#the ink that's in my pen now and almost empty is a really wonderful pink! been thinkin bright springy colors lately | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sukirichi · 3 years

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— there’s always a price to pay when you get your hands on a work of art.

PAIRING: tattoo! artist megumi x reader

REQUEST. tattoo artist au + mutual pining + size kink, praise kink, thigh riding + reader is shorter than megumi and isn’t shy

WARNINGS: feral megumi, scratching, vaginal sex, size kink, praise kink, mature content, slight overstimulation, sexual tension lol, unedited story

NOTES: ah thank you so much for this request, I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it! Here is my third contribution for FERAL MEGUMI FRIDAYS! and oh wow tattoo artist megumi uh no thoughts head empty

WC: 5.4k+

The tattoo saloon loomed over you, the neon signs almost blinding in the darkness. You could feel your heart pick up its pace in your chest as you hitched your bag up higher, the excitement settling in your toes. Mustering up the brightest smile you could have, you cleared your throat and pushed the door open, the tiny bell on top jingling to signal your arrival.

Your eyes roamed around the walls covered with intricate drawings, the leather seats dark and kept in pristine. Now that was rare – your leather couches always wore out in just a few weeks.

Making your way inside, grip on your sling bag still tight, you bit your lip as you peaked behind the counter. Empty. No one was there, and the nearby opened rooms were empty as well. Scratching your head, you scrunched your nose in confusion. You were sure you got the right place.

With a heavy sigh, you turned to leave, then stopped in your tracks when a dark-haired man exited a door you hadn’t even noticed at first.

He was tall – taller than you; his arms stretched until the sleeves of his black hoodie were pulled down, revealing a sliver of black tattoos that marked his skin. Upon hearing your awed gasp, his cold blue eyes fluttered to yours, the man – who was absolutely handsome despite his frown – froze in his spot.

You waved a hand to him, your smile bigger than ever. “Hi!” So you would be working with this cute guy? Maybe job-hunting wasn’t such a bad experience, after all.

“Hey,” he drawled out hesitantly, approaching you with his ink stained fingers pointed at you. He was still frowning, which was a damn shame, since you were sure he’d look even hotter if he smiled. “So...you’re Y/N.”

“Yeah!”

“And you...” he tilted his head to the side, inquisitive eyes studying your form. You would’ve felt conscious with the way his brows furrowed, eyes unreadable and lips pressed into a thin line, but you were sure you dressed to impress on your first interview. You admitted, however, that maybe wearing a white collared shirt with a pink tennis skirt made you stand out like a sore thumb in the heaviness of the studio. “...want to be a front desk man here?”

“Yeah!”

“What makes you think you’re qualified for this?” he crossed his arms on his chest, and you didn’t miss the slight bite of his voice. So he was handsome – but cranky. Great. “You don’t look like you fit in here.”

“Judging someone’s appearance and inferring that it has any relation to their credentials isn’t such a professional thing to do, you know,” you raised your chin proudly, jutting a pointer finger to his chest. He clearly didn’t expect this because he scowled and took a step back, while you fought the grin that threatened to paint your face. “Would you like it if people told you that you’re not qualified to be a lawyer because of your tattoos and piercings?”

He scoffed, “I don’t want to be a lawyer. As you can see, I’m a tattoo artist. And to answer your question, no, I don’t give a fuck what people think about me.”

“I can tell,” you muttered to yourself before smiling back up at him. He was too easy to read; his brow quivering and lips firm at your faux enthusiasm. “But yes, I do believe I’m qualified! I’m a fast learner and I’m even quick on my feet! I’m really good at talking to people too so I believe I can help schedule client appointments really well and guide them with this whole process.”

“Being front desk man doesn’t mean serving the clients tea and biscuits.”

“I know.”

“You know?” he snorted with a roll of his eyes. He then gestured you to follow him all the way back to the front desk. You expected he’d teach you about how to handle the appointment books or pick up phone calls, but instead he plopped down on the leather couch of the waiting area, his legs crossed on top of the other.

Your eyes followed the patch of pale skin exposed from his ripped jeans before you looked away, not wanting him to see that you found him attractive despite his less than welcoming personality.

“What exactly do you know about this industry?”

“Nothing, to be honest, but I’m not here to be a tattoo artist or anything. I just really need a job and I assure you I’ve got plenty of experience and knowledge when it comes to manning front desks or counters,” you stated confidently, “I know I look out of place, but I really need this job.”

The man only narrowed his eyes at you. Contemplation was written all over his face, probably wondering why you couldn’t just work somewhere else. “Why come here, of all places?”

“Because it’s the only one that has a flexible schedule,” you sighed, “I can’t work shifts anymore because I’m too busy at university. From when I talked to your boss – Geto, was it? – he said that the salon was open 24/7 and I could work until before my classes start. He’s not really strict about that kind of thing.”

“So you mean to tell me,” he leaned forwards, looping his fingers with one another while his ice cold gaze slithered over your desperate ones. “You’ll be at university for half the day, sleep until midnight, and then come here to work and attend class a few hours later? Isn’t your schedule a little irregular?”

“Oh no, it’s not like that! I also have mock classes after uni and it lasts until late at night, then I help clean at the local shelter. They’re running out of volunteers and the dogs are really adorable and take my stress away so...I make sure to come by when I have time.”

“You are one odd creature,” he noted loudly, almost as if he wasn’t completely aware he vocalized his thoughts. Well, at least now you knew he wasn’t the type to think his words over, which either made him more entertaining – or insufferable the longer you worked with him – if you began working anyway. “You could’ve used your spare time to rest. Do you even eat?”

“Yeah, I have a granola bar right now with me! I actually brought two,” you pulled out the snack from your bag, “You want some? I only got the oats, though.”

“Keep it to yourself,” he rolled his eyes, slapping his hands over his knees before rummaging over something behind the counter. “Fine. If Geto said he’s okay with you, then you’re hired.”

“Really, that easy?” your eyes widened, but then you chuckled when this strange man glared at you in response. He sighed as he pulled out a piece of paper, a pen on top of it. The papers read something about application forms and credentials, and you beamed, happily writing your information away with a slight bounce in your toes.

Unable to keep your happiness to yourself, you looked back at the bored man, wiggling your eyebrows playfully. “Huh. I was kind of expecting you would grill me – you’ve got that scary look in your eye. Let me guess, you often scare clients off?”

It seemed he could never get tired of glaring at you, because his eyes fuelled with heat as he leaned against the wall.

You hated to admit that he looked ridiculously handsome like that – the guy wasn’t even doing anything remotely attractive in the first place!

“I’m the most booked artist here, and I ask that you don’t get too comfortable with me. You haven’t even started working here and you’re already riling up on my train,” he groaned when you merely laughed in response. He made quick work of signing something in your form before handing you a key. “Here’s for your locker. Come to work tomorrow. Geto won’t be around for a week so I’ll be the one judging your performance. If you fuck up in the slightest – I won’t hesitate to fire you, you understand? We always have Yuuji coming around anyway, you’re really not that needed for the front desk.”

“Oh,” you nodded at his harshness, unsure whether to feel threatened or amused. “O-okay. I’ll do my best then. I look forward to you – ah, wait, what’s your name?”

“Fushiguro Megumi.”

“Oh, that’s a pretty name,” you muttered to yourself, uttering his name over and over again until it rolled smoothly on your tongue. “Shame you have a shitty attitude along with that handsome face, though.”

“You trying to say something?”

You faced him, about to laugh when he scowled at your not-so-subtle comments. Waving your hands to him, you made your way out the door, your smile only irritating him further. “No, I wasn’t. I’ll be taking my leave then – see you tomorrow!”

Seems like working in a tattoo studio wouldn’t be so bad.

You came to work the next day early and pumped with adrenaline. The idea of meeting the moody tattoo artist caused you to be giggly and happy the whole day, not even feeling the exhaustion of a long day of hard work as you made your way inside the shop.

Clocking in at exactly two in the morning, you proudly tugged your name badge on top of your left breast, patting it for good luck.

The bells jingled, making you look away from your tag. “Good morning – oh, where’s Megumi?” The man standing in front of you was taller than Megumi, his head nearly knocking over the doorframe if it wasn’t for his poor, slouched lanky frame.

He had white hair that brushed atop his cerulean blue eyes, and your eyes widened because wow, he was beautiful.

“Hey, you must be Y/N! Megumi told me you came around yesterday but he didn’t tell me the counter girl was this pretty,” He was in front of you the next second, his nose nearly grazing over yours that had you leaning back into the wall for space. “Hmm...he didn’t tell me that at all.”

“Oh, thank you. You are...?”

“I’m Gojo Satoru, one of the senior artists here. Since Megumi isn’t here yet, let me give you a tour!” Before you could react, Satoru already had an arm wrapped around your shoulder, his other arm waving and pointing to all the hung paintings and labels on each door. You found it odd that he treated you like you were an old friend, but you weren’t going to complain. Nice co-workers were always welcomed.

“Here is the holding area where clients wait to get their session done. This is Geto’s studio and right next to that is his office where he does all the finances and all that jazz, while this is my studio. Cool, isn’t it?”

Your mouth fell ajar as Satoru led you inside his studio, the walls painted the same aquatic shade of his eyes, but what caught your attention was the galaxy themed tattoo designs he made. They came in different shapes – a volcano head, a dragon, a worm, a four-armed monster – but inside them were all galaxies with sparkling and burning stars. You could see everything and nothing all at the same time.

“Whoa, you made all this?!”

Satoru’s chest puffed out proudly, “Yeah, I did. I’m flattered by your reaction, I really am, but you haven’t seen Megumi’s yet. There’s a reason our salon boomed even though he’s only been working here for two years.”

At the mention of his name, your interest was piqued, all ears and curious smiles directed to Satoru. “Oh, can I see Megumi’s studio?”

“You can – if you book an appointment.”

“But I don’t plan on getting any tattoos,” you frowned.

“You’ll never get to see his work then,” he chuckled to himself, the sound growing louder when you visibly deflated. What was the point of getting your hopes up like that then? “Megumi doesn’t like letting others in his studio without permission or an appointment.”

“Why not?”

“He’s just iffy about it,” he shrugged, “Don’t bother trying to decode his personality anymore, Megumi’s very hard to understand. Though if I were to make sense of it...” he rubbed his chin, eyes looking out into the distance. “I guess you could say Megumi’s not the type to be showy when it comes to his work of art. Did that clear it up?”

You blinked back blankly. “No, not really. But it’s fine – I don’t plan on getting to know him anyway.”

That was the biggest lie of your life.

The moment Megumi came around a few minutes later, a loud groan upon your animated greeting over his arrival, your chest bloomed with a different kind of fluttery warmth. He rarely came out after that, clients swarming in to both his and Satoru’s studios, but each faint glimpse of his door cracking open that allowed you to see him focused as he worked, you could no longer deny the heat burning down your legs.

You crushed on the grumpy tattoo artist.

And the more you came around work, greeting him zealously and teasing him to no end that he’d look hotter if he smiled, your crush only intensified for him – completely unaware that he too, couldn’t get his thoughts off of you even with his door closed.

In fact, he kept his door closed all the time because your voice distracted him too much.

“Hey, Y/N, you free?”

You looked up from the textbook you were reviewing, slamming it shut when Satoru’s head peeked out from his studio. He was still wearing gloves with a pen between his fingers, most likely still in the middle of a session.

“Yep! We don’t have appointments yet and I’ve already closed it for non-appointees. Did you need me to get you something?”

“Yeah, could you get Megumi for me? He isn’t picking his phone up and one of our special clients are coming soon. I’m packed right now so I can’t fetch him. I’ll send you the address and you get him, yeah? Just open the counter if you need money for a cab.”

You blinked owlishly at him. On one side, you’d be more than glad to see Megumi again. He hadn’t arrived despite it being four in the morning already, and you were worried, but you also didn’t have his number to ask how he was doing. Progress with Megumi was...slow, to say the least.

He still holed himself up in his studio, coming out only for bathroom breaks, although you noticed a drastic improvement when he finally began to mutter an almost shy “good morning” under his breath for the past few weeks.

It wasn’t much, but you’d have to make do.

“Uhm, when is this client of his coming? Should I run...?”

“Yeah, you need to fucking run. They’re coming in an hour and a half!” Satoru exclaimed, flailing his hands around like a madman.

Even after working with him for some time, you still couldn’t believe the older man was practically a man child, even asking for head pats sometimes. He would lean down with a pout, using a squeaky voice to call your attention, which always succeeded in Megumi fake gagging before he locked himself inside his studio.

“Forwarded you his address. Really sorry for the inconvenience, Y/N!”

“It’s okay!” you jumped out of your seat in an instant, not bothering to take your name tag off anymore as you left the salon, hailing the nearest cab.

Megumi lived quite far from the salon, which had you wondering why he chose to work there when there were plenty of salons in his area too. His place looked shady, as well, his apartment in a high-rise building with endless graffiti and several drunk stragglers hooting for you.

You ignored them all, taking two steps at a time from his staircase, your hands on your knees as you panted for air. Why did he have to live on the tenth floor?

“Megumi! Megumi!” you banged your fist on the door, throat parched from your sudden cardio session. You were sure you burned ten calories just from that sprint, and you sighed in relief when Megumi swung the door open, still looking handsome – and sleep-deprived – as ever in his black shirt and black skinny jeans.

“What?” he demanded. After seeing that it was you, he quickly snatched a water bottle and passed it your way, closing his door behind him. “Y/N? What are you doing here? How’d you know where I live?”

“Satoru said you had a really important client. You weren’t picking your phone up so he sent me to come get you.”

“It’s my day off,” he grumbled, answering your silent questions, your worries dissipating into thin air. Once you’d satisfied yourself by basically dunking the entire bottle, Megumi rolled his eyes, his hands flat on the small of your back while he guided you downstairs. The sudden touch flamed your cheeks; a stupid smile on your face. You were shameless, though, leaning back closer to him in the darkness of the early morning. “Why does he send a girl out of all people?”

“Something wrong with that?”

“It’s unsafe. My neighbourhood isn’t the best and who knows what would’ve happened to you if some goons came out?” Megumi hailed for a back, surprising you when he let you get in first and paid for the fee despite your outstretched hand prepared with the bills. “I can’t believe Sukuna chose this day to come of all times. I can never get a damn break.”

“Sukuna?”

“A special client. He’s a really huge tipper and comes on odd schedules – I didn’t think he’d come now.”

“Yeah, I checked the papers and he wasn’t there,” you frowned to yourself.

Megumi pressed his head against the window, eyes closed as his chest heaved up and down rhythmically. With the sun slowly shining from behind you, the golden stretches of it outlined his sharp features you adored, and you rested your chin on your palms, eyelashes fluttering at his beauty. “You know, Megumi, you’re really pissy sometimes – but you’re quite nice, aren’t you? I’d say you were even worried for me.”

He cracked one eye open, those blue eyes still shining with irritation, but make no mistake since his ears were flushed red. “I’m not. I just don’t want to be involved in a police investigation if they find your body near here.”

“How sweet of you.”

“Shut up.”

You and Megumi were beginning to get closer. You couldn’t pinpoint where he started to grow more comfortable with you, but it was definitely there and it was painfully evident that even someone stupid like Satoru noticed the sexual between you two.

He would always sniff the air whenever you and Megumi sat next to each other during lunch breaks, a wide grin on your face while Megumi buried his face in his hands, groaning because he knew the moment Satoru opened his mouth, nothing but dumb comments would come out. And dumb comments they were; the white-haired man merciless as he teased Megumi for acting like a cute little kid around you.

You never took it to heart, though. It was Megumi you were talking about; he was hot and cold; sweet then distant from one moment then an entire person the next.

Not that you minded, it only added to your fuelling crush on him, but you couldn’t control the way your heart fluttered every time Satoru whispered that he did like you, excusing that Megumi just wasn’t the best with words. Apparently, Megumi had spent too much time holed up in his apartment and studio that he had zero to little knowledge on how to talk to pretty girls – especially one that was clearly attracted to him as well.

Satoru encouraged you to go for it – that you should confess or break the ice first otherwise Megumi would never do anything about his raging boner every time you came around.

You only flushed at his statement, but you couldn’t deny that you too felt the same way.

One morning where Satoru and Geto were out restocking supplies, you and Megumi were left alone in the salon. Of course, he still resorted in the comfort of his studio, muttering under his breath that he wanted to try some designs before disappearing. Only this time, he left the door slightly open, the lights peeking through the slight crack.

Walking up to him with muted footsteps, you leaned over his shoulder, glancing over a sketch of...you? “Are you drawing me?”

Megumi yelped at your voice right next to his ear, throwing the paper away on the other side of the room before glaring at you. You laughed at his reaction, because how was it possible he was both so criminally sexy yet adorable? He looked terribly gorgeous today, as well, wearing a short sleeved black hoodie and black sweatpants, looking so comfortable and boyfriend like – and you couldn’t even begin to express your appreciation over his new lip piercing.

“Why do you always sneak up on me?” he snapped, “Didn’t I tell you I wanted privacy?”

“Then why aren’t you pushing me away?”

Megumi sighed exasperatedly, turning back to organize his pencils before glaring at you. “What do you want? Got no one else to bother since Satoru isn’t around?”

“I just wanted to see your art,” you mentioned, but kept your eyes directed on him instead of the plethora of sketches and designs hanging from his wall as to not offend him. “Satoru told me to never come inside. He said you’re really...private when it comes to your works,” you furrowed your brows at the last part, feeling your heart beat pulse at your tongue.

It was now or never.

“Can I see your tattoos too?”

“Why do you want to see them?”

“A work of art on a canvas who’s also a work of art himself?” you finally gained confidence to tease him again, getting riled up further when Megumi stiffened at your curious hands travelling under his shirt. His breath sharpened as his glare only deepened, though he didn’t make a move to stop you. “Why wouldn’t I want to see that?”

“Being flirty doesn’t work on you. It’s not cute.”

“You’re blushing though,” you remarked. Megumi groaned and pushed your face away until your buttocks landed on his recliner. Satisfied with Megumi not completely kicking you out, you swung your legs back and forth, still staring at his hoodie as if it was an offensive material.

“Can I...see?” Megumi rolled his eyes before he lifted his shirt up, revealing to you intricate patches of black ink splattered over ripples of muscles. Your mouth salivated, and somewhere down there, you drooled too. Tentatively, your hands reached out to finger the image of canines, Megumi shuddering over your cold touch on his warm skin. “It’s beautiful. What does it mean?”

Megumi pursed his lips before whispering, “These are the dogs I had as a child. My father got me them so I wouldn’t be too lonely when he’s away from work.”

“They’re very pretty. They look like black and white wolves,” you smiled, elated that he was opening up in more ways than one. Your touch flitted over to a winged creature under his left collarbone, small letters beside the image. “And this bird? Nue? He’s so majestic,” Your hands never stopped in trailing over his skin like a lost wanderer, sweeping over ink ink until Megumi completely discarded his hoodie to the side, his back faced to you.

A white viper tattoo stood large on his broad back, crawling until over his shoulder with the fangs ending just above his pecs. Megumi swallowed at each slivering touch, your fingers dipping and caressing every dent and curve of his body.

You couldn’t get your eyes off of him, your breath hitching in your throat as one of your hands gripped his biceps subconsciously. “You’re so beautiful.”

Megumi stiffened when your thumbs grazed over his nipple right next to the viper’s fang. Almost as if a switch was triggered inside him, Megumi growled, ducking to capture your lips with his in a sloppy, heated kiss. His hands tugged at the ends of your hair to arch your neck to him, his knees slapping your legs open before he settled comfortably between you, his low groans mixing with your breath moans.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing. From the moment I met you,” he nibbled your lips, hands trailing down to thumb at your hipbones. “I knew that innocent good girl look was nothing but an act.”

You smiled through the kiss, a tiny gasp falling from your lips when Megumi pulled you closer until your heat grinded against the hardness inside his pants. Laughing at his harsh movements, you let Megumi tilt your head back, his lips sucking and teeth gently nipping at the sensitive flesh of your neck.

“Innocent girl?” you echoed, legs now wrapped around his waist to pull him closer. “What makes you think I am?”

“White lace panties? Short tennis skirts and sunshine smiles?” Megumi clenched his teeth, his hands eager as he tugged the white lace down until it looped to your ankles. You gasped, back arching when he thrusted two fingers inside you, curling and fingering against your bumpy walls. “You’re not fooling anyone, baby, especially not me.”

“Took you long enough to understand I wanted you though,” you chuckled through broken moans, eyes shut tight while your legs opened wider, heels digging into the hard cushion of his seats. “I was wondering when I’d get to break you from that tough guy act of yours and have you fuck me good,” Megumi growled at your words. You leaned forward to scratch at his chest, your tongue licking the shell of your ear as you rasped, “And on a side note, I am a good girl – only to those who can make me feel good, of course.”

Megumi cupped his palm to collect your arousal dripping of his, finally shutting you up when his fingers grazed over your sweet spot that had you clenching around him. And those were just his fingers. “You’re something else, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, I know,” you nodded smugly, hands coming up to tug harshly at his hair. Megumi hissed at the sharp pain, prompting him to fuck his fingers in and out of you faster until you leaked down to his chair, thighs trembling and your high-pitched moans coating the walls of his stupid. “Megumi, ah! Just shut up and fuck me already – been wanting you long enough.”

“Needy little girl,” He pressed you down on the reclining seat, settling between your legs before he spread your lips open with two thumbs. At the sight of your bare cunt clenching around nothing, Megumi groaned, teeth biting his lip because he could cum right then and there. “Fuck, look at you. So wet already,” he ran a hand over your slit to collect your arousal, eyes dark with lust as your juices webbed between his fingers. “All this for me? You’re so good.”

“Fuck – yeah, yeah I am,” you leaned back harder into the seat, groping at your own breasts while you nodded dumbly, too fucked out to even form a coherent response. “Going to be good for you, Megumi, gonna make you feel good.”

“Sorry, babe, maybe next time. I’m too impatient to not feel your pussy around me,” he pushed away at your hands that planned to pump his cock, his hand coming down to push you hard against the seat until his weight loomed over you.

You felt Megumi begin to align his tip at your center, dampening his mushroom head with your arousal first that had you both moaning left and right.

Hands scratching down his back as your teeth dug into your lips, Megumi pushed into you with one thrust, the sudden stretch making your legs shake and your body writhe underneath him. “Shit, why are you so tight? So fucking warm and perfect,” he rasped next to your ear, and you could hear how hard he was breathing as he thrusted into you, his cock hitting all the right places. “Could fuck this pretty pussy all day, baby, shit.”

“Me-Megumi – t-too big!”

“Shh, you’ll be fine. You’ll take it like a good girl, won’t you?” he cupped your cheek, grinning sinisterly as he watched the way your greedy walls sucked him in. “See how you take me so well? You’re so small and pretty wrapped around my cock. I could break you if I wanted you,” he growled, his hands gripping hard at your hips when you clenched around him, enticing the man above you to quicken his pace.

Megumi watched with a lust filled gaze as your breasts bounced at the relentless pace he started, his balls slapping at your ass. “Oh, you’d want that, wouldn’t you? You want to be stuffed with my fat cock in you? Fuck you until you’re a drooling mess? You’re so gorgeous when I fuck you stupid.”

“Yes, Megumi, agh. Keep going, keep going, I’m so close!”

“Oh, you feel like heaven around me,” he praised at your neck, his cock stretching you wide and pushing into you. Megumi groaned lowly at your ear as his palms flattened over your stomach that bulged every time he thrusted in, his balls tightening at the sight. “Look at how big I am for you, baby, but you’re doing so well. You were made for me – made to take my cock, shit, you’re so perfect around me. Gonna make you feel good, yeah? You’re such a good girl for me. Cum, baby, that’s right – I’m allowing you to cum.”

“Gumi, Gumi, fuckkk,” your legs tightened around him as Megumi panted with each harsh thrust, the black marks over his skin expanding and stretch when his forearm rested beside your head. His muscles clenched as he fucked into you deep, over and over again until he pushed you over the edge.

A silent sob left your lips when you came around him, your juices creaming around his cock. A few thrusts later, Megumi fell on top of you as you felt him spill his seed inside you.

He had too much that you felt both your cum dripping down your ass; Megumi pulling out with a slight wince from the oversensitivity. You struggled to catch your breath as you laid there, legs wide open and the cool air hitting your bare pussy. The door was still open, and Satoru and Geto could walk in on you both looking like this, but you couldn’t care, not when you could barely feel your legs.

You dropped your arm over your face, hearing Megumi pull his pants back up. “That was...”

“Intense?”

“Yeah,” you chuckled, wincing as you sat up. Your hair stuck to your forehead in sweaty clumps, dawning on you now that you were still very much covered in your sticky cum. You recoiled from the seats as you realized Megumi hadn’t even put on a towel underneath.

“Shit. Is this chair even clean?”

“I sanitize it every after session. Don’t worry about it,” he rolled his eyes, his tattoos covered and hidden from your sight once more when he pulled his hoodie over his head. Megumi retrieved a clean towel from his drawers and wiped at your sensitive pussy, your legs immediately closing around his hands when the towel accidentally grazed your clit.

Megumi gripped your knees with a silent glare. “Stay still. I’m cleaning you up.”

“I didn’t peg you as an aftercare guy. Thought you would leave me hanging here,” you teased, but really, you were feeling warm all over again as you watched Megumi wipe you all the way down to your other hole, your legs still tensing up.

Once he left to wash his hands, you could relax, tugging your panties back up with immense struggle. He wasn’t kidding when he said he’d fuck you good – you could barely feel your legs now.

“And have you make a mess by ruining my seat?” he sighed as he returned, helping you seady yourself while he snapped the slightly soaked panty back to your core. “No thanks.”

“You’re so mean, Megumi. I’m hurt.”

He rolled his eyes at your pout, leaning down to kiss you square on the lips. This time around, the kiss wasn’t rushed; it was slow and sensual, firm yet gentle, and his hands carefully massaged your sore hips that would soon bruise from his grip before.

“No, you’re not,” he mumbled through your lips, mimicking that lovesick smile on your face as he pulled away. “But babe, you know the rules. Now that you’ve seen my work of art – what tattoo would you like me to give you? My name on your inner thigh?”

4K notes · View notes

cherrysung · 4 years

Text

lesson learned

pairing: nerd!jaemin x reader

genre: smut / slight fluff

warnings: language, unprotected sex (stay safe!), riding, thigh riding, grinding, finger sucking, dirty talk, slight degradation

prompts: none

summary: tinted cheeks and sheepish glances might’ve been a delight to observe every time his eyes scanned intellectual phrases on books, but as your words reached dangerous levels, you realized not all is what it seems.

requested by anon.

word count: 2.5k

note: anonnie... I think I got carried away with this a lil bit, oops. I hope you enjoy this though, thank you for requesting! jaemin with glasses is superior oof

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Na Jaemin. Pink cheeks and flushed neck and ears, thin-rimmed glasses that rested peacefully on the bridge of the most perfect nose you’d seen, and his sharp eyes that appeared narrow and hooded as they scanned over way too complicated words that showed up unnecessarily in fiction books.

He wasn’t the stereotypical nerd, in fact, he quite honestly debunked endless labels and beliefs that people like him had endured for years. Unlike portrayed in movies or anywhere else, Na Jaemin was impressingly handsome if you said so yourself. Masculine yet soft features adorned the smooth of his skin like a freshly painted artwork, facial structure built with a jawline that you’d mistake to be carved out by the gods themselves if you didn’t know any better, and an overall physique that even the most athletic guys at college envied. How come the school’s certified nerd was also the biggest hottie? Pair that up with a well-mannered and gentle personality—you get the sweetest boy at heart.

Conservative and reserved most of the time, with his second home being the local library, Jaemin was almost always indulged in some sort of imaginary world. Although popular for his looks, nobody dared approach him, as everybody knew how much he overflowed with shyness, and even oftentimes unintentionally blocked out the social souls that made an effort to utter a word to him.

It didn’t come as a surprise that his grades were also astronomically A+ class and more. There was no need for him to search with concern over universities and a promising education, because unlike you, they actually chased after him. On the other hand, though you did an okay job at even the most challenging subjects, it wasn’t enough to you or to your demanding and irritable parents. Given that, your teacher thought that if you really wanted to improve, getting Jaemin assigned as a tutor seemed like a perfect idea.

Indeed; it was.

Somehow the smartest and quietest senior also turned out to be picky. His looks weren’t the only thing he was popular for—his constant declines on those who wished desperately for his help was too. To say you were shocked that he agreed to lend you a hand, was an understatement.

You officially met Jaemin on a Monday afternoon when the bell rang loudly throughout the empty halls and students escaped tiredly the dull classrooms as if they were prisons. Your calculus teacher called you and the boy over to her wooden, polished desk, where piles of papers that were filled with red marks stacked up. Jaemin carried himself gracefully at all times, dressed in black sweatpants and a white t-shirt with black shoes, you genuinely wondered how such a simple outfit suddenly looked expensive. Not only did his clothes seem to be put together, so did his life in general. He would never miss a day of college even if destiny wanted him to, and his schedule was so precise you felt like an absolute shame next to him.

“Mr. Na Jaemin,” the teacher cleared her throat, hands twirling a red-inked pen between her fingers as she smiled at the boy standing next to you. “At this point, I don’t know why I bother with you anymore, you always seem to decline. But, I thought I should ask you if you were up to helping your fellow classmate over here. She surely has potential, but is clearly struggling.”

You shifted nervously on your feet, cheeks becoming a faint tint of rosy red as your teacher slid over your calculus test towards Jaemin. It read D+. Nearly the entirety of the front page was marked in red, multiple comments explaining why your answers were wrong and circles pointing out your hideous mistakes all for a genius to judge.

His eyes skimmed over your answers, a smile threatening to creep up on his pink lips at just how ridiculous and senseless your processes could get. “I see. Yeah, she seems to have an idea of the topics but probably gets confused easily.”

Ouch.

“Well, would you do me the favor of maybe tutoring her every week for, say, a month?”

He glanced down at you for a split second, gaze returning back to the test in his hands as fast as he had looked away from it. His words sounded direct, leaving his lips with security and firm knowledge; yet, you were sure you could feel his timidity from classrooms away.

“Sure.”

Two weeks later, Jaemin had been tutoring you patiently, sharing his knowledge and tips as best as he could. You discovered, conversational skills and socializing definitely weren’t Jaemin’s specialty, his words spilling from his lips in stumbles and stutters that sounded adorable nonetheless. Contrary to the way he spoke whenever you casually asked him something about him—whether it be his personality, where he’s from, the things he enjoys—to the way his sentences flowed flawlessly whenever he was explaining how a math problem worked, was intriguing to you.

There was something about him that felt new, and mysterious. He was introverted, quite protective of his surroundings and himself; though, somehow the way his middle finger elegantly pushed his spectacles up a tiny bit, and the way his hand occasionally brushed with yours whenever he turned to a new page on your alarmingly huge calculus textbook was doing things to you.

“So, Jaemin,” you interrupted him, his head rising up in question at your sudden intrusion, hand holding a pencil he had been using to point out esencial steps for Definite Integrals. The two of you were currently sitting at your study desk in your bedroom, home alone on a slightly rainy Friday evening, with papers lying around the table and the floor that had infinite math practice tests he had obligated you to do. “How are you so good at calculus. Well, everything, honestly?”

The tip of his ears flushed a deep shade of pink at your indirect compliment, visibly swallowing as his Adam’s apple swiftly moved up and then down. “Uh, I don’t really know. I guess I’ve always practiced a lot as a kid? Maths is my favorite subject so it’s not hard for me…”

His attention was never on you, instead, his eyes shifted awkwardly as long as they successfully avoided your own. You were enjoying his confusion more than you’d like to admit, collecting your thoughts and speaking up once again before he returned to explaining boring equations or graphs. “Why’d you agree to help me? You never help.”

He wordlessly shrugged, hand scratching the back of his head with what appeared nervousness as his eyes solely rested on the paper before him and the paper alone. You thought his face became progressively warmer, a light smile etching across your face. “Are you sure you don’t know?” You glanced at him, turning your chair around to face his side profile directly. “I think there must be a reason.”

“There’s none.” He muttered through gritted teeth, the apple of his cheeks becoming impossibly redder by the minute. “Let’s move on to the next topic—”

“Oh, but are you sure there really is no reason at all? ‘Cause you seem to be hardcore blushing right now.” Your finger moved under his chin, gently guiding his eyes towards yours. “Am I the reason for your obvious struggle, Na Jaemin? Do you, maybe, have the hots for me?”

“Y/N, just—you need to, uh, continue practicing.”

“I don’t want to practice anymore.” A giggle left your lips, face nearing the boy’s hot ears. “I’ll let you in on a little secret. I think you are so handsome, and I can tell you like me too. Or don’t you?”

“Y/N—”

“Don’t you, Jaemin?”

A quiet curse rumbled throughout his chest and out his lips, hands quickly snapping up to grasp your own. “You really don’t want to bother me right now. Stop.”

“I do want to bother you. I know you’re not some innocent, saint boy, Jaemin. Stop putting up that pure act with me, it’s not working.”

“Alright,” Jaemin mumbled, eyes sharply boring into yours, “then you asked for it.” He roughly pulled you towards him, your wheeled chair sliding back at the impact as your legs almost instantly straddled him. With no more words said, his hands softly kneaded your ass, pressing his hardening member directly on your heat as he began rapidly guiding you up and down his covered length.

Whimpers stumbled off your lips at his movements, hands flying up to hold onto his shoulders for balance. Quite frankly, you never thought Jaemin would do this.

“Cat got your tongue suddenly, princess?” Your breath hitched at the pet name, and Jaemin could only smirk at your reaction. “You were all talk and no game? Where did that confidence go? You are such a needy, little bitch. Be a good girl and ride my thigh like the desperate slut you are—wanting to fuck me instead of practicing your math equations.”

He parted his legs, and you were quick to take off your shorts, sitting on the textured fabric of his denim jeans as your hips continued their previous ministrations with Jaemin’s harsh grasp. Moans were leaving you in an uncontrollable mess, feeling so little and helpless under a boy’s gaze whom everybody believed is a harmless child. There was a look plastered on his features that you wanted engraved in your mind forever; pearly whites sinking tenderly into a swollen, red bottom lip, glasses hanging lowly on his nose, and a hooded stare due to the growing wetness on your sheer panties that seeped out onto his jeans.

Fuck, did those glasses make him look so sinful.

“Jaemin,” you stuttered, “I need to cum.”

“Already? We just started the fun, princess.” His actions contradicted his words, hands moving your hips faster on his thigh as he squeezed the muscles, igniting louder sounds of pleasure from you. “Are you close?”

You nodded frantically, no longer giving care to the huge wet patch you had created on his pants, allowing his hands to move you as fast as he wished, pussy clenching around nothing every time your clit ran over the coarse fabric.

“Go ahead, princess, come all over my thigh, you fucking dirty girl. Make a mess.”

His whispers were enough to bring you to your climax, legs shaking unstoppably as your hips stilled abruptly. Jaemin rubbed your back softly, bringing your chin up to lock lips with you. Ardent, and full of lust, the feeling of his tongue running over your bottom lip brought another wave of heat that pooled between your legs, and he could surely feel it. Pulling away, with a string of saliva attaching the two of you, Jaemin unbuckled the leather belt before unbuttoning his jeans, only pushing them down enough to release his dick. It sprung proudly out of his briefs, gently hitting his belly and begging to be played with.

Jaemin smirked at your wide eyes, your gaze running up and down the veiny cock, with a final touch of an angry and red tip at the top that was leaking with pre-cum.

“Can I suck you?”

“Not today, babygirl, do that some other time,” he shook his head, fingers moving your panties to the side and placing you on top of his hard length, “right now all I want is to feel your dripping, pretty pussy. Ride me.”

You silently obliged like the good girl he thought you were, wet cunt sinking on his dick as your walls instantly welcomed him with endless warmth.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he lowly cursed, “such a fucking good girl. Why don’t we teach you some basic math while you ride my dick? Come on.” His index and middle fingers tapped your bottom lip, your mouth wrapping around them. “You’re going to answer while you suck on my fingers as if it were my cock.”

On cue to his words, your tongue swirled around his digits experimentally while he ruthlessly thrusted up into your tight pussy with a never ending pace.

“What’s seven plus five, princess?”

You whined on his digits, finding the task harder than you expected as his dick was everything you could think about. Jaemin filled you up so well, fingers occasionally driving into the back of your throat as you choked around them. Tears had begun pooling in your eyes, threatening to fall at any moment as you gagged around his digits once again. “Twelve!”

“Good job,” he delivered a particularly hard thrust, hitting on your sweet spot successfully and earning himself nearly a scream from you. “What about eighteen plus nine? What’s the answer?”

At this point, he was doing all the work, dick sliding in and out of your walls so fast and deliciously. The only sound you could hear around your bedroom was both your skins’ slapping, and sometimes the choked up cries that left your lips whenever his fingers reached too far back in your throat. Your thoughts only revolved around how good Jaemin was fucking you, and how good the glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose looked as he bit his lip. “Twenty-seven!” You struggled to answer, but managed to regardless of his merciless thrusts.

“Four minus nineteen? You got three seconds to answer, sweets.” Jaemin smirked, free hand reaching down to circle rapidly around your clit, his hips speeding up even more. “One.”

“Jaemin, I’m so close!”

He pulled his fingers out of your mouth, drool running down your chin as he wiped his digits on his shirt. “Answer me, or you don’t come.”

Your thoughts were absolutely jumbled, puzzled and confused, searching hazily for a simple answer you couldn’t remember.

“Two.” The movements of his fingers on your swollen bud were beginning to slow down.

“Jaemin, wait!”

“Three—”

“Negative! Negative fifteen, the answer is negative fifteen.”

He cooed at you, speeding up his actions once more as you cried out, head resting on his shoulder tiredly while you slightly bit into the flesh, eliciting hisses that flew from his lips.

“Fuck, I’m so close. Princess, can I fill you up with my cum?”

“Please,” tears ran down your face, your cries muffled as you nuzzled your face into his neck, “please do. Come inside of me, Jaemin, fill me up so well.”

Your desperate pleads and the frantic clenching of your pussy were enough to bring him to the edge, your release following not much long after as his warm cum completely coated your walls white, some seeping out from your cunt and onto his member. Jaemin eventually slowed down his thrusts to a stop, chest heaving up and down as pants left the two of you.

“For your information, I do have the hots for you, too.” He exhaled out a laugh, pulling your body closer to his and gently pecking the top of your head.

“I can’t believe everybody calls you a nerd,” you chuckled, “you literally fucked me into oblivion.”

“Well, you were riling me up. I hope you learned your lesson, little miss.”

“Yeah, I did.” You admitted with a giggle.

“Well, you better keep that pretty mouth closed, we don’t want people knowing the school’s nerd wrecked you so bad, right? Besides, I don’t think I want this to just be a one time thing.” Your head rose at his confession, eyes looking into his own for an answer. “How about a date tomorrow?”

You smiled, sweetly pecking his cheek. “I’d love that. How about I suck your cock after that?”

Jaemin smirked, “your house or mine?”

2K notes · View notes

yikeswtfmate · 4 years

Text

Peonies

Pairing: Tattoo Artist! Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: Steve has a new client who knows exactly what she wants. And a tattoo.

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: language; filth F I L T H, i’m not joking this is smut (praise kink; slight daddy kink; fingering; slight spanking; unprotected sex; hair pulling??? Steve Rogers’ face??????????)

A/N: listen. LISTEN. Steve Rogers has been the bane of my existence for too many days to count now, so i had to let it all out somehow, ok? @the-chocolate-moose is the sole reason for me unleashing this filth on you all so go yell at her if you don’t like my first ever attempt at smut, i can’t be held responsible

A/N2: THIS is what prompted this whole thing; have these images in your heads as well, so now sit back and enjoy this fuckery

A/N3: @the-chocolate-moose suggested i name this Peonies bc “it’s nice and close to penis”; i thought “just fuck me up man idc anymore” would be more fitting

masterlist

Steve is not in the mood today. He’s not in the mood to listen to Nat constantly blowing and popping her gum, he’s not in the mood to watch Sam obsessively clean the leather seats in the entire studio, he’s not in the mood to smell the acrid odour of cigarettes that Bucky brings in with him after he’s had his break.

He’s definitely not in the mood to feel his tshirt sticking to his back and shoulders as he’s working on the design of a new tattoo. With the AC broken, he’s more than grateful for the small autumn breeze that occasionally wafts in through the open doors. Maybe he should just close for the day. After all, none of them have any appointments left and who even comes in to get a tattoo at 4 pm on a Friday?

“Hi.”

Steve looks up from his notebook to be greeted by a woman leaning on the high counter. She’s smiling, a cheeky grin that he’s only ever noticed in regular customers whenever they come up with a new idea for a tattoo. Her fingers tap on the mahogany, indicating nervousness and she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear when he hikes his glasses up on his head.

“Hi.” Steve smiles – customer service force of habit or just because she’s so damn gorgeous? “How can I help you?”

“Well, uh – I’m here for a tattoo obviously.” She says, eyes flashing down for a second. “My friend recommended your studio and I was in the neighbourhood anyway, so I thought I’d stop by to make an appointment.”

“What do you have in mind?” Steve asks, taking out the planner, ready to find a free spot for her.

“Oh, I want my hip covered in peonies.” She says with such nonchalance as if she’s just going to buy some milk.

A quick inspection of the upper part of her body over the counter makes Steve wonder if she does have any tattoos and whether she knows what she’s getting into. His weariness must be written all over his face because she just giggles and waves her hand in dismissal.

“Don’t worry. I have a pretty big back tattoo. I know I’m going to be yours for at least five hours.”

And the way she says it, a corner of her lips raised into a tiny smirk and her head tilting to one side makes Steve lick his lips. He chuckles, shaking his head because he’d be damned if he doesn’t like the way she’s making it sound. He’s more than aware of her eyes on him as he stands up and invites her to take a seat on the couch. Planner and notebook in his hands, he settles down next to her, without failing to notice the way her tight skirt rides up her thighs when she scuttles closer to him.

“Tell me.” He says, glasses back on the bridge of his nose and pen on paper.

“Right, well I want it big.” And there it is, that amused tone in her voice again, but he’s more focused on her fingers brushing the top of her hipbone to the middle of her thigh. “And I want it in illustrative style because I can’t deal with blackwork and watercolours are just too much for me.”

Soon Steve has a pretty clear idea of exactly what she (Y/N, he found out earlier, after she’s repeated his name, tasting it on her tongue like a particularly delicious candy) wants; she seems to know a lot about tattoos, and he would be lying if he would say that doesn’t turn him on just a little bit. Maybe that’s why he can’t help himself from biting his finger, while listening to her. He’s excited to start to work on her tattoo, and he’s more than excited to spend some time with her, so when she asks him whether they’re open on Sunday he doesn’t even take time to consider.

“No, but I can open up only for you.” He offers and he doesn’t miss the thought that can be clearly seen on her face for a split fraction of a second.

“So it would only be the two of us in an empty studio while you’d be working on me for – how many hours did you say? Four?” Her eyes narrow, her voice purring and her fingers lightly graze his forearm.

“At least.” He nods, playing into her game with a smirk.

“Well, then. Being yours for at least four hours does not sound bad at all, Steve.”

“I couldn’t agree more, Y/N.”

Bucky and Sam give him hell after Y/N’s left, hooting and hollering like two fucking teenagers. Steve just rolls his eyes at them, ignoring their jabs and lewd jokes, but he doesn’t miss Nat’s knowing smile.

“What?” He snaps when she wouldn’t look away. “What???”

“Nothing.” She shrugs. “It’s just funny how you wouldn’t even show her our portfolios.”

“Why?” He asks defensively. “You don’t do big ink, Bucky only does watercolour and Sam’s on holiday next week anyway.”

“But she’s coming in on Sunday.” Sam points out, chuckling.

“And you seem to have all the answers to support your already possessive behaviour there, punk.” Bucky laughs.

“Fuck off, all of you.” Steve grumbles, already on his way to the back of the studio where he can work in silence on what must be now his new favourite flowers.

“Just make sure you don’t drool on her when you’re gonna tattoo her, bud!” Nat yells after him and he slams the door shut on a wave of laughter.

It’s Sunday and Steve looks at the clock right when it turns exactly 4 o’clock. His gaze instinctively turns to the door, but of course he shouldn’t expect her to be there right on the dot. Instead he looks down at the paper, trying to decide whether it’s detailed enough or too detailed? Is it too big? Too small? Would she like it? Would she want to have his work on her body for the rest of her life? And then another shiver runs along his spine, fingers twitching in anticipation, and his cock might pulse just one second at that particular thought – his work on her body for the rest of her life.

Steve’s startled out of his thoughts by a quick rapping on the glass door. She’s standing there, smile already evident on her face and he takes his time observing her as he makes his way over. He silently praises her for choosing a flowing skirt today, he knows that last tight one would’ve been hell on freshly tattooed skin; yet she’s making up for it with a very tight tiny top. Thank fuck for this particularly warm autumn.

“Hi!” She beams, stepping in and letting him lock behind her. “Ready to do me?”

Steve chokes on fucking air, but he has the good sense to start laughing. He’s thankful her back is to him because he already has to adjust his fucking jeans. She’s throwing her bag on the couch, takes in a big breath and turns to look at him, practically vibrating with excitement. Steve raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t comment on it – he knows how addictive the experience can become, his plethora of tattoos can only stand as an example.

“We’re gonna be in the back, babe.” Steve says absentmindedly, as he goes to pick up the hectograph paper.

“Babe?” She remarks, closer to him than he thought, her breath right on his cheek. “I hope you don’t call all your clients that.”

The tips of Steve’s ears turn pink. He hadn’t realised what he said, and he definitely wouldn’t have said it out loud, but every time he’s thought about Y/N in the last days his mind only supplied him with the image of her saying his name, her tongue darting out to wet her lips, her fingers on the tattoos on his right forearm while staring in wonder – babe, be a doll and suck my cock. Pink on his cheeks now as well.

“Come on, big boy. Show me where you want me.” Y/N winks and she’s already sauntering off to the back door.

It’s not his fault that all his blood is rushing to his dick now, it really isn’t. It’s her swaying ass and those long legs that will be completely bare in just a few seconds. Or maybe her inability to say anything without making it sound like an innuendo. Whatever it is, Steve has to readjust his jeans again.

He’s behind her in a few seconds, and he knows she’s doing it on fucking purpose when she steps back into his chest to open the door. She smells like vanilla and patchouli and Steve grunts deep in his throat; she doesn’t even apologise, instead she just tilts her head back until she can look at him and grins.

“You’re really big, did you know that?”

Steve just smirks and with a well-placed hand on her hip, he guides her forward. He can hear the faint giggle; the little minx is playing and she has him lapping from her hands, but two can play at this game, and he doesn’t like losing.

The room is definitely darker than the sunlit reception, but the bright lamp right next to the leather bed makes up for it. It almost feels as if it’s night, and Steve notices the way her back arches just an inch.

She hops on the bed, feet dangling over and she’s holding out her arms, reaching for the paper in his hand. Steve hands it to her without much preamble, and sits down in his chair, set to prepare the ink and his gun. He’s suddenly very aware of the closed door and how small this room is so he’s trying to distract himself in case she’ll be disappointed.

A gasp escapes her lips, making his head snap up. Now or never he supposes, but she’s grinning widely.

“I love it.” She whispers and there’s relief rushing through his entire body. Pleased, more than pleased to be entirely fair – he’s fucking aroused by her praise. Interesting.

“Do you want me to make any changes to it?” Steve asks, remembering that he’s actually supposed to do his job right now, and not get a fucking boner over her glinting eyes. “You’re gonna have this on you for the rest of your life so now’s the time to voice any concerns, sweetheart.”

“No, it’s perfect.” She promises and hands him the paper. Hopping off the bed, she looks at him, maintaining eye contact as she speaks. “Now. Should I get this skirt off or do you wanna do it, babe?”

And there it is. Back to being a little shit, especially when throwing that ‘babe’ back at him. Steve grunts and waves his go ahead, turning back to his gun. He refuses to look at her, to watch her shimmy out of the flowery thing, to look at her legs stepping out of it, to see the smirk on her face that he’s more than sure she’s sporting. He hears that small huff of air she lets out when she lays down, hears the creak of the bed under her body, hears the big inhale he has to take in before he moves his chair to finally face her.

Oh, fuck.

It’s not the long legs or the curve of her thighs or that very glaring dip that he’d so like to explore that do it for him, it’s the panties she’s wearing – red, lacy, small. His hands are hovering above her, blinking lazily over the expanse of skin and she must know now, beyond a shadow of a doubt, exactly what he’s thinking.

“You know,” she purrs from somewhere to his side. He’s not sure, because her thighs are rubbing together now. “I think I’ll have to take these off as well, considering how big it’s going to be.”

And that’s it. Steve’s had enough of it. He looks down at her, sees her teeth sinking into her bottom lip, one hand right above the line of her underwear, the other squeezing the edge of the bed. He grumbles deep in his chest, which makes her pupils dilate even more. Does she want to play then? Fine, he’ll give her something to play with.

“Yes, I think it would be best if you would.” He says, leaning back into his chair, arms crossed in front of his chest.

She’s startled then, confused for a moment at his blatant answer, but it’s easy to read his smirk. Easy to read what an arm over the armrest and a finger in his teeth means, as his tongue darts out to wet his lips – waiting. Are you going to do this? Daring her.

“Come on, baby, are you going to take them off for me?” He prods further, and it seems that does it for her.

Fingers slip under the waistband and he watches as she lifts up her ass, dragging them over her thighs, knees up and completely off. The piece of cloth dangles from her finger, as she offers it to him in her own silent dare. Are you going to do something about this?

“Any other requests, sir?”

His cock twitches once more, as if he isn’t already fucking hard with her half naked in front of him, an inch away from his touch. He stands up, grabs the panties and tucks them in his back pocket.

She squirms under his stare, legs pressed together but he doesn’t like that. One finger on her knee, and he pushes it to the side, then does the same thing with the other one. Pussy on display, his mouth is watering just as much as she’s dripping on the leather.

He leans closer, hands now behind his back and she’s shivering under his breath on her ear.

“Tell me what you want, baby.” He grunts.

A whine and her fingers grab his forearm in a vice like grip. “You know what I want.”

“You have to use your words, Y/N.” Steve tuts.

She groans in frustration, letting her head fall back. “Please, Stevie, I need you to fuck me.”

He smirks then. An eye for an eye, wasn’t it? But she’s pleading and he’s been thinking about fucking her for three days straight already. He’s not in the mood to delay this any further – he’ll have time to savour her inch by inch later. For now, he just wants to fuck her.

He takes off his jeans, already feeling some of the tension leaving him. His boxers follow and he smiles like a Cheshire cat when her reaction is to lick her lips and sit up on the bed in anticipation. She wanted to play, didn’t she?

Steve sits back down on his chair, slowly, languidly and looks up at her. She’s waiting, but he notices the twitch in her fingers, the way her legs press together and she’s squirming on the bed, trying to find some kind of friction. He smiles then – benevolently, like a generous benefactor and raises his eyebrows. What do you want?

“Please.” She moans – practically drooling.

Steve pats his thigh, “Come on, baby. Come here.”

Y/N is on top of him immediately, straddling him, fingers grazing his scalp, tugging at his hair. His hands circle her waist, big hands on her hips and he’s guiding her down until she can rut against his legs. Her lips are on his then, biting, tugging, moaning into his mouth, lapping at each corner, saliva dripping just like her pussy.

“Please, Steve. Please.” She whimpers, because fuck she needs more, she needs so much more, she needs to have him fill her up and Steve is just there, his cock twitching right on her stomach and she can’t take it anymore.

“What do you want, baby?” He grunts, right when his fingers slip inside her folds and yesrightthereyesfuckohfuckStevefuck. “Are you going to cum for me, honey? You going to cum for daddy?”

And shit, she must’ve not known that was something that she likes, because the moment those words leave his lips, as his fingers so expertly pump into her and his thumb is circling her clit, she throws back her head with a scream. Blinding stars and all the lights in the world play right in front of her eyes, and Steve can feel her pussy clenching around his fingers before he takes them out and licks them clean.

Steve waits for her to regain her breath as he kisses her collarbones softly, before he gets annoyed with the fabric between them. He tugs at her top until she weakly raises her arms, allowing him to throw it somewhere she doesn’t really care about. She does, however, care about the fact that he’s also still wearing his tshirt and that’s just a shame because underneath that it’s the most glorious sight she’s ever seen.

The sleeve tattoos are usually entirely on display, but Steve would be lying if he’d say he doesn’t know the effect the eagle on his chest has or the way that BROOKLYN on his abs is always either licked or touched. And of course, her fingers also instantly follow the letters’ path.

“Fuck.” She whispers.

“That’s what I intend to do, sweetheart.” He grins and with one arm around her waist, he has her standing up, pushing her into the bed, ass in the air.

He’s surprised for a second to see the massive lion tattoo on her back, her previous words forgotten somewhere in his hazy mind. She looks at him over her shoulder when his hand traces the lines, before his tongue licks a strip right through the middle of her spine. She arches back, a shudder going through her whole body when she lines herself just perfectly to him. Steve has to steady her with his hands on her hips before she starts rutting against him again.

“Steve, please.” She mewls and he hears the leather hissing under her fingers.

“Manners.” He grunts, lining himself just right.

“Oh, fuck you, Steve!” She seethes, but her words turn into a moaning hiss when a slap crackles on her ass.

“I said manners, baby.”

A low growl, but she knows what he wants. “Please, daddy. Please, I need you to fuck me, please, I can’t. I just – please, please, please.”

Her chant fills the small room, turning into an entire litany of profanities and obscene noises the moment Steve enters her. He groans when he feels her so tight and wet and warm around him and fuck he’d stay like this forever, if she wouldn’t push back into him, asking him to move already. She settles her forehead on the bed when his large hands squeeze her hips almost painfully, dragging himself slowly back, and then thrusting into her with force. He continues his ministrations painstakingly slowly, until she starts meeting his thrusts.

“Fuck, faster, please. Please, Steve.” She pants, hands scrabbling at the edge of the leather.

Steve grunts when she starts moving again, but a hand in her hair keeps her in place. He starts thrusting deeper, faster, rougher, and her head falls back into the bed, letting him do all the work because fuck if she could keep up with this.

“Is this what you wanted, baby? You wanted me to fuck you hard?” Steve grunts.

Her words are slurred in response, but he picks up the slew of ‘yes’ and ‘fuck’ and ‘shit’ and his name – his name falling off her lips like a delicious chant, and he’s never heard anything more perfect than the sound of his pounding into her, her moans and his name from her mouth. He can already feel her walls clenching around his cock, so he drags her up by her hair, until her back is pressed to his chest, hand around her throat. Her head falls back onto his shoulder, giving him plenty of access to bite along her neck.

“Are you going to cum for me, baby? Come on, sweetheart, cum for me. Be a good girl and cum for me.”

His movements are becoming frantic, and he removes his hand from her hip to bring it to her clit, rubbing circles on the sensitive bud. She’s whimpering now, breathless and a fucking mess, yet he’s never seen her more beautiful than right in this moment, right when she’s coming undone around his cock. He’s right behind her, the moment he sees her eyes roll back into her head, feeling her go slack in his arms. A growl deep within his chest and they’re both sagging over the bed, spent and fucked into oblivion.

He slips out and she lets out a low hiss at the sudden emptiness. Steve watches the way his cum drips along her thighs, and would care more about how much cleaning up and disinfecting he’s going to have to do later if it weren’t for her nails on his forearm. He looks at her, a smile on his own lips in reply to her blissful grin.

“I think I’m relaxed enough to have that tattoo now.”

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers smut #tattoo artist!steve rogers #tattoo artist! steve rogers #tattoo artist! steve rogers x reader #tattoo artist!steve rogers x reader

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vanchlo · 4 years

Text

Birdy (Green Eyes / 2)

Read the first part, Green Eyes, here! :-)

Blurb Synopsis: After finally meeting the mysterious Mr. Styles you subbed for, you take a job at the same school, right across the hall from him. You’re unsure how much longer you can hide your feelings for him as you’ve grown to become best friends.

Genre: Teacher Harry, fluff, romance, angst, and a little sad.

Warnings: None

Word Count: Nearly 8k words

Pairing: Harry x Reader

Music Inspo: Blackbird by The Beatles (click to listen)

Your desk was covered in Twix wrappers, multicolored gel pens, and empty cans of Coke. The new school year hadn’t even begun, and your desk already looked like a tornado had come by. Not to mention the fact that school started in almost three weeks and you hardly had any classroom books. You kept telling yourself it’s a high school English classroom, not a third-grade classroom. There’s a library down the hall for a reason, but the classroom barren of books drove you nuts. Your desk wasn’t shy to books though, as favorites of Harry had found a home on the dark wood.

Leaves of Grass.

Catcher in the Rye.

The Sun Also Rises.

Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.

Walking into your classroom on this sunny morning, the thought makes the smile on your face grow wider. Finally, you can say that you have your own classroom. The sight of the week-old books leaves the smile there on your lips. A laugh dances off of them at the sight of the Roald Dahl book, bringing you back to the memory when you found it there one morning.

You had asked Harry why he included it in the occasional stack of books he loaned to you. He said it’s required reading, because so few people know the movies are based on a book. You’re just wondering when he’s going to slip The Outsiders or Stuart Little under your door next.

The rows of ancient cream desks stare back at you, and you wonder just how you’re going to command a classroom in a few days. Well, seven of them to be exact. Then you try to remind yourself, for the twentieth time, that you’ve done this before. It won’t be so hard, then. Perhaps you’ll even have some past students, and that should help. Right?

You’ve barely gotten a few steps into your classroom, because of the thoughts muddling your mind. Sighing, you slip off your bag to leave on your chair. One that some days you don’t even sit in, because your legs are walking miles around your classroom, setting up. Thumbtacks are scattered across the expanse of your desk, reminding you of the unfinished walls. Before you can think about the posters sitting in the corner, a flash of pink catches your eye. Furrowing your brow, your eyes flit back to the flash of color.

It’s a hot pink Post-It note with messy handwriting in black ink.

Should I get us burgers or subs for the meeting we have today?

PS: You’re officially a teacher now with your own pad of Post-Its ;)

You’re sure that the insane happiness painting your face would look more at home on that of a teenager. Nonetheless, you can’t get rid of it, and you wouldn’t want to. This rings even more true when you see the note is stuck to a copy of Matilda. A warmth blossoms in your chest as you pick it up, running your thumb along the weathered edges. Ones you haven’t touched in ages, it seems. Within seconds you’re stepping into the hallway, thoughts knitting together in your mind. They’re from the love you have deep down for this story, a favorite book, and movie of yours as a child. The elation budding in your mind stops when you find his door closed, just as you had minutes ago. Unable to hide your disappointment, a pout tugs at your lips as you turn around.

“Ya gotta verdict already? Dat was quick,” a voice drawls from behind you. Your pout is a thing of the past, and a grin is making its way to replace it. Spinning around, your summery dress follows your twirling body.

A couple paces away, Harry stands at the top step of the staircase. His trademark brown leather backpack is slung over one shoulder. A black Fleetwood Mac t-shirt hugs his upper half, a black and blue flannel covering his arms. His old skool Vans echo down the hallway as he walks towards you.

“Well, I’ve already read it,” you inform him, observing his content smile turn into a confused one. “A couple of times actually. Once when I was 8, then some other times through the years.”

“Ah, so I got lucky and happened upon a lifetime favourite, have I?” he smirks, only a few steps away now.

“Mmmhmm,” you nod, your growing hair tickling your chin before you move it away. “When are you going to tell me what your favorite book is?”

“When ya finally guess it right,” he quips, stopping in front of you. A dimple falls into his left cheek as he shows off his sparkling teeth. Okay, sir, it is too early in the morning to be looking this attractive.

“I’m going to have to ask you to stop being so chipper when it’s only nine in the morning,” you tell him firmly, but it’s all for show. Poking his chest, your finger just hits pure muscle. Swoon.

“Then maybe wake up, already, birdy,” he chirps, the Raybans in his hair moving when his head goes from side to side. Chuckling, he grabs hold of your finger and tries to bite it, but you pull away in time. The mention of the recent pet name slows you down, but you haven’t gotten bitten yet. “Ya betta not fall asleep in today’s meetin’ like ya did last week.”

“I didn’t fall asleep, I was just resting my eyes!” you exclaim, throwing your hands into the air. His amused giggle greets your ears as he unclips his ring of keys from his blue jeans.

“Yes ya did, ya don’t getta lie t’ me, love,” he responds in between laughs, seemingly finding this more amusing than it really is.

“Oh, so John can fall asleep at meetings, but I can’t?” you ask, your voice raising with laughter and faux annoyance.

You watch Harry pluck his sunglasses from his head as you walk into his dark classroom. The streams of sunlight speckle desks and pictures donning his walls. As you flick on the light, the smell of oranges wafts over you again. The red bowl sat upon his desk filled with the citrus makes you feel at home, albeit his mere presence does that without fail.

“No, ya can’t. Sorry, love. I don’t make tha rules ‘round here.”

“Lame,” you sigh, paging through the book mindlessly as you fall into his new chair. He finally splurged and bought a comfy leather one that you steal every chance you can get.

“Want a Bit-O-Honey, honey?” Harry offers, pulling your eyes away from the familiar pictures. Grinning, you take the wrapped candy from his outstretched hand, trying to ignore the pet name. You find it hard to forget as you half look through the book and half watch him peel off his flannel. A sight, indeed.

“Wait, how’d you put this in my room if the door was locked? The other books you sneaked in when I stepped out,” you ask suddenly, working on the piece of hard candy in your mouth.

“I tol’ Marty tha janitor I forgot sumthin’ in yer room.”

You can hear the smirk in his voice even though his back is to you. A broad one at that. When he turns just the slightest to peek at you, you find crinkles around his glimmering eyes.

“Harry!” you scoff, your jaw falling to your chest, although not quite.

“Oh stop it, ya know ya like it.”

Groaning, you cross your arms over your chest in annoyance, but it doesn’t last very long.

“I don’t like all of these meetings,” you complain, throwing your head back onto the headrest. You flip to a page that makes you smile at the sight of cartoon Matilda.

“Get used t’ it, ‘s one o’ tha big differences between bein’ a sub an’ a salaried teacher. Shoulda just stayed a sub then,” he jokes, driving you to pick up a Bit-O-Honey and throw it at his head. Turning away from the things he’s unloading from his backpack, he whines. “Heeey! Watch dat arm o’ yers, ‘s a scary one. Maybe ya should be teachin’ gym class instead.”

“Sports are ew,” you reply, ducking when he throws it back at you. “Harry Styles, you stop it!” you manage in between giggles, finally closing the book.

“Oh ya, and what’re ya gonna do ‘bout it in t’ose heels, huh?” he teases, his hands leaving the pockets of his oversized backpack. “Ya gonna fly over t’ me, li’l birdy?”

Huffing, you set down the book on his neat desk. Placing his hands on his hips, he turns to you and sticks out his tongue.

“Oh, that’s it! You’re going to get it!” you threaten, standing from the chair as his laughter fills the room.

“‘m soooo scared, boohoo,” he teases with a fake sob, his fists mimicking wiping tears from his cheeks. Snickering, he returns to his backpack. “Go hang up yer posters in yer room and leave me be fer once.”

“You’re no fun,” you proclaim with a final whimper. Grabbing the book, you come up from behind him, softly hitting him with it on the shoulder.

“I warned you,” he retorts. Before you know it, he gently grabs your wrist and pulls you over to stand in front of him.

“Warned me about what?” you jest, a giggle wedging its way into your sentence as you drop the book onto a desk. You know that you’re getting on his nerves now. It’s the only time you’ve heard his teacher voice come out, but hey, you’re not complaining.

His thick eyebrows above those eyes raise, wrinkling his forehead tan from your days at the beach the last few months. Harry pushing you off a rope swing into the water, him bitching about doing all of the paddling during your canoe trip, not so accidentally drenching your back with water from his paddle, and head dunking competitions while swimming. The tan looks far better on him, you think, as you admire the sun-kissed freckles peppering his face.

“I told ya one time dat yer good at pushin’ me buttons, and here ya are doin’ it. I know I shoulda neva told ya dat,” he mutters, the curls atop his head dancing as his head rocks back and forth. The nervous laughter bubbling inside of you finds its escape, and you know that you’ve done it now. “But I guess ya jus’ don’t listen, do ya, bird?”

You can’t stop yourself, and there you are poking his dimple with your finger. This time, you squeal when it finds its way between his nibbling teeth. His name leaves your lips in a near shout which only grows worse as his fingers dance along your ribs.

“Stop, stop!” you cry out, but with no avail. His other arm comes around your middle to trap you with your back against a desk, despite your squirming. His other fingers dig into your sides before finding the soft flesh of your tummy.

“Stop bloody screamin’, yer gonna make e’rybody think ‘m murderin’ ya or sumthin’,” he titters. You almost give in at the sight of his crinkly eyes and the smile stretching across his face.

“And what if I don’t?”

“Then I might jus’ hafta find a way t’ shut ya up, my li’l bird,” he coos from above you, a brunette brow raising.

“Oh really?”

“Yes, really,” he hums, the tips of his fingers ghosting over your side now.

His bubblegum lips relax, falling into a knowing smirk. The laughs disappear from the both of you as his fingers still, resting on your side. The seconds tick by as your heart hammers in your chest, because his face is closer than it was a second ago. You gulp, suddenly finding the gold flecks in his eyes you didn’t know were there. Or the smattering of tiny freckles along his nose. That all becomes a thought of the past when his lips become the only thing you can think about as they near you. “Shall I?” Harry says in a breathy whisper, and you’re nodding even before his last syllable hits the air.

Your skin feels hot and prickly all over as your eyes fall closed, waiting for what happens next. The very thing you’ve dreamed of since that day you dropped the books in front of him. When he took off his shirt at the beach, revealing his toned chest covered in black tattoos. The charisma and kindness he carried at your very first meeting after you were hired, the beginning of you two being joined at the hip.

His lips are soft when he presses them against yours, and warm. He surrounds your lips with his slowly, as excitement rushes through you. A woodsy smell engulfs you when your nose brushes against his prickly cheek. His lips feel like velvet against yours with the slightest taste of Carmex chapstick. You’re sure he can feel the smile hiding on yours as his top lip fits between yours like a puzzle piece. His thin beard you’ve never seen him without tickles at your skin as your lips mold together. You can still feel the tingle on your lips after he’s pulled away. As well as the one that spreads across your body when those green eyes look into yours.

“See, I was right. It did get you t’ shuddup,” he mumbles, the blissed-out smirk on his face covering every inch of his skin. You’ve seen his nervous smiles and everything in between, but you’re certain you’ve never seen that smile before. Not that your face is any better, because right now it’s a competition between whose smile is bigger. It might just be a tie, and you wish there could be a tie-breaker.

“You should do that more often,” you smile, an uneasy laugh bringing an end to your risky words.

“I think ‘d be happy with dat.”

You try to tell yourself you’re glad his hands didn’t stray to your face, because he would’ve felt the heat of your tomato likened cheeks. There’s no use, because you want them there, but on your sides, as they are is better than nothing. It fills your stomach with multitudes of butterflies just to have your hands on each other.

His hands draw shapes into your back when you wrap him in a hug. The fresh smell of his citrus body wash fills your nose, your skin touching the fabric of his shirt.

“Ya gonna get all soft on me now, are ya?” he whispers above you, his cheek against the side of your head.

“Mmmhmm,” is all you can muster as you find yourself dragging the tips of your fingers along his side.

Raising your head to peek up at him, his eyes drop to you. “Good, I like ya dat way,” he murmurs, running his thumb along the roundness of your cheek. His tongue peeks out of his lips, held between his teeth. “Verdict?” he almost laughs, causing the butterflies inside of you to stir.

“I don’t know. I think I might need um, another sample,” you smirk, watching a corner of his mouth meet his cheek.

“Tha’s fair,” he agrees before dipping to plant another kiss to your lips. His lips are even more decadent a second time, and you quickly realize how addicting this could become. You realize it’s the only addiction you’d be okay with having as the tip of his nose caresses your cheek.

Your lips part with a soft smack, much too soon for your liking. “We should prolly get back t’ work,” Harry snickers, his breath against your face sweet from the caramel candy.

“Yeah,” you agree aloud, much to your dismay. “I’d give it an A, by the way.”

“Hmmm,” he thinks aloud, quirking his eyebrows in response.

“A long overdue one.”

“‘d say yer right there,” he echos, pinching your cheek between his fingers. Giggling, you pull away as your laughs mix with each other’s.

“Hey, Harry!” a voice calls, sounding far away.

You separate quickly, like two magnets repelling each other. It saddens you, but when a colleague steps into Harry’s classroom a moment later, you’re met with relief as you grab the book off the desk.

“Hi, Trent. Ya ready t’ see who falls asleep first in t’day’s meetin’?” he quips, stuffing his hands in his pockets, nonchalantly leaning against a desk.

“My money’s on John, for sure,” Trent jokes, pressing his red glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Oh hi, Y/N,” he says, greeting you. You wave with a small ‘hi’ as you stand at the edge of the classroom near the windows uneasily.

“I dunno, my money feels pretty good on her,” Harry teases, pointing a finger at you before winking.

“Whatever. I better go take my nap now that you reminded me,” you return, sauntering out of the room and into the hall.

Out of his presence, the butterflies take flight inside of you. A warmth fills your body all over when you reach the safety of your classroom. Closing the door, you fall against it with happiness jumping from the smile on your lips. Squealing with your hands held to your chest, you soon sigh at the thought of his lips. His lips soon being on yours again, and again, and again.

Exhaling, you step down from the chair and stare at your hard work. Nodding in approval, you straighten the skirt of your patterned mustard dress. The happy face of Anne Frank looks back at you from the enlarged poster of her autobiography. Dragging your feet over to your desk, you plop onto your brown spinny chair, ignoring your heels forgotten on the floor. You bask in the new ambiance of your classroom, feeling the pleasure from the new posters donning your walls.

The Diary of Anne Frank.

Ross from F.R.I.E.N.D.S saying ‘you’re means y-o-u a-r-e.’

The quote, ‘Never forget what you are, the rest of the world will not’ - Tyrion Lannister.

A funny grammar poster that makes you feel like an even bigger English nerd.

Frowning, the last poster in the corner sits there begging to be shown off, but you need help with it. After the events of earlier, you’re nervous to approach Harry. A sweet kind of nervousness, but nonetheless it’s there. Huffing, you grab the edge of the desk to pull you closer. Pressing play, the Queen song crawls from your laptop’s speakers, slowly filling the room. Clicking through your open windows, you finally find the unit plan you’ve been working on.

Voices carry down the hallway outside your door, but you can’t make out what they’re saying. Squinting, as if it will help your hearing, you then tilt your head to look out your half-opened door. Jackson from the nearby history wing walks by, laughing at something somebody said.

“Dis betta not be a bloody heavy desk, Jack,” somebody responds, amusement laced in their voice.

“Hey, I know that voice,” you softly whisper to yourself, your lips curling at its sound.

“You’re the one who agreed to help me! You can’t get out of helping me bring it in now, Harry!”

You hear the melodic sound of his laugh, perhaps one of your favorite sounds. The butterflies return when you let yourself think about getting to hear it as much as you’d like in these walls. 5 days a week for 9 months out of the year- well, something like that.

A couple seconds later, Harry zooms past your door saying, “Get t’ work!” in a mocking deep voice, winking.

“You!” you shout back, giggling to yourself with hot cheeks. You attempt to return your attention to the document open on your screen. It’s difficult, you find, because the thing consuming your mind is how nice Harry’s bum looked in those jeans.

Chatter pecks at your ears as you swivel in your chair, watching your new colleagues converse around the table. Your new boss laughs with somebody standing at the room’s front by the projector screen. Reaching forward, you pluck another carrot from your plate to nibble on nervously. Once again, you pull out your phone to busy yourself, only making you feel guiltier for not mingling. You’ve already said at least a ‘hi’ to everyone in this room already, and you have the rest of your career to get to know them, you tell yourself. Bouncing your leg, your eyes drift to the clock on the wall. Impatience spreads like a hot wave throughout your limbs, bringing your eyes yet again to the back door to the conference room. When is he going to get here, you guess fervently, counting down the minutes until the meeting starts.

A thud! surprises you when a white paper bag lands on the table in front of you.

“Hmm, I didn’t know ya were a jumpa,” a voice snickers, its owner soon coming into view in front of you. Harry. “Why ya lookin’ like a lost puppy, bird?” he coos, pushing out his bottom lip as he pulls out the chair to your right.

“I’m not,” you retort, continuing to scroll through Instagram, stopping when you see a picture of a Goldendoodle puppy.

“Yes, ya do. What, were ya wonderin’ what’d ya do if I didn’t show? Can’t have ya missin’ yer security blanket now,” he teases, poking you in the ribs with a glint in his eye.

“Stop,” you giggle, placing your phone face down on the table. Sitting up and eyeing the food, you pinch his thigh for good measure.

“Hey, watch those fingas, missy. They keep gettin’ ya into trouble lately,” he warns, tsking as his head goes from side to side. Opening the bag, he pulls out a familiar wrapped burger to hand to you.

“Thank you, I’ll pay you back.”

“Shhhh, ya can pay next time. Sound good?” Harry hums, flitting his eyes to you with an eyebrow raise.

You give him his answer with a nod before taking a bite of the cheeseburger. Your boss starts to tell everybody to find a seat so they can begin the meeting. Out of the corner of your eye, Harry sets a packet of fries in front of you. Shooting him a smile, he returns it as he feeds one between his happy lips. Chairs squeak and whine as they’re moved and sat in around the long table. Somebody nudges your foot, and to no surprise, you find it’s Harry. He holds out a covered paper cup, a red straw poking from the top. A ‘thank you’ is held in your smile and he just nods, slipping off his sunglasses to set down. Your attention is stolen by his fingers raking through his curls to put them back in place.

A thought pops into your head unwarranted, and consumes your attention as the principal speaks. I wonder if this means now I get to run my fingers through those curls, you ponder as you grab a fry. At the most inconvenient time possible, your mind starts to dig around. Doubts soon fill your thoughts, along with questions about what this will be with him. You try to push them away and lock them in a box, but they’ve done their job. Any smile left on your lips is gone now, and you continue to eat your burger quietly.

“Ya eat jus’ like a bird with t’ose li’l bites,” Harry whispers, scooting closer to the table to retrieve the packets of ketchup from the bag.

Turning to look at him, he holds a glowing smile in his eyes for you. His shoe knocks into yours and he leaves it sitting on top of yours. Take that, stupid brain, you announce to your thoughts as you affectionately bump your knee against Harry’s.

Reverting your thoughts to the towering figure speaking at the front of the room, a smile buds on your lips at the feeling of Harry rubbing his knee against yours.

Rubbing your hands across your eyes, you feel the breath leave you in a whoosh. Tapping the board with your electronic marker that’s a pen, highlighter, and an eraser in one, you drag it in zig zags. The scribbles on the board disappear in a flash. Suddenly, it falls from your hands when you feel a pair of arms surround your waist.

“Hiya, bird,” a voice says, pressing a kiss to your cheek. Their warm breath tickles the nape of your neck, and so does the collar of their shirt. Spinning around, you find Harry standing there, a pout forming on his face. The adorable Starry Night tie you bought for him hangs loosely over his cornflower blue button-down. “What, why won’t ya lemme hug you?”

“Harry, anybody could walk in,” you insist, prying his arms from your waist. Bending down, you pick up the pen and place it back in its holder with a click.

“All tha students are gone by now, babe. ‘s half past 3, and any dat are around are at practice. Tha last place they’d wanna be ‘s back t’ a classroom afta their first day o’ school,” he murmurs, wedging his way back into your good graces as he pulls you back into his arms. “I wanted t’ see how me birdy’s first day went. Sooooo, wha’s tha verdict?”

“It was good. A little overwhelming, though,” you hum in return, letting your head fall backward to fit against his cheek.

“It ‘s fer e’rybody, love, so don’t worry. It’ll get betta, jus’ hang in there. Tha first month ‘s nothin’, that’s tha honeymoon period befo’ e’rythin’ goes wild.” His lips brush against your cheek with every word, the feeling of his ticklish stubble something you’re not yet used to.

“Harry!” you scoff, turning your head to find his hairy cheeks creased with a devilish smile behind you.

“‘m kiddin’, well not really, but hey, ya got me t’ help ya through it all. Don’t fret, love,” he tries to assure you, brushing the back of his fingers along your side. “What was yer favourite part o’ yer day, hmm?”

“Seeing some familiar students from when I used to sub. It was nice to catch up with them and hear stories,” you reveal, looking down as you cover his hands settled on your tummy with your own.

“Mmm, that’s good. Familiar faces are always nice,” Harry mumbles, the point of his nose dragging along the expanse of your cheek. “Did I tell ya yet ya look really pretty in yer new dress?”

“Yes, you did. About three times, but thank you again.”

“Welcome, bird. I hope no teenage boys are crushin’ on ya now,” he jests, planting a loud kiss on your temple. The remnants of his minty piece of gum cover your face in a silent cloud as he laughs at his own joke.

“Yuck! Oh and like there aren’t dozens of girls fawning over you in your classes?” you chuckle, bringing a whine to his lips when you squirm in his arms. “Put that lip away.”

“Or what? Hmm, what’re ya gonna do ‘bout it? Ya can kiss it away like all tha girls in me classes wanna do, if ya want,” Harry smirks, wiggling his eyebrows at you once you turn around. Lifting a hand from his arm, it lifts to brush back the brown ringlets falling onto his forehead.

“You’re gross sometimes. It makes me wonder how I can kiss that potty mouth.”

“Well ya do, and ya sure seem t’ like it,” he winks, dramatically licking his lips with a loud slurp.

“Stop!” you exclaim, collapsing into laughter, your head returning to his chest. His hands clasp over your back, his thumb brushing your skin through the jade dress you wear. You’re grateful for your face hidden away in his chest for when you feel his lips pepper kisses from your temple to your neck. He leaves your skin tingling from his magical touch, and his growing curls leave a trail down your neck.

“I think dis year’s gonna be a good one,” he coos against your ear, letting his smooth nose brush against its lobe. “I got tha reason right here.”

“Can we do this though?” The words jump from your lips without a chance to catch them and shove them back in their safety.

“Do what, love? Kiss? ‘Course, ya jus’ take yer lips and my lips, and put ‘em togetha’ like dis,” he wisecracks, lifting your head to show you the humor painting his face. Puckering his flushed lips, he closes the space between you to press a peck to your waiting lips. Pulling away, he quirks an eyebrow at you in silent questioning.

“That’s not what I meant, Harry,” you continue, your words falling short of the thoughts buzzing around in your skull.

“Then what’d ya mean?”

“Can we, I don’t know . . ,” you begin, but you lose your footing. Leaving his arms regrettably, you almost lose your footing quite literally when he tries to hold on. A sound leaves his lips at your departure, but you try to ignore it. That’s easier said than done, you realize as you fight with yourself, wondering if you should say that word or not. “Date . . as colleagues?”

They they are, free to the wind. It feels like coming home and your heavy book bag leaving your shoulders, although this time it’s far less trivial. The similarity doesn’t ease your anxious mind as you stop in front of your desk, fingering at the note that greeted you this morning. A pink Post-It note smattered with his sometimes unreadable handwriting, resting on top of a box of novels he gifted to you for your classroom.

To my favorite teacher - I know you’ve been dreading this day for months, and looking forward to it, too. You’re going to do great. They’re going to love you. You’re not going to mess anything up. You got this, bird. Remember that. Take it easy on yourself. Remember, you have to take care of yourself, so then you can take care of them. You’ll learn from each other too. Just keep remembering pizza at the beach with me tonight to celebrate your first day.

Harry xoxooxoxoxo

“‘Course we can, as long as it doesn’t bleed into our work life. What d’ya mean?” Harry says, trying to inject lightheartedness into his words. You both can hear the failed effect they have, and they only make his words sound sadder.

“I don’t know, I don’t want to like, get in trouble, or something. I just started this job.”

“Oh,” is all he mumbles. Mumbled or not, you hear the finality in his one word. As well as all that it says with that single syllable.

Looking over your shoulder at him, you find the confirmation you needed knitting together his features. “Harry,” you say, turning the rest of your body to face him. He takes a step back, and now you know you’ve done it. “I didn’t mean it that way.”

“Then how’d ya mean it?” he retorts, coolness playing in his voice. He knows he’s done it, too. “Hmmm, bird? Ya only care ‘bout dat part o’ it - if we get caught and what people would think? Only wanna keep me a secret?” His words bite as he spits them into the air. They hit your face with a sting, but nothing compares to how he threw your nickname into the mud. The nickname you love, that happened all because of the first meal you shared together.

“Harry, don’t. You know that’s not what I meant- Y-you’re being ridiculous,” you press, stepping forward. It’s like one step forward and two steps back, because he continues to walk away from you. Quickly, your hands grow shaky as the feeling consumes the rest of your body.

“No, I know what ya meant. Or ‘s there mo’ ya want t’ say? Want t’ say dat ‘Oh, ‘s too risky, so maybe we shouldn’t do dis anymo’, even tho’ it makes us happy,’” Harry persists, his right hand lifting in question, before it falls with a slap to his thigh.

“We never even said what this was,” you try to say, but before you get any further, you know you’re just making it worse. You know that he’ll read into your words incorrectly and assume the worst, despite your true meaning. At the realization, your heart pounds harder in your chest. The look on his face like you just slapped him tells you all you need to know. “Harry, wait.”

“No, yer right. We neva said what dis was, but apparently ‘s nuthin’ worth labelin’ or takin’ risks fer,” he grumbles. His head falls with a spiteful smile, but when it lifts again something shatters in your chest. With wet eyes, he continues in a croaky voice, “Then why’d ya take tha job knowin’ I was mad ‘bout ya?”

Your lips wobble with his name dangling from them. When you try to walk over to him, you’re only two steps in when he holds a hand up. “No, don’t. ‘m glad ya told me early on. ‘m happy I didn’t already start fallin’ fer ya or anythin’. That’d be real shitty, wouldn’t it?” he wheezes, a strange smile tugging at his lips dealing failed sarcasm. Sniffling, a tear falls down his tanned skin and he brushes it away. With a shake of his head, he turns to walk out of the door. You know that you shouldn’t, but you let him, because you know you have to.

Collapsing at your desk, your head falls into your hands. Tears splash into your palms as your chest shakes, wondering just how you turned the best first day into the worst first day.

You know that a note won’t be there, but you continue to wish as your heels clack down the halls of lockers. You know that you’ll see his face no matter how hard you try to avoid him, and that it’ll hurt more than you thought it would. Although you prepared yourself, unlocking the door to your classroom and finding no notes from him hurts more than you suspected. The hurt only stings worse when you pass each other in the halls with your students trailing behind, eyes falling away instantly. The spark in the air is lost when he huffs, passing you on the way to the vending machine in the lounge, leaving as soon as he came. Although the hurt grew as the attacks came and went, nothing could prepare you for the absence of his notes that week. That was an eventuality you had dreaded thinking of since the day you found the first one, back in his classroom.

You tried at the very least, albeit an understatement. Notes dropped into his mailbox went unanswered, as well as texts and phone calls. Even the bag of Bit O Honeys failed at their messages of apology. A few times you thought about trudging into his classroom after the bell rang, and hashing it out. Each time you mustered just enough courage to do so, a staff meeting got in the way. Or, within 5 minutes of the bell, his door was locked and he was gone. Speaking of staff meetings, you suffered even worse at those. No longer was he your security blanket at your side, because he no longer saved you a seat. Slowly, the young and pretty visual arts teacher grew to get on your nerves as you watched her be a little too nice to him. He didn’t entertain her taunts and turn to you with a smirk to rub it in your face. No, he was a good guy, and you had to go and ruin it, or what was becoming of it.

He ignored you - at staff meetings, in the copy room, in the staff lounge, in the halls, when both of your classes were in the library - basically everywhere and anywhere. It was an understatement to say you suffered because of it. You had to buddy up with Jen, the poetry teacher. She took the brunt of your questions, whether technology-related or English related. You became fast friends, but unlike the easiness with Harry, you quickly felt you were a nuisance. That was something he never made you feel like, well, until now that is.

You made the mistake of getting your hopes up when you found a bag of Bit O Honeys in your mailbox one morning. That is until the white note on it told you in his writing to stop plugging his box with them. Instead, you tossed them on the counter in the staff lounge to share, never wanting to see those yellow and red wrappers again. Quickly, what you thought had become your dream job morphed into a nightmare. His face filled your thoughts day after day, and it especially distracted you when your mind chose the tear-stricken memory. It bled into your lectures and although it stung less when you saw him, without fail every day, it was messing with your mind. It didn’t help when you were beginning a unit on Romeo and Juliet and a student joked you could play Juliet and Mr. Styles could play Romeo, quite literally.

You had been staying after school every day to finish lesson plans, grade tests, reflect on teaching, and plan for the next day. The October chill that arrived this week only made you want to stay in your cozy classroom with the Autumn decorations you hung up. Soon, it would be Halloween and costumes would fill the halls. The thought pours memories into your mind, but a particular one sours the enjoyment for you. The memory of planning a matching costume with Harry. Jay and Daisy from The Great Gatbsy, like the English teacher nerds you are. Were.

Swallowing past the lump in your throat, you reach for your water bottle. A groan finds its way past your lips when you pick it up, only to find it's empty. Standing with it in your hands, you cross the room to your door. After a few steps into the hallway, your movements freeze at the sight of his open door. Biting back any hesitations, your hand shakes when it presses against the wood.

Something thrilling washes over you when you find his head bent over his desk. His left hand covered with varying rings props his head up as he marks the page with his favorite red pen. A Micron pen, but only you would know that. Pausing, he fiddles with the tan braces strapping his shoulders clad in a handsome white and gray checkered button-down. Words stick together inside of your mouth, and when you hear the click of your shoe, regret surges inside of you.

“I made a mistake,” you say, testing the waters, although you know they’re stormy. Clearing your throat, you hope the subsequent ones will come out louder and stronger, before he can stop you. Your galloping heart jumps when he lifts his head to look at you, a question painting his face. “I fucked up, and I could never say how sorry I am. I said the wrong things, and I didn’t mean them that way- that’s not the point . . . I miss you, Harry. You’re all I think about, even when I’m thinking of other things, or when I’m teaching. That’s how I know it’s bad, because even though it’s only been a month, it still hurts like it was yesterday,” your voice screeches to a halt. You take one step at a time as he watches you.

A curl tickles his bearded cheek, making you want to tuck it back into place, but you can’t. A crumb from a chip sits on his chin, making you want to brush it away, but you know you can’t. And neither can you whisk away the worry lines forming around his eyes.

“I need you, not just to help me figure out how to use a projector or what a conjunction is again. But I need to tell you about the good parts of my day, and even the bad parts. Because even though we haven’t talked for like a month, my mind still goes to you when something good happens, or even bad. Even my students tease that we should be together, so that says something,” you try your hand at joking, but he turns his attention back to his desk. “Harry, please. I’m sorry,” you plead with him, tears catching the last of your words.

“Sorry doesn’t jus’ make it all go away, bird,” he returns cooly. His head lifts ever so slightly, only to fall. As if he changed his mind a few seconds into a decision.

“I know, but I’ll make it up to you, I promise. I’ll buy you Bit-O-Honeys for the rest of your life, grade your papers, check your mailbox, or buy the next meals for a month. Anything.” The apologies run off of your lips, but he doesn’t say anything, nor do his actions. An exhale whooshes over your pursed lips as your nails dig into your clenched palms. Defeat covers your body as you turn to leave.

“None o’ dat takes away what ya said,” he announces painfully, the new fabric of his chair squeaking with his movements.

“I know,” you say automatically, a battle waging its way inside of you of whether to look at him. As if his words laced with hurt didn’t already leave you breathless. “So tell me what I have to do.”

“I can’t do dat, bird. Ya should know,” he sighs, clucking his tongue in disbelief.

Your eyes fall shut and your jaw clenches in anger, but the sweet smell of oranges brings you back to the moment. “I’m sorry that I made it seem like it wasn’t worth being with you, because it was, and I realized that even more after . . what happened. I’m sorry that it didn’t seem like I was dedicated enough, but I want to be a- I want to show you that I can be, and I want to be that to you. I’m sorry that I care too much about what other people think, because I only care what you think. It’s ripped me apart lately knowing that you hate me, and how you can’t even be around me, and . . ,” your string of words breaks off, stolen away by your onset of tears. They rumble through your chest with tremors, and the embarrassment brings your hands to your face streaked with them.

The howling of the wind hugs the windows, masking any other sounds. If there were, you can’t hear them, but you do feel something. His fingers wrapping around yours, pulling your hands away from your face.

“Ya gonna stop now befo’ ya make me cry too?” he hums, one corner of his lips turned up ever so slightly. With raised eyebrows, they pose the question to you. Nodding fast with hiccups stealing your words, he kneads your hands between his own. “Are ya gonna shuddup or am I gonna hafta make you?” Harry softly laughs.

“You’re going to have to make me,” you return, stumbling over your sobbed words.

“Good, was hopin’ ya’d say dat.”

Smirking playfully, he steps forward to cup your face in his hands. The callused tips of his fingers make quick work of the tears staining your face, as well as his lips. “Don’t cry, and don’t ever say dat I hate you,” he coos in between pecks to your wet skin singing with his kisses. “Don’t want me pretty birdy t’ cry no mo’.”

“Your bird doesn’t want to cry and be sad, and miss you anymore,” you whimper, trying to hold it all in, but it comes pouring out.

“Baby bird,” he pouts sadly, his rose lips round and extended. His brow presses into a sad line as the same emotion carries his words. “Lemme make it all betta.”

Nodding, you hiccup again as you cover his hands with yours. His subsequent smile warms your insides cold and aching from the long days without him. His lips bring a respite when they touch yours, ending the harsh drought. Kissing him back, you revel in the feeling of his unkempt scratchy beard against your face. Just one more thing you missed. Severing the kiss, you mumble an ‘I’m sorry’ against his chapped lips.

“Shhh, ‘s okay, love. I know ya are,” he tells you before bringing his lips back against yours. They move together slowly, welcoming the return of the other.

Your mouth falls to envelope his bottom lip in between yours, his facial hair feathery against your mouth. Hungrily, you kiss him and savor his familiar taste and smell. Fingers drifting to his hair, they return home to his buttery curls. His lips pull away only to plant another kiss against your mouth. Too soon, he breaks the kiss with a breathy laugh against your lips.

“My goodness, lemme breathe, love.”

“Sorry . . I missed you.”

“Ya sure did, bird. Think I missed ya a li’l more, though,” Harry chuckles as your hands fall from his locks. His thumb steals the last hint of a tear from under your eye. The amusement creasing his features disappears swiftly. “‘m sorry too, y’know. I overreacted, and I shouldn’t have put meself over yer job. It wasn’t fair o’ me t’ do dat. D’ya think I can have those Bit-O-Honeys back, or were ya serious ‘bout buyin’ me a lifetime supply?”

Groaning, you playfully shove at his chest, only to have him wrap you up in his arms. “I guess I was serious.”

“Hmm, ya don’t sound too serious ‘bout it, bird. But that’s okay, I got all tha honey I need right here,” he replies, planting a kiss atop your head nuzzled into his neck, swaying you back and forth. Nodding, you finally let yourself relax for the first time in weeks at the greeting of his sweet smell. One that feels like home to you. “Wait, yer students said we should be togetha? That’s funny, cuz so did mine.”

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dulcaet · 4 years

Text

paint my heart | yoongi

synopsis. you should have known that, over time, paint crumbles, and that time spare no one, not even the colors adorning your heart.

pairing. yoongi | reader genre. angst word count. 2,043 warnings. none

initially, there had been only an immensity of white. a simple, but gigantic, empty canvas ready to be offered to those wishing to add to it the most beautiful colors that existed.

the life you lived was lulled by neutral feelings; your smiles were real but not bright, your eyes lit but not sparkling. the days were passing by, some slowly, others more quickly. they were chaining each other to the rhythm of the clock hands in your kitchen. the work you had managed to get was perfectly supporting you financially and you took great pleasure in learning what the profession of a sound engineer consisted of. everything was fine. but everything could be better. and everything would become soon. unfortunately, you didn’t know that yet.

you'd never consider your life boring, but sometimes monotony could be hard to bear. it, who always stood behind you, like your shadow, to remind you of the lack of laughter, smiles, adventure in an empty, gray life.

weeks, and months passed, that infinity of white still painting your mind. no painter had put his brush on your canvas, not coloring it with pearly, colorful hues, which would form the most beautiful of the artwork: that of a fulfilling life.

then, suddenly, there was an infinite number of colors. a palette covered with paintings all different from each other. blue. green. yellow. red. purple. one had been searched for the most beautiful pigments in the world, carefully making from them colors that all the greatest painters could have envied.

it had started as a normal day, a day tinted in white. you had stopped in the break room to drink your coffee before climbed to the third floor to reach the studio where your superior was waiting for you. the habit having taken over the rest, you had not knocked, judging that your arrival had already been announced a few seconds earlier by a message from your part.

maybe you should have.

“i’m really sorry, i didn’t think this studio would be busy!”

nervousness had taken hold of your heart, dragging it into a frantic waltz. a man sitting on a sofa whose upper body was leaning towards the coffee table had turned to the door squeaking. a pen in the hand, fingers stained with ink, glasses placed on the nose. this face, no, this portrait perfectly drawn by the hand of the most talented painters, you had seen and seen it again. on social media, in advertisements, on youtube. not a day had passed without you noticing this face so beautifully carved.

and he had been standing in front of your astonished face.

he had smiled with all the kindness present in the world and had looked at the time on his watch before apologizing for exceeding the scheduled hour.

“hello.”

this exact moment was your first meeting with min yoongi. the first of dozens of others.

a smile drawn on your two faces, fingers intertwined, the streets of capital had never looked so pretty. the yellow of the streetlights, the orange of the car flashers, the red of the store signs. the moon at its highest point reflected your candid faces, illuminating it in white and pastel blue. she was watching you, smiling at this birth of love.

adoration was a feeling whose aura could almost be seen as powerful as it was. these heartbeats rhythmed in unison, these candid laughs, all these little special touches reinforced the beauty of the idyllic picture that was painting in front of the moon’s eyes.

“yoongi, look!”

one hand holding your straw hat so it wouldn’t fly away, the other pointing to a multi-colored bird on a tree branch whose leaves were colored with a resplendent green hue. the smell of freshly cut grass intoxicated passers-by, plunging them into a euphoria that only summer could provoke. this feeling of being invincible, encouraged by the rays of the sun whose reflections chase away the patches of shadows, the bad memories. the five silk trees formed a globe as enchanting above the park letting these so-called rays of light pass through. the sweet pale pink flowers lowered themselves and rose to the rhythm of the wind oh so quiet.

summer was your favorite season, it was synonymous with holidays, sunshine, tranquility. happy to be able to enjoy the good weather, little laughs escaped from your lips without you noticing.

the characteristic noise of a camera caught your attention. turning your head, eyes obstructed by strands of hair, your gaze rested on the man standing a few meters from you. he was smiling at his screen, fiddling with the buttons of the device. curious, it was with a bouncing step that you walked towards him, making your light white and pink dress twirl. arriving at his height, you lean towards him, tiptoeing to see what seemed to hypnotize him. a grimace on your face, you quickly put a hand on the screen to hide the picture.

“delete it! i’m hideous!”

“don’t say things that are impossible.”

the pupils trembling, you watched the surroundings, hoping to see yoongi’s silhouette. you had begun waiting more than three-quarters of an hour ago on the forecourt of the restaurant where you had booked a table two months ago. there was no apparent reason for this event, if not to celebrate your love. it had been several days since you had seen him because of his rehearsals, so, excited to finally spend an evening with him, you had got all dressed up.

however, the soft light of day had darkened, giving way to this vast world called the night. the delight that had hitherto decorated your face, making it up in the prettiest of ways, for joy had this powerful power, had disappeared, dropping that mask on the concrete ground. as the dim light of the streetlamp illuminated you, all the gravity of your face increased, painting a face of sorrow.

one hand was rubbing your upper arm, the wind chilling you, the other furiously tapping on your phone’s keyboard.

me to yoongi ♡

where are you?

helloooo?

please respond! it’s cold out there.

well????

yoongi ♡ to me

something came up. don’t wait for me. grab yourself something, i’ll pay.

a lump appeared in your throat, as did the pain that pierced your heart. you remained still, however, letting it spread in the hope that this horrible sensation would go away if not interrupted. what you did not know, for love blinded the heart and confused the thoughts, was that a piece of the first one was now laying at your feet.

a drop of grey paint fell on the canvas, staining the blue sky adorned with white clouds.

the clock above the kitchen counter reminded you how pathetic you were, standing until way too late at night in hope of catching sight of the man’s face you had got into the habit of calling your boyfriend. if you could still define him like this. a silence had taken place in the empty apartment, a silence that even seoul’s frenetic life could not break. you were sitting on the couch with your eyes staring at nothing but void. your pupils previously illuminated by the candor of love were no more than two impenetrable walls. you seemed empty, as empty as a hollow shell. your inner state represented the vision your apartment gave. whether it was the pieces of furniture, the frames hanging on the wall or the decorative plants; all were tinged in the same gouache.

nowadays, the colors had worn out. overtime, you supposed. time was, after all, one of the main enemies of love, especially when it became rare.

oh, how much you hated gray. it colored your life with a monotonous color where everything seemed sad, an impression so different from the explosion of colors that your retina had become accustomed to seeing. there was nothing but grey. grey everywhere. in your body, in your eyes, in your heart. the latter seemed to have been impregnated with it. it would not be surprising to see the normally red carmine liquid flowing through your veins turn into a grey color. a plain grey, without any reflection; there wasn’t light anymore.

no more conversations until late at night. no more encouraging little messages on your nightstand. no more signs of affection, whether expressed in the form of a kiss, an embrace or even a smile.

there was nothing left.

nothing more except a weariness that did not seem to want to leave your life. it was now an integral part of your routine. many times, you had wondered if you had become paranoid. yoongi was a busy man. everyone knew this detail about him, you knew about this and for a long time, this detail had been one of the reasons for your reluctance to engage yourself in this relationship. this fear, which was ubiquitous at each moment of your life. this fear was flowing in your veins. the fear of being sidelined.

for more than a year, he had succeeded in proving you wrong. he had shown you that even though his career was a source of significant demands and that his schedule would always be a delicate thing, the love he had for you would overcome that.

he had forgotten to point out that all these wonders would only last a while, the attractive illusion giving way to the harsh reality.

things had changed.

suddenly, as if in slow motion, your face, which had lowered in defeat, rose up when you heard the door open. without you being able to control your body, your eyes began to sparkle, your pupils dilated, your heart racing. overtime, through missed appointments, repeated absences, nights alone, you had learned to hate these physical reactions. how sad it was to achieve such a critical stage that your only possibility was to hate the love you had for him.

he did not undress nor did he take off his coat, merely heading to your room, whose sheets now seemed constantly frozen. not a look. not a word. it was almost as if you were just a mirage, something that didn’t exist or that wasn’t interesting enough to deserve attention.

“don’t wait for me, i’ll be late.”

the door was slammed, silence set in, a silence that was cut off by your sobs. you were crying, more than you had ever done in your life. in your tears came all the frustration, the sadness but also the pain that a lost love could cause to an already weakened heart. your thoughts were black, blacker than the ocean after a hurricane, your mind filled with disarming memories.

two long minutes passed. the grey darken. you swallowed, holding back a trembling sigh that reflected your sorrow. with your eyes focused again on your stress-bit nails, you ignored him when he came out of the room with a bag on his shoulders. this scene was recurrent, so recurrent that it was certain you could play it in your head. knowing this, no ounce of surprise crossed your mind when he uttered that sentence. that damn sentence.

someone once said, “happiness is screamed, sadness is written.”

you had always known how to transcribe your emotions perfectly on the paper. however, today, for the first time in your life, you faced a writer’s block. the page was blank of words, not strong enough to describe what you were feeling. a page that was soon flooded with tears, the revenge of this sadness that had been held back for too long.

min yoongi had never been yours. not even for a second. you should have known this. it had been obvious. you should have known his heart belonged to music.

with each of the tears that wet the notebook, making the black ink drool, it permeated the immensity of paper until there was only one color left to the eyes of everyone.

the canvas had now become black.

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renjinobankai · 4 years

Text

Another byaren fanfiction I found

Joy (joyinthedance)

2006-06-11 23:42:00

Title: “Captain Material”

Characters: Byakuya x Renji

Rating: NC-17, maybe.

Word Count: 2490

Warnings: Spoilers through end of Soul Society arc, and oh yeah, yaoi.

Disclaimer: If these guys were my property, I’d be happy for life. ^_^

Summary: This is just my take on how the definition of hotness (aka ByaRen) began.

Damn that Kurosaki Ichigo! Thanks to the boy’s interruption that day in the healing ward, Abarai Renji had never told his captain the really cool line that had been on the tip of his tongue. Afterwards, he had chickened out and made up some throwaway comment, because really, it didn’t sound that cool. It sounded pathetic. Pathetic to think that a street rat from Rugonkai could so much as lay a finger on the Kuchiki heir without throwing off the balance of the universe, much less confess the fact that his long obsession with surpassing his captain was more than mere rivalry. Renji was certainly competitive, but this passion went deeper than a drive to be the best, deeper even than the desire to show the frustratingly snobby noble that class did not determine ability. He had never realized what his feelings meant until Rukia’s rescue, but now it was impossible for him to deny them. However bitterly, however hopelessly, it was true: Renji was in love with Kuchiki Byakuya.

* * *

The Sixth Division captain was seated at his desk, facing a tidy but daunting stack of paperwork. Business had just begun to return to normal after the chaos surrounding the Aizen debacle, and the serious injuries both he and his lieutenant had suffered only compounded the problem. Being behind drove Byakuya crazy, but it wasn’t just his work that was bothering him. Somehow, something else felt unfinished, but what that was exactly was dangling just out of reach of his consciousness. He tried to concentrate, but his pen slipped and spattered ink across the page. With a silent curse he crumpled the paper and cast it into the empty wastebasket he seldom had the need for. He closed his eyes, trying to relax his furrowed brow and cleanse his mind of thoughts, but it was feelings, not thoughts, that were distracting him. He should have been able to suppress the beginnings of emotion before they even registered, but he found he could not. They bubbled up to mar the calm surface of the clear pool of his inner world, forming an image out of recent memory: Abarai Renji, his fiery hair pooling about his body like the blood he lay in, eyes fierce with a resolve unbroken by defeat. Again Byakuya felt the sensation grip him, a profound and conflicted intermingling of feelings, some of which he barely recognized as belonging to him…

“Taichou!” a familiar voice barked, and Byakuya’s eyes snapped wide open. Renji took a step back; it threw him off to see the usually imperturbable man appear so startled, almost embarrassed. Before the lieutenant could let out his breath, however, Byakuya had composed himself completely.

“Renji.” There was something unusual about the captain’s tone, but Renji couldn’t put his finger on it.

“I just thought I’d bring you some – ” Renji was struck suddenly by the way the moonlight illuminated the sleek black hair and the gleaming kenseikan that bound it. In that moment Byakuya seemed to be composed entirely of soft light and stark shadows…such ethereal beauty disarmed him.

“—uh, tea.” Renji finished, flustered. He quickly set the cup down on the desk, hoping the captain couldn’t detect the slight trembling of his hand that almost made the steaming liquid slosh over the rim and onto Byakuya’s meticulous work.

Byakuya’s face didn’t change, but he took the drink gingerly and immediately took a long sip. He was exhausted, Renji realized. Only with the recent chain of events had he begun to understand the burden that the older man carried and the strain he hid behind his aloof countenance.

“Thank you,” Byakuya said, setting the cup down and once again taking up his pen. It was a signal for his subordinate to leave, but Renji lingered.

“It’s late, Taichou. I was wonderin’ how long you were plannin’ to work tonight. I know you don’t wanna, but you need rest. You still haven’t completely recovered from your wounds.”

Byakuya raised one eyebrow as if to say that he had more than recovered, thank you, and that Renji should speak for himself.

Renji looked away. “Well I’m gonna head off to bed.”

Byakuya took another silent sip of his tea, but he didn’t take his eyes off the lieutenant. “Goodnight, Renji.”

Dammit! Renji thought as he closed the door behind him. Why does he always have to make things so damn awkward? They had never exactly been friends, but now that they had faced each other as enemies, a fog of unresolved tension had settled over their every interaction. Renji had grown accustomed long ago to the icy glares and disdainful words, but this was different. He couldn’t tell how Byakuya’s estimation of him had changed, or if it even had. Though Byakuya had ultimately come around to Renji’s point of view, the fact remained that the lieutenant had defied his captain and misjudged his character. Now that he understood Byakuya’s motivations better, Renji felt slightly ashamed of his rash actions. Not that he had done the wrong thing, he was sure of that, but he wondered whether he had done it the wrong way. Had he heard an extra helping of condescension in the noble’s voice as he pronounced his name? Or…could it possibly have been a trace of tenderness?

No, no, no! Renji thought. I can’t kid myself like that. Facing out from the balcony, he looked down at the lamplit streets of the Seireitei below him, and beyond that, Rugonkai…and above it all, the thin pale moon. He could not understand how two people could work together so closely and yet maintain such an insurmountable gulf between them, which he was not sure was growing or receding. Certainly it had widened as their ideological conflict had come to a head, and yet, in certain moments since then, the barrier had seemed to give way ever so slightly, like a veil fluttering in the wind. It was these fleeting glimpses that fed Renji’s desire. He wanted to have physically what he knew he could never have emotionally – that is, nothing between them. He sighed and turned around to leave, then stopped with a start as he found himself face to face with the very object of his thoughts. “K-kuchiki-taichou!” he stammered.

Byakuya looked only slightly surprised to see his lieutenant loitering outside his door. “Is there something you want, Renji?”

You bet there is, Renji thought, imagining himself pouncing on the unsuspecting Byakuya and pinning him against the door with a passionate kiss. How glorious it would be to cup that porcelain jawline in his hand, to weave his fingers thorough that night-black hair, to gleefully and spitefully and lovingly defile the captain’s untouchable dignity with his own raw and feral passion. Except, he realized suddenly, he was not imagining this at all. He was kissing Byakuya, and rather intensely at that.

Now you’ve done it, Renji you fool, he scolded himself as his tongue explored the warm recesses of his astonished captain’s mouth. You’re going to get yourself Senbonzakura’d to shreds again. But in that moment, it was worth it. Byakuya wasn’t exactly kissing back, but that didn’t matter. Just the sweetness of penetrating those perfect lips was enough. Renji kept his eyes closed, fearing that if he opened them he would wake from a dream – and also fearing to see the look on Byakuya’s face. At any rate, his other senses were giving him plenty to work with: the softness of that impeccable hair with its aroma of opulence, the flawless skin surprisingly warm under his fingers. Renji had his captain right where he wanted him, he realized with a thrill of delight. He had never felt so powerful in his life, and this heightened his growing arousal as his hand glided beneath edges of the noble’s robes.

Unfortunately for Renji, his newfound supremacy was short lived. Suddenly he was falling forward as Byakuya’s free hand grappled for the doorknob and the door swung back open into the room, taking the two shinigami with it. The impact broke Renji’s hold on Byakuya; he opened his eyes, and their mouths parted. If he kills me right now, Renji thought, at least I’ll go with no regrets. Finally daring to look, Renji saw the slight pink flush in the captain’s cheeks, and in those bottomless eyes, a glimmer of…what?

“I suppose I should not be surprised by your want of restraint, Renji,” Byakuya said as he pushed the door shut, “but if we are to proceed, it would be unwise to do so in such a conspicuous location.” Before Renji even had time to process the other man’s words, Byakuya was returning his lieutenant’s kiss with an intensity that betrayed real feeling. Even if his tongue hadn’t been otherwise occupied, Renji would have been dumbstruck by three simultaneous realizations: one, that he was still alive; two, that the notorious ice prince seemed capable of genuine passion; and three, that he enjoyed being kissed by Kuchiki Byakuya even more than he enjoyed kissing him.

As Renji recovered from his blissful shock and responded to Byakuya’s advance, they shared a moment of heated chaos: tongues fighting for dominance, ravenous hands moving of their own accord, robes loosening and falling open around sculpted shoulders. Then, before he realized it was happening, Renji was on his back, pinned to the floor and completely bereft of control. Renji’s eyes widened; Byakuya’s narrowed. “Really, Renji,” he said archly, “don’t tell me you expecting it the other way around.” He slipped a finger under the band that held back Renji’s hair and snapped it in two, letting the brilliant locks cascade over the floor as he moved in for another kiss with fierce, efficient grace.

Now Byakuya’s own hair was unbound and both shinigami were stripped to the waist. Byakuya’s tongue began tracing Renji’s tattoos with incredible lightness, lingering at a chiseled collarbone, a taut nipple, the contours of flexed abdominals. Though his tongue was warm, its electricity sent shivers over Renji’s body. It flickered along the edge of Renji’s waistband and paused there mischievously. Then Byakuya raised his head and just looked at the lieutenant for a minute, drinking in his body with his eyes. For a moment Renji appeared transfixed by the deep blue-gray gaze; then his arm shot out to untie the captain’s hakama in one swift pull. Byakuya’s eyes widened for an instant as the garment fell down around his ankles. So did Renji’s, but for a different reason.

“Caught ya off guard, eh Taichou?” Renji started to say, but he was silenced by aristocratic lips against his own. Byakuya undid Renji’s sash with one hand and buried the other in his scarlet hair as he deepened the kiss. Renji had given up hope of regaining dominance; it was enough to know that he of all people had reduced the aloof Kuchiki heir to this primal state. Byakuya’s tongue had recommenced its calligraphic dance down his lieutenant’s body, now unencumbered by clothing, continuing downward and taking Renji’s erection into his mouth. Renji moaned and arched into the motion that sent hot waves of pleasure coursing though him. You bastard, Kuchiki, he thought as Byakuya deftly teased his arousal to new heights, you’ve totally done this before. Once again the fear he might be dreaming seized him, but never in his most private fantasies had he dared imagine this sweet delirium. Just as he was up against the very brink of release, Byakuya pulled back.

“What the hell?!” Renji cried breathlessly. “What’dja stop for?! Don’t torture me like that, Bya – gaaah!” In his indignation he had sat up too quickly, allowing Byakuya to flip him in one quick maneuver. Renji suddenly found himself face down, still throbbing with need.

“It seems you have forgotten your place, Abarai-fukutaichou,” said Byakuya, as first one, then two slick and slender fingers prepared Renji for what was to come. Even now, Byakuya’s voice kept its collected, commanding tone, but its refined edge had given way to a lustful hunger. “Do you remember when I told you the difference between you and me?”

“Yeah,” Renji answered weakly, between gasps of painful pleasure. “Level.”

“You will find, Renji, that in some things, there are only two levels. Yours – ” Renji cried out as his captain entered him, “ – and mine.” Renji’s body burned with the delicious ache of Byakuya filling him, rocking him, pressing up against the deep core of his desire. He squeezed his tearing eyes shut and his breath came in ragged moans as Byakuya drove hard into him again and again. Somewhere, he felt hands, lips, teeth, nails, heaven, pain, more heaven…everything blurring in the blinding pleasure. Years of being disparaged, reprimanded, and even imprisoned now seemed to Renji like torturous foreplay leading up to this impossible yet inevitable moment. His whole body belonged to Kuchiki Byakuya, and Renji couldn’t have wanted anything more. Their rhythm quickened, and their glistening, quaking bodies seemed to fuse together, scarcely able to contain the rising energy between them. Renji braced himself as his captain’s thrusts intensified, feeling the heat within him breach its threshold. “Byakuya – !” he managed to cry, wracked by the throes of climax. For an instant they were equals as they both came at once and collapsed on the thin carpet of discarded clothing.

They lay there, damp and fatigued and silent, as their breathing gradually returned to normal. Finally, feeling confident that it was safe to move of his own volition, Renji looked up to meet his captain’s eyes. Byakuya looked spent, and absolutely radiant. Renji had never seen him look so beautifully human. For someone who had just been ravished, Renji was feeling exceedingly proud of himself. “Well, what did you think, Kuchiki-taichou?” he asked, flashing a roguish grin. “Was I captain material?”

“Don’t be cheeky, Renji,” replied Byakuya before kissing his forehead with a touch as soft as a single cherry blossom.

Renji closed his eyes. His life had just gotten amazingly better. And, he realized, much more complicated. How were they supposed to keep this under wraps? Could he make it back to his room unseen? Where were his clothes, anyway? Oh, yeah.“Um, am I supposed to go back to my room in…this?” Renji asked, lifting up one rather wrinkled and less-than-clean sleeve of the robes they had substituted for sheets.

Byakuya looked down at his own uniform and once-pristine white captain’s cloak, which had also seen better days. Trailing a smooth hand across his lieutenant’s shoulders, he replied, “That depends on whether you decide to go back to your room.”

Renji managed to mask his giddy delight with his well-honed sarcasm. “Somehow I get the feeling this isn’t really my decision.”

“Catching on, are we?” Byakuya smirked. “You always have been a fast learner, Renji.”

Renji just smiled. Sex and a compliment from Byakuya in one night.

He wasn’t sure which surprised him more.

#anime bleach #anime #fanfiction #byaren #abarai renji #kuchiki byakuya #byakuya x renji #yaoi

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harleenqzel · 4 years

Text

LANA DEL REY LYRIC MASTERLIST

Below the cut is a masterlist of lyrics from Lana Del Rey’s Various songs & albums from 2012 to 2019 ( Norman Fucking Rockwell, Lust for Life, honeymoon, Ultraviolence, Paradise, & Born to Die ). These can be used as Verse Titles, Memes, and overall Quotes/Lyrics. There are a total of ~843 different lines.

As to be expected some lyrics are explicit and contain references to drugs, alcohol, and sex among other adult themes.

NORMAN FUCKING ROCKWELL (2019)

norman fucking rockwell

You fucked me so good that I almost said, "I love you"

Cause you're just a man, It's just what you do

You talk to the walls when the party gets bored of you

Why wait for the best when I could have you?

You make me blue

mariners apartment complex

You took my sadness out of context

I ain't no candle in the wind

I'm the board, the lightning, the thunder

[i’m the] Kind of girl who's gonna make you wonder who you are and who you've been

Maybe I could save you from your sins

Kiss the sky and whisper to Jesus

You lose your way, just take my hand /You're lost at sea, then I'll command your boat to me again / Don't look too far, right where you are, that's where I am

They mistook my kindness for weakness

Catch a wave and take in the sweetness / Think about it, the darkness, the deepness

Even in the dark I feel your resistance

venice bitch

The summer fades away / Nothing gold can stay

Paint me happy and blue

If you weren't mine, I'd be jealous of your love

fuck it i love you

I like to see everything in neon

Maybe the way that I'm living is killing me

I moved to California, but it's just a state of mind / It turns out everywhere you go, you take yourself

Dream a little dream of me, make me into something sweet

Fuck it, I love you / I really do

Wish that you would hold me or just say that you were mine

If I wasn't so fucked up, I think I'd fuck you all the time

California dreamin', I got my money on my mind

Drugs is in my veins, running out of time

doin’ time

Summertime, and the livin's easy

I love her so bad, but she treats me like shit

Take this veil from off my eyes

My burning sun will, some day, rise

Ornery, scandalous and evil, most definitely

I'd like to hold her head underwater

love song

We go so fast, we don't move

I'm a star and I'm burnin' through you

Be my once in a lifetime

[I] would like to think that you would stick around

You know that I'd just die to make you proud

Touch me anywhere 'cause I'm your baby

I believe that you see me for who I am

Is it safe to just be who we are?

cinnamon girl

You try to push me out but I just find my way back in

There's things I wanna say to you / But I'll just let you live

If you hold me without hurting me, you'll be the first who ever did

Kerosene in my hands, you make me mad, I'm fire again

how to disappear

The waves came in over my head

All of the guys tell me lies, but you don't

This is how to disappear

Cuts on his face 'cause he fought too hard

He's in over his head

He moves mountains and pounds them to ground again

I think about those years

I'm always going to be right here / No one's going anywhere

california

You don't ever have to be stronger than you really are

I wanted to reach out, but I never said a thing / I wanted to call you, but I didn't say a thing

This is crazy love, I'll catch you on the flip side

We'll do whatever you want, travel wherever how far

You're scared to win, scared to lose

Changing like the weather, oh, that's so like you

the next best american record

My baby used to dance underneath my architecture

We gave all we had

'Cause we were just that good / It was just that good

Whatever's on tonight, I just wanna party with you

You made me feel like there's something that I never knew I wanted

We lost track of space / We lost track of time

It's you, all the roads lead to you

I see you for who you really are

the greatest

I miss dancin' with you

Those nights were on fire / We couldn't get higher

We didn't know that we had it all

But nobody warns you before the fall

Don't leave, I just need a wake up call

I guess I'm signin' off after all

I want shit to feel just like it used to

I guess that I'm burned out after all

"Life on Mars" ain't just a song

bartender

Sometimes girls just want to have fun

The poetry inside of me is warm like a gun

I'm just tryna keep my love alive

Hold me all night

Our love's alive

Baby remember, I'm not drinking wine

Our love's sweet enough on the vine

Wearing white for their tea parties

Meditating in the garden

I love the little games that we play

When at last the day is done / I grab my keys

They don't yet know where I reside

60 miles from the last place I hide

happiness is a butterfly

Do you want me or do you not?

I heard one thing, now I'm hearing another

Happiness is a butterfly / Try to catch it like every night

It escapes from my hands into moonlight

Every day is a lullaby

If he's a serial killer, then / what's the worst that could happen to a girl who's already hurt

I'm already hurt

I guess I'm cursed

Looking into his eyes, I think he's already hurt

Don't be a jerk, don't call me a taxi

Sitting in your sweatshirt, crying in the backseat

I was one thing, now I'm being another

I lose myself in the music

hope is a dangerous thing for a woman like me to have - but i have it

Smiling for miles in pink dresses and high heels on white yachts

I've been tearing around in my fucking nightgown

Writing in blood on my walls

The ink in my pen don't work in my notepad

Don't ask if I'm happy / You know that I'm not

At best, I can say I'm not sad

Hope is a dangerous thing for a woman like me to have

Church basement romances

Calling from beyond the grave

Like a goddamn near sociopath

She couldn't care less, and I never cared more

There's no more to say about that

There's a new revolution / A loud evolution

Born of confusion and quiet collusion

A modern day woman with a weak constitution

I've got monsters still under my bed that I could never fight off

LUST FOR LIFE (2017)

love

Look at you kids with your vintage music

You're part of the past, but now you're the future

Signals crossing can get confusing

You get all dressed up to go nowhere in particular

Doesn't matter 'cause it's enough to be young and in love

The world is yours and you can't refuse it

Seen so much, you could get the blues but that don't mean that you should abuse it

It doesn't matter if I'm not enough / For the future or the things to come

lust for life

In these stolen moments, the world is mine

Keepin' me hot like July

We're the masters of our own fate

A lust for life keeps us alive

My boyfriend's back and he's cooler than ever

There's no more night, blue skies forever

They say only the good die young

There's no stopping now, green lights forever

13 beaches

I don't belong in the world / But that's what it is

Something separates me from other people

Everywhere I turn / There's something blocking my escape

It took thirteen beaches to find one empty

I'm camera ready almost all the time

But I still get lonely

Let your memory dance in the ballroom of my mind

It hurts to love you / But I still love you

I still love you, it's just the way I feel

I've been dying for something real

Finally I'm fine

In the white sunshine

You can still find me if you ask nicely

Underneath the pines with the daisies, feeling hazy

cherry

Real love, it's like feeling no fear / When you're standing in the face of danger

It's like heaven taking the place of something evil

I fall to pieces when I'm with you

And all of my peaches are ruined

It's like smiling when the firing squad's against you / And you just stay lined up

My rose garden dreams, set on fire by fiends

And all my black beaches are ruined

white mustang

Packing all my things for the summer

Lying on my bed it's a bummer / 'Cause I didn't call when I got your number

But I liked you a lot

Slippin' on my dress in soft filters

Everybody said you're a killer, but I couldn't stop the way I was feeling

Caught up in my dreams and forgetting

I've been acting like armageddon ['cause you] Held me in your arms just a little too tight

Summer's meant for loving and leaving

I was such a fool for believing / that you could change all the ways you've been living

You're gonna hit me like lightening

summer bummer

It's never too late to be who you wanna be

Leave if you wanna leave / Stay if you wanna stay

I got a feeling in my bones / Can't get you out of my veins

You can't escape my affection

Wrap you up in my daisy chains

Let's skip the games, let's quit the playin'

Between you and me I'm usually single

White lies and black beaches

Miles in between us

We traveled for weeks, just to escape your demons

groupie love

You're in the bar, playing guitar / You're in the club, living it up

It's so sweet, swingin' to the beat

I know that you're doing it all for me

Every time you look up I know what you're thinking of

Time after time, writing my lines

This is my life, you by my side

Key lime and perfume and festivals

Taking our dreams, turning them to things

It's like magic, babe, isn't life wonderful?

in my feelings

I'm smoking while I'm runnin' on my treadmill

I'm cutting up roses, could it be that I fell for another loser

I'm crying while I'm cummin' / Sobbin' in my cup of coffee

Get that cigarette smoke out of my face

You've been wasting my time

Talk that talk, well now they all know your name

There's no coming back from the place that you came

You got me in my feelings

Talking in my sleep again

Who's tougher than this bitch

I'm feeling all my fucking feelings

I'm laughing as I'm taking my prisoners

In the smoke they can hear me coming

If you were me, and I was you / I'd get out of my way

Got me feeling so blue make a mess of the love

coachella - woodstock in my mind

For a minute it was Woodstock in my mind

They put out the warning tensions were rising over country lines

I turned off the music tried to sit and use it

All of the love that I saw that night

What about all these children and what about all their parents

What about about all their crowns they wear

Wrapped up like garland roses 'round their little heads

I'd trade it all for a stairway to heaven

I'd trade the fame and the fortune and the legend

Critics can be so mean sometimes

Doesn't take a genius to know what you've got going and to

Got a million things I wanna say

What is it all for? Will it be okay

god bless america - and all the beautiful women in it

Take me as I am

Only you can save me tonight

There's nowhere to run, nowhere to hide

You let me in, don't leave me out or leave me dry

Even when I'm alone i’m not lonely

I hear the sweetest melodies on the fire escapes of the city

God bless America, and all the beautiful women in it

Take me as I am don't see me for what I'm not

With you I've got nothing to lose

when you talk that talk with those lips I'm most certain in hell

when the world was at war we kept dancing

Don't forget your pearls and all of your horses

As you make your way across the pond, don't forget your curls

Memorize them in a little song

Shake it up, throw your hands up and get loose

Is it the end of an era?

It's only the beginning

If we hold on to hope we'll have a happy ending

If you find you're in a foreign land don't make too much noise

Don't try to be funny / Other people may not understand

beautiful people beautiful problems

Blue is the color of the planet from the view above

Long live our reign, long live our love

Green is the planet from the eyes of a turtle dove / 'Til it runs red, runs red with blood

We get so tired and we complain 'bout how it's hard to live

But we're just beautiful people with beautiful problems

Warm is the body of the girl from the land he loves

My heart is soft, my past is rough

Something close to like a sugar rush

But is it wasted love? / It's not wasted love

But we gotta try every day and night

tomorrow never came

Hey, what you doing?

Baby don't ask me why

On that side of paradise

If I had my way you'd would always stay

I'll be your tiny dancer, honey

I waited for you / In the spot you said to wait

In the city, on a park bench in the middle of the pouring rain

I just wanted things to be the same / You said to meet me out there tomorrow but tomorrow never came

I wish we had stayed home

I could put on the radio to our favourite song

heroin

The rumbling from distant shores sends me to sleep

The facts of life can sometimes make it hard to dream

Grab me by the ribbons in my hair

Life rocked me, ultra-softly like the heavy metal that you wear

Flying to the moon again / Dreaming about heroin

Probably gave you everything And took your life away

I put you on an aeroplane destined for a foreign land

My hopes that you come back again / And tell me everything's Okay

I want to leave, I'll probably stay another year / It's hard to live when absolutely nothing's clear

Something 'bout this weather made these kids go crazy / Something 'bout this sun has made these kids get scary

I'll be lying if I said I wasn't sick of it

Taking all my medicine to take my thoughts away

I hope that I'd come back one day

Don't know what it is that makes my head get crazy

change

There's something in the wind I can feel it blowing in

Lately I've been thinking it's just someone else's job to care

Who am I to sympathize when no one gave a damn?

Change is a powerful thing people are powerful beings

Maybe by the time this song is done I'll be able to be honest, capable

Holding you in my arms without letting you fall / When I don't feel beautiful

Maybe it's enough to just be where we are because

Everytime that we run we don't know what it's from

There's something in the water I can taste it turning sour / It's bitter, I'm coughing but now it's in my blood

get free

Finally, I'm crossing the threshold / From the ordinary world to the reveal of my heart

Take the dead out of the sea and the darkness from the arts

I'm doing it for all of us

All my birds of paradise who never got to fly at night

It feels like I've got a war in my mind, I want to get off but I keep riding the ride

I never really notice that I had to decide to play someone's game or to live my own life and now I do

Out of the black, Into to the blue

Gone is the burden of the crawling way of being

We're not in your right mind

There's no more chasing rainbows / Their arches are illusions

You try to touch them, there's nothing to hold on to

HONEYMOON (2015)

honeymoon

Don't go 'cause truly there's nobody for you but me

We could cruise to the blues

The history of violence that surrounds you

There's nothing to lose now that I've found you

There are violets in your eyes / There are guns that blaze around you / There are roses in between my thighs

music to watch boys to

Singing soft grunge just to soak up the noise

I've been sent to destroy

I know what only the girls know

Lies can buy you eternity

terrence loves you

I don't matter to anyone

I lost myself when I lost you

I won't change you for anything

Isn't strange that you're not here with me

I know the light's on in the television

god knows i tried

Sometimes I wake up in the morning, To red, blue, and yellow skies / It's so crazy I could drink it like tequila sunrise

Dance around like I'm insane

I feel free when I see no one, and nobody knows my name

God knows I live / God knows I died / God knows I begged, borrowed and cried /God knows I loved / God know I lied /God knows I lost / God gave me life / And God knows I tried

Sometimes I wake up in the morning, to red, blue and yellow lights

On Monday they destroyed me, but by Friday I'm revived

I've got nothing much to live for

Light up my life

high by the beach

Look at you looking at me

I know you know how I feel

Loving you is hard, being here is harder

I don't wanna do this anymore, it's so surreal

I can't survive if this is all that's real

All I wanna do is get high by the beach

The truth is I never bought into your bullshit

You could be a bad motherfucker / But that don't make you a man

Now you're just another one of my problems / Because you got out of hand

We won't survive we're sinking into the sand

Don't need your money to get me what I want, i’ll do it on my own

Everyone can start again

Not through love but through revenge

Through the fire, we're born again

Peace by vengeance brings the end

freak

Flames so hot that they turn blue

Palms reflecting in your eyes, like an endless summer

That's the way I feel for you

If time stood still I'd take this moment, make it last forever

Screw your anonymity

Loving me is all you need to feel

Talk till we both turn blue

Life makes sense when I'm with you

Looking back, my past, it all seems stranger than a stranger

It's like I told you, If you stay, I'll stay

art deco

You're not mean, you just want to be seen

Want to be wild

A little party never hurt no one

You want in but you just can't win

Shining like gun metal, cold and unsure

When they all say hello you try to ignore them

You put your life out on the line

religion

Everything is fine now

Let's sleep in the dark's day

All our minds made up now, all our beds are made

No one's out of time, no chips fall wherever they may

Leave it all behind, let the ocean wash it away

It never was about the money or the drugs / It never was about the party or the clubs

'Cause you're my religion, you're how I'm living

When I'm down on my knees, you're how I pray

Hallelujah, I need your love

Everything is bright now no more cloudy days

Even when the storms come, in the eye we'll stay

No need to survive now, all we do is play

salvatore

Everything looks better from above my king

Like aqua marine, ocean's blue

All the lights are sparkling for you it seems

I adore you, can't you see, you're meant for me?

Summer's hot but I've been cold without you

the blackest day

I don't really wanna break up

It's not easy for me to talk about a half-life in lost dreams

And not simple, it's trigonometry

It's hard to express I can't explain

Ever since my baby went away it's been the blackest day

Because I'm going deeper and deeper, getting darker and darker

don't wanna talk about the things to come

Looking for love in all the wrong places

I got you where I want you

I'm falling for forever

I'm playing head games with you

There's only 24 hours in a day, and half as many ways for you to lie to me

Half of those, you lay awake with thoughts of murder and carnage

If you lie down with dogs, then you'll get fleas

Be careful of the company you keep

Lie like you lie

Love like you love

There's only 24 hours in a day and half of those you lay between the sheets with me

Give me your heat

Give me your diamonds

And my crooked lust

You count to three while they're all dying

You're hard to reach

You're cold to touch

swan song

Why work so hard when you could just be free?

You got your moment now, you got your legacy

Let's leave the world for the ones who change everything

Nothing could stop the two of us

Let's just get lost, that's what we want

With just one wave it goes away

Dive in, dive deep in dark blue suede

Rushing up from the water where the ice meets

And you've been gone so long, you missed everything

Say good night to the life in the world we live

don’t let me be misunderstood

Don't you know no one alive can always be an angel?

When everything goes wrong, you see some bad

But I'm just a soul whose intentions are good

Oh Lord, please don't let me be misunderstood

Sometimes again it seems that all I have is worry

I want you to know I never meant to take it out on you

Life has its problems and I get more than my share

Baby, I'm just human

Don't you know I have faults like anyone?

ULTRAVIOLENCE (2014)

cruel world

Share my body and my mind with you

There's not anymore I can do

And I like my candy and your women

I'm finally happy now that you're gone

Because you're young, you're wild, you're free

You're dancing circles around me

You're fucking crazy

I love your women and all of your heroin

Everybody knows that I'm a mess

ultraviolence

I was filled with poison but blessed with beauty and rage

He hit me and it felt like a kiss

This is ultraviolence

I can hear sirens

He used to call me poison, like I was poison ivy

I could've died right then

He hurt me but it felt like true love

[Jim] taught me that loving him was never enough

Crying tears of gold, like lemonade

shades of cool

My baby lives in shades of blue

And when he calls he calls for me, not for you

I can't fix him, can't make him better

I can't do nothing about his strange weather

I can't break through your world

Your heart is unbreakable

He prays for love, he prays for peace

brooklyn baby

They say I'm too young to love you

I don't know what I need

They think I don't understand

I think I'm too cool to know ya

You say I'm like the ice I freeze

You say I'm too dumb to see

They judge me like a picture book, by the colors, like they forgot to read

I think we're like fire and water / I think we're like the wind and sea

If you don't like it you can beat it

You never liked the way I said it

If you don't get it, then forget it so I don't have to fucking explain it

I get high on hydroponic weed

Yeah my boyfriend's pretty cool but he's not as cool as me

west coast

That's why I'm leaving you for the music

I push it hard you pull away

I'm feeling hotter than fire

There's no one else that brings me higher than higher

You say you miss me and I wanna say I miss you so much but something keeps me really quiet

sad girl

It might not appeal to fools like you

He's got the fire and he walks with fame

Being a bad bitch on the side

We've been around when he gets high

pretty when you cry

All the pretty stars shine for you

Am I the girl that you dream of?

You make me feel like your whole world

I'll wait for you, babe, that's all I do

I'm pretty when I cry

All those special times I spent with you, my love, they don't mean shit compared to all your drugs

Like my memories, I don't need that

Don't say you need me when you're leaving

money power glory

How are we supposed to get there

That's not what this bitch wants

I want money, power and glory

I wanna take you for all that you got

The sun also rises on those who fail to call

My life, it comprises of losses and wins and fails and falls

fucked my way up to the top

Lay me down tonight in my linen and curls

I fucked my way up to the top

This is my show

I'm a dragon, you're a whore

Mimicking me is a fucking bore to me

Lay me down tonight in my diamonds and pearls

Tell me songs at night about your favorite girl

Need you baby, like I breathe you

old money

Where have you been? Where did you go?

Those summer nights seem long ago

But if you send for me, you know I'll come / And if you call for me, you know I'll run

Sunsets, small town, I'm out of time

Will you still love me when I shine from words but not from beauty

My father's love was always strong / My mother's glamour lives on and on

Yet still inside, I felt alone for reasons unknown to me

black beauty

I paint my nails black / I dye my hair a darker shade of brown

I paint the sky black

It suits the mood of your soul

Nothing, my sparrow blue

Life is beautiful but you don't have a clue It don't make sense to you

Paint the house black

My wedding dress black leather, too

You have no room for light

Love is lost on you

I keep my lips red, they seem like cherries in the spring

Darling, you can't let everything seem so dark blue

guns and roses

Heavy metal love of mine

I should have learned to let you stay

You didn't want me all the time but you were worth it anyway

You were so much better than the rest of them

Out of all the others you were the honest man

I should have learned to let you play

I wasn't the marrying kind I should have done it anyway

Back to the promised land

I can feel it coming in the air tonight

I can see you bathing in the summer light

You got game boy

florida kilos

They're special, just for you

Loving you is free

I like it down way low

Prison isn't nothing to me, if you'll be by my side

Sun in my mouth and gold hoops

We could get high in Miami

PARADISE (2012)

ride

I've been out on that open road

Singing blues has been getting old

You can be my full time, baby, Hot or cold

Don't break me down

I've been travelin' too long, I've been trying too hard

I hear the birds on the summer breeze, I drive fast / I am alone in the night

Been tryin' hard not to get into trouble, but I've got a war in my mind

So, I just ride

Dying young and I'm playing hard

Drink all day and we talk 'til dark / That's the way the road doves do it, ride 'til dark

I'm tired of feeling like I'm fucking crazy / I'm tired of driving 'till I see stars in my eyes

I look up to hear myself saying, baby

american

Play house, put my favorite record on

Flirting with the girls like you're so pretty

You make me crazy, you make me wild

Be young, be dope be proud

Drive fast, I can almost taste it now

I don't even have to fake it now

You're way ahead of the trend

Honey put on that party dress

I don't really want the rest, only you can take me there

I don't even know what I'm saying but I'm praying for you

cola

My pussy tastes like Pepsi Cola / My eyes are wide like cherry pies

I got sweet taste for men who're older /It's always been so it's no surprise

We can escape to the great sunshine

I know your wife and she wouldn't mind

I wear my diamonds on skid row

I pledge allegiance to my dad, for teaching me everything he knows

Don't treat me rough, treat me really nice

body electric

Jesus is my bestest friend

We don't need nobody, 'cause we got each other / Or at least I pretend

We get down every Friday night

Mary prays the rosary for my broken mind

I sing the body electric / I’m on fire

My clothes still smell like you and all the photographs say you're still young

I pretend I'm not hurt and go about the world like I'm havin' fun

blue velvet

She wore blue velvet / Bluer than velvet was the night

Softer than satin was the light From the stars

Warmer than may her tender sighs

Ours a love I held tightly

Feeling the rapture grow like a flame burning brightly

But when she left, gone was the glow

I still can see blue velvet through my tears

gods & monsters

In the land of gods and monsters

I was an angel living in the garden of evil

Screwed up, scared, doing anything that I needed

Shining like a fiery beacon

You got that medicine I need / Fame, liquor, love, give it to me slowly

Put your hands on my waist, do it softly

Me and God, we don't get along

No one's gonna take my soul away

Headed towards a fucked up holiday

Fuck yeah give it to me, this is heaven, what I truly want

It's innocence lost

I was an angel, lookin' to get fucked hard

Life imitates art

Dope, shoot it up straight to the heart please

I don't really wanna know what's good for me

God's dead, I said 'baby that's alright with me'

When you talk it's like a movie and you're making me crazy

If I get a little prettier, can I be your baby?

You tell me life isn't that hard

yayo

I like the snake on your tattoo

I like the Ivy and the Ink blue

You have to take me right now / From this dark trailer park

Put me onto your black motorcycle

Fifties baby doll dress for my 'I do"

It only takes two hours to Nevada

I wear your sparkle

You call me your mama, Let me put on a show for you daddy

Let me put on a show

Need you like a drug

Hello Heaven / You are a tunnel lined with yellow lights

bel air

Gargoyles standing at the front of your gate

Trying to tell me to wait, but I can't wait to see you

So I run, like I'm mad, to heaven's door / I don't wanna be bad

I won't cheat you no more

I've been waiting to meet you / Darling I'm waiting to greet you

The violentest kind of love anywhere out there

Mon amour, sweet child of mine, You're divine

Didn't anyone ever tell you / It's okay to shine?

Don't be ashamed / Walk in the way of my soft resurrection

I know your name

Lead me to war with your brilliant direction

Grenadine sunshine, and it fades sublime

BORN TO DIE (2012)

born to die

Feet don't fail me now, take me to your finish line

My heart it breaks every step that I take

I'm hoping that the gates, they'll tell me that you're mine

Walking through the city streets / Is it by mistake or design?

I feel so alone on a Friday night /Can you make it feel like home if I tell you you're mine?

Don't make me sad, don't make me cry

Sometimes love is not enough and the road gets tough, I don't know why

Keep making me laugh / Let's go get high

The road is long, we carry on / Try to have fun in the meantime

Come take a walk on the wild side

Let me kiss you hard in the pouring rain

You like your girls insane

Choose your last words, this is the last time

Lost but now I am found / I can see but once I was blind

I was so confused as a little child

Tried to take what I could get / Scared that I couldn't find All the answers

off to the races

I can't deny the way he holds my hand and he grabs me / He has me by my heart

He loves me with every beat of his cocaine heart

Swimming pool Glimmering darling / White bikini off with my red nail polish

Watch me in the swimming pool bright blue ripples

Light of my life, fire in my loins / Be a good baby, do what I want

Gimme them gold coins, gimme them coins

Facing time again at Riker's Island and I won't get out / Because I'm crazy, baby

I need you to come here and save me

I'm your little scarlet, starlet, singing in the garden / Kiss me on my open mouth, ready for you

But he got a soul as sweet as blood red jam

And he shows me, he knows me, every inch of my tar black soul

He doesn't mind I have a flat broke down life / In fact he says he thinks it's what he might like about me

Slipping on my red dress, putting on my make up / Glass film, perfume, cognac, lilac fumes

Says it feels like heaven to him

I'm gonna stay and pray with him till the end

I trust in the decision of the law, to watch over us

I'm not afraid to say that I'd die without him / Who else is gonna put up with me this way?

I need you, I breathe you, I'll never leave you

They would rue the day, I was alone without you

You're lying with your gold chain on, cigar hanging from your lips

blue jeans

Walked into the room you know you made my eyes burn

But you fit me better than my favorite sweater

That love is mean, and love hurts

I still remember that day we met in December

I will love you 'til the end of time / I would wait a million years

Promise you'll remember that you're mine

Baby can you see through the tears?

When you walked out that door, a piece of me died

I just want it like before

video games

Pull up in your fast car whistling my name

It's you, it's you, it's all for you

I heard that you like the bad girls honey, is that true?

Swinging with the old stars, living for the fame

Kissing in the blue dark

He holds me in his big arms / Drunk and I am seeing stars

diet mountain dew

You're no good for me but baby, I want you

Do you think we'll be in love forever?

Baby, put on heart shaped sunglasses, 'Cause we gonna take a ride

I'm not gonna listen to what the past says

I've been waiting up all night

Take another drag, turn me to ashes

Maybe I like this roller coaster, maybe it keeps me high

Can we hit it now low down and gritty

national anthem

Money is the anthem of success/Money is the reason we exist

He says to "be cool" but, I don't know how yet

Tell me I'm your National Anthem

Summer's in the air and baby, heaven's in your eyes

I'm standing over your body, hold you like a python

You said to "be cool" but, I'm already coolest

Do you think you'll buy me lots of diamonds?

Overdose and dyin' on our drugs and our love and our dreams

God can only, I need somebody to hold me

Boy you have landed in the land of sweetness and danger

dark paradise

All my friends tell me I should move on

I'm lying in the ocean, singing your song

Loving you forever, can't be wrong

Even though you're not here, won't move on

there's no remedy for memory your face is like a melody, it won't leave my head

Your soul is hunting me and telling me that everything is fine / But I wish I was dead

Every time I close my eyes it's like a dark paradise

No one compares to you

I'm scared that you won't be waiting on the other side

When you find true love it lives on

There's no you, except in my dreams tonight

There's no relief, I see you in my sleep

Everybody's rushing me, but I can feel you touching me

radio

Not even they can stop me now

Their heavy words can't bring me down

Boy I've been raised from the dead

No one even knows how hard life was

I don't even think about it now because i've finally found you

Now my life is sweet like cinnamon / Like a fucking dream I'm living in

Baby love me cause I'm playing on the radio

Pick me up and take me like a vitamin

'Cause my body's sweet like sugar venom

I heard the streets were paved with gold

How do you like me now?

carmen

It's alarming, honestly how charming she can be

You don't want to be like me, don't wanna see all the things I've seen

The boys, the girls, they all like [Carmen]

She gives them butterflies, bats her cartoon eyes /She laughs like God, her mind's like a diamond

Only seventeen, but she walks the streets so mean

It's alarming, truly, how disarming you can be

Relying on the kindness of strangers

Tyin' cherry knots, smilin', doin' party favors

Put your red dress on, put your lipstick on

million dollar man

You said I was the most exotic flower

Holding me tight in our final hour

I don't know what you do, it's unbelievable

Someone as dangerous, tainted and flawed as you

I love you honey, I'm ready, I'm ready to go

How did you get that way, I don't know

You're screwed up and brilliant, and look like a million dollar man

So why is my heart broke?

You got the world but baby at what price

It isn't that hard [boy] to like you or love you

If you're going crazy just grab me and take me, i’d follow you down

summertime sadness

Dancin' in the dark in the pale moonlight

High heels off, I'm feelin' alive

Cruisin' down the coast, goin' about 99

Got my bad baby by my heavenly side

I know if I go, I'll die happy tonight

Oh my God, I feel it in the air

Telephone wires above are sizzlin' like a snare

Honey I'm on fire, I feel it everywhere

Nothin' scares me anymore

Think I'll miss you forever, like the stars miss the sun in the mornin' sky

Kiss me hard before you go

I'm feelin' electric tonight

I got that summertime sadness

this is what makes us girls

Remember how we used to party up all night?

Sneaking out and looking for a taste of real life

Drinking in the small town firelight

Teachers said we'd never make it out alive

She starts to cry, mascara running down her little Bambi eyes

We all look for heaven and we put love first

Don't cry about him

That's where the beginning of the end begun

Everybody knew that we had too much fun

We were skipping school and drinking on the job with the boss

Baby's table dancing at the local dive

Drinking cherry schnapps in the velvet night

Screaming, "Get us while we're hot, get us while we're hot"

A freshmen generation of degenerate beauty queens

Crying 'cause I know I'm never coming back

without you

Everything I want I have

I even think I found God in the flashbulbs of the pretty cameras

Hello, hello ca-can you hear me?

You're so good, your love is deadly

Tell me life is beautiful

They all think I have it all

I'm nothing, without you

All my dreams, and all the lights mean nothing without you

My life is sweet like vanilla is

Gold and silver line my heart

Can you picture it babe the life we could've lived?

Boy, you're so dope

We were two kids, just tryin' to get out

Live on the dark side of the American dream

We would dance all night, play our music loud

When we grew up, nothing was what it seemed

lolita

Would you be mine / Would you be my baby tonight

Could be kissing my fruit punch lips in the bright sunshine

'Cause I like you quite a lot, everything you got don't you know

It's you that I adore,[though] / I make the boys fall like dominoes

Kiss me in thedark tonight

I know what the boys want, I'm not gonna play

Never was in love, skipping heart beats with the boys downtown

Topple you down from your sky forty stories high

Shining like a god, can't believe I got you inside

I want to have fun and be in love with you

I know that I'm a mess with my long hair and my suntan, short dress, bare

I don't care what they say about me, what they say about me

You make me happy

lucky ones

Let's get out of this town, baby we're on fire

Everyone around here wants to be going down

If you stick with me, I can take you higher, and higher

It feels like all of our friends are lost / Nobody's found, found,

I got so scared, I thought no one could save me

Every now and then, the stars align / Boy and girl meet by the great design

Could it be that you and me are the lucky ones?

Everybody told me love was blind / Then I saw your face and you blew my mind

Boy get into my car, got a bad desire

You know that we'll never leave if we don't get out now

You're a careless con and you're a crazy liar

But baby, nobody can compare to the way you get down

Tried so hard to act nice like a lady / You taught me that it was good to be crazy

Feels like Falling in love for the first time

SINGLES

burning desire

Every Saturday night I get dressed up to ride for you, baby

I drive fast, wind in my hair, push it to the limits 'cause I just don't care

You ask me where I've been? I been everywhere

I don't wanna be no where but here

I've got a burning desire for you

Every Saturday night I seem to come alive for you

Your hands were on my hips, your name is on my lips

Over over again, like my only prayer

dont’ call me angel

Boy, don't call me angel, you ain't got me right

I appreciate the way you watch me, I can't lie

I fell from Heaven, now I'm living like a devil

You can't get me off your mind, I appreciate the way you want me

god save our young blood

Damn, look at the sunrise / Glowing finish line

Made it in record time, hey, baby, we made it

My head's faded, headlights dilated

Baptized in blue skies

Roll the window down, reach out, feel around for new life

Damn, you and those green eyes

We can never stop movin', we see nothin' but the green lights

God save our young blood

Climbed up the tree of life, kicked out of paradise

Living good, doing evil is the toss of the dice

She's an angel and a devil of her own device

Baby save me one last sip while you strip on the beach

I'll save you in the waves if you swim too deep

looking for america

Took a trip to San Francisco, didn't work, so I left for Fresno

Pulled over to watch the children in the park / We used to only worry about them after dark

No bombs in the sky, only fireworks when you and I collide

It's just a dream I had in mind

That's another place and time

So many things that I think twice about before I do now

once upon a time

I know you, I walked with you once upon a dream

I know you, that look in your eyes is so familiar a gleam

I know it's true that visions are seldom all they seem

But if I know you, I know what you'll do

You'll love me at once, the way you did once upon a dream

season of the witch

When I look out my window, many sights to see

So many different people to be

When I look over my shoulder what do you think I see?

Oh no, must be the season of the witch

shades of cool

My baby lives in shades of blue / Blue eyes and jazz and attitude

When he calls, he calls for me, not for you

He lives for love / He loves his drugs, he loves his baby too

But I can't fix him, can't make him better

And I can't do nothing about his strange weather

You are unfixable, I can't break through your world

He prays for love, he prays for peace

Your heart is unbreakable

you must love me

This isn't where we intended to be

We had it all, you believed in me, I believed in you

Certainties disappear

What do we do for our dreams to survive? /How do we keep all our passions alive

Deep in my heart, I'm concealing things that I'm longing to say

Scared to confess, what I'm feeling frightened you'll slip away

How can I be, any use to you now?

Give me a chance, and I'll let you see how / Nothing has changed

young and beautiful

I've seen the world, done it all

Hot summer nights, mid July when you and I were forever wild

Will you still love me when I'm no longer young and beautiful? / Will you still love me when I've got nothing but my aching soul?

I've seen the world, lit it up as my stage now

Hot summer days, rock and roll the way you play for me at your show

And all the ways, I got to know your pretty face and electric soul

Dear lord, when I get to heaven, please let me bring my man

All that grace, all that body, all that face, makes me wanna party

He's my sun, he makes me shine like diamonds

#ask meme #ask memes #lyrics masterlist #verse masterlist #verse titles #masterlist #quotes

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silverfootstepswrites · 5 years

Text

Photophobia

Sakura licked the front of her teeth. She pressed the backs of her fingers to her lips, eyes scanning the damp streets.

"Is that enough?"

Her eyes flew to him. Gleaming under the neon lights. Her skin painted sallow and oddly pink as the bulbs buzzed above them.

She bit the tip of her nail, eyes searching the streets one last time before she dragged her hand across her mouth.

"Yeah. I got it," she replied.

The detective unfolded the tarp. He straightened it with a snap before he set it down. By the time the plastic settled over the corpse, she was gone. Just the buzz of the city left to fill her absence.

+++

Her apartment was silent when she stepped inside. She snapped the lock behind her. Tossed her jacket and wallet on the empty chair. She kicked off her shoes, shedding her clothes in a trail all the way to the kitchen.

In the kitchen was a window. The frame was warped, so the window never fully shut. Through that gap in the chipping wood, the sounds of the city leaked in. Sirens, car horns, and the chatter of invisible people.

Sakura stood in front of that window now. Baby hairs frizzing up in the humidity and the arches of her feet aching.

A long sigh spilled from her lips. She turned to the side, yanking the refrigerator door open. The too-white light of the halogen bulb stung her eyes.

She grabbed one of the pouches on the top shelf. Her hands moved on their own. Unwrapping the straw. Fitting it into the slot. Red creeping up, spilling into her dry mouth. Teeth closing around the straw, Sakura let the pouch dangle as she grabbed the crooked window and jerked it up. It groaned, but eventually opened enough for her to crawl through.

There weren't many buildings left in the city with working fire escapes. One day, the super would probably tack a notice to the cork board downstairs warning tenants not to step on the fire escapes. But until then, this was her sanctuary.

Sakura poked at the mint plant wilting in the corner. She took another slurp of her drink as she sank down beside the ceramic pot. Arm stretching out over her knee, she stared down at the city with all its garish colors. She unbuttoned the top few buttons of her shirt before she finally gave herself a moment to breathe.

"Rough day?"

She slowly tilted her head up. Through the slats in the black metal, she spotted her upstairs neighbor. A cigarette sizzling between his thin fingers. She bared her teeth in an almost smile.

"I'm still kicking," she replied.

And he laughed, leaning forward to tap the ash off his cigarette. Long legs stretching out, casting spindly shadows over her feet.

"Want some company?" he asked.

Some days she said yes. Others, she said no.

Draining the last drops of her pouch, Sakura dragged her fingers through her hair. She glanced up at him through her eyelashes.

"Yeah," she decided.

"Excellent," he replied, stubbing his cigarette out. And with that, he disappeared back into his apartment.

Sakura closed her eyes. Just to shield them from the neon glow of the city. Just for a moment. She opened them again when she heard the metal of the fire escape rumble and clang. He climbed down the narrow steps, a bottle held in one hand.

"I had a bottle of Syrah sitting in the fridge," he told her.

"Syrah doesn't taste good when it's too cold," Sakura told him, just her eyes following him as he set the bottle down. And then a smile twisted his lips.

"Guess we'll have to give it time to warm up," he replied as he crawled over to her. One hand slipping into the front of her half-open shirt. The other sliding up her thigh, rubbing over worn denim.

"Guess so," Sakura agreed before her lips met his.

Her sigh wormed its way out between their mouths. Hand trailing up his shoulder, curling around the back of his neck to pull him close.

Sakura's fingers twisted into the back of his shirt as she dragged him through the kitchen window. A faint snicker thrown in there somewhere as he struggled to fold his long legs in through the narrow space. And then the laughter was gone as they struggled with pointless things like buttons and clasps.

Mouths and hands. Soft and wondering. Dragging across skin. Eyes wet and gleaming in the darkness. Searching. Heat. A soft kiss against her throat as he asked, 'Are you okay?'. Her fingers curling around his shoulder blade. Lips pulling into a smile against the curve of her spine.

She closed her eyes. Hands clenching. Unclenching. His heart racing like headlights down a freeway. Fingers tangling into hair to pull her up for a kiss. Bitter tobacco lingering on her lips. Eyes fluttering open for a moment. Watching the strange shadows the city cast on their bodies through the paper-thin curtain. Then drifting shut again.

Knuckles. Brushing softly against her shoulder. Her arm.

Sakura opened her eyes. He was watching her.

"What?" she asked.

"Can I?"

And she laughed, mostly teeth. "Sure. Do what you want."

The sheets rustled. She glimpsed him fumbling in the darkness, his shoulders pale blue in the night. He managed to pull on pants before he hurried out. Bare feet slapping against linoleum. Then against the fire escape.

Eyelids heavy, Sakura dragged the covers up over her shoulder. Legs half-tangling with the flat sheet.

The sound of a shutter woke her.

"You never get bored of this?" Sakura questioned.

More clicks. And then he responded: "No."

She stretched her arms, head falling against her shoulder. Listening to the snap of the shutter capturing the moments again and again. Only pausing when he adjusted the curtain to let more light into the room.

He climbed onto the bed to show her. He always did. Glimpses of her bare shoulders. Her eyes peeking out through tangled hair. The curve of her spine disappearing into the sheets. Never anything more.

"These always look the same," she remarked, chin resting on his knee.

"Not exactly," was all he said. And then he smiled. Eyes crinkling. Hand rubbing up and down her arm even as she pulled away.

He was there in the morning. Sleeping face-down. Just his back rising and falling to let her know that he wasn't a corpse. Sakura watched him for a while. Bleary. Throat dry. And then she made her way to the kitchen, tongue running over her teeth as she opened up the fridge.

She walked into the station an hour later.

"You're early," Yamato greeted her. He flashed his ID and the security desk buzzed them in. He held the door for her. The tile floors were too blue. As if hoping to drag part of the sky into the stuffy place. Fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. Copiers whining and wheezing as they spit out reports.

They walked into the bullpen. The hum of conversation. Fingers clacking across keys with the letters worn away.

"I smelled turpentine," she told him. There was half a bear claw sitting on a square napkin. Right next to his gun. Yamato lifted it up and tore into it.

"And ink," Sakura added as she settled in his chair. Yamato brushed crumbs from his mouth.

"Like pen ink?"

"No. Like the stamping kind. It was old," she mused.

Temari swiveled around in her chair. Her pen stuck behind her ear. "So like a library," she suggested.

Sakura nodded. "Maybe a cleaning person there."

"You got anything else? Blood type?" Yamato pressed.

Sakura frowned. The pressed her fingertips together. "Blood smells like blood. Don't be ridiculous," she chastised. The chair squeaked as she got to her feet. Heels of her boots hitting the worn tile.

"My check?" Sakura then asked, holding her pinky and thumb extended up to her ear. Yamato nodded. He wadded his napkin up. Crunched it in his fist. Bits of powdered sugar scattered across his desk.

"Yep. We'll call," he assured her.

Sakura pulled her sunglasses from inside her jacket. They cast a gold tint over the room as they covered her eyes. She nodded at Temari before she headed for the elevator.

Outside, the wail of an ambulance pierced her ear drum. She stuck her finger in her ear. Stuck a lozenge in her mouth. Crumpled the waxed wrapper between her fingers. Hissing a breath in between her teeth, she checked the intersection, then her watch.

She rubbed her thumb against her lower lip. It felt dry already.

Her apartment was silent when she stepped inside. The unopened Syrah sat on the kitchen counter. Stubborn window pushed almost-shut. She heard a floorboard creak somewhere above her head. Half-shrugging her jacket off her shoulders, she checked her phone.

There were a few emails she had been ignoring all morning. One made her suck her teeth as she skimmed the contents.

"Great," she grumbled.

She shrugged her jacket back on before she headed out of her apartment.

Headquarters was a hassle to get to. Two subway lines with a transfer in-between. She rolled another lozenge around her mouth as the train barreled along in the darkness. Feeling the sweetness melt over her tongue and teeth with each clatter along the tracks.

The lobby was gaudy as ever. Black marble and gold accents. Sakura nodded at the receptionist as she headed to the elevator.

Shizune was there to greet her when the doors slid open on the top floor.

"You look tired," she commented.

"This is just my face," answered Sakura. They both laughed as they headed down the hallway. Some of the doors on the way were ajar, or even open all the way. As their footsteps tapped by, people lifted their heads to look. Most nodded. A few waved.

"Do I really need to see the boss for this? Can't you just tell me?" Sakura wondered. Shizune cast her a sideways look.

"You try telling her that," Shizune retorted. They shared another snort of laughter. Then Shizune pushed open a heavy wooden door at the end of the hall.

Tsunade was half-visible behind the stacks of books that cluttered her desk. Her gaze flew up to them when the door moved. She lowered her glasses, staring right at Sakura.

"Are you eating?"

Sakura blinked very slowly.

"Yes."

Tsunade's eyes narrowed. "I don't believe you," she decided. And then she folded her hands under her chin to add, "If you're ever running low, let one of us know. There's no need to suffer."

"I'm fine," was all Sakura said again.

Tsunade's gaze flickered to Shizune, who jotted something down on her clipboard.

"Alright. I didn't call you here to nag," Tsunade said, waving her hand. Sakura's shoulders relaxed a little. She rolled her weight onto the backs of her heels. Waiting.

"We've got a binge drinker. Somewhere in the south side of the city, looks like."

The corner of Sakura's mouth lifted in an incredulous smirk. "Seriously? There's someone that stupid?"

Tsunade simply nodded.

"Let us know when you identify this person. We'll send out Shino and his people to deal with it," Shizune then added.

"But what if he's hot?" Sakura asked. She laughed as Shizune brought her clipboard down on top of her head.

+++

Yamato squinted at her as he watched her sign on the clipboard.

"Your hands are shaking,” he pointed out.

Sakura ignored him as she slashed the pen between the numbers of the date. Metal nib scratching against glossy paper. She accepted the check, tucking it into her jacket. And then slipping her hands deep into the pockets. Hands clenching and unclenching out of sight.

“Haven’t had my coffee, that’s all. Thanks for this,” Sakura replied as she curled her fingers around the check. Wrinkling it a little inside her pocket.

“I’ll call you again if I need help with another case,” Yamato said, eyes narrowing. And then he glanced around before he lowered his voice. “Stop by the blood bank on your way home, kid. You don’t look so good.” And then he reached into his back pocket for his wallet. Counting out the wrinkled bills.

“Is money tight? I can spot you,” Yamato offered.

When he looked up to hold out the cash, she was already gone.

Outside the police station, Sakura fumbled for a lozenge. Untwisting the thin paper. Fingers shaking as the sweet candy landed on her tongue.

+++

The city smelled alive that night. Straw between her teeth. Slurping. One hand tangling into her short hair. The other gripping the counter. Listening to the wind whistling in through the crack between the two halves of the window.

Her phone lit up on the kitchen table.

A message from Shizune.

Any luck?

Sakura stared at the message for a moment. And then she typed a one-handed response.

Not yet.

She tossed her phone back onto the table. Her lips trembling with the exhilaration of the lie.

Her chin jerked up when she heard a clang. The sound of her upstairs neighbor’s footsteps on the fire escape. Eyes lingering on the crooked window frame, she took a long drink from her straw

She grunted as she forced the window open, Ducking through the uneven space to make herself fit. The sticky, half-smoky city air engulfing her, spilling into her.

“Have you tried any of that Syrah?” her neighbor called down to her.

Sakura crumpled the pouch in her right hand. “Unopened wine doesn’t spoil,” she replied.

“That one does,” he told her.

Their eyes met between the narrow slats in the black metal. The look that passed between them was neither friendly nor unfriendly. It just was.

And then, the corner of his mouth pulled up. “Need any company tonight?” he offered.

Sakura turned away. Shook her head. There was a sickly sweet smell hovering in the air.

“Not tonight,” she responded.

+++

Yamato called her in the morning. His voice ragged.

“You have any time to stop by today?” he asked.

Sakura rubbed her palm against her throat as she thought. She squinted at the window. The grey light that trickled in was gentle on her dry eyes.

“....Sure,” she decided. Licking her lips. Wondering whether there was enough in the fridge. Wondering whether that overly sweet smell in the air would dissipate any time soon.

“Good. Text me when you’re on your way,” Yamato said before he hung up.

When she shuffled into the kitchen, she could see the unopened bottle of Syrah still sitting there. She stared at it for a long time. Back molars clenching a little too hard.

Sakura huffed. Rubbing a hand through her hair, she yanked the fridge open. Grabbed one of the cold pouches inside. Glowering as she tried to stab the straw in at the right angle. And then, grumbling under her breath, she stuck the bottle of Syrah in the door before she slammed the fridge shut.

+++

Yamato took her down to the medical examiner’s office. Which, strictly speaking, probably checked off a number of violations. Still, the examiner turned a blind eye to it all. And the department didn’t really care as long as they caught the right person. That was just how the law worked in this city.

Yamato fiddled with his phone as she circled the body in the middle of the room. Pretending like he wasn’t watching her every move.

The fragrance of blood filled the entire room. Sweet and familiar. A delicious bouquet of all the things that had gone into that person to keep their neurons firing and their heart pumping.

Finally, Sakura stopped walking. She tilted her head to peer at the corpse’s face. Young. Beautiful. Just like the others.

“You’ve got a type,” she muttered.

“Did you say something?” Yamato asked.

“Vinegar? Well, not really. Something like vinegar,” she told him. Wrinkling his nose, Yamato took a sniff too. And likely smelled nothing of the sort.

“And metal,” Sakura added after she took another breath.

“Scene was pretty bloody,” Yamato tried to remark casually. Sakura’s stare flickered up to him. Focusing on his tired eyes. She decided not to be offended. The poor detective was just exhausted. And tired of finding corpses every few days.

Sakura let her finger hover near the body’s throat. “No puncture marks,” she pointed out.

There was a pause. And then Yamato sighed “shit” as he rubbed his face with both hands. “Sorry, kid. Wasn’t trying to point at...” he trailed off.

“It’s fine,” she answered more out of habit than anything. And then she closed her eyes. Inhaling one last time. Hesitated as something caught her attention.

“That all?” Yamato pressed.

Sakura slowly opened her eyes. She gave a nod. “Yeah,” she lied.

That night, when she returned to her apartment, she could hear her neighbor walking around upstairs. The floorboards creaking no matter how softly he stepped. Which she seldom minded. Anything was better than silence. When she went to open the fridge, the bottle of Syrah rattled in the door. She stared at it for a long time before she just shut the door again.

+++

A third body showed up within the week. Sakura knew that Yamato would call again. She woke up in the morning to an unbearably sweet smell. The shape of the shoulders and back lying in bed next to her barely moved. She reached over and lightly touched his head. Fingers skimming his thick, dark hair.

She knew his name. She rarely used it, though.

“Itachi.”

His eyes opened in the dim room. Damp and surprisingly bright. Moving from side to side until they focused on her. He waited for her to say something. But when she didn’t, a smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. He put his arm over her shoulder, pulling her against his side.

“Have you tried that Syrah yet?” he asked. Voice rough and crackly with sleep.

“No.”

Something in his gaze shifted. “Let me know when you do,” he replied.

It wasn’t long after that Yamato called. Itachi had gone back to sleep. Sakura washed up and dressed, slipping out of her apartment with careful steps.

This time, it was another young corpse that lay on the slab. Sakura sniffed at it, nose wrinkling. She already knew what she would pick up on it.

“Different genders. Different ethnicity. Different jobs,” grumbled Yamato, scribbling in his notepad as she looked over the corpse.

“Turpentine. And that vinegar smell again,” she reported.

“Well, at least that’s consistent,” sighed Yamato as he jotted that down, too.

And the saccharine undertone of the odors lingering on the body swept over her. She was almost out the door before Yamato could tell her that she could go.

The city blurred past her. Garish neon and cracked asphalt. Hot steam rushing up through the grates in the sidewalk. Subway cars screeching past, blowing her hair in every direction but the right one. She sucked on her last lozenge, teeth too sharp against her tongue. Hands shaking as she tried to fix her hair.

Her head was pounding by the time she made it into her apartment. She ripped the refrigerator door open. Found the last silver pouch on the top shelf. Gulping down the contents without bothering with the straw. Just ripped the foil open with her teeth. A few of the precious droplets spattering on her shirt as she drank.

Once her head stopped spinning, she stared down at her stained shirt. Then her eyes were drawn to the light from inside the fridge. The door hanging open. The bottle still nestled in the shelf. Her fingers reached for it for just a moment. She pulled them back.

The kitchen window groaned as she forced it open. The fragrance flooding her senses now. Her tongue tasting it with every heavy breath. Fingers gripping the black metal of the fire escape as she climbed up. And he stood watching her from in front of his kitchen sink. The inside of his apartment looked like it followed the same layout as hers. The same chipped subway tiles. The same narrow stove with old-fashioned burners.

Itachi opened his window. It slid up so easily.

"You're going to get caught," she warned.

He rested his hand on the sill. Expression thoughtful. Head tilting to one side as he took her in. And then a smile tugged at one corner of his mouth.

Sakura bristled when he took her by the hand. But she still let him pull her into his apartment. Squeezing in with little fuss through that narrow space. Into his abode that smelled like turpentine, iron, and a little like vinegar.

"Get caught?" Itachi repeated. His hand circling her wrist. And then his eyes drifted shut as he brought her hand up to his face. Placing it against his cool cheek. Fingers brushing the hint of stubble growing in along his jaw.

"You used to be smarter about this. You can't keep leaving corpses everywhere. I can't keep covering for you," snapped Sakura, snatching her hand back.

"You should eat something," Itachi commented, completely ignoring her. Sakura gritted her teeth.

"I won't be like you," she hissed.

To her surprise, Itachi's expression warmed. He took her her hand again, pressing it to his throat this time. His pulse pounding beneath her palm. "Scrounging off little baggies from the blood bank. Eating blood candies like a child. You think this is the lifestyle that fits you?" he said. And while his words were mocking, his tone wasn't.

"My survival shouldn't mean that someone else has to die for me. I'm not willing to pay that price," Sakura ground out. And then Itachi smiled again, like that was just the response he had been waiting for.

"I am," he replied.

Before she could say anything else, he turned, heading further into his apartment. Sakura followed him.

The living room housed his studio. Framed photos hung on the walls. Others were clipped to lines. Some of them still smelling of the old-fashioned chemicals he used to develop them. Many of them were of her. Hair tousled, face half-hidden behind her shoulder. Sheets tangling around her like a shroud.

She already knew what she found see in the bathroom before he opened the door.

A tub filled with red. Empty bottles of wine sat in neat rows, waiting. The sweet smell hit her in full force like a punch to the gut.

She felt his hands on her shoulders. Lips against her ear as he whispered, "You're wasting away. You can't go on like this."

She swallowed. It didn't help the dryness in her throat at all.

"It's fresh. And I've only been getting young blood," he went on. Words weaving around her. Soft. Comforting.

"I can't stand seeing you like this. I'm just trying to help you," Itachi added.

Her hand shot out, closing around his throat. There was a flash of panic in his eyes as her canines glinted in the low light. But then his smile returned as he read her expression.

"Then here's how you can help," Sakura spat. And then her fangs sunk into his skin.

+++

“So you’re not a binge drinker,” she said.

Staring down at the city. Her lips tingling and still tasting sweetness. The metal of the fire escape cool against the bottoms of her feet.

He crouched beside her, his eyes still a little too bright. The collar of his shirt was stretched out from when he had yanked it over his head. The wound on his throat was just beginning to scab. The skin raised and red all around the puncture marks.

It wasn’t unheard of, drinking from another vampire. In fact, it was considered the highest expression of intimacy. And Itachi obviously knew this from the smug look on his face as he leaned in to nip at the tip of her nose.

“No. Just hunting for two,” he replied. Flashing his teeth as he slid his arm over her shoulder. Let his hand trail down until he could curl his fingers around her waist.

Her eyes rolled toward him. Upper lip curling. “I didn’t ask you to.”

“You didn’t,” he agreed. And then he tilted his head a little. “I admit, I was being a little dramatic to get your attention. I’m not normally that stupid about the corpses.”

“...stupid,” she repeated. Turning the word over in her mouth. And then she let out a snort of laughter. She turned her head, laughing against her shoulder instead. Feeling the warmth of her own skin. Well aware of how rosy her cheeks would look, how red her lips must be. She hadn’t felt this at ease in a long time.

And when she cast her eyes back toward the city, all the flashing lights were so beautiful. Pulses of life that showed how alive it really was. Even the fluorescent billboards in the distance were charming.

“You know this doesn’t solve anything. Someone is still dying,” she remarked.

She heard a flick. The smell of sulfur flared beside her. She looked over just in time to see him shaking the match out. Smoke curling from the tip of the cigarette resting between his lips. His eyes, sparkling like rubies, were watching the smoke. And then they were watching her.

“That’s how it’s always been. Make yourself not care,” he suggested.

“What if I can’t?” Sakura wondered.

He exhaled a long plume of smoke. His hand rose to stroke her hair a few times.

“Then pretend. That’s what most of us do,” Itachi replied.

#itasaku #writing #vampire!au #still running on a queue #oneshot

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trojantoast · 5 years

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“The Love, The Dark, The Light, The Flame” (pt. 2) - Zutara Week 2019

Day Two “Speaked” - part two of seven

“What if the world dies with the sunrise?

Baby it’s all right we’ll be up all night

What if we’re unmade when the stars fade?

Keep me going till the night turns into the day.”

- “Until the Night Turns” Lord Huron

@zutaraweek

_________________________

Sometimes Katara wished she wasn't a night person.

She could feel the moon fall below the horizon as she fluffed her pillow again. Her wide windows were open, letting the night time breeze flow in between the mesh of the mosquito net. The fabric flowed gently like sails, barely seen in the darkness. Sleep had not come easy, more so the opposite, for the entire night the waterbender had laid awake.

Usually, she used this time to get things done, let that be paperwork, research, or relieving the healers at the hospital in Ba Sing Se. Then she’d catch naps wherever she could during the heat of the day. But, she was on vacation, and had purposefully not brought any work with her.

Katara wrapped herself in the cool silk sheets, and snuggled deeper into the feather pillows. This was the most comfortable bed she had inhabited in recent memory. There was no denying that. The ocean whispering outside and the sound of night animals provided a comforting atmosphere. Yet, sleep escaped her. She blamed the almost full moon. Though the real culprit, though she would never admit it herself, was the man sleeping in the room just a thin wall away from her.

If she was quiet enough she could hear his breathing. If she stayed still she could reach out and feel the blood pumping through his veins. The habit was one she picked up from healing him after Sozin’s comet. She would be so attuned to his heartbeat those lonely, scary, days and nights that the simplest shift would wake her from slumber.

So it was second nature to sink into his strong, though uneven, breaths. Her mind wandered far away, and also sat empty. Though awake, she was at peace.

Was it creepy that she was using her bending to spy on him? Probably. But, knowing his heart was steady, when at one time it barely beat at all, made waves of comfort wash over and smooth out the edges of the day. So Katara listened, and watched the sky outside lighten slowly.

Hours before dawn, she was stirred from her trance when he abruptly rolled to the side of his bed and stood walking quietly to his door. She followed his footsteps until they faded away.

The sun had always woken Zuko the minute it rose above the horizon, but it couldn't wake him up if he never fell asleep in the first place. His eyes were heavy with exhaustion and he longed for nothing more than to sink into his dreams and wake up in the morning refreshed. But his mind had other plans. Like fall leaves in the wind, moments and images flew through his head. Everything from what he wanted to eat tomorrow, to budgeting meetings, to the bed he laid in. His thoughts ran together like water droplets on metal. He craved chicken so he thought about the food budget for the palace, which led to his budget compared to that of various restaurants, which lead to an inn he had stayed at once, which led to a conversation a few months ago with the palace tailor that then made him think of the sheets. His sheets sent him down a spiral about trade with the earth kingdom which made him think about the colonies, soon he was considering politics and alliances.

He could really use some of his uncles tea. These night time thoughts where common back in the capitol, and he would usually sneak down to the kitchen and follow the recipe Iroh had left him. He had gotten better at brewing it over the years, but he still couldn't do it right without the directions. Then bringing the pot back up to his room he usually pen his letters to Katara.

But he had stupidly left the recipe at the palace, and Katara was asleep not a foot away from his own headboard. He needed another option.

His mind decided to wonder to his correspondence with the woman just on the other side of the wall. Zuko wrote Katara the most out of the group, and the letters were often very long. He asked her council on a lot of decisions, and was known to send entire transcripts of meetings so she could be completely informed, she gave advice that always work. In turn, Katara would rant to him about a particularly challenging patient, or earth kingdom noble who ticked her off, and Zuko would do his best to be helpful, suggesting new ideas, or consulting the palaces extensive medicine scrolls. The letters where she was particularly puzzled with a medical case where some of his favorite to read. Sometimes the letter cataloged her entire thought process from hypothesis to conclusion. Some letters were deeper than others. During the harder parts of Azula’s rehabilitation Zuko had been so immersed in the darker parts of his mind he watched himself speak in spiraling language about that happier parts of his childhood, as well as the more violent moments. The ink in those was often smudged with tear drops.

There was a bond there, an intimacy, Zuko couldn't quite explain.

He laid in his bed for a while longer, until his chi stirred with the nearing dawn. Since sleep had escaped him, Zuko decided on a walk.

The dock faced the north, with a panoramic view of the open ocean, setting the stage for both the sunrise in the east and its setting in the west. It was blocked by a barrier of rocks that broke the waves, creating a calm lagoon. If you were feeling more adventurous, on the other side of the slick stones was a beach, with large waves that crashed on the grey volcanic sand. It was the best piece of real estate on the island, with acres of empty forrest for privacy. Only the best for the Fire Lord and his guests.

Strips of clouds crossed the sky, revealing the fading stars through their thin bodies. The sky paled with the promised sunrise. Zuko let his feet be gently batted around by the incoming tide. His fingers wrapped around the edge of the dock, worn wood cool under his touch. The night air chilled his bare shoulders, and made his loose hair tickle his nose. The young Fire Lord’s mind was at peace, unlike in his bed, but he was alone. So he welcomed the soft footsteps that approached him from behind.

“I brought tea.”

Zuko couldn't deny the warmth that filled his chest when she sat next to him and set the cup into his hands.

He glanced over at her, but in the gathering dawn he could only make out the white of her bindings peeking out from under a loosely tied tunic, and her wild hair eclipsing the sky behind her.

“Surprised to see you up this early.” His eyes lingered on her gently.

“Oh I'm usually getting ready for bed around now, actually.”

“You’re joking.”

“Nope.” a giggled escaped her lips, “I get my best work done under the cover of darkness.” She wiggled her fingers for effect, “after all wasn’t it you who said, ‘you rise with the moon, I-”

“-rise with the sun, yeah, yeah.” Zuko leaned back on his hands and stared at the clouds above, “but, Katara, really? It’s almost sunrise.”

She shrugged, sipping her tea. “So you couldn’t sleep?” she changed the subject with ease.

“Not really, I couldn't shut my mind off.”

“What were you thinking about?” she prompted. The sky had grown paler and her features slowly illuminated.

“What do you think of my robes?” Zuko remembered a particular strand of thought that had itched his brain.

Katara tucked one leg under the other, turning to face him completely, her expression was open and her tea cup rested in her hands, “The formal ones? Or your every day ones?”

“The formal ones.” Zuko clarified, “The other day I was being fitted for new ones, and the tailor asked me if I had any suggestions, but nothing came to me.”

“Well…” she considered it for a while, “they’re alright, a little stuffy for my taste. Oh, and you could definitely lose the shoulder spikes.” she added as an afterthought.

“I would have to agree.”

“They’re a little… intense.”

He laughed at that. The conversation then followed a sort of lazy, meandering, pattern. The pair rambled on about robes, as well as a myriad of other things. Zuko only halfway listened. He took part in the conversation. It was so easy to talk to her, even if every glance sent his heart fluttering.

He was more focused on the blue of her eyes and how they crinkled up when they laughed and how her hair kept falling in her face and how she ran her fingers along the edge of her now empty cup as she talked and how her gaze kept drifting back to the sea. And he relished in the moments when he would stop watching her for a moment and realize she was watching him too.

They had to have been sitting there for hours. Their tea cups abandoned beside them, they laid on their backs admiring the now vibrant pink clouds.

Katara was pointing out interesting shapes with childlike enthusiasm. Zuko’s arms rested behind his head and he followed her tan hands as they gestured to the wide sky.

She had settled her head on his chest, right below his beating heart. Warmth radiated from where her cheek met his bare skin, just inches away from his blossom of marred flesh. He longed to never move from this position. Zuko didn't quite understand what he felt towards her, but seeing her dark hair curl around his lightning mark, a wound he would receive a thousand times over, just to see her safe. He knew that whatever he did feel, it was deep, and complicated, and made his heart leap and ache and open wider than it ever had before.

“Hey, Zuko?” Her voice was quieter, and her hands now rested on her stomach.

“Yeah?” he whispered, sleep tugging at his eyelids. He felt her shift, and her hand ghosted over the pendant at her neck he couldn't see, but knew was there.

“Do you ever dream about your mom?” an edge of exhaustion crept into her words.

He thought hard about her question, though he was just as tired as Katara’s voice betrayed her to be.

“Yes, all the time.”

There was silence on her end, then the quietest words of all, barely heard,

“If you could change things would you?”

It was his turn to reach up, touching the ruined skin below his eye, he traveled down to his chest, his fingers intertwining in her soft hair. He felt a shadow of the pain of his sister’s strike, the ache of his mother disappearing in the night, the feeling of not being able to look his father in the eye after returning home, the feeling of her in his arms, the first time they had stood on this dock, so many years ago.

“No.”

He closed his eyes, feeling the calming presence of sleep wash over him. He felt her breath even out as well and he slipped into his dreams, bare back pressed against cool wood, and the sun rising triumphantly over the sea. Gentle words tickled at the edge of his consciousness, like the opening line of a sweet dream.

“I love you.”

________________________

inspired by this beautiful piece of fan art

#zutara week 2019 #zutara week #zutara #zuko #katara #Avatar The Last Airbender #zutara fanfiction #fanfiction

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mingiswow · 5 years

Text

Soulmate!au Series | Changkyun

Pairing: Changkyun x reader

Summary: Not everyone had the same soulmate mark and that made even harder for you to find yours, especially when there was no visible mark on your body. But a boring class could change things.

Genre: fluff - loads of it

Words: +1.5 k

a/n: So, it’s finally over! The last part of the Soulmate Series is finally up and I’m so proud I finished. Thank you all who read it. Hope you guys enjoy Kyun’s and love you 💖

You had seen everyone around you to fall in love, meet their soulmates, have names or words tattooed on their body, drawings adorning their skin, having a missing sense, so many ways to meet their soulmate, but yours wasn’t there. At least not visible.

The class was boring as you could think, your eyes barely kept open, the battery of your phone died and your friend missed the class. You had absolutely nothing to do and the video your teacher insisted on putting was even as boring as the man’s voice.

You grabbed the pen by your side and started to doodle on your notebook, but some freckles in your arm grabbed your attention, making you start drawing onto the skin, making little smiley faces, constellations, and doodles.

You kept doing that until the signal played, warning you and your classmates that the class was over. “Thank God” you thought when leaving the classroom, going straight to the small cafe-library near the uni so you could focus on your actual study, not that bullshit you were never going to use anyway.

The tables were empty due to the time, it was midday, but you weren’t hungry to get an actual lunch. You asked for your classic black coffee and sat on the table, spreading your books, notebooks, and pens, getting ready to study the effects of “screens” on kids' behavior.

When you stretched your arm to grab a pink pen that rolled away, you noticed that the drawings from before in your arms were gone and a simple phrase was marked in black.

Hey, soulmate

Your eyes blinked a few times before touching the skin, the color fading until was gone. You grabbed the pink pen in your hand and wrote.

Who are you?

You watched the words being sucked by your skin and couldn’t help but let a gasp out of your mouth. What was going on? You noticed letters starting to appear in your skin again.

I’m your soulmate. Everything we put on our skin appears on the other.

The words faded again but soon other ones appeared.

You should thank me for not doing the tattoo I wanted

You couldn’t help but chuckle and, somehow, you could feel them smiling to their arm. A feeling of warmth took your body, the idea of actually having a soulmate made your day happier and more exciting. How does this person looked like? Were they pretty? Tall? Short? Where they come from? You spent minutes thinking about it, not realizing when new words appeared in your forearm.

How’s my soulmate's name?

You smiled, liking the idea of the person calling you their soulmate, it was recomforting.

Y/N. How’s yours?

Changkyun. And I like the pink pen you’re using.

How do you know I’m using a pink pen?

The words faded and some green ones started to appear, the line thicker, almost like it was written with kids’ markers

Because the words appear in pink on my skin.

That’s so crazy and cool.

I know. I thought that I’d never meet you.

You blushed at his words. The idea of talking to him through your arms almost felt like talking through phone messages, the difference was you didn’t know how he looked like.

Me too. Why we never drew on our skins before? I never thought of that.

The laugh that left your mouth was loud and almost exaggerated but you were nervous, anxious with the whole situation.

My mom never allowed me because the ink was bad for the skin.

And you behaved?

Yes ???? And why didn't you draw on yours?

Never felt the need I guess, never thought of that

Fair enough

You two spent the whole afternoon speaking to each other, your study plans long gone with the first words that faded from your skin. Talking to Changkyun was comforting, warm and fun, he was a funny person and you guys clicked right away - which made you really happy because you always wondered what would happen if you and your soulmate didn’t match and actually hated each other.

Wanna meet sometime soon?

The words appeared after you stopped talking about your favorite foods. The thump in your heart could be heard by the people in the tables by your side, which now were filled with mostly students and couples.

Yes. Tell me when and where

Are you free friday night? I know a Thai restaurant that is delicious and I think you’d love.

Ok. Friday night.

See you there at 8.

See you too, Kyunnie

Can’t wait to meet you for real

You giggled like a little girl and nodded, even though you knew he couldn’t see you.

Me too

Bye, soulmate

You hugged your arm, almost feeling like you could hug him. Nothing in the world could describe the feeling you were having right then. The smile so big it couldn’t fit your face.

The days couldn’t pass slower, even with you constantly talking with Changkyun. You guys even joked about not having anything to talk about when you meet, but you two couldn’t help, the first thing that you’d do was give him good morning and the last one give him good night. It was like you two met each other for ages, even if it was for a couple of days.

When friday finally arrived, your stomach was aching from anxiety, your head dizzy from nervousness, legs shaking. You felt like you were about to have a meltdown.

It took you almost three hours to get ready, your mind spacing out too often thinking about Kyun and all the things you two talked about, how well you two got along. You were so happy your soulmate was someone like him, funny, smart, kind, sweet and so many things. But to say you were also very nervous to finally meet him face to face was almost a joke.

A tingling sensation appeared in your arm and you looked down just to see a cute smiley face drawn on it and soon disappear a few seconds after.

I’m at your door, babe.

Your heart skipped several beats when you read the sentence.

You didn’t even reply to him, getting your purse and, literally, ran out of your apartment. There was no time for the elevator either, practically jumping down the stairs to get as faster as possible to the front door.

When your eyes met the man in front of you, nothing could describe the smile that grew on your lips and the heartwarming feeling that took over your body.

“Hi” his voice danced its way to your ears and you just wished you could hear him talk forever. His voice was deep, velvety, soothing, felt like a warm day of summer in the park.

Changkyun had the brightest smile on his lips, his teeth showing, his eyes shut close. His heart was pounding on his chest, nothing could describe what he was feeling, you were much more he expected.

“Hi” you finally spoke, taking him out of his daydream, and running to him, jumping into his arms, wrapping the man into a tight hug. “You don’t know long I’ve waited to do this” your voice sounded muffled by the skin of his neck, your face hidden in the crook of it, scenting his smell and keeping it in your memory.

“Me too, babe” his voice so close to your ears and the hot breath leaving his mouth and gently touching your neck made shivers ran down your whole body. “I couldn’t wait to meet you, to meet my soulmate” you finally left his neck and looked to his eyes, they were like constellations shining in his beautiful brown orbs. “I brought you something” Changkyun smiled and took a little red box out of his jacket, handing it to you.

“You didn’t have to” the rush of blood tinting your cheeks pink. “Thank you, Kyun” the man could swear he’d die when you called him by the nickname and he decided that his name leaving your lips was his favorite thing in the world.

You opened the box and found two little red rings, thin as a thread and shiny as stars. On top of them there was a smiley face.

“It means the red string of destiny with the first doodle you did in your arm” he explained to you, his hands nervously fidgeting behind his back. “I hope you like it” you looked back to the man.

“I… I loved, Kyun. They’re gorgeous” you both smiled, genuine happiness. “Can you… Can you put it to me?” you shyly asked and he nodded, taking the ring from the box and gently slipping to your finger. Changkyun left a little kiss on top of it, making you giggle. You did the same to his one.

“You are mine now, forever” he said as he held your hand.

“And always” you smiled to him and did what you had been dreaming of doing, kissed him. The first of so many.

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oghoneytryst · 5 years

Text

sunflower.

where harry meets an endearing fan who has resilience for her not-so-uncommon situation.

a/n: hi, this is just a lil idea I thought of. it takes place on the night of the casamigos party but it’s not meant to be a really late halloween piece or anything. this is the first time I tried not to use y/n, an experiment that’s harder than one would think especially when writing in third person. anyway, thank you for giving this piece a chance, I really enjoyed writing it. happy reading!

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Her eyes sprinkle shut and reopen in a series of blinks. She rubs at their weariness, squints so that her vision can un-blur and refocus on the man across the diner. She repeats this frantic pattern, though it doesn’t make it any easier to digest the fact that Harry Styles sits in the same vicinity as her, a mere few feet away.

This man she idolizes is breathing, existing at the same time as her, in the same exact place with a crowd of other curious and hungry individuals. Prior to this October night, she envisions this moment in her wildest dreams. She envisions herself mustering up enough courage to walk up to him, to take a picture with him, even engage in a once-in-a-lifetime conversation. She envisions how warm his embrace is, how sincere his smile is, how charming his eyes are.

In spite of this, she never envisions the flashy Dodgers uniform that he currently wears to be in any of her daydreams. It is a garish thing. She’s not sure if the Swarovski crystals are part of the attire or part of alien skin; she doesn’t think that it’ll surprise her if he reveals himself to be of an entirely different species. He’s a unique breed, one that adores extravagance and is just too wonderful to be real.

Her eyes burn into his back, so much that she expects him to turn around with suspicion. On his upper, ELTON spaces evenly across in blue lettering and crystals. The corresponding 1 reaches from his middle down to his lower, but the back of the chair he sits in conceals the bottom half of the number. His accessories add a bit of spunk to the outfit; a matching blue hat with bold pink sunglasses. She discreetly grins in amazement. His costume is a pure representation of who he is: daring and dramatic.

“Here you go, sweetheart,” the waitress pulls her out of her thoughts, check in hand. Her head snaps back into reality and only then does she notice the way her mouth ignominiously gapes. Any second longer and she’s sure she would have started drooling.

She clamps her mouth shut and forces a smile up at the waitress. “Thank you,” she mumbles, reaches out to grab the leather check presenter, and diverts her eyes to the empty plate on the table in front of her. In a swift motion, she opens the small folder and slides her card out from one of the flaps. “Do you have a pen I could borrow, please?” She looks up and mimes a pen in her hand which scribbles invisible lines into the air.

The waitress nods. “Of course,” and pulls out a single black pen from the dozens that clip to her apron. She hands it to her customer with a gentle smirk, sneaking glances at the handsome man in front of them. “He’s cute, huh?” the waitress says, then looks to the woman who clicks the pen and opens up the calculator app on her phone.

She doesn’t have to look up to know whom she speaks of. “Uh, yeah, he is.” It is risky for a waiter to discuss something inappropriate with their customer, but the woman doesn’t necessarily mind it. If anything, she is grateful that the waitress risks it with her than some aggressive lunatic who doesn’t know how to speak kindly to other human beings.

“Such a nice guy, too,” the waitress presses on. “Always gives good tips.”

She doesn’t know if that is an allusion to give the waitress a steady tip, but by now she has already finished her calculations to fit with her budget. She slaps the booklet closed after staining her signature on the receipt with black ink. Her eyes trail up to the waitress in curiosity, reads the letters collectively on her nametag: Sahara.

“Really?” she asks, handing the check presenter back to its rightful owner. “Is he ... do you, like, know him?”

Sahara smiles as the woman places her card back into her wallet and stuffs all of her belongings into her shabby bucket bag. “He comes here a few times. Orders some chicken tenders and fries. Maybe a milkshake, when he’s feeling a little crazy.”

The woman laughs at this, and her mind immediately imagines the scenario. She can picture the intensity in his brow as he reads through the menu, even if he is already certain of what he wants. His voice is calm and gentle as he orders his meal, but then an idea sparkles in his green eyes. He licks his lips, yearns for the taste of a delicious milkshake, and decides that it is a good idea to ease up on the smoothies for once.

“You should talk to him,” Sahara says, once again interrupting her thoughts. She scolds herself in her head and wonders what dorky look must have been on her face this time.

She shakes her head. “Oh ... no, I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I just ... I don’t want to bother him. He’s clearly with some friends.”

“It’s not like you’ll be the first to interrupt. If it makes you feel better, I think he prefers that you go up and introduce yourself rather than stalk him like an endangered animal and take discreet videos of him when he’s not looking.”

The woman tilts her head at this strange accusation. Sahara nods over to the table at their right where a group crams into a single booth. Though neither of them look in his direction, she can see the cunning smiles on their faces, and a couple of phones angle toward him on the table. Her heart suddenly grows heavy, especially when she realizes that it is too chaotic in this diner for Harry to notice.

“I don’t know,” she says, the devil and angel at war on her shoulders.

Sahara shrugs. “Alright, doll. Just a suggestion. Not sure when he’ll be back though. Los Angeles is a big city.”

"Yeah. Thanks, anyway.”

“Not a problem. Have a good night.”

Before she can thank her, Sahara is off to another table, tending to the customers over the quality of their meals. She looks around the table and double checks to make sure that she doesn’t leave anything behind. She’s been tight on money as of recently, so replacing miniscule items because of her forgetfulness is something she doesn’t want to waste her dollars on.

Her eyes look for Harry again. While his chair faces forward, his side profile is on full display. His body shakes as laughter erupts through it, the fingers of his right-hand grips a glass cup of water. His pink lips close around the straw in a smirk, sucking in the liquid as he focuses all of his attention to whoever speaks with him.

He’s beautiful. She doesn’t think it is possible for him to look even more beautiful in real life, but he does. It’s twice now that her eyes absorb his appearance on their own, without the aid of a picture in a magazine or on a digital platform. The first had been at the last show of his tour, his second night at the Forum. Her seats were decent, off to the side but enough to wonder for a split second if his eyes had met hers.

She stands up from the table, hangs the strap of her bag over her shoulder, and opens up the Uber app on her phone. It almost passes her mind how she has traveled into a different part of the city tonight, her bicycle safe at home, and her car long sold to some stranger on Craigslist.

The entrance is to her left. Harry is to her right. In any of her daydreams, she is brave enough to cross her path of existence with his. It therefore comes as an impulsive shock to her as she bears him one more loving glance before speeding to the left. She knows that he is enjoying himself and that he needs these moments to feel normal – although, in her mind she wonders how normal he can really feel while dining with Cindy Crawford’s family. So, she continues to walk forward and pushes the idea of his sweet embrace out of her head before she can convince herself to crawl back.

“Hey!” a voice shouts, but she pays no attention to it. There are dozens of chattering voices in this diner right now, and she thinks there are little odds that one of them speaks to her. It isn’t until an abrupt finger taps twice on her shoulder that she looks up from her phone in confusion.

She quickly turns around and notices Sahara the waitress huffing in front of her, hands on her uniformed hips. “My pen,” she says, gives the woman a kind smile at the accidental theft she makes. “You have my pen.”

“Oh.” She locks her phone, shoves it into her back pocket, and loosens up the drawstring on her bag. She sifts through the endless black hole and feels embarrassed when her hand pulls out the familiar black pen from somewhere in the side. “Sorry,” she says, clicks it before handing it back to Sahara. The waitress tells her that it is no problem, bids her another farewell, and dashes off once more.

She wonders how much of a difference that pen makes. Sahara clearly has dozens of them on her, all of varying colors, so how significant can that pen be? Enough to run after her customers apparently, but it still doesn’t make much sense to her.

About to turn around, her eyes gravitate toward the curly-headed man at the other side of the diner. She lets them linger, admiring him for a few seconds, suddenly feeling lost in this place. If she leaves, she cannot get back in; a burly security guard stands in the way of the double doors. If she leaves, she will never get the chance to thank him for his music that has become therapeutic for her during this difficult stage in her life. She will never get to tell him her name, to hear it fall from his tongue and lips with delicate sincerity.

It can’t hurt.

Before she changes her mind a second or third time, she tightens the drawstrings on her bag and walks up to his table. Her chin tilts upward, eyes firm on her target, and ignores the cold sensation in her bones. She is going to do it. She will. She almost does, but just a couple feet away from him she feels herself freeze. Her heart races, her forehead gets sweaty, and her feet plant firmly on the tile floor.

I can’t do this.

Despite her thoughts, she doesn’t make a move to walk away. She doesn’t think she can. The lively atmosphere of the diner mixes with the nerves in her body and chains her to the floor. If she doesn’t move now, someone at his table will surely point her out.

Oh my god, what am I going?

She looks away. Her front teeth bite down on her bottom lip, and she turns away before turning back. Her body fidgets in the middle of the walkway, at war with her mind, and she cringes over how strange this must look to any onlooker. In the end, she closes her eyes, inhales and exhales deeply, and opens herself to the world to turn back to face him.

There has been a fair amount of spooks in her short lifetime, especially now with the Halloween season in full effect. Yet, to her, there is nothing scarier than facing Harry Styles, only to find his eyes already staring.

His body turns to the left, a warm smile on his face. She imagines that his eyes must look the same, if not for the bedazzled pink sunglasses that moderately hide them. Her jaw drops a couple centimeters before she picks it back up, swallows harshly, and lets out a nervous giggle. Her hand manages to send him a twinkly wave, to which he reciprocates flawlessly.

“Hi,” he greets her, the dimple on the left making her heart clench. She takes a short moment to process the fact that he sees her, that he smiles at her, and that he is actually talking to her.

“...H-Hi,” she says back, sending herself a positive affirmation for completing such a minimal task.

“How are you?”

His voice is deep. It’s so nice to hear it authentically rather than having it travel through a microphone and out the speakers of a sold-out arena. “I’m good,” she answers, ends it with a smile and a nod, almost as if she reassures herself. “How are you?”

He lets out a measly laugh, noticing the way she nervously fumbles with her bag. “I’m fine, thank you,” he says, but from his behavior this entire night, she knows that he is more than fine. He is happy, and it is remarkable and relieving to see him this way.

She nods repetitively. “Of course, yeah, that’s cool.” In her daydreams, she is interesting enough to come up with a hundred different conversational topics. She imagines impressing him with her intellect, wooing him with her charm. In this moment, her tongue hides in her mouth, words suddenly disappearing from her vast vocabulary.

“What’s your name?” he ends up asking, saving her from complete and utter embarrassment. She pauses for a short second, searches her archives for the most basic piece of information about her, and recites it loud enough for him to hear. He repeats her name, sounds out all of the syllables, and devours each letter in his English accent. “I like that,” he says. “It’s nice. Pretty.”

Her mouth opens again. “Oh, oh thanks!” she smiles, feels herself burn up. Harry Styles has just told her that her name is pretty, and she responds with: “Your name is pretty too!”

Harry laughs at the grimace that crosses her face. “Thank you, I appreciate that.” He leans on the table with his elbows, looking back at the woman with his head raised so that his cap cannot block his view.

She’s being remarkably awkward. Harry has done his part. Now he looks up at her and waits for her next move. He doesn’t seem to be the initiator of conversation, a fact that makes her job so much more difficult.

“Sorry,” she blurts, a word he has probably heard a million times before. “I’m being weird.”

“No, no, it’s alright—”

“This is a lot to take in.”

“You’re fine, love—”

“It’s just that you mean so much to me.”

Harry pauses. His mouth gapes, only a little, before it closes in a shy smile. She wonders why there is a sudden blush in his cheeks, his eyes searching the floor. He has probably heard those same words a countless number of times as well. Can it be that he is so humble that it still affects him every time someone says it to him? Does he stay up at night and ponder how it is possible that he impacts people’s lives, and that they love him, even if they do not know him?

“Really?” he asks. His eyes dart back up to her, which makes her notice how amazing he is at eye contact. It is incredibly intimidating, but his persona is so welcoming and sweet that she feels herself easing up.

“Well, of course,” she raves, stepping closer to him. The other people at the table talk amongst themselves, paying no mind to her. Like Sahara had said: she’s not the first to interrupt. “I know you probably get this a lot, but your album is amazing. I listen to it all the time.”

“Wow.” He grins widely, so much that she can see those two precious front teeth of his. “That means a lot to me. Thank you.”

“No, I should be thanking you! I cried the first time I heard the album in full. But in a good way! You’re an amazing songwriter, by the way. I kind of thought about tattooing a lyric, but tattoos are kind of expensive so that’s going to have to wait. It’s okay, though, I’m not rushing into anything. I have other things to take care of first, but it would be cool, you know?”

She doesn’t notice how she rambles, not even when he chuckles to replace a response that he can’t seem to find an opportunity to get out. His laughter is so lovely, her ears feel as if they’re falling in love. He overwhelms her senses, especially when she breathes in a whiff of his unique scent. It all feels so magical.

“...so that’ll just be a plan for the distant future, but hopefully not when I’m old and pruney. I don’t think it’ll look as good, and I’m not very tolerable with pain as it is. Anyway, the album’s great, it was even better live. I cried again, a lot actually.”

He manages to sneak an inquiry in when she takes a moment to breathe. “Really?” his eyebrows shoot up, hidden by the sparkling cap. “You went to one of the shows?”

“Yeah!” she exclaims, recalling how happy it had made her to see her idol so passionate on that stage. “You did amazing. It drained a lot of my energy though, emotionally and physically. I had a feeling you were going to sing Girl Crush, but it still stuck a knife into my heart.”

Harry smiles. “In a good way?”

“Of course,” she reciprocates the gesture, “and well, you definitely know how to close a show. I don’t understand how you were able to perform Kiwi three consecutive times, but wow, it was quite a sight to see.” She swallows down a laugh when she remembers what she had said while leaving the Forum: crackhead Harry is insane, I want whatever he’s taking. “It was just a really great experience overall. So, thanks for that.”

“My pleasure,” he replies. She praises herself for the minute or two of steady conversation, but the pause that quickly ensues sticks her at a dead end. She has already thanked him, has already heard her name fall from his lips. She doesn’t want this moment to end, but what more is there to do?

“Uh...” her voice trails off as she struggles between two options: ask for a picture or ask for an autograph. For some reason, she feels that it is too much to ask for both. After all, he’s not in this restaurant to please others. He’s just here to have a good time. “I don’t want to be a bother, but do you mind signing something for me?”

Harry nods immediately, his entire body now shifting to face her. “Of course, love. Not a problem.”

She smiles with gratitude, thanks him again, and pulls at the drawstring of her bag. She knows that a picture will help her remember the moment more clearly, to recall what his smile looks like and what she wears on this fortunate night. She doesn’t even have anything specific that she wants him to sign, but the idea of having something for her eyes only makes her feel special. It makes the moment far more memorable than it already is.

After searching through her bag, she decides to pull out her planner from the bottom. It is a little something that she tries to utilize as often as she can, especially given her situation. She flips through the book and tears out a single lined page from the back, the word notes in the header. She hands it to him, the left edge torn a mess, and drops her jaw in realization.

“I don’t have a pen,” she admits, as if the world will suddenly end. With the paper in his left hand, Harry points up a single finger as to say one moment and turns to his friends. He asks if either of them have something to write with, to which the other individuals in costumes begin to search whatever belongings they have brought along with them.

“Right here,” Cindy announces, presenting the pink gel pen from her small purse before handing it to Harry.

Holy shit, Harry Styles is going to sign a page from my planner with Cindy Crawford’s pen.

“Thank you,” he says, then stands up from his chair. “Here, sit,” Harry tells her, to which she does a double take.

“Sit?” she repeats. He nods his head, walking around his chair only to sit in the empty seat next to it.

“Yeah, I don’t want to have you standin’ there all night.” He pushes the seat back for her, uncaps the gel pen with his mouth before remembering that it is not his. He quickly shoves the cap on the other end of the pen, sparing her a look that says whoops! and sets the page down on the table.

“Uh ... okay.” She hesitantly complies. “I’m not taking anyone’s seat, am I?”

Harry shrugs. “Just mine.”

“Are you taking someone else’s seat because I’m taking your seat?”

She finally situates herself on the warm chair, somewhat uncomfortable that she joins a table of very important people. She does relax knowing that she no longer towers over anyone else; it screams for attention.

Harry gives her a look. “No! What kind of a person do you think I am?”

“I don’t know, maybe a very busy one. Definitely kind, probably a little stressed at times, I totally feel you on that.” Harry smirks, which makes her shoulders cocoon awkwardly. “Oh, that was rhetorical. Right. Sorry.”

“No worries, I’m only teasing,” he assures her. “Is there anything you’d specifically like me to write?” Harry hovers the tip of the pen over the page. He is in full preparation for this favor, and all he needs is her permission to surge on. She responds with a combination of a shrug and the shake of her head. “It’ll be a surprise then.”

He winks at her, and she feel her fingers tingling. “Guess so.” Her eyes divert to the ceiling. She doesn’t want to ruin the surprise of whatever he is writing.

“Am I keeping you from someone?” he ponders aloud, shifting his eyes to her before proceeding with his scribbling. “Is someone waiting for you?”

“No. I came here alone.”

“Alone? On a Friday night? Why’s that?”

“Because it’s a Friday night. I don’t know that many people in the city, and the few that I associate with are probably out drinking their feelings away. I know I’m just going to end up being the designated driver and having to mother a bunch of drunks. While it is good practice, and as much as I want to keep them safe, I’d rather use my treat yourself Friday for something a little more enjoyable.”

“Treat yourself Friday?” Harry repeats, smiling down at the paper. He doesn’t think he’s ever heard of anything like that before.

“Yeah, so basically, the last Friday of every month, I just do that. Treat myself. Spend the day however I want. I don’t use a lot of vacation days, so I try to take off work whenever I can so that I can have the entire day free. If I want to go out to Disneyland, I’ll do that. If I want to stay in bed and watch movies all day, I’ll do that. It’s just a little reward to myself for getting through the month.”

“That sounds sick. I really like that. So, tonight, you’re treating yourself with some Mel’s?”

“Yeah, today was more of an adventure day. Exploring parts of the city I don’t usually go to. It was a little hard, the baby doesn’t really like me walking everywhere, but part of treat yourself Friday is to commit to any—”

“Wait,” Harry bluntly interrupts, his hand stopping in the middle of the page. He looks up at her with an apology in his eyes. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to cut you off, but did I hear you say baby?”

She thinks back to the words that have just come out of her mouth a moment ago, then simpers and nods. “Uh, yeah, I’m uh...” Her smile grows wider, but she can’t exactly find herself saying it aloud. Instead, she pulls back the end of her t-shirt, which is sizes larger than she actually is. She grasps as much material as she can, smoothening the front so that it shapes and cradles her growing belly underneath.

Harry’s eyes begin to glow. “You’re pregnant?”

“Indeed I am.”

“Wow. That’s incredible! Congratulations. How far along are you?”

She thanks him with a shy giggle. “Almost 14 weeks. It’s been a crazy transition, but it’s also been a very eye-opening one.”

“I can only imagine. That’s a delight to hear,” he says her name, and now he thinks it is one that he will never forget. “So, the father, does he worry about letting you go off and spend the day by yourself? Y’know, in case something happens?”

At this, the woman’s smile falters. She releases the fabric of her shirt, smoothing out the wrinkles while searching her lap. “I uh, I actually don’t know where the father is. Well, I do, I know who he is, but I don’t ... you know.”

She suddenly grows self-conscious. There is not one person in this entire diner that knows her personally, but she fears their eyes are all on her, judging her for the situation. Yet, when she looks up at Harry, his eyes drown with comfort and understanding, perhaps even a bit of empathy.

“I’m sorry. Can I ask why?” He slightly frowns, his soft voice lost in the overlapping conversations of the diner. “If it’s alright?”

“It’s ... kind of a long story.”

“You don’t have to tell me, if you don’t want to. I’m all ears either way.”

She feels her heart warm at this. It is one thing to know about his kindness and positivity, but it is another thing to actually experience it for herself. It sometimes feels like a sob story every time she recites it for someone new, but she doesn’t particularly worry about that with Harry. From the way he looks at her, she knows he’s being sincere.

“Okay ... it’s a little cliché, but basically, I met this guy at a bar last year. He was the lead guitarist for his band playing that night, which I found very ... appealing. My friends noticed him looking over at us, so after a few flirtatious glances, they invited him and his band over to our table after the set. Little did I know, I would end up dating him maybe a couple weeks later.”

Harry snickers quietly. “Rock stars, huh? Like pests, you can’t get rid of em’.”

She smiles in embarrassment. She tries to not let it show that she admires Harry in a similar, but much brighter light. He is, after all, a handsome man.

“I guess we just really got along. I ended up spending a lot of time with him, which was fine for me because I really liked him. He really did become this ... important part in my life. Months later, he quits his band and tells me that he’s going to pursue a solo career in LA, asks if I would go with him. I basically fell in love with the guy, so obviously I said yes and we moved into a small apartment in the city. Everything was great, spending lots of time together, practically the same. We even went to your concert together, but to make a long story short: one night, no condom, pregnant me.”

“Pregnant you,” Harry confirms, as he has seen her belly with his own two eyes.

“Right. So, pregnant me is scared, which is reasonable. We’re still really young, striving for our own careers and purposes in life. While I was, y’know, scared shitless, I never ... I never doubted the love I had for him. I didn’t know what was going to happen, how much my body was going to change, but I knew that I loved him. I love this baby too, because they’re ... it’s us. He always said that we were in this together. Wish I hadn’t been so naïve to believe him.”

“You’re not.” Harry frowns. “It’s basic human decency for someone to keep their word. It’s not your fault for putting your trust in someone you love.”

She smiles sadly at his words, then continues. “I expected his shock when I told him. Maybe even some disbelief, but I thought after some time he’d open up to the idea. Instead, he’s telling me that he can’t do this anymore. He says he loves me, but he can’t support me and the baby, not when his career is this close to skyrocketing. So, he breaks up with me and gives me a couple weeks to find a place or a friend to live with.”

“He kicked you out?” Harry asks, a hint of surprise and anger.

“He wanted to be a rock star, I guess. Rock stars don’t want to have their place littered with baby toys and pregnant-woman messes.”

Harry purses his lips at this. He flips the gel pen with his slim fingers, then shakes his head. “That’s not true. Real rock stars don’t abandon their families. Real men don’t run away from their shit, pardon my French.”

She giggles at his bluntness. “It’s ironic, huh? He wants to be a rock star and here I am, talking to one of the biggest in the industry.”

Harry blushes. He may be a little narcissistic at times, but most compliments have him all bash-like when they’re face-to-face. “Can’t believe he had the nerve to attend my concert and then do what he did,” he grumbles. “I mean, did he even read what’s on my merchandise? He didn’t even have to buy the shirt, it’s on the bloody bag. It was painted all over the arena, for Christ’s sake.”

“I don’t know. I guess he’s as oblivious as he is a jackass.”

“That’s right.” He laughs. “I’m sorry to push on this so much, but do you ... have someone?”

“What do you mean?”

“Is there someone that’s helping you with this? Family, or somethin’ like that?”

She gives him a disappointed look. “Well, I have family,” she explains, “but they don’t live here. On top of that, they were really angry with me for leaving with him. So, they haven’t disowned me, but they’ve made it pretty clear that this is not their problem to deal with. My parents said that if I was responsible enough to move to a new city with my boyfriend of less than a year, then I’m responsible enough to take care of myself.”

“Oh. I’m ... sorry about that.”

“Tough love, I guess.” She shrugs. “They’ll still visit, maybe even spoil the kid like grandparents do. For the most part, all I have is myself and the occasional friend that is willing to drive me to work every morning.”

Harry stays silent. He doesn’t know what more he can say to her. Nothing can change the fact that she is a single pregnant woman left to raise a child on her own.

A short moment passes as the two simply stare at each other. She absorbs the strange atmosphere lingering between them, but is afraid to point it out in fear that it is only her. Harry breaks away first, focuses back on the letter, and signs it off with his bulky autograph.

“Here you go.” He hands her the sheet, then caps the pen to return it. The woman takes the page and eagerly folds it in half to stick in her bag. She doesn’t want to ruin the surprise, so she reserves it for when she gets back home.

After thanking him again, she makes a move to stand up. Her eyes roll instead, a sigh releasing from her nostrils. “Damn. All this time and I forgot to call an Uber.”

“What? You’re taking an Uber home?”

“Yeah, I don’t have a car. I wasn’t going to have enough for rent this one time, and it was already late, so I kind of just made an impulsive decision to sell it. It’s okay, though, I’m managing. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a major difference, but all it really means is that I can’t leave a place whenever I want. It really teaches me some patience. Guess The Office is just going to have to wait.”

Harry stares at her. He doesn’t say anything, nor does he indicate that he is planning to. She dejects at this and realizes that she speaks to him as if he is her therapist. As if he is someone that she knows personally, rather than a stranger that she looks up to.

“Sorry. I’m rambling too much. Anyway, I should be going. Or, in my case, wait for my Uber outside. Thanks again for the autograph, and for sparing me your time. It means a lot. Sorry for all of the word vomit, again. Nice meeting you.”

She doesn’t know how she can be any more embarrassing, but she doesn’t give herself an opportunity to find out. Her body works quickly as she steps up on her feet, maneuvering around the space between Harry and the empty chair, then quietly ambles on to the entrance.

“Wait, wait!” he calls out her name. To say she is perplexed is far beyond an understatement. Her heart drops in her chest, confirming his soft command in case her mind convinces her otherwise. She stops and turns around to find him speed-walking up to her. “Why don’t I take you home?”

She blinks up at him. Is she dreaming? Is this another daydream? Of course, in those, she isn’t a single pregnant woman who rides Ubers home regularly.

“You ... what?”

“Please, let me take you home. I don’t mind at all, it’s the least that I can do.”

"Wh – the least that you can do for what?”

Harry shrugs, sliding off his pink bedazzled glasses. She meets with his green eyes, alluring in person, even more so in this close proximity. “Just for you,” he answers. “Ubers aren’t always the safest way to get home. I want to make sure that you get to your ... The Office safe.”

She gives him a benign smile. “It’s a show.”

“I know. I don’t think I’ve ever watched it before. I’m being serious, though. It’s no trouble. Please.”

“I don’t want to take you away from your friends...”

“That doesn’t matter. We’ve come from a Halloween party. The night’s practically over. Please don’t make me ask again, or have to say please again. Please.”

He is so charismatic and endearing that she has to laugh. She never expects her night to include Harry Styles offering her a ride back to her place. It sounds ridiculous and unimaginable, so much that her daydreams have never conjured up such a thought.

“I think it might be a little bit out of your way...”

Harry deadpans. “Really? Are you just coming up with random excuses now?”

“No, it’s true! You probably live in like ... I don’t know, the mountains or something? Beverley hills? Hollywood? I’m miles away from there.”

“Alright,” he says, sliding his sunglasses back on his face. “That’s it. I’m taking you home. I don’t want to hear it.”

He shushes her by bringing his index finger up to his smiley lips. He suavely turns around and walks back to his table to inform his friends of his departure and to say his goodbyes. He makes sure to give everyone around the table an individual parting, whether it is a kissy cheek touch or a firm handshake. A short minute later, he returns back to his new passenger, then leads her to the guarded entrance.

“Just give me a mo’, darling,” he tells her, walking up to a man on the inside of the glass doors. She watches the two discuss, the sensation of prying eyes practically scorching her at all angles. There is a lot of head nodding between Harry and the man, but their conversation finishes with a kind handshake. Harry saunters back to her, his pink lips puckering with a melodic whistle. “We’ve just got to wait for the car to pull up,” he explains, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Kind of like an Uber,” the woman retorts, then avoids his narrowing yet playful eyes.

In the interim of their waiting, the pair engages in some more small talk. She mentions his Halloween costume, to which he boasts over, speaking highly of the people who had made it for him as well as the origin of his idea. This leads to a conversation about music, where she names an artist that she loves and Harry recalls his experience meeting them. It somehow leads to more pregnancy talk; her specific cravings and strange antics she acquires, as well as how much she hates not being able to sleep on her back.

When the man at the doors informs the two that the car is ready, Harry turns to her with a serious demeanor. “Erm, there’s not much I can do about this, but there will probably be some people out there. Photographers, fans...”

“Oh.” She nods and clutches her bag tighter.

“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s fine. It’s totally out of your control, I get it.”

Harry nods as though he disagrees but doesn’t want to press it any further. He takes off his pink sunglasses, turns them around, and holds them in front of her frazzled face. She looks up with bemuse, frozen as the sunglasses inch closer and closer. When the two tips touch her cheeks, she flutters her eyes closed, permitting him to slide them on. As her heart compresses with tenderness, she feels a slight weight falling against her hairstyle, not fitting on her head quite right.

When her eyes open, his face is bare, and his luxurious curls pat down in a weird style. “Just in case,” he says, almost in a sad way. He runs his fingers through his hair and shakes the style a bit, not quite accomplishing much.

She only nods to assure him that it is okay, that she understands. She second guesses herself – the ambience is so strange, she can’t be the only one to notice. He goes on to inform her that when the doors open, the two will simply walk out, she in front of him and both behind the security guard. The car will be straight ahead for her to climb in first, but he also advises her to look toward the ground on her walk there.

She can’t find any words to express how she feels about all of these precautions. The doors open, and her bones feel like ice cubes in the already freezing liquid of her blood. She does as he says, follows the burly man that steps in front of her, guiding her to the vehicle. Her vision moves to the concrete, a slight commotion of excited voices and camera shutters on either side. The name Harry flies around like a swarm of bees, both endearing and chaotic. Harry, I love the costume! How are you doing, Harry? Harry, can you look over here?

Lifetimes seem to pass before she reaches the car, the back-right door open as a helpful hand guides her in. She thanks him quietly, but she’s not sure if he hears it before Harry climbs in after her. The car door shuts abruptly and conceals them both in the tinted windows and sleek black doors of the backseat.

“That was fun,” she mumbles, taking off the hat and the glasses and setting them on the seat in between them. She wonders if anyone had even noticed her.

Harry responds with an eyebrow raise and settles himself into the cold leather seats. She notices how the material begins to heat up, warming her bottom and the back of her thighs. The driver greets them both, and after Harry reciprocates the welcome, he explains to him the current situation.

“No problem,” the driver replies. “The address?”

“Oh, here, I can pull it up on my phone’s map—”

“No, no,” the driver cuts her off as she looks up quizzically from the bright screen. “It’s okay, you can just tell me the general area.”

The woman tilts her head. When she looks to Harry, he gives her a small smile. “He knows his way around,” he tells her.

The driver’s eyes gleam at her through the rearview mirror. She responds with a timid smile and recites the area of her neighborhood in the same manner. It’s a part of the city that people don’t tend to boast about. Tourists and newcomers picture the downtown area when they think of Los Angeles, or even the houses up in the hills. Her neighborhood is more discreet, but she doesn’t mind it so much. It’s calm, it’s as quiet as it can be in the city, and it is right in her price range.

“So ... how do you like LA?” she speaks up when the silence becomes a tad bit too uncomfortable for her. She’s thankful that the city lights are the only illumination in the car. He can’t see her cringe at her spontaneous question this way.

Harry shrugs. “It’s nice. I’ve had a house here for a while. Hasn’t always treated me good, but it still has lots of memories. Good ones.”

“Nice. That’s nice. Crazy, though. You’ve probably been living here since you were a teenager. You’re so young, but so accomplished at the same time. Or not! What do I know? I don’t know your aspirations. You’ve got a long way to go, mister, your career’s not even a decade old.”

She doesn’t know why her tongue refuses to shut up, but it always drags on for too long before she realizes it. Either way, he responds with a chuckle every time. “Not yet. Almost there, though.”

“Right. Eight years,” she says under her breath. “Don’t forget to tweet next year.”

“What was that?”

“Huh? Wh – nothing.”

Harry eyes her suspiciously, but then the ends of his mouth curl upwards in a smug. “I try to settle down when I can,” he explains. “I didn’t get the chance to do that for a while.”

She frowns at his words. She knows how overworked he and his friends had been. It’s disheartening when she really thinks about it, but his life now – he’s as relaxed as a rock star can be. Stress is a given factor, but he seems to be more in control of his life than ever. That brings her enough peace of mind.

After the decent-length car ride to the general area of her neighborhood, it turns out that the driver does need to use a GPS to guide him the rest of the way. He has never been asked to drive around this area. She offers to talk him through it – just make a left here, and then go on for like, a few lights – but he assures her that it is much easier for her to relax and for the faceless voice to help him. Before she pulls out her phone, his fingers are tapping away on the built-in stereo touchscreen.

Harry peers curiously through the closed window, observing all of the complexes and houses with chipped paint and rusty cars. She doesn’t say anything, nor does she really want to. What more could impulsively ramble out of her mouth, offering far more insight than is necessary?

She releases a calm breath once the car eases to a halt on the street of a familiar up-down duplex. The sound of the doors simultaneously unlocking is all it takes for her to bid her farewells. “Thank you, sir,” she says, exchanging a look with the driver through the rear-view mirror. She turns to Harry as the lights inside the vehicle fade on. “And thanks again, Harry. I don’t know how many times I’ve said it tonight, but this was really nice of you to do.”

He dismisses it with a shrug. “Just common curtesy.”

“It’s not as common as you think. Anyway, I really appreciate it. I hope you have fun ... uh, doing whatever it is you’re doing now. Can’t wait for the new album. Goodnight.”

She flashes one more beaming smile before slinging her bag over her shoulder and pushing the door on her left open. She hops out foot-by-foot, ignoring the strange look Harry had given her, which is the last memory she will have of him for this never-ending moment. The sadness instills as she slams the door shut as quietly as she can – tomorrow is Saturday, a perfectly fine working day for her neighbors. She feels her heart weigh heavy on the gravel street as she rounds the back of the vehicle. With the wide duplex high in her sights, she steps a few steps forward and onto the curb of the sidewalk, in tune with the serenity of the night until she sees Harry’s vague figure standing next to her.

“Oh,” she says in surprise. There is also a slight fear due to the surrounding darkness. “Hi again. Did ... What happened? Did I forget something?”

Harry shakes his head. He steps to the side and shuts the back-right door of the car. “No. Nothin’ happened. Just want to make sure that you get home safely.”

“...I am home.”

He looks to his far left, then turns to his far right. He even stretches his neck a bit to peer over the vehicle’s top. “Strange home. Doesn’t seem to be ... any walls as far as I’m concerned. Nothing to keep you safe from the outside world. Not even a roof.”

She realizes what he means, which makes her playfully narrow her eyes at his slight sarcasm. “I think I can make it the few extra steps on my own.”

“Nothing wrong with being cautious.”

“I’m pregnant, not defenseless.”

“I know that. My conscience is almost as powerful as my ego, unfortunately.”

She can’t help the laugh that roars through her. With modest shame, she purses her lips and twiddles her fingers against them. “Fine. C’mon then. I could’ve finished season five by now.”

She leads him past the wide sidewalk and into the general confinements of the duplex’s property. Her trail heads up a flight of stairs against the side of the building, to which she turns her head and says, “I’m on the second floor,” over her shoulder.

“I see that,” he butts in. “I don’t see you holding onto the railing there.”

She discreetly rolls her eyes as her right hand slides onto the dirty railing, hovering over it in between every few steps up. In a few seconds, she reaches the balcony in front of her door, loosening the drawstrings of her bag to search for her keys.

Harry arrives just after her, huffing as he leans an arm on top of the balcony railing. It’s not much of a view – the roofs of other residential buildings, back yards, and maybe a few interconnecting streets – but it strangely gives him a different perspective than what he has become accustomed to. The jingling of keys distracts his subtle thoughts. He watches her pick out a specific one out of a few.

“Why’s there so many?” he asks, trying to figure it out for himself in the split second it takes for her to respond.

“Well, this is for the gate,” she says, demonstrating a silver key as she inserts it into the grooves of the cage just in front of the door. The two step out of the way as she pulls it open, his eyes dawdling on her hidden belly. It creaks in agony and he pushes it back as far as it can go. “And this,” she says, revealing a similar but different silver key, “is for the actual door. The rest are a secret.”

She is quick to unlock the heavy door, turning its tricky handle to push her way inside. It is pitch dark in her living space, but Harry can make out a small kitchen somewhere on the right thanks to the moonlight. She takes a gentle step in and turns around to face him with a knowing smile.

“I’m home now.”

“Of course. Lovely home. Looks roomy, from what I can tell.”

“Not so much. I share the place. It was the best I could do on short notice, but this makes the rent a bit easier.”

Harry nods, his eyes naturally sparkling without the pink tint of his sunglasses. A moment passes, but she doesn’t know if it is comforting or awkward.

“Um ... thanks for the ride?” she tries, mocking herself as a broken record.

Harry chuckles warmly. “Not a problem. I’m glad to have brought you home safe.”

“That I am. Home safe. In my home ... full on some Mel’s. Ready to rest in my bed.”

“Sounds like a great way to end treat-yourself-Friday.” Harry bows his head once more, then stares intensely into her eyes. “It was lovely to meet you tonight,” he says her name, the last time he will ever have the chance to say it to her. “You’re very ... brave.”

She scrunches her face at the word. “Brave?”

“Yeah. With the, uh, situation you’re in. Is it wrong to say it like that?”

“No,” she laughs, “I call it a situation all the time. My baby might as well join the cast of the Jersey Shore by the time I pop them out.”

The joke makes him laugh, but he settles down very quickly. “Well, yes, your situation. It’s very courageous of you to be so strong. You just seem to ... power through.”

“I’d hardly say that’s the case,” she says timidly. Her hand instinctively reaches up to caress the swell of her stomach over the soft material of her excessively lengthy shirt. “I’m just living my life. Existing as the days go by.”

“I know, but ... I don’t know, it just seems different. Like everything is menial compared to what you’re experiencing.”

She shrugs and looks to the floor. “I mean ... I guess. I’m not the only one experiencing it, though. It’s a tough world. We just have to do what we have to do. But I’m doing okay.”

“Proper,” Harry says, which makes her pick up her head. “That’s good to hear. I’ll leave you to it, then.”

She tries not to dismay, but she knows it will hit her severely when he is gone. For a silly moment, she believes that the night will play on forever. The reality of it is that he is Harry Styles; a busy life awaits beyond her own, but it is nice to dream.

“Okay,” she croaks out, watching as he grabs ahold of the gate and begins to gradually swing it toward her.

With her hand on her belly, a single thumb running over the expanse, she scoots herself back into the unit with quick and short steps. His eyes gander at the faint outline of her belly, remaining there until he is certain that the loud gate will not crush her when he closes it. Once it clicks into place, she locks it from the inside and he spares her a lighthearted gaze. The two never seem to part their eyes from then on, not even with the cage between them.

“It was really nice to meet you, Harry. Thanks for talking to me. And for taking me home. And making sure I got home safe. And the autograph, too.”

“You’re very welcome.” He steps back, stopping just at the edge of the first step. “Goodnight.”

She gives him a measly wave, to which he responds with a subtle nod and plops down the stairs at a steady pace. She watches him until he reaches the ground, to which she steps further into her home and closes the front door. She doesn’t think she can bear watching the dark vehicle drive away, so she doesn’t bother having a peak out the living room window and instead locks the door and trudges to her room.

She hopes that she is silent enough to not wake up her roommate. She walks into the last door on the right of the small corridor past the kitchen and living room. Her room smells fresh, though her bed is unmade from her eagerness to leave this morning.

She locks herself in her private quarter, toes off her shoes at the door, and meagerly steps forward. She stops and turns to sit herself down on the mattress that sinks with her added weight, then uses her hands to push her entire body back and up the bed. She rests against the swarm of pillows and settles into a comfortable position on her side, staring forward at the blank wall.

A few seconds pass before her hand reaches toward the nightstand on her right. She pulls on the lamp’s chain to give herself some fair lighting, then pulls her bag up by its single strap. Her heart beats for the sole purpose of reading the ripped sheet of her planner; an excitement bubbles in her chest.

Her arm sticks in to sift mindlessly until her fingers grasp the folded page. Once she takes it out, she places her bag to the floor and runs her thumb over the paper. She doesn’t waste another second to unfold it, her curious eyes scanning over the sweet message he had written above his autograph. She reads it over a dozen times, smiling giddily to her tired self, before forgetting about her binge-watching plans and succumbing to a peaceful sleep.

#honeytryst

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dearduende · 4 years

Text

DID

this all really happen? the way it’s written, no— scratched into the spiral bound, composition, college-ruled everything. each waking moment and fights and fears. and the dreams. including those crushes from afar with code names that I must piece together from hints over months and years, and then tracing back cryptic love notes tucked into lockers now pinned as if evidence pointing to the mens rea— the furtive phone calls in hushed tones from my bathroom as if my parents didn’t notice me flush and steal myself away from the dinner table and the nightly status reports. the secrecy (and the hormones) (and the embarrassment of my existence) (but mostly the hormones) blooming acne across my chin, my forehead, my nose within the grooves of its parentheses willing its contents—each pore—to shrink into an afterthought. I remember now how I had prayed to God to absolve my skin problems and to solve my boy ones. even bargained with Him in bed that I’d stop touching myself— or at least a bit less—as if these whiteheads were His chosen form of punishment. a dozen constellations across my shoulders from which my mother would weave the story of her same hidden shame, shared scars and bumps across our backs like labels in Braille of all the parts I want to hide, she promised: it’ll lessen and pass with time.

yet it still manages to haunt the next generation.

pull out the red string and the pins to map the evidence, the eye witness accounts, the threats and the retaliation and the heartache onto the faded bamboo floors of my parents’ house. the times I willed myself not to cry, stone woman as my mother avalanched again over the granite before me her voice booming and crumbling daring to swallow us. the way I stoically thrilled in the lust of our mutual destruction, first: the sticky salt of our wounds lashed by sharp tongues and second: the umami of it seared and grilled to perfection. still bleeding. medium rare. or when my father stampeded the room. seeing red. throwing a metal water bottle, denting it permanently against the wall then landing on the cold tile. how their swear words were only ever in English (that’s when I knew shit was serious) a rare violence uncondoned by both their mothers’ tongues.

I’m just realizing now: no wonder my brother and I, or I’ll just speak for myself, why I still burst into tears in the middle of their war zone, or whatever else might feel remotely like it. I now know instead of acting as an unsolicited diplomat caught in the crossfire it’s safer to seek asylum in the Switzerland of the next room, one ear still wired to their rising voices (I can’t help it) and their talking points, only to draft peace treaties for a civil war where they’ve long forgotten what it is they’re really fighting about anymore. but back then, this was the only way to snap them out of self-destruct mode by overriding their programming with the parental unit fail-safe. their child crying.

I could walk backwards through it with my eyes closed and show you exactly how the sun slants through the windows. how in late spring afternoon the crystals hanging in the dining room explode a universe of rainbows, little galaxies of light scattered among our dark matter, across the white walls and the floors and the crumbs on the pale table cloth. I could point out all the favorite sun spots of Tiger and Lily (may he rest in peace) and somehow always end up back at the grand piano. there is a tenderness only fingertips know.

dig out the mental blueprints from the archives. the different schools. the cliques and the quacks. the start of another year. short shorts and sweaters. (refer to your diaryjournals for the details).

and then another new journal. how they all somehow begin with the just-after-waking subtle scent of short stories germinating in my mind. they seem to disappear just before I can finish transcribing them and then I’m left empty handed, dumfounded, foolish and doubting and then writing the only kinds of stories I do know, the ones I’m still learning to place in the light sprouting tender roots between sheets of paper, pressed tightly like all those flower petals— if only I could preserve their bright pigment tones. but even imagination fades. and seemingly so do memories. these spines loosely bound and knees and elbows now cracked, scuffed, and crinkled. just a bit creased and water damaged. over the years. but mostly tears—watermarks from another era. once, an errant sprinkler jet from the lawn tap tap tapped against my bedroom window just barely cracked open, as fate would have it. waterlogged stacks of books my pillars now pink and black and blue with mold and flooded the bamboo floors. trying to put out the wrong fires a decade too late, or maybe the right fires as in the written ones, to destroy the evidence. I now keep them sealed in a plastic box.

I plead the fifth. there must be some limit after all these years, when it’s way too late to apologize anyway— I’ve considered, and then talked myself down, from texting or DMing all the people I have wronged. and memory serves no one now. if my handwriting has changed at least a dozen times does that mean I’ve lived a dozen different lives? the Hubba Bubba gum tape chewing preteen blowing bubbles over every i and j and under each ! and then there’s the jagged purple glitter pen cursive as if going slower helps it turn out better— one of those things you realize later in life isn’t always true. there’s the one seemingly always in a rush, skinny and slanted and caffeinated (there are coffee spill stains to prove) always as if she’s just about to topple over. breathe, I want to tell her, no need to move so fast. you will concuss yourself doing so. and two weeks later also topple down the stairs. (both true stories.) life will force you to slow down. I almost forget the one more rounded and grounded printed in ballpoint extra fine so as not to bleed but what’s the cost of living for the sake of perfection? what even is my handwriting now? I had to dig out one of my scrap paper lists to figure out how its a blend, less measured and more movement without being driven purely by entropy.

loosely held together.

and now, how often do I write, like with pen and paper the letters carved and inked their ghosts passing through the walls between pages bumping up against other memories. these lives and voices call out to me across the decades, some more familiar than others almost like specimens in a museum glass box too fragile for the dust or the humidity or the air or the light of day. I’m an archeologist glowing at her simple discovery which really just involves showing up onsite and digging and dusting and continued search over and over into the pits of my being delicately brushing away at the dirt around my bones, the silt and sediment compressing into a cross section of history held in my hand. look! here it is.

so I write again, if only for this moment to leave my future self some clues (in no particular order): the return of my freckles. Craigslist apartment daydreams. I’m building my callouses learning a new landscape of metal strings and broken chords. say a little prayer. tonight, I made choong yao bang from scratch with Mom. I’ve been staying up way too late (it’s 4:35am right now... why?) and then falling asleep to ASMR videos (specifically, Emma). Mom and Dad are actually not fighting much these days despite spending all day under the same roof (find your Google doc, love in the time of quarantine).

my younger self might not even recognize these people inhabiting our same house.

Mom and Dad are both still here. and I’m trying not to take it all for granted, I promise. we’re together for now but he’s gone again (eerily, much like 10 years ago but this time on his own terms) or at least he’s far away, who knows, who’s to say. we’re giving him time and space. and we’re learning how to hold each other while we fall apart, sometimes all at the same time. usually in different ways.

how I’m scared and excited for my life to unfurl one leaf at a time. allowing myself the gift, the anticipation, the surprise, and then counting the splits.

reach for the sunlight, keep reaching.

and I still don’t know what I wanna be when I grow up but when have I ever had it all figured out and what fun is that.

and a note to my younger self: PS—not only will you continue to write for emotional release (reference my pure bewilderment of this cathartic power in diaryjournal dated February 10, 2007) you will also connect with other humans in your words and we’ll play in our world and revel in theirs too. keep writing, for yourself. and dare to share it with others.

gather what others refer to as the weeds, make a bouquet, blow and scatter the dandelion seeds.

#writing #poetry #poem #words #poets on tumblr #new poets society #spilled ink #spilled poetry #reflection #i found old journals #late night writings #late night poetry #4am #spilled thoughts #poets corner #written by me #writing about writing

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suicidalcatz · 5 years

Text

DOG DAYS ARE OVER : CHAP 5

AN: Hello frens! Are you having a nice sunday? In this chapter we exchange some texts. But also we make fun of Josh just because. In the next chapter, things get complicated between the three of you... I hope you’ll like it. Please feel free to comment or send me prompts!

Pairing : Jake Kiszka x Reader

Genre : College AU

Previous parts : Prologue ; Chap 1 ; Chap 2 ; Chap 3 ; Chap 4

Masterlist : here

Chapter five : New number, who dis ?

Packing never made me feel weird before. It was friday afternoon so a majority of students were going home or, like me, to their parents' place for the week end. Most of the time I'd stay in my dorm with Mandy because we had so much homework there was no point coming home at all. I already knew for a fact that I'll be locked up in my room all week end painting, drawing, and cutting paper, but I promised I'd see them since it has been a while. My parents' cooking and comfy house usually made me impatient but not this time. I knew the boys were staying on campus because they lived far away, and it gave me mixed feelings. Part of me longed for Jake, and the feeling of his touch on my wrist was still so vivid I sometimes got the impression his hand was still here. On the other hand, he and Josh were big family guys, and seeing them missing their home so much while I was reluctant to see mine made me feel like a spoiled brat. That's why instead of calling to tell my parents I wasn't coming home this week end either, I went home to enjoy every bit of it.

My mom had already made my favorite dish, and dad was excitedly chatting about this new movie he saw on tv the other day. It felt good, I could allow myself to relax a little, take a bath, hang out with some friends for an hour or two after finishing an assignment.

Sitting at my desk, I dropped the pen and stretched my back, falling back onto the chair and looking at my work. I did good this week, so the teacher didn't make me redo any of my assignments, which was very fortunate because I still had a flyer design to create. I unfolded that one Jake gave to me and took a look at all the infos, preparing a draft of my first idea. Why they didn't let the Illustration department do the visual com design was a mystery. By the look of it I bet it was the Music and Architecture dudes who made it. There was a bunch of band names thrown in the middle, what looked like a pixelled stock image of a Santa hat in a corner, « with beer ! » in a really ugly comic bubble in another, and the worst was that they though Comic Sans was an acceptable font choice. Unbelievable. That's why we can't let Architecture dudes do anything.

Creating a decent design took me a solid two hours, which was way faster than I planned. Getting up, I studied it from a distance, looking for flaws. It wasn't the best I could've done but it was pretty cool and not printed with neon yellow paper. For now, I'll rest my head for a bit and see if I can sketch the few more ideas I came up with later on. Feeling proud of my work, I took a picture to send it to Jake. It was dark and quiet outside, and one glance at the clock confirmed my thoughts on how late it was already. Biting my lower lip, I struggled. Maybe he was sleeping.

I never texted him since he gave me his number. I mean he gave it to me so we could talk about the flyers, right ? I would've been uneasy using it for another reason. Pondering whether of not I should maybe wake him up, I started pacing in my room, tidying and touching things, stuff I did when I was nervous. My arm still had some black marker on it, faded shapes and symbols vaguely resembling numbers, like an old letter with smudged ink and discolored paper. At first I didn't wanted to wash it off. Mandy and I got so excited by it we cheered together right after school, and classmates seemed intrigued by it. The cold weather didn't allow me to show too much skin so it could look like a tattoo, or a hot guy gave me his number (which was technically true). It could look like I just wrote it myself, but it was totally lame so I didn't want to think about it. Although I really enjoyed that empowering feeling of being someone's interest, at least a little, I scrubbed it hard the same evening. I didn't know if Josh was aware of it and couldn't raise suspicion in case he wasn't. It looked like we were doing something bad, and maybe we were, I had no clue. Guys had that weird rule regarding friends dating brothers and according to Netflix romcoms I was walking on thin fucking ice so I wasn't taking any risks. To be honest I don't think Josh would mind us talking but Jake seemed like a secretive guys so if he told Josh then I'll talk about it and otherwise, I won't. I'll just go with the flow and follow his lead on this, it was safer.

It was almost 2AM when I sent the pic and left my room to get a nice cup of tea/coffee after all these efforts. By the time I got back I had one new message.

« Hi to you too »

I felt my heart jump a little when I saw his name at the top of the screen, and his first text made me smile. I got so pumped by all these design ideas that I forgot to tell him it was me. The picture made it clear enough, though, but maybe it was a bit rude of me. Taking a sip of hot tea/coffee before putting the mug on the night table, I sat on the bed, eyes still on my phone, thinking of an answer. It took me maybe too long because I kept on rereading it to be sure I wouldn't embarrass myself with a typo.

« Hi, sorry. So what do you think ? »

The phone was threwn on the blankets and I turned on the tv to make me think of something else than his future reply. Saying that I was confident would be half-true. The design was good or so I thought so, but then again tastes were all too subjectives and art was tricky. He had all the right to hate it, I wouldn't take it personally (well at least not a hundred percent...). Idly watching a re-run of some old sitcom, I continued to quietly empty my cup and switch channels without really paying attention when I heard my phone buzz and let everything down to grab it.

« I got to admit you were right, our flyers sucked, this one looks fantastic »

And maybe my cheeks started turning pink. Compliments on my art meant a lot, more than those on my personnality or physic. It was really rewarding to have someone enjoy something you created from your own hands. It felt better than any other flattery, so the reply came naturally.

« I'm so glad you like it. I had a few more ideas in stock just in case »

His next message came so fast this time that I didn't even put down my phone yet when I felt it vibrate in my palm.

« Thank you for this, I really appreciate it. I'll owe you one. »

His sweet personality made a smile spread across my face. I took the flyer in my hand again, studying it. The number of bands playing this day was surprisingly high. Some of them I knew because I either heard people talk about it, or knew the guys playing. One especially because they kept rehearsing their rap lyrics in the dorms for everybody to enjoy, which I didn't since they started loudly singing at three in the morning and ignored all my complaints about the noise of their boombox. But most of the bands, no, I didn't know. I continued watching intently the names of the bands playing as if I'll have an epiphany and guess which was Jake's. Giving up, I took my phone again to tap.

« Don't sweat it, I'm glad to help. So... which one are you... ? »

Again, the reply was faster than the first texts we exchanged, despite the late hour.

« You mean the band ? Guess you'll have to come and find out »

I raised an amused eyebrow at this. Getting cocky, aren't we ?

« Alright then, Mister Mysterious, I'll wait and see. »

« You won't regret it. », replied Jake, and for some reason my face started heating up again.

We didn't speak for several minutes, I didn't know what to say now that the topic was closed, and I had nothing to add to it. Switching channels and drinking tea/coffee didn't gave me much help either, at this hour it was either old re-runs, or tv shopping. My eyes looked at the digital alarm clock, and it was almost three in the morning. That's how I knew what to write next.

« I just thought about it, but didn't I wake you up ? »

He was fast as ever again this time, probably wide awake and without anything to do.

« No, don't worry. Rehearsing with my brothers. I'm taking a break until Sam and Josh stop arguing and find a compromise for the new song. Our friend Danny's being the peace keeper once again, I left him alone on the battlefield and went out for a smoke. »

The war metaphor made me chuckle lightly, causing my imagination to run wild. The thought went through my mind that I couldn't believe they would argue, but since they were brothers it was normal I guess, even if they seemed pretty close. Close enough to form a band together at least. I never saw Josh angry, but he had a very vivid temperament, so it wasn't really much of a surprise either. My mind wandered a bit, and I briefly wondered how Jake looked in a heated argument. Probably hot, but also intimidating. He had that kind of quiet aura that seemed like it could become suddenly agitated, like a spotless watercourse that got troubled by the rain or rocks that ricocheted on it. I couldn't explain it, but it was how my limited knowledge of him perceived it.

My phone buzzed again, and this time it was a picture that made me snort in the ugliest way possible. It was a very unflattering close up of a moody and clearly unamused Josh who looked like he was in the middle of scolding Jake for doing whatever he did that got him upset. More of it came, one after the other, for my greatest amusement, and by looking at them in order I could see his actions and movements, like a flipbook of ugly pictures of an angry Josh wearing a colorful dyed t shirt and ample pants that I assumed were his pajamas. The last one got me shaking with laughter, poor Josh looked awful, in a middle of what I assumed was a menacing speech for Jake to stop his bullshit, with an eye half closed and his mouth stuck the weirdest twist of the lips humanly possible. I saved this one as blackmail material, might be helpful in the future.

I didn't even know what to respond to that, they all radiated such chaotic energy it was splendid. Jake was quicker, and sent me a text this time, saying Josh threw his slipper at his face and that he was lucky he hadn't had the tambourine in his hands at that moment.

« I guess rehearsal is over for today, hopefully they'll make up their minds about the song tomorrow. Thanks again for the flyers, see you on monday, we'll print them. »

I never knew I'd be that impatient to go back to school before meeting him.

#gvf fic #gvf x reader #gvf imagine #gvf fanfic #jake kiszka x reader #jake kiszka fic #jake kiszka imagine #josh kiszka fic #greta van fleet fic #greta van fleet imagine #greta van fleet #jake kiszka

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amymel86 · 5 years

Text

Tipping the Velvet - Chapter 30

On AO3

A fluffy kind of interlude to help me get back into this one...

Sansa felt her smile widen. She’s been smiling a lot this morning and the ache in her cheeks is a wholly welcome one. She’s being courted. Not only that, but she’s being courted by Jon. No matter how her head whispers words of caution to her heart, her heart seems stubbornly intent on not listening as it sits there in her chest, steadily beating for him.

“Yours faithfully is a little too formal and impersonal for a letter to a friend, don’t you think?” Sansa asks little Sam as he sits adjacent to her, little legs swinging back and forth on his chair. They were sat in the quiet of the Tarly’s library, working on Sam’s correspondence.

“But that’s what people write to father,” he protests, pointing to one of Lord Tarly’s received letters that he had been using for reference with his own; making sure to lay out his own correspondence in the appropriate manner.

“Yes, but that letter,” Sansa starts, taking the parchment from the lad, “is from someone that your father isn’t acquainted with. There are certain rules with letter-writing, Sam.”

The boy huffed and shoved his nibbed pen back into the inkwell with more force than was needed. “I don’t like rules.”

Sansa opens her mouth to answer upon the necessity of rules when the tall door to the library creaks open and a head of dark curls pokes itself in, peering into the room. When Jon’s eyes meet with hers, Sansa can feel a little jolt down the centre of her chest. He licks his lips and takes a step into the room, seemingly pleased with himself with having found her.

“Uncle Jon!” Sam greets him, though he is no uncle in truth. Sansa stifles a giggle when Jon looks to the boy with surprise, having not noticed him sat there before the sweet boy made himself known.

“Samwell,” he bows in greeting before angling his body to bow his head to Sansa next, “my lady. What are we doing here?”

“We are writing letters,” Sansa answers, her eyes following Jon as he comes around to her side of the table and seats himself next to her. His chair-legs scuff against the parquet flooring in a loud sort of scraping noise as he manoeuvres himself closer.

“And Sansa is making me follow rules,” little Sam huffs making both adults smile.

Jon wets his lips again making Sansa wonder if she was as mesmerised by the action before as she is now? It’s just a simple act, a small swipe of his pink tongue stroking against his lip. Had he always done that? Did he do that once upon a time, when he was her benefactor and she his courtesan? That seems like a world away now. Now Jon is her suitor and Sansa his lady. “Well, rules are important,” Jon says to the boy, although he is looking to her.

“Like the rule that you and Sansa have to have a saxophone now?” Sam asks.

Sansa’s brows draw together. “A saxophone?”

“Yes,” the boys legs continue to swing back and forth under his chair. “I heard mother and father talking about it. They told me Uncle Jon isn’t allowed to be alone with Sansa.”

“Oh! A chaperone!” Sansa bites her lip to keep the giggle locked within, her eyes flashing at Jon who does no such thing to hide his amusement until Sam talks again.

“Why can’t you be alone with her, Uncle Jon? You’re not going to hurt her, are you?”

That sobers him. “Most certainly not,” he almost chokes, straightening in his seat and smoothing a hand down his waistcoat.

“Well why can’t you be alone? Mother says Sansa’s brother wants you watched at all times. What does he think you’re going to do?”

They look to one another then. Sansa’s brows raise and Jon is licking at his damned devilish lips again.

“Uh,” Sansa watches as Jon shifts closer to the edge of his chair, “Sansa’s brother just wants to make sure nothing… inappropriate happens.”

“Why would anything inappropriate happen? It’s just Sansa.”

“Well,” Jon starts, and Sansa can see the colour rising in his cheeks. She averts her eyes to stare at the grain of the wooden table before her. “Miss Sansa is very beautiful, don’t you think?”

“I suppose,” little Sam is observing her now, like he’s just realised that he’d never really looked at her properly before. “And you’ll be inappropriate because she’s pretty?” he’s asking Jon now, his curious eyes searching for answers.

“Well, no, it’s just – “

“Is it like cook and Freddie? Cook says the second she lays eyes on Freddie she wants to shout at him and whack him with her wooden spoon because he’s a useless footman and talks back instead of following orders. Is it like that?” Sam frowns at himself then. “You don’t want to shout at Sansa do you, Jon?”

“No! Of course n-”

“Because that would be inappropriate,” the sage little boy continues with a nod of his head, “you shouldn’t shout at anyone unless they have been very, very naughty.” He turns to Sansa then, reangling his body in his seat. “You haven’t been naughty, have you Sansa?”

Sansa can feel her face reddening and Jon shift uncomfortably in his chair beside her. “What Jon means,” she starts, taking a breath and hoping the right words will come, “is that the inappropriate things that shouldn’t happen between Jon and I are nice things. Like… holding hands.”

The boy thinks over her answer. “But why can’t you do that?”

“Because those sorts of things are for when a man and woman are married,” she answers, hearing Jon clear his throat beside her.

“Are you going to marry Sansa, Uncle Jon?”

“I would very much like to, Sam,” he answers the boy, although he’s looking to Sansa again as he speaks making her breath hitch in her throat. She wonders if she’ll ever not be affected by the notion?

Sam thinks this over as he looks at them both. His little brows furrow before he asks, “just so you can hold her hand and no-one will tell you off for it?”

“…Among other things.”

“Like having a baby?” Sam asks and Sansa is now sure that her face is the colour of a summer strawberry. Jon’s complexion isn’t faring much better. “Aunt Talla said that’s what she wants to do,” the boy continues as if nothing were amiss, “she said all she wants to do is find a handsome husband and give him beautiful babies. Is that why you want to marry Sansa, Jon? So she can give you babies? I don’t know why you’d want them. They’re loud and sometimes they smell bad.”

“Uh, well, that is something that Miss Sansa and I shall have to discuss,” Jon answers, eyes flitting between the two of them. Little Sam raises his brows as if to indicate that they should do such a thing this very instant so he may learn of the outcome. “Alone,” Jon clarifies.

“But you’re not meant to be alone. You have to have a saxophone with you.”

Jon looks as though half of him wants to laugh and half of him wants to groan and Sansa wonders if he’s experienced much interactions with children. Men usually do not, but she remembers how her father had been; trying to spend as much time with her and Robb as the adult world would allow. How much more simple things are when one is a child.

She wonders how that conversation would go; the one where they discuss if they should both like to have children. “And you’re being a very good chaperone, Sam,” she decides to say, leading the boy away from this particular conversation with a wide smile. “Mr Targaryen hasn’t tried to hold my hand once since you have your keen eye on him. Thank you.”

Little Sam looks proud of this supposed achievement then as he sits there, practically beaming at them both.

“But perhaps we should go back to our letter-writing, don’t you think?”

His grin turns into a scowl rather quickly and he grabs his pen from the inkwell roughly. Sansa looks to the parchment in front of her. She had thought to write to Margaery. Now that her secret is unveiled, there is no need to keep up the ruse with her friend also, but her letter lays bare on the table. Where does one even start to explain what has happened over the course of the past few days? “Do you have plans for today, Jon?” she asks.

“No. I’m quite content to sit here with you and our saxophone,” he leans back in his chair and smiles. It’s a lovely smile that reaches his eyes. Something dances excitedly in Sansa’s tummy and she finds she has to look away from him lest she be tempted to crawl into his lap and kiss those terrible, awful, beautiful lips of his. She stares at her empty parchment again.

Sam has already begun scratching away at a new letter beside her and Sansa thinks writing to Margaery can wait, since there is still so much she needs to say to Jon.

She needs to tell him about Harry; about how she came to do what she did. Why her judgement in men cannot be trusted. That’s not something she can do with a chaperone so close though – whether it be little Sam, Gilly, one of the Tarly’s maids or (Heavens forfend) Robb.

Sansa reaches across to take her own pen from the ink and begins marking the paper in front of her.

When can we be alone?

Sansa pushed the paper a fraction towards Jon. He leans forward to read and then snatches some paper of his own from the pile in front of them.

I intend to honour your brother’s wishes, he writes, I want nothing more than to be alone with you, yet I wish to do things properly.

Sansa arches a brow at him.

It’s a little late for that, don’t you think?

Jon clears his throat.

Sansa, I wish to show you that I am a gentleman of his word.

She bites her lip as she writes her reply, very vivid memories coming back to her.

You’ve already done rather gloriously ungentlemanly things to me already, sir.

He coughs yet again and Sansa wonders if she should suggest he seek out a drink when she notices him adjust his trousers and realises that his throat is perhaps not the source of his discomfort after all.

She can’t help but smirk to herself at that as she continues to write.

I need to talk to you.

Of course. You can always talk to me. We’ll find a way.

Jon laid down his pen and looked over to their young chaperone who was currently wrapped up in decidedly not writing a letter but using his pen to draw soldiers on his paper instead.

Sansa felt a gentle brush against the baby finger of her unoccupied hand. She looked down to see Jon’s finger touch hers once, twice times, stroking her ever so lightly. The gesture was a like a promise. She needed to tell this sweet man everything. And this time, she wanted to.

“Sam,” she said, making the boy look to her. Jon retracted his hand from the table and Sansa felt its loss. “How about you show Jon and I the tree you like to climb? The one on the other side of the gardens you were talking about. You can chaperone us just as well outside.”

Little Sam looked to enjoy this idea immensely. “Yes!” he all but squealed, hopping off his chair, his letter forgotten. “But you can’t hold Sansa’s hand outside either,” he warned Jon.

#jonsa #jon x sansa #jonsa fic #victorian au #tipping the velvet

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presleepthoughts · 5 years

Note

How about a spider Beca au? For bechloe?

I literally have had this draft on my computer for over a year now. Didn’t plan on releasing it until I completed it but if you’d like to read it, here it is 😬😀

I planned this to be multi-chapter fanfic so there’s not much Bechloe in the first chapter so excuse me 😂

If you don’t like it, we can just pretend it never happened.

but if you are interested in more, just let me know and I’ll show you the rest.

Powerless - Chapter 1

Sheflexed her muscles trying to break out of the straps that trapped her limbsdown on the bed. A middle-age man stood beside her in a white lab coat with aneedle in his hand filled with blue liquid. Beca’s eyes widened in panic and fearas she struggled to fight for her freedom. She couldn’t go through this again.This was the fifth time this week.

“Subjectis ready for the injection. Third attempt. 5-milliliter dosage.” He listed hisactions as he grabbed Beca’s IV tube and placed the needle inside, pushing theliquid into her veins.

Becapanted, preparing her body and mind for the virus to hit her immune system. Shefelt the pain slowly spread through her forearm all the way to the top of hershoulder and her body shot down. She started shaking violently, trashing backand forth as the venom spread through her body. Her body was rigid to the pointwhere she feared her spine was going to snap at any moment.

Unbearablepain attacked her heart and she let out a scream.

Thedoctor observed her reaction, ready to step in at any moment. “Her heart rate’sincreasing. Vitals are low.” He watched her heart monitor as it started to beepfrequently. “We’re losing her.”

Anautomatic voice rang through the room from the speakers. “Give it a minute.”

Thedoctor obeyed and stayed put. Beca felt tears sliding down her cheeks becauseof the pain that she was powerless to stop. Her eyes rolled back into her headas her body finally lost the battle and she fainted. Her heart monitor sloweddown to normal rate.

“Thirdattempt failed. Subject unconscious.”

Thedoor opened suddenly and another professor walked in. “Give me the chart.” Hedemanded and flipped through the pages, mumbling under his breath. “It’s stillmissing something. But what?”

Hesighed and took off his glasses, rubbing his eyes. “I need to go back to thelab. When is she gonna wake up? We need to keep trying.”

“Shecan’t take anymore. Her heart is going to fail and she’ll die. She needs therest.” The doctor said, releasing her wrists from the handcuffs. “Let’scontinue tomorrow when she’s recovered.”

“Fine.”The professor said nonchalantly and disappeared through the door.

Shewoke up in a white room the next morning, vision slightly blurred. She scannedaround her and glanced down her arm, finding three glowing red dots on herwrist. She sighed; she’ll have a hard time covering them up. It’s no wonder whyeverybody in school thought she was a drug addict.

Carefullysitting up, she grabbed her phone from the bedside table and checked the time.School started in an hour. She needed to get going if she wanted to be on time.

Shegathered her strength and pushed herself off the bed and immediately grabbedher stomach, feeling the nausea coming full force. She reached for the emptybucket placed beside her bed and dry heaved for a couple of minutes. She hadn’teaten since yesterday morning when she was whisked away to the lab.

Dr.Harris peaked his head through the door.

“CanI come in?”

Becagroaned in pain as another wave rolled through her body. The doctor took thatas a ‘yes’ and walked inside with a clipboard.

“Howare you feeling? Aside the nausea. Headaches? Pain in the limbs?” He scrabbleddown something on the paper, unconcerned about the girl on the floor.

“What’s– what’s happening?” Beca weekly coughed out, finally able to take a breath as herstomach relaxed.

“Yourimmune system is trying to reject the venom but it is too powerful. So, theonly other way to get rid of it is by vomiting. It’s natural. You should befine once every drop of toxic left your body.”

Becawanted to snicker and throw something at him but she opted to use that energyto stand up slowly. “How many times?” She asked exhaustedly.

Withoutany context the doctor understood her. “3. It wasn’t safe for us to continuewith the treatment.”

Us. Beca shook her head with alifeless smile. Like she wasn’t the one who almost died yesterday. “That mustbe a record.”

“Hesent me to examine you and determine when are you ready for the next trial.”

Becacollapsed down on the bed. “Great. Awesome. Can you hurry up because I have togo to school.”

Becahurried down the corridor as fast as her body allowed her. The check-up ranlater than she thought and she missed the school bus, making her walk fifteenminutes to the school. Normally it wouldn’t be a problem but she still felt theeffect of yesterday, heavily in her body.

Shetucked down her sweatshirt to cover her wrist and knocked on the classroomdoor. Mrs. Andrews looked at her pointedly but continued the lecture, allowingBeca to slip in the back row without a verbal confrontation. Dropping her bagon the ground, she pulled out a notepad and a pen, blinking rapidly to not fallasleep.

Aftercopping down everything on the board, Beca quickly became bored. Twirling thepen between her thumb and index finger, she looked around the classroom. It wasfilled with the almost entire football team, including the cheerleaders aswell. Beca saw two IT kids from the Tech Club and two lead singers in DramaClub. Front and center sat the cheerleader captain, Aubrey Posen and her secondin command Chloe Beale.

Becatilted her head in wonder.

WhileAubrey embodied every single stereotype of a cheerleader, Chloe was different. Becanoticed her talking to strangers nicely, treating everybody with respect andkindness.

“Ms.Mitchell, you were late and now you don’t even pay attention to the lesson.”Mrs. Andrews’ voice rang out loud, shocking Beca out of her thoughts.

“I’msorry, Mrs. Andrews. I’m listening.” Beca spoke out, shrinking in her seat asthe classroom turned to her. She briefly caught Chloe’s ocean blue eyes beforethe cheerleader turned back around.

“Wonderful.As I was saying…”

Afterthat Beca tuned out, slowly progressing to lay her head down on her desk. Shefought to keep her eyes open but were unable to and she fell asleep.

Theschool bell woke her up violently as she swung her head up and saw peoplegathering their stuff and leaving the classroom.

“Ms.Mitchell, a word please.” Mrs. Andrews’ were sitting at her desk, staring atBeca disapprovingly.

Fuck.

Staciewere waiting for her outside the room, leaning against the wall.

“Whattook you so long?” Stacie questioned, holding her books to her chest.

Becashowed her the pink note in her hands with the words DETENTION splattered onit. Stacie winced as they made their way to the next class that they shared.

“Ouch.What did you do? Mrs. Andrews is really cool usually. It’s hard to piss heroff.”

“Well,I succeeded apparently. I ran late, didn’t pay attention and to top it all off,I fell asleep.” Beca listed bitterly, coming up to her locker. “It’s a miracleshe didn’t send me to the principle.”

Thelast thing she needed was her father to be called in school. She shuddered justthinking about it.

“Whathappened yesterday that made you so tired?” Stacie’s mouth opened wide. “Didyou pick up some hot girl? Oh, tell me everything. I wanna hear all about it.With details.”

Becasnickered as she opened her locker and pulled her history book out. “Like Icould do that. Please. I’m the only lesbian in this school. Who would I pickup?”

“Justbecause they are not out, it doesn’t mean that there isn’t any girl to choosefrom. Believe me, you are not the only one. Plus, it’s a small town, noteverybody is as brave as you.” Stacie stated shrugging.

“Yousure do know a lot about closeted lesbians here. Are you trying to tell mesomething?” Beca smirked jokingly and Stacie rolled her eyes.

“Please,you know I fell in love with people. Not gender.”

Becalaughed. “How poetic of you.” She lifted her arm to grab the strap of her bagbut her sweatshirt shifted down, revealing the evidence of yesterday’s trial.Stacie’s eyes immediately zeroed on the three angry dots and she sucked in adeep breath.

“Whatare those?” Her tone was controlled as she pointed at Beca’s wrist.

Beca’seyes widen as she quickly lowered her arm, pulling the material down, hidingthe marks again.

“No- nothing. I – I just doodled on my hand. It’s ink.” Beca would’ve been proudof her quick thinking if Stacie’s expression hadn’t hardened. She didn’tbelieve her.

“Don’tlie to me. Beca you said you weren’t doing that anymore! Are you stupid?”Stacie asked strongly, taking a step forward.

Becastepped back. “I’m not doing anything.” She said defensively. As the firstrumors started going around school that she was a drug addict, Beca hadn’tbother to come clean to Stacie. It was easier to let the girl believe thatthose marks came from herself when in reality he was the cause of them.

“Itdoesn’t look like it! Beca, are you using again?” Stacie in her anger grabbedBeca by the shoulder, squeezing tightly, trapping the girl between herself andthe lockers.

Suddenly,Beca was back in the lab as the assistant strapped her down forcefully onto thehospital bed. No matter how hard she fought, he held her down strongly as hestabbed the needle in her arm and pushed the medicine that made her so woozy,she couldn’t tell from up and down.

Herbreathing picked up as her heart beat out of her chest. Acting on pure panic,she pushed Stacie away by her shoulders, watching as she stumbled backwardswith her eyes wide open in shock.

Bothfrozen to the spot, Beca was aware of the growing crowd around them, curiouslywaiting for something to happen, phone ready in hand to record. She pushed downthe tears threatening to escape and ran down the hall, away from prying eyes,away from Stacie and out the door.

#bechloe #Beca x Chloe #pitchperfect #pitch perfect 2 #pitch perfect 3 #beca mitchell #chloe beale #spiderman au #spiderman #marvel universe #Anna Kendrick #brittany snow #stacie conrad #aubrey posen #multi-chapter #fanfiction #request

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