#As my art style shifted I wanted to draw him again from two angles

[vanhelsingapologist]

You could be something great, but something great is nothing new.

—

I had to redraw Vallaki’s angriest boy again! His hair is longer and he still uses mage hand for everything to prove that he can do magic.

[beatcroc]

a year!!! as of today i have now been drawing these funny little pizza freaks, to the exclusion of almost everything else, for!!! an entire year!!! i wanted to do a nice group shot/lineup of everybody to compare to when i first started trying to draw them because oh boy were they bad. i never even posted most of them anywhere because they were so bad. but im posting them here, now, to see how everything's changed/evolved.

this is probably the hardest time i've ever had trying to figure out how to work with a style, but we got there eventually; i'm pretty happy with the handle i've got on everybody now...dont let ur memes be dreams. lots of unimportant journaling and idle thoughts abt it below.

older pics

the first one is the VERY first time i drew them, before i thought i was going to actually have any interest in drawing them [lmao]; it was just the one isolated image, for my friendserver, to illustrate the funney message, so there was no attempt to make it Good or actually understand anything going on w/ the designs or style.

second is the original run of practices sketches to start trying to figure them out for real; done after i started having ideas for the comics and such and realized oh god maybe i am actually gonna draw fanart for this. [again, lol, and lmao.]

third one is the first pt art thing i posted on here. there were a couple weeks of sprite studies between this one and the previous image. the one on the top right wasn't part of that post i just threw it on as space filler; i'd intended to shift to doing Sprite Redraws But Stylized to explore tings more, but that was the only one i did. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

individual characters

peppino: by far the hardest dear god. bro what ARE your shapes how DOES your face work. jesus christ. everything i have trouble with this style for, peppino has it in excess. i draw in polygons! i need consistency! and that is the last thing this kind of style is concerned with. they are made of squarshy clay and i do not understand how to mold them. i was really hoping trying to learn this game's style would GIVE me that kind of flexibility for fun exaggerated facial expression but i don't think much came of it in the end 😔. anyway on the bright side all this means once i got peppino figured out a little bit everybody else clicked way easier.

fake peppino: honestly i never did anything with him on purpose except for how his eyes work + the perma-smile thing. i figured ok hes supposed to look weird and off model so whatever happens with him happens. and it did. and it kept happening. it is still, in fact, happening.

noise/ette: somehow, for every bit that peppino was the least natural thing i've ever tried, these two worked pretty much right off the bat. i still don't understand it, seeing as pretty much all the things at play for peppino are also at work for them. i think the new sketches are actually a little worse than older ones but not enough that i care.

gustavo: really funny bc i drew him on model twice and just went 'okay, cool nice, easy, um. he doesn't have any fucking legs?' fortunately he was the only one i had a strong idea for how to stylize him [square] and it worked exactly as i was hoping so wahoo.

brick: is an animal and therefore 5000x easier and more natural for me to draw/stylize than anything else in the cast. that is Just a rat bro. i can draw a rat.

gerome: i think the funniest one here. the most drastic and least necessary change imo. i was gonna have him be really small at first, like smaller than the noises, but then i just... didn't. he's just peppino-sized now. also i gave him like. actual human facial structure, which is funny bc in most cases i'd do anything to avoid, but it works well for his being A Rock to give him some angles and definition like that+ to differentiate his vibe from the rest of the cast who are all very squishy. also since he is essentially Just A Head it's good to emphasize that too ig.

john: i only drew john a couple times but he gets to be here because i like him. and because most of the stuff i applied to gerome was readily applicable to john, though i did try to keep him a little more uncanny because he is a Huge And Lanky Freak. i hate that he is barefoot btw but idk how to make his color balance look right with shoes.

pizzahead: i did not want to put him on here honestly but i Have drawn him a handful of times and more importantly i didn't know what i was gonna do with john's pose if i didn't have him there to be glared at. the only thing that's different with him is giving him wider-bottomed pants, which i got from when i tried to draw these guys in clone high style [i never posted that one either][i will eventually]

snick: he gets to be here because 1. he's like 6 lines 2. i like him and 3. ive scribbled him a few times offhand and it went pretty well

misc

there are some guys missing because those are guys i didn't draw enough [or at all] to have gotten comfortable with them. sorry

i would have Liked to shade these but for the time being i have accepted that my grasp of light/shadow has decayed to the point im not going to be happy with anything i try there, so For Now i am working on my presentation with flats i guess. gerome has a shadow only because he's shaded like that ingame and looks naked without it

anyway if you are still reading [hi?] i get to shamelessly plug now. i'm over the hill of my pizza run now, and while i still have plenty of things i want to make here, most of the bigger more in-depth ones have passed. pizza tower was the first thing in THREE YEARS to get me out of my oc groove to doing fanart, and once i am done with my ideas here i will be going right back to it. if you like my art or how i write characters/interactions you should check out my oc/webcomic blog @jamverse . i can't promise people who like pizza stuff will be terribly into my designs, but i can guarantee i treat my guys with the exact same sort of tone i handle the pt guys with. and hell, i've mentioned it a few times before, but like 70% of my characterization for fake pep is just copied off one of my characters, so if u are going to miss him... he will still be there in spirit >;p

and if you dont care about any of that and are still reading thank you anyway. actually making these comics + seeing how shockingly well-received they've been has done a lot for my confidence, and for seeing that my kind of stuff IS something people enjoy :')

[blouisparadise]

Today we have the fifth part to our A/B/O rec list! There are tons of amazing fics on this list, so please check them and show them some love. If you'd like to check out our previous A/B/O rec lists, you can find part one here, part two here, part three here, and part four here. Please remember to like and reblog this post to help spread the word! Happy reading!

1) We’ll Stumble Through Heaven | Explicit | 6,504 words

Louis likes to be a good boy for his alpha.

2) Outline Of My Sins | Explicit | 6,551 words

Prompt 453: AU where alpha Harry is an art student who is taking a figure drawing class and omega Louis is the nude model. In the many years that Harry has taken art classes, he has never been more hot and bothered than now, having to stare at a beautiful nude omega model for hours.

3) All The Strings Attached | Not Rated | 10,517 words

“He wasn’t good enough for you anyway, H,” Louis says and continues eating. Harry’s still reeling from the fact that Louis is jealous. Part of him wants to prove that Louis has nothing to be jealous about, that Harry is fully Louis’ and no one else’s. The other part wants to punish Louis for acting spoiled. But Harry can’t act on either urge, he tightens his hand into a fist in his lap instead. “No, he wasn’t. He didn’t quite fit the job.” “Harry, it wouldn’t be a job to date you. It would be lovely,” Louis says, almost in a whisper. They’re sitting closer, Harry just now notices. Louis’ body is completely angled towards Harry and Harry’s body is not far behind.

4) Losing That Reactive Spark | Explicit | 11,599 words

“You didn’t shock me,” the O says, yanking at Harry’s shirt. Harry’s eyebrows furrow, looking down at him. He could probably shake him off if he wanted to, wouldn’t even hurt him. Harry doesn’t. “What’s your name? How come you didn’t shock me?” “Um,” Harry says. “What?” The O sways closer, pushing himself up onto his toes as he peers at Harry’s face. Harry tries not to breathe in too deeply, too obviously. The last thing he needs is for someone to catch him obviously scenting an O that doesn’t belong with him in public. No matter how unhinged that particular O might be. That’s just asking for trouble. “Is it broken?” the O asks, shaking at Harry’s shirt. Harry sways, more confused than ever. The bell on the door dings, and on autopilot Harry shifts them out of the way, allowing the person to pass. His umbrella dangles uselessly from his hand, not doing anything to keep them dry. “Is what broken?” Harry asks. “It’s not broken,” the O says to himself, fast. He shakes his head again, bringing both hands up to his face to push his wet hair back. “Just yesterday – ” He stops, staring at Harry again. It’s a suspicious stare. Harry’s mildly offended by it.

5) How You Sleep At Night | Mature | 15,568 words

"-and...this is Louis." And just that. ‘This is Louis.’ Louis feels like throwing up out of nowhere. So, that’s it then? Is he just a ‘Louis’ to him now?

6) Hungry Heart | Explicit | 16,100 words

"So you're using me and my kitchen for a bigger paycheck?" Harry asks. "What do I get out of it?" "What do you-" Louis parrots in disbelief. "I get a job that doesn't make me work ten hour shifts just to barely pay my rent while you get three meals a day cooked for you." "So, what, you're like some glorified housewife?" Housewife, personal chef, Louis doesn't care. Contract's signed and done; T's crossed and I's dotted. Louis will wear an apron and twirl his hair all pretty if that's what he wants. Even if the job feels more like some drawn out jail sentence, Louis hopes this isn't going to be a long summer.

7) Don’t Call Me Angel | Mature | 16,648 words

Manhattan is a dangerous playground for the rich and entitled Alphas of New York. Those same wealthy Alphas are robbed after spending one night in the presence of a blue-eyed Omega and Officer Styles is assigned to the case.

8) This Could Either Break My Heart, Or Bring It Back To Life | Not Rated | 18,349 words

Harry never really cared for love: he has two children he needs to care for, and a Country to rule. Love is just not in his cards. Enter Louis, who spins his children's lives but most importantly Harry's.

9) Only the Brave | Not Rated | 20,032 words

AU Mulan soulmates; where Louis is an omega going to camp in disguise to prevent his father to die in war, alpha Liam is a big wall of muscles and peace, alpha Zayn is obnoxious but cool knothead, alpha Niall is a cute hillarious baby and Harry is the alpha officer that has to train this weird group, and can't help the feeling that he's got an omega lurking among them.

10) Swept Me Off My Feet (Took My Heart And Took Me Down) | Explicit | 25,447 words

When Louis had decided to reopen his mother's bakery, he never thought a charming alpha would walk in through the door, let alone fall in love with him over tea, dessert and music.

11) A Springtime’s Wilt, An Autumn’s Bloom | Explicit | 20,593 words

Harry is Louis' personal chauffeur, and although he hides his feelings for his boss behind a wall of rigid professionalism, Louis still manages to squeeze through the cracks.

12) The Voice Of Range And Ruin | Explicit | 25,470 words

It seemed as if the freshly formed Omega Uprising had always been a step or two ahead of the Commandant and the rest of the reigning Alphanian officials. The idea had been floated that there must be someone working with them from the inside, reporting back to them on the government’s plans so that they could be prepared. That person had yet to be discovered, and the Commandant and his surrounding forces had finally had enough of this game of cat and mouse. Harry understood. He agreed. It needed to come to an end, one way or another.  “Your job is to navigate their landscape and gain entry into their forces. You will pretend to be one of them and gain reliable intel for us. It’s clear that no one else has been capable of doing it, and you at least have some semblance of experience in this field. This has gone on for too long, Harry. Enough is enough.” He made direct eye contact with his son, holding it. “I’m counting on you.” 

13) Feeling Peachy, Take A Bite | Explicit | 25,654 words

Prompt 570: Omega Louis works at a cupcake shop. he makes the prettiest cupcakes and loves his job. In comes beefy alpha Harry who absolutely loves to eat Louis’ cake. inspired by Louis being a cute baby girl handing out cupcakes.

14) The Evenness I Fake | Explicit | 26,370 words

Harry doesn’t do relationships. He has a perfectly enjoyable friends-with-benefits agreement with a perfectly lovely omega, and he doesn’t see the need to change that anytime soon. The small fact that Louis giving his attention to another alpha makes Harry want to put his head through a wall isn’t nearly as much of an issue as everyone’s making it out to be.

15) Just A Pretty Boy | Explicit | 35,614 words

The alpha in front of him wasn’t only tall, but used every inch of his body to look even more threatening. He looked as shocked as Joseph felt, in his eyes he could clearly see horror and anger mixed into an odd and painful mix. It was as if he just watched a ghost or a monster from a nightmare come to life.  “Louis…” he said with a low voice. It wasn’t a question, he was calling Joseph by that name.  The crease between Joseph’s brows deepened. “Who?” Louis and Harry were married until, one day, Louis passed away in a tragic accident. Years later, he is found alive and with a thousand questions plaguing his mind. The most important ones; was his husband involved in his disappearance? And, how long did it take Harry and his best friend to fall in love after his supposed dead?

16) And When It Rains, You're Shining Down For Me | Explicit | 37,081 words

“This is Harry, he’ll be your patient,” Liam gestured politely. Harry froze when Louis’ eyes met his own once more. He felt himself getting lost in those eyes, so much so that he didn’t notice Niall and Liam leaving the room quietly but the sound of the door shutting behind them brought him out of the trance. “Hello, I’m Louis,” the omega said, extending his hand for Harry to shake. The alpha could still sense some nervousness in his stance but decided to ignore it. “‘’m Harry.”

17) Truebonds | Explicit | 39,687 words

Louis doesn't mind being an omega, most of the time. Modern medicine allows him to suppress almost all of his omega traits, but the one thing it can't suppress is his scenting cycle. Fortunately, that only needs to be dealt with every seven years and he counts himself lucky that he can afford the services of a reputable agency. With his cycle due, he reviews the matched candidates and there's one alpha who fits all of his criteria, S28A. That's pretty much where things start to unravel. Enter Harry Styles, scenter for hire.

18) The Space Between | Explicit | 39,917 words

Harry Styles is the alpha rockstar who can’t sleep and doesn’t know why. Louis Tomlinson is the omega PhD student who helps him figure it out.

19) Noble Intentions | Explicit | 43,023 words

Louis is a beautiful omega prince impatient to lose his virginity. Harry is desperately in love with him and only wants to mate him if and when Louis agrees to marry him.

20) This Glass House | Mature | 43,072 words

While deployed, Alpha Harry gets injured by an IED explosion, leaving him to deal with severe injuries in its devastating aftermath. During his road to acceptance and recovery he learns with the help of Louis and their children just how important family can be for the mind, body, and soul.

21) Some Records Turnin’ | Explicit | 49,330 words

Harry is a soft alpha who owns a record store and Louis is a closeted singer omega masquerading as an alpha who randomly stumbles into Harry’s store.

22) Men of Steel, Men of Power | Explicit | 58,849 words

Louis has one goal: survive this year unscathed to complete his grand plan, for which he has sacrificed his family, his friends. His identity. he's not expecting Alpha Harry, who manages to get under his skin and inside his heart. He suddenly has a lot more to lose, and a lot less control.

23) These Still Waters Run Deep | Explicit | 64,602 words

Having accepted his engagement to Viscount Andrew, Louis is aware that it isn’t a love match and has no wish to be swept off his feet… until he meets the viscount’s brother, Harry, who makes him second-guess everything.

24) Violent Delights | Not Rated | 76,174 words

Prince Harry is arranged to mate Princess Charlotte, but first he must spend a month completing courting traditions which ends in a mating ceremony. When he arrives to the Tomlinson castle, he finds the forbidden North wing holds that which the family has worked hard to keep secret. Mainly: the sickly sweet Prince Louis, who’s rare gender has forced his family to keep him locked away for his own protection.

25) Wind Beneath My Wings | Explicit | 93,131 words

As an omega carer that works at a rescue and rehabilitation centre for feral alphas and omegas, Louis has experienced all sides of ferality. So Harry- a cold, near mute, non-receptive alpha- was a challenging case for everyone at Phoenix Rehab Centre. Louis wasn’t expecting to feel drawn towards an aloof Harry, or to form a slow bond with him. He certainly was not expecting for his entire life to change in unforeseen ways.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

[sehunniepotwrites]

sakura kiss | n.yt

PART III OF FOR YOU IN FULL BLOOM: THE HANAHAKI COLLECTION

🌸 synopsis—the four times you noticed yuta’s love for flowers and the one time you realized it was not the flowers he was in love with

🌸 genre—  would you be so kind? universe ; hanahaki!au, university!au, flower shop!au, angst, romance, slight fluff, mutual pining, strangers to lovers!au 🌸 pairing— art student/florist!yuta x art student!reader (f) 🌸 word count— 9000+

🌸 warnings — cursing; mentions of coughing, vomiting, hospital visits, death (no one dies!!), two idiots in love

🌸 author’s note—so i finished a fic with my favorite trope in time for my birthday today (dec 11th) and i’m posting to celebrate! it all started with this tweet that said yuta used to work at a flower shop and enjoyed drawing the plants during his free time! 

this was a fun write and it takes place in the same verse as wybsk, which is linked above! you can read sakura kiss as a stand alone or after wybsk to get a better understanding of two scenes! to those you came from my mark fic, i gave yn a name (kira)!

but here she is! enjoy and be sure to tell me what you think!! i love feedback uwu

Nakamoto Yuta, you noticed, was an unusual fellow. He was your senior in the art department, a fourth-year preparing for his graduation while you were a couple of semesters behind him. Other than his small circle of friends, the foreign exchange student kept to himself, burying his handsome face in his sketchbook. You had classes together before but those were large lectures with over fifty students in the room— this was the first time you shared a small studio lab with him.

Barely interacting with him in the past, you were determined to change that no matter how intimidating Yuta was.

Were you intimidated by his extremely good looks or his unmatched talents in the fine arts? Both. Definitely both. He turned heads without fail and when he smiled, oh my god, you thought he was the sun. Yuta was pretty, beyond pretty even, with his striking face, brown eyes, and perfect body proportions. 

To add on top of his perfection, his art style was immaculate. The artist never failed to steal your breath away with a couple of strokes and a swipe of his blessed hand. Anything he touched turned to gold. Never sharing those thoughts with him in the past, you made a firm decision to tell your senior this coming semester.

Yuta sat at the easel next to you, barely two feet away from your station. His sketchbook and drawing utensils were already splayed out on the holder. He was fiddling with his phone to pass the time, his painted nails rapidly hitting his touchscreen. How did Yuta make something so mundane as checking his phone look so ethereal? The inner most thoughts in your head cursed whatever beings lived in the beyond for not endowing you with such looks. 

You gulped, gathering up the courage to talk to him. “Hey,” you greeted shyly. 

Hey? That was the best you could do?

Yuta turned towards you, gaze shifting away from his phone. “Hey,” he said back with a slight curve of the lip. 

“I don’t know if you remember me but we had a couple of classes together last semester,” you forced yourself to say with an awkward smile.

He grinned and his teeth sunk into his bottom lip, almost like he was holding back a laugh. “Yeah, no, of course, I remember you.” Your name slips from his mouth, causing your awkward smile to turn into a genuine one. His tone is kind and his voice is low, sending shivers down your spine.

You tried your best to keep the conversation going, wanting to finally compliment him on his work but your professor entered the room and called for everyone’s attention. He handed out the syllabus to a student upfront and around the papers went, signifying the start of your first class. Yuta shot you an apologetic look, conveying that you could always continue the conversation later. 

The overview of the course’s syllabus was always the boring part of the first days. Your eyes glazed over, still not fully awake from rising early, and you tried to shake the sleepiness away. Stealing a glance at Yuta, you almost laughed at how his easel was angled in a way to hide that he wasn’t paying any attention. His syllabus outline was discarded off to the side and Yuta’s hands were moving rapidly, sketching out a large tree in full bloom in a page of his notebook.

It looked like flower petals raining from the branches and a person leaning against the tree trunk, hiding underneath the shade. His sketching speed and quality amazed you— how exactly did he sketch that fast and that beautifully?

You made sure your professor wasn’t looking in your direction before nudging Yuta’s side to grab his attention. He snapped out of his drawing daze and turned to you with widened eyes. A red seeped into his ears and pale cheeks, but you missed it completely, eyes zoned in on his quick draw.

“Hm?”

“That’s really good,” you whispered.

He rubbed the back of his neck at your compliment. “It’s just a quick sketch,” Yuta tried to play it off. He was never one to take compliments so well.

You leaned over to get a closer look. Noticing you almost falling off your stool, Yuta shifted his easel slightly closer to yours. “Is that a cherry blossom tree?”

He nodded, “Yeah, they’ve been on my mind a lot.”

“Do they remind you of home?” you asked. You couldn’t imagine being an exchange student in a foreign country— you would miss home too much.

“Yeah but that’s not really the reason why I’m drawing them,” he replied. His eyes shifted to a look of pain or discomfort as if he was reminded of a scarring memory. You watched him closely to make sure he was okay. He cleared his throat before letting out a couple of concealed coughs, face digging into his shoulder. 

“You alright, Nakamoto?” You were too embarrassed to call him by his first name.

“Yeah, I’m good. Just a little cough.” Yuta gave you a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, “And you can just call me Yuta, you know?”

“Right, noted,” the name felt so foreign on your tongue. 

“I have cough drops in my bag if you want some,” you offered, already reaching down to grab your backpack. He quickly dismissed you, telling you it wasn’t necessary. 

Continuing to watch him sketch, you admired the way Yuta fussed over the smallest details— the lining, the shading, etc. It was nothing more than a simple sketch but if it was gifted to you, it would be framed and hung for the world to see. 

He really was an artistic genius. 

“Cherry blossoms are my favorite flowers,” you said.

You were too absorbed in his drawing to hear him mutter, “I know.”

“You say something?” 

Yuta cleared his throat again with a pained expression. His hand held his neck for a second before shaking his head. “I said, they used to be mine too.”

Huh, you never really picked him as the flower loving type. 

—🌸—

This was the third time Nakamoto Yuta had flowers growing in his chest and he hated it. 

It was less painful the first two times around, probably because they were nothing more than fleeting crushes. He was in high school then, wholly infatuated with two different students during those years. Yuta followed them around like a lovesick puppy, all smiles and waiting on their hands and feet. He coughed a couple of petals out and it caused some uneasiness, but after being rejected harshly, Yuta pushed himself to move on. 

The pain of high school rejection could never compare to the dull ache he was feeling as he looked at you. There you were, the person he secretly admired for the past two semesters, merely two feet away at your own easel. 

You looked so in your element, eyebrows knitted and pencil in hand as you sketched away. A sight so captivating, Yuta almost forgot to breathe. Being an artist himself, he wanted to preserve that image on a canvas but he didn’t think his hand could do you justice. No pencil sketch, no painted canvas, no marble or clay sculpture could even compare to you. 

This was more than puppy love. More than infatuation. Yuta was sure of it but how was he to let you know? You barely knew each other and a confession out of nowhere wouldn’t be the best way to get acquainted. 

Perhaps another time, he thought to himself, before turning back to his sketch. 

You would’ve never guessed that Yuta Nakamoto had a thing for flowers but he did.

Then again, you didn’t really know what he had a thing for to begin with— your friendship just started to bloom. It was like a bud barely opening under the sunlight; with each interaction, there was something new you learned about the quiet yet charismatic art major. 

You knew he was a Japanese exchange student that majored in art, that was a given. You recently learned he loved cherry blossoms and that watercolor was his favorite art medium yet you still wanted to learn more. 

The first time you ran into him outside of class was in the university library. Yuta sat at one of the tables, his space surrounded by books on flowers. There were books on the language, arrangements, and gardening tips. His face was deep into his sketchbook once again, back bent over the desk but his focused eyes darted back and forth between his drawing and his page of reference. 

Yuta didn’t even notice as you hovered over him, debating on whether you should say hi. Even with your shadow casting over his body, his deep concentration never faltered. 

His page was filled with various plants and flowers, little notes in a messy scrawl right under their pictures. He was currently drawing cherry blossoms, the page he was referring to showcasing the anatomy of the famous flower.

“Cherry blossoms again, Yuta?” you broke the silence.

Your voice startled him, causing his pencil to slip from the artist’s grip. It made an accidental mark and you whispered an apology as he clicked his tongue. 

“Don’t worry about it, nothing an eraser can’t fix,” Yuta reassured you as he rid his paper of the unwanted mark. He blew the eraser bits of his page, hand sweeping his surface clean. He offered you the seat next to him and you gladly took it.

“So, why are you always sketching flowers?” you posed as your hand gestured to all the books he had on his person. 

“They’re beautiful, don’t you think?” he answered with another question. He gave you a cheeky little grin, his lips widening to show off his beautiful pearly whites.

“Well, yeah.”

“It’s a shame they die so easily,” Yuta said, fingers running over his sketches. “Beautiful but fleeting.”

“But that’s life, isn’t it?”

“I guess it is.”

You hummed at his answer. “You’re really passionate about flowers, aren’t you?” 

“Something like that. I actually work at a flower shop nearby, maybe you’ve seen it?” Yuta fiddled with the front pocket of his backpack to pull out a business card. “I like learning about the meanings to help the customers in the shop, amongst other things.”

You took the card from his grip, examining it. For You in Full Bloom was printed largely on the thin piece of cardboard. Staring at the name, you wondered why it sounded so familiar until it hit you.

“Oh, I pass by it everyday while walking to campus! I live two blocks away from the shop.” Your smile grew wider and he smiled back for a second before his face contorted into one that conveyed pain.

Yuta turned away from you to cough into his hand, his free one hastily digging into his pocket. He pulled out a handkerchief and began to cough into that. Shocked by his sudden sick fit, you quickly patted him on the back, hoping it would help him hack out whatever was lodged in his throat.

You saw him peek into the small square of fabric and wince at whatever it caught. He cleared his throat before turning back to you. “Sorry,” Yuta muttered, rubbing the front of his neck to soothe it. Placing a cough drop in his hand, he took it without complaint and popped it in his mouth. The relieved sigh he let out made you feel slightly less worried. 

“You’re still sick?” you frowned. “You should really get that checked out, you know?”

He waved you off, “It’s nothing serious, I swear. What were we talking about again?”

“Cherry blossoms?”

“Your favorite flower.”

“And yours,” you added.

He hummed, “And mine.” There was a solemn tone behind his words but before you could press on the subject, he coughed again.

“Did you know that they’re also a symbol of renewal?”

Shaking your head, you urged your classmate to continue.

“Cherry blossoms hold the bittersweet meaning of life and death but they also bring the message of new beginnings.”

—🌸—

Yuta just wished when it came to you and him, the flowers meant the start of something new but no— instead, they just reminded him of the ache in his chest. 

They reminded Yuta of how alive he was but also how he was one step closer to his grave. 

Yes, you were merely classmates but he felt like he knew you solely from all the stories that were shared by your mutual friends in the art department. Ten and Taeyong sang praises on how thoughtful you were, always helping professors clean their studios after hours. Sicheng brought up how passionate you were about your major— Yuta himself bore witness to this many times during lectures and he wanted to know more about you. 

A lot of charm filled your figure and it was enchanting, it really wasn’t that hard for him to fall. 

Yuta fell for you much like the blossoms from the cherry trees. 

And just like the blossoms, his time was fleeting but you were so completely unaware.

You left the library first, having forgotten that you had office hours with a professor. He watched you leave, eyes fixed onto your back.

Someone once said that you become miserable if you love someone too much. Yuta believed that to be true. There was a pang in his chest, heart racing against his rib cage as a stronger nausea attack hit him. 

He gasped for air as his weakened stomach turned with sickness. Something was rising, working its way up his body. Yuta quickly slapped his hand over his lips as he hurled. Instead of bile, cherry blossom petals rained out of his mouth and into his palm.

He chuckled under his breath. Was it sad that he found beauty in his suffering? 

Yuta thought himself to be crazy as he quickly shoved away the pain to begin sketching the petals in his hand.

For You in Full Bloom— what a nice name, you thought to yourself as you entered the shop with your friend Sicheng right behind you. The light ringing of the bell attached to the front entrance alerted the people at the counter of your presence. You picked up on harsh whispers before the tall male worker rushed to the back, forcing the young girl to assist you.

“Hi, welcome in!” the girl smiled brightly at you. “How can I help you today?”

Before you could reply, Sicheng stepped forward to answer, “Kira, we’re looking for Yuta— is he here?”

“Oh, Sicheng, hey! I didn’t even see you,” Kira exclaimed. “He’s, uh, not here right now.” Kira shot Sicheng a frustrated look, eyes darting to the back. Your companion sighed, done with his friend’s stupidity. You missed the quiet interaction, being too preoccupied with your surroundings. 

“We’ll catch him another time then,” you answered her.

The small and quaint store was filled to the brim with flowers and your hands ghosted against the magnificent displays in the front window. The petals felt soft and the pleasing smells overwhelmed your senses in a good way. There was beauty all around you— there was no wonder why people loved visiting flower shops.

Various watercolor pieces were framed on the wall and you examined every artwork displayed. They were simple paintings of the plants that found a temporary home in the store. Some pieces were the flowers by themselves and others were of the many arrangements offered. They were vibrant, bright, and so incredibly detailed.

“I’ll tell him you stopped by,” she paused to ask for your name. You replied with a smile before turning back to take in the art. 

“The paintings are a nice touch,” you commented, finally turning to look at her. 

“Oh those? Yuta painted them,” Kira grinned, her body straightening up with pride. “He paints a lot when the shop is slow and my mom, the owner, loves to hang them up.”

“I should’ve known.” You took a closer look and spotted Yuta’s signature at the bottom of every picture.

“He’s very talented, isn’t he?” Kira hummed. Sicheng snorted for some unknown reason and you slapped his shoulder in response. There was nothing funny about Yuta’s skills and he knew that.

“Yeah, his skill is unmatched. I admire him for that.” 

“Have you ever told him that?”

“God, no!”

“Why not?” Kira pressed. Sicheng joined in on the pressing and you moaned, an embarrassing heat creeping up your face,

“I don’t know. We talk but I find him to be a little intimidating,” you leaned against Sicheng’s shoulder and looped your arm through his. “I can’t just go up to him and fangirl over his work, can I?”

“But you want to,” he groaned. “And I’m tired of hearing you go on about it. Just tell him.” 

A whine left your lips and you pinched your friend’s arm at the comment. He yelped and Kira just watched as the bickering continued. 

“Yuta looks intimidating, yeah, but it’s just his resting bitch face, I promise. He’s just a softie,” Kira laughed and Sicheng agreed. “You should definitely tell him. He would love hearing it, especially from you.”

There was this knowing smile on both of their lips and it just seemed like they knew something you didn’t. You tugged on Sicheng’s arm as an attempt to ask him the florist meant by the last bit of her sentence and he tried to shrug you away.  You just clung on tighter to your friend with a playful smile with Kira keeping a close eye on you.

You heard a cough come from the back of the store, causing both Sicheng and Kira to look up with concern. The coughing fit grew louder and louder, leaving Kira to excuse herself for a bit. 

“If the other florist is sick, they should be at home resting,” you tutted with a frown. 

“Some people are stubborn,” Sicheng threw back with a bit of distaste. Picking up on your friend’s bitterness, you wondered why he felt so strongly about it. You waved it off when a small display of sunflowers and red roses together captured your attention. Holding it in your hands, you admired how the two vibrant colors compliment each other.

Kira swung her way around the counter, “You like that bouquet?”

“It would be really pretty to paint,” you say, still spinning it around in awe. 

“Yuta put it together himself yesterday, he’s pretty good at arrangements,” the florist beamed.

“What can’t he do?” you scoffed.

“Apparently, open his mouth and say what he needs to say,” Sicheng muttered beside you. Kira elbowed his stomach and he lurched over in pain. 

“What was that?” 

“Nothing,” Kira laughed nervously. She worked her way to you and gestured towards the flowers, “It’s yours, on the house.”

You rejected the offer right away. “Oh no, I couldn’t,” is what you reply, attempting to shove the arrangement into her hands. With a kind grin, she persisted for you to take it and just asked you to buy from them the next time you visited. “I’m sure Yuta would love it if you took this one off our hands.”

With a promise, you hesitantly accepted the bouquet. Sicheng was snickering in the background and you had to hold yourself back from whacking him with the flowers. Thinking you’d taken too much of the florist’s time, you quickly said your thanks and headed out the door with a coy Sicheng trailing behind you.

—🌸—

“They’re gone,” Kira yelled towards the back of the shop. Yuta made his way back to his spot at the cash register while wiping at his mouth with his uniform sleeve. He quickly pulled out his art supplies from underneath the counter, setting everything up to resume his painting. Taking a seat on the stool, his body was slumped over his makeshift desk as he messed with his pencils. 

His coworker rolled her eyes at him as she began to work on a bouquet of blue cornflowers and daisies— good fortune and new beginnings. Her nimble hands hastily worked their magic with ease as if she’s done it a million times before. Yuta observed her, quickly sketching her hands at work. 

“You’re ridiculous, I don’t get why you had to hide.” 

“I didn’t want her to see me like this,” Yuta said, his pained eyes covered by the long bangs that drooped down over his sketchbook. 

“Like what?” Her hands went to her hips. “Sick and hopelessly in love?”

“Yeah, let’s put it that way.”

“There’s a solution to this, you know,” Kira pressed with furrowed brows. “You don’t have to keep suffering.”

This. Hanahaki is what she meant— the disease of unrequited love.

“I’m fine, Kira,” Yuta hissed with a bit more annoyance than he intended to. She flinched at the tone but still pushed on when he coughed again. He felt the discomfort of something being lodged in his throat and his body had the urge to hack it out. Suddenly, he was leaning over the counter with cherry blossom petals littering the cash register. 

Yuta practically hacked up a storm, body curling in pain. One hand was clutching his stomach while the other had a death grip on the edge of the counter. The dizziness returned and he felt lightheaded as the retching subsided. A weakness took over his athletic body and Kira rushed to assist him back onto the stool. There was a bottle of soothing eucalyptus oil sitting right on the counter and she scrambled to open it before shoving it under his nose. 

“You’re obviously not fine. You need to go to the hospital to get checked,” she said as Yuta took the small bottle from her grip. He dabbed a couple of drops onto his hands and rubbed it on his nose and throat. “Why won’t you accept any help that’s offered to you at the hospital?”

“I’ve gone through this before, Kira. Don’t worry about me.”

“Sometimes you forget I’ve gone through this, too!” she yelled. “I don’t want you to end up on your deathbed like I was at one point.” 

Yuta couldn’t argue with that. He was hired back when she was in the hospital recovering from the final stage of the dreaded disease. 

“We’re all worried about you here. Mom, Jongin, Mark? And your friends— Sicheng, Ten, and Taeyong? We all hate seeing you like this!” her voice grew louder and louder with each word, causing him to flinch at the shrill tone. Deafening noises plus nausea and headaches never meshed well with him.

“You don’t see how much it hurts seeing someone you care about suffer like this, Yuta. It hurts even more when we can’t do anything to help you go through this.”

Silence filled the room.

“Have you seen Dr. Kim lately?” Dr. Junmyeon Kim was the Hanahaki specialist that Kira recommended. He eased her back into normalcy after her scare.

“I will soon, I promise,” he said through haggard breaths. She guided him through a couple of breathing exercises and it calmed his racing heart down. 

Kira sighed. With a quieter tone, she said, “It’s a shame the world made us experience heartbreak this way, isn’t it?”

Yuta smiled sadly at her— it was a shame.

The front door of the shop opened and the bell rang. They both turned to see Kira’s boyfriend Mark walk in with a cute grin. He clumsily hopped over the counter to plant a sweet kiss on her cheek. “Well, at least you got your happy ending,” he muttered too low for his coworker to hear. 

Yuta knew there was a chance of having it too, he was just too afraid to speak. 

If one were to look at him at that moment, his features hid nothing. Nakamoto Yuta was slowly ripping at the seams with the sakura branches poking their way out of his built figure and although multiple options were given to him, he still felt so unbelievably helpless.

It was the middle of the semester when you caught Yuta wandering the halls of the main art building. A grin found its way to your lips as you saw him with his messenger bag and a tubed container slung over his shoulder. Running to catch up with him, you slipped your arm into his free one. Your classmate yelped at the sudden contact and you let out a loud giggled that echoed in the empty hallway.

You finally felt close enough to initiate contact after sharing supplies with him during one studio session. That being said, it didn’t mean you were comfortable with revealing the feelings you harbored towards him— you wanted to keep that a secret for a little bit longer. 

“What are you doing here? I thought you didn’t have classes in here today,” you asked.

“Oh, it’s just you,” Yuta sighed. You felt your heart drop at his words but you played it off with a scrunch of the nose and a teasing tone. 

“Were you expecting someone else, Nakamoto?” you nudged his stomach and he avoided it, already predicting your actions. Yuta held back another series of coughs, quick turning away from you to cough into the handkerchief always kept on hand. He looked in pain as he continued to hack into the small piece of cloth and you brought a comforting hand to rub at his back.

“Every time I see you, you’re coughing,” you frowned. “You really need to get yourself checked, it’s been months.”

“No, no, I promise you I’m fine,” he replied with the shake of the head, his dark hair moving along with him. Even when ruffled and out of sorts, he looked good. He attempted to clear his throat by downing some water. 

Your lips pursed at his words, not satisfied with his dismissive answer. “If you say so. Promise me you’ll see someone if it gets worse though.”

He agreed but you suspected it was to stop you from nagging. “To answer your question before you went all mom on me, I was here to talk to the department about my senior project.”

“Have you decided on your theme for your exhibit yet?” 

Yuta smiled wistfully, “Flowers.” 

“Should’ve known— it’s always flowers with you. It’s like you’re in love with them or something.” 

He let out a scoff at your words. When you shot him a questioning look, he dismissed the act completely. 

Time spent with Yuta always passed so quickly; one moment you were on the top floor of the building and the next, you were already at the bottom of the staircase. Ever the gentleman, he held the front door open for you and you thanked him with a smile. His brown eyes shrunk into little slits and whiskers appeared at the corners as he grinned back with a little chuckle.

How you longed to sketch that image.

A strong breeze blew through, causing a couple of leaves and fallen petals to fly around your figures. You crossed your arms around your front to keep the cold from seeping in and shut your eyes to keep debris out. Peeking at Yuta, you saw him cover his eyes with a calloused hand and he gently pushed you behind him to use his body as a makeshift shield. As soon as the breeze stopped, his grip on your arm loosened but the grip he had on your heart was still as strong as ever.

He whirled around to make sure you were alright and next thing you knew, his hand was lingering above your head. “You have something in your hair, do you want me to take it out?” 

Yuta looked down at you with cautious eyes and you just noticed how close you were. Heat radiated off his body and your cheeks as you nod in approval. One dry hand moved to delicately clutch the side of your head as the other plucked a leaf out of your hair. 

Your breath hitched as his fingers ran against your skin and tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear. There was a sudden pounding in your ears that matched the drumming rhythm of your heart.

“There,” he whispered as he let you go. With a smile, Yuta added, “good as new and pretty as a picture.” 

“Pretty enough to paint?” you fired back with sarcasm.

“Definitely worthy of being displayed for the world to see,” he winked.

Was he flirting? It seemed like he was. 

Maybe, Sicheng was right— Yuta could have feelings for you. But it could also just be wishful thinking.

Were you flirting? Is this how flirting works? 

“Speaking of displays,” Yuta started nervously as he walked you to your car. He slowed down his walking pace and you easily matched it, your steps moving in time with his. The main walkway on campus was devoid of people, seeing how it was later in the school day. The path from the art building to the lot you parked in was short and you wished there was some way to extend it so you could spend more time with him.

“Will you, uh, come to my show?” he asked, his hand scratching the back of his head. His hair flopped with the wind and his unsure grin made him look so incredibly endearing. “I know it’s still too early to give you a set date but I’d love to see you there.”

“What? Of course I’ll come!” you said, stopping to slap his arm. 

He winced at the contact. “Ow?”

“I would’ve gone even if you didn’t ask me,” you proceeded on the path with a smile. “I have to go and support my friends.”

There was a coughing fit coming from behind you and you whirled around to see Yuta hacking into his handkerchief again. It looked more painful than the last attack he had a few minutes ago. His breathing was shallow and he clutched his chest as the coughs continued. 

“Oh my god, Yuta!” You were pretty sure you heard him gag as you rubbed his back. “Okay, I’m taking you to the hospital. You’re clearly not alright.”

He lifted a hand to tell you to stop. “No, no. I’m fine. I just—I gotta go,” was all he said with his hoarse voice before jolting away.

Staring at his strong back as grew smaller and smaller, you almost missed the fallen piece of cloth on the ground. Keyword: almost.

“Wait, Yuta!” you shouted, bending down to pick it up. “You dropped your hanke—” As soon as you lifted the handkerchief, perfectly preserved cherry blossom petals fell out of its hold. They rained towards the ground, decorating the sidewalk with the prettiest shade of pink.

Yuta was long forgotten. You were too lost in your confusion of the flowers. 

“Cherry blossoms?” you asked yourself. “They’re not in season yet.”

—🌸—

Yuta heard you calling for him but he refused to turn around. He pushed himself to keep running despite the tight pain in his chest. Pulling out his phone, he sent quick text messages to Sicheng and Kira with his location, asking them to stop by and help him. The disorientation hit faster this time, causing him to tumble into a bench. He gripped the iron lining as he hurled and for the first time, it was so painful that it brought tears to his eyes. His mouth trembled as he let out a cry.

Yuta tasted the bit of blood that poured out of his lips. 

Wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his jacket, Yuta ignored how the crimson stained the fabric. A butter chuckle escaped him. 

“Pink goes good with red,” he whispered to himself as another stinging pain made its way up his body. 

He felt the branches slowly poking his lungs, climbing a path up his chest. It was just as Kira described— it was piercing like a sharp arrow to the heart. The arrow pressed and pressed and pressed until he was exploding with petals, blood, sweat, and tears.  It was aimed to kill. He thought arrows to the heart were supposed to fill him with love, not a heart-wrenching pain that tempted him to rip the beating organ out of his chest.

This was all too much to bear.

The full flowers and the scratching of wood tickling his throat. 

The lack of oxygen and struggle for air.

He felt it all. He wished he didn’t. 

Yuta wished he was one of the people that found their soulmate with that ridiculous red string of fate tied to the end of his pinky. They were blessed with a lifetime of happiness while he was cursed with what felt like an eternity of agony that his weakening body could no longer withstand. 

Yuta knew you didn’t love him but he adored you anyway. 

This wasn’t a shoujo manga, Yuta knew that. This was real life. No one was going to kiss, kiss, fall in love with the blink of an eye.

Picking petals off of flowers wouldn’t solve his problem. He wished it did, though.

If only it was that easy.

The rest of the semester flew by quickly with midterms and mid-semester projects keeping you at bay. You barely saw Yuta, yet alone the rest of your friends, if not for your classes. All of you shared the same appearance: dark circles, eye bags, sunken cheeks, hunched backs, and glazed over eyes. Your group survived the weeks with a crazy amount of caffeine and not enough food.

 With the school year finally over and graduation season starting, that meant one thing for the college of fine arts at your university— exhibitions. The music and dance departments already had their concerts and showcases. Final showings of the theatre department’s newest production just wrapped up yesterday; the only thing left were the senior art exhibits.

Dressed to the nines and not at all like a struggling artist, you paced back and forth at the entrance of the student art gallery with a bouquet of irises in your hand. Sicheng, your emotional support for the day, stood as you walked the same path with annoyance. You couldn’t exactly pinpoint why you felt nervous— it wasn’t even your exhibit, it was Yuta’s. 

Ten and Taeyong wrapped up their exhibits the week prior; Yuta’s was the last one.

“Are you done freaking out? Can we go in now?” Sicheng cocked a brow at you with his phone in hand. “The others are already inside.”

Wringing your hands together, you took in a deep breath. “Okay, let’s do this.” 

Sicheng rolled his eyes before opening the doors to the gallery. Stepping inside, you were immediately welcomed by paper flowers of all sorts hanging from the ceiling and the quiet chatter of the gallery’s visitors. To the right, you saw a sign displaying the exhibit’s name: Efflorescence. A brief description of the exhibit was placed below it and you took the time to read it before stepping further in.

Snapshots of his life told through the appearance and language of flowers.

Ten and Taeyong, your seniors and close friends, were waiting for you off to the side. 

“Sorry for the wait, you guys.”

Sicheng grumbled, “Took her long enough to calm down.”

Ten laughed, “Were you nervous for him? You weren’t like this for our final exhibits.”

“Oh, leave her alone,” Taeyong hushed the other two. Wrapping an arm around you, he pulled you close, “She’s nervous because this is her crush we’re talking about.”

“For heaven’s sake, say that any louder and he’ll hear you!” you screeched. The boys chuckled at your embarrassed state as you went ahead of them, ready to walk your way through the large room. From the corner of your eye, you saw Yuta smiling by the exit, surrounded by people singing praises about his work.

You weren’t in a rush— you wanted to take the time to appreciate every piece before talking to him about why he chose to display each work. Talking to the object of your affection could wait.

The first few paintings were of his childhood and the flowers that accompanied each scene all had similar meanings— innocence, purity, etc. You noticed that most of his paintings were done with watercolor, which made complete sense. 

It seemed like he was always prepared to paint something, brush and paint always at the ready. The genius basically carried his foldable watercolor palette and pad everywhere he went, not wanting to miss an opportunity to paint a beautiful picture if he were to pass by one. That was another thing you admire about him— Nakamoto Yuta saw beauty in everything.

Deeper into the gallery, you found more familiar scenes and faces. There was a landscape of the fine arts department, with daffodil petals scattered across the canvas and it was titled New Beginnings. You passed various portraits of your friends, their beauty rivaling that of their birth flowers that shared the same space. Marveling at how realistic his paintings looked, you made a note in your brain to relay that thought to the artist later. He captured the essence of each person perfectly in a painting, breathing life into it, and you honestly couldn’t understand how one could do that. 

Spotting Kira’s familiar face admiring a painting up ahead, you quickened your pace to catch up to her. Feeling the light tap you placed on her shoulder, she turned around with a surprised look that turned into a genuine smile upon seeing your face. She released her hold on her companion, a cute boy with doe eyes and bright smile, before giving you a hug. 

“You’re here!” she squealed. Taking notice of the flowers in your hand, she winked, “Irises, huh? Nice touch.” 

“I stopped by your shop beforehand looking for you and an older guy wrapped them up for me,” you smiled sheepishly. “Should’ve known you would be here and not working.”

“My brother, Jongin,” Kira said. “And of course, I wouldn't miss Yuta’s exhibit for the world. He’s done a lot for me and my family.” She shared a fond look with the boy next to her and he squeezed her hand in return.

“This is my boyfriend, Mark, by the way,” Kira gestured to the boy next to her. 

“Yo, nice to meet you, dude,” Mark extended his arm out towards you and you gladly took in your hands to give it a shake. You laughed at his casual greeting; it was charming. 

“Back at you, dude,” you giggled back. 

Turning to take a peek at the picture they were admiring, you couldn’t help but break out into a wide grin. It was the two of them with the flower shop as their background. Yuta had painted Kira seated on top on the counter, eyes closed with glee and hands clutching a small bouquet of blue flowers. Mark, on the other hand, leaned towards her with fingers gripping the table top and looking at her with a loving smile. 

You could feel the love pouring out of it and it warmed your lonely heart. “Wow,” you whispered.

Kira leaned her head on Mark’s shoulder and he placed a tiny kiss to her temple. “I’m buying it from him once this is all over,” she said.

Knowing each flower played a part in Yuta’s paintings, you tried to distinguish what flowers she clutched in her hand. “They’re cornflowers,” Mark answered the question that lingered in your head.

“Why cornflowers?”

“Oh those things put us through a lot— a little pain sprinkled in with their beauty,” Kira smiled, leaving Mark to chuckle lovingly at her comment. It felt like a secret between the two of them and you were invading in their space. “They were what got us together in the first place.”

Her  sentence made you cock a brow. How could flowers be painful? That was awfully cryptic, even a little unsettling but it sounded a little familiar to you; it was on the tip of your tongue. 

“Yeah, they’re pretty special,” the boy grinned, gaze still glued to the person wrapped under his arm. “Cornflowers are my favorite.”

“They’re starting to become one of mine, too,” she returned the look. 

Mark’s bright brown eyes were shining with the love you wish someone had for you. It was a sweet sight, to see such a young couple in love. A part of you was jealous that they found a love like that so early in their lives while you pined after an artist that was so infatuated with flowers and their meanings. 

Wanting to leave them in their moment, you excused yourself with a smile. There were only four paintings left to see.

The first was a design you recognized. It was a more detailed painting of the sketch you had seen Yuta draw on the first day of the semester. A girl was seated on the grass, leaning her back on a trunk of a cherry blossom tree. Her hands were outstretched to the sky, trying to catch the falling petals in her hand. Stealing a glance at the title, Yuta titled the piece, Wishful Thinking. 

Moving to the next piece, it was a close up of Yuta’s hands. His palms were pressed together, cupping cherry blossoms in his hand. Petals and full flowers were scattered around the canvas, filling out all the empty spaces. The bright pink stood out against the color of his skin. You admired the amount of detail this piece had— the wrinkles on his skin, the gradient found on the petals. It held your interest, leaving you to wonder what this piece titled Inside meant to him. 

Yuta’s self-portrait was showstopping. He borrowed the flower shop’s name, calling this piece For You in Full Bloom. The painting brilliantly depicted him in all white, his eyes closed with pain and hands clutching at his throat. The blossoms were spilling out of his mouth, the petals tainted with a blood red. You could feel the sadness and the suffering emitting from the picture and it pained you to see such a vulnerable depiction of him. 

Putting two and two together, you figured it out. 

Hanahaki. You had read about the disease before, one of the artists you admired had it. They created art as a way to tell their story. It was their escape from the suffering, a way to ease their pain, and the one course of action they took to be remembered after their death.

The only piece of information you lacked was who made him tolerate such pain.

Skipping the last painting of the exhibit, you made your way through the crowd to find Yuta. He stood at the end with a polite smile, thanking everyone who attended his exhibit. Onlookers were showering him with compliments, leaving you to wait until the small crowd cleared out.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were sick?” you breathed out with a concerned look. You couldn’t even spit out the name of the disease.

His smile widened into a genuine one, eyes gone soft at the sight of you. “You made it.”

Spotting the irises in your hand, he gestured towards the bouquet. “Are those for me?”

Still in shock that the person you were in love with was suffering all this time, you handed them to him without a word.

“Irises mean ‘congratulations,’ nice choice,” he laughed, trying to steer the topic away from his illness.

“Who?” you asked. “Who is it?”

Cocking his head, he answered you with another question. “You didn’t see the last one, did you?”

Shaking your head negatively, Yuta took you by the hand and the feeling made fireworks explode in your chest. Your heart was beating rapidly as he led you a few steps away. Nodding his head towards the last frame, he whispered, “Take a look.” 

You felt his hand break out into a sweat and you wondered why this last one made him so nervous. Glancing at the title, you read the words Love Me Now. 

Taking a deep breath, you mentally prepared yourself to see the person who had a hold on Yuta’s heart. Unlike him, you thought yourself strong enough to take the heartbreak— after all, you weren’t the one with flowers blooming inside you. Shifting your eyes over, you gasped as soon as you spotted whose face was framed on the wall. 

Staring back at you was the most beautiful painting of yourself. It was a you that you had never seen before. He painted you in flourishing pastels to match the happy look on your face. He captured your smile lines, the curve of your eyes, and the scrunch of your nose in such detail; it amazed you beyond belief. 

There was movement in your hair, the strands swaying in the wind along with the petals behind you. Your hands held a branch of your favorite flowers, half of them covering part of your face.

Captivated by seeing yourself through someone else’s eyes, you couldn’t tear your gaze away.

“Your smile makes flowers grow in my chest,” Yuta’s voice came from your side. You turned to see him wear a strained smile. Yuta’s huge eyes that were usually filled with kindness were taken over by something else— pain. 

There was pain in his words and you hear the ache in his voice. His tone is hoarse, like his throat is unbelievably dry or irritated. 

“I— I don’t know what to say.” 

Everything was extremely overwhelming. 

He shook his head to tell you that it was okay; he just needed to get the words off his chest. “It’s so beautiful and enchanting and it makes my heart clench and flowers take over my lungs.”

“Cherry blossoms,” you found yourself saying. You couldn’t believe this was happening. There were words you wanted to say but you were struggling to find them.

“Sakura,” he repeated in his native language.

“My favorite flowers.”

“Your favorite flowers.” 

“You were never in love with flowers,” you stated, still in a state of shock. 

Yuta released this low, almost bitter sounding chuckle that comes from deep within his chest. “Never.”

“Then, you’re in love with—”

“You.”

“—me.”

Just like the artist you admired, Yuta painted his way through his pain of loving you. 

Nakamoto Yuta felt like he had been in love with you for the longest time. He had loved you before he could even muster the guts to let you know it, to invite you to this exhibit that displayed art dedicated to you.

He really hoped that you would show so he could take the chance to confess. Sure, you had promised but sometimes, people never intended to keep them. If he didn’t get it off his chest, he would never be able to breathe and Yuta desperately wanted to.

Yuta wanted to fill his lungs with breaths of fresh air and just breathe you in. That was all he longed for. 

“Oh,” was all you could breathe out.

“It’s okay that you don’t feel the same,” Yuta tried to comfort you, getting the wrong idea from your lack of words. “I just needed to let you know.”

The sharpening ache that became so familiar to him was building up in his chest again, preparing him for the worst. Yuta swallowed thickly, already feeling the petals working their way to his mouth. His airways began restricting, his breaths growing more haggard by the second. He had so many things to say and he was determined to let it out before the petals escaped. The words spilled out his mouth, his lips running like a motor, “I used to be afraid of being in love and being happy with a person that I loved because it hurts.”

“Yuta—”

He stopped you with a lifted palm. 

“Happiness never lasted with me, the flowers always ripped it away,” he explained, his trembling eyes focusing on your portrait and not the real person beside him. 

“But then I met you and felt things I have never experienced before. So, I pushed my way through the pain just to be with you because I felt like I reached for the stars and touched the sky when we were together.”

His words brought tears to your eyes. You couldn’t believe someone would sit through the pain just to spend time with you nor thought you were worth it but here Yuta was, proving you wrong.

“There were times I wanted to beg you to love me, just so the hurting and the bleeding—just everything— could stop but I was too much of a coward and it led me to this.”

Here he was, pouring his heart out to you with his images and words, and you couldn’t let out a single noise. You forced yourself to move forward, to slip your hand into his. The sensation of your fingers intertwining with his brought Yuta out of his daze to look at you.

“Yuta,” you said with trembling lips. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know.”

“It’s not your fault,” he replied with a sullen tone. You squeezed his palm and he gave you a light one in return. “If I don’t get this off my chest now, I’ll never be able to breathe and I really want to.”

“There’s no reason for you to lose your breath over me.” A sniffle escaped you and Yuta turned to see you crying. He bent down to wipe your tears away, his finger swiping against your skin ever so gently. 

“Why are you crying?” 

“Because you suffered because of me and you didn’t have to,” you shot back with a whimper.

“You couldn’t have known, it’s okay,” he tried to reassure you.

“No, no,” you interrupted him to his confusion. “It’s not that.”

Your voice was so soft under your quivers, he could barely hear you over the loud chattering of the other guests in the room. Yuta guided you just outside his exhibit to a bench and dried your eyes with the sleeve of his sweater. 

“What’s wrong?”

Yuta’s question made you laugh through your tears and at all the time wasted. He had been in pain for so long because he was yearning for you just as you were for him. The mutual yet silent pining took you down this route and it could have been avoided if you had just stopped being a coward and spoken up like Sicheng pushed you to.

“There’s nothing wrong,” you said with the dismissing wave. You willed yourself to look him in the eyes and bring a hand to his cheek. “It’s just that I think I’ve been in love with you as long as you have been in love with me.”

Your confession caused him to freeze in his seat. His brown eyes were blown out wide and mouth dropping in shock. Giggling as more tears fell, you quickly slide the hand cupping his cheek down to his jaw to shut his mouth closed. Running a thumb against his lips, you felt his pulse quickening at your touch. 

“You’re in love with me?” he asked, voice as gentle as the breeze. There was uncertainty and disbelief behind it. Yuta wanted to hear you say it again.

—🌸—

“I’ve been in love with you for a while now.” Your earnest words were music to his ears. 

He felt this comforting rush take over this body and it sent tingles down his spine, traveling all the way to the tips of his fingers and toes. Your confession worked like magic, spelling him with this high that made him soar to the skies. 

Yuta thought you were a witch, entrancing him with a love charm so strong that it brought instant relief to his pain. His heart was trying to fight its way out of his chest and the ache of his airways dulled. The muscle was pounding so loudly against his ribcage, he could hear it in his ears, and he swore you could hear it too. 

His lips upturned into the biggest grin, he felt like his cheeks were about to burst. 

Was this how a requited love felt? If it was, he never wanted to go without it again. 

Yuta rushed to pull you in his arms and sighed when you nuzzled your head into his neck. He shivered when he felt them whisper the three words he longed to hear into his skin. His body shook with laughter as he placed a lingering kiss at the crown of your head, reveling at the feeling of you encased in his hold. 

You tried to fight your way out of his grip but he only tightened his arms, not wanting to let you go. The action left you giggling into his neck, causing him to squirm until his hold loosened. Your hands trailed their way from his waist up to cup his face and suddenly, his eyes were locked onto yours. Just as you were getting lost in the deep sea of brown, his gaze flickered to your lips before looking back at you. His lips quirked up as you did the same. 

He felt your breath hitch as he leaned in to slot his lips against yours and the overwhelming rush returned. It seemed like his heart was racing against time, beating erratically as you kissed him so tenderly. Your lips were so soft and they tasted like the vanilla flavoring of your color, leaving him to chase after you every time you pulled away for a breath. 

Yuta fought the strain in his airways as he pursued your lips again and again, loving the way you felt and tasted. He picked up the smell of your cherry blossom shampoo and laughed into the kiss. The feeling of having you was so addicting— your love was his drug and he was forever hooked on you. He would devote himself to nothing else but you.

The sensation of Yuta kissing you and smiling against your lips sent you into overdrive. There were butterflies in your stomach, fireworks going off in your head, tingles down your spine and you loved it all. 

In the past, you only noticed Nakamoto Yuta’s undying love and admiration for flowers but this was the first time you finally noticed his love for you and it was nothing short of wonderful. 

It was the start of something new. 

🌸 author’s note— that’s it! it came out a bit more angst than i intended, definitely lacked the fluff i was expecting but i’m still satisfied with the ending uwu  i loved writing my little markie and kira in the fic, i’ve missed them! but yes!! that’s the end of my little bday present to myself! i hope y’all loved it! please leave some feedback; i would love to hear what you thought of it!! i think i literally fell in love with yuta while writing this.

🌸 taglist— @danishmiilk​ @hyunjins--laugh​ @littleflowercrown13​ @orange-nimon-cross​ @radiorenjun​ @ncteaxhoe​ @chancrispy​

[starsstruck]

cloudbusting; part six.

a classic coffee shop story. harry is a painter that quickly becomes a regular at his neighbourhood cafe, and it just might have something to do with a certain barista. midnight confessions, cozy closing shifts, and new lovers. 

pairing: harry x reader warnings: language, mentions of anxiety, sexual content words: 21.3k

series masterlist

art by holly warburton. (i have no vision for the mc of the fic, people in the images of paintings i use are purely because this is how i envision harry’s art to be)

a/n: thank you for everyone’s patience as i wrapped up the series 🥺 the final part is here ! very bittersweet for me, i am both very nervous and excited to share this with everyone ! tina @sunflowers-styles i truly cannot thank you enough for everything you’ve done to help me out ily to the moon ! 💞❤️ as always please share and let me know what you thought ! happy reading to everyone 🍊💞

The last time you spent a long time analyzing paintings was when your mom came to visit you in the city and the two of you went to the MET together.

There were walls and walls of art that you didn’t really know the context to – ranging from the medieval period to the surge of postmodernism – things that you had remembered but didn’t really know what they meant. At the time, your mother had been the one excited to go, but the more hours you spent at the museum, the more you found a liking to the art.

That said, that was the last time you really went to a gallery. That was until this past month.

You didn’t really know how long you had spent inside the small gallery.  

Harry lingered by your side for a bit, telling you that if you had any questions about the art or if you wanted him to stay by your side, he could do just that.

You had told him not to worry about you, luckily just as Aleena came by your side and gave you enough of a reason without telling him to go away.

You didn’t want him to go away, you actually did want to stay by his side. But you felt so incredibly guilty and overwhelmed that you knew that you would babble all of this in one breath if you were to stay by his side.

So instead, you stayed at a safe little distance. Walking around the space of the gallery, taking in every small detail of his work. There were sunrises and coffee cups, brushes of fingertips and shut eyelids – everything was so intricate and so beautifully planned that if you weren’t in a room full of people you would probably cry.

You always seemed to be not that far from Harry, once and a while catching his eye from across the room. Time seemed to have flown by, and as the night slowed down and people filtered out, you soon started to realize just how late it had gotten.

Harry had told you after, after what? You felt almost silly, waiting around. You didn’t even know what you were really waiting for.

“My husband is coming to pick me up,” Aleena squeezed your arm from where she stood next to you. “Did you want a ride as well?”

She watched from next to you, as your lips were bit together with nerves that never really seemed to leave your system. After thinking over her offer for a second, you smiled at her. “I’ll be okay, thank you though.”

“Okay,” she returned that warm smile she always had, offering you some ease. “Let me know when you get home, yeah?”

Just as you were nodding and promising that you would get home okay, you saw Harry with his eyes focused on you and a quick pace in his step as he walked towards you.

Nerves bubbled over inside of you, grateful that Aleena hadn’t left just quite yet as he turned to talk to her. “Have you had a good evening?”

Aleena’s eyes drifted over to you, where you stood more or less frozen with your hands woven together, trying to not think too much about how intoxicating it was to be standing close to Harry once more.

“I have – thank you for inviting us,” she shot you another look before turning back to Harry. “Everything looks great.”

Harry nodded with a smile playing on his lips, a little humble nod of his head as he accepted the compliment. He seemed to be about to say something else, when Aleena’s hand gripped your arm once more as she glanced down at her phone. “Oh! My husband is here – I’ve got to head out.”

She pulled you in for a little side hug, waving goodbye. Once again reminded you to let her know when you got home safe and her eyes flicking between you and Harry as she spoke wordless things to you.

As she walked away with her coat hugged around her frame, a small moment of silence passed between you and the honoured artist of the evening before you even dared to look at him again.

“Did you have a chance to look through everything?” Harry directed all of his attention to you once you did look at him. You laced your fingers together nervously and played with the ring on your pinky. The both of you knew that you had seen everything twice, but he needed to say something.

Nodding, you cleared your throat. “I did.”

“And?” He had his own hands fidgeting with each other behind his back as he watched you.

“I love it. All of it.” You offered him a smile. You saw a light pink tint his cheeks, eyes flicking away from yours for a moment.

“Did you have any questions, or…?”

You paused at his question, looking around the emptying room. “I mean just,” you met his gaze once more. “How?” The word was a breath of air past your lips, as you were still so completely incredulous as how he had done all of this. “How – how did you do all this?”

One side of his lip curved higher in a smile, dimple popping as he watched you sheepishly. “Spent a lot of time at the café, sunshine.”

Your heart sped up at the use of the little pet name he had graced you with. “We need to talk. I – I want to talk to you about everything.”

The words were blurted from your mouth, drawing his attention to focus solely on you as his chest visibly expanded with a deep breath. “Yeah, we do.”

“Okay,” you nodded your head, voice dropping. “Good. I – I wasn’t fair to you Harry.”

He was quiet for a moment, nearly a moment too long but he looked at you with that little half smile and gave you a little hum, before nodding his head at painting to your right. “Which was your favourite?”

You were a bit caught off guard from the way he changed to conversation, but you felt yourself melt a bit closer to him. He took a step towards you to stand next to you, both looking at the paintings in your vicinity.

“All of them,” you said quietly, a truthful answer to his questions. “All of them are my favourite.”

You felt his gaze on the side of your face, meeting his eyes when you looked back at him. His lips were drawn into the biggest smile you’d seen from him all night, a breathless laugh emerging from you at the sight of it. “Not too good at making decisions, are you?”

“Not usually,” you hummed, all the ‘I don’t know’s’ that you’ve spoken coming to mind.

“That’s okay,” he murmured quietly, eyes catching with someone as they waved goodbye to him from across the gallery before he looked back at you. “Can I show you my favourites?”

You smiled. “I thought you said that this one –” you pointed to the smaller frame you had both worked on, “– was your favourite.”

“Mhm it is,” he hummed. “But there are just too many of them that I love.”

A small laugh sounded from you, nodding before he motioned for you to follow him. “I really like this one,” he angled his head to a canvas filled with warm tones, brushing of fingers and peels of mandarin oranges littering the surface.

“I started eating so much more citrus fruit after I met you – is that weird to say?” Harry laughed, a bit nervously in your opinion, as you joined his light humour at the confession.

“I don’t think that’s weird,” you told him, observing the painting again.

“Good,” he mumbled, only briefly stopping with you before he started to move across the gallery once more to another painting.

“This was one of the first one’s I made,” he explained, stopping in front of a large work. There were only unmarked figures and bright spots of colour over the frame, warm toned browns and oranges overpowering the entire thing. As you looked closer, you saw the majority of these unknown people were interacting with each other: small shows of affection of held hands and arms over shoulders.

“It was after sitting in your coffee shop for so long the first time. I knew I felt warm, and comfortable there – just didn’t fully realize why yet. Went home that day and started this one.”

You had no idea what to say. He had started these the first time he had gotten coffee at your work? You wanted to wrap yourself in the canvas and live in the peaceful world he had created within the frame.

“I love the way you paint the café, makes me want to live there.”

“Me too,” he laughed, his arm nudging yours lightly to keep guiding you along. It was the first real touch he’d given you all night.

“This was the first time I painted you,” he stopped in front of a medium sized canvas, splashes of blue mixed into his usual warm tones as a seemingly far way figure was mostly turned away from the viewer.

Although there were no distinct features, there was a certain likeness to yourself that you had no idea how Harry had managed to capture. You looked as if you were almost floating above, other figures around you not as detailed or pronounced.

“I didn’t realize…” you spoke, more so to yourself as you leaned in closer towards the thick canvas.

“Me neither,” Harry admitted. “I didn’t realize it was you that I was painting at first. I finished it the day after we kissed.”

He turned back to face you. “I could talk about these,” he motioned to the room around, “all of these, forever. Just want to show you some of my process – how this all came to be.”

“I know I’ve said this already but it is so breathtaking,” you spoke truthfully.

Harry smiled dreamily at you, a small flush of pink on his neck as he nodded at the compliment. “And I know I’ve already said this, but it’s all you.”

Your breath stopped momentarily in your throat, as Harry was looking at you like you were the only person he ever wanted to see.

Though something pulled his attention away for a moment, and he was soon clearing his throat and glancing around the room before he spoke again. “We should be getting out of here soon – it’s just past eleven o’clock.”

Was it? You had no perception of time since you’d step foot inside the room.

“Do you think, um,” your lips were tight between your teeth. “That we could go somewhere, walk around…”

“I’d love that,” Harry responded nearly immediately, the nerves in your stomach settling just the slightest bit.

He needed to grab something from a room in the back before you left, and he was soon by your side with his familiar bag slung over his shoulder as he guided you out the door.

You didn’t know where you were walking really – if there was somewhere he had in mind or if you were mindlessly wandering. You didn’t care that much though, you trusted him, you knew that much.

There was a cold bite in the air, enough to make you shiver as the wind picked up the slightest bit. You were hugging your arms to your chest, feeling almost weird walking with the distance that was between you and Harry.

There were a good five minutes in complete silence, before you couldn’t bear the quiet anymore. You slowed down slightly to catch a quick glance at him, taking a breath.

“I’m so sorry, Harry. You don’t deserve this. I owe you an explanation.”

“What happened?” He asked quietly, your name low in his mouth. “I thought that we were…” he trailed off, letting you finish whatever thought he had.

You sighed, having planned so many things to say to him but at the moment it all left your head. “I got scared. I um, got insecure,” you laughed nervously. “It’s dumb, really.”

“It’s not,” he shook his head. “Your feelings aren’t dumb.”

You had both stopped walking by this point, stopping by a little park near the water and finding an only slightly damp bench to sit on. You kept your eyes focused on the ground, before braving a glance at him and bearing your heart.

“I really started feeling something for you – more than I thought I could in such a short time. It’s kind of… terrifying to me and unknown and just. I found any thread to pull at to let everything fall apart.”

He was quiet, watching you intently with the little furrow between his brow as he listened. “I get … anxious over every fucking thing.” You spoke in a long breath, blinking quickly. “And I let myself – I get in my own way all the time. Overthinking, finding any small reason to pull back, pushing you away when I really didn’t want that.”

“I feel so lost, most of the time,” you kept speaking. “And you’re like, this big ball of light that came into my life and I didn’t… didn’t feel like I deserved it.”

“It’s okay to not know what you want.” Harry said softly, only briefly cutting in.

“Still,” you exhaled. “It doesn’t excuse the way I was so shitty to you, and,” you took another breath. “I didn’t mean what I said last time.”

“I um, I realized that I really like you. And I don’t feel like that very often – there’s a reason that I haven’t ever really been in a long-term serious relationship – I scared myself into thinking that you maybe didn’t feel the same…”

Harry was still quiet from next to you, and you dared to cast him a glance after your confession. He had a smile building on his lips, one that you weren’t expecting to see. “You were worried I didn’t feel the same?”

“Well…”

“Ate you out on the floor of my studio – don’t just do that with anyone.” He spoke softly. You felt yourself warm at the way he spoke, eyes briefly tracing the pattern of leaves splattered across the ground. “Spent all my free time in your café, all my free time just bugging you while you were working. Painted an entire show just about you –”

He cut himself off, taking a breath as he quietly murmured your name, getting you to meet his eyes again. “Haven’t been able to get you out of my head since the moment I met you.”

Harry fell quiet for a moment again. “I forgive you – and I hope that you can talk to me about everything. Anything that makes you anxious, any reason you doubt yourself – I’m here for you.”

Your heart grew ten times in your chest. “I don’t deserve you…”

“You really need to stop doubting yourself,” his tone was light, eyebrows raised as he watched you with a smile pulling at his lips. “You deserve everything.”

“Harry –” you inhale deeply, insides feeling warm and fuzzy at his confessions. “Thank you. For everything. I’ve never met anyone like you.”

Again, he fell quiet with his eyes flicking around the two of you before he leant back on the bench a slightest bit. “You never answered my question, you know.”

“What question?” Your confusion was clear on your face.

“From that night – after we painted,” he paused, watching your brows fall closer together in your confusion. “I asked if you thought things happened for a reason.”

“Oh,” you said quietly, the memory of the question barely there. “Why’d you ask?”

“I like to think that things happen for a reason,” he mused, not really answering your question either. “Not that we’re all born with a written path, but that you stumble upon people and opportunities based off of the decisions you make.”

“What do you mean?”

“Can’t really put it into words,” Harry mumbled, shrugging his shoulders. “It’s like because of the decisions you make, it kind of … guides you in a certain way.”

You thought over his words, slowly nodding. You agreed that you didn’t think everything happened for a reason, with a planned path for everyone. Though you had never really thought about it in the way that Harry had just described it, and you found yourself agreeing with him.

He kept speaking in your silence. “Like, you don’t have a planned path for you but maybe just a small one. One that changes at every decision and turn in your life.”

“I like that,” you quietly spoke, bottom lip between your teeth.

“Like…” his hesitation made you look up at him. His expression was light, small crinkle in his eyes that held a smile, while he rubbed his thumb over his bottom lip.

“Like how I walked into your coffee shop because I like the colour tangerine, and then I met you.”

His words made your heart leap in your chest. Any thought left your head, the only thing coming out of your mouth was a breathy puff of air.

“I remember thinking,” he kept speaking, confessions tumbling from his lips. “That it was a bit of a silly name ‘Tangerine Coffee’, made me curious. But… it brought me to you.”

You didn’t know how to properly respond, no one ever telling you anything of the sorts that made you feel the way you did – that made you feel like you could give yourself completely to this person without a doubt in your mind. You wanted to wrap your arms around him and kiss him senseless, until you were both gasping for air.

“That’s,” you cut yourself off, starting over again. “Harry –”

“Listen,” he rushed. “I like you, so much so if I haven’t made that obvious yet. I want you, in any way you’d have me.”

Your legs felt like they melted into puddles, taking a breath before telling him. “I want you too – I never wanted you to go anywhere.”

His expression softened, and you saw his hands lace together with his fingertips fidgeting with each other as if he wanted to reach out to you but was restraining himself. “I hope that I make you good, I don’t want you to feel afraid – about anything.”

His words sat heavy in your head. You once again found yourself with so much you wanted to say to him and return his affections but didn’t find the words to say them.

“Do you think we were meant to meet?” You said instead, voice slow as you tried not to let your breath stop in your chest.

“I don’t know,” he spoke honestly. “But I know that now that I have, I can’t imagine my life without you.”

His words warmed your heart. “Me neither.”

Now that you had started, you couldn’t stop. “Harry I can’t apologize enough for how I panicked like I did. With past relationships, they’ve never really gone anywhere – I never really felt anything. Nothing past initial interest or attraction. And then with you… I didn’t realize what I was feeling and then when I did, I let it fall apart.”

A burst of wind passed through you again, and as you hugged your arms around your chest tighter, Harry’s shoulder pressed against yours.

“I’ve only really been in one serious relationship,” Harry started. “When I was twenty-one. Lasted for a couple years, but the longer it went on the more I realized it was more so just… easy to stay together. I had just left school, and wanted to move out here. She didn’t – it didn’t end really well.”

“I moved out here, started over. Felt like nothing was really going to ever work out, but slowly it does. It’s odd – when you’re in your mid-twenties you feel like you need to figure out how you’re going to spend the rest of your life – as if you don’t have your entire life. Looking back, I was much more hurt, and lost, than I realized. I thought… that I wouldn’t feel that strongly for anyone again. But I’ve realized that that can easily change…”

His words calmed you. You held your tongue for a second, before asking. “What about Rory?”

Harry laughed. “Why do you ask?”

You were nearly embarrassed about the confession. “I don’t know. I was… jealous of someone who gets to know you like that.”

“You’ve got nothing to be jealous about, sunshine.” He said, tone light. “We were just friends who dated and it didn’t work out. I’ve seen her, I don’t know, three times in the past year.”

“Oh…” you softly said.

“When I say that things can quickly change, I mean how quickly I started to like you. What I’m trying to say is that… it’s okay if it takes you a few tries.”

He made butterflies erupt in your stomach as you told him. “I also thought I could never, um, like someone as much as I have.”

He turned his head so that his gaze never lifted from yours. “Can’t get enough of hearing you say that.”

You held his gaze, watching the quirk in his lips as he brought a hand up to your cheek. You hadn’t realized the way you had missed his touch, until the few quick brushes that night. Feeling his bare skin against yours again just felt right.

Turning your face slightly while you moved closer towards him, you quickly glanced at his pretty pink lips. You didn’t really know why you felt nervous about kissing him again, but after telling yourself a quick fuck it, you leant forward until your mouth pressed over his. 

His hand easily slid from your cheek to wrap around the back of your neck, drawing you in closer as his lips easily accepted your kiss. You felt yourself both calm down and erupt in excitement as you kissed again.

Although, the moment found itself short-lived.

The first drops of rain always seemed anticipated. First a wet spot on the cement, and then a drop hit your nose.

The third drop to hit you is when you start to realize that you are outside without a cover, without an umbrella.

“Fuck,” Harry muttered, head titled up as he glanced at the drops falling from the sky. His hand retreated from you, disappearing into his big ivory tote bag and pulling out a folded black umbrella. “Don’t have an umbrella, do you?”

“No,” you brought a hand to cover your head, a makeshift cover for yourself as the rain picked up. You couldn’t help but laugh slightly, at the interruption of your moment.

“Here,” he unfolded the barrier against the rain, lifting it up over both of your heads. Extending his bent arm that was holding the handle out to you, silently inviting you to loop you own arm in with his.

Accepting the invitation, taking a step closer to him as your side pressed against his. Your arms tightly woven together, he tugged on your arm lightly as he glanced at you under the umbrella.

“I really don’t want to call it a night…”

“Did you want to,” he continued, pausing as he bit his smile down. “Come back to mine? To keep talking,” he quickly added. “We can have some tea if you’d like, warm you up.”

You laughed lightly, nudging him with your hip. You felt a rush of tingles down your spine, a rush of excitement rather than a rush of anxiety. “I’d like that.”

There was something so cheesy about walking arm in arm under the umbrella with someone in the rain, with someone who liked you and you liked just as much. Something so cheesy, something that would happen to Bridget Jones, something so small that you were so overjoyed about having that you squeezed his arm just a bit tighter.

You had no idea what time it was, and you didn’t care. Getting on the train together, watching Harry under the harsh fluorescents as he sat next to you with his thigh pressed against yours.

He was glancing at you from the corner of his eye, a light smile seemingly permanently etched across his lips as he watched you yawn. “Tired?”

“Not really,” you said truthfully. “Well maybe a bit, but not tired tired. Just relaxed.”

He let out a sigh, smiling with you. “Me too.”

The journey wasn’t very long. Sharing the umbrella once more as you walked side by side to his place, feet splashing in the growing puddles that lined the sidewalk.  Part of you always loved the city at night when it rained – everything was still so bright as the lights reflected off the wet road.

It wasn’t long until you were walking up to the familiar building, letting Harry lead you up the stairs and into the warmth. His place was just as you remembered, seemingly cozier at night with the warm dim lighting coming from his lamps. You followed him inside, kicking off your shoes and heading to the kitchen with him.

Eyes darting around his place to take in the place as you’d only really seen half the place last time while Harry walked to his kitchen, part of you eagerness to have a look around also due to the little cat that you hadn’t gotten out of your head.

“Oh!” Exclaiming maybe a bit too loudly in the otherwise quiet studio, at the sight of the little calico that was lightly running towards the two of you. “Where have you been hiding?”

Bending down to trace your fingertips over her back, reveling in the way she rubbed her head over your leg. “You’re just a little baby,” you cooed, ecstatic when she let you pick her up. Holding her small frame against your chest, watching her enjoy the way you dragged your nails behind her ears.

“Not so much a baby anymore – she’s nearly ten,” Harry chuckled near you, grabbing his electric kettle and bringing it over to the sink to fill with water.

“Really?” You directed your question to Harry, not his cat. “She’s so small, I thought she was a kitten.”

He smiled. “She’s just little. Actually is a bit of an old lady.”

“No,” you looked back down at the little calico. “You’re young at heart, aren’t you?”

Harry laughed at your conversation with his cat, turning on the kettle and pulling out two mugs from the cupboard. “When’s her birthday?” You continued with your questioning, lightly placing her back down on the ground when she started to squirm.

“Not too sure,” he hummed, leaning back against the counter to face you. “She was a stray – there are ways you can test all that but why go through the trouble, you know? Fairly certain of her age and I like to think her birthday is in the fall.”

“I get that,” you agreed. “How long have you had her for?”

“About three years now,” he said, as the kettle got louder. “She’s fairly independent, likes to do her own thing but also loves attention.”

“Have you ever painted her?”

Harry laughed, shaking his head. “I’ve tried a few times, yeah. Could never quite capture her though, I don’t know. I’m bound to try again soon, though.”

“Would love to see that,” you hummed. The click of the electric kettle letting you know it was done, and Harry turned to riffle through another cupboard.

You watched him pull out two little tea bags, placing them in the mugs and twisting the strings around the handle of the mugs. You smiled to yourself, noticing he did the same thing you did when you made tea at work. 

He handed you one of the mugs, leading you over to the flower-patterned couch he had on the adjacent living room. You held the mugs between both hands, the hot ceramic instantly warming you.

Easily falling back into conversation with him, talking until the tea grew cold and forgotten by the edge of the coffee table. 

“Your coworker, I realize I don’t know her name – the one you brought to the show with you tonight.” Harry asked, after he told about the various times he had come into your work a few months ago but you were not there. 

“Aleena,” you told him, smile on your lips.

“Yes, Aleena. She would always bring you up when I came in and you weren’t there. Somehow – she always talked about you with me.” 

Small groan leaving your mouth, recalling the various conversations you’d had with her about Harry. “That sounds like her,” you warmed under his light stare. “I did talk about you with her…” 

He shuffled on the couch, eyebrows raised with a silly little grin on his lips. “You did?”

“Well….yeah I did. Talked about you a lot too – even with my brother out of all people and I never tell him anything.” 

“You did?” He pressed, moving a bit closer to you as his hand nudged over your forearm. You glanced away from him, shaking your head with a smile. “Didn’t realize you had it that bad for me.” 

“Shut up,” you tried to push him away, not doing a good job of it and not really caring all that much. 

“Only teasing,” he hummed happily. “Like getting you flustered.” 

You looked back towards him, trying your best to bite away the smile growing at your lips as he did often in fact, make you flustered. 

“Are you not very close with your brother?” He asked after a moment, voice soft once more. 

You shrugged. “I don’t know. We’re just … very different people I guess. I feel bad sometimes, that we’re not really close, but I don’t think we have a bad relationship or anything.” 

“That’s okay,” he said, hand on your forearm now tracing light patterns over your exposed skin, with the sleeve of your sweater pushed up. 

“We’ve tried a bit harder in the past couple of years, especially since my parents split. We both saw how it affected them.” 

“Affected how?” 

“Well like my mom specifically just… seemed so heartbroken for a long time. Even if she wanted the divorce just as much. It’s hard, seeing a parent like that.” 

He nodded, eyes focused on the movement of his fingers of your arm. The little calico cat had made its way onto the couch as well, demanding your attention for a moment as she tentatively placed a paw over your bent knee. 

“The period of grief,” Harry started after a moment, pulling your attention away from the cat that was resting by your leg. “Any kind of grief – it’s hard but it’s important, you know?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Well like – it shapes you. Like I wouldn’t want to go back to the person I was before. It’s good to let yourself look back, it helps you move forward. But you should be focused on only moving forward, if that makes sense.” 

You didn’t like the idea of Harry having been in pain. 

“Yeah that makes sense,” you nodded after a moment.

He continued. “I think I do that – when things aren’t going well I think back to a time that was better in the past, even if it wasn’t really that much better.” 

“I hope you feel happy now.” 

He glanced back at you, meeting your eyes. “How could I not?” 

A moment passed. A moment where if there wasn’t a cat sitting between you, you were sure that you would topple over him and make sure to never leave him. And with the way he was looking at you, you were certain he was thinking the same thing. 

“I don’t mean –” he paused, fingertips still dancing over your forearm. “Did you want to stay the night? It’s late and raining, and well, you can if you’d like.”

You thought it over for barely a second, every fibre in your body jumping at the suggestion. He was right that it was late, it was likely past midnight. It’s not that you lived that far off, but it would be a small pain to have to walk home in the downpour.

And plus, you very much liked the possibility of ending up cozied up with Harry under the warm covers.

With a short nod and the inside of your lip between your teeth, you glanced at him. “If it’s not too much trouble…”

He nearly sprang off the couch. Holding out a hand to you, you let your palm fall against his as you stood to your feet. He brought you around the corner, to where his bed sat in the back of the studio. Just like the rest of his place, it was warm and inviting.

A dark brown dresser next to a closet had some clothes sitting on top of it, that he quickly grabbed and put them back in their place inside one of the drawers. The tones all around you were deep browns and oranges making you feel cozier just by being in the secluded space. You were busy looking around, at the little images he had on the walls and over the pictures you assumed were of his friends and family.

“Did you need something to change into?” His voice brought your attention back to him, where he was still standing by the dresser and digging through one of the drawers. You glanced down at your sweater covered dress.

“Yes please,” you smiled. “Anything is fine, a shirt or maybe a hoodie? I get cold easily...” you trailed off lightly, eyes meeting his and his expression was the cause for your loss of words.

You didn’t really know why, but he just looked so soft and pretty and so happy to have you with him it was leaving you for a slight loss of words.

He nodded, turning away from you again as he looked for something for you.

“Is this good?” After a second, he passed you a light gray sweatshirt, the fabric soft under your fingertips.

“Should be,” you spoke softly, unfolding the material. You placed it on the edge of the mattress beside you, eyes meeting his for one more brief second before turning away from him completely so that your back faced him.

As if some sense of privacy since you weren’t facing him, although you knew that wasn’t the case as you could feel the burn of his gaze on your back. Biting away a smile even though he couldn’t see the little smirk dancing on your lips, you tugged off your heavy sweater and let it drop next to the sweatshirt on the bed.

Next was the dress, fingers pulling at the zipper until the material was loose enough to fall off your form. Leaving you in nothing but your navy-blue underwear that left not much of your bum covered, you could feel the hot stare Harry had on your bare back as he remained quiet behind you.  

Grabbing the sweatshirt from the bed, pulling the thick fabric over your head in a quick motion and settled it around you until your arms were through the sleeves and the bottom hem covered just enough. It smelled like him, it wrapped around you so nicely you didn’t think you’d want to take it off.

Turning around, you lifted your eyes until they landed on Harry’s face. His gaze shot up to yours, before dropping down once again as he made no move to hide the way he took in your appearance in his baggy sweatshirt.

“Right,” he coughed. If you squinted, you could make out the little red tint on his neck, even in the dim light. “I think I have a spare toothbrush somewhere.”

He led you to the small washroom, walking through the open door and bent down to search in the cupboard that sat under the sink while you watched from the doorframe.

With a small ‘aha’ muttered past his lips, he rose to stand in front of you with a green toothbrush in its cardboard and plastic packaging. He wordlessly opened it for you, tearing the cardboard from the back until the brush was free and ready for you to use.

“Did you need anything else?” He murmured, shifting forward so that he was practically pressed against you in the doorway of the washroom.

Wordlessly shaking your head, your gaze locked with his until he stepped past you so that you could further enter the room and shut the door.

You easily found his toothpaste next to his brush that sat in a little ceramic cup on the counter. After brushing your teeth, you casually searched through his drawers, picking up miscellaneous objects and placing them back in their spots until you found a little pot of moisturizer.

Washing your face and patting small dots of the cream just around your eyes, you glanced over the rest of his possessions in the washroom with a little casual snoop.

The countertop had a few items spread across the surface; a cologne that you brought under your nose, some hair styling product, a little bottle of light purple nail polish, and a little dish that had a couple rings sitting in it.

Realizing you were probably taking a bit too long, you shot one last glance in the mirror before heading out from the bathroom.

You found Harry picking up some stray clothes from on top of his dresser and folding them back into the drawers. He turned around at the sound of your footsteps on the floor, lips turning into a smile as you neared him.

“Good?” He checked, as your fingertips wove nervously together.

“Yes,” grinning back at him, “thank you.”

His turn in the washroom, you didn’t know what to do while you waited. Obviously sliding into bed was the answer, but for whatever reason you felt it best to wait for him to come back. Instead, you walked around the space near his bed, looking at various things he had on the walls and resting on his shelves.

Head tilting to read the titles of the books sitting on his shelf, finding primarily books on artists – some you had heard of but most you hadn’t. Fingertips skimming over the spines of the books, plucking a thin one with a title you were fairly sure was in French. Delicately flipping through the pages, pages of small bits of texts surrounded with little black and white drawings. Everything was in the foreign language to you, though you stopped on a page when you caught the little scribble of English words on the page.

“…they go even farther perhaps, towards the unknown, into the light and joy.”

You didn’t know what to make of it, not having the context of what the rest of the words were saying but you simply enjoyed this phrase paired with the sketches of a couple and dark waters.

“What ya’ looking at?” His voice behind you caught you a bit off guard, feeling as if you had been caught doing something you weren’t supposed to do.

Turning around, you held up the book still in your hands. “Sorry,” you weren’t sure why you were apologizing. “Was just looking at your books.”

Harry walked over to where you were standing, taking a look at the book that you held. “It’s nice, no?” He hummed, taking hold of the book when you extended it out to him. “It was a gift – feels a bit lost on me though since I haven’t had the time to flip through and translate everything. I do really like these artists though.”

“Who wrote it?”

“An artist from the twentieth century – or actually parts of it were written with their partner too. It’s essentially all about the story of their love. I’ve looked up translations for a few things here and there, this one here,” he pointed to the page you’d opened it on. “I really like it.”

You nodded with a small hum, squinting to re read the words on the page once more.

“It’s just – beautiful, y’know? Going into the unknown, with the one you love.”

Still staring at the book in his hands thinking that he was going to speak again, you looked up at him when a silence fell through the room. He was already looking at you, standing closer than you’d previously realized. He had his bottom lip between his teeth, eyes clear as they seemed to scan your every thought.

Something about standing in a warm cozy room while the rain poured outside, reading stories of love with a man who had recently declared his affections for you. Something about it that made a warmth spread through your chest, and a peace that you had never felt settle over you.

“Did you want to go to bed?” The question was quiet, Harry’s voice subtly cracking is if he hadn’t used it in a while.

You were on the verge of making a joke about him being presumptuous, but you were glad that you held it in as a part of you revelled in the way that a thick layer of anticipation seemed to settle in the air around the two of you.

“Yeah, I do,” was all you said instead.

Harry moved first, placing the book back on the shelf where you’d found it, and made his way over to the bed that sat on the other side of the room. You had only just noticed that he’d changed since you last saw him, long legs nearly bare as his bottom half was only covered by a pair of briefs and a teeshirt over his chest.

With his back turned to you as he turned off the large lamp on the other side of the room, the only source of light now coming from the dim lamp on the bedside table. You couldn’t help the way your eyes dropped to his backside, black fabric hugging over the curve of his ass – impossibly attracted to the man before you.

Eyes falling to a newly exposed tattoo to you as he turned around, not missing the slight bulge in his front before your eyes darted back up to meet his gaze. He had obviously caught you staring, a smirk on his lips that he was doing a terrible job of hiding.

He wordlessly walked over to the edge of his bed, pulling up the covers before sliding his legs over the mattress and settling in underneath the duvet. He looked at you expectantly, patting the spot next to him with his palm smoothing over the pillow.

Silently following his motions, lifting bare legs over the mattress to fall in opposite of him. One of your legs hit his under the heavy blanket; neither of you moved. You were on your side, daring to face him as he peered down at you.

You weren’t close together, but you weren’t that far away either. If you reached out you could easily brush your hand across his cheek, and he could lift his arm around you to pull you in closer. A thick beat of silence passed, gaze only breaking with the occasional blink of an eyelid.

You took a step into unknown waters. “I’ve never felt so comfortable anywhere or… with anyone. So, thank you.”

His lips curved in a dreamy smile. “Why’re you thanking me?”

“Just,” you bit your lips together, voice quieter than the pouring rain. “For making me feel that way.”

“’Course,” the word was so quiet, deep from his chest. “I intend to make you feel all kinds of good things.”

A breathy laugh at his words, paired with a little shake of your head. Though you felt the eruption of butterflies through your stomach, they weren’t nerves and rather were warming your body and making you feel even better than before.

“I’m serious!” He urged at your reaction to the slight innuendo. Lifting himself so that his elbow was tucked under to hold himself up to hover closer to you, leaning forward to press a loud kiss to the side of your forehead.

Turning your head at the action, faces mere inches apart. Letting your eyes dance over the line of his nose, to the dip of his cupid’s bow, until they were tracing the soft curves of his lips.

“You make me feel the same, for the record,” his voice had dropped to a whisper, as you watched his mouth form the words.

Momentarily realizing that you had only gotten one quick taste of his lips that night, that it had been weeks since you’d properly kissed him, you were overcome with the strong urge to kiss him until neither of you could breathe.

Your hand moved on its own accord, reaching across the miniscule space between you until your upper body was somewhat twisting so that you could thread your fingers through Harry’s hair. A light touch against him, curls slipping between your fingers as you saw him lean into your hand.

He seemed to be thinking the same thing as you, as his hand raised to hold a light grip of your forearm and pulled himself closer to you. Leaning down until his nose brushed over your cheek, you let your eyes shut while your mouth parted open.

You raised your head off the pillow, lips puckering and landing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. The hand in his hair was pulling him closer to you as he captured your mouth with his. A feather light touch of smooth lips on top of yours, his hand on your arm sliding until it slipped down to rest over your hip. He was pulling you up with a light pressure to draw you in closer, until you were fully resting on your side as well.

“Sunshine,” Harry called against your lips, a quiet hum in his voice. His forehead rested against yours, while you folded your legs towards him to rest more comfortably as you laid propped up on your side.

Then he kissed you, making you forget any fear you’d ever had. His lips moved with yours, not so much with hunger but with desire, wanting nothing more than to feel as close to you as possible. You felt him lick over your lips, easily complying to him as your tongues met with hot need.

His hands were quickly on you, one trailing over your cheek to hold you firmly over your jaw while the other landed against your middle to tug you over towards him. Mouths parting with a hot breath, barely a second apart before they were pressing messily against one another again.

He was pulling quiet gasps from the back of your throat, swallowing every noise you made against him to hold them to memory. Your hand in his hair scratched along his scalp, freely pulling at the soft strands and repeating the action when you felt his chest vibrate with a muted moan.

While your swollen lips pressed hotly together, you felt his hand slide over your hip, resting heavy there for a second with fingertips treading lightly as if considering whether or not to venture lower. Apparently deciding a yes when you whimpered over his lips, his palm smoothed over the curve of your bum and gripped tightly into the skin, the action causing your lower half to push further against him with need.

Tense air of desire surrounded the two of you, actions growing heated while your breathing grew heavier. His hand couldn’t stay in one place, pinching your skin between his fingers as it moved down to your bare thigh. He hooked it in the fold of your knee and pulled your leg up over his own so that you were partially over top of him.

You let out a whine at the feeling of his touch on you, his hand resting where it was for a moment before trailing up north once more. He pushed his palm against the curve of your ass, your hips rubbing onto his thigh in a small motion.

Your leg over him was tightening around his hips as if holding him in place, while his fingertips played with the edge of your underwear and snapped the band over your hip before they were digging into your skin again.

Your mouths parted for a moment, your tongue tenderly licking over his lips as he raised his head towards you to search for more. A soft moan was heard from the back of his throat when your lips fell from his mouth and moved down his jaw, starting a series of feather light touches before your teeth nipped the skin under his earlobe.

His hand smoothed over the top of your hip, edging up under your sweatshirt and over the small of your back. He was gripping you tighter as you kissed down his neck, licking over the sensitive skin. You felt his stomach clench under you, a whimper of your name past his lips when your nails dug into his scalp.

“God, you’re unreal,” Harry panted from above you. “Make me feel – like never before –”

He cut himself off with a groan, while you moved one of your hands along his chest to venture lower and lower with your nails scratching over the fabric of his shirt. You were kissing up the column of his neck, edging the fabric of his shirt up until your fingers met his bare skin.

His lips slid along your temple, own hand leaving from under your sweatshirt and taking a light grasp of your hand just as your fingers edged around his hips and closer to the elastic of his briefs.

“I…” he paused, stopping your hand while you looked up at him in his hesitation. “Fuck I’m sorry – I can’t now, if that’s okay,” he groaned low against you. You saw him squeeze his eye shut, blinking a few times before meeting your eyes.

“I want you,” his voice was raw, and he pushed his hips against yours to accentuate his point as you felt his hardening length through his clothes. “You have no idea how badly I want you. It’s just – been such a long day – I wanna be able to give you everything you need.”

His words sent a rush down your spine, eliciting a little unintentional whine from your throat as you rested your chin on his shoulder and watched him speak. “And ‘m worried I can’t right now –”

A yawn interrupted him and stretched out his jaw, as if his words brought the display of tiredness along.

“Fuck,” he laughed through the yawn. You pushed yourself up a bit, face hovering close to his with a smile pulling at the corner of your lips. “See? I don’t want to fall asleep on you.”

You kissed his jaw, with a quiet whisper. “It’s okay.”

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, watching you shake with a little laugh. “I… I’ve never wanted anyone more,” he whispered hotly against you. “I just…”

“No need to be sorry,” you murmured, capturing his mouth as your teeth grabbed his bottom lip and your hand cupped the side of his face. When you pulled away from his mouth, you nearly missed the small breath of a whine that was sound from the back of his throat.

Brushing your thumb over his cheekbone, you moved your head just far enough away so that his features weren’t blurry to you anymore, while you kept your eyes locked with his. “And I really want you too.”

The weight of his hand left your waist, skin feeling cold without it but instead he wrapped it around the back of your neck, pulling you back in. His fingertips scratched lightly over your scalp, a soft contrast to the way his lips so greedily caught yours.

“You have me,” he whispered, teeth clashing when he spoke. “All of me.”

A whimper echoed past your lips at his words; at the feeling of his mouth on yours, and the way his legs tangled between your own. Mouths slowing against each other, a nearly lazy kiss while you both tried to catch your breaths once more.

You took a breath, wanting to give him as much as he was giving you but not finding the words.

“We can… we can just kiss, yeah? I don’t want to stop.” You mumbled against his mouth while his hand smoothed over your cheek.

“Yes,” he moaned into your mouth. “Just want to hold you close, and…” he never finished his sentence, true to his word and held you close against him and kissed you deeply.

Continuing like that for you didn’t know how long, quiet moans and heavy breaths being the only sounds in the room, hands still gripping each other tightly.

After a while, you felt a small bit of exhaust yourself. The light movements of Harry’s hand running over your arm and up to your neck were starting to calm you down in a way that had your eyelids growing heavy.

Lips slowing over his, you planted lazy kisses over the corner of his mouth and over his chin, while he cupped your jaw to gaze down at you. Eventually, your lips brushed over the column of his neck until you rested your head over his shoulder with a content hum.

Both with swollen lips and heavy eyes, you lay quietly together as sleep slowly took over. His hand kept moving in soothing motions from the curve of your shoulder to the bottom of your scalp, the slow and gentle motions starting to lull you to sleep.

“Long day for you too,” he hummed quietly, words lacing together and his chest vibrated from under you. “You worked today, no?”

Gently parting your eyes at his words, titling your head up so that you could look up at him. “How did you know I worked today?”

A light smile grew on his lips when his eyes met yours, his lips skimmed over your forehead. “Coffee lingers on you.”

“You can smell it?” you giggled. You could always smell it on your hands, your clothes and your hair. But you never knew anyone else noticed.

“Mm I can,” he inhaled exaggeratedly. “Smells good, sunshine.”

You turned your head towards him, pressing a kiss to his shoulder with a laugh. “I’m glad.”

Resting your head against his shoulder, lips puckering to press a soft kiss over his neck before you settled back down over him with a little hum as your eyes fell shut.

You started to slip your leg off of his, but a hand on your thigh quickly stopped you to keep you in place. “Stay right here.” The words were whispered over your forehead, quiet command that had you easily complying.

A peaceful silence fell over the two of you, the only sound coming from the small breaths leaving the two of you. The patter of the rain seemed to have quieted down, and part of you secretly hoped that it would pick back up soon so that you could lounge around the following day without any guilt.

The feeling of his chest that rose and fell under you, paired with the steady beating of his heart and the soft strokes of his fingertips against your skin was soothing you in a way you had never known. “Goodnight Harry.”

“’Night, sunshine.” His voice was barely audible, fingers gripping you just a bit tighter as sleep seeped through your body, an overwhelming sense of peace surrounding you as you rested pressed together. 

The heavy rain was the first thing that you recognized in the early morning. The second thing you felt was the warmth all around you; there was the heavy duvet paired with the familiar and calming noise of a heater going off. The third thing you noticed was the man pressed against you, a thigh between your legs and a hand wrapped around your middle.

You peaked your eyes open, trying to gage what time it was simply from the blinds that had never been closed. The dark grey – nearly black – sky wasn’t giving you too much of an indication but you knew it had to be very early morning.

You were almost in the same position that you had fallen asleep in: on your stomach with your head over Harry’s arm and your hand wrapped around him. You gently moved your head, tilting it up to look up at the presumed still sleeping man by your side. Harry looked so peaceful, eyes shut and lips only slightly parted.

You took a moment to think over everything in the past twelve hours, everything from the night before that had you positively melting in the best way possible.

With the calm that surrounded you, you jolted in his grasp when suddenly he shuffled and his raspy voice sounded in the air. “Morning,”

Head lifting a bit more to get a better view of him, you watched him turn his face as well so that he could peer down at you. “Did I wake you?”

“Been in and out of sleep,” he hummed, his tired eyes glowing when he met your gaze. “You’re awake early.”

“What time is it?” You yawned, moving your hand from where it rested on his chest to rub at your eyes.

“Just past six-thirty,” his eyes never left you, as you felt his hand over your sweatshirt move in small circles.

“I’m used to waking up early – and hey you’re up early too.” The small hint of a laugh sounded through your tone and you felt yourself waking up.

You saw his eyebrows furrow. “Do you have to get to work?”

“No,” you shook your head, content smile gracing your lips at the reminder that you in fact did not have to go into work. “I’m off today.”

The crease in his brow disappeared, a mirror of your smile on his own mouth. “The whole day?”

“The whole day,” you confirmed.

He shifted, keeping you close while he rolled over to his side and helped you do the same until you were both lying facing each other. Limbs were still tangled, one of his hands keeping a tight grip around your back and he had a leg still between your own. Your arm was reached between the two of you, moving to brush along his neck while the other one rested underneath your head.

“And any other plans for the day?”

“None,” your voice dropped back down to a whisper, his gaze intent on yours as you felt his hand slide lower over your back. “What about you?”

“None,” he mirrored, voice still carrying a slight rasp. Silence fell over you again, this time only the rain against the window filling in the gaps.

You were about to speak again, when a slight move interrupted you. A slight move of his leg between yours that caught you off guard when his thigh brushed over your covered centre in a motion that could be seen as accidental but with the way he was looking at you, you were sure he had every purpose in the world.

“D’you have any dreams last night?” He spoke quietly, voice low for a reason you were sure to be other than the fact that he had just woken up.

“No, I – I don’t think so,” you hummed, feeling his thigh move once more to rest easily against your underwear covered heat, as if taunting you to rub over him. “Did you?”

“Mm I thought I did,” he said slowly. His hand stopped at the small of your back, applying a steady pressure to nudge you forward; both closer to him and over his thigh. “Thought for a second that last night was a dream.”

“It wasn’t,” you whispered.

You saw his eyes glued to your mouth when you spoke the words. Watching his eyelids briefly flutter closed, your head moved over the pillow just the slightest bit as if moving in to kiss over your jaw but he stopped himself.

“Certainly wasn’t,” he murmured, gripping your lower back tighter when he pushed you over him with a little more force. A whine from your lips was barely audible when your centre rubbed over him with a bit more pressure.

“How do you feel?” His voice seemed to drop even lower, smooth in your ear. “Still tired?”

“No,” you whispered, a growing ache dropping through your stomach and straight to the spot between your thighs at the growing tension. “You?”

“Wide awake,” he breathed out, a slow blink before his gaze met yours once again.

It was as if unspoken words were shared between the two of you, conversation from the night before of “not right now” fluttering through both of your heads. Was now the time? The anticipation was slowly driving you crazy. You certainly wanted now to be it, and with the way he was looking at you, you found it safe to assume he felt the same.

He brought his hand that wasn’t against your back to the bottom of your jaw, somewhat tilting your head up so that your face was angled towards his.

“I’d really like to kiss you again,” he hummed softly, eyelids still heavy as his thumb brushed gently over your skin. He looked at you in a way that made you feel like you were on fire, a way that would normally have you avoiding his gaze but right now all you could do was stare back at him with hopefully just as much intensity.

“Then do it.”

You caught the way his eyes fell down to your lips when you spoke. You wrapped your arm further around him, pulling yourself closer over the mattress until your chests were nearly completely pressed together. Pressing down just the slightest bit over his thigh, enough to have him grip you tight and he didn’t waste another second before he got everything out of you he wanted.

His mouth landed along your jaw, a series of loud pecks in a line leading to your chin. His shoulder against yours, he twisted his body until he was hovering over you and pushing you onto your back. Supporting himself on his elbows, he took a second to gaze down at you as one of his hands cupped the side of your face.

His thumb made contact with your mouth first, softly tracing the outline of your lips with the pad of the finger before his mouth captured the trail he had just drawn.

Every kiss with him felt like the first time, like every nerve in your body was alert and that Harry was the only thing occupying your mind. His mouth moved languidly on yours, soft strokes of your lips sliding together. His tongue easily slipped into your mouth, smooth licks over each other in slow movements.

His chest pressed against yours, half his body resting over you as his chin bumped yours as the soft kisses deepened. He was giving you everything he possibly could, wanting to savour every moment as the soft mutterings of “we have all day” rang through his ears.

A hum resonated through your chest, the feeling of his hand smoothing over your neck warming your skin. He repeated the motions, holding a grip to your jaw. He seemed unable to hold you in just one place, touching you, feeling you wherever he could.

His other hand had slid between your bodies, gripping into the material of your (his) sweatshirt tightly. The fabric had ridden up on your thighs, the hem of it sitting right below your stomach and your bare legs tangled with his. The blanket over the two of you was falling off to the side, neither caring all that much as heat was coursing around you.

Breaking apart for a moment, both of your breathing growing heavier and you could feel his heart beating faster against you. Your eyes parted open, meeting his gaze while the lip that he had bit into was then tucked between your own teeth.

You felt a laugh slip past your mouth, chest lightly shaking and you saw his mouth widen in a dimple popping smile. You didn’t know why you were laughing, just feeling so light and at peace in that moment that you couldn’t help the little giggle of bliss.

He leant back down, teeth clashing in another elated kiss. Picking up right where you had left off, smiles slowly falling as a subtle intensity grew. Your soft chuckles being replaced with quiet moans, hasty fingers gripping at each other as if the other were about to disappear.

Heavy tension floated between your bodies, unable to help yourself from the small jolt of your hips over his thigh. He urged you to repeat the action, pushing against you hotly while your mouths greedily indulged the other. You could feel him resting hard against your leg, the thought of having been the one to get him there just further turning you on.

Both your arms wrapped around him, one holding into the thin fabric of his shirt while the other was laced through his hair. Your tugs in the strands were growing tighter when he drove his hips forward. You felt one of his own hands venture lower under the duvet, meeting the bare skin of your hip and grabbing into the skin. Pulling your leg around him, allowing space for him to settle in between your legs.

His head hung in the crook of your neck, peppering pecks over the curve before he was sucking soft kisses over your skin. Moans no longer being muffled by his mouth over yours, he quietly urged you on with a never-ending series of kisses.

“Really gonna kill me,” he muttered, the hint of a smirk evident in his voice.

A breathy laugh was all you could muster, focused on the way his hand was edging under your sweatshirt and feeling over the warm skin of your tummy. He pulled himself away, chest heaving in the air as he moved down to press a heavy kiss over your mouth. His tongue moved slowly over your lips, pulling away with a tug of the sensitive swollen skin.

Harry sat up on his knees, shifting over so that he was by your legs with his hands still holding you. The action had caused the blanket to nearly fully fall off, now only barely covering half your legs. Your eyes skimmed over his form, dark shadows beneath every dip in his body. You couldn’t help but stare at the clear as day outline of his length in his briefs, seeming painfully hard and heavily restrained by the thin fabric. You had to bite back a moan at the sight.

He was leaning forward again, his other hand pushing up under the shirt that was riding high on your middle. His eyes followed his motions, the heavy silence interrupted when he cleared his throat.

“Can I undress you?”

His sultry tone and heavy gaze had caused goosebumps to rise on your skin, no matter the heat that surrounded you. “Yes please.”

A hand on either side of you, hem of your sweatshirt hitting his wrists as he pushed up slowly over your chest. His fingertips trailed over your skin as they did so, trickling up and over the swell of your breasts. Soft graze over your nipple had a little gasp emitting from the back of your throat, your eyes flicking up to his to see his gaze glued to the new skin exposed to him.

“Gorgeous,” he mumbled, as you lifted yourself up a bit to help him push the shirt up and over your head, before it was completely forgotten and tossed aside. He hovered closer to you, hands following the line of your shoulders before dropping down to palm over your breasts.

Massaging them in both hands, fully cupping over them as he felt their weight in his palms. He wasted no time, dropping his head lower until his lips met the skin he was so enamoured by.

Hot lick over your nipple, lips circling around the skin as you felt a hum of vibrations when he moaned around you. Both hands were all over you, as if he was unable to stop his indulgence in his admiration for your chest. You gasped into the air when his teeth grazed over your overly sensitive nipple, leaving it nice and wet before he watched the nub harden once more in the cool air.

A trail of his mouth along your upper chest, stopping with swift nips at your skin followed by soft sucks. He was no doubt leaving a few marks to keep an impression of his mouth on you. Giving the majority of his attention to your other breast, hands still occupying as much space on the soft skin as he possibly could.

The sight of wet patches over your chest had you let out an involuntary moan, the feeling of his mouth over you driving the ache between your thighs to a nearly unbearable pressure.

“Harry…” you whined, hand trailing over his neck and to his scalp as you called his name once more.

“Completely fuckin’ breathtaking,” his voice vibrated over your skin, as he pressed a loud kiss over your sternum. “My sunshine,” his lips moved over your collarbone, “angel,” a kiss to the column of your neck. “My tangerine orange.”

His mouth was over your jaw, as he fell back down to his side to rest over the mattress. One arm supporting himself so that he could lean over you, the other still resting at the underside of your breasts while his thumb rubbed small circles into your skin.

“A tangerine?” You giggled around the words, unable to help but sound breathless as your head was spinning over the attention he was showing you. He lifted his head to meet your gaze, pupils a bit blown and a lopsided grin on his mouth. “You’re going to peel me open and eat me?”

You didn’t realize the innuendo behind your words until they left your mouth, the sudden memory of the way Harry had made you cum on the floor of his studio causing the heat between your legs to grow. A silly little smirk grew on his lips, a soft hum from his throat before he spoke again.

“Yes, exactly.” His chest shook with a laugh, lips puckering to land a kiss over your skin.

“You’re so sunny,” he whispered, hand venturing lower over your hips.

His tongue licked over your skin, “taste delicious.”

The hand on your hip slid over to your thigh, pinching your skin as it slid to the inside of your leg. You parted your legs instinctively, allowing him more space. “Want to spread you open.”

Your eyes briefly fluttered shut at his words, just as his lips fell to your mouth, kissing you deeply. The action nearly distracted you from his hand that was still sitting low, massaging into the skin of your thigh.

“You have to –” he took a heavy breath, your eyes opening to meet his when he spoke. “You have to tell me what you want, okay? Need to make sure you feel good.”

“Okay,” you breathed, promise in his words heavy. “You too.”

“What do you need right now, sunshine?”

His fingertips were so close to where you longed to feel anything. You found yourself at a loss for words for a second, hyper focused on the feeling of his hand tickling your inner thigh. “Can I?” He brought your attention back to his words whispered over your neck. “Tell me if I can.”

“God, yes,” you moaned into the air, arm around him gripped him tighter just as his fingers grazed over your covered clit. His thumb started with small circles over you for a brief second, reveling in the way your legs shook with the pressure that he had been building.

“Feel that…” he groaned, when his fingertips slipped past the elastic. He pushed your underwear aside for two fingers to slide through your wetness.

Your legs parted unprompted, making space between your thighs for his hand as he felt his way through your slit, no doubt soaking his fingers on you before pressing over your clit. He breathed a quiet curse, withdrawing his fingers from you to push your underwear down. Peeling the fabric off your lower half, you lifted your hips up into the air to make his job easier.

The garment easily forgotten, you kicked it off by the end of the mattress and focused on the way Harry’s fingertips circled over your clit. His head lifted from where it was hanging by your shoulder, feeling his hot breath hit the side of your cheek. You turned your head on the pillow, eyes meeting his.

You think you felt yourself grow wetter just by the way he was watching you so intently, as if he was silently demanding that you keep your eyes locked with his. His beautiful eyes watched every reaction you had and every sound you made due to his hand between your thighs.

Drawing him in closer with the arm you had around his neck, he complied and landed a kiss to your cheek. Moving to the corner of your mouth, before fully capturing your lips with his in a deep kiss. His tongue slipped into your mouth, just as his fingers slid over your slit until one was pushing into you. A whimper resonated through your chest, the feeling of his finger slowly dipping into you already had you clenching. He bit down on your lower lip, sharp inhale at the feeling of your warmth around him.

Unable to kiss him properly as heavy breaths left your mouth, he dragged his lips down your jaw until they were latched to your neck once more. You brought your other hand to his chest, nails digging into his skin as your back arched with the slow and steady feeling of his finger inside of you.

Pushing your hips onto his hand, his palm pushing against your clit as you did so. You couldn’t help the moan at the feeling, paired with his teeth nipping and lips kissing over the sensitive skin of your neck. As he laid on his side, you felt his length push against your hip with small nudges into your skin.

His lips slid lower, just as he pushed another finger inside of you with a slow motion. “Good?”

“So good,” you responded quickly. “Don’t stop.”

“Don’t intend to,” he muttered, listening to you with his fingers pushing in and curling against the spot that had you bucking up to meet his movements.

His lips kissed down the swell of your breasts, mouth circling over your nipple with a soft hum from his chest. Teeth grazing over the sensitive spot, pulling whines from your throat as he continued to tease you.

The deep pit of tension from the bottom of your stomach was building, as you felt yourself craving to feel come undone below him. You could hear his fingers move in your wetness, the obscene sound somehow turning you on even more as your arousal was evident.

His mouth left your skin, lifting himself up slightly so that he could watch you. Your hips were pushing up trying to find a rhythm with his fingers, his palm tight against your clit as you couldn’t get enough of the feeling. You were shamelessly chasing your high, already feeling edged closer and closer to it after the long-built anticipation.

His thumb brushed your clit, the pressure as he worked to push you towards your high. Your nails were digging into his chest, gripping him tightly from the side as you pushed your back into the mattress with an arch to spine.

Euphoric sensation floating through your veins, heading straight to your wet centre where his fingers were swiftly working you over. Pumping the two inside you in fast motions, hitting the post along your walls that had you biting your lip so hard you were sure to taste a sting of blood.

“I’m gonna cum,” you moaned, voice breaking out of a whisper as you couldn’t help the raise in tone. You felt good, overwhelmingly so and you wanted nothing more than to feel yourself come undone over Harry’s hand.

“Please, do” his voice was low, hoarse. “I wanna feel you.”

You whimpered at his words, eyes shutting tighter with moans leaving your mouth at the pleasure shooting down your legs and up your spine.

A hum was sound from his throat, he spoke a small “love” in an attempt to grab your attention.

“Look at me.”

Complying at the roughness in his voice, your eyelids parting open to watch him with parted lips and clammy skin. His eyes were dark, intent on your every breath. Arm flexing as his fingers quickly fucked you, while your hand grabbed his bicep tightly when you felt you couldn’t hold it in anymore.

His pace was quick, deep and calculated, noticing what moves he did that made you moan. It was so intensely attractive to you, how closely he watched and wanted you to enjoy yourself.

You could hear mumbling incoherently, unable to decipher or even try and listen to what he was saying as the pressure built and built until you were coming undone around him.

Hips jolting up as he curled his fingers, rubbing over your clit while you choked around your moans. You held him tightly, nails digging into his shoulder as you felt like you needed to hold on to him, onto anything otherwise you would drift away in your pleasure.

He breathed heavily while he watched you, falling back down to his side with his face resting in the crook of your neck. His fingers slowly withdrew from you, still pressing light touches onto your sensitive clit causing your legs to twitch at the feeling. “Harry.”

“Dreamt of you like this,” his words laced together, muttered against your skin. He gave you loud smacks of kisses onto your shoulder, along with his soft mutterings. “Real thing is so much better.”

With hot cheeks and swollen lips, you lifted yourself up on one elbow to hold yourself up and face him. He fell onto his back, just as you were positioned seconds ago and withdrew his hand from between your thighs. Wet fingers raised, slipping them past his lips to taste you with a low hum from deep in his chest.

Gripping your jaw with said hand, pulling you in for a deep kiss. As much as he kissed you this morning, as much as he kissed you in the past day, you could not get enough of the feeling of his mouth. Your own hand lingered over his chest, tracing uneven patterns over him.

You dug your nails a bit harder into his stomach, feeling it clench from under you. Almost as a soothing action for yourself as you settled from your high, you ran mismatched patterns over his front. Dipping lowered and teasing the band of the briefs that he was still wearing, your nails dug into his skin just as an audible groan left Harry’s lips.

He muttered a quiet “killing me,” over your mouth, his hand leaving your jaw and landing over your own hand that rested on his chest.

His fingers laced with yours, and he carried your hand with his and placed it directly over his bulge. Squeezing your hand in his, matching whines from the two of you at the action. Yours at the weight of him in your hand, and his at the feeling of finally having your hands on him.

As if you had switched positions, this time you held yourself propped up on your side so that you could hover over him. His hand left yours, soft groan as you freely palmed over the very defined bulge in his underwear. You kept your eyes stuck to your motions, not even realizing the way your lip slipped between your teeth at the feeling of him.

Pushing yourself up on your hand, sitting up with the rest of the blanket falling off your body. But you didn’t care, you didn’t need the extra heat.

You tugged at the elastic that sat tight against his hips, fingertips slipping under it and over the hot skin. Casting him a quick glance, seeing his eyes locked on your hands, chest rising and falling with a small furrow between his brows.

You pulled down his briefs to the middle of his thighs, watching the way his hardened length rested against his skin. One of your hands trailed up his thigh, resting just under his hipbone. A sharp breath on Harry’s part was heard as your other hand firmly gripped his length.

Circling your fingers around him, a soft stroke until your palm became sticky with his precum. Moving your thumb over his tip, applying more pressure as you saw the way his stomach clenched and his legs jerked with a bend in the knees.

Your silent gaze landed on his face, just as he looked up to meet your eyes. Withdrawing your hand from him, you pushed your thumb past your parted lips to wet it nicely. His eyes greedily watched the way you sucked, moaning your name as a beg while his hand gripped yours on his thigh.

Bringing your hand down to circle your wet thumb over his tip again, giving him slow tugs while you listened to every noise he made. Every small pant of your name and whine into the air. You had never felt more turned on by someone else’s reaction to you than right now.

“You look,” you bit your lip with a smile, looking for the right words as you slowly pumped your hand around him, “really sexy.”

He tried to let out a chuckle, the sound being cut with a moan when you circled your thumb over his tip.

Bending down, you pressed a kiss at the underside of his navel while you worked over his length. Kisses pressed following the trail of hair that led south, before Harry grabbed your shoulder to stop you. “You can’t…” he choked as you sat up straight once more, withdrawing every inch of skin from his so that you were no longer touching at all. “I’m already bursting for you, I don’t want to –” he paused, “– I mean, do you want to have sex?”

You leant forward, palms over his chest once more as you found yourself unable to go without touching him. “Yeah, I really do.”

He pushed himself up, sitting closer to you. “Okay,” he rushed, one hand running through his hair. “Okay.”

You couldn’t help but laugh quietly at his flustered state, watching as he yanked his briefs off the rest of the way down his legs, letting them fall to the floor. He pushed himself up more until he was sliding off the bed, your hands falling from him once more while you watched him stand. “I know I’ve got condoms somewhere –”

And then he was walking away from you, with a quick “stay where you are!” called over his shoulder. You did just as he said, falling down to your back and rolling over to your side with your head resting on your hand, watching him disappear around a corner.

He was back moments later, from the washroom you presumed because you didn’t know where someone would keep condoms other than by their bed. You watched him stand at the edge of the mattress, head dipped down as he threw the wrapper to the ground and rolled the condom over himself.

He took a heavy breath, lifting his legs to kneel over the mattress as he reached out for your legs. Large palms over your calves, he slid them up with soft circles of his thumbs into your skin before he spoke a low “can I have you on your belly?”

Easily complying, you fell forward so that your chest was pressed into the mattress and your cheek against the pillow. You felt his hands slide up your legs, over your thighs until he was gripping the swell of your bum. First you felt his breath hit your skin, then his lips kissed over the skin with a light lick on his tongue. Continuing the motions as he moved up, from the bottom of your spine until he was laying on his side right next to you. Touching you all over, you felt one of his hands graze over the soft skin of your stomach and pull you up, so that your back was pressed firmly into his chest in a spooning position.

Adjusting yourself gently, bending your knees so that they could support you over the mattress. You shifted your lower half, his cock pushing right against your bum. You felt his lips glaze over the crook of your neck, face buried in your skin and he peppered the surface with kisses.

“Are you okay like this?” His voice was muffled by your skin. “We can do it however you’d like…”

Twisting your head so that your eyes could meet, you shot him a reassuring smile. His gaze was heavy on you, desire written all across his features as he followed the small nod of your head. “More than okay.”

He leant forward, forearm wrapping around you to grip your jaw and press his mouth hot and hard over yours, just as a moan of your name resonated through his chest. You could feel him pushing against your bum, the anticipation of feeling him inside of you causing the ache between your legs to become nearly unbearable. His mouth parted from yours, hot promises of making you feel good pressed against your jaw before your cheek was resting against the pillow once more while you were silently begging to feel him inside of you.

A hand was between your bodies, he was gripping his length to push over your folds and get himself wet over you. A quiet moan at the feeling, you couldn’t help but nudge your bum back to rub over his cock. He repeated the action, quiet curses leaving his mouth as his tip found your entrance and he slowly but surely edged himself in.

The intense feeling of him filling you had you gasping out his name. You were certain it was a combination of the closeness of the position and simply the fact that it was Harry behind you, as you’d never felt yourself melt completely into another person like this.

His hand circled around your side, parting your legs a bit further while you pushed back into him. He didn’t stop until his hips were pressed tight against your backside, and a low exhale fell over your shoulder.

“You feel,” he stuttered lightly, firm grip of his hand over your hip.

“How does it feel?” You breathed, turning your head around once more to gaze up at him. He moved his hips, painstakingly slow for the both of you as you moaned at the feeling of him inside of you. His head fell down to brush his mouth over your jaw, hot breath fanning over the expanse of your neck. “Feels incredible,” he babbled. “You’re so fucking… feels amazing.”

Your cheek fell back over the pillow, eyes falling shut and he started to pump his hips into you at a steady pace. You could feel him everywhere around, hitting so deep within you. Soft moans of praises were freely falling from his lips, never seeming to go that long without skimming them along your skin.

His hand slid up from your hip, resting over your lower stomach to guide you over him while he pushed quickening thrusts into you. You let out a heavy pant at the feeling of him rubbing deliciously against spots that made your vision blur. Your hands fisted into the pillow, moving your hips in small rolls to push back on him.

He pumped into you harder, hitting dipper as the pleasure within both of you grew. You moaned when one of his hands slid up your tummy to grip your breasts, massaging the sensitive skin in a way that had you clenching around him.

Your name fell from his lips, kisses planted on the nape of your neck. There seemed to be virtually no space between both your bodies, connected so closely it was making you dizzy.

His fingers pinched over your nipple, eliciting a sharp inhale from your before he moved his hand up to grip your jaw. Titling your head towards him once again, not wasting a second before he leant over and connected your lips. Kisses were rough and messy, licking over lips and hot moans pressed together.

He trailed wet kisses over your jaw, and to the bottom of your earlobe. Muttering hot praises into your ear, telling you how hot you felt and how much he wants to feel your come undone for him. His hand skimmed back down over your neck, blindly grabbing at your breasts and sliding down your stomach.

The sounds filling the room were filthy, paired with the heavy rain outside and the occasional loud motorist. It was something out of a dream, the serenity of your surroundings paired with the euphoria you were feeling.

In a steady rhythm, hips snapping in time together as Harry’s teeth tugged on your earlobe. He was making every delicious sound possible, losing himself in the feeling of you. Shallow breaths hitting your skin as the feeling of his forehead resting over your shoulder weighted over you.

You hummed, lifting your arm around so that you could stroke your fingers over his cheek, pushing through his hair.

“Can – can we switch positions? I wanna see you…” you called, feeling his hand over you stop moving.

“God,” he said quickly, words hitting the back of your shoulder. “Anything you want.”

He slowly withdrew himself from you, both letting out small pants of the feeling of no longer being connected to the other. You pushed yourself up, sitting on your legs as you turned yourself to be able to properly see Harry.

His hair was falling wildly over his forehead, lips deep pink and eyes dark as he watched you move around him. His hand was still on your hip, pressing against your skin as if to push you to lie down on the mattress, but you softly shook your head.

“I want to be on top,” you whispered while you lifted a leg so that you had a knee resting on either side of his hips, your hands landing on his shoulders to help him fall against the mattress. You lowered yourself to sit just at his hips, hovering over him with a kiss planted directly on his mouth. Kissing him deeply as one of your hands rested between your bodies, blindly wrapping your hand around his cock.

“Anything,” his voice was hoarse as he returned your affection. “Tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you.”

“I want,” your hand squeezing him lightly in your palm. “To make you feel good – want to make you feel the way you make me feel.”

You moved your hips over him in a slick motion. He groaned against your mouth, lips easily parting and unable to focus on kissing you back as the feeling of you touching him the way you were was driving him absolutely crazy.

You lifted on your knees, chest leaving his when you sat up straighter. Bowing your head to watch the way he entered you once again, sinking back down around him. Heavy eyes flicking back to his, seeing him just as enthralled with the way the two of you connected.

His heavy hands were gripping onto your hips, a shaky breath leaving his lips as you bottomed out over him. “Don’t know how much longer I’m going to last…” he whispered, eyes meeting yours as one of your hands moved from his shoulder to brush over his jaw.

“That’s okay,” you breathed, swivelling your hips over his. His palm slid over the curve of your ass, fingertips digging into the skin when you moved again. The feeling caused a rush of heavy desire to course down to your heat. “Me neither.”

He was moaning when you started to move your hips on his, sliding over his length as you searched for a rhythm. He felt just as deep like this, just as snug inside of you and you couldn’t help but call out his name while you pumped your hips with his.

“Fuck me,” he groaned, eyes falling over your frame, from your chest to the space where you connected as he watched you move over him. “You look so fucking good like this I –”

You trailed a hand down his chest, fingertips falling over your own lower tummy before they were sliding down your wet clit. He watched you greedily, unable to tear his eyes away from the way that you started playing with yourself.

Rubbing light circles over your clit, heat in your belly burning once again. The combination of the deep strokes of his cock inside of you that was hitting against spots that made your vision blur, and the added pleasure of your own fingers over your wet clit, you were being sent closer to another orgasm.

Harry’s hand circled around your wrist after a moment, tugging your arm towards him until he was slipping the two fingers that had been wettened by your cunt into his mouth. You fluttered around him at the sight of him sucking on your fingers, your thumb pressing firmly on the underside of his jaw when you pushed your fingers further into his mouth.

Feeling his tongue swirl around the digits, you rocked your hips faster over him and you moaned at the view of the man below you. Your hand fell from his mouth when he let go of your wrist, wet fingers sliding over his neck before you were holding his shoulder tightly once again.

A surprised squeak was sound from your mouth when Harry pressed a hand into the mattress behind him and raised himself to a seated position, causing you to fall back against his thighs. You held onto his shoulders, an incredulous laugh sounding past your mouth at the fast motion that had you briefly fearing that you would topple over backwards.

“Alright?” A small chuckle laced his word, although when you shifted over him so that you were properly seated on his thighs with your knees still planted into the plush mattress, his voice caught in his throat.

“Yeah,” your own voice was feeble, airy.

It was the closest you’d ever felt to another person, his chest grazing yours with every heavy inhale as his head dipped down so that he could kiss over your shoulder. His hips started moving up to meet yours, quick thrusts into you as the both of you neared your climax.

Needy for his mouth, you pushed a hand through his hair as you searched for his lips with half closed eyelids. As you tugged on the curly strands, he quickly accepted your kiss with one hand on the small of your back to keep pushing you down over him in tight motions. Chests now pressed flush together, you were moaning into his mouth while he murmured small praises.

“Please,” he begged, unsure of what he was asking for, just knowing he needed something. “How is it – do you feel good? Please …”

“So fucking good,” you moaned around the words. Eyes opening, pulling at his hair so that you could gaze up at him. Desperate eyes watched him, watched the furrow pull in his brow as his hips pumped with yours with quick snaps, wanting nothing more than to have you come undone around him once more. “I’m so close –”

“Please,” he repeated, one of his hands moving from your backside and snaking around your front, shoved tightly between your bodies as he blindly searched for your clit. Rubbing quick small circles over the sensitive bud. The feeling paired with the pleas of having you cum around him that were kissed over your neck, being just what you needed to push you over the edge.

You pressed your lips to his when you came, lips wrapping around his bottom lip as your teeth pulled on the sensitive skin. Calling out his name into his mouth, fingernails digging deep into his skin. You saw the moon, you saw the stars, and most importantly you saw nothing but Harry.

Your hips lost their rhythm over his when you squeezed him tight, grinding down onto his pelvis as a moan was sound from deep in your chest. You tugged at his hair, begging him to kiss you again while your hands desperately gripped at his skin.

He kissed you fiercely, tongue sliding over your lips as you barely had the ability to kiss him back. His hips were still jerking against yours, motions growing more and more frenzied as he bit onto your lips, low mutterings of praises and whines of wanting to cum.

And he soon did, pushing everything he could of himself as he came into the condom. His hands never stopped tracing over your spine, giving your backside sharp pinches as he moaned deeply. Twitching against you as the two of you came down together, his head resting over the crook of your shoulder while he took deep breaths through his nose.

He kissed along your shoulder, mouth wet over your skin. Your fingers traced over his neck, every nerve in your body feeling sensitive as you started to shift over him. You were both quiet, other than heavy breaths and fast beating hearts.  

You didn’t know how long you stayed like that, but after a while the throbbing in your legs died down and you were able to swing a leg over and slide off of him. You fell over on the mattress with a breathless laugh, a content feeling seeping through you as you laid back on the bed.

Watching Harry push his hair from his face, biting his swollen lips together as he watched you with hearts in his eyes. “How are you?”

You hummed, dreamy smile on your mouth. “I’m good – best I’ve been in a while I think.”  

He smiled as he leaned down, pressing a soft kiss over your temple with a muttered “me too”.

Butterfly kisses over your skin, a soft “give me a sec,” before he lifted himself up and swung his legs over the mattress, sliding off the bed and rounded the corner away from you.

True to his word, he was back seconds later after presumably disposing of the condom and cleaning himself up, and he pulled on a pair of shorts that hung low on his hips. “Did you want shorts, or pants to wear?”

“Maybe some pants?” You hummed from where you sat on the mattress. He nodded, handing you a pair of pastel multicoloured sweatpants.

You lifted  your hips from the mattress, pulling the pants over your bottom half before you settled back down. Harry grabbed the blanket from where it had fallen off the bed, laying it over you before he slipped in as well.

You shifted closer to him, accepting his arm that wrapped around your bare stomach and pulled your chest against his. You settled in deeper into the pillows, smiling contently as you felt yourself starting to grow tired.

He watched the way your eyelids started to flutter close, pulling more of the blanket over your back. He pulled it off of where it fell to the ground, draping it over you and the bed before sliding in next to you. “Get some rest – we have all day, yeah?”

You hummed into the pillow, feeling him tighten around you as your breasts pressed into his skin. His other hand was smoothing over your neck just as it was when you fell asleep together last night, the action slowly and surely lulling you to sleep.

Harry watched you as he felt sleep overtake him as well, he watched the slow and steady rise of your chest. He could feel your heart beating against him, resonating with his own heartbeat as if the two had fallen in synch. 

Hours past before you woke up again. The sky was a bit lighter than previously, hard rain still hitting the window from outside as it never seemed to let up.

Your bare chest was tight against Harry’s, skin sticking together. Soft exhales were coming from his parted lips. He had an arm wrapped around you, the occasional twitch of his finger as he moved in his sleep.

Moving over on the mattress, slowly waking up as you raised yourself on your elbows to gaze down at Harry. Leaning over him to kiss over his closed eyelid, gently removing his arm from your middle before sliding off the bed. You easily found the abandoned sweatshirt from the morning, tugging it over your bare top half.

Remembering where his washroom was, you took a quick glance to see the pouring rain outside before flicking on the light switch to the room. Uncapping the toothpaste that rested over the counter, grabbing the toothbrush that you used the previous night.

Due to the briefly running tap, you hadn’t heard the rustle in sheets and feet on the ground that was coming from the adjacent room. Harry was soon poking his head in from the parted door, tousled hair falling over his forehead as he shot you a lazy smile through the mirror.

He hesitated by the door frame for a second, then taking a few steps towards you so that he could stand behind you. Wrapping both arms around you with his chest pushing into your back, he titled his head to kiss over your jaw.

“Morning again,” he murmured, teeth teasingly pulling at your earlobe.

You couldn’t respond with your mouth full of toothpaste, keeping your eyes on him through the mirror. His grip around you loosened a little when you bent down to spit out the toothpaste and rinse out your mouth.

“Hi,” the word whispered as you turned in his grip, raising a hand to scratch over the thin layer of stubble that lined in jaw.

“Want to make something to eat?”

You nodded, mirroring the smile on his mouth as you traced the dimple over his cheek. “Music to my ears.”

Following Harry to his kitchen. It was small, not much counter space you noticed but he had a little table up against the wall that held bowls of fruit and a cutting board. He opened up the cupboard, tapping his fingertips against the wood while he gazed at the contents. “I do have the fixings for pancakes if you’d like…” he moved to the fridge, opening it up, “or eggs…”

He turned back to you, gaging your reaction. “What sounds good to you?”

“Whatever is easiest,” you smiled, leaning back against the counter across from him.

“Not whatever is easiest – what did you want to eat?” He laughed lightly, facing you.

You paused, biting your smile back as he urged you to make a choice what you liked best. “Pancakes.”

“Perfect,” his smile grew, as he turned back to the cupboard he had just opened. “Some fruits too?”

“Yes please.”

He pulled out the mix he already had to make pancakes, grabbing a bowl and a wooden spoon to start getting everything together. You went to see what kind of produce he had, picking out some apples and oranges that sat together in a bowl.

He saw you searching through drawers, clicking his tongue. “Have a seat, I can do it.”

“Okay, okay,” you laughed, taking a seat on one of the wooden chairs by the little table. You grabbed your phone from where it had sat all night by the counter, scrolling through recent notifications before opening up your Spotify to play some music while you prepared your meal.

Choosing one of the playlists you usually played at work, a soft hum of Nancy Sinatra coming through the speaker as you placed your phone back down on the table and watched him quickly work around the kitchen.

“Do you have coffee?” You asked, eyeing the French press sitting in the corner.

You saw the bag sitting next to the press before he answered your question, as you rose to your feet again to grab the paper bag and twist it open, smelling the ground beans.

“Yes,” he answered, turning around to see you having already found it. “Is it… good?”

You laughed breezily at his nervousness over the coffee he had bought. “I’m sure it’s perfectly fine.”

He had already turned on the kettle, you realized, and you grabbed the French press from where it sat ready to make the two of you a morning cup.

“Hey,” Harry brought your attention to him as you eyeballed the amount of coffee you were putting in. “I can do that – let me make you coffee for once.”

You bit back a smile, filling the press with the amount of coffee you liked before sitting back down. “It’s all yours,” you said, as the kettle clicked.

He turned away from the orange he was peeling, grabbing the kettle from where it sat to pour the hot water into the press.

You held your tongue, for about two seconds before clearing your throat. “A good way to make French press coffee is to pour a little bit in first – just enough to soak all the grounds and then pour the rest.”

He silently nodded, doing as you said and waiting a bit before pouring the rest. “You –”

You cut yourself off, watching as Harry lifted his head up to glance at you when you spoke, tousled hair falling over his forehead. “Hm?”

“It’s good to pour it a little slower…” you started slowly.

He laughed, loud from his chest. “Did you want to do it?”

“No, no! It doesn’t make that much of a difference, just some tips.” You let him finish making the coffee while you searched through some more cupboards for mugs.

Pulling out two ceramic ones, walking over to the fridge as you looked for anything to put into the coffee. Finding a small jug of oat milk, not surprised at the find as you took it out and shook the container a bit out of habit.

“I’m going to assume that you don’t take anything in your coffee…” you peered over at him as you poured some oat milk into what would be your mug.

“I don’t –” he cut himself off, as if about to ask why you would assume that but stopping himself as he remembered that you make him coffee multiple times a week.

He let the coffee in the press sit as he finished preparing the fruit, turning back to where you were leaning against the counter with an orange slice in hand. He wordlessly lifted the slice up towards your mouth, taking several steps forward until he was close in front of you.

“It’s not a tangerine, but…” he mumbled, a little smile playing on his lips as you met his gaze. Opening your mouth to accept the fruits, circling around it along with the tip of his fingers that you easily sucked into your mouth.

For some reason anytime he mentioned a citrus fruit you got butterflies in your stomach. You chewed the fruit as his hand fell from your mouth, thumb swiping under your bottom lip. The sweet flavour filling your mouth as his gaze never left yours. His hands fell to the counter on either side of you, boxing you in closer to him.

You raised a hand, taking hold of his jaw between your index finger and thumb, and pulled his face towards yours. His lips parted as did yours, your tongue licking into his mouth as your hand held him firmly. He tasted the citrus in your mouth, sharing the flavour of the fruit together as you kissed.

A hand wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to him as you slipped your fingers across his jawline until they were tugging in his hair.

He took another step forward, one foot resting between your two with his hips pushing against yours. He was holding you like he thought that you’d disappear if he let go, as your arms wrapped around him in the same way.

He’d already gotten you worked up, and you would let him take you right there if he wanted.

Fingertips poked under the sweatshirt over your body, nearly feigning innocence as his hands held the skin on your sides, before they were smoothing up until they were holding your breasts. Fingertips massaging into the skin, thumbs rubbing over your nipples in a way that made goosebumps erupt under the sweater.

Edging the article up higher on your body, exposing more of your skin until the underside of your breasts were visible.

“God,” he muttered against your mouth, lips sliding over your jaw as he hung his head lower. “Think I’m obsessed with you.”

Your hand followed the move of his head, as he dipped down lower so that he could press his mouth over your newly exposed chest. Sucking into the skin, hot licks until his teeth grazed over your nipple and you were pulling at his hair a bit tighter. He still cupped his palms around your breasts, enamoured with the way he maneuvered them and the way they felt in his hands.

Mummering his name, you pulled his attention back up to your face and he peered at you with heavy eyes. “Hm?”

“You should push down the press,” you angled your head to where the French press sat still on the counter across from the two of you.

His eyes held a laugh, as his hands fell from your skin and he nodded with a bite of his lip. Turning around from you only for the brief moment needed to slowly push the filter through the coffee before he was facing you from across the kitchen once again.

You followed, bypassing him and grabbing the two mugs that you had prepared for the coffee. Taking hold of the press, you poured two steamy cups of coffee. Silently handing him the one without anything in it, you tried to hide the way that your lips curved upwards by biting your lips together.

Harry grabbed the mug from your hands, bringing it up to his lips and took a small sip after blowing lightly over the surface.

“Careful,” your voice had fallen to a whisper in your proximity.

He only hummed, exaggeratedly smacking his lips together while placing the blue mug down on the counter next to him. “Best cup o’ coffee I’ve ever had.”

You let out what could only be called a giggle, unable to hold back your smile any longer. His hand looped around you once more, fitting into the small of your back to pull you close. Careful not to spill any coffee in the mug that you were holding, doing the same as he had and securing it down on the counter.

“Something tells me that might be a bit of an exaggeration…” you trailed off, free hand now resting over his shoulder.

“Hm,” he shook his head. “That’s where you’re wrong.”

His mouth sought out yours once again as you laughed under in his grasp. He pressed a peck over your mouth, staying close as he seemed to hesitate. “Did you want to spend the day?”

“Yeah,” you responded quickly. “If it’s not too much.”

“Can’t be,” he hummed. His head hung low between your neck and shoulder, butterfly kisses over your fabric covered skin. “Can’t ever have too much of you.” 

You locked the doors behind you, shaking the handle slightly to make sure it was truly locked before walking across the floor once more to head back behind the counter. Harry still lingered just at the unmarked line that separated the customer area from the staff area, leaning over the counter.

It had been almost a week since the night at the gallery.

Your days off had been spent with Harry, as he was true to his word and never seemed to be able to get enough of you. And the same sentiment was returned back to him. He had finally put his number in your phone, something the two of you had found funny about the fact that you went this far without even exchanging numbers.

Now, he kept you company as you closed up the café alone.

The fall rain always caused a small dip in customers, the shop never too busy, especially in the later hours of the afternoon.

“Do you have much left to do?”

You neared him by the counter, stepping past him and into the back. “Not too much – all of the main cleaning is done.”

“Can I help?” He had shut his little black sketchbook on the counter, pushing himself up from his elbows to near you.

“If you want…” you hummed happily, seeing him edge closer past the counter and into the staff only area. “Come on,” you giggled, tapping his arm for him to follow.

“Is this allowed?” He hesitated, making you turn back around.

You shrugged. “It’s not a big deal, I know my boss trusts me.”

That seemed to be enough for him, as he trailed behind you towards the espresso machine that you hadn’t finished cleaning.

“Tell me what to do, boss.”

Nudging his hip as he hovered near you, you shook your head with a laugh while reaching to grab the basket that had yet to be cleaned.

“You need to unscrew,” you spoke through your actions, grabbing the little flat screwdriver, and leaning down so that you could see under the grouphead on the machine, “the filter. To clean it all out.”

Grabbing the still hot filter with a rag, putting it in hot water. “And then you put this,” you spooned a small pile of cafiza into the flat filter in the basket. “And put it on a cleaning cycle. That’s kind of it…”

“What can I do?”

“If you want you can keep an eye on this,” you pointed to the lit button. “When it flashes you need to put it through the rinse cycle – just press it and it’ll go through.You could also pour hot water through the bottom, just to get everything inside rinsed out.”

Harry was quiet from next to you, nodding his head. You handed him the metal kettle, showing him where to fill it with hot water as you went to clean out the brew coffee pots. You worked through everything on autopilot, having gone through the same routine over and over that it came with no thought to you.

Keeping an eye on Harry with a smile tugging at your lips, watching as his brows pulled together as he tried to not spill any water other than where he needed to. Rinsing out the old coffee from the pots, you took a step away as the sink filled them with hot water.

“I had an idea…” you started, pulling Harry’s attention to you for a second.

Joining his side once more, you put your hand over his forearm. “I think that’s good,” you hummed. “No matter how much you clean there will always be grounds that find their way back – don’t worry.”

He nodded, putting down the little kettle as his back straightened with a twitch of a smile. “Anything you say, boss.”

You smiled through your words, giving his arm a little shove. “You got the paintings back from the gallery, right?”

Nodding, he kept his gaze on yours with curiosity in his eyes. The show (your show, as he called it) was a short-lived one, all the paintings were back in his apartment as he hadn’t put any of them for sale.

“Well I was thinking – and this is completely up to you – but what if you put one of them up in here?”

You saw his eyebrows rise in interest. “This wall here,” you motioned to the one behind him. “Is always empty. And it’s big and pretty uninteresting, so I was thinking if you wanted… you could but one of yours there.”

“For how long?”

“However long you’d like – it’d be like the café has it on loan.”

His smile grew. “And that would be okay?”

“I checked with the owner, she said that I can decorate the place however I’d like so…” you quickly leant over to the sink, shutting off the tap before facing him again. “It’s up to you.”

“You’ve already checked with her,” Harry grinned cheerfully, moving closer to you. “Thought this through, have you?”

You bit back a smile. “Yeah, I have.”

“I’d love to, I think it’s a great idea.”

“Really?”

He nodded enthusiastically. “I really do. Did you have one in mind already?”

“Well…” you paused. “I do – the big one of the café. With the yellow and the orange. I think I’d be perfect.”

He turned around, arms crossing over his chest as he faced the off-white empty wall. There were a few coffee stains towards the bottom that no one would notice unless they knew they were there.

“I think so too,” he nodded, glancing at you from over his shoulder.

You smiled widened. “Yeah?”

“Do you think I could go get it now – that we could put it up tonight?”

“That sounds perfect. Would you need help carrying it over?” You asked, as Harry was already walking around the counter to grab his jacket.

“It should be fine, I’ve carried it before.”

You nodded, watching as he grew more excited and ready to bolt out the door. “I can finish up closing here while you go get it.”

“Should I grab screws or tools or anything?”

“I’ve got some here – we have a little tool kit.”

He patted his pocket, grabbing his phone that was on the counter. “Lovely. I’ll be back before you know it.”

Before heading out towards the door, he moved around the corner of the counter so that he could grab a firm grasp of your jaw, tilting your head up to him. Leaning towards you, mouth hovering by yours as lips were barely touching. “Amazing idea, sunshine”

You nudge forward the slightest bit, fully connecting your lips in a lasting kiss before he headed into the cold air outside.

Finishing up your closing duties while he was gone, turning off all appliances that needed and screwing back in the filter once everything had been nice and soaked. You had already started to count the coins before closing, so the final cash out didn’t take too long.

You were doing some extra tasks to help out the opening staff for the following day, when a rattle of a knock was heard on the glass of the front door.

Jumping in your skin at first at the surprising noise, quickly calming down when you saw Harry waving at you through the window. Fast step over to the door, you propped it open for him so that he could slide the bigger than you remembered canvas inside.

He had it wrapped in brown paper to protect the outside, leaning it over the wall by the door as he ran a hand through his hair that had fallen over his forehead.

“That was fast,” you said, making sure you re-locked the door after letting him in.

“It’s close by,” he shrugged, grabbing hold of the wrapped canvas once more as you helped him bring it around the counter. “Are you all done with everything?”

“Yes – and I texted my boss and she said it's no problem to stay a bit later to put this up tonight.”

You grabbed the small folding step stool from the back, along with the tool kit that you hoped contained everything that was needed.

“Here we go,” you placed the box over the counter. “What did you need?”

“Screws, if you have them.” He hovered close next to you, watching as you rifled through the various things. “They’re better at holding up canvases – more stable.”

“Aha,” finding a little bag that contained a couple dozen screws, all of various lengths and sizes. Harry fished out a few of them, deciding that three should be enough for the frame to hang off of.

You watched as he vaguely measured out the wall and where to place the screws, promising that he knew what he was doing and wouldn’t end up with unnecessary holes in the wall.

Lifting yourself up to sit over the counter as he got the screws into the wall, occasionally leaning forward to hand him whatever he needed. Once he was done getting the wall ready, you watched as he hoisted the painting up in order to hang it up evenly.

“Does that look good?” He called with a glance over his shoulder, prompting you to step back and see if it sat leveled over the wall.

“Move it over a bit to the left,” you called, seeing as he followed your suggestion. “That’s good.”

He hopped off the short step ladder, joining your side to check how the painting looked on the wall. “It looks really good up there.”

You simply nodded, admiring the way it already made the space warmer. It was large, covering a good chunk of the otherwise bland space.

“What gave you the idea?”

Falling to the side to rest your hip against the counter, Harry followed your motions as if you were tethered together and he couldn’t stand being too far away.

“It’s kind of a full circle – no?” You hummed, resting a hand over the counter that he quickly picked up in his, mindlessly playing with your hand as you spoke. “I mean the first time you came in, you asked me how to get your art up there. And now…”

Trailing off, the thought finishing itself as you had gotten one of his paintings on the walls indefinitely.

He was quiet for a moment, a moment long enough that it had you glancing over at him. He had his eyes trained to the side of your face, a dreamy look in his eyes.

“What?” You mumbled with a little laugh, when he didn’t say anything.

He shook his head, eyes flicking between yours and the newly hung painting. “Nothing, it’s just, I – I adore you, you know that?”

You sighed blissfully, a smile playing on your mouth. “Hm.”

“Hm?” He repeated back to you with a laugh, turning around you so that he could face you. His hips bumping with yours, he made it impossible for you to avoid his stare. “What do you mean by ‘hm’?”

He was invading your every sense, a welcomed invasion to you. Dipping his head down to skim his nose over your jaw, letting your hands fall to their place over his shoulders.

“How do you feel?” He breathed against your skin, lips nudging over you. Your hand pressed over his chest, pushing him back the slightest bit so that you could see him.

You played with the hem around the neckline of his shirt, looking into his heavy gaze. “Can’t get enough of you.”

He blinked slowly, forehead resting against yours. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you hummed happily, palms sliding over his shirt covered chest. “I don’t want… any more miscommunication, you know? I wanted to know, just how things are with us…?”

A smile teased his lips. “Are you asking me if we’re together?”

“Well…,” you hesitated, before straightening out your spine. “I am.”

“Do you want to be together?”

“You’re really good at turning questions back on me, you know that?”

He laughed, forehead moving from yours as he brought hand to cup your jaw, thumb brushing over your cheek. “You do it more than I do, know that?”

He followed his words with a nudge of your nose with his mouth, quick lick over the skin.

“Stop that,” you mumbled, turning your head away from him but not having much room to do so as he kept a grasp around your jaw.

“Stop what?” He brushed over your cheek, teasing you with light kisses over your face.

“Just,” you dug your fingers into the fabric of his shirt, nudging him against you as he pulled his face away from yours for a brief moment. “Kiss me.”

His lips curved upwards once more, eyelids fluttering as he leant back in. “Whatever you say.”

Slipping your hands around his neck, pulling him closer to you as your smiling mouths met. He easily held you against him, free hand wrapping around your back. Lips easily parted as soft kisses were shared. Breaking apart for a brief second as he nudged your upper lip with his before firmly capturing your mouth.

Nails tapping along his jawline, pulling him as close as possible as your mouth followed the path of your fingers. Tips of his hair tickling your nose, your teeth grazed his earlobe before whispering. “I’m yours.”

A shaky breath was heard from his still parted mouth, moving his head back so that he could meet your eyes. “Everything –” he said “– the world is yours, know that? Including me.”

He didn’t waste another second, mouth trapping yours once again after your shared confessions. He pushed himself oh so close, drawing out a quiet whine from your throat as his lips grew greedy.

Peppering kisses to the corner of your mouth, teeth grazing over your chin before making a line of wet kisses over your jaw. A Kate Bush song played on the speakers, you didn’t have the capacity to remember it at the moment.

Eyes briefly parting open, remembering where you were. “You know everyone outside can see us, right?”

He paused at your words, glancing up at the slightly fogged windows that covered the front of the café. The sky hard turned a dark shade of blue, bright lights coming from inside of the café meaning anyone walking by outside could see you. “Not too worried about them.”

You shook with a quiet laugh, a brief shove to his chest as he kept you hugged to his body. “Plus the counter hides our bottom half anyway so –”

“Harry,” you laughed louder now, shaking your head. “My boss could check her security cameras at any moment.”

“Fine, fine” he stuck his bottom lip out.

Your fingertips traced mindless trails over his neck, pressing a lasting kiss over his mouth to keep him quiet.

Harry fell from your front, keeping an arm around your back with his side still pressed close to yours. “Looks good up there,” he hummed lightly, nodding his head towards the painting.

“You painted it.” You followed his eyeline, glancing up at the large canvas.

“But you inspired it – really mean it you know.”

“Mean what?”

“The world is yours.”

Your head fell against his shoulder, taking a moment to rest together as both of you faced the painting. Arms crossing as you held each other close, the warm light of the café flowing through the windows and to the street outside.

The two of you nearly mirrored the painting that hung proudly, soft touches of affection that could only be seen from outside if someone was really paying attention. If one were to be walking past on the street, they would see nothing but a warm reflection of growing love. And just as the title of the painting: you could stay there for hours. And you did.

la fin. (for now).

thank you to everyone who has read and enjoyed my little story, it really means the world to me💞  come by and chat if you’d like, and until next time !

[scandalsavagefanfic]

2/2 Also I have a question does anyone from Jason's harem have feelings for him, or they all just here for pretty boytoy?

I’m answering part 2 of this question first because I have some ideas for part 1. 

Short answer is, yes. Most of them actually care about him in one way or another. Not people like Lex of course. Slade doesn’t have feelings for Jason but he likes the kid as much as he likes anyone. But the Justice League love him and they’re very protective. The al Ghuls love him. Ra’s has more romantic interest than Talia but they’d both kill someone for hurting him.

And of course a certain Green Lantern gets sucked in, despite his best efforts.

Which brings me to the long answer. Here’s the first of two chapters about how Jason’s harem actually appreciates him for more than just his sexy skills.

PART 1     PART 2     PART 3

Part 4 - Read All Parts on AO3!!!

Words: 2085

Warnings: None

Nothing explicit in this chapter. Just softness. 

_____________________________________________

Kyle racks up a startling number of favors owed in a startlingly short amount of time.

If he’s honest with himself–which he generally tries to avoid on principle; if you can’t lie to yourself, what’s the point?–he might be more interested than he likes to let on. But he assures himself over and over that he’s not doing anything that everyone else isn’t doing. 

Hell, even Hal is hooking up with Jason. 

Though… Kyle doesn’t think Jason is purposefully trying to give Wayne a heart attack, he’s just doing what he needs and wants to do. But Kyle is positive Hal is definitely fucking with Batman as much as he fucking Jason. Kyle would bet his tiny apartment on the fact that at least 25% of the attraction for his predecessor is sticking it to the Bat.

Alright… maybe Jason does get a little joy out of Wayne’s discomfort.

That said, no matter what he tells himself, Kyle is all too aware of the fact that Jason gets something out of every rendezvous.

Except the ones with him.

They both know the favors were just an excuse, even if neither of them would admit it. 

It takes months before Jason finally starts calling them in. And when he does it’s in small ways. 

Requests for backup are expected when they come. 

But then Jason uses one to ask Kyle to pick up take out from Jason’s favorite hole in the wall in Hong Kong “on his way over”.

He uses another just to get to see Oa–the Guardians were not thrilled to have a “tourist”–and Kyle found it was actually enjoyable showing Jason around. He was amused and a pleasantly surprised when Jason hit it off easily with Kilowag. Far less surprised (and far less amusing) when they visited Guy and Arkillo and it was like the three of them had known each other for years.

Of all the little things Jason uses his favors for, Kyle’s favorites are the massages. They almost always lead to more and it hasn’t escaped Kyle’s attention that when they do, Jason doesn’t count it.

Even when it doesn’t lead to a round of increasingly… affectionate sex, he still gets to work pleasantly scented oil into the astounding number of giant knots plaguing the rippling muscle under Jason’s warm, scarred skin.

Both scenarios usually end the same way too. With Jason dozing off and snuggling close as Kyle uses his ring to get the lights.

He’s reasonably certain that none of Jason’s other arrangements get to stay the night.

They’re both intelligent, capable men. They know what this is. What it’s become. What it could morph into.

But Kyle’s too stubborn to voice it and Jason is too, even if he wasn’t cripplingly insecure about shit like this. 

Still, it hadn’t really hit him how bad he has it until now. Until he slowly crawled out of bed, careful not to wake the other man, showered, and exits the bathroom to what he can only describe as an ethereal view.

Jason is laying on his front, arms tucked under the pillow, breathing slowly and evenly. His mouth is slightly opened, a small dark spot on the pillowcase where he’s drooled a little. The sunlight pours into the room between the opened slats of the blinds. One band illuminates the mop of wild black curls, making the thinner edges glow golden like a halo. Several more stretch across the width of his broad shoulders, his rib-cage, his tapered waist. The soft cotton sheet has slid low, sitting atop the perfectly rounded rise of Jason’s butt, the sea-green edge perfectly angled with the blade of light. The last one shines warm and orange over his toes, peeking out from under the soft cotton sheet.

Sketching is like breathing to Kyle. He’ll doodle on napkins or receipts, anything with a little space, of anything with a little beauty. 

He doesn’t pay much attention to the paper he swipes from Jason’s open file folder. Just enough to note that there was nothing on the back. 

That’s how he finds himself drawing Jason while he sleeps. Painstakingly smoothing over the line for the arch of Jason’s spine, the curve of his ass. Lovingly capturing the shape of his lips, the thick, dark fan of his eyelashes. 

It’s while he carefully adds every scar from memory that Kyle realizes just how deep he’s gone. 

His hand goes still and he glances up to Jason’s face with the surprise of the sudden understanding. 

Then he jumps so hard he drags the pencil through the drawing. 

Jason is laying there awake, bright eyes watching but otherwise still as he was when Kyle started.

“Jesus,” Kyle hisses, trying to collect himself. “Scared me half to death. How long have you been awake?”

Not very long if the soft, groggy smile Jason gives him is any indication.

“Just a couple of minutes,” Jason answers, voice husky from sleep (and the way Kyle made him scream last night). 

Kyle cringes internally. A couple of minutes is a long freaking time to not notice. 

“You had your focused face on,” Jason continues, shifting a little to stretch like a cat. “I didn’t want to bother you.”

“My what now?”

Jason turns onto his side, clearly in no rush to get out of bed, and smirks at him.

“When you’re really into what you’re doing, your brow pinches and you either chew your lip or, honest to god, stick your tongue out. It’s cute.”

Kyle scowls. “Puppies are cute. I’m a badass, space cop.”

With a snort, Jason sits up against the headboard and runs his fingers through his hair. “Whatever you say, officer.”

And fuck if that doesn’t give Kyle all kinds of ideas.

“What were you doing?” Jason asks, attention trained down at the book Kyle was using as a hard surface.

“Uh… nothing.” He tries to think of how he can hide it from the other man. Even to an untrained eye, the emotion in it is obvious. And Jason knows a surprising amount about art. Kyle would much rather never become more than this than risk losing what they have.

Jason’s smirk turns mischievous and there’s an amused glint in his eyes. “Drawing me like one of your French girls?" 

The little huff of laughter Kyle manages does nothing to hide the rapid shot of color to his cheeks. His "no” is weak and unconvincing. 

“Well, come on, Rayner. Let me see?”

Kyle’s breath freezes in his chest and he hesitates, clutching the sheet of cheep printer paper closer to him.

“Dude, I’m sure it’s not that bad,” Jason taunts.

It’s not bad at all. That’s the problem.

It might be the best thing Kyle’s ever drawn.

He swallows hard and braces himself. Then gets up and sits on the edge of the bed as he hands it over. 

Watching the smile slip from Jason’s face feels like getting punched in the gut. 

It’s over now. Kyle got too serious. The Pit left Jason with something he can’t fully control and he doesn’t want or need a partner. It doesn’t matter that Kyle would understand that Jason would still have to… do what he does. It doesn’t matter because the last thing Jason needs is some useless serious relationship cramping his style.

“Is… is this supposed to be me?" 

The question surprises Kyle. Because it’s painfully obvious that the portrait is of Jason, down to the almost unnoticeable freckles across his nose and cheekbones. And the question is asked so timidly as Jason stares down at the sheet with wide eyes. Not an ounce of recognition. 

"I couldn’t have made it more obviously you if it was a photo,” Kyle says lightly, hoping head off the worst of things.

But Jason stares for long moments, expression confused, until finally he pulls his eyes away to look up at Kyle.

“But I… I don’t look like this.”

Kyle blinks at him. “What? I mean… you don’t have a big, dark pencil line through you but–”

“No… I mean… this is… this is so…” He huffs. “It’s too… pretty. Didn’t really think you were the type to romanticize the subject. Sure you didn’t have Dickface on the mind?”

It’s defensive. Using humor to armor himself. Kyle can practically see the walls going up in Jason’s mind as he tries to rationalize things. As he tries to make what he’s seeing on the paper–what Kyle sees–fit with his own idea of himself. 

Leaning in, Kyle takes Jason’s chin in one hand and pushes the book with the sheet of paper down to Jason’s lap while forcing Jason to look up at him.

“This is you, Jason. Every scar, every freckle, every bruise from last night. Just you. No one else.”

“But…”

“No. It’s beautiful because you’re beautiful,” Kyle says gently. Then he smirks. “And because I’m really talented. But I promise. That’s exactly what you look like.”

“To you maybe,” he grumbles, trying to turn away. 

Kyle tightens his grip and gives a little tug to get Jason meet his eyes again.

“Yes. To me." 

Jason’s eyes widen and he stops breathing. 

"I don’t know what you see when you look in the mirror, Jason, but you’re objectively attractive,” Kyle continues. He looks into those vivid aquamarine irises and where once he would have bristled, felt the urge to challenge and compete, he softens. “And to me… you’re perfect.”

The room is deathly quiet. It seems like neither of them are even breathing. 

Eventually Jason gulps and looks back down at the drawing. 

Kyle glares at the headboard, kicking himself for letting things get this far; for having to come clean about his feelings; for putting Jason (and himself) in this awkward position. For letting their friends-with-benefits agreement slide into murkier waters. A lifetime ago, when he did have a stupid, ill-advised, youthful crush on Batman, he promised himself he’d never actually fall for any Bat. They were all bad news in one way or another.

So of course it’d be the asshole black sheep of the family, the biggest bad news of the bunch (except for maybe the punk kid who’s Robin now), who he’s going to have to get over.

An indignant noise from below him draws his attention back to Jason. 

Jason who is glaring up at him.

Kyle shrugs and splays his palms open in surrender. “What?”

The drawing gets shoved in his face. Only it’s not the drawing. Its the other side. The side emblazoned with the Coast City Police Department logo.

“You drew on my police report, asshole!”

He searches Jason’s face. The younger man isn’t kicking him out; isn’t telling him off. Hell, Jason isn’t even asking that they just keep things casual. Kyle knows he can be clueless about this kind of stuff (Jason honestly believes Ra’s is only interest in him is the sex) but there was obvious understanding in that gemstone gaze when Kyle spilled his heart.

“Those aren’t supposed to leave the precinct. You shouldn’t even have it,” Kyle retorts. 

Jason rolls his eyes so hard Kyle’s surprised they stay in his head. “No shit dumbass, that’s why I have to sneak it back in!”

Trying–and failing–to stop the smile tugging at his lips, Kyle says “Oh… whoops” and goes to shift back, put a little more space between them. But Jason’s hand snaps out and the next thing he knows he’s flat on his back with Jason towering over him, those fucking thighs straddling his hips

“Don’t worry,” Jason practically purrs, “you can make it up to me.”

“Oh no. What a great inconvenience,” Kyle smirks as Jason leans close.

The kiss is softer than usual. Less desperate; less demanding; less competitive. 

“And then?” He whispers it against Jason’s lips when they part to get some air. He can’t help it. He has to know.

Jason hums and mouths at the pulse point in Kyle’s throat.

“And then I’ll be hungry so you can take me to breakfast.”

He swallows hard against that talented tongue and the pointed roll of Jason’s hips against his groin.

“A favor?” he asks, hardly daring to hope.

Jason kisses his mouth again before answering, cheeks bright red and eyes averted. “A date… if you want.”

Kyle threads his fingers into the curls that stick up every which way and when he pulls Jason into the next kiss, it’s got all the desperation of the ones before and then some.

“I want.”

[samaraclegane]

hiii! just found your tumblr and i'll probably never leave until I read every fanfiction of the ineffable husbands you've wrote. since you're taking prompts, could you please write one where aziraphale calls crowley "my love" and tries to take it back as soon as he notices what he had just said?

author’s note: how very kind of you!!! that means so much haha, I’m working on writing more and more. just needing some prompts to come through! time and patience, I suppose, are the key ingredients. anyway! thank you for this lovely prompt; I hope you like this piece. (ps, love the profile picture!) :)

-it’s a slip of the tongue. no, really, that’s the story he’s going to take with him to the metaphorical grave, because any other explanation is simply unacceptable.

-he’s absently shuffling about the bookshop, looking for something or other, when Crowley decides it a fantastic idea to reach out and pluck a random book off of a shelf. he stops dead in his tracks, right in Aziraphale’s path, leaving the angel with no other choice but to ask him to move.

-Crowley looks intently at the book. this is the very first thing that takes him by surprise, because he’s never taken the demon for a being with an affinity for reading. he always figured he didn’t have time, between faking malevolent actions. perhaps he was right, judging by how Crowley’s eyes narrow, as though he can’t understand the words on the blurb.

-”excuse me, my love,” falls from Aziraphale’s lips as he gently lays a hand on Crowley’s side, in an attempt to move him aside. it takes approximately five seconds for him to realise what he’s said, and then he’s ballooning up, red as a tomato.

-”what did you say?” 

-Crowley’s attention has shifted onto him. his gaze burns into the side of Aziraphale’s head as he tries to act nonchalant, tending to the books he had intended to originally, pretending like nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

-”I said excuse me,” he responds, cutting his actual statement short, fumbling about with a book nervously. “is something the matter, Crowley?”

-Crowley doesn’t respond immediately. he takes some time to watch Aziraphale, and the latter knows it. he can feel how hot the demon’s eyes feel on his skin, how very inspected he feels. he feels like a cheap painting in a fine art museum, like it’s obvious how he doesn’t belong. he swallows hard as Crowley opens his mouth.

-”did you call me...” he can hear the words before Crowley speaks them, so it sounds like an echo as the demon finally says, “’my love’?”

-he has a brief internal panic that feels as though it lasts a thousand years. he opts for denial, but he knows it’s not in his code to be able to lie well to somebody’s face, so he keeps his back turned on his friend.

-”no, I don’t believe I did,” he rejects the notion. “you must have heard me wrong.”

-”oh, I don’t think I did.”

-there’s a smugness to Crowley’s voice that irks him, yet he understands it completely. after six thousand years of them going on not-date dates and flirting back and forth, he’s finally gone to be the first to admit his true feelings. 

-Aziraphale, in hope of convincing the demon more of his truth, swings around to look him in his shaded snake-eyes. even beneath the tinted glass, he can see the flickering chartreuse flame of his eye. there’s an undeniable excitement that erupts within his friend as the angel turns to him, though the latter can’t decide why on earth that is.

-”I most certainly did not,” he declares, sure to hold Crowley’s eye as best as he can, tipping his nose up proudly, emphasising how matter-of-factly he’s speaking (or, at least, trying to). “I would never.”

-Crowley gives him a pointed look through his glasses, raising his eyebrows in a way to show his utmost disbelief, and takes it upon himself to prove the angel wrong. he takes a step forward, nearing Aziraphale, who begins to flounder, at a loss for words already, and they’re only just about within a metre and a half of one another.

-”what are you doing?” his tone is bordering on accusatory. he tries not to sound afraid, but some fear seeps into his voice. strangely, though, it’s not fear of his friend, it’s fear of himself, and his deepest, darkest wants and desires. it’s fear of what he’ll do if Crowley steps any closer; it’s the fear of breaking down the walls he’s spent six millennia building up.

-”do you?”

-Crowley poses the question as though he should know what it means without any further inquiry. he shakes his head, confused, suddenly feeling any feigned confidence draining out of his body.

-”do I...” he pauses to swallow, hard. “do I what?”

-”do you love me?” there’s a softness to Crowley’s voice that makes Aziraphale, for the first time since their very first meeting, afraid to shatter him into a million pieces. he sounds weak, delicate, almost like he’s not a demon from the underworld, cast out for rebelling against God herself.

-he can’t quite bring himself to respond. in his head, he’s formed a list over the years of all the things that are bad about Crowley. he knows each and every reason why he shouldn’t love him, but then it all seems to go out of the window when Crowley removes his glasses and gives him that look.

-his glasses symbolise who he is. they show his shame, how he loathes where he comes from. they show his sense of self and style, in how he’s made them work throughout the ages. they show Aziraphale exactly who he is, make him remember exactly what he’s done, and yet he can’t take his eyes off of them.

-”are you trying to tempt me?” Aziraphale asks innocently, as though he knows no better. this question makes Crowley laugh, and he draws nearer. he comes so close to Aziraphale that he thinks he might just -

-oh. yes, there it is. after six thousand years, Crowley’s kissing him, and it feels glorious. he can’t imagine how this could ever be considered sinful, for these are the same lips he uses in prayer. the sweet feeling of Crowley’s lips against his own makes him hear a cacophony of the most beautiful hymns, and he never wants it to end.

-it does, though. their platonic-romantic kiss ends when the pair of them part, presumably because the awkward angle Aziraphale’s occupied arms lend them is, to say the least, uncomfortable. perhaps it’s something to do with them both being uncertain whether the other is as willing and wanting as they are, and wanting to check they aren’t forcing anything.

-by the time he manages to open his eyes, Crowley’s already looking at him. he thinks he should be afraid of the absinthe-coloured eyes, split in two by the blackness of his narrow pupil, but he isn’t. he can only admire the demon, in his entirety. for his good, for his bad, for his utmost, undeniable humanness.

-there’s a silent beat in which both of their hearts stop in sync, then the pair of them begin chuckling. it’s awkward in a gentle sort of way, in the way young lovers act around each other. and, Aziraphale realises, he’s just admitted they’re lovers.

-”yes,” he sounds hoarse as he speaks, looking up at Crowley through his lashes. “yes, I do love you. quite, in fact. it’s rather inconvenient.”

-this afterthought, though seemingly insulting on the surface, is understood by Crowley. the demon begins to laugh harder, tipping forward on his toes just a little, bringing him closer to Aziraphale. the proximity makes the angel believe they might just kiss again, which he finds he wants, and he lets himself want it this time.

-though, this doesn’t happen. all of a sudden, Crowley jumps back and, with a beaming smile on his face, begins to make his way over to the door, leaving the shop as though nothing great at all had happened.

-there’s a familiar sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that leads him to suspect Crowley had done all of that for some sort of strange dare. he supposes, logistically, this holds no real value, but the fear the thought strikes into his very core is immense. 

-however, as the demon bursts out of the doors, he does a peculiar move, not dissimilar to one seen in an Irish jig, clapping his feet together with joy eminating from his person. he casts a look back at Aziraphale as he falls outward through the doors and speaks loudly, proudly, as he proclaims:

-”I love you too, angel!”

[danfanciesphil]

Some Kind Of Folliful (New Chapter)

Edgelord!Dan x ObliviousBisexual!Phil AU [CHAPTER THIRTEEN] (based off the 80′s classic Some Kind of Wonderful)

Synopsis: Dan has one friend, and only because he was forced into it. Phil is loud, excitable, and irritatingly happy all of the time. Phil seems to find Dan’s perpetual attitude funny, and despite Dan’s best efforts to shun him and everyone else, wants to be around him all the time. That is, until Phil starts talking about Amanda Jones. Word Count: WIP (Estimated 12-15 chapters) updates every Tuesday Rating: Explicit Warnings: Smoking, swearing, heavy drinking, drug mentions, implied prostitution, broken home, class divide/classism, pining, light homophobia, sex

[Chapter One] [Chapter Two] [Chapter Three] [Chapter Four] [Chapter Five] [Chapter Six] [Chapter Seven] [Chapter Eight] [Chapter Nine] [Chapter Ten] [Chapter Eleven] [Chapter Twelve]

[Ao3!]

This chapter is NSFW. Explicit. Sex happens. 

From: Dan To: Louise 13:23pm Can I have the weekend off?

From: Louise To: Dan 13:24pm This better be a damn joke

From: Dan To: Louise 13:25pm I worked the entire school holiday! Double shifts!

From: Louise To: Dan 13:25pm You also skived off two shifts to go get beat up by some rich kid

From: Dan To: Louise 13:27pm Please.

From: Louise To: Dan 13:30pm ughhhhhhHHHH FINE. I will give you today and Saturday off. Only because you never ask so I assume ur either violently ill or have a serious dick appointment.

From: Dan To: Louise 13:32pm :D thanks. srsly.

From: Louise To: Dan 13:33pm I expect details.

From: Dan To: Louise 13:34pm Don’t suppose I could wrangle Sunday too?

From: Louise To: Dan 13:34pm Don’t push it, Howell.

From: Dan To: Louise 13:40pm xxx

*

Despite his best efforts to remain cool and aloof, there eventually comes a point where Dan truly can’t resist looking over his shoulder any longer. He half-expects Phil to be looking right back at him. Instead, Phil is hunched over the small wooden desk in front of him, scrawling onto a pad of paper. His tongue pokes out of the corner of his mouth, a tiny pink rose petal, resting on the jut of his lower lip. Just then, Phil looks up, as if he can sense Dan’s break in resolve. His eyes are shining with excitement, which makes no sense, as they are stuck in detention with Mr Richardson for at least another twenty minutes.

Furtively, Phil looks to the front of the room, where Mr Richardson is steadfastly refreshing his LinkedIn page, and then back to Dan. He lifts the pad up to show him, beaming. Centre of the page is a pencil drawing of Dan, slumped over his desk, forehead resting on his hands, in the exact position he’d been in until about a minute ago. Dan rolls his eyes, mouthing ‘creeper’.

Phil puts the pad down, then holds up an index finger to Dan, a signal for him to wait a moment. Dan sighs, pretending that keeping his eyes trained on Phil is some great effort. Truthfully, he’s incredibly grateful for Phil’s presence here. Dan has spent a great deal of time in this very chair, at this very desk, wishing for any kind of distraction or entertainment. Usually he wishes for something banal, like Mr Richardson’s pen exploding, or the stoner kid who sometimes sits in the corner desk to catch his dreads on fire with the lighter he’s always flicking under the desk. But having Phil here is a miracle that Dan had never so much as dared to dream about. He’s a gorgeous beacon of pure light, sat just the other side of the room, all too happy to return Dan’s mildly creepy staring. He holds the pad up to Dan again; this time, there’s a message on it.

Still up for coming over for the weekend? After work obvs. 

P.S ur cute 

xx

Shaking his head, Dan mouths ‘no work today’. The joy of this news lights Phil’s eyes an even more radiant blue. Dan lets the smile teetering on the edge of his mouth fall across his face. A cough startles Dan out of the moment, and he turns to the front of the classroom in time to watch as Mr Richardson strides down the few desks towards Phil. He lifts the pad close to his nose to read it, then sighs heavily.

“Touching,” he says, drily. “But I think Daniel can wait to hear how ‘cute’ he is until after detention, don’t you?”

Mr Richardson lets the pad fall to Phil’s desk with a loud thwack. It makes Phil jump in his seat, adorably.

“How’d you know it was directed at me, Sir?” Dan finds himself asking. It’s too tempting to resist; that little pulsing vein in Mr Richardson’s neck is pounding away as always, just begging to be engorged. “I think he was angling it your way.”

Mr Richardson whirls around to face him. “Would you like for me to double your sentence, Mr Howell?”

“He’s just kidding, Sir,” Phil jumps in quickly, which is probably good as Dan had been about to suggest he and Mr Richardson skip the courting stage and go straight back to his place. “I won’t write any more notes. Sorry.”

With what seems to be a great deal of effort, Mr Richardson lets go of the tension in his shoulders and nods to Phil, then makes his way back to the front of class. Phil sends Dan a look, which obviously reads ‘stop being a prat’, so Dan smirks down at the homophobic graffiti on his desk, and tries to be a good student for the next eighteen minutes.

*

On his way out of detention, Dan is so steadfastly trying to keep his head down and not meet Mr Richardson’s eye that he barrels straight into Megan, the girl he sees in here most days. Her jet black hair is pulled into two ponytails either side of her head; it’s too short to be tied up properly, so they stick out like bundles of feathers, secured by bright pink and purple bobbles. If Dan cared enough to ask her about her unusual style choices - the shiny lime green Doc Martens, the string of ropey bracelets and sweatbands up her wrists, the chunky neon beads she wears around her neck when she can get away with it - he imagines she might say she’s ‘Scene’. It doesn’t seem to bother her that the era of the Scene Kid has, thankfully, for most, been abandoned in the late noughties.

“Shit, sorry,” Dan tells her when he crashes straight into her, hot on Phil’s tail.

She glowers at him. Her kohl eyeliner is thick and scary-looking. “Sorry? That’s rich.”

“Uh, what?”

“You and the art ponce?” She jabs a thumb towards the classroom door, where Phil is lurking, watching Megan with a startled expression. “Really?”

Bewildered by her sudden hostility when he’s spoken less than a sentence to Megan in all the time they’ve been stuck in detention together, Dan just stares. 

“Is there some kind of a problem?”

“After all this build-up between us, you go and date a random dude?”

“Build up?” Dan’s stare becomes a little panicked. He glances at Phil, who appears to be sniggering into his hand.

“You mean to tell me that you're in detention every time I am by chance?” She sneers derisively. “Pull the other one.”

“Um, Megan, is it?” Dan asks tentatively, taking a hasty but hopefully discreet step backwards.

She claps loudly. “Round of applause for the acting skill. Dan, is it?”

“Right, yeah.” He swallows. “I’m sorry but… I’m gay. Did you think…”

Something falls across her pale face, as if she’s been struck. “Gay,” she repeats, voice at a far more reasonable volume now. Her thick eyeliner just looks panda-ish, suddenly. She tugs her chewed cardigan sleeves down over her hands. “Not bi?”

“Nope,” Dan says. Crap, this is awkward. He’s never had to come out to a random stranger before. Although perhaps Megan would argue that they’re close friends. “Just boys.” He glances at Phil. “One boy, actually, now.”

“Oh,” Megan says. She looks hurt. “I thought… because you’re always in here when I am...”

“I’m in here pretty much every day,” Dan tells her. He gestures to Mr Richardson, who appears to have fallen asleep on his own shoulder. “Thanks to my number one fan over there.”

She closes her eyes, shaking her head. “It’s just… everyone’s bi now, y’know? I heard rumours about you some of the guys around town but… I thought you were just playing the long game with me.”

Dan is finding it very difficult to put himself in Megan’s shoes here - he can’t even remember a conversation he’s had with the girl, let alone a moment that might lead her to think he had some kind of romantic interest in her - but he nods sympathetically anyway, hoping it might lead to a faster escape.

“Sorry if I gave off signals or something,” he says, awkwardly.

She shrugs. “It’s okay.”

“Um, I’m sure you’ll find someone?”

She nods, sadly. “I guess. I mean, you did, right? Nobody saw that coming.”

“Yeah,” Dan says, inching around her towards the door. Phil is looking at him, eyes tinged with amusement. Dan sends him a withering look, then turns back to Megan. “Guess if I can snag someone, anyone can, right?”

*

“...you’re like one of those horses with the blinders on,” Phil tells him, hands either side of his eyes in demonstration. “You’re so oblivious to all the people lusting after you every day-”

“Oh, come off it,” Dan interrupts, eyes rolling backwards. “Lusting. Please.”

“Dan, you’re off-the-charts gorgeous,” Phil says. He grabs hold of Dan’s hand and tucks it into his coat. It’s because Dan doesn’t have gloves on - doesn’t own any, even. It’s a sweet gesture, but it makes walking beside Phil a little awkward, especially when other people are walking the other way and have to squeeze past them. “You must see how people look at you.”

Dan shrugs, embarrassed. “Creepy guys at Ozone maybe. Girls, though? Like, actual, reasonably attractive girls. Why the fuck would they want a lanky, perpetually bruised idiot with too many holes in his flesh?”

Phil stops them mid-pavement, pulling Dan towards him, until they’re chest to chest. 

“Because, in an emo, heroin chic way, you’re extremely sexy,” he says, then kisses him. Dan tries to be annoyed that Phil basically just called him a 2002 Pete Wentz, but Phil’s tongue is distracting. It flicks against Dan’s lower lip, where the cut is still healing. “Miss the lip ring, though,” Phil murmurs. “That completed the look.”

“I can prob’ly re-pierce it,” Dan replies, muffled because Phil won’t stop kissing for even a second. “If it turns you on that much.”

Phil laughs, breaking away. “You don’t need a lip ring to do that.”

*

“I don’t like detention,” Phil says, then licks a long line up Dan’s throat.

“No?” Dan gasps out, fingers digging into Phil’s shoulders. He can feel one of the framed, childhood photos of Phil digging into his back, threatening to fall once Phil releases him. “I find Mr Richardson’s lectures on respecting teachers truly scintillating.”

“No, I don’t,” Phil says, pushing their mouths together greedily. “Two hours in a classroom, staring at you, nothing to do but think about all the time wasted that I could have spent doing this.”

“An hour and a half,” Dan corrects, so Phil kisses him harder to quiet him, hands planted on Dan’s hips.

In his time, Dan’s had plenty of selfish, greedy assholes backing him into corners, but nobody he’s ever actually wanted this badly. They’d barely gotten in Phil’s front door before Dan found himself pressed up against the wall of the entrance hallway; they’ve not even taken off their shoes. Vaguely, Dan registers a noise in the distance, and reasons it must be a dog in another room. Phil doesn’t seem to notice the noise, too focused on how far he can slide his hand up Dan’s shirt without removing it entirely. The noise gets closer, and Dan realises blearily, belatedly, that Phil doesn’t own a dog.

Just as this realisation crests, Mrs Lester rounds the corner. “Phil, love is that- oh!”

Phil jumps back at the sound of his mum’s voice, but it’s too late. She’s already seen the worst of it. Dan waits for the ground beneath him to split into a gaping hole into which he can tumble, but presumably because God hates him, it doesn’t happen.

“Mum!” Phil exclaims, breathless.

Dan runs a hand through his hair. “H-hi, Mrs Lester. Kath. Mrs Lester.”

She’s wide-eyed, cheeks rosy pink. In her hands she holds a pair of socks, which she seems to have forgotten are there. “Phil, could I have a quick word?”

Phil tosses Dan a look of apology, then follows him mum through the lounge and into the kitchen. Dan waits for a minute or so, straightening his shirt, trying not to think the worst, and then can’t battle his paranoia any longer. He creeps into the lounge, listening hard to the hushed conversation from the next room. If he stands in the space beside the bookshelf, he can just about make it out, whilst avoiding being seen.

“...thought you’d be gone already.”

“Yes, I can see that, love.”

There’s a pause; Dan can hear his own heart thumping.

“So, you and Dan are…”

“Yeah.”

“I see. How long have you been…?”

“Um, about two weeks? Just over.”

“Is he your boyfriend?”

“Mum,” Phil says, clearly embarrassed.

“You could have told me, you know.”

“I was going to,” Phil insists. “I just… I wanted to make sure it wasn’t all going to explode. I don’t wanna pressure him. He’s even told me he doesn’t like people at school talking about us. He doesn’t even care about them. But he likes you, I know he does. I haven’t had a chance to ask him what he’d think about you knowing. If it might be a bit much for him. I’m just- I’m so scared I’m gonna say something wrong and he’s gonna bolt. You know what he’s like.”

Dan frowns. Phil is really worried that he’s going to bolt?

“Okay, I understand your concerns,” Kath says, kindly. “But I still think if he’s going to be staying here, I ought to be aware-”

“Yeah, I know, you’re right. I’m sorry,” Phil says. “But nothing’s changed really. He’s just been coming over for Buffy marathons and hot chocolate after he’s finished work, like always.”

“Hmm, well that certainly was not a Buffy marathon I just walked in on.”

Phil laughs, and Dan thinks he hears Kath tittering too. “Sorry you had to see that. So embarrassing.”

Kath sighs, and there’s shuffling noises. Dan thinks maybe she’s giving Phil a hug. “I’m happy for you, sweetheart. Hope you know that.”

“You are?” Phil’s voice is muffled, like he’s speaking into her shoulder.

“Just took me by surprise is all. I mean, I always wondered if maybe you had a little crush on him…”

“I think, in hindsight, it was quite a bit more than a little crush.”

Another long pause. “Well, Dan’s a very lucky boy, then.”

“You’re really okay with it? He can still come over in the week and stuff?”

“Of course,” Kath replies in that kindly, mumsy voice Dan loves her for. His heart aches at the sound of her easy, ready acceptance. She makes motherhood seem so simple. She’s an open book, filled with endless words of love and support, more than happy for anyone who needs it to rip out a page. She saves the best of her chapters for Phil, of course. But there’s some passages bookmarked especially for Dan, too. “Do be careful with him, won’t you, Phil?” Her voice is thick with concern. “That scary mask he wears might fool some people, but you and I know it’s made of thin, breakable glass.”

Dan frowns again, mildly irritated that she sees him as a fragile little flower, but he has to begrudgingly admit that Kath has never once fallen for his tough-guy façade. The first time he ever met her, he was his usual cagey and brooding self, unconcerned with making a good impression on any parent. But much in the same way Phil had, she wore his shell away with persistent sweetness. She invited him to stay for dinner, and gave him second helpings without asking, then chocolate biscuits with tea. She asked him a thousand questions, and didn’t mind if he preferred not to answer them, but listened intently if he did. She told funny stories about Phil as a kid. She told him to come back anytime he wanted, even though he was basically a dick all night. She’d been unrelentingly nice and caring, in a way that Dan had never before felt from an adult.

“Don’t worry,” Phil assures her. “I think I’d give him the whole world if I could.”

“And… what happened to that Amanda girl you brought round? I thought you were besotted with her?”

Dan’s stomach clenches.

“We’re just friends.” The surety in Phil’s voice is like a blanket Dan wants to clutch to his chest.

“Okay then. Well, I guess I’d better get going,” Kath says in a sigh. “I was just finishing packing.”

“Tell Auntie Pat I say hi,” Phil says. “And stroke Mittens for me.”

Alarmed by the movement he suddenly hears, Dan sneaks back through the lounge towards the hall, managing to make it out just before Phil and his mum exit the kitchen. 

“Phil, just one last thing,” Kath says from the lounge, her voice so quiet Dan can hardly pick it up. “You two will be safe, won’t you?”

“Oh my God, Mum, please-”

“Phil, I’m asking for your own good-”

Dan has to clap a hand over his mouth to stop the laugh escaping.

“Yes, fine, wow, we’ll be safe I promise.” Phil says in a rushed garble. “Now I never ever want to speak about this again.”

Kath laughs quietly. “Fine. You’re sensible, I know. But I am your mother, I have to make sure.”

When Phil rounds the corner, he looks vaguely traumatised. Kath is right behind him, a calm smile on her face. Dan smiles back, unsurely, trying to seem as though he has no idea what they’ve been discussing. Kath crosses the hall towards him at once, and wraps him in her arms. Dan feels a little choked up, but manages to remain composed enough to return the hug, gently patting her on the shoulder. She releases him without comment, for which Dan is incredibly grateful, and then starts up the stairs.

“There’s plenty of food in the house boys,” she says as she goes. “Help yourselves, both of you. I’ll be back on Sunday.”

Once she’s out of sight, Phil begins spewing apologies. “...had no idea, I thought she’d have left ages ago because we were all that time in detention-”

“Phil, it’s okay,” Dan says, laughing. “Mortifying, obviously. But not the worst position I’ve been caught in by someone’s mum. And your mum is by far the coolest.”

“Bit of a mood killer, though,” Phil says, sighing.

Dan grimaces. “Yeah.”

They stand in silence for a moment, both reliving the look on Kath’s face as she’d first caught sight of them.

“Wanna watch a film for a while? Take our minds off it?”

“Absolutely.”

*

Three hours after Kath leaves, and they’re on their second film of the evening - Forgetting Sarah Marshall. It’s not helping ease the tension hovering around them, because Phil had said right at the beginning that he’d always kind of fancied Russell Brand, and now it’s all Dan can think about.

“Would you have sex with him?”

Phil wrinkles his nose. “Dunno.”

“Like, if he was here right now,” Dan persists. “Leather trousers, birds nest hair. Asks you to pop your kit off and join him in the cupboard.”

Phil laughs, playing with a popcorn kernel from the almost empty bowl. “Um, no.”

“No?” Dan turns, avidly interested, as ever, in Phil’s elusive sexual preferences. “Why not? He’s had the experience. So, he’d probably be decent at it, at least.”

“Yeah, well, even so.”

There’s something halting, maybe even reluctant about Phil’s tone. Dan might be imagining it, but he thinks Phil’s mildly uncomfortable with this discussion. Dan decides to prod just one last time, to see if he can get whatever the discomfort is out of him, and then he’ll drop it.

“Is it ‘cos he looks a bit, like, grubby?”

Phil laughs again; his cheeks have turned pink. He flicks the popcorn kernel away. “Look, I’m sure Russell’s great in bed. Fantastic, maybe. But right now, I only wanna have sex with you.”

The breath catches in Dan’s throat. As the unexpected statement sinks into his skin, the tension he and Phil have been stewing in fizzles away. He crawls across the sofa - Dan had jumped to the opposite side of it after a startling reappearance of Kath, hands over her eyes, shouting something about leaving her scarf behind and that she wasn’t looking - until he’s close enough to straddle Phil’s lap. He winds his arms around Phil’s neck and kisses him, slowly, taking his time, because they have oodles of it. 

Phil is eager and responsive in the way that Dan imagines he might have been himself, if his first time had been with someone he actually liked. Dan had been too young to appreciate what he was losing, and to whom; he regrets it immensely. He’s determined that Phil’s experience will be different. This sweet, incredible boy deserves so much more than some vaguely nauseating fuck in the back of a car that’s over in less than a minute, and that the other party won’t even remember. If Dan is honest, he believes that Phil deserves more than anything Dan can possibly offer, but if Dan is what he wants, then Dan will do his best to make it perfect.

They’re just getting into it, just starting to find their way beneath hems and waistbands, when the doorbell rings.

They break apart, a little dazed.

“We could ignore it?” Phil suggests, and Dan is more than on board, so swoops back in to kiss him again.

A minute passes, and then it rings again.

Dan sighs, reaching for the remote to shut Russell up once and for all, then climbs off Phil’s lap. Phil stands a little shakily, smoothing down his school uniform, and goes to get the door. Dan idly flicks through his Twitter timeline on his phone, waiting for him to return.

“Amanda,” Phil says, somewhere in the background. Dan shoots upright, swivelling to look. He can just make out Phil, and a vague, familiar silhouette on the doorstep. Her brown curls give her away.

“Hey,” Amanda says. “Is this a bad time?”

Dan gets up, his feet marching him to the door without his permission.

“Well, actually,” Phil starts to say, but then Dan is at his elbow. Phil blinks at him, worriedly.

“She wanted to talk to you,” Dan says. “She told me. You should invite her in.”

*

“I can leave, if you want,” Dan says, because nobody is saying anything.

Phil sits up straight, staring at him. “No, don’t.”

“It’s okay, I can go for a walk or-”

“Actually, I wanted to talk to both of you.”

They both turn to Amanda, vaguely worried. She’s got her hair in a messy ponytail, and is wearing jeans, which Dan cannot remember ever seeing on her before. He doesn’t remember her being at school today either.

“Okay,” Phil says. “Did you want a drink or something? I’ve got tea, or-”

“No, it’s okay. I won’t stay long.”

Dan stares at her hands, clasped in her lap. Her French manicure tips are peeling off. She’s sat in the exact spot on the sofa where Dan had been perched atop Phil’s lap not ten minutes ago.

“I basically just wanted to tell you both that there are no hard feelings,” she says carefully. She aims a smile at each of them, though it doesn’t reach her eyes. “At least on my end.”

“That’s good to know,” Phil says, softly. The guilt is still coursing through him, it’s plain to see.

Dan doesn’t respond. He can feel his fingernails digging into his palm, the way they tend to do when he’s trying to suppress some awful emotion he doesn’t want to feel.

“I really am happy for you both,” Amanda continues. She clears her throat, a tiny, perfect crease between her plucked brows. “I know you feel like you used me, Phil. And Dan, I know you must think I’m, like, the ultimate cockblock.”

You have no idea, Dan thinks privately.

“But I’m glad that, even though I didn’t know it at first, I was able to help you both to get what you really wanted.” In her following sigh, Dan’s suspicions are confirmed; this touching speech is not the real reason she’s here. “But - and again, I’m not blaming you guys - after all that’s happened, I’m sort of... in a tricky spot.”

Phil is immediately alarmed. “Is it Hardy? Is he bothering you again?” Dan considers ramming his fingers in his ears so he can drown out the concern in Phil’s voice. He turns to Dan. “You said you scared him off.”

“How is this my fault?” Dan snaps. “If he’s harassing her it’s not because I didn’t punch him hard enough. It’s because he’s a knob.”

The response is about to trip of Phil’s tongue, but Amanda gets there first. “No, guys, it’s not Hardy. Well, not directly.” She shifts in her seat. “The Elite gang are pretty harsh about anyone that doesn’t follow la regle de jeu.”

“La what?”

“The rules of the game,” Dan mutters; Phil glances at him, surprised. “Their game. Shocker, really. They always seemed such an easygoing bunch.”

Amanda raises her eyebrows at him. “Yes, we’ve established that I’m an idiot for going anywhere near them, Dan.”

It’s infuriating that she doesn’t ever try to defend herself. Dan’s not used to having someone so readily accept their own folly. Her acknowledgments knock Dan’s insults right back over to him, and he’s never prepared to swing his racket in time to catch them.  

“Wait, so, it’s all of them?” Phil asks, clearly not following the game. “The whole Elite gang are giving you trouble?”

“Have you ever seen Mean Girls?” Amanda asks. “It’s not like they’re knocking my books out of my hands, or shoving me into lockers. But they’re bitchy and they’ve got the whole school under their thumbs. Together, they’re perfectly capable of destroying my life, and they seem pretty intent on it.”

“Are you saying that going to Prom with Phil is akin to committing ‘social suicide’?” Dan asks bitterly, putting the Mean Girls term in a fake American accent. “What a touching sentiment.” He scoffs. “I’m so sick of this stupid playground drama. What are we, twelve?”

“Dan,” Phil warns.

“No, I get it,” Amanda says, looking down. “He’s right. It’s completely pathetic. Even when I was taking part in it, I hated it. Keeping up with the Elites was exhausting. The constant battle for Queen Bee. The lies and the backstabbing, everyone secretly despising each other. And being with Hardy was just embarrassing. Everyone knew he was cheating. The whole discussed it,  laughed about it, and I had to pretend like I was too ditzy, too lovesick over him to notice.” She puts her head in her hands. “I thought that, maybe, if I took a huge leap, right back over the tracks, I could escape it. That’s why I said yes to you when you asked me, Phil. I saw a chance at some normalcy and I took it. It wasn’t fair of me, I know that. But in a way, we were both sort of using each other, right?” 

There’s a lull in the discussion; Phil aims a worried look in Dan’s direction. Dan begins chewing the skin around his thumbnail. 

“I’m sorry that I’m even asking this,” Amanda says then. She looks up at Phil, then at Dan, eyes shining. “But I need your help.”

Phil sucks in a breath. “What is it?”

Something in Dan’s chest crumbles and breaks away. It seems so unlikely that Phil could be over her, if he’s this willing to jump to her aid, even now.

“It’s not much,” Amanda says quickly. “School is over in a couple of months. I just want to get through it. Lillian and the others are turning the whole school against me. People say horrible things. They leave notes in my locker. They spread rumours. I’m sure you’ve heard.”

Now that she mentions it, Dan does recall hearing a few strange things about her recently. He hadn’t paid much attention - he’s usually bored to tears by high school gossip - but hearing that she’d been seen leaving the Savoy hotel in a new designer dress on the arm of a seventy year old man, or on the other end of the spectrum, dancing on a pole in a poor, cheap disguise at a seedy strip club two towns over, had caught his attention.

“What can we do?” Phil asks. 

Dan wants to make it very clear right now that he is not, and will not ever be, getting involved in this. His mouth won’t seem to form the words, though. 

“I need friends,” Amanda says. Dan waits, but this appears to be the extent of it. “Just to hold the rumours off a bit. If they think I have people on my side, maybe they’d be less vicious. All you’d have to do is sit with me a few times at lunch, or hang out with me outside of school now and again. Maybe I could come to the café every once in a while? Then you wouldn’t even have to make the effort-”

“Amanda,” Phil interrupts. “It’s fine. Of course we’ll be your friends.”

The relief on her face is too overwhelming to be faked. Even so, Dan is not willing to offer his own services as a friend. It’s taken him this long to be comfortable with having just one. Even Lee is still on a trial period. 

“It’s just until school’s over,” she says again. “I just can’t take it on my own. I thought I could, and I tried, but they’re just… they’re terrible people. Lillian’s sister is in Aidan’s class, I’m so worried about what could get back to him-”

“It’s okay.” Phil’s smiling, happy this has all been cleared up so neatly. “I got you into this mess, it’s the least I can do.” He turns. “Right, Dan?”

Dan tears a strip of skin from his thumb with his teeth. He wants so badly to say no. He wants things to go back to how they were, for Amanda to crawl back to Hardy, who would undoubtedly be all too happy for the only believable beard he’s ever grown to fix itself back in place. But for some reason, Amanda “Elitist” Jones is suddenly hellbent on doing the right thing. Even Dan knows that to refuse being someone’s friend, for two measly months, is a dick move that cannot be justified, no matter how suspicious he might be of potential motives. If he says his no, Phil won’t understand. He’ll be angry. Their weekend will be ruined, and so might be their future.

So, Dan swallows it all down. “Yeah, totally.”

Phil beams at Amanda. “Oh, by the way, I have your jacket.” He stands suddenly, and Dan feels a little ill. “Wait here.”

He jogs out of the room before Dan can beg him to stay, leaving he and Amanda alone. She fixes him with a knowing stare. “You’re not happy with this.”

Dan thinks about lying, but decides against it. “No, I’m not. You could beg anyone to be your friend for two months. The Elites might be getting people to shun you, but you’re still Amanda Jones. Just smile sweetly and anyone in St Anthony’s would do whatever you say.”

“Exactly,” Amanda says. “I want real friends. People who I can actually talk to. Not Elite wannabes that put me on some ridiculous pedestal, only hanging out with me because they see an open position on the throne.”

“I just don’t see why it has to be him,” Dan says, gripping the arm of the chair. 

“Him?” Amanda’s smile is as treacherous as it is sincere. “Dan, I want to be friends with you.”

*

As usual, the dust takes a while to settle in the wake of Amanda’s departure. Phil brings Dan a mug of tea, handing it over cautiously. Still sat in the same position in the armchair, Dan takes it from him, still mulling over all that’s happened. 

“So,” Phil says, perching on the arm of the sofa. He sips from his own mug. “That was unexpected.”

“Mmm,” Dan says. His mind is whirring, producing the kind of noise Phil’s laptop makes when it’s overheating from excess Sims playing. “Guess we’re all besties now.”

“Is it a problem for you?”

Dan considers this, finger skimming around the rim of his mug. “I think... I can get past it.”

Phil nods unsurely, scrutinising Dan’s glazed expression. “You sure? If it really bothers you, we can try and find another way.”

Dan takes a sip of his tea. It’s faintly sweet, because Phil knows Dan too well to believe him when he says he doesn’t take sugar.

“Just don’t fall in love with her,” Dan says into the mug. He means it to come out as a joke, but inevitably it’s spoken quiet and sombre.

Phil puts his mug down, then walks to Dan. He takes him by the hand and pulls him from the chair, then wraps him in a hug. “No chance of that,” he says into Dan’s forehead. “I’ve got something a thousand times better.”

*

“No!”

Dan wakes up with a jolt, hands coming up to cover his face, because shouts usually mean he’s about to get smacked. He hears a quiet ‘shit’ and then arms come around his shoulders; his heart slows gradually, and then Dan remembers where he is, and that he’s unlikely to be in danger of getting pounded in Phil’s bedroom. At least not in any way he’d need to defend himself from.

He lowers his hands, blinking in the darkness. “The fuck?”

“Sorry,” Phil whispers, guiltily. “Didn’t mean to frighten you. We fell asleep.”

Dan squints, trying to piece this together. “So you screamed ‘no’ in my ear?”

“I’m annoyed at myself,” Phil explains. “We’re supposed to be in the throes of passion.”

Dan snorts, falling back to the pillows, exhausted. “Russell’s a bad influence on you.”

Phil prods him in the arm, then falls back beside him. “I’m sorry. I promised you a weekend of sordid, non-stop lovemaking. So far, the two worst people that could have interrupted us mid-sexy-times did, and now we’ve fallen asleep in our not very arousing Elmo and Game Of Thrones pyjamas.”

Dan laughs tiredly, eyes already re-closing. “We’ve got loads of time for all that.”

“Tomorrow I’m gonna ravish you,” Phil warns, though by the sounds of it he’s already half-unconscious.

“I’d better prepare my body for the ravishing ahead.”

Phil swats him in the arm. “You’d better, Howell.”

*

They don’t get up until noon, for no good reason other than Phil’s bed is ridiculously comfy. Dan wakes up with his nose in Phil’s neck, so he presses a kiss there, then another, and eventually Phil stirs.

“Hey,” Dan says, then rolls on top of him.

Phil’s blue eyes blink up at him, wide and surprised by the sudden change in positions. “H-hey,” he says. “What’s-”

Dan leans in and kisses the question away. Somehow, Phil still tastes wonderful, even first thing in the morning. Dan can’t be sure the same can be said about his own morning breath. He lets himself sink into the kiss regardless, hands beginning to wander beneath the covers, skidding over the strip of skin where Phil’s pyjama top has ridden up in the night.

Phil’s breath hitches, and then his hands come to Dan’s shoulders, gently rolling him off. Dan sits up, worried. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Phil says quickly, sitting up as well. The covers fall to his waist. He gives Dan a reassuring smile. “Sorry, just… too hot.” There’s a pause as Dan digests this lame excuse. “I’ll make some tea. Do you want some tea?”

“Um,” Dan says, thrown. “Coffee, maybe?”

“Sure,” Phil says, tossing the covers aside.

He stands up quickly, snatching the mugs they’d used last night from the bedside table. Once he’s left the room, Dan stays put for a second, trying to figure out the next what might have just gone wrong. Eventually, he decides to quell his pounding paranoid thoughts, and follow Phil downstairs. In the kitchen, Phil is whistling away as he clatters mugs and kettles about, happy as a clam. Though he finds this sudden turnaround odd, Dan makes the choies to just forget about it. Perhaps Phil was just hot and uncomfortable in the first few minutes of waking, like he said. Or, more likely, maybe Dan’s breath was actually too terrible to withstand the kissing a moment longer, let alone anything else.

“I’m just gonna go brush my teeth,” Dan calls to Phil, making him jump. He turns, hand on his heart, giggling at himself.

“Cool, do you want some toast?”

“Sounds great,” Dan says, then heads for the bathroom.

They eat toast on the sofa together, watching Good Morning Britain.

Licking the crumbs from his fingers, Dan says, “Piers Morgan’s definitely the kind of guy who’d refuse to go down on his wife, but expect her to give him a twenty minute blowjob.” Dan turns to Phil, who is staring at him dazedly. “Like DJ Khaled. Y’know?”

Phil’s eyes are glazed, fixed on Dan’s fingers. His plate of toast crusts is slipping off his lap.

“Phil?” Dan asks. 

He focuses suddenly, snapped back into the room. “Hm? Sorry, what was the question?”

Dan regards him curiously, lowering his fingers from his mouth. “Don’t worry,” he says, turning back to the TV.

A couple of hours later, they’re still on the sofa, because they’re lazy and it’s the weekend. Dan has his feet on Phil’s lap, his back against the other end of the sofa. They’re watching Jeremy Kyle, one of Dan’s all time favourite shows, and laughing at the ridiculous drama erupting on stage.

“To be honest, if some chick told me my boyfriend had fucked her brother and her Dad, I’d probably tackle him on live TV too,” Dan says. He’s got one arm behind his head, and the other resting across his stomach, idly tickling the skin on show. He turns to Phil, amused by the antics on screen. “So don’t try anything, yeah?”

Again, Phil is doing that strange, distant stare. This time his eyes are firmly fixed on Dan’s abdomen, pupils moving in time with the back and forth of Dan’s fingers. A slow smile creeps over Dan’s face, and realisation dawns.

“Phil,” he says again. His voice is a fair bit lower now. “Phil?”

“Hm?” Phil’s eyes are still trained on his fingers, so Dan pushes them just under the waistband of his pyjama bottoms, and Phil looks up, cheeks pink. “Is there something you want?”

Phil swallows. “I was just…”

Dan sits up, feet lifting from Phil’s lap, and closes the gap separating them. He reaches for the remote, switching off the TV, and brings his mouth to Phil’s ear. 

“You can have me whenever you want, you know,” he purrs. “If the staring isn’t doing it for you.”

A shiver goes through Phil, Dan can feel it. He slides onto Phil’s lap for the second time this weekend, careful to watch his face for any sign he might not be into this. There’s an uncertainty in his eyes that Dan wants to get rid of, so he settles himself atop Phil’s thighs, and brings Phil’s hands to his hips.

“You still up for some…” Dan arches an eyebrow. “Fun?”

Phil swallows again, his hands tightening on Dan’s hips. “Yes.” He sighs, eyes fluttering closed. “Sorry. I’m just… nervous, I think.”

“Of me?”

“No,” Phil says in a breath. Dan can feel his leg jiggling, because he’s sat on it. “I just… I mean, I know you’ve done this a lot.”

“Wow,” Dan says, sitting back a little. “Cheers.”

“I’m just kinda daunted,” Phil explains. “What if I suck?”

Dan has to fight the laugh that bubbles up rather hard, and he doesn’t entirely succeed. “Um…”

Phil pokes him in the side, making him yelp. “You know what I mean.”

“Hm,” Dan says, already sliding off Phil’s lap, onto the floor. He kneels on the carpet, a hand on each of Phil’s knees. “Sounds like your worries have got you quite worked up.” Phil’s mouth has fallen into a little ‘o’. Gently, Dan pushes Phil’s knees apart. “Let me…” Dan bites his lip, holding Phil’s gaze. “Help you to relax.”

He waits just enough time for Phil to have the option of refusing, but he remains blissfully, mercifully quiet, just watching Dan with wide, fluttery eyes. As Dan leans forwards, tracing his tongue along the seams running along Phil’s inner thighs, Dan imagines he can hear an Angelic chorus. He curls his fingers around the waistband of Phil’s trousers, inching them down, eyes locked on Phil’s, just in case he might protest.

“Lift,” Dan whispers once they’ve reached a point he can’t pull them past. It takes a moment for it to register, then Phil cants his hips upwards, and Dan tugs. The dark hair beginning at his bellybutton snakes down, spreading into a tight thicket at the base of a long, thick, flushed cock. Dan can feel his mouth filling with saliva at the mere sight. “Fuck-ing hell,” he breathes, wonderingly, and wraps his fingers around it, forgetting to stop and ask if it’s still okay. “Phil, you’re gorgeous.”

Phil’s hips twitch, and Dan reorients himself, remembering that this is, in all likelihood the first time anyone’s touched Phil this way, aside from his own hand. Dan moves his hand gently, watching the expressions of awe flicker across Phil’s face. He’s breathing in short stutters, hips twitching forwards, like he wants to thrust into Dan’s fist. It takes about a minute of gently pumping his curled fingers up and down, before Dan’s resolve breaks. He leans in, fist still wrapped around the base of him, and swirls his tongue around the head.

Phil sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth, one hand flying out to rest atop Dan’s head. “Fuck,” he says, eloquent as ever. 

Dan lets out as snort of laughter, which comes out as a pulse of breath through his nose. Phil tastes so good. He tastes as delicious as he does everywhere else, like he’s got waffle syrup pumping through his veins instead of blood. Dan knows, the second Phil’s flavour spreads across his tongue, that he’s addicted to it. He sinks his mouth over Phil’s length, chasing more, already so blissed out it’s a wonder he can stay focused; he’s wanted this for so long that it’s practically torturous to finally receive it. Like giving a child access to an entire candy store, allowing it to gorge itself, after months of only peering longingly through the locked doors. A whimper falls from Phil’s lips, scraping past Dan’s ears on its way to the floor. Dan pockets it for later, knowing it will be very helpful for the late nights Dan spends alone, thinking about all the many, many ways he wants to make Phil come.

“Dan…” Phil chokes out, sounding strained. Blindly, Dan reaches out a hand, and Phil threads his fingers through it immediately. “Dan, fuck. I don’t think I’m gonna last very l-long.”

Ignoring him entirely, Dan just sinks deeper, unable to suppress a groan, born from the thrill that courses down his spine as he feels the length of Phil’s cock sliding down his throat. He goes slowly at first, letting Phil slip in and out of him gently as he bobs his head. But Phil’s whimpers are turning into needy little whines, his hips are threatening to push further into the cavern of Dan’s mouth. So Dan places a hand on Phil’s upper thigh, and picks up the pace. It’s beyond any kind of pleasure Dan’s ever known, to watch, to feel, to taste, as Phil completely falls apart under his ministrations. He meets Phil’s eyes, holding the gaze because he wants to witness every last second. Phil’s got a hand threaded into Dan’s curls, pushing the hair from his eyes. Dan’s name falls like dewdrops from his reddened lips.

And then, just as he warned, it seems he can’t hold on any longer. He tastes like sweet, sun-warmed rainwater as he floods Dan’s mouth. In Dan’s wildest imaginings of this moment, of which there have been many, he never once dreamed of spitting it out, and now, he wouldn’t do it if you paid him. He swallows all of it down, then lets Phil slip out of his mouth slowly, missing the thick, heavy weight of him on his tongue the moment it’s gone. He sits back on his ankles, breathing ragged, and untangles their fingers.

“Feeling a little less tense?”

Phil still appears to be struggling to glide back down to the real world. He sits up, with some effort, and latches his pupil-blown eyes onto Dan’s. “Come here,” he demands, croakily.

Dan’s never been one to deny Phil, and it would be hopeless to think he could start now. He hops up, clambering back into Phil’s lap happily. The moment he’s close enough, Phil drags him in for a kiss. Dan tries to stop him, knowing he’ll only be tasting himself, but apparently this doesn’t seem to bother Phil. He kisses Dan deeply, hungrily, hands slipping straight under his t-shirt, and then pulling it off entirely. Dan chuckles at his eagerness, and then abruptly stops laughing when Phil reaches between them, to press his palm against Dan’s erection, through his pyjamas. Instinctively, Dan bucks into the touch, hands going for the back of Phil’s head. Phil strokes his thumb across the very spot where the tip of Dan’s cock pokes against the fabric. Dan tilts his head to one side, and Phil’s mouth goes straight for the exposed neck, kissing and biting at it.

“Not fair,” Dan complains, though he’s urging Phil onwards with a hand on the back of his head. “You know that’s my weakness.”

Phil finishes sucking what Dan imagines is a very large bruise, then leans back, eyes sparkling. “I warned you I’d give you another one to match.”

“Lesters always follow through,” Dan jokes, and Phil wraps his arms around Dan’s bare waist, pressing a kiss to his chest.

“Will you come upstairs with me?”

Dan is a little surprised, but he nods regardless. He climbs off Phil’s lap, realising for the first time just how ridiculously, achingly hard he is, mostly because of how lightheaded he feels when he attempts to stand. Luckily, Phil, pyjama trousers pulled back up, takes hold of his hand and leads him up to his room. As soon as they’re inside, Phil shoves Dan backwards, sending him sprawling across the bed.

“Hey,” Dan complains, though he’s laughing. “Didn’t know you were into BDSM.”

“You would look pretty hot tied up,” Phil says unexpectedly, scooting around the bed to dig in his bedside drawer. “But maybe we could try that another time, when I’m less terrified.”

For a moment, the smile on Dan’s face freezes. “You’re terrified?” He watches Phil, concerned. “You don’t have to do anything, you know. We can just leave it for now-”

Phil jumps up onto the bed, pulling off his t-shirt. It’s a very effective method of shutting Dan up, as he’s got a gorgeous body, lean and tapered, with big shoulders and a defined waist. Dan reaches out to grab at him, his hopeless arousal muddying his conscience. 

“I think I’d be terrified even if we waited for the wedding day,” Phil says, which makes Dan splutter. “You’re just…” Phil trails a hand down Dan’s torso, lightly sweeping across the skin, side to side. “You’re unbelievably beautiful. On top of everything else.”

Dan thinks about asking what ‘everything else’ is, but knows all too well that Phil’s misguided notions about Dan’s personality are difficult to listen to. Instead, he asks, “what can I do to make you less scared?”

Instinctively, Dan’s hand lands on Phil’s, stilling him as he brushes over the burn scar on his left side. But Phil reaches down and removes it, then leans down to press soft, careful lips against the shiny pink skin. Dan’s eyes sting.

“Just tell me if it feels good,” Phil says as he leans back up. He plucks what looks like a small bottle of lubricant from the pocket of his pyjama trousers.

“Phil, if you knew how many times I’ve dreamt of you... of this...” Dan starts to say, then shakes his head, smiling faintly. “I don’t think it’s possible for you to not make me come, like, ridiculously hard.”

He looks a little dazed at this information, but Phil nods, then slips his fingers into Dan’s waistband, and pulls. Dan lifts his hips so Phil can slide them off, watching Phil’s expression closely as he drinks in the sight of Dan’s entirely naked body for the first time. Dan’s cock twitches, as if it knows it’s being closely observed.

“Shit, Dan,” Phil breathes. His hands are free-roaming over the miles of Dan’s skin now on show. “I want to draw you like this,” Phil says. He trickles light, teasing fingers from Dan’s sternum to his pelvis. “Would you let me?”

“R-right now?”

Phil laughs. “No, not right now.” He settles into a position, half laid on top of Dan, then sends him a mischievous glance. “I have things to take care of.”

Phil picks up the bottle of lubricant, which has fallen to the bed, and uncaps it. He pours some into his palm, then pauses, and squeezes out a little more. He rubs it between his hands for a moment, then, before Dan can stop him, wraps a hand around Dan’s erection.

“Ah! Shit,” Dan exclaims, laughing a little.

Phil freezes instantly. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s just freezing,” Dan replies, still chuckling. “Maybe warm it with your hands a little more next time?”

Phil joins in the laughter, nodding. “Sorry.” 

He doesn’t get a chance to expand on his apology, because right then he starts moving his hand, the slick lubricant creating an indescribable friction, one that pushes a moan from Dan’s throat, has him arching his head backwards into the pillows. Phil drapes over him, hand still slowly pumping around Dan’s cock. He presses damp, messy kisses against Dan’s neck, bracing his face above Dan’s with an elbow beside his head. 

“Does it feel good?”

Dan groans, hands finding Phil’s shoulders. “So fucking good.”

Spurred on by the news, Phil speeds up, at which point Dan’s eyelids screw shut, and he bows forwards into Phil’s neck.

“Look at me,” Phil whispers then. It’s an unexpected command, but Dan does it nonetheless, lifting his head to stare into Phil’s eyes.

He can only hold it for a moment before he has to look away again, but Phil is not having it. He releases his hold on Dan’s erection, which briefly makes Dan want to die. Phil reaches up to tilt Dan’s chin back around, forcing their eyes to meet again.

“Please, I want to see you,” Phil whispers, pressing their lips together. “Will you?”

Tears sting Dan’s eyes, and he’s not sure why. There’s something about this that feels too much, like he’s about to slip under a turbulent, roiling ocean. The press of Phil’s body on top of his is overwhelming; Dan can feel connecting of their skin seemingly at every join, can feel their hearts beating in rhythm, their breaths synchronised. Phil is warmth, and light, and sweet, pure love; it sounds absurd, but pressed together as they are, Dan can feel all of it sinking into him, through his pores, to the sinew and muscle beneath. He feels the incredible swell of Phil’s adoration, and it’s dizzying, maddening to know, deeply, that it’s all for him. 

Phil’s hand wraps back around his cock, and Dan tries with all he has to keep his eyes locked on Phil’s like he wants. But two tears spill over, and he has to shut them, to blink them away. Phil kisses him fiercely, like he’s been missing out on the taste of Dan’s mouth for years. Like he’s been battling far away in some great unknown war, with Dan left alone, waiting for him, and now he’s returned, and he’s determined to drown them together, in the love they couldn’t swim in whilst they were parted.

Something cataclysmic builds in Dan’s chest, something terrifying and enormous, so unfamiliar that Dan wonders if he’s on the brink of death. He feels everything Phil is pouring onto him in this moment through their locked eyes, feels the weight of his suppressed yearning. And then it explodes through him, a tidalwave of blinding, electrifying ecstasy, ebbing out to the very tips of his toes. He breathes heavily, gripping onto the only life raft he has: Phil, still above him, floating on the edge of this tsunami, sure, and strong, and safe.

When it’s over, Dan washes ashore, back into the familiar blue and green bedclothes he’s been curled in so many times. Phil rolls to the side, and Dan crashes onto his chest, limp and utterly boneless.

“Was I okay?” Phil asks, tentative and unsure.

Dan doesn’t think words could ever possibly express the pure, raw, visceral phenomenon that he just experienced, so instead, he leans up, spreads himself over Phil however he can, and tries his best to show him.

(Chapter Fourteen - FINAL CHAPTER - Coming Next Tues!)

[fightevilandthengetblownup]

Something borrowed, Something blue... (Part 1 - Bakery!AU)

—-

She wasn’t sure what he would think when he saw it, but she hoped he wouldn’t be upset. It had just screamed at her the moment she stumbled across it, and she knew exactly where it should go. Starting just above her knee and winding its way around her thigh to her hip bone, the stencil marks looked thick and jagged compared to the fine lines and dots it would eventually form into.

“Man, this is goin’ to be a hell of a night for me isn’t it?” The grumbled whine from the other brought a smile on her lips as Jo looked over her shoulder at the other blond.

Rolling her eyes, Jo let out a small laugh as she watched Ash massage his hands with a scowl. “Oh yeah, because this is goin’ to be a walk in the park for me too.”

“Bitch, please, you know you love it when I stick it to you; clearly you’re goin’ to be having a blast.”

“Yeah, and you’re going to get the practice and images for your portfolio - seems like a good day for you too.”

“Only cause I get you all bare legged around me for the night, chickadee.” Ash’s smile twisted into a friendly leer at that, though both of them laughed in unison after a moment. Giving the meat of her thigh a friendly tap, the other reached across her leg to flick the switch on the machine on before he turned his gaze back to her leg, joking look gone and replaced with the serious look she knew was his focussed face. Ash had left the building and Dr Badass, #1 tattoo artist on the West Coast, was in.

Rolling back so she was in the right position as the man started to press the needle into her skin with the high pitched buzzing beginning to fill the air.

Jo lay her head back and almost dozed off as the man’s hands and needle worked over the next seven hours. Occasionally they would pause to allow either of them to stretch, go to the bathroom or get a drink as the hours stretched on.

It was almost midnight before the artist finally put down his gun and wiped over her bare skin with the cleaning pad. Jo’s thigh and hip was aching, and Ash made his own groans of pain as he cracked his knuckles.

“Hello?” The voice came calling from the adjoining bakery, and Jo quickly moved to cover her bare bottom half with the blanket she’d been using to stay warm throughout.

“In here, my man.” Ash called back, peeling off his gloves and starting the steps to pack away his machine and the various ink pots he’d used for the design that night. “Bloody pushy bitch made me do this thing in one freaking sitting.”

“This that secret tattoo I’ve heard nothing about?” The question came as the dark haired man made his way into the tattoo parlor. Moving his way across to the tattoo bed, Jo found herself grinning widely into the kiss he delivered along with the plastic bag of Chinese takeout for the pair.

Jo nodded as she ran her hand through his hair and shifted in her spot to stretch out her leg muscles.

“That’d be it, Joey just showed up one day with this little design and begged me to tag her with it-” Ash replied as he rolled across the few feet of space between the pair and his work station, spinning about and holding out a paper to the other man. “Pretty beautiful piece'a work to get to play with. Going to look mint on Instagram and my portfolio. Just make sure you angle your ass enough when I take the photo, aye darlin’?”

Jo shifted awkwardly as her boyfriend took the design from the other, before turning to give her childhood friend access to apply the necessary serum and then bandage to her hip and thigh.

“Where…where did you get this?” Jack’s voice shook slightly as he looked at the page, and Jo could see the tattoo artist freeze before spinning and sliding his way through the door into the bakery without a word. If she’d been able to see his face, she knew he would have been biting down on his knuckle to avoid speaking. “Jo? Did you-?”

“Find a real beautiful piece in one of your old folders and talked Ash into expanding from American traditional and Japanese to do some fine-line grey work? Yep, yes I did.”

Jo looked up through her hair at the other, not sure what the almost vacant and frozen look on his face meant. They’d been dating for two years, sure, but she hadn’t seen that look since the University mixer eight months ago when he’d frozen up at some question from some patron about when he was doing another exhibit or something. She did remember the silence and the cold responses she had gotten from him until they got home when she’d said he was doing her wall again at the patron’s insistence about where his next work was being displayed. Jo bit her lip hoping that she wouldn’t get the same cold response when he saw her leg.

“You found my sketches? And thought to get one..” Jack’s face was pulled into a closed off frown, brows creased only slightly and the rest of his face blank except for the swirl of colour from light to dark in his eyes she knew came from him focussing really hard on what to say next. “You got my artwork put on you without asking me?”

“I didn’t think it’d be a big deal.” She mumbled the words out, arms crossing under her chest as she looked away from him. Pushing to her feet and letting the blanket drop down, the blonde moved towards her folded pair of sweatpants and underwear to get dressed again now the bandages were in place without looking back at him. “I’ve always wanted a fine line styled one, and something about that just… Spoke to me. Said ‘Jo, I need to be on your body’ or something like that.”

Once she’d gotten her underwear back on, she jumped at the hand on her unbandaged hip as she span to look up at him. His eyes were dark blue - moody, pensive, aroused or quietly angry; but she couldn’t quite tell which one.

“Show me.” The growled words made her want to smirk but she fought it down - aroused or angry it was then - before she peeled the edge of her bandage off to display the design in its entirety, the band of her underwear pulled high over the very top of her hip bone.

Ash had done an amazing job, like always.

While her rib tattoos were highly saturated in their coloring with vibrant depths in the primary colours of the American Traditional style, and their thick borders and shading added contrast and depth that she’d loved and found her own artist appreciated regularly with his fingertips or lips, this design was the complete opposite.

Shades of grey, from inky black depths to almost nonexistent white highlights that accentuated the skin gaps of the petals, we’re all that made up the design. The thin but deliberate lines flowed together, dots and fading shading used in equal measure to add depths to the folds and turns of the design. The flowers spread and bloomed across her thigh and hip, her own skin filling in the petals like they were blooming from inside her rather than pressed upon her surface. It had been a simple sketch of a group of flowers, from the date in the bottom corner Jo figured sometime before whatever fame he had achieved in the art world from her Googling of him before they’d begun dating, but there had been a soul and life in them. And with Ash’s deft hand and skill, they seemed to grow even more organically from her skin than the paper as if they had always been there. Just below the surface.

His hand twitched towards her, and his finger hovered just above her raised skin as if he was following the lines of his own work like he remembered it, before he reached to smooth the bandage back into place at the clunking sound of the spinning chair drawing nearer to return.

“So, what do you think? Something I should expand more into?” The blond man asked as he span his way back into the parlor, three plates from the bakery and several utensils in his hand as he rolled into sight.

The dating pair nodded, Jo pulling her sweatpants on while Jack rubbed at the back of his neck awkwardly.

“You did a great job, Ash, and I’ll make sure to wear my cutest thong when the swelling goes down for your photo.” The blonde quipped back, winking across at her friend.

“You are an angel of the highest order, mamacitta, I’ll see about getting you included when Inked is coming for that photoshoot next month.” Ash replied, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pressing a kiss to her cheek with a grin before he moved to start dishing out the Kung Pao Chicken and fried rice on his plate.

“Photoshoot?”

“Ash is gettin’ featured in some bigshot magazine again. They like to get examples of old work and new work of his for it to give a real, longterm work.” Jo replied, piling her and the other’s plate high with dinner and stuffing a prawn cracker in her mouth. Biting down and letting the cracker disolve on her tongue, she found herself smiling at the appreciative look from the other as he sat down on the tattoo bench beside her. “I already agreed to getting my sides photographed as part of his older work-”

“And now you get to be part of my new work too.” The mulleted artist smirked, slurping up one of the Singapore noodles straight from the container. “It’ll be on the 15th, so make sure you get someone in to fill that time for you.”

Jo nodded her head, not really thinking on it as she began to wolf down her own meal. Tattooing, especially for that long, always made her ravenous as Ash had a strict no-eating policy when he was working. Something about it distracting him from the ‘art’, but she thought it was more that he just got jealous she could stuff her face and he couldn’t without having to go through the sanitisation again.

Jack bumped her knee however, raising an eyebrow at her as he questioned quietly, “Don’t you have that tail for that week? About the wedding and the cake and the bakery?”

That got a groan from her as Jo tipped her head to the side, resting on Jack’s shoulder in exhaustion. “Oh god, that’s true… Ah well, they can just wait for an hour or two while we shoot or something.”

“That or they’ll include it, show off your body in two magazines, aye?” The eyebrow waggle from the tattooer got a tired sounding laugh from her, and she could feel the other’s shoulder shake from his own silent laughter. “Promise we’ll keep her covered up some, Jack.”

“That’s her choice,” The other responded, tucking into his own late-night dinner with them. Jo could see a splatter of paint on the back of his neck from where she was, clearly having spent the night on his own working on his own artwork. “Though I think Rolling Stone may actually appreciate getting a half-dressed show by tagging along too.”

“It’s not like it’s a cover story - that’s your sister, not me, hun.” Jo ribbed back, chewing thoughtfully over her chicken as Ash span away to get some beers from his fridge.

The second week of the next month was something she was dead nervous about. It wasn’t like it was the first article her bakery had been featured in, nor was it the first time she had been interviewed personally - but those had always been for small local or state publications. Or the odd collumn in the society pages when she’d accompanied her step-dad to a reunion special, or been caught on camera out with the brunette sister of Jack’s in the last two years.

But this time it was a large, international even magazine coming to speak with her. A reporter was planned to follow her about for the week to write a feature story as part of the ongoing coverage about the wedding in six months time. The wedding was due to be Kardashian Level Big according to Shada, whatever that meant, and Jo had somehow been sucked into the epicentre of it almost as much as the bride herself.

It had started with an innocent offer to bake the cake. Something Jo would have done for any of her friend’s upon hearing of their engagement - something Jo had done before when Dean’d been engaged to Lisa six years ago (not that it lasted) and when Sam told her that he and Jessica were finally getting married last year. So when Shada had bounced her way into the back of the bakery three months earlier to show off the glittering diamond on her hand, the words had come out with genuine intent and happiness for the other woman. An innocent and wellmeaning offer which was still well meant and innocent enough; but had somehow been the start of the whole cycle of crazy the blonde was now preparing for.

Two weeks after the engagement announcement, Jo had found herself being swept up into a hug and answering ‘yes’ to her boyfriend’s sister’s request for her to be one of her bridesmaids. Shada had said she would have wanted her for a maid-of-honour (though Jo wasn’t sure how to tell her that wasn’t the correct term) but given Jo was already helping “so much” with the wedding cake that the sweet girl did not want to add any extra duties on top of her. Jo wasn’t aware how much that was a blessing at the time, but she did now. Three weeks after that, the engagement party happened.

Since then, it had been non-stop for Jo. It was as if a paparazzi bomb had gone off in front of the bakery given how frequently the bride and her pose came by to speak with her, not to mention all of the other typical wedding activities she had been dragged along to. It had taken all of her willpower not to drop out of it after Shada had tearfully confessed one night while Jack was reading a bedtime story to Billy that if it weren’t for Jo, she would think the whole thing might just be a sham for the show’s publicity. A lot of wine bottles were finished that night while the two women talked, letting the younger one vent about how out of control it had gotten and how much she loved her fiance’s patience with it all. Jo had dragged the bride’s brother to the bedroom after Shada had left, and thanked him for his own patience until it was almost dawn.

It had been last month that she had received the call from some reporter - a Chuck something-or-other - about her being part of a six-month series following along those involved in the monstrostity that was coming of the event and an “inside view to the love story of the year” from the deadpanned description the reporter had given her over the phone. Jo had laughed so much at that that she’d found herself agreeing before she knew what was happening. Her month would be the second month of the series; however she had already been featured and introduced in the story that had been released that very week. Story one had been a shallow interview with each of the bridal party about the happy couple, and a feature on the gianormous ring. Month two would be following Jo around as a bridesmaid and the baker for the event. She had heard month four’s topic would be some monstrosity about the bridesmaids shopping and fittings which would start during her week follow-around and expanded on later with the rest of the bridesmaids that she was not looking forward to.

Jack’s laugh distracted her from her thoughts though as Jo accepted a longneck from Ash. “You’re my cover girl though, pretty sure they’ll decide to make you one too if they spot the tattoo shoot.” His fingers stroked through her hair as Jo plucked his egg roll from his plate with a smile. “I’m sure it will all be fine, Jo.”

“I’m sure you think it will be.” Mumbling around the stolen egg roll, the three slowly demolished the food and the topic moved on to Ash’s work and the upcoming University art display for the other’s senior classes. It was almost one thirty before the three finally packed up and headed their separate ways home. Thankfully it was a Sunday morning which meant the bakery would be closed and the tattoo shop would not open until midday.

As Jo and Jack reached his town house and got ready for bed, the blonde baker found herself turning back and forth in the mirror of the bathroom with a smile on her face. The bandage covered her most recent work, but she could visualise the soft and dark greys of the work underneath as she looked at it beside her other pieces. It was positioned below the American Traditional styled piece dedicated to her father branded across her ribs, the bright red and bold roses surrounding the chrome’d motorbike would tie-in with the roses blooming across her hip; while the grey tones would mesh with the silver of the bikes design nicely. She could tell the love her childhood friend had put into both pieces - the love of his work, the love of the art and skill, and the love for her - would would stare back at her every time she saw each piece for the rest of her life.

Turning the other way, Jo found herself stroking the bare skin of the other hip wonderingly as to how to find a piece to tie in with the roses and guitar on that side of her ribs - a dedication to her son - but also match the new grey work. Perhaps she could talk her artist into making her a custom piece this time, perhaps even featuring an anchor, eagle and globe for her son’s father. She shook her head at that thought. That would require talking to someone about him, and as she felt the telltale pricking at her eyes, she knew that was a conversation she was still not ready for.

Brushing her teeth quickly to divert her thoughts, the baker found herself cuddling into the small spoon position when she returned to the bed, Jack’s arms wrapping tightly across her waist. The last thing she thought as his warm breath brushed against the back of her neck and Jo found herself snuggling back into his warmth was that she was so lucky to have a second go around.

Over the next three weeks Jo found herself smiling every time she remembered the new design on her leg, be it when she’d catch a sight of it in the shower, or when Ash would make a joke about getting her undressed again, or when Jack’s lips would press against it once it was healed enough. She always loved getting new work done and Dean made a joke each time she got one done that she experienced some kind of natural high from them. Jo snarked back that he’d understand it if he wasn’t such a bitch that he was scared of a little needle.

As Monday rolled around, the baker found herself in the kitchen decorating a tray of mojito flavoured cupcakes with a lime infused buttercream and pearlescent green candy balls and candied lime peel when she was interrupted.

“Hey Jo, there’s some guy here for you.” Sam’s voice snapped her out of her routine of swirling the icing with a jolt. The taller man had the good decency to look apologetic as she set her piping bag down as he moved over to start taking over the decorating duties. Jo still wasn’t sure why he still worked for her. He had finished his law degree the previous year, but he’d yet to move into permanent employment in the field - taking over some of the work from Ash now that the parlor was up and running in the last eighteen months, but making no comment to Jo about when he’d be handing over his apron for a suit. She wasn’t sure what she would do when he finally did though. Probably cry at him until he changed his mind, but that was something for Future Jo to worry about. “Looks kind of sketchy but said something about trailing you?”

“That’d be the reporter, remember? That thing for Stone about Shada’s wedding.”

“That’s this week?”

Jo laughed at the apprehensive tone to the other’s voice and the way Sam’s hands dropped the piping bag to start straightening his denim apron and pat at his manbun self-conciously. “Yes, that’s this week so don’t forget to actually look cute for once in your life.”

“Hey! I am always cute,” Sam replied, tugging the name badge - the same Sam-I-Am written in faded ink over and over - to sit jauntily angled before he reached out to tweak her nose. Jo laughed nasally as he let go with a smile. “Where as you’ll have to remember to get your beauty rest and not just screw your boyfriend until sunrise every night.”

“Excuse me?” The unfamiliar voice interrupted the pair, both jerking in surprise and straightening up as if they were twelve and thirteen again and Ellen had overheard them discussing something they shouldn’t be. Jo blinked her eyes a few times as she finally located where the voice had come from - a man with dark hair, scruffy beard and a somewhat bemused smirk, slightly disheveled clothes and an average height with a messenger bag slung across his front and a dictaphone in one hand standing in the open door to the front of the bakery beside Ash - and found herself blushing at the fact that was the first recorded words to her week long interview. “Uh, I’m here for Rolling Stone?”

“Chuck Shurley, right? Yes, yes, nice to meet you - I’m Jo! Jo Harvelle.” The baker slipped quickly into her usual friendly greeting, brushing her hand off of the nervous sweat starting in her palm on her thigh as she rushed across the room to shake the other’s hand. Jerking her head behind her at the taller man as he turned his attention back to the cupcakes, Jo found herself glaring at her friend sharply. “And that’s Sam Winchester, and he’s going to shut the fuck up right now, aren’t you Sammy?”

“Sure thing, boss!” The cheery response made her want to growl but her eyes focussed on the silver recording device the only thing stopping her.

Directing the man back out into the main area of the bakery, Jo led the other over to one of the empty tables as Ash began warming up the coffee machine for the day and getting the bakery ready for customers in the next hour.

“So, uh… How is this, um, going to be going this week?” Jo asked stiltedly, her hands twitching awkwardly around eachother on the tabletop as the man across from her slung his messenger bag off and set the silver recording device down and pulled out a battered looking notebook. “I mean, I know that Thursday we’re doing some bridesmaid shopping or something, and I emailed you about the appointment for the parlor next door tomorrow - but other than that, what, uh, exactly are you intending to do this week?”

Chuck tumbed through his notebook without looking up at her until he got to whatever page he was intending to start on before he finally looked across at her. Jo felt a little like a deer in the headlights as the reporter pulled out a pen and stared across at her.

“Those are two specific outtings, yes, but for the most part I’ll just be trailing you about on a day-to-day basis, asking questions and possibly interviewing friends as well.” He cleared his throat a little awkwardly, and as if summoned by the awkwardness, Ash appeared with two glasses, a glass bottle of water and two coffees for the pair of them. Jo fought down the urge to kiss him as she began to almost inhale the caffienated liquid, not even reacting to the wink he shot her. Bloody psychic friends, knowing her inside and out. Chuck too drank from his own coffee before he jotted something down in his notepad she couldn’t see. “If you’ve got the chance to do a demonstration of the cake, or just one of the teirs of what is sure to be the monstrosity- I mean, extravagantly beautiful cake, then I know that’d be really important for the piece-”

“I can definitely bake up a teir or two of the amazing masterpiece for the wedding of the year-”

“With photos? Of the creative process required for such an… exciting event.”

“Yes, you can photograph the process.”

“Excellent.”

Both trailed off quietly, however the slight awkwardness had faded as both smirked a little. Jo found herself having to bite the inside of her cheek.

“Off record-”

“Okay, off the record.”

“-You’re not looking forward to covering this are you?” Jo asked politely, hiding her smile behind her mug.

The reporter appeared to pause for a moment, eyes darting away as if trying to decide the best, most diplomatic response, before he looked back at her with his own self-depricating smile. “That obvious huh?” Chuck let out a small chuckle. “Usually I’m touring with bands and such or doing some investigative articles, not.. a fake socialite turned celebrity’s wedding.”

“I read that article on ‘A week in the life of a YouTube something-or-other’ a few months ago actually.” Jo replied, smiling congenially across at the other. “And my boyfriend was a fan of your introspective into the decline of alternative music festivals.”

“Can we go back on the record?”

“Sure?”

“Brilliant. Let’s start with some basic questions, aye?” The awkwardness was fully gone as both relaxed back into their seats and the man looked down at his pages as if deciding where to start. “So, your name is Joanna Beth Harvelle-”

“But I go by Jo.”

“Jo, then.” He scribbled a note down. “Your mom and dad’s names?”

“Ellen and William Harvelle.”

“And you’ve got a step-father, right?”

“Yeah, Bobby Singer - you’ve probably got down to chat with him sometime anyways.” Jo replied almost boredly as they made their way through the basic questions.

“He’s the director on the bride’s TV show correct? Is that how you met the blushing bride?”

“Nah, she’s actually my boyfriend’s sister, so I knew her before she was cast. Not that that had anything to do with either-” Jo was quick to add, shifting to sit upright a bit more, rather than relaxing as she realised she needed to be careful to definitely paint her friend in the best light now they were back on record. “-I didn’t actually know Bobby was working on the project, or that Shada was an aspiring actress actually, until after they started filming.”

“Speaking of your boyfriend - he’s Jack Grey, correct?”

“Yes, he’s a lecturer at Cornish in the arts programs.”

The reporter nodded along with her words, jotting down something as he flicked a look up to her face that made Jo flush. “He was a big name in the art circuit a while back, wasn’t he?”

“I wouldn’t know really, not really my scene and I didn’t know him back then.”

“How long have you been together?”

“Just over two years now.” Jo smiled thinking back on how quickly the time had seemed to go, dipping her teaspoon and stirring her coffee absent mindedly as she fell into the easy responses to the easier question.

“And before that you were married, correct?”

The question caught he off guard, spoon clattering loudly against the side of the cup as her eyes widened. She could hear the sound of coughing from behind her somewhere and the hissing sound of the milk frother being turned to full without any milk jug underneath it. She could see the curious look from the reporter and the quick movement of his pen as he wrote down something as he stared back at her. She could feel the heat leaving her cheeks and her stomach twisting around on itself, and her throat catching as if suddenly parched of any moisture.

“Uh..what?”

“You were married before, making you the only married bridal party member. A, uh, William Mark Reynolds correct?” Chuck appeared to look quickly between her face and his notes, frowning slightly. “A captain in the marines, killed in action in Afghanistan five and a half years ago. Awarded a Medal of Honor for-”

“For disobeying orders to rescue civillians from an occupied ISIL facility, and for blocking the escaping civillians path from the combatants with his own body.” She replied almost mechanically, the words combing back to her from the visit by the Marine officer sent to break the news to her. Jo found her stomach twisting again tightly as it had then, however at that time it had hurt doubly from the pressure of their boy inside growing. Shaking her head, she blinked across at the other man with a tight smile. “My husband lost his life in the line of duty, and gave twenty-three people their’s back. That’s all I have to say on that.”

“Would you mind if, should it suit the article, we include the photo of your receiving the award on his behalf?” The photo in question was pushed across to her on the reporter’s phone, and Jo bit back an inappropriate laugh at how different she looked in it to now. Haunted and sallow, sunken eyes and limp hair, and the crisp black dress not hiding at all the protrouding stomach she had at the time of the ceremony. It was the time she had started baking, and within a year had the bakery up and running and a smile back on her face after months of the same blank look in the image.

Jo shook her head, pushing the phone back across the table to the other. “I’d prefer you don’t, and I’m sure you’ll have more interesting things to include than that too much.”

“That’s true, I’ll see what I can do to ensure not to spend too much time on it.” The genuine smile she received in return as well as the softness in his tone helped to smooth the tightness in her at the line of questioning, as Chuck clicked his phone screen back to black before turning his attention back to his notes. “Anyway, you have a son?”

“Billy - William Dean, but we call him Billy. He’s almost five.”

“And you’re the owner of this fantastic bakery, correct?”

“Yes, this is my other baby!” Jo laughed, the tightness disappearing in full as the topic turned back to easier topics.

From there, the questions moved through to how long she had been baking, when the bakery had opened and what had inspired her ‘unique’ choice in name. How she came to meet Shada and her fiance Ian - which Jo felt uniquely qualified to provide an indepth telling of the pairs first meeting in the very kitchen behind them. Chuck laughed at her retelling the story, and both agreed to take some photos of the space and possibly even re-create the “life changing coffee” as Jo dubbed it on the other woman’s behalf. How the bride had asked her to be part of the bridal party, how Jack would be participating in the wedding - “He’s going to be walking his sister down the aisle, and is the last of the groomsmen” - and how she had found the wedding arrangements thus far.

As the hour reached the time for the bakery to open for trading, the reporter simply shrugged his bag back upon his shoulder, tucked away his notepad and brought out a professional camera to begin taking candid photos of the bakery and it’s workers. Jo herself headed back into the kitchen to begin on a new load of pastries for the day as Sam returned to the front of house and Ash began to flit between the coffee machine and his parlor. The rest of the day passed relatively easily, with Chuck almost an invisible presence as the trio moved through their usual patterns of the day. Jo almost forgot to cut him a slice of the quiche lorraine they were having for lunch that day with how unobtrusive he was.

Occasionally, she’d be drawn into a line of questioning about the business and her personal life, as well as to reflect on the bride herself, but for the most part Chuck appeared content to follow her around quietly other than to ask where he could charge his phone and dictaphone. Ash would bring him in a coffee at the same times he would deliver Jo her own, and she heard them have a slight discussion at one point about her and his friendship. She was exceptionally happy to hear Ash never once mentioned the knife collection Jo’d begun collecting as a child, as she doubted that would run well.

So far as her work, the day had been an almost mindless blur of rushing about the kitchen space preparing to get ahead of herself for the hours off she would be taking the next day. Sam handled customers like the pro he was, sweet talking everyone and keeping a smooth transition of items from the back to front without any input from her; while she knew in the adjoining space, Ash would be drinking beer, spinning on his chair and smashing out the prep work for the week’s tattoos ahead of him and preparing for the photoshoot the next day - occasionally Jo could hear him stop to help with barista duties given the tattoo parlor was not open Monday’s or Tuesday’s typically; as well as the odd conversation between all three men working in the building alongside her.

Just before midday, Chuck and Sam had entered the kitchen and set up some kind of rig to capture her in motion with a slow exposure system for stills as well as a video camera for the video miniseries that would accompany the piece. Jo barely thought of it as she continued to work like a madwoman to pump out tray upon tray of brownies, ice racks full of different cupcakes and pile cakes high with fruit and garnishes. She was just glad she’d had the foresight not to agree to any weddings or functions that weekend. Brownies filled with hazelnuts, Nutella spread and drizzled with white chocolate slipped into the fridge beside raspberry cupcakes, poppy seed muffins, dark chocolate tortes, fruit pies and savory quiches and pies. So far as Jo was concerned, the day was like any other with the constant battle to bake ahead of her needs and the scent of chocolate, berries and baking bread filling her nose; cocoa and flour dusting her hair, brushing her cheeks and coating her hands as always.

It wasn’t until it hit four in the afternoon that Jo was reminded that the reporter was slinking about when she’d been greeted by her dark haired man with a wide grin and kiss as usual as he made his way into the back kitchen. She had her arms around his neck, one hand in his hair and the other tugging him into her by his scarf as he brushed her cheek clear of a white streak of flour when the sound of repeated camera shutters disturbed her from her usual greeting.

“Uh… Some privacy?” Jo pulled back from the other to look towards the reporter, camera still out and snapping candid movements as the pair didn’t step back from one another.

There was another few shutter sounds before the man lowered the camera back to the bench and pulled out his dictaphone instead. “Sorry Jo, privacy is for next week. Hi, Chuck Shurley, big big fan of your watercolor period.” The reporter made his way over, hand held out for the other to shake as he smiled in that same self-depricating way Jo had come to know as his bemused look over the last nine hours. “The sunflower segment was a phenomenal series.”

“Oh.. Oh, thanks. Yeah, uh, they definitely were, um, some of my work. Yep.” Jo looked on as the same cold, almost indifferent look swept over his boyfriend’s face as he shook hands with the other man, his other arm staying firmly wrapped around her waist. Jack’s eyes darted about and she could see his jaw muscle clench for a moment. “Nice to meet you, Chuck. I, uh, hope Jo hasn’t caused you too many problems so far today.”

“Hey!” She let out an outraged cry, hand tugging at his scarf playfully angry as she looked up at him. The sound of the camera clicking caught her off guard again as the pair had smiled and smirked at one another before the playful looks dropped from their faces at the sound. Jo coughed awkwardly before turning back to her cupcake work while Jack stepped back a few feet to pick up one of the brownies laid out on a tray ready to be moved out front or stored into the fridge for the next day.

“So, Jack Grey, you’re Shada’s older brother, right?”

“Yes, Shada’s my little sister.” Jack slumped back against the counter top as Jo turned her attention back to her current work. She wasn’t sure what the tone in his voice or the slightly cool attitude he was putting off was about, but figured the reporter would inevitably want to interview him now or in future and was taking advantage of the opportunity as it presented itself. “Our parents were Eleanor and Michael Grey, they have since passed away before you get to those questions.”

The lemon and honey infused cupcakes she was currently working on, a pale golden yellow batter that had come out of the oven right before they moved from a light gold to a warm brown color on the top, were testers for the wedding cake she’d be trialling later in the week itself. She had to decide over the next day to decide on the best icing for the mix - whether she went for the basil and lemon infused buttercream that she moved towards the mixer to whip up, or if she brought in the purple theme for the outer decoration by swirling blueberries or blackberries into the buttercream too.

“Thanks for confirming, uh.. So, were your parents creatives too? To have had both a prolific artist and a rising star actress in the family, it would beg the question.”

“Our mother was a dental assistant and our father was an accountant. So no. They weren’t particularly creative people.”

“In that case, as the first of the artists in the family - how do you think your sister is handling her rise to fame?” Chuck’s question sounded weird, and the tones of both men sounded off to her; however Jo simply spared a quick glance towards the pair over her shoulder as she moved to start working on the berry coulis. Neither seemed particularly odd, Jack seemed to be appreciating his brownie as much as always and the reporter was simply flipping through his notebook with the dictaphone beside them. “It’s so similar to your own rise to prominance too. Straight out of the last few years of study, picked up by a renowned name in the industry and flashed into the public sphere.”

“My sister is very mature for her age.” The words were practically growled out, and as Jo stirred about the berry mix in the saucepan over the hob, she chanced another look behind her. Jack’s arms were crossed firmly across his chest, and that cold look was back. Peculiar. “Shada also has the benefit of being surrounded by people who want the best for her, and have had their own experiences, as you say, with the problems of popularity and attention. People who will help keep her on the right path.”

“Ah. Yes. Not going to see her follow your footsteps then?”

That caught her attention, back straightening and ears pricked but made no move to look around to see what was happening. It was quiet for a moment before Jo found herself getting a kiss on the cheek and a pat on her hip before Jack mumbled something about ‘catching up with her later’ and leaving. Very, very peculiar.

Finishing off the coulis and moving back towards her station, setting the hot pan down on a cooling pad to be used once it had dropped down in temperature. The buttercream was almost finished whipping in the mixer as Jo switched that off as well. Spooning half the basil, lemon buttercream into a medium, petal nozzel piping bag; she began piping in a rose around the top of half the cupcakes as she waited for the berry mix to cool.

She could hear the man rustling about in his bag behind her, flipping pages back and forth, feet shuffling loudly on the concrete floor, and the click of the back of the dictaphone being slid open for more batteries again.

“What was that all about?” Jo found herself asking while the other’s recording device was not recording every word she said. “Off record, what was that all about?”

“Your boyfriend is a bit of an enigma in the art world, if you didn’t know. He was huge for a while there, people were saying he was going to be the next classics master, first one in generations.” Chuck replied, fitting the batteries back into his recorder, but not turning it back on yet as he moved over to watch what she was doing. A snap of his camera came as she added the last petal to the cupcake in her hand. “And then seemingly overnight, he just dropped off the radar after torching his studio. Burnt over a million dollars of artwork some have valued the loss at.”

Jo’s brow shot up, not having dug much further than just that he’d had an exhibit that went around the world some ten years earlier than her meeting him, as she looked across at the other. “Really?”

“He was set to be huge. But none of his work has been seen since then.”

“Huh, guess I shouldn’t have got him to keep painting over his work out front then, aye?” Jo laughed a little to herself, shaking her head as she picked up another cupcake.

The icing on that one was ruined however when she heard the clattering of the reporter’s notebook to the floor surprised her. Jerking around, she looked at the other in confusion.

“Wait..that…that mural out in the main room?” Chuck appeared to struggle to get the words out, staring at her wide eyed. “Is that a Jack Grey?”

Jo nodded her head with another laugh, quirking her lips up as she sat the piping bag and cupcake down on her work station. Brushing her hands off on her apron, she reached across to the top of the work bench for her phone. “Yeah, that’s I think the tenth one I’ve got him to do? I’ve got photos of some of the other’s on here somewhere too.”

For the next thirty minutes the pair stood together flicking through the somewhat unartful photos Jo had snapped of each of her murals over the last two years - from a wall full of flowers with secret faces in the centres, to a black-and-white labyrinth maze, to a stylised sketchy portrait of her and her son that was done to celebrate Billy’s birthday, to a wall full of swirling colours making designs and shapes within itself that was hard to define but had made Jo smile for two whole months - while the dictaphone remained off and Jo answered off record questions about the other’s work in the last two years. Both sides were surprised as they talked, one that the artist was still making art, the other that it was a surprise for him to be doing so.

Once the coulis was cooled down, Jo poured it in lines around the star nozzel piping bag before filling the centre with the remaining buttercream. The swirls were a mix of purple and white atop the other half of the cupcakes by the time Ash and Sam made their way into the kitchen after tidying down the store front and closing up.

“So, we’ll meet back here tomorrow for the… uh?” Chuck looked a little helplessly at the trio as he flicked back and forth through the notebook, now with extra sheets of paper stuck in at all kinds of angles, including napkins and baking paper when they couldn’t locate normal paper.

“Inked magazine shoot next door.” Ash supplied generously, thumbs stuck through his belt as he relaxed back next to Jo, staring hungrily at the rack of cupcakes for the next day. Moving quickly, Jo shoved the rack of her wedding-tester cupcakes into the fridge as Sam added the last two trays of brownies and a slab of cinnamon buns in after her. The fridge was more full than she normally allowed it to get; with premade elements such as the cupcakes and brownies, as well as trays of unbaked bread, buns and rolls ready to be thrown in the oven throughout the next day so there would be freshly baked items as well. The pout that graced the other’s face as he brushed a hand through his long back hair made Jo smirk. “Got this nightmare getting done sometime around lunch, but I’ll be needing her all day. You know, emotional support.”

“What a liar, Ash, you don’t have emotions!”

“Ugh, the pain, the hurt, you break my heart, girlie.” The mulleted tattooer held his hands up to his heart, clutching in fake pain as he stared back at her. Jo wiped a fake tear from her own eye in response, giving an exagerated sniff, before getting caught up in a hug by the other blond. Squealling as her feet left the ground, she wasn’t even surprised to hear the click of the camera at this point, nor the laughter from the other men watching. As Ash sat her back down on the ground, she elbowed him in the ribs gently. “Anyway, Jo’s going to be out of the kitchen all day with me and the guys from Inked, as well as Garth, Gordon, Creedy and Tamara - just so you know Jo and don’t yell at me-”

“Really? You’ve got Gordon coming?”

“Get over it Jo, it was three crappy dates and him texting that he was seeing someone else.” Jo was interrupted in her whining about the man coming and being a part of the shoot by Sam, shaking his hair out of his manbun now that the food was away and the day was over. He reached out a clapped a hand on her shoulder with a smile. “Don’t worry though, I’m going to make sure to burn all of his coffees and add a ton of sugar.”

“But he’s keto at the moment for the next comp-ooooh.” Jo grinned widely in response at the other, rolling her eyes at the mischief that Sam would inevitably get up to tomorrow. He and the other man had never gotten along well, and Jo was almost certain he’d been involved somehow in scaring the other away three years ago when Jo and Gordon had begun to strike up a flirtation when he’d been visiting a lot to discuss his next work with Ash. However it could have been Billy that scared the other off, and the blonde couldn’t help but smile thinking how much better off she was now than three or even four years earlier.

Finishing the last bit of tidying up and confirming the time for ten am the next day, Jo bid goodbye to the other’s before heading back to Jack’s townhouse to get started on dinner and hand over duties with her mom. The night went by quietly - Billy had behaved himself at childcare and for the two hours Ellen watched over him in the evening before Jo and Jack both made it home, Jack’s cold mood seemed to have disappeared completely if the flowers were any indication, and the trio spent a normal night playing games on the rug in front of the television before Jack took Billy for his bedtime story.

As the pair finally retired for bed after two episodes of Good Omens and half a bottle of red wine each, Jo found herself curling into her spot in the crook of the other’s neck and asking quietly, “Did you really torch a whole pile of your paintings?”

She could feel him stiffen for a moment before his arms wrapped around her again tightly. Jack’s voice was just as quiet, as if it was said softly enough it would remain a secret, just between the two of them. “Yeah, my manager was not happy but fuck him.” His fingers stroked through her hair gently as Jo snuggled in closer again. “He was the one that pushed me to pump out crap, he didn’t deserve a single cent of commision from it and I was… exhausted. Physically and creatively. The news said it was the whole studio, but really it was just a few canvases. I was done.”

She hummed in response, curling her fingers around his shoulders as she hugged into his chest, breathing deeply. It was intoxicating, the smell of oil paints, mens deoderant and that underlying scent she’d come to associate with home. Nodding her head against his chest, cheek pressed against the thin, soft sleep tshirt fabric, Jo could appreciate the other’s past as much as she hoped he would hers one day. Not today though, she’d thought on it enough already today, more than she had in over two years; and she didn’t want to go digging around in that box of memories again. “I’m glad you did it then, otherwise you wouldn’t be here now.”

“Exactly, what’s a bit of arson to make everything right, huh.” The words rumbled in his chest and made her smile as they shared a few kisses before rolling about to get to sleep. She would have rolled on top of him, but Ash had made her promise not to get any hickeys and to get a good nights sleep before she’d left the bakery.

And a good nights sleep she got.

Jo rolled into the bakery the next morning, Billy’s hand held tightly in hers since she wouldn’t be in the kitchen unable to watch him that day, and quickly grabbed up the plate of cinnamon buns that Sam had already baked that morning from the kitchen before taking the young boy through to the tatto parlor where there were the starts of the shoot were getting underway. There were lighting rigs, and cameras everywhere. There were cords all over the floors, and Billy was very careful when stepping over them to her relief and pride as they made their way through to where Ash was nursing a beer already.

“Just starting, or didn’t you stop?” Jo asked quietly as she moved Billy to sit up on the tatto bench beside his favourite ‘uncle’. She tore one of the buns in half, handing one half to each of her blond men with a smile.

Ash shook his head as he bit down into the fluffy, cinnamon infused bun before looking at her in surprise at the hidden apple chunks. “Didn’t stop. Saw that beauty round on Elm Street, god Pamela is a goddess, you know?”

Jo raised a brow back at her friend, and almost snorted at the same look on her son’s face towards the tattoo artist though without the knowing leer she knew she was delivering alongside it.

“Uncle Ash, a person can’t be a god,” Billy’s voice cut over whatever Jo had thought to say, biting down on the laugh his words made her want to do.

“You’d be mostly right there, buddy, but when you’re older, you and I are going to have a chat about how all women are goddesses - its just us guys that don’t get any magic powers.” Ash smirked back at the kid, spinning around in his chair before tapping the boy’s nose with one finger. Billy scrunched up his face, looking disbelievingly at the other before dropping it and tucking into his own half of a bun.

The tattoo artist was called away after a few minutes of companionable silence between the trio while eating their belated breakfast buns. A moment after the tattooer left with his unfortunate mullet, the mother and son were joined by her shadow for the week.

“Morning Chuck, didn’t scare you off yesterday did I?”

“Very nearly.” The reporter replied, digging his dictaphone out again and clicking the power button as he’d done the day before. Jo barely acknowledged it now, used to it already. Chuck brushed his hands off, rubbing them together from the cold outside before he spotted the curious face looking at him from Jo’s other side. “Uh, hi there kiddo. I’m, um, Chuck. And you must be Billy.”

“Yep!” The chirpped response from the cinnamon covered boy came with a wide toothy smile, before he held out a sticky hand to the older man. Jack must have been teaching him the manners Jo never bothered to. “You’re the person doing the story on Aunty Shaday?”

“That he is, kiddo. He’s going to be following Mommy around for the rest of the week, so you’ll be on your best behavior wont you?”

“Yessum Mommy.”

“Good boy. Now, did you want to go see if Uncle Sammy would make you a hot cocoa?” Jo asked quietly, running a hand over her boy’s hair as he looked around the place as if he were bored. “And later, Sammy might even get you to help out with decorating some cupcakes if you ask him real nicely.” It wasn’t uncommon on non-baking days for Billy to come into the shop and spend an afternoon icing monstrosities of cakes and sugar cookies under the watchful eye of Sam or Jo. Today however, Sam had roped Jessica into coming in to help out under the guise of practice-parenting so Jo knew there was nothing to worry about with a real nurse on hand for once should anything go wrong.

The young boy disappeared with a squeal back into the bakery, and Jo could hear his excited rambling at the younger couple about cocoa and cupcakes over the din of the photo shoot starting up. The man beside her chuckled a little, flicking open his notebook again and jotting down a few notes.

“Oh, in case you wanted to know, those two works up there-” Jo jerked her head across to the two sketch arts that Jack had done before they’d started dating for Ash’s studio, smirk forming as she saw the clearly not-a-morning-person reporter look about blearily. “-Are two more of Jack’s. A tattoo-parlor-warming present for Ash.”

“Really?” Chuck appeared to squint at the artworks for a moment, before snapping photos with his camera and settling back down again, coffee in hand. Clearly Sam had already taken good care of him that morning. “Any more priceless pieces about this place that my friends in the art community would gag over?”

“I mean, when we get into the photos, you might find another.” Jo smirked wider still at the confused look on the other’s face before her happy demeanor dropped slightly at the arrival of the other ‘models’.

Tamara and Creedy were decent enough people, always tipped Sam for their drinks when they had been by, and Jo figured that Creedy would be getting used for an ‘in action’ tattoo shot from the choice of button up shirt that he usually never wore. Tamara on the other hand had a beautiful Japanese style koi across her shoulder and back that Jo figured was going to be her contribution to the photoshoot. The one Jo found herself rolling her eyes over was when she caught the eye of and shared a nod with Gordon Walker. She was fairly certain he was another Japanese style, a greyscale-styled dragon that from what she remembered and could see poking out from under his t-shirt sleeve wound around his entire sleeve and across his chest. That one would be a pleasure for the photographer to cover today.

“So, who’s got what? What is this whole thing about?” The reporter’s question brought her attention back from following the well-defined sleeve tattoo’s progress around the parlor as Jo blinked back at the other with a shrug. “As much as I’ve followed musicians to their sessions before, a, uh, photo shoot for tattoos hasn’t been on my list of articles so far.”

“And a wedding cake has?”

“Touche.”

Jo laughed a little in response, as she wiped her hands off on her jeans awkwardly. The other three models were getting dragged through the rigmarole of styling as first timers, and the baker knew she would be going through the same process soon enough but given hers would be the only one requiring practically no clothing, there was no point her moving towards the wardrobe discussion. Ash had made a joke about using a sheet when he’d suggested the idea to her first, but looking around Jo knew that perhaps it wasn’t quite as much of a joke as she had thought it was.

Shaking her head, Jo pointed towards the other three, giving a slight wave to Tamara when she noticed her. “So those three over there are the other models - Tamara the lady will be displaying her back piece and likely have a few different poses to try out for it. Gordon, the one smirking over here,” she found herself smiling back nicely but nothing more than a short nod in response to the subject of her conversations look, “will be getting his arm and chest photographed so usually they’ll go for a standing shot. Probably Ash next to him, maybe near the window or by the Insta-wall. And Creedy is the other one, but Ash’ll actually be tattooing him today while they photograph the process - ah yes, there goes his shirt.” As she was talking the older man stripped off his shirt and moved over to the tattoo artist to look at whatever piece they were demonstrating today.

“They use an A-shooter and B-shooter. For the most part, the B will be with Ash and Creedy doing the step by step to see about getting some in action shots; while the A team will be doing photos with Tamara, Gordon and myself.”

“And what are you getting photographed today?” Chuck was noting down as she spoke, however for the most part it appeared to be on a blank page at the back of his book while she’d been describing the process of the day, before he flicked back to the section she knew was about her article. She spotted the words ‘cute little kid, very smart, takes after father - investigate’ before he looked up at her and Jo pretended she hadn’t been looking at his work. He raised a brow, pen poised over the paper.

“I’ll be the American traditional and Ash’s new exploration into fine line greys.” Jo replied with a smile, and bit back a laugh at the blank look as the reporter jotted the words down without comprehension. “Uh, either side of my ribs are two old school styled tattoos to show his main bread-and-butter style, while Tamara and Gordon will be the Japanese section Ash’s been getting a name for. And then my thigh is the fine line style - all the rage right now, and one of the first one’s he’s done. Creedy’ll probably be getting a smaller one on his forearm for the B-shoot.”

“Ah, if the photos end up any good-”

“I’m sure you’ll need to speak with Inked, but they will probably allow use of some of their photos. Or possibly your own. Go have a chat with the art director over there.” Jo waved her hand in the direction towards the crowd of magazine workers milling about and smiled as Chuck gave a nod and disappeared.

Hopping up onto the spare tattoo bench, Jo kicked her feet in the air a little as she pulled out her phone to check over her emails while she waited to be told where she’d next be needed. She could go check up on Jessica and Billy, but she didn’t want to come off as hovering and figured the other woman would appreciate being given the chance to really give motherhood a trial. Maybe she shouldn’t have given Billy a sugary bun for breakfast, but that was all part of the fun of babysitters. Flicking through the emails, she saw some were work related about orders and shipments of ingredients, some where the junk like her old school asking for alumni to return to ‘inspire’ the teens or silly forward emails from her mom. There was six from Shada and her collection of bridesmaids and wedding planner reminding everyone that the bridesmaid shopping would be in two days time, and Jo opened up a response to remind them all to look ‘extra pretty and put together’ as the Stone reporter would be tagging along when there was a bump to her knee distracting her mid sentence.

“Hey darling,” The deep voice caught her attention, and Jo barely restrained herself from the childish desire to jerk her knee away from the man’s hand. Looking up, she raised a brow up at Gordon with a frown. “How’ve you been? Did I see your little brat running about earlier?”

“Walker. Yes you did see Billy earlier, he’s currently with Sam’s fiance working on his icing skills out back.”

“I notice you didn’t answer how you are, Joanna.”

“I’m spectacular, actually.” Jo gritted the words out, turning her gaze back down to her phone and tapping out the end of her email before tucking it away. The amused look on the other’s face rubbed her the wrong way. Forcing herself to not rise to the bait, Jo smiled sickeningly sweetly back at him. “I’ve been extremely busy actually, was on Sugar RUSH last year and did pretty well, I’m being a bridesmaid for a big wedding later in the year, and my boyfriend and I are enjoying our time with Billy.”

“So you finally found someone to replace the big macho man, huh?” Gordon’s face twisted into a smirk as he leant on the bench beside her. “Gone for another military boy like Daddy?”

Jo grit her teeth, sneering back at the other, not dignifying his questioning with an answer.

“From the silence I’m going to assume he is. Did you end up with another William this time around - because if you did, darling, that’s just more than a little sad. Nobody’s going to live up to the last one. What could top a Medal of Honor, aye? Selfless sacrificing war hero leaving his mourning widow knock-”

He didn’t get to finish the rest of his theorising before Jo’s fist was thrown straight into his smug, shit talking mouth with a snarl. As he jerked his head back to the side, her other fist threw out towards where his mouth now was. Her ears were pounding and Jo felt herself rearing back to throw a third one before she was tackled to the side by something warm and heavy.

“Hey, hey now chickadee, gorgeous, mamacitta…” The words managed to sink through her anger as the rush of adrenaline left her shaky and numb as she glared across at the now furiously snarling man, held back from following through again by the warm, tight grip of her best friend. Ash had a harsh hold around her arms, pulling her back and away from the other. "Baby girl, you need to calm down."

As she felt herself calming down again, Jo realised the noise around the room had suddenly dipped, and glancing over the top of her friend’s shoulder, she could see eyes focussed right on her from every corner. She bit down a sneer at the furious look on the bleeding man’s face though.

“You calm now, mama?” Ash asked quietly in her ear, hands rubbing her arms carefully, not quite removing the pressure in case she made a move to go again. Too many fist fights, too many bar fights, and too many screaming fits after it happened had taught him never to trust if she looked calm that she was calm.

Jo nodded her head before he finally released her, cracking her aching fist as she attempted to avoid looking at anyone else but Ash. “Yeah, yeah, I’m good.”

“Good, good. We’re all good here people, let’s get back focussed hey?” The call came out from the tattooer as he looked over his shoulder towards the rest of the room. With a nod from him, the magazine workers went back to preparing for the shoot, while Tamara and Creedy both turned back to discussing one of the portfolio books Ash had out. Gordon only remained standing as quietly as he had before, eyes focussed on the pair of them before he get drawn away by one of the photo assistants.

“Hey, maybe you should suggest they use the bleeding for aesthetics or something.” Jo mumbled the words out as Ash finally stepped back from her, a smile growing on his face at her comment. Nodding, he rushed over towards the creative team with a lot of gesticulation and ‘framing’ hands towards Gordon. A flurry of movement followed shortly after and it appeared the A-shoot had begun.

There was a cough behind her, and the blonde wasn’t surprised at all to see the dark haired reporter popping up at her elbow unnoticed.

“So, a friend of yours?”

“Nah, just some asshole I dated once or twice. However, he loves a good tattoo so...”

“Ah.” Chuck’s voice was soft as he spoke, silve dictaphone held in hand as always, “Well, looks like you’ve helped crack an idea for the photo story at least.”

Looking over, Gordon was already shucking off his t-shirt and had begun moving into position, the focus arm to camera, muscles tightened and flexed to show off the elegant curves of the dragon onto his chest, while his other hand was fisted up as if hitting his own jaw right where Jo had landed her blows. As her eyes caught his, the dark heat of anger shining through towards her, Jo knew she’d just gotten them their best shot of the day for one of the twelve page feature article and spread for the other.

“I’m truly a creative genius, did you not learn that yesterday?” She qupped back, turning to sit back down on the tattoo bench, facing away from where the shoot had gotten underway and facing towards the B-shoot starting with Ash and Creedy. “Well, you’ll grasp that tomorrow when we work on the preliminary design for Shada’s wedding cake.”

“Ah yes, the cake, let’s talk cake while we’re waiting for your call shall we?”

“Well, it’s-” Jo paused for a second, tilting her head at the other as he began to fumble for his notebook to start taking notes alongside the dictaphone he passed her to hold this time. “You, uh, don’t really know what questions to ask or words for a food-focussed article do you?”

“Absolutely not. That’s why I defer to the professionals.” There was a cheeky smile that made him look five years younger and almost what Jo would consider as cute. Perhaps she’d have to find a single friend sometime soon if she was going to be stuck with his presence for the next six months.

Laughing, Jo waited for a nod from him that he was ready to start before begininng to speak and basically ask his own questions for him. They covered the type of cake - a chiffon sponge cake despite the bride’s claims that she wanted a genoise, what she didnt know wouldn’t hurt her - and then a small interlude where Jo expanded on the different types of sponge and why she had selected one of the simpler, more All-American sponge varities for the event. Then the flavor profile of just why Jo had selected honey (”to add the sweetness in a natural form and symbolic to make each day after sweeter”), lemon (”supposed to be for eternal love, but I just love me some honey-lemon mix”) and basil (”given how unique the couple are, it suits to add a touch of the unexpected to the cake”) for the main flavorings. And as the morning moved to afternoon, Jo began to explain aloud her concept for wrapping the layers in fondant and then incorporating the main color scheme of the wedding into a mottled, artistic style with swirls and paint splashes - “perhaps even some gold leaf just to add the sparkle I know Shada loves” - when the pair were finally approached for Jo’s turn under the camera lens.

They had seemingly talked all the way through Gordon’s photos and leaving, as well as Tamara’s shoot which Jo felt a little deflated not to get to see the beautiful koi again since she’d seen the initial concept art. Even Creedy was now being photographed with a finished fine line deer design held on display on his forearm, the geometric lines behind and around it showing the extremely clear vision Ash had during the design and application.

It looked like they were almost finished and one of the makeup artists came over to start working on Jo’s face and hair. They usually only applied something light and a little bit of drama to the eye in order to avoid detracting from the artwork that was the real focus of the shoot. Jo barely contained the eyeroll as Chuck began snapping candidly with his camera again. He leant over to the make up artist for a second and Jo didn’t bother to hide the roll of her eyes as the woman started applying a red lipstick on top of the basic makeup.

“So, little miss punchy, let us proceed without any more mishaps shall we?” The words came from the director of the shoot as he approached with Ash at his side, a smirk on the mulleted man’s face as he shrugged at Jo’s exasperated look. “Firstly, we’ll want a topless shot for each traditional on your ribs, I’m sure you’ve seen enough photos to know what we need. Then, black tank top and thong for the fine line; and then possibly we’ll do a full body with a bit of design on a chair to get your thigh and ribs in the one shot. Capeesh?”

Jo blinked a few times before nodding sharply at the impatient noise from the director. “Yep, capeesh.” Shrugging a shoulder at Ash as the pushy director moved off, the blonde shrugged out of the flannel shirt she had worn that day and made her way towards the well lit window and red brick wall corner that would be used for the rib photos. It took another ten minutes before the director and crew had decided that they had the lighting right and were ready before she slipped her tank top off as well and covered her chest with her hands. “Did you want left or right first?”

From there the three different poses were easy enough - left side of the ribs with the sunlight practically blurring her face in white and her arm tugging to cover herself creating larger curves to her front than she’d even had when breastfeeding Billy, the right side had her hair glowing down her back in stark contrast to the saturation of the tattoo; and then her black tank top and flannel both thrown back on for her thigh to be focussed as she practically hovered rather than sat on the tattoo bench in the best lighting. All pretty standard poses and moves that Jo had seen in the publication before, and had watched from the back corners the last three features done on her friend. Perhaps though, thinking on it, she wouldn’t remind Ellen or Bobby to go searching out that copy of Inked compared to Ash’s previous moments.

She had heard the gasp from the dark haired reporter when her fine line design had been first revealled, and the slight gape to his face as they wrapped up the photographing of it made Jo want to laugh. “I told you, Chuck, that you might get excited by one of the designs.”

“You got a freaking Jack Grey on your leg!”

“Have had more than on my leg you know...” Jo winked at the reporter as she shimmied back into her jeans and joked around with Ash about how uncomfortable it was to hold that pose, the director approached the trio with a pleased look.

“And we’ll do that last set up now."

Puffing her cheeks out a little, Jo looked up at her friend. “Can you go make sure that Billy doesn’t try to come in here if we’re doing that freaking sheet idea of yours?”

“Of course, I’ll make sure he’s very much busy for the next half hour.” Ash smirked, slapping her on the butt cheek as he headed off, calling behind him, “Damn stupid kid, ruining all my fun!”

Laughing, Jo moved towards the stylists and behind the privacy screen Ash would pull open for his more uncomfortable clients. Or those getting something done that would be uncomfortable for anyone to glance through and see. She was directed to strip, laughing with the older stylist woman as they both grumbled about stretchmarks, and then wrapped in a black robe to move back onto the set spot.

They had seeming settled on one of the tattoo chairs with a high back and open sides, and sitting normally Jo was surprised when the director shouted and gesticulated until she turned around, chest pressed against the worn, soft leather and legs thrown to either side of the backrest. Her arms folded across the top of the back and she tilted her head across at the director questioningly. She got a thumbs up in response while the rest of the team ran about, adjusting lighting and the odd pot plant in the background. Got to have those pot plants.

Another gesture and Jo shrugged the robe off and resettled quickly, tilting a hip here on command so her muscles pulled the designs more flatteringly. She had her head resting on her arms for the most part, hair pulled to her far side away from camera. After five minutes, she was motioned to sit up a little straighter. To twist her head like that. To turn her head like that. To hold one hand up to her face. To rest both elbows on the back of the chair. On and on it went until finally she was told they’d gotten what they wanted, and shrugging the robe back on before getting up; Jo was glad that was the end of her day following that asshole’s instructions.

Returning behind the screen, the blonde redressed quickly before moving out of the space to go round into the bakery kitchen to see what her boy had been up to throughout the morning.

Billy was sat on a stool at the bench beside Jessica, both had what looked like powdered sugar in their hair and the odd splatter of food coloring but otherwise appeared unharmed. That couldn’t be said for the workspace itself. There was flour, sugar and cocoa everywhere, and Jo found her eyes blowing wide as she took in the damage.

A hand on her hip didn’t even surprise her as Ash joined her, a coffee being pushed into her hands and the hand guiding her to sit down on one of the only clean stools in the space. Caffiene was amazing and would fix everything, she thought to herself looking around the space. It looked a lot worse than it was, and she figured that she could have the space spotless again within half an hour once she was suitably caffienated.

The sound of a camera shutter barely registered to her as she smiled across at Billy babbling about what he and Jessica had been up to that morning. Something about making cookies in the shape of bones and body parts, and that they were going to be reassembling a cookie monster or something. Jessica looked surprisingly unaffected after four hours alone with the noisy preschooler, and Jo figured that if she was enjoying herself so much it meant that the baker could get ahead of herself to prepare for her day off on Thursday as well.

However before cleaning and preparation and the cookie decorating could get underway, Jo quickly had the two and a half of them working to tidy and clean down the surface with only the slightest whining from the young boy while a tray of sausage rolls baked in the oven for the groups lunch.

When the oven dinged that lunch was ready, the kitchen was back to spotless, and Jo was even in the midst of teaching Billy and Jessica alike the importance of mise en place before she put a hold on the lesson for the flaky puff pastry wrapped sausages, with stewed apples mixed into the pork sausage mix along with dried thyme and fennel seeds making them moist and slightly sweeter. Shortly after they were plated up, one for Billy, one for Jessica, one for Jo, one for Chuck, one for Ash and one for Sam placed in the warming tray to await his opportunity to come in and eat when Ash would hand over for him.

As the five sank into stools around the kitchen, Jo ran over her plan for the rest of the day to check if it suited the other’s and whether or not the reporter needed anything more exciting than watching her preparing cookie trays for the freezer or rolling puff pastry every twenty minutes, or creating tubs worth of various buttercreams ahead of time. Chuck shrugged, and gave no feedback other than he was sure the morning had given him plenty of content for his article and that he’d be back the next day for the start on the wedding cake photos themselves. Jessica had laughed at Jo’s concern she might want to head off to relax on her day off from the hospital, and waved off the suggestion she go home rather than finish her monster anatomy cookies with Billy.

The rest of the afternoon passed by quietly, or as quietly as a busy bakery with buzzing alarms and a squealling almost-five year old and two women singing along loudly to whatever song would come on the radio could be.

Much as the night before, when Jo got home there were smiles, talk of the day’s activities (”some dick started a ruckus during the life drawing class in the morning which threw the entire day off”), babbling excitedly from Billy, a bedtime story and kisses as the night turned to morning and Jo once again fell asleep wrapped up in two warm arms.

---

[readingwebcomics]

Analyzing Questionable Content: Pages 151-200

High school bully or not, I’d like to reiterate the fact that Dora’s presence is so terrifying that it can repel a trained government agent. That’s a level of badass we should all strive to be.

…I mean like, don’t actually beat people up and steal their cigarettes, lung cancer is bad. But still!

Before getting into things, I’d like to open with a little bit of bookkeeping: First, as was pointed out to me by at least two different people, I COMPLETELY misread #123 – it was Marten who was helping Steve out on a date, not the other way around. This was completely my bad, so I personally retract everything I said about Jeph’s timescale.

Secondly, on my point on Dora’s identity crisis, user Scarlet Manuka had this to say:

For the time frame of Dora's goth phase, I think that Jeph is actually trying to present this as a genuine identity crisis for Dora - but it's also likely one that's been a long time building up. She's probably been becoming increasingly disenchanted with it for the last couple of years, and given that Raven complains that she's missed fifteen or so meetings, it looks like she's already subconsciously let it go quite some time in the past. I think we're seeing more the conscious realisation of a process that's already happened. In many ways that's what an identity crisis is: the realisation that the slow incremental changes we all experience every day have added up into something big while you weren't looking, and that something you thought was part of you really isn't any more.

That’s a perfectly fair point and one I didn’t consider. Thanks for bringing this up, under this light the time frame of Dora’s realization and her gradual shift into a different identity over the course of the next few comics makes perfect sense.

Finally, it was pointed out to me by Marco on the QC Forums that it’s only fair to link to the comic itself in these posts. While I had figured it was really simple to find the comic for whoever’s reading it considering it’s one of the biggest, longest running webcomics out there, they do have a point that I at least owe it to supply links to the site in these posts. So from now on, the dumb intro blurb to each of my posts will hyperlink to the first comic in the batch I’ll be talking about. That way, you can read along with the analysis if you so wish. Cool? Cool.

Now with that all out of the way, let’s move on to the analysis. Agent Turing has nope’d out and Dora saw herself out, letting Marten know that if he buys her dinner she’ll call it even.

This is a weird case of me totally getting WHY Jeph’s going this particular direction – he needs Marten and Faye at an ice cream shop to reveal a bit more about Faye’s backstory, which we’ll be touching on a bit later – but the particular setup for doing this feels… off. This right here reads like a textbook case of a writer going “Fuck, how do I get these characters to do XYZ…” and this being the best solution they could come up with. What’s worse about this is that only a few panels later, Jeph offers a much better alternative:

Literally all he had to do was have Faye be the one to bring this up: Instead of the panel with Marten blatantly asking “So THAT happened, what do you want to do now?” have Faye be the one to bring up that Marten owes her a little something for helping out with the situation, he brings up the ice cream parlor and then the rest of the comic goes on as normal. This may sound pedantic, but it’s a case where just a slight change in wording makes all the difference between sounding contrived and sounding natural.

I have… issues with this comic.

On one hand, Faye is opening up more about her past. A small, innocuous thing spurred her on to open up a little more to Marten, the reminder cracking her mask and showing just how much trauma she’s really containing within. You can tell this is more than just “bringing back memories” – his death had a profound impact on her, there’s something she’s not wanting to bring up or discuss but is being partially dragged to the surface. This is good character writing, and an amazing step in Faye’s character arc. It spurs curiosity, sparks intrigue, makes you WANT to keep reading to see the next time Faye’s mask cracks because you want to see what she’s hiding underneath it.

On the other hand… there’s no nice way to say this – at this point, Jeph is not talented enough at drawing to portray this from an imagery standpoint. The faces are too stiff, the expressions to stock. Faye doesn’t look like tears are escaping from her despite her best efforts to keep a straight face, she looks like she’s mildly disinterested and a blue line to represent tears was drawn on top of her face. Writing can take you far, but the thing about comics is that the written word is only half of the story. Anything you sell with words, you need to also be able to sell with expressions, with physicality and staging.

I’m not an expert in art – not by a LONG shot, I couldn’t draw a comic to save my life – so I can’t exactly offer any advice on how he could’ve made this work better. I’m at least glad to say that with time Jeph came to improve his artistic style, making moments like this feel a lot more natural down the road. He eventually gets comfortable enough with his drawings that he’s able to tell a story using JUST body language, which is admirable. Clearly, we’re not there yet… and unfortunately, it hurts the mood that this comic is trying to sell.

After a week of guest comics, we continue the story with Faye sharing stories about her childhood with Marten, showing just how comfortable she’s become around him that she feels at ease sharing details about her past she likely wouldn’t share otherwise.

Oh, and we’ve got some revelations about Marten’s past here. The Thanksgiving comic where he talks about how his family drives him crazy is starting to make more sense now, isn’t it?

Here, we see three things displayed. First, the fraction used in Marten’s dialogue instead of just saying “half”. I… don’t get why that is. It makes me irrationally angry though. I’m aware that’s fully on me.

Second, this serves to showcase both Marten’s blasé attitude about his strange upbringing and offer potentially an expiation as to why he seems so passive about everything. I’ve offered up the idea in a previous post that when he goes out and makes a choice, it’s enough to completely shift his entire world, so that may have served to encourage him not to not want to rock the boat and keep his head low. This, however, might serve as an alternative explanation, or at least another piece of the puzzle – growing up in a… let’s call it “untraditional” household where his parents were clearly quite open about what they were doing with his son, the fact that Marten grew up to be rather milquetoast serves to make a certain degree of sense.

Third, Marten’s being sassy. I like when Marten’s sassy. As I said, his character kind of… devolves in later comics, so seeing him have a spine enough to throw this out is always fun to read. Plus, it also serves to showcase how comfortable the two of them are with each other that Marten can sling this stuff out without fear of retaliation.

Setup...

The next day, Faye’s leaving for work when a surprise visitor comes to their door.

Marten’s comment always makes me laugh. This comic in general is just hilarious, from Amanda – Faye’s sister’s name is Amanda by the way – triple bomb thrown right into Faye’s lap to Faye’s 404 error to Marten not even missing a beat in his reaction to what’s going on in front of him.

Honestly, I’m with Marten here. And once again, I’m afraid I have to point out the fact that Jeph isn’t quite talented at drawing facial expressions yet ruins the punchline to Faye’s joke in the last panel. At least the writing serves to keep the humor going strong, and don’t mistake me here – these next few comics are gut busters. I fucking love the chaos Amanda causes by just stepping into their lives.

Oh yeah, I guess I should talk about Amanda now, shouldn’t I? Well, uh. Hm. She’s a Lesbian. And she’s a bit of a troublemaker. And like a little bit of a ditz?

…yeah that’s literally all I can think to describe her as. Cut me a little bit of slack here though, at the time of writing we’re on page 4010 and I’d be genuinely surprised if Amanda was in more than 50 pages total. The only real significant things I can think to say about her as a character is how what she says and does serves to inform Faye’s character.

Like right here – we can see the whole “doesn’t plan much further than the very next step you’re about to take” mentality runs in Faye’s family. Also, Jeph’s trying different angles out! Good on him, even little changes like this can serve to make the action feel at least slightly more dynamic!

“Clitoriste” is an amazing word and I hope to find a way to work it into at least one conversation before I die.

Amanda hangs around the coffee shop, swapping sex stories with Dora as Faye desperately tries to claw her own eardrums until Marten comes along. And as I’m saying this, I realize with hindsight that Dora’s being super cool right now, not only letting her loiter around her business but also realizing she was kicked out of her house at least in part because of her sexuality and so is letting her know “Hey, fucking girls is AWESOME, right?” to keep her mind off current events. The more I talk about Dora, the cooler she gets, seriously.

“Aerodynamically curvaceous” is another amazing phrase, this one great enough that Jeph eventually made it into a T-shirt. Seeing as I have as many curves on me as a string bean does, there’s no way I could get away with wearing it myself, but the fact that the shirt exists makes me a little happier to be alive.

Anyway, this comic goes on to show that despite the circumstances, Amanda is taking this rather well all things considered, and Faye has faith that given some time to sit with the information their mom will come around… Also that Faye was a damn good student, which might go on to explain how she was able to absorb so much information about guitars when her ex rambled on about them so much – she just retains information THAT well.

This comic… raises a LOT of questions. The last comic involves characters from another webcomic entirely, making this a fun little Easter Egg/crossover sort of deal. That being said, this raises a LOT of questions about the continuity of QC. Does it take place within the universe of Diesel Sweeties? Or does Diesel Sweeties exist within the universe of QC? The fact that we have a humanoid robot here – does that serve to shed a light on AI development in the QC universe? Did Jeph consider what AI development there would be at this point in writing? I assume not, as thus far the only intelligent devices are Anthro PCs. Is Clango an Anthro PC? Is he a prototype of a more advanced synthetic?

These are questions that were never intended for me to ask, aren’t they? Yeah. That’s what I figured. Considering the fact that Amanda has a girlfriend is canon, and the following phone conversation on the next page is canon as well, the best way to rationalize this is to just pretend that last panel doesn’t exist. Remove it entirely, and this strip fits in perfectly with QC’s established continuity and universe thus far.

Unless you REALLY want to find a way to fit Diesel Sweeties into QC’s universe, which I suppose wouldn’t be that difficult considering it’s a non-plot focused gag-a-day comic, but that’s entirely up to you.

Oh, and speaking of the conversation the two have over the phone:

Credit where it’s due, Dora’s expression on the first two panels is clearly different from the standard set of facial expressions Jeph usually puts on everyone. It’s always nice to see some experimentation! And here’s another situation where Amanda’s main purpose is to drive forward Faye’s character – here we get another hint of something that happened in her past, confirmation that she hasn’t dated anyone in a long time and some kind of source of a reason why she hadn’t. The scar on her chest, the death of her father, the lack of a love life stemming from some event… pieces to the Faye puzzle are falling into place, but we still don’t have everything. We’re given just enough to inspire further curiosity though, which – and I know I’ve said this a hundred times before, but I will say it a hundred times again – is good character writing.

…all that said, I sincerely hope that phone was shock proof. I don’t think her Mom’s exactly going to be in the mood to get her a new one.

Considering Amanda stole her credit card and all, I don’t blame their mom for being furious at her. That said, it’s nice to see that it didn’t take long at all for her to calm down and want to talk things over.

And here, we have specific confirmation that there was a set of “circumstances” that led Faye to want to leave home and move up here. Another piece of the Faye mystery falls into place.

Amanda’s immediately heading off to the airport to return home, leaving Marten and Faye to reel in the wake of an… I’d say it’s fair to call it an intense day.

HAH! If you haven’t read all the way through QC, you don’t understand why that’s so funny in hindsight. Trust me, give it another few hundred comics and it’ll make sense. God, I wonder if that specific reference was intentional on Jeph’s part, or if he just likes Vespas? Then again… he IS an anime buff, it’s entirely possible both events stem from FLCL.

Oh hey, there’s that pink Anthro PC again. We saw them back at the LANPark. Haven’t added them to the character list though since we don’t even know their name, but it seems like Pintsize has friends and a life off-panel. Good for him! I do wonder what ends up happening to these guys later though… Most likely they all just drift apart and move on with their lives.

...Why am I so sad all of a sudden?

And here we see an example of the two of them openly flirting with each other, dipped deep in sarcasm of course but that’s just how these two roll. Their inter-personal relationship has progressed really well and at a nice, natural pace so far. At this rate, something should be coming to a head very soon – either one or the both of them need to acknowledge the fact that they’re getting closer, or something’s going to happen that will throw a monkey wrench into the dance they’re performing.

Ugh. I’m coming to hate whenever Marten says “What do you want to do now?” Maybe it’s just me, I’m willing to accept I’m reading too much into this, but whenever he says that all I hear in my head is Jeph going “I can’t think of a more natural way to transition into this next scene so I’ll have Marten ask this question to push the scene forward.” It just feels like bad storytelling to me, it really does.

Now, I need you to hold onto your seats right now, because what you’re about to read next might just be the greatest comic you’ve ever read in your life. The mere act of seeing this may very well knock you out of your seat. Are you ready for this? I don’t think you are – I don’t think ANY of us are. Brace yourselves.

My man, Jimbo! And yes, he is officially called Jimbo now, so we’ll be changing the name in the character stats screen at the end of this post. And this man, this absolute LEGEND, is living the dream – quitting his blue-collar job to pursue his passion in writing! He’s worked hard to get where he is in life, and now that he’s here, the fruits of his labor are paying off! As a commercial electrician who’s writing on the side, I strive to be like Jimbo one day. God bless you, you absolute PINNACLE of human achievement!

I can’t NOT show off more Jimbo comics, he’s just that great. Also, Faye’s drunken antics are fucking hilarious.

Credit where it’s due to Faye for not only helping Jimbo out with his writing but also doing it as a completely on-the-spot Haiku, while totally piss drunk. Not even going to lie, that takes talent.

Faye’s willingness to engage in behavior like this raises… questions. Questions that I’m not entirely comfortable asking right now considering the author’s own past with alcohol. I’ll touch more on it when we reach the batch of comics 501-550, I’m going to need more time to prepare myself to talk about it in a way that’s as respectful as possible.

And finally… the moment of truth. When long-time readers of QC remember the Pre-500 era, there are two things that come to our mind: The actual conversation that happens at issue 500 that marks the transitional phase of QC into the kind of webcomic it is today… and the headbutt-crotch-vomit comic.

Behold.

I’m not even going to try offering commentary here. Absolutely nothing I could say can be better than what you just witnessed in this comic.

This page right here… it has an interesting dynamic between its first and last panels. Panel one, again, Jeph takes the time to make a new facial expression for Faye as she’s waking up, one that looks nice and works with the dialogue to communicate how she’s feeling. And then in the last panel… well, I don’t think it’s exactly controversial to say that her face in the last panel doesn’t communicate the confusion and rage she’s supposed to be feeling as expressed in the dialogue, is it? Jeph is getting there, his artistry is clearly evolving, but he’s not quite talented enough to pull it all off quite yet. Still, little improvements should be applauded!

And here we get another character confirming suspicions raised back in #172, that being Faye clearly has some relationship hangups stemming from something happening in her past. This raises some concerns considering their more flirtatious behavior around each other and their developing inter-personal relationship. At this point, SOMETHING has to happen to inspire a reaction or change out of one of the two, or they may very well find themselves trapped in stagnation… keep that in mind for a little while longer. On the art side of things, something to note that I just realized… Steve has a shine in his eyes to make them look more natural and full of life, but Marten’s doesn’t. Is there any particular reason for this? And why am I noticing it just now? Actually looking back a few comics, the “shine in the eyes” detail only started with #186… again, in all characters except Marten. Is there a significant reason for this? Or is it just a detail that’s easier to do with the shades of color in people’s eyes except for Marten’s for whatever reason? I don’t have an answer, but it’s something to keep in mind at least while we watch the art evolve.

Also, one more thing?

Either Marten’s a liar, or Faye’s ass is just THAT good that it converted him. My money’s on the latter, considering people routinely talk about how baller Faye’s ass is.

Yes, I did just use the word “baller” unironically. No, I don’t have any shame, thanks for asking.

…payoff. 

And again with the fucking contraction thing… It’s not subtle if other characters are pointing it out! I know, I’m the only person willing to die on this hill, and I KNOW it’s long-passed and nobody’s concerned about it anymore, but it genuinely bothers me! This is a stupid character traits that… bah, I’m not going to repeat myself again. On a lighter note, this particular comic showcases how much better Jeph’s gotten at drawing faces. It’s not much, but it’s better than the stock expressions that most characters usually wear, and you can see some subtle actions and thoughts expressed in the way Dora or Faye’s eyebrows move, in which direction their eyes are facing… it’s nice stuff.

I won’t show everything in these next three comics, but I wanted to showcase this series of events at least because this is some good character writing that says a lot about both Steve and the new girl Jeph introduces.

Setup…

Payoff…

…and subversion of expectations.

Sorry Marten, but I’m with Steve here 100%. That was clever, well-played, and EXTREMELY hot all at once. It’s too bad we don’t end up seeing much of Ellen after this because she has SUCH a strong established introduction.

And what fortunate timing – we have another collection of guest comics, which ends RIGHT at #200:

And here we go – the spark of conflict in the relationship dynamic between Marten and Faye that I predicted we needed. How’s Faye going to deal with this? How’s Marten going to deal with this? What if on this date it turns out he’s actually, seriously interested in Dora? Would this push Faye to action? She’s made it clear, at least to the people around her, that she’s not interested in pursuing something with Marten… so what if someone made her put her money where her mouth is? Well, we’ll find out one way or another come the next batch of comics.

While we’re still talking about this batch however, let’s do our usual deal of comparing the art shift between the first and the last comics in the batch:

This is a clear-cut example of a lot of small, subtle tweaks happening over the course of a long enough period of time making a clear, distinct difference. The biggest change, of course, being the faces of everyone as I’ve been bringing up all throughout this post – everyone looks so much more EXPRESSIVE. You can get a proper read on someone’s mood based on just how they look alone now, and I find that super impressive… admittedly, it also makes me wish that Jeph could/would re-do the ice cream comic in this newer art style to properly capture the expression on Faye’s face that he wanted to capture, but you know. Would’ve, could’ve, should’ve.

So what did I think of this batch of comics so far? Personally, I think it’s the best batch yet – the best improvement in art, the most introduced on Faye’s character, the best sarcasm from Marten… a LOT was improved in this batch, and that deserves praise. I like where the plot is going, I want to know more about Faye, and I am hooked on the will they/won’t they story, especially with the newer developments in the complexities of their relationship web coming into play.

All that said, let’s take a look at the data analysis for this particular batch:

Marten: 34/50 – 68%

Faye: 33/50 – 66%

Dora: 12/50 – 24%

Amanda: 12/50 – 24%

Steve: 6/50 – 12%

Pintsize: 5/50 – 10%

Jimbo: 3/50 – 6%

Ellen: 3/50 – 6%

Turing: 1/50 – 2%

Grand Total:

Marten: 166/200 – 83%

Faye: 163/200 – 81.5%

Dora: 51/200 – 25.5%

Pintsize: 50/200 – 25%

Steve: 22/200 – 11%

Amanda: 12/200 – 6%

Sara: 7/200 – 3.5%

Jimbo: 5/200 – 2.5%

Turing: 4/200 – 2%

Raven: 3/200 – 1.5%

Ellen: 3/200 – 1.5%

Scott: 2/200 – 1%

Miéville: 1/200 – 0.5%

Ell: 1/200 – 0.5%

Do note that in this last batch, 12 of the 50 were non-canon guest comics, so I didn’t count any characters showing up in any of them. Either way, it looks like Amanda was in enough comics to create a barrier in the stats between main and major supporting characters and minor characters as far as amount of time they’ve shown up in the comic goes. I don’t know if anyone else finds that as interesting as I do, I just think it’s neat.

In any case, tune in next week for the exciting conclusion to the double-date story! And a trip to the hospital!

…the two things aren’t related, I swear. See you then.

[blackrose-ffxiv]

Mandatory Social Excursions - Viper’s Nest 11/15

Lebeaux Desrosiers didn’t bother knocking but rather went straight for the handle. Unlocked essentially meant ‘welcome, come in’ after all. Or it just made it easier for lost souls to wander accidentally into the depths of the basement. Possibly never to be seen again. “Good afternoon Geofferaut.” He called out cheerfully as he descended down, checking the usual hiding spots for the other elezen.

Geofferaut Derosiers stood over a severed foot, several needles and instruments protruding from an open incision just above the ankle. "Hello Lebeaux Desrosiers."

Lebeaux found him standing over a strange project. It looked like some odd cross between modern art and mad science. “Ah, there you are. My, what an interesting piece you’re working on.” He noted as he settled himself onto a nearby perch. “Why don’t you wrap that up for the time being. You’ll need to change, we’re going out. You can tell me about this project while you dress.”

Geofferaut tapped a needle and watched the big toe curl and release. "Um." He blinked at the toe as if waiting for it to make him understand. "I am working."

Lebeaux smiled calmly all the while, watching as the other manipulated the severed foot into reacting. “Very good, look at that.  Now get another and you can teach the pair to tapdance. It will keep.” In cold storage, probably.  “On the other hand, mandatory social interactions have set timeframes. As well as dress codes. Best hurry.”

"I have no scheduled social activities today."

“Wrong, I’ve scheduled one for you.” Lebeaux explained cheerfully. He hopped down off of his perch and made light shooing motions with his hands.

"Oh. Um." Geofferaut's blinking intensified. In between blinks, his gaze darted between the various instruments, the foot, the guest intruder, and the exit. "Um."

Lebeaux stepped closer as the gesture continued, flicking fingers growing ever closer to Geofferaut. “Mandatory.” He repeated. “I will be bringing you as a guest to an establishment I frequent. It’s a vital component to continuing the charade of being siblings.”

Geofferaut leaned away, bare, scarred fingers grasping for one of the sharper tools on the table. "I have questions. What is the establishment. What are the parameters for dress."

Lebeaux paused in the shooing motion, but he didn’t move away. “I can answer your questions as you dress.” He explained calmly. “Dress code would be ‘I don’t want to be embarrassed to be seen with you’.” He suggested helpfully. “The coat you wore to the Tradehouse was rather dapper. That would suffice. Or something similar.”

"Okay."

Lebeaux nodded. “Very good. Go put it on. It’s a social club for gentlemen.” He explained, eyeing the foot still laying out on the table. “The earlier in the day we go the less likely it is that it will be crowded. I thought you would appreciate that.”

Lebeaux pushed the door open without bothering to knock, holding it open to ensure the other elezen would follow him in. “Good afternoon.” He called out cheerfully.

Geofferaut followed Lebeaux through the doors and immediately did his best to disappear into the plant.

Daijiro Satake hums. "Then, would you not be happier than you were having not explored this option?" he wonders. "It is one thing to accept that one is suffering. Another to live with suffering without knowing all that one has done to prevent it." He offers a light shrug. "Then, what is it that you wanted to talk about?" He cants his head slightly. "Ah. Mayhaps we ought to speak quietly of such things. There are curious personages upstairs, if I am not mistaken."

Perrin Solleux meanwhile had just managed to slink in behind the other two elezen. With one familiar white robed elezen, for now he remained quiet with his hands behind his back. Maybe the other duskwight considered him part of Lebeaux’s menagerie.

Michaux Vidal lowers his book at glances toward the door as it opens. When Lebeaux steps in, he smiles a little and sets the book aside. He rises. "Good afternoon, Lebeaux, and... friend?" Then he sees Perrin. "Friends?"

Lebeaux looked about the initial parlor, finding a familiar face there already. “Michaux, what a surprise to find you here.” He noted with a calm smile, he waved a hand towards the black-clad man behind him. “This is Geofferaut Derosiers.” He leaned hard on the same name for a moment. Then tilted his head. Michaux knew his real name, the ruse would be lost on him. “An associate of mine. I’ve decided to bring him to the club so he can enjoy a little company.”

Michaux lifts his brow and takes another look at the Elezen trying to hide behind the plant. "Desrosiers, hm? Kareem is preparing some tea. Should I go tell him to make some in the Ishgardian manner also?"

Rashk Geilt glances at Daijiro and narrows his eyes, his ears twitching. "Then perhaps we should go elsewhere to discuss what I wish to discuss," he says. "Though it can wait if you wish to perform your owner greeting rituals at any potential new visitors."

Lebeaux nodded in agreement to Michuax’s question. “Ishgardian tea would be divine.” He smiiiiled at Geofferaut. “You should go sit by Michaux. He is a friend of mine.” He suggested, indicating the couch before he looked back to Perrin. “I would expect nothing less. I suppose your own line of work would be more profitable than working for another anyways.” He strode across the room with a flick of his coat tails to settle himself onto the couch so he wouldn’t have to keep turning.

Geofferaut blinked. "Um. Okay." He sat ramrod straight and technically next to Michaux.

Michaux blinks once, slowly, at Lebeaux's unusual friend, and then a sparkle of amusement appears in his eyes. He nods at Lebeaux. "I'll be right back. Please make yourselves comfortable." He bows his head in greeting to Perrin too on his way out of the room.

Daijiro nods. "Very well. Let us go elsewhere then", he says. "Ah. But then, it would be rude to abandon new visitors. Would you not join me in offering companionship to such personages? Ah. If you are feeling well enough to do so, of course."

“Of course.” Lebeaux nodded when Michaux left the room, smiling smugly over at Geofferaut. “Oh, I haven’t introduced you. Perrin, this is Geofferaut Derosiers.” Lebeaux shifted over to plant himself obnoxiously in the center of the couch.

Rashk takes another drag off the pipe before tapping the fogweed out and abandoning the pipe for Kareem to clean later. "I feel perfectly fine." And even if he doesn't, well--he feels fine enough to pretend. He gets up and then waits for Daijiro, obviously intending to let the Hingan lead.

"Your associate, if I heard correctly." Perrin noted before giving said Derosiers a short nod of acknowledgement. Before simple planting himself onto the free chair.

Geofferaut updated the list accordingly.

Michaux returns after a few moments, still looking rather amused, and walks over to sit closely beside Geofferaut. Definitely not on purpose. To make him uncomfortable. No way. "Tea will be ready soon. Are you comfortable?" He smiles at Geofferaut. "You look rather as if you've just sat upon a stray needle. Can I make you more comfortable?"

Daijiro nods. "Of course", he remarks. He then tries to rest a reassuring hand on the Miqo'tes shoulder, though it is a fleeting gesture before he does indeed move up and ahead.

Rashk allows the touch and then trails along, tail flicking in his wake.

Geofferaut leaned away from Michaux. "It doesn't matter. No."

Lebeaux flashed his saintly smile at Perrin, patting the spot he had just vacated. While he had fully intended on sandwiching himself between the two Duskwights, Michaux had decided to go ‘make nice’ with Geofferaut. He wasn’t about to spoil that. The corner of his mouth quirked into a small smirk.

Daijiro can be seen moving past the bar, then pushing the curtain gently to the side, waiting for Rashk to pass as well before he enters and offers a deep bow in the eastern style. "Welcome to the Guzen Mizu Shobai Host Club~."

Perrin just pretended to sigh, as if standing up was a chore. Before Satake walked in of course. "Ah, lovely to see you again, why with Rashk as well in tow!" the duskwight even giving the keeper a small lazy wave, before, now actually placing himself next to Lebeaux.

Michaux is beginning to enjoy this way too much. "Doesn't matter? Good to know." He inches a little closer. "What brings you here today? Other than Lebeaux, I mean." Then he glances at Perrin. "Are you not part of their entourage? I'm sorry for not greeting you properly. I hope you like your tea either strong enough to fight an army, or drowned in milk and sugar."

Geofferaut spoke stiffly from a stiff angle. "It is a mandatory social occasion. Hello Daijiro Satake it is good to see you. Hello Rashk Geilt it is good to see you."

Rashk bows beside Daijiro and then lets his gaze travel the room, starting with Perrin, a smile already on his face. It doesn't falter at Lebeaux, but Geofferaut draws a pause from the Keeper ... before he smiles more brightly. "Ah, Geofferaut, what a pleasure to see you here! Lebeaux, you hide your delightful brother away entirely too much," he says in playful admonishment. "You should have brought him over sooner."

"No I'm afraid not. But I will say not no to a tea strong enough to fight an army with." Perrin replied.

Lebeaux smoothed his expression back to serene as Daijiro and Rashk emerged from the back room of the club. “Good afternoon. I was beginning to worry that there were no Hosts on duty. A shame, so many customers left to fend for themselves.” He sighed theatrically, then gestured to the man on the other couch. “I’ve brought another Derosiers to enjoy your services.” He tilted his head at Rashk’s comments, placing a hand on his chest as though he felt terrible about it taking so long. “It is ever so hard to tear him away from his work, at times.”

"Mandatory. Social. Occasion." Michaux bites his lower lip hard to keep from making his amusement too obvious. "What an excellent idea to bring you here, then."

Geofferaut's fingers twitch arrhythmically in his lap.

Daijiro smiles. "Of course, we have our hosts here to entertain whenever necessary", Daijiro tells Lebeaux. "And such a pleasure to see your brother again. He is looking quite well~". He inclines his head to Geofferaut with a little grin, then his gaze settles on Perrin. "And how pleasing to see you as well, Ser. What desires may we indulge? Tea and rice cakes, perhaps?"

"Kareem is making tea," Michaux tells Daijiro. "I did not think of food." He never does. "My apologies."

Geofferaut breathed shallowly and quickly.

Daijiro smiles. "It is fortunate then that we have rice cakes at the ready~", Daijiro tells Michaux, before his gaze returns to the long-necked guests.

Lebeaux smiled lightly at Daijiro’s offer, tilting his head without looking directly at the Hingan. Letting his gaze drift over the other elezen gathered on the couches instead. “I would certainly enjoy sweets with my tea.”

Rashk observes Geoff, maintaining a perfect, mildly curious smile. Though perhaps the corner of his mouth twitches a little at noting the man's discomfort. Somebody looks as if they might soon bolt for the door. "And how has your work been, Geofferaut? Your brother tells us so very little of you, we're left swooning for any morsel." He's absolutely ignoring Lebeaux completely now in favour of Geofferaut.

Some of Michaux's amusement fades when he hears Geofferaut's labored breathing. He looks back at the man with slightly furrowed brows. "Deeper breaths," he says for his ears alone. "You'll pass out like that."

Perrin waved his hand, the one on the other side of Lebeaux, lazily at the mention of indulging desires. "Tea will suffice, though your other employee over there has already called for it." Though the duskwight raised a brow at the other Derosiers breathing being anything but normal. Perrin leaning close to Lebeaux to speak to him instead, " Does your....brother-always seem to roll of fight or flight instincts?" Seems that a certain elezen here didn't bought the brother stick.

Geofferaut takes a single deep breath. "Fine how are you."

Daijiro smiles. "Then let me go and gather them", he remarks. He smiles. "Rashk, why don't you make yourself comfortable with one of our guests?" He then disappears towards the kitchen.

Rashk slooooowly shuffles over to the sofa Geoff is absolutely suffering on, smiiiling at him. "Mm, yes, you are fine."

Lebeaux leaned in closer as Perrin leaned to speak to him, resting his shoulder against the taller man as he peered past him at Geofferaut borderline hyperventilating. The corners of his smile quirked wickedly. “Generally, yes. In social situations, always. I’m helping him to adjust and adapt.” Wasn’t he charitable.

Michaux glances at Rashk with a lifted brow. Then he returns his attention to Geofferaut. He seems less amused and more watchful now. "This seems an odd way of helping him adapt. If you were afraid of vipers, I wouldn't toss you into a pit full of them," he says mildly to Lebeaux.

Rashk is either the biggest fan of awkward angles, or trying to get a rise out of a certain narcissist by ignoring them and staring at Geoff with doe eyes.

“Come now, Michaux. That’s nothing alike. I’m surrounding him with the kindest, most welcoming vipers I can find.” Lebeaux offered cheerfully.

@cellardoor-ffxiv  @rashkgeilt  @secrets-and-aetherlight  @theforestsquiet  @grey-lotus-ffxiv  

[katzirrart]

Art Growth Compilation

I really enjoy doing posts about improvement in art.

It makes me feel better about my work, especially with how busy I am these days.

I wanted to compile all the comparisons I’ve made over the years and kinda discuss the posts, for myself or others.

I thought it’d be funny to start with comparing how I first drew on a tablet, using dodge and burn tools, to how I do now which is using layers and actually painting. It’s funny to look back on that, you know?

I linked the post I made, compiling all the month to month memes from 2003-2017 that I try and do yearly. And everything else is under a cut ;w;’‘/

Most artists have done a drawing of themselves and a few Pokemon, or their team. I did that in 2010, and was dissatisfied with my work...

I took a crack again in 2013 after I’d learned to draw more animals and not be so Edgy(tm) I really liked the results. I still didn’t use references though, because I was lazy. I just didn’t want to. I still was on that boat feeling like I was CHEATING. I wasn’t being CREATIVE if I looked at references.

Artists get stuck on using reference and it’s AWFUL. USE THEM. USE TWENTY. LEARN!! It’s so HELPFUL, I wish I had started sooner.

In 2014 though -

I tried again.

I had gotten better at anatomy, but most of all, I started to work off references more. I started to really focus on not stylizing so much, but to work on actually making things look like things. I started to work on caring about COMPARISON sizes. Composition!!

While Pokemon reference sizes are -wiggle hands- and while my team changed up, I was satisfied that I could draw Arbok ACTUALLY like a cobra now, Meowth is easy given it’s just a noseless cat so to speak, Haunter is literally a triangle cloud - I was satisfied having drawn that team.

My secondary team in the new games? I was excited to draw them. It was fresh and new and FUN and it turned out PRECIOUS.

I learned better how to proportion things in an image for layout, and just... making characters feel COHESIVE in the same space.

It was a nice thing to keep visiting. I have a sketch in the works for an update even hopefully.

These pieces are kind of interesting to me too, because they’re towards the end of my era of THIN lineart?

My lineart has gone from this, and THIS,  to this.

Literally I use to not believe in line weight, I can still do thin work of course, but I’m not a fan of trying to FORCE it like I use to? Even the second link, I went from the SMALLEST brush in Sai, to using a marker brush that had barely ANY give, to a custom brush on Sai that acts like a Paint Chat brush I use to use with friends online!

That’s what I mean about style too, like you may reserve yourself about things - like not coloring black in and outlining with white, or certain ways you do things. But the growth and changing and figuring FUN ways to color that black etc is where the fun of art comes in, to me??

Learn. EXPERIMENT. PUSH!

A few months ago, I did my first redraw. Of this piece from 2012.

Six years difference.

This was interesting for a number of reasons. There’s aspects I like more in the old one, but not many. I really like the pose a bit better, but I like the casual closeness that I did in the new one because that’s more my Shepard.

But technically speaking, it’s worlds better because I took time. I paid attention to details. I did fun things instead of rushing. I took time with my coloring and didn’t SMEAR it around. I had a friend who use to complain I drew so fast and they felt so SLOW, but I love what that taught me. I started taking more time on my art, and enjoying it more since I caught more mistakes and vastly improved. By leaps and bounds.

It’s amazing what a difference six years makes in not only style, which is often a FOCUS of these things? My style has come awkwardly and naturally to me over the years of critically picking certain things apart? but I really love where it’s gotten.

I have things I want to get back to, but I love... where it is, and CAN be?

But it’s wild to me how much change happens in technical handling? It’s a hand in hand thing, you can’t focus on one or the other only, or the other suffers.

Honestly this has been my favorite improvement to notice though?

Kisame was a character I felt I should be able to draw EASILY? Not so much. Itachi? ALSO EASY. Not so much??

Kisame has weird eyes to grasp how to draw? Thus focusing on them kept making them wonky to me!! On top of that, he’s everything I’ve been use to drawing for AGES because he has a muscular body, with a smaller waist? ... that was something I was use to drawing? I still was awkward getting back into the swing of that... Drawing HIS HAIR though? NOT SO EASY....

But like, Itachi should have been easy, but I have a thing about him appearing too feminine as he gets drawn because his eyelashes, and I’ve really found a nice... medium at this point?

But even still like my face styles and eye styles are finally to a comfortable point for me? I have stopped focusing on some weird things with Itachi’s hair and just... DO IT? But even still like...

The improvement here is literally just if I don’t know how to do something, or I’m not satisfied with how I do it? I just keep at it.

It’s a theme of this post honestly... repetition, persistence.

Keep drawing it. Keep trying to figure out what it is that’s catching you off about how you do it. Don’t like how you do eyes or how they fit on the face? Look at facial structures and references and figure it out. Draw them separate and figure out how to apply them to what you are.

Remember there’s a skull in there. I draw the holes in the skull like the eye sockets, and the nose area to help my proportions for SURE.

I’ve also gotten to a nice marriage in my lineart? The piece before the recent one, those lines feel HARDER or HEAVIER? The newest piece seems...softer? Like I’m lighter handed again?

I really like critiquing my own growth on what is good or working better for me? Older pieces it looks like I’m putting lineweight for SAKE of it versus where it goes now?

INTERESTING.

Like this lineup -

My style shifts so RAPIDLY, it still is noticeably MY style to people, but parts shift so VIOLENTLY because I’m constantly picking at what I don’t LIKE.

It’s funny too in the case of Kisame and Itachi because consistently I’m drawing the SAME character over and over - can make you REALIZE how you’re doing something wrong?

Like, here’s a difference of eight years, and it’s all the brush I use now, and it REALLY shows how my style has changed - in the aspect of one point of reference?

I have a childhood favorite character too, of Daisuke, and I use to be bad at drawing boys, and I use to be SUPER bad at drawing fluffy hair?

It was something I specifically started to learn to do? And I started to draw Daisuke every few months or years for a while. Especially when I started to first REALIZE I didn’t like my style that much?

But the middle one was July 2009, top left is less than 6 months later, and the last one is about a year later. DRASTIC DIFFERENCE. But next -

This one was in 2012, when I started to do more with teeth, or first dipping my toes into anatomy. I started to focus more on HANDS too, I was super bad at them. Overall I started to focus more on making my art have...ages? Like a boy versus a man. Facial features being DIFFERENT.

I can look at this boring little bust and see that he comes off more of a teenage boy to me now. I need to work more on figuring how to draw asian features especially the eyes. Sometimes I hit the mark, other times I don’t.

but between this and 2012? Not too much has changed. I do hair fluffier now, and I angle the eyes better. The teeth not being outlined doesn’t give that weird effect where I might give him TOO MANY TEETH....

People do that and it’s easy but whoof.

So there’s still learning and adapting to do in QUICK drawings, you know? but I can still see there’s good things. That took me like 5 minutes to draw? Not bad honestly.

In it’s own bracket is original characters though too?? But also divergent of STYLE shifts because like...

OKAY. Nightmare Syndicate’s story.. started for me in 7th or 8th grade, that was when I was...14? 15? I’ve been fleshing it out for like 13 years, that’s wild haha!! I love my kids and all.

But okay so SIALI. She’s still fairly similar but I restructured her face for SURE. She’s gotten less edgy, she’s.... a teenage girl.

FELIX?? CHRIST. He’s been such a long journey!! More on that later?

Rot and even Cor?? Rot and Cor are a shorter span of development, but Rot started in Highschool so almost 10 years ago, and Cor has been fairly solid - but even just DRAWING him over three years? Go look at how much he changes.. I’m not married to concepts easily. haha!

People act like making a character you’re STUCK with it. Like Oh boy, I better make this character good, from the get go!!

I only worry about that with small potatoes like my Pillar(Gods) designs I just made for the comic?? Even still, small things will change with them I’m sure.

But not only has Felix and Siali changed, but they’ve GROWN with my style and DEFINED it even. I’ve had to adjust my style to support Felix’s look honestly a LOT. Bend my rules. Break my anatomy stickler attitude - and honestly, that’s the thing.

You have to learn the rules and anatomy BEFORE you can break them. A style built upon broken anatomy will fail you down the road if you just excuse everything with style.

Learn to draw the hands. Learn to draw the feet. Figure out the face. Bones exist. You can break the FUCK out of it once you learn how to do it, you know? Like I’ve seen so many styles I LOVE who are cartoony and BROKEN AS FUCK, but there’s still some STRUCTURE to it. Most of those people can still structure a face just fine, and the reason exaggeration works so well is because there’s like unwritten rules for what works and doesn’t based on that?

Idk.

Felix has a very elongated torso, he’s like 7′ or 8′ tall so I mean?? He’s... broken anatomy, but he’s... lanky - but his muscle is LITHE and stretched. It makes contextual sense. That’s the important part.

But even designs, it’s important to understand designs YOU make, or like... to understand they’ll CHANGE and that’s growth within your art too?

Like okay, example. Felix has a millipede inspired monster form. But with designing that? I still have to know how millipedes and SNAKES work because there's bones and vertebrae in there??

But there’s also the difference of like... CONCEPT, versus execution. You can design a fucking badass character, but understanding your own concept is SOMETHING.

I had no idea how this would play out, until I was mapping out his ‘midsection’ spikes? and man. MY STYLE WAS MADE FOR THIS CHALLENGE NOW. Which is so interesting how smooth my style has always been? Felix has defined ANGLES in it, and it’s hilarious tbh?

But even too, I’ve had to work with Felix’s monster form FACE, to break the rules to make it WORK the way I need it too?

On the anatomy subject too, like when I first got into Marvel comics 6 years ago or so? I had no idea how to do muscle structures?? I was so BAD at it.

I can look at this left image and CRINGE so badly at how NONE of those are muscles?? THOSE ARE THINGS I PERCEIVE AS MUSCLES. Like...

A course I took taught me to draw what I see, not what I know. That’s the whole point of that post that goes around about drawing a shrimp. Look it up. It’s hilarious and cute.

But it’s like, asking an artist to draw a bike, you can tell who uses reference and who WINGS it. It’s funny, but like it’s what you know versus what you see.

I started to study anatomy like crazy and was seeing improvements days at a time. The right image was done like... a month later? already I can see the muscles under the pectorals? those look normal now. the abs aren’t dough lumps under the skin in a perfect 6 pack, they’re the actual plane shapes.

I was trying to find a good reference for myself of learning to make men ‘thicker’ too in terms of the waist etc since the left is really...thin.... but...

A bit better, but even still, comparing these two - they’re 2 months apart? and I can see understanding more about arms and how they connect to the body, where the planes ACTUALLY lay for the chest and obliques and such?

I can see improvements from July 2012 up there, to - WHOOPS. I FORGOT TO CHANGE THE YEAR LMAO... TO FEBRUARY 2013...omg

I mean, I could go on and on about improvements I see, when I go through my art though? Gosh.

Like I’m seeing so SO many bad hands and feet in my old stuff, and just CRINGING because tricks I learned for myself by now?

I give so many pointers and streams and screenshares on discord still to help people with art and it cracks me up?? Like...

I dunno. I’m pretty mediocre tbh, but god damn.

[sehunniepotwrites]

sakura kiss | n.yt | teaser

🌸 synopsis—the four times you noticed yuta’s love for flowers and the one time you realized it was not the flowers he was in love with 🌸 genre— in the same universe as would you be so kind? ; hanahaki!au, university!au, flower shop!au, angst, romance, fluff 🌸 pairing— art student!yuta x art student!reader 🌸 word count— approximately 7-10k 🌸 warnings — cursing; mentions of coughing, vomiting, hospital visits, death (no one dies!!)

🌸 release date — december 11th, 2020 

🌸PREVIEW UNDER THE CUT🌸

Nakamoto Yuta, you noticed, was an unusual fellow. He was your senior in the art department, a fourth-year preparing for his graduation, while you were a couple of semesters behind him. Other than his small circle of friends, the foreign exchange student kept to himself, burying his handsome face in his sketchbook. You had classes together before but those were large lectures with over fifty students in the room— this was the first time you shared a small studio lab with him.

Barely interacting with him in the past, you were determined to change that no matter how intimidatingly Yuta was.

Were you intimidated by his extremely good looks or his unmatched talents in the fine arts? Both. Definitely both. He turned heads without fail and when he smiled, oh my god, you thought he was the sun. Yuta was pretty, beyond pretty even, with his striking long face, brown eyes, styled hair, and perfect body proportions.

To add on top of his “perfection,” his art style was immaculate. The artist never failed to steal your breath away with a couple of strokes and a swipe of his blessed hand. Anything he touched turned to gold. Never sharing those thoughts with him in the past, you made a firm decision to tell your senior this coming semester.

Yuta sat at the easel next to you, barely two feet away from your station. His sketchbook and drawing utensils were already splayed out on the holder. He was fiddling with his phone to pass the time, his painted nails rapidly hitting his touchscreen. How did Yuta make something so mundane as checking his phone look so ethereal? The inner most thoughts in your head cursed whatever beings lived in the beyond for not endowing you with such looks.

You gulped, gathering up the courage to talk to him. “Hey,” you greeted shyly.

Hey? That was the best you could do?

Yuta turned towards you, gaze shifting away from his phone. “Hey,” he said back with a slight curve of the lip.

“I don’t know if you remember me but we had a couple of classes together last semester,” you forced yourself to say with an awkward smile.

He grinned and his teeth sunk into his bottom lip, almost like he was holding back a laugh. “Yeah, no, of course, I remember you.” Your name slips from his mouth, causing your awkward smile to turn into a genuine one. His tone is kind and his voice is low, sending shivers down your spine.

You tried your best to keep the conversation going, wanting to finally compliment him on his work but your professor entered the room and called for everyone’s attention. He handed out the syllabus to a student upfront and around the papers went, signifying the start of your first class. Yuta shot you an apologetic look, conveying that you could always continue the conversation later.

The overview of the course’s syllabus was always the boring part of the first days. Your eyes glazed over, still not fully awake from rising early, and you tried to shake the sleepiness away. Stealing a glance at Yuta, you almost laughed at how his easel was angled in a way to hide that he wasn’t paying any attention. His syllabus outline was discarded off to the side and Yuta’s hands were moving rapidly, sketching out a large tree in full bloom in a page of his notebook.

It looked like flower petals raining from the branches and a person leaning against the tree trunk, hiding underneath the shade. His sketching speed and quality amazed you— how exactly did he sketch that fast and that beautifully?

You made sure your professor wasn’t looking in your direction before nudging Yuta’s side to grab his attention. He snapped out of his drawing daze and turned to you with widened eyes. A red seeped into his ears and pale cheeks, but you missed it completely, eyes zoned in on his quick draw.

“Hm?”

“That’s really good,” you whispered.

He rubbed the back of his neck at your compliment. “It’s just a quick sketch,” Yuta tried to play it off. He was never one to take compliments so well. 

You leaned over to get a closer look. Noticing you almost falling off your stool, Yuta shifted his easel slightly closer to yours. “Is that a cherry blossom tree?”

He nodded, “Yeah, they’ve been on my mind a lot.”

“Do they remind you of home?” you asked. You couldn’t imagine being an exchange student in a foreign country— you would miss home too much.

“Yeah but that’s not really the reason why I’m drawing them,” he replied. His eyes shifted to a look of pain or discomfort as if he was reminded of a scarring memory. You watched him closely to make sure he was okay. He cleared his throat before letting out a couple of concealed coughs, face digging into his shoulder.

“You alright, Nakamoto?” You were too embarrassed to call him by his first name.

“Yeah, I’m good. Just a little cough.” Yuta gave you a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, “And you can just call me Yuta, you know?”

“Right, noted,” the name felt so foreign on your tongue.

“I have cough drops in my bag if you want some,” you offered, already reaching down to grab your backpack. He quickly dismissed you, telling you it wasn’t necessary.

Continuing to watch him sketch, you admired the way Yuta fussed over the smallest details— the lining, the shading, etc. It was nothing more than a simple sketch but if it was gifted to you, it would be framed and hung for the world to see.

He really was an artistic genius.

“Cherry blossoms are my favorite flowers,” you said.

You were too absorbed in his drawing to hear him mutter, “I know.”

“You say something?”

Yuta cleared his throat again with a pained expression. His hand held his neck for a second before shaking his head. “I said, they used to be mine, too.”

Huh, you never really picked him as the flower loving type.

🌸 author’s note— no one asked for another hanahaki but i’m giving it to y’all anyways on my birthday! let me know if you would like to be added to the taglist!

[neraawritesxx]

Gillyflower

naruto couples event - day 1

prompt: favorite canon pairing // how they met

pairing: ino x sai

genre: romance // humor

word count: 1,821

summary: “First of all, a rat? Really, Sai?”

author’s note: I don’t really have a favorite canon pairing, so this is my first time writing anything for Sai x Ino. That being said this could potentially be OOC and borderline crack, but I hope you enjoy it either way!

“Mom?”

Ino looked up from the flower arrangement in front of her, blond hair bouncing with the sudden movement.

She glanced towards at the opposite end of the countertop where Inojin sat on a stool, sketchbook open in front of him, fingers dancing across the page in smooth, smudging strokes.

Sai bought him a new medium for his art, colored pastels, and her son had been inseparable from them since the beginning of the week.

“Yeah, hun? What is it?”

It was silent immediately following her question.

In that short pause, Inojin finished a part of his sketch. When the task was complete, he regarded his work with an inquisitive tilt of his head and a critical light in those pale blue eyes. Finding his art to his liking, Inojin gave a short, curt bob of his head and closed the sketchbook.

Ino fought down the smile that threatened to curl on her lips. It had become a pastime of hers to watch her son work. There was something about the concentration that marred his brow and the scrunch of his nose while he drew that Ino found adorable.

Though if she told her son that, he would turn beet red and say that she was embarrassing him.

Must be an artist thing.

When Inojin finally spoke again, he turned to regard her but seemed to hesitate once their gazes locked.

He blinked once, opened his mouth to speak, then closed it with an audible click of his teeth. Ino arched a brow in his direction, watching him struggle to piece together his thoughts before he felt brave enough to try again.

“How did you and dad meet?” He blurted out the question quickly, catching Ino off guard.

The inquiry was so out of left field, the blond couldn’t help but giggle; a quick bubble of laughter that crawled its way up her throat, filling the silence of the room.

“Where did that come from?” Ino asked, turning back to the bouquet in front of her.

Nibley, she plucked a white lily from the pile of loose buds which resided on the counter. Placing the flower in the center of the vase, she organized some of the smaller blooms around it, framing it as a centerpiece.

When she was finished, Ino stepped away, moseying down to the opposite end of the counter where Inojin sat. She crossed her arms in front of her, leaning down so that her elbows were resting on the table.

Inojin eyed her sheepishly for a moment. “Well…with the new Ina-Shika-Cho training coming up, I thought it might be best for Chocho, Shikadai, and I to learn about previous members…that includes you and their parents.”

Ino smiled at his response, all pearly whites, while pride nestled warmly in her chest.

“You shouldn’t be uncomfortable to ask,” Ino stated softly. “I’m glad you’re that invested in your training, though I’m not sure what your father has to do with it.”

“I want to learn new skills, different jutsus. If I know enough about you and dad, I can gauge what abilities I can bring to Ina-Shika-Cho.”

At that moment, Sai chose to make his appearance.

He came out of the back room, carrying a large terracotta flower pot. He smiled at them briefly before crossing the threshold of the store to deposit the potted fern by one of the front windows.

“I met your father when he was assigned to you Aunt Sakura’s team,” Ino chirped, eyeing the subject of their conversation blithely. “I have to admit I was a little jealous at first. Forehead had a knack for getting ‘lookers’ on her team. First your Uncle Sasuke, then your father.”

Inojin scrunched up his nose at the mention of his ‘indirect’ uncle.

He turned on his stool to regard his father then, watching as Sai shifted the potted plant on an angle that would give it the most access to the incoming sunlight.

“Dad, what did you think of think of mom when you first met her?”

Sai, who was regarding the fern like it was going to be the next subject in one of his paintings, turned his head to give them both his attention.

Before the dark-haired male could respond to his son’s question, Ino sighed dreamily from her perch behind the counter.

“You can bet your mom knocked him off his feet,” She stated confidently, drawing the attention of both men. “Your father called me beautiful the first time I met him. I might have even taken his breath away,” she hummed with a wink.

“You can thank the Hag for that,” Sai said, walking over to join the two of them. He stood next to where his son sat, eyeing his wife appreciatively.

“Her and Dic-…Naruto,” He quickly amended seeing the older blonde’s sudden glare. “Due to my previous lack of understanding emotions, I would say the first thing that came to my head. When they told me that I was insulting people, I began to say the opposite of what came to my head, hence me calling your mother beautiful.”

It was eerily silent in the flower shop following the Sai’s clarification. Inojin flicked his gaze between his parents shyly.

Sai, all smiles, seemed indifferent to the implications his explanation held.

Ino, stared at her husband incredulously, brows high on her forehead, and her lips parted in shock.

“…WHAT?!” She screeched.

-o-

A little while later, Inojin eyed his father’s frazzled appearance before looking towards the front door that his mother just left out of.

“Are you going to go after her, dad?”

Sai huffed slightly, shoulders slumping marginally with the movement.

“Your mother is a…complicated individual, Inojin. She’ll be back…I think.”

-o-

Ino stomped down the street, keeping her head held high and nose in the air.

After expertly throwing her son’s sketchbook at her husband’s head, the blond had fled the scene to stew over the knowledge she had just been graced with.

Was she carrying on a little excessively? Yes.

Did she particularly care? No.

She didn’t make it very far, about two blocks, before the first flower arrived.

A small snake cut off the path she was trudging along. Its lithe body slithering between her ankles, wrapping around her left calf.

Halting her movements so that she wouldn’t stumble, Ino regarded the piece of art with pursed lips.

The blonde bent down, holding out her hand, allowing the snake to wrap its body around her wrist. Straightening, azure eyes observed the small ink creature in her hand, taking in the unique design drawn into its skin.

Though created in Sai’s typical style, the snake had a flower etched into its body.

The black and white snake had a rose blooming on the back of its head, the leaves and stem running down the length of its onyx scales.

“A rose, huh?” Ino inquired, looking at the reptile with a tilt of her head.

The little creature mirrored her movement, patiently waiting to see if it achieved the goal it was created to do.

“Tell him to try again,” Ino deadpanned, removing the small animal from her wrist and depositing it back on the ground.

-o-

The second flower came when she was having tea with Sakura.

While marching around Konoha with no a real destination in mind, Ino ended up at her best friend’s apartment. It took a little convincing, and some psychical dragging, but the blonde got Sakura to join her for a much-needed vent session.

“Can you believe him Forehead?!” Ino groused, flailing her arms to emphasize her statement. “I thought that he was seriously into me!”

Sakura gave Ino a pointed look over the rim of her cup of tea, saying nothing as she took a sip of the caffeinated beverage. After replacing her glass on the table, Sakura leaned back in her seat, crossing her arms.

“You know you’re acting like a child, right?” The pinkette inquired with a quirk of her brow.

The blonde grumbled under her breath, taking a sip of her own steaming tea. Ino knew that her best friend was correct, but her pride stopped her from voicing that thought out loud. 

“After all this time together, you really want to get into an argument with him over something that happened, what, fourteen years ago?”

“It’s our first impressions, Forehead!” Ino exclaimed. “When I look back on meeting Sai, I think about how taken back I was with his looks. He looks back and thinks about almost calling me ugly like he does when he looks at you! What am I going to tell my grandchildren!?”

“Hey!” Sakura started her reprimand but was promptly cut off by the sudden appearance of a pudgy, black rat that scurried onto their table.  

It sat on its haunches in front of Ino, two black and white jasmine flowers tightly clasped between its teeth.

“Your husband is as subtle as a freight train,” Sakura said, eyeing the ink creature warily.

Ino chose to ignore the rosette’s comment, blue eyes scrutinizing the flowers that the rat held in his mouth.

“First of all, a rat? Really, Sai?” Ino questioned, flicking one of the petals with a manicured finger. “Nobility and elegance, huh? Still not good enough. Scurry on home and let him know.”

“You’re hopeless, you know that right? You’re just picking a fight with him because you want to see what extent he’ll go to apologize.”

Ino took a small sip of her beverage before she responded, “Shut it Forehead and drink your tea.”

-o-

Ino found the third flower waiting for her on the countertop of the flower shop.

The bud was drawn once again in Sai’s traditional style, though what really caught her attention was the myriad of color it was painted with.

The white petals were speckled with varying shades of pinks and purples, meshing together for a gradient that reminded her of a sunset in the middle of a Konoha summer.

“A Gillyflower?” Ino asked softly, picking up the blossom and twirling it between her fingers. “Lasting beauty and happy life…I think I like the sound of that.”

Suddenly, a warm body pressed against her back, slender arms wrapping around her waist, holding her close to a broad chest.

“I had Inojin color it. He seemed to be getting better at blending.”

Sai’s comment was in a nonchalant tone, but Ino knew better. There was a hint of pride in his voice that was easily distinguished.

It was quiet for a minute, Ino continuing to spin the flower between her fingers and Sai was content with merely having his wife in his arms.

“Are you done being mad now?” He asked after a few more silent moments.

Ino turned her head, leaning up to kiss the underside of his jaw.

“For now,” she smartly replied. “But we really need to work on your approach to apologizing. Really, Sai? A rat?” 

[kitsoa]

Lyric Comic Q&A

So it turns out when you work on a project for half a year, you get a lot of Thoughts and want to express them whether people are actually curious or not. Without further ado, your un-requested Birdmen Lyric Comic Q&A

(Warning: I’m long winded)

*Why a Lyric Comic?

Dude, lyric comics are cool. I’ve always been fascinated by the beautiful, multifaceted artistic experience they provide, because of my love for music and art. Furthermore, I am often plagued by cinematic trapped in my head, spurred by the movement and lyrics of my favorite songs. Since I have no means or experience in the animation category (which would free these phantoms from my head) the lyric comic was a godsend of a medium for this inspired idea of mine. Kiki-kit of the Gravity Falls fandom and Tides-miraculous’ lyric comic in the Miraculous Ladybug are my main inspirations, I’ve adored their sense of motion and emotional savviness. It’s quite the powerful medium.

It’s also a good medium for me personally. I am a ‘looper’ with my music, allowing me to listen to something over and over without tiring. This is useful in the drafting stages! I loved the challenge (though I definitely didn’t anticipate it’d take this long).

*Why this song?

“Out of Mind” was one of those songs that spoke to me, in an overly cathartic, heart-yearning-- almost funnily sardonic ways. Birdmen being on the brain, I started to easily see how much the singers voice reflected that bombastic frustration our Eishi is so known for. The Pre-Chorus “Are you kidding me?” speaks to me the most, reminding me of his cry of frustration during his first blackout, screaming against his fate as he fell from the sky (this exact image did not make the final cut in the end, but I certainly vied for it until other themes overtook it-- let’s face it, there are many screaming Eishi’s to choose from).

This period of time between Takayama’s disappearance and the inevitable reunion is super intriguing to me. Eishi’s in the role of the heartbroken singer, hopelessly betrayed and unable to get over the good thing they had.

*Breakdown the story:

The progression goes like this:

Eishi’s loneliness consumes the first verse, Takayama’s empty seat, Eishi standing alone… all the while peppered with Takayama’s broken promise, which culminates with Eishi’s defiant Death Tweet. The Refrain then serves as these hallmark moments that define them. This is what they had. Every rescue, every proclamation or venomous defying of fate-- it’s what made them. And you’d have to be out of your mind to think that these moments could be forgotten.

Verse 2 is all about that shift in Eishi to follow him. Wistful memories drive Eishi as he chooses to leave and depart from everything he knows, just to get him back. Meanwhile, that opinion of Takayama is still weighed down by that grating irritation (like hell he’s in touch reality, how could he do this?) culminating to his call for him in the Himalayas. The Refrain fires again with the same point as the last but this time I tried to go for a more fervent angle, some of the scenes actually focus on Takayama’s feelings for Eishi and ultimately the pull they have towards each other.

The Bridge is where things get desperate. The moments in the manga where Eishi is in physical pain because of the Whiteout shake me so much. It reminds me of a straight up panic attack. I let this crescendo with the music, making the black void swallow the chaos in a quick snap. Building to the final chorus.

The whiteout is special because Eishi both yearns after this figment emotionally (his friendship with Takayama) and intellectually (what the hell is it and what does it mean?). It represents his unique position in the realm of the story being able to see it, but it ultimately captures the almost divine force behind the relationship of Eishi and Takayama. The outro then brings us back to Eishi failed call at the Himalaya’s, the whiteout ripping him up and forcing Takayama to save him. All the while calling back to that first interaction between them. A mysterious moment that obviously held more weight than any world shaking rescue. And I cap it off with a warmer depiction of their reunion.

*Are you shipping in this comic?

Despite the romantic song, my affections for the pairing, and any other subtext I’ve provided, I went in with the project with a platonic angle. Like I’m not lying. I’m on the ace spectrum or whatever so I kind of interpret every strong bond in the same realm. So that means, if you think it’s a romantic interpretation-- then you’re right. If you think it’s not, you’re also right. Love comes in many forms. Have fun kids.

*What was your process?

Storyboarding

Listen over and over and figure out where to phrase the panels. I then divided the lyrics up accordingly in a draft and reviewed the pacing over and over again. Does it flow? How many words would comfortably fit with each panel?

Determined the thematic arc. At this point I already had a few anchoring moments so I wrote a description of the panel in the draft. I went with the formula of Verses= move the ideas, Refrain= emotional accents, and the Bridge is like… the climax with an epilogue of an outro. This was tricky step. I debated a lot of ideas and some lyrics didn’t feel like a good fit until I really sat on it for a while.

Fill in the draft. This is where I sketch the general shape of panels. This is also where I look at the gestalt of the thing and make sure the composition is easy on the eyes. I tried to make it dynamic and zig-zaggy so as not to be boring. This is the step where one gets really excited about the project. Cause it’s no longer trapped in your head.

Sketching

Gathered references. Surfed the web, made some myself.

Made time to sketch, I did a lot of them at my summer job, made sure to draw about 2 or 3 a day. I had the time then because it was before I took on my day job. I was very surprised to find that I rarely went back to edit a picture or dispose of a draft. I went through with the mantra that I was going to finish the picture no matter what.

Stayed disciplined with said time. I would not let myself take a break from drawing because half the success came from the fact that I was on a roll.

When I finished them I then went through the process of scanning them (my scanner broke between the first 20 panels so RIP)

Coloring Stage

...Good lord. This is where I probably went the most wrong. Make sure you have a good process in place before starting out this stage.  I was not one to digital art much as of late so my familiarity with my program was lackluster (and it also is literally the worst program  in the world), and my laptop couldn’t handle more than 10 panels. So hurray for a very desperate fix. I did everything from my brothers computer, in his room. Sometimes at terrible hours because that's the only time I’m home.

Color planning. I rushed this process but I pulled up the textures and color pallets and reference images from internet searches and stock piled them. While planning I approximated the overall ‘tone’ of each pane; (is it a dark shade, a light shade, blue, or red in hue…) and then I adjusted that so the colors didn’t repeat or blend unless the panels where connected in the same scene. There was a lot of problem solving in the actual coloring so some of this was not as smooth and I paid for it later.

Sketch Editing. I was able to go back in, move around things and edit certain aspects of the sketch without compromising the entire work. This was a life saver.

Actually coloring. Because I color sketches it’s actually a painstaking process where I can’t use a wand or a fill. I’m not familiar with certain masking and coloring methods that would have sped the process up and I wanted to be consistent. This would take 3 to 5 hours a panel which I would do in small bursts.

Type-setting

Deciding font. I was hunting around for a good font for ages until I just decided… to use my own handwriting. This meant that I had to makes sure my tablet pressure specs were up to date and I had to practice my style. It’s not perfect but its cool.

Apply font to panel. There were moments when I literally said ‘screw it’ and left my handwriting a little more sloppy than standard.

Consultation. I worked with my graphic designer friend on improving the placement of text and the color choices. This was an interesting step she is a saint.

Finalize

Every single panel is extremely large. I had to resize each one. Before this I had many tests in the drafts to see how certain sizes would load or format.

*Will you make another?

Probably. Like, there is nothing more satisfying than getting something stuck in your head out of it. I have a lot of tunes I am fond of but barely any qualify for lyric comics (need to have a good pace, easy to latch on musical phrases, thematic content that works etc.) The fandom is important too. Now that I think about it I have storyboards for an old DCMK ‘lyric comic’ idea to Imogen Heap’s “A-ha” (it was like some hidden dark side!au shit I still come back to it). I can’t let my interest wan or it straight up dies. Birdmen is a really unique series for me because its held on for a remarkable amount of time and strongly at that.

Fun Facts:

I colored a total 77 panels, 11 of which were scraped versions of the core 66 because perfectionist tendencies.

It took me 3 months to sketch all the panels out, sometimes drawing 3 a day. I would often cradle my sleeping kitten while I drew.

Panel 54-- the final chorus, whiteout splash page-- took three days to draw. At first it was two pages taped together, then it was three. I had my friend mend the images together into a massive pic for me to color, then break it apart for blog distribution. The full version is used in her video edit of the lyric comic.

I didn’t use pressure sensitivity on my tablet until I got to the last chunk. RIP

It usually took me over a day to do one picture.

I do not have a computer in my room that utilizes the art program I need. I literally did every panel after #10 in my brothers room. Sometimes hella late at night too. Props to my generous brother, he tells me he likes the company.

I took a few notable breaks. All of Inktober was used on the art challenge. The weeks leading up to Birdmen Week. And at least half of the Christmas season was spent on coloring hiatus.

I like adding a ring around the pupils of the seraph eyes. This is not canon, but an error that I really liked. You can see it as a sort of glow.

I am having my friend edit the panels into a video for your convenience. I have no idea how long it will take but I’m tired.

[floralreddie]

The Kids Aren’t Alright: Chapter One: Part Two (Zombie Apocalypse!Modern AU)

Note: Thank you so much for the feedback so far, guys! Hope you like the second half of chapter one!

Warnings: swearing, gore

Pairing: Reddie (they’re 18)

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12962964/chapters/29673486

Synopsis: Richie is already having a pretty shitty day. First, he get’s a C- on his favourite subject, Science. Second, Bev totally called him out for being a giant douche to Eddie that morning. Three, he was totally being a douche to Eddie, because Eddie was making freaking googly eyes at some Senior dude. What’s the last thing needs?

The Apocalypse, that’s what.

Previous Chapter/Next Chapter.

forever taglist: @pearltheartist@mikoalabearwrites @arielgirly @trashmouth-smashmouth@mzcescapie@somenates27@reddiesballoons@cawcawhawkeye@richietoaster@sassy-molassy@fuckin-richie@zerealromaniangurl@notagoodplace4gods @itsway-past-mybedtime@homohayls @reddiefic@trashmouth-tozier69@temptedtozier@bitchardtozier@virgo-green @reddietofall@gczebos@tozierkasqbrak @temptedtozier @zerealromaniangurl@anniewdoodles@reddiefic @wyattsnoodles  @deux-mille-deux @eds-trashmouth 

the kids aren’t alright taglist: @richiestoziiers @lcvsersclub  @idontknowanyfear  @giraffeattack21 @reddiesetrichie @help-the-fandoms-are-taking-over

Chapter One: Part Two: Part One: Zombies, Gay Crushes, and Panic Attacks - Oh, My!

‘Five rooms down,’ Bev nods, jaw tense and eyes hard. She doesn’t sound as brave as she looks, Richie notes. The red-heads fists were clenched, and she jumped at every yell that sounded from beyond the door.

Outside, the sound of hundreds of cars vacating the car park could be heard. Everyone seemed to be trying to get as far away from the school s they could.

‘Bill,’ Mike says, strong arms crossed across his chest as he gazed thoughtfully at the classroom door. He, out of all of them, was the one who held the strongest head. Richie felt like he was going to have a fucking heart attack (because what the fuck was going on?!), but he knew full fucking well that he had to focus on getting to Eddie and Ben. They all look to Mike.

‘Y-yeah?’ Bill asks. He’s standing close to Stan, the shorter of the two, and his auburn hair was tousled, and his blue eyes frightened. Richie knew Bill pretty fucking well, after being friends with him since they were four, and the look in Bill’s eyes said that he was shit scared, but he wasn’t going to acknowledge that fact until his friends were safe.

‘You’re going to have to go to your truck. Take someone with you - Stan?’ Bill begins to shake is head as Stan looks almost guilty and relieved at the prospect of leaving the High School and its confines. ‘Bill - I know you don’t want to leave us, man, but we need you to be waiting for us somewhere for when we run. And someone...someone could try and steal your truck-’

‘He’s right, dude,’ Richie cuts in, as Bev nods in agreement. He pushes his mass of curly hair back and shifts in his chucks. He just wants to get going - Eddie was waiting for him. He shoots a brown eyed gaze to Mike, then to Bev. ‘You guys up for that?’

Bev doesn’t even pause before nodding, her brown furrowed and her hands on her metallic back pack. ‘Let’s fucking do this,’ she mutters. She pauses, ignoring Bill’s helpless look at not being able to help as Mike instructs them where they should wait, and Richie watches her in interest.

He grins when she kicks at one of the rickety table legs with the hard toe of her black Docs, kicking it easily free and swooping down to pick it up. She turns to the boys with a flourish. ‘Weapons,’ she says breezily.

Bill and Stan grasp Richie, Bev and Mike’s shoulders before they slip into the hallway. There are a few students hiding round corners further don the corridor, but then run quickly when they see the five Losers (the Losers Club, some shitty nickname that they made up when they were kids and Bowers used to bother them) step out of the classroom. 

There was blood staining the floor outside the door, and Richie grimaces at the sight.

‘West exit,’ Mike nods, grabbing Bill’s hand. He nods, and Bill nods back. ‘Be safe,’ he says.

‘You, too,’ Bill and Stan say at the same time.

‘In a bit, Stanley, Billiam,’ Richie says, feigning that he isn’t shit fucking scared right now. ‘And try and find out what the fuck is happening, huh?’

Stan rolls his eyes, tugs on Bill’s plaid shirt, and then they are hurtling down the corridor away from the three of them, pieces of splintered wood from the classroom tables in their hands.

Richie watches them go, before sighing. ‘Let’s go save the damsels in distress, huh?’ he says, turning on his heel with a squeak of his shoes against the floor. 

Bev snorts, despite the situation. ‘Don’t let Eddie hear you call him that’.

They move quickly, their footsteps dull thuds in the odd quiet of the school. They pass one room, then another, then another. Bev hops over a puddle of messy blood, and Richie wonders what the fuck happened whilst they hid in that classroom.

Somewhere, a male scream rings through the silence, before cutting off suddenly.

‘C’mon,’ Mike mutters, head ducked and hands grasping the metal chair leg in his hands, turning away from the horrified stares of Richie and Bev.

Richie thinks bitterly that his biggest fucking problem today had been getting a shitty grade in Biology, and that Eddie was, once again, pissy with him. How fucking much did he want those simple problems back? A lot.

They reach the Art room quietly, and Bev’s shoulder is pressed so tightly to Richie as they walk, makeshift weapons in hand and backs crouched, that he’s half surprised he doesn’t topple the fuck over. She’s scared though, he can tell. 

And that scares the shit out of him, because Bev doesn’t get scared a lot.

He thanks fuck that they have Mike with them

He hopes to shit that Bill and Stan make it to the truck.

He prays to every fucking deity or God that might exist that they get to Eddie and Ben safely, and that whatever is waiting for them on the other side of the door doesn’t fucking kill them.

They pause for only a moment outside the door. Mike turns to them, brown gaze hard and dark skin shining with a thin sheen of sweat. There’s a question in his gaze, and Bev and Richie nod without pause in answer.

He turns, breathes in deeply, and clicks the door open with a quick flick of his wrist.

Richie’s heart is fucking hammering.

There’s a moment of quiet as they stare. Richie knows the girl. They all do. She’s Annie Summers. She’s in their grade. Richie had a crush on her when he was fourteen. Except...she doesn’t look like Annie anymore. Her red hair is a damp mess. Her once blue eyes are a milky, terrible white. Her skin, once pale and freckled, is now sagging and grey.

She looks dead.

She turns to them, mouth slightly agape as she staggers in the middle of the classroom, her arms limp at her side and one of her ankles bent at an odd angle. The summer dress she’s wearing is drenched in thick looking blood, and there was a gaping gash across one of her bare arms.

A bite mark.

She staggers toward them, steady and groaning, and Richie leaps forward. He’d seen the closed cupboard door, and the fact alone that Eddie was on the other side of said door seemed to make some kind fo adrenaline kick inside of him, like when mother push cars or some shit away from their babies prams.

Except he doesn’t think of Eddie as his kid, because that’s fucking gross and weird.

He doesn’t think about this being a girl he knows. All he thinks about is that she’s a monster, coming to hurt him. Eat him. So, he darts forward on his long legs, past Mike, and slams the sharp end of his shitty, wooden weapon against her shoulders as hard as he can.

She staggers, a rasping moan coming from her throat, and snarls at him, hands outstretched as she falls toward him.

He yells, and suddenly Bev is there. She slams her table leg against Monster-Annie’s head, and the thing dribbles out blood and saliva, and when Richie gets a whiff of her he nearly gags.

Mike joins them then, and suddenly they’re a circle of scared as shit teenagers beating the shit out of what Richie is 97% sure is a fucking zombie. 

‘The head!’ someone yells suddenly, and Richie’s heart leaps at the voice. ‘Jesus, don’t you guys watch any horror movies?!’

Bev wastes no time in kicking Monster-Annie with her boot, so hard that the thing falls to the floor with a groan and a clatter, legs and arms flailing. Bev moves quickly as Mike and Richie stumbles back, and before they knows what’s happening she drawing her arms up, sharpened table leg held high, before slamming it down hard against Annie Summers head.

It breaks through the skull, and the once-girl stops moving, groaning, and trying to eat them.

Richie whirls around as Bev chokes on a startled gasp and stumbles back, with thankfully Mike by her side to grab her arm and ask if she’s okay. All Richie can hear is the ringing in his ears of the voice that yelled for him, and he’s grinning when he sees Eddie and Ben standing outside the cupboard, pale and alive.

Eddie, with his pastel blue jumper and torn blue jeans, stares at Richie with a helpless expression on his pale face. His hair, usually perfectly styles, is a mess of straight brown strands. Beside him, Ben breathes heavily, his black button up shirt spattered with light spots of blood.

‘Oh, thank fuck,’ Richie breathes, as Eddie and Ben hurry over to them. He grabs at Eddie without thinking, dragging the smaller boy into a tight embrace as Eddie grunts.

Mike and Bev do the same with Ben, and Richie pulls away from Eddie, cheeks pink and chest tight. Eddie stares up at him, brown eyes glassy and cheeks flushed. 

‘Thanks for coming to get me, I guess,’ he says, and Richie wants to remind him that there was no world in which Richie would not come to Eddie when the other needed help.

Richie snorts. ‘Sure thing, Ed’s’.

‘Don’t-’ Eddie begins to snap.

Bev clears her throat, and Richie blinks as Eddie flushes. Turning away from his best friend, Richie grins at Ben and slaps him on the back. ‘Glad you’re not dead,’ Richie says.

Ben sighs. ‘Thanks, Rich’.

‘Bill and Stan are waiting at the truck,’ Bev states breathlessly. She looks worse than before, her hair a mess and a smudge of red on her cheek. Her hands, Richie sees, were shaking. ‘We need to get to them - now’.

They nod, agree, and then they’re hurrying into the corridor and toward the West Exit.

‘What the fuckin’ hell is happening?’ Eddie asks, just as they round a corner, grouped tightly together. Richie stays close to him, weapon raised. 

‘Fuck knows,’ Richie mutters in the quiet. There weren’t any shouts, like before. It seemed most people had already left the school in terror. ‘The end of the world, apparently’.

‘Figures,’ Ben murmurs. 

Mike continues to lead, and they all nearly slam into each other as he holds up his hand, coming to an abrupt stop. Richie cranes his neck to see what he had seen, his free hand unconsciously hovering near Eddie’s arm, and his stomach turns when he sees two figures hunched over a bloody, half-eaten corpse of one of the Math teachers.

The sounds of slurping, groaning, and crunching fill the air.

Eddie gags, and Bev chokes on a sob.

‘We’re going to have to run,’ Mike murmurs, eyes on the scene before them. At the other end of the corridor was the Exit.

Richie pushes his glasses up his nose, before nodding. It doesn’t take long for the others to agree, too.

‘Give me your stick,’ Eddie says to Richie, voice a whisper.

‘What?’ Richie snaps. ‘No. And it’s not a fucking stick-’

‘I’ll be better with it. You didn’t even know to aim for the head-’

‘Oh my God, you’re fucking welcome-’

‘Oh, we literally do not have time for this,’ Mike snaps with an eye roll, as Ben stares in shock at the fact that Richie and Eddie could still manage to argue now, of all times. 

‘Agreed,’ Bev breathes. ‘On three, we run. One, two, three!’

They hurtle forward, feet squeaking against the floor and hearts hammering. They’re only a few steps away from the things when they look up, blood pouring from their gaping mouths and their hands buried in the teachers stomach, intestines in hand.

‘Fuck!’ Richie swears, grabbing Eddie and yanking him forward faster. ‘Go, go, go!’

They slip past the zombie-fied students, horrified as one of them stumbles to its feet and staggered and slips through the gushing blood to grab at the five of them. Ben yells, just as Mike aims a hard kick to the zombie without even pausing, and Bev whoops.

‘Holy shit, Hanlon!’

They reach the door in record timing, heart hammering and chests heaving as they slam the door open and break into the summer hear and the blazing sunlight.

People are running. Cars were whizzing down the road. Zombies staggers about the grass, desperate to reach anything to eat.

The truck sits in front of the pavement, and Bill hands his head out of the window as he starts to the engine. ‘Come on!’ he yells, as a helicopter zooms over head. ‘Run!’

They do, and somehow Richie’s hand ends up slipped into Eddie as they stagger over the bloody grass toward Bill’s truck, all of them half-relieved with the knowledge that it was the seven of them together.

It made facing whatever the fuck was happening just that little bit easier.