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rassvetsky · 2 years

Text

Steel Blue

bucky barnes x reader

"Without giving you a chance to fight, Bucky left. For your own good. But almost a year later, as it turns out, neither of you can handle being apart, and Bucky missed you too much to play it nice when you're moaning out his name like that."

[4.3k] exes to lovers, angst to smut to fluff hehe, alcohol consumption, smoking, unprotected sex, making out, cunningulus, spit kink, marking, choking, bucky's such a gentleman i love him

reblog and/or like for a kiss, feedback much appreciated. not proofread.

Soft chatter blended into the background as you kept your eyes blandly on the football match playing, small screen not doing the players any justice with the bird's-eye-view. Your fingers trailed the brim of your glass, favorite drink prepared the second you entered the pub, as you were probably the only regular there. That bartender had been a silent secret-keeper of yours for years now, and judging by how quiet and mellow you've been for the past year, he probably knew.

"Hey," he approached you with a smile after serving his last customers, the group carrying their glasses over to their designated table. He had a warm personality, a bit mysterious perhaps, but the unknown didn't scare you one bit. He was the type of person to make others feel safe. "Everything's gonna be alright. Just wanted to remind you of that."

"Thanks, Colin." you sighed, a thankful smile playing on your lips as you took the last sip of your drink, reaching for your wallet since it was late already.

Immediately, he reached over the bar to stop you, shaking his head to both sides with a frown. "It's literally impossible to convince you when something's on the house, isn't it?" he joked, earning a scoff from you. "Join me for a smoke break, clear your head a little. You drank a bit more than usual today."

"Nothing out of the ordinary." you heaved a sigh, letting your wallet find its space back in your pocket as you got up, following his lead through the bar to the front entrance. You saw him fish for the pack of cigarettes in his back pocket in the dark, and you reached for your lighter, igniting the flame and holding it against the tip of his tab when he placed it in between his lips, as he took in a long drag, locking the fire in.

You leaned on the wall and watched him as he took another cigarette out and replaced the other, using the already lit one to light that up before handing the one he had in between his fingers to you. You took it, swirled the thin roll between your fingers to get a read of the label, before taking a long, long drag.

It was a bit quiet after that.

"I saw Bucky last week," he admitted, tone soft, almost apologetic. "Asked me 'bout you. How you're doing, and all that."

"Should've told him to piss off."

"He's not a bad guy, Y/N. You know that better than I do." Colin's sigh pulled an eye roll out of you. "It's been, what, ten months? A year? Forgive and move on, sweetheart, it's the only way your heart could find peace."

"I forgave him the second he left, forgiving is not the issue." you shook your head, a bitter chuckle leaving your lips as you watched smoke leave Colin's, urging you to take yet another drag. Letting it burn through your lungs, you exhaled, closing your eyes momentarily. "Can't forget. The only peace my heart ever knew was him."

And how funny fate was, that a second before Colin started speaking again, your eyes met someone else's in a slight distance.

Those steel blue eyes that used to let you know where home was. Your safe place.

Colin followed your gaze through, offering a tight smile to the man, current subject of your conversation. He didn't see it though, too focused on the cigarette between your lips and the hurt in your eyes. Breaking away from the trance rather quickly, he looked ahead again, steps rushing but not towards you. And with that, he left. Not even sparing a hello.

It's been a year since you last saw him. And it hurt like hell.

It wasn't uncommon for you to wake up to an empty bed, the warmth of your boyfriend which you fell asleep with long gone, instead replaced by a ruthless cold that took over your entire body, the longer your gaze lingered on his side.

It wasn't uncommon for him to be apathetic at times. You knew what he went through and what his mind was still putting him through, but you always made sure to let him know that it was okay for him to approach you, seek refuge in your arms and close his eyes, only to think about absolutely nothing. No worries, no demons chasing him through; just you. Just the moment.

But that morning a year ago, the dread you felt buried deep within your chest let you know that there was more to him just getting up earlier than you when you woke up to his side being cold again. You could still feel the kiss he left by your hairline before he left in the morning, semi-asleep state not allowing you to pull him back to bed when your dreams sounded sweeter to go back to.

You could feel your heart beating by your fingertips when you blindly reached for the folded paper you noticed by the bedside drawer, unfolding carefully only to be met with Bucky's handwriting, hard to read for everyone but you.

You wished that you never ever learned how to read then.

You could tell by the crookedness of the lines and rounds that his hands were shaky as he wrote away, starting off his note with your name, lettering almost apologetic.

Thank you for making my life a lot more bearable, it read, as you ruffled through the lines with your eyes, unable to concentrate on one sentence at a time. I've always been a firm believer that love and respect are earned, and unfortunately, I never earned your love no matter how keen you were to give it to me. I loved you more than I could ever begin to comprehend, yet you deserved more than I could give.

You felt hot tears pushing through, creating a pathway through your cold cheeks, salt lines leading the way down to your neck as you blinked once, twice, trying to get rid of them as much as you could just so you could keep reading.

No matter how much I want to be selfish, I couldn't possibly do that to you. There's a lot of things in this world that you need to experience. You don't deserve to be staying up all night and ruining your tomorrow just so you can hold me through a nightmare. You deserve to be happy, unconditionally. And I know this isn't a good way of ensuring that, but at least this way I'll be sure that I'm not the one holding you back. The guilt of it is unbearable.

Bucky. A fair man. Yet he never gave you a chance to fight.

So, as petty as it is, you didn't try to get him back. As your fingers clutched the collar of the hoodie, borrowed from him; you set the paper down next to you, a heavy sob breaking through before you laid down again, knees to your chest.

I'm going to love you 'till the end of time.

Your legs worked faster than your brain could, as they led the way to the pub a week later. It was routine at that point, you never liked to drink all that much but not like you had anyone left to talk to. Most of your friends were busy with life, understandably, as you lingered over the same sore spot for god knows how long.

Colin's smile invited you in, he already had his jacket on as sometimes he left a bit earlier, leaving the bar to his cousin. The latter was still a student, thankful for every moment that Colin let him work there, as money was tight for everyone and it was hard to find a place for yourself in the job market. "Hey, love." pulling you into a hug, Colin patted your shoulder, head signaling towards the bar. "Someone's waiting for you."

Taken aback, you frowned. Not a lot of people knew about your little routine, and probably nobody in your life would show up at a random pub with hopes of you hopping by, without even a heads-up. "Who?"

"Go see for yourself. I need to go, though, please don't hate me when I'm back."

That sounded like you were about to have a real good reason to hate him once he was back.

Nonetheless, you waved him goodbye, before making your way over to the bar and scanning the people that sat by it. Spotting an empty stool, the figure next to it felt awfully familiar, quickening the beating of your heart and the intake of your breaths as you swallowed down a lump on your throat, slowly making your way over to it.

His eyes met yours again. Almost lit up, even.

"Baby."

You were bitter, Bucky was guilty.

Understandably.

As you sipped through the pint of Guinness he ordered for you, he kept playing with his fingers, gloves left on the bar long ago as if he was trying to show you that he was better.

And indeed, he was.

He pushed through.

And you couldn't help but feel like maybe that's because of the lack of you in his life, although it seemed to be far from the actual case. He was actually happy to see you, ecstatic even, as your sight was the only thing he wished for in the past year. Every night was spent ruffling through memories of you, snippets of how warm your embrace would feel, how your kisses would ignite a thousand fires on his soul and how you'd smile up at him as if he hung the stars.

He missed you enough to go crazy.

And you missed him too, but you were as stubborn as a mule. God, you were so bullet-headed that he could barely bring himself to look at you, guilt eating him alive from the inside, fear of never being understood laid deep within his chest.

But you understood him. Forgave him. Knew why he left, knew why he felt like he had to.

You were just so angry at him that he took your only source of happiness away from you.

"Sounds eventful." you muttered after he gave you a short recap of how his year went, chuckling to yourself a bit. Barely anything had changed for you except that you hated going home now, knowing that Bucky, your Bucky wouldn't be there to pull you into his embrace and keep you away from whatever was plaguing you all day. You used to love going back home to him back then.

Bucky kept the silence going for a little while, before reaching from under the bar to brush his fingers against yours. Even the slightest touch like that burned his eyes with tears threatening to escape, he was desperate, so desperate that he could get down on his knees and beg for forgiveness, for you to give him something, anything, perhaps a hug or at the very least, a shove.

"I can't do this anymore." he admitted, tone sheepish. "I came here a couple of weeks ago, asked Colin about you- and fuck, I hoped that you'd be happy, I prayed every night for you to already have forgotten about me-" a sigh left his lips. "But hearing that you were… It broke me. It broke my heart again and I- I'm sorry. I don't- there's no excuse, but I miss you. And I love you, so much."

His voice was breaking.

You couldn't help but sniffle, and grab his hand. Your hold was firm, determined, almost filled with passion, even.

"I forgave you long ago, Buck." you whispered, the nickname washing out quite a bit of his worries as he leaned in a bit, just to hear you better. To hear you closer. "But I don't think you understand what exactly you ripped apart from me when you left. How- How could you even begin to think that I'd be happier without you?" a single tear traveled down your cheek. "As if I'm as pure as the driven snow. As if I gave you anything remotely close to what you actually deserve."

"You gave me more than-"

"No, shut up," you snapped, shaking your head. "Seriously, drop that bullshit. We were perfect for each other and you- you were just-"

You couldn't bring yourself to say it. Because you knew that it wasn't what you actually felt, it wasn't what you actually wanted to say.

With a sigh, his gaze dropped to the floor. Thinking over everything the two of you had been through. Countless nights spent with you nursing him back to the present with quiet shushes, whispers of 'I'm here, you're with me, safe'. Countless hours of your gentle fingers working shampoo through his hair, massaging his scalp, patching up his bruises. You never mentioned it, never used it against him, instead talked him through the process by telling him about your day; about the flock of birds you saw by the port, about a cute snail you found stranded in the middle of the pavement and carried to safety.

About life.

You kept reminding him that there was a world around him, detached from his own bubble.

When he looked back up at you, his gaze held a thousand words that he didn't have the power to speak out loud at that moment, and a thousand stars. Which, again, you were sure that he hung, himself.

And a silent agreement surged through the both of you then.

Bucky could still walk the way to your bedroom with his eyes closed, or rather, occupied. You giggled at the realization, legs wrapping up around his waist a bit tighter but you knew that even if you let go, he'd hold you.

He was keeping you tight against him as if you'd disappear right before his eyes.

His lips didn't leave an inch untouched, shirt long gone by the living room, straps of your bra pushed down as he bit down on the thin skin near your collarbones. He imagined this moment at least a million times when he was alone, guilt seeping through his veins but even the thought of you kept him going, tight around his length as he fucked his fist, imagining, wishing, praying that it was you instead.

And although he promised himself that he'd take it slow and savor it if he ever got the chance again, that promise was long forgotten the second you pressed your lips against his.

He wasn't rushing, he had all night anyway but god, he was unhinged; uncontrollable with the way a low growl left his lips when he finally laid you down on the bed, a broken moan leaving your own lips when his clothed length pressed against your core. Your hips jumped up to meet his halfway through as you tugged on the end of his shirt to pull it up, and he allowed you to do that, discarding the piece of fabric somewhere on the floor before he reached in for a kiss.

It was wet, messy, sloppy even- but it had been way too long for any of you to care. You missed feeling his lips against yours, spit leaving a trail in between whenever the two of you parted to catch your breath. Your lower lip got caught between his teeth as he tugged slightly, not even bothering to play nice when his tongue grazed yours, hands all over your body as you squirmed under his weight. His lips traveled all the way down to your neck again, ruthless with the way he was abusing your skin, making sure that the reminders of that moment would stay for at least a day or two.

You were his, and he wasn't going to let his insecurities take you away from him this time.

Your fingers tangled through his hair, keeping him tight against your skin with a whisper of his name, body practically on fire with the way you were just so desperate to feel him against you, impossibly closer. It wasn't enough, and it felt like it'd never be.

"Baby, please," you breathed out, hardly able to even speak with how dried up your throat felt already. He only hummed against your skin, hands making their way in between the bed and your back to unclasp your bra, pulling it through your arms before throwing it elsewhere.

"Please what?" the look in his eyes made you feel like he'd give you the world at that moment if you asked, lips pink, swollen & wet. You couldn't find an answer- you were so ready to take just whatever he saw fit, mind buzzy with the way he kept grinding on you mindlessly. All those fabrics must've felt like a crowd to him too, as he pulled away a little to peel your jeans off, his own following suit. "Tell me what you want."

"You know exactly what I want, stop teasing," your tone was meant to be threatening but it came out more of a whine than anything else, as your eyes almost rolled to the back of your head when he landed a harsh spank on your inner thigh. "Fuck- sorry, 'm sorry," you slurred, already drunk with everything about him. "Just- please, anything."

"Been too long that you're not as vulgar as you used to be," he snickered, specifically slow as he tugged his boxers off, crawling right back to you just to trail soft & wet kisses across your abdomen, tickling you a bit but you didn't have it in you to complain. "You'd lay there for hours just begging for my cock, wouldn't you, baby?"

Your mindless nod pulled a chuckle from him as he reached further south, one kiss right above where your underwear ended before hooking a finger through the cloth, pulling it across your legs. "Kept thinking of you. Kept thinking about how wet you always got for me." he whispered, fingertips slowly leading the way to your core, now bare and drenched with expectation as you squirmed, nodding rapidly as if to confirm that.

A dragged out mewl finally left you when he ran his flesh fingers through your soaked folds, hissing out a curse before gripping your thigh and pulling you closer, face already level with your entrance. "Bucky, Bucky, baby," you mumbled, fingers treading through his hair when his tongue made contact with your sensitive bundle of nerves, wet fingers teasing your entrance as he savored the taste.

He wasn't as patient for much longer though, as he pulled away for a bit to let a ball of his spit fall and soak through your already damp core. Using that leverage to push two of his fingers in, he curled them slightly in the way he knew would affect you the best. The slight graze against your walls pulled a sob through you, as you threw your head back against the mattress, back arching when he trapped your clit in between his lips again, sucking and licking until you were reduced to a whimpering mess beneath his hold. Your cries weren't as silent anymore as you moaned out his name, louder than you meant to, the time spent apart definitely showing its effects as you could already feel a familiar coil forming.

The only thing that could be heard throughout your rather quiet apartment was the slurping sounds of his lips against your core, groans that left him when he grazed his clothed length against the mattress and your loud pleas, screams of his name with a few tears escaping. It was too much, it was too less, it was perfect and everything in between as he pumped his fingers in and out of you, abusing your clit in a way that you'd only let him.

That coil didn't take too long to snap, vision blurry until white, his stubble glistening under the dim light with your essence. He felt every single bit of his body taken over with primal urge, wanting to taste you and use you until you couldn't even form a thought, but good lord, he tried too hard to push that back and show you just how much he missed you. Your body was still shaky as he helped you ride through the high, sensitive to the touch, flinching and squirming without much effort.

The harmony between the two of you was impossible to miss when he pushed himself up and forward just to find you awaiting him there, lips parted and tongue out to be given what you deserve. Bucky let a mix of his spit and your wetness fall on your tongue then, as you swallowed it all down with gratitude, body melting against his when he wrapped his arms around you, giving you a moment to recover. "Tell me you love me."

You couldn't reply properly then, only a soft whine leaving your lips before his metal fingers suddenly wrapped around your neck, squeezing from both sides slightly to pull that answer out of you. "Love you so much," you dragged out, a bit woozy. "More than anythin'."

His smile was animalistic as he lined his length up with your entrance, running the tip along your folds to spread your wetness around, your shaky intake of breath indicating just how sensitive you got from only one orgasm.

He wanted more.

"Love you more, baby." he whispered before pushing the tip in, the stretch causing you both to groan in unison as he slowly bottomed out, pulling out a bit just to thrust right back in. "Fuck, still so tight for me. You were made for me, weren't you?"

You could only nod, unable to form any coherent sentences at that moment as your lips parted, gasps leaving through with every single thrust until he got a little meaner. Your gasps left their place for broken moans and sobs then, the force of him on top of you pushing you deeper into the mattress, the guttural groans leaving his lips jerking you further towards the edge of completely losing your self-control.

This is not where you expected to end up tonight, but you were so ready to thank every single supreme being you could think of.

His grip on your neck got tighter, free arm used to keep his body up on top of you as you held onto him for your life, nails definitely leaving marks through his back and shoulders when you dug in. He didn't mind, if anything, the pain only made him want to ruin you harder, keep you sore for days just to return to you whenever he saw fit. His hot breath rhythmically hit your neck as he gasped against the skin, hips drilling into you with so much force that the intensity got you shaking again.

Metal fingers trailed down in between your bodies to circle your clit, harsh material forcing a louder moan out of you as you spread your legs a bit wider for him, the stretch burning through your joints. You were dangerously close already, clenching around his length uncontrollably, intense enough to elicit dragged out and loud moans from him.

"Good fucking girl," he growled against your ear, soft pants leaving his lips as he took a deep breath. "Come for me, c'mon. Give me what I want." his words barely made any sense to you, as you were way too preoccupied with the loud sounds you let out, mind busy trying to fight off the fog that took over.

And that fog didn't dissipate until it was finally too much to take in, a heavenly sense of relief surging through your body with heavy tremors, breath held behind a gasp and eyes rolled close. He wasn't too far behind, pace already faltering when his moans got even more broken, unable to keep it together with the tight grip you had on his length as he pushed deep and filled you up- right to the brim.

With your neck free from his hold, and his weight no longer on you but next to you- you could open your eyes again. Both of you were still panting, trying to recover from what just happened- and speaking of that, Bucky's eyes were on your blissed face, looking for any sort of regret but all he could see when you finally looked up at him was pure happiness in your eyes.

You were still capable of looking at him like he hung the stars for you.

A smile broke out on his lips before he pulled you close, sticky bodies wrapping around one another but you were too high to care, especially when he ran his fingers all over your body and pressed his lips against yours. "How are you feeling?"

"Good," you chuckled wearily. "Really good."

"I'm glad." with his soft whisper, you closed your eyes again. "You can go to sleep if you want, I'll clean you right up and cuddle you."

You wanted to go back to sleep. Hell, you could sleep all day if left unsupervised but seeing Bucky under the morning light, fast asleep with soft snores leaving him was a sight to behold.

You couldn't take your eyes off of him.

Your fingers went up to caress his face, tracing his features as a sigh left your lips. He was so beautiful, looked so peaceful and you were really torn between wanting him to wake up and wanting him to get some rest. But the latter didn't seem to be happening anytime soon as he smiled, eyes still closed, just a sleepy hum leaving him. "Morning," he spoke, voice a little raspy from all that sleep.

"I love you." you whispered, smiling along when he opened his eyes and nodded. He knew, he never for once doubted your love- not because you were a master at reminding him that every day but because he always felt it in his bones when you were around.

"I love you too, so much," he whispered back. "And I'm never ever leaving the love of my life again."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

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lazyneonrabbitt · 1 year

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Sick day

You woke up feeling like absolute shit. Today was you three's day off and now this crazy headache was ruining the fun.

After your painkillers were deemed useless the boys decided yo treat you even more like a princess. You were already their everything but today it was even worse.

"Gonna have to stay in all day and I cam't even continue my game because of this freaking headache.." you whined dramatically, rolling onto your back with a loud sigh.

"I'm sure you'll feel good enough tonight to play some more." Lip came walking towards you and set a fresh pot of tea and an empty mug on the coffee table. "Now quit whining and drink something, yeah? You're probably starting your period soon, you always get these headaches before it."

Meanwhile, Carmy laughed to himself at how easily Lip shut you up. Taking some mental notes since he still always folded easily when it came to you. "Treating her like a princess, huh?"

"What. Princess is just a fancy word for a spoiled brat, which she is. ..which is also our fault for spoiling her so much." They both looked over at you. Sitting there in their clothes, blowing the steam off your hut mug of fresh brewed tea. You hadn't lifted a single finger today. The painkillers were brought to you in bed by Lip. Carmy made you a smoothie to get your strenght up and brewed you a pot of tea without you having to ask for any of it.

After a moment Lip returned to the couch with a large mug of coffee and sat down next to you. He snatched the TV remote and controller off the side table, reaching rudely past you in doing so and booted up your game. "Hey!" You protested until he opened a new save slot on the title screen. "You can't play, so you'll have to live with watching me fail at playing."

"What? You hate this game." You point at the TV to make a point. "You say it's unfair and it sucks because it has no difficulty settings and you 'die way too easily'" you air quote that last bit to recall his earlier statement on your new game when you were playing the week before.

"I know, baby. But I know how badly you want to stare at the pretty goth twink puppet kill other, less pretty evil puppets." His mocking tone was hard to miss.

Carmen walked past behind the couch and ducked down to kiss both of you on the cheek in passing by. "Alright, I'll be making a grocery run if you two are gonna be bickering like an old married couple." With his bag slung over his shoulder he grabbed his keys from the bowl and headed out the door. "See you in a bit, Bear!" You waved bye and made kissy noises as he closed the door behind him.

Carmen couldn't get the smile off his face.his two partners being idiots did that to him. You three were happy, in love and things were good. He felt good.

His quick grocery trip turned into a larger run, getting the freshest ingredients from local markets and stopping by the herbs shop to get some more tea blends for you. He knew your favorite store bought flavors and worked with the seller to mix up a few different bags for you to try.

On his way back he stopped at the local smoke shop and picked up some of the expensive brand cigarettes Lip loved to smoke but only got on special occasions because they're so pricey.

Carmen's love language has always been acts of service, and usually came together with gift giving as soon as he learned his partners' interests. And now with his bags full of items for dinner and his little surprise gifts he made his way back home.

"Oh motherfucker. I clearly dodged that!"

"You clearly didn't. He hit you on that last swing, else you wouldn't be dead now."

Lip's cursing and your arguments could be heard through the front door, having that fond smile creep back on Carmy's face as he walked back into the apartment.

"Hey babe, how was shopping?" "Welcome back, Bear!" The joined welcomes warmed his heart as he walked up to them and kiss them both, "Brought you something." ans hands them their gifts.

"What's the occasion? We got something to celebrate?" Lip was truly curious as to why he was given these cigarettes. "You never got them when we first started dating."

"Carmy, these teas smell amazing. Did you mix these yourself? That's your writing on the labels." You held a bag to your nose and breathed in the blend of red fruits. "Yeah. I know how much you love your fruit teas, so I went to that herb place to check out their stuff. Thought you'd like some personal blends."

You lifted your arm to catch his head as he leaned on the backrest and pull him into a loving kiss. "Thanks, Carmy."

When you pulled apart Lip took the oportunity to grab hold of him too and repeat the affectionate kisses. "Yeah, thanks, Bear."

Carmen took off to the kitchen to prepare soup and some sides for dinner while Lip kept you occupied with his failed attempts of playing your game again.

Dinner was set up beautifully on the kitchen island. Three sets of beautifully plated sides next to bowls of steaming soup, stuffed to the brim with veggies and meat.

Every little detail about this dinner was praised by you and Lip, thanking Carmy with every first bite of every bit of food on the table. You shared details of your couch hanging time, video game frustrations and shopping trip until every last bite of food was gone.

You and Lip insisted on cleaning up so Carmy could relax, but he kept swooping in to carefully clean his expensive knives that he disn't allow anyone else to use. Apologising constantly and immediately making excuses to help clean afterwards.

By the time you were done cleaning and standing in each others' way the sun had set and you found yourselves moving back to the couch. You draped yourself over the boys' laps to watch a movie of their choosing.

~~☆☆☆~~

A/N: Who knows what game Lip is playing?

#sometimes i write #gallzatto x reader #carmen berzatto #lip gallagher #carmy berzatto #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #lip gallagher x reader

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marionluth · 4 months

Text

The talk (and some party pooping)

Summary: Peter has gathered his courage and asked MJ to the prom. She said yes and kissed him. And now he's in total freak out mode as he never had a girlfriend before. He calls Tony for help. Tony meets up with him and they have a heart - to -heart around girls, dating, the birds and bees and booze policies. Fluff and humour. Adorable irondad/spiderson dialogues. Tony giving Peter the talk. Do I even need to say more?

Do press that little heart and reblog if you enjoyed ☺️

The discreet beeping that signaled an incoming call, made Tony look at his cell phone’s screen. Immediately pausing his tampering with the device he had in front of him, on the lab's counter, he swiped on the screen to answer.

"Hey, Pete. Everything alright?"

"Hey Tony... Yeah, everything's great," came the boy's apprehensive answer.

His eyebrows furrowing slightly at the kid's tone, Tony could already tell something was going on. "Are you sure? Are you safe? Do you need help?"

"No, no! Nothing like that. Well, not exactly… Listen, could we meet today? Do you have time for a quick coffee? I need to talk to you about something… I mean, If you can. I’m sure you have more import…"

Cutting him off with a simple "Kid, nothing's more important than you needing me. Of course I've got time. Always got time for you, you know that." Tony glanced at his watch, noting the time the kid must have just gotten off school. "You want me to swing by now?"

After a brief pause Peter answered, "I don't want to bother you… It's not anything major…"

"Peter, come on, stop dodging. Do you want me to swing by now?" Tony's voice carried a hint of impatience, his words tinged with the trademark Stark directness.

"If you can,” Pete answered.

Exiting his lab, Tony strode up the stairs toward his bedroom to get changed. "Let May know where you're heading. And shoot me a text with the address we're meeting at . I'll catch up with you there."

Smiling, Peter thanked the man and ended the call, before following his directions and texting him the cafe’s address. After a short call to May, he continued walking at a leisurely pace. The walk from school to the coffee shop took him twenty five minutes, even though he could easily have made it in fifteen. The sunny morning had gloomed into a gray afternoon and he enjoyed strolling in the busy streets under the heavy clouds that looked ready to dissolve into rain at any moment. Pausing long enough here and there to snap a photo of small details and scenes that caught his eye, he started feeling a little calmer and more centered.

When he finally reached his destination he walked into the small coffee shop and chose the most secluded booth at the far corner of the cozy place, hoping they wouldn’t draw too much attention. Despite being a famous man, Tony managed to blend into the crowd, when he wanted to. Taking a seat he ordered Tony's preferred double espresso and his own plain filter coffee from the young waitress who immediately approached to take his order.Peter started tapping his foot impatiently, his eyes flying to the door every few seconds.

Right as the waitress came back with the beverages, Tony entered the store. Dressed in a casual outfit with a jockey hat and sunglasses to avoid drawing attention, he glanced around him, and spotted Peter. Walking to the booth the kid was at, he slid to the seat across from Peter, removing his sunglasses.

"What's up? You got me a bit worried," the man immediately asked, looking at Peter questioningly.

Peter brought a hand to the back of his neck and rubbed it as he looked at the man apologetically. "Sorry for worrying you. It's kinda stupid, but I didn't know who else to talk to about this."

"Hey!" Tony snapped. "There is nothing stupid about asking for help or needing to talk, alright? I want to be here for you."

Smiling gratefully Peter lightly pushed the man's coffee closer to him. "I got you your favorite."

"Thanks, Pete," the man smiled as he brought the cup to his lips and took a small sip of the strong liquid. "Mmm, that’s good. Now, spill. What's eating you?”

Taking a deep breath, Peter just let the words that had been torturing him all day long out. "I've never had a girlfriend before."

Tony looked at him a bit perplexed. Seeing that Peter had no intention to continue talking without prompting he commented, "Before? Before, as in…you have one now?"

"Yeah... I mean, kind of…. Probably?” Peter looked at the man with a lost expression. “I'm really not sure."

"I figured as much,” Tony replied managing to keep his face neutral and still entirely uncertain of what this was all about. “Ok, Pete. I need you to pace with me. Did something go down with that MJ girl you told me about?"

Peter nodded eagerly and scooted forward in his seat to come closer to the man. "We have a dance at school this Friday. And I've been trying to ask her to go with me for days… So today I finally did it and she said yes. And then kissed me. Like… Lips.”

"Well, that sounds pretty great, kid!"

Peter shook his head emphatically, his words tumbling out in a nervous torrent. "No! No, it's not! I've never been in this situation before! I don't know what to do, or how to do it. I mean, the dance is on Friday, and it's already Wednesday! What do I even do tomorrow when I see her? Do I kiss her? Do I hold her hand? Do I act like nothing ever happened? And what about the dance itself? Are we supposed to stick together the whole time? Can we hang out with our friends too? Do I have to dance with her the entire night? Do I need to ask her out right after, or should I wait? I'm freaking out here!"

Tony fought hard to keep amusement out of his expression and tone. Bringing to his mind his own first flirting experiences and how hard and confusing everything seemed to him back then he did his best to be there for the kid and help him get some perspective. "Alright, listen up, Pete. You need to dial it back a notch. Seriously, chill out! She kissed you, so the big question of whether she's into you or not? That's off the table. She's into you, pal, and she made it pretty darn clear. Are you with me?"

At his nod, Tony continued in a conversational tone. "When you see her tomorrow, you'll make your move for a kiss, but take it slow. Give her the chance to pump the brakes if she's not feeling it, understand? Though, considering she initiated things first, I doubt that'll be an issue. But you always give her the space to say no. That's priority number one! And remember, 'no' means 'no'. Clear?"

"Clear" Peter said, taking a small sip of his coffee.

"After that... you just gotta go with the flow, kid. Don't sweat over mapping out every move. Trust me, the interactions will unfold naturally," Tony continued, his tone carrying his usual nonchalant confidence.

"At the dance, you'll swing by her place to pick her up. I'll make sure you've got a decent set of wheels, nothing flashy, just polished enough to get you there and back. We'll coordinate the timing. Once you're there, mix it up. Spend some time with just the two of you, but don't forget to hang with your friends too. Keeps things interesting, you know? Gives you those intimate moments without the boredom setting in. And remember, communication's key. Ask her what she's feeling, don't hold back on what you want either. Simple as that."

Peter gaped at the man trying to understand how Tony could make everything sound so simple and easy, and how effortlessly he had managed to calm him down, when a few minutes ago he felt like his brain would explode. "You really think so?"

"Kid, I scored Pepper! I know so," the man quipped before taking another sip from his own cup.

Letting out a chuckle Peter had to agree on that one. "Thanks, for coming all this way just for this."

"Pete, I've said it before, and I'll say it again: I've got your back. Whether it's dealing with dates or dealing with villains, I'm your guy. Get that through your skull, okay?"

"Yeah, Ok. I will,” Peter nodded, his shoulders relaxing visibly as he allowed his body to rest comfortably against the booth’s cushioned back.

Seeing Peter calmer Tony’s thoughts started branching out on the many matters this discussion was bringing up and started strategizing on how to broach them. Tapping his finger on his cup lightly he took a few seconds before speaking. “Alright, buckle up. We're about to dive into some stuff that might make you squirm a bit. Some might even call them embarassing..."

Peter looked at the man perplexed, not understanding what he meant by that.

"Alright, Pete… Here’s the deal. When a man and a woman... or whatever combo floats your boat, get cozy, things can escalate. Now, you're not just building robots together. We're talking about the birds, the bees, and all that jazz…”

Peter’s eyes enlarged and his face flushed bright red at the realization of what Tony was trying to get to. “Tony, no! C’mon! I haven’t dated before, but I’ve had the talk… I know…”

“You might have attended a master class for all, I care. Now you’ll zip it up and hear me out! Now where was I? Oh yes… Safety first. You gotta wrap it up, kid, every single time! Capisce?”

Peter who had covered his face with his hands, simply nodded into them, knowing perfectly well there’s no easy way out of this one. If Tony had decided they’d have this talk, they’d have this talk.

Pleased with the response even if it was not verbal, Tony continued.

“So…No glove, no love. And speaking of love, let's talk about what happens when the love train makes a stop at Babyville. Pregnancy ain't just a scare tactic they use in health class, it's real. So, unless you're ready to be on diaper duty instead of spider duty, keep it cautious…”

“Yes, God, Tony, are we done yet?”

“No, no we’re not. ‘Cause, let's not forget about the creepy crawlies, the STDs. Those suckers don't discriminate. So, play it smart, play it safe, and always use protection."

Peter glanced up at the man with a mortified expression. “You do remember that I’ve not dated before and that I didn’t even know how to talk to MJ tomorrow? You really think… sex is a possibility right now?”

“When you're hanging with someone you're into, especially at your age when those hormones are doing the Macarena, anything can happen. You step onto the dating field, next thing you know, you're in overtime without even knowing it. So, I'm just doing what any responsible adult would do, laying down the ground rules. Sex? Yeah, it's like playing with firecrackers, fun until someone gets burned. So, take it from me, always be prepared. Keep a stash of condoms handy. Trust me, it's better to have 'em and not need 'em than the other way around. Capisce?"

“Please, please, please, change the subject, I swear I heard every word and will always use protection,” Peter begged through a pained groan.

“Change of subject, then. That dance on Friday… What time should you have MJ back home?"

"Well, MJ doesn't really have a curfew,” Peter answered, relieved the discussion shifted direction.

“Oh?” Tony replied surprise, drinking some of his coffee as he waited for Peter to elaborate.

“She lives with her sister Gayle right now and she is pretty easy going, so whenever's good,” Peter shrugged.

Deciding to not worry too much about this bit of intel on MJ's family situation at the moment, the man easily replied, "Well, you do have a curfew and Saturday night's booked solid with patrols and kicking villain ass. So, I want you back home by midnight."

"Midnight?” Peter exclaimed in disbelief. “Oh, come on Tony! I'll have time to sleep in on Saturday morning!"

The man raised a single eyebrow at that before evenly answering, "Negative. You've also got homework on the agenda. Curfew's at midnight, no wiggle room. Clear?"

Sighing but knowing the battle was lost, Peter grumbled, "Fine."

“Next item on the prom rules agenda...”

"Oh come on! More rules?" Peter groaned as he slumped back in his seat theatrically.

"Yes! More rules! Can't get enough of 'em," Tony responded with feigned excitement. "This isn't breaking new ground; it's just a refresher of our tried-and-true general rules of conduct. Remember those bad boys? So, about this school dance... Despite the schools’ no-alcohol policy, I've been around the block enough times to know there'll be some sneaky business going on. I expect you to steer away from anything other than punch and cola. No funny business with booze, got it?"

"Well, a beer wouldn't kill me, I'm fifteen!" Peter tried, wanting to gauge Tony’s reaction.

The man's expression turned serious, leaning in with a no-nonsense gaze. "Listen up, kid. Maybe down the line, under supervision you'll get a taste of beer. But at a school dance? Without knowing what kind of booze the fake-id bozzos sneak in and without me there to keep an eye, you're sticking to virgin punch. Got it?”

Gulping slightly at how serious his tone was Peter nodded. "Got it, Tony. No booze. Fair rule."

"That's my Spidey," Tony quipped, lightening his tome and smiling at the kid.

Peter glanced at his watch and back at Tony, "If you're done being a party pooper, I'd better get home, I need to get started on my homework.”

Snorting the man nodded, "Off you go then. I'll finish my coffee and leave as well. Pepper will have my head if I'm not back on time for our date night."

Standing, Peter looked at the man and sent him one last thankful smile.

"Thanks for everything Tony."

"Anytime, Pete."

Important note: this little one-shot is a single scene of my irondad longfic that's been trimmed down and altered to be posted here as a stand alone. In a few months it'll also be found slightly altered in my longfic. Pointing this out to save you any confusion if you stumble upon it in the next few months and wonder what's going on.

Do press that little heart and reblog if you enjoyed ☺️

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theharpermovieblog · 1 month

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#HARPERSMOVIECOLLECTION

2024 MOVIE LIST

www.tumblr.com/theharpermovieblog

I re-watched Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)

Normally I wouldn't discuss a Star Wars film. I honestly don't have too much to say about them. However, I'm making an exception for this one, because it allows me to discuss my feelings on the whole series.

The daughter of a reluctant imperial technician must join the rebellion to find her father and learn of a way to destroy a dreaded superweapon.

I'm not a huge "Star Wars" person. I know a lot about it. I've seen most of what it has to offer. I grew up on the original trilogy, I saw the special editions and the prequel films in the theater as a kid. I've watched most of the new trilogy, a lot of the cartoons, played the games, read some books and even watched some of the Disney+ shows. "Star Wars" has always been a part of my life and seemingly always will, despite my low enthusiasm for it.

Out of all of this "Star Wars" I've experienced, the original trilogy stands out as the best and the most influential films in the series. They're all good movies, with "The Empire Strikes Back" being a legitimately great film, which deserves all the accolades it receives. But other than those films, what stands out in the Star Wars universe as genuinely good filmmaking is "Rogue One".

With the special editions of the original trilogy, things begun to tank for the series. All the stuff that was originally cut or just abandoned due to time restraints, budget restraints or technological restraints was shoehorned back into the original films. This marked an era, where going forward, all "Star Wars" projects would be unbound by restriction. No budget too big, no time frame too long and no special effect undoable. The filmmakers no longer had to get creative or re-think something. And, we can't blame anyone more for this than franchise creator George Lucas.

With the prequel trilogy Lucas abandoned his original universe, overhauling the look into uninspired and glossy technology and blue screen digital backgrounds. Match this with poorly written characters and a director who was no longer being questioned and things got muddy. Lucas had split the universe and forever damaged the coherence. It didn't look the same, the characters had no charisma and no chemistry with each other, and every idea was thrown against the wall, creating a bland finger painting that felt like a completely different sci-fi universe was being built, rather than a return to the one which was beloved by so many fans.

In 2016 "Rogue One" director Gareth Edwards tried his best to reverse this, while also reversing one of the greatest story flaws in the original saga (by fixing the death star weakness plotline). Returning to the original aesthetic with a bit darker flare, Edwards created a world that felt perfectly in step with the original trilogy's 70's and 80's style. The ships looked great, the costumes looked amazing, the locations were on point. This was the "Star Wars" universe again. Edwards then populated the world with a cast of misfit underdogs, who form a bond through their adventure and come together as a team. Along With a hateable new villain, Edwards uses old villains in a way that does fan service right.

On top of all that "Rogue One" is a legitimate War film that works as a war film blended with an adventure story structure. Their are thrilling battles, exciting ship flying scenes, clever and creative uses of tension within the battlefield space. The last 40 minutes or so is an all out battle that works and works well.

This felt new, but it felt like "Star Wars", and Rogue One" should have been the star wars film from which all future films in the franchise took the lead. Sadly, that wouldn't be the case.

"The new trilogy started alright, with a brighter tone than "Rogue One" but it felt like it was adhering to the original universe. But, all that would falter and give way to silly alien casinos, space flying princesses and an awkward story structure full of poorly plotted moments. The Disney+ shows would be hit or miss. Even within the shows themselves, some things would be good and some would be downright bad, boring or cringe worthy. And, all these shows would be filmed on sets that look like tourist spots at galaxies edge in the Disney theme park, making the universe feel smaller and weightless. The use of "The Force" became inconsistent and overpowered. Characters became bland. The universe became oversaturated. "Star Wars" became nothing but a money making content machine.

"Rogue One" has its flaws. The character bonding happens too easily which feels slightly formulaic, and like most Star Wars the story is a bit basic. But, it's a real "Star Wars" film, with an understanding of what made those original films so special and a good sense of how to branch off slightly in its own darker direction. It could have been the quality savior of the franchise, but instead it's just a bright spot in a sea of special effects and bad storytelling.

#rogue one #rogue one: a star wars story

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orchidsncrake · 6 months

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and watch them fall

chapters 1, 2, 3

pairing: joe goldberg/rhys montrose

rating: explicit (preemptive)

tags: au - canon divergence, s4 rewrite, obsession, strangers to lovers, POV Joe Goldberg, murder, bookstore owner Joe Goldberg, Rhys Montrose is a real person, developing relationship, slow build, eventual relationship, eventual smut, tags to be updated

word count: 4,990

chapter 4/?

ao3 link and fic under the cut :)

I dress like Kermit the Frog. Joe huffs as he passes by yet another earth-toned sweater, the metal hanger squealing unpleasantly against the closet rod. He’d already chosen a pair of slacks – unremarkably brown and cuffed at the ankle, which he hates because it makes him look like a hipster but helps him blend in. That leaves him with the momentous task of choosing the other half of the outfit, which the weather has nastily decided with a cold snap must be a sweater. He holds two sweaters in front of him, one green and the other blue, and frowns. Not Kermit the Frog, actually. More Frog and Toad. Joe’s phone dings from where it lays screen-up on his bed, and he squints over at it as if that will fix near-sightedness. He sighs and lays both sweaters on the bed, scooping up his phone. The notification stares up at him.

Be sure to wear something warm. London breezes aren’t known for being forgiving, the text reads, thin under Rhys’ bolded name. What are you, checking up on me, now? Joe drops his phone back on his bed, ignoring the swell of an emotion that will not be named in his chest. He touches each sweater, feeling the thickness of each, and settles on the thicker, green one, guided by Rhys’ text – one that he hasn’t responded to. He’s pretty sure he’d left read receipts enabled. Shit.

What’s he supposed to say to that? “Thanks. I have no idea how the weather works”? No, that sounds unappreciative, and he’s not certain Rhys would catch the humor in it. “I’ve selected a sweater based on your input because I apparently need advice from you instead of using AccuWeather like a normal person”? Desperate and sad, so no. He slides the sweater over his head, hangs up the first, then returns to his phone. His fingers hover over the keyboard.

Thanks for the heads up. I don’t know how you stand this weather. Simple enough, right? Maybe too simple? Talking about the weather is the single most boring activity, and exactly what people do when they have nothing better to talk about. But Rhys had started it, hadn’t he? Joe groans, massaging his temples in defeat when a tiny ‘read’ pops up under his text. He’s done for. Foot-in-mouth finished.

Difficult not to stand what I was born into, isn’t it? Oh, you prick. Rhetorical questions, really? What is it with the English and rhetorical questions? Joe sighs, relieved by at least a reply, and walks to the bathroom, phone in hand. He sets it on the counter and starts opening drawers, retrieving hair products he’s half-about sure the function of, including a wide-toothed comb that should have been retired long ago. His hands are sticky with mousse when the next text rolls in, and he leans over to read it as he runs them through his hair.

Now we’re leaving me on read? Joe looks down at the comb. He could lobotomize himself with that, right?

The nerve on this guy. Joe huffs, wiping his hands on the towel. He uses it to clean off the fog still clinging to the mirror from his shower. Still, he can see why the public finds Rhys so charming. He’s not afraid to tease, which is refreshing and reminds him a bit of Love, though he doesn’t have her unregulated hyperactivity (see also: neuroticism). Where Love was a whirlwind, Rhys is a controlled game. Much more preferable, in Joe’s opinion. He’ll choose being teased over having his neighbor murdered with an axe any day.

My hands were covered in mousse, thank you very much, he types back. His phone has barely hit the counter when it dings with a response, which he lets wait as he combs his hair back from his face and then twirls each lock around the handle. It’s an unpracticed movement, one he’d learned by a very concerned barber shortly after he’d moved here, but it avoids the whole rats-nest action, so he tries regardless. Once he’s satisfied, he puts the comb away, rinses his hands, and picks up his phone.

Very fancy for coffee, isn’t it? Joe rolls his eyes but juts out his bottom lip in consideration. You’re bolder over text.

He texts back hurriedly, biting back a smile. I don’t get the luxury of not using product. Joe checks his hair in the mirror, content to find it’s almost dry, and he won’t have to deal with the fire-hazard hair dryer stuffed in the cabinet. He lint rolls his clothes carefully despite the lack of a pet because lint has a remarkable ability to become out of nothing other than smaller amounts of itself. Rhys had texted him the cafe's name last night – “Morning Brew,” welcoming but uncreative – and set the time for 9:30. It’s a ten-minute walk away, and since it’s 9:10 now, Joe figures he should get going. He takes one last look in the mirror, still framed by a vignette of fog, and brings a hand to his jaw. Love once remarked that his facial hair made him look a bit like a teddy bear when Henry was born. He’d been forced to go weeks without shaving, too busy being ordered about by the cries of a nonconscious infant. At the time, he’d been indignant about it, likely over-sensitive because of the aforementioned tyrannical infant. Still, in retrospect, he sees her point. Regardless of whatever resemblance to a teddy bear there may or may not be, it’s not like he can get rid of it. It’s odd to think a beard stands between him and Interpol up his ass, and yet here he is.

With the bathroom back in order, Joe walks into his living room. He slips his shoes on easily, the backs already worn down from the constant motion, and scoops his keys up from the end table by the door. He’s already halfway out the door before he remembers Rhys’ warning. He huffs and slides back into the apartment to grab his overcoat. It’s a bit dramatic, long, wool, and stark black, but it was the warmest thing he could find, and he’s staunchly against puffer vests. He shrugs it on and steps out, locking the door behind him. He starts down the stairs, already preparing himself for this to be a total disaster. What’s the worst that could really happen, though? They don’t get along; they go their separate ways, and the world keeps spinning. So why does that possibility put a lump in Joe’s throat?

***

Joe shoulders the door to the cafe open, digging his heels in to stop it from slamming back on him. The wind is hellish, and he had to pop his collar to protect his neck at the cost of douchiness. The door almost slams shut behind him, but he shoves his heel into the jamb, silencing the imminent noise. It hurts a bit, and he realizes how irrational a move it was, but the door bounces closed behind him almost silently, avoiding the attention of the entire cafe, and he decides it was worth it. He flattens his collar and fixes his hair quickly, the wind having touseled it, and looks around the building. It’s small, like every business is here, though he assumes that’s the American in him talking. He almost misses the head of blond hair in the corner, bent down over a book, and it’s only the way the person’s blunt-nailed hand turns the page that he recognizes the figure as Rhys. Joe cocks his head at him, hesitating to walk over, but Rhys looks up at the door, presumably searching for him, and his eyebrows lift when their eyes meet. Rhys grins and beckons Joe forward, and, automatically, he follows, one foot in front of the other until he’s standing before Rhys’ small table.

“Hello, Joe,” Rhys says warmly, cheeks pressing his eyes shut at the corner. “Have a seat, hm?” He gestures at the chair opposite him, and Joe looks at it stupidly before he takes off his coat, drapes it over the back, and sits. Joe smooths his sweater down, noting that Rhys made the same choice for slacks and a wool sweater, though he has a button-up collar poking out. Joe clears his throat, suddenly mute despite the conversation over text just twenty minutes before. Rhys only smiles at him and takes the responsibility of conversation from him.

“How’d your night go?”

Joe blinks at him, then shifts in his seat. “It was okay. Quiet,” he offers feebly, smiling sheepishly, hoping that can substitute for his newfound inability to socialize.

“Is that a good thing?” Rhys asks uncritically, marking the spot in his book and setting it down, the cover on the table. Joe’s eyes flick to it, and he squints.

“Reading something embarrassing?” He blurts out, then purses his lips tightly. Rhys only smiles, laughter bubbling out of him, then flips the book over.

“I didn’t think so. Is it?” He asks, presenting Beowulf to Joe’s scrutiny. Joe grins, looking down at his lap momentarily before returning Rhys’ gaze. He relaxes, the cold panic in his chest easing into something warmer. He can talk about books, even with someone like Rhys.

“No, Beowulf isn’t embarrassing,” he chuckles, crossing his ankles. “It’s a good book, but a little abnormal – are you trying to read all the classics or something?” He asks, speaking a bit too fast. Rhys scrunches his nose for a moment, caught. “Oh! You are, aren’t you?”

Rhys laughs breathily and sets the books down again, leaning back in his seat. Joe does not see the way the sweater stretches over his shoulders. “Can you blame me? They seem important to have read!” Rhys says nasally, his voice pitching up defensively.

“Just seems like quite the coincidence, that’s all.” Joe shrugs, smiling playfully.

“Oh, alright, I see how it is. I can’t read a famous book just because you happen to be a professional bookworm.”

“That’s not how it is at all!” Rhys nods disbelievingly. “Read all you want. I’m just pointing out the coincidence.” Joe acquiesces, sitting back further in his chair.

“I’ll just leave all the books for you, and I’ll run about and edge the English public with a mayoral campaign. Seem about fair?” Joe’s eyebrows shoot up at the joke, not having expected it. His reaction only spurs Rhys on further, and Joe can’t help but be interested in this other side of Rhys that he’d only gotten a taste of until now. “What, too raunchy?”

Joe groans and rolls his neck. “Why do you have to use that word?”

“What? Raunchy?” Rhys teases.

“Yes, raunchy. It’s an awful word. It just sounds bad.” Joe waves his hands for effect, pantomiming digging his fingers into something particularly unlikable.

“‘It just sounds bad.’ Spoken like a true English major.”

“Okay, rude,” Joe scolds, pointing a finger at Rhys. “I never actually went to college, so your insult is unfounded anyways.”

Rhys raises an eyebrow at him. “You didn’t? I figured you would have studied literature or something with how much you’ve read.”

“I’ve been able to read so much because I’ve always worked in a bookstore,” Joe corrects, shaking his head. “Besides, you’re only assuming how much I’ve read. No real way of knowing.”

Rhys sighs and smiles at him, and the conversation drifts off into a comfortable silence. Joe smiles back, his face a little warm, and squints accusingly at the other. Rhys lays his palm on the table, then pushes himself up, Joe’s eyes following up. He brushes his hair to the side when it blocks his view. “Come on, then, mate. We’ll order at the counter and return to you gatekeeping literature.” Joe opens his mouth to protest, but Rhys only grins at him and pats his shoulder, squeezing it for a moment and then releasing. Joe rises from his chair as Rhys disappears from his periphery, trailing after him to the line-less counter. The young, blonde waitress behind the counter perks up when Rhys approaches the counter, all too eager to take his order.

“Mornin’, love,” Rhys greets politely, bowing his head a bit. Joe grits his teeth. “Can I get two cups of Yorkshire for here, and,” he trails off, bending oddly at the waist to peer into the warmly lit display case, “two croissants, if you could.” The waitress nods enthusiastically, passes the tea order off to an associate, and bends down behind the case to retrieve the croissants. She makes eye contact with Joe through the glass, her gaze heavy with something venomous. Joe furrows his brows in a look of obvious confusion, but she’s ducked out of the display case as quickly as she’d bent into it, two parchment paper-wrapped croissants in her hand.

“Would you like them warmed, sir?” She asks in a way that would be polite if she weren’t leaning forward so obscenely. Joe has to avert his eyes. She can’t be more than twenty.

“Please,” Rhys responds politely, but the warmth in his voice from before is gone. It suddenly occurs to Joe that Rhys is wearing his wedding ring – of course, he is, he’s married – and yet this girl is still hitting on him. It’s no wonder he’s offended. Why is the waitress glaring at him then?

Rhys steps back from the counter and to the side, and Joe sidesteps to follow him. “Just getting out of the way while we wait,” Rhys explains, still seeming a bit tense. Tenser than Joe would think reasonable for being flirted with by an obviously desperate college student, but he isn’t exactly in the place to judge.

“Are you alright?” He asks. He may not be in the place to judge, but he is nosy by nature.

Rhys’ shoulders relax, though it looks forced. The smile he offers is tight. “I’m fine, John.” Joe frowns at him, not bothering to hide his disbelief. Rhys sighs, shakes his hands at his side, and leans towards him to speak lowly. “I’m alright, really. Just don’t really appreciate barely legal women hitting on me when I’m obviously married.” He holds up his left hand and the ring glints. Joe’s frown deepens before he fixes it, making his face melt into one of satisfaction.

“I don’t think she was the observant type,” Joe says, smirking a bit. Rhys returns the grin, the tension leaving him, to Joe’s relief. He doesn’t like his anger – or his version of it, anyway. If that’s even what it was.

“Too busy staring at you through the display case,” Rhys teases, looking up at him from under his brows playfully.

Joe flounders for a second. “You saw that?”

“How could I not? She looked like she was trying to immolate you with her mind.”

Joe rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “I have no idea what that was about.”

“I have half of one.”

Joe frowns and looks at him sidelong. “Share with the class?”

Rhys hums thoughtfully. “Mm, no.” Joe goes to protest, but then the wicked waitress from West End waves over at Rhys as she sets two steaming cups on the counter, then the croissants. Rhys, the devil, has the gall to wink at him, then unbelievably click his tongue, and slide over to the counter. Joe stares, dumbfounded, and forces himself to follow, mechanically taking one cup and one croissant. Rhys pays the woman during his silence, humming, apparently pleased with himself. Joe follows after him to their table in the corner, pleasantly surprised to find all their belongings present. Rhys empties his hands onto the table, and Joe follows, sitting when he does.

“Struck you that dumb, hm?” The taunt snaps Joe out of it, and he shoots a pointed look at Rhys.

“I don’t usually get clicked at by people I’ve met twice. Sue me.”

Rhys chuckles and picks up a couple of the small creamer pods, peeling them back carefully. The metal labeling stays impossibly intact, the top coming off in one go. Definitely not human. “It has only been twice, hasn’t it?” The cream mushrooms to the top of the tea, swirling as Rhys’ spoon clicks against the edges of the cup. Joe takes up two sugar packets, tears them open, and dumps one and a half in, stirring quickly.

“It feels like it’s been more?” He asks foolishly. Way to set yourself up for disaster.

Rhys only shrugs and licks the spoon, his lips wrapping around it. He sets it on one of Joe’s empty sugar packets, and Joe stares at it like it means something. “In a way. I usually have to meet someone a dozen times before they stop calling me ‘Mr. Montrose.’”

Joe laughs and blows on his tea, contemplating flipping Rhys off when he looks at him teasingly for it and decides otherwise. “Do you click at them? Maybe that’s the deciding factor.”

Rhys stifles an amused noise into his tea, tongue darting out to clean his lips as he sets it down. “I don’t know if I can feasibly do that to investors and the general elite.”

Joe shrugs, sipping his own and ignoring the immediate hot fuzzy feeling of his tongue. “Suit yourself. Spend all your time with pretentious walking designer clothing brands.”

That does make Rhys laugh, his eyes crinkling as he bites his bottom lip to quiet himself. “Low blow, John. You know I don’t like those people.”

“What if you do? What if this ‘working man’ routine is all a ruse, and you secretly love caviar and pyramids of champagne?”

“Alright, well, the champagne isn’t all that bad.” Joe nods, opening his mouth in a silent ‘ah.’ “But, full disclosure, caviar is abhorrent, and quality does not fix the fundamental principle that it’s just fish eggs.”

Joe smiles toothily at him, nursing his tea more steadily now that it’s cooled. Rhys unwrapped his croissant, then pushes Joe’s towards him. He follows his lead, unwrapping it and whispering a thank you when Rhys passes him a few pads of butter. “You mean that money doesn’t make objectively weird things better?”

Rhys smirks up at him, face tilted down as he butters his croissant. “It’s a bit like putting lipstick on a very salty pig.”

Joe pulls a face at the beyond-weird saying when Rhys’ head jerks up, and the corners of his mouth twitch downwards before pulling straight again. Joe cocks his head and turns to follow Rhys’ gaze to find a tanned, sharp-faced man dressed in pressed slacks and a tennis sweater approaching them. Rhys side-eyes him quickly, then wipes his right hand on a cloth napkin and stands just as the stranger reaches their table.

“Rhys! How lovely it is to see you,” he greets, his accent even more posh than Rhys’. They shake hands firmly, smiling tightly at each other. “We hardly ever see you anymore. Very busy with the campaign, hm?”

Rhys bows his head a bit. “It's a time-consuming business, isn’t it? Don’t go around saying that word to too many people, though. Don’t need any more presumptions, do I?” The man bites out a strangled impression of laughter, then turns to Joe. He extends his hand and Joe shakes it, immediately caught off-guard by the other’s firm grip, like he has something to prove.

“I don’t think we’ve met before, mate. Name’s Roald Walker-Burton, it’s a pleasure.” He doesn’t miss the note of contempt in his voice.

And you have two last names? I bet you drink the blood of infants. “Jonathan Moore. Please, it’s all mine.”

Roald juts his lip out contemplatively. “An American, eh?” He turns back to Rhys, who returns to his seat. “Where’d you meet a Yank, old boy?”

“At my bookstore,” Joe supplies, irked at being spoken around. Rhys looks over at him, his eyes gleaming with amusement. Roald cocks his head, scrutinizing Joe as if he’s some new creature.

“Your bookstore? Well, that’s quite impressive, isn’t it?” Joe breaks away from the reptilian green eyes boring into his soul and considers his croissant. How quickly could he shove that down Roald’s throat before anyone stopped him? He smirks to himself and looks back up. Who’s he kidding; no one would bother. “What’s it called?”

Yeah, ‘what’s it called’ so I can tell you and you can belittle me when you haven’t heard of it. Joe gives Rhys a look, who is biting into his croissant, and the other ever so slightly shakes his head at him. “Subtexts.”

“Hm. No bells.” I’ll kick you in the – “Will we be seeing you at Phoebe’s party, Rhys? She’s missed you terribly. I’m beginning to think she’s taking offense at your absence.”

“I would hardly think so, we spoke on the phone yesterday.” Rhys dabs his mouth uselessly with the napkin, and Joe bites into his lip. “I may. It’s next Saturday, isn’t it?”

Roald’s lips had pursed at Rhys’ comment, and he forces them to relax. “Yes, it’s Saturday.” He whirls around to look at Joe. “Will you be joining us, Jim?” Oh, you caviar-sucking asshole. Who does that? Just invites some stranger to another stranger’s party to isolate them? Rhys, what do you see in this guy? Joe glances across the table, his mouth slightly ajar. Rhys’ jaw is clenched, the muscle flexing in the corner and his tendons taut.

“I’m sure you have a pheasant to kill, don’t you, Roald?” Rhys chirps, voice dripping with false pleasantness. It’s sickeningly sweet. He stands and pats Roald on the back firmly, all but steering him towards the door. “Jonathan here has a meeting in just a bit, so unfortunately our little meet-up is pinched of time. It’s been great seeing you, though, mate. I’ll give Phoebe a call this evening. Maybe we’ll even talk about you, hm?” Rhys blurts. He doesn’t trip over his words once, the thinly-veiled insults rolling off his tongue like molasses. Joe watches, amazed, as Roald steps back, surprised by Rhys’ sudden flurry. Joe meets his gaze for a moment and doesn’t bother to hide his smile, too pleased to care. The crowd parts – it’d gotten busy since Roald’s arrival with an influx of twenty-somethings – and swallows him up, tennis sweater and all. Joe watches his polished shoes scuff against the floor, then walk out the door, and turns back to Rhys as the other sits. Rhys sighs heavily, picks up his tea to sip it, but aborts and sets it down.

“I’m sorry about… that, John,” he apologizes, reaching out and laying his palm flat on the table. “That was rude of me.”

“Rude of you?” Joe parrots, confused. “He kept trying to eat my soul with his eyes and then invited me to a stranger’s party just to be a dick.”

Rhys laughs, relaxing in his seat. Were you really so worried that I found you rude? “Yeah, Roald’s… well, he’s Roald. He’s exactly like every other member of the British ten percent. Except Phoebe, of course. She’s a wonderful woman.” Rhys does sip his tea then, then points at Joe. “You haven’t been eating.”

“Got distracted by the Prince Prick,” Joe offers, biting into his croissant to humor Rhys. He had paid, after all.

“And don’t mind that whole ‘party’ thing. Like you said, he was just trying to get under your skin.”

“What threat could I have possibly posed to him?”

“Roald is the type to feel threatened by everyone because he’s not stupid enough to believe he’s superior,” Rhys explains, surprisingly open about his distaste for his supposed friends. Should you really be telling me all this? “I’m sure you’re wondering why I’m so forthcoming about this, especially when Irene would have my head for it.” What are you, in my head? “I suppose I just don’t see any reason to not tell you. I don’t take you as a sympathizer for the filthy rich.” Rhys smirks at him, waiting patiently as Joe drinks.

“Yeah, no,” Joe says, shaking his head. “No sympathy there. They tend to be, how do I say this nicely, profound assholes.” His own brash honesty surprises him, but Rhys’ smile is welcoming, and he finds he can’t help himself. “Who’s Phoebe?”

Rhys nods slowly. “Phoebe Borehall-Blaxworth. I know, they all have two last names, it’s a thing, apparently. Anyway, she’s the youngest of her family and has come into quite a lot of money, but she really is a lovely woman. A huge socialite, too, which is the reason for the party.”

“And you haven’t been going recently?” Joe needles.

Rhys smirks at his nosiness. “No, I haven’t. Like you saw, they aren’t the best company. Which is a shame, really, because I’d love to see Phoebe. But, without an out or someone to mock the others around their back, I can’t stand the events.” Did you just hint something at me? You actually would like it if I went with you, wouldn’t you? But you’re not crazy enough to ask since we hardly know each other. It would be crazy, wouldn’t it? I’m not exactly part of that social circle, it’d be odd to bring along some bookish stray to an event like that. Even if you did ask, I’d have to say no. Wouldn’t have a choice in it. “Oh, John,” Rhys breathes, bowing his head humbly. “I didn’t mean to imply anything that would alarm you. Believe me, I wouldn’t want to subject you to that.”

Joe cocks his head, fighting back the irrational wave of rejection. He’s not rejecting you, dumbass. You don’t even want to go. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to assume. I guess Roald just got to me.”

Rhys looks at him with surprising kindness. “Don’t worry about him, really. And you didn’t assume.. If I had to go, I would rather bring someone with a matching distaste for them all. I won’t be going though, honestly. Busy following the orders of Irene,” Rhys explains with a smile, setting Joe at ease. Joe finishes his tea – Rhys’ has been finished – and lays his hands on the table.

“I should get going and open the store,” he says apologetically, not really wanting to leave. He does have to, though. Being closed two days in a row wouldn’t be good for business, and there’s a rain cell drifting towards them this afternoon that’ll push plenty of customers through the door. Rhys nods understandingly and rises, immediately going to gather the trash. Joe goes to grab his, only to get his hand slapped. “Hey!”

“None of that, I have it.” Sure enough, Rhys gathers it all, walks off, and throws it away. He returns and pulls his coat on, standing in wait as Joe does the same.

“You’re slappy,” Joe accuses ridiculously, squinting at him.

“I’m slappy?”

“Uh-huh,” he responds intelligently. Rhys laughs softly and walks towards the door, breaking the crowd around them. Inhuman. Rhys pushes the door open, one hand spread out on the glass, and ushers Joe through. The wind hasn’t died down in the slightest, still whipping past them, threatening to sweep their legs.

“This is just ridiculous,” Joe grips, fighting in vain to keep his hair out of his face.

“I’d tell you you get used to it, but you don’t really. You just learn to stand it.”

“Is that not the same thing?” “No,” Rhys pops his collar, “because it doesn’t really get easier. You just know what to do.” Joe frowns at him, unsure what to do with the paradox. “Good luck with your store today, John. I heard it’s going to rain.”

Joe nods at him. They’re both set to go off in different directions. “Thanks, I’ll need it. Me and my mop.”

Rhys smiles and claps him on the shoulder, then shudders before taking off. Joe watches him leave, then raises his eyebrows when the other turns around to wave. He waves back reflexively and turns around, heading off towards his store, head ducked low and away from the wind.

***

Five people have burst into his store so far, and it’s only begun to sprinkle. The sky is a foreboding shade of gray, promising more to come. Joe’s head jerks up from his book cart when thunder rumbles quietly, far away. No lightning comes. Another woman, older, stumbles in, wipes her little heels on the mat and looks around jerkily. She catches Joe’s eye and smiles, her wrinkled, coral lips pulling tight. Joe scrunches his eyes welcomingly, and she takes off towards the historical fiction section. His phone dings in his pocket – he’d forgotten to silence it.

Decided I ought to see Phoebe after all, the path to stardom can wait for a night, Rhys’ text reads. Joe swallows and clicks on the notification, expanding the thread. Are you up for a night of heckling?

Oh, he’s insane. You can’t ask a stranger to a stranger’s pa – he’s had this monologue already. Still, he’s right. He doesn’t know Phoebe – though he had googled her and Rhys was right, she seems like a lovely woman – and he won’t know anyone else at the entire thing but Rhys. Never mind wherever it’ll be, or whatever dress code, or until when. And it’ll be Saturday, what if he has plans? He doesn’t, of course, but he’d have liked it to be assumed that he does. Still, despite the insanity of it all, he knows he should get out more. He’s not exactly a socialite. Alright, he’s a shut-in. It’d be good for him, wouldn’t it?

Do I need a suit? He responds, not bothering to put his phone back in his pocket. Rhys never keeps him waiting.

Atta boy. No suit, just something on the nicer side. A good sweater and slacks will work.

Joe smirks. You think I own a nice sweater?

The three dots pop up immediately. You have a week. I’m sure you can manage.

#you netflix #joe goldberg #joe x rhys #goldrose #fanfiction #my work

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guitarbrain · 3 months

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ok. smtvv soundtrack. i’ll be editing this post as i listen through it just to ramble about my thoughts on it, so this post is gonna be a disorganized mess. once i'm done i'll probably make a new post to put things in a more logical order.

i know it’s kinda hard to judge a game’s soundtrack if you’re just listening to it and don’t have the context of what is happening in-game as each song plays but idk. i don’t feel like giving atlus any money until i know the game will be worth it. so i'll just be listening to the music. my thoughts are under the cut

i also have to say, im probably gonna skip a lot of the more ambient tracks that play for cutscenes and stuff cuz if they’re anything like the original game then they don’t have a lot of interesting stuff going on and work best when they’re. yknow. in the background of a cutscene. i won't be commenting much on the quest songs either. my focus is mostly on whatever really stands out to me, mainly character and battle themes.

the soundtrack is organized into 3 discs, so that's how i'll organize this post as well.

disc 1:

the first two songs, hallucination and omen, set a really interesting tone. it still has a really similar feeling to the original game which i am happy to hear. hallucination has those choirs and then goes all in on that electronic sort of beat which i think is a really cool blend with the vocals. i would assume this is the title screen music, but im not sure. omen is a lot more mellow sounding and sounds a lot like the stuff you’d hear from the original game, but something about this gives a slightly different feeling. not sure what it is.

yoko’s theme (i assume?) doesn’t really stand out as anything fantastic to me. idk. maybe it’s just because i don’t have context for who she is as a character, but this song feels a little plain to me. a lot like her design, but that’s not what i’m here to talk about :))

first battle theme. beast of blood. this is already Very different from the battle music in the original game. i like the distorted synth they get going like a minute in. this song feels a lot more electronic than the stuff in the original game, and really cuts back on that noisy style that most of the battle music had. this one isn’t a wall of noise like something like battle da’at has. it definitely gives a different feeling, though i don’t really prefer it. it’s certainly a cool song but it just doesn’t have a lot of energy to it. hopefully the battle songs after this will have some more intensity.

ok damn. i said all that and now the next song is the vengeance version of battle da’at. i’m glad they kept the noisy sound it has, but they definitely cut back some of it. the original song felt like there really was no empty space, which i really love about it. feels like the music has no room to breathe and makes the battle feel more intense. i think the vengeance version still has a similar level of noise, but having the drums be much more clear makes that background noise feel a lot less threatening. love the weird sounding tone on that guitar riff towards the end, and i really love how they leave a small gap for the drums to ring out a bit before the song loops. given some time for this one to grow on me i think i may start to prefer it over the original. i think they did a really great job with this version

the demon haunt music. i don’t think it’s anything too special and i have some Opinions on the demon haunt so uh. wont get into that

ok uuh. fool sru shin sounds like a shop song to me. weird as hell. i like it. i wonder if i’m right about the shop thing cuz i don’t care enough to look into where this song plays

first contact with the quadištu song. this one sounds extremely tense. again i don’t know much about what actually happens in the game but this song helps me make a decent guess at that, which means they did a good job i think.

the quatištu battle music is really interesting. still keeping up the same style as the other battle songs so far. this sounds like it has splatoon vocals in it which is kinda funny. but i really like this song. it’s just weird as hell and feels kinda threatening

young man’s room is a cool song i like that it sounds like a music box almost. i’m curious where it plays in game. it’s not exactly a peaceful song either, it sounds super dissonant and just sounds slightly wrong and uncomfortable, but doesn’t exactly feel directly threatening either

i really like quest miyazu. i am taking this as a good sign that she’s actually gonna get screentime outside of some random line of side quests. i hope. but the song is very nice and reflects her personality (or at least the little scraps of it you can see in the original game) quite well

a random side note: i like that they still took the quest songs as an opportunity to play around with different kinds of instruments and musical styles. it allows some freedom with experimenting without compromising the overall style and tone of the game's music. if that makes sense.

battle speedster. the intro is very old megaten to me, and i love the sort of messy guitar. i think the like. car zooming sound is interesting? that combined with my initial thought about it sounding like older smt songs is making me think about chris the car from smt ii. not sure if that's a good or bad thing. i love the guitar tone they have, it's really unique and sounds super gritty and grimy. and i'm a big fan of the choppy sort of sound they have towards the end, it's another one of those sounds they have been using a lot that sounds almost like vocals but not exactly like them. i don't really know what i'm talking about here, i just have to say i really really like this song. though i wonder if it could end up getting a bit repetitive over time.

sahori and tao. this song already really is interesting. the song immediately starts out with the super dissonant piano. they don't even give you nice sounding notes to start, it throws you right in to this really broken sounding tune. i don't know much about how sahori and tao have been written in vengeance, but i think having this song with two different piano parts playing out of tune with each other and clashing is fitting for their relationship. sahori struggling and feeling broken by the bullying she's endured, but never getting help from tao because she never asks for it and tao doesn't reach out to her either. really interesting song. i love it and it makes me eager to see how tao and sahori interact in the new storyline.

dinner party and ace detective pixie are more examples of songs that make me really curious about where they play in game. they feel like you'd be solving a mystery while they play and i really hope that's the case because i think that would be funny. but dinner party sounds like it would go well with a stealth section. and i like that they went all in with the bass in ace detective pixie. i think these songs would sound even better with context in-game, because they do stand well on their own but feel a little confusing when they are such a huge break from the other music in this soundtrack.

song of kinmamon is really interesting to be because in terms of the sounds they used in this song, it sounds like it should be something tense, but melodically it gets lighter and as they introduce more instruments/sounds that also lightens up the tone of the song as well.

heels and horizons is weird as fuck. again with the splatoon vocals. but i think it's super cool i like the beat and the really bloopy electronic sound it has.

battle gliding is yet another song that has an intro/beginning section that reminds me of old smt music. they're also throwing together a lot of different instruments and sounds into this one which actually works quite well and makes every section of the song sound different while still having some cohesion. i like this one a lot as well.

disc 2:

battle deadlock is interesting because it really doesn’t sound like its battle music. i like the end of it but i don’t know how fun it would be to fight enemies while this song plays. i feel like it’s a bit too tame. but maybe i’d change my opinion if i heard it play in game. idk

humanity and its future has the motif from the original game. i think this is the first time i have properly heard it aside from in battle da’at, but that had been changed slightly. i like that they have some kind of ambient sounds behind the piano. and again it’s a somewhat similar thing to sahori and tao where it’s a little bit dissonant with the lower piano line sometimes playing “wrong” notes.

i’m gonna lump all the songs for the new area of da’at into this paragraph. shinjuku gyoen is really cool starting out quiet with the kind of shrill sounding melody. i love the drums kicking in like a third of the way in. this is a really cool song and i think it will be even cooler playing in the background of exploring. jingu naien has a really different sound starting out, with that sort of out-of-tune bell sound. this is another one of those songs where im getting an image of what kind of area it would play in. but i won’t say what that image is in case im wrong.

quest poison gas man is super cool is has that really loud drum beat and there’s really no melody it has that loud front sound that reminds me of battle dancing crazy murder :))

battle alkalic rush is. so fucking cool. i don’t even know where to start with describing it. this shit’s groovy. half of the sounds in this song sound wet. some of them sound like a fart. and it’s awesome. i was thinking this song would be the dancing crazy murder of smtvv but i don’t think that would be an accurate comparison to make.

#guitarbrain ramblings #this post is still unfinished. this soundtrack has a LOT of songs in it man. goddamn

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mi5018tomberry · 7 months

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Maya Motion Tracking 2

Before I could export things into Nuke, I had to set the table texture to AiShadowMatte so that the shadows on the flat surface would be captured without capturing the model itself (next time I try this I will make the table model more accurate so the shadows perfectly match.

After having a discussion with Paul about exporting from Maya using AOVs I had a chat with Gary to figure out the process which was actually very simple. The most important AOV's that I would use for this project are RGBa (everything captured), Specular Direct (Light), Specular Indirect (Reflections) and Shadow Diffuse (Shadows). AOV stands for Arbitrary Output Variables, rendering a project using AOVs allows you to fine tune each part of the render individually whether you want just the shadows to be a little more saturated or if the reflections need to stand out more with a little extra contrast. AOVs can be selected from in the AOV tab of the render settings and creates a folder for each variable.

Gary showed me how to import the EXR image sequences into Nuke and the correct nodes needed to plug them in together.

As an example of what can be achieved using AOVs we used a glow node on each Specular node to compare the results.

This is the full node tree that I used for the second image above on the Specular direct which gave the swords a lightsaber-like glow.

Changing the operation of the merge node is equivalent to changing blend modes in Photoshop and has a big effect on the resultant image. We found that using multiply for the shadows and screen for the specular looked pretty good, some of the other operations became masks for the whole image or burned the colour of the merged node.

TURN ON SOUND

I went back to campus to try it out again on my own on two occasions to see if I could figure out how to export the full video and play around with the node settings to finish the motion tracking exercise. The first video is made using a similar tree to the one I made with Gary but the lighting looks a little bit stale and boring so I wanted to go back into Nuke and play around with the 'Grade' and 'ColorCorrect' nodes because colour grading is a huge part of compositing. The original footage itself is quite plain and sterile and I wanted to see if I could bring out some of the colour and some more saturation to the video. I wanted to give it more of a cinematic feel than the first video however I think I dialled up the blues too strongly on the table leg which is very distracting. I had initially wanted to bring out this blue hue to add a splash of colour to the bland shot but looking back on it it's a bit too much, I should have looked at some colour schemes for a warm sinister tone because I think the blue takes away from this. I may be being overly critical because this is something which is very easy to overwork and get lost into so I need to take a step back next time so I don't get lost into subtle changes and instead ask someone with fresh eyes to see what they think. Overall the second video looks somewhat cinematic and considering it was just me fiddling around with some new nodes it looks alright.

I also wanted to see if I could animate the glow so I did a tiny bit of keying to adjust the glow over time.

This is the original node tree, the main issue I had to figure out myself was the time offset nodes because all of the EXRs were numbered starting at 40001 so I had to set the offset to -40000 to make the AOV footage sync with the original video.

This is the final node tree with a lot of different correctional modes attached.

These were some of the tests made whilst tweaking colours, I wanted to use this as am opportunity to play around with colour grading so that I understood the limitations and here I have learnt that it is better to work within the confines of the original footage and work in a process of reducing a combination of green, reds or blues rather than trying to create more of one colour which I'd already lacking. I need to do some more work on this and have a think about the lighting I want for my video because it may be a good idea to set up some lighting when filming to make it more cinematic. I think I should have leaned into the colour palette of the first image as the original video is quite desaturated so trying to force a warmer palette from quite a cool washed out room didn't work as well as a colder palette could have.

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apocalypticgargoyle · 3 years

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𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐌 𝟒. ♡ 𝐠𝐞𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝

"Hi! I hope u have a lovely day :] I was wondering if I could request an imagine where you're online friends with Gogy and one day you send him a picture wearing his merch and he can't stop thinking about it and finally ends up telling you he has a crush on you?? Thank you in advance :] I really enjoy your writing"

pairing: georgenotfound x reader

warnings: Zoom Video Communications none :)

links: | ao3 | request | masterlist |

⋆ song recommendation: Slowly by Josh Gilligan

(streamer bf gogy brainrot brrr) hello sweet anon! thank you for much for this request :) I love love love all the geo simps and their ideas. also thank you to my dearest LB for helping me with the plot help. happy reading, everyone! ♡ ᵍᵉⁿᵉ

You tapped your fingers on your desk, nails clattering at you waiting to be let into your third Zoom meeting of the day. Usually, you got off with only one lecture, but because of upcoming exams, you were finding yourself in and out of virtual meetings and office hours. Sure, it was better than jogging from building to building, fighting the crowds, and searching for a seat in a packed lecture hall, but it was still wearing you down beyond belief.

You rested your chin in your hand as your window went from white to dark grey, the square with your name getting wedged in beside the professor. Everyone’s cameras were off, a thankful sigh leaving your lips as your head slumped down to lay against your arm, the danger of falling asleep suddenly becoming more prominent.

You jumped slightly as your professor cleared their throat, sharing their screen and beginning to ramble off facts listed on the slideshow. You played with your keyboard, focused on removing a crumb from beneath your spacebar that was almost unreachable. You usually took notes in the class, but today was just one of those days.

“... And with that in mind, I’m going to put you all into breakout rooms…” Your professor trailed off, eyebrows furrowed as they peered at their screen and clicked frantically to assign all of you to rooms. You yawned, smacking your cheeks and sitting up. You were determined not to be a shitty partner, at least. The white box popped up, inviting you to join breakout room four. That’s always lucky, you thought to yourself as you joined.

Once again, you were cursed to look at the buffering wheel of death as your internet struggled to sustain all your opened tabs. Please, just a little longer, you groaned internally, eyes dashing towards the receiver and exhaling in relief as your computer connected to the breakout room. You turned on your camera, eliciting your partner, George, to do the same.

You flashed him a smile as you struggled to open the article from the previous night. “Hi! How’s it going?” You greeted, not yet looking at him.

“I’m good, actually. How are you?” He engaged, his voice deep and tired.

You finally managed to split your screen enough so that you could see him and the article. “Yeah, I’m good too. Thanks,” you chewed the inside of your cheek, eyes skimming some of the notes you’d etched into the margins. “So, did you have any idea what,” you paused, squinting at the author’s name, “Robert A. Schneider means when he discusses how ‘men of letters’ fear the lower class more than anything?” You asked, as your eyes trailed across your screen to finally gauge his reaction, you were taken aback by his appearance.

His soft features and dark eyes made you feel safe. As he smiled softly, running his fingers into his hair, he seemed to be racking his brain for an answer. He opened his mouth to begin, detailing what you had previously thought with better articulation.

The two of you got through the basic questions the professor had scripted for the students, then finding yourself still stuck in the breakout room. On a normal day, your professor would have pulled everyone back into the call after the first few questions.

George swiveled in his chair quietly as he listened to you briefly explain your area of study. His kind smile made your heart flutter slightly. Deep down, you hoped the two of you would be stuck in the room for a while.

Soon your topics blended into what kind of movies you both watched, a debate on where you could buy the cheapest bread on campus, and what kind of party people the two of you were. After an hour, instead of worrying whether or not your professor was dead, you were swapping numbers and planning out how the two of you would turn the Florida Keys into the headquarters of your new cult where the members would all worship a separate bitchy philosopher.

You pulled one of your legs to your chest, resting your cheek against your knee as his laughing died out. “Okay, this might be a weird question, but I need to know why your webcam is so clear. Is it like an OnlyFans thing or…”

He chuckled. “Yeah it’s definitely OnlyFans,” he joked, making you laugh. “I’m actually a ᵐⁱⁿᵉᶜʳᵃᶠᵗ ˢᵗʳᵉᵃᵐᵉʳ” he mumbled.

Your eyebrows perked playfully. “You’re a what?”

He pursed his lips to fit the grin stretching across his face. “ᵃ ᵐⁱⁿᵉᶜʳᵃᶠᵗ ˢᵗʳᵉᵃᵐᵉʳ”

You snorted slightly. “Sorry darling, you’ll have to speak up. What was that?”

He wet his lips, rolling his eyes as he bashfully groaned. “I’m a Minecraft streamer.”

You giggled, him basking in your disbelief. He smiled a bit brighter as he shrugged, leaning back in his chair as you rambled off questions. “There’s no way! Nerd!” you chaffed, making him smile as if he liked it when you playfully teased him. “Are you super popular?” You asked, catching your breath.

He bit his bottom lip swaying his head slightly as if deciding not to answer. “Mmmm. Not really.”

“Well, come on, Georgios! Give me your Twitch user and I’ll be your biggest fan, I promise.” He laughed at your response, digging out his phone to send you a link.

“I’d like to see you try,” he mumbled.

After the class had finally ended, you’d learned that your professor was on the phone with their credit card company. In the following weeks, you and George were in constant contact, even becoming part of each other’s daily routines.

As you studied for finals, you’d turn on his stream, letting his voice alleviate some of the stress of your exams. He knew you were watching and would even drop hints for you in what he was saying, or he’d blatantly just ask what you were talking about in your essay for a certain class. After the stream would end, he’d call you either on Discord or the phone, just so it felt like the two of you were studying together.

Jokingly, you badgered him to send you some of his merch, threatening to buy it from a bootleg online store if he didn’t. He had only brushed it off at the time, but shortly after, you received a hoodie in the mail with his gamer tag printed across it.

It was late at night when you’d received it, the tiredness of your eyes and George’s dulcet tones lulling you towards the idea of a dead sleep. Yet, you were drawn from your pleasant relaxation with the shrilling of your doorbell. You shrugged out of your blanket cocoon, grabbing your phone and trudging down the stairs. As you tore open the bag, your phone buzzed with a text from George asking if you’d seen something that one of his chat members. You chuckled softly and dug your hand into the material, holding it out in front of you.

You snickered to yourself, running your fingers across the red patch in the center. You slipped it over your head, letting the softness of the fabric brush against your skin. You snapped a photo of yourself and stumbled back upstairs before sending it to him.

When you returned, George was focused on something he was crafting. His eyes darted down to one corner of the screen where his phone was probably sitting. His eyes flashed back up with a smug grin on his face as if he knew exactly what you were going to say. Your “Thanks sugar daddy xx,” probably didn’t help either.

“What, chat?” His voice came out slightly uneven as he bit back a smile. You skimmed what people were asking. “It’s not a nude. A friend of mine got something I sent them,” he answered nonchalantly, finishing up what he was doing. The chat began to spam quietly. “No, it’s not a maid costume. Jesus Christ.” He leaned back in his chair, grabbing his phone and opening your message.

A grin spread across his face, alongside the light dusting of rosy pigment settling in his cheeks. He chuckled to himself, quickly replying before getting back to his game. You scoffed at his response.

George (H325) Anything for my silly little baka

You curled up again, putting away your schoolwork and devoting your attention to watching his stream as you drifted off to sleep.

Once again, you found yourself at the mercy of your internet as you attempted to join the breakout room assigned to you. You almost jumped out of your chair when it finally connected and you found George waiting for you. You smiled slightly as he scrolled through his phone. “What are the chances?” You asked, pulling his eyes to you.

He grinned, clicking off whatever he was looking at. “I was just about to raid your inbox.”

You chuckled. “I almost wore your merch to class, just to out you to whoever my partner was,” you joked, making him roll his eyes.

“I’m glad it’s me then,” he responded. You began scrounging around for your article. After a beat of hesitation, George spoke up again. “Hey, I’m glad you like the sweatshirt…” You perked an eyebrow in his direction. “I actually haven’t been able to get that picture out of my head. I know it’s stupid,” he stated lightly, chuckling nervously. You could feel your heart beating in your ears. “It’s so lame, but I think I have a crush on you.”

You sat back in your chair, stunned. “I mean, the feeling’s mutual. Even if it’s lame,” you mirrored, winking at him. “I mean, maybe it’s not lame because I know I like you.”

He smiled to himself at your answer before chuckling, “Should we Zoom date or something?”

#georgenotfound headcanons #georgenotfound x y/n #georgenotfound fluff #georgenotfound x reader #mcyt x y/n #mcyt x reader #mcyt fluff #mcyt imagine #college au #gnf x reader #gnf brainrot #gnf my beloved #gnf x y/n

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andypantsx3 · 4 years

Text

statistically significant | 5 | bakugou/reader

length: 23,490 words | 7 chapters

summary: You’re the scientist who developed a neural net to model the value of assists. Now that your work is feeding into the hero rankings, pro hero Ground Zero has a bone to pick with your results.

tags: romance, enemies to lovers, sexual tension, reader-insert

warnings: aged up characters, eventual smut, m/f threats of violence, problematic behavior

The next few weeks were a blur of activity.

When he wasn’t off on patrol or a mission, Mina and Kaminari kept Bakugou busy with dozens of team exercises, all of which needed your analysis. They ran him through any and every scenario that entered their brains, and after the first few rounds, Bakugou seemed to resign himself to their ministrations, his explosions no longer rattling the windows of the training room in displeasure. You’d reviewed footage of the first couple of rounds all together, the trio of heroes jammed into the tiny surveillance room with you, grimy with the ashy residue of Bakugou’s explosions, someone or another’s shirt partly melted off, and all of them looking exhausted but pleased.

Eventually, though, it became difficult for you to spare time in between your meetings with the other agency heroes. Bakugou was not helping matters by kicking the door down in the middle of your meetings and attempting to bodily remove anyone you were in conversation with whenever he wanted an update. You were dedicating almost as much time to breaking up fights and rescheduling appointments as you were to having the actual meetings themselves.

In the interest of maintaining the peace--and health and safety the Miruko agency employees--you wrote a quick script that monitored the training room footage and automatically ran your analysis program any time it keyed in on Bakugou, Mina, and Kaminari together on screen. It forwarded the results to their phones so that Bakugou wouldn’t come stalking in and making any more enemies than he already had.

That seemed to pacify him for a couple of days, and you managed almost twenty blissful meetings uninterrupted, until a Friday morning when no sooner had you flipped the lights on in the surveillance room than Bakugou was ripping the door open after you.

“Enough slacking off, nerd,” he growled, stalking over to loom over you in a vaguely menacing manner. It was early but he looked wide awake, maybe a little mussed like he'd already been training, the same combination of annoyingly handsome and intimidating as always. He was also dressed in some variation of his usual training set, dark fabric clinging to his chest, arms bare. The sight was really way too much for this early in the morning.

His sudden entrance startled you out of a yawn, and you just barely managed to catch your laptop before it slipped through your fingers.

“Good morning?” you hedged, looking up at him in apprehension.

He made an angry, dismissive noise. Before you could dredge up enough energy for a proper eye roll, something small and warm was thrust unceremoniously into your chest, briefly winding you.

You looked down at the item he was attempting to fracture your sternum with and found yourself staring at a white takeout cup.

You looked up at him in confusion but he just glared passively until you looked down again.

“....what is this?” you asked. Your hands raised automatically to take the cup from him.

“Battery acid,” Bakugou said.

You stopped, gaping at him, and he rolled his eyes. “The fuck do you think it is, idiot?” he demanded, gesturing at it forcefully.

You looked down at the cup again, a soft swirl of steam issuing from the opening in the cap. You brought it hesitantly to your face. A cursory sniff revealed very little in the way of poison--not that you had much expertise on the subject--but it did smell suspiciously like the house blend from the nice bakery down the street.

You stared at Bakugou with misgiving. “What is this, actually?”

He made a disbelieving noise. “You spend all this time acting like such a smartass and you don’t even know what a fucking coffee is? The fuck do you think you drink every morning?”

You couldn’t help but stare at him. There was absolutely no way Bakugou Katsuki was bringing you coffee. This had to be some kind of trick.

His threats from a few weeks ago floated to the forefront of your mind. I’m going to win the bet, he’d said, and then you’re in for it. Was this part of "in for it"? What was “it”, exactly, and was it likely that “it” entailed poisoning you in broad daylight in the middle of a hero agency?

The offing you in broad daylight seemed very much his style, but poison seemed a roundabout way to do it. No, if he was going to settle a score with you, it was going to be something much more immediate, and probably obnoxiously flashy.

You brought the cup to your mouth, taking a tentative sip. No acid tang of poison met your tongue, only the rich, buttery taste of the coffee. Though arsenic was said to be flavorless... Damn that was good, though.

Bakugou hovered impatiently, like he was waiting for something, wearing a strangely blank expression. You watched him nervously. Was the poison slow acting or something?

His scarlet gaze locked onto yours, and it suddenly hit you what he must be doing. You almost dropped the coffee. Was he...waiting for a thank you? As in, he was aware of and actively acknowledging that he’d just done something for you?

You decided to test the waters. “Thank you, Bakugou.”

He made an impatient clicking noise. “Fucking took you long enough.”

You frantically schooled your features into a mask that betrayed nothing of your shock. Christ, he was serious. He’d actually brought you a coffee, and he knew it was a nice thing to do? There was no way he was doing this just to do this. He had to want something from you.

“...So, what is it that you’re bribing me for?” you asked.

Bakugou’s face went dark, the tips of his ears strangely pink. “Fuck you. I don’t need to fucking bribe you for shit, with your obvious little crush on me.” He took a threatening step closer, and that familiar scent of gunpowder and caramel filled your nose.

You felt your face heat, your heart jumping into your mouth. Not this shit again.

So, it was absolutely true that you had a lot of trouble detaching your eyes from the width of his biceps, and that your brain ran wild loops every time he was close. But just because you had difficulty looking anywhere else when he was in a room, didn't mean you had a crush on him. He was way too much of a brat and it was exhausting trying to keep up with his weirdly intense personality. Just because he was pretty did not mean you had a thing for him...

“Why are you like this?” you complained, edging away from him as he moved nearer.

He smirked knowingly, taking another step closer. A small, traitorous shiver went up your spine at the thrill of a man so close. To your eternal embarrassment, Bakugou’s keen gaze seemed to catch it, a darker smile curling his mouth.

You opened your mouth to make some kind of excuse--though what you would have come up with was completely beyond you--when a head of wild pink curls poked itself through the door.

The intruder let out a quiet gasp, but that was enough to break the moment. Bakugou whirled on her, red eyes glaring.

“Raccoon, do you ever mind your own fucking business?” he demanded, in the tones of someone interrogating a war criminal.

Mina’s dark eyes widened innocently. “What? How was I supposed to know this is where you’d gone?” she asked. There was note of something gloating in her voice, however, and you got the feeling that she’d been hoping to catch you in some kind of act.

Your face went hotter. Why did everyone think there was a thing with you and Bakugou, including, apparently, Bakugou?

“Anyway, I’m not here for you,” Mina informed him briskly, derailing your wandering train of thought. “I was gonna ask stats girl to give us a hand this morning.”

She turned to you, her smile slightly predatory. “Blasty’s better at sticking close now, so we started focusing team exercises on victim evaluation. Any chance you can play civilian? Denki was for a bit but he started getting too into it.” A grimace flitted over her pretty features. “I almost lost an arm trying to stop Katsuki from blasting him clear into the stratosphere.”

You looked at Bakugou, but an irritated twitch of a blonde eyebrow was all you got by way of an explanation.

Your thoughts turned inward, wondering if this was a good idea. You’d been hoping to use the morning to get a little work done on a prototype of a productionized model, seeing as you had fewer meetings than usual today. And you hadn’t really come prepared for a potential roll around in the dirt and dust of the city simulation training spaces.

As if sensing your hesitation, Mina chirped, “I’ll let you a spare set of my training clothes so yours don’t get dirty! And you would probably be saving Denki’s life here--don’t you owe him one from the Hero Awards?”

Your gaze cut back to Bakugou without any direction from your brain. Bakugou appeared to be making no attempt to look apologetic about the incident at the Awards. He raised an eyebrow in challenge when your look lingered too long for his liking, red eyes narrowing in on you with a sudden heat. “The fuck are you looking at, nerd?”

“He means please,” Mina said, her voice going honeyed and wheedling. “Plus, it will be fun! I promise you I won’t melt any of your body parts off. Just Blasty’s, I swear.”

You couldn’t help the way your eyes stayed firmly attached to Bakugou’s face. His mouth twitched in obvious irritation at the implication that he would ever say please, but he made no move to correct Mina, limbs drawn in tight, defensive.

You looked down at the cup in your hand, sighing. He’d brought you a coffee and was doing minimal yelling. He appeared to be making some kind of effort here--though to what end you weren’t sure--and you supposed contributing to his training was ultimately your goal here, anyway. You could reward him for behaving himself as well as he knew how, and work towards your promotion at the same time.

“Fine,” you allowed, watching as Mina startled wiggling in obvious delight. “Let me finish this coffee and then I’ll help out.”

Mina clapped her rosy palms together. “Ahh! This is going to be so fun! You’ll see.”

Mina’s definition of fun was any civilian’s definition of fucking terrifying.

It was one thing to see the three heroes using their powers on screen, or safely tucked away behind a meter of quirk-enforced glass. It was another thing entirely to be in the center of the action, acid sizzling mere inches from your feet.

“You said you wouldn’t melt anything off!” you shouted, stumbling away from Mina.

She’d accused Kaminari of getting too into playing civilian--whatever that meant--but you thought she was way too into playing villain herself. A hard look passed over her pretty features, sending a chill down your spine. With that dark look, those unusual eyes and twisted horns took on a more sinister nuance. She looked almost like an alien, and moved like one too, stalking you through the twisting alleys of the training cityscape.

“Accidents happen,” she cooed, almost happily. She threw up a twisting fistful of acid that hardened into a warped wall in front of you. You skidded wildly on the gravel to avoid it. “Now stay still, you’re supposed to be a hostage.”

A choked little noise escaped you. Honestly, thank god this woman was a hero. You might have trouble sleeping at night if you knew a villain like this was stalking the streets, unchecked and unbound by social mores. You’d probably still have trouble getting to sleep tonight, even after she went back to smiling and bouncing all over the place.

“Actually, maybe Kaminari should take over again,” you managed, stepping back from her. “Not really sure if I’m cut out for this.”

A loud boom drowned out her reply, an office front a few blocks away crumbling under the force of the blast. You gaped at the force that shook the street, even blocks away.

Mina used your distraction to her advantage, grabbing the back of your shirt to haul you towards her. “He’s so obvious, my god--how he got to be number eight is beyond me. Now come over here and do your best to look injured. He needs practice evacuating people instead of coming in blasting.”

She fumbled with something on her belt, pulling out several bright red bands that proclaimed various types of injuries in blocky white font. Then she leaned over you, shoving a band up your arm that announced SEVERE BURNS, and another on your left ankle, proclaiming a DISLOCATION.

She clicked her tongue, looking you over. “Would more be overkill? This is enough that he should at least hesitate before trying to blow me sky high…” She seemed to decide against more, shoving the rest back into her belt. Then she gently pressed you down to the ground at her feet.

“This is the part where I get to monologue,” she said, winking down at you. “Do your best to look helpless and make sure your severe burns thing is showing. I wanna see if he can prioritize rescuing you over my trash talk.”

A soft groan escaped you. Fat chance. Bakugou was the most foul tempered little shit you had ever met, and while it was true that his single-minded focus on winning the bet meant he was tolerant enough to be doing this exercise in the first place, you highly doubted he was going to hesitate if Mina was pushing his buttons as expertly as she usually did.

The chance to find out came soon enough. There was a strangled kind of yelp and a crackle of lightning followed a thunderous boom a few blocks away as Bakugou presumably rendered Kaminari’s perimeter defense useless. Then with another screaming explosion, he was rocketing over the buildings separating you, barrelling straight down on Mina.

Mina threw up another acid shield that hardened into a defensive wall. Bakugou’s first attack cracked it but didn’t manage to penetrate. There was barely a breath between the cracking and another explosion, however, and then the wall exploded inwards in a crackling shower of fizzing pieces. Mina crouched over you, breathing excitedly, “This is the fun part!”

Whatever reply you might have given her was drowned out by an angry series of hissing snaps from Bakugou’s palm as he stalked closer to you. The right half of his shirt had been singed off by lightning, it looked like, and a fine veneer of dust layered in his hair and on patches of his skin. It was just a training simulation, but he looked half-wild, teeth bared and eyes bright over the ash on his face. If he looked nearly this intense in real life situations, it was a wonder that anyone would agree to be evacuated by him at all.

Maybe that’s why he sucked at rescues.

“It’s fucking over, raccoon eyes,” he said. “Hand her over.”

Mina laughed, a delicate sound like bells. “Not another step closer, hero, or I’ll melt a hole straight through her pretty neck.”

You twitched away from her minutely. God she was terrifying.

“Quit it with the fucking villain act, fuckwad, or I’ll blow you all the way to hell,” Bakugou growled.

Mina reached for your arm, pulling you up next to her. “Hmm, then I hope your aim is good. She’s already got one set of severe burns.”

Bakugou’s crimson gaze cut down to your shoulder and the displeased twist to his mouth deepened. “Fucking--of course you got yourself fucking injured. Fucking idiot.”

“Hey,” you protested, shifting against the band. “I’m not actually.”

Mina kicked you. “Moments to live, this one. Unless you can pull a healing quirk out of those glorious buttcheeks of yours.”

You choked on your own spit while Bakugou snarled. “I’m gonna fucking remember this, you strawberry fuck.”

“Maybe. But she won’t,” Mina said, and suddenly there was a rosy palm in front of your face, dripping acid. A drop landed deliberately on the fold of the training pants she’d lent you, searing straight through with a loud hiss. Your heartbeat spiked in violent alarm. You reeled back, but Mina was still crouched over you, and you banged into her collarbone.

In the next second, everything went to shit. Something searing hot blazed just over your shoulder and Mina swore, jerking back from you in the blink of an eye. There was a deafening crack and a rush of burning air over you as Bakugou let loose an explosion at the same time he seized your ankle and pulled you straight underneath where he’d aimed the blast, missing you by inches.

“What the fuck,” you gasped. Bakugou grunted, and yanked harder, pulling you straight to him.

“Quit being such a fucking princess,” he growled, shifting an arm underneath you. You froze, suddenly wishing that his explosion had managed to hit you, searing off every nerve ending.

“What are you doing?” you demanded, sputtering in alarm when he hoisted you against him. You could feel every place your body touched his, and smell the sharp gunpowder and sugar scent of his sweat. He hooked his arm firmly around your waist, glaring down at you with one baleful red eye.

“Fuckstick gave you a dislocated ankle so I would have to fight her off with one fucking arm and carry you with the other,” he bit out, whirling when a stream of acid came hissing your way.

You gripped at his shirt, swearing. “Oh my god. What the hell is she doing, aiming for me? This is a simulation! Also, I can walk.”

He grunted. “You can shut the fuck up is what you can do.”

He executed another agile dodge, pulling you with him. “Now hold on, princess, this is gonna be a rough ride with one arm.”

You didn’t have time to ask him what the hell he was on about. He aimed a shot over your shoulder, the heat simmering and boiling in the air next to your ear, and you heard the impact of Mina hitting the pavement behind you. In the next second, Bakugou tightened his arm around you, and aimed a palm for the ground.

The next thing you were aware of was a strangled screaming sound. It took a second for you to realize the mortifying noise was coming from you. But in your defense, Bakugou had literally blasted the two of you clear above the alleyway. You could see the wreckage from Bakugou’s scuffle with Kaminari, and Mina scrambling to her feet, much smaller and further away that you were comfortable with. Your hands fisted in his shirt and you nearly decapitated him with the force with which you shoved your face into his shoulder.

Even with your eyes closed, you could tell Bakugou hadn’t been kidding about the rough ride. Another blast from his palm jerked you sharply to the right, and he uttered a soft swear.

“Hold tight, nerd,” he said in your ear. There was a series of more explosions and you spun violently in the opposite direction. You went careening over a low roof top to land heavily on the pavement, Bakugou twisting at the last second to take the initial impact to his shoulder, rolling over you to distribute the momentum.

You rolled twice more, eventually stopping with his hard body under yours, your face jammed unpleasantly into his shoulder, his arms bracketing your sides. One of his hands was fisted in the back of your shirt, and a tuft of blonde hair brushed your cheek.

He let out a huff. “If you ever let her put the fucking dislocation band on you again, I’ll melt your damn laptop.”

You pulled back from him, hissing into his face. “If you dare, I'll--”

“The fuck you gonna do, nerd?” he demanded, sitting up. Straight into you.

You gripped his shirt so as not to fall right off of him, widening your knees for balance. Then you froze when you realized he was pressed against you everywhere, hard muscle and the heat of his skin bleeding through your training clothes. He was hot like a furnace, ashy and dust-streaked like one too, and his eyes glowed like banked coals. He gazed back at you, his mouth setting with some kind of a challenge.

Then those red eyes trailed slowly and deliberately down your face, stopping right on your mouth. His fingers tightened in the back of your shirt.

You couldn’t help your sharp inhale. Holy shit, was he...going to kiss you?

You sat frozen, locked in place, neither willing or able to move away, like you were being pulled towards him like some kind of magnet. Was he really going to do it? Was he really going to kiss you? Or, no...were you going to kiss him?

You could, you thought hysterically. That’s what it felt like, watching him breathe shallowly, eyes fixed on your mouth. You could kiss him and he would let you.

Had that been what all the your little crush on me shit had been about? Had he been torturing you not because he’d noted the way your eyes lingered over him, but because it was something he’d wanted to happen? Had that been what all the threats were for, what the crowding you against walls and the frigging coffee had been about? When Mina had said he’d been fixated on you, did she actually mean it less like revenge and more like actual attraction?

You let out a shaky breath. Only one way to find out, you thought wildly, leaning forward with your pulse singing in your veins.

And then an explosion rocked the foundations of the building, throwing you forward against Bakugou’s chest. You gasped, the breath knocked out of you, and whipped around to glare at his free hand in accusation. Bakugou pulled you back, however, a hard looking passing over his face.

It was only seconds before Mina and Kaminari came scrambling out of the maze of training buildings, looking worried. Kaminari was already crackling with static, agitated whips of lighting zipping across his skin. Bakugou's palm started to grow hotter against your back.

His next words threw the situation into sharp clarity.

“That wasn’t from a training room.”

#bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugou katsuki x reader #bnha x reader #my hero academia #bnha #katsuki bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugou

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forthegothicheroine · 3 years

Text

The King in Yellow, 1949

Much of this story is true. Warnings in the tags.

When I had pneumonia in my early teens, my mother brought home an armful of VHS tapes from the library to alleviate my misery. Knowing my snobbish preferences, she had grabbed copies of whatever she found in black and white. I remember something musical that I suspect was Busby Berkeley, I remember Mildred Pierce (a bad choice, as it turned out- the plot includes a young girl dying of pneumonia), and I remember a period piece called The King. I faded in and out of consciousness while I watched it, but it soothed me while I was awake and filled my fever dreams with sparkling images. I could never find it at the library again, nor at Hollywood Video or even early Netflix (once my father got the subscription service where you could order practically every DVD.) It was a bit odd that it seemed to be so obscure, given that it starred old Hollywood legend Ingrid Bergman (and, although I initially forgot it, Marlene Dietrich.) But even big stars make films that fall by the wayside in public memory, and it seemed that this was one of them. Google was no help, and at the time that was that.

I didn’t see the film again until I was watching Turner Classic Movies at my grandparents’ house. I loved watching that channel with them while filling out the crossword puzzle that came in their little TCM catalogue (all of it based on movie trivia, the only kind of crossword puzzle I’ve ever been any good at.) I recognized a certain scene where Bergman stood on a balcony, looking sadly at the moon. Her face had an expression of unutterable melancholy, and the crescent moon reflected in each of her eyes, giving the impression of two moons in one sky. I had very little time to catch up on what I’d missed before we had to go meet my cousins at the local Italian restaurant. I knew logically that the movie would be long over by the time we returned, but I turned on the channel anyway. Of course it had moved on to the lesser known Alfred Hitchcock film Stage Fright, but then I heard Marlene Dietrich sing before I could reach the remote to turn the tv off in disappointment. I knew that I had heard her sing before, and I knew it had been in The King.

Dietrich’s singing often comes across as somewhat campy today, with its Rs pronounced as Ws and it’s up-and-down tone. Madeline Kahn parodied it brilliantly in Blazing Saddles, such that it was a bit of a disappointment when I finally saw Dietrich’s western Destry Rides Again and found it to be lifeless and inconsistent next to the parody. Still, we remember her voice for a reason, and when I remembered it that night, I knew that its sardonic loneliness had rung through The King and made me shiver in my dreams.

The TCM schedule didn’t list The King in its time slot, but something else. If I had taken down the name, maybe it would have helped me find it. Sometimes the same movie runs under multiple names.

I didn’t see the film all the way through for many years, after I graduated college. I had found a web page that listed public domain film noir, including one called The Masked Guest. The website described it as a costume noir, and I curiously clicked on the link. Once I took in the credits running on the youtube window, my eyes grew wide and I did not move from my place on the bed until the movie had run its course.

The credits did indeed list it as The Masked Guest, but I recognized the strange repeating design on the title cards. They told me that in addition to starring Dietrich and Bergman, it was directed by Fritz Lang, and a character called The King was credited to “???” (I hadn’t seen that kind of credit since the first Karloff Frankenstein.) When the King finally appears on screen, though, it is unmistakably Orson Welles’s voice that booms out from behind his elaborate costume.

Here are the things I understand about The King, or The Masked Guest, or The Man in Yellow, or any other title I’ve found for it on public domain archive searches. Dietrich and Bergman play princesses named Cassilda and Camilla, respectively. Though Dietrich’s accent is German and Bergman’s is Swedish, they blend together to give the film the impression of being set somewhere on the map that I can’t quite find. The scenery and camera angles are very Freudian, with a great deal of archways and pillars.

The first act of The King involves frankly dull romantic plotlines, and the only thing that really saved it was the feeling that the suitors were supposed to be insipid, a suspicion lended credence by the fact that the love interests were listed so low on the credits. Dietrich is the scandalous sister and Bergman is the responsible one, though each takes on aspects of the other as the film goes on. Dietrich sings her song at a party, dressed in a fake 17th century gown and leaning against a piano. Although just a moment ago she had been laughing and joking with her gentleman friends, her song takes an abruptly serious tone (not seductive, not sentimental) as she tells the story of a city lost to time and memory. Bergman slips away from the party and onto the balcony, where we see that wonderful shot of the moon in her eyes. Is she mourning? Is she longing?

Dietrich cuts off the song by abruptly screaming “Not on us, King! Not on us!” She flees the party weeping and shaking, and from there on the film goes mad.

Though uncommon, it is not unknown for movies to switch between black and white and color, done most famously in The Wizard of Oz. The film The King recalls here is the silent Phantom of the Opera, which had a masqued ball scene tinted in shades of red and green that tried to provide a whole spectrum of color. The effect is even odder in the masqued ball scene in The King- the only color that appears is yellow, highlighting things like candlelight, Dietrich’s hair, a passing gown, a vase of tulips. It also highlights one particular masked figure, whose expressionless mask was decorated with a black pattern against a sickening yellow canvas- the same pattern I had seen in the opening credits. The color of his costume causes him to stand out from the crown even when he is far off in the background, just one head among many others. It must have taken long and painstaking hours of work to color in every frame.

Dietrich still seems broken up days after her song, though Bergman tries to coax her into joining the dance. Finally, at midnight, Dietrich goes out to face the party, but only to demand that every guest remove their mask. The yellow man with a voice that once warned America about a Martian invasion tells her that he wears no mask. Bergman reacts with disbelief, but Dietrich starts laughing like a woman unhinged. As she laughs, the yellow hue seeps out of the King’s clothing and face- if that really is his face- and begins to color the entire ballroom crowd. I think that what follows is bloodshed, but if there is any carnage (doubtful under the Production Code censorship), the blood must be tainted yellow and splashed across the camera like daubs of paint. Dietrich’s laughing face is doubled and tripled on screen until it dissipates, but even when it has faded offscreen, it feels as if her ghost continues to watch the proceedings.

By the end of the scene (filled with German Expressionist camera angles and mad violin screeching), only Bergman remains alive, cowering behind a grandfather clock. It does not hide her for long. The King steps towards her and extends his hand. Reluctantly, but with a fatalistic expression, Bergman takes his hand. They walk away together hand in hand. The screen shifts back into black and white, and then the credits roll before we can get a good look at all the bodies in the scene. The credits say it was based on a play called The King in Yellow, although Raymond Chandler of all people apparently had a hand in the screenplay.

As I said, that’s what I think I understand. It’s an oddly experimental art film for the era, and it may be awaiting rediscovery by the film festival crowd. I feel as if I alone know about it, though that obviously isn’t true. It is my little secret; I tell myself that my husband doesn’t need me to show it to him, it would be too odd for his taste. I’ve rewatched it many times, even if it seems like each time I search for it I have to find a different video platform or torrent. Naturally, no subscription site has it available. Maybe I am the last person who will ever watch it. Maybe no one will ever think to look for it again after me, and it will be completely forgotten.

When I was hospitalized, they let me use my laptop at night before I went to sleep (no power cord, though, in case I tried to hang myself.) I found a youtube link for The Man in Yellow, and I watched it every night. It wasn’t a soothing sort of movie, but having it in my mind all day and then watching it in the evening allowed me to think as opposed to crying endlessly while the other patients shot me awkward looks. I clutched the childhood stuffed animals my mother brought me when she visited, and I always held them extra tight when the masquerade scene started.

I watched the movie when I had to move away from my beloved San Francisco. I watched the movie when I lost the last of my grandparents. I watched the movie when a doctor unwisely took me off my medication and I couldn’t manage to eat for a month. I watched the movie when the whole world got sick and we all locked ourselves away from each other. I don’t mind that I don’t entirely know what it means. I don’t mind the nightmares. In the hospital they kept telling us about mindfulness exercises, and maybe the fact that I can focus on every aspect of the film so closely that all else falls away is the reason I keep coming back to it. I’m being mindful. I’m not letting any stray thoughts invade my head. I’m just watching and waiting for the next beat of every scene, leading inexorably to that yellow-stained bloodbath.

Streaming media doesn’t last forever, and each time I find The King, I worry that it will be the last time I ever can find it. My efforts to download it have so far been unsuccessful, odd considering that it is in the public domain.

When I watch The King, I am once again a child in my bedroom being cared for in the throes of agonizing sickness. I am once again sitting on the couch with my grandparents in front of the tv, both of them alive and lucid again. I am once again in the hospital, all alone except for my stuffed animals and the staff trying to keep me alive. The film reflects in my eyes like the crescent moon in Ingrid Bergman’s gaze. It sings to me.

I am determined to find a way to obtain The King under any name so that I never have to worry about losing it. During some of the worst times in my life, it is the only thing that has kept me sane.

#the king in yellow #cw mental illness #cw disordered eating #cw institutionalization #cw suicide

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theyreonlynoodlesmike · 3 years

Note

hiya, this is my first time requesting smth and i dunno rlly how to go about it but i was wondering if you could do a fic where the s/o leads to bois to Hudson's bluff where theres a projector and a roll up whiteboard thingy set up, blocking the view and they make them sit down and starts to play a film that s/o recorded earlier of the sunrise since the bois cant go out in the sun. sorry if that was too long, i really like your writing and i think youre awesome :))

Thank you so much for the kind words and for the super cute idea!!! I hope you like it!!

One Last Look (Poly!Lost Boys x S/O)

Warnings: angst about being a vampire, angst about their human lives, yearning for a forgotten life, tooth-rotting fluff

Word Count: 1414

The boys had no idea as to what you'd set up, you'd made sure of that. It was somewhat difficult even convincing them to go somewhere without David's choosing, but you'd promised them a surprise. That was enough to, at least, pique Paul's interest, and the others knew that he wouldn't shut up until the surprise was revealed.

So, you'd taken them up the stairs and all the way up to the cliffs edge. Quickly, confusion dotted some of their faces when they saw the projector screen and the rest of your set up. You'd even gone through the trouble of bringing some beanbags and chairs up for the boys to use, and the blonde twins didn't hesitate to launch themselves into the bean bags you'd put side by side. David sat in one of the more rigid beach chairs, and Dwayne, given a choice between a bean bag and a beach chair, chose a bean bag. You smiled, dodging Dwaynes attempts to pull you into his lap as David asked,

"Now what?" And you tried not to roll your eyes at his tone. Really, he couldn't stand not being in charge for ten minutes? Well, you were sure that you were about to change his attitude. You pressed play, starting the projector, and then hurried to your seat. It was in the middle, between David and Marko, and you watched as your earlier film began.

***

The boys didn't like being kept in the dark, but they waited patiently as the show began. Paul had muttered something about it being a dirty movie, but Marko had immediately given him a glance. A dirty movie showing right on top of Hudson's Bluff? Yeah, no way.

Paul had scoffed, crossing his arms as he thought pointedly. Well, you never know. To the boy besides him. But, when the movie began to roll, they watched in confusion as the horizon right in front of them began to play. And then, the first bit of light peaked over.

The boys flinched out on instinct, with some of them even moving to push themselves out of their seats. But you reached for Markos hand, giving it an assuring squeeze.

"Hey, hey. You're okay." You said, and the boys looked between the screen and the world around them. The sunlight was false, it couldn't hurt them any more than the candles they used to light the cave could. Their eyes turned to the screen once more, fascination on them as the sun breached the skyline.

It'd been eighty years since they'd last seen a sunrise. Even then, some of them couldn't remember it.

Marko had always been an early riser. He'd seen his fair share, but after eighty years of fog? It was like looking at a faded photograph. The colors weren't right or the lines were hazy. Maybe certain parts of his memory were distorted. Or maybe all the memories of sunrises he held had blended together. But there was one thing he always remembered. The orange, yellow glow of the sun. He'd remembered that perfectly, and he stared silently as it climbed up the screen. He gripped the bag under him, kneading it as it climbed. He remembered waking up just to watch it, even sketching it in his young life. His fingers itched for his pencils then, and he bit his thumb to try to suppress the urge. He remembered how expensive pencils and paints used to be. How he'd save a week's wage, as he used to call it, just to buy some. How, even though they never said anything, the others used to stare at his brushes like they wished they were a loaf of bread instead. But he also remembered how his drawings used to brighten up their space, how they'd done the same thing to the cave below. He thumbed at his jacket, thinks about how, even after all these years, even after he'd forgotten why, he was still trying to bring color into their lives.

Paul had seen his fair share of sunrises when they'd been human, but that was usually while he was scrambling out of someone's bed, or scrambling out of his own to try to make it to whatever sorry excuse for a job he called work. He never paid much attention to the sky of the morning, but, in that second, he remembered how much he missed the feeling of the sun on his face. A sun that didn't burn his skin the second it touched it, but a sun that warmed him. He remembered mid-day, a breeze of memories he didn't even know he still retained. He remembered eating lunch inbetween shifts. He remembered being full, remembered the way his muscles used to burn and how good it felt to sit down and relax. Paul relaxed all the time, but he couldn't remember the last time, in his vampire life, it felt like relief. His muscles didn't ache, his brow didn't sweat, and he didn't feel the prickle in his feet after being on them for too long. He never even realized those things had been missing, and a small part of him missed the feeling.

During his human life, Dwayne had always paid more attention to sunsets, to the sight of the sun retreating behind the sky. To the oranges, reds, and deep purples that followed. He was used to the navy blue of the night sky. He'd been under it every night for years. But, seeing his first sunrise in nearly eighty years, he would've traded all of his sunsets for it. He wished he'd appreciated it more. He missed lying under the sun, even if it was just to tan. He missed having to tie his hair back to keep himself from overheating. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt hot, let alone even warm. Memories of him under the sun in the California desert floated in his mind. He thought he'd known what thirst was then. He laughed a little bit to himself, and he glanced over at you when you looked over to find the source of his laughter. He didn't explain, simply letting his eyes flick back to the screen. He stared, watching in silence as the sun rose on the screen.

David didn't know what to say. He didn't know if he should say anything. David had never been one for sunrises. He always got up the latest. He was practically nocturnal even when he'd been human, working through the night and spending the rest of the time worrying about the others. The switch to being a vampire hadn't been much of a change in his life, but it was only then that he realized what he'd been missing. Instead of having his thoughts float back to his old life, he glanced over at you. He wished he'd been able to be there with you, watch as it pulled over the horizon. That you didn't need to take a video, and instead you could've nudged him awake. He realized then that there were parts of your life that he'd always miss. Unless you became one of them. But, as he stared at the screen, David had his first inkling of doubt. He'd been so sure of it before. It'd been an obvious choice. As sure as the sun rising above the horizon each day. But now? His fingers itched for a cigarette. Anything to stifle and take his mind away from the thoughts swirling around his head.

***

You looked over at them. The boys had been silent ever since you started the movie, until it ended. When it did, you waited for them to speak. It took a moment, but David finally said,

"That was- You shot that?" He asked, and you nodded. He was quiet for another moment, and it unnerved you. For a moment, you thought that you'd done something wrong. That perhaps you shouldn't have. But Dwayne was quick to say,

"Thank you, y/n. Really." And the others were quick to chorus a mantra of the same.

It took a moment for you and the boys to clean up, but, just before you packed up the set-up, David had walked up to the screen. He reached out for the screen, and the others paused where they stood. It occurred to you then that they were getting one last look, before the five of you packed everything up and went to take it down to the cave.

#the lost boys #the lost boys 1987 #the lost boys paul #paul the lost boys #the lost boys marko #the lost boys dwayne #the lost boys david #marko the lost boys #david the lost boys #dwayne the lost boys #the lost boys x reader

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starsstruck · 4 years

Text

like the sun coming out

part of the cloubusting universe. a continuation of the story of painter!harry and barista!mc. icy february mornings, valentine’s dates, and soft painting sessions.

pairing: harry x reader warnings: language, sexual content words: 9.3k

series masterlist

an: hello and happy valentines day💕 im sorry to be a day late but everyday is valentines if you want it to be <3 i hope this finds you well, this is again, just more sweetness because i cant help it. hope everyone has a wonderful loved fill day, happy reading, and as always let me know what you think 💕💕

You eyed the bouquet sitting by the pastry case. The red of the roses were bright, easily contrasted with the adorning baby’s breath – a classic bouquet that was probably sold out all over town considering the date.

Holding your mug high by your mouth in both hands, warming your cold fingers as you blew lightly over the hot coffee. Standing by the space heater that kept its place under the counter, reveling in the warmth before you had to open the café.

You glanced at your phone that sat on the counter, tapping the screen to check the time. 6:27. You had three minutes. And two minutes since you had last checked, two minutes and still no new text notifications.

Sighing, you leant back over the counter and watched the few cars drive by outside, spending those three minutes you had enjoying your coffee.

Sunday’s were always unpredictable. A lot factored into how busy a shift would be, the weather being the main factor. But then there were holiday’s which for whatever reason were even busier. So working a sunny Valentine’s Day, you could more or less determine that it wouldn’t be long before a line formed out the door. All you could hope was that the line ups would form in the afternoon, when you were free from work.

You weren’t that lucky.

An expected slow start, but as soon as the sun rose higher in the sky you found yourself unable to catch a break. And when Saya came in, it seemed to get even busier. Regulars, big families, couples going for walks – it was all expected but you still felt your mood worsen while your shift went on. It was one of those days, where you’d spill milk and drop cups, a day where nothing seemed to be going right.

The only good thing about a busy day is that time flew by fast. Soon it was just past two o’clock, and you were clocking out while eyeing the newly forming lineup that was officially no longer your concern.

Pulling on your coat, grabbing your bag, and sending one more glance at your phone, before you were heading out the door. There had only been a few notifications – none of them being the one you were waiting to see. You had decided that if Harry didn’t say anything to you by five o’clock, that you would text him again. Or maybe you should call.

You had texted him late last night, unable to sleep before your early shift, and the messages were still left unanswered.

It was only silly little fight, you couldn’t even remember how it had started, just a quiet annoyance. Something about you having to work all week, and suddenly he wasn’t answering your texts. But now it was now nearly twelve hours since it happened and you were growing worried that he was more upset with you than you’d initially thought.

Your walk home was cold, and slow, as exhausted manifested in the balls of your feet. You easily gave in to the overwhelming urge to pull off your boots and slide into bed for a moment as soon as you got home. Your music was still playing in your earbuds, moving it over to your little speaker as you pulled the covers up under your chin and rested your cheek on your pillow. A little lie down was very much needed at the moment.

A faint buzzing echoed around you.

Consciousness came slowly. You groggily opened your eyes, peering out your window to see the sky still light, meaning your little nap couldn’t have been as long as it felt. You slowly realized that the faint buzzing was coming from your phone, which was likely buried somewhere deep in the duvet around you.

Searching for where the sound was coming from, you found the phone under your pillow as you flipped it up, seeing Harry’s name across the screen.

“Hello,” your voice was a bit shaky, after you had accepted the call and pressed the phone to your ear. Rolling onto your back, you stared up at the ceiling and rubbed the back of your hand over your eyes, no doubt smudging the makeup you’d completely forgotten about.

“Did I wake you?” Harry sounded like he was on speakerphone.

“It’s okay,” you cleared your throat.

“How was work?” His voice sounded clearer now.

“Busy,” you sighed. “People are stupid on holidays.”

“Too tired to keep plans for tonight?”

Your lips curved lightly, already feeling better at the lightness in his tone. “Thought you were mad at me.”

“Couldn’t be,” you could hear the smile in his own voice. “I’m sorry – for last night. I’m frustrated with my work and well, I was being petty, and selfish with your time –”

He cut himself off, as you raised yourself up over the mattress again to search for your phone charger. “Not your fault,” you hummed, after plugging the phone in. “I’m sorry too.”

“Don’t be – can’t be mad at you for doing your job. So it’s a yes for tonight?”

You bit back your smile, even though he couldn’t see you. “Suppose so. It is Valentine’s day, isn’t it?”

“It is, yeah. And I don’t want to give too much away but I have a few things planned for us.”

“Bit of a romantic, aren’t you?”

You heard him laugh through the phone. “Been told that once or twice, yeah.”

Smiling, you bit the inside of your cheek. “What time?”

“Did you still want to lie down for a bit?”

He knew you well. “I can come to yours in an hour or so,” he continued, “and then we can head to the store together to grab some groceries.”

“That sound’s good,” you said, happy to hear you had a little more time to lie in bed.

“So I’ll see you in a bit?” He confirmed, as you checked the time on your phone and thought that maybe you should set an alarm, in case you fell back asleep.

“You will.”

After saying your goodbyes, you spent a few minutes checking your notifications before sleep sneaked back up on you. Another nap that felt like it could’ve been five minutes or five minutes took over your body, but the next time you woke up, you finally felt rested. In fact, you woke up with a smiling tugging at the corner of your mouth, giddy for the night you had planned with your partner.

Rolling onto your back, the calm you felt was quickly interrupted.

“Jesus!”

Your heart leapt through your throat. Quickly lifting your top half over the mattress, you let your weight rest on your elbows as the duvet bunched around you.

Harry was sitting on the other side of your bed, opened book in hand with his legs extended out over the duvet. His eyes were wide on yours, your exclamation clearly startling him as well.

You saw his mouth part, a gleam in his eyes as he peered down at where you were watching him with wide eyes. “Not quite.”

You felt your heart beating rapidly in your chest, trying to calm yourself down from the shock of seeing Harry, or anyone else for that matter, sitting in your bed.

He offered you a small smile with a quirk in his lips, placing his book down next to him and cleared his throat. “Didn’t mean to startle you –”

You fell back against the mattress, lying on your back as you stared up at the ceiling. It wasn’t anything new – him letting himself into your place. You each had the other’s set of keys, but this was surely a first that he had sat himself down next to you while you slept.

“When did you get here?”

He checked his phone, before glancing back at you. “About ten minutes ago – looked so peaceful I didn’t want to wake you just yet.”

“Well thank you for that,” you rolled your head on your pillow, smiling up at him. “Happy Valentine’s day.”

Watching as the corner of his lips perked, he returned your sentiment. “Happy Valentine’s to you too,” he hummed, leaning over the small space between the both of you to press a light kiss over your lips.

He wrapped a hand around your shoulders, leaning down to kiss you once more. “Sorry again,” he murmured over your mouth.

You both pulled away with matching small smiles. “Let me go get ready,” murmuring quietly, you slowly pulled the warm comforter off your body. “I’ll be fast.”

Quickly crawling out from under the covers, going to get ready. You freshened up your makeup that had been rubbed off in your sleep, soft hues to accentuate your features as you took a little longer than planned when you attempted a different kind of eye look with your eyeliner.

Finishing with a small outfit change that you had already planned out ahead of time, a red silky skirt that hit just above your ankles, paired with a nice knit pink top that had little ties holding the front closed. You looked like Valentine’s Day had threw up over you and you loved it.

You were both soon exiting your apartment, hand in hand to the grocery store, and then back to his place for a nice dinner date together.

You had already planned on making a creamy quiche, filled with vegetables and a golden buttery crust. The dough had already been made ahead of time, only needing to take it out of the fridge so it could warm up a bit before filling it with all you wanted.

Wine had been poured, both already on your second glass by the time your dinner was in the oven.

Both impatient and wanting to exchange gifts, you sat yourselves down on the couch and handed each other your wrapped presents. Deciding on lowkey gifts, the two of you both having the same idea of gifting each other flowers as two bouquets now sat in vases on Harry’s windowsill.

He had gifted you a journal, thick paper bound together with a custom cover of his own art that he had gotten printed on a soft vellum. It was one your favourite painting of his, soft oranges that blended with light purples in a beautiful sun kissed sky. Vague outline of two silhouettes sat on the lower corner, two figures that blended with quiet blues and held each other close on a glowing empty street – two silhouettes who he always told you were the both of you.

Your gift to him was a thick light blue sweater, adorned with a small pattern of purple hearts over the front. You had immediately thought of him when you found it. Wanting to make it even more special, in orange thread you had embroidered the word “loved” right over the spot that would rest on his heart. He’d immediately pulled it over his head to wear.

Dinner had been followed by chocolate covered strawberries, those of which you had attempted to make yourself but had found to be not as easy as initially thought, a small mess of melted chocolate covering his kitchen counter to be delt with later. But that didn’t matter all that much not when you were sharing them with Harry.

Now you were both seated on the couch, a soft glow of candlelight around you mixed with the light coming from outside. You and Harry were curled up close together, both unable to stop looking at each other with heart shaped eyes.

“I’ve never really had a real Valentine’s day,” you’d told him, pouring yourself another glass of wine.

“Glad I could give you one,” he grinned at you, voice sounding melodic in your ears as couldn’t take your eyes off him. He looked particular good, his hair falling softly around his sharp features, brand new seater fitting perfectly over his chest. “Though I think it’s you who makes it special.”

You only laughed lightly, both the wine and his words making your head spin. You were sat across from each other on the couch knees pressed together with the occasional brush of a hand over the other’s leg, like two magnets who had to touch each other.

“Stop looking at me like that,” he chuckled with his eyes narrowed on yours.

“Like what?”

“You know like what,” he swirled the rest of the wine that sat in his glass, tilting it back against his lips to swallow the rest of it.

Choosing not to answer him, you instead leant forward closer to him. You didn’t miss the way his eyes dropped down to the expand of skin that led to the lowcut neckline of your shirt.

He mirrored you move, sitting forward and slowly closing the distance between the both of you. Your eyes dropped to his hand that had gone to rest over your knee, not thinking much as you rested your fingertips over his and traced the lines over his hand.

“I was thinking,” he hummed, hand dancing over your thigh.

You only nodded, watching him closely as you waited for him to continue.

“Remember our first date?”

You raised your glass to take a sip of the dark red alcohol. “Course I do,” you answered. “When you invited me over to paint?”

Harry nodded. Lifting an arm to rest over the back of the couch, you subconsciously shifted closer into his open side. “What do you say to doing that again?”

“You want to paint with me again?” You nudged his side with your elbow, a light teasing tone in your words. “With your muse?”

“I’m serious,” he laughed with a small shake in his chest. He rose from where he was sat next to you, going over to the corner of the room where he kept his boxes and drawers of supplies.

You rose from your relaxed position, sitting up straight on the couch. “You mean right now?”

He glanced over at you from over his shoulder, digging through his things for what he needed. “Why not?”

“Clothes are too nice to get paint on,” you laughed lightly, watching him pull out a small canvas and fully turn to face you.

“You don’t have to paint,” he murmured, walking back over to you and leaned down so that his face was at level with yours. “How about I paint you,” he pressed his lips to yours, “since y’look so pretty.”

“Sweet talker,” you hummed over his mouth, and he pressed one more peck to your lips before pulling away. “Where do you want me?”

“Where you are is good,” he shifted back from the couch, settling a short distance away from you with all he needed to paint. “Sit back – relax.”

Doing as he said, you watched as he got himself organized and was soon bending over a little blank canvas and laying colour reds and pinks all over it.

You were both quiet for a while – you watching him, and him dividing his time between watching you and the soft strokes of his brush over the canvas. Only the quiet hums of Vashti Bunyan filled the space of the room.

At one point, sweet soft little Cherry had bounced up onto the couch and sat with you for a moment as you covered her in affection, before she decided she didn’t want to be seen anymore and promptly left.

You had fallen into a small daze, not a tired one but a relaxed one, nearly entranced by the way Harry moved the brush so swiftly and delicately over the canvas.

After a while, you didn’t know how long, he murmured your name, head still looking down as he spoke lowly.

Only humming in response, you looked over at him as you watched his eyes flick up to yours.

“Skirts riding up a bit,” he spoke slowly, watching you with a gleam in his eyes.

“Oops,” you murmured quietly, “didn’t want me to move that much, right?”

He shook is head. “Don’t mind –” he shot you a sly little smile, and it could’ve just been the dim lighting but you were sure to have caught a little blush grace his cheeks.

You shifted your legs again, sliding your calves under your bum with a tilt to your torso, as the hem of the skirt rode up a bit higher. You saw Harry glance back down, as you were unable to help the teasing tone in your voice. “What is it?”

“Just distracting is all,” he didn’t look up at you but you could see the roundness in his cheeks that suggested his grin.

“Yeah?” You spoke lightly, moving again while you rose a hand to tug on one of the ties at the top of your blouse, pulling it open to reveal more of your chest. “Wouldn’t want that –”

He glanced at you as you cut yourself off, a short second of heavy eyes on you, following the gap that the fabric created with a dip down to the top of your breasts. You saw him pause, momentarily distracted before he looked back down to his painting with a shake to his head.

It was like that for a short while, a slow quiet game as Harry took longer and longer glances at you and you slowly teased him with soft movements. It was nearly embarrassing how easily you could get worked up over a simple stare, the intensity of his gaze that skimmed over your body always seemed to completely light you on fire.

Though it was him who gave in first, the painting not going nearly as smoothly as it was when he first started as he felt unable to think clearly, mind only occupied with thoughts of you. He found himself focusing on the curve of your lips, the dip of your chest, the way your eyes softened when his gaze met yours – he was unable to do anything but think about you.

Eventually, he placed his brush in his little cup of water, glancing back up at you for a beat before speaking. “D’you know what else I remember from our first date?”

Seeing him rise to his feet, he stretched out his legs before taking the few steps needed to be standing directly in front of you. You only looked up at him, tilting your chin up and watched him hover in front of you. He leant down and placed a hand on either side of you, palms dipping into the couch cushions.

When he leant lower so that his face was level with yours, you straightened out your spine a bit to sit completely parallel to him. He got impossibly close, tip of his nose about to brush over yours if you were to move half an inch.

“What else?” You whispered, watching as Harry flicked his eyes down to watch your mouth form the words.

“How it ended,” he closed the short distance, lips pressing over yours as when he spoke.

“You walking me home?” You pulled your head back an inch, eyes meeting his once again.

“Hmm,” he thought for a second. “The middle then.”

“May have to jog my memory,” you murmured, watching his lips curve up a bit before placing another kiss to your mouth.

You easily deepened the kiss, reaching a hand around him to grab over the back of his neck to pull him in for more. He remained hovering over you with his hands over the couch, mouths parting when you licked over his lips.

He tasted like the strawberries you had shared, a fruity sweetness mixed with the slightly bitter dark chocolate. You were sure you tasted the same – you wondered if you had a distinct taste that mingled with his when you kissed. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, one hand moving to the back of his neck to brush your fingertips over the warm skin.

He leant into your touch, shifting closer in so that his face could be at level with your own. He easily deepened the kiss, one hand rising from where it was supporting him and cupped your cheek with a firm grip to tilt your chin up to his.

“Mm,” he hummed softly over your mouth, pulling away from you for a beat. He bent his knees and sank down to the floor in front of you, and you followed his movements with your own, head tilting down to remain at level with his.

“Started a bit like this, didn’t it?” Your lips perked at his words, feeling his other hand move up over the couch and onto your hip, hands freed to grab at you all he wanted now that he didn’t need to support himself up.

“Think I need a little more to remember,” you told him, feeling his fingers knead over the silky fabric of your skirt and into your rounded skin.

He gladly complied, craning his neck up so that your mouths could reconnect.

You felt hot under his touch. His thumb was tracing the soft line of your jaw until it was gliding the curve of your bottom lip, while his other hand circled around the small of you back and tugged you closer towards the end of the couch, closer to him.

You sighed affectionately into his mouth as he rested his forearms over your folded legs. He was pressing his weight over you, a welcomed touch that had you leaning in closer as you sought out more of his mouth.

Pulling away with a small suck over his bottom lip, you watched his eyelids slowly part open to gaze up at you with darkened eyes.

“Wait right here,” he muttered, suddenly standing up and walking away from you with a quick pace in his step. You watched him move to the kitchen, the expanse of his back was the only thing visible to you from around the corner. You heard him run the tap for a moment before turning it off, and he was back in front of you just as fast. Settling himself back on his knees between your parted legs, his hands wasted no time before feeling your bare skin once more.

You suddenly felt a flush overtake your body, at the realization of what he had just done. At the realization that he had just washed the paint from his hands.

“Are you done painting for now?” You rose one of your hands up and traced the line of his cheek as you spoke, fingertips rising to push back some of the hair that was falling over his forehead.

“Well, you are a pretty convincing distraction, sunshine,” he kissed over your chin, urging you to tilt your head up while his lips slipped down your neck. His wet mouth suckled over your skin, while one of his hands traipsed over your hips, doing his best to wrap his arm around them to tug you closer.

He suddenly pulled away, just as his teeth nipped at the skin above your collarbone while his hot breath warmed your chest. “I think that first time was,” he muttered, head hanging low between your two bodies, watching his hands flatten over your thighs. He squeezed your knee, urging you to unfold your legs and part them around him. “More like this.”

You did as he silently asked, bringing your legs out from under your bum and swung your claves over the edge of the couch. With your knees perfectly parted, Harry easily stayed where he was in front of you now encased between your legs.

Instead of skimming his hands over the fabric of your skirt like you thought he would, he instead rested his chin on the corner of your leg and brought his fingers up over the waistband and on to the skin that was hidden under your shirt. You watched in quiet anticipation as he raised the knit blouse up a bit higher, all while his breath heated your legs.

“You’re the sweetest thing, know that?” Harry murmured, twisting his head so that his lips could smooth over the spot above your knee.

You whined under his touch, feeling his mouth press higher on the inside of your thighs while your skirt slowly inched up, nearly completely exposing you.

You placed your palms on the back of his hands that held your waist, grabbing a hold of his fingers to bring them lower down your body. He easily complied, gripping the silky fabric that covered your hips in his fingers as he slowly eased it up higher. He followed the hem of your skirt with his eyes, as more and more skin got exposed to him until the fabric was completely bunched up around the edge of your thighs.

You shifted over the couch, allowing the garment to move past your bum until it was bunched just bellow your waist. You didn’t move your eyes away from Harry, watching as his hands dropped to hold your bare thighs, his own eyes glued to your newly exposed centre.

“Sunshine,” his voice was breathless as his hands held the skirt over your form. “What’s all this?”

“It’s new,” you whispered, revelling in the way his warm hands moved over the curve of your hips and onto the delicate underwear that covered you. You keened into his touch, feeling hot under his hungry eyes. “Thought of you when I found it –”

He groaned low in his throat, one hand sliding around your soft skin until his fingers were brushing over the thin straps around your hips “Baby,” he said lowly, watching the way the swell of the skin moved under his touch. “For me?”

The underwear was a light blue mesh fabric, with thin straps that rose high over your hips and tied shut with little bows. In small patterns that covered the expanse of the front, was a delicate embroidery in light whites and oranges; a trail of white little flowers paired with bunches of oranges.

You bent forward, searching for his mouth as your fingers lightly held his jaw to move him closer to where you wanted him. He craned his neck up, mouth immediately finding yours, kissing you hotly while his hands roamed over your skin.

“Please tell me there’s a matching top,” he muttered into your mouth, fingers tugging at your blouse.

You placed your hands over his, promptly removing your shirt. He pulled back from you, sitting on his heals, watching you with heavy eyes while you pulled the soft fabric over your head and tossed it aside.

His hands remained firm over your hips, eyes eating up inch of your skin. He quietly dragged his fingertips up your sides, dragging them up onto the underside of your breasts as he watched the swell of skin move under his touch.

“Like it?” You hummed, meeting his dark eyes with a tilt of your chin.

The top matched the bottom, underwire of the bra keeping your breasts up as the cups were thin and sheer, covered in the same small colourful embroidered of oranges and flowers. Harry lightly traced the patterns with his fingertips, wanting to feel every inch of the bra.

He didn’t answer you, and only leaned in closer so that he could press his lips over your stomach, soft smoothing movements up to your sternum while his hands palmed over your breasts. He followed the embroidered detailing over your pebbled nipple with light teasing touches.

“You’re a dream,” his hot beath sent a shiver down your spine, lips smoothing back down once more as his hands got a firm grip over your thighs. “Nothing I love more –” he inhaled deeply, “than being between your leg like this.”

He completely bypassed where you hoped he would end up, instead kissing up over the inside of your legs, hands smoothing on your thighs to give him more access. He dug his digits into the soft skin, lips replacing his touch as hot open-mouthed kisses licked over the sensitive spots.

You knew where he was headed, you knew he loved to play this game with you, but you were growing a bit impatient as he sucked into the inside of your thighs, no doubt leaving marks that would bruise a purplish red tomorrow.

“Baby-“

“Baby what?” He muttered over your thigh, loud kiss on the skin. “What d’you want? Tell me,” his tongue licked over your skin, a small nip of his teeth over the sensitive skin.

“Your mouth,” you whimpered, hands smoothing over his the crook of his shoulder and up over his neck in search for his hair to tug on.

“Where?” His breath was oh so hot, fanning over your skin in a way that you were sure would light you on fire if he continued. His fingertips toyed with the thin fabric that covered you, snapping the elastic over your skin as your breath hitched in your throat.

“You know –” you choked, feeling a new wave of heat shoot through your stomach when his hands wrapped around your thighs. “Just like our first date, right?”

“Right,” his chest shook with a soundless laugh, hands reaching behind to hold over your bum and tugging you even closer to him. He was so close you could feel the soft breaths of air leave his nose and tickle the crest of your thighs. You were sure that there was a wet spot forming over your new underwear, visible to the man between your thighs. “Want me to taste you, just like the first time?”

You hummed in the air, unable to form a proper sentence when his tongue poked out from his lips and he pressed it flat against your covered core.

“Was that,” he pulled his mouth away far to fast, “when you knew?”

His fingers were tugging at the soft straps that were tight around your hips, easing the fabric down ever so slowly. You let out a breathy sigh, “what?”

Moving his head back, Harry kept his eyes glued to the skin his fingers were uncovering. “Was that when you knew you liked me?”

A breathy laugh escaped your lips, as you rose your hips up so that he could ease the flimsy material down your thighs. “That wasn’t it.”

He was so enthralled with the sight of you in front of him, that there was a slight lag while he processed your words. Moving back as your underwear hung just above your knees, glancing up to meet your gaze through heavy eyelids.

His swollen lips pouted. “When was it, then?”

Smiling down at your lover, your fingers found their way over his cheek once again, trailing over the curve of his cheekbone and down to his jaw. “When you kept bugging me at work,” you laughed slightly at the memory, “and when you wanted to stay and close the shop with me.”

Another kiss to your thigh. “And I really knew when you brought me those mandarin oranges.”

His eyes bore into yours, another exaggerated pout of his mouth. “That was after.”

“Well,” you hummed, nails scratching over his scalp, “had to make sure, didn’t I?”

“Guess you did,” he leant in even closer, a kiss right at the crest of your thigh that had your breath hitching in your throat.

You saw him move, but it was still a small shock when his mouth was felt over your folds. After a light lick of his tongue, he was pulling away within seconds.

He urged your legs to further part for him, wrapping his arms around your thighs to pull to spread you wider. His mouth was back on you within seconds, tongue pushing against your clit with slow licks over the sensitive nub.

Mouth widening over your centre, tasting more of your arousal. A quiet moan escaped your mouth when he circled his lips over your clit, sucking with quiet determination.

He had one hand gripping into your thigh, sure to be little crescent moon shapes left behind from his nails that would be indented as a reminder for how good he makes you feel. You let your head fall back, hitting the back of the couch with a near uncomfortable bend to your back, but you didn’t care. One of your hands was still mussing up his hair, tugging at the soft strands when his mouth felt particularly good against your clit.

Your other hand was being blindly sought after by Harry’s own palm, eyes glanced up through his eyelashes to meet your own with a sly smile tugging on the corner of his mouth. He seemed to wordlessly speaking to you, quiet lustful gazes before delving back in with slow, teasing movements through your folds.

His palm fit over the back of your hand. He held over you, moving your pliable hand to turn it in his grasp, fingers dancing with yours all while you both pushed into the seat of the couch.

“Hold m’hand,” his voice was muffled over your cunt, soft vibrations shooting up your spine both at the feeling of him speaking and the tenderness of his words.

You easily interlocked your fingers, palms pressed together as you dug your nails in the back of his hand when his tongue was back searching for the arousal that was dripping over your skin.

His moves into your cunt were slow, too slow. Tongue flattening over your folds with deep pushes into you, before soft teasing circles were graced over your clit. You were arching your back over the couch, hips seeking his mouth as you quietly begged for more. He alternated between pushing just over the entrance of your hole, sliding through the wet mess and up to your clit to pull beautiful moans from you.

“Taste so sweet,” his groaned, as you whimpered for more. “D’you like it when I eat your sweet little cunt like this?”

You rolled your hips up at his words. He often muttered sweet confessions of love, and dirty little thoughts. But when he got like this, when his words turned you to a mess of a puddle while he indulged the both of you, you couldn’t help but feel like you were melting under him.

The two of you had a certain kind of completeness when you had sex – a passionate unity that worked together. He would let you take charge when you wanted, so attentive to what you needed and loving nothing more than seeing you get off.

But sometimes you set off a certain stir deep in his stomach, that had him wanting to pin you down and be as unrelenting as he could until you were screaming his name.

His desire grew the louder you got, the desire to make you come and the desire for you¸ as simple as that. Every sweet vibration through your chest, every quiet whimper and every call of his name that you unashamedly whimpered out. He knew the more he teased the more desperate you’d get, and he also knew it wouldn’t take much asking on your part for him to give in to anything you wanted.

After a particularly harsh tug to his hair, he lifted his mouth from where it was paying you attention and you let out an even louder whine in the absence of his touch.

“Harry,” you moaned sweetly, your eyes boring into his, both holding intense stares while you were positively begging for him. “Please make me come.”

His lips brushed over your thigh once again, looking up at you through his eyelashes as you pleaded for him to touch you. He didn’t say anything, and instead dragged his free hand around your thigh and to your centre, until he had two fingers dragged through the wetness created both by your arousal and his saliva.

You let out a heavy breath at the touch, chest quickly rising and falling while your heartbeat thundered in your ears. Harry watched as the swell of your breasts strained against the soft blue fabric, pausing for a moment as he wanted to keep your fingers interlocked but also wanted to feel up the skin of your chest.

Deciding on the former, he kept your hands together and pressed the back of your hand further into the cushions of the couch. His other hand was trailing lower, his fingers now slick with you around your entrance before he pushed into you with ease.

You moaned under his touch, the fullness of his fingers inside of you had you twisting your hips over the couch as you ached to feel him hit that delicious spot inside of you.

His mouth was back over the inside of your thighs, your skin burning under his touch when he kissed over the little red marks that he had earlier made, just as they were starting to darken in colour. He was all over you at once open lips back over your clit and licking deeply with determined moves of his tongue over you. His fingers slowly began to move inside of you, curling the two digits up as he gained a steady pace and repeatedly hit that smooth spongey spot inside of you that made your vision blur and your toes curl.

You were having trouble keeping your eyes open, letting your head fall back once more as your free hand pulled at his hair, subconsciously matching the brushes of your hand with his slow strokes. Your other hand was pulling at Harry’s, squeezing it so tightly as he was working you up.

The familiar burning in your lower belly was growing hotter and hotter, tight coil getting closer to snapping. You could feel his nose pressed against your pelvis, his chin bumping his own fingers after particularly harsh thrusts – he was completely buried between your thighs. You were sure to be making a mess over his lower face, the thought making you squirm even more in his touch.

Letting out a loud gasp at the low vibrations that were felt when Harry moaned, when he muttered quiet words that demanded all of your attention to figure out what he was saying.

“This what you wanted, sunshine?” He pulled his lips away, loud kisses over your thighs as he watched you slowly unravel under him, refusing to keep his mouth off any part of you.

He couldn’t choose where he wanted to keep his gaze. At your soft blissed out face with your lips under your teeth and fluttering eyelids, or at the expanse of your chest with the beautiful garment that graced your skin, or right in front of him at your swollen cunt that was shining in arousal and at the way his fingers sank into of you.

The music was still softly playing the background, a quiet secondary noise to every melodic moan that was sounding from your throat, the music in fact all but forgotten when obscenely wet sounds filled the space once more.

“Oh – Harry,” you moaned when his tongue was back over you, knowing you were growing closer to your release from the way you clenched around his fingers.

“Feels good?” He asked, as if it wasn’t already obvious.

You whined with a nod, holding onto him as tightly as you could. “So good – fuck,” you moaned, hips bucking up when your climax was right around the corner. Words were spilling from your mouth, sentences jumbling without much sense. “Love you so –”

He hummed over you, his hand giving yours a few quick squeezes as he felt you clench around his fingers. Again, he murmured something that you couldn’t even begin to make out, focusing on his touch rather than his words.

“Y’love me?” His voice rang through yours ear, suddenly louder than your thundering heartbeat.

“Yeah,” your voice was a dreamy breath of air. “I do.”

He mumbled something that sounded like a “fucking love you,” before you were meeting your release against his mouth and around his fingers. He didn’t relent, mouth hot and open over you with continuous tugs to your clit as his fingers pushed so deeply inside of you.

You moaned low in your chest as you came, every touch of his skin on yours sending electricity through your nerves. Your legs jolted from around him at the sensitivity of your clit, as he kept sliding his tongue over the bundle of nerves while you calmed down from your orgasm.

Eyes parting open, you saw Harry pull away from between your legs as he fully sat back on his legs and withdrew his fingers from you. With his fingertips trailing down your thighs, he rose his slicked fingers up to his mouth to taste every last bit of you.

Your breath was coming out unevenly, and you nearly moaned at the erotic sight before you. His wet lips kissed your knee once more, his voice was low, laced with desire when he spoke your name. “How was that?”

You didn’t answer right away, a smile pulling at your lips as you shook with a happy laugh. Pushing yourself up from the couch, you used all the strength in your shaky legs to slide off the furniture and into the lap of your lover.

“Just like the first time,” you breathed, words fanning over his chin as he easily held you in an embrace.

He felt like he was losing feeling in his legs, small soreness in his knees so he shifted you over him until he was able to extend his legs out over the floor and you could straddle his thighs. Completely removing the skirt, you tossed it aside as you were left in only your lingerie. Upon his request, you had slid your underwear back on instead of letting it fall to the floor. He hummed against you when you easily fell back into each other, lips seeking your mouth in a desperate, messy kiss.

Slowly grinding your hips over his, every inch of him hard underneath you could be felt. Harry rolled his head back on his neck, exposing the expanse of skin to you as you repeated the motion over his hips.

Taking the chance to lean in closer, your lips landed over his neck in light sucks of kisses. “Love you,” he whispered into the air, fingertips digging into the skin of your waist.

“Yeah?” You hummed over his skin, licking a strip up the column of his neck. One of your hands danced along his throat, tracing down until your fingers were following the dip of his collarbone and circling around his back. “Do you?”

“You have no idea,” he breathed, chin dipping down once again as his nose nudged yours when he sought out your lips.

Leaving kiss up over his cheek, you didn’t stop until your teeth lightly tugged at his earlobe. “How do you want me?”

You felt his hands brush along your bare back, slow and steady movements that juxtaposed with both of your rapidly beating hearts.

“Pull me out, angel,” he already felt your hands playing with the waistband of his pants, soft tugs at the rough fabric.

As your fingers made quick work to pull at the zipper of his trousers, he momentarily lifted his hands from your body so that he could pull his shirt up over his head. His skin was warm when he wrapped his arms around once again, shifting his hips so that you could move his pants and briefs down together in one swift move.

Having to lift off him so that you could completely let the clothes fall from his legs, you pushed the heap of fabric aside before quickly settling back into his lap. His cock looked painfully hard, a soft curve upwards that led to his raspberry red tip.

Your hands were on him within seconds, bowing your head in the small space between the two of you. Pursing your lips, you let spit fall from your mouth and onto his length. Sliding your hands over the wetness, Harry gently groaned your name with a tight grab at your hips when you squeezed him in your grasp.

“Please,” he quietly cursed, watching you with darkened eyes as another moan tumbled from his mouth. “Wanna feel you –”

You pressed a kiss over his cupid’s bow. “Like this?” You smiled gently against his mouth, “on the floor?”

He returned your smile hands on either side of you as he tried to pull you closer to where he wanted you sat over him. “Just like our first date, yeah?”

Breathy laugh at his words, you slowly nodded and shifted your hips higher. You were about to grab at the elastics of your underwear, going to pull them back down over your hips but Harry was quick to stop you. “Keep ‘em on,” he whispered, silly little smirk playing at his lips, “just push them aside.”

Folding your lips into your mouth, you bit back a smile as you knew he’d ask you to keep the bra on as well. Doing as he wanted, you rose a hand from his shoulder to pull the front of your underwear to the side, with the other hand still keeping a firm grasp over his cock. He was supporting himself up with on hand on the floor behind him, so that he could remain so close to you. His legs bent at the knee, making you edge towards him with your chests nearly pressed together, and the soft move prompted you to slide the head of his cock through your folds.

Easing him in with a slow move, you lowered your hips as he filled you so deeply until you were sat completely flush together. His chest shook with a moan as you did so, hands squeezing into your thighs as you both sat motionless for a moment.

He fit so deeply into you, with the slight stretch that always felt brand new. You rose your hands to wrap around his shoulders, nails nearly clawing at his skin to pull him in for a kiss.

“You feel perfect,” he moaned against your mouth, guiding your hips to urge you to move in small grinds over his. “Squeezing me so tight.”

With you both sat upright, he always felt even deeper inside of you in this position. You ground your hips in slow circles, starting to move in teasing grinds, before lifting yourself up over him and then back down in a sharper thrust than you’d intended.

You moaned over him, head falling into the crook of his neck as you muttered something about how deep he felt inside of you.

Repeating the motion, Harry planted his feet over the floor with an even greater bend to his legs that had your seated so fully against him. He met your moves, slow and sharp thrusts between your legs that already had you working towards a second orgasm.

One of his hands skimmed over your hips, sliding between your bodies with as his fingers applied a light pressure to your lower belly. His voice was gravelly when he moaned into your cheek. “Feel me right here?”

“Yeah,” you sighed dreamily, eyes shutting close with a harsh bite to your bottom lip. You tilted your head back up, another deep thrust inside of you. “Always so deep.”

Harry’s hand found its way to your cheek, thumb brushing over your skin in a soothing gentle action. He quietly urged you to open your eyes for him, to stare into his as he wanted you to see how good you were making him feel.

You saw him with slightly bloodshot eyes, cheeks tinted pink and a light dewiness to his skin. He looked so completely blissed out, corner of his swollen lips turned to a sly smile. Bowing his head down, he attached his lips to your collarbone and left a trail of wet marks over your skin until his teeth were nipping at the swell of your breasts that were spilling out from the top of your bra.

Arching your back in his touch, you slowed the movements of your hips again and went back slow rutting, clenching around him when he whined your name with a matching squeeze of his hand that had found its hold on your hip once more.

Without much warning, he lowered himself to lay completely on the floor, back resting over the soft rug as he didn’t have the energy to hold himself up any longer. He let his knees bent further with his feet on the floor, keeping you in your place as he was able to hit slow teasing thrusts up into you.

His eyes never left you, watching you sat so beautifully as both his hands now grabbed at your hips, guiding you over him. He found it hard to look away from where you were connected, watching his slick cock disappear inside of you. “So gorgeous, sunshine,” he was muttered quietly, “how did I get so lucky?”

Both of your motions were speeding up again, his thrusts meeting yours harder than before as he found that his release was coming right around the corner. He reveled in the way his name sounded from your mouth, as you clenched tightly around him with your own orgasm seeming to approach as well.

You had flattened out your hands over the expanse of his chest, giving yourself leverage while you moved over his length. Your head hung low, nails digging into his skin when he hit that spot inside of you that made your breathing falter. “Oh…!” You whimpered wetly, “there, there please.”

His stomach clenched tightly at your cries, feeling you squeeze around him his fingers matched the squeeze around your hips. He kept going, watching you fall more and more into a whimpering mess over him until he felt like he was about to explode.

“Slow down,” he choked, a harsh hold of your thighs in an attempt to stop your rapid moves. “Slow down,” he chanted, wild moves of his eyes between your own. “Stay like this for a moment.”

Doing as he asked, you completely halted and gave yourself a moment to catch your breath. Bending down, you laid completely on top of him which gave a nice ease to your knees. Pressing your chest flush to his, your chins bumped as you smiled down at him.

He didn’t miss any more time before pressing his sweet lips over yours, kissing you with all the desire that was apparent in his eyes. Your lips parted as he pushed his tongue against yours, tasting each other for what was probably the thousandth time but it always felt like the first.

Your arms were easily all over him, nails digging into the muscles of his arms as he kissed you deeply. He pulled back with a tug to your bottom lip with his teeth, licking over the sensitive skin after releasing the plump skin.

“My sunshine,” he hummed, lips capturing your chin as he moved further down your body. Kissing over your jaw, a soft bit over just under your earlobe as he knew every spot that made you whine.

With his hands guiding your hips, you slowly began to move around him once more. Straightening out your spine to rise to a seated position, you watched as one of Harry’s hands moved forward to cup over your core, right above where you were connected.

“Won’t last much longer,” he whimpered, already working right back near his edge as soon as you started sinking back down on him.

You moaned in agreement, also easily getting worked closer to your release when he dragged his fingers over your clit in quick circles. You were both finding another steady rhythm, hips pumping together as the noise of your actions filled the room, only seeming to spur you on.

“Please come for me again,” he moaned, begging to feel you squeeze him dry. “Wanna feel you – please.”

It was like something was opened inside of you, meeting your release as he begged from under you. Moaning his name with heaving breaths, feeling your walls clench around him when your orgasm took over your body. Your thighs tensed, eyes squeezing shut with a little smile painting your mouth at the euphoria coursing through your body.

“Fuck – it’s gonna be,” your movements had slowed over him as you came, while Harry spluttered nearly incoherently, “– I’m coming.” He warned, a sharp thrust up into you before he was painting your walls with his release. Sloppy thrusts inside of you while pulling at your hips, grabbing over the small of your back to hug you close while calling your name over and over like it was a song that was stuck in his head.

Your chest fell over his with a heaviness that neither of you minded, revelling the complete closeness you had to the other in that moment. His chest was rising and falling with quick breaths, lips over your hairline as he peppered the lightest of kisses laced with praises for you.

Eventually, you lifted your upper half and parted your eyes to gaze down at the man below you. Pressing your mouth over his, you felt him smile under your touch as you murmured a soft, “happy Valentine’s Day.”

His own eyes parted, watching you with nothing but love his in softened eyes, as you pressed another whisper to his mouth. “Thank you for being my Valentine.”

You’d always felt comfortable with Harry, but for some reason at this moment you felt better than you ever had with him. The way he looked at you like you hung the moon, the way he softly whispered your name as his lips sought to touch any part of you.

Harry returned the affection, quiet “I love you’s” pressed into your skin before you were moving off of him with shaky legs.

He followed when you rose to your feet, the painting long forgotten by now as you both went to the washroom to get cleaned up. Your makeup had been ruined once more, eyeliner smudged by your teary eyes so you ended up scrubbing it all off, completely your skincare before changing into a cozy stolen hoodie and settled into your partner’s bed.

Harry soon joined, only in a pair of sweatpants and the forgotten chocolates from earlier in hand. He settled in under the covers with you, as you both shared chocolates and chocolate flavoured kisses.

“How about you,” you started with a quiet murmur as your head rested over Harry’s shoulder. The chocolates were on your lap, one of Harry’s arms around you as peered down at you. “When did you know you liked me?”

You saw Harry’s lips perk from the corner of your eye. He thought it over for barely a second, before answering. “Is it too cheesy to say the first time I saw you?”

Nodding your head with a little laugh, although you melted further into him at the tenderness of his words. “Yes, it is too cheesy.”

“Fine,” his lips pursed with an overly dramatic pout, and he took another minute to think. “When I ran into you at the supermarket that one evening,” he thought back to the memory, “I remember seeing you choosing your vegetables like it was the most important decision of your life.”

You tilted your face, easily finding his lips to press a light little kiss to. “Well, maybe it was,” you whispered playfully, as he leant into your mouth when you pulled away.

Resting your temple of the curve of his shoulder once more, you kept your eyes trained on him. Harry held your gaze, mumbling quietly as his hands squeezed your arm. “You’re still looking at me like that.”

You batted your eyelashes up at him, unable to help the way your pupils were probably heart shaped at the moment. “Like what?”

“You know like what.”

Your smile deepened. “Can’t help it.”

Sighing happily next to him, you melted a bit more into his side as he held you closer. His lips smoothed over the top of your head, mumbling sweetly, “me neither, sunshine.”

Once again, the sweet little act of painting had led to something magical, a feeling of blissful joy you’d never thought possible until Harry came along.

once again, happy valentines to everyone 💕 thank you for reading 💕

#okay im off <333 #this is yea i think its okay i thin the ending i nice <3 #cb #harry styles #harry styles writing #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles smut

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jisungscaramel · 4 years

Text

vexation | hyunjin

❀ genre; smut, college au, enemies au ❀ pairing; hyunjin x reader (fem) ❀ word count; 2.7k

[warning] strong language, explicit sexual content, dry humping, (mild) begging, hate sex

There it was: Hwang Hyunjin, name beautifully printed right above yours. You shuddered in complete disgust, not believing that you were paired with him of all people for your history presentation. There were 34 students in the class; that meant you had a whopping 97% chance of being paired with literally anyone else, but no. Your professor, Dr. Zhang, just had to pair you with him.

Overachiever: that was an understatement. He was the type to want all of the glory for the taking, the type to enjoy making others feel like they were dumb, the type who had no issue in forsaking common morals for his own gain.

You couldn’t fucking stand him.

Begrudgingly, you stood up from your original seat, trudging your feet to sit next to him - at your professor’s instruction, of course. You planned on at least being polite, and you thought for a second that he might do the same, but he didn’t even bother looking at you, staring through to the front of the room, eyes stoic. If he was trying to provoke you, it was definitely working.

You dropped your backpack to the ground, unceremoniously, sound drowning in the increasing levels of chatter in the small lecture hall, but clearly loud enough to make his composure teeter; his head jerked back a millimeter, a minuscule gesture but it was painfully obvious to you. And you let out an equally obvious slew of snickers before sitting back in the seat, neck meeting the old frayed fabric as you tilted your head back, arms stacking on one another as you folded them, woman spreading to occupy more real estate than you actually required.

You had to at least try to keep yourself amused.

Hyunjin began scribbling mindlessly on a blank piece of paper - still acting as if you were not even there.

He slammed the white sheet down on your knee, sending vibrations straight up your leg rather rudely.

Asshole.

Oh, baby, he hadn’t even started yet.

“Okay. We’re doing our paper on I-Hotel and… I’m gonna write it. All you have to do is find these books for me at the library.” He turned to look at you with a very aggravating smirk… maybe you’d notice the tiniest hint of flirtation if the feeling of overwhelming irritation didn’t encompass you.

But the chance passed when his countenance morphed into counterfeit concern, tapping his chin in contemplation for added effect, “although, I think the library’s computer system is down… I guess you gotta find them the old-fashioned way.” God, you just wanted to smack that smug grin right off his face. “I’d love to help you with that... but I’m just too busy…” It should’ve been illegal for intolerable people to be that gorgeous.

You blinked in complete confusion. “Ummm… excuse me?”

“I’m… sorry… do… I… need… to … talk… slower…?”

You gingerly picked up the piece of paper, promptly getting up from your chair, glaring at him. You made sure your backpack was secure on your shoulder before dramatically lifting the note in front of his face to tear what he wrote to shreds, scattering the bits over his laptop’s keyboard. “Stick a motherfucking cactus up your ass.”

You stormed out of that hall with your head high, not daring to look back despite your innate desire to see his response - you were sure it was priceless.

‘I’ll just have to do this damn thing on my own.’

Oh, if it could only be that simple.

The first thing that popped up on your laptop when you opened it from the safety of the library was an unexpected email.

Since you ripped up my list - rather rudely I might add - I’ve attached the list of the books I require. I will be at the library at four PM sharp. Please plan accordingly. Hyunjin

“Fuck.”

‘Plan accordingly,’ your ass, according to you, your plan was to minimize the amount of time you had to spend dealing with Hyunjin, and you had been 100% sure he had the same sentiment… so much for that.

Speaking of the devil, as soon as you decided to dismiss his outlandish request and settle in to get some of your research started, Hyunjin yanked your attention away from your laptop with merely his presence, almost as if your nerves were hypersensitive to his saccharine dipped aura, and most definitely not to the signature sway of his frame as he walked.

You didn’t dare grant him the luxury of your direct gaze. Instead, you kept a close eye on him in your peripheral, hoping you’d blend in with the people around you… but there was still at least a 92% chance he’d see you.

“Did you get my sources?” and now he was right in front of you, nothing but a measly table in between.

Your nostrils flared in an effort to not retort back at Hyunjin, eyes still fixed on your screen in a successful attempt to ignore him.

Then he pushed your laptop closed, hand planted firmly on the device rather invasively. “Excuse me, I’m talking to you.”

You gritted your teeth, tilting your head up in a menacing stare, eyes narrowing, eyebrows furrowing. “What do you want?”

God, you didn’t know his smile could get more fake than it already was. “I told you to get my sources for me,” his tone was exaggeratedly slow, “did you get my sources?”

You shoved his hand away from your laptop. “Get your own sources.”

Immediately his fake smile turned into a sincere snicker, rolling his eyes off to the side. “Uptight bitch.”

His words sank in for a moment. “You wanna say that again?”

He leaned over the table, face a mere six inches from yours. “Uptight,” you could feel your fists involuntarily clenching, digging into your palms what would soon be prominent crescents in a matter of seconds, “bitch.”

You almost raised your palm to gratuitously slap him across the face but the simmering mellowness in you kept a tight grasp of your boiling anger. You leaned back in your seat in an effort to widen the physical gap (or the lack thereof) between you. “Fuck off.”

<><><><><><>

“Hyunjin, y/n, can you both come down to the podium,” Dr. Zhang added at the end of his lecture, halting your plans to b-line straight to the library.

As the aisles began to empty, you made your way down the steps to the front of the room, purposefully standing at the side opposite of Hyunjin, frankly paying no mind to him for all intents and purposes.

Your professor glanced between you two, clearly noticing the oddity of the image but purposefully choosing to ignore it.

“I noticed that both of you submitted first drafts for your paper, and at first I thought it was an accident, until I opened both files and realized you’re writing completely separate papers. Care to explain?”

“Yeah y/n, care to explain?” What a fucking dicktard.

Your lips pressed into a thin line as you wracked your brain for some feasible excuse. “Well,” but nothing came to mind… oh fuck it, “we’ve had issues working with each other.”

Dr. Zhang raised an eyebrow cautiously. “Elaborate.”

“We really don’t get along.”

He sighed, crossing his arms. “Well you’re gonna have to try to find some middle ground. I’ll give you two a second chance to put a first draft together. If you can submit a collaborative piece by midnight, I’ll still give you full credit for that part. If not, it stays as a zero. Subsequently, you will keep getting zeroes for the following checkpoints if you submit them separately. Any questions?”

“No, sir,” much to your surprise, that was the first moment thus far wherein both you and Hyunjin were on the same wavelength.

“Good, that is all.”

You felt like two negatively charged magnets as you walked side by side up the aisle to the exit. “I’m not getting a zero for this,” Hyunjin spoke up.

You rolled your eyes. “At least we can agree on that.”

As the cold, crisp air of the outside refreshed your nerves, he lightly gripped your shoulder, swerving you to face him. “Look, I know we’re like oil and water, but I’m willing to at least try to get along for the grade.” His fingers trembled on your shoulder; his teeth lightly grazed his bottom lip, eyes searching yours for a sign of truce.

Needless to say, the sentiment from him was unexpected. You exhaled deeply, brushing his hand from you. “Fine.”

<><><><><><><>

But two hours spent alone in a library study room proved to be more difficult than originally anticipated. Trying to work together felt like pulling teeth - a true collaboration of absolute vexation.

“What about this passage?” You pointed to some text in a book you were sifting through.

He swiveled his chair around, only looking at your find for a solid half a second before, turning back around. “Nah, that’s not good enough to use as evidence.”

“What the fuck, Hyunjin? You didn’t even read it.”

“I didn’t have to. I assumed whatever you found was as subpar as everything else you’ve ‘found.’”

You dropped the book on the table with a loud plonk, partially in shock at what he said and partially due to a natural tendency to want to irritate him. “Well let’s see what you ‘found,’” leaning over the table in a relaxed manner, carrying a dash of nonchalance as you scrolled through his writing. “You call this good evidence?”

“What on earth are you talking about?” You wanted to laugh at his defensive tone.

“It’s obvious that you’re framing your own narrative by taking shit outta context. Not to mention all the ellipses and brackets are terrifically horrendous, visually. You’re taking literally all the credibility out.”

“What do you know? I doubt you even read that article,” he dismissed your legitimate critique in a manner you unfortunately predicted.

“As a matter of fact, I did… two. hours. ago. And you told me the article didn’t seem ‘reliable’ enough for you, but here you are… you must think I’m fucking stupid.”

The side of his lips curved up in the slightest smirk. “Not true, I think you’re annoyingly absentminded.”

You rolled your eyes for the umpteenth time in the past minute, whispering, “fucking cockmaggot,” under your breath, diverting your attention back to your screen.

“What did you just say?” His tone suggested he wasn’t being rhetorical - he really didn’t hear you. There was something cute and innocent about his ignorance, the way his lips formed a subtle pout unintentionally, nose wrinkling in distaste. You mentally shook the image from your head, cursing yourself for thinking he was… ‘cute’ to begin with.

“Nothing, My Liege, nothing at all,” mocking sarcasm spilled from your lips as you parted them to give them a disapproving smack. “This is complete shit; we can’t submit this.”

Hyunjin slammed his laptop closed, standing up abruptly. The action took you by surprise, making your neck shudder in a startle. “I can’t fucking do this anymore. Why do you have to be so fucking difficult?” Pent up rage was slathered all over his face, eyes twitching, eyebrows tightly knitting together, jaw unhinging from an excess of epinephrine.

His anger diffused to you, violently charging your nerves. There was no way you were just gonna take his shit sitting down. “Why do you,” you stood up, chair rocking back from the velocity of your limbs, “have to be,” you turned around and gripped his collar with both hands, “such an insufferable asshole?”

He was dumbfounded, wordless much to your satisfaction, but his eyes were unwavering, devoid of reaction. The time you spent stabbing each other with your unfaltering gazes felt like a goddamn eternity, tension coarse, sinfully tangible on your skin.

It was fucking stifling.

Before you even realized what was happening, your lips were latched together in a fervent frenzy, tension thickening for an entirely different reason now.

There was something so breathtaking about the way his lips tightened against yours - literally. It felt like he was siphoning your soul from your body - any thought that dared to grace your mind oddly dissolved into nothingness as Hyunjin molded your lips into submission, tongue colonizing your oral cavity in an authoritative manner that was so in character for him.

Not that you gave a fuck.

His hands aggressively tugged at your waist; the impact of your body crashing onto his sent pangs up your spine, and in seconds, your back thudded against the wall, maintaining the momentum. You had to grip his shoulders purely for support, and definitely not because you were immersing in the moment.

You felt his grip loosen as his hands roamed downward, playfully drawing patterns on your skin with his fingers en route. And then they constricted around your thighs, lifting them up to his hips, and you hooked your ankles around his back as if it was the natural thing to do.

The fabric of his pants became taut around the building frustration underneath, becoming oh so apparent to you when he started steady grinding against the thin fabric of your underwear - why did you have to wear a skirt today of all days?

You passed a reluctant whimper through his lips, wholly unable to deny the way your pulsing desire radiated heat through your core at the increasing friction.

You broke away from the kiss, gasping. “Hyunjin…” you whispered almost breathlessly, desperation filling you as he continued his tantalizing test of your patience.

“Hmmm?” There it was: that signature smug grin, but by this point, your senses were too preoccupied to even register it.

“I can’t take this anymore.”

“Is that so?” He lifted you off the wall, pushing your laptops to either side so he could lay you on the table, spreading your legs to give him clear sight of your dampening sex. He snickered. “You look much better like this…” While ghosting one hand around your inner thighs, conveniently avoiding the place you needed him the most, he undid the button and zipper of his jeans with the other, sliding them down to his knees.

You found yourself licking your lips at the silhouette of his bulge, now more prominent with less restricting fabric. Of course, he noticed; “so these are you true colors… I never would’ve thought you were such a dirty girl.” He brushed his fingers over the waistband of your underwear. “Where do you need me?” He pressed his thumb on your clit, “here?”

Your teeth pressed down on your lips in an effort to stifle a moan. “Yes…” and even though you were successful the first time, there was no stopping the sounds from seeping through your lips when Hyunjin slammed his clothed erection on you once more, picking up exactly where he left off just moments ago.

“Please, Hyunjin…” he pushed your thighs further apart, keeping them in place.

“‘Please,’ what?”

“I need you inside me, please.”

His sinister laugh filled the small room. “I don’t know if you deserve it.”

“Fucking asswipe.”

“Now that doesn’t sound very convincing…”

You groaned in pleasurable displeasure. “Hyunjin… please, I’m begging you. I really can’t take this.”

“Don’t you care if someone tries to come in?” He raised an eyebrow, partially in curiosity, mostly in amusement.

You glared right into his eyes. “No.”

He shook his head, clicking his tongue as he stood back. “Get up.” Any urge you had to defy him before was long gone; you did as he asked and he harshly turned you around by your waist, pushing you toward one of the windows.

While pushing you down against the glass with one hand, he reached in his front pocket with the other, grabbing a condom. He ripped the packaging with his teeth, skillfully sliding his boxers down to slip the vinyl over him.

Not wanting to wait any longer, you aided him by pulling your panty down leaving yourself completely exposed for his taking, and you quickly pushed your hands on the glass, bracing yourself for the next few seconds, but nothing could’ve prepared you for that stretch that came. Your wrist slid down on the window pane to bite back a scream.

“So tight.”

><><><><><><><

A/N I’mma be honest: I had a fucking field day coming up with all those weird insults

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