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azsazz · 4 months

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Midnight Muse (Part 5)

Azriel x Reader [Art School AU]

Summary: You and your best friend Feyre have just moved into a new apartment for your sophomore year of college at art school. What you didn't know when you signed the lease is that you'd be living next to three rowdy boys.

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 4,069

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Masterlist]

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“All I’m saying is that I think he’s pretty cute,” Feyre scoffs, defensively.

Since you’d moved in, it seems as though your entire life revolves around the boys living next door.

While you’d finally gotten the sleep you deserved last night, something had felt…off. The other side of the wall was almost too quiet as you lay in the darkness, still awaiting sleep to take you in its hold, even though your body had been aching for sleep for so long. All night, there wasn’t a peep from the asshole sharing the wall. You knew it had to be Az living on the other side, there was no way in fucking hell that it wasn’t, but the lack of music blaring through the walls felt like a dream, almost.

You shoved the thoughts from your mind in the early hours of the morning, hastily getting ready for your day. Your first day of classes, and you wouldn’t let him ruin even that. Now, the sun shines brightly on you and Feyre as you walk to your first class of the day, Drawing 201.

You had made your schedules match up as much as they could. With Feyre being an art student as well, she had declared her major in oil painting, whereas you aren’t sure what medium you’d like to get into. All you know is that there’s something drawing you towards the arts, and thankfully, you still have time to take electives and try new classes to see if anything sticks.

The only classes you hadn’t been able to take together were your non-art related ones. Feyre seems to know exactly what her path is in life, minoring in business because she wants to open a gallery one day and figured having an understanding of what goes into owning her own business would be helpful.

You, on the other hand, had opted for a creative writing class to fulfill that requirement for your college degree. It is a semester filled with imagination and artistry, searching for that missing piece of your soul, trying to find it along the way.

Feyre has her drawing pad tucked under an arm as she walks. Yours is held in a similar fashion, the obnoxiously large pad of paper bigger than your torso. Her golden-brown hair is tied back into a loose bun that she makes look effortless. If you were to try and recreate the same hairstyle, you’d look like a rat. She’s clad in a plain t-shirt and jeans, simple for the balmy weather, not wanting to wear something nicer only to have charcoal and paints splashed over it by the end of the day.

The two of you had been talking about your neighbors, having seen one of them driving off in his vintage car that somehow always seemed to be parked outside of the building. Its paint was red and rusted, metal rotting through. You weren’t even sure that the car was in running condition, but it gave a splutter of black smoke as he rolled away and you wondered if it would make it the few blocks down to campus.

It was the last roommate, the one you don’t know the name of. He’s large and bulky, muscles seeming to nearly split the seams of any shirt he covered his torso with. The one who had seemed to be the least volatile, that is, until he shut the door in your face for the final time that dreadful night.

The building is old, but the classroom is spacious and drab. Concrete floors adorned with paint that hadn’t come off, dried clay chipping into dust, the room shared with many different classes working with many different mediums. The white walls brighten the room, the sun casting through the windows bouncing off of it and creating intriguing lighting to work with. Art horses are lined up in a circle, surrounding a mattress with a navy blue sheet spread across its lumpy surface. It smells of both paint and graphite, the scent comforting as a part of you settles, shoulders relaxing as you revel in it.

Accustomed to the setup, you realize that you’re going to be jumping right into the class and will be drawing today. Last year, the most memorable moment in your first life drawing class ever was the oldest man you’ve ever seen being the nude model. Of course, that was the day that your professor had each student drawing a close-up of a specific part of the model’s body, and you’d so luckily gotten to draw his low-hanging, wrinkly balls. Lovely.

You shudder as the memory resurfaces, following Feyre to a seat. You drop your bag to the floor, setting up your own sketchpad, before pulling out the necessary materials you’ll be needing for class.

You roll your eyes in response to her statement. “I didn’t say they weren’t cute, I said that they’re assholes.” Despite your quiet night, you can’t help but wonder about Az, thinking about his brooding nature and stupidly charming face as you drifted off to sleep in the loud quiet of your room.

Students trickle in one by one. A group of girls stride in, laughing about something that happened at a bar over their weekend. Another girl follows, but it’s clear that she isn’t in their group. She’s pretty, with chic, ice blue glasses perched on her button nose, her striking white hair hanging loose around her shoulders.

Your attention shifts to the boy that follows her in, and your jaw almost drops.

He’s handsome—no, he’s much more than that, you just can’t formulate the words twisting your thoughts and tongue into knots. Maybe after your creative writing class you’d be able to describe his sheer beauty. He has the most luxurious copper hair you’ve ever seen. It cascades across his broad shoulders, a braid on either side, caressing his face. He’s tall, too, an entire head—maybe even more—taller than the white-haired girl he’s bounding behind. His straight nose is flecked with freckles and his fox-shaped face is utterly devastating.

When his gaze finds yours, you feel as though you’re pinned to the art horse beneath you. He has one russet eye, and the other is golden. You want to commit it to memory, curse yourself for not bringing your colored pencils, stare right into those very eyes until you’ve gotten each stroke of his iris’ perfect. He’s mesmerizing, and the closer he moves, you start to make out the fine scar that slashes through that gold eye and his eyebrow above. It’s his only flaw, but only adds to his intimidating aura.

“Hi,” he greets, sliding into the empty seat next to you. You have to look up at him, even sitting, and something in your stomach stirs. “I’m Lucien.”

“(Y/N),” you respond numbly, thrown by his beauty. He’s wearing a loose button-up in the color moss, dark trousers, and even nicer shoes. He doesn’t look anything like an art student. Law, maybe. “Nice to meet you.”

You fumble with your art case as he holds out his hand for you to shake. Cheeks heating, you give him a bashful smile, sliding your hand into his. It’s warm, encapsulating the entirety of your own, and the longer your hand sits in his, the wider his pleasant smile becomes. “You as well,” he responds, then leans over to introduce himself to Feyre. With your back to him, you give her an ‘oh my gods, look how gorgeous he is’ look, and she responds with an elbow to your side, acknowledging that she sees just how gorgeous he is.

This year is determined to kill you, with all of the handsome men you’ve seen so far. Lucien maybe even more so, with how delightful he already is.

You can hardly even remember what you were conversing with Feyre about now that Lucien has entered the room. You couldn’t even remember if one of your neighbors waltzed right into the roo—

Fuck.

Of fucking course.

It’s the one roommate you don’t know the name of. The one who’d been driving away when you and your roommate left for campus this morning, waltzing into the room as if he owns the place.

His frame takes up the entire doorway, and you find yourself wondering if that’s his thing. Precious Azzy’s is being loud, Rhys’ is that forked tongue of his, and this one’s is filling any space with his massive body.

He enters the room with a swagger that has all of the girls swooning, carefree and confident. He oozes masculinity, barrel chested and tall. You didn’t know that he was in this class, though. When Rhys has said that they were juniors, you thought they’d be in the 300 classes, not 200s.

Now might be as good a time as ever to ask, though, because his hazel gaze sparks in recognition when he glances your way, and he beelines over to you.

“Well, hello there ladies,” he greets with a seemingly genuine smile. He had been the nicest of the three when you and Feyre had almost knocked their door clean from its hinges, but he had also shut the door on you. Plus, with your not-so-great experiences with his roommates, your body is tense, prepared for the worst. “You’re taking this class?”

Feyre takes the bait on this one, and you’re well aware that Lucien is listening in, despite the fact that he’s pulled his satchel into his lap and is unloading his own supplies. “Yeah, it’s required for sophomores. Are you in it as well?”

The corner of his mouth lifts in a sinful smile. Wolfish, almost. “You could say that.” You open your mouth to speak but he’s turning towards Lucien, smile broadening into something practically wicked, sticking his hand out to introduce himself. “I’m Cassian, man. Nice to meet you.”

“Lucien,” he replies politely, though you don’t miss the slight grimace on his face when Cassian clenches his fingers in his own. You smother a laugh because Cassian looks like he could break all of the bones in Lucien’s hand with just a little more pressure if he wanted to.

The trifecta is complete. You finally have all three names, though you only know Az through his nicknames alone. Or maybe his name is Azzy. Maybe that’s why he’s so grumpy all of the time.

Whatever. You don’t care.

After introducing yourself and Feyre to Cassian, he leans in closer. He smells earthy, like freshly turned dirt and smoked wood. It reaches out to you like roots in the ground, and it’s refreshing, to say the least.

“I’m sorry about the other night,” he starts, and you nearly recoil. You were expecting him to come in here with the arrogance his roommates seem to share, not this sincere politeness dripping from his words. His hazel eyes are earnest as you inspect him, his soft smile a touch guilty, if anything. “It’s just that I’ve got to side with my roommates. You can understand that, right?”

“You don’t even know what he did,” you answer, trying not to grumble. Your brows are pinched and you watch Cassian take note of that. Az had been a complete prick for no reason, and that’s just not cool in your books.

Cassian winces, dropping back an inch or two. His voice is low, more of a whisper than you thought someone of his size would be able to make. “It’s not really my place to say, but Azriel had had a rough day. And no, that doesn’t excuse his actions, but you did threaten to tow his bike, and he doesn’t take that lightly. But hey, it had nothing really to do with me, so I’m willing to look past it if you are.”

Azriel. Aa full name to a face and well, it kind of suits him. The angel of death. A shiver wracks your spine.

With that permanent scowl, he certainly looks the part.

And, this isn’t the apology you expected, but it’s a truce, a peace offering between neighbors. Maybe, if you accept, Cassian will be able to pass along the message of ‘shut the fuck up after midnight’ to Azriel.

You share a look with Feyre, contemplating. It seems as though she’s thinking similarly to you because she smiles up at Cassian, agreeing. “We’d love that.”

Cassian beams, straightening to his full height. Fuck, he’s huge.

He looks as if he may say something more, but the professor enters the room and calls his name. He shoots you and Feyre a cheeky grin. “That’s me,” he jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “I’ll come get your numbers after class. Try not to enjoy it too much, ladies.” With a wink, he turns, gliding across the room with an ease someone built like a brick wall should have.

Your eyes follow him as he stalks towards the teacher, all grins and positivity. Maybe he isn’t like his broody, rude roommates. The teacher asks him something and he’s nodding along as if he’s done this before and is being reminded of what’s expected of him for this class. He roots around in the bag slung over his shoulder and pulls something out as he makes his way towards the door. Maybe he’s not enrolled in your class and only needed to speak to the professor?

“Welcome to Drawing 201,” the professor greets, clapping her hands together to gain the attention of the room. The murmurs soften as she speaks, students ready to have their talents molded by her intelligence. “My name is Ms. Woods, but you can call me Alis.”

You don’t miss Cassain slipping back into the room as Alis walks you through warm up exercises and best practices for the class. Your fingers are already coated with charcoal from where you’d roughly outlined shapes of Feyre’s body for warm ups. The curves on your paper become more and more fluid as you get into the familiar motions of drawing.

“What do you think he’s doing here?” you murmur to Feyre, still watching where Cassian is crouched low as if he wouldn’t be able to hear the professor from his full height. While you’re turned this way, you catch Lucien peeking at you over his shoulder for a fleeting moment, and before your gaze can snag his, he’s turning back to his own work.

Feyre shrugs, studying the lines of your face. “You don’t think he’s the—”

“This is Cassian,” Alis interrupts, stealing your attention from your roommate and your drawing. It’s nothing more than a mess of rough shapes, looking nothing like her at all, but you’re trusting the process. Only a minute's time isn’t long enough for more than that.

Cassian is no longer wearing his loose jeans and tight t-shirt. Instead, he dons a thick, gray robe. The fabric doesn’t nearly drape far enough down, his gloriously tanned and muscular legs on full display, showing off an intricate tattoo from his knees, creeping up underneath the fabric. Your mouth goes dry at the sight, following the lines of muscle all the way up as Alis continues, “He’s going to be our model for the day.”

You’re not the only one who chokes at the news. Girls and guys alike are blushing in their seats, and Cassian can hardly contain the smug smirk threatening to split his face in two. He winks over at you and Feyre who share a wide-eyed look. Lucien scoffs lightly, and your jaw snaps shut, pink heating your cheeks as well.

You busy yourself by flipping to a new page in your pad. It’s crisp and white, not at all as interesting as you’re trying to make it seem as you avoid Cassian’s mirth-filled stare. You smooth the paper with your hand, and it’s shaking slightly with anticipation. Your new neighbor who’s just offered a truce, and you’re already going to be seeing him naked.

Would it have been weirder to be mad at him and stare at his naked form, or now, when a ceasefire has been declared and you’re somewhat on the road to becoming friends?

You don’t have the chance to think further on it because Cassian moves into the circle towards the lone mattress on the floor as Alis explains how the time spent in class is going to be divided. There will be a few three minute sketching sessions where you are to get down as much of his form as you can, while Cassian continuously changes poses. Following that, there will be two fifteen minute sessions, a break, and a final longer session where you’ll focus more on detail than form.

He slides out of his shoes, and you swallow roughly as he undoes the ties to his robe. Thankfully, he’s not looking at you, watching your intent gaze pinned to his tanned skin. The fabric slides from his broad shoulders, down, exposing the muscles of his back. The less fabric that shows, the more tattoos you see, covering both arms and licking across his chest. His waist pulls in tight and you have to bite your lip to hold back a noise in the completely silent room. Rippling muscles line his body, corded and thick in all of the right places. You can’t help it, staring unabashed because he’s turned away from you, your eyes falling from the inky whorls of tattoos across his shoulders, down through the cavern of the muscle lining his spine, all the way down to his tight ass.

All of the students are entrapped by his beauty, as if he’s aphrodite reincarnated. Two dimples poke in the base of his spine that you want to lean forward and dip your tongue into, but then he’s shifting a little and his cock is on full display.

The stick of charcoal in your fingers snaps in half.

You hope you get that facing you for the few hours you’ll be here.

Next to you, Lucien tuts under his breath, but even he can’t seem to look away from the Greek God standing before you.

Alis instructs Cassian into his first pose and then addresses the class. “Alright, your time begins now.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•

You don’t know how you’re able to focus on anything other than the cock draped so prettily across his abdomen.

Cassian looks as relaxed as ever, splayed out across the blue sheet on the mattress, one arm tucked beneath his head, eyes shut, and breathing even as if he might have actually fallen asleep.

With the late nights you know he and his roommates tend to have, you wouldn’t be surprised in the slightest.

You lose yourself in the quiet of the classroom, nothing but the sounds of long strokes or chalk against paper, the scratch of quick sharp lines being drawn. There’s the occasional murmur of advice or comments from Alis as she makes her rounds, weaving through students spread throughout the room.

Drawing the contours of his muscle is no easy feat. Packed layer upon layer from years or hard work spent in the gym, you rub the dark soot into your drawing pad. It’s calming, sweeping the charcoal over the white space to create shadows the lighting paints across his body.

His tattoos take some effort, even though Alis had said not to worry about those, that getting his form down was more important, but you can’t help yourself. You’ve always been interested in people’s tattoos and the stories behind them, the significance or lack thereof for some, despite having none of your own. You draw them with an extra care, trying your best not to make up reasons as to why he might have them. Now that you’re going to be on friendly terms, maybe you can ask him the meaning behind them yourself.

Eventually, Alis’ timer goes off, the ringtone the same as your phone, and for a fleeting moment your body reacts as if it’s your own alarm going off, a slight twist in your stomach as your body locks for a moment. You put down your chunk of charcoal as Cassian sits up, dusting your fingers off and admiring your drawing, comparing it to the model once more before he tugs on his robe.

Feyre stands to stretch, her back popping as she twists around. You wipe the soot from your hands on a cloth and grab your water bottle, the crisp water wetting your parched throat.

Lucien leans over, copper hair cascading over his shoulder and almost brushing your arm in the process. You wouldn’t mind, it looks silky smooth and the smell of his hair oil makes you want to lean in a little closer. He studies your work as you drink and eventually, with a smirk, says, “You have quite an eye for detail.”

You splutter and he bites his pink lip, trying to smother his smile. He gives you the most innocent look he can muster, but he doesn’t know that you have a retort on the tip of your tongue, just as soon as you stop choking.

“You sound a little bit jealous there, Lucien.”

Feyre laughs and he gapes dramatically, “Maybe, a little.”

You can’t help but to chuckle at his antics, the rest of your classmates packing up around you. Cassian’s disappeared from the room already, probably in the restroom changing, and you wonder if he’ll be back for your number like he promised.

In the meantime, you pack your things away, stuffing your extra chalks of charcoal back into your case, along with your cloth and kneaded eraser. You feel confident in the work you’ve done today, so with a last glance at your drawing, you flip your pad shut, taking Feyre’s for her and walking with Lucien to stash them in the assigned drawer you and Feyre share.

“So, are you an art major?” you ask, waiting for the crowd around the shelves to dissipate a little.

He cuts you a suspicious look, but it’s playful. “You didn’t get a glimpse of my drawing, did you? I suppose I can’t blame you with a model looking like that, but it’s entirely awful,” he states, and you stare up at him in disbelief.

“Surely it can’t be that bad,” you argue, and his lips thin a little as he flips open his drawing pad just enough for only you to see. It’s difficult to hold in the laugh trying to burst from your throat.

Lucien winces but a puff of laughter follows that makes your shoulders ease. “I told you it was shit, your face only confirmed it!”

There’s no coming back from this one, so you decide to play into it.

“Okay, it’s not great, but I’ve definitely seen worse. You should’ve seen my stuff from last year.”

Lucien rolls his eyes, stepping forward in line. “Oh, I’m sure it was nothing like the gorgeous drawing you’ve managed to pull out of your ass in two hours today,” he scoffs, and you elbow him in the arm gently. “Your drawing literally looks like a photograph!”

It doesn’t, but your cheeks heat at his compliment anyway.

“I might’ve been doing this a little longer than you have,” you defend. Since you could hold a crayon, to be exact.

He huffs, stuffing his pad into a drawer and offering to help you with yours and Feyres. He pulls your drawer open and you slide the pads inside, stepping out of the way so others can crowd him as he closes up and follows you back to your seats. “Well, then you might have to help me out, because I thought that taking a few drawing classes would help me with my renderings for architecture, but those are all straight lines and circles and this is all curved lines and cock.”

You can’t help but laugh this time, leaning over your horse to pack away the rest of your supplies. Feyre’s all ready to go, face buried in her phone as she texts someone, fingers tapping quickly on the screen.

“You know, if you remove yourself from what you’re looking at, this is all just lines and circles too.”

Lucien slings his satchel over his shoulder, staring down at you with those mesmerizing eyes that shine when he speaks. “Would you want to explain that further sometime, over coffee perhaps?”

You’re a little shocked by his bluntness, but you grin and nod nonetheless. “I’d like that.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•

Midnight Muse Taglist: @going-through-shit @honeycriess @natashachelsea @thisisew @kennedy-brooke @cat-or-kitten @sourapplex @magical-mischief-makers @reiincarnatiion @ccucumbers @secret-ly-here @throneofsmut @cami26cami @torchbearerkyle @a-frog-with-a-laptop @sevikas-whore @endless-worldss @vellichor01 @bangtans-jagiya @kalulakunundrum @pinksmellslikelove @sakurafrost3-blog @imxnotxhere @bookishbroadwaybish @justdreamstars @i-am-infinite @whichwitchisthebitch @i-am-a-lost-girl16 @sia-r @acourtofbatboydreams @hannzoaks @judig92 @ilikefictionalmen @harrystylesfan2686 @dr4g0ngirl @vellichor01 @hirah-yummar @girl-who-writes-stuff @lees-chaotic-brain @konaanaria13 @emiler-love @yourdorkiness @azrielsstarlight

#azriel #azriel x reader #acotar #azsazz #acomaf #acowar #midnight muse #art school au #azriel au #tattoo arstist!azriel

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kkami-writes · 7 months

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waiting for us — chapter thirty two. masterpieces wc. 611 + 2 SS

Hyunjin is nothing but incessant in holding your hand the entire time you guys walk through the gallery. You happily oblige. He all but drags you from painting to painting, literal stars in his eyes while he admires the art. It’s a different look compared to when he’s doing his own sketches, the way his perfectly sculpted eyebrows pinch together and his tongue pokes out.

You will never admit how often you stared at him during your shifts at love stay. Nor are you blind to the others who stare at the pretty boy. For once you’re thankful for your resting bitch face as you glare at them for making Hyunjin uncomfortable under their attention.

Your heart broke when Hyunjin told you about how before he turned 16 people would try to get at him simply for his looks. They had all wanted to wear him like he was a purse, showing him off like he was some trophy. Even after finding his soulmates, people still tried to use him. Some people were shameless.

Yes. Hyunjin is handsome, you’d have to be blind to not think so. But you want to see all the different sides of Hyunjin, learn more about his passions and his hobbies. Even the bad parts, like his caffeine addiction or the constant procrastination on projects.

He’s guiding you through the paintings and statues, leaning close to whisper his own thoughts, analyzing each and every piece. Yet you can’t pay attention to what he’s saying, the way he’s so close that you can smell the floral cologne he’s wearing and it’s making you just the slightest bit light headed. His breath is hot against the shell of your ear, eliciting a shiver running down your spine. You’re pretty sure the boy is doing it on purpose, if his smirk is anything to go by.

You’d like to wipe it off his face.

Preferably with your lips.

Still, despite not being the most artsy person ever or even really know much about fine art you enjoyed looking at all the pieces. An argument could be made that fashion was just another art form and you had enjoyed dressing up, making outfits. It had been the only way you could express yourself and as a bonus it did boost your confidence if not just a little bit.

You know virtually nothing about art though so you’re all the more happy to listen to the boy drone on and on. How can you not when he looks so adorable trying to explain 17th century aesthetics. Honestly it all goes over your head because wow, how can you pay attention to anything when his lips look so enticing? Was he wearing lip gloss? Or were his lips just this shiny?

Jeez, when did you become such a simp? You were simply losing your mind and you’d 100% blame the boys for that. Not that you were really sane in the first place. That’s a different story for another time though.

It only takes about an hour to walk through the entire exhibit, Hyunjin beaming even as you two leave.

“May I escort you home my dear princess,” You rolled your eyes playfully at the boy, slipping your hand into his.

“Of course my lovely prince, I would love nothing more,” His eyes shine a little more as you play along, absolute adoration swimming in his eyes and it makes your heart skip a beat.

And if you kiss him on the cheek before getting out of his car? Well, you’re sure the other boys will know because if you know anything, it’s that Hyunjin will absolutely rub it in their faces.

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lixxpix · 3 months

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to the boy of golden sunlight- hwang hyunjin(h.hj)

summary: your love lasts forever, through the boundaries of time.

warning: angst if you squint??, fluff, and that's it you're good to go:)

to the boy of golden sunlight, i love you.

you would quietly whisper in the night, willing the breeze to carry the words to your lover miles away from you.

to the boy of golden sunlight, i love you.

hyunjin had always thought you were the most beautiful being on earth. if he was your sunlight, you were his moon. calm and quiet, just like the waves crashing against the shore on a calm summer's night. the calmness to his passion, the muse to his inner poet. you two balanced each other out perfectly.

so when you would have little arguments with him, he would do everything to get you back. he couldn't lose you, not now, not ever.

you loved him too, in your own quiet way. you loved everything about him, from the way his eyes would crinkle up into thin creases when he smiled to the way he would kiss you goodbye every single morning without fail. you loved him with all his imperfections, loved him even through every argument you had with him, no matter how big or small.

"hi hyun," you giggled softly when he wrapped his arms around you in one fluid motion, nuzzling his face into your neck and pressing a soft kiss on your cheek.

"had a good day at work?"

hyunjin worked as the proud owner of his own art gallery, having taken interest in art when he was young and dreaming of being an artist or art curator . recently, his studio had begun to rise in popularity, leading to quite a number of famous art curators taking interest in him, so he was always extra busy these days working with clients and whatnot.

"mmm," he hummed, turning you around from where you were cooking at the kitchen to press a soft peck to your lips.

"hyun, i'm cooking, the food will burn," you laughed, turning around and trying to ignore the irresistible pout on his face as best you could.

"aside from one grumpy old art director that kept bugging me to sell one art piece to him , it went well," he sighed. "i've got even more meetings with clients lined up tomorrow, i don't think i even have time to finish that painting of you i'm doing by the end of the week." he frowned, eyebrows creasing slightly.

"well, i'm always available anytime you need to rant," you smiled, finishing up the pasta you had made and putting the pot in the sink to wash.

hyunjin stared, arms finally disentangling from you after back-hugging you for so long. then something clicked in him.

"marry me."

"what?" you stilled in your movements, turning around to look at the man you had called your lover for years.

"marry me." hyunjin stated, taking your hand.

as the soft glow of the lamp cast shadows and hazy light over the shared apartment you two owned, he had never felt more at home, more comfortable, more relaxed, more in love than he had ever been before. right then and there in that moment, he knew he wanted to marry you. wanted to hold you forever, wanted to call you his. he would always love you, now and forever. and he didn't need gaudy displays of affection, no grand gestures, for him to know that you loved him too.

"i'll get a ring soon, flowers, anything you want. but marry me one day." it came out so simply, so softly in the quiet and comfort of your home, his home too.

"i love you," he whispered, thumb brushing gently over the knuckles of your hand as he pressed a kiss to the back of your hand.

"i'll marry you," you sniffed, tears dripping down your face. "my boy of golden sunlight."

#hyunjin x reader #hwang hyunjin #hwang hyujin imagines #stray kids x y/n #stray kids #stray kids x reader #fluff #made me cry #art #non idol au #marriage proposal

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poisonlove · 6 months

Text

A macchiato, please | j.o

part 1

I'm finally home, wrapped in the familiar atmosphere only my apartment can provide. Tex, my affectionate German Shepherd, is my sole company at the moment.

"Hello, sweetheart," I whisper gently, bending down to pet his head as his tail wags happily, displaying pure joy.

"I know... you're hungry," I confirm with a resigned sigh, heading to the kitchen. I open a can of dog food and mix it carefully with the kibbles.

"Enjoy your meal!" I add with a shy smile as Tex starts to happily devour his food.

I toss the keys onto the table.

I was so tired that I decided to skip my usual nightly routine and went straight to bed. I fall onto the soft mattress, exhausted from the long day.

As I turn on my phone, the screen greets me with a notification that seems like a dream.

Jennaortega has started following you.

A thrill of excitement rushes through me.

"I can't believe it," I whisper to myself with a small smile, feeling as if I've won the lottery of luck.

Curious to know more about her, I access her profile, smiling at her beautiful close-up picture. Her bright, happy eyes convey an infectious vitality.

"Wow, 40 million followers," I thought incredulously. It was like stepping into a whole new world, filled with enthusiastic followers.

I smile as I see numerous comments filled with love and support for Jenna, carefully observing her latest post: she was inside a car, wearing headphones. An involuntary sigh escapes my lips; her brown eyes seem to gaze at me as if wanting to read my soul. Her slightly parted lips, her perfectly falling bangs... her posture so natural by the window told a story of freedom and carefreeness.

I follow her back.

With shyness and anxiety, I open the chat and look at Jenna Ortega's profile picture. "You can do this... just say hi," I murmur to myself, trying to muster some courage.

Hello, I hope you enjoyed the place I manage to write, my fingers trembling slightly. I send the message, feeling my heart race. I exit the chat, letting the adrenaline rush through my veins.

I wait anxiously, heart in my mouth, hoping for a response.

The minutes seem endless as the chat remains on standby. Then, suddenly, the phone emits a sound, indicating a new incoming message. The lit screen shows the name Jenna Ortega and a short but kind message: Hi! Yes, I really enjoyed the place, the atmosphere was truly cozy. Thanks!

A spontaneous smile spreads across my face. Is there something you're particularly passionate about? I write, hoping to make the conversation deeper and more interesting.

Jenna's response comes quickly: Mmmh... why this random question?

I nervously bite my lower lip. I don't know, I'd love to know something about you that the internet can't tell me I write honestly.

I involuntarily smile as Jenna puts a heart on my message. "In that case... I love art and culture, so I enjoy visiting museums and art galleries. And also nature, taking long walks in parks."

I feel an immediate connection, as I also loved long walks, especially with Tex, my loyal four-legged companion.

I decide to share this detail:

I also love taking long walks, especially with Tex, my German Shepherd. He's my faithful adventure companion!

Jenna seems to like the bond with the four-legged friend, and the conversation continues on this topic. We've found a common ground that makes the conversation more authentic and enjoyable.

How about we have a call? she suddenly asks.

I feel a thrill of excitement at the opportunity to hear her voice and get to know each other better.

I reply: I'd love to.

A few seconds later, Jenna's profile picture, a white light, appears.

I swallow and, sighing, I accept the call.

"Hey!" My voice trembles slightly, nervous.

Jenna softly laughs, making my heart beat uncontrollably.

"Hello," Jenna responds.

I can sense the smile she's wearing.

"How are you?" I ask and close my eyes at such a basic question.

"Good... just a bit tired," she comments shyly, letting out a small yawn.

My eyes glance at the alarm clock next to my bed, seeing that it's only 10:08 PM.

"Maybe... we talk tomorrow?" I ask worriedly, biting my lower lip.

My heart hammers rapidly in my chest.

"No... I enjoy talking to you," she confesses, and my cheeks flush.

I sigh in relief knowing she couldn't see my blush and smile widely, almost feeling a pain in my cheeks.

"Oh, well... I can say the same," I reply.

Jenna gently laughs, making me smile even more.

"Do you have any interviews tomorrow? Or have the recordings already started?" I ask curiously.

"Mmmh," Jenna murmurs, thoughtful, "I think we're meeting with Tim," she says almost hesitantly.

"Right, it's not certain they're shooting here," I murmur almost sadly.

"I have no idea... but it's very likely," she admits weakly.

An not uncomfortable silence envelops us.

"And tell me... you said you'd be meeting. Who's with you?" I ask with curiosity, clutching the sheets out of nervousness.

"Oh... let me think," Jenna murmurs, "I believe it's Percy and Emma," she admits.

"Emma?" I ask excitedly. "Enid?" I ask with a smile on my face.

"Yes..." she laughs softly at my enthusiasm.

"Do you know I ship them in Wednesday ?" I say excitedly. "Enid and wdenesday are so close and adorable!" I exclaim happily.

Jenna bursts into laughter.

"Maybe it'll be canon... who knows," she says in a sing-song tone.

"Come to think of it..." she begins. "Maybe one day I could introduce you to the cast," she proposes, and I open my mouth in surprise.

"You're not joking... really?" I ask, and she gently laughs at my excitement.

"Seriously, let's say it's a way to pay you back for the coffee," she murmurs, yawning.

My excitement grows as I talk about my passions, the books I love to read, and the places I like to visit in the city. But then, I notice Jenna murmuring timidly, almost incomprehensibly, not responding.

"Jenna, everything okay?" I ask worriedly, sensing something off in the air.

"Mmmh," Jenna responds even more timidly, as if wanting to hide something.

"Did you see the new movie talk to me?" I ask absentmindedly, trying to change the subject and lighten the mood. "It was strange... I feel sorry for the guy, his face got messed up... but the ending... wow," I murmur absentmindedly, hoping to liven up the conversation.

I notice Jenna getting quieter and quieter, and worry grows inside me. "Am I... boring you?" I ask uncertainly, fearing I've made the conversation dull or tiresome for her.

"No," Jenna barely manages to respond, her voice weak and tired.

"I like your voice... keep going..." she affirms with a yawn, trying to encourage me to talk, but it's evident that fatigue is taking over.

Confused, I stutter in my thoughts, "What was I saying?" My mind is a bit foggy, and the fear of having bored her grows.

Jenna's steady breath makes me realize she has fallen asleep. I smile tenderly, knowing it's been a long day for her. Unfortunately, it's clear that tiredness has taken the lead, and I realize it's best to let her rest.

I gaze at the ceiling of my room, smiling.

"Goodnight, Jen," I whisper with a small smile, feeling the breath of the girl on the other end.

#jenna ortega x reader #wednesday addams x reader #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega x y/n #jenna ortega x fem!reader #miércoles addams #wednesday x you #wednesday addams x you #jenna marie ortega #jenna ortega imagine

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cool-fancier · 4 months

Text

Bound By Desire

Synopsis: Bada surrenders to your desires as you explore her body, igniting a passionate encounter between you both.

A/n:uses nickname of ‘princess’ fluff to smut .The characters and especially Bada and events in this story are entirely fictional. Any resemblance to real-life individuals or situations is purely coincidental.A bit rushed

Word count:1.9K

It was on a crisp autumn day, the gentle breeze carrying the scent of fallen leaves. You found yourself in a quaint café, seeking solace in the comforting embrace of a warm cup of coffee. Lost in your thoughts, you sipped your drink, observing the world around you.

As you glanced up, your eyes met Bada's, who stood near the counter, studying the menu. There was an immediate connection, an unspoken understanding that passed between you two. Intrigued by her presence, you gestured towards the empty seat across from you.

"Would you like to join me?" You asked, a gentle smile gracing your lips.

Bada's eyes sparkled with curiosity as she accepted the offer, settling into the chair. You both exchanged pleasantries, engaging in light conversation that gradually deepened. You discovered shared interests, passions, and an appreciation for art, music, and dance.

As the hours flew by, your connection grew stronger. You shared stories, dreams, and fears, gradually peeling back the layers of our souls. It was a slow dance of getting to know one another, each conversation revealing more about your hopes and desires.

Days turned into weeks, and your encounters became more frequent. You embarked on adventures together, exploring the city's hidden gems, visiting art galleries, and immersing ourselves in the beauty of nature. These shared experiences deepened your bond, allowing you to see different facets of each other.

One evening, as you strolled through the park, the setting sun casting a golden glow over everything, Bada turned to you, her eyes filled with a mix of nervousness and anticipation.

"Y/N, I have to confess something," she began, her voice soft yet determined. "I've been feeling a strong connection with you, a connection that I can't ignore. I find myself thinking about you constantly, and I'm drawn to your presence. It's as if we were meant to cross paths."

Her words resonated deep within you, validating the feelings that had been blossoming in your own heart. You reached out, gently taking her hand in yours , your touch conveying a sense of comfort and reassurance.

"Bada," you replied, your voice filled with warmth. "I feel it too. This connection we share is something special, something I've never experienced before. I want to explore it, to see where it leads us. If you're willing, I'd be honored to be your girlfriend."

A smile bloomed on Bada's face, her eyes shining with joy. "Yes, Y/N," she said, her voice filled with a mix of excitement and vulnerability. "I would love for us to be more than just friends.”

From that moment on, your relationship blossomed with a gentle and deliberate pace. You took the time to truly know each other, nurturing an emotional connection as you discovered the intricacies of your thoughts and aspirations. Your physical intimacy, too, grew naturally over time, as you both explored the depths of passion and desire.

Each day brought you closer, deepening your understanding and love for one another. You cherished the simple joys, the laughter, and the shared moments of vulnerability. Your relationship became a tapestry woven with trust, respect, and a genuine appreciation for the unique individuals you were.

As the seasons changed, your love continued to evolve, adapting to the challenges that life presented. You both faced hardships and celebrated triumphs together, providing unwavering support and encouragement. The connection remained steadfast, an anchor in the stormy seas of life.

Looking back, you are grateful for the gradual development of your relationship. It allowed you to build a solid foundation, one rooted in trust, emotional intimacy, and a profound understanding of one another. Your love story continues to unfold, each chapter filled with depth, passion, and a profound appreciation for the journey you embarked upon that fateful autumn day.

— — — — —

You had been away for what felt like an eternity, consumed by the demands of work and the chaos of life. The distance between Bada and you grew, and the ache of longing for her touch intensified with each passing day. But finally, the day had arrived. You stood outside her door, your heart pounding with anticipation.

As you knocked, your mind raced with memories of our passionate encounters, the way her body molded against yours, the taste of her lips, the feel of her skin beneath your fingertips. The door swung open, and there she stood, a vision of beauty and desire, clad in her sweatpants and baggy T-shirt.

Her eyes widened in surprise, a mix of excitement and relief washing over her face. "Y/N," she breathed, her voice filled with longing. "You're finally here."

You couldn't hold back any longer. You surged forward, your lips crashing against hers in a searing, passionate kiss. Your bodies pressed together, and you could feel the heat radiating between the two of you. The taste of her, the familiar scent of her skin, it all flooded your senses, igniting a fire within you that had been dormant for far too long.

As your lips danced, your hands roamed freely, tracing every curve and dip of each other's bodies. The hunger and need for one another were palpable, almost suffocating. You broke the kiss, gasping for air, your eyes locked with hers.

Her lips lingered on your, ascending each step, lost in the fervor of her kiss, guiding you to your shared room.

"Not yet, princess," you whispered against her lips, your voice filled with a mixture of desire and restraint. "I want to savor you."

Bada's lips parted, a soft moan escaping her as she threw her head back against the pillows. The sight of her surrendering to the pleasure you could provide sent a jolt of electricity through you. You trailed kisses along her jawline, nipping at her sensitive skin, before making your way down to the curve of her neck.

Your hands moved with purpose, exploring every inch of her body. You revealed in the softness of her skin, the way it yielded beneath your touch. You could feel her heartbeat quicken against your fingertips, matching the rhythm of your own racing pulse.

Her breathing grew ragged as you made your way lower, your lips and tongue leaving a trail of fire along her collarbone, her chest, her stomach. You dipped your fingers beneath the delicate fabric, feeling her heat radiating against your skin.

Bada's plea was barely a whisper, but it reverberated through the room, fueling the fire that consumed you both. "Y/N, I need you."

You couldn't deny her any longer. You ran a finger through her folds, just to tease her, reveling in the way she arched against your touch. "Oh, princess, I can feel how much you need me," you murmured, your voice filled with a mix of satisfaction and longing.

She begged again, her pouty pink lips forming the most enticing plea. "Please," she whimpered, her voice laced with need.

A wicked smile curled on your lips as you leaned in, your breath warm against her ear. "You look so pretty when you pout, princess," you whispered, your voice a low, seductive murmur. "But I have something better in mind."

With that, you trailed your fingers through her folds again, feeling her growing wetter and wetter in anticipation. Her hips instinctively bucked against your hand, seeking more contact, more friction.

Your own desire burned brightly within you, but you wanted to draw out this moment, to build the tension until it was almost unbearable. You withdrew my hand, leaving Bada panting and needy, her eyes pleading for release.

"Not yet," you said firmly, your voice laced with a hint of dominance. "I want to play with you a little longer."

The frustration and longing danced in her eyes, but she nodded, a mix of anticipation and resignation written across her face. She trusted you completely, knowing that you would lead her to the heights of pleasure.

You continued to tease her, your fingers tracing patterns on her inner thighs, skimming just past where she craved your touch the most. You reveled in the control, in the power you held over her pleasure. Bada's gasps fill the room as you continue to pleasure her, your fingers moving with deliberate precision. Her body arches against your touch, aching for more. You lean in, capturing her lips in a searing kiss, your tongue dancing with hers as you intensify your movements.

A surge of possessiveness courses through you, fueling your desire to claim her completely. You quicken the pace of your fingers, feeling her walls tighten around them. Each stroke brings her closer to the edge, and you can sense her unraveling beneath you.

"You're mine, princess," you growl, your voice dripping with dominance. "No one else can make you feel like this."

Bada's eyes flutter open, the intensity in her gaze mirroring the passion that courses through your veins. "Yes, Y/N," she breathes, her voice laced with submission. "I'm yours, body and soul."

With those words, you feel a surge of power rush through me, emboldening you to push her further. You add a third finger, stretching her, and her moans turn into a symphony of pleasure. Her hips buck against your hand, seeking more friction, more release.

You can feel her approaching the precipice, teetering on the edge of ecstasy. You lean down, capturing one of her pert nipples in your mouth, swirling your tongue around it, while your fingers continue their relentless assault.

"Y/N!" she cries out, her voice filled with a mix of pleasure and desperation. "I'm going to come!"

You pull away, denying her release. "Not yet, princess," you whisper, your breath warm against her ear. "I want to taste you first."

Her eyes widen with anticipation as you position myself between her thighs. The scent of her arousal fills the air, intoxicating you. You lower your head, your tongue flicking against her swollen clit, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from Bada.

You tease her, alternating between slow, languid licks and intense, focused sucking. Her hands grip the sheets, her body writhing beneath you as you bring her to the edge of ecstasy over and over again, denying her release until she's begging for it.

"Please, Y/N," she pleads, her voice desperate. "I can't take it anymore. I need to come."

You smile against her sensitive flesh, savoring the taste of her arousal on your lips. "Beg for it, princess," you command, your voice dripping with dominance.

Her eyes lock with yours, her desperation shining through. "Please, Y/N," she pleads, her voice filled with raw need. "Let me come. I'm yours. Only yours."

The sight of her surrendering to you, her vulnerability laid bare, sends a surge of possessiveness through you. You gave her what she craves, your tongue working tirelessly against her clit as you plunge two fingers back inside her, matching the rhythm of your movements with the intensity of your sucking.

Bada's body tenses, her back arching off the bed as a wave of pleasure crashes over her. She cries out your name, her voice a mix of ecstasy and surrender, as her orgasm ripples through her.

You continue to lavish attention on her sensitive core, prolonging her pleasure as she rides the waves of her release. Finally, when she's spent, you ease off, your lips trailing kisses along her inner thighs.

Bada's chest rises and falls rapidly as she tries to catch her breath. She looks at me with a mixture of awe and adoration, her eyes shining with unspoken emotions.

"Y/N," she whispers, her voice filled with love and gratitude. "That was... incredible."

You crawl up the bed, wrapping your arms around her and pulling her close. "You're incredible, princess," you murmur, nuzzling against her neck. "But… I'm just getting started."

#bada lee x reader #swf2 #swf2 x reader #bada lee #street woman fighter 2 #bebe #bada lee fanfic #bada lee x oc #bada lee x y/n #bada lee smut #bada #bada lee imagines #lee bada #bada fanfic

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socialtownie · 11 months

Photo

thriftea! | lot download

sfs • patreon • google drive gallery id_socialtownie

a kind anon requested that I upload this build a while ago, so here it is! sorry it took so long, but I hope those who download enjoy the lot !

made for the thriftea lot in copperdale

the top of the boba shop can be a cute little office space, that was my intention for it ♥️

please tag me if you use it !

do not reupload or claim as yours

prev shots of build: 1 / 2

some cc is included

packs/kits used: high school years, eco lifestyle, discover university, seasons, cats + dogs, city living, get together, get to work, werewolves, dream home decorator, parenthood, strangerville, vampires, dine out, tiny living, moschino, toddler stuff, bowling night, everyday clutter, pastel pop, moonlight chic

required cc & cc credits under the cut

cc list: hsy posters by aoifae/citrlet / boring trashcan by blarffy / felt letter board by budgie / I woke up like this neon light by domi / spoons windows + door by harrie / matisse but maxis match poster + ty poster by honeycuts / baysic canisters by harlix / blockhouse living sectional by kiwisim4 / office set posters by mechtasims / sol kitchen (old version) wall shelf + zephyr office pc by myshunosun / elegant neutrals wallpaper by novvvas / freelancers art prints + retail therapy awning by me / domaine du clos backpack, windows, doors, + brick by pierisim / sulsul neon sign by imfromsixam

*bolded text is required cc

#socialtownie builds #ts4 lot download #socialtownie dls #posts #@socialtownie

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heartateasee · 4 months

Text

“The Gallery”

Word count: 15.1k

Warnings: Unprotected sex

You can check out more of my work here: https://www.wattpad.com/user/heartatease (but I plan on uploading tumblr specific writing to this blog as well)

⚘⚘⚘

Darcie stood in front of the three black and white canvases that were hanging on one of the walls of the art gallery she was currently employed at. Her head was tilted to the side as she hugged a glass of champagne against her chest. She was dressed in a pale pink jumpsuit with a corset-like top that complimented her olive colored skin, and accentuated her curves perfectly, but it wasn't all that revealing. Nude strappy heels were on her feet, and her hair was straightened, but still a bit big given how thick it was.

She wasn't working tonight, her boss giving her the night off to truly enjoy the showing that was happening. This gallery was a dream of hers, and she knew that she was on her way to being part owner of it. Art had always spoken to her. Whether it be paintings, photography or just drawings - it moved her all the same.

Taking a small sip from her glass, she walked a bit closer to the canvases, fingertips drifting along the bottom of one of them.

"Don't think you're supposed to touch those, you know?"

Darcie jumped slightly, quickly turning to see a man leaning against the pillar close to her. Shaggy chestnut curls were pushed back by a pair of sunglasses, but piercing green eyes were staring back at her. He was adorned in a pair of khaki trousers and a rust orange sweater - black and white old skool Vans on his feet.

"Oh, I just-"

"Those portraits are of you, aren't they?" He asked, raising his hand that held his glass of caramel colored liquor so he could point a finger at the wall.

The mystery man pushed himself off the pillar, beginning to walk in her direction. She nibbled on her bottom lip as he stood beside her, shoulder to shoulder, and he continued to admire the work in front of him.

"Why do you think these are me?" She asked, finally speaking to him after a moment or two.

Smirking softly, he looked over at Darcie - taking a sip of his drink as he looked back to the art. "The lighting may be completely different in this room right now, but I know how shadows would hit your curves. The way that I see it in my head is the exact way it's portrayed in these photos right in front of us - it has to be you. The curvature of your body is beautiful, and there's absolutely no way you can tell me that what I'm envisioning in my mind isn't what I'm seeing on this wall right now."

Darcie felt a warmth covering over the apples of her cheeks, and she quickly looked away from the man standing next to her as she stifled a giggle. He looked away from the wall to watch her, and a smile of his own took over his lips as he saw just how flushed he had caused her to be.

"So, do I get to know if I'm right?" He questioned, pursing his lip slightly to the side.

Darcie slowly looked back over at him, tapping her fingertips against the champagne flute in her hand. "You're right."

The man smirked softly, and she watched as the tip of his tongue ran along the inside of his cheek. "Well, it would be hard to get it wrong when it comes to someone as gorgeous as yourself."

Silence took over the both of them, but neither of them felt uncomfortable. They walked along the wall together a bit further, and Darcie could feel her face redden even more as they got to canvases that were so obviously her. These were more casual - her laying on a blanket in the middle of a park on an autumn day.

"Now these - there's no denying that these are you," he joked, glancing over to her, and she noticed the dimple denting his cheek as she looked back at him. "You must be quite the muse."

Darcie swallowed harshly as her brown eyes held his moss ones, and she quickly looked to her feet as she started to feel a bit overwhelmed. She was confident in herself, but there was something about this stranger that caused nerves to tingle in the depths of her stomach. It was a sensation she hadn't experienced in some time.

"Uhm, I guess so?"

"I'm Harry, by the way," the man spoke, holding his free hand out to her. He bit down on his bottom lip to conceal how much he was enjoying the pink tint covering her skin. It contrasted against her tanned complexion in such a way that drew him in.

"Nice to meet you, Harry, I'm-"

"Darcie," a voice came from behind the pair, and she looked over her shoulder to see her boyfriend, Joel, approaching them - causing Harry to quickly drop his hand.

"Hi darling," she cooed softly as he wrapped his arm around her waist, leaning down to plant a kiss against her cheek. "Did you make that sale?

Joel had left Darcie to speak to a potential buyer who was interested in the canvases of snapshots he had taken during a small trip to Portugal last year.

"I did, he was very happy to take them off my hands," Joel responded.

Harry immediately realized how much he had overstepped, and he grew a bit uncomfortable. Darcie turned to look back in his direction, placing her freehand against Joel's chest.

"This gentleman was actually just admiring your work as well," Darcie stated, noticing how uneasy Harry had started to look, and she felt a bit guilty.

"Oh, thanks man," Joel said, reaching a hand out. "I'm Joel."

"Harry."

They shook hands, and Darcie quickly downed the rest of their champagne as she wasn't sure how this could go. It was apparent that Joel was completely oblivious to the flirting that Harry had been doing previously though.

"Do you shoot as well?" Joel asked curiously.

Harry cleared his throat, taking another sip of his drink before answering. "I do, actually. What are you shooting on? These are magnificent. Both sets."

Harry's hand gestured to both the black and white photos that he had first noticed, as well as the ones of Darcie in the park.

"Well, it comes a little easy when I have someone as beautiful as her in front of the lens," Joel chuckled, squeezing Darcie's hip before focusing back on Harry. "I'm currently shooting on a Fujifilm GFX 100S, how about you?"

Lifting a hand to rub the back of his neck, Harry suddenly felt a bit awkward about the information he was about to share. "Oh, I've been shooting on a Leica S3 for the past year or so."

Darcie watched as Joel's eyes widened, and his jaw slightly dropped. "Holy shit, that's an almost twenty grand camera."

"It was a gift from a teacher," Harry said, really hoping that he didn't come across as some pretentious prick. "Not a college professor or anything like that, just someone who helped me learn a lot of things, and he thought of me like a son so..."

"I'm sorry for your loss," Darcie spoke up, immediately catching onto the fact that Harry was speaking about this particular person in the past tense.

Harry's eyes flickered over to hers, holding them. "Thank you."

"Joel!"

The three of them looked in the direction of where Joel's name was called from, and he quickly leaned down to press another kiss to the corner of Darcie's lips. "I'll be right back."

Darcie kept her eyes trained on her boyfriend as he walked away before turning back to Harry.

"I feel like I need to apologize," Harry rushed out, walking just a bit closer to her. "I'm sorry, if I had known that you were seeing someone I would've never flirted with you the way I was."

"Harry, really, it's okay," Darcie said, shaking her head softly at him. "And to be fair, yes, you were flirting, but you were extremely respectful. I also didn't necessarily stop you so..."

Harry let out a soft sigh, pressing his hand against his chest. "Okay, good, I just...I didn't want to make you feel uncomfortable. That's the last thing I would ever want."

"You didn't," Darcie giggled, finding this all a bit amusing. "I promise."

"Do you frequent this gallery often?" Harry asked, trying to steer their conversation in a more friendly, not flirty, direction.

"I actually work here," Darcie told him, giving him a large smile. "Hopefully working up to part owner soon."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Wow, that's impressive. Good for you."

The two of them continued to walk along the gallery, exchanging simple conversation, and having a drink refill along the way. As they approached the end of the photos, Harry placed his now empty glass on a table and turned to Darcie.

"I just want to say, you were exceptional company tonight," he confessed, tucking his hands into the front pockets of his pants. "And I have to tell you this because I can't leave without doing so, but you're a very stunning woman, and if you didn't have a boyfriend, I would absolutely be asking you to get a drink with me once you were finished here."

Darcie knew that Harry didn't mean any harm by what he was saying, and she actually appreciated his honesty. She couldn't blame Joel for being away all night, but she would admit that Harry's company was nice. They didn't know each other at all, but something about his presence helped her get through it all.

"Babe," she heard Joel's voice calling out to her, and he quickly rushed over. "I just made another five grand."

Darcie's eyes widened, shaking her head. "Oh my god, what did they buy?

"Your black and white portraits."

A frown quickly took over her features, and she took a step back from her boyfriend. "You told me that you weren't going to sell those. You said that those were only for you or me - other than displaying them to showcase your work."

Harry suddenly felt a bit of disgust brew in his chest from what he was hearing.

"I know, Cece, but it's a lot of money," Joel tried to reason, and Harry watched as Darcie took a deep breath.

Darcie actually hated the nickname 'Cece', but she never tried to correct Joel. She didn't want to hurt his feelings.

"I understand that, Joel, I really do," Darcie said, nodding her head. "I know we had them here tonight, but those are personal photos, and it's one thing for people to see them - it's another for someone other than me and you to have them in their possession. That's...that's my body. That's me."

"Oh come on, you let me take them, didn't you? You knew they were going to be shared around."

"Hey man," Harry didn't think twice about stepping in. "It is her body at the end of the day. From photographer to photographer, if she didn't consent to you selling, that's a bit fucked up."

Joel cut his eyes at Harry, quickly pulling Darcie behind his body to shield her from him. "Yeah, well I think it's a bit fucked up that I've looked over several times tonight, and I've seen you lingering around my girlfriend. What do you have to say about that?"

"Oh my god, Joel!" Darcie exclaimed, gripping his arm. "Please, he wasn't doing anything. We were just talking about your work, really."

"Look, I don't mean any harm, but-" Harry started, but before he could get another word in, he felt a shove to his shoulder.

"I advise that you leave - right now."

Darcie looked between the two of them with wide eyes, her full lips parted as she tried to make sense of what was happening in front of her. Part of her wanted to defend Joel, her boyfriend, because he had been her partner for the past eight months, but there was another part of her that wanted to defend Harry, the man she had just met.

"Okay," Harry nodded, eyes flashing to Darcie for a moment before looking back to Joel. "I'll go."

Joel and Darcie watched as Harry exited the main gallery and started towards the lobby, and it caused that feeling of guilt to creep into Darcie's stomach once more.

⚘⚘⚘

It was a week or so later that Darcie was working at the gallery, and she was still extremely irritated with Joel for selling off those pictures of her. The ones of her in the park returned to his apartment as planned, but the black and white ones had been sold, and they ended up being sold to someone for twice the amount that Joel initially planned to sell them for.

It caused a big rift between the two of them, and she questioned their entire relationship at the fact that he would do something like this for money. Regardless of her pleading with him not to let those pictures go anywhere but his or her place, he still did it. That sour taste in her mouth at the whole thing was growing hard to get rid of.

"Darcie," Fiona, one of the interns, spoke up as she knocked on the doorway of her office. "There's a package for you at the front desk."

"Thanks," Darcie said, hardly looking up from her computer as she was finishing up an email to a potential client.

She was expecting a few shipments of art to display as a lot of recent pieces had ended up selling, so she wasn't the least bit surprised to hear that there was a delivery for her. Darcie pushed herself up from her desk and walked towards the front.

"These mine?" She asked Angie behind the desk who was currently on the phone. Angie gave Darcie a nod, and she collected the wrapped pieces before heading back to her office.

She placed them on her desk, undoing the tie that was holding them together. As she began to unwrap the first canvas, her jaw dropped slightly. It took her a moment to process, and her eyes wandered over the picture.

It was her.

Darcie quickly worked to unwrap the other two pieces, realizing they were also her. All three of the black and white portraits from Joel's show. As she unwrapped the last one, a piece of folded paper fell out of the wrapping and she immediately grabbed it. She unfolded it, and allowed her eyes to bounce along the handwriting covering the page.

"I know you didn't want these pictures going anywhere but the two of you. Before I left, I offered to pay double of what Joel previously accepted, and I was met with an immediate 'yes'. I only did that so I could get these back to you - just as you wanted. I hope this can bring you some relief in knowing they aren't just hanging up in some random person's home.

Take care, Darcie. Maybe at some point we'll meet again. xx

-H"

Darcie let out a small laugh of disbelief, her hands tracing over the canvases in front of her once she set the letter down. She knew it was Harry - it had to be. No other person heard the fight between her and Joel, and the fact that the letter was signed 'H' just solidified that it was him. The way that he would go to these lengths just to protect these pictures of her after hearing her plead with her boyfriend not to sell them was unfathomable.

She sat down quickly at her computer and went into their customer database. It was a bit risky to do this, as she was breaking a few rules by searching for a customer's personal information for something other than a sale, but she needed to find him. Her eyebrows narrowed as she typed 'Harry' into the search engine under the first name, and an immediate groan left her as over fifteen thousand matches popped up. It's what she should have expected, but all she wanted to do was thank him for what he had done for her.

⚘⚘⚘

It was the following June, a little over a year since Joel's showing at the art gallery, and Darcie was preparing for another showing tonight. This one she would be working, seeing as she did get the position of part opener at the end of last year. This particular showing also was not one of Joel's, but a gentleman who was new to the area. His name was Ethan, and this was his first showing in the city.

The showing was already in full force come eight o'clock, and Darcie hadn't stopped moving around since it started. She thought that by now she would be able to leave things in the hands of others so that she could have a cocktail while viewing the pieces, but that looked almost impossible at the moment.

"Darcie, please go and enjoy the showing," Angie, who was now her personal assistant instead of just working the front desk at the gallery, pleaded as she followed behind her boss. "I promise that we can take care of everything else."

Darcie let out a sigh, standing with her hands on her hips as she looked along the crowd around them. "Are you absolutely positive, Angie?"

Angie nodded eagerly, placing a hand on Darcie's back as she guided her to the bar. "Have a drink, and go."

There wasn't another second to spare an argument from Darcie as Angie had quickly turned on her heels and started back towards the main area of the showing. Turning her attention back to the bartender, Darcie ordered herself a dirty martini with extra olives and the bartender obliged. With her drink in her hand, she walked to the beginning of the gallery - starting from 'the beginning' as Ethan had labeled it.

Her feet carried her into the next room a few minutes later, quite bigger than the first room, and there were benches in the middle that you could sit on and admire the work if you chose to do so. As she stared at one particular piece, one that displayed a woman laying in a field of flowers, she suddenly felt a presence behind her.

"I much preferred the showing from last May, if I'm going to be completely honest."

The rich accent that Darcie figured she would never hear again flooded into her ears, and she slowly looked over her shoulder to see Harry with a small smirk on his lips.

"Is that so?" Darcie asked playfully, watching as Harry's dimples appeared as his smirk morphed into a wide smile.

"Absolutely, bought three pieces myself, didn't you know?

Looking down at her drink, Darcie laughed at Harry's statement - knowing that he was referring to her pieces that he had sent her. She lifted a hand to twirl the small skewer with her remaining olives, watching as she moved it around her drink. By the time she looked back up, Harry was directly at her side.

They took a moment and allowed their eyes to drag over one another, and Darcie noted at how much more formal he looked tonight than the last time he was here. Harry made note that Darcie looked a bit more carefree, and the dress she had on tonight was way more revealing than the jumpsuit she wore last year.

"Another showing of your boyfriend's?" Harry quipped, and Darcie just about choked on the sip she had just taken of her martini. He chuckled softly, muttering a quick 'sorry' as he watched her wipe her fingertips over her lips.

"Well," Darcie started once she had gathered herself. "Would be difficult for this to be a boyfriend's showing considering I don't have one of those."

Harry raised an eyebrow, taking a sip of his own drink as he hummed in response.

"What?" Darcie questioned, biting one of the olives off the skewer.

He tried so hard not to, but Harry couldn't help that he directed his eyeline to her lips as she pulled the garnish into her mouth. Darcie noticed immediately, and as much as she wanted to tease him for it, she decided not to.

"Nothing," Harry cleared his throat, and Darcie disguised her crooked grin as she saw a soft blush on his cheekbones.

They both looked back to the canvas in front of them, taking it in together, and they each felt as if they were experiencing deja vu. Darcie's heels lightly clicked against the floor as they continued to make their way around the showing, and eventually Harry turned to look at her again.

"So, did you get your part owner position?" He asked, finishing off his drink as he could see they were nearing the end of the pictures.

Darcie's eyes widened, shocked that Harry had remembered that detail from their conversation. "Uhm...yes, actually," she said with a soft nod. "I was in charge of planning this whole showing tonight. It was so busy I didn't think that I'd be able to enjoy it myself, but my assistant made it a point to tell me that she could handle it."

"Well, I'm glad she did that. I caught a glimpse of you when I first walked in, but you looked like you were extremely busy. I didn't want to bother you."

"Looking for me, were you?" Darcie teased, finishing off the rest of her martini - popping the last olive into her mouth once she swallowed.

Harry pulled his bottom lip through his teeth, but his boyish smile still made its way through. "Can you blame me? I meant what I said last time we saw each other, Darcie. You're stunning, and I enjoyed your company that night. I hoped that this time I would actually be able to do what I wanted to do last time."

"And what would that be?"

Harry walked a bit closer, still leaving the slightest gap between the two of them. "Me asking you to have a drink with me once you're finished here. We can go wherever you want - I'm just not ready to say goodnight to you yet."

Darcie's stomach flipped with excitement at Harry's request. She hadn't been on any dates since her and Joel broke up not too long after his showing. She saw his true colors that night, and she didn't like them. Since then, she really hadn't had any time to focus on dating. All of her time was invested in the gallery these days, and she enjoyed it that way.

But she had hoped that one day she would get the opportunity to thank Harry for his kind gesture, and the fact that he was opening that door for her, she wasn't going to pass it up.

Not to mention he was also extremely attractive, and his raspy accent made her want to melt into the floor.

"I think I can manage that," Darcie responded, trying not to seem too eager when really she was ecstatic to be going out with him. She felt like it was fate that he ended up back here tonight, and that maybe this was going to lead to something more.

Harry and Darcie placed their empty glasses back on the bar, and Harry's hand found the small of her back as they began to walk through the crowd of people.

"I just need to find my assistant and make sure that everything's good before we go. This is going to be ending here soon anyway," Darcie told Harry over her shoulder as they walked, given he was walking at an angle behind her, but he still made sure he kept his hand securely on her back.

Darcie quickly located Angie, and she told Harry to excuse her for just a moment. He nodded, eyes staying trained on her as she made her way over to a blonde in the corner of the room. He watched as the blonde's eyes flickered over to him, and Darcie quickly turned so that their backs were facing him. Harry laughed to himself, as the blonde was clearly told not to look over at him, but she did it anyway.

It was only a few seconds later that Darcie made her way back over to Harry with a small black handbag over her shoulder. "Angie actually has it all covered, so I'm ready to go whenever you are."

"I think I'm all set," Harry told her, his hand finding its home on her back once again.

They made their way out of the gallery and onto the street, the newly summer breeze fanning over their bodies. "There's a nice tapas bar a block or so down that has really good tequila if you're interested in something like that," Darcie suggested with a small shrug.

"Lead the way," Harry encouraged her, making sure to walk close to her on the sidewalk.

Darcie decided to be a bit brave, and she curled into Harry's side slightly as they walked. Harry noticed, and his stomach knotted just a bit. As confident as he tried to come off to her, Darcie did make him nervous. She was easily the most gorgeous woman he ever had the chance of being in the presence of, and the fact that she was reciprocating his advances had him both excited and anxious.

"Do you go to this bar often?" He asked, trying to start up another conversation with her. The silence wasn't awkward, but he wanted to be able to talk to her as much as possible before the night was through.

"I do," Darcie said with a soft nod. "It's a regular after work spot for a lot of us. We're missing it tonight, obviously, but they have a really great happy hour. Are you hungry at all? The food is fantastic and authentic."

"I could eat."

Darcie pointed at an upcoming building, and once they reached it, Harry held the door open for her. They stepped inside, and Darcie immediately walked up to the hostess stand.

"Hi there, is the rooftop bar open tonight?" She asked, and the hostess gave her a nod. "Would it be possible for my friend and I to be seated up there, please?"

"Absolutely - just the two of you, Miss Crane?"

"Yes, just the two of us. Thank you so much."

Darcie walked back to Harry and locked her arm around his, her hand cupping to his bicep, as they began to follow the hostess up the staircase that was right near the entrance. The building wasn't too tall, so they only had to walk up two flights of steps before they were exiting out a side door that brought them out onto the roof.

The hostess walked them over to a small two top table that had an incredible view of the city before placing their menus down. "Your server will be right with you guys. Good to see you again, Miss Crane."

Harry quickly pulled out Darcie's seat for her, earning him a 'thank you' before he assisted her with scooting it in a bit. He sat in his own chair, shrugging off his suit jacket - draping the garment over the back of it. His eyes wandered over the drink menu as he undid the buttons of his sleeves around his wrist, beginning to roll them up to his elbows.

Although Harry's eyes were on the menu, Darcie's eyes were glued to Harry's actions. She watched as his fingers gracefully tucked and rolled the shirt, and her eyebrows raised as ink became visible on both of his arms. Harry could feel her eyes after a moment, and he eventually looked up to see her staring at him with slightly wide eyes.

"What? Are tattoos a deal breaker?" He joked, causing Darcie to come back into the present moment. They both laughed softly at his remark before she shook her head.

"I mean, if they are a deal breaker it's because I tend to be attracted to those with tattoos, not the other way around. How long have you been getting tattooed for? You seem to have quite a few."

"Since I was eighteen, and I have plenty more. My torso, hips, thighs and a few here and there along the rest of my legs," Harry said with a shrug.

Darcie's mouth began to run dry, and she quickly grabbed the complimentary water the hostess had poured for them before she left, taking a few big sips to try to get herself together. Thinking about the tattoos on his hips and his thighs caused her mind to slightly spiral, and she knew if she allowed herself to linger on it too much that she could become a babbling mess.

"Seems like you do come here quite often since you're on a name basis with the staff," Harry smirked as he took a sip of water himself.

"I insist that they call me Darcie, but the owner is adamant that they don't," Darcie cringed slightly. "Miss Crane just sounds so formal."

"Darcie Crane," Harry mused, letting out a bit of a hum afterwards. "That's definitely a beautiful name."

"Darcie Lennox Crane, if you want to get official."

Harry's eyebrows raised, slightly surprised that she would reveal her full name to him so suddenly. "Well, Darcie Lennox Crane, I'm Harry Edward Styles," he stated, holding his hand out to her. "It's nice to officially meet you...again."

Darcie's stomach somersaulted at Harry's gesture, and she let out a small laugh as she placed her hand in his. They shook them a couple times before they both busted out into a fit of laughter, dropping their hands back onto the top of the table.

A server ended up coming over to the table, and Darcie ordered herself an Añejo old fashioned. Harry was surprised by her drink of choice, and decided on ordering one of those for himself as well. The server walked away to ring in their drinks, and Darcie turned back to Harry.

"Any dietary restrictions?" she asked. "I have a few go to tapas that I could order for us, but I want to make sure I get what you like or what you can have."

"I'm a vegetarian, but other than that, no allergies or anything," Harry responded, tapping his fingertips against his glass of water.

"I can work with that," Darcie teased playfully.

"So, tell me a little bit more about yourself," Harry said, leaning forward to cross his arms on the top of the table.

Darcie pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, looking out at the city for a moment - tucking a strand of hair that was blowing in the breeze behind her ear. It had been a while since she had to do this. New people didn't come into her life very often these days, at least not on this level, and she wasn't really sure if she found herself all that exciting.

"Well," she started, after clearing her throat, looking back over to Harry to see him still looking at her so intently. "As you know, I'm now part owner of the gallery, and I'm really enjoying that. I have a master's degree in art history, so if that doesn't tell you where my heart lies."

Darcie chewed on the inside of her cheek, trying to think of anything else that would still have her come off as interesting to the appealing gentleman in front of her. "I speak fluent Spanish. I have my whole life practically because my grandmother speaks very little English and, if I'm not at the art gallery, I enjoy readings...like poetry readings."

Harry had moved to cup his chin in his palm as Darcie spoke, his focus completely on her. He couldn't remember the last time he was so intrigued with someone. He'd be lying if he said her beautiful face, and her stunning figure, hadn't popped up into his mind more times than he could count over the past year or so, but now it was nice to match her inviting personality with that as well.

When he witnessed how much of an ass her boyfriend was at that showing last year, and the fact that he would let some random person buy pictures of his girlfriend without her consent, he knew he needed to do something about it. He didn't even think twice about stopping by the table that was set up for those who were interested in buying on the way out. Although Joel had threatened him to leave, there was no way he was going to do that without ensuring those pictures were his. The intention was always to get them back to Darcie, and with him knowing that she worked at the gallery, it made it all so easy.

"A master's degree...speaking fluent spanish?" Harry quirked a brow with a small nod. "Intelligent and beautiful. Consider me one of the luckiest men in the world to be here at this table with you tonight."

Darcie shook her head at Harry, shielding her face slightly for a moment with her hand. "You're ridiculous," she laughed, feeling the heat on her cheeks.

"I'm just telling the truth, Miss Crane."

The server came back over with their drinks, placing them down on the table before asking if they were ready to order.

"Yes, we're going to order a few things, actually. We'll take one order of the patatas bravas, pimientos de Padrón..." Darcie quickly turned her attention over to Harry. "Pesecetarian?"

Harry gave her a quick nod before she turned back to their server. "An order of gambas al ajillo, and pulpo a la Gallega."

Harry was more than impressed at the fluidity of how Darcie ordered, knowing exactly what she could and couldn't order for Harry due to his restriction. Once the server walked away, Darcie focused back in on him, seeing the slight smile tugging on his lips.

"What?" She asked, tilting her head to the side.

Harry took the moment to really admire her. The shape of her sculpted nose with the freckles that were scattered across it. Her lips with the defined cupid's bow, and the way her hair framed perfectly around her face. He was so drawn in already, hell, he was already drawn in last year, but now seeing how she truly carried herself - it just made her that much more appealing to him.

"That was..." Harry started but cleared his throat, licking over his bottom lip. "I'm sorry, but for lack of a better term, that was sexy. You're a woman who's very sure of what she wants, and you deliver that with such confidence."

"Oh but if he only knew," Darcie thought to herself.

The only thing that she was sure she wanted was Harry's attention, and maybe more than that, but her confidence that she had in almost every other aspect was not coming to her tonight. He intimidated her in the best way possible. He was so sure of himself, and she hadn't really met anyone who exuded that as much as he did before.

"I told you, I just come here a lot," Darcie said, trying not to have him read too much into her.

"It's not just that," Harry responded with a shake of his head. He ran the tip of his finger around the rim of his glass, waiting to cheers her properly before taking the first sip. "It's everything about you as a whole. I hope I don't overstep by saying that you intrigue me, Darcie. You did a year ago, and even further now that I'm seeing more of you."

Darcie honed in on his finger dancing around the rim, and that's when she noticed just how many rings he had adorning both of his hands.

If Darcie had been standing, she surely would have been weak at the knees. Her body was turning into complete jello the more he spoke about her. Sure, others had talked about her in the past in ways that complimented her, but never like Harry was tonight.

"Well, you intrigue me too," Darcie admitted, lifting her drink out to him. "To an unexpected reunion."

"To an unexpected reunion."

They allowed their glasses to clink together before they each took a sip from their drink. Darcie's eyes peered at him over the bottom of the glass - waiting for his reaction. Harry's brows launched into his forehead for a moment before they settled, and they both lowered their drinks.

"Oh wow," he said, patting his lips together for a moment before licking over them. "That's really good. I've never had one of these before."

"It's my tried and true," Darcie said with a shrug. "I'm glad that you enjoy it."

Darcie now took the time to study Harry. His curls were a bit shorter than the last time she had seen him, and he was obviously dressed up a bit more than he was the first time. She had to wonder if he did that consciously, or if he switched his style up on a whim.

"So I have to ask," she spoke up again after taking another sip of her drink. "You spoke about a mentor of sorts that helped you learn what you know as far as photography goes. How long did he teach you?"

"A few years," Harry responded, swirling the liquid around in his glass a bit. "He was older, and he knew he wasn't in the best of health. There wasn't anything in particular that was wrong, no disease or anything - it was just his time. He left a lot to me, and he actually just passed away before I went to the showing last year. He was my biggest supporter."

Darcie nodded, and she could see a glaze of sorrow coat over Harry's emerald eyes. Slowly, she reached a hand out to run her fingertips over the back of his hand that was still casually resting on the table. "I'm sure he taught you so well, Harry, and I'm certain that teaching you was probably one of his greatest joys. From the little bit you've told me, I think he cherished you dearly."

To try to get his mind off of the sensitive subject she had brought up, she gave his hand a small squeeze before pulling it away. "So what is your typical thing to shoot? Do you shoot people, animals, objects..."

"People mostly," Harry said as he looked down at his drink in his glass. "I shot a few models here and there throughout photography school, but after that I really only shot people that I was...involved with. Men and women."

Hesitantly, Harry brought his eyes up to look at Darcie who remained sitting there with an unchanged expression on her face. Usually when Harry had brought up that he had been with men in the past, most women he was interested in would quickly end the encounter and leave. He wasn't getting that type of vibe from Darcie, but he couldn't quite make out the look she was giving him.

"Well, I think sometimes it's better for the artist to work with someone they feel close to," Darcie began to explain. "You can read them better, and you can sometimes pose them in a way that feels more comfortable - not to mention the model feels safe and relaxed when they know who's behind the camera."

Harry's eyebrows narrowed slightly. "You...you don't care that I've been involved with men?"

"What?" Darcie asked, her brows now mimicking Harry's. "No, absolutely not, Harry. I've been with both men and women myself. Were you worried about sharing that part of yourself with me?"

For the first time tonight, Darcie was seeing a bit of Harry's vulnerability.

"It's not so much that it was about you. I've just had bad experiences with revealing that part of myself. Both men and women, actually, have issues sometimes. It's mostly women though that aren't the biggest fans of me involving myself with both genders. I've even been with those who choose not to label themselves at all. I'm just attracted to people in general, I think. I don't really label myself."

"Trust me, if anyone gets that, it's me. I feel the same way. I'm just attracted to people. Joel actually hated that about me," Darcie confessed. "Was always worried that his beloved Cece was going to leave him for a woman...insecure bastard."

Darcie took a large sip of her drink, and Harry couldn't help but slightly snort at the name she had given her ex, and the fact she had brought up his nickname for her. "Yeah, he wasn't the kindest human around was he? And I could tell you hated that nickname, by the way.”

"Not at all a nice guy, and fuck, that nickname was so cringy. I was way too nice, and I didn't want to hurt his feelings by telling him that I absolutely hated it."

They took in the sound of the city for a few moments before the server came over with a large tray, setting down all the different tapas that Darcie had ordered onto the table. Darcie and Harry both thanked them as they placed their napkins in their laps.

"Okay, let me give you the run down before we start," Darcie said, a smile creeping onto her lips. She was a true foodie, especially when it came to authentic foods, and she enjoyed introducing people to new things. "So this here is fried potatoes mixed with spices and sauces, these are just blistered Padron peppers..."

Darcie's dainty finger pointed to each dish as she explained it to Harry, and it honestly warmed his heart that she was taking the time to explain what he would be eating. "These are shrimp in a Spanish style garlic sauce, and lastly this is octopus."

Harry made a slight face and Darcie quickly raised her finger. "Hear me out for a second," she giggled. "It's boiled in a copper cauldron so that the consistency is just right, and it's seasoned with paprika, salt and olive oil. They say it's best if you drink it with red wine, but we'll stick with what we have because I think it's still just as good. And that's just bread on the side that pairs well with it."

The thought of different food didn't disgust Harry really, he had just never tried it before, but he was the type of person who was open to trying any food at least once. "Well, I guess starting here is as good as anywhere, hm?" He asked, pointing to the plate stacked with the octopus pieces.

"I would say so, yes."

Darcie and Harry each grabbed a piece of bread before grabbing a chunk of octopus to place on top. "Cheers," they said in unison, tapping their pieces of food together. They plopped them into their mouths and chewed, a large smile overtaking Darcie's lips as they did so.

Harry licked over his lips once finished, and gave her a nod. "Okay, that's extremely delicious."

"I told you!" Darcie exclaimed, grabbing her drink to take a sip. "See, you got through the hard one, now everything else you don't have to be scared of."

Darcie and Harry made their way through the food, Harry actually liking the octopus dish so much that he ordered a second serving when they ordered another round of drinks. By the end of the night, they were slouched in their seats with full bellies and a nice buzz from the alcohol.

"I'm taking you didn't drive this evening?" Harry asked Darcie after requesting the bill from their server.

Shaking her head, Darcie finished off her drink - ice clinking around the glass as she did so. "Nope, I knew I'd probably have a few drinks once the showing was over, so I grabbed an Uber."

"Thankfully I can walk to both here and the gallery from my place. How far out is it for you?"

"Walking wise? Probably a twenty minute walk," Darcie shrugged, snagging a large claw clip from her bag to pin her hair up loosely. "I've done it before, but I'm too full tonight to do so."

The bill came and both Darcie and Harry reached for it at the same time. Darcie shook her head, hand clasping around the book. "Harry, please, let me," she insisted. "I ordered all that food with the intention of paying."

"There's no way I'm letting you pay for this, Darcie," Harry argued, his hand closing down around part of the book as well. "Especially considering it was a big night for you with your showing and all. Let me help you celebrate."

Darcie shook her head again, beginning to tug the check in her direction. "C'mon, I really don't mind."

Harry pursed his lips to the side, studying Darcie for what felt like the millionth time tonight. Now that her hair was up in the claw clip, he could see the long line of her neck, and his mind was already picturing the way he could pose her to where the light would hit it beautifully.

"Okay, fine," Harry agreed with a soft nod, but he didn't release the check yet. "I'll let you pay if you model for me. I need a few more pictures for a portfolio I'm sending in for a showing a few states over. You'd be perfect."

He hoped he didn't run her off with his offer. He wasn't sure if she had even posed for anyone since Joel, or if she'd be interested in doing so again. Part of him felt a bit foolish now because he wasn't sure if there was hesitancy there.

Darcie smirked softly at Harry, tilting her chin up a bit. "Is that what all of tonight was for? Just to get me to pose for you? You did say I was quite the muse - I haven't forgotten."

Harry's eyes widened a bit, and he moved his head in disagreement. "No, no absolutely not," he stated, beginning to fumble over his words a bit.

Holding it in for as long as she could, Darcie busted out laughing after a moment, falling back in her seat a bit. "Harry, I'm just joking. I'd love to pose for you."

Harry let out a loud sigh, dropping the check onto the table as he was still holding it. "Goodness gracious, Darcie," he chuckled. "About to make me start sweating over here."

Darcie quickly took care of the check and they stood from the table. Harry slung his suit jacket over his shoulder, not bothering to put it back on as Darcie grabbed her purse. They walked back down the stairs and towards the front of the restaurant, Harry making sure to keep a firm arm around Darcie's waist considering they both had alcohol flowing in their system and she was in heels.

They walked outside, and Darcie pulled her phone out. "So where will I be meeting you for this said photoshoot?" She asked, pulling up her Uber app.

"My studio, if that's okay," Harry said, leaning against the brick wall on the side of the restaurant, watching Darcie as she concentrated on the screen in her hand. "Just got it all set up actually - you'd be the first to help me try it out."

Darcie's eyes lifted at that sentence, and she tucked her bottom lip through her teeth. "Well in that case, I'm excited."

Harry's eyes were glued to the way Darcie's teeth sank into her plush lip, and he held his hand out for her. He sent her a crooked smile, and she quickly tucked her phone away. She had ordered her Uber, but it was going to be another few minutes before it arrived. Her hand slid easily in his and he pulled her close.

Slowly, he moved their conjoined hands up to his shoulder, letting his slip away so just hers rested there, and his hand dropped to her hip. "I really enjoyed tonight."

"Me too," Darcie breathed, eyes dancing all over Harry's face.

They were both a bit flushed from the tequila, their heads fuzzy, but they were still very much aware of their proximity. Darcie moved a bit closer, her other hand coming down against Harry's chest. Sucking in a deep breath, Harry's free hand cupped the nape of her neck, his thumb raising up to run the pad of it against her jawline.

"And I've been meaning to tell you all night, but thank you so much, Harry," she said sincerely, her hand smoothing up and down one of his pecs. "For the portraits you bought. I don't think there's anything I could ever really do to truly thank you for that, but just know that meant so much to me. Such a selfless act for someone that you didn't even know."

Harry shook his head. "I wasn't about to let him get away with doing that to you. From a photographer standpoint, it was wrong. You weren't consenting, and that's enough to get him blacklisted from ever having another showing - he's lucky I didn't take it that far. But from a human to human standpoint, especially when that other human was you, I couldn't let it happen. That look on your face when you realized he was talking about your portraits...it bothered me so much."

"God, you're so..." Darcie trailed off, not even knowing what she wanted to say with a shake of her head. She could still feel Harry's thumb against her jawline, caressing the area so gently.

"I really want to kiss you," Harry admitted, swallowing harshly as he waited for her reaction.

Darcie held Harry's eyes, heart thumping against her chest. "Entonces bésame, chico bonito."

Harry groaned, eyes slipping shut for a second at the sound of Darcie speaking Spanish to him. His eyes fluttered back open, and he shook his head. "As fucking sexy as that is, I can't understand what you're-"

Taking the initiative, Darcie leaned forward and pressed her lips against Harry's. His lips were soft and plush against hers, and she found that hers were immediately parting to prod her tongue against his bottom lip. Harry obliged without hesitation, and they both snuck their tongues out at the same time to roll against one another. They could taste the alcohol on each other, both of them tasting the same but different all at once. His hand moved up the nape of her neck to cup the bottom of her chin, thumb pressing into one cheek with the tips of his fingers digging into the other. His rings were slightly indenting her skin, but she didn't care - not in the slightest.

Darcie moaned softly into his mouth, her chest now flush against his. They could each feel their hearts pounding, but if anything, it gave them a sense of security to know they were both just as nervous and worked up as the other.

The kiss was having Darcie weak at the knees, and if Harry didn't have such a strong grip on her face and her hip, she was sure that she'd be falling against the concrete beneath them. She knew that he was probably a good kisser, but this was exceeding her expectations completely. There was never a time where she had an initial kiss with someone that was as good as this.

They each pulled away with a soft 'smack', and their eyes opened back up at the same time - both remembering that they were still very much in public. Darcie gave Harry a lazy smile, sliding her hand up his chest a bit to run the tips of her fingers along what she could see of his collarbone. She opened her mouth to speak, but she felt her phone vibrating in her purse, indicating that her Uber was soon approaching.

She quickly pulled it out of her purse and handed it over to Harry. "Put your number in and I'll text you," she said with a nod. "We can set up a time for me to come over."

Harry was still out of it from the kiss, but when Darcie raised her eyebrows, urging him to hurry since they didn't have much time, he took the phone from her and put his number in. He handed it back to her as a car pulled up on the curb and Darcie held up a finger to them.

"Goodnight, Darcie," Harry said once she turned back to him.

Humming, she pushed onto her tiptoes to press her lips against his once more. "Goodnight, Harry," she spoke, pulling back. She cupped his cheek in one of her hands, and she dragged the pad of her thumb down the middle of his heart shaped lips. "Voy a soñar con estos labios."

She pulled away from him completely, sending him another quick wave before slipping into the Uber. They waved at each other through the window, and Darcie immediately lifted her phone up in her hand - sending Harry a quick text. She was already excited and comfortable with him taking photos of her, but now she really couldn't wait to see him again.

⚘⚘⚘

Darcie found herself outside of the door of Harry's studio the following weekend. His studio was actually in an apartment building, and she wondered what it was going to look like inside. It was a bit aways from where she suspected his place and the gallery to be since he said he could walk to the tapas restaurant and the gallery from where he lived. This was actually a bit closer to her place - about a ten minute walk. She was a bit nervous, but she had to remind herself that Harry had taken pictures of probably hundreds of people, and that he knew what would and wouldn't work for her.

But she was mostly nervous because she was unsure if anything further was going to happen after their kiss.

Sucking in a deep breath, she lifted her fist and knocked on the door, her other hand wringing the strap of her duffel bag that was on her shoulder. He had asked her to bring a few things to change into as he expected to shoot her in a few different outfits. She wasn't too sure what all he was looking for, so she packed about six or seven options to choose from.

The door flew open, and Harry's lips immediately curled up into a smile as he took in Darcie standing in front of him.

"Good afternoon, Darcie Lennox Crane," he said playfully, stepping out of the doorway and gesturing his hand inside. "Nice to see you again."

Just like the other two times she had been in his presence, Darcie found herself blushing furiously due to his charm as she stepped into the apartment. "Nice to see you again as well, Harry Edward Styles."

Her eyes took in the apartment, and she was impressed to see that he had a few different set ups throughout the rooms. The kitchen and bathrooms were the only rooms that seemed untouched and just decorated like they normally would be.

Harry watched as Darcie walked around, her expression showing just how intrigued she was with everything. She finally turned to look at him again, a smile washing over her.

"This is incredible, Harry," she complimented him, dropping her bag near the bathroom as she figured that's probably where she would do most of her changing.

"Thanks," Harry's cheeks flushed a soft pink, lifting a hand to rub the back of his neck.

After a second or two, he cleared his throat and pointed towards the bathroom. "If you want to get dressed in the first outfit that you chose, you can go ahead. Meet me in this room over here," he instructed, pointing to one of the bedrooms that had darker hues on the walls, and less lighting than the other bedroom.

Darcie nodded and walked into the bathroom, deciding she'd settle on the darker outfit she had brought with her. She stripped out of the leggings and hoodie she had on, pulling on a pair of black leather trousers, a pair of black ankle boots and a deep red corset type body suit. Tilting her head to the side, she shrugged on a black blazer as well, lifting her hands to get her hair out from under the collar.

Her makeup and hair were done as she usually did them, and it was the natural look she always went for. A lot of makeup had never really been her thing as it covered her freckles, and they were honestly one of her favorite things about herself.

She stepped out the bathroom, the clicking of her boots making her presence known as she rounded the corner into the room Harry was occupying.

Looking him over, Darcie could see that his brows were furrowed in concentration as he stared at the screen on his camera. He had a pair of glasses resting towards the end of his nose, and she took the moment to take in his apparel. He had on a pair of black slacks with a white tank top tucked in, a red short sleeve button up that was open rested on his shoulders. A pair of beat up white Vans authentics were on his feet, pink laces on one with just the plain white ones on the other.

Harry looked up after a moment as he could see Darcie in the door frame out of the corner of his eye, and he felt speechless as he saw her outfit choice.

"Oh wow," he breathed, licking over his bottom lip. "Darcie, you look...you look amazing."

Darcie sent him a soft smile as she walked further into the room. "Thank you, I hope that it's appropriate for what you're going for."

Harry nodded adamantly, having this outfit blow his vision right out of the water at this point. "Better than what I had in mind, actually. You've given me a whole new array of ideas to work with," he said honestly. He walked over to the dark curtains that were covering up the window, separating them just enough to let a little bit of light shine through.

He walked back over to Darcie, gently slipping his hand in hers, still holding the camera in the other, as he walked her over to stand against one of the walls that was adorned in a dark floral type wallpaper. She made notes that the outfit she had chosen matched the colors perfectly, and she could early see the vision that Harry was going for.

Darcie easily posed for him, Harry having to hardly guide her at all. He shot her at different angles, perching down on one knee, standing on top of a chair or just capturing her straight on. It was all he could do to not drool while looking back at the pictures on the small screen of his camera. He was right in what he said the first time they met - she truly was the perfect muse.

"Okay, I think we can do an outfit change if you're comfortable with that," Harry stated as he walked closer to Darcie, showing her some of the pictures he had taken. "These are great, Darcie. You're so beautiful."

He peeked up from the screen, and he saw that her eyes were already on him - her hand lightly on his shoulder as she was peering over it. His eyes dropped to her lips for a moment before he cleared his throat while stepping away from her. Harry wanted to kiss her again so badly, but he also didn't want Darcie to think the only reason he was doing so was to use her as a model.

"Alright, Mr. Styles," Darcie joked with a soft smirk as she started to walk out of the room. She saw a white button up draped across one of the arm chairs. Her fingertips trailed over it, and she looked over her shoulder to see Harry pushing his glasses up onto the bridge of his nose as he was switching out the memory cards in his camera. Licking over her bottom lip, she snatched up the white button up as a new idea for her next outfit popped into her mind.

She could tell the button up was his as it had little splotches of paint on the back, and they matched the walls of the room he had just been shooting her in. It was obvious that for some reason he had either worn that shirt while painting, or nudged against something while the paint was still drying, but as long as she faced forward those spots wouldn't be in the picture.

Darcie stared at herself in the mirror as she stripped out of the clothes she was currently wearing. She switched out her undergarments for a matching set - a white bra and a pair of white underwear. Chewing on the inside of her cheek, she pulled Harry's button up over her shoulders. She went back and forth on whether or not to walk out just like this, but she decided she'd go for a big reveal during the middle of him taking her picture.

After doing up the buttons of the shirt, only leaving the top three unbuttoned to reveal a bit of her sternum, Darcie exited the bathroom. Her feet were bare, not having her make any noise like she did previously when she walked out in her ankle boots. She noticed that Harry was no longer in the previous room, and she began to wander around the apartment. Eventually she found him in the other bedroom that had pale pink walls except for one white accent wall. She couldn't help but smile softly to herself when she realized she had made another right choice - what she had on was perfect for the feel of this room.

Harry's back was to her as he was fiddling with a white sheet he had over the window, and she could tell he was trying to figure out how to get the natural lighting to hit the way he wanted. Doing her best not to startle him, Darcie grazed her fingertips over his back as a surge of nervousness flowed through her.

"Can I help get anything squared away for you?" she offered, and Harry groaned slightly out of frustration - causing Darcie to bite down on her bottom lip to stifle a laugh.

"No, it's okay," he sighed, shaking his head. "I think I'm going to have to change this sheet out for this sheer curtain I have instead. This is blocking too much of the light and I-"

Harry suddenly lost his words as he turned and looked over his shoulder at Darcie. His eyes traveled over her lean, but curvy, body in nothing but his white button up. "Where...how did you-"

"Saw it laying over the armchair in the other room," Darcie said, lifting her hand to run the tip of her index finger down her sternum - stopping right where the first button she had done up on the shirt was. "Is it okay? I can go get changed into something else, if you'd like."

"No!" Harry exclaimed, almost instantly blushing when he realized just how fast he had answered her. His hands were free as he had set his camera down on one of the small tables when he was trying to figure out the window situation, and he walked forward - grasping to Darcie's hips. "No, please, I'm...this is perfect."

Darcie moved a bit closer, still leaving a decent amount of space between them, before she raised a hand to play with the curls that draped over the back of his neck. Her other hand rested on his shoulder as she stared into his eyes. "Then tell me where you want me, Harry," she whispered, tilting her head to the side.

Sucking in a deep breath, Harry leaned down to run the tip of his nose along her cheekbone, and one of his hands slowly trailed down from her hip to cup her ass. "Up against the white wall, please," he instructed her, giving her ass cheek a small squeeze, causing her to gasp out.

The action had Darcie squeezing her thighs together. It had been a while since someone had their hands on her body in that way, or since she had someone speak to her in such a manner. She only had a couple of hook-ups after Joel, and they were pretty unsatisfactory, which led her to just give up for the time being. She was extremely busy with the gallery anyway, so it really wasn't a priority for her.

"Okay," she responded breathlessly as they broke their hold, and she started towards the white wall he had been referring to.

Harry quickly changed out the curtain for the sheer sheet, and he smiled once he saw it gave the perfect light - shining on Darcie so beautifully.

Darcie returned his smile once he stood in front of her, camera back in hand, and he began to snap pictures of her. They were coming out just as he imagined, and he reached behind him to grab the wooden chair he had in here. He sat down and continued to shoot her, giving her small directions here and there, but she was truly a natural.

He thought that he was imagining things when he saw her start to undo the buttons of the white shirt, and he hadn't even noticed he stopped shooting - pulling the camera down and away from his face. His jaw went slack once the shirt was completely open, and he was looking at the matching white set that looked so stunning against her olive skin.

"Hold on," he said, setting his camera down and exiting the room for a moment. When he came back, he held a instafilm camera in his hands, and he tilted his head to the side. "Do you mind if I take a picture of you with this too?"

"Not at all," Darcie swallowed harshly, her nerves slightly getting the best of her, but she did her best to disguise it.

Sucking in a deep breath, she pulled both arms over her head, letting one of them extend up the wall above her, and the other moved down to drape over the top of her head. She bent her leg closest to the camera slightly, and tilted her body just a bit.

"Perfect," Harry whispered, looking at her through the viewfinder. "So fucking beautiful, Darcie."

He snapped the picture, and pulled the print-out out of the slot once it was finished. He set the camera down to the side, and dropped the picture onto a white blanket he had on the floor nearby before grabbing his regular camera again.

"Hold that position for a little bit," he told her, beginning to shoot rapidly again.

After a while, Darcie switched it up a little bit, and eventually, she let her shirt fall off her shoulders. This time, Harry remained behind the camera, but his mouth began to run dry as he watched her reach behind her back. "Is this okay?"

Harry peeked around the camera to look at her. "I'm comfortable with whatever you're comfortable with."

To be honest, Darcie had never felt so confident in her life, and she knew it was because of the praises coming from Harry behind the camera. "Have you done nude portraits before?"

"Once. A man."

Darcie couldn't help but smirk to herself to know she was the first woman that he would be shooting nude. Pulling her bottom lip between her teeth, she unclasped her bra and let it fall to the ground. She ran her hands over her breasts for a moment, before moving down to her underwear, pulling them down to the tops of her knees until she could let them just fall. Stepping out of them, she kicked them over to the side

Turning her back to Harry, she began to pose, and he soon realized that she was posing in the same way she did in those black and white portraits from last year. He wanted to curse himself at the way he felt his cock throb against his thigh, but he couldn't help it. Here Darcie stood in front of him, with her full ass, and he was taking in the length of her beautiful back.

She was a fucking dream.

It was only a few moments later that Darcie looked over her shoulder at Harry, fingers still in the sides of her hair. "Now you have some portraits of your own."

Harry quickly set his camera down on the floor beside him, and he surged forward to press Darcie up against the wall after turning her around. She moaned out already, his only contact with her being his hands on her hips as she stared into his moss-colored eyes.

"I need to know, Darcie, did you think about me as much as I thought about you over this past year?" Harry asked, hands massaging against the flesh of her hips.

"Yes, I did. I tried to find your information so I could thank you for the portraits, and I was hoping you'd somehow just pop back up. I thought about you so much, Harry."

Walking backwards, Harry sat down in the chair he had in the room, and he pulled Darcie over his lap - her plush thighs straddling over his own.

"I need your words. I'm not touching you any further until you tell me," Harry's fingertips indented into the small of her back as their eyes remained connected, both their hearts pounding just like they did the night they kissed.

"I need it, Harry," Darcie reached down to wrap her hands around Harry's wrists, guiding his hands over the plush skin of her stomach before moving them to rest on her breasts. She leaned down, ghosting her lips over his. "Touch me."

Harry tilted his head up to fully connect his lips with hers as his large hands kneaded the soft tissue of Darcie's breasts. She moaned against his mouth, her own hands dropping from his wrists to reach forward to push the opened button up off his shoulders. Her fingertips trailed down his arms, dipping into the creases of his muscles as she felt the pads of Harry's thumbs circling over her hardening nipples.

"You like that?" Harry asked when he heard Darcie whimpering against his lips, and she nodded. "Perky little things. Just want to..."

Moving one hand away to rest back on one of Darcie's hips, Harry disconnected his lips with hers to drop his head down - closing his lips around her now fully pebbled nipple. She threw her head back with a whine, feeling herself clench down around nothing since she currently had no stimulation between her legs.

"You have such a gorgeous body, baby. God, I can't believe you're real."

She reached forward to rid Harry of his glasses, seeing that they kept sliding down his nose, and she lifted both of her hands to run through the back of his curls as he latched onto her other nipple. The tip of his tongue moved round and round before he began to lightly suck.

"Oh, fuck me," Darcie's breath hitched in the back of her throat, and as Harry kept his mouth on her breast, his hand dropped from her other one to dance his fingertips down her stomach. He trailed them over the junction between her thigh and her pelvis before moving over her mound.

Darcie was fully squirming in his lap, having him so close to where she truly needed him to be. He couldn't help but smirk against her skin when he felt how worked up she had gotten, and it wasn't until the pads of his middle and ring fingers began to rub against her clit that he heard the first true noise of pleasure leave her.

"Such beautiful noises you make. Need more of them, Darcie," he groaned as he began to kiss over her chest.

Skillfully, Harry lifted the pad of his index finger to pull up the hood of her clit, giving him more access as his fingers worked her.

"Holy shit, you're good at this," she inhaled sharply as Harry's lips sucked at the hollow of her throat, tilting her head back to give him more access. "More, please - I need more."

Humming, Harry ventured his fingers away from her clit to circle them around her dripping entrance. His prick was now throbbing inside his trousers, especially when he felt just how wet she was, and he slowly entered his middle finger inside of her. He couldn't help but groan at the slight resistance he felt as he started to kiss over Darcie's jawline.

"Oh, you're so tight," he cooed as he sucked on the hinge of her jaw. "I'm gonna need to properly work you up."

"Cocky are we?" Darcie laughed before moaning when she felt the tip of Harry's finger tapping against her g-spot inside of her.

"I feel like you'll be appreciative once you're feeling me inside your tummy, Darcie."

She choked on another noise of pleasure once Harry sunk an additional finger inside of her, feeling the pads of them running along her front wall. Her hips were bucking against his palm - stimulating her clit as his fingers massaged the sweetest spot.

"Want you naked," Darcie whined as she reached down to tug the hem of Harry's tank top out from the waist of his pants. She pulled it over his head, tossing it to the side before looking down at this chiseled torso. "Oh...oh my god."

Her eyes were trained on the butterfly inked on his stomach that was pulsing with each heavy breath that he took - dropping to the ferns lined along his hips. Darcie couldn't help but dig her nails into Harry's skin now that she had lowered her hands to his shoulders, and he groaned at the sensation.

"Told you I had a lot more tattoos," Harry smirked as he began to pulse his fingers in and out of Darcie, causing her to collapse into his chest. "Look at you - your whole body is trembling just from my fingers. I can't imagine what you'll be like when I'm tucked up deep inside you."

"I want that," Darcie confessed, resting her forehead against Harry's. "I need to be trembling around your cock."

"Hm, you want my cock?" He watched as she nodded eagerly, and he tilted his chin down. "Be a good girl, and take my pants off, yeah?"

"Mhmm," Darcie hummed, pecking over Harry's lips as she unbuttoned and unzipped his trousers as Harry removed his fingers from her. "Want to be your good girl."

Lifting his hips, she hooked her fingers around both his pants and his boxers, tugging them down. Harry kicked them the rest of the way off after toeing off his shoes, and he situated Darcie properly back on his lap. He felt as she began to grind her folds along his hardened length, and he titled his head back with a groan.

"Darcie, I don't have condoms here."

Time seemed to stand still as they looked into each other's eyes, and she nibbled on her bottom lip.

"I'm clean, and I'm on the pill," she admitted, eyes darting over Harry's face. "But if you're not comfortable..."

"I'm clean too."

This would be the first time that either of them slept with someone and didn't use any protection initially, but both of them were too turned on to walk away from this. Even though they still hardly knew each other, they trusted each other.

Darcie's eyes held Harry's as she reached down to wrap her hand around his length. He hissed in sensitivity as she gave it a squeeze, and she looked down for the first time to truly look at it when she felt how heavy he was in the palm of her hand. Her eyebrows jumped up onto her forehead when she saw his size, mouth gaping as she looked back up to him.

"Holy fuck, Harry, you're so big," Darcie blurted out without a second thought. "You weren't joking."

Harry chuckled, but it turned into a moan as she began to give him long, and fluid strokes. "I-I meant it when I said I needed to prep you."

Wiggling a bit to get into a proper position, Darcie popped Harry's tip into her inviting entrance, and then she slowly sank herself down on top of him. Her hands gripped to his shoulders, and she threw her head back in a moan like scream when she was fully seated on top of his thighs once again.

"Tienes que estar bromeando," Darcie gasped, her neck completely exposed to Harry. "¿Esto es lo que podría haber tenido hace un año?"

Harry groaned in response to Darcie speaking Spanish once again, and his hands kneaded the plush skin of her hips. "So sexy, baby, but like I told you before - I wanna really hear you," he coerced, leaning forward to kiss over the side of her neck. "Wanna hear what you're thinking."

Breathy moans from Darcie began to fill the room as she rocked herself against Harry, not even moving up and down, but just rolling her hips against his. It felt so good. He was so deep inside of her that she didn't even feel the need to ride him yet - this was stimulating her wonderfully, and she knew she had to be dripping down his prick.

Harry ventured a hand up to cup Darcie's jaw as her head was still tilted back and away from him. He moved his hand along her jawline before hooking two of his fingers behind her bottom teeth, and he used the leverage to tilt her head back down so that she was looking at him. They held each other's eyes as she continued rocking her hips, her jaw slack, and Harry making no movements to remove his fingers from her mouth.

After a moment, her mouth closed to seal her lips against his digits, and she hollowed her cheeks out - sucking on them. It was then that she used the balls of her feet to lift herself up, still clutching to Harry's shoulders as she began to properly ride him. The position was a bit uncomfortable, and the burning in her thighs grew quickly, but it felt so good that she couldn't be bothered to stop.

"You're so tight and warm, baby," Harry crooned as she continued to suck on his fingers. His other hand assisted with the movements of her hips, but when he felt her thighs beginning to shake, and he knew it wasn't from her pending orgasm, he was aware they needed to switch it up. "Hold onto me - get a good grip."

He pulled his fingers from her mouth with a soft 'pop', and Darcie quickly wrapped her arms around Harry's neck. One of his hands pressed against her middle back, the other against her lower to keep her chest flush to his as he stood up out of the chair. He walked a few steps before lowering them to the ground, and she sighed in relief as the ache in her thighs began to dissipate - staring up at him as it did so.

"Let me know if this gets uncomfortable too, yeah? Just wanted to be on top of you, could tell you were also getting tired," Harry stated as he lifted a hand to move some of Darcie's hair out of her face. "Sorry I don't have a bed or anything in here."

"It's okay, Harry. Thank you," she breathed, hands running up and down his pecs. "You feel really good, by the way. This...this is nice. It's been a bit for me."

"Yeah?" Harry sent her a crooked grin, one of his dimples popping as he did so. "I'm glad you feel good, baby. You feel incredible, and just so you know, it's been a bit for me too."

Darcie isn't sure why, but knowing that brought her some extra comfort. Her thoughts are interrupted though as she feels Harry began to shuffle his body, which caused him to shift deeper inside of her for a moment, and she let out a strangled noise of pleasure.

Her eyes were glued to him as he propped himself up onto his knees before sitting back on his heels, pulling Darcie's thighs up so that they were flush against his hips - her torso outstretched on the floor in front of him. She was practically in his lap again, back arched as her chest heaved up and down.

"God," he groaned as he pulled out a bit just to push back in slowly, causing her mouth to gape open from how deep he was at this angle. "Such a stunning sight in front of me. I don't know how I'll ever get over this. You're so perfect."

"Harry," she mewled, stretching her arms out above her head, flipping her hands over to dig her nails into the hardwood floor underneath her. "M-more. Harder, please."

The mounds of Darcie's breasts jiggled as Harry clashed his hips against hers, finding a pattern that seemed to satiate them both quickly. Every time his pelvis would meet hers again, little 'uh's of pleasure escaped her mouth. It was music to his ears, and he wanted to know if he could get her to be even louder.

His eyes watched as she dropped her hands from beside her head to knead at her own breasts, and he growled as her eyes shot open once more to stare up into his.

"So deep," she moaned, pulling at her nipples, bottom lip tucked between her teeth.

"Yeah?" Harry smirked, knowing that he had warned her just how deep he could get. "You think I could get deeper?"

Darcie choked on her scream of pleasure as Harry threw her legs over his shoulders, nudging him even further inside. He stayed flush against her for a moment, just rubbing his pelvis against hers as she whimpered. She moved her hands down to grasp his wrists, and she used the leverage to start meeting his deep thrusts.

"Squeezing me, baby," Harry could feel the ache in his knees, but he wouldn't dare stop after seeing the look of absolute euphoria etched across Darcie's face. "Did I really get you there already? What if I..."

He trailed off as he moved one of his hands from her hips, her own hand falling to tangle itself into the side of her hair, and he rested his palm against her pelvis. Harry pushed the pad of his thumb against her clit, and it was then that her noises increased tenfold. He began to press slick circles to the swollen pearl as he continued to roll his hips.

"Harry, I'm coming, oh my god," she whined, arching her back even further off the floor to where he couldn't even see her face anymore. "Oh, it's...I'm-"

Darcie cut herself off with a large gasp, which turned into a lewd moan as she dropped her back onto the hardwood floor again, and Harry was convinced that he had never seen anything more phenomenal than her face when she came. It was something he knew he wanted to see over, and over again, and god, did he hope that she'd let him.

"Can't get over that you're letting me see you like that. The most beautiful girl I've ever fucking seen, and she's coming on my cock?" Harry's jaw dropped as he lifted his head to stare at the ceiling, feeling her walls continuing to pulse around him as she rode out her orgasm. "Never gonna see anything as stunning - never gonna be with anyone as gorgeous as you ever again."

Not knowing how she found the strength, but being completely spurred on by Harry's words, Darcie pulled her legs off his shoulders - locking them tight against his hips. Harry's movements stopped, and he looked down at her with wide eyes before he saw her lifting herself and pressing her hands against his chest. "Lay back."

Harry obeyed her command blindly, and his back clashed against the hardwood floor underneath them as Darcie snuggled her hips right against his. This whole time, since she had sunk down on him on the chair, they hadn't lost any contact, something Harry and Darcie realized at the same time - causing them to smirk at each other. "And now," she breathed, slowly starting to lift herself off of him, and then come back down. "I get to see your face when you come. You're already so pretty, Harry, know you're gonna be even prettier."

The knot in Harry's stomach began to tighten, and he knew he wasn't going to be able to last much longer. He watched as her tits bounced up and down with every hard snap of her hips back down against his, and he groaned as he lifted a hand up to cup one of them. Sneaking his other hand behind his head, he found himself trying to memorize everything about this moment - just in case it didn't happen again.

"Oh, I'm gonna come again," Darcie mewled, eyebrows narrowed as she stared down at Harry. "I want you to come with me."

"Y-you want me to come inside you?" He asked, a bit shocked that she would be okay with that.

"Yes, please, I wanna feel it," she begged, fingernails digging at his pecs as she rode him the hardest she had.

The sound of skin against skin filled the room in such an erotic fashion, and Harry knew he was reaching his climax. Darcie moved one hand from Harry's chest to begin to play with her achy clit once again, and leaned forward so she was hovering right over Harry's face. "Come with me, Harry. I need you to fill me up."

"Fuck, I-I'm coming, baby. Come on," he grunted as he felt his cock throbbing inside of her, beginning to fill her with white ropes of pleasure.

Darcie cried out in ecstasy, collapsing against Harry's chest once she saw the look on his face, having that bring her to her second orgasm. He took the initiative to grab her hips, and bend his legs to thrust up into her, helping them ride out their climaxes to full completion. Their motions began to slow, and Harry eventually dropped his legs back down to where Darcie was just laying on top of him. He continued to pulse inside of her every now again, causing small whimpers to leave her with her face tucked into the side of his neck.

"That was fucking amazing," she confessed after a moment. "The bruises tomorrow are going to be worth it."

Harry chuckled as he moved his hands to cup her full ass, giving her cheeks a nice squeeze. "I can't help but agree," he continued to try and catch his breath, and he tilted his head a bit to press a kiss against Darcie's temple. "You're so wonderful."

Darcie lifted her head to rest her hand against his chest, and then she rested her chin against the back of it. "So are you," she whispered, eyes studying his face. "I'd like to do this again with you, only if you would. Maybe a date this weekend? We can go out, and then you can come back to my place?"

Harry's heart fluttered, and he gave her a nod, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "You don't know how badly I want that."

⚘⚘⚘

It had been ten months since Darcie's reunion with Harry, and tonight was another showing at the gallery. She was running around like crazy, similar to the night they had found each other again, only this time, she was ten times busier. The gallery had only continued to grow, and tonight, the showing they had was bringing in the most people they had ever seen.

She had checked with catering, as well as the bar, making sure that everyone had everything that they needed before beginning to walk around and greet guests. She was trying to seem as calm as possible, but on the inside she was freaking out, and there were multiple reasons for that.

Not hardly paying attention, Darcie had made her way out of one of the show rooms, attempting to go check on things in another when she felt hands around her wrists, pulling her into a nearby hallway. She yelped in surprise before she was pressed against a wall, and her eyes fluttered as she stared up at Harry.

"If you don't take a second to breathe, I think you'll surely pass out from lack of oxygen," he smirked at her, and she rolled her eyes, shoving playfully against his chest.

"It's your fault I'm running around like this. This is the biggest showing we've had, and it's all thanks to you."

"Now see, Darcie, that's where I disagree," he leaned down to press his lips against hers, and she sighed against them running her hands over his chest. "Walk with me."

Darcie contemplated it for a moment, there was so much she needed to check on, but just one look at the emotion swirling in his moss-colored eyes, she nodded. He smiled, and he laced their fingers as he walked her into the show room she had been heading to anyway. There weren't as many people in this room at the moment, and he paused in front of one of the portraits in particular. She recognized it as one he had taken of her during an episode of snow that happened when they were on vacation in New York this past December. She was in the middle of Time Square with a bright smile on her face.

"Look at you, and look around," he said into her ear as he stood behind her, hands smoothing up and down her sides. "Everyone is loving this, and it's all you, Darcie. You say they're here for me, but I'd be nothing without you."

Darcie turned around to wrap her arms around his neck, pushing herself onto her toes to connect their lips. She moved them fluidly for a moment before pulling back to stare up at him. "I love you so much."

"And I love you too," Harry agreed, giving her hips a squeeze. "I told you the first time I met you, and not a thing has changed it - you're quite the muse, and the best part? Now you're my muse."

#harry styles fanfiction #harry styles #harry styles au #harry styles writing #harry styles smut #harry styles fic #harry edward styles

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manicpixiefelix · 3 months

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Okay but imagine you're not a main character in the Oxford friend group.

You love Felix because everyone loves Felix, but you're not in love with him, not in any way that matters, not like everyone else. He is the sun which you all revolve around, but you know too well he's the kind to burn you. Instead you've spent two years pinning after the pretty girl with the dark hair and the bright laughter. And she loves Felix. The same way everyone else loves Felix. The same way every other girl you've tried to invest yourself in has ended up loving Felix fucking Catton when they end up, even briefly, integrated in your friend group.

So India is your best friend, and the girl you quietly love, and she complains to you about Felix's various trysts, and how Oliver looks at him (without any of her own self awareness) and all you can think about is how she glitters and glows in the light. How Felix could live a thousand lifetimes and not deserve the love the world gives him. The love your best friend gives him.

She cries on your shoulder, and eggs you on to ask that cute girl in your art history class to a gallery, and you wonder if she knows how badly she's stringing you along with the drunken kisses and that one time you slept together and you thought you heard her moaning someone else's name. But you keep coming back.

When Felix finally starts showing up to the pub with your best friend on his arm, it's the most excited you've seen her in a long time. She doesn't talk about Annabel, you wonder if she even misses her. You miss Annabel. Or maybe you missed when Felix was looking at her and not India.

Summer comes and India can't help but complain about Oliver Quick getting an invite to Saltburn, until his birthday comes around and it means an invite to Saltburn for both of you. An invite to Felix.

India looks like a dream at that party, but not one you're allowed to have.

In the wake of what happens, you're the shoulder she cries on again, the receptacle for her grief. There is no sun for her anymore, only you, loyal, the one who's spent years mooning over her. You both grieve for Felix; under your jealousy he was still your friend.

"I love you," India cries, "please don't leave me too."

And you wonder how many other people have to live knowing they came second to a ghost.

#saltburn imagine #saltburn x reader #felix catton x reader #felix catton imagine #india saltburn #india saltburn x reader #i just think shes very pretty at Ollie's party and this hit me #manic writer

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hwaightme · 23 days

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Panacea

OUT NOW: Panacea

song used in teaser: de selby (part 1) by hozier

🌊pairing: poet!seonghwa x doctor!gn!reader 🌊genre: fluff, slice of life, slow burn, healing, strangers to lovers, comfort 🌊summary: what do a poet who lost his inspiration and a cosmetic surgeon who lost their empathy have in common? when you make an escape from the city to a memory-filled cottage on the edge of the world, you meet park seonghwa, a poet who, after growing fatigued of shallow critique and unwanted attention, is on a search for true beauty. you, a surgeon who cannot bear to hear nor assess another patient , abhor its twisted definitions. as the seasons change, storms abate and your paths entangle, you discover a new, unparalleled kind of beauty. 🌊wordcount: estimated around 30k 🌊warnings/tags: semi-edited, ??? attempts at sijo (forgive me), discussion of beauty standards, mention of surgery/clinics, weather imagery, dreams/nightmares, discussion of life and death (jokes relating to death), talk of side character death, urban/rural comparisons, isolation, burnout, philosophy, judgement of media, seaside, cliffs, dialogue + inner thoughts, perspective switching, falling in love, loving another's mind, talk of what is 'real' beauty, food, eating, cooking, implied anxiety, implied impulsive thoughts, sneak into home 🌊author's note: happy birthday, seonghwa. thank you for all you inspire me to do, and for teaching me how to find the sun even in a rainstorm. sincere and diligent, you are the spring, the renaissance, the glimmering light. wishing for you and for atiny alike to have a cherished panacea and a love brighter than the stars.

teaser (1.3k):

...Mid-spin, just as you were finished with making the filling and were in the process of lining a baking tin with some of the pastry, the front door creaked open, revealing the figure that you had spotted outside of your window, walking alongside the beginnings of what would be a cliff’s edge. You stood still, holding the pie tin, feeling the grooves of its edges, balancing the dough that was still wrapped in clingfilm right in the middle, as though if you were to not move this man would not see you. Heart quickening to a nauseating pace, the intense scrutiny that you were receiving made you want to collapse behind the counter. Before this moment, you had convinced yourself that you had fully adopted a devil may care attitude, and that you were ready for whoever you would encounter, having prepared the humble abode for a you-style reception and to assert who truly was deserving of ownership of this property. But something about this enigmatic persona who, just like you, remained unmoving, echoed the seastorms. A roaring of the waves was contained in his orbs, so dark due to the light being behind the man’s back that you could barely detect the transition from pupil to iris. A nose worthy of being depicted in renaissance paintings, in fact, if you had to pinpoint one way to describe the stranger, is that he reminded you of subjects that graced the walls of art galleries, selected by masters to be immortalised in the artists’ name. Nameless, much like he was to you in this present moment. His lips, ever so slightly parted as if he had been on the verge of saying something to you, only for the aim to fall short of execution, voice drowning in doubt or disgust. The corners of the man’s mouth were gently downturned - not unpleasantly so, but rather giving him an aura of intimidation that intrigued you. Shadows on his face suggested to you that he was unshaven, though, you had to admit that it was not too bad of a look. In fact, an interesting edge of ruggedness that balanced with his longer locks gave the man a new form of allure, and in turn, forced you to keep your eyes on him despite feeling inklings of terror. The scene reminded you of a faceoff between two territorial wolves - whose domain was this? Only time and a match of resolve would tell.

He was the first to break eye contact, sighing and moving to take off his shoes and trench coat. You remained still - a hostile animal that was expecting aggression at any moment. The man was silent, unphased by your ‘out of the blue’ appearance at least outwardly, and you were not certain whether his lack of reaction was something to be taken with gratitude or suspicion. As you inspected his motions, how he stretched out his arm to hang the trench coat on the rack that was hammered to the wall, with the right nail ever so slightly lower than the left, how he ran a hand through his hair, casting shadows over what hinted at months of fatigue. Not quite pallid, but definitely tired skin, holding times of discomfort, sleeplessness. Dark circles under those deep, pensive orbs, cheeks that were somewhere between sunken and youthful. The man stood before you in a white shirt, the colour a last cry to some form of purity and hope. You could guess why he was at the cottage, since it was not too challenging to see your own reflection in the corners of his soul, much like you could sense that he was reading you. He reminded you of an angel who was tired of praying, barely capable of carrying his body. Pressed down by the story that had been written for him, he was likely here for an escape, to drown out the sounds of whatever he was running from. Perhaps you should be friendly, and welcome this lost soul. After all, he could be unaware of where he is nor of what unspoken rules exist around here. The least you could do is make him feel at home-

“You made a mess,” and just like that, all desire to be amiable flew out of the window and into the sea. His curt comment was like a burning cold scalpel, words too familiar to be neutral and well-received.

Before you could respond, the man was well on his way to the bathroom, and judging by the slam of the door, he was not very pleased to see the rearrangements you had made. No comments followed, however, and instead, the pause was filled by the sound of running water, followed by a muffled mumbling when following a couple of rattles, the pressure inevitably dropped and there was barely a trickle. You shook your head, amused by how this man had been living in this property without the basic knowhow. Clearly, he was one of the many cityfolk who wanted to try his luck while on holiday. Exotic stay to talk about with his glamorous friends, you bet. For him to explain how ‘the bucolic was not even as appealing as literature made it out to be’. Standard. Faceless. You would forget him in no time, especially since he would probably leave before it got less fun and more mundane to stay out in the wilderness. That pretty face should not know harshness. With a huff, you set the tin down onto the counter and set the oven to preheat. With swift, irritated movements, you took to lining the metal with the dough, and in no time shifted to ladling the filling inside, halting to watch the last of the fruity cinnamon remnants dribble from the bowl down to join the rest of the sweet and sour promise.

The man returned when you were in the process of lacing strings of dough together to structure a coherent design. With an embarrassing surgical precision, you focused on the patterns - culinary sutures, almost horrified by the technique that you could not prevent from channelling itself through your body, to your very fingertips especially now that there was an audience. If he wanted to give you a stern talking to, it had quickly dissipated and mid-stride, the stranger was observing you as though you were carrying out a sacred ritual. The spotlight was on you as you demonstrated how to put the flesh back together. Piecing the skin bit by bit so as to ensure minimal scarring, careful now, people come to you to make themselves feel beautiful after all. String by string, the pie was looking more like itself, a recipe book photograph, something worthy of immortalising as the model step before baking. A beeping confirmed that the patient was relaxed, steady, with a perfect heart rate - good, all the readings were steady, now all you needed was to make the final - you felt for the tray finding empty space. Did someone misplace the tools? Panic shot into your nervous system and with a jolt you pushed yourself away from the table, only to find yourself gazing, startled, at someone who you had begun to assume was an intern. The guest, or cohabitant? An eyebrow raised, the ghost of a smirk on his lips as he took in your state. You clicked your tongue, finally putting two and two together and grabbing the timer behind you, purposefully taking your time so that you would not have to look at your newfound personification of madness for longer than necessary. So much for an introduction; the figure who was still a mystery to you slinked back into the shadows, with only the click of the office door serving as a confirmation that he was real. You rubbed your temples, the distant thrumming of a headache resembling a thunder that crawled over the horizon. Demonstratively, you sprinkled some flour onto a previously clean spot on the wooden countertop, only to automatically reach for the towel and drop the action again. No, it was time to bake. You needed to bake. You needed to make this place feel like home for the next couple of months, even if this peculiar character was going to be sharing it...

🌊 perma-taglist: @acciocriativity @justhere4kpop @starrysvn @byuntrash101 @shakalakaboomboo @uwuheeseungie @frankenstein852 @charreddonuts @miriamxsworld @innsomniacshinestar @foxinnie8 @preciouswoozi @wooyoungjpg @nebulousbookshelf @wowie-hockey @hongjoongs-patience @jaehunnyy @maddkitt @ren-junwrld @pyeonghongrie-main @marsstarxhwa @pocketjoong-reads @yeooclock @yeonjunnie @asjkdk @lucky-cat-cafe @northerngalxy @my-loves-my-life @http-gyu

interested? send me an ask to be added to the perma-taglist or to a taglist for Panacea <3

#cromernet #hm/announcements #hm/panacea #seonghwa x reader #seonghwa fluff #ateez fluff #ateez x reader

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searchingforakeythatdoesntexist · 12 days

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Day 28: "Show me" - Good Omens, "Daily Challenge" style (2h30)

A little fluffy illustration, requested by my dear friend @floscrap-blog for her new fanfiction, "Help yourself, my love". Mind the tags, have fun!

CW/TW: Light bondage, Top Aziraphale, Bottom Crowley, Bookshop, 1941, Aziraphale enters Crowley’s fever dream, stream of consciousness Rating: Explicit Words: 1.5k

Thanks to @goodomensafterdark!

My Good Omens illustrations: [Previous] [Next Day] [First Day]

❤️‍🔥Support me on Ko-Fi❤️‍🔥

Masterpost (Art Gallery, news, NSFT links)

#good omens #crowley #aziraphale #aziracrow #ineffable husbands #david tennant #my art #elenthyaandgoodomens #michael sheen #ineffable lovers #good omens fanfiction #good omens after dark #flomacaroon #ao3 art

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silkjade · 1 year

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in the moment we’re lost & found

Featuring— albedo, kaveh, zhongli, dainsleif ⤀ gn!reader, reincarnation au but also a some soulmate au vibes (?), dark / light academia themed a/n: i picked charas i thought would suit the aesthetic cus my favorite flavor of reincarnation au has to do with art and museums / luv history + art + museums + galleries !

— 𝐀𝐋𝐁𝐄𝐃𝐎

as an up-and-coming artist, albedo is a rising star in teyvat’s art world, but lately he’s been haunted by a face he sees only in his dreams. it’s unclear, and it drives him insane that he can’t quite make out all the details of this mysterious figure. albedo, whose artwork is notoriously lifelike, knows that something just isn't right; something is missing and he can't quite grasp it. countless times, he's tried to translate the idea of you onto paper, and countless times he's ripped out pages of his sketchbook, the abandoned drawings left crumpled in random corners of his studio, of his house, of his room. they say the mind is unable to create faces of its own so where did you come from? it consumes him— the way you replay in his head once he closes his eyes, as if he'd somehow stolen the memories of somebody else. perhaps this is what the tortured artists sing of when they descend to madness, haunted by an absent muse. at least… until the fateful day he sees you out on the cobbled streets of mondstadt. you pass by quickly, the moment as fleeting as a shooting star, and something in albedo clicks. he doesn’t have time to think, he just moves. his muse is here now within reach; how can he risk letting you slip away?

— 𝐊𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐇

careless collision, staggering steps… you snap your eyes shut as you try to mentally prepare yourself for the utter humiliation of falling into the akademiya fountain. except it never comes. your eyes flutter open, and are instantly met with just about the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen. however, his expression is one of shock, as if he’s just as surprised as you are of his own actions, and truth be told, he is. because he seemed to have been able to watch the scene unfold, even before the other party had bumped into you. because kaveh is sure something had come over him, with the way time appeared to have stopped and his legs moved of their own accord. like his body was suddenly able to predict the future, or that it was the work of some absurd sense of muscle memory. even so, the weight of you in his grasp feels uncannily familiar. in a good way. it feels right; it feels like he had waited his whole life for this moment.

and suddenly you're hyperaware of how close the two of you actually are— but also of how safe you feel with his arm wrapped around your waist, or of how his large doe eyes seem to peer into your very soul, the carmine hues dancing with renewed life. you really can't shake the overwhelming feeling that you've met before, that perhaps this isn't your first time around at all. and so you have to ask, “have we met before?”

"no, but I'd like to again."

— 𝐙𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐋𝐈

you quite literally walk into zhongli, knocking his documents out of his hands and all across the marble floor of liyue’s national museum. zhongli sighs without looking up; he had spent the better half of a day organizing contracts and paperwork for a loan agreement to inazuma, though he supposes he should share in the blame for not watching where he was going. hundreds of years have passed since the immortal ex-archon worked as a funeral consultant; these days, zhongli opts to spend his time surrounded by artifacts of bygone times and bygone people. but when he looks up, his golden eyes widen and his blood runs cold at the sight of you in front of him. he freezes, as if time seems to have stopped for the both of you. his focus shifts back and forth between you and the painting across the room: a seemingly ordinary portrait, dated from around the time of the blonde traveler. still, whenever asked, he can confidently say that it’s his favorite piece, even in this house of invaluable artifacts and monuments to heroes, even among all the rich antiquities teyvat has to offer. and here you were in front of him, a perfect match to the painting's subject. the one whom he had once held so dear before being torn away by the hands of time, is now kneeling on the floor in front of him, frantically trying to gather the scattered documents, of which he had long deemed irrelevant. he feels his impenetrable stone heart flutter for the first time in what feels like a millennia because it’s you. he's sure of it. it's you, it's you, it's you.

— 𝐃𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐈𝐅

ever since your move to mondstadt, you've started having satin dreams of knights and castles, false flowers and fictional faces; dreams that undoubtedly end in war and destruction because everything shifts. castles crumble, faces morph— it becomes a nightmare so vivid it feels more akin to a memory than a dream. but through it all only one thing remains constant in that, in every iteration, you always fall in love with the same blonde man.

wandering the tranquil halls of mondstadt's national gallery, you find yourself before The Destruction of Khaenri'ah, a painting tragically beautiful in it's depiction of the ancient nation's condemnation by the heavens. you feel your eyes threaten to water, the ache in your chest an indication that the same anguish you've felt in your nightmares, has now sunk its claws into your heart. it's the first time a piece of art has moved you like this. so much so that you’re rooted in a trance-like state until someone beside you clears his throat, snapping you back to reality. he himself also gazes at the painting although his arm is outstretched; a handkerchief in offering for your tears. it isn't until your fingers brush against his that the blonde man turns to meet your gaze. shades of cerulean, bluer than the depths of the seas, all a mere backdrop to the stars shining in his eyes. stars that match the ones sitting in your own eyes. your heart skips a beat at the revelation. it's him, the man from your dreams. he’s real.

TAGLIST ;; @meimeimeirin @mixed-kester @salmonthepan @hcbnkdf @moonrolling

(send an ask to be added/removed. if you’re bolded, it means I cannot tag you; your blog might be hidden ! )

#— 𝓼𝓲𝓰𝓷𝓮𝓭 𝓙. ༯ #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #albedo x reader #kaveh x reader #zhongli x reader #dainsleif x reader #genshin x you #genshin fluff #genshin angst #genshin impact headcanons #genshin impact scenarios #soulmate au #genshin hcs #genshin impact fluff #genshin imagines

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levanterhaze · 8 months

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✧ LOVE ME AGAIN WITH CARMY BERZATTO

→ carmy berzatto x reader

→ you and carmy have always had a volatile relationship, and when you decide to break up for good, things seem to take a turn for the worst. carmy misses you and you miss him. everything could change when the bear opens.

→ warning: anxiety, angst, some signs of depression, light smut nothing to worry about

→ 4kish

Your relationship with Carmy was always going to be stormy.

While your friends spent their Valentine's Day in fancy restaurants and luxurious hotels, your Valentine's Day was depressing and lonely with a meaningless box of take-out and too much cheap wine. And then the next day was even worse. The regret and bitterness. The anguish and the fear of losing you, it all came at once, and you could feel Carmy slipping through your fingers like sand, fast and at great cost.

And it wasn't as if he didn't care. You lived in Carmy Berzatto's mind twenty-four hours a day. You'd still be there if the days had more hours. He had too much feeling and not enough showing. And that killed him a bit every day. For it was you. You who comforted him after Mikey's death, you who bandaged all his cut fingers after a grueling day at The Beef. It was you, who watched him take over a new restaurant and start all over again.

You were there and Carmy hated himself for not being able to do the same.

There were times when he was lost in his own head. Fear ate him from within and breathing seemed almost impossible. There were countless times when you received messages from Sydney or even Natalie, when he accepted that he was in need of something, someone. From you. And it was never easy, because he made everything so difficult for himself. He did not want to involve you in the vortex of anxious thoughts that were occupying his mind. He didn't want to drag you into the personal hell that his mind had concocted.

But pushing you away was tantamount to losing you. And for Carmy, it was only a matter of time. Just as the sky is blue and water is liquid and so on, losing you was inescapable. One day it would happen. He didn't know when, but predicting the worst had been a common part of his life.

Then you hoped he would be there on one of the most important nights of your life. You had worked long and hard, and all your family and friends were coming to see the hard work you put into your art. You were happy in spite of everything. It had always been your dream to be recognized for your art, and to see the people you love the most recognizing it, honoring you for it, was priceless.

You kept glancing at the gallery door, waiting for Carmy to appear before you like a perfect dream come true. And with each passing second, it was clear to you that this was not the case. Almost twenty calls and thirty texts and no answer. At this point, you had no interest in the question of where he might be.

And somehow you could understand Carmy's busy and chaotic life. He had too many responsibilities, his mind was like an endless to-do list, and things just kept popping up, even more so after The Bear situation. But the selfish and unselfish part of your twisted mind wanted him to be there, to make time in his evening to be with you. After all, what was important to him was important to you as well. But often it didn't seem that way. And that was hard to deal with.

You heard the door of the small apartment you shared open just after two in the morning. It was dark. Only the lamp was on, which made for a calm atmosphere despite the usual tension in the house. And as soon as he entered the room and saw a suitcase packed at the foot of the bed, you could see the mixture of awe and panic on Carmy's face.

For a few seconds, he just stood there like that. Just standin' there. Blue eyes fading in something you no longer recognized. The distance between the two of you was almost palpable. Your heart crushed in your chest, shattering into a thousand little pieces.

Carmy lowered his head with a sense of defeat. The day he had been dreading had come, and he felt nothing but stupid and incompetent for allowing it to happen, even though he knew it was going to happen. The trembling in his hands was real, and he had to hide them behind the rest of his body so that they wouldn't be noticed.

"I'm sorry." It was the sound of his voice, almost in tatters, that did your heart in.

Carmy looked at you, shaking hands through his disheveled hair. This isn’t something he wanted to say goodbye to. What he had with you was the most beautiful part of his life. To lose you is to lose everything. And he didn't want to lose it all.

One tear ran down your cheek. You wiped it away before a single tear could turn into a few. You wouldn't know how to stop if you dared to cry now.

You said, "There are some leftovers from the dinner in the oven. I've sorted out your last few bills so you can get organized without having to worry, and..."

"I'm so sorry."

"...and the key is where it should be. If there is anything you need, Carmen, you can give me a call and..."

"No. No. I'm sorry."

The realization hit Carmy as hard as rock. He was on his knees in front of you. Feeling his hands around your wrists, you closed your eyes. There was something familiar and cruel about the calluses and the way his thumb brushed the inside of your arm.

You were so much in love with him that it hurt. Loving him like that, it hurt physically.

"I'm sorry. I'm going to be better. I'll get better, I'll focus on the things that matter and... I swear. I promise you, just... Please." His voice was like knives. They cut deeply and hurt.

You gulped, trying to escape the ocean of blue before them. There was so much pain in Carmy's eyes that all you wanted to do was hug him, take care of him and tell him that everything would be okay. But this cycle had to end, and you'd done it countless times.

You tried to get up from your shared bed, but Carmy stopped you. "Carm." You whispered in an attempt to get him to stop.

"Please." He whispered back.

"It's not working. You know I... I can't."

"I fucking love you. You're... I..." Carmy sighed and moved away, sitting down on the carpet a few steps away.

There were so many things that he wanted to say, but he couldn't. Carmy had the feeling that the floor was opening up and his body was being dragged into this black hole. His heart was beating so fast. He thought it would explode out of his chest. If he was the reason you were leaving, how could he beg you to stay?

And he knew it. He had been reading the signs. All the times he'd been late, even when you'd agreed to go out to eat together. All the dates he didn't show up for. The anniversary that hadn't worked out. That trip to Europe. All the things that piled up. He knew it, and he was there, and he was letting it happen.

But at the same time, he knew that you deserved better than that. You deserve someone who would give you time and love. Who would be there every day. Who would learn to love you the way you deserved. The love he felt for you was far greater than he was able to express, but that would have been egotistical of him.

Sometimes love is not enough. You have been the living proof of that.

"Carm. Look at me."

You knelt before him. He touched your hands once more, which were now touching his damp face. The last thing he would remember, besides your watery eyes, would be the scent of pear and vanilla that permeated your sweater.

"You'll be fine. I hope you're fucking happy and that all your hard work pays off. I'm your biggest fan. You know that, right?" You tried to put on a smile but failed miserably. "Carmen Berzatto, I will always support you.”

Everything I've achieved is meaningless without you, Carmy wanted to say, but couldn't.

Only your ragged breath broke the cruel, melancholy silence.

You wiped your face and got to your feet, ready to leave. Ready to leave behind all of the memories that you had with the man that you loved the most.

Before you left, Carmy looked at you and said, "All those things, they were true. They were real."

You understood his meaning and agreed with a nod of your head.

And so it was only at 2:47 a.m. when you finally left the apartment, that you allowed yourself a good cry.

It had been two months since you and Carmy had broken up. You hadn't heard from him since.

The only close contact you had with Carmy was Sydney, but you had been clear when you mentioned that she could only talk about him if it was something urgent. And nothing urgent had come up in two months.

You missed him, you couldn't deny it. Life was hell with him gone. Despite all that was bad and rotten, Carmy was kind, gentle, chivalrous, and cared about your feelings. You missed all the mundane things, even the times you ate packs of cheese balls while watching a movie, just waiting for the part where his hand would accidentally slip up your thigh and the movie session would turn into a making out session.

You tried to move on, except for the significant absence of him in your life. Grocery shopping was no longer the same. No cashew juice or fancy, barely pronounceable fruit and spice names. Just the usual bland basics. Maybe that was what it was like to live without Berzatto.

It was a rainy Tuesday, one of those Tuesdays when you just wanted to stay in and not have to deal with any obligations. You were one of the unfortunate ones who had to deal with adult life and buy parmesan cheese because your sister was the only one who could make macaroni and cheese worth eating. There was a place you only knew about thanks to Carmy that sold quality products.

The rain had made your hair wet, and the guard at the small market smiled sympathetically when he saw the miserable situation you found yourself in. You nearly laughed at yourself. Basket in hand, you wandered the aisles singing a pop song from the radio. Your eyes scanned the perimeter of the dairy aisle, and with your finger, you tried to select the best product.

Parmesan, in hand, you froze to the floor. The voice in the back of your head was so familiar, so ghostly, that it made you turn around in a hurry.

And there he stood. In the white shirt and the tattered jeans. His sandy hair so tousled that you felt your hand involuntarily clench in the desire to touch him, to feel his softness. You thought about calling him up, to say hi. The question in your mind was whether it would be too weird. Or perhaps not.

A woman with dark hair and sky blue eyes walked up to him, leaned her chin on his shoulder and whispered into his ear. Both of them laughed. You felt your heart sink.

Carmy turned around, a small smile on his face, and when you least expected it... they were kissing.

You felt as if time stopped running. That millisecond was etched in time. You could hear the gasping breath tearing at your chest, the tears gathering at the waterline, and your heart crashing again, for the same person.

"What are you doing? It's like you went to make that damned Parmesan, and I had to check to see if anything was wrong..." As your vision blurred, your sister's voice echoed in the back of your mind.

"Let's get out of here."

"What happened?" She tried to get you to look at her, but you just kept pushing her toward the marketplace.

"Let's take it somewhere else."

"But you said..."

"I'm aware of my words. Now let's just go."

As you dragged your sister down the aisle, Carmy could have sworn he heard something that sounded like you. But he couldn't really be a judge of his own conscience. Unable to tell what was real and what was not, he had been hallucinating for days. He would hear your voice and swear that he saw you somewhere, only to not be able to see you there.

"Are you okay?" Claire asked with a light squeeze of his hand.

"Yes, of course. Let's get going?" Carmy said, forcing a smile. Claire agreed and gave him a kiss again.

Carmen didn't want to relive ghosts from the past, no matter what had happened.

A week later, Sydney and Sugar had a text message that The Bear was finally open for business. The first night they were only opening for friends and family. They insisted that you should come. That it was important not only to themselves but also to Carmy.

You weren't sure about that. You had no idea what to do when you got there, because your presence could mean so many things. And despite everything, there was the news that still lingered in your mind: Carmy had met somebody.

Selfishness wasn't for you. You didn't want his eternal devotion. After all, you had put an end to the relationship. But when it came to him, that little feeling of envy and jealousy still existed. Because in spite of it all, you never stopped loving him.

"Well, you know what? Fuck it."

You yell at the top of your lungs before you start rummaging through your closet until you find the perfect dress to wear.

You once told Carmy that you would always be his biggest supporter and that you would always be true to your word.

You were greeted by Sugar. She looked gorgeous with her pregnant belly and a radiant smile when she saw you.

She said, "I can't believe you came!" She hugged you in a consoling way that only the Berzatto's could do. "You look so beautiful, honey."

"Nah. This is beautiful." You point to the room. "Look at you, Sug!"

"Come on. I'll show you your table." Sugar made her way among the tables. They were already crowded with familiar faces.

You looked amazed. "I'm seated?"

"Of course, dummy. You're one of us. I hope being away hasn't made you forget that."

You hugged her once more. Then you sat down at a small table with your name on it.

"Make yourself at home. We'll serve you soon."

"Thank you, Sug."

Fak almost kicked in the door, breathless. Sydney gave him an annoyed look as she tried to shake off so many orders in front of her, then whispered, "What the hell, Fak."

"She's here."

"Who's here?" Carmy asked, not even bothering to look at Fakerson.

"Your girl." Fak said smiling. "I mean, your ex-girl...?"

"Claire's here?" Sydney said, confused.

"Claire is here?" Carmy looked at him, completely taken aback.

"Why would Claire be here? I thought you guys broke up." Richie shot back before leaving the kitchen.

"Thanks, cousin." Carmy said, noticeably irritated.

"I thought it was obvious they broke up." Sydney grimaced.

"Guys?" Losing a little patience, Carmy put his hands on his waist.

"Wait. You and Claire broke up? Uh, Jeff..." Tina came over to Carmy's station with a pair of frying pans.

"Chefs! Appreciate the interest in my love life. Now, focus, please!" Carmy shouted. Everyone scattered to their stations. "Fak, who the fuck is out there?"

Fak started to speak, but before he could finish what he wanted to say, Richie appeared, wide-eyed.

"She's here."

And Carmy felt his whole body fall numb before he could even understand. It wasn't Claire. The last time they saw each other, she had made it clear that she didn't want any kind of involvement if he still had someone else on his mind.

And from Richie's smile, that could only mean one thing.

Carmy Berzatto was fucked.

Ten minutes had passed and Carmy had already cut his finger twice and almost burned the salmon. His mind was on the small pane of glass that was the partition between the salon and the kitchen.

You, sitting alone at a table, so beautiful and angelical that he felt his chest ache. And he couldn't tell if it was the black turtleneck dress, or your hair, or the red lipstick that outlined every curve of your mouth.

Carmy was at a loss. To bring him back to reality, Sydney had to yell at him five times. There was a kitchen to run and many dishes to do.

Richie appeared at your table from time to time. First it was with your favorite wine. Then with your main course, because you hated appetizers and you were sure it was a Carmy thing. Pork burger with gravy and tomato salad with red onion and Diet Coke. Carmy's first meal when you started dating, right in The Beef's old kitchen. He fed you. Then you had the most intense sex in his office.

Carmy knew what he was doing when he used food to bring back memories. So do you.

Sugar appeared again after dessert: pineapple ice cream with blackberries and wine. The restaurant was already very empty, only three tables were occupied, one of them being Sydney's relatives and Natalie's husband.

"Hey. So I had a talk with Carmy and he asked me if you could stay a bit longer..."

"I'm not sure."

"He wants to talk to you."

You had no idea what would come out of this conversation. What you had seen weeks ago still hurt. Talking might hurt you both more.

"Sug, I don't know..."

"Look, I get it. I really do. I'm not just saying this because I care about him. I know he has a lot of feelings for you. I saw how bad he was after you broke up, honey. I don't know what came of it, but... If you still care about Carm, please. I beg you. Talk to him, will you?"

It took a couple of seconds and Natalie was starting to think that you were going to get up and walk away.

"All right, then. I'm waiting."

"Good night, Chef!" Sydney was the last one out the backdoor.

Carmy leaned against the counter and ran his hand over his face. What was he thinking when he asked you to stay?

Now he could see the empty lounge. You sitting there, sipping your last glass of wine. Natalie, afraid of something worse, looked at your table and the kitchen every five seconds.

It was after one in the morning. You were impatient. Fear was eating you alive.

You stood up from the table and patiently walked over to Natalie. "May I go now?"

"He's in there. I'm leaving. Pete's waiting for me outside. Honey... Thank you for your patience. If you need anything, call me. Nice seeing you."

You said goodbye in a hug. "So do I, Nat. Thank you so much for everything."

It was only when you turned to the kitchen door and saw his silhouette inside, waiting for you, that you realized you were alone with Carmy. As you walked slowly, you gathered your thoughts.

Just as you opened the door, Carmen turned around. And by God... you couldn't look more beautiful. Your wine red cheeks contrasted with your red lips and it was driving him insane.

"Hey, Carm." Your voice struggled to come out. Carmy almost broke into a smile when he heard it.

"Hey." He whispered. "Thanks for coming."

"You know I wouldn't miss it. I'm happy for you guys. This place... It's beautiful, Carmy. What you've done to this place... It's just incredible."

"I wish I could have shown it to you sooner, but... Yeah." An awkward smile and a scratch at the back of his head. "Thank you."

You bit your lip, worried. "Did you want to... talk?"

"Yes. I, um, do. I don't really know what... I just... I wanted to see you." He agreed, a little awkwardly. "Sorry."

"For what?"

"Everything. I guess."

"Berzatto, history is history."

"No, it isn't." In denial, he took a step closer to you. "If history is history, then why don't I stop thinking about you?"

He had you by surprise. "Carmy."

"I mean it. None of it matters. Why... You're the only person who knows my heart by heart. You're my only true opener. And I know, I know I've failed you a thousand times and you probably deserve a luckier jerk than me."

Carmy felt overwhelmed. Exhausted.

"I love you. I love you so much that it scares me because I've never felt shit like this for anyone, you know? This feeling that suffocates and eats you alive, this shit scares me. And I know I'm a fucking psycho, but that's who I am, and I want you more than I've ever wanted anything in my life. I just... Fuck!"

He sniffled. He was trying to get rid of his watery eyes and all the humiliation that came with them.

You were in sheer shock. Carmy had never been so vulnerable as now and the whole situation was startling and unfamiliar to you.

"That's pathetic. I'm sorry." Disguising his shame with self-deprecation, he tried to laugh it off.

"Carmy." You took a step back, getting close enough to see how flushed he was. "Why didn't you ever tell me any of this stuff before?"

"Because I was scared. When something good happens to me..."

"You have an automatic assumption of the worst."

He agrees and looks down. You sigh and look at the countertop where his hands are. Exposed tattoos, each screaming for your silent touch.

"If all of this is real. Then why were you kissing her?"

"Claire?" He seemed surprised you knew her. "It didn't last. I don't know... I don't know what the hell I was thinking. In fact, I have a pretty good idea where my thoughts were. It just wasn't about her."

"Carm." You whispered, fingering his hand. "I don't care about the vanity. I just want to know if it's for real. If everything you've said is true."

Carmy felt his heart explode in her chest. Like a rough sea, his eyes watered. He took your hand and held it as he took one last step. The last step for the two of you to merge into one. Like a trap, his lips captured yours. Carmy was beastly, wild, desperate. There was an eagerness in his touch, and in the way that his lips moved around yours.

One of his hands went straight to your neck, gripping it tightly, while the other squeezed the skin around your waist. As he pressed you against the bench, deepening the kiss and moving your head as he pleased, a gasp escaped your lips. You were breathless. You felt narcotized by the longing for him again.

And it wasn't just a physical need. It was a lust for the meeting of souls.

"Is this real enough for you?" Carmy said after the kiss, sucking your lip and making sure you looked deep into his eyes.

You kissed him again with no time to lose. This time you made your way through the kitchen, knocking over utensils and pans along the way until you found your way to the office. Carmy rushed to close it, barely breathing.

Once again, he pinned you against the wall and held your wrists so that you wouldn't be able to escape even for a second. His lips explored your skin, every inch of it, so that you would never forget the taste. He wanted to carve his name into your skin, to worship you, to be devoted to your body and your love forever.

He had never felt anything so intense, and as frightening as it was, it was wonderful.

"Carmy." You whimpered as you felt his hands on your skin, on sensitive spots that made your eyes roll back.

"For old times' sake?"

"For old times' sake."

#carmy berzatto #carmy x reader #carmen berzatto #carmy imagines #carmy berzatto x you #carmy berzatto x reader #the bear hulu #the bear imagines #carmy berzatto fanfic #carmy berzatto imagine #carmy berzatto angst #carmy the bear #carmy berzatto smut #the bear fx

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anika-ann · 4 months

Text

A Night at the Museum (A.B.)

Type: one-shot, fluffiest fluff; canon-divergence from Defending Jacob

Pairing: Andy Barber x reader WC: 5000

Summary: You always loved wandering through your museum after closing time – there was something so peaceful about it, a new layer of beauty to space and all the art that adorned the walls.

Tonight however, the peace is interrupted by a charming handsome man who has no business to be there… will you throw him out?

Warnings: 18+ for allusions to smut, TOOTH. ROTTING. FLUFF., uncomplete list to keep some mystique - so read at your own risk (but no supernatural elements)

A/N: a story dedicated to lovely @chase-your-dreams-away ✨, to everyone who enjoys a tooth-rotting fluff and to all you lovelies who support my writing shenanigans - you know who you are, giving me love and life 💕 Happy Holidays, if you celebrate! // divider by @firefly-graphics

Every single step you took felt so light it was almost as if you were floating.

The endless beauty adorning the walls, the soft intimate lights reserved for occasional night visiting hours only accentuating the already romantic atmosphere of the art museum, walking through the halls and galleries equalled a magnificent experience that made your soul shiver and yet feel at peace. You let the serenity wash over you as you roamed the art museum, already having helped usher the lingering visitors outside. The sound of your heels echoed in the vast galleries, your eyes drawn from one beautiful piece of art to another, even as you had seen them all a hundred times.

There were simply sights in this world that would never get old, you mused, a small smile playing on your lips, a slow steady pace bringing you to another section – and having you freeze in your step.

Just standing there without a care for the outside world, apparently immersed in admiring a painting – one of favourite, you realized distantly – stood a man. A man who most definitely did not worked here. Your heart skipped a beat.

“Excuse me, sir,” you called out lowly, anything louder than a that feeling wrong in the otherwise quiet gallery. “It’s after hours. You can’t be here.”

He startled too at the first sound of your voice – his head snapped to you, piercing but kind blue eyes wide with surprise, as if you brought him down from a haze, from a deep thought; from thorough appreciation of art. You would have smiled at that, since you knew the feeling too well, but you were too distracted by the man’s handsome face.

Awfully, unbearably handsome, with a ruffle of dark hair and a clearly well-kept beard, a dark blue suit that only highlighting his beautiful eyes, hands slipping from his pockets as he straightened upon facing you; his biceps bulged a bit with that movement, visible even under the suit jacket. There was a good-natured expression on his face, a pleasant note in his voice as he responded on the same volume, if not slightly quieter.

“Oh. Sorry.”

His voice was as lovely to hear as his face was to look at; almost like he had belonged here, the central piece among the sea of art, a sculpture capturing the peak of a man crafted by talented hands of the old masters.

As you walked closer to him, your chest ached a little; he wasn’t just handsome. He was drop-dead gorgeous. And while that didn’t authorise him to be here, it sure made your approach more amicable. You were only human, after all.

“I was actually heading out,” he continued, “but I just… got a little caught up in admiring the art.”

The corners of your lips rose involuntarily. You could see that easily happening to anyone – it was after all a painting close to your own heart and soul. Some might call it too simple – an image of hands, one larger, rougher than the other, held out palm up to the other, softer, smaller one, fingertips barely brushing, the mahogany brown background with a few lighter strokes of brush adding an aura of warmth. But its simplicity and what some would call imperfections were deceiving.

Many would argue that hundreds of art students all over the world drew a hand study every day. Masterfully executed or not, this particular piece of art could indeed be called plain; but it wasn’t. As things stood, the painting was no Creation of Adam, your all-time favourite, but it had earned a rightful place in the art gallery and n your heart, and it wasn’t only because of how old the painting was or who had created it.

If you were being honest, you were never able to quite put your finger on why, but it always tended to touch something deep inside you. So truly, you understood the man perfectly.

He had no business being here so late – and yet. Perhaps for his pretty face and his breathtaking physique indeed, perhaps for his warm gaze having returned to the painting with curious, soft eyes – you couldn’t just have him dragged away, keen on hearing his insight instead.

“How so?” you inquired.

His gaze snapped back to you, surprised. He examined you for a bit, as if he couldn’t figure out whether you were asking or just bidding your time before security found you, but in the end, he just smiled, slightly embarrassed.

“Oh, I couldn’t say. I don’t know the first thing about art, so I can’t even appreciate it properly-“

“Of course you can,” you interrupted him, regretting your hastiness when his eyes widened, watching you intently. You smiled apologetically, gaze dropping before it returned to the painting, the sight of the beautiful man too much – and you were used to looking at art every day. “What I mean is… sure, the knowledge of history of art and art technique can help you recognize a painting’s value to the world, but not its value to yourself.”

You cringed internally; you sounded like a fool, a pretentious one at that, contradicting your own words. And yet, his voice was soft when he spoke again without a hint of offense.

“I’ll take your word for it… but still. Might help to have a guide… what do you like about this painting?” he asked, gaze returning to the art in question. “That is, if you like it at all.”

“I like it a lot, actually. It’s one of my favourites.”

“How so?” he echoed your earlier words, something about the way his gaze flickered to you making you feel warm all over. He sounded genuinely curious. About what you thought. He seemed interested in your very personal insight; and in the intimate lightening of the gallery, you reluctantly gave in, all too aware of how close you seemed to stand now, side by side, barely two feet apart.

“I like how it makes me feel. I like wondering what made the artist capture this particular moment in time – not sooner, not later. Not when the hands touch further or part completely. And what the moment even is. All that wondering just leaves a lasting impression.”

“Yeah… I suppose that’s what I could say as well,” he mused, tilting his head slightly to side as he considered your words. “Tell me more.”

It wasn’t an order – despite the wording, it sounded more like a plea. Something pleasing hummed in your chest, a gentle stroke to your ego.

“It’s the position of the hands. Hands can be so expressive, we can say so much with them, with a touch. And I don’t mean it in the sense of sign language, where people literally use them to form words agreed upon earlier, but… they can convey feelings, capture so much more than words themselves often can,” you tried to explain, feeling heat rise to your cheeks. You sounded like a crazy person who read Jane Austen too much – and you were all too aware. You often couldn’t help it, when you talked about art – but the poor man didn’t sign up for this. You chuckled bashfully. “I’m sorry, I’m rambling.”

“Not at all,” he opposed, causing you to risk a side-way glance. His gaze lost nothing of its warmth, quite the opposite; his lips melted in a gentle smile and he was certainly paying more attention to you than the painting. You’d lie if you said it wasn’t flattering. And the electricity you seemed to feel in the air sure wasn’t unpleasant either. “I never thought of it this way, but I certainly cannot argue with that. And I argue for living.”

“Ah. A lawyer then?” you said, his hands rising in surrender in response.

He had really nice and big hands. Someone should paint them. And he should put them on me.

“Guilty as charged.”

“And with a sense of humour, I see.”

There was something a little shy and definitely intimate about his laugh, his gaze firmly on yours. “I have been told I only have old man jokes these days.”

“Well, that’s just rude. You should have that person arrested for such insult.”

“That’s not how this works.” He was laughing again, crinkles around his eyes. He had such a gentle laugh, quiet, fitting for the space. “Now… what do you think is happening here then?” he beckoned to the painting.

You pursed your lips, accepting his prompt.

“Well, that’s one of the things I love about it so much – it can be whatever you want it to be. A man and a woman… there’s this atmosphere of longing. Tenderness to the touch. Uncertainty, as if they aren’t sure if they are allowed. The man especially. Maybe they are future lovers…” You felt your cheeks heat, blush spreading as the man’s eyes flickered to yours. “Maybe not. Maybe it’s a goodbye.”

“How do you figure?”

“The blurry lines,” you whispered, your smile turning dreamy. You truly did love this piece – it conveyed so much emotion, offered so many interpretations. Made you feel so much. “They’re not accidental – the moment is hazy. Maybe it’s a memory, a painful one, a memory of a goodbye smeared by unshed tears. Maybe it’s a dream – dreaming about what can’t be, no matter what the heart desires.”

“Wishful thinking,” he murmured under his breath.

“Yeah.”

“Maybe he’s an artist asking his muse to be let into her favour.”

Your head snapped to him in surprise; but for once, he kept looking at the painting. Still, your breath caught; that definitely was a lovely interpretation.

“Maybe.”

“What else?”

Your gaze returned to the painting, even as your gaze was drawn to him instead, distracted, your thoughts consumed by the image of his handsome profile and the well-fitting suit – and those damn hands. He stood even closer now, slightly behind you; you could almost feel his warm breath on your cheek, the woodsy tones of his cologne wrapping around you like a blanket. You could get in trouble, lingering here, with him – but deep down, you felt you’d happily do so. And probably thank him for it.

He spoke again before he gathered your wits, a warm smile in his voice. “Could be a lonely artist who set his eyes on the most beautiful of women…”

You felt the back of his hand brush yours. No accident; a lover’s caress. You felt tingles spread thought your whole body from the point of contact, your heart thundering in your chest even as it shouldn’t have.

He shouldn’t have such an effect on you. Not after two years of much more intimate touches, teasing brushes of his fingertips, his palms roaming your body firmly, his lips appreciating every inch of your skin. A simple touch of a hand shouldn’t have made you shiver, but it did. With Andy, it always did. Especially when he talked like that, your face growing warmer by the second at his praise. Because it was clear he was no longer talking about the painting on the wall. Not when he ran his fingers over the back of your hand before turning it so your own hand slipped into his easily, and squeezed.

“…and was somehow insanely lucky that she accepted when he asked her out two years ago. And ever since then, his life’s been full of happiness he thought was no longer in cards for him. How’s that for knowledge of history?” he asked cheekily now, full grin spreading on his lips as he pulled lightly on your hand to spin you around to face him, his free hand already cupping your cheek as you giggled, letting the façade fall.

“You’re a charmer and a flatterer,” you muttered as he leaned in for a kiss, palm cradling your face and guiding you closer to his lips, soft whiskers tickling your face as your lips finally met.

His hand released yours, sneaking around your waist instead, deepening the kiss, making your toes curl in your pumps even after having received thousands kisses like this from him.

You had met pretty much like this – with you working late and him charming your wits out of you and having you lose yourself in his beautiful blues, mesmerized by his almost startlingly handsome face, even if he had been the one who had got a bit lost in the museum complex. Sparks flew, hearts fluttered, hands wandered – much sooner than they ever had in your previous relationship. But the whirlwind of passion was wrapped in an intimacy on an emotional level too – you had never fallen so fast, body, mind and soul, but Andy Barber was simply special. Bless his heart, he hadn’t really known much about art back then – but he had a quick mind and willingness to learn, eager to listen to you as you talked about your long-life love, watching you with a curious adoring gaze, a patient smile on his lips.

He told you he’d pick you up after work so you could celebrate the two-year anniversary of your first date. So as soon as you shoed away the last visitors, you hurried to the staff room to freshen up at least a bit. Andy hadn’t told you where he would take you up until two hours ago – where he called you on your short break to inform you that he was, in fact, a sneak who had an exceptional way with words.

Bribing your colleagues with god-knows-what, he had arranged for you to have the museum for yourselves up until midnight – a private tour with the softened lights saved for the evening, likely wandering hand in hand, beauty surrounding you as well as love. You had no doubt he had brought refreshments too, having left work right after lunch, probably preparing one of his excellent recipes; the premise of spending your special night like this with him had you giddy and soft for the rest of your shift. So when you saw him standing there like that, you couldn’t help but re-act your first encounter for a bit – but you didn’t expect him to lean into it so fully, letting you relive the awe of a handsome stranger being so impressed by whatever you had to say.

The nip of teeth on your lower lip brought you back to reality, heat swirling in your belly, having you press into Andy’s firm body further, not an inch left between you just as it should be, especially since your head was already beginning to spin with the lack of oxygen.

He was the one to retreat, smiling against your lips, nose caressing yours, your palms smoothening over his shoulders lovingly.

“You started it,” he opposed, pecking your lips again and then once more for a good measure, a little breathless himself. When you met his gaze, you saw nothing but adoration in his eyes. “I simply played along. …hi, by the way.”

You chuckled and returned his greeting, meeting his lips once more.

“Hi stranger. Happy anniversary.”

His smile was almost blinding as he tucked the lose strand of your hair behind your ear, fingertips stroking your cheek.

“Happy anniversary, sweetheart,” he whispered, eyes roaming your face so attentively – as if he was admiring what had been no doubt etched into his memory by now – that your felt your skin heat up again, gaze lowering timidly. “You’re beautiful. I love you.”

I love you. It was a simple admission – but that didn’t mean it still didn’t send your heart flutter, especially when he looked at you as if you were the single most precious piece of art in the whole complex.

“I love you too—what?” you questioned, when his eyes suddenly flickered behind you, back to the painting, and a frown twisted his features.

“There’s something missing,” he mused, causing your chest to spasm with panic. You spun on your heels and escaped his embrace so fast you nearly toppled over. Your eyes frantically searched for any sign of what was wrong – a missing plate with description? Had piece of the golden frame broken away? A- “I do like the painting, but it’s just… it’s missing something.”

You huffed out a breath of relief, turning back to Andy swiftly, hitting his chest with the back of your hand, earning a burst of silent laughter.

“Sorry-“

“You are not! Don’t do that, Andrew!” you whisper-yelled, your ribcage actually aching a bit from the sudden scare. “I’d be in real trouble if there was something missing, you know that! But do enlighten me, Mr. I Don’t Know The First Thing About Art. What is missing here?”

He had the decency to look a tiniest bit guilty as he gently touched your shoulders, spinning you back to the painting, wrapping his arm over your middle to pull you flush to his front.

“Don’t get me wrong. It’s beautiful. I know you love this one. But I… I think finally figured out what the scene is about,” he explained slowly, voice dropping back to a whisper, only a trace of gentle laughter in his pleasant timbre.

“Oh?” you inquired nonchalantly, still pouting a bit even as your exasperation evaporated as quickly as it had appeared. You could get fired if something got lost on your watch, so that was a mean joke – but you should have known better. You had known him for two years now after all.

“Uh-huh,” he hummed, guiding your hands to lay on your stomach, placing one of his warm palms over them, chin resting on your shoulder. “Well, obviously, they are a man and a woman.”

“Is that how you win all the cases at court? With your excellent observation skills and dead-on-point arguments, Mr. Obvious?”

Andy continued, unbothered by your snarky teasing.

“And he’s an old, maybe a little dorky man, who is crazy in love with this gorgeous woman with passion for art…”

The corners of your lips twitched as you turned your head to him, nose nudging his cheek as you understood where this was going. “You’re not that old… but you’re plenty sappy for sure.”

“Who said I was talking about us?” he teased, squeezing your hands again as he nudged you to look forward again despite your prolonged ‘riiiight’. “But he’s a little bit like the artist, asking a muse for her favour… he’d feel like the luckiest man on Earth if she’d allow him.”

You leaned your weight back onto Andy’s warm body, tilting your head, as a full smile spread on your lips along with the sweetest warmth curling in your heart.

“Well… I know you said it’s not us, but… if it were, he wouldn’t have to ask. He’s already plenty in her favour.”

You let your eyes slip shut, revelling in the feeling of being in the arms of the man you loved, almost tasting his own affection for you on your tongue, feeling it float in the air. You felt at peace; safe, warm and loved. Nothing could measure up to the serenity of the moment. Whatever Andy had planned for you two, as nice as it no doubt was, it didn’t matter much – you could just stay like this for hours, with his lips occasionally reaching to kiss your cheek, your temple.

“I adore you, Andrew Stephen Barber,” you sighed. “Sappy and all.”

His chest rumbled behind you as he hummed, his finger softly stroking your hand, pulling you somehow even closer to him. “Well perhaps he’s asking something else then.”

You felt your eyebrows rise, eyes fluttering open, smile still plastered on your face – you were probably grinning like a loon at this point.

“What’s he asking then? And what was that thing you said was missing?”

He caressed your fingers again. You felt him gulp behind you before he straightened and took your left hand, bringing it to your shoulder, to his lips, his hold on you never faltering.

“Maybe he’s asking if he could gain her favour forever.”

You chuckled breathlessly. Sap. For someone who had already been married once, even if mostly for convenience of an unplanned child, and then got divorced, he sure stayed a romantic.

“Forever is a long time,” you hummed noncommittally, not at all opposed to the idea though.

Andy was without doubt your Prince Charming in a three-piece suit, the wishful image of a happily ever after having crossed your mind more than once. With him, forever sounded sweet – and entirely plausible.

“Yeah, I know. But I want to try my luck asking anyway.”

That was the only warning you got before Andy suddenly released you from his embrace and used the gentle hold he still had on your left hand to turn you to face him, the strangest expression on his face.

Adoration. Affection. Worry. A nervous smile.

Nervous? What reason-

The realization slammed into you the very second Andy began to drop to one knee, a voiceless ‘oh my god’ knocked out of you along with your breath. A little blue box held up in his free palm, he gazed up at you as you watched him with wide eyes already filling with tears.

God, had you had any capacity to do so, you’d feel like a dumbass for not figuring out sooner what all his talk had meant. Why the missing thing. Why this was the painting he decided to stand in front of, this one among hundred others that adorned the walls of this place. Why the hand that had been right under his had been your left one, the whole time, and he hadn’t been caressing all your fingers. He had been – perhaps subconsciously – tracing a line of a ring which he hoped to put on your ring finger.

“Andy-”

“Sweetheart… I’m supposed to be great with words, but now when you’re actually facing me when I kneel here, they all… disappeared. But know that I love you. I love you with everything I am, with my whole heart. I will never understand art as well as you do, but I promise I’ll never stop trying and never stop listening, because I want to understand everything you love. I promise I will always do all I can to stay in your favour, in the favour of a woman who might as well be a muse herself,” he whispered hoarsely, his eyes turning glassy as a huge lump grew in your throat, several tears escaping you and rolling down your cheeks even as you were biting your lip – as not to cry, a not to laugh giddily.

He wanted to marry you. He wanted to spend the rest of your lives with you and he wanted to make it as tangible as possible. He made this damn moment all about you, a true promise, a true testimony that he meant what he was saying. You bit your tongue hard as not to blurt out your answer before he could even ask the question.

He choked a little as he said your full name, thumb pressing to the edge of the box for it to open and reveal a no doubt beautiful ring – but you couldn’t bring yourself to look at it, not when his lips twitched in a smile, his hand a little clammy as he still held yours. Or perhaps it only felt that way because your own were trembling, your heart threatening to beat its way out of your chest?

“Will you marry me?” he asked at last, finishing the question with a wide grin as you started to nod halfway through, the yes escaping a little too loud in the enormous room, the echo drowned in Andy’s relieved laugh, his hands – indeed shaking – slipping the ring on your ring finger meticulously before rising to his feet and framing your face with his palms and smashing his lips to yours, a grin to a grin, salty tears to salty tears.

Your fingers found purchase into his locks, holding onto him for dear life as he kissed you with vigour, nearly bending you backwards in half, one hand gripping your nape, the other moving to your lower back instead for better balance as he continued to steal your breath all for himself, an insistent press of his lips tasting like heaven and a promise of happiness.

“I love you.” A kiss to your lips. “I love you.” A kiss to your nose. “I love you so fucking much-“

You giggled against his lips, returning the affection as much as you could, your heart pounding in your chest, pressed against Andy’s ribcage – his heart was racing too, as if he had run a marathon or argued the case of his life in front of a full courtroom.

“I love you too-“

“Thank you-“

You laughed breathlessly, yelping when his hands slipped under your thighs and he lifted you to up to spin you around, a brilliant smile on his face.

“You’re a sneak, Andrew Barber,” you teased him, the world still spinning even as he set you down, taking both of your hands to place a tender kiss to your fingers.

It was the first time you actually took a proper look at the shiny ring – and your breath caught in your throat, eyes burning, nose tingling with fresh tears.

“Andy…”

It was gorgeous – and most definitely not a mindlessly picked piece of jewellery with the biggest diamond in a ten-mile radius to show off. No. Much like he had shown dedication to the proposal itself – you were getting married, holy damn, Andy just PROPOSED – he must have put plenty of thought into choosing what was to adorn your finger for hopefully a very long time; forever even. Delicate but intricate in design, a bigger centre stone with what seemed to be a thousand of tiny gemstones surrounding it as a halo in an unpredictable but beautiful pattern. He must have spent a fortune on it – it was a piece of art itself. Probably one of a kind.

Just like the gem of a man who now stood in front of you with a mix of pride and bashfulness in his expression as you admired your new accessory – a new promise.

You met his gaze, eyes probably shining brighter than the ring.

“It’s gorgeous,” you sighed, unable to resist and leaning in for another kiss, hoping to pour all your gratitude and delight into his lips. “I see what you did here, Andy. Thank you… and I really really adore you, you have no idea. I’m the lucky one.”

He shook his head with a grin, nudging your nose with his, hugging you close. “Let’s agree to disagree, sweetheart…”

A smirk pulled at the corner of your lips. “Mr. Barber… are you already disagreeing with your future wife?”

Judging by certain sensation against your belly, you weren’t the only one who felt a shot of euphoria through your veins when you said it; Andy’s pupils dilated, gaze flickering to your lips, this time with less than sweet intent, hand wandering from your lower back to the globes of your ass instead.

You giggled and let him pull you to him until you realized the direction you were facing – not. Because like this, Andy’s hand appreciating your ass was perfectly visible to the camera.

“Andy, wait-“

“I wouldn’t dare to disagree… guess we can both thank to our lucky stars then…” he muttered, completely ignoring your protest, lips nearing yours, suddenly painfully slow, butterflies fluttering in your stomach despite the rational voice in he back of your head that your really shouldn’t give in. But how when his palm sprawled further, long fingers reaching to your quickly heating centre.

“An-“

He swallowed your noise of protest and plea at once, your knees buckling an inch when he stroked over your covered slit.

“Celebrate with me?” he whispered against your lips, his hips rutting against yours making you whimper.

“Andy, the cameras-“

“-are off, I bribed the guard, I swear-“ he cut you off as his other hand slipped under your pencil skirt, already tracing the line of your panties on your thigh.

“Andy-“ you whined as his lips retreated only to pepper soft slow kisses down the column of your throat, your head tilting back on its own volition as your body craved his touch, your core now throbbing. He’d better not be joking about the cameras, otherwise you really would-

“Come on, love, you gonna let me pin you to the wall like the masterpiece you are deserves?” he whispered and it was a terrible, terrible line, but he nipped at your pulse point and your feet obliged as he back you into the wall, fingers pushing the soaked fabric of your underwear to side, finding your hot and wet and waiting for him. A groan escaped his lips, his hard cock rutting into you as his fingertips teased your slit. “Gonna let me paint you all pretty with my cum, like a good little wife?”

“Jesus, Andy-“

“Gonna say yes to me one more time today, won’t you?” he demanded huskily, a knowing teasing lull to his voice as he kissed you again, letting you taste his sinful smile. He knew you would. You could never tell him no, not when you knew what awaited you was pure bliss, a loving but no less filthy ecstasy.

It was wrong. It was beautiful. It was insane and you’d happily take the leap. You were getting married. What other answer was there, especially with such a reward in your reach?

“Yes,” you sighed, head hitting the wall lightly, the hard warm planes of Andy’s body indeed pinning you in place, right between two damn exquisite painting. “Yes, I will.”

And then, because that beautiful bastard seducing you in the least appropriate place deserved a retaliation, you breathed out the last coherent words you could form before Andy made you forget how to do so:

“I will always say yes to my husband.”

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Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed 🥰

Once again, Happy Holidays to all who celebrate 💕

Headboard info: framed picture from this artist (edited) - https://displate.com/displate/5918780, gif from Tenor

#r #andy barber x reader #andy barber imagine #andy barber x you #andy barber #defending acob au #andy barber fluff #andy barber fanfiction #andy barber fanfic #a night at the museum #anika ann #gift fic

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