#yes I trace the majority of the lines and color over it

[blacklight-ghoulette]

finished. or, as finished as I'm making it.

I wanted to do something a little different when painting Swiss's skin, so I ended up with going for a random color to contrast the brown shades. Took me forever trying to think of a multi-element color, and ended up defaulting to purple... thoughts on that, anyone?

Reference photo is from this image pack by Satine Zillah.

[railingsofsorrow]

hiii could i request a cute lil fic of the origin of spencer’s purple scarf? maybe reader is in the bau too and they’re secretly dating and maybe for their one month she gives him the purple scarf cuz she notices turtle necks bother him so she opted to get something that warms him up, is his favorite color, and reminds him of her if there’s ever a change they’re apart ….

he loves it ofc and starts wearing it to work and the team realizes it’s his thing now to wear the scarf if he’s cold and the reader feels all happy cuz he likes it but maybe during a tough case reader gets hurt protecting the team and in the hospital he’s like fidgeting with the scarf and morgan asks what’s up and he’s like “y/n gave me this scarf she said it would remind me of her if we’re ever apart but i don’t ever want to be away from her” AND IT ENDSS IN FLUFF PLS TJANK UUUU

maybe a cute lil recovery scene where the reader is cold and he gives her the scarf to wrap around her neck mwahhahaha and some team comments mwahahhhaha

Purple Scarf

[spencer reid x reader]

A/N: can I just say how in love with this request I was when I saw it my heart BURST. hope I granted your wishes anon <3

summary: in which yours and spencer's secret relationship is not as secret as you thought it was.

pairing: s.reid x f!reader

w.c: 3.5K

warnings/content: allusions to sexual content (you blink and you miss it); cm usual violence and confrontation; mentions of blood, hospitals and injuries; angst; teasing; fluff fluff fluff.

navi

masterpost

[requested]

•°. *࿐•°. *࿐•°. *࿐

September 8 of 2007.

Day 30.

It's officially a month that you and Spencer are dating. More specifically 720,000 hours, 43,200 minutes and 2,592,000 seconds — Yes, he counted. It's not that surprising, his brain never stops.

“Did you finish Dandelion Wine last night again?”

Unless it's your voice. That angelic sound slipping out from your throat that resembled the A Major key in a piano; a warm blanket draping over him that soothed his mind to a less frantic place.

The way your lips curl in a smile tells him you're not phased by his nod of affirmation. Leaning on his desk with your hip, you place down his mug in front of him, coffee vapor fluttering out.

“I'm not surprised.”

His grin is hidden by sipping on the hot liquid. “Why would you be?”

“Right.”

Spencer wanted to kiss you. He'd be bashful and red at the mere thought of it a few months ago, a complete mess if your gaze so much as crossed. But he's known you for two years now, you've been friends since you entered the BAU, and he's been in love with you for half of that time. He's allowed to think that in a work environment. He's just not allowed to do it.

He's very inclined to break the rules when he feels cold fingers running through the nape of his neck. Spencer's instinctive reaction is to shrink his shoulders but he quickly relaxes.

“Don't know how you can even think about cutting it,” you say, pulling softly at his strands.

He gave you a look. “It's too long.”

“So?” you shrug. “It's pretty,” you traced her thumb across his jaw, halting on his cheek. “You're pretty.”

He doesn't know how to react to compliments first thing in the morning. Scratch that, he doesn't know how to react to compliments at all.

“You're prettier.”

“That's not possible.”

And he's about to shut you up with a kiss because frantically? How could you disagree with him on this. But you retract your hands and pull some space between you. His hurt expression isn't present for long until he notices where your gaze falls.

Derek is talking to someone behind the glass doors, his hand wavering over the entrance announcing that the conversation is ending.

Your relationship being a secret was a mutual decision. None of you wanted the attention or the teasing that would eventually come from your friends — not that that didn't occurred before. Less alone the issues with the Fraternization Policy, they'd rather leave that to the fine line in Morgan and Garcia's work calls.

“Don't cut it.” She nudges his arm. “How am I supposed to pull it?”

Spencer choked on his coffee, inciting a chuckle out of you as you rubbed his back gently. He blinked up at you in shock.

“What?”

“Great scarf. Love the color.”

He officially hates you. Yes.

Except that he doesn't. Not even a little bit.

Your menacing smile is the last thing he sees before you walk off to Penelope's office. Of course you love it, you gave it to him as one month anniversary gift that morning, while he had given you a book you've been mentioning for a while and a necklace with your birthstone in the pendant.

“I know turtlenecks bother you but I know you get cold easily so I thought you'd like it.” Spencer hadn't given you a reaction. From the moment he opened your gift box, he sat emotionless on the sofa, staring at it as his fingers stroked the soft fabric.

It was a handknit purple scarf. Spencer couldn't believe it. You made it yourself. He vaguely remembers you always knitting something in the jet when a case was over, he thought you had adopted a new hobby, not that you were doing this for him.

And in his favorite color.

He felt like crying upon seeing the S.W.R on one of the extremities. His initials.

“You didn't like it.”

His head snapped up and he's met with your uneasy gaze. He hadn't said anything.

Spencer crossed the room in a sprint and crashes your lips to his, you respond with a ooof! in surprise but quickly kisses him back just as fervently.

“I love it.” He says after you split apart. “It's the best gift I've ever gotten.” He keeps peppering your face with kisses which makes giggles to erupt out of you. “Thank you, thank you, sweetheart.”

“It's for you to remember me when we're apart.” Her cheeks flushed pink. “That was cheesy but I knitted it that so I get to be cheesy.”

Spencer fiddled with the soft fabric of his scarf, loosening it slightly. It was suddenly too warm.

He blames you for it.

The two of you were supposed to spend the rest of the day in a Contemporary Art Museum after your paperwork was done. You weren't called in for a case, so it was a last minute decision because of your hectic schedule.

“Why are you all flushed?” He turns to Derek with widened eyes.

“What?”

Derek narrowed him down suspiciously. Hotch interrupts them by calling them in for the conference room. Spencer inwardly groans but he takes it to slip away from Derek's pestering.

“Oh, that's beautiful.” JJ points at your neck as you meet in the roundtable. “Where did you get it?” Your fingers brushed against the necklace mindlessly, the edge of your lips quirking up slightly.

“It's a gift.”

JJ silently studied your features as you say down beside one another, waiting for Garcia to present the new case. That fond gaze, the sparkle in your eyes and the way your body demeanor instantly relaxed was the indication she needed to understand what you weren't saying.

“Oh,” her grin widened and she leans closer. “Who's the lucky someone?”

Your eyes lowered to your lap and you tried to pretend you were interested in your shoes. She could see you getting flustered and that made her shook her head in disbelief. JJ has never seen you that shy or even blushing. That was new.

Spencer walked in with Derek and Emily on his trail. They started discussing the case when Rossi arrived. You didn't spend ten minutes in the room before Hotch announced wheels up in thirty.

“Did you know that poor sleeping habits can interfere in your sleep quality? A study showed that daily coffee consumption and using the cellphone in bed are two of the largest factors associated with poor sleep quality. Besides stress, anxiety, depression, sleep apnea, and chronic health conditions.”

Spencer rambles on before you can settle down in one of the seats, covering a yawn with your hand.

“I'm glad you know too much caffeine is bad for your health, baby. Maybe you should follow your own advice.” You heard his snicker as he sits down with a smug smile. You chose the window seat, Emily takes your side and Derek sits across from you. Rossi and Hotch are in the seats beside yours while JJ takes the couch.

The air shifts. You feel it. It's sudden, out of nowhere and you can't figure out the reason. All eyes are set on you which makes you shift uncomfortably, sleepiness vanishing.

“What?”

“Baby?” Derek lifts a brow questioningly and you cast him a confused look. But Spencer buried his face in the file and all is clear.

“You have petnames now?” Emily teases, nudging your feet with her shoe. “That's sickening.”

“That's cute!” Penelope yells from the computer scream.

You clear your throat in a foolish attempt for cover your embarrassment. You called him baby in front of the whole team? Nice. Very nice. You stupid idiot.

“It's manner of speaking,” You shrug, grabbing the crime scene photo haphazardly.

Emily quips back a comment and Derek follows her on it. Fortunately, Hotch begins to detail what everyone else will do as they land. JJ and Reid are going to the morgue to analyse Victmology, Rossi and Emily are going to the police station and that leaves you Hotch to the crime scenes.

It took a while for you to grasp the UnSub's intentions. You spent the entire afternoon with the wrong profile to then figure out he was hunting people that had a certain face shape and visible scars. Nothing related to gender, contrary to what you believed.

When you found him, he had a knife to a woman's neck, the last victim that had disappeared two days ago. Apparently you got there exactly on time because he kept his victims for two days to bury them alive in the last one.

But he didn't want to let her go, despite the ensuing confrontation. Either he surrendered or he died, there was no in between. You wouldn't let him hurt anybody else.

“Let her go.”

Aaron's assertive tone reverberated through the warehouse. The SWAT team was blocking every exit possible, at least twenty firearms aimed at him but he still wouldn't budge.

“Can't do that,” the UnSub lowered the knife closer to the victim's neck. He seemed too calm for someone that cornered. No. You could see the slight shake in his hand that he was trying to cover. “You get back from where you came from or I'll slash her throat.”

“You won't do that.”

For some reason, you thought it was Emily speaking, attempting to get into his head. Until Derek hissed for you to stay back and you realized the voice belonged to you.

“You can get out of this, just let her go and surrender. No harm has to be done.”

“Right. So that I can spend the rest of my life tossed up behind bars? I don't think so, Agent.”

The smugness in his tone was betrayed by the twitch in his left eye and that's when you knew you were almost there.

“We can make a deal. One that'll be comfortable for you,” you promised, stowing your weapon in your holster as your eyes kept locked on his. You didn't want to find out what would happen if you even breath the wrong way. “There's twenty people with you in their line of fire. Only one way out. Let her go, we'll figure this out.” You finally reached a position close enough to the victim but not at all safe for you. You were right at his aim if he wanted to shoot you, his gun right behind the woman's head.

“Only one way out?” He scoffed, cocking the weapon to the side.

Emily said his name in a warning. Everyone yelling for him to drop the weapon. He didn't.

You should've known better.

Your ears rang with Spencer calling out your name before you were thrown on the floor roughly without a single warning. The feeling of dread crippling in your chest when you felt something wet between your fingers.

“Hey, hey,” Derek forced you to look at him. “You okay?”

You blinked down at your arm, the bullet grazed the skin, it barely touched you. A breath of relief escaped you and he shook his head in disbelief.

“You're insane,” he uttered, hugging you to which you let out a groan. Your shoulder hurt, you couldn't move it.

At least it wasn't a bullet. Derek had pushed you away on time.

•°. *࿐

The thing you hated the most about hospitals was the fluorescent lights. Your eyes were sensitive to light which was the reason you used sunglasses anywhere you went — reading glasses as well, but you didn't bother with those. No matter how many times Spencer would list the permanent harm done to your sight every time he saw you squinting at a book.

You were stubborn. To say the least.

He thought it was cute, for the most part. You listened to him although you liked to do things you own way. Okay, he respected that. Spencer loves every part of you, from the scrunch of your nose when you laughed to the rare times you'd forget the wet towel on the bed.

Sometimes, however, he wants to crawl out of his skin. How could you let your guard down in front of a madman that was ready to lose it all? Why couldn't you just stay back like Derek had asked and waited patiently on how it would play out?

But no, you wouldn't do that. You were as stubborn as a mule. And that's how you got shot in the arm and dislocated a shoulder.

“It grazed her forearm, Spence.” JJ explained for the tenth time. “She just needed some stitches.”

“But it wasn't just the grazed arm, though was it? There's also the dislocated shoulder and the almost concussion she gained as she fell on the floor.”

JJ sighed and turned to him. “You're concerned, but she's fine. It wasn't exactly wise what she did,” she said with a wince. “But it's done and thankfully didn't evolved to anything serious.”

“She reminds me of you.”

Both heads snapped around to see Derek approaching with his coffee. He pointed the plastic spoon he was stirring the coffee with directly at Spencer's face.

“What does that mean?” Spencer pulls away from the threatening spoon, the pitch of his voice raising.

Derek looks at JJ with a pointed look, she seems to understand and chuckles, nodding shortly.

Oh, they're communicating through telepathy now?

“You're both reckless.” Derek pats his shoulder, mentioning for something behind him. Just as Spencer is about to retort, he sees you through the transparent doors of your room, chuckling at something the doctor said. “See? She's awake.”

Spencer can't tell how long he stood there, staring at you until JJ nudged him.

“I've never seen you wearing scarves. Is that new?” She eyes the purple fabric around his neck with a little smile. His fingers brush against it absentmindedly.

“Uh, yeah. It's a gift. She gave it to me.” JJ blinks up at him in surprise, she was not expecting Spencer to just blurt it out like that. “... said it was something to remember her when we're apart.” His lips spread into a soft grin. He didn't even notice he was speaking out loud. “As if I can ever forget her.”

“Go see your girl, pretty boy. Stop staring.” Derek walked back towards them, pushing Spencer towards your room with a slight shove. Safe to say he hadn't heard anything Spencer said.

At first, JJ tries not to demonstrate her excitement too much. She thought that when Penelope told her they were seeing each other out of work it was a big fantasy created in her head. Everyone knew they had feelings for one another but nobody would dare think they were already past the friends phase. Oh, but JJ was so wrong. That fondness in Spencer was something new. A good something. And she couldn't be happier for the two of you.

“Hi,” you beam at the sight of your boyfriend entering the room.

“Hi.” Spencer kisses the top of your head and wraps an arm around your back as to not touch your injured arm. “How do you feel?”

“Ready to enter the jet and sleep the two hours we have until we land in Quantico.”

He cracks a smile, shaking his head. “You're unbelievable.”

You let out a half laugh, when your eyes met you saw a pinch of concern between his brows as he scanned you over.

“Spencer, I'm fine.”

“Can you maybe try and be more careful next time?” He says. “Don't lower your weapon while being on the aim of a serial killer?”

You hummed softly, adjusting the collar of his shirt behind the vest he was wearing. “Okay. Can you promise to do the same then? Cause you're just as reckless as me.”

He gaped at you. “I am not—”

“Spencer.”

He clips his mouth shut, blinking. “Fine? Okay. Yeah, fine.” He breathes out. “Just don't scare me like that again, please?” He pointedly says, brushing a stray strand behind your ear.

Your line of work was tough, especially if someone you deeply cared about was in the field with you. You couldn't just disconnect work and personal life in these kind of situations, as hard as you tried. Your heart leaped in your chest every time anyone from the team so much as got a minimum scratch. They're your family through and through.

And Spencer... Spencer was the love of your life. No doubt in that.

That's why it wasn't worth it to dwell on what happened in the field but focus on the after. Night outs to a bar, karaoke night, dinner at Rossi's — he makes a killer pasta — or, in this case, an Art Museum date with your boyfriend. Those moments made everything worth it.

The air shifts again. You study the room as you sit beside Spencer, trying to find any hints from what it might have caused that feeling. But everyone is paying attention to their own things and things seems normal. Or your profile skills are clouded by your exhaustion.

Something fuzzy wraps around your neck and the smell of amber and cinnamon took you to a familiar place.

“You forgot to bring a coat,” he said, tucking your hair behind your ears gently, adjusting the scarf on you. “It looks good on you too.” He shrugs, lips curling in a pout.

Can you blame yourself for wanting to kiss him so badly?

You don't do it, aware you were under profilers’ watchful eyes. Spencer lifted the arm of the seat so you could rest your head on his shoulder as he read — one time you revealed you liked the sound of page turning as he read and he made sure you always could rest against him. You might have missed the collective cooing around the jet as soon as you fell asleep but Spencer didn't and he tried to hide the tinge of red in his cheeks behind the book.

“Pay up.” Derek ordered with his hand outstreched to Emily, who promptly slapped it.

“You don't know how long.”

“My bet was that they were already seeing each other.”

“That's not fair,” Rossi chipped in. “We didn't established a period of time.”

Derek shrugs, “Not my problem. I won either way.”

“Penelope said the same thing.”

“Well, then babygirl and I won—”

“We still need a time.” Emily said thoughtfully, giving Derek his money with a huff. “This is extortion, Morgan.”

He chuckled, waving the twenty dollar bill in front of her. JJ rolled her eyes at the childishness. At the end, Derek had earned sixty bucks between grumblings of unfairness.

“When do you think?” Hotch broke the conversation, eyes not even lifting from his reports. Emily asked him what he was talking about. “I'd say that it became official in about a month.” He hadn't participated in the bet, but he could share a thing or two on the topic. God knows how long you you two have been pinning over each other.

Rossi narrowed his eyes at him, suspiciously, “You know something we don't, Aaron?”

“Just mere assumptions.”

It didn't take long for another bet to ensue. When the jet landed, each one stretched their limbs and prepared to go home, before anyone could move towards the exit, however, Spencer broke the silence.

“Hotch is right.” He said, grabbing both of your go-bags and following you out of the door.

“Did he just?” Emily froze half way standing up.

“That little shit.”

He didn't hold back the chuckle as a faint argument started.

“What are you laughing at?” You glance at him at the corner of your eye. He brushes you off, pulling you at his side by wrapping a hand around your waist. “Are you aware they can see us or...?” You queried, confused at his actions.

Spencer shrugs, kissing your temple. “They know.”

You bury your nose in the scarf and lean into his side, not even daring to ask what he means by that and neither do you look back at your friends. You'd rather face the teasing in the morning anyway.

[fandomfluffandfuck]

Consider: stucky + omegaverse with alpha!Steve and omega!Bucky + a little bit of biology that makes Steve go crazy...

Okay, so we have to start with some background here--

Usually (because of thicker skin, body hair, corynebacteria (bacteria that smell), generally more sweat/higher body temperature, plus some other things that don't matter right now) men's sweat is more potent (re: stinky/stronger).

So, do you think that would mean male omega's slick smells stronger than female omega's would? Or, at least, their slick would smell different.

Right?

Like, maybe male omegas slick isn't stronger necessarily, but more musky? Less sweet? I don't know.

I do know, however, I like the idea that male omega's slick smells stronger. Maybe it's muskier too. It smells Different.

Then, of course, after having This Thought (which, yes, I had the thought after working out when I was sweating and able to smell myself as I got into the shower), I had to continue thinking until I found a way of applying it to stucky...

So, what if Bucky is the first male omega that Steve has the pleasure of dating? He's known he's bisexual for a long time--some of his first crushes were on boys in the neighborhood--but he's always ended up with women. Just out of luck, well, luck and statistics considering that the majority of omegas are women.

And, so, when they start to get to the point in their relationship where sex and fooling around is on the table...

Oh. Shit.

The familiar yet also new scent of a male omega's arousal backhands Steve across the fucking face.

The air in the room is hot and only getting hotter with the way Bucky is beginning to sigh and breathe out these pretty, soft moans. Nothing sounds as good as him. Steve already knows.

Steve had been making his way down Bucky's gorgeous body, nosing and mouthing and licking at him. His smooth, pretty skin. Tracing lines over his collarbones and ribs, nibbling his hip and the slight softness of his tummy, biting his hip, licking some of his lean muscle, and kissing his upper thighs. All while slowly undressing him.

Ridding Bucky of his shoes, socks, and shirt already.

Only his pants and underwear are left.

As he starts to make more noise, Steve is greeting every new patch of skin. Exposing more and more skin...

And now he's finally taking his pants off. Throwing them off the bed. Forgetting about them instantly.

Bucky spreads his bare legs--shameless--and gets his feet underneath himself so he can push his hips up against Steve's face with a pleading sound. He's so hard.

Whatever.

Steve can't help the exhaled chuckle that exits his chest, nor can he help the words falling from his lips, "such a needy omega--"

Something about Bucky just brings the stubborn almost sadistic alpha out of him. Maybe it's just how sweet the omega is.

It doesn't matter. All that matters is--

Bucky can feel the way his chest is starting to heave--the way sweat is building up on his skin, the way his blood pressure and body temperature are rising.

"D-didn't peg you for, ah, a tease," Bucky jokes shakily, still trying to rub himself against Steve's fucking face.

God, it's so hot.

He's so hot.

And all of it is in reaction to Steve. Steve feels drunk off of his reactions. And Bucky feels drunk off of the pleasure of having this huge, attractive alpha settled between his legs to worship him.

So, fuck, yeah, Bucky is turned on.

He's turned on and can feel the tale-tell rush of heat back between his legs signaling the way he's starting to get wet. Ready to take his alpha's knot. It's what he's made for. He wants it. He needs it.

Although, Bucky barely has time to notice the feeling--his hole clenching and going all hot and wet and sticky with a flush coloring his body--before Steve notices it for him.

And he growls.

Like-

Full on growls.

It's the first time Bucky has heard the alpha make the sound--chest deep, and animal--and it makes his insides go weak. His neck feels limp, arched, and ready to be bitten and claimed. And, fuck, instantly he feels another gush of slickness come out of him...

He's leaking for Steve. Like a faucet.

He's trembling and so so wet. Already. But--

What even?

Why?

He just--

Steve--

Steve doesn't even know either.

That fucking smell wafts up into his nose and his open mouth so he's practically gulping it down as Bucky spreads himself and jerks his hips up, and Steve's... he's drugged.

Instantly.

It's ripe.

Steve is immediately hooked on how he smells.

There's still a layer of cloth between him and his omega yet it's so strong already. He smells sweet but dark and musky too. His smell is so so strong. It's-

It's lush.

It makes Steve want to feast upon his omega.

He wants to and he does shove his face in between those round, pretty cheeks; right where Bucky has made a dark wet patch on his otherwise grey boxers. All his slick. His fragrant slick.

Bucky reacts wonderfully to his horny enthusiasm, moaning and clenching his thighs around Steve. Clenching them around his head and neck. Suffocating Steve in his scent where it's the thickest.

The strongest.

And Steve feels like a damn teenager getting laid for the first time--smelling slick for the first time and being convinced that his rut has instantly been triggered by the sheer wave of want that assaults him. Punching him in the gut. Leaving him desperate to feel that slick thick, sweet, and sticky on his lips, his tongue, and his chin, dripping down his face.

Fucking God.

Steve humps the mattress. Rutting his hips into the soft but firm mattress. A feral groan comes out of him. He can't help it. He's so out of his mind. Breathing Bucky in with his goddamn mouth open. He's probably drooling as well. Panting. He just can't help but take in these huge breaths.

The sound of fabric ripping breaks the spell.

Shit.

Steve's clutching Bucky's boxer briefs so hard that they're tearing apart in his hands--ripping his way to his omega's bare flesh. He needs.

"Wha-?" Bucky starts to ask, losing the word half in a moan and half in a laugh. It's a great fucking sound, even muffled (especially when muffled by his thighs on either side of his head).

Bucky makes another incredible sound that's half moaning and half laughing. But he also buries his hand, clenched tight, into Steve's golden hair. Pulling him back just to get some sense out of the suddenly bewitched alpha.

"I, God-" Steve loses the ability to talk in favor of growling again; the sound taking over his whole chest.

He's so hungry.

"I don't even know-" he cuts himself off to shove his nose against Bucky's poor, neglected hole again. Steve is thrilled to be covered in his slick as it leaks through the fabric--thrilled to be covered in the evidence of his arousal. It's all Steve ever wants to smell until the day he dies.

Now, suddenly, he's blushing so hard at the sight that his alpha makes that he is feeling faint.

Steve's face is a picture of a man in heaven.

His eyes stay rolled back in his head even as Bucky pulls him up from between his thighs--hand fisted in his hair. Both his swollen lips and whole fucking lower face are wet.

Bucky watches the complete show of Steve's mouth falling open and his tongue sweeping out to clean some of the wetness from his face. The bob of his throat at his swallows makes Bucky whimper... taking his slick, his taste, so deep inside of him.

"You-you just smell so fuckin' good--taste good too," Steve finally answers. "Wanna-" he groans, "wanna fuckin' eat you."

He is well and truly drunk on his slick.

Shuddering, Bucky can't find anything but arousal inside him. He can't question it. He can only indulge. This has to be the hottest thing that's ever happened to him and nothing has even happened yet.

He doesn't think he'll survive more. Especially not when more STARTS with Steve growling and ripping his boxers down with his teeth.

Jesusfuckingchrist.

[secondsonaym]

“In my heart?” Narinder echoed.

“Forgive my colorful language--Your bias, in essence. As you said, your instinct was to finish what had been started. Thus, you see something confirming that instinct. But the cards lack proper tongues, so to put words in mouths that do not exist, well… It’s amusing.”

A click of the tongue escaped Narinder’s mouth as he looked back down to the cards.

“You deign not to involve yourself with others, yet still have the arrogance to mock one’s interpretations of some slips of paper.” he grumbled.

“You’re the one who came to me for guidance, oh former god of death.” was Clauneck’s response, with only the slightest traces of amusement, as typical of the being’s tone. “You also know full well my services start and end with these readings, even for one such as yourself.”

Narinder looked back to Clauneck, and his eyes narrowed.

“That’s a lie.”

If Clauneck had been upset by this accusation, they did not let it show, merely tilting their head slightly as they looked down at him.

“You’ll do whatever is asked of you for coin. You put yourself out as a seer first and foremost, but all you care about is filling your pockets.”

“Not to Midas’ extent, you can at least agree?”

“Perhaps not.”

“Then tell me, what do you wish to imply by outing my falsehood?”

Narinder snorted.

“I’m not implying anything. My vision was limited while chained, but as Star continued on her quest, it grew, and I learned some interesting things while observing Shamura.”

“Ah.”

That was all Clauneck had to say. They reached out and picked up the cards, looking them over for a moment before slipping them into their sleeve, vanishing in the mass of feather-like leaves.

“They spoke to you before Star arrived at the Silk Cradle. Claiming they weren’t happy with what you had done.”

Clauneck remained silent, staring Narinder down as they mulled things over. They were not one to express any major discomfort, but it was becoming more and more clear they were getting agitated by this line of interrogation.

Finally--

“I suppose there is no benefit to me keeping it quiet, especially since Shamura’s plan failed in the end.” They said, though the tightness in their voice was more apparent now.

“Out with it, then.”

Clauneck took a deep breath, then began.

“Shamura had… Enlisted me, I suppose you could say, to look after a pair of lambs. This happened right after the death of one of your Berserk vessels… The lamb of prophecy’s own mother, even, if I recall correctly.”

Narinder remembered that. Solaria, was it? It wasn’t long after that he had sought the assistance of Ratau.

“I was to keep them alive, for what reason I was not told. So, that I did. They were too young to know their own names, so I gave them new ones--The younger one was Azazel, and the older one was Starwatcher.”

“You don’t strike me as the parental type.” Narinder noted.

“Correct. I was not told to care for them, nor is parenting anything I enjoy. My only instructions were to keep them alive.

“I watched them grow up, taught them cartomancy, but ultimately their development was entirely on them. Azazel was not very open to the winding river of fate, and ran off some years before the culling started--And when it did, Shamura themself had come to collect Starwatcher, so I made no move to stop them.”

Narinder exhaled audibly as he took it all in. No wonder Star had issues with connections to others. As hands-off as Clauneck preferred to be, they had done so much damage by simply doing nothing.

“Well, Star hates your very existence now.”

“Hah, yes. Likely because of my lack of action during the culling. I should consider myself lucky she has not turned that hammer of hers towards me, mm?”

“And what of this ‘Azazel?’” Narinder couldn’t help but ask.

“They are still alive. Though they go by a new name now. A more… Ironic, one, you could say.”

What?

“Excuse me?”

Clauneck produced a full deck of cards from their form, shuffling it idly as they spoke.

“They’re a broken thing, that is to be said--Well, their cracks are more apparent than Star’s, at the very least. And before you ask, I’ve no idea where they are. I simply know they are alive.”

Clauneck produced a card, looking at it for a moment before briefly turning it to Narinder so he could see--The Diseased Heart--and then shuffling it back into the deck.

“But we have gone off-topic. You came here for guidance; for a reading. We have done just that. I did that for free as a favor to one of a status such as yours, but if you wish to prod further, it will be at a cost.” finished.

“… Right.” Narinder mumbled, clenching his fists as he stood up.

“What do you plan to do?” Clauneck prodded, catching him off-guard. “The lamb is of no use to anyone right now. She’s already been through so much. Will you give her a mercy, and take things over as you had originally planned? Or do you hesitate to settle back onto the throne?”

Narinder… Didn’t have an answer.

He had no idea what had happened to Star, but he did not like the Yellow Crown being in the hands of the Fox. However, it was still unclear if the crowns were going to exact some form of revenge on the Red Crown.

Should he wait? See what happens next? But that could risk his life, too, and he wouldn’t exactly be able to do much dead, the possibility of revival aside.

It wasn’t long before the feelings of helplessness began to loom over him again. They had been around since Star had spared him, but every time he was reminded of just how little he could do now, they came back full-force.

Why do you hesitate on such an easy decision? that familiar voice in the back of his head whispered. It was his own, of course, the part of him that still believed the domain of death was his right. The lamb is used to being used. She’ll understand. It’s not as if she can fight back this time.

And yet…

I am more responsible for her life than I had initially thought.

He had thought to kill the bishops by the means of a vessel would mean he would feel no guilt over it. It wasn’t his hands that had finished them, after all.

But this small form, this weak body, it did not allow him to escape the gnawing despair he tried so hard to swat down.

He killed his siblings. It was his fault. They were gone.

To kill Star now, when this regret had started to build… What would it even say?

Death and Life… They were intertwined. Would it be fair of him to submit her to death, after she had a life that was not truly her own?

“I don’t--” He started to say, voice strained, only to be cut off by the sound of footsteps approaching him and Clauneck.

He swiveled his head, and who he saw looking back at him made him freeze.

[nem0-nee]

On "heavy inspiration"

First, I'd like to apologize for the contents of this post. I do not wish to be a blog that just complains about matters, but I feel like I need to say this at least once.

If you don't agree with what I say, that's perfectly fine. We can agree to disagree, that is all.

It never fails to anger me when I see any issue related to tracing and "heavy inspiration." These are definitely tools when it comes to learning more about art, but there's definitely a line that dictates whether the use of those methods are acceptable or not.

I will not be naming names, but back then there was a blog which was "heavily inspired" by me. I'm flattered that I inspire people out there, but this case was truly something else.

[NOTE: If you recognize the account I'm referring to, please don't bring them up. I don't want this to escalate, nor do I want to stir up any issues. This is just to discuss what happened.]

There was a time where I've made a character sheet/template for one of my OCs, intending it to be for her specifically; every element about it reflected her as a character in general. A few days later, I see that a certain blog had done the same with their own sheet. The only difference was that it was all mirrored. I commend them for giving me credit, however I was not on board with what they did.

DISCLAIMER #1: Yes, I am aware that I may sound like a whiny baby for being possessive over a character template. It truly sounds absurd, and even now I don't know if what I felt was valid. But my reason for it was that I had specifically designed that sheet for THAT character. It was completely original, as I had made it all from scratch. It took me a while to conceptualize it all. Then someone comes along, taking and running with it without asking me? Can you blame me for being upset?

I didn't want to cause an issue, so I privately settled this issue with them. I made it clear with them that they should've asked me first before doing it, but also added in that they don't have to take the post down. I may be protective of my works, but I'm not a jerk to force someone to take down their own hard work. Plus, I didn't want to cause any drama nor controversy over a character sheet, so I just kept my mouth shut.

Additionally, I made a post as a measure to make sure this incident doesn't repeat.

You'd think this would all stop, but it surprisingly didn't! A few months later, I released a Birthday Union Card for one of my characters. I took some creative liberties with it and added my own twist to things. So, I gave my OC a different kind of bow and nail polish. A few weeks later and what do I see? The same kind of bow and nail polish are on their own birthday card too!!

DISCLAIMER #2: I am aware I don't own these "creative liberties" or certain aspects of design. I would've brushed this off as a coincidence if they hadn't taken "major inspiration" from me before, but this was the second time it all happened. I was beginning to get paranoid; I felt like they were keeping note of everything I do so they could do the same. damn. thing. Plus from what I know, I don't think anyone has done this before? Maybe that's just me...

Don't get me even started with the post formats! I did things a certain way back then, mixing up the font styles, incorporating colors, cringeworthy quotes- you name it. Would you believe me that they got inspired by me to this degree? That they would format posts that contained similar content as me IN A SIMILAR WAY?

DISCLAIMER #3: I am aware that I don't own post formats. My point here is that they were truly coming across as a copycat. I believe they could've changed things up for the sake of originality. But I suppose you can't have everything nice in life.

Every time they post something, the first thing that comes to mind is "what did they copy from me this time?" And it's truly a shame. Any slight resemblance or similarity to what I did stirred panic within me. It wasn't healthy, and I felt like I couldn't do anything about it.

Though, I must admit I'm not entirely in the right for this. Thinking about it, I may have enabled them due to my lack of communication.

FAULT #1: I must acknowledge my fault for not telling them off enough. I really thought they'd just eventually stop and learn from their mistakes. I just didn't have the heart to tell them any more. Being accused of copying is not a great thing, and I didn't really want to be that person. Unfortunately, look where that got me.

FAULT #2: It's also my fault I decided to follow them back despite the first instance and didn't block them. Admittedly, I have a bad habit of wanting to see the good in people. So I assumed that they would change in the long run.

Things only stopped when I finally blocked them and notified them about it. I don't think they're active on here anymore, and sometimes I worry if I was the reason for that. I wished it didn't come to this point.

This is a cautionary tale for fellow artists out there. Please, don't take things without permission. This whole incident took a toll on me for months, and I still fear instances of these. Some artists may be more lenient and wouldn't mind, but there are definitely others who are not okay with "heavy inspiration." Always, ALWAYS ask.

[adarkrainbow]

Another short cartoon: Poor Cinderella

Everybody knows “Silly Symphonies”. Not as much people know “Color Classics”, often called a “cheap knock-off” or “weaker cousin/imitation” of Disney’s Silly Symphonies. And yet, Color Cartoons was a product of the Fleischer Studios... which means it was part of the cartoons featuring the cartoon iconic Betty Boop herself.

In fact the very first cartoon of this line was a Betty Boop-centered one. A retelling of “Cinderella” called... “Poor Cinderella”. 1934. To this day it is the only animated appearance of a colorized Betty Boop. 

I will mention it beforehand: the fact the shoe used here is made of glass means I will compare this short to the French version of the tale, as told by Perrault. I’ll repeat that when dealing with Disney’s Cinderella, but I want to already mention it here: the Cinderella story everyone knows nowadays is the FRENCH one. Yes the Brothers Grimm wrote their own German version, but it is not the one adapted by cartoons and it is not the one everybody knows. The easiest difference to stop is that German Cinderella has gold shoes, not glass shoes.

# So already from the start: here the King organized a “public ball” to which he invites all the “good people” of his kingdom. A great over-exaggeration of the original tale, in which it was the Prince that organized the ball, and only for people of “quality” (aka, upper-class). Mind you, later we only see the Prince at the ball and no trace of a King, so maybe in this short the two are one and the same?

# Betty Boop plays a red-haired Cinderella who surprisingly isn’t covered in ashes despite her name. She is just in a ragged dress holding a broom - but they did keep an important element of the original story. The idea that Cinderella, even dirty and in rags, is much more beautiful than her step-sisters, no matter how well-dressed and jeweled they are. Here it is shown by Betty Boop’s natural “cute-and-sexy” figure, compared with (who I assume to be) her stepsisters being just big-nosed, tall, flat-chested, masculine, the very opposite of Betty’s curvy pin-up figure. 

# The short, for the sake of simplicity, greatly simplifies Cinderella’s family: it is now just her, and her wicked stepsisters, who are visibly twin (well I guess they are stepsisters, it is never actually said). There’s no step-mother, no father. We do see however Betty Boop/Cinderella preparing the clothes of her “sisters” for the ball (just like in the original tale), but there is a major difference in characterization. In the original story Cinderella just wants to go to the ball : but here, this is coupled by a bit more “in depth” look at her spirit. Cinderella keeps repeating her song through the short, which explains that 1- She feels like nobody loves her 2- She dreams of romance 3- She hopes to meet a Prince Charming (and in fact she dreams about meeting one) 4- She wants to be a princess. There is already a whole quest and desire for love and royalty that drives her to go to the ball in the first place, when in the original tale she just wanted to have fun, go out of the house and be restored to a more dignified lifestyle. 

# Here the Fairy Godmother appears out of the flame of a candle, manifesting as a tall, slender, beautiful lady with small insect wings, a diadem in her high white hair, and a princess-like dress. An ornate, royal kind of fairy who explains her appearance to Cinderella for two reasons. 1) She came because she sensed that Cinderella was in a great state of distress, crying and depressed. 2) As a reward for her being a kind and gentle soul, she will allow her to go to the ball. Which is actually kind of sticking to the original tale, as the godmother first interacts with Cinderella upon seeing her cry, asking her what is wrong, and upon hearing she wants to go the ball she decides to make it come true because she is “such a good girl”. 

# In the short, just like in the tale, the Godmother asks for a pumpkin, mice and lizards - though unlike in the original story where the pumpkin and lizards were found in the garden, here Cinderella-Boop fetches the pumpkin and the mice in their cage/trap from the basement, while the lizards just... arrive at some point, all on their own. 

# Cinderella’s magical dress is of course a pin-up version of a fairytale dress, with bare arms and shoulders, and a skirt showing off the glass-shoes and the naked ankles above. In fact, to fully play on the “pin-up” act of Betty Boop, the Fairy Godmother starts by removing Cinderella’s rags, and then shrinking her underwears, BEFORE putting the dress on her. It is also interesting to see that the dress is also the polar opposite of her wicked stepsister’s outfits. Her dress is simple, short, revealing her curves, in white with just a few touches of color, and she has her hair bare with just a feather as a discreet ornament ; where her wicked stepsisters wear heavy, colorful dresses with a lot of padding and largeness to replace the curves they lack, and their hair is covered by big white wigs. 

# For the shortness of the story, there is only one ball organized (unlike the several ones in both Perrault and Grimm versions), and... and I have to pause a bit on the Prince here because... was he made that effeminate on purpose? Is it part of the Fleischer cartoons typical style? If someone knows better about this, please enlighten me. Because on one side he has the deep masculine voice and the typial broad-chested tiny-waisted silhouette ; and on the other yes he has tight clothes with lots of frills on the chest and small high-heels, but that’s part of historical fashion, so it can be excused. HOWEVER... these small, delicate, feminine lips under a thin-pencil mustache, plus the long, feminine eyelashes and the fact he wears EYESHADOW makes him look like very effeminate if not... a little... queer. Now there are two ways I can see that. Either they dared to do an effeminate Prince Charming for their tale despite it being the 30s, so kudos for progress (and after all Betty Boop herself was a scandalous pin-up cartoon, so why not?) ; either it is part of some sort of Fleischer joke and then it is not really cool anymore. I don’t know, this design just... intrigues me.

# Several interesting choices here. 1) Cinderella is the first person the Prince sees... because she arrives at the same time HE in turns is announced at the ball, so that they basically cross path with each other.  2) I also think it an interesting choice to have Cinderella actually have hard time escaping the ball... because of the castle itself. I love this depiction of the castle beyond the ballroom as a maze of grand staircases, mirrors, courtyards and halls - to the point that from the first strike of midnight in the ballroom to the last one, even as she runs really hard, she can only reach the main gate of the castle before de-transforming. 3) If you look carefully, despite their limited use of colors, the makers of the cartoon made sure to play with them to show the fusion between the couple: Betty is in pure white, the Prince is in the same shade of green as his castle, but both are united by little touches of red (his belt and cape lining, her ribbons...). A green color for the prince that seems to answer the green of the fairy godmother’s dress, to show the “positive” side characters, against the brownish-red/ocre colors of the wicked stepsisters. 4) We have a “dreaming” sequence as Cinderella and the Prince dance during the ball - a sequence where the ballroom disappears and the two of them dance in the night sky under the moon... Which (correct me if i’m wrong) seems to have been made BEFORE Disney itself created any of its iconic “dreaming dances” sequences. 

# You know the rest of the story: the Prince declares he will have the shoe fitted on every girl’s feet to find out who owns it, and make her his queen (here the briefness of their encounter at the ball is balanced by the fact we literaly see Cupid abandon his bow and arrows to HIT THE PRINCE ON THE HEAD WITH A HAMMER, clearly showing a VERY intense love). Unlike in the original tale, where the shoe is brought to Cinderella’s home, here it is a public display - and it is explicitely shown here that the reason no other girl fits the shoe is because all of their feet are too big. Only Cinderella-Boop has feet small enough to match the shoe. 

# However, unlike in Perrault’s tale where Cinderella forgives her stepsisters and allows her in the palace with her, here the two harpies are left locked out of the castle - and they promptly blame each other for their current situation before fighting each other physically. The end.

I unfortunately don’t have much more to say about this cartoon for now... There isn’t really some grand reimagining or message carried there - and while it is a landmark of cartoons, it isn’t like with Disney’s Three Little Pigs, who truly redefined the tale in the American mindset. This is here just a simplified, cute little pin-up Cinderella.

Except for the mystery of the effeminate prince... a breaker of gender-norms before his time, or just an unusually queer design? (We all know about Disney’s queer villains, but who knew about Fleischer’s queer princes, huh?)

[samanthasantosschool]

Color Me Equal: Why Crayons Have More Diversity than Society

by Jayhan Ambrocio, Samantha Abigail Santos, and Lujille Talanquines

Are you racist? If yes, then this blog is for you.

What is racism anyway?

Racism is all about prejudice and discrimination based on race or ethnicity. It can be blatant like hurling insults, or sneaky like microaggressions (think backhanded compliments about your hair). Racism also exists on a systemic level, where policies and institutions disadvantage certain racial groups.

Jayhan will guide us through the kinds of racism!

Ever wonder why lighter skin is sometimes seen as more desirable? It traces back to colonialism, where lighter skin was associated with the colonizers who held power. This warped thinking fuels colorism, where people of color with darker skin tones face prejudice.

“You think the only people who are people are the people who look and think like you.” This is a line in a song entitled “Colors of the wind” which is a soundtrack in a disney movie entitled Pocahontas. This is what I think of every time I hear derogatory comments from classmates, friends, or posts on social media.

From the casual conversations and social media posts to the widespread obsession of skin whitening products. These few occurrences in the Philippines cause confusion about what defines appropriate behavior and racial discrimination.

Growing up, I witnessed how some of my friends would laugh at black people for simply being who they are, even going so far as to call them "negro" or worse.

Whenever our province-based students speak and recite in class, the majority of my classmates at school laugh. Sometimes, they would even ask him to repeat what he said only to laugh at him again. These circumstances where students get bullied inside the class because of their ethnicity is not foreign in the Philippines, it happens quite often.

You see, racism is all around us. We can literally see it everywhere - on social media posts, casual conversations, and even places where people should foster inclusivity.

Moreover, the Philippines is a home for several races and ethnicities, it's not unusual to see Indians, Chinese, and other races in the Philippines. It was particularly concerning how many derogatory remarks were directed at these individuals. This circumstance overlaps with the stereotypical perception of Filipinos when it comes to other races. If someone is Indian, they offer or do lending business. If someone is Chinese, they offer fake products and they are instantly linked with feng shui and fortunate charms.

Racial/Ethnic Profiling: Suspected Before You Even Speak? Sam will educate us about it.

You're walking down the street, minding your own business, when you're suddenly stopped by the police. They ask you questions, search your bag, or even detain you – all because of your race or ethnicity. This is racial profiling, a discriminatory practice where individuals are suspected of criminal activity based solely on their appearance.

Is this even real? Well, the numbers don't lie:

A 2023 report by the ACLU (American Civil Liberties Union) analyzed data from over 20 million traffic stops across the US. It found that Black drivers were pulled over at a rate 2.3 times higher than white drivers, despite having similar violation rates. Latinx drivers were also stopped at a disproportionate rate (1.3 times higher than white drivers).

Indigenous communities in the Philippines, like the Aeta and Igorot people, often face profiling due to stereotypes and misconceptions. A 2021 report by Human Rights Watch documented cases of Aeta individuals being harassed and detained by security guards based solely on their ethnicity.

In 2020, Ahmaud Arbery, a young Black man, was chased and murdered by three white men in Georgia while jogging, allegedly because they thought he looked suspicious. This tragic case exposed the dangers of racial profiling and sparked national outrage.

How does this affect us?

When communities feel they're unfairly targeted by law enforcement, trust breaks down. This makes it harder for police to solve crimes and keep communities safe. A 2021 report by the National Research Council found that racial profiling weakens cooperation between communities and law enforcement, hindering investigations.

Profiling wastes valuable police resources. Spending time stopping people based on race, rather than actual suspicion, diverts attention from real criminal activity.

What can we do?

Hold law enforcement agencies accountable by demanding data on traffic stops and searches, broken down by race and ethnicity.

Advocate for laws that prohibit racial profiling and require anti-bias training for police officers.

Raise awareness about racial profiling and its consequences.

Avoid these toxic principles to permeate your life.

Remember that racial profiling is not just an inconvenience for everyone, it is a violation of civil rights and a barrier to justice. By educating ourselves, demanding change, and working together, we can create a safer and fairer society for everyone.

You're near the end. Lujille will help you digest everything.

Let us address Islamophobia, since everyone thinks it's okay. It is not.

It was not new to some of us to think and perceive that all Muslims are terrorists or some kind of dangerous person. Whenever I would go out in places like public markets, it was clear to my eyes how some people would look at Muslim citizens as if they were the most disgusting people in the world. The judgment and anonymity on their faces were always evident.

The usual phrase, "Muslim kasi," is all over the place. I’ve read an article by News Gallup stating that 48% of Muslims’s population has experienced racial discrimination. It made me think that some people would really stoop down to degrade individuals who were different from them. It was like a constant battle that Muslims had to face in their daily lives.

Somehow, it made me wander. What fulfillment could they get by doing inhumane things to their fellow citizens? Was it happiness? The happiness of being violent?

The world could be so cruel. You wouldn’t know one day you’re just walking, minding your own business, and accidentally passing by a violent encounter, then later on you are accused of a crime you never committed. This was a common issue that Muslims often encounter.

Most people were not aware that, since earlier generations, Muslims have been helping society make continuous progress. Uncountable innovations were created that developed the growth of science and technology. And, what do they get in return? A never-ending prejudice. Despite their religious beliefs and customs being distinct from our own, Muslims are nonetheless people. Their mistreatment is not something they deserve.

To add, this may seem like a little step but, educating those who lack knowledge about the Muslim community and a support and guidance can go a long way toward putting an end to racial prejudice towards Muslims.

Are you still there? Listen to this 🎶

It's clear that this discriminatory practice erodes trust, hinders justice, and creates a climate of fear for targeted communities. But here's the good news: we can fight back!

The Philippines prides itself on its multicultural heritage. Dismantling racial profiling is essential for creating a society where everyone feels safe and respected, regardless of race or ethnicity. By working together, we can create a more inclusive Philippines that lives up to the ideals of Bayanihan.

[itsdanii]

Because I’m an angst-addicted ball of misery, is it okay if I request drabbles of Fuckboy!Atsumu and Fuckboy!Oikawa being the crush of the reader but she knows of how they treat other girls and doesn’t want to end up heart broken and since she’s shy and introverted, the boys barely know her aside from her being a classmate?

She tries to keep a simple distance away from them until said boys randomly show an interest in her and they start showing her attention, love, and treating her better than the girls they messed with until after a few weeks she overhears from them or their teammates that it’s out of pity/they were bored because Y/N seemed easy to mess with.

Y/N doesn’t let them know she overheard them, instead a switch is flipped and she’s emotionless around them and avoids them. When they ask why she’s like that, she simply says “I won’t let you hurt me like the others.” She basically treats them like they don’t exist (she’s friendly to everyone but them) and said f!boys regret it and bust their asses to fix everything between them (I read how you felt about full angst, so the reader just blocked their number, social media’s, and treat them like the plague until they prove that they truly love her or regret messing with her :) )

Hey, bub. Sorry for the slight delay! I hope you don't mind me making slight adjustments about the plot for my comfort 🥺 And uh... this drabble turned out to be a oneshot because I got carried away. I only did Atsumu's part which went over 3k+ works 👁️👄👁️ Anyway, I hope that you still like it. Have a good day, stay safe and hydrated! ♥️

Karma's a b*tch

genre: angst to fluff

warning/s: rude behavior (resolved), cursing, self doubt and insecurity(?), do message me if I missed any

a/n: please do read the warnings before you proceed. warnings have been put there for a reason

ft. fboy!atsumu miya, f!reader

never play with a girl's feelings. wanna know why? just read the title.

You stared at the back of Atsumu's head dreamily, your elbows propped on your desk as you basically ignored the world around you.

Contrary to the belief that noisy students always sat on the back, Atsumu and his twin were actually seated in front. Despite being in the middle of a class discussion, the two kept on chattering as if the teacher didn't exist. The teacher basically gave up already trying to shut them up since they never listened anyway.

You knew that she could've just sent them to detention but of course, who would do that to the miya twins? People almost worshipped them and your teacher wasn't excluded. Everytime she entered the room, you noticed how she would always cast a glance at the Miya twins and smile "politely."

The two, of course, took advantage of it. If it meant being able to get away with their noise by just simply smirking at the teacher in front of them, they'd do it. They already did anyways. They never did anything more than that though, and for some reason you were thankful that they never crossed that line.

You jolted up slightly when the bell suddenly rang, a loud yelp slipping past your lips out of shock. With your eyes widening like saucers, you felt your cheeks heating up when majority of your classmates turned their head towards your direction, some having a grin on their faces while the others having a look of displease.

However, their stare didn't matter as much as a specific person's did. A pair of brownish eyes stared at you intensely, his gaze so intense it was enough to make you almost squirm in your seat.

Feeling your heart rate picking up along with the shiver running down your spine, you looked down at your lap, successfully cutting your eye contact with Miya Atsumu - the guy you secretly liked despite being hailed as your school's certified f!ckboy.

"Make sure to finish all your requirements this upcoming weekend. You're all seniors so I have high expectations on your outputs, understood?"

With a series of "Yes, ma'am," the class was dismissed.

The room was filled with different noises - subgroups gossiping with each other, the footsteps of students hurrying their way out, the rustling of papers, clanking of chairs and the voices of the class representatives reminding the assigned people to clean properly.

It was lively, for them at least.

As for you, you preferred being alone. No, you weren't some weird nerd kid who acted as if they hated the world. Instead, you preferred categorizing yourself as one of those people who were naturally shy and introverted.

You don't really like crowds nor socializing. You've always opted on sitting by the corner, just enjoying the calmness silence brings you.

Grabbing your books from your desk, you stood up and made your way to the door, head casted a little downwards to avoid making eye contact with people, knowing that doing so will result to interactions, and who has time for interactions anyway? Certainly not you.

With the lack of paying attention, you failed to notice someone who was rushing their way out. Like a cliche movie, your body collided with them, the impact causing you to stumble backwards, loosening your grip on your books as they fell on the floor.

Luckily, the person behind you managed to catch you on time, their hand gripping the small of your back to keep your bum from meeting the floor.

"Whoa, there. Ya alright, princess?" spoke the familiar voice just behind your ear, his breath against your skin giving you small goosebumps.

Instantly, you jerked away. Turning around to face him, you bowed down while muttering continuous apologies. "Miya! I didn't mean to bump into you, I.. I swear. I was just walking out and then somebody j-"

Chuckling, Atsumu placed a hand on top of your head, giving your hair a small ruffle which eventually made you look up at him. "Calm down, I ain't mad at ya. No need to be so flustered."

With a stiff nod, you mumbled a small "Okay," before bending down to pick your books off the floor. You didn't fail to notice how your hands were trembling and you silently prayed to whoever diety was watching over you that Atsumu won't notice it.

"Yer y/n, right?" Atsumu asked as he bent down as well, one hand clutching your book as he let his finger trace over the name written on it. "A pretty name fer a pretty face like yers."

You wouldn't be surprised if he'd ask if you were doing okay because by now, you were a hundred percent sure that your face must be looking like a red tomato. "Thanks I guess," you said, giving him a shy smile before taking the book from his hand.

The small encounter was cut off by someone calling for Atsumu's name. Turning your head to the direction of the noise, you noticed Osamu walking towards you with a small frown on his face, one hand gripping the strap of his bag as he went on how they're going to have to run extra laps again if they ever got late for practice.

Atsumu only chuckled at Osamu before turning his focus back on you. With a cheeky smile, he booped the tip of your noise fondly. "Guess I'll see ya around, pretty thing. Careful not to stumble again, alright? Don't want another man catchin' ya."

With that, Atsumu went on his merry way, turning around one more time to send you a wink, chuckling as you gave him a slow wave before his figure disappeared from your vision as a mere dot.

"See ya later..." you whispered on thin air, lips unconsciously curling up as you stared at the direction he went off to. Once you snapped out of your daze, you bit your lip to stop yourself from squealing like a school girl in love.

Well, technically, you were a school girl in love, right?

That night, as you laid on your bed staring at your ceiling full of glow in the dark stars, you thought that maybe it wasn't so bad making conversations with people every once in a while.

-

The days went by pretty quickly.

At first, you thought that everything will be back to normal. After all, you never tried associating yourself with people. Your high school life was basically nothing but waking up early for school then going back home after class and then repeat.

However, something was strange. In fact, it was very strange. Not only were people trying to befriend you but the one and only Atsumu Miya was actually making an effort to talk to you, and to say that you were confused would be an understatement.

He basically didn't pay attention nor spared you a glance before, until that day you bumped into him.

You knew that it wasn't a good practice to judge someone based on what other people say but he wouldn't be called as your school's f!ckboy for nothing. He'd change his girlfriend almost every week as if he's only changing clothes, cruelly dump those who did not meet his certain standards and doesn't care even if a girl cries infront of him. Those are exactly why you tried not associating yourself with him nor his twin.

But there was something about Atsumu Miya that kept on drawing you in. You didn't know if it was his annoying piss colored hair, intense gaze, or the aura surrounding him. You couldn't help but wonder how someone like him, the exact type of person you swore you hated, managed to keep you attracted like a moth on to a flame.

It was weird.

And yet you loved it.

"Ya know y/n, ya kinda wound me," Atsumu said, plopping himself down beside you on the cafeteria.

With your hand clutching the chopsticks mid-air, you surveyed your area, noting how some heads, specifically the Inrizaki VBC's, turned to your direction. "Sorry, what do you mean?" you muttered as soon as your eyes met Atsumu's.

"I literally thought we're already friends when I saved yer ass from falling backwards," Atsumu answered before stuffing his mouth with an Onigiri, no doubt made by Osamu.

Placing your chopsticks down, you wiped your lips with some napkin before speaking up. "I'm sorry for asking this but... what's with the sudden interest, Miya?"

You were aware of how snappy you sounded, but in reality, it was your own defense mechanism acting up. Just how were you supposed to ignore him when it's he himself who kept on clinging to you?

"Hm, what do ya mean? Is it so hard to believe that I'm trying to befriend ya?" Atsumu tilted his head a bit to the side, his lips curling up into a smirk. "Why not try givin' me a chance, princess? That isn't so much to ask for."

You organized your now empty bento, placing it on the side before focusing your whole attention to the man in front of you. "I've seen how you treated girls before," you said with a low voice, averting your gaze from him to avoid melting into a puddle.

Damn stupid feelings.

"I see..." Atsumu said with a slow nod. "Then I guess that makes it more of a challenge."

Your eyebrows immediately furrowed upon hearing that, your curiosity spiking up at what his words meant. "Challenge? What do you mean?"

Instead of answering you, Atsumu just stood up, his bento in hand with the side of his lips curled up. "I'll see ya around, princess."

With that, you were left alone in your table, eyes still trained on Atsumu as he made his way back to the Inarizaki VBC's table. You watched as most of his friends chuckled while patting his back, some even sending a glance towards your direction.

Deciding that pondering over it would only be a waste of time, you stood up and made your way back to your classroom, failing to notice a grey haired Miya watching you.

-

You let out a small squeak as someone behind you reached for the same book you've been trying to get for almost 5 minutes now. Tilting your head back a little, you were met with an upside down vision of Miya Atsumu's face.

With your arms still raised in the air, you spun around to face him, your back flush against the bookshelf keeping you basically trapped. "Miya," you mumbled while looking up at him, one hand fisting the side of your skirt to release some pressure.

"Here," he simply said while handing you the book, obviously holding back from laughing at your flustered expression. "Don't worry, I ain't gonna try anythin' that would make ya uncomfortable. I was just passin' by and saw you strugglin'."

"And he even tucked my hair behind my ear!"

"He did that?" your cousin spoke from beside you.

Both of you were seated on top of your bed, legs crissed crossed as you gossiped about your interactions with Miya Atsumu.

For the past few weeks, you've been having encounters with Atsumu - in the cafeteria, in the library and even outside of school where he claimed that he was out to buy some ingredients for Osamu and only managed to bump into you "coincidentally". Name it and he'll be there.

With these constant encounters stirring up your feelings, you had to resort on calling your cousin for some girl time in order to save your sanity. Luckily, your parents had no objection. They were even happy that you were actually trying to open up to other people. It was only your cousin but according to your parents, "A small step is still a step."

Plopping your back on your bed, you grunted as you placed both of your hands on your cheeks. "Mhm. I just don't get it you know? He's basically this popular guy that plays volleyball, has a group of girls swarming over him and has the face and body that looks like it's been sculpted by God himself, and yet he's wasting his time on me."

You looked at your cousin with a small pout, one hand reaching out to poke her thigh. "Am I just overthinking things?"

With a breathy chuckle, your cousin laid down beside you. "Maybe? I can't really say for sure since I don't know this Miya guy except your description of him, but what I think is that you should give him a chance."

Hearing that, you laid on your side to face her, elbows propped up against the mattress as you rested your cheek on your palm. "Aila, have you been listening to me? He is a f! ckboy. Dangerous, treats girls like shit, and undeniably sexy. What if his sudden interest is only a one time thing? What if he's just messing with me?"

"And what if he isn't?" Upon hearing no reply, your cousin took your silence as her cue to continue. "What if people just labeled him as this so called 'f!ckboy' because that's what they perceive him to be? What if inside him is just someone who's vulnerable, trying to protect themselves from getting hurt by people so they end up hurting others first to save themselves from the pain? What if he's just waiting for someone who wanted to really know him, the real him? Would you really deprive him of that opportunity just because of what you hear from other people?"

"I... I don't know.."

"Miya isn't here to defend himself and I'm not trying to defend him, but don't you think you should at least give him the benefit of the doubt?" Aila smiled as she settled herself on a comfortable position. "Give him a chance, y/n. Everyone deserves to get one. It's up to him to prove whether he's worth the chance he was given."

You sighed deeply, letting her words sink in as you also shifted yourself on a comfortable position, raising your comforter up until it reaches just below your chin. "Then what happens if he isn't worth the chance he's given?"

With a hum, your cousin just shrugged. "Then you either forgive him and let it go or... give him the finger and tell him 'f!ck you' for messing with your feelings," she said with a short giggle.

"It's something only you in the future can decide. Goodnight, y/n."

With a thankful smile, you turned the lamp off as you whispered, "Mh, goodnight, Aila."

-

"Let's be friends," you said as you slammed a box of onigiri in front of Atsumu, a smacking sound resonating in the air making the rest of the boys look at your direction.

Even the sound of balls whooshing in the air stopped, replaced by the sound of them dropping suddenly on the gym's floor.

With his lips parted, Atsumu shifted his gaze from the onigiri, Osamu, Suna and you. "Ah..." he muttered as if he was just as shocked as you for having the guts to come inside the gym in the middle of their training.

Feeling your cheeks heating up out of embarrassment due to his lack of response, you looked down and started to fiddle with you fingers. "You said you wanted to be my friend and I kept on keeping my distance from you so I thought you might appreciate those onigiri as my peace offering." You scratched the back of your head before giving him an awkward smile. "A-anyway, that's all! I'll see you around, Miya!"

Atsumi could only watch you as you dashed out of the gym. Snapping out of his daze, he looked down at the box of Onigiri, smiling unconsciously as he noticed the sticky note posted on top with "Good luck on your practice, Miya! :))" written on it.

"Interestin'," Atsumu whispered before standing up, Kita's voice filling the air as he called the team back for practice.

-

It's safe to say that after that embarrassing moment, you became friends with Atsumu. You even became close with his twin because they were always with each other. It wasn't long then when the usual duo became three - Atsumu, Osamu, and you.

It was hard to adjust at first. Your female classmates would always glare at you and spout out some nasty remarks but the twins were always there to defend you. In fact, you even met the whole team and hanged out with them when you didn't have some academic tasks to finish.

It was fun, and you were thankful for your cousin who gave you the advise of giving Atsumu a chance.

But there was a downside on the situation.

Your feelings which you kept hidden for a long time was only growing day by day, and you were afraid that it was slowly showing signs.

How?

Everytime Atsumu was near, your heart would beat so fast that you felt like you just finished a 4 kilometer run. Your hands would become clammy, breath would hitch, and face would heat up whenever he teases you, and don't even forget to add that one time you literally froze when you spun around, only to come face to face with him - nose almost touching, lips ghosting against each other with only an inch keeping you apart.

You were playing a dangerous game and yet you had no intention of stopping, not knowing that it wasn't only you who had a secret.

Because Atsumu Miya was also playing a game - something much more dangerous than yours.

-

"Where's 'Tsumu?" you asked as you peeked your head inside the gym.

Kita, who was about to walk out, gave you a smile before opening the door wider for you to come in. "Atsumu's in the storage room. The twins made a mess again so I told them to go clean up before we start practice."

"Typical," you said with a short giggle. "Anyway, I'm just going to drop off Atsumu's hoodie that I borrowed last week. I'll watch over them while you do your business."

"That would be great. Thank you so much, y/n-san. Call me if something happens," Kita said, giving you a small nod before leaving.

As you entered the empty gym, you grimaced upon seeing something that looks like spilled milk on the floor. With a shake of your head, you made your way near the storage room sneakily in attempts of scaring Atsumu.

However, as you got closer, you heard two familiar voices. It was Atsumu's and Osamu's voice, and basing from the way they were speaking, it seemed as if they were in the middle of an argument.

"The fuck did ya say?" It was Osamu.

"I said I was only playin' with her. I mean, she's so easy, don't ya think? It basically only took me a couple of weeks and she came runnin' to me with that box of Onigiri, claimin' she wanted to be friends," Atsumu said, followed by a chuckle. "As if I didn't notice the way she acted around me. I'm telling ya, that girl is in love with me."

"And so, what if she is? That's not an excuse for ya to play with her feelings, dipshit."

Hearing Atsumu huff, you slightly backed away from the door, only to freeze when you heard his next words.

"Y/n is nothin' but a toy to me, somethin' I can dispose of when I got bored."

Biting your lower lip, you clenched the handle of the paperbag you were holding before running out with tears streaming down your face.

You ran as fast as you could, ignoring the worried looks you're getting from the people you were passing by. Even Kita was shocked to see you yet he didn't bother calling out, thinking that you might be needing some alone time for yourself.

You skipped class.

Throughout your whole Highschool life, this was the first time you skipped your class and it was a bummer that the reason was Atsumu Miya.

Stirring your strawberry milkshake from a nearby cafe, you thought about Atsumu's words, another batch of tears streaming down your face as you realized how pathetic you were for believing that he isn't what others say.

Maybe your cousin was wrong.

Atsumu Miya wasn't worth the chance he was given, because he only proved that once a f!ckboy, always a f!ckboy.

-

You blocked Atsumu's social media accounts.

In fact, you even blocked and deleted his number to stop getting in contact with him.

Even in person, you didn't bother paying him any attention unlike before. You stopped coming to their practices, stopped giving him food and stopped talking to him.

You basically acted as if he didn't exist.

It was hard because you knew that your heart belonged to him, but you had to endure it. You didn't want to give him the satisfaction for playing with you. You know your worth and there's no way you're going to let some f*ckboy ruin you.

"Y/n, would ya stop?!" Atsumu said as he grabbed your wrist, effectively stopping you from walking away from him any further.

"Get your hands off me, Miya. I don't wanna talk to you." You struggled against his hold, trying to take your hand back, only to fail when he tightened his grip.

"The hell's yer problem? What's with the sudden attitude? Yer basically ignorin' me and I don't have any idea what I did. Just tell me what I did wrong instead of actin' like a little brat." Letting go of your wrist, Atsumu groaned as he ran his fingers through his hair out of frustration. "I.. I don't like this."

You laughed, eyes squinting as you let out a fit of giggles before pointing at him. "You don't like this? Why not, Miya? I'm just a toy for you, right? So, I don't really get why you don't like this. Is it because you're not bored of me yet so you're not willing to dispose of me?" Crossing your arms over your chest, you looked at him with a serious expression. "Well, I'm sorry to say this but I'm not going to let you hurt me like the others. I'm not a plaything nor am I desperate like those girls pining over you. Have fun looking for a new toy. You're not worth playing with anyway."

That being said, you turned your back on Atsumu, ignoring the whispers that suddenly filled the hallway as the students parted some space for you, leaving Atsumu with his lips parted and feet frozen on the ground.

Serves you right, Miya.

-

Atsumu felt hollow.

With every passing day that you're ignoring him, conversing with people whom you never bothered associating yourself with before, the more he regret taking advantage of your feelings.

It was only supposed to be a game, nothing but a pass time and yet why did it felt like something was missing?

"I wasn't supposed to care," Atsumu said desperately while clutching his head in his hands, elbows propped on the table as he opened up to his twin. "F!ck...I think I like her, 'Samu."

"No shit, idiot," Osamu answered without taking his eyes off the stove. "I told ya several times to stop messin' with people's feelings and did ya ever listen? No. That's what ya get for bein' stupid."

Groaning, Atsumu rested his cheek against the table, facing Osamu's back. "Help me."

Slowing down from stirring the pot, Osamu looked at Atsumu through his shoulder. "Why would I do that?"

"Well, I'm yer twin. Aren't ya supposed to help me? Plus... y/n acts fine around ya." Atsumu sighed before sitting up properly. "I won't bother ya fer a week if ya help me out. I already did everythin' I could. Flowers, chocolates, even payin' attention in class just to impress them! Nothin' worked."

Osamu chuckled at the desperation and frustration in Atsumu's voice. "Deal." He turned the stove off, covering the pot before making his way to Atsumu. Sitting down, he crossed his arms over his chest while staring at the brokenhearted Miya. "Y/n is actually kind. Well, not until that moment she found out about yer stupidity. Have ya tried showin' her that yer willin' to change?"

Atsumu nodded. "I did. I even gave her the usual things girls like."

"I asked if ya showed her that yer willin' to change, not tried winnin' over her through bribery." When Atsumu didn't respond, Osamu let out a 'tsk' before continuing, "Just stop botherin' her and prove that ya regret what ya did."

"Easier said than done," Atsumu grumbled which earned him a smack on the head.

"Will ya stop bein' a sad boy already? I have a plan."

-

Its been two weeks.

Two weeks of no Miya Atsumu trying to apologize. Two weeks of no Miya Atsumu following you like a lost puppy while holding either chocolates or flowers.

Instead, what you were getting were these random post it notes on your locker, your desk, everywhere. Wherever you go, there would be random post it notes with various messages. Some contained cheesy quotations, the others short apology letters.

And despite how mad you were at Atsumu, you wouldn't be able to deny how cute the act was. Not only did he gave you space but also exerted an effort of silently letting you know that he'd be willing to wait for you.

You noticed how he stopped acting like a boss in class, opting to jot down notes instead of chattering with Osamu like usual. You also noticed how he stopped having a random girl beside him during breaks. Everytime you would pass by, no longer would he try to block your way and flick your forehead, but instead give you a hopeful smile before proceeding on his way wordlessly.

But what made you realize that he indeed regret what he did was that one time.

You were walking back to your classroom after forgetting your umbrella. The sound of the heavy rain tapping on the ground resonated on the empty hallways, the cold wind making you shiver as it whooshed in the air.

Wrapping your arms tightly around you, you entered your classroom, eyes widening as you saw Atsumu trying to fit something on the space below your desk while mumbling something.

Clearing your throat, you noticed Atsumu jolting up slightly before turning around to face your direction.

He smiled sheepily before scratching his nape. "I know it's yer birthday tomorrow so I was tryin' to fit this here. I guess there's no point hidin' it already since ya caught me anyway." Sighing, Atsumu picked up the fox stuffie and handed it to you. "Happy Birthday, y/n. I know yer still mad at me and ya probably hate me but I still wanted to give ya a present."

You stared at the fox in your hand, your fingers poking the fluffiness of the material as you fought back the urge to smile. "Thanks," you answered with a dismissive tone.

For a split second, it was silent, and you were aware of the intensity of Atsumu's gaze burning on your forehead, yet you refused to look up, knowing that once you did, you won't be able to hold yourself back and might just forgive him there and then.

"I like ya, I really do. I know I messed up big time fer taking advantage of ya and I'm sorry fer that. It was stupid and childish of me to think that the people around me are nothing but mere toys fer me to play with. I regret hurtin' yer feelings and I'll be willin' to wait until ya forgive me. Just know that I won't stop until ya do."

Hearing something rustling, you looked up and noticed Atsumu taking off his jacket. Within a few steps, he was already infront of you, draping his jacket over your figure. "I'll see ya around, princess. Don't get sick, alright?" Smiling, Atsumu gave your cheek a small pinch before heading out.

You were left in the empty classroom with nothing but the fox stuffie serving as your company. Atsumu's scent was swirling around you from the jacket you were given and at that moment, you haven't notice the single tear sliding down your cheek.

Because of all people, you never expected for Atsumu Miya to be the first one to greet you without having to remind them.

He was the first person you knew outside of your household to ever remember your birthday.

You hugged the stuffie close to your chest, burrying your face on top of its head as you let the comfort it brings envelope you.

-

You stared at the empty space infront, your head swirling as you thought of the possible reasons why Atsumu haven't been in class for three days now.

It's currently your last subject and throughout the whole day, you've been doing nothing but wonder where he was. You haven't asked Osamu about it yet since he was excused from the class due to the preparations for the upcoming match.

And so, the moment your class was dismissed, you rushed your way out, making your trip to the gym. You were thankful that they were in the middle of a water break so you had the chance to call out Osamu's name without having to worry about Kita.

"Y/n?" Osamu's eyebrow shot up upon seeing you. Suddenly, a knowing smile made its way to his lips. Standing up, he walked over to you. "He's sick," he said without even waiting for you to say something.

"Oh.." you muttered, shifting from one foot to another nervously before tugging at the hem of Osamu's jersey. "Do you... uhm, do you think it would be alright if I visit him after your practice? I wanna see if he's doin' alright."

"Alright. I think 'Tsumu would appreciate that. Why don't ya sit on the bench and wait a little for us to finish practice then ya can visit our house after?"

Upon hearing that, your face instantly lit up. You smiled at Osamu as you nodded.

Osamu only chuckled at you and fondly ruffled your hair, a habit he and Atsumu shared.

You waited patiently, and it wasn't long then when their practice finally finished. After Osamu took a shower, you both went on your way to their residence.

As you entered their house, Atsumu's voice immediately met your ears.

"'Samu! Cook me somethin', I'm starvin!"

You looked at Osamu who only shrugged as if he was already used to it. You took your shoes off and wore the slippers you were given before placing your bag on the couch.

"Our room is on the right. Go ahead and talk to him." Osamu said as he pointed on the door at the end of the hallway.

With a nod, you slowly made your way to their room, knocking softly before sliding your way in.

The first thing that greeted you were the mess of opened junk foods on the floor. Roaming your eyes around, you grimaced at the sight of empty water bottles littered around along with the volleyball laying on the ground.

Averting your eyes away from the trash, you looked at Atsumu whose back was facing you, his shoulder raising up and down evenly, indicating that he must be asleep.

Carefully, you walked claser and sat on the edge of his bed, your hand immediately feeling his forehead. "You're burning up," you mumbled, brushing his hair away from his face.

Suddenly, Atsumu's hand gripped your wrist, his eyebrows furrowed as he squinted his eyes. "Am I dreamin' or are ya a ghost?" he asked with a raspy voice.

"I'm not a ghost, 'Tsumu. I'm really here."

You watched as Atsumu slowly nodded before letting go of your wrist. "What're ya doin' here? I thought ya were still mad at me." Sitting up, Atsumu held the comforter close to him as he shivered.

"I heard you were sick. I'm no longer mad at you. I guess I'm still upset but I just can't hold a grudge against you forever, can I? That's not something I can do," you said with a shake of your head. "I really like you, you know? Despite your title of being a f!ckboy, I still fell for you. You were the first person I tried opening up to aside from my cousin. It's just a bummer that you ended up taking advantage of that vulnerability."

You felt Atsumu reaching out for you, his hand enveloping yours as he gave it a small squeeze. "I know, and I'm sorry. I really am."

"And if I give you another chance, will you prove me that you deserve it?" you asked as you looked at him, "I'm still hurt about what happened so I hope that if I give you this chance, you won't waste it."

"Yes. God, yes," Atsumu answered breathlessly, "I promise it won't happen again and I'll try to be better."

Suddenly, Atsumu wrapped his arms around your figure, pulling you on his lap as he settled his head on the side of your neck. "Thank you," he mumbled repeatedly against your skin, his arms tightening around you as if he was afraid of letting go.

And he never did.

Indeed, there was something about Miya Atsumu that kept drawing you in, and despite the bumps and dangers that came along your way, you didn't withraw.

Because as you closed the last page of your photo album eight years from then, you realized how right your cousin was alll along.

Atsumu Miya was worth the chance he was given, and he proved it to you every single day, sealing it with the diamond ring now resting on your left hand.

Likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated ♥️

[littlemisslipbalm]

“you make me so angry sometimes”

idk if this gif makes sense, but i feel like it will if you read the story, it just gives me that vibe. 

A one shot I cooked up idk, it’s about Harry and a makeup artist on DWD, it’s quite angsty, idk how that happened, it’s also very long, idk how that happened either, maybe i do a part 2, maybe i don’t idk lmk. Feedback is appreciated, not proofread. REBLOGS help writers tremendously and i love reading whatever you write in the tags its my favorite thing!! Love yall and Merry Christmas!

Word Count: 17.7k | Warnings: ENEMIES to LOVERS! swearing, angst!, some anxiety -like self-doubt, yn being mean to harry kind of a lot, i dont remember, nothing too crazy, Nick Kroll?, lots of conversation

-

When she pictured herself as a makeup artist in Los Angeles, she hadn’t pictured exactly what she was doing right now.

She had expected doing gorgeous makeup for gorgeous actresses or doing wildly fun stuff like in Euphoria. And because of that she had worked her ass off to get where she was today. She had practiced for hours, worked countless hours for free, and networked to the cows came fucking home.

So why the fuck was she using tattoo-strength concealer to cover up the maybe 60 tattoos some asshole musician turned actor had all over?

Don’t Worry Darling was her first major film to work on so she couldn’t complain. She was happy to simply be there. Well she had been. The first day she had showed up 15 minutes early and had worn her favorite power suit she had. It was dark navy with a white lace long sleeve turtleneck underneath. She hoped to look fun but professional.

Hollywood was all about impressions, especially first ones, even when you’re the makeup artist. She had quickly learned that she was one of six makeup artists. One of them being the friend who had helped her get the job, Angie. Angie was like her surrogate mother in Los Angeles that she had met on her first film job for something much less high profile than Olivia Wilde’s second directing project. Her braided grey hair and fabulous jeans had drawn Y/N right in and they had connected instantly.

Since Y/N was deemed the most inexperienced by the head of the makeup department, she was relegated to easier jobs: assisting the other artists on main characters sometimes, mostly dealing with minor characters touch ups (and full make-up if she was lucky), and the job nobody wanted: tattoo coverage.

Harry Styles was one of the leads for the film and besides his minimal acting, everyone knew he was a worldwide rockstar. With the rock and roll life starting off as a popstar life at the ripe age of 16, he had amassed around 60 tattoos in the past decade. Impressive by her standard normally. She usually counted herself as an appreciator of tattoos and their art, finding them similar to makeup and the self expression that came with both forms. Especially since she had a few of her own, but when she walked into Trailer #6 and saw a good amount of Harry’s tattoos, she wanted to murder every artist he’d ever been to.

She had to make an inventory the first day of all of his visible tattoos when he was just wearing boxers. He had been friendly, trying to make conversation, but as the time wore on, they both grew tired and silent. She had to write down the location and a description of every tattoo and as he took off everything but boxers she grew more and more annoyed with his random and dumb tattoos. Some of them were amazing, the eagle, the anchor, the butterfly, and the ferns were probably her favorites. But some of them, she couldn't hold back her rolling eyes and annoyed expressions. The “Big” on his right big toe, a miniscule lock, almost everything on his inner left arm (the packers logo, Pingu, etc.)

She traces at the rose and the ship and then flips his arm out to reveal his inner arm to her gaze. “That is a big fucking bee.”

He snickers, “Y’like it?”

She ignores his question. “For god’s sake, someone is needle happy,” she said as she examined his left arm, taking note of every permanent drawing.

He shrugs his right shoulder, uninhibited by her prodding. “Dunno, beginning to regret some of them.”

“I would hope,” she mutters, scribbling on her paper the various ones she had just seen on his arm. Next was his ribcage ones.

He scoffs, “Oi, it’s not like you haven’t got any.”

“How would you-” She looks at him wide eyed.

“Right…” he takes his right hand and pushes her hair past her ear to reveal three little red line butterflies following the curve of her ear, “There. At least.”

She huffs and knocks his hand away from her. Her hair falling back into its place.

“Maybe some located in a few more intimate places I’m guessing from the red rushing to your cheeks right now.”

“Can you just let me do my job,” she says, not giving in to his teasing or sparing him a glance as she feels his intense gaze on her face. She was studying his left rib cage where a few cool tattoos happened to be.

“You at least have some taste or persuasive artists because not all of these are shit,” she speaks again after just the sound of her pen on the paper filled the trailer.

“Gee, thanks,” he laughs unamused and rolls his large green eyes.

She thought he had some of the biggest eyes she’d ever seen. But she also knew to keep that to herself because he’d either take it as a compliment and think she was noticing him too much or he’d take it as a massive insult and get her fired.

His right hand taps at his thigh, tapping a rhythm she didn’t care to pay any attention too. She just wanted to finish the stupid inventory of the stupid tattoos on this stupid man.

“Take those off,” she says to Harry, looking back at her clipboard again, filling up quickly with her notes.

He stands there, staring at her stubbornly. He was entirely bored with this exercise, especially since his company was some of the worst he’s ever had. She spares him a glance when she doesn’t notice any slipping off of the colorful sweatpants he’s wearing.

She arches a brow at him, her pen tapping impatiently against the paper. “Go on. Can’t imagine you want this to go on longer than it already has.”

He rolls his eyes again, slipping his thumbs into the waistline of the pants and tugging down. Simultaneously, he toes off the dirty vans he seemed to wear everywhere. The fabric pools easily and he steps out of them and discards them on the couch behind him. He’s actually wearing black briefs. She chooses not to notice anything further than that.

“Socks...can stay on,” She tries to say as he begins to peel one off. He stops midway and nods.

She flings his shirt to him, not needing to see his naked torso for another moment, “I know you’ve got some feet and ankle tats, but I also know that you won’t be wearing anything that will expose them. Thank your lucky stars that I don’t have to makeup your feet.”

He catches the shirt easily and slips his arms inside before tugging it quickly over his head and over his expansive shoulders. The ferns disappear out of sight.

“Well then we’re almost done then. Just got the knee ones -”

“And the tiger. That’s gonna be one son of a bitch,” she sighs and examines his legs, not bothering to crouch.

“What the actual fuck dude?” Her tone is exasperate and like she would rather be anywhere else than here.

“I’m sorry?” He sputters, hands on his hips and eyes bewildered.

“Yes. No. Oui. Non. Who are you?” She rubs at her eyes and shakers her head.

“S’a little rude.”

“You’re right,” she semi-rushes out at his serious tone, ready to apologize. When a grin spreads over his face and he chuckles under his breath she really wants to smack him upside the head. He was exhausting. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Thought it was funny at the time. Kind of think it’s even funnier now since it’s got you all mad.” He leans over her shoulder to look at her notes and when she glances at him unhappily he just looks smug.

“Alright,” she finishes the scribble of a description and clicks the end of her pen, “All done. You can get dressed. I’ll see you bright and early for tattoo makeup. It’s gonna take about an hour to do all this, just so you can mentally prepare for that.”

“It was nice to meet you,” he attempts at a friendly and professional farewell. “See you tomorrow…” he trails off as he watches her turn on her heel and walk out of the trailer door swiftly. The door swung shut and bounced a little bit in her wake.

Harry sighed and adjusted his clothes and hair in the mirror. After a moment he shakes his head, an even louder sigh escaping him.

-

“Good morning!” She greets happily, walking into the trailer without a knock. Well-rested and happy at least that she doesn’t have to just inspect a body, she looks around the trailer.

She realizes no one is there and she’s taken aback. First of all, if Harry wasn’t there then he shouldn’t have left his trailer unlocked. And second, he was fucking late, the fucking twat.

She grumbles, setting her coffee on the countertop. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. “In through the nose, out through the mouth” she mutters. She knew this was a big opportunity and having a big star like Harry in her corner could make her career. She needed them to get off on a better foot today.

“Good form, I’d say relax the shoulders a little more,” the door swings open carrying the California twang-British accent that she would soon become all too accustomed to.

Harry points at her shoulders and narrows his eyes regarding her in the trailer. She offers a strained smile through the mirror and Harry sets down his personal things on the couch.  

“Alright, well let’s get started shall we,” she smiles and turns to him, gesturing to the swivel chair next to her.

He nods, a twinkle in his eye as he regards her. He’s unsure of the tone and attitude she’s giving him today. She had been feisty yesterday, cordial at times, but mostly biting and witty. He had liked it. It had made the whole ordeal bearable whereas now she seemed to be laying it on a little thick.

“Just your hands and neck today,” she says, pulling out the makeup materials needed and a checklist of the tattoos she needed to make sure were invisible.

“Should only take..a little under an hour today. Just gonna remind you now though, other days we won’t be so lucky.”

Harry chuckles under his breath and rolls his head around his shoulders before sitting in the chair. “Were you tired yesterday?” He inquires.

“Why do you ask?” She throws a glance over her shoulder at Harry. He’s begun slipping off his sweatshirt and yawns as he does it.

“You seem different from yesterday and I’m just wondering which one is the real you.”

She continues working about the room and rolls her eyes to herself, “I’m always the real me. I come no other way, but this morning I woke up and thought ‘this is the job you’ve fucking wanted for ages, so stop being such a bitch so you don’t get fired, you prick’.” She pauses and turns to face Harry. “The ‘you prick’ was directed at me, that was still part of my thought,” she adds.

He throws his head back and laughs. Then he nods, still laughing lightly, “I get that. Sometimes I’m just so in my head and yesterday I was just so fuckin’ bored. Sorry if I got on your nerves.”

“Don’t mention it.” She waves her hand at him nonchalantly.  

Then she moves to inspect his hands and notices the lack of rings, unlike yesterday when she had to make him take them off.

“You have amazing cuticles,” she notices and mentions without any pretences. Harry mutters his thanks, pursing his lips as he watches her work.

She stops her inspection and places the clipboard on the countertop in front of them.

“Could you take your necklaces off? I need to cover up half of the swallows and the years, for when you unbutton your shirt a bit.”

He wets his lips and nods, hands going to fiddle with the clasps behind his neck. He slips off one of the necklaces with ease, a yellow eye beaded necklace that he lays gently on the countertop next to the clipboard. Then he takes his cross and pulls it over his head, no clasp needed.

“Could I put some music on?” Harry asks after five minutes of Y/N working in silence and Harry only being able to stare either at himself, her work, or nowhere.

“I can,” she stops her work for a moment, “Can’t have you messing up the makeup before it sets. Otherwise I’d have to kill you.” Harry can’t be sure if she’s joking or not. Therefore, he was intent on not messing it up.

“Any requests?” She stands at the counter now, instead of seated on a stool working on Harry's left hand.

He shrugs, like he hasn’t got the faintest idea about good music. She refrains from rolling her eyes once again because she feels herself in a test. She wets her lips, sifting through different things in her Spotify and then lands on her playlist titled “it’s your song” named after Elton John’s song. It had some other musicians, a mix of Queen, Bowie, and more and she was sure she would pass the test.

She presses shuffle and She’s Always A Woman by Billy Joel begins to play over her laptop. Harry nods pleased and she wants to shake her head at him.

She can’t hold back the scoff though after a moment of going back to finishing his hand.

“What?” His British accent thickens with his annoyance growing.

“Nothing,” she chirps, intently putting the final touches on his wrist.

“Seriously. What?”

She stands and sets down the makeup. “Can you unbutton your shirt?” She made a note to herself that from now on she’d have to have him take his shirt off before setting to work because if his hands got messed up she’d have to start over. Thankfully he was already wearing a button up this morning.

He stares at her, offering no movement, just inquisitively waiting for her to respond to his original question.

She shuts her eyes, taking another deep breath and then bites at her lower lip. “It’s just...you’re so easy to read.” She fears adding anything else and moves towards him with the makeup hoping to encourage him to unbutton his shirt.  

His right hand deftly pulls at the buttons as he regards her. His eyes are intent on her, she can see him clearly calculating her. Her green paisley button up tucked up into the back of her bra leaving a splay of her stomach. The semi-balloon sleeves cinched at the wrists leading to her slightly ringed hands. The oversized blue jeans that have no holes, just a tiny patch right next to the left pocket. The frayed ends of the pants laying over her rather pristine white old skool vans.

The Boxer fades in as she waits for him to finish the unbuttoning of the shirt. He’s still staring at her.

“Am I?” He finally inquires, voice pitched higher like he doesn’t believe her.

She gives him a serious stare and leans over him and adjusts the collar of his shirt. She adds paper towels to avoid makeup on his clothes.  

“Yes!” She laughs, “And you don’t even think so, which is like...of course.”

He hums, tilting his head back as she sets to work on covering up the swallows. He wiggles his hands that now both rest on the arm chairs.

“I don’t see it.”

“Of course you don’t,” she glances at his face, their eyes meeting for a moment. “You’re Harry Styles. Everyone is in love with this image you created for yourself and it has just enough of your true self that people feel like they really know you, but you also maintain the illusion. So you think you’re this mysteriously amazing, not like the rest guy, but you are just like the rest of them. Obsessed with yourself and rich so you’re deemed eccentric rather than crazy for all the extravagant shit you do. So when you want me to play music and don’t offer any suggestions I know exactly what music I need to play for you to like me.”

“I feel like that last part says more about you than it does me,” he quirks a brow at her, straining his neck to look at her face as she continues to work.

She flushes, his response both better and worse than she expected. She had gotten a little carried away in her response and she had no idea why. She truly wasn’t one to go off on people so easily and especially not with someone she hardly knew, but something about Harry had her on edge. She was just thankful he hadn’t gotten mad at her response, instead he took it in stride. Further proving her point that he was extremely smart and did things purposefully and she saw right through it all.

She grumbles, “It says that all anyone has to do to get close to you is understand the smallest bit about you and you’ll let them in.”

“That is just so completely wrong, Y/N, I hate to break it to you.” It’s Harry rolling his eyes now, unable to move much more of his body as she continues painting on the concealer to remove his tattoos for the movie.

“Fine. Enlighten me on what I got wrong.”

Their argument had all but drowned out their music. They both did love this music and ironically if they would just shut their mouths, they’d probably like each other a lot more.

“Might as well,” he sighs. “First of all, my image is authentic and of course I don’t want to give myself all away. I enjoy my privacy and for everyone to truly know me I’d have to give that up. Which I’m not keen on. So, I regret to inform you but I am the same guy everyone is “in love with”. Second, I know I am a little self-involved, how else would I get here if I wasn’t constantly taking inventory of myself and reevaluating who I am. As a musician, I want to give as much of myself as possible or else it just feels inauthentic. And the extravagant thing, I can’t help that I like nice things and my job has allowed me to afford those things.”

He stops to take a deep breath and she’s working in stunned silence, in disbelief that Harry is even telling her any of this or that he’s spoken that much and so quickly. Wasn’t he notorious for speaking slowly with barely even a sentence worth of actual information. He sounds tired and frustrated, but also, surprisingly, sincere.

He continues, “The music thing. Maybe it was a test, but still it doesn’t mean I give everyone a mile when they say their favorite musicians match up with mine or something. I note that they either did their homework or might be an interesting person to get to know.”

“So which am I?” She widens her eyes.

“Obviously the second even if you’re also making it painfully clear that you don’t like me.”

“You’re smarter than I thought, Harry. I’ll give you that,” she smirks slyly, finishing up the bird coverage now.

He laughs. “Thanks,” he drawls out.

“And I admit that maybe you aren’t as easy to read as I made out, but I think we’re going to have to agree to disagree about the whole being your authentic self. I just don’t buy it. I can see your mind working constantly, you’re not one to just let yourself be free in public. And I’m not saying that’s a bad thing, I’m just saying, you shouldn’t pretend like that’s not what you’re doing.”

Her final thought leaves Harry silent. She pays no attention to his silence or at least she’s actively ignoring it. Instead she tunes back into the music that had gotten them back onto the wrong foot. This was going to be a long few months.

When she’s satisfied with her work, she has them sit there for thirty minutes to give it all time to set before Harry is off to hair and other makeup. They sit there listening to music. Neither of them have spoken again, except instructions from her and Harry’s hums of approval of songs.  

Harry stands up after thirty minutes as she stays behind to pack up some items. Just as he’s about to step out of the door, he turns and calls her name.

“For the record, I don’t think you’re giving me a fair shot. You said yourself that you’re different every day. That every version of you, is you. So I hope you’ll give me the same allowance, every version of me is me. In this trailer, in my music videos, on tv, in interviews, in my free time. It’s all truly me.”

She bites her inner cheek as he ducks his head and exits the trailer, not allowing her any response.

-

“You’re late!”

“Meeting ran over with Nick and Olivia. Sorry,” Harry says as he begins to undress.

It’s the first day she has to cover all of his tattoos. It was going to take forever by all accounts. It had been two weeks since shooting had begun and she had gotten the simple hands and neck down to 45 minutes so she could only dread what his entire body would take.

“It’s fine,” she grumbles, knowing there wasn’t really anything else she could say about him coming late from a meeting with the director and producer.

Over the last two weeks, they hadn’t grown any fonder of one another. Not at all. They at least had gotten into a system though and she was grateful for that at least.

They showed up, Harry got in his chair, she set up the music, and they got to work. Harry would practice lines on some days and he’d tell her that before she turned on the music so there were no interruptions. Sometimes they talked about stuff on set or music or she’d give Harry his line when he was trying to be off script and forgot one. She wouldn’t classify it as pleasant, but they weren’t at each other throats like they were originally.

Trailer 6 had gotten a little homier as the weeks went by, too. Harry began leaving some of his stuff there and he started putting up silly drawings he would make while on set or polaroids people had taken with him while he was there. He tacked up napkins of restaurants that catered the set and wrote funny jokes and quotes on post it notes. His personal assistants sometimes brought in snacks while Y/N was still working and Harry always offered her some. They were usually healthy, but sometimes she’d eat some. Jeff, his manager, had also stopped by on occasion during his tattoo touch-ups that had become a thing after shooting days had grown longer.

On first meeting, Jeff had said, “Y/N? Harry mentioned you.”

She had turned to Harry with an arched brow and he had shrugged. When she looked back at Jeff she didn’t see Harry give Jeff one of the deadliest looks he could muster. She had grimaced and said “Well we spend enough time together for him to know my name. So thank god for that at least.”

They had all laughed and she had gotten back to work on Harry’s wrist.

Today, she needed Harry in his shorts. It was the first day of shooting where his character would be only in his boxers so she had to cover up all his visible tattoos. Olivia had told the makeup department they actually had to cover up his feet tattoos as well. She wanted him sockless in the scene and Y/N had groaned immediately when she made it to the trailer and Harry wasn’t already there.

“But please, for the sake of my job, strip, dude.” She says, arms crossed over her chest and leaning against the counter as she watched Harry set his things down. Her soft green striped cardigan is open, exposing the white tank top sitting underneath. Her bright green shorts hang loose on her, cinched at the waist and folded over once. Her white high top nike’s tap impatiently on the floor, waiting for Harry to get moving.

He nodded, truly feeling sorry for his tardiness, knowing today was a long day. He was anxious and tired. Acting was a different experience to music and he just was really trying his best.

As he began to take off his shirt, he laughed. His arms pulled the shirt over his head and when it popped out from beneath it, he repeated, “Strip, dude,” attempting to mimic her American accent.

He had practiced his American accent in front of her while running lines, but it had a 50’s drawl to it. His acting coach had been drilling him for weeks before shooting and he still liked to practice. The accent he had just down was far off from that and far off from hers too.

“Do not,” she warned.

“What?” He asks innocently and flutters his eyelashes.

She knows his game by now and she knows she should just ignore him. She knows this after fourteen days. She knows this after hours with him. She knows this, but then she’s opening her mouth and playing into his teases.

“Sorry, what’s a word you would know? Mate?” She tries for a British accent with the last word, knowing she can’t win this.

Harry snickers and scratches at his nose with his index finger before starting on taking off his pants. “You’re so Californian.”

“Thank you,” she chirps, moving to sit beside him now that he had settled.

“I like your shorts,” he muses, crossing his legs, likely a little cold.

She glances down at her cotton shorts that showed more of her thighs when she sat for a moment before returning her gaze to his left arm. The longest task of the day was this damn arm.

“Thanks,” she mumbles, “Wanted to be comfortable today. Knew it was gonna be long.”

A smile bubbles onto his face, his pink lips parting to reveal his shiny white teeth behind them. “So true.”

The music is low today. She had chosen Joni Mitchel’s Blue album for the first pick of the day. She had quickly learned Harry preferred listening to albums in order. It tended to make him less jumpy when the same artist came on multiple times like an album. So when she tried to play just an album one day, she found him more cooperative and less irritable.

After thirty minutes of work, she can’t stop noticing how shivery Harry is. It was late October in LA, so it was still warm, but admittedly the mornings could be a little chilly. His shivering was concerning for many reasons. Mainly he was messing up her work and concentration, but she also didn’t want him to get sick or something.

“Do you want me to see if they have a blanket and slippers or something? You look like you’re turning blue.”

Harry turns his attention to her. He had been reading over the script for today again. “That’d be great. I can call…” He trails off trying to think of the name of one of his assistants, but apparently he’s too scatterbrained for it. She assumed it was the hypothermia traveling to his brain already.

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll walkie someone.” She says as she grabs the walkie talkie, flicking to the personal assistants channel.

“Hey,” she chirps happily. Harry noted how she talked to other people. So sweet, yet sincere. With him, it was serious and sincere but more biting, callous at times. Less so lately, but she definitely was sharper with him. He didn’t know if it even bothered him anymore. She was engaging if nothing else.

“Is someone free to bring two blankets and men’s slippers over to Trailer 6? I’ve got a naked Jack and I don’t want him freezing before I’m done covering up his tattoos.” She takes her finger off the talking button and glances sideways at him, “Who knows, maybe that would improve his acting. Y’know on second-thought-”

“Alright, alright,” Harry tries to grab for the walkie talkie, but she turns from him holding a finger up signalling him to wait as she listens for a response.

Someone says a simple “On it” and she turns off the walkie talkie and gets back to work.

“I took my finger off the speaker before I said the thing about your acting. Relax, Harry.” She says when he’s still glaring at her. “Just love to see you squirm.”

He shakes out his short chestnut hair, some of it falling over his forehead. Instinctively, she reaches up without even looking and smooths it back. Like she was tucking her own hair out of her eyes, but instead it was Harry’s. She decided to say nothing and was relieved when Harry didn’t say anything either.

She finishes his forearm and moves to his outer upper arm. The rose holds her attention when the PA knocks on the door and she has to race to get it. Nothing could stop her from moving on this work. It was already an hour in and she wanted to scream.

She swings open the door and she wants to die. It was Autumn. Her least favorite PA, of course. She was insufferable and obsessed with Harry. Which was not why Y/N found Autumn insufferable. There were so many more reasons. So many. But that particular character flaw didn’t help her case either. Y/N tried to just take the blankets and slippers from Autumn, but the woman insisted that she come in.

“I’ve got it,” Y/N says.

“No, don’t want you to get makeup on anything,” Autumn’s saccharine voice grinds at her ears and she contemplates cutting them off.

Harry sat in his chair, legs crossed, nodding along to the music, his script discarded on the counter in front of him.

“Hi Harry!” Autumn practically yells, walking right up to him.

Y/N takes a deep breath at the door, letting it swing shut. She bites her lower lip as an attempt to bite her tongue as she walks back to her set-up. The set-up Autumn was conveniently blocking.

“Hello, Autumn,” Harry says kindly, making eye contact with her. “How’re you today?”

“So great! So great! Thanks for asking. How are you?” She points a finger at him like she might poke him and Harry squirms away from her a bit. She, of course, doesn’t notice this.

“Well, thanks.” His eyes flicker to Y/N, who is standing behind Autumn, hands on her hips and attempting not to tap her foot. His tone is clearly dismissive, but Autumn must ignore it. Y/N knows Autumn isn’t as helpless as she tries to come off.

Autumn asks, “Where do you want these?”, gesturing to the two blankets and slippers stacked on top.

“Just on the counter is fine, thanks,” Harry says.

Autumn does as he says and then stands there with baited breath. Y/N’s not sure what she’s expecting. For Harry to ask for her hand in marriage or something? But he just glances between the two women. His own foot begins wiggling in impatience.

“Busy day,” He attempts at dismissing her once again - with kindness.

“Oh my gosh, totally!” Autumn gushes, starting to go off on all of the tasks she has to do. She stands so close to Harry, Y/N genuinely thinks she’s going to sit in his lap. Y/N stares up to the ceiling, begging god or whoever to end her misery right there and then.

Harry sees Y/N’s expression and tries to maintain the neutral expression he’s had for the entirely too long interaction. A smile threatens at his rosey lips that had chapped from the morning air.

“Right, well,” he cuts off Autumn, “Y/N needs to get back to tattoo coverage, I think. So...have a nice day.”

Autumn’s eyes widen like she forgot that there was anyone else in the room and steps back from Harry. Y/N nods, a grimace clear on her face. Autumn gives her the same small she used to get from the popular girls in high school when she happened to be talking to their cool guy friend that they wanted to be more than friends with. Sickeningly sweet and completely fake. She could see the contempt in Autumn’s eyes that swirled just beneath the surface of her perfectly outlined green-ish eyes.

“Okay! You too, Harry!” She begins walking to the door and Y/N takes her seat again, closing her eyes and counting to ten. “And Y/N,” Autumn adds as an afterthought.

“Oh my fucking god,” Y/N sighs, her hands going to rub over her face and through her hair. “That was exhausting. Jesus Christ.”

“What? She’s nice. Maybe a little clueless,” Harry counters. “But she was so nice,” he confirms again, seemingly trying to convince himself of it as well.  

She grabs the slippers and slips them on the ground so Harry can put them on easily. Then one of the blankets that she drapes over Harry’s bottom half. He smiles at the gesture, a ‘thank you’ said in a whisper.

“Please, she knows what she’s doing,” Y/N scoffs, “And she’s obsessed with you!” She grabs the concealer to get back to work, “She was all over you and never took her eyes off of your body. It was like she wanted to touch you or something. It was icky.”

“You touch me,” Harry adds cheekily, adjusting beneath the warm blanket.

She laughs, a smile gracing her lips as she gives Harry a look. He was clever.

“It’s my job to touch you, Harry.”

Harry had really tried to not laugh, but it was just so funny. They both snicker, their eyes meeting for a moment longer than usual.

“Speaking of my job,” she adds after controlling her laughter, “Does she not realize just how long it takes to cover all of your bloody tattoos with this shit to make it look like you’re a pristine skinned 50’s psycho killer?”

She finishes the rose coverup and moves to the ship. Harry nods solemnly.

“It’s true...And it doesn’t help that you’re terrible at it, so it takes a thousand years longer than it should.” He adds, laughter overtaking his serious tone at the end.

“Oh my god!” She shrieks in delight, trying not to mess up her work, “That is so rude! I messed up one time - mostly because of you, by the way. And give me a break, this is so not what I thought I’d be doing as a makeup artist for movies.”

He nods again, muttering “Fair, fair.”

They grow silent, enjoying Goodbye Yellow Brick Road, the album that she had queued after Joni’s.

“The body thing, I just learned to ignore it, I think.” Harry mutters, eventually, but it’s thoughtless, like he’s not revealing anything about himself with the statement. But it kind of shocks her. Her eyes widen and she stops her work to stare at his face.

“Harry,” she waits till his eyes meet hers, “That’s, like, not normal. Are you serious?”

“I mean, I’m very comfortable with my body, like I haven’t minded the last 45 minutes of sitting practically nude in front of you. And I have plenty of revealing photos out in the world. I just don’t notice staring anymore, it’s not, I don’t think it’s what you’re thinking,” he tries to reassure her. His eyes are intent on hers, full of seriousness that hadn’t been there a few moments ago.

“It’s one thing to be comfortable in your skin and another to be desensitized to objectification,” she insists.

He nods. “I know. Thank you. I would let you know if what she had done had bothered me, so don’t worry. I felt completely safe the whole time.”

“Good,” she nods back and concentrates again. “Good,” she repeats once more under her breath. There had been way too many distractions already today and she wasn’t even done with his arm yet.

As she continues to work up his arm, Harry sings along to some of the songs on Elton’s album. He happily taps his feet to the different beats, now safely tucked in soft fluffy slippers. She would never admit just how amazing it is to be in the same room as Harry’s singing. It was truly special to be less than a foot from him and hear him sing just under the unique voice of Elton - who was someone he actually knew, which was equally as cool.

He hit every note and knew every word. She was impressed. How could she not be when a literal rockstar sat before her? This was the first time she was truly starstruck by her charge, Mr. Harry Styles.

By two hours, they had moved onto an album by Dolly Parton and they were both singing. They strangely had no fights today, maybe some snarky comments from both of them, but no outright mean-spirited words were exchanged.

She stood in front of Harry, finishing up the swallows. She had finished both arms and the birds, all she had left was moving down his body. Up next, the butterfly.

“I love this tattoo,” she mumbles, twisting Harry’s standing body to face her and taking her seat again. This left her eye to eye with the butterfly on his stomach.

He makes a surprised face and raises his recently plucked eyebrow at his counterpart. “Oh really?”

“Don’t act so surprised. I told you day one that not all of them are rubbish and honestly they’re all pretty cool. I just was so annoyed that I had gotten tattoo coverage as my job and then I had to go and index them all.” She flicks her eyes up to his sculpted face and sees he’s watching her work. “Plus, I have some butterflies of my own, remember?” She grins.

“Yeah,” he ponders her words, “I don’t think that’d put me in a good mood either.”

He pauses again and she continues to work silently.

“So what’s your excuse for the second day then?”

“You provoked me,” she doesn’t spare him a glance, shrugging like it was the simplest answer in the world.

“Pardon?”

“Let’s not go down this road again, Harry.” She sighs, smoothing over the freshly covered butterfly tattoo. His sternum looked so naked, it was unnerving. Now the ferns.

Harry involuntarily shivered when her fingers traced over the ferns lightly, taking note of the expanse of skin she’d have to cover.

“You’re right,” he agrees, “But agree to disagree on the provocation.”

“Sure,” she says curtly, focusing on his skin and her job.

The expanse of skin that the ferns inhabited was slightly fleshy and especially soft. It bordered where his boxers began and she ignored that part of his body completely. It was of no importance to her and she really had no issue blocking it from her vision, even when it was right in front of her. She finishes one fern with Harry jumping only twice from her cold hands. He couldn’t put his robe on until the makeup had all set for half an hour so he’d have to be cold for possibly another hour still.

She traces the fern that is still visible and Harry shivers. She instinctively shushes him softly and his body quiets. As she works, her hair splays around her shoulders and Harry looks down at her working and doesn’t realize what his hand is doing until it’s too late. His right hand runs over her hair, smoothing it out of her face. It was rarely ever down, so it must have been the novelty of it.

“Sorry, I-” he chokes out when he jerks his hand back.

She sits back, slightly taken aback. Her body flushes just from their positioning and what a hair caress would mean normally in this position, but she’s a professional and she shakes it off.

“It’s fine. We’re even.” She assures him, breaking eye contact with his own wide eyes. “Seems like we’re both hair touchers.”

“It’s just so soothing,” Harry muses. “I think it’s human instinct to touch other people’s hair since it’s so enjoyable for yourself.”

“Possibly,” her voice raises, his thought was definitely plausible. Or maybe they were just two touch starved people who were very much in each other’s personal space 24/7.

At the two and a half hour marker, she gets a walkie message from Olivia’s assistant asking when they’d be done. She had just finished the tiger tattoo, which had been surprisingly easy. It took a while, but Harry didn’t shiver once and neither of them pet each other’s hair.

“Probably 40 minutes, sorry. He has a lot of tattoos and the makeup needs to set.” She says seriously and gets back to work, barely regarding the response of “Yeah it’s fine, just wanted an estimate”.

“Jesus,” Harry moans as she covers up his knee tattoos.

She groans in veiled disgust, “Did I just hit a secret erogenous zone? Is that why you have ‘oui’ there, you creep?” There’s a teasing tone behind the nickname she uses.

Harry laughs and runs his hand over his face, pulling at his jaw and lower lip. His jaw is so sharp, she watches him adjust it. “No, no. I’m just so goddamn tired of this.”

“And it’s not your fault,” he adds, feeling bad immediately after he said it. “It’s actually been nice today, but I’m feeling antsy, like I need to move. I don’t like to sit still.”

“I know,” she says under her breath. She simply nods in agreement.

Finally, the tattoos are all covered up and set. They had talked about George Michael when she got to his ankle tattoos that she hadn’t seen before and they laugh about the tattoos and chat a bit more. She helps him slip on his robe that he keeps in his closet in the trailer and then follows him out of it. They had decided they were hungry and he had been pushed back an hour since he had taken so long, so he had a free half-hour.

As they walked to craft services, they talked about actual things besides work. She was pleasantly surprised by what Harry talked about. It was more than music or the movie. It was the tv show he was currently obsessed with and how he hated LA’s traffic the most out of all of his dislikes for the city. She couldn’t help but grin at his Los Angeles slander. She loved this side of him.

-

Breakfast together after finishing his tattoo coverage became their regular thing. He would come into the trailer, racing from his morning meeting accompanied with tea for two, they’d get his tattoos covered as quickly as possible, and then they’d eat together.

They’d save their “in-depth” chats for breakfast. In early November, he joked about No Nut November and insisted he really wouldn’t have a problem with it - which had made her laugh. They worried together over the U.S. presidential election and meditated together in his trailer to Fleetwood Mac.

Around late November, Harry had requested that Y/N just do his face makeup as well, just to simplify his life a little more and the department had agreed easily. She had to spend extra time on set getting lectured on how to properly do Harry’s makeup, but after two days she stopped getting notes about it. She was so extremely proud and thankful to Harry for doing that.

All he said was: “I mean, you’re extremely talented so I’m not scared of you fucking up my face. Plus, it does make my life easier. Two birds with one stone.”

In late November, he told her about his favorite holiday drinks at Starbucks and what he was getting his mother for Christmas.

When the Vogue cover came out, he laughed over that woman who responded to his cover saying the world needed to bring back manly men. He joked that he was going to really push that from now on, that he was a manly man, and he would sputter with laughter every time he tried to say it with a straight face.

He hand delivered her a special ‘Treat People With Kindness’ sweatshirt that he only had for the cast and crew of the film. Most everyone got them from a PA, but Harry decided since you saw him first in the morning, why not.

He told her about him winning Hitmaker of the Year from Variety when he had left the award sitting in Trailer 6 and about how weird it was to film acceptance speeches in an empty room. His smile had lit up the entire set that day and the day he did his interview on set. He was so smiley she had to bump him with her elbow because he wouldn’t stop smiling at her and it was unnerving.

“Stop that,” She muttered.

“Stop what?” He smiles wider.

“That!” She squeaked, her head shaking as she ducked it to regard his anchor tattoo. “You’re smiling too much.”

“Oh no,” he says sarcastically, “God forbid I be happy.”

“It’s not that,” she bumps his thigh with her elbow, trying to keep her own smile off her face, “Your face is just so intense when you smile. Feels like you’re gonna burn a hole through me.”

He laughs, completely unconvinced, “You just don’t want me to be happy is what I’m hearing.”

She rolls her eyes, “Whatever, dude.”

She saw he was serious about the ‘manly men’ references when the Variety photos came out and everyone and their mom posted the pictures with some variation of that comment as their caption.

She still found that she rolled her eyes at some of the things Harry did, but she genuinely counted him as a friend by the time December had rolled around.

Over three hours, almost always completely alone, doing work for a job you both care deeply about can really make or break a relationship. And that first full-body coverage day had made them stronger together. After that, Harry and her would banter with one another, but there was never anything intentionally cruel. Just friends giving each other shit sometimes. Harry had been right, he had changed her mind about him. And she had realized that that was who Harry was. He was a deliverer. If you didn’t like him at first, he would try and try again until you did, but he did it in a way that wasn’t weasley or anything. It was terribly genuine and she saw it in every relationship he had on set.

On several occasions she had witnessed his friendship with Nick Kroll. A man she had regarded with dislike before the film. She had quickly realized that dislike was misplaced, but she maintained that it was just because she hated adult cartoons - citing that she literally refused to be friends with any person who willingly watched the Simpsons, Family Guy, and/or American Dad and all of those similar shows.

Nick was far nicer and less weird than she had realized. So she quickly shot her friend from high school an apology text for all the Nick Kroll slander she had spouted back in the day. Her friend had rejoiced but also said how jealous she was that Y/N got to see him regularly on set.

Nick and Harry got along great. Harry generally got along better with older people, she noticed when she was introduced to his friends on the somewhat frequent occasion. Trailer 6 was where Y/N saw most of these reactions take place. She would be introduced in the first minute and then she would smile politely and get back to the work of covering up Harry’s numerous tattoos.

Harry would say something simple and Nick, the literal famous comedian, would laugh. In the beginning she’d raise a brow, confused because it truly wasn’t that funny, but as Harry’s friend now, she kept her mouth shut.

Nick would come and sit on the couch while she’d work and eventually all three of them would chat. Sometimes she would get up to go to the bathroom during those morning chats and she would look in the mirror and think to herself “How are you casually talking to these two men right now” and then she’d think “Because you are a boss ass bitch, you got this” and go back out there with a smile on her face.

“Y/N, what are you doing tonight?” Nick asked on the first Friday morning of December.

She looks up from Harry’s cross tattoo that was half covered. Harry was reading, a book casually propped in his right hand and glasses resting on the bridge of his nose. He glanced at the other two in the room. Nick had been getting some work done before he had spoken.

“No plans,” she states simply before getting back to work. It wasn’t full body today, but it was arms and torso, so kind of a lot still.

“You should come over for dinner at my place with Harry,” Nick smiles kindly. His scruff was really coming in today. “To celebrate us almost wrapping the first half of the movie.”

Harry had thankfully freshly shaved before he sat down. It was her least favorite part of her new job. Whenever he came in for touch ups and she had to shave his afternoon shadow. She was terrified she’d cut him and never live it down from her department or Harry. She had no idea which would be worse.

“My wife will be there too, of course,” he adds, hoping to entice her to say yes.

Harry glances between Y/N and Nick again before focusing on his book again.

She purses her lips, finishing Harry’s hand and moving onto the anchor tattoo. “Yeah, I mean, I don’t know why I’d say no. As long as I’m not intruding on the throuple,” she grins up at Harry.

He stares at her with his big green eyes, slightly obscured behind his prescription glasses. He raises his brows and wiggles them a little bit, teasingly.

Nick laughs and slyly winks at Harry through the mirror. Y/N none the wiser as she removes all traces of Harry’s tattoos.

“Great!” He claps his hands and stands up. “We’ll talk or I’ll make sure Harry gets you the info or something. I don’t know, but we’ll figure it out. My wife’s been wanting to meet you,” he smiles again and walks out of the trailer.

She tilts her head at the last part. He talked about her to his wife. Did he really count her as that close of a friend? She was just a makeup artist and he was a producer… She glances at Harry and he gives away nothing. His jaw looks extra prominent and she knows it’s because he’s clenching it. He did that when he was focused or angry, remembering it bulging on the first day they met and how clenched it had been then.

“Unclench your jaw,” she mutters, “It’s not good for you.”

Harry hums and unclenches it.

He stretches his neck by rolling his head around his shoulders and she glances at the movement. His skin is still beautifully sun-kissed and his pores look so soft, only his moles change the texture of his skin. She loves his moles though, they make him especially unique in her eyes. Not that he needed anything else to set him apart from the crowd. Still, she loved them. His collarbone is prominent as he sits there shirtless and she wishes she could reach out and brush at it. But she gets back to work, knowing the only time she’s gonna be brushing near that part of him is when she’s covering dates in those dips behind his collarbones.

“Y’know, I could just drive you to Nick’s tonight,” Harry says, putting his book down and taking off his glasses. He rubs at his eye with his free hand.

“You’re blind and British, how do I know you can even drive yourself?” She asks sillily, pointing to his glasses.

He shakes his head, “I’m serious, Y/N. Aren’t you staying in the same area as me?”

He asks because they had relocated to Palm Springs a little while ago and everyone had gotten rentals and it was hard to remember where everyone was holed up when they weren’t on set.

“Yeah, think so. But you don’t need to pick me up. I have a car.”

“Nonsense. I’ve been to his place before, don’t want you to have to deal with directions, that’s just silly.”

“I guess...” she resigns relatively easily. She had never hung out with Harry off the set or Nick for that matter. It felt surreal, but she knew the right answer was usually just say yes in these situations. So that’s what she says. “Yes, that’d be great, thank you,” she confirms and watches as Harry’s eyes glimmer softly before turning back to his book. A triumphant soft smirk rests on his face.

The words die out between the two of them as she works on. He hums along to the music and continues reading his book. When she’s done with his tattoo coverage and his face makeup, she sends him off to hair and the rest of his day. He gives a flirty wink as he walks out the door and she rolls her eyes in response. She tidies up her kit and then goes to do some other makeup work.

When she wasn’t working with Harry, she was assigned to some of the minor characters and doing their makeup. They were always her second concern, especially now that she did Harry’s makeup as well as his tattoos. As she works on them, she can feel her mind drifting to Harry. Harry and how they were friends now. She was pretty sure, right? They were friends. He had never really said a mean thing to her if she really thought about it. It was her… She had been rude and mean-spirited and he had just taken it. He rarely had even thrown it back at her. He was so good to her and patient and she realized that he had proven to her that he was good. He was better than good, he was kind and loving. Considerate. Wonderful. All of those positive superlatives, Harry filled them. And she had the audacity to be mean to him.

She paused the brush that was adding blush to an actresses cheek.

Lisa, the actress, looks at Y/N confusedly, “What’s wrong?”

Y/N twitches her head, refocusing on her task at hand. The realization of her pausing her work becomes clear as she looks between her hand and the cheek that has not enough blush on it. “Oh,” she breathes. “...I just realized that I was terrible to someone who doesn’t have a mean bone in their body.”

Lisa nods, “Apologize.”

“Yeah, I mean...We’ve kind of moved past the phase where we don’t get along. Like now we’re friends, but the realization just really hit me.” She sighs, picking up where she left off on Lisa’s makeup. “I’ll make sure to apologize next time I see them.”

Lisa smiles.

-

At the end of the day, Y/N realizes she left her tattoo coverage kit in Harry’s room after their touch-up session halfway through the day. She had run off to help with a makeup emergency for a tiny cut on a minor character’s face and forgotten to go back and grab her things. Another roll of her eyes and a huff of breath and then she’s walking back to Trailer 6, a place that seemed like a home away from home now. She knocks, patiently waiting at the bottom of the steps.

Harry swings open the door and props it with his hip. He’s got a toothbrush held in his mouth, slowly scrubbing back and forth with his left hand. His costume is somewhat taken off, he’s still got the pants on with suspenders hanging down, his chest was completely bare and he looked funny with some of his tattoos only being half covered based on what parts of his skin had been showing today. Her work. His skin looked half silky smooth and half tattooed like usual.

His naked skin seemingly left her breathless because as her eyes returned to Harry’s face, she breathed a soft, “Hi.”

“Hey,” a smirk twists onto his face. “Forget something?”

“Yes,” she nods, coming back to her senses and entering the trailer at Harry’s gesture.

She begins to pack up the kit that had been left haphazardly strewn around on his counter. “I’m sorry I left a mess like this, I got called over to something else and forgot.”

“Don’t worry darling,” Harry grins at his joke.

She looks up from her work and sees Harry in the reflection of the mirror. He’s wiping off the makeup from his chest and his beautiful tattoos reemerge as entire images.

She laughs humorlessly, “It gets less funny each time you use that.”

“That’s not true,” he looks at her through the mirror now, his green eyes trained on her face, “Everyone else still thinks it’s hilarious.”

“They’re humoring you and your fragile ego,” she winks and watches as Harry’s smirk twitches from his perfect face.

“You’ve got a very mean disposition, you know that?” He asks.

He finishes his chest and moves to remove the makeup from his left arm, glancing at the mirror every so often to check himself and to flicker his eyes over Y/N’s face.

She genuinely laughs at that, but scolds herself internally for being mean when she had planned to apologize the next time she saw Harry. This was the next time so why was she doing this instead?

“Rewrite sweet disposition for me?” Her voice honeyed. Clearly stubborn and terrible at saying sorry...maybe her and Harry were a better match than she realized.

Harry twists his lips as he slips on his t-shirt he was wearing today.

“Pick you up at 6:30?” He says as his head pops out from beneath the rainbow striped sweatshirt he slipped on top of the shirt. His chestnut hair had been toweled out and was flopping over his forehead slightly.

She sighs and zips close the kit, standing from the seat she had taken at his counter and turning to face him now.

“6:30 is perfect. Thanks again for doing this. I just can’t believe Nick Kroll is inviting me over for dinner!” She smiles, shifting to lean against the counter as she waits for Harry to finish up. She didn’t have to but for some reason she felt like she was in no rush.

“Are you serious?” He’s moved on to changing his pants now and he’s slipping on black sweatpants.

“Yeah…” She blinks and her eyes widen as Harry appraises her expression.

He straightens up after fixing a cuff on the pants and he can’t tell if she’s being genuine or sarcastic. It was always so hard to tell with her.

“I mean, Nick Kroll is like a huge celebrity and I know in the entertainment business you’re not supposed to get starstruck but when I was in college my sister thought he was weirdly hot and my friends and I would shit talk him. I don’t know, it’s just kind of surreal to be having dinner at his place. Like I’ve watched him on tv and now I’ll be eating with him...so weird.”

He shakes his head, beginning on his dirty vans now. A small laugh escapes his mouth and he glances between her and his shoe, scratching his head quickly. “I still can’t tell… It feels like you’re fucking with me right now.”

“I’m not!” She insists, her hands coming out in front of her in a confused fashion. “I used to watch that guy’s tv show then he’s my boss now he’s inviting me over for food? It’s a lot to process.”

“How come it’s not surreal to be having dinner with me then?” He asks semi-joking, a hint of offense tinged within it. It’s visible only in his knitted brow and twisted lip.

“Careful there, sailor. Venturing into some dangerously self-absorbed waters.” Her eyes light up, a quick raise of her brows accompany the shine, and she decides now is her time to head out. Especially as she thinks about getting ready for this soiree tonight. She needed to shower and pick out an outfit with less than two hours to prepare.

Harry sputters at her response and fumbles with his pink shoelace. “That’s not...that is - You’re being unfair. My question is valid.”

She shrugs her shoulders and skirts Harry’s attempt at grabbing at her arm to stop her from leaving. “Okay, Mr. Big Man On Campus. I promise you you’re the most popular boy in school.”

She blows him a kiss and walks out the door as he attempts to get her to come back by calling her name a few times and slightly shouting “C’mon! I wasn’t being insecure. That was a reasonable ask…”

He sighs and shakes his head again. Every interaction would end with one of them either rolling their eyes or shaking their head and usually a sigh on both of their lips. It was exhausting, but exhilarating too.

20 minutes later, Harry receives a text from Y/N: “You’re still picking me up right :))) ?”

He’s in his car, getting ready to finally leave after getting held up with last minute schedule changes that he had to be informed about by some PA that he had forgotten the name of. His lip quirks to the right and he closes his eyes for a second enjoying seeing her name on his phone screen for a moment.

He types back: “Of courseeee”.

“Fab.” She sends back, immediately followed by: “Fanks BMOC ;)”

A full smile rolls onto Harry’s face after he swipes his tongue over his lower lip. “Yeah, yeah, save it for the next guy” he types out quickly before throwing his phone gently beside him and driving back to his apartment. She made him feel young, not that he wasn’t young, but generally his friends didn’t text like she did.

-

At 6:28, she receives a text from Harry Styles - his name in her phone. A name she had never expected to see in her phone unless her Spotify was on shuffle. Yet, instead, his name popped up under messages and it read “Here!” followed by a quick “I think” and then a phone call coming through from the apparently anxious man himself.

“Hello Harry.” Her tone even. She throws little items into her purse, making sure everything she needs is there.

“Could you peek out your window? I’m not quite sure I’m at the right place and people are staring…” nerves laced in his rushed tone.

She ambles to the window and opens up the shade she had closed to change. Below her, she sees a sleek black Range Rover with a slightly disarrayed hairdo and big dark glasses peeking below the windshield. She ignored the instinct to retch at the sight of the Range Rover and peered at the lamp lit sight below her. It was definitely Harry, but she searched for the prying eyes he was worried about and saw none. Well, maybe a few, but it wasn’t a lot.

“I see you, I’ll be right out, dude. Just deep breaths, it’s mostly crew staying here right now so they’re just seeing that it’s you, another guy they work with. They won’t come up for pictures...I would hope.”

She hangs up with no farewell, snatches her purse from its place on the bed and races out the door. Harry smiles anxiously at her when she stands next to the passenger’s door and he unlocks it. She bites her lip and raises her brows, waiting to hear if anything terrible happened in the minute and a half it took her to come downstairs and out to the car.

“Hi,” he exhales.

A smirk crawls onto her features and her eyes sparkle with a bit of a childish glee that normally she didn’t exhibit as she glances at him. “Hi.” She says quietly. “Alright big boy?”

“‘M fine.” He huffs but balks at her smile that she maintains while she stares at him. “What?”

“Just happy to see you, I guess,” her smile returns after speaking and Harry glances between her face and the windshield in front of him.

He can’t tell if she’s being serious or not once again. But he fears that conversation of her either ridiculing him for thinking she is serious or being offended that he still can’t tell. Instead, he will keep his mouth shut. For the most part.

“Happy to see you, too,” his lips create a closed mouth smile quickly before turning out of the parking lot.

She watches him. Their first time together outside of work. And they were friends. She needed to get used to simply thinking that. He picked her up to take her to dinner with her other friend and his wife. This was normal life, just with big names behind those terms of relation. Jesus, she always said it didn’t bother her to be around celebrities so why did she think about it so damn much?

She twitches her head and refocuses on Harry and his driving. His jaw is clenched again and she wants to reach out and sooth it herself. Instead she starts to open her mouth to correct him, but stops herself from that as well. They weren’t at work and it didn’t feel like something just a friend would say right now. She refocuses on the view of his eyes that are barely visible while he regards the road. His large eyes that she had grown acquainted to are surveying what he’s doing, every so often drifting to the right side of the road to check out the lane beside him. But then, always back to right in front of him, leaving a crescent of green visible to her.

“Can feel you staring at me…” His voice sounds like it’s rolled around in gravel after the long work day. It makes her wonder if he’s supposed to have a vocal rest when he’s not at work, but then again it’s the weekend now so maybe it was fine. Maybe she should ask him. Or maybe she should stop worrying so much about him.

“Have I got something on my face?” His low register bumps her from her racing thoughts. He doesn’t take his eyes off the road, but she can see he’s widened his eyes in wonder.

“No! Of course not, I just was...making sure you weren’t going to crash us or something.” She grasps at straws, desperate to not be caught by Harry.

A low chuckle bubbles from his chest and he spares a small glance over at her bundled up in his passenger seat. She matches his gaze with something of distrust hidden behind her eyes. She hopes to convey that she’s being silly and when Harry turns back to look at the road unassumingly, she feels like she has won. The harmonies of the beginning of a Queen song take over the silence, Harry’s spindly fingers thrumming against the wheel.

They arrive at the Kroll’s Palm Springs residence at 6:50. 10 minutes early and the two twiddle their thumbs for a few minutes, trying to pass the time and not intrude earlier than they were supposed to. She appreciated that Harry liked to be timely but not early, similar to how she was.

“So what is the fascination with Range Rovers?” She queries, leaning against the door’s armrest. The back of her head touches against the semi-tinted window.

Harry shifts in his seat, seat belt no longer constricting him and no road requiring his attention as they sit in the driveway. He rushes a hand through his hair and lets a single strand of hair fall over his prominent forehead.

“Dunno,” he shrugs his shoulders and allows a hand to fall onto the steering wheel absentmindedly. “I don’t really prefer them anymore, but when I’m in LA and doing work, it makes things easier. My other cars are a little flashier...have more privacy in this.”

“Yet the effect is similar,” she muses.

Her head tilts to take in Harry’s appearance, sharp black silky button-up and dark green plaid slacks, and she rubs a hand over her jaw. His eyes flicker to the movement and attempt to really take it in, even in the dim glow of the lamp light outside barely peeking into the dark interior of the car.

“Effect?”

“Y’know…” She arches her brow at him. He feigns innocence or possibly the expression is genuine. She’s begun to realize Harry was as genuine as they came, but she just didn’t think he was that unaware. An assumption that was likely correct, but even Harry liked to pretend he was a completely unassuming individual.

“Forget it,” she finishes when he gives no indication that he knows what she is hinting at. She doesn’t want to get into it with him again. Especially when he plays at this game where he has no idea what she’s talking about. It made her feel like she was crazy for thinking he made these calculated decisions to get his desired outcomes.

They move on, neither of them quite sure what the other was getting at in that conversation. The two of them walk into the house a minute before their expected arrival time side by side and are greeted happily with Nick and his wife. They’re ushered in and Y/N is happily received by the happy couple.  

“So, Y/N, how’s it been for you working with these two? I know they can be more than a handful - especially together,” Nick’s wife, Lily, asks after a sip of wine.

The group of four had been eating for a while with Nick and Harry bantering for quite a bit at the beginning about whether or not Harry would be willing to hand feed Nick. The answer was settled at “another time”.  

Harry seems to have a very specific habit of watching whoever is speaking - no matter what. So after Lily has finished speaking, his gaze flickers to Y/N, the person his brain expects to speak next. He watches her attentively as she wipes her mouth on her napkin before speaking.

Her hair was styled differently tonight than it usually was on set, she had it down rather than up in a ponytail or braids. He hadn’t had time to really look at her when they had been in the car, his mind occupied with stress and exhaustion that he refocused into driving and deep breathing. Now, in the comfort of a trusted friend’s home, he was far more relaxed and able to truly take in her appearance, which he couldn’t help but think was beautiful. He’d have to tell her that at some point. That he thought she was beautiful. Not that he didn’t see her on set and think she was beautiful...he just hadn’t really thought about it before. She was his wily makeup artist who was critical of him most times, but occasionally sweet, who had an amazing taste in music and good aesthetic style. The beauty part of it all, he guessed wasn’t something integral to their relationship before.

But now he was sitting beside her at the Kroll’s nice dining table and she had her hair splayed in front and behind her shoulders with one side tucked behind her ear and her outfit fit her impeccably. The top she had on had capped sleeves that cinched with buttons at her delicate wrists and a severe drop to create a small sweetheart neckline just above the curve of her breasts. It was silky and shiny, a blush pink that complemented the high waisted dark grey slacks that flared over shiny black boots that he wasn’t sure where they ended beneath the pants.

“Well,” she starts, chuckling under her breath when she meets Harry’s stare, “Harry and I spend a lot of time together, covering up all his tattoos, and he yaps a lot. So, it’s actually pretty refreshing when Nick comes in, because Harry’s then talking half the normal amount.”

He huffs a scoff, while Lily and Nick laugh happily. Nick interjects an “ouch” for the bite she just took out of Harry, but she thought it was fine, he can take it.

Harry thought to himself that if she can serve it, then she can definitely take it. His eyes remain on her as he opens his mouth to speak, but then look at Lily when words actually come out. “Well, Y/N, she thinks she can read people really well, but it’s actually quite the opposite. She had me completely wrong when we first met, so I talk now in hopes that she’ll really understand me.”

His head tilts to her when he mentions her name, but otherwise doesn’t glance her way away again. He scrunches his nose at the end of his comment, implying he converses with her out of pity.

It’s her turn to scoff and stare at him unamused. Nick and Lily share a look, unsure of what was going on, they had concocted this dinner date idea in hopes to set the two up but the way this conversation was going, they seemed to be pushing each other further and further away from one another.

“That’s simply not true,” she says curtly and takes a sip of her quickly emptying wine glass.

“Which part?”

“Almost all of it, I’d say,” her eyes glaring back at him, fiery with a disdain he hadn’t seen in awhile. “You’re proving my original perception of you with every passing second,” she adds.

“Care to elaborate exactly what the original perception of me was for the class,” his eyes are wide and wild, any extra adoration he had started to feel towards her slipping away just as quickly as it had come, like a wave along the beach.

“You know, so why don’t you?”

“I want to hear you say it,” he grits out the command.

She shifts in her seat, glancing at Nick and Lily who are watching on and she has a feeling she won’t be getting an invitation again anytime soon. Lily gives her a semi-reassuring smile like she was sorry to have asked the question at all, but Y/N knows this is kind of her fault, not that she would ever admit that. Her comment could have been taken innocuously, but Harry’s pride wouldn’t let it slide. Like she said, she should have known better, the weeks of friendship were flying out the window and she was helping them along.

“And what if I don’t?”

“Have fun calling an uber at this time of night,” he shrugs, malice dripping in his tone.

She truly was taken aback at this. A slight sound of shock leaving her mouth. Harry was many things, impatient and anxious usually, but downright cruel with her, she had yet to see it. Arrogant and pompous, definitely, but this wickedness that was starting to creep from the shadows worried her. But the little fiery demon within her wasn’t going anywhere either - yet she might back down to save herself some money and hassle.

“Fine,” she raises her brows in a challenge to him and restates her original take on him - possibly adding a bit extra malice in her phrasing, “You are a shell of a man, held up by the people around you, creating the illusion of a completely genuine and down to earth rocker who dabbles in acting, philanthropy and all around goodness. No one’s ever had a bad experience because no one’s ever truly met you. Not the real you.” She takes a deep breath as she shakes her head in disbelief now, a sarcastic laugh leaving her mouth, “And I thought, I really thought, that I had been wrong. Because these past months you really fooled me with your sweet smile and deep eyes. But when it comes down to it, you tricked me just like everyone else.”

Harry stares at her blankly and she shakes her head once more, feeling foolish. For thinking Harry was someone he wasn’t. For thinking the past few months had been real. For thinking that tonight would go off without a hitch. And the shit part of it was that she had really hoped that all of it was true. She wanted this to be her life, but her instincts had been right. Beware of the picture perfect because it always is just a mirage of deceit and lies.

“All I’ve got to say is you’re a damn good actor Harry, so at least you’ve got that going for you.” Then she pushes back from the table and stands, turning to Nick and Lily. “I really am so sorry, I understand that you probably want me to leave, so I’ll just be going,” her voice faltering at the end, she wasn’t as strong as she liked to pretend and she was pretty sure she just ruined her chances of working again in Hollywood. You’d have to be an idiot to be an enemy of Harry Styles and she feels like she just became his first.

“No!” Nick says quickly, standing too, “I think things just escalated really quickly and some things were said that both of you didn’t mean. Um...just, let’s take a few minutes to cool off. Harry could you and Lily deal with the dishes and I’m going to talk with Y/N alone.”

Everyone nods and Y/N follows Nick down a hallway, a little confused but following after he beckons her with his hand. They go out a side door and end up on a porch in the backyard. He stoops down and opens a little sitting mailbox she didn’t see and pulls out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He places one between his teeth and then offers one to her. She accepts, not usually a regular smoker, but right now seemed like a fair time to indulge in the bad habit. She needed to calm her rapidly beating heart.

He lights the cigarette for her when he sees her shaking hands and then in turn lights his own. They stand on the porch beside each other and stare out into the dark night sky.

“Well, this wasn’t how tonight was supposed to go,” Nick starts, after a few exhales of smoke.

“No,” she laughs nervously, her foot toeing at the wooden slate on the porch. “I shouldn’t have tried to make a joke.”

“No one’s to blame,” Nick says quickly, glancing at her, “You and Harry...you both have really strong personalities and I don’t think either of you are used to being challenged.”

She nods along, she definitely had to agree after the argument they had both willingly gotten into in front of other people.

“I think that can be a really good thing, challenging each other, because then you two can both grow. But what happened in there was more of a battle to the death rather than a friendly spar.”

“Yeah,” she exhales, flicking at the burning cigarette between her fingers, “I don’t know why he gets under my skin sometimes in a way I’ve never dealt with and it’s kind of uncomfortable so I lash out, I guess.”

Nick stays quiet, taking a drag of his cigarette.

“Ugh,” she groans, “I wish I hadn’t done that. We were doing so well, it’s like I don’t even really know what I’m saying, it’s like I can’t handle a friendly spar, I always end up going in for the kill - as you put it.”

She rubs at her face with her free hand and then takes a drag herself. Nick bites at his lower lip, trying to think of a solution.

“Y’know? Lily and I had concocted this plan to try and set you and Harry up tonight,” he says slowly, revealing the plan that had clearly been taken off the table as they just needed to attempt to salvage cordiality.

“Really?!” She’s in complete disbelief and slight dismay that the plan was seemingly ruined.

“Well,” he sputters, “When the two of you aren’t throwing verbal fireballs at each other, you’re actually quite sweet to one another. Those fond little glances you hope no one sees, well he does that too, and you both fail miserably because I see it all the time. I’m sure plenty of people do too.”

“Oh,” she states, visibly deflating. She looks to the ashtray conveniently on a table behind her and presses out the rest of the cigarette. “Should probably talk to him, huh?”

Nick nods, stamping out his nub of a cigarette as well. They go back inside and into the kitchen where Lily and Harry have plated dessert. Harry looks a little sheepish, likely having a similar conversation with Lily and she wouldn’t be surprised if her expression looks similar, if not a bit more flushed from the outdoor chill.

Lily murmurs that she and Nick are going to eat their dessert in the living room, a fair bit away from the kitchen and the two now deflated counterparts nod and then stare at each other, knowing what they need to do.

“Can we talk?” Harry rasps out, his voice even lower as he speaks softly, a mere foot away from her in the kitchen.

She nods, but moves further from him to lean against the counter and tuck her hands behind her. She’s lost her appetite and doesn’t want Harry to see her shaking digits.

He’s ducked his head and a stray curl falls over his forehead, laying there softly. He doesn’t move to fix it, just stares at his feet until she begins to talk. He can’t not look at her face when she speaks.

“So…” She slowly starts, not enjoying the tension in the room. Her eyes can’t meet his though, his stare dark and unnerving like usual, but almost painfully so now. “I can start.” She kicks at the tiling on the floor like she had done outside as well, trying to not think about the eyes trained on her right now. “I’m sorry I lashed out on you, Harry. I didn’t mean what I said, it was just a heat of the moment response.”

“I’m sorry, too,” Harry says immediately once she finishes speaking, “I shouldn’t have gotten upset over a silly joke and brought up a sensitive subject. Then it escalated…”

“Yeah, I really liked the friendship we’ve garnered these past few months and I just can’t believe I almost ruined everything - including my career…” she squeaks at the end and tears start to roll from her eyes. “Oh god,” she is hit with the gravity of all that she almost ruined as Harry stares at her again. “I’m so sorry, Harry, I really am. Do you forgive me? I don’t think I could stand it if you didn’t.”

She stands there and feels sobs wrack through her and her hands go to cover her face out of embarrassment. She had caused a scene and now she was making another one. In front of Harry.

In an instant his arms are wrapped around her frame and he’s hushing her cries. They had never hugged before, but now seemed like as good a time as ever. His arms were strong around her and she pressed her face into his chest, not caring at all about how she looked or whether this was worse than getting in a fight and running off.

“Of course I forgive you,” he says and then begins repeating her name over and over, trying to soothe her. He definitely had been hurt by her words, but it seemed like she was more upset about the whole situation than he was and he didn’t think bringing up what specifically had hurt him would help her frame of mind.

She settles after some time, her whimpers and tears subsiding after being rocked into a more peaceful mindset with the help of Harry’s calming voice and reassuring embrace.

“I really am sorry,” she whispers again.

Harry pulls his neck back and his head off the top of her head to look at her face. It was tear stained and her eyes were glassy, lips slightly puffy. He gave her a soft tight-lipped smile. “No more apologies,” he states sternly and then softens again at the slight quiver in her lip. He pulls from her a little more, leaving her at arm's length, with his hands still attached to her hips, fingers slipping over the plaid fabric. “I meant to tell you this earlier, before things…” he stares at her face again and she holds it this time, “You look beautiful tonight.”

She scoffs and her eyes immediately drop to her feet, “Definitely not anymore.” She doesn’t believe Harry.

“‘M serious,” he insists. His right index finger goes to rest beneath her chin and brings her face up to look back at him.

“Sure,” she says, still not convinced but not sure how else to respond. She feels herself warming at all the positive attention he’s pouring into her.

His gaze won’t falter from her face, he’s intent upon making her understand him. He whispers her name, “Accept the compliment.”

“You’re stubborn,” she notes.

“So are you,” he counters quickly.  

“Fine, thank you,” she sighs when he won’t stop giving her that look of his. That look that makes her want to melt into the ground because it feels like she’s the only person in the world. “Though you looked especially good tonight, too,” she adds, her hands rubbing over his shoulders softly.

“Thank you,” Harry states lowly, the words only traveling to her ears. His hands fiddle with the sides of her top, thinking about the night and where they were now. Her eyes were red from crying and overall she looked tired beyond her years. “Do you want me to take you home?”

“That’d be nice.”

They make a quiet farewell to Nick and Lily, as well as apologies from both her and Harry. They don’t speak in the car and the music plays loud enough for it to not seem unreasonable for them to be silent. Harry’s hands don’t tap against the steering wheel, they sit in their spots stoically doing their job and nothing more. She watches the window, legs crossed and hands clasped in her lap. She’s thankful for the music because she knows that even though they had talked, it wasn’t enough. What she had said was hurtful and one apology wasn’t enough for how she had behaved. She didn’t think her and Harry would be the same after tonight, but the silence made it possible for her to pretend none of it had happened.

Just as Harry’s car is pulling up the apartment complex that is far darker now, the harsh splatter of rain begins to fall on the pavement and the sleek black car the two are still sat in.

“Oh,” she comments offhandedly, just responding to what she had noticed.

The rain grows louder when Harry parks and then turns off the car. He glances at her for the first time since they got into the car. She registers the look out of the corner of her eye, her face still looking out at the rain. She loved the rain, but there wasn’t always a lot in Southern California, especially not in Palm Springs. It seemed that tonight was different.

“Well,” Harry breaks his silence, she thinks that’s her cue to leave and unbuckles her seatbelt, but he continues. “This certainly wasn’t how I expected this night to go.”

She stops moving, her hand hovering over the handle of the door. She sits back and settles into the seat, feeling her teeth bite into the plush of her bottom lip.

“That’s what people keep saying,” her eyes remain on the rain hitting the front of the car, the splatters of seemingly black liquid that form when the clear rain touches the onyx hood of the car.

“Huh?” Harry grows perplexed at the rather wistful tone of her and how she won’t look at him again. He was still hurt, but he had hoped them talking in the kitchen had straightened some things out. During the car ride he hadn’t wanted to talk, but it didn’t mean he was still angry with her. Just confused, and growing further confused by the second.

“Oh,” she repeats, “Didn’t Lily say? Her and Nick concocted that dinner in hopes to set us up.”

Harry hums, knowing that because Nick had left out a little part of that plan. That he had been a part of it. He had been talking with Nick about getting to know her better outside of work and how Nick had thought it’d be a good idea to have dinner so he had told Lily and they set it up like a casual dinner party. Harry didn’t know how to respond because her knowing that he was in on the plan might just make matters worse. He really didn’t think things could get much worse, but it seemed that they always managed to make it happen so in the end he decided to keep his mouth shut.

“I don’t know if we’d ever be able to work out differences out for that,” she decides to continue, when Harry stays quiet. She scans the interior of the car and watches Harry for the briefest moment before going back to looking out the window. “Nick said that we challenge each other to grow, but all I see us do is hurt each other.”

Her voice is just above the rain pattering outside the car and Harry thinks it sounds almost melodic if it weren’t for the sadness laced in every word.

“I disagree,” he states before wetting his lips.

“Of course you do,” she laughs in spite of herself.

“Even after all these months together and you still don’t get it. I like you.”

“You don’t like me, I don’t know how you could ever like me,” she shakes her head. “We just...we get under each other’s skin. You can make me so angry sometimes and I know I make you angry too. And when we’re not angry, we’re focussed on something that doesn’t have to do with ourselves.”

“I don’t think what you feel for me is anger,” Harry insists, “Just because something feels burning and fiery, frustrating even, doesn’t mean it’s anger.”

His body shifts closer to the center divide and she turns to face him finally. His eyes are extra dark in this lighting, which is barely there from a streetlamp a ways off. She longs for the comfort of his light green eyes, the soft pale glow of the moss that seems to have been trapped within his iris. Maybe for that reason she unknowingly leans closer to him.

“Then what is it?” She whispers, eyes blinking slowly as her breathing grows strained.

“Passion.”

Immediately, her head is tilting to meet his lips. Her mind knows one thing, she needs to be kissing Harry right now. And then she is. His left hand goes to cup her cheek as his lips attach themselves to hers. His soft lips press to hers in a long searing kiss. They stay there for a moment, pressing all of that passion and frustration into the kiss.

She presses impatiently forward, her lips starting to move more, wanting to kiss him deeper. Harry obliges, parting his lips and kissing her more vigorously. He licks into her open mouth and smiles at the sound she makes in appreciation for his actions.

She’s shifted to have herself kneeling on the leather seat and she’s leaning over the console. One of her hands finds purchase on Harry’s thigh and grasps tightly, her other at the back of his neck, pressing him closer if it were possible.

His chest is pressing against hers as he pulls her closer. He kisses her and his fingertips rub softly at the apple of her cheek. Eventually they run behind the shell of her ear and trail down her neck.

Eventually, she pulls away and stares at Harry. She watches as his eyes flutter open gently. His soft eyelashes dust his cheeks before moving away, allowing his eyes to peer at her in the dark.

Her breathing feels a little irregular after the kissing and she’s sure she is heaving her chest slightly, likely mirroring Harry’s chest as well.

“So, where to now?” She inquires, lips quirked up at her suggestion.

Harry giggles and scratches his nose against his index finger.

-

Harry doesn’t stay the night, he walks her up to her apartment door though. He kisses her chastley in front of her door and wraps an arm around her waist as he does so. He bids her a goodnight and a promise of seeing her soon.

They don’t see each other for a month. Both of them had been so blissful after the endorphins of kissing their person that they had forgotten that filming had wrapped. They weren’t set to work for a month. Harry texted her the next morning informing her that he’d be in England until filming resumed. She was still going to be in California, filming was moving back to Los Angeles, so she’d be back in her place there. Her family knew she was working, so they had sent her presents ahead to her place instead. Angie, her only true friend in the area, was spending her time with her actual family and Y/N didn’t want to intrude.

So the holidays were going to be spent alone. Those four weeks alone passed surprisingly quickly. She practiced techniques on herself, bought a tiny Christmas tree like the one in A Charlie Brown Christmas, watched A Charlie Brown Christmas and just about every other holiday movie possible. She fell in love with young Hugh Grant and Colin Firth for the thousandth time. She sang carols to herself and decorated her place with decorations from Target. She jammed out to the new Miley Cyrus album and held dance parties for herself in the house. She baked cookies and even attempted a trifle after watching a Great British Bake Off episode. She did and she did all in hopes that her mind wouldn’t wander to the guy who hadn’t called.

Harry texted occasionally, but it was infrequent at best. He was a busy person, she knew that. She knew who he was. And she didn’t want her mind to have enough time to feel sorry for herself. For her to think that she was just somebody to pass the time with while at work, because if she stopped doing things that’s where her mind would wander. Why did her mind spiral like it did? She had no idea, she’d always been like that.

His absence, their separation, made her question if her own feelings were even true. She wondered if when she saw him he would act as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn’t said their relationship was passionate and she had kissed him until she couldn’t breath.

Too much time alone, she needed some fresh air. On January 2nd, after an uneventful night at home and a lackluster countdown washed down with cheap champagne, she decided to go and walk around near her place. There was a coffee shop that wasn’t extremely expensive that she also liked that she figured she would get coffee from. After a brisk walk, she walked through the store's doors and ordered an iced green tea. As she waited, she watched the other customers around her, wishing to see a friendly face, someone she knew. And seconds later, she was met with half of that wish. Someone she knew, not necessarily a friendly face.

“Autumn.” She states with a grimace when someone taps her on the shoulder and she spins around.

“Y/N? It is you!” Autumn, one of the PA’s from Don’t Worry Darling who was especially in Harry’s business, exclaims overly happy as per usual.

Y/N bites the inside of her cheek and gives a tight lipped smile, trying her best to be cordial.

“How’s your holiday been!” Autumn asks.

“Great. You?”

“So great!” She’s quick to lean closer and say in a hushed tone, “But I miss working on set, especially getting to see that Harry everyday. He’s just so gorgeous.”

A breath gets stuck in Y/N’s chest at the mention of Harry’s name. Her brows can’t help but raise a bit at Autumn’s comment. Even lowering her voice didn’t make it feel alright to talk about Harry like this. He was her friend after all.

“Sure.” Y/N nods abruptly, realizing Autumn wants some recognition of what she’s just said. Y/N’s eyes glance around the room, hoping for an out like her drink is ready or something - no such luck.

“I mean,” Autumn keeps talking, of course, “You’re so lucky. You get to see him shirtless, like what? Everyday practically? Don’t tell me you don’t miss that just a little bit!”

“I miss working,” Y/N says, avoiding what Autumn is trying to get her to say. “And Harry’s my friend, could you maybe not talk about him like that with me?”

Autumn’s eyes widened in shock, her lips parted dumbfounded by her co-worker's response. Y/N’s name is called for her drink and she’s thankful for the serendipitous nature of that sound getting her out of the awkward situation she had just been in.

When she gets back to her apartment, she surprisingly has a text from Harry himself. She’s always telling everyone; speak of the devil and he will appear, in one way or another. It’s a Happy New Year well wish followed by a separate text asking how she was.

It was sent a minute ago so she decides to try and give him a call. She preferred talking on the phone over texting.

It rings a few times and then, again surprisingly, he picks up.  

“‘Lo?” His voice is nice and deep and sounding extra British after his weeks surrounded by family and such.

“Harry,” she sighs contentedly.

“Happy to hear your voice,” he says her name and she can tell he’s smiling just like she is, from ear to ear.

She bites at her lip, hearing him say her name.

“I’m well, thanks,” she says after a moment of happy silence.

“What?” Harry laughs, confused.

“You texted asking me how I was and I called to respond.”

“Got it,” Harry chuckles, and she hears him shuffling around, likely sitting down on something.

“How are you?” She continues.

“Good, starting to wind down for the day,” he lists off the things he’s been doing over the past few days. Some of it work related, some of it family activities. All of it fun, he insists. “What did you do today?” He finishes, knowing she was an avid activity doer based off of the snaps she had sent him over the past few weeks.

“Tidied my place, went to the coffee shop and got iced tea…” she tries to think and then she gasps, “Oh! And I saw Autumn, one of the Don’t Worry Darling PA’s -”

“The one who’s obsessed with me?”

“Exactly!” She laughs, “And I may have kind of told her off… accidentally.”

“Accidentally told her off?” Harry repeats, incredulous. “How’d you do that?”

“Well,” she doesn’t want to tell him the rest, but there’s also a tiny part of her that really does, “She was gushing about you, which, ew. And then she asked if I missed seeing you shirtless everyday.”

“Well do you miss seeing me shirtless?” Harry smirks.

“Oh shut up!” She’s quick to reply.

“So you do?”

“If I really wanted to see you shirtless, all I’d have to do is type in “Harry Styles sh” and it would come up,” she rolls her eyes even though she knows he can’t see them. “Wouldn’t even need the whole word. Guaranteed.”

“Uh-huh?” Harry questions still, “If you want me to send you shirtless pictures that the rest of the world hasn’t seen, Y/N, all you have to do is ask.”

“I do not want you to send me shirtless pictures of yourself!” She exclaims. She feels like jumping out of a window right now. This conversation had escalated so quickly and she felt herself flushing, maybe even perspiring a little bit. And she also knew that she also would probably like it if he sent her shirtless pictures, which made this whole thing worse.

“Offer stands,” he says, smug as he normally was, happy he got to banter with her again. It had been dull without her, if he was honest with himself. “If you ever find yourself in need, just send a cheeky text and I’ll whip one out for you, no matter where I am or what I’m doing.”

“See this sounds like you’re saying something sincere, but really you’re just telling me you’ll send me nudes at any time.”

“No one said anything about nudes!”

“Shirtless, nude, sounds like you’re getting too caught up in the details, hon.”

“No!” He protests, “You’re the one who’s supposed to be flustered right now, not me!”

“Aww, you’re flustered,” She coos.

Harry groans. “Whatever. I’ll be back on the 8th, be ready to go out on the 9th. I’m taking you on a proper date.”

“How do you know I’m going to say yes?” She bite her lip again, she’s really sweating now. She couldn’t believe he had just asked her out on a date out of nowhere. Out of them just joking about nudes. Maybe she didn’t know Harry as well as she thought.

“Because you called me,” he says confidently.

“I call everyone.”

“But I don’t offer shirtless pictures to everyone.”

“That has nothing to do with me saying yes to this date.”

“Or does it?”

She laughs at his words, at how his voice still manages to convey every facial expression and quirk of his lips. She knows there’s a smile on his lips as he stares in the distance, imagining her face just as she is his.

“Yes.” She smiles.

“Yes!” He repeats happily.

She hears him stand up and spin around possibly and she chuckles slightly, amused at the silly man across the world who had seemed to have stolen her heart.

“See you soon, Harry.”

“Not soon enough.”

-

On the Saturday of their date, Harry insists on picking her up. He meets her at her door and winks at her after pulling away from their short hug. He laces his hand in hers and she follows behind him as he all but drags her to his car that is downstairs. He seems giddy. His hair has grown out in the month he’s been gone and she knows they’ll cut it when filming resumes. He’s wearing Gucci flared blue jeans - she knows from the big logo on the bottom left pant leg - a ‘Waiting for Sunset’ graphic tee beneath a black cardigan with little animals and items knitted in it. And of course, his dirty ass vans. She had hoped that maybe Christmas would bring him a fresh pair from someone, but it seemed there was no such luck.

Either way, he looked good and upon scanning his outfit, she was pleased that she had dressed correctly for the occasion, knowing one of the sins of Los Angeles was being improperly dressed wherever you might go. Harry had said casual, but casual can always mean so many different things. She got it right with light wash high-waisted levi’s, a brown cream rib-knit long sleeve that buttoned like it could be a cardigan, and some fun chunky boots that added some height to her normal stature. She had contemplated between this and possibly twenty other tops and a few other bottoms. Landing on this felt right, plus it didn’t clash with Harry, the color of her shoes actually matched the color of the snake on the cardigan.

They both compliment each other on the way out to his car and she giggles when he stops and twirls her around. He says he didn’t get a “proper look” before for him to compliment her adequately. After the twirl, he nods and starts them off again, complimenting the specific pieces of her clothes and says she looks beautiful again. His giddiness was contagious.

“No Range tonight,” she muses when Harry stops them in front of a Mercedes-Benz cream convertible, top up.

“Not working,” he replies, unlocking the car with the key into the passenger’s side door handle.

She smiles and slides into the car and watches him jog around to his side and unlock it as well.

“Tonight is going to be fantastic,” he says, leaning over the console and kissing her cheek, just beside her lips.

And when he pulls away with that smug smile of his, she knows he kissed her there on purpose. But the little tease only makes her smile more. He was good at this. And he was right.

The night was fantastic. As was every night after. And she learned that Harry was so much more than anything she ever thought. She counted herself lucky to be loved by a man like him.

[beckyh2112]

when I call myself a shell, I mean- 3/5

when I call myself a shell, I mean- 1/5 when I call myself a shell, I mean- 2/5

Yes, it sprouted more parts.

Behind a cut to avoid cluttering your dash and make it easier for me to correct typos.

---

Vekha pulled out her ID as she walked in one of the Senate building's many service entrances. The Corries knew her by sight now, but they still checked her ID. Because, unlike some other security forces in the Senate, they did their jobs.

"Do you guys want any..." Her voice trailed off.

The security checkpoint was empty. Not a red-painted set of armor in sight.

She looked around, saw one of the credit union ladies on her comm. Vekha waved to get her attention. "Where's the Guard?"

The twi'lek-hybrid shook her head, lekku swinging. "I don't know. They usually send out a mass-mail to warn about drills, but..."

"Kriff," Vekha said with feeling. "Our cafe is open 24/5. If there's been an incident-"

She stepped away, pulling up the number of the overnight manager. "Chidoro, hey, has anything happened?"

In the background, she heard the credit union lady talking to whoever she'd commed.

Chidoro sounded harried - the Mon Cal's Basic sounded like she was gargling saltwater. "Where are you? There's some karking debate today, and a bunch of senatorial staff stayed overnight."

"I'm at the entrance, but... the Guard's not here."

"What the kriff? Ugh, let me grab one of 'em in here." On the comm-projection, Chidoro moved like she was walking, her eyes swiveling to scan the area. A confused look came over her face. "There's no Guard."

"What the heck." Vekha could kinda, sorta imagine the Corries missing a small service entrance like this one. (She'd have to be high to believe they'd actually do that, but she could imagine it.) But the cafe was on a major thoroughfare in the Senate building. Chidoro should have been able to see one Guard from inside, and at least three more if she stuck her head outside. Chidoro not seeing any Guard? Weird as heck.

The credit union lady - Vekha thought she might be the branch manager - stepped into her line-of-sight and flicked her fingers to get Vekha's attention.

Vekha put her hand over her comm input. "Did you find out anything?"

"No one in the Guard's offices is picking up." Her lekku were tying themselves in knots. "My regional manager tried Commander Thire's personal number, and nothing."

What the kriff.

-

"Set some of the jogan fruit juice aside for the Guard?"

Arado shook his head, lekku shifting slightly. "Magpie swung by yesterday. Him and his boys are getting transferred away, so no need to hold things for them anymore."

"How do you even tell them apart?"

The male togruta snorted. "The same way I tell zabrak apart - by their markings. Nice, bright colors, and they each have different scuffs and scrapes. Makes 'em way easier to tell apart than most humans."

-

Thunder woke up to a privacy-marked, pre-recorded holo-call from his vod'ika. Today wasn't his rest day, though, so he couldn't find a private spot to watch it just yet. Not if he wanted to have a meal before shift.

It was still so strange to have rest days. At first, the Jedi had insisted on one day out of every five being a rest day, now that the war was over. But for most of the vode, that was just too much. They'd lived their entire lives either training for battle, preparing for battle, fighting in battle, and recovering from battle. Suddenly having an entire day to just do nothing, if they wanted, was beyond jarring. It had screwed a lot of them up in the head; who were they without the war?

"No wonder the Corries are so high-strung," he'd heard someone say in passing. "It was probably like this all the time for them during the war."

Thunder's shift was spent tracing power lines in the depths of the Jedi Temple. His own fault for nursing a vague interest in electrical work into 'let Thunder look at the problem before you bug Engineering.' By the time it was finished, his armor was scuffed and dusty, he was pretty sure he'd be seeing the voltimeter readout on his helmet-cam in his dreams, and they'd discovered this particular power line just snaked through a bunch of halls without attaching to anything. It might have been an adaptor for an older system once, maybe.

But being down in the depths of the Temple meant he had plenty of isolated spaces to sit and watch what Pup had sent him.

He projected the holo from his wrist comm. Pup looked to be sitting on a crate - he'd probably gone someplace private to record this. "Hey, Thunder." He bit his lip nervously. "It's-"

There was a hiss, and a massif tried to climb in Pup's lap. He laughed and gently pushed them down. "Yes, Bumble, we'll go do the course as soon as I'm done here. In fact, say hi to Thunder?"

He gestured to direct the massif's attention, and they panted at the holo-pickup before Pup tapped his knee twice. The massif immediately laid down at his feet.

"Good girl," Pup said. "You're getting good with tap-signals."

Thunder smiled to himself. He knew massifs weren't smart enough to understand exactly what Pup had just said, but the affection and praise in his voice was obvious.

The happiness and self-assurance just seemed to drain out of Pup when he turned his attention back to the pickup. "Thunder. I just- I just wanted to say this isn't your fault."

What? Something cold slithered down his spine.

"We're leaving. The Guard and Home Fleet. All of us."

What?

"I don't know where we're going, so I can't tell you anything about that." Pup looked down and spoke at his massif. "I wouldn't even if I could. You're my ori'vod, you'll always be my ori'vod. But a lot of the Guard have bad relationships with their batchmates now. Commander Stone-" He shook his head. "That's not my story to tell."

"But. We're leaving, and we don't want to be found."

Thunder sat there numbly, staring at the holo. His vod'ika continued to speak, but he wasn't listening. Everything was just noise in his ears. His vod'ika, and the rest of the Guard, were leaving? What did that even mean? How did they even think they'd manage that? There's no way they could move the Guard onto Home Fleet ships without-

Without someone noticing. Like the Home Fleet and Coruscant Guard troops who kept track of all military movement in the system.

Oh, no.

Thunder was up and running before he registered the holo-call had finished playing. If he could just- If he could get to the Corrie barracks in time- They couldn't be gone already- Someone would have said something-

He just had to get to the Corrie barracks.

[yoongiseesawmp3]

just about perfect - seonghwa

howdy folks, back with another fic but i’m switching it up on ya! i might start writing regularly for ateez as well so y’all are cool with that right? right.

summary: this is NOT inspired by seonghwa saying he watches nevertheless. why would you even think that.

warnings: not the kind of warning u were expecting but there’s no smut (i know its based off a show abt friends with benefits so that’s why i’m warning u. do not get ur hopes up) a little cussing, a lotta me waxing poetic abt the perfect man park seonghwa. also slight tomfoolery from the teezers

word count: 10.6k

the bookstore just off campus is your current go-to study spot, mostly because the cafe inside has a drink special where you buy one coffee and get a voucher for the new bakery next door. so, let’s just say the past few days you’ve been well caffeinated and well fed. you’re on the way there now, already planning out what your treats are going to be. 

today you were supposed to meet your “study group” after your last class of the day, but it looks like you’re the only one here so far. and you say “study group” loosely, the professor for your music theory elective encouraged everyone to make a study group for the upcoming final and your group of friends chose to work together. there’s been no studying going on, though.

especially not when hongjoong’s new friend seonghwa has been flirting with you literally nonstop. he’s apparently friends with everyone else in your group too. san knows him from an art class they took together last semester, meanwhile wooyoung and yeosang claim they lived on seonghwa’s floor freshman year and he always bought them booze. seonghwa denies it, only because hongjoong would slap him if he admitted to buying alcohol for underage kids. 

tasteful delinquency aside, seonghwa is a fine person. you mean personality fine, not like, fine fine even though san would beg to differ. he knows you’ve developed a thing for seonghwa despite trying not to, and he’s secretly trying to get you two together. 

which is why san suddenly texts you and says he can’t make it, and neither can yeosang or wooyoung. they decided to ditch studying to practice for the final in their dance class instead, so it’ll be just you, seonghwa and hongjoong. and little did you know, hongjoong was trying to do the same thing as san. so we’ll see how this goes. 

- 

“y/n, you can’t do that,” hongjoong warns you, referring to the scale you were trying to fill out. 

“why not?” you ask, looking down at your work and wondering what’s wrong.

“because it’ll sound like shit,” seonghwa replies before sipping his coffee. 

“what he said,” hongjoong agrees, grabbing your paper and erasing some of the notes you had scribbled out. “it should look more like this.”

you glance over at what he’s done on top of your old work and sigh. you took this class because you like music, and you thought learning about how it works would be interesting, but it’s hard. 

“can’t you just do all my work for me?” you plead. at this rate, you don’t think you’ll be able to pass the final. 

“no, i don’t want you dragging me down in this class,” hongjoong replies. “my grades are great.” 

“i hate you.”

“what are you struggling with, y/n?” seonghwa asks as he finally looks up from his laptop. he had been working on an assignment for another class this whole time because he, like hongjoong, is great with music theory. so maybe this study group was a good thing. 

“here, you can switch seats with me,” hongjoong says as he clears the spot next to you on the weathered loveseat. “i’m going to look for a book i should’ve started reading two weeks ago.” 

before you can protest, seonghwa is sliding his laptop across the coffeetable and slides himself into the spot next to you. when he sits you notice your thighs are touching, which is weird because there was plenty of space when hongjoong was here. you don’t know that seonghwa is doing this on purpose, that hongjoon really left so he could flirt with the cute cashier in the cafe to give you and seonghwa some alone time. 

“so,” seonghwa starts once he’s settled. “what are you struggling with?” 

“hmm, all of it?” you reply. your answer makes seonghwa smile, and you like the way his eyes sparkle when he does.

“then i guess we’ll be here a while.”

-

about an hour later, seonghwa has walked you through all the major and minor scales you need to know for the test and you’re starting to understand a little more. you’re still having problems with the back of the study guide where you have to come up with note combinations that can apply to those scales, but you have time to work on that since the final is two weeks out. right now, your brain is fried and you need a break. 

“do you mind if i go get a coffee?” you ask seonghwa, who was in the middle of sending you the minor scale cheat sheet he made. he looks up from his laptop and shakes his head before he speaks.

“i would only mind if i can’t come with you.”

“it’s literally right over there, why do you need to come with me?” you question.

“i think i would just miss you too much,” he pouts, and you roll your eyes. seonghwa shuts his laptop and stands up. “what if i need coffee too?”

“you already had one,” you remind him as you stand.

“yeah,” he nods. “but teaching you is exhausting, so i need another. c’mon.”

he walks ahead of you to the counter, and you’re too busy searching for your wallet to notice he took his jacket off, revealing a sneaky tattoo on the back of his neck. it isn’t until you’re behind him in line that you get a look at the hand drawn star right on the nape of his neck, and you have to refrain from reaching out to trace the lines.

“i didn’t know you had a tattoo,” you decide to say. he turns around and instinctively rubs his hand across the tattoo, smiling at you with those sparkly eyes again.

“yeah, i have a couple,” he replies. “but this one is my favorite.”

“why?”

“because my name means ‘to become a star’, so i like knowing that i have a reminder with me all the time,” he explains.

“nice. it’s really pretty.”

“thanks, so are you.”

“sir?” the barista calls, pulling seonghwa’s attention from you. he steps up to give his order as you stare at the tattoo again, noticing alongside it a couple of freckles that almost make it look like a constellation.

“y/n?” seonghwa’s voice draws you out of your thoughts and you realize he’s finished ordering. “what do you want?”

“oh, i can get it,” you begin, but he cuts you off.

“no, my treat,” he insists, and you sheepishly walk up to the counter to give your order. seonghwa makes a mental note of what you get, and he also snatches the bakery voucher from you before you can put it in your pocket. you make a confused sound and seonghwa laughs. 

“why’d you do that?” you whine.

“you only get to use it if you come with me to the bakery later,” he teases. “say yes or i’m drinking your coffee and getting myself an extra cupcake.”

“fine,” you huff. “but i have an assignment due at midnight, so i can’t stay long.”

“it’s 4pm, that’s not enough time for you to finish it?” he asks while you step out of the way for the next customers.

“i haven’t started yet,” you admit. 

“you like saving things until the last minute, don’t you?”

“what makes you say that?”

“well, it looks like you haven’t been studying music theory at all, and now this,” he shrugs. 

“not everybody can be perfect like you, park seonghwa,” you grumble as the barista places two coffee cups on the bar. you hear seonghwa giggle shortly, and you give him a questioning look.

“so you think i’m perfect?” he smirks.

-

it’s the next day, almost midnight, and you really need spray paint. 

why? well, you’re stressed because you have so much to study for your finals and you don’t know where to start. yes, seonghwa helped yesterday, but he’s not in all your other classes, so you’ve decided you need a break from tearing your hair out over the material you can’t comprehend. the best way to distract yourself from that is to finally paint that dresser you got from a garage sale a few months ago, hence the spray paint. 

thankfully, san is still awake, and he has a car, so you ask him to pick you up for a quick run to the art supply store that’s surprisingly still open. a bonus of going to college in the city, you can get anything almost whenever you need it. 

“thanks for coming to get me,” you tell san as you hop into his car. 

“no problem,” he replies. “i was bored and hongjoong said he needed paint pens so this is a win-win situation. plus, i get to hear about your date with seonghwa yesterday.”

“it was not a date,” you groan, choosing to ignore the suggestive way san is looking at you right now. 

“but you spent the whole afternoon together,” san starts. “he bought you coffee and you went to the bakery together and talked about, like, your favorite colors and stuff. sounds like a date to me.”

“how do you know all that?”

“seonghwa told hongjoong and then hongjoong told me,” he explains as he turns onto the street that’ll take you to the art store. 

“well tell hongjoong that i’m still mad at him for ditching us,” you reply. “and i’m still kinda mad at you and the other two for bailing in the first place.”

“hey, if it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t have had your first date with seonghwa,” san points out.

“it was not a date!” you cry. “we studied most of the time we were together, then he bought my coffee and bullied me into going to the bakery. i couldn’t stay long because i had a paper to write, so we talked about stupid shit until i had to leave.”

“it sounds like the beginning of true love to me,” san sing-songs. 

“stop the car, i’ve decided to walk.”

-

when you get to the store, san separates from you quickly because he sees his friend mingi behind the counter. they’re busy talking while you search the store for the paints, and you’re so busy looking up at the aisle names that you don’t notice you’re about to run into someone. 

“hey-” you start to complain, but you recognize the man you almost bumped into. “oh, seonghwa.”

“y/n,” he smiles at you. “what are you doing out so late?” 

“uh, distracting myself from how small my brain is,” you explain. “what are you doing here?”

“hongjoong needed paint pens,” he says, and you’re about two seconds away from finding san and slapping him. did they really plan this too? 

“why didn’t he come get them?” you ask as you remember what you’re here to find. your eyes scan the aisle behind seonghwa and you spot the paint cans at the end, but he’s in your way.

“i offered,” he says with a shrug.

“you must be a really good friend, then.”

“well you did call me perfect yesterday, so...” he trails off, smirking. you roll your eyes at him but can’t help the blush creeping up your neck. he interrupts his new favorite activity of staring deeply into your eyes (just to fluster you, of course) and he sees that you’re looking past him at the shelves of paint. “you need something down here?” 

“um, yeah, the spray paint,” you reply, awkwardly trying to skirt around him to get into the aisle. he steps aside to let you through, but still follows you as you search for the color you want.

“what are you making?” 

“i’m painting a scuffed up dresser i’ve had for a while, so i want something simple that’ll go with the rest of the things in my room,” you explain as you stop walking and crane your neck to scan the bottles on the top shelf. seonghwa stops behind you and places his hand on the small of your back as he reaches for a can just out of your reach.

“what about this one?” he offers, handing you a can of light blue paint. it’s really pretty, and it’ll stand out with the white furniture you already have, but you really like it.

“oh, that’s perfect!” you say as you take the can from his hands.

“there you go again,” seonghwa teases, and you shoot him a questioning look. he smiles as he responds. “calling me perfect?”

“i said the paint was perfect, weirdo,” you snap. “but thank you for finding this.”

“anytime,” he tells you. “you said your favorite color was blue right?”

“right...” you mumble, thinking back to the conversation you had at the bakery yesterday. “how’d you remember?”

“ugh, i’m hurt!” he exclaims, hand flying to his chest in mock surprise. “i can’t believe you already forgot that it’s my favorite color too.”

“hm, guess i was too distracted by how perfect you are,” you joke. seonghwa laughs at that, a sharp sound that seemed to catch him off guard. he covers his mouth to stifle the sound, but you’re close enough to the cash register now that it draws attention from san and mingi.

“find what you need?” san asks with a shit eating grin.

“hm, just about,” you say as you place the paint on the counter. “couldn’t find a hammer big enough to drop on your head, though.”

“wow, harsh,” san scoffs. “and to think i brought you here out of the goodness of my heart.”

you’re too busy half-bickering with san to notice that seonghwa has paid for your paint and the pens he promised hongjoong. he mumbles something to mingi, who then hands him a piece of paper. he scribbles his number down for you before handing you the can and his number. 

“i gotta go, but i’ll see you later for study group, right?” he confirms. you’re still processing the fact that he keeps buying things for you and you can’t respond in time, so san steps in.

“yeah, y/n will be there,” san assures seonghwa. he nods and shoots you one last smile before he excuses himself and leaves. you’re stuck with san and that stupid grin again. he looks at you and then checks the paper with seonghwa’s number on it. “yep, i think you got what you needed.”

-

even though seonghwa very willingly gave you his number, you’re still afraid to text him. it’s kind of hard to believe that he’s into you the way you’re into him, so you’re fine with just seeing him for study dates. or, uh, not study dates. study gatherings. with just the two of you. because the other guys have bailed, again.

this time, though, you’re not working on music theory. you have an assignemnt due for your ethics class, and you need family and friends to read about your results from this morals test. you wanted san to do it, but he’s currently “chasing a sweet piece of ass,” whatever that means. he’s probably bothering his lab partner that he claims descended from greek gods. you would usually tease him for saying something like that, but it’s a thought you’ve had about seonghwa, so you kept your mouth shut.

anyway, you know you need someone to answer these questions for you, but you can’t bring yourself to ask seonghwa. he kept up his “perfect” demeanor again today, showing up at the bookstore before you so he could get you the coffee you like. you would ask why he keeps doing things like this for you, remembering your favorite color and your coffee order, but you’re afraid he’ll stop if you bring it up. little do you know, every time he learns something new about you, he writes it down in his notes app, keeping a running tab of the things you like.

“y/n?” you hear him ask. his voice snaps you out of your thoughts and you realize you’ve been staring at him this whole time. the smirk you’ve become so familiar with makes another appearance as he gets ready to tease you. “something on your mind?”

“no, i...no,” you stutter. “i’m just thinking.”

“about what?” he questions as he lifts his coffee cup to his lips. you watch the way he slightly pouts them before taking a sip and you have to stop yourself from staring again.

“just this ethics assignment i want to finish,” you explain. “sorry, i didn’t realize i was staring at you.”

“must be an important assignment,” he nods, leaning forward to put his cup back on the table in front of you. you get another glimpse at the star tattoo on his neck as he does. “because i was definitely staring at you too, and you didn’t even notice.”

“oh?” 

“yep,” he confirms. “i was giving you my best puppy dog eyes and everything.”

“puppy dog eyes?” you ask, unsure of what’s coming. “do you need something?”

“eh, not really,” he shrugs. “i’m just worried.”

“why?”

“you never texted me the other night.”

“after the art store?” you ask incredulously. 

“isn’t that when i gave you my number?” he smirks. 

“i didn’t think you wanted me to text you immediately...”

“well, it’s been three days and i still don’t have your number,” he pouts. 

“hold on a second,” you mumble, reaching for your bag. you fumble around in there, searching for the piece of paper with seonghwa’s number on it as he watches you fondly.

“what are you doing?”

“looking for your number,” you reply like it’s obvious. seonghwa laughs a little and places his hand on your arm to stop you. 

“you do know i’m right next to you, and i could just put my number in myself?” he asks, eyes sparkling as he half-smiles at you. you blush, because no, you weren’t thinking about that. you sheepishly hand him your phone and watch as he adds his number and then texts himself. he gives your phone back and replaces it with his own before asking, “what’s your favorite emoji?”

“um, the smiling cowboy?” you offer, not sure why he’s asking. he laughs again, like he did in the art store, but this time it’s harder for him to quiet the breathy giggles coming from his chest.

“why that one?” he asks, typing something quickly.

“it’s funny,” you shrug. “why?”

“needed something cute to put next to your name, but you’re a weirdo, so it’s not as cute as i was imagining,” he explains, showing you the contact card in his phone. your number is saved as “y/n 🥰🤠” and you can’t help but laugh. you look up at seonghwa, warmth in your eyes, and he starts laughing too.

“see?” you giggle. “it is funny.”

“whatever, at least now i have your number.”

-

after exchanging numbers with seonghwa, you’re starting to let yourself believe little by little that he might feel the same way you do. it’s not anything serious, but there’s definitely something there. the texts he sends are always flirtatious, and it has your heart beating faster every time you get a notification, hoping that it’s him. you’re in the middle of studying for your spanish final when you feel your phone vibrate on the bed next to you, and you smile when you see who it’s from.

seonghwa 🥺💫, 6:28pm: are you busy rn?

you, 6:28pm: not really, just studying

seonghwa 🥺💫: can’t be studying too much if you replied that quickly 🥸

you: what do u want

seonghwa 🥺💫: be nice :-(

you: sorry

you: hi seonghwa, how are you? what do you want.

seonghwa 🥺💫: come get dinner with me? 

you: right now?

seonghwa 🥺💫: no, in 30 years. yes right now 

you: but i’m studying ://

seonghwa 🥺💫: liar!

you: fine, when and where?

seonghwa 🥺💫: i’ll pick you up in ten 🤠

- 

“you sure like staying close to campus, huh?” you ask seonghwa as he walks you about a block from your usual hangout and to a little hole in the wall restaurant that looks like it could seat maybe 20 people, uncomfortably. 

“i know what i like,” he responds with a shrug. “speaking of things i like, you look nice.”

“oh, thank you,” you semi-laugh. you’d been close to panic trying to figure out what to wear (because you’re not sure if this is a date) so you went with something simple, but you’re glad seonghwa likes it. not that you wanted to impress him. but you did, a little. anyway, he looks...well, perfect, wearing black ripped jeans and a velvet-y navy shirt. you continually have to stop yourself from reaching out and stroking his arm just to feel the soft fabric (and maybe his muscles). 

“so i take it you’ve never been here before?” he asks as he hands you a menu. you shake your head no in response. you can’t tell if he’s doing it intentionally, but seonghwa leans closer into your side as he explains. “you pick a main entree, but each dish comes with these sides. they say no substitutes, but i know the guy behind the counter so you can ask for more of something else if you don’t like one of them.”

“i might do that,” you say. “i don’t really want dumplings, so could i get extra sweet potatoes?”

“of course,” he nods, noting the way you smile slightly. it makes your eyes light up, and his heart does a little backflip knowing that he’s the reason for it. well, the sweet potatoes probably are, but he’s the one getting the sweet potatoes, so he’s taking that win for himself. once you both confirm what you want, he places his hand on your back and guides you to the counter.

“hey seonghwa!” the tall guy with a lopsided smile behind the register greets. “long time no see. who’s your friend?”

“hey yunho,” seonghwa smiles back. “this is y/n, a vip, so make sure you give us the good stuff.”

“extra sweet potatoes?” yunho laughs. you and seonghwa both nod as yunho continues taking your order, and you find yourself comfortably leaning into seonghwa as you wait for yunho to calculate the price. before seonghwa can even think about taking his wallet out, you’re handing yunho cash for the food, which makes seonghwa sputter.

“what? y/n, i was going to pay,” he whines, and you simply shake your head.

“nope, my turn,” you tell him. “you’ve bought me coffee too many times.”

“but i asked you out! i don’t want you to pay on our first date if i’m the one who brought you here,” he continues to complain.

“so this is a date?” you confirm, right as yunho asks suggestively “oh, this is a date?”

“yunho, give y/n’s money back,” seonghwa says, ignoring the two of you. “i’m paying.”

“yunho, if you give me that money i’ll be forced to leave and stand seonghwa up for our date,” you say, emphasizing the last word. now you’re glad you wore clean pants.

“seonghwa, why don’t you let y/n pay for this, and then you can get the next one?” yunho suggests, sending you a wink before he turns to the kitchen to share your order with the chef. you’re left with a flustered seonghwa, which is a sight you’re not used to, and it makes you laugh.

“c’mon,” you say as you pull on his arm. “let’s go find a table.”

you’re the only ones in the restaurant, so the food comes out pretty quick, and you have to stifle a laugh when you see that someone has arranged the sweet potatoes on a separate plate in the shape of a heart. seonghwa blushes at this, and you’re taken aback by how shy he’s suddenly become.

for some reason, seonghwa showing signs of nervousness puts you at ease, and you lead the conversation to something stupid san told you about the boys and their shenanigans at their dorm. the story has seonghwa laughing, and he confirms that yes, yeosang does have a sword by the tv, and yes, hongjoong did threaten to use it on him after he lost an intense match of fifa. 

“in hongjoong’s defense,” seonghwa begins, “i do think yeosang cheated. wooyoung was definitely helping him.”

“it still sounds ridiculous,” you tell him. “why does anybody need a sword?”

“yeosang is just...yeosang,” seonghwa replies. “he’s weird but he won’t admit that to anyone.”

“i’m just saying, if i went to someone’s house and there was a katana by the tv, i’d haul my ass outta there.” seonghwa giggles at how serious you look, but this conversation reminds him...

“you never showed me your room,” he says bluntly. you pause for a moment, spoon halfway to your mouth, and seonghwa realizes how that must sound. “i mean, the paint, your dresser. you never showed me a picture once you fixed it up.”

“oh,” you breathe out. “let me grab my phone, i can show you.”

“show him what?” a familiar voice suddenly asks from the seat next to you. when you notice that san, and some of your other friends, have snuck their way into the restaurant, you have to keep yourself from groaning.

“why are you here.”

“i’m hungry,” san replies, then turns to seonghwa. “you didn’t tell us you were getting dinner.”

“i didn’t want to,” seonghwa deadpans. “ i wanted it to be just me and y/n.”

“too late for that, pal,” honjoong says as he slides into the seat across from you. “hi y/n.”

“hey hongjoong,” you grumble. “please tell me you’re getting your food to go.”

“we were, but then we saw our good friends eating all by themselves and thought we should join them,” hongjoong teases. by now, the rest of the boys have sat down around you, some at other tables, and one of them you don’t recognize. that must be jongho, their younger “roommate” who technically lives in first year housing but doesn’t get along with the other guy in his room. you’ve heard seonghwa complain that jongho eats all of his snacks. 

“well, i hope you enjoy your food, but seonghwa and i were just about to leave,” you lie, looking at seonghwa with a stare that pleads ‘please go along with this.’

“where are you going?” wooyoung asks, one table over.

“my apartment,” you respond quickly, standing up as seonghwa follows your cue with a stupidly adorable look on his face.

“oh, perfect!” san chirps. “we’ll come with you!”

- 

so much for your date with seonghwa. it was hard to stop the boys from insisting they all join you at your apartment, especially after yunho said his shift was over and he could really use some destressing. and by destressing he meant booze, so you currently have 8 tipsy boys scattered across your living room. if you thought they were loud before...it’s amazing that your neighbors haven’t complained yet. 

it started off innocent enough, you were just playing card games at first and the loser of each round had to drink. then it turned into never have i ever, and each time you put a finger down you had to drink. then yeosang suggested shots, and it really went downhill from there. san tried convincing everyone to play a round of spin the bottle just for the chance of making you and seonghwa kiss, but mingi and wooyoung were the only ones down, so majority ruled there. 

“san, stop pouting,” you laugh, noticing that he’s upset over his evil plan not working out.

“it’s fine,” he lies, duck lips on full display. 

“spin the bottle is such a tween-y game too,” jongho pipes in. “and we’re adults, so it would be kinda stupid to play it anyway.”

“says the baby of the group,” yeosang scoffs. 

“what about truth or dare?” hongjoong suggests. “still immature, but we can make it fun.”

“yes!” san shouts, suddenly back in a positive mood. 

“i’ll start,” mingi volunteers. he takes a deep breath as he looks around the room, eyes narrowing when he looks at you and seonghwa. you’re currently smushed into your armchair together, not really by choice, because the couch is completely full and neither of you wanted to sit on the floor (you know how dirty it is, and seonghwa has a bad hip). thankfully, mingi has mercy on you and directs his gaze to his best friend. “yunho, truth or dare?”

“truth,” yunho slurs out. you’d say he’s the opposite of stressed by now.

“did you sleep with that girl you met at the party last week?”

“no,” yunho replies quickly, cheeks turning a knowing shade of red. “i just walked her home.”

“and went missing until the next morning?” yeosang asks. he gets a few snickers, and you laugh a little too because you remember san and wooyoung talking about their friend who disappeared for a few hours last weekend.

“whatever,” yunho groans. “yeosang. truth or dare.”

“dare,” yeosang chooses confidently. 

“kiss wooyoung on the cheek.”

“no,” he replies, just as confidently. 

“then take another shot,” yunho concedes, waving his hand at the stubborn boy. wooyoung mumbles something about how kissable he is as yeosang downs what looks like more than just a regular shot.

“this is boring,” jongho whines, which makes him the next target. he chooses dare, and you have to detach yourself from seonghwa so you can go into your kitchen and find the lemon juice in your fridge so jongho can chug what’s left. he’s sputtering after a few sips and gives up, grumbling up to you, “ i hate you for that.”

“hey, it wasn’t my dare,” you defend yourself. “you owe me lemon juice.”

“i’ll give it to you if you choose dare,” jongho challenges. you roll your eyes and take the bait, earning a round of ooo’s from the boys around you. 

“make her kiss seonghwa,” someone hisses.

“or me!” wooyoung chirps. jongho looks over at him with a death glare, and wooyoung shrugs. “i just want someone to want to kiss me.”

“i think you’re cut off,” hongjoong says as he leans across your coffee table to move the bottle away from wooyoung.

“everyone be quiet!” san shouts. “jongho has to give y/n a dare.”

“hmmm,” jongho starts, tapping his finger on his chin. “what should i do?”

“for someone who said this was boring, you’re really milking this,” seonghwa says under his breath. you’re perched on the arm of the chair, close enough to hear him, but thankfully no one else does.

“what’s that other childish game called?” jongho wonders aloud. “seven minutes in heaven? i think you should do that with seonghwa.”

“do i have to?” you pout, and your reluctance makes seonghwa stiffen. he thinks you said that because you’re uncomfortable, and not because you don’t want the boys pressing their ear up to the door while the two of you make out.

“rules are rules,” hongjoong concludes, nodding his head toward your room. “go have fun. i’ll keep the kids from bothering you.”

you look to seonghwa, who isn’t looking directly at you. you tentatively take his hand, giving it a squeeze before you stand up and lead him to your room. there are so many catcalls, whistles and cheers coming from your friends that you barely hear san say “take your time! it doesn’t have to be just seven minutes!”

once you get to your room, you let seonghwa go in first and then you lock the door behind you. he quirks an eyebrow at that, and you shrug shyly. 

“don’t want one of them bursting in,” you explain. seonghwa nods, and you both fall silent. it’s not necessarily awkward, just tense. you both want to do what seven minutes in heaven is meant for, but you’re not gonna make the first move and seonghwa still isn’t sure you even want to be in this situation. so he takes this time to turn around and take your room in, pointing to your dresser.

“is this it?” he asks. you hum out a yes in response, and he runs his hand over the freshly painted wood. “it looks nice. whoever picked out the color sure knows what he’s doing.”

“eh, he’s just lucky,” you joke, and you both laugh. you move to stand next to him and place your hand on top of his. “sorry we couldn’t finish our date.” 

“sorry my friends are so annoying,” seonghwa adds. 

“sorry san pushed me into your lap earlier,” you continue, and seonghwa smirks.

“well, i didn’t mind that,” he says. “i wanted you to sit with me, but i didn’t want to draw attention.”

“oh,” you squeak, feeling a blush on its way to your cheeks. a heavy silence falls over you, and seonghwa is the first to break it.

“listen, if you don’t want to kiss me, that’s cool,” he begins. “i kinda got the vibe earlier that you didn’t want to do this, and that’s cool. if you don’t want to do this we’re still cool.”

“you don’t sound very cool about it,” you chuckle, and seonghwa’s face flushes. “but i was only nervous because i didn’t know if you wanted to kiss me.”

“oh i want to kiss you,” he says firmly. “have for a while.”

“why don’t you do it then?” you challenge. seonghwa takes a step closer to you, and before you know it he’s pinned you against your dresser. you balance your hands on it and the cool wood helps you ground yourself as your body heats up from having seonghwa so close.

“are you sure?” he asks, only a few inches from your face. you nod and whisper out “i’m sure” and seonghwa quickly cups your face and smothers you in a kiss. it starts off slow, and your face warms at his touch. once you relax into it you move your lips against his, nipping at his bottom lip slightly and earning a groan from the man before you. you take the chance to slip your tongue past his lips as you bring your hands up to the nape of his neck, slowly brushing through his soft hair. his hands find their way to your waist, gripping tightly but not too hard, and he leans in to get as close to you as possible. you keep kissing for a few moments, but eventually you need to breathe so you lightly tap on his neck. he pulls back, breathing heavy, and his smile shines like the most beautiful stars in the sky. “so?”

“so?” you repeat, equally out of breath.

“that was nice.”

“it was.”

“the boys are gonna know we made out.”

“of course they are,” you laugh. “your lips look swollen.”

“so do yours,” he counters. 

“but wasn’t that the whole point of us coming in here?” you ask. your hands have fallen to his chest, and you finally get a chance to smooth out the soft velvet of his shirt. and you notice his chest is very, uh, firm, too.

“we didn’t have to kiss,” he says with a shrug. “we could’ve just talked.”

“about what?” you ask with a smile.

“my keen eye for interior design,” he replies. “how sexy you look in low lighting.”

“so you think i’m sexy?” you tease, and seonghwa rolls his eyes.

“i just had my tongue in your mouth, does that answer your question?”

another silence comes over you both, but this one is lighter than before. you’re subconsciously rubbing your hands over his shirt, and seonghwa brings a hand up to cover yours, stopping it right over his heart.

“we don’t have to tell them,” you offer. “i mean, they kept it a secret from us that they were trying to get us together this whole time.”

“oh no, i was fully aware of that,” seonghwa tells you, and you scoff. “do you think i really wanted to get out past midnight just to buy hongjoong some expensive markers? he never even paid me for them.”

“well now i really don’t want to tell them we kissed,” you whine. “how could everyone be in on this except me?”

“it was more fun that way,” seonghwa teases before pecking your lips. “but we can keep this between us, for now.”

“i think we should,” you say with a nod of finality. “it’s more fun that way.”

“c’mon, let’s go back out there before they send a search party.”

you return to the living room before seonghwa (so he can sneak into the bathroom and fix his hair) and you find most of the boys asleep on the floor. you sigh as your eyes meet hongjoong’s, and he shrugs.

“at least they didn’t bother you,” he says. 

“can you help me find pillows and blankets for them, please?” you ask, and he nods before jumping into action. he throws one of the couch pillows down to yeosang, who takes it and hugs it to his chest. you have a couple extras in your hall closet and you pass them to yunho, who’s sitting up when you come back. he places one under mingi and another under jongho and keeps the last one for himself. san and wooyoung are on the couch, and hongjoong tells you he’s fine with the armchair. seonghwa is out of the bathroom by now, and, like the perfect man he is, he’s carrying blankets in his arms. the three of you work on getting all the boys covered before you realize that seonghwa doesn’t have a place to sleep.

“i can take another spot on the floor,” he assures you. “do you have another pillow i can use?”

“let him sleep in your room, y/n,” san mumbles from underneath wooyoung. you pause and look at seonghwa, who’s looking back at you with something you can’t read in his eyes. 

“it’s not a bad idea,” hongjoong pipes in from somewhere within the blanket cocoon he made for himself. “he was just there. you can put him on the floor.”

“y/n?” seonghwa asks, pulling your attention back to him. “i don’t have to if you’re uncomfortable.” 

you would try to fight it, so you could hopefully ignore taunts from the boys in the morning, but you’re suddenly really tired and you just want to lay down.

“i’m ok with it if you are,” you yawn. “take the rest of those blankets, we can use those for your bed.”

“make good choices,” honjoong mumbles as seonghwa leads you back to your room, and you hear san going “oooooo” as you close your door a second time tonight. this time you don’t lock it though, and when you turn around you see the blankets on the floor and seonghwa sprawled out on your usual side of the bed, so you tell him.

“well why don’t you come join me then?” he teases with a grin. you blush and shake your head.

“scoot over.”

he does, but only by an inch. he still looks at you with that flirty glint in his eyes, and you can only shake your head again as you crawl into the tiny space next to him. he immediately wraps an arm around your waist and gives you a tight hug, placing a kiss on your shoulder.

“thank you,” he whispers into your back.

“for what?” you reply.

“for not putting me on the floor. and for liking me.”

-

you just woke up from maybe the best night of sleep you’ve ever had. seonghwa’s arms and legs are draped over yours, so you can’t get up without waking him, but having him so close is a welcome source of warmth. your apartment is quiet, and the sun is peacefully filtering into your room through your curtain. it’s the perfect moment, with your perfect boy, until- 

“i think they’re still asleep,” you hear someone whisper from the hallway.

“wooyoung, leave them alone!” another voice hisses. there’s silence for a moment, and then a smack, followed by someone jiggling the doorknob to your room. you quickly untangle yourself from seonghwa before you watch as the door cracks open a bit, revealing wooyoung in all his bed-headed glory. you close your eyes as much as you can while still peeking at who’s sneaking into your room, and you see jongho close behind him. he must’ve been the one who got smacked. or did the smacking. either way, they’re both staring at you and seonghwa in your bed, but you notice wooyoung smile and pause.

“i knew it! they definitely got together last night.”

“how do you know?” jongho asks. “maybe y/n let seonghwa sleep on the bed because of his old man hips.”

“whatever. they’re in the same bed, so that’s at least something,” wooyoung replies. “lame, but still something.”

“what did you expect?” jongho asks incredulously. “you thought we would catch them doing it?”

“i mean, not exactly, but couldn’t i get a little cuddling maybe?”

“you want me to cuddle you hyung?” jongho deadpans.

“yes, actually-”

“hey!” a third voice whisper shouts. you hear footsteps and then you see hongjoong pulling wooyoung out of your room by the neck of his shirt. “leave them alone. and you, jongho, i’m surprised you’re playing along with this.”

“well...” jongho mumbles.

“well what?” hongjoong asks, sounding like the mom-est mom to ever mom.

“they’re the only ones that know how to make breakfast.”

“both of you, out! now!” hongjoong semi-shouts, and you feel seonghwa stirring behind you. hongjoong doesn’t realize you’re both awake and closes the door as he leaves.

“what time is it?” seonghwa grumbles out, and your heart skips a beat hearing how deep his voice is when he wakes up.

“early,” you reply, turning around to be face to face with him. his arms slowly snake around you as you look up at him and share a sleepy smile. “how can you look this good when you first wake up?”

“weird, i wanted to ask you the same thing,” seonghwa replies, leaning in to kiss you but you touch your fingers to his lips and stop him, so he pouts. 

“uh uh, not until i brush my teeth,” you say as you try to get up, but seonghwa’s grip on your waist keeps you down.

“please,” he pouts again, sparkly eyes on full display as he pleads with you. it takes about half a second for you to cave and kiss him quickly, catching him off guard. he shifts to pull you on top of him and deepen the kiss, but he loses his grip on you and you’re able to slip out of bed before he can stop you. a noise comes from deep in his chest that almost sounds like a growl, and you shoot him a glare.

“hey, you got your kiss,” you warn. “now i’m going to make breakfast for the gremlins. do you want to help me?”

-

after the intrusion into your bedroom, wooyoung obviously told the boys what he saw. but, like jongho said, most of them thought it was just because of seonghwa’s hips that made you share a bed with him. there wasn’t enough evidence otherwise, and none of them really expected either of you to make a move despite their efforts. but they’re starting to get suspicious.

little do they know, after the set up fell into place, seonghwa wanted to take you on a real date. the only way to do that without your friends knowing was to sneak around without them, which was kind of fun. it was nice having this bubble with seonghwa, just the two of you, but it was getting harder to avoid your friends. seonghwa lived with them after all, so they pestered him about how often he was out and who he might be out with. 

“san keeps asking if you’re a good kisser. i told him i didn’t know, and then he asked if he could find out for me. should i be concerned about that?”

“we need to be more careful, yeosang said he saw us at the taco place yesterday, and he said we hold hands weird.”

“hongjoong has been saving seats for us at the bookstore, and each time we don’t show up i think he steals something from me.”

you have been ditching study group lately, but that’s more because you need to do some deep studying for your other finals and your friends are too much of a distraction. seonghwa can be distracting too, but at least he can take a hint and back down when you really need to focus. it’s been nice actually, just spending time in his presence. you were so nervous around him just a few weeks ago, and now you feel like you could trust him with just about anything.

today, you don’t get any personal study time, though. your music theory final is coming up and seonghwa wants you to get all the terms memorized before the review session in class tomorrow. he’s motivating you with a kiss for each right answer and the promise of him making dinner once you’re done. you’re currently cruising on five wrong in a row, and you’re getting frustrated. 

“c’mon y/n, you know this,” seonghwa encourages you, but you just whine in response. “we did this like four minutes ago, and i told you the answer so you could remember it.”

“yeah, well i obviously didn’t,” you snap, and seonghwa fakes being hurt. “sorry. can we skip this and come back to it?”

“sure,” he agrees quickly. “but first you need to write down the circle of fifths for me.” 

“i hate you.”

“hm, wrong answer,” he hums. “but kiss anyway. maybe that’ll keep you from getting so grumpy.”

“i am not grumpy,” you defend after kissing him gently. “i’m stressed.”

“you know what you need?”

“hm?”

“you need to go on another date,” he begins. “with me, obviously.”

“damn, i wanted to know if yunho was free,” you tease, and seonghwa doesn’t think it’s funny. “now who’s grumpy?”

“ignoring that,” he scoffs, but you can tell he’s trying not to smile. 

“when would we go? i’m really busy the next few days.”

“what about after class? we could both clean up and do something nice before we get some dinner?” seonghwa suggests. “why don’t we go to that art exhibit you told me about?”

“ugh,” you groan as you learn your head on his shoulder. “that sounds amazing, but we both said we’d be at study group tomorrow, remember? hongjoong practically begged me to be there, and i said i would ask you to come.”

“what about not letting them know we’re a thing?” he pouts. you don’t tell him about the youngest two that saw you all cuddled up, but instead you assure him that you inviting him to study group wouldn’t look unusual to the boys.

“plus, if we both cancel last minute, they’d know for sure we were up to something together,” you continue. “so yes, we need to go on another date, but just not tomorrow.”

“fine,” he mumbles. “now i am grumpy.”

“would something from the cafe make it better, my little boba ball?” you ask in a baby voice.

“ooh, actually, boba sounds good,” seonghwa smiles. “let’s go.”

-

the next day you get to the bookstore late because your professor gave a pop quiz at the end of class and you’ve been so busy studying music theory you forgot to study for anything else, so you needed all the time you could get. when you finally arrive, all of the boys are there, surprisingly. since you’ve never seen yunho, mingi and jongho here before you’re a little confused, but happy to see them nonetheless. 

as you walk up to the usual spot, you notice a coffee cup sitting in front of an empty chair, and you point to it as the boys greet you.

“is this for me?” you ask, placing your bag on the ground before grabbing the warm mug. “thank you, coffee angel.”

“you’re welcome, actual angel,” seonghwa replies, and you almost choke on your first sip. what is he doing?? you’re supposed to be sneaky sneaks and keep your relationship quiet, but here he is flirting with you in front of everyone!

except, that’s what he did before you started dating too, so it’s not out of the ordinary. in fact, no one pays any mind to it, so you’re left with a burnt tongue and blushy cheeks while seonghwa looks at you with a stare that only you would understand. you quickly shoot him a wink before you put your mug down and reach for your notes.

“um, hello? what are you guys doing?” you ask yeosang next to you, who’s rabidly tapping at his phone, just like everyone else. if they weren’t distracted they might have picked up on the vibes between you and seonghwa, but thankfully they’re the oblivious ones now.

“playing a game,” half of them respond, just as hongjoong says “writing lyrics” and jongho mumbles “texting my mom.”

“aren’t we supposed to study?” you ask. “or did you already learn everything in the world while i was gone?”

“well you’ve missed a lot of study sessions, y/n,” san begins. “so yes, we have learned everything. now we just come here to hang out.”

“so then why did you insist on me being here, joong?” you ask newly orange-haired hongjoong. it’s been a while since you’ve seen him, he must’ve dyed it recently. 

“we missed hanging out with you,” he says simply, eyes peeking up from his phone. your heart constricts at this, and you catch seonghwa’s eyes again. you might have to rethink the whole sneaking around thing if they really do miss you.

“yeah, we missed you AND we had to make sure you and seonghwa are still spending time together,” wooyoung adds, wiggling his eyebrows. 

“where have you been anyway?” yeosang asks. “you don’t have other friends.”

“yes i do,” you scoff.”

“give me names and numbers.”

“ignore him,” yunho tells you, and you nod.

“i always do. but i’ve been really stressed about finals, so i had to do some soul searching on my own to decide if i need to graduate or not.”

“seems fair,” mingi agrees. “i almost had to drop a class.”

“because he forgot he was even enrolled in it,” jongho clarifies, and you laugh.

“but seonghwa has been missing a lot lately too,” san starts. “i wonder what he’s been doing.”

“or who,” wooyoung snickers, and hongjoong reaches over mingi to slap him.

“i haven’t been feeling well,” seonghwa says with a shrug. “i’ve mostly been in my room, or at the pharmacy to get medicine.”

“oh, so you could’ve bought new paper towels for the dorm then, huh?” hongjoong asks, and as the two of them start to bicker, yeosang nudges your arm.

“i saw you two,” he says quietly. “at the mexican restaurant.”

“i know,” you whisper back. 

“so i know you’re dating.”

“are you gonna say anything?”

“hmmm, no,” he thinks. “but you have to buy my silence.”

“with coffee?” you offer, and yeosang smiles. he stands up and puts his phone away before speaking, looking directly at seonghwa.

“my best friend y/n is gonna buy me coffee, we’ll be back,” he says as he loops his arm around your shoulders. seonghwa watches as you walk away (and stares at your ass) but he’s mostly thinking about how he’s a little jealous right now. like, he knows you wouldn’t do anything, he trusts you, but he doesn’t want his friends thinking you have a thing for anyone but him. so while you’re gone, he talks.

“i haven’t been sick,” he admits. “i’ve been seeing y/n.”

“we all knew, dude,” hongjoong says casually, and everyone agrees.

“then why didn’t you say anything?!”

“because YOU weren’t saying anything,” jongho replies.

“yeah, we figured that we did enough trying to get the two of you together, so if you didn’t end up dating then that was your fault. we were just waiting on you to make a move,” san explains. 

“then why did you let us lie to you like that?”

“it was fun,” wooyoung shrugs. “by the way, did y/n let you sleep in the bed because of your hips, or because you wanted to cuddle?”

the red tint on seonghwa’s cheeks gives him away, and the boys start laughing and ooo’ing so loud he’s afraid you’ll hear it over by the coffee counter.

“ok, ok, just. keep this quiet for now,” he says. “y/n may still want this to be private.”

“but you just told us about it,” yunho says. “why would you do that if you knew y/n wouldn’t want you to?”

“well,” seonghwa begins. “i need your help with a date.”

-

seemingly by an act of god, you have time this weekend to go on a date with seonghwa. little did you know, he’s the reason your plans suddenly freed up. san said you could critique him and wooyoung for their dance final another day, hongjoong said he would send you his music theory notes from the review and save you hours of studying and then yeosang found the exact spanish book you needed to finish your performance final ahead of time. it was the perfect circumstances, orchestrated by your perfect boy and his perfect-adjacent friends, who all agreed to help him with this (hopefully) perfect date. 

it starts with seonghwa picking you up from your apartment, coffee in hand. 

“you’re the man of my dreams, you know that?” you say in passing as you grab the warm to-go cup. even if you were only saying it lightly, it made seonghwa’s heart soar. you notice he hasn’t said anything to you, so you meet his eyes to find them full of stars like always, but this time there’s something scheme-y in there. he’s up to something.

“are you ready for the best date of your life?” he asks with a smile that puts the stars in his eyes to shame.

“yes, i think,” you respond, grabbing your keys and locking your door. “but i don’t know what we’re doing.”

“and it will stay that way until we get there,” seonghwa says firmly as he laces his hand into yours. you squeeze his hand and sigh.

“i guess i just have to trust you then.”

“but that won’t be hard right?”

“wait, didn’t you say something earlier about going to that art exhibit? is that it?” you question, even though you know he won’t budge. seonghwa just shakes his head no and punches the button for the elevator. a moment of silence passes before you guess again. “a movie? you rented out a movie theater, like you said you wanted to?”

“i tried, but it was expensive,” he admits and you have to laugh. “funds are tight right now.”

“i watched you buy a couple hundred dollars worth of legos the other day babe. maybe that’s why the date fund is lacking.”

“you’re not coming between me and my collectables, y/n,” seonghwa scolds. the elevator pings to open to the parking garage under your building, and you’re confused for a moment before he explains. “i want this to be a nice date, so yunho let me borrow his car. it would be no fun if we show up all sweaty because we were walking.”

yunho’s car, which is actually pretty nice thanks to all the tips he gets from flirting with clientele, is parked by the elevator. seonghwa leads you to your door and opens it for you, revealing a basket of flowers and candies in the seat. you coo as you pick it up, and seonghwa looks on proudly. you lean over to give him a kiss, and you whisper your thanks as you pull away.

“that was mingi’s idea,” seonghwa tells you, smiling brightly “i got all your favorites.”

“i see that.”

“but look around the flowers,” he guides you. “there’s something else.”

you hold the basket up to eye level, noticing the silver sparkle around the stems of the flowers. is it glitter? you tug at a flower and realize it’s a chain, and attached is a hand drawn star charm to match the tattoo on the back of seonghwa’s neck. 

“seonghwa, this is beautiful,” you say breathlessly. “we’re gonna match! that’s so cute. who’s idea was this?”

“would you believe me if i said it was mine?”

“no.”

“that’s what jongho said too,” seonghwa laughs. “it was his idea.”

“tell him thank you,” you say as you play with the charm. “mingi and yunho too. it’s a good date so far.”

“oh baby, it hasn’t officially started yet.”

-

in the car, seonghwa plays a mix of songs that he really likes, and he’s mixed in some of your favorites too. he has to keep convincing you that the songs aren’t clues, because you ask every time a new song plays.

“so are the songs just distractions?” you ask, finally giving up on getting any information out of him. 

“why do you ask that?” he smirks as he turns down a familiar road.

“because i can tell you just took the long way to the record store,” you explain. “are you stalling?”

“me, what? why?” his response does nothing to manage your suspicions, and suddenly you remember how your friends have helped with the date so far. are they all in on this? you need answers.

“seonghwa, i swear to god, if san or wooyoung jumps out to surprise me wherever we’re going-”

“that won’t happen,” seonghwa laughs while he parks the car. “we’re here anyway, and i promise this is the last surprise of the night.”

“the record store?” you question, looking up at the shop you’ve been to countless times to shop and to bother hongjoong while he works. 

“yeah, you said there was a new album out you wanted to get, right?”

“yeah,” you blush. “but i just said that in passing, i didn’t expect you to remember.”

“y/n, i want to know everything about you,” seonghwa says seriously. “so of course i remembered. wait, don’t get out yet. i’ll open the door for you.”

as seonghwa helps you out of the car, you quiz him on the other things you’ve said around him that you didn’t think he remembered. sadly, he does remember you saying your favorite disney movie is ratatouille and you’ve always wanted to try the mushroom/cheese concoction remy makes in the first scene.

“that’s a little embarrassing,” you sigh as you reach for the door. you’re going to complain some more about how seonghwa doesn’t need to remember everything about you, but the sight in front of you makes you stop mid-breath.

the record store has been decorated from floor to ceiling in fairy lights, and there’s more flowers all over the place. as you look around, you notice the flowers are tucked in the shelves next to your favorite artists. next to the door is the album you were talking about, and a little further down you see your favorite album of all time with a few extra flowers next to it. you’re still taking everything in when you notice hongjoong behind the counter.

“did you help him with this?” you ask breathlessly, and hongjoong nods. 

“yeah, but the flowers next to the albums was my idea,” hongjoong explains. “we’re running a new special called “y’n’s favorites” so everything that’s marked with a flower is yours, if you want it. everything is on the house.” 

“i...i don’t know what to say,” you start. you turn to seonghwa and there are those starry eyes that you love to see. you reach out to cup his face and smile. “thank you. this is...perfect.”

“it’s even more perfect now that i’m here!” wooyoung shouts from the front door of the shop, followed by san and yeosang. you look at seonghwa and all he does is laugh.

“what? at least he didn’t jump out and scare you,” seonghwa teases.

“oh, i would never,” wooyoung nods with a half-serious look on his face. “but i definitely wouldn’t do that when i have your dinner in my hands, i can’t let all this hard work spill.”

“especially not on my clean floor,” hongjoong warns. 

“you made dinner for us?” you ask wooyoung, but you’re looking at seonghwa, who simply shrugs.

“yep, i made one of your favorites and then threw in a couple recipes i thought you’d both like,” wooyoung says as he and the two other boys place food down on the counter by the register.

“and what did you two help with?” you ask san and yeosang.

“who do you think made this place so beautiful?” yeosang asks incredulously.

“yeosang did the lights and i bought all the flowers,” san explains with a smile that makes his eyes turn into happy half moons. “you’d be surprised how many places i had to go to get all your favorites.”

“i really don’t know what to say,” you whisper in disbelief. “i can’t believe you all did this for me.”

“it was all seonghwa’s idea,” san tells you. “we did it for both of you.”

“yeah, we’re just his little minions,” yeosang jokes, and wooyoung giggles. 

“you tell me how that food tastes, got it?” he asks as he backs out of the store. “don’t say anything mean though. i only accept compliments.”

“wooyoung,” seonghwa smiles tightly. “please leave.”

wooyoung holds the door open for san and yeosang as he gives seonghwa a thumbs up. san waves goodbye sweetly and yeosang gives you a knowing smile before the door closes behind them.

“well, i think that’s my cue to go,” hongjoong says, handing the keys to seonghwa. “don’t make a mess. if i get fired, i’m selling all the stuff i stole from you when you were sneaking around with y/n and not telling us about it.”

“i’ll keep him under control,” you assure hongjoong, who nods as heads to the door. you don’t see him leave because seonghwa has stepped in front of you, and he places his hands on your waist to pull you closer.

“so,” he begins.

“so.”

“what do you want to listen to while we eat?” he asks, pulling you by the waist over to a row of records. you stand there quietly, looking over the albums hongjoong pulled to the front for you, and you just can’t believe how much work went into this date. you can’t believe how sweet it is that each of your friends helped, and you put your hand on seonghwa’s and give it a squeeze.

“hwa,” you whisper. he hums in response, but you place your hand on his cheek and guide his gaze to yours.

“thank you,” you tell him. “thank you for this.”

he smiles at you with a look in his eyes that can’t be anything else but love, and you smile back with that much love, if not more, in your own face. you use the hand on seonghwa’s chin to guide his lips to yours, and you lose yourself in the kiss, in seonghwa, for who knows how long.

“mm, y/n,” he mumbles against your lips before detaching. “the food will get cold.”

“you’re right,” you sigh. “but we didn’t pick any music.”

“how about this?” he asks, pulling an album out from the top shelf. you smile at the cover, knowing exactly what song seonghwa wants you to hear. 

“perfect,” you agree. “i’ll put it on while you get the food?”

and that’s how you end up eating the perfect meal, on your perfect date, with all of your favorite things around you, sitting right next to your perfect boy.

[jamesbuchananbarnesslut]

Knifly Dinner

Paring: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Words: 2,967

Summary: During dinner Bucky figures out a new kink neither one of you expected to like. 

Warnings: smut, smutty, smut, kink discovery, knife kink, knife in the V, as well as P in the V, dirty talk, praise kink

Tiny Tag List: @whisperlullaby​ @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog​

Notes: This is all for @whisperlullaby​ and her 700 follower challenge I love you so much, am so proud of you, and miss talking to you all the time. Either way I’m sending you all my love and an amazing knife kink discovery story. This also happens to be the longest story I’ve written yet, but that’s also no shocker as it involves one of our favorite kinks. Much love and appreciation to all of those who read, please enjoy, love, reblog, and comment! 

Master List

——————————————————————————

You and Bucky had been together for a decent amount of time, you first met each other when the unsnapping happened. You were just trying to find another place to call home and Bucky was working with his therapist and crossing off names in his little black book. During one of his trips to cross off a name, you and he had mistakenly grabbed each other's luggage from the airport, as you both had the same bags. Although you opened your bag to find a wide assortment of men's clothes and a couple hidden weapons. Bucky opened his to find some pretty pink panties and a variety of women's clothing that surely wasn't what he packed. Thankfully there was a little tag stuck inside the bag that directed Bucky how to contact you. It wasn't the best predicament but when you and Bucky first saw each other at the coffee shop to exchange bags it was love at first sight and the rest was history.

After settling down from the events of the government putting the shield in someone else's hands and Sam being named Captain America. Bucky had bought a place for you and him in Louisiana to be closer to Sam and Sarah. Which led to a lot of time spent with the Wilson family, specifically fishing trips and family dinners. It also meant that Bucky did a lot of the cooking, not only was he better at it, but he just loved taking care of you. And you loved watching him cook the way he moved around the kitchen, how he worked with his hands and when he fed you. Which is why you were spending another night sitting at the island in your kitchen, drinking wine, and watching Bucky dice up an assortment of flavorful ingredients for his latest concoction.  

Considering this is how you and Bucky spent most of your nights it was nothing new that you were mesmerized by Bucky's hands and how he worked and moved with a knife. He was always twirling it between his fingers or delicately, slicing, cutting, or dicing up some type of food for you. It was nothing new that watching Bucky in his element turned you on. Even now just watching him you couldn't help the little pool of wetness that started to form in your panties. Or that you were already partway through your second glass of wine before he was even done cooking. It was like he was purposely putting on a show for you, cutting the food up right on the island in front of you. While he asked about your day and you about his, but you couldn't help but get wrapped up in the thoughts of what you were hoping would take place after dinner. You and Bucky had sex regularly, but every time he cooked for you, essentially taking care of you, you couldn't help but want to return the favor and take care of him.  

"Earth to Y/N, are you in there?" Bucky asks while dumping all his diced ingredients into an already sizzling pan.  

"Huh? I, uh, yeah, what's going on?" You look up sheepishly from your wine glass meeting his eye contact.  

He smirks at you, almost knowingly. "You've been real caught up in your head lately doll, what's going on with you?"  

While taking another sip of your drink you ponder whether you should be forward or play it off and ruin the surprise of a strip tease and blowjob after dinner for Bucky. Although he probably already suspects you have something planned, you always do something for him after he cooks. You decide to play it off with work being stressful, because it has been, but the slow season is about to hit so things will be easier shortly. "Just waiting for the slow season to roll in at work so I can finally catch a break," you respond.  

"Yeah, I get that honey. You've been working real hard lately and even started bringing work home, something you usually don't do. Which I'm hoping to see less of soon; but dinner should be done shortly get washed up and I'll top of your wine." He smiles at you and begins pulling the rest of his cooking out of the oven and begins plating everything while you run to the bathroom.

By the time you get back to the kitchen Bucky has everything plated and is waiting to eat with you. The rest of the dinner is smooth sailing, you power through another glass of wine, while Bucky tells you about how Sam spent thirty minutes reeling in a fish just to knock it off the line at the last-minute. In return you tell him about one of the new hires that spilled fresh coffee all over your bosses' desk and important confidential documents. By the time dinner is done and you're cleaning up the dishes, you can sense Bucky is up to something but you're not sure what. That is until you're rinsing off dishes in the sink and Bucky comes up behind you brandishing a knife at your neck. Completely catching you off guard.

"Bucky," said between gulps of air "what are you up too?"  

Pulling you in closer, he responds huskily in your ear, "now doll, I've seen how you watch my hands when I'm working. But recently I've especially noticed how you watch my hands in the kitchen when I'm using a knife."  

You can't help the little gasps that escape you with Bucky's words, he wasn't wrong, Bucky's hands were always memorizing to you. Whether he was laboring over a beautiful dinner for you, or his thick fingers were working in and out of you, it was always hot. But his hands holding a knife, and Bucky's skills with a knife, had always left you wet and wanting. Anytime he showed off those skills it always led to some form of steamy hot sex. You should have connected the pieces sooner, but it seems like Bucky beat you to the punch. Now do you own up to it and let it see how this plays out or act like he read the situation wrong?  

By the time the words come to you, you feel Bucky's confidence in the situation falter. He loosens the pressure of the knife against your neck and even begins to mutter apologies. Your words cut him off though and you fall into one of your typical submissive roles in the bedroom. "What are you sorry for Sarge? Don't you prefer when I'm more vocal with what I want in the bedroom? You must be upset I didn't speak up sooner." You state while wrigglingly further back into his arms, purposefully rubbing your ass against his crotch.  

Bucky readjusts his grip wrapping his vibranium arm tightly around you but keeping the knife loosely at your neck. "I do prefer when your vocal with me doll, so tell me what color you're on right now?"

"Green," you blurt out quickly. The dishes that were begin rinsed off in the sink completely forgotten, you just want to see where Bucky will take this.  

The knife is immediately back at your neck, pushed in enough that if you move it could nick you. "That's a good girl," he replies in a raspy voice causing the pool of wetness in your underwear to return. "Now I need you to stay still doll." He slowly drags the knife from your neck down to your shoulder blade, which sends chills throughout your body and makes goosebumps arise. From there Bucky slips the knife underneath the strap of your dress and bra, before you know it you hear the ripping of fabric, and the straps are completely cut through.

"You're doing so good for me doll," Bucky states while continues to drag the knife along your skin, starting at the shoulder of the straps he just cut. You can't help the little whimpers that leave your mouth, the combination of the knife and Bucky's words all going straight to your pussy. Bucky keeps teasing though and slowly drags the knife across your back to the other straps and cutting right through those ones as well.  

"Here comes the fun part," he chuckles. Bucky releases his hold on you just to spin you around so you're finally facing him. You meet his gaze, and his pupils are completely blown out and black, he's enjoying this as much as you are. Neither of you could have predicted adding this kink to your lists and yet here it is after a typical mundane dinner. Bucky breaks the gaze you're holding when he crouches and brings the knife to the bottom of your dress. He's meticulous in his work and cuts off every single button that's keeping you concealed. The entire process making you lightheaded and your underwear slicker with need.

Slowly working his way from the bottom of your dress up until the lingerie you're wearing for him is revealed and he can slip your dress off your arms. Which he does so immediately so he can get a better look at what you've been hiding underneath your dress. It’s a matching bra and panty set, the straps of the bra completely cut through and ruined. The set is a soft sage green covered with floral embroidered emblements, the colors complementing your skin.  

"Oh doll, did you already have something planned for me after dinner?"

You clear your throat and work out a yes while Bucky begins to run the knife along your body now that the majority if not all of your skin is exposed for him. He starts by tracing your collar bones and then dropping to follow the curves of your body. Slowly across the exposed top of your breasts, down your stomach, the cold metal leaving goosebumps in its wake. Then the knife is moved along your hips until the Bucky's worked it underneath the band of your underwear.

"You'll have to make it up to me another night, I've got new plans for us," and with that he cuts through your underwear too. It drops to the ground in pieces leaving you cold and exposed, allowing Bucky to see the glistening slick between your legs.  

"You like this though don't you doll?" Which he follows by dragging the knife back up your sternum and sliding it underneath the front of your bra so he can cut through that too.  

"Yeah, Sarge, I like this a lot," you work out in little huffs while Bucky peels the cut bra from your body.

"That's good because I'm only getting started." Bucky pushes the knife back up into your neck while dropping his lips in to kiss you. Its dirty, sloppy, and consuming. Bucky only pulls away so you both can catch a breath of air but keeps the knife close to your neck. Once you've caught your breath Bucky drops the knife and instead grabs you so he can lay you on the island where you just ate dinner. He sets you up so your feet are flat on the counter with your knees bent, giving him a perfect view of your glistening cunt.  

"Goddamn baby, I don't think I've seen you this soaked in a long time," Bucky punctuates by the grabbing the knife and sliding it along your legs now. Beginning at your ankle and working his way up towards your knee and into the apex of your thighs. Even on the cold marble countertop you can't help the full body flush that covers you. More moans and whimpers escaping from your mouth as Bucky continues to slowly drag the knife along your pussy and then along your other leg. Back down towards your knee and then to your ankle.  

"I need you to touch me Sarge," you speak out shakily.  

"But I am touching you doll," he continues to follow his path back along your leg, at the ankle, up your knee and into the apex of your thighs.

"I need more," you whine out.

"Where do you want me to touch you, be specific doll?" Bucky smirks at you.

"My pussy," you let out in huffs.  

"Do you want my hands, mouth, or the knife," he lets out calmly, as if that last option was always on the menu.  

You didn't expect the last option to leave Bucky's mouth but now that it has you can't help the deeper flush that covers your body. You can't help but think of anything else, the entire notion making you burn even hotter. You manage to stammer out, "I, uhm, Buck, I mean Sarge, please, will you use your knife to touch me."

Bucky's lets out a groan, is smirking again and then moving the knife in his hands, he puts the blade into his vibranium one and begins rubbing the handle of the blade along your pussy. "Look at you pretty little thing, always take my fingers and cock so well and now you're going to take my knife too. Going to make me cum in my pants with just teasing you honey," he rumbles out.  

After teasing you until your juices cover the handle of the blade, he moves to push it into your velvet folds. It glides in easily causing a gasp to escape your lips while Bucky pushes it in just enough that it's rubbing right against your g-spot. "Oh, that's it doll, you're gripping my knife so nicely. Want you to cover it in your juices so anytime I use it, it smells like you, and I'm reminded of this." Which he punctuates by slowly beginning to move the handle of the blade in and out of you, right against your g-spot. Your moans and whimpers now echoing through the room, while he builds a steady pace.  

"That's it doll, be a good girl and cum all over my knife and then this pretty little pussy can have my cock." Bucky states while dropping his flesh hand down to your clit and rubbing it in rough circles that match the pace that he's moving the knife's handle in and out of you. A heat slowly building throughout your body and spreading into your limbs, while your moans get louder. "Yeah, that's it, make a mess all over my knife," Bucky's words tipping you right over the edge.  

Recovering from your orgasm, you watch Bucky slowly pulls the knife from you licking some of your slick off the handle and then setting it on the opposite counter. He then begins to strip his own clothes and watches you, watching him.  

"Like what you see?" He asks while finally stepping out of his boxers and giving his cock a couple pumps.

"You know I do Sarge," you reply in a deep sultry tone.  

"Common lets take this somewhere more comfortable," he pulls you off the counter and carries you into the living room sitting down on the couch with you in his lap. What you aren't expecting is for him to pull out another knife from the couch and brandish this one at your neck as well. You knew he had weapons hidden all over the house, ever the paranoid that he is. But now that he was using them on you, it was a whole new level of hot.

"I want you to ride me doll, but while you do, I'm going to keep this knife at your neck the whole time. Meaning you better be real careful doll and take it nice and slow, that okay?"

"Yes Sarge," you let out breathily while shifting your position fully straddling him, grabbing his cock and lining it up with your entrance.  

"Such a good girl," he looks at you with amazement but keeps the knife perfectly at your neck, his other hand, held at the nape of your neck preventing any further movement, so Bucky doesn't actually cut you.  

You begin to ride him at a slow steady pace, the knife in his hands following all of your movements perfectly. Even riding Bucky at this slower pace, you can't help but feel your next orgasm already forming. A slow and steady burn starting in your core and working its way out into your limbs. You had no idea Bucky holding you at knife point would be this hot but now you can't help but think how he'll keep finding ways to incorporate it into your sex life.  

"That's it doll. Such a good girl for me, taking my cock so nicely. I know your close again already, you want to cum for me?"

"Fuck. Yes. Sarge," you work out in between gasps while working yourself up and down on Bucky's cock. The cold blade still pushed up into your neck, leaving red marks and scratches in its wake.  

"Want you to make a mess all over my cock too doll, look at you taking me so well" Bucky grunts out while your pussy tightens up around his length. The warmth in your body burning hotter as Bucky's about to talk you into your next orgasm.  

"That's it, common doll, be a good girl and cum all over Sarge's cock." Matching the pace, you've already set, Bucky begins thrusting up into you without moving the knife. His words and matched pace immediately sending you over the edge, while your moans echo throughout the room. Your sweet cunt milking Bucky's cock sending him over the edge with you. Bucky drops the knife just so he can pump his cum properly into you, pulling you tightly into him.  

Once you both catch your breath Bucky is the first to speak again, "if I knew me pulling a knife on you would make you that wet, I would have done it sooner."

[shootybangbang]

In which peaches are eaten in more ways than one

[Pairing]: Arthur Morgan/Reader

[Rating]: Explicit

[Prompt]: Arthur watches you seductively eat a juicy peach (from @outtricking)

[Ao3 Link]

———

The abandoned manor’s peach orchard is overgrown with tall grass and small white clusters of wild carrot blossoms. Most of its trees stand bare, choked with ivy, the vastness of their skeletons the only testament of their former grandeur. But here and there are straggled survivors, the majority of which have long since been picked clean by other travelers and passing wildlife. The only fruit left is strung up high in the topmost branches, hanging down golden-edged and plump. Ripe enough to make your mouth water.

“I don’t think climbing’s an option,” you say, pressing down on a tree’s lower branches to check its give. “We could get a big stick and try to knock ‘em off, or maybe you could just… uh… y’know… ”

You mime picking up an object and placing it on your shoulders.

Arthur sighs. “You want me to carry you.”

“It’s quicker and easier than anything else.”

“You ain’t paid me to be your horse.”

“That’s true,” you admit. At this point, the number of things you’ve had him do out-of-contract would probably fill a book. A decent person would concede his point and apologize. Instead, you try out a more oblique method. “And I’m probably too heavy for you, anyway.”

He gives you an irritated glance and shakes his head. “You tryin’ to bait me into provin’ you wrong?”

“Figured it was at least worth a shot,” you say, shrugging.

Arthur looks up at the top branches of the fruit tree, then at you, and works out a rough height comparison in his head. He sighs again and kneels down. “Alright then. Get on.”

“What — really?’

“Don’t wanna hear you complainin’ about this later is all.” He looks back in your direction expectantly. “C’mon. You want them peaches or not?”

You place a tentative hand on his right shoulder, leaning against him for support as you swing one leg over his left. “Then do I just… um… like this?”

“Yeah. Just like that. And now the other — yeah, there we go.”

Arthur steadies you by holding down your knees. He grips you firm but gentle, like a man trying to keep something frail and flighty from slipping between his fingers, and stands up.

The sudden shift in balance is startling. Your hands frantically search for something to hold onto for support, and you end up grabbing at his wrists as you reorient yourself. He stiffens at the contact, but says nothing.

When you’ve straightened your back enough to survey your surroundings from your new vantage point, you take a moment to appreciate the new perspective. “So this is what it’s like to be tall. Bet you run into a lot of spiderwebs.”

Arthur ignores this. “Can you reach ‘em?”

“Yeah, I think so.” You twist off a particularly large peach from a nearby branch and take off your hat to use as a makeshift basket, then swivel your hip to reach towards another that’s just barely within your grasp. “Too bad we’re not close to town”, you say, thinking already of possible desserts. “Sophia told me that over in Georgia they eat peaches with cream and sugar, and…”

For a while, you ruminate dreamily about peach cobblers and preserves, about the luxury of vanilla ice cream melting on latticed peach pie. And all the while Arthur clenches his jaw and tries as hard as he can to concentrate on what you’re saying in an attempt to divert his focus from the weight and warmth of your thighs atop his shoulders.

It’s something that he’ll carry with him for some time, he recognizes with a heavy pang of guilt. Something he’ll almost certainly keep carefully tucked away for later, when he’s alone in his own bedroll.

———

Late afternoon, you help him set up camp along the Kamassa River. After the horses have been watered and the kindling gathered, you both sit sprawled and weary against the ruined hull of an old boat half-sunk in the sand.

Resting his head against the sun bleached boards, Arthur briefly closes his eyes.

Through the woods comes the sound of cicadas, deafening in their multitude, ringing like an omnipresent hum, insistent and rhythmic in its cadence. Like a chant, a soft murmur of chitinous voices. Alongside it, the quick, clear notes of riverwater running through the rocks and the rustle of leaves overhead, the sway of branches arching from the wind in slow, lazy waves that merge overhead like a green sea.

And the distinctive scratch of graphite across paper. He drowsily cracks an eyelid open and angles his gaze downwards.

The battered notebook in your lap looks like it’s seen its fair share of miles. It’s tattered and dog-eared, with smeared ink at its edges. The leather cover is scuffed and stained, and the pages don’t quite sit flat, due to the occasional pressed flowers trapped between them.

He watches you scrawl out what looks like a brief itinerary of the day’s route, listing off landmarks passed along the road and detailing what flora and fauna you’re able to remember. Then little snippets of description that you cross out and rewrite with increasing frustration, disjointed but pretty little phrases littering the margins…

Your pencil stills. “You’re reading over my shoulder.”

“Trying to.” Arthur points to the corner of the page, where you’ve drawn a wobbly line with little stick trees atop it. Under it is a crude half-circle labelled boat. “This supposed to be where we’re at now?”

You bristle. “Yes.”

He gropes for something inoffensive to say, then opts for silence.

“Well, you’re the artist,” you say, offering him your pencil. “You draw it.”

“Sure,” he says, taking both notebook and pencil in hand. He flips to a clean page. “Not like I can do worse.”

Brushing sand off the seat of your pants, you stand up and stretch, raising your arms high and fitting your fingers together like interlocking gears. “I’m gonna go check on the peaches.”

———

The Kamassa runs cold, even in the dog days of summer. Earlier, you’d wrapped the peaches in sackcloth and submerged them in its waters, then ringed them tight with rocks to hold them in place. Now, you cut an inelegant figure as you crouch at the river’s edge and fish one out, cupping it thoughtfully against your palm to check whether it still holds the fading glow of afternoon heat.

You pick out the two biggest peaches in the pile before resecuring the rest, then seat yourself back beside him and proffer one to him.

Arthur shakes his head. He’s in the middle of sketching the sandbar in the middle of the river, drawing the shapes of shrubs and other assorted vegetation out from the blank paper expanse. “Don’t wanna get the page dirty.”

“Make sure you eat one later then,” you tell him. “So you don’t die in a ditch before I can hire you out again.”

He snorts. “Didn’t realize peaches could make a man bulletproof.”

“Ah, well… it’s more of a superstitious thing, really. Like knocking on wood or throwing salt over your shoulder.” A hint of embarrassment creeps into your voice. For a moment you seem almost shy — but then you toss a peach up in the air and catch it again, like a performance of the world’s worst juggling act, and it passes. “You give people peaches for good health and a long life. Considering your line of work, I figure you need all the help you can get.”

“Figure a decent gun’ll do me more good than any peach ever will,” he says wryly. “You eat ‘em both. God knows you need the luck just as much as I do.”

———

The rippled light reflected in the water is only just beginning to tint gold. The horizon edges pale, shifting slow to the soft, warm shades of early evening. But only the faint suggestion of it, a subtle gradation filtering in imperceptibly at the present, but that he knows will flood in all at once with the inevitable trajectory of the sun.

Golden hour, Mason had called it. Goes quick, but it’s worth it. I’ve known some photographers to set up camp and wait all day for just that little window of time.

The landscape itself feels soft and heavy, almost drunk from its own perfect interplay of light and dark. The clarity of day dims to a suggestion of itself, and everything is briefly gilded, momentarily transfigured into something striking and achingly pretty, and you no exception.

A sliver of sunset settles over your skin. A veil of amber, a veil of rose, both colors folding in on themselves like silk. The glint of light that reflects across your irises makes visible the ridged corona circling your pupils, the tiny crenellations and impurities of color. Bright and sharp as cut glass.

He watches you bite into a peach, and its dusk-pink skin breaks beneath your teeth with a wet, crisp noise as you tear through to the soft and yielding flesh beneath. Then you bite down again, and your lips are shiny with nectar now, dripping with it.

A clear rivulet of peach juice runs down your wrist like blood. You raise your arm to your mouth to catch it, then trace it back to its source with your tongue, and he can’t help but wonder at the taste — the sweetness of fruit mixed with the salt of your skin.

“Oh, these are really good,” you say with pleasant surprise. “Sure you don’t want one?”

Arthur tries to suppress the sudden twinge of arousal running through his body by staring very hard at a tree. “I’m sure.”

When he’s finally able to settle himself to a manageable level of sexual frustration, he forces his attention back to sketching. He lays out the wash of sand and silt that lies liminal between woods and water, then the ridge of grass that marks the river’s reach when swollen with rain and spring melt. The twinned, twisted alders on each shore whose roots hold fast to the ground as their boughs reach over the water and towards each other, like doomed lovers. The gaptoothed boat hull half-buried and long abandoned.

By the time he’s finished, both peaches have been reduced to their pits, and the light has begun its transition to a deepening red. A last brief cry of sunlight before it’s stifled by the cold blue of evening.

“It’s beautiful,” you tell him, when he hands the notebook back over. “If you finally get tired of robbing stagecoaches, you should do this for a living instead.”

He makes a dismissive noise, but there’s a clear look of satisfaction on his face. “You flatterin’ me because you want another favor?”

“No, I’m serious. This is pretty enough to belong in a book.” You touch your fingers to the page with the kind of care he’s only seen you lavish on the things he’s known you to hold very dear: the faded red hair ribbon, the well-thumbed guide to wildflowers, the thin jade pendant you sometimes wear tucked under your shirt… and now this — just an offhand scribble of his of no particular effort.

“I, uh… it’s a real rough sketch.” A flush of embarrassment colors his cheeks, and it’s obvious to anyone with eyes in their head that for him, compliments are a gift as rare as they are precious. “Next time you hire me out, I’ll sit down and draw you something proper.”

“I’d like that,” you say, and nod. “I’ll hold you to it.”

———

A few hours later, Arthur sits by the fire and tries to measure the exact depth of the idiocy he’s plunged himself into.

You’d gone to bed first, citing exhaustion. And he’d taken the time spent alone to jot down a few thoughts in his journal, attempt a handful of sketches, then inadvertently kindle in himself a desperate, hopeless need for intimacy so intense that, were he truly on his own, he’d not have hesitated to take himself in hand for relief.

It’s a foolish thing to do, encouraging his own infatuation like this. But the images are fresh in his head still and his hand itches to put them to paper, wanting to keep them somewhere beyond the whim of memory.

And so he traces with his pencil the soft, indulgent cast of your eyes as you’d cupped the peach in your hand, bringing it to your mouth with the simple decadence of Eve and her apple: the innocent gesture embodying something intensely sinful. Each bite near tangible in his blood, as though it were his heart in your teeth, its every painful beat an ache of barely suppressed impulse.

Then the drip of nectar down your wrist, the pink flick of your tongue lapping it up with a quick, smooth glide across your skin. Peach juice glistening on your lips like honey. And his own base reinterpretations of it all, distorting reality to innuendo and bringing to the surface things he’s only let himself imagine in the confines of his cot, with the tent flaps drawn tightly shut.

The weight of your thighs on his shoulders comes to mind again, and if he shuts his eyes he can nearly place himself into that oft-used fantasy of his — you, sat on the edge of a hotel bed with him knelt before you, whispering hoarse and breathless praise as he licks into you. Your fingers running through his dark blond hair as you speak to him like a favored pet.

The flat of his tongue running against your clit with slow, careful strokes. Your desperate whimpers as he draws the nub between his lips and sucks, the tremble of your body, the taste of your slick. The sound of his name on your lips, the syllables of it faint and shivery with pleasure.

And afterwards, the sight of you sprawled across the sheets, eyes dreamy and soft as you beckon him towards you. Take out your cock, you’d say. Show me just how much you liked doing that to me.

Arthur closes the notebook and walks down to the river. He dips his hands through its surface, the reflected moonlight there rippling into a bright mosaic of broken glass in his wake, then cups the cold water between his fingers and splashes it over his face.

“Dirty old man,” he mutters to himself. “Oughta be ashamed of yourself.”

When he reaches down to repeat the action, he brushes against sackcloth and automatically pulls the bundle of submerged peaches from the water.

Long life and good health, you’d said. He scoffs at the very notion of it. It’s a foreign concept for someone who’s taken so many lives that he’s all but guaranteed his own to be nasty, brutish and short.

And truth be told, it’s been a long time since he’s even bothered to think about any future for himself outside of the immediate. Not much to look forward to save the small, petty pleasures afforded to him, most of which have been bought with the blood of other men. Not much to work for, save the next big score. The promise of stability — it’s not a luxury afforded to the likes of him. Nor should it be, if a man’s fate really is weighed by his deeds.

He’s made his peace with it by now. Kept his expectations low and steered clear of personal commitments. So it’s really very stupid then, that he’s spent so much time nursing the seeds of his own wretched affection that they’ve already begun to sprout.

More and more these days, he’s caught himself marking down points of interest whenever he’s out wandering. Setting up the skeletons of future excursions in his head. And with each new meeting, the possibility of the next looms in him eager and expectant.

Arthur unwraps a peach from the sackcloth and brings it to his mouth. It’s sweet — sweeter than it has any right to be, growing as it has unattended and abandoned in that red Lemoyne dirt.

The cicada song has quieted to a whisper. Fireflies spiral in arcane patterns over the grass, blinking their silent messages through the dark. Night birds are calling, their sounds strange and strident over the rush of river water.

In the midst of all this, Dutch Van der Linde and all his talk of savage utopia seem further away than ever. More past than present.

He bites into the peach again and closes his eyes, savoring the taste. Long life and good health. Probably no more unfeasible than any other thing he’s had preached to him for the last twenty years. And not an unpleasant prospect, if the days spent are anything like this one.

No, he thinks to himself, pulling another peach from the bundle. Not a bad prospect at all.

[mxvladdy]

Unrepentant: Chapter One

Yoz! Finally, I sat down and edited this! (Yaay I'm slow as fuck)

I loved writing Diavolo's True Form piece (Located Here) so I wanted more and really to write this headcanon I've had since he was introduced! It is suggested to read his true form before this but you do you and live your best life.

Anyway idk how long this will be but all the true form stuff will be in this fanfiction :)

Hope ya like!

Word Count: 4k

Rating: General

The Devildom moons glint high above you outside your bedroom window. Their perpetual radiance casting dancing shadows across the walls. The solace of your empty room envelops you like a warm hug. It pulls the stress of the day away off your shoulders leaving you sleepy. Dropping your book-laden bag to the floor you flop face-first into the freshly washed sheets of your bed.

Exam season was rolling in fast and all of the academy was gearing up for the students' and teachers' inevitable breakdowns. From personal experience, you saw firsthand what happens when a demon gets stressed out. Even the lesser demons you know can cause some major damage when they reach their boiling point, though it pales in comparison to the havoc the big seven cause. Just yesterday Beel lost control in the middle of cram school after the teacher refused to let them out on time for dinner. Poor Lucifer was still scrambling to pay for the damages and trying to find a replacement in time for next week's lessons. Then, on the same day at the other end of the campus, Satan all but totaled a classroom in a fit of rage after another student dared to try and correct him. Bless the Old Gods themselves that at least Levi and Belphie were easy to deal with during these times. They were both book smart and beyond capable with their studies, they just lacked the wherewithal to put the effort in. Well, Belphie was more guilty than Levi when it came down to it. Most of the time Lucifer could be seen dragging Belphie to class by the ankle, face stormy with rage. It was humorous to watch-just from a distance.

As for you, you figure it was best to just be out of the direct line of fire. One too many brushes with death in the Devildom for your comfort. During this time of year, it became almost a sport. You got really good at dodging large pieces of furniture and spells during exam week when the brothers finally start coming to blows. Not that you fault them, they were just letting their aggression out as any good primordial being would. But, the lack of sleep and constant fear of annihilation by bookshelf is murder on your grades. After a few meetings with Lucifer and Diavolo, you all decide you should stay in the palace till after exams.

The palace.

You smile softly to yourself tracing a thumb over your clavicle. Your finger ghosts over the healing black marks running down your skin. It was rocky at first, rebuilding your relationship and trust, with Diavolo after your "run in". He acts like you were made of spun glass and eggshells, physically trying to keep as much distance between the two of you as possible. All the while you had to butt head with seven of the strongest and most bull-headed men you had ever met. Their protectiveness towards you tried your patience in ways you never expected. It took what you are pretty sure was your guardian angel to finally get the brothers to relent. With Simeon acting as your chaperone you start to live again. It was nice to finally feel comfortable around the demon again. Seeing him return to his normal candor and temperament again was a breath of fresh air. Thinking of him makes you flush, the cool air of your room burning your cheeks as you recall all the stolen evenings in his and Barbatos's company. All the hours spent laughing at their outlandish assumptions of modern human social norms while they tried to guess if they were correct or not, and then there were the nights where it was just you and the prince. He was nothing but cordial and proper, just conversations between two friends.

A nice glass of port and dinner...maybe an errant brush of fingers when there was no need to touch a time or two. Perhaps a gaze held too long to be considered appropriate.

You groan into your pillows, feeling your heart flutter. You couldn't deny he was fascinating, and yes, perhaps you were a little infatuated with him. Who wasn't? You say it on the daily how other demons fawn over him. He is one of the strongest of their kin after all. Power is a huge part of the Devildom hierarchy, and he exudes it in spades. To a demon, he is the peak of their ideal. Yet, to you, from a human perspective, you enjoyed his personality and jovial nature. It was a side very few got to see of him and you cherish each moment you got to enjoy in the privacy of his quarters.

Of course, watching him crush an unruly usurper without a second thought was kinda hot. Hmmm-

A sharp rap at your door startles you. Was it time already? "Door's open Simeon!" You yell over your shoulder grabbing your robe and go behind your room divider to undress.

"Good evening!" The angel chirps entering your darkroom. With a wave of his hand, he lights your fireplace. The bright flames dancing to life to chase away the cold of the perpetual night.

"Show off." You come back around your divider to face him. He shrugs with a bashful smile offering you the tray he brought with him. His lithe fingers grab the few bottles he needed, leaving the rest for you. You unscrew the lid on one of the jars of salves specially crafted for you. You inhale, humming in delight, and the fresh scent of honeydew and lavender wafting up at you. "This one is new!" You beam dipping a finger in your eye the soft green goop. It was warm to the touch and made your finger go numb.

Simeon nods, twirling his hand in the air to make you turn around. "You mentioned stiff joints last night so I made something to help." His hand strokes over your back while he mutters to himself. "This is healing up nicely, though the color is becoming more opaque." You nod in acceptance. The curse- taint- whatever it was when Diavolo injured you hadn't stopped at just mental damage when it struck you. It took root on your body, burying itself deep and spreading through you like an uncontrollable flame. It wraps and twists itself around your arms, shoulders, and sides joining and merging with itself to rest around the tender skin of your neck. You found it beautiful in its own right. Like those ornate chokers in Levi's animes or the ones Mammon wore in some of his high-end modeling shoots. Yours was just as gorgeous but very permanent.

"These are coming along nicely," Simeon remarks looking over your back. He rubs some of his sweet-smelling ointment into your sides. He traces over some of the more intricate lines, they radiate power heating his celestial skin in a way you could not sense. The marks pulse in warning, threatened by his celestial power. Simeon frowns, taking his hand away. "It looks like Lucifer marks have been consumed completely now too."

"Really?" You crane your neck trying to see Lucifer's mark at the base of your neck. It figures Lucifer's was the last to be consumed. Solomon had hypothesized that since he was the eldest and thus the strongest it would make sense that it would take longer for Diavolo's blight to consume it. So far he has been correct.

Over time you watch as all the brothers' marks were taken over. Their bright colors bleed out to be replaced with an iridescent black. It was a little unfortunate since you loved the colors of their marks, but there was nothing you could do about it.

Simeon hands you a jar over your shoulder while he inspects the growing marks on your back. "I increased the dosage in this, your arms were still itchy, correct?"

You nod, taking the jar. You grimace as your nails scratch the delicate glass. Your skin wasn't the only thing that physically changed after Diavolo's magic took root. Your nail plates gleam black now, no longer clear and flimsy like human nails normally are. They are sharp now with lethal tips. They could gouge stone like it was tissue paper and even pierce the hard shell of a demon's skin. Beel had been impressed by the nick you gave him during P.E. It healed quickly so no harm was done, but it frightened you still.

Tutting, you shoot your fingers a scathing glance. As a defense mechanism, this new addition was great, but daily life was a pain. Your hands tore through everything if you weren't careful. Delicate pillows and sheets were kept far away from you lest they turn into ribbons. It was beginning to look like the brothers had adopted an unruly cat let loose in the halls.

Asmo fussed over you for days trying to figure out the best way to care for them. He wasted some nice clippers on you until he landed on a heavy-duty nail file. Your manicure only lasts a few days at best, but it was better than turning your pillows into pin cushions. Aside from your skin and nails, you could see better in the perpetual night of the Devildom. The blue haze of the twin moons is cleaner now. Every surface their light lands on shines like a beacon illuminating farther than you could see before. Gave Mammon a good scare walking the halls in complete darkness, you didn’t need a light anymore just the moons.

It was utterly fascinating to you, and Solomon. The mage takes every opportunity he could to poke and prod at your changes and charts them down with feverish excitement. So far, much to his displeasure, you show no more magical prowess than when you first arrived in the Devildom but he was certain you should. For now, no one knew what to expect so you were to just monitor yourself and check-in with Solomon and Simeon daily till they deemed this settled.

"There," Simeon finishes examining your back and neck, making sure he covered the entirety of each mark. "Looks like everything is in order. I'll leave you to rest for the evening." He wipes his hands helping you back into your robe before tidying up the small mess he made.

"You sure?" You ask following him to the door. "I feel like we haven't hung out for ages! I could fetch us some tea." You smile up at his soft face. You miss just hanging out with him. As of late all he has been to you is an on-call nurse. It would be nice to talk with him and Luke about something other than you for an evening.

Simeon smiles but shakes his head. "Perhaps tomorrow, Madame Scream has a few new cakes out this month. Luke has been talking my ear off about them and I'm sure he would love your company too." He eyes the door knowingly. "But for now someone else wishes to steal you away." He bids you goodnight then, leaving you clasping the doorknob and looking about into the pitch-black hallway.

It's in the moment you lock your door and turn to crawl into bed that someone knocks on your door. Your heart leaps in with an indiscernible emotion before beating fast with excitement, your brain following along slowly after it. You couldn't stop the smile crossing your face as you made your way back to the door. Something deep within you knew who it was. "Dia!" You swing the heavy door open and hug him tight. The moment your body makes contact with him you feel amazing. The grind of the day is gone, chased away by his warm arms encircling you. "I thought you were busy all evening?"

He chuckles swaying from side to side. "I was! But, what kind of prince would I be if I didn't throw my weight around every so often?" He leans down and nuzzles his face in your crown. He smiles into your hair. You were smelling more and more like him each day, it was titillating.

Dia breathes deeply taking in your sweet clean scent and savoring how his smokey amber smell was mingling with it. It was faint now, perhaps only strong enough for him, Barbatos and Lucifer can discern. Soon though lesser daemons will take notice of his scent mingling with yours. He makes a quick note to tell Simeon to look into a stronger ointment, it will be needed soon. Diavolo pulls away, clicking his tongue. He glances down at where your nails punched through the thick fabric of his waistcoat to graze his skin. "Do you have time for a drink? Barbatos went topside today and purchased a bottle of whiskey barrel age wine. It smells simply divine ." His gold eyes glance up to the large grandfather clock in the corner of your room. It was far past polite visiting hours, but he couldn't give less of a damn, despite the warning of his closest circles.

The nobles were beginning to notice how much he favored you and thus the court was beginning to talk. They were beginning to question his loyalty to the goal of the program, his fascination with one mere human raised concerns throughout his family members. "Why are you spending so much more time with that one?" They ask claws and fangs clinging as they nash and hiss at him, so many of his bloodline still refuse to use glamour believing it was an insult to their heritage. "They are of no importance, playing favorites could lead to a disaster for your crown." He knows many of them would love that.

For him to lose his neck and the crown so the old ones could rule again was a dream for many of them. Diavolo grimaces inwardly, they weren't wrong either. He was infatuated with you. Even Lucifer was beginning to express concern. While having you and the program was raising his ratings and the morale of the general populace, those of royal blood were beginning to create factions again. So far many were loyal, but the ones starting to make waves were the oldest in the circle.

He had plans in place of course, pieces on the board ready to move at a moment's notice. It would be messy when it happens and with you still in his kingdom...such actions were best to be avoided. No, for now, the brothers were enough protection from potential defectors and nay-sayers. He will do as he pleases, especially when it revolves around you.

"That does sound good," You agree tapping your chin in thought. It's been ages since you last drank a human liquor. All Diavolo's ports and sherries, while delicious, did not affect you. You missed the warmth that settled in your stomach after a good drink. "A good drink could calm my nerves. Give me a minute to change?" You step back into your room to scurry back behind your room partition leaving the massive demon to stand at your doorway.

"Nerves? Do you need more time for your finals?" He lumbers in coming to stand by your bed. He licks his lips staring at your rumpled bedding. It was still warm from you sitting there with Simeon. Deep down in his stomachs turns detecting the cherry sweet scent of the angel covering your sheets. He wanted to rub his body on the bedding, erasing that weakling's scent from what was his- He pulls himself back forcing his fangs back down. He trusted Simeon, no one was better suited for healing demonic wounds than an angel.

The prince observes your shadow scurrying about behind the paper screen. "There!" You jump from behind the screen in an oversized shirt. The fabric drapes down to rest just past your knees, the sleeves long and folded several times. "Ready to go?" You come back to his side slipping on your slippers.

"But of course!" He offers you his arm. "Though I am perhaps a little overdressed for the occasion, no?" He ribs, teeth flashing in jest. You accept his arm squeezing it tight and look him over dramatically.

"Yes, very much so...What good is a nightcap if you are still dressed in your day clothes?" You tug at his pressed white tie. For the first time that day, Diavolo laughed freely.

The walk from your room to his was a long one but filled with idle safe conversation. You jump from talks of the upcoming garden parties to what this week's lunch menu will be. Neither of you was blind to the prying eyes and ears lurking in the shadows of the corridors. You were unfazed by them now after months of coming to visit Diavolo and Barbatos during the evening. You became accustomed to their judgmental gazes and gossip over time. You nod politely to one of the visiting earl's and his entourage. They pass, many eyes looking you over curiously. "Earl Jan and his entourage have taken a liking to you." Diavolo rumbles watching the demons wander off to one of his many smoking parlors. "He finds your many human idioms and stories refreshing."

"Really? I have classes with a few of them they-"

"Young Prince." Diavolo stiffens by your side lurching to a halt. His hackles rise.

"Pleasant evening Lady Marquess?" The prince calls out not bothering to even turn around to acknowledge the baroness. You turn though curious as to who drew such vitriol from the normally genial demon.

The baroness scuttles out from where she had been standing, the shadows around her falling off like an elegant cloak. Her pale mandibles click in distaste when your eyes meet hers. Her hundreds of spider-like eyes latching onto you unblinkingly before flicking to Diavolo's tense back. "You missed our meeting on the upcoming festivities. I have some more requests on the dress requirements for the ball." She pauses head listing down to look at you again. Even without lips, you could feel her scowl of disgust. "It would be good for your little pet. Their dress attire at the last one was... lackluster."

Bull. Asmo and Levi had designed your outfit for the last ball. It had been amazing, the crowds looking on with jealousy and lust as you clung to Dia's arm. You don't have to look at Diavolo to feel his displeasure. "Such asinine topics like that can wait till tomorrow." He sniffs pulling you closer. His free hand comes up to grasp your hand around his bicep. “Good night Madame.”

You keep your eyes forward letting Dia escort you. The Marquess hisses quietly under her breath, something dark and biting in their native tongue. Diavolo goes rigid in head-snapping about inhumanly fast. The temperature in the hallway drops.

"Dia." You call in warning, breath wafting up in great puffs from the chilled air. He ignores you, turning his full attention to the interloper. He replies in turn voice simmering with rage. She wilts, head tilting down into a mockery of the usually appropriate bow when speaking to him. Beneath the fringes of her bangs, you could see a smirk playing on her lips. She struck the exact nerve she was looking for. "Dia," You pull on him more adamantly. "Come please?" His shoulders loosen at your words. His gold eyes drifting down to look at you.

"We will speak of this later matrona." He leaves the matter at that leaving with you in haste. The rest of the walk is tense, his eyes now darting to each shadowy corner in case another guest jumps from them.

"I apologize for that." Diavolo sighs the moment the doors to his private quarters close. He loosens his tie and tosses it to his smoking chair by the fire. "Make yourself comfortable, I'll be out in a moment." He smiles at you before disappearing into his bathroom.

You take a seat kicking off your slippers to dig your toes into the plush hide of some animal you didn't know the name of and pour out two drinks for you and Diavolo. Waiting for him to reappear you eye the treats laid out on the table next to you. They looked too good to ignore. Popping a few tarts into your mouth you groan at the sweet citrus and mint creme that coated your tongue. Your ears twitch at the creak of the bathroom door.

Burly arms drape over your shoulders as Diavolo bends to nuzzle your neck. "Too good to wait?" He chuckles. You flush hyper-aware of the sugar cookie crumbs on the corner of your mouth.

"You said help myself." You reply after swallowing.

The prince hums. "That I did." He raises a thick finger up to collect the crumbs around your lips. "Ah- Barb outdoes himself again." He licks his finger coming around to take the seat next to you. Diavolo busies himself for a moment propping his feet up on his footrest and taking the drink you prepared from the table along with a good handful of sweets. Despite his casual demeanor you still could feel his agitation thrumming through your markings.

"I'm sorry." You blurt out. He looks up at you with a frown. "That confrontation in the hall, what the Marquess said was about me wasn't it?" You didn't know what her heated words meant, but the context of the exchange was quite clear.

A glint of pain flashes through his golden gaze. Diavolo goes for his drink, downing half of it in one large gulp. "You have nothing to apologize for. " He licks his teeth deep in thought before dropping his head back with a grunt. "What are politics like in your realm? Are they all-" He waves his glass vaguely.

You sit for a moment thinking hard on what you remember of human politics. "Most countries are no longer run by royal families. Though they still have a lot of sway with laws and the like." You take a sip. "But, back when royal families were more prevalent I would say they were like this." You mimic his little hand wave with a little smile.

"Homicidal and power-hungry?"

"Quite so." You chuckle looking into the fire. "Perhaps I can take you on a mini trip to go visit some old palaces?" Diavolo perks up intrigued.

"Where do you have in mind?"

"Maybe Italy?"

His eyes grow dark. "And why there?" He bites out. You shrug feeling as though you just crossed an unspoken line.

"Just-well. Your name, at least in human culture, is Italian, and you slip into it so casually. I thought you would like it..."

"I am not looking for you to humor me." He cuts you off. His glass thunking heavily on his oak side table, amber liquid sloshing over the side. "I get enough of that from the court. I only wish to spend time with you." You acknowledge him with a faint nod curling into your seat. "Ah-no, no mi giglio." Diavolo reaches for you, scooping you up to sit in his lap. "Forgive my agitation. If it is somewhere you wish to go then I would be happy to take us... The south is beautiful this time of year I hear." A shuttered look crosses over his eyes before he blinks it away. "Shall I get started with preparations?"

He pulls you in closer, your heat seeping through the thin layers of clothes separating the two of you. He feels you melt into the soft planes of his body. His closeness soothing the itching of your bandaged and oiled skin. Dia falls silent listening to you nod off on his lap but does nothing to stop you. Closing his eyes he instead enjoys the feel of his pseudo mark upon your body vibrating in harmony with his magic. Stroking your neck and spine he is unable to control the flood of unwanted memories bubbling to the surface of his mind. As you sleep peacefully unaware of your wishes he spends the rest of the evening watching the flames die down, lost in a waking nightmare.

[crackinwise]

My pet AU is Kiyotaka and Mondo somehow out in the post-Tragedy Japan, surviving and saving people. Like either they didn't agree to stay locked in Hope's Peak for safety, or they survived the game and left with the others but didn't join Future Foundation. Major points up front, details divided into sections under the cut:

Mondo's objective would be to find his gang, and Taka's goal, besides finding his dad, would be repairing society while punishing those responsible for its destruction. But their direct task is keeping each other safe & helping victims along the way.

Mondo even stresses calling Taka "Ishimaru" instead of "bro" or his given name in front of others, so they might KNOW who's saving them. Taka caught on quick & is very grateful.

Taka would have kind of a breakdown reconciling who he is with what he has to do in a lawless world where every public moral is ignored. He keeps a small ledger of places they loot from, to compensate in the future.

At the start, Taka can only sleep burrowed against Mondo's chest or back, blocking out their damaged surroundings & pretending everything is as it was.

He cries in Mondo's arms one night after he couldn't avoid killing someone to save Mondo's life, and that's the tipping point. He thinks if he was better, stronger like his bro, he'd have noticed sooner & found a better option. Mondo is being so brave; he's Taka's rock and Taka wants to be as steady for him too. Their souls are already connected so obviously he just has to borrow more of Mondo's spirit, right?

That's how Ishida is created.

(In reality, Mondo just compartmentalizes and shoves down unhelpful feelings. You thought he needed therapy BEFORE all this, oh man-)

Ishida:

Taka ends up slipping into the Ishida facade for fight and flight; any time adrenaline kicks in and he feels he needs that boost. Sadly, that's most of their waking time. He guards Mondo and anyone they're saving like a fierce watchdog, and won't hesitate to bite.

He'll only come out of the role when he personally verifies it's safe and if Mondo can confirm it. Survivors are confused by the dual-sided Ishimaru switching right in front of them, but they're so grateful (and so much weird crap has happened) that it never phases them long.

Too many times, Ishida will go all day without a break. This means when their hideout for the night is absolutely safe, that it's okay to let go, Taka just collapses in exhaustion. But Mondo is there to catch him.

Mondo feels conflicted over the Ishida role because Taka is just a beast in it--it's very flattering and a little hot--but it also makes him worry more than before about Taka's health. He comforts Taka with a lot of praise and reassurances, and Taka sleeps lightly but otherwise fine.

Relationship: (slight mature warning)

When they touch, Taka swears he can feel the link between them flare to fuel them. Twin fires ignited. Mondo doesn't know about all that, but when their eyes meet it definitely makes him feel invincible, so, he can believe.

If they weren't already new boyfriends when The Tragedy hit, all this closeness makes sure of that soon after. Being together is their happiness and, for a while, their only link to pre-Tragedy lives. Vows not unlike marriage were exchanged one night. Where one goes, the other will follow. Anywhere. Always.

When they kiss, safe and alone, Mondo will ask what Taka wants; what he can handle that night. Sometimes it's just the kisses before passing out, sometimes it's more intimate touches to please them both after another hellish day.

Sometimes Taka will ask to be made love to, for obvious couple reasons, but also because Mondo inside him makes their tether feel stronger, more complete. Like going over the invisible line in bold marker. Taka believes any marks they can create with their mouths, any traces of themselves they can leave on or in each other, the easier they can find their bond and tap into it. (He had started a nervous habit of pressing in on lovebites to keep Ishida going when tired.)

Mondo tells him he doesn't need to find a poetic excuse for fetishes and Taka lovingly answers with a stomach punch.

Crazy Diamonds:

Mondo's gang members, the ones not dead or overcome with Despair, are slowly found and joined back up.

Any smaller and sturdier motorcycles are kept when found. If Mondo was able to keep his own in this version, it's a bit heavier than would be good for any off-roading--and much too loud for any stealth--but he refuses to part with it.

Every gang member respected Taka/Ishida the second they saw him fight beside their leader. Before Mondo says a word about him. They readily take orders from him in either form. The change in appearance was a surprise, but they're already used to some members wildly changing demeanor in or away from the gang, so it's easily accepted.

With the gang as backup to keep watch during downtime--after Ishida sized each one up and watched them for loyalty--the pair can feel a lot more relaxed. They joke about having a date in a blown-out restaurant they find, and they can finally enjoy a deep sleep.

When the group finds safehouses with more than one room, Mondo & Taka are given their privacy. Taka tries to insist everyone deserves a chance at privacy and they should rotate, but changing a gang's long-established hierarchy is a losing battle. And Mondo's not on his side because when they're alone he can be as sappy or touchy as he likes.

Legends:

Taka and Mondo save a lot of people over their journey and kinda become a legend that gets spread around and gives people Hope.

This area still needs work from me. Probably some research into Japanese myths and supernatural symbolism. A placeholder right now is something corny like "Two Men with burning eyes and thunderous voices will answer your cries for help. But if you're evil, the two will appear to you as One Demon and drag you down to the land of the dead."

There's also probably a need for costume changes since their color scheme is the same black & white of the Despair Remnants and monokumas killing people. Legend or not, it'd be easy for traumatized survivors to not know they're good guys at first.

Darker Moments: (blood, violence and vague attempted sexual assault)

After he killed a man to save Mondo, Taka luckily (he wouldn't use that word) doesn't have to again. Hurt? Yes. Beat unconscious? Yes. Maim? Yes, but some of the vile dregs of humanity are caught doing things that deserve worse--

--That deserve Mondo. Once when they were still traveling alone, a group of Remnants jumped them, managing to separate the two, and one knocked Taka out with a bad blow to the head. Mondo dispatched the others attacking him and got to Taka right as the Remnant was about to do something unforgivable.

Mondo snapped. He still doesn't remember what he did, he just remembers coming to in all the blood and dazedly picking Taka up to take him to a place he knew was safe.

Taka never finds out. He woke up a day later with a bandaged head and Mondo crying and kissing his hands. Mondo just told him he beat some and scared away the others.

Minor Details:

They try to always fight back-to-back and, to observers, seem to read each other's mind for where to move.

Taka/Ishida would use a sword or hand-to-hand. The pickaxe might just be a random pickaxe they find, if he uses it at all. Kinda hard to carry both a sword and a railroad pickaxe on your back, and I can't imagine it balances very well. (The size in official pics would be a 5lb head w/2-3lb handle.)

Mondo seems like he would use anything lying in debris to fight. Poles, pipes, chains. Aaaand maybe the knives he mentions in School Mode.

For any costume changes, Mondo would keep his jacket at least. A beacon for the Diamonds. Maybe a purple tank top, and different pants better for knife holsters. Unless the holster should wrap around his waist or hip instead?

Any changes to Taka's outfit would keep his armband. It's a reminder of his Talent and his goal to make Japan even better than before. Also wanna keep his boots or change to more rugged ones.

End Goal:

Obviously they'd end up in Towa, after the events of Ultra Despair Girls. They're reunited with Takaaki and Takemichi. Maybe they help set things right there a bit, or Makoto would get word to them about his plans vs Future Foundation's. Look at me, do I look like someone that knows how to end things?

There is no way you read all that. (I love you if you did.) But feel free to use all or any bits of it in your own works. Almost positive I'll never get to compose all this into a coherent fic format. I might update in short scenario posts under a 'Tragedy-survivor au' tag if I think of anything.

If you have a question or want something expanded upon, ask away.

[ginwhitlock]

summary: human!JASPER/ human!BELLA. Bella is called to deliver day supplies to a very tired and mostly lost 1st Regiment Calvary, headed by no other than Major Jasper Whitlock. What will the two do once left alone to go over maps of the Tennessee hills?

fic type: oneshot, SMUT 18+

warnings: is set in the civil war, which means Jasper is a soldier in the confederacy literally only because he’s from Texas I promise, it would’ve been weird to make him union and apart of the Texas Calvary as that wasnt a union regiment, I do not support the confederacy or any of its beliefs, its just part of his backstory and this fic is centered directly in his human life (the confederacy itself is not mentioned in detail, it is just alluded to the fact). This is a smut fic but not hardcore in anyway so be warned. Oh also I made Bella and Emmett siblings. Of course. 

She almost broke his nose kissing him.

She almost shattered bone and cartilage clicking their teeth together, enamel scraping enamel.

She almost caved in the center of his face so she could lick the insides of his molars, separate his jaws to find the pit of his throat, dangle her self righteousness by his uvula.

And to think she almost didn’t go out that morning.

Isabella Marie was the kind of pretty you didn’t see right away. The layers of fine muscle and fragile skin hiding the richness of her blood-red cheeks, crisp even in the horrible heat of August. And with that heat came hot headed Calvary men with unlined coat pockets and a hunger for pretty little girls.

She met Major Whitlock three miles outside of town, the local preacher sending her out to their camp with as many baskets as her daddy’s two mules could hold on their hips. She was flushed, the slot of her breastbone slick with afternoon sweat— her riding boots did nothing but slosh around with her pale feet inside, leather no match for Tennessee mountain hidin weather.

Maybe she should’ve dropped ice down her shift. Maybe she should’ve played dead and waited for God to put her on her ass.

The thin brunette was graced with the presence of an even skinner red head the moment Stubborn Ass’s (as she affectionally called her steed in private) hooves entered the temporary camp. The mans hair fell limply in front of his eyes which were slightly sunken, the blue of his irises molting into a starved shade of dust. His lips were worse. Once pink and slightly plump, now skinny and cracked with the less than dusty air.

“Is this the 1st Regiment Calvary? From Texas?” Her voice was strained and feverish, salt dripping off her Cupid’s bow.

The man nodded and offered a hand, “Names Sargent Henry Arquette. Nice to see you Miss, the boys haven’t been able to get any supplies up here for days,” Bella grasped his hand tightly, afraid her unskilled balance would come into play, and forced her weight down to the ground ungracefully, “you’re the sheriffs daughter, right miss?” His smile seemed correct handing off his skinny face, his teeth crooked and off centered, but sweet. She quirked her lip in return.

“Yes Sargent, I seem to be your supply wagon today. There’s more back in town but I was told you wouldn’t be in for a day or so.” Flushed and overdressed, that’s how she felt. Every second.

Henry took in the view of the well fed half breeds and gestured off handedly, something she would come to learn was an action he didn’t even notice he performed. “Day. Days. Who knows until we ration it. These trails are less trails and more raccoon paths. I’m just waiting to see why the hell we’ve been sent so far east to begin with.” He had no recognition what was proper to say in front of the young lady at his side, the year had been sucked dry of any feminine… life, to say lightly. A piece of his brain nudged him for speaking so plainly, but Bella never once looked offended and twitched her head in both sympathy and understanding. She had been raised in these hills. She knew their damnation like the back of her hand. Maybe even the back of her skull.

“I’ve heard about raids up in McMinnville. Bases and such lining up and down the mountain. My brother’s part of the 16th Regiment Calvary up there actually, you know. Things are heating up in our little slice of the world.” The little thing spoke like a sparrow, her nose pointed and soft, the bottom of her front teeth pillowing into her bottom lip. At the age of seventeen she seemed somehow both grounded and unsure.

The south was ripping itself apart. And she— and the Sargent, knew it.

Bella could see the redhead start to comment on her brothers hand me down gossip when a giant of a man— boy? Man? Definitely man, by the looks of his muscled shoulders and high jaw, the darkened cast shifting just under the skin of his cheeks, the low dip of a scar just below his brow— a brow which furrowed, twisted, and arched back up into his tanned forehead when he noticed the mules waiting restlessly, tails swinging behind a girl in a kinder man's idea of a dress and interrupted the lower soldiers train of thought.

“You must be Miss Isabella McCarty. I spoke to your father when we arrived last night.” Clipped and forward were his words, his hand outstretched in front of him, decorated in mis-matched freckles and calluses she could feel pressing into the column of her throat as she placed her small palm in his. “Major Jasper Whitlock, at your assistance.”

No smile graced his face but by God she would witness his lips stretch over his teeth if it was the last thing she ever did.

Still with her hand in his she whispered “You can call me Bella. Or Bella Marie. Or Isabella Marie oh or my mother calls me Belle or sometimes when my father is upset with me he calls me Marie McCarty like my grandmother used to and um..” her tongue had to have swelled to the size of a watermelon in the three seconds it took to look him in the eyes— the swamp green eyes in fact. Eyes the color of duckweed and marigold stems and whatever leaves would stick to the blackberries in the spring.

He laughed. And it sounded like a white flag waving in her insides. Back and forth. Back and forth.

Maybe the preacher was a righteous man after all.

“I like Isabella Marie. Miss Isabella Marie.” Like rain drops on a tin ceiling.

The Arquette boy looked between the two before edging towards the black mules “Any orders where to put these, Major?” Skinny lips. Skinny spine.

Jasper had finally looked up from the strawberry cheeked girl in front of him, released their hands, and knocked his head backwards, towards the other soldiers checking tents and cleaning their own horses.

“Just take em back to the storage tent. Not like it’ll be competing for space.” The Major looked back at his men “Calhoun, Jennings, help Arquette move these rations will you? Make yourself useful for once.” His voice didn’t have to boom and condense like a rung out air horn, the cool of his vocal cords carried and personally plucked the not yet men from their activities and dragged them towards the group of three. Like some sort of magic act.

Bella was far from resigned. “So Major Whitlock, what would you like me to do?” Hopeful eyes, always searching to please. Or to piss off— as Emmett always scorned.

An upturn of lips flashed through Jaspers face and he looked to the sky for a mere moment “Mind helping me sort out some of my maps back in camp? My backwoods knowledge ain’t as sharp as my Houston kind and you seem like an expert in this area, getting yourself up to us all alone.” Bella’s feet started to move on instinct towards the felted wool tent covering a hundred or so feet behind the large man, but his hand stopped her at the shoulder, “And, if you don’t mind, would you be my guide back to town this evening? I’ve got to scout the path for the boys to pull through by the end of this week.”

She should’ve thought longer about it, linger over his words, the way his tongue flicked over his canines and brushed noticeably at the edge of his front teeth. But she didn’t. Not now. Not when the time it would’ve taken could pick at the carefully constructed wall built specifically for boys with serpent tongues. And lion hands. And bear teeth and… he still waiting for her response.

A shake to her head “Of course Major. If you’ll help me bring the mules back home, you’d be more help to me than I think I’d ever be to you.”

He could taste her self doubt. And he didn’t like it.

A jut of his brow led them through the ragged campsite, broken down cinders coating the bottom of her unusually worn boots, the lace of her dress clashing horribly with the scent of charred flesh and resting wounds. If only she knew a doctor. If only the town still had one.

His tent was one of the stronger ones, every inch placated with the spine of a book or a map binder or a drape of letters. He needed a desk and a real bed and maybe someone to make sure he stayed warm during the mountain nights.

Jaspers hands found a tiny stack of drawn maps and laid them over his now folded lap on the ground. Bella swiftly found her place at his bended knee and ran a finger over the torn edge. “These look older than my father. It doesn’t even mark the trail you follow to town.” The squishy flesh of her thumb traced an invisible oil line through the mountain and deposited itself in a town with seemingly no name, according to the parchment. “That’s home. If you’re following these maps I don’t quite understand how you ever got here.” Her eyes were full, engorged on road markers and faded city names.

Jasper softly nodded, their heads just inches from each other as she leaned in to scour the map. He had barely gotten to the camp they were in, his right hand Henry doing nearly all of the sight work. He’d be a hell of a tracker if he was a bloodhound. The blond almost chucked at the thought of Henry with big floppy mutt ears, yelping at the pretty girl almost in Jasper’s lap.

Her hair was like a chocolate waterfall. The good chocolate that mama got sent to her from her sister up north, the kind that was broken off continuously, piece after piece fed to him and his sisters until nothing was left.

Part of him wanted to see if she tasted as sweet.

He’d blame it on how damn long it’s been since he’s smelled anything other than soured sores and gunpowder. Even if Miss Isabella Marie smelled good enough to eat. Good enough to take like a man starved. And God— Jasper hungered like no other.

“There’s a river through the valley here, if you can find yourself through the woods.” Bella had found a piece of graphite and drawn in the harsh line of a hidden waterway just a mile or so from camp. She looked up at him as she spoke, her eyes warmly whiskey colored through her lashes.

His mouth clenched. “How old are you Miss McCarty?”

She blinked rapidly, like coming out of a daze. “Seventeen.”

Her hand dropped the instrument to the paper and draw up to his knee, the covered bone sharp under her knuckles.

“Do you have a boy at home waiting for you, Miss McCarty?” Hot air blew from his mouth to hers like a heatwave. Like a curse.

Bella’s lips formed a small “No” as she slid her small hand up the Major’s thigh, her singular ring gliding like margarine inch my inch as the seconds ticked by, each breath marking the two closer.

“Do you have a wife, Major?” Only whisper escaped her rosebud mouth, his face turning downwards, noses only separated by spirit.

“I was too busy waiting for you, it seems, Miss Bella.”

Her heart thumped her chest hard enough to make her ears ring.

Bella’s fist jumped from Jasper’s thigh to his army issued button up and crushed his chest to her own, her lips finding purchase slotted against his, the force clinking their front teeth together without care. His hands were gripping the roots of her soft waves, their skulls as close as their skin would let them. She wanted more, more, the heat suffocating the tent from more than the August sun. Her thin fingers slipped easily through the button gaps as his tongue invaded the privacy of her mouth. A horrible demented part of her brain screamed ‘Take, Take, Take. Mark me down and climb into the spaces that were meant to fit just us.’ Her brother had always called her too much of a dreamer. Too much of a poet and a believer and an artist. But God. This man was in her hands and she felt like a masterpiece.

A man she hardly knew.

But somehow, the scrape of his knuckles against her soon to be bare thighs felt like they had known each other at birth. Like Texas and Tennessee were just minutes from each other. As if they were the only bodies in the whole entire war.

Jasper’s hands were of no gentleman’s when he unfastened the ribbons holding her skirt to her waist, the under coat used for riding coming off like silk in his calloused palms. She was moaning into his mouth, the world outside the tent becoming buttery soft and not to be worried about. All there was was Jasper and his fucking mouth moving to her neck and his teeth toying around her jaw.

“Jesus, Major” He chuckled at her swear and rid her completely of every layer but her shift and the wool of her stockings, the small corset she wore becoming just cannon fodder for the mouth and hands of the Cavalryman.

“I love when you call me that, darlin. Wanna hear you scream it.” She had barely gotten open a single button on his shirt before he brushed the maps out of the way and flipped her on her back underneath him, the sway of his curled mane teasing her, the golden wheat just barely out of the reach of her teeth or fingers.

She wanted to use it like reins.

She’d especially like calling him by his rank then.

“You know I—“ her breathing caught the better of her as he lifted her by her thighs and dragged her ass to his kneeled position, his fingers running up her stockings with particular care, each inch another layer to her growing wetness. She didn’t let go of her breath until he had reached the skirting of her underdress, the white cotton nearly see through with the sweat sticking to every inch of her skin. His watery eyes devoured the sight with an indescribable hunger. Like a wolf hanging over a bleeding lamb.

What a happy sacrifice she’d be.

“Are you a good little southern girl, Isabella?” His fingertips brushed just under the fabric, his intent not easily hidden behind his hardened brow.

She came out trembling, she couldn’t tell over excitement or fear. “Yes Sir. No ones ever…” even her mother would blush saying those words.

Jasper finally smiled, sharp and soul quenching, like a mist of rain before a hurricane.

“I’m going to ruin you.” He couldn’t tell her about the wedding playing out behind his eyes or the static electric resonance he felt thinking about how another man would never get to lay a hand on his pretty Isabella.

His fingers slipped over her cunt, the soft curling hair tickling his fingertips. The moist warmth wet his fingers before skirting over her lips. He almost groaned. She was soaked. He had to see what his little Belle looked like in the light.

Jasper’s eyes met Bella’s giant blown out doe ones, her elbows holding up her upper body, trying to anticipate his very next move.

If they were playing chess, he was going to win. And she had always been a sore loser.

The skirt of the shift creased with the heat of his palms against her stomach, the slightly cooler air blowing across her pussy, making Bella suck in a breath through her teeth, her bottom lip becoming stuck under them with practiced strength.

Her knees knocked against Jasper’s hips as he watched the pink of her pussy clench around nothing, her wet little hole puckering and buzzing with the want of something under his trousers. He licked his lips as he had a gathered two fingers at her slit and traced upwards, her breath coming out in pants as he reached her clit, the engorged nub nearly ringing in her ears. A small circle over it make her moan from her throat. Bella had never felt someone else’s touch, she had never realized how much she wanted for it. She never knew how much she wanted Jasper to touch her.

The solider took his time as he brought the pads of his fingers back down to her achingly small hole and gathered some of her slick, the smell of sweat and Bella nearly driving him half insane as he brought a finger to his mouth, his tongue licking her clean off.

If Bella could speak to God directly and have him reply, she’d thank him for the creation of Major Jasper Whitlock.

But all she could do was cry out for more. And more he silently promised to give.

Maybe too much.

He had to stretch her out, the head of his cock wouldn’t fit into her without an orgasm in her, not now at least. Jasper slowly brought his hand back a third time and entered a single finger, her hips nearly bucking against his wrist as he slowly sat himself. A bead of sweat ran off his brow. A second finger partnered with the first after a few pumps, in and out, in and out. The near wetness coated on those fingers alone could bring him to release in his cot. He couldn’t wait any longer.

“Isabella I have to—“ “Please Major I need—“

The two looked at each other, their mouths in sync as they sat, their souls intertwining and bundling up into a bramble of wonderful thorns, coy smiles gracing both their faces.

Bella sat up slowly and draped a hand over Jasper’s belt buckle. “May I, Major?” The shorty craftsmanship of the iron buckle became putty under her unskilled hands as he nodded, now without words for the angel in front of him. The belt was off before the two noticed and Jasper brought his issued pants down to his ankles and off with his shoes to rest with the scraps of her dress he had taken off so quickly.

“Do you… always go bare?” The squeak of Bella’s voice made Jasper snicker like the teenage boy he technically still was, the nineteen year old clicking his teeth together and grinning. “Miss McCarty, sometimes underpinnings only get in the way of an army man.” A deep blush settled into her cheeks as she slapped at his chest, his shirt hanging open just slightly as he pushed her back to the floor.

“Shush, Whitlock.”

His smile turned feral as the head of his cock graced the hood of her clit, bouncing just slightly with the breath of their bodies. Jasper marked in his head that this should be a sight to see on their wedding night, not their first night together, but by God was it a beautiful one.

He looked at her as he grasped one of her hips with his right hand and the base of his cock with his left. “Breathe, Belle. Breathe with me, alright?” She nodded her head slowly and brought her own hand to the tent floor, grasping tightly.

Jasper’s hand guided the head carefully over her lips and to her quivering entrance. One buck and he’d tear her to badly to bear. No matter how long it had been… he’d never rush with his Isabella. Not now.

He slowly pushed in, the stretch a burn like no other, Bella’s voice turning from a quick steal of breath to a long sigh, the air being pushed out as he took her in. Inch by inch she devoured him, the heat marking his cock in emotional third degree burns. The sky burned brighter, the colors in his eyes turned clearer. Her hips and her fragile skin and the slip of her cunt was the end of the world and the birth of something entirely new. She grasped his shoulders as he mumbled a slew of impressive praise as he allowed her to adjust and seated himself at the very base of her cervix. Her throat screamed out to him as her nails dug in his back.

A wonderful, wonderful burn.

Bella slipped a hand to Jasper’s hip to push him back, to set any and all pace so that the fire would keep burning. He quickly slotted his face in the clench of her neck and began to move his pale hips, beginning to push and pull within her very tight walls.

The tent was full of grunts and moans and breathy screams he was sure the entirely camp heard. But Jesus Christ he didn’t give a single damn at that very moment. His boys knew to stay out of his shit and they be proven that every second until his angel’s orgasm.

God he wanted to fill her up. Wanted to take all of his cum and bury it deep where the lord intended, leave her leaking and exhausted and full of everything he had. He’d empty his balls in her again and again if it meant the Tennessee flower in his arms would keep him forever.

He wanted her forever.

“Major, deeper, please God please yes YES.” Jasper’s hips were snapping at a rapid pace, his balls slapping against her ass as he drove her into the hard ground. He could feel her tighten up the way he felt the air change around him before a fight broke out, the way a horse steps on a snake without jumping. There was an electricity in the air and the moment Bella tore his head out from her and pulled him into a jaw crushing kiss, he was crumbling at her feet, her pussy clenching and spasming around his cock with enough force to take out a grizzly bear.

She locked her legs around his hips as he all but collapsed into her, his hair sweaty between her fingers as she combed through it as his dick twitched it’s last time inside her belly. Jasper’s own hands found repentance under her ass and stayed there, too tired to remove himself from her heat.

“That ride home is gonna be sweaty, isn’t it?” Her whisper made her snort and bite into the side of her neck as she giggled.