, or his motives.

Whenever there’s an artist in idv, their art is usually an extension of a deeper desire. Phillipe uses his wax sculptures to embody his sense of justice and righteousness (it’s a flawed idea of justice, but that’s a different discussion). Vera’s perfumes are tied to her desire for acceptance and acknowledgment in the way that her perfume would’ve been the ticket to getting attention and the way that she’s now trying to use Euphoria to erase herself and become Vera which would give her acceptance. Aesop engages in the art of embalming, but it also acts as his way of trying to “preserve” people while they’re in their “best state” and spare them from life. Anne likes to make toys, but it also works as a way to show her desire for motherhood and her attempts to cling to childhood (I think, I don’t know Anne that well). The ripper uses the art of murder to subvert the minds of others and make a statement. Galatea uses her sculptures to try and obtain the physical maturity she knows she’ll never get.

All of these characters, and many more that I didn’t mention, use their art form as an extension of themselves and the art is tied to their goals. But when I see ppl interpret Edgar, it’s like his motives come second and the art comes first. People understand that Edgar is incredibly fixated on art, but why he loves art so much seems to get lost in translation a lot of times. It makes his character seem aimless because he literally only exists to paint. They don’t elaborate on why he paints or what significance it has for his overall character. If a character is going to be so centered around their obsession, then there should be a reason why they’re so obsessed, but a lot of the interpretations I see don’t go deeper on that part. That’s not to say he doesn’t have a reason, I’d argue he does and it’s stated in his deductions with the whole “life is beautiful and the brush can preserve that beauty.” People usually ditch this part of his character, writing it off as a part of his personality that’s just gone now because of all the bad stuff that happened to him. But then the question becomes, why does he still paint? If he really doesn’t have any hope for this world and thinks everything sucks and doesn’t even want to engage with it anymore, then what is he still picking up the brush for?

(Also this is just provably not true because the last thing he says in his deductions is “life is always odd, yet pleasant,” showing he still does like life and appreciates the beauty it holds.)

I think this is why people are chill with the idea of Edgar basically only existing to die in the narrative and don’t question his actions further. People accept the idea of Edgar sacrificing himself for his art while not asking how that helps his art in the first place. Since they don’t look deeper into Edgar’s motives outside of “he wants to create a masterpiece and he likes to paint,” they can blindly accept the idea that he just dies for his art. He doesn’t need to have a motive outside of that because his only motive in a lot of ppl’s interpretations is just painting. It feels like a bit of a cop-out because he literally has no reason to be doing all of this. Since they disregarded all of the parts of his character that involve why he started painting in the first place (being his love of life and a desire to capture its beauty) it makes it feel like he’s just messing around and waiting for someone to come along and just kill him. Since he has no real motives, values, or desires, he essentially becomes fodder for Patricia to kill. As it stands with this kind of interpretation, he can’t do much else. If he’s not fighting for anything or trying to achieve or maintain anything, all he really can do is die. And not even die with a purpose because again, this type of interpretation doesn’t elaborate on how his death helped his art at all. It comes off as some random edgy ending to a character with no defined goal. Then they explain it away with “he’s unhinged” as if that actually explains anything about his character or motives.

When he said “I don’t care about anything except art” a lot of people took that at face value. They didn’t take into account the symbolism of art in Edgar’s narrative, or the reactionary nature of that statement as a response to Edgar realizing he’s being groomed. I say this a lot, but Edgar’s art symbolizes a lot of things in his storyline. It represents his psyche, like with his paintings egging him on to kill Sarai. It represents his love of life as I stated earlier. It represents the bonds he forms with others like how he relates colors to people he cared about. He uses art metaphors a lot to explain his thoughts and how he processes events, like when he says he had a dream of Sarai guiding his hand across a canvas being one of the main first signs of Sarai grooming him. People take Edgar’s word very literally but often times when he’s talking about art, it can be extended to mean something else.

In general, it just feels like people don’t ask why enough when it comes to their Edgar analysis. Why does he paint? Why couldn’t he find inspiration in his home? Why does he think going to the manor will help him? Why did he hate the aristocracy so much? The answers to these questions are in his plot, but people don’t seem to engage with them. When Edgar says he hates the aristocracy people tend to hone in on the fact he says that they don’t understand or respect art, but going back to the whole art metaphors thing, that’s not all he’s mad about. He’s constantly talking about their greed, hypocrisy, and gossiping. He finds them shallow which shows Edgar’s values. He values people genuinely caring for one another. He doesn’t like when people make up stuff about others and ostracize people based on it. His criticisms of his father in his 3rd letter could extend to the entire aristocracy as a whole. They’re all more focused on status and wealth than the actual content of their character. But this all gets lost under the idea that he literally just didn’t like the aristocracy because they didn’t like art enough which I’m sorry but that is such a garbage and shallow reason. Especially when, again, most people cannot actually pinpoint why Edgar even likes to paint in the first place. It doesn’t do the complexity of his character justice. When Edgar says, “life is beautiful and the brush can preserve that beauty,” it gives him a motive. He’s not just painting to paint, he’s painting to make the overwhelming love and astonishment he has for life tangible. When Edgar is clocking his dad’s tea, it shows his morals. It shows that he thinks it’s wrong to use and/or neglect people for fame and status. However, all of these things are expressed through metaphor, which is when things start getting lost. His resentment of the aristocracy is said through saying they don’t respect art. Edgar’s adoration for all life has to offer is shown through his dedication to his art. Edgar’s frustration with his father is described by him as his father using his art. And even though Edgar is talking about art, it means so much more than that.

People play with the concepts of a rich kid who resents his peers but don’t look into why he does. People play with the concept of someone who’s unhealthily committed to his craft, but don’t examine why he is. People like the idea of Edgar, but they don’t seem to engage with the actual character of Edgar. They see the concepts but don’t see what the writers are saying with these concepts through Edgar and this results in having what feels like a shallow, bratty kid who has no actual motivations or goals and then dies for an unsatisfying ending to his story. It gives no closure, says nothing about his character, and feels like it was something an edgy 12 year old came up with as a “cool and controversial” finale for an underdeveloped character.

I could go even further as say this is why there’s such a big shipping scene for Edgar but very little content regarding how he interacts with others in his actual canon lore. Because this type of interpretation of Edgar is so far removed from everything and everyone else, basically living entirely in his own head until he dies, people put him in ships with basically every character to fill the perceived void of interactions Edgar has in canon. They seek to expand his character and who he could be with all these ships because it feels like he doesn’t have much of a character in canon. Now this isn’t true, but I believe it is perceived that way by the fandom. I also think this is why a lot of people who aren’t fans of him find him shallow. His general demeanor off put them (and it was supposed to, he is a character built on misdirection) and when they try to look deeper into him through what his fans say, it sounds more like a list of concepts than an actual character. This again makes him seem underdeveloped and boring to them, so they go on to call his character shallow and boring. Probably why you also see people go to the furthest extremes when characterizing him, either making him downright deplorable or overly sweet and kind. People don’t investigate the things that formed him into who he is outside of the very surface level, leading people to portray him in an almost caricature of his actual traits. He’s arrogant? Then he must be a complete jerk to everyone and have zero regard for other people. He cares deeply about his art? Then his art is quite literally number one priority, no matter who has to get hurt to achieve that. He can be a bit standoffish? Then he must go out of his way to be rude to people he views as lesser. And who does he deem lesser? Everyone apparently, because when he was talking about the way people don’t understand art, people don’t analyze what understanding art even means for Edgar. They don’t analyze what Edgar’s critiques of the aristocracy are when it came to the way they consumed art outside of this vague idea of “they just don’t get it” which is so devoid of actual meaning that people just assume that idea projects onto literally everyone. He’s mentally ill and struggles with psychosis? Then he’s an absolutely deranged and unhinged freak who can barely function (and that’s not even covering how toxic of an interpretation that is when it comes to mental illness as well as completely disregards the fact that Edgar is explicitly stated and shown to be rational and good at taking in his surroundings).

Edgar is a character that requires a lot of engagement, especially since his character is built on misdirection. The audience has to be willing to accept that the writers are misleading them about his character and try to look deeper into his words and actions to understand his true character. Unfortunately, it feels like a lot of ppl don’t want to.

[where-does-the-heart-lie]

Can we have a deeper analysis in Sabo's shape language study please? It's amazing how you make him give different vibes with just his hair and I like to understand how does that work.

Oh. I'm SO glad you asked.

(The Post In Question)

Okay so this isnt the first post ive made about shape language,

Here are the others:

ASL Shapes Strawhats Shapes

i'm just gonna copy and paste the definition i have for shape language from those posts here so i dont have to write it all again.

Shape language is defined as “a concept used in art and animation to communicate meaning based on shapes we are familiar with” (source). This concept uses circles, triangles, and squares to convey an idea of the “personality” of the design without using any words.

In designs, using circles and rounded edges in your silhouette and detailing gives the design a soft and squishy look. They tend to be harmless, approachable, or changeable.

Designs using squares gives the design a solid, sturdy, and strong look. They are supportive, reliable, and inflexible

Lastly, triangle designs are sharp and directional. They are dynamic, dangerous, and unpredictable.

That's base level but here's more in depth description of each design for ya:

this one is up first!

You may notice how in this design, his hair isnt in large clumps like the others are. His hair falls delicately and waves gently with little to no hard angles.

In this design, i was trying to convey the idea of "he wasnt born to fight, but he's molded himself into someone who will." I tried to depict that by making his hair all light and feathery, his facial features soft and rounded, but also showing how he's modified his body in a pointy and aggressive way.

I didn't want to only go hard edges with the piercings though because much like he's strayed from his mold of being delicate, he's also strayed from his mold of being a cruel noble. so some of his piercings are rings, AKA: Circles.

You may also notice the different in how I've drawn the collars of these guys. the collar of this Babo's black coat falls softly, and its' arc is rounded. The shoulders don't have any padding and it rounds at the corner.

This Man Is Round.

Next up is this Freak

This is supposed to be Triangle Him.

His hair is in larger, hard angled clumps. Indicating that he probably cut his hair himself. He did... greattt. I already headcannon him as someone who cuts his own hair, but i dont think this one ever gets any better at it.

The hard angles on his teeth, his scar, his jaw, his collar, that line i forgot to erase on the left, and his coat all give indication that this guy is Dangerous and you probably shouldnt mess with him.

I didn't have any real deeper meaning to this version, I just wanted to make him look as opposing as I could. this guy is "what you see is pretty much what you get."

Even though he doesn't have a lot of deeper meaning, I think this one is my favorite of the designs. I really love these colors on him and his hair was really fun to draw. I think I wanna draw him again at some point. I think this version of him would be very funny paired with Koala. I'm chuckling thinking about it:

Koala and her Armed and On Fire kindergartener

And lastly this guy

Sabo's base design is very rectangle coded. From his Hat, to his face shape, to his coat. So this version was very easy to make as I didn't actually need to change that much!

I think maybe I could've made his design a little more complex? But also I think there is a beauty in simplicity for this one. He looks straightforward, reliable, and kind. He seems like the kind of guy who gets his hands dirty, not because he likes doing it, but because he does what he must for the greater good.

I really love his hazel eyes, too. I think it brings a nice warmth to his design that is really nice.

Additional comments:

I love talking about this stuff. I love designing. I love art. I love drawing so much it's so fun

Everytime I get to sit down and make some funky doodles my brain feels like 🧠🤸🧘🧜🧚🙋‍♀️🙋‍♀️🧚💃💃💃💃💃💃

If you got this far thanks for reading :)

I usually have a description for my designs and my choices and stuff and I forgot to do one for this post, it makes me happy to see that it was missed :)

[syn4k]

hello!!! as you are the resident miante person in mcyt (there might be another one but in my opinion it's you) I have a question: if I wanted to watch mianite how would I go about that/where do I find it? I know it's a youtube thing but I don't know which channel it's actually on and I am. Extremely Curious about it & want to watch it but I have no idea where to do that /genuine question

(also, I know it's got multiple POVs, is there anyone you'd recommend I start with?)

hello! thanks for the ask!

mianite has four main POVs that remain in VOD and episode form on the creators' channels, they all have a playlist for it and you can find them pretty easily by looking up "[creator name] mianite s1" on youtube.

i recommend starting off with jordan captainsparklez' POV like we did, as he is involved in mostly everything in both s1 and s2 and his episodes are edited down to only really have the important bits. if you decide to watch back through the series later from another perspective, tom syndicate's POV is another good one to watch as he's kind of on the opposite side of everything happening in s1 and it puts a lot of his actions in context that jordan left out of his episodes.

if you don't want to watch through the series in its entirety (which is completely understandable), fern @voidandradiance has made a playlist of the important lore moments in both mianite s1 and s2 that she'd be happy to share :]

also it's really funny to me that we are the resident Mianite Guy to you when we've only been here for like, six months. this series turns ten years old today and there are people in this fandom who have been here since the beginning of it or at least who have been here for way, way longer than we have.

if you do end up sticking around here, i cannot recommend these people enough:

@kiwibirdlafayette - AMAZING artist who has been here in the trenches here since 2014. syndisparklez enthusiast. his art-only blog is @grailknightmonty and he also posts Hermitcraft stuff occasionally :3

@transandor chase my good friend chase!! resident Jordan Captainsparklez Guy. brilliant writer, also happens to be fistfighting The Horrors, you know how it his

@voidandradiance i already tagged him before and i'll fuckin do it again because this bitch's writing is stunning beyond words and xyr brain is HUGE. if you like the style of the stuff we write, you'll LOVE fern's work. its so beautiful that i physically cannot overhype it. its so good, y'all. its so fucking good.

@syndianites is, as far as we're concerned, the mouth of god himself when it comes to Tom Syndicate SynHD. there is nobody on this site who understands this character better than she does. they consistently leave the most galaxy brain objectively correct tags about him on our posts and she never fucking misses. this bitch Gets It and i am very lucky to be her friend

@coolcattime's blog is more of a general purpose one, like ours is, but she carries the f/f ships in the Mianite fandom and is also a great writer! she's written a lot of neat AU ideas and although we haven't talked with her much she definitely lives up to her url- she's one cool cat :]

@cactusprisms is also someone that we see around a lot in the notes of our mianite posts, although we unfortunately havent talked much. also more of a general purpose blog but worth following anyways. shes vibing.

hope this helps! <3