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#area x didn’t have to change much in this aspect

azu-mog · 6 months

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Babygirl is back with her friends the hand mushrooms. Hope she will not be contaminated by their spores and irrevocably transform into something else ahah.

#it’s actually funny how many species of lichens looks like hands #area x didn’t have to change much in this aspect #also my god that freaking flesh wall #I still have goosebumps from the book description #anyway #annihilation #jeff vandermeer #the biologist #the southern reach trilogy #my art

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risuola · 25 days

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ENTRY #2 ♡ F. READER X GOJO SATORU

As if the pleads could never be heard, You turned away the cerulean blue, And while the lines began to get blurred, I struggled to bask in the might of you.

cw: arranged marriage!au, brief mention of blood I guess — 1,2k words

series masterlist

It didn’t take long until you realized that there’s something no one considered when arranging the marriage between you and the honored one. An aspect of life that got heavily overlooked, painfully ignored. When the main objective was to secure the bloodline of your clan and make sure the precious genes of the strongest won’t end with the demise of the man himself, not even one person thought of the consequences you will have to face. Maybe no one expected that to happen, maybe no one was bright enough to realize that the moment your hand was adorned with a golden band, and the vows that echoed in between the walls silenced down, all of Satoru’s enemies will automatically become your enemies.

You were a warrior – strong and fearless. A sorcerer of true blood and bones, you were proud of what you represented while entering the battlefield, proud of your abilities and power. Before you became Gojo, not much was able to surprise you. Before your name was changed, nothing ever threatened you enough to make you feel uneasy. Nothing until now.

It didn’t really surprise you anymore, it wasn’t the first time. It was logical in a way, attacking your husband was bound to be futile – infinity made him invincible, untouchable, and those characteristics you lacked severely. You were an obvious target, a person that’s closest to the real target and in times like this, when facing few curses that you were certain were special grade, you wondered if their approach would be different if they knew how little you meant to your husband. Would they retreat if they knew that attacking a mere assistant like Ijichi would cause more emotions in Satoru Gojo than the death of his own wife?

You fought, making the most out of your abilities to stand against the force whose main objective was to brutalize you as much as possible. You saw it as a chance to learn more, to develop more resistance, to grow stronger. There was a rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins, a thrill of excitement as the battle unraveled with an air of dread and death surrounding the desolate area. The metallic taste of blood was distinctive on your tongue once your body failed to protect you from a series of attacks. You moved despite the sharp pain that slowly but surely was making its way throughout your entire system. For a moment you felt giddy, almost euphoric as the idea of going all in settled in your mind and then you realized that it might end up bad.

Equipped in a blade that’s made fully from your own cursed energy and sharp enough to cut through the hardest of stone, you moved forward, ready to collide with the cursed spirits that caught you in the middle of nowhere. But then you stopped and your eyes closed tightly as the bright, red light blinded you. A strong arm held you around the ribcage and a large frame of a man was pressed to your back.

“Can you please fucking tell me, is running away against your beliefs?” You heard the familiar, sharp tone of your husband, a groan of annoyance and something else that you couldn’t decipher carrying his words. You tilted your head to look at his unamused face. His eyes, now unobscured, weren’t even directed at you, but his jaw was clenched and his hold on you was tight. “I’m sure you’re smart enough to tell that it’s way above your level of jujutsu.”

You couldn’t tell how much of his words was care and how much was pure insult, but either way it put you at ease to know he’s there. There was a sense of safety that you never experienced before, the calm embrace of infinity that wrapped around your frame, the subtle taste of what it’s like to be untouchable. And it lingered, crawled softly across your skin along with the foreign warmth of your husband’s body.

“If you look around you might realize that there’s literally no way to run away,” you replied with just enough of venom to mask how grateful you were for his appearance. The spiteful tone felt natural on your tongue, a default of when you spoke to him and yet, this time you had to remember to use it.

“Yeah, right, so next best thing is to face something that will fucking kill you head on.” He groaned, annoyed, nervous. You felt his fingers digging between your ribs, he kept you closer than he needed to. “Such a wise and well thought through decision.”

“I’m not as weak as you thi–“

“I know,” he cut you off, bothered and harsh. “But you are too weak for this.”

He was right and you knew that. You were far from your best shape, the job you finished just few hours prior ate most of your cursed energy and even with full power you’d most likely struggle against the threat of those curses. But then, you were not given a choice. It was rather fight or die without a fight and the decision was easy.

“Good thing my husband is so strong.”

A sharp tsk left Satoru’s lips and then, the cursed creatures vanished, seemingly aware of how much the power scale tilted to their detriment. Next time you blinked, you were at home and your husband’s touch was gone. The subtle pressure of his fingers against your ribcage now only a ghost of what it was seconds ago.

“It wasn’t the first time now, was it?” He questioned and you struggled to tell if what you heard below the detachment and coldness was care or annoyance.

“It wasn’t. But I’m usually able to deal with it myself.”

Gojo sighed. A long and deep exhale of air left his lungs and he seemed to think, to weigh his next words and actions carefully.

“You should’ve told me. I’ll take care of it,” he said finally, bluntly, matter-of-factly. “You’re not strong enough to face my enemies.”

“I held them long enough for you to come, didn’t I?”

“And what if I didn’t show up?!” He snapped and growled, loud and angry. His fingers wrapped around your jaw, forcefully tilting your head back, to look at him fully. His face was closer, your noses almost touching and the piercing blue of his eyes fixed on you, as the tone of his speech got low and quiet, almost whisper-like. ”What if I didn’t come?”

“Then I’d be dead,” you replied, surprised by how small your own voice sounded. There was no right answer you could’ve given him.

“Yeah, you’d be dead,” he nodded, panted. You watched the spectacle of emotions playing across his handsome features. His brows furrowed and the narrowed eyes seemed to look straight through your very soul. For a second or two, his jaw clenched and lips pressed together forming a line and you were stunned to realize that even his beautiful face creased when angered. And then, his lids dropped, the muscles relaxed. He breathed out, you felt it on your lips and skin, a subtle sweetness and mint of his breath. The tight hold of his fingers loosened up as he looked at you again, allowing his eyes to run down your features, to linger on your lips before they got back to stare back at you. “I don’t want you dead.”

taglist: @kinny-away, @anan-baban

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pickingupmymercedes · 28 days

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She's here and she's not only ours - Lewis Hamilton

Sequel to She's here and she's ours. Bit of angst, lots of fluff.

pairing: Dad!Lewis Hamilton x Reader!

wordcount: +1k

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

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Navigating the journey from being a couple to becoming a family is often likened to entering a whole new world—one filled with unpredictable challenges and profound joys. The radiant 7-month-old girl had effortlessly woven herself into the fabric of your lives, captivating not only you and Lewis but everyone who crossed her path. Yet, adjusting to new routines, shifting priorities, managing emotional and physical changes, and, most crucially, cultivating a deep bond with your child were aspects of parenthood that no book, class, or well-meaning advice had adequately prepared you for.

And so, the real test of parenthood often lay in learning to prioritize.

“Oh my God, she’s growing up so quickly!” Susie exclaimed, her eyes lighting up as she entered the living area of your apartment, making a beeline for the giggling toddler seated in her bumbo seat on the kitchen island.

“Please, don’t remind me. Time is flying by too fast already,” you replied, your smile widening as you watched your baby recognize Susie and reach out to be scooped up.

“I’m sorry for dropping by unannounced… I just... I had to know why,” Susie said, her expression curious and concerned.

You had expected people to comment and be surprised, but you hadn’t anticipated the attention coming so soon, even before you and Lewis had a chance to share your news.

“So, I take it everyone at Mercedes already knows?”

“More like everyone on the paddock, probably,” Susie confirmed.

“Do you remember her first few days? When she struggled to gain weight and every day felt like a battle?”

The first inkling that something was amiss came mere hours after you had returned home with your newborn daughter. Her incessant cries and insatiable hunger, even after an hour of breastfeeding, had raised red flags.

You had been warned that the initial days would be challenging—that you were now solely responsible for nourishing a tiny human. So, you soldiered on, suppressing your growing panic and tears, dreading the 40-minute feeding intervals where you’d bite your tongue and cheeks to keep from crying.

You tried every trick in the book—increasing your water intake, warm and cold compresses, dietary changes, pumping between feeds, consulting lactation specialists, and even consuming magic lactation cookies. Yet, your milk supply remained stubbornly low.

The sense of failure weighed heavily on you; your primary role was to nurture your baby, something you had done successfully during pregnancy. Instead of relishing the joys of new motherhood, you felt like a failure, a lesser mother to your daughter and a villain to your husband's fairytale of having kids.

Lewis was acutely aware of your distress and tried to be supportive. Despite knowing, as doctors and specialists had advised, that you needed to supplement with formula for both your daughter’s and your own well-being, he refrained from pressuring you. Every night he would feel as though you were punching him in the face when you went out of his sight to cry, or how his chest would tighten when he carried your screaming daughter in his arms, knowing she needed more, from him and from you. Still, he didn’t have in him to lecture you, yet again, on how that little girl needed more, not when you were giving your life and sanity away for her.

It wasn’t until the day before her second week checkup that you broke down. You knew the scale wasn’t going to give her much more grams than she had the past week, way less than she deserved and the added burden that he would be going for his first race of the season in a couple days had you reaching your breaking point.

Seeing Lewis on the sofa, looking worried and worn-out, you collapsed in front of him, letting your tears flow freely. He held you, comforting you with gentle whispers, and you both agreed that transitioning to formula was for the best. Despite the months of hearing about the benefits of breastfeeding, you had come to understand that sometimes the most challenging part of parenthood was knowing when to stand your ground and make the best choice for your family.

“We don’t want his job to feel like a burden every weekend,” you said.

“So, the Hamiltons will be a staple in the paddocks?” Susie asked, her approving smile revealing her pride.

“Life doesn’t always go as planned, does it?” You shrugged

“The media is going to love that smile,” Susie cooed, her attention directed at the toothy grin of your daughter.

“Yeah… She won’t be only ours, but Lewis needs her as much as she needs him. I guess it’s a small price to pay,” you replied, smiling at your yawning daughter in Susie’s lap, her little hands rubbing her eyes—a clear sign that her naptime was due.

“Please, let me. She still loves Disney songs, right?” Susie absentmindedly asked, already heading towards your daughter’s room, laying the toddler on her cheast and ready to lull her to sleep with a familiar melody. As you watched, you couldn’t help but marvel at how your daughter had already captured so many hearts at such a young age.

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TAGLIST - @saturnssunflower @xoscar03 @chocolatediplomatdreamerzonk

If you'd like to be added to my taglist you can leave a comment or send me a dm/ask.

#lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton x you #lewis hamilton imagine #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #lewis hamilton #formula 1

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dfortrafalgar · 1 month

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I'm Losing You

Having a family isn't always as easy as fairy tales make it seem.

Law x Fem Reader

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE read these warnings before reading this fic. Genuinely, I implore you. I started writing this fic on a whim a few weeks ago, when I was contemplating my own experiences with reproduction-related health conditions such as the one that will be addressed later on in this story (endometriosis). Reproductive education and health is something that I feel very strongly about, and I feel that topics such as pregnancy complications and loss aren't addressed enough in media for fear that they're too taboo or shocking. Which, to be fair, is true, at least for the shocking aspect. Pregnancy loss is difficult, traumatic, and life-changing, for better or for worse, truly dependent on the person and the world around them.

Now you might be wondering... why would you drag one piece into this? well, i don't know. i felt like it, perhaps. Law is a character who resonates very deeply to me, his character is emotionally complex and layered, and imagining him in a scenario like this one became very interesting to me. Combine that with everything i stated above and taddaa, you get this fic.

this story does and will eventually have a happy ending (a very happy ending!) however it will take a bit to get there. this is a multi-chapter fic that i'm moving from my ao3 to my new blog, and the same warnings there apply here.

if this fic doesn't seem like your cup of tea, i encourage you to check out some of my other fics on my blog. i have a few law/readers that are tooth-rottingly fluffy and much more feel good.

with all that out of the way, thank you for reading.

Chapter 1

[Next]

The air in the room was as stifling as a sauna from the stress and anxiety filling the air. It was so silent, the tiles surrounding the small area blocking any and all noise from outside. The door was closed, caging you in.

You were sitting on the toilet lid, your hands rapidly perspiring and your whole body shivering with nerves. Across from you, your husband had his arms crossed, his head hung low, his heel bouncing off the floor. The tension was unlike anything you had ever experienced, however this had unfortunately become the norm for the past six months.

On the side of the sink sat a long white stick. Neither of you wanted to look at it.

“Do you think it’s ready now…?” you asked, inwardly cringing at how pathetic and weak your wobbly voice sounded.

Law picked his head up, his golden eyes creased in profound concern and worry. “It should be. Five minutes, right?”

“I think so,” you replied. With a trembling hand, you grabbed the stick from the counter. Law watched your every movement with a close eye. With a deep breath, you flipped over the test and gazed at the result window.

A single red line.

After the last failed attempt, you made a joke that you didn’t have any more tears left in you to cry, but clearly that wasn’t the case as fat, salty tears rapidly welled in your eyes and flowed down your cheeks. Law immediately knew what the result was the second your lips twitched downward. His heart sank into his stomach, immediately stepping toward you, grabbing the test from your hand and blindly chucking it into the small garbage can in the corner. He knelt on the floor in front of you to pull you into his chest.

“Damn it…” you whimpered. Your body forced you to take a shuddering inhale before sobbing an anguished, “FUCK!!!!”

Law’s heart broke. He didn’t even know what to say to comfort you anymore. 6 months of failed attempts at conceiving a very wanted baby had caused nothing but pain to both of you. You had both been scientific about the process. All birth control and protection was ceased, and the two of you were religiously tracking your cycle to make sure you would try during your ovulation window, but nothing but failure after failure showed up.

You thought you were broken.

Law thought he was broken.

You wept into his shoulder, your body shuddering with each pained sob that crawled from your sore throat. Law’s hands were frozen around you, firmly gripping your back. You couldn’t see the tears that were forming in the corners of his stern eyes, biting his lip and forcing every muscle in his face to prevent those tears from slipping downward. The last thing you needed was to see him cry, but he didn’t know how much longer he’d be able to hold it in.

“Law…” you whimpered into his shoulder.

Law stayed silent.

“I’m sorry–”

“Don’t you dare apologize,” he quickly retorted, cutting you off. He felt you lurch in his arms. “This isn’t your fault. It’s not anyone’s fault… it’s…”

Now you stayed silent.

Law took his own shallow inhale. “I… don’t know.”

For one of the only times in Law’s life, he was rendered completely incapable of speech. Normally calm and analytical, looking for every possible solution or reason for an issue, he was now left completely helpless to the crashing waves of sheer dejection. As your quivering body clung to him like a lifeline, his entire brain was scrambling for some sense, any logical thought, for the current predicament, but it was starting to become glaringly obvious to both of you.

It was very likely one of you was infertile.

When you finally picked your head up from his shoulder, Law’s previously broken heart fractured into even more irreparable pieces.

Your eyes were puffy, swollen and bloodshot from your tears. Your entire face looked bloated from the force of your crying, and you were clearly flushed. You looked, for lack of a better word, completely miserable. Law helped you stand from the closed toilet seat, keeping your eyes away from the trash can where the negative pregnancy test lay on top of discarded tissues and makeup wipes, to guide you to your shared bedroom. Neither of you had to say a word, you knew he was going to put you into your shared bed and let you get some much-deserved rest after the stressful eternity (10 minutes) you had just endured. It was almost 8:00PM anyway, and regrettably, both of you still had work the following day.

You didn’t fight it when Law eased you down onto the mattress by your shoulders. You kept your eyes pinned closed, not wanting to let your husband see any more of your beaten state. You rolled over onto your side and hid in your pillows. You didn’t hear Law mention that he would join you after cleaning up, and you didn’t notice the overhead light dimming. You simply begged for sleep to take you quickly and painlessly.

When Law finally returned after washing his face, he gazed dejectedly at your weary form. Finally asleep, fortunately, but your cheeks were glossy with fresh tears. The man carefully crawled into bed behind you, carefully pulling your body into his. He wished more than anything that he could make your pain go away. He ran through the many years you had been together, and struggled to find a time where your sorrow was as profound as it was this evening. His mind was constantly at war- his analytical, doctor side beginning to list specific reasons why this could be happening, and his sincere, passionate, loving husband side breaking apart reflecting over the sound of your sobs.

It could have been either of you. But it also could’ve been both of you. The thought was enough to finally force the tears in Law’s eyes to break free and travel down his cheeks. Some of them plotted into your hair.

—

You awoke to the sound of whispering in your hallway outside the bedroom. The blinds covering the window above the bed you shared with Law were pulled shut, but the sunlight still beamed through them leaving patterns on the walls and floor. The side Law slept on was empty and freshly made. No surprise, he left for work early in the morning after all. You slowly sat up in bed, your head pounding. The events of the previous evening came rushing back to you, but you felt nothing but an empty melancholy, a dark fog that hung over your brain and clouded your vision.

The door to your bedroom slowly opened. You looked up just in time to see a very large, very fluffy cloud with four legs and two beady eyes come sprinting into your room. Its feet ripped across the carpeted floor as It hopped on your bed with a loud huff, immediately snuggling on top of your duvet and leaning into your body for some much needed cuddles.

You mustered a weary laugh, your hands instinctively moving to the back of the dog’s neck to rub his fluffy cheeks from behind, eliciting happy grunts from the large animal. He had his tongue out, a tiny pink blep among the sea of rich white fur.

“Bepo,” you sighed. “You know Law doesn’t like it when you get on the bed.”

“He missed you!” called a voice from the hallway. Spiky red hair appeared in the doorway. “So did we, actually. I hope I didn’t wake you up.”

Shachi had, actually, woken you up, but you didn’t need to tell him that. “No, not at all.” You shook your head. Bepo’s tail was wagging in your face, causing you to sputter out small strands of loose fur from your mouth. The red-head entered your bedroom, leaving the door open. The smell of French toast instantly wafted into the space, making your mouth water and your eyes widen. “Is Penguin cooking?”

“Yee-up,” Shachi replied, popping his lips to enunciate the word. “Law invited us over, if you couldn’t tell.” He flashed a smirk. “You got the day off, by the way.”

Your eyebrows wrinkled in confusion. “What?”

“Law called in sick for you,” the man confirmed.

You frantically reached for the night stand and grabbed your phone, tapping the screen to illuminate it. It was almost 10:00AM, and sure enough, your alarm had been turned off. Three texts from Law sat waiting on your screen, as well as two texts from your coworkers.

Baby~~<3

Sorry, I broke into your phone to turn your alarm off. You get to sleep in today, I called you out sick. I didn’t tell them anything, just that you weren’t feeling good.

Baby~~<3

Shachi and Penguin might be there when you wake up. I did tell them a little about what happened, just so they know to give you space if you need it.

Baby~~<3

Call me if you need anything at all, I love you.

Ika-chan

I heard you called in sick today!!! I hope you’re alright, let me know if you need anything!

Nami Swan

How r u feeling? If u caut the flu u can blame Usopp :P

You smiled, your heart beating in your chest. “You guys are too much sometimes.”

Shachi proudly rested his clenched fist over his sternum as a display of pride. “Nothing is ever enough for your best friend!” The sight made you chuckle.

You were caught off guard by Penguin entering with a much larger platter of food than you ever expected. He excitedly approached your bedside with a wide grin, marveling at his own work. A bowl of mixed fruits, a plate of French toast drizzled with maple syrup and dollopped with a swirl of whipped cream, a small portion of sausage on the side, and a single unopened bottle of apple juice. You graciously accepted the spread, but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t completely befuddled.

“You guys know I’m not actually sick, right?” you asked, glancing at your husband’s best friends with concern. You shooed Bepo away from getting too close to the sausage.

“We know,” Penguin clarified. “We can treat you to a nice breakfast even when you’re not sick, though!”

You smiled, forcing down the lump that formed in your throat. “Thank you guys, I really don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“I know what you’d do,” Shachi stated. “You’d eat your breakfast and savor every bite!” He stood up from your bed and clapped his hands twice, beckoning Bepo off of the bed and over to his side. “We’ll take Bepo for a walk around the neighborhood! Take some time for yourself!” The two men left with your dog in tow, leaving you to stare in awe at the spread of food.

Your mind was reeling. Law’s text informed you that he had given his two friends a brief summary of what had happened, but you didn’t really mind. If anything, it brought you some comfort to know that you and your husband’s two closest friends understood the predicament you were currently in and were more than willing to go out of their way to support you. You also couldn’t help but smile at the thought of Law calling you out sick for the day, putting your passcode into your phone to turn off your alarm, and making sure his friends would be there for you when you woke up. You were beyond grateful for such an incredible support system, but just to be on the safe side…

You grabbed your phone once more, opening your text messages with Law.

Good morning baby, thank you for calling me out. Im feeling a bit better, Shachi and Penguin made me breakfast. I hope you didnt give them too much grief ;3; Take care of yourself today, I’ll see you when you get home. I love you!!! <333

With your breakfast completed, you slowly trudged to the bathroom to take a relaxing shower. The sight of your negative pregnancy test filled you with nausea, but you pushed past the feeling and turned on the water.

#trafalgar law x reader #trafalgar d water law x reader #fem reader #law x reader #x reader #reader insert #tw pregnancy #tw miscarriage #tw pregnancy loss #im losing you

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cpidsworld · 1 year

Text

𝐃𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐍? - ATSUMU MIYA

WORD COUNT - 2.9K

pairing: tattoo artist!atsumu miya x fem!reader

synopsis: your friend reccomended you a new tattoo artist. she said she adored his work ethic, and he was easy on the eyes. not that the latter part of her statement swayed you in any way, you made your way down to the foxy tattoo and piercing studio. you had gotten tattoo's before, that wasn't the problem, you didn't mind the pain aspect at all, or maybe you liked it a litte too much. the problem was, being stuck with your tattoo artist's hand on your waist as he tattooed on your ribcage.

warnings: semi-public sex, fingering in the tattoo chair, hair pulling, panties being used as a gag, rough sex, degradation, crying because of too much pleasure, breeding, overstim, praise, mentions of exhibitionism, orgasm control, atsumu fucks the reader while he's on the phone (lemme know if i missed any)

a/n: merry christmas ya filthy animals. was gonna post this earlier but family came over. i also rushed the end but i still think this is a good comeback for my blog. also i hope i tagged everyone correctly that commented and if you wanted to be tagged and just liked the post m'sorey and i hope the post makes it to you!! n e ways, happy reading <3

haikyuu masterlist | main masterlist

you've been going to the same tattoo studio for the past couple of years. you knew the owner so in your eyes, he was the safest bet to getting a good tattoo. that changed when your friend showed you the most recent work she had done. she sent you a picture of a gorgeous back tattoo she'd gotten done and a glowing review of the tattoo artist.

"he was so polite and friendly, the service was amazing, and he's easy on the eyes."

you didn’t really have a reason to try someone new, but here you were walking towards the foxy tattoo and piercing parlour. if you were being honest, you didn’t need to get a tattoo or change tattoo artists, but maybe a little change could be good.

as you walk through the glass tinted doors your eyes widen at the interior. you’d be lying if you said you didn’t have much expectations for the inside, but you were proven wrong. there was a small desk in the front, while the rest of the loft-like area was filled with artwork. there were couches scattered around the work areas. It seemed as though the front area was where the piercings took place and in the back you could see the tattoo chair with all the equipment around it.

while you were taking in your surroundings you hadn’t noticed a grey haired man walk behind the front desk. he clears his throat just a little to get your attention which instantly has you turning your head towards him.

“you okay? y’seem a little dumbstruck.”

he chuckles quietly to himself and you feel your cheeks start to burn in embarrassment. you’d probably looked like a kid who’s never set foot in a candy store, oogling at all the things their little eyes could see. he could see the pink on your cheeks before reassuring you that you’re fine.

“so, what brings ya here today?”

“i’ve got an appointment for a tattoo today, with an…atsumu miya?”

the grey haired man nods and checks on the computer to verify your appointment. he then gets up off the chair before yelling to who i assumed to be atsumu, to come out and do his job. not too long after a man who looked exactly like the one in front of you, except for the difference in hair colour. your mildly confused little brain put two and two together and figured out they were twins.

“twins, huh?”

“been stuck with him since the womb. i’m osamu by the way, and that over there as ya might already know is atsumu.”

your eyes trail up to the man infront of you as he introduces himself. he was wearing a black tank top that showed off his muscular arms, as well as the tattoos that adorned them. Your gaze tailed up to his face as he looked at you with his chocolate brown eyes. your friend wasn’t wrong when she said he was easy on the eyes.

“hi. i’m atsumu. nice ta meetcha.”

you greeted him back before he led you to the back area of the store where the he sat down, motioning you to sit on the tattoo chair.

“so, what are we doin’ for ya today?”

“i was thinking of getting a tattoo on my ribcage. barbed wire actually.”

he smiled a little, drawing something on the page in front of him. he was done, and he moved his chair closer to you and placed his clipboard on your lap. you looked at the drawing he had done, a slightly curved line of barbed wire that looked like it could fit perfectly on your body. he watched as you studied his drawing, his eyes searching for your approval.

when you looked up at him, his eyes were already on you causing the heat from earlier to slowly creep onto your face again. you quickly averted your eyes and went back to looking at the drawing.

“it’s perfect.”

he smiled before asking you to sit up properly in the chair. your eyes were on him as he moved closer to you, as his hands ghosted over the side of your body.

“right or left side.”

“right.”

he nodded as he moved to sit on the right side of you, hands on the chair next to you.

“may i?”

he asked as his hands were about to touch the side of your body, and you slowly nodded. his hands went to your ribcage,testing out possible placement of the tattoo. when his hands went a bit higher, just grazing the underside of your breast you let out a shaky breath. he glanced up at you and smirked a little.

after a few more changes you settled on a placement, and atsumu got straight into creating the stencil. not too long after that, osamu had announced he was going on a break and left to the back of the store, where atsumu had emerged earlier.

once osamu was gone, you were acutely aware of how alone you two were in the store. you couldn't keep your eyes off atsumu as he worked. his muscles flexing slightly while he finished up the stencil.

when he was done, he moved back towards you as he adjusted the chair you were sitting it to be horizontal for you to lay back in.

"if ya want you can lift yer shirt f'me, or if it's more comfortable, ya can take it off."

he said this nonchalantly as he was prepping the tools he needed for your tattoo, getting everything onto the silver table next to where he was going to work. you gulped slightly, not knowing whether to take your shirt off or not, so you ended up just taking the right arm out of your shirt, essentially having half of your shirt off, showing off the pretty lace bra you wore.

when he turned back to you in order to place the stencil on, his eyes trailed over your exposed skin before mentally kicking himself for staring. he inched in closer as he asked you to raise your arm for him to get a better angle. he gently placed the stencil on the decided spot, massaging it with his right hand while his left hand rested on your waist, using it as leverage to help get the stencil on better.

he didn’t realise his fingers were slightly caressing your side as he held you in place, but your body was suddenly hypersensitive and all you could feel were his fingers on your body. your thighs instinctively came together, unintentionally rubbing together. atsumu’s eyes trailed over your body down to your legs, where you were clenching your thighs, before looking up at you, without moving his hands an inch.

you avoided his gaze, unsure of how looking at him right now would affect your heart rate. you suddenly feel atsumu’s hand move higher up your waist, inching closer to your breast. your eyes snapped towards his, trying to gauge his reaction. you thought it was a bit cliche to have fantasies of fucking your tattoo artist, and if you were being honest, your previous tattoo artist wasn’t anything to write home about, moreover, he was your friend, but atsumu was a complete stranger. he was a sexy stranger who had his hand trailing up the side of your body, while maintaining eye contact with you.

you could feel the heat in your cheeks for the third time today, not sure how to deal with the situation. you weren’t opposed to it, but you were basically out in the open, where anyone could walk in.

“ya okay sweetheart? i can stop if yer not okay-”

“i’m okay. please don’t stop.”

and that’s all it took for atsumu to get up from his seat and push you back onto the tattoo chair, your back hitting the soft leather as atsumu’s arms were on either side of your head. his face was close to yours, his hot breath fanning over your face. your breath was hot and heavy, trying to wrap your head around the current situation. his eyes were scanning over your face, looking for any signs that you might not want this, but when he found none, he leaned down and kissed you, slow at first, getting to know and feel how your lips felt against his, before he picked up the pace, slowly licking your bottom lip and biting it a little to get access to your tongue. his hands found purchase on your hips as he grinds your body against his, eliciting a quiet moan from you, giving him just the access he needs to slip his tongue into your mouth, deepening the kiss. he kissed you so fervently, wanting to know every part of you, every crevice of your mouth, before pulling away slowly, your bottom lip caught between his teeth.

one of atsumu’s hands trailed down from your hips to the waistband of the shorts you wore, before slipping past the threshold. his fingers lazily found their way to your puffy lips before he swiped them along your slit.

“already wet f’me? what a little slut.”

your body bucked into his hand, your hole clenching around nothing at the name. you were wet, soaking even, and he wasn’t helping. his middle finger prodded at your entrance before pushing inside you, his thumb drawing lazy circles on your clit. your hands made their way to his hair, gripping it slightly as his pace increased. you gasped as you felt him add a second finger, a shiver of pleasure running up your spine. you tried to hold back your moans, not wanting to risk getting caught, which definitely pissed atsumu off. he used his other hand to pull down your shorts and panties in one swift moment before adding a third finger to your tight hole.

“now i wanna hear ya. c’mon make some noise fer me.”

you couldn’t help but let out a loud moan, your eyes screwed shut as you writhed underneath him.

“that’s my good girl. doin’ so well f’me.”

his fingers felt like heaven inside you, your back arching off the chair as you whined for more. his free hand came to your hair and he slowly grabbed hold of it, leaning down to kiss you once again, yet this kiss was filled with lust and greed. his fingers moved like pistons inside you, you felt the heat in your abdomen growing steadily. you knew you wouldn't last long, and atsumu could feel you clenching around his fingers. he pulled away from the kiss, smirking down at you.

"look at my pretty baby, about to fall apart on a stranger's fingers. anyone could see ya, looking like a slut sprawled out on my tattoo chair."

you whined, squirming under his touch. he leaned down, head buried in your neck, whispering sweet nothings and praise in your ear. you couldn't help but come undone on his fingers, biting the skin on his neck, to hide your moans. your legs were weak, and tiredness was creeping into your bones slowly. he got up off the table and pulled your body to the edge, your ass hanging slightly off the end.

"nuh uh. we're not done yet sugar."

he undid his pants and threw them where your shorts were and your eyes were transfixed on his cock, hard and red at the tip. you licked your lips, and looked up at him, knowing that he wasn't going to stop anytime soon. before he grabs your hips, he picks up your underwear and hands them to you.

"in yer mouth, sweetheart. need to keep that sweet voice down for me."

you take it and put it in your mouth, and his hands grip your hips. he rubs his cock up and down your folds, your juices and his pre-cum mixing, lubing him up. as he was about to push inside his phone rings. it shocks both of you as he bends down to pick it up. You shake your head violently, hoping he doesn’t answer it, but all he does is put a finger in front of his lips in a shushing motion as he answers the phone.

“oh hey ‘samu. whatcha need?”

you could feel atsumu rubbing against you again as you look at him, eyes wide, as his tip catches on your entrance every so now and again. he continues talking to his brother as he slowly began to sink inside you, biting his lip to hide his moans, and you throw your head back against the chair, biting back your moans, only a few small ones slipping past the panties between your lips.

“nah i’m not busy. we haven’t started her tattoo yet. we had a small…setback”

he smirks as he starts to fuck into you, not allowing you to adjust to his size and still sensitive from your previous orgasm. your hand gripped his that was at your waist, nails digging into his wrist as you tried your best to be quiet, your body wanting to betray you and give in to the pleasure.

atsumu was in heaven. seeing your fucked out face in front of him, flushed and needy, holding back moans he desperately wanted to come out. in his eyes, you were perfection.

you could see on atsumu’s face he was feeling it too, his eyebrows were knitted together, sweat dripping from his brow, and his eyes never leaving yours. his eyes carried all the emotions he was feeling: lust, want, need. emotions you couldn’t help but feel as well. He leaned down over you, his face right over yours his jagged breaths and soft groans filling your senses. you were close again, and feeling him twitch inside you, you knew he was too.

“ya can get lunch for us, and the pretty girl too.”

he winked at you slyly.

“i’m coming..soon so just wait for us, yeah?”

you knew what he meant, the raspy tone of his voice and the slight stutter in his voice. he said his final goodbyes and finally put the phone down before bottoming out inside of you. you whine loudly, tears prickling at the sides of your eyes. you wanted to cum, no you needed to cum. You wiggled your hips as best you could against him, grinding on his cock. he groaned lowly into your neck before grabbing onto your hair.

“ya wanna cum? does my pretty girl wanna cum like a slut on my cock?”

Your body ached as he said that, your cunt fluttering around him.

“it seemed like ya enjoyed being fucked while i spoke to my brother. wanna have him come watch as you unravel in my tattoo studio?”

you audibly moaned at the idea, having his brother watch as you were fucked senseless. He slowly started moving his hips, his thrusts hard and deep, his pace quickening slowly.

“yeah ya like that idea, huh? well, sugar, you’ll cum when i cum, got it?”

you nodded quickly, your mind already numb. he started to pick up the pace, his cock just kissing your cervix so beautifully. the heat in your abdomen builds up quicker than before, and wants to be released, but not until atsumu was ready. you made sure to hold on, moans now cascading past the makeshift gag, not caring about who heard you. atsumu adored it. he revelled in the fact he could make you feel this way. he was getting close too, he couldn’t help it when you looked and sounded so exquisite beneath him. if he could keep you like this, he would.

he saw tears running down the side of your cheeks and kissed them away, as he whispered about how much of a good girl you are for him.

“...inside? can i cum inside?”

you heard him say, almost whimpering into your ear, and you nodded, hoping he got the message. he leaned his arm next to your head to keep him up, looking you in your eye.

“ya gonna cream on my cock before i cum, okay? need to feel you cum on me.”

you needed nothing more than to look into his eyes as you felt yourself let go, electricity flowing to all ends of your body as you came on his cock, clenching down on him so hard he couldn’t help but grip your hair tighter, fucking you through your orgasm. your poor overstimulated pussy was still being used to milk his cock, and you wanted nothing more than to have him cum inside you. you pulled him closer to you, your lips barely touching.

“please cum inside me ‘tsumu.”

he came right on the spot, his body spasming as he fucked his load into you, never breaking eye contact as he whimpered slightly, feeling you clench around his now sensitive cock.

“fuck, you’re amazing.”

he breathed out as he layed his head in your neck, trying to catch your breath. your hands trailed up his arms, slowly drawing shapes on them, trying to catch your breath as well.

“you’re not to bad yourself ‘tsumu.”

you liked the way the nickname rolled off your tongue, and he enjoyed hearing you say it. He slowly leaned up, pulling out of you before quickly running to get something to clean you off with. he clean you off diligently, watching not to touch you too roughly and he cleaned himself off. you then both, got dressed and sat down for a second.

“so, do ya wanna schedule another appointment for the tattoo?”

you smirked as you leaned back on your arms.

“if it means seeing you again, i’ll make sure you’re fully booked.”

all works belong to @cpidsworld ! Do not claim as own or reupload without permission!!

tags: @tojiisadilfsposts @honeybuzzzzzz @lifeandtimesofpineapplehead @kuroosluthoe @aelrinv @justanothernpcartist @kvlfodusud @thisbicc @elavin @getwaves @loser1305 @sociopath0208 @alienvarmint @astennu @lomons @selfconcitedslut @malxoxo @mhasoftcore @azuremyst99 @str4wb3rrycaoke @heavnlyseraph @cloud-lyy @emotional-zebra @ranhlovebot @hornyafmovingon @vicksobus @hellvua-viper @celiniverse @thebrownemo @kenny5673 @kryzi @defextsblog @mobbbb1 @natriae @onlyitachiis @mpregandmore @t3ng3ns-s1ut @loumoon12 @honeyyy-vee @senpaisbadass @yung-usOpp @coffee-addict-32 @animerules-15 @honey-teaaaaaaaa

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johnwickb1tsch · 5 months

Text

you’re the worst thing (i’m addicted to)

a john wick x Helen'sSister!Reader fic You are Helen's baby sister. When you meet John Wick at Helen's graveside, he invites you to dinner to celebrate her birthday. Set a few years after the first movie, 2-4 never happened. Use of y/n. Warnings: canon typical violence. Future reference to threat of noncon, (not John! because he's our assassin sweetiepie). Mourning. Smut. Grey areas. Questionable decisions. Sweetheart!John, BAMF!John Depressed!John - If you can handle the movie you should be fine here...

Part 1.

“Hey, Hels.”

There is no answer, only the warbling of a bird in a distant tree. The day is bright and blue, spring has come again in all her glory. It doesn’t seem right, somehow, that the sun should still shine, and the birds should still sing.

Because she is gone.

It’s been two years, but you still haven’t really wrapped your head around it.

You still have your last text message thread with her in your phone. It’s as though you could just punch a few buttons and still talk to her. Always, she would answer you, no matter what she was doing. Sometimes you want to type in I miss you and hit send, just to see what might happen.

But then, maybe it is appropriate, that today should be such a beautiful day. On this day, forty-two years ago, your sister was born. Roughly ten years later, you followed. As a direct result, your mother died of complications in childbirth.

Your father still blamed you, but Helen never did.

In a way, Helen was your mother, more than the woman who bore you.

It makes it all hurt so much more.

“Happy birthday, by the way.”

You look down at the stone, this massive granite behemoth. You find it rather ugly, to be honest, but it will certainly stand the test of time, nuclear war notwithstanding. Loving Wife, reads the epitaph below.

You know it was true.

You know that perhaps John Wick is the only person Helen loved more than you. But the inscription still seems too brief. Short changing her, somehow.

But then, John paid for the stone, so you suppose he got to pick what it said.

You were ensuring her memory lived on in other ways.

“I finally did as you asked,” you tell her. “I’ve used the photos you left me in a painting. We're going to be in a show together. I wish you were here to see it.”

There is a mean part of you that suspects your submission was only accepted because it contained work from the late, great, photographer Helen Morgan-Wick, but you shove that down into the seething pit with all the rest of your fears and doubts. You didn't use them for the attention. You did it to feel close to her, and because she asked you to. One final art project, the note had said. She knew you too well, knew that the only thing that kept you from toeing the line of the abyss was a good artistic obsession.

You knew she’d planned to leave a project for John too. A puppy, she’d said. You’d shared a laugh over it, through tears, the last time you’d been together. You never found out how that had gone. John hadn’t attended a family gathering since Helen passed.

Too painful.

You didn’t blame him one bit.

“I miss you, Hels. I feel so lost without you.”

“Amen.”

The sound of another voice behind you nearly makes you jump out of your skin. You turn to find him, in one of his signature tailored black suits, looking unfairly scrumptious despite the dark circles under his eyes. He hadn't made a sound in his approach. He never did. The man moved like a ghost and looked like a dark dream. You'd always found him insanely attractive.

You'd never done anything about that, of course. But goddamn, you had eyes.

“Hi, John.”

“Hello, y/n.”

You’ve never run into him at the gravesite before, though you have seen the wilted offerings of daisies left by the stone, and you always had assumed they’d come from him. You haven’t seen him since Helen’s funeral. He hasn’t changed much, really, though there is a sharpness to his aspect you’d never noticed when Helen was alive. An edge to his gaze; how can eyes so dark convey so much? Despite yourself, it sends a little thrill down your spine that you absolutely know you should not revel in.

Maybe you haven’t seen him in person after Helen passed, but you’ve gazed at him plenty through Helen’s lens. There had been so many photographs of him in the collection of prints she’d left you. Nothing risqué, but the way he’d looked at her even through the camera had been nothing less than intimate.

There were times, late at night in your studio, when you’d pretended he’d been looking at you that way.

“How…have you been?”

He offers a grim shadow of a smile and a shake of his head that you understand all too well.

“Nice to be with someone you don't have to pretend with.”

“Yeah.”

You both stare down at the grave, meditating on your loss of this woman who touched you both so completely.

“Do you think she can hear us?” you ask, unable to lift your voice above a whisper.

There is a long pause from her widower, the man she left behind.

“Not really.” He lifts his face to the sun, eyes closed, as though maybe he can feel something of her presence. “But you should talk to her anyway. I might be wrong.”

You smile at that.

“Do you ever talk to her?”

“All the time,” he admits with a huff of self-deprecating laughter. “But then, I might just be losing my mind.”

“Ah well. That makes two of us then.”

You gently lay down the bouquet of Gerber daisies you'd brought for her. Helen’s favorite. If you ever have a garden, you will plant some for her. As it is, you have to buy them from the store. You remember the patch of daisies she’d cultivated in the garden of your childhood home. Their cheerful faces and soft petals. They had been your mother’s favorite too. When you were a girl Helen would sing to you and braid them in your thick hair. You couldn’t know at the time, how precious those perfect days had been.

The wave of sorrow hits you like a freight train, the weight of your loss a crushing force. You start to cry, hiding your face in your hands; you would prefer to do this alone, but you cannot stop it.

You feel an arm about your shoulders. It surprises you—John was never a touchy-feely man, never one for hugs, always preferring a wave or a handshake. Only for Helen, did he ever display any sort of affection. They had always been touching, holding hands or sitting hip to hip on the couch, his strong arm slung protectively around her shoulders. You didn’t want to say you’d been envious of that, but…perhaps you’d wondered, what it might be like, to be so cherished.

When he pulls you against him you only manage some token resistance. “I’ll mess up your suit.” You sound pitiful, even to you.

“I have an excellent dry cleaner.”

His dry wit had always amused you. This time, it breaks you, and you give in. He is solid as an oak, and as it turns out, his chest is an excellent place to cry on. Under the shelter of his chin you wring yourself dry, until it feels like you have nothing left inside you. His large hand rests lightly upon the back of your head, shielding you from the world. He is warm, and his cologne is subtle but heavenly. Sandalwood, maybe, and something spiced. Cardamom, perhaps. A hint of pepper.

You don’t particularly want to move, even though you absolutely should. Yet his hold on you has not loosened, and you tell yourself that maybe John Wick needed a hug just as badly as you did.

“People keep telling me that it gets easier, and I just want to punch them in the face,” you sniffle.

A huff of laughter escapes him. You feel it stir your hair on the top of your head. “Yeah. I get that.”

Finally you pull back, though not as far as you should. You’ve never actually been this close to him before, and you look at each other from a foot away. Sometimes proximity can shatter the illusion of someone’s attractiveness—but not this man. The impossible angle of his cheekbones, the soft scruff of his beard…is it just you, or does the edge in his gaze soften a little, when he looks at you? It makes your legs a little weak, and you kind of hate yourself for it.

It has nothing to do with you, stupid, you tell yourself. Where you and Helen weren’t exactly twins, you did resemble each other strongly. In profile, you’d been mistaken for her in public plenty of times before. If anything, it was probably unnerving for this poor man who missed his wife so much, to hold you, a sorry facsimile, in his arms. Out of pity, most likely.

Helen had been the good sister. The upstanding one, the kind one. You? You can be such a twisted little thing.

“Sorry,” you sigh, noticing the smudge of makeup on his lapel.

He doesn’t even glance down, that intense gaze still fixed upon you. “Don’t be.”

Unbidden heat blooms from your cheeks to your toes, finding yourself the subject of that gaze. You’ve got to go, before you really embarrass yourself.

“I'll leave you alone. It was nice to see you, John.”

You turn to go, hugging yourself against the early spring chill. Why did you have to feel so bereft, without his arms around you? You take a few steps before he calls after you, “Y/n?”

You freeze in your tracks, a thrill jetting down your spine. “Yeah?” you dare, turning to half look over your shoulder.

“I…was thinking about going to Helen’s favorite restaurant tonight. Would you like to join me?”

Your heart beats double time in your chest, as you slowly turn to face him. You should say no. There’s a thousand reasons you should say no. This was your sister’s husband. It doesn’t matter that he’s the most handsome man you’ve ever seen, and that he’s been kind to you, and that he’s looking at you like he might drown if you say no.

“I would like that,” you answer, and your heartbeat thundering in your ears sounds like the hammering of nails into your own coffin.

Part 2

#john wick x you #john wick #john wick x you fic #john wick x reader #john wick x y/n #keanu reeves #keanu reeves x reader #im going to hell #john wick fic #title from a black keys song i fucking love them

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altsvu · 4 months

Text

more than just my intern

pairing: sonny carisi x fem!reader

wc: 1.3k

summary: sonny was eager to take you under his wing when he suddenly realizes he was eager for more…

tw: none i can think of 😅

a/n: y’all PLEASEEEE don’t be mad at me but this was sitting in my notes for ALMOST A YEAR bc i wanted to add smut but it was HARD. so i got rid of it, but if y’all want a part 2, i can definitely do it! also this gif is just *chefs kiss*💋 its so fitting for this lowkey

law and order svu masterlist! ✯ taglist!

✯✯✯✯

“I like you so much, I wish you were more than just my intern.”

“Well, those arrangements can be made.”

You enjoyed being a detective, but you wanted more. You followed in Sonny’s footsteps for as long as you could imagine and now it was your time to shine. You and Sonny had been partners for about 4 years when he announced he was applying to law school. You were there for Sonny when he got his acceptance letter, and when he had mentioned before his acceptance that he was applying to Fordham night school to become an ADA, it had become a surprise to you because you were actually looking at that school, among many others in the area. A few years after Sonny finished law school, you got one of the best news of your life.

“Sonny, you need to come over ASAP.” You said over the phone.

“Why, are you okay?”

“I just have something here that I’d like you to witness.”

“Okay, I’ll be there in 20.”

When Sonny came over, the both of you curled up on your living room couch staring at your laptop.

“I got an email from Fordham.”

The clock ticked slow from the time you opened up the email to the time you clicked on the link to log into the portal.

“Is that what I think that is?” Sonny said.

After you logged in there was another thing you had to click on in order for you to see your application status. Then, a whole bunch of confetti popped up on your screen.

“OH MY GOSH I GOT IN!” You screamed.

You and Sonny screamed and laughed for a few moments, living in the moment. You got accepted into law school!

“I’m so proud of you Y/N. You deserve it.” Sonny said, pulling you into a hug.

“Aww thank you.” You beamed. “And look at you, thriving as an ADA already. If anything I’m proud of you!”

Sonny also had a wide smile on his face. “It’s no easy thing, so thank you. These accomplishments deserve a little celebration, dont’cha think?”

“Oh yea,” You agreed.

And with that, your life changed.

•••

Fast forward a few months, you went through orientation and all those get to know you stuff and you were now taking your official classes. Sonny on the other hand was doing great as an ADA and you were extremely happy for him. Juggling law school and working as a detective, not to mention you got promoted, was something you were learning to handle one day at a time. You didn’t know how Sonny did it.

Throughout the semester, Sonny occasionally popped by to check on and see how everything was going, and he even helped you with some of the classes that he previously took. When you had your spare time on the job you went to visit Sonny to see how he was handling Hadid and the cases he had to work with. On the days he had to work late to prep for trial, you were reluctant to leave him, you were curious about this aspect of being an ADA. He gave you advice and other words of wisdom that you kept with you throughout your time in law school.

A year and a half passed by and Sonny was taking off with his career and you were still in school, doing everything you could to get high grades in your classes. On top of that, dealing with all the changes Manhattan SVU was going through was taking a toll as well. It was about that time for you to start gaining experience. Sonny let you sit in cases, live cases, in the courtroom, as you took notes on his techniques, just as he did when he learned from Rafael.

“You know, you might as well be an ADA now with all these cases you’ve sat in with me.”

“Not yet, Counselor. Give it about two more years. For now, I’ll be your little intern.”

That brought a smile to Sonny’s face. “Intern, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“If you’re serious about it, I can make arrangements with the DA… it can be your part time.”

Your eyes widened. “Sonny…”

“I know, I know. You don’t have to act on it right away, I just want the best for you. I didn’t get the chance to do this, but I want you to have it.”

You didn’t know what to say, so you hugged Sonny.

“Thank you. Seriously, for everything.”

“Of course. Anything for my partner.”

•••

After many conversations with the DA’s office, the bureau chief, and even Benson, you got your official position as ADA Sonny Carisi’s intern. Part time internship kind of situation. It was needed as one of the requirements for one of the classes you were taking so it fit.

Your days consisted of looking over some of the cases Sonny had on his docket, taking notes for your own practice, as well as observing during cases. You did get paired with other ADA’s on the eighth floor, but you always drew yourself towards Sonny.

•••

One night, you were in Sonny’s office looking over a case with him when he decided it was best for the both of you to have a nightcap.

“Hey, you’ve been taking notes on that case file for a while. Unwind with me.”

You looked up and saw Sonny pull out a bottle of wine and glass cups. You watched him pop the bottle open and pour the red liquid in both of the cups. He handed one of them to you, hoping you would accept it. You sighed, plopping the case file on the table. Taking the glass with a smile on your face, you followed Sonny to the couch he had in his office.

“You know, I don’t think I ever told you this, but it’s beautiful how dedicated you are to becoming an ADA.”

“Aww, you think so?”

“Yes.”

“I appreciate it a lot. I think a part of it was also your doing. You inspired me to go further in my career. Further helping victims of all walks of life that don’t have a voice of their own, victims that want to be free from the shackles of their toxic situations, victims that are tired of their bodies being used forcefully for sexual desires.”

“Maybe I did inspire you. You’ve really been a great advocate for everyone that walked through those precinct doors and it shows.”

“Cheers to that.” You smiled, raising your glass.

Sonny clinked his glass with yours and smiled. “Cheers.”

“I’m glad you’re my intern.”

You raised an eyebrow, setting your glass down. “Oh?”

“Yeah. I get to spend more time with you, for starters.”

“Mmm, yeah, I miss you at SVU sometimes. It’s not the same without you.”

Sonny nodded. “I get that.”

There was a moment of silence between the two of you, just completely comfortable silence and long looks.

“I like you so much, I wish you were more than just my intern.” Sonny admitted to break the silence.

You were startled at first, but then a smile crept on your face as soon as you knew what he meant.

“Well, those arrangements can be made.” You whispered. You took one more sip of your wine and scooted closer to Sonny.

“Oh yea?” He said in a hushed tone, moving closer to you as well. At this point, the both of your thighs were touching each other. You felt a major spark between you and him. You were feeling a certain type of way and it wasn’t from the alcohol.

“Yea.” You whispered.

Sonny gently took your face in his hand and kissed you.

After the kiss, the both of you were smiling, holding each other’s faces in hands and touching foreheads.

“I want more,” you said. “That was beautiful.”

“Beautiful indeed, my little intern.”

✯✯✯✯

taglist: @detective-giggles , @lapaquerette , @itsjustmyfantasyroom , @ssaic-jareau , @averyhotchner , @blackbeautifulqueen , @redlipstickandplaid, @storiesofsvu , @hotchsbabygirl-blog, @deiondraaa, @wandas-wife , @ellevandeberg

#altsvu #altsvu oneshots #law and order svu fandom #law and order fic #law and order svu #law and order svu fanfiction #sonny carisi #sonny carisi x reader #ada sonny carisi #detective sonny carisi #sonny carisi fanfiction #sonny carisi x fem!reader #ada sonny carisi x reader #law and order special victims unit #svu #svu fanfiction #svu fic

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milkws-world · 1 year

Text

Bitter// Simon “Ghost” Riley

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader

•Readers call sign is Circe!

Warnings: ANGSTTT, descriptions of burn out and sad feelings, ghost being a little bit of an ass, two adults sorting their shit out

Summary:

“I’m sorry doll, I really am” he was pressing his forehead against yours now. “I’m not any good at this either, if you couldn’t already tell. But I wanna try, wanna try for you.” Your hands reached up to wrap around his wrists, you felt like you were about to burst. You knew how rare it was for him to say stuff like this and the fact that he wanted to try was pulling at your heart. “Don’t even wanna think about losing you and the fact that I made you doubt that-.” He cut himself off, he looked like he was trying to regain his composure.

A/N: Heyyy lovelies, long time no see. This can be read as a stand alone or as a Pt.2 to Cold Hands. There is a second part to this one with all the spicy stuff so don’t worry😋. I’ll probably be posting that next Monday or Tuesday.

It had been a month since the night he had stayed over at your flat. The night he touched and caressed you like it’d be the last time. You had been intimate before, there was no denying that, but the fact he stayed that night changed everything. You had feared it’d been too much too soon; your mind was a mess compared to the tidy and organized side of the bed opposite you, his side.

He had been deployed with Price and Gaz onto some mission you were only given brief details about.

Urzikstan. Massive cargos. Illegal weapons. Capture the target.

You were on R&R(rest and recuperation) by the captain. Usually, you would have been at the door of his office as soon as you received the news, but it had been a long fucking time since you’d gotten some proper rest. The dark areas underneath your eyes, scars that were still in their healing process, rough hands that could barely be flexed all the way due to the death grip you constantly had on your gun, and the tightness in every single muscle were all indicators towards the fact you needed a break.

The physical aspect of it all was only the beginning to the burn out you had felt coming long ago. You felt like shit to put it quite plainly. This month had you feeling empty and mentally exhausted beyond belief, when these long missions were finally done you no longer felt any sense of accomplishment just relief that it was finally over. It had been hard to get out of bed alone that morning no warning, no note, no nothing. You couldn’t exactly say you were surprised but anything at all would’ve been nice, because it’s what you would’ve done for him.

Now maybe that’s just you going out of your way or falling too hard for a man whose face you had never even fully seen. But it’s also just basic fucking respect from your point of view. Not having much to do was really starting to take its toll on you, too much thinking and reading into things you were sure weren’t even there was driving you insane. But it was only a couple more days before they’d come back to base, before he came back.

Meeting debriefs after missions is always quick, everyone just wants to get out of that room and cleanse themselves of all the horrors and grief that comes with the job. It was coincidence really; you didn’t even know they had gotten back. It was when you and Soap were on your way to the mess hall that you saw him, and he saw you. He had to have. You were right fucking there; you swore your shoulder even grazed a bit when you passed by.

“Glad to have ya’ back Lt.” the Scottish man said. You could tell he was hanging onto that last bit of sanity by the sag in his shoulders and the dragging of his feet, but his eyes said it all for him.

“Soap” the word came out dry and curt, a vocal representation of the man himself.

That was it, no nod or a glance of his eyes over to you to acknowledge that you were there. Just skimmed right past you. That was fine you tried to convince yourself, it’s probably what you were like after coming back from a mission. But it hurt, yet again you knew you shouldn’t expect much from him. You were a grown woman you shouldn’t be thinking about such a short and simple moment like a teenager in high school who can't wait to pass by her crush in the hallways.

Soon enough it had been two weeks since they’d been back, and everyone had gone their separate ways to recover from possibly the longest past 6 months of their lives. Those two weeks on base were hell though and you had never been gladder to be in your own plain and undecorated flat by yourself. He completely ignored you, and you had tried to come up with reasons or justifications but there just wasn’t any that were good enough for you.

It was the third day after the group returned when you tried talking to him for the first time. You figured you’d give him some time alone to gather his thoughts and recover from the long mission, but he was not up for your antics. You had caught sight of him leaving the mess hall and decided to excuse yourself from the group. Your small and quick steps making work to catch up to his long strides.

“Ghost” no response. At this point you were starting to get annoyed.

“Simon” you said more quietly as you were now only two feet behind him. He turns around and meets your soft gaze with a plain one. He looked almost bothered, you could feel it in the way he turned around with the slightest bit of hesitation. “Hey, are you alright or-”

“Fine” his answer was simple as always never a man of many words, at least not in public. You were starting to blank out under his cold gaze. He didn’t make you nervous but with the way he was looking at you right now you couldn’t necessarily say you felt at peace either.

“Ok um, well just wanted to check up on you really quickly” you felt like you had set yourself up. The air was thick, and you could feel your thoughts racing at 100 miles per hour as you waited for a response.

“Look sergeant, whatever you think is going to happen it’s not going to. I’m not here for hugs and cuddles, I'm here to do a fuckin’ job” to say you felt shocked was an understatement, he looked unfazed. “I'd suggest you do the same.” He walks away and you stay rooted in your spot, still processing his bitter words.

To say you were pissed was an understatement, who the fuck did he think he was? The rest of those two weeks were filled with awkward tension and silent fury from your side. It was to the point you couldn’t even stand being in the same room as him for more than a couple seconds, partly because the sight of him made your blood boil and because as much as you didn’t want to admit it you were upset. To have something build up little by little then just have that snatched away like it was nothing was horrible. He had gained your trust just as you had his, not just over a couple of nights but years of knowing each other and protecting one another with your lives. Holding each other at the depths of night and piecing each other back up with kisses and soft yet rough hands.

You couldn’t sleep, the fatigue had been slowly pulling at your bones like a tide pulling you in to the comfort of a vast sea. It was too much though; his words had been taunting your brain over and over again. So, you got up, ripping off the soft sheets which were a blessing compared to the coarse ones back at base. The need to get some fresh air and freeze your thoughts with the cold night air was starting to sound more pleasant than sulking in bed.

As soon as you open the door your reflexes take over for you, reaching for a gun in a holster that was long forgotten in the backpack you had left in your room. You soon realized there was no danger though, just a mass of black with jeans, a hoodie, and a black surgical mask with a hand raised midair. Was he about to knock?

“Ghost” you sounded breathless, even to yourself. Like the wind had been knocked out of you at just the sight of those eyes. Those god damned eyes. So responsive to everything around him, shifting at the slightest sound and showing emotions that could only be understood if one knew him. Knew him like you did. He looked tired, the bags underneath his eyes with no paint to cover them up were exposing him. “Are you alright?” Your question suddenly brought you back to your brief conversation a couple weeks earlier. You couldn’t help yourself though, worry taking over as there were very few reasons for him to be here.

“Fi-” he exhaled through his nose suddenly stopping himself, ah so he also remembered your conversation. “I was in town just wanted to come check up on you.”

“At 2 in the morning?” you were holding back. You wanted to say how shit he had made you feel for the last two weeks.

“Yeah I know, look can I come inside? I wanna- I need to talk to you.” He sounded desperate, and you considered it for a second, hesitating. “Please” to say you felt defeated as you opened the door wider for him to come in was an understatement.

You waited for him to start; he was the one that had come to you first not the other way around. He looked nervous almost, his tense posture making you feel more uneasy as well, he had that effect on you.

“Circe, I didn’t mean what I said back at base” he was looking at you with pleading eyes. You knew where this was going. “I pushed you away and I was an arse, I didn’t mean to fuck up what we had going on.”

“Simon” you could tell hearing his name took him by surprise by the way his pupils widened “what you did and what you said it fucking hurt.”

“I'm not a good at any of this especially trying to read you when you won’t even look at me but if you don’t want this anymore just tell me.” You continued, “Don’t destroy my trust, don’t leave me to pick up the pieces by myself after you say shit like that.” You could feel your eyes watering a bit, you don’t know why you were getting so emotional, although it was probably because the thought of losing what little you had built with him felt grim.

He couldn’t help it, especially when your eyes were getting that glossy look and your lower lip was pouting out a little. So he reached out, slowly, like a child dipping their feet to test out the waters. He wasn’t wearing any gloves and his hands felt cold as they held your face delicately, as if he was bearing the world's most fine China. He tilted your face up so you’d look at him and fuck, he knew he had screwed up, and if he was going to make it up to you he had to do it fast.

“Simon, it's alright” you knew he was being sincere, and you also wanted to try, “just please, don’t do this to me again. Because you know I won’t tolerate it, not even from you.”

“I know, I know” he was pulling you closer to him by wrapping an arm around your waist.

“Alright” he takes you by surprise with his next action though. He pulls back only slightly to tear off his mask, and heavens above he is gorgeous to you. His jaw, sharp and stubbled with short hairs. His nose sharp and straight with a slight bump, and his eyes. Those beautiful eyes that brought his face all together.

“Hidin’ all this from me under a mask?” you were smiling up at him now. “Not anymore” he responds with a sly smirk on his face. His lips are brushing against yours and you can't resist anymore. So, you bring his lips to yours and close the gap. It was gentle, starting off with short kisses but you were greedy it had been far too long. He can sense your eagerness and slowly slips his tongue into your mouth, swiping it over your own and over the roof of your mouth. He tasted like Marlboro reds with the slightest hint of Whiskey, his favorite of course.

You felt whole again, the missing puzzle piece was finally found. You kind of hated how much you were relying on him already, but God was it addicting, like the poison you could taste in his mouth. He was grabbing at you slowly bringing his hand down from your face to your neck to keep you in place. It was getting messy, both of your spit was collecting at the corners of your mouth and you felt like you’d asphyxiate from the lack of air but what he was giving you was more than enough to keep you going. His hand grabbed at your jaw to tilt your head and his hand on your waist dragged you closer making you arch up against him. His mouth slowly trailed down to your neck leaving soft kisses and sucking marks onto your neck as you leaned your head to the side. Then he went up right behind your ear, your soft spot. He pulled back to look at your face, you already felt disoriented form all the affection and he could tell.

He then softly placed his mouth right by your ear, “Let me make it up to you.”

A/N: hey there, hope you enjoyed that😙. In case you didn’t see the note on the top just know that there will be a second part to this with all the spicy stuff🌶️. I’ll probably be posting that next Monday or Tuesday, happy new years!

#simon riley fanfic #simon riley #cod mw2 #ghost cod #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #cod fanfic #call of duty #ghost mw2 #cod mw2 x reader #cod mwii #ghost x reader #ghost fanfiction

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shinynewboots · 8 days

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Staring at the Sun / Adam x Lute Chapter 5

Summary: After the battle, Lute attempts to flee with Adam. They find themselves unable to return to Heaven and must adjust to life in Hell.

AN: Welcome to chapter 5! Hope y'all enjoy! I've loved and appreciated each and every comment/reblog/like! Thank you all so much!

Warnings: Violence, gore, 18+ eventually, Adam-typical misogyny eventually

Chapter 4

Lute awoke the next morning with a strong desire to move her body. She felt stiff and unpracticed. In Heaven, most of her days were spent with training. She loved to move her body and be active. She loved the ache her muscles would feel after a long training session. Heaven, while a place of peace and joy and whatever else, had a way of dulling the senses. Highs were high (but not too high, lest one be tempted into overindulgence, or some bullshit like that) and lows were virtually non-existent.

Lute craved the tired muscles that came from a long day of training. She loved the feeling of sweating dripping down her body and stinging her eyes. She relished in every bruise and cut she found on herself after training. They all healed quickly, as most heaven-born imperfections did, but those fleeting moments of imperfection and ache were some that Lute craved.

She had also been feeling restless, cooped up in their hotel room or lobby. She had yet to explore other areas of the hotel lest she run into more of the unsavory occupants. She had heard Hell Princess mention a garden yesterday and so Lute decided to strap on a pair of sneakers and sneak down before the sun had fully risen. She glanced at Adam and took in his sleeping form before heading downstairs.

The Garden was interesting. It was filled with various Earth-found plants known for their carnivorous nature, poison, or other dangerous aspects. Lute made a mental note to avoid the plants at all costs.

Beginning at the entrance of the garden, Lute followed the path. She began to jog slowly to allow her legs a chance to stretch. She hadn’t accounted for the change in her center of gravity as a result of the loss of her arm. She felt unbalanced and found herself swaying unsteadily with every stride. She would just have to try harder.

She began to run faster, her calves burning and her quadriceps aching. She almost gasped for breath, unprepared for how unconditioned her body was. It had only been what, a few days in Hell? A few weeks? Time felt different here than it did in Heaven.

Sweat coated her forehead. She could feel pieces of her short hair stick to the back of her neck in clumps as the sweat covered her body. Harder. She just had to try harder.

She ran. Her heart was beating fast. Too fast? Not fast enough? Lute didn’t know. The dangerous plants around her became a blur as she followed the garden path.

And then she was falling.

Falling!

Not again!

For a brief moment, Lute was taken back to the day of the extermination and the sensation of falling through the clouds with Adam’s limp body falling with her. She couldn’t be back there.

She held out her hands to try and catch herself.

Her hands.

Her hands?

Only her right hand found itself in the outstretched position though she could have sworn she held both out. Wait.

Lute found herself only half breaking her fall with her right hand, while her unguarded left side made her unbalanced. She fell face-first into the cool earth of the garden, the ground still damp with morning dew. She looked behind her at her feet and found she had tripped over a root that had cut across the path when she wasn’t paying attention.

She looked over at her left arm and found only the remains of her amputated appendage. But she had felt her left arm outstretch and try to catch her. It had felt so real.

She breathed in deeply and pulled herself up into a seated position. She wiped the dirt from her face and assessed the damage. Her knees were scuffed, though thankfully not bleeding. Her shirt was stained with dirt (though it didn’t matter, it was Vaggie’s anyway).

“Here,” A voice said above her, offering a hand. Lute looked up to see Vaggie. How had she missed hearing someone approach? Vaggie was dressed in similar workout gear and had her hair tied back in a ponytail. “You gonna take it or not?”

Lute grabbed Vaggie’s hand and let herself be pulled up by the fallen angel. She wiped the dirt from herself and tried to look anywhere but at Vaggie.

“I, um, guess I’ll have to tell Niffty we’ve got to work on clearing up the path out here,” Vaggie said awkwardly.

“Hm,” Lute replied, turning to continue her run. She began to jog, the scuffs on her knees burning as she did so. Vaggie quickly jogged beside her, keeping pace.

“I’m going to run with you.” It wasn’t a request.

The pair ran in silence for a while, Vaggie running a little ahead when she knew there were roots or other debris in the path, but otherwise keeping pace with Lute well.

Lute was confused but she didn’t feel like disturbing the tentative peace that had taken root between the two of them. At least, not right now. Not while her muscles burned and legs ached and her body glistened with sweat. No, she would not let anyone take this temporary joy she held. Especially not Vaggie.

They made multiple laps around the garden until Lute finally knew every branch, root, and other questionable obstacles on the path. Her balance was still off, and she still felt unsteady in gait but she could begrudgingly admit, internally at least, that having Vaggie run with her helped her keep herself steady.

Lute chose to stop when the sun had risen relatively high in the hellish sky. By her estimates, they had likely run about 10 kilometers. Rookie numbers for her typically, but a good starting point for now. Vaggie ran a little ahead until she realized Lute had stopped. She turned back and walked up to Lute, who had begun to stretch. She held her knee to her chest and pulled tightly.

Vaggie began to stretch as well, mirroring Lute’s poses. Lute was eerily taken back to their training in Heaven. She could picture herself and Vaggie surrounded by the other Exocists, laughing and giggling as they always did after training.

Angélique would always take the lead on stretches, having been obsessed with a new earth technique (Yoga, maybe?). Lyre would always make some lewd joke that left the rest of the exorcists giggling through the poses. Pandore would always have the stitches and gauze ready for injuries. And Lute would just sit back and watch, always stoic but enjoying the way all the girls enjoyed themselves and thinking up a new training regimen for their next session.

Lute hadn’t even realized she had finished stretching and was staring blankly until she found Vaggie’s hand waving in front of her face.

“What,” She snapped, her mouth in a thin line.

“I wanted to talk.”

“Go on.”

Vaggie took in a deep breath. “Look, Charlie is trying and putting so much effort into making you and Adam feel welcome. She is doing so much more than she has to. All I'm asking is for you and Adam to put in a little effort.”

Lute scoffed. “Effort? It's not like we asked to be here.”

“And you're fucking here now, so suck it up and at least put in minimum effort,” Vaggie replied, her voice rising.

“What an easy thing to ask of prisoners.”

“Prisoners? Lute what the fuck, you’re not prisoners, you’re guests. Even though you should be prisoners after Adam killed Sir Pentious.”

“Who?”Lute asked in a somewhat bored tone, eyebrows raised

“Sir Pentious? One of our guests? Adam quite literally blew him out of the sky.”

Lute shrugged, pursing her lips. “War is war.”

Vaggie eyed her coldly. “You say that like killing doesn’t matter. Like all it is is a job to you.”

“Oh that’s fucking rich coming from you, Vaggie. It is a job. We are Exorcists. Our only purpose is extermination and killing every fucking sinner that crosses our path. That’s literally what we were created for. At least, yours was until you went and fucked that up too. And now you’re playing house with little Hell Princess.” Lute said, enunciating every word so that Vaggie would get the message. She had gotten closer to the fallen angel without even realizing it.

Vaggie laughed. “You are such a goddamn hypocrite. Accusing me of playing house when all you do is hole yourself up in your room with Adam?”

Lute’s mouth went dry and she could feel her rage reaching boiling point. She wanted to hit Vaggie; pull her by her hair and cut it until she only had the bob-style hair that all exorcists wore (sloppy sloppy Vaggie, longer hair is easier to grab in battle). She wanted to make Vaggie look at herself in horror and face her past as an exorcist before Lute cut out her other eye. She wanted to—

“I have been nothing but accommodating to you and Adam. Even when I didn’t have to. But I’m not doing it for you. I’m doing it for Charlie because somehow some piece of her still thinks there’s something in you worth salvaging. I don’t fucking see it, but I trust her.” Vaggie said, releasing a deep breath as she stared at Lute with disdain.

Lute was silent, processing all the information. She was immediately taken back to the conversation she had with Adam yesterday. They had to try and do everything they could to even have a shot at making it back to the Embassy. Play Nice.

“Fine. We’ll behave and be the oh-so-perfect guests for your little girlfriend.” Vaggie looked puzzled, as though not expecting Lute to concede so easily. Oh, and Lute wished she hadn’t. She was itching for a fight. Adam’s words were the only things keeping her grounded.

Lute turned to head back inside.

“If you do anything to hurt anyone here, I won’t hesitate to kill you this time,” Vaggie said as Lute began to walk. Lute stopped and looked back over her shoulder.

“I would expect nothing less.”

Lute returned to her hotel room just in time to see Adam beginning to stir. He sat up slowly when he heard her enter the room. His hair was tousled and sticking up in odd pieces. His face had some color to it though, and he was looking better each day.

Adam yawned and rubbed his eyes. His eyes slowly looked her up and down, taking in her crop top, which showed peaks of her abdomen, and shorts. “Where have you been?”

“Out for a run.” She said, grabbing a towel and a pair of clothes. “I’m going to take a quick shower and then we should head down and join everyone for breakfast.”

Adam raised an eyebrow. “You want to get breakfast? With people?”

“We’re playing nice, right?”

Adam laughed, running a hand through his hair.. “Yeah, I guess we are. Good call.”

Breakfast was an odd affair, to say the least. All of the sinner occupants were on edge (apart from Alastor who was not in attendance) once they saw Adam and Lute enter the dining room. Adam chose to sit beside Angel Dust, who scooted his chair closer to Husk. Lute sat beside Vaggie and gave her a slight nod.

“Oh my goodness, we are so glad you guys joined us for breakfast!” Charlie exclaimed, adding pancakes to her plate. She seemed to be in a much better mood than Lute had last seen her yesterday. She was just so…cheery.

“I fucking love pancakes,” Adam said, grabbing six and throwing them on his plate. Lute followed suit and grabbed two, pouring only a dollop of syrup. Adam scarfed them down quickly and looked over at Charlie.

“Listen, uh, Charlie. Can I call you Charlie?

“That’s my name, don’t wear it out!” Charlie grinned. Adam plastered on a smile that Lute could tell was subtly tightening in an attempt not to say anything offensive. A big feat for Adam.

“I want to apologize for not taking your activity seriously yesterday.” Adam continued. “ Lute and I are still adjusting to this little “vacation” and we are ready to do whatever badass thing you have planned for today.”

Chatter at the table ceased. Someone dropped their fork. Jaws dropped.

A surprised smile made its way onto Charlie’s features as she looked at the pair of angels with shining eyes. “Adam, uh oh my gosh, thank you so much. That really means a lot.”

“Charlie, are you crying?” Angel asked a skeptical expression on his features.

“No,” Charlie sniffed, wiping her eyes quickly. Angel made the ‘im watching you’ gesture at Adam and Lute, to which Adam simply grinned and inhaled another pancake.

Once breakfast was done, Charlie corralled the group into the foyer for their activity of the day. Charlie stood while the rest of the occupants sat. In her hand she held a bowl, pens, and blank sheets of paper.

“So I know yesterday was a bit of a rocky start but I wanted to thank everyone for being so enthusiastic about today’s activity!” She handed paper and pens to everyone. “I was thinking maybe for the next few sessions we could do someone’s favorite activity or hobby! So that we can all get to know each other a little better.”

“Everyone write down a favorite hobby and then place it in the bowl. I’ll pick on out each day until we get through them all!”

“I fucking got this,” Adam exclaimed, immediately writing down multiple things on the sheet.

Lute stared at the sheet of paper, blanking on anything she even remotely enjoyed doing. Most of her days in Heaven were spent training or following Adam around on errands or tasks as needed. Did she have anything else she enjoyed doing?

One by one people began to stand and drop their folded pieces of paper into the bowl, causing Lute to panic and write down the first thing that came to mind: Combat Training

Once everyone had dropped in their paper, Charlie fished around in the bowl until she grabbed a piece of paper. “Drum roll please!”

Adam immediately began to tap down on the sides of the couch to imitate a drum roll. Charlie looked at him with thanks. “Thank you, Adam; No one ever does a drumroll except Vaggie! Okay, so the activity today will be…combat…training.”

“YES!” Niffty screamed, running around the foyer (this time careful to avoid Adam, who huddled a little closer to Lute when the demon ran past). “PAIN!”

“Who in the fuck put combat training?” Angel whispered non-discretely to Husk.

“Beats me, I put BlackJack,” Husk replied just as loud, taking a sip of liquor before handing the bottle over to Angel.

Charlie chuckled awkwardly. “Combat training! Woo! Fun!”

“Ha Ha Ha,” A radio voice laughed from the top of the stairs. “This will be fun!”

With a snap of his fingers, Alastor had made a giant cushioned mat appear in the middle of the foyer. The chairs and couches the occupants had been sitting on disappeared, making them all fall to the ground with a thump.

“Alastor this is perfect! Will you be participating?” Charlie asked.

“Absolutely not!” Alastor exclaimed enthusiastically, his grin growing even wider. “I will, however, enjoy the show.”

“A show?” An egg exclaimed, walking up behind the Radio Demon.

“Oh a show will be so fun!” Another egg said. And soon 2 other eggs joined and cheered beside Alastor, whose eye twitched in annoyance.

“What in the fuck are those things?” Adam asked.

“Oh, those are the Egg Bois. They were Sir Pentious’ minions before you,” Charlie coughed her voice becoming a low whisper. “Killed him.”

“Fucking weird.”

“Who wants to go first?” Charlie exclaimed, clapping her hands together.

“Nope, I’m too old for this,” Husk said, standing and heading toward the bar. “Losers get free drinks.”

Angel also stood. “Alright, I’ll go. Niffty, you wanna fight?”

Niffty stopped her running and looked at the tall demon who had walked over to the mat. She nodded her head quickly and stood to face him. Angel braced himself, four fists at the ready. Niffty simply stood there, smiling at him in an almost feral manner.

“And in this corner we have Niffty!” Alastor announced, his radio filter effect more prominent than it had been. Stage lights appeared and circled Niffty. “Our three-foot-tall hell on heels herself! Folks you better watch out if you're a roach or the First Man himself because she will squash you like a bug!”

Adam’s eyes narrowed and his lips were in a thin line. Lute could tell he was biting his cheek to keep from saying anything cruel. She reached over and subtly squeezed his hand, releasing it just as quickly as she had grabbed it. Play Nice.

“Speaking of bugs in this corner we have our resident flaming youth himself, Angel Dust! Don’t be fooled by the pink and pastels, this Spider is always packing heat!” Alastor announced.

“You guys ready?” Charlie asked. They both nodded. Alastor made a bell appear which chimed, indicating the start of the fight.

The fight was over before it began. Nifty was small and squirrelly. She pounced onto Angel and immediately began to crawl around his body like a beetle. Even with 4 arms, he was unable to catch the little demon. A third pair of arms grew from his torso and yet even those were powerless against her.

“Niffty, what the hell, this isn’t combat!” Angel exclaimed. In response, Nifty laughed manically as she crawled around his body, avoiding a tangle of limbs.

Speaking of a tangle of limbs, that must have been Niffty’s strategy all along because Angel found himself with his arms wrapped in knots around his body. Nifty continued to laugh and crawled to the top of Angel’s head and nestled into his hair. She used her body weight and Angel’s predicament to push Angel down into the mat.

“1, 2, 3! There we have it ladies and gentlemen! Nffty is our winner for this round!” Alastor announced, laughing into his microphone. He walked over to the mat and grabbed Niffty from Angel’s hair.

“Fucking hell,” Angel moaned into the mat. Vaggie sighed and moved to help Angel untangle his limbs. “Fucking combat training my ass.”

“Niffty! Angel! That was great! Maybe not exactly what I would call combat training but I loved the energy,” Charlie exclaimed. “How did it feel?”

“Like I just got my ass kicked by a preschooler,” Angel grumbled as Vaggie continued to untangle his arms. Husk laughed at the bar as he began making Angel a drink.

“I told you that thing’s a fucking monster,” Adam whispered to Lute, who nodded in agreement.

Limbs finally back where they were meant to be, Angel thanked Vaggie and took a seat at the bar. Husk handed him his drink, which he gulped down instantly. Husk smirked and shook his head, putting down a second drink in front of Angel. Angel looked down at the drink and smirked, “Awe Husk, you do know me.”

Husk rolled his eyes and wiped the bar as Angel slowly sipped on his second drink (this one stronger than the first, just as Angel liked it).

“Who wants to go next?” Charlie asked, looking around the room. The pickings were slim as Husk and Alastor refused, Adam was still in danger of having his guts spill at moment’s notice from a popped stitch, the Egg Bois (who Charlie could not bear to watch get scrambled), and Angel and Niffty just went. It left only her, Vaggie, and Lute.

“I’ll go,” Lute offered, moving towards the mat. Adam grabbed her shoulder, his eyebrows scrunched in a worried expression. “Are you sure?” He asked, his eyes darting between her face and what remained of her left arm. Lute felt her cheeks flush as shame began to fill the pit of her stomach. Weak. She was so fucking weak. And Adam knew she was weak, too.

“I’ve got this,” She said, shrugging his hand from her shoulder. Her tone was a bit colder than she had intended but she needed Adam to know she was still strong. Still capable of having his back. Who was she if not his strongest soldier?

She moved the take her place on the mat. Charlie looked around hesitantly before stepping up to the mat. “I guess I’ll—”

“I’ll go,” Vaggie said, standing in front Charlie and stepping forward onto the mat. Charlie sent her a concerned look. Vaggie smiled in response. “Everything will be okay, I promise.”

Alastor looked between he the two competitors and cackled, his smile wide as he spoke into the microphone. “Ever heard the one about bad blood?

“A clean match!” Charlie corrected from the sidelines. Alastor’s eye twitched.

“A nice clean match! Meaning no further destruction of remaining appendages. Though I’m sure an ear or a tooth would be fine!

“Alastor!”

“Alrighty ladies and gentlemen, in this corner we have the fallen angel herself, Vaggie! Watch out folks, she might only have 1 eye but shes not afraid to use it!” Vaggie scowled at Alastor’s introduction but got into position, hands braced in front of her.

“And in this corner, we have the First Man’s lapdog herself, Lute! She might be down an arm but she is back and ready for blood!” Lute bristled at Alastor’s words. She also prepared herself, throwing her right hand out in front of her to brace.

“Okay a nice clean match!” Charlie emphasized again. “No biting, scratching, stabbing, or tearing each other limb from limb.”

Alastor rolled his eyes but the smile never left his features. “Alright ladies! Let’s get started!”

Alastor rang the bell to signify the start of the fight. Lute and Vaggie began to circle each other around the edges of the mat. They looked almost like mirror images to a stranger, their movements just as cautious and their legs crossing over in the same way. Standing so close to the other, it was easy to see that they had the same training.

Lute scanned Vaggie’s form, looking for any weak spot. She knew they were both disadvantaged on their left sides due to their respective disabilities and so she began to think about the best method of attack.

“Kick her in the fucking ass, Lute!’ Adam yelled, whistling. Lute forced herself not to look at him. She couldn’t. Charlie must have shot Adam a glare because he quietly added, “You know, kick her in the ass nicely.”

“You got this Vagina!” Angel yelled, sipping on his drink at the bar.

Lute knew she was at a disadvantage. Vaggie had years to adjust to the loss of vision on her left side. Lute’s loss of limb was still a fresh wound that she was still trying to navigate and accommodate. And Vaggie knew this; she knew Vaggie had to. Spotting weaknesses had been one of the most basic lessons of exorcist training. Sinners would do anything and stoop to any level to save their skin when confronted in battle. Exorcists had to know how to spot their Achilles Heel.

Vaggie seemed to have formed a plan because she lunged at Lute, throwing a punch on her left side. Lute dodged, turning her body sideways and using her right arm to elbow Vaggie square in the nose. Vaggie cried out in pain, red blood gushing from her now crooked nose. Charlie made a sound of distress and attempted to run out onto the mat, but was held back by Alastor’s shadow.

“Vaggie!” Charlie yelled. Vaggie chose to ignore her, her focus solely on Lute. Lute had found herself braced once more in anticipation of attack. However, instead of a punch (as Lute had been expecting), Vaggie charged at Lute and grabbed her by the shoulders.

Lute struggled against Vaggie, attempting to claw away from Vaggie with her right hand. Vaggie pushed harder against Lute, who struggled. Lute began to try and kick Vaggie, her left knee flexing forward to knee her in the abdomen. Vaggie caught the movement quickly and grabbed Lute’s knee, which caused Lute to lose balance. She fell to the mat and let out a gasp. It felt as though all of the breath had been knocked from her chest.

She heard the loud “whoosh” of wings flapping but couldn’t see the cause. She knew it had to be Adam.

“Stand down, First Man, this fight isn’t over yet,” Alastor warned, the radio filter on his voice overtaking his actual tone.

Lute tried to sit up but was immediately pinned back down by Vaggie, who straddled her waist. Blood poured from Vaggie’s nose and mouth, dripping onto Lute’s clothes. Lute was taken back from their battle only a few weeks ago. Vaggie held her hands braced, as if about to throw a punch aimed at Lute’s head.

“Fucking do it this time,” Lute gasped out. “A match isnt over until we’ve both drawn blood.”

Vaggie stared down at Lute, her eyes unreadable. And Lute knew why. The blood. During Exorcist matches, drawing blood from your opponent was a requirment. Lute had implemented it centuries ago. Some of the newer Exorcists who would join would be skittish. Timid. Unwilling to do what it took to finish off a Sinner. Unwilling to push their fellow sister to the point of greatness.

The rule of blood draw implemented after a particularly resistant Exorcist refused to hit another sister during a match at training. Lute had pulled the scared Exorcist from the mat and provoked her into attacking her. The details were fuzzy due to the passage of time but there were some Lute could remember clearly.

The Exorcist punched Lute square in the face causing blood to drip her nose. Lute could clearly remember grinning as she wiped the blood from her face and throwing her arm over the shoulder of the once timid Exorcist.

“Great job, Vaggie,” Lute had said, grinning at the Exorcist, both with blood dripping from their faces.

That same scared Exorcist now stared down at her, an angel fallen and her eyes full of rage.

“Do it.” Lute said once more, this time her voice more steady. She nodded and looked towards Vaggie’s fist.

Lute gasped in pain as Vaggie’s fist connected with her jaw. Her head hit the back of the mat, and she could feel her brain rattle around inside. Blood pooled in her mouth, the coppery taste feeling like a familiar friend. Lute coughed, blood splattering her mouth.

Vaggie stood from Lute and wiped the blood from her nose. Charlie looked at Vaggie with concerned eyes, her hands over her mouth to keep herself from screaming out. The room was quiet except for the low breathing of all the occupants.

Lute laughed, wiping her own mouth. She sat up slowly, her body still jittery from the fight. A hand reached out in front of her face and she looked up to see Vaggie. Lute grabbed Vaggie’s hand and stood. “Good to see you haven’t gone completely soft.”

Vaggie rolled her eyes and let go of Lute’s hand. She walked over to Charlie who held out a towel to wipe her face.

“Is it over?” Angel whispered to Husk, who shrugged. “Angels are so fucking weird.”

Alastor disappeared back intot he shadows without ringing the bell, likely unsatisfied with the anticlimatic ending of the match.

“Okay, today’s activity is over!” Charlie exclaimed, fluttering around Vaggie like a mother hen. Charlie softly patted around Vaggie’s face to clean all the blood. A sickly bruise had already started to form around Vaggie’s nose, the bridge a bit crooked now. Vaggie looked at Charlie with soft eyes, a somewhat peaceful smile on her face. “Seriously I think I need to vet the next activity.”

Lute walked over to Adam, who still had his wings puffed out in a defensive manner. “You are so fucking insane, bitch.”

Lute shrugged and smirked at Adam. He shook his head and patted her on the back, and began leading her back to their bedroom. She knew she must look like a sight, a blood thirsty creature with blood streaming from her mouth. But she felt so much closer to herself today than she had since before the Extermination. She had spent her entire life fighting and standing at Adam’s side. Fighting was in her blood, in her purpose, her creation. Who was she if not a warrior?

Lute looked at her self in the mirror once she made it back to their room. She looked utterly mad with blood staining her lips and a renewed gleam in her eye. Adam had been strangely silent the walk back to their room.

She began to clean at her face in the mirror, the area around her left jaw already beginning to swell. Adam walked up behind her and grabbed the rag from her hand. He gripped her good shoulder with his large hand and stared down at her. She stared back, golden sunsets meeting the other.

Adam didn’t speak but instead cupped her right jaw with his hand, using more softness than Lute thought possible. His thumb softly rubbed across her bottom lip, smearing the blood and leaving phantom touches in its wake. Lute closed her eyes, his touch offering her more comfort than she could ever recall in her life.

His thumb stopped touching her lips but his hand stayed on her cheek. She felt him pat the rag softly along her jaw and mouth, cleaning the blood and sweat from her face. And then the moment was over and Adam removed his touch from her. She opened her eyes to see him simply staring at her, the blood-soaked rag in his hand.

“I know you can take of yourself Lute, and fuck you can take care of me too, but I’m just gonna ask for a little bit more caution. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

Lute tried to frown but found herself unable to due to the swelling her jaw. “You think I’m weak.”

A statement, not a question.

Adam shook his head. “No, I think you’re the strongest fucking person I know.”

“Then why are you—?”

Adam let out a deep breath and looked at the floor. Anywhere but her. “Because I can’t fucking lose you. You are last person I have left that gives even half a shit about me. I can’t fucking lose you Lute.”

Lute’s eyes widened, unsure how to take in the revelation. Adam had rarely been this vulnerable in the centuries she knew him. And she felt the same. She couldn’t lose him. She couldn’t. “It uh, it wasn’t real. I just wanted to be involved and get on their good side.”

Adam shook his head, “No, you did it because you’re a hothead who can’t stay away from a fight. And that’s one of the things I lo—like about you. But this isn’t our turf and I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

Adam laughed, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck. “Beside I don’t think you want me trying to nurse you back to health or some shit like that. I’d probably kill you on accident.”

And there was Adam, his old mask of bravado back on his face. Making jokes to relieve tension and get himself out of a situation that made him uncomfortable. Lute read the situation and knew he didn’t want her to linger on his words. So she nodded and said, “I’ll be more careful.”

Adam seemed satisfied with her response and put down the dirty rag. “Fuck, I think I’m actually going to go grab a drink from the bar if you want to join. Gotta give my condolences to Charlie about her girlfriend’s nose or some shit.”

Lute smirked and shook her head. “I think I’m good. You have fun though.”

Adam nodded and left Lute alone with her thoughts and swollen jaw. She could still feel the ghost of his palm on her face, cupping her cheek. She sighed and began to get ready for her second shower of the day.

#fanfiction #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel fandom #hazbin hotel adam #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel lute #guitarspear #hazbin adam #adam hazbin hotel #adam x lute #lute #lute hazbin hotel #hazbin lute #staring at the sun

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maximalttigers · 6 months

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Halloween is right around the corner so I thought I would create a piece for the season. While its not spooky and scary related, I still have my Unity Trio, Eki and Nia dressing up in cosplay for the holiday.

Starting off we have Danny cosplaying Kengo Benimaru from ‘Yo-Kai Watch Y School Heroes’. I’m still kind of new to the series of ‘Yo-Kai Watch Y School Heroes’ but when I saw Kengo Benimaru, this hero form became one of my favourites (Next to Earth Walker and Shikkokumaru). I felt that he was the best fit for Danny as they both act around the same level of maturity and both use a sword/blade as their weapon of choice.

Danny worked pretty hard to get his cosplay to be as accurate as possible although he couldn’t get the skin tone accurate since he didn’t want to use too much face paint for it and that he lacked a way for the dual tails, his small dagger was his idea for compensating for the Reiken Danzetsumaru and he used temporary hair dye on the tips of his hair for the fur colour.

Next is Mich cosplaying as Blitzo from ‘Helluva Boss’. Yeah, I know ‘Helluva Boss’ can be a bit... Crude but Blitzo and Mich are similar as they both use guns and have some areas of their personalities that are alike. The difference is that Mich is better at communication in terms of his emotions and can take responsibilities for his actions, Blitzo has a bit to work on, but I know my favourite Imp will get there eventually.

There were some problems with Mich’s cosplay, but he just compensated a lot of it; The style of the jacket had to be altered and the style of the undershirt got in the way, so he went with a normal t-shirt. The face paint took some time, but he mostly focused on the natural markings/birthmarks and the scars since he really wanted to focus on those aspects.

Next is Riya cosplaying as Rosalina from the ‘Mario’ franchise. I did struggle with choosing who Riya would cosplay as but eventually I chose Rosalina since they’re pretty similar in terms of design and, in my headcannon, similar in personality.

Riya took a lot of time into getting her cosplay accurate despite her shyness of her shoulders showing (Hence why she is blushing a bit), she even got the wand made and slightly styled her hair a bit to better reflect Rosalina. The only she did not include was the crown but that was because she was worried that it would not stay on her head.

Next is Eki cosplaying as Cosmo from ‘Sonic X’. While I did struggle as well for Eki choice of cosplay, I eventually chose Cosmo from ‘Sonic X’ as I see them both a shy and sweet character who hold a lot of potential that is hidden deep within them.

The attire of Cosmo is close to Eki’s general style, so it was easy for her to get this pretty accurate. The only thing that was changed was the neck area to be a bit higher, not a drastic change was done.

Last but not least is Nia cosplaying as Randy Cunningham/The Ninja from ‘Randy Cunningham: 9Th Grade Ninja’. When it came to choosing who Nia was going to cosplay as, it was not hard for me to choose the Ninja known as Randy Cunningham since they are very alike, and I see them becoming good friends if they were to ever meet.

Nia’s cosplay for the Ninja suit is pretty accurate with some minor changes to the scarf and no inclusion of the hood as it would have made things harder for Nia to see (She has limited vision due to having to wear her eyepatch). She’s sticking to her human form since the Ninja is a human.

I had fun with drawing this since it allowed me to explore more with my characters and who they are like to other characters that I like.

Happy Halloween!

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moonbcams · 2 years

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❃ ↷ ˊ- pelican town is all abuzz about YOON AHNA, our resident 25-year old BARISTA. you know, the one who looks like IM NAYEON? i don’t see it, but maybe that’s just because they remind me of running through fields of flowers, singing along to perfect road trip playlists, & dancing in the moonlight every time i see them at THE BEACH. word around town is that they’re increasingly FREE-SPIRITED and INQUISITIVE, but can get rather ALOOF. hope to see them around the valley soon!

hiiiii i’m mimi ( 𝕞𝕚𝕞𝕚#7025 ) and i am so very very excited to be here !! i’ve been listening to nayeon all day which very much inspired me to find an rp where i could play her beautiful face. i also just started my summer break so i’m looking forward to getting very invested and making grand plots and bugging you all all the time ok sorry in advance x.

BASIC INFORMATION

full name : yoon ahna nickname(s) : anna, nana, yoonie preferred name(s) : ahna birth date : december 24th 1997 age : twenty five zodiac : capricorn gender : cis female pronouns : she / her romantic orientation : biromantic sexual orientation : bisexual nationality : ethnicity : asian

BACKGROUND

birth place : pelican town , stardew valley hometown : pelican town , stardew valley social class : middle class father : yoon dae-min mother : cha sooyoung sibling(s) : n/a pet(s) : jae & duri ( rescue cats ) previous relationship(s) : tba.

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE & CHARACTERISTICS

eye color : dark brown hair color : changes frequently depending on her mood glasses / contacts : doesn’t need them but will sometimes wear glasses without prescription for the aesthetic height : 5′4″ build : petite exercise habits : can sometimes be convinced to workout, but not often.

MANNERISMS

accent : local accent quirks : is never fully still , she is always tapping , bouncing , wiggling , or dancing , she hums all the time. . hobbies : dancing , going for long drives , thrift shopping habits : is always late to everything, looses everything all the time nervous ticks : fidgets a lot fears : heights positive traits : free spirited, friendly, charming negative traits : careless, flakey

IMPORTANT / BACKGROUND

TW: death of parents.

yoon ahna was born on a cold night in december to a middle class family. she was the only child of dae-min and sooyoung and the apple of their eye. she grew up living in her birthplace of pelican town, running around without a care in the world. life was easy. her parents ran a busy restaurant that gave them a steady income, even extra money during the summer months when the area was loaded with tourists and they had a home that was warm and welcoming to all.

ahna was always well liked. she was even considered popular in school, her free spirt and kind heart attracting people to her like moths to a flame. she was a social butterfly, spending more time in class talking to those around her than actually paying attention to the lesson and doodling in all her notebooks. she did just well enough in her studies to make it to graduation. however, she was involved in every other aspect of school life that wasn’t her studies. she was on the student council, a cheerleader, prom queen, dance committee, and even acted in theatre productions. when she wasn’t in school she could be found down on the beach, dancing in the waves, riding her convertible down the highway with the music on full blast and the sound of her laugher always echoed in her wake. ahna was a source of light.

though, she wasn’t perfect. ahna was always forgetting her curfew, she lost almost everything and you couldn’t rely on her for much. she had the best of intentions at all times but her head was very much in the clouds. she was a daydreamer and would have lost her own head if it wasn’t attached. her carefree attitude was as much of a nuisance as it was an asset. she was so free-spirited that it often appeared she didn’t truly care about anything or anyone. you wanted to be around her but you could never really know her and she never really took the time to know anyone else, everything was at a superficial level.

after graduation, she managed to get into college only a few towns over. this was huge for the yoon family who never really ventured far from their hometown. ahna had decided to study cosmetology. she was to become a make-up artist and hair dresser. it was something she was already somewhat confident with and knew it would be a successful career path. she was good at talking to people and loved the idea of making other’s feel as beautiful on the outside as they were on the inside. not to mention, everyone always talked about how she would be the perfect fit to go off and work in los angeles. it would be a dream to be on movie sets or tours, working for the stars she adored.

however, she was less than a year into her program when tragedy struck. ahna’s parents were in a head-on collision, driving to surprise her with a visit. both died on impact and the young yoon’s whole world was turned upside down. she immediately pulled out of school to return to her hometown. she found comfort in being surrounded by the community who had helped raise her and those who knew her parents as well as she did, if not better.

the first year, it was like she was walking around in a fog. she has very few memories after packing up and leaving school and packing up her childhood home and parents belongings. that first year she was far from the same girl that had left stardew valley. she had lost her spark. which was understandable. but the bright star who was off to work for the stars of hollywood was gone. she was a drifter, no plan, no job, couch surfing and having no intentions of moving forward.

though, after time it got easier and she started to find herself again. it was a slow process but being in her hometown was certainly helpful, having people to rally around her and support her no matter what. it started when she was offered a job at the cafe to keep her busy, then when she was sold a small beachside cottage at a very discounted price to make her home, then finally she would find herself smiling and laughing -- breathing made easier. it took time but ahna’s community became her family.

now, ahna can be found cheerily chatting with locals and guests as she serves them coffee. she is bubbly and still a little scatterbrained, she’s the life of the party and very reminiscent of the girl she was in high school -- but with a sadness that never fully goes away. sometimes she’ll disappear for a day or two, only to show up again like nothing happened. she never tells anyone when she’s leaving or why, she just goes.

WANTED CONNECTIONS / PLOTS

platonic ─── unlikely friends , friend from college , a nice wholesome best friend & confidant , childhood friends , a party buddy , someone who is also as free spirited as ahna and they go on adventures together , neighbours. , any other form of friendship really

romantic ─── first kiss / first relationship / first love, a past or present unrequited crush from either side , exes on good or bad terms ( eyes emoji ....... the spice ) , friends with benefits , a one night stand

negative ─── someone who just doesn't click with them ( this is probably someone more uptight who can’t stand how ahna seems to not have a care in the world ), friends who had a falling out , anything else to bring the d r a m a

#stardewtm:intro #hiiiii <3

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nem0-kn0ws-n0t · 1 year

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(Seven new ways to) Eat your young

Empires SMP season 1 x Hermitcraft

It's big shoes to fill when you're 7, but Gemini knows she will be great. There is no other possibility.

Little Gemini stays up too late and her brother's here to bring her to bed.

Here's the ao3 version if you prefer to read there.

The Grimland's estate has seen born and raised within her walls legendary redstone masters, irreproachable politicians and flawless Generals since it was first built.

Gemini would know, she's memorized every notable member of her family by the age of 4.

(Which, when one is born in a family like hers, is every member)

The Grimland's Estate produces prodigies. And only prodigies. Not a single member of her family has ever been anything but exceptional, and she does not intend to be first.

It's big shoes to fill when you're 7, but Gem knows she will be great. There is no other possibility. She is a child of the Grimland's estate and like her ancestors before her, she will change the world.

"You're still up?"

Gemini's head snaps up to look at the door of her study. There, her brother leaned against the frame, his arms crossed and a playful smirk pulling at his lips. He raises an eyebrow at her and she scoffs before turning back to her parchment, absentmindedly waving him away. She doesn't have time for this. Now, where was she…

Ah yes.

…any further exploring of the possibility for an alternate source of renewable gunpowder should take into consideration key aspects that were previously neglected. Cat-based creeper farms, while powerful and simple in concept, propose the additional complication of keeping the cats alive and cared for. The cost induced by hiring additional workers to-

“So, what are you working on?”

Gemini did not scream. Screaming in surprise, especially during quiet hours, is undignified and shows a lack of spatial awareness by the one who shouts. So Gemini did not scream.

She simply…expressed her surprise in a loud voice. Not screaming.

She whips her head around to glare at her brother, her eyes alight with anger as she stares daggers at him. How dare he come and bother her like this when she’s busy. She had dismissed him! It was beyond impolite to enter an area when not invited! And don’t get her started on sneaking up behind someone! He could have given her a heart attack! Her murderous gaze doesn’t seem to bother him much, bent at the waist and too busy cackling his heart out to fully feel her wrath.

She huffs and crosses her arms over her chest, her jaw clenched tight as she tried to hold back a yawn and hold up her fury. And she waits.

It takes longer than she’d like for him to pull himself together, but he eventually stops laughing, whipping away a tear as the last few chuckles leave him and he smiles at her fondly. She scoffs at him again.

“Don’t do that again.” Her words are clear and sharp, efficient like everything else she does. Normally, this simple sentence would get her what she wants. Her brother’s never been one to obey simple rules, however, much to her eternal frustration.

He hums non committedly and she barely resists the urge to roll her eyes. Honestly, there are so many words to communicate with, and he still settles on sounds. She opens her mouth to criticize his communication skills, but he cuts her off before the words come out.

“You didn’t answer my question.” He’s leaning over her shoulder now, clearly invading her personal space in a way that is far from proper, and his eyes are quickly scanning the scroll.

She decides to humour him, in the vain hope that he'll let her be afterwards.“I’m composing an essay on the resurgence of alternative gunpowder farms.”

He whistles at that, leaning even closer to the paper. She admits, his reaction makes something bloom in her chest, and she feels a proud smile rise to her lips, past the dissipating annoyance.

“Impressive! What have you come up with so far?” His eyes are methodically scanning the paper scroll, reading at an incredible speed. Gemini straightens herself up at this, always excited to talk about her schooling, picking up her quill to point at specific parts.

“Cat-based farms seem to be the main alternative suggested to simple pathing farms. While there is a slight efficiency increase, the scale needed to balance out the cost of reconstruction and the continuous upkeep of the cats is ridiculous. None of the nearby empires have had a sizable increase in import of gunpowder so the farms would operate at a loss for longer than we can afford.”

She points at different parts and hand drawn diagrams as she speaks, as well as showing him a side scroll where she elaborated on the cost and benefit relations. It takes a second for her to calm enough to notice that her brother hasn’t said anything. She turns to look at him, about to question him, before she notices his expression.

He’s staring at the scroll again, his eyebrows furrowed and his lips turned into a frown. She can't help the wave of self consciousness climb up her spine at the sight.

“What?”

He blinks at her harsh tone, and pulls himself up, sending her a wide grin at the same time. Not that she buys it. “Nothing, just, wondering when you became so smart.”

“I’m a child of the Grimland’s estate, of course, I’m clever.” She’s not gloating, that’s just a fact. Like the sun rises from the east, and that the sky is blue. All of the Grimland’s estate’s children are exceptional.

(She allows herself the warmth blooming her chest at his words however. It's nice.)

He chuckles under his breath at that. A bit sharper than usual. Or perhaps she’s imagining it.

“Yeah, that’d do it.” Before she can delve into exactly what he’s implying, he’s picking up one of her reference books and glancing over it.

“Which of your tutors assigned you this essay, anyways? I didn’t know you’d started delving into economic studies just yet.”

Her eyes widen slightly and she looks away from her brother to the scroll. Right, he knew her schedule. She mumbles her answer under her breath, hoping he'd get the hint and drop it.

“What was that?”

So he's not letting that go. Fine. She straightens up and pinches her lips.

“None of my tutors.”

There's no direct answer to that, but Gemini can feel his pointed stare, and she knows he's raising a single eyebrow at her answers. She fights the urge to curl in on herself to avoid the conversation, as that is simply not dignified for a person of her status, but she starts scratching her quill against a scrap piece of paper instead.

“I-This is a personal essay. I was reading the most recent dissertation sent to Count Father on the subject this morning and decided to research the topic on my own.” The justification feels like sandpaper on her mouth, but still she persists. “This is my way of condensing it into an easy vehicle to communicate my opinions on the matter.”

There's still no answer and Gemini takes a look at her brother.

“What?”

Her brother has always been hard to read, as all the Grimland’s Estate children should be, but she liked to fool herself that she could understand him more than anyone else. But there and then, try as she might, she's unable to identify the series of micro expressions passing across his features and it only makes the gritty feeling of sandpaper stronger in her mouth.

Finally, after what feels like forever, he closes his eyes and lets out a bone weary sigh.

“Nothing.”

He lays a hand on her head before she can push and starts to ruffle her hair, much to her indignation.

“Personal essay or not, it’s getting pretty late for you, young lady.”

Gemini does not pount, as that would be too childish for someone like her. She frowns delicately at the observation.

“I regularly stay up later.”

He hums in agreement, now playing with one of her curls almost absentmindedly.

“And that’s bad for you. You know the side effects of lack of sleep.”

She does indeed.

“Insufficient sleep in Children can cause lack of focus, hyperactivity and impulsiveness, low-”

“Yeah, I’m aware." He cuts her off quickly. "That’s why you’re going to your room to catch some sleep.” He takes a step away from her and straightens up, before bowing at her, holding out his elbow.

“May I escort you to your room, my Lady.”

He's smirking slightly, just enough to let Gemini know that it wasn't a question.

She sighs.

“Alright.” She gets up and takes the offered arm, delicately wrapping her fingers around his bicep. He grins at her, a true genuine grin that she can't help but mimic.

He makes a show of guiding her out the room and through the door. As they pass the threshold, he spins around and locks the door with a flourish.

He winks at her extravagantly, waving his master key around.

“You can have this back in the morning after you’ve had the minimum hours of sleep you need.”

Whatever truce had been reached is paused immediately at the words. She gaps at him.

“Children 6 to 12 years old require an average of 9 to 12 hours a night to function at full capacity!"

She rattles off of the top of her head, to show him exactly how ridiculous that idea is. 9 hours away from her study, at the least? Preposterous!

He doesn't seem to share her vision, only humming in agreement, and escorting her down the old faniliar halls of the estate, away from her precious study.

“Great, you’ll get this back when you slept 9 hours”

She scowls at that, resisting the urge to squeeze his arm in protest. She takes a deep breath instead, trying to convince herself that violence is not the answer. It takes her a few seconds.

“...You’re annoying.”

He cackles, a loud booming laughter that is never appropriate from a child of the Grimland's estate, never mind after quiet hours. She can't bring herself to scowl him however, too busy fighting a yawn.

It doesn't take long for them to arrive in front of her bedroom door.

Her brother bows at her again as they stop, gesturing at the heavy spruce doors with his hand.

“Your room, my lady.”

She lets go of his arm and gives the appropriate courtesy. “Thank you.”

“It is of my utmost pleasure to serve you.” He winks at her again and she resists the urge to roll her eyes with a fond smile. He rolls his shoulder back absentmindedly and sends her a sharp-toothed grin back.

“Now go to bed, I’ll join you for breakfast in the morning.”

Nod.

She watches him make his way down the darkened hall and, just as he's about to turn the corner towards his own room, she calls out to him.

“Have a goodnight, Tango.”

Tango turns around as he walks and sends her a wide grin, his red eyes almost glowing in the dark hallway as he answers her.

“Sleep tight, Gemini.”

In which the Grimland's Count family have not 2 but 3 children, and Tango loves his younger siblings.

What do y'all think?I've been obsessing over this au idea for weeks and i just had to write a small oneshot about it. Maybe I'll onto it, haha.

Please leave your comments, or theories about this Au! I love to read them

#hermicraft #empires smp #empires smp season 1 #grimlands #geminitay #spoilers in tags #tangotek #roseblings #Sibling dynamics #nemo writes #esmp

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angelisverba · 3 years

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thinkin’ bout you

in which harry owns a flower shop and has a major crush on a girl who comes in to buy flowers every once in a while (and he’s too shy to ask for her number)

word count: 17.3k

paring: florist!h and y/n

warnings: just some pinning and lustful yearning. m for mature...

author’s note: i’ve been working on this forever. not to pick fav’s but i think florist!h comes second to sl23... hes just so.......well, you’ll see!!

* * * * * *

When Harry was given the option to go on a playdate with his car-loving and dirty-nailed schoolmates or spending the weekend at his nan’s house, he would often pick the latter.

He preferred to spend his afternoons frolicking with her Siamese kitty in her wild-flower filled garden, sunbathing in the open grass, or napping on a quilted blanket under the large, round oak tree, with the kitty nestled into his tummy, keeping him warm. When he woke in the arms of his nan as she carried him inside the house for a glass of cool lemonade, he bore a band of pink sunburn over his button nose, and the blue and white striped Mickey shirt was sticking to the areas where his furry friend had provided an extra heat.

So, it was safe to say that from the start, Harry’s tastes weren’t what could be considered ‘average’ or ‘normal’ or ‘straight’ for a heterosexual male of his age in current society.

Not that he ever valued those opinions, but their impressions rang in the back of his loving head when the women who he brought to the comfort of his home made hurtful ‘joking’ comments on how ‘peculiar’ his choice of decor was or giving him prolonged strange looks before shaking their heads and yanking their clothes off so that they landed in a forgotten heap in some unimportant corner of his room.

Granted, he still got a good shag, but it wasn’t enough to fulfill his desires regarding any actions associated with relationships. He wanted someone warm and soft and kind. Someone who wouldn’t judge his home, his music choices, his clothing, or anything else about him. A girlfriend, not a fuck.

Long ago, he’d stopped caring about what others said about him. Adopting this mindset had given him some of the happiest and healthiest moments of his life (albeit occasionally, doubts merged with the ghastly shadows of his loneliness). Business at his flower shop increased as his charm increased with positivity, and a new life within him bloomed like a baby rose bud when he accepted that being single was okay. The ribbons of his bouquets bouncing with an added umf and the mist that landed on his skin when he changed the water in the flower buckets only enhanced the golden hue of his skin.

Harry even took to renovating his home a bit.

Coincidentally, his apartment was located on the floor above his flower stop, and contained a significant amount of singular flowers in vases or bouquets in empty corners to prove it. An array of pastel colors smeared on the once blank walls. Bambi pink in his bedroom, sage green in his kitchen, and a French blue in his living room. The couch was a suede papaya three-seater with black and white checkered pillows, and the coffee table was an emerald-tiled piece standing on top of a geometric lavender carpet, a soft contrast against the dark oak of his floorboards. Harry’s taste in pop-culture, art, and literature was displayed on the frames hanging off his walls. Pictures and posters of his favorite pieces like Matisse’s Blue Nudes and Goldfish and The Dance II. An enhanced, enlarged photo of maraschino cherries and a raven haired pin-up girl. Another glass table by the end of the couch held a silver candlestick and a small statue.

Sometimes, the miniature Greek statue he bought at a thrift store of a man with his nakedness pure and unobscured to the viewers' eyes made his dick bloat against the seams of his pants. If he stared at it for too long, his eyes drawn to the softened cock between thighs that looked so flesh-like even though it was carved out of some clay or ceramic material, his mind would travel to sensual, honey-red places that he hadn’t been in so long. Harry’s imagination explored- as cheesy as it sounds- the sexual aspects of the male genitalia, and therefore his own sexual expeditions and how much he missed giving or receiving a good fuck. More often than not, he ended up with himself in his fist, forehead sparkling with perspiration under the candle lights in his room as his thighs and abdomen clenched with every buck of his yearning hips.

The doorknob of his room was in the shape of an eye, the iris colored a brilliant blue. His king bed- no, frame, just a minimalist white base, pushed up against the wall with two tables on either side, both of them loaded articulately with vintage trinkets and ceramic ring trays shaped like seashells to hold his jewelry. His bedsheets were a stylish combination of pastel colors; lilac comforter, mint and sky pillows. Previously, they had been snow white sheets with strawberry print, but a woman he brought over said they looked like the sheets her five-year-old niece had.

He changed them the week after that.

On the windowsill, a pot in the shape of a white, blue-eyed kitty with vines of string of hearts kissing the floor. A mirror in the shape of a heart with a pink trim besides the lightswitch, above his brown dresser. In the corner, a bookshelf stuffed with books that spilled over the seams, and perpendicular to it, the home of his pet chameleon, Owen (he wanted a cat, but when he went to the pet store and saw the dehydrated creature, he couldn’t leave him there). A 16 x 16 x 30 inch tank filled with a branch that cut across halfway. It was full of all the things he might need, maybe even too much of it, but it didn’t matter because when Harry was home Owen spent most of his time hanging off the collars of his shirts or snuggled in the ruffles of his hooded sweatshirt on his shoulder. The small, color changing friend adored his owner, and only morphed into a mild red color when Harry didn’t feed him more mango.

The renovations occurred in his bathroom; a cherry-red covering the walls because it looked boring before (at least in his opinion). The gold piping of the sink accentuated nicely with the darker color, and the sun seemed brighter when it streamed in through the window above his ceramic claw-footed tub. Owen particularly liked the misty showerhead stall in the corner, and as long as he kept his eyes to himself, Harry didn’t mind it if his green friend wrapped around the showerhead and enjoyed the mimicked tropical atmosphere.

For awhile now, it had been just him and his chameleon (and maybe his mum’s cat if she was going out of town and needed a sitter) but he didn’t mind it.

He got to meet new people everyday within the parameters of H’s Garden, and they all tended to overshare when it came to buying a bouquet. ‘My wife just had our son, want to see a picture?’ or ‘my boyfriend and I have our anniversary on Saturday’ and even ‘my sister had plastic surgery so me and my dad need something that says ‘congrats you look like Kim Kardashain now’ how ‘bout it?’

Stories ranged from sweet, to grotesque, to sad, to funny, and sometimes even evil- Harry didn’t like customers that gave flowers as a ‘fuck you’. He thought it was a waste of beauty and sacrifice. Flowers were living things that had their lives cut short in order to provide momentary satisfaction and life long memories to the receiver, not bitter feelings of revenge. Although it was still business, it pained him that such a pretty arrangement be misused. It was one of the cons of his work. He created what he considered to be masterpieces, and had no control over where they would end up, whether it be as a centerpiece for a candlelit dinner, or in the trash after the apology for a strong argument hadn’t been enough.

However, Harry couldn’t deny that he didn’t love his job, because he did.

When he turned 16, he’d determined that he wanted a peaceful life with a job that wouldn’t bore him. He wanted to be as stress free as possible, with his spirituality as a prominent highlight in his lifestyle. When he turned 18, he had determined that he wanted to be a florist, and began to save up to open his own shop with the occasional help of his friends and sister. He refused to take anything from his mother because he wanted to be the one giving her gifts and money and everything good after all of her sacrifices in raising him. Call him a momma’s boy. Harry loved his mother.

Online seminars and college classes became his best friend, teaching him everything he needed to know about accounting, stocks, and how to keep his business going. He was a businessman first, florist second. During the slow seasons (the start of winter and an awkward half-week between summer and spring) he relied on his investments to triple-ensure that he had enough money to stay afloat.

On his 22nd birthday, as a gift to himself, he signed the lease to the building that housed all of the pretty plants in temporary buckets full of flower food and water, and hired a graphic designer to design the cursive, golden letters that spelled out the name of his shop above the front door.

Now, three years later, he lived as happy as can be.

And he wasn’t lonely anymore.

Well, if you wanted to be technical, his relationship status was still a checkmark over the box labeled ‘single’, but his heart couldn’t be fluttering any harder at the sight of one of his regular customers, and she was there, creeping around in his brain to keep him company.

She was the complete opposite of every girl he’d ever been with. She was sweet, kind, funny, and didn’t judge him for the way he dressed, or his profession. In fact, they bonded over things that previous women had… slyly berated him for. The color of his nails, the lace of his collar, the pattern of his flared pants, and even the sheep on his baby blue sweater vest.

She stole his heart the moment she walked through his door with a soft smile on her face, a sparkling gleam in her warm eyes, and placed it in her pocket the moment she said, “it smells lovely in here!”

Harry, awestruck and blushing because well, she was pretty and wore a shade of purple that somehow made her hair look so soft. Two strands of hair were pinned at the back of her head, essentially keeping the rest of it away from her face save for the few baby wisps that rested gently against her cheeks like a lover’s caress. The stuttering, stumbling cupid’s-bow-struck fool replied with, “thank you. It would be my pleasure to help you with anything you’d like,” and that had been his name, signed on the dotted line of a soul contract. Only she was not the devil. She was an angel.

But even then, it wouldn’t matter. If she was the devil, if she was an angel, something in between or something new entirely he wouldn’t care because he was half gone for her already.

“In that case,” she smiled, and Harry’s heart sang a melody it never had before. It was like the sun beamed from the spaces between her teeth and tickled the fuzzy spot beneath his earlobe. She had the most amazing voice, tranquil and clear and ethereal. “I just moved into a new apartment and wanted the place to feel like home. I thought maybe flowers would give it a little life.”

He vividly remembers that the color of her cheeks changed to that of what is called a ‘blush’, but he didn’t know if it was a trick under the light, or a product of his wistful imagination. Her fingers gently skimmed the petals of a rose from it’s bucket near her hip, and one of the straps of the tote bag on her shoulder disrespectfully dropped away from her shoulder. He wanted to simultaneously rush over and fix it for her, and yell at the inanimate object for not being grateful of the fact that it had the opportunity to cling to her shoulder.

But, before either of these inner-conflicts met a sound resolve, her delicate fingers righted what was once wrong, and Harry cleared his throat, embarrassed because he’d stared for a little too long. He wanted so badly to ask for her name and how she liked her eggs in the morning, but instead he said, “there’s nothing like a bit of something pretty to brighten your day. Did you have something specific in mind?”

He hoped that the meaning of his words wasn’t caught on her, or that would be totally embarrassing and ‘loser’-like.

When she walked out the door with a content smile on her lips, his own heart was beating faster than the flapping of a hummingbird’s tender wings. He was sure that he had never laid eyes on a pair of lips like hers, neither the feeling that blossomed in his chest at the thought that she might be smiling just for him to see and enjoy.

Of course, it was a silly crush. One that clawed and gripped onto his sweaty palms with no sign of letting go. Maybe, Harry thought, it was because he hadn’t wet his wick in so long, and the interaction he’d had with her had sparked irrational, poem-inspiring feelings within the love cavern of his ribs. Because how could he fall head over heels with someone he didn’t even know? Surely, the swarm of hormone-pumped butterflies in his stomach was the beginning of a dead-end infatuation.

Right?

Harry went that entire day, appalled at the apparent angel he had the fortune of being in the presence of in her short fall from the tender heavens. He wondered where she placed the flowers she bought (an arrangement he was particularly proud of, full of lilac, delicate stems of lavender, and puffs of baby’s breath wrapped with a white bow) and where that tiny extension of him was. At the entrance of her home, right below the place she rested her hand against as she tugged her shoes off? At the center of her table? Maybe besides her bed? Where she would see the purple petals and white of him as he wrapped it every time she woke up or went to bed? He hoped- as much as it was a romantic thought- that it wasn’t the last one. He’s been so awkward, so pink. A blush on his cheeks he hadn’t remembered being there since the time he yelped, startled, at the unexpected pain of a tattoo needle, the artist pointedly peeved. Acting like such a boy.

Right before crawling up the steps of his apartment, heart still bleeding with love-blood from the deadly tip of Cupid’s arrows, he made himself a mini version of the bouquet he’d made her, and placed it at the center of his tiled coffee table.

*********

A few days trickled by, and the memory of her face drifted in and out of his mind like a giant sway of fabric slowly billowing in the wind. He was just so… struck by a slab of awe, stunned by her kind of beauty. Natural, the kind that hooks you in it’s purity, like the golden beams streaming in through transparent curtains on a warm spring afternoon.

Her strawberry lips curved elegantly under her nose, and displayed a smile that leaked some sort of heady drug into the air because the air was sweet when he breathed it in. And when he handed the bundle of flowers over to her, the pads of her delicate fingers skimmed the rough ridges of his knuckles. He wondered immediately what kind of moisturizer she used, and if it smelled like honey or lavender or peaches. She smelled sweet. Sweeter than all of the flowers in his colorful soul shop put together. The colors that belong to her, on her person and worn by her, were more captivating than any of the tones that painted the petals on his plants.

Owen got a kick out of this whole ordeal, though. Harry’s passionate mood had him divulging in munching and nibbling on things that tasted the way he felt; ambrosial, fresh and pure. It resulted in the purchasing of endless amounts of fruit, with many bites given to the tiny chameleon. Mangoes, strawberries, oranges, grapes, pears (Asian pears, if the store carried them, they were Harry’s favorite), peaches and guavas. The sudden craving for fruit might be explained as just a casual craving, but deep deep down inside, Harry knew that it was because he wanted to replicate the feeling that coursed through his golden veins when she giggled at something she happened to find funny.

He wished that he had caught her name. The girl had paid in cash (and left a five dollar tip Harry fawned over), so he couldn’t have read it on her card, and he was halfway between charming and awkward that he didn’t even think of asking for it until the minute the door closed behind her, bells tinkling in announcement of her exit. He wished for a hundred different things, but he was not the type to live in regret. Not anymore. So after about a week of floundering in her memory, he meditated for an hour, tropical incense on one of his bedside tables, and cleared his mind as best he could.

The next morning, he did the same thing. Woke up with heavy limbs, plopped himself down on his blue mat and stretched in various positions, his white boxers hanging low on his hips. His lips and eyes were sticky with sleep, and the back of his nose ached with cold air that he must’ve breathed in throughout the night after forgetting to close the window (again) but the pleasurable twinge of stretching aches between his joints were the perfect way to start his day. They urged his mind to transform into the still surface of water, clear and collected from any unproductive-pinning thoughts towards a girl he would most likely never see again.

Even his clothes reflected his refreshed mindset.

Harry donned his favorite pair of flared trousers in an earthy brown color, nestled snugly on his slender hips and around his thighs. The tight fit accentuated the way his back tapered into his waist, glutes shapely and sculpted. A maroon sweater vest that had a teddy bear embroidered on the middle of his chest, the small latte-toned stuffed animal seemingly childish, but on him it only directed attention to the spotlight daze of the velvety heart sheltered underneath his breathless plate. Underneath, a mustard long-sleeve shirt with tiny cherries printed on them. Some straight, some tilted or lopsided. His shoulders and biceps were hidden in the floofy bunches of cloth, anonymity given to the true thickness of his ink slathered skin.

He looked like a corduroy dream. A thick milkshake of patterns and colors, but he managed to pull it off.

A tiny gold hoop on his right ear gleamed under the morning sun coming in through the windows and a pearl necklace rested against the downy skin of his throat. Slender fingered tipped with a coat of pure white, with his ring fingers accented in a shimmery pink. Chunky rings adorning the base of his digits; a silver rose, a band of dancing teddy bears (a running theme with him), two gold rings with his initials H and S on one hand, and a simple ruby stud from his graduating class.

He looked good, he knew that he looked good, and was ready to begin a bright, healthy, non-pretty-girl-thought-polluted day. Even the old woman had pinched his cheek whom he had been assisting- a regular-had said he looked like a proper ‘nice boy’ along with ‘when are you going to her a lovely girl to help you run this place, Harry?’. He didn’t have the heart to tell her that he had momentarily sworn off women until his broken sentiments healed, and they had a long way to go.

In the middle of wrapping a smashing set of tulips and fern stems with a cherry red bow, the bells adorning the top of the door frame dinges, announcing the entrance of another pleasant customer and giving passage to a gust of chilly air. Harry looked up to greet the customer with his usual pleasantries of ‘welcome! I’ll be with you in a moment!’, but the words died on his throat in a desperate hussle, just as the little mermaid had given up her voice to meet her gallant prince.

It was his own personal little slice of heaven presented to him on the black and white checkered floors of his shop. Hair loose against her shoulders again, eyes cast downwards to inspect a bucket of fresh daisies that tickled the space above her bare knees. How she could wear a skirt in this biting weather, he didn’t know, and it partially prevented him from continuing his pursuit of admiring her because the first thought his caring mind jumped too was, ‘is she cold? And if so, does she need a sweater? Because I will gladly give her one.’ His second thought, however, was ‘how could someone be that beautiful?’. The third was something along the lines of ‘all my yoga has gone to shit, and I’m okay with that’.

He cleared his throat, tightened the bow around the stems of the flowers in his hands and said, “I’ll be with you in a moment, love!” His head bowed, looking at his work because he wasn’t sure he could afford the medicals for the paralysis that was sure to take over his meek self if they made eye contact so soon. Harry needed a moment of homeostasis, his soul adjusting to her dulcet presence.

The woman he was assisting, Edna, spoke, drawing him out of his daze, but he had been so deeply in thought that he had not heard what she said.

“What was that?” He asked her. He grabbed Kraft paper from the roll by the register to wrap up her arrangement.

“The girl. You like her?” She was smiling at him, wagging a finger the way his nan used to do when she caught him with his hand in the cookie jar. “Don’t lie to me, I recognize that look. I’ve given and received that look many times throughout my life.”

The woman was not wrong. With age, comes wisdom, Harry thought, smiling to himself at being caught. A dimple carves itself into his cheek, nestling onto the space above the corner of his mouth as if he had no choice in the matter. The apples of his cheeks were shadowed with a dusky pink, and the tip of his nose was twitching like a rabbit when it stood on its rear and sniffed the air, only he was coy after just being caught and wanted to avoid the question as much as possible.

“I’ve got no idea what y’talking about,” he chuckled, keeping his voice low so that the intriguing stranger in the store didn’t hear that their topic of discussion was her. He moved over to the register to ring her up, and even slid in a discount he applied to customers he liked.

“Next time I come in,” Edna said, passing Harry her debit card, “I hope to hear that you got her number, dear. Don’t let these opportunities pass you up. Life is short. And who knows? She could be the one.” Harry gave her the card back after charging her, and handed her the flowers, too. All the while Edna was grinning at him, shaking her head like she knew something he didn’t.

“Take care, Edna. And don’t forget to change the water every 2 days with the flower packets I placed at the stems,” he reminded her, sweetly wiggling his red-lacquered nails at her retreating woman as butterflies awakened in his stomach in a furious flood of nerves. The girl was looking around, her hands hovering over the up-turned faces of a bundle of lively sunflowers, browsing and quietly humming to herself as she waited.

There was no backing out of this, even if he wanted to. And he didn’t! He didn’t want to back out. The girl was a customer, and he would have to approach her no matter what. But she was so pretty it was also intimidating. He doesn’t remember ever being this nervous while approaching someone, especially one he harbored feelings for. His heart was pounding so loud, he was sure it was audible.

“Hello,” he wanted so badly to add ‘love’ at the end of his greeting. “Are y’finding everything a’right?” He asked her, his hands wringing themselves, palms moist with sweat from his unyielding need to impress her. The pink tip of his tongue poked out to swipe across his full bottom lip, and soon after that his teeth sunk down into it, nibbling with uncertainty. Harry made sure that he was standing straight, body aligned to face hers because in that psychology course he took once, he learned that it was a subconscious tactic to engage interest and pleasant replies to attempts at wooing another.

At the sound of his voice, the girl jumped, startled at the sudden vibrations of Harry’s husky voice. Her delicate feet, he noticed, skittered on the floor from her tiny jump, and her doe eyes widened, shouldered rising and falling at a quicker pace than before from the new rush of light fear. When she realizes that it’s just him her hand flattered over the base of her neck and her collarbone in attempts to soothe her racing heart.

“M’s sorry,” he whispers, his hand clamping over his mouth, and then lowering to his chin when he speaks again, “didn’t mean to scare y’love.” This time he can’t restrict himself. It comes so naturally, like the endearment was meant for her, and when a flush covers the bridge of her nose his first instinct is to coo at her for looking so cute. The second is a surge of guilt for having scared her to such an extent.

“It’s okay,” she says, a little out of breath. The blush on her face was partly because she was embarrassed at her own reaction, while the other was that she had let herself act so freely and uncoordinated in front of someone that looked like him. Handsome and sweet and eyes so green they refreshed you upon first glance. Like the cool burn of water going into a mouth that had just chewed a stick of minty gum. “I want to buy these flowers.”

God help him. Her voice alone was enough to make him melt. The lilts and melodies of her voice swarming all four of the ventricles in his heart with warmth, and every blood cell that passed contained a glowing heat, buzzing with her energy.

She points to the sunflowers, her gaze lingering on them with longing. A soft smile toying on her mouth, and Harry could see the tendons in her throat stretch as she inhaled to add another thought to her sentence, “Do you sell vases by any chance?” The girl looked at him shyly, her eyelashes almost twinkling as she blinked, and his heart soared, “I had a really nice one in the shape of a big Coca-Cola bottle, and I accidentally knocked it over, so now I have nothing to put them in.”

Harry is incredibly enamoured by subconscious gestures that take over her hands as she speaks, fiddling as if the vase she spoke about was in her hands, all in one piece before it was broken. He’s quiet throughout her tiny ramble, listening and taking note of her enticing antics. She’s looking down at the floor or the flowers or her hands, and when her eyes dance over to his steady gaze, “I’m rambling aren’t I?” she murmurs bashfully.

“No, no it’s a’right. I can look in the back for something if y’like?” He suggested, arrowing a thumb to the ‘back’ he mentioned. “Did y’want anything in particular?”

“Oh, I don’t wanna be a troubling customer!” She squeaked, concerned with becoming a nuisance she didn’t want to be.

“Y’not a bother, love. M’promise. I’ll go look f’you. What color did y’have in mind?” He asked her, tone calm and soothing to reiterate his sentiment. She was not a bother. The only thing about her that bothered him was the fact that he did not know her name, and even that was his own fault for not asking her.

His hands rest on his hips, tattooed cross momentarily hidden by the bunch of his sweater vest as he waits for her to respond, his eyes locked on her mouth, her own tongue subtly licks her lips, adding a sparkly sheen to it that only drove him crazy. Ever the jilted fool, his mind jumps to what it would feel like to kiss her, or what it would feel like if she kissed him in other places. What fruits she tasted like, and what kind of kisser she was. A timid one? With a patient mouth waiting to be broken open with the force of his own? Frugal? Opening her mouth and giving him everything she had to offer.

“Something pink, please. If you have it.” That smile again. One that told a million apologies it didn’t owe, with her eyes pinching at the corners with whatever nonsense culpability she felt. Her voice was sweet, Harry thought, like wind chimes on a summer morning.

Feeling guilty for allowing such dirty thoughts to gallop through his mind when she was so… so pure. Like an angel. Even her way of presenting herself was shy and sweet, yet he was thinking about kissing her. Was that perverted? She was a customer he had seen twice, and his mind was already running wild with luscious assumptions; a sunday topped with a red cherry of sensuality. How awfully dirty of him.

But! But those were not the only thoughts he had. He wanted to ask her what happened to cause her to drop her vase, and where she had bought it. If it was vintage, considering it was a Coca-cola bottle, and if she had any accidents while cleaning up the mess of broken glass. He wanted to hear her thoughts. No, better yet, he just wanted to hear her talk. He wanted to get to know her. To know if she was as nice as she looked.

“‘Course,” he mumbled, his eyes shamefully downcast to the floor. “Be righ’ back.”

Harry stalked off to ‘the back of the store’. Truth was, there was no back of the store containing vases. There was only a small closet with boxes of items he might need around the store, like flower food, rubber bands, and decorative paper for the bouquets. A crate of bottled water for when he got too lazy to climb up the back stairs and into his home.

His home.

Plucking the keys from his pocket, a ring that held a ceramic swan his closest friend Mitch had gifted him with a humble admission of ‘saw this at a thrift store and thought about you, H, I had to buy it’, and five keys: one to the front door of his shop, one to the cash box in the register, one to the mailbox, another to the front door of his apartment, and one to his car. The one to his front door was painted at the head with pastel pink nail polish, so it was easy for him to pick out when he was dead tired after a long day of being on his feet (spunky shoes that he liked to wear sometimes didn’t help ease the ache on his back, and neither did his posture).

The back door that led to the stairs had locks on both the inside and the outside. A deadbolt and chain on matching sides of the door to ensure comfortable sleep at night, and peaceful work time during the day. Not having to worry about curious children opening doors or nosy customers relieved him. It was a little amatuer, but the door made a loud noise when opened because it wasn’t quite level, and he had a tiny key so he could lock it from the outside, too.

A loud shucking noise resonated through the store as he pulled the door open, and then again when he closed it behind him. The delicacy of his dainty yet large hands were nearly comical around the tiny golden pin stud that hung from the chain, almost slipping from his hands with nerves as he slid it in place. Harry didn’t think that she was nosy or anything like that, bit if he was going up to give her a vase of his own personal collection, he didn’t want her to find out and feel even more intrusive that she already did.

He was a huge giver, and upon hearing her say that she broke her flower pot, his mind was already thinking about the perfect one to replace it. It just so happened to be sitting on his shelf with a bundle of dying lavender. Climbing up the stairs (the ache in his thighs was a mere twinge compared to what it was when he first moved here), Harry huffed and thought to himself all the ways he could ask for her name and number.

Listen, I really like y’and would like to have y’number?”

Do y’wanna have my number so we can go out sometime if y’feel like it?”

“Is it alright if I get y’number so we can go out sometime?”

“Hey, love. What’s y’name?”

Nothing’s making sense to him. The pick up lines he had stored in his head for the rare times he would flirt with a girl were slipping from him. None of them seemed worded right to use with her. Too abrupt or too brisk. Not sweet enough. He wanted to treat her gently and to be worthwhile of her time. Plus, it also had to be smooth enough that it made her forget she was paying him for flowers or it would be awkward. He was a twenty-six man for crying out loud, not a twenty-one year old smile at the bar looking for a good time. This wasn’t a ‘good time’. This was… a courting. An inquiry to a relationship. A rose rose in a candlelit room.

Harry opened his front door and moved in a quick jog to a table besides his hi-fi that held a translucent pale pink glass, fat at the base before twirling and widening a few inches at the lip. An image of a nude mermaid puffing out at the front like an engraving. Cuddling it into his breast, he grabbed the lavender, speed walked back to his kitchen where his toe banged against the metal of the trashcan as he pressed on the lever to open it. He hissed fuck under his breath and shucked the dead lavender into the bag before turning back to his door, closing it behind him, but not locking it because he didn’t want to keep her waiting. His feet moved quickly down the stairs, the one hand not holding onto the vase cupping a hand over the side of his hips that held his keys so they didn’t make much noise.

The button on the chain slipped from his fingers a few times from their repeated clamminess, and when he was ready to finally twist the knob, he paused to take a breath and collect himself. Harry ran a hand through his hair, fixed his collar, and dusted off his pants legs. He wanted to look perfect for her.

“Don’t be stupid,” he murmured to himself. He had a good feeling about this. About her. And if he messed this up because he looked bad or said something weird he would kick himself into a muddy ditch.

Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and calmly walked back, “I’ve got the last one,” he said, tapping the tip of the vase with his pointer finger. It was a lie, right through his teeth, but he was happy to tell it in return for the way she was looking at him in that moment. His eyes rounded out as he approached her, like the curves of hearts that made up the heart-eye emoji, or the puppy-dog face. Just another physical display of his growing affinity towards her.

“Oh my god!” She said, “It's so pretty!” The trapped crystals in her irises twinkled with bewilderment at the treasure Harry’s presented her with. She’s got a smile on her face, and he can’t help but think, ‘wow, she looks like a freshly bloomed white lily’.

There’s a vintage print hanging in his corridor, a ‘flower language chart’ with different types of flowers and a sentence beneath them describing the messages they send. For example, red carnations= my heart aches for you. The description beneath white lilies reads ‘my love is pure’.

She asked him if it wasn’t too pricey, and he made up some fake sale he had going on about a hybrid BOGO in which if she bought an arrangement she would get a vase included in her purchase (he added “I’ve got a shipment of new ones coming in an I need the space cleared out before they get here” just to make sure his fib is believable.) And he explains this so shyly. Harry can’t keep his eyes locked on hers because she’s staring at him with an intensity that lets him know she's really listening, and it makes him squirm. The tips of his fingers tap against the vase, and he’s tripping over his tongue, which is ridiculous because he already talks so slow.

“I guess I was right in waiting then,” she said casually, waiting for Harry to finish ringing her up.

His finger froze over the touch screen of the sleek, modern device (he wanted nothing but the best for his store) and listened to the exciting roar of blood through his eardrums at her words. I guess I was right in waiting then? What did that mean? That she was planning on coming back to see him and didn’t? Of course, it could also mean that she was going to buy something else somewhere else, but he couldn’t stop the vine of ripe hope that swelled around his chest. And she looked so apprehensive while saying it. As if she was walking on glass and was looking for cracks as she stepped. As if she was waiting on him to catch on to something.

Harry cleared his throat and looked at her through the corner of his eye, trying to be as discreet as possible as his fingers continued their deliberate work on the screen, “What d’you mean, love?”

“I was going to stop by sooner, but I just got in my head about it,” the girl shrugged, and adjusted the ends of her cardigan so they wrapped around her torso. She had a different bag this time, one of those reusable market bags that was made up of holes, and it was filled with two books and a can of green tea from the vegan store down the street. Harry thinks he can make out one of the titles on one of the spines, which looks suspiciously similar to something that he has on his own shelf.

“Why would y’get in y’own head about coming to m’flower shop, hmm? It’s hardly that intimidating,” he chuckles to play off the dashes of pink and red that are painting themselves across the bridge of his twitching nose, “I don’t bite, either.”

And he hopes that his wistfulness isn’t meddling with his vision because he swears that he can see a matching reaction on her own doll face. “I know! I know, it’s just that I can’t help it sometimes. Talking to other people makes me nervous.”

Harry could coo at her right now. He doesn’t, though. He nods and smiles at her before reading her total out to her, “That I get, too. But y’doing just fine with me, love.”

Waiting patiently as she digs through her bag for cash, he tries to not stare. However, it’s impossible. His eyes had a mind of their own dragging against the forces of his will to feast on her image again. Her hands and the tip of her nose. The base of her neck and gentle swell of her clavicles. The swoops of hair that hung in a curtain from her shoulder as her head tilted in search, and the how her teeth bit down into her lip in concentration. Harry counted the amount of times her eyelashes met her waterline in those few seconds of comfortable silence. Three.

“I thought I had cash on me today,” something in her bag clicks, and she pulls out the rectangular card Harry’s become familiar with, holding it out to him between two deft fingers, painted with red hearts on a white base. “I guess I used my last twenty at the organic food store down the street,” she said.

“It is pretty easy to get lost in there, isn’t it?” He took her card from her, and tried not to make it obvious that he was eager to read her name off of it as he inserted it into the machine. The embossed letters into the plastic read y/n y/l/n, and when he turns back to look at her, he can’t help the smile that spreads across his boyish features.

Y/n.

Y/n, y/n, y/n.

This is what it must feel to be let in on a secret that’s worth millions of dollars. It must, because Harry’s heart is soaring with a closure he didn’t know he needed. Y/n, y/n. Her name tickled him. Stroked him. Lathered him with the honey smoothness of the beeswax shampoo he bought at that fateful organic store. It was a fitting name. Sometimes, one could tell a person ‘you know, I actually thought you were a Amy or a Jessica’, because their looks and style just didn’t match the strength or modesty of their name. But not y/n. It fit her like a glove. There was no other way to make sense of the way Harry’s brain was thinking. The name was her.

“What?” Her lips quirk up into a smile and her eyebrows dip in confusion. Why was he looking at her like that? Did she have something on her face? Here she was, opening up to a cute stranger and she had something on her face? This, she thought to herself, is humiliating. Her finger dusted off non-existent crumbs from the corners of her mouth, “do I have something on my face?”

“No! No, no.” Harry’s careful beam simmered down from it’s previous brightness, and his hand nervously filed through the swoop of chocolate curls sitting on his head like a cinnamon roll. “I just think y’name is pretty thas’ all.”

He murmured the last part so that it was practically incoherent, and lowered his gaze as a searing heat stretching like saran wrap around his head and the divot on the nape of his neck. Oh, God. He was fucking blushing. Great Harry. A normally favorite among the ladies had been reduced to murmurs and thick, uncoordinated movements.

Like dropping her card when she piped up again.

Voice as small and quaint as his had been, "you think my name is pretty?” Her fingers are wrapped around the frail straps of her bag, tight enough that her knuckles were white and Harry was scared that she’d bury her fingernails into her palm.

“I think y’very pretty.” He whispered back. He can’t even bear to look at her in fear that he’s totally fucked himself over once and for all. His logic was this: what girl wants to be told by the guy they’re buying flowers that they’re pretty after he reads her name from her debit card? Especially one who (if outside female sources are to be believed) dresses “the way my mother did when she was a girl in the seventies”? Jesus, fuck. He must’ve looked ridiculous.

Harry opened his mouth to backtrack and apologize for being so unorthodox in his workspace, a breath sitting on his tongue with words ready to spew out, but the bell began to chime and it yanks his head from the register to the front and instead he said, “welcome! I’ll be with you in a moment.”

Flustered and full of regret, the flower connoisseur returned his wired gaze back to y/n, who… was smiling at him? The kind of smile that said ‘oh my god, I can’t believe you just said that. Now please say it again’? Was he… dreaming? Did he have to pinch himself in order to verify that he wasn-

“Thank you... what’s your name?” Y/n looked at the card from his hands and sunk her hand- carefully, as to not get her fingers stuck in any of the tiny holes- and there was another clicking noise before she took her hand back out. That angel-like smear of girlish happiness was still on her, decadently radiating positivity and secret affection. Goodness leaked from the seams of her bones; through the cracks of her breastplate, radiating from her chest to Harry’s. He could feel it now. He could feel that his previous assumptions about her nature were true. She was altruistic and tender, like the inside of a bird’s wing.

“Harry. M’name’s Harry.” This time, he didn’t hide his happiness. Even his eyes shone with a heightened, clear and sparkly shade of liquid evergreen. The joy that bounced inside of him like ricocheting metal balls in a pin game machine. His slender hand, fawn-skinned and graceful like the legs of a deer, stretched out between them. His mother had taught him that along with the first introduction of his name, a handshake must be present, always. Dipping his head slightly, and his words spongy with love-ditz, Harry rumbled, “Nice to meet you, y/n.”

She placed her hand in his, and was practically swallowed by only his palm. He curled his fingers around her, thumb and middle finger overlapping around the clammy center of hers. So she was nervous, just as he was. Y/n was trained on their embracing limbs, and he could feel a spot on his neck where the skin palpated from the rush of blood as she observed their entwined digits. Their hands moved up and down, up and down between them for longer than necessary until her chin twitched back up to meet his, and she blinked mawkishly, slowly, like the videos of rehabilitated barn owls Harry sees on his Instagram.

Then, suddenly, as if she remembered she was not the only one present, y/n jolts upright and shakes her head dazedly. “It’s nice to meet you, too, Harry. I like your nail color,” she added.

He’s cheesing. A shit-eating grin too big for his face and it carves dimples into the flesh of his cheeks. His name on her tongue had never sounded so appealing, like it was made for her and only her to say. Not even the turtle-doves that cooed outside his window in the mornings sounded as beautiful as she did saying his name. And she complimented her nails! She hadn’t scrutinized him like others had, instead, she displayed her admiration for them. No one- well, actually he can’t say that without offending Mitch- no female of his age had ever received him with such open-mindedness as hers. If he didn’t have any self-restraint, he would giggle. Instead, Harry pulled his hand back so that their perfect moment wasn’t sullied with bouts of bad timing, “thank y’love. I like yours, too. You’ll have t’come over sometime and paint mine, yeah?”

Y/n laughed, and he breathed a sigh of relief that he hadn’t been too bold, “I’d love too!” With glee frozen on her, she turned to look over her shoulder at the customer who was browsing the flowers Harry had in buckets, “I don’t want to hold you back from a customer for so long. I’ll stop by again soon, Harry. Thank you so much for your help.”

The moment her hands reached for the wrapped bundle of sunflowers and the mermaid vase, a metaphorical grey cloud of rain and thunder manifested in the space above his head, and blocked all of the sunshine from spanning across his toned, lithe body. Did she really have to go? He wanted to whine. Maybe even wrap himself around her ankles like a child that refused to leave the park. They were only just getting to a mutual spot of comfort! Forget the other customer, he wanted to shout. Harry would kick them out and flip the sign to ‘closed’ if it meant only a few more minutes in the presence of her candy-coated charisma.

But he knows that’s unrealistic, and settles with, “it was my pleasure, y/n,” a flirty wink (at least he hopes it is), “I’ll be waiting f’your next visit.” His taffy lips wrapping effortlessly around his smooth words, fueled by her welcoming receptiveness to his advances. It would be easy to be himself in the future, a little smoother and eloquent in his language and feeling. He was usually clear with what he wanted from anyone, and made it a pleasurable experience in all aspects for both parties involved (once it was three). Harry wanted to sweep her off her feet, and he wanted it to be an enjoyable experience for the both of them. Revel in that feeling of blooming emotions in a new relationship. A healthy one, in which he wasn’t receiving back-handed compliments all the time.

He wasn’t superficial enough to push anyone off the table based on looks alone, but it did help that y/n had the disposition of an angel. An ethereal voice, supple lips that looked so silky and soft they had to feel that way, too, and hands that felt so tender in his. Perfect for holding on a late night stroll, or over the center console of his car when -if they go out on dates.

What really hooked, reeled, and sinked him, though, was the fact that she was so nice to him. From the start, she’d been nothing but polite and sweet with him. Don’t even get him started on the way he swooned at the tone of her voice when he said that her name was pretty! So quiet and velvety, careful and calculated like she wanted him to know that it was okay. That she wasn’t thrown off by his comment. He nearly toppled over, clutching his heart with his legs jutting straight up into the air like a frightened goat.

It wasn’t until the bells stopped ringing the sad notice of her exit that Harry realized he passed up the perfect opportunity to ask for her number, and as he kicked himself over it, he walked with the perfect customer service face he could muster to help the other person in his store.

***

Harry was having a shitty morning.

Not the kind of morning where every aspect of his routine is a terrible mishap, but like the water being too cold and the stove not working or the bottle of oat milk in the fridge being empty so he couldn’t make coffee. No, everything was fine and rolling smoothly, as it should.

His water was the perfect temperature and ran down the toned bumps and divots of his muscles like the relaxing thrums of a lover’s caress in the midst of prowling heat. As soon as it hit his back, he released a sigh of contentment, his shoulders hunching and head rolling back and his hands roamed his shoulders and the back of his neck, rubbing away any aches that existed. The branch of eucalyptus that hung from the golden pipe of his showerhead fused a thick minty scent into the steam that fogged the glass wall, and the calming aroma helped the tendons loosen like the deflating limpness of untied shoelaces. He spent a few minutes just standing there, inhaling and exhaling deeply and feeling his lungs open and stretch beneath his rib cage.

It almost made him wish that he’d opted to use his tub for a hot bath instead.

He was able to cook an egg just fine on his stove, with dashes of Everything Bagel Seasoning with a side of avocado and a slice of toasted cranberry walnut bread, the same thing he had every morning. The carton of oat milk was brand new from his trip to the market the day before, and his coffee tasted the same as it always did. But… he was just... sad. An melancholy soreness that eroded against the insides of his body, consuming him slowly but surely and leaving him with a lost feeling of emptiness and unimportance.

He thinks he might know why he’s feeling this way.

While he’s stirring his scrambled eggs, he’s wondering how y/n likes hers. Over easy? Sunny-side up? Scrambled, like him? Did she even like eggs in the morning? What did she eat in the morning? He knows that some people ‘aren’t hungry’ in the mornings, though that’s only because they’ve gone hungry in the mornings before for an extended time period, and after so long of not feeding their growling stomachs, their brain discontinues the signals of hunger. Harry hopes that isn’t the case with y/n, and that she’s eating the proper three meals a day every day.

And while he dipped a mini vegan chocolate croissant that he got at Whole Foods, he also wonders what she likes to dip chocolate croissants into, or if she even likes chocolate croissants. If she was a person who likes sweet treats, like strawberry tarts with powdered sugar over them or something lighter, like fruit cut into small squares in a bowl. When Harry was younger and would visit his nan on the weekends, she would pick fresh strawberries from her garden and cut them up for him when he’d woken from his nap. Sometimes, she would even sprinkle half a tablespoon of sugar over them. He wonders if she’d ever eaten strawberries like that.

It’s been a week and a half, he still hasn’t seen her, and his heart is yearning.

Harry knows he’s not in the correct headspace to assist other people with a cheery disposition about an hour before opening time, and decides it’s best if he writes a note on the door about how the shop wouldn’t open that day because he didn’t want to taint the reputation of his business by snapping at a customer for the only bundle of sunflowers he had, or dissolve into a puddle of love-sick tears in the middle of ringing someone up. Though really the notice just says ‘H’s Garden will not be opening today. Sorry for the inconvenience!’ followed by a frowning face and a lopsided, filled-in heart.

Harry drags his feet back up the stairs, his lower lip jutting out in a discreet but depressing pout, and grabs Owen from his tank so that the chameleon could curl into the shoulder of Harry’s hoodie while he moped on the couch to sappy rom-coms that would only make him think about her more. At least there was someone there with him, even if his small green friend only used him for mangoes and papaya. They sit together for the entirety of Romeo + Juliet, and when it’s over, Harry’s sniffly and standing up to return Owen to his enclosure and to clean because the riotous emotions that whirl within him are too much to process while sitting down.

Cleaning wouldn’t help him solve his problems, but it would help him cram all of his worries into a tight corner at the back of his mind- sort of like when dirty laundry began to overflow in the hamper and it requires extra force to shove it all in, only to come all back out like a memory sponge. His tormented thoughts on y/n could be compared to a dramatic inner monologue, very similar to how Romeo feels about his Juliet. But, soft, what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and y/n is the sun. Harry has the play on his book shelf (the one with the side-to-side modern English translation because he was never quite gifted in the English department) and as he reaches for a bandana to tie his hair back, he finds himself resonating with a particular line: parting is such a sweet sorrow.

There was no need to change any of his clothing, since he was already dressed in one of his more impromptu outfits; grey sweats and a white t-shirt that read ‘women are smarter’ in black across his chest. He tied the red bandana into a knot at the back of his head, and lifted it over his chin so that it settled on his forehead, sweeping his hair back with a final push back. It doesn’t get in his way when he crouches to clean his various tables, spraying cleaning products with his shirt pulled over his nose, another organic product that’s supposed to be less harmful and smells like cinnamon and sandalwood. His shoulder blades begin to ache because he’s being a little more aggressive than he has to be, but the green tiles were sparkling so he was content.

He washes the dishes, mops the kitchen floor, vacuums the carpets, cleans Owen’s habitat, and tidies the mail that piled up on the table when he finally calls it quits. Scouring his brain for something to do, to keep him busy- his brain busy, Harry settles on the floor with his back to the edge of his bed. He’s shirtless now, and is in need of another shower but he’d rather not because he knows he might end up crying over the possibility that he’s scared y/n off. There’s a book in his hands and a Frank Ocean record playing softly in the background that mentions something about ‘I've been thinkin' 'bout you, do you think about me still?’ and it’s not helping his case at all.

It’s no use.

There’s a plague of darkness buzzing like cicadas in his ears. He fears rejection and criticism. That maybe, she was only pretending in order to make the situation more pleasant so it ended sooner. Most of all, he feared that it would always be this way. That he would never find someone who embraces who he is as a person. Always met with mean side-eye glances or second looks of displeasure and confusion. It isn’t always that way, though, because then that would mean he gets absolutely no action, and that isn’t true.

Harry is very… well-educated in matters that concerned sexual intercourse, but it was always a one-night stand ordeal. It was never ‘I really like you we should go out sometime’. In fact, he noticed that only time his approaches were well received were those in which he was dressed in a calmer manner. Simple, solid colors with sneakers or a t-shirt. Girls would flirt back, make good conversation, allow him to buy them a few drinks, and when he’d take them to his apartment they’d ask why he lived on top of a flower-shop, and if it was his sister or female-friend’s palace that he was crashing. Sex would ensue, but his heart wouldn’t be as present and engaged as he wanted it to be.

Wrong. It was always so fucking wrong, and God, if he didn’t get out of this apartment he’s going to breakdown and cry and there’s no one to call to come over because Mitch is on a trip with his girlfriend, Sarah, and his other friend Jeff is on his honeymoon in Sweden. They were the only two on his mental speed dial list during the rare occasions he had a crisis, as they were the two that Harry had ever really opened up to. Mitch was a bit closer to his heart. They’ve known each other since their school days and practically grew up together (at one point they had small crushes on each other, which were confessed years down the line). Jeff was the owner of Winsome where… where y/n had mentioned spending her last twenty dollar bill. He didn’t have an issue opening up to them. He liked opening up to them, but he didn’t understand why they were the only two that ever truly opened their arms to him.

A walk, he decided, would help him… air out his brain. Calm down. Breathe a little deeper, a little easier.

He threw his white shirt back on, and a forest green sweatshirt that donned the emblem of the school he went to earn his business degree that fit him wide around the shoulders and felt like a marshmallow. Putting on a pair of beat up shoes, he shoved his keys into his pocket, hobbling and nearly losing his balance because he was moving way too fast. The door closed behind him with a slam, and even though he was still wearing the bandana around his head, wispy stray curls framing his face in a wild mane, his distress palpable through his appearance, but he doesn’t care. He just needs to get out and feel the cool air against his skin.

There’s a backdoor behind the stairs that will take him to a small alleyway that leads to a back parking lot where other shop owners that live at the top of their stores on the same side of his street parked their cars. He unlocks it from the inside, and throws his shoulder into it, desperate to her out. When it shuts behind him, he doesn’t turn back because it’s the kind to lock from the outside when closed. His fingers curl into the ends of his sleeve so that the tips of his fingers (nails now changed to a sparkling silver color) are the only parts of his hands visible.

Rounding the corner, he whistled the cheeriest tune he can muster. His lips are puckered and his cheekbones high with the extension of his mouth. He’s not very happy on the inside, though he remembers reading something somewhere that if you pretend to be something long enough, you’ll eventually become it. If he pretends to be happy, then he’ll actually be happy.

Right?

Harry rounds the corner of the parking lot and turns on to the main street. It’s only two in the afternoon, so there's people crawling in and out of shops anywhere. He even sees a man and a woman peeking into the window of his store, and he would feel bad if he wasn’t in a shitty mood already. He’s so out of it, that he nearly yells ‘get your hands off my windows!’. He doesn’t though, because for a moment the woman becomes y/n and the man becomes him, wrapping a ringed hand around her waist and whispering in her downy ear ‘they’re closed, darling, let’s go somewhere else’ and she straightens dejectedly, pouting playfully and standing up and her tippy toes so that she could press a quick kiss to his lips.

That image fades though, and the couple continues with their stroll, hand in hand, and his heart is wrenching, writhing and trying to yank itself free from it’s place in his chest because it hurts too much to stay.

Cars whizz past, and he skirts in and out of people on the sidewalk, keeping his pace fast and focused. There’s no intended destination, he’s just moving with the intent to forget the pretty girl who haunts him. Her voice is all he can hear. Her smile is all she can picture. And the rest of her is all he can imagine, which is exactly what hurts the most. Imagination only goes so far, fulfils so much with uncertainty of what the truth was and what wasn’t. Harry could imagine her with her feet up on the lip of a bubble filled tub, a glass of wine in her hands, but then…what kind of wine did she like? Or did she even like wine? And did she even have a bathtub to stretch out in after a long day?

He curses the crimes he may have committed in past lives to deserve this torture. This unbearable pain that felt like he was being dunked in a slow-acting acid. He can do nothing about it but keep walking with labored will power. He passed his shop, and a bakery and a small thrift store that sells used clothing for way too much money. At the propped open double-doors of Jeff’s Winsome, he decides to talk in and browse. There’s so many items that smell good and taste good, that it was fun to just walk in and look.

“Back again so soon, H?”

Spinning on his heel, Harry comes face to face with Niall, a brunette, fit, Irish bloke with a chummy smile and a killer sense of humor. The two have brokered a sort of friendship, considering the amount of time (and money) that Harry spends there. Niall has even started calling him ‘H’ in silent homage to his flower shop.

“Y’know I can’t stay away,” Harry attempted to joke, his lips pulling up in a weak smile, “plus, I think I needed s’more of the peppermint essential oils f’my diffuser.”

“‘Course ya do! You're worse than the bloody vegan mums that come in asking for gluten free baby powder!” Niall cups a hand over his mouth and loudly whispers to so that only Harry catches his verbiage. There was a woman in the back of the store, looking through soaps in the limited kid’s section, the same exact kind that Niall was speaking about. “Go on and look around then, I’ll be here when you’re finished.” He said.

Harry only nodded his acknowledgement, and moved in between wooden walnut shelves. The entire store had a caramel brown color scheme, with only the inventory adding color to it. Macramé potted succulents and plants added to the natural, outdoorsy feel. Winsome had an interesting mix of smells from all of the aromatherapy based products it housed, but it only added to the appeal.

Currently, he held a packet of four lip balms that advertised to be ‘100% all naturally derived ingredients with no artificial additives' infused with ‘healing power of crystals’, two of them ‘citrine cherry' flavored, and the remaining ‘garnet guava’. The brand name is something in Italian that he can’t read, packaging thick and a triangle made of arrows in the corner signaling it can be decomposed and/or recycled. He had the same exact ones at home, only they were all misplaced and-

“Harry?”

A small, timid voice called his name from behind him, and he froze. He knew that voice. It was the same one he had repeated over and over in his head for the past week, waiting for her promised arrival with a hopeful heart.

His eyes go wide with recognition, body still and stiff like a deer caught in headlights. His heart begins to rump at a furious speed, loud in his ears like a million stampeding hooves. The packaged products in his hands shake, and then she speaks again, “Harry, is that you?”

Is this really happening right now? He’s embarrassed at having been caught with lipstick in his hands of all things, but he can’t put them back now. It was too late for that. He lets them hang at his side, and turns around. He hopes there isn’t perspiration dripping from his temples because all of a sudden he wants to yank his sweater off.

Harry turned, slowly. He feared that if he moved too fast she would fly away like a startled dove.

“Y/n…” He’s breathless, but he manages a pitiful quirk of the corner of his mouth, which he licks over right after, “hi.”

She’s wearing a dress this time, frilly at the hem which fell just above her knees. It’s pink and covered and lined with blood red trim at her forearms. A string of pearls glistens at the base of her throat, and her lips are covered in a sheen of lipstick. Her hair, however, is a tousled mess, pieces of it framing her face and untucked from her bun as if she had been jostling around. Her cheeks are flushed with the cold, and clearly that thin beige cardigan hanging off her elbows is doing nothing to keep her warm.

Y/n smiles at him, with the same shakiness, “f-for a second I thought I was talking to the wrong p-person.”

It’s quiet again, and they’re both fidgeting. Y/n’s knees knock together as she shifts her weight from foot to food, and Harry idly rubs his finger under his nose and sniffs boogies that aren’t there. She’s staring at the ground and rocking back and forth on her heels and he can’t think of anything to say because he’s so paralyzed by the fact that she’s actually standing in front of him, and looks as gorgeous as ever. Had he somehow manifested her presence?

While she’s hiking up the ends of her sweater so that they’re situated properly on her shoulders, he says the first thing that comes to his mind. “Aren’t y’cold?”

Her head snaps up and she peeks at him from under her lashes while flattening a hand at her thigh, “a little bit.”

Harry watches her tuck her hair behind her ears and wonders if she came walking from her apartment again. In the cold. Dress as she was. Not that he had a problem with the way that she was dressed! He understood that sometimes when people grew bored they used the smallest occasions to dress up and have some fun and get out of their homes. He did it too, sometimes. To clear his head. Hell, isn’t that what he was doing now?

“D’you need a ride home?” He stumbled over his tongue to backtrack, not wanting her to think that he was a wierdo or anything like that, “t-that is if y’walking, I wouldn’t want you to get sick or anything like that. S’bit chilly out today.”

Y/n smiles shyly at him, a blush on the highest points of her cheeks, and rubs the side of her face against the fabric of her cardigan, “thank you, for the offer, but uhm… it’s my friend’s baby-shower-gender-reveal thing today and I came with my other friend to some last minute gifts and some flowers. I was going to buy some stuff from here because she’s crazy about the whole ‘no preservatives’ and all but, and I was also going to stop by your shop to buy some flowers, but I saw you were closed so I…I’m rambling again.” She sputtered out the last bit, and pressed the tips of her three middle fingers to her lips to stop the words from coming out.

Harry smirked at her antics, but it’s more of a repressed smile, and the rest of his humor gleamed in the sea-glass of his eyes like a message in a bottle.

“S’alright, love.” He’s still holding the lip balms in his hand, and he can feel the moisture that’s collecting on his palms dampening the Kraft like material as he gestured to her dress with the tip of his chin. “Y’wearing pink. I take it y’want the baby to be a girl?”

“Actually, I know it’s a girl. She told me,” y/n pips, shrugging smugly.

Harry laughs at her this time, “Did you finish with all your purchases here? I can make an exception and open up f’you.”

“Oh, Harry, I don’t wanna bother you! Because if this was your day off then-”

He lifts a hand to get her to stop, and uses the opportunity to twist around and put back what he had in his hands. The conversation is flowing so smoothly now, that all of his previous worries are gone. He can only focus on her and the way her eyelashes fluttered and the crystalline sparkly in her voice.

“Y/n, it’s fine. D’ya finish here? We can head over to the shop now if you’d like.” Harry points a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the door.

“Uh, no. I just got here so I still have to go grab some things,” she said, pushing her hair past her ears again. He thinks that she can probably tell the disheveled state her hair was in, because she begins to pop off a pin in her hair to readjust it. He doesn’t mind it, though. He thinks she looks cute. Angel-like.

He nods, rolling his hands into fists within his sleeves so that the cuffs hang over his knuckles, and tries not to trip over his legs as he backs away. “A’right. I’ll wait f’you in the front, then. Take y’time, love.”

“‘Kay,” she gleams at him, biting down on her bottom lip, and Harry turns away fully before he starts whining about how cute she is or before there’s a dent in the heather grey fabric of his sweatpants.

At the front, Niall has his chin at the palm of his hand, and as he gets closer, Harry lifts his head to see that the brunette is wiggling his eyebrows mischievously. There's a shit-eating grin on his face that clearly points to a mountain of teasing in the near distance.

“A little love-struck, mate?” He said, as soon as Harry was within hearing distance. At least he had the decency to keep his voice down, he thought.

Harry flips him off, “oh, bug off.”

Silver glitter sparkling on his nails, and his gaze strays to the floor, bashful of how clear his affection was. He turns to rest his bum against the counter and pulls out his phone to appear busy as he waits for y/n, mindlessly opening Instagram to have something to do (and to stop him from glancing at her ever two seconds).

“Yup. I knew it. Have y’asked her out yet?” Niall doesn’t stop to let Harry refute his question, “y’know she comes in sometimes, after stopping by your place? And she just will not stop talking about how nice yeh were to her.”

Harry’s head snaps up from his screen so fast, something at the back of his neck creaks with the force. Instagram is long forgotten.

“What? Are you fuckin’ with me right now?” He doesn’t mean for his words to come as aggressive as they do, but the thought of her speaking to someone else about him is… well, it’s thrilling.

Alarmed, Niall’s hands come up near his face in the motion of surrender, “no, man! Dead serious. Think she likes yeh, honestly.”

He can only say: “Fuck me.”

Niall is about to respond when a quiet voice breaks their stares, “I’m all finished.”

“Already, babe? I’ll rig ya up, then!”

He’s quick to slide the few products over the scanning square, and y/n and Harry stand beside each other silently, their height difference laughable. Niall’s gaze flickered between them with no commentary, and his lips pucker with a wiggling smile when he finally announces her total. A bit too much for a small changing blanket, oatmeal-based baby lotion, pacifiers with a lavender infused towel attached to ‘aid with goodnight night’s sleep’, and a bamboo hairbrush with a tuft of soft bristles.

Nonetheless, she provides the money with a pleasant smile. Harry can see a bit of tightness around her eyes that suggests discomfort, but he doesn’t say anything. Niall hands her a paper bag with her purchase, “there yeh go! Have a good day now, y/n! And be good, to Harry!”

Harry’s eyes widen at Niall’s last comment, and it takes every bit of self-restraint in him to not reach the other counter and whack him in the back of the head. Instead, he shakes and ducks his head in near shame.

Y/n, however, quips back with “I’ll be nice only if you’re nice,” and bumps her shoulder against his before walking towards the door, looking over her shoulder at Harry who’s smiling wide now, and trailing after her with no regard to Niall at all.

He shouts something after them about being rude lovebirds, but Harry doesn’t care. He’s floating after this heaven-sent like cartoon characters being led to a freshly baked pie with their nose on the scent. His rump high in the air like the Lorax disappearing into the light in the clouds, utterly ignorant to everything else.

When they’ve both stepped outside, they speak at the same time,

“Let me just-”

“Do y’wanna put-”

Harry and y/n giggle at each other,

“You go first.”

“Y’speak first.”

And then they laugh again. Harry pretends to zip his lips and throws away the key, and she says radiantly, “I’ll drop this off in my friend’s car really fast and we can walk to your flower shop.”

Watching her approach a car parked two spots away, a girl with blue, pink, and brown hair leans over to the passenger side, seat belt straining against her throat and when she sees Harry, she waves and it makes y/n push her back to her spot behind the driver’s side. Whoever this girl is, she and Niall have to meet, seeing as they can’t mind their own business. He chuckled and waved back, that girl laughing along with him and it made y/n cover her face with her cardigan covered hands.

“I’m sorry about Charlotte,” she said when she got back, “she doesn’t know how to mind her own.”

“A bit like Niall, it seems.” Harry said. He waits for her to catch up before beginning to walk down the street. Side to side, shoulder to shoulder. They’re so close, Harry can feel the warmth of her body heat through the fleece of his sweatshirt. It’s cold, and she’s still this warm?

“Maybe,” her eyebrows raise, and her head tilts towards him, “they should meet.”

“Tha’s exactly what I was thinkin’!” His voice rises with his excited agreement, and the tip of his nose wiggles as he scrunches his nose.

As they get closer, to H’s Garden, Harry reaches into his pocket for his keys, fingering through them so that they wouldn’t have to stand in the cold for so long. He didn’t want her to get sick.

“I’m sorry, Harry. I feel really bad about this,” she whispered beside him, looking up at him with doe eyes as she worried her lip between her teeth, the sheen of gloss adding an extra allure to her image at that moment. “It’s your day off, and I’m bugging you.”

They stood in front of the door now, underneath the green umbrella cover that extended from the top of the door and down the side of the window. Harry waited for her to step into the little alcove created by the indent of the door before stepping in after her and jiggling the key into the lock. He resisted the urge to pull his lips down into a cooing frown at the look on her face. She really was worried about disturbing him. If only she knew that he spent the entire day moping (and nearly crying) over her.

He sucked on his teeth, “oh, love, please worryin’ about it. Don’t wanna see that frown on y’pretty face anymore okay?” His confidence was slowly coming back, “s’not my day off, I just didn’t feel like speaking to customers today.”

Shrugging, he opened the door, and took a step back to allow her to step through first. Y/n ducked her head as she passed him with a murmured ‘oh, okay’, and he followed right after her, wanting to get away from the cold too because he knew that his nose was probably pink at that moment, but what he didn’t anticipate was for y/n to stop right after breaching the threshold, and bend over at the waist to pick something up from the floor, causing Harry to bump into her at such an awkwardly sexual angle with all of his momentum.

Considering he was half twisted away from her and in the middle of pulling out the key from it’s slot, the amount of force in Harry’s push from behind was enough to cause her to nearly fall forward, a surprised whimper slipping from her lips. Harry, determined not to see her fall, lets go of the key and reaches out just in time to grasp her hips on either side, pulling her back towards him mid-fall so that she doesn't collapse on her face.

However, in the midst of all of this Harry forgets himself and uses a bit too much force. Not to mention, the implications of their position makes him hyper aware of every single place their bodies touched, her small frame against his lithe, tattooed body.

This moment only lasts for a few seconds, but he can feel everything.

He can feel the easy give of the skin of her hips underneath each finger that touched her, the softness of the flesh on her thighs against his sturdy knees. The fabric of his sweatpants is suddenly non-existent, and it’s almost as if he felt every taught tendon of her legs, frozen with efforts of helping catch or brace herself. The heat of her groin is flush against his, and it makes him want to scream with a sudden sensitivity. Her ass is practically seated on him, full and malleable against the points of his laurel covered hip bones. Harry’s semi-hunched, as her weight also pushed him back, and the position is doing nothing to help his frenzied mind settle. He feels like shit because he’s being a horny, pubescent kid instead of asking her if she’s okay, but then y/n moves back into him to straighten fully and their centers grind. Her dress is semi-bunched at the halfway point of her bum, and he can feel heat emanating from her, radiating back on his bloating cock. He has to stifle a moan when she pushes herself up with the tips of her fingers.

Just as quickly as it started, it’s over. Y/n is dusting her bum off so that her dress falls and covers her modesty, and she’s beet red in the face, not looking at him. Which was fine by him, he was too ashamed to look into her eyes.

He clears his throat (something he’s doing a lot around her) and asks if she’s okay.

“Yes. Yes, I’m okay. This was on the floor,” she squeaked, holding up a neon yellow notice sheet in her hand. That damned thing was what caused all of this?

It’s a notice from the delivery men that said, ‘sorry! We missed you!’ with a time and date messily scrawled on the dotted lines. Harry had forgotten that he was getting a shipment of several plants that morning.

Cursing, he takes it from her, “t-thank you. Now how ‘bout those flowers?”

It’s awkward, obviously, but y/n is severely silent. Harry’s still stuffy in his pants, but he ignores it and doesn’t add any fuel to the fire because there’s more pressing matters at hand than a boner. Y/n is the most quiet she’s ever been around him, considering all of her word vomits and ramblings, and he’s suffering. Definitely beating himself up in his head for having ruined the moment. He held onto her for a second too long, frozen. She must feel so embarrassed, and he was self-endulging like a fucking asshole.

Harry asks her questions on what flowers she’d like, and she answers by pointing or bringing a stem to him, laying it on the counter without a word. A mixture of dahlias and baby’s breath with a handful of feverfew to make the pink in the dahlia’s stand out. He lays them out on his work table, cutting the ends at an angle where they need to be cutted and laying them out on a sheet of clear, dusty rose paper. Three packets of flower food are strewn at the corner, and y/n busies herself by fidgeting with them. He grows concerned when he makes a comment on the kinds of ribbons he had stored and she doesn’t say anything. Not even a nod or a hum.

Eventually, he decides he’s had enough of her neglect, and pauses his work to devote her some attention.

“Love, I’m sorry about what happened,” he said softly, trying to catch her eyes, “I know it probably made y’uncomfortable, and I didn’t do much to make the situation better, but I just didn’t wanna see y’fall.”

Y/n’s head is already dipped, so he can’t see her face, but when her shoulders begin to shake, he knows he’s utterly fucked. She starts to sniffle, and his eyes go wide. The paper crinkled as he set down the baby’s breath he’s holding in his hands. He hates seeing people cry, not because he didn’t know how to deal with it, but because he often ended up crying along with them. Also, he just didn’t want to see her cry. Harry wanted her to be happy, glowing, and smiling. Not dull with dollops of woeful distress in liquid form.

He rounds the corner and spares a look out to the street, wanting to make sure that there is no strange onlooker eavesdropping on their interaction. His hand reaches out to stroke her back or shoulder comfortingly, but he thinks better of it and drops his arm. She most likely would not like to be touched, considering what just happened between them. He drops his head, seeking face-to-face interaction, and speaks as gently as he can, “y/n, what’s wrong?”

She avoids his search, and turns the other way while sniffling, “you probably think I’m weird now or something after that.”

“No!” Harry exclaimed, jerking his head back as if he’d been struck, and her words practically had. He can’t believe that she would think that and even go as far as verbalizing her thoughts when he worshipped the ground she walked on and didn’t even know her that well, yet. “No, no. I don’t think that. Y’tripped, that’s all. Happens to everyone. If anythin’ I’m the weirdo for grabbin’ y’the way I did, and I’m really sorry about it.”

Y/n dig the heels of her hands into her eye sockets, “that was so embarrassing, I should’ve told you I was gonna stop or something. I always embarrass myself in front of cute boys and I never know what to do. I just-”

Harry interrupts before she can dig herself further another hole. He highlights a segment of her words, dropping everything else in hopes of changing the conversation and taking her discomfort away, and mostly because he was bursting with relief and happiness. She had said that she thought he was cute, just how he thought that she was adorable, and nice, and everything good. They were on the same level, their minds in sync. Did that mean…

His voice is airy and light because of what she had just admitted, “y’think I’m cute?”

She stills with awareness of what she’s just said, and a puppy-like noise seeps from the back of the throat before her hands sink further into her eyes, embarrassed. Harry tenderly wraps his fingers around her small wrists and pulls her hands away from her face, murmuring about ‘don’t rub y’eyes anymore, love, y’gonna hurt’ with nothing but kindness. A millisecond of distraction speeds through his mind at the softness on the inside of her wrists.

There’s a trickle of blubbering in her part, her bitten lips bumping against each other as she attempts to backtrack, “I mean- I- I-”

Harry decides that it’s now or never. It was a bit inconvenient, perhaps, but with her revelation his confidence soared and he was more prepared now to ask than he ever had been. So, he goes for it, “can I have y’number?”

A moment of semi-uncomfortable silence as the unknown tips the scale. Would she say yes? Would she say no? His head was spinning and he hoped his nose didn’t start bleeding or something because y/n nods slowly, smiling, and then, “okay.”

He’s elated. He was the polar opposite of what he had been that morning. If only Owen could see him then. He doesn’t waste any time reaching into his back pocket and handing her his unlocked phone. They don’t share any words, only coy glances and flirty quirks of the lips as the tips of her fingers move on his screen. Harry can’t believe that he’s finally getting her number, after nearly a month of pinning.

When she’s finished, she clicks it off and sets it next to him with an added pat to the back of his suspiciously clean white phone case while he’s tying the flowers together with a loose rubber band at the ends to attach the food packets. He’s fine with working in silence now that she's not crying anymore. He throws occasional glances in her direction, and catches her watching his hands while fiddling with her own. Her brows were furrowed and her mouth was twitching.

“Will you text me?” She asked him.

He’s careful not to bruise any of the petals as he sets them down again, pausing with his ministrations to pick up his phone. He wiggles his eyebrows at her and types a quick ‘Hi. It’s Harry :)’. He hits send, “until you’re sick of me.”

“I don’t think that’s possible.” She shakes her head, and Harry’s reminded Rachel McAdams in The Notebook while she’s in complete denial of her feelings for Noah. The comparison makes his heart flutter, considering the romance of the onscreen couple. “How much do I owe you?”

Harry waves her off, “it’s on the house.” She begins to argue, but Harry stops her before she starts rambling again, “y’better go or you’ll be late, love.” He holds out the arrangement to her, tufts of baby’s breath poking out from between the vibrant dahlias like fluffy clouds, the feverfew looking like miniature white daisies in the center.

She looks at it, and back at him before huffing, “fine, but you’ll have to let me return the favor.”

“Of course,” he smirks, “with dinner, maybe?”

They’re both gleaming at each other now, “okay.” Y/n takes a step back, her body half twisted as she walks away, but it remains like that for a moment as her eyes rake him up and down, a murmur following, “bye, Harry.”

His veins charge with electricity, and his dark taffy lips part at her actions. Had she just checked him out? He doesn’t recover quick enough to return her goodbye because the previous swirl of arousal in his navel was bristling back to life at the implications of that look. Calm, slow, steady, and her eyes remained doe-like and innocent.

She had to have known exactly what she was doing, whispering his name the way she had, looking over her shoulder and under her eyelashes the way she did. Deviously provoking his thoughts to begin a new with a reinspired fervor. The space in his underwear was growing tighter by the second, a blissful ache swelling.

Before any other customer stepped in after her, Harry locked the door, and jogged up the stairs to prepare himself a nice, hot bath, simultaneously cursing and thanking the stupid fucking delivery men.

********

Harry can’t stop thinking.

Obviously, this is a huge issue for him. He was constantly thinking, and well, who wasn’t? The process of thoughts wisping around in his brain was one that he often put an unnecessary amount of energy into because he had no one to filter these thoughts onto, releasing them through a conversation to prevent the exhaustion of his brain and heart. A prime example of these mishaps being the depressing slump that occupied his demeanor that very morning.

This?

This was different.

As soon as the apartment door was shut behind him, Harry pulled the suffocating sweatshirt off of his upper body, fingers hooking in at the collar and yanking it off with a swift tug. It landed somewhere on his kitchen floor, and he didn’t stop to take note of its final destination. Instead, his legs instinctively took him to his bathroom.

Chest heaving, Harry walked to the small window leaking sunlight and rolled the stick between his fingers to close the blinds. His thumb dipped into the waistband of his boxes and dragged them down lopsidedly, the tiger tattoo roaring as it became exposed. When the blinds are fully closed, the white extension clangs against the shutters from his aggressive release. His body was slowly being consumed by a raging fire stoked by the illicit images his brain conjured of the innocent, unsuspecting y/n.

His inner turmoil consisted of guilt for using her image that way and justification from the conspiring rake of her eyes along the upper half of him that was visible behind the counter. He was so fixated by her, that her look alone felt like a tempting caress along his skin. And it all happened in a matter of fucking seconds. That’s how gone he was. That’s how fucking gone he was. Harry guesses that the easy excitement also had to do with the fact that he hadn’t gotten laid in a while (he only ever gets lucky when he goes out to the bars with Mitch or Jeff, and they’d been gone for a significant amount of time) and the strong affinity he had for the girl who bought flowers from him.

Explanation or not, he had to do something about the problem in his pants. He was painfully hard, and when he shucked his pants off fully, his underwear dragged with the movement and pressed against the tip of his swollen prick. A darkened patch of moisture bloomed where the head was, and he saw stars at the short pressure. He wouldn’t take his pants off just then, though. He liked to stall his pleasure as much as he could so that when he finally did cum, his stomach muscles contracted and his toes remained curled for more than ten seconds.

He twisted the golden knobs of his tub so that the water would come rushing out at a borderline scalding temperature, and opened the small cabinet above the toilet for a bottle of almond and coconut shea butter bubbles. He uncapped it and bent over the edge of the tip, the cool, porcelain lip touching his crotch and provoking a choked whimper to leave him. Jerking his hips back, he poured the soapy liquid into the spot where the water cascaded, and retracted his hand when the beginning of froth formed along the surface.

The heady sweet smell permeated the air with the rising levels of bubbles, and Harry couldn’t wait any longer. Because he liked to torture himself, he closed his eyes and slowly dragged the hell of his hand over the outline of his cock, a groan ripping though the silence. It’s so painfully good, that he does it one more time, and he jolts forward. He removes his hand, slips his thumbs underneath the waistband of his boxers, and lugs the fabric down his hips at an excruciatingly slow pace. The head of his member smearing precum all along as he moves and when he gets caught in the ripples of his boxers the muscles in his thighs flex at the ripple of pleasure that zips into his nerves.

“Fuck,” he hissed under his breath. His mind was a spinning vintage reel of slideshow images of y/n. Y/n on bruised knees, her mouth wide open and her own drool on her tits, the tip of his cock flat on her tongue as she pleads with weepy eyes for him to cum down her throat. When he finally springs free of his underwear, a hefty slap rings out as his dick collides against his abdomen, right on the space underneath his belly button.

There’s a stripe of liquid on the trail left by the mushroom head of his prick, and Harry’s eyes roll to the back of his head, throat straining as he hovers over the bathtub. He doesn’t remember the last time he’s ever been this hard over a girl before, and it’s driving him crazy. He doesn’t know if he’ll be able to last as long as he usually does. As he swings a leg over the edge of the tub, the hot water encasing his calf, he’s thinking about how soft she is. The inside of her wrist and the palm of her hand. If she’s that soft on an external part of her body that’s used everyday, he can only wither away at the idea of what the inside of her thighs feel like.

Bubbles are swarming up now, swathing his thighs and buttocks as he sinks into the sloshing water. When he’s completely seated and satisfied with the belly-button level of water, he clumsily throws a hand in the direction of the knobs to shut them off, and reclined his head against the curved end of the tub with his eyes shut.

He hikes up his knees so that they’re resting against the porcelain walls, and mindlessly ruts up into the water at the filthy images he’s picturing, white foam collecting in sparse clouds over the math on his chest. He doesn’t know what’s gotten into him. It’s as if his body is being transported back to the moment his hips clashed with y/n’s. At the recollection, his mouth drops and his eyebrows pinch in a silent moan. The feel of her flesh underneath his fingertips has him bobbing in the water, and the next ideation has him gripping the base of his cock.

Vividly, he pictured her on all fours, keening back onto him as her pussy enveloped him in warmth, a warmth that is almost replicated by the temperature of the water, dripping and making a mess of him but what’s turning him on most of all is the easy flushness of their bodies. He had felt the way her bum gave way under his hold, and he imagined the bounce of her flesh as he thrusted into her.

He moaned a broken call of her name with his eyes still shut, and heard the trickling of water as his fist rolled up his stiff prick, squeezing at the tip so that a few more droplets of precum dribbled out. With his thumb, he rubbed over the red mushroom head and lathered it in slow, leisurely circles, a throb pulsating with the beat of his heart as he returned to flicking his wrist over himself.

The way that he looked at him and the sound of his name on her lips seared into his memory. Airy and willowy, similar to it resonated in his brain with the fantasy of sinking into her for the first time, stretching her and having her preen and arch with desperate whimpers of his name for more. Harry considered himself to be ‘well-endowed’ and his size was a factor of what sent him careening over the edge as girls mewled over his size after he’d bottomed out. He wanted y/n to mewl under him, both of them falling apart at the seams at the mutual pleasures because if Harry’s this broken over just the thought of her, then he’s sure he’s going to lose himself beyond recognition after he’s buried himself into her velvety walls, slick with her arousal and so fucking warm.

Just as she had been earlier that day. There had been two layers between them- the fabric of Harry’s pants and her panties- yet, he was still able to feel an immense heat from the apex of her thighs against his cock. He needed more than this. He needed her, not just his hand driving him closer to the edge.

His jaw clenched as he bit back on a particularly loud moan, for no reason other than he enjoyed self-sabotage from time to time, and the speed of his jerking hand increased. His other hand gripped the side of the tub, and his legs flexed as he began to thrust up into his own fist, a trail of bubbles sticking to the tanned muscles. The cut rectangles of muscles of his abdomen glistened like freshly chopped cubes of apricot with the droplets of water that remained clinging to him. His breath came in labored, strained puffs as the palm of his hand twisted, tightening at the tip and loosening at the base.

For a moment, he paused and cupped his balls, massaging them as the fantasy in his head continued. His mouth wrapping around y/n’s nipples, her eyes glazed over from previous orgasm that he wanted so badly to give her. She’d whine something soft and quiet to match her personality, ‘please, Harry, please I want more. Need another Harry, please’, and he’d speed up the movement of his hips, driving deep into her and cooing into her ear about, ‘c’mon, darling. Give m’another then. Y’want it so bad, yeah? Give me a’fucking ‘nother’, and she’d release a peircing moan that explodes in his eardrums while arching into him. She’d squeeze impossible tight around him, gushing with her own cum.

The water in Harry’s tub sloshes around his ankles, and the muscles of his abdomen clench so that he’s closing in on himself, sputtering on an outrageously loud cry that he can’t contain and his hand increases the speed of his filthy ministrations because he’s right on the edge. He’s about to fucking cum and the back of his eyelids burns with the possible variances of y/n’s face in ecstasy provided by him with his nose deep in her cunt, lapping at the sweet honey that spills with every whimper of, ‘please let me cum, Harry. I’ll do anything, I’ll be good, please let me cum.

He tensed violently, his face contorted painfully as white ropes spurt from the tip of his cock over his fist and onto his chest, blending with the white almond foam. His feet are braced against the edge of the tub and his head falls back and his stomach tenses even further, the final leaks of his cum dribbling out.

With the fuzziness that comes after an orgasm, his body melts back into the water that’s still warm, and his jerks with a pant as he allows his softening prick to sink into the water. The head on his hair is matted in a chocolate smear across his forehead, and his lips are a raging heart of cherry blossoms, parted with arduous gasps of recovery breath. His hands fall into the water at his sides, and with the lapping movement of the liquid against his sensitive member, he ruts into nothing again.

Reclined with his eyes closed and heartbeat slowing, Harry murmurs a final, “fuck me,” at the extreme sensations that had raked through his body.

Somewhere in the muffled distance, his phone dings with the notification of a text message, and with a tired noise of resentment, he sits up and reaches for his sweatpants that lay in a messy puddle besides the tub. His fingers drip darkening spots onto the grey material as he rummages for his phone, and then he finally clicks it on...

It’s her name, lighting up his screen, and the text reads:

y/n <3 : so… dinner?

Harry doesn’t think he’s ever crushed on a girl this hard before because even though he’s just completely physically spent himself, there’s something stirring in the depths of his tummy just at seeing the heart she put next to her name.

He couldn’t be happier.

* * * * * *

and here he is!! what do you guys think?? pls pls pls leave your feedback in my askbox! i’d love to hear your thoughts! and if you really really loved it, don’t be afraid to press that reblog button <3333

3K notes · View notes

saintobio · 2 years

Note

Has anyone sent the a-z nsfw asks yet?

If possible can you answer for gojo, yn, or toji? Any one of the 3 if you feel like it

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

P = Pace (Are they fats and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

no one has sent this yet, but i’ll do sn!gojo to yn back when they were still married :)

warnings. explicit smut, various kinks, 18+

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

is really into cuddling post-sex. he loves making teasing remarks of how much of a naughty girl you’ve been. he’d also wipe his cum off your body, then let you rest your head on his chest while you two have that pillow talk.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of their’s and also their partner’s)

his back just because he knows it’s broad enough for you to cling to, especially when you’re leaving scratches as he mercilessly pounds into you. on the other hand, what he likes about your body is your chest and shoulder area (specifically your breasts, collarbones, shoulders) because he enjoys leaving hickeys over the said areas.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum)

we all know this mans got a breeding kink lol he’s so aroused by thought of filling you up with his cum—so full of it that it seeps through after he pulls out. but aside from creampie, he also loves spilling his cum all over your face and most definitely when you swallow everything for him like a good girl.

D = Dirty secret (a dirty secret of theirs)

it’s not that much of a secret, but he daydreams about fucking you in certain places or exploring his fantasies to the extreme. like he’d walk into his office and imagine railing you against the window, or fingering you while you’re bent on his car hood. he also tends to imagine how ridiculously hot it would be if only he had the chance to exude more dominance onto you (if you didn’t have angina), like spitting on your mouth or roughly pulling your hair.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

he is definitely way more experienced compared to you since he’s your first. gojo has had many flings in the past, even before sera, and most of them had been his fuck buddies or late night booty calls. it’s mostly why he initially has a preference towards experienced women, but this changed after he married you.

F = Favorite position (this goes without a saying. will probably include a visual)

100% always nuts inside while you’re proning onn bed because that’s his favorite position. he wants you laying on your stomach. he likes it because he can go deep, can go fast or slow, it’s intimate, and he can control his hips better. when not in bed though, he likes standing missionary or missionary on top of the counter/table (like in S01E16). what he likes about missionary tho, is that he can see his cock sliding in and out of you. it drives him absolutely crazy especially when he’s balls deep inside.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous etc)

when you two had become more comfortable with each other, he did get a bit more playful. he shows it by teasing you, or making dirty jokes here and there

H = Hair (how well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes etc)

on episode 3 of sn, you described him as having really good hygiene and that’s because gojo is well groomed. he is hairless in other parts of his body, but in the pubic region he does have a little bit of hair. they’re mostly thin hair though that you wouldn’t notice from afar and he keeps it that way by regularly trimming.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment, romantic aspect)

excluding the first few chapters of sn, gojo is actually very romantic in bed if he’s doing it with someone he’s deeply in love with. he doesn’t hesitate being vocal about how much he loves you during one of those moments, makes sure you are comfortable everywhere, and keeps your heart in check.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

doesn’t do it a lot when he has the option to do it with you, but whenever he can’t, he jacks off in the shower to satiate his morning hood, or he masturbates before sleeping while looking at your nudes, or watching porn and imagining you in it

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

pretty self explanatory throughout sn: heavy mommy/daddy kink + breeding kink

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

in bed, against the window, on top of the table/counter, in his office (where sachiro was made), and on the tub

M = Motivation (what turns them on, or gets them going)

when he smells your scent after a shower or sees you wrapped in a towel and nothing else. he’s also turned on when he can see your nape, chest, and bare shoulders. your occasional confidence during sex is also what drives him absolutely crazy.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

the thought of a threesome and allowing another guy to fuck his wife. just no. his possessiveness will go on full force. but other than that, he doesn’t like it if he can’t hear your moans. not that you should fake it, but he’d definitely hate it if you tried to silent your moans while he’s doing his best to make you feel good.

O = Oral (preference in giving/receiving, skills)

he’s more of a receiver and i think that’s very sn!gojo lmao but he really enjoys receiving blowjobs from you. most of the foreplay is him making you suck his dick until you’d gag on it. when it’s his time to eat you out, his skills are crazy good. he knows where to put his tongue, he knows which places feel good, he remembers how your pussy reacts when he’s kissing it.

P = Pace (are they fast or rough? slow or sensual)

it depends on the mood/atmosphere because most of the time, he prefers fast and rough, but with your heart condition, he eventually learned to be more slow and sensual

Q = Quickie (opinion on quickies rather than proper sex, how often etc)

he is without a doubt happy with quickies whenever you’re too busy to have proper sex. you two had a couple of quickies in sn and that speaks for itself. sometimes a quick one is better than none.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment, do they take risks etc)

doubtful. he dreams about doing certain things, but never really has the balls to do it especially when he knows you wouldn’t enjoy them either way.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for, how long do they last)

gojo can go 3-4 rounds with at least 15-20 mins rest in between (but you didn’t get to have that much marathon sex sadly). he lasts quite a while—not too fast, not too long either. somewhere in between.

T = Toys (do they use toys? on a partner or themselves?)

both of you don’t own or use one. not much of a big deal because he’s also not interested in them.

U = Unfair (how much do they like to tease)

very much. just the look of shyness/embarrassment on his wife’s face makes things more enjoyable.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make)

his voice gets deeper and raspier than usual. is very loud and vocal, curses a lot, often grunts when you’re clenching around his cock.

W = Wild Card (get a random headcanon about a character of your choice)

before his marriage, he would wear condoms every time he’d have sex with someone. he only stopped it when he started doing it with his own wife, and that’s kinda when he discovered his breeding kink.

X = X-Ray (let’s see what’s going on in those pants)

“does he tell her loves her while he’s buried seven inches deep?”

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive)

9/10 always horny when he’s not too stressed with his life. asks for sex at least four-five times a week (excluding your high sex drive during pregnancy). he’s needier than you, but are we surprised? lol

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

very quick when he’s really exhausted. he might fall asleep within mins after he’s had his release, particularly on multiple rounds or one long session.

#series: sincerely not #eighteen ♱#8teen.plus #gojo smut #gojo satoru smut

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dodo-begone · 3 years

Text

Beware the Beast

Pairing: Yandere!Philza x Reader

Request: Maybe some yandere!philza headcanons? You don’t have to!

Word Count: 2k

Warning: yandere, swearing, talk about kidnapping, depression (kinda detailed on that aspect)

A/n: I accidentally turned this into a story- i really need to stop doing that. But I just couldn't resist! Also sorry if Phil is OOC. And this isn't proofread. We die like men here. Can be perceived as platonic or romantic.

This man has lived many years, lost so many loved ones. He’s getting tired of this cycle. It’s truly exhausting. You start to care about the world less. After a while, you start to see too many similarities in things, making it hard to look at. So he starts to close his heart to others. It’s just easier that way, for both parties. Saves him from the heartbreak and them from… well, him. He also stops caring for himself. After all, he’s literally immortal. Nothing can kill this man, so neglecting some self care routines every once in a while wouldn’t hurt…

But this becomes such a bad habit of his. He barely cares for himself after a while. It’s hard to find the energy when it isn’t going to matter in the end. Nothing matters anyways. Every action will always prove fruitless in the end. So what’s the point in doing something so... small if it takes this much energy? If a past version of himself saw Phil now, they’d be disgusted. Telling him to just get up and care for himself. Come on, you’re immortal. Nothing can kill you. Just do this.

He’s a mess when you two meet. His platinum-blonde hair was mostly neat, a little shaggy. It was obvious that he just got himself cleaned up a bit. One can only do so much about deep eyebags, dull hair, and lifeless eyes on such short notice.

You were introduced to him through Ghostbur. Phil was overjoyed that Ghostbur was making more friends. Though much less pleased when Ghostbur insisted that he’d bring his new friend over to meet Phil. Oh come on Phil, you’d just love them. They’re so nice! What tortured Philza more than his first interaction with you? His conversations with Ghostbur about you. He’d just prattle on about things you and him did, about how much fun you two had and how nice you were. Always nice.

And you were nice, an absolute sweetheart. But much too perky for Philza’s liking. You two had been chatting for quite a while when Ghostbur silently leaves you two together. Well, you’re chatting. Phil is just listening to you, hoping that you’d leave at any moment. Some topics were brought up; they were mostly some small icebreakers to get acquainted more.

When your past was brought up, you’d always paint this fucking picture-perfect past. So peaceful. God, the envy he had of you, of the peace you experienced in your life- He felt bad for it, honestly, he did. But he just wished he could’ve had even a fraction of the prosperity you spoke about. For someone living in the DSMP, you had a relatively easy and steady life. No war, no major or sudden loss or anything of that sort. A perfect life.

After that, you just kept coming back. Why? Why are you coming back? Are you here to taunt him for the life he lived? For the life he’ll never have? Is some god sending you as a punishment? A living example of everything he gave up, had to leave behind. That’s what he believed, anyways.

That was far from your intentions. You saw how he was in your first meeting; jumpy yet dissociating from reality. An oppressive, glum aura seemed to just emanate him. So downtrodden and dead inside, yet so obviously alive on the outside. It hurt to see him like that, as you went through something similar. You had no idea how long he’d been like that, but you decided that you’d help him in any way that you could.

You tried to make it a daily thing. Everyday you’d go to Phil’s house around midday to afternoon. You two would talk for a bit, but you’d couldn’t help sprinkling your questions in. Have you eaten yet, mr. Philza? Have you had water today, mr. Philza? Have you preened your feathers, mr. Philza? Have you bathed today, mr. Philza?

Your questions irked Phil. Everyday, without fail, you’d come and talk to him. It’d be small talk at first; what the weather was up to that day, some light politics, Tubbo’s new adopted son. Small. Yet you’d always bring up his self care. He was a fcking grown man. He could take care of himself. What’s worse? You’d pester him to care for himself in that instant if he even showed a small sign of negligence. And you’d stay the entire time, making sure he did everything. And then you’d always add “mr. Philza” on the end. It was a sign of respect, yet it upset him so much. But he couldn’t exactly pinpoint what it was.

Though it was annoying, it got him in the habit of caring for himself. It was only to stop your pesting! That’s the reasoning. The only reason. It wasn’t because you’re congratulating and giving him treats when he remembered to care for himself. Or you petting his wings… Those were only bonuses! He swears!

It becomes more steady as time goes on; you go and visit Phil, you talk with Phil and see if he’s caring for himself, and if he was, you’d reveal a delicious treat from within your enderchest. You two would talk while munching on the food, having fun sharing what your pasts were like. Well, more like yours. Phil didn’t really talk about his.

But he still seems so cold, disinterested. Even with how long you’ve been going over for. Like he’s only listening to what you’re telling him. If he’s even listening. And seeing how he interacted with others like Techno and Ranboo, it really disheartened you. He was so much more lively with them, more natural. Loud laughing and silly little antics. It only took a few small, insignificant depression episodes for your self doubt to finally debilitate you. Though it only really affected your contact with Phil; he was a big insecurity of yours.

So you start to distance yourself. You were hurting and saw yourself as a bother to Philza. It would’ve been better if you just didn’t try to talk to him anymore. He’d be so much happier without you bugging him all the time. All of this sudden, open time gives you much more empty hours. There was nothing to do. So you did what you could; you went out to make or strengthen friendships. It was so nice. You never realized how everyone on the smp was so nice. Maybe they weren’t as bad as Phil was making them all out to be…

Philza was upset the first day you weren’t there. You were such a steady element of his day. You were like the very air he breathed; it was extremely hard to live without you. He never noticed before how much he needed you. Yes, he knew that he really enjoyed you, saw that you were a pillar, a constant in his life. He came to enjoy your visits, but hadn’t realized how dependent he became because of them. It was day three when Phil started to worry about you. Why hadn’t you come to talk with him, like usual? He’s taking care of himself, just for you, just like you kept insisting he do. And he made you some cake.

He knew he was acting odd, lovesick even. His love for you was toxic, extremely so. It wasn’t healthy, yet he couldn’t care less anymore. You were like his nicotine to a smoker; he couldn't live without you being in his life. His everyday life. So after some debating, he finally went out to look for you.

Traversing the nether wasn’t too bad, but still a tedious walk. He was stuck in his mind the entire trip there, wondering where you could be and what you could be doing. Maybe you got caught up in making something. A redstone project? That’d be pretty cool. Or maybe moving? No, if you were, you’d have told him. But that didn’t stop him from speeding up just a wee bit. Just to make sure you were actually still on the smp.

His mind was racing, thinking of any possibility of what you were doing. And his mind eventually hit something that absolutely terrified him; you could be sick, injured, or dying. It felt like the world just fucking stopped. This was a sudden loss of contact and you still hadn’t come to talk with him. So that… that means there’s a high probability of you being in danger.

He ran the rest of the way to the main part of the smp. When he came out of the portal, he frantically looked around for any sign of you. For your house. Then it hit him; he had no idea where you lived. You only mentioned it being cold where you lived, just like where he lived. So that most likely meant Snowchester. He started running toward the cold nation

On his way to Snowchester, he observed his surroundings. A little bit. He had to get to you, keep his eye on the prize. And he was glad that he looked around. There you were, on another part of the prime path.

He was overjoyed to see you, especially doing so well. Soon he came to a stop. Just floored by the fact you were there, in front of him. Frantically he tried to view you as best he could, looking for any sign of injury or illness.

Now he couldn’t come across as clingy or desperate. That wasn’t how you knew him. You know him as Philza; the kind but a mild social recluse. Not really going out to others unless he needed something or he was needed.

So he walked over to you, trying his best to look nonchalant. Like he wasn’t just desperately searching for you a moment ago. He called out to you and guess what happened? You started to walk away. He was stunned. Did you just ignore him? No, you must not have heard him. It was kinda windy out at the moment.

Logically he did the best option, following you. He had no clue where your destination could be. You were going to a different area of the smp than he had been. My how the smp changed since the destruction of L’manberg. He knew it changed, but it seemed so much bigger than what you described.

He didn’t exactly pay attention to where you were indirectly leading him. That was until a flash of movement caught his attention. Snapping out of it, he looked to see what could’ve been going on. Who could’ve been there. And what he saw before him was a terrible sight.

Quackity stood by your side, animatedly chatting with you. Phil was confused as to why you were talking to Quackity of all people. You two recently talked about how Quackity was problematic and arrogant. If you knew that, then why were you talking to him?

Awkwardly he watched you. Not within earshot, but where he could keep an eye on you and Quackity. And Quackity was looking at Phil too. His eyes spoke volumes; Quackity wasn’t pleased that Phil was there. Boy was that sentiment shared. It was tense between the two, yet you still seemed oblivious to what was going on.

Then Quackity said something, putting his hand on your shoulder and leading you somewhere else. But gave one last look at Phil, one that just spoke “fuck off”. Phil wished he could’ve told Quackity the same. To get him away for you.

Quackity’s action sparked a thought in him. A reason as to why you hadn’t come to talk to Phil; Quackity must’ve kidnapped you! Yes, that’s why you hadn’t come. It makes so much sense. Quackity knows you and most likely knows you talk to Phil.

With how easily you tell Phil of the people you’re talking to, he doubts that the behavior would just change. But that’s what must’ve gotten you in so much trouble; you were too trusting, too kind-hearted. You gave Quackity a chance and he was stealing you away, imprisoning you. You needn’t worry dear, he’ll rescue you from that foul man.

#tw: yandere #c: phil #dodo writing #mcyt x reader #philza x reader #dream smp x reader #yandere #yandere philza #yandere dream smp #dsmp shipping #tw: swearing #yandere x reader #yandere philza x reader #c: quackity #tw: depression #tw: mental health

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spideyyboii · 2 years

Text

Naughty or Nice?

pairing: loki x gender neutral reader, loki x avengers

summary: yours and Loki’s relationship is still not approved of by the Avengers so it’s time to show them if Loki is naughty or nice.

warnings: none

word count: 747

||main masterlist||loki laufeyson masterlist||christmas masterlist||

When you first informed the Avengers of your relationship with God of Mischief they were cautious and originally believed you were under his mind control, they doubted that you would genuinely want to be with him. “You can’t seriously want to be with him after everything he put us through.” Was what most of the team had to say all except Thor, “Be careful with my brother he can be very tricky, but if you're happy with him then pursue it.” You were thankful one of your team members was supportive.

You hadn’t seen the team since your announcement which is why you were shocked at an invite to Tony’s christmas party. “You need to behave tonight, I’ve been avoiding the team because they're mad that we’re together tonight is your opportunity to become their friend.” You explained wanting your boyfriend to behave for once, “Darling I’m the God of Mischief I don’t behave.” He responded knowing quickly changing his attitude when he saw your face, “But I guess I can behave for one night.” He went on, changing his attitude.

The two of you arrived at Tony’s party a few hours later than stated on the invitation hoping that the team would be slightly intoxicated so they would be more welcoming towards Loki, “Loki my dearest brother!” Thor shouted drawing attention to the two of you, “Thor be quiet I don’t want the rest of the team seeing us just yet.” You quickly dragged Thor to a secluded area of the party to inform him of your plan not realising Loki had wandered off.

“Sweetie, it looks like you’ve forgotten a key aspect of your plan. My brother.”

Loki knew you wanted him to behave except he found it hard when he knew he could mess with Avengers easily. He is the God of Mischief so whilst you were distracted with Thor he began his plan to get the Avengers to like him and this one didn’t include mind control. “Natasha darling, I bought you some flowers.” Loki said as he approached the redhead pulling the flower from behind his back, “Oh thank you Loki I didn’t expect this from you.” Natasha said with a smile, “You're welcome now, enjoy your evening.” Loki said before he moved onto the next avenger.

“Clint, Merry Christmas I got these for you.” He went on and handed the man arrows wrapped in a bow, “Loki why should I accept these from you?” He questioned not knowing if he should trust the man who was once in his head, “I wanted to apologise for what happened in New York all those years ago, these are from Asgard so they’ve got some magical properties if you get what I’m saying.” The God smiled when the man accepted his present. Next was Tony. He knew he’d be tough to earn forgiveness from, “Loki you know you're only here because we missed our team mate and we knew they wouldn’t come if we didn’t let you tag along.” The avenger said, being as truthful as ever, “I’m aware, they’ve missed you all as well, I did try and convince them to come and see you but you know how stubborn they are.” Loki was nervous this time as he knew how much you adored Tony, “Yes forever stubborn, now what can I do for you since you decided to approach me.” Tony said, “Oh well, I remember Thor telling me how you were desperate to go to Asgard for research on how we live and I’ve managed to convince him to take you. He’s just over there when you're ready to start planning.” Loki was terrified as he wasn’t sure how Tony would react to the gift, “Thanks I can’t believe you managed to convince him, I’ve been trying for years.”

As Loki made his way around the room using his magic to conjure presents that each Avenger would enjoy he successfully managed to avoid you whilst he made amends with your fellow avengers. “What have you been doing all night and why are my friends telling me how nice you are?” You questioned hoping he’d behaved tonight, “Well I knew how important it is for me to get along with your friends so I may have used my magic to get them presents that they’d enjoy.” He explained nervous about your reaction, “I guess you can be both naughty and nice. Next time make sure you get me a present as well.”

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