#inks goddamn cute freckles

[toffeebrews]

I love how my brain went; out of all the fictional crushes I could've had, it went, "Yeah, know, those two au skeletons you used to love in middle school? You will crush on them. " Why did my brain do this to me, huh? I didn't choose this life. YOU THINK I CHOOSE TO CRUSH ON THOSE TWO DOOFUSES??? (error by @/loverofpiggies ink by @/coymet)

(fictional crushes on unconventional characters is fine right? in 2024? i won't get like slammed right? please? please don't dox me.)

[jeanie-g]

#28 drysdale and zegras "ghosts" the autumn mini fic list :)

sorry for the delay! i'm literally in japan rn lol. but here it is!

[#28] ghosts

Trevor didn't hate the house, but it certainly wasn't a place he'd ever imagine living in. It was old and gothic, and shaped sort of like an octagon if you walked all the way around. It had these big bay windows that arced menacingly, and a goddamn spire at the top. It was also far too large for just his mom and him, but it was better than the alternative.

Trevor had to remind himself that they were lucky, after all. What were the odds that Great-Great Auntie Heim would kick the bucket and leave the house to Trevor's mom right around the time his dad filed for divorce?

Sure, Trevor didn't hate the house, but he didn't have to like it, either.

He did get his own room, though. Right at the top of the stairs on the third floor, on its own level along with the sewing room and the attic. It was probably triple the size of his room in Buffalo, with a walk-in closet with double doors and a hardwood floor that creaked with every step.

It was sparse save for a bed in the corner, a nightstand, and a writing desk—all covered in a thick layer of dust. Clearly, nobody had stepped into this room in quite a while—a few years at least. It gave Trevor the heebie-jeebies. He wouldn't be surprised if it was haunted.

His mom wanted him to unpack as soon as possible, but Trevor didn't have it in him to play cleanup and probably hack up a lung while doing it. He dropped his bags by the door. He'd worry about it when it was time to sleep.

Bounding back down the carpeted stairs, he tried to ignore the sounds of his mom on the landline, no doubt arguing with his dad for the umpteenth time that week. He hated hearing them fight—in Trevor's mind, the one consolation of the divorce was that they'd be doing a lot less of it once it was in motion. That turned out to be fruitless fantasy. They were fighting more than ever now—about lawyers or assets, or—well, him.

Trevor'd wanted to stay in Buffalo with his dad. He never really faulted him in any of this—saw divorce as an inevitability, really. He didn't wanna leave his school and his friends and his team back home. But he was only 17, and his dad said that his mom needed him, so here he was.

The pitch of the one-sided conversation only sharpened by the time Trevor reached the bottom. He rolled his eyes and shoved his hands in his pockets; he needed to get out of this house for a bit.

It was windy in Syracuse, and a dull overcast hung above them like an omen. Trevor welcomed the breeze as he stepped outside and sat on the porch steps, closing his eyes and willing all the buzzing in his head to vanish.

He sat in silence for a few minutes before a voice sounded several yards away.

"So, you're the new neighbors, then?"

Trevor opened his eyes with a start, relaxing somewhat at the sight of a boy around his age standing beside the mailbox. He was too far away to make out any distinct features, but his dark hair and eyebrows stood out against the sky like spilled ink.

"You can talk, right?" The boy continued, smiling, and only then did Trevor realize he hadn't answered.

"Oh, uh, yeah." He flushed. "I mean, yeah we're the new neighbors." He stood, taking his hands out of his pockets. "And yeah, I can talk," he added sheepishly.

The boy chuckled. He walked a bit closer, and Trevor could better make out his face now. Pale, dotted with light freckles, with piercing blue eyes. He looked...soft was the only word Trevor could come up with. Well, that and cute, despite his best efforts. He was undeniably cute, and his smile was contagious.

"I'm Jamie," the boy said. "I live next door." He gestured to the house a bit aways from them—not too different from Great-Great-Auntie Heim's, but maybe a little more dilapidated. The purple tiling was cracked and sun-spotted, and some of the shutters were broken or missing. That was kind of par for the course for these old houses though.

"I'm Trevor. I live, well, here." Trevor cringed at himself, but Jamie just chuckled again.

"I would hope so, or I might have to call the cops and have you booked."

Trevor chuckled, hands finding his pockets again. "So, doing the mandatory welcome wagon, then? Did your parents put you up to it?"

Jamie blinked. "Oh, I don't live with my parents." He said it so nonchalantly that it threw Trevor off.

"Oh, um. I'm sorry."

Jamie smiled softly. "Don't be. They're fine, just back home in Toronto. We used to all come down here to see my grandparents, but now it's just me."

Trevor breathed a tiny sigh of relief. Phew—no dead parents. "Oh. Uh, that's cool."

"What brings you here?"

And Trevor had to immediately suck in a new breath. He turned and spotted his mom through the crack in the door, still ranting on the phone. She wouldn't mind Trevor airing their dirty laundry to their new neighbor, would she?

Trevor turned back to Jamie. There was no need to sugarcoat it, especially if they were going to be seeing a lot of each other. Plus, it'd be nice to be able to talk a bit of shit with someone who knows nothing about him.

"My parents are getting divorced. My mom wanted a new place but we couldn't really afford one. In comes my distant great aunt from stage left, and, well, here we are."

Jamie frowned. "I'm sorry. For your parents and your aunt."

Trevor waved his hand. "It was overdue, if you ask me. As for my aunt, we weren't that close. I think I met her, like, once when I was a baby. I'm surprised she left the house to us, really."

Jamie shrugged. "Life works in mysterious ways. Ana was a great woman, though."

"Right. You're her...were her neighbor. I should be saying sorry to you. You knew her better than I ever did."

Again, Jamie shrugged, but he said nothing else.

From inside, something crashed, followed by a string of curses half in English and half in Greek.

"That would be my cue to get back inside probably. It was really nice to meet you, though, Jamie."

"You, too," Jamie said. "I'll see you, eh? I guess I have a reason for coming around this house again."

Trevor grinned. "And what would that be?"

"New neighbor boy's a catch."

Trevor felt himself go red from head to toe. He managed a dizzying smile. "I...you're, a...too."

Jamie laughed, eyes crinkling adorably. "Right. Bye, Trevor."

Trevor couldn't manage another sentence in good conscience, so he just waved awkwardly as Jamie walked back down the length of the driveway.

Trevor turned tail back into the house as quickly as he could. He maybe slammed it a bit too hard. He had to fight the urge to slide down onto his ass like the protagonist of a bad teen movie.

"Who were you talking to, Trev?" his mom asked, hands full of mismatched cutlery—the likely culprit of the crash.

Trevor scrubbed his hand over his face, smiling tight-lipped. "Nobody. Just myself."

He strolled into the half-unpacked kitchen and sat down on one of the bar stools.

His mom sighed, almost to herself. "Not like we have any neighbors."

Trevor quirked a brow. He was literally just talking to one. "What do you mean?"

His mom went over to a drawer in the island and began depositing the cutlery. "Well, the only other house on this stretch of road is the big, purple one on our left—you know, a little bit down the road?"

An unsettling feeling nestled in the pit of Trevor's stomach, one he couldn't name.

"Realtor said the place has been abandoned for decades," his mom continued. "There was some freak accident, and now people are convinced that it's haunted."

Trevor's calves went cold, like a rush of wind ran against them. Didn't he close the door? "What?"

She shrugged. "I'm not one for ghost stories, personally. But if they are real, I just hope they're friendly."

Trevor forced a chuckle, though the sunken feeling in his stomach was compounding. He stood and walked over to the window above the sink.

This was stupid. This was so dumb. He'd look outside and there Jamie would be, heading back to his house. It was a quarter mile down the road—he'd still be walking.

Trevor approached the window and peeled back the curtain. He craned his head to the left, and—

His eyes widened. No Jamie.

He felt his calves go cold again.

[ultrawalflower1212]

Random haikyuu headcanons (some are incredibly cursed soo be warned)

Noya’s mum made him say affirmations in the mirror so like whenever people tell him something negative about himself he’ll be like “yeah well my mum thinks I’m the most beautiful boy in the world sooo...”

Asahi has like really bad anxiety So he has like a little Zen garden in his bedroom like a little one with the sand and the little rocks and it has a little rake that he uses but he uses it so much of there’s barely any sand left like there is a very thin layer of sand and whenever Noya comes over to his house and their is in his bedroom and he thinks that Asahi is having a hard time he’ll use that layer of sand to like a message board and write him little affirmations and things he likes about him in the sand

Suga wanted to try to make daichi jealous but instead of using a person because he couldn’t be bothered to find a person he just like used his vacuum cleaner and put the like the little suction bit on his neck to create really shitty looking hickeys and everyone knew that they weren’t hickeys but daichi fell for it

Atsumu and Osamu actually both dyed their hair platinum blonde but there was only one bottle of toner and Osamu won rock paper scissors so he got to use it and now they just kind of stick to the whole silver and bleach blonde look because it like I guess became their brand but it wasn’t actually supposed to be that way Atsumu just sucks at Rock Paper Scissors 

Kuroo is scarily good at just dance because when he and Kenma were like younger kuroo tried to get into video games to have something to talk about with Kenma but the only video games that his family owned was all of the just dance games and a true dumbass he decided to learn them all anyway and mastered every dance on just dance including are not limited to cotton eyed Joe and hit me baby one more time so now Kenma videos of Kure trying to prove that he is the true master of just dance from when they were about about 13 and he whips them out at every party in every opportunity to embarrass kuroo because he finds it fucking hilarious the kuroo tried so hard to try and like bond with Kenma that he’d learnt at least over a hundred dances

Asahi and Noya both have matching tattoos on their arm forearms and each one has like half of that broken broom they fixed together in high school

Neither Tanaka or Noya were allowed E numbers as a kid but they both went about it very differently Tanaka was the Kid that had them anyway like he’d have them behind his parents back and wouldn’t even give a shit but Noya was the type of child who until the age of about 15 generally believed he was allergic to like food that was artificially blue

Asahi mentioned once that he liked having his hair played with and plaited so noya went home and went to wikiHow to learn how to do multiple types of braids and also bought one of those hairbraiding kits to come with the fancy clips and beads off of Amazon and came to volleyball practice fully fucking armed with a comb and little beads and cute coloured rubber bands and and even though it was practise and they were supposed to be playing volleyballNoya plaited Asahi’s hair like he went absolutely fucking ham with the accessories and Asahi looked like a goddamn sixth grader afterwards

Fucking Bokuto didn’t know that Black Eyed Peas were a vegetable he thought they were just the name of a band so when he went to like the grocery store and saw Black Eyed Peas in a tin he was really confused because he knew it didn’t contain the band black eyed peas but he thought that maybe they just sponsored it and he bought like three tins just so he can see what the fuck they were and he hated them but he loves the band so he eats like them with every dinner because he thinks he’s supporting the band and Akaashi does not have the heart to tell him that they are literally just a vegetable

Kenma hates human interaction so much that he learnt how to say I don’t speak English in six different languages so people would just stop trying to talk to him

Saeko was having a Emo phase when she was like 17 so she died her hair black and tanaka offered to do it for her but he lost the gloves in the box and just assumed that he didn’t like need them because the box said it was temporary so he thought that like it wouldn’t last,so long story short Tanaka had to go to school for three months with jet black hands like his hands were completely ink black and people were completely terrified he told people he got a tattoo and everyone in his class class just believed him because he was that type of boy and they were all just mildly afraid and his teammates were amused at the idea that he had done something that fucking stupid

Kyotani definitely has a thing for being pushed against walls after his confrontation with yahaba and after his teammates discover that they never left him the hell alone about it

 TSuki once tried to draw on Yamaguchi’s face when he was sleeping but got distracted by his freckles and instead tried to join them together to see if they could write his name

I do do requests



[ink-herrscher]

ink-stained and glowing

— herrscher of sentience x fu hua

genre : fluff

warnings : none

wordcount : 1,375

summary : hua never learned how to dance. but it's a good memory, now.

Among swathes of silver clouds, the stars outside are dim, like faded glitter shimmering on black palette. Tonight is a bit cool, and even in the safety of their shared room, Hua cannot help but shiver with each blow of the mischievous breeze as it knocks on the open window and flits about the golden-lit walls.

“Xiǎo shí,” she says, and turns around. Senti is huddled in the corner of the room, fiddling with her phone with a cute pout on her lips. The lights are fully off, and playing with her phone in such a dark place would be so bad for her eyes, but Hua cannot help but admire the way the faint blue light from her device lights up the curve of her cheek and brings out the softness of her lips. “What are you doing?”

“Just a bit,” she grumbles. “I can’t find . . . the goddamned . . .”

Her voice falters, and she goes back to her phone, frowning even more intensely. Hua can’t help but feel she has been replaced by the phone.

She sighs, and rests her cheek against her knees.

The fairy lights on the walls look like fireflies, she thinks. They are softly glowing, haphazardly hung over the corners of the room, fading in and fizzing out like candlelight in the wind, and in the quiet shadows of the night, it almost looks like the entrance to a romantic forest glade getaway.

It’s pretty. But wasteful.

it’s impossible to say no when it’s Senti who asks, though.

Hua purses her lips, and sighs again.

“I got it! Old timer, I got it!”

She looks up.

A smile lights up Senti’s face, shining brightly before she turns her phone off, and sets everything to black again. There is the sound of skipping footsteps, excited and brash the way she usually is, before Senti finally manages to stumble her way to where she is. Her weight settles on Hua’s lap, arms locking behind her neck to secure her seat.

Her eyes are closed. Hua holds onto her waist, and watches the fairy lights dance across her cheeks like freckles, little constellations of golden shooting stars that sparkle on her skin like magic.

 “Xiǎo shí?” she asks, but Senti only hums, and slowly opens her eyes. There is a hazy quality to her gaze, like seeing something that isn’t there – like not seeing something that’s supposed to be there, but Hua holds her stare, until her lips curve into another smile, and she bumps their noses together.

“I can see you again,” she says, like a marvel, and Hua smiles back, raising a hand to brush strands of her hair away from her cheeks.

“So you do.”

They are so close, she can see her face clearly, even in the darkness. The golden lights frame her eyes nicely, and in the soft glow of the stars, Senti looks breathtaking, like a goddess.

“Old timer,” Senti murmurs. Her breath dances against Hua’s cheeks, warm and intoxicating. “Dance with me, okay?”

Hua doesn’t have a choice, really, as Senti slips away from her lap and drags her to the middle of the room, despite her half-hearted protests.

The music has already started.

 “I don’t know how to dance,” Hua says.

There is a blurry memory engrained in her mind, like an faded chalk drawing on the sides of an old childhood home. The first party she attended; the glow of the candlelight and the chandelier above, illuminating the stage where a fiery-haired woman danced without care while she looked on from the sides. She told herself she would ask the woman to teach her how to dance next year, and contented herself to staying in the corners.

Hua never got that dance lesson.

But, “It’s okay,” Senti says, and guides Hua to rest her hand against her shoulder blade, while she holds the other one away from their bodies. It is always so comforting to be so close to Senti, but something about this feels even more intimate, breathless, as Senti leads her to sway from side-to-side, along with the beat of her heart and the low rhythm of the drums in the background.

“See?” Her smile is proud. “I’m a master at this, old timer. You gotta stop doubting me sometime.”

Hua can’t help the smile on her lips. She leans in, pressing her forehead against Senti’s, and closes her eyes. It’s easy to lose herself here, like this, when Senti is gently coaxing her to let go and just lean into her and her lead. The dance is simple, anyway: a simple back-and-forth, a slight sway, and the occasional twirl that leaves Hua breathless and giddy, full of affection for the girl in her arms.

She opens her eyes, and peeks up. Even in this darkness, Senti is looking right at her.

Oh.

“Xiǎo shí . . .” she starts, and falters.

But Senti picks up on it, and raises a brow, drawing Hua nearer to her warmth. “Having fun, old timer?”

She nods.

It is fun, she thinks. Hua never saw herself dancing, and she doesn’t even know if whatever silly thing they are doing can even be called a dance, but everything is always fun with Senti. It’s just . . .

Her throat closes up, and she buries her face against Senti’s shoulder, blinking back the heat pricking her eyes.

“Thank you,” she manages to say, before her voice breaks into emotion. It’s stupid. Hua is not sad, so why is she crying? She pinches her eyes close, and squeezes Senti’s hand tighter still. “Thank you, xiǎo shí.”

She’s so soft. Soft and nice, and being held by her always feels like coming home. Hua has never felt safer and loved anywhere but in Senti’s arms.

“Old timer,” she starts, and then the music stops, and an ad starts playing instead.

Hua raises her head, and stares at the phone.

“Are you,” Senti groans, “fucking kidding me?”

It’s so stupid. Everything’s so stupid. Her emotions crest and fall, and she finds herself laughing or crying against Senti’s shoulder, as Senti tries to pull away to get to her phone. It’s so stupid. Everything’s so stupid. She feels arms wrap around her back, comforting her while some woman talks about hair care through the speaker.

It’s so stupid.

“Old timer, are you . . .” there’s light panic in her voice, and. It’s so stupid. Hua loves her so much, it’s impossible to even put to words.

She pulls away, and tries to wipe her eyes discretely. But Senti notices, and of course she does. She steps closer, a hand reaching out to Hua.

But another boisterously loud music plays after the ad ends, connecting to another ad, and Hua laughs as Senti looks torn between comforting her and turning the app off. It’s so stupid. God. She loves this girl so much.

“Just skip the ads already, xiǎo shí,” she says, and watches Senti pout, trudging to the bed to finally shut commercials off.

It’s quiet. Senti looks up at her, and even the dim darkness cannot cover up her embarrassed flush.

“Are . . .” she hesitates. “Are you okay?”

Hua nods, and slips in beside her to reassure her with a smile. Senti stares at her for a while, brows furrowed in worry; then, as if satisfied, abruptly flops down to the bed, covering her face with a pillow.

Hua blinks down at her. “Xiǎo shí?”

She’s quiet, sulking, for a while. And when she speaks, Hua can already imagine the pout on her lips. “The night’s ruined. Just go to sleep, old timer.”

. . . Cute. She’s so cute.

“It’s just one ad,” she comforts, though even a blind man can hear the smile in her voice. Senti curses her again, and buries herself deeper into her pillow.

“Stop making fun of me!”

Hua shakes her head, and sighs, quietly slipping into the spot next to her on the bed. The fairy lights are still on, and they shimmer like fireflies at a romantic forest glade getaway. It’s pretty.

This is nice, actually. Hua wraps her arms around Senti’s waist, and rests her brow against the curve of her back.

“I really enjoyed that, xiǎo shí,” she says quietly. “Thank you.”

Quiet. Then, Senti squeezes her hand and, shyly, “I’m glad.”

[caandlelit]

Lifeguard au?

oh hey i know you!! you're from ao3!! hey shoutout to you man always commenting on the hc compilation !! i saw u commented on a fic I was reading and I remembered to upload thanks bruh

-and ohh damnnn hawks is the lifeguard

-he sits on the highest fucking lifeguard chair thing ok it scares people how does he sit there and not be afraid of dying wtf

-and dabis the guy who brings his mom and siblings to the beach every other week

-okay so since natsu def has a water quirk in canon I guess he can be a super good swimmer in this au

-and fuyumi likes reading lord if the rings and peeking up at the hot lifeguard with the bunny headband and nice legs

-and shouto likes hanging around near the cute anxious freckled kid selling icecream

-and rei usually spends the day relaxing on a chair under an umbrella and occasionally yelling at natsu not to go too far

-nd dabi

-usually spends the outing knocked out, snoring loudly while cuddled up to rei

-but sometimes natsu grabs him and fuyumi and tosses them into the water

-like natsu just picked dabi up

-threw him over his shoulder

-and grabbed fuyumis arm and dragged her to the water as she cusses him out while dabi kicks uselessly at his chest and attempts to bite his head off

-shouto is already in the water because he fears for his life

-rei is filming

-so they spend the day flopping around in the water

-natsu gets a lot of water flicked at him in revenge by fuyumi

-he just jumps up

-and when he falls back to the water

-what seems like the entire ocean crashes on fuyumi

-she shrieks and dabi laughs so hard he falls into the water

-shouto is floating on the water

-occasionally sucking some water up and spitting it out, making it spout up from his mouth like they do in the cartoons

-except its gross irl

-okay dabihawks

-dabi is swimming out really far

-too far and then he's suddenly stumbling in the water and hes grabbing for purchase and he doesn't find it and he panicks

-and hawks is staring out at the sea and spots a head of dark hair bobbing a little too far from land for hawks to not react

-he jumps down the last few steps on the ladder and sprints

-what look like siblings of the drowning man see hawks run by them and look out at the sea to notice their brother going down slowly and they panick

-hawks leaps into the water and is quickly followed by one of the guys siblings, a buff dude with white hair and they swim out to the slowly disappearing man

-they reach him just as his head goes under and pull him up and between them, carry him back to shore

-when they drop him on land hes lying still and his family is there, a mother, another brother and wow his sister is that girl rumis always staring at nice

-he pumps his chest and pinches his nose, grasping his chin and tilting his head back before he presses his mouth to his

-he breaths air in into his lungs and presses his chest and then the man is gasping and coughing harshly and sitting up suddenly and hawks is on his lap and wow hes really pretty now that hawks isn't worried for his life

-when dabi wakes up to an actual angel sitting in his lap he thinks "wow if this is death then I am surprisingly okay with it"

-the real life angel has ash blonde strands of soaked hair falling into his amber eyes and hes wearing a feather on a string that should not look that good and his skin is a lovely tan and dabi feels his cheeks getting hot when he unwittingly let's his gaze drift down because washboard abs holy fucking christ on a stick

-dabi and hawks stare at each other for a long moment

-before hawks jumps off him, coughing awkwardlt and then rei is there, sobbing and hugging him tight

-hawks stares at the guy, 'touya' apparently and realises again that he is very attractive

-dripping wet, with black hair and a few scars covered up with a flame tattoo, tendrils of wispy black ink wrapped around his torso and a frankly aggressive amount of cartilage piercings but goddamn do they look unfairly good

-when touyas family finally stops fussing over him he turns around and walks up to hawks and hawks is lowkey freaking out

-dabi walks over to the hot lifeguard and braces himself before saying

-"hey thanks for saving my life, you might need to do it again though"

-'what why'

-"cause I'm drowning in your eyes"

-'oh yeah well it was fun giving you cpr we should do it again sometime'

-"please can I have your number"

I just realized I called him touya from hawks' pov and dabi otherwise im gonna kill myself

[dragoncosplays]

Bookstore Cutie

Sirius Black let out a high pitched squeal of excitement when the little bell above the shop’s door jingled. (Sirius would like you to know that it was a very manly and dignified squeal, thank you very much.)

It was one in the afternoon which meant that jingle could only mean one thing. That it was his favourite customer who had come back again. The man had been stopping by everyday around 1pm. He would browse through the books, proceed to his little spot in the window seat and sit and read until 2:45. At that time he would place a bookmark into the book and place the book on the front counter in the “being read/not for checking out” pile and then he would leave. Only to return the same time the next day.

And everyday Sirius would get giddy and excited because he got to see his favourite person again. (shhh don’t tell Prongs.) He would lean on the counter, usually pretending to browse through an old magazine, just so that he could stare at the guy - which yes was a bit creepy but he couldn’t really help himself.

He was intrigued by the man with the tight cute little honey brown curls. By the faded scars on his jaw and throat, especially the one that cut across the right corner of his mouth all the way to his chin. He often daydreamed about trailing his tongue along that silvery scar…

Besides that, he was also curious about why the man always wore jumpers, jumpers that were way too big for him. They hung off his taut lean frame, exposing sharp collar bones, freckled shoulders, more scars and Sirius wasn’t sure, but he thought he had seen black ink hidden under all that fabric more than once. The guy constantly paired his frayed stretched out sweaters with skin tight jeans that were usually ripped at the knees - which was unexpected considering the fact that the man had various jumpers with elbow patches on them (elbow patches that made him look like a bloody professor. Maybe the sort everyone would be obsessed with because of how cute he was).

Sirius would admit that at first his interest in the man had simply been because he looked like some adorable and yet hot as fuck god, but over time Sirius had become enthralled with other things. Like the way the guy chewed on his lip whenever a story became angsty, or the way his eyebrows would rise in surprise whenever some plot twist took place.

And well, the little giggling noise the guy made sometimes was honestly the most adorable thing Sirius had ever heard. It made him weak in the knees on more than one occasion. He couldn’t help it really, how was he expected to act like a normal functioning human being with someone like that (someone who was not only hot enough to stare at 24/7, but also so adorably cute that it made his chest feel physically tight and made tiny little butterflies dance around excitedly in his stomach) around all the time.

Today was no different. Sirius gave a small love sick sigh as he watched the boy take his bottom lip between his teeth, he was trying to hide a little smile as he read. And then - just like Sirius thought he would - he giggled, trying to hide the sound behind one of his sleeves. Sirius was helpless not to smile at the noise.

“God he’s so fucking cute…” He mumbled to no one in particular, except he realized a second too late that he was the only person in the shop, aside from the guy and he had apparently been a lot louder than he originally thought. He slapped his hand against his mouth as his eyes widened when light almost gold amber eyes met his from across the room. His cheeks burned in embarrassment and he quickly dropped his hand and averted his eyes, stacking a bunch of books randomly on top of one another to look busy. Seconds (that felt like hours) passed quietly without the guy commenting on his outburst.

He dared a nervous glance in the window’s direction and found that the guy had gone back to his book. That same adorable little smile on his lips. A small disappointed sigh left Sirius’s lips, although a part of him was glad nothing worse had happened. At least the guy hadn’t just stormed out of the store with a disgusted glance back at Sirius and his stupid mouth (that apparently just loved blurting out when he found strangers attractive.)

Sirius decided it would be best if he wasn’t caught staring at the guy again today so he took a bunch of the books that needed to be shelved and started doing his actual job. He finished placing them back in their rightful places surprisingly quickly. He stalled, just running his fingers over book spines to buy himself a little more time, contemplating if it would have been less embarrassing if he had just talked to the guy.

When he exited the book aisle, he couldn’t help but glance at the window seat, the giddy feeling in his stomach disappearing when he saw it was empty. With his mood now drastically deflated he turned to head back to his counter to count down the minutes till tomorrow when he could see him again.

Only he slammed right into a solid and very warm chest. He stumbled, clutching at the soft fabric of a very familiar jumper to steady himself only to jerk back a second later.

Golden eyes blinked down at him, a slow smirk spreading across the guy’s cheeks, (he has freckles there too, oh god…) Sirius blushed furiously as soon as he met those eyes. He swore at himself, why the hell was he such a blushing idiot in front of this boy today?

The guy tilted his head, infuriating Sirius and sending him into a whole new blushing fit when he bit down on his lower lip and smiled at him.

“I think you’re pretty goddamn fucking cute too.” Sirius stared up at him with wide eyes, only managing a surprised squeak in response. The guy chuckled at him. His voice so deep that Sirius felt his heart speeding up and thudding rapidly in his chest.

“You’ve dust on your cheek.” He said quietly before he reached out, brushing his thumb softly along Sirius’s cheek.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then.” His fingers lingered on Sirius’s skin for a moment longer after he spoke and then he dropped his hand, grinned at the stunned look on Sirius’s face and turned for the door.

As soon as the bell chimed, signalling the man’s exit, Sirius’s knees buckled and he sank into one of the nearby chairs. His fingers lightly tracing the spot where the man had touched him. He swallowed the lump in his throat, his heartbeat pounding in his ears and his stomach doing somersaults. He smiled so big his cheeks actually hurt, but hey he had reason too.

After all, his bookstore crush thought he was fucking cute too…

[abyssiniana]

«Ride Home»

Purple Ranunculus, meaning “You are radiant”.

A gift for @dork-sen​ for the Sheith Flower Exchange ( @sheithbouquet ​ ) based of the song "Ride Home"by Ben&Ben.

I really hope you like it!! ;;;; 

Read on AO3 or under the cut

Prosthetic fingers drummed on the leather cover of the wheel with no rhythm in particular. A familiar song on the radio filled the car with a pleasant harmony, but Shiro’s ears were deaf to anything but his own thoughts, the mechanized movement of reaching for the gearshift barely processed by the Japanese man. Ahead of him, miles of deserted highway expanded into sandy canyons and red dunes; this was a trip he had done before, countless times, but gravity seemed to be weighing harder on him, twisting his belly into the complex pattern of boating knots.

Before, he would travel to the Arizona desert to pick up Keith, or to stay over at his boyfriend’s house for the weekend. This time , he thought, looking over his shoulder to the back seat, where a gym bag filled with clothing items and a backpack with personal possessions had been tossed, he was going home.

~*~

“Hey there, buddy! Looking to get inked?”

Shiro glanced up from his sketchbook to salute the boy who had entered his tattoo parlor, apparently started by the bell attached to the door. Under the purple neon sign that read “ Black Lion Ink ,” a young man with the full bad boy™ attire crossed his arms over his chest, onyx-colored hair styled in a mullet and indigo eyes piercing through Shiro with the intensity of a whole galaxy. His nose was rather perky, sprinkled with nearly missable freckles, the angle of his jaw sharp, peachy lips that suffered from obsessive-compulsive biting pressed into a thin line. He wasn’t very tall and seemed rather thin under a red leather jacket and skinny black jeans with decorative silver chains, but his attitude suggested he had a foot heavy enough to kick any condescending bastard to the opposite corner of the room.

Small but angry. Cute .

“Yeah, I guess,” was the response, as the potential canvas walked to the counter, eyes darting to the several frames of artwork signed by the Japanese man, exposed on the walls of the studio. He whistled and Shiro smiled. “You’re Shiro...? I uh… I’m Keith. I heard about your work from a friend.”

“Yep, that’d be me.” Absentmindedly, the tattoo artist ran his fingers through his bleached white forelock, pushing it back to blend in with the black strands before it stubbornly flopped back to his forehead. It wasn’t uncommon for former clients or fellow colleagues to put in a good word for Shiro’s work, be it vocally or via social media; he specialized in Japanese traditional, though he could pull off mostly any style with flawless technique and extreme precision. He wasn’t cocky, but he was confident in a healthy measure, and proud of his hard-won reputation. “What were you looking to get?”

“Don’t know, really. Can I see that?” He pointed at the portfolio that had been left open on a random page by the last curious customer; and the eldest noted the fingerless carbon fiber biker gloves Keith wore; stylish.

“Go on ahead.”

The dossier was promptly presented to the boy, who flipped through the processes of old, new, discarded, and formerly executed tattoo designs. Those that had been inked already were accompanied by photographs of the final result upon the skin and written reviews of their bearers regarding Shiro’s performance and care.

While Keith took his time to look over Shiro’s work, the latter seized the chance to examine him from a closer distance this time. He had very beautiful skin, dreamy, the perfect white canvas for any artist’s masterpiece. Clearly, this boy was no ink virgin, as the bursts of American traditional bright red and bold lines peeked through the collar of his shirt suggested. He must have more tattoos somewhere too; guessing from experience, those who got chest pieces had begun elsewhere, in less painful areas. Maybe the arms? The thought of asking his client to remove his jacket and T-shirt was suddenly charged with an erotic connotation that was better left away from his work hours, so he refrained.

“This one is neat,” he heard him say, after a silent while. “Can I get this?”

The artist chuckled fondly at the memory of the drawing he had specially made at the request of Allura’s dad. His first big project with over thirty redesigns and chronic back pain, resumed in hours of blood, sweat and tears, and a goddamned stunning backpiece. It could’ve been a disaster, but Alfor trusted him, from the beginning to the end of it. That red lion held a very dear meaning and the way he saw it, no one else would be fitting for that design but the sweet man who had welcomed Shiro into his small family as a son, even after him and Allura broke up back in senior year of college.

“Why that one?” he questioned, platinum colored eyes locking with the client’s.

“No reason. I like it.” a shrug. To that, Shiro held back and eyeroll and a sigh. Oh. One of these . What a disappointment.

“It goes against my policy to tattoo designs that are meaningless to the canvas.” he explained, with the utmost seriousness and professionalism of a lawyer. Keith didn’t seem too pleased, eyebrow raising in bitter assumption.

“You don’t know me.”

“But I will, once I figure what to tattoo on you.”

“I can just go elsewhere to get this done.” Keith snapped, open palms upon the marble of the counter as he measured the other with his eyes. “You’re pretty full of yourself, you kn--”

“You can leave, and you’re within your right to, but I don’t see you walking away.” Shiro smirked at his own remark, taking some sweet satisfaction in how the young boy glared at him with a pursed pout, boot tapping on the linoleum floor of the studio with childish impudence. After dragging the silence for long enough to savour what was already his victory, Shiro proceeded, “Look, Keith, I would love to tattoo you; I just want to make sure you won’t look at my work five, ten years from now and regret having it on your body. We can figure out a design for you, perhaps over coffee? I’m taking a break soon.”

There were long moments of ponderation, Keith’s face twisting as he mentally evaluated the possible outcomes of this situation (either that or he was remembering the first time he licked a lemon), and finally settled for an answer.

“... Fair enough,” that corner smile might have caused Shiro’s heart to skip a beat. “But you’re paying.”

~*~

Shiro parked next to a motorbike that had definitely seen better days, despite being loved enough that the owner refused to give up on the rusty pipes or poorly executed paint job. After turning the key in the ignition to cease the roaring of the powerful engine of his car, Shiro exited the vehicle to be greeted by the lean form of Keith Kogane leaning against the doorframe, up on the porch.

“Took you long enough.”

“Sorry, I was thrilled by the ever shifting landscape of the desert. I’m almost sure the single cactus near the road moved an inch to the left since last time I passed by, I swear.” there was heatless sarcasm in Shiro’s reply, but a smile on his face, as he picked up the luggage from the backseat. He walked to the entrance of the house, the wooden steps creaking under his boot, stopping mere inches in front of the smaller man in silent expectation, the bags dropped to his feet. He was about a head taller than Keith and had to look down at him, head tilting to the side. “Missed me much, is that it?”

“Hm. You know it,” Keith moved to cup Shiro’s jaw. The Japanese man couldn’t help but to smile at the tattoos that covered both of those hands, the first pieces that he had had the privilege to tattoo on this man two years ago: large twin purple ranunculus flowers, blooming on each dorsum. Keith’s nails carded across the identical designs that Shiro had recently gotten on both shaved sides of his head, pulling them closer to lean foreheads.

Ranunculus. Too gorgeous to be real, often present in wedding bouquets in their majestic, exquisite rose-like blossoms, layer upon layer of radiant beauty. That was Keith for Shiro, and Shiro for Keith. Their lips met halfway, in the stamen of their passion, arms engulfing them in the eternal petals of commitment.

Shiro was home.

[omgpourquoi]

nothing subtle here (3/6)

Nursey sat back smugly against his seat. Dex looked pissed, but a team vote was a team vote. Nurse had won, fair and square.

The bus was quiet, after an all out war over the space vs ocean debate had ensued (resulting in a team space victory) they had gotten off the interstate to eat.

Now, back on the bus, the entirety of Samwell Men’s Hockey team was napping.

Dex yawned and Nursey tried not to think it was cute. A lost cause. Especially when he saw his defense partner reaching down into his bag. Nursey knew what this meant and he dreaded it. 

About three months ago, Nursey had walked into his room only to find Will Poindexter spread out on his bed, wearing just sweatpants, with a book in hand, and glasses perched on his button nose.

Fuck. That was all Nursey had time to think before he’d tripped over his own feet and hit the ground.

“I meant to sand that stray floorboard down yesterday, my bad,” Dex spoke up, not turning from his book.

It was his bad, but it had nothing to do with the floorboard.

Ever since, Dex wore the glasses while reading or studying and Nursey felt like he was losing his goddamn mind every time.

Glasses were a personal weakness for Nursey. Smart fuckers, Nursey wasn’t picky, who could talk about something passionately and wore lil tortoise shell glasses, were his type.

And here he was on a quiet bus, next to William J. Poindexter, king of being passionate and smart about hockey and computers and math and other smart shit wearing his goddamn tortoise shell glasses.

Nursey watched as Dex typed intently into his laptop, fingers flying. He had stolen one of Nursey’s beanies (because this wasn’t painful enough, evidently), claiming that it was too cold to not cover his ears. He wasn’t wrong, but the image of Dex in his beanie, wearing those lil sexy glasses and typing a mile a minute was….

It was something Nursey couldn’t explain with words, and words were his medium, both his offense and defense. 

Nursey watched as Dex’s honey-colored eyes flew across the screen, trying to keep up with his thoughts and fingers. Nursey watched as Dex bit his lip and then scrunched his liberally freckled nose. As his glasses frame slipped down that freckled nose. He watched as Dex’s adam’s apple bobbed and had to swallow himself.

Chill out, Derek. Keep cool.

It was a recurring problem, staring at Dex, especially when the glasses were involved. But Nursey was used to talking himself out of doing something stupid.

Like kiss him, his brain provided.

Nursey traced Dex lips with his eyes and thought about what they would feel like on his own.

Angry? Possessive? Perfect?

Someone coughed and Nursey tore his gaze off of Dex and himself out of his fantasy. He turned around and cuddled the outside armrest, drifting into a restless sleep full of stubbly kisses and never-ending oceans.

When Nursey turned around, Dex let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. Sometimes Nursey just stared. It was just one of those Nursey things.

The first time it had happened, Dex had thought he’d had something on his face. He’d picked a fight instead of asking what Nursey was staring at. But that night, as he watched Nursey scribbling in his journal, dark ink staining his already dark hands, Dex figured it out.

He hadn’t been staring at Dex. He’d just been in his weird writer’s zone. The best Dex could figure, Nursey did it to everyone, zoned out like that. But it only bothered him because he was watching Nursey back. Because he had these dumb feelings. 

Dex had told his brother that he wanted to get over it. That the feelings would probably disappear the more he lived with Nursey.  His brother hadn’t commented, simply wished him good luck.

Yeah, right.

Living with a guy you had feelings for and often wanted to punch was a very, very bad idea. Dex had known this, but he had also known the pain of random roommates. So Nursey it was. Only now Dex had to wake up to the smell of Dove Men’s body wash and cologne that reminded him of a library. He had to wake up to Nursey with just a towel around his waist, water tracing down the muscles in his back. He had to see the tattooed words on Nursey’s ribs and the dark hair going down, down, down.

Dex was a pretty strong guy. He was a defenseman in the NCAA for christ’s sake. But everything about Derek Malik Nurse made him forget all that.

Unless they were fighting. Fighting held a different sort of attraction for Dex. Dex loved to fight and Nursey didn’t disappoint. Dex used to think that everything about Nursey drove him crazy because he really hated him. He figured he was just jealous. But it had been Tom Dewey all over again. He didn’t want to be Nursey, he wanted to be with Nursey.

Dex pushed his glasses up his nose. Whenever he was working, Dex could feel Nursey’s eyes on him. It was impossible to focus. But Dex pretended not to notice, because Nursey probably didn’t even know he was doing it. He was in his own head.

Dex had to remind himself that it was all him. He was putting meaning into things that had none.

With a sigh, Dex glanced at his fellow d-man. Nursey was snoring lightly. It should have been obnoxious, but Dex’s heart betrayed him and skipped a beat.

Dark curls fell over Nursey’s forehead, the tips of them squished in between his face and the cushion. Dex reached out to brush his fingers lightly over Nursey's cheek.

Nursey mumbled something about ‘waiting for the next wave’ and Dex jerked his hand away. 

Dex’s phone buzzed and he jumped again. It was just a text.

Chowder 🦈: Everyone’s asleeeeeep. Come play cards?

Dex looked back at Nursey, who had turned over, his eyelashes flickering. Dex looked to Nursey’s lips. Looked away and swallowed. And looked back as Nursey mumbled something about… razors??

Dex🦐: 👍👍👍 

Dex shut his laptop and tucked it away as silently as possible. Unplugging his phone, he carefully inched his way around Nursey. Just as he scooted away, he heard it.

“Will.” It was barely a mumble, tumbling out of Nursey’s mouth. He was still asleep. 

Hearing his first name – jesus christ – on those lips. Dex knew that it shouldn’t have sent a thrill through him, but it did. 

It doesn’t mean what you want it to mean, he told himself angrily. Dex’s phone buzzed again.

Chowder🦈: Coming ???

Dex stepped away before he had a chance to do what he really wanted to and ruin everything.

This chapter was heavily inspired by this iconic fic by briizy. I’ve read that shit so many times. If you ever see this, briizy, I love you.

s/o to my sis @amonggsavages​ for beta reading all this! Follow her, she’ll edit things and she’s funny. Do it.

My NurseyDex playlist that I listened to while writing. “Nothing subtle here” is a line from the Selena Gomez song, Bad Liar.

Chapter 3/6.  Read the rest: part one here. // part two here. // part three here. // part four here. // part five here.

Will post on A03 soon! ((waiting to get accepted)). Thanks for reading and much love x

[coffeeshopreads]

SO GOOD Chapter reveal

Coming August 7th

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On the roof of a house outside Truelove, Maine, master carpenter Max Doyle looks down through a skylight and sees the most beautiful woman he’s ever laid eyes on. She’s naked, she’s gorgeous, and everything about her is perfect, down to the ball-busting tattoo of a rose that wraps around her hip. But it isn’t just any woman making his knees buckle. It’s his best friend, Rosie Madden. And as he stands there, mesmerized and precariously close to toppling off the roof, he knows he’ll never, ever be able to look at her the same way again. Rosie can’t help but notice that Max is suddenly acting very strange—lots of long stares, totally tongue-tied, and not at all like the slightly cocky hunk she’s proud to call her best friend. She can’t figure it out, until later that night when Max rescues her from the world’s worst date, challenges her to a game of pool, and shows her just exactly what she’s got him thinking about. Repeatedly. But life is complicated. Rosie’s cat, Julia Caesar, wants to eat Max’s dog Cupcake for an afternoon snack. A dream job threatens to pull them apart. And another glance through the skylight changes everything, one more time. Yet try as they might, they can’t go back to being just friends, because falling in love with the one you’ve always adored? It feels so good.

1Max I wasn’t planning to see her naked—I swear to God, I wasn’t. The day was a scorcher, one of those godforsaken New England summer days that makes a guy wonder how he ever said fuck you to winter. I stood on the roof her house, three stories above the Maine woods, with a far-off view of the ocean. It was pretty, yeah, like the kind of shit real estate companies put on complimentary calendars. But in that heat, it was like standing on top of a goddamned toaster, turned all the way to burnt. I could feel that shit in my socks, straight through my work boots. At my feet was a stack of shake shingles, old school, to replace the ones that were missing. Her house had a few slow leaks, and one over her bathroom that made the ceiling look like a huge Rorschach test. She said it definitely looked like a rose in bloom, I said it definitely looked like Batman. But I told her hidden meanings wouldn’t make shit for difference when the ceiling collapsed into the tub, so there I was. Fucking miserable work, but I was glad to do it. Glad to do anything for her—anything she needed at all.In the forest on every side around the cottage, the cicadas screeched. It sounded like a needle squeaking off a record player. I knelt down by the stack of shingles, using my utility knife to score a line through one to fit a nearby gap. I snapped it with my hands and tossed the scrap end off the edge of the roof. A trickle of sweat ran down my forehead, and I wiped my face with my forearm. One droplet got away, sparkling in the sun. It caught my eye, and I watched it fall, as it landed on the skylight window with a splat.​And that was when it happened. Boom.​There she was, right under me. She couldn’t have been more than six feet away, but she felt even closer. I had a direct line of sight down into her gorgeous, soft cleavage, bright and pure in the sunshine. Maybe it was the heat, or maybe it was the surprise of seeing her, but at first I didn’t really process that it was Rosie at all. My dude brain said, I want that woman.​Then my regular brain said, Don’t be an asshole, man. It’s Rosie. Have some respect.Respect I definitely had, but of course I’d thought about seeing her naked before. She was so fucking beautiful that any man would have thought about it. Sometimes, like right then looking down into her dress, I couldn’t fucking help it. Sometimes we’d be out doing something ordinary, like eating dinner, or I’d be changing her oil, or she’d be teaching me to do shit I should have learned at some point in the last 34 years, like iron a dress shirt without screwing up the collar, and I’d catch myself watching her cleavage rise and fall as she breathed, or thinking how nice her legs were, and I’d think, Holy hell.Now she was directly underneath the skylight. The angle of the sun cast my shadow down the roofline, away from the skylight, so I didn’t give myself away. Like that, I watched her. I gave in to my dude brain and just took her in. Her light brown hair glinted, and a beam of light caught the curve of her shoulder.That was when the goddamned striptease started, beginning with the left strap of her sundress.Her movements were graceful, sexy, sassy—the sway of her hips, the shake of her shoulders. I realized I might be in real fucking trouble, because I loved that sexy sass. It wasn’t normal Rosie-cute. It was naughty, like nothing I’d ever seen her do before. I liked it so much, I couldn’t look away. She shimmied out of her sundress, and it fell to the floor in a pool at her feet. No big deal, I tried to tell myself. I’d seen her in her bikini a thousand times. This was no different from that.Except it was, because then she reached around to undo her bra. Before I could tell myself Don’t look, dude. It’s Rosie, don’t look, it was too fucking late. The straps slid down off her shoulders, and for one perfect second got caught on her nipples, swinging in the air before falling to the floor.Holy…I pressed my clenched fist to my mouth and groaned into my hand. All my blood was leaving my head. The roofline was getting wobbly.It wasn’t like I didn’t know her curves; we’d spent whole summers on the beach—I knew her shape and her softness, I knew her lines and her freckles. Every curve of Rosie Madden was sacred in my book. Fucking douchebags on the beach giving her eyes had to answer to me and my eyes, right behind her. She did that to me—I was one punch away from defending her honor, always. But this? This was different. Seeing your best friend in a bikini at a clam bake is one thing. Protecting your best friend from assholes with wandering eyes is part of the guy-girl best friend creed. But seeing your best friend, absolutely naked in her bedroom, without knowing she can see you? That was a different deal.…Shit.Part of me knew I should keep my eyes off of her. She thought she was in private, I had no business spying. Anyway, I didn’t want to be that guy. I hated that guy. But the other part of me, fuck. The other part of me was nothing but want.Then she bent at the hips, and time slowed down, like some kind of stop-motion Jackie Chan kung fu sequence. All the cicadas went silent, at least in my head they did. The wind stopped blowing through the trees. It was just her, and her perfection, in the sunshine underneath me. I felt like I was on one of those glass-bottomed boats, looking at a world I never knew existed.She tossed her bra aside, and it landed on her neatly made bed. She shimmied out of her panties, shaking her ass as she did. I growled into my fist, and that’s when I went down into a crouch.Because as she shimmied I saw it in a V above her ass. My kryptonite. A skimpy thong.All these years, all these decades, I’d had her pegged for cute cotton panties—pastel polka dots, thin stripes, shit that was sweet and sensible. But I was so fucking wrong. Black. Strappy. Tiny. Not sensible at all. Now it was in a rolled-up ball at her ankles. Using her toes, she plucked her panties from the floor, and caught them on one finger.Fucking A.She was completely naked, not a thread on her. Every thought I’d ever had got sucked out of my brain, like dishwater down the sink drain. What was left was only one true thing, and it wasn’t about her ass, or her skin, or her breasts. It was the one thing I think I’d always known but never let myself feel. Until that moment.She is the most beautiful woman in the world.Part of the reason I thought that was, yeah, obviously, she was fucking stunning, every inch of her straight out of a dream. Not just my dream, either. Guys would slow down on Main Street to give her the elevator stare, and I’d quietly crack my knuckles and give them don’t-you-fucking-dare stares. But the other part, the part that wasn’t in my gut but that was in my heart, was that I fucking adored her. Adored her so hard it hurt.She crouched down to pick up her dress, lifting the delicate straps with her small, sweet fingers. She pivoted, so I had a view of her other side of her body for the first time. There it was.The tattoo.I groaned again. I wasn’t prepared for this shit; three stories up, that body was dangerous. It was a rose tattoo, snaking around her hip, on the milk-white skin that was always under her bikini bottoms. The part of her I’d never seen. It was serious ink, real art, not some namby-pamby temporary tattoo or some amateur shit she might’ve gotten in an hour at a tattoo parlor on a dare on a cruise to Puerto Rico. It was complicated, detailed, and artful. Multiple visits to some tattoo artist, touching that creamy skin—goddamn.It took every fucking ounce of strength I had, but I did manage to look away. I felt as disoriented as if I’d been sucker punched. Not cotton—lace. Not cute—hot. Not my friend—my fucking fantasy.She was so important to me, such an integral part of my world, that I’d never let myself think of her as more than what she was. She was like running water, or electricity, or the sunshine itself. She was one of those things that was perfect exactly as it was, and one of those things only an idiot would want to change. I never looked at her and thought, I wish I could have more of her than I do already. That would be like thinking, I wish I could turn that cold glass of water into a swimming pool. Or, I wish electricity came through the air. Fuck that noise. Perfect things are perfect things, and Rosie Madden was a perfect goddamned thing, from the tips of her toes to the freckles on her nose. And that rose, holy fuck, that rose.I was strong, but not that strong, and I let my eyes move down again. She’d disappeared from view, mostly, except for the edge of her ass. I watched her rifle through her closet, and a few dresses fluttered onto her bed. On her bedside table, I caught a glimpse of the picture she always kept there, of the two of us together. The memories flew back at me like a runaway train. The first time I’d ever seen her was the day my parents and I moved to Truelove, at the start of middle school. The first time I ever saw her, she was volunteering at the community gardens. She had a smudge of dirt on her cheek, and I thought she’d looked super badass. I’d helped her dig up carrots and had been too fucking tongue-tied to say a goddamned word.That’s how I felt, all over again times a thousand.I’d never made a move. She’d cried on my shoulder through a line of guys who were never good enough for her. Jocks and pricks and a brief and seriously unfortunate stint with a guy who was a drummer for a reggae band who I hated so much it made me grind my teeth. But I never said shit about it. She was perfect even when she made mistakes. Tips of her toes. Freckles on her nose.Never mind that rose. Like Banksy took on a temple.One more time, I glanced down. Now she was sitting on her bed, and I saw that dark V shadow between her thighs. Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck. I watched her put on a pair of red panties. Equally skimpy, equally not-sensible, equally ball-busting. They were only tragic because they hid the parts of her I’d never seen before.Christ. All. Mighty.As the world started to spin, I realized fixing the shingles could wait. I’d been working on old houses long enough to know that if you found yourself on a dangerously sloping roof and felt like you might be less than 100% on the ball, you needed to reconsider your game plan. I needed to get my shit together—that body had me totally fucking derailed. So I made my way down the roof, basically bouldering down backward. I focused on my grip, and my steps, like a climber coming down from Everest without enough oxygen. When I got to the gutter, I worked my way around the corner, standing on the eave, and hooked my leg over my ladder, making sure to put one foot after another and keep a tight grip on every rung.When I stepped off the ladder, I grabbed a bottle of water that she’d left for me and filled up my palm and then splashed my face. My sweat stung my eyes through the droplets of water, and I rubbed away the tears. I heard the hinges on the screen door creak. “All done?” she asked.I opened my eyes. They stung like hell, but I didn’t give a fuck. There she was, in a dress I’d seen before. Striped and sweet. But now I knew the secret. There were red panties under there. Red. Cherry red. My eyes fell on that part of her hip that I knew was inked.“Max?”I managed somehow to snap out of it. “Sorry. Getting there. Spotted something weird with the skylight.”Rosie cocked her head. “Were you up there? Above my room?”Awesome, dude. Smooth. “Just noticed it out of the corner of my eye.”“I don’t like you being on the roof.” She pursed her lips. “Too steep. Promise you’ll get some ropes up there or something? Promise?” She reached out and put her hand to my arm, her fingers with their short pink nails pressing into my tanned skin. I had a quick but totally unavoidable image of her gripping my forearm in a very different situation. I want that. So fucking...Oh, for fuck’s sake.When I didn’t answer—I knew that if I opened my mouth the first words out would be You. Me. Right Now.—she looked up at the roof and squinted into the sun. She peered suspiciously up at me and shifted her nose, kind of like a bunny. Adorable. She wasn’t very tall, so whenever she looked at me she had to lift her chin, which used to be cute. But now looked…like everything I’d ever wanted. “Have you had too much sun?”​I was vaguely aware that she’d said some words, but I wasn’t hearing them because I realized that I couldn’t see her bra straps, so that had to mean she was she was wearing a strapless…Knock. That. Shit. Off. “I’m good.”“Mmm.” She nodded and furrowed her delicate eyebrows, which had never looked so pretty as they did at that moment. I didn’t even know eyebrows could be pretty. They’re eyebrows, for fuck’s sake. But suddenly I felt like for the last ten years, I’d been looking at her through a standard definition television, with a shitty cable connection. Now someone had handed me an HDMI cable, and she was in 1080 dots per inch. Christ.“Lemme make you a sandwich. You’re acting strange.”Rather than answer her, I dumped the remaining half a bottle of water over my head, like Andre Agassi used to do between break points at the French Open.“Ham? Or turkey? I’ve got both. Or chicken salad!” She clapped her hands together, compressing her cleavage. “Do you want a pickle?”She means an actual pickle, you fuckwit. “Surprise me,” I told her, and dragged my eyes off the curve of her cleavage. I grabbed the bottom of my T-shirt and pressed it to my eyes. I had to get out of there. I needed a cold shower, or a call from my tax guy, or an unexpectedly urgent trip to the DMV—anything to stop myself seeing her stark naked every goddamned time I looked at her. Anything to get my mind off that ink.As I wiped my face, she cleared her throat, and I dropped my shirt. “What?”She pressed her lips together and rocked back on her sandals. “Nothing!”I followed her eyes and glanced down at my fly, but the stallion was still in the barn. “Come on,” I said, finding myself smiling right along with her. “What are you looking at?”“Just…” She swallowed hard. “Looking good there, champ.” She glanced at my stomach, where I’d shown her my bare abs. She made a fist and gave me a mock punch, soft and sweet. “That P90X is working great for you.”Here we go again with the fitness videos. For everything else she was—beautiful, smart, funny—she was also a fucking ball-buster sometimes. She’d worked up this whole narrative that I spent my nights with Tony Horton on my houseboat, getting cut and doing reps while I drank protein shakes with a straw straight from the blender. It was her only explanation for why I didn’t have a girlfriend. P90X it had to be, she’d said. Or maybe, she’d whispered like a co-conspirator, “Jazzercise.” Now, though, I had a better idea than ever about why I was so picky: not a single woman held a candle to her. I’d been fucking blind to it, but now the mist had burned right off. “I’ve never even seen the opening sequence. Never have. Never will.”“They’re streaming now!”​“Christ.”Rosie snorted and made a long wheeeeee. “Sure. Surrrrrrre,” she said, stifling her giggle. “One ham-and-turkey, coming right up.” She spun on her sandals and disappeared into the house. Hips swinging. Red panties invisible, but not to me.Not anymore.

Nicola Rendell writes dirty, funny, erotic romance. She likes a stiff drink and a well-frosted cake. She is at an unnamed Ivy and prefers to remain mostly anonymous for professional reasons. She has a PhD in English and an MFA in Creative Writing from schools that shall not be named here. She loves to cook, sew, and play the piano. She realizes that her hobbies might make her sound like an old lady and she’s totally okay with that. She lives with her husband and her dogs. She is from Taos, New Mexico.

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[lostwill-blog1]

🌈- A memory about when they first fell in love🌋- A memory about their first heartbreak

flash back to the past aka. a really fucking old meme-  a memory about when they first fell in love & a memory about their first heartbreak

     the first time will sees alexia matthews, she’s sitting on a retaining wall outside one of the lecture halls, sketching what appears to be the quad in her notebook. he thinks about how red her hair is and then thinks about what he’s going to get for punch because today’s pre-season practice is about to be brutal.

     orientation week is one of those eye-rolling things that everyone looks back on later and laughs at ( all ice breakers and learning campus slang and walking from one end of campus to the other and back again ). and yeah, will’ll look back on that week and laugh about things, but he’ll mostly remember alexia smiling as she introduced herself ( ‘hi, i’m alexia. i’m from san francisco, and one fun fact about me is i haven’t missed a diary entry in five years’ ). she’d been cute then, laughing as she swept her hair sticking to her neck over one shoulder. will hadn’t fallen in love then, but he’d smiled back and waited his turn as they went around the circle.

     maybe he falls in love as she’s explaining goddamn error propagation to him, delicate fingers splayed across his lab notebook. he’s too busy staring at the freckles on her nose than her explaining partial derivatives and square roots and some shit like that.

     maybe it’s when she takes his still unscarred hand and tugs him along to some art museum because you promised, will. after i helped you with your lab report. he thinks she wouldn’t have a problem finding someone else to pull along with her, but she chooses him and will lets himself go with a smile tugging at his lips.

     maybe it’s when she unleashes that fiery soul inside her for the first time, something people don’t expect from her because she’s all pastel chalk and flowery poetry --- even poetry can ignite fires though.

     maybe it’s when she’s pouting over her dropped ice cream on the sidewalk, already melting into green sludge and squishy chocolate chips, and the way she beams when he thrusts his own cone into her ink-stained hands --- he shouldn’t be eating it anyways, messes with his diet plan.

     maybe he realizes she might love him back when he finds her in the library in the wee hours of morning, red hair splayed across the table, obscuring calculus notes and paper outlines and a half finished sketch of his eyes peering back at him.

     maybe he doesn’t know when he fell for alexia matthews, only that the leaves are changing to match her hair and he kisses her because he feels it’s right.

     they say that love is a choice; perhaps not so much with who you love, but how you continue to love them. love is a feeling, yes, but it requires work too, and somewhere along the line will stops divvying his energy so equally. and that is how the cracks begin.

     he loves alexia. this he knows, but hockey is in his veins, in his heart, in his fingers now decorated with pale scars --- alexia was his love, but not his first. 

     she comes to that conclusion soon enough, without will even realizing because he’s too stuck in his own world. “ love is a choice. ” alexia says when she corners him in the hall, hockey bag heavy against his leg. he can’t seem to meet her eyes, and the guilt settle heavy in his stomach.

     he breaks her heart by saying nothing. she breaks his by saying she still loves him, and he knows he doesn’t deserve it.

     she doesn’t say that they can still be friends, and when will sees her on campus again, muscles exhausted and hair still wet from his post-practice shower, he doesn’t ask what they are.