#she has such a grabbable waist you guys | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

yanderenightmare · 4 years ago

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Can you write some more about nice guy jock kiri? Please and thank you. Have a good day!

yandere ! KIRISHIMA EIJIRO - RED RIOT

goodiebag WARNINGS: nsfw, dubcon/noncon, suggestive language, manipulation, coercion

THAT ESCALATED QUICKLY

He said she could pick the movie this time.

He said she could pick out any movie at all. Whatever she wanted, they were going to watch. Yet in the time she’d spent making lunch, Kirishima sprawled lazily in her bed, browsing half-mindedly, eyes sliding from viewing the screen to looking at her round grabbable ass dancing as she padded about the small kitchen, begging for him to come pinch as she put the stir-fry in bowls and walked over to plot herself down next to the muscly block of man, he’d already picked a movie, far away from something she’d choose, though when eyeing what puppy-dog look he gave her, she couldn't very well say no.

Kirishima has always been clingy. She wouldn't like to call it suffocating, or controlling, though it does border on the word. But she cannot blame him for being handsy and suggestive when they’re alone, in her apartment, in her bed. He’s always been needy, always touching her, so very big-hearted and forward, easily distracted, easily discarding of tasks in favor of doing what new activity calls for his attention, like a dog.

She was becoming quite used to his confident nature, how hap-hazardously he would go about touching her, kissing and licking at her the way he so often went about doing, so much so it was strange to think that they hadn't ever actually slept together.

They had been dating for a couple weeks, and Kirishima was clear about his intentions and aspirations and wants and needs from the start, being a very open honest person, but she couldn't help but feel as though he was pushing her, nudging her, guilt-tripping her with candid words of how horny he was because of her, how frustrated he was, how frigid, how it was effecting his schoolwork, how good a boyfriend he was for waiting, for being patient and tolerant, how she couldn't blame him for wanting something in return, even though that something was a thing she wasn't ready to give him.

It would be wrong if she said he didn't respect her wishes, because he had, albeit begrudgingly. Each time she invited him over, or... he invited himself over, when he became rowdy, it would always take a good amount of bargaining and persuasion on her side, which was always met with even more coaxing and encouragement from him. How he would message his hand into the inside of her thigh, and she would push ever so gently to keep him at bay until he finally laid off, the mood stiff and awkward as he left her apartment to walk to his own place, alone, with a rejected boner he would have to take care of alone, then go to sleep alone, and wake up alone. He had still respected her wish in the end, or... maybe not respected, but at least accepted it.

She hadn't picked out the movie, and it being something she hadn't really invested very much thought into, she didn't try and stop him from nuzzling into her neck, kissing and sucking on the tender flesh found there. She allowed him to lift her shirt up to rub circles into her stomach with his warm roughened hand, let him grab and grope and mold her breast through the fabric of her bra, let him swing his leg over her body, to lock her position beneath him and his brawny heavy frame as he cuddled into her.

She could already feel the stiff bulge bump into her thigh, tried to forgive him for always riling himself up when he knows what her answer’s going to be, knows how she isn't ready to give him what he wants. Hearing his breathing picking up, becoming rugged and raspy, hot against her neck as he tried humping into her, having rolled and positioned and handled both their bodies so he could lie between her thighs, face mushed into the soft skin of her neck, nipping at her collarbones , spiky hair poking into the underside of her chin, hands abrasive when squeezing at the flesh of her ass and thighs, gripping them to lock around his torso, venturing to grab at her waist and breasts, becoming more and more frenzied, more and more rugged, forgetting his strength, forgetting her protests, getting more and more carried away.

She jolted once she felt his fingers hook into the band of her panties, having slipped up her skirt and spidered playfully up her thigh. She grabbed his arms loosely, small hands obviously not able to wrap around the thickness of his muscles, though applying what strength she deemed necessary to make him take her seriously, lightly digging her fingernails into his skin. “Uhm, Kiri-” She squeaked unsurely, breaching the shapeless noisy silence of heavy breathing and rugged groans and building growls that had filled the room, movie still quietly playing in the background, white noise completely ignored by the burning of her ears.

“Come on, let me feel.” He purred into her ear, giving her lobe a nibble.

“Uhm, I don't think-” She shoved at him, balls of her feet digging into the mattress, trying to sit up.

He laid his weight down on her, immobilizing her movement, keeping her under him. “Come on...” He drawled, voice rumbling. “Please?” Mumbling into her skin, knowing how it always makes her giggle from the tickle by the light scruff on his chin, knowing it makes her sweet and pliable. “Pretty please? It’ll feel good, I promise.”

He didn't really wait for any response, his face mushed into her neck, seeming cute as he pleaded but also acting as a great trap, his hand succeeded in pushing her panties aside, warm worn fingers, foreignly larger cuddled with the sensitivity kept there. His breath shuddered, lips spreading into a toothy grin against her neck, so wide she could feel it.

“Aww.” He moaned. “That’s so warm and wet.” She cringed, but hadn't the time to tell him to stop, hadn't the time to decide that she valued her limits more than maintaining the good vibe, and then she hadn't the mind to really think about it at all, too preoccupied with wrapping her thoughts around the fact that Eijiro had just pushed one thick knuckled finger inside her, roughly at that, pumped it in, stuffed her with it, with an equally chaffed thumb-pad laying heavy pressure down into her little beading clit.

It would probably have felt awful, the brutish boyish clumsy inconsiderate rubbing, but having him dry-hump into her for the better half of the entire movie made for a little messy spill between her thighs, perfectly ready to make whatever rough movement he gave seem like God’s touch, enough to have her moan at once.

“Does that feel good?” He asked, cocky undertone almost completely smoked out by livid lust, his arousal so very clear in his voice as he removed his weight when feeling her body melt and comply to what his hand was giving her of bliss. His large muscly frame rising to kneel between her legs, having her thighs hiked up and spread atop of his, forehead resting against hers. She bobbed her head in a series of quick sporadic nods, teeth biting harshly into her lip as she watched with a bowed head his finger disappear in and out the vulnerable sensitivity found between her spread thighs, the smell of beer on his heavy hot breaths fan over her face before he kissed her head. “You wanna cum?” She gave a moan, indicating an unspoken yes as he rubbed his thumb over and over her tender pearl, pushing another one of his long fingers inside her, making her gasp out a moan, mewing as he curled and scissored the two digits inside her, making her inevitable unraveling arrive much quicker.

He wiped his sticky hand on his pant leg with a small smug smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth, watching as her head fell back to rest against the pillow again, beginning to unbutton his jeans.

The sound of him sliding down his zipper pulled her focus back, eyelids fluttering open just in time to watch him pull his throbbing hard erection out with a sigh. And though the red-head had gone about the reveal in an unceremonious manner, whether it was out of lack of showmanship or Kirishima deeming it unnecessary, it didn't really matter to the virgin beneath him. She took one look and she wasn’t able to look away. A surprising black bush drew her focus at first, what more the two easter-eggs that seemed to be nestling there, but not before long her eyes felt the need to follow what bulging pumping purple vein ran up the underside of the thickness, almost like a spine, or a pin that reached up to a red-blushed head, glossed like a candy-apple, with a slit running though it and a spill of pre-cum dripping down to disappear in the dark forest below.

She could swear it sized up to her whole arm’s-length.

Her eyebrows knitted as she continued eyeing the hard pole, watching it bob with strength, straining against his stomach, standing proudly on it’s own as he lifted his shirt off his arms and shoulders, throwing it to the floor, revealing what mouthwatering washboard rock-hard abs he kept beneath.

His hand once again reached out, this time to grab her wrist, guiding her shaking hand back to his thick member, watching her hesitate to wrap her delicate little fingers around his length once he squeezed her wrist too hard in impatience, seeing her bite her lip at the feel of the almost rubbery-smooth texture of his length in her palm, warm to the touch. His larger hand wrapped around her smaller one, guiding the movement as he started pumping up and down.

He groaned, head hung and resting atop her shoulder where he knelt with her sitting form in his lap, red eyes with wide pupils locked on watching her small hand loosely holding onto him, his cock looking so unbelievably huge in her tiny grasp, like some beast, where the more he thought about it and the more he looked, it was big compared to all of her, he could only imagine what she was thinking as she eyed his length with that cute childish level of curiosity and sweet tinge of virgin anxiety. She needed to bite her lip to prevent it from trembling, wanting to squeeze her thighs shut when they too became unruly, wanting to protect what was kept between them.

It only made his cock throb even harder.

“I- fuck-” He grunted, thrusting shallowly up into her hand by angling his hips up, looking down upon her enticing pretty silken dew-kissed heat, his finger greedily reaching to touch the tender entrance only to hear her whimper out a small whine at once when his rough digits brazenly made contact. “You’re so shy, it’s adorable.”

The loosely given hand-job felt good around his priorly ignored arousal, what with how sensitive he was, but was missing what her pussy was welcomingly dripping with.

He lowered himself, hand grabbing his base to steady the attack, yet was declined by her placing her own hand in front of the poor unsuspecting virgin tightness. “Uhm, Kiri- I-”

He shushed at her, prying her hand easily away, replacing it with his own, rubbing those electrical patterns he did before into her pretty budding pearl. “No, no, Baby. Come on. Pretty please, it’ll feel so good, I’ll be gentle okay? It’ll be good, I promise.” He swirled his thumb over her clit, an act far from gentle, though sending those sharp involuntary spikes of pleasure into her core, giving to something pooling in her stomach, something warm and sticky and heavier than before, almost burdening with how it strained in the muscles of her thighs, making her shake beneath the man’s mere thumb. “I love you, Baby, don't you want us to take the next step?”

“Uhm...” She gasped as he abused the sensitivity under his course strength.

“Thank you, Baby.” He purred, lips carved into a smile fit for devouring, planting kisses down her face and into her neck, his cock pushing into the velvet folds.

But she backed up, balls of her feet pushing into the mattress, her palms doing the same, but Kirishima had other plans, none of them including letting her up.

“Kiri, no-” She pushed lightly at his chest then, as she’d done before, trying to soothe and smooth over the feathers she’d ruffled, trying ever so gently in those small soft caresses to apologize for having riled him up so.

But seems this time he wouldn't have that either, her hands cupped and pulled rather dismissively out of the way, dominated by his own and how he intertwined his digits, raking them in with her dainty ones, locking their hands, or rather securing hers, before pushing them flat into the sheets beside her, giving him full access to what lied beneath him without her bothersome fists getting in his way. “Come on, Babe... stop being a little tease...” Her hands slipped their confinements in his as he rather needed them to manage her body, felt that twitching itch to grab and grope and tug and pull at all her doughy flesh. She gasped as he groped a mans handful of her ass, bumping his bare cock into her, rubbing it up and over her pussy, bobbing between their stomachs.

His face was still so adamant on nibbling at the flesh of her collar, leaving what she knew to be ugly swelling purple stains that turned into those vile green and yellow marks looking like fungus blooming on her skin. “I’m sorry-” It was all too much to have his warm skin pressed against her, his naked hardness, all of him, his rough hands, his brutish needle-sharp teeth, that thing that poked at her, humped into her where he’d made a sticky wet hot mess, with her underwear put somewhere out of sight and most definitely out of reach. “I’m not ready to-” Her hands tried softly but with increasing effort at getting him off, trying to get her discomfort across to the seemingly clueless baboon who was handling her body to his own selfish ends on top of her.

“It’s fine.” His voice was heated, soft despite trodding over her own, as he tried calming her down, again with his hands tugging at her wrists and pushing the annoying things away from him, again so he could lie himself down on top of her. “We’ll try something-” His efforts at soothing her weren’t appreciated by the girl beneath as she continued pushing, bordering on thrashing beneath the giant red-head.

“Kiri, stop. ” There was an edge to her voice this time, an edge he didn’t appreciate.

Large hand wrapped their fingers around her wrist and crushed it with a strength she couldn't hope to match, a dark chuckle following, rumbling just beside her ear alongside a small smile carving his lips at the cute pop of bones followed by her whimper. “Stop being so difficult, Babe.” He chastised, voice dismissive and completely unbothered by her spiked struggles, treating her reluctance like it was nothing but a minor inconvenience he could simply swat away like a fly. “I know you’ll like it, you just need to-”

“I don’t need to do anything!” She cried now, adorable small whines as she tried prying her hand out of his hold. “Get off me!”

“Kinda feels like you’re trying to piss me off here.” His tone darkened, and so did the look in his eyes, and though she was just short of bawling with the lump of hopelessness and fear caught stuck in her throat, the adrenaline gave her such a rush of confidence as her leg finally managed to shuffle under his, allowing her to knee him right in that swelled thick slug he was so transfixed on appeasing.

And though she managed briefly to slip out from beneath him, it was no victory, and she felt that ounce of triumph that fluttered in her heart snuff out at the feel of his brawny taunt and rock hard arms wrap around her torso, hoisting her off the ground, only to throw her right back where she’d been laying not moments ago.

“Please, Eijirou, please, you're scaring me, stop.” She kicked now, flopping beneath him like a fish hauled up on a boat, tried prying her hands out of his grasp yet couldn't stop him from holding her down, rolling her on her stomach while he pulled off his uniform necktie, bending her arms behind her back and tightening the noose around her wrists, pulling the tail between them to secure the knot tightly, before rolling her back with her hands being crushed beneath her.

Her face reappeared tear-slicked and panicked. “There we go, all pretty and perfect for me.” He lightly tapped her face as he stuffed her mouth with the panties he fished back up from his pockets, settling between her legs again as she whined through the make-shift gag.

Rough course hand, like sandpaper, like rock, slid down between her thighs, slowly in their venture, pushing and kneading into the softness, hungry as they groped and pushed her open, wrapped her around his torso so he could slap his rock-solid cock onto her vulnerable little opening.

“Let me paint a picture for you, Babe.” He started, catching her attention.

Her eyes so unbelievably wide as she looked up at him through the thick hazy ominous darkness of the room, a darkness that once seemed so cozy now so overwhelming, the sun having gone down, the TV turned to black, the lights left off and the only glimmer coming from the streetlights and the dim white glow of the moon shining in through her window, leaving Kirishima’s sharp teeth to hang above her and how they seemed to drip, eerie shadows cast upon his face, eyes red and hazy, drooped to slits, drunk and cocky as he continued rubbing his cockhead up through the lips of her pussy ever so causally, like she wasn’t bound and bawling beneath him.

“So listen up and listen carefully. Can you do that, Babe?”

She felt cold suddenly, chilled to her core by his tone, reduced to shivering beneath his confident touch, shuddering where she laid, chest pushed upward above the support her arms gave, head drawing in the dune of her pillow, thighs lifted to straddle her boyfriend’s waist, his hand keeping her there by curling his thumb into the underside of her knee.

“The way I see it, you have two options.” He leaned in, voice sturdy but soft like a straight-jacket. “Either you be my good girl and give me what’s mine.” Tone swooping low into a growl. “Or...”

His hands moved steadily as they began unbuttoning her shirt from the bottom up, planting a kiss on the newly exposed skin of her tummy, just short of her belly-button. The light scruff of his chin tickling the thin skin it rubbed against as he continued licking and nibbling on the flesh the more it was exposed to him.

“You run along to your friends, tell them what a bad bad guy I am. They ask for proof, but silly little you have no proof to give.” He chuckled, warm breath breezed on the peach-fuzz of her chest as he kept sucking his marks into her, hands fingering the last of her buttons. “People love me, Buttercup, so let me ask you this...” The crimson spikes of his hair stuck into the underside of her chin as he licked up her throat, kissed her jaw and bit at her earlobe, whispering. “Who’s side you think they gonna take?” Humming as he watched another fat tear run down her cheek. “You go to the teachers, they ask for proof, something you still don’t have because there is none. And even if they did believe you... no saying they’d do anything about it. I’m destined to be a billboard hero. Do you really think they’ll throw all that away on some ditz from general studies?” Question after question, answer after answer, each one another stab and twist of the rusty blade in her hope. “Think again.” With her shirt open she witnessed him morph his hand into sharp rock, a jagged finger burrowing beneath the bridge of her bra and cutting the thick fabric loose, now fully exposed to his mouthful of teeth and slobbering tongue. “Hate to break it to you, but that’s not how the world works, Sweetheart.”

She closed her eyes, clamped them shut, but it only helped her feel all his entitled actions even more, how he moved, rightfully, regardlessly, without regret or remorse. She swore she could feel him pulsating against her, his cock pumping against her swollen clit, where she could argue that the rip of him tearing apart her skirt was the loudest noise she’d ever heard in her life.

“And perhaps it ends there, but I know you. You continue, trying to make anyone believe you, eventually ending up in management for crazy obsessed fanatic fangirls -of which I have many- or you give up.” His mouth enclosed her nipple, tongue swirling around the bud, fingers tweaking the other breast with boyish greediness. “Either way, you end up missing. With no friends to bother coming to find you, thinking that your delusional ass offed yourself, when in reality...”

Large hand curling around her neck, squeezing as he rose to look down at her, rock his hips to allow his cock more friction, sliding up and down between her thighs, bobbing against her stomach, thrumming and spilling thick whiteness, dripping and smearing onto her skin.

“You’re right back here with me.”

Her heart skipped, seemed to stop, everything seemed to stop. His words hung poised, forgetting how to drop, like dust settling, lingering about the air as she looked up at him, thinking he looked like the onset of hell, like a demon, his hair like horns, his eyes like hellfire, and those teeth, those sharp unforgiving teeth.

“You see, if you don’t give, I will take.” He juggled her head with the tight grip he had on her jaw, playing with her as his other hand swept through her delicate sensitive folds, made her cringe, try and shimmy away, all to his disgusting amusement shown in the snaggletooth that hooked over his lip as he smirked a grim curled line. “And right now it looks to me like I might just have to show you just how defenseless you are to stop me.” His digits wiggled inside her, and she whined into her panties as she sucked on them, her eyes clinging to the dangerous heat simmering inside his. “Aww see? You’re already getting so wet. Your body sure knows who it belongs to, I’m sure you will too, very soon.”

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mediocreauthor · 2 years ago

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ok, i did what you asked... best in bed list. now time for you to give back........ release the best NANA ass list 😤

Kyosuke - juicy, plump, the man a whole package and his package? premium quality. would pre-order if it was on sale. bootylicious was written for this fine gentleman.

Asami - she made bank with that ass and rightfully. deserves every penny, nobu didn't know how to handle it. i can't get over how she looked in that gown

Shion - she is hiding a perfect, peachy dumptruck under that trench coat. yasu has rode the flavor train

Junko - very well matched with his boyfriend. kim kardashian cries herself to sleep while gazing at photos of junko.

Ginpei - all the good asses loves Yasu because they know taste. he is strong like a dad carrying three cases of beer not puffy with protein powders strong. his case on the other hand? served.

Hachi - there was the foundation with nothing much built on it,then she gave birth to two kids. built herself an empire. got that milf ass as a crown.

Takumi - I don't wanna say it... i don't want to... but his shoulders are wide and his ass fills those pimp trousers he wears. nothing impressive but if you smack it your hands wouldn't break.

Yasu - again, i am not winded by his ass. wouldn't write poems about it. but appropriate proportion-wise.

Reira - i mean... not bad. she has a petite figure so also gets points from being proportionate.

Nobu - once again, i think raging against the machine melts your ass you guys because this rich heir who i know have been fed like a king's goose has little to no ass. shocked and upset.

Naoki - i want to think that future him has more to offer but he was sitting down. D-

Ren - honestly so disappointed but not surprised. a small but perky ass would've completed his twink measurements like tiny grabbable waist but... it just falls flat. quite literally.

Miu - she is as curvy as a highway and I love that.

Nana - ren and nana are a match made in flat ass land. you can come at me for putting her so low but i had HIGH expectations. i would've put her higher but in the future chapters her ass was still not smackable. all that running away from her problems stunted her ass development.

Shin - literally a toothpick 🥺 love him tho

Sachiko - she was a thumbelina kinnie, didn't expect anything

Shoji - ass is INDENTED. hurts to sit. also dirty. All of the character's above has... A GOOD ASS COMPLIMENTING THEIR BODY. not this man tho. his ass was eaten by worms. pray for this man.

this is made for shits and giggles and make no mistake- i'd smack every ass here, some malevolently but still. only a coward with a not refined palette wouldn't appreciate small asses.

#nana manga #osaki nana #komatsu nana

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throwawaythewontons · 5 years ago

Text

Perverse by nature

ao3

(warning: nsfw, lesbian sex, slight objectification, internalized homophobia)

It’s not Richie’s fault per se. She doesn’t know where it’s coming from. Maybe it’s some part of some complex someone’s yet to name. maybe it’s the vaccines. Maybe she’s just horny. Maybe her parents didn’t love her enough as a kid.

Really, she’s always known. There is a name for it, but she’s not going to talk about that, because she doesn’t want to close any doors. It was comforting when she’d found out and slid so easily into the word it felt like a fat kid going down a waterslide. But she tells herself it’s not important enough to state out loud. Richie likes girls. It’s never been something she’s had to question or seek out, it’s just always been kind of, there. She’s always played with girls. Always wanted to be friends with them. Hold their hands. Touch their hair and put her hands around their waists.

It didn’t feel disgusting until started liking her best friend. It didn’t feel disgusting before she started looking at her boobs.

Elisabeth Kaspbrak (affectionately named Eddie) had been friends with Richie Tozier since kindergarten and for as long as Richie can remember she’s always been shorter than her. She was attracted to her, not in the same way she was attracted to Billie or Stan because they were made of the same matter. Because she simply didn’t put up with Richie’s antics, because she, herself, is someone to be put up with. Right from the first time she plopped down in the seat next to Richie and wiped the table down with hand sanitizer, Richie’s known. Though she was half her size, she was arguably twice as loud, twice as stubborn and twice now in…other regions.

(one could argue two times zero is still zero but back to the story)

Eddie had spent that summer with her aunt, away from Derry and the other losers. She’d left two days after school ended, fiercely hugging Richie before she left. It was a getaway arranged by her mother (of course). Her excuse was that Eddie was going through a rebellious phase and that she needed to spend some time with good women of her family, being reminded of the right values again. During her getaway, Eddie had gone through an unexpected…growth spurt.

She’s still shorter than Richie. By far. But she’s filled out a lot more. A lot more. Well, they all have. Over the past years, they’ve all started wearing real bras, not the sports bras from the kids' section. Richie herself hadn’t filled out as much as she’d shed the weight of childhood, carving herself a new figure with sharp ribs and hip dips and boobs that weren’t even worth the effort of wearing a bra. Eddie however…

Christ, it wasn’t like she’d gone from zero to one hundred just like that. She’d always been a little curvier than the other losers (save for Bernadette). It just hadn’t been as noticeable before. Before the first day of Junior high, when Richie chained up her bike and Eddie came barreling towards her.

“Rich! Hey there loser!” she smiles wide and runs towards her. Her hair is tied up in a ponytail, two strands pulled out to frame her face (Richie had watched her tie her hair back enough to know how she did it. how she flipped her head back and pulled the elastic from around her wrist, smoothing the front down and then pulling two sections out from behind her ears with her pinkies). She’s wearing tennis shoes with calf-high socks, high waisted Bermuda-shorts, and a very tight, yellow polo shirt. Richie recognized that polo. It’s one of Eddie's favorites. It hadn’t been tight when she left.

Eddie barrels into her and wraps her arms around her. She’s wearing her bookbag and she’s warm like sunshine and smells so pretty. She’s pressing up against Richie and Richie can feel everything.

Warm. Soft. Big. Squishy. Boobies. Boobsboobsboobs.

Richie’s cheeks grow hot. Her entire face grows hot. She might be sweating. Something else feels hot too. She’s trying not to squeeze Eddie’s waist too tight. She wants to press her knees together. There’s a pounding in her lower stomach and it's begging her to reach down, reach out, grab.

Eddie has boobs now.

Design within reach. Soft and firm at the same time. Perfectly grabbable and holdable. And how Richie wants to hold, even as she feels bile in her throat and a cold sensation spreading through her forehead and down her back. She’s shaking.

Eddie draws back, the hug itself only lasting a few seconds, and is telling Richie about her aunt. Richie huffs and grunts along as best as she can. She’s good with words, just not the right ones. She takes time to look Eddie over.

God. They must have grown like, three cups apiece. Or maybe one is bigger than the other? That’s normal, apparently. They stretch out her shirt like they’re trying to escape. Hey Richie! look at us! Has she even noticed? She walks like she hasn’t. talks and moves like she doesn’t even two, her poor shirt fighting for its life. It had been too small last summer. The only reason Eddie kept it was for sentimental values. Richie wishes she’d chucked it out. Is she even wearing a bra? Richie didn’t felt any bra during their hug, only the smooth expanse of her back. This was obscene.

It was downright pornographic.

Richie lifts her bookbag from her bicycle basket and feels as the cold begins to spread down her spine like poison.

This objectification, this ruff sexualization, fetishization of another girl’s body. It’s new. Of her friend. Of someone who should trust her. It’s sadistic. It’s vile. Eddie shouldn’t have to worry about her best friend ogling her like a piece of meat. Richie is no better than the old men who sit in front of the pharmacy, or the boys in the hallway who snap bras and look under skirts. She’s a sexual deviant and it’s never been more apparent, transparent or provocative.

She gratefully slips into a different classroom than Eddie. Never has history felt so relieving.

She doesn’t concentrate. The pounding between her legs had died down and she’s left with only the cold. Shame. She had always looked differently at girls. admired the soft curves of their faces and eyelashes. How they applied their Chapstick. Richie is grateful she’s not born as a man and isn’t sporting a hard-on right now. She can admire from afar. No accidental boners to squish. No telltales. Her nipples don’t even get hard unless directly stimulated, even if all the pornos are trying to convince her otherwise.

But wouldn’t it have been easier if she was a guy? Not because it would be forgiven for her to go rigid at a pair of tits, but because it would be expected of her? Perhaps everything is easier with a penis involved. Perhaps Richie is a dyke. The truth is somewhere in the pudding. Perhaps this is a fluke. A slipup on behalf of her pubescent brain. This is new and exciting, and her brain mistook it for arousal. With time it will fade away as all hyper fixations do. She might still like to hold Eddie’s hand in the movie theatre but they won’t be kissing while they do it.

For lunch, they meet up with the other girls and Bev. They all huddle together on their blue plastic benches like they always do. The table smells like cleaning supplies and library coffee. Eddie’s new boobs stretch and squish together as she talks with her hands and her thigh is brushing up against Richie. Did they get bigger too? Richie is too afraid to look. They’re sitting close like they always do, and for once Richie dreads it. well, that’s not entirely true. There’s always been a certain amount of risk in being around Eddie. she likes it like that. Pushing too close, too far. Someone catching her starring or reading the subtitles. But no one’s said anything like that. Maybe girls are allowed to be close like that.

(perhaps it is easier, not because it is expected, but because it is forgiven)

What if they already know? What if it’s too late, too obvious and they’re just testing how far she will go. This just in: Richie Tozier really a lesbian? She is, as all high schoolers are, part of a game. A hierarchy. Many have framed it as a war, but really, it’s closer to a gameshow.

Will she start creeping on her classmates in the locker rooms. (“be careful, I think she’s a lesbian,” Drew Newman whispers behind her, she’s talking to the new girl in school. It’s 5th grade and Richie said she liked her t-shirt) will she take pictures of them in the shower? touch another student? Kiss another student? Cut her hair short like a boy and shove her giant nose in their pussies?

Richie quietly eats her sandwich. Stan is sitting across from her, carefully wiping her mouth after each of her fries, even if there’s no sauce. Next to her Billie is playing with Mikey’s hair, gently braiding and re-braiding a section as she speaks. None of them are looking at Richie.

Is that what they look like to others? She and Eddie? two girls sitting on a bench braiding hair?

She knows no one can read her mind. Not even Stan. If they can they haven’t said anything yet, and Richie hopes they keep it that way. If you look objectively, they’re doing nothing. They’re sitting next to each other. They’re eating their lunch. Seeking occasional contact, as all primates do. But true objectivity doesn’t exist in humans, and that might be the scariest thing of them all to someone like Richie. Even the concept of objectivity is a subjective term because it’s a word and a concept, made up by humans and equipped with its own fair share of subjective weight. Humans are subjective creatures. Deeply so. Really, truly, are they just sitting next to each other?

Richie doesn’t claim to know the truth, only a version of it.

It’s a month later when Eddie comes over to her house. It’s been a month of Richie living in limbo, looking away and admiring from afar. She masturbates every night before going to bed now. It helps her sleep.

She wants to grab her tits. She wants to squeeze them and push them against herself. Kiss the bridge between them and press her face into them. lick them and suck at the skin around the areola. Rub her nipples. Kiss them. lick and suck them. she wants Eddie to grab onto her hair and gasp into the air. Wrap her soft thighs around Richie and ask her for more.

Richie sometimes fantasizes about what would happen, if she grabbed them at their lunch table. Or in the hallway. if she just went up to Eddie and started groping her, looking her directly in the face as she did it. what would happen?

In fantasy land, Eddie’s eyes widen and she looks up at Richie in shock. Her cheeks go red and her mouth goes silent. But she doesn’t stop her. She gasps and presses her body into Richie’s. She moans pathetically as she grabs onto her for support and her face crumbles in arousal. Her thighs push together when Richie starts playing with her nipples and kissing her neck. Others fade away in the background and Richie reaches down and hikes up Eddie’s skirt, rubbing her through her panties and she moans and fists Richie’s cardigan.

In the real world though, Richie knows. She knows that wouldn’t happen. In the real world, she wouldn’t even stand a chance. Eddie would jerk back, maybe even push her. She would be disgusted. Her eyes widen in horror as she realizes who she’s allowed close to her, who she’d been sitting next to, every lunch period for years. Who she’d shared her food with, her secrets with, her comic books and her bed with. They’d spent so much time together as kids, sleeping over at each other’s houses with the other losers. How many of those nights had Richie spent awake, staring at her? Touching her? The color returns to Eddie’s face as she shifts from disgust to rage. Hatred. The other losers at their table, the people in the hallway, now begin to whisper. Their teachers look on with pity and disappointment.

“Be careful…”

Right between the two fantasies, is where Richie comes. The first is her own creation. Her dramaturgy where she decides who plays who. Who does what. The second one is the fire that burns it all down, the second is the aftermath. The water that washes the paint off and reveals an ugly face underneath. She can’t say which is her favorite because it is one. One fantasy. one never comes without the other. It’s a euphoria that comes with high risk and Richie falls for it every time.

This must be how a cult is formed , she thinks, one night in her misery. One person gets an idea and others are looped in, promised an elation of life with no idea that there’s a shotgun pointed at their head. Is it possible to brainwash yourself?

She’s standing in her kitchen when she hears the doorbell ring. She puts down her Fanta as she goes to open the door. And of course, Eddie is outside.

“Hi Rich!” she’s wearing a white button-up cardigan and high waisted red shorts. She’s holding a blue shopping bag. Richie doesn’t recognize the shorts. But she knows the cardigan used to be Stans. It looks better on Eddie.

“hey there Spaghetti,” she leans into the doorframe, getting into character, “what brings you to my store?”

“I wanna talk to you asshole. Also, stop calling me spaghetti, it’s annoying.” She pushes past Richie and toes off her tennis shoes. Richie lets her. She closes the front door and waits until Eddie is done.

“any particular topic?”

Eddie shakes her head. “no, just wanted to talk to you.”

Richie smiles and goes back into the kitchen, charmed by her abandoned Fanta can. Eddie follows and wrinkles her nose as Richie takes a sip.

“do you even know what’s in that stuff?”

Richie takes an extra loud sip, swishes it around in her mouth like Listerine and swallows.

“do you?”

Eddie squirms (to Richie’s amusement), “your parents are dentists. What would your dad do, huh? If he knew what a bitch you are?”

Richie burbs and blows into Eddie’s face. “applaud.”

“you’re an ass.”

Richie delivers what she calls her Hollywood-smile and stares Eddie in the face. Eddie herself is delivering an excellent battle face, jaw slightly pushed out and penciled eyebrows pushing together. She doesn’t mean it, neither of them does to the extent of their act, but it’s fun to perform their quick-paced comedy. Even if they are the only audience members. Richie, this time, is the one to put down her sword and blink.

“Seriously though, do you want a drink? There’s lemonade in the fridge.”

“I want tea,” Eddie drops the face and starts rummaging through their cupboards. Richie amuses at the routineness of Eddie’s movement.

It was not unusual for her to show up unannounced like today. Many Sunday mornings, Maggie and Wentworth could be sitting in the kitchen and enjoying their toast, and Eddie Kaspbrak would simply wander in and take a glass of juice without any of them even looking up. Most of the time though, Eddie would quickly disappear upstairs to Richie’s room. She finds everything without having to ask. It’s one of Richie’s favorite things about her. It’s proof of their friendship in the most literal way there is. through muscle memory. It’s not something obvious, but to the observant outsider, it’s undeniable. It’s a part of Eddie’s body that wasn’t there before. Because of Richie, it is.

She gathers all the things she needs in on the prickled countertop tiles next to the stove. A box of lemon-flavored teabags, a mug (adorned with the phrase “best dad ever”, a not very well-received Mother’s Day gift) and a jar of honey from the drawer below the silverware.

Richie watches her quietly from the corner, leaning on the wall next to the microwave. Taking her time to appreciate just what Stans cardigan is doing for Eddie. taking her time to be guilty about it later.

It’s times like this, with Eddie tinkering around her kitchen, that she slips into another fantasy of hers. A seldom one of her and Eddie being married. One where Eddie is her housewife, wearing a dress that Richie bought for her, a necklace that Richie bought for her, a ring Richie bought for her and standing in a kitchen in a house that Richie bought too. She’s cooking breakfast. Maybe there are kids in the background. Richie comes down from upstairs, where she’s shaved and brushed her teeth. She’s wearing a suit and holding a briefcase. Her short hair is slicked back, and Eddie fixes her tie before kissing her. Richie grabs onto her waist, squeezing her dress (it’s satin, no, maybe it’s a picnic dress, with red and white checkers, either way, it fits in all the right places) and lifting her thigh. The kiss grows deeper, Eddie’s heat is drawing her in, and Richie, in the real world takes another sip from her soda.

In this scenario, Richie is a man. It’s part of why she rarely indulges. She doesn’t want to be a man, but if she’s married to a woman, she must. it just makes sense. It can’t work any other way. In the same way that two plus two equals four. A man and a woman can get married Anything else, is not a marriage.

Eddie is not her wife. Certainly not her housewife. In real life, Richie doesn’t have a beard or a cock. She’s wearing jeans and her dad’s old Rolling Stones t-shirt, not a suit. In real life, she’s a teenage girl with a complex.

Eddie finishes her tea, puts all the supplies back (because she’s annoying and organized like that) and climbs up on the counter. her thighs are pressed together. She sways her feet and holds the mug between her hands. Richie is all but reminded of how small she is again. Her feet dangle over the floor. Richie knows if she wants to get down, she’ll have to use the nubs on their kitchen drawers to stand on if she doesn’t want her feet to hurt. Or she’ll have to ask Richie for help.

They stand in silence. Each with their respective drinks, like strangers at a bus stop.

She looks beautiful in the sunlight.

“Actually, I need a favor.”

Aha. So, no talking after all.

“I, uhm,” she’s still looking at her tea, but her hand fumbles to the blue bag next to her. It’s not until now Richie notices she’s brought it with her to the kitchen. She awkwardly hands it to Richie

“I need a place to wash this.”

Richie opens the bag and her heart skips a fucking beat.

It’s a bra. It’s Eddie’s bra. Two of them, actually. Richie can feel the slippery polyester through the bag. They’re plain. Underwire. One is grey and one is a soft pink.

“eh…”

She doesn’t know what to say. Fuck. How do you recover from something like this? Which one-liners are appropriate when your crush hands you a bag of bras? She’s blushing. This is bad.

“I’m sorry!” Eddie says, and she sounds like she really means it, “it’s just, I’ve grown a bit lately and I…my mom, you know how she is!”

“she won’t let you wash your underwear?”

“no but she…she doesn’t know I have it…”

Richie puts the bag down. This is going off the rails.

“what?”

Eddie sighs heavily. She tilts her chin upwards at the ceiling. The look of a pained soldier in her eyes. She’s frustrated, Richie can see her trying to fight it. but maybe there’s more. Something Richie knows all too well.

“I bought them myself,” she says, “my old ones don’t fit me anymore, and I was too scared to say anything to her. She hasn’t said anything yet, so I don’t know if she’s noticed. And it’s just…it’s hard to talk about this stuff to begin with! You know? But my mom? She’s…she’d freak out! she already thinks I’m hitting puberty too early even though I’m almost an adult. She says it’s because I’ve been drinking tap water, tap water Richie! Plus, my aunt is nagging me about modesty all of a sudden because she’s definitely noticed, and everyone keeps staring at me! Like, all the time! Mr. Harris? My fucking teacher? He keeps standing behind me in gym class and it’s really creeping me out. And I need to wash my fucking underwear so will you please help me?”

Richie watches her squirm. She doesn’t know what to say.

People are starring

Yeah, and Richie is one of them

But Eddie is right. Sonia Kaspbrak is a woman of a certain genre. If she knew that her little girl was anything over a b-cup, who knew how she would react. In Sonia’s narrow mind (praise who knew what was going on in there) this would read as a direct attack against herself. this would usually lead to a medicinal approach. At Eddie’s expense of course. Either way, it was awkward enough for Richie and her mother. Richie could only imagine how Eddie felt.

As for the rest of what she’d said. Richie would wallow in that later. Always later. For now, she does her best to be comforting.

“of course I’ll help you.”

Eddie sighs, “thank you.” She starts to climb down from the counter. Richie automatically puts down her drink and goes to help her. Eddie grabs her arm. She’s leaning on her. Not fully but almost. But she pauses momentarily.

“I knew you’d understand. You always do.”

Richie smiles, “what, you think I can relate?” she nods down at herself. in the white folds of her father’s oversized shirt, she looks like a boy.

Eddie licks her lips. “I don’t think it’s a matter of relating Rich.”

She says it so quietly, her brown eyes are staring up at Richie’s. her breath smells like lemons, and something secret. The inside of her mouth. Something that Richie would find gross if it wasn’t Eddie. she looks terribly open and beautiful. And Richie is, at that moment, mesmerized. She doesn’t notice Eddie slipping further down the counter and when she does, she stumbles. Richie grabs onto the first thing she finds before she realizes what’s happening.

Oh no.

Eddie’s eyes widen. Her lips part and a small gasp falls from her lips. Richie let’s go immediately. All the blood has drained from her face. She might faint. Her hand feels warm. Too warm. And the worst part is how tight her crotch is.

Soft. Warm. Smooth yet firm. And big. God, it was even better than she had imagined. Even if she only touched her for a brief second.

“sorry! I’m so sorry” Richie steps back quickly, Eddie slides the rest of the way onto the floor with a soft thud. Everything inside Richie is crumbling

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“Richie it’s okay, it was an accident.”

“I’m sorry, everything you said…you just talked about how awful it is and I’m being part of the problem.”

“Richie…”

Richie plops down in a chair. it’s her moms’ seat. She stares at her hands. Her hand. She can’t look Eddie in the eye. She’s fucking up.

“I didn’t mean to…I don’t want to make it worse. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable. Not because of me.”

The kitchen is heavy with silence. Richie can’t look at Eddie’s face right now. She can’t read her thoughts. Her feelings. Her judgment. But she can imagine. Eddie is shocked. Scared. She’s starring at Richie and wondering what to do now. what she’ll do to overcome this. Sweep it under the rug, so she can still be friends with Richie. Because Richie knows that’s how Eddie is. she’s used to pushing small things to the side. Forgetting accidents. Forgiving those she loves. Letting herself be violated.

Or she’s wondering how she can leave. Preparing herself to walk out of Richie’s front door and never coming back. Never being alone with Richie again. because of what she might do.

Richie is not coming back from this.

“Richie…” she repeats. Silent again. the same way she spoke just a minute ago. And it makes Richie look up.

Here it comes. Here comes the rejection. I think I should leave. Be careful…

Instead, Eddie steps closer. She holds her hands at her side. But now she gently grabs Richie’s hand and lifts it for her. She leads it up to her chest. presses it against her breast. Richie swallows. Her mouth tastes like sour Fanta. She barely dares to breathe; incase it scares Eddie. or maybe it scares herself.

Yet, Eddie compels her. as always.

“Eddie...”

She grabs onto Eddie. before she can change her mind. Her fingertips press into the fleshy body below her hand. It’s warm. Even through her clothes, she’s warm. Eddie’s lips part.

“I…I don’t mind it…” she whispers, “I don’t mind it when it’s you.”

Richie’s hands spring alive, she grabs onto Eddie firmly, bringing her left hand up to join. She grabs her boobs. One firmly in each hand, and squeezes. Hard. Feels their roundness, their firmness. Feels them press against Eddie’s cardigan. It’s too small. What is it with Eddie and wearing shirts that are too small?

Eddie lets out a chocked sound, too close to a moan, and Richie can’t take it anymore. Eddie’s legs are bending before Richie grabs her, but she pulls her down the rest of the way by her hips. She lands on Richie’s lap. Richie spreads her knees, so Eddie’s thighs are forced to follow. she’s heavy and hot. Pressing against Richie in all the right places. Her thighs, her ass, and her tummy are soft and warm too. Deliciously fleshy. Everything about her is so soft. She smells like peaches. Eddie grabs her cheek and presses their mouths together.

Richie might’ve fainted along the way. Maybe hours ago. She’s dreaming. She’s sleeping in her bed upstairs. Her head is spinning between Eddie’s hands. Her mouth feels exactly how she imagined, yet somehow, everything else. She’s real. That’s the main difference. She’s real. And Richie can touch her and kiss her as much as she wants. She can hold her here if she wants to. there are only two people in the world, as far as she knows.

Eddie is gasping into her mouth. Her hips are moving in soft circles as Richie fondles her ass. She’s looking for something. She might not even realize she’s doing it. Richie pushes her own hips up in return. Pushing them together. And as she does, she starts to undo Eddie’s cardigan. The small buttons slip out easily, and really, it’s a miracle they’ve been holding on so long. She breaks their kiss out into intermit pecking to watch soft skin appear bit by bit. Inch by inch, until the soft curve of her cleavage, is in full view. She’s even prettier up close. The bra underneath is black, but Richie does quick work of unclasping it. it falls around Eddie’s waist, caught in her cardigan. Eddie untucks it and Richie throws the bra onto the floor. The infamous blue bag is sitting somewhere on the floor too, and Richie trust they end up together. She, however, is occupied by Eddie.

She’s gorgeous. Her boobs are not as perky without her bra. They’re big and directly in Richie’s face, her nipples hardening in the cold. They’re directly in Richie’s face, and Richie’s mouth tingles. She leans forwards, wasting no time as she sucks on her right nipple.

Eddie lets out a gasp above her, then she moans. Long and desperate, like she can’t stop it. Richie lets out a sound of her own, a sound she doesn’t recognize and presses Eddie impossibly closer. Her crotch is painfully tight, and she rubs up against Eddie in ecstasy.

“R-Richie~”

She’s grabbing onto Richie and Richie is grabbing back. She’s touching everything. Feeling, fondling, tracing, rubbing, pinching, sucking. There’s so much of her. So much to feel. To sense. To take in. she kisses the space between her breasts and her collarbones. Presses her lips against her chest and pulls her tits against her face. Engulfs in her heat. Kneads her right boob as she sucks on the other. An unending hunger pushes her further. Makes her sink deeper. Bite. Somewhere along the way, Eddie’s pants are unbuttoned.

“ah!...h-Rich..”

“Eddie.”

Eddie, again, takes her hand and guides her. This time downwards.

“touch me.”

Her zipper slides down further. dark red fabric parts to reveal olive skin, clean and untouched by the sun. paler than the rest of her. When Richie touches her there, her stomach flutters. She traces the rim of her faded yellow panties one time and dives in.

She’s hotter here than anywhere else on her body.

She’s not clean-shaven, but almost. The hairs are short and even. Neatly kept out of the way. Surprisingly in character. Richie feels all around the fleshy rim of her pussy, investigating. She’s never touched another girl before. But she knows the layout from herself. above her, Eddie has gone quiet. She leans back to look.

She’s holding her breath. Her eyes are closed and she’s biting the inside of her lip. Her nails are digging into Richie’s arm. She’s shaking. Richie watches her. This time she doesn’t look away. Stares at her. Savors her face. Every little wrinkle and curve. She presses her finger against Eddie’s clit. The dampness of her folds almost touches her hand.

“do you like it?”

“yes,” Eddies expression breaks into a gasp, “it feels…h…it feels really good…ah!”

Richie watches her. She watches her and keeps watching her as she rubs Eddie’s clit in rough circles. She’s warm and wet. Overwhelmingly so. Richie dives her fingers in between her folds to feel just how soaked she is. It’s bleeding onto the insides of her thighs, dampening the edges of her panties. Richie briefly pushes her folds apart to feel the edge of her hole. Then she decides against it and goes back to her clit.

“oh~Richie!”

She switches position, this time using two fingers to slide in on either side of Eddie’s clit and pushing them together. She alternates the pressure between the two until she’s rolling Eddie between her fingers. This way, she can go much faster. Eddie starts moving her hips with little rocks. Faster and faster. Her thighs were squeezing Richie’s, knees digging into her sides.

“Richie, Richie, Richie, Richie, Richie, Richie!”

She's pressed completely into Richie. her tits collide with Richie’s sweaty collarbones, her hair is in Richie’s face. Richie gladly buried herself in her. If there was any grave better than Eddie Kaspbrak…

Eddie

Eddie goes quite. She’s not breathing. Then comes with a shout, clutching onto Richie like a dying man. Her moans take shapes of sharp hysterical breaths. Soft liquid coats Richie’s hand that she later wipes off in her jean leg.

Gross.

Eddie would scold her about it that later

They sit in her mother’s kitchen chair for a few more moments with the sun hitting the back of Eddie’s hair. she’s worn it down today. She rarely does, save for Saturdays. But today is a Saturday. So Richie runs her hand through it. she’s breathing heavily on Richie’s neck and Richie thinks she might’ve fallen asleep.

“are you okay?”

Eddie isn’t asleep. She giggles. It’s a surprisingly adult sound. And Richie is hit with the passing of time again. She and Eddie are almost adults. Most would refer to them as young instead of children now. The sunlight makes it worse. Her hand is warm and tingles a bit. But that part might be her imagination.

“Yeah, I’m great.”

“I’m still sorry about accidentally touching your boob by the way.”

“you’ve never been one to shy away from grabbing the bull by the horns.”

“grabbing the hottie by the hooters.”

Eddie sits back a little. Her shirt is still open. So are her shorts. she rolls her eyes. Richie leans in until their noses are touching.

“I’m not sorry about grabbing your boobs on purpose though,” She says, “and I hope to get to grab them again in the future.”

Eddie smiles. Her mouth stays closed. It’s a small and secret smile, with little wrinkles at the side. It might be a little embarrassed. But it’s full of what Richie hopes is love.

“I’m glad.”

They kiss a little bit until they hear a car door slam. Richie’s dad is returning from his tennis lessons, and Eddie quickly buttons up her shirt. They both stand up at Richie picks up the bra from the floor and stuff is into the blue cloth bag. Her dad enters the kitchen just as she closes it.

“hey-oh hi Eddie.”

“Hey Mr. Tozier,” Eddie smiles politely, and Richie grabs her hand.

“I think we’re gonna go upstairs dad,” she says and pulls Eddie out of the kitchen and towards the stairs. Her dad raises his eyebrows but doesn’t protest.

“Okay, you girls have fun…wait, Eddie, don’t you want your tea?”

“no thanks Mr. Tozier it’s cold by now!”

They close the door to Richie’s room behind them.

#reddie #lesbian reddie #it chapter 2 #it chapter 1 #eddie kaspbrak #richie tozier #lesbian eddie kaspbrak #lesbian richie tozier #reddie smut #reddie fanfiction #o.post

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dust2dust34 · 5 years ago

Text

It’s Always Been You (2/6, Olicity AU, T)

Summary: It’s reunion time and Felicity is freaking out.

A/N: Sequel to this ficlet. This was supposed to be a cute little follow-up, but I was having too much fun and it spiraled into a couple more chapters. This is unbeta'd and basically a stream of fanfiction madness coming straight from my brain that I'm using to cope. Please forgive any mistakes. I will be updating once a day until it is finished. Enjoy!

(read on AO3)

“Oh boy. Didn’t think this through. Not at all. Nope.”

Felicity Smoak ran her hands down her dress once. Twice. Three times. A couple dozen more times. But no matter what she did her palms were still damp and now her right one felt weird from hitting the zipper on her side over and over again. The very sexy zipper that had been a huge selling point for the beautiful red dress. It wound around her back and ended on the other side in a slit that showed off how many squats she did every day. Per Curtis, it “screamed sexpot,” and two days ago, that had been an amazing idea. Not so much now. Because now she wasn’t wearing it for her very-gay-and-in-a-very-committed-relationship-slash-roommate fake boyfriend, but for…

Oliver Queen.

“Oh boy.”

Felicity walked in quick, tight circles, her heels hitting the ground with decisive echoes of ‘shouldn’t be doing this shouldn’t be doing this shouldn’t be doing this.’ She scrubbed her hands over her hip bones. Her heart pounded so hard she was positive it was going to burst right out of her chest and splatter all over the yellowing tile of Starling City High School. Chatter and thumping music reverberated down the hallway from the gym entrance.

Maybe if she stayed hidden here, nobody would even know she was there.

“Felicity?”

Or not.

“Yes?” She spun to the voice, plastering on a smile. It faltered when she saw the elegant, willowy form approaching her. “Laurel. Hi.”

“So that was you,” the other woman said as she approached. She wore a beautiful black and silver sheath of a dress that somehow made her a hundred feet taller. A smile was on her lips, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Especially when Felicity just stared at her uncomprehendingly. “At the coffee shop. You know, where you were kissing Oliver. So, are you two together now? How, uh… how long has that been going on?”

Questions. Too many seemingly polite questions in that Laurel Lance tone that Felicity knew was anything but. Felicity opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She was suddenly hot and cold at once, her nerves fritzing as her mind went blank.

Not good.

Laurel lifted an eyebrow.

“There you are.”

Over Laurel’s shoulder, Oliver appeared.

He was a sight for sore eyes and Felicity’s chest physically ached as she took him in. He looked amazing in a simple suit and tie with a shirt that was well-tailored and did nothing to hide all the muscle he most definitely had not had before. His scruff was delicious, that very grabbable hair of his perfectly-coiffed, his blue eyes striking, and those lips…

Lips he had used to kiss her a few hours ago.

Oh boy.

He stepped up behind Laurel.

For a split second, it was high school all over again. Felicity was positive she was going to see what she had seen dozens of times - Oliver wrapping his arms around Laurel from behind as he pressed a kiss to her cheek before resting his chin on her shoulder. Felicity’s heart stopped when he touched Laurel’s back, when Laurel turned to him…

But then he passed her and came to Felicity.

“Hi,” he said, a warm smile on his face. He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her into his side before pressing a kiss to her temple. Her heart sputtered. The spot where his lips touched tingled and when she looked up at him, when their gazes met, when she saw the way he looked at her as he gently slid his hand up her back…

She almost thought this was real.

But it wasn’t. Fake, remember? Fake.

Felicity swallowed hard. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he repeated, his smile widening. His eyes drifted down to her dress. “You look amazing.”

Her heart tripped all over itself again and she forgot how to breathe.

Oh boy.

“I was just asking Felicity how this happened,” Laurel interrupted. Loudly. Felicity jumped and as one they looked back at her. That same smile was on her face. “I mean, I see you all the time, Oliver, and you never thought to mention it?”

Right.

“Well, I’m always working,” Felicity said, “so it’s not like I’ve been around. I mean, I’m around him. All the time. We’re together all the time. Like a… like a couple is. I can’t get enough of this guy, you know. We’re always together. We’re practically engaged.” She blanched and slapped Oliver’s chest. Really hard considering how he grimaced and looked down at her with what could only be described as a ‘shut the hell up’ look. It didn’t work, though, because she kept going. “And by practically engaged, I mean not engaged at all. Because we’re not. That’s fast. Like, really fast. Right? But I mean, anything can happen. Eventually. In, like, years. Or another… galaxy.”

Oliver’s eyes were wide, his lips pressed together tightly.

“I’m just… saying?” Felicity added lamely.

“I had a laptop,” Oliver offered with a furrowed brow at her before raising an eyebrow.

“Right. A laptop. His laptop.”

“I spilled a latte on it,” Oliver continued. “Totally fried it.”

“He did. Ruined it.”

“And Walter recommended I go to her because she’s the best.”

“Because my company works with Queen Consolidated. And I couldn’t not help because it physically pains me to think of any piece of tech being subjected to an attack like that-”

“I didn’t do it on purpose.”

“Maybe not, but that doesn’t change that it happened. And I know the lecture I gave him about not drinking or eating near any computer stuck because now he doesn’t do it anymore. Right?”

The corner of his mouth ticked up and she realized how stern she sounded. Felicity made an apologetic face at him, but he shook his head, his hand drifting back down her spine. “That’s right. It’s the least I can do since she saved me.”

It couldn’t be healthy that her heart kept stuttering like this, right?

“You give me too much credit,” Felicity told him.

He rubbed circles against her back as he gazed at her. “I don’t give you enough.”

Oh boy.

“Besides,” Oliver finally said, his eyes lingering on Felicity before he looked back at Laurel. Right. Laurel. Felicity looked at the other woman and found her staring at them with an inscrutable look. “When I do see you, it’s usually just me and Tommy talking about work.”

“Right,” Laurel said. “Speaking of, where is our esteemed principal?”

“Tommy’s the principal?” Felicity said with a chortle before she could stop herself. Oliver’s fingers dug into her waist and she started. “Which I knew. I knew that. Because Oliver told me. It just sounded weird coming from someone who isn’t Oliver. That’s all. I knew that.”

“Smooth,” Oliver said under his breath and she flushed, shooting him a look. It looked like he was fighting a smile as he told Laurel, “I haven’t seen him yet.”

“Guess I’ll go look for him then.” Laurel’s bland smile didn’t move as she looked between them. “This is just so interesting. Maybe not all that surprising, though. You guys did spend a lot of time together in high school…. right?”

Oliver stiffened, his hand freezing where he’d started sliding it back up Felicity’s back. It was interesting how comfortable she already was with it. That, and how much she missed it when his hand fell away.

“That didn’t happen,” he said.

Felicity frowned.

“Oh,” Laurel replied. “Well. That’s good to know.” Her smile was saccharine sweet as she looked back at Felicity. “Good to see you, Felicity. I like the new look.” None of them missed the change in inflection when she said, “Oliver,” before walking away.

“Uh, did I miss something?” Felicity asked. “Because I remember lots of afternoons-”

“She didn’t mean that,” Oliver said. He stepped away and it was only then that Felicity realized she’d wound her arm around his back at some point. Her hand lingered in the air between them, feeling oddly empty before she lowered it. She flexed her fingers. It was stupid to miss something that she’d never had in the first place. Oliver cleared his throat. “I wasn’t the best boyfriend to her.”

“Oh. Oh. So… all those rumors about you and… people who weren’t Laurel…”

He clenched his jaw, his cheeks flushing as he ducked his head. He seemed to catch himself, though, because he closed his eyes briefly, took a deep breath, and then made himself look up again.

The smile he gave her was tight.

“Well, I can confirm that you are definitely a good boyfriend to me,” Felicity said. “Fake boyfriend, that is. You’re doing great. A-plus all around. Or, should I say fiance, because apparently we’re almost engaged.” A genuine smile broke through and it felt like the sun coming out for the first time in days, making her smile in return. At least her babbles were good for something. “I should probably apologize for the rest of the night, because my foot-in-mouth syndrome seems to be on steroids right now.”

“It’s actually refreshing.”

“Oh, you say that now. But then in ten minutes when we’re talking to someone else and oh hey, we’re celebrating our ten year anniversary, and oh, did you know we just got back from Disneyland with the kids? Crazy how time flies, am I right!”

Oliver stared at her with a weird look on his face and her stomach pitched.

“See, I’m doing it even when we’re not around other people.” The look didn’t change and Felicity winced. “I’m sorry. This is a horrible idea, isn’t it? You know what, nobody else has seen us. We can go tell Laurel that this was just a, uh… an accident. A fling, and that it’s over because we both realized how insane it was. Because you and I, it’s… it’s unthinkable. And then you can have your reunion night back from the crazy lady who hijacked it from you.”

Oliver tilted his head. The look on his face… softened, was the only way to describe it.

And then he started closing the distance between them.

She thought her heart had been beating fast earlier?

“You don’t have to do this,” Felicity said. Why was her voice breathy like that? She swallowed hard, but then Oliver was standing before her and all she had left in her brain were the denials ready to go, falling out of her in a rush. “No obligation. No reason, really-”

“I’m pretty sure I was the one who volunteered to do this,” Oliver said quietly.

“Yes, but under duress-”

“Felicity.”

“And I’m the one who lied in the first place,” she continued. “I’ll go tell Laurel right now that I’m a lying liar and you were an innocent bystander who doesn’t deserve whatever this is-”

“Felicity,” he repeated.

He reached out and took her hand in his.

And laced his fingers through hers.

Her words tumbled out even faster. “Because you are a good person, Oliver, and you shouldn’t have to do this. And yeah, you made some bad choices, but who hasn’t, right? I did. A few weeks ago, and then earlier today, and right now. Lying is bad. I lied about having a date, and that actually makes all of this super ironic since you just got reamed for having too many dates, and I have to lie about having one because I’m-”

“Felicity.”

His finger landed on her lips.

She froze.

He lingered, for a moment, before letting his hand fall away. But not before his fingertip brushed over her cheek, and then her shoulder, down her arm.

“I want to do this for you,” he said.

“Why?”

That look was back on his face. He parted his lips, taking a slow breath. His other hand was still wrapped up in hers. His thumb drifted up her index finger. She held her breath, waiting for what he was going to say, because what if…

No. That was ridiculous. Right?

“You know what, you don’t have to answer that,” Felicity said quickly. “You don’t owe me anything. In fact, I’m going to owe you, so when this already very long night is over, you have a huge favor coming your way.”

His gaze never wavered. “You promise?”

Felicity struggled to think. To remind herself what this was. To act like a normal human being.

But it was really hard when he looked at her like that.

He stared at her, waiting.

Felicity finally nodded with a whispered, “I-I promise.”

Thank you for reading! More coming tomorrow! Reviews literally feed the soul and muse.

#olicity #olicity fic #olicity fanfic #olicity fanfiction #olicitysquee #oliver queen #felicity smoak #olicity au #arrow #fanfiction #my fics #my fics: au #it's always been you

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prongsno · 7 years ago

Text

Crayons Can Melt On Us

JILY CHALLENGE | @prongsno vs @alicelongbottom

summer tropes + you are drunk and rambling on about how nice the angle of my elbows are at this music festival but I can’t find your friends and I’ve lost mine, wanna spend the rest of the night getting drunk and dancing together??

(read on ao3)

Lily Evans blames Mary MacDonald. For everything.

It’s always Mary who’s getting her into trouble. Detentions, fights, blind dates…

But this time’s different.

This time they’re at the Leeds Festival, both completely hammered and belting out the words to One Direction’s ‘Kiss You’. She doesn’t even like them, but when Mary bought her drink number two and started spitting out the lyrics (literally the whole song, not even one word misplaced) to Outkast’s Hey Ya they somehow ended up on boy bands.

Now Mary’s arm is around her waist and they’re grasping onto their cups like it’s their life support. Lily hiccoughs and then suddenly Mary is crying.

Her boyfriend of ten months broke up with her last week. He’s been cheating on her for about two weeks and she only found out because she rang his phone and, of course, who should answer but this girl who says that said boyfriend is in the shower.

“D’ya know he rang asking for my forgiveness?” Mary sobs, gulping down another drink. “That rotten scumbag had the acidity to wait no… the - the adadcity?”

“Aud-acity. ‘Sjust think of the car.”

A group of people in flower crowns walk past at this moment, each biting into a hot dog or kebab or hamburger respectively.

When was the last time she ate?

Lily’s stomach churns at the thought but she’s got no idea if that’s out of hunger or nausea. She decides to sniff the air, the crisp wonderful and gross smell of barbecue and dripping fat with a portion of chips on the side sounds… amazing.

“Y’know what I need?” Her friend’s voice rings out in her ears. It’s a faint voice compared the noise of the festival around them, but being best mates for seven years means she’s now accustomed the soft song of Mary MacDonald.

“A nice juicy hamburger?”

“That too. But also a… a toe-curling and heart palpitating snog.”

Her small friend sighs with a roll of her eyes and throws her hands in the air, spilling her drink over her legs in the process. “Where are all the fit blokes? I need a distraction and all the only people we passed are flower babies.”

Mary had cried for hours after The Phone Call Incident and she eventually fell asleep on Lily’s shoulder, rivers of dried mascara stuck against her red cheeks. She had spent all of the next day biting into chocolates and ripping apart marshmallows with her teeth, claiming she was going to swear off men forever.

Now Lily’s listening to Mary’s ‘Must Haves and Must Have Nots’ checklist for a bloke to snog (of course, the first check is ‘Must Not Be Named Graeme’, followed by ‘Must Have Sexy Hair That Is Grabbable During Said Snog’.

Lily wants whatever is best for her and if that’s finding some guy who’s suitable enough to snog her best friend then so help her she’s going to scour the entire length of this whole place fourteen times until she’s accomplished her quest.

“What do you want, Mary?”

“I told ya! A frickin’ hella of a snog-”

“I mean food.” Lily points to the kiosk in front of them, the guy behind the till looks at them expectantly.

“OH! Hah! Well beside the best snog of my life I guess… a double cheese burger with bacon and chips would be nice please and thank you very very much good sir.” She screams over the music and stands on her tiptoes over the counter so that the guy, whose name-badge says Peter in scrawny, delicate handwriting, can hopefully hear her.

Together they manage to just get the right amount of change, although the majority is in fifties and twenties and Peter spends the next few, agonising minutes hunched up as he counts out each coin.

When he finally says ‘Four pounds and fifty two pence’ and begins to scribble their order down on a bit of paper Mary lets out a long sigh and jiggles her right leg.

“Oh ‘ell I need to have the longest pee…did we pass any loos?”

Lily snatches a map of the festival by the counter and they spend the next few minutes trying to focus their eyes and stop the world from spinning.

“There.” Lily says after a few minutes of glaring at the map. She plops a finger on the small dot closest to them that says ‘portaloos’. “Got hand sanitiser? That’s gonna be disgusting and a hell-hole of nightmares.”

“It’s that or wet my pants and I really like these shorts. Damnit I can’t hold it in! Don’t eat my burg-er or I’ll… do something mean, kay?”

“You gonna be alright? I can come-”

Mary shakes her head and gives Lily a slobbery kiss on her cheek. “S’me remember? I’m fine.”

Exactly, Lily thinks with a snort. This is the girl who misplaces her phone, burns herself cooking because she touches the hot plate to make sure it’s hot and locks herself out of her flat because she can’t find her keys.

“Do nothing I wouldn’t do right?”

Mary winks, blows Lily a hurried kiss and then flees through the crowd, her legs close together as she tries to run and hold everything in.

Lily Evans is not drunk.

This is what she tells herself as she watches her friend disappear and the world is spinning (is it the world that spins or the moon? Or is it both?) like she’s on stilts and walking down a very steep hill.

As if on instinct her legs buckle and she holds onto the ledge for support, trying to calm down but also finding it extremely hilarious that she’s unstable.

Peter calls out order number six hundred and three and plops the brown steaming bag down on the counter. It smells delicious and she’s sure that’s her number.

Where did she put the receipt? She’s not holding it in her hands and it’s not on the floor by her amazing floral wellies (she bought them on Asos for only fifteen quid, an absolute bargain) either. Panic rises up and she looks through the queue to see if the owner of the bag steps forward.

Her fingers twitch nervously against the palm of her hand.

Is this stealing? Is she a criminal if she grabs that bag and it’s not hers? She did pay for one, so it’s not like she’s robbing the stall. And Peter looks far too busy serving the other hungry customers for her to ask if this is her number.

She’s already drunk. What the heck. Juicy cheeseburger here I come, she thinks with a lick of her lips and then she’s reaching out to grab the bag. She can taste the goodness and feel the delicious, meaty and hot air from the bag but then someone’s hand is reaching out too and they both grab onto it at the same time.

“Oi!” She yells at the hand. “S’mine that is!” It’s a very nice hand actually. She loves veins and long fingers and this hand is like the Van Gogh of all hands.

“Six hundred and three.” The hand drawls out, waving a receipt in her face. She can’t focus but the numbers 603 do stand out in bold in the middle of the paper.

Her hand is still on top of his when Peter looks up to give her a glare.

“Is she trying to steal your burger?”

“Nah, don’t worry Pete.” Hands laughs. “I think she’s just hungry and wanted to get there first. Still on duty, huh?”

Peter rolls his eyes and adjusts his left sleeve, it’s just been resting in a dodgy looking puddle on the counter and he pulls it up with a grimace. “Yeah. I finish in forty. I saw Remus about ten minutes ago, high as a kite he was. Said he was going to find one of those hamster balls.”

The guy next to her laughs. He’s got a laugh that gives her goosebumps. It’s light, sweet and a very contagious trickle that could probably force even the likes of Mr Scrooge to smile.

“What about Pads?”

Now, Lily is not one to usually join in on people’s private conversations but sometimes she can’t resist it. And this is one of the very rare times where the words fall out before she’s aware of it; she blames the alcohol in her system (for once not Mary) because she usually thinks before she speaks and she has a feeling this will be a problem before the night is out.

“You have a friend named Pads? Like…”

Peter nods and says “Right, just like a dog’s padded paws-” whilst Lily, subtle as ever drawls out at the exact same moment, “Like sanitary pads?”

Two things happen at once. Hands spits out his drink whilst laughing maniacally and Peter releases a shocked and mousy gasp. It’s as if he’s offended by any menstruation terminology and his cheeks are hot with embarrassment. But Hands, she loves this guy (and his hands- did she mention that already?); he’s shrieking with laughter.

Amidst his chuckles and snorts she can just make out “brilliant!” and that’s it. This is when she realises she’s laughing too, tears are leaking down her face as she doubles over the counter. His hands are resting on her shoulders and she can feel him shaking on top of her, the distinct smell of vodka and Malibu hot on his breath.

They’re still laughing when Peter just shakes his head and walks away. She’s worried she’s offended him (but if he seriously gets offended by the mention of ‘pads’ then she’s glad to be honest) but he comes back with a new deliciously steaming hot paper bag and she’s almost forgiven him for that.

He places it on the counter in front of them, nods and then walks off to deal with the other customers.

“That one’s yours.” Her amazing new acquaintance points to the additional bag and taps her hand.

How are both his hands so beautiful? They’re like marble and feel like all things good and pure (or not so pure) when they touch her skin.

Is it just her is it hot?

He’s hot that’s for sure, even if it’s just his hands that she’s focusing on.

He grabs for his paper bag and, she doesn’t mean for this to happen but, her eyes follow his arm and soon she’s staring at the most glorious and heavenly elbow she’s ever encountered.

“Sorry about Peter,” Mr Gorgeous says, his voice only a distant echo in her mind. “He’s never um. Been so good around women before.”

Is she salivating? Wow, this is embarrassing.

“And you are?” She tries to breathe a little slower but her voice is raspy. She’s never seen anything so beautiful before. His elbows are a flipping masterpiece.

“I suppose.” She can hear his grin. But she’s seriously so lost in his arms right now.

“Elbows.”

“Yes, that’s my elbow.”

The way he’s grabbing onto the bag makes his arm look so… defined? And the only way it could look even more ethereal is if it was at a ninety degree angle. Don’t ask her why but, ever since she discovered maths the angle of ninety degrees has just been so wonderful to look at.

“‘s very nice elbones. Your bone?”

Mr. Amazing Elbows chuckles and she feels a hand on her shoulder. “Are you alright?”

She’s not. But she smiles and nods, all the while still staring transfixed at his arm. She’s got goosebumps.

“Better than ever,” she says and she’s not even joking. She’s seen the light at the end of the tunnel, as it were, and it’s this guy’s elbows. “Y’know if you move your elbow slightly you’d be perpendicular.”

As soon as the words leave her mouth she instantly regrets it. His arm is close to hers and she’s been focusing on these two freckles that are placed perfectly right near his elbow. The words had escaped without notice.

He doesn’t say anything and for a second it looks like she’s going to get away with it. That is, until he leans down (he’s actually really tall, towering above her like The Big Ben) and breaths in her ear.

She’s seeing stars.

His breath is hot against her neck and she wishes she could stay like this forever, with him by her side and her staring at his earthshaking (and Lily-shattering) elbows. Until, because the music is still deafeningly loud, he shouts out over the live band with a very vehement ‘PARDON?’.

She shouts back. “PERPENDICULAR.”

Of course, this is when the music stops and it’s eerily quiet as her one worded answer echoes out into the atmosphere. Peter sends her a funny look, as do the twenty or so people queuing up for food.

Her embarrassment lasts only a few more horrifying seconds before another song is belted out from a million microphones and speakers. It’s as if she’s never spoken; people go back to their drinking, dancing and laughing and soon it’s only Elbows whose focus is still on her.

“Um, sorry.” He says. “Perpendick? What-now?”

It’s like her tongue is on fire and the only way to stop is for her to keep talking.

Mathematics was her favourite subject in high school. She was in the top set, got an A* in her GCSEs and then went on to do further Maths in college. So, when you look at it like that, her thinking about the angle of his elbows being at forty-five degrees isn’t really that weird.

“Your elbow.” She flicks at said part of his arm, relishing at how smooth and sturdy it is. “Is almost perpendicular.”

“Is that bad?”

“S’pretty normal angle but you make it look hella fine.”

She’s glad she’s drunk because, even though sober Lily talks about mathematics, she would never use the phrase ‘hella fine’ without being sarcastic. And yet here she is.

“I… thank you?” Elbows is now holding onto his cheeseburger and she’s transfixed as he moves his arm upwards.

Then she’s looking at his face and there are no words to describe how she feels in that second.

His eyes meet hers and it’s like the theme tune of Eastenders is playing on repeat because she swears she can feel the eruption of butterflies that explode in her stomach as he gives her a smile.

He’s got hands and elbows that could make Leonardo Da Vinci sob and his face is even better? Soft, brown eyes that she could melt into and lips like roses that bloom into a smirk that’s directed just at her. Why is she only looking at his face now?

“Alright?” He’s got ketchup on the side of his cheek but she’s said too much already. So she nods and uncovers her cheeseburger. Mary’s lies in the bag still.

How long does it take to go to the flipping bathroom?

She has no messages on her phone and if she waits any longer her food will get cold. Plus, Lily’s got Mr Amazing Elbows here to keep her company.

“Waiting for anyone in particular?” He nods towards Mary’s burger. “A boyfriend? Or girlfriend? Or-”

“Just a friend.” She’s never answered anything so fast in her life. Her cheeks are on fire. “But she’s been gone for a while. Probably snogging someone.”

He nods and bites into his burger.

“Um. So. What about you? Boyfriend? Girlfriend?”

He twiddles his thumbs and wipes at his mouth a napkin. Waiting for him to answer is the worst few seconds ever.

“Neither. I have a friend who’s somewhere here though. Probably trying to find free booze. That, or snogging someone.”

Now would be an excellent time for her to be suave and sexy, ask him if he wants to get a drink together and do some snogging of their own.

“Has seriously no one ever said to you ever how nice the angle of your elbows is?”

“Never.” He talks with his mouth open as he chews on his food, but she doesn’t care. “If they’re as good as you say they are then I’m going to have to have a long discussion with my mates about why they never mentioned it to me before.”

“Y’should. They’re really uh nice. Really.”

He’s grinning as he wipes his left hand over his face, smearing the ketchup in the process. He’s blushing.

“Thanks, but you’re only saying that cos you’re absolutely sloshed.”

She can’t believe he just said sloshed, it’s almost as bad as hella fine.

She is not sloshed. She’s just not sober.

“I bet you’ve had lots of ladies tell you how good they are.”

He bites his lip, trying his damned hardest to keep his laughter at bay. “No,” his eyes are shining and twinkling. “Just you.”

“Well. I’m glad I was the one who got to tell you how nice they are. Cos they are. Really nice.” She needs to stop before she humiliates herself further, so she bites her tongue and stares down at her burger.

She can feel his hot stare as she picks up one of her gherkins, it’s slimy and she’s never really liked the taste of them, and flicks it with her finger. It lands on Peter’s back, sliding off onto the floor and leaving a grease mark on his white t-shirt.

He’s grinning and howling again and then he’s standing, offering her his hand.

There’s a moment of hesitation, from both of them. They’re strangers, brought together by the unlikeliest of circumstances. But to hell with it, she’s always been a fan of romance. Even if they’re both tipsy.

“So, do you have a name? Or should I just keep calling you elbows in my head?”

“James. Although I do quite like elbows. What’s yours, or should I keep calling you flower?” He nods down at her wonderful flower wellies.

She wriggles her toes, suddenly shy even though she’s been nothing but embarrassing for the past half an hour.

“Lily.”

“I like that name.”

“Do you? I hate it.”

He finishes the rest of his drink then throws the empty cup with perfect precision and aim into a bin. She stops herself from clapping and applauding like a soppy cheerleader.

“So. Since both our friends have ditched us, wanna hang out? I mean. Um. Let’s just-” He’s rambling and it makes a change since it’s been her rabbiting on about everything since she’s met him.

“Yes.”

Her answer is definite, even if her voice is wobbly.

One drink turns into five, then he’s giving her a piggy back and her hands are wrapped around his neck and shoulders whilst he cups her thighs and holds her tight.

The music is loud and booming, but it’s only a hazy blur in the back of her mind. Her attention and focus is purely on one thing: him.

It’s like she’s dreamt him up. Because he’s perfect.

They dance through song after song, hands clasped together and bodies swaying close.

Even though they’re both drunk, falling over things and drinking Far Too Much… he still gives her goosebumps as he sends her a smile that she can’t help but smile back to.

A song comes on which they both despise and they both look at each other simultaneously before running off, hands entwined and contagious giggles leaving them hyper.

Then he’s trailing his fingers through her hair and she’s pulling him forward, already imagining how his lips will taste. Like a masterpiece, something that you can’t help but want more of.

Her phone buzzes against her thigh and James sighs into her hair.

“Are you that happy to see me you’re vibrating, love?”

She snorts and hits his arm before checking her phone. Of course it’s Mary.

“Lily!” Mary’s shrieking and laughing uncontrollably. She tries to stay focused on her friend, but James is pressed close, listening in on the phone even though Mary’s voice is booming through her speakers.

Lily doesn’t mind in the slightest.

“You have to see what I just whatsapp’d you.” She’s laughing and halfway through saying something else when the line dies and all Lily can make out is ‘Have you’ before there’s a beep beep sound.

Her fingers are shaking as she goes onto said app.

Mary’s just sent her a picture of a guy sitting in the mud; a very, very handsome guy (or what she can make out anyways because he’s wearing flipping sunglasses even though it’s past eleven) in a biker leather jacket.

He’s got a bloody nose and mud splattered all over his clothes and face and there’s an unconscious smurf lying face down next to him. And Mary’s head is poking out at the bottom of the picture, laughing along with the biker fella like two old chums having a whale of a time.

“Oh my god, that’s my friend.” James stares at the picture, unable to stop the snorts that erupt in great multitude.

“Pads?” Lily’s grinning, already sending a message that’s just ‘?????’ to her friend.

When James nods the two are hunched over, supporting themselves as they laugh for what seems the fifty-sixth time that night. Lily’s not really keeping count, but this guy has made her feel happier than she’s felt like a long time.

When the laughs slowly fade and they’re just left with a rather painful stitch in their right side, they’re back to where they were before. Faces close together, hurried gasps for air as they try and calm down. Jittery gazes and rosy cheeks.

It’s like time has paused, but only for them. The festival goes on around them in slow motion but the only thing that matters right there, in that moment, is the way James tucks a curl behind her ear in a cute and nervous kind of way.

He’s apprehensive and cautious as he leans in and gives her the lightest of kisses. It’s feathery and delicate, something so unlike the majority of the night they’ve just had. He’s got his eyes closed and that’s when Lily makes a quick decision.

She grabs onto his jacket, pulling her fingers through the material so he has to stumble slightly towards her. Then they’re sinking and melting into each other; hands everywhere and feet wobbling as they go deeper and deeper.

When they look again into each other’s eyes and he’s grinning and she has a toe-curling, fluttering feeling in every crevice of her body… that’s when Lily’s sure this encounter was meant to be. And that it was Mary MacDonald, in a way, who brought the two of them together.

#jilychallenge #alicelongbottom #jily #jily fic #jily fanfic #lilyevane #meraudurs #bantasticbeasts #padfootdidit #dfjskfjkafjal #jily:fic #my fic #im sorry #gxldentrio #hiddenpolkadots

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