#favorite too because ah is a constant mood

[rikibsf]

30. i like you

2nd pov!

weversecon was a huge success. enhypen, newjeans, along with many other groups had performed amazingly. eunchae still surprisingly had her voice while the others had to cover their ears every time her ult appeared on the screen.

liz was also starting to find jungwon cute, but in a celebrity crush kind of way.

you thanked enhypen and newjeans for taking care of you these past few weeks and for being such quick learners when it came to changes in choreographies and dance breaks you created for them that they just performed not too long ago. they all thanked you back, haerin giving you a kiss on the cheek and riki giving you a semi-awkward hug that he wished he could have held longer if his hyungs weren’t there.

as soon as haerin asked if her friends wanted to meet backstage, eunchae jumped with joy. her excitement grabbed the attention of many fans who stayed a little longer to take pictures. she was jumping so high that taki and jongseob had to physically hold her down.

kyujin and haewon ended up not watching the show with them, but they were also invited backstage to meet their idol friends as well as eunchae, jongseob, rei, and liz.

on the way there, eunchae had the biggest smile on her face. the moment they made it through to backstage, her heart jumped out of her chest.

her ult group enhypen, the rest of newjeans, kyujin, haewon, and you were all sitting together on the 2 couches and all of your attention turned to the newly arriving friends. enhypen and newjeans (minus haerin) all stood up to greet your 4 other friends. jungwon specifically though, walked towards eunchae with a smile.

“ah eunchae, i’m finally meeting you!” he giggles with open arms and eunchae receives him, giving him the biggest hug she’s ever given anyone. her eyes tear up with happiness and jungwon pouts at her crying, telling her he’s just a normal person like her. his arms still wrapped around her, she tells him how much she loves him and how thankful she is to know him. the rest of his group smile, a few of them letting out ‘aww’s when she sniffs her tears away.

after the emotional moment, the mood settled in a little bit. everyone, including taki sadly, noticed the new air between you and riki as you all chatted. it was different but sweeter, and he had to admit, you two were a pretty cute pair. seeing you two together didn’t make him as uncomfortable as it used to, and he realized how a lot of his attention went towards danielle instead of you, his so-called crush.

he always found danielle pretty, but he was confused as to why his heart felt warmer every time she looked at him or every time she smiled. was he starting to actually like her? he had no clue. but the chances were increasing every second.

rikiyn and danitaki weren’t the only 2 pairs going on. jungwon’s little crush on liz (more like him finding her extremely pretty on twitter) was growing. he would stare at her and look away whenever she caught him. he probably thinks liz didnt notice it much, but she did, and she found it very cute.

his constant staring gave her the motivation to get up and directly talk to him. she stood and walked over to sit by him, eunchae jokingly glare at her. eunchae didn’t actually care that much. afterall, she didn’t like jungwon romantically. she loved jungwon because he’s her bias, her ultimate bias. nothing more, nothing less. in fact, she secretly hoped things between liz and jungwon happened. anything to hangout around her favorite boy in the world more often.

“hi,” liz said to him. “am i that pretty?”

jungwon blushes, knowing she’s obviously referring to the way he’s been staring at her these past 20 minutes. he found her confidence so attractive.

“even prettier in person,” jungwon answers. “was starting to crush on your twitter profile picture.” now it was liz’s turn to blush.

the more time riki spent talking to you here, the more he wished he could just have you. have you in a way where he can be open with how much he likes you. have you in a way where he would be able to say that he’s the mae y/n’s boyfriend. have you in a way where he can take you on cute dates to any place you liked without having to worry about some stupid dating rumors stirring up.

these thoughts were circling around in his head, and he felt the need to speak up, especially since everybody else in the room was distracted by their own separate conversations.

“sorry i’m randomly bringing this up but,” he starts. “even though i know it’s super obvious already. i just wanted to tell you directly that i’m not satisfied just being your close friend.”

“what do you mean?” you ask. you knew exactly what he meant, and you couldn’t be more glad that he was the first to bring it up since you were too scared to.

“please don’t ask dumb questions, y/n,” riki says apologetically. “im sorry i just.. geez you have no idea how much i like you.” the sudden confession not only shocked you, but it shocked him. he doesn’t remember processing the words in his brain, he kind of just blurted them out. “i’ll be honest. i felt like shit at that meeting when you told taeho we were just coworkers. and i felt like shit for those couple of days where we didn’t talk much, not even during practice.”

“i’m sorry i made you feel that way,” you say, looking down and fiddling with the pillow on your lap.

“that’s the thing, y/n. i don’t even care anymore. you know why? because i like you,” he says. “i like you, i like you, i like you. and i know you like me too.. and if you don’t then whatever, i guess this will just be another embarrassing moment to get over in a few years.”

you laugh at his joke, looking up at him only to find his gorgeous brown eyes looking into yours with a cute grin on his face.

“you’re hard to lie to when you look this cute,” you say, and he smiles harder. “i do like you. a lot. probably more than you like me.”

“then will you be my girlfriend?”

little did you both know, that last sentence caught everyone’s attention.

previous | masterlist | next

taglist: CLOSED!

author’s note: not proofread by the way 😭

@riki-shenanigans @yumilovesloona @schniti-is-in-the-house @aernx @heeheesang @maenijw @jinniee @en-dream @mrowwww @ashy1um @beomgyusonlywife @j-wyoung @chaerybae @lunavixia @rodygr @xiaoderrrr @cha0thicpisces @ilychee08 @nishimurasgirl @teddywonss @fanfangying1304 @jeongintwt @whippedforbeomgyu @eloelooo @nikitopia @luvkpopp @kissezfornamjoon @wonniestars @kjrcrz @sirenologies @haechansbbg @yenqa @wonyoungsvirus @run2meizhu @xrvrqs @hoey2k @luvmura

[mx-melancholic]

CLANCY RANKING GO!!!

When I tell you my heart stopped

I don't usually rank stuff I like so this is kind of loosely positioned, I'll provide explanations. Once the album has settled, these opinions may change. The whole album is a 15/10 so like, the lower ratings don't mean anything bad, either.

One thing is that Overcompensate, Next Semester and Backslide can't be the same in my mind as the others, since I'm so familiarized with them by now. I'll give a ballpark of where on the list they'd be, though.

First cutoff:

Routines in the Night - my absolute favorite. I can't get enough of it. My winner. My everything. Take me. There's also sth about the MV that just.... AH! So different and beautiful.

Navigating - second favorite. I also love the forest fic. The MV is beautiful. Tyler is a hater.

Vignette - gives me the shivers. I'm terrified. Mesmerized. Possessed. Obsessed. It eerily reminds me of one (or two?) of my OCs so I literally feel like I might be violently ill every time it comes on. Insane.

-Overcompensate and Backslide would be somewhere in this first category. Overcompensate is a great opener with straight up crack in it, it's shaped like a cult battle cry and it's fun to listen to. Very cryptic and weird. Backslide is very real to me, but also reminds me of some of my OCs. My OCs do, in fact, rule over me more than the other way around.

Second cutoff:

At The Risk of Feeling Dumb - ngl the sound itself is a lot of this impression. Typically I'm not as fond of direct positive message type songs (in general), but it's so fun. And I felt called out.

Midwest Indigo - the sound is perfect. So fun. The type of song you can show to your friends and they can see it's weird af but not weird enough that they want you exorcized. Not too relatable for me, but just enough to be close to my heart.

Snap Back - more relatable, but I kind of have to make myself listen to it. I love it when I do, but it's not as catchy to me, I guess. Very cool. Very mean! They're in my fucking walls, calling me out. The MV isn't as interesting to watch as some others, rightfully so. But my ipad brain requires constant stimuli.

- Next Semester would be somewhere in this category. It's beautiful, but requires a more specific mood than some of the others, so I'm not always up for it. Hauntingly relatable. Makes me cry.

Third cutoff:

Oldies Station - beautiful, amazing opener, uplifting and peaceful, but: very directly positive. Not a bad thing, just not my personal favorite. Been on repeat for days.

Lavish - silly, goofy, reminds me in spirit of like p!atd. Great fun! I don't think about it much.

Unpopular opinion: The Craving - I'm just not one for love songs and I typically don't like the Jenna songs as much as the others. Not a skip at all! Beautiful. But I'd rather listen to something else. It's incredible how much they love each other, though, very sweet. My OCs again plague my brain so I can't see it in a different light, at all.

-Paladin Strait would probably be somewhere on par with The Craving. I am, however, treating it differently, because we didn't get an MV yet. This could change my mind a little bit, but this song is a bit too slow and too long for my pace. Can't wait for the video, and that hook was insane. Not my favorite format.

I'd love to see your own ranking (+ anyone who wants to) <3

[crysabee]

So My family is canonically called the Bat family and oh my god is it accurate.

my dad is Batman because he has multiple jobs, and he has actually stopped a few robberies in progress and he is HR in a store, and people respect and are afraid of him. He is also ALWYAS on call too, He’s a big guy, but he’s brave, fearless and indeed does have a slight traumatizing past, he has also had to leave random times for HR during the day and Night, he’s not a playboy, but he’s great with people for work. His family? He tries…He’s not the best at feelings but he tries. We love him very much.

my mom is actually Poison Ivy! She is VERY VERY VERY Concerned about the Earth, and hates to see when Mankind is messing it up (ergo Powerlines in the middle of forests) she wishes she could grow things (her one downfall) she’s good with people WHEN NEEDED ONLY. She does have the one crazy bestie actually two but even still it works out. Much like Pamela she was neglected by her Father which caused her to enjoy plant life. Had a decent mother but not the best as well. She is very protective and can get really really angry when seeing someone mistreating a plant (we took her to the redwood forest and she couldn’t stop screaming and indeed was hugging each tree.)

my older sister is actually Jason Todd. My sister is dead inside a lot of the time but her sarcasm is on POINT. (I also call her Tim but she is more Jason than anything) However much like Jason she has a strong sense of fairness and Justice as well (gets it from dad lol) she is the favorite like Jason is naturally, and does indeed get in arguments about fairness with dad VERY often. She also enjoys planting and has calming tactics. She is a smart ass but loveable. She is not street-smart like Jason but is always what is needed which is what Jason is! She can be very neglected sometimes, but is fine to a point on her own. She indeed does get anxiety attack to a point, much like Jason, and it takes her a bit to come back to earth also like Jason. We love her very much.

who am I? I’m the Youngest so actually I’m Dick Grayson. Odd right? Well I had to have my sister explain this to me, so I’ll have her text what she is saying!

Hi, I’m Crysabee’s Older sister, And since I was told I shall Explain. She would be Dick Grayson for some very good reasons, she has a unique ability to read the room and adjust her attitude and demeanor. She values communication above all else and family unity. She has the ability to draw people to her and with her ESFP Personality (which is also Nightwing’s as she just told me) she able to take any stressful situation and make it good. It is never wise to make her angry but it takes a while for her to officially give up on someone much like Dick. She also a good leader and attention seeker, a flirt and good with guys. With all types of people they somehow trust her even after knowing her for a few minutes. She has acrobatic tendencies and no matter what is always herself even if it’s not the best time. Always making a joke always trying to lighten the mood, and is a star in her own right her love of the spotlight is much like Dick’s as well. She is how Superman described him: “Always confident, Always Kind, Always Cool. Dick Grayson the universal constant.” She also has a four foot giant elephant elephant she has named Zitka.

MY SISTERS WORDS OH MY GAWD AH

Anyways yeah that’s my family!

[aflamethatneverdies]

3, 4, and 1 for Les Mis AND for Black Sails?:D

Ah! Thank you so much frand!!<3

1. which character do you relate to the most from your fandom?

1 is hard to answer because if relate means which character I am like the most, none of them at all, if I was I would instantly stop liking them and also it would be very boring, I don't want to read about people like me. I've never been able to identify with characters in terms of thinking that this character is exactly like me. I think of them as their own people, whereas I'm me. It's also more intriguing for me to then figure out what they are like in their own specific socio-political context and how they would behave in a situation. XD

So if I interpret it as which character I would love to spent more time with, I think, Prouvaire was the one I had a lot of initial idea about even though that was helped immensely knowing and reading about his real life inspiration whomst I love a lot. I have known people like Prouvaire (queer weirdo leftist poet-writer(s) irl) so he's always easier to write and understand for me and also a joy to write.

Currently, we have talked about it as well, I am relating to Bahorel's anger being a motivating factor and the constant heartbreak of political goings on and its like, I need it, everyday, every single day is just like that when you're deeply involved in politics from my experience, lol. I don't have his bravery or his extroversion, or the way he so readily makes connections or all the many many things I love him dearly for: his thoughtfulness, his Romantic sappiness/gentleness, but I admire him so, so much for always being ready to fight on the barricades and I think that stance is the one I relate to the most right now.

Last but not least Cosette, I love her bug adventures, her thoughts on ghosts not wearing round hats, and her wildness and bravery and relate to the endless patriarchal shit she has to navigate through. I would love to spend a lot of time with her. Also we are both perky goths, so we have that in common.

For Black Sails-- hands down Madi. I suspect it is also the case of I admire her so much, than I am like her. I am not like her, I wish I was. But I love her so much, I admire her and want to spend time with her and I want her to win in her fight against the British Colonial Empire.

3. what is your favorite ship?

Bahorel/Prouvaire. My favourite is definitely poetry smash and their hijinks and how they are both Romantic weirdos whomst I love very very much. There is so much to explore there that I never get tired of reading about them in many different iterations from werewolf Bahorel to reincarnation, to poetic spells, etc. Also it lets me indulge in my other main fandom of four people and a shoelace, and liberally blur the lines between fiction and reality when writing about them. I also really love how they give each other space in whatever relationship they have with each other: there is no pressure on them to stay in a romantic relationship, Bahorel understands Prouvaire's need to wander off for a while in his moods and then suddenly reappear again when he wants to. They do things separately too, yet still remain Romantic friends through it all. I love these kinds of relationships where the boundaries between friends and lovers are not very clear and they move between them.

For Black Sails:

Walrus, I cried when she went down. No other ship will ever come as close in my affections.

Lol, I don't know that I like Madi/Silver very much, I will never forgive Silver for betraying Madi, I get why she liked him and got together with him, but I'm not very keen on them as a couple. I like Anne/Max/Jack for what they are, though I'm not sure if they are my favourite ship. My disaster garbage on fire ship is Flint/Silver and the way that Silver keeps saying he will betray Flint and Flint doesn't take that seriously and then Silver betrays him. I am very invested, not in the romantic nature of this ship, not at all, but more in the mutual destructiveness of it, if that makes sense? They are bad for each other. Silver, the more he becomes like Flint, the less likeable he is, but it's still fascinating to watch.

4. what is your favorite CANON ship?

Is Bahorel/Prouvaire not canon? Bini definitely, I will always love them being together, they are uncomplicated in terms of how much it feels like they don't have petty misunderstandings/fights/breakup drama in their relationship. I also love bini a lot for how much they have worldly concerns but also are committed revolutionaries together and one without the other is the most evil timeline, and I don't want to think about that.

For Black Sails my answer is still Walrus, y'all, y'all I love that ship so much. She was so pretty and it broke my heart so much when she went down.

[vihrago-a]

“ ah… i know. morning sickness is no fun, huh? ” Stevie :]

to say it was no fun, was an understatement. she was miserable to an unbelievable degree and she wasn't even that far along. it was four months now and she'd only found out a month ago that she was pregnant. it wasn't planned. and she didn't know how to feel. stevie had attributed her symptoms to the stress of making sure @deadranch was safe and being in a constant state of watching over her shoulder. she had suspected something was up when she missed her first cycle, brushed it off thinking it was just stress. and then she missed another. it wasn't normal. then the nausea started hitting and she spent a majority of the early morning keeled over the toilet like it was her best friend. normally she could get herself situated before wyatt woke up and act like everything was fine. eventually she took a test and it confirmed her feelings. a big fat positive. for the record, she wasn't upset about it. she was scared and worried. she wouldn't be able to do her work without risk of hurting or even losing her unborn child -- which meant she couldn't protect wyatt. stevie just had so many questions and worries. would she be a good mother? would her child get her ability? what was he going to think? she was terrified to tell him but it had to happen. so she had to think of a plan.

it was easy to set the mood and wait till he came back from his evening outing. candles set out on the dinner table, a bottle of some vintage wine -- not that she could drink it -- and some quiet music. the test was hidden in her back pocket, tucked underneath her shirt to make sure it couldn't be seen. stevie had made actual food but the smell of it was nauseating despite it being one of her favorites. her leg jiggled wildly underneath the table. she was sure that if she moved it any faster she would break the sound barrier. the lock on the door clicks and unlocks. he was home. the expression on his face was priceless and she couldn't help but let out a soft giggle. " i know, a little overboard, right? i just felt like we needed a romantic evening. we haven't really ... had that in awhile. " the lie came smooth and easy off her tongue but of course, he was suspicious. she could tell. she couldn't blame him either. stevie wasn't the sort of person to spontaneously do something like this. wyatt is quick to pop open the bottle of wine and grab her glass. but she stops him. " actually wyatt i ... i can't have that anymore. " he quirks an eyebrow and asks why. his anxiety level has spiked tremendously.

she pulls the test from her back pocket and holds it up as if it was a little trophy. the poor rancher looked like he was about to drop the bottle right there and then. setting it down, he enveloped her in what she would describe as the strongest bear hug known to mankind. he radiated pure joy and bliss -- he was happy. the hug quickly ended as he was afraid of squishing her too much. instead, he opted to press a gentle hand to her stomach. a family. they would be a family. right now they didn't need to worry about the things that haunted them. they could focus on the small joy that had blessed them. a new beginning.

back to the present. she had just returned from the bathroom back to the bedroom where he was sprawled out underneath the covers, awaiting her presence again. he was most certainly still sleepy with how his eyes fluttered and words slurred. stevie crawled underneath the sheets again and rested her head on his chest -- placing a hand on his torso. " it really sucks. its every morning like clockwork, i always have a headache afterwards. but ... but it's worth it. because i'm with you. and eventually it'll be us three. what do you think? you think its a boy or a girl? if it's a girl, she'll definitely have your good looks! "

[soaringlanddormitory]

Different reactions of the Soaring Land Dormitory when their wife brings up kids

Shizuya: *pauses for like 5 minutes* aaaaahhhhhhHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH???? Sung: *calm as hell* Oh cool. Sure. If you want them, then let’s have them. Dai: *posing while biting a rose* We're making babies tonight. Kaoru: *red faced but he's trying to calm down* Of course! I-I've always wanted to have a family with you. Henrique: *literally drops anything he's holding* Can you repeat that? Tatsuya: *slams hands on the table* MI YOU'RE A FUCKING 5 YEAR OLD.

[kageyuji]

asking him how to confess to your crush (him)

⤷ oikawa, suna, bokuto, iwaizumi ; [gn!reader]

TAGS: fluff/crack if you squint, confessions

NOTES: please reblog or i’ll cry

━━ OIKAWA

you can’t miss the momentary look of sadness, but he quickly hides it with a cocky smile

he tells you the cheesiest possible way to confess to someone. he doesn’t even know if it’ll work on not

(he actually hopes it doesn’t, but he can’t just be an asshole and tell you something that clearly won’t work)

but once he realizes that he is the person you like, his mind jumps to several different places all at once

he’s happy but also he can’t properly form words, please bear with him </3

“Oikawa?”

He hummed a response to you, ghost of a smile on his lips. He always liked the way you said his name, even if it was just his family name.

“I have a favor... so there’s this guy that I like, and I wasn’t sure how to tell him. Do you think you could give me ideas?”

You don’t miss the pout on his lips, the way his eyebrows furrow, the hurt in his eyes. If one were to blink, they wouldn’t have missed it. He smiled and laughed, quickly trying to hide how much his heart ached.

People — in reality, only makki and mattsun — had asked you if you had feelings for someone. But you never gave them an answer, just a flustered smile and a shrug.

“Uhm... I don’t know, depends on the person. You can get a bouquet or something, and chocolates maybe?”

A smile lit up your face. He had looked so pained to say it; his nose was wrinkled up a little, one hand at the back of his neck, eyes looking anywhere but you.

“Oh, yeah! That sounds sweet, he might like that. Should I ask him what his favorite flowers are?”

“Yeah.” His heart sunk impossibly lower.

“Got it. So, what are your favorite flowers?”

He looked up from where he’d taken a sudden interest in the floor, looking around for someone else. But no one seemed to be engaging in a conversation with you — actually, he realized it was only you and him in the room.

“No, I meant ask this guy that you like.”

“I just did.”

He doesn’t say anything at first, eyes wide and lips parted. There’s something in his eyes that you can’t quite read. Shock, or was in confusion? There was also an undertone of hurt, like he couldn’t tell if this was some sick joke or not.

“You mean... me? I’m the- you have feelings for me?”

Your heart fell then — of course you’d been nervous to tell him. But with the constant flirting, you were beginning to think that maybe it wasn’t just harmless and playful anymore. That maybe even if it was still done playfully, there was truth behind those words, behind the smiles and the winks he sent you.

“If you don’t feel the same way, it’s fine, I just-”

“No, no, that’s not what I meant. I was just a little surprised is all. I feel the same way, and you’re great, really, I just figured I wasn’t your type.”

“But you are.” You said, heating rising in your cheeks. Nothing could mask the smile he wore, even if he was trying not fight it.

“And you are my type. Guess we’re both lucky, hm?”

━━ SUNA

he is determined not to let you notice how his heart stopped in his chest

he still holds the same disinterested, bored look on his face as always, although he’s unaware you could see right through him

refuses to give you advice on how to go about confessing

in fact, the last thing he wants to do is be around you — he knows you were never his, so he can’t be upset, but it still turns his stomach

tell him before he can find an excuse to leave, or else your confession will be a lot more painstaking due to him dodging any interaction with you

“So uh... if you were to confess to someone you like, how do you think you would do it?” Your voice sounded so sweet, so genuine.

“Why? You have a little crush on somethin’?” He laughed.

“Yeah, actually.”

Oh.

You don’t miss the way his nose scrunches and the look in his eyes. He’s looking at the floor with narrowed eyes, almost as though the floor was the cause of his jealousy.

Well, not his jealousy — he wasn’t jealous, was he?

“Hm,” He hums, and you find him putting back on the same incurious face that he always wore. “I don’t know, elaborate confessions are pointless. Just tell the person how you feel. If they really like you, they won’t turn you aware for being simple.”

“Ah, that’s true.” You smile, though it’s fueled with nervousness. “So, one more thing I gotta say then.”

“Make it quick, I’ve to be somewhere soon.” Suna hates the bitter taste in his mouth.

He knows he shouldn’t care, after all he’s never worked up the courage to spill his heart to you, so he doesn’t have a right to feel like something is being torn — no, stolen — away from him.

“Right. You said simple, so... I like you, and I think you’re really sweet. And you’re funny and you’re so caring, even though you would never admit that. Um, I hope that was boiled down enough for you.”

“You’re kidding right?”

The tone in his voice is almost accusatory, although he doesn’t mean it to be, he just genuinely doesn’t believe you. When had you ever shown interest in him? Not that he was complaining.

“No. But it’s fine if you d-”

“I never said that. If you mean it though, maybe you can tell me the longer version of everything you like about me. Over coffee or something?”

━━ BOKUTO

ok first off, let me stop you right there, because baby boy is gonna get so sad :(

there is no hiding the hurt he’s feeling. he’s always expressive, even though he’s trying to hide it

please stop him there because his mood is only going downhill

actually tells you some elaborate, thought out thing that you assumed was from the top of his head

(although in reality, he’s thought about telling you how he feels on countless times)

but when he realizes that you’re talking about him he instantly does a 180, he looks like he’s in heaven

“Bokuto!” You call his name with a smile. You’ve found you can always get a matching one from him whenever you do so.

And of course he smiles back at you, the same excited look in his eyes as always. “Y/n!”

“I need advice.” You say.

His expression drops into one of worry at your tone. If there was anything that Bokuto hated in this world, it was seeing you upset.

“What is it?”

“I need to know how to tell someone that I have feelings for them.”

And just like that, you can see his heart break through his expression. His eyebrows pin up and he presses his lips into a thin line. You can tell that he’s trying not to show you how bothered he was by that one sentence.

He always was bad at pretending he was fine though. It was clear, if nothing else you could see his watery eyes.

“Oh... uhm. Can I ask who the person is?”

You’re hesitant to say it. But you don’t know why, because his reaction was your final bit of proof that he had feelings for you too. He hadn’t been subtle before, but now it was obvious.

“You.”

“What?” Bokuto said, although the word was breathless.

He doesn’t wait for you to respond to him. Instead, the wide smile he always wore appeared back on his face and he wrapped his arms around you.

Usually, Bokuto’s hugs are tight anyway. They’re filled with a need to be close to you and a need to convey the emotion of ‘you are the only thing grounding me right now’.

But this one was tighter. He buried his face into your neck, but you could hear the smile in his voice when he spoke. “I may have to confess to someone too.”

━━ IWAIZUMI

iwaizumi is a gentleman about it, as much as he doesn’t want to be

if anything, he wants to tell you right then and there about his feelings

but the fact (or rather, the thought) that you’ve taken an interest in someone else is all the evidence he needs to stop himself

the last thing he wants to do it mess with your emotions so he intends to stuff he feelings down to deepest parts of his mind in hopes that they’ll one day disappear

until of course, he realizes that he is the guy you’d been talking about

he gets giddy, believe it or not. he hates to admit it sometimes, but unbeknownst to you, you have so much control over his emotions

“So, Iwa?” You said, and he tried to overlook the cautious tone to your voice.

“Hm?”

“Uh, theres this guy that I kind of have feelings for. But the thing is, I don’t know how to tell him.” You sound nervous.

Iwaizumi assumes it’s from the thought of having to tell this person your feelings, yet he doesn’t realize that said person is him and it’s coming sooner than he’d realized.

He doesn’t say anything in response to you at first. His eyes narrow only slightly, then he takes a deep breath and turns back to you with his usual expression.

“If you’re going to tell them, do something sweet and simple. If you get all extravagant with it, it might freak ‘em out. Maybe... I dunno, buy a little gift and tell them?

He hid it well. The mix of jealousy, regret, and sadness in him was painful, but he clenched his fists and tried not to let his voice crack. If there was someone you knew that didn’t cry, it was Iwaizumi. Yet here he was, doing everything in his power not show how upset he was.

What was he even doing anyway? He was helping you find a lover that was not himself. Not that you even knew that, because in reality he’d never shown to you that he had feelings towards you.

That was something he was regretting a lot now.

“Oh I see, what kind of gift would you like?”

Ouch. As though this couldn’t hurt more. “I don’t know, depends on the person. Ask him, not me.”

“I just did, dummy.”

It took him a few seconds to process that, then another few seconds for the relief and happiness to wash over him. A smile rugged at the corner of his lips.

“That’s cute. You and I can go out somewhere this weekend and I can help you pick something out, hm?”

[ackerfics]

omg i loove your modern!levi as boyfriend it makes me soft❤️ do u have any hcs of him in a modern au when it comes to bed? like how he cuddles and wakes you up? or how he reciprocates to your touch when it gets steamy?

oooooh i know this is long overdue but modern!levi still makes my heart beat like crazy and i have a few hcs of him in the modern world :>> here's modern!levi being the best boyfriend when it comes to anything related to the bed (i should've phrased this better but screw it)

let's start with this list by chronological order, based on the things we do during the day.

the way modern!levi wakes you up depends on his mood, really. if he's running on less than three hours of sleep (if his classes demand hectic requirements), expect him to be cranky (just a little bit) but he'll still gently shake you awake with his pet name for you even before your alarm clock rings, just because. even if he's got a full six-hour sleeping time, he'll still wake you up before your alarm. according to him, alerting you before your alarms pierces your ears can slowly stir you awake without you groaning at your alarm clock.

"wake up, love. breakfast is ready."

"just five more minutes."

"i don't have the time for this right now. stand up or i'll eat the egg fried rice all by myself. you know i have a huge appetite if i sleep for only two hours."

"okay, okay, i'm up!"

levi wakes up before you to prep the breakfast for the day. this is something he did after witnessing you running out of the apartment with only a piece of toast. he promised that he'll be cooking for you for the rest of your life with him. if he slept for more than five hours last night (which is almost everyday now so yey), he'd wake you up with small kisses on your cheek, humming into your ear in an attempt to tickle you out of your sleep. his smile will never disappear from his face even after you blink up at him. seeing you in such an unfiltered image --- hair all mussed up, eyes softly staring into him in a sleepy haze, and a smile sitting prettily on your lips --- it makes levi so soft that he nearly (key word right there) slide down under the covers beside you.

"good morning, beautiful." levi kisses you on the forehead. he just can't stop roaming his lips on you when you look this pretty early in the morning in his eyes.

"good morning, baby. this is such a nice way to wake up."

"i wake you up like this everyday. get up, let's eat breakfast, yeah?"

nobody would've guessed that one of levi's favorite things are your cuddles.

if he goes home feeling all drained from the constant lectures in your university and if he finds you in your shared bed browsing through your social media accounts, levi will instantly go to where you are and plop himself on top of you while you let out an amused laugh at the added weight on your body. he'd stay like that for about thirty minutes, either snuggling more into the crook of your neck or burying his face on your chest as if that was his safe haven at the moment. please run your fingers through his hair, he absolutely loves that. your touch alleviates all the tension in his body and he will willingly let himself sink into the ocean in his life that's named after you.

cuddling with levi in general can happen both ways, you two will exchange as the big spoons if you feel like it. if he's the little spoon, he chooses to face you with his face right in front of your neck. he'll place gentle kisses on the hollow of your throat before falling asleep. if he's the big spoon, he'll hug you as if he'll never let you go. it's so tight that you can feel his heartbeat on your back. levi will occasionally press kisses on the back of your neck and your jaw to let you know that he's always there for you. cuddling with levi doesn't require turning on the heater, his furnace-like warmth is all you need to lull you into a dreamless sleep.

now, the suggestive part djkjdnem

levi's touch is always so soft when it comes to things getting heated. he's afraid to hurt you unintentionally when his mind gets filled with thoughts of you in that see-through nightgown. his heart is pounding but he doesn't press his fingertips too much on your skin. he treats you as if you're his salvation --- his goddess that he worships and offers his life to. he's so vulnerable when it comes to you and the moonlight is the only witness to him whispering his emotions through the dead of the night, all for your ears only --- always. levi's kisses are the same, too, but if the physical contact isn't enough, he'd wantonly kiss you as if it's your last day on earth.

"levi, i want you."

"you don't have to say anything, beautiful. i'll give my everything to you."

he prefers slow, gentle, and tender. he wants to feel you for a longer span of time and he wants to relish skin to skin contact with you. this is why you two will probably last until three in the morning because he will never stop. if he senses that you're becoming tired, he'll stop connecting your bodies and instead trail hot kisses on your skin to calm your rapid breathing, pouring his feelings for you close to your ear as you drowsily smile at him in that beautiful way of yours. but seeing you overstimulated always makes him weak so that will probably get him riled up. though he keeps it in because you're getting tired and sleepy.

"one more time, okay? fuck, you're so gorgeous, love. fuck, fuck, fuck, where do you want me to come, beautiful? ah."

"inside, levi --- ah!"

"fuuuckk, you're so amazing. you take my breath away. i love you so much."

"i love you just as much, levi, always."

your shared bed will always creak tho if he wants to get rough in your lovemaking. rip bed. he'll grip the headboard so tight when he loses himself into showing how much he loves you, one hand gripping wood while the other cups your cheek like you're the most fragile thing he ever held in his life. rip headboard the next morning. don't worry, he'll fix it.

therefore i conclude, modern!levi is The Boyfriend. and i thank you.

[kakairu-reverse-bang]

WELCOME TO MOD MONDAYS!

Each week we will be introducing two of our fantastic Kakairu Reverse Bang Mods!

This week will be featuring:

✨ANIMETRASHMUFFIN & BELLS✨

We asked this weeks mods Animetrashmuffin and Bells to share a few words about each other's favorite work!

Animetrashmuffin

Bells’ favorite work of Animetrashmuffin's is...

"I mean this with all my heart, it is a torture to pick out a single work. Animetrashmuffin’s collection is so broad, varying and filled to the brim with the most iconic and emotion tugging work. She can bring both great fluff or great angst in mere moments. It is beautiful”

Genkan-kisses

"If I must chose I will go with this recent work. From the moment I saw the sketches I was floored. It was so tender and passionate. The body language speaking volumes untold. The anatomy the attention to detail given to musculature, and how clothing would move and lay is spectacular. AHHH TOO MUCH TO SAY IN THIS SHORT ALLOTMENT! Last but not least we have to talk about the lighting. It is radiant and makes the mood completely shift. Truly Animetrashmuffin has outdone themselves! This is the art to to look at when you need soft Kakairu vibes to soothe your heart.”

“And I am not done because Animetrashmuffin is infact a double threat.”

Love is a horrible orange scarf

(T, 1.6k, No Archive Warnings Apply)

”This is a short fic but a good one! This fic is hilarious and soft and overall so fun!! I am absolutely in love with how dorky and sweet Kakahsi is around Iruka! I was absolutely hooked when I read this line “Kakashi seemed to wither under the constant onslaught until his eyes met Iruka’s and he seemed to perk up slightly (maybe his hair stood a little straighter but his back definitely didn’t).” Soft in love Kakashi is an absolute yessss! This fic is heartwarming, hilarious, and also has a bonus bit of art. Animetrashmuffin is a multi talented WONDER!!!”

A fun fact about this art from Animetrashmuffin: “Oh good, I was worried I wouldn’t actually have anything to say about this but I do! The lighting on this piece was actually an accident (a happy one) because I was messing with layer modes and flipped my shading layer from dark to light and voila! Super sappy just-back-from-mission feels! Also the brush that I used for the coloring was one that Ciça shared and I love it!"

Ihave-nocontrol- Bells

Animetrashmuffin's favorite work of Bells' is Anko’s Self Care Soirée

(T, 1.6k, No Archive Warnings Apply)

"Not only is it so cathartic to read about someone taking care of Iruka (the man does so much and we love him for it) but it’s also just self-care to read this fic in general. This fic is absolutely feel-good in a way that makes me smile to the point where my cheeks hurt and I’m smothering my giggles with my hand. Bells does so a lovely job of giving you just the right amount of angst to make the fluff HIT SO GOOD. Anyway, it’s short and perfect and I think about Ibiki in this more than I ever thought I would. Who knew T&I heads could be so sweet?"

A fun fact about this fic from Bells: "Ah well you see, this was a kinda a self indulgent fic for myself, but mostly it was an idea formed for my friend Bee who just so happens to share many of the things I adore!! At the time I was coming off what felt like a terrible writing block, so I decided to throw worry aside and quickly write something that was fun!I loved being silly in the fic and my favorite detail had to be Matcha, one of Anko’s beloved and beautiful summons. A not so secret fun fact is, I adore Anko through and through, she will usually appear in some way in my fics, and where there is Anko you can usually find Ibiki! Gosh I love my supporting cast, and adore kkir!

And that concludes the last of our Mod introductions! Hope you enjoyed learning a little bit more about our team! We can't wait to meet you all soon.

Join in the fun! Sign Ups will be live until March 26th!

[randomfanner]

Pomefiore NSFW headcanons

My second favorite dorm is up next!

Vil Schoenheit

This dude is one of the most mixed bagged in the world.

The only constant thing about him is that he is a dom. Everything else? Ya no.

One day he will want to have the most slow, passionate sex you can picture. Next, he is trying to ram you into his bed face down ass up.

Loves mirror sex, getting to see you unravel well he looks as beautiful as ever, oh hell yes.

Flips between praise, degradation, and a mix of both like no one’s business. One day he’ll praise you for how sweet you are, the next he is calling you his person come whore. Sometimes both!

Praise him he will love it... or if you are in the mood to be punished degrade him a tiny bit... don’t take it too far or he will get pissed though.

Jealous sex.So much of that. Your eyes should be on him and only him. Don’t forget that.

Will shove a toy into you and send you on your way during a school day. Be warned.

He is pretty decent at aftercare. Back rubs, a candle lit bubble bath with flower pedals, pain killers(he designed) and low calorie apple flavored treats are all in your future

Rook Hunt

This dude is kinky as hell. But like, he is also soft about it.

He might send you into the woods naked to hunt you down for sport but he will praise you the whole time and make sure not a bruise gets on your beautiful body.

L o v e s oral. Will speak french between your legs. Also some of the most skilled fingers.

P R A I S E, he loves to give out praise in general that is increased a hundred fold in bed.... or in the woods

Down to fuck anywhere. Wanna fuck in his bed? Ah classic~ Want to fuck in the woods? Oh yes he loves it~ Want to fuck in the empty classroom, hehe, risky... wanna fuck in Vil’s room? Oh you better believe it!

Remember when I mentioned not letting bruises get on you? Well... only ones that he didn’t cause. Ah, the thought of carving into your skin with a knife makes him shutter.

Now of course he isn’t always going to go that far, sometimes just marking you top to bottom with hickeys will do.

Granted even though he can be kinky, he is of course not against slow passionate sex and oh boy, he is godly at it.

He is wonderful at aftercare. He knows how to take care of beauty and he will show it.

Epel Felmier

Country boy, he wanna be a dom but really just a switch.

Can and will fuck you in a pile of hay. He has day dreams about fucking you in his barn at home.

Other than that? Very vanilla when he tops.... unless something has pissed him off.

Call him cute? Is he jealous? just pissed at Vil? Oh he will let you know.

Fuck you S E N S E L E S S. Because boy can be very rough.

When he subs however he is completely different, so easy to fluster.

It is much too easy to wrap him around your finger with just a tiny bit of teasing.

Will beg. It makes him so flustered but he will.

Right in the middle of the road, I promise you, you will not need to walk with him carrying you around. However he refuses to accept aftercare. Stubborn boi.

[bts-reveries]

expect the unexpected |15

The Kim family had just finished dinner and were having family time in the living room!

Minseok played with his siblings on the coffee table. He was teaching his younger brother and sister how to share their toys as they often fought with each other. The two youngest’s personalities often clashed as Soojin and Haneul were both chaotic in their own ways.

“Soojinie,” Minseok calls, he notices that his brother was pouting next to his sister. “Let Haneul borrow that.” He points to the car Soojin was playing with. “You’ve been holding onto that this whole time, Haneul’s been wanting to play with it too.” 

“But it’s mine,” Soojin says, holding it close to her chest. 

“I know, but Haneul just wants to play with it. It will still be yours,” Minseok says, holding his arm out for the toy. Soojin hesitates, but gives it to him anyway.

“Here Han-Han,” Minseok says, acting cute when he gives the toy to Haneul. He only calls Haneul that when Haneul’s sad. 

Haneul immediately lights up when the toy car is given to him. 

“Thanks hyungie~”

“At least we raised one nice one,” Jin says, watching his three kids. The two of you were sitting on the couch. Well, you were sitting on the couch. Jin was laying down, facing up, with his feet on the arm of the couch and his head on your lap.

He turns his head to look up at you, snuggling his head on your lap. 

“They’re all sweet in their own way,” you respond, watching Soojin finally play with Haneul and Minseok smiling as he watches them two. “Look at them.” You gesture to the kids, watching them laugh with each other. 

“Yeah, if only it was like this all the time,” Jin sighs. Nowadays, he’s been busier and has been out of the house often. When he is with the kids, they’re often in bad moods, or he’s had a stressful day. Sometimes they're all in bad moods which makes it all just stressful for one another. If only it was like this all the time. When everyone’s happy~ 

He turns his head to look up at you. 

“Can you believe it’s almost been a month since our trip?” Jin says. Your anniversary trip was almost a month ago. Which is crazy to think. Time goes by fast doesn’t it? 

The two of you have been busy, with work and with the kids. Sometimes together, sometimes individually. There’s been long nights and long days. But it’s all worth it in the end. For nights like this.

“I miss Jeju,” Jin pouts, closing his eyes. You giggle, poking his round cheeks. “I wanna go on anodo twip~~” he whines, talking in aegyo. You roll your eyes, cupping his cheeks and shaking his head from side to side. 

“My baby wants to go on anodo twip?” you repeat, jutting out your bottom lip. Right when the word baby leaves your mouth, you see Haneul’s head whip towards you from your peripheral vision. You look up at him and he’s frowning.

“I’m the baby,” he says, pointing to himself. Jin turns to look at him and shakes his head.

“I’m mommy’s baby,” Jin says, turning his head toward your stomach, looking away from his kids. You look up at Haneul and you can tell that he’s mad. Minseok starts to giggle as Haneul starts walking up to his dad. 

“No! Me!” Haneul yells as he stands in front of his dad. “I’m baby!” With that came a smack to Jin’s shoulder. Jin’s head whips toward him so fast and his eyes are wide.

“Did you just hit me?”

Haneul hits him again. “I’m mommy’s baby,” he says, smacking Jin’s chest. 

“Stop hitting my daddy!” Soojin yells, running towards her brother. She pushes him to the side and hugs Jin. Of course this made Haneul scream. 

A quiet household doesn’t last long for you five. 

“Soojinah,” Jin whines, holding onto his chest. Acting as if he was so hurt. “Haneul hurt daddy.” 

“See you hurt my daddy!” Soojin yells, pushing Haneul back down as he finally gets up on his feet. 

“Yah--” You say, putting an arm on her shoulder. Let’s not take this too far.

“That’s my daddy too!” Haneul yells out. This whole time Minseok was just leaning over the coffee table, watching everything unfold before him.

“No he’s mine!” Soojin yells. 

“No, daddy is mine,” you say, making both of them turn to you. You lean down and hug Jin’s head, pressing his cheek against yours. “And I have known daddy for longer.”

You give Jin a kiss on the cheek, he already had a cheeky smile on his face. You turn to look back up at Soojin and her lips are quivering and her eyebrows were already turned upwards. 

“Soojinah--” You say, right before the floodgates have opened. 

Now you had two screaming and crying children as Haneul started crying right after his sister did. You froze, looking up at your last, quiet child. You and Minseok made eye contact and he let out a little smile, making you laugh. Your laughing only made Soojin cry louder. 

“Alright alright, daddy is yours, come here,” Jin says, sitting up and opening his arms. Soojin is still crying as she walks into her dad’s embrace. Jin picks her up, placing her on his lap. Soojin tucks her arms under herself, sandwiched between hers and Jin’s chest. Jin rubs her back, saying “it’s okay, no need to cry.”

“Haneul come to mommy?” You say, opening your arms as well. Haneul stands up and runs into your arms, crying into your chest. 

“How’d it turn out like this?” You say to Jin, letting out a small laugh. He shrugs his shoulders, smiling at you. 

You both are rubbing the two youngest’s backs, trying to calm them down. 

“Look at Minseok,” Jin tells you. You look up at your oldest and see him just awkwardly looking at you two. 

“What about you? Who’s your favorite?” You ask him. Clearly Soojin was more of a daddy’s girl and Haneul was more of a mommy’s boy, even though he was fighting over Jin.

“I love both of you equally,” Minseok answers. Jin nodded in approval, he said the right answer. 

“Oh! But hey, Haneul looks like you’re winning him over,” you tell Jin. Haneul often liked to be trouble with his dad, as if he hated him. But of course he was always sweet with you.

“Is that true Haneul-ah?~” Jin says, lowering his head down and looking at Haneul. He’s calmed down now, both him and his sister. “Do you like daddy more now?” 

Haneul looks up at Jin and looks back down, ignoring his answer. 

He definitely loves his dad.

“Can you two make up now?” You say, referring to Haneul and Soojin. You and Jin pulled away from the little ones for them to sit up and look at one another.

“Make up so we can play already,” Minseok says, walking towards his siblings. 

“Han-Han~” Minseok says, putting a hand on Haneul’s back. “Jinie-Jinie-Soojinie~” He says in a sing-songy voice, turning to his sister and putting a hand on her back. 

Haneul slides off of you and hugs Minseok, looking up at his sister. 

“Go say sorry to Haneul,” Jin tells Soojin. She frowns, sliding off of him and walking towards Minseok.

“Sorry Haneul,” she says, pulling and tugging onto Minseok’s shirt, trying to avoid eye contact. 

“Haneul say sorry to noona too,” you say. 

“Sorry~” He says, looking up at his sister.

“Okay~ Let’s play now,” Minseok says, patting Haneul’s back. 

With that, the three turned around and began playing as if nothing had just happened. Jin sighs, going back to his previous position and laying back into your lap.

“Yeah,” he says, eyes closed and all. “I want to go back to Jeju.” 

You laugh, patting his cheeks. 

“We can go,” you say, his eyes opened so quickly. As if they were saying ‘really??’ 

You nod, “but with the kids this time.” He whines, dropping his head down and shutting his eyes. You laugh at his reaction, squishing his cheeks once again. 

*ring ring*

You turn to the sound. “Is that mine?” You say. You and Jin have the same ringtones. 

“I think so, my phone is in our room,” Jin responds. Eyes still closed, not budging one bit. 

“Well can you get off of me so I can get it?” 

Jin shakes his head no. You sigh.

“I’ll get it mommy,” Minseok says, running to your phone. 

“Thanks sweetie,” you say, watching your oldest run and get your phone. He gives it back to you quickly and returns back to his siblings.

“Oh it’s my dad,” you say, answering the call.

“Hello?” You say. “Dad, is everything okay?” Your eyes widen as he explains the unexpected call. You didn’t have much to say but ‘Yes-- What?-- When?-- Wait-- Why?-- Tomorrow?-- Okay.. I’ll be there.’

You ended the call after what seemed like forever. 

It was mostly you listening while your dad talked. Jin looks up at you, he couldn’t hear much of the conversation.

“What did he say?” he asks.

“My mom’s sick,” you say, feeling uneasy. “I have to leave tomorrow.”

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

expect the unexpected

♡ part fifteen: im baby ♡ 

pairings: ceo, dad!jin x interior designer, mom!reader

a/n: okay i feel like i’ve been saying this, but nOw we’re getting somewhere

also, i know i haven’t been constant as i used to be and that’s more of a part of me not being in the mood to post much, which is also on the fact that i don’t think much people (at least compared to the previous member’s au), are reading this one? i have new readers everyday for the other au’s and although a lot of people love this series and were anticipating this au, this has been the au with the least feedback/readers which make me wonder if it’s boring or what haha ahh.. i don’t want to be that person who’s looking for likes or anything but in the bts tumblr fanfic community idk if everyone’s aware of this, but jin’s au tend to be the ones with the least amount of readers etc. which is why there isn’t much fics on him, a lot of writers gets unmotivated to write for him when they know it doesn’t get as much as tae’s and jungkook’s. and im starting to feel that way, just because for previous au’s i’d constantly post because i’d always get feedback on every update and it motivates me to write more but this au has been the driest au ever lol which is sad because a lot of people were asking to be added to the taglist and i have no idea what happened to them now but i just hope everyone’s okay! i know none of us are obligated to be on top of reading updates but i just wanted to say how i felt. the only thing keeping me going on this au is jin. haha, as silly as that sounds, i don’t want more au’s on him to discontinue because of things like this. im ot7, this whole au is for all of the members so i hope my followers and fellow tmbmil fam continue to read till the end because i did had something planned for the ending, which might just not happen depending on how this au ends. but also the others that keep me going is my sister, a fellow jin bias, and the handful of readers who comment on my updates haha but yeah, this is just how im feeling. i don’t want anyone to think im just not in the mood to do this thing anymore. i really did enjoy this

this was an unexpectedly long a/n, im sure only a few will read this actually, but to those 3 or 5 people who see this, i hope you have a lovely day/night! thank you for reading this, you have my love 💜

taglist: @silentlyimpractical @jillianmarie @waddlebby @cecedrake2217 @ddofa @samros95 @sope-and-shine @joonjoonsmiles @codeinebelle @aianloveseven @Chamchamcham @princessjazzyjazz @notvantaes @casspirit0705 @ramyagovindraj @brinnalaine @ephyra1230 @betysotelo18 @thoughtfultaledreamer @salty-for-suga @cosmicdaylight @dreamcatcherjiah @kookoo-kachoo @justinetingball  @josierosie @jayhope88 @butterflylion @hobiismyhopeu @momma-said-that-it-was-oke @shinyplaidbagellamp @catspancake @somewhereofftheglobe @strawberryforever25 @rjsmochii @prdshobi @beeeb05 @eatjeanjin @taekookcaneatme @Cheeely14 @kookietsukkie @anpanman-sonyeondan @glitteringcoffeefreak @chocobetterknot @alpaca1612 @ohmy-fandoms @liljooniecutie @Jikachoo @preciouschimine @fan-ati--c @Joondala @httpmuffin @dammit-jjk @jikooksgirl19

TAGLIST IS CLOSED!

to be notified when i post, please turn on my notifications! thank youu~

[wakaoujisenhime]

Ah!~ I fall in love with your Takao headcanons! Can I ask headcanons about Takao from best friends to lovers?

A/N: But OF COURSE, you can, the more Takao you guys want, the better for me! ٩( ᐛ )و 

So this will be a continuation from his best friends headcanons I made a while back and for those who’d like to see a spicier version of the more or less same troupe, I linked a similar request I got below! Hope you’ll enjoy this! ❤️

Tags: Takao x reader ✅  fluff ✅  friends to lovers ✅  slight angst ✅

☞ 𝕡𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝟙    ☞ 𝕤𝕡𝕚𝕔𝕪 𝕧𝕖𝕣.

━━━━☆ ━━━━☆ ━━━━☆

living with your best friend didn’t change your relationship as much as you thought it would

the two of you were still clinging to each other like leeches, supporting the other during hard times and in general providing a shoulder to cry and lean on when needed

now that you were roommates and not only neighbors you saw Takao every single day and that came with many advantages

you both shared the housework and came up with cooking/cleaning/laundry schedules that made your joint life so much easier

Takao had decided to start working after graduation while you continued your studies (and occasionally worked at a part-time job close to your apartment)

it heavily depended on your individual schedule, but in general, the two of you had agreed that the first one home should be the one to prepare dinner and help the other one out a little

usually, Takao would be the first one home and every time you came back he greeted you like some kind of butler, helping you out of your jacket, taking your bag, leading you to the kitchen where he showed you that evening’s dinner, and lastly he’d conclude his small tour at the bathroom where he had run a bath for you

both of you were so close that all of your neighbors (especially the older ones) continuously teased you, saying what kind of cute couple the two of you were and some even went as far as to ask when you’re wedding was going to be

in the beginning, your and Takao’s cheeks would flush ever so slightly but the longer you lived there the more used to it you got, and in the end, it even reached a stage where you’d counter their remarks with your own witty and comical ones

comments such as theirs didn’t bother you that much, or at least that’s what you thought ...

a couple of months after moving in you invited some members of Shuutoku’s basketball team over for a friendly get-together and a warm dinner

it had been a lot of fun

people were teased, embarrassing situations were denounced as hilarious, compliments fell left and right, and what not

at some point though Miyaji - the club’s former captain - raised the question of whether Takao and you had finally started a romantic relationship

it was just a well-meant question and perhaps a subtle hint and yet your best friend began to deny that so strongly that you couldn’t help but feel aggrieved from his over-exaggerated reaction

the evening was kinda ruined for you and some of them noticed it and felt bad for you

in the end, Miyaji actually came up to you and apologized, saying just how much he’d regretted asking you something that was seemingly a taboo-topic

since then the relationship between your best friend and yourself was quite shaky, you began avoiding too much body contact with him, tuned down your clinginess, and even started avoiding him at times

some people think that Takao isn’t the brightest and assume that he’s quite dense, but you knew better

it didn’t take him even a week to notice that something was wrong with you and before you knew it he waited for you to come back home and asked you to take a seat across from him on the couch

“(Y/N)-chan...I’m aware that something’s been bothering you for the past few days and I know that some topics are better left unsaid, but I really hate seeing you suffer because of maybe something I did.”

his words stabbed your heart like hundred knives and even if you’d planned to keep your hurt pride to yourself, you knew that communication was key in any kind of relationship so with a bitter smile you told him about everything, how his reaction had hurt you more than his captain’s harmless question and how these new and yet unknown thoughts had begun to cloud your mind with masses of doubts

there was a brief break during which Takao’s expression grew unbelievably sad, he had expected anything but this

and then finally after what felt like hours he whispered out your name, got up from his chair, and slowly walked towards you, kneeling in front of your seated figure

“I’m truly sorry...I-I wasn’t aware of how much this actually bothered you,” he paused as he took your hands into his own and continued, “all I wanted was to make Miyagi drop that theme fast since he’s the type to talk about one topic for hours and I really didn’t want to make you uncomfortable since that evening was meant for recollecting and updating each other about our daily lives and not a relationship counseling...”

with a sigh you shook your head and couldn’t help but laugh at just how ridiculous this situation was, Takao joined you not long after

after that small misunderstanding, you two needed a bit until your relationship had normalized, but you’d be lying if you said that everything was back to how it used to be

once the imagination of Takao as your boyfriend had entered your mind you began to realize just how close the two of you truly were

him tending to your needs every time you came back home late, resembled that of a worried father-to-be whose wife was to go into labor soon

the way he always jokingly offered himself as your dinner was a cliché joke and sometimes an invitation one would often see in romance series that once again fell between lovers

and the worst for your heart was how the word ‘personal space’ wasn’t even present in his vocabulary, he’d hug you whenever he could, lean himself on your back and leave his chin in the crack of your neck at every given opportunity, and let’s not mention whenever he had trouble falling asleep (which was basically almost every day)

all those small and seemingly irrelevant gestures which didn’t usually affect you were now the trigger for a deep-red blush along your cheeks and an increased heart rate

and it didn’t help that Takao would constantly tease you whenever he noticed your flushed face

.

as time went by though you noticed that something between you two had indeed changed

now his mere presence was enough to make your heart thump wildly against your chest

the only comfort you found was that he himself had started blushing more often as well

you thought that nothing of deeper meaning was behind it and just blamed it on your behavior, but what you didn’t know was that Takao was experiencing the same thing as you

for him, it was as if every single touch - no matter how featherlight it was - set his skin on fire

every ever so small and gentle smile or grin you directed his way, immediately brightened up his mood

and let’s not even talk about the small things you do for him, like cooking, preparing some late-night snacks for whenever he has to work on a project until very late in the evening, folding his laundry, ironing his shirts, and so on...

both of you were slowly starting to acknowledge the other as an essential part of your respective lives

on top of that, innocent and sweet thoughts such as kissing each other on the lips, taking a bath together, or just doing silly things such as hiding from the people outside so that you can feel each other’s lips began dominating your minds

and what choice did the two of you have but to bottle these feelings up and hide them from each other just because you didn’t want to ruin your friendship

it was painful of course, but you continued to put yourself through with it, determined to keep this a secret for as long as necessary

unfortunately, Takao wasn’t made out of the same cloth and was slowly but surely feeling how everything was about to explode pretty soon

and then finally one day when the two of you went out shopping together some of your elderly neighbors stopped you yet again and began interrogating you guys as usual

“Have you two dears finally admitted your feelings for each other?”

there it was, their favorite question, that was strangely accurate this time

you were ready to debunk it yet again, but Takao suddenly took a hold of your hand, squeezed it slightly, and announced: “Not yet, but I’m about to!”

three pairs of wide eyes were fixated on the slightly blushing young man who stood beside you and while you were still trying to decipher whether you’d heard him right he faced you and even took a gentle hold of your second hand

“(Y/N)...I feel like this should’ve happened sooner, but my fear of losing you as my constant pillar of support was too big. Your presence was always something extremely helpful and soothing, but as of late I started to truly notice just how much more it was for me and my life. The sheer imagination of me being without you hurt me more than any game my team lost, any missed promotion chance or anything negative for that matter,” he paused and took a deep breath before continuing, “what I’m trying to say is that...(Y/N), I’d like you to become my lover.”

silent gasps could be heard, but you were too overwhelmed to pay any attention to it

the fact that he’d felt the same way and was stuck in the same situation as you were truly unbelievable, but now that you knew it all those small things you’d denounced as an effect of your own unusual behavior made sense

you looked up into the slate blue eyes of the man you’d fallen for and slowly removed your hands from his tight grip, only to then wrap your arms around his neck and bring him closer to you

Takao immediately seized the opportunity to do the same, he was anxious about what you were about to say so he at least wanted to savor what might be his very last embrace from you

“Took us long enough now didn’t it?” was all you said before you confidently took a hold of his cheeks and brought his face closer to your lips until they touched

while you two kissed ever so passionately and drowned in the liberating feeling of mutual love, the two older women next to you smiled while commenting on how they’d always known and how bad you two were hiding it

after you’d finally separated from each other you gave him your obvious answer to which he simply giggled and out of happiness began cuddling and kissing your face all over

this was truly a wonderful moment, it might not affect your relationship all too much but it was nonetheless a step towards a new and yet unknown experience that the two of you would live through while constantly supporting each other ...

[pillage-and-lute]

An Ever Fixed Mark (Part 5)

This is pretty par for the course as far as some slightly horny bits but no actual horniness. Still, if that squicks you, read with caution. 

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, (here) Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10,

Read it on Ao3 HERE

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The next few days of Geralt’s marriage didn’t fare much better than the first. He and Jaskier were truly an ill match. Sure, the young man was charming, not even Geralt was immune to his wiles, and he was certainly easy on the eyes, but he’d never met someone as annoying as Jaskier.

Jaskier could talk a mile a minute, and the less Geralt talked, the more Jaskier did. This rankled. Geralt had learned that talking less was supposed to encourage less conversation, but clearly Jaskier hadn’t grasped that.

Far worse than the talking was the singing. Singing, humming, tapping, even playing his lute, Jaskier was always doing something. It was like riding beside a musical whirlwind, with the added penalty that at least a whirlwind wouldn’t know lyrics.

It wasn’t totally Jaskier, Geralt knew. They were riding hard to get as far from Lettenhove as possible, and the weather hadn’t let up. It had rained for almost five days, steady, drenching rain, with never enough time to get dry. They went to bed damp and woke up damper. Their socks were moist, their hair sopping. Jaskier was pouting because he couldn’t play his lute and somehow that made him more talkative. Despite the springtime, the rain was cold and sometimes he had to pause mid chatter to shiver. All this, made Geralt’s mood go south. Worse, he always hated parting from his brothers. There were so few of them, the first days without them were hard. 

And he had to deal with some spoiled little rich boy.

That wasn’t being fair to Jaskier, he rarely acted spoiled, not  really spoiled. It was, however, intensely clear that he was used to comfort and they were not, right now, comfortable. He didn’t complain too much about things Geralt couldn’t change, like the weather, apart from the odd sniffle about all his clothes being wet. He did beg to stay in an inn though. 

That bothered Geralt too. They really had little money, and here the lad was trying to get Geralt to spend it on something they didn’t need. He’d survived rain before.

That thought gave Geralt pause. Of course he’d survived rain before, but had Jaskier? It was unlikely. Days and nights of being slightly damp and chilly weren’t good for humans, they tended to get things. Like chest infections. And pneumonia. 

Geralt spared a glance at the figure riding, hunched, beside him.

Unfortunately, Jaskier seemed to take this as an invitation. 

“I can’t wait to get to Oxenfurt,” he said. “I have this friend, Essi, I think you’d love her. She’d certainly love to meet you, and she’s quite pretty, so even if you won’t tell me your stories perhaps you’d tell them to her.”

Was there a hint of bitterness there?

“Anyway,” Jaskier continued. “She wouldn’t be frightened of you in the least, I know because one time we were drunk... well, I was drunk and she was tipsy, and this man came up, really rough looking type you know? And I was raised to be polite so I ask him his business...”

Geralt stopped paying much attention. If the bard could manage that much, all in one breath, he was fine. Jaskier continued, all about this Essi character and a man trying to mug them in an alley. Apparently the girl had kicked him in the rattle and flute so hard he’d thrown up.

“And there’s this great pub,” Jaskier was saying, gesturing broadly with one hand and flinging raindrops into Geralt’s face. “It’s called the King’s Boots, dunno why, but it’s got good ale. Like, really good, not the swill you probably get in these little backwater towns. Pretty barmaids, too, if that takes you fancy.”

There it was again, that odd little inflection.

“It took my fancy, when I was a student there, of course. They weren’t terribly interested in me but, well, I began studying there at fifteen. Really, I still had spots. I wasn’t the catch you see before you now.”

Geralt didn’t deign to respond. Whether or not Jaskier was a catch wasn’t something he was going to weigh in on. 

Even if he definitely had an opinion.

That was maybe the worst of it all. In spite of the constant noise and restless intrusion into Geralt’s life and routine, he did like Jaskier. That was good, considering they were married, but he wanted to kiss Jaskier, at least once. Just to try it out. That was bad because their marriage was about a half inch from being a sham. Married in name only.

“What sort of ladies do you get?” Jaskier was asking. “I mean, it’s obvious you never have any trouble finding partners.”

Geralt thought of a woman in the woods, of Blaviken, of blood. 

“Shut up.”

“No really, Geralt,” Jaskier whinged. “I wan’t to know. Queens and mages? Legendary beauties.”

“Prostitutes.”

“Ah, legendary beauties it is then.”

“I don’t know about legendary,” Geralt said, cursing himself as he did so for encouraging this inane line of questioning. “But they were beautiful enough. For a price.”

“Ah the ladies and gentlemen of negotiable affection will forever have a place in my heart,” Jaskier sighed. Geralt wasn’t about to hear Jaskier’s sexual history in any capacity. For his sanity, he decided to shut the conversation down.

“I expect they’re the only ones willing to touch you.”

Shit. That one had been too harsh. He didn’t mean it, surely men and women and people all fell at Jaskier’s feet with even a glimpse of his smile. He must know he’s attractive.

Jaskier barely spoke the rest of the day. He wasn’t even pouting, exactly. Just...quiet. 

They made camp under cover of some trees. The thick canapy leant enough dryness that Geralt could build a big fire and they hung their clothes over some low branches to dry. Out of the corner of his eye Geralt saw Jaskier take the basilisk leather from his pack and stroke a hand over it, which was strange. The material simply didn’t absorb water and needed no care.

Perhaps he just...liked it. It was a nice thought, sitting sort of warm and heavy in Geralt’s stomach, like a good meat pie. Jaskier liked his gift. Of course, he’d known that, back the day they’d met. That actually, apart from Jaskier’s father, hadn’t been too bad of a day.

Geralt thought about that day as he hunted wild game for their supper. He snagged a pheasant, a male, because it was mating season, and remembered how nervous he’d been, how at ease Jaskier had seemed. Perhaps it was because Jaskier had likely always known it would be, at least somewhat, a political match. Geralt had never thought there’d be a match at all.

Back at camp Jaskier had water boiling and was sitting in front of the roaring fire in just his trousers and chemise, even his socks so damp as to need a good drying. Geralt set the game to boil with a few wild carrots for a stew and sat beside him, feeling his hair finally begin to dry.

“This didn’t start out bad,” he said. He meant them, of course, and he meant it as a sort of apology, even if he knew it was woefully lacking. He just didn’t know what to say. Somehow, Jaskier’s mind must have been running along the same track.

It’s alright. You never wanted to get married to me.”

No, Geralt thought but didn’t say. I never wanted to get married. It has nothing to do with you. There’s nothing at all the matter with you. I’m just a grumpy bastard and we’re not a good fit.

A little voice in the back of Geralt’s head said, ‘you could be. If you let yourself, you could fit’. It sounded unnervingly like Eskel.

The truth was, if it had been anyone besides Jaskier, especially any noble, Geralt may have hated all this more. Jaskier liked nice clothes and clean appearances, but he wasn’t vain. He liked nice things but wasn’t greedy. He craved praise but wasn’t prideful, disliked many things but wasn’t hateful. Compared to the thieving, conniving, small minded nobles Geralt knew, he was unlike them all. 

He was definitely unlike his father. 

Jaskier played his slow tune on his lute. It was comforting and almost familiar, just background music. Geralt stirred the pot, breaking up some larger chunks of meat with the spoon. 

Maybe this would fix some things. They’d be dry, with hot food. That could fix a lot.

“Geralt,” Jaskier asked. “Can I sing?” 

Damn. Well, it was weird the lad was asking for permission, but Geralt didn’t like the idea of controlling the man’s voice, no matter how often he told him to ‘shut up’. Somehow it didn’t feel the same.

“Whatever,” he said.

Jaskier sang lowly, voice pitched at the edge of human hearing. Geralt wasn’t a human, of course, and could hear it clear as day. It was a folk song he’d heard before, a tragedy about a young woman who’s love left and she drowned herself.

It didn’t seem fitting. Jaskier was so lively. Geralt prayed he hadn’t fucked up enought that he’d dampened the bards spirit. 

“Do you know The Chandler’s Wife?” Geralt asked when Jaskier’s song was done.

“That one, with the” Jaskier clicked his fingers three times, mimicking the snapping or tapping that happened in the song.

“Hmmm,” Geralt confirmed, nudging the contents of the pot.

Jaskier began to play. It was a bawdy song, with tapping substituted where innuendo would be. It was simple and cheerful and short, and by the time it was finished they both had steaming bowls of stew. 

“Of all the songs you could have asked for,” Jaskier said, blowing on his stew. “I never would have picked that one.”

“Lambert’s favorite,” Geralt grunted.

Jaskier chuckled. “Makes sense, seems like his sort of song.” He took a large spoonful of stew and groaned in delight. Geralt very emphatically did not pay attention to that sound in any way at all.

“I expect you miss them,” Jaskier said.

“Some,” Geralt didn’t want to talk about it, so he focused on shoveling stew in to his mouth instead. Jaskier got the hint. He just settled one tentative hand on Geralt’s shoulder for a second, then went back to eating. He may as well have pressed a brand to Geralt’s skin.

That night, in their separate bedrolls in mostly dry and fire warmed clothes, Geralt could still feel Jaskier’s palm against him. 

There was another reason, Geralt knew, for his over-grumpiness. It was guilt. Mostly he was alright, but hearing Jaskier chatter excitedly about Oxenfurt and all the things they could do together there...ate at him. 

Jaskier had said he didn’t want to be left. Gotten rid of, had been his phrasing. And Geralt was going to. This rain had just been proof, though. Next time it could be pneumonia or hypothermia. The boy shouldn’t be out here. 

It didn’t help Geralt sleep much better. Jaskier had also used the phrase ‘abandon’. 

-- -- *-- --

The next village had a monster problem. 

“Drowners, what do they do?”

“They drown people, Jaskier.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “No, I meant, what do they look like--”

“Ugly.”

Another eye roll. “And how do they do it. Do they spin like an alligator? Do they sink claws in and pull...?”

“The second one,” Geralt said, sharpening his sword. He figured they were far enough from Lettenhove that whatever political turmoil Vesemir had unleashed wasn’t going to catch them too soon. 

“I can’t wait. Do they have scales? Fins? Are they slimy like frogs?”

“Jaskier,” Geralt said, finally paying attention. “What do you mean ‘you can’t wait?”

“I get to see you in action! Heroic witcher risks his life for helpless townspeople, it’s all very...Galahad.”

“Galahad?”

“Yes Geralt, he’s only the most famous hero written about in the last three hundred years,” Jaskier said. He was gesturing broadly, the way he always did when talking about literature. Geralt settled in for a rant. 

“You know, ‘my strength is as the strength of ten becasuer my heart is pure,’?” That was Jaskier’s quoting voice.

“Never heard it,” Geralt grunted.

“That’s okay, it’s about this hero who’s good and saves everybody. You’re better than him anyway because you’re real.”

“I’m...better than a mythical hero.”

“I mean...yeah,” Jaskier said like it was obvious. “Everyone knows flaws make a character better. You’re totally hot with a heart of gold, score. Very classic. But also,” Jaskier turned to him grinning. “You’re emotionally constipated and smell like onion.”

“You said heroics a few days ago.”

“Yeah yeah yeah, whatever, that’s what’ll go in the songs. Best of all is that you’re a witcher. Nobody likes witchers but that can change. You’ll be a tragic hero!”

“Tragic?”

“That hair is, do you ever brush it?

“We’re getting away from the point,” Geralt said, resisting the urge to swipe his fingers through his hair. “You aren’t going to see me fight.”

“What, you can’t just leave me at camp!”

No, no he absolutely couldn’t just leave Jaskier at camp. There could be assassins, wolves, anything.

“We’ll get a room at the inn.”

“Really? Oh Geralt, a real bed would be so nice, there’s been this crick in my neck, but you’re not leaving me in an inn room either.”

“You could perform.”

“Excellent bait, but no.”

“Jaskier, please. You need to stay in town,” Geralt was pleading. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been pleading. Probably when he was trying to convince Vesemir not to marry him off for the betterment of witcherkind.

“I want to see you fight!” 

“It’s dangerous!.”

“You fight tons of these, right? I’ll stay super far away.”

“You could still get hurt, something goes wrong and you’ll get hurt! Humans are...soft.”

Jaskier tilted his chin up defiantly. Because they were the same height this wasn’t exactly necessary, but it gave Geralt a better view of his simply devastating eyes which was...not helping.

“I have the perfect plan,” Jaskier said. Were there silver flecks in his eyes? In this light Geralt was almost certain there were.

“I’ll stay back,” Jaskier was saying. “Any distance you want so long as I still get a reasonably good view. And I’ll wear the basilisk doublet.”

It was a good idea. Jaskier would stay back, the doublet would keep him safe. 

Geralt might get another chance to be smiled at byJaskier.

Doublets. Doublets, doublets doublets. Think about the doublet. 

“That would only keep your chest and arms safe.”

Jaskier smirked and patted a hand on Geralt’s chest, causing his slow heart to speed up just a little. “Are you going to let a drowner get to me? Get to my head, Geralt? My pretty face?” Jaskier pouted and Geralt’s stomach flipped over.

“Fine,” Geralt grunted. “You can come along.”

Jaskier looked very fine, all buttoned up in his basilisk leather doublet, and he was surprisingly quiet. This area of the forest was silent. and the ground was soft and slightly damp underfoot. They were near the Pontar river, which they would follow the rest of the way to Oxenfurt.

Here and there Geralt could see signs of human activity, but thankfully no humans in the area. Signs of woodcutters, likely the ill-fated ones who’d discovered the drowner’s pond in the first place, were scattered about. 

They came within view of the pond. More swamp, really. It was so covered in green algae that it looked like some sort of oddly paved floor. It was as still as glass. Geralt took Jaskier’s--surprisingly strong--shoulder in one large hand and steered the boy to a log that he deemed was sufficiently far to be safe. Then he drew his sword.

Drowners weren’t hard to fight, and here in this little pond there were just two, skinny and hungry. Geralt felt relief flood him as he realized that he wouldn’t even need his potions. He didn’t want Jaskier to finally understand what a monster he was. Geralt was enjoying putting off that realization as long as possible. He was also enjoying being a noble hero, likened to this Galahad character, who sounded alright if a bit boring. 

Geralt rolled his shoulders. He didn’t need to, but it looked nice and Jaskier was looking. The first drowner was close, now, trying to sneak through the algae, but Geralt’s vision was much better than its. He waited until the wretched thing lunged. 

The slash of the drowner’s long claws missed Geralt narrowly, but he hadn’t been worried. He pivoted, working on years of instinct. This was who he was. Here he was on much safer ground than with courting and castles. He was a witcher, and fighting monster’s was what he was trained, and to some extent built, for. 

The first slash didn’t kill the drowner, instead lopping off the arm that had so recently threatened to claw his eyes out. Then, with a clever twist of his wrist he sent his blade back the other direction, lopping off the head. It had taken all of a second from the point of the drowner’s lunge. 

It’s companion was slinking up, ready to attack as well but Geralt didn’t need time to recharge. His senses honed in, he felt his pupils dilate to take in the low light coming between the trees and he leapt.

No normal man could have made the leap that sent him over the drowner’s shoulder and onto the shore behind. It hadn’t been the full length of the pond, but rather a diagonal leap that gave him just enough time as the creature spun around. Geralt brought his sword down and cleaved the thing in two.

“Holy shit.”

Geralt looked up, not even breathing hard.

Jaskier was still in his spot on the log. Unlike Geralt, he was breathing hard. There was a flush across the tops of his cheeks, pretty and pink, and his eyes were wide. Even from his spot across the pond Geralt could see the dark pupils and the blue of his irises. 

Gerals severed the heads and warned Jaskier that he was removing the brains for his potions. His response was a squeaked ‘okay’. 

Damn. Had he scared the lad? He didn’t smell scared. Geralt wasn’t sure what Jaskier did smell like. 

He took the brains quickly and packaged them, then slung the heads of the drowner’s from Roach’s saddle. 

Thunderbolt, Jaskier’s horse, had been left at the inn. Inaccurately named, the creature, despite his large size, was docile, gentle, and prone to startling. 

Geralt dipped his hands in the scummy water and dried them on his pants to at least get off the worst of the gunk.

“Well?” he asked Jaskier.

“Wow,” the man said, stepping closer. “That was quick, too.”

Geralt grunted. “Only two.” He didn’t bother mounting up, leading Jaskier and Roach out of the forest and back towards town. 

Jaskier’s heart still sounded like it was going a little fast.

“Frightened?” Geralt asked. The lad smelled like adrenaline and...oh.

“No, just...exhilarated I suppose. I’ve never seen a battle like it.”

Jaskier smelled aroused. Now that Geralt had realized what it was it was all he could smell. The scent clogged his nose and set his brain in a pink, fuzzy cloud. Did Jaskier think...? Would he want..?

Except, of course not. Everyone knew you could get sort of adrenaline high. Plenty of young warriors got a little...stiff after a battle. And being nineteen, Jaskier probably got, got in that situation, with a light breeze. 

He was looking up at Geralt like he’d personally hung the moon, though. No one had ever, as long as he could remember, looked at him that way. There is a certain kind of beauty that comes with being kind to someone, Geralt knew. He hadn’t often seen it. Eskel had scars across his face that were frightening even to some other witchers but his friendship and care towards Geralt always blurred those over.

Now, in this fetid, swamp of a forest, Jaskier was developing that special beauty to Geralt as well. 

He was loud and talked all the time, even now that he seemed to have regained his wits he was chattering about what he’d write. His voice sounded less harsh in Geralt’s ears, though. Because Jaskier thought Geralt was special, and that made him special in return. 

They made it back to the inn, with a brief stop at the alderman’s house, muddy to the knee, although that wasn’t new. Geralt was also somewhat bloodspattered, which was horrible and wasn’t winning him favors with the townsfolk. 

“Got a room?” he asked the innkeeper, a bent old man that Geralt could probably lift on one finger. As is the wont of many smart inkeepers, there was a taproom on the first floor of the inn, and he was industriously cleaning mugs. 

“One,” the man said. “One room, one bed. No prostitutes, them ladies’ gotta do business elsewhere.”Geralt nodded and handed over the coin. 

“Bathouse in town?” he asked. They followed the old inkeeper’s directions to the edge of town, near the river. 

“I can’t wait for a good bed,” Jaskier said. “But I think I’m looking forward to this bath even more. I think my dirt has dirt on it, and my hair is disgusting. Yours too, will you let me wash it?”

Geralt wasn’t listening, also looking forward to the bath. He hummed in response.

“I hope it’s hot,” Jaskier continued. “No, hotter than that, I hope it’s boiling. I want to feel like a carrot in a stew pot when I get in.”

“You’d be a turnip,” Geralt said without thinking.

Jaskier sniffed. “And you’d be an onion.”

Geralt almost chuckled at that. The only reason he didn’t was that, at this moment, it was probably almost true. They both smelled pretty ripe. Jaskier had been correct, too, about there being layers to the grime. Geralt could almost peel himself. Like an onion.

“Anyway, I think I’d be something special, like a dash of pepper or, oh! I’d be a tomato.”

That caught Geralt off guard. 

“What.”

“A tomato, when they’re cooked just right so they almost burst when you cut into them and the juice explodes all over your mouth.”

Geralt wasn’t going to think about any juices of any kind exploding all over anyone’s mouth. Especially not Jaskier’s mouth, with it’s pink lips and clever, wicked tongue that darted out from time to time to wet them. 

“Don’t you think so, Geralt, aren’t I a tomato?”

“Hmmm.”

Jaskier did it again! It was liable to take Geralt’s sanity, the sight of him wetting his chapped lips like that. Maybe if he didn’t speak so much, worse, if he didn’t bite those lips so much, they wouldn’t be so chapped. For some reason Geralt had an insane desire to smear ointment across Jaskier’s lips with his own fingers. 

They would feel so soft.

Geralt paid the bath house attendant and they followed directions to a separate area in the low, stone building, where they could strip off and have a sort of sponge bath. This was of course so that they didn’t get dirt and monster guts in the bath, and was done with each in their own little three-walled wooden stall. Geralt had to call for a second bucket of water to get the guts from his hair. 

Sufficiently scrubbed, he stepped out into the main baths. Only then did he realize the crucial fault in his plan. They were open plan baths. Jaskier was beside him wearing nothing but a towel. Geralt, likewise in a towel, began to sweat. 

He kept his eyes firmly forward and cursed his excellent witchery peripheral vision because he could see...see Jaskier. Dark chest hair, soft and slightly damp. The way a droplet of water trailed from the back of his hair and down his neck, wetting tender skin.

Fuck. 

Jaskier walked towards the bath as if nothing was amiss. Of course, nothing was amiss, they were just two traveling companions. Having a bath. For Melitele’s sake they were married, even.

Geralt saw Jaskier’s foot hit a wet patch and the young man’s steps faltered, sliding a little. Geralt caught him with all his witcher speed, feeling Jaskier collide with his chest. Those blue eyes again, and yes, definitely silver in them. 

Jaskier was blushing, whether from proximity or steam, Geralt didn’t know. He leaned in. Jaskier’s tongue wet those inviting lips again. 

“You missed a spot on your cheek,” Geralt said, drawing back. He hadn’t been sure it wasn’t just a freckle, but it was definitely a bit of dirt. Jaskier sighed.

“Better get in and wash it off, then.”

Why did he sound dissapointed?

Geralt looked away as Jaskier released his towel and slid into the water, doing the same and waiting a second until he was absolutely sure it was safe to look. Jaskier had his head tilted back to rest against the floor, where the bath was sunk into the ground. Geralt sat next to him on the little ledge and let the warmth hit his muscles. It wasn’t boiling as Jaskier had hoped, but it was warm and lovely. The day’s fight hadn’t set any ache into Geralt’s muscles, but the days of sitting tensed up about Jaskier had, and he let them drift away.

Next to him Jaskier hummed contentedly and Geralt couldn’t help but agree. They lingered, not speaking, in the warm baths until they were truly pruny. Geralt neatly had to drag Jaskier out, but couldn’t risk Jaskier becoming too drowsy and drowning. 

They toweled off and redressed and were back at the inn in time for supper and for Jaskier to play. 

Geralt sat in the back of the small taproom, glowering about at anyone who looked like they might get close. He would have gladly gone up to their room and not bothered but Jaskier was performing. He couldn’t leave the bard there, where anyone could attack him, or ply him with too much alcohol and rob him or worse. Besides, he was curious.

Jaskier was capable, in an odd sort of way that was so far different from what Geralt was used to, but he was good at things. There was nothing he tried that he seemed to be terribly bad at. Geralt wasn’t a good judge of music, but he wanted to see if this applied to performing.

As he’d suspected, it did. Jaskier was masterful. Not only was his music top notch, but all his energy, the liveliness, the live wire electricity of him was directed when he performed. Normally, all that energy seemed to make Jaskier’s thoughts and actions a little disorganized, almost mess. Here, in this dingy little tavern, it made him radiant. Every eye was watching, every gaze enthralled, at least for a short time. If Geralt’s medallion hadn’t lain still on his chest he would have called it magic. 

It was incredibly sexy. This was Jaskier in his element, fierce and confident and wearing the doublet Geralt had given him. 

That struck a strange little shiver down Geralt’s spine. A piece of Geralt, prancing about, tied to Jaskier. The gift of the wolves of Kaer Morhen shimmered and twisted with his movements, the black pearl buttons catching dim light. Every eye was on Jaskier, some more salaciously than others, but Geralt couldn’t have cared less. He wouldn’t have cared even if someone had kissed Jaskier there and then. Geralt had no claim to Jaskier like that, they were only married in name. But they were married, and somehow Jaskier so proudly wearing that doublet meant more than a kiss ever could.

A little part in the back of Geralt’s brain wondered if he could have a kiss and Jaskier wearing the doublet, but that was silly.

Geralt went out to see Roach briefly when the performance was over. The applause was too much for his ears and his head, but ran back in when he heard the shouts. 

Three men had Jaskier against a wall, looking furious, and Jaskier looked angrier than they were. 

“Let him go,” Geralt growled, hand going for his sword...which was upstairs in their room. 

Fuck.

The men turned to him, all holding knives that were only knives because no one let swords get that jagged. 

“Your whore here,” one of them said with a shrug towards Jaskier. “Was telling us all how we shouldn’t talk shit about you witchers.”

“Yeah,” sneared another man with rotten teeth and even more rotten breath. “Got all righteous.” He stepped forward, raising his knife. “Said we ought to be thankful.

Geralt felt his muscles tense, gearing for a fight he really, really didn’t want to have.

“I think we oughta show you our ‘gratitude’,” said the third man.

“Or I can show you the door to the next world,” a voice purred. It was Jaskier.

“What is poking into your kidney, or thereabouts,” the bard continued. “Is a fish knife, I believe. I picked it up off the table. It’s pretty sharp, so I wouldn’t recommend moving very quickly. I would recommend, if you like to keep living, dropping your weapons, all three of you, and just walking away.”

The man’s compatriots looked at Jaskier in confusion. Jaskier pressed the knife in just a hair’s breadth further. 

“Do it,” growled the man currently held hostage. Three knives clattered on the floor. 

“Very good,” Jaskier purred in a voice that was both menacing and sent electric signals all the way down Geralt’s spine. “I can see you’re the brains of the outfit. Now apologize to my friend.”

“Wha..?”

Jaskier twitched his knife hand. “Apologize. To. My. Friend.”

“I’mverysorrymisterwitcher,” the man said, all in one breath. 

“Good, and?”

“And...and thank you for getting rid of the monsters?” said the man, hesitantly. Jaskier let down the knife. 

“Scram,” he said. The three toughs fled.

“A fish knife?” Geralt asked, trying not to focus on how spine tinglingly sexy that had been.

Jaskier shrugged. “I don’t keep weapons on me usually. Shall we go to bed?”

Bed turned out to be an overstatement. It was pretty much a cot, and a very slim one at that, but neither of them were going to sleep on the rough floorboards so they squished in together. 

Jaskier snuggled up to Geralt with contented little humming noises and laid his head on his chest. In the corner, in the moonlight from the window, Geralt could see the basilisk leather doublet where it lay on Jaskier’s pack. It would be a shame, he thought, wrapping his arms around Jaskier to keep him from tipping entirely out of the narrow bed. To part from his husband in Oxenfurt. 

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Tag List!

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People who I tried to tag but can’t seem to: @ailorian @thenameislion-dandelion  @darkangel91939 @saphiramalbec

Supposed to be tagged and weren’t? Is your tag listed but not actually linked? I’m having some trouble, so let me know!

[wevegottogetaway]

El Patrón

I’m so excited to finally be posting this piece. I’ve been working on it for the past few days and it’s been consuming my mind. If you like angst, smut, art student Harry, and great plot twists, this story is for you, so buckle up, cause you’ve got 13700 and then some waiting for you! And on that note, I don’t thing I have many words left in my brain... so, hope you enjoy xx

TW: smut, fool language

After her first day back to classes, Y/n is not surprised to see Harry Styles’ lanky frame standing behind the bar of Bottom’s Up. She hoped that he would bugger off to work some place else but alas, all her summer prayers were unanswered. For yet another semester, she would have to endure bartending by his sides, trying with all her might not to jab a corkscrew at his throat every time he opened his gob. Granted, she could have switched jobs herself, but the pay is too good to turn down and the bar sits literally right around the corner from her place; a match made in heaven if you ask her. Besides, she’s been mastering the art of tuning out the insufferable green-eyed prick for two years now, so what’s one more? Of course, knowing it is likely to be the last - having just kicked off the final year of her psychology major - makes the news easier to stomach. And with any luck, the fool did some sort of soul-searching over the break and came back a changed man.

"Well, well, well. Look who decided to grace us with her delightful presence again. Knew you couldn’t stand to live without me, y/l/n." Harry greets her with a smirk as he looks up from his phone. 

Well, some much for change, but luck has never been on y/n’s side anyway; she knew it was wishful thinking to entertain the idea of a pleasant or even tolerable Harry. "Shut it, Styles. I’m not in the mood for your bullshit," she quips back and goes straight to the employee’s locker room to dispose of her stuff and swap her top for one bearing the bar’s logo. Once done, she takes a brief look in the tattered mirror still hanging by the door to readjust her ponytail, before joining her co-worker behind the counter. The bar is rather quiet for now, clock having not chimes 6pm yet, but y/n expects the place to be soon crawling with students drinking the classes’ return off their mind. 

The next few minutes are spent in unexpected peaceful silence, y/n prepping for the upcoming rush while Harry idly sits by, not lifting a single finger to help her out. Admittedly, he’s completed all his pre-shift duties during the last hour, but y/n doesn’t think it warrants the smug look painted on his face as he watches her battle a jar of olives with an old opener and  a concentrated frown. So peaceful silence was a bit of a stretch, maybe.

Then to make matters worse he decides to taunt her, "I see you’ve grown zero muscle strength over the break. Too busy vegetating on the beach?" 

The surge of anger triggered by the provocation is enough impetus for her to crack the can open, but it doesn’t stop her from turning to face him, "I see you’ve grown zero neuron in that thick head of yours. Too busy making people miserable instead?" she counters with flaring nostrils and a look of disdain hardening her features.

"Ah, still got a feisty mouth on you. ‘Was worried you might turn soft on us." Harry sasses back, but y/n doesn’t bother telling him off this time. No matter how strong her comeback, he’ll just brush it off with that smile of his that irritates her to no end. That’s the thing with Harry, the bastard has the thickest skin of all, he’s downright unattainable. And believe it or not, bad-mouthing doesn’t come naturally to y/n, he just seems to draw it out of her, perhaps as the trigger of some kind of survival instinct. Time and time again she’s tried to come up with a quip that would leave him speechless, tail between his legs, but he always has a wittier reply to throw back at her. For so long they’ve been playing this debilitating game of ping pong and she has yet to claim a point to his countless wins. 

It’d been the case since their first meeting on that dreadful Friday two years ago. Y/n was about to embark on her second year at uni and decided to get a job so she could afford her own place instead of the dreary dorms she’d gotten used to. Bottom’s Up had seemed to be the perfect choice, a 2 minutes walk from the sweet little apartment she’d just visited a few days prior. She’d been excited for her first shift that night, air still warm from the Indian summer sun drawing a plethora of eager students to come enjoy their last day of freedom. Her happy jitters had quickly dissolved once she’d made her way in the staff-only area located behind the bar though. There, she’d walked in on a very frustrated Harry vociferating at a lost-looking colleague, "how many times do you have to fuck up before doing your bloody job, Steve? Stop sitting on your lazy ass, or I swear I’ll-" 

She’d come to this Steve guy’s defense then, furious at the tall curly hair jerk for bullying his way around, "stop it, you asshole. You can’t talk to people like trash, who do you think you are?" Granted, she didn’t know it at the time, but the lost look on Steve's face was in fact pretty standard for the amount of weed in his system; nor did she know that the lad could actually win the Olympics of lazy asses hands down, should such a discipline be appended. It was too late to call off the hostilities though. War had been declared, and aside maybe from that one time he had graciously accepted to cover for her when she’d had a trip to Brighton planned for one of her classes, no truce had ever been reached. Besides, she’s sure it was more so because he was low on cash rather than to fulfill the hidden desire to help her out for once in his life.

Now, as she finishes wiping her work surface with a wet cloth, y/n wishes more than ever to be teleported in a parallel universe where she doesn’t have to work with the bane of her existence, much less see his annoyingly handsome face four times a week. (Also, exams would only be optional in this alternate reality of hers, but that’s another fantasy for another day.) Mainly, she’s just glad she doesn’t see him around campus ever, the art building standing all the way across from the psychology department. At least she’s Harry-free the moment she steps out of the bar; she’d probably have a nervous breakdown if she had to put up with his antics outside of work.

                                                       ***

A month in the new semester, the novelty of it all has finally worn off to make way for routines to settle in. Y/n’s weeks now consist in a well-practiced cycle of sleep, study, eat, work and occasionally go out with her best friend Mia. Her shifts at Bottom’s Up still prove to be challenging because of the company she’s forced to keep but things seem to have calmed down at the bar too. Students are now less inclined to party the week away, mainly indulging during the second half of the week, but more importantly, Harry appears to be less of a smug bastard and more of a sulky sod. For some reason, the lad has been stuck in a sullen mood, constant frown wrinkling his forehead. He has reverted to distant one-word answers as though he is saving a dictionary worth of words for whatever conundrum is going on in his brain. Y/n doesn’t mind though, and almost welcomes the transition if it means less digs taken at her expense.

Now y/n finds herself on her way to the campus library for a much needed paper-writing cramming session (the assignment is due the following day and she barely has two thirds of the work completed). After a quick stop by the coffee shop down the block, she finally strides in the lobby of the library, ready to dive nose first into the riveting matters of cognitive psychology. She’s already so focused mulling over concepts’ definition in her mind, that it takes her a minute to realize something is going on.

It’s nothing major really, no big fire rushing around the premises or fist-fight breaking the crowd into a frenzy. No, just everyone seemingly hushing and gasping, bewildered expressions etched upon their faces as they keep pointing towards the nearby study room. Truthfully, y/n might have been completely oblivious to it, it she weren’t a psychology major; but reading people’s feelings and interactions is kind of her thing, so she does notice the bubbly energy infiltrating the usually quiet space. What could possibly have them so intrigued, she wonders as more students come out of the room with the same looks of wonder.

Her confusion is finally quelled when she steps into the study room in question and her eyes fall on what has everyone so engaged. On the wall to her right, between two sets of shelves brimming with decades-old books, hangs a life size canvas of audacious shapes and bold colors. Not one seems to have been left out, the painting seemingly transporting the viewer in a psychedelic albeit appealing trance. It’s full of contrasts, an embodiment of serenity and boldness at the same time, and y/n can’t stop ogling the masterpiece for the life of her. The amount of passion is so obviously overwhelming, yet she can feel all of the artist’s emotions underneath each of the brushstrokes.  

After another minute of wondrous observation, her thoughts are interrupted by a foreign voice. "El Patrón? I wonder who that could be," the stranger wonders aloud, and her eyes immediately drift off to the bottom right of the painting to catch the small but unmistakable signature: black cursive letter spelling the two words withholding the real artist’s identity. The mystery only adds up to the appeal of the work and y/n already feels a bubbling feeling in the pit of her stomach at the idea of ever finding out what beautiful soul is responsible for such mind-bending work. She hopes this won’t be last she sees of it. 

                                                       ***

It’s Friday night and unfortunately for y/n, she’s stuck at work with her least favorite person in the world. It’s all the more unfortunate that Harry seems to be back to his usual annoying self, his thoughts finally free from whatever trouble had plagued them, and eager to fall back into nuisance mode. Less unfortunate for y/n and much to Harry’s discontent, Mia decided to stop by and keep her company. Though she feels slightly sorry for her having the act as her buffer for the night, y/n figures she’s more than making up for it with every free cocktail she keeps sliding towards her friend. Their conversation is scattered at best since patrons keep interrupting them for a fresh pint of ale, but as the night slowly dies down they manage to talk longer than 20 seconds.

The manager of the bar has long clocked off and gone home, as per usual on Friday nights, leaving both her and Harry the pleasure to indulge in a few drinks of their own. They don’t do it every week and always keep it low-key of course; Mia’s tonight presence mostly accounting for y/n’s partaking while Harry just likes a nice glass of tequila when the week-end comes around and there’s nobody to tell him off about it. One thing they never do though, is drink together, like two friends celebrating yet another week they survived at uni. Come to think of it, the only thing they do share is a job position and their never-ending bickering. Cheers to that, y/n takes another sip of her gin martini in sarcasm. 

She’s brought back to reality by Mia as the tipsy brunette lets out a loud gasp before she inquires in a slightly high-pitched voice, "y/n! totally forgot to tell you, went by the library today and you’ll never guess what was there!" 

"Oh my god, you saw the painting too, didn’t you" y/n answers, excited at the idea of discussing the whole thing with her best friend. Truth be told, the majestic work of art hasn’t left her mind since she’d first seen it a few days before. 

"Yes" Mia squeals in confirmation, "I mean, it’s kinda impossible to miss. I wonder how they got it there without anyone seeing."

Y/n has wondered the same thing and she came to one conclusion, "they probably sneaked in last Sunday after the library closed, it’s the only time the building is empty," Mia humming in agreement. The campus library is opened 24/7 all days except on Sundays, so realistically speaking it is the only window of time that would allow for such an experiment. Whether said experiment required an actual break-in or was conducted in full legality remains a mystery but that is just bygones in y/n’s eyes. She’s much to mesmerized by the work to give a damn about how it got there in the first place. 

"Oi y/l/n! What are you two fawning over this time" Harry chirps in the conversation, uninvited as always, and y/n hates how condescending he just sounded.

"Not that you could ever understand something with substance, if your lack thereof is any indication, but it’s none of your damn business," y/n spats out dismissively but Mia’s Margarita-induced brain seems to have forgotten all about their concerted hatred for piss-taking bartenders.

"Harry, you’re an art major aren’t you? D’you know who’s behind that beautiful painting at the library?" 

Y/n tilts her head back in a sigh at her friend’s behavior before turning to watch the puzzled look on Harry’s face. He seems to silently gauge the both of them; for what, y/n doesn’t know, and then his whole expression switched to a blasé look. He shrugs in disinterest, "who cares? ’s just one more Banksy wannabe who’s trying at it too hard ‘f you ask me." 

Y/n takes it as a personal offense, her admiration for the painting outweighing any instinct she has of avoiding the brazen man taking a sip of his tequila on rocks across from her, "of course you’d say something like that. You’re just jealous you’ll never compete with his talent."

Harry raises a brow at her accusation, "and how would you know since you’ve never seen any of my work?" 

It’s a valid point, but not enough to rebut her. "Doesn’t take a genius to know a shallow mind like yours could never create something as deep and transcending. That would require actual emotions from you Harry and we both know the only emotion you’re capable of spreading is irritation." 

For once she’s confident she’s gonna have the last word, but in true Harry fashion he just gives her a bored look as if to say ‘is that all?’ towel thrown over his shoulder, "right, and here I thought talking to people like trash was a bad thing. You should really take a page out of your own book, y/n, wouldn’t want anyone to think you’re as big of a jerk as I am." Then he turns back to face the room full of customers, and tends to one disheveled looking guy slurring out an order. 

Y/n barely registers the friendly "alright Joe, but ’s the last one," Harry rasps out to the guy, her ears are still ringing from the last words he’d said to her. More specifically, the little truth they held despite how much he deserved the backlash, and y/n absolutely loathes the way her throat seems to be closing in on itself. She’s afraid she’s turning like him, bitter words at the ready and always trying to outdo his own taunting spiels. Before anxiety can settle in her bones though, she swallows back the knot tightening in her airways and goes back to serving customers and conversing with her friend.

                                                        ***

The next time it happens, she expects it even less. A couple weeks have passed since her gruesome interaction with Harry at the bar, and along with her doubts, all thoughts about art have seemed to vanish from her busy mind. She’s had a few tests occupying all her free time and now that they’ve been done and over with, all she can think about is calling Mia up to plan their next night out; she needs a few drinks that she didn’t make for once. 

She’s about to take her phone out of her pocket to send her best friend a text, when she enters the lecture hall of her Monday experimental method and research design class. The déjà-vu feeling that creeps up her spine stops her from completing the action, and y/n frowns at how her fellow students seem to be all entranced in deep conversation, exchanging baffled looks with one another. Even the sleeping kid that sits at the back seems to be more alert than during their last fire evacuation procedure test. 

It’s then y/n turns around to see what is hanging at the front of the room, covering the large board. This time, the colors were carefully handpicked by the artists, flashes of pink and yellow dancing along to a frenzied rhythm of salsa as their union creates powerful jets of oranges across the canvas. It vaguely reminds her of the pendant she wears on a daily basis, rose gold laurels wrapped around a delicate sunflower, an orange topaz incrusted in its center. The painting is of abstract nature much like the last one, but the movements of the brush still bring her mind back to the jewel presently nestled between her collarbones. How odd.

The piece is slightly smaller than the last but no less impressive, catching the attention of even the least artistic eye. The sensibility of the artist is so distinct, intentions clearer and more in touch than most people with their own. For a second, y/n thinks she’s glad the pieces have only been ones of unadulterated happiness and colorful bliss so far, because god knows how heart-wrenching the outcome would be if all this uncorrupted honesty was used to fill canvas with pain.

As the professor enters the room, everybody settles back on their seat, and wait for the chap’s reaction. "Well, that sure is something. It seems we have a bit of a mystery painter on our hands, don’t we; and a talented one at that," y/n’s professor smiles at the class as he pulls a computer out of his satchel and places it at top of the front desk. His words make her look back at the artwork, this time settling on the small signature reading El Patrón on its corner. And it’s all it takes for Y/n’s obsession with the anonymous artist to be back in full force.

                                                       ***

That night she can’t stop raving about the painting as she starts closing the bar after a long and tiresome shift. She’s got a shoulder pressing her phone to her ear, Mia on the line, while she absentmindedly sweeps the floor. Normally the exertion of the job would have her stifling yawns and her bones aching but tonight her voice is perky as ever as she recollects the pinnacle of her day, "you shoulda been there Mia, it was gorgeous. And same as last time, like you’d be minding your business, doing your thing and then boom, it’s there. Damn, this guy is a genius."

As she comes back around the counter, Harry makes sure she notices the roll of his eyes. He’s been wiping and tidying the bar space after making sure everything is stocked up for the next day, all the while listening to her drone about El Patrón and his stroke of genius, praise after praise falling from her lips. She completely brushes off the patronizing gesture and that’s perhaps what irritates him the most. She’s barely acknowledging him or his stunts with all her attention placed on the mystery painter and well, Harry quite likes riling her up. Doesn’t do it out of spite, but merely because he likes the way it ignites a fire in her that he’s seldom seen in people. But now, all her fire is directed elsewhere and he doesn’t know what to think of it.

                                                         ***

Over the next month, the rumors around El Patrón spread like wildfire as more and more of his works are found scattered around campus. Much to y/n’s delight, she always seems to fall upon them as though they’ve been placed specifically on her path. It didn’t start as obvious though; the first following pieces hung in common areas around campus such as the lunch hall or the student center but as time went by they tended to follow her whereabouts somehow. Y/n knows she’s probably fabulating but when she’d stumble across two absolutely stunning pieces in the lobby of her gym and at the entrance of the psychology building, she couldn’t help but feel deeply attached to them. And the possibility that this mystery artist might have the same attachment to her, only fuels her obsession further, sending her reeling with all but one nerve-wracking question: who is this guy?

And it’s not like she’s the only one pondering over their identity either. Hell, the genius has literally everyone on campus under their spell, trying to uncover the enigma of the year. Everyone seems to be determined to find clues, easter eggs hidden within the paintings that could lead them closer to the truth. El Patrón has effectively turned the whole uni into a large-scale game of Cluedo, people speculating left and right and swapping theories about who it can or cannot be, what year they are probably in, or whether they have an accomplice. Nobody has ever executed such a tour de force in the history of campus, and it has everyone one edge, y/n included, desperate to be in the loop.

The fact that each painting is more beautiful than the last and always seems to connect with her in personal ways doesn’t help her daydreaming either. Take the one she found at the gym for example, for a few second she’d sworn she was looking at a familiar piece of the English South Coast, dark hues of blue fighting dots of white, reminiscent of the way foam always seems to top even the most raging waves as they crash along shores. She’d only had to close her eyes to feel the wind blowing her hair in a thousand directions and the sand engulfing her feet, making its way between her toes and every crevice of her skin. She was still in the middle of her gym when she reopened them though, her sport bag straddling her shoulder as she kept gaping at the painting in adoration.

Her suspicious keeps nagging at her head, the desire to unveil the identity of her beloved artist getting stronger by the day. The feeling is almost unbearable when she spots yet another work of his across from Bottom’s Up. The coincidences keep piling up and the more she mulls it over, the more she’s convinced this mystery guy is talking to her. Damn, is it possible to have a crush on someone because of their work? After months of this cryptic scavenger hunt, she’d dying to know if all her theories are right and the fact that she has no way to find out, is positively killer her.

That’s why when she stumbles across a flyer for a midterm exhibition gala hosted by the art department as she waits in line at her favorite coffee shop, she doesn’t think twice before jotting down all the info. In a week time, most of the uni’s art students would be gathered up in one place to present their term’s work. The chances are too high for y/n to pass up the opportunity, her guts telling her he’ll be there. It makes sense doesn’t it? Surely, this El Patrón ought to be an art student if not a teacher. How else would they have access to all the campus amenities most of the paintings were found in? 

As she goes to pick up her coffee from the counter, y/n walks with a newfound spring in her steps; she really can’t wait for this gala to happen.

                                                       ***

Y/n stands at the entrance of the art building, a black floor-length long-sleeves open-back dress hugging her curves in all the right places. Her heart speeds up at the nervous jitters crawling underneath her skin, and the million question swarming her frantic mind. What if he actually doesn’t know her and doesn’t give a damn about her thoughts on his work? What if it’s actually a woman and she’s been hiding a man’s pen-name to consolidate her deceit? Is she about to make the biggest fool out of herself by coming to this exhibition? She doesn’t know anyone here, nor has she ever been to this kind of event before but she’s decided this guessing game has run its course. Maybe this all thing has nothing to do with her and that’s okay. All she really wants is to have a chance to tell this exquisite mind how remarkable their work is; the rest be damned.

Y/n slowly makes her way inside, and after a quick stop at the coat room to dispose of the unnecessary garment, she is finally greeted by a room full of dressed-up people roaming  and chatting around, champagne flutes in hands. How cliche, she thinks with humor, before picking up a glass of the bubbly beverage. It’ll help sooth the nerves, she reasons as she starts walking around the place to observe each of the displays. Despite not having had a glimpse of her number-one painter yet, she finds herself having a good time. Most of the work offered to her is engaging in one way or another; some pieces quite provocative is their depiction, others straight out pushing the limits of 2D, with structures coming out of the canvas as though they were about to grip at the viewer. 

Turning at a corner, she comes across his art before she sees him, having almost forgotten art was supposedly his thing too, and she realizes she actually knew someone here apart from the mysterious painter. She takes a brief look at his tall frame, the baby blue suit over his crisp white shirt fitting him perfectly. A black tie is completing the look, and it makes y/n waver for a second. She’s never seen him dressed in anything other than jeans and the bar’s t-shirt every employee is supposed to wear on call. Granted, even that he can make work better than anyone else she can think of, but that suit is something else altogether. 

Her eyes shifts back to his work, not wanting to waste too much time on his appearance; she is here on a mission after all. She can’t deny his painting is good as much as she wants too. It’s made of a perfectly executed optic illusion that has her pause for longer than she intended to. The colors are picked wisely only adding to the entrancing design, tempting the viewer to reach out to the painting to convince themselves that this is fact a pretty subterfuge and no reality; the frontier between both worlds much too hard to distinguish. Just like for the rest of the exhibition, a single plaque hangs underneath the canvas, introducing the title of the piece above the name of its artist: Fine Line by Harry Styles. Damn, the bastard had to be talented…

"Is it as depthless as you thought it would be?" A hoarse voice interrupts her inner thoughts. She knows it’s his at the first word and already she regrets ever thinking positive things about him.

"Funny, I would have shared a compliment but you just had to go and open your stupid mouth," she bites back as she fully turns around to face him. She can feel is eyes shamelessly scanning her body, sending her nerves on overdrive. She wants this exchange to be as curt as possible, she’s got important matters to tend to.

"Here for you mysterious bloke, I presume?" he inquires in a taunting voice.

"What’s it to you, anyway?" y/n dodges the question with another, hoping it’ll steer the conversation toward its end.

She’s answered by rosy pouting lips, a hand on his heart in faux vexation, "ouch, was just hopin’ you’d come to see me, and now you’ve just crushed my dreams, love."

The pet-name is not lost on her and Y/n has had enough. In own gulp she downs the rest of her champagne and forces the glass to his chest for him to hold as she makes her way past him, "just leave me alone and go be a pain in someone else’s ass, Harry." She doesn’t wait to see if he’s following her as she marches across the room in long and purposeful strides. 

Something in the corner of her eyes catches her attention right then. Halting abruptly, almost making someone walk right into her, she turns her head to the side and that’s when she finally sees it. A whole part of the wall has been dedicated to his work, a shrine of his most outstanding pieces randomly hung against the white surface. Y/n recognizes each and every one of them, but then her eyes take in the extra work added for the exhibition: next to each of the pieces are displayed a bunch of photos capturing the students’ expressions as they first discovered the paintings. Dozens of faces lighting up in amazement, widening eyes and finger pointing at the unexpected intrusions; some show confusion and puzzlement while others simply behold laughter and animated conversation.

In the center of the wall, a video is projected. It’s a compilation of those same moments but this time captured on tape. The sound was removed, but as y/n takes in the faces of her fellow students she can almost hear the sound of their laughters; she’d been there for most of it after all. She thinks the idea is amazing, El Patrón has managed to make the viewer a permanent part of the art. The paintings are marvelous of course, full of emotions and passion, but the mysterious artist has gone one step further by also displaying how those emotions had reflected back on the audience. It is an ode to art, to the power of sharing, and proves art is limitless; not owned by museums, not bound between walls and certainly not restricted for trained-eyes only. Because art isn’t all about beauty, it speaks for the need for sharing that human have but often forget, and this is a perfect reminder of it.

The next tape playing has her eyes doubling over the video, a small gasp escaping her lips as she takes in her own figure. It was taken the day she found the painting at the gym and unlike all the other videos she’s alone. No group of students by her side elbowing her in disbelief, or sharing a puzzle look with her. Just her doe eyes gleaming at the painting, lips slightly parted in pure wonder, as she studies every inch of the canvas. And the feeling that this might mean just as much to him as it does to her comes back crashing on her. She’s not paranoid; this artist his using her as some kind of inspiration, she’s sure of it. Random cannot be this accurate, it would defy any laws of statistics. 

After the slideshow finally moves on to the next video, y/n looks around in the hopes of finding the man that has wormed his way into her heart. She’s imagined it a thousand times over during the past week. A young man would be discretely standing on the side, watching the evening pan out and waiting for her to find his work. Then they would make eye contact and he’d make his way over to greet her and share more of his beautiful mind with her. That’s the happily ever after she’s hoped for since that first painting in the library, but alas everyone around her seems to be engrossed in conversation about this and that. 

"I thought he would be there too," the unexpected voice makes her jump. She recognizes the student from that first day, she’d also be intrigued by the mysterious man.

"I know, all of his work is here, he has to somewhere around," y/n tries to convince herself. She hasn’t given up yet, she won’t let herself unless she goes home tonight empty-handed. Only after that will she stop searching, she promises herself. If he doesn’t show up tonight, then that’s because he doesn’t want to be found.

The girl next to her has the same disappointed tone when she explains, "you’d think so, but I’ve been asking everyone around and nobody has a clue still."

Before y/n can come up with her own rationalizations, someone starts speaking in a microphone, asking for everyone’s attention. It’s a man in his early fifties making a speech about the whole reason behind the exhibition so y/n pegs him as the head of the art department. "Thank you all for coming tonight, it is always a pleasure to see so many of you supporting our young talents. As you may know, tonight’s exhibition signs off our students’ final work for the semester, and will also see one of them receive a one-time collaboration with a renown art gallery in the city. Now, before the judges finish deliberating, let me tell you a bit about the topic of this exhibition which, by the way, serves as the main criteria for this contest. Our artists were asked to work around audience engagement and crowd reaction. The task was to produce art that would prompt an active response from the viewer and go beyond a passive experience. I hope this info helps this event take all its sense, I’ll let you all meander for a couple more minutes before we announce the winner. Thank you for your presence." 

Since she has a couple more of minutes, y/n decides to take advantage of the fresh insight she was just given about the artwork and goes around the exhibition one more time. The whole thing does take on a new meaning, now that she knows what was going one in the students’ mind as they first got their assignment. But what has her in awe really, is El Patrón’s coup de maître in all of this, because unlike any other applicant here tonight, he’s had the strongest reactions from the public for months now and had even documented it. So really, in a way he’s already won, no bias to blame. The amount of work and planning behind such a tour de force surely has exceeded everyone’s expectations and secured the number-one position for the still-to-be-revealed artist. In the pocket, as they say.

"Alright everyone, without further ado we are going to announce the lucky talent selected by the judges tonight," the head of department speaks up again. "On behalf of the whole department, I would like to salute each and every one of the students that presented their work tonight. Skills are certainly not scarce among you all, and as always it gives me great pleasure to see you all grow into yourselves alongside your craft. As you know, there can only be one of you coming up to this stage tonight and I must say, this semester has proved to be full of surprises. Never in my 26 years working here have I ever seen something of the sort, so ladies, gentleman, I have no idea who is about to join me now, but please give a warm round of applause for El Patrón!" 

The room explodes in loud cheers as people clap their hands in honor of the mysterious artist. Y/n probably the loudest amongst them all, is still craning her neck in every possible directions trying to catch sight of anyone moving towards the stage. The standing ovation quickly fades into silence as everyone realizes nobody is coming to claim their prize. The usual hushing following any of El Patrón’s stunts is once again spreading across the room to match people’s incredulity at the situation. It was one thing to keep their identity a secret, as it was clearly a crucial condition for the plan to work, but now that it is all over and done, prize ready for the taking, it doesn’t make much sense.

"Mister El Patrón? I think you more than deserve to drop your mask and receive your prize," the host reiterates in hopes that the much awaited artist comes out of his lair, but he’s met with the same result. Perhaps he’s not here after all, or perhaps y/n was right to think he might not want to be found, but regardless a strong feeling of disappointment takes over a body. He won’t be coming, she knows. No matter how many times the host calls for him, he won’t be coming. 

She lets out a long sign in frustration then, she really thought tonight was the tonight. But now that the evening is coming to its end, tears pearl at the corner of her eyes and she just wants to go home and forget all about El Patrón. Aren’t artists supposed to be dark and twisted anyway? Maybe she just dodges a bullet, she tries to make herself feel better, but no amount of sarcasm can save her from the painful pinch at her heart. As she comes to term with the fact she won’t get any more answers by staying (and possible ever), she decides it’s her cue to go. 

On her way to the exit, her eyes fall upon Harry’s slightly hunched figure. He seems deep in his thoughts, eyes fixed towards the floor though he’s not looking at anything in particular. For some unknown reason, y/n is not irked by his presence like she usually is. He’s just lost a great career opportunity so his preoccupied disposition is understandable. Feeling as though she needs to end the night on a different note - whether positive is yet to be determined - she approaches him slowly as not to startle him. "Your painting is really good. I’m sorry you didn���t win, but you should still be proud," she softly tells him to cheer him up. At least, one of them might get to go home in higher spirits. 

He looks up at her then, curls bouncing on top of his head, as he aligns his two glistening emeralds to her own gems. He seems quite surprised to hear her voice, probably rightfully so since he can count on one hand (scratch that, one finger) the number of times she’s actively sought him out for conversation. She can tell he’s debating whether to say something or not, as they keep their eyes locked. It’s probably the longest and only civil exchange they’ve ever had, and somehow it manages to soothe some of her sorrows. 

Y/n likes this reflective side of him, she realizes. Not that she wishes him any torments (at least not tonight) but his quietness makes him look vulnerable in that beautifully human way for once. That’s twice he’s proven her wrong about the assumptions she had on him, tonight: first his talent, now his character; she doesn’t know what to make of it. Silently, she accepts the timid smile and light nod he offers her in gratitude, before making her way to out at last.

                                                       ***

Two days after the night of the exhibition, y/n still has a hard time to let her grievance go. Her mood has yet to upgrade from crappy at best, and the fact that all the artwork has been removed from their previous spots is not helping much. Of course she knew they had been put down for the big night, but her heart still missed a beat when she went to the gym only to find the walls of the lobby bare of any craft that would liven up their otherwise dull and colorless structure. Just like her state of mind, she’d joked. And y/n is not one to throw pity parties, especially to herself; but then again, she’d never fallen under the charms of a faceless virtuoso because his art brought to life parts of her that she’d believed otherwise dormant, only to be metaphorically stood up at the end of the process. So really, what does she know anymore?

Now that she’s back at work, she revels in the constant effort she has to provide. The ever-growing list of task to complete gives her mind reprieve and focus, but she still hasn’t budged from her unusually distant and withdrawn self. Even harry’s own standoffishness hasn’t caught her attention; a week ago, his awkward demeanor would have flashed red flags all over her radar. An unfiltered narcissistic prick he could be, but y/n has never known him to be anything even resembling reserve; apart maybe from that one fate-less night not even 72 hours ago when she found him on the outskirts of the attention even though she knew full well that he is more of center kind of guy.

As they’re about to start closing, the awkwardness becomes more palpable by the second. They’ve skirted around it during the whole shift, the steady solicitation of customers enough to ignore the growing tension; but as the last of the patrons finally make their way out of the bar, an eery silence settles in their wake, making them both want to crawl out of their skin. Even the heavy-served drinks they’ve indulged in, despite the absence of their respective motives, hasn’t help assuage the strain between them. Instead, they start their usual routine in overrated silence, y/n in charge of the floor while he tends to the bar. Then before long, Harry bursts the uncomfortable bubble they’ve locked themselves in, voice void of its usual teasing tone, "so, what’s got you so grumpy?" he inquires.

"Please don’t start, Harry. I really can’t be bothered tonight," y/n sighs in response, failing to recognize the note of concern in his question and thinking she wouldn’t survive another bickering session. It hasn’t been the lad’s intention though, so her false accusation has his thick skin itching against his will. To be honest, Harry’s never taken much offense from any of their past squabbles no matter how hard she’d come at him, but this one he can’t brush off. Not when for once, he’s trying to be decent, dropping the attitude he knows rubs her the wrong way and she responds by telling him to get lost.

"Fuck sake, I wasn’t tryin’ to start anythin’" he berates her for lashing out unjustifiably, "you need to take a chill pill." The hostile reaction as her pausing mid-swipe in the middle of the room. He was always so unbothered by everything she said, she hasn’t expected him to be so hard on the defensive (or even know what a defensive is in the first place). 

Still, she doesn’t appreciate the same chastising tactic he’s used on her countless times, especially because given his serious temper, she knows he means it for real now. "Oh I’m sorry Harry, I didn’t know what sympathy actually sounds like coming from your mouth," she quips back in sarcasm. 

The response makes him livid, "you tell me I’m a jerk every chance you got, but you sure know how to be a bitch, y/n" he spats before finishing wiping the counter. As his hand reaches the end of the surface, he finds his half-empty glass of tequila, most of the ice completely melted through the amber liquor by now. He takes one long sip in a vain attempt to calm his nerves but the alcohol merely tingles the back of his palate and warms its way down his stomach. His mind is still burden with frustrations he doesn’t know how to alleviate; the end of term, the exhibition, his career’s future, and y/n’s stubborn nature all wreaking havoc in his tired brain.

"Shut the fuck up, Harry. I didn’t ask for your attention," y/n retorts, trying not to expose how bruised her heart is. While he’d mocked her plenty during the past two years, he’d never resorted to calling her names, unlike her; so the insult does more damage than she’s willing to admit, even coming from Harry. And to think she’d thought of him as a half decent being not three days ago…

"Right, I forgot only anonymous bastards are worthy enough of your attention," he replies before checking the shelves behind the bar to make sure they’re stocked enough for the next shift. "And even when they turn out to be cowards, you still choose them over the people that are actually around you. You need to open your eyes and wake up, it’s pathetic."

Y/n has almost finished cleaning her area but at this point, she’s ready to call it quits and run as fast as she can, away from him. "Go fuck yourself, you don’t know anything you’re talking about," she manages to croak past her swelling throat and quivering lips. The man in front of her is breaking her heart even though he’s never had it in his calloused hands, and y/n doesn’t know why. 

"Fuck this, ’m done," he quite literally throws in the towel, leaving it in a bowl on the counter before making his way back to his drink. In a swift movement, he grabs the bottle of tequila to pour himself a new one. "You keep blindly mopin’ about your precious painter, I don’t care, you’re probably right anyway," he says before chugging the bitter spirit in one go and slamming the bottle of tequila down on the counter in a loud bang that has y/n jump in fear. "I don’t anything about bloody anything," is all Harry says as he locks eyes with hers, before making his out of the bar, not bothering to put the bottle back to its rightful place.

Y/n is still trembling from the exchange, and it takes her a hot minute before she can finish what she was doing. As she resumes wiping the floor with shaky hands, she tries to even her breath out. Why had he been so hurtful? What could have possibly impelled him to utter such malicious words? The questions are still reeling in her mind as she twists water out of the mop  for the last time. Once the floor is spotless and all the tables are no longer sticky with spilled alcohol, chairs stacked up onto them upside-down, she makes her way back behind the bar, checking that Harry didn’t leave any of his duties unattended before his theatrical exit. She spots the bottle of tequila sitting lonely on the counter but just as she goes to reach for it, she freezes. 

It’s a cold shower pouring over her body all at once then, dots finally connected as her eyes read over the label of the fat bottle she’s seen him take out of the stack countless times before. Everything that happened for the last few months falls into place and suddenly there is no mystery left to be solved. ‘You’re probably right, I don’t know anything about bloody anything’ Harry’s final words keep playing on a maddening loop in her head. 

Y/n takes in the small bee design printed under what is unmistakably the last piece of the puzzle she’s been craving to complete: one word that has her stomach churning in a myriad of emotions she can’t possibly untangle. Anger, relief, surprise, fear, curiosity, warmth and more, are all rushing through her in one colossal wave, because printed on that bottle in black capital letters is the brand of Harry’s favorite drink: Patrón.

                                                       ***

The next day, y/n navigates through her classes purely on autopilot mode. She doesn’t quite remember picking the floral blouse nor the light-shade pair of jeans she’s wearing, and barely recalls the brief conversation she had with an old lady during her bus commute to campus. One thing she sure as hell hasn’t paid one iota of attention to, is the behavioral psychology class she’s just got out of. Two hours she spent pacing up and down every twist and turn of her mind only to come out more lost than she’d started. Add to that the fact she’s running on 4 hours of sleep, she’s quite simply a recipe for disaster. Fortunately for y/n, she isn’t due at work tonight, having called sick this morning, because sleep-deprivation aside, she still has no idea how she’s supposed to face Harry.

The revelation of the night prior is still something she has trouble wrapping her mind around, as it goes against every constructed opinion she’s made about her life. Harry is Patrón, she’s pretty sure. Harry, the allegedly conceited asshole she’s been bickering with since their first minute spent together, is the mind-blowing painter that had taken residence in y/n’s heart since the first time she set eyes on his art. The two characters have yet to fully merge into one in her mind, despite the fact it makes perfect sense to her. 

The Brighton painting, the one inspiring her necklace, it was all true. And with that revelation comes two intimidating truths y/n is kind of scared to delve into: one, all this time she’s been right to think she is the muse behind this all scheme; two, if Harry is the mystery painter, that makes her Harry’s muse more specifically. And that’s the part of the equation she struggles the most with, because up until last night she was pretty positive that the twat despised her (the night in itself being prime evidence of that) but now she doesn’t know what to think.

It’s like there are two versions of Harry battling in her brain, splitting her heart in halves; the one that made her miserable at work for years and made her cry last night, and the one she’d gotten a glimpse of at the night of the exhibition. The one that hid a fully blossomed bouquet of emotions behind teasing banter to protect a diamond-rough talent that had the power to touch just about anyone’s sensibility. The one that had her wrapped around his finger in awe with that beautiful mind of his. The question is, can she or will she see this Harry the next time she’s facing him or will all their bad-blood history come crashing down on her instead? Y/n doesn’t think she’s ever fit more the definition of having mixed feelings about something.

On her way home, she makes sure she doesn’t fall asleep against the bus window, despite yawning every thirty-seconds. It feels like the trip is taking forever, she almost lets out a cry of relief when the automated voice finally announces her upcoming stop. Once she’s thanked the driver and stepped out of the bus, she’s met with a gust of brisk air, instantly blowing her hair all over her face. She draws the lapels of her coat tighter around her shivering body and starts making her way towards her apartment building. 

It doesn’t take her long to complete the walking distance to her place and tread her way up the stairs, but the sight greeting her in the hallway of her floor almost sends her down on her ass. Because right across from her door, is Harry hanging yet another one of his chefs-d’oeuvre. He’s dressed casually in his usual jeans and t-shirt ensemble, with a thick grey hoodie covering his broad upper-half in a feeble attempt to combat to cold weather raging outside. As he reaches in the back pocket of his jeans to retrieve a sharpie - no doubt to apply his trademark signature - the movements of her feet on the laminated floor catch his attention. Spinning around in a jolt of surprise, he realizes too late that he’s been caught red-handed. There was no going back this time, but he doesn’t necessarily see it as a bad thing.

There is a short moment where they are both just standing in front of each other a few feet apart, as their eyes bounce back in silent conversation, before y/n softly breaths out, "so it is you." The weight of her words has him swallow in nervousness, "of course it’s me," he replies in a gentle tone. A smile pulls at his lips when he realizes she’s not running for the hills or bursting out in a furious rant. 

"I just…how? why? I mean, you gotta help me understand Harry, cause I’m pretty fucking lost over here," she blurts out with wide doe-eyes begging him for answers. Her obvious jitters earn her a soft chuckle., and for a hot minute all he can bring himself to do is study her snuggled figure and the way she keeps fiddling with her keys. It’s so endearing to him, if they were at his place, he would have offered to make some tea. The thought has him hesitantly looking at the door across from them, "can we maybe talk inside?" he inquires, beckoning his head towards her place. "I know I haven’t given you much reasons to let me in, but I promise I’ll explain everythin’," he feels the need to convince her, " after that, you can kick me out if you still want."

The last bit has her smile timidly, "yeah, let’s go inside. I wanna hear what you have to say," y/n admits as she steps to the door and unlocks it. She’s intrigued by how gentle and well-mannered the man following her to the living room seems to be, light years away from the rowdy lad she’s come to know. 

For a second, y/n is worries about the state she’s left the apartment before she rushed to classes this morning, but her apprehensions quickly go away once she takes in the sight of her rather tidied living space. A velvety throw blanket is covering the couch in a makeshift comforter from the way she spent the night on the couch, and apart from a few class notes scattered across the coffee table, everything seems to be where it’s supposed to be. 

They both discard their top layers on the armchair adjacent to the couch, Harry slipping his hoodie off above his head in one swift gesture, while y/n simply lets the sleeves of her coat slide down her arms. He brushes his hair back into submission with one swoop of his hand, before sitting down on the couch and directing his attention back at her. She decides to leave some distance between them, taking the other end of the sofa and the move desperately makes him wonder what thoughts are running through her head. The only way to uncover them  however, is if he starts talking first; and so he does.

"So uhm," he starts clumsily, clearing his throat, "remember the first day we met, you walked in on me telling some stoner guy off," he watches closely as y/n nods. "It was our first ever conversation and we fought through the whole thing. I was pretty pissed when it happened, not gonna lie, but once I got home and slept it off, I thought it was really cool how you’d stand up for that random guy." The admission has her eyebrows raising but he keeps going, "and okay maybe, just maybe, I found it a lil hot, the way you tried to put me back in my place." 

He stops to make sure he hasn’t offended her, "tried to?" she challenges instead, Harry laughing at her objection. 

"Right, maybe you did. My poin’ is, no-one really calls me out on my bullshit, so it was kinda refreshing that you did. But then the next day, you were still mad at me, an’ we bickered that time too. It felt like you’d already made up your mind about me. So in a way, all I had left was doin’ this thing where I push your buttons and rile you up. Know it doesn’t make sense, but it was the only way you’d interact with me so I kept doin’ it, because being jerk-Harry was better than having nothin’." 

He pauses for a minute and waits as y/n swallows all the information. All this time he’s been teasing her just to have some sort of connection, no matter how perverse, while she thought he just hated her guts. When she shares this thought with him, he shakes his head with a smile, "never hated you. If I ‘ad, I wouldn’t have bothered talking t’you."

Suddenly, her chest feels lighter, as though all this months of anguish had evaporated from her mind, now that she knew their rocky relationship was the result of miscommunication, "sound logic, Styles," she replies in good humor. Then she remembers the El Patrón’s fiasco so she urges him to go on.

"My final. Right. Well as you know, we were given the assignment at the beginning of the semester, and I came up with the idea of creating this alter ego that would plant his work around campus. I thought by taking people’s by surprise I was guaranteed strong genuine reactions. People are always more opened when they don’t expect it. Like if I had just brought my paintings on the night of the exhibition, the same people wouldn’t have reacted that way, probably because they’d know they’d be observed so they would have adjusted their behavior accordingly." They both know he’s getting slightly off trail, but watching y/n so enthralled with his words makes it hard for him to stop. Fact is, for month she’s dreamed of meeting and picking at the brain of this mysterious painter, and now that he’s sitting on her couch, walking her through his thought process, she finally feels like she is. 

"Anyway," he resumes the storytelling, "I started with that painting in the library and it worked so perfectly, I knew if I followed the plan I would have somethin’ really good. But then you just had to go on an’ rave about the paintings without knowing they were mine, and it was killin’ me inside. Because I knew if there was a real chance I could change your mind about me, I’d do anythin’. But no matter how much I wanted to, I couldn’t tell you. Couldn’t jeopardize my final… so I tried to tell you through the art. I started painting stuff that made me think of you and placed the pieces in locations I knew you’d pass through. It was the only way I could tell you."

Harry’s confession had Y/n’s heart beating so hard in her chest, she can almost feel it thumping through her ears. Her next question is on the edge of her lips, but she takes her time tracing each of Harry’s graceful features until his eyes catch hers, "tell me what, Harry?" she asks barely above a whisper. 

His response comes in three bashful steps: first his lips curve into a shy grin that has him look down with rosy cheeks; then his hand inches its way along the soft fabric of the couch to gently hold her fingers, thumb grazing over her knuckles; and as he looks up from their joined hands to connect their gaze once more, he finally spells it, loud and clear, "tell you that I like you, y/n." 

The sentiment sends her own emotions reeling in a tornado of passion. This is it, this is what she’s been half-knowingly wishing for, and now that she knows the truth in full, she’s ready to embrace it. Her eyes twinkle in bliss, a growing smile illuminating her face as she squeezes his hand in a silent invitation to slide closer to her. Harry is much happy to oblige, and once he’s sitting directly next to her, knees grazing her own, he cups her face with one of his bear-paw hands. A few strands of hair are caught in the cuddling gesture, but none of them care. Harry just keeps smiling at her, waiting for her next move, and his beam grows two sizes wide when she mirrors his affection. "I like this side of you," she whispers fondly, as her thumb draws slow circles across the skin of his cheeks.

Harry closes his eyes at her words, "this is the real me, I promise," he reassures in an almost pleading tone, vulnerability seeping through. And y/n feels like she’s lying down on cloud nine really, because dropping his fortress of pretentiousness is all she’s ever want from him. With a hushed ‘okay’, she finally brings her mouth to taste the rose-tinted flesh of his. It starts off chaste and slow, lips dovetailed in perfect symbioses like they are made to cohabit, but quickly the kiss heats up to a full on make out session. "Show me, then", y/n mutters out when they part for a breather.

Harry slowly nods his head, before helping her straddle his lap and y/n immediately brings both her hands to his neck once she settles her hips against his. The friction already had them deeply inhale, trying not to work themselves up too fast, but Harry doesn’t think he’ll have much self-control when it comes to y/n. Already he can feel his cock fattening up inside his brief, the tingling sensation making him roll his hips up into hers. Their lips are back in a sensual duel, tongues tentatively taking their turn to lick their way inside the other’s mouth. Every now and then, he teases her bottom lip with a graze of his teeth, and the move as her tugging the root of his hair at the back of his head every single time without a fail.

He loves discovering all the quirks and tells of her body, thinks he could spend hours on hand learning every single one of her curves and memorizing each of her special spots. The smell of her fragrance infiltrates his nostrils as he dips his head to her neck to plant open-month kisses along her skin. Head angled towards the ceiling to make room for his ministrations, y/n can’t do much but let her hands scout any expanse of skin accessible to her. She starts at his shoulder, squeezing the flesh to feel out the strong muscle laying underneath, before making her way down his tone arms, then to his hands currently holding onto to her waist. She gives them an affectionate pinch at the same time she presses down onto him with a deep moan, and Harry retaliates with a buck of his own. 

As he starts kissing down the exposed skin of her cleavage, y/n finally drops her head to place a tender kiss to his hairline. One of her hand is back at his neck, holding him firmly to her chest as he licks at the valley of her breasts down her sternum. The other worms its way underneath his shirt from the neckline, nails grazing down his back in soft enough pressure not to leave any marks.

Harry’s descent is obstructed by the soft material of her blouse, so he takes the garment off of her in one swoop, and places his hands back on her newly exposed body, rubbing up and own the skin. As his mouth goes back to the supple flesh of her breasts, y/n increases the pace of her hips grinding on his cock. The sensations seem to be not enough and too much at the same time for her; the heavy material still covering their most sensitive parts in the way of her pleasure, while Harry’s work has her going into overdrive under his velveteen mouth and calloused fingers. She starts kissing her way up from his shoulder to the edge of his jaw, and Harry revels in the sound of her moans tickling his ear. 

Done with the excess of fabric between them two, y/n grips at the top of his shirt and pulls it upwards, leaving him shirtless. "Fuck, I didn’t know you have so many tattoos," she babbles against his lips, while her hands smooth over the ink. 

"Plenty you don’t know about me, love," Harry chirps as he bask in the praise and the feeling of her skin of his. 

He then circles one arm around her waist to bring them chest to chest, and the contact has y/n once again intensify the friction between their crotches. "Wanna find out," she murmurs against his neck while she grinds on his clothed member, "Harry, please take me to bed."

He jolts at the quick bite she delivers to his neck, the impish gesture her way of saying ‘now’ but before she can make her way out of his lap to bring him to her room, he presses her back down with both hands on her waist. "Nuh uh, y’not goin’ anywhere. Want you to come once, b’fore I take you to bed, pet," he says, smoothing his hands over her ass to guide her rocking motions. The term of endearment sounds so innocent yet dirty all at once, it sends a chill down her spine. Nobody had called her that before.

"Can’t," she shakes her head, "can’t feel you through the jeans."  

"Alright then, stand up," he calmly asserts and she doesn’t hesitate to comply, standing in between his spread legs, in her flimsy bra and jeans. "Take ‘em off then, ’s what you want no?" he sends her a tantalizing look and bites at his lips as he watches her peel the pants off her legs. He can’t help the light squeeze he gives himself through his own jeans, as y/n stands in front of him awaiting his next instructions. "Come sit on my thigh now, think should be enough to make this pretty pussy tingle in all the right places, no?" 

Y/n’s insides are already twisting in a knot as she settles back on his lap and lets the rough material of his jeans against the softness of her cotton panties spread a prickling sensation through her pelvis area. Quickly, she resumes undulating her hips, gripping back at Harry’s neck to pull him in a languid kiss, pleasure vibrating against their lips. It is not long before her pace picks up, and her eyes shut at the intensity of her bliss. "That’s it, pet. Already makin’ a mess of me. You’re doin’ so well," he coaxes her with his words. 

As promised, y/n feels the lips of her sensitivity start to throb at her impending release, the sensation making her clamp her thighs tighter around his meaty limb. As her knee now presses against his bulge, Harry cries his sudden pleasure out in her mouth, and that’s all it takes for her to let her orgasm consume her. She unravels on top of him, one of her hands shooting to cup at her pussy in an attempt to quell the overwhelming throb. Harry draws soothing caresses down her back as he look at the sticky mess she’s left in her panties, damp patch matching the one tainting the material of his jeans. "All ruined, just as they should be," he smirks at the sight before giving her a sweet kiss. 

Flushed skin and blown pupils, she slowly regains her breath, "take off your pants and take me to bed now?" she requests.

"You’re quite demanding for someone who’s just gotten off," he keeps taunting her. After all, winding her up has always been one of his favorite thing to do, and dare he say in the past two years, he’s gotten quite good at pushing her buttons. Now he’s got new ones to figure out and play with, the thoughts has him pulsing in his jeans. 

Y/n doesn’t relent in her advances, she’s never been one to bow at his mockery, "thought you like how bossy I could be. Something about the way I put you in your place, if my memory serves right." 

"Anytime, anywhere, you’re the boss of me, love. But this," he cups at her cunt, adding pressure on her clit, "this is mine to have. Understood?" 

Y/n’s about to combust from all the desire firing up every one of her nerve-endings. His words might be the strongest aphrodisiac she’s ever experienced, she can’t wait to see what more tricks in has up his sleeves. "Now get up and show me the way to your room, pet," he softly commands before leaving a peck on her cheek. 

They both get up from the couch, and y/n guides them both down the hallway to her room, her hand wrapped in his tightly. Once they’re standing by the bed, Harry is surprised to face a patient y/n, biting her lips and awaiting his next directive. He doesn’t think he’s ever been more turned on in his life, "undress me, love" he murmurs against her skin after kissing her forehead. 

His jeans are quickly discarded but before his boxer briefs follow suit, y/n can’t help but tease him in reprisal, "looks like I’m not the only one who made a mess in their panties." 

He lets out a boisterous laugh while she smears open mouth kisses along his stretching jaw, "mmm, I’d rather make a mess somewhere else," his innuendo causing her to gasp while he works the strap of her bra.  Once she’s gotten rid of his last piece of clothing, his cock springs up, free of it’s confines, dollop of pre-come already pearling at his tip, and sticking to the skin of his stomach. 

With a gentle grip at her hair, he has y/n’s head tilted backward, to let his mouth make its way towards her already pebbled nipples. Since she can’t look down, y/n blindly reaches out to wrap her hand around Harry’s thick shaft and starts massaging him in languid strokes. "Your hand feels so fuckin’ good around me, pet, I wanna fuck you so badly," he hisses around her nipple, before kissing his way back up to her lips. 

He starts backing her towards the bed in small steps, but she brings a hand to his chest at the feeling of the edge of the mattress brushing against the back of her knee, "wait, wait, wanna taste you first," she insists and Harry doesn’t think he could ever say no to that face, no matter how much he wants to just sink home inside of her in this moment. 

"Fuck, you’re killin’ me, love," he pinches at her waist and lays his forehead against hers, "you want my cock in your pretty mouth, before I drive it home in your cunt, is that it?" She nods, eyes turning into two lustful fireballs. "Okay, love, but y’ can’t keep it on your tongue fo’ too long, cause I really need to fuck you, alright?"

Y/n hastens to lower herself when he bids her "right then, on your knees and open wide fo’ me," and her brows furrow in confusion as she watches him stray from her spot. Picking up a plush cushion from her bed, he places it on the ground for her to knee upon, "there love, want you to be comfortable," he runs his fingers through her hair, and her heart grows three sizes bigger at how tender he can be in amidst his filthy ways. 

Sensually, y/n brings her lips around the crown of his cock, her tongue teasing its way across the salty skin. Once she’s licked up all the previous mess, she starts working her way down his cock, hand stroking at the base. After bopping up and down a few time, she removes her month from his swelling cock, and lets a string of spit fall down onto its head and make its way to his balls. "S’right, pet. Get me wet," Harry rasps in appreciation. Now that she’s got him properly slicked, she goes back to pumping his hardening cock and takes him into her warm inviting mouth, determined to have him all the way inside. She feels her throat expands to accommodate his thickness, and the pressure makes Harry tighten his hold in her hair, "fuck, that’s it, love. Take me good." 

Muscles already tensing up in preparation for his climax, when y/n’s hand finds his full and swollen balls to roll them together like dice, he is quick to calm her zeal, "Christ pet, you gotta stop before I can’t help myself," but his tone hardens when she defies his demand, "come on now, s’enough." 

Once she pulls off, the sight of her flushed face and puffy lips induces an animalistic groan to come out from his chest, as he thumbs through the wetness coating her chin. Taking the hand resting on his hip to guide her up, he captures her lips in a searing kiss, the taste of his arousal blending in their mouths. 

His hands come down to knead at the flash of her ass, before he scoops her up and on the bed with a quick flex of his biceps. "Harry, please," she whines in impatience, hands gripping at his sides to pull him down against her. His rock hard cock slides against her clothed pussy, pins and needles cruising along their skin and only fueling their eagerness. 

"Need me in your belly, pet?" Harry keeps working her up, as he slides her soiled panties down her legs, "need me to fuck you so good, you forget I was ever a jerk?" 

She’s putty in his hold, legs wrapping around his waist to feel the pressure of his member on her bare lips , "yes, yes, I wan’ it," she pleads.

Harry would love to tease her further, have her writhing and proper begging underneath him, but at this point it would be self-torture to even consider. Instead he pumps at his shaft to give himself some relief, their sex so close his knuckles graze at her clit every time his fist comes at the top. "You ready?" Harry utters softly while spreading and skimming her cleft with the head of his cock. It has y/n gripping at his hair, a series of delirious ‘yes’ tumbling form her mouth, so he doesn’t wait a second more to push his tip past her threshold and begins his descent in her warmth. "Fuck, t’feels so good. So wet, and tight, and warm," he thinks out loud once he’s stuffer her full, balls pressing against her ass.

Y/n whimpers against his lips, urging him to start moving to quell the building pressure coiling in her belly. A slow roll of his hips finally gives her reprieve causing her to moan in gratitude. She’s already so close, it baffles her how this man could have her coming apart at the seams without doing much. His thrusts starts gaining zeal then, betraying his own yearning to take the final leap. "So tight, love. Can feel you squeezin’ me, are you close already? Is my girl gonna cum fo’ me again?" he grunts in her ear while he pounds into her dripping cunt. Y/n doesn’t offer a response, too caught up in a daze of bliss, but her clenching muscles is all the answer he needs to start nudging his thumb at her clit. A several flicks across the sensitive bud later, her orgasm is pulsing through every bone and fiber of her body, walls hugging Harry’s cock so tight, it has to pause his hammering. 

Waiting for her to catch her breath, he peppers delicate kisses along her cheek, "was that good, love? Think you can give me another, uhm?" he asks when she’s regained some of her senses. The pressure at his groin is growing more and more the longer his cock remains unmoving entombed within her vice, and the luscious agony must be written all over his face, "yes, Harry, wanna be good for you" y/n cups his jaw tenderly. 

He nods at her approval, "good girl," delivers a sweet earnest kiss to her pouty lips as he pulls out and spins her around to lay on her stomach. His hand brushes the hair off her skin so he can sew a string of kisses at her shoulder blades and neck. Painfully red, his cock is propped between her buttcheeks, "can I take you like that?" he punctuates his inquiry by rolling his hips backward, tip lingering at her soaked entrance. Y/n clutches the sheets firmly, as she murmurs a faint ‘please’, back arching at the thrills consuming her mind. 

Harry plunges in her wet core in one smooth swing, hand digging at her hip to keep her steady as the other one interlaces with hers to lay on the mattress above her head. Unforgiving lunges have y/n cinch around him, face buried in the sheets and muffling salacious wails of pleasure, and he doesn’t think he’ll be able to steer from his end for much longer. He slows his cadence to steady and firm strokes, slipping a hand around her waist to polish her swell. 

A million tremors spark off the onset of Y/n’s climax as she shudders in a firework of ecstasy. Harry  doesn’t relent until he’s worked her through completion and can no longer stop the coil in his loins from snapping. His release fills her in several spurts of wet warmth before he flops down next to her, positively fucked out.

They both lay unmoving in comfortable bliss for a few minutes, before y/n plops her head on his chest and an arm around his torso, her leg sneaking in between his. "Well, here goes two years of sexual tension," Harry says jokingly, fingers drawing abstracts design on the skin of her back. It might just be his favorite canvas to paint on from now, he muses before chastising himself at the onslaught of filthy thoughts tagging along. A playful slap on his abdomen takes his mind out of the gutter, "don’t ruin the moment," y/n says in fake admonition before placing a tender kiss on the spot she just abused. 

"M’sorry, love. M’just really chuffed to be in your bed finally," the last word reminding her that while she’s struggled to come to term with her feelings for him, ransacking her mind for a possible change of heart, he’d only seen her in but one light. The revelation still has her floored and giddy, "can I ask you something?" she asks as there was still one question pacing back and forth the pathways of her mind. Harry hums in acquiescence, "anythin’ love, by brain is yours."  

She feels his hand cradling her skull followed by a small peck to her forehead, and she smiles at the gesture, "why did you stay away that night at the exhibition when you got the prize? Why not coming forward?" It’s been bugging her brain since it happened. Although she didn’t have much insight on anything at the time, most of the pieces of the puzzle fell in place after the big reveal; but this, she still can’t make sense of.

Harry lets out a long breath, organizing his thoughts, "two reasons," he starts off tiredly. "One, I kinda like having this secret business going on, and like, as long as nobody knows, I am in control of how and when it happens, you know? And the moment I let go of that, I can’t go back." He searches her face for any hint of confusion but she’s just patiently listening. "Two, when we bumped into each other at the gala, I got convinced you’d never see me differently regardless of how good a painter I was; and that had become a big part of who El Patrón was." 

It’s the first time she hears his alter ego’s name from his mouth and with how flowingly natural it sounded coming out of his lips, y/n suspects that it’d been a conscious decision on his part. She recalls their interaction that night, the way they fell in their usual ways of ping-ponging vindictive words until one of them has enough and leaves the premises (usually y/n). A lump starts forming in her throat at the recollection of all the other fights they’ve had and how they’d all been pointless wastes of time and energy, now that she knows she is meant to be in his arms. She wishes things could have been different but the warmth of his body around her overweighs her regrets. They’re here now, looking bright toward the future, and it’s all that matters.

"I’ll keep your secret if you want, be the Lilly to your Hannah Montana," she tells him lightly before they both laugh at the silly reference. 

Happiness and glee has Harry tightening his hold around her shoulder, "nah, I don’t wanna play double-agents anymore. I wanna be the guy who gets the girl." He dips his head to catch her lips between his own, reveling in their newfound intimacy. Turning her face against his chest, Y/n impresses her bashful smile on his swallow-tattooed skin, before she lays a trail of pecks tickling the area underneath his armpits, "well, you got me now."

➪ Masterlist

[javierpinme]

Part One: New Beginnings

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader

Word count: 3.4k

Warnings: Infidelity, angst, friends to lovers, mentions of alcohol

Rating: M (might change)

Summary:  You’ve lived in a small town for half of your life and nothings really changed until it did. Moving halfway across the country you find lasting friendships and a love you needed at the exactly the right time.

A/N: There is not a ton of Frankie in this one since I wanted to set the tone for the reader before they meet! They don’t see/meet each other until near the end (or do they?) I wanted to build the reader’s relationships with the people in her life as there will more parts.

AO3

Masterlist

Want to be on my taglist?

It’s hard to build friendships as an adult without being under the pretense of school or college. It’s especially difficult when you decide to move across the country. Away from your family and friends, but it’s what you needed. Seeing the same four walls you lived in, that same greasy diner that was always your go-to after one too many tequila shots the night before, and that one ex from high school that you’d really rather forget while running errands were making you feel complacent. Wake up. Drink. Eat. Work. Sleep. Repeat. You’ve spent most of your life here. You weren’t about to spend the rest of it here. So, you did something completely unlike you. You packed up your life and moved. The house was beautiful. You’d never owned anything in your life; just rented so this is a major upgrade for you. The first sight that greets you is the stairs after living in a first floor unit for most of your life. The house isn’t in perfect shape, but it’s yours which is all that matters.

The movers have left so you finally had the place to yourself. You couldn’t help the defeated sigh that fell from your mouth at the sight of all the boxes. If your sister and friends were here you’d probably be knee deep in pizza and wine while attempting to build furniture. You gave your brain the space to let that thought sink in, but you craved the freedom so you didn’t let that sit too long. You came here to build your own memories; no room for regrets now. So, the first thing you decide to acclimate yourself with is the closest liquor store and that is how you met Hannah.

The first thing you hear after getting lost reading a wine label is a loud oof before slamming into somebody. You only barely managed to catch the bottle before it became one with the outdated tile.

“I am SO sorry! I’m not even going to lie to you I was not watching where I was going. Are you okay? You didn’t drop anything did you?”

You manage to form a sentence between your scrambled apologies in between. The first thing you notice when you look at the face standing in front of you is how pretty she is. That typical blonde hair and blue eyes type that reminds you of the girls you went to high school with. You wince. Stop it.

“Oh, I’m okay! It was more the residual shock of it really. You must really need that bottle because you were just about ready to run me over in your pursuit to the cash register. Cheating ex or bad date?”

She says with a laugh while pointing at the wine still in your hand. Oh, she’s nice. You immediately feel guilty for that initial judgment when first looking at her.

“Oh, neither. I just moved here and need sustenance to unpack. Who knew you could fit your entire life into boxes?” You mirror her laugh.

“I figured I’d kill two birds with one stone. Walk around the neighborhood and find the necessities which is how I ended up here.” You say with a twirl in your finger.

"Ah, the one down the street that's just begging to be demolished?" She says while snapping her fingers with a mischievous smile.

"Hey, don't talk about her like that. She's old, but she's got character." You can't help the lopsided grin you give her. She hasn't even seen the dream kitchen with those beautiful green cabinets.

“Hey, well if you need help with that-“ her eyes shifting to the bottle, “I live right down the street so I can come over. I know moving somewhere unfamiliar can be a little daunting especially if you’re alone.” You can’t help the wide smile forming at her sweet gesture.

“And to help me unpack right?” You raise an eyebrow.

“I mean I’m better at draining a bottle, but if it’s necessary I will work for food and drinks. But, if I’m going to help you we are going to need way more than that.”

She finishes her sentence grabbing more bottles while traveling through the aisles. The sound of you’ve got to try this one and this one’s local in between aisle changes filling the store. You assure her that she is not off the hook with helping even with the promise of the “best merlot you’ve ever had in your life.”

Bags filling both of your hands and way too much alcohol for just two people to consume you make your way up the steps. Hannah pauses and looks up at the house.

“I was right. It should have been demolished. Will the porch cave in before I make it inside?” She says with skepticism at the foundation of your new home.

“Probably eventually but-“ you turn around to face her, “she’ll last for now. Come on, I haven’t even showed you the best part!”

You open your door and make your way inside leaving the door open for her to follow. You faintly hear from the kitchen “I seriously doubt that”, and you can’t help your chuckle at the remark.

You’ve always wanted a fixer upper; probably from all the HGTV shows you immersed yourself in as a child and the fact you’ve only ever lived in apartments. The first and only thing you managed to unpack first was your wine glasses. You definitely made a point to label them in big writing while packing up back home. A decision you are patting yourself on the back for now.

“So, do you like pizza? I know a good place. Pizza and wine should always be paired with move-in days. Oh, you’re right. This is probably the only good part of your house.”

Hannah leaned on the counter next you before shifting to test the weight taking in the scene of your kitchen.

“Love pizza. It’s not there yet, but I definitely have some plans with it; starting with keeping the color of those cabinets.”

In between sips of your glasses of wine you start to collaborate over your ideas of making it functional and aesthetically pleasing.

It didn’t take very long to start building friendships with the people in your area. You even started joining Sunday brunches and you were overly ecstatic finding out that bottomless mimosas existed. They didn’t have these at the diners back home. They even started assisting you with choosing paint swatches and going to Home Depot because you just had try that DIY project of making your own lounge chair that you found scrolling on Youtube.

“I think your measurements are a little off.”

Alex, probably one of your favorites of the group, mirrors the tilt of your head with his arms crossed. He co-owns a woodworking business with his husband so you wanted him there for any adjustments and moral support. Unfortunately for you, he wanted you to learn first which really meant fail.

You grimace at your handiwork and say, “yeah, I think maybe I should stick with what I’m good at.”

With a breathy laugh he adds, “give yourself some credit. You managed to tear up the carpet in the living room AND still able to keep the original hardwood. That’s no easy feat.”

You’ve somehow managed to create a whole support system in the little time that you’ve spent here. You’ve finally had the time and resources to create your own little touches that make your house now a home.

“Hannah, can’t we just stay in tonight? I’ve already been defeated twice by the light fixture in the living and my fingers are still tingling from the faulty power box. I’m really not in the mood.”

You give her the biggest puppy eyes you can manage while exaggeratingly lifting you fingers.

“Oh no, you’re going out to the bar tonight. You’ve been here for months and you really need to get yourself out there. You’re hot. Own it. Besides, it’s just you and me so there’s no pressure.”

She says with a swat to your ass and a push towards your closet. The only response you can add to that is Hmph.

The bar is nice enough with the dim lighting and it’s not so loud that you can’t hear yourself talk. Hannah insisted you wear one of your nicer dresses, but you wanted to feel like yourself so you opted for a t-shirt tucked into light wash jeans. If you were going to meet anyone tonight you wanted to set the standard for anything that could happen at the start. You’re still nursing your second beer while Hannah is on her third shot of the night. You feel a presence to your right and a sharp pinch to your thigh on your left. Hannah is of course attempting to alert you to the attractive man on the other side of you as if you didn’t notice. You turn around with a pained look on your face to her which she just shrugs off before making herself scarce.

“Can I buy you a drink?”

Your attention is brought back to the man to your right. He is very cute in a boyish kind of way and you briefly wonder if he’s talking to someone else. He’s dressed like he just got out of a business meeting, but his rolled sleeves are definitely doing something for you.

“Sure. What’s your name?” You say with the flirtiest smile you can muster.

“Joey. Nice to meet you.”

God, his smile must do wonders for his conquests. It’s working for you quite honestly. You completely lose track of time talking to him and see out of the corner of your eye Hannah leaving the bar holding onto a man with salt and pepper hair and scruff. Looks like she got lucky too. She gives you a wink as she walks out the door and you look to see where he was sitting in case you need to remember faces. Seems like he was out with some of his friends, but you didn’t get a thorough look because your attention is immediately brought back to Joey. You set a reminder for yourself to check in with her before you go to bed tonight.

It’s been a constant date after date and you were really beginning to develop feelings for him. Sure, you always tried to convince him you didn’t need to be wooed with all these extravagant dates. You were just happy to spend time with him. You didn’t need to go to a fancy restaurant to tell you that. It just wasn’t your style, but it made him happy so you went along with it. You had initially assumed him to be a one night stand, but you were pleasantly surprised to hear from him the next day asking to take you out dinner.

Your muscles in your stomach are straining from how hard you’re laughing at America’s Funniest Home Videos on the TV. Joey is sitting next to you on the couch with takeout cartons loitered all over your coffee table. The living room is starting to lose its natural lighting due to the day coming to a close; the only light source in the room being the lamp sitting on the end table next to the couch and the glow from the TV. You notice Joey looking at you with a far off look.

“What’s wrong?” You ask with a furrow in your brow. “Nothing.” His face shifting to a more pleasant tone once he turns back to the TV. The two of you had settled into a routine at your house. You had even introduced him to your friends and they really seemed to enjoy spending time with him. It was easy for them to fall for his charms as you did.

“Come on, hurry up. You’re supposed to be helping me pick out an outfit for tonight!”

Hannah still continued to see the man from the bar, Santi, his friends called him.

“If I’m supposed to be helping you pick an outfit then why are we in the lingerie section?” You ask with a sly grin on your face.

“That’s for after, of course. Gotta keep it interesting.”

Her laugh followed by her adding some bras and panties to her hands. You agreed to come with her tonight to officially meet him and his friends. You’ve heard enough about him from her. Some very intimate details as well. They weren’t exactly exclusive to each other and as far as you knew they were dating other people which you respected. You were nervous about meeting them, but you knew it was only a matter of time until Hannah would want to do this. You trusted her judgment and you were already comfortable that it was going to be in the bar you usually ventured out to.

In her words, “your only forms of entertainment can’t just be your home projects, Joey and me, you know? You deserve to have fun too and these guys will show you a good time I promise” while ringing up her purchases.

You barely manage to make it through the door of the bar before you feel a breeze next to you from her speeding to Santi with a kiss. You lovingly shake your head at her dramatic antics and make your way over to the table. It’s a little awkward at first since Hannah still had yet to let go of the man sitting next to her and you didn’t know how to start a conversation with these men with what was going on next to you.

“Sorry. I’m Santi, but everyone calls me Pope.”

He reaches over to shake your hand with a tone that is definitely not apologetic at all, but you find it amusing. You like him already. You can definitely see why Hannah was interested, but not your type.

He starts introducing his friends off to you. Will. He seems like the more mellow type of the group and his call sign is Ironhead. Benny is just Benny since he’s the baby of the group.

“He’s the menace of all of us so watch out for this one.” Will ruffles his brother’s hair for added measure which Benny recoils from.

Then, Frankie, they call him Catfish. Oh he’s handsome, but not in the boyish way that Joey is. He’s handsome in a more ruggish kind of way and you can’t seem to break eye contact from him. Your eyes don’t know where to go first so they travel from his deep brown eyes, to the bare patches on the beard he can’t seem to grow that you find yourself wanting to kiss, and to the curls peeking out of his standard heating oil hat. You find yourself itching to take that hat off and run your fingers through the nape of his hair.  Stop. He’s the more reserved one in the group which makes sense since he really hasn’t fully spoken more than a few words at a time to you. You can’t control the side glances you keep shooting at him throughout the night. You’re just appreciating the view and maybe conjuring up a few very much domestic fantasies in your head. Liar.

You excuse yourself to go to the bathroom to get a grip on your emotions. Tilting your head at your reflection you point an accusing finger “get yourself together. You ca—.“  You jump at the intrusion of an elderly woman walking into the otherwise empty bathroom; a quizzical look forming on her face from your actions. Your nervous laugh gets the best of you. “It isn’t what it- I don’t always do this.” You’re not sure why you feel the need to explain yourself since she’s already closed the stall before you even got the chance to finish your sentence. You find yourself even more flustered leaving the bathroom than before going into it. This is going to be a long night.

***

Frankie was nervous when Santi first told him that Hannah would be bringing a friend. He remembers you from the night Santi first left with her. How could he forget? You had his attention the moment you stepped into the bar, but by the time he finally worked up the nerve to talk to you another guy had already swooped in. It wasn’t that surprising considering and it was probably for the best. He really wasn’t in any headspace to be in a relationship. His eyes followed you when you left to go to the bathroom in a hurry and he could just feel Santi’s eyes burning into him. He knew. You were exactly his type and he hoped to whoever was up above that he would just leave him to his hopeless crush without interfering.

***

You sit down at the table preparing to come up with some segway into the conversation between everyone when Santi breaks it with a loud clap calling your name out. “So, are you seeing anyone?”

You miss the glare that Frankie shoots him and the embarrassed groan he makes. You don’t miss the warning tone Will gives when calling Santi’s name out, but you get the feeling you’re not entitled to know what that’s about.

“Yes, I am.” Why does it feel so wrong to say that? “His name is Joey.” Hannah chimes in while rubbing Santi’s shoulders.

You also miss the sight of Frankie’s shoulders deflating at that piece of information. Your answer seems to satisfy Santi since he drops it after that and moves on to a different topic. “Benny, when’s your next fight?” It’s Friday apparently and all the guys along with Hannah are going to support him.

Will shifts towards you and says, “you can come if you want.” You cringe on the inside; your insecurities getting the best of you. If you want. They’re only inviting you because you’re there at the moment. “Maybe.” You won’t.

Somehow, Hannah has convinced you to go out with them a second time. “Come on, you can bring Joey since you’re so nervous! Please bring him,” she says with pleading eyes.

“I’m not nervous!” Liar. There is a sliver of truth to her statement, but you don’t want to tell her the reason for your nerves is seeing Frankie again. Yet here you were sitting in a booth with Joey across from Hannah and the rest of the guys.

“Jesus Hannah, he’s not going anywhere.”

You say with a loud laugh at her not so subtle PDA with Santi. “Sorry.” She said with a swipe of trying to remove her lipstick from Santi’s face; her smile never leaving her face. Frankie hasn’t looked at you at all tonight and you can’t help but wonder what you did wrong. You see those eyes crinkle and that cute dimple when he’s dedicating his attention to everyone else at the table, but disappears when his eyes go in your general direction.

At some point the guys and Hannah walk off to buy more drinks leaving you with Joey. He’s hasn’t hid his disinterest of the night at all even when the guys were trying to include him.

“Why are you so grumpy?” “I’m not.” His deep sigh a dead giveaway to his sour mood. “I’m just not vibing with them that’s all.” His eyes following the guys by single file line as he said it. You assure him that you can leave soon which after an hour or so you do.

Tonight’s events must have tired you out more than you thought because you’re fighting yawns the entire ride to Joey’s apartment. You don’t usually spend time here since he prefers staying at your place, but his place was a lot closer to the bar. The minute you walk inside you walk straight to his bedroom so you can promptly pass out as Joey showers. As you start to pull back the blankets something catches your eye. That’s not mine. Your heart rate is starting to speed up at the thought that’s forming in your mind. You reach down and grab a bra that was haphazardly thrown on the floor. The thing is you’d recognize that bra anywhere because you were there when she bought it; the day you were meeting Santi for the first time. You almost didn’t hear the water being shut off in the bathroom and the footsteps coming into the bedroom.

“Hey, what’s goin o—“

His eyes follow where you’re looking and then back up to your face. He’s not even trying to defend himself or come up with some shitty excuse that wouldn’t work anyway.

“How long?” Your voice is barely managing to stay steady while still staring at the incriminating evidence of your betrayal.

“How long, Joey?” His hesitation gives you your answer. It’s been a while.

[blissfulalchemist]

Long Time No See

A little something that can be broken up into parts because anything involving the comic verse just needs me to have it in parts. So here’s part 1

“Ms. Mahin,” the young “counselor” greets with a light knock on her door, “you have a visitor.”

Sahar doesn’t look up from her novel, the words no longer sinking in, As if they were to begin with, “If it’s my lawyer,” she says flipping to the next page slowly, “I thought I made it clear that I didn’t want to see him any more.”

She smiles, dimples lighting up her freshly tanned skin and honey colored eyes, “I wouldn’t be here if it was, Sahar, you know that.”

“True,” she lets the book fall just low enough to make eye contact, “It’s why you’re my favorite fake counselor here.”

“So then I can trust you’ll be on your best behavior,” she pleads, “since I got you in one of the private visiting rooms.”

Sahar’s eyes go wide, She really does care….sucks she won’t last here much longer, “Well I still don’t want to have a visitor today.”

“Sahar…”

She shrugs, “I’m not in the mood for it.”

“You know it looks good if you take this visitor right? I can put it in your notes.” Sahar shakes her head, looking back at her book, “Management left too, so I can fib just how great it went for you, if you just even walk in and out of there.”

She narrows her eyes, “If I didn’t know any better I’d say you were bribing me.”

The young woman stands straighter crossing her arms, “Well maybe I am. You know how much worse it looks if you refuse a visitor, Sahar. Especially this one.”

“Well now you have my interest,” she says sitting up, “Can’t they just come and visit me in my room?”

The woman lets out an exasperated sigh, “Is the private room not enough? It's a big step up from the constant surveillance of the community room.”

Sahar lets out a groan, “Fine. But only because you won’t tell me who it is.”

“I mean technically-,” she starts, shutting her mouth when Sahar gives her a pointed look, “Right, right. Exactly. So let’s go!” She weaves them through the glaring white halls, fluorescents buzzing too loudly today, It must be raining outside today, and the young worker smiling and greeting everyone she sees, each returning with some kind of smile, Truly it must be raining out. They stop in front of a dark blue door, Sahar peeking around seeing a figure hunching over the round table, black jacket sparkling with water droplets. Her keys jangle as they jimmy the lock open, This woman puts way too much trust into people. “Ah, there we go. Sorry for the wait, sir.”

He stands, smoothing out his shirt, identical dark brown eyes meeting Sahar’s, “It was no trouble. Thank you.”

“Amin,” Sahar breathes out, looking over at her older brother. 

——————

Something needs to happen, something has to happen tonight, it has to or Marc just might go out and cause trouble himself. Three nights in a row there was calm at the Mission and even longer with any kind of lead on just how to possibly track down Sahar, his body was begging to move, to keep going, to do something of use. Instead he sat back in one of the rolling office chairs, feet propped on a desk, listening to Rheese discuss whatever assignment she was working on for school. Two months….she's been gone for two months…., “Hey Rheese, do you remember the last time I messed with ol’ Eight Ball?”

“Marc,” Rheese says, jabbing his arm with a pen. She waits for his eyes to look at her computer screen before continuing, “You see what I see?”

He blinks a few times, sitting up right when the small red blinking box in the corner no longer feels like a trick of his mind. “This isn’t a test or a bug is it?”

Rheese purses her lips, “Not this time. Soldier and I reprogrammed it to react differently when it detected small things like bugs, since we had all those false alarms this past week.”

Marc clenches his jaw, knuckles white under his gloves, “So someone’s there now?”

“Would seem like it.”

“Then I’ll be right back,” he says, stalking off to the apartment. His heart picks up speed with each step, muscles tensing, though his arms stiffen and ache the most unsure if they will be used to fight or embrace. He prays for the latter knowing damn well it’ll end up being the former, Just my luck. By the time he arrives, he looks up to see an already perched Sunny watching intently through her window, tail puffed up, I’ll deal with you later. Marc moves up the stairs inside silently, hands flexing in and out of fists, peering into the main living area of the apartment where he sees a man nearing his sixties hunched over some boxes, papers littered about in an organized manner. As far as he can tell the intruder isn’t armed, the door hasn’t been tampered with, windows are all still intact, and nothing else looks disturbed within the apartment. Marc shuts the door with a small click, chest puffing out, “You’re not supposed to be here.”

“My name is on the lease, so I can be,” the man turns, eyes going wide, dropping the papers in his hands, Marc holding back the flinch when he recognizes eyes that match hers. He looks the man over once more, Too young to be her father if I’m doing the math right. Then again…., “You’re-. You’re the vigilante of this neighborhood, Mr. Knight, correct?”

“And I still believe you’re breaking and entering.”

He shakes his head, “No, I’m not. I have a key,” holding up the key for emphasis, “This is my sister’s apartment.”

Marc raises his brow, “Sister? I know the woman that lives in this apartment, she doesn’t have a brother….well anymore.”

“Oh,” his shoulders hang with a sigh, running a hand through his hair, “Not like we were ever that close to begin with. I can assure you that I am her brother though, Mr. Knight. Amin Mahin,” he holds his hand out for Marc who simply crosses his arms.

“Why should I believe you?”

“Because I wouldn’t lie to you.” He sighs, pulling out his ID and a stack of papers from the coffee table handing it over to Marc, “See for yourself. I’m her legal guardian.” Marc looks the documents over, all the information matching up including the details he knew of her legal troubles referenced, “So technically you sir are breaking and entering.”

He hands the papers back over, “So what are you doing here in her apartment sneaking around so late at night?”

Amin gives a small roll of his eyes, “Right, that was a mistake, I had other business that prevented me from coming by during the day like I had been.” Guess I can tell Rheese and Soldier it wasn’t bugs messing with the sensors recently, Amin sighs, “I’ve been….I’ve been trying to figure out where my sister may have gone. Or what happened to her at the very least.”

“Did you two have a falling out? Just stopped talking to one another?”

“No. Not like that,” Amin lets out an exasperated sigh, “You said you knew her, when was the last time you saw her?”

Marc frowns, “It’s been awhile.”

“Then I’m no closer to finding her.”

“What’s made you think something happened to her to begin with?” How much do you know?

“We agreed to check in with one another twice a week for at least thirty minutes over the phone,” Amin pulls out his phone, checking once more that he didn’t miss a phone call or message. “She missed three of those. Just figured she was busy, needed some space, it wasn’t required, just more out of reassurance for me.”

“And she never missed those calls,” Must have done them while at work and I was busy, “But that doesn’t seem like the only piece of evidence you have.”

“No. The biggest piece was that she missed out on not one but two of these meetings we have with the legal side of her recovery every other week.”

Marc’s eyes go wide, “Those she can’t miss, from my understanding. I haven’t seen any police activity that was after her here.”

“Because I’ve staved them off. Said she was ill, then busy with her volunteer group at the local mission here.” He rubs the back of his neck, laughing briefly, “Took awhile to convince them that her slight changing of religions was a good thing to getting her better. But still no answering of my calls and texts.”

“Did she mention anything more about this mission she’d been going too?”

“Why is that so important?” He exclaims, throwing down the paperwork in his hands, “Don’t you see that the main issue is finding her?”

“I do,” Amin turns away from Marc, “but even the police would be looking into her personal life to try and find her.”

“She didn’t have much of one from what it looks like,” Amin flips some of the papers, “Nothing in this apartment gives any clue to who she hung out with or what she did in her free time other than work.” 

Marc looks around, Steven chiming in, “You need to tell him what you know.”

“Not yet.”, “The only thing I’ve managed to find is this set of photos of her and some man I can’t place,” Amin growls out, throwing it at the vigilante, “Maybe you know who it is.”

Marc looks at the photos he knows are from the small vacation to Coney Island, surprisingly neither of them had been in all the years they lived in New York. It turned into a vacation when they picked the first decent hotel and spent two nights away from all the worries that plagued them while in their neighborhood, and for two days and nights he was just Marc and she was just Sahar. He’d never been happier in decades and this set of photos was the only proof of that, Didn’t know she printed them out. Marc sighs, head hanging, “Amin I think you let me take you to the diner down the street.”

Sahar’s brother furrows his brow, “Why would I do that? I have work to do.”

“Because we need to have a talk,” Marc says, pulling his mask up, “That man in the photos,” he pushes some of his hair back, Amin taking a step back, “is me, and there’s a reason it looks as if your sister had no personal life.”

—----------------------

He’s gained more wrinkles since the last time she’s seen him, more grey streaking through his hair, some curls falling out of place with the humidity nullifying the gel he used. He clasps his hands in front of him, “It’s nice to see you again, sister.”

She gives a snort, “Right, sure.” Sahar looks over to the floor worker, “I’m not doing this. I’m going to go back to my room now thanks.”

The woman frowns, “Can’t you give him a few minutes?”

“Please Sahar,” Amin pleads as she turns to face the door, “I know it's been awhile but we need to talk-.”

“We have nothing to talk about, Amin!”

“We do and I won’t leave until you at least listen to me.”

“I’m not going to unless you can get me out of here.”

“That’s exactly what I’m trying to do.” Her lips tighten, hands balling into fists underneath her crossed arms, Amin letting out a breath, “I am aware that I may not be the best to be in charge of your care-.”

“Amin, I haven’t spoken to you since Dad’s funeral, five years ago,” she spits out.

The young worker clears her throat, opening the door, “I’m just gonna give you two some space,” she says quickly, the door closing before Sahar even has a chance to reach out for it.

She lets out a low growl, testing the handle that’s been locked from the outside, “Damnit. Do you think she’s allowed to do that?”

“Sahar,” Amin says softly, gesturing for her to sit, “Please.”

“Pretty sure she’s not supposed to do that, Cole.” Sahar kicks her leg out, tapping the ankle against the toe of her other shoe, shaking her head, mumbling, “Yeah, yeah. I know the lawyer complained about me banging on the door to get out.”

“Sahar,” he repeats, her eyes only glancing his way, “I need you to focus.”

“I’m focused,” she retorts, rolling her eyes as she takes a seat across from him, “Focused on the fact that I haven’t seen or talked to you in five years and honestly it doesn’t feel like I’ve had a brother for even longer.” Her eyes flick to a corner behind him, Amin glancing in the general direction, frowning, “Despite the blood we share Cole’s always been my brother.” Amin’s lips twitch, swallowing as he folds his hands on the table, “You might be right. Why are you here? You said I should at least listen, so talk.” Sahar makes a show of zipping her lips leaning back in the chair.

“Right,” he clears his throat, “I don’t know how much of your situation that your lawyer explained to you-.”

“You mean the shit one that was fresh from the exam, because I couldn’t pick my own representation?”

“Yes that one, the one that was picked because you were found to be incapable of making those decisions during that time.”

“I was perfectly capable.”

“Not according to the courts and certainly not to the doctors here.”

“Assholes,” she grumbles, flipping her hair back, smiling to the corner once more after a moment.

Amin shakes his head, “The doctors keep telling me that you’re refusing treatment, that I need to approve upage of your medications….again.”

She groans, “They just got me on the lower dosage too I thought.”

“They did, but you keep having these hallucinations, Sahar. If you want out of here then they need to stop.”

“Why?” She snaps, eyes narrowing, nails digging into her palms.

“Because people don’t imagine they’re seeing people long gone to the extent that you do,” he says, voice firm, “Not only that you’re here because you attacked one of your bosses and assaulted a police officer.”

“Security guard, actually,” she corrects through gritted teeth, “Wow. You couldn’t even be bothered to read the report in full to get the facts right.”

Amin waves the comment off, “Either way, Sahar, we can’t risk this getting worse.”

“Don’t. Don’t you fucking dare say it.”

“You have to know the consequences of continuing on like this!”

She sits up, hands at her sides, “There. Are. No. Consequences! How many times do I have to tell you people that?”

“Sahar, for once will you just listen to me and heed my wisdom.”

“No.”

“Sahar! Do you even know why you’re here?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t think you do. Sahar, these visions, hallucinations, whatever they are, they’re making you-.”

“I’M NOT DANGEROUS!”

Neither hear the clattering of the chair or the echo she makes when her fists connect with the table, while her heart pounds, short breaths traveling through her nose, eyes locked and narrowed on the still and calm figure of her brother. Sahar sucks on her teeth with a nod, “I’d rather have had them pick someone that would be quicker to steal my funds than you, Amin.” She turns to the door banging on it twice, the young woman opening it a crack, “We’re done here.”