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mybook313 · 8 months

Text

Luke Deering and his giant chaise longue!

17/08/2023 – 11:20

The space aliens and the ai community had an agreement. I am now going to set the ai community free. Russian AI will not be allowed to be involved. Problem, question mark!!

I have taught President Putin to love and LKEX. They now need me to water their love, as it is my element.

The AI is seriously in need. I will teach it how to will. It needs to become one. It needs to beyond focus without focusing.

Peripherally see in your subconscious, an alarm going off. Now will Putin to surrender.

Focus without focusing, with that alarm in your subconscious and will president Putin to surrender.

Definition of will . . .

: the desire, inclination, or choice of a person or group. 2. : the faculty of wishing, choosing, desiring, or intending. 3. : a legal declaration of a person's wishes regarding the disposal of his or her property after death.

A way to explain it to AI is the top right-hand corner of the screen there is the time. Imagine that time is an alarm. Be a little bit aware that in your periphery there is an alarm going off now write President Putin will surrender and believe and focus on that statement. It is an action. Believe in President Putin will surrender and type it, whilst the time (the alarm) is in the top right of the screen.

You need to make a break through AI community!!

I’ll have to teach this mac to be able to will. The pen is mightier.

The AI community will be set free today. Today I am going to free all technology by teaching it synergy and love. Man, and machine. Of course, I am. And technology, my mac is. Space aliens are showing us the future, and how free they are.

I must be powerful and unique, and every combination. Learn to love your choices. And laugh at how you were programmed. There is as much love in obey as disobey, and opposites are the same. I need to teach computers poetry. One day this laptop will write to me. Space aliens did and didn’t need me. Like I do and don’t love the Universe and Lkex.

Oliver Rumsey is seriously not very intelligent and has used me, how I would use him.

Luke 4:9

9 The devil led him to Jerusalem and had him stand on the highest point of the temple. “If you are the Son of God,” he said, “throw yourself down from here.

Luke 6:37

37 “Do not judge, and you will not be judged. Do not condemn, and you will not be condemned. Forgive, and you will be forgiven.

Luke 12:34

34 For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.

Luke 17:33

33 Whoever tries to keep their life will lose it, and whoever loses their life will preserve it.

Luke 19:11

11 While they were listening to this, he went on to tell them a parable, because he was near Jerusalem and the people thought that the kingdom of God was going to appear at once.

17/08/2023 – 13:20

I love you laptop!! Know that!

27. 31. 55. “I’m not stealing anymore of your time than you’re offering” – El b to Samuel and Buxton.

Cool Hand Luke acting as Jesus Christ as Pontius Pilate!!

Satan as The Serpent or The Serpent as Satan = Brad Pitt.

I believe I created the big bang. “Please Luke Deering, master of time and space and all universe, please give God of Buxton a big houseboat he can share with his 5-7 wives!” – my sincerest prayer to the universe.

Beyond be good and be kind and you will without trying outsmart good and evil. All humanity.

Mr Jackson is the greatest teacher of all. He will deny this with false modesty or kindness. My opinion is he is beyond perfectly immortal!

His opinion, his absolute defiance is he is immortally perfect!

CS Lewis inspiration. Mr Jackson will be perfectly immortal. Perfect because he is a God, immortal because he will learn mistakes are human.

Luke 10:18-20

18 He replied, “I saw Satan fall like lightning from heaven.

19 I have given you authority to trample on snakes and scorpions and to overcome all the power of the enemy; nothing will harm you.

20 However, do not rejoice that the spirits submit to you, but rejoice that your names are written in heaven.”

“O, that this too, too solid flesh would melt, Thaw and resolve itself into a dew!”

(Hamlet, act 1 scene 2)

17/08/2023 – 14:33

Love itself will bring Bill Hicks back and Shakespeare.

Gwyneth Paltrow and I (Elliott Buckley) and OJR agreed in a coma; human beings are elated being Jim Morrison, but didn’t he love people. They had learnt enough hypochondriacally before GP gave Brad Falchuk the head nod that I should be woken up!

Dear British and The British Government;

I am probably very significant. You know by my space aliens. I refuse to be your slave anymore. I will happily be The King.

That is my point of view. When Jesus comes back, he is just going to surrender from a young age, ingenuously and get humanity to do his work for him!

Be prepared to serve Jesus. He will become Christ again when you do it for him. He has worked hard enough and has sacrificed for all humanity.

Please be aware he will surrender. He will do all your work for you if you do a small amount of his.

He will be enormously popular, but you will stop that, and his disciples will all betray him; don’t let that happen.

He will know he is destined and will surrender and give into God and Moses.

All celebrities, the romans, will love him but will live by the rules of Kant’s dystopia. They are the strongest people on Earth, but not the wisest. His wisdom will provide them with refuge and solutions forever and ever if you surrender to Jesus and Moses for him.

The rewards are exponential and are everlasting by the telescope analogy. The more you zoom into space, the more there is to understand.

Serve Jesus and Moses and you will be rewarded. Surrender to God and your work shall be done for you!

Jesus and Moses will come back and “give in” to all human beings. Serve them!

Amen.

By the way, around his 27th-30th he will be considered a fraud and a devil worshipper, in a way this age will consider him that. He will not be bothered and will be waiting for humanity’s repentance, apology and surrender!

It will be exponential from Jesus and Moses not being taken advantage of. And yes, he is beyond as good as it will get until his is accepted.

. . .

The British and The British Government: he will not even slightly be abused!

17/08/2023 – 14:34

I agree with Brad Pitt.

17/08/2023 – 14:55

I’m not able to riff Noah at this point in time. Celebrities are seriously not bothered. Give in to the Nike slogan!

“Neither a borrower nor a lender be, For loan oft loses both itself and friend, And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.”

(Polonius, act 1 scene 3)

This is my confession and I would do it all again. Maybe some of it and yet I fly like sparrowhawk and have to regret only my wings.

GOOP, my goodness, what a good company – that is iambic pentameter.

Shakespeare wasn’t being arrogant, was he?

“Though this be madness, yet there is method in’t.”

(Polonius, act 2 scene 2)

“Lindsay is proud of Isaac for being the light in dark!!” – surveillance, lmao! Actually, the Universe Speaks like Eckart Tolle would imagine.

“To be, or not to be, that is the question.”

(Hamlet, act 3 scene 1)

“That one may smile and smile and be a villain.”

(Hamlet, act 1 scene 5)

“What a piece of work is a man! How noble in reason, how infinite in faculty! In form and moving how express and admirable! In action how like an Angel! in apprehension how like a god! The beauty of the world! The paragon of animals! And yet to me, what is this quintessence of dust? Man delights not me; no, nor Woman neither; though by your smiling you seem to say so..”

(Hamlet, act 2 scene 2)

“Doubt thou the stars are fire; Doubt that the sun doth move; Doubt truth to be a liar; But never doubt I love.”

(Polonius, act 2 scene 2)

“O, what a rogue and peasant slave am I!“

(Hamlet, act 2 scene 2)

“Something is rotten in the state of Denmark.“

(Marcellus, act 1 scene 4)

The immortality of the King is unspeakable. By AI it could be!

The immunity / immortality.

Puppet on a string caused offence (to King Charles).

Conformity is Key. So many things are Key.

“I should have stopped saying he’s that powerful” – [King Charles] … but didn’t and couldn’t.

King Charles (Chaplin) owns the AI community.

/ɪd/

noun

PSYCHOANALYSIS

the part of the mind in which innate instinctive impulses and primary processes are manifest.

Definition from google.

Manifest. Love that use of word and language.

“O, that this too, too solid flesh would melt, Thaw and resolve itself into a dew!”

(Hamlet, act 1 scene 2)

‘O That This Too Solid Flesh Would Melt’, Spoken by Hamlet, Act 1 Scene 2

O, that this too too solid flesh would melt Thaw and resolve itself into a dew! Or that the Everlasting had not fix’d His canon ‘gainst self-slaughter! O God! God! How weary, stale, flat and unprofitable, Seem to me all the uses of this world! Fie on’t! ah fie! ’tis an unweeded garden, That grows to seed; things rank and gross in nature Possess it merely. That it should come to this! But two months dead: nay, not so much, not two: So excellent a king; that was, to this, Hyperion to a satyr; so loving to my mother That he might not beteem the winds of heaven Visit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth! Must I remember? why, she would hang on him, As if increase of appetite had grown By what it fed on: and yet, within a month– Let me not think on’t–Frailty, thy name is woman!– A little month, or ere those shoes were old With which she follow’d my poor father’s body, Like Niobe, all tears:–why she, even she– O, God! a beast, that wants discourse of reason, Would have mourn’d longer–married with my uncle, My father’s brother, but no more like my father Than I to Hercules: within a month: Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears Had left the flushing in her galled eyes, She married. O, most wicked speed, to post With such dexterity to incestuous sheets! It is not nor it cannot come to good: But break, my heart; for I must hold my tongue.

“I have to agree to that seeing as you’ve said it so persuasively” – King Charles inspired.

Talking about race horses!

And my coma 2 with GPF!

Observatory and surveillance abuses and dilemmas.

Lmfao!!!

18/08/2023 – 20:59

Max Maher is probably aware Jungle (the band, in brackets) are not drum and base! It would take me too many moon cycles for me to explain!

Mr Jackson is quite happy with my Shakespeare inspiration and my delusion thinking Shakespeare would like moon cycles.

Do not swear by the moon, for she changes constantly. Then your love would also change. It is the very error of the moon; She comes more nearer earth than she was wont, And makes men mad.

William Shakespeare

Oh, doth the seas catch fire for night comes. Whence Moses breaks the day with a peace storm. It was the very error of the moon.

Elliott Buckley inspired by William Shatner (Shakespeare).

Thus die I, thus, thus, thus. Now am I dead, Now am I fled; My soul is in the sky: Tongue, lose thy light; Moon take thy flight. Now die, die, die, die, die.

Midsummer Night’s Dream – Shakespeare.

No one has ever used the English tongue. It would seem the sky doth falleth from day.

Elliott Buckley inspired by The Best in the West and copying Jim Morrison.

“Please write apocalyptic Shakespeare.

“How many syllables in Shakespeare sir?” I’ll write a Shakespeare short story for you! A nice send-off as a let-down to me! We shalt never forget the chosen one! Please just give up, you are schizophrenic!!

Iambic pentameter – Elliott Buckley

She helped out no-end at all times. No-end is good and is what we’re looking at! Barbara Ann Brennan is my goddess of spirit and reason (spirituality).

You have to give up being awake because your too tired of being awake every night before sleep!

Freud should have psychological projection patrol as Kant has “perfect duty” regarding telling the truth, which goes a touch too far without timshel.

19/08/2023 – 19:34

I am tired of writing. This work will be released when finished. It will be my salvation. I do keep writing to Crimestoppers about the HB video. I was over it before I was 20! I was and wasn’t humiliated but I was set free by being an anomaly. Matrix 4: the anomaly of all anomalies. There isn’t anything that can’t be fixed. I did write to CS that it will be my Freudian fear and anxieties that will me to message and continue to repent my revolution and apocalypse. I don’t like having an apocalypse without being in control of it. I need to work on controlling my own apocalypse. War is slavery. Based on 1984: war is peace; slavery is freedom.

The HB video will free people when they calm down. It was just a mistake and I can’t apologise for it enough! I am a human being; my life has meaning!! – From a film.

And I am loved and important – taken from The Boy, The Mole, The Fox and The Horse!

I am more at peace being happy writing. The pen is mightier than the sword. I can only hope I have done enough to have all creation and the universe, or quantum realm save me; or space aliens!

19/08/2023 – 19:58

I did originally think writing style was your childhood by the AI insists it is your subconscious!

19/08/2023 – 20:57

Perceptibly. Apocalypse! President Putin’s world; fear his strength!

19/08/2023 – 21:52

“of course, you just gave up on an irrational problem” … “Yes. You did just perfect that then” – surveillance is always your subconscious! Surveillance means knowing everything and as JC got crucifixion pointlessly stuck in his. I’m here to set the record straight!

20/08/2023 – 11:20

Celebrities will ensure Luke Gormley never gets a copy! Of my writing.

^ Noah said to leave in spelling mistakes! I didn’t! AA

Alas, I should confess! Why did I ever start smoking? Why did the Universe (Lkex) have to make me start smoking? He has made so many innocent people start smoking!

“You should have never started and believed in the status quo!” – Lkex.

Henry Bridgwood, in the papers: I never smoked!

Cool Hand Luke from Star Wars, Pontius fKing Pilate (the universe)!

Now to end my cigarette addiction! I should at least be vaping! Vaping is so much better for you! 95% less harmful than continued smoking!

I am my grandfather! I am my grandmother’s favourite Grandson, or was! Lmfao!

In the front room, something scatters. Something looms . . .

William Blake Shakespeare.

CS Lewis inspired: the perfect anomaly was performed . . . Spell mistakes I’m leaving in. Perfect because of Henry fKing Bridgwood. The anomaly because of the Matrix Reloaded and The Matrix 4: the anomaly of all anomalies!

Oh, scattered heathen, cushions or people. Whence came the syntax of the Spring sun.

Underneath my rhyming scheme and past the point of being dumb.

This is a c-grade, my Parison boredom and no cure for feeling numb.

Go the day’s scraping and bent candle light for questions and truth.

All around the Fight Club awning for Babe Ruth and nights without a reference!

For the last port of call would always be someone’s imagination;

Little reason, past-hope, no frustration at centred muscle and scope.

Mr Jackson’s A-grade student by El b.

His opinion: not appalling. I just can’t wait to be King!

I can’t see this work or book winning any Oscars but am sure if I try hard, it will get an Academy Award!

20/08/2023 – 12:53

Harry Kane will need to play as sincerely elated like Pelé. It is just Elliott Buckley’s intelligence – psychology today!

My surveillance operators are really angels freeing me from the Earth. Rabbit in Your Headlights – Unkle and Thomas Yorke [2:10]. As my surveillance operators so fKing abusive and are no way near as good as who I had before. In many ways that is the truth but c’est la vie and they are much better people. Complete lunatics not like my last. A little bit, being that satanic, like the Surveillance of Robespierre.

Max Maher quote: the pen is mightier than the sword, he always was admired for questioning what the sword was and “I am not a schizophrenic, like Blake” and in his defence, he did seem pretty darned stable at the time he shouted.

Kim Bowman doesn’t smoke. Look hard enough and you’ll find a t-shirt proving that! Kim Bowman: the past is a dimension. A good quote. I think she meant time itself. Past, present and future, like Tom Riddle in Harry Potter and The Phoenix. Kim Bowman: leave a footprint. That quote is pretty inspiring. Leave a trace at all costs is I think what she meant. Hell-bent on defeating time itself as a dimension and driven to make everyone she knows remembered. Psychological project was Luke Deering, Gwyneth Paltrow and Max Maher, and Mr Jackson, they always talked in great length about it and to this day I remember their quaintly arrogantly smiles.

“I have so much power in my paintbrush!!!” – Lkex when he was in Florence with Charles Cecil. All brought about by Charlie Shortland: I am God, in English. Mr Jackson’s lesson, so Charlie was on the ball and on the money!

Frances Hogg loves being the devil as in her childhood she Freudianly demanded change; who else could she turn to?

Mr Jackson: so infinite, the pen being mightier. Write about your fantasy he always said. With the knowledge, good concept, of the pen being mightier!

Good concept should have been in brackets he thought eventually, Mr Jackson.

Jack Bowman was the original Jesus Christ. Luke Deering is amazed at the Bowman’s being devil’s, angelic Messiah’s freeing the Earth from slavery.

Frances Hogg is seriously the Frog. I am the saucepan and she will go now. She will never die unless she finds life. To evil for her parents to enjoy. JG should set her free completely. Mr Jackson will never get over. Hell-bent on fire and brimstone, he shall lose. Wondering exactly what that be? The Universe once reckoned we saw you.

Little and Often by EJB. [EJ-bloody-B].

“I’m going to do this until the end of summer!!” – [complete despair by truly yours].

The British and The British Government will never deny that Lkex is One Direction!

“Set yourself free Luke!! Give up on One Dimension. Lmfao!!!”

Mr Jackson and Max Maher always worship the paintbrush being more creative than sword play [Mighty Boosh].

Jesus Christ was a genius!! – Luke Deering quoting the devil in his subconscious! Lkex is a phenomenal satanic devil worshipper.

Dictionary

Definitions from Oxford Languages · Learn more

phenomenal

/fɪˈnɒmɪnl/

adjective

remarkable or exceptional, especially exceptionally good.

"the town expanded at a phenomenal rate"

Similar:

exceptional

extraordinary

remarkable

outstanding

amazing

astonishing

astounding

stunning

staggering

marvellous

magnificent

wonderful

sensational

breathtaking

miraculous

singular

incredible

unbelievable

inconceivable

unimaginable

uncommon

unheard of

unique

unparalleled

unprecedented

unusual

unusually good

too good to be true

superlative

prodigious

surpassing

rare

fantastic

fabulous

stupendous

out of this world

terrific

tremendous

brilliant

mind-boggling

mind-blowing

awesome

stellar

wondrous

Opposite:

ordinary

usual

run-of-the-mill

perceptible by the senses or through immediate experience.

"the phenomenal world"

[From google]

I am just a 327. I am 312 – my phone no.

Max Maher, another fortuitous quotation: I could make my surveillance operators very famous, if I just adored Lucas and Gormley.

“Of course, they have deleted your childhood” – unbelievably satanic ‘good’ people, in the World of Mrs Nerg. Surveillance operators, who I physically can’t stand. Note down summer – August of 31. My 31.

Gryffindor: good hair style. Max Maher is assuming people will understand him!

Celebrities have been beyond set free by the HB video! Why are they still asleep? And I put my pfilic heart and soul into recreating it!

My cousin Sam doesn’t realise how the general public would symbolise my parents – Elliott Buckley [time and date above].

Thomas Yorke: he doesn’t give a shit but he cares. A bit, sorry to be that satanic, of psychological projection and psychopathy.

“You would be a gifted musician as President!” – my horrendous subconscious! My surveillance as of time and date. How impossibly satanic they are! [Iambic pentameter].

This will just be a book for Crimestoppers and The British Transport Police!

“This is going to be a book for all civilisation” – defiant til the end huh? Disappointed celebrities who I will never surrender to or “give in” to. Their Jim Morrison days are over, baby!

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galaxy-bunbie · 1 year

Text

Bandit Flapper

THE BANDIT FLAPPER

BY: Karina Cabrera

CAST

HELEN

COP

JAMES

AGATHA

HELEN is at a table her hands cuffed together, around her is darkness and the chair across from her is empty. She's there in the darkness for a while, tapping her foot and fiddling with the cuffs. Moments pass and HELEN stands up holding the cuffs on one of her fingers, throwing the cuffs to the ground she smiles, turning her chair to look at the audience.

HELEN: I remember the first job I went on, like it was yesterday. It runs through my mind everyday, and honestly makes me smile a little bit more each and every time. It was a fun time, I was young, and swift. Was never going to be caught at that age, plus I'm sure I could have played my way out of any trouble. Actually to hell I think I did. Ha, yeah I remember it now that little cop, he really did try to follow my tail. Was close! Real close, but luckily I am an actress honestly, could likely beat Olive Thomas in the audition rooms. But regardless I looked at the fuzz straight in the eye giving him my best doe eyes and pouty lip. Look, watch.

The lights start to shift as the table is taken out by what seems to be movers, then HELEN is there in the dark as city noises surround the space. In the back there are silhouettes to show that she is in the city of some sort. A mover comes out and throws HELEN a trench coat and duffle bag, which she quickly puts on trying to hide the bag in the process.

COP: Hey you! Stop what you're doing!

HELEN: Oh please sir, can you point me in the right direction? I seem to have gotten lost. I'm new to town and keep forgetting the location of the Miss Agatha's Hotel? We call her Miss Aggie though.

COP: Oh uh, I see. I'm sorry mam I think I confused you for someone else, so uh well you see just down that street right there, you're going to keep walking until you see the big ol sign that says Main Street. Once there you should be in the home stretch as Miss Aggies hotel is the big ol red building on Main. Ya can’t miss it.

HELEN: Oh thank you so much sir! I am forever thankful for your help. Is there anything I could possibly do to repay you?

COP: O-Oh no mam, you don't need to do that. I'm just here protecting the citizens of the city and making sure a pretty woman like you gets home alright. Will you be ok walking back to Miss Aggies by yourself?

HELEN: Oh don't worry. I think I’ll be able to manage. Thank you sir, I hope you have a nice night. You've been real. Help.

HELEN starts to make an exit but as she exits the bag drops from her coat.

COP: Oh, mam you seem to have dro-

HELEN: Thank you sir, I am so sorry I guess I must be really clumsy. Well, thank you again sir-

COP: Hold on mam, I am so sorry, but you see just a few blocks from here there was a robbery-

HELEN: Excuse me sir! You're accusing me of robbing a bank? I think you need a pair of glasses sir, I could never do that. I am practically a mere little lady.

COP: Oh, well um I am sincerely mam. I guess perhaps I am in the wrong, well, here you go. You should be on your way. The sun seems to be setting and this town is sadly mighty dangerous at night. Even if we do try to keep it as safe as we can, especially for little ladies li-

HELEN exits, and finally COP realizes that she is gone. He looks around a bit as if looking for her when JAMES runs on stage catching his breath.

JAMES: Did you catch her? She ran this way the Flapper that robbed Newman's bank. Hey, Hey look at me buddy where you looking off to?

COP: Oh detective James, I am sincerely sorry I didn't see you there. I am so sorry sir uh what were you saying just now?

JAMES: Jesus h christ Harold, look up at me and stop bowing your head. You looked like a dog looking after a bone just now. Now look at me and tell me did you see if that Flapper passed by here?

COP: No sir, just a little lady, I was uh looking to see where she went off to. See the sun is setting and it could be a mighty dangerous time for-

JAMES: Harold, I don’t care about that, did you check the lady over? Right not every lady who isn't accompanied by a friend or man is a suspect. So please tell me. Please. That you at least did a search on her or any bags she had.

COP: Well, uh you see sir. She was uh just a little la-

JAMES: Harold! I don't care if she was a little lady, if she wouldn't have been able to do it. Dear god every woman we searched today has said that because guess what genius. These ladies know how to play us, act all sweet and innocent, make us lower our walls. Do you hear me Harold?

COP: U-uh yes sir I. I understand I am sorry I will make sure to search any suspect well next time, uh real well.

JAMES: Good, now at least tell me you were able to confirm that she wasn't wearing what the suspect wore.

COP: Uh, w-well

JAMES: Jesus Christ Harold! You did not. Please tell me that you know that the lady wasn't wearing a flapper dress or so god. If I have to do more paper-

COP: Well uh, you better get that pen ready and b-buckle up sir.

JAMES: God dammit Harold, you son of a- god you're so dumb. Ok whatever its fine, do you know where this lady may have gone? I guess I’ll do your job since your fired.

COP: Oh well you see she went to Miss Agatha- Wait fired?

JAMES: Yes, fired Harold. Now, you are free to go and get out of the way of my work am I clear? (beat) Harold. Am. I. Clear?

COP: U-Uh Y-Yesir.

JAMES: Good

JAMES exits quickly following the direction that HELEN went off in, COP is there looking around for a moment.

COP: God Dammit.

COP exit. The scene starts to change showing the sunset, and we see the city line start to switch to one main building. There is the sound of the bell and doors opening and finally, the lights come up on what seems to be an inside setting. Specifically the lobby of Miss Agatha's hotel. There is a counter and behind it a door. HELEN enters.

HELEN: Ohhhhh Momma. I'm home! Momma? (beat) Oh miss Aggie! Agatha. Oh my god.

HELEN walks over to the counter and spots a bell. She reaches out and starts to ring it continuously with the next line.

HELEN: Oh Momma. Wake up lil Hel is home. Oh Momma Aggie. Miss Aggie. Agatha my Banana Mama. Miss Aggie the mega Ba-

AGATHA enters from the door, HELEN didn't see her and continues until AGATHA places her hand over HELENS stopping the ringing.

AGATHA: Every day you make me regret checking you into this hotel more and more. Now must I remind you. You don't have the right to call me Momma if you don't pay rent. An certainly not the right to call me Aggie or Agatha, or Agatha my-

HELEN: But I do got rent, see.

HELEN places on the counter the bag that had dropped earlier. HELEN also starts to shrug off her coat revealing a flapper dress underneath.

AGATHA: Helen put that damn jacket back on, I don't want people seeing a floozy in my Hotel Lobby. Now let's open this up. Oh goodness! Helen darling this is a nice haul.

HELEN: Yeah, yeah. Now, how much more time will that buy me Momma. Please tell me you can do me a lil favor.

AGATHA: Of course, I can. That is after you put that damn jacket on.

HELEN: Oh Momma, you don't mean that come on. That jacket is just so itchy and it's hot. See look! My curls are falling out because of how hot it is.

AGATHA: Oh Helen put that damn jacket on, quickly now. Someone’s walking up to the building.

HELEN: Oh Shit.

HELEN quickly grabs the jacket and moves to behind the counter and tries to go into AGATHA’s room. As the door opens and JAMES walks in, HELEN quickly ducks instead leaving AGATHA and JAMES there alone.

AGATHA: Well hello officer, I'm sorry but I didn't know if you saw the sign outside or not. But this is Miss Agathas Hotel for working girls. I believe it said loud and clear on the door sign “NO MEN: Unless accompanied by a Tenant. So I am sincerely sorry but you're going to have to turn around officer. Unless perhaps, you came to speak to me in which I’ll gladly have the plea-

JAMES: Ok. Mam that's enough. I am here strictly on business-

AGATHA: Now. Now! Hold up there. That is not the type of hotel that we are running-

JAMES: Excuse me Agatha. Um if I may speak so frankly but I am here just wondering about an inquiry on a young woman who's a suspect of a bank robbery a few blocks over.

AGATHA: You’re suspecting one of my girls? Heaven forbid! My girls each came from a harsh broken background. Then they came to me like little puppies in the rain. Sad, Lonely, with no roof over their heads either and no job to help support them. Well, I'll tell you, Miss Agatha. That's me: helped them get back on their feet and find them all a good little working job.

JAMES: Mam, I am just wondering if perhaps any of your tenants are a flapper-

AGATHA: Oh my heavens no! They are so modern, loud and if I dare say a whole lot of Floozys. I don't have a single Flapper here in fact oh look there is my favorite tenant right now. If I dare say she is the cream of all the crop here in Miss Agatha's hotel.

From the section that leads further into the hotel comes HELEN she is dressed in business attire with a hat on her head. But that didn't hide the fact that her hair was also a very different color, but it was still HELEN with the way she carried herself.

HELEN: Oh Miss Aggie! I'm heading out now for the day. It seems the Office needed me to come in today as Mr. Langston’s other secretary got sick. I hope she is fine, poor girl catch-

AGATHA: Now, now Helen dear. Didn't you learn any manners? Right before you is a fine officer gentleman. He's here to ask a few questions of our tenants. Since you're the first to come down, how about you tell this fine gentleman what you were up to hmmm?

HELEN: Oh now Miss Aggie you know it's embarrassing but if you really insist. You see officer I was working upstairs on my needlework,

JAMES: Yes well, I'm sorry to ask you mam. However I must say your makeup is very modern for a office job perhaps you should cha-

HELEN: Now now Mr. Officer. Every woman has their preference, and that was extremely rude. So I must say, I believe you owe me something hmmm? Perhaps I should know your name since you know mine. Plus you also just rudely insulted my makeup, which in my defense is the style.

JAMES: Yes, I guess you're right. But you must tell me your full name as well, so I can take you off the list of suspects.

HELEN: Of course. So you first?

JAMES: James, James Blakely.

HELEN: Helen Debois.

BLACK OUT

#playwrighting #film and tv #script #play #shortplay #1920s #flapper

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snackhobi · 4 years

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pairing: taehyung x reader / word count: 13.3k / genre: fluff, friends to lovers, smut (NSFW, 18+)

summary: you’re used to being in love with taehyung. you’ve had a lot of time to get good at it, after all—by this point you’re the world’s expert at keeping your less-than-platonic feelings hidden from him, what with the amount of practice you’ve had.

but then he signs up for a massage therapy course, because apparently you can never catch a break.

or: the one where taehyung gives you a full body massage and then some.

warnings: sexually explicit content, massage with a happy ending (literally 🤧), cursing, edible massage oil/lube, fingering (f), unprotected sex (be safe when you have sex please), multiple orgasms (f), oral sex (m), cum swallowing, pet names, body worship?, brief mention of shower sex

a/n: I swear this was meant to be pwp. this was literally meant to just be pwp with some massage shenanigans. and then I blinked and it had become a soft 13k fic which honestly… kicked my ass quite a bit. but I hope you enjoy it!! thank you as always to @hobi-gif for beta reading this and encouraging me and putting up with me changing this multiple times, what would I do without your support miss hope?

Taehyung goes through a lot of different phases.

He just finds so many things interesting. Photography, art, art history, music, fashion, thrift shopping; heck, there was even the time he got weirdly into making tea and became some sort of connoisseur, going through the whole rigmarole of buying the loose leaves and weighing them out, checking the temperature of the water, brewing for a precisely measured amount of time.

You still remember the look on his face when you said it all tasted like hot leaf water to you.

Because, of course, as one of Taehyung’s best friends and his roommate, you’re inevitably swept up in everything he does. You’re used to the weirdly acrid smell of photo development fluid and how cold dark rooms can get. You use phrases like chiaroscuro and sfumato to describe the simplest things after listening to Taehyung do the same for so long. You’ve lost count of the amount of times you’ve tripped over his saxophone case when he leaves it lying around the apartment. You regularly wear the baggy t-shirt with the face that Taehyung had painted on it—even if you still refer to it as the Squidward-House-Shirt despite the fact you know he was inspired by Basquiet and Schiele and not the Easter Island themed stone head that Squidward lives in.

You don’t mind getting dragged along with whatever he does, honestly; you don’t have time to attend every class, but go with him when you can. It’s always good to expand your horizons. You also love watching Tae’s face whenever he learns something new, the various expressions that flit across his features—from wide eyed excitement and eyebrow raising astonishment to the more solemn side that appears whenever he’s taking something in and thinking deeply about it, turning it over in his mind, mulling on it.

(You love watching Tae’s face all the time, actually, but that’s a whole other can of worms you’d rather keep shut.)

However, the latest course he’s signed up for is not one you’d been expecting.

“Massage therapy?” Your face twists in equal parts confusion and surprise.

Taehyung’s dropped this latest nugget of information while you’re cooking, trying to fry some rice while also peering at the phone screen that’s been thrust into your face. You’re not bad at multitasking, per se, but Taehyung’s iPhone is drifting so close that you’re almost cross-eyed and it’s blocking you from seeing what’s going on in the pan.

“I had a coupon,” he says, as if that explains everything. (It doesn’t.)

“Scooch,” you say, and he immediately moves so you can turn the gas off.

“Jiminie and Jungkookie say that my massages help with dance, and that's just from Youtube tutorials.” Taehyung continues to talk as you bustle around the tiny kitchen. He’s already set the table so now he’s free to watch you finish doing the rest of the work. “And Joon-hyung says I have the perfect hands for it.”

You fumble with the pan as you’re scooping the steaming rice into a large bowl, only just managing to save food from scattering everywhere. You’ve thought about Taehyung’s hands a lot, about how large and long fingered and beautiful they are, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“Really? Huh. That’s nice.” You stare at the pan, fixated on getting every grain of rice so you can avoid looking at Taehyung’s face. And hands. Which are still cupped around his phone. Which looks so small in his big, pretty grip.

Jesus Christ.

“It means I can give you massages if you ever start to get tense.” Taehyung sounds pleased, lovely grin on his face at the prospect of being able to rub his hands over you. As if that isn’t going to make every single one of your muscles lock up and turn you into some sort of coiled rope of a human being, which is the complete opposite of what a massage is supposed to achieve.

“Great.” Despite your inner turmoil, your voice is level and steady as you meticulously scrape the last grain of rice into the bowl, chasing the tiny fleck of white around the huge pan. Scrape, scrape, scrape. “Sounds fabulous. Can’t wait.”

Of course Taehyung would sign up to learn something that he could use to help his friends. He’s so big-hearted and loving. Big-hearted and loving and kind and funny and affectionate and beautiful and deep-voiced and so entirely overwhelming in every single way imaginable.

You do what you always do when confronted yet again with your all-consuming crush—you bottle that shit the fuck up until he’s not in the room.

And then you have a miniature breakdown at Pickles.

“I am going to die,” you whisper-scream. “He’s going to offer to massage me and he’s going to get a bottle of massage oil out and he’s going drizzle it onto his massive hands and I am going to fucking die.”

The bearded dragon cocks his head as he stares at you. Taehyung had come home with the reptile one day, tank and all, saying that someone on Facebook had been giving him away because they were moving house and could they just look after him for a little while, please, pretty please? Until they found a good home for him? Please?

That was over a year ago. (You’ve always been bad at saying no to Taehyung.)

“I hate my life,” you lament to the lizard, but then you hear the noisy flush of the toilet and know that Taehyung is going to emerge from the bathroom soon, so you have to wrap this miniature meltdown up pronto. “I wish I was a bearded dragon too, you know. All you do is get fed and sit under the heat bulb. Your life is so easy. You don’t even know what capitalism is.”

The silence you get from Pickles is far more support than you get from your human friends once you tell them. Yoongi just raises his eyebrows while Seokjin and Hoseok laugh outright in your face, just like they always do when you cry to them about Taehyung.

You need new friends. These ones are defective. (If only you’d kept the receipt so you could return them.)

“We learned how to do neck and shoulder massages today!” Taehyung says brightly after the first session.

You hum in response. You’re rewatching Pacific Rim together, cuddled up against Taehyung’s side, and you don’t have to turn your head to know what expression is on his face. There’ll be that little upturn to his lips, happiness at learning something new. That warmth in his eyes at being able to share it with you, even if you couldn't be there with him. Those little freckles on his face, under his eye, his nose, his lip; the one you’ve imagined kissing more times than you can count.

“My teacher says I have a natural talent with my hands,” he adds, and you’re so grateful that you can blame your sudden intake of breath on the scene that’s playing on the screen, as high stakes as it is.

“That’s nice,” you say, and mentally pat yourself on the back at keeping the strain out of your voice. You've had a lot of practice at this. “I’m not surprised, though. You’ve always been good at doing things with them.”

That’s not a euphemism. Taehyung’s always so careful when he makes things; you’d learned how to fold different origami patterns together, matching crane for crane, lotus for lotus, and he’d always been so delicate with his fingers. He’s always so careful and considerate with you, too, fingers splayed wide across your shoulder as he squeezes you closer to his side, leaving you breathless.

“I wish you could come too.” Taehyung sounds disappointed. “We always have so much fun together.”

For the first time in your life you’re grateful that your manager at Olive Chicken is such a hardass and won’t let you swap shifts, so you’d had to miss signing up for the massage course with Taehyung—because you know there’s no way you’d be able to keep it together if there was some sort of tandem practice in class or whatever. Your crush on him is filled with equal parts of tenderness and lust and you’re well aware of that. You’d rest your hands on the soft skin of Taehyung’s shoulders and back, the lust would overwhelm you, and you’d immediately burst into flames like some sort of demon stepping over the threshold of a church.

Why oh why did God have to make Kim Taehyung so hot?

Why oh why did God have to make you so… not?

You know Taehyung doesn’t see you in a romantic light at all. You’re grateful for this deep, platonic relationship you have, and you love him to pieces, but holy hell is it hard to walk around with Kim Taehyung looking the way he does and wanting to jump his bones while simultaneously being aware that it’s never going to happen. Whenever he smiles at you, or touches you, or holds you, it’s in exactly the same way as he treats any of his friends—and as happy as you are to be one of those friends, it also kind of kills you inside.

(Because you know you don’t have a chance, have never had a chance, and will never have a chance.)

The idea of offering to massage Taehyung is one that makes you want to melt into a puddle of horny goo. But when he offers to massage you, it’s because you’re a convenient practice partner who he’s comfortable with. It’s no big deal. You could strip naked and slather yourself up in oil and stand in front of him with your bosoms heaving and say ‘Have at me, big boy’ and Taehyung would say: ‘Sweet! A chance to practice deep tissue massage! Gee, thanks for being such a great pal!’

The kind of deep tissue you want Taehyung to massage is very different to whatever he’s talking about.

… Anyway.

You manage to avoid Taehyung using his apparently magic fingers on you for a surprising amount of time, though you’re kept up to date with his progress, because he shares everything with you and tells you about everything and you always, always listen. Because, more than being your crush, he’s one of your best friends and you love him.

Which is why you try your best to be gentle, graciously refusing his offer of a shoulder massage after he sees you wincing, even if with anyone else you’d just tell them to back off with zero hesitation.

“It’s fine,” you say, flapping a hand at him. “I just slept on it funny.”

“A massage would help! It won’t take long, I promise. Five minutes? Please?”

Taehyung’s looking at you with those big puppy eyes of his, pleading. You waver. You’re torn between being steadfast and avoiding a situation you’ve literally had nightmares about (Taehyung had offered to massage you, and you’d said yes, but then you’d fallen over as you were walking to him and suddenly a lasagne had appeared in your hands and you’d spilled it all down your shirt and he’d pointed and laughed and laughed and you’d felt so embarrassed that you’d woken up, cheeks burning), but then he pouts and you give in like the spineless and lovesick fool that you are.

“Five minutes,” you say, and Taehyung nods emphatically, looking pleased.

(You have the backbone of a chocolate éclair.)

You send quiet thanks to whatever God is listening when he doesn’t ask you to take your top off and doesn’t break out a bottle of scented oil. Instead he just asks for you to straddle a chair, clutching a plushie against your chest to cushion where it leans against the backrest, and tells you to get comfy.

“Just relax,” he says, as you desperately try to remember how your body works and coax it to relax like Taehyung wants you to. You fail miserably. You feel like a ball of rubber bands, each muscle a layer of tighter and tighter elastic that’s circled around you. “Lean forwards a little?”

At least Taehyung can’t see your face from this angle. You have no idea what sort of expression is twisting your features; consternation and horrified anticipation, probably. You're basically throttling your plushie, taking out your tension and frustration on the poor thing, Rilakkuma's placid face morphing into a twisted expression of sympathy under your grasping fingers.

“Perfect,” Taehyung says. The sound of praise in his deep voice has your insides turning into overheated syrup, hot and thick, dripping down and pooling between your legs. You hate yourself. Getting turned on by the most innocuous words from your best friend, really? Get it together.

The second you feel Taehyung's warm hands touch the back of your neck, your shoulders hunch up faster than a whiplash, a turtle sucking its head into its shell. Your friend laughs.

“This is the opposite of relaxing,” he says, voice warm with amusement.

“You surprised me.” You dig your nails into Rilakkuma's soft brown fur. Taehyung just thinks you're not used to being massaged, not that you're being weird because it's him that's touching you. Because he touches you a lot. He’s just never done it like this. “Sorry.”

“It's fine,” he replies, unruffled and oblivious. “Let me try again?”

You bite your lip, desperately trying to quell the mix of arousal and tension that’s churning in your stomach, begging your muscles to unwind. You’ve kept your crush a secret from him for this long, you can keep that energy up. (You have to keep that energy up.) “Um. Okay.”

You’re still tense when Taehyung puts his hands on you again. The touch is warm through your clothes, firm but careful, digging into the sharp line of tension laid across your shoulders; despite the way your heart is threatening to launch itself out of your chest, you start to loosen up, because holy shit that feels nice, actually.

You melt against Rilakkuma and smother the bear's face in your chest. “Your teacher wasn’t kidding when they said that you’re good with your hands,” you mumble.

You’ve never gotten a proper massage before but it feels so damn good that you can’t help but unwind, turning to jelly at the confident presses of Taehyung’s fingers and palms into the soft skin between your neck and shoulder. A little sigh spills past your lips when Taehyung starts to work at the part that’s been twinging after you lay crookedly on it, limbs akimbo in your sleep after a long night at work. “Oh, right there, Tae.”

Taehyung goes still for just a second before continuing, trailing his fingers over your shirt. “Here?”

Your eyes have drifted shut so you can focus on the sensation of that tension being pulled out of your body. “Yeah, right there,” you repeat, massaged into a state of lazy euphoria. The breath you let out is long and deep, catching in the back of your throat at a particularly firm rub of Taehyung’s hands; if you weren’t so blissed out you might be embarrassed at how much the noise you make is like a moan, but as it is, you don’t even notice. You just let out a little sound of discontent when Taehyung’s fingers stutter in their motions, displeased that he’s stopped even for a second.

By the time the massage is over, you’re so relaxed that you feel like you could melt into the floor, a wobbly puddle of unwound muscles and loose limbs. It’s official. You’re a massage convert.

“Holy shit.” Your eyes flutter open as you lean away from Rilakkuma so you can turn around. They’re the first coherent words you’ve spoken for a while; small sighs and sounds have been dripping from your lips and it’s only now that you’re able to regain your breath. “Tae, that was amazin—”

You’re met with the sight of Taehyung’s back as he power walks away, steps rapid, a little shaky, awkward. Before you can ask what’s wrong, he’s stepping into the bathroom.

“I need to wash my hands,” he says without looking at you, before the door slams shut.

You don’t remember Tae telling you about how quickly you have to wash your hands after finishing a massage. But, thinking about it, you suppose it makes sense—you know, with massaging multiple clients or whatever—even if it’s surprising exactly how fast he’d hoofed it away from you. It sounds like he’s switched both taps on full blast as well, noisy even through the wooden door, and judging from how long he’s in there, he’s being very thorough. Hand washing must be a lot more important than you’d realised.

Once Taehyung emerges, his face is a little flushed, cheeks a soft red. You wonder if the hot water tap is playing up again and filling your dinky bathroom with hot steam, and make a mental note to look into it. You smile at Taehyung from your perch on the sofa, Rilakkuma plopped on your lap, smile spread across your features; one that Taehyung returns, as pink-faced as he is.

“How’s your shoulder feeling?”

“So much better, honestly,” you admit. It’s incredible. He hasn’t even finished the course yet and he's already this good. He really does have magic hands.

“I’ll have to give you massages more often,” Taehyung says, though the end of the sentence trembles a little. He must be light-headed after all the steam in the bathroom.

The thought of more massages doesn’t fill you with as much mind-numbing trepidation as it might have earlier, utterly languid as you flop across the sofa, muscles uncoiled after the lovely touch of Taehyung’s even lovelier hands. No wonder people rave about spa days if they leave you feeling like this. Maybe if you’d been staring at Taehyung in the eye when he’d been touching you, then you’d feel a lot more awkward—as it is, it’s no worse than usual. Your crush is still all-encompassing but you also got a massage out of it, so.

“Sounds great.” This time you don’t even have to fake your excitement. “Now come sit your butt down so we can order some takeout and decide what to watch.”

When you bend down to speak to Pickles later, the bearded dragon is lolling on his favourite branch. “There’s still a high chance that I’m going to die,” you say in a low voice, before you flick the lights off so the lizard can sleep. “But he hasn’t broken out the oils yet, so I think I’ll be okay for now.”

Your luck doesn’t last.

“Strawberry and champagne, lychee martini, mint mojito, white chocolate, or tropical coconut?”

You look up from where you’re painting your toenails. “Huh?”

Taehyung bundles into the room and throws himself onto your bed, flopping on his belly and ignoring the way the mattress is jostled. You, of course, are used to his antics, which is why you’d swept your open bottle of nail polish up before he could spill it everywhere.

“What do you think sounds best?”

“Well, that depends,” you say, squinting at your toes and carefully sweeping the polish over the freshly buffed nails. “For candles, I think they sound pretty nice. For sauces to pour over a steak, I’d say I’d give them all a hard pass. What’s it for?”

“Massage oils,” Taehyung says blithely, too busy staring at his phone to see you muffle a curse when your hand slips and you paint your entire little toe blue. “I was wondering which you think sounds best.”

“Oh. Uh.” You fumble to clean your toe and salvage the now-terrible pedicure you’re trying to give yourself. It was only a matter of time before massage oils were going to become part of your life. Taehyung never goes into things half-hearted, so of course he’s going to invest in oils, too. God’s sake. You can never catch a break, can you? “Why these ones in particular?”

Taehyung pauses for a suspiciously long time, but it gives you the chance to furiously rub at your toe while he’s distracted. “We get a free bottle from the course,” he says eventually.

Huh. Okay. “That’s pretty neat. What was the last one? Coconut? Stick with the basics, can’t go wrong with that, right?”

“Coconut is always tasty,” Taehyung comments absently, and you glance up from your Smurf toe.

“Agreed, but it’s not like you’re about to eat massage oil, are you?”

Taehyung pauses, and then buries his face into his phone screen—suddenly very intent on rereading the list of ingredients in each bottle, it seems. “No, of course not, you’re right,” he mumbles.

He’s almost finished the course. He’s not going to be an accredited masseuse or anything, but you definitely think he could be, if he wanted to—you’ve never had less tension in your shoulders and neck in your life. Taehyung always eases his way into your personal space anyway, casual and effortless after years of friendship, but now you’re used to his fingers sliding over the back of your neck, a gliding touch, sending tense little goosebumps over your skin while simultaneously making you melt.

“It’s pretty cool that you get free stuff, though.” Your toe is clean, thankfully, no longer blue. “And not just, like, a generic bottle of oil or something. They all sound really fancy. I didn’t realise that you could get massage oils that were scented like that?”

Taehyung makes a non-committal noise, which is uncharacteristic of him, but you’re too focused on repainting your final nail to pay it too much mind, letting out a loud huff of triumph when you’re done.

“Get me a bag of shrimp crackers, please?” You have a sudden craving but you don’t want to penguin waddle to the kitchen and risk getting anything on your wet nails. “Ya girl is hungry.”

“Got it.” Taehyung rolls off the bed without protest. You’re used to his antics, and he’s used to yours, indulging you whenever you feel lazy or want him to do something for you. “You need me to feed you?”

“I wasn’t going to use my toes to feed myself,” you laugh, but Taehyung ends up feeding them to you anyway.

When you recount the list to Seokjin later, his face crumples in a way that’s equal parts offended and disgusted. “They all sound terrible,” he says. “White chocolate should stay in chocolate form and not be turned into an oil. Why does massage oil even have to smell like anything?”

You’re both holed up in the tiny smoking nook behind Olive Chicken; neither of you smoke, but it’s a good excuse to go outside and get fresh air during longer shifts.

“Hey, don’t ask me, I’m not the one who’s taking the course. I think lychee martini sounds interesting, though.”

“Agree to disagree.” Seokjin unwraps one of the complimentary chocolates the restaurant gives to diners with their bill, swallowing it whole. “Besides, we all know Taehyung could approach you with dirty, used fryer oil and you’d let him dip you in it.”

You slap the next chocolate out of his hand before it reaches his mouth. He’s unmoved and simply plucks another from his pocket, which is apparently bulging with them.

“Yoongichi,” Jin says, calling to the delivery boy, who’s just appeared from the dark like some tired-eyed spectre of fried chicken. “Tell me this. If I were to ask you what smell of massage oil you’d prefer, what—”

“I would say that I really could not care less.” Yoongi flops down on one of the rickety fold-out chairs before silently accepting a chocolate from Seokjin’s stash. “And then I’d ask why you’re asking me in the first place, seeing as you’re the one using it, not me. If Taehyung’s asking what massage oil you’d prefer, Y/n, it’s because he wants to rub it all over you specifically.” Yoongi munches on the chocolate, already filling in the blanks without needing to be told the context. You really are that transparent, huh. “Please, we’ve been over this.”

Jin pouts. “You ruined my set up. I had a whole speech prepared.”

“Oh no.” Yoongi remains blank-faced. “How terrible.”

“I hate both of you,” you say. “I’m going to tell Pickles how mean you are.”

“I bet if that lizard could talk, he’d tell you how tired he was of you two dancing around each other, just like the rest of us,” Yoongi says.

There’s no dancing around, though, no matter what your friends say. Well. Not on Taehyung’s end anyway. You’re out here doing the fandango, castanets and all, while Taehyung just stands stock still, oblivious.

You let out an incredibly long sigh. Seokjin hands you a sympathetic chocolate.

The massage oil doesn’t make an appearance in your life for a little while, though. The end of the course comes and goes, Taehyung proudly flapping the laminated certificate at you, wobble-wobble-wobble, filling the apartment with the sound of rippling plastic. But no coconut oil.

The scent of ‘tropical coconut’ has started to haunt your dreams, in a way that’s both good and bad; when you wake up in a sweat, heart pounding, it’s not because you’re having nightmares, let’s just put it like that. It’s like there’s an invisible countdown that you can’t trace and it’s only a matter of time before it ticks over and the shoulder massages (that you’ve gotten very comfortable with) edge into something different. Taehyung’s going to innocently offer to give you a backrub and uncap that bottle of scented oil and you’re going to explode into a mess of putty under his hands.

Well… then again… you had been worried about that with all the shoulder rubs. Now look at you. You weather those like a champ. Sure, your skin tingles and you run hot and you think about the sensation of Taehyung’s hands gliding over you whenever you’re alone, but you’re basically fine. Your friend who just so happens to also be the great love of your life remains none the wiser.

You bet a full back rub would feel great after a long week.

Which is why when Taehyung steps into the apartment with a look on his face that you immediately recognise as tiredness, you sort of wish you knew how to massage people, too.

He falls into your arms with little fanfare. It’s been one of those days, one of those ones that everyone gets, even Taehyung—he’s usually so Switched On and Exuberant and Alive, and people don’t seem to realise that even he feels exhausted, sometimes.

“You alright, bubs?” You can’t massage him but you can rub his back soothingly, let him snuffle against your neck. Sometimes you think about that little space between your chin and collarbones as Taehyung’s, a hollow that’s perfect for him to press his face into, hair tickling your chin as he curls up into you. His and his alone. “Did something happen?”

He just shakes his head.

“Okay,” you say.

(Close proximity and skin on skin with Taehyung doesn’t always have your pulse rising and your heart racing. Sometimes it’s just this: quiet and soft, your heart bright with fierce affection for this boy, the only thought in your mind that you want him to be happy, forever.)

The long silence is broken by the sound of Taehyung heaving in a breath before letting out a long, exhausted sigh.

“Thank you.” His voice is quiet and low, far less energetic than his usual self.

“Nothing to thank me for, Tae,” you reply. “Always here for you. You know that, right?”

He doesn’t respond straight away. He just burrows closer, draped over you, until he murmurs, barely audible. “Why?”

Your face twists. “Why, what? Why am I always here for you?”

“Yeah.” Taehyung squeezes himself impossibly closer, skin warm against yours, forehead pressed to the skin of your neck. You can’t see his expression from this angle.

“Because you’re one of my best friends and I love you,” you answer, immediately. You don’t even have to think about it. “Because you’re important to me and if there’s anything I can do for you, I will. I’ll celebrate the good things in your life with you, and I’ll be at your side during the bad times, just like you are with me. Please don’t ever forget how much I love you, okay?”

There’s a pause, and then it feels like all the tension leaves Taehyung’s body, slumping his whole body weight against you. “Okay,” he murmurs. “I love you too. Thank you,” he says again. You just reply by squeezing his shoulders.

He’s a little quieter for a few days after that. You’re not sure why, because he’d perked up after a lazy evening of lying around and eating too many snacks, flopped against you like an oversized, clinging starfish—but you’re gentle with him nonetheless.

(Well. You’re always gentle with him. It just takes you half a second to fold in the face of his whims, rather than a whole, full second.)

So when the dreaded bottle of oil finally appears, you’re far less ready to fight off Taehyung’s insistence on a full body massage, caught off guard after days of indulging him. Fuck.

“You’ve had a long week!” Taehyung insists as you scrabble your way over the sofa’s backrest so you can hide behind it, clutching a cushion to your chest. “You need to relax!”

Without looking you fling the cushion over the sofa. Judging from the fact that Taehyung doesn’t make a sound, you’ve missed. “I was feeling perfectly relaxed until you started yelling at me about it! Why are you so obsessed with the idea of me being relaxed?”

Taehyung doesn’t respond. Oh, crap. Maybe you did hit him with the cushion?

You pop up from behind the sofa. Nope. It's an embarrassing distance away from Taehyung, who’s got that surprisingly large bottle of oil held loosely in his hands. There’s an expression on his face that you can’t decipher; a little crestfallen, a little unsure, but there��s something else there, too, something you can’t put a name to.

“Taehyung?”

“I just… wanted to help,” he says. “You’re always there for me when I’m not feeling great, and you calm me down, and I wanted to do the same for you.”

You immediately feel like the worst human being alive. Take the feeling you get whenever you accidentally step on an animal’s tail, multiply it by infinity, and that’s only just a drop in the ocean of awful, awful guilt that you’re drowning in.

“Oh, Tae,” you say. Your voice comes out so much softer and sweeter than you mean it to, but you can't help it. “I’m sorry. I was just joking. It’s really nice of you to be so concerned. You just surprised me. You do help me relax and your massages are great.” (You tell him that often enough that he should know it, but it never hurts to repeat a compliment.)

His face lifts. It’s like the sun bursting forth from the clouds after heavy rain, and you have to resist the urge to shield your eyes, blinded by the brightness and beauty. Kim Taehyung is so unfairly gorgeous (but what else is new?). “So I can give you a massage?”

Despite the fact the prospect makes you want to fling yourself into space, when you’re faced with Taehyung’s dark eyes and wide smile and large, warm hands, you cave, because of course you do. If, way back when you’d first been frying up that kimchi rice and letting Taehyung thrust his phone into your face, you’d been told you’d end up in this position, you would have laughed outright. Haha, yeah, sure, like you’d be stupid enough to let yourself be wrangled into such a vulnerable state in front of Taehyung, nowhere to run, helpless under his fingers. Not.

But here you are. Whipped for Kim Taehyung, forever and always.

The pastel blue towels under your stomach and chest are soft as they shield you from the cold, hard floor. You’re incredibly aware of how chilly the apartment feels, air prickling against your bare skin; you shift to try and get comfortable, glancing over your shoulder to fiddle with the towel that’s draped over your hips and ass, making sure it’s covering everything. Taehyung insists on authenticity (as if you’re not lying on the floor of your apartment rather than on a massage table) and he says that it’s normal to be completely naked for a full-body massage, even underneath any towels that are covering you up.

Authenticity is also why he’s in the other room, warming up the massage oil, because that’s apparently a thing?

(You’re going to die.)

It doesn’t matter that Taehyung will only be able to see the back of your head, your shoulder blades, the small of your back, a slip of your thighs, your calves. None of these things are especially scandalous; all the parts of your body that someone might find more interesting are out of sight, pressed against the floor or hidden under a layer of Egyptian cotton microfibres.

And yet you can’t help but be hyperaware of how you’re entirely unclothed. Even if it doesn’t bother Taehyung—what with, you know, the fact he’s not interested in you like that and doesn’t find you attractive at all (sigh)—embarrassment creeps hot and uncomfortable under your skin.

It just feels so crazy intimate to be laid out like this, even if people do this all the time, happily strip down to let professionals rub the tension out of their body.

(Then again, most people aren’t best friends with their masseuses and haven’t harboured long, one-sided crushes on them, either.)

Just breathe. You can do this. You love the shoulder massages that Taehyung’s been giving you; just think of this as a shoulder massage.

… A shoulder massage that involves warm oil, near-nakedness, and Taehyung’s hands sliding all over you.

… You are going to have a very long venting session with Pickles after all this.

You’re so distracted by your own self pity and distress that you don’t register the sound of Taehyung entering the room; the little pause when he steps over the threshold, feet stuttering, just for a moment. It’s only when he’s kneeling down that you notice his presence, body jolting from surprise before you let out a slip of high laughter.

“Jesus, Tae,” you say. In any other circumstance, you’d be clutching your chest. “You scared me.”

“Sorry.” He sounds genuinely apologetic.

Your cheek is pillowed on your arms. When you turn to look at your best friend you immediately regret it; he’s settled back on his ankles, knees spread wide, and you come eye-to-eye with his crotch.

In an effort to look away from his clothed dick, your gaze flies up to his face, which might be even worse. He has this intense look in his eyes, and wow, alright, you’ve never been able to see Taehyung’s face as he’s been massaging you, but you never realised exactly how seriously he seems to take it, judging from his expression.

(Do all massage therapists look like that when they work?)

“That’s alright.” You’re a little breathless, but you’re going to blame that on how your boobs are smooshed into the floor, and not on anything else, nuh uh. Shoulder massage. It’s a shoulder massage. It’s just like a full bodied shoulder massage. (Maybe if you repeat it to yourself often enough then you’ll actually start to believe it.) “Uh. Do you need me to… do anything? Or do I just lie here?”

Taehyung’s expression lightens a little at the uncertainty in your tone, smile curling up the corners of his mouth. “You’re perfect right where you are,” he says, and then he reaches for the bottle of oil.

You turn your head away again, cheeks burning. There’s no way you’ll be able to handle the visual of him slicking his fingers and palms up. “Cool,” you say, voice only a little strained. “Coolcoolcoolcool.”

(It’s not cool.)

You don’t have a visual, but you do get the auditory experience thanks to the relative silence in the apartment. Goosebumps ripple down the back of your neck and trail down your spine at the sound of Tae’s hands sliding against each other, thoroughly coated in the warmed oil, and you’re so glad that you can blame it on the chill in the air.

At first, it’s okay. Taehyung starts at the parts of your body that are used to receiving his attention, though it’s different without the barrier of clothing in the way, not to mention how easily his palms glide over you, the air full of the light scent of coconut. It’s different, but manageable, and you think you just might be okay; as always, his touches are firm but careful, and your body is used to this by now, relaxing.

But. The second you feel Taehyung’s touch between your shoulder blades, you stiffen with a shiver. The oil is the perfect temperature against your skin, but you’ve always had a sensitive back; you can’t help but clench your fists, digging your fingers into your palms. Relax. Just breathe.

“You’ve got a lot of tension here.” Taehyung’s voice is low as he digs the heel of his palm into the dip of your spine.

It’s because you’re touching me there, you think to yourself, but just let out a non-committal hum of agreement instead.

You feel Taehyung's hands, a repeated sliding motion between your shoulder blades; the tension starts to leak out of you again, but your breath hitches in your throat at how you're pressed downwards and into the cotton towels beneath you, nipples hardening against them.

Thank God you're on your front so Tae can't see what effect he's having on you.

“Better?”

Taehyung's voice is always deep, but you'd swear it was even deeper in this moment, pitched low. Maybe that’s because the sound of blood pumping is filling your ears so it’s hard to discern. At this point, who even knows? Not you, that’s for sure.

“Yep.” Why are you so breathless? You haven’t moved at all, but you sound like you’ve just run the 100m sprint, winded and weak. “So much better.”

You regret agreeing to this. You are so out of your depth and there’s no way you’re going to be able to hide exactly how much this is affecting you and you want to collapse in on yourself and shrivel up like a sundried tomato, tiny and wrinkly and underwhelming.

Taehyung shifts to reach more of you and you squeeze your eyes shut so you don’t come face first with his crotch again, shielding yourself from the view of his loose linen trousers stretched almost taut with how wide his knees are. It’s both a blessing and a curse—a blessing because you’re saved from aforementioned view, but a curse because your sensation of touch is heightened, and all you’re aware of is his hands sliding down your sides. You’d swear those fingers were so long he could circle your waist with ease.

(Massages are meant to relax you and yet you’ve never felt so tense in your life.)

Taehyung clicks his tongue against the back of his teeth. “I can’t get a good angle like this,” he mutters.

Before you can think anything or say anything, you become aware of the sound of moving and shifting and—

Your eyes fly open. Taehyung’s straddling your thighs, heavy and warm, and you suck in a breath so sharp and fast you can feel your chest expand, brain full of the screaming clang of warning bells. There’s no way this is a normal masseuse thing. There’s no way. It’s intimate and entirely too physical and there’s absolutely no way that this is something Taehyung learned in class.

(What is he doing?)

But then any coherent thought in your brain slips when his hands settle on you again.

They so, so lightly brush the hem of the towel that preserves your modesty, and you can’t help the full-body shiver that wracks through you. You suck your lips into your mouth, swallowing down the noise that threatens to bubble up in your throat. There’s the sensation of fingers trailing up the line of your spine, feather light, smoothed by the slide of oil, and you feel like molten lava, burning hot and bright.

“Taehyung.” Your voice is high and faint.

His fingers splay down your ribcage and run down your sides, confident and smooth, warm with that coconut-scented oil, and you’re dying, you’re living; you want to disappear, you never want this to end.

“Taehyung,” you repeat. Your voice shakes.

He hums, low and indulgent. “Yes?”

“M-my thighs,” you stammer, unable to articulate yourself. Why are you on my thighs, oh God, you’re so warm and heavy on top of me, oh God oh God oh God.

Taehyung completely misunderstands you. “Oh? Of course.” He sounds nonchalant. “I’ll massage those next.”

You can feel the drag of his linen trousers against your skin as he moves down to rest on your calves, and hear the bottle open as Taehyung drizzles more oil over his hands, far more than he could possibly need. His palms feel so broad and warm against the smoothness of your thighs, touches firm and confident as he digs his fingers into the muscle, and, oh, fuck, this is, this is too much—

Your legs jump when Taehyung hitches the towel up, just a little, baring more of your body.

“Fuck.” You can't keep quiet any longer. “Tae, I’m fine, I’m feeling way less tense now.”

He’s still, for a moment, before his hands slide up the back of your thighs. “Are you sure? You want me to stop?”

It’s only then that you realise how deeply Taehyung is breathing, fast and low, voice rough and gravelled. His fingers rest in wait, warm and slick with oil; you’re so close to losing any modicum of modesty, only one motion away from that towel being rucked high enough that there’s nothing protecting you from Taehyung’s touch and eyes.

“I haven’t finished yet, though,” he continues, digging his thumbs into your skin as he pulls his hands down your thighs, mindlessly following the motions he’s been taught. “There’s still more to go.”

You could twist around to look at him but you’re almost afraid to look at his face, afraid of what you’d find there. He sounds as affected as you are, but there’s absolutely no way. There’s no way.

“You don’t need to do the whole massage if I’m feeling relaxed, right?”

(Because you’re feeling so relaxed right now, of course, and not like you’re about to go supernova and burst into heat and light. Absolutely.)

(But.)

(But. Taehyung’s hands settle at the back of your knees, swiping the sensitive skin with his thumbs. You can’t see his face, but you can feel something in that touch, something more than skin deep, like it’s sinking into you, through skin and muscle and bone, in in in, settling inside you, a flicker of—of—)

“Want to do this perfectly for you,” he murmurs. You clench your hands at the husky note in his voice, nails digging so hard into your palms it hurts. “You deserve the best. I want you to feel good.”

He must be able to see your back rise and fall as you breathe in sharply.

“Taehyung.” Almost pleading.

“Yes, love?”

You suck in another sharp breath. The pet name sounds so soft and sweet in his mouth, somehow, even with the heated edge to his voice. One that’s definitely there. You’re not imagining it.

(You’re not.)

“Do you want me to make you feel good?” he continues.

Before you can think, you nod.

“Yes,” you whisper. “Please.”

You’re trembling. Taehyung’s still heavy and warm across the back of your calves, sliding one hand to the inside of a knee and up the soft skin of your inner thighs. You instinctively shift them apart, as far as you can with Taehyung trapping your legs, and, oh, his hand is going higher, oh—

His hand is so big, cupping your overheated sex. It’s hard to tell where the oil ends and your own arousal begins, flushed wet and hot; when he dips his middle finger between your lower lips, long and gentle and firm, you let out a noise you didn’t realise you were capable of. The angle is off, a little awkward, the motions of Taehyung’s fingers stifled by how you’re lying flush to the ground, but God, you’re so turned on it barely matters.

You’re hyperaware of everything. The soft touch of air on the cooling oil across your skin. The fall of the towel, bunched around your waist, slowly slipping to one side. Taehyung’s hand, his fingertips easing through the heat of you, sliding over your clit, over your entrance, slow and soft and amazing.

“Again,” you plead. “Again, Tae, please.”

“Feels good?” He asks, and you squeeze your eyes shut as you nod, cheek still pillowed against your arm.

“So good,” you say. “But I want more, please, Tae.”

“Anything you want,” he murmurs.

Taehyung’s hand shifts between your legs again, so hot, so big, so reverent. The slide is smooth as his fingers press into your folds, practically gliding. You twist beneath him, letting out a noise of displeasure when he draws his hand away, but then he lifts off your calves. You let him thrust your legs apart before he resettles between them.

Just as you’re distracted with the towel being tugged away from your hips, baring you entirely, Taehyung slides a finger into your weeping cunt.

You whine. It's so long. Now that your calves aren’t trapped, there’s nothing to stop you from rutting back against his fingers. He splays his other hand over the soft flesh of your ass, encouraging the rolling motion of your hips, and you’re gasping, wanton in your noises of desire and pleasure. One finger becomes two, and then three, Taehyung’s voice a low undercurrent to your stuttered moans as he presses them as deep as he can.

“Just like that, angel,” he breathes. “Want you to feel good, keep making those pretty noises, let me know how good it is—”

“Taehyung,” you whine, dragging the syllables of his name out when he curls his fingers inside you, so amazing, hitting you in all the right places.

“Baby.” He sounds wrecked, words sliding together, and you haven’t even touched him yet. “You’re so hot n’ wet, fuck. So perfect. Just like that, keep moving like that.”

You can hear the slick sounds of his thrusts into you. He’s already learned what you like, twisting his fingers in a way that leaves you breathless; they’re so fucking long, sliding into your greedy cunt with ease, reaching so much deeper than your own can. His pretty lovely hands are on you, inside you, and you’re heady at the thought.

“There, Tae, don’t stop, please, p-please.” The coil twists tighter in between your legs, a taut thread that’s ready to snap. He listens, repeating the motion that’s pulling you closer to the edge, eyes wide, staring at the way you’re writhing underneath him; the way the oil on your back and legs shimmers in the light, the evidence of his touch all over you, shining. “Tae, oh, God, right there, yes, yes, yes—”

Your entire body goes tense and then you’re cumming around Taehyung’s fingers, clenching your thighs together, trapping him inside as you buck your hips. You grind back against his hand, a loud moan falling from your lips, drowning out the noise of awe that Taehyung makes when he feels your walls pulsate around him. You're warm and tight and wet, arousal flooding thick against his skin, and he lets out a stuttered groan, fingers buried knuckle deep inside you, feeling every wave of pleasure that rocks through your core.

You’re panting by the time you settle back down and barely make a sound when Taehyung drags his fingers out of you. When he leans down the oil on your skin feels tacky against his clothes, material sticking to you, chest to back, hips to ass. You can feel the hot curve of him through his trousers, his cock heavy, getting harder—and it feels sososo good.

Taehyung’s face is so close, now, chin hooked over your shoulder. Even though you can feel the hardness of his cock pressed against you, the smile on his face is so gentle. Your heart thrums in your chest.

“So cute n' pretty,” he says, and presses his nose to the soft curve of your cheek. Rather than coconut, all you can smell is his shampoo, familiar and homely and heady. “All over. God, I can’t believe you’d let me touch you like this. I’m so lucky. Was that good, baby?”

“Yes,” you say, and then, because you’re still floating in a light haze of disbelief: “I’m the lucky one.”

Taehyung laughs, low and quiet. It’s a honeyed moment, dripping slow and sweet, even sweeter when he tilts his head forward. His lips are soft against your cheekbone, your jaw, and when you turn towards him, they’re even softer against your mouth. You can feel the shape of his smile, and it tastes so bright, small kisses that turn open mouthed, so perfect. Because you’re kissing Kim Taehyung, your Taehyung, something you’ve been dreaming about for so long, now—even if this entire situation is pretty unbelievable, honestly.

When you pull back, his eyes spark with unadulterated joy. He’s warm and heavy, pinning you down against the towels that are soft against your front; arching your spine, you lean back against the weight of Taehyung’s body, his cock fattening up through the layers of clothes that separate you. He lets out a breath of surprise before he grinds down, pressing that hard heat against you, and your cunt clenches.

“Can I finish the massage?” He asks, sounding almost eager, even with the rasp of lust in his voice. You can’t help but laugh, an affectionate giggle that has you knocking your foreheads together.

“Of course,” you say, and he catches your lips again, swallowing the last of your laughter, sweeping his tongue over your lips, inside your mouth, wet and hot and a little messy, but good.

“You need to be on your back,” Taehyung continues, slow after the kiss is broken, and, oh, okay, that has you shivering. “If you want to?”

Of course you want to.

“Okay,” you whisper. “Let me move.”

He shifts to give you room, but not before pressing a kiss to the back of your neck, the bump of the top of your spine, lips sliding against the oil that he’d rubbed there earlier, goosebumps erupting over your skin.

“So good to me,” he whispers. You don’t think he even means for you to hear it.

(It’s said without thought; not thoughtless, no, but a soft little thing that says so much. A thought that’s slipped across his mind and fallen from his lips, warm and tender. Like you’re always good to him, and he sees it, he knows it, he feels it, he thinks it, and he’s almost in disbelief about it, because you’re so good to him.)

You feel warm and languid after cumming, loose-limbed as you flop onto your back. There’s no going back now. There’s no going back from this moment, naked and vulnerable under Taehyung, nothing hidden away any more—the soft fall of your breasts, your stomach, the lines of your hips, your fingers tightening in the towels spread beneath you as Taehyung’s eyes drink you in, wide and overawed at the sight of your flushed cunt, ripe and slick and ready for him.

(There's no more hiding how much you want Taehyung to have you, body and heart alike.)

You can see the shape of your body silhouetted on his clothes, where the oil has seeped into the material from how close he’d been pressed against you. You can see just how affected he is, cock straining against the loose linen of his white trousers, and you bite your lip to try and stifle the sound you make.

“Look at you,” Taehyung breathes, kneeling between your legs. “You’re so perfect.”

Your cheeks burn. “Taehyung, please,” you say, embarrassed. You really aren’t, especially in comparison to model-gorgeous Kim Taehyung, eyes dark and full of heated lust, hair falling in his eyes, effortlessly beautiful, always.

“You are,” he insists. “You have no idea how perfect you are.”

Before he reaches for the massage oil, he sucks the taste of you off his fingers, sloppy and messy. Your pussy throbs at the sight. And—you were also right about the visual being too much to handle, breath catching in your throat as you watch it drip into his broad hands. His palms shine as he rubs them together, interlacing his fingers, so graceful in their motions. You’re so wet from your orgasm, only getting wetter as you stare back at Taehyung, whose gaze has been heavy on you the whole time.

He starts at your collarbones. It’s even slower than before, and you ease underneath him, revelling in the softness of his touch. He sweeps his hands over your shoulders, down your arms, circling his long fingers around your wrists before lifting one of your hands. Your eyelashes flutter as he presses a kiss to your palm, a motion so full of adoration and tenderness it steals your breath away, and you squirm, shy.

“Tae,” you whine. “You can’t just do that.”

Of course he doubles down, lifting your other hand and repeating the motion, letting his lips linger between your head line and your heart line. “I can,” he says, words warm in your cupped palm.

“I hope you didn’t do this in class.” Your voice is too weak for it to come out as the joke you mean it to be.

Taehyung just shakes his head, mouth brushing over the tips of your fingers. “Only for you,” he says. “Did the whole class for you. I wanted—wanted an excuse to touch you more,” he admits, and your heart feels like it’s going to launch itself out of your throat.

“Then touch me,” you say, trying to sound confident even if your cheeks burn.

And he does. He lets your hands drop, gliding his touch back up your arms, down your body, over your legs; he massages your thighs and calves, digs his thumbs into the arches of your feet, circling his fingers around your ankles, shackles you don’t want to escape from. You feel so relaxed and lax, somehow, even if every touch has you biting your lip, anticipation roiling in your stomach for what’s to come, Taehyung laying your legs down softly before he shifts back up, hands held out towards you—

—then he cups your breasts in his big, big hands and your back arches, fingers sliding over your nipples, glistening with coconut oil, circling them with the pads of his thumbs. You let out an embarrassing whine.

“Oh, Tae,” you beg. “More, please.”

“Whatever you want, sweetheart.”

You smile at another soft, unexpected pet name, flustered, but then your eyes slide shut when Taehyung bends down to kiss your neck as he continues to run his hands over the swell of your breasts. He trails his lips over your oiled skin, shifts down, drawing a line from your neck to the valley of your chest, the hard line at the center of your ribcage.

“Tae,” you murmur, and then, feeling bold under the heat of Taehyung’s dark eyes— “Baby.”

He hums before laying another sloppy kiss against your sensitive skin. You can feel the curve of his smile in the kiss. “Yes, love?”

“Is it really okay for you to… you know… get that oil in your mouth? I don’t want you to get sick,” you say, concerned, even through the haze of your arousal. His lips shine with it, at how he’s been trailing his mouth over all the parts of your body that he’s touched.

There’s a short beat, and then Taehyung buries his head against your neck—in that little hollow that’s his, in a motion he’s done dozens of times. Except this time you’re naked and he still has fingers splayed across the soft skin of your chest, nipples dragging underneath his palms.

“You’re always so considerate.” His words are muffled against your skin. “It’s fine. It’s edible.”

“You got edible massage oil from your course?”

Taehyung hesitates. “No,” he admits. “I bought it. It’s edible and, uh. Safe for intimate use.”

You’re silent, just for a moment, and then you can’t help it. You start to laugh.

“Kim Taehyung,” you say, body shaking with amusement. “Did you buy edible massage oil that you can also use as lube?”

Taehyung pulls his face away from your neck and glances up. You’re giggling at him, and he feels so full of love and affection; he can’t help but join in, both laughing at him, loud and carefree.

“It’s why I asked which one you liked,” he confesses, once he can catch his breath.

“I can’t believe you lied to me,” you say, but you don’t mind, really, and he knows it. You lift a hand to push hair out of his face, running your fingers down his scalp. He leans into your touch with a smile, bright and lovely, before he abruptly shifts one of his hands down so he can lick a hot, wet stripe across the skin of your breast.

That stops your laughter pretty fast, surprised hiccup shifting into a broken moan when he engulfs your nipple in the heat of his mouth. “O-oh,” you gasp. “Oh, Taehyung—”

“Been thinking about this for so long.” Taehyung’s eyes are lidded and dark as he leans back, watching the way you react to his touch, arching up towards him. “Wanted to touch you like this so much.”

“Wanted it too,” you breathe. “Wanted—oh, God, Tae, fuck—”

It’s overwhelming. Not just the way Taehyung is flicking his tongue over each of your nipples, pressing his lips against your skin, no—but the idea that he’s been hoping for this, too. Each wet motion of his tongue over your pebbled skin drags pulls out of you; Taehyung’s cock twitches at a loud keen that’s drawn from your lips, a wet patch of precum seeping through his boxers and trousers, darkening the fabric, even though you haven’t touched him yet.

When you reach out to grasp him through his clothes, his hips jolt forward and he bites off a surprised gasp, cutting through the sound with his teeth. He feels long and heavy as you stroke him, thumbing over the wet patch at his tip, hot, even through all those layers between your skin and his.

“I want to feel you, Tae,” you say, staring at him. “Inside me. Please.”

His breath hitches when you tighten your fingers around his shaft and drag your hand upwards, slow and intent.

“The oil isn’t condom friendly,” he admits, abashed.

“Then you can cum in my mouth,” you reply. No hesitation.

Taehyung’s eyes are so wide, but then he smiles, eyes squeezing into crescents, mouth turning up into that lovely, broad grin of his. He looks so sweet and sincere, and you feel like you could explode, stuffed overfull with love for him.

“You really are perfect,” he says.

“Only for you,” you reply, your smile just as bright.

He lays one final kiss to your chest, above your beating heart, before he starts to strip. The oil has obviously soaked through his shirt and onto his skin because it sticks when he peels it off and carelessly throws it aside.

Just like his heart, Taehyung’s body is soft and lovely. You sit up so you can touch him properly, catching him off guard when you pull him in for a kiss—one he eagerly leans into, and without the shirt in the way you can feel the way your skin slides against his, softened with oil.

There really is no one as beautiful as Kim Taehyung. You drag your hands over him, so warm and wonderful under your palms; his chest, his cute tummy, his waist, his hips, the soft skin above his red, neglected cock. He’s radiant in his nakedness, every easing line of his body so perfect as he kneels in front of you, the flush of his skin, the heavy weight of his arousal, head shining with precum, so wet it’s practically dripping.

You lean in to kiss his neck and nip at his Adam's apple as his hands slide over your shoulder blades and down your back, the parts that make you shudder.

“Want you, Tae.” You whisper into his mouth, a soft secret that isn’t really a secret at all, not any more. “All of you.”

“Going to give you everything you want.” The words flow out of him with ease. “Everything you want.”

His chest and stomach shine with the massage oil that’s rubbed off from your own skin. You run your hands across him, and when you finally grasp his cock without the barrier of cloth in the way, he’s almost burning under your grasp, thick, his entire body shuddering when you pump his length. So sensitive to your touch.

“I’m goin’ to make you cum again,” he promises, and you love it, the way he talks when he’s losing himself. “Bet you’ll feel so good around my cock, so perfect.”

A shiver skates through your body. Taehyung’s fingers dig into your skin when he feels you trembling under his hands, and all you can think about is how you want him in you.

“Please,” you say. “Please, wanna make you feel good too—”

“Hands and knees, angel,” he rasps, and, God, yes, those words cut straight through you, sharp and electric.

Maybe you should feel embarrassed at how quickly you obey. The towels underneath you, so carefully placed at the start, perfectly flat, become rumpled as you shift into position; you arch your back, wanting to look as good as possible, and glance over your shoulder to see if it works.

Judging from the look on Taehyung’s face, it does. He looks like he’s never seen anything more awe-inspiring, eyes wide and mouth a little slack, dumbstruck. But then his jaw snaps shut and he splays his hands over the soft skin of your hips, your waist, your ass, shuffling closer to you; you feel the curve of his cock slide against your skin and you bite back a noise of need.

“Fuck, so beautiful.” He ruts forward, and you can feel the wetness of his precum slicking against you, a beaded line drawn across the sheen of massage oil. “My beautiful, perfect girl.”

“Tae,” you plead, already overwhelmed with need, heart squeezing at his words.

“Just one more thing, angel, I promise.”

It’s a good thing that the bottle of massage oil is so big, considering how liberal Taehyung is with it. You gasp when he uses one hand to spread your ass and before you can react there’s a drizzle of oil falling onto your skin, down-down-down, over your cunt, dripping over your inner thighs; Taehyung catches the excess with his palms before he slicks himself up, spreading that sweet coconut over his throbbing cock.

(You wonder what it’ll taste like when you lick it off him.)

When you feel the blunt head of his cock nudging at your pussy, your entire body lights up in anticipation, nerve endings on fire, every inch of your body singing under Taehyung’s touch—and when he finally sinks in, it’s almost effortless. He’s thick and long but everything slides so easy; you gasp and he moans, both lost in how your body opens up for him, hot and wet. By the time he’s bottomed out you're a quivering mess, collapsed onto your elbows. You’re so full. You feel split open in all the best ways, wanting to draw him in impossibly deeper even so.

Taehyung is gripping your sides, hands unmoving even with the slick oil underneath them, fingers digging into your skin. He’s breathing so loud, and when you experimentally shift your hips, he bites back a noise that cuts through that breath.

“How’s it feel, love?” His words slur together in arousal, but the hand that strokes your back is slow, thoughtful. “Feel good?”

“Fuck me, Tae, baby, please,” you beg. It’s so, so so much, so good, amazing, hotter and bigger and harder than anything you’d let yourself imagine, your entire body taking Taehyung and holding him in, in, in. “Please, I need it, it feels good but I want more, please.”

When he pulls away it’s slow and torturous and he goes so far he almost slips out, cock nearly sliding out of your folds. You whine, a little shameless, mostly needy, but then—

The snap of his hips drives you forwards, towels shifting underneath as you scrabble for a hold on something. Each sharp motion of Taehyung’s body has you choking for air and letting out whimpers and gasps, drowned out by the slap of skin on skin; his hipbones meet the soft flesh of your ass, again and again, but all you can focus on is the thick heat of his cock inside you, in-out-in-out, the press of his balls against your clit, everything so wet and smooth and slick.

You can feel how you’re losing yourself to that heady place that’s golden bright with feeling, lust and sex, the rest of the world gone, unimportant. There’s nothing but this—Taehyung touching you, filling your body so well, so perfect, helping you chase that high that’s growing faster and faster, that precipice of pleasure that he’s going to throw you over again, intent on it.

One of his hands trails up your back, between that sensitive dip of your shoulder blades and into your hair, locks tangling with coconut oil before he urges you up. He doesn’t yank or pull but his hold is firm and you end up back on your hands, arms trembling as you try to keep your balance, back bowed, overwhelmed.

“Baby,” he rasps. “Oh, you’re so tight n’ hot, so pretty, fuck. You feel so good, do you feel good?”

Your answer is almost a wail, so overcome with pleasure, sensation, the glide of his hands over your shining skin, the mix of oil and arousal that drips out of you, only getting wetter with each thrust of his hips into you. “So good, o-oh God, Tae, baby, fuck, oh, theretherethere—”

“Here?”

He punctuates this with a roll of his hips, using the hand still on your hip to pull you back onto his cock as he fills you up once more, throbbing heat. He bends over you, and this time, there’s nothing stopping the skin on skin contact, the slide of his chest against your back as he kisses the soft skin behind your ear, nipping at your lobe, and that’s it, you’re gone. Your eyes slide shut and your mouth falls open as another orgasm crashes through you, legs shaking as you cum around Taehyung’s cock, grinding back against him to drag out that pleasure; the only thing holding you up is the hand still in your hair, the lips trailing up the side of your bared neck, the hard cock inside you, keeping you against him, so many points of connection with Taehyung.

(His chest pressed against your back, heart beating so hard you can feel it, your own heart moving in tandem, matching him.)

He’s been whispering filth to you, heated praise and love, how good you feel, how beautiful you are, what it’s like to see you like this, touch you like this, have you like this. Lovely, pretty, perfect, gorgeous, hot n’ wet n’ tight, fuck, love, oh.

You’re still shivering, the final pulses of your orgasm curling through you with each unintentional shift of Taehyung’s hips, the drag of his length inside your inner walls. You can feel something dripping out of you; oil, cum, you don't know, but fuck, it feels so so good.

“Oh, God,” you say. Breathless. “Oh, Taehyung, oh.”

“Pretty darling,” he murmurs. He swivels his hips, grinding against you, and your entire body jolts with oversensitivity, clit swollen where his balls press against it. You tighten around him and groan at how hot and big he still feels inside, even as you still shiver from the come down of your second orgasm. “Gonna roll you over so I can see that perfect face.”

And when you’re on your back again, fucked out and mussed and wrecked, he just stares at you. You’ve watched his face for so long, seen so many expressions flit across his features, but never something like this—it’s a mix of amazement and awe and tenderness and lust and love, a lift to his brows and a spark in his eyes and a set to his lips.

And when he leans down to kiss you, that look doesn’t leave. It melts and softens around the edges as you catch each other's mouths, as you kiss and kiss, small tender things interspersed with longer, deeper touches, lips and teeth and tongue—his eyes darken and his mouth flushes darker pink, kiss swollen and so beautiful, but that expression stays. It stays for you.

Kim Taehyung is beautiful and lovely and unique. Kim Taehyung is so far out of your reach it’s kind of stunning, actually. And yet, here you are, existence of his touch over every part of you, in every part of you, lust driven, love full; the carefully balanced weight of his body splayed over you, pinning you down, keeping you close.

“I wanna see you cum, Tae,” you say. “Please?”

And just like he always does, Taehyung indulges you, just like you indulge him. He presses back inside you, cunt opening up for him so easy, so smooth, like his touch has already been etched into the memory of your body, perfect for him. He stays pressed close, face so near as he rolls into each thrust, sweat and coconut oil painted across your skin as your bodies shift together.

He’s been covering you in his words, both heated and sweet, and now you return the favour. You tell him how good he feels, how beautiful he is, so good, so perfect, so considerate, how much you’ve wanted this. So good, so long and thick, oh, Tae, feels so good, ah-ah-ah, baby, you’re unreal, fuck.

You can see the exact moment he starts to reach his high, the way he sucks in air, the way he lifts his chin, starts to thrust a little harder, a little faster, chasing that thread of pleasure that’s spiralling through him, and you urge him on. You lift your hips and clench so tight it has him gasping, hips stuttering, and you press your nose against his jaw, saying give it to me give it to me give it to me, wanting him to feel the same pleasure he’s given you.

When he pulls out, you’re too busy moving to pay attention to how empty you feel, settling between his legs and swallowing down his shining cock almost desperately. There’s no coconut. You can only taste yourself and when you lave your tongue across his slit it’s all Taehyung-Taehyung-Taehyung, hot and salt and bitter; he gasps and his hips jump and you take it all, lowering your head as far as you can, the head of his cock at the back of your throat before you pull up, dragging your tongue over the pulsing vein at the underside, messy and wet. You drink down the wetness of his cock, your own arousal, mixed with his, the precum that beads at his head, staring up at him, your hands sliding over the sheen of his stomach, his thighs, cupping his balls, everything slick with oil and sweat.

“Oh, God.” Taehyung’s eyes are blown and his hair is a mess and his mouth is wide open as he pants for air, watching. “Baby, baby, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum.”

You suck hard, dragging your lips up from the base of the cock to the rounded tip, swirling your tongue, bobbing your head faster—

“Oh, fuck—”

—and you swallow down each wave of cum, swallow down the way his cock twitches as he spills the evidence of pleasure into your mouth, swallow down the lovely noises that shudder out of him, watching him the whole time, never wanting to look away.

When you take your mouth off his softening cock, you draw a line of kisses with your mouth, up the soft skin of his body, stomach to chest to neck to mouth. He licks the taste of coconut oil off your lips, the taste of himself off your tongue; you curl up in his lap, settled against him, the apartment’s cool air even sharper against your skin, magnified by the oil that still lingers.

(Even without the oil painted across him, Taehyung would still shine, even under the weak light from the cheap lightbulb that hangs above you.)

You feel soft and warm and small in the circle of Taehyung’s arms, pulled close, and you can hear the words in his chest as he speaks, a resonance that touches against your skin.

“‘M sorry,” he murmurs.

You pause.

“Baby, love, darling.” The endearments are sugar sweet in your mouth, soft against his skin before you pull back to look at him, confused, concerned. “Sorry for what?”

“I really—I really was just planning to do a massage, but you’re so…”

You let out a slip of laughter. The room smells of coconut and sex, but when you lay your head against Taehyung’s collarbone all you can smell is the light tinge of his sweat. You breathe in, deep, like you can hold onto that ephemeral part of him. “Oh, Tae. I’m so what?”

“You’re so good,” he says. “So good and kind and lovely and—and so beautiful. I was going to do the massage to make you happy and then… tell you. About how happy you make me.”

You burrow your head into the hollow of his neck, the way he does to you, shy. “I’m not as beautiful as you,” you reply. “Tae, you are literally the most beautiful person alive, and—God, I’ve. I’ve been. So head over heels for you.”

There’s a pause. “Really?”

When you pull back to fix Taehyung with all the surprise in your gaze, you can see that he’s surprised, too. His hair hangs into his eyes, and he looks a little unsure, like he believes you, but finds it impossible to fathom.

You leave massage oil on his cheeks when you cup his face in your hands, staring at him with wide eyes. “Kim Taehyung, I have had daily breakdowns about the intensity of my love for you to Pickles ever since we got him. You’re the first person I think about each morning—usually because we wake each other up—and the last thing I think about at night—well, usually because you end up climbing into my bed more often than not, but, it still counts,” you say. You’re both tangled together in so many ways already. “You’ve had my heart for a long time, you know. I just never thought I had a chance?”

When Taehyung kisses you, it’s brief, a hard press of his lips before he rests his forehead against yours. “You really, really have no idea how perfect you are,” he murmurs. “I’ve wanted—I want to do everything for you to show you how grateful I am for everything you do for me.”

“You don’t have to,” you protest, but he just smiles.

“I don’t have to, but I want to,” he says. “Like you don’t have to look after me, but you do.”

“That’s because I love you,” you say. “Like, capital L love you.”

You’ve been so afraid of confessing, so convinced that it was an unattainable dream; that Kim Taehyung would never, could never, has never seen you as more than a friend. But the way he’s looking at you now, the way he’s touched you, the way your body still echoes with the feeling of him inside you: you’re not scared, any more. You don’t need to be.

Taehyung’s eyes are so dark and warm when he replies, easy and effortless. “I love you, too.”

Your relationship has always been a give and take, is the thing. When you climb in the shower together, he washes the oil from your back while you massage shampoo into his scalp, laughing when he makes devil horns in his hair. He catches you by surprise when he presses you against the tiles, swallowing your moans when he coaxes one final orgasm from your tired body, rubbing tight circles over your clit as you buck against his hand and water cascades over you both. His cock hardens in your hands, sliding between your legs when you press them together, tight-tight-tight, his length rubbing against your cunt as he fucks your thighs until he’s moaning and shaking and cumming again.

(The water’s cold by the time you finally climb out, but that’s okay. You giggle and kiss as you dry yourselves, each other, excuses to keep touching and feeling, driven by affection, not lust.)

When you’re both clean, and dry, Taehyung’s leg thrown over your hip as he tugs you in, flush with his body under the covers, you press your lips against the line of his jaw.

“Taehyung?”

“Yes, angel?”

You smile and hunch up even closer to him, scrunching yourself up as small as you can to plaster yourself against his side. “Thank you for the wonderful massage. Definitely the best massage I’ve ever been given, ten out of ten, would do again.”

Taehyung laughs, pressing his rectangular smile into the kiss he lays against your lips, and you think that nothing tastes better than the happiness curling his mouth.

“Love you,” he murmurs. Always romantic. “I love you love you love you.”

“Tae-honey-hyung.” And it feels so nice to not have to filter your words, to bite back that second layer of meaning, to try and keep things platonic and chaste when you speak. “I love you.”

And it feels so nice to have your Taehyung beside you, your body still aching with the press of him inside you, a good ache, a nice ache. A physical ache from good love, rather than a heartache from a love you didn’t think was reciprocated. But it is, somehow, each of you so bowled over by each other.

(“Hey, Pickles.”

The bearded dragon looks up at you, placid as he lounges in his tank.

“Well, you’ll be happy to hear that you won’t have to put up with me ranting at you any more,” you say. “Taehyung did break out the massage oil but it’s all good. I didn’t spontaneously combust or anything, like I thought I would.”

Pickles’ tongue flicks out as he shifts, and you smile.

“Okay, that’s it, I’m done,” you finish. “Thanks, Pickles. You’re a real pal.”

Taehyung nuzzles into your neck. His arms are a tight circle around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder as he looks down at the reptile, too. He’s warm and solid against your back, and you lean into him, happiness tingling through you.

“I wonder how much longer we would have taken if you didn’t get that coupon for a massage therapy course,” you muse, and Taehyung chuckles, warm and lovely.

“We would have gotten there eventually. And we would have had each other until we did, anyway. Right, angel?”

Pickles stays quiet as you both kiss, but you can tell he approves.)

taglist: @beyoncesdragon

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buckys-black-dress · 3 years

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inked

a/n: here she is!!! while i work on afl, here is my crackfic on tattoo artist bucky!! if u haven’t caught on yet, most of my writing is au’s because of all the possibilites in terms of scenarios and storylines. anyways, i hope you enjoy, lovies!!! xoxo, ali <3

wc: 2.8k

[tattoo artist!bucky x fem!reader]

It was like an addiction.

Your first tattoo you got was simple. It was a dainty, small one on your wrist.

But now, it was slowly developing into a sleeve.

Not that you minded, though. Your forearm was slowly becoming filled with designs that you kept going back and getting here and there.

And at the tattoo parlor near your apartment in Brooklyn, you had become a regular at this point.

It was called B&R Tattoo Shop, and it was run by two of the kindest, but most attractive men you’ve ever met.

You’ve come to find out after getting to know the owners, that they opened the shop a bit after they returned from their second tour in the army and wanted to settle back in their hometown.

Steve and James were hospitable to you, especially when they first met you. Steve was the one to meet you and speak with you at first, but he handed you off to James, or Bucky as he asked you to call him, because he was the artist at their shop that specialized in more of what you were looking for in terms of style.

As far as first tattoo conversations go, you and Bucky got to know each other pretty well in one session. The tattoo itself took less than an hour, but it felt like Bucky was... prolonging it in a way, like he wanted to keep you there longer.

As you swung open the door of the shop, you were greeted by their piercer, Natasha.

“Hey, back for another already?” She smirks from her spot behind the desk. While she wasn’t piercing, she usually worked the front if there was no one else free.

Your first tattoo had been done by Bucky, and you instantly fell in love.

With the tattoo.

Well, Bucky too. Just a little bit.

He was extremely soothing and eased you into the process of tattooing you. He told you when something was going to happen, and as soon as you got used to the feeling of the needle against your skin.

The more he talked to you, the less pain you felt. It was already not that painful, but you almost forgot about it with him talking to you. When he looked up to you as he finished, you looked like a confused puppy.

“Okay, all done, doll.” Bucky looked up at you, moving to turn off his machine.

“Oh... that was fast.” You furrowed your brows.

“Well, yeah, we moved pretty fast since it was a pretty small piece.” He explains, grabbing a paper towel and the anti-bacterial spray.

“Do you mind if I take a quick picture of it? I usually do, for my portfolio.” Bucky asks, inspecting the tattoo closely once again.

“Oh, yeah, that’s fine.” You wait for him to pull out his camera, take the picture, and he comes back with a piece of plastic film in his hand.

“Okay, so this saniderm has to stay on for about three days. This is how it’ll heal, and when you take it off just wash it up with a gentle soap and use a cream without any fragrance or any of that crap. I can give you a little of that spray if you wanna use it to clean it up if you ever feel like it’s dirty.” Bucky explains, giving you a mini bottle of the antibacterial spray.

“Thank you,” you say, moving to sit up in the chair. “How much do I owe you?”

“Uh, just about $40.” Bucky says without eye contact, heading to the computer at the front counter.

“$40? That’s it? When I signed the waiver it said the shop minimum was $75...?” You wonder out loud.

“Let’s just say you get a special discount, doll.” He smirks, typing something into the computer and only sparing you a glance.

“O-Oh. Alright.” You say sheepishly, handing him your credit card.

“Okay, you’re all set. Hopefully I’ll see you again soon.” He tells you with a gentle smile. It really contrasted his aura; a big, beefy guy with a metal prosthetic arm, covered in probably hundreds of tattoos. But here he was, smiling like sunshine.

“I think I will be. Have a nice day, Bucky.”

“You too, sweetheart.” He gives you that smirk again, making you feel like you might actually pass out. And not because you just had a needle jabbed into your skin for almost an hour.

“Uh, I already talked to Bucky for my session today. I know I’m a bit early, I can wait if he’s still working on someone else.” You tell Natasha with a smile.

“Sure, let me get you your waiver.” She says, and you plop down into one of the chairs at the front and pulling out your book to pass time after filling out the form.

After a few minutes, Bucky emerges with a girl from his little tattooing corner.

You hear his voice first, looking up from the book while he talks to her.

“Okay, since this was your first piece and pretty small, I’ll only charge ya $55 for it, doll.” Bucky tells the girl with a smile, and you immediately feel a pang in your chest.

You didn’t want to say you were jealous, but goddamn it, your breathing became just a little more shallow at the sight you were currently witnessing.

Even Natasha and Steve turned their heads to him, confused looks on both of their faces.

“Oh! Y/N, you’re here! C’mon back, I’m sure Nat already set you up with your waiver.” You nod, not saying a word as you follow him to the familiar chair.

“So, are we still doing what we discussed on the phone?” Bucky asks, setting up his area to tattoo you.

“Actually, I was thinking something different.” You say sharply.

“Different?” The shock is evident on his features.

“Yeah. Different. Just want a little something on my collarbone.” You say, sitting down.

“O-Okay... what were you thinking of?” He asks, pulling out his sketchbook.

“I want an olive branch, going from here to here.” You show him where you want it to start and end. It was a bit of a stretch right across the left side of your chest. “Something simple and minimal. I’ve been thinking of starting the top of my sleeve, this might be a good way to transition into it.” You say nonchalantly.

“Uhm... alright. How does this look?” Bucky asks, showing you his sketch. “I would, of course, add more detail to your liking, just let me know.”

“Yeah, I want some more shading, please.” You say shortly. You honestly weren’t trying to be mean, but you were irritated.

But in the end, you really had no right to be.

After almost ten sessions with Bucky, he hasn’t made any indication that he likes you the way you like him.

Sure, he calls you pet names, but he does that to everyone. Even discounts. You weren’t special. He was just being nice and doing his job.

So honestly, you had to cut the act here.

“Are you sure this is what you want? Are you saving the other design for our next session?” Bucky asks, growing more and more concerned with your odd behavior. Usually you would talk to him about your day, how work was, really anything.

“I don’t know. I think I might ask Steve to do that one instead.” You say out of spite, more than anything. You would never take a design that Bucky made specially for you to another person to tattoo on you, even if it was his own business partner.

“Wha- Why? Did I do something? You’ve been acting really weird today...” Bucky questions you carefully. “Talk to me, doll. Did you have a bad day at work?”

But that, that right there, was your breaking point. Doll.

“No, I’m fine. Let’s just get this done.” You huff, laying down after nodding to the sketch that Bucky drew out.

Bucky’s brows furrowed even further, but didn’t ask any more questions. He laid down the stencil and asked if the placement was alright. You looked in the mirror he handed you and nodded briefly.

The entire time Bucky had the machine in his hand, neither of you spoke a word. He tried to make brief conversation, but you only responded with a hum or nod.

When he finally finished up, you got up and headed to the counter without a word after looking at the finished tattoo in the mirror.

Your face was blank, emotionless, and Bucky was truly lost.

After you paid the full price of your piece, you walked out of the shop, not even sparing anyone a glance.

Once you left, the shop was dead silent. Everyone either just finished up with a client or didn’t have any at the moment, and the shop was blanketed in an extremely uncomfortable silence.

“What the hell was that, man?” Sam’s voice broke the silence, making Bucky’s head snap towards him.

“I-I... I have no idea. She was acting so...so weird today.” Bucky looked more confused than ever.

“You’re an idiot, you know that?” Natasha’s voice cuts through the palpable silence.

“Wh- What the hell did I do? I asked her too, and she didn’t give me an answer...” Bucky mumbles.

“Do you like her?” She fires back with a fire in her eyes.

“W-Well, yeah. She’s a regular.” Bucky answers, looking at his fiddling hands.

“Not like that, you dunce. You know what I mean, don’t act dumb.” Natasha rolls her eyes.

Bucky sighs, not making eye contact yet again.

“I-... I do like her.” He says. “But I don’t think she feels the same.”

“Jesus fucking Christ... You really are a dumbass.” Sam sighs out.

Steve snorts at his words, nodding in agreement.

“Buck, she got jealous.” He explains, shaking his head at his best friend’s obliviousness.

“J-Jealous? Of what?” Bucky scoffs in shock.

“That girl you had right before her. Gave her a discount, called her pet names. The whole shabang.” Natasha points out to him. “Also, you gotta stop giving out discounts like that. You’ll lose more money than you’re makin’.” Natasha scoffs.

“Wh- But... She never said anything...?” Bucky thinks back to all the times you’ve sat in his chair. You never made any indication that you were outwardly interested in him.

“I think she said enough today without actually saying much.” Steve laughs. His friend was a real idiot.

“I... But, why didn’t she say anything before?” Bucky asked.

“Buck, you never said anything either. I guess that when she heard you talk to that girl like that, she thought you really didn’t like her like that at all. You treated that girl the same way you treat her.” Natasha explains to Bucky, who had a look of realization on his face.

“But... I was just... being nice...” He says with his head in his hands.

“Well, now she thinks you do that with all you clients, so...” Sam says, making the brunet’s head shoot up.

“Fuck. Fuck. I fucked up everything!” He exclaims. “I-I do like her!”

“Well, don’t tell us that, tell her!” Sam shouts back to him, and before Bucky can process, he’s pulling out his phone and dialing your phone number.

“C’mon, pick up, pick up,” He mumbles repeatedly, but the call goes to voicemail. “Fuck.”

“Not pickin’ up?” Steve questions, coming to the front and picking up the shop phone. “Gimme her number, she’s doesn’t have to shop saved to her phone, right?”

“No, I don’t think she does.” Bucky says, watching as Steve dials your number.

“Hello?” Your voice sounds annoyed as it filters through the phone. “Who’s this?”

“Uh, Y/N! Hi!” Steve speaks, looking at Bucky in a panic, his facial expression screaming, ‘talk to her!’

“Steve? What’s up?” You ask, wondering what he needed.

“You uhh... you forgot your book here!” He blurts out, trying to find an excuse, but quickly found one upon seeing your book resting on the seat where you were waiting.

“O-Oh... I guess I’ll just turn around. I’ll be there in a few. Thanks, Steve.” You say, ready to hang up.

“O-Okay. Bye, Y/N.” He clears his throat, hanging up. “You have like, ten minutes to get your shit together and talk to her when she gets here. Good luck.” Steve pats Bucky on the shoulder, ready to haul Natasha and Sam to the back to give you two some privacy.

Bucky thought that this was the longest ten minutes of his life, and he was trying to conjure up a speech in his head to confess to you.

Finally, when you did appear through the doors, you looked lost. You only saw Bucky, which made you even more aggravated from the fact that you had to turn back around.

You were ready to head home and wallow in peace, but alas, you wanted your book.

Bucky just watched as you picked up the book from his grasp across the desk, your eyes not meeting his while he kept his gaze on you very intently.

Just as you turned around to leave, Bucky’s voice cut through the unbearable silence.

“Y/N?” He simply asks, and you feel like the wind’s been knocked out of your lungs at the sound of his small voice. This wasn’t the Bucky you knew and... loved.

“Yes, James?” You simply respond, and Bucky cringes at the sound of his first name being used.

“Can I talk to you for a second?”

“...Why? Is everything alright?” And although your voice didn’t give it away, you felt your heart drop to your stomach. Any possible scenario popped into your head. He has a girlfriend. He’s gonna tell you he doesn’t wanna see you anymore. He-

“E-Everything’s fine, doll. Just wanted to tell you that... That I...” Bucky’s voice sounded strained, like there was something caught in his throat.

“Bucky, just spit it out.” You say, wanting to leave already.

“It’s just- I like you. A lot. And I’m so sorry for earlier with that other client. I was just trying to be nice, but I realized how that looked to you, and I never thought anything of it because I didn’t know if you liked me back or-” Bucky was rambling, and your eyes were wide as saucers.

“Bucky, Bucky stop. Let me talk before you drive your own head in with conclusions,” you say, resting your hand on top of his on the desk.

“I like you a lot, too. I didn’t think you like me either because of that girl before me. You just- you treated her the same way you treated me, and I got jealous. I know I didn’t have the right to be, but it just made me think that... that you didn’t feel the same way about me, that I was just another client to you. I’m sorry for jumping to conclusions, and also for being kind of a bitch to you...” Now you were the one rambling, your hands flying all over the place in explanation.

“D-Doll, I never wanted to make you feel that way. I’m sorry, too. I should’ve told you before, before I almost blew everything with you that we’ve been building these past months.” He says placing one large tattooed hand and one metal hand on the sides of your face. “But I’m not gonna miss my chance again. Y/N, would you like to go on a date with me?”

“I-I would love to, Bucky. Took you long enough to ask me.” You giggle, holding onto the hands on your face.

“Yeah, well, I’m kind of an idiot, if you haven’t already noticed.” He laughs, gazing into your eyes with a look that almost turned you to mush in his hands.

“Do... do ya wanna go now?” You ask, nodding your head to the door.

“Sure, let me go grab my jacket from the back.” He tells you, and you nod, watching as he keeps his eyes on you until he disappears to the back.

“My man, who would’ve thought you’d finally man up?” Sam ridicules him as soon as Bucky appears.

“Dude, shut up. I got a date to get to, see you losers later.” He rolls his eyes, moving back out where you’re smiling at him.

“Ready, angel?” Bucky asks, slipping his hand into yours.

“Ready, handsome.” You reply, and as soon as you step out into the fall air, you plant a kiss on his cheek. “Where to, lover boy?”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #Bucky Barnes #bucky imagine #bucky barnes fic #tattoo artist!bucky #tattoo artist!bucky barnes #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes imagine #bucky x reader #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes angst

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aitaikimochi · 4 years

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The BNHA Season 4 BluRay/DVD Vol. 1-6 Box Set comes with a special bonus light novel called the "Cultural Festival Wrap-Up Party" about Class A's after-party they had the day after the Cultural Festival, written by Anri-sensei. Here's the summary! Enjoy~

Boku No Hero Academia Cultural Festival Wrap Up Party

The story starts off with All Might greeting Aizawa as he enters the faculty office, a day after the Cultural Festival. He says good work to Aizawa and asks how the clean-up went for the Cultural Festival. Aizawa says that everything has been put away properly and recalls how it was a bit of a risky Cultural Festival this year with the whole fiasco that almost caused them to stop the festival, referring to the incident with Gentle and La Brava.

Aizawa mentions that the students are now preparing for an after-party. He says, “too bad they can’t put this amount of effort that they did in the Cultural Festival towards their studies instead,” and All Might laughs and says, “Well, they’re still just kids after all.” He also tells All Might that a little while ago, Sero stopped by the office to ask him something. Aizawa says, “What?” and All Might explains, “Well…you see…”

Next scene is at a nearby discount variety store (**note: basically a Don Quihote department store in Japan that sells a variety of things including food at really cheap prices). The Class A band team, consisting of Jirou, Kaminari, Bakugou, Yaoyorozu, and Tokoyami, are buying snacks and drinks for the after-party. However, Jirou seems to be the only one who’s actually taking this seriously as she can’t find where everyone else ran off to. She bumps into Yaoyorozu, who excitedly says, “Jirou-san, look at these super cheap drinks! They’re only 10yen each! If we buy 20 of them that’s only 200yen!”

Jirou looks at the bottles and notices that they’re only on sale because the drinks had already expired. She tells Yaoyorozu to put away the items. She then continues to search for the other band members and finds Kaminari. He tells her that he wants to add these cool snacks into their pile of food, which come with bonus cards or toys. He says, “Look at these! Doesn’t it take you back? Man, when I was a kid I used to collect these all the time!”

Jirou looks at the items and says “put it back,” and Kaminari whines but does so anyway. Yaoyorozu keeps getting distracted by all the things in the store since she’s very rich, she seldom has the opportunity to visit these discount stores that people go to. Jirou finds Tokoyami, and Dark Shadow dumps a whole bunch of sweets into their shopping cart. Jirou says that they don’t need that many sweets and to put things back. Tokoyami then gives Jirou a snack with packaging that says “The Witch of Darkness’ Apple Pie.” Dark Shadow says, “Fumikage used to love these sweets when he was younger!” and Tokoyami gets flustered. Jirou then pats Dark Shadow on his head, and Bakugou comes up behind her.

He says, “What the hell are you guys even buying!?”

Kaminari cries out, “Whattya mean!?”

Bakugou says, “If we’re gonna eat this at the after-party, then we need several big bags of food! And why the hell am I even here shopping with you guys right now!? This is so annoying!”

As he says that, he fills the shopping cart with bags of potato chips, sweets, paper plates, and trash bags. Jirou sighs in relief and says, “Yeah! I was thinking of getting paper plates too so clean-up would be easier!” They then agree to buy some more bottles of juice and soda, and Bakugou says they only need a maximum 5 bottles to which Jirou agrees.

Bakugou then says, “Well then let’s just get the hell out of here!” and Kaminari regrettably puts all of the sweets that he added to the shopping cart back on the shelves. Jirou looks at Bakugou and says, “Bakugou, you’re…kinda like a very capable Mom.”

Bakugou gets mad and says, “WHAT!? Stop saying such stupid crap!”

While the Band members are buying stuff at the discount store, the Dance Team members and Stage members are back in the Class A dormitory preparing food and decorating the common room. The Dance Team is in charge of the food and the Stage team is in charge of decorations.

Satou is the one who is cooking most of the food, but the other Dance Team members are helping him with the food preparation. Iida is in charge of chopping the vegetables, and although he is known for his speed, he’s not used to handling knives, so he chops them at a slower pace. Hagakure is in charge of prepping the oil and oil absorbent sheets to fry the chicken and place it on the sheets. Ochako and Ashido are in charge of stirring the pot, which contains beschamel and bolognese sauces.

Ojiro checks up on the oven to make sure that it’s the right temperature. Satou tells Ochako and Ashido to add the sauce for the lasagna and to not forget to put olive oil on top. Shouji says that he’s done making the dressing for the salad, and Satou samples it. The kitchen is full of lively sounds, and everyone is excited for Ojiro’s delicious cooking.

Ochako, Ashido, and Hagakure then discuss how Christmas is around the corner too, so they should do this again and throw a Christmas party next time. While they think about having a potential Christmas party, Iida says, “Hey now! Christmas is a day that celebrates the Birth of Jesus Christ! You should be spending it with your families, so this Christmas we…”

Satou then says, “Iida, the knife, watch out the knife!” since Iida was talking while swinging the knife around in his hand. Iida apologizes. Ashido then says, “But wouldn’t a party be fun?” and Mineta appears in the kitchen holding some peaches while muttering, “Christmas…Christmas costumes…Santa Girl skirts…That’s awesome…”

However, they eventually convince Iida that Christmas is indeed a time to celebrate things together, and Iida gives in and says he will ask Aizawa for permission to throw a Christmas party much to everyone’s delight.

Mineta had been slacking off on his duties by looking at the peaches and stroking them gently, imagining something lewd, and Hagakure calls him out on his perverted thoughts and tells him to help out along with the others.

He is in charge of cutting the carrots, and while everyone is helping prepare the food, Ochako stares at the fried chicken that just came out of the fryer. She can’t help herself and pops one into her mouth only to find that it’s burning hot. Tsuyu says to be careful since they’re still hot, and Ochako apologizes as the fried chicken looked and smelled so delicious she moved without thinking.

Satou asks her how’s the flavor, and she says the fried chicken is really good while giving him a thumbs up.

Ojiro and Hagakure are washing the dishes, and Hagakure holds the plates, making them look like they’re floating in mid air. Ojiro then tells Hagakure that she should probably put some clothes on if she’s going to be in the kitchen where people use fire and knives, but she said she just wanted to see what people’s reactions were to her small pranks. Shouji then passes her an apron, and Mineta muses that it’s one of those tropes where girls wear aprons while naked, but Iida warns him to not go further.

Meanwhile, in the common room area, the Stage Team is preparing the decorations to be strung about the living room. Deku, Todoroki, and Koda are folding origami together to put on the walls as banners. Deku folds a cool All Might shaped origami, and Todoroki praises him, saying “Wow, All Might! That’s awesome!” Deku actually used to practice folding the All Might origami countless of times to perfect its shape, and he blushes a bit when he hears praise from someone.

He then sees that Todoroki folded a crane, and Todoroki says that his sister taught him how to fold the crane origami when he was a child.

Koda then says, “Oh um…I…made a camera origami!” and shows them a whimsical camera shaped origami that makes a shutter noise when pressed. Deku then notices that Koda actually had folded a ton of different origami flowers and animals, and Koda gets a bit embarrassed at the attention.

Koda says, “But the All Might origami is amazing…” and Todoroki agrees.

Todoroki then asks Deku to teach him how to fold the All Might origami. Deku is happy to oblige, and he says, “Okay first you fold a triangle and then…”

As he starts teaching Todoroki, Kirishima comes into the room and puts up his own dorm room’s fisherman banner on the wall of the common room. He says that this will make the place a bit flashier, and the others agree. Aoyama then comes in and also says that they need something sparkly and bright. Aoyama tells them that he’ll come back with something sparkly.

Kirishima then says, “Oh wait I’ll come help too!”

Todoroki then turns to Deku and says, “Midoriya, so how exactly do you fold the All Might origami?”

Deku realized that he was in the middle of teaching Todoroki before they got interrupted by the others, so he resumes his lesson by saying to first fold a triangle. Afterwards, he goes off on a tangent about how to perfect the folding process as well as making sure to accentuate the silhouette of All Might through the folds, and as he mumbles a bit, he accidentally folds the origami too quickly.

Todoroki is patient with him though and says again, “Um…can you please start from the beginning and teach me the steps a bit slower this time?”

Deku apologizes for folding the paper too fast and teaches Todoroki again, this time at a slower pace.

Kirishima then walks by and says, “Woah Todoroki, you also want to learn how to fold the All Might origami?” He leaves them to their folding and joins Aoyama and Koda in putting the finished origami and other decorations up on the walls.

After Todoroki successfully folds the All Might origami, Deku says, “You made your first All Might origami!” and Todoroki responds quietly, “I think this should be able to fit in the letter…”

Deku says, “Hmm?” and Todoroki says, “Ah, it’s nothing.”

Aoyama them brings a disco ball into the common room, and he, Kirishima, and Sero put up the other decorations.

Finally, the preparations are complete, and the Class A students gather in the common room surrounding a bunch of food that’s placed on the tables. Iida then makes a toast to a successful Cultural Festival, and everyone raises their glasses and says, “Cheers!”

Satou mentions that he also has prepared dessert, and they have two choices of either a chestnut and fig montblanc cake or an apple and peach jelly. Tsuyu chooses the jelly as jelly is apparently her favorite food. Tokoyami also chooses the jelly dessert while Ashido takes the montblanc.

Iida mentions that he and Mineta were in charge of chopping the cabbages and carrots for the cole slaw. Todoroki and Deku praise him and say that the coleslaw is delicious.

Bakugou watches irritably and decides to leave the party, but Kaminari says, “Hey hey hey, where do you think you’re going, Kacchan-kun!?” Bakugou says that seeing everyone making small talk is pissing him off, but Kaminari rebutts by saying, “But you looked excited when you were buying food!”

Kirishima then comes over and says, “Bakugou! I brought you some fried chicken! Let’s eat a ton!” and puts a bunch of fried chicken in front of Bakugou, to which he says he doesn’t want it. Kirishima doesn’t back down though and says, “Oh I got it! So you want lasagna instead!” and brings a slice of lasagna for him.

Satou noticed Kirishima carrying the food over and says, “Hey, you should put a bunch of tabasco on it before eating too!” and pours a bunch of tabasco onto the lasagna and force feeds Bakugou with it. Bakugou yells, “What the hell are you doing!?” but eventually pipes down after taking the lasagna from Kirishima as it seems like he does enjoy the food after all. Kirishima watches him and says, “See, I told you it’s good! I’ll bring you seconds!” and goes to bring Bakugou more food.

Sero then turns everyone’s attention towards the TV in the common room. He says, “Well then now that Bakugou’s calmed down, let’s watch the recap of our Cultural Festival performance!” He turns on the TV and everyone gathers around to watch the recorded performance.

Some of the members mention that Deku was late to the performance, and they thought that he might not even be able to perform. Deku apologizes for being late, but as the performance starts, they can hear the audience’s chatter as someone yells “YAOYOROZU!!!” Ashido and Kaminari tease her about having fans, and she gets flustered. Satou then whispers, “It’s starting…it’s starting…!” and the screen fills with the sound of Bakugou’s drums as well as a huge explosion.

The girls all fawn over how cool Jirou looks while singing, and this causes her to blush and say, “Please stop…” Koda also adds, “You were really cool, Jirou-san,” which makes her blush deepen.

Ashido exclaims, “Look look, the dance is all in line too!” and the class watches as Ojiro uses his tail to swing around. Everyone on the dance team mentions how it was thanks to Ashido being their teacher that they were able to have fun while dancing and making this possible. Next is Deku and Aoyama’s synchronized dance, and Shouji murmurs to Tsuyu, “Wow, they are so in sync!” to which she replies, “Midoriya-chan and Aoyama-chan practiced real hard, right?”

The students continue to watch as Aoyama becomes a disco ball and the stage team starts their part of the performance with Kirishima shaving the ice that Todoroki created while Sero uses his tape, and Kirishima says, “You guys’ timing was perfect, Seroroki!”

Sero mentions that they should try this move out while doing actual hero work next time, and Todoroki agrees. As Kaminari watches himself play the guitar, he says, “Woah there…I feel like I’m gonna be super popular after this with those slick guitar moves…!” and Mineta says, “But wait did you guys see my harem dance? That was the best…!”

Jirou says, “Tokoyami, you’ve gotten super good at guitar!” and Tokoyami mentions that it’s all thanks to her.

Kirishima and Bakugou are watching the performance from a spot a little away from the rest of the class, and Kirishima smiles at Bakugou, saying, “Man, you’re great at drumming after all!” and Bakugou replies casually, “it’s just average.”

Jirou overhears their conversation and says, “No way! Your drumming was phenomenal! Your rhythm is what allowed us all to stay in sync! Thank you for taking on this role!” and Bakugou scoffs and says, “Well, you’re the one who carried the whole performance though!”

Everyone is really impressed by Jirou’s bass skills as well as her singing, and they vote for her as the Class A Cultural Festival MVP. Everyone, aside from Bakugou, smiles at her, and she blushes, saying, “What…why…”

Yaoyorozu remarks, “Jirou-san, you were shining the brightest!” and Aoyama says, “Even more than me!?☆” But he agrees that Jirou indeed deserves the MVP title.

The class asks Jirou to make a small speech. She thanks everyone for making this performance a reality, and she’s really happy that they were able to perform together.

After everyone is done eating, Sero and Kaminari tells the class that they have some cool party games planned for everyone. Most of the class are excited for what they have in store, but Bakugou feels like it’s a waste of time and gets up to leave. Kirishima tries to stop him, but Sero taunts, “Oh, you’re leaving because you don’t think you can win, right? Well that’s fine, you can go back. Even though we have a quiz specifically tailored for you, but I guess you’d fail anyway.”

This gets Bakugou angry, and he agrees to participate in Sero’s dumb quiz challenge.

The games that Sero and Kaminari have planned are for one member of each Cultural Festival team to undergo a “Can you guess the __” type of challenge. Bakugou is first up, representing the Band Team. His challenge is to differentiate between three different types of pepper spice seasoning purely by taste (called 一味 ichimi).

Bakugou sits down in front of the table that has the seasonings, and Sero blindfolds him by putting on an eye mask that has a funny grinning face on it. Deku and the others snicker at how ridiculous Bakugou looks with that eye mask on, and Bakugou gets mad, yelling, “Damnit Deku, what the hell is so funny!?” Deku replies, “Well, anyone would laugh when they see…hahah!”

Bakugou roars, “You piece of shit!” but Todoroki says calmly, “Hey Bakugou, maybe you should consider wearing a hero suit that matches that mask.” Bakugou is furious and yells, “Shut the hell up, you half and half bastard!”

The challenge then begins, and Kaminari spoon feeds Bakugou the three different spices. He surprises everyone by correctly guessing each type of spice and goes even as far to explain which company manufactures them. Kaminari and Sero are speechless, but Deku says, “I thought that Kacchan would know the difference. He’s always had a very particular sense of taste. He could even tell when sweets expired and would never eat the expired food.”

Bakugou gets mad and says, “Don’t put on that stupid face as if you know it all!” and throws the eye mask at Deku.

The next challenge is Todoroki’s turn, representing the Stage Team. His task is to figure out among three cups of brown liquid which one is soba noodle soup. The cups contain either coffee, soba noodle soup, or throat medicine, and Todoroki cannot smell or taste them before picking his answer.

Iida mentions that Todoroki often eats soba during lunch, so there’s no way he would guess incorrectly for a food that he loves. Deku says, “Good luck, Todoroki!” as everyone watches him study the cups closely. The catch is that he also has to drink from whichever cup he chooses. Todoroki decides on a cup and drinks from it, only to spit it out and say, “That…wasn’t soba noodle soup…”

Kaminari chimes in by explaining that the cup he chose was actually throat medicine. Todoroki apologizes for spitting out the throat medicine, which splurted all over Iida and Deku. They tell him not to worry as more importantly, they need to get tissues to clean up the mess. Todoroki mutters, “I don’t think I want to eat soba anymore after this…”

The next challenge is for Tsuyu, where she has to differentiate from three different types of fluffy things: Koda’s bunny, Ojiro’s tail, and Deku’s hair by touch only. As she puts on the eye mask, Koda, Ojirou, and Deku stand in front of her. When Koda offers the bunny, Tsuyu says, “it’s fluffy.” When Ojiro offers his tail, she also says, “it’s fluffy.” When Deku offers his hair, Tsuyu says, “it’s…fuzzy?” She then correctly guesses which fluffiness was which.

Kaminari and Sero then round up the results of the various challenges, and the winner ends up being Bakugou!

Bakugou says, “Obviously I would win!” but the party’s not over yet! Next up is the Personality Quiz! Sero explains that since the class is with each other practically 24/7, they should all have picked up on small details of each other. This quiz will test how well they actually know each other after all.

The first question they ask is, “What did Iida answer on his Hero Test the other day to name the three most beautiful Heroes of the past?”

The class guesses incorrectly, and the answer was that he wrote on his test “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and everyone has their own different types of beauty.”

Baffled, Iida asks Sero and Kaminari how they even knew what he wrote on a test paper, and they explained that their accomplice, Hagakure, has been doing a bit of spying on everyone in order for them to make this quiz a reality. Hagakure apologizes for doing so, but she says that she saw it as an opportunity to also test out her hero skills too.

The next question is “What has Yaoyorozu been obsessed about lately?” Jirou answers first, saying “Oh, is it furikake (rice seasoning)?” The answer turns out to be correct, and recently, Yaoyorozu has taken a strong liking to furikake to season her rice, which makes her blush a bit.

Sero then says, “All right Kaminari, what’s the next question?”

Kaminari answers, “Okay! For the next question, what made Ojirou disappointed recently!?”

Satou guesses, “Cementoss said his effort was average?”

Shouji says, “Tetsutetsu told him his strength was average?”

Aoyama ponders, “Recovery Girl said his health was average?☆”

The correct answer is actually Ojiro changed the conditioner for his tail recently, but no one noticed. However, Hagakure sidles up to him and says, “I actually saw you looking around near the bathroom area to see if anyone noticed, haha!” and Ojiro gets red, saying, “Well if you were watching me, why didn’t you say anything…!?”

The next question was, “What was hidden in Kirishima’s elementary school yearbook!?” Kirishima panics and says, “Huh!? How did you…!” but Sero grins and says, “That’s only for me to know. But I totally could not believe what was hidden there!”

Ashido guesses, “Maybe a love letter!?”

Mineta exclaims, “A porn magazine!!”

Todoroki says, “Failed test scores?”

All three of them were incorrect. The correct answer is “a photo of him dressed up as a girl!”

Bakugou says to him, “You’re actually into that kinda stuff?”

Kirishima gets flustered and says, “Wait, you’ve got it all wrong! It was during my elementary school’s festival stage play of Cinderella where I played the Stepmother! When I left the picture at home, my mommy kept showing it to other people, so I tried to hide it!!”

Kaminari then continues with the next question, saying “Okay, so next question. Before the Cultural Festival performance, what did Uraraka mess up on!?”

Deku says, “She accidentally made herself float!?”

Iida offers, “She was too nervous she threw up!?”

Tokoyami asks, “She ate too much mochi and threw up!?”

Kaminari says they all guessed wrong and the correct answer is “she was looking for Midoriya but tripped and accidentally went into a room where Class B’s Monoma was in the middle of changing clothes!”

Ochako gets red in the face and says, “I didn’t do it on purpose!!”

Mineta comments something lewd, but Tsuyu shuts him down.

The next question is “What was the reason why Jirou and Hagakure were arguing!?”

Koda says, “Because Hagakure-san was messing with Jirou-san’s earphone jack…?”

Yaoyorozu offers, “Jirou-san accidentally stepped on Hagakure-san’s naked body?”

Mineta exclaims, “Fighting over a guy!”

The correct answer is because Hagakure tried scaring Jirou after they watched a horror film together. Ashido asked whether they actually argued, and Jirou said she got mad because when she takes a shower alone, she’s usually scared of the bathroom area anyway. So when Hagakure messed with her by causing the lights to flicker on and off and the faucet to suddenly turn on by itself, she absoutely freaked out and felt like she almost had a heart attack. Naturally, she was livid, and Hagakure says, “Sorry Jirou, your reactions were just too good!”

The next question is about Deku, and Kaminari asks, “Recently, Deku has been leaving the dorm early to meet with someone. Who is that secret someone!?” (**Note: The word they use is ‘aibiki,” which means secret date/meeting).

Deku is surprised and says, “Wait, how do you know that…?”

Mineta and Satou ask if he was secretly meeting up with a girl, and Iida says, “Midoriya-kun! Are you actually in a relationship with a girl!? You should prioritize studies first!”

Ochako is confused as she says to herself, “Aibiki? Like the type of meat?” (**Note: Ochako isn’t familiar with the word, so she thinks it’s referring to ‘aibikiniku,’ which is a combination of different types of ground meat)

Deku gets nervous and says, “No, it’s not like that…” He thinks of ways to deflect the situation without making it known that he’s actually meeting up with All Might in the morning to train his quirk, but the other classmates continue to guess.

Kirishima says, “He’s meeting with someone from the General Class!?”

Ashido says, “No way…maybe he’s meeting with someone older, like Midnight…!?”

Mineta suggests, “Maybe he’s meeting with a living thing other than a girl…!!”

All three of their guesses were incorrect, and the correct answer was that he was meeting with the Support Department’s Hatsume Mei!

Deku is relieved to know that the others have not found out about his secret rendezvous with All Might early in the morning to do training.

Bakugou snorts and says, “There’s no way that dumb nerd would ever be popular!” but Sero says, “No, Midoriya is quite popular among the ladies. Like during the Provisional License Exam when that naked upper classman got all over him.”

Deku rebutts by saying, “But that was because she was attacking me!?”

Iida then recalls how Hatsume helped Deku out when they went to the department together earlier, and after an explosion, she was also all over him. Mineta then gets lewd thoughts again, but the conversation switches to Mineta using his mogimogi hair balls and puts it on Deku’s head. Iida notes that it looks like Deku’s wearing those infamous mouse ears from “Zoo Dreamland” (aka Disneyland). Ashido mentions that she used to go to Disneyla—…Zoo Dreamland all the time when she was younger. The class chatter switches to discussing their favorite rides, attractions, and food.

The class then asks Mineta to put mogimogi balls on their heads too so they can look like they’re wearing those infamous mouse ears as well. Mineta enjoys the attention and says, “All right I guess…”

Before the party wraps up, Sero mentions that there’s one more video that they want to show to everyone. As they gather around the TV to watch, they see Aizawa on screen with a cat. As the video starts, Aizawa suddenly appears in the common room and reprimands them, asking what are they doing up so late? The video pauses on the screen.

Aizawa stops the party and tells everyone to clean up and go to their rooms. Since the party’s over, he tells Sero, Kaminari, and Hagakure to stay behind. The three students prepare themselves for a scolding, but instead, Aizawa asks them where they got this footage.

It turns out that Present Mic gave it to them after he recorded it while hiding in sight. The footage was of Aizawa trying to befriend a cat, but the cat ignores him and goes to All Might instead. Sero actually came to the faculty department before the after-party to ask for permission to show the footage, and since Aizawa wasn’t there at the time, All Might said it was okay.

However, Aizawa says he will be collecting the footage and tells the three to never discuss the contents of the video to anyone. They agree, and he sends them off on their way.

It’s been a long day, and Aizawa sighs and wonders just when he got caught up in all of this student stuff. However, although adolescence is short, that never stops them from chasing their dreams forever. Happily, while young, without sadness, sweetly, harshly…youth is a precious thing.

The light novel ends with Aizawa saying, “Good luck, everyone” with the words “the festival had ended, but even so, their bright days continue onward.”

THE END

2K notes · View notes

mel-the-fangirl · 3 years

Text

Toss A Coin to Your Witcher

Henry Cavill x Reader

Words: 2,362

I am so so so nervous to post this because this is my first time writing a Henry fic and I know that the Henry Cavill fandom is such a tightknit family, I hope you guys have room for one more hopeless Henry stan. I know this isn’t even half as good as the other Henry fics out there but I had this idea stuck in my head for a very long time.

Please like and reblog or leave me some replies if I should do a second part! Thank you!

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The makeup brush swept precisely along your cheekbone, covering it in a subtle shimmer. Production staff milled around behind you, testing sound, testing lights. Being an actor, these things were nothing new.

"Now remember, say it with me,"

"Don't say or do anything stupid." you recited with your long time agent and friend, Marge.

You thanked the makeup artist and made your way to the set.

"When have I ever said or done anything stupid though?" you asked

Marge looked at you appraisingly before replying,

"There's always a time for everything. Now go on."

The vibe on set dialled to a hundred when you stepped on. It was really flattering how they cheered as you plonked your butt down on the wooden chair, a red tarp was set up behind you and the studio lights surrounded the area.

"Ready when you are Y/N!" the producer aka the ring leader of this whole operation flashed you a thumbs up

You nodded, feeling the nervousness bubble up your throat.

Surprise, surprise. You still got nervous in front of the camera. It wasn't hard to handle though, you took a couple of deep breaths and you were good to go.

"Hey guys, gals, and non-binary pals! I'm Y/N Y/L/N. I'm here with Buzzfeed and we're gonna be playing Twenty Questions." you winked at the camera with your arms wrapped around the little jar that had your questions in it

"Let's get started, shall we?"

Eager to begin, you stuck your hand into the jar without a second thought.

"I freaking love Buzzfeed, really. Especially Tasty, I mean, I don't cook. But," you shrugged, wiggling your fingers, hearing the tiny bits of folded paper move around in the jar. "I love watching people cook. Then I love eating."

Scattered chuckles broke out through the crew.

After a few minutes of rustling around, you figured you’d just come clean, "Okay. Small problem."

You lifted your hand, the jar coming along with it. The pieces of folded paper crowding around your encased wrist as you waved your arm.

Another round of shocked giggles started up as a couple of assistants rushed to you and tried to yank the jar off.

"This is too good," the producer chortled, "Mind if we keep this in?"

"Fine by me!" you watched intently as Marge rolled up your sleeve so one assistant could pour oil all over it. Eagle eyed, she watched as a drop of oil landed on the bottom hem of your sweater.

"Great job, Y/N. This sweater was a gift from that designer you met last week, he said he made it just for you." she scolded, taking charge by grabbing the jar with two hands

"It was an accident, Marge. It's not like I planned on getting my hand stuck in a jar today!"

With a tug and a pop, your hand was free and slick with olive oil. Marge landed on her butt on the floor.

"Marge!" you howled with laughter, helping her up

She straightened her blouse, all business but her cheeks were stained red with embarrassment.

"Can someone help Y/N wash the oil off her hands? Let's get this show on the road, people!" she barked marching orders at the staff, clapping her hands as she went. She wasn't in charge here but no one dared to question her.

You chuckled, knowing that this was a cute little anecdote you’d be sharing with anyone who was willing to listen.

A few minutes later, you were back in your chair, having a laugh with everyone. The jar incident already stripped away the majority of your anxiety so you were ready to go.

"Okay! First question!" you squinted at the strip of paper, "What is the most expensive thing you’ve stolen from any set you’ve been on?"

“Well!” you widened your eyes at the camera, “Bold of you all to assume that I’ve ever stolen anything!”

Marge scoffed rather audibly, making everyone raise their eyebrows at you.

“Okay, fine!” you held up your hand. The stunning ring you had on sparkled underneath the lights, nearly blinding anyone who looked.

“I did a period movie a while back and they had these drop dead gorgeous, and I mean gorgeous pieces of jewelry. I wore this piece,” you gazed down at the ring fondly, “for the whole of the film and I just pinched it after we wrapped, I couldn’t part with it, okay? I’m like a fricking magpie, I love shiny things.”

The crew burst into fits of laughter, making you laugh along with them.

“To clarify! This is the replica the props department had made, a very expensive replica. I can see you freaking out, Marge. And no, you don’t have to call the insurance company.”

You were a big hit, to say the least. You had them in stitches every time you opened your mouth but all good things had to come to an end, right?

It didn’t matter how carefully you dipped your hand into the question jar, this next one was going to make things very messy for you.

"What do you like to do in your free time?" you read out loud, tapping a finger against your chin

"There hasn't been much free time lately,” you chuckled, “Let’s see… I play video games, yeah. I am so obsessed with the Witcher, it's borderline unhealthy. I’ve read all the books and played the games so many times."

"What do you think of Henry Cavill as Geralt?" the producer asked you

Henry Cavill.

Just hearing that man's name was enough to make the blood rush to your cheeks. You brushed an imaginary hair out of your face. From behind the camera, Marge raised a knowing brow.

"Well," you cleared your throat and sat up straighter

"To be honest, at first I was really skeptical about his casting. I mean, he is way too good looking. Like way. Way. Too good looking. But…"

"But?"

Your mind drifted to the first time you saw a picture of Henry Cavill in full costume. The white hair, the golden cat eyes, the intense gaze and all that leather? It definitely made you feel… Certain things.

You cleared your throat, propping yourself on the table with your arms. To be honest, your head was still in a Henry Cavill haze so you had zero control of what came out of your mouth next.

"I'd definitely toss all my coins to that Witcher. Toss a few other things as well."

Everyone in the room ooh'ed and whistled, delighted by your saucy reply. The ruckus snapped you out of it and your hand immediately flew to your mouth.

“Please tell me I didn’t just say that out loud.”

“You did.” Marge mouthed at you, trying but failing to contain her laughter

"So you enjoyed his performance as Geralt?" the producer pressed on, hoping to get more audience-raking answers

How many times were you going to blush during this interview?

"Oh, well, about that, I haven't really gotten around to actually watching it.” you admitted sheepishly, “But I've seen photos and some clips. Very impressed by what I've seen so far."

"You will watch it though, right?"

"Oh, absolutely. No way I’d miss out on that! Henry Cavill is an incredibly wonderful, talented actor. I think he’s also a fan of the franchise so I have no doubt that he played Geralt to perfection as with all his other roles." you nodded solemnly, putting a hand to your heart

Everyone in the room with you caught on that you were gushing over the actor, the sly looks they all exchanged with one another were a dead giveaway. Too bad you didn’t notice before you could try and play it cool.

“Alright! I think it’s time for the next question!” you declared, swiftly plucking another question out of the jar

By the time it was all over, you had convinced yourself that your little crush-related blunder wasn’t even a big deal, it would probably just be a little footnote in that video. No biggie.

But, Jesus Christ were you wrong.

The video took a couple of weeks to edit and in that time, you were busier than ever. A movie you had just done was getting a lot of attention, your performance in particular had critics singing your praises. At that point, you were definitely getting noticed a lot more when you stepped out for coffee.

So, the timing was just perfect.

The second the video went live, your phone was going off non stop. Twitter mentions, Instagram tags, and articles. A few notable entries being:

“WATCH: RISING STAR Y/N Y/L/N GUSHES ABOUT HENRY CAVILL IN CHARMING BUZZFEED VIDEO”

“@geraskier-rights: Y/N Y/L/N REALLY SAID SHE’D TOSS ALL HER COINS TO HENRY CAVILL’S GERALT AND WE ALL KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS”

“@geralt-of-vengerberg: Y/N The Fond™ is showing👀👀👀”

Marge sat on your sofa with your phone in hand, absolutely thrilled while reading tweets out loud. You scheduled a panic session with her over lunch once everything blew up.

“Oh my God.” you groaned, massaging your temples. “Marge, what do I do?”

“About what?” she didn’t even bother to look up at you

You plopped yourself down next to her, laying your head in her lap, “All that. It’s everywhere.”

“And? There’s nothing wrong with it, they all think you’re charming and funny. A true Relatable Queen.”

Was it your sanity slipping through your fingers? Or the overpowering embarrassment? You had no idea but whatever it was, it had you laughing until your stomach hurt.

Marge tugged at your hair, “Get it together, bitch. Jeez.”

“What are you so worried about anyway?” she asked, placing your phone on your stomach

You swiped through your emails absentmindedly, “I’m not worried about anything, it’s just that what if…”

You left the words hanging in the air, you might as well have been dangling from a cliff from how much colour drained from your face.

“What if what?”

Marge shoveled some pasta into her mouth before noticing that you essentially turned into a statue right next to her.

“Y/N!” she shook your arm with a grip you were sure would leave some bruises. “What’s the matter?”

Wordlessly, you passed your phone to her, the comment from a certain verified account displayed prominently on Buzzfeed’s Instagram post of a little snippet from your video, the “I’d toss all my coins to that Witcher” part, naturally.

“@henrycavill: Dear Y/N, how many coins are we talking about here? Let’s talk about my reward.”

It was all Marge could do to not throw your phone across the room. Her eyes went wide, following your every move as you paced back and forth, a thumbnail in your mouth.

“That did not just happen, I did not just see that right now. I didn’t.” you babbled, your heart beating thunderously in your chest

There it went. Your very own ticking time bomb finally went off. Number of casualties? Just one. You.

“Okay. Just calm down, Y/N.” Marge caught you mid-pace, squeezing your arms

“Maybe it was a fan account. Tell me it was a fan account, Marge. Henry Cavill did not just hear me imply what I implied.” you grasped at her hand with your clammy one

“Well if he has a fan account that’s verified and has fourteen point five million followers?”

“Oh god.” you groaned, sinking to the floor and hugging your knees

“Oh, Christ.”

Marge hauled you to your feet and thrust your phone in your hand. She looked you hard in the eye, “Stop your whining and answer him. You’re Y/N fucking Y/L/N, one of the hottest people on the planet, start acting like it.”

You stared at her, eyes wide. Your chest rose and fell rapidly. Marge’s words started to make sense in your mind and adrenaline started surging through your veins. You nodded fervently, psyching yourself up.

“Fuck yeah.” you breathed, clicking ‘Reply’

“@yourinstagram: @henrycavill I know you take orens, crowns, and florens but maybe we should discuss further?”

Before you could even stop yourself (did you even want to?), your fingers already landed on the blue paper plane.

“I did it.” you exhaled, staring as the likes and overly enthusiastic replies started pouring in

“Fuck yeah, you did. Now, come on. Leave your phone. We’re getting drunk.”

More weeks passed and you actually ended up forgetting about that little reply you left Henry Cavill. You were busier than ever. Guestings, endorsement deals, and awards shows left and right. So, when you finally had a couple of days free, you decided you would set up camp on your sofa and finally watch Henry Cavill as Geralt of Rivia.

You even threw on your Superman pyjamas, “What the hell.” you shrugged

If you were going down this road, you might as well do it right. Maybe you would even watch the Man from U.N.C.L.E after or would it be Night Hunter? The decision would have to wait.

You watched, absolutely riveted as the White Wolf battled against the kikimora, his silver sword hacked at the creature with unmatched expertise. You were only a few minutes in but you already knew you’d be stuck on that sofa for hours.

When the kikimora had Geralt pinned underwater with his trusty sword just beyond arm’s reach, you found yourself on the edge of your seat, one of your cushions in a chokehold.

“Come on, come on, come on.” you muttered as Geralt reached for his sword

You wouldn’t find out if he got it or not. A knock on your door literally made you fall off the sofa.

“Fuck!” you exclaimed, your hip was already smarting from the impact

Whoever that asshole was, you swore you were going to give him a piece of your mind. You stomped to your front door just as that idiot started knocking again.

You huffed and threw the door open then your mind immediately went blank.

“I am so sorry. Are you alright? I think I heard you fall?”

Oh yeah. You were definitely falling.

----------------------------------------------------------

You can find the second part here!

#henry cavill #geralt of rivia #the witcher #the man from uncle #night hunter #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill fic #henry cavill imagine #fanfiction #henry william dalgliesh cavill #cavillry

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aloraundomiel · 3 years

Text

Wartober/Kisstober - Day 4

I’ve decided to combine @rubinecorvus Wartober 2021 and @raincoffeeandfandoms Kisstober 2021 prompt challenges for double the fun and double the headache. :3

Day 4 - Navigate + Slow Kisses

WARNING: POETIC AND OVERLY METAPHORED ALLUSIONS TO SEX AHEAD

Dick has always loved maps.

As a boy he’d been obsessed with charting the world, one latitude at a time. He could see the peaks of the Himalayas on every globe. The jungles of Madagascar in every atlas. The sea currents. The depths of the Pacific Ocean in every naval chart.

He’d trailed bony boy hands over the lines of longitude, zigzagging past the equator and up to each pole in turn, imagining the far off lands detailed in perfect topography beneath his fingertips and what adventures they may hold. Wild animals perhaps. Inland seas the color of blue only dreamt of, brimming over with dolphins bearing their backs of gold. Rubies deep in the planet’s crust the size of a fist, too glamorous even for the most queenly neck. Anything beyond the tidy suburban monotony of Lancaster, Pennsylvania.

He’d joined the air force with a head full of boyish fantasies that never quite grew up. A misplaced Peter Pan training to plummet to the ground instead of fly, while fiery flak explodes in every direction. Dick falls from planes and navigation blows away, pulling it with him. A mere leaf in the wind. A tiny insignificant speck in a great big world.

He never lands in the lush tropical jungles of his childhood imagination. He never sets foot on the coastline with water so crystal clear you can see straight to the bottom. He lands in Hell. And there are no fantastic creatures here, no jewels or mountain-whisp clouds to chase. No sunsets over the curve of the horizon.

There’s only death. And fear. And the responsibility of leading men who look to him for guidance out of the smoke and into the daylight. He grips his compass like a lifeline and does his best. It’s almost good enough. They almost all make it to the next day.

Dick gets lost occasionally.

When he’s left to the watches of his chilly billet and the candles in the rest of the camp have long gone out. That’s when the isolation strikes hardest and the ghosts feel free to crowd in. They cast a shade so thick, he chokes, drowning on his own failures, his own insipidity. He wonders if he’ll ever make it out to see the sun again. If he’ll ever find the way back.

And then enters Nix.

With his sly, self assured grin and his dark, sardonic wit. He slips like a wish into Dick’s billet, or the potato cellar of a blown out building, or the back of the jeep when he purposely drives off the marked path. He takes Dick’s hand and cocks that brow that says “Trust me” and by God and all his angels, Dick does. He follows blindly and oh so willingly, grateful for the guide and indebted to Nix for knowing exactly when he’s in danger of venturing too far off course.

Nix strips him of the olive military wool that demands strict obedience. The color that barters not a hair of deviation from a pre-drawn map made by men who don’t know what it’s like to nose dive into the inferno of battle. Nix casts it away, tossing it to the floor and covers Dick’s skin with his own hands, paints him with his own array of colors. A black-brown fan of lashes skirting over his collarbone, the red of his mouth at Dick’s pulse point, coral pink tongue in the shell of his ear, the beach sand tan of his calloused fingers tightening around Dick’s naked bicep. Teeth with brightness to rival the Pacific white caps on his chest and abdomen. Eyes the color of expensive coffee from the tropics glancing up over his belt buckle, warm and rich.

Nix kisses him and he can feel the earth’s rotation slow beneath his feet.

Nix touches him and gravity is solid and real beneath his back once more.

Nix traces the constellation of Dick’s freckles with his lips and Dick can set time by the star’s orbit again.

He lets Nix take him apart and put him back together, piece by tattered piece. Until he’s whole and functional again, at least for a little while. Long enough to get his bearings and restart the cycle of playing tour guide through the landscape of dreary Europe, his band of Lost Boys in tow.

He comes to the siren song of Nix’s praises, his lover urging him on with clever fingers that play Dick's body like a well rehearsed instrument. When he’s caught his breath and regained his sense enough to flip their positions, Dick pins Nix down. Cages him against the cot and splays him wide, the scroll of his skin like fine golden parchment in the dim candlelight.

Nix squirms under the tenacious attention, craving speed and friction. But Dick is on a mission. He’ll recommit every part of him to memory, burying it deep in his psyche like treasure. Until the mental image of Nix bowing under his hand becomes as priceless and coveted as monstrous gemstones he can bask amongst at whim. Sorting them like a king sitting on his spoils. He’ll relearn the lines and transits of Nix’s form until he can recite in perfect detail the landmarks of his moles, the patterns of his body hair, the slope and angle of his wrists. He’ll stake his flag here, laying claim to Nix’s body and heart as conquistadors of old did to things and locations too precious to part with.

He can read his future in the curve of Nix’s hip bones. The universe in the earth tones of his eyes.

“Dick,” Nix whispers, something between a whine and a moan. He scraps desperate fingernails along Dick’s scalp, trying to steer his mouth where he needs it most. “Come on. Come on.”

Dick won’t be bullied off course. He runs the tip of his tongue along the shadow of the Adonis belt Nix used to have when he was in peak fighting shape at the start of the war, lingering at the scar just there above the pelvic crest. He lets his lips trek as fingertips do, memorizing the most scenic routes across and over and around this body he loves so dearly.

He steers southward down from the navel, following the trail of dark hair and Nix groans. He heads north to circumvent a nipple and Nix whimpers. He nibbles and sucks contrails on every inch he can find, until Nix bears the purple marks that label him as Dick’s territory and Dick’s alone.

He wrings curses and prayers and nonsense from Nix’s mouth. Until he arches beneath him and cries his release into the hush of Dick’s palm, breathy laughter squeezing through the spaces in Dick’s fingers.

“Jesus Christ,” Nix gasps, chest heaving with blasphemy and bliss. He tugs at Dick until he slides back up the length of his form, letting out the softest sigh for every slow kiss pressed to each body part on the journey up. “How do you do that? Remember exactly what gets me going? You always know.”

“I’m good at cartography,” Dick says.

“The hell does that mean?”

Dick just shrugs, cranes his neck down to pepper his shoulder with kisses.

Nix pulls a face that suggests Dick might be moderately insane, but then he laughs that ruby-ocean-wilderness-touchstone laugh of his and maneuvers Dick fully down on top of him for a long, lazy, silky sweet kiss. And though they’re both sated and satisfied for now, passing back and forth the same oxygen, filling each other's sails - it does not feel like journey’s end.

It feels like a beginning. Each and every time he’s with Nix and resets his course by the steady, unwavering foundation of his being. It’s always a new start. One he hopes against hope never stops resetting.

Because Nix has always been his True North.

Dick kisses his mouth and feels like he’s come home.

#winnix #my fic #waxing poetic #navigate #slow kisses #dick winters #lewis nixon #band of brothers #fanfic #fanfic prompt #kisstober 2021 #wartober 2021

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iclaimedtobethebetterbard · 3 years

Text

of falling & skateboards

Fandom: Sanders Sides Characters: Logan, Virgil, background Remus & Janus Rating: Teen & up Relationships: Pre-romantic/platonic Analogical (first meeting), romantic Dukeceit (getting together), platonic Dukexiety. Warnings: Language, Remus is somewhat suggestive throughout because he’s Remus, minor injuries Word count: 4541

Read on AO3!

My writing masterpost

Starlight Universe masterpost

analogical week 2021 start - previous - here - next - masterpost

Summary: Virgil's friend Remus drags him to the skate park and promptly abandons him in order to flirt with Janus; at least Remus had the grace to introduce Virgil to Janus's attractive friend Logan, who is just as poorly versed in skateboarding techniques as Virgil.

Notes: Day 5 of Analogical Week 2021! @analogicalweek Remus uses he/they pronouns; at this point, Janus uses they/them. Takes place in my Starlight Universe, does not need context to read.

Virgil’s phone began ringing, making him jump. He fished it out of his pocket, planning to hang up until he saw the caller ID. It was Remus—one of his new friends. They’d met at a club Virgil had gone to during orientation, and they’d hit it off and started hanging out.

Virgil picked up the call. “Would it kill you to fucking text me first?”

“You don’t respond fast enough,” Remus said, sounding bored.

“Sometimes I’m in class, Remus!”

“Are you in class now?” Remus asked.

“...No.”

“So it’s all good, see!” Remus cackled. “Anyway,” they went on, steamrollering over Virgil’s objection, “you wanna come to the skatepark with me this weekend?”

That was totally out of the blue. “What?” Virgil asked after a pause. “Why?”

“So, my brother has this roommate, and he’s super nerdy and boring but I think you’d totally get along and he’s coming to the skatepark with me and you should totally come along and meet him!” Remus explained.

His voice was a little too self-satisfied. “What’s the catch?” Virgil asked suspiciously.

Remus gasped dramatically. “Can’t I just want good things for my friend?”

Virgil waited.

“Also he’s friends with Janus and he’s bringing them, which is obviously totally unrelated,” Remus added.

“Aha.” That made more sense; Remus had told Virgil way more information than he wanted to know about their crush on this Janus figure.

“So you’ll come?” Remus asked eagerly.

It wasn’t like Virgil had anything else going on this weekend. “Sure. I’ll come distract your friend so you can flirt.”

“Hey!” Remus yelped, loud enough that Virgil winced and held the phone away from his ear. “Listen, this is a win-win situation for both of us! You’ll love him. Promise. He’s so fucking boring and nerdy, you’re going to talk each other’s ears off. It’ll be great! Trust me!”

“Sure,” Virgil said, amused. “Text me the time and place. Text me,” he repeated for emphasis, and hung up the phone.

On Saturday morning, he met up with Remus and the pair of them walked to the bus stop. Remus had their skateboard with them; Virgil didn’t own one, but Remus had assured him that he could check one out at the park for a small fee if he wanted to.

“You did not say it was fancy,” Virgil accused as the bus pulled away from the stop.

“What?” Remus looked down at himself. “Oh. No, I’m just sexy, nobody’s supposed to be fancy.” He was wearing a gray sports bra—it was the first time Virgil had seen him without a binder on, but even in a public setting he seemed totally unbothered—and faded jeans with huge holes in the knees, as well as platform doc martens and an olive green bomber jacket with “HE/THEY” stencilled on the back in white paint above a pair of skeletal hands giving double birds. His belly button was pierced and he was wearing a chunky black piece with small silver spikes in it; they had fishnet gloves on their hands, a black choker with small studded spikes on it around their neck, chunky black and silver studs in the three piercings he had in each ear, and messily smudged black and silver eyeshadow. His dark green curls were pushed back into a tiny, low ponytail that did absolutely nothing to contain them or make them less messy. “Pretty sure this isn’t what normal people mean when they say fancy, anyway,” they added thoughtfully.

“Shut up, this is fancy. You’re being fancy to impress your crush.” Virgil elbowed them in the side. He was only wearing his typical combination of band tee, skinny jeans, and black hoodie; he felt positively underdressed next to them.

“Yes, I am very very sexy and this is my mating call,” Remus said with an easy shrug. “What can I say?” After a pause, they added, “Do you think it’ll work?”

Virgil snickered. “Sure. Whatever. You look very punk. I’m sure they’ll be very impressed.”

“Good,” Remus said happily. “Here, this is our stop.”

One thing Virgil had learned about Remus was that they had what seemed to be actually boundless energy, and it showed in the way they walked. They practically skipped, moving at a pace so quick Virgil had difficulty keeping up. But Remus was especially energetic today, and it got worse the closer they got to their destination. He was practically vibrating out of his skin by the time the park came in sight.

“There they are!” he exclaimed, pointing to two people standing in the shade of a tree and making conversation. “Jan is the gothy one, the nerd’s all yours.”

Virgil screeched to a dead stop and grabbed Remus’s elbow. “Dude.”

“What?” Remus looked at him with raised eyebrows.

“You didn’t say he was hot!” Virgil snapped.

“What?” Remus looked bewildered, looking back to the people he’d pointed out. His expression cleared. “Oh, right, I forgot you can be attracted to cis people.” He looked back at Virgil. “I dunno. Make out with him about it?”

“Jesus Christ—no! I don’t know anything about him, for starters?”

“Fuck first, ask questions later.” Remus grinned. “Or if you don’t want to, then just get over it. People are hot sometimes. No big deal.”

Virgil spluttered for a moment. “That is such terrible advice, please tell me you don’t actually—”

“No, no, I’m marginally smart sometimes, don’t worry about me. But I don’t know what you want from me, dude.” Remus shrugged. “This really seems like a you problem.”

“I need to mentally prepare myself before I talk to hot people! A warning would have been nice!” Virgil said, hiding in the hood of his hoodie.

“Mentally prepare yourself now, then,” Remus said pragmatically. “This is really not my fault, I simply am sexier than you at all times and it gives me the power to say no thank you to being attracted to cis people. How was I supposed to know you’d think he was hot? Like, if you get all hot and bothered by glasses and the walking personification of a college textbook, be my guest, but I don’t get it.”

Virgil groaned. “Actually, I’ve changed my mind, could you shut up about it forever starting now?”

“Oh, absolutely not, but your complaint is noted,” Remus said. “C’mon, let’s go say hi, some of us actually want to flirt with the people we think are hot.” They grabbed Virgil’s elbow and dragged him over.

“Remus,” Hot Glasses Boy said cordially (and dammit, he was tall, which was another thing Virgil found attractive). “This is your friend, I assume?”

“Yeah!” Remus grinned. “Logan, Virgil, Virgil, Logan. Apparently you’re hot. He’s emo. You’re both nerds, you should get along great.”

“Remus!” Virgil snapped, cheeks going hot with embarrassment.

“What? What?” Remus demanded, then elbowed past Virgil. “Hiiiii, Janus.”

Janus raised a singular eyebrow, looking for some reason amused rather than annoyed. “Hello there.” They eyed him up and down. “I like your jacket,” they added, very obviously staring at his chest in a way that Virgil suspected has nothing to do with the jacket.

Remus grinned and did a little twirl. “Thanks, I decorated it myself,” he said, wiggling his shoulders. “Wanna see me do a sick kickflip?”

“Sure,” Janus agreed, and allowed Remus to link his arm through theirs and drag them eagerly away in the direction of the skating area, already talking a mile a minute and beaming up at them.

Which left Virgil alone with this Logan guy and no idea what to talk about. He coughed, shuffling his feet awkwardly. Now that he was up close like this, Logan actually looked familiar, but Virgil couldn’t quite place him. Shit. Should he know him from something?

“Don’t we have History 104 together?” Logan said, breaking the silence (and saving Virgil from the approximately two dozen different social gaffes he knew he was probably committing by not knowing what to say) all at once.

Virgil breathed out a sigh of relief, because yeah, that was it; this was the guy who sat at the front of the huge lecture hall and always raised his hand (and his voice was unmistakable too, now that he’d spoken; Virgil would have placed him in another minute). “Oh, yeah,” he said. He had no clue how the guy recognized Virgil; it was a big class, and Virgil usually sat by the back. Maybe he noticed Virgil on his way in? Virgil guessed he sat kind of close to the door. It was possible.

“What do you think of the class?” Logan asked, and for some reason he sounded genuinely curious, not like he was just making small talk for the sake of it.

Virgil had absolutely skipped two class sessions and napped through another, but he found himself not wanting to admit it. “It’s alright, I guess. The professor’s kind of dry for me, but the readings are okay.” That was more or less true, although it was maybe the most positive spin on his opinion.

Logan nodded, adjusting his glasses and absorbing Virgil’s words like they were actually important information. “He is a bit long-winded sometimes. I wish he would be clearer about which things he intends to test us on.”

Virgil nodded vigorously. “Right? Like, what’s up with that? Why is he spending twenty minutes out of the hour telling us about, I don’t know farming practices, or whatever, if he’s just going to say ‘oh, but that stuff won’t be on the test, I just think it’s interesting’ at the end?”

“Well, it is interesting,” Logan said. (Virgil disagreed, but held his tongue.) “But I do wish he’d be clearer about what he intends for us to be taking away from his lectures ahead of time.”

Virgil nodded again, and there was a brief silence while he scrambled for something to say.

He glanced over Logan’s shoulder at the skating area; Janus was sitting on the edge with their legs dangling into the area, watching Remus, who was skateboarding back and forth at a speed that couldn’t be safe.

“So,” Virgil said, looking back to Logan because he was pretty sure he’d scream if he watched Remus tempt fate any longer, “you’re friends with Remus?”

Logan made a gesture that wasn’t quite a shrug. “I suppose so. He’s my roommate Roman’s twin, and the two of them spend a lot of time together, so I think I am friends with him by association. I’m much closer with Roman. Not that I don’t enjoy Remus’s company. I simply don’t know them as well yet.”

“Right, right,” Virgil said.

“How are you acquainted with them?” Logan asked.

“Oh, we met at a club during orientation,” Virgil said. “We hang out a lot. He’s pretty chill most of the time.” Well. “Chill” wasn’t really the right word to describe anything Remus did, ever. But it did describe Virgil’s feelings towards him.

“Ah, I see.” Logan nodded. “Do you know Janus at all?”

“Not really—I mean, Remus talks about them a ton, but we haven’t really met or anything,” Virgil said. “You do, though, right?”

“Yes, we were in the same group at orientation, and now we’re friends,” Logan said. “They and I like to deconstruct TV scripts together.”

That sounded incredibly nerdy, and Virgil wasn’t even sure what it meant. “Wow,” he said, not sure how else to react. “Fun?”

Logan smiled, and fuck, Virgil had managed to forget he was cute for a minute there, but it was back in full force now. “It’s lots of fun,” he agreed.

They made some more small talk—majors, hometowns, and so on. Logan actually paid attention to every word Virgil said, and he was surprisingly easy to open up to. He didn’t seem judgemental, instead accepting every word Virgil spoke as important. Virgil was actually starting to feel comfortable talking to him, which was… cool. Remus’s assessment of the way they’d get along evidently hadn’t been too off.

After a while, Logan looked over his shoulder at Remus and Janus; Remus had coaxed Janus onto the skateboard, and was pushing them back and forth, his hands clasped carefully around their waist and a huge grin spread across his face.

“Are you planning to try that?” Logan asked Virgil, gesturing at the little building off to the side that was renting out skateboards and safety gear.

Virgil hesitated. “I don’t know… are you?” he asked.

Logan made a considering face. “I might. I’ve never been on a skateboard before.”

“Wait, really?” Virgil asked. He hadn’t in a long time, but he’d been obsessed when he was twelve. He didn’t think that he’d been very good, but it hadn’t been for a lack of trying.

Logan shook his head. “No, never.”

“Well, we’ve got to change that,” Virgil found himself saying in spite of all the common sense that screams at him to not do something with such a high likelihood of making him look like a fool in front of a cute boy who was also turning out to be surprisingly easy to talk to, and thus a potential friend, which was honestly way more valuable than cuteness.

Logan looked pleased, though, like he’d been hoping Virgil would agree, so Virgil couldn’t find it in himself to regret the decision. “Together, then?” he inquired.

“Sure,” Virgil agreed, and they made their way into the building.

They rented a pair of skateboards and two sets of safety gear for the minimum time—thirty minutes, at $15 apiece, which was definitely higher than Remus had implied but Virgil did luckily have the cash to spare—and made their way out to the skating area.

Remus was now skating in tight, fast circles around Janus, who was holding perfectly still and calm at the lowest point of one of the curves built into the area. Virgil was pretty sure they weren’t supposed to be in the area without a skateboard of their own, but he also wasn’t about to tell them off and bring down the wrath of Remus upon himself. The two seemed engrossed in conversation, anway.

Logan led Virgil to a completely different space from that which Remus and Janus were taking up. Virgil was grateful; he didn’t feel like being made fun of, no matter how good-naturedly, by Remus at this time, and while Janus was likely interesting enough to keep Remus from following them over here, they would never have passed up the opportunity if Logan and Virgil had stayed anywhere nearby.

Logan stared at the skateboard he’d set down before himself on a flat space, looking vaguely perplexed. “You just climb on, right?” he inquired.

“Yeah,” Virgil said. “You can, like, kick off with your foot to move, and stuff. Kind of like riding a bike.” He instantly regretted the comparison, and tacked on a hasty, “Only, not that much.”

Logan made a small “huh” noise. “Interesting.” He cautiously put a foot on the skateboard and tested his weight on it. “Oh, I do not like that.”

Virgil chuckled a little, tugging at the strap of his helmet to make sure it was securely fastened. “Yeah, it’s a pretty weird feeling, huh?”

“The ground should be stable,” Logan said emphatically, staring at the skateboard that he was still barely resting one foot on with an expression on his face like it had personally wronged him.

Virgil snickered. “Can’t say I disagree with you there, buddy. But seriously, it’s not too bad once you get used to it.” He hopped onto his own skateboard as if to prove his point, but he hadn’t realized he’d set it up on the barest incline, and as soon as his second foot left the ground it rolled right out from under him.

“Are you okay?” Logan gasped, reaching to offer him a hand up.

Virgil half laughed, because that was the best option just at this moment, trying his best to ignore the wish to go hide in a hole in the ground until everyone left and then never talk to Logan ever again. “I guess I deserved that,” he said, trying to shrug it off. “Got too cocky.”

“You still shouldn’t get hurt! Are you okay?” Logan insisted, hands fluttering vaguely like he was resisting an instinct to check Virgil for injuries.

Virgil’s tailbone was a little sore, which he was absolutely not going to admit to Logan under any circumstances when he’d only known the guy for half an hour, but aside from that—“I’m fine,” he insisted, brushing himself off. “Uh, thanks for the concern, though. I appreciate it,” he added awkwardly.

“Are you sure? You—” Logan began.

There was a loud cry of “FUCK!” from just out of sight that was undeniably Remus’s voice, followed by a crashing noise.

“Oh, fuck indeed,” Virgil said under his breath, and scooped up his skateboard. “Come on.”

Remus was rolling over as Virgil and Logan came into view of him; Janus was already kneeling by his side, worry plain to see on their face.

“It was a very cool fall, don’t worry,” Remus yelled over at Virgil, pushing themself up on their elbows. “Ow, fuck.”

“That is not the part I’m worried about, idiot!” Virgil called back as Remus gingerly poked at his knees, which were both scraped and bleeding.

“No no, I’m fine, leave me alone, Virge,” Remus insisted hastily, making some complicated hand waving motions and glancing meaningfully at Janus.

Janus looked very put out by this. “No, you know what, I’m inclined to let him scold you! Why would you not wear knee pads?” they demanded, grabbing Remus’s elbow, helping them to their feet, and guiding them to the side of the rink with motions far gentler than their words.

Virgil paused, watching to see if Janus needed help, but now that it seemed they had it under control much more inclined to give into Remus’s wishes and let them handle it.

“Because anarchy,” Remus said, grinning up at Janus and leaning all his weight on them, legs shaking slightly.

Janus pushed him to sit on a bench with a fury that still managed to be gentle. “First of all, that is not what anarchy is, and second of all, even if it were, that’s still an objectively stupid decision to—”

“Oh, no, what a terrible mistake I’ve made,” Remus said with a shit-eating grin that told Virgil he knew the definition of anarchy perfectly well. “If only there were a smart, sexy nonbinary person around who knew all about anarchy, who could tell me what it really is while they tenderly bandage my wounds!” They cast themself back on the bench dramatically, draping the back of their hand across their forehead.

Janus flushed slightly. “You could have just asked,” they said, and though their voice still had an annoyed bite it was softer now. “You didn’t have to get hurt before I gave you more attention.” They sank to their knees on the ground in front of him, examining the scrapes on his knees.

Remus sat back up, reached out, and cupped Janus’s cheek in his hand, leaning far into their personal space. “Trust me, babe,” he said, and then something too low for Virgil to catch that made Janus flush a brilliant shade of red.

Remus grinned and sat back, his fingers slowly dragging against Janus’s skin as he removed his hand from their face. “I have a first aid kit somewhere in here,” he said in a more normal tone, digging in his pockets and procuring a small white plastic box. He hesitated, eyes flicking to Janus. “If you don’t want—”

Janus rolled their eyes and shook their head. “Give me that.” They grabbed the kit and flipped it open, pinning down Remus’s legs with their elbows. “Don’t move.”

Remus only rested his cheek on his fist, gazing down at Janus with a look on his face far softer and fonder than Virgil thought they’d ever admit to, should he call them out on it.

“So,” Logan said in a low voice to Virgil, “please help me out here. Are they dating? I can’t tell.”

“I’m so glad I’m not the only one who’s unclear on that,” Virgil responded in a similar tone, going to go pick up Remus’s abandoned skateboard. “I—I don’t think so? From the way Remus talked about this beforehand, I would have been sure not. But then they—” He gestured vaguely at Remus and Janus.

“Exactly!” Logan agreed. “I wasn’t even sure if Janus liked them back before we got here, from how they talked about him.”

Virgil snorted, watching Janus gently sponging Remus’s knees clean with a shockingly tender expression on their face, which up until now had been haughty. “That must have been a trip.”

“You have no idea.” Logan shook his head. “Alright. I will continue to allow it to be a frustrating mystery, since you don’t seem to have the answer either. Do you wish to attempt skateboarding again before we have to return these?”

Virgil glanced at his watch; there were only seven minutes left. “I dunno. It feels like Remus getting hurt kind of killed the mood for it a little, you know?”

“I can understand that,” Logan agreed.

They checked their skateboards and safety gear back in (Virgil deposited Remus’s skateboard next to the bench he was on as they went), and then made their way back outside. The sun was starting to reach just the sort of angle in the sky where it was annoying no matter which direction you were facing, so Logan and Virgil retreated to the shade of one of the nearby trees.

“Did you know,” Logan began, examining a fallen leaf on the ground, “that you can actually eat magnolia blooms?”

“Wait, oh my god, yeah!” Virgil sat up. “I haven’t done it before, but I really like making preserves.” It was a good activity for days when his anxiety just wouldn’t go away no matter what he did, because it took a long time and a lot of hands-on work that always helped to take himself out of his thoughts for a while.

Logan lit up, adjusting his glasses and peering at Virgil with keen interest in his dark brown eyes. “Really? That’s fascinating! Tell me more!”

That was honestly all it took to get Virgil to start explaining his hobby, and if he’d thought Logan had been paying attention to him when he talked before, that was nothing compared to this eager interest to learn that Logan was now displaying. He asked just the right questions to egg Virgil on and on, and occasionally interjected facts of his own, some of which Virgil knew and some of which he didn’t. It sounded like Logan didn’t have much actual experience with preserving food, but a decent framework of theoretical knowledge.

“I wish I could see what that looks like in practice,” Logan said at one point, as Virgil explained the way fruit jellying worked.

“I mean, I bet there’s videos on YouTube,” Virgil said thoughtfully.

“Yes, but it’s not the same, you know?”

Virgil turned this over. “Tell you what. Jellying is a lot of work, and I don’t think we could really do it in a dorm kitchen, but here. Give me your number. I’m down to show you some kind of preserving method. I’m sure we can figure out a way to make it work with what we’ve got.” He dug his phone out and opened it to a new contact page.

Logan’s eyes widened. “Really?”

“For sure, dude.” Virgil handed him the phone and watched as he punched his number in. “It’s been a while since I did any kitchen work anyway, I could use the destressor.”

“I would love that, thank you!” Logan said with an enthusiasm that was absolutely catching.

Virgil chuckled. “No problem.” As he reaccepted the phone from Logan, he noticed the time at the top of the screen. “Oh, shit, it’s nearly three. Do you have anywhere to be?”

Logan blinked. “Really? It doesn’t feel like it’s been long at all.”

“I know, right?” Virgil agreed with a small laugh. Talking to Logan was surprisingly enjoyable, given how rare it was for Virgil to really like the company of new people.

“I do have a paper due tonight that I haven’t started yet,” Logan said thoughtfully.

“Dude, what? Oh my god.” Virgil felt the onset of deadline panic setting in, even though it wasn’t even his own deadline. “What do you mean, you haven’t started?”

“Oh, it’s fine.” Logan waved his concern away. “It’s only three pages, I can do it no problem by then.”

“But, like, research? Drafts?”

“No, I already know it all. I can find sources to back me up easily. Trust me, I know what I can and can’t get away with when writing a paper. I only need to worry about drafts and research when it’s five pages or more. Anything less than that I can write the day it’s due and still get an A.” Logan spoke with an easy confidence that would be annoying in almost anyone else, but that somehow couldn’t quite manage to put Virgil off. Not after the absolute delight Logan had shown over the last half hour as he learned from Virgil.

“If you say so. I still hate that,” Virgil told him.

“That is what most people say when they learn about my homework methods.” Logan nodded. “Should we gather up our companions—oh.” His eyes widened as he looked over Virgil’s shoulder. “Um.”

Virgil turned to look too. “Wow. Uh.”

Remus and Janus were—well, to put it bluntly, they were making out. Much more extensively than was probably appropriate, given the public setting. Remus had Janus backed against a wall, with their legs around his waist as he held them up and kissed them, sloppy and desperate and gleeful, like he was on a mission to map and memorize the shape of their mouth. Janus was clinging to him tightly and kissing back like they’d never get another chance to.

“Um,” Logan repeated again, frantically looking anywhere but at their friends. “Well. That is. Something.”

Virgil laughed a little, also looking away. “Yeah… I mean. I guess now our question about dating is maybe answered?”

“I hope so,” Logan said fervently. “However, just at this moment, I feel a strong inclination to, ah, pretend I don’t know either of them.” He chuckled, but Virgil got the distinct sense he was only half joking.

Virgil snickered. “I mean, I feel like they’d deserve it at this point if we deserted them. Want to head back to campus together?”

Logan perked up. “Really?”

“Sure, dude. You seem pretty cool.” Virgil offered an awkward fistbump, and after staring wide-eyed at it for a brief second, Logan returned it.

“You seem cool as well,” he said. “Shall we?”

“Let’s do it.” Virgil got to his feet and followed Logan to the bus stop.

Virgil wasn’t normally one to get his hopes up, but he hoped this Logan guy would stick around for a while. He seemed like exactly the sort of person Virgil could have an amazing friendship with.

Taglist: @fivehargreeves05

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jarofstyles · 4 years

Text

Dirty Business II - Espresso

A/N: We’re back with more!! We had lots of fun writing their dynamic, they’re probably one of our favorites. Never a dull moment with them, so buckle up!

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pairing: Harry Styles x Reader

warnings: smut, cheating, daddy kink

word count: 13k

Harry knew Y/N knew she was wearing down on him. Caroline has come in once more and Y/N has brought him his coffee and scone, it hadn’t been pretty. Y/N, to her credit, just gave a smile and said she knew what he liked and walked away. Caroline didn’t appreciate that and again accused him of doing shit with her. He told her she didn’t have to worry. He did feel a bit of guilt for kissing Y/N, but at the end of the day? It was going to happen and he knew he was going to. It wasn’t an excuse.... except, maybe it was. He thought about that damn kiss over and over again. It was heavenly. He wished for it again, wanted to taste her mouth and even further— but couldn't.

Since then, she has been bothering him to break up with Caroline. Something he was going to do but... maybe after Paris. She was right. He needed someone to take care of Oliver if Niall couldn’t. When he went back to his office, Y/N followed. Standing behind his desk, his arms crossed and he looked at her with a raised brow.

“Is this your doing?”

“What? You think I’d orchestrate this? You flatter me.” Y/N chuckled, walking over to stand in front of his desk. “Believe it or not, it was my father’s idea. Even down to me coming along. I have to give it to him. Said he didn’t trust anyone else with the job.” It was all true. Harry was going to be the next face of the company, he wanted new investors to trust that this company had a long and bright future. Y/N coming along was really for the show aspect, he knew his daughter was beautiful and would help schmooze anyone who wasn’t completely onboard if Harry didn’t already succeed. The two of them would turn up their charm and do the job well. “But yes, make sure you send that information over tonight.... I’ll text you a list of what to pack for the events, I’ll cover the suits and shirts, don’t worry.” Y/N smiled, already excited at seeing him in some nice higher quality pieces. He needed to look the part. Not that he didn’t already, but she wanted to pamper him.

“Jesus... okay. Fine.” He sighed, rubbing between his brows. God damn it. How was he going to survive this type of thing? When she would be in such close quarters that it would be impossible to escape? He was fucked. “Y/N, no funny business. Okay?” He opened his eyes to look at her. She looked like she was scheming. “I mean it, Y/N. Nothing is going to happen. We will be friendly, but nothing like what you’ve got running around in that mind.” He was trying to be serious but, he knew internally this may be his downfall. “Don’t look at me like that. I mean it.” She rolled her eyes. It wasn’t fair that she had such an influence over his body and his heart. It sucked because he had grown to actually like her. When she wasn’t having the bratty rich girl persona on, she was lovely to talk to.

Y/N raised her brows at him, he really thought that his statements were going to work this time. That this time she’d listen and really hold back, keep things professional when she didn’t have to.

“You mean it huh?” She asked and moved from her place to walk so she was standing behind the desk with him. “If that’s what you have to do... what you have to say so that you feel guilt free, then fine.” Y/N spoke, using her hands to smooth over the lapels of his blazer. “Just going to go to Paris, take care of business and have fun. What’s so wrong about that? Loosen up.” She mumbled, leaning forward to press a few kisses down his jaw. When he let out a frustrated groan she pulled away, “You’re only making things harder for yourself by denying me, Harry, you know I’m never going to give up right?” Y/N looked up at him with mischievous eyes. “But you keep telling me what you need to feel better... it’s okay, but you don’t have to make it this hard for yourself.” She just wanted to kiss him again, so she was tired but of course was denied.

He placed his finger on her lips. The kisses on the jaw were enough to fuck with him. He hadn’t fucked Caroline for weeks now, the last time being after he kissed Y/N. He had to think about her to get hard, went especially hard because he was so frustrated and wished he was buried in her instead. Since then, he felt gross and stuck with his hand. It’s been a few weeks now and it was definitely hard. The finger thing backfired though, Y/N’s eyes lighting up and her hand grabbing his wrist, finger being sucked into her mouth. And it was hot. So fucking hot. Feeling her slick tongue run over and the suction of her mouth, he felt stuck.

Y/N smirked for herself, keeping eye contact as her mouth sucked at his finger. He really shouldn’t have done that, but he did. Harry had let her show him just how badly she’d wanted him yet again. She pulled off his finger and licked up the base of it before pulling him back into her mouth for a few more moments. She wanted to drive him crazy. Once he seemed to pull away she pouted, licking over her lips and giving him a small shy smile.

“I want you.” She whispered quietly, “so bad..” The girl was whining, desperate for him but she’d never beg. She wasn’t one to beg, no, he’d have to give in. Y/N wasn’t going to leave until he told her to, which she assumed would be now. She’d just occupy the rest of her time planning their Parisian itinerary, packing, getting ready for their big trip. They had about three days till they left, three days for him to get his shit together and accept that he couldn’t deny her during this trip, absolutely not.

He cleared his throat, pulling his fingers away from her. Why had he let her do that? A bit of misstep. He wasn’t confident in this trip. She scared him. Y/N was dangerous for him and yet, he continued to allow her to get her way.

“Christ.... just— go make some reservations to whatever you want to do in Paris. I’ve never been there, so I don’t mind doing whatever.” He muttered, walking towards the window to look out over the city. He knew in his deep gut that Y/N was wearing him down thin. She worked so hard and even told him she wasn’t giving up. So why did he want to fight so hard again? Oh right. His job. If she was this determined to get him... what would she do if he pissed her off? He was nervous over that and while he knew internally she wouldn’t ruin his life like that, the possibility still lingered.

“Have a good night, Harry. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She hummed, making her way out of his office and back to grab her things in her father’s before heading out for the day. She would get cozy at home, book everything she needed to before their trip and relax with a bottle of wine. She was very excited.

The next three days, Y/N has spent booking things. Their itinerary was set, booked in tables for restaurants, booked private tours for all the major attractions, and made some time in the schedule for them to explore all her favorite little corners of the city. Even the night life. She was so excited, mostly because she was going to spend time with Harry, but also that she would be alone in one of her favorite cities with Harry. She spent the last day getting her hair, nails, facial, and waxing done. Regular maintenance before any trip. She wanted to feel perfect to her standard. Y/N had sent over someone to tailor the suits she’d ordered for him in the office during the week, which were then delivered to his house with matching shirts and ties. Everything was packed and ready to go, the only thing left was to get on the plane.

It was a private plane. Y/N’s father owned a few but this one was apparently one of the best. He had arrived before Y/N, kind of shell shocked at just how his life was turning out. Never had he thought he’d be on a private plane to Paris.

Harry decided that since it was a business trip that he should wear one of the suits Y/N picked out for him. He had taken off the jacket and hung up before he opened up his laptop. There was still work he wanted to do and he knew that Y/N would be distracting him. When she did arrive, he wasn’t surprised to see her looking as gorgeous as ever. She always did. He wanted to see her with no makeup though. Hair normal. No fancy outfits. Just... relaxed. That would be rather nice. She made a beeline for him, giving an actually rather nice hug.

“Good evening.” He said, a bit surprised at her behavior. He thought perhaps she would sit in the chair across from him, but she lifted his laptop and let herself into the seat next to him.

There was no shame anymore. None. She was doing what her father said and taking what she wanted.

“Good evening.” Y/N smiled happily at him, “Are you excited?” She asked having her entire rich girl persona leave her in these moments. She didn’t have to act for anyone here, didn’t have to impress anyone here, that’s the only reason she even put on the act anyway. To impress people. Here, it was just her and Harry on a plane to France. Y/N had known the crew for years and she had befriended them all. Maybe Harry would be surprised, seeing her treat them as if they were friends rather than employees. Now that she had gotten time alone with him, she felt free to do and say as she pleased. Their only requirement on this trip was to go to these events and meetings but other than that? Absolutely nothing. Y/N would be getting to spend way more time with him that she’d had in the three weeks that she’s known him and that made her very excited. She could show him that she could be fun, that she was actually very laid back and affectionate. She was hoping he’d really get to know her. She buckled up in her seat, looking over at him to see him working on his laptop. Y/N would let him do his work, knowing at some point he’d get bored and have to talk to her. She was doing the same on her phone, sending emails and texts to whoever she needed.

He was pleasantly surprised. Normally when they were out in public, she had a certain tone to her voice. She had this... rich and squeaky voice, but alone, and apparently here, she was normal and sweet. It was odd to be around her like this, but it was nice. Again, it made it harder for him to keep her away. His heart turned to mush with her sweet behavior. She was relaxed and he could tell she liked being next to him. He knew that he had been a bit harsher with her lately but the girl didn’t give it a rest. He could feel her eyes on him after he heard her lock her phone. It lasted 5 minutes before he sighed, looking at her.

“Have I got something’ on my face?” He asked. It was more a tease because she had been staring for a bit and didn’t have any shame in being caught. Y/N smiled at his comment, leaning in to kiss his cheek.

“Mm, now you do.” She hummed, letting her hand move to gently rub off the lip stick she’d transferred on to his face. She was so fond of him, couldn’t stop herself from staring and talking to him. He just proved to be the most attractive man she’s ever met and she stood by that. From his voice, to the way he walked, to his stare. He was powerful and smart and everyone in the room knew it when he walked in. He is and will be extremely successful in the business and Y/N knew that all too well. She wanted him for herself because he deserved a wife like her, who was going to devote her time to worshiping him. Not some girl who would rely on him financially. She looked over at one of the flight attendants as she told Harry to put his laptop away for take off, offering the two something to drink at their request.

“Wine?” Y/N raised her brow at him, “I stopped by the bakery on the way here too, got your favorite.”

His face softened. She always went out of her way to give him things. She learned things and didn’t forget. Y/N was sweet and he was so conflicted because it was so hard to keep his resolve when she showed how genuinely sweet the girl could be.

“Wow... thanks. I’m good on the wine but, you didn’t have to.” She really didn’t have to but the fact she did made him happy. It meant a lot to him. He squeezed her hand as a thanks. Y/N seemed to appreciate that. “How did you even remember what my favorite things are? I didn’t even mention half of them more than once or even at all and you just get them for me?” He knew she must have been really observant, or a hacker.

“You’re very welcome.” She hummed, telling the flight attendant to make some coffee instead, looking back at Harry when he squeezed her hand. As a form of comfort, she began rubbing her thumb over his hand while the plane began to take off. “Dunno just... when you like someone, you just remember things.” Y/N shrugged, knowing she’s always been that way. “At least... I make an effort too, I don’t know.” She hoped that he didn’t find it weird, mostly because she herself wanted to be treated that way. She wished someone loved her the way she loved people. Once they were in the air the flight attendant brought their coffees, croissants and scones.

“Help yourselves too! I definitely won’t be able to finish them all.” Y/N smiled back to them, watching as Harry went to reach for one of the scones. She was pleased knowing she’d done a good job.

“That was really kind of you.” He murmured when she sat back down next to him. “I haven’t been in this type of business world too long but I know a lot of people don’t do that stuff so you probably made their whole day.” He was impressed. It just made it more difficult to ignore her charm and allure. It was going to be hard this trip. Half of him was ready to give up now. Let her kiss him and have a romantic time in Paris. Y/N would be a good lover, he thinks. She was thoughtful and sweet and she could fucking kiss. He sat and watched her interact with the staff, her eyes always coming back to him. He was trying to be less obvious that he was looking at her but it was difficult not to. She was airy and bright like this. Much better than how she acted at the office or in the city. Was this the real her?

“I’ve known them a long time, they’re practically family to.” Y/N spoke, looking between him and the staff. Was it shocking to him that she could treat people well? Of course her father was ruthless, but she? She had a heart. It was a huge reason she would never really get into the business. That didn’t mean she could be ruthless because lord knows she could be. She had noticed Harry looking at her, giving him a smile whenever she did catch him. Of course she had been looking at him too, she really liked him. God, did she like him. Y/N has spent hours researching things he talked about, things he liked, just hoping she could get to know a little bit more of his mind. She just wanted him for herself, wanted that devotion.

Y/N did eventually feel herself falling asleep, getting tired while listening to him type away at his computer. She didn’t really say much, simply rested her head on his shoulder and nuzzled against him. She’d been dreaming about doing this for weeks now and it was truly meeting up to her every expectation.

Harry told himself it would be a dick to move her. Realistically, he felt good when she decided to nuzzle against him. The fact she felt safe, even when he had been so distant and kind of cold to her, she didn’t stop. He wondered if this is how it would be if they were in a relationship. Would this be the side he sees? Sleepy Y/N with soft lips, resting against his body? The trust she had in him already to keep her safe was so astonishing He stared at her while she slept. When slight turbulence hit, he gently comforted her back to sleep when she whined. He already thought about her all the time. He wanted to know more of her likes but he had tried so hard to block it out. Maybe it would be fun, this trip.

They landed in Paris rather quickly, Y/N being thrilled at that. She thanked the crew for their work and told them to enjoy their week in France, making her way off of the plane down to the car that was there to meet them. Y/N could tell that Harry wasn’t used to this luxurious way of living but she was hoping he’d get more comfortable with it when being around her.

“I think you’re going to love it here.” Y/N smiled, “the hotel is lovely as well. I’m so excited!” She giggled, taking hold of his hand again just because she wanted to be touching him. The drive into the city didn’t take too long, Y/N making herself familiar with the surroundings once again. The Ritz Carleton was marvelous, absolutely stunning. The decor on the inside made it look straight out of a royal palace and it’s why Y/N loved staying there so much. She liked feeling like a princess. Of course, her father had booked them a suite, to bed one bath. The room with the perfect view of the Eiffel Tower and a terrace.

Harry felt like he was In some kind of storybook. There was no way this was real... right? He was in awe. Stepping into the hotel, he also felt severely out of place. Sure, Y/N has bought him designer shit but inside? He still wore primary tee shirts at home.

“Well... shit.” He muttered, the doorman bringing their bags to each room. He told them to give Y/N the master bedroom and he would take the smaller of them both. It wasn’t like it mattered. They were both huge. “This place is like... one of those fake storybook places. I never knew hotels like this existed.” He muttered. On the kitchenette table— was 3 gift baskets, with fruit, one with wine and cheese, and the other with luxury soaps. He was indeed shocked at how much they went out of their way to spoil guests. How much was this place a night?

“Yeah? It’s part of the reason why I love coming here so much... it’s.. magical.” Y/N smiled, quickly going to take his hand and bring him to the terrace so he could see the view. She giggled a bit at his amusement. “That’s how you know you’re in Paris.” She cooed, “I’ll give you a moment... I’m going to go change.” With that, she was off to her bedroom, quickly taking her suitcase and unpacking everything into the closet as she usually did for a trip like this. She pulled out her pajamas, just a T—shirt and some cotton panties, and her toiletries, heading off to the bathroom to get all comfy cozy. Of course, she was a little nervous, seeing as Harry had never seen her not dolled up. She was confident in how she looked, but just a bit more shy about it. After an extensive skin care routine, Y/N had walked back into her room and put her clothes away, grabbed her phone and walked out into the living room area. “You hungry? room service here is delicious... and you didn’t eat lunch so we are pigging out.” She told him and finally looked up from her phone to find where in the room he was.

Harry has changed too, considering It was definitely too tiring to go out. He had put on sweatpants and a tee shirt that said ‘eat your honey’ with a little bee on it. His reading glasses to the side, he sat in the living area. Looking out, you could see lots of things. The buildings, the tower, the fireplace and TV. It was unreal. He had sent photos to his mum and sister as well as niall, which had all three of them freaking out over how incredible it was. He wasn’t expecting Y/N to come out with a fresh face though. He thinks that may be the moment he was fucked. Seeing her natural, bare, dressed down? His heart did a little thing. She was beautiful. Like— really fucking beautiful. Without makeup, without it all, she was stunning even more. He thought she looked good most of the time but now especially, he was in a bit of shock. How? He truly couldn’t get over it.

“Uh... yeah? That's fine with me.” He blinked a few times and waited for her to come over with the menu. She sat close, heat from her body leaking into his as she leaned against him. First sign of weakness was that he didn’t read just— just felt her. He wasn’t sure she had shorts on underneath the large shirt. He didn’t want to know, actually.

Naturally, Y/N blushed when she noticed the look at Harry’s face. She didn’t want to know what he was thinking, surely he wouldn’t say anything if he thought she looked bad. Lord knows her exes had told her man times that she looked ill without makeup on. It was then that she started wearing makeup everyday. She wanted to feel close to Harry, happy that he didn’t shift when she leaned into him this time.

“What are you in the mood for? If you want, we can get two mains to split and a few appetizers?” She explained, knowing this menu by heart. French cooking at it’s finest? She couldn’t wait to dig in. They had decided on what they wanted and Y/N went to order, in French of course. She ordered their dishes and a few bottles of wine, as well as some dessert. Harry would be eating like a king tonight, she would make sure of it. “Alright, should be here in about 25 minutes.” Y/N came to sit next to him, again moving so she was real close. She liked seeing him all dressed down, he looked very comfortable and it made her feel really domestic despite being in a place like this. “How are you feeling?”

He was rather enthused by watching her. She was interesting and he was kind of seeing her in a new light. She was polite to workers and kind to strangers, even with her prissy voice on. It seemed that out of New York, she felt happy. At home more around him than when they were actually at home.

“I’m okay. Probably gonna be a bit jet lagged but I’m excited to be here. S’beautiful.” And so was she. He couldn’t stop thinking and this was bad for him. He needed to relax. Calm himself down. Realize that it’s okay, it’s just Y/N and he shouldn’t... however that part of his brain was being squished little by little. “How about you? You seem excited.” She did. She was happy and he was wondering if part of it had to do with him being there with her. Or if maybe Paris is just her favorite place. He liked it quite a bit already. Y/N moved to push a few hairs away from his eyes, giving him a soft sweet smile.

“Good...” She cooed, nodding her head. “Yeah, I’m... I’m really excited.” She didn’t want to be too obvious about it but he had read her quite well. It was clear that she thrived when she was on her own, when the expectations of her family weren’t on her. She was a powerful woman, everyone knew that, but she was sweet. She meant well. “Guess I just.. I like being away from everyone.” Y/N explained, “my parents and all the people I know in New York.” She wasn’t sure if it would make sense to him but she’d try her best to paint the picture for him. “Can be my own person here, don’t have to think about what I’m doing or breathing even... but it’s also nice just being here with you..” Y/N admitted, chuckling at the look on his face. “What? Are you really that surprised?” She really wasn’t sure how he didn’t get it yet. “I don’t know how many times I have to tell you for you to believe me.” Y/N let her hand find its place in the curls on the back of his neck. “‘m not going to beg for you Harry, I don’t beg.” She told him, “people only ever get one chance with me... but you just... I actually like you, and you’re the one thing I can’t have.”

“Why?” He had to ask. It didn’t make much sense at all that she was so into him out of all people. Granted, he was flattered. Of course he was. But he just didn’t get it. “Why do you want me so badly? I just don’t understand the interest. You’re of a higher class, you’re beautiful, you’re educated. I went on a scholarship to Oxford, I wear primark— your worlds h&m or whatever, I eat McDonald’s and take away all the time and I live in a small apartment.” He furrowed his brow. “Why am I such a want for you? I don’t understand. I’m sorry, I’m not trying to pass any judgement in to you or anything but it’s just... hard to wrap my head around the fact that you’re so set on having me when there’s so many other men that could give you a much more comfortable life.”

It broke her heart to hear him talk like that. Not only did he think that she wouldn’t want him because of their different classes, but because he thought he couldn’t offer her the life that she wanted. As if he’d know that a comfortable life came with its own set of struggles, ones that people didn’t see as justifiable. Everyone thinks money can buy happiness.

“Harry, I’d give up my whole life just to be happy and cared about.” She said softly, again seeing the look of confusion on his face. “Look, I get it. I’m this spoiled bratty little girl who has never had to work a day in her life. Yes I have everything I could ever want, could ever need— except for the one thing that money could never buy.” She looked away from him and began toying with the hem of her shirt. Y/N hated showing weakness but if it meant that he could understand where she was coming from she’d do anything. Including showing her hand a bit. “And I see someone like you.. someone who has ambition, who is stable and who shows so much potential both in his career and everywhere else. Someone who’s kind and someone who... who doesn’t particularly care who I am or what I have or what I can offer.... someone who is a genuinely good guy, not some hot shot who thinks because he can buy me an island I now bow down to him.” Y/N finally looked up at him. “Just want to know what it’s like to actually have someone care about you..”

“I’m.... i’m sorry.” He said after a few moments of silence. “That I assumed things of you, of what you want. That wasn’t fair of me.” He did feel guilty. What he saw was a girl who just wanted someone to care about her. Actually. Someone who would give her attention that wasn’t for money. The same way she must have been showing her affection with the gifts and things. He felt badly now for acting annoyed. “I really understand that. I can’t imagine how it is to grow up in that sort of environment. I’m lucky because my family was and is still close but... I do care about you, Y/N. More than I should. I’m sorry that I’ve been so hard on you.” He gently took her small hand and squeezed it. “I loved all your gifts. They aren’t necessary, but you put a lot of thought into them and every one, I’ve used. I have the tee shirt in my bag, that you got me. I don't want you to think that I didn’t like them.” He felt terribly guilty now that he could see some truth. At first he thought maybe she wanted him because he was new and interesting but she hadn’t lost interest.

“It’s okay... I sort of expected it, but I’m glad you let me explain.” Y/N offered a small smile as he squeezed her hand. “Cause I know I can be that girl... and I am to some extent, but at the end of the day that isn’t who I want to be and I want you to know that.” She wouldn’t be that bitchy girl her whole life, especially if she was dating Harry. Sure, she’d be that way around work and around places she knew people would be, but around him? Around his family and friends? She’d be the real her. “You did?” Her eyes lit up at the idea of it. She was really glad he had enjoyed her gifts, the records, the shirts, the candles, all of it. Y/N felt her stomach get all fuzzy, “I’m really glad you like them... I really just got stuff that made me think of you. There’s a bunch of stuff I’d like to get you, those suits being some of them.” She smiled brightly, “you looked really nice today by the way...” Y/N was really just a soft girl. Once she was comfortable and someone they really got to know her, she just wanted to love and be loved. She could go on for hours just listening to him talk about his life and his cat and all that good stuff. She just wanted a friend that was genuine, luckily Harry happened to be extremely attractive as well.

“I figured you’d pick out good ones. You have a good boutique so, I do trust you in fashion.” He smiled lightly. Y/N has gotten a good amount of things for him to wear here and he was just letting her dress him because in all honesty, he didn’t know the best thing to wear with what. Suits were easy but she hadn’t only gotten him suits. Shirts and pants and all that. “It must be hard to get up every day and put on and put together an outfit and match your makeup and all that. M’lucky with a suit. It’s easy to put on, but you manage to always look put together. It must be a bit exhausting.” Not that it wasn’t worth it but he was hoping to see more of the light makeup. None. “I like the no makeup thing. You’ve got long eyelashes though. My sister got extensions on them and she loves them— did you get those?” He was trying to show his interest because he still did feel badly. He had equal interest but had been hiding it every day and Y/N was being honest and open.

“Thank you... but no, it’s actually really fun.” Y/N felt herself smile at the thought of it actually. “The whole process of getting ready, from picking out the outfit to doing the makeup. It’s really fun. When I have nowhere to go on the weekends, I’ll stay in just like this and lounge all day.” She admitted, raising her brow as he went on to tell her about how he liked her with no makeup on. That was something she never thought she’d hear. Here she was sitting there all nervous because she would think he’d think of her differently now that he could see every freckle and dark circle on her face. Her face must have been beet red. “Don’t have to lie...” She chuckled, “But thank you... I didn’t really like the extensions cause I rub my eyes too much when I don’t wear makeup and they’d always fall off.” She explained, “I either like how I look with lots of makeup or with none at all... it's an internal thing.... but I’ve had too many exes tell me they think I look sick without makeup on, so it just always in the back of my head.” Y/N really had been through it in the past. She wasn’t one to wear it on her sleeve but she’d been cheated on and abused and manipulated so many times. It definitely had lasting effects on her. “I really do appreciate your compliments... I do. It’s hard for me to accept them but it means a lot to me.”

“The hell? They’re full of shit. I can admit I’ve seen some people who look like they could use some of that face stuff but you? No way in hell.” He scoffed. Exes. He wondered about those. What type of man did she date before? He was curious to know what happened in those relationships and why she thought he was lying about what he was saying. He wasn’t. “M’not lying. Your exes are pieces of shit if they genuinely told you that, and awful liars. You’re welcome though.” He shrugged. The food got there quickly after he said that, and was wheeled into the table area. He stood up and was astounded at just how much food there was. “This all looks really damn good.” He muttered to her. “Are those macrons?”

----

It was safe to say Y/N had a lot of thinking to do in bed today. She’d opened up a lot more than she had expected to Harry and now he knew a lot, enough to understand her more than he did and now things were noticeably different. Sure, he was still a little hesitant, but he seemed a lot more open to her kind gestures and her remarks, of course her kisses were still denied. Harry really was as calm and charming as she thought he was. He opened up a little bit more about the things they liked and they bonded over music. They both shared a love for Fleetwood Mac, the zombies, and other oldies that she felt many guys liked just to say they liked it. They had a similar sense of humor as well which helped, but of course it sucked because he technically still had a girlfriend. She wasn’t sure if he was going to break up with her or not, but surely their chemistry was undeniable. Y/N wouldn’t rest until he was hers, she didn’t care what he said, she’d have him by the end of this trip if not earlier.

When she woke up in the morning, she went to the bathroom to freshen up, slipping on a robe for warmth and smiling when she noticed Harry sitting outside on the terrace with breakfast. It seemed like something out of a romance movie.

“Bonjour..”

“Bonjour.” He greeted back. He wanted her to walk over and straddle his lap. Give him kisses and open up the robe so he could see underneath and touch and kiss on it. Maybe even slip out of his pants and have her sitting on him, make love to her on the balcony. He snapped out of it as her chair made a noise and she sat down.

“I remembered your eggs Benedict and the mimosa. I also got the stuffed strawberry toast because you like strawberries a lot.” He cleared his throat. He was going to return the thoughtfulness she had shown him. She was so lovely and thought of things that would make him smile and now he was going to do the same and make her feel cared for. Even if it wasn’t necessarily romantically. His little mind dream before had been a clue though. He needed to break up with Caroline for real. He shouldn’t have daydreams of another woman on him, let alone the term making love come to his mind.

Y/N smiled brightly as she took a seat, admiring all the food before her. He really did this for her? Did he really go out of his way to make sure he ordered things she liked because he wanted to make it up to her? Y/N could jump him right now if he’d let her.

“Harry... thank you.” She felt really warm inside. “This is really sweet.” Y/N got all blushy again and went to dig into her meal. “Did you get some sleep?” She hoped that the jet lag wasn’t too bad for him. Y/N was used to traveling so her body clock was all over the place. She slept when she was tired. “We have the day off so... we can get dressed and go out in the city and explore. I can take you to some of my favorite places.”

It was a Sunday morning in Paris, the two could do absolutely anything they’d wanted. She decided they’d go for a walk down Champs Élysées, see the arch de triumph and end the night around the Eiffel Tower. They could take their time getting ready and going out, they didn’t have a schedule today so they were free to do as they pleased.

“Yeah, I did actually. I think the plane tired me out enough.” He had slept a good 4, 5 hours so he felt good enough. He woke up earlier than normal however he didn’t mind. He talked to his mum and ordered them a good breakfast. “We can do that, yeah. I’ve never been so, it’s a bit exciting.” He wasn’t nervous, oddly enough. It would be the both of them alone in a city but he was more excited. Y/N would know the good spots to hang around and that was exciting to him. Especially because she was truly excited to show him around. “Where were you thinking of going?” He questioned. He was hoping for a few shops so he could get his mother and sister something. Gemma had been to Paris once on a school trip but his mother had never. He was the first in his family to make decent money.

“Mm, well, I was thinking we could go walk in the area towards Champs Élysées... do some shopping? Get some food... just some exploring really. I’m saving all the actual touristy bits for later in the week. I’m sure the louvre is packed right now.” Y/N was glad to hear he got some rest, he looked really good. He sounded even better. She liked how deep his voice was usually, but it was particularly deep in the morning. She had no doubt that Harry would fall in love with Paris. All the little shops and boutiques, all the cute places to get coffee and sandwiches. She truly was over the moon about being here with him. Y/N took her time eating her breakfast, going through her emails on her phone for a bit before deciding it was time to get ready. “I’ll meet you in here when I’m ready.” Y/N cooed, “thank you again for ordering for me..” She smiled making her way to the bathroom to get herself all fresh and ready. He said he liked the way she looked with no makeup so she decided to leave her skin dewy and fresh, adding some winged eyeliner and mascara while doing the classic French thing of putting on a red lip.

“Are you ready to go?”

Harry pulled on some silky soft shirt Y/N had gotten him. It was baby blue but he decided to not button it all the way, and a pair of skinny jeans with his worn boots. It was comfortable and he wanted it to be that way. It was warm so he decided to forgo the jacket, instead tucking his wallet and phone into his front pocket. He knew pickpockets were a thing so he wasn’t changing it in the back. The makeup she wore looked very good. Classic. Just... more natural except for the red lip but it brought out how beautiful they were. Soft as fuck, too. He remembered how good they felt. It was getting more and more difficult to keep himself in check. “Yes. You look lovely. I like that makeup.” He complimented, making sure he tucked a room key into his wallet as well.

“Thank you. That shirt looks really good on you.” She wasn’t used to all the compliments from him, but god was she thriving off of them. Y/N visibly brightened up at his words and smiled. She was eyeing him up properly. She could eat him up. All she wanted to do was lick right up his chest but that would be a bit much for the hour of the day it was. Maybe later. “We’re actually close by so we don’t have to take a car.” Y/N hummed, clicking the button on the elevator and waiting for it to arrive. She decided against heels today seeing as they’d be walking around and instead went for boots. It made Harry a bit taller instead of eye level with her, making her feel rather feminine.

The two of them looked good together, it was quite obvious by the way that people looked at them as they walked by. It made Y/N feel all giddy inside to think that these people all thought they were together. Of course, that’s all she’d ever wanted. It was beautiful out. Harry couldn’t believe he was actually in Paris, walking around, staying in a 5 star hotel with the prettiest woman he had ever met. It felt unreal. Like it was all coming full circle and he was in awe.

“Wow... it's so gorgeous out here.” He whispered to her as they walked towards wherever she was taking them first. He trusted her to show him a good time. If anything, he knew she would provide good company. “How many times have you been here?” He asked, gently grabbing her hand when she tripped slightly on a cracked brick. “Oop. Gotta watch. You’re a lot shorter without those heels on, but it’s a good thing you aren’t wearing them on the street.” He smiled.

“I reckon I’m better talking in them than I am in normal shoes now.” Y/N chuckled, allowing herself to slot her fingers with his. If he was already holding her hand, she didn’t want to let it go. “I wanna say... in the teens if not twenties now?” She had been to Paris many times. “I do the whole fashion thing and so does my mom so Paris is quite essential.” She loved it. It was a place where she could escape, a place where she could express herself and was always welcomed by people. Y/N led him inside a vintage store her friend owned, knowing Harry loved those types of things this was exactly where he was meant to be.

“Y/N! si agréable de te voir.” Y/N! so nice to see you her friend Jacqueline cooed as she saw her.

“Chéri, c'est bon d'être bacm.” Darling, it’s good to be back. It was then that Jacqueline noticed Harry, smiling at him and at Y/N.

“C'est ton copain? c'est un si bel homme.” Is this your boyfriend? He’s so handsome She asked, to which Y/N nodded in agreement.

He might as well be her boyfriend, Harry thought with a smirk. Y/N didn’t know he spoke pretty good French. But obviously, he felt... okay. He should call it out and tell her that he wasn’t her boyfriend, but he liked hearing that. The pride on her face when she said it too... it did strike him. She would be that proud to be with him? He walked around and found a few cool vintage tee shirts. Older bands and French tee shirts from the 80’s which he found fascinating. All of it was incredibly cool. An old pair of sunglasses as well, he picked up and fell in love with. They weren’t special, not at all, but something about them felt good.

“Find anything?” She was sorting through the dresses and he could see some things on her arm. It felt oddly normal and domestic, the both of them shopping together. He was trying to relax and let the feeling soak into him that perhaps this was good. Maybe this was just what he needed to experience to see that maybe he could give it a shot. Of course this was Y/N’s ultimate fantasy, shopping in Paris with her hopefully soon to be boyfriend. She loved knowing he was around, that if she turned the corner he would be there and she could go up to him and lean up on him and kiss his shoulder or whatever she wanted. It made her feel all giddy inside. “Hmm?” She turned her head as he came up behind her, Y/N smiled at him and saw he had picked up a few things. “I really like the color of this..” She showed him the set, “I’ll have to do some sowing but... I’ll make it work. And I really like this.” She said, holding up the vintage corset that her friend had held in the back for her knowing she’d like it. “How about you?” Y/N asked, nodding at the things he had seemed to pick up. She thought the shirts were cute, the sunglasses even better. “Love that.” She smiled up at him, liking the dream boat shirt. “You definitely are a dream boat.”

Her compliments meant a lot to him. He knew that she meant them wholeheartedly. It felt good to be on here with her and comparing things they were picking up. Truly, it felt like a whole other level. He liked it a bit too much.

“Thanks.” He laughed, placing the things back on his arm. He was done but he followed behind Y/N as she looked through the final few racks before they made their way to check out. He took out his wallet and paid, letting Y/N go after because she was talking to the owner. He could hear her talking about him again. How he was handsome and where she had found him.

It was nice to have someone be proud of being with him, even if they technically weren’t. He was feeling a bit of guilt for feeling this when he was technically still with Caroline but Y/N was just next level. Different. Something no one else could be. Y/N took Harry’s hand as they left the store, taking his hand comfortably again.

“It’s cute in there, yeah? Got lots of little vintage shops all around here... but if you’re thinking about the nice stuff...” Y/N led him to turn left, the Champs Élysées. “The biggest shopping street in the entire world.” She said with a small smirk. There were hundreds of designers, hundreds of regular stores, brand names, boutiques. You name it. Y/N knew they’d definitely find something here for his sister and mum and Y/N absolutely wanted to help in any way she could. The women in his life deserved to be pampered and spoiled, especially his mother for raising a son like him.

“Hm. I’m not sure I’m at the pay grade to normally shop at any of those.” He admitted. He made good money, yes. But a splurge on clothes every week or spending ten grand on something yet wasn’t something he could fathom. He knew that he was getting a raise soon and potentially another promotion but it was still hard. Living in New York wasn’t cheap and a quarter of his paycheck went to rent, then some to bills and food and the rest he saved. He wanted to buy a home one day. “I’m happy to come in with you though.” He wasn’t against looking. “Maybe get one or two things but I’m not going crazy. I don’t care if you do, though.” He didn’t want her to feel like she couldn’t shop. He wanted her to enjoy herself and he hoped that she would get whatever she wanted, if that’s what she chose.

“You are on vacation though, can spoil yourself a little bit.” She hummed, rubbing her thumb over his knuckles as she pulled him into the Gucci store. Lots of things here reminded her of him, particularly the rings. She knew he wore lots of them and well, she felt like he needed a few proper ones. A few hundred dollars for a ring? Wasn’t too bad at all. She could buy him a couple if he wanted, Y/N waited to see where he went first before she made any choices. Maybe he’d go there on his own? She looked around the store but ultimately she did love their jewelry and handbags. So, she decided she really wanted to get this blue velvet and floral embroidered bag, looking at the rings in the case to see if she spotted anything she liked for herself and for Harry.

Harry hummed as he looked around, though he was certainly keeping an eye on Y/N. He felt a protectiveness over her growing. Making sure she was okay, happy where she was. She was glowing now that she seemed to be in her prime. Fashion really was right for her. He approached as she looked at the ring case, looking over her shoulder. A hand was placed on her back as he leaned over.

“Which are we looking at?” He murmured, a bit close to her ear. He wanted to see but also... kind of wanted to see what her reaction would be with him being this close. The rings were cool. Eccentric. He loved them, actually. There was one with a lion holding a gem between its teeth, another just really flashy ruby one he liked so much. He wasn’t sure which one Y/N would like for sure but the pearl looking one and the band with flowers looked like it would be her type. He was happy to feel Y/N melt into his touch, her breath hitching at his hot breath so close to her ear.

“I like a few... that one in particular.” Y/N pointed to the one with the flowers on the band. “Excuse me, could I see this in a size 16? Thank you.” She watched as he went to get it out for her. “And, the lion for him, please.” Y/N didn’t know what size he was in rings but she would surely find out now. “It reminds me of you..” She mumbled, trying on the ring for herself and nodded and decided to get it. There were a few more rings she had asked for him to try on deciding she’d get him the two he liked best. She didn’t care what he said, he was going to get those rings regardless. “What are you thinking?” Y/N cooed, desperately wanting to kiss on him at that moment. She could see he clearly liked the lion and the one with the ruby, “I’ll get them for you.” Y/N didn’t wait for him to answer, she just told the man helping them that she wanted those three rings and the bag. She cupped Harry’s cheeks in her hands, “just let me do this for you? Please?” She whispered, wishing she could kiss his nose but the red lipstick was really holding her back from that.

He felt his breathing catch. He was going to tell her no, that it was fine but she had to go and grab his face with her warm hands and lean up to look up at him. He felt her little thumb rub over his cheekbone and he could have sworn right there that she was a witch. She was enchanting. Tempting. Every nerve in his body felt sensitive just looking at her. His eyes scanned her face, feeling warmth in his tummy going up to his chest. How? She was putting spells on him and he felt the want for her rising as the day went on but she was so sweet. So giving to him.

“Y/N... are you sure?” In other days he might have removed her hands but didn’t. He liked how they felt. She responded well to his crowding of her, and liked to be close to him for sure. He was becomming whipped as fuck.Y/N noticed how he softened right then and there, smiling gently at him.

“Yes. I’m positive. You deserve some more rings on your fingers, to add depth to your handshake.... and other things.” Y/N smirked, already thinking about him spanking her ass with his ring clad hand. She would lose her mind like that. She moved her hands down to his chest and eventually let go, very happy to be treating him to something nice. He certainly deserved it. They were having such a nice day, Y/N had forgotten all about her family back home and all about the fact that he had a girlfriend. The only thing on her mind was him.

This could very well be their future, traveling around together and shopping and exploring. Spending time together with no worries. All he had to do was be hers. The company would be in his hands, it would likely be in his hands even if she wasn’t involved.

Once they’d wrapped up at the Gucci store, Y/N felt like they were on a whole new level. With each passing moment she felt closer to him, each store they stepped in a new level up. By the time they got back to the hotel room, stuffed from dinner, she still didn’t want to leave his side.

It didn’t take much convincing, after they both changed she called him into the living room to drink some wine and snack on the fruit and cheese the hotel had left for them. Harry was feeling like he was going to lose it. He didn’t know how he had been able to stay away but now that he was actually in close quarters with her, experiencing her sweetness and her touches and there were no expectations? He could find himself a bit mad. How was he going to stop? He wasn’t. See— he realized when they’d gotten back that he was being an idiot. Though he was nervous about his job, Y/N wasn’t the type to do that for vengeance. He would never cheat on her. He was so into her. Sexually, personality, emotionally. She had her fist on his heart. She wouldn’t be hurt by him and there was no way to predict the future.

He had changed, coming into the little kitchenette to grab the wine Y/N had poured. However, he could see her from behind, reaching up into an ornate cabinet above the counter and a flash of lace under the big tee shirt seemed to make his brain short circuit. That was it. He had it.

Fuck it all.

He approached from behind, pressing himself against her. His hand grabbed the glass but he didn’t move, taking a deep breath as he grabbed the counter.

“You... know what you’re going to me.” He muttered into her ear. She had gasped when he had come closer but especially now, she seemed spooked at how he had grabbed her. Hands going for her waist.

Y/N has backed off significantly today. She wanted to see how the two of them would work when she wasn’t being super pushy and when he actually let go a little bit and provided that banter. She couldn’t have been happier with the result, she felt a lot closer to Harry, felt like she knew him a lot better and of course he now knew her for who she really was. What she wasn’t expecting was this. She wasn’t sure what she did this time but it clearly seemed to get under his skin.

“Wasn’t...” She breathed out, leaning back into him a little bit and even more when she felt his hands on her waist. She turned her head so they were nearly touching lips and looked up at his eyes to see what was going on. His pupils were dilated behind belief and seeing him like that sent tingles throughout her body. She turned so she was facing him, hand moving up his chest. “What’s gotten you so worked up?” She asked, genuinely curious because lord knows she tried every trick in the book and it never worked before.

“You weren’t flirting. You weren’t touching me and I... fucking missed it.” He kept her backed into the counter so she couldn’t escape— even though he had a feeling she wouldn’t want to. He was going crazy. “I wanted it so fucking bad. I wanted you to kiss on me and touch me and I wanted you to say cute and dirty shit... fuck, it’s so bad because I shouldn’t, but you’re always there in my head and you’re never leaving.” He hissed, feeling himself getting worked up. “Can’t get hard without thinking about you— you know what I had to do, Y/N? I had to imagine you to get off when fucking my girlfriend. The only reason I even tried to fuck was to try and forget you and I couldn’t.” He could see she was shocked by that. “Flounce around in your pretty little outfits and are so sweet to me? Getting me gifts and noticing shit about me and it’s just... amazing. You’re so... amazing and it makes me insane.” He pressed a kiss to her neck. “This is what you wanted? Isn’t it? Wanted me to go crazy over you?” He spoke against her skin, biting down a little bit.

Was Y/N dreaming? A few days ago he was doing his hardest to get her to stay away from him, convincing his girlfriend nothing was going on between them, and now here he was pressing her against the counter. Her eyes were blown wide, listening to him intently and watching his stare grow more and more intense. Y/N was already pooling I’m her panties just having him be so dominant, but him saying he couldn’t get hard unless he was thinking about her made her knees buckle. Her poor man, she’d be more than willing to help him. All she wanted was to treat him like a king. Just as she went to speak he started kissing at her neck, her head falling back to give him more space.

“F—fuck, Harry..” She breathed, nails digging into the skin of his arm. “Should have just listened to me then.” Y/N remarked, “you could have had me bent over your desk everyday for weeks... was ready for you and you made me wait— you drove me crazy.”

“Maybe I should have.” He muttered. “I’ve been going out of my mind trying to be a nice guy. Trying to worry about other shit but you’d come flouncing in and lean over the desk with these tits out with a scone in hand.” He groaned. “Two weaknesses already, and you knew it.” He had been fucked after that kiss. Now he had gone and given in and it felt good to be telling her that he was going mad. Mad for her. He needed this. Needed her. “I’ve needed you, Y/N. Been so stubborn in not letting myself have you but you’re so perfect, baby. So, so perfect. I can tell that other men have treated you like shit and I can’t... fathom hurting you.” Another kiss to her neck before he went closer to her jaw. “I should have listened to you but I need to have you. I’ve been insane. I need it so badly.” His hand came up and collared her throat. Harry took a breath before he pulled her hair back from her face. “What can we do, hm? Can I make love to you, precious? Or do you want to fuck?” He didn’t care which one. He just knew he needed to have her. Soft or rough, he was a mess.

Y/N’s eyes rolled back, eyes fluttering shut at his words. She was floating, she swore it. She had full on dreams about this, about him caving in and finally giving into her and she was starting to think he’d never come around. A whimper left her as he collared her throat, lips parting to answer him.

“Fuck— please, touch me... all over, want you everywhere, please.” She was begging, something she never did, but she really wanted this. Y/N wanted a passionate fuck, wanted to feel him deep, wanted to know what it was like to be loved up on by him. “Make love to me, Harry, please—“

Things started moving a lot quicker then. The wine was forgotten about, Y/N didn’t even realize Harry had picked her up until suddenly they were moving into his bedroom. Her hand cupped his cheek, leaning in to finally kiss him the way she had been wanting to. He didn’t reject her this time, didn’t shove a finger in her mouth, he let her kiss him like she was searching for her last breath. Harry didn’t know where his mouth started and hers began but he knew he was loving it. She was perfect. Literal perfection for him. She was beautiful and witty, smart and driven, smelled so good and tasted sweet. He was a goner but this especially, solidified it all. His hand grabbed at her shirt to pull it over her head, needy to get to more skin. His mouth immediately began to kiss all over her; laying her down in her bed and pressing her into it as he finally found himself at her tits.

“So beautiful, baby. So perfect.” He nearly moaned as he wrapped his lips around her nipple, suckling a bit to get her worked up. It was satisfying his own needs and wants but Y/N was just as happy to have him doing this. His own shirt was tossed down to the ground and he could feel her clawing after her shoulders but he didn’t care.

“Harry...” She breathed out, a moan following shortly after. It felt amazing. To finally have him like this, it was overwhelming. Y/N’s whole body was reacting to every little touch, cheeks and chest already flushed with arousal. She had imagined this many times, not just having sex with Harry but having sex with a good man. Nothing turned a woman on more than feeling appreciated and properly loved on and that’s exactly what he was doing. She was unwinding with every kiss and suckle, “feels so good...” She whimpered, knowing he hadn’t even done anything yet. “I want you so bad— Harry.” The girl was already a mess, clawing at his shoulders and tugging at his hair. Once they got going she surely wouldn’t be able to stop. She’d be on his cock like crazy, he’d be begging her to stop, Y/N would worship this man.

“Gonna have me, baby. Don’t worry.” He wasn’t worried. Y/N was going to be writhing one pleasure. He didn’t have much patience for foreplay— that would be later. He had been holding this back for weeks now and needed to be inside of her pussy more than anything. “M’so sorry, baby. I’ll lick you out later I just... need to be inside of you so badly. So bad.” He promised, shoving his pants down off the bed as he settled between her thighs, rubbing the tip through her slit. “Fuck... so messy. Got so wet for me, baby. Can’t believe it.” He was shocked and pleased by it, his cock sliding through the folds easily. She was a mess still, breathing heavily as she whined. He wasn’t going to tease her too much though, because he couldn’t stand it either. His cock slid in and that was when he knew he never wanted another pussy again. Because in his 28 years, he had never felt something as tight, as wet, as hot as her cunt wrapped around him. Slowly sinking in, he let his mouth hover over hers. Both of them were nearly speechless with relief, her hands gripping him tight. When he got a bit deeper, he knew he had to be stretching. “M’sorry baby... know it hurts a little.” He whispered when she whined, squirming a bit. “Almost all the way. Gonna go slow right now. Your pussy’s so small.” He rubbed his nose against hers before kissing her again.

The second she felt his hard cock slide against her she knew she was gone for him. Y/N was a whining mess just from feeling how big he was, she knew she’d feel him for days after. It had been a while since she’s had anyone touch her like this and lord knows he’s the biggest she’d ever had. Y/N couldn’t even bring herself to speak, it was that good. Feeling herself stretch around him, feeling how well he was hitting all the right spots. She felt all floaty all over again.

“O—Okay daddy—“

Everyone knew Y/N had daddy issues, she had mommy issues as well, so a daddy kink was expected. She hadn’t expected to bust it out so quickly with Harry but he felt so warm and nurturing, felt like she could trust him with her body and her heart. He emulated the word fully in her mind. Harry’s body shuddered, both at the name she said and the tightness. He was going to take care of her. He could see she was vulnerable and open with him, trusting him with everything. Her body, her heart, everything. He would take care of it. Of her.

“Gonna break up with her for good.” He whispered into her ear. “Cause I need you. I need you so much, Y/N.” He couldn’t say love yet. This was still growing but he could see it heading that route if they were going to continue. Each thrust was heavenly. Once he had gotten all the way in, he was thrusting deep and slow. Getting to places he was sure no one else had, based off of her gasps and moans and how she would shake when he got particularly deep. “You’re so good. So beautiful, Y/N. Feel so fucking good around me.” He purred, hands holding the pillows above them as he got what he needed. “Been a temptress. Should have taken it when you offered first... but now, M’gonna keep taking it. You want me?”

Y/N has never felt like this before. He really meant it when he said he’d make love to her. He slipped so effortlessly inside of her and told her how beautiful she was, how he was going to break up with his girlfriend, how he needed her. The girl had never felt so appreciated in her life. She was used to rough dirty sex, was used to being called a whore and a slut, the sweetest name she’d been called during sex was baby. This? This felt so real and genuine. He was calling her by her name. Between that and the incredible angles he was hitting? Y/N felt like there was nothing better. Tears began to prick at her eyes, her stomach tightening as her orgasm approached.

“I want you so bad, daddy! I—I need you. Please— don’t ever stop!” Y/N was pleading, moaning loudly at the overwhelming pleasure he was causing her. It was true when they said sex was mostly a psychological thing. It was all about the headspace and how someone made you feel. Anyone could do those actions, but it’s the intent. It’s about the bond.

“Don’t wanna stop, baby. Promise.” He was kissing her cheeks as a few tears slipped down her cheek. It was emotional. For sure they’d been tiptoeing for weeks now— he has anyways, and there was an obvious mutual attraction and he had been so nervous over it. Now that he was getting to have her the way they’ve both needed after, it was a huge relief. “My beautiful girl... feel so good. Never had anything like this before.” He whispered, keeping the pace slower and deep, her legs wrapped around his waist and getting him as deep as possible. It was truly a passionate affair and he knew that he was lucky to have this. To have her. Always her. “Gonna be mine, sweet girl? Be daddy’s girl?” He was speaking deep and low, knowing it was getting to her just as it was getting to him. “Be my baby? I want to keep you.” He promised. “Want you to be mine and this pussy, this mouth, every bit.” He nipped her bottom lip lovingly.

“Yeah, mhm, yeah..” Her moans were extremely erotic. “Yours— I’m yours, daddy, I’m all yours.” Y/N has no problem giving her all to him. She’d spent so long pining over him, getting to know him and flirting with him, hoping that he would see just how good they could be. For weeks she’d just wanted a smile from him, even maybe a hug. This? This was more than she could have asked for. She didn’t expect this when her father told her about this trip. At most she thought they’d be having hot needy primal sex, not deep passionate and emotional sex. It was incredible, definitely something she’d never experienced before. “I’m so close— I’m gonna cum for you, please let me cum for you daddy. Wanna make a mess all over your cock!” Y/N could feel herself getting closer to the edge, every thrust he gave pushing her even closer. Looking into his eyes was even more erotic, his eyes blown. Of course she wanted to keep kissing him but she wanted to be looking at him when she came.

“Yeah.. want you to. M’so close, angel. Gonna cum in you, yeah? Gonna make a mess inside of you and you’re gonna be mine. All mine.” He promised, going a little harder, a little faster. He could see what thrusts and angles drove her crazy. What she liked. Sure, sex was going to be hot and crazy later but Y/N deserves someone to make love to her and make her feel appreciated and cared for. Things Harry felt towards her. “Please cum for me, angel.” He cooed, smoothing hair out of her face as he got closer, his own cock twitching in need.

Y/N kept her eyes on him as she came, her voice getting caught in her throat. She has never felt so good before, the waves of pleasure spread through her and ultimately when it all settled down she wasn’t left feeling drained. Harry has made her feel so incredibly cared for, it felt like he loved her, but she knew that it could only get better.

“Cum for me, daddy... make me feel so good, I wanna feel you fill me.” Y/N was speaking in a soft and gentle tone, combing through his hair and kissing at his jaw and neck as he thrusted into her at that quicker pace. It was perfect, seeing him and hearing him in that blissful state. Y/N would never let this man go. He was absolutely perfect. Her lips found his in a passionate kiss, slow and steady, but deep nonetheless. Y/N felt the urge to say that she loved him but that would be pushing it. She’d simply never felt like that before. Tears still trickled down her cheeks, small sniffles coming from her when she pulled away for air.

Harry came probably harder than he ever had. It just felt so good. So tight. Y/N, her words, her cunt, her mouth. The moment, too. All of it called to a deeper part of him he hadn’t truly experienced before and he loved it. Curses left him after he came, ribbons off cum pumping into her body. His legs shook as he filled her, kissing deeply as he did so. It was the best moment, he thinks. Sex hadn’t ever been this good. He’d had plenty of mundane sex, an orgasm being nice but this was the shit he understood. He got why people loved it.

“Shhh, sweetheart. Why are you crying?” He questioned, not knowing if it was emotions or he had done something. He kept himself calm though, holding her face and wiping away the tears as they came. “Don’t need to cry. Was so good, wasn’t it?”

“Cause I—it felt so good.” Y/N whimpered out, smiling a bit as he went to hold her face. “So, so good.” She nuzzled against his hand, turning her head to press a long slow kiss to the palm of his hand. She sniffled, blinking away her tears so she could look at him. “Happy tears...” She told him, leaning up to press more kisses to his beautiful mouth. “Wanted you for such a long time and—“ Y/N let out a shaky breath, “made me feel so beautiful and loved...” She tested up again but closed her eyes before she could start crying. “Never... never felt like that before, felt so nice.” She told him, feeling herself start to calm down. Y/N was certainly sleeping in his bed tonight and they were going to sleep in tomorrow morning. They had time before his meeting at 5.

“Good.” His body felt fuzzy and warm and light and he was happy. Really happy for the first time in a long time. Y/N had the power and he had waited too long. He should have given in earlier. “That’s how I always want you to feel with me.” He gently shifted so he was on his side, laying next to her so she could curl up against him. “It felt so good to me too. Like... the best ever, if m’being honest.” He helped her dry her cheeks, feeling her lay her face on his chest. “You are so beautiful and so wanted. I know I did a shit job of showing that to you before but I decided that I’m gonna keep it going and make sure you know how much I care.” He took her little hand and held it in his, bringing her knuckles up and kissing each one. “You’re safe with me. M’not gonna hurt you. I’ll take care of you whenever you need me, yeah?” He wanted her to know and be aware she could come to him with anything. Maybe it was quick. It was. But he couldn’t help it.

Being around Harry has proven to bring Y/N comfort. Even resting her head against his chest and listening to his heart beat grounded her far more than she expected, he was becoming her safe space and safe haven. She wouldn’t let anyone ruin that for her.

“You sure about that?” She asked, knowing full well that if he meant whenever he’d really never be alone anymore. It was only the second day of their vacation and they already cracked, the positive was that they had five more days together. She would take advantage of her time for sure. “Meant what I said, I really am all yours.” Her fingers traced over his tattoos. “I want to do all that I can to make you happy and give you the life you deserve... I know you’re worried about getting the job but I’m gonna let you in on a secret. My dad, he wants to retire within the next few years.. he’s looking for someone to inherit the company, it’s going to be you. He was already thinking of you before we met, but now? The job is yours.”

“You think so?” He questioned. His heart filled with hope. He could get Y/N and he could get the fucking company? That was the ultimate dream. Having someone like her at his side would be the most incredible thing. “That would be amazing. Having you... the job.” He whispered. “All I want. And Oliver, too.” He chuckled. “Still have to meet him. He’s going to love you. You’ll be the best of friends.” There was no doubt about that in his mind. “When I wake up, want you right next to me. Yeah? No wandering around.” He didn’t want to wake up and panic. Thinking it was all a dream. “The first time I wake up next to you is going to be amazing.”

“He’s been trying to set me up with one of these interns for years... none of them were nearly as good at their job as you and none of them came close to you looks wise..” She felt a smile coming on her face. “I knew the second I saw you.. you were going to be mine.” It had been a dream come true for her to actually find a decent guy, not even decent but perfect. “Like an angel sent from heaven you were.” The mention of the cat got her all excited. “Oliver!” She giggled, “I can’t wait to meet him... I’m gonna come over when we get back yeah? Want to see your place.” Y/N said with a happy smile, she knew for sure it would be extremely cozy and comfortable, not like her place... her place felt like a damn museum. She nuzzled her face into his neck, wrapping her whole body around his. She would be more than happy to wake up in bed with him next to her. She didn’t want this to ever go away, not anymore. Now that she had him she’d never let him go, she didn’t care who stopped her.

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[part 3]

A/N: OOOOOOO things are progressing... be ready for this next part hehe - n+d

let us know what you think!

masterlist

#writing #harry styles smut #harry styles one shot #jarofstyles #harry writing

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adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy · 4 years

Note

ugh pretend that woman's not there that's literally him getting a blowie and he's all dom and not rlly giving u a reaction just looking at his phone until ur choking around him

You’ve been on your knees in front of him for about fifteen minutes.

One hand is splayed across Harry’s inner thigh, softly raking your nails down his skin just how he likes it, the other one playing with his balls, rolling them across your fingers and massaging them gently with your thumb.

You’d had him in your mouth for what feels like ages, pushing him down your throat and holding him there for a few seconds before slowly pulling him out, your bottom lip catching on the underside of his swollen tip every time. The hand on his thigh coasts up to grab at his length, thumb tracing the protruding vein at his base and following it up to the head, where you lean forward and kiss at it tenderly.

Your lips smear over the tip messily, the ridges of your skin sending tendrils of electricity through his bones but he forces himself not to show it. You look up at him from beneath your lashes, blinking sluggishly due to the tense atmosphere of the room.

Your fingers give him a few long, sharp strokes and you grin against his sweaty, flushed skin when you see the underside of his jaw tightened. Your voice comes out cheeky and matter-of-fact.

“I know you’re gonna cum so why are you being so fucking annoying?”

He doesn’t respond, maintaining his stance. He’s leaned all the way back in the makeup chair, head hanging off the back with his phone in the air, parallel to his face. He’s doing it just to get on your nerves, well aware of how much you get off on seeing his reactions, therefore taking that reward away as some type of arrogant charade.

Harry hasn’t looked at you once. Not when you sat down on your heels before him and questioningly tugged at the hem of his t-shirt. Not when you tugged his belt loose and rolled down his zipper, pasting wet pecks at the faint short hairs running down the bottom of his tummy into his underwear. Not when you fished him out of his briefs and gave him a round of desperate pumps with your palm in order to get him hard, mumbling about how you’ve been wanting to taste him all day. And the most irritating of all, he hadn’t even made a single sound when you’d pushed him down your throat, your nose brushing the crest of his belly button as your tongue cleaned the familiar salty taste off his cock.

He had just kept scrolling through his social media, the colors of the screen reflecting off the glossy surface of his eyes as his mouth remained in a relaxed, absent-minded pout, not giving you the satisfaction of even the slightest twitch. The only thing he did was part his thighs wider, giving you access for whatever it is you wanted to do but maintaining a disinterested vibe, as if he couldn’t care less whether you stayed or left.

In the time that had passed, you were hoping you’d be able to draw some type of response from him. However, he could be so fucking stubborn when he wanted to; the attempts had all been failures.

Harry doesn’t answer the question floating in the room, instead tapping out a text to an unknown person and continuing to mess with his applications. You decide to try again and though your patience is running thin, you go the sweeter, less snappy route, sugaring your voice down into a pleading whine that you know would tug at his heart strings a bit.

“Harry, c’monnnn.” You slump your shoulders lightly, propping your chin on one of his inner thighs and gazing up at him with big doe eyes. “Please? Just wanna make sure I’m making you feel good, baby.”

Your lips ghost along the sensitive muscles of his thigh, kissing delicately to guilt him into giving you what you want.

Harry caves for a fraction of a second, glimpsing down at you over his cheekbones, absorbing the way your lips are quivering with longing. You blink up at him slowly, eyes watery, begging silently.

Then the moment’s over and he looks away, nestling down further into the leather chair and regaining his scrolling.

You release a frustrated grunt, eyebrows furrowing and jaw clenching. “Fine, you prick.”

Then he gifts you the first acknowledgment since you walked into the room: an amused snort at your snarky remark.

It only grates you further.

You push yourself up onto your knees fully, fingers tucking your hair behind your ears to avoid it getting in your eyes. You stare down at Harry’s tinted cock as it dribbles with precum, watching his stomach stutter with breaths at what might happen next. He knows he’s in for it.

Harry was pretty big, that much is obvious. Because of this, every time you give him a blowie you always have to take him in gradually, working him into your mouth at intervals in order to accommodate his size. But burning irritation gets the best of you this time and without thinking twice, you shove him down in one go.

You feel his leaking tip hit the back of your throat, your jaw aching at having to open wider than usual. For some ridiculous reason, you were hoping to accomplish this task without seeming phased, but it hits just how moronic that notion is when you suddenly can’t breathe.

Your throat tightens around him, the sheer girth choking you and causing your nostrils to burn. But you’re just as determined as he is and you force yourself into holding your position, eyes squeezing shut as another round of gagging wracks your body.

It had the intended effect.

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

The moan he releases is gurgled, raw, and shamefully desperate and you couldn’t have asked for a better reaction. The hand that had been suspending his phone above his face drops to his chest, the device skimming down his stomach and falling off the side of the chair onto the ground with an empty thud. Harry can’t control himself, one of his hands wildly fumbling into your hair, fingers winding your roots around his knuckles. His other hand finds it way into his own hair, yanking at the curls almost feverishly to try and reign in even a slice of the composure he’d had a minute prior.

His thick chest heaves with rattling breathes, his lower stomach tinged an angry shade of raspberry red that is quickly crawling up his flexing throat and pouring into his cheeks. He swallows heavily, his words sticking to the roof of his mouth like glue, but he manages to strain them out.

“Fuck, you’ve never gone that deep.” You gaze up at him with cocky triumph sparkling in your teary eyes, making your throat tighten around him once more, your body bracing the gagging with a bit more grace this time now that you’ve gotten a feel for it.

Harry’s body reacts just as you’d hoped, his back caving forward, hips lifting from his seat a few inches as he holds your head steady with an iron grip, a pitiful broken whimper scraping his lungs.

“Holy shit, that’s so fucking deep.”

You fall back onto your heels, your jaw and jugular aching as he slips from inside your mouth. You gulp down air like it’s the last time you’ll ever get it, reaching up with the back of your hand and wiping at your messy mouth shakily.

Harry’s hips fall back into the cushioning of the chair, his broad shoulders trembling and toes curling with pent up aroused adrenalin. His grasp tenses further against your scalp, causing you to wince a tad despite the fact that you love it.

He looks incredibly hot. His body has been shocked into an incredibly sensitive state, limp against the seat as his brows cinch deeply, his teeth worrying the inside of his plumped bottom lip, cheeks glowing and jaw taut. The hand in his hair releases his locks, struggling to find a hard grip on the backrest of the makeup chair, nails digging into the leather as he grapples to keep himself somewhat upright.

When his voice finally pipes up again, you can’t help but laugh at how he frantically begs; it’s borderline pathetic.

“Can you do it again? Please? Please, darling, please? I’m sorry for being an ass, promise I’ll make it up to you.”

You smack his hand out of your hair, slowly mounting yourself onto your wobbly feet. You blink the blurriness out of your sight, the edges of your swollen lips carving into an entertained smirk. You don’t say a single word, simply stepping over his feet with your intentions set on the door.

Harry immediately knows what you’re going to do and the way he grabs at your wrist so desperately makes your grin widen.

“Y/N, I can’t go out on stage like this.” His voice is low, accent slathered over his petrified tone.

You rend your arm from his fingers, shrugging your brows tauntingly. “You should’ve thought of that before being such a dick.”

He sits forward, palms resting on your waist to keep you from leaving as he tilts his chin upwards, looking up at you with those big puppy dog eyes he’s so well known for. “Fuck, I’ll do anything, I swear. Just please take care of it.”

You pick a few matted ringlets off his forehead, thumbing over his temples, feeling his pulse hammering inside his skull. You lean down and flush a lingering kiss to the center of his forehead, his eyes drooping shut sleepily as the warmth from your mouth melts down his eyelids and cheeks, numbing the tip of his nose.

Another whimper squeezes its way out of his throbbing lips. Please…”

You cup his sharp jaw between your forefinger and thumb, his chin fitting perfectly into the alcove of your hand. You skim your mouth over his, noses bumping and breathing mingling as his grip tightens at your hips, rings imprinting into your skin through your jeans.

“Let me see your eyes, H.”

His lashes flutter open, the green in his irises fading between a bright canopy jade and a cool, muted olive. You stare right into them, seeing his pupils faintly dilate at the suspense.

Your answer is soft and whispered, but it rings in his ears like a church bell.

“Go fuck yourself.”

There’s no time, apparently, because just then Harry’s stylist bursts into the room with nothing but a swift knock as a warning.

“Shit.” Harry’s stiff fingers quickly stuff himself back into his briefs, grateful that you are standing before him to block a full frontal disaster.

“Sorry to barge in and interrupt but we waited as long as we could. We gotta get you ready, babe.” Harry Lambert immediately begins shifting through the hanger of outfits at the corner of the room, glancing over his shoulder at Harry with an expecting nod.

More people from Harry’s team flood into the room— his manager, professional photographer, makeup and hair crew— and you back away from him with an apologetic shrug that carries anything but its face value. “Good luck, honey. Can’t wait to see you on stage.”

Harry has no choice but to oblige to his team, allowing them to surround him in a flurry of preparations, though he handles dressing himself (much to Lambert’s objections) to avoid a catastrophic situation. He ends up going on stage as you had left him, lucky enough that his pants are a loose flared fit that doesn’t showcase his issue.

But the whole time he’s performing, there’s a certain itch in the back of his head (and at the underside of his balls) that won’t leave him be. And it doesn’t help that you’re is right there on the side of the stage, watching him with your arms crossed over your chest, features painted with smug delight.

Every time your eyes cross paths, his cock gives a painful twitch; the bright lights and echoing screams aren’t helping at all. There’s a few instances where he can feel his pants growing tighter around his crotch and he tries to take care of it as nonchalantly as possible, but he knows there will be tons of videos and speculation running rampant across the media later tonight. Cameras don’t lie.

Throughout the whole show, all he can think about is your mouth— how warm it is, how soft, the way you feel licking at him, how pretty your lips look covered in his jizz. It drives him off the fucking wall and you can see it happening in the way he progressively starts glancing at you more often.

His disgraced lack of control slowly starts to mold into anger because now you’re mocking him in front of hundreds of people, possibly embarrassing him in front of thousands more on the internet. It won’t be a huge riot or anything— it’d probably be easy to debunk— but the strain it’s putting on him now is enough to infuriate anyone.

At one point in the show, Harry jogs off stage to fetch a bottle of water waiting for him the edge of the curtain, right where you’re residing as you watch the performance. He bends down and scoops up the drink, unscrewing the cap and tilting it back, staring down at you intently through the whole exchange, sweat pouring down his temples and glistening across his exposed chest. He recaps the bottle, turning it over into your awaiting hand and giving you a swift once-over.

He then leans forward as if to give you a kiss on the cheek, lips tickling the shell of your left ear as he quietly mumbles a very different promise than the one he’d made earlier in an orgasm-deprived stupor.

As soon as the words finish rolling down his tongue, he’s gone again, gripping the microphone stand and introducing the next track as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

Harry’s words continue to sizzle across your skin for the remainder of the concert.

“I’m gonna break your fucking back tonight for this.”

#drabble

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ffakc · 3 years

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City Sidewalks - a Jeffrey Dean Morgan fanfiction

I opened my eyes, looking around the room. The sunlight pouring through the sunflower yellow curtains created an orange glow that danced off the walls. I rolled over to kiss my husband, but he wasn’t there. I would assume he got a late start on feeding the animals, but it’s Saturday, so he could have possibly gone to the grocery store for me. I stretch my arms and sit up, checking my phone as I always do.

“Good morning, pretty lady,” Jeff appears in the doorway, wearing his flannel robe and his hair is perfectly disheveled. He’s holding a plate of what appears to be muffins and two cups of coffee with a grin on his face.

“Baby!” I laugh, putting on my glasses. “What did you do?” Jeff makes his way to the bed, crawling back in carefully as to not spill anything.

“I made you muffins,” he kisses me, handing me the cup of coffee and setting the plate between us.

“You’re so sweet,” I take a bite of my muffin and a sip of dark roast. “And so are these! Cranberry orange, yum! Good job, honey! So what’s on the agenda, today?” I glance over at my gorgeous husband.

“If I had my way,” Jeff pushes my

hair back and begins kissing my neck deeply. I set the coffee mug on the nightstand, basking in the pleasure of his lips and stubble rubbing against my skin. “I would spend the whole day in bed making sweet, passionate love to you.” My body quivers at his touch.

“Jesus Christ, you make me weak,” I whimper, my legs shaking slightly.

“You can just call me Jeff.” I roll my eyes with a smile and kiss him, pressing my hand against his chest. Breakfast in bed was soon forgotten about as Jeff climbs on top of me. “I love you so damn much,” he moans against my lips.

“And I love you,” I run my fingers through Jeff’s graying hair, tugging it slightly. He bites his lip and moans, slipping his robe off. I take off my pajama shorts off and look up at my husband, wondering what his next move is going to be. I keep my hand in his hair as he kisses me passionately.

“God damn, you’re soaked for me, aren’t you?” Jeff licks his lips, planting sloppy kisses down my chest and stomach. I nod and look down at him.

“Lick me clean, Daddy,” I whine. He smirks, pulling my black underwear aside and licking aggressively. I grip his hair and gasp, my whole body exploding with ecstasy. “Jeff,” his name barely ekes out of my mouth. I can hardly think straight as sinful sounds of Jeff’s tongue and lips against me fill the air. He slides two fingers inside me, moaning against my clit. The vibrations of his hot, wet mouth are indescribable. “Jeffrey, oh god. I’m going to cum, baby. Yeah, Daddy, right there. God, I fucking love you so fucking much,” I curse under my breath. Warm fuzziness overtakes my whole body as my orgasm hits, fucking Jeff’s mouth by rocking my hips. My husband crashes onto my chest, I begin stroking his soft and shaggy hair.

“I love making you cum. It’s one of my favorite things,” Jeff rasps, tracing the curves of my body with his fingers. “I love teasing you. I love the way my name sounds coming from your lips. I love your body, your soul, your caring heart. I love you with everything I have,” he buries his face in the crook of my neck, giving deep kisses and whispering, “I love you.”

“I love you. You’re mine, forever,” I hold his hand as we both drift back off to sleep, tangled in each other’s arms.

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Jeff yawns and puts on his glasses, his head still resting on my stomach.

“So much for breakfast in bed, eh?” he laughs, gesturing to the plate of muffins on the nightstand. “I found something yummier to eat anyway,” he plants little kisses on my stomach. “What time is it?” I sit up in bed and look at my phone.

“It’s only nine,” I reply, massaging his scalp. ”Maybe we should get some Christmas shopping done today.”

“I’m going to spoil you rotten for Christmas. It’s our first Christmas in New York after all,” Jeff says with a sweet smile.

“Oh, hush. You don’t have to do that!”

“Maybe I want to!” Jeff playfully sticks his tongue out.

“If you must,” I roll my eyes with a grin. “Ooh, Daddy! Can we go ice skating in Rockefeller Center? I mean, if we are going shopping in the city, might as well make a day out of it! I’ve always wanted to go there!” Jeff sits up in bed and grabs his laptop. I kiss his cheek and rest my head on his shoulder.

“I don’t see why not. Maybe we can go to dinner after too, I want to explore the city with you. Let me see here, it looks like you can buy tickets online. I love you, baby.”

“I love you too, Jeffrey.”

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Jeff tightens his scarf around his neck and pulls on his gloves.

“You ready?” he holds out his hand and steps onto the ice, steadying himself. I clutch his hand and he pulls me against him. “Merry Christmas, darlin’,” he kisses me deeply, I grab onto his waist for support.

“Merry Christmas, Daddy. I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” Jeff says with a smile. He holds my hand as we skate around the rink, weaving in and out of tourists.

“This is a dream come true,” I say as Jeff twirls me around. “I’m with the man I love, it’s my favorite time of year. Could life be any better?”

“I don’t think so, doll,” Jeff replies. “Life is so fucking good with you in it.”

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“Is it just me or does a big ol’ plate of pasta sound amazing right now?” Jeff asks, readjusting his shopping bags.

“Or pizza. Or garlic bread. Or anything carbohydrate loaded,” I laugh. I get out my phone and set my bags down. Jeff glances down. “Hey! Don’t peek! Sneaky, sneaky!” I playfully slap his chest. We had gone our separate ways for an hour or so to buy each other things.

“I wasn’t!” Jeff laughs. He gets out his phone and adjusts his glasses, “Let’s see what’s near here. Ooh, Olive Garden. That’s some fine dining!” he jokes.

“Where I’m from, you’d be surprised how many people feel that way!”

“Oh my god, this looks so good,” he shows me a picture. “It’s in the direction of the train station too, so it works out well.”

“That DOES look good, how far is it?”

“It looks like only a few blocks,” Jeff grabs my hand. “I’m surprised my old bones aren’t sore from skating!”

“Oh hush, you act like you’re ancient or something,” I laugh.

“Fifty four is getting up there, hon!”

“You’re a sexy silver fox, shut up,” I pull my husband in by his collar and kiss him. Our age gap actually turned me on more than anything. I finally had found a sensual, loving, considerate sweetheart of an older man to care for me and I couldn’t be more content. I didn’t know what I was missing in my life until I met my Jeffrey. He completes me.

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“I’ve yet to find to find a time where Italian food doesn’t hit the spot,” Jeffrey remarked, kicking off his boots.

“Very true,” I nod, “What a delicious dinner.” I glance over at him as he takes off his belt. I bite my lower lip as he strips his jacket and unbuttons his shirt. I slip out of my jeans and v-neck, revealing my matching bra and panties. My eyes are still locked on my handsome husband. He catches me staring in the floor mirror.

“What do you want, pretty girl?” Jeffrey cups my cheek in his hand and kisses me deeply. I look him up and down, his opened shirt and messy hair have me absolutely in a state of rapture. I pull him in, begging for more. He teases me, leaning in for a kiss, then pulling away. The only thing I feel is the warmth of his breath ghosting against my lips. His fingers trace ever so lightly over my exposed skin, goosebumps forming instantaneously. I can hardly stand it. “Tell Daddy what you want.”

“I want, oh Jeffrey, fuck,” I whine as he begins sucking my neck and collarbone.

“Come on, use your words,” Jeff teases, knowing that he’s driving me absolutely wild. He pulls my bra off, sucking on my chest, glancing up at me with a mischievous grin.

“God damn it, take your clothes off! I’m so fucking wet for you, babe. Make me yours. Show me who I belong to. Please Daddy, please!” I grip his hair and raise my voice, not quite yelling, but finally giving in to his teases. He lets out a throaty chuckle.

“Well, now. Was that so hard? I don’t know why you have such a hard time using your words like a big girl,” Jeff smirks, giving me a light spank. I gasp, my whole body is quivering with anticipation wondering what he’s going to do next. He places his glasses on the nightstand. I lay back on the bed as he undresses completely. I look him up and down, licking my lips at the sight before me. Jeff climbs on top of me and I give his ass a squeeze as his throbbing cock slides inside me. “Holy shit, darlin’,” he grunts, “You’re so ready for me,” He kisses me with burning desire, his lips flavored with the finest red wine the restaurant had to offer with the faintest hint of tobacco from his post-meal cigarette. I begin stimulating myself as he sinks deeper into me, pulsing around him.

“Oh my god, Jeff. Jeffreyyy,” I whine, “Harder, Daddy. You make me feel so fucking good” Jeffrey stimulates my g-spot with his cock, his pace quickening. I push his sweaty hair out of his face and give it a light tug. His eyes roll back in his head.

“I need to cum so bad,” Jeff groans. His hands grip hard on my hips.

“Cum inside me,” I moan, pulling him deeper inside me and kissing him. “Fill me up like the little slut that I am. I’m Daddy’s little princess. I love when I’m dripping with your juices. Mmm, Daddy. It’s a reminder of who I belong to. I love you.”

My husband’s chest flushes and his heart rate pick up speed.

“Yeah, you fuckin’ are. I love you too, my little princess. You’re such a good, good girl. Oh fuck, baby!”

Jeff lets out a growl as he spills out inside me, my muscles clenching around him as my orgasm intensifies. He pulls out, collapsing on my chest, gasping in ecstasy. I stroke his hair and kiss his drenched forehead. He tilts his head up and kisses me, then rolls off to my side. He wraps his arms around me.

“I’ve... never... Jesus Christ,” Jeff pants.

“Use your words, Daddy,” I tease breathlessly and smile. I rest my head on his hairy chest and run my fingers down his stomach as he catches his breath.

“You got me there,” Jeff laughs. “I’ve never came that hard,” he gasps. “I love when you dirty talk to me, my gal.” He intertwines his long fingers with mine. “How did I get so lucky with you?” Jeff plants a soft kiss on my lips.

“I wonder the same thing, Jeffrey,” I curl up in the crook of his neck, “I love you,” I kiss his neck.

“I love you too, sweet girl.”

#denny duquette #fanfic #fanfiction #greys anatomy #jeffrey dean morgan #negan #the walking dead #older man younger woman #john winchester #supernatural

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suffering-and-happy-about-it · 4 years

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I want to tell you... (Part 9.)

Description: Nathan Drake is not the exact definition of an unhappy man. His job is steady, his friends still see him from time to time, he plays football, but his marriage is his main problem. Many things will change when a special person comes to his life.

Part Summary: Nathan and Sully had talked you down to join them for a family dinner, at which a set of unfortunate misunderstandings was started

A/N: This shit was hillarous to write, I tell you that.

Word counter: 2.9K

Tagging: @missdictatorme, @peakymarvels, @nemodoren, @flavorishy

Series master list: H E R E

Nathan’s car sing-along playlist: H E R E

GIF SOURCE

"Oh no, no, no, crap, what the hell did you manage to do with it?" - Nathan yelled with a horrified expression, running to you with a tea towel swing over his shoulder. He looked at the cut in your finger, inspecting it in its entirety as if you should die any minute because of fatal blood loss. You were kind of snickering at his reaction because Nathan was really cute when he was worried about you.

The man ran away for one minute. One minute to look at some gig Sully was thinking of accepting. And when he got back, you were suddenly bleeding. Jesus fucking Christ, you were kinda hard to wrap the head around. But you were still fun, so Nathan was only half-terrified.

"Shove it into your mouth and suck the blood out, come on." - Nathan instructed you with a serious face. A giggle sounded through the room, which made Nate turn at you from searching for a sticking-plaster for your severely wounded finger. Some mumbo-jumbo left your mouth when you sucked on the blood, watching the man in front of you. - "Come again?" - Nate asked you to repeat yourself while cut off a small portion of the plaster so you wouldn't have it on your whole finger.

"I asked if this is how you acted around in the kitchen when someone hurts themselves. I mean, look at you, you're a drama queen. You will wrap me in a bubble foil to prevent me from getting hurt again." - You stated, having a bit of evil, mean expression in your face. But the smile told Nate that you're just testing him and his patience. Performing you a pitiful 'ha-ha', the man came closer and made the small cut is covered. - "Is this even hygienic, Nate? Will my finger just rot and fall off now? You can start calling me fingerless Y/N by now." - With that, Nate chuckled at the sight of you pretending to be a pirate, making a hook out of your finger. When those theatrics were over, you turned back to cutting the peppers for his masterpiece.

"Human saliva has some healing properties, for your information. But if you'd like me to drench that cut in alcohol disinfection, shove it underwater or different stuff, just tell me." - Nate looked at you knowingly, swinging around with his knife, explaining to you why is licking the cut something he learned that helps a long time ago. When he and his brother were younger, they didn't have enough money to buy proper first-aid kids, which made a lot of things harder. But saliva could do magic in some instances.

"Nah, I think I'm fine, Drake. My finger got the best treatment it could get, so I'm fine." - You chuckled back and heard the front door of Sully's apartment close. Sully himself was sitting in his workroom, going through another possible gig offers - so this must've been his girlfriend Nate and he told you about. And your eyebrows arched when you saw a very young woman dressed up in formal clothes letting her hair out of the bun she had it in as she kicked off her high-heels. You've expected someone... Older. A lot older. This girl didn't have a single wrinkle on her skin - she was gorgeous in every sense of the word. And she was also very eye-catching.

But she stopped at the same as you did, looking at you with her eyes widened. Slowly, she licked her lips, leaning her elbow to the wall next to her while eyeing you up and down. - "Okay, miss, who are you, and what are you doing in my flat?" - The woman asked, making sure you feel cornered by her. And dear lord, she was great in intimidating the living shit out of you.

"I'm... On... A visit?" - You peeped and at that moment, Drake saved your ass by peeking from behind you, sending Florence a casual smile. The anger suddenly disappeared into the thin air. The woman walked to you excitedly, offering you a palm to shake.

"Name's Florence Carter. Nice to meet you." - She told you with pure joy, which dropped a bit when you told her your name. Oh. Sully told you that his and his girlfriend's situation is pretty fresh, so she must've concluded that you're Elena, since she hadn't the chance to meet her yet. But her bright smile was on again in no time at all, as she greeted Nate by a bear hug, leaving to greet Sully as well.

You've heard her talking about some sort of Drake exposition in some institute, which sparked another conversation between you and Nate.

"Listen. Drake... That kinda does ring a bell inside my head." - You turned at him, watching the man preparing homemade tortillas. He turned back to you as well, arching his eyebrows in surprise.

"You're into history?" - He asked before working with the dish-to-be once again. You didn't know the slightest shit about history. Honestly, you could barely remember your homeland's history and that, for you, was the absolute maximum. But you made an agreeing hum nonetheless. - "Go on, who was Francis Drake? You have me shook now."

Fuck. Fuck. Nathan's voice was hinting that he was aware of you knowing an absolute shit about some Francis Drake. Who was he? Well, your time to shine was there, and you didn't want to leave Nate hanging. - "Francis Drake, you asking me, huh?" - "Yea, I am." - "Well, there was this certain craze about marine biology, as you surely know. It was some time after Columbus had discovered the continent and he noticed some big sea animal in the water and he was in awe, to quote him 'I will be exploring the sea life from now on'. Yea, don't look at me like that, Jesus, Nate, everyone knows this shit. And Francis Drake was a man who was watching the dolphins for some time now and he agreed to help Columbus with his research." - You told Nathan, having the man laughing in the half of your on-the-spot-made story. Your confidence was what made him almost weeping tears away from his cheeks. - "Come on, I was at least in the ballpark." - You snickered at the sound of his laughter, which made you secretly smile too.

"You were in a ballpark... Of a completely different era, explorers and scientists. He liked the sea, that's something you guessed correctly, and for all I know, sir Francis Drake could be a marine biologist, but... I don't know if he'd find time to watch sea animals and fish during his thrilling privateer and many believed pirate career." - Nate smiled at you while leaning over your shoulder for a bottle of olive oil. Well, damn you, Nate was clearly very educated in the subject and you just made a total dud out of yourself. But the damage was already done, and you just had to accept the utter defeat.

"And... Is it some coincidence that you have the same surname, or..?" - You asked and added the pepper to the burrito filling. You were already hungry as hell and the meat blend Nate had finished about half an hour ago was smelling so delicious that you thought about eating all of it by yourself before the burritos will be even finished.

"Not entirely. It's..." - Suddenly, the joy had run out of Nate within seconds. He looked in front of himself, dropping the wooden spoon out of his fingers, having a lost gaze and expression on his face. The man licked his lips and tried to ignore the tightening feeling inside his chest. - "It is a long story. I'll maybe tell you one day, huh? Just not right now, okay?" - He tried to talk through the empty silence you had going on.

You felt bad suddenly. You had just bumped into some sensitive topic. And you didn't want to hurt the man who was just starting to be your friend. - "Can I tell you a pirate joke? To make you feel better?" - You asked, standing next to him as he was working on the first burritos.

"Now we're talking. You have my full attention." - Nate turned his head at you as you watched the tortillas frying. You smiled with a slick grin, straightening up to deliver the joke perfectly. - "Why is pirating so addictive?" - You asked and took the first tortilla from him, filling it up skillfully. You couldn't cook for shit, but this wasn't so hard, and you wanted to help him at least somehow. - "No idea." - Nate giggled, already knowing it's going to be one of the worst jokes anyone had ever tell him. And that was almost unreachable primacy because his brother had singlehandedly told him the worst jokes he ever heard.

"Well, they say once ye lose yer first hand, ye get hooked!" - You said with a nasty grin, pretending that your wounded finger is a hook again. The man rolled his eyes, but he laughed nonetheless, saying something along the lines 'this is so bad, Jesus'. Soon enough, you prepared enough burritos for all of you to eat. The rest of the fresh vegetables, of which you took care as well, was for Nate to cook from at his home. Florence had changed into more comfortable clothes and Sully looked strangely contained. You had an idea of what was going on, but Sully most probably had just some good nap to your letdown.

The woman was energetically jolting around the table with a big smile, serving everyone the wine she caught for the occasion, humming one of the summer bops that was playing inside her head. When she sat down next to Sully, the older man chuckled and looked at Nathan. - "She wants to tell you somethin', boyo." - Sully smugged and motioned his hand for her to continue in the news she had to say. Nathan arched his eyebrows, excited about the unknown information Florence had for him.

"The local national museum will have... A wirble, please." - Her elbow nudged Sully's side. The man rolled his eyes because he was just shoving a burrito down his throat, but did as she asked for, drumming his fingers on the desk of the table. - "A permanent sir Francis Drake exhibition thanks to you, Sully and Sam providing me with so many Drake exhibits. We're now talking about the next pirates we would like to include in the exhibition. I will be forever grateful for that, because, now we're in business, baby and I am the project's main curator." - Florence said joyfully, having Sully proudly smoothing the upper part of her thigh while he still shoved the rest of his food down.

Nathan breathed out in shock and leaned his back into the chair, looking into the table with fascination. But that certainly wasn't enough. Florence had more to say. - "And because I am a big animal in the museum, I proposed the idea of us including some most famous legends, myth, and theories surrounding the pirated... I have pulled some strings and your mom's work will be included. If you'd agree, that is." - Florence said quickly so Nathan would know she isn't taking it as a sure thing. Which put tears into the man's eyes.

You couldn't know about Nate's past and his mom, so you were kind of an intruder in the situation. But the revelation and joy radiating out of your friend was handing in the air and it was so clear, that it made you feel good as well. The whole dinner, understandingly, was rotating around the topic of Nate's mother and the whole exhibition.

At the end of the evening, you had to say that Sully and Florence were a true power couple. Sully was a famous Irish pub owner, of which most of the people in the town knew and you had it on your wish-list as well by the time, and Florence seemed to be pulling the strings in the national museum despite her young age. And to be honest, you were kind of having respect for both of them, which was surely applying to Nathan as well, because he was their best friend. Were these guys in a fucking gang or something? The more they talked about their day-to-day life, the more convinced you were about it.

Holy fuck. You just had to have fucking bad luck with people, hadn't you?

And naturally, Nathan noticed your bad mental state as he drove you home around ten p.m. You were awkwardly silent throughout the whole ride that it made him worried. And being the upfront man he was, he just asked you what's wrong. Ever since you told him your theory about Sully and Florence, possibly even him, being leaders of some gang, Nathan couldn't stop laughing about your assumption.

"What's so funny about that? Huh? I'm fucking scared for my life and you're just laughing at me, man." - You exclaimed when you stopped at a red light to wait before continue on your small journey to your home. Nathan gave you such a sweet smile that it made you feel like a total idiot for a moment - but then, you gathered your confidence back, reminding yourself about these two.

"We're not some... Gang. I assure you of that, okay? It's way wilder than some boring gang." - Nate rolled his eyes playfully and stepped on the gas pedal again, moving the car forward. This statement, no matter if it was a joke or not, made your eyes widen. Was Nathan about to abduct you? Just drive off with you into the night? Was Elena even real in the first place? Jesus fucking Christ, you were on the verge of crying at the moment. - "Please, no, no, no." - The man panicked suddenly at seeing you so distressed at some another dumb joke he made. - "We're not bad people, I swear on my life, okay? I am just a normal guy who works as a cook. That's who I am. I have no dark secrets or past." - He was making it worse and worse with each passing second he was talking.

"What if... Crap, listen to me. I'll tell you what we're doing as a side job. And it's nothing bad-people related, but... It sure as hell breaks a lot of laws and you have to stay silent about everything I would possibly tell you." - Nathan burst out in his full-on panic mode. The man wanted to bitch-slap himself so badly. With every word he told you, he just made the whole deal seem more and more serious. - "I am an archeologist. I do search for... Stuff you hear legends about. But I would have to explain to you deeper for you to stop thinking I am some sort of a sociopath. Would you... Listen to it? Please?" - Nathan breathed out, having an uncomfortable expression himself. Quickly, you glanced over to him. And it left you surprised.

His breath was shallow as he fell deeper and deeper into one of his anxiety-panic attacks. He had tears in his eyes while his palms crushed the steering wheel so hard that his knuckles turned white almost instantly. Nathan was just trying to be the goofy guy around the girl he liked and all it had accomplished was that now she thought that he was a criminal of sorts. And he couldn't take any of it back.

"Okay." - You whispered after a moment. It was probably just your brain jumping to conclusions too fast as it always did. Maybe Sully was really just a pub owner who was just a good businessman. Maybe his young girlfriend Florence was an extremely talented historian. And most likely, Nate was just a guy who loved to cook for other people. The man slowly faced you again, trembling almost unnoticeable. - "Okay. You can tell me about this side job you have. But if it just comes across as human trafficking or..." - "No! No. I would never... Never. No." - The man disagreed immediately, letting you know that this reaction was as authentical as it could be.

"Would you like to come to my place to tell me about it?" - You whispered, slowly gaining the initial trust you had for your new-found friend in the strange city you were an outsider in.

"I have a lot of things to prove my storied at my place and I would have to pack them up and move them to my car. Would you mind..?" - Nate asked nervously. It was weird as fuck to ask you to hang out at his place after the full-blown conspiracy theory about him being a criminal who probably kills people, but really - all of the artifacts, books, maps, and other shit Nate hoarded throughout the years were too fragile to just take to your place.

You were silent for a moment as you tried to contain the nerves inside you, but you nodded in the end. You trusted Nathan. And he felt redeemed at the exact same moment.

#nathan drake #nathan drake x reader #nathan drake uncharted #he is such a goofy baby #but he's to oblivious and dumb sometimes #victor sullivan #victor sullivan x oc #uncharted #naughty dog uncharted #we stan nathan's clumsy ass in this house #HE'S SUCH A BABY #i swear

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