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dollsuguru · 3 months

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black is the color of my true love’s hair

♡ your devotion to suguru is second to none - you would do anything for your beloved! bonded by true love, loyalty, & utter admiration, these are a few moments where suguru has been unbelievably thankful for you & smitten by your acts of love & service! (a story from my suguru geto: valentine’s day fic list!)

contents: f!reader, no curses au, reader is short/blushes/has hair that can be ran through with fingers! slightly suggestive, cursing, mentions of depression/anxiety/self-destructive behaviors. but i promise this is a soft, fluffy fic! it’ll make sense when you read it! dividers are from @saradika! w.c: ~ 11.5k

a/n: belated birthday fic for my beloved husband suguru geto <3 the title of the fic is based on a rendition of the song “black is the colour” by celtic woman! imo it’s the most loving & devotional song i’ve ever heard so i wanted to do a story based on those themes with my favorite black-haired man <3 MY true love <3 p.s. this is my first time ever writing an actual fic & it got a bit long because i got carried away so please bear w me! i hope you enjoy and happy valentine’s day! <3 MWAH!

it’s a simple action, really.

you tilt your head slightly to the right and lift your face up to gaze adoringly at him through your lashes, a mirthful twinkle dancing in your eyes. a soft smirk coupled with a light blush adorns your angelic features, a precious look, which suguru has come to be utterly enchanted by due to the loving action that follows immediately after.

you catch him off guard the first time you do it.

the first time you kiss suguru’s knuckles, he falters.

it’s the way that you do it. naturally & effortlessly, as if it’s like second nature, that causes suguru to stop in his tracks and dedicate all of his attention to you.

his mesmerizing gaze is directed at you, molten gold eyes inquisitive. irrevocably fond.

he attentively watches as you softly grab his large warm hand in your small cold one. his hands are slightly rough yet supple due to his religious use of the honey-almond handcream you bought him earlier in the week.

he notices, rather than intertwining your fingers with his own and holding them, you smoothly bring his hand up to your face, wrapping your digits loosely around the perimeter of his long slender fingers.

your thumb gingerly caresses his ring finger (the one that holds a devout vow of eternal love), your featherlight touch raising wonderful shivers across his body. with the utmost care, you delicately, as if he’s made out of precious china, brush your supple glossed lips against his fingers, relishing in the coolness of his promise ring that encases both his aquamarine birthstone & your own.

your low-lidded enamored eyes never leave his affectionately curious ones — both of you preciously holding the other ones gaze. eyes locked in a staring contest of love.

utterly content with his undivided attention, you gently press a soft kiss to his knuckles.

a sign of affection.

an act, a promise, of complete & utter devotion.

his pierced eyebrow raises slightly due to the suaveness of your actions. he tries to gather his bearings, his brain fuzzy with your actions — did you actually just do that?

suguru’s amber eyes widen significantly, soft black eyelashes fluttering like raven wings against the tan of his cheek that’s blushed with a hue of raspberry red. mouth slightly ajar in surprise, his silver lip ring glints like starlight in the sunset daze of the evening, while his pierced tongue is pressed against his own cheek to stop himself from becoming a bumbling, stuttering mess.

if he speaks — he wholeheartedly believes all that’ll tumble out of his lips will be unabashedly fervent divulgances of: “i love you. i love you. i love you.”

adoration blooms out of his ribcage like a meadow of daffodils, sweetness enveloping around his heart, soft ivory petals and sage green tendrils wrapping themselves delicately over his bones. he reckons that if you couldn’t hear his heartbeat hammering out of his chest before, you definitely can now.

it’s almost as if his brain is in clouds of cotton candy, his mind in a sweet haze of shock, love, & affection. he finds himself whispering airily, “why’d you do that?”

tenderly stroking away silky strands of ink-black hair that wisp around his ethereal face, the fond smile you grace him with is saccharine sweet, “i felt like it.”

unbelievably charmed, he can’t help the giggle that spills its way out through his mouth like honey, a syrupy-sweet sounding little thing. his shaky fingers cover his rosy lips slightly as he laughs bashfully. he’s a bit shy because of it, but you don’t think a sound has ever been so melodious to your ears. you’d get down on one knee to kiss his knuckles reverently as many times as he wants just to hear his laughter over and over and over again.

the way you see it, it’s as if you were put on this earth to devote yourself to him.

like a loyal knight kisses the ring on the hand of their king with the utmost veneration, you’d do the same. without question, worshipping the ground whereupon he stands like a faithful follower would do to a cult leader. you figure in all of the other multiverses, you’re ultimately doing the same thing as what you’re doing in this one: loving him — devoutly. earnestly. passionately.

if the look of ardent rapture on your face is anything to go by, suguru might faint with the rush of pure love & endearment that flows like nectar throughout his veins.

he feels his blush bloom over his warm face which rushes towards the tips of his pierced ears, a clear sign of you flustering him.

wanting to gain back some semblance of control of the situation, he puts on a poker face, a gentleness in his eyes & a fondness in his smile still shining through. his black-nail polished thumb grazes your soft wind-chilled cheek. a beacon of warmth. a caress of admiration accompanied with a well-maintained façade of smoothness. a comforting touch for the both of you.

“well, aren’t you just so sweet.” suguru can’t help the coo that escapes his cherry red lips when you look up at him with your precious doe eyes, “my pretty little baby.”

he softly pinches your cheek, admiring the soft plush. he cradles your cheek with the same hand, & carefully smoothes down your hair that’s been strewn around a bit by the evening wind with the other. suguru pats your head in a nurturing manner in the process, another fond coo escaping him when he sees you preen at the attention he gives you, affectionately watching you revel in the flattering treatment.

your eyes widen with joy, always keening with any praise he showers you with. “i’d like to think so! now come on sugu, your pretty little baby has a lil surprise for you!” you playfully wink at him, your smile beaming like sunshine.

your warm eyes map his stunning features reverently, memorizing his elegant visage. drinking in his otherworldly beauty. as if you could never get enough.

while you openly admire him, suguru does the same to you. he doesn’t think that he’s ever been this enamored by a human being before. you’re the center of his universe, and he can’t imagine his life without you. all he can see in this moment is: you. his intense gaze holds yours as he captures both of your cheeks in his warm gentle hands, enveloping himself in your space. the perfume he bought you for your birthday invades his senses, clouding his mind in a welcomed haze.

all he can think of at the moment is: you. you. you.

all he can repeat in his mind is: mine. mine. mine.

his eyes gleam with a newfound sense of desire, wanting to show you exactly what you mean to him. what you do to him.

his golden eyes that are now an onyx, dilated with desire, flit to your mouth. his thumb outlines your pretty lips that are begging to be devoured by his own. his right hand moves to cradle the back of your head, tilting your face up so he can comfortably take control. long, slender fingers splay across your hair, bringing you closer to him, slightly tugging the strands to hear and feel you gasp against his mouth. he presses his left hand against the small of your back, coaxing you further into his body, fusing you both together. not wanting to be even a millimeter apart. he just can’t get enough of you.

it’s like a magnetic gravitational pull when he presses a soft, sensual kiss against your glossy lips. the cold metal ball in his pierced tongue explores the wet cavern of your mouth, and he can’t help but moan softly into you, relishing in your warmth.

he prays to the stars above, hoping that he can convey his sincere love, desire, & admiration for you like this. he breathes life into you and you do the same to him. kissing you with such vigor & passion, he feels like melding your lips & souls together wouldn’t be enough. he burns with a hunger to become one with you. he pleads to the universe that the intensity of his desire and yearning is relayed to you — that you crave it, crave him as much as he craves you.

with the way he’s ravenously kissing you, and how you’re excitedly kissing him back, it seems like you certainly received the message.

suguru thinks it’s a little bit funny, but very much endearing, when you run around the living room like a bumbling fawn.

you zig-zag around the counter, making sure you pick up the purse that suguru got for you on your previous anniversary, an acrylic charm of your favorite anime character clinking against the metal fastenings. (another gift that suguru got you, begrudgingly he might admit, because who the hell is that toji fushiguro guy anyways…)

you double check that all the contents you need are inside: phone, charger, lip gloss, mini perfume, credit cards — AH! you run back to your room like a panther, not wanting to forget the most important thing you need for tonight!

he can’t help himself but laugh at your frazzled antics. “baby, you can calm down! we’re going on a picnic, it’s almost impossible for us to be late!” suguru admires your punctuality, he thinks it’s sweet how you never want to keep him waiting.

“FORGOT SOMETHING, I ALMOST DIED.” you rush back to him, big goofy smile on your face.

“baby… you’re heaving.” suguru covers his mouth, trying not to giggle out loud at how out of breath you are just by running a few feet. you’re so fucking cute.

“damn…” you huff out, hands on your knees, trying to get a deep breath in. “don’t call me out like that.”

he can’t help the laugh that bellows out of him, “sorry angel, now let’s go!” he places his large hands against your back, ushering you out the door quickly, “you still haven’t told me where we’re going.”

walking you towards his black mercedes, he opens the passenger side for you. with both hands on your hips, you remind him that, “it’s a SURPISE!”

after around 45 minutes of both of you jamming out to your playlist in the car, poking his cheek while childishly asking “are we there yet?” just to annoy him for fun, and ultimately being a proper passenger princess who tells him to “just trust me!” when he asks where you two are going, you both arrive to your destination.

and the sight that he sees, enthralls him. he whistles, beguiled by the view. from here, he can see how pretty and bright the stars are, it almost looks like they’re twinkling a “hello!” at the both of you. suguru thinks to himself, a picnic here at night? he’s unbelievably mesmerized at how your brain works sometimes.

he turns to face you, watching how engrossed you are in your phone, tapping away incessantly. wanting your full attention, his fingers grab your chin gently to force you to look him. he jokingly purrs, “if you took me here to kill me, i’ll have you know… sitting on my face would be much easier. much more preferred.”

you raise your eyebrow questioningly.

“because… it’s dark and we’re in random clearing.”

you stare at him blankly. “okay, you’ve hung out with me waaaay too much because i literally said that pick-up line to you last week and now you’re blatantly stealing it… like a THIEF. and also? you drove us here. who the hell is gonna drive me back if you’re dead?”

his brows furrow and he pouts, annoyed that you didn’t fall into his arms and blush because of his (your) raunchy words. he turns away from you and opens his door to leave, brattily huffing out a, “hmph. shut up, dumbass.” with his head held up high in the air, he struts away pompously to the trunk, opening and closing it loudly. a picnic basket with food you both made together in one hand, and a soft quilt of constellations made by haibara & nanami for suguru’s previous birthday in the other.

how fitting.

you loudly snicker to yourself while getting out of the car, amused by your boyfriend’s spoiled antics. while suguru is front of you admiring the view and trying to find a spot to set up, you admire the view in front of you. whistling out a, “damn…” suguru scoffs at your flirty behavior and gives you the finger. you send an air kiss back, and he playfully swats it away.

when he turns away again, you smile to yourself dreamily. taking out your phone, you click a quick candid of him against the night sky, admiring at how he looks like a painting.

the cream of his sweater and the contrast of his cascading ink-black hair entrances you, the silver hairpin you got him during a couple’s trip to kyoto in the top of his bun. the dangling deep violet amethyst gem glints in the moonlight, making him look even prettier. he turns his head to the left, from here you can’t see his eyebrow piercing or his lip piercing since they’re both on the right side of his face, but you do see his eyebrow slit — a scar which you’ve softly traced over many times. his side profile allures you effortlessly, the angular bridge of his nose and the soft cupid’s bow of his lip offering up a beautiful contrast that is suguru: graceful yet strong.

shaking your head slightly, you break out of your trance.

you go back to the task at hand, opening your notes app and ticking off the word at the top of your list.

stargazing. ✔️

you remember suguru mentioned it in passing one day when you were both in the beginning stages of your relationship. it was on his date bucket-list ever since he could remember, and of course you wanted to be the one who would take him!

you guide him over to a little meadow overlooking the city. surrounding you both are beautiful moonflowers, their sweetness enveloping your sinuses. the air is cool and crisp, and in the distance you hear the faint chirps & buzzing of hummingbirds along with the faint caws of ravens. you’re proud of yourself that you were able to find a place this picturesque. (even to this day, you still have an urge to impress suguru in any way that you can.)

both of you sit on the quilt suguru sets down, the homemade cloth providing an extra layer of cushioning that you feel atop the softness of the grass.

you’re upon the hill clearing, close enough to the city that you can comfortably drive back while still seeing a few citylights from where you are, but far away enough that the light pollution wouldn’t interfere with the date you had planned.

“it’s pretty.” suguru glances at the view, praising you while taking out the tonkatsu sandwiches, pasta salad, & chocolate covered strawberries from your picnic wicker-basket. you pick up a bag of chips and start munching on it while he lays down on his back propped up on his elbows, opening up a banana milk to sip on.

“i’m glad you like it,” your words are muffled in between loud crunches and fast chewing, “i was worried we’d be attacked by a mountain lion or a swarm of bees or some shit.” you say honestly.

he blinks. “i wasn’t worried about that. but i am now.” he takes another sip of his banana milk in case it’s his last.

he sits up and picks up the tonkatsu sandwich, handing you the bigger half. “but seriously, how’d you find this place?”

you take the smaller half from his grasp instead, switching with him. taking a bite, you hum happily. suguru is such a good cook. he smiles at you fondly and you answer him, “i was searching up good places to look at the stars. out of all the pictures and reviews, this was the prettiest one.”

you look up at him and swear that you see an actual twinkle in his eyes.

“stargazing?” he pushes his bangs back behind his ear, leaning into your face. loudly repeating, “STARGAZING???” nose pressed against yours, an excitedly manic look in his eyes.

he throws his head back and waves his arms in the air, lamenting, “i should’ve bought a fucking telescope!”

he directs his gaze back towards you, pointing his finger at you accusingly while demanding, “we are coming here again in the future, okay? i’ll bring all of my astronomy gear: a telescope, binoculars, a constellation book, and oooooh! maybe i’ll also bring…” you unintentionally tune him out, looking at him adoringly with stars in your eyes.

this is what you wanted to see.

if you’re being honest with yourself, the best thing to experience in your life is getting to see suguru act genuinely excited. his eagerness to discover new things is infectious, and the man before you is the real suguru: dorky, eclectic, passionate.

the graceful, poised, & elegant man you see when he meets new people and the air of sultriness & suaveness he has when he takes you on fancy dates are utterly enchanting & beguiling, but you think that suguru you see before you now — the excitable nerd, is the most beautiful.

he flicks your forehead, breaking you out of your reverie. “have you been listening to a word i’ve been saying?” he scolds you while pinching your cheek extra hard.

“yeah, you want a telescope so you can look at the stars. also, you look really pretty… the stars ain’t got nothin’ on you.” you rest your chin in your hand, smirking at him, reveling in the blush that paints his cheeks. it was just the cold wind!, he’d tell you later while playfully smacking you upside the head.

you continue, “plus, it’s really hot when you’re all stern and tellin’ me off. what’s my incentive to listen to every word you say if i can get you scoldin’ me instead?” you tilt your head against your hand, grin wide, teeth bared. the masochist in you wants him to scold you even further.

he crosses his arms at you, muscles bulging out of his cream cableknit sweater. your eyes drink up the adonis right in front of you, mentally undressing him. “instead of hitting on me, how about i explain all of the constellations to you in extreme detail?” he purrs to you while biting his lip. he flips his hair over his shoulder, sultrily looking at you. you see right through him of course, knowing that he’s appeasing to your attraction to him just so he can ramble about ursa major, ursa minor, & the big dipper.

frankly. it works.

he holds his hand out to you. a truce.

you shrug. “if you do it like a hot stern professor, then sure.” you both shake on it.

he rolls his eyes playfully, trying to stop the smile that threatens to creep up on his face. “ugh. fine. be quiet and come over here.” he picks you up underneath your thighs and puts you in between his legs. your back pressed against his warm, sturdy chest. he kisses you on the head, appreciative of your indulgence of him.

you giggle cutely and move yourself down, laying your head in his lap while he softly plays with your hair. his lovesick gaze, fond smile, & warm thighs envelope your body, filling your senses with suguru. he leans down and presses a soft kiss against your forehead, an addicting contrast of his cold lip ring & warm soft lips electrifying your skin.

he pops a single chocolate-covered strawberry in your mouth, and you playfully nip his finger. he traces your lips softly and starts playfully lecturing you about the constellations that grace the night sky.

he excitedly points at a cluster of three bright stars, “and that is orion’s belt!”

you point at a bright star in the night sky a few lightyears away from it, grin unbelievably wide.

“i think you might be missing one, babe. and you call yourself the modern-day galileo. heh.” you playfully tease him.

suguru rolls his eyes, “okay first of all, i have never called myself that. second of all — excuse me?” his scoff is slightly haughty, & he can’t help the indignant laugh that escapes out of him. “alright, since you know so much — enlighten me then, what’s that one called?”

“hmm… i believe it’s sugurugeto-020390.”

suguru’s eyes widen ridiculously like flying saucers.

“what?”

you push yourself out of his grasp to pull out a certificate from your purse and hand it to him. you sit next to him cross-legged, gauging his reaction.

“trust me, i wish i could get a better name for it, but it turns out there’s a lot of suguru geto’s in the world.”

pausing for a moment, you want to make sure that your boyfriend knows that he’s the only suguru geto on your mind.

giving him bedroom eyes, you purr, “none like you of course.”

he blinks. “what?”

your face falls comically, and you pout, “that bright star in the sky is yours.” you point at it haphazardly. “you’re the light of my life, you illuminate my life, you’re the sole star and center of my universe, blah blah blah… so i figured… ya know…!” you gesticulate wildly, and in the moonlight suguru can see the slight blush on your cheeks. your eyes looking everywhere else but his own.

you’re shy.

he can feel the sinus pressure building up against his nose and the tears glaze over his eyes.

you scratch the back of your head, trying to save face. you quickly backtrack, “i know it’s a bit cheesy and honestly, technically, this was probably a scam, but i figured it was the thought that counts and–”

“shut up.”

you look up at him in a state of shock, “HAH???”

he grabs your cheeks, his silver rings cool against your face, and smashes his lips against your own, teeth slightly knocking against yours. in his excitement, he pushes you down and straddles you, pinning you down to the grass — his body a comforting weight on top of you. he kisses you breathlessly, moaning loudly in your mouth. you can both taste the fruitiness of the strawberry on each others tongues, your own being pressed softly against his piercing. you pull away softly, needing to take a breath.

and the sight above you is one you don’t think you’ll ever want to forget.

suguru’s seductive low-lidded gaze is locked on you, parts of his bangs wisped across his face from the momentum of pouncing on you. he’s breathing heavily, and you can feel his rapid heartbeat hammering against yours, his nipple piercings slightly poking into your chest. a rosy blush spreads itself on his cheeks like a strawberry jam, and you don’t think any view could compare to the one you’re blessed to see now.

his lips are red and glossy, aching to kiss you again. you nod softly, begging him to continue. he slots his lips back with your own, tracing your bottom lip with his tongue before he bites down sensually, groaning loudly when he hears you whimper. he curls an arm underneath your body while kissing you passionately, bringing you closer to him, enveloping you into his space. all you can think about in this moment is: suguru. suguru. suguru.

pulling away once more, and peering deep into his amber orbs, you think that his eyes carry the most beautiful stars. a milky way of ochre and obsidian.

never casting your fond gaze aside, you intertwine your hand with his, bringing it to your lips, kissing each knuckle fervently.

his alluring gaze follows your devoted actions. butterflies brush their wings together inside his stomach, the flutter erupting throughout his whole entire being. he thinks that in the moonlight, underneath the canopy of stars that…

you are the most brightest.

the most beautiful.

the most meaningful.

“honey! i’m hoooooooome!”

you feel unbelievably ecstatic that you can finally get to see your dear boyfriend after two weeks of being apart!

you already have the whole day planned out, perhaps you two can get takeout from your favorite local restaurant and watch anime together! you giggle happily to yourself while thinking about how you both can snuggle and have a cozy day in.

you take your shoes, coat, & purse off by yourself, wondering if suguru is out. usually by the time you’re at the door, suguru is already there welcoming you back with a massive kiss and a “missed you baby.” softly whispered in your ear, especially if you go on a long trip…

hmm, that’s a bit odd.

now that you’re looking around…

the apartment is in complete disarray.

it looks like a tornado blew through the whole place.

you shuffle in further… and dirty dishes are piled in the sink, overflowing dangerously. suguru’s clothes, random knick knacks, and pillows are strewn about as if he threw them all in a fit of rage. crumbs litter the carpet and you see what looks to be dirt tracks on the floorboards. the laundry is stacked high and the air is stuffy, it seems like no windows were opened in the time that you were away.

worriedly, you run into your shared bedroom.

suguru is there, thank god safe & sound, but what you see breaks your heart.

he’s laid face down, the left side of his cheek smooshed into the pillow, black tear tracks staining the fabric… he must’ve cried on a day when he went out? the bedroom is filled with dirty clothes on the floor, and you’re pained to smell the stench of cigarettes in the air. it’s light… maybe he only smoked one… but the fact that he felt the need to smoke at all, shattered your soul.

especially considering he quit ages ago when he started dating you.

you walk towards him lightly, not wanting to scare him off. his eyes are open and he looks at you… but he’s not really looking at you.

“you alright there, precious?” you softly whisper.

a perfunctory question. you know he’s not. he knows he’s not. but you know he’s in no state to answer any questions that you have.

“mhm.” he hums quietly. lethargic, not even having the willpower to answer with anything but a light rasp.

you brush back his bangs, and he shudders. his hair is greasy, oil-black hair clumping together in some places, matted in others. his lips are slightly chapped, a bit bloodied no doubt from his habit of biting his lip when he’s anxious. his fingernails are no stranger to the same action, stubbed and jagged down to the nailbed, his black nail polish chipped. bright amber eyes which often have a gentle look in them have turned into a dull ochre, obsidian pupils overtaking his irises.

they’re still gentle because he’s looking at you… but if you’re being honest with yourself, his eyes remind you a bit of a black hole right now.

vacant of light.

you press a soft kiss against his forehead and leave the room momentarily, thinking to yourself if anything can be done about this situation.

you decide to shoot satoru a quick text, seeing if he can help you out a bit with what you want to do.

you breathe out a sigh of relief, a small smile gracing your face. you can always count on satoru. the man may be silly and eclectic, but at the core of his being, he’s someone who will always take care of and look out for his friends. he’s the type of person to drop anything to help those that he loves and adores.

(sometimes you think that satoru really was an angel put onto earth.) (but then you think that he was probably cast out of heaven for being a little shit.) (regardless, you still fucking love him for it.)

you walk back into the room, and lay your head against your pillow that is next to suguru’s. (it smells like him… he must’ve hugged it while you were away.)

cradling his cheek, you quietly say, “satoru’s also back from his business trip babe, he’ll be coming in about 10 minutes. how about you get a bit of sunshine with him, hmm?” he blinks slowly, nodding softly.

you hold his hand to help him up out from the bed, but he shoos you away, admonishing you slightly, “i can do it myself.”

you nod and leave him to it, mentally preparing yourself for the behemoth cleaning task ahead when he leaves.

suguru pads slowly into the bathroom and puts his hair up in a high ponytail with a hairtie he stole from you, not wanting to deal with it. he washes his face and gets a wet rag to pat down his body and underarms, not having the energy to shower. putting on a random black sweatshirt, he douses himself in your favorite cologne of his. he puts on your strawberry lip balm while popping a piece of mint gum in his mouth. with a tired sigh, he exits the bathroom, dragging his feet to where you are at the door.

he kisses your temple gently. you plant a soft kiss against his knuckles. you think your eyes deceive you when you see a semblance of a twinkle in his eyes. “love you baby. i’ll bring you back somethin’.” he rasps out softly.

even in his darkest times, even when his mind is playing tricks on him, he’s still thinking of you. wanting to take care of you. desiring to show his affections towards you in any way that he can.

you simply want to return the favor.

satoru arrives, wearing a crisp white button up and black tinted glasses, his snowy white hair shining like starlight thanks to the sunbeams that hit him. he hugs suguru gently, placing a soft kiss against his temples. suguru, dressed in all black just nods his head lightly at him. he’s not really interested in going out but knows that you two will force him regardless, reminding him that getting sunshine and looking at different scenery is important.

as they get into the car and back out of the driveway, suguru waves lightly at you, eyes tired yet gentle. satoru winks at you, proud & thankful that suguru has someone that cares so deeply for his mental, emotional, and physical wellbeing.

waving them both a goodbye, you go back inside and put on your cleaning playlist, ready to get started.

the first thing you do is open up the blinds and windows, wanting to air out the stuffiness that had built up over the past two weeks. considering the fact that suguru got a tinge paler and his undereyes looked sunken, you don’t think he got even a single beam of sunshine or any semblance of fresh air in the time that you were away.

padding over to the kitchen, you begin by doing the dishes. wearing your matching baby blue dishgloves, you get to work. it seems like suguru got anxious by seeing all the dishes piled up and started using some paper plates, which would explain the overflowing trash as well. the dishes are caked with food, but soften a bit by dousing them in water along with spritzing a powerwash grease-lifting spray. you sigh happily, glad that this will make it easier. after washing, drying, and putting away the dishes, you turn your attention to the kitchen surfaces.

you wipe down the counter and dining table in circular motions with a lemon-verbena spray, disposing of any old particles of food and random dust that lay upon the surfaces. already in your cleaning mode, you start to feel a little bit more energized.

opening up the refrigerator, you see that it’s been practically untouched. unfortunately, you gag when you smell rotting veggies and fruits, promptly rushing to your kitchen cabinet to get your trash bag to toss any old food away. you mentally remind yourself to get groceries in the morning, maybe if suguru is feeling a bit better after today you both can go together!

walking into the living room, you get your cleaning towel to beat the dust out of all the furniture. usually you & suguru both start with the bedrooms, but this time you figure you’d start with the living room as it’s in a bit of a better shape than the bedroom.

after you finish beating the living hell out of your cushions, you get to swiffering, mopping, and vacuuming — humming and singing loudly to suguru’s favorite songs on your shared cleaning playlist.

you go into the bedroom and start by gathering all of the clothes on the floor and the ones in the hamper to put inside the washing machine. you look around and do the same with the bedsheets and pillow cases, rubbing the eyeliner out of suguru’s pillowcase with some makeup remover first.

cleaning out all of the drawers, you make sure to throw away any random trash and only keep what’s necessary. clutter bothers both you and suguru, so you do your best to try and minimize that. you pick up empty bottles off the nightstand and throw them away. at least he drank a bit of water.

turning your attention to your bookcase, you wipe down the multitude of pictures of you & suguru that he put in frames.

there’s a few of both of you smiling after going on cute dates — suguru’s grin unbelievably wide while flipping off the camera and holding you close to his chest as you laugh loudly. there’s ones of you gazing at him adoringly, your love for him seeping out of the picture. there’s others of him looking at you — a soft fondness in his eyes, an even softer smile gracing his lips, his affectionate gaze tuning out anyone and anything else that isn’t you. both framed and pinned to the wall are multiple candids you two took of one another when the other wasn’t looking or paying attention, bursts of love immortalized in random moments of time.

you tell yourself that the sniffle you do is just because of the dust.

clearing your throat slightly, you look around proudly. you’re done!

you spray each room with a cotton spray, inhaling the fresh linen scent happily. you light up a teakwood candle that suguru bought a few weeks ago in the living room and put a sandalwood diffuser in the bathroom, freshening up the place. you take a well-deserved shower, feeling properly clean and accomplished.

by the time you’re done, it’s around 5:30 P.M in the evening and satoru texts you that they’re on their way and will be back home in approximately 30 minutes.

you get a can of sprite, his preferred soda, out from the fridge and put it on the counter. you decide to place an order for takeout from suguru’s favorite local spot, one that sells cold zaru soba noodles, his favorite food. you place another order at his favorite bakery for matcha crepes, his most loved dessert. the zaru soba will come within an hour and a half, but the dessert will come sooner so you also order a flower delivery too — a cute little surprise which will come within the same amount of time as the crepes.

you figure that you’ll also do the same for satoru, a little thank-you present for when he comes back to his own apartment. you order a bouquet of narcissus & holly for him, internally hoping that he likes it. you also order all of his favorite desserts from his favorite bakery! knowing that he will happily fill himself up on raspberry macarons, strawberry cake, vanilla mochi, chocolate donuts, & zunda cream kikufuku to his heart’s desire.

walking back into the bathroom, you get the most important part of your night started.

suguru finds his heart a bit lighter when he comes back to your shared home. he didn’t want to admit it to satoru… but he actually had a fun time eating, shopping, and listening to his hilarious stories about his shitty business trip. he’d be lying though if he said that he wasn’t most excited to see you after a long, eventful day.

in his hand are a bunch of shopping bags from stores that satoru dragged him to — clothes from your favorite stores, accessories & bags that you most wear, shoes that you need, books & knick knacks that you like — all for you. he bought a few for himself of course, but he mainly wanted to spoil you. he can’t help the small smile that creeps up on his face when he thinks about how excited you’ll be to see the gifts he got you.

thinking back on it, the guilt and shame he felt in his heart when you first saw him earlier today ate him up. he didn’t even know why he was feeling the way he was feeling so strongly. it was coincidence that it coincided with your trip, and he made sure that he would sound fun and happy over text as to not worry you. it wasn’t until a few days from when you were actually set to arrive that he didn’t even have the energy to talk or text you.

hell, he didn’t even have the energy to keep the apartment tidy or keep himself in check either. another pang of guilt hits him like a freight truck. he concludes that he’ll give you a spa day so he can clean everything up, not wanting you to worry about the mess he made.

he knows from the bottom of his heart that you’d never judge him or make him feel small for feeling the way he felt, he just feels so bad that he couldn’t even muster up the energy to greet you the way you deserved to be greeted. to kiss you. to hug you. to have a delicious dinner together and snuggle with you.

but no. after a long trip you had to come home and be worried for him. have the apartment be in disarray, have to see him be in disarray. fuck, you were worried enough to call up satoru.

he swears to himself that he’s gonna make it up to you. he swears that–

oh?

what?

suguru’s eyes widen, hands weakly dropping his shopping bags on the floor.

the entire apartment, top to bottom, is spotless.

dishes done and put away. dining table clean. living room tidy. is that… a bouquet of daffodils, his birth flower, on the counter? he also sees the bag from his favorite bakery right next to it too…

he walks around, astonished, at how you’ve made the apartment look brand new.

he reaches the bedroom and sees that the bed is made. his clothes have been clean, dried, and put up in hangers inside his closet. the nightstand, dresser, and bookcase all spotless and wiped free of dust.

a fresh smell envelopes his sinuses. he swallows the lump in his throat. did you smell the single cigarette he smoked? it seems like you aired out the whole apartment. in front of him is a beautiful sunset that waves at him from outside. a sunray beam kisses his cheeks. suguru blinks and feels something wet trailing down his face… it tastes salty on his lips. but feels so warm and sweet.

“suguru?” your angelic voice calls to him.

he turns around and sees you. fresh and clean, a beacon of warmth and illumination. a light blush dusting your cheeks no doubt from all of the hard work you’ve done.

“i ran you a bath. you up for it?” you tilt your head cutely at him, a silent plea in your eyes for him to agree.

feeling like his voice will betray him if he speaks, he nods softly. grabbing his hand, you take him to your shared bathroom, also totally spotless. your hands are soft and small in his, warm for once, because of you taking a hot shower and checking the temperature of the water for suguru’s bath. a sandalwood scent envelopes his nose, no doubt from the diffuser you put inside. he sees the romantic candles and rose petals around the bathtub and he can’t help the smile that overtakes his face.

“for me?” he rasps, a teasing tilt to his voice.

“always. everything and anything i do will always be for you.” you say it seriously. genuinely.

to you, it’s a vow. an oath.

his eyes widen slightly, but he closes them momentarily, not wanting any more tears to spill. he crinkles his eyes and smiles at you softly.

“you joining me?” he undresses, taking off his sweatshirt and t-shirt. showcasing his tan skin, toned abs, & muscles. his nipple piercings & belly button piercing are on full display and he giggles lightly as you ogle at his body, watching your eyes trace his numerous tattoos & piercings, absolutely mesmerized.

“maybe next time,” you smirk, a playful twinkle in your eyes. “figured i could do a little pamper session, is that alright with you?” you ask him caringly, wanting to make sure that he’s comfortable with it first & foremost.

he fears that if he speaks any louder than a whisper, the love that overcomes him will drown his airways. he rasps out a small, “yeah.”

always. anything and everything you do will always be right for me.

he gets into the bath and you try to not let your eyes trail down, instead focusing your gaze on his dragon tattoo that encompasses his entire back along with the mythological japanese creatures that trail up his arms and ribcage like tapestry. you see one of your favorites, a black and white beta fish upon his ribs, submerged underneath the water he’s in.

from this angle, you can also see your name that he tattooed behind his ear. smiling to yourself, you sit behind him, ready to begin the pamper session.

his sloshes the rose petals around with his fingers. the water is warm, is his first thought. i wish you were in here with me, is his second.

your fingers stroke his hair softly, lulling him into a false sense of security, and then you get to work, vigorously rubbing in his lavender shampoo. he can’t help the laugh that escapes him. for some reason anytime you two would take baths or take showers together, you would always wash his scalp aggressively. “this is how i wash my hair sugu! what’s a little run through gonna do? we gotta keep clean!” did clean mean damn near ripping out his hair follicles? possibly.

he’d never stop you or scold you however, he thinks it’s hilarious and an endearing trait of yours. when he washes your hair he makes sure to be as soft and careful as possible, almost lulling you to sleep. when you wash his hair however, it’s like you’re turbowashing a pickup truck. he figures this time he’ll give you a pass (he always does) considering that he doesn’t think he’s washed his hair in around a week and a half.

“gonna rinse now, okay?” he hums quietly, closing his eyes.

this almost feels like a purification process to him.

you lather shampoo in his hair once again wanting to do a double cleanse, this time a bit more softly. you massage his scalp, and he tips his head back. you start from the crown of his head, working in circular motions, using your fingertips. then you go to the roots of his hair, pressing and lathering, pressing and lathering, pressing and lathering.

you push his head forward slightly so you can clean the back of his head too, massaging the pressure points in his scalp. you were always a good masseuse, therefore a deep sigh escapes him, tension leaving his body by the second. (this might be the first time in two weeks where he’s been able to breathe comfortably.) you run your fingers throughout the clean strands of his hair, humming a little tune to yourself.

“they called me.” your hands still for second, but resume back to carefully twisting the water out his silky black hair. you stay quiet, knowing that when suguru speaks he prefers to get it all out there first.

“must’ve been like, what, two days after you left?” a humorless laugh escapes him. “they always know when to fuck up my mood. i swear.”

he sighs tiredly. “they went on a whole spiel about how i need to come back home and find a ‘real job’ as a hotshot lawyer or some fancy businessman, as if i don’t run my own tattoo parlor. as if i’m not also a real fucking businessman. like, do they think i don’t make any money? that i can’t comfortably take care of us both?” he rolls his eyes, getting annoyed again just thinking about how long the same repeated conversation had gone on.

suguru’s family is relatively well-off. he’s genuinely thankful that both him & satoru never had to worry about how to put food on the table or be worried about not being able to spoil the people that they loved.

it’s just that his parents were angry that their picture-perfect little boy wanted to spread his wings… see a world that had more to offer than quiet dinner table meals filled with tension and pointed jabs at one another guised as “caring advice.”

their image of suguru started to get distorted when he first showed up on their doorstep with his gauges. an act of rebellion. he could’ve worn small simple diamond studs but he wanted to make an impression: i’m my own person. even as a 13 year old boy, i can make this decision on my own. he remembers the way his father said he looked foolish. how his mother held her hand over her heart, in shock that her little baby boy had tainted himself in such a manner. what would others say?

suguru remembers looking in the mirror after the whole fiasco & thinking: god… they’d say i look so fucking cool.

then it started with sneaking out to go on late night drives with satoru, shoko, nanami, & haibara. they’d jam out to random songs on the radio, get slurpees & snacks, and sit in satoru’s car just talking about life and their future for hours. suguru still remembers the way his bangs wisped across his face, the crisp night air purifying his soul, the stars in the sky illuminating the landscape. the world seemed bigger those days and the gang were enjoying their teenage years. enjoying their youth.

he remembers coming home, his father waiting for him on the couch, pointing to the seat next to him, forcing suguru to sit down. his father’s arms crossed, black turtleneck making his muscles bulge slightly out of his sweater, his specs on the bridge of his nose making him look so serious. suguru found it easy to make eye contact with everyone in the world, but with his father he couldn’t help but look away sometimes… so he redirected his gaze to the tiny delicate beauty mark near his fathers right eye. a small little thing that made his father look a bit more… prettier. nicer. less daunting.

“where were you?” the timbre of his father’s voice rattled his bones. he muttered those three words quietly, but it still shattered suguru’s eardrums regardless.

“out. with my friends.”

he scoffs. “some friends they are.” a deep resounding ring of utter disappointment comes from his father’s words.

suguru sneers at the man, pissed that he would even think to disrespect suguru’s choice of friends like that. “yeah, they’re the best.” not an ounce of sarcasm lacing his words. his own mood dampened, nevertheless.

he recalls stomping all the way upstairs and slamming the door with all his might. sitting on his bed and resting his head against the window pane, eyes looking up at the same stars he saw when hanging out with his friends.

the stars seemed so far away from suguru’s room.

the world looked so big. suguru felt so small.

then one day, months later, suguru kissed a pretty boy. he can’t quite remember his name anymore, just that his lips were soft and his eyes were kind. suguru’s parents found out. his dad was surprisingly fine with it… he just assumed it was a phase, he went through the same thing as his son did when he was his age. his mother however… she just acted like it never happened the next morning. as if it wasn’t just a part of who he is.

his parents thought he was rebelling for the sake of rebellion. in actuality, it was suguru’s true self coming out. he was just getting more comfortable in his own skin. he was tired of being the picture perfect beauty who always was demanded of being polite, poised, & graceful. it was always too easy for him to put on a fake smile and manipulate others into doing what he wanted for the sake of his family’s reputation, it’s what he was taught. being at that house, it felt like he was kept on a tight leash, restricted from living his life. he felt caged like a bird…

but he just wanted to be free.

all he wanted was to just truly be himself in this world.

a kiss against his scalp breaks him out of his reverie.

right… he was here with you. he doesn’t have to spiral or worry anymore. you’re here. with him.

you’re here, you’re here, you’re here.

he shudders softly, taking your hand, holding it tight within his grasp. anger laces his next words, “they also said it’s time i get into a ‘real relationship’. whatever the fuck that means.”

you giggle. you know that his parents aren’t too fond of you. you’re not exactly of the same… class or status as them. at least that’s what suguru’s mother told him.

he huffs out a single dry laugh, “i’m glad you’re giggling about it because i nearly popped a fucking blood vessel screaming into my phone when they said that shit.”

“my protector.” you coo to him.

a light blush tinges his cheeks. always.

he presses a kiss against your palm. “i think it just made me… spiral a bit, y’know? reminded me of when i was kid and they made every little decision for me. i mean i’m a fucking adult now — i can decide what i do, who i wanna be, and who i want to be with.”

so when he got that phone-call from them on that day he was supposed to go to some rock concert… he did the one thing he promised himself he’d never do again. he lit a cigarette, and cried his eyes out into his pillow.

while sobbing, he remembered when he was in his early twenties and he’d sleep around with anyone and everyone, smoke blunts & cigarettes, go bar-hopping… do everything the picture-perfect pretty boy would never be allowed to do under his parents roof. his family just made him so miserable that he would do anything to not think of them.

he heard your voice in his head, reminding him, that instead of continuing on that self-destructive streak, he got his shit together. art & drawing was always his safe haven, so he found himself an apprenticeship at a tattoo parlor, getting a job as a piercer and ultimately working his way up to being a tattooist. he owns his own place now — all his hard work & effort paid off.

his mind travels back to you. his true love.

ever since the moment he met you, he was mesmerized by your beauty, your personality, and your loving words & actions.

suguru’s heart and sobs only calmed down when he thought of you. his beloved. his angel. his reason to be. he hugged your pillow a bit tighter that night, imagining it was you.

“i’m proud of you, you know.” you say it so genuinely that it tugs on his heartstrings, making his heart skip a beat.

“you’ve been through a lot of shit with your parents, but at the end of the day, you chose to follow what your heart desired — not whatever they wanted. you’re successful in what you do and you made the right decision. it doesn’t matter what the hell they say, because they don’t know the effort and time it took you to get where you are.” you say it so passionately, that suguru believes every word that comes out of your mouth. his heart racing, thankful that somebody fucking understands him.

“you’re kind. you’re caring. you’re so unbelievably loving. you’re always looking out for others and helping anyone that needs it… you’re a good fucking person, suguru. i hope you know that and realize that. it doesn’t matter what anyone else says, you are good. what you do is good. who you are is good. it’s an honor to be able to love you and be with you. i hope you know that.”

for the first time in a while, suguru turns around and really looks at you. the way you bare your soul to him so effortlessly, the way you smile so sweetly at him, the way you make him feel like he’s your one true love.

“i’m so thankful for you. i love you… and i want to be with you, too. always.” his voice breaks a little, overcome with emotion.

suguru hugs you tightly, neither of you caring about the wetness on your clothes. suguru puts his entire spectrum of feelings towards you into the hug — an apology, a thank you, and a proclamation of love.

voice a bit shaky, he laughs, “sorry for getting you all wet. i know how much you hate drenched clothes.”

“you apologizing for getting me wet? now that’s a first.” you purr playfully, glad to see him in better spirits.

a loud laugh bellows out from suguru, deep within his gut. he kisses your lips preciously, and sits back down in the water, urging you to continue.

the mood now is far lighter. the air thick with a sweet steam.

you rinse his hair and gently put his lavender conditioner through his hair. massaging it in, running your fingers through his silky smooth strands. you put his hair up in a clip for a few minutes to let the product soak in. he washes it out himself while you start the shower, making sure you put in his favorite honey-almond bodywash. he gives you a silly yet oddly sultry show when he lathers himself and he promptly comes out, steaming and refreshed. you help him do his skincare routine, softly rubbing each and every product into his skin. he towels off and sits down, hairbrush in his hand, looking at you.

“here, let’s do this first.” you blow dry his hair, taking your time and allowing suguru to lull his head back onto your front, the soft black tresses of your beloved’s hair feeling much more revitalized in your fingers. you then brush his hair, gently, carefully. the entire time, you notice that suguru’s eyes are closed and he’s smiling to himself. you kiss him on the top of his head, and he turns to kiss you back. eyes closed, his lips puckered…

but just then, the doorbell rings.

“OOH! perfect timing!” you scurry off. you leave a pouting suguru who huffs out a little “hmph.” annoyed that whoever was at the door took a very well-deserved kiss away from him.

he patters softly to the kitchen where you’re setting out cold zaru soba noodles for him along with a can of sprite and matcha crepes. all of his favorites.

you hold a bouquet of flowers. daffodils.

“for you.” you curtsy, a mirthful twinkle in your eyes. he graciously accepts them from you, a shy smile and light flush across his cheeks.

“thank you.”

kissing his knuckles you whisper, “anything for you.”

for once in his whole entire life, suguru doesn’t think he can bear to look you in the eye. your adoration is so unbelievably intense, it feels like it’ll burn a hole inside his heart. does he deserve so much goodness in his life?

“you deserve more than what i can give you. i’ll spend my whole life making sure you realize that, suguru.” you say to him honestly. “if you’ll allow me of course.”

he kisses you on the lips softly, hoping that you can feel how thankful and lucky he is that he has you. “likewise.”

he clears his throat. “okay, c’mon. i’m starving. i wanna watch that stupid anime and shit talk that hot guy you like on screen while we snuggle.”

“he’s the best character, suguru!” you huff indignantly. clearly he can’t be talking about thee toji fushiguro???

“babe. he SUCKS.”

he knows you so well, he muses to himself.

he knows how your breath hitches after he nuzzles his lips against the curve of your neck, that the skin is sensitive there, but not as sensitive as your right ear. he knows that because of the way your knees buckle as he whispers soft romances to you, intense shivers overtaking your body. he makes sure that his arm is always wrapped tender yet firmly around your waist when that happens, trapping you against his unyielding body.

he knows what makes you tick. on the rare occasion that you allow your emotions to overcome you, he knows how to comfort you. he leaves you alone for a few moments so you’re able to gather your thoughts & assess your bearings, and then he invites you into his warm embrace. he lets you lay your head in his lap as he strokes your hair gingerly, easing your soul with both honest and kind words. adorning your face with soft kisses and even softer caresses. a cocoon of protection.

it seems like these days, however, he hasn’t had a proper grasp on you. you can’t hide a single thing from him, he knows that you would never willingly do so either.

it’s not like you want to anyways — not that you intend to, at least.

but it’s an aching feeling in his chest, nonetheless.

earlier in the week, you’d softly shut your bedroom door whenever you saw him, pretending as if you couldn’t see each other… as if he wasn’t there. it’s moments where he found you haphazardly digging for shit in your drawers, tucking whatever it was into your pockets and padding away softly to your room. you’d stay in there for hours, only coming out when he knocked on your door to tell you dinner was ready. he heard lots of rustling and you pretended as if you were just chilling in there, as if nothing was going on. sometimes when he knocked on your door to see what you were up to, all he heard back was an “i’m busy, baby! i’ll be out soon!” then it became even more odd, you’d quickly shut off your phone whenever he came into the room and would plaster a bright smile at him as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

he sighs to himself. he trusts you. he loves you. he knows you’re not doing anything heinous.

but… why won’t you tell him what’s bothering you? don’t you trust him to fix whatever is wrong? it eats away at his mind & soul that you think you have to hide whatever it is that’s taking you from him. don’t you know that he’d drop anything for you? that’s what being in love is for, right?

his eyes peer at you from the couch, studying you. he calls out to you softly, “angel. can we talk, please?”

a statement posed as a question. he knows this. you know this. you answer regardless.

“sure.”

you walk towards him, intentionally adding a lackadaisical swagger to your steps. to fool him. you know it won’t, he knows it won’t. but suguru isn’t anything if a man who doesn’t indulge his beloved.

he pats the seat next to him on the couch. inviting. as if he’s giving you a choice, even though you know you have none at the moment. “sit next to me, my love.” his smile is taut like a string, amber eyes shut closed so you don’t bear witness to the tears that threaten to spill.

he knows you’re hiding something.

he doesn’t like not being in the know.

is it something he did?

is it something you did but are too afraid to tell him?

since when were you afraid of him?

were you always–?

in the few seconds it takes you to sit down, a myriad of questions race through suguru’s head, creating a spiral of untamable negative thoughts. you would talk to him if something was wrong, right? you both have a healthy communication and always talk things over with each other… so what’s different now? do you not trust him?

suguru chastises himself, thoroughly.

of course you wouldn’t want to speak to someone like him.

always the overthinker. always the nagging negative nancy. always the manic-depressive.

sometimes suguru fears that he acts more like a father to you rather than a boyfriend.

that he’s a bit suffocating. too intense. very overbearing.

a warm hand engulfs both of your small, cold ones. he hopes that it comes off as sweet, as caring. because he himself is sweet and caring.

at least he hopes he comes off like that.

“is everything alright, sweetheart?” a soft whisper. he speaks placatingly to you like you’re a newborn fawn and any loud noises or large movements will make you jolt and run away. “i feel like… you’ve been avoiding me recently. and…” he takes a deep breath. “listen, i don’t know if it’s something i did, but you need to tell me, okay? you have to tell me so i can make it better.”

he thinks he sounds nurturing. kind. paternal.

he also thinks he sounds so fucking condescending.

he closes his eyes and a picture of a man darts across his eyelids like an overdeveloped photo.

strict, heavy-handed, cutthroat.

paternal and protective to a fault. a man who was always “right” even when he was wrong.

an “apathetic” man who bore a child who thought too much – felt too much.

a flash of a sophisticatedly handsome man with obsidian shoulder length hair, serious low-lidded eyes, and a firm closed mouth sears itself across suguru’s brain like a charred photograph.

he flings away the afterimage as quickly as it came. pretending as if he never even thought of it.

he gulps, swallowing the fireball in his throat. god, he really doesn’t want to be like… him. having a majority of his features is enough, he does not want to inherit that man’s personality.

suguru absentmindedly rubs the slit in his eyebrow, his grip unintentionally tightening on your hands. he releases moments after, not wanting to cause you any pain.

“everything is fine with me sugu, i promise you.” you reassure him. “it wasn’t my intention to avoid you or make you feel like you did anything wrong… i am so sorry if it came off like that.” you answer him honestly. your head is tilted to the side like a little puppy, brows furrowed, upset that you made him feel like you were trying to get away from him.

“no, no no no no no, baby it’s not your fault.” he quickly grabs your cheeks, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. he brings you against his chest, hugging you tightly. “don’t apologize honey, i’m sorry… i just got into my head a bit.” he quickly placates you and kisses the top of your head. you shouldn’t be the one to suffer because he started to anxiously overthink and spiral.

he looks at the time on his watch. it’s a few minutes past midnight. you both should go to sleep… maybe you can talk it over in bed or in the morning with clear heads.

you exhale softly, shaking your head faintly. you press a delicate kiss against the corner of his lips. telling him, “give me a sec.”, you walk over and into your room.

he nods and watches you saunter away, putting his head into his hands. god… him and his big mouth… he sighs, anxiety crawling up his throat once more. he really didn’t want to upset you or anything, he angrily tells himself to apologize to you when you get back.

hearing you shuffle closer to him, he lifts his head.

in your hands is a… huge book?

“i wanted to give you this tomorrow… well technically today, but i guess it doesn’t really matter.”

he tilts his head, confused. you present him with the thing you’ve been working so hard on.

you smile at him so softly, he thinks that his heart is about to burst. “happy birthday, suguru.”

birthday…? oh god, it is his birthday.

he gently takes the present from you… it’s a scrapbook.

“don’t look at it in front of me! okay, bye!” you quickly sprint into your room, not wanting to be in the room when suguru looks at such a personalized present.

blinking, he grabs his reading glasses from the coffee table, and opens the book, flipping through each page carefully.

photobooth pictures, polaroids, kodak film pictures, movie tickets from your dates, admission tickets from amusement parks he’s taken you to, and multiple candids of both him and you - many of which he hasn’t seen.

one of them looks awfully familiar… did you take this the day you took him stargazing in the meadow? his fingers brush against his trembling lips, trying to stop himself from sobbing.

is this what you were doing?

he feels so stupid.

but god… does he feel so fucking loved.

you’ve immortalized every single moment of your relationship with him. nothing being too small for you to be excited about, carefully keeping everything.

he sees the little pressed flower of a daffodil enclosed in wax paper on one of the pages, probably from the first time you gave him a bouquet. the first time anyone has presented him with flowers without wanting anything in return. when asked about the occasion, you simply shrugged and said “just felt like it” & then quickly kissed his knuckles, zooming out of his apartment to run errands. he remembers how bashful he felt. how thankful he was. how loved that experience made him feel.

he moves his glasses upwards, wiping the tears across his lashline and the ones that stream down his face. he clears his throat slightly, and continues flipping the pages. you’ve drawn little doodles (things that he’s already planning to get tattooed on him simply because they came from you) and you’ve written beautiful, personal messages. encapsulating your adoration for suguru in the margins — genuine words filled with your love, devotion, and admiration for him.

he sniffs loudly and tries to wipe his face the best he can. he tenderly calls out your name, beckoning you over to him, and you get up out of your shared bedroom to pad softly into his open arms.

“my love.” he stands up and walks over to you midway. he hugs you so tightly while pressing your head against his beating heart, his arms protectively enveloping you. the space between you two is nonexistent, and suguru surmises that he wouldn’t have it any other way.

conveying his thankfulness and love to you, he sweetly says, “my sweet, sweet girl.” a soft kiss pressed against your hair, “my heart beats for you, forever and always.” from anyone else it’d sound cheesy, but from suguru… you know he means it from the depths of his soul.

“my little dove.” he coos so fondly, sweet candied sugar dripping from every syllable. he holds your face in his gentle hands, openly divulging his admiration for you, “you’re so precious to me, you know that? i love you. i love you. i love you.” a tender kiss pressed against your soft lips between each proclamation of adoration.

you smile graciously, thankful and relieved that he adores your present and that he especially adores you. you knew out of any of your presents that you were going to give him today, that this would be the most meaningful. suguru has always been the ultimate sentimentalist, and you wanted him to know that you care for him so deeply. that you love him. adore him. that your heart beats only for him. pushing back a black tendril of your true love’s hair behind his ear, you kiss him gently. both of your lips fitting together perfectly — like a lock & key.

you bring his knuckles upon your lips, preciously kissing his promise ring, ensuring to him that your love and devotion runs deep, deeper than anything in this world.

“i love you too. happy birthday, my love.” his hands are so gentle. his face is so sweet. suguru… your one true love.

if you asked suguru to describe you in three words, he’d say you were: devoted. loyal. loving.

he has four more of his own on the tip of his tongue that he’ll ask to you when he musters up the courage.

with a soft kiss upon the ring on your knuckles, and an even softer smile upon his lips, he lovingly breathes out, “私はあなたを永遠に愛します”

#geto suguru x reader #getou suguru x reader #geto x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #belated b-day fic for my beloved ON valentine’s day… i’m a lover to my CORE. never think otherwise #if you listen to the song there are some callbacks to the lyrics in this fic itself :’) if you read this thank you & i hope you enjoy! :D #i edited the geto pic myself are you proud :3 fixed his hair + made it clear + spruced up the coloring <3 anything for MY man #my writings #personal

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biscuit-babbles · 4 months

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HSR Men Omegaverse (A/B/O) Scents

To pair with the dynamics headcanons list, I'm going to do a short and sweet one about their scents! Also, this headcanon will be taking some inspiration from @daylightdabbles's Teyvat Omegaverse AU, but is not required to read beforehand!

Rating: SFW Warnings: None Characters: Caelus, Dan Heng, Welt, Gepard, Sampo, Luka, Jing Yuan, Luocha, Blade, Argenti, Dr Ratio, Aventurine + Gallagher Summary: What scents help to identify each of the HSR men?

Scent has always been a bit of an odd topic for CAELUS, considering the stellaron pulsing in his chest. While it doesn't seem to be hurting him, it does affect his scent, though fortunately to not such a degree that it's concerning. All it does, fortunately, is add a burnt note to it, making Caelus smell distinctly of a smore that had been left over the fire a bit too long. His scent isn't really sweet nor earthy, but a compromise between the two, with hints of metal heated by licking flames.

As opposed to being just odd, DAN HENG's relationship with his scent is a bit of a sore subject. Even though the scent is entirely his and not swayed by his environment, there's still notes to it that are reminiscent of the Xianzhou by association. Because of this, he tries to nullify it as much as possible, without completely canceling it out. His scent consists of weathered paper, sea spray, and peach trees.

One of the most comforting scents you can come across belongs to Joachim Nokianvirtanen, also known as WELT. By now, it's a staple of the Astral Express, soothing those that board the express and allowing them a comfortable passage. He smells of sandalwood, warm bread, and hot cocoa. It's not overpowering, but it lingers longer than most.

As a beta, GEPARD's scent carries traces of his beloved home, Belebog, as well as his own identifying scent. The cold sting of wintery air and the lingering of rusted metal is paired with rosemary and chamomile tea. Contrasting Welt, Gepard's scent is very strong, filling one's entire chest, but the bitter cold and winds tend to sweep it away almost the moment he leaves a room.

It's hard to say that SAMPO even has a real scent anymore. He has caked on so many perfumes, colognes, and even scent blockers that it's a weird hodgepodge of different scents, just as chaotic as the Aeon he follows. Depending on the day or placement, you can smell an assortment of spiced and floral scents, with the only constant being the lingering of raspberries and blackberries.

Everyone in The Moles knows that if you're in danger, to follow the scent of grilled steak, as it will inevitably lead to LUKA. Though, grilled steak isn't the only thing he smells like, with it being accompanied by the scents of black pepper and citrus. It's a thick, comforting scent, but has the tendency to make others hungry if they spend too much time around him.

It's fortunate for those working under JING YUAN that he smells not only remarkably pleasant, but that the scent itself isn't overbearing. One can only truly describe his scent as 'clean', often being likened to a windy meadow. Jing Yuan usually smells of a mild breeze, wildflowers, and oranges. Though, whenever he's angry or in the heat of battle, it tends to be darkened by the scent of oncoming rain and storm clouds, as if disturbing the previously still meadow.

Traveling place to place as an omega has meant that LUOCHA's scent has.. wavered, for lack of a better term. Omegas typically smell like home, the things they surround themselves with. That's hard to do when your surroundings change daily. It's caused plenty of alphas and betas alike to be confused and unnerved by him, but other omegas find him quite charming. If you take a deep breath, however, you can make out the airy scent of lilies, polish for his rapier, and the fruity scent of his shampoo.

A long, long time ago, there was a craftsman who was said to have smelled of passion and the forge itself. But that man is long gone, leaving BLADE behind in his wake. While Yingxing's original scent disappeared along with him, Blade finds that he is now identified by the scents of smoldering embers, dew-laden spider lilies, and cinnamon. Whenever he finds himself mara stricken or enraged, the embers flare up, leaving the distinct smell of smoke and hot metal. Though, when he's content, it's said to be a comforting scent.

One of the things ARGENTI prides himself on as a Knight of Beauty is his scent. It stood out from the scents of smoldering rubble and fear that clung to his hometown, but has since been embraced as proof he was meant to follow the Beauty. Not very many alphas have such tender, floral scents as him. He smells of freshly cut roses, an early morning fog, and the heart of a lush forest.

Frankly, DR RATIO doesn't concern himself much with his own scent. It's simply a biological fact to him, it doesn't need any further attention nor dressing up. Though he can't help the flattered feeling that swells in his chest whenever he catches someone swooning over his scent, which tends to linger heavily wherever he goes. Dr Veritas Ratio smells of pomegranate, sandalwood, and buttered toast.

Another person that hides their scent often is AVENTURINE, who never allows his true scent to show. Scents are like facial expressions, they can betray your true intentions, and Aventurine refuses to have anything but a perfect poker face. Hidden under layers of strong colognes and scent blockers, locked away from the public eye and only kept the secrecy of Aventurine's own room, is the scent of vanilla, shea butter, and blueberries.

On the opposite end of the spectrum, GALLAGHER is constantly surrounded by scents, and finds a sense of comfort in their expression. It's said that he even smells like a perfectly blended drink himself, with a sweet but savory blend that seems to take the edge off of most he comes into contact with. Gallagher smells of fresh grapes, strawberry schnapps, and rose.

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greekstar · 1 year

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Warrior cat name Ideas Prefixes - A-Z A Acorn Adder Amber Ant Apple Arch Arrow Aspen Ash Asher Alder Amber B Badger Bark Beech Bellow Birch Berry Bird Black Blizzard Brave Breeze Bright Brown Bell Bug Beetle Bluebell Blue Bounce Brindle Brush Bush Buzzard Buzz Bee Bumble Bass Basil Bubble Brine Beaver Bison (I feel like this only goes good with ‘horn’ or Bisonpelt/fur.) Bat Bone Butterfly Burdock Broken Bramble Bracken Bay Brisk Blossom Briar Boil Branch Bud C Cloud Cloudy Crystal Cold Cricket Cliff Cardinal Crying Cougar Coyote Cobweb Chick Cow Cave Cheetah Carrot Coral Cactus Claw Cedar Cherry Cinder Clover Copper Creek Crooked Crouch Crow D Dew Dewy Duck Dusty Dust Dune Down Dagger Dodge Dolphin Daisy Doe Dapple Dappled Dark Dawn Dead Dove Drift Dusk E Eagle Ebony Echo Egg Eel Ember F Fallen Fallow Fawn Feather Fennel Fern Ferret Finch Fire Flame Fleet Flint Flower Flow Fly Fox Freckle Frog Frost Furze Fuzzy Foal Falling Fall G Gale Gust Golden Gold Goose Gorse Gorge Grass Gray Green Grass Goldfish Guppy Ghost H Hail Half Hare Hawk Hay Hoot Hazel Heather Heavy Hollow Holly Honey Honeycomb Hummingbird Horse Happy Hornet Hound Heron I Ice Ivy J Jagged Jay Joy Jaguar Jackdaw Jump Juniper K Kestrel Kink Koi L Lake Larch Leaf Lark Leopard Lichen Lightning Lily Lion Little Lizard Log Long Lost Loud Low Lynx M Maggot Mallow Maple Marsh Meadow Milk Minnow Mint Mist Misty Mole Moon Morning Moss Mossy Moth Mottle Mouse Mouth Mud Mumble Mink Muddy Moonlight Mountain Mushroom Monkey N Nettle Needle Nut Newt Night Nimble O Oak Oat Odd Olive One Otter Owl Orange Ocean Orca Opal P Pale Perch Pool Pike Peak Prickle Pounce Pine Petal Petal Pebble Pear Patch Pirate(kittypet or loner) Polar Peach Panda Pond Pigeon Plum Q Quail Quick R Rabbit Rain Ragged Rat Rattle Root Raspberry Reed Red Robin Rock Rose Rowan Rubble Running Rushing Rush Russet Rust Rye Raven Raccoon Rustle Rattlesnake Ravine Rapid S Sage Short Sheep Sedge Shrew Slate Slow Snail Sneeze Sorrel Soot Spider Spruce Sun Sunny Swallow Shallow Shade Sharp Scorch Sand Sandy Sky Silver Smoke Snake Soft Snow Sparrow Speckle Splash Spotted Squirrel Stalking Stalk Stalker Starling Stone Storm Stumpy Stump Sweet Swift Shred Sloe Shell Seed Shimmer Shimmering Skunk Spirit Squid Shy Sound Summer Sapphire Spiraling Spiral Shark Saturn T Tall Talon Tooth Timber Tiger Twig Tumble Thorn Thistle Thrush Tawny Tangle Ting Trout Torn Toad Tiny V Vine Vixen Void Vole W Wasp Weasel Web Weed Wet Whisker White Whale Wild Willow Wind Wolf Winter Wisteria Whisper Whispering Water Wave Waver Whisper Watermelon Whistle Wood Y Yellow

Yew

Yarrow- suggested

You guys DONT WANNA KNOW how LONG this took. I’m crying. And I might’ve missed some so feel free to send me messages in chat to request me editing it and putting it in some (not like messaging but the. Chat in this post lol.)

@cryptidclaw I also did this for our Au to help us with renaming.

I will get to suffixes soon I promise.

#Greekstar’s Suffixes/Prefixes #name ideas #Prefixes #suffixes #Just some name suggestions.

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sweetestberryofthebunch · 1 year

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Down By The Lake

I know y’all are nasty so here’s the Rosénali smut from Academia AU but for everyone who’s just here for the naughty stuff!

come outside, i wanna show you something

The text had reached Denali just as she shouldered her bag, ready to head out to class. She couldn’t help the roll of her eyes. Of course Rosé had anything but class in her head on a day as hot as this.

Can’t, some of us have grades to keep xx

Unsurprisingly, Rosé wasn’t letting her off that easily.

you are the best dancer this stupid program has, you don’t need every single practice baby!

Unable to stop the smile creeping across her face, Denali shook her head.

I’m top of the class BECAUSE I show up every single practice. Not that you can relate.

Then, a few minutes of silence. Denali knew she should probably get going or she was going to be late, but she wanted to see Rosé‘s answer.

Finally, three dots implied the other girl was typing. And then, a picture.

Rosé’s thighs, naked except for tiny, ripped jeans shorts, pale skin spotted with freckles. A bottle of pink champagne and a whole box of raspberry sorbet in her lap as she sat in her white leather car seat. Denali swallowed heavily.

Another message came in.

i bought a picnic blanket too

Fuck, who could dance in an unacclimatised gym in this weather anyways? Shaking her head at herself, Denali dropped her bag onto her bed. Time to get out of her dance shorts again. Where was that cute little tennis skirt she’d borrowed from Liv?

5 mins

When Denali slid into the passenger’s seat, Rosé‘s grin was even wider than her own.

„I knew you’d come!“

Denali rolled her eyes at that, turning her head away from her. Rosé laughed, starting her engine.

„I don’t blame you, who could say no to this.“ She threw her hair back over her shoulder, pink curls falling free over her shoulders despite the overwhelming heat.

Biting her lip, Denali stayed silent at that. Of course, Rosé was right. Tinted sunglasses on her nose, her little shorts were paired with a cropped shirt, merch of Lagoona’s single, that Rosé had cut so high up that a thin line of skin right under her boobs was exposed. There was a little mole right on her upper rib that Denali had the urge to run her fingers over. But Rosé was driving, and they had a plan! Shaking her head, Denali rolled down the window and stuck her head out instead. The wind blowing into her face was somehow still hot, like a giant blowdrier. Her high ponytail danced in the hot stream of air behind her as Denali watched the meadows on either side of the road. They certainly weren’t driving into town.

„You look cute today“, Rosé said casually, one hand on the steering wheel as the other one reached over to Denali. It found her bare thighs, already covered in a thin layer of sweat despite the air conditioning in the car. She didn’t seem to mind too much though, as her thumb began drawing lazy circles on the tan skin.

„I like the skirt.“

Denali felt the heat rise to her face, and certainly not only there. She wasn’t going to mention that she had changed into this for Rosé, she wasn’t going to inflate the girls ego even more. But the fact that Rosé did notice and certainly appreciated it nonetheless made her heart flutter.

„Where are we going anyways?“, she asked, trying to keep the shaking undertone out of her voice as Rosé‘s thumb wandered up a little further, almost touching the hem of the skirt now.

„Secret spot“, she simply replied, grinning, „one of my favourite spots.“

They took a left turn onto a private road, passing a huge, freshly renovated villa. Denali couldn’t help the gasp escaping her lips at the sight, immediately turning to Rosé. „Do your parents live here?“

At that, Rosé laughed, grip on the inside of Denali’s thigh tightening. The dark haired girl tried her best not to shiver.

„No“, Rosé chuckled, „My dad‘s back in Scotland and mom lives in NYC.“ At Denali’s questioning look she continued, „I have no idea who lives there, but I hate what they did to the house. It used to be way more rustic. Lost all its character.“

The road they’d taken suddenly stopped at a little assemble of pine trees, in the middle of no where. No other houses, the town and campus must be far behind them, and all they had here was a line of trees and a bit of gravel where Rosé parked the car. Denali glanced over at her.

„If this is what I skipped rehearsal for-“

„No, it’s better, I promise!“ Rosé laughed, reaching into the backseat to grab the promised blanket and champagne bottle. Her shirt popped out of where she had tugged it into her jeans, revealing just the smallest line of skin. Denali felt her eyes drawn towards it like magnets, swallowing at the sight of a single birth mark right below the other girls abs. She swallowed, shaking off those thoughts.

It turned out Rosé wasn’t joking.

She lead her through the trees down a small dirt path, and after a few minutes of walking, the trees gave way to some sweet, green grass, an open beach to the lake she knew from campus. They must be on the opposite site of it, the other shore was barely visible.

But unlike on campus or in town, no other people were around. It was just them, the green grass, and a few ducks splashing around in the waves.

Rosé cackled and it was only then that Denali realised her mouth had fallen open.

„This technically belongs to the villa we passed“, Rosé explained, „but those snobs never come here. It’s just us.“

It turned out champagne tasted really good when it was expensive. And it tasted even better shared, while splayed out on a red and white checkered blanket, the sun above them and the green grass below.

They were laughing over stories Rosé told about growing up with two half sisters, about fighting with Jan and pulling pranks on Lagoona.

Denali threw her head back laughing and took a sip of champagne before handing the almost empty bottle over to Rosé.

„Finish that“, she mumbled, gently tapping her stomach. „I can’t handle any more bubbles in my tummy right now.“

„Weak“, Rosé commented, tossing back the last few gulps of sparkling liquor before mindlessly dropping the bottle beside her.

„Hey!“, Denali couldn’t help but pout, round doe eyes golden in the sun. When Rosé just shrugged she shook her head, leaning back on the blanket until her head hit the ground, eyes falling shut as she simply let herself soak up the warmth on her skin.

She looked ethereal. Bathed in bright sunlight, under a clear sky, her bare feet digging into the grass as she leaned back on their blanket, crossing her arms behind her head. Her little crop top rose up just the smallest bit, revealing just a little more of tan skin and toned abs, and Rosé felt her stomach drop.

„Denali“, she murmured, inching closer on the blanket.

„What?“, the dancer chuckled, head turning to face Rosé, her beautiful brown eyes widening at the intensity of the pink haired girl. Rosé was close, close enough to feel her breath against Denali’s skin, and she kept inching closer, leaning over her. Soft lips grazed over her shoulder, light as a feather, and a shiver ran down her spine.

„You’re beautiful.“

It was more of a whisper than anything else, but Denali felt every hair on her skin rise up anyways. A tattooed hand found the hem of her shirt, Rosé‘s fingertips hot on her skin as they slid underneath the fabric, running along the lines of Denali’s muscles.

„Rosie“, she gasped, eyes falling shut at the almost tingly sensation. This was new, but oh, was it good.

Rosé‘s other hand supported herself as she began drawing little circles against Denali’s skin, breathing in the smell of daffodils, fresh grass and Denali’s citrus perfume. Her fingers wandered further up, pushing the fabric with them, and Denali gasped again when she felt them graze her ribcage.

The dark haired girl blinked, eyes finding Rosé hovering over her, pupils dilated with want, her lips parted just the slightest bit. It was like she was a dying man in a desert and Denali was the first source of water in days. Slowly, Rosé inched closer, leaning down towards Denali. The dancer didn’t stop her, that was the last thing she’d do. In this moment, Rosé was the most beautiful thing Denali had ever laid eyes on. Her breath tingled on Denali’s face, it smelled like champagne and Coca Cola.

And then, their lips touched. Rosé leaned down, finally closing the remaining bit of distance between them. Her lips found Denali’s like opposite poles on a magnet, mending together perfectly. She tasted fresh, like soda, mints and sparkling water, like the perfect refreshment for a hot day like this. For a life like this.

Her tongue slipped between Denali’s lips, hot and urgent, and the whine she let out before she could stop herself was swallowed by Rosé‘s kiss.

The hand on Denali’s ribs remained steady, pushing her down onto the blanket, shifting in her position until she was on top of Denali, one knee on each side of her hips, pink curls falling down as she leaned over her to create a rosy veil that shielded them from the outside world, a little vault where it was just them. Their lips reunited and Denali’s eyes fell shut, letting herself get lost in the sensation, lost in Rosé. The older girls hand continued its journey, ghosting over her ribs once more before finally coming up further, pulling the blue fabric of Denali’s shirt up enough to expose her nipples, already hardened from just their kisses. A gentle breeze ghosted over them and Denali shivered.

Suddenly, she remembered where they were. „Rosé!“, she gasped out, pulling away enough to look the older girl in the eyes.

Her lips curled into a small grin, free hand stroking Denali’s cheek. „Don’t worry“, she whispered, „no one ever comes here. This is a private place.“ Before Denali had the chance to reply, her lips met Rosé‘s again, and any form of concern left her mind completely. Her back pushed off the ground, into Rosé‘s lingering touch. She needed more, more than small grazing, more than just her fingertips.

„Please!“, Denali gasped out, a plea that was heard immediately. Rosé’s lips let go of hers, pressing a small kiss to each corner of her mouth, each little dimple on her cheeks before wandering further, along her jaw, even lower. Her palm closed around her left boob, gently massaging the flesh as her lips came to a halt on her neck, sucking on the sensitive skin.

A moan escaped Denali’s throat, loud and shameless and she felt Rosé grin against her pulse point, teeth grazing her skin before soothing the spot she sucked on with her tongue, finishing with a small kiss before wandering down just a few inches to do it all over again. Denali knew that there must already be bruises blooming on her skin. Markings of Rosé, signaling who Denali belonged to now. The thought made her head spin.

Suddenly, Denali was the starving man and Rosé was the only thing that could ease her hunger. She needed her, now.

„Rosie“, she whispered, and Rosé‘s head shot up, eyes full of concern all of a sudden. Her hand reached up to gently stroke Denali’s cheek. „Are you okay?“, she asked. „Is this too much?“

Denali almost snorted out at that, quickly shaking her head. „Not at all.“

Her hand found Rosé‘s, and she held eye contact as she brought them to her lips, gently kissing the tips of Rosé‘s middle and index finger. They were soft, nails short. She could see the pink haired girl swallow in response, and it made Denali smile. „I want it“, she husked, the next kiss to Rosé‘s fingers lingering just a little longer. „I want you.“

At that, something seemed to shift in Rosé. Denali felt her weight shift on top of her, felt the heat of her skin, the way her hips pushed down against Denali just a little bit. Tattooed fingers gently pressed down onto her bottom lip, and Denali didn’t hesitate, letting her mouth fall open, fingers slipping inside.

Rosé felt dizzy. Denali was staring up at her with perfect, innocent doe eyes. A complete contrast to the way she started to suck on her fingers, her warm tongue swirling around the digits with precision. She felt her own hips grind down against her, the feeling of butterflies in her abdomen intensifying.

Rosé let Denali suck a little longer, indulging in the sight in front of her, in the heat pooling between her legs at the feeling of Denali’s mouth around her fingers. When she pulled them out at last, Denali almost looked disappointed. Rosé smiled down at her, wet fingers lazily trailing down her neck again.

„Look at you“, she whispered, their foreheads meeting, „being such an angel for me.“

This time, Denali leaned up to close the gap between them, pulling her into a hungry, wanting kiss. Rosé couldn’t help but smile into it, letting her hand trail down further. Her hands found the little tennis skirt again, pushing it up to sit high on Denali’s waist. Now her wonderful, round thighs were revealed fully, as well as her cotton panties, already graced by a large damp spot.

Rosé felt her mouth water, but she slowed down in her movements again, wet fingers on Denali’s thighs.

„Still okay?“

Denali responded with almost a groan, hips bucking upwards into Rosé‘s touch. „Rosie I swear, if you don’t fuck me right now I’m walking home!“

This time, it was Rosé who gasped, eyes darkening at Denali’s directness. Her fingers dug into the soft inside of her thighs, snaking up and around until they rested on her hip. Her fingers drew little circles around her hip bones, eyes fluttering shut at the soft flesh underneath her fingers.

„Rosie“, Denali as much as whined, glancing up at her with round, pleading eyes. Her lips, plush and red from kissing were pulled into a small pout.

As Rosé leaned down to kiss the pout away, her fingers hooked underneath the waistband of the other girl’s cotton panties. She ran her tongue along the inside of Denali’s lips, before pulling away just the slightest bit, their noses still touching. Her grip on the cotton tightened „Okay?“

Denali nodded quickly, with an almost frantic urgency. And Rosé smiled. „Okay.“ The panties were discarded of in one swift motion, leaving Denali’s bottom bare apart from the skirt bunching at her waist.

Rosé had never seen something more beautiful. Her lips attached to the other girls neck, kissing down her jaw and along her collarbones urgently, intensely. The palms of her hands wandered over Denali’s thighs, indulging in the feeling of soft skin and muscle, teasing over her bare ass before wandering back to her front. One hand settled on her hips, a body part of hers Rosé was already obsessed with, as the other slowly snaked closer and closer to her center.

One finger ran over the outside of her labia experimentally, and Rosé sucked in a sharp breath at the slick coating her index finger immediately. Lips pressed against Denali’s pulse point, she mumbled.

„You’re so fucking wet already.“ A chuckle, and then a small bite. „All for me.“

The whine Denali let out was guttural, her hips jerking upwards into Rosé‘s hand, chasing something, anything she could get.

„Please“, she panted, eyes pressed shut in pure, hot need.

Rosé graced the spot she bit with a gentle kiss, her tongue licking along the length of Denali’s neck. „Anything for you“, she promised, and she meant it.

Her hand repositioned, palm pressing down on Denali’s clit and the girl gasped out loudly, pushing up against the new friction. Rosé drank up the sight of it, the sounds of Denali’s pleasure, the feeling of her hot skin against hers a better drug than anything she’d ever tried and will ever try. Nothing could beat this.

She let Denali grind against her, once, twice, before her other hand pushed her hip back down onto the blanket again, eliciting a small cry of frustration from Denali.

Rosé chuckled, leaning up to press a small kiss to her lips. „Relax princess“, she smiled, and Denali audibly sighed into the kiss at the new nickname.

And just as her body relaxed underneath Rosé, the first finger pushed inside her, drawing a teasing circle around her entrance before sliding in with no resistance at all. Denali’s head hit the ground, eyes pressed shut and her mouth falling open at the feeling. A second finger joined, the slick, wet sound music to their ears.

Rosé wasted no time, quickly settling into a fast paced rhythm, pumping in and out relentlessly.

Denali mewled, her hands grabbing for something to hold onto, a request Rosé quickly complied. Her other hand wandered back up her body, along her hip, right in the middle of her chest, goosebumps rising on the sensitive skin. Her hand quickly found Denali’s, fingers interlacing over the other girls head, and the way her hips pushed up into Rosé‘s hand at the new position drove the other girl insane. Rosé’s head dove down, connecting back to Denali’s neck in a fierce, fiery kiss, sucking on the hot skin in sync with her fingers.

Heat built up in Denali’s stomach, a tingling sensation slowly creeping further through her body like spreading mist, until her entire world was nothing but rose tinted heat.

„Rosie, I… I‘m gonna-“, and then, with one more buck of her hips into Rosé‘s pumping fingers, she came undone. The other girls name on her lips, she couldn’t tell if it was a scream or a whisper, body collapsing onto the blanket, her only connection to reality the feeling of Rosé‘s hand holding hers, her thumb running over her palm as she slowly pulled out.

In this moment, they both felt complete.

For Rosé, more than she ever had before. Denali was the missing puzzle piece for her restlessness. She finally made her feel at peace, right here, just live in the moment. She was the only thing that mattered.

#rosenali #i miss them #smut #berry’s writings

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chaldeamage-neo · 2 years

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IT'S FUCKING MARCH BUT IDC VALENTINE'S ALPHABET WITH NIYO BECAUSE I FEEL LIKE IT

also time feels like an illusion rn help

A : AFFECTION. how does your muse show affection?

Niyo likes making things and giving gifts. Making chocolates and sweets for people was something she did before Chaldea so naturally she'd do it there too if/when she can. But for more romantic affections, gift giving is still a thing but she likes to cuddle as well <3

B : BOUQUET. does your muse like flowers? which ones are their favourite?

Red roses for aesthetics and mature look, those flowers you'd see growing out in meadows like peonies, black-eyed-susans, lupines and daisies because nostalgia. And forget-me-not because there just so darn cute! Nothing else...

C : CHOCOLATE. does your muse like chocolate? which one is their favourite?

Milk chocolate. She'll eat dark chocolate if it's paired with something like fruit. Like raspberries.

D : DATE. what is your muse’s ideal date? where / who with / etc?

You guys know I'm a multi shipper with Niyo... I can't just go down that entire list but a common thing with all of them is her wanting to just spend nice quality time. Eating food together at restaurant or picnic and just relaxing.

E : EMBRACE. does your muse like hugs? what are their hugs like?

Niyo likes hugs! But only from certain people after reaching a certain bond level (unless she just needs some serious comfort). Niyo is small so an intimate hug feels like she put her whole body into it. Her arms wrapping as tight as she can around you and for such a small lady they feel like a warm sunny day.

F : FLIRT. is your muse good at flirting? how do they flirt?

Niyo isn't much of a flirt unless she's particularly in a good mood. Compliment her and she's feeling it? She'll do it back. Or if you get her on the right day with the right person she might just go on and tell them what she's thinking.

G : GIFT. is your muse good at gift - giving or do they struggle to get it right?

Again, she likes giving gifts so she likes to put a little thought into them. There are three kinds of Niyo gifts. The edible ones. Normally sweets but can sometimes be a type of meal. Only the meals she confident with. The ones with some kind of use. Useful to a specific thing the giftee does or it kinda falls into the last one. That being her just wanting them to have something nice. Like a blanket, a good luck charm, a ring

H : HEART. is your muse quick or slow to give their heart away?

If I put my silly little "shipping Niyo with x character because I like them" away, normally... Ehh? She doesn't fall in love too easy but can be wooed with the right moves.

I : I LOVE YOU. does your muse find ‘i love you’ easy or hard to say?

The first few times yes, it is hard to say. She wants to make sure that these feelings she has are true. Just throwing around "I love you" isn't her thing unless she's certain. Both romantic and platonically.

J : JEALOUSY. does your muse get jealous in a relationship?

She likes to keep an open mind when in a relationship, especially if she gets involved with servants but sometimes she just can't help but feel jealous sometimes. She feels bad about it. Like she isn't the type to get jealous over her lover hanging out with her friends. She's just worried if she's a good lover and can compare to others who might be giving her love attention and affection (the irony of this i know)

K : KISS. is your muse a good kisser? why / why not?

For deep passionate kisses it's another depends. She'll follow whoever is kissing unless feeling rather bold. She excels at peppered and those little cute kisses. Also biting. She's gets flustered from kisses because to her they feel very secret.

L : LOVE. who does your muse love?

Simple answer: sheep and her son (platonic). Complicated answer: I'm a multi shipper so normally what feeling at moment for any specific au.

M : MOONLIGHT. what is your muse’s ideal date? where / who with / etc?

This again? Just take her on a picnic.

N : NAUGHTY. what is your muse like in bed?

Wouldn't you like to know, fuhuhuhu. I can't just spill that in a post like this

O : ODE. does your muse have a way with words?

Not really. It's more so timing.

P : PARTNER. what does your muse look for in a partner? looks / personality?

A bit of both looks and personality. But also someone she can rely on.

Q : QUESTION. would your muse ask the big question or expect their partner to?

She's the type to ask it so it's a matter of who does it first.

R : ROMANCE. is your muse a romantic or a cynic?

A definite romantic. She's heard the tales of romance and wants that herself afterall.

S : SWEETHEART. did your muse have a childhood sweetheart?

Lmao no. Unless I pull my au bs

T : TRUE LOVE. does your muse believe in true love?

She likes to believe it's a thing.

U : UNREQUITED. has your muse had their heart broken?

Romantically? Not really. Or at least not yet.

V : VALENTINE. how does your muse feel about valentine’s day?

She likes it! Growing up it was one of those holidays she would go out of her way to celebrate herself but she didn't have anyone she felt romantic feelings for so she's make sweets for her friends. And it bloomed to her making things for people she appreciated or to say thanks to. Though for whoever she has her heart on they get s special gift <3

W : WEDDING. would your muse get married? why / why not?

Niyo would get married but she wants it be her choice. Because fun fact, her father is the type to marry her off if it's coinvent for him. But Niyo wants to marry for love.

X : XOXO. does your muse use / like pet names?

Niyo will use your usual pet names and little nicknames, but using them on her she get flustered.

Y : YOURS. does your muse get protective easily?

Yes.

Z : ZZZ. how many people has your muse slept with?

Haven't you heard of the saying "don't kiss and tell"

#niyo info #niyo mine #mastersona #gudasona #fate oc

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one-leaf-grimoire · 3 years

Text

knight au ➼ chapter 23

warnings ➼ violence!

synopsis ➼ An unexpected visitor arrives at the cottage. Julius thinks about amore.

ao3 link (18+ content) ➼ here

masterlist ➼ here

author’s note ➼ heehoehehe goodbye

A cold wind swept across the hills, rippling the edge of the woods. But Julius didn’t mind- he was bundled up nice and warm, humming to himself as he bent down again and again to pick up wildflowers that grew at the boundary between meadow and forest. He already had an impressive array, but this bouquet had to be absolutely perfect. What flowers does Lisa like, anyway? Julius thought to himself. I’ve gotten her tulips and roses and peonies and lilies… well, she liked all of those. But which one is her favorite?

Of course, Julius’s solution to this was to pick a large variety of flowers, then ask her which was her favorite once he presented the bouquet to her.

One more flower caught his eye. He leaned down to delicately pick it, examining it between his fingers as he straightened up.

...How beautiful. A cornflower.

It was of the blue variety, its many petals almost frail-looking in his hand.

Devotion… and unity.

Unity…

Julius knew what he wanted. Maybe it was the crisp country air, or maybe it was the feeling of waking up next to her every day. But for the first time in his life, Julius knew exactly what he wanted.

I want her to be my wife.

And he didn’t want it in a few years, or even a few months. Every moment he spent away from her was pain, and if the world was perfect, he would have taken her to a little chapel somewhere and married her right then and there.

The wind picked up again, carrying a few stray flecks of snow along with it.

Of course… the world isn’t a perfect place. I have to wait…

Julius sighed, and added the flower to his bouquet.

Soon, though… I’ve made up my mind. And if I can’t be king if I marry her, then so be it. Ren or Silas are old enough to take up the mantle. I’m surprised it took me this long to realize that none of these titles or honors really mean a thing.

Smiling a little to himself, he looked over the meadow, to the house on the edge of the lake. Lisa was in there, safe and warm. One day, they would come back here, to live the rest of their days together in peace.

Until then… we press on. Together.

He turned to continue his walk, his bouquet not quite completed yet.

.................................................................

It was nearly evening when Lisa woke up from a long nap. She blinked a few times, before softly stirring where she lay. She was curled up in the big armchair in the sitting room, angled towards the fireplace where the embers were still burning. A blanket was tucked around her body, only adding to how comfy she was. Only one thing was missing: Julius.

With a sigh, Lisa sat up, spotting the book the two of them had been reading together before she dozed off. I wonder where he went, she thought to herself, yawning widely. She stood up, letting the blanket fall back into the chair, cold air hitting her bare legs. I should probably change out of my pajamas before I freeze to death.

However, she was distracted by a wonderful smell wafting from the kitchen. “Mmm.” She peered inside, her eyes widening when she saw Lyra there, cooking something on the stove. “Lyra? You’re still here?”

“Oh! Lisa, you’re finally awake!” Lyra smiled before gesturing at the stovetop. “Julius told me that I should stay and prepare a special dinner for you two~”

“Special dinner?” Lisa looked down to see a pot of green beans, potato souffle, and something that looked like raspberry dressing cooking on the stove. From the scent in the air, some kind of meat was simmering in the oven. “I wonder what for…”

“Who knows. He seemed pretty cheeky about it,” Lyra added, smirking over at Lisa. “Maybe he’s going to ask you to have a baby with him~”

“H-Huh??!” Lisa turned about as bright red as the raspberry dressing. “No way- I mean- it’s far too early for that!”

“Nonsense! I got pregnant just a few days after my wedding.”

“Yeah! B-But- that’s you, Lyra-”

“What are you trying to imply?”

“Ah! Nothing. I just…” Lisa sighed, glaring at Lyra as she giggled at her frazzled state. “It’s not really something I thought about before now, you know? And besides… I don’t know if I’m cut out to be a mother.”

… mother.

“Mother.”

“Hey. Everyone goes through this when they get married, so don’t worry! You two will decide when the time is right.”

Lyra paused her cooking to reach out and rub Lisa’s back reassuringly, sensing that her younger cousin was distressed.

“Right…” Lisa winced a little, guilt welling up inside her. “Lyra… I… I have something to admit. About the two of us-”

SHUT- Why am I telling her?

Because I can trust her?

Lyra raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean.”

Lisa sucked in a breath.

No… I’m just tired of lying and pretending that Julius and I are something we’re not. Whether we’re just a knight and her king, or just a newlywed couple… Neither of them are true. Lyra…

“The two of us aren’t-”

The door creaked. Lisa and Lyra looked over, expecting to see Julius back from his walk. Instead, an unfamiliar man stood there, his frame so large that it took up the entire entrance space.

Silence fell in the small kitchen.

“...who-”

He moved before either of them could process what was happening. Within one second, his hand closed around Lyra’s arm, and he yanked her away from the stove. Lyra screamed, the sound cut short as she hit the other wall with a thud and tumbled to the ground.

Lisa cried out, shocked, before looking up to see that the man was reaching for her next. Without thinking, she grabbed the pot filled with scalding hot raspberry dressing and tossed it at him. He bellowed in pain as the stuff splattered up his front and onto his arm, giving Lisa a split second to run. She ducked under his arm and sprinted towards the door. My sword is laying in the living room! She thought to herself. That guy doesn’t have a weapon, he-

Before she could finish the thought, a fist grabbed her hair, jerking her back. A strangled scream left her throat, and she lashed out, kicking and punching and biting with everything she had.

No- NO!

Her mind panicked, and she tried to scream out Julius’s name, in a vain hope that he would hear her. But the man’s arm caught around her neck, tightening and freezing her in place. Lisa couldn’t breathe, and a moment later, she couldn’t see.

No- NO- NO- He’s going to kill me!!!

She never stopped kicking and clawing at him, but it was no use. Her vision went blurry, her movements weakening.

No… Julius…

She no longer struggled. Her hand just reached for the door, or at least, where she thought the door was. Any minute now, he would appear, and slay the intruder.

I’m… sorry…

Consciousness slipped away.

........................................................

“Come on! Took you long enough. And- is that cranberry sauce?”

“Raspberry. I think. And there was another girl there, but she had blonde hair, not brown. I had to knock her out first.”

Vetto had finally reappeared from the house, running out to the stables where Patri and Rhya were waiting with the wagon. Patri’s eyes widened as they fell on the unconscious girl in his arms. “That’s her? Show me her forehead!”

Vetto pushed her bangs back, revealing the mark upon her skin. Patri nodded slowly, his heart pounding. “That’s her… that’s really her!” he grinned. “Quick! Throw her in! We got to go before Julius gets back.”

Vetto did as he was instructed before hopping in as well. The wagon thundered off down the road, jostling the riders as it went. “Now what?” Rhya asked, glancing down at Lisa’s limp body in the bed of the wagon. “Why is she in her pajamas, by the way?”

“Who knows, and who cares!” Patri snapped, adrenaline rushing through his veins. “We got her, and we’re going straight to the border to drop her off. Morris said he’d have people waiting.”

“I thought the Dagaz Order were the ones after her?” Vetto asked, glancing back as he drove the wagon.

“I doubt they would show up at the border themselves. They always have Morris and his lackeys do their dirty work, anyway.” Patri sighed. “We aren’t too far away, at least.”

“...that’s good.” Rhya shrugged off his jacket before tossing it on top of the girl. “We don’t want her freezing to death, right?”

“Sure.” Patri sighed and shook his head. “As soon as she’s off our hands, though… we’ll be free men. All three of us.” He smiled over at Vetto and Rhya, letting out a deep breath. “This is the beginning of the rest of our lives.”

Rhya nodded, before something behind the wagon. “Guys-” he said, pointing. “We have company.”

They looked around to see a rider on horseback, galloping towards them at full speed. Patri’s eyes widened when he realized who it was. “Julius…”

Only minutes beforehand, Julius had walked back into the kitchen, only to find Lyra knocked out on the ground and Lisa nowhere to be seen. After helping her sit up and stabilize, he was told by Lyra that a strange man had appeared and attacked them. There were wagon tracks outside, and Julius wasted no time- he grabbed his sword and took off in pursuit. His heart was pounding as he rode, the cold wind tearing at his face and arms. But he didn’t feel a thing; his eyes locked onto Patri, and understanding flooded him.

No… how… how did they find out-

He was stupid. Of course they found out. Of course they would come after Lisa, knowing that she was the one thing in this whole world he cherished over everything else. Fear pulsed through his veins, causing him to kick at his horse to go faster and faster.

I can’t let them take her! No matter what- Lisa, I’m going to save you!!!

“He’s catching up,” Rhya commented. “Doesn’t seem like he has any ranged weapons on him.”

“No… but he could take this whole wagon down with one swing of that sword,” Patri replied. “Rhya. Go ahead and stop him.”

Rhya nodded, reaching under his seat and pulling out his bow and arrow. In a swift motion, he raised the weapon, closing an eye to aim better at the man pursuing them.

“Want me to kill him, Patri?”

Patri’s eyes were fixed on Julius’s face. Such anguish and fury was in that expression, so much that it scared him. This man was desperate; and as soon as he reached them, his wrath would be merciless.

Julius… you…

“No. Go for the horse.”

Rhya corrected his aim, and fired his arrow. It sailed through the air, right towards the head of the horse. Julius’s eyes widened when he realized what happened, quickly yanking the reins. The horse moved, and the arrow planted into its flank instead. With a pained neigh, it bucked twice, hard, and sent its rider flying.

Julius yelled in surprise, his heart doing a somersault in his chest. No- NO-

He hit the ground, and all the wind was knocked out of his chest. He gasped for breath, the only sounds he could hear being the horse’s whinnies of pain, and the sound of the wagon wheel getting farther and farther away. He sat up, doubled over in pain, his foggy vision focusing in on the retreating wagon.

“No…”

Julius grit his teeth, his hand reaching out weakly. It was all he could do.

“LISA!!!!”

The wagon disappeared from sight, and Julius was left alone on the road, only dust, his injured horse, and his despair to keep him company.

Somewhere far away, the bouquet laid on the ground. Forgotten.

#knight au #oc: lisa #julius novachrono x oc #julius novachrono #tkwptkh #my writing #fic

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tobnikk · 2 months

Text

Hear me out.. women🫶✨

Female RM Home, hehe~

#raspberry meadow #raspberry meadow au #raspberrymeadow #raspberrymeadowau #rm au #welcome home puppet show #welcome home arg #welcome home au #welcome home #rm home #raspberry meadow home #art #digital #digital art #Istg you are all simps #the amount of people simping is unreal

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teaspoon-full-of-sugar · 4 years

Text

mystic meadow and the sweet spot

pairing: harry styles x reader (farmers market au)

warnings: anxiety, awkwardness, shy!baker!harry, fluff, smut, unprotected sex, cockwarming

word count: 6.8k

synopsis: harry hates working the farmers markets, but the girl in the kombucha booth is cute

author’s note: hope you enjoy! xx all the love

masterlist

—

Harry used to hate working the farmer’s markets; there was so many people, so many awkward encounters, and so many stupid questions. The heat of the midsummer didn’t help either. He hated having to set the booth up and take it down, with the help of nothing more than an inadequate coworker, who spends most of his time on his phone or flirting with the other vendors. He hated working the markets, which is why he honestly contemplated quitting when his boss told him that he was scheduled to work the new rounds of the summer circuit, but the pay was double what he was normally making, in addition to mileage compensation.

It’s been a couple weeks since the market season began; every Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday, he has to set up his booth, put on a fake smile, try to sell as much as he can, and take the booth down, only to start it all again the next day in a different location. It’s exhausting, draining.

Today isn’t as bad as others. Cas, his poor excuse of a coworker, hadn’t even bothered showing up, but other than that, Harry hasn’t had any rude customers, and Andy, the guy who owns the spirits booth, gave him a couple bottles for cheap. By the end of the day, he sold most of the product, with only a few pastries and macarons to save for tomorrow, which will be handed out as samples.

He’s nearly all packed up when a girl meanders over near his booth. A loose yellow tee hangs off her shoulder with pale pink lace peeking out from the top of her chest, and she offers Artemis, the elderly woman who works the soap booth next to him, a soft grin. They make eye contact, and she gives him a warm smile. Thinking she’s a straggler who doesn’t know the market is closed, he offers her a tight smile while not-so-subtly boxing up the remainder of baked goods.

“Hmm, macarons,” the girl mumbles, fingering at the blue and white plaid tablecloth. “Any good?”

“Uh, yeah,” he says softly. He has never been really good when it comes to small talk, which is one reason why he probably isn’t able to have any lasting relationships; he barely had any acquaintances, let alone meaningful friendships. He scratches the back of his head, beneath a wool beanie he apparently had to wear, even though it’s been burning hot all day. Sweat seeps into his hair, threatening to drip down his neck. She nibbles on the inside of her cheek. He slides the tray of eclairs onto the side table, wrapping it with a healthy amount of plastic wrap before placing it in the insulated tote.

“And you’re not just obligated to say that since I’m a potential customer,” she smirks.

“Would never lie to such a pretty girl,” he says, smiling. He honestly can’t believe that those words actually came out of his mouth. A blush makes its way from his neck, to his cheeks, to the tips of his ears, and he prays that she can’t see it. The sun is setting; dull oranges and pinks peek over the tops of trees and wrap around her like wings, bright and comforting. He wipes his forehead, trying to conceal his blush from her. Just by looking at her, he’s sure that she wouldn’t even bat an eye at the rosy flush to his skin, but his stomach still balls up.

“Smooth,” she says. “You come here often?” Regret passes over her features as soon as she asks that, brows furrowing and head shaking. “Sorry, that sounded stupid. I just haven’t seen you. It’s normally Ryan or Cas,” she explains. She starts folding the tablecloth when Harry packs the final trays of pastries away.

“Well, Cas didn’t even show up today.” Harry can’t help the bitterness that seeps into his voice. He doesn’t mean to dump all of his anger on this poor girl, but she’s looking at him with such understanding eyes, it’s hard not to completely break and rant about everything that’s been building up. She hands the cloth to him, which he takes with an appreciative nod. “But, yeah, ‘ve been workin’ this fo’ a couple of weeks,” he says. Feeling like he’s being a little too standoffish, he offers her a smile, nudging the tray that caught her eye toward her. “You like macarons?”

It takes a bit for her to answer, and she bites at her lip, fingers wringing together. The skin of her palms are stained a pinkish-purple.

“Yeah,” she says. “They’re my favorite.”

“Here,” he says, scrambling to get a box. He digs into the tote, easily ripping into the plastic wrap. “Take some. Better you than me. ’Ve had enough sweets to last me the rest of my life.”

“Thanks.” She takes the box of pistachio-honey, raspberry-basil, and orange cream. “Pretty,” she says, fiddling with the gold ribbon he tied around it and already picking at the label. She lingers for a little bit, like she’s waiting to find something else to talk about, fingers tapping nervously on the table top. “I, uh,” she stutters, gesturing toward the booth across the way from his and a little to the right, “work the kombucha stand over there.”

It’s a large booth with large, draping black curtains shifting. If the wind catches it just right, he can see streams of warm colors painted on them, layered and bold. Two men are taking down a large banner that says ‘Mystic Meadow Kombucha’ with the outline of a bull’s skull beneath it, wildflowers winding around it. It seems to be more extravagant than Harry’s setup, with 3 large kegs in the front, decorated with fake vines and flowers.

“D’ya paint?” He asks suddenly, gesturing toward her hands.

“I do, but these are from some beets. We were testing new flavors, and I, well—” She bares her hands, laughing lighty, “I wasn’t careful enough.”

“I see.”

“So, I’ll see you around,” she says after a minute, offering him a shy smile. Before she walks away, she raises the box of sweets with gratitude. “Thanks, again.”

“See ya,” he says, eyes lingering on her, watching her skip back toward her booth. One of the men looks at Harry and smirks, nodding knowingly. The rest of the night, he finds his gaze wandering back over to her booth. A couple of times, she catches his eye, and when they leave, in an old van with a flaking paint job that wobbles over every bump in the road, she waves at him.

It’s ten at night before he gets back to the bakery, the sun long gone, but the dry heat still hangs heavy in the air. Marty, the owner, is still in the office counting the money for the night that she probably wasn't able to get to earlier. It’s a fairly small operation, with only two baristas, two managers, Marty and Ryan, and two bakers, himself and Cas, who probably won’t have a job after today’s no-call-no-show. Harry leans against the doorframe, handing her the bank pouch.

“‘M headed out,” he says. “See ya tomorrow.”

“How was it?” She asks before he can leave. He turns around.

“Wha’?”

“The market,” Marty supplies. “Is it still as bad as you thought?”

“Today was better than others,” he says vaguely, his mind wandering to the girl at the kombucha stand. A smile plays on his lips. Marty cocks a brow, leaning back in her chair.

“So you wouldn’t mind working next week?”

“Nah,” he says, “Tha’s fine.”

That night, he dreams of a girl, with pretty eyes, a yellow t-shirt, and stained hands.

In the weeks following their first encounter, Harry takes the time to visit the kombucha girl before the market opens, and at the end of the night, she stops by to get a box of leftover baked goods. He’s learned a lot of things over the past few weeks: her name is Y/N, she’s the daughter of the owners of Mystic Meadow, her main jobs being selling at local markets and businesses and coming up with the different flavors, she’s working on her bachelor’s degree, she’s single (Harry found it difficult to contain his joy when she told him that), and she’s an all-around sweet girl, who’s wonderful with people.

Harry also found out that he hates kombucha.

But that doesn’t stop him from getting one every time he stops by. It’s normally before the market is actually open to the public. She just gets so excited whenever he tries a cup of the newest flavor, normally an odd mixture of spices or herbs with vinegar and a fermented fruit flavor—it’s not even good fermentation, like with alcohol— it tastes absolutely horrid, but Y/N looks at him with such hopeful eyes the first time he has a sip; he couldn’t bear seeing the disappointed look in her eyes, so he accepts the little plastic cup from her, nodding thankfully, and takes it back to his booth, where it will sit for the remainder of the night, untouched and dripping with sweat, leaving faint rings on the tablecloth.

“I brought you something,” she says to him one afternoon.

It’s early August, the sun at its peak, beating down on his black tee; he really needs to learn how to dress for such heat.

“Yeah?”

She lugs a black glass bottle from the cooler in the far corner of the booth, hidden behind the wooden chair for her. Her smile stretches from ear to ear; it’s hard to contain his own, but why would he want to? When you’re in the presence of beaming sunlight, you shouldn’t shy away, rather, embracing it because you never know how long it’s going to last. Her finger is hooked in the small hole near the top, and she slams it down on the table, the decorated glass jar filled with inspirational quotes and stickers with the Mystic Meadow logo on them nearly toppling over. He clumsily grapples for it before everything falls.

“Sorry,” she laughs, rubbing the sweat that has already formed on the bottle. She holds it out for him to take. “It’s a growler of the pear and pink peppercorn,” she says, smiling. He takes it gingerly from her hands, turning it over and feeling the weight.

“Wha’?”

“You said it was your favorite,” she says, her grin falling slightly. His heart stops for a second. Guilt floods him as he smiles widely, dimples settling deep in his cheeks.

“Ah, yes,” he says. “Thank you.”

It’s quiet after that. Neither of them, he’s noticed, are very good at making conversation. Y/N is normally the one to initiate the pleasantries, but it still takes a little bit before they can actually get into a deep conversation. Sure, when they finally find a subject that the both of them are passionate about, they can talk for hours, like her paintings or his music, but the starting off is always difficult. Granted, that’s not abnormal for Harry; he’s never been much of a talker. He can fake it if he has to, but he’s a bit of a blundering idiot sometimes, and he’s learned that the less he speaks, the less likely he is to embarrass himself—especially when he’s around Y/N.

He’s been trying to find the courage to ask her out on a date for the past few weeks, hell, ever since the day they met, but of course: he hasn’t. Granted, he’s never had much luck in the dating scene, probably because he can’t flirt for the life of him. There are some times where something charming comes out randomly, but it’s soon followed by an uncomfortable silence, and he gets embarrassed.

He just needs to go for it. He knows that. He tells himself that every time he misses his chance, when he waits too long, and the window of opportunity is slammed in his face. Y/N is a wonderful match for him, and she’s too sweet to completely laugh in his face or flat out reject him.

But it’s still scary. His heart is in his throat, and his palms are sweaty. He wipes them on his jeans, noticing the slight tremor. He tucks them in the pockets of his jeans (yet another terrible clothing choice for such a hot day).

He just needs to do it, rip it off like a band-aid.

“Was wondering,” he blurts out, shifting nervously on his feet. “Do you have plans on Saturday?”

“No, do you have something in mind?” She looks at him with hopeful eyes, and he melts. He wishes he could be as comfortable as Y/N, to not be constantly worried about the approval and validation of the people around him. He wonders what it’s like to wear his heart out on his sleeve.

He wishes he could live like that.

“Uh, I have work,” he says, “but after, maybe, we could get dinner?”

“Sounds like a date.”

—

The Sweet Spot Bakery and Cafe is a cute little shop on a corner in downtown, ironically next to a nutrition store. A blue neon sign shaped like a mug flashes in the corner of Y/N’s eye. Rain pounds onto the red and gold striped awning, dripping onto the flooded concrete. There’s cute flower boxes beneath the windows, but the flowers look sad and droopy, the dirt splattering out with every powerful raindrop. Antique metal tables are stacked in the far corner, out of the rain. Y/N shakes off her umbrella.

A sweet chime sounds when she pulls open the door. Inside, the scent of coffee and sugar fill her senses. There is just something so comfortable about being in a bakery or even a cafe that always reminds her of warmth, of intimacy, of home. The shop is fairly empty, with an older man reading in one of the corners, snug in a velvet chair, and a couple quietly chatting on the other side, hidden behind a hanging plant, their legs crossed over each others’ on a leather stool.

An older woman greets her from behind the counter, obscured by a gold espresso machine. She’s short with graying black hair, brown eyes peeking behind horned glasses. Her red painted lips stretch into a smile.

“How can I help you, sweetheart?”

“Hi, is Harry here?”

As if he could hear her, Harry stumbles out from the back, the door swinging idly behind him. Flour coats his arms to his elbows, with a few stripes on his nose and forehead. The green bandana struggles to hold back his hair, curls slipping onto his forehead.

“Y/N,” he breathes out. He wipes his hands on the apron, a cloud of white billowing out. He coughs. He shoos the woman away and leans against the counter, his features impassive. To the untrained eye, he looks normal, fine, calm, even, but Y/N has learned how to read him; from the faint blush on his cheeks to the look in his eyes, which are unable to meet hers. He looks anxious, more so than usual, and there’s a sinking feeling in her stomach.

“Sorry, I forgo’ to tell ya, but I’m scheduled to close tonight.”

“That’s fine.” She tries to hide the disappointment in her voice. “We can do this some other time, then.”

“I can take my break in a bit. Marty doesn’ really mind how long it takes. D'ya wanna sit? Be out in a minute,” he says quickly.

“Sure,” she says, nodding. She opts for the corner booth, away from the other customers. Harry comes out from behind the counter only a moment later, like he promised, clean with a large white mug clutched in one shaky hand and a white box, wrapped in a pretty gold bow, in the other.

“Here ya go,” he says, sliding a large mug toward her. Foam sloshes over the edges and onto the table, wetting the napkin under the cup as well as her hand. He curses under his breath, grappling for the napkin dispenser. A poorly shaped face made with cinnamon smiles up at her, and she wants to aw at the sight, her lips pouting.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, wiping her hand with a stale paper napkin.

“It’s fine, H,” she whispers, placing her hand on his.

He doesn’t really know why he’s so nervous (more nervous than usual). It’s not like this is his first time meeting her; they’re comfortable with each other, and they joke around, and he also knows that she’s interested because of how understanding she was when he told her that his shift changed, or maybe that is a sign that she’s not interested.

He really needs to stop overthinking these things.

He’s a grown man. He should be able to talk with her without his hands clamming up or his heart beating out of his chest. Maybe it’s the pressure of it being defined as a “date” that makes it even worse. He just hopes that he doesn’t psych himself out.

“Thank you.” She grins.

“No problem. Remembered that ya told me once that you liked honey and cinnamon.”

Her heart swells at his words. Even though Harry puts on an uneasy exterior, he’s very attentive and loving. None of her exes would have remembered how she took her coffee after she mentioned it once.

“Sorry,” he says again suddenly, looking at the sad excuse of a smiley face on her drink. “Don’ normally work the front unless it’s too busy.”

“You should. Such a pretty face, I can’t keep it all to myself.” She pinches his cheek, and he shys away, swatting at her hand playfully. He nudges the box toward her.

“Macarons. Your favorite,” he says, and she nudges it to the side, taking a large gulp of the coffee.

“How’s it been today?” She asks, rubbing some of the foam off with her thumb.

“Slow,” he admits, breathing out shakily. His feet tap nervously on the floor, tapping back and forth, from heel to toe.

“Hey, it’s just me,” she says, placing a gentle hand on his. “No need to be nervous.”

“Right,” he says, nodding. “I jus’ feel like I should apologize again. I should’ve said something to you about my shift change.”

“It’s no problem, Harry,” she reassures him.

“I just got promoted. Marty needs help with orders and stuff, so I’ll be the bakery manager, now. She wanted me to close as a part of my training.”

“That’s great,” she smiles, lacing their fingers. He stares at them, his thumb tracing over her knuckles gently. Her skin is calloused and warm. He tugs her hand up to his lips, and she gives him a shy smile.

“You’ll still be working the markets, right?”

“Ya can’t get rid o’ me tha’ easily, lovie,” he smirks.

“Good.”

They talk for a good ten minutes, but the conversation is no deeper than the short interactions they normally have at the markets.

Harry wishes that wasn’t the case.

“Harry,” Marty calls from behind the counter, interrupting them. “A timer’s going off. What’s it for?”

“Oh, um—” He stands up, looking at Y/N with apologetic eyes. “I promise I’ll make it up to ya. Tomorrow?”

“Sure,” she says, downing the last of her drink and gathering her things.

“Brunch? I’ll text ya?”

“Harry,” Y/N calls out after he slips behind the counter.

“Yeah?”

She presses a quick kiss to his cheek, not missing the red forming on his neck.

“See you tomorrow.”

She gives him a wink before leaving. Harry stands, stunned in silence, his fingers tracing the warmth lingering from her lips.

“Whipped,” Marty mutters, a soft smirk toying on her lips.

“Shut up,” he scoffs.

“I’m not judging. It’s cute, H.”

“I don’ need this, ‘kay?”

She throws a wet towel at him, catching his leg before the door to the back closes.

—

As promised, they had Sunday brunch, with bottomless mimosas and American biscuits, something he still isn’t used to, with jam and poached eggs. Y/N, who is a lot bolder when she has some alcohol in her, chattered on and on about her friends, her parents, and her classes. College never seemed like an option for him. He always held the belief that in his career choices, a baker or a musician, he doesn’t need a degree; you either have it or you don’t type situations.

But Y/N, the smart little cookie, loves school. She talked about how she may get an education degree, but one is plenty of work right now. She commended those brave enough to be in a double major. She asked him about his family and his job, mostly; he would rather listen to her than talk, so he kept his answers short and sweet.

Afterward, they went to the park, cliche as it seems, because even though he’s lived in the area for nearly five years, he never took the time to stop by any of the parks, and Y/N took full opportunity of this: she gawked at him, pulled him out of his chair at the bistro, and slammed some cash onto the table. He tried to argue with her, that he should at least leave the tip, since he was at fault for their date yesterday not going to plan, but she wasn’t listening.

“I can’t believe you haven’t been to any of the parks,” she said, tugging him along the sidewalk. “There’s a nice one around here, only a ten minute walk. It has a pond and that cute little playground equipment—you know, the tiny slides with tiny stairs for the little kids. Do you remember those?” She stops. “Should we get bread to feed the ducks?” She shakes her head, answering her own question. “No, we can do it some other time.”

They spend the rest of the day by the pond, people watching, another one of Y/N favorite past times. After dinner, Harry didn’t get home until after sunset and went to bed with a smile on his face.

The next day, Harry spends two hours contemplating whether or not it was too early to send a good morning text. He nervously rolled around in his bed before he accidentally sent the message. She responded quickly after, and they talked for the entire day (seriously, he didn’t get up unless he absolutely had to).

Tuesday, market day, comes around quickly, and Harry gets there earlier than usual, not so subtly waiting for the Mystic Meadow van to chug through the grass lot, and when it does, his heart speeds up, but he doesn’t recognize the girl that hops out of the passenger side.

His mind runs amuck, as usual. Even though they talked nonstop the day before, he thinks that maybe she’s not here because she doesn’t want to run into him, that she was annoyed by him already, his wariness and nerves. His heart skips a beat at the thought. He tries to reassure himself that there are so many other possible explanations, but his anxiety wasn’t having it.

It takes him a while to gather the courage to go over to the booth, and he tries to act as inconspicuous as possible, pacing slowly in front of the other booths, organic fruit, soap, paintings, and jewelry, until he’s at Mystic Meadow. The chalkboard sign that usually says Y/N’s name in fancy lettering says, ‘Florence will be helping you today’ instead. A girl with very long, very bright hair turns toward him. Thick blue eyeliner outlines her eyes, and smattering of freckles enlivens her pale skin.

“Can I help you?”

“Where’s Y/N?”

She looks taken aback by the question.

“Sick,” she answers slowly, brows furrowed.

“Oh,” he whispers. “‘M Harry,” he says. Her eyes widen suddenly, and she gives him a quick once over, leaning her hip against the table.

“You’re Harry?” She laughs. “We thought she was making you up.”

“Tha’s...” Harry doesn’t really know how to feel about that; it’s a cacophony of pride, excitement, and little anxiety. Pride for the fact that Y/N talked about him to her coworker (and potentially even more people, since Florence said “we”), excitement from the fact that Y/N seems very interested in him, and, of course, anxiety from this stranger's piercing gaze. He wonders what Y/N said about him; maybe she talked about how awkward he is or his gauky figure or his clumsiness—

“How sick is she?”

“Not too sick,” Florence says, winking.

“Oh, tha’s not—“

He hates the fact that he actually sounds disgusted, even though he honestly doesn’t mind the thought of it. Sure, Florence is right; he wouldn’t mind being with Y/N in that way, but that’s beside the point. They have only been out on two dates, and the first one was at his work, of all places, so he doesn’t really count that one. He wants to take their relationship slow.

“I’m messing with you,” Flo laughs, crossing her arms, “Although, it is nice to see a grown man blushing.”

“‘M not blushin’,” he says, wiping at his cheeks petulantly. “Uh, is Y/N alright? How sick—” He swallows thickly. His skin heats up even more, struggling to find his words. He’s trying to figure out how to ask where Y/N lives without sounding like a stalker. Maybe he should just ask Y/N himself.

“Where, um, does she—”

“Here,” she says, chuckling. She rips a piece of paper loose from under the register box and writes down an address with looping script.

“Thanks.” He leaves the booth with a quick nod, the paper clutched tightly in his sweating palm; hopefully, it doesn’t smudge the ink.

“Hey, Harry,” she calls out. He turns. “You’re a good guy. I’m glad she met you.”

If he wasn’t blushing before, he sure as hell is now.

—

Y/N looks worse for wear when she answers the door to her apartment, eyes tinted red with exhaustion, puffy and droopy, and she sniffles, a stuffy breath slipping through her lips. She’s wrapped up in a fluffy blanket. Her eyes widen, and she tries to hide slightly behind the door when she sees that it’s him.

“What are you doing here?” She squeaks.

His nerves spike again, worried he’s intruding or maybe it was too soon for him to start showing up at her house unannounced, when he’s never even been there before (he knew asking Florence for her address was a bad idea). They have only been on a couple of dates, and now, he probably ruined any chances he had with her by acting impulsively and like a total creep.

“I asked Florence,” he answers softly. “Said you were sick.” When tears fill her eyes, he’s sure she’s going to yell at him for disturbing her and tell him never to come again. He doesn’t think he’s ever regretted anything so much; his skin is hot, his racing heart sinking into his stomach. “‘M sorry. I jus’ thought, since you were sick, you may wan’ some company. I’ll leave, sorry, sorry—”

“No,” she says, grabbing onto his arm before he can leave. “I’m sorry for freaking you out, but…” Her throat closes, and she tries her hardest to not start ugly-crying, but with Harry standing on her front porch, visibly drained from work, arms full of grocery and pharmacy bags, makes it very hard not to break. It’s exhausting having to take care of yourself when you’re feeling ill, and with Harry simply there, and knowing that he was thinking about her, makes things so much easier.

“You’re so sweet, H,” she says, a tear slipping down her cheek.

“May I?”

“But—” She hesitates, nibbling at her lip. “I’m in my PJ's,” she says softly.

“And ‘m all sweaty from being in tha’ sun all day,” he smiles. He lets himself in, thick boots thundering on the hardwood. “I came straight from, but I did pick up some soup and Sprite and tea. Hope you have honey and lemon,” he rambles, tugging everything out from the bags.

“Wasn’t real sure what kind of sick ya were, so…” He scratches the back of his neck. “I got everythin’.” He gives her an awkward tight smile.

“Thank you,” she sighs, wiping her nose with the sleeve of her shirt. “Do you wanna shower? I’m sure I have some clothes that can fit you.” She guides him to the bathroom, laying some towels and clothes into his arms. “The shower head screams sometimes so don’t be worried. It normally stops if you wiggle it a bit.”

“Thanks,” he smiles. Her shower is filled with dozens of half-filled soap bottles decorated the shelves and the little basket hanging from the shower head. The hot water is nearly all gone by the time he decides to use the no-more-tears strawberry shampoo. Her towels are warm and soft, softer than he thinks he’s ever felt before, and they’re big enough to nearly swallow him whole.

He finds Y/N in the kitchen with a warped mug, seemingly handmade, filled with steaming tea. She stares at the cap of medicine on the counter, breathing heavily. He can see the confliction on her features, one moment she’s nearly convinced that she doesn’t need it, that her body can take care of it overnight, but she also knows that if she didn’t take it, she’ll be in for one hell of a terrible night; then she remembers how awful it tasted the last couple of times she’s had to take it.

Her nose scrunches when she finally decides to down it.

“Thanks for the tea,” she says, “I was just about to head to bed.”

“Oh, uh,” he says nervously. “I don’ want to impose. I’ll leave. I jus’ wanted to make sure ya had everything ya needed.”

A part of him wanted her to invite him to be with her; that part that is touch starved and eager to be near her again wants to toss any worries to the side.

“As long as you’re fine listening to my coughing all night, I’m fine with you staying the night.”

She listens to nature sounds to go to sleep.

How cute is that?

For the first couple minutes, they were ocean sounds, but she didn’t like the seagulls; she had him switch it to rain after a little bit. She looked a little embarrassed when she started playing them, but Harry listened to music in order to fall asleep, so it’s really no different. He never thought about listening to nature sounds, but it’s definitely something he could get used to.

It takes them a bit to finally get settled together. They start on their own sides of the bed. Not wanting to push his luck and make her feel uncomfortable, Harry stays on his side, trying not to hoard too much of the blankets, with a pillow hugged to his chest. She’s afraid that he won’t like her being so close to him, given her current state of health. They stare at the ceiling stubbornly, one occasionally glancing over to the other.

Soon, the night-time medicine kicks in, and Y/N throws caution to the wind.

“Fuck it,” she whispers, rolling onto her side, one arm nestling underneath him with the other prying between the pillow. “You okay with this?” She looks at him with pleading eyes, and he smiles.

How could he say no to her?

“Definitely.”

And so, she snuggles deeper into his chest, eyes growing heavy at the feeling of his fingers massaging her scalp, the scent of strawberry shampoo and Vix lulling the both of them to sleep.

—

Kissing her is something he doesn’t think he could ever get tired of. The feel of her soft lips over his, with tongue and teeth, aching and messy, is addicting. He never understood why people liked kissing so much; granted he’s only had five other ones to go off of, only two of them ever lead to a full-blown make out session on his bed, but still; how much fun could it be to practically suck another person’s face off?

But he severely underestimated the power of Y/N’s lips. The first time he felt them was a couple days after he spent the night with her when she was sick. It was a quick little peck he gave her when he dropped her off at her apartment, and ever since, he was hooked. It still completely baffles how much he aches for her lips when he can’t see her, and when he finally gets his fix, it feels perfect.

He finds himself craving the taste of her tongue.

How can someone’s mouth taste good?

It’s December, now, the market season long gone, and he and Y/N have been together for nearly five months. It’s more serious than any of his other relationships. Obviously, that’s not saying much since he hasn’t had many, but Harry slowly found himself opening up more toward her, which is more than any of his other ones.

He nips at the skin of her neck, tugging off her tee, and he finds the hickey he left a couple days ago, just below the collarbone, tongue pressing lightly on the tender skin. She whimpers.

“Fuck me, H,” she moans. She’s wearing a pink, lacy bra, the same one she was wearing the first day they met. He slips the straps over her shoulders, leaving a trail of kisses behind it. Her head lolls back against his, and his hand finds its way to her neck, caressing the warm skin. He can feel her heart rate pick up.

She slips her pajama pants and panties down, kicking them across the room. She slips further down the sheet, his hands firm on her hips. He tugs her frail bra up over her head. He fondles her breast for a bit before his lips trail down the valley, his warm mouth wrapping around her tender nipple, tongue soft against the pebbling skin. Y/N feels herself melt into him, skin sensitive to every teasing kiss he leaves down her body.

“Hey, babe?”

He rests his chin on her tummy, the thin hairs coating his jaw ticking her skin.

“Yeah?”

A sweet smile crosses her face at the chills that cover her skin when he speaks, lips so close to her skin, her pussy throbbing. Her thighs twitch. She runs her fingers through his hair, fingers smoothing the flyaways down. He kisses her bellybutton.

“I love you.”

He isn’t expecting that.

He chokes a little bit, his throat closing up on him.

“What?” He lifts himself up, crawling back up her body, and she cups his face. “Really?”

She nods, a tear slipping down her cheek.

She’s not afraid that he won’t say it back. Hell, there's a part of her that doesn’t even expect him to say it back. (There’s an even smaller part that thinks that he’s just going to leave, but she doesn’t want to think of that). She’s not afraid because she knows that she needs to be the one to reassure him, to love him, to coax him out of his shell, and she’s completely willing to do that, to put forth the time and effort, because she is wholeheartedly enamored with him.

She waits for him to process everything; she can see the confliction in his eyes. Ever the worrier, Harry is thinking of the negative outcomes that can come if he goes about this the wrong way, but he doesn’t dwell on them for too long. He thinks of the mornings that he woke up in her arms, the afternoons they spent in tje park, a new tradition for them, the evenings they spent in contemplative silence, where she would paint his profile and he would serenade her with another love song, and the nights they spent making love.

Loving her is probably the easiest decision he’s ever made.

“Love you too, babylove.”

Y/N lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding, and she pulls his forehead onto hers.

He wants to thank her, for being patient, for being understanding, for loving him, for just being her, really. He doesn’t think she realizes how much of an impact she has on him.

She sits up and pushes him beneath her. He leans against the headboard. It’s cold against his hot skin, sweat slipping down the small of his back. They both struggle in pulling off his pants; he almost hits her in the head. She settles low on his thighs, straddling him, and her feet tuck beneath his calves. She spits on his cock, wetting the red tip, and strokes him slowly. He moans, pouting slightly.

“No teasin’.” He tugs her forward, until their chest to chest, his hands settling low on her hips, rocking her wet pussy back and forth over the length of his cock. Her clit rubs against the head, making her hips jolt within his grasp. He easily slips inside of her, his head knocking against the headboard. She teases him, still, just barely putting the head inside before pulling out slowly. It takes a couple more tries before she sinks fully onto him, a drawn out groan slipping past his lips. He pulls her back in for a kiss, fingers trailing along the curve of her spine.

“So deep,” she moans, her thighs twitching and quivering at his side. She caresses the skin of his belly, thumb teasing along the thin hairs.

“There ya go, baby,” he coos. “Takin’ me so well.” He sets his hand on her lower abdomen, feeling the little bump. “Can feel m’self,” he smiles. He waits for her to start moving. It takes a little longer than usual, probably from the lack of preparation, but she doesn’t let that stop her. She moves her hips back and forth, wiggling about to find that one special spot.

He thrusts himself into her, and she nearly collapses completely onto him, with a broken whine breaking from her chest. Hands gripping her fleshy ass, he moans against her neck. She tastes of sweat and cherries, addicting, and she grinds harder into him, hands gripping the headboard, which hits the wall with every move of her hips. The mattress creaks noisily beneath them, but they can barely hear it over the sound of each others’ moans of pleasure.

“Love you,” he says against her lips.

She breathes out her response, a pledge of her own love; it’s weak, but that’s no surprise, since she struggles for air when he bucks his hips, hitting the deepest part of her. The aching in her chest only adds to the pleasure, the burning fire in her stomach. Her arousal slips down to his thighs.

“‘M gonna come, babylove,” he whines, skimming his nose over hers. Her teeth nibbles his lips, riding him faster.

“Come in me, H, wanna feel you,” she says breathily. His arms quiver around her, squeezing her tight to him, his face digging into her neck. Her toes curl when he comes, his nails digging into her skin. She eases him through his high, cupping his cheeks and wiping the sweat from his forehead. She pulls his head to her chest, fingers carding through his curls; his heaving breaths leaves her skin wet. She moves up, whimpering softly, but he stops her, feeling some of his cum slip out onto his thighs.

“Hm, no, lovie,” he whines, wrapping an arm around her waist. He gently moves them onto their sides, while keeping his cock nestled deep inside her. “Wanna feel you.”

She loves being so close to him, warm and full. She’s never done this with anyone. It’s intimacy at its core, with Harry holding her so tightly against him. It nearly brings tears to her eyes. She’s so glad that she met Harry, so thankful that she took that leap of faith and talked to the cute guy at the baked goods booth, who had wise eyes and a nervous smile. She’s glad that she inched past that guarded exterior to find his soft, gooey middle. Harry kisses her forehead, shifting slightly, and her sensitive walls flutter around him.

“Feels good, baby,” she moans, rubbing along his waist.

“Y/N?”

“Yeah,” she says, still at a loss for breath, her fingers absently tracing over his inked skin. Goose pimples rise in their wake.

“I don’ like kombucha.”

“Good, ‘cause I don’t like macarons.”

—

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #ellie writes #ellie writes fluff #ellie writes smut #gif not mine #credit to owner

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stainandscribble · 5 years

Text

Beyond Words (I)

A Not So Beautiful Goodbye

Pairing: Jongdae (EXO Chen) x Reader

Genre: Jongdae Poet AU, angst, quartet?

Summary: A poet reminiscences about his old lover and their relationship in his new anthology, reminding himself of the importance of sincerity, and that love words are just as important spoken aloud as they are printed on paper.

PART 1 PART 2 PART 3

AUTHOR’S NOTE: since Jongdae’s Barista AU has been doing so well, I decided to switch the roles, so that Jongdae is now the poet. Also, April and a Flower is art in its purest form. So excited for Dear My Dear

Word Count: 4169

Jongdae walked out of his publisher’s office, his brand new book clutched by his side. His knuckles turning white with the force of his grip on the hardback copy - the very first printed one.

His fingers felt the rough green material cover, focusing on its imperfections. The book felt heavier than it was; rougher. He could feel the effort with which he bled ink into paper, and he could hear the clicking of the computer keys like a ghost of an echo in his ears. This was the heaviest book he had written. Not because physical weight, nor the number of pages that had ended up in the final print. No, it was a different type of weight. The weight of a heavy heart; crushing his chest, beating despite the damage. It was the weight of emotional baggage he had spilled- the printing ink might as well have been made out of his tears

I spilled all my love for you

As ink on paper

How could I forget

To fill you up first.

Yes, this anthology was born of pain, and regret; and somewhat bitterly, he thought it was best one he had ever written. It was heavy, and so damn hard to write he had spent many a sleepless night staring at the lined paper of his notepad, locked away in his office. Alone.

It had been a long time since Jongdae had been this hollow, a cavern carved out of his chest, the inflamed tissue now a home for despair rather than a heart.

He had only himself to blame. Jongdae did not shy away from admitting his wrongs. The least he could do was admit them and leave behind any self-pity festering in his broken heart like an infection.

Instead he did what he knew how to do best; he spilled all his sorrows and apologies as ink onto paper.

Ironically, that ability, this dysfunctional coping mechanism, was the very reason he was in the predicament in the first place.

Your love for me was like an inkwell; never drying

And I,

I was like a pen,

Which drew from you forever.

I did not notice,

How you dried up in silence,

Blinded by the illusion of your infinity.

Sometimes the best things in your life; the best people, leave. Sometimes you leave them. It is all a vicious cycle of life. A part of life he had recently became intimate with. Nothing lasts forever. All is finite. All good things must come to an end.

Still Jongdae’s biggest regret of all, was the fact you didn’t have to be finite.

If only he had paid more attention to you, instead of drowning in ink and pretty words, he could have continued on. With you by his side.

He had left the building of his publishing company, glancing up at the sky. The heavens were heavy this morning, overcast with clouds so dark and looming day had taken on the look of night. There was no rain yet, but Jongdae was sure that at some point the clouds would be unable to hold their weight, and the rain would come in a violent storm. Like any other summer.

The inkwell is empty and when the pen immerses

It comes back dry,

Leaving the words I wanted to write,

To remain a whim.

The ride back to his apartment was quiet, the sky still ominous, but Jongdae knew that the calmness, and the stillness were bad omens. The calm before the storm. The only question that bugged him was when the sky would open, pouring its tears onto the ground from the sky in a hail of bullets.

He wondered how loud the heavens would roar as it happened. Would it feel as if the windows were shaking? Would he be able to feel it in his bones, despite tucking himself away in his apartment?

Would it shake him the same way you leaving him did?

He doubted that- nature didn’t have the same kind of power. A storm was not a woman; although it was eerily similar in its magnitude.

He flicked through the anthology, finally taking the time to appreciate the work and effort put into its creation. The cream coloured pages stared at him with hundreds of ink eyes. Their looks were accusing, and among the black letters, he saw you. Your eyes, clear and sparkling in the way they looked at you, your smile bright. He reminisced the adoration with which he looked at you those the last few years, eyes wide and sparkling at everything you did. The corners of his lips quirked upwards in a cat-like smile at the happy memories.

Finally, after the present settled over him again, pulling him out of the happy daydream, his smile fell, and the light feeling in his chest, and the way his heart beat a little faster at the memory of your soft lips against his left him too. It left him cold and aching despite being hidden away safely within his home, His heart nestled safely in in his chest, protected by the cage of his ribs.

Light brown eyes moved to look out the window, the world outside brightened by flashes of lightning. On the table before him, the vase of red tulips was wilting, the petals falling gracelessly against the windowsill, no longer their vibrant red, but rather a burgundy colour fading into brown.

Like flowers on the windowsill,

I forgot that unlike the ones growing wild in meadows,

The rain shall not come water you,

And that dew shall not condense on you like the pearls,

Which I never gave you.

You sat in your old room, surveying its blank walls. When you moved out, your parents took down all the posters, and drawings you stuck on the pastel green paint. It was the decision you made at thirteen, and the decision you cursed all your Uni years. A decision you had accepted over time. Now you found the colour soothing and familiar, and in a world where you were always moving, you were glad for the little comfort it brought you. It was still your room.

Now, with the turn of events, you moved back, and you were ready to reclaim your space; the tubes and frames at your feet were the beginning.

One photo was staring at you, of you, a little younger, smiling along with the man beside you. You were in a meadow filled with wild flowers you had frequented with you mother when you were little. You remembered the raspberry bushes you used to pick fruit from, and you remember making flower crowns from the chamomile growing there.

You had taken that man there. Showed him all your favourite things; the meadow, the raspberry bushes, the sketchbook filled with gouache paintings. He showed you the ink splattered notebooks and the small coffee shop at the end of the street.

But the sunny days were over. The storm raged outside, thunder clashing in the darkness. And the raspberry bushes were gone too, and concrete blocks had taken their place.

And the man no longer showed you the world with ink stained fingers either.

But he had not showed you anything for a long time now, even before you left your shared apartment. So you left him. It had felt like he had left you a long time before you did.

Your mother’s voice broke you from your musings, and you left your room surprised to see her standing in the corridor with a brown package. She handed it to you wordlessly and disappeared into the kitchen. The look she gave you was piercing, and there was a certain amount of concern floating behind her soft eyes. You tightened the grip on the flimsy paper that wrapped around the object, and you could already feel that it was book.

For a moment you didn’t understand why it came; you certainly didn’t order one, but the look in your mothers eyes was enough to tell you who it was from.

“So he did finish.” You murmured, hands tearing at the paper in desperation, giving way to the soft green of the cover.

Flowers in April

The golden lettering was delicate and beautiful, and you wondered why he mailed it to you. You were no longer together. You walked out months ago. You were moving on.

Opening the book, your attention was caught by the handwritten note on the front page, the black pen standing in stark contrast against the off-white paper.

“To my muse.

I thought it would only be fair to give this to you, after all you had suffered because of it. You should at least know why you were suffering.

I’m sorry for all my shortcomings.

- Jongdae”

Your eyes followed the trail of the pen, his handwriting familiar from the little notes he used to leave for you, and the shopping lists that were stuck to your fridge.

The ache of your heart was familiar too, familiar from all the nights he ignored you, and every time you sat at the dinner table alone with only the tv to keep you company. The heart in your chest ached for your loneliness, but it also ached for the home that was long gone, the home you did not wish to return to and the man who occupied it now. This time, he was the one eating dinner at the empty table, sleeping in bed alone and you had no pity for him left.

But you are not a flower,

You were a woman.

You are a woman.

And I,

was not a pen,

But a man.

Jongdae listened to the thunder raging outside, shaking his windows, turning his day into night with anger.

That was one of the ways You and the storm were different. You did not shout, you were not like the storm, shaking the windows in their frames and destroying things in the wake of your rage. You had left quietly, given back the keys to your shared home, and before he could protest, make an excuse for his absence, you had left without a word, leaving no trace behind but the cracks in his heart.

7 months ago

You came back from work, ready to order takeaway and watch films with your boyfriend. The weariness in your bones weighed you down as you made your way up the stairs, wanting nothing more than to climb under a blanket in the living room, wrapped in Jongdae’s arms.

The door opened, and you caught the sight of him at the kitchen counter, his phone in hand, calling someone.

“Jongdae, do you want pizza?” You asked, looking up at the leaflet you had stuck on the fridge. You turned to face him, weariness leaving your bones at the hope of spending the evening in peace. The lightness does not last long, and he crushes it in his hands, unknowingly, without a thought.

“I’m busy.” The words leave you heavy. You know them too well now it seems. Jongdae had been like this for a while, more preoccupied with phone calls and writing than sparing you a moment. Just like you, he seems tired, but for a different reason. One you do not know, and one is not willing to share.

“What about watching a film later?” You try again, hoping. Being foolish. Deep down you know the answer already, feel the rejection before it comes. Your heart has been breaking recently. The cracks started growing deeper, and you don’t know how to mend them.

“I don’t know.” He tells you, his soft voice cold and indifferent, eyes not looking at you when he speaks, and with another crack, you realise he hadn’t looked at you since you arrived.

PRESENT

You had walked out of your office, your hands now empty as you left your portfolio and necessary documents with the client. You had finalised the designs this week and everything was ready for editing.

You were given the task of illustrating a reprint of a popular book series recently, and you had been very proud of your work. So far it was one of the biggest projects you have done. It seemed you were riding the lucky wave. Your boss had given you a slight raise as you moved to a better position at the company. This project had been a success, and the company was contracted for another project, and the clients had requested you.

It was time to celebrate.

You had invited your friends out for a few drinks later that night.

The bar had a chic vibe to it. Everything was made of sleek wood and toned down colours, coupled with the dim lighting and pretty chandeliers, it was a perfect place for you to unwind and gloat your success. You didn’t get to do it every day.

You were sipping on you third cocktail, your three friends laughing at some work gossip. It had been a pleasant night so far. That is, until you caught the eyes of Jongdae’s publisher. The woman had averted her eyes when she saw you looking, but you could still make out the displeased look on her face, and the sour curl of her red lips.

The black dress she was wearing was fancy. Fancier than what you wore, but it did not bother you. not until your eyes found the one person you hoped not to see that night.

It was not that you hated him. It was not that you loathed him. It was that you resented him. For how he had treated you; spent the last months of your relationship ignoring you. As if you didn’t live right there with him. As if you didn’t share his bed. As if you were not irrevocably in love with him.

Your heart broke all over again, seeing him here, with the beautiful woman opposite him, when he had said he was too busy to come here with you.

His eyes caught yours. Their soft brown drawing you in with their warmth. He was still familiar, he still looked too much like home to you. And in your slightly intoxicated state, you saw the regret and remorse bubbling behind the kaleidoscope of browns in his irises. Or maybe you just wished to see it.

You didn’t want to find out.

“He’s here.” You turned to your friends, and the moment they realised who you were talking about, they had made their way to the bar.

“Can we get a tequila?” Your friend asked, bringing over a whole bottle of the alcohol, along with four shot glasses.

“What’s that for?” You asked, surveying the glass wearily.

“For the fun of it.” She told you, the cheeky smile that formed on her lips matched the flame in her eyes.

“You are beautiful. Never forget that.” She told you as you took your first shot.

Only when I had lost you, I realised

That you, like an inkwell

Needed to be filled.

And like a flower,

Needed to be watered;

With words of love,

Looks of awe,

With warmth.

6 months ago

“I’m eating with the editors.” Jongdae told you as he fixed his tie in the hallway mirror, barely sparing you a glance into the kitchen. You had spent the last hour making his favourite, hoping against hope he would stay for dinner. Turned out you were trying in vain.

“I thought we could eat together.” You told him, your voice small, barely above a whisper as the hope fuelled elation left your body.

“Not today.” Jongdae said, his voice softer, sounding resigned as his shoulders hunched a little. He had been feeling tired lately, bored. For now, he wanted to leave. Get out of the familiar four walls, breathe in some fresh air.

Dinner with the editors was a good reason to leave. Besides, he was in the process of writing his third anthology, and it was an important meeting he had to attend. Jongdae needed everything to go smoothly.

His hands fell to his sides when he stopped fixing his tie, and you barely heard the quiet goodbye that left his lips. Or maybe you just imagined he said it. Lately, you couldn’t figure out which it was.

Tears burned the back of your eyes, but you didn’t let any spill. Outside, Jongdae had put his head in his hands breathing deeply, before getting in the car and driving away.

You felt him climb into bed late in the night, but he never moved closer. He used to brush your hair back and kiss your forehead before falling asleep, but now he stayed far away, and you had been colder in your bed with him than you would feel with a stranger.

And your heart broke.

PRESENT

Jongdae found your form in between the tables, eyes glued to the side of your face, feeling more like a spectre than a man. His heart roared in his chest, beating against his ribs the way an animal beat at the bars of their cage. The way it had not done in months. For a moment, the moment that lasted a split second when your eyes met, he felt more alive than the last few months.

His anthology had been a success, and he had come in to celebrate that. Still, the biggest celebration, better than wine and better than gin, was the sight of you.

His publisher had seen it, the way his eyes fell on you, again and again. Jongdae, for the life of him, could not understand the way her lips curled when she caught your eyes. He was too preoccupied with stealing glances your way to pay attention to her.

Everything about you called to him, reminding him of his love for you. Reviving the passion you had shared, setting his whole body aflame. The sight of you flowed over him like water, cold and refreshing. He was awake. For the first time in forever he felt lucid.

“Well done Jongdae. Your anthology had just become a bestseller.” His publisher told him, reaching over the table to hold his hand. He brought it back instantly as if it burned.

Over the course of the last months he had figured out what he done wrong. He had admitted his shortcomings. And he had promised himself to be better, for you. He was not going to ruin it tonight.

Sitting among your friends, you were glowing. Dressed in your best dress, eyes sparkling as laughter bubbled from your chest. It was a warming sight, like watching flowers unravelling in the spring. And his heart wretched when he realised, he wasn’t the reason for your joy any longer.

Now, you, like a wildflower,

Are experiencing spring again,

After a harsh winter.

You are spreading your petals,

And green leaves.

And I, like a fool,

Stare at the empty windowsill,

Not seeing you.

I cannot water you anymore,

And pearls, like dew

I cannot give you.

He watched you stand up and make your way to the exit, and without a moment of hesitation, he was out of his chair too, making a bee line to you, heart pounding at the idea of you.

He caught you by the elbow as you turned away from the bar.

“Jongdae.” You warned him, voice low as you stared right into his eyes. Jongdae’s eyes were soft when he looked at you, and you could make out their glassy sheen of tears in the darkness.

“I know what I did wrong.” He told you, sincerity lacing his voice, thick with remorse and deeper than usual. You could feel the desperation rolling off of him like waves.

He was wearing a nice suit today. A deep grey with a bluish tinge, and a white button up underneath. His fringe was parted, exposing his forehead and the straight brows that furrowed as he looked into your eyes, searching for something. Whatever it was; forgiveness or hate, he didn’t find it.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered.

“That is how I find out?” You spat. He knew you were talking about the anthology.

“You didn’t call.” You accuse him, poking a finger against his chest, and he lets you.

“I wrote it.” He tells you, silently begging for you to understand. But you won’t. Not this time. You had told him already; tell me what happened, tell me why you didn’t talk to me.

Instead, he wrote an anthology, spilling all of it on paper. Just like he always did. Just like you suspected he always would. And you had grown tired of that. He spilled all his emotions onto paper, dressed hem up in pretty words and rhymes. Devoted his time into doing so. By doing that he left you alone, and as he spilled all the love he had for you somewhere else, you were left to give him your love. Over the last months of yoir relationship, all the little acts of love had ceased to exist. There was no notes left on the fridge, there was no flowers on the vase on the table.

“You did.” You tell him, disappointment rolling off your tongue, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth.

The whole world now knew you broke his heart. The whole world knew you left him without a word. But did the world know how he had left you, months before you left him? How you had sat at dinner alone and slept alone. Did they know that? Did Jongdae tell them that? Did he write about his faults?

You didn’t know, and you didn’t know if you wanted to find out.

“Y/N.” He starts, but there is nothing that comes out of his mouth, and you shake your head. Desperately wanting him to understand. Because despite everything, you still love him, but you cannot live like this, like a stranger that shares his bed at night.

“I don’t think you figured it out quite yet.” You tell him when he stays silent, not knowing what to say. You find it amusing. A poet lost for words.

“I didn’t pay attention.” He confesses, looking defeated.

“I locked myself away and tried to run from you.” He tells you, walking closer, his wide eyes looking straight into your own.

“I was too proud to say something was wrong. Too proud to admit that I was doing something wrong.” He admitted, hands balled into fists. For a moment he averts his gaze, looking everywhere but you, before bringing it back to you, eyes red with unshed tears, shoulders shaking with frustration.

“I wasn’t sincere. I should have told you then, that I love you, instead of keeping it to myself. I thought you knew, but no one can read minds.”

“I’m sorry.” He tells you, and you know he is apologising for his actions. All but the writing. You could see the ink stains on his fingers even now. You had accepted him writing, locking himself up for a week and coming out a dying man. You have accepted that. But you have not accepted the way he treated you then, and you were not going to accept ever again.

“I’m not ready to accept your apology.” You tell him, voice even, and you seem calm as he looks at you with the hopeful spark fading from his eyes.

“Why didn’t you just,” You begin, searching for the right words, “Why didn’t you tell me then?” You finally ask, referring to the poems in the anthology. Love poems- all directed at you, written from the very beginning of your relationship.

“I didn’t know how.” He admits, wrapping his arms around you, burying his nose in your hair.

“You should have done this earlier.” You tell him, hugging him back, feeling like you have come back home for the first time in months.

“I know.” He whispers, caressing your hair, bringing you closer by the shoulders, until he envelops you.

“I know.” He mumbles again, and you listen to his heart beating out of his chest.

You move away, letting him go, before giving him one last look.

“I’m glad you know. Goodbye Jongdae.” You tell him, your voice soft, without any hint of malice. You seem content. You feel content. This was you leaving on your own terms. You loved him. of course you loved him. Sometimes though, you think, love is not enough. It does not keep you warm at night, or less lonely. Sometimes love is not given equally as it should. So you leave, walk away without turning back, knowing now where it was that he had spilled all his love- into words. You thought, that maybe, just maybe- Jongdae loved his words more than he loved you.

Jongdae followed your retreating figure walking back to your friends, glowing like the sun. As he was left in the dark night outside the bar, alone.

I’ve lost my privilege to love you

I can only apologize to you,

For being winter,

When I should have been endless spring;

How you were,

My infinite happiness.

- The Beautiful goodbye I could not give you.

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wolfqueen-is-here · 5 years

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Kisses Remembered, Kisses Forgotten (Jonsa Secret Santa 2018)

Dearest @moonchildslife, I am so sorry for my delay, Christmas was crazier than I expected, and I didn’t finish my gift on time. But it is here now, and I hope you don’t find it too terrible ;). I wish you a wonderful year with Jonsa becoming canon in April and our fandom wishes coming true. Be happy, be healthy, be yourself! <3

Many thanks to @jonsasecretsanta2018 who made all of this happen, you truly are amazing!

A/N Don’t be alarmed by a brief mention of the Hound. I promise you, it has nothing to do with SanSan in any way except mentioning The Un-Kiss. Book!canon, but mostly show!canon, can be interpreted both as a filler and an AU. 2300 words

Kisses Remembered, Kisses Forgotten

Every now and then Sansa remembers, even though she has tried so hard to leave the past behind. The Hound was rough and scary, but the kiss that he took left a lingering taste on her lips—it was as soft as snow, almost familiar, she’s caught herself missing the shy affection that came with the kiss, a wary touch so vulnerable it felt almost childish. She remembers the kiss that he took. The only thing she doesn’t remember is him taking it.

Every night feels longer and darker than the former ones. It isn’t until she jumps from Winterfell walls that she remembers how to feel warm again, but the road north is as cold as ice and covered in snow. “His lips felt warm”, she thinks as she runs towards her freedom. “The kiss that he took, it felt warm.”

There are times when she is almost certain that she gave it willingly.

—

“You look cold,” Jon says after staring at her in silence for a good half an hour. It would annoy her beyond reason, were it anyone else, anyone less trustworthy, anyone less… Jon, but coming from him it’s almost flattering. No one has ever cared for her so since she’d lost Father. Not once until this very moment has she felt safe since then.

“I’m okay,” she smiles. His unblinking eyes refuse to leave hers even for a second as if she’d vanish otherwise. Sansa leans towards him and strokes the inside of his palm with her thumb. It’s the most innocent of caresses, but it makes Jon stiffen and finally lower his head. She misses the stare instantly. “I’m okay, Jon.”

She tastes his name on her tongue. It feels rough—when was the last time she used it? —but sweeter than all the cake she’s ever had. She wants to swallow it, possess it, make it hers. “Jon,” she muses. “Jon. My Jon.”

If it’s something more primal than sisterly affection, she doesn’t recognise it in time. It may occur to her later, but it will be too late.

—

The first night that she spends at Castle Black is a sleepless one. The shadows are long when she paces aimlessly around the room, too exhausted to fall asleep, too cold to lie still. Knocking at the door alerts her at first—she’s not used to feeling safe yet—she whispers: “Who’s there?” so quietly as if she were hoping nobody would answer.

“It’s me,” Jon says.

She lets him in.

“Do you have everything that you need?” he asks, looking at her with a strange longing.

Had it been more fitting, she’d say: “I have you,” but in their current situation she’d stumble over the words for certain. Instead, she just invites him to stay—just sit next to her and not talk until the sun rises and the shadows go back under her bed. They repeat it every night after that, it seems to comfort both of them.

—

Jon’s eyes follow Sansa as he tries to find something—anything—that would remind him of a little girl she used to be. Her skirts dance when she rocks her hips, walking around Castle Black like she’d lived here all her life. He wants to avert his gaze but finds it impossible. She’s grown so tall, so slender—so beautiful.

“She’s your sister,” he thinks angrily, hiding his face in his hands. “You are not allowed to look at her like that.”

There were times, many lives ago, when they were only children. Sansa’s hair was more orange than auburn, Jon’s face—smooth, not a trace of beard or scars on it. They both called lord Eddard Stark their father. They both walked around holding Robb’s hand. They both watched Bran fall asleep while they were singing lullabies. Both, yes, but not—together.

When he tries to think about their lives before everything happened, before he went north and she went south, he keeps coming back to that one particular memory. And he’s not allowed to remember it. Not ever.

“She’s your sister,” he thinks, but as her lips move while she’s telling him another story, he watches. The redness of them almost provocative, they look like she’s been biting them for the past few hours. It’s a mesmerising set of colours: her lips with a raspberry tint, screaming to be tasted, licked, devoured; her eyes, deep blue almost exactly like the ones that used to follow him with disdain when he was nothing more than a bastard boy, but there’s no disdain in Sansa’s eyes, only hope. Her fair complexion contrasts with the dark streaks of her auburn hair, almost brown in the dimly lit room. Jon quashes the need to cup Sansa’s cheek and stroke it with his fingers, to check if her soft, unwavering beauty isn’t only a product of his hallucinations. He wouldn’t dare.

—

Sansa enters the dining room when there’s barely anyone left. A few wildlings share a horn of ale, laughing. There’s also Edd sitting in the furthest, darkest corner, and he looks really down—Edd always looks down, that’s an inherent part of his personality, “The defining part”, Tormund insists, but Sansa doesn’t care, because Edd, albeit rather shy, is kind and caring, and that’s more than she could expect from a stranger. The wildlings terrify her still, she doesn’t know their customs, they’re far too loud and bold for her taste, so she chooses to cross the room and take a sit in front of Edd.

They don’t talk, there’s no need for it. Sansa eats her soup, wondering whether Jon has already eaten, and Edd just keeps staring at the ceiling. Weirdly, his silent presence comforts Sansa more than any words could.

When everybody leaves, Sansa reaches for Edd’s half-empty horn and moves her hand up and down its uneven surface. It’s become apparent these past few days that sleep refuses to come easily for her at Castle Black, and when she finally drifts off after hours of rolling over from side to side, her dreams are filled with memories—but are they real? Are they hers?

She doesn’t think about the Hound that often. He’s been a big part of her life when she was a prisoner in King’s Landing, but her fascination with his tragic story faded and went by long ago. She cannot remember his face anymore, only the scars, she doesn’t even know if she’d be glad to see him again. The memories of him and the torments from the Lannisters became too inseparable in her mind, and that’s why she doesn’t want to think of him or imagine their meeting.

Not now. Not ever.

Then why is her brain so set on bringing back the memory of the kiss? She can feel a sweet breath on her chin every morning when she wakes up from her blurry dreams—why is it sweet? Wasn’t the Hound monumentally drunk that night?—she can taste it, again and again. Her first kiss, that one thing she knows for sure. She’d gotten a few pecks from Joffrey, yes, they should probably count as first, but somehow it doesn’t feel right.

She closes her eyes and clasps her hands around the horn.

“I thought you weren’t fond of our ale,” Jon says, suddenly very close—how did he get so close without Sansa hearing his steps? Did she black out again?

“I heard it helps to forget.”

“It does,” his voice sounds worried, “for a while. It doesn’t make your past go away.”

Sansa raises her head and their eyes lock immediately as if they’re a couple of lovers always on a mission to find each other.

“For a while,” she repeats. “Sounds better than never.”

The ale tastes much worse than she remembered it—it’s bitter and stale, and reeks of old, damp barrels—but her lips don’t leave the edge of the horn until it’s empty. Jon’s eyes move to her throat as she swallows and stay there even after she’s finished.

At first, she doesn’t think anything’s changed—the same emptiness fills her, the same desperation—but minutes pass as they sit opposite one another in silence, and her head finally starts to feel both lighter and heavier, her thoughts stir inside her brain, but never fully form. It’s a bliss. It’s a curse.

She sits in the middle of a meadow, it’s late summer. The winds got chilly but she’s got a blanket around her arms. She’s knitted it herself. She’s content. She’s happy. She’s Queen Naerys Targaryen.

“Are you alright? That’s quite a lot of ale you just inhaled,” Jon murmurs, gently touching her arm. Sansa looks up and smiles at him.

“I’ll be fine,” she answers. “I’ll be fine, Jon. You can go to sleep, you look tired.”

He laughs hoarsely and it makes Sansa’s belly tighten.

“Not until I see you safely tucked under your furs.”

He approaches her with his back straight and a sword at his side. Where did he get that sword, she thinks briefly but continues to look at his beaming face.

“I’ve come to rescue you, my Queen.”

“You can’t, my love,” she says, remembering to dress her face in the deepest, most regal shade of sadness. “We’re bound to our fate forever. You’ve made your vows, as I have made mine.”

He kneels before her. He’s brave, he’s gentle, he’s strong. He’s Prince Aemon the Dragonknight.

Sansa tries to stand up all too quickly, her head spins violently and she has to hold on to the table to avoid falling. She can barely feel her legs and her arms—how strong was that ale?—but the burning hotness of Jon’s hand on her lower back, oh, that she feels.

“Careful,” he says, pulling her closer and throwing her arm around his neck. “You’re still much too weak to start drinking so heavily. Don’t let go, alright? I’m going to walk you to your chambers now.”

And he proceeds to do just that.

When Sansa lies in bed feeling truly sleepy for the first time since she’s reached Castle Black on her dying horse, she suddenly remembers everything.

His face is just inches away. He’s wearing his hair pulled tightly in the back like a true adult, but he’s been playing with swords all day and a few strands have escaped the knot, hanging loosely around his face. She feels the urge to curl one of them around her finger but before she decides to make a move, he leans in and kisses her on the lips.

It surprises her—the lightness of it as much as the act itself. “It’s not wrong as long as I’m Queen Naerys and he’s Prince Aemon,” she tells herself as she involuntarily moves closer and exhales into his warm mouth. His fingers wander up and down her sleeve, curious but never inappropriate. The kiss doesn’t last long, a few heartbeats maybe, but before it’s finished, she can hear him whisper: “Sansa.”

And instantly he’s Jon again, and she’s Sansa. And they’ve done something unforgivable.

—

Jon’s almost asleep when he hears banging at his door. He jumps out of bed and rushes to open it only to find a breathless Sansa on the other side. Her eyes are wide, and she looks absolutely terrified. If she’s still a bit in her cups, it doesn’t show.

“What happened?” he asks.

She’s shivering. He wants to put his hand on her arm but she jumps away.

“You kissed me,” she hisses, her tone accusatory.

Jon blinks. Not that he hasn’t thought of it, because of course he has. He won’t admit it to anyone but though he tried extremely hard to see his long-lost sister in the beauty that has brought him back to life, he failed miserably. The truth is—she was never a sister to him, not even before they parted ways.

“I assure you,” he answers quietly, “I did not. I didn’t even enter your chambers, I asked lady Brienne to help.”

“Not tonight,” Sansa sighs and Jon realises she’s standing before him barefoot, dressed only in some old sleeping gown, but somehow she’s never looked more queenly with her demanding expression and fiery glare. “When we were children. A few months before we left Winterfell. We played… we played, and you…”

And he kissed her.

He kissed her and he never regretted it once until she came to him, crying, and ordered him to forget it ever happened. He didn’t want to, it was too precious a memory, but he obliged. For Sansa.

“I thought we weren’t speaking of it,” he whispers carefully.

She was really shook when she came to him that day, he never wanted to see Sansa cry, and to be the reason for her despair—it was too much for him to bear.

“We aren’t. I just… I forgot.”

“You forgot?” he asks, feeling hurt. It was his only kiss before Ygritte and he wasn’t even allowed to savour that memory. How could she have forgotten?

“I’m sorry,” she says. “What we did… it was wrong. I didn’t… I couldn’t… I think I repressed it. I made myself believe it happened with someone else.” She lowers her head and he’s afraid to spook her by asking who that person was, but he’s certain it will haunt him forever. Was it Joffrey? Gods, he hopes it wasn’t him. Jon couldn’t bear it. Sansa makes a strangled noise at the back of her throat. “But I remember now.”

He doesn’t know what more to say, but Sansa doesn’t seem to expect any kind of explanation. It happened. It shouldn’t have, but it did. And it changed things between them.

Sansa finally dares to look at him. Her lips are parted, ready as they were in that meadow years ago. He doesn’t take advantage of her vulnerability. When they win back Winterfell, when the war is over—she will come to him of her own volition.

And he will have that second kiss, gods be damned.

#jonsa secret santa #jonsa fanfiction #jonsasecretsanta2018 #jonsa #jon x sansa #got #a gift for moonchildslife #secret santa #gift

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dahliaborne · 6 years

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Summer perfume recommendations

Songes by Annick Goutal (ylang-ylang, tiare flower, vanilla) exploring antique shops in foreign cities

Good Girl Gone Bad by By Kilian (osmanthus, tuberose, narcissus, jasmine, rose) making out with the cute gardener boy in your grandmothers flower garden while wearing the silk white dress she gave you as a gift

Alien Eau Extraordinaire by Mugler (tiare, bergamot, neroli, amber) laying down in your fancy lingerie and reading poetry after a cold shower while curtains dances with summer breeze all over the room

Datura Noir by Serge Lutens (tonka bean, almond, coconut, osmanthus) drinking coconut water on a hammock while watching sunset

No 5 L'Eau by Chanel (aldehydes, lemon, neroli, musk) laying down next to newly washed clothes in your garden filled with orange trees

Miss Charming by Juliette Has A Gun (rose, litchi, strawberries, musk) walking in a garden of roses and eating fresh berries you've in your basket

Eau Parfumee au The Blanc by Bvlgari (tea, musk, pepper, artemisia, jasmine) having a brunch in a yacht with a stranger

Aire Allegro by Loewe (bergamot, lavender, black pepper, rose) drinking wine around an ancient greek temple at night

Eau de Guerlain by Guerlain (lemon, mint, carraway, neroli, lavender) walking barefoot in a castle hotels garden with your flowery vintage dress

Fae by Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab (musk, bergamot, heliotrope, peach) midnight picnic in a meadow

Moon Sparkle by Escada (raspberry, strawberry, apple, freesia, grape) eating berries and watching movies with your closest friends

#perfume #my posts

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hencethebravery · 7 years

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In commemoration of the truly astounding display of public regard for CC thanks to Colin, who is legit an angel (dated 8/19/2017). Not to mention the fact that @mahstatins is a truly amazing mom who is truly v tired and could use some solid flirting. This is established relationship CC. I’m sick of getting them established. They are already together, ok? Modern AU time. TOPICAL modern AU time. Oh, and btw, if u were wondering what their dog (who is named after Sally Ride, because space) looks like.

+ For someone who can’t seem to shut up about constellations and space travel and whatever else not of this Earth, he’s unusually apathetic about the upcoming Event. Which, while scientists have known about it’s coming for quite sometime, it seems to have only just exploded onto the media scene, which means his Facebook is mostly flooded with scams for special glasses and not the latest political nightmare. Although there is that. Never free.

Thing is though, the man has a telescope and a star map and one of those little night lights that projects the constellations of your current geographical location on the ceiling. He’s got a mug, right? David has to remind all of their friends that he did not buy him this mug, he bought it himself, and it says “The rotation of the Earth really makes my day,” like it’s funny—and laughs about it every morning.

So the not caring about the upcoming eclipse? It’s unusual. For him.

“I’ve just been busy lately, love. Honestly,” giving him a peck on the cheek and going about his day, “I appreciate the concern.”

Which, yes, he has been busy. They both have, but they’ve also been dealing with some Liam-related drama (what’s new), and nothing rests heavier on Killian’s shoulders than the latest “Fucked Up Thing Liam’s Said on the Phone,” catastrophe. And usually, Killian shares the latest criticism or blunt (also known as, “rude”) opinion immediately. He’s older now, wiser—less sensitive about Liam’s litany of opinions about his career choices and food choices and how-you-arrange-the-living-room choices and whatever else he can think of. Liam’s a good guy. David is adamant; he’s a good guy that loves his little brother as if he were his own son. But Killian’s not his son, is he?

“I know how hard it was for you guys growing up,” David says for what feels like the millionth time, “but he’s gotta let go a bit, ya know?”

“You don’t need to tell me,” Killian answers for, again, what feels like the millionth time, “I don’t take any of it to heart.”

But he does take it to heart. Of course he does. Killian Jones takes everything to heart and it’s one of the things he loves about him, but it’s also one of those things that makes him soft and vulnerable and sad, only he tries to keep it to himself and that’s when something like a solar eclipse is fucking nigh and he suddenly couldn’t care less.

Which is when he proposes the road trip.

He moans about it at first, mentioning all the work that needs doing and the boat that needs cleaning and how is traveling with the dog supposed to go, and it’s one thing after another until David pulls him a bit roughly into a hug and reminds him (for the millionth time) that it’s all gonna be ok, and it’ll all be here when they get back and they’ve got lots of podcasts to catch up on.

“And I don’t know if you know this,” David whispers conspiratorially, “but the last time a solar eclipse was visible in the U.S., it was 1918.”

“I do know that, actually,” Killian sighs, surrendering to David’s plotting, “Alright, then. I’ll run to the shop.”

It’s a bit last minute, and it’s a good 20 hour drive, and being prepared for such a trip with the dog (”Her name is Sally,” he had rather drunkenly decided the night before they took her home, “our intrepid lass.”) is a bit of a to-do, but whatever, David knows it’ll be worth it. A little stress now, a lot of pop music, coffee, and about a dozen hand-rolled cigarettes later. He figures he can let up on the no smoking rule for this.

“But just this once, you hear me?”

“Bloody hell, Dave, yes.”

They’re packed up and ready to go in about a day, setting out at an ungodly hour a day or so before the eclipse is supposed to take place. They’ll be driving through a few states, but given the time crunch, they can’t make as many stops as they’d like. Maybe on the way back. They do have to make a decent amount of stops for Sally, including one in New York closer to the Finger Lakes. Luckily, or not so luckily, there are about a hundred incredible wineries along the way and they get a little stuck.

“This tastes like actual candy,” Killian mumbles into his glass, he’d loudly protest only he can’t seem to stop drinking it.

“I don’t see it stopping you.”

It’s some kind of raspberry dessert wine, only it tastes nothing like wine and they’re imbibing the stuff like it’s water. This particular winery is a little bit in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by vibrant, lush meadows dotted with wildflowers; sloping, seemingly infinite hills in the distance.

“We could just stay here,” Killian suggests with his eyes closed, a hand resting on Sally’s head. “12 more hours in the car isn’t the most appealing.”

David grabs his hand, swiping his thumb back and forth over Killian’s knuckles. “Maybe,” he says, conceding the point, “but 1918.”

Eventually they sober up and move a little further on down the road.

In Ohio they pull off to the side of a road and eat some raw corn on the cob (Sally too, of course). It’s juicier than expected, even without being cooked. It’s sweet without being saccharine, a refreshing and floral bite aided by the sight of corn fields and red pick-up trucks and frightening billboards about the Devil. They buy a bag for about 3 bucks and continue on, the strains of Fleetwood Mac and Paul Simon following after one another—windows rolled down, the air smelling vaguely of diesel and freshly turned dirt.

They hadn’t really told anyone before they fled, their only notice a picture of their clasped hands on Instagram, resting over the gearshift, “1918,” the caption reads simply, “brb.”

They find a reasonably empty campground right outside of Hopkinsville, Kentucky. There’s a few families with strangely well-behaved children, a small group of women on some kind of vision quest, and a few students from a nearby university. Killian seems to deflate at the prospect of mostly silence.

They arrive the night before, setting up the tent and feeding Sally before collapsing on top of their sleeping bags, legs entwined. Killian usually wakes up first, listens to Sally’s snuffling, Dave’s soft breathing in his ear.

“You happy we’re here?” David asks quietly, observing the thoughtful expression on Killian’s face. Taking note of the crustiness at the corner of his eyes, the soft, still almost-asleep way he stares up at the sky through the mesh of the tent.

"Very much,” answering with a kiss, offering reassurance with a squeeze to the forearm wrapped around his stomach. “Rather this than being tortured with the regret.”

"Didn’t you know?” David snorts, “That’s why I did this. There’d be no living with you otherwise.”

“So a selfish endeavor then.”

“Obviously.”

Around noon, the moon makes its way in front of the sun. By around 1:30 PM it achieves totality, and it’s twilight in the middle of the day—surreal but beautiful. A rooster crows in the distance, the nighttime insects begin to chirp as if they’ve been rudely awakened, and David can’t keep his eyes off Killian’s face.

A lot of the websites he’d visited had said there would just be too much going on to really focus—you’d have to decide what it is you choose to look at, only he hadn’t really anticipated that it’d be the person he’s looked at everyday of his life for the past 5 years. He looks almost inhuman in this near total darkness, his features taking on an edge, a clarity that he’s never been able to appreciate before now.

“Can you believe such a thing is possible?” Killian says softly, in awe, almost as if he were talking to himself.

“No,” he answers, smiling at the sight of Killian’s high, joyful cheeks, “not at all.”

#ouat ff #cc ff #cc fanfic #cc drabble #captain charming #cc: saved my life #@hencethewriter #fuck #how do u describe an eclipse #btw i got very close #to having a proposal in this fic #so close

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wolf-in-the-stars · 7 years

Note

Hello there, Mallu here. I'm sorry, but I was wondering if you have any headcanon on both Sirius/Remus raising Harry. Please? ♡

Hiii! Sorry that this is so so late, but I have so many headcannons on this!

- Of course at first it was so difficult and heart breaking that Remus and Sirius had to raise Harry

- In the beginning when Lily and James were still alive, Remus would do everything he could to avoid holding Harry or having any type of interaction with him

- Not because he didn’t love him, he did! So so much!

- He was just an awkward bean who didn’t know how to react around a child.

- When he did have to hold him or talk to him, he’d always act as if he was talking to an adult who understood

- “So … what did you think of the hypothesis that Martha Carrington proposed on the use of Devil Snare dew droplets to heal burn marks caused by fiendfyre?” *gurgles* “That’s an excellent point, Harry.”

- Sirius was the complete opposite.

- He wanted to be holding Harry 24/7 - to the point he practically moved in with Lily and James just so he could play with him on demand.

- He would always use a baby voice to talk to him and pretend he knew exactly what the baby was saying back.

- “Goo goo gaa gaa Harry!” “*Gurgles*” “He said he likes me more than you, Prongs!” “That’s blasphemy! You tell him you don’t, Harry!” “*Gurgles*” “He said you suck, Prongsy old chap!” “*Gasps* I can’t believe my own son would say this!”

- Sirius always tried to get Harry to say “Padfoot” and bet James that that would be his first word.

- Imagine his shock, annoyance, yet pure joy when his first word turned out to be “Moony”

- But after James and Lily died, their roles almost became reverse.

- At first, Remus was always holding Harry.

- It was like he was too afraid to put him down.

- Sirius became a little distant.

- He knew he was a great godfather, but to suddenly have to be a parent?

- It was nearly too much.

- But they soon settled into parenthood and took to it like a house on fire.

- Every bedtime, the three of them would climb into Harry’s bed - Harry under the duvet and tucked into Remus side, and Padfoot curled up at the bottom of the bed by his feet.

- Remus would read both his boys a bedtime story until Harry fell asleep, then he’d go downstairs and tidy up the mess of the house and wait for Sirius to sneak out without waking Harry

- Every Sunday, the three of them would go out on a walk along the meadow near the small cottage they lived to stretch their legs, let Padfoot have a run, and to just generally get away from reality for a few hours.

- After the walk, they would apparate to Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour to treat Harry to a chocolate and raspberry flavoured sundae with chopped nuts just because.

- Harry definitely developed his Fathers Marauding skills and would constantly push the boundaries to see what he could get away with and couldn’t

- And lets be honest, there wasn’t much he couldn’t get away with.

- The three of them would pretend that Remus was the strict parent, but he was just as bad as Sirius for letting Harry get away with shit.

- They used to have pranking wars between them.

- Sirius and Harry would team up and prank Remus with silly ideas like a bucket of water over the door that falls off and soaks him when he walks through

- Then Remus and Harry would team up and prank Sirius with much more elaborate plans like hexing the bathroom mirror to sing off key Elton John song’s every time Sirius has a shower.

- Harry absolutely loved living with his uncles, but still always asked about his Mum and Dad and what they were like.

- At first, Remus and Sirius were too sad to talk about them, but soon realised that Harry needed to hear about them constantly so he’d never forget them.

- One afternoon when Harry was five, the three of them built a pillow fort in the living room and curled up together looking through photo albums that Remus had made and some photo albums that were salvaged from the Potter household.

- They didn’t have many photos of Lily when she was a child (because even though they asked Petunia for them, she out right refused to give them), but they had plenty of her from Hogwarts since she and Remus were best friend’s since first year.

- Harry asked loads of questions, and Sirius and Remus (with watery eyes) answered every one.

- Then they turned the page to the last photo that was taken of them.

- “Look! It’s me!” Harry exclaimed, looking down at the photo of his parents holding him as a baby, kissing his cheeks and smiling brightly.

- That’s when Harry burst out crying and Remus and Sirius joined him.

- They snuggled up to Harry and pulled a blanket around them and fell asleep knowing that Lily and James would be watching over them.

- Sometimes when Sirius and Remus were going to bed, they would hear Harry talking to himself in his room.

- They would push the door open slightly and see he was sat on his window seat staring out the window telling Lily and James all about his day and how they were all doing okay, and how he would look after his Padda and Moony.

- Those nights they would wonder how the two of them managed to raise such a sweet and caring boy, and would happily cry themselves to sleep.

- When it was the full moon, Harry would spend the night at Molly Weasley’s playing with his best friend Ron.

- Harry knew all about Remus being a werewolf since he was little and had a little wolfie teddy bear that he had since birth (as well as a doe, stag and dog teddy bear.)

- ((Padfoot ripped the head off the rat teddy bear he had after the Potters were killed))

- Harry would always tell Remus before he left for the Weasley’s that he was going to take good care of wolfie so Remus was going to be taken care of too.

- The morning’s after the full moon when Harry came back, he would always carefully climb up on the bed and boop Remus on the nose to wake him up with a bright smile and a cuddle.

- Sirius would follow in with a breakfast tray full of bacon, scrambled eggs and toast.

- They would get under the covers and eat in bed whilst Harry told them all about his time at the Weasley’s.

- Although they wished for Lily and James to be there, they were family and they all loved each other very much.

I’m gonna stop now cause I could go on forever. I love Raising Harry!au

#the marauders #raising harry #wolfstar #harry potter #remus lupin #sirius black #james potter #lily potter #prompts #hc #prompts and hc #ask #sobrevivendoumadietaus #thank you for the prompt #sorry it was so late #i hope you like it

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hoseokmylovesworld · 5 years

Text

Picture of Love | 03

Pairing: Photographer!Hoseok x OC x Producer!Yoongi

Genre/Warnings: Hoseok AU/Yoongi AU/Includes strong language.

Words: 2,649

Summary: Charlotte Galloway is the leader of the up and coming girl band, “She-Bang”, with a side hustle as a photographer for anyone who will hire her. She meets a fellow professional photographer named Jung Hoseok who helps “She-Bang” realize their dreams and Charlotte to make a love connection along the way.

J-Hope and I continue to walk side by side down the street and away from the blues hall and my friends. I also continue to be a bit tipsy.

I didn't drink that much, I should sober up up soon enough. I'm just worried about what might come out of my mouth. I got myself into enough trouble today as it is.

J-Hope looks down as we walk, but I notice him glance at me from time to time at my side. "So..." I start shakily. "So..." He replies finally looking at me expectantly.

"Are you sure you weren't stalking me? Because I forgive you if you were." I chuckle trying to lighten up the mood. He almost snorts when he howls with laughter at my comment.

Definitely, internally patting myself on the back for that one.

I nervously laugh along with him. "You shouldn't, but no, I was not stalking you, I swear." he sighs out his last bout of laughter. "Hey, no worries, like I said it's okay if you were." I say earning more laughter from J-Hope.

"Ha ha. No. I guess the universe just keeps bringing us together." He side glances me and I could just punch him in his perfect face. "Boy I hope you're right." I whisper to myself. "What was that?" He craned his neck to hear me better.

I freeze. Quick! think of something cool.

"I said in your dreams." Good one. Whew!

"Yeah, so far." He drawls smoothly. Fuck.

"So quick witted aren't you?" I half joke/half curse him while nudging his shoulder with mine, causing him to go slightly off balance. We laugh it off. "You're not so bad yourself." he replies, I just shrug, looking down at the side walk. At least he noticed.

"Yeah, but you perfected it so much it's basically a talent." I compliment him. "Some might say so." he played along. Hm.

"Oh? So what other talents so you have?" We're all alone and have time to spare. Might as well get to know the guy. That's what we said last time. Go away conscience.

"Oh me?" his eyes widened slightly and his walking slowed a bit. "Yeah you." I mocked in a low voice. "Ha ha. Uh, well, I'm good at taking pictures..." "Yeah I kind of gathered that." What with the pictures of Selena fricken Gomez on your goddamn camera and shit.

"Aha. Um...Oh! My friends tell me I'm good at dancing." I stop walking. J-Hope stops as well.

I look J-Hope over. "You? Good at dancing?" I ask in disbelief. He spreads his arms and gives me a 'try me' look. "You don't believe me?"

"No I don't actually." I answer immediately giving him a taste of his own medicine from earlier today. He realizes the reference I've made and narrows his eyes at me. "Show me something." I challenge him.

He doesn't seem like one to back down from a challenge. Or breakout in dance for that matter.

He checks out his surroundings for some reason (Probably to make sure no one sees him embarrass himself) and then proceeds to 'show me something.' "Okay then. Here goes nothing."

He starts to swivel his torso and legs in a way that is somehow impressive even though I know nothing about dance. I begin to feel amazed until he started swinging his arms in time with his hips while sporting jazz hands, his face contorting into a cheesy, blinding smile. And this has just become a ploy to make Charlotte laugh. And boy is it working.

I think I'm sober now...Or am I still drunk? Who knows.

I end up putting one hand over my mouth, one hand over my stomach and shutting my eyes tight because I am doubled over in laughter and smiling hard as hell. I open my eyes to find a proud J-Hope with the most brilliant smile on his face.

"You lied to me." I heave trying to catch my breath. "No I didn't." He chuckles. "You'll just have to see my actual skills another time." He wriggled his eyebrows and huffed out a laugh.

So he wants to see me again. Only if we don't fuck up tonight.

"Ohhhh, he's cocky too?!" I place my right hand vertically above my o-shaped mouth in mock shock. "Hey! No, just hopeful." he looks piercingly and honestly into my eyes. I am forced to look away first, I couldn't take his gaze any longer. I bite my lip out of anxiousness.

Now I'm sober.

"And here we are." J-Hope announced as we came up on the ice cream parlor finally. J-Hope quickly hops in front of me to open the door of the parlor for me. "Smooth." I say as a matter of fact, making eye contact as I walk through the door. He shrugs, not-so-humbly, causing me to chuckle. We're the only customers.

We approach the counter, J-Hope turns to me and says "Choose whatever you want, it's on me." My head flicks in his direction. "That's okay, I can get it myself." I say trying to come off as polite and not some bitch that won't let anyone do anything for her. Well, that is what you are.

J-Hope looks befuddled, but pulls it together hastily. "No, no. Don't worry, I've got it." he assures, pulling out his wallet. I pull mine out as well. "And I'm telling you that it's okay." I drag out in a low tone, politeness fading. "But I'm sup-"

"Vanilla cone dipped in raspberry syrup please." I step to the cashier, paying J-Hope no attention. "Coming right up, that'll be $4.75." I pay the nice enough, Italian looking man promptly and step back to J-Hope, stuffing my wallet back into my jacket pocket.

He looks down at me through narrowed eyes and a slight smirk. Now I'm feeling light headed. Someone catch me. "Well played." was all he said before he approached the cashier to take his give his order. I chose a table and just like that J-Hope is walking towards me with his cone and mine, he hands mine to me. He's gone with a plain chocolate, cone. Simple. Nice.

"Do you want to stay here a bit or just eat these on the way back?" He asks already digging into his, still standing.

Hmm. Walk back with J-Hope already without getting to know him or talk with him AND walk back with him? No-brainer.

"I have no where to be. Let's stay here." J-Hope gave a little victory smile and nod and sat across form me. I attempt to start the conversation.

"So, what did-" "Uh-uh." He cuts me off and wags a finger at me. I scoff. "Excuse me?" My eyebrows damn near touch my hairline.

"You've asked questions about me since we met. What about you?" He laughs and gestures towards me. "What about me?" I counter. He huffs out a breath. "Where are you from?"

Oh. He wants to get to know ME. Well shit, I wasn't expecting this. Just play it cool.

"Oh, um, San Diego. Born and raised." I shrug. He nods.

"Any siblings?" he takes a lick of his ice cream while making eye contact, like it was nothing. I look away.

"No. Had a close cousin though. We were always together." The smile on my face slowly faded into a solemn line at all the memories, good and bad, that flooded my mind in that moment. "You?" I ask attempting to redirect the conversation away from me, but I was genuinely interested.

"Oh-yeah, I heave an older sister." He stumbled, trying not to notice my little slip up. "That's nice." I lick my ice cream.

"So...How in the world did you end up in San Franci-"

"Can we talk about something else please?" I cut him off harshly. "Oh! of course, I was just try-"

"No, I know. I'm sorry, it's just...maybe another time." I absolutely could not just talk about the things I literally only talk about with my crew to an almost stranger, but I feel like J-Hope might become one of those people I can share all my deep, dark secrets with, with time. "Yeah, no, of course. What do you want to talk about?" He asked, being considerate of my feelings.

I sigh. "Ummm. What's your favorite place to take pictures? Oh! Or what's your favorite thing to take pictures of?" I settled. "Wow." He sighed thoughtfully.

"That's quite a question." He gazed up above my head in a trance. "Two actually." I added, smiling proudly at my diversion. "True." He points at me with wide eyes, I mimic him, we laugh.

"OH! I don't mean to brag, but I've been to India once or twice and the sights there are. To. Die. For." He stressed, talking with his hands.

"Wow" was all that I could utter, expressionless. J-Hope continued to reminisce about his time spent in India while I tried to figure out why this man was even talking to me. He seems so cultured and well seasoned. He's been to foreign countries and I've never even been out of California. He probably has a group of 'important people' for friends and has had a slew of exotic girlfriends by now. No doubt he has a car...Or two. Why this man is talking to me, I will never know.

He stops talking and I have to ask "How old are you again?" even though I know I never asked. Idiot.

"Oh, I'm 24." I almost choke on the breath entering my lungs. WHAT?! Who is doing this shit at 24 years old?! Now I'm just jealous.

"You?" He reflects with a smile. "Uh..." I get a hold of myself. "I'm 23." I swallow.

"Oh good." He said, almost relieved.

"Okay, so...favorite thing to shoot?" I get the conversation back on track. He groans and piers up at me from under his lashes. Fuck you Jung Hoseok.

"If I tell you, you have to promise not to laugh." He says serious as ever. Uhhh.

"Why? It's not like a nature meadow of exotic flowers after rain is it?" J-Hope's eyes widen and he looks down. "Noooooo." He trails off weakly.

I can't help myself, I burst out laughing. "Seriously J-Hope? You've been to India and that's your favorite thing to shoot?" I ask out of breath from laughter.

He whined, cracking a smile into his ice cream. "You promised you wouldn't laugh." He reminded.

"I don't remember promising anything." I taunted. "Touche." he jokingly laments.

Our time at the ice cream parlor continued as such. Asking each other important and pointless questions and teasing each other or nodding in earnest. We told each other jokes and of course there was shameless flirting, mostly on J-Hope's part! This boy WILL be the death of me.

"You ready to go?" he asks as the clock strikes 2:30 AM. I sigh before answering. "Yeah, I guess." No.

I stood from the table and was surprised to see J-Hope holding up my leather jacket to help me put it on. "Thanks." I said as I slipped it on. J-Hope moved to get the door when I got a craving. "You know, I think I want a macaroon...or four." I chuckle as I dig in my jacket pocket for my wallet.

The next thing I know, J-Hope has slapped the wallet from my hands and onto the floor. "J-Hope what the fuck?!" I nearly shout at him as he makes a run for the counter.

"Can I have four macaroons please?" I hear J-Hope say to the cashier. "Of course." The man says. "Thanks." J-Hope pulls his wallet and pays for the treats and makes his way over to me.

"Here you go." He hands them to me in a box with an expression of pride on his face. "Thank you." I grit, hiding a smile. "Since when has it ever been that serious?" I ask he holds the door open.

"Since you wouldn't let me pay for your ice cream on a date." He gripes. Holy Tom Cruise.

He thinks this is a date. I haven't even told him I'm not ready to be in a serious relationship yet. I mean it was still a bit late to tell him that, we already lead him on enough. He definitely knows we like him. How do we back off without backing off?

Maybe we don't have to. This guy is gorgeous, generous, caring, talented and gorgeous. Did I say that twice? Oh well, it's true.

Maybe giving this guy a chance won't be so bad. I just hope this doesn't end like it did last time. I pray I don't regret this.

Be cool. BE COOL!

"A date huh?" I question innocently, looking forward, as he follows me down the street in the direction we came.

He realizes his slip up once he catches up with me. He bites his lip and looks at the side walk.

"Uh, ha ha...I don't know, is it?" He said, the most unsure of himself I think I've ever heard him.

"And here I thought you were the one calling all the shots here." I eye him in a naughty way causing him to look away and swallow difficultly.

"I guess not." He suddenly smiles playfully at the sidewalk and stuffs his hands in his pockets, content.

So not the response I was hoping for or expecting. Way to play along J-Hope, now my fun's ruined.

I lead the way back to my hotel and J-Hope and I continue casual conversation, despite our previous topic.

"Well, this is me." I say as we arrive arrive at the entrance of the building. Immediately I notice J-Hope moving closer to me. I don't object.

"I hope we can...do this again sometime." He says not an inch from my face.

I go completely still, preparing myself for what's about to happen. My heart begins to pound in my chest, I can't calm it down.

"Yeah me too." I say gazing up into his stunning brown eyes.

He leans in a smidgen closer and I am closing my eyes. I literally pucker my lips when I hear "Good night, Charlotte." I no longer feel J-Hope's warmth.

I instantly open my eyes to see J-Hope backing away from me with a wide smirk on his face. HUH?!

"What was that?" I have to ask because I'm trying to figure it out myself and can't come to a solid conclusion.

"Oh, that was me calling the shots." He said lazily pointing in my direction, still walking backwards away from me slowly.

My mouth parts and a devastated, audible huff of air passes though. My right brow escalates and my eyes involuntarily narrow. Overall, I now wear an expression that reads:

'Holy fuckshit I've just been beaten at my own game, who knew this motherfucker was THIS smooth?!'

He just smiles brighter and salutes me. "Goodnight Charlotte." he has to raise his voice, as he's farther away and has not stopped moving since he started.

I finally close my mouth and utter in an unstable sound. "Uh...G-Goodnight. J-Hope." He smirks sexily and turns around finally, he disappears into the shadows of San Francisco.

I swallow thickly and look around to make sure no one saw that ordeal, composed myself and proceeded to make my way to my room. On the way I realized something.

It took me over a month to be able to allow my last boyfriend to kiss me. I've known J-Hope all of two days and I was ready to let him just...GO FOR IT FOR CHRIST'S SAKE!

I take a deep breath in the elevator and stare at nothing in particular.

I so would have let him kiss me.

#j-hope fanfic #suga fanfic #junghoseok #minyoongi #bts #btsfanfiction #AMBW #humour #kpop #sugardaddyj-hope

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