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kimnjss · 3 years

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ruining his shirt | reaction

NAMJOON

Sat around the TV with his friends, even with the amount of sitting space in Taehyung's living room, you were quick to get yourself comfortable in Namjoon's lap. He didn't mind, of course. Wrapped his arms around you and held your body close to his chest as the plot of the movie played out in front of you.

Movie nights were a common occurrence within your friend group. Always held at Taehyung's house because he had the largest television. It was Joon who had started the trend of bringing their girlfriend's along, turning their guys night into something fun for all of you to do together.

Yoongi is coming out of the kitchen, two boxes of pizza in either hand while Hoseok follows behind him with the other two. The lids being pulled back to reveal the cheesy goodness inside. Mouth watering at the sight, you don't hesitate to reach forward. Grabbing out two pieces, one for you and the an snuggled into your back.

Joon is taking the slice with a mumbled, “Thanks,” eyes glued to the screen as an argument builds between the main characters. You're unbelievably comfortable in his arms, cheek pressed against his shoulder.

It's the unexpected slap on the screen that has your body jumping, a small gasp falling from your lips. Namjoon is jumping too, but not for the same reason as you. Your sudden movement had a greasy glob of cheesy sliding from the top of your pizza onto your boyfriend's stomach.

Neither of you move for a full minute, staring at the pepperoni staining his otherwise white shirt. A look of annoyance on his face but it doesn't last long, fading into a soft smile the moment he's acting sight of the apologetic pout forming on your lips.

“I'm sorry, baby.” You're scrambling to get a napkin to clean up your mess, only to be stopped by the gentle palm on your leg. “Don't worry about it, love.” He's taking the napkin from your hand to finish the job, before pressing a few soft kisses to your forehead. “All better,”

His arm is back around your waist, pulling you into his chest. Easily settling back into the relaxed mode he was in before the spill. With you in his arms, his ruined shit was the last thing on his mind.

JIN

Jin was rather spontaneous when it came to your relationship. Hardly ever called you up to plan a date ahead of time, more often than not you were getting a call a few hours before he was showing up at your front door. If you were lucky.

Most days, you loved that about hm. Never knowing when he'd be showing up at your door with his pouty lips claiming how he couldn't stop thinking about you so he just had to rush right over. Never once would you hesitate to invite him in, more excited than the last when you got a chance to hang out with him.

Today was different, though. Not to say you didn't want to see him – you always wanted to see him. But today was one of the extremely rare occasions where he had set up a date with you. Wanted to take you out for lunch after you finished your exams, knowing how hard you've been working the past few weeks.

He had told you about this at the beginning of the week and you should've had it imprinted in your mind, but with everything else you had clouding your mind – your lunch date unfortunately took the back seat.

So imagine your shock when Jin's name is lighting up your phone. A one line message letting you know he's on his way to pick you up. It's in that moment that it's all rushing back and you're springing out of bed to get ready. You're still wearing his shirt that you mindlessly threw on after your shower as you rummage through your makeup bag. Desperate not to look like you've spent the entire morning in bed scrolling through Twitter.

Caution to spills is the least of your worries as you rush to get pretty. Seokjin's shirt seems to catch everything that misses your face and even more when you're startling at the sound o the doorbell. Only a courtesy because he knows our door code. He's walking in just as you're tying your hair into a proper ponytail.

Eyes rolling playfully at the sight of you only half ready. He's pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head, eyes fining yours in the mirror and dropping to the stains on your shirt. “I was looking for that shirt the other day,”

You're taking the moment to look down at the top, noticing for the first time the mess you've made of it. But when you're catching Jin's gaze, he looks the least bit upset. “I'm sure it'll wash right out,” He's sinking onto your bed with a shrug of his shoulder.

“Don't worry about it,” Long arms stretching over his head before he's laying back on the bed. “It's your shirt now anyway,” Such a simple sentence, one that he probably didn't think too much about. But it has a large smile lifting your cheeks.

YOONGI

Another late night spent in the studio, with you pestering Yoongi to eat something more than the bag of chips that he had opened on his desk. You're met with an eye roll and a huff, his eyes staying focused on the computer screen in front of him.

He didn't even budge when you're were bringing in his favorite meal, announcing it loudly while wafting the delicious scent in his direction. Somehow, you manage to fight your way into his lap. Lifting up a mouthful and holding it out to him. Barely paying attention, but unable to resist is jaw is dropping open and you're pushing the food into his mouth.

The timing is off at one point, he's opening his mouth just a bit too late and you're not looking so the hot noodles are landing on his clean beige top. He's registering the heat on his stomach, brow furrowing before he's looking down at the mess you've made. He's annoyed, you can tell because he was trash at hiding it. Although he didn't want to take it out on you, it didn't take a genius to know that he felt some type of way of you ruining his shirt.

Yoongi doesn't bring it up again, but you saw the look on his face when he had to toss the garment away – not being able to get the stain out. And the way his face lights up when you're surprising him on his day off. A black shopping bag in hand with the bold 'FG' printed on the side. The exact shirt you had ruined days before neatly folded inside.

The corners of his eyes crinkle as his smile grows, wrapping an arm around your shoulders to tug you closer to him. He's pressing a dozen kisses to your forehead, before he's pulling back to pull the shirt he's currently wearing off replacing it with his new one.

Your heart swells when he's thanking you with that gummy smile, leaning down to press his lips to yours.

HOSEOK

Both Jin and Jungkook came rushing into the room covered head to toe in paint. Laughing loudly and pulling your attention from your phone to them. A paintball fight they were having outside is what has them dripping paint on to the living room floor. Only in for a second, so Jungkook can get a drink of water.

“What are you doing?” Had just been re-watching Catfish from season one, trying to waste time until Hoseok was coming back home.

He's inviting you to come to and play with them and you're hopping up with very little hesitation. Rushing to follow the two of them outside, not even thinking to change the clothes you're wearing.

Instead, you're jumping right into playing with them. Running around the yard and laughing as paint splatters onto your legs and arms... and clothes. The free you of end up collapsing with laughter on to the grass, breathing heavily from all the running you've been doing.

Not even the slam of the car door in the driveway has you jolting up, Jimin's voice hitting your ears as he's exiting the car. Taehyung is a few steps behind him and your boyfriend after that. They're walking to see what you're up to.

Urging yourself to stand, you're moving to tackle your boyfriend in a hug but he's stopping you before you can reach him. Eyes dropping to the stained shirt on your body. “Is that my shirt?” It's the first time that you're taking a moment to look down at the shirt that you've got on.

Only now remembering how you had slipped into his white grocery bag top today after your shower. Had planned to change into your own clothes sometime later that day, but never got around to it. And now the white was splattered in rainbow paint.

“Oh, baby. I'm so...” You can tell just from the look on his face that he's not pleased. Can't even blame him for being upset, you had been careless. “It's acrylic paint... it'll come right out,” Jungkook is stepping in, attempting to ease the awkward tension that grows.

It's a stupid thing to be mad about, so arguing isn't on his mind at all. He's simply sighing, running his fingers through his hair before mumbling out, “Just wash it, I guess.” He doesn't say anything else, taking one last look at his stained shirt before leaving to enter the house.

JIMIN

With his lips pressed to your ear, his breathy moans fan over skin. Hidden from the rest of the party goers, he's trying his best to stay quiet. But it's extremely hard with your hand in his pants, stroking him to his end.

Jimin has a tight grip on your hips, desperately trying to keep himself grounded somehow. You had been eyeing him from across the room since he showed up at this party, didn't miss your chance with going up to him. Flirting the best way you knew how until the two of you were dancing unbelievably close on the dance floor.

And as it does, one thing led to another leading up til now. Huddled together in a dark corner with your hand down his pants and his lips on your neck. “Fuck, I'm so close...” His voice has your skin prickling with goosebumps.

The alcohol that cruises through your veins being drown out with the feeling of intoxication you get from being around him. Feeling of him surrounding you with his sweet scent. It's no secret to you, or any of your friends the crush you had on this boy. The obvious flirting that took place between the two of you enough to raise a few eyebrows, but was never surprising.

Jimin's hips seem to mindlessly move with the strokes of your hand. Shuddering when you're running the pad of your thumb over the head of it. It's not long before his hushed moans become desperate whines against your ear. His grip on your hips tightening as the arousal rakes through his body, creating a stiffness in his legs.

He's grunting out your name just moments before he's releasing, with your hand out of the way his cum is staining the bottom of his black shirt with white. Teeth scrape against your skin as he comes down, eyes screwed shut.

You're not pulling your hand from his body until he's completely winded down. Breathing heavily against your skin. His gaze dropping when you're moving your hand from his body, catching sight of the wet marks on his shirt. The sight has his cheeks burning red and you can't hold back from teasing him.

“See the big mess you made?” He's letting out a breathy chuckle, leaning down only to capture your lips with his. Jimin kisses you slowly for a moment, allowing his tongue to twist and push with yours before he's pulling back.

Butterflies rise in your belly at the sight of the sultry grin on his face. Only getting worse with the words that follow. “Should I make a mess of you too, then?”

TAEHYUNG

An impromptu barbecue with Tae and his closest friends is the best way to spend a summer night in your opinion. Night swimming with Yoongi before racing Jungkook to the table with the plan of loading up your plates in mind.

Sandwiched between Taehyung and Namjoon, the three of you hanging on to every word coming out of Hoseok's mouth, the story of Jimin trying ad failing to get some girls attention holding the attention of everyone at the table. Except for Jimin who acts like you're all sitting in silence.

Taehyung has his arm wrapped around your shoulders, holding your body snuggled close into the side. Only releasing you when Jin is coming to the table with a second tray of food. But once he's picked out all he wants to eat, he's pulling you close again.

Days like this were definitely on the top of your list. Being able to be with hi, relax with him made you happy. Your relationship with Taehyung was... interesting to say the least. Not one hundred together, but one thousand percent exclusive. It was like the two of you had this mutual understanding of the lines you shouldn't cross and never even tried to.

From the way he treated and acted around you, it didn't take a lot of thinking to put together the fact that he had feelings for you. And you had feelings for him too, just neither of you have made the move to make things official, so they just stayed the way they were.

Hoseok's story is coming to a close, the conversation shifting on to Jungkook and the plans that he was supposed to keep open tomorrow. You're no longer listening, just simply enjoying yourself in your man's strawberry scented embrace, mentally bouncing from conversation to conversation as you settle in his hold.

So wrapped up i your own thoughts, you're not paying as much attention as you should when you're setting your drink back on the table. The cup set perfectly on the edge that it's teetering the moment you're letting go, toppling over and landing in Taehyung's lap. Dirtying his pretty sky blue top with red fruit juice.

“Oh, shit! I'm sorry!” Scrambling to grab some napkins, but Taehyung is quick to stop to you. Barely jumped when the liquid was sweeping through the fabric. Soft lips stretching into an easy smile as he reaches for the edge of his shirt. In one swift movement, he's pulling it up and over his head. Tossing it away without a second thought.

You're being pulled back into his side immediately after he's refilling your cup. Slipping back into the conversation that he had been in before as if nothing had interrupted him in the first place.

And for some reason, you can't help but smile. Finding yourself relaxing back into his side stupid feelings growing for him. Times ten.

JUNGKOOK

“Kookie,” Jungkook is looking up confused at your sheepish tone, eyebrows furrowed when he sees the way you're standing in the doorway of your shared bedroom. You look like a child on their way to confess to breaking their mom's favorite vase. And in a sense you were.

Your boyfriend was real meticulous when it came to doing the laundry, separated the clothes in three different loads to avoid any bleeding. You, on the other hand didn't really care for the difference. “What happened, baby?” He's sitting up, eyes landing on the balled up shirt you have clutched in your hands.

His favorite gray Carhartt t-shirt blotchy with bleach stains. Extending your hand, you're holding the ruined shirt in his direction. “I tried to do the laundry...” He had been so busy lately, all you wanted you do was take one thing off his plate. “I don't know what went wrong...”

“This is not a white shirt, Yn.” Jungkook is taking the shirt from your hands, spreading it out to fully inspect the damage you've done. His brows creasing and a frustrated pout forming on his lips. “Baby, you can't put bleach..”

Catching sight of the look on his face has a defeated sigh falling from his lips. Setting the shirt aside, Jungkook is lifting his arms to reach for you. Gently pulling you where he sits on the bed.” Lets just have me do the laundry from now on, okay?”

“I just wanted to help... you always do it,” He's shushing you with a soft kiss to the tip of your nose, brushing the hair back on your forehead so he can get a better look at your face. Pushing a smile onto his lips, he's telling you that it's okay – even though you know he's a bit bummed by the fact you've ruined his favorite shirt.

No matter how many times he insists that he doesn't care, you're still ordering the exact shirt that you've ruined. A couple sizes too big, knowing how much he enjoyed clothes that were big on him. He kisses you the moment you're walking through the doors, enclosing you into his warm embrace.

Hidden behind your back is the shirt you bought and his fingers are catching it as his hands roam your body. The soft giggles that leave your lips are breaking the kiss, forcing him to peak at what you have hidden behind your back. “Is that a gift for me?” His brows are lifting with his inquiry, grinning at the nod of your head.

Jungkook is pressing a kiss to your puckered lips, at the same time his arms are snaking around to tug the the shirt from your grasp. Pulling back from your lips with one final kiss, before he's lifting the shirt into his view. “Shut up, baby. You got this for me?”

“I know you were bummed about me ruining the first one,” He's happy about the shirt, of course. Appreciated the fact that you went out and replaced it. But at the height of that, he was happiest that he had you.

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lluvguts · 3 years

Text

Cool Blue ; Chapter Two

⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚۰˚☽˚⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚۰˚☽˚⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚

sunlight on your face

⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚۰˚☽˚⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚۰˚☽˚⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚

☽ warnings: none

☽ fic masterlist

⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚۰˚☽˚⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚۰˚☽˚⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚

The sun had crossed Luca's mind many times before, but he was just too afraid to see what it looked like. He'd asked his grandmother what the sun felt like once (or twice, or three times even, Luca had lost count). She would only give her grandson a gentle smile and stick out one hand so Luca's tail would brush along her forearm affectionately.

"That is something for you to find out one day," She winked. "But I'll tell you a little bit about it for now. Sometimes the sun is brilliant and warm on your scales...and other times, it'll burn you." She ended her sentence with another toothy grin and one hand to her breastbone to quiet her knowing laughter.

Luca gaped at her solemnity. "The sun...burns?" He couldn't possibly fathom the idea.

But the sun was so...bright! He imagined it was a big creamy ball in the sky, full of sugar the seeped into the Earth. And the more he mulled it over the harder it was to accept that maybe it wasn't as delightful as he'd dreamed.

"Sure, Bubble," His grandmother chuckled. "It's gotta keep the humans warm somehow, right?"

Luca thought about her answer then. That must be why Alberto smelled so honey-sweet. Nice, he corrected himself. Alberto smelled nice.

But it was the sun dripping all of that sunshine and ardor into Alberto's pores, through the tiny dark spots that spanned across his cheeks and shoulders. Little dashes of the sun. But if he thought over these things too long that fiery sunshine would melt his insides into a pitiful pool of need to see him again and Luca decided not to ask her anymore.

He was a good kid, after all. He didn't need these infectious ideas running through his head.

Luca passed by the herd of goatfish, all grumbling and surrounded in swarms of their own bubbles. He swam by Giuseppe, clearly the favored one, and gave him an endearing pat before glancing over his shoulder. It seemed as though his grandmother had distracted Luca's parents for the time being with some obscure task that he knew granted him a few hours of precious alone time.

He'd dreamed of seeing The Surface before. Herring, he'd actually tried. And once was all it took. A brief sequence of minutes that felt as if they were hours, fluttering toward the crystal glittering skin of the ocean above him, only to doubt his choices and duck back down. But the edges of his mind persisted, Luca the Curious Fish, the one to get caught.

And his mind continued to nag and nudge him toward the parts of the farm that were cooler, left a bite on his scales as he hurried to find that same spot as yesterday. His surroundings flooded again as he was flanked by the jutting sections of the island below the water and into a cave opening leading to the same pool as before.

Luca's eyes fluttered shut past this point. Though it was childish, he feared by whim that a chunk of ominous island rock were to come undone and shatter on top of him, leaving him squished flat in the sand like some scaly water anole scattering for purchase. Luca let the thought, much like his other more intrusive ones leave his head as the temperature lifted around him. His face welcomed the sunlight drifting from the pool above along his fins and closed eyelids.

In a recess of the rock Luca had hidden the purple wooden stick (with the feather-soft bristles that, once Alberto had left, Luca ran along his cheeks until his scales were an embarrassing blue) that Alberto had so kindly gifted him, wedged between the sharp spaces so it didn't float away. He smiled at it sitting there, patiently waiting like he'd been, for a slice of attention.

"Hello again," Luca murmured in greeting to the paintbrush, tracing one finger along the smooth edge of painted wood.

The beams of light flickered along his teal scales, making the darkness of the pool shine pleasantly. But a flash of color even brighter than the sun passed across Luca's dorsal fin so harshly that he yelped aloud in the water and shrunk back from the odd thing. Was it lightning? Another thing Signora Paguro had cautioned him over, something painted quite scary from her perspective in his mind.

But the sun was there, so surely it wasn't lightning.

But even still the flashes appeared once, and then again, with a subdued pop from being underwater.

Wiping the back of his neck, as if the action were to rid him of the itchy feeling the blinding flashes sent along his scales, Luca looked up.

There was Alberto, his silhouette distorted along the water, gripping something bulky in his arms that appeared to be the object of Luca's discomfort.

/ / /

"W-Woah! Hey! What are you doing?"

Alberto leapt back from the mouth of the pool but the boy had swiped for Massimo's polaroid camera. He clawed for it in Alberto's quavering hands, while Alberto was still stunned by the fact that the creature had actually jumped up from the water and attacked him.

Well, he attacked the camera.

He tried to attack the camera.

"What is that thing?" The boy growled, his brows pulled low and angry while it seemed like above water the color of his eyes dimmed to a dark yellow. But still as striking. He had managed to knock Alberto down to the rocky ground where he felt the film in his back pocket crush under the combined weight. Oh hell. That was his last cartridge.

"It's--It's my father's camera! So you can't have it!" Alberto choked out.

"Why does it hurt like the sun?" The boy questioned, his grabbing motion and bared teeth bringing to mind a raccoon. Alberto tried to peel the creature's body from him but it was no use, he had Alberto's legs pinned with his tail.

"What are you talking about?" Alberto shimmed under the boy's weight, taking in a generous amount of air so he didn't gape at his assortment of teal and blue scales inches from his heaving chest, dripping salt water and something slimy. "I was just taking pictures for reference."

"Pictures?" The boy cocked his head, losing some of his fire. Alberto offered a shaky smile, using one hand to press into the ground to wiggle free. The creature got the hint and his vertical pupils widened in shock and wonder. He rolled off Alberto's lap, deflating. "Oh! Sharks, I'm really sorry. I don't know what got into me...I just hate that thing."

"The camera?" Alberto wiped his hand on his shorts, now soaked in water, and scooted a little ways from the boy. He waved the camera around in the air for effect, perhaps a bit carelessly, and the other boy flinched. "This takes pictures of things. It's cool!"

"Well, why were you taking picture things of me?" He said slowly, tasting the new words.

Under the sun Alberto was distracted by the creature's scales, so opalescent on the surface with that deep undertone of his true teal color. His dorsal fin, with no buoyant water to trail along, was flopped to one side casually. Alberto avoided looking at his tail, because this thing had a tail like an animal but could converse as lightly as any kid playing soccer by the fountain.

In short, he was beautiful. But also was a sort-of-fish and Alberto worried he was going to turn into someone's next fillet for the dinner table if he cooked out in the summer heat for much longer.

"Uh, aren't you going to dry up or something up here, sea monster?" Alberto pointed to the droplets of water quickly drying up on his scales.

The boy blushed, but from the sun's rays it wasn't as brilliant as it was the day before in the water. "It's Luca. And I think I'll be fine." He tapped the space below the fins on his cheeks, to some hidden part of his scales that Alberto was too shy to inquire about.

"What's Luca?"

The boy wrinkled his snout. "I'm Luca. That's my name, you catfish. Luca Paguro."

Alberto chuckled and let the polaroid camera rest beside him on a soft tuft of grass. "Catfish? Ouch. You know, I think I know someone who actually looks like a catfish."

Luca grinned his pointy teeth at him. "A real catfish? Can I see him?"

"Oh..." Alberto pulled his knees closer to his damp tank top and frowned at the puddle of water beside him. "I don't know about that..."

"Well, why not?" Luca questioned. He pointed to Alberto. "The Surface isn't so bad. I met you! And...And-" He tried to form the right words, looking so cute with his yellow eyes scrunched close. "And what are those things?"

Luca had abandoned his previous statement and crawled over to Alberto's travel hutch of paints, now propped open for him to admire. Alberto watched in silence as Luca tentatively stuck his webbed hand into the box, staring with raw curiosity at the shiny metal tubes of acrylic and the ceramic saucer serving as his palette.

He picked up Alberto's newest tube of red, examining the plastic top, unbroken.

"That's my paint box. I was thinking of doing a portrait--"

Luca turned the tube of paint so it was horizontal in his claws and took a bite from the top.

"...Of you," Alberto finished, shoulders slack. Luca's eyes flung back open when the pressure sent a burst of red acrylic across his fingers and into his mouth. He dropped the tube with a cry, teeth now stained an alarming red.

"You're not supposed to eat it," Alberto commented. He picked up the ruined tube with Luca's teeth marks still in it and set it in a corner of the box. "Here."

He handed over a towel he'd brought to clean his brushes so Luca could clean his face. Luca blinked wildly at the towel in Alberto's hands, not knowing what to do with it, so Alberto took the liberty to dip the cloth into the pool and wipe the red paint off his scales.

"That feels kind of weird," Luca whispered, eyes flickering up to the muscles lightly moving in Alberto's arm as he worked. His skin turned blue again, the odd freckles spanning along his bright cheeks flushing.

"Well next time don't take a bite out of my paints. Besides, it's for painting, obviously. Not food."

Luca sat on the back of his legs and quietly watched Alberto roll the cloth up and set it in the grass. "Can I paint? It looks like fun."

Alberto's eyes widened and bit his lip to hide his excitement. He fished inside his bag for a piece of paper for Luca then a small flat canvas for himself.

"Sure, I guess," He brushed it off. "Just don't get upset if it doesn't look like my paintings. I'm pretty good."

Luca snorted but eagerly snatched the paper from Alberto. He set it on a drier edge of the pool and slid back into the water. Spinning back around, he flashed Alberto a grin and held up the paintbrush he'd taken the day before, the wood soaked and paint chipping in places from water damage.

"I don't think you can paint with that, buddy," Alberto tsked. "The wood's probably rotted."

Luca's face fell and he jammed the paintbrush back into the crevice from before and scanned Alberto's palette he'd been depositing small portions of paint onto, grumbling.

Alberto started to paint and Luca just sat there watching, confused. Luca hid his face below the edge of the rock and used his index finger to dip into the well of green paint, then placed it on the paper. He let out a tiny noise at the discovery, now smearing globby splotches of forest green all along the page.

"Look Alberto!" Luca tugged on Alberto's toe to get his attention. He looked up from his canvas at Luca's paper. It wasn't much, but the look of pure glee on Luca's features was enough for Alberto to reach out and gently brush the fins on his head, like Luca had done with his hand, and smile.

"Nice," Alberto said softly. Luca blinked at his hand touching him, retreating a little into the water in surprise, but he soon floated back up and was adding blues to his messy painting. Luca couldn't be much younger than Alberto himself, only sixteen, and there still hung a childish innocence to him that was because he was so sheltered.

He knew he could never take Luca back to Portorosso. It was a fishing town.

Full of harpoons, nasty blades, monster-fearing Portorosso.

#luca #luca movie #luca fanfiction #luberto #luberto fanfiction #luca 2021 #luca paguro #luca x alberto #luca and alberto #alberto scorfano #giulia marcovaldo #gay fish boys #disney luca

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amydancepants-peralta · 3 years

Note

mr mendes just released a new song & i was wondering if you could write something inspired by the line: "i wonder what it's like to be loved by you" 😌✨

Ericaaa I loved this prompt! 💕 Of course I had to throw in some Pining because it’s so good ... hope you enjoy! (here it is on AO3)

to be loved by you

It’s a secret to absolutely no-one that Amy Santiago is the kind of woman that likes to excel in any skillset. Unapologetic in her badass-ery, she can (and has) chase a perp through the boroughs of Brooklyn in boots that have a higher heel than three of her male colleagues put together. Her finely tuned memory - the same one that has led Trivia Newton John to seven straight victories - helped solve a series of long-dead case files, and her problem solving skills are the reason that one of the city’s biggest kingpins is currently behind bars.

With this in mind, one could consider it safe to say that Amy regretting her natural ability to ace any situation would be up there with hell freezing over, or for a flock of pigs to soar across the sky.

But tonight, here in Shaw’s bar as she watches Jake have what seems to be a lovely date with Sophia; Amy just might be, if only maybe a little, slightly regretting her highly graded observation skills (yes, the same ones that pushed her into the highest percentile when graduating from the academy - which she very rarely brags about, and she really should - it was mentioned in the commissioners speech and everything).

To be fair, it wasn’t all bad. She could, for example; hear the jukebox in the corner, playing Come on Eileen for the fifth time in a row - unknowingly settling into a duet with squelching sneakers as a bunch of drunken frat guys danced, all of them too far gone to notice any repetition. Plus, she could pick up on the subtle click of the acrylic nails on the woman at a neighbouring table, listening to them tap against a series of her friends’ photographs, rotating between descriptions of priddy and gawgeous.

Mixed with the scent of spilled beer and day-old peanuts, it was exactly the combination that to others may appear seedy, but to Amy and the squad, just seemed … familiar. Shaw’s was their watering hole, the basement bar each could disappear into and drink to forget their days, and despite the five empty glasses on her table and the half-full one in her hand, Amy was finding it incredibly difficult to stop noticing just how sweet Jake was with his girlfriend.

Even more impossible was to stop imagining what it would be like if she were the one standing near the dart board, with Jake’s arm resting comfortably over her shoulders.

It had all started earlier today, when she had glanced over at her partner just in time to pick up on the tiny little smile that grew on his face when he noticed a text from Sophia.

(Okay, it’s possible that it had actually started back at The Maple Drip Inn, with that look he’d given her after maybe, yes, a little. It had definitely led to a series of Thoughts after Teddy’s departure, of which she’d only given herself just that night to think about.)

(Except ‘that night’ then turned into that week, and okay fine then it had turned into ‘just that month'; and now here she is, several weeks later; completely unable of getting Jake Peralta off of her mind, and it’s becoming very likely that this is more than just a little crush.)

It had been so endearing to see, that tiny glimpse of joy and enchantment as he’d read Sophia’s message - just fleeting enough for Amy to wonder if anybody had ever reacted to a message from her with such glee. (Teddy, she remembers, preferred not to text; and would instead express his affections by saving her the last bottle of his favourite pilsner, or brewing a new concoction ‘inspired by her’ … sweet, but somehow didn’t hold the same sentiment.)

So she’d kept her eyes glued to the computer screen in front of her as she listened to Jake pick up the phone and order a bunch of flowers to be delivered to Sophia’s office - using his debit card, and not a combination of the five questionably balanced credit cards under his name - which in itself is huge. Pretended not to notice the multiple kiss emojis in his reply, or the soft tune that he hummed for a few minutes after, focusing intensely on the case file in front of her as she described a recent interrogation in finite detail. Kept up the facade of all that stuff with us is in the past as he recounted a romantic weekend to their squad in the break room - laughing along in all the right places, doing her very best to keep the wistfulness out of her eyes.

And all the while, Amy’s mind had kept contemplating if she would ever get to know what it would be like to date someone like Jake: to have somebody who would take all the black and whites of her life and show her the beautiful greys in-between.

So when he’d shown up at Shaw’s this evening, with Sophia’s hand carefully wrapped around his own and a grin that announced his contentment to anyone who cared to look; Amy had felt her heart squeeze painfully in her chest. Her painted smile had just lasted until the couple retreated to the corner for a crazily competitive game of darts, and Amy had decided tonight would be a great opportunity to drown her sorrows in a few glasses of whiskey, doing her absolute best not to notice all the little things she will never have.

Like the way Jake would punctuate each congratulatory high five with a kiss, even when it meant that his girlfriend had beaten him at a game. The gentle way he steered them away from a rambunctious crowd, keeping an eye on the raised voices as his unaware girlfriend played her shot and came so close to hitting the bullseye. Or the way Sophia’s hand would rest on Jake’s chest as he held her in his arms (just the way that Amy wishes she could do), and the way she would laugh so happily as he commented on the drunk guys dancing near them.

It was all very simple, but undeniably sweet, and Amy doesn’t know how she ever doubted that Jake would be anything but.

“Your covert skills need work, Santiago.”

The chair beside Amy scrapes angrily against the worn floorboards and she turns, startled by the interruption, quietly praying that her face isn’t quite as red as it suddenly feels. Terry, far more interested in taking the last sip of his scotch than commenting on her appearance, settles in to his new location next to her, and his glass hits the soaking cardboard coaster with a slap.

“Wha-huh? Covert skills? You really must be drunk, Sarge. We’re not even on a stakeout right now. Unless you’re talking about us staking out the contents of that fridge behind the bar haha!”

(She’s rambling - she knows she’s rambling; but cannot stop the desperate need to pretend that she hadn’t just been completely busted for spending her entire evening staring at a life she may never know.)

“Ugh. Okay fine.” Her mouth stretches out into a cringe, eyes flickering to the colleagues Terry had just walked away from. “How noticeable are we talking here?”

“Noticeable enough that Charles has spent the last 40 minutes lamenting on ‘the beautiful tragedy of unrequited love’”. Dropping his air quotes, Terry rolls his eyes, one eyebrow lowering as he returns to his drink. “He lost me when he started quoting poetry. Terry loves Shakespeare, but he could do with a little less soliloquies - and a little more spirits - tonight.”

“Oh! You know what, there was just a Shakespeare play in Polonsky that starred - ” Terry overlaps her last words with his own heavy voice, and Amy’s stops in it’s tracks.

“Dianne Wiest. Terry knows. That was his segue, Amy.”

She nods, sensing the need to dig up. “Should have known. Charles loves his Wiest feasts.” Terry grunts his assent, pressing his lips together as he savours another verse-less sip, and Amy seizes the opportunity to cast another furtive glance at the happy couple.

“Seriously, though. Just because Peralta hasn’t noticed, doesn’t mean the rest of us haven’t.”

Amy brushes her hair to the side, swirling the liquid in her glass with her free hand. “Okay, so maybe I haven’t been very subtle tonight, or whatever.” Her gaze returns to Jake, drawn to him like a magnet, and her heart squeezes once more.

To his credit, Terry gives her a moment; waiting for a silence to settle over their table before leaning forward in his chair, ignoring the sticky residue of the tabletop as he rests his arms on either side of his glass.

“Out with it, Santiago.”

She shakes her head, swallowing hard to push down the burgeoning lump in her throat. “They look really happy together, don’t they? He looks … happy.”

Terry shrugs, glancing in the direction of Amy’s eye line. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“He does! All shiny and cheerful and just .. happy.”

“I don’t know. Terry remembers a time when you and Teddy looked just as content.” His look is pointed, and followed by the unsubtle raise of his eyebrows. Amy nods, draining the last of her drink. Somehow, she has a feeling that Sophia’s underwear isn’t lined with mesh like Teddy’s had been (and even if it was, it would be some kind of inexplicably sexy mesh, for sure).

“Sometimes things aren’t what they seem, sarge.”

“You know that works both ways, don’t you?”

Nodding again, Amy wipes her thumb along the smudged lipstick print on her glass, choosing to remain silent. Terry didn’t get it - none of them got it, really. She’d had her chance, the very first time the words romantic styles were uttered, and she’d let it slip away. And now, she has to live with the consequences.

Clearing his throat, Terry continues. “I mean … she is a defence attorney, you know.”

“But see, even that isn’t something that I can fault. Not fairly, anyway.” Clocking the look of disbelief on Terry’s face, Amy shrugs defensively, waving her hand vaguely in Sophia’s direction. “I know we all like to joke and call them evil, but really … all they’re doing is making us prove that our findings are beyond reasonable doubt. If anything, it’s people like her that push us to do better - to work harder to make sure that we’re definitely charging the right person. And as annoying as that can be, it’s definitely not a reason to hate her.”

“Kinda sounds like you do, though.”

She shakes her head, feeling the sense of defeat sink into her bones. “I really don’t. She’s incredibly smart, and funny and beautiful … she honestly looks like she should be in a commercial for shampoo or something. She’s perfect for Jake, and I’m just …”

“You’re just … ?”

Shrugging, Amy slots her thumbnail into the edge of the coaster underneath her glass. It, like her heart, had seen better days, and it was time for her to cut her losses. “I’m just … going home.”

“What? No. Stay! Our squad kicked butt this week, Amy. We all deserve a drink.”

Painting another smile onto her face (she really is getting good at them), Amy pushes her seat away from the table, allowing herself one more glimpse at Jake’s smile before shaking her head at Terry. “Sorry sarge, I just can’t seem to celebrate tonight.”

Heading towards the exit without a second thought, Amy doesn’t see Jake pull away from Sophia, taking a half step in the direction of the door as he watches her leave. She doesn’t notice him pull out his phone, start to type a message before hesitating, pocketing it without hitting send. The night moves on as Amy walks away, and the streets are deafeningly silent as soon as the bar door closes behind her.

The sky seems to feel just as morose as Amy this evening, tiny droplets dropping onto her grey work blazer as she waits for a cab; too lost in her thoughts to take in the frivolity of a parting crowd. As the rain increases and the splotches on her blazer turn into tiny Rorschach Tests she decides to give herself one more night - one last night of wishing for things that will never be.

In the backseat on her ride home Amy twists her hands together, linking her fingers and imagining not for the first time that one hand was Jake’s (she would imagine similar .. later). She thinks of what it could be like to have his warm presence near hers .. to have his hand resting on her leg, not out of possession but just to be near. Watching him get out of the car first, only to turn and offer a helping hand for her exit, every time without fail.

She pictures what it would be like to feel the brick exterior of her apartment against her back as Jake presses his soft lips against hers, kissing the life out of her, making her see stars before pulling her into the apartment for so much more.

He wouldn’t always be the perfect partner - and lord knows, neither would she - but Amy knows that through it all he would remain her best friend, because even through all of this yo-yo pattern of denial and admittance, thats who Jake has been for her. After all these years, he’s become the only one she wants to talk to, at any given moment of the day, who knows her coffee order better than his own and remembers her Abuela’s birthday, even when she hasn’t mentioned it in weeks.

The scent of rain lingers in her apartment as Amy readies herself for bed, casting her pantsuit aside with drunken abandonment and giving her face a half-hearted wash before stumbling towards her bed. She closes her eyes, the thoughts of what could have been still so loud in her quiet apartment, hugging the pillow beside her tightly while her mind begins to wander.

As she finally drifts off to sleep that night, Amy tries not to remember the smile that Jake gave her as they danced so long ago at the community hall - that special kind of smile, that made her think that maybe it was solely for her - and tells herself once. and. for. all. that sometimes, life just doesn’t work out the way you’d hope.

* *

It’s a rush of cool air that alerts Amy to a brand new morning, the drop in temperature squashed as quickly as it arrives by the wrapping of a warm arm around her middle. She smiles into the pillow as it completes its protective loop, letting her body get pulled closer to the human hot water bottle in the middle of her bed, and if there was a better way to wake up on a cold day, Amy is yet to see it.

She lets out a sigh of comfort as the bridge of a prominent nose digs into her shoulder blade, feeling the warmth of his breath through her old academy shirt, nestling closer until her legs are well and truly tangled amongst his. It’s late, later than she would normally allow herself to sleep, but the two of them were far too invested in basking in the afterglow of a rainy Saturday filled with sex and movies to consider leaving the bedroom anytime soon.

Jake’s voice is rough, the remnants of a deep sleep obvious in his throat. “Today’s Sunday, right?”

Amy nods, wriggling herself just free enough to turn within her boyfriend’s embrace. His hair is sticking out on all ends - unaided, she is certain, by her hands the night before - and she runs the tip of her thumb along his right cheekbone. Though his eyes are still closed, he leans into her touch, and she grins. “Definitely Sunday. A rainy Sunday, but part of the weekend all the same.”

He nods, the short and prickly fibres of his morning stubble scratching her palm. “Good. More time for time machine building.”

“… we’re building a time machine?”

“Yeah, one that lets us skip past all the boring work stuff, and leaves us with all the time in the world for more of this. Kinda like that movie Click, but a lot less ‘trying to change the past’ stuff, and a lot more sex.”

She chuckles, and his left foot rubs along the side of her calf under the blanket. “You’re crazy, Peralta.” (Although, she will admit - the ‘a lot more sex’ part did sound kinda great.)

His eyelids flutter open, gaze growing soft as a smile stretches across his face. “You’re beautiful, Santiago.”

Amy feels her cheeks begin to heat up, resisting the urge to cool herself down by tucking her hair away, completely unable to move as long as Jake continues to look at her like that. There’s a pimple growing underneath the surface of her chin that is going to rival Mount Vesuvius, and her morning breath could probably wilt the flower pots living happily on her kitchen’s windowsill. But here, in bed with her boyfriend of almost two years, she feels more beautiful than all of her best days put together.

“I don’t think I’ve told you this today, but I love you, Jake.”

Leaning forwards, Jake’s soft lips press against Amy’s, and he winks as he pulls away. “I mean, we’ve both been awake for a sum total of three minutes, so yeah, you’re pretty late with the love you’s today, babe.”

Her free hand flies out from under the cover, delivering an indignant smack to Jake’s chest, and he grabs it back before she can pull away, linking their fingers together and pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “I love you too, Ames. Even if you don’t want to build a time machine with me, I still love you.”

She laughs - a giggle that starts in her belly and bursts through her lungs, something that she’s been doing a lot more of these days - and pulls Jake in for a longer kiss, morning breath be damned.

One day, in eight or so years time, they’ll have a son - a miniature version of Jake that, much like his father, runs to the beat of his own drum; and answers to the name Mac. Amy will fall pregnant again, and when they explain to their son that he’s going to be a big brother, his response is so perfectly him that it makes Amy’s eyes tear up with laughter.

For they are, by Mac’s decree, now officially a Ninja Turtle family. He is Raphael (or ‘Rafel’), Jake Michelangelo due to his love of nunchaku, and Amy nabs Leonardo purely out of homage to one of her favourite artists. The mini-Peralta still growing in her womb is, by default, Donatello (or Donatella, depending), and even though there was a time when Amy truly felt like she could never be this lucky, she will love their little family with all of her heart.

But for now, she has Jake; and together they have warm bedsheets and no plans for a future that isn’t together - no matter what obstacles may be thrown their way.

And Amy realises, as Jake begins to trace a series of kisses along her side of her neck; truly, being loved by him is better than she could have ever imagined.

#it's all about the yearning #pining!Amy #fic prompts #has the ninja turtle family thing been done? I can't remember #b99 fanfic #peraltiago fanfiction #b99fic

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thewildomega · 3 years

Note

Always wondered how Katakuri would react to a painter S / O ? The strange way they look at life from an artistic view , Since it probably wouldn't be practical for a pirate to be an artist : ( Like them randomly stopping to admire a flower and talking about how the color makes them feel only to hear someone like Luffy say " it's just a flower , what's the big deal ? " ) You can make is angst if you want , but can it please have a happy ending ? ( I don't wanna cry!😫)

P.s. My angst idea is the Katakuri's S / O has some ability to do with water and her belief is that is the only reason Katakuri and the Charlotte fam like her (she might be right about some of them🤔) after all I imagine they would think being a painter is stupid . You don't have to do this it's just my idea . 🌸Please and thank you💖

A/N: Thank you for requesting! So I changed a few things up but I hope you liked it!

Through the eyes of an Artist

Finding a secluded area away from everyone else you pulled out your sketch book and charcoals, your most cherished possessions. Glancing up to the spring that was surrounded by beautiful flowers of all colors you grinned a little and started drawing away, drifting away into your own mind. Times like these were your favorite, times when you could be yourself and not the woman you had been forced to play the part of.

Your mother and father owned a large sugar cane plantation and had made many business investments over the years by marrying off your brothers and sister. now however it was your turn, your parents chosen suitor had been none other than a man from the Charlotte family, one of the notorious Big Mom's sons. For weeks now you parents had been doubling down on your 'princess' training along with your lessons on how to make be a proper wife. You hadn't known to just two days ago when your ship had arrived at Toto Land Island that your betrothed just happened to be the most feared of them all, Katakuri. Having only been in his presence once, he had said nothing to you, only looked down at you with a cold stare that told you everything you needed to know. He didn't want you. Your parents and brothers had seen it as well apparently and the moment all of you had been shown to your temporary rooms they had all started jumping you.

"You couldn't smile a little?"

"Why did you not curtsy like we talked about?"

"Couldn't you have made yourself even the slightest bit attractive tonight?"

"You are such a disappointment..."

"Why oh why did we have to be cursed with such a worthless daughter!"

"The only thing good she has going for her is her devil fruit powers..."

On and on they went, your eyes focused on the floor as tears brimmed and threatened to spill down your cheeks. That night when you had laid in bed all you could think about was how not even your husband would care about you. You were doomed to be forever unloved. What sucked even more was that you were being ripped away from the only friend that you had ever had, the only person that didn't see you as a failure and waste of space. Tika had been the only person to seem to like you for you not just because of your water manipulation devil fruit powers.

Before you knew it splotches were messing up your art piece and you sniffled as you reached up to wipe away the tears falling from your eyes. Closing your eyes you took a deep breath and sighed. Opening your eyes a bit you looked towards the blueish purple hyacinth and blinked slowly, turning the page to capture that single flower, the one that represented how you felt. Adding in different shades and blending them together with your fingertip you tilted your head to the side in concentration, not even hearing the person walk up behind you.

"You shouldn't be out here." a deep voice spoke.

Completely caught off guard by the sudden voice you threw your sketch book and charcoal out of your hands and let out a little yelp. Snapping your eyes up you saw the two crimson eyes looking at you with the same coldness and disdain as they had two days ago. Opening and closing your mouth you quickly bowed your head. "I'm sorry. I... I didn't know it was off limits o..or anything I just... well I..." Stupid you had done it again, you had messed up again. Just like you always did. "I'm sorry." you said in a whisper.

He just stood there watching as the woman, his bride to be stumbled over an apology. Seeing her bow her head low and then move to gather her things he moved his eyes to the ground and saw a pad of paper of sorts and what looked to be a set of colorful charcoals, many of which were very small. She had been drawing? Crouching down he began helping her gather all the little pieces for her.

When his large hand started picking the pieces of charcoal out of the grass to hand them to you you glanced up to him and saw his face buried in his scarf. Taking them when he held them out for you, you quickly thanked him and went about placing them in the small bag you had. Being so focused on the task at hand you didn't even notice him lift your sketch pad up and flip it over to examine your flower piece until it was too late. "No! Don't look at tha...." you tried saying but it was too late.

Standing back to his full height he looked over the different drawings and art pieces. "You did all these?" he asked, his voice emotionless.

Curling up some you mumbled out a small 'yes' and readied yourself for the cruel words you were so used to hearing. When he said nothing you bit your lip and looked down. "I know it's a useless pass time, stupid even but I..."

Looking to a painting of the sea he grinned a little behind his scarf. "You are an exceptional artist." Hearing her small gasp he looked down to see a small blush dusting her cheeks and her eyes looking up at him in pure shock. She wasn't used to such compliments apparently.

You could honestly say your heart warmed a bit at his kind words and you swallowed thickly before replying. "Thank you."

Humming he began leading her back to the palace. "Do you preferer to use Charcoals?" he asked.

Shaking your head you reached up to brush your hair back behind your ear. "No, paints are my favorite."

"Gouache, Watercolors, acrylics or oil?" he asked.

You had never had anyone to talk about art with before and could feel yourself smiling a little at the conversation. "Well I've only ever been able to use Acrylics and oil based paints before. I have seen some watercolor pieces from other artist before though and hope to one day try them as well."

Humming he continued walking with her all the way to the palace doors, the both of them quietly talking about this and that until he heard a man and woman yell his fiancé's name.

Quickly looking up when you heard your parents yell your name you saw them both waiting at the front entrance, deep scowls on their faces. Instantly the smile that Katakuri had managed to bring to your lips disappeared. "Mother, fath..."

"Where have you been?! We have been searching for you for hours!" you mother screeched. "Just look at your dress, covered in those damn charcoals again." she snapped.

"I.. I'm sorry.. I..." You started but were quickly cut off by your father.

"No more of your excuses. I am sick and tired of this worthless hobby of yours." he growled, snatching your sketch pad and charcoals from you.

"No, please father I..."

"Y/n that is enough." your mother hissed out between clenched teeth.

"Now, you will apologize to Katakuri for no doubt wasting his time with your foolishness." your father demanded.

He had stood there quietly, listening to Y/n's parents belittle her. Crossing his arms over his chest he continued to remain silent, even when his bride to be turned to him and whispered out a sorrowful apology. Not responding because he knew if he opened his mouth he would say too much he just stood there and watched as her mother grabbed her wrist, too hard judging by the small wince she made, and quickly pulled her back towards their rooms.

Sighing your father pinched the bridge of his nose and turned towards the commander. "I assure you Katakuri she isn't as useless as she seems. While she may be stuck on this junk and her looks aren't very good, my daughter does have a powerful water power unlike any other. I have no doubt that she will prove to be a valuable asset to your family. Not to mention she will also be able to give you plenty of heirs. I only hope this little mishap hasn't made you change your mind about marrying her. I will be having a long talk with her and I promise that she will give this up." he said, holding up the art supplies in his hand .

Gritting his teeth he glared down at the man. "I intend to keep my families side of the deal." Without another word he walked away from the man before he did something he would regret or rather something his mother would not be happy about.

........................

Today was the day, your wedding day but you couldn't find a reason to be happy. All day you had been getting ready. People pinning you up in an attempt to make you look somewhat acceptable. Your mother's harsh comment about Katakuri not looking to your face too long making a knot form in your throat. Walking down the isle towards him you could only think back on the last few days where he had went back to ignoring you. To your knowledge the two of you had been hitting it off pretty good the other day, speaking of this and that. Perhaps though your family had been right and he was only being nice for the sake of your upcoming union.

Standing beside him as the priest spoke you looked him over through your veil and noticed how handsome he looked. Before too long your mind had began making notes about how you could draw this moment later but then you remembered your father's words and frowned. Never again would you be allowed to practice your art skills, having brought enough shame to your family.

When it came time to kiss and he lifted your veil you looked up into his crimson eyes and saw them not as cold as they were before and blinked. Feeling him kiss your head through his scarf you heard one of your brothers make a quiet comment about not blaming Katakuri for wanting to kiss you, the words making your heart clench painfully.

During the reception you sat beside Katakuri and kept your head down.

"Congratulations..."

Looking up you saw a thin, tall looking woman standing there and straightened up when you realized it was one of the other Charlotte children. "T..Thank you." you said politely.

"My name is Brulee, we haven't met yet but Big Brother here tells me you are an artist." she said with a smile.

"An Artist!?" Big Mom questioned around a mouthful of cake.

Gasping a little you looked between her and your husband. Nodding a bit you opened your mouth to speak when you caught sight of your father staring daggers at you and dropped your shoulders. "I... I used to be."

Knitting his brows at her sudden change in emotion he looked across the hall to see her father looking at her with a very strict look and raised his chin as father went on talking to his mother.

"It was a childhood hobby, nothing to brag about." you father laughed off with the rest of your family joining in.

Seeing his wife's eyes look to her lap and noticing a droplet of water fall to her lap he let out a deep breath and stood. "Mama, Y/n and I are going to retire for the night." he spoke deeply.

"Yes, yes. Of course you both are ready for the honeymoon." she laughed.

Blushing behind his scarf he said nothing as he held his hand out for Y/n to take, noticing her hand shaking a bit. "Brulee." he said and heard his little sister hum. Without a word they led her from the room and out to the hall. Seeing Brulee stand before a mirror he continued holding his wife's hand as his sister opened the mirror world.

Going through one mirror and then being led to another you felt Katakuri stop and glanced up just the tiniest amount.

"Thank you sister." he said.

"Of course." She told her brother with a smile before looking down to the smaller woman. "I can't wait to get to know you Y/n. Congratulations again."

With that you felt Katakuri pull you through another mirror and looked around when you saw you were now in a large house of sorts.

Seeing her look around curiously he grinned, "Welcome home."

Looking up to him you blinked and then scanned your eyes around the house. From where you were, which seemed to be a front foyer you could see a living area, kitchen and dining room. There was a massive stairway in front of you with many doors on the upper level that were closed.

"I will give you the grand tour tomorrow but there is one room I have been wanting to show you." he said. Holding her hand he led her up the stairs and down the hall a bit to the third door down from his... their bedroom. Grabbing the knob he looked down to her and grinned behind his scarf. "I wanted you to have a room to call your own... I guess you could call it a wedding gift from me to you." he told her, noticing her confused look. Opening the door he turned on the light and instantly heard her gasp.

Gasping you moved your hand to cover your mouth. Staring into the room you saw it filled with different art supplies. A large easel sat in the middle of the room with a chair in front of it. New paints of all different colors and types sat on the built in shelves and any other kinds of supplies you could ever dream of having. For the first time in your life you felt happy tears fill your eyes. You had to be dreaming, this had to be a dream.

Watching her quietly he said nothing until a few minutes had passed and he started getting nervous, maybe he had went overboard and it was now creepy. "So is this acceptable... do you like..." He didn't get to finish his sentence before she was pulling him down by his scarf and smashing her lips to his. Freezing he felt his breath catch in his throat and his eyes go wide. Her soft lips stayed on his for a moment before she slowly pulled away and opened her eyes to look at him. Readying himself for the cruel comments he felt his body tense but to his surprise she only smiled and it made him even more uncomfortable. "Well go on say something." he grunted out.

Cupping his scared cheek you felt his large teeth against your skin and smiled, "You're beautiful, a true masterpiece. Maybe one day you might let me paint you?"

A deep blush tinted his cheeks and now it was him that thought he was dreaming.

#Charlotte Katakuri #one piece katakuri #katakuri x reader #Katakuir fanfiction #one piece #One Piece Fanfiction #fluff #light angst

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asingleheart-shapedbraincell · 4 years

Text

Parasite (Prologue)

I watched Venom last night, and now this exists. I have co-opted the plot for fanfiction with some added occultism and Halloween flavour for Spice™ .This is part one, basically works as a prologue, and then it’ll split into a chapter for each brother.

tw: implied drinking, occultism and demonic possession

GN!MC

Prologue

‘Twas Spooky Season and you were dressed as a shitty zombie because Halloween parties have the best snacks. A girl with long acrylic nails painted to look like candy-corn passed you a bright green jello shot. It tasted like limeade and cough syrup, yet somehow worse than both of those. She laughed at the face you pulled and passed you a can of lemonade to chase the taste away. When you cracked it open, it fizzed over slightly - not enough for you to suspect foul play, but enough that you were going to have a sticky hand. Still better than another jello shot though. It was quite crowded inside the house and the loud music was starting to get on your nerves a little bit, so you pointed out the door and mouthed ‘I’m gonna go outside!’ The girl gave you a smile and a thumbs up before turning back round to the shots table.

Outside the air was crisp and cold and full of the smell of woodsmoke and apple cider. A small gathering of people were sat around the bonfire nursing steaming mugs and chatting by the firelight. You wandered over to the punchbowl and scooped yourself a mug of cider, pulling the sleeves of your ratty, zombie-fied jumper over your hands to hold the hot mug before heading over to the group and settling yourself down next to them.

‘- but when she left the tent, she realised that it hadn’t been rain dripping on the tent, it had been blood,’ one of them was finishing a scary story and you settled in to hear the end of it, ‘and above her tent was her husband’s dead body.’

‘What killed the husband?’ You quietly asked the person next to you.

‘Demon,’ he replied.

You nodded and took a sip of the apple cider. It was delicious - not too sweet, well spiced, and the perfect hot drink for an autumn night (though you did have to strain small pieces of cinnamon bark through your teeth).

You leant over again to whisper: ‘Who summoned it?’

‘The wife.’

‘That’s one way to collect the life insurance,’ you mumbled back, causing him to laugh into his drink.

Someone flopped down next to you, ‘he’s not telling that stupid demon story again, is he?’ You looked over to see candy-corn nails roll her eyes at the storyteller before giving you a smile - ‘he’s a one track record.’

‘Any good story is just as good during a retelling as it is during the first,’ he huffed.

‘That’d be a fair point if you’d been telling a good story,’ she replied.

The group ooo-ed at that.

‘Well, you tell one then, if you’re such an expert.’

She ignored him, ‘Demons are just such a cop-out! The story’s always the same - you summon them, they go on a rampage, then someone sends them back to Hell. It’s too predictable!’

‘What are you talking about?! That’s still a great story!’

‘I refuse to be scared of a monster that can be beaten by a nun.’

‘Oh please - you’d be terrified if you ever met a demon.’

‘No I wouldn’t!’

‘Yes you would!’

Their argument rather revolved from there into bickering, which no-one bothered to interrupt because it was as entertaining as a scary story. You leant over to your neighbour again - ‘my money’s on her to win.’

‘You’re on,’ he said with a grin.

‘Then prove it,’ the challenge grabbed both of your attentions, ‘go get that ouija board from inside,’ the guy said.

‘Ouija boards are for ghosts you idiot,’ she replied.

‘We need to draw a pentagram,’ your neighbour said.

‘Oh, don’t get involved, Solomon!’ Someone sitting across you said, but he just smiled in reply. Well... this was going to be an interesting evening.

~~~

‘I got candles from the kitchen!’

‘Excellent!’ Solomon replied, ‘we need them at all five corners of the pentagram.’

You watched on as Solomon instructed people on what to do for the summoning spell and he seemed pretty confident for someone attempting to summon a demon on Halloween. So someone could win an argument. Some of the more superstitious people had left to go back to the party, but it’s not like you believed in demons and anyway - this was more interesting than jello shots and loud music.

Candles were being shoved at the points Solomon had drawn with a stick from the bonfire - five points, with the bonfire in the centre. It was certainly very theatrical, you had to hand it him.

‘Okay, now you stand here,’ Solomon said, positioning someone behind a candle, ‘and you stand here.’

He turned to look at the other points of the pentagram. There were two left. his eyes fell on you - ‘What was your name again?’

‘MC.’

‘MC, you stand behind that candle for me?’

You obliged, making sure not to kick it over, and Solomon walked over to the final candle next to you.

‘Do we hold hands or something?’ You asked.

‘Why?’ Solomon asked, smirking, ‘Are you scared?’

You rolled your eyes, and Solomon started murmuring in what sounded like Latin, but is was very faint and it wasn’t like you were fluent enough to know if he was faking of not. You turned to look at the bonfire at the centre. Just beyond it you could see candy-corn nails flipping off her storytelling friend, but then something in the bonfire caught your eye. Or maybe it didn’t? The bonfire didn’t look any different, but it had captured your attention fully. Probably Solomon’s showmanship. Was it bigger? A log collapsed inside and a shower of sparks and woodsmoke plumed out to stain the night sky - the wood inside popping and snapping like breaking bones and for a moment you thought you could hear strange music...

Your vision felt hazy and you tried to clear the smoke from your throat - your overactive imagination and those gross jello shots were mixing together poorly. And the heavy smoke wasn’t helping. You felt queasy and dizzy and no longer in the mood to play pretend for the sake of someone else’s argument. You scrubbed your sleeve over your eyes - not caring about the Halloween makeup - you just wanted the smoke out of them long enough to feel steadier. But it didn’t work. In fact, you felt decidedly unsteady.

‘I think I’ve had too much,’ you manage to mumble out, before everything went black.

~~~

When you woke up, you were in an unfamiliar bedroom, the sound of the party still going slightly muffled. The girl with the candy-corn nails was sat at the foot of the bed, she had put a pair of small costume horns onto a teddy bear and was half-heartedly playing with its little paws. You shifted and she jumped slightly, looking at you and breaking into a grin -

‘You’re awake!’ She said, sighing in relief, ‘How’re you feeling?’

‘Still a bit dizzy, but a lot better.’

‘The wind was blowing the smoke right into your face - I probably would have passed out too. I got you a glass of water, by the way,’ she said, pointing to the bedside table.

‘Thanks,’ you said, talking a long drink - your throat still felt itchy from all the smoke.

‘I’m sorry, by the way - it was all because of me and Jessie, I shouldn’t have let Solomon drag us into that whole ritual, not without making sure everyone was safe.’

‘You scared of demons all of a sudden?’ You asked with a half-hearted grin.

She snorted, ‘No. Demons aren’t real. But people getting hurt - that’s real.’

‘Apology accepted.’

‘Can I call you cab? I’m guessing you want to head home. I’ll pay for it - it’s the least I can do.’

‘Yeah, okay,’ you said, finishing that water - you still felt kinda dizzy, ‘thanks.’

~~~

Who’d you get possessed by?

Lucifer

Mammon

Leviathan

Satan

Asmodeus

Beelzebub

Belphagor

(Links will be added as the chapters are written - be patient, I have no concept of time, and also university work to be getting on with, but feel free to send me a reminder if you feel like it. I shamelessly thrive off of audience engagement)

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me swd #omswd #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me levi #obey me satan #obey me asmo #obey me beel #obey me belphie #obey me fanfic #obey me fanfiction #obey me parasite #obey me possession #obey me possession fic

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theasstour · 4 years

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𝓡𝓸𝓶𝓮𝓸 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓙𝓾𝓵𝓲𝓮𝓽 𝓫𝔂 𝓗𝓪𝓴𝓸𝓷 𝓢𝓸𝓻𝓮𝓲𝓭𝓮

𝓯𝓲𝓬 𝓹𝓪𝓰𝓮 | 𝔀𝓸𝓻𝓭 𝓬𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓽: 10.8k 𝓝𝓑: 𝓮𝔁𝓹𝓵𝓲𝓬𝓲𝓽 𝓵𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓾𝓪𝓰𝓮, 𝓼𝓮𝔁𝓾𝓪𝓵 𝓬𝓸𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓷𝓽

A/N: biggest thanks to @shepherald for being bb’s italian auntie!

Sunday, 11 August 2019

The only light came from the abundance of various candles Harry had spread all over his loft. After countless hours of them chatting, getting to know each other, and laying in silence, Y/N had come to realise Harry preferred candlelight to electricity. When she questioned him about it, he had simply just cocked his head to the side, studied her for a few seconds, and said, “There is freedom in not being revealed everything to. In art it lets your imagination wander, ‘cause not being told everything means you have to figure it out on your own. There are untold stories and secrets in the shadows on a canvas.”

Y/N had only laughed at him, to which Harry had just looked at her, demanding an explanation to her outburst.

“You don’t like the dark,” she had reasoned. “How can you say secrets lay in the shadows when you’re afraid of the dark? Why do you paint it?”

Harry had looked at her, studying her intently before he said, “I’m not so afraid of walking in the dark anymore.”

Y/N had thought about that answer for a few days now. Though people could learn to get rid of their phobias and the like, it was unusual to rid oneself of one so fast. Harry had leaned into water just a few days after confessing to her he didn’t like it because he couldn’t see the bottom and where he was walking, and now he told her he liked the dark parts of a canvas because of the possibilities they held. It was weird to her, but she liked the fact he was defying his fears. She was proud of him.

But right that second when she started thinking of this again, Y/N was laid on the floor of Harry’s loft. Night surrounded them, all the windows and the doors leading out to the balcony were open, filling the house with the humid yet refreshing air of the summer evening. Her eyes were on Harry as he stood above her, biting her lip as her mind started wandering again.

She had been laying in bed when he had called her name. The two had spent all day in his house, doing nothing but talk, fuck, and soak up in the little time they had left like this. Next Sunday she wouldn’t be there. Next Sunday, she’d be at home in Maldon, packing up her stuff to go back down to London and to her last year of University. But neither wanted to think about that, they’d rather relish in this time they had together. But Y/N had been laying in Harry’s bed, about to get back to Portia on a text she’d received earlier that day when Harry called her. She’d been a bit surprised at first. After all, he’d told her, he needed to actually do some work today and not only spend his sweet time between her legs (“Though I very much want to do just that,” he’d mumbled). It had been about an hour when she heard her name, so she put her phone aside and stepped into her summer dress. When she reached the loft, Harry had been standing by the balcony door, looking out over the landscape. He was wearing his white overalls, the top half tied so low on his waist she could make out the beginnings of his bum. And when he turned around, the dark trail of hair leading downwards was also very much visible, contrasting drastically with the light colour of the paint-splotched overalls.

“What’s going on?” she’d asked.

“Nothing,” he simply replied. “Just want you here.”

She hadn’t been able to contain her smile, and at the sight of hers, he smiled back. He was about to turn to the canvas he’d placed on the easel outside on the balcony when he stopped himself. His eyes landed on her again, trailing her form.

“Lay down.”

She furrowed her brows, looking at the floor of the loft. “Where?”

Harry walked over to one of the cabinets and brought out what must’ve once been used as a huge curtain. It was white and seemingly very old; dust having greyed it with time. He placed it on the ground for her motioning with his hand for her to lay down on that. She was about to when he interrupted her movements with a low, “Take off your dress.”

She’d stopped in her tracks, feeling her heart beat a little faster and a tingle of excitement all over her body. But she didn’t hesitate. Reaching for the bottom of her dress, she dragged it upwards till she revealed herself completely to him. Harry didn’t say a word, just watched her like he was in a trance, not able to look away. She felt so powerful when he looked at her like that. It made her believe she was the ruler of something, like she possessed some sort of prestige and grace no one else in the world would ever have or had ever before her or after her. She laid down on the floor, looking up at him for further instructions.

“On your back, baby.” He said, voice filled with a sort of affection and demand that could make her do anything.

She laid on her back and Harry came over, down on his knees before Y/N and reaching for her again. He took a light grip of her right thigh, moving it till her leg was bent and knee resting in front of her other, her foot hooked behind her calf. He then moved on to her arms, trailing a hand up her front and between her breast as he shifted his attention.

“Teasing.” She giggled, making Harry grin.

Harry took both a hold of both her wrists, pinning them above her head, leaning down till his lips were hovering above hers. “It’s not teasing if I follow through later, is it?”

“That’s later, not now.”

Harry giggled, kissing her lips, cheek, jaw. “You haven’t had enough of me?”

“I could never.” She said, letting go of a deep breath as his hands tightened around her wrists, smiling. “What about me?”

“What about you?” he mumbled against her skin, nibbling at her neck.

“Have you had enough of me? Since you asked the question first and all.”

Harry huffed, moving up so his lips were above hers, placing her hands like he wanted them without breaking eye contact. “I’m the one asking you to undress. So no, I won’t ever get enough of you.”

He left her laying there, getting up and fetching his easel again along with a new canvas. He placed them exactly where he wanted them before he walked off to get his paint, brushes and palette. He pressed soma paint out of some tubes and Y/N furrowed her brows, they looked different from the small tubes he usually used.

“Trying a new sort?” she asked, not being able to help herself.

Harry brought all the paint over, along with a cloth, a glass of water, and his palette. Only he didn’t place all his stuff beside his easel, but rather on the floor next to Y/N. He sat down beside her, dabbing his brush into some dark blue before he started painting away on the bent leg, on her thigh.

“I’m a canvas now?”

Harry chuckled, shaking his head at her. “Got an idea.”

“Mind sharing it?”

“I’m sharing it right now, ain’t I?”

“How?”

“By showing you my painting.”

She raised her eyebrows. “You’re painting on me, I think I need a better explanation than that.”

Harry smiled, dipping his brush in more paint before returning to her thigh, painting in what looked like half circles up her thigh. He let the brush rest in water for a few seconds before he wiped it, swirled it on his hand, and dipped it back in a lighter blue. He did the same with this one, paying very close attention to each of his movements.

“You aren’t using your regular paint.”

“You noticed?” He almost seemed a little shocked she knew his brands and routines.

“Of course.”

He glanced up at her, giving her a small smile before returning his attention to her thigh. “This is acrylic paint.”

Y/N waited for more, and when he kept his mouth shut, she urged, “Yeah?”

“It dries quicker.”

“Quicker than oil paint?”

“Way quicker. 20 minutes, 30 tops. Oil takes hours.”

“Yeah,” Y/N said. “I remember you telling me that.”

Harry huffed a short laugh, dipping the brush in more paint and detailing a bit more before he moved positions. He came to sit further up her body, getting some more paint on his paintbrush before he started drawing on her stomach. Y/N was suddenly very aware of how her stomach looked laying like this, how soft it was. Harry started painting in a hypnotising circle of sorts. Circles that focused in on the spot right in the middle of her torso, one single vein reaching out and wrapping around her left ribcage. He did the same with the blue, outlining the lighter colour.

“Will you ever forgive me for how I mistreated you?” Harry asked, voice ever so tender. He sounded scared, as if he was horrified by what the answer might be.

“I won’t forgive you for making me uncomfortable when we first met.”

Harry looked up at her. “How did I make you uncomfortable?”

She clicked her tongue, glancing away from him.

“Y/N.”

“You don’t remember?”

“What did I do?”

Their eyes met again. “You asked me if the dress would fit.”

Harry stopped painting, furrowing his brows a little.

“I didn’t like that.”

Harry put the brush in the water before glancing back at her. “I was just asking to be sure it would, if not I would’ve had Jamie contact a costume designer and had another dress made.”

She sighed. “It’s… more than a dress, Harry.”

“Great. Tell me what it is, then.” He asked, about to place a hand on her thigh when he realised it was covered in paint. “Talk to me.”

“You don’t understand how awful it is to be reminded by people – people you don’t even know – that you’re bigger. It doesn’t even have to be a rude comment, it can just be a ‘Will it fit’ and someone’s confidence can come crumbling down. People who haven’t had problems like that don’t get it.” Y/N explained, sighing. “That I’ll never fit into my partner’s clothes ‘cause I’ll always be bigger than them, or how if I buy a shirt in a size small for a present for a mate the cashier will look at me like ‘you sure about this’. It just sucks to be reminded, and I don’t want people to think that because of my body I’m lesser than them. That they can talk to me in a disrespectful tone because of how I look.”

Harry frowned. “I’m sorry.”

“I know you are, but I won’t forgive you for making me feel uncomfortable. And I’ll never forgive people who think they’re better than someone who doesn’t see fat people, POC, LGBT, or anyone else, as their equal.”

Harry nodded. “Good, you shouldn’t.”

She smiled a little.

“I’ll never make you feel uncomfortable again. I promise.”

She nodded. “I know.”

Harry smiled back at her, reaching for his brush and dipping it in a lighter colour before doing the same he’d done with the paint previous. He followed the swirl, tilting his head as he focused on her, covering her in dark to light blue. The swirls almost reminded Y/N of Van Gogh’s Starry Night. She knew Harry admired the Dutch painter a whole deal, he’d told her as much during one of those long and deep conversations the two of them had shared. But she really saw it now. All from the calf and all the way up her body, up her arms, neck, breasts, tummy; it was all covered in shades of blue. The circle came to focus on a round form in the middle of her torso. It seemed to be glowing in different hues of gold, like some sort of life force. And the little vein that had escaped the swirling storm surrounding the gold blob, was a similar yet smaller swirl of pink. Harry continued to paint on her, the two just staying there in silence, letting Harry paint out the image inside his head. It wasn’t till her leg, torso, and arms were almost completely covered in paint that Y/N spoke.

“What’s the inspiration behind this piece then?”

“Adoration.” Harry answered, not even batting an eye.

Y/N didn’t know what that meant, something Harry understood by her silence. He dragged the brush over her tummy, stopping as he reached the circle of gold in the middle.

“The parts of you I adore.”

He took her breath away, he truly did. The cold and closed man she’d met earlier that summer was gone completely. Before her sat the most tender, most open, most beautiful person she’d ever met. It startled her how much a person could change in a matter of a bit over a month. Or was this the person Harry had been before everything with Salvatore? To be frank, she didn’t particularly care. As long as Harry was as happy now as she was, and as long as he felt the same way she did, as long as he got to live his life the way he wanted to, she didn’t care about the person he’d been before this. He was happier now than she’d ever seen him, and that was all she cared about.

She never cried. If there was one thing she rarely did, it was let something get to her to such an extent that it took over all her emotions. But something about Harry taking two hours to merely paint on her naked body in detail, something about him paying such close attention to her and painting the parts of her he adored the most, it got her feeling something she never had before. No one had made her feel this important.

Though she tried to be as quiet as possible and not make loads of noise, Harry heard her sniffles. He looked up at her, a concerned furrow to his brows. “You alright? Am I stepping over a line-“

“-No, no, no, you’re alright. You’re great.” She assured him, afraid to move her arm and wipe a tear away in case she ruined his painting.

He seemed to know her predicament however, because he reached up and wiped her tears away, one at a time. “Then what is it? What’s wrong?” He stroked his fingers over her cheek. “Don’t cry, my love. Please.”

She couldn’t help the sob that rocked through her body, and she managed a small smile with a wobbling bottom lip. “It’s just it took me years and years to accept my body and to respect myself enough not to put myself down every single day over how I looked, how I was fat, how everyone was thinner and prettier than me.” Her smile widened as Harry wiped yet another tear away. “And here you are, doing it so quickly and without hesitation.”

Harry took a grip of his brush again, dipping into the gold yellow before looking into her eyes again. “It’s easier to be critical of yourself than of someone else. You can be your own worst enemy.”

She nodded. “Yeah.”

He let his eyes wander her body, taking in the painted areas and the areas he had left naked. She could tell by his stare that he hadn’t left some places free of paint because he didn’t adore those, but rather because painting her entire body would take too long. Also, painting some areas would not be very ideal. He inhaled, bringing his brush to her tummy. “I could never paint you. Could never do you justice in any way. I’ll try. I’ll fucking try till the day I die, but…” he circled the gold with the last layer of paint. “But I won’t ever be able to capture your beauty fully. No painting could ever do you justice. Art is beyond you. This…” he put the brush in the glass of water, outlining her body with his finger like he had done that time they had first woken up together. “There isn’t a word for this yet. Not a phrase powerful enough. I used to think paintings were fantastic ‘cause they told you more than a text ever could, but you’ve challenged that idea. You’re more powerful, more beautiful, more timeless than art. You’re more than everything.”

Y/N hadn’t known what people meant when they said they could remember the exact moment you fell in love with someone. She knew she was in love with Harry, knew she admired him beyond any comprehension. But looking back, Y/N knew this was the exact moment she started loving Harry. Hearing him say that, feeling his tender touch, being covered in his art, it all came together and created an emotion she was unsure she’d ever felt before.

“If you lay still, I’m gonna go paint you now, yeah?” Harry got up from the ground, bringing all his equipment with him. She just watched him, admiring how he lifted his white overalls further up his hips, and how they fell down a bit when he tied the arms around his waist again.

“My nose is itchy.”

“Don’t fucking-“ he was in front of her in a second, scratching her nose.

She laughed. “What are you doing?”

“You said your nose was itchy! I’m helping you out! No bloody way you’re ruining my paint.” He said, scratching still. “Alright?”

She smiled. “Yeah.”

“Brill.” He turned back to his canvas again, looking down at her. “Don’t move. I’ll be very mad.”

Giggling, she bit her bottom lip, watching as the tiniest of smiles stretched out over his lips as well. He dipped a new brushin some oil paint, took another look at her, and started painting. And watching him do exactly was he was born to do, what he did for a living, those three words echoed in the back of Y/N’s head. Like a soft chant that would be on repeat till the say she died. His name alone triggered the words; triggered her to say them and feel them and let them surround her. Harry, I love you, she thought, hoping he somehow could hear her or sense how she was feeling, but at the same time scared how he’d react if he didn’t feel the same way. Harry, I love you.

Tuesday, 13 August 2019

“Long time since I’ve seen your face.” Portia said as she appeared on Y/N’s phone screen. “How are you?”

Y/N nodded, looking down on Viola resting in her lap. “Good, a bit sunburnt. And you?”

“Alright, not very sunburnt. Haven’t seen the bloody sun in over a week.”

Y/N laughed. “How’s mum? Has she been looking after you since you got the casts off?”

“Yeah, she’s at my flat all the time now. It’s nice of her to be here and make sure I don’t fall and break both legs again, but that won’t happen when I’m laying in my sofa!” She shouted the last part, clearly hoping that Elaine, who was somewhere in Portia’s flat, would somehow hear and get the memo.

“Is she being a pest?”

“Babe, you have no fucking idea.” Portia hissed, looking over her shoulder to make sure their mother wouldn’t hear her. “She won’t leave me alone.”

“She’s just looking out for you, though.” Y/N reasoned, watching as Viola jumped down from her lap and walked over to sit in the windowsill by the open window.

“And I appreciate that, but I don’t want her around all the time. She does my head in.”

Y/N chuckled, getting up to make herself a glass of iced tea. “Mum’s always done your head in, that’s what it’s like being the favourite.”

“Oh, lay off, I’m not Mum’s favourite.”

“Is that Y/N, dear?” Elaine walked into the room and suddenly she was visible over Portia’s shoulder. “Hello, love!”

Y/N did a little wave. “Hiya.”

“Why are you spending a sunny day inside your flat?” Elaine asked, and Y/N instantly dreaded coming home to those kinds of questions constantly till she left for uni again.

Y/N sighed. “I’m talking to Portia, Mum. It’s a hassle having to FaceTime someone when you’re out and about.”

“Still, you should be outside.”

Y/N was about to say something when Portia interrupted her. “Y/N is outside all the time, Mum. She’s outside hours on end working with H. Styles, aren’t you, babe?”

It wasn’t often Portia stood up for Y/N. They both knew that their mother wouldn’t listen to reason unless Portia was the one delivering it. Which didn’t happen often, but moments like these, when Portia actually spoke up for Y/N when their Mother wouldn’t have it, it made Y/N appreciate her sister in a way nothing else could.

“Yeah,” Y/N answered, giving Portia a small smile only the sister knew what meant. Thank you. “I spend most of my days outside, don’t worry.”

“Hope you do, air is good for you.”

“So I’ve heard.” Y/N sighed, placing the camera on the kitchen counter as she made her iced tea.

“What’re you up to today?” Portia asked, wanting to steer the conversation in another direction.

She was about to tell them what she was actually going to do. About to tell them how Harry had promised to take her to La Spezia, the biggest town close to Fosdinovo. That they would most likely go to dinner there and he would drive them back to Fosdinovo so he could work some more on his paintings. But before that, he’d take her to bed and they’d get tangled in the sheets, sweat, whimpers, and each other. That she’d most likely spend the night with him. She didn’t tell them that. Didn’t tell them how close she and H. Styles had gotten. Didn’t tell them she loved him. Didn’t tell them she’d never felt as whole yet free as when she was with him.

“Y/N?”

“Huh?”

Portia raised her eyebrows. “You zoned out for a sec there.”

“Oh. Sorry.” She cleared her throat, mixing her iced tea. “I’m not doing much. Maybe taking a stroll through town, say hi to Rin, Meo, and Carina.”

“Carina is the one who got married, yeah?”

Elaine frowned. “Married?”

“I told you, Mum,” Portia said, looking over at Elaine. “Y/N went to that wedding and the bloke turned out to be a complete nutter. Anyway,” she glanced back at Y/N. “Did Carina ever leave him?”

“Think they’re signing the divorce papers soon. I’m glad she decided to leave him.”

Portia groaned, leaning her head against the back of the sofa. “You’ve given me more goss this summer than I could’ve hoped for. How dull it’s going to be getting back to work again.”

“Aren’t you looking forward to it?” Y/N asked, walking back over to her kitchen table.

“In a way, but it’s been very nice to have you do all the work for me.”

Y/N chuckled; Portia joined in. Her face suddenly grew very serious and she looked at something in her lap. Elaine got up and walked off, having chores to get to and Portia waited till their Mum was out of earshot before she spoke again.

“I never thanked you properly.”

“For what?”

“For doing this for me.” She glanced at Y/N again. “It’s meant heaps. You always do these things and I take it for granted.”

Y/N bit her bottom lip, stirring the metal straw around in the tea. “You do.”

“I’m sorry.” Portia sighed. “I don’t mean it.”

“I know you don’t.”

Portia gave Y/N a small smile. “Will you ever forgive me for it?”

“For…?”

“For treating you like shit. For expecting you to do things for me.”

Y/N smiled back at her, taking a long sip of her old tea. “Just please don’t do it again and we’ll be fine.”

“I promise.” Portia nodded, sounding relieved, as if she’d thought of this for a long while now. “I won’t send you off to Italy for an entire summer to work with a grumpy painter ever again.” She laughed, but Y/N had to force her own. If Portia had never gotten herself injured, then Y/N would never have met Harry; would never have fallen in love; would never have loved as foolishly and completely as she did now. But the summer was coming to a close. Would it all have been for nothing in the end? Would she have fallen in love only to be forced out of it?

“Y/N?”

“Huh?”

Portia huffed. “What’s with you today? You’re not paying attention.”

“Sorry,” Y/N shook her head. “Go on. What were you saying?”

Harry placed the brush in her hand, enclosing her fingers around it before he brought it to the canvas. Trying her best not to disappoint him, she bit her lip, leaning her head against Harry’s as she concentrated on the painting.

“That’s it.” He mumbled, guiding her hand.

“Is it okay?”

“Well, I’m steering your hand so I’m basically painting. It’s brilliant.”

She nudged his shoulder, giggling a little and Harry looked at her, smiling. The two were sat on a small piano bench outside, Harry’s easel before them and an almost white canvas placed neatly on it. Y/N was wearing one of the tee shirts she’d left at Harry’s over the week and Harry had put on his dungarees, the cool evening air a refreshing break from the suffocating heat of day. Since they’d come home and shared their first kiss of the day, night had surrounded them again, and they had shagged multiple times before making their way to the balcony upstairs. They were so desperate for one another that it took everything out of both of them to hold back till they got home, so when they were completely alone, they simply could not help themselves. It felt right being together like this, without filters, without apology; just them.

“Look,” Harry took the brush from her hand, dipping it in some more orange and running it over the canvas. “To paint a sunset, you start with the colours of the sky. What colours you think will fit best?”

“What’re we painting?”

Harry huffed a small chuckle. “A sunrise.”

“Orange and maybe even some yellow.” Y/N answered, tilting her head as she watched him fill the blankness with more colour. “Oh, and blue! But just a tad.”

“You’re imagining a very sunny morning then?”

“A sunny morning in Essex.” Y/N smiled, looking at him. “The most beautiful sight in the world, if I may say so.”

“Oh, is it?” he asked, putting the brush away and placing his hand on her thigh, turning to face her.

“Uh-huh.” Her smile widened some as he moved closer to her, brushing his nose gently against hers.

“I can think of more beautiful sights than a sunrise in bleeding Essex.”

She huffed, turning away from him to look at the painting. A slight noise of complaint left Harry’s throat and he put his finger to her chin, guiding her face till her lips were right in front of his. At the feel of his breath against her skin, all hairs on her body rose. She wanted to move closer to him, to kiss him, but she wanted to see what would happen if she held back. Harry had come to make the first move quite often since they started… whatever they’d started. But she quite liked it when he took control. He so rarely let himself have control over anything that wasn’t his profession. Though he seemed to take great pleasure in taking control of Y/N and them every once in a while. Y/N liked that very much.

“You haven’t seen one, how can you say that?” she inquired, raising her eyebrows to challenge him.

“Because an Essex sunrise would pale next to my standards of the most beautiful sights in the world.” Harry mumbled, rubbing his nose against hers as he closed his eyes.

She smiled. “Which is?”

He smiled too, leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss to her lips. It felt like touching silk, tasted like a lifetime, and Y/N couldn’t get enough of it. She leaned into him, breathing him in. It felt so familiar, so right. As he pulled away, pressing a kiss to her nose, they both opened their eyes at the same time. She bit her lip, resting her head on his shoulder as he turned back to the painting. He dipped the brush in some yellow, spreading it out over and just below the orange.

“Did I ever tell you about my dreams?” Harry asked suddenly.

“What dreams?”

“Those I’ve had of you.”

A tingling sensation, excitement mixed with confusion, filled Y/N’s chest and she sat upright, looking at him. “I’ve… been in your dreams?”

“Multiple times.”

There was something so intimate, Y/N remarked, about hearing of your visit into someone else’s mind and dreams. Knowing you’d somehow been on their mind and made it into their unconscious state was flattering in a way a mere compliment could never live up to. It was beyond that. Harry put more paint on the brush before he took her hand again, guiding her hand over the canvas.

“Elaborate, please.” Y/N pleaded, biting her lip as she could make out Harry looking at her in her peripheral vision.

Harry cleared his throat a little, clearly just figuring out what he’d gotten himself into. With a curiosity like Y/N’s, she would demand every single little detail. He wasn’t hesitant to give them all to her though, it was just a matter of putting words to moments in his head and dreams that he had otherwise, till now, kept to himself.

“Most of my paintings are born from dreams.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” he dipped the brush in more paint, letting her mix it with the orange on the page. “I get these moments in time, like watching something in slow motion almost.”

“They inspire you?”

“Yeah, it’s like a situation or a person inspire a songwriter to write a song.” Harry explained, letting go of her hand. “My dreams and… ultimately, you have inspired most of mine.”

She felt her cheeks heat up a bit. “Did you dream of me every time before a new painting?”

“Not in the beginning. I had most of them planned out.” He admitted, and though Y/N felt her heart sink a little at that, she still knew that she hadn’t been able to stand his person in the beginning as well. She couldn’t blame him. “But as time went on, you appeared in most of my dreams. The plan I had for my collection changed after I got to know you.”

She stopped painting, looking at him. “The collection’s changed?”

Harry was about to say something when there came knocking from the front door, soon followed by Jamie’s loud shouts. “Harry!” they called. “I know you’re on the balcony, mate!”

Harry sighed, glancing at the painting before meeting Y/N’s eyes again. “I’ll be right back.”

She didn’t get a nod in before Harry was off the piano seat and walking down the stairs to let Jamie in. After everything, Harry had started locking his front door the second after closing it, without fail. He didn’t let anyone into his house, and if someone paid him a visit – which people rarely did – he would usually not leave them alone in a room. Y/N understood his weariness, and though she hated seeing his trust having been bruised like this, she wasn’t about to explain to him that there was no use. The only person in this town who would dare to do something like that was now in jail a few towns over, meaning Harry and his paintings were safe. But that was easier understood from an outside perspective than an inside one. Harry would have his guard up for people he met and let into his life from now on. It was only Y/N he allowed full access to all of himself. He wasn’t ashamed or scared of letting her in. She felt so honoured to be part of his life like this.

Y/N heard Harry let Jamie in, and instantly, the two started chatting. Their voices were heated right off the bat, but it was like they didn’t want her to hear, their voices sounded like angry whispered hisses of sorts. Y/N places the paintbrush in the glass of water, getting up and walking slowly toward the staircase leading downstairs. Maybe she would hear what they were talking about better that way. She knew she shouldn’t eavesdrop, but she couldn’t help herself.

“I swear,” Jamie said, listening in on what must be the middle of their conversation. “It’s like you don’t even understand what I’m trying to tell you.”

“That’s exactly what’s going on.”

Jamie groaned, the next part he said inaudible. Y/N stepped over the floorboard that she had come to learn was a bit creaky, and walked down the set of stairs to be closer to the two talking.

“You’re proud of yourself, aren’t you?” Jamie said, trying to keep their voice down.

“Which part?”

“You know what I’m talking about, Harry, don’t try and act innocent now.”

There was a pause, like the two had a sort of staring contest, daring the other one to say something. Y/N put her hands on the railing, biting her lip in anticipation of them starting to talk again. She heard Viola meowing downstairs and Harry sighing heavily, probably picking her up as he always did. He liked having her close. Just yesterday she’d taken her cast off and though she’d gotten used to not having it in a matter of a few hours, Y/N and Harry both liked carrying her. Y/N didn’t want the little cat to be at hers alone, so she’d brought her here. There wasn’t much in Y/N’s flat anyway now, almost everything was packed, ready for Friday.

“Y/N is upstairs, if you could-“

“-I know Y/N is upstairs.”

They fell quiet again, and Y/N wondered why Jamie’s voice sounded so harsh. What was going on? Had something happened?

“Harry, you can’t…” Jamie trailed off, groaning a little in what must be frustration.

“Can’t what?”

“I don’t want to have to say it.”

A slight pause before Harry growled, “Then don’t.” It was like he knew what Jamie was going to tell him. Y/N wished she did. She leaned a little more over the railing, willing them to speak up and put words to the situation.

“I think I might have to.” Jamie sighed. “Harry, you can’t-“

“-Jamie, I swear to God-“

“-You can’t shag your client.”

The house fell quiet once again and Y/N suddenly wished she hadn’t eavesdropped. Her heart sunk, sending a pain running through her entire body like one she’d never known before. Viola meowed again, Harry clearly having put her down on the ground again.

“Why?”

“You know why, Harry.” Jamie sounded defeated. Y/N had never imagined Jamie to act like this, but then again, listening to what they had to say, she understood. “It’s unprofessional.”

Harry huffed.

“What, H?”

“It’s unprofessional to fall in love?”

There was a slight pause before, “No, it’s unprofessional to go against the contract you yourself made Y/N and Portia sign.”

“Enlighten me.”

There was a rustling of papers as Jamie had clearly come prepared. “Want me to read you her contract or the agreement?”

“Aren’t they the same? They’ve both come back to bloody haunt me.-“

“-‘This agreement is made on the date of last signature below between: 1) The Employer: Harry Edward Styles, of Via Mizzani 1, Fosdinovo-“

“-I know my own fucking address, Jamie.-“

“-2) The Employee: Y/N Venus Sweeney, of 43 Overstone Road, Hammersmith, London, W6 0A-“

“-Jamie-“

“-The relationship between the two parties is to be strictly professional in nature, non-existent.’” There was a pause as Jamie ruffled through some more papers. “’The employee is not to distract the employer. They are not to form a bond outside the confines of the painting sessions.’” Jamie sighed. “Harry, you made this yourself. You decided on this contract and the agreement. There are tons more about her needing to ensure she’s not distracting you, how she’s not to come to your house, not to talk to you whilst you’re painting, not to invade your personal space, not to ask questions-“

“-I fucking get it.”

There was a slight bang, as if Jamie had slammed their hand onto the stack of papers on a table surface. “Do you, Harry?”

Silence sounded again, just Viola’s small paws against the metal staircase as she walked upwards toward Y/N. Viola meowed as she saw her, Y/N put a finger to her lips begging her not to make any noise. This whole situation was bad enough as it was without the wo downstairs knowing she was listening in.

“Can’t you just ruin the contract and the agreement, make another? I made these so I should be able to make a new contract.”

“People will find out, Harry.”

“How?”

“Because they always do. Especially when you’re a massive painter and people, tabloids, news reporters, all know your name.”

Harry groaned. “Then what will you have me do?”

There was a pause, as if Jamie was giving Harry some sort of look. Y/N bent down as Viola reached her, hugging her to her chest for comfort.

“No,” Harry growled. “No, Jamie.”

“You have to.”

“I’m not breaking it off with her.”

Jamie sighed. “It’s not a matter if you two want to or not; you have to. This isn’t what she’s here for, as is said in the contract. You didn’t want a relationship with her at all. People will find out about this, you will lose clients because of your unprofessionalism and your inability to keep to the rules of your own contract, and your success and reputation will be ruined. How are you supposed to listen to others and how are they supposed to take you seriously when you can’t even take yourself seriously enough to listen to your own words?”

Silence filled the house again; Y/N didn’t know what to do. She felt so helpless, so stupid. Viola purred against her, and Y/N wondered how someone could feel so content while the world of the person holding her was falling apart.

“I…” Harry stopped himself, clearing his throat some before he continued. “I must’ve forgotten.”

“If she’s in your bed right now, she’s undoubtedly forgotten as well.”

“Don’t fucking talk of her like that.” The words were venomous, telling them to watch their tone.

“This won’t just affect your career, Harry, it’s going to affect hers as well.”

This made Harry shut up, the quiet that followed was filled with agony. They had both been so blinded by the fact that Y/N would be leaving Italy and Harry soon that they hadn’t even thought of anything else. The contract she had been told to sign and what it had said, it had slipped Y/N’s mind. In truth, she didn’t properly read through it, thinking it couldn’t possibly be that strict and bad. Turns out it was, and now the two of them would have to live with the consequences. They couldn’t be.

“You know I want nothing but the best for you, Harry. Always have. That’s why I’m still here, why I’m working with you. You’re my best mate.” Jamie said, Harry sighing heavily at their words. “I don’t want to see you fail.”

“How about happy?”

“What?”

“You said you don’t want to see me fail; do you want to see me happy?” Harry asked. “I’ve not smiled as much as I have in the months she’s been here, then the entire year since the Salvatore incident. Or the years prior when I lived, worked, breathed completely alone.”

Jamie clicked their tongue. “I want to see you happy, but I want to find a way for you to be happy and still be able to paint for a living.”

“And I won’t be able to do that if I continue to be with Y/N?”

“No!” Jamie shouted, not caring anymore if Y/N could hear them or not. “You’ll be fucking miserable! I know you well enough to tell you this: without your work, without painting, you’ll be fucking miserable, Harry. If you flake on your own contract, what does that say about future professional relationships?”

Silence.

“You know I’m right.”

“Don’t fucking rub it in, Jamie.” Harry said, voice as low as Y/N remembered it to be when he was out of his mind angry. “Leave, please.”

Jamie let out a small groan. “Harry, don’t do this-“

“-Leave!” he repeated. “We’re not… doing this now.”

“Then when?”

Y/N heard Harry’s bare feet against the floor, already making his way towards the stairs. She quickly started walking up towards the loft with Viola against her chest still.

“In three days.”

“Why three days?”

“Because I said so!”

Y/N sat down by the easel, putting Viola down on the ground beside her, and pretending not to have listened at all. She heard the front door slam shut and Harry’s frustrated sigh as he reached the loft again. He stopped at the top of the stairs and she felt his eyes on her back, felt his frustration.

She knew why Harry wanted to talk to Jamie in three days. Knew why he was postponing it. She was leaving in three days. On that very Friday morning, she would say bye to Harry, be driven to the airport by a driver she’d never met, and probably never see Harry again. And she knew exactly where Jamie was coming from. Even when Harry sat down next to her, pretending not to have argued with Jamie minutes earlier about her and their relationship, Y/N was unable to think about anything else. Jamie was right. Harry and Y/N could simply not be together.

Thursday, 15 August 2019

All her stuff was at Harry’s. It would be easier for the driver to come to his place as the road by Y/N’s flat was very narrow and a nightmare to find a way out of unless you were driving a moped. It was the morning of her departure and Y/N had lied awake for a couple of hours, not wanting to move or get out of bed. She needed to take a bath before travelling to the airport, fully aware that because of the stress of her leaving as well as anxiety of never seeing Harry again, she’d been sweating more than usual that night.

Beside her, she hadn’t heard Harry all night. He usually breathed heavily, not quite snoring, but you would definitely know he was asleep if you ever heard him. She wondered if he’d slept lightly or not at all. Either way, she hated that she might be the cause of that. As she glanced over at him, his gaze was fixed on the ceiling overhead, deep in his thoughts. She didn’t want to disturb him or to break him out of his reverie if he was thinking of something important. Just barely, she could feel his hand in her hair, fingers running along her scalp in a soothing manner. If she hadn’t been so set on the fact that she was dreading leaving, she would’ve fallen back asleep.

Y/N sat up, about to get out of bed and walk to Harry’s bathroom when-

“-Where are you going?”

She looked down at him, his eyes fixed on her now. “Need to take a bath before I leave.”

Harry nodded slightly, and she was about to try and leave bed again when he took a grip of her wrist, sliding his hand down to hold hers. She waited for him to say something, but instead he just looked at her hand in his, stroking his thumb tenderly over her.

“Harry.”

“I need a date.” He suddenly blurted out. “I need to know the exact date I’ll get to see you next after this.”

She bit her lips together, glancing down at their hands as well. “I’ll be in London or Essex; you know where to find me, you have my addresses.”

“I do, but…” he paused, frowning. “I’ll only be in London for a week, max. And that’s at the end of tour. Six months away.”

“And I need to focus on my studies.” Y/N said, aware that if she was going to knock some sense into both her and Harry, she had to be harsh about it.

Harry’s frown deepened and he looked up at her. “I know that. I’m not telling you not to, it’s important.”

She nodded, not meeting his eyes.

He sat up as well, wanting to get a closer look at her. “Y/N.”

Her glance didn’t waver from their joined hands.

“Celeste.” He squeezed her hand some, making her look at him. She couldn’t help herself when he called her that. “We’re going to be okay.”

She looked away again, feeling her eyes sting. Why did Harry get her to feel so much all at once? She was both filled to the brim with the loveliest feelings in the whole entire world, but she also felt her chest about give out, like an oncoming earthquake that would shake her up and cause havoc for weeks, months, years to come.

Harry’s grip on her loosened. “What?”

“Hm?”

“You’re acting weird.”

“I don’t want to leave.”

“There’s more than that.”

She was quiet.

“Y/N-“

“-I heard yours and Jamie’s conversation the other day.” She looked at him again, and the instant she did, she saw sadness appear at the corners of his lips and desperation pooling somewhere in his eyes. “About the contracts.”

Harry sighed, closing his eyes.

“They’re right, Harry.”

“No,” he brought her hand into his lap, holding it tightly. “How can you say that?”

“Didn’t you hear what they were trying to tell you?”

“Yes, I did.” Harry said, eyes meeting hers. “But how can you say that?”

She furrowed her brows, exhaling slowly.

“If you feel even half of what I’m feeling, how can you say that?” Harry held her hand to his lips, not leaving a kiss there or anything alike, he just left it there as a reassurance that she was still with him. She hadn’t left yet. His eyes fell to the bed again. “I refuse to let you leave me like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like we’re never going to see each other again.” He said, sighing heavily against her hand. “Y/N, why are you saying this?”

“Because,” she blinked a few times, willing the tears away. “I’m trying to be realistic.”

“You don’t think we’re it?”

“I think I signed a contract months ago not knowing I would ultimately come to catch feelings for the person who wrote it.”

He looked over at her. “What does that matter?”

She sighed again. “Harry-“

“-How does it matter in the slightest?” he asked, moving closer to her and resting their hands against her chest so he could feel her heartbeat. “How does anything matter besides how much we feel for one another? Love is stronger, greater, truer than anything else, and no matter what the world throws its way, it will win. Love will always win.”

She felt her eyesight get blurrier. “How can you say that for certain? There are countless stories of people who were meant to be but couldn’t be ‘cause of circumstances.”

“And I’m sorry for them,” Harry said, a sad crease appearing between his brows as he saw the effect his words had on her. “But most of them at least tried to fight.”

She exhaled shakily.

“I’m ready to fight for us, Y/N. For you.”

She sobbed. “For me?”

“I wouldn’t even hesitate.”

Biting her lips together, she just looked at him, willing her racing heart and her blurry sight to calm down.

“There is absolutely no limit to what I would do… the lengths I would go…” he moved closer again, resting his forehead against hers. “Celeste, you have to believe that what I feel for you is larger than my mere existence.” He squeezed her hand. “It transcends my single body, it’s more than a simple human lifetime. I understand why people say love can change the world. If felt strong enough, it’s the greatest emotion and tool of the entire universe. It can be someone’s pillar and their downfall.”

She held onto him tighter.

“Don’t let it be our downfall, Y/N. I beg you.”

There was absolutely not a single part of her that wanted to leave. She wanted to stay in Fosdinovo with Harry till they were both grey and old, she wanted to stay here forever. As Harry had said, they were it. Why couldn’t she just tell him she felt it too? That she too knew that no matter who she met after Harry, no matter the attraction or how compatible they were, Y/N would never feel about them the same way she felt about Harry. No one could ever match him, and it would be dumb to even try.

But when would they meet next? Would they be able to stand the distance? Not talking for a few days? They’d basically spent all summer in each other’s company, how did they know a life without the other in it after this? Y/N was sure her love for Harry could conquer everything, but loving someone was different from surviving without them. Her love would still be there, even if they weren’t and never would be.

Letting go of one last sigh, Y/N got up from the bed, and walked to the bathroom. She knew Harry was watching her, and knew she needed to get about her bath before the driver arrived and she had to leave. She closed the door, crouching down beside the bath and turning the water on, checking it was the perfect temperature before she put the plug in, spreading some of her soap in the rising water. She waited, not trying to let her mind wander back to Harry alone in his bed. How she had just left him after that. How he didn’t want them to end things. But how she knew herself that it would be incredibly hard to wait six months before she got to see him again. It would be better for both of them if they just ripped off the band-aid right away instead of slowing the process down.

She got into the bathtub, sliding down the back of it, and closed her eyes. The warm water embraced her, offering a last sort of comfort before she would have to leave. She thought back on her summer. Let the memories wash over her. Sitting there, she tried to understand how this had all come about. How she had fallen in love with a painter who had treated her like nothing but shit the first few weeks of her stay here. How that same painter was a completely different person now. How he wanted her to believe in him and what they had enough to survive time and space. And she was sure their love for one another would. But at some point, time and space was too much and the lack of the presence of the other wasn’t much so.

She was terrified, she had to admit. There was not a single soul she had cared for or loved as much as Harry, and that alone mortified her. Harry had said so himself; their love was bigger than themselves, it was something more. Just by pressing her skin against his, Y/N felt like they were creating entire galaxies. Together they had made something bigger than themselves, something neither of them knew how to properly control if they weren’t together. So what would six months do? Seven months? A year?

Slowly, the door to the bathroom opened, revealing Harry to her. He was wearing his dungarees, something she had come to associate with him along with his pink Converse. She looked up at him, waiting for him to walk inside and do whatever he had thought of doing. What she hadn’t expected, was for Harry to sit down beside the bathtub. He reached for her cheek, caressing her so gently it felt like feathers against her skin. Gradually he reached for her neck, begging her to meet him halfway. And she did. It was the kind of kiss that held a promise. Y/N wasn’t sure what kind of promise it was or why it made her feel both hopeful and sad, but she clung to it. Both her hands rested at each of Harry’s cheeks, holding him to her. All his words earlier tattooed themselves to her memory, her brain, her heart. She would never forget them or the person who said them. This summer had brought her tenderness and thousands of lessons learned, but most importantly, it had brought her Harry, and for that she would forever be grateful.

Harry slid his hand down her shoulder, caressing her breast, into the hot water, and sliding his hand over her tummy. She kissed him harder as he reached lower, as he slid his middle and ring finger between her folds. Letting out a breathy moan, she let the feeling of Harry’s long fingers against her ever-growing sensitive bud take over everything she knew. The thought of Harry just wanting to please her without needing her to give anything back to him like most idiot men did, was everything to her. He just wanted to please her; just wanted to see her come, to see her smile and happy. It made her feel so incredibly much love for him all at once that the butterflies in her tummy went crazy. They flew into her core, flying in a circle so fast and creating a low hum of pleasure between her legs. She closed her eyes, relishing in Harry’s careful movements, letting him take complete control of her. When she opened her eyes again, looking straight into his though the sight was a little blurry, she could tell he hadn’t taken his eyes off her for a single second. He had watched her as her desire and desperation for him rose, as she started moving her hips ever so slightly to get that familiar spark of pleasure running through her.

As his mouth fell open at the sight of her, Y/N suddenly became very aware of just how much she ached for him. Her cunt was slick and very hot as Harry felt her out, and though she was in a bathtub and most areas were already wet, being turned on and ready for someone was a completely different kind. He no doubt felt her need for him rise. Staring at her the way he did, Y/N was sure he was savouring this moment just like she was. He wanted her to get off just so he could remember how well he was able to please her; so he could look back on this moment and her; so he could remember them this way forever. Being wet and desperate for him like this, every little sensation she felt was heightened, especially her clit and hole. A whimper left her lips, spilling onto Harry’s that hovered over hers.

“Yeah?” he said. “Does that feel good, baby?”

“Yes.” She breathed, not being able to help herself as he pushed his two fingers into her.

With his other hand, Harry took a grip of her hair, holding her face to his as he slid his fingers in and out of her. Though Harry loved getting her off, he usually did so with his tongue and not his fingers alone. They would rather get to it and fuck each other, as they had done senselessly and passionately for a week now. They moved so well together, fit together so well it almost felt meant to be. Nothing felt more right and certain than being with Harry, yet it was wrong and it would require time and strength and patience. How was it that all good things came with a prize? Wasn’t it hard enough that you had to search for your soulmate, but when you found them, they were hard or impossible to be with? Life would always found something and throw it in the way of a person’s wants.

She closed her eyes again, hearing the water splash around her as Harry started moving his hand harder. Pounding her deeper and making sure to get her exactly right. He knew the right buttons to press now, knew the small tricks and what would make her scream if he wanted her to. She loved how well he knew her. Loved that he had cared to even learn the small things about her, what would have her arch her back and repeat his names at the top of her lungs. Loved that he knew how she preferred her breakfast, her favourite drink, colour, her daily routines, and her sense of style. Loved that he had taken the effort to get to know her like she had done to him. She would never forget the small things about him.

“Stay,” he whispered, voice almost breaking. “And if you won’t stay, wait for me.”

She moaned, opening her eyes to look at him. Her grip on the hair at his neck and forearm tightened as the tension in her core did the same. She moved with him and her movements were frantic, needing the friction to increase and the fire in her lower stomach to build up into a huge explosion of pleasure. Water spilled everywhere, and Harry didn’t care in the least. Didn’t even bat an eye when he heard it hit his tiles. All her nerves perked up, a climax not far off.

“Y/N,” Harry mumbled. “Say something.”

She gripped him harder. “Harry.”

He tightened his hold on her hair, bringing her closer to him, moving his fingers a little faster. He was driving her completely mad. Absolutely mental. He knew that gripping her hair like that, moving the way he did, he would cause a reaction from her.

“Stay.”

“Baby, you know I can’t.” She said, moaning loudly.

He curled his fingers, fucking her harder and faster, letting her frantic state grow. She breathed harshly, gasping. He was hitting that exact spot that was like throwing fuel into a flame, because Y/N felt nothing but her orgasm just then.

“Then wait for me.” He said, voice low and desperate. “Please, Celeste.”

The bubble was about to burst, the pleasure inside of her was like white noise in her ears. Nothing but the feeling of Harry’s fingers, the hot water around her, his hand in her hair, breath mingling with hers, nothing else mattered. He was here, making sure she left him knowing what he could give her and more.

“I’ll wait for you.” He said, leaning down and kissing her neck. “Please, wait for me.”

She leaned her head against his, nails digging into his skin, frantic because the orgasm she was about to have would undoubtedly make her legs and entire world shake.

“Come for me, baby.” He mumbled against her, kissing her jaw. “Come. Only for me.”

She breathed harshly and moaned a little too loudly, but she could not control herself. She gasped. It ran up her spine, her torso, down her thighs, and to her fingertips that was clinging to Harry. She felt it everywhere, like it radiated off her entire body. It was like magic had found a place to hide inside her, running through her like every incredible sensation the world had to offer. The orgasm toned down in waves and Y/N only realised once she opened her eyes again that her legs had been shaking.

Harry lifted his head, letting go of her hair and sliding his fingers out of her. He leaned forward, giving her a desperate kiss. She felt it in every cell of her body. Everything within her was reaching for him, not wanting to leave but knowing that she had to. There was a life waiting for her back home, an important one at that, and she simply could not cut that part of her life off because she wanted to stay in Fosdinovo with Harry. They breathed harshly against one another and as Harry pulled away, a small whimper left Y/N’s lips, begging him to kiss her again. He did, just as hard and passionate as the time before. But suddenly he got up, walked out of the bathroom, and left her alone to get cleaned up and dressed. It was a mere 15 minutes till the driver would be here after all.

She got ready. Putting her clothes on, fixing her hair, and making sure she didn’t look as sad as she felt. But in the middle of getting ready, she heard honking outside, and everything within her sank. It was time. She closed her eyes for a few seconds, willing herself to calm down. She couldn’t walk downstairs a weeping mess. The driver would be horrified and Harry would never let her leave if she was crying. She walked out of the bathroom, but her suitcases weren’t there. Instantly, she knew Harry had carried them down, and she wasn’t sure if she appreciated him doing it or despised him for not letting her do it herself so she could stay there a few minutes longer.

“Sweeney?” asked the driver as she got downstairs.

Y/N gave him a smile. “Yes, sir.” Looking past him, she saw Harry putting the last of her stuff in the boot of the car, a look on his face that could either be of concentration or of restraint to show what he was actually feeling. Harry shut the boot, giving the driver a small nod as they walked down the front stairs and to the driver’s seat.

Y/N stepped outside, letting the Italian summer sun hit her one last time and for once not detesting the fact it hurt her eyes. Harry stood at the bottom of the stairs waiting for her as she made her way down. His dungarees were still wet, but it was already starting to dry in the heat of morning.

She let go of a heavy sigh as she reached him. “Harry-“

But she stopped herself as he took her hand in his. “Don’t.” He said lowly. “It’ll only make this harder.”

She nodded, very aware that it would be. Whatever either of them said now would make it harder. But what made it even worse was Harry bringing her hand up, and kissing it as tenderly as he had done that first time. Slowly he turned her hand around, kissing it just as softly and bringing tears to Y/N’s eyes that she had tried to hard to keep at bay. Their eyes met and as he saw how glassy hers were, something in his face changed. Before he could reach up and try and console her, something that would make everything worse times ten, Y/N walked past him and to the car. She closed the door, put her seatbelt on and glanced out the window at Harry who had turned around, not taking his eyes off her for a single second.

The engine roared to life, the driver stepped on the pedal, and away they went. Her heart was racing, unable to believe that she was leaving Fosdinovo for good now. The village she had spent all summer in, that she had come to love. The cat she considered a great friend, and the other actual human beings that had made a huge impact on her. Possibly the love of her life. She was leaving it all behind. And as she felt a tear roll down her cheek, she knew that no matter what, nothing would mend the loss of any of it.

She swore she heard her name being called somewhere behind them, like a desperate plea somewhere in the cloud of dust the car made along the country roads. But as she turned around to look out the back window, hoping to see him there, she saw nothing. It must’ve only been a figment of her imagination. She turned back around and went home to England.

NEXT UPDATE: 1st March 2020, 9PM GMT

a huge thanks to my lovely beta readers!

💙 @aileenacoustic 💙 @emotionally-imbruised 💙 @fromyourstrulyh 💙

#harry styles #harry styles fic #harry styles x you #harry styles x reader #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #WOOOOOO PLS COME TALK

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solieldoux · 3 years

Text

when brush meets canvas; a collection of thoughts and happenings ( @wclfsun )

[ 🙤 · ┈┈┈┈┈┈ · ] ⠀━━ five years ago, snu campus tour

he’s not listening. ethan liu has the attention span of a a goldfish when it comes to irrelevant things. there’s the center of the campus, there’s the café (there’s great coffee there!), dorms are that way, class buildings one and two over there ( “ they’re close together so you don’t miss classes!” ) … so on and so forth. he can keep pace with the group well enough on auto-pilot. the ‘highlights’ of the greater campus are irrelevant to a student who plans to spend four semesters holed up in a dorm room.

“ sorry! i’m so sorry!! “

he’s rather responsive for someone on auto-pilot. she crashes into him out of nowhere. his arms reach out to catch her and stabilize them both. it’s not until after he’s done it that ethan truly realizes that something happened, and he’s got his arms around a brunette who’s expression reads utterly horrified by her own actions.

he lets her go, waving it off, “it’s fine. you’re alright?”

yes she’s alright, and she’s very sorry, and she’s sometimes so clumsy, and she wants to make it up. ethan continues to wave her off, shaking his head because it really is fine. it takes some talking down, but she ultimately accepts it, and she shifts herself off to the side a bit so she’s not walking so closely to the man she’d just collapsed into.

ethan sighs. the walk continues. now they know of each other’s existence; any time they catch glances he gives a small nod and she alternates between mouthing ‘sorry!’ and giving him a gentle smile. he finds it funny. and it makes the rest of the tour considerably less grating.

[ 🙤 · ┈┈┈┈┈┈ · ] ⠀━━ five years ago, coffee shop

ahh. that’s why she asked what my coffee order is the other day.

leia is settled at a small café table – in front of her a tall glass of iced coffee and a slice of crumb cake. across from her in front of the opposite, empty chair is another cup – this one a large ceramic cappuccino mug with two slices of lime set on a separate dish to the side. it too is accompanied by a slice of cake.

“ did you wait long ?? “ he asks

she didn’t wait long at all, she just got there a little early and decided to order for them! she’s fine with paying for it, and ethan certainly shouldn’t worry. she hopes she ordered the right thing, she’d written down what he said a few days ago about liking to mix lime into his coffee. she thinks it’s very interesting, and she almost ordered it herself. and she’s talking and rambling to much and she’s sorry.

ethan is to used to her by now to be phased. he simply sits in front of her, lets her ramble a minute while he adds the lime to his drink and takes a fork to the cake. after a moment she’s quiet, shyly looking down at her own setting. ethan shakes his head.

“ you worry to much. “

she knows. she can’t help it.

“ i owe you for this. “

no he doesn’t! it’s completely fine. she doesn’t mind. and ethan doesn’t care, as he’s already reaching across the table to pocket the receipt. leia sighs a bit. she just wanted to be nice. ethan tells her she’s nice without trying, and it’s one of the many reasons he likes being around her.

[ 🙤 · ┈┈┈┈┈┈ · ] ⠀━━ five years ago, leia’s apartment

leia is rambling, as she always is. only this time she rambles while dumping new dishware into the sink and unpacking boxes of this and that and things from home into cabinets and into drawers. ethan is listening, as he always is.

if he doesn’t want to enroll in snu, then he shouldn’t! he should definitely join two star if that’s what feels right. and she’s supportive of his decision. and yes, it’ll be harder to start school without him if he chooses not to go, but she’ll be alright! and they can still text and hang out, and everything would be fine. and she’s seen some of the lyrics he wrote! and, oh, they’re so good no wonder two star entertainment extended him a contract!

she’s practically bouncing up in down, bubbling up with all the excitement one would expect ethan to have after receiving a personal invitation from the company’s ceo. but he’s just standing there with his arms crossed, watching her with one brow arced and a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“ when was the last time you took a breath?”

leia pauses, her body going stiff for a moment as she manually takes in a breath, then lets it out again with an embarrassed smile. she’s just so happy for him. and she wants what’s best for him and wants what makes him happy. ethan moves towards her and puts his arms around her waist.

“ i have a lot to be happy about these days. “

[ 🙤 · ┈┈┈┈┈┈ · ] ⠀━━ four years ago, leia’s apartment

over the past year or so, ethan has come to learn how every aspect of leia is soft – lips, voice, demeanor. more recently, he’s learned that the rest of her body is no different. the discovery wasn’t by chance. it was planned and executed with comfort and assuredness in mind. the location, however, was a bit unplanned – the intent had been the bedroom, but the living ended up serving just as well. and that, ironically, turned out to be for the best as ethan discovered something else that very same afternoon.

leia’s back is a wonderful canvas. the better part of the next hour had been spent in quiet conversation as he brushed unplanned, but ornate designs onto her skin.

“ it washes off. “

she knows. she wouldn’t really have let him do it if it was permanent. or maybe she would have. maybe his art would’ve become a beautiful back tattoo. she wants a picture of it when it’s done, because she can’t see for herself what she’s doing and it’d be a shame to wash all his hard work away without remembering it.

why do i love you so much?

[ 🙤 · ┈┈┈┈┈┈ · ] ⠀━━ two and a half years ago, leia’s apartment

he’s debuting! she’s so excited, and she always knew it would happen. there’s no way ethan would’ve gotten two invitations to the company if they didn’t want him. imagine how different things would’ve been if he’d gone to snu instead! she misses him a bit when she’s alone on campus, and she does sometimes think it would’ve been fun to go together. no wait! oh, she didn’t mean to say that. she shouldn’t have said it, and she doesn’t want him to worry about her. because she’s fine! she’s doing great on her own! she’s only got a couple more years and then she’ll be graduating, and everything will be fine.

“ i’m moving into the dorm this week. “

she’ll help him pack!

“ you can’t come to the trainee dorms, leia, i’ll get in trouble.”

oh right.

her smile is still soft and gentle. their relationship had been quiet and incredibly comfortable til now. never something either of them spoke to openly about. not out of shame, but just out of natural inclination to not speak to often about personal matters to other people. but now it’s necessity.

“ …. no one knows about you except hyunsik. i think it needs to stay that way. it’s for your safety, ultimately.”

it’s okay! she completely understands. she doesn’t want to jeopardize his career and she loves him enough that she’s okay with keeping things quiet. really, she’s fine. she’s completely okay.

ethan wraps his arms around her tightly, presses his lips to her forehead. he’s never wanted to shout that he loves her more than right now. more than this moment where he’s realized that he can’t.

“ i love you. “ he settles for a soft whisper in her ear.

she loves him too.

[ 🙤 · ┈┈┈┈┈┈ · ] ⠀━━ six months ago, d:fi dorm

“ ethan ?! yah – ethan !! “

the force of leaving the trance sends ethan tumbling off his chair and onto the ground where he catches himself on all fours.

“ you okay ?? you weren’t responding … can you hear me now??” hyunsik asks, kneeling by his side and putting an arm him.

ethan shuts his eyes, squeezing them so tight that he feels pressure in his forehead, “…yeah.” he says finally.

the past hour of his life is…. nothingness, as far as ethan can recall. but the state of the dorm room indicates otherwise. dropped brushes, a tipped over cup of mucky water. tubes of acrylic paint are scattered across the floor, some burst open from the force of being stepped on. paint had splattered onto the wall and floor, even onto some of the furniture. his easel is turned over on it’s side, and the canvas ethan had been working on lay on the floor, slightly smudged due to making contact with the bedframe before hitting the ground.

“ what were you doing ??”

“ i don’t know. my…i’ve been off recently. i don’t know.”

suddenly ethan pushes himself up and whirls around to look at the painting. he feels a pit form in his stomach as he examines it. it’s messy, it’s smeared with dark reds, browns, and auburns. but he knows exactly what he’s looking at. the creature hunting them all – the being known as aries – holding leia aloft.

his hand is around her neck. she’s bleeding profusely. her body is limp, but her eyes are wide open in horror. the sight breaks lose tears form ethan’s eyes, and hyunsik snatches the painting up and turns it around.

“ stop it. leia is fine. ethan – leia is fine. “

“ you don’t know that. ”

hyunsik puts himself between ethan and the painting, places both hands on his forearms and squeezes tightly, “ i do. two star is protected. and leia is right downstairs. there’s nowhere else she could be that’s safer. she’s fine. she’ll be fine. nothing’s going to hurt her.”

ethan uses all his force to push hyunsik aside. the elder doesn’t expect it, and so he tumbles to the side and into the bedframe. ethan snatches the painting back up and flips it over, trying to understand what part of his brain decided to concoct this monstrosity of an image.

what is this panic induced nightmare sitting at the forefront of his mind? why is his stomach sinking the more he looks at it? why does it feel so real? so possible? so…inevitable? he feels the tears begin to fall, and they plop onto the canvas, causing bits of it to run because of still wet paint.

hyunsik gets up again and tries to pull the painting from ethan’s vice grip. the elder ultimately wins the scuffle, and the painting is pushed off to the side of the room face down and smeared across the floor. ethan’s body racks with sobs as hyunsik pins him down. loud, anguished cries as realization sets in of the future he’s seen for leia.

[ 🙤 · ┈┈┈┈┈┈ · ] ⠀━━ last night, d:fi dorm

leia’s asleep, curled up in a blanket while ethan sits beside her with one of his sketchpads. over the course of the evening, a series of elaborate mandala like designs have blossomed onto the page. it’s not until the very early hours of the morning where light is peeking into the window that ethan realizes he’s been awake since the moment leia arrived. with realization comes exhaustion. his vigilant watch over her was bound to come to an end eventually, but he remains uneased. like he can’t trust the locked doors and magical wards around the dorm to protect them.

considering how monsters had broken through them before, though, were his concerns truly misplaced?

he sets his sketchpad aside and slides down into the bed, wrapping an arm around her and leaning into her back. leia stirs and turns to face him. worry is written all over her face as, even through her glossy eyed half-asleep daze, she’s picked up on something troubling him. ethan smiles a bit, shakes his head.

“ i’m fine. just thinking. why do you always know when i’m thinking?”

she’s too tired to form a meaningful response. her words come out practically inaudible and a little bit slurred. exhaustion is evident, and so ethan just strokes her hair and her arm and tells her to go back to sleep. it doesn’t take long before she’s out again and he is left to his thoughts.

would you have ever spoken to me if you’d known this is what your life would be? constantly chasing down or running away from monsters…fighting against the threads of time and having to figure out what fate looks like for you…?

he knows what’d she say if she were conscious. she’d say yes, of course. she’d say it’s worth it and as long as they’re together, she knows she safe. she’d say she doesn’t want to be a burden, but she wouldn’t want it any other way. though if he wanted to leave her, she’d say she’d understand. it’d break her heart, but all she wants is for him to be happy –

ethan realizes that he’s rambling for her and lets out a small laugh. she’s so much a part of him. maybe to much now. ‘that’s what soulmates are’, he’s sure someone in the dorm would say. hyunsik or reese. and yeah, perhaps that’s what they are. no…that is definitely what they are. nothing else would explain why it feels as though leia has a cord around his soul and is constantly pulling at it. he welcomes every tug.

and god save whoever tries to sever that cord.

#* ♡ ╰ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ━━ 「 ethan && leia 」

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searchingwardrobes · 4 years

Text

Start of Time: 7/9

In this chapter, Wendy/Emma worries things will be awkward after the kiss, and "Wendy's" real life may be closer than she thinks.

Summary: Killian and his son are driving through a bad snow storm when they find a disoriented woman walking down the road. The question is, how can they help her get home when she has no idea who she is? Written for @teamhook on her birthday.

Rating: T

Trigger warning: Alice Jones appears in this fic and Alice and Henry are both Killian’s adopted children with Milah. Henry isn’t Emma’s. Positive past Millian. No Neal.

Words: about 2,500 in this chapter

Also on Ao3

Tagging the usuals::@snowbellewells @kmomof4@jennjenn615 @kday426 @let-it-raines @bethacaciakay @profdanglaisstuff @resident-of-storybrooke @thislassishooked @tiganasummertree@whimsicallyenchantedrose @snidgetsafan @delirious-latenight-laughs @winterbaby89 @distant-rose@shireness-says @xhookswenchx @optomisticgirl @spartanguard @branlovestowrite @welllpthisishappening @stahlop @hollyethecurious @ekr032-blog-blog @scientificapricot @wellhellotragic @vvbooklady1256 @sherlockianwhovian @superchocovian @nikkiemms @lfh1226-linda @ultraluckycatnd @ohmakemeahercules

Wendy had a fitful night sleep as she replayed the kiss in her mind. Sometimes she fantasized about it - her heart pounding as she remembered the feel of his lips on hers and his fingers lightly tracing her skin. Other times she beat herself up for grabbing him like that. It wasn’t fair to him at all when she had another life out there to return to. He was a father, too, which made it ten times worse. She hadn’t just gotten too close to Killian - she’d gotten far too close to Henry and Alice as well. She was an awful person, there was no way around it.

She also tossed and turned wondering how in the world she could face him again. First she’d initiated a kiss, and then she’d pushed him away? She’d seen the tormented look on his face - as if he’d done something wrong. She punched her pillow in irritation a couple of times before giving up on sleep altogether.

It was a quarter past four in the morning when she slipped from her room and headed down the stairs. She paused at the bottom step when she thought she heard sounds coming from the deep recesses of the house. She tilted her head. Was that . . . music? Wherever it was coming from, it was faint. She veered around the kitchen, heading towards the hallway off the foyer instead. She’d never ventured into this part of the house. She knew it led to the garage and Killian’s veterinary office on the other side, but she’d never had reason to go there.

Wendy slowly eased open the door to the garage. It was surprisingly warm, though still a bit chillier than the rest of the house. She flipped on a light switch and gasped in surprise at what she saw. She knew the Joneses didn’t keep their vehicles in here, and she had heard Alice mention painting in the garage, but she hadn’t expected this. The room was insulated and heated, for one. The floor was still concrete, though, and for good reason - Alice had free reign to be as creative and messy as she wanted. The floor was splattered in a haphazard way with various colors, and glitter and tiny bits of paper added to the creative mess. There was an unfinished oak table in the center of the room with matching oak chairs. These were also splattered with paint and scribbled all over with markers and crayon. Two easels were set up: one was a chalkboard, and one held a canvas. Bins lined the opposite wall, filled with all the art supplies a girl could dream of: buttons, pom poms, pipe cleaners, stickers, glitter, and half a dozen others. A cabinet next to it was littered with various mediums from acrylic paints to oil pastels. It was a legit art studio, and Killian had made this for his daughter.

The music she had heard was coming from her left, through a door that she assumed led to Killian’s office. He had told her the entrance for customers was on the outside of the house, but she also knew the kids had access to his space from inside the house. This must be it. Wendy’s lips ticked up in a smile as she imagined Alice interrupting her dad to show him her latest creation.

She tiptoed across the floor, the concrete ice cold even through her socks. Slowly Wendy opened the door. Killian’s back was to her and at first she wasn’t sure why he was hunched over. As she stepped into the room, it became clear: he was playing the guitar. He was singing, too.

“Touch your lips just so I know. In your eyes, love, it glows so. I’m bare-boned and crazy for you when you come crash into me, baby . . . “

He hummed then, either because he didn’t know the rest of the words or because he was concentrating on strumming, and Wendy cleared her throat. He startled at the sound, then relaxed when he turned in his chair and saw her.

“Sorry,” she apologized, “I couldn’t sleep, and then I heard music . . .”

She trailed off as she realized that she was doing the very thing that had kept her up - facing him. The early hour had given a surreal quality to everything, but now it slammed into her that he was only a few feet away. If he felt as awkward as she did, however, he didn’t show it.

“No, no, don’t apologize. I hope I didn’t keep you up. I usually don’t disturb the kids way out here -”

“No, it was fine, really. I was already up. I could barely hear it, but I was curious.”

He simply nodded. “I’m a bit rusty,” he confessed. “Hope it didn’t sound too bad.”

“Not at all. And you have a great voice.”

He ducked his head, blushing at her praise. Wendy found a folding chair and dragged it over so she could sit down. She reached her hand out towards the instrument.

“May I?”

“Of course,” Killian told her, pulling the strap up and over his head and relinquishing the guitar.

A thrill went through her - it felt so familiar, so right in her hands. She put the strap around her shoulders, then adjusted the guitar on her thigh. She plucked a few strings, then began to strum. Once she felt comfortable, it just came to her, and she was suddenly playing a guitar solo. Killian’s eyes widened, and she just grinned. She transitioned to strumming as she began to sing.

“If we still have time, we might still get by. Every time I think about it, I want to cry. With bombs and the devil, and the kids keep comin’. No way to breathe easy, no time to be young. But I tell myself I was doin’ alright. There’s nothin’ left to do at night but go crazy on you. Crazy on you. Let me go crazy, crazy on you.”

She trailed off when she saw how Killian’s jaw had dropped. Her own mouth hung open in shock as she stopped the sound of the guitar with her flattened palm.

“I can sing!” she exclaimed. “And I know how to play the guitar!”

Killian blinked and shook his head. “That’s an understatement love! That’s Nancy Wilson’s guitar solo you just played! My God, lass!”

“Yeah,” Wendy mused, “Nancy Wilson from Heart. That’s not easy to play, is it?”

“Not like that it isn’t! I’m sort of embarrassed that you heard me muddling around just now.”

She shrugged. “I thought you had promise,” she teased.

He laughed and shoved her playfully in the knee. “Come to think of it, I did hear you belting out ‘Brass in Pocket’ the first night you were here.”

“Wait a minute!” Wendy exclaimed. “I was singing that in the shower!”

Killian’s face turned bright red and he scratched furiously behind his ear. “I was just leaving you some clothes, I swear. I turned right back around!”

Laughter bubbled up out of her. “I thought one of the kids left those clothes. They were all balled up and half falling on the floor.”

“I told you I got out of their post haste!”

They were both laughing now, and it felt wonderful. She should have known he wouldn’t make things awkward. She stared down at the guitar in her lap and idly strummed.

“About you not sleeping -”

“Don’t, Killian, please.”

“We need to talk about that kiss.”

“No, we don’t. It was a . . . one-time thing.”

Killian sighed and then stood wearily to his feet. “As you wish.” He made his way slowly to the door. “You coming?”

“Would it be alright if I stayed in here and played a little longer?”

He smiled gently at her. “Of course, love. God knows that guitar deserves someone with more talent than me.”

The sadness infusing his words lingered long after he’d left, and Wendy could only hum while picking out a few chords. Then, suddenly, words that she knew were in no recorded song she had ever heard before, yet were familiar all the same bubbled up out of her along with a melody for the instrument in her hands.

“Once I lived in darkness out there on my own. Left to brave the world alone. Everything seemed hopeless, no chance to break free. Couldn’t hear the song inside of me.”

She stilled the music with her palm once more. Where the hell had that come from?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Steam rose up from the colander where Killian was draining the pasta. Behind him, the oven timer starting going off.

“Henry, can you grab the garlic bread?”

Henry hopped up from the kitchen island where he was finishing his homework, grabbed an oven mitt, and slid the bread from the oven.

“When are Alice and Wendy gonna get home? I’m starving!”

Killian smiled as he shook his head ruefully. It seemed like the boy was always “starving.”

“I’m sure they’ll be back any minute. I hope so anyway. This food is gonna get cold.”

As if their conversation had summoned them, the front door suddenly burst open and his daughter’s giggles blended with Wendy’s laughter. The sound made his heart clench and his smile widen. He looked over his shoulder as the two of them tumbled into the kitchen, dropping bags on the table.

“Come see what we got Daddy!” said Alice.

Killian wiped his hands on a kitchen towel. “Okay, but only for a minute. We don’t want the food to get cold.”

“Where’s Mary Margaret?” Henry asked with a frown.

“She had to get home and help David with something with the horses,” Wendy told him, “but she said to tell you hi.”

“Okay, girls, what do we have?” Killian asked.

“This is mine,” Alice said, digging something white and frilly out of one of the thrift store bags. She shook it out and held it up for them to see.

“An apron?” Henry scoffed.

“I’m gonna be Alice, get it?” Alice pressed the apron to her torso and frowned at her brother. “You know - Alice in Wonderland. I’ll wear this over my blue Easter dress.”

“Oh,” Henry said, “I see.”

“We also bought some blue ribbon at the craft store to tie around her hair,” Wendy added.

“And this . . . “ Alice announced dramatically, pulling a long, stainy, light blue nightgown with capped sleeves out of the other thrift store bag, “is for Wendy.”

“We’re casting ourselves to type,” Wendy said to Killian with a shrug.

“I like it. But this is a couple’s dance.”

“Daddy, we know that,” Alice countered with a roll of her eyes. “You and Henry will match us. So Wendy is - well, Wendy, so you can be Peter Pan.”

Killian narrowed his eyes. “I am not going as Peter Pan. You are not getting me in green tights.”

Wendy and Alice exchanged knowing glances. Wendy reached into a bag from the party supply store. “We had a feeling you’d say that, so we got you this.”

Killian chuckled as he took it from her. “A plastic hook. Okay, I’ll go with it.”

“I thought we should get a pirate hat too, but Wendy said you wouldn’t go for it.”

Killian caught the woman’s eye. “She already knows me so well.”

Wendy glanced away as a blush stained her cheeks.

“What about me?” Henry demanded.

“Well, since I’m Alice, we got you this.”

“Sweet!” Henry exclaimed as his sister handed him a tall, purple velour hat with a giant fake price tag attached. He plopped it on his head and grinned up at Killian. “Can I borrow one of your vests, Dad?”

“Sure, son.”

“We are going to look so cool!” Alice squealed as she jumped up and down. She grasped Wendy around the waist, and the woman hugged her back with enthusiasm.

“I know,” Wendy agreed, “I’m so proud of us! And we only spent like twenty bucks!”

Killian watched his daughter planning out her costume with Wendy, and first his heart warms at the way the two of them have bonded. On the heels of that emotion, sadness washed over him as he realized that his daughter could also get hurt.

***********************************************************

Zelena Green really thought that that teaching her spinning class would get all of her frustrations out, but she stepped out of the showers fuming just as much as she had when she’d arrived that afternoon. Her mother had always warned her she came on too strong with men, but Killian Jones had really seemed to be warming up to her. Until this infuriating Wendy person showed up. Amnesia? Yeah, right. Zelena was a master of manipulation, and even she hadn’t stooped low enough to try that tactic.

As Zelena stomped out of the locker room, her students gave her a wide berth, many of them still struggling to breathe after the torture she’d put them through. She ignored the teenager at reception, her boss asking to speak with her, and the tiny brunette named Dorothy who cried out in irritation when Zelena practically bowled her over. Curses spilled from her mouth when she collided with a corner of one of the tables in the lobby littered with magazines. They all slid to the floor, and Zelena cursed again. She tossed her gym bag down and started scooping them up.

She froze when she saw a copy of last month’s Rolling Stone. Normally, the small blurb on the members of a moderately successful female indie rock band going solo wouldn’t have caught her attention.

But there was a blonde in the picture she had seen before.

********************************************************

“Ms. Mills, you have a call on line one from a Zelena Green that you really need to take.”

“I don’t know anyone by that name,” Regina told her assistant archly, “so just say I’m busy.”

“Begging your pardon, but I really think you need to hear what she has to say.”

Regina rolled her eyes as she swiveled her chair to face the incompetent woman interrupting her. “And why is that?”

“Because she says Emma Swan is stuck in rural Maine with a case of amnesia.”

#cs ff #cs modern au #snowed in #daddy!killian #knightrook #amnesia #angst #pining

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itsakpopalypse · 4 years

Text

The Golden Hour (M)

Pairing, Inseong x Reader

moodboard made by @randomkpopfiction

Word count: a little over 5k

Warmings :fluff and Smut, but it’s pretty tame. just be 18 +

-------

Your face was warm. The scraping of Inseong's pencil against canvass was all you heard. The light through the large window was that soft orange glow that came just before sunset.

You remained still, staring back at him as he worked. There was a crinkle of concentration between his brows, lips pulled tight. When he met your eyes he paused, clearing his throat before returning to scratching away.

You weren't sure why you even agreed to do this. The idea of wordlessly staring back at him as he broke your face and figure down into shapes and lines, learning each freckle on your forearms and the exact depth of your dimples. A study of the physical bits that made up you. It was crazy, when he asked the word yes sprung to your lips against your better judgement. You would do almost anything he asked and in that moment your traitorous mouth lept to do exactly that.

Now here you were being pulled apart and put back together with lead and acrylic. It was agony, but also breathtakingly beautiful. You got to see him at his best. At his most authentic.

He bit his lip and tapped the back of his pencil against the canvas, studying you as though you were a puzzle he had begun deciphering. His squint was endearing, your tongue darted out to wet your lips so you wouldn't smile at his habits. His round glasses perched on his nose had slid down but he didn't adjust them. His head tilted left and right.

"We can take a break. You've been sitting a while. Go ahead and stretch." He said finally, after one more sweeping motion of his pencil.

"Is the outline done?" You asked curiously, arms raised above your head as a yawn worked its way through you.

He scrunched his nose. "More or less. There's a bit more I'd like to add before I start painting but the most rudimentary pieces are down, sure." He stood too, turning to the electric kettle to switch it on, pencil now tucked behind one ear. There was charcoal on his left hand from dragging over the edges, especially his pinky, used to guide his tools.

He folded his arms across his chest, leaning against the table behind him. A little smile lifted the corner of his lips as you resumed unfolding and folding your limbs, hoping to get the circulation flowing enough to warm you. His studio was a bit cold, as it was a shed behind his house filled with odds and ends for his purposes. You'd been seated on a padded stool, with a small but ornate table to your side, a succulent in a planter and a glass orb of a beautiful cobalt.

You rubbed your hands together as you waited for the tea. He shifted before coming in close to you.

He held his hands out for you to place yours inside them and reluctantly you did. He cupped them in his grasp, larger hands enveloping yours so gently, much warmer. He lifted your joined hands to his mouth, opening a hole between his palms he blew his hot breath into the little cavern, warming the tips of your fingers quickly.

It was already startling, how intimate the gesture felt, but the way he maintained eye contact, not even blinking as the tips of your ears reddened. His touch was always gentle but left your skin buzzing each time.

"Until you have the mug." He commented by way of explanation, before blowing once more onto your chilled skin.

A shiver ran down your spine when his lips brushed over hands that time, so soft your mind reeled with fantasies of how they would feel on your own. The thought made your throat feel extra dry, so you were both thankful and regretful when the little ding alerted him the water was warm.

You let your hands drop to your sides as he turned to fix your cup, and you felt your stomach flip over at least twice as the fabric of his shirt pulled over the lean expanse of his back.

It wasn't intentional. You just always seemed lost in dreams when he was near. Your eyes glued themselves to the floor as he turned back around, flitting up only when he placed the cup in your hands.

You thanked him and let the warmth from the cup seep into your hands.

"You're always cold." He teases, grabbing one of his cardigans off the chair. "Here. I have at least the pose done, you can warm up a little." He turned you around by your shoulders, waiting for you to put the cup down and put it on. You slid your arms in with his assistance, immediately washed over by his scent. Clean, a bit like soap, but a warm dark musky note hidden in the base.

You were so fond of it, that even if he were covered in the scent of acrylic paints and graphite you could still pick out of a crowd on scent alone.

Thoughtlessly you buried your nose in the fabric, taking a deep inhale. He smiled, helping you roll up the sleeves a little before gently patting your arm.

He fixed his own cup, grunting when he noticed the sun was starting to lose its magical tones.

"We might be done for today after all." He mumbled into the rim of his cup before taking a sip.

"Mhm." You replied. "Oooh! Friday at game night!! You're on my team for scategories. I will not take no for an answer. I have to win this time." Your earnest face and pointed finger in the middle of his chest made him giggle and he nodded, running his hand through his faded reddish orange locks.

"Understandable. You can't let last month's defeat go unavenged." He grabbed the finger poking him, wrapping his hand around yours before unfolding it to shake. "We'll get them partner."

You stared at your joined hands, nodding as he finally released it, running his own hand over his paint stained thigh. Your eyes tracked the motion, noting (not for the first time) the way his legs strained the worn denim.

When he cleared his throat you suddenly found yourself much more interested in the layout of his finished works in the corner.

Stepping away from him you traced the top of one mounted painting, one of your favorites.

A fond smile pulled at your lips."I only lost because I got stuck with Dawon, who I don't think even wanted to win! I think he wanted to see me upset when I lost. " you spun on your heel to narrow your eyes at your friend. "YOU were away." You accused with a slight pout.

He chuckled and shrugged. "I had to get some things figured out. Also had to grab a few supplies I can't get around here. It was out of my hands, Angel." That nickname always made your chest swell with affection.

"I can reach it on my own!" You insisted, small glass angel in hand. You were embarrassed, because you were plenty tall, and there was a stool…

You barely knew the tall (very cute) mutual friend, Inseong, grinning at you. "No can do. I'll help you. It seems you must have folded your wings up and left them in your drawer so you can't fly up there." You flushed, he was so…. Flirty. When he began to lift you up, arms under your butt facing him. All your friends cheered. Maybe friends Christmas was a bad idea…. You placed the angel on the top and he let you slide down the front od his body, slowly landing on your feet. His eyes burned into you, your cheeks felt hot as everyone stopped being noisy.

"Welcome back to solid ground, Angel. Hope you get used to it down here." He said with a crooked smile, and a slick wink. That moment, in retrospect, may have been when you started to fall, and you never stopped tumbling after.

He had since learned not to lift you up (but rather to hold your hand as you climbed the stool) and reassure you he'd catch you if you fell.

The nickname though? It never went away.

"Listen, if I secure you a win, I'll buy us pizza for the next session after, and maybe some wine. We can relax, inside the house so you don't just freeze and get sent away." His eyebrows waggled. "Deal, Angel?"

You continued to pout, but it wavered, a little too pleased that he wanted to appease you. He probably knew how soft that name made you, using your weakness against you.

You finished your tea, setting the mug down before shrugging off the cardigan, realizing the sun was almost down and the magical lighting had ended. "Deal, Inseong. " you stepped forward and pressed it into his arms, smiling as you waved on your way out.

You didn't know he was trying and failing to hide the way his hands shook when you made eye contact, trailing one hand down his forearm, you didn't know he only wanted to paint you to keep you close without all the noise. You didn't know he'd fallen just as hard, just as fast.

You didn't know he was afraid to move forward.

The sigh that passed his lips was unsteady. He needed to get himself in control before he got too greedy, but he couldn't help it. You made him feel like only you two existed in moments you were alone. The pressure of keeping his feelings in was overwhelming.

You didn't know he loved you, but he wasn't sure how long he could keep it to himself.

------

The next few days you would stop by the studio after work. He'd adjust your position to match the original, play gently with your hair and move your body how he needed.

A soft touch here, a compliment there. Nothing outside of the way he behaved with others except… more warmth. More truth. You could see it in the depths of his eyes.

Your skin was electrified and you were glad he couldn't hear the way your heart pounded.

He got momentarily distracted while drawing one day, strangely staring at your lips while biting his own hard enough you feared it would split.

"In-Inseong?" You called to get his attention and he froze, eyes wide and round in doe-like shock.

"I'm just. I have to get it right. The lips are my favorite part on you…" he trailed off before snapping back to his work, hand moving in slow strokes as he worked on it.

It made butterflies explode in your stomach, but he didn't even seem to notice what he said, just in his trance like state of creation. He had a tendency to hyper focus. He was his most authentic. It was raw, you imagined seeing some of his work akin to seeing his very soul in pastels and primaries.

He got up, kneeling beside your stool looking up into your face at a different angle. "Soft. Glistening. " he mumbled behind barely parted lips. You weren't even sure he knew he said it out loud. You tried not to lose your pose but failed when you noticed the small streak of paint to the left of his mouth. You pressed your thumb against it, dragging the smear gently away.

Something in the way he looked at you caused you to pause, a heat that you hadn't seen. He looked ready to consume you, to capture your mouth with his own in the way you'd only imagined… but no. That was silly, right? He wasn't trapped in the same spiral of denial and hopeless pining that you were.

He stood, clearing his throat as he glanced out the window. There was probably

10 minutes of light left but he made a comment about it being time to stop for the evening.

You didn't argue with him, but his behavior was getting more and more peculiar.

-----

"WORDS THAT BEGIN WITH THE LETTER ….. L." Monroe called from Youngbin's lap as she readied her arm over the timer on the table. Youngbin held onto her so she wouldn't fall off, a fond smile on his lips and deep adoration in his eyes.

Mostly everyone was intoxicated and laughing too loudly, Inseong and you were squished tight, so tight that he had long since thrown his arm around you and begun whispering in your ear instead of speaking out loud. "So we have to beat Monbin because they're the other smart couple." His breath was hot on the side of your face, and you turned when the word "couple" left his lips. You glanced at Monroe and Youngbin, as she was now snuggled up intimately against his chest, face pressed into his neck, her legs drawn up all the way.

When you looked back at Inseong, his lips were so close… too close. You miscalculated and yours brushed his as you began to speak…. So so softly, almost a whisper of a touch, but it was enough to spur your stuttered apologies.

He looked equally shocked, but just engulfed your mouth with his hand, stopping your flow of words.

He just shook his head, "The timer." Was all he said. You noticed it began and you hurried to help him brainstorm.

----

After a successful win, you hugged his neck maybe too tightly, but he squeezed you back with equal fervor.

You met up with Monroe in the kitchen, a knowing smile on her face. "You and Inseong huh?"

"We what?" You asked, averting your gaze to the cookies that were behind her on the counter. She smiled bigger.

"Ohhhhh I won't have to wait long." she said nonchalantly. The way her full lips pulled back was almost secretive, and it made you nervous.

"Monroe, my gorgeous purple fro'ed goddess. Do not do this to me. What do you know."

She shrugged before sauntering away, leaving you to wallow in your confused state.

Maybe less tequila, next time.

Especially when on Inseong's way out he paused, gently brushing your hair from your face before pressing his lips to the top of your head. "Later, Angel. Don't forget about our next date."

He left you frozen there, mouth hanging open in shock, unsure if it was just his nature more prominent with alcohol, or if this meant more. Either way, you went home pinching your arm on the public transport. Was this even real?

----

You couldn't get comfortable this time. It was the first time sitting since that night. The "date" he spoke of.

When you'd come in Inseong was acting stiff, couldn't quite keep your gaze and rubbed the back of his neck a few times.

You squirmed in your seat as he worked.

"Angel, I need you to sit nice for me..can you do that? I'll reward you if you do."

Something in the way he said that sent chills down your spine. Your back straightened on instinct at his tone, an obedience you didn't know was in you coming out.

When you looked at him his eyes were wide, mouth slightly open. He made a little strangled sound of distress and you watched him shift his legs on his stool.

Peculiar behavior.

After four minutes of him shifting his angle. You stopped sitting nice. "Is it a bad time? You seem… distracted. "

He stuttered for a moment before saying something to the affect of being on just finishing touches and that maybe you should take a break.

You stood and walked towards him, causing him to shift again, hands suddenly folded in his lap, brush tucked behind his ear.

"I haven't gotten to peak. Can I?" You asked with your best puppy eyes, knowing he was weak to your begging.

He made a noise akin to a whine and begrudgingly nodded, allowing you to step around the canvas.

What you saw shocked you.

It was you, yes, but more, somehow. Through his eyes, at the golden hour, your skin seemed so warm. Almost shining… your hair fell around you in a cascade of lifelike movement that seemed surreal. The details and shading were meticulous and inspired.

If you were right, and this was his bared soul on the canvas…that would mean he….. You were finding the air suffocating.

His gnawing was back, brows knitted.

"So?" He asked.

"So this is astounding. Is this…. Is this how you see me?" His nod made the puzzle begin to click, but like the rubik's cube you used to carry in high school, one block didn't seem to fit.

"I-. Angel, no, Y/N." He stood, grabbing your hands in his own, stroking over them in a gentle nervous tick that gave you such hope…

He took a few very deep breaths, blowing up so hard his hair flopped for a moment.

"No. I have to do this." The words were to himself, not you. He bounced in place, eyes closed, before rallying his strength.

"Okay so look at these." He dragged you to his sketch pad, handing you 3 separate ones. Flipping to random pages in each you saw yourself. Various poses, faces, moments in time. Different outfits different days. All of them you.

Years worth, probably.

Some small and loose and carefree, some meticulously detailed and full of appreciation.

"This is you. And when I asked to paint you, I really just..." he trailed off, taking the books back and setting them aside so he could take your hand with one of his and let the other cup the side of your face. "I needed to be alone with you, just us."

Your mouth formed a wordless "o" and before you knew it, you'd lunged into his arms and pressed your lips to his.

He caught you, returning the soft movement with as much passion as you fed him. When you broke the kiss, his breath was ragged and he pressed your foreheads together.

"I'm... I think I've been in love with you for. For a long time." He mumbled before his lips found yours again, leaving you no room to reply as he hiked your legs over his slender hips and pushed you into the side of his sturdy table. You instantly realized his shifting earlier was due to the semi now pressed into you. The friction on your core lit you on fire instantly, a moan breaking out into the hot cavern of his mouth while he slid his tongue in.

"Fuck." He mumbled as his hands found their way up the fabric of your shirt, pausing to check you were fine with it before slipping it off. He stared at you for several moments, the black fabric contrasting your skin just enough to be enticing.

"God you're a masterpiece. I've waited so long. Never thought I'd see you like this. " his smile was gentle, in spite of the lust coloring his tone.

He spun you and pressed you into the wall, sliding one leg between yours before you realized his plan. His lips attached to your neck, kissing gently across your collar bone at odds with the way he ground his incredibly muscular thigh up into your heat, dragging out a beautiful musical note of pleasure and his name.

"Fucking heavenly. You're so beautiful for me aren't you? God just fucking made for sin but pretty as an angel." His praises left you breathless with want, and slick against the delicious pressure of his thigh. His grind started slow, but he flexed and twisted, causing you to gasp against his mouth as his tongue caressed yours. "Inseong!" You tried to say between your pleasured cries but he wasn't calming down. Every moment sent another shockwave into you, he traced the line of your neck with his nose, pressing wet kisses in his wake. His hands kneaded your ass,controlling the way your hips angled as he continued to grind his leg up into you.

The friction was intoxicating and your eyes almost fell shut… but you saw his face. Watching you blissed out, eyes dark and predatory, tongue pressed into his as he focused on where your bodies met. "It's so. Hot. So beautiful. Shit."

"Need a taste." He said as he turned you back to his table, helping you hop onto the top with your legs dangling.

Your sexed out mind too hazy to respond, you let him move you back onto the top. "Only polite to use a table for a feast." He said, more to himself than you, before diving in to desperately devour your lips again.

You couldn't even be embarrassed, his adoration just made the fire in your belly burn hotter and you desperately clawed at his clothes to remove them.

He refused though, sliding the leggings off your legs to discover only a slender piece of dark red lace between him and his prize. The noise he let out was positively feral, eyebrows knitted as he stared at the wet patch between your legs. He trailed two long fingers over the top of your thighs, tongue peaking out between his lips as he traced the dampness.

"Shit. So wet." He said, more in awe than arousal, although if the way he palmed himself was anything to go by, there was plenty of that too. He pressed his lips against your inner thigh, once, twice, three times before letting it gently pass over your panties.

"Are you going to tease forever?" You whined, wiggling your hips to seek more of his touch.

He sat up, giving you a stern look. "Are you under the impression you're in control because I'm going down on you? This is my meal, and I don't intend to stop until I've had my fill."

"You're doing a lot more talking than you are 'tasting' though aren't you?" You challenged with a bit of fight left in you.

His eyebrows shot up at your defiance and his jaw ticked before he slowly rose to his feet.

An icy arousal slid down your spine and clamped your mouth shut, but it was too late. His disapproval was evident. He rolled his sleeves up over his forearms, veins popping out as they flexed with the slow,deliberate movement.

"If you change your mind, of course tell me, you're safe and we don't have to do anything you don't want-" he began to tug your legs until your ass slid off the table and he was holding them over one arm, standing to your side. You gripped the edge of the table to steady yourself as he twisted your legs a bit and turned your hips on their side. "This, you deserve. I'll make it quick because I'm impatient and I hope you won't make me repeat the punishment." His voice was so stony, and his face was smooth and hard in a expression you'd never seen. He slid his free hand over your hip and leg for a moment, smoothing the skin before delivering a sharp slap to your ass. The resounding crack rang out and echoed in the room, fuck, you felt yourself grow slicker because it felt so GOOD.

"3 for now. " he let out a shaky breath as though the punishment affected him with the same strength it did you. Thwack! The second, slightly to the side so you didn't bruise. "One more, good girl." He murmured, the back of his hand trailing over the reddened skin. The final blow made you moan loudly.

His eyebrow quirked as he slid you back up, pressing the back of two knuckles to your heat and making you whine.

"Now that's a good girl for me. Good job Angel, you took it so well. I have more for you and if you want it, you be my good Angel and I'll be sure to make you sing for me. Any complaints? No? Good."

He dove back down between your thighs, slinging them over his shoulders off the table, allowing him full access to your slick pussy. God the way he took control made you basically drip with anticipation and he was clearly enjoying watching you fall apart for him. He moved the panties to the side, two long fingers began tracing patterns between your folds. He sucked air in through his teeth with a curse when he pressed one inside you, watching as your greedy hole suctioned around his finger.

"That's so hot. God that's so hot." He added the second and reveled in the whine you let out. You felt like you were wound too tight, your skin was alight with him and you needed more more more.

He couldn't wait any more, you heard the rip as the scraps fell off your hips, but couldn't even scold him. Because his tongue finally slipped between your folds and licked you from entrance to clit. His fingers began stretching you out as he sucked your clit. "Fuck can't wait to split you open on my cock. Your so tight and soft inside. Barely fit my fingers in you."

Inseong's hair was damp sticking to his forehead, and he was still clothed. "Take something off!" You whined, desperate to finally see him.

"You'll take what I give you. For now I've gotta make you come so hard you forget your name. I have a lot of time to make up for."

When he dove back in, his lips totally engulfing your clit, tongue pressing into it as his fingers massaged your upper wall, searching for that rough patch of nerves to make you lose your mind.

Then he found it, and your back arched off the table, a gasp so loud you almost worried the neighbors might hear.

"That's so good, you're so good for me.

Just do fucking ready to be touched. Has no one ever touched you like this Angel? Has no one ever wound you so tight?" You shook your head as the pressure inside increased, his tongue swirling around your clit before he sucked hard and you shattered.

You screamed as you came hard, your hands squeezed the edge of the table. It would have been fine, and you would have come down gently, but he seemed insatiable now. The way his tongue thoroughly lapped up your release made you squirm against the pressure of his hands, crying out that it was sensitive, but he made an appreciative sound as he continued to suck and lick until he was satisfied. Leaning back with glistening lips, he wiped your release off on the back of his hands before planting a chaste kiss on your mound and helping you up to wobbly legs. He lead you to a couch in the corner, the one you'd recovered with him a month ago.

Laying you back he stroked your head and gave you soft kisses, smiling widely.

"Thank you." And his voice was so sincere you almost laughed.

"Thank me for you making me come??" You shook your head because that was just so Inseong.

"Thank you for letting me see you like this. Share this with you. " he clarified.

You looked down at his bulge, the zipper of his jeans strained against the girth of him.

"My turn?" You asked hopefully.

"Mmm. Next time. I want to but this is 4 years of build up. If my cock goes anywhere near your mouth I will end up lasting an embarrassingly short time. Let me fuck you the way I need to this time. "

You chuckled behind your hand as he stood and pulled his shirt over his head. You appreciated the lean sculpt of him, a beautiful sight all his own. You noticed a wet patch on his jeans from earlier, which was less embarrassing and far more hot than you expected. He finally began to strip off the jeans, your eyes trained on his cock. He palmed it through his boxer briefs as you admired the definition in his quads.

The elusive thighs finally yours to ogle. A sight worth the wait. Finally, the boxers removed too, it slapped heavy against his low belly, both impressive in girth and length and just the prettiest shade of darker tan you'd ever seen.

You didn't even notice you licked your lips until you felt his index finger press against your tongue, you closed around it and gave it a teasing suck, making eye contact and drawing a groan from him.

Finally, he set upon you, unable to stop anymore. You don't even remember when he put the condom on, but you saw it right before it pressed against your opening, sliding between your folds to get coated in your slick. "Fuck." He mumbled, eyes trained on where your bodies joined. The glide of his cock was so pleasant you rolled your hips a little, forcing the tip of him inside you.

As though breaking the last of his care, he grunted and surged forward, seating himself all the way within you in one powerful thrust.

You whined loudly, the adjustment too quick to comprehend but not painful at all. He pulled one of your legs up over his shoulder as he knelt, wrapping the other around his hip as he gripped your ass and pulled you tight against his pelvis. You were so deliciously full that you couldn't help the moans flowing from you, "So good, baby so full." You said .

"Yeah. Yeah. Tell me how you want me to make it for you. How do you want me to hit it right Angel?"

Your cheeks burned so hot and while all he'd done is rock himself slightly in you, you already felt too stimulated.

Your nails scraped into the side of his quad, grabbing that groove for some semblance of gravity as he slipped out of you before slamming back in. It felt so fucking good you thought you'd melt into the couch.

"Shit you're so tight. God I feel. God I love you. " he fervently moaned and grunted as he set a punishing pace.

You felt sure that a second high was approaching, but he seemed to be barreling towards his own end as fast. He let go of your hip and began to circle your clit with one hand and the other gripped the base of your throat.

His hands were so large and the pressure was just enough, you were dizzy even though you could still breathe. Words you barely recognized flowed from your lips, heated yes, fuck, and shit gonna come

Mingled with the slapping of his hips against you and the gasps for air he was taking.

"Come for me , Y/n, show me what a good girl you can be for me. You've done so well, you deserve it baby. One more for today. " his voice was almost hoarse, so low as he changed the angle of his thrust and hit that spot inside that sent you into a whirlwind of broken sobs as your second release was ripped out of you.

He pumped one, two more times before a strangled whine of your name fell from his mouth and he released into the condom.

He hovered over you, catching his breath as he stared at you as though you were all the secrets of the universe in one person.

"I love you. Next time I'll take my time and paint every bit of you with my hands." He smiled warmly and kissed your lips.

"I love you too." You responded. "And you owe me underwear. "

"I'll buy you whatever colors and styles you want as long as I get to remove them sometimes." He giggled into your neck, before pulling himself free and disposing of the condom. "Come on, I have robes. Let's get inside the house and I'll give you a bath."

You took his hand, glancing through the window as you realized darkness hadn't quite fallen yet, and he looked ethereal in the golden hour...

A/N I hope it was okay!!! any comments appreciated !

#kim inseong #kim inseong smut #kim inseong x reader #sf9 #sf9 smut #sf9 fanfiction #sf9 x reader #reader insert #sf9 scenarios

127 notes · View notes

solediem · 3 years

Text

when brush meets canvas; a collection of thoughts and happenings ( @solivaganted )

[ 🙤 · ┈┈┈┈┈┈ · ] ⠀━━ five years ago, snu campus tour

“ sorry! i’m so sorry!! “

he lets her go, waving it off, “it’s fine. you’re alright?”

[ 🙤 · ┈┈┈┈┈┈ · ] ⠀━━ five years ago, coffee shop

ahh. that’s why she asked what my coffee order is the other day.

“ did you wait long ?? “ he asks

“ you worry to much. “

she knows. she can’t help it.

“ i owe you for this. “

[ 🙤 · ┈┈┈┈┈┈ · ] ⠀━━ five years ago, leia’s apartment

“ when was the last time you took a breath?”

“ i have a lot to be happy about these days. “

[ 🙤 · ┈┈┈┈┈┈ · ] ⠀━━ four years ago, leia’s apartment

leia’s back is a wonderful canvas. the better part of the next hour had been spent in quiet conversation as he brushed unplanned, but ornate designs onto her skin.

“ it washes off. “

why do i love you so much?

[ 🙤 · ┈┈┈┈┈┈ · ] ⠀━━ two and a half years ago, leia’s apartment

“ i’m moving into the dorm this week. “

she’ll help him pack!

“ you can’t come to the trainee dorms, leia, i’ll get in trouble.”

oh right.

“ …. no one knows about you except hyunsik. i think it needs to stay that way. it’s for your safety, ultimately.”

“ i love you. “ he settles for a soft whisper in her ear.

she loves him too.

[ 🙤 · ┈┈┈┈┈┈ · ] ⠀━━ six months ago, d:fi dorm

“ ethan ?! yah – ethan !! “

the force of leaving the trance sends ethan tumbling off his chair and onto the ground where he catches himself on all fours.

“ you okay ?? you weren’t responding … can you hear me now??” hyunsik asks, kneeling by his side and putting an arm him.

ethan shuts his eyes, squeezing them so tight that he feels pressure in his forehead, “…yeah.” he says finally.

“ what were you doing ??”

“ i don’t know. my…i’ve been off recently. i don’t know.”

“ stop it. leia is fine. ethan – leia is fine. “

“ you don’t know that. ”

[ 🙤 · ┈┈┈┈┈┈ · ] ⠀━━ last night, d:fi dorm

considering how monsters had broken through them before, though, were his concerns truly misplaced?

“ i’m fine. just thinking. why do you always know when i’m thinking?”

and god save whoever tries to sever that cord.

#* ▷ ╰ 𝗣𝗔𝗜𝗥𝗜𝗡𝗚𝗦 ━━ 「 ethan && leia 」

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heli0s-writes · 5 years

Text

Good in the World

Request: So nice thank you! Is there a way you could change the Endgame ending? You were a woman saved by Steve during his time on the run who in the years became your best friend but he leaves you behind all alone. He comes back years later as he realized he was in love with you. You are now struggling (mental health) and you do not want to forgive him as the heartbreak was too much. He does everything he can and in the end you both can move on together.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

A/N: My first request and I promised I would deliver something good for my boiiii. I tried! It’s angsty and deviated from the prompt a LIL. I slammed it out in a day and please God let it be AITE.

Images of him come to you in flashes.

Terrible little souvenirs of shared dinners and evening conversation. The once white and red stripes of his suit, grimy and soot covered. The way he held his arm out and asked, “You okay?” the first day you met after the shooting incident in the park.

Three days later, him at your door, checking in on you.

Steve Rogers, on the run, had grown out his hair and beard, had hardened into a fatalist. But he showed up with a cup of soup and sat with you until you stopped crying.

“Hey. It’s okay. Take your time.” In between blubbering stuck syllables of “Wh-wh-why? Wh-what the f-fuck?” as your brain tried to process the sequence of the trauma. A random act of violence in the park. Two shot dead. Four others bled out on their way to the hospital. You, missed.

Why them? Why you?

And he kept showing up. Not too often, but often enough to where you started to expect him.

He turned on the lights for you. Offered to warm up your food when nothing mattered and everything was cold.

Days turned into weeks turned into months and the fugitive Captain America turned into your… something. Perhaps a confidant, maybe your therapist, at the very least, a semi-stable-unstable fixture.

You imagined that outside of his cohort of similarly hidden friends, you were the glimpse back to reality he could have.

The memories of him sting you inside out.

And now that half the world had been reduced to cinders and ruminations and your life turned into one long and desolate dream, sometimes you cling onto his memory because it is all you have. He’s still out there, you know, because the news channels broadcasted every Avenger who was dusted, and they didn’t broadcast him.

He’s out there, but he hasn’t come back.

The fatalist in you has resigned to being just another human, blipped out to him like all the rest.

You teach the art therapy class held every Thursday at the local YMCA. It’s a shit-show, in all honesty, and you’re sure that everyone who’s there can see that you are in no shape to be leading it. Even with your shiny groomed hair and soft pink lipstick, performing the necessary task of femininity, they can see. You have nothing but the meager paycheck and the emptiness of a single studio apartment in a now-dilapidated building.

The current session is dragging when one of your students breaks down half-way through and smashes the canvas. You’re up on your feet, pulling him aside to practice the crisis-prevention strategies you’ve learned throughout the years. He’s sobbing and rocking in your arms, falling apart as he wails.

It’s not fair, it’s not fair, it’s not fair. Why did I survive? I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t be here.

You tell him a joke. You hold his hand and run it under cold water. Strategies to replace the overloaded emotions with anything else. You remind him that he’s going on a date next week with someone he’s been very interested in. That the people he loved—loves, would want him to be happy.

He tells you the man he’ll be seeing is also in a group. Grief group. They met by chance. Talked about their grief. Cried over salad about their grief.

Yes. It’s okay. That is okay. Take small steps to move on and soon enough, you’ll have moved so far you won’t be able to see where you started. Go on the date. Let yourself find love and happiness.

The words pour from your mouth like running water, trickling evenly until he is all covered and cool. After a few minutes, the two of you return to the paints, and you pat his back and tell him he’s doing just fine.

The image comes, then, of a heavy brocade comforter wrapped around your shoulders, a cup of tea between your hands burning so hot Steve has to take it from you. You are staring into the dead screen of the T.V. when you say, “I try so hard to have faith in the good in the world. But this... how can it be good? This fucking shitty… fucking life.”

And him, blowing on your tea, holding it to your dried lips, whispering, “Careful, it’s hot.”

When you go home later, you drop tears into your own dinner because the stupid plate is blue and green and shines like Steve Rogers’ eyes and why the fuck have you never noticed it. The words you used to console your student are too close to the ones he had used on you, once. You throw it into sink where it splinters into a hundred pieces, and a little part of you hopes he feels it too, wherever he is.

On a late Thursday session, he arrives with the fallen autumn leaves as they gust in through the sliding doors. Crunching under his feet alerts you to the entrance where he steps in bashfully, as if he is a late dinner guest.

You furrow your brow because you’re not sure who he is at first, because your full session is nearly finished, and you don’t have room for another student. His once covered jaw is smooth, and the long hair you had grown used to seeing is shorter than ever, swept back, more flaxen.

He’s Captain America now, a paragon of hope in these dark times, so he’s dressing the part.

Everyone has finished cleaning their brushes and have placed their canvas to the side to dry. Your rags are slung over your arms, apron crusted with acrylic.

“Hey.” He says, like he’s been here for the past five years. “I heard about a really great art therapy group led by someone who sounded like you.” Then he smiles, like he’s your friend and not your flashback.

The smile is all it takes. You recede into a moment in the kitchen when you made dinner and the sound of tires running over glass bottles outside popped too loudly and your world suddenly caved in. By the time you returned, Steve was smothering a stovetop fire with wet hand-towels and splashing water onto the burn on your palm.

He wrapped you up afterwards with gauze and you half-heartedly made a joke. “Hey.” You called, “What did King Tut say when he had a nightmare?”

In his enormous and calloused hands was yours, half curled with the irritation of the inbound blister. “What…?” He asked, eyes narrowing because it was not the right time for a joke someone might find on a Laffy Taffy wrapper.

“I want my mummy. Fucking classic.” You replied, holding up your hand, gauze now tucked into the wrist. The fugitive Captain America had closed his eyes as the slightest half-smile lifted his face, and under the yellow glare of the restroom light, you imagined a good world protected by him.

He is different now. His grief is different, and his needs are different. His reality is the same as your reality, as everyone else’s reality. He no longer needs glimpses into anything.

So, you think, why is he here?

“Hey. You okay?”

What the fuck? Your irritation pools inside you like magma, threatening to erupt at any sudden movement as you work to clean up the vacated room. Steve slowly moves forward, having been sitting down for the last fifteen minutes since you’ve ended the session early.

“Get out of my sight.”

He looks like you’ve just slapped him across the face, and a part of you wish you had because fuck him. Fuck Steve Rogers and fuck Captain America and fuck this shitty fucking world. He takes a few steps up to you, and in those familiar eyes you see how utterly worn down he looks.

Ironically, Steve Rogers clean-shaven looks older than when you knew him.

In the bedroom, on a particularly rainy afternoon, he had helped you put on the newly washed sheets no longer stained with the old blood from your clothes—splashes of other people as the bullets ripped through them. You’d slept in it for almost a month before he discovered it, and then, without another word he tore them off and threw them in the washer. The First Avenger, leaning over your machine, deep in thought had sent you into a fit of laughter.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“Yes. I did.” He was firm and too serious. You told him as much. It wasn’t a big deal, you said, sometimes you don’t even notice the blood. You didn’t have to tell him why you never washed it for him to figure it out.

“You don’t have to carry this with you.” Steve stepped forward, until your back was pressed against the wall. He put both his hands on your shoulder. “You’re okay. You can let yourself move on. You don’t have to keep punishing yourself.”

He rubbed his knuckles over his beard and pulled you into a hug when you shook silently.

As he predicted, you eventually took steps to move on. It wasn’t easy, and it had taken almost a year. You still cried a lot and had nightmares almost constantly, so you hardly slept. On one occasion you were so deprived you had come in after a day of work and left the door wide open, collapsing on the couch. When you mentioned it to Steve in passing a few weeks later, he made it his personal mission to swing by even more. It made you uneasy, because as someone in hiding, having a schedule of checking on someone would make him stupid.

He didn’t listen.

At three in the morning as you laid sideways on the floor watching the second movie of the night, Steve had knocked and demanded that you go to bed.

“Can’t.” You sighed, “It’s been too loud lately. Everything… moving. Big noises. I get--” Your eyes squeezed shut, “scared.”

He called your name, jerking you from the haze that threatened to overtake you again, and pulled you up by the hand. When you swayed, he lifted you up and took you to bed, tucking the covers under your chin. Steve had turned down the temperature, piled on a spare blanket on top, and sat by your bedside until you had fallen asleep.

The next day, he dropped off a white noise machine at the door while you were at work.

“Get the fuck out of here.” You hiss, “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“I’m sorry. I j-just want--”

“You’re sorry? Holy shit, man. Five years, you asshole! It’s been five years!”

Steve takes in a deep breath and sighs, shoving his hands in the pockets of his dress pants until the fabric is stretched tight over his thighs. “I don’t know what to say.” He murmurs. “It’s been… really difficult.”

You nearly shriek as a sob threatens to rip from your throat. “You have got to be fucking with me, Steve.”

They’re the wrong words, though, because the last time you said that to him was the last time you saw him. Hearing them out of your own mouth again opens the floodgates.

The white noise machine accompanied by a strict bedtime routine let your progress advance just a tiny bit more, until it crawled along at a snail’s pace, but it crawled, nonetheless. Steve walked you through it in the beginning, turning off all the electronics, setting the temperature to a chilly 67 degrees, piling heavy blankets on your bed, and making the tea.

You told him it was stupid, but he was insistent. The two of you listened to a relaxation video together, practiced deep-breathing, and then he read out loud from a book on your shelf.

Your eyes closed for a few minutes. When they opened again, you were screaming, and Steve’s arms were wrapped around your waist and back.

“It’s okay. You’re safe. You’re okay.”

It had been two hours since he closed the book. He said he didn’t mean to stay for so long, but he was worried. He was reading on the couch when he heard you crying. You sobbed into his chest until he laid you back down.

Eventually it became a habit for him to come over in the evenings. Then, it was making dinner together. Then, it was watching a movie sometimes, curled up on the couch. You started sleeping better, having nightmares less, laughing more than he’d ever seen before.

Eventually, all of those things came for him, too. Eventually, he found it easy to be with you. Eventually, he forgot that he was shunned from the world, because you always welcomed him into your home.

It rained the night he kissed you. It had been raining all through the movie, and he meant to leave earlier, but you patted the place on the couch—his place, and gave him such a sweet smile he couldn’t bring himself to say no.

So, he sat once more next to you and you told him the premise of the movie you picked out tonight. You were notoriously bad about spoiling the plot, so he had laughed when the information was coming hard and fast and he clamped his hand over your mouth before something important slipped.

You bit him.

And the feeling of your teeth on his skin ignited something that hadn’t sparked in him since the war.

Before either of you knew it, Steve Rogers pulled you on top of him and kissed you so roughly you had to break away for air.

“S-Steve?”

He didn’t stop. He fisted your hair, latched onto your neck, bound your torso to his with two powerful arms and kissed you until you were dizzy. He felt so good. Warm and safe, like the world could disintegrate and you would be just fine as long as you were with him.

The days turned into months turned into almost two years and Steve Rogers was holding you in his arms like you were something to him. Like you could have been a lover.

It was too bizarre. You shook your head in the middle of him lifting up your shirt and held his face in your hands. “Steve,” He blinked the haze from his eyes, “Steve, are you fucking with me? Are you—serious about this?”

“Yeah.” He sighed into your neck, “I am. I’m tired of not feeling. And it feels good to be with you.”

You don’t think you can take any more of this. Seven years ago, a random act of violence tore your world apart. It took two years and the help of Steve Rogers to stitch it back together, until he took it into his hands and pulled it to pieces again. The world did disintegrate, and he wasn’t there.

The decimation poked a million holes in it, and you poured out of the spaces until you became nothing more than this. A shell. A husk. A monotonous thing, masquerading as a person.

And now he’s back, shoving his fingers in the chasms.

“I can fix this.” He says. “I think I can. I can go back to before. Before Thanos.”

Your perfectly made hair and immaculate make up aren’t enough armor to shield you from his assault. Him, standing before you now, pierces straight through your chest and your gut, and you are falling apart, all five years of nothing, sliding from your eyes.

“I’m sorry I disappeared. We—we had to go. He came and we couldn’t stop him. A-and, I think I’ve been too...ashamed to admit that. My failure changed the entire world. I couldn’t..”

You want to scream at him and say, I’m not the world. What about me? What about how you changed me?

But inside of your shitty fatalist veneer, you still believe in the good. Despite what Steve Rogers has done to you, he can still be the good you once thought of him. But the years have been unkind, and you hold too big of a wound inside to be healed by an apology. Even if he is good for the world, he isn’t good for you.

In the middle of you sticking a loaded paintbrush onto a canvas, the YMCA erupts into noise as bodies materialize from thin air in poofs of bursting smoke and ash. It’s like the snap in reverse order—and people are crashing into your supplies and students, and there is fumbling and screaming and so many questions.

Your therapy group is scattering like flies, grabbing their coats and rushing out the door, running back to their homes to find their loved ones. When a boy you recognize from before the decimation grabs you by the hand and asks you what’s going on, you gasp audibly because his face is still the same from the last time you saw him. Smooth, prepubescent, on the cusp of growing into a man but still baby-faced and gangly. Your eyes widen when you realize:

Steve did it.

Your feet are soaked by the dirty paint water from your bucket as you look around at young men and women chattering in confusion. Slowly, they move from the room and out the door where others are running and crying, throwing themselves into the arms of their families. Children sprint down the street, going home. Home. A word that’s hurt so many for so long.

Absently, you clench onto the boy’s hand until he taps on you to stop. Your heart might burst now, looking at him.

Steve really fucking did it.

Your dilapidated apartment building is exploding with life. The repairs started last week, and you wake every morning amazed at how the world can heal so quickly with a bit of human effort.

There is energy again. There is life again. Even the wind tastes sweet, even if you can’t quite remember what it was like before.

Memorials for Tony Stark pop up on every corner of the city, but even in the sorrow, the world continues to turn, and the pain is coated in gratefulness and optimism for the future. You walk there, too, under the light and against a gentle breeze, purchasing a thriving stem from a nearby shop. The florist beams at you, tells you it’s a beautiful day.

Yes, you think. It is.

It seemed so gray for so long. The sunflower in your hand is a radiant yellow bloom and you can’t help but smile at it on your way back home, a tangible reminder of the reanimated Earth.

Your steps quiet when you arrive.

He is blue and red at your door. Bruised and cut, but he stands facing the frame and knocks before he rubs his hands over his face and sighs, “Fuck.”

“Hey.” You say, quietly, holding the stem tightly in your hand as if it could give you some comfort or assurance. When Steve turns, his eyes are sunken and welling up with tears. A startling slash on his lip nearly touches his chin and over his eyebrow is an ochre patch nearly identical to your flower- dappled with green and black.

His mouth tugs at the corner, as if he could cry. Or smile. Because you are stepping forward, putting the flower in his hand as you reach for your keys to unlock the door to the apartment he knows all too well.

Down the flight of stairs, children’s’ bike bells ring and chime, cars honk noisily, voices argue and yell. The birds are back and singing. Summertime cicadas screech with the joy of being alive. You crack the door open from its frame and turn to look over your shoulder at the wet trails hanging from Steve’s cheeks.

With a small, hopeful smile at the man who has proven to be the good you need in the world, you ask,

“You okay?”

And he nods. And it’s enough.

#steve rogers #mcu #marvel #steve rogers x reader #fanfiction #reader insert #fic request

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