#I’ve been trying to get it back for over a year now | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sitepathos · 21 hours ago

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From Gold to Mold

Chapter 12: The Fight (Warning: this chapter will feature blood and violence. Proceed at your own risk)

“Look at all this,” you whisper as you take in the sights of the Strip, all the various casinos and hotels lighting up the night sky. “I returned to Nevada four years ago and I’ve never been here before. What the hell was I thinking?”

(You were trying to set up your new life, which was the responsible thing to do back then. But, we agree, coming here sooner would not have been unwelcome. This city seems to be a source of endless entertainment.)

You had finished the DLC for Salvage Rights earlier today and to celebrate both its release and its positive reception, you decided to treat yourself by going to Sin City and indulging in its various casinos and restaurants; you have the knowledge and experience of countless gamblers from Gotham, so you should be able to play blackjack and poker with the best of them.

You thought you were prepared to handle and glitz and glamor Vegas has to offer, but seeing it with your own eyes has left you speechless. The lights have you mesmerized and you’re loving it! Everywhere you look, there’s something beckoning you, like a moth to a flame and right now, you don’t care if you get burned.

“Hey, look over there,” you say, stopping to look at something above you in the distance.

The sight is a towering building proudly bearing the name “Caesar’s Palace” in lights. During your brief research for your trip to the Strip, you read Caesar’s Palace is one of the most popular casinos in the city and is also a popular destination for dining.

(You did say you wanted the “full Vegas experience.” Going to one of the largest establishments in the city would be a step in the right direction.)

When you first thought of this little excursion, you wanted to have fun, but didn’t want to get trapped in the larger ones and lose all the money you brought in with you, instead opting to stay in the smaller casinos. “Keep it simple, keep it safe,” you said a few hours ago.

Now, the lights of the massive casino before you has ensnared you and is luring you towards it like an angler fish does with its prey.

“Ave, true to Caesar,” you say as you begin the trek towards the towering monolith.

If the outside was mesmerizing, then the inside is absolutely enthralling! As expected of a place named after a Greek emperor, the interior looks like a palace plucked from the Greek Empire, complete with marble and gold, making you feel like royalty.

(We take it we are going to play here?)

“Damn right,” you say as you enter the casino part of the resort, taking in the seemingly endless rows to slot machines, card tables, and other various gambling set ups.

As you look at each slot machine and table, you’re flooded with information from the Megamycete’s archives on what you want to see when playing slot machines and when is the best time to stand when playing blackjack. While Gotham doesn’t have shit on Vegas, it did have a passable gambling scene, which attracted many expert gamblers to that City of the Damned.

With your newfound knowledge in hand, you exchange the thousand bucks you brought with you for chips and make your way to a roulette table with only one other person.

“Good evening, sir,” the dealer greets you as you situate yourself of the other side of the table, away from the other player. “Will you be joining us?”

“Deal me in,” you respond, pushing a few chips on the table to test the waters. You may know the basics from playing Fallout New Vegas, but this is real life with real money being risked and this time you don’t have a maxed out Luck stat to cheat the system with.

A few hands in and you can say for sure you love gambling. Sure, you’ve lost a few rounds, ruining a couple hot streaks, but right now, you have more money than you came in with.

“Fifteen, odd, black,” the dealer says when the ball finally stops spinning before giving you the pot, much to your delight.

“Goddamn it,” the other man exclaims, shoving himself away from the table and storming off, hopefully towards the exit as tonight has not been his night.

“I apologize for that display,” the deal says as he readies the spinner for the next round. “Will you be playing another round?”

“Definitely,” you respond, sliding three-hundred dollars worth of chips onto red.

“Have room for one more,” a masculine voice rings out next to you.

You tense up when the voice registers in your head and you look to your right to see Bruce fucking Wayne, looking down at you with that fake ass smile he gives the idiots of Gotham. Your anger only intensifies when he places a thousand dollars worth of chips into the pot.

What the hell is he doing here?

(How dare he,) the Megamycete practically growls. (This is a night meant for you to enjoy yourself and he intrudes upon it, and in your city no less.)

“Welcome, Mr. Wayne,” the dealer says as he spins the spinner after the bastard places his bet.

“Hello, Y/N,” he says to you, his focus on you and not the spinner. “I have to say, I don’t peg you as the gambling type.”

You say nothing, not wanting to give him any sort of satisfaction, and focus on the game.

“It’s a very dangerous habit if you’re not careful,” he chides you as the baller begins to slow down. “And coming to a place like Vegas? It’s not safe for someone like you. You should be back home, where you belong.”

You know the “home” he’s referring to isn’t your house in Goodsprings, but Wayne Manor in Gotham and it’s taking all your willpower not to pimp smack the shit out of him right now. This was meant to be a night for you to have fun in Vegas and you’re not gonna let him ruin that like he did the night you won your award.

“Gotham has plenty of high-end casinos where you can play all the games you want. I could take you to each of them and make sure you get the VIP treatment.”

“Vegas is far safer than Gotham,” you retort. “Here, the biggest threat you face is losing your money when you don’t know when to quit. In Gotham, you have nut jobs running around killing people on a nightly basis and the biggest nut job of them all beating the crap out of them.” You give him a mocking look, knowing something that would get under his skin. “No one in their right mind would live in that cesspit of a city. If you ask me, that place should be nuked to hell.”

While he manages to hide it well, you can see just the faintest of winces and you let your smirk show. For whatever reason, he thinks Gotham is the best place on the planet and is worth protecting. You learned about Gotham’s seedy history from its early days as a colony established in 1635 and you can say for certain that area is cursed. If you had your way, a giant wall would be built around Gotham and everyone inside would be left to kill each other and rot in that cursed city, especially the Waynes.

“Gotham has its flaws, sure,” he responds. “But I’m able to look past its dark side and see a bright future for both the city and everyone that calls it home. As you know, Wayne Enterprises has been the vanguard of breathing new life into the city.”

“Oh, that reminds me, I heard WE’s stock has practically become worthless in the last few days. Rumor has it all major stockholders are demanding for you to step down as CEO.”

“I’ve been in tight spots before and I’ve always come out on top. This will be no different. I’m sure things will turn back around in no time.”

“Six, even, black,” the dealer announces, bringing you back to the game. “Congratulations, Mister Wayne.”

You roll your eyes as the pot goes to the son of a bitch. You mentally shake your head and place your chips on the table for the next round.

“Maybe you should step down,” you say as the dealer begins the round. “I was stuck in that manor of yours for over a decade and I know it’s a mess. You should really get your house in order before you go around ‘fixing’ Gotham.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my family,” he growls. “It’s perfect the way it is.”

“No one’s buying that story anymore, Mister Wayne. I take it you haven’t read Lois Lane’s latest article?”

“Of course I have,” he says, glaring at you and it makes you want to laugh knowing how you’re testing his limits. “How could you say those things about your family?”

“You’re not my family,” you snap. “You all made it quite clear I wasn’t a part of it over and over. The only family I’ve ever had was Momma and she was taken from me.”

The anger in his eyes fade and he was silent for a moment. “I know we made mistakes during your time with us and we’re sorry about that.”

“It’s too little, too late, Mister Wayne.”

“Twenty-four, even, black,” the dealer states, clearly more interested in your conversation than the game.

You can’t help but smile as the chips make their way back to you and you place a bet of five-hundred for the next round. Of course, Bruce doesn’t go way and instead places another bet.

“Please, Y/N, come home,” he pleads as the spinner is spun. “We all miss you. Especially Alfred.”

“He’s welcome to visit me whenever he wants. The rest of you can go to hell.”

“Like it or not, they’re your siblings, Y/N,” he growls, getting closer to you. “And I’m your father. You will show them, and me, the respect that entails.”

“Respect is earned, not given,” you retort, getting close and looking up at him. He may terrify Gotham’s criminally insane, but you know you’re better than him in every way, so you’re not scared. “And don’t get it mixed up, you’re a sperm donor, not my father. God knows you never acted like it.” You lean close so that your face is mere inches away from his. “If you want, we can take this outside, Mister Wayne. Just remember what happened last time things got physical between us.”

“Now, now, gentlemen,” the dealer says. “Let’s keep this friendly. We’re all here to have fun, right?”

(Listen to him, Y/N. Do not let him ruin your first trip to Vegas. There will be plenty of time to put him in his place after we have had our fun.)

You continue to stare at him and direct all your anger and hatred towards him until he finally concedes and backs off and you do the same, just in time for the ball to finally stop.

“Nineteen, odd, red,” the dealer says as he slides the chips to you.

“I just want to make things right,” he says as he places his bet. “I know I treated you wrong and I want to fix that. So we can be father and son.”

You roll your eyes at the pathetic words and even more pathetic look as you place your bet and the deal begins the round. “You’re not sorry, Mister Wayne, you just feel guilty. Whatever conscious you have in your twisted little soul is making you feel bad and you can’t stand it, so that’s why you’re humiliating yourself trying to earn something I can never and will never give you: my forgiveness.”

He winces enough for both you and the dealer to see, but you find yourself taking no joy in fracturing his mask. This was supposed to be a night of fun and games, but he had to come all the way from Gotham and ruin it. It’s actually made you despise him even more, a task you thought impossible until now.

“Twelve, even, red,” the dealer states as he slides the chips towards Bruce.

It’s then you notice that you and him have almost the same amount of chips and the sight of it ignites an inferno of competition, which fuels your desire to assert your superiority over this pathetic creature before you.

(We are with you,) the Megamycete states firmly. (Show this interloper his place!)

“Tell me what you want, Y/N,” he says as you place all your chips on red, your mother’s favorite color, glaring at him as you do. It’s then he does the same thing, but places his chips on black, the color of the Bat.

How predictable.

With both your bets placed, the dealer spins the roulette, signaling the final round between you two. When that little ball stops spinning, one of you will take all and the other will lose all.

“Please, there must be something I can give you to show you I’m sincere. And you of all people should price is no object for me. Just name it and it’s yours.”

(How pathetic! He thinks all those years of abuse and neglect can be erased by buying you some insignificant trinket? Does he think you some whore that can be bought? Show him how wrong he is, Y/N!)

“You want to know what I want, Mister Wayne,” you ask, malice dripping with your every word, as the ball begins to slow down and clatter around. “I want you to know that I hate you more than anything else on this world; I want it to rattle around in your head for the rest of your life, from when you’re around your collection of misfits to when you lay your head down at night, that there’s no word or phrase in any language that has ever existed or ever will exist on this planet that can fully express how much animosity and hatred I have for you.”

It’s then that you get in his personal space has he had done with you earlier and use the mold so you can stretch your body ever so slightly so your face is almost touching him and stare into those eyes you’ve come to despise so much and they stare back at you, full of hurt and shock.

In the background, you can hear the ball beginning to slow down, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care about the game. Right now, all that matters is conveying just how much you hate Bruce Wayne.

“I want you to grow old and die knowing that, in the end, I was the one that rejected you.”

His response? Nothing but the widening of his eyes and stepping back, as if you had struck him.

“Seven, odd, red,” the dealer says, obviously shocked at what you just said.

You say nothing as you gather your chips and walk away, leaving Bruce Wayne behind to reflect on your words.

As you walk, you notice your heart is beating enough to burst out for your chest and your face is molten hot, even without touching it. In the moment, you had no idea how your words affected you as much as they apparently did that bastard.

(Perhaps we should return home,) the Megamycete suggests. (The night has been ruined and you need to rest after that interaction. We can always return another night for entertainment.)

As much as you hate to admit it, it’s right; after that display, you’re not in the mood to see what else you can get up to in your first night in Vegas. Being around him has brought back much of the anger you thought you had finally buried after moving back to Goodsprings and getting your life together and it’s killed any desire for gambling, dining, and everything in between.

“Yeah,” you say, your voice sounding weak even to you. “Let’s go home.”

You quickly cash in your chips and pocket the check the cashier gives you before making your way towards the exit. From there, you walk around until you find an alleyway tucked into an isolated and desolate part of the city to sprout mold armor and wings before taking off into the night sky.

“You know, the city looks even more breathtaking from up here,” you remark as you enter the vast expanse of the Mojave.

(Indeed. Maybe when we return, we will earn enough money from playing games that we can stay in the highest level of the tallest hotel of the city and see it again.)

“Yeah,” you respond with a throaty chuckle. “That’d be nice.”

You look down at the desert beneath you when you feel something hit your wings, slicing through and severing them, leaving you to fall to the ground. You shout as you harden your armor just in time as you impact with the sand, creating a deep crater.

(Are you alright,) it asks as you climb your way out.

“Yeah,” you respond with a groan. “What the hell happened?”

You get your answer once you make your way to the top and see Bruce, donned in his Batman gear, looking down at you.

“Are you alright,” he asks, as if he wasn’t the cause of the incident.

You dismiss your mold helm and look at him square in his eye slits, taking a deep breath and exhaling before saying, ever so calmly, “I’m going to kill you now.”

And with your intentions declared, you summon a new pair of wings and launch yourself towards the bastard and before he can react, you grab him by the face with one hand and propel the both of you backwards, using to wings to fly as you forcibly shove his head into the sand and push him forward, creating a trail in your wake.

His hands fly to yours and attempt to free himself from your grasp, but you don’t give him the chance and throw him towards a nearby rock formation as hard as you can.

He can only flail around like a rag doll as he flies through the air and lands on the rock formation with a satisfying crash, sending debris and sand flying in all directions.

Unfortunately, it’s not enough to keep him down as he’s quickly back on his feet. He reaches into his utility belt and throws a batarang at you and you respond by creating a similar object out of mold and send it flying towards it, the two of them hitting each other and falling to the ground.

Of course, he’s quick to act and before you can see it, he’s thrown something at you and you’re trapped in some kind of cable.

“What the hell,” you exclaim as you try to break free of the wire, but find yourself unable to.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he says as he closes the gap between the two of you. “But you’re coming home and I’m gonna find a way to get rid of this thing inside you.”

You’re already pissed, but the way he says something so batshit crazy with a tone similar to one that you’d use to calm a startled animal enrages you even more.

How he can still be so determined to drag you back to Gotham when you’ve made it abundantly clear that you hate him and his family after everything they’ve done to you is nothing short of astounding.

(He seeks to separate us,) the Megamycete practically hisses. (Do not let him! Kill him, Y/N! Kill him!)

Your rage towards the man before you explodes like a blast furnace and you reduce your body to a murder of crows and fly towards Bruce at top speed.

He raises his arms to protect his face and you use your mold hardened beaks and talons to slice into his suit, leaving at least two dozen bloody cuts all over his body.

(Good! Hurt him even more! Bleed him dry!)

Your murder of crows fly around him, forcing him into a defensive posture, and you gather them all so you can reform into your armored form right behind him. He realizes what’s happened, but he can only turn around to face you when you grab his wrist as hard as you can, and wave him around in the air and slam him into the rock below you over and over, taking pleasure in the sounds of rock breaking with every hit.

It’s then you slam him into the rock and summon a mold sword. When he looks up at you and realizes what’s about to happen, he raises his hand just in time for your sword to go through his hand and the tip of your sword pierce the hardened Bat symbol on his chest; you know the symbol is the strongest part of his suit so it can protect whatever he has beating in his chest, but you’re determined, so it begins to crack and crumble as you drive the sword deeper in.

He tries to say something, but the damage you’ve done to him takes its toll as he can only gurgle something as blood begins to seep from the corner of his mouth.

You dismiss your helm as you lean down towards him, a vicious, bloodthirsty grin etched across your face, and the sword goes down just a little more.

“Let’s get rid of this, shall we,” you mock, grabbing his cowl, ignoring the shock the suit gives you in response. “I want to see the life fade from your eyes!”

And with that declaration, you rip the cowl off him, exposing his face, marred with bloody cuts and bruises, before you.

When you look into his eyes, you can see past the look of struggle is fear and terror.

(He knows this is the end! Finish him! Put an end to the Bat!)

“Goodbye, Mister Wayne!”

Just then, you see something fly past you and it’s then you realize the arm holding your sword has been sliced through. Bruce takes advantage of the situation and kicks you a few feet away from him and he backflips so he can put even more distance between the two of you.

You quickly collect yourself to see the source of the disruption: Dick and Cass, donned in their vigilante gear.

“You ok, B,” Dick asks as Bruce joins them.

“I’m fine,” he grunts out. “What are you doing here?”

“Alfred told us you were coming here and we knew something like this was going to happen. We all wanted to come, but we knew we couldn’t all leave Gotham, so we drew straws.”

The way he sounds so joyful pisses you off even more. How dare he! You were so close to putting an end to him and Dick had to come and ruin it!

(You should rip his limbs off! Strip him of his wings and cast him into the dam!)

Cass looks at you and you instantly know she’s analyzing you, determining possible strengths and weaknesses. When she sees that you’re missing a limb, her eyes widen.

“Oh,” Dick exclaims when he follows her gaze. “I’m so sorry, baby bird! I didn’t mean to do that! I just wanted to get you off of Bruce!”

You look down to find the severed appendage lying near your foot and go to pick it pick it up. While Dick is spouting endless apologies and pleas for you to stay calm, you merely place the limb where it once was and it begins to stitch itself back together. Once your arm is reattached, you fix your gaze back to them to find that they’re starring at you in shock at what just happened.

“Oh,” Dick manages to spit out after a few seconds of silence.

“This is between me and him,” you say as you take a few steps towards them. “Fuck off.”

“You need to stop this, baby bird,” Dick retorts. “We’re family, you shouldn’t be doing this!”

“You’re kidding, right,” you say with a mocking chuckle. “You people are constantly fighting with one another! If you’re not giving each other black eyes, you’re either breaking bones or slitting throats! You’re all a bunch of emotionally constipated psychopaths who belong in padded cells with the rest of Arkham’s lunatics! And I want nothing to do with any of you! So, for the last time, leave me the fuck alone!”

The only answer you get is the three of them getting into combat postures, indicating they’re ready to go on the attack.

“I give you the chance to walk away, and this is the thanks I get,” you sigh.

From the bottom of your feet, you command two mold tendrils to burrow into the sand below and snake their way over to them and once in place, you order them to burst out from beneath them; such a tactic would spell the end for normal people, but the Waynes are anything but normal, so they somehow knew you were up to something and scatter just as the tendrils emerge.

Still, you put them on the defense by ordering the tendrils to lash out at them, separating them from one another and forcing them to put all their focus on the tendrils while Bruce and Dick are dodging the lashing tendrils, you make your way to the nearest vigilante: Cass.

Just as you near her, she turns around and counters the slash of your mold sword with a blade of her own. You quickly realize that the few dozen people that possess any type of sword fighting prowess pale in comparison to Cass’ and decide to swap to hand-to-hand combat by punching her in gut when your blades were clashed together, sending her flying several feet.

She quickly recovers by the time you close the gap and she not only evades most of your punches, but she manages to give you a few.

What the hell, she shouldn’t be winning.

(Her fighting style is more advanced than anything we possess in our archives,) the Megamycete responds, sounding shameful. (We are unable to find a successful counter to her assault.)

Of course, it makes sense now! While Gotham may have attracted a few dozen experts in fighting over the centuries, Bruce has been trained by masters in every form of combat, including Ra’s Al Ghul, whose lifespan makes the Megamycete seem infantile in comparison. And he’s no doubt taught all of them his fighting style.

Just then, you feel something hit your back and explode, sending you flying. When you recover, you see Bruce and Dick have cut your tendrils and are now heading towards Cass to reinforce her.

(Their armories also seem to be more than we can handle,) it says as it repairs the damage done to your armor. (We have hardened your armor as much as we can, but it seems their tools will be able to penetrate our defenses.)

Shit, so that leaves you vulnerable to their fighting styles and their gadgets.

“Alright,” you mutter to yourself as you ready yourself. “We’ll just have to rely on the one thing none of them have ever had: powers.”

You repeat what you had done before and disperse your body into a murder of crows and send them flying around the Bats, causing them to huddle together and raise their arms in an attempt to protect themselves. You have enough crows continue to fly around them to keep them distracted while the rest of them form together to form your body, but with the addition of four, oversized spider-like legs extruding from your back.

You allow yourself to fall to the ground, the legs pointed down to form four very sharp stabbing implements. They look up just in time to see what’s about to happen, so they force their way through the swarm just as you land where they once stood. The remaining crows reintegrate into your body as you make your way towards them, jabbing your spider limbs in an attempt to stab any of them.

Dick and Cass have narrow frames, so they’re harder to hit, but Bruce’s more bulkier body makes him a more feasible target, so you shift your focus to him. After a few failed slashes, you manage to land a decent hit that causes him to fail onto his back. He tries to reach for his utility belt, but you use two of your limbs to pierce his shoulders and he lets out a pained yell s he struggles in vain to free himself from beneath you.

He looks up at you, a painful expression etched on his face, while you summon two small tendrils from your back, ready to deal the final blow.

“If I can’t rip out your non-existent heart, I’ll just have to settle for your head!”

But, just as you’re about to make good on your declaration, you feel something attach itself onto your back, throwing you off balance.

“Y/N, don’t,” a voice says from behind and it’s then you realize it’s not something on your back, but someone.

Specifically, Dick.

“Get off me, circus freak,” you snarl as you begin to struggle with him.

Deeming Dick the bigger threat, you shift your focus from Bruce to shaking off the acrobat any way you can, flailing around and reaching out to grab him so you can finally finish him off; while you want to kill Bruce more than anything right now, you want him to suffer before you shed his blood.

Making him watch as you rip his golden child’s head off while he’s powerless to stop it? Yes, that’ll do the trick.

It’s then you feel something at your spider feet and when you manage to look down while holding Dick at bay to see Cass, batarang in hand, cutting the feet pinning Bruce to the desert floor in an attempt to free him.

(She attempts to free the bastard,) the Megamycete hisses. (Kill her! Kill her now!)

But in typical fashion, Dick butts in where he’s not wanted and hurls himself towards you, latching onto your upper body, forcing you to brace your back spider legs to prevent you from tumbling down.

You watch in pure frustration as Cass slices off the parts of your legs pinning Bruce down and before you can react, the two of them hurl themselves onto you, joining Dick in trying to wrestle you to the ground.

You grab Dick with one hand and Cass with the other and just as you ready to summon a tendril to deal with Bruce and stabs you with some type of syringe, making you howl in pain at the sensation; instead of injecting you with something, you feel your blood being drained from you.

“Enough,” you hiss, hurling the two smaller vigilantes as far as you can before grabbing Bruce by both his shoulders and pulling him up so that the two of you are eye-to-eye.

It’s at this point your rage reaches its apex; this was suppose to be a night of fun out on the Strip, but the man before you not only had to ruin it by showing up, but now he’s come full circle on his batshit craziness by blasting you out of the sky and try to apprehend you like you’re one of the crazies from Arkham.

And to make matters worse, he had to bring two of his children, Dick being one of them! While you will always hate Bruce with every fiber of your being and Damian being an extremely close second, you’ve always had a strong resentment towards the eldest Wayne son. While the bastard will always say he loves all his children equally (minus you, of course), you know Dick will always be number one in Bruce’s heart due to him being the first child and being a capable Gotham socialite and vigilante.

And to add insult to injury, everyone always says Dick is everything an eldest brother should be: reliable, responsible, and doting. For years, you could nothing but cry as you saw him going out of his way to help and hang out with the other Wayne children, no matter how loudly they tried to reject it. Watching such the love and affection you craved be handed out so willingly and carefree to anyone but you made you think you would never be loved by anyone other than your deceased Momma.

You let out an inhuman howl in Bruce’s face as you shove your head into his right shoulder and latch onto it with your teeth with enough force to rival a hydraulic press. He lets out a pained yell and attempts to pull you off by your hair, but you apply more force until you eventually pierce through the armor, followed by the skin, then the muscle, and finally bone.

You pull your head back, bits of bone and flesh dangling from your teeth. You look to see his right arm practically dangling from just the barest of flesh and blood oozing from it like a waterfall. You shift your gaze from your handiwork to Bruce’s face to see the most delicious expression of pain etched on it and his complexion is pale and clammy.

At this point, you’re a crazed animal, chomping at the bit to go in for the kill on the wounded prey before you and rip it apart until it’s unrecognizable.

(Yes,) the Megamycete roars, its voice a symphony of bloodthirsty cheers. (Do it! Exact your vengeance upon him!)

Before you do anything, you feel something hit your back and explode, but unlike the first one, this one sends some sort of freezing gases scattering across your body, sending feelings of burning as your armor and spider legs rapidly freeze.

You howl in pain as you drop Bruce so you can slap at the affected areas, trying to find some way to relieve yourself of the freezing feeling.

(Hurts,) the Megamycete hisses. (Hurts!)

You rid yourself of your armor and spider legs by ripping it off your body, the frozen mold constructs shattering upon impact with the ground.

It’s then you realize you’re exposed and quickly turn around, ready to defend yourself when you see the three of them flying away on the Batwing at top speed. You could go after them, but after the fight with the Bats and their freezing grenade, you can only fall to your knees, trying to catch your breath.

(We had no idea we possessed such a vulnerability to the cold,) the Megamycete says, its voice sounding weak. (The winters of Gotham drove us to a state of near hibernation, but this is the first time we have ever had a reaction like that.)

“And now you know,” you manage to gasp out. “And so do they.”

You can only watch as the vehicle flies away as fast as it can, carrying three of the Bats away where they will no doubt share what’s happened here with the others, which will no doubt lead to even more encounters like this in the future.

“Shit.”

In the Batwing, Bruce knows Dick is talking to hi, his words quick and high pitched as he tries to dress his wound, but right now, he can’t bring himself to take his focus off the syringe filled with your blood.

When he set out for Vegas, he was determined to find a way to provoke you into showing him your powers and obtain a blood sample so he could perform more tests, but he didn’t think he’d discover a major weakness in your defenses.

While he hated to see the cryo grenade caused you so much pain, he can’t help but rejoice at the knowledge that there’s a crack in your armor and if he approaches it at the right angle, he can have you home far sooner than he anticipated.

And when you’re back home, he can find a way to get that damn thing out of you and return you to normal. And when that’s done, he can begin to make things right with you.

He grips the syringe harder, seeing the key to making his daily whole once again within your blood.

Tag List: @lunaluz432 @type-ink @bat1212 @eyeless-kun @deathbynarcisstick @orbitingtraveler @1s3v3n1 @nosyrobin @roseytheteacup @bunbunboysworld @kitty-from-daaaa-voidddd @feral-childs-word @phoenixgurl030 @soriansick @hellcatsworld @bellethesleepypotato @prettyboys247 @marsmabe @exactlynumberonekryptonite @paolexsstuff @fantasyhopperhea @c0l1fl0r @ellaprime7 @starryperson @kore-of-the-underworld @kiarst @vanessa-boo @moxiemy @ratchetprime211 @greatwhisperspaper @tatsuri-zomushiki @bunbunbread @starsdotalk @luna57765 @solelifauna @jsprien213 @diejager @lizz-lrm @v0idl1nq @chericia @wizzerreblogs @tinybrie @lilyalone @thickasthievingtoads @creativechaosx @randomlyappearingartist @ferchu0406 @kik1010 @butterflycardigann @1-800-crazy

#from gold to mold #yandere batfamily #male reader #batfamily #batfamily x male reader #batman #dc x male reader #yandere batfam #yandere bruce wayne #yandere dick grayson #yandere dc #yandere barbara gordon #yandere cassandra cain #yandere damian wayne #yandere jason todd #yandere tim drake #yandere stephanie brown

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hrrtshape · 21 hours ago

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GIRL, NEW YEARS??????? Omg if you're staying for a minute, SPILL THE DR TEA

i shifted for a quarter of a year.....does the cia want to know my location??

it’s soooooo over for you all. i have seen the light (coryo). i have tasted the forbidden fruit (no..not coryo). i have held hands with fate and made out with destiny in a dark corner of a new york rooftop bar (coryo!!!!).

hi. so. i shifted. with this method.

and listen, the universe is a freak. it’ll knock the wind out of you, throw you down the stairs, steal your wallet, and then, while you’re still gasping for air, go, ‘oh, my bad. here’s a gift card. also, you can shift now.’ so. hi. i’m back. i lived in my better cr for three months. an entire fiscal quarter. and now i’m here again, blinking in the fluorescent light of this reality, trying to form sentences like a war vet just back from the frontlines.

what do i even say? where do i begin? i guess the first day. let’s set the scene: september 20th. autumn in new york. cinematic. LET'S GOOOO.

i shifted back. cried. obviously. cried some more. then locked in (queen never crumbles) and promptly lost my entire mind on the balcony. squealing, jumping, doing the full carrie bradshaw excited little twirl in paris before she got fucked over the russian short guy. if my neighbours were watching, they were getting a show.

i got dressed for school. threw on something casually devastating. drank matcha on the way as i picked up lily-rose. business as usual, except i was vibrating at a higher frequency than ever before. every nerve ending in my body was singing. i was so happy.

then. okay. i know i said i got with coryo. and i did. (everyone say: ‘she won.’) but. not yet. patience. restraint. delayed gratification. all that. i saw him that first day, and did i think about jumping him? yes. did i? no. but he winked at me.like the absolute menace he is. imagine me, gripping my books like a regency heroine whose gloved hand was just brushed by a suitor. i nearly blacked out. then it was onto the usual: maths, english, lunch, philosophy, p.e. (where i spent the full hour contemplating coryo in gym clothes. blessings upon this timeline), history.

post-school, me, lily-rose, and malina (@chaaistained you made a cameo, my ride-or-die) went shopping on fifth ave because of course we did. the girls were girl-ing. capitalism was capitalism-ing. i know you’re nodding. i know you get it. we all get it. then home. girl dinner. filmed some deeply unserious tiktoks. stalked coryo’s instagram (two days apart and i was already checking for potential threats. he had none. heh). chatted with my car, caesar. absolute king. i was, in a word, thriving.

and now i know what you’re thinking. ‘emma. you were there for three months. why didn’t you stay longer?’ and lovies, i hear you. i do. but last time shifting ate me alive and spat me out, so we’re doing things differently now. a little here, a little there. back and forth, like a woman with multiple lovers in different countries. balance. we're ed recovering this stuff.

oh ! also. minor detail but i started an anonymous page in the shifting community over there. what’s it about?????? well. let’s just say i’ve been documenting.

more soon. xoxo. gotta organise these rogue thoughts first

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messyemmy · 2 days ago

Text

Grapejuice (fic) Part Four

Premise: You've made a deal with the devil, and the next few days of vacation are proving what a silly mistake that was. But for Harry, this might be the most fun he's had in a long time.

Word Count: 15k.

Warnings: Smut! Mind-blowing banter. Use of She/Her.

Grapejuice Masterlist

Fashion Board / Playlist

Other Writing

After a full twenty four hours- of grumpily scoffing, rethinking your every life decision, wanting to kill Jack and his stupid, sexy, friend- it’s time to put that well-practiced optimism to good use. Nobody will ruin your damn vacation.

And if that means constantly dodging and dismissing Harry and his frustratingly enticing lewd remarks, so be it.

This morning is simply perfect- everything you want from a summers day- and it would be a crime to spend another second couped up under the covers. Your mind runs over the little to-do-list of holiday activities you hope to try, easily settling on a trip to the Botanical Gardens.

Getting dressed is just as simple deciding on when your spot the forest green corset with golden paisly swirls. You hadnt found the right moment to style it, but now you pair it atop a crisp white puff-sleeve button-up and some classic mossy straight-cut jeans.

While packing the last of your necessities into a cream and green embroidered tote bag, the idea to invite Jack along seems fitting. Maybe as a little apology for the less than warm welcome he recevied upon your last encounter. He’s always the easiest to win over.

The stroll from your villa to the ones where the boys reside is far too short for your liking. You need an oceans distance between you and Harry, let alone five hundred meters.

You were about to brush your knuckles across the door a third time, but your hand quickly retreating as Jack came into view, beaming down at you. He‘s devoid of a shirt, wearing swim shorts and sandals, a towel draped across his shoulders, tote bag in his other hand.

“Morning, lovely.” He greets, windening the door completely, and exposing the entrance hall and kitchen.

And then you see Harry - shirtless, too -spreading butter across two slices of slightly burnt toast. His back turned, muscles flexing now and then.

You blink back, shoving sheer attraction to the back of your brain, returning your attention to Jack, trying to regain the memory of what brought you to their doorstep to begin with.

“Ah, Judas. Settled in, have you?” You don’t care. He’s the reason you’re in this mess.

“Mm. Don’t think I’ve ever been so cold in my life.” he sighs sorrowfully.

“You say that every year.” You scoff.

“I do not.”

Harry leans curiously against the countertop, taking another bite of his toast. Still, while chewing and swallowing, he ponderously mumbles,

“Don’t what?” You peer over Jack’s shoulder, and with faux-nonchalance, you capture Harry’s gaze- but only briefly, it’s as much as you can do without the threat of your thoughts straying from the topic at hand- eyes darting away and informing him,

“Complain about winter.”

“Oh, he definitely does.”

“Not every-”

“Every year.” Harry says with certainty, chewing on a corner of crust.

Jack sighs and shrugs his shoulders in defeat. Harry’s gaze is happily settled on your face, sending over a heatwave that warmed the blush beneath your cheeks. The longer he looked, the less real you felt- a fantasy under his watch, someone special and irreplaceable to him, and you were scared- to disappoint, to not live up to the person he saw you to be.

You returned focus to Jack, forcing yourself to remain centred and remember why you came here to begin with. Shifting weight to your left foot, a soft clear of the throat,

“Anyhow… what are your plans for the day?”

“I’m heading to the beach, and I’m not returning until I’m so tan that the concept of winter no longer exists.” He informs.

“Oh, alright, never mind then.” You should have known.

“Did you have something else in mind?” Jack clearly doesn’t feel much regret.

“I was thinking of taking a trip to Giardini di Augusto.” You prepare for repeated rejection.

“Say more.”

“Botanical Gardens.”

“Say more, more.”

“Flowers.”

“Say less.” He dismisses, wondering why his sister would even bother seeking his company to look at flowers rather than spending time by the sea.

You sigh, there’s no use in arguing, it always results in someone tripping the other one up. But now there is a more stressful matter at hand, and he is sauntering over, torso still bare, sending you a suspiciously hopeful smile before stopping next to Jack and speaking up,

“I like flowers.”

“Ground-breaking.” Your eyes roll.

“See, Harry can join you!” Jack concluded cheerfully.

“Oh no, I’m perfectly fine going alone.” You waved them off, heat rushing to the tips of your ears, nose, and fingertips.

“Nonsense.” Harry waves you off in return.

“No-” You start but never finish because he has already turned his back on you, tanned back rejecting your objection. Walking away, he calls over his shoulder,

“Let me just grab my wallet.”

“And a shirt, Harry.”

He’s heading to the staircase but suddenly halts, his head tilting back to address you with a sassy smirk,

“You sure about that?”

You can only scoff as he ascends the steps, and once you’re certain he is out of sight, you land a weak- but meaningful- punch to Jack’s upper arm.

“Oi!” He whines, hand rushing up to soothe the minor thump.

“Stop pawning your friend off on me.” The words leave your lips through clenched teeth, practically hissing, your eyes are like the slits of a snake, pointer finger aimed straight at him.

“I thought you liked him now.” Jack’s brows furrow.

“What?”

“Seemed like you were finally friends, is all.” He shrugs, resting against the door frame with far too much comfortability- as if he were already on the sand, soaking up the sun.

“Impossible.” You defend, but reconsider, “Acquaintances, maybe.” conceding for the sake of nobody but yourself. ,

“Oh c’mon, you’ll have fun!”

“This is the last time, Jack.” You warn.

He starts preparing to reassure you further, but the sound of Harry’s sneakers shuffling down the stairs means he is officially off the hook- for now- and with a swift goodbye, Jack moves past you and exits the villa in pursuit of summer.

Harry rounds the corner, his mouth-watering chest now covered by a tan hand-knitted shirt and a pair of unnecessarily flattering brown shorts.

“Let’s go, lovie.” Harry announces, walking straight past your agitated figure, forcing you to fasten your steps to catch up, cursing him and his unnecessarily long legs. But, when you get a look at the delicately crafted and colourful design decorating the back of his shirt, you decide to play nice… for now… for fashion.

🍷

The breeze carries the sun with each step taken, ensuring that the heat keeps you both simmering and agitated. Harry is strolling in sync, enjoying himself far too much already, considering you have only just arrived and have hardly made it past the entrance.

You’re dreading the day to come, carrying it along like a duffle bag and pretending that the excitement Harry currently exudes isn’t extremely palpable.

But, with the aroma of freshly grazed grass and an array of green leaves littered everywhere, you find your legs have started to carry you further along the cobblestones, chasing the sweet scents of summer flowers. Harry’s steps never slowed, as curious as yourself.

“You don’t have to humour me, you know.” Eyes glued ahead, you remind him once his strides reflect your own and he is in synchronicity.

“Hey now. He softly nudges your arm with his elbow, “I told you I happen to like flowers.”

“Everyone likes flowers.” You inform like it’s common knowledge, “I’m sure you had something better to do with your afternoon.”

“I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else in the world.”

“How sweet.” You remark snidely, but dislike that your sarcasm is coating the truth; what he said is sweet.

Maybe it’s time to attempt a positive attitude, leave all sass and snark at the entrance and just get through this date without any scandalous incidents. So, when Harry suggests the pair of you should follow the left path, you nod and send him a soft smile.

Slowing your steps to scan the first few rows of flowers, planted neatly and flourishing greatly- an array of saturated colours- the type that seems straight out of the paint tube, so threateningly bright.

Harry comes to a halt first, his pointer finger focuses in on a set of fuchsia and yellow pillowing petals resting upon gangly stems. He looks at them with nostalgic fondness,

“Mum has some of these in her new garden.��

“Snapdragons.” Stopping beside him before continuing, “How is your mum, by the way?”

“She’s good. She’s doing better. I saw her and Gem over Easter.”

All these newfound and reminiscent thoughts about Harry have you thinking about home a lot. What home means to you.

Turns out, most of it means the people you grew up with. It’s strange to hear about the people you once saw so regularly. Before the thought shifts to one of sadness, your mind clings to the thing you missed most,

“Did she make her Decadent Double Fudgy Chocolate Cake?”

“Of course.” Harry smiles so big it hurts thinking about the way you used to revel in just saying the elaborate name mum had given to her tried and true recipe.

“God, I miss her cooking.”

“I miss your cooking.” He counters.

It's unclear who began strolling again, but both of you followed each other along the pathway, and Harry snuck his glances at every chance possible, baffled each time he was reminded of your straight, stern features.

“What are you on about?” Now, your forehead creased, wracking your brain for all the recipes you ever replicated,

“Oh c’mon, you know I love your lasagna.” he reminded incredulously,

“No, I did not know that.”

“Well, now you know.” Harry confirmed, pointing to a bushel of indigo star-like petals, “These?”

“Delphinium.”

“Delphiniums.” He repeated tenderly, but when he turned to you, that tenderness was nowhere to be found, and the familiar aching of dismissal wrapped Harry up into a cocoon of heart-thumping, head-throbbing unease,

“Does this count as our date?”

“No.” He hardly lets you finish, washing away your curiosity with a wave of certainty.

“What’s taking you so long?” You groan- and you hope he doesn’t take it as a sign of stirring excitement, but mostly because as hard as you worked, the enthusiasm stirring in your stomach is impossible to dismiss.

“Antsy, are we?” He gently bumps his hip against your own, “There's no rush.”

“I just- I don’t get you!”

You halt, arms flailing up in sync with your boot stroppily stomping along the cobblestone. He only smiles fondly- and quite smugly,

“That’s because you have little patience.”

Harry continues strolling, knowing you’ll be quick to follow. And you are, taking a long stride to catch up to him, ready to prod him further, unsure if you’re just curious or actually looking forward to it like he suggests.

“I Just find it interesting that you finally got what you persistently nagged for, and suddenly there's no rush?”

“ Don’t cheapen it.” He scoffs, “I gave you the chance to opt out, the offer still stands.”

“Why does it feel like you’re up to no good?” You wearily squint.

“Doesn’t it always?”

“You’re putting me on edge.”

“That’s also nothing new.”

And though he should chalk it up to frustration, Harry can’t stop optimism from swallowing him whole, maybe, just maybe, you were actually keen on the date to follow. Before he allows his self-esteem to sink deeper, he shakes it off and simply shrugs, a cheeky smile curving at his lips,

“When I do take you on a date, I want it to be a ‘lil more romantic than this.”

“You’re full of it, Styles.” You grumble, feet pattering further along the path.

“And you’re beautiful.” He shrugs once more, making sure to keep up.

You slow when Harry spots a bed of bright pink and red butterfly-like flowers and he looks down at you expectantly.

“Impatiens.”

“Pretty.” He admires before continuing down the path. You find your body constantly swaying towards his own, like he was your missing magnet, needing to have to close. It’s after your third attempt to create reasonable distance when Harry ponders,

“What does your new house look like?”

“It’s only an apartment, but I think it’s cute.”

His mouth parts and releases something like a scoff and a laugh gets jumbled into one. He locks eyes with your own, ensuring you see his obnoxiously rolling as he chides,

“That tells me nothing.”

“Cute is better than my home in London.”

“Well, that’s not hard to beat.”

“Okay, Ritchie Rich.” You mock, elbow brushing his forearm before you can think to fight the urge. He’s so beautiful that each flower seems to dull behind his stature.

Especially when he smiles knowingly and ignores your sarcasm,

“Tell me more.”

“Loads of colour.”

“Purple?”

“Oh, yes.” You deadpan like it’s moronic to assume otherwise.

Harry has those all-too-familiar feelings where the past suddenly blends with the present and he cannot begin to comprehend it. Cannot begin to handle the intensity of how much he likes seeing you in your entirety. Chest tightening at the idea that he might be in even deeper than he thought.

He still doesn't know how to put it into words, but tries nevertheless,

“It’s funny… You’ve changed, but you haven’t changed.”

You hear him, but not really, because there’s this strange surge of excitement that has been sparking beneath the surface, and you want to tell him more,

“The outside is just, amazing. It has aged brick walls and a terrace with green railings… white window panes… oh, and the ivy’s been creeping up the walls, I’m sure they’ll cut it down eventually, but it gives it a fairytale-like feeling.”

“Sounds like a dream. Perfect place for a fairy, like yourself.”

You can’t stop yourself, the compliments, the mushy feelings, it’s like word vomit,

“Maybe I can show you one day.”

“Oh, Clutz. Are you tryna get me into your bed?” He gently teases.

“No. Just, like… describing it doesn’t do it justice.” Your cheeks are swollen red and you dip your head to ensure it goes unnoticed.

“If you say so.” He only shrugs and walks on with that stupid smug smile.

“Hey, I do!” You chase, almost bumping into his suddenly still figure. He’s looking at you and waiting for a name for the burnt orange flowers with what seems like hundreds of tiny petals, “Zinnias.”

“I’d love to see your house, Y/n.” He simply states. You wait a beat but he has no more to say.

“Huh.” Your astonishment is hard to repress.

“What?”

“Nothing… guess I was expecting some snide remark.”

“Like?”

You stop once more, turning your body’s attention to his own, your posture stiffening into one of impatience for his purposeful ignorance,

“I dunno, something like, ‘it wouldn’t take much to get me into your bed.’”

“Well, it wouldn’t.” He shrugs like it's the oldest of news, “You’re irresistible.”

“There it is…” You smile… Why aren’t you annoyed? Worse- why do you feel a rush of satisfaction?

Harry is easily distracted by something to your left, his features falling to a frown that has you quickly following his gaze whatever seems to perplex him. He’s having a stare-off with a bushel of leaves and stem, pointing curiously,

“This seems out of place. What is it?”

“I think that’s just a shrub.” A giggle paints your pearly whites into a full-on grin, and you shamefully snort once he starts to shamelessly chuckle along with goofy humility.

“Well, what are these, then?”

“Narcissus.” You nod stoically at the array of tiny golden trumpets.

“When did you become a botanist?”

“They have labels, moron.”

You swat his arm with playful satisfaction, Harry might think you’re an easy target, but it’s nice to remind him that he’s just as easy- if not easier.

Your phone dings once, then twice, then thrice, and you already know exactly who’s looking for you. Harry stands by as you begin to fish it out of your () bag. Once retrieved you confirm your suspicions, Savina. Your forehead apologetically furrows as you sweetly excuse yourself,

“Savina is about to blow up my phone if I don’t respond.”

S: Are u out?

S: Can’t believe ur up before noon

S: I’m getting breakfast without u, yes?

Y/n: Beauty sleep is vital.

Y/n: I’m at the Botanical Gardens

Y/n: ….

Y/n: With Harry

Waiting for a guaranteed ‘omg’ for Savina to pop up, your gaze wanders in pursuit of Harry. He’s off to the right, crouched over and looking rather suspicious. You’re about to investigate before another ding jolts you back to attention.

S: Ooh la la!

Y/n: Don’t start.

S: Is this the date?

Y/n: Apparently not

S: What is he waiting for?

Y/n: That’s what I said!

With that, you haphazardly slide the phone back into your tote and stroll along to meet Harry, who is already making his way back to you, one arm mysteriously tucked behind his back, and you can already see his lips beginning to purse with naughty amusement.

He arrives and wastes no time before whipping his hidden arm out to present you with the most chivalrous of gifts, proudly holding out a blooming red rose and offering it for your favour,

“I got you this.”

“You stole it!” Surprise has your voice squeaking on realisation- struggling between fearing the consequences of his crime, and finding his little gesture absolutely swoon-worthy.

“Clearly.”

“We’re not supposed to do that.” You whisper, and Harry declares himself dead at the sight of excitement glimmering along your face like glitter, eyes wide with adrenaline, cheeky grin chipping away at your gasp-spread mouth.

“Live a little, pretty girl.” In a hushed tone, he bows forward, hand still wrapped around the ruby petals’ stem.

“We’ll get caught-”

“We won’t.” He reassures with a certainty that has you confidently reaching out to accept. His palm feels as soft as the rose when his hand lingers and tickles at your wrist.

Bringing the rose up to your face, about to embrace its’ sweet aroma, you’re nearly knocked off of your feet when Harry’s hand suddenly intertwines with your own and he begins to run down the trail, tugging you along.

He’s cheerfully encouraging, “Run! We’re outlaws!”

And you have no choice other than to pick up your steps, giggling at his silliness, letting him get the most out of it. He has you winding down the pathway, turning left here, right there- and it’s only when your legs can no longer take the burden of held-in laughter, that the two of you decide to rest beneath the shade of a lemon tree.

The silence that settles is as soothing as the warm summer skies as Harry rests his back against the ageing trunk, proving how easy it is for him to get comfortable in just about any situation.

He stretches out his mostly bare legs, ankles politely crossing atop one another. So you follow suit, making a home in the bouncy blades of grass, one elbow balancing your weight as you let your legs splay out like his own, scuffed boots inches from his much shinier pair.

The birds have created an orchestra, they sing as a choral, buzzing bugs humming bass tones, the distant waves beat down on rocks like a thumping drum, wind in the leaves like flutes, and people chattering along the pathway all come together in the most serene of symphonies.

Harry hopes he remembers this tune forever- at least long enough for him to jot it down in his most precious notebooks.

And all of his thoughts have turned to lullabies about the pretty girl in green resting in the summer shade, hair strands wisping in the gentle wind, and a teeny glint of a content smile.

Before he ends up writing an entire song, Harry’s voice smoothly calls for your focus, thick and curious, harmonizing with nature’s instrumentals,

“Why haven’t you come to any of my album releases?”

“The ones at your house?”

“Yeah. For close friends and family.”

His stare feels like a laser beam aimed straight at your head. He looks at you with an expectancy sterner than usual, the type that you know will be impossible to dismiss or divert. Shamefully dipping your head, you busy yourself by twirling the rose stem still clasped in your hand,

“I-”

“No excuses.”

“I have been to your releases…For One Direction.”

You glance over through deeply furrowed brows and Harry’s features expand with bewilderment,

“That’s a lie, too!”

“It’s not!” You sit up now, crisscrossing your legs like some type of defence mechanism. “You weren’t there for A.M.” He says it so factually like it keeps him up at night.

“Really?”

“Trust me.”

Harry shifts his body into a more upright position, and his attention feels like you’re being prosecuted- worse- like he’s set up a lie detector and there’s no way around telling a fib. So, you shrug in all honesty,

“Didn’t think you’d notice if I was there or not.”

“That’s ridiculous.” He scoffs.

“It is ?”

“Assumptions, Y/n…” He sing-songs at the chance to call out your hypocrisy.

“Touche.”All you can do is shrug and concede, bashfully smiling at his success in stunning you to silence. Where were you during the album release? You must have been around, right?”

Harry observes your microfeatures- each crease, every freckle, the corner crinkles of your eyes and lips. It would take a fool not to notice your thoughts were racing like a runner on the track. It’s cute- very cute- but he’d hate to let you spiral for much longer,

“I wanted you to hear some of the songs…”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Wrote more than on the other albums… Made a lot of home reference, and like, growing up I guess…”

He hopes you can read between the lines of his absent words as you do so often. Hopes that ‘home’ means to you what it does to him. Because let's be honest, the years leading up to stardom were the most real- the most consistent- the most time he got to spend with you.

It’s a shock to both of you when a snide remark about childhood fails to leave your lips, instead, a shy smile starts to form and you say,

“That’s actually… very cute.”

“Is that affection I hear?” He coos.

You take a beat, begging for the bashful blushing of your cheeks to fade, unable to return his teasing stare. It’s too late to reel back in your thoughts and too late to dismiss the dread prickling at and dampening your palms,

“I’m sorry I kinda just disappeared after college… I would’ve really liked to hear them… especially the first one.”

“The best one?”He prods proudly. Praying he keeps the gates of your vulnerability open for a while longer.

“Just felt close to home, so I guess, yes, my favourite.” You don’t understand the magnitude of the relief that riddles Harry when you confirm that his longing for home is palpable enough to share through a speaker.

To cover your intrusively honest tracks- and dismiss the unfamiliar look in his eyes- you quickly add, “But, it’s a matter of opinion.”

“I value your opinion.” Harry simply states.“The most.” His constant certainty is discerning.

“Don’t be a suck-up.”

“What if I’m telling the truth?”

“I’d say you need a better advisory.” You inform.

“Don’t want one.” He tilts his chin to the sun in a childish strop.

“You want me?”

“Y’know me so well.”

He shakes his head and shrugs knowingly, letting his eyes flutter shut, sighing out in satisfaction as he soaks up this very moment. You can't look away- he seems so peaceful like he’s finally able to remove every version of Harry other than this one- a soft soul desperate to give love and be loved in return.

It’s before noon and you’ve done more thinking than four years worth of uni studies. Wracking your brain for melodies of Harry’s that evoke that oh-so-familiar feeling of home. But your brain is in overdrive and every note blends into an auditorium of his husky voice humming along to a timid guitar. A single name doesn't even come to mind- all on the tip of your tongue, but so quickly they dissipate like candyfloss dropped in a puddle.

You hate to ask for his help- hate the idea of him knowing he successfully wormed his way into your thought- but these moments of forgetfulness are the type that eat away at your entirety, there’s no way around it,

“Which songs?” His lashes flutter apart, crystal gaze greeting your own with curiosity. You elaborate, “From the album.”

That all-too-familiar devilish smirk starts to draw his lips into a toothy grin, and you want to flog yourself for thinking he might make things simpler for a change,

“You’ll have to go back and listen.”

He’s so full of cheek and charm that it’s too compelling to do anything but exactly what he says.

🍷

It’s sweltering today and the only thing you’ve been thinking of since waking up is the icy blue refreshment that is the swimming pool. So adamant to spend the day near the water, you had forgone putting normal clothes on after a quick shower.

Huffing out after finally managing to securely tie up the thin strands of your favourite pink bikini with read hearts, it was time to grab a towel and some sunscreen. But when your stomach interrupts the quest with a deep and needy grumble, swimming will have to wait til after some brunch.

Rounding the corner into the kitchen, it’s a bad sign when you spot Harry sitting atop the kitchen island, dangly legs gently swinging and bumping against the marble as he absentmindedly bites into what looks like a delectable golden croissant drizzled in gooey chocolate.

When he finally notices you, he smiles a goofy grin- still chewing on his pastry. And at the simplest of gestures, you wonder if the temperature has risen or if it’s the hot irritation bubbling beneath your skin.

He knows it sends you into a tizzy whenever he shows up unannounced- you think he revels in it. And he does. Of course he does.

But he won't get in the way of you and those damn tempting croissants, stacked on a plate so enticingly just to the left of Harry.

You make a break for the food, reaching out and snatching the nearest chocolate-garnished flakey goodness, and Harry watches on in amusement,

“Look at you, y’re practically salivating.”

Glaring at his astute observation, you skip the part where you grab a plate and fork, taking an over-ambitious bite, and you hold back an erotic groan as the croissant melts in your mouth, coating the corner of your lips in cocoa.

You’ve already taken a second bite before the chuckle brewing in Harry’s chest has the chance to release itself, but when it does, he struggles to keep it at bay.

He hopes your focus would be so dedicated to your self-appointed golden ticket that his soft giggles of bewildering endearment, but when he looks over, your eyes are already spitefully squinting his way.

Instead of words, you slowly raise the last third of the pastry to your parted mouth and push it past your lips, taking a couple of agitated bites before swallowing and shrugging him off.

Wrecklessly clapping your hands together to dust your hand of all crumbs, you weakly attempt to swipe any remnants of pastry flakes from your chin and gear up to get on with your day. Harry just can’t let that happen, can he?

“C’mere.” He requests.

“No.”

“Just c’mere.”

Rationalising the fact that you find yourself standing before him, arms crossed over your chest as you maintain suspicion and wait on Harry’s reasons for calling you over.

“Closer.” His instruction is tender and seems devoid of the standard mischievous intentions, so you take a broad step forward, toes close to bumping into the cabinet.

He cautiously raises one hand and curls his finger in a gesture for you to lean even further into his orbit. And you do, so easily that it's actually pitiful.

Your cheek practically guides itself into his palm as his fingers rest delicately atop your jaw and his thumb ever so gently brushes the corner of your lip before he hastily removes your face from his hold and raises his thumb to his mouth,

“Y’missed a lil’ bit of the chocolate.” He shares, popping his thumb past his plushy lips, sucking sweetly before pulling away with a sultry ‘pop’.

You don’t need to see it to feel how your pupils have swollen with frustrated allure, and Harry surely notices too. His tongue flicks out to glide across his bottom lip and it’s so unnecessarily sultry that it seems to tug you nearer, has your body slotting itself between his parted legs.

Harrys trapped, for a change, and by the looks of it, he hardly minds. With both hands balanced on the countertop, your arms create a trap around him- well, more like his legs and torso, but Harry pretends to be at your mercy nevertheless.

He softly chuckles, vibrating against the crown of your hair, then his body softly shakes with humour and yours rumbles by proxy.

“What’s so funny?” You tilt back to see him better.

“Just thinking about the last time we were like this.”

“Halloween?” You remember it like it was yesterday.

“Mm.” He hums with praise, leaning in, his body like a velcro.

“I hope this time ends better than the last.” You tease, left hand trailing up the expanse of his forearm.

“Well, that depends.” He hushly whispering into the shell of your ear, before pulling back to lock his gaze with your own.

“On?” Your palm rests on the crook of his shoulder and neck, nails testingly raking his freckled skin.

“Is there anyone in this house who wants to punch me for talking to you?” He says with suave sarcasm.

“Shove off.” You scoff and it completely contradicts the swell of adoration that seems to hit you head-on.

And though you can't stop the cheeky smile that turns your cheeks to swollen cherubs, your free hand still instinctively reaches out and lightly swats his chest.

“Just checking!” Harry uses this to his advantage, wrapping his expansive palm atop your own.

“He was my boyfriend.” You chide as a matter of fact.

“Hey, I get it.” He shrugs goofily, guiding your linked hands to rest atop his lap, “I would have felt the same way if-”

“If you were my boyfriend?”

“Precisely.” He nods cutely but his tone is that of praise. And the way he eyes you, lips supple and slightly parted.

For a split second you wonder if he likes what he sees, and you’ve never been more grateful that Harry doesn't allow you too long to ponder when he trails off,

“Wouldn’t have hit anyone…”

“Just sulk about in a corner instead?” You tease sweetly.

“Tried and true.” He smiles smugly.

“You’re so predictable.”

Harry playfully scoffs, leaning into you and practically blinding you with the silly smile he sends your way. You peer up at him, and Harry is instantly reminded of the simplicity of your impact on his head and stomach- your beauty effortlessly a siren song sent straight to his heart.

Nothing new here, though. Harry has seen you more times than countable but cannot fathom how you manage to make it feel like the first time- every time. It takes him back, it lurches him forward- what is this, what could it have been, could it still be?

He removes his hand from atop your own- it’s important to note how much this surprises you both- when you make no attempt to remove it from his meaty thigh, and, man, Harry can feel just how soft you are- he’s hot at the thought of how good it would feel to have his cock cradled in your palm- and as for your needle-like nails absentmindedly digging into his neck,

Harry’s lightheaded at the thought of you leaving harsh reddish scratches down his back, the idea of making you feel so good that you cannot help but ravish him completely. He’s almost certain that you’d be a biter, he wouldnt mind terribly if you decorated him in little bruises. He’s about willing to do anything to have your marks on him- wants to feel his shorts swell whenever he catches a glimpse of your fading loveletters.

It’s not hard to see that Harry’s thoughts are a mile a minute, his eyes darting across your face- unsure of where to settle. You know he wants to say something- perhaps batting your lashes oh so sweetly will encourage him.

It does. He’s drowning in your desire-oozing eyes as they become more and more devoid of colour, his own gaze holds on for dear life as he reclaims his confidence,

“I would have been a good boyfriend… To you.”

“Oh, yeah?” You risk it and slip your fingers into soft chocolate curls at the base of his neck, tugging and twirling.

“Would’ve bought you flowers and chocolates- oh, and cheap teddies.” His chest is nearing your own, “Burned a CD of songs that reminded me of you,” His spare hand reaches out, twirling a finger through a loose strand of your hair, “Taken you on picnics and baked your favourite pastries...”

“How very high school of you.” You manage to tease through the sudden suffocating and tightening of your throat, stomach clenching and cheeks threatening to swell with sappy cheeriness.

Harry only hums sweetly, his finger brushing against your jaw in a bid for your affection,

“I’d be even better now.”

“Thought about this before, have you?”

“Once or twice.” He shrugs, and your stomach is a swarm of sensual butterflies.

“Don’t think I’m about to humour you.”

Though your hand has somehow hiked its way up to his mid-thigh, your undying stubbornness is far from extinct and may be the only thing holding your sanity together as of current, and now you’re not sure if it’s Harry or yourself luring your body closer to his own.

“Not even a little?” He pries with a darling pout, his hand reaching out and wrapping around your waist, palm splayed flat against your lower back.

“It never leads to anything good.”

“Kissing me isn’t good?” Harry lures, hoping to lead you into some sort of feisty discourse.

Your gaze is fixed on anything but his own, even so, you already know that his lips are curved into a cheeky pout, forehead crinkling with faux-concern.

But in true betrayal, your newly-freed hand has trailed its way along his stomach, dragging slowly and settling atop his shoulder, fingers linking into a necklace clasp at the back of his neck,

“Stop throwing bones, Styles.” An eye roll. “You already know how I feel.”

“Still nice to hear.” His whole body shrugs, gaze piercing your direction, especially at your refusal to look back at him. He wants- needs- to see you better. “You never answered my question.”

Finally, with frustration, your stare snaps back to his own and stuns Harry once more with how seductive and alluring you are, and unintentionally at that. Ensuring his attention is all yours, but praying he doesn’t find out how much you mean it,

“You’re a good kisser, Harry.”

“Such a sweet girl…” Both of his arms are now snaking around your figure, fingers softly pressing into your flesh, hopefully pulling you nearer with his words, “But that wasn’t the question I was talking about.”

“What, then?”

“Ask me nicely.” He taunts, but you only threaten to remove your hold on him altogether. Instead, his hold only tightens, legs spreading and slotting your body in between.

“I said I won't humour you.” You let him keep you for his own.

“Brat.” Harry concedes with cheeky fondness, his heart filling with copious amounts of adoration for the ridiculous stubbornness that stirs you into his version of the perfect partner.

But it only makes him desire your lips with almost too much fervour to maintain composure, and he simplifies,

“Is someone gonna try to punch me?”

Your body is bouncing with bewildered laughter at Harry’s insinuation

“Well…” Your toes leave the ground, chin tilting and lips plumpening with each word, “Are you gonna try to kiss me again?”

“If I said I was?” Harry’s head dips, his mouth ready to take your own.

“Can you take a punch?”

“For you?” He speaks with such certainty, “I’ll take a thousand.”

“Then, I think you should risk it.”

The distance is dissipating with thick desire, Harry’s palm has found its place wrapped along your jaw, his thumb stroking at your cheek as he leans in and submits completely.

His eyes are involuntarily closing- lashes fluttering with the same ferocity as those of the butterflies in his stomach- and Harry can feel himself slipping further into the intimate bubble of your energy, demanding his lips find their home along the crevices of your skin.

Your legs will hurt later, but your impatience wishes for him to meet you sooner, annoyingly desperate for the frighteningly familiar feeling of his soft kisses scattering along your skin. Right now, if Harry were to ask, you would do anything for him- to him.

With a cute huff, you carefully tug his neck closer, foreheads brushing, noses colliding, his lips pressed to the corner of your mouth. Harry chuckles softly and-

“Harry?” The call is coming from inside the house!

“Y/n?” Dear god, there are two of them.

“Where are you?” The voices are getting closer.

Harry’s never seen someone move so quickly- hardly blinking twice before you had both released him and slipped your way out of his grasp- and if it weren’t for his shared panic of being caught in a rather telling situation, Harry would have taken a second to mourn instead of brashly clearing his throat and calling out,

“In the kitchen!”

🍷

That little incident back there has left you blood boiling like a lobster in a steel pot, but you can’t shake off the obscene thoughts battling with those of swimming, and you’re in an almost haze by the time you finally reach the pools edge.

And you’ve never been so grateful for the icy shock of water enveloping your ankles, then calves, and then your whole lower body sinks below the surface and life just about makes sense again. Chasing this feeling, you let yourself become fully submerged, limbs gracefully kicking and bobbing, hair fanned out like an halo, a second of serenity.

Who knows how long you revel in the water, gliding back-and-forth along the pools length until it feels like you’ve never touched land before. It’s only when your face reemerges and Savina’s figure comes into view that you even consider returning to reality.

Her upper body is dry and resting against the wall of the pool, large circular-framed sunglasses shading most of her face, straight mousy-brown hair pulled back and up with a claw clip.

She’s just so self-assured- exudes coyness with unbridled confidence and certainty. How do the people around you have the such a power for certainty? Where is the doubt?

Swimming the short distance to her poised figure, a smile creeping along her heart-shaped lips, Savina waits for you to near, your body wading in the tiny water waves, before letting you in on her latest idea,

“I think we should hire out a catamaran.”

“Aren’t you scared of boats?”

“Only the little ones.” She dismisses.

“Well, I’m not a fan of boats. Any types.”

Savina looks at you like you’ve become a stranger and you already know the next thing she utters will be laced with confusion,

“Why do you do so many water activities, then?”

There are dozens of stories revolving you and the water- many are of disastrous incidents and oft resulted in some form of injury- but it must be firmly noted that every single activity involved the dangerous duo that is Jack and Harry.

“I can’t say no when people ask me.”

The troublesome two who have mastered the art of convincing you into almost everything- even if, on occasion, you find yourself greatful for their persistence, that information is privy to you and you alone. What you will say is,

“One of these days it’ll be the death of me.”

You glide towards the pools edge, using your arms to hoist the rest of your body out until you’re sitting atop the warm tiles, legs dipping back into the refreshing water. Savina follows suit, gracefully plopping down beside you. She rests her glasses atop her head and her brown eyes glow golden beneath the cloudless sky as she asks,

“So, what day should we book for?”

“Wednesday?”

“Perfect! We’ll visit the coastal towns, try out that Posillipo I mentioned at the, what was the-”

“August Clambake.” You finish for her, eyes rolling at the memory.

You share a reminiscent stare before scoffing and with synchronicity, reciting, “The clambake with no clams!”

“These ones will blow your mind!” She reassures.

“I’m sold. It’s a date!”

Not a moment later the shadow of a six-foot man casts over your crisping skin,

“A date?” Harry gasps dramatically, walking into view, “Y/n, are you two-timing me?”

“You haven’t set a date.” Your head tilts up to scold him eye-to-eye but the first thing you see is his thick thighs practically squeezing the yellow material of the tiniest of swim trunks hanging low on his hips.

He’s still strumming up a retort, and you have to peel your gaze away from the muscular divots of his hip bones- and how his unintentional flexes are fastly stirring a deep desire within- when Savina becomes a surprising saving grace,

“We’re taking a catamaran to see the island.” She informs. Problem solves. For a beat, before she pulls a classic Savina and enthusiastically suggests, “Come with us. You and Jack!”

“Savina.” You hiss between clenched teeth.

“We’d love to!” He’s all too enthusiastic and you hold back a scoff.

“How does Wednesday sound?”

“Wednesday it is.”

Once again, you are victim to a group consensus that would be harder to argue against than to just cave in and follow along. That’s a problem for Wednesday’s Y/n, though. Today’s problem is still towering over you, cruelly blocking the sun.

And when you need her most, Savina checks her watch and hops up,

“I better get ready for lunch with Jeff.” This is news to both you and Harry and Savina must notice when she adds, “One last gossip session before he leaves.”

What the hell are those two talking about at these lunches? You’re almost certain that it mostly surrounds this bizarre dynamic between the two of you. Is it that confusing that people on the outside have noticed?

The thought is enough to make you sick, stomach twisting from a cocktail of fear from drawing attention to yourself and the still present arousal that started the moment you walked into the kitchen and were met with Harry.

If anyone asked Harry himself, he would say that this day has been more than enjoyable, in fact, his excitement is through the roof at the subtle validation he receives at the idea that maybe the approval of outsiders may soothe your constant doubts- give you permission to take a chance with him.

What he wants to say is ‘you can see this undeniable chemistry, cant you? I’m not making things up, right?’ but refrains and says,

“I hope you have nice things to say about me.”

“Darling, we always do.”

Savina sends the least subtle of winks your way and bids her goodbye’s. Harry wastes no time in taking two large strides towards the pools edge, raising his arms to the sky, arching his sculpture-like body, his back muscles contorting and you know exactly where this is going.

Just as his feet are about to turn into a bouncy spring aimed for the water, you hurriedly yell out to Harry,

“Don’t splash-” But it’s no use- he’s in the air, a breaching dolphin landing in the water, followed by a large splash that sprinkles your almost fully dried skin with cold droplets. You squeal out, and when Harry finally resubmerges, face slick with water and a sly smile, all you can muster is a simple, “I hate you.”

“Do you though?” He wonders, paddling along the waters surface.

“Loathe.”

“Go on.” He treads closer before standing up, water bumping the skin of his waist down.

“Detest.”

“Mm?” Harry closes the gap between your bodies, his glistening chest bumps against your knees like boats in the docks.

“Despise.”

He shifts to stand to your left, leaning his back on the pools edge, his elbow perched just inches from the bare expanse of your thigh, and his free hand settles just above your knee, fingers faintly tapping rhythmically,

“You’re so hot when you turn me into adjectives.”

“Pesty, irritating, frustrating, antagonistic bastard.”

Harry’s hand encloses over your thigh and squeezes in tune with an sarcastic- erotic- groan,

“Stop or I’ll bust.”

The insinuation shatters all self control and your body shudders under his hold and his stare. There’s that familiar ache of neediness- neediness for Harry’s hands to do more- for him to do something to finally rectify that disastrous encounter in the kitchen.

Harry isnt making any further steps, but he’s well aware of the way your body seems to tense with anticipation under his touch- the same as it does whenever he’s has you cornered- and he wishes you would say it aloud.

It seems on the tip of your tongue, lips weakly parted, trying your hardest to find the least pathetic way to tell Harry to just fucking have at it.

But ego runs deep. So deep that you gently shrug off his hand and swiftly stand up, body coming to attention as an automated response slips from your lips,

“You are the worst!”

He’s laughing and your lower body shudders. Now you cant tell if your bikini bottoms are soaked from the swimming pool. As unlikely as the chances that Harry isn’t shamelessly staring at the way your ass gracefully bounces with each stroppy step you take towards the sunbed.

🍷

In all fairness, Harry had started it. And then he re-started it. And now, he definitely hasn’t stopped as he strode past the sunbed you occupied, teeny tiny trunks fully drenched- streams of water descending his thighs as he purposefully picks the sunbed furthest from your own and practically throws his body atop the rolled out beach-towel.

You were pushing it- and it was obvious- but you’ve been teased with the littlest of tastes all day and you are just salivating for more.

Its impossible for any thoughts to remain innocent- each move he makes is as tantalizing as it is taunting- he doesnt even seem to know it. Just looking so relaxed and unbothered, as if your presence means nothing. As if you’re the only one about to explode from pure sexual frustration.

It’s infuriating, and mortifying, and only adds to the shameful arousal you cannot shake off. It’s all consuming- he is all consuming.

And when Harry obnoxiously stretches for a third time, you fugue into a complete frenzy- eyelids hooded and hungrily watching the muscles of his flexed arms, his ridiculously tiny swim trunks slipping lower, creating the sultriest of trails from his stomach to his hipbones for your gaze to happily follow.

No longer willing to hide behind the most adorable of pastel pink heart-shaped sunglasses, you’re a roast on a spit and if Harry won’t take the hint and bite, it’s time to catch a hint.

Harry’s pretty features are hiding behind an aged-denim baseball cap, one arm flexed behind his head as a makeshift pillow. This has you wondering if he’s even awake and that’s the final push you needed to get up and stealthily stroll over to his sunbed.

Bending down and leaning your body over his own, your bikini-clad breast brush against his chest as you reach across him for a book you couldn’t even currently recall the title of- resting next to his half-empty lemonade on the side table.

“You’re kidding.” Harry mumbles through the material.

“What?” You feign innocence, pressing further into him, waist coming down on his stomach.

“You know exactly what you’re doing.” He torts but lets you continue with your teasing.

“Getting my book?” You ponder, taking much longer than necessary, letting your fingers dance along the cover, tilting down and further sticking your sun-kissed skin to his own.

Harry removes his flexed arm from its position as a pillow, using his thumb to hook under and remove the cap from hiding his face. He looks at you with a stern furrow of the brows, but his eyes are nothing but amused, and egregiously aroused,

“You’re a little liar.”

With ease, he wraps his arms around your waist, giving you a good squeeze as he flips you over, causing you to snatch a hold of the novel just as you find yourself bent and folded over his lap, ass up in the air, your chest resting against his thighs.

“What the-”

Now Harry has you, and you feel silly for thinking you could have ever gotten away with being so clueless, banking on the falseness of his lack of interest in your presence. He had lured you right in leaving you lying across him, completely at his will.

Not that you would want to be anywhere else, but you can’t help the embarrassment stirring at your stomach, ringing in your ears, you hope Harry doesn’t notice, and it seems he is far more focused on the sultriness of your arched back, your bikini bottoms becoming a frame for the ass cheeks that Harry quickly deems an artwork.

His fingers glide along the curve of your spine, satisfied with the shiver that shakes your body beneath his touch,

“You’re a naughty one, aren’t you?” He notes, letting his hands continue to trail along your curves.

He ponders for a moment, watching for each reaction you might let slip, hyper-focused on your shaky breaths, the rise and fall of your breasts against his legs. He needs more though- needs to hear you,

“I think it’s time you’re punished for all of this brattiness.”

“I’m not a brat.” You huff defensively for no reason but to protect your pride, still stuck and at his will.

“But you act like one.” He tuts factually, his hands gliding along your lower back before his palms finally settle on your ass cheeks, giving you the softest of pats.

You can’t admit such just yet, it was clear you were behaving like a true brat, but your words would be the last thing that would confirm that. Instead, you start to let the book slip and attempt to let it drop with little care,

“That’s the same-”

Harry refuses to let you finish, his tone dripping with discipline, his hands squeezing at your skin to ensure to cut you off and keep you focused on his filthy intentions,

“Read your book. Must be interesting if you were willing to go to such great lengths to retrieve it.” He is keeping you hooked like an floundering fish, baiting you with the promise of leaving little red marks along your pillowing bum cheeks.

Your lips part with the desire of protest, letting the book loosen in your hand, waiting for it to finally part from your palms. But Harry is watching like a hawk- waiting for you to misbehave once more, knowing you far too well. Still, you rally all of the defiance you have to spare,

“I-”

“Read the book.”

He gently digs his nails into your skin, and you want to protest even harder, but his simple sternness is salivating and instead, you choose to repent for your sins, balancing on your elbows, sighing and reopening the page to your bookmark with zero intent in actually reading.

With satisfaction, Harry kneads at the mounds of your skin before suddenly lifting his palm and bringing it down against your cheek with a sweet slap.

Your neck tilts back against your will, and your grip on the book starts to slip once more, biting back a surprised sigh.

“Uh, uh.” He scolds, “Read, Y/n.”

And you prop the book back up with embarrassing haste.

“So bratty…” By this point, Harry speaks with astonishment.

You cannot resist scoffing at his statement, busy regaining the strength to snap back at his ridiculous demand, but his hand comes down against your cheeks with a sterner smack and you switch back to the pretence of reading in hopes of another spanking.

“Tell me about the plot.” He insists, enjoying his little power trip far too much, whilst shifting back to pinching and squeezing at your skin.

“You’re being ridicu-” You try but another harsh smack followed by the soothing rub of his palm over the blooming mark buries you in submission, “Fernando just showed up at Fermina’s house…”

“Tell me more.”

“Then… I… I have no idea.” Your head bows with shameful admission.

Harry seems more than satisfied, kneading and squeezing at your skin. He decides that your honesty earns you points, it would be cruel to deny you sympathy for such an important attribute. But he truly does know you too well, doubting your little relinquishment, and he needs reassurance,

“Gonna be a good girl from now on?”

He doesn’t expect you to nod along so quickly, never mind so avidly, and now, Harry is gripping onto your dips and curves for dear life. But he cannot stop the teasing that slips past the gap in his teeth,

“For who?”

You roll your eyes, well aware it goes unnoticed by him, but Harry can feel the way a huff causes your chest to rise and fall, his own starts to expand with a light chuckle. And said chest catches a sharp breath and keeps it there at the feeling of your body slumping against his own as you bravely say,

“For you, Harry.”

To say Harry was elated would be an understatement- his whole body alight with the mere sight of your body slung across his lap, let alone the feeling of your soft flesh moulding like clay beneath his hold.

He doesnt think he can get used to how pliant and responsive you become under his touch. If this is what happens when he pathetcially parades about hoping to attract a pretty girls attention, Harry doesn’t mind behaving like a peacock more often.

“Now, what exactly were you expecting to happen with this… little act of yours, hm?” His hands squeeze at any available skin, “Think you’d get away it?” His fingers glide dangerously close to your undeniably damp bottoms, “That I’d just pretend it was all just an innocent mistake?”

“It was a mistake-”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Yes-”

The harsh crack of Harry’s hand colliding with you left cheek has your back arching, squeaking out a whine, toes curling all at once.

“Are you sure, Y/n?”

“...No.”

Your head drops, cheek resting on his thigh as your body slumps in full submission, and, hell, Harry wishes you could see how wide his smile is at the sight. His hand circles soothing strokes atop the palm-sized pinkish mark starting to bloom- beyond satisfied with his brilliant work.

“Was that so hard?”

“No, sir.”

You answer with a haste that takes Harry by such surprise that he feels all sense of superiority substitute itself with the fear that maybe you were right, maybe you’re more than he can handle.

“Christ.” His chest is tight, heart racing, and he feels a harsh sugar drop, suddenly trapped beneath your supple figure- dominance is dissipating, Harry comes to the realisation that he is never in charge- not even when you feign submission.

He fears the unfamiliarity of letting his partner take control. Being intimate is one area of his life that he can truly make decisions that he wont spend an eternity revisity and cruelly critiquing the outcome. This is a place where he can act freely and intuitively- all he’s ever known is a dynamic where his lovers follow suit.

Why does he want to do this forever? Why is he already planning all the ways he can show you just how desperately he’s willing to become your personal plaything?

You’ve grown impatient with the slowing of Harry’s actions- you may have sacrificed your stubbornness, but your pride surely wont have you slung across the lap of a man if he’s not at least making you squirm with pleasure.

Harry can’t find the words as you slyly and swiftly escape from his hold. It seems like you’re about to make a break for it but when you only turn to face him and confidently sling your leg over his lap, he’s quick to shift for your ease, helping your body settle in his lap.

Your arms snake up his arms, palms splaying out atop his shoulders. Harry’s hand are already trailing any part of you he hadnt previously had access to, starting with the curves of your waist, his cock twitching as his fingers rake along the waistband of your bikini and you shift excitedly.

He squeezes at the creases where your pudge pushes against the restraint of the stringy swimwear straps, and Harry tauntingly twirls them around his fingers, threatening to dismantle the carefully-tied bows,

“So flimsy, all it would take is one little tug...”

“And you’ll deeply regret it.”

You press your lower body further into his lap, biting back a satisfied sigh as his cock continues to stiffen, brushing those pesty swimwear along your progressively soaking slit. He needs to be closer- you need to ensure he is just as wrapped up in this all encompassing bubble of desire as yourself.

“Why’s that, angel?”

Harry tries to keep his voice steady as you press your breasts against his chest, the aroma of sunscreen, salty water, and sweet conditioner suddenly surrounding him, intoxicating his senses with a swift dose of dopamine. His body is sinking further into the sunbed as you start building a staircase of sloppy kisses towards the shell of his ear,

“Because I’ll stop doing this.” You move back slightly- its obvious he wont let you get far- and your body mimics that of a person ready to run, “In fact, I’ll leave and take care of myself.”

And as mouth-watering as that visual is, Harry tugs you back into place- even closer- until his nose is brushing the curve of your collarbone, his hand gliding along your goosebump-riddled spine until it cups the back of your neck and in between timid kisses to your sternum, he tuts,

“Well, we wouldnt want that, would we?”

Your head shakes in agreement, tilting down to get a better look at him beneath those unruly brunette curls.

The moment his glossy lips leave your skin and he peers up at you through lust-driven eyes, you throw all snark, games, wit, and stubbornness to the wind. All you want is to suffocate him with your kiss.

Maybe Harry really can read your mind because he tilts his chin, lips puckering in anticipation for your own, and how sweetly he lets your hand wrap around his jaw- lets your thumb flick his bottom lip, parting them so politely as your finger slips into his mouth and he selaciously sucks on it.

Your thumb is barely out of his mouth when your teeth latch onto his bottom lip, giving it a gentle tug before your tongue slips past and seeks out his own.

Harry kisses you back like it’s life or death, lips slipping, exploring, and when you capture his tongue and suck it between your slick mouth, he wants desperately for you to soothe his aching cock however you see fit.

Your kisses have strayed to the curve where his jaw and ear meet, sloppily trailing down his simmering skin, taking a little nibble of the creamy crook of his neck- which earns a surprised yelp from Harry,

“G’na show me how good you can be?”

“Ask me nicely.”

He can’t muster anything more than a deep chuckle- turning to mush at the playful streak peaking through your lustrous stare. Harry, unlike yourself, doesn’t mind a little grovelling- in fact, he thinks he’s made that more than clear.

His voice turns as tender as his touch, sincerity seeping through the thick layers of his arousal as he lets his lips graze your ear,

“Please, Y/n.”

That feels good to hear. Criminally good. Like, the type of good that has you missing this exact moment while it’s still happening.

It’s as if he’s uttered the secret password and it’s your duty to ensure his success doesn't go to waste.

All remnants of Harry taking control are null and void the moment your hips rock along his own. Your clit brushes atop his throbbing cock- begging for release from this hellishly restrictive swim trunks- and with a sharp hiss snaking past your lips, Harry’s sure he’s about to cut off all blood circulation.

He decides to be the most helpful boy he can be, cradling your ass cheeks, letting your hips guide them wherever you pleased. With deliberate and curious swirls, you hold back little mewls each time his cock brushes along your throbbing and increasingly damp pussy.

Your hands cant decide where to graps as they switch between pressing into his lower abdomen, trailing along his forearms, one hand wrapping along his neck while the other impatiently tugs at his chin, tilting his mouth to latch onto your own.

Harry doesnt hide the pleasure pulsing through him with every touch and hitch of your breath, gliding his tongue along your lower lip and with a subtle thrust, he coaxes a hushed sigh from you, taking the chance to slip his tongue past your teeth, lapping at your mouth with such lewdness that your hips rock on their own accord.

Less calculated, more explorative, swirling left to right, up and down atop his full length, testing what feels good, what makes his body twitch and whine with approval.

It’s hard to focus, Harry’s pressing into whatever part of you he can reach, holding onto your hips as if he feared you might evaporate into another silly fantasy, hoping his little moans of satisfaction express how desperately he wants you.

You’ve never heard something as beautiful as Harry’s moans- they haunt your dreams and often coax your hands into your panties on lonely evenings. Raising slightly, your right hand reaches back and strokes along his thick length and Harry’s hands needily glides up and harshly cups your breast.

He’s tauntingly tugging at the flimsy material, perversely tugging it to the side to reveal your pebbled nipple and his teeth are around the perky bud before you can say something about the dangers of getting caught.

In honesty, you’re not thinking about that at all- it only stirs fiercely at your lower belly, pulsating with filthy excitement. Your hand wraps around his neck, pressing him further into your chest as his free hand cups and kneads at your other breast.

Thighs working harder than most days, you try to keep a consistent pace, needily chasing a high, searching for that sweet spot, and Harry wants nothing more than to assist.

His hands retreat to your ass, one raising you slightly as his other adjusts his cock to line up with your dripping entrance. You’ve soaked through your swimwear- so slick that Harry can feel his swollen tip dampening at the contact.

He’s pushing up into you, and there’s something so lewd about fucking you through your swimwear that has the two of you feeling more feral than ever before. So good that the world around you is still, nobody else exists, and the only thing you care about is being so close to Harry’s cock pushing past your entrance.

It’s teamwork when you hastily stand and turn around, seating your drippy pussy right atop his length. Harry guides your body back and forth, releasing a gravelly groan when your thighs tighten and generously knead his balls, hand reaching between the two of you as your hands press and stroke the expanse of his cock, from tip to taint.

Huffing out each time he brushes against your throbbing bud, the need to have him closer is overwhelming. And the way his hips are starting to jut impatiently, you might not be the only one. His hips are bucking up into you, possessively searching for your pussy.

Harry does needs more, needs to see those erotic visuals of your pleasure-soaked face that have plagued his mind for the last three months,

“C’mere pretty girl.”

He has you facing him again, pinning him to the chair, arching your hips to up so that each grind targets his tip and aims for your slit, triggering a new current of euphoria to send shockwaves up your spine.

Maybe he’s stopped thinking completely because Harry reaches out for the top of your bikini, using one hand to spread the material apart until they are framing your bare breasts like an artwork- which, Harry deems they certainly are.

He’s squeezing at you, nipping and nibbling, and your nails are piercing into his shoulders, holding on for dear life. When Harry sinks his teeth down onto the supple skin of your throat, harshly sucking as your thighs clench around his at the sudden and arousing sting.

His tongue lovingly licks at and soothes the soon-to-bloom bruise. You know he’s marking you to prove a point, and it shouldnt have you reeling with such excitement at the thought of being his, enough to break your silence,

“Fuck, Harry.”

“Feel good, sweetheart?” His name has never sounded so special.

“So fucking good.” You pant, pushing yourself down onto him with ferocity.

And Harry couldn't predict that you would shuffle back, hook your fingers into the band of his shorts and free his cock from its cruel confinement. Only just past the tip is visible and the harsh sting of the cool air is quickly replaced by the warmth of your pussy. One layer separating him from the tight embrace of your hole.

Your breasts are still in line with Harry’s face, one of his hands still lazily squeezing while the other slides down your torso, tickles at your ribcage before abrasively cupping your pussy and he’s grunting out, “So, so wet.”

Your head lulls back at the obvious observation, and the desperate need to coat his length until he’s just as soaked has got your eyes rolling in ecstasy.

Harry heinously loops his finger into the side of your swimwear, tugging it to the side and whining out, “My God” at the sight of your bare pussy, slick and begging to be fucked hard and proper.

You’re pressing down on him before he can truly marvel at how puffy and pretty you are when riled up, but as your torso arches back, breasts searching for the sky, hand digging into his stomach for balance, Harry gets a view so tasty, there is actual drool pooling at the corner of his lip.

The tip of his cock is disapearring between the folds of your pussy, instantly soaked and twitching from sensitivity, you’re bucking at a rapid pase, synchronising your bursts of pleasure. Harry knows this will be a core memory, something that will project across the lids of his shut eyes every single night for eternity.

His hips are thrusting up to meet your own with soft slaps, all-encompassing pleasure twisting at his lower abdomen, building and peaking, and then you mewl out the most salacious of sounds- a wordless plea to help push you over the edge, and Harry is jutting with haste, wrapping his arms around your back, guiding your body atop his until the orgasm you’ve desired so deeply starts to reach its peak, and you’re urgently, desperately using Harry’s cock.

You gazes lock- eyes blackened, lids hooded- and you utter out the sweetest and softest of pleas, “Wanna come.”

Harry’s nodding avidly, holding you tighter, pressing you nearer, bucking his cock up into the folds of your pulsating pussy, each time his tip slip and brushes your entrance, he knows he wont last longer. All he can do is honestly ask of you,

“Please.” He’s smothering you neck in kisses, “Please come for me.”

That does it. You don’t care about Harry witnessing the pronographic whine that follows- you don’t care who hears or sees, all you care about is the earth-shattering pleasure swallowing you whole, your body crumbling, struggling to keep up your movements as your orgasm takes over completely, grabbing at his arms, his back, his torso.

Harry’s stare is frozen as you start to unravel above him, but his hips are working overtime, pumping himself against your pussy and your chest is humming in tune.

Sloppily, one hand raises to tenderly cup his cheek and you latch your lips to his in a sensual, slow tongue-tango. The unfamiliar feelings of affection fusing with arousal is the final straw for Harry.

There’s no time to vocalise anything before he’s pushed completely over the edge and can only manage a filthy moan that vibrates against your lips as Harry comes undone and his thrusts turn uneven before his cock is spurting thick pleasure between the folds of your pussy.

Your bodies slow down to a halt and you can no longer hold yourself up, collapsing atop Harry’s chest as he works to even his breathing. Both of you are surely sticky messes, and reality is rapidly returning.

It’s only now that either of you glance around to see if anyone may have noticed, and though shame is sure to follow, that can only happen once you separate your sweaty, lethargic bodies.

You let the moment linger a while longer before regretfully loosening your hold and peeling your skin from his own. When Harry whines out disapprovingly, you almost crawl right back into position, but that will be the start of round two. You need time to process round one.

Harry puts up little fight, though every part of his living being wishes to have you cradled in his arms, cuddling up against his tired torso, instead pulling his trunks back up to hide his cock, he shifts and takes in the magnificent of views- you stand and gather your book, eyes glazed-over, cheeks flushed and chest unevenly heaving.

“So you can be a good girl.”

“So you can be something other than annoying.”

Harry’s already thinking about the next time, and the next. But your thoughts are swiftly veering towards uncertainty and the excuse for a shower is the only thing keeping you from passing out right in front of him.

“I can be anything you want, Y/n.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” You definitely will.

Harry acts completely unbothered when he returns his body to the position that started this entire encounter, retrieves his hat and settles in for what seems like a nap. Relaxed son of a bitch. Why isn’t it rubbing off on you?

“I hope you do.” Harry hums from beneath the cap and all you can do is wander away from him and into the house in a complete daze.

🍷

Dinner with Savina is, at best, depressing. Fork aimlessly stabbing at the same piece of lettuce, you clearly aren’t on this planet anymore.

Dazed, avoiding the air around you as if it might trigger another feral response. Worst of all- you’re ashamed of how shameless you still feel in Harry’s wake.

Savina has been eyeing you from across the table for well over ten minutes before that ghostly look on your face becomes too much to tolerate,

“Why do you look like you just witnessed someone being ejected from a vehicle?”

She’s squinting suspiciously when you briefly glance up at her with sheer mortification,

“That’s awful.”

“You’re acting like something awful did happen.” She defends, and you cave in an instant, quickly mumbling some type of explanation that has Savina asking, “What’s that?”

“He spanked me.”

Silence thickened with surprise settles between the two of you. In defeat, you put down the fork and settle back in the handcrafted dining chair and pout at Savina, clueless of how to process this information on your own.

Her forehead and bushy brows are raised, her own meal discarded at this sizzling new development. But she’s observing the way your features morph from mortified to confused to sheer helplessness, and Savina will get to the bottom of this,

“And this is the face of someone who enjoyed it far more than they care to admit?”

“This is the face of someone who enjoyed it.” You sigh out.

It’s just getting weirder, Savina finally concedes that you weren’t exaggerating when you expressed how confusing the dynamic you and Harry share truly is. Savina doesn’t know where to start,

“That’s… messed up, Y/n.”

Then she tries the ‘positive reinforcement’ tactic, “Harry seems-”

“Don’t say his name.” You shush.

“You’re so dramatic!”

“Yes!” Your hands flail wildly, “And he’s driving me crazy!”

Savina finds this all-too amusing, returning to her food and reveling in this obscure situation she is so grateful to witness first-hand, she hums provokingly,

“Ugh. I want a summer love.”

“We’re too old for this.”

You’re trying to remind yourself of this- of any possible reason to prove the impossibility of getting closer to Harry. The only things currently going for you is memories of the past, and even those are being muddled by new perspectives. It’s nauseating.

In a cheeky conclusion, Savina only coos out a request for one last thing,

“Please, let me live vicariously.”

🍷

Déjà fuckin vu.

A new day and… why is Harry here? He’s splayed out on that sunbed again, and you won’t be caught falling for it this time… regardless of how the sun casts sultry shadows along his torso, highlighting the divots of his stomach muscles…

You hasten the drying process, roughly rubbing the towel along any damp skin- eyes trained carefully on his still and shining body.

But, you can’t help yourself from at least letting him know that you are well aware of his tactics, he must understand that you are nowhere near as easily tempted as you were before- that a lapse in judgement had lured you straight into his lap. (How many lapses can one’s judgement have before you have to admit it wasn’t a mistake?)

Your softened feet pad along the warm tiles until they stop just before Harry’s resting figure. His ray bans hide any sign of consciousness, but it’s obvious that he’s already hyper-aware of your every move.

You steal a couple of glances for your personal ‘before bed’montage, which by now consists mostly of visuals of Harry just, being Harry.

It certainly helps to daydream about him warming beneath the rays, golden skin glistening, arms and torso taught and littered with all those tattoos and freckles, flexing just for you.

Your figure hovers over him like a cloud and Harry is quick to tilt his sunglasses, balancing them on the bridge of his nose as his amuse-soaked gaze is peering up at you through wispy lashes.

He waits on you, knowing that this is the second step in his trap. And how easily he seems to have coaxed you into it once more. He’s prepared to be chewed out, and his stomach twists in delight at the thought.

And how simply you exacerbate his excitement when your arms come to rest across the curves of your underboob, brows furrowing and fresh-berry lips pursing to firmly inform Harry that,

“Try all you want, it won't work this time.”

“I wasn't trying last time.” He shrugs smugly.

“... Well it won’t work today.”

Harry shifts himself to an upright position, his large palm lazily sliding the shades from his face, as he plans to ensure you get the perfect view of him.

He feels like a teenager, attempting to convince you of his attractiveness, but there’s an underlying giddiness that always follows and he prays you feel it too. Even if he could resist teasing, the silly scrunch of your nose and squinted searing gaze guarantees he won’t stop.

“Spiralling again, sweetheart?”

“After interacting with you? Always.” You scoff and Harry’s skin melts under your glare.

“Why does that turn me on?” He whines tauntingly.

“Dont ask me, I rarely understand you.”

Harry almost laughs aloud and with each passing second, the ache to shamelessly rake your stare along his limbs becomes a challenge not to succumb to his will. Yet you cannot possess yourself to walk away just yet.

So you keep your eyes fixed on his own, watching as playfulness and enticement colour his eyes in hues of deep green, desperate for his next words to be enough to dismiss you from dangerously slinking back onto his lap.

It’s like Harry has figured out that he occupies a space in your head. Like he’s weaselled his way in there and anticipates your every thought- your every move.

Why else would his next move be to slightly part his legs, like a damn invitation, juicy thighs begging for a bite? His elbow presses into his thigh, balancing his chin atop his hand as he watches you like it’s his only reason for living, choosing his next words carefully,

“I don't believe that. I think you understand me just fine.”

“Whatever. I need to head inside before I burn.” If that were true, it wouldn’t be from the sun's rays, but the desperate desire to fuck him senseless.

“Ever the cautious little one.” He coos through the fondest of grins.

You muster the will to take a step back, and then another, shrugging knowingly at laxness,

“Take that up with the sun, Harry. Put some sunscreen on while you’re at it.”

One final glance and you turn on your heels, heading for the sliding doors as Harry’s boastful voice sings out,

“Not necessary, but thank you for being such a doll.”

“Don’t come crying to me.” You hum contently, proud of how well you had resisted his charm, but body still pining for his hold.

🍷

Sunset painted the blue skies with pastel candyfloss peach and pink, clouds casting the trees into shadows, and with the most idealistic view of the orange-streaked ocean visible from your balcony, allowing the last soft rays to cast the villa in warmth, lulling you into a cosy daze in front of the tv, legs splayed out on the sofa, eyes slipping in and out of focus.

Everything slowly melts into euphoria, the dialogue on screen turns to muffles, waves kissing the shore, and you can’t recall the last time things felt so easy- so still.

But your departure from consciousness is cruelly interrupted by the thudding of a fist against the front door. Whoever knocks has hasty determination as they hardly pause before tapping the hardwood again.

All remnants of a possible nap were gone with the setting sun and your bare feet were padding along the cool linoleum without thought, heading towards the persistent knocking with a desperate desire for it to just stop.

It must be Savina, and she must have left her keys behind again, and if that’s the case, she’s about to receive a mouthful and a half. You’ve already sucked in a scolding breath whilst unlocking and opening the door, only to be met with the surprising sight of a very flustered and very red-faced Harry, frowning brow matching his pretty puckered pout.

All you can do is exhale and before the giggles can even register to bubble, he’s taking a desperate step forward, pointing his finger and warning,

“Do not laugh.”

You can’t even, staring back at him in utter shock, scanning the unbelievable redness of his skin,

“Oh, dear God.”

Harry’s shamefully tilts his head, rosy arms folding atop his chest as he bashfully peers up at you through puffy lashes,

“Help me.”

Without hesitation, your body steps aside to welcome him, watching as he pitifully slinks past, discarding his slides, and making great effort to avoid garnering your attention.

Shutting the door, latching the lock, and giving Harry one more look over before beginning to walk past his sulking stature, you make for the bathroom. Certain that he’s trailing closely behind, you allow a good laugh to slip, shaking your head with incredulity,

“What did I tell you?”

You can hear him change directions as his feet squeak and shuffle away from the kitchen in pursuit of your recently occupied spot on the sofa.

All you can do is embrace an eye-roll whilst wandering toward the bathroom and locating your trusted tube of after-sun before heading towards Harry’s now resting body, slumped far too comfortably into the cushions. You mutter,

“Make yourself at home.”

Something resembling a glimmer of hope flashes across his features, followed by a grimace of further flaring his skin as you hold out the half-used tube of eucalyptus, patiently waiting for him to accept the offer.

He wants to hold your hand and wishes you would linger a moment longer so he could revel in this foreign feeling of appearing before you in such a ‘weakened’ state. Instead, all he can think of is the need to complain choking at his chest,

“Feel like Satan put my face between his ass cheeks.”

“You look it.”

“Everything hurts.” He whines.

“I’m sure.” You concur with a cheeky lilt.

Your gaze hasn’t wavered from his face, and Harry wonders if you can see the shy blush mixing into his sunburn- would it be worse if you did?

Luckily, there isn’t much that can deter your examination, no longer masking amusement as your features freely raise in awe at the sudden thought,

“How long did it take for you to notice?”

He says everything by shamefully darting his gaze into the distance, and it would be cruel to deny you the right to laugh aloud- hand pressed to your forehead, chest bobbing with each chuckle- which he allows you for longer than you imagined before interjecting,

“S’not funny!”

Harry knew he had to leave all pride on the welcome mat when he made the almost instant decision to ask for your help- especially since a sunburn could be dealt with on his own- but he was only and he sure feels a sting of humility.

He scoots to the edge of the couch, returning his feet to the ground before leaning forward and balancing one arm atop his swim trunk-clad thigh. Harry wastes no time in uncapping the lid, smearing a large dollop into his palm, about to rub his hands together and presumably smother and lather his face.

A tiny part of you has faith that he’ll treat his skin with a tender touch, but he practically slaps his palms across his cheeks before transferring the cool gel and it becomes all to clear how rough he intends to be and you can’t stop yourself from a gasp of frenzied panic,

“What are you doing?” You try to keep your tone from expressing how disturbed you are by the man on your sofa, especially when he peers up at you through a curiously innocent gaze,

“What?” He peers up at you with such pretty innocence.

“You’re so aggressive. It hurts to watch.”

Your lips form a pout to match his own, and if you weren’t so sure that Harry was only here, in your home, out of convenience, you might be swayed to believe that the small smile swallowing his pout was a result of your kindness.

He remains as still as a statue, too fearful of making another mistake that would surely result in another sigh of disappointment on your part. With his stare frozen and directed at your own, he makes it perfectly clear that he plans to make no moves without further instruction, seeking guidance by asking,

“What am I supposed to do?”

“Give it here.” You offer him your hand and his own darts out to accept, forcing you to ignore how nice it feels to have him at your will.

He seems to feel the same, at least from the soft smile threatening to dimple at his cheeks. With your free hand, you swipe your fingers along his palm and collect all remnants of lotion, edging forward and leaning your body over his own.

With a lack of certainty, you release his hand and with the lightest of touches raise your palms to his face, left hand cupping at his jaw, confidently, but tenderly, tilting his chin to the ceiling.

Harry peers up at you through those charcoal spider leg lashes, curious to see you continue your mission, totally at your will- nothing new. He gratefully lets you guide his face wherever you feel need be, and he fights hard against allowing his eyes to flutter shut.

And you do, gently spreading the gel along his forehead, creating little circular swirls along his skin, pretending that your palms don’t have a pulsating electric current, creating sharp sparks as they trail his soft, freckled skin. You worry that any further contact will cause your body to short-circuit, allowing all shyness to surface in blotches across your cheeks.

Your featherlight touch only leaves Harry in desperate need of further comfort, almost instinctually pressing his forehead into your palm like a needy cat.

If he’s getting a taste of what it’s like to be welcomed into your bubble, Harry wants to have another bite, and another, coating his skin in your sweet, sugary loves, hoping you won't ever let him go.

But you do, swirling your ring finger along his forehead once more for good luck before sorrowfully releasing his face. Neither of you let your disappointment surface, instead sharing shy smiles as you lazily step back.

Harry’s gaze follows you, and even now as your head tilts to scan the room, the intensity of his focus is palpable, drumming the pulse beneath your own wrists, it feels like you’ve been cluelessly lured into a pressure cooker, slowly boiling you inside out.

The only way to cool down is to return your attention to his own, eyes like magnets desperately seeking out their counterpart. And as the two of you glue your gazes with such ease, Harry would be amiss to tease,

“Who knew you had a soft side.”

“Don’t start.”

You shut him down before his observation has the chance to further sink in, knowing that if he catches your sympathetic gaze for a moment longer, it would only reinforce how correct he was- and worse, how good it felt to love on him.

No longer in contact with his skin, the feel of warmth refuses to let his touch leave, your fingertips burning like his face was past boiled.

He sits idly, merely enjoying the soothing sensation tingling along his burns, swiftly sinking into the cushions, his heart swelling and full, and his head… which, now that he noticed, is throbbing in tune with his singing chest.

Harry can’t avoid the sudden wince surging up his spine as he stupidly presses a palm to his forehead and reignites the burn,

“Head still feels like a rave.”

He’s cute- too cute for your heart to retreat into trepidation- and for a change, you bask in the fuzzy fondness, face and limbs all relaxing under the goofy gaze of his adorable helplessness.

Once more, you disappear down the hallway, rummaging through a cabinet for painkillers. As reach your next destination- the kitchen- you retrieve a glass and call out,

“How have you survived this long?”

“Pure luck.” He thinks.

Harry looks like he feels sorry for himself- the idea alone warms you with familiarity. You extend out your offering of meds and water and instruct him to,

“Drink the whole glass.”

He does, with enthusiastic haste, evoking an odd excitement at the sight of his enthusiastic submission. Attempting to rid this sensation, you subtly shake your head and walk over to the vacant spot on the sofa, plopping down with a soft thump.

Harry wipes away the trail of water dripping down the corner of his damp lips, turning to look at you with increasing admiration,

“You’re an angel, I owe you.”

“Don’t you always?”

“Add it to my tab.”

This is surely the part where Harry gets up and says goodbye, but if anything, he seems more comfortable here than anywhere else. You’re watching him intently, attempting to anticipate his next move, praying he will leave you to pine on your lonesome.

Instead, Harry slinks back into the cushions, shuffling himself until comfortable. It takes little to give up and give in to his company, taking the liberty to pull your legs and fold them to rest (), reaching out for the remote and unpausing the show Harry so woefully interrupted.

He glances at you, and then the television, and then back to your still features,

“What are we watching?”

“Fleabag.”

“Seen it before?”

“Plenty.”

Expecting Harry to sit quietly was extremely optimistic. He does try- really- but there’s just so much to digest! “Is that her sister?” He whispers. “What’s the deal with the statue?” Two minutes later, “Are they married or…?”

“Let’s start over.” You make sure to groan dramatically,

“You don’t have to-”

“Zip it, strawberry boy.”

Confusion orbits his moony eyes, wondering if he missed out on something. You must notice because you simply shrug and casually elaborate,

“Y’look like one, with your pink cheeks and little freckles.”

Harry likes that. He really likes that. He’s still watching you- all lovesick- as your focus fixes on rewinding from the very final episode to the very first.

As the intro starts, he tilts his head and seeks your attention,

“Y/n?”

“Harry.”

“I always knew you had a soft side.” He teases knowingly.

“Shush.”

It’s strange… why does it feel as peaceful with Harry by your side? Perhaps more than. But you’re not gonna think about that right now. Not while a sweet strawberry boy is sitting so near, looking cosier than ever, ready to embrace one of your favourite shows. That can wait until tomorrow.

---

Let me know what you think! - Emmy. xo

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waytootiredforthistoo · 2 days ago

Text

this was my favorite response, so I wrote it,,

After four years at Hogwarts, Remus was well aquainted with the process of recovering from a full moon. Still, this one had been particularly brutal. Somehow he'd managed to break both his legs, early enough in the night that the wolf had kept moving on them despite the pain.

Now, Remus was praying for the pain to tip him over the edge into unconsciousness, because he burned through every pain potion Poppy gave him so quickly she was too afraid to give him any more for fear he'd overdose.

She asked where his crew is. Remus recognizes the question for what it is, a welcome distraction. One Sirius, Peter, and James would usually provide. He watched her glance at the door like she's half-expecting them to break it down any minute.

"Detention." Remus says through gritted teeth. He knew they tried to avoid detentions near the moons, but sometimes needs must, and Severus had called Sirius a mama's boy, so really they had no choice in the matter.

She laughed and says “I remember those days.”

“You got detentions?” He asked, almost unbelievingly.

Her wand waves over him as she performs another scan. Remus chooses to look at that instead of the bone that's rammed its way through the skin of his knee.

“I don’t talk much about my time as a student, do I?”

Before he even had the time to react, she pressed hard with some spell and the bone slid lower. "No!" He bit out, shoving his fist into his mouth.

This was a part of their system. The waiting was always worse. He preferred if she'd just fix him, no count downs or fanfares. He'd prefer to not break at all, but there was only so much magic could do.

She hummed for a second and turned around to get another potion off her cart. "Drink this."

He exchanged the hand in his mouth for a vial of what he recognized by now as a blood-replenishing potion.

"You, detention?" He repeated, looking for anything to take his mind off the little bit of bone that still hung out.

“Yes, back then I served several detentions. I always maintained that Minnie was the real instigator, that I was just dragged along for the ride, but I think we both know how true that is.” She shot him a knowing wink.

“Minnie?”

“Minerva- Professor McGonagall- we were classmates.” She smiled to herself.

Remus felt his head reeling from some combination of the blood loss and the newfound knowledge that Professor McGonagall had once been a troublemaker too.

She ran her wand down his body and all thoughts left him. A scream was pulled up his throat like knives on his already worn vocal chords.

Eventually the pain subsided enough that he could once again hear Madam Pomfrey fussing over him.

He swallowed roughly before he spoke. “Tell me more. Please.”

She paused her fussing and looked into his eyes. Whatever she saw there must have convinced her, because as soon as she continued setting his bones, she was speaking. “Right. What to tell? There’s really so much isn’t there…”

Snap!

He jolted, which only made the pain worse. “Alright, well, this cannot leave this room, but I’ve got a story for you. Would you like to hear it?”

Snap!

Remus nodded.

She took her time, carefully resetting his bones and telling her story. Twice, they had to pause, not because of the pain, but because they were laughing so hard in spite of it.

When the last of his skin was finally closed over, she gave him one final pain potion. He drank it as she finished talking. “-and to this day, Minerva holds the record for most house points ever lost in a single day.”

“Woah…” Madam Pomfrey’s eyes glistened with mirth and nostalgia as she turned to clean up. “I can see why she doesn’t want that one getting out.”

“Oh no.” Her tone was serious, but light. “Especially not to Misters Potter and Black.” She turned and gave him a look.

“Why’s that?”

“Because she’s convinced if they found out that was the record, they’d try to beat her!” They were both still laughing about it when the hospital wing door flew open.

“Moony!” His friends rushed to his side and all started talking at once, but he got the idea. It was a mix of are you okay’s, sorry we’re late’s, and what’s got you laughing so hard’s.

Remus turned to thank Madam Pomfrey again, but she had already excused herself to her office, where she would no doubt sit for the next 10 minutes before ushering them all back out again so that Remus could get some rest.

hc that Minerva McGonagall was a menace in her days at Hogwarts.

Specifically that a young Minerva McGonagall holds the Hogwarts record for most house points ever lost in one day.

She lives in fear that one day the Marauders will find out about it and wreck the school trying to break her record

#the marauders #marauders era #remus lupin #poppy pomfrey #madam pomfrey #professor mcgonagall #minerva mcgonagall #marauders #james potter #peter pettigrew #sirius black

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crescentofthegods · 2 days ago

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ALL TOO FAMILIAR!

pairing: harry potter x fem!reader

request: cormac gets a little too touchy, but harry finds you just in time.

word count: 2,084

warnings: FLUFF, angsty bc cormac is a DOUCHE, cormac being weird creepy touchy etc, few swear words, not proofread!!, (lowkey suck at warnings pls tell me if i've missed anything)

author's note: OH MY GOODNESSSSS i haven't uploaded anything for like two years straight i sincerely apologise to all of my followers please forgive me. i also apologise to the anon who sent me this request bc i took so long to freaking answer it😭😭😭 feel like this is RUBBISH but i hope you all enjoy! xx

taglist: @floweringrott ♡

more harry potter | masterlist | navigation

THE GREAT LIBRARY had always been a solace to those who required it. Especially to you, who found comfort in the smell of parchment since Hogwarts’ supply seemed to always be fresh. The quiet lull of the area managed to put you in a state of peace too, the way everyone’s voices resounded to whispers and murmurs rather than loud babbles of laughter. There was nothing wrong with laughing, of course—it just happened to be distracting. You were actually waiting for someone, both of you having the intention to study. In front of you was your Potions revision; you were simply making notes on Everlasting Elixirs, taking your ideas from your copy of Advanced Potion Making. Crumbs of strawberry cheesecake lingered on your tongue since you had come straight from lunch, eager to get these done for Slughorn so you could finally rest. Your fingers were clasped around your favourite quill, your spare hand keeping your parchment still as you quickly wrote down every thought your mind was firing at you—

“There you are!” a voice snapped you out of your reverie, your body going slightly rigid, reluctantly lifting your gaze to see the last person you wanted to converse with. “I’ve been looking all over for you…”

He never gets the hint, McLaggen. Always stalking following you, always standing outside every room you exit, always loitering too close whenever you’re trying to get back to your House—never taking no for an answer. Everyone knew you as the quiet girl, rarely taking part in things like extracurriculars or school clubs. For the life of you, you could not figure out why Cormac had suddenly become… interested.

You kept to yourself just because it was a personal preference, you barely had any friends—you were a loner.

And that was how you liked it. Being a people person had never been your thing entirely.

But, Cormac didn’t seem to get that.

“Really?” you replied, your tone almost resembling the bored purrs of your very own tabby cat, who was probably lounging around in your dorm, messing up your pillows…

How you wished you could be in her position right now.

“Yeah…? You sound so unsurprised,” he bit his bottom lip, the light of his green eyes dimming when he noticed how quickly you stood up. You almost felt bad… Though, you remembered the way he disgustingly pursued Hermione Granger a few moons back and, fleetingly, shook all feelings of regret from your body; Cormac McLaggen was a creep.

“Haha, right…” A half-assed chuckle escaped you, clearing your throat as you shoved the remnants of your work into the new satchel messenger bag you bought before beginning sixth year. Discerning the dire, hardened gaze of Cormac falling upon you never failed to make you shudder inside; his eyes were always so intense. So scrutinising. So… unnecessary?

“So, uh… Potions,” Cormac began, attempting to look unbothered at the sight of you slinging your bag off your shoulder. “Wait—are you leaving already?” A sigh stumbled from your lips, your fingers moving to tuck the shorter strands (the ones that fell from your ponytail) behind the broad space of your ear, praying to Merlin himself for an escape route.

“Yeah, um, my cat—well, she…” Kill me now. “She’s… alone in my room,” you tried to explain, pushing your chair under the desk you sit at on a regular basis, refusing to even glance Cormac’s way. “And she probably misses me—” His scoff interrupted you, your eyes flitting towards his expression, seeing the smugness in his bemused smile—what the fuck?

“Your old, moody cat, the one that slumps around every window seat she can find, misses you?” Cormac laughed, his hand cradling his chest like he found himself funny. “This is the first time I’ve heard an excuse like that.” All you did was furrow your eyebrows, confused as to what he was implying.

“Are you… insulting my cat?” You asked, genuinely perturbed because of his peculiar behaviour. Perhaps you were being a little peculiar yourself, but was this Cormac’s way of flirting? It made no sense whatsoever. Anyhow, your words seemed to knock some sense into the Gryffindor, regret latching onto his countenance. You were quick to turn away, murmuring an almost noiseless ‘excuse me’, speeding walking out of the library like nothing had happened.

Legs moving as fast as they could, Cormac was right after you—he, annoyingly, had quite the Beater’s build.

“Wait! I’m sorry—I wasn’t insulting your bloody cat!” He always seemed to persist, much to your misfortune; Merlin, he was thick in the head. When you turned your head back around, you almost tripped, unable to comprehend how he caught up to you in seconds. “I-I was just saying that your excuse for leaving was rubbish—”

“I’m just busy, alright, McLaggen?” you brushed him off, trying to muster up a polite smile, but it vanished from your face immediately when Cormac grabbed your arm, roughly pulling you back—a spasm of pain shot up your arm and whilst it only lasted for a moment, it still caused you to freeze, the light in your eyes disappearing entirely.

The light in his brightened.

“You don’t seem busy,” Cormac mumbled, his digits firm and enclosed around your flesh like a vice, your gaze lifting to his once again. Why were you always looking up? It made you feel… wrong. Like you were submitting yourself to him. McLaggen.

He would like that, wouldn’t he?

“McLaggen,” you said his name, your voice quiet; an eerie sort of quiet. He didn’t say anything, studying you for a moment. Suddenly, you wanted the laughter of those pestering first years, the bellows of the fourth year boys, the giggles of the third year girls to wrap around you like a blanket—you would prefer any sort of noise over the gratingly abnormal silence wafting over the empty hallway.

The one time I don’t want to be alone.

“You’re still calling me McLaggen? I thought we were way past formalities,” he uttered (moreso questioned), the Gryffindor’s expression changing to one of irritance, his jaw ticking as he tried to maintain his smile. He looked like he was about to barf all over his new fancy boots his father got him.

Whatever his father’s name was.

“Uh… No,” you retorted quite bluntly, irritation overwhelming your expression in response. Who did he think he was? “Now, if you could please let go—”

“I don’t understand what the problem is, though,” he interjected, again, his perplexity at the situation making you want to explode as you opened your mouth to speak, but Cormac was faster. “I just want to talk. We’re having a conversation and you just walk away?” His grip tightened minutely, but it was enough to make you wince, pain submerging your irritation away.

“Ow—Cormac, you’re hurting me,” you struggled to remain confident, feeling a sense of dread engulfing your body, your mind, your soul.

This position was all too familiar. That same thundercloud hovering over your heart, waiting to strike where it hurt the most. Even though it was protected by your lungs, your ribs, your flesh—the thunderclaps were enough to compel the chambers of your core to quake.

“Oh, don’t be daft,” he mumbled, rejecting your plea. “You’ll live.”

“Listen, we can talk, but can you just let go—”

“She said let go.”

An abrupt, deep voice broke the uncomfortable tension between you and Cormac, his grasp loosening perceptibly since he was caught. Inhaling sharply, you took your chance to rip your arm away from him completely, stepping back, rubbing your arm as your eyes stayed downcast.

Calm down, calm down, calm down—

“Potter.” What? Hearing Cormac’s one-word mutter led you to look towards the source of the original voice, your eyebrows crinkling in relief when you saw him.

Harry.

You were supposed to meet someone in the library… That someone was Harry. During the course of the year, you had been struggling to keep up with Slughorn’s lessons and Harry, kind as always, offered to help you (you didn’t know about his little cheat notes from the Half-Blood Prince and he intended to keep it that way). However, you had left early because of Cormac… prompting Harry to go look for you.

“Thank Merlin,” you breathed, your lips pressing together when Cormac turned towards him.

“We were just talking,” he ‘clarified’, but his words fell on deaf ears.

“Didn’t look like it,” Harry said simply, and you took this moment to actually examine your friend. He was still in his school robes, of course, the infamous Gryffindor crest plastered upon it. His glasses rested on the crook of his nose, his blue eyes unblinking, fixed on Cormac. Jaw clenched, as was his fists. Lips pressed together in annoyance, unlike yours which were pressed together in embarrassment.

Embarrassed because you couldn’t believe Harry had found you in this position—unable to fight back.

You could’ve sworn there was a glint of murderous intent within the emerald hues of his eyes; even from a distance, you noticed everything about Harry.

“Well, we were,” Cormac stated in his matter-of-fact tone, angering you further—but, Harry had it covered. It genuinely baffled you that they were both in the same House.

“Oh, just—come off it,” Harry scoffed, pushing past him to get to you—he had been the person you wanted to see at the Great Library.

Not Cormac McLaggen, but Harry Potter.

But, why? Even now, as he approached you, you felt those thunderclouds morph into wisps of the sun, warmth blooming in your chest as his fingers delicately brushed over your arm, specifically the bit where Cormac had grabbed you so roughly. For some reason, Harry’s touch didn’t disgust you like Cormac’s did.

It was because he was your friend… right? You didn’t know Cormac like you knew Harry.

You didn’t know anyone like you knew Harry.

“You alright?” He asked softly, his tone changing so he didn’t frighten you further; you weren’t frightened per se, but he knew situations like this made you uncomfortable. Conflict. Arguments. Loud voices…

All too familiar.

“Fine,” you murmured in return, grateful for how the pads of his fingers massaged your flesh, the pain which had formerly bloomed now beginning to dissipate. Lowering your gaze, Harry turned his head to see if Cormac was still standing there like a fool.

Thankfully, the creep took one look at Harry’s six-foot-form and fled the scene, probably wanting to maintain his golden boy reputation. He may have been taller, but Harry—

Everyone knew what Harry was. Who he was.

A few moments passed. Both of you just stood in the vacant hallway, your expressions paired with… serenity. You preferred silence. As did Harry, especially with the Dark Lord penetrating his mind every damned hour. You didn’t know when you developed this dynamic with him out of all people—others, girls to be precise, would wonder how you ‘bagged’ the Chosen One, how you managed to get him to pay attention to you.

But, that was the thing. You didn’t do anything.

“We were supposed to meet at the library,” Harry spoke, his voice synonymous with the stillness of the atmosphere, his lovely eyes trying to meet yours.

Eventually, your eyes left the floor, trailing up his uniform—his broad chest; the Adam’s apple of his throat; the sharp contour of his jawline; his rosy-coloured, heart-shaped lips; his hawk nose—and then, finding his two orbs. They reminded you of the sea, his eyes. His black pupils were like jagged basalts, a form of rock, fixed within a circle of the Atlantic. They were quite pretty, actually.

You preferred them over the dull green of McLaggen’s eyes.

“I got… sidetracked,” you murmured in return, nibbling your bottom lip as Harry’s hand left your arm—you almost swallowed your disappointment, but you thought too soon, his fingers finding yours instead.

Intertwined they became.

“I know,” he whispered. “Sorry I didn’t come sooner.”

“You couldn’t have known,” you were quick to reply, a little surprised that he was apologising. Yet, Harry simply shook his head, a small, soft smile finding his even softer lips.

“Actually, I think I did.” You furrowed your eyebrows, having no choice but to follow him as he began the journey back to the library, where you were supposed to be all alone. “I just… had a feeling. You know—when your chest gets all clouded and… your heartbeats start sounding like thunderclaps.”

Oh.

Merlin.

“Mhm…” you hummed, looking away, your cheeks flourishing with delightful shades of red. “All too familiar.”

thank you for reading!

#〔 ❦ 〕 ─── CRESCENT #〔 ও 〕 ─── LUNA'S REQUESTS #harry potter x reader #harry potter imagine #harry potter fluff #harry potter #harry james potter #hp fandom #hp fanfic #golden trio era

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crazydeershark · 1 day ago

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Broken souls

Part 1.

Jason Todd x Civilian!Fem reader

Both Jason and reader are 15 to 16 here.

Summary: How you met Jason, your life before his death. Your bond and connection.

Warnings: blood.

A/n: Hi, I’ve never wrote ff before so please ignore any possible mistakes, remember its just fiction and enjoy!

It was a usual school night. You had a ton of homework, laying on your bed, text books spread around you. Your little bed lamp emanating a soft warm glow.

Yes, it was past your “bed time”, as if that mattered. Thankfully, your parents were gone on a date. You weren’t a child anymore. Who cared if you were gonna get that stupid F? You were far too tired to study more.

Until- *bang*. A loud, violent crash echoed trough your window.

Shit shit shit.

Yes, Gotham was a dangerous city, with at least 10 break ins, deaths or crimes being on the news every night. Was it some sort of robber? Killer? Rapist?

Silence. Deadly silence.

You quickly tip toed out of your room, opening your kitchen drawer, grabbing the biggest knife you could find. Phone in hand, already dialling 911. Sweaty hands shaking. You get left alone for one night and this is what happens?!

You were pretty sure you heard your window slide up. No. Maybe it was just a bird or something that crashed against your window. You were not delusional. Right? You were on the 4th flour after all.

Murders can climb.

You were panicking.

Suddenly, you heard a creak. Your door. Opening.

“Stay back! Im calling the police!” You yelled, voice trembling in fear. Was this genuinely it? Were you gonna die? Just like that?

“It’s okay! Im not gonna do you any harm!” You heard a boy-ish voice. He did sound pretty young.

“What do you want?!”

“Will you stop screaming?!”

“You’re screaming too!”

Silence, again. What the heck was going on?

“Okay, I’m going to open the door now. Don’t freak out or whatever.”

You held you knife in front of the door regardless.

Until you saw him. Red suit. Green shorts. The yellow “R” on his chest. Domino mask covering his eyes. Robin!

“Oh my god! Robin?!”

“And you’re back to yelling. Look, I-“

“Sorry.” You quickly apologized. “ I know you! I saw you on the news! You work with Batman!” You didn’t care if you were yelling. You couldnt keep your excitement in.

“You solved that case! With Two-Face! I heard he’s in Arkham Asylum now..”, you wouldn’t stop talking. “…you’re bleeding!” You pointed to his arm and thigh. Severe injures, blood dripping to your floor.

“Yeah, been trying to tell you ‘bout that.”

He explained how some guys were chasing him, his arm and leg got injured so he had to hide somewhere. Something about how he was trying to land on the roof and crashed into your apartment. Accidentally, of course.

After that, you slowly got used to his regular visits. At first, he came to thank you for helping him with his wounds, bringing you chocolates. You found that sweet.

Then he just kept coming, making excuses about how “he was tired,” or “he couldn’t find Batman”. It was hilarious.

You knew the truth, but you didn’t mind his visits after all. He was sweet, caring, and extremely funny. You liked that about him.

He was handsome too. Wavy, brunette locks falling over his forehead. His taller figure towering over you, and a smile he could barely hold in when he was around you.

You admired his skills, even if you found his suit “funny-looking”. (That actually offended him.)

You got close over time. He really liked you. Your smile, your jokes. You were perfect in his eyes. It was more than just a teenage crush to him. No one had ever listened to him or treated him like you did.

He took you up on rooftops, helped you sneak out. You saw how damaged yet beautiful Gotham was at night. Crime-ridden and corrupt, yet stunning.

His visits kept on going for a year and a half. Batman did find out, eventually. But he didn’t get the chance to speak with Robin.

One night, he showed up with flowers. Beautiful pink lilies. You loved them, but there was something else he had to tell you.

“Listen, I like you.” You listened closely, noticing the way his ears turned pink. “Im going on a mission, with Batman.”

“And… I really want to tell you who I am, sorry- I’m not the best at this-“

He was quickly silenced by a peck on the lips. You liked him too. You loved him.

His cheeks turned fully red that time.

You had to stay humble, because you were a tomato yourself.

Jason. His name was Jason. It suited him, you couldn’t explain it, but it did. He couldn’t wait to tell you, it was typical Robin.

He told you the mission would take two weeks, you listened patiently. He was going to come see you, reveal his identity. He promissed.

And you waited.

And waited.

Two weeks passed. Slowly, but they passed.

Then three weeks,

A month,

Two months,

Robin was nowhere to be seen, or found. Batman returned with no sight of him.

You were left confused, and most of all broken. Did he return and not tell you? Where was he? Was this all some sort of sick joke?

No. It couldn’t be. He was Robin, your friend, your Robin.

The worst part of it, you had no one to talk to.

No one, at all. Your parents would have thought you wanted attention. Your friends would’ve said you were making it all up.

No one would have ever believed you.

And that hurt. It was the type of hurt you had never experienced, like someone took a sharp blade and sliced your heard in pieces.

You never got over it. You never stopped searching.

Weeks had turned into months. Months had turned into years.

All you could do was..move on, and wonder if any of it was ever real. Or if you were just imagining it.

A/n: alrrr what do y’all think?? I hope this is good enough. Also if you noticed grammar mistakes please point them out! English isn’t my first language!

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yangjungwonisms · 1 day ago

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7 Minutes in Heaven-YJW

warnings: NSFW in the middle| MDNI 18+

It was all a misunderstanding, at least that’s what Jungwon swore to you up and down when you caught him in a lie. He had been coming home late from work all week, which wasn’t like him at all. All week long he had been telling you he had to stay later at work to finish work on a big project. You’d never had any reason before to doubt what he was telling you, but when one of his coworkers who was supposed to be working late with him messaged you asking if you two wanted to get a late dinner you became confused. You tried to calm down and give Jungwon the benefit of the doubt, but when you messaged his friend back asking if Jungwon had been working late that day and they said that he had been leaving at the same time as him everyday that you started to second guess things. So naturally, you called Jungwon but he didn’t answer. So you decided to go to his office to see if he was there and maybe his friend had been mistaken. The office was closed, you figured that out in just enough time for Jungwon to call you back. “Hey baby, sorry I didn’t answer I was caught up at work. Is everything okay”? You didn’t know how exactly to feel upon learning your boyfriend of 2 years had been lying to you. But you were trying to keep your cool because you weren’t keen on having an argument over the phone. You had been silent too long for his liking and he was started to panic. “That’s actually funny you say that, I’m standing outside of your office, Sunghoon invited us for dinner. I'm a little confused because isn’t Sunghoon who you’re working on your project with”? He said nothing, he had been caught and he knew it. “So tell me, Jungwon. Where have you been going everyday after work”?

“It isn’t what you think baby”. Why couldn’t he have just answered the question, that’s what was pissing you off. Because if it was truly nothing he could’ve just told you. “Okay, if it isn’t what I think then you should have no problem telling me. Where have you been”? Within seconds of you sending that text Jungwon had called you, wanting to have this conversation over the phone instead of text. “Baby, it’s nothing I promise”. You took a second, sighing trying to calm your nerves but it was a battle you were slowly losing. “So then if it’s nothing just tell me Jungwon”. Now he was the one who sighed, in your relationship there were very few times you or Jungwon ever got into arguments. In fact, you’d almost never seen or heard him lose his cool. But now you were starting to see his demeanor slip. “Can’t you just trust me? You’re making this into a bigger deal than it needs to be babe”. Now you were pissed. “That’s not what this is about Jungwon, you’ve been lying to me every day telling me you were at work when you weren’t. I think I’m owed honesty from you”. That seemed to set him off. “I’ve never given you a reason not to trust me, so I’d appreciate the benefit of the doubt”. He made a point but you couldn’t concede, you hated lying and if it truly was nothing then why couldn’t he have just told you from the start. “And I’d appreciate my boyfriend not lying to me”. He immediately started trying to defend himself and push you away from the fact he lied. “Jungwon let me ask you this, did you stay late at work this week”? All you heard was silence, before he sighed answering with a short “no”. “Will you tell me where you were”? He knew that his answer was going to make things worse yet he chose it anyway “I can’t baby”. You were crying at that point and reaching the point of exhaustion after having argued with him for what felt like hours at that point. “Okay, well, I would appreciate it if you found somewhere else to stay tonight and for the foreseeable future”.

It was now a week later and you and Jungwon still weren’t speaking. He still wasn’t sure how he had managed to fuck things up so badly. He knew how it looked, and yes he had lied to you but it really wasn’t what it seemed. He had been at Jay’s house after work getting his help with something. Jungwon had recently started planning to propose to you, but after a little bit he realized he needed help. The only person he thought to ask that wouldn’t tell you accidentally was Jay. He hadn’t wanted to ruin the surprise so he just made up the first excuse that came to his mind. He hadn’t even considered that you would find out he was lying. Even still, when you confronted him he could’ve just told you the truth. But he couldn’t lie, hearing you refuse to take him at his word had pissed him off. He had always done everything in his power to be open and accessible to you. But seeing how easy it was for you to doubt him had wounded his pride. So, even though it was childish if you didn’t want to talk to him, he wasn’t going to talk to you either.

Now here you both were, too stubborn to talk to the other first. Jay, who had been letting Jungwon crash at his place for the last week was losing his mind at how stubborn you were both being. There were several times he himself had considered just going to you and telling you what was going on. But it wasn’t his place. He as well as your other mutual friends had; had enough of the moping around. They were tired of hearing you both complain about an argument that should’ve been over by now. So they came up with a plan, without telling either of you, they dragged you both to a party at another friend's place.

You were beyond pissed at your friends, you were pissed at a lot of things this last week. Pissed that your friends tricked you into talking to your boyfriend. You were pissed that Jungwon wouldn’t just tell you what he was doing. Jungwon was pissed just the same but for different reasons. Still even though you were mad at him, you missed him more than anything. You two never fought, and on the rare occasions you did it was always over before it really ever began. So when Friday had hit and your friends showed up at your apartment wanting to take you out, you were thrilled. It was just the distraction you needed. All week long you had been spiraling over the fact that Jungwon still hadn’t reached out to you, so you very much needed to get your mind off of it. So maybe you had drank a little more than was necessary, but you were having fun nonetheless. That was until you looked across the room and saw Jungwon staring daggers into you. Frantically, you turned to your friend pulling her into the hall “what the fuck is Jungwon doing here”? Your friend rolled her eyes moving to push past you “he’s here because you two need to grow up and make up already”. You knew your friend was right but you weren’t ready to put your pride aside yet.

Jungwon on the other hand, was livid. He hasn’t seen you for over a week and the first time he does, you’re out drinking in a tight little dress. He hated how it made him feel. Normally he would’ve had the smug satisfaction of knowing that you were dressed up for him. But he didn’t know who this was for. You had yet to realize Jungwon was there, so he had to watch you unabashedly accept drinks from every stranger that walked by. He’d had enough of it, before his brain caught up to his body he had already walked across the room to you. “What the hell are you doing here”? You didn’t have to look to know who it was that was talking to you. “I could ask you the same thing”. He stood there seething with every second that passed. “I asked you a question baby, answer me”. He had a lot of nerve to get an attitude with you when he’s the reason this argument was even happening. “Why should I tell you anything? It’s not like you’ve been answering any of my questions lately”. That seemed to piss him off more.

Within seconds Jungwon had grabbed you by the arm dragging you into the next empty room. “You’re pissing me off right now baby”. Jungwon wasn’t proud of how angry he was getting, but he had been drinking after all and was hardly able to control his temper. “How am I pissing you off? This is the first time I’ve seen you in a week”. His only response was to slowly back you up against the door, he had been slowly inching forward and all that remained between you two was a couple of inches at most. “Because, you look so fucking sexy in that dress and it’s driving me crazy. Not being with you this week is driving me crazy”. The atmosphere in the room had flipped at a blinding speed, by his sudden confession. “Yeah, well whose fault is that won”? His body was flush against you at this point, you could feel how hard he was against your leg. “Fuck baby, it’s mine I know it is. I’m sorry”. Him being so close to you, did more harm than it did good. You were okay being mad at him from a distance but up close and alone with no buffer your body was succumbing to him. “Oh fuck this”. Were the last words you said before grabbing him by the collar and pulling him into you.

Your bodies were moving on autopilot at this moment. You had both had a long week and you were both exhausted pretending you didn’t need the other. The only sound in the room was the sound of your heavy breathing and kissing. It didn’t take long before Jungwon had pulled you across the room until he had you backed up against a desk. “baby, I need you. Been thinking about fucking you all week”. You couldn’t judge him for it, because you, yourself had been thinking about him railing you all week. “Then shut up and fuck me already”. That seemed to set him into action, he grabbed you, turning you around and pushing you down onto the desk. He didn’t bother taking your clothes off, instead he just pushed your dress up and pulled your underwear to the side. “Fuck baby, so fucking wet for me. Gonna stretch you out real quick so you can take my cock”. He did just that, his movements were quick and impatient with the way he pushed two fingers into you and started fucking into you vigorously. He was quick to slap a hand over your mouth, not wanting anyone to know what you two were up to in that room. “Baby, I need you to shut up and take what I give you. Can you do that”? You simply nodded your head, he took that as his sign to continue. He removed his hands from you and moved them to quickly undo his pants.

He started fucking into you so hard that you couldn’t even remember what it was you were mad about. You could feel how frustrated he had been in the rough way he was handling you. “Feels so fucking good baby, missed you so much. Missed your pussy so much”. You don’t say anything, partly because the way he’s fucking you is so intense that you genuinely can’t form sentences. But also because you are still just a little angry at him. Jungwon noticed how quiet you were being, faltering ever so slightly. “Are you feeling okay baby”? That snapped you back to the moment, deciding that you needed him more than anything else. “Feels s’good won. Fuck me on the bed please, need to see you”. Wordlessly, he picked you up and moved you to the bed, readjusting before starting to fuck you in missionary.

Time moves by in a blur after that, he must’ve fucked you 3 times before you two finally pulled away from each other. When you had finally recovered enough to get up and get dressed the tension in the room had set in. You were getting ready to walk out of the door before Jungwon grabbed your arm and turned you to face him. “Baby, wait. Will you let me explain”? You look at him nodding, moving past him to sit on the desk allowing him the opportunity to speak. “I’m really sorry I lied to you”. You take a second making sure he’s done speaking before responding. “Then why did you”? He moved across the room standing right in front of you before kneeling down in between your legs, grabbing both of your hands in his. “I was trying to plan a surprise for you and Jay had been helping me. That was the reason I didn’t wanna tell you. I didn’t want to ruin the surprise”. You make eye contact with him for the first time that night, shaking your head and pulling him in for a brief kiss. “Okay. I accept your explanation. I’m sorry for being so stubborn. I love you”. Jungwon felt a weeks worth of stress dissipate when you kissed him. “Does this mean I can come back home? I’m sure Jay is tired of me and I’ve missed you so much. Plus, I’m out of clean clothes”. You can only laugh at that before standing up, grabbing his hand in yours and walking out of the room. The minute you two step out, all eyes are on you. From the corner of the room you hear Jay yell out “who bet they’d have sex in Jake’s room before the end of the night”? The only response was Jake yelling from the kitchen “you’ve got to be kidding me”.

#kpop fanfic #kpop scenarios #kpop writers #enhypen #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen fic #enha jungwon #enhypen smut #yang jungwon #enhypen jungwon #jungwon smut #jungwon enhypen #jungwon #kpop smut

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thatsmzbitchtoyou · 1 day ago

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I may be a real bad boy...but baby I'm a real good man -Part 2 Oneshot

One of my lovely little darlings asked for a part 2 of this one. Hope y'all like it! Word count: 4834 Warnings: talk of past abuse, scarring

Part 1

“What’s that?” Bucky asked as he walked into Y/N’s room.

“Another letter from my parents,” she sighed, handing it over to him when he sat next to her on her bed.

He read through it quickly, then scowled. “Jesus, what is their problem?”

“I’ve been seen with the Avengers, Buck, which must mean I’m rich now, and that obviously means I owe them something since they are the reason I’m alive,” she scoffed, rubbing her eyes harshly with her fingers.

He crumpled the letter up and stuffed it in his pocket before leaning forward and hugging her tight. “You don’t owe them shit, babycakes, you know that right?” he said reassuringly.

Y/N smiled as she hugged him back. “I know,” she said quietly. “I just wish they would do what they’ve done for twenty years and just leave me alone.”

Bucky sighed heavily, then pulled back to look at her. “Ignore them. There’s nothing they can do to hurt you now.” She nodded and leaned in to kiss him. He playfully bit her lower lip and she whined at him, making him laugh. “Come on, let’s go down to the pool with everybody else,” he said. “The party has already started.”

Y/N’s anxiety spiked at that, but she kept a neutral face. “Okay, um, give me a few minutes and I’ll be right down,” she said nonchalantly.

Bucky’s eyes slightly narrowed at her, waiting a beat to see if he could read what was wrong, before he smiled wider and nodded. “Alright, don’t take too long!” he said, kissing her once more before getting up and leaving her room.

Y/N waited for his footsteps to go further down the hallway before she let out a shaky breath. She hadn’t worn a tank top or anything revealing enough to show her back in years, and even during sex with Bucky she was always on her back, making it so he wouldn’t be able to see or feel it if he tried to wrap his arms under her. How was she going to hide it from the entire team?

***

Steve, Bucky, Natasha and Yelena were in the pool, splashing each other until Steve and Bucky raced each other across the pool to see who was faster. With the super soldier serum in their blood it was definitely impressive to watch. Y/N was sitting on one of the beach chairs with Wanda next to her while Tony and Bruce were grilling burgers further away.

“Aren’t you hot?” Wanda asked her after a moment. “It’s 92 degrees and you’re wearing a t-shirt and shorts.”

“I’m fine,” Y/N waved her off. “It’s a white t-shirt, and it’s not that hot.”

“Says the girl who is literally sweating through her hair,” Wanda said, reaching over and swiping off a bead of sweat from Y/N’s temple. “Come on, just take it off, you’ll feel better.”

“No thanks, I’m good,” Y/N said, taking a long sip of her water.

“Babycakes, come on in!” Bucky called to her from the pool.

“I’m good, thank you!” she replied, trying to keep the air of nonchalance in her voice even as her frustration grew.

Why won’t she come in?

What’s going on?

Does she not feel good about herself?

Y/N took a deep breath and closed her eyes, her sunglasses hiding the tightness around her eyes. She was panicking, which made it so her mental blocks weren’t as strong as usual and she would hear people’s thoughts again. She heard Bucky pull himself out of the pool, water dripping heavily from him as he walked over to her chair and sat on it by her legs. “What’s wrong, Y/N?” he asked quietly as he leaned over her. “Why won’t you come in?”

“I don’t feel like it,” she said quickly. “Just wanna get some sun.”

He frowned at her, then looked at Wanda. “Don’t ask me,” Wanda said, throwing her hands up.

Bucky leaned in closer to her ear so no one else could hear. “What’s going on?” he whispered.

“I don’t wanna take my shirt off, Buck,” Y/N said, silently begging him to understand.

“Why not? You look amazing,” he asked, looking shocked at her confession.

“Please just trust me,” she whispered, finally opening her eyes and looking at him. “Please?”

He looked surprised, his frown deepening, but he nodded. “Okay,” he said simply before giving her a quick kiss and getting up from the chair. She took a slow, deep breath, trying to calm herself as she turned on her electric fan and fanned her face.

A little while later as she was standing by the other end of the pool after eating a burger, she was sipping on a cocktail when Sam came up out of nowhere and lifted her off her feet, heading toward the pool.

“Sam! Stop!” she yelled, trying not to let her sonic scream overtake her voice. “Don’t!”

“Oh come on, Y/N, have some fun!” he said, laughing as she kicked and squirmed in his hold. The others started laughing at his antics, but Y/N was freaking out. No, please, not this, not now…

He suddenly maneuvered her into a position at the edge of the pool so that he grabbed her shirt and lifted it over herself before dropping her into the water. Y/N squealed, trying to twist her body as she hit the water. When she resurfaced she spat out the water that rushed into her mouth and nose before glaring at Sam. “Fuck you Sam!” she screamed, part of her ability slipping out and making the water ripple toward him. It splashed his feet and legs, making him laugh harder as she tried backstroke swimming to the opposite side of the pool away from him.

“Hey, glad you made it,” Bucky said, swimming toward her with a smile.

“I’m not staying,” Y/N said, keeping her back beneath the water as best as she could, facing him so he couldn’t see.

“What? Y/N–” he started.

“Y/N?” Wanda’s voice carried over from her chair. “What’s on your back?”

Y/N stiffened, shutting her eyes tight. “Nothing,” she said loudly as she continued trying to get away.

Bucky frowned. “What? What’s on your back?” he asked, trying to swim around her.

“No, Bucky, no,” she said, holding her hands out to him. Her constant protests were getting the attention of everybody by the pool, all of them watching on with frowns on their faces as well. “Just let me leave.”

“Okay, you’re scaring me now, babycakes,” he said, his eyes conveying his worry. He got close to her and reached for her shoulders. “Just let me see–”

“NO!” she yelped as she turned her sharply. The second he saw it he froze, his fingers tightening on her shoulders. She held her breath, hanging her face into her hands in shame.

“What is it—oh my god,” Wanda said when she walked around the edge of the pool to see. “Y/N…what…how did you get that?”

She could hear the rest of them all coming over to look, each of them reacting with some type of gasp or sound of surprise. “Y/N,” Bucky whispered. “What is this?”

“Scars,” she whispered, pulling away from his touch. “Please let me go.”

His hands fell away, and she swam to the side of the pool with the stairs and climbed out. She ran into the building without looking back, her tears pouring down her face as she raced to her room barefoot in a swim top and short shorts. She didn’t want it to happen like this. Of course she wouldn’t be able to hide it forever, especially from Bucky, but she couldn’t stand the fact that this was how everybody found out. When she reached her room she locked the door and instructed Friday to keep it locked before going to her bathroom and turning on the shower. She turned the water cold to try and cool down her feverish skin, the scars feeling like they were burning along her back. She washed off the sunscreen smell and let the water relax her as she cried heavily. Another lovely reminder of her parents’ anger and transgressions, permanently etched into her skin.

***

“It’s been four days and she won’t come out,” Bucky explained to her uncle Teddy as they walked down the hallway to her room. “She won’t talk to anyone, not even me.”

Teddy sighed heavily when they reached her door then turned to Bucky. “Thank you for calling me,” he said quickly. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Bucky nodded, looking at her door sadly before walking back down the hallway. Teddy turned to the door and knocked. “Y/N? It’s Ted–”

The door ripped open and Y/N gaped at him. “Teddy?” she cried, then threw herself into his arms. “Teddy, what are you doing here?” she asked, tears streaming down her face.

“Your boyfriend called me,” he said with a sad chuckle. “What’s this about you holing yourself away in here?”

Y/N let him go and gave him a pitiful sniffle. “He saw,” she said quietly. He frowned but nodded. “They all saw,” she said, trying to bite back more tears.

“Come on, let’s talk,” Teddy said, pushing her back into her room and closing the door behind him. “You look a mess, honey.”

“I know,” she sighed, flopping back down on her bed with him sitting next to her. “I just couldn’t face it. The looks they all gave me,” she said, her voice starting to raise in pitch as her emotions overwhelmed her again.

“Well they were going to find out eventually anyway, right?” Teddy reasoned. “What did you expect to do exactly? Hide away a huge part of yourself, even from him?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “It was working for a little while.”

“Sounds like you still have a bit of therapy to get through,” Teddy joked halfheartedly. “You’re surrounded by the most extraordinary but traumatized people in the world. They of all people would not judge you for what has happened in your past and the literal and metaphorical scars you hold from that. Why did you feel the need to hide them?”

Y/N knew he was right. Everyone on the team had been through some type of shit in their lives, some worse than her, especially Bucky. Why was she so afraid? “I guess I just wasn’t ready to face it myself,” she said finally. “They’re just a constant reminder that I wasn’t…wanted. That I was wrong. Bad. Abnormal.”

“Do you think I’m bad?” Teddy asked.

“What? No, of course not!” Y/N retorted, looking at him incredulously.

“Am I wrong for having my ability?” he continued. “Am I abnormal? Unwanted?”

“No! How could you say that?” she frowned.

“Because I feel the same about you,” Teddy said, reaching for and holding her hands. “You aren’t bad, you’re good. There’s nothing wrong with you for having a mutated gene that gives you abilities, just different. Does that make us abnormal? Sure. But so what? None of that means that you aren’t appreciated, wanted and loved.” He pulled her into a hug, which she quickly reciprocated. “Bucky wouldn’t have called me if he didn’t love and want you, scars and all.”

That made her cry all over again. She had really sold him and the others short. They had shown no signs of fear, hesitation or hate towards her the entire time she had been here, so why would a few scars make any difference? “Thank you,” she said, squeezing him tight.

“Anytime,” Teddy said, his teasing tone coming back in his voice. “But before you talk to everybody, you need to shower. You stink.”

“Teddy!”

***

Y/N was sitting on a lone chair facing the rest of the Avengers who were all sitting on the couches and chairs across the common room, watching her intently. “Um, firstly, I just wanted to say I’m sorry for how I reacted the other day,” she started, wringing her hands in her lap. “And secondly, I wanted to explain.”

“You don’t have to explain,” Wanda said quickly. The others all nodded in agreement.

“I appreciate that, but I think I do,” Y/N said, giving them all a small smile. She took a deep breath then stood. “So, uh, this is what I was hiding,” she said, unzipping her jacket and turning around. She had a sports bra on so she wouldn’t be completely naked, but she shrugged the jacket off for them all to see. There was a chorus of gasps and sounds of surprise. Y/N let them look for a long moment before putting her jacket on and zipping it before she turned to sit back down and look at them. Wanda was crying, Yelena’s frown was the deepest she’d ever seen, and Peter, Sam, Tony, Bruce and Steve were all upset. But the worst was Bucky’s look of despair, a look that she’d only ever seen when he was coming out of his worst nightmares.

“My parents didn’t know how to handle my abilities when they manifested themselves,” she explained. “I was seven when I first heard my mom’s thoughts. I caught her in a lie, and she freaked out when she realized it was because I could hear her. Then as she was spanking me I screamed, and it shattered the kitchen window.” She swallowed, trying to not let it all make her cry again. “I tried not to let the constant voices get to me, but I didn’t know how to tune them out like I do now. My dad couldn’t handle the fact that I had inherited the mutant gene, that I was a ‘freak like his brother,’” she quoted with a scoff. “After a pretty bad day he lost it on me, and hit me with his belt until I stopped screaming.” She sniffed, quickly wiping her eyes before smiling. “They shipped me off to Uncle Teddy so he could deal with me, and uh…long story short, I’m scarred, physically and mentally, and it sucks but it is what it is. And I’m sorry I wasn’t trusting enough in all of you to be understanding about it–”

Wanda stood and walked over to her, kneeling down and hugging her tight. “It wasn’t any of our business until you felt it was, dearest. I’m sorry we all pushed you, we just didn’t know. But we should have accepted your refusal from the start. I’m sorry.”

Y/N hugged her back. “Thank you.”

They each approached her with hugs and apologies, Sam especially feeling horrible for being the one to force her to show her scars, but Y/N felt lighter than she had in years at the way they all accepted it and didn’t judge or treat her any differently than normal. Last to approach her was Bucky, who silently took her hand and pulled her out of the common room and towards her room. Y/N let him lead her, knowing that they would need to have their own conversation about everything. He closed her door behind her when she walked in then locked the door, and turned to face her. Tears were brimming in his eyes and she panicked at the sight.

“Bucky,” she said, reaching up and cupping his face. “Please don’t cry.”

“I’m sorry,” he whimpered. “I’m sorry I didn’t see, that I wasn’t someone you felt safe enough with to talk to about it–”

“No, oh my god, no, Buck,” Y/N shook her head fervently. “I do feel safe with you. I do trust you. I just wasn’t ready yet, do you hear me?” Bucky bit his lower lip to bite back more crying, sniffling as she wiped his tears away. “I love you,” she confessed.

His eyes widened at that. They hadn’t said it to each other yet, but Y/N knew what she felt and didn’t want to keep anything else from him. He released his lip and his lips trembled as he smiled at her. “I love you, too, babycakes,” he breathed. He wound his arms around her waist and pulled her into him, then leaned down and kissed her gently. Y/N let herself melt into the kiss, but after a minute or two Bucky’s hands shifted down her back to the front of her jacket. His fingers gripped the zipper and he pulled away to look at her. “May I see?” he asked, a look of sadness and determination in his eyes.

Y/N nodded and took a deep breath. Bucky getting up close and personal with her scars had worried her before, but now she knew he was just curious and wanting to make it better somehow for her. He nodded then pulled the zipper down slowly, helping her pull it off and letting it fall to the floor before his fingers traced up her stomach to her sports bra. She nodded permission, and he helped her take it off, leaving her top naked. He kissed her again, pushing her back towards her bed until the back of her legs hit the mattress. His fingers pulled her bottoms down and off, then pushed her to lay down on the bed. “Turn over for me,” he said.

She took a deep breath to steady her heartbeat, then turned herself over to lay on her stomach. There was a beat of silence, then Bucky’s flesh fingers touched the base of her spine where the scars began. Most of them were small gashes from the belt buckle and prong, but there were two long ones that stretched along her spine from the length of the leather belt hitting her skin just right so that it made the skin split. His fingers traced along those two, the worst ones that had stretched her skin and pinkened it. She heard his clothes jostling for a moment and then the bed dipped as he climbed up, kneeling between her legs. Both of his hands were now on her back, almost massaging along her spine, until he leaned down and he kissed the first small scar near her ass.

Bucky’s kisses traveled over her back, making sure he touched and kissed every scar reverently before moving on to the next one. It was overwhelming for Y/N, a fresh wave of tears silently falling down her face. He was being so gentle, so sweet, and she couldn’t help the emotional reaction she was having. She took another shaky breath as he finally reached the top of her longest scar in between her shoulder blades.

“My pretty babycakes,” he whispered against her skin. “I’m so sorry you weren’t loved the way you deserve. Thank you for trusting me.” His hands spread her legs further apart, his metal fingers moved in between her legs, his fingers slipping through her slit slowly. “Thank you for loving me,” he continued. “Can I make love to you like this, Y/N?”

She turned her head to look back at him. His eyes were focused on her pussy, then glancing up at her back until he met her gaze. “You want to see them while we…?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he nodded, leaning over so he could kiss her again. “You accepted me, scars and all. Let me return the favor.” Her breath hitched, her chin wobbling as she bit back a sob. She nodded with a small smile and he smiled back at her. “Thank you.”

His first two metal fingers dipped inside her, making her moan and her head flop back onto the bed. She didn’t realize she had gotten so wet just from his kisses across her back, but she had, and as he worked her up she couldn’t stop the tears as she thought about how wonderful this man of hers was. Bucky pumped his fingers in and out of her slowly, taking his sweet time in pulling any and all sounds he could from her until her legs started shaking. “That’s it, babycakes.”

She stiffened after a moment, then her body fell off that last precipice and she came, a small gush coating his fingers as she moaned into the blankets, her fingers gripping them tightly. Bucky’s fingers fucked her through it until she stopped shaking, then he pulled them out and she could hear him lick his fingers clean. “So good,” he mumbled. “Get on your knees for me.” Y/N struggled to shift up on her knees, leaning on her elbows as the side of her face rested against the bed. “Aw, still sensitive?” he asked teasingly, then she felt the tip of his cock rub through her pussy lips.

She jiggled her ass at him, and he chuckled, his flesh hand giving her right ass cheek a quick smack. “Good girl,” he said, then started pushing in. Y/N moaned into the bed, her legs slightly spreading even more to be able to take him in. She would never get used to this, just how perfect he felt inside her, but now in this position he felt even deeper somehow, making her eyes roll back.

“Buckyyyy…” she groaned when he was balls deep.

“Shit, baby,” he groaned with her. “God, as much as I love the way we’ve always done it, this is…fuck,” he huffed, his hips trembling with how far inside he felt. “This is different.” She nodded, her arms moving above her head to grip at the blankets more firmly. “And seeing your pretty ass raised like this for me,” he said, smacking her ass cheeks again, making her squeak. “I didn’t know what I was missing. And these,” his fingers traced up her scars again, his hips starting a steady pace in and out of her, “proving just how strong and good and beautiful my baby is. I’m so proud of you, Y/N.”

Y/N was overcome with emotion, her tears falling harder and her breaths heavy with sobs. “It’s okay, Y/N,” he said, keeping up the pace as he leaned over and across her back, positioning himself so he was basically mounting her. “Let it all out while I love you. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

It felt like he was everywhere, his face tucked into the back of her neck, his huffed breaths heating her skin and his deep, low voice in her ear and vibrating from his chest onto her back, his metal arm holding around her waist while his flesh arm kept him up so he couldn’t crush her. Feeling his front against her scarred back was somehow relieving, healing, like the skin to skin contact stitched together those last few pieces of her heart from when she was a child. Her orgasm was fast approaching again, her legs shaking under him as he fucked her slowly, deliberately, letting her feel every little thing. Her mental block slipped and she could hear him…

My strong girl.

My pretty babycakes.

“Atta girl, cum on me,” he said, kissing and licking her shoulder and the top of the longest scar. “I can feel you. Let go. Let it all go, babycakes.”

Y/N’s breathing picked up even faster, her fingers scratching at the bed until the pressure built up impossibly high, then she was cumming again. She squealed loudly as her pussy constricted around him, another gush spilling from her as she shook beneath him. Bucky whimpered at how tight she was around his cock, fucking deep into her a few more times until he stiffened and came, his hips trembling harder as he let it all out inside of her.

They sat like that for another minute or two as their combined highs calmed down. Bucky nuzzled his face into her hair before pulling himself up. He groaned as he slowly pulled himself out of her then turned her over so he could see her. Y/N felt like jelly as she slumped to her back, her eyes feeling heavy as she looked up at Bucky. He smirked at the look on her face, leaning down to kiss her deeply. She lazily kissed him back, and when his lips moved from her mouth and down her neck she moved herself any way he wanted her to as he kissed across her skin. “Mmh, sweetness,” she moaned lightly.

Bucky kissed back up to her face, kissing her cheek chastely before wiping away the tears that stained her cheeks. “I hope those are good tears,” he said quietly.

“Yes,” Y/N quickly nodded. “Yes. Thank you Bucky. That was incredibly…healing,” she said, sniffling before any more emotions could overwhelm her again.

He gave her a wide smile. “Please talk to me if you’re struggling, Y/N. Please don’t hide things from me. Nothing you say or do could make me judge or hate you. I love you too much,” he joked, nipping at her bottom lip.

She huffed a laugh at him, running her fingers through his hair affectionately. “I will, I promise,” she agreed. “I love you, sweetness.”

***

Bucky sat at the small kitchen table in the old house, waiting as the sounds of bustling movement came from the garage.

“Harry, stop being such an idiot!”

“Fuck off, Julia!”

Their shrill voices carried through the hallway, making Bucky grimace as he pointed the gun in his right hand, keeping it visible on top of the table for them to see as they walked in.

“How do you fuck up grabbing the bread I asked you to get? It’s the same bread we’ve bought for thirty years!” Julia yelled as she walked through the door, her arms heavy laden with grocery bags. She didn’t see him at first, plopping the bags on the floor before straightening herself up with a sigh, and as she turned to walk back out of the kitchen she did a double take of him. Her eyes widened, and just as she opened her mouth to scream Bucky held up the gun, his eyebrows raising in a dare. She cut herself off, her mouth shutting fast as she froze on the spot.

Harry walked through the door a moment later with a few bags in his hands. “Jesus, woman, will you just leave me alo–” he froze when he saw Bucky, glancing at Julia before dropping his bags. “What the fuck?!” he yelled. “Who are you?”

“Shut up and sit down,” Bucky snarled, cocking the gun toward the last empty seat at the table. Harry looked defiant but fearful, his jaw ticking as he slowly walked forward and sat down. Bucky could see Julia inching towards the sink. “I already grabbed that gun earlier,” he said to her. “And you could try the knife block, but it won’t end well for either of you.” Julia froze again, her eyes staying comically wide. Bucky focused back on Harry. “I’m not here to kill you,” he said.

Harry’s frown deepened. “Then what do you want? We don’t have any money.”

“Right, you’re just trying to get it from your daughter,” Bucky said, revealing his left arm as he let it fall on the table with a heavy thud that made a crack in the tabletop. Harry’s eyes widened, his mouth dropping open and Julia whimpered behind him as they recognized him. “Let me just make something abundantly clear,” he continued. “You will not contact her again. No calls, no emails, no more pathetic letters,” he said, unfurling his closed metal fist and letting the crumpled letter he’d taken fall on the table. “She owes you nothing. Don’t you ever bother her or interrupt her happiness again. Do as you have done for the past 20 years, and leave her alone.”

“You have no right–” Harry started.

*BANG*

Julia screamed, cowering in the corner of the kitchen while Harry sat shaking, breathing heavily as blood trickled down from where the top of his left ear had been grazed. Bucky glared at him, pointing the gun more toward his face. “Do I need to repeat myself?” he asked dangerously. Harry shook his head fast. “Answer me,” Bucky grumbled.

“N-n-no,” Harry stammered.

“No, what?” Bucky asked, tilting his head at him.

“No s-sir,” Harry said, his chin wobbling as his eyes brimmed with tears.

Bucky glanced at Julia, who quickly nodded and held her hands up. “No sir,” she cried.

He glared at them both for another moment before nodding. He stood from the table, putting his gun away before walking toward the door they had come through. He stopped at the doorway and turned to look at Julia. “If I ever even hear of either of you again, I’ll end you. Slowly,” he warned, his metal arm whirring as he clenched his fist. Julia sniffled sadly, nodding again. Bucky huffed a laugh at how pathetic they were, then walked out of the house. If there was anything he could do to protect his babycakes, he would do it.

#marvel #bucky barnes #smut #bucky barnes x reader #ask #request #anon ask #oneshot #part 2

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witchygagirlwrites · 1 day ago

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Fix You-Part 1

Kelly Severide x Reader x Matt Casey/ Sevasey x Reader

You get sent to Firehouse fifty one as a temporary placement when a paramedic is needed. Your first day you meet the house Captain and Rescue Squad Lieutenant.

“Where’s your placement?” your sister asked as you balanced your phone between your ear and shoulder, trying to gather everything you needed to get out of the door. “Firehouse fifty one. They need a new partner for Brett after Dawson moved. I’ve worked with the rig in passing but this will pretty much be my first time working with the truck or rescue squad” you told her as you rushed out of your apartment, locking the door behind yourself.

You’d met with Chief Boden already along with Sylvie Brett but when you’d met with the two of them it had only been them. Today would be your official introduction as a temporary member of the house. You knew most of the firemen by name and face at the very least but you would be there for ten months. You’d hopefully build at least a few friendships.

You parked your truck across the street where Boden told you it was ok then grabbed your gear and headed over to the station house. Sylvie spotted you and stepped out of the bays to meet you halfway “Hey Y/N” you grinned “Sylvie! Glad you’re here already. I would’ve hated to walk into this without at least one friendly face at my side” she laughed and slipped her arm through yours “They’re not that bad, really”

You raised an eyebrow and she shrugged “Ok, well they’re not worse than any other house” you laughed “Now that I believe”

The two of you walked into the bays and you spotted a few men sitting around a table, one in a freaking recliner. “Who’s the grandpa?” you asked without thinking about it and when he turned around you wanted the floor to open up and swallow you. It was Squad Three Lieutenant Kelly Severide. A grin slipped onto his face as he stood up to face you “Who’s the spitfire Brett?”

You recovered from the embarrassment fast enough to smirk “Spitfire huh? I kinda like that. Name’s Y/N. I’m the temp paramedic here as a partner for Brett until Boden finds someone who’s a fit” he nodded as you held your hand out. He shook it then winked at you “Think I’ll stick with Spitfire, suits ya just fine”

Matt Casey, the house Captain, walked out behind him and put a hand on his shoulder “Is this idiot bothering you ladies?” you shook your head “My fault really, I called him a grandpa”

A grin split Matt’s face at that as he cut his eyes at Kelly, affectionately running his hand over the other man’s grey hair “Grandpa huh?” “Don’t you dare babe” Kelly replied then nodded at you “This is Y/N, the temp para but I think we’re gonna call her spitfire”

Matt looked back at you “Spitfire?” you shrugged “I like it” he nodded “Then it’s settled. Sylvie will show you around, get you a locker. If you need anything feel free to holler at me or Kelly” you nodded “Thanks”

Within about a week or two you were on a first name basis with everyone you were on shift with and knew everyone who worked out of the station house. It was a family of sorts and even though you were only a visitor they were welcoming you in with no hesitation.

“Why are you working as a temp?” Cruz asked one day when all of you were picking at breakfast before any calls had come in. You shrugged and sipped the coffee in your hands “Haven’t really found a house that fits me. This way I’m still doing what I love and helping houses that need it in the meantime” Kelly leaned back from where he was sitting across the room next to Matt and you knew the moment he grinned he was about to tease you “So you’re a stray sniffing around for a home?”

Matt slapped him behind the head then looked at you “I’m sorry. I’ve been trying to house train him for years but it hasn’t taken” you laughed as Kelly rubbed his head and cut his eyes at his boyfriend. “It’s fine Matt, he isn’t wrong really” “Think you may stay here?” Sylvie asked and you shrugged, feeling very much like you were in the hot seat “I don’t know yet. I mean I like working here so far but it’s a little too soon to tell”

Matt met your eyes and you knew he could tell you were uncomfortable because he cleared his throat “That’s enough with the twenty questions” you shot him a small smile as a thank you as everyone turned their attention back to their food or other conversations.

A call rang out for a structure fire needing the truck, rescue and ambulance so everyone was on their feet and in motion, any semblance of breakfast long forgotten as you headed for the bays.

You ran past Matt and smiled “Thanks for that” he nodded so you hurried to hop into the driver’s seat of the rig as he ran to the truck and Kelly ran to the rescue squad. Sylvie cut her eyes at you as you fell into the line of vehicles as they pulled out onto the road “I think you’ll end up staying” You laughed lightly “That you thinking or hoping Brett?” She shrugged “Little bit of both?”

You walked into your apartment and considered for a second just crashing across your couch instead of making it to your bed but your phone chimed with a text from Sylvie We’re going to Mollys. You in?

You were tired but it was a friday and you were off the next two days…screw it. You texted back Meet ya in twenty? And she replied See you there!

____________________________

You walked into Mollys and spotted Sylvie sitting with a few women from med and the twenty first so you headed towards her. You smiled when Kim Burgess greeted you “How’s fifty one treating you?” you cut your eyes at Sylvie then nodded “Best partner I’ve had yet” and Sylvie grinned broadly. You looked around “Where is the rest of your unit Burgess?” she shrugged “Adam is currently retrieving our drinks, we got you one too. Jay and Mouse are over there in a booth with Fireball” she nodded and you saw the men in question with their girlfriend. You knew Fireball well, she was a trauma nurse at Chicago med. One of the best you’d seen. Probably from her time as a combat medic, from what you’d gathered that was how the three of them had met.

“Where’s the other two?” you asked and she grinned “Kevin has a date with that new nurse from med that just moved here from scotland and Firecracker stayed in tonight with Will and Connor” you nodded as Adam made it back to the table carrying the drinks and passed them out, shooting you a smile “Here ya go spitfire. If it’s not right, blame your partner” you laughed “It’s fine Adam. A free drink is a free drink. Especially one I know I can trust”

____________________

You and Sylvie had Adam and Kim laughing about a call you responded to where a frat guy got his head caught in a stair railing. “He was breathing fine, not in distress but I swear it reminded me of something that would’ve happened in a movie from the eighties” you laughed around your drink.

You’d only drink two with alcohol then switched to soda but the company was good so you were still enjoying the night out. “There’s our medics” you heard Matt’s voice and cut your eyes up with a smile “Captain” he shook his head “We’re not at work, just call me Matt” you nodded “Ok Matt” Kelly grinned at you from next to him “And you always call me Kelly anyways” you laughed “That’s cause Matt always acts like a captain. You only act like a lieutenant when we’re actively on a call”

They nodded to the table “Can we join you four?” you shrugged and looked around. Sylvie shrugged and Adam patted the table “Sure” Kelly went to grab them drinks as Matt sat down next to you. “So, spitfire, how long is your contract for anyways?” you grinned “Trying to get rid of me already?” he raised an eyebrow so you grinned “Ten months unless I put in a request to stay. Boden said I’d have that option as soon as six months hit”

Sylvie gasped “You did not tell me that” you grinned “Because I don’t want the twenty question game to start back up” Matt shook his head “It won’t. I won’t let it” “Thank you” you replied and turned back to your previously abandoned conversation with Sylvie and Kim as Matt started talking to Adam then Kelly came back over and joined their conversation as well. Maybe you could find a place at Fifty one?

It was still a little soon to tell but it was starting to feel like home already.

@desimarie12

#kelly severide x reader x matt casey #sevasey x reader #sevasey #kelly severide x reader #matt casey x reader #chicago fire drabble #chicago fire imagine #chicago fire fanfiction #chicago fire fanfic

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finelinevogue · 11 hours ago

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talk to me

summary - aaron is vulnerable after his family is taken from him, only you are brave enough to confront him

pairing - aaron hotchner x bau-gf!reader

word count - ~1k [very angsty…not my usual happy writing]

“Why hasn’t he killed himself yet?”

The same question ran through your head over and over again, like it was some godforsaken lyric you couldn’t stop repeating.

Only it wasn’t a lyric.

It was something Hotch had said on a case today.

Granted it was about the unsub you were catching, but you couldn’t stop going over and over the double meaning to his words. You couldn’t stop wondering if that was Hotch’s cry for help.

You were currently driving to his apartment.

It was rough for you and Aaron right now.

Aaron getting stabbed was traumatic enough for you, but for Aaron to go through that as well as losing his family and all control? It was devastating.

You and Aaron had been together for over a year, making it work with being in a relationship whilst balancing his role as a dad. Aaron was doing the extreme best he could and you were so proud of him.

But you could see the emotional toll it had taken on him these last few weeks since the incident.

It was so clear that Aaron believed he was a terrible father and he was punishing himself for it.

You were really worried about him. You cared for Aaron a lot and it was heartbreaking to think that he was keeping such self deprecating thoughts to himself. He should know better.

You pulled up outside his apartment and quickly went into his apartment.

It didn’t take long to climb the stairs and reach his door.

You hesitated.

What if you were overthinking? What if he was actually alright and by you confronting him would just plant doubting seeds?

Swearing to yourself, you knocked.

A minute later and Aaron undid the latch and opened up.

“Hey?” He clearly wasn’t expecting you.

“Hey.”

“You coming in?” He opened the door wider.

“You’re not going to ask me why I’m here?” You questioned, crossing your arms over your chest accusatorially.

“Do I need to question why my girlfriend is visiting?” He furrowed his brows.

“You normally would,” You answered, “But you already know why I’m here.”

You pushed past him and walked into his apartment. This conversation was not meant for the listening ears of everyone on Aaron’s apartment floor.

He closed the door with a sigh and clicked the latch again.

Aaron came and stood near you, hands on his hips as he awaited your next move. You could tell by his body language that the direction this conversation was moving in was making him really uncomfortable.

Well that was fine with you.

“So…”

“So what?” Aaron looked down at his shoes before looking back at you.

“We promised never to profile each other.” You said.

“And yet here you are.” He challenged you.

Aaron was getting defensive and you hadn’t even started the conversation yet.

You knew that getting through to him would be hard but you sometimes forget how many solid walls and foundations this man has built around himself. One chisel at a time might not be enough.

“Don’t do this, Aaron.”

“Don’t do what?”

“Push me away!” You shouted, flailing your arms up.

“I’m not…” Aaron looked off to the side.

“Aaron. I know you better than you think I do. Don’t push me away when I’m trying to help.”

“I don’t need your help.” Aaron said bitterly, still not raising his voice. Sometimes his cold shoulder was worse than his angry tone. You’d seen strong-willed men crumble at their knees under Aaron’s glare.

“Stop being so stubborn.” You groaned.

“Well stop profiling me.” Aaron bit back.

“I’m not profiling you, Aaron. I’m simply being a good friend. I’ve noticed that my boyfriend is constantly sad and says things that make me… nervous - that’s not profiling.”

“Stay out of my head.” Aaron warned.

There was no going back from this.

If he broke up with you then so be it, but you weren’t taking any chances. Not when Aaron’s mental or emotional stability was on the line.

“What did you mean today when you said, ‘Why hasn’t he killed himself yet?’ Hmm?” You asked, crossing your arms over your chest.

Aaron shook his head, “I said stay out of my head.”

“Were you asking it about the unsub…”

“Don’t.” Aaron shook his head.

“Or were you asking about yourself?” You questioned the one thing that had been constantly on your mind ever since he’d said it.

“No.” Aaron shook his head, eyes tearing up slightly.

“Aaron, honey, it’s okay to be sad –.”

“I’m not sad, I’m devastated!” He shouted. It took every fibre of it being not to flinch and send the wrong message.

“Honey…”

“No. You want to truth? I’ve questioned what the point is anymore, of course I have. My son has been taken from me in the most cruel way possible and I can’t do a goddamn thing, so I’m sorry if I seem a little more sad than usual.” His words dripped with venom.

His breath was uneven and heavy after he’d finished, almost like he was holding himself back from letting out more.

“Is that it?” You said bravely.

Aaron’s gaze pierced yours. His honey eyes so focused that they had lost their spark.

“What?”

“You want to shout at someone? Then shout at me. You want to make someone cry? Then make it me. You want to punch a wall? I’ll stitch your hand up after. You want to cry? I’ll be here with the tissues.”

Aaron’s body physically deflated as you spoke.

You weren’t done yet though.

“You think that this is a burden you carry alone, Aaron. Well it’s not. Yes it’s your family that Foyet is targeting but you are not the reason that Foyet turned out to be the way he is. You are not solely responsible for his escape or any of his devious plans. So if you want to be devastated, then fine. In fact, I’d welcome you to show your heart on your sleeve for once. But don’t for one second think of doing something stupid. Not when I’m right here.”

Aaron dropped to his knees then head hanging low as his body shook from his tears.

You had hoped it would come to this. Not that you enjoyed seeing Aaron upset, but you appreciated seeing him be vulnerable with you.

It meant that he still felt safe with you.

“I’m sorry.” He kept repeating through his sobs.

You moved quickly to kneel on the ground in front of him, pulling his body into yours so you could hold him tight.

Aaron’s love language was physical touch, so physical touch you would give him. If he thought he was anything less than loved by you then you had failed as a partner.

“You’re okay. I’ve got you. It’s going to be okay.”

You kept reassuring him, keeping your hold tight on him whilst rubbing his back comfortingly.

<.><.>

[bonus]

You stayed on the floor with Aaron for over an hour.

He needed the time to cry and let everything out, whilst knowing he had someone next to him to keep him safe.

You had eventually both made it to bed.

Even though you didn’t have any of your work clothes here and your car was definitely violating parking rights outside, you couldn’t find it in yourself to leave Aaron. You didn’t want to leave him.

He was currently resting his head on your chest as he slept, his body breathing on heavily. You were sat up in his bed, stroking a comforting hand through his hair. His arms were wrapped tightly around you so you couldn’t be taken from him.

It had been a tough day, but you had reminded Aaron that there’s always a reason to keep going at the end of it.

#aaron hotch fic #aaron hotch x you #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner #aaron hotch angst

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watarfallar · 2 days ago

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Gay idiots... (I said with joy)

Grian: Enough! How dare you mock me in such a manner!? Scar: Well. How would you like me to mock you? I take requests.

Scar: Holy shit, Grian, do you know what this means?! Grian: Kid, whenever you start doing this, nobody knows what you mean.

Scar: Hey, are you free? Grian: No, I’m expensive.

Grian: Wow, did you hear that voice crack? Scar: That wasn't a voice crack, that was a whole voice meth.

Scar: We all have our demons. Scar, grabbing Grian: This one’s mine.

Scar: I only have 6 weeks left to live. Grian: Oh my god, really?! Scar: It's just a guesstimate based on the choices I've made.

Grian: You gave me up, you let me down, you turned around, and deserted me. Scar: But did I make you cry? Grian: cries on the spot Scar: …Shit.

Grian: You know, I used to play back in my gory days. Scar: You mean glory days? Grian: Ah, that too.

Grian: The joy of hanging out with Scar. You look away for 5 seconds to make sure something is set up correctly, and they bite the tip of a marker off.

Scar: Would it be discrimination to only hire employees at my doughnut shop who have the same name? Grian: Legally, I don't believe that breaches any discrimination laws. Morally though… I don't know. Scar: I believe god is on my side when it comes to Duncans' Doughnuts.

Grian: Scar, are you okay?! Scar: I told you to stop asking stupid questions!

Grian: Can we talk? One 10 to another? Scar: I’m an 11, but continue.

Scar: Grian… you've been cuddling with me for over and hour now. Grian: muffled mm hmmm :) Scar: Fuck. I should be annoyed but you're adorable.

Scar: Wow, that was quick thinking on that phony sacrifice stuff. Grian: Oh, that was all real. Scar: Wait, you were trying to help them kill us?! Grian: If I’m gonna be sacrificed, I’m gonna do it right.

Grian, gently nudging Scar aside with their foot: Scar, move out of the way so I don’t trip on you. Scar, their eyes enormous: You kick Scar? You kick their body like the football? Oh! Oh! Jail for Grian! Jail for Grian for one thousand years!

While planning to break in somewhere Scar: Hey, let's do "Get Help!" Grian: What? Scar: "Get Help." Grian: No. Scar: C'mon, you love it! Grian: I hate it. Scar: It's great! It works every time! Grian: It's humiliating. Scar: Do you have a better plan? Grian: No. Scar: We're doing it! Grian: We are not doing "Get Help!" A Minute Later Scar, carrying Grian: Get help! Please! They're dying! Help Them! throws Grian at guards, knocking them out Scar: Ahh, classic! Grian: gets up I still hate it. It's humiliating. Scar, laughing: Not for me, it's not.

Scar: Did you know spiders can hold 8 guns at once? Grian: How does it WALK?? Scar: Scar: Did you know spiders can hold 7 guns at once?

Scar: Knock, knock. Grian: Who's there? Scar: Boo! Grian: Boo who? Scar: Why are you crying? Grian: I'm not crying. Scar: Hello notcrying, I'm Scar.

Scar, near tears: I have the sex appeal of a math book! Grian: I don’t know, dude, I’ve never met anyone that opened a math book and didn’t say “fuck me”.

Grian: Sorry it took so long to bail you out of jail. Scar: No, it was my fault. I shouldn't have used my phone call to prank call the police station.

Scar: I hate you. Grian: Well, according to this picture I drew of us holding hands, that is untrue.

Grian: Wait- Your arresting me because I'm a homo?! Scar: …Homicide. You killed your whole family.

#grian #gtws #incorrect quotes #desert duo #scarian #enjoy💜💜💜

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tgmsunmontue · 2 days ago

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From the top 6/6

IceMav, Explicit, (background Hangster who are already established). Set post-TGM. (No dead Ice obviously).

CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE

PART SIX

Ice is taller than him, but they’re equally broad and thick. Ice’s height only gives the illusion that he’s bigger. However hidden beneath is also a lot of coiled strength and Ice has never used it on him before, not like this. He finds himself boxed in against his workstation, the hard ridge of the bench digging into his back, Ice pressed against his front, his hands on both of Pete’s hips and holding him firmly in place. It makes his breathing quicken.

“Mav… Pete…”

Pete likes the way Ice says his name now, like he’s finally given himself permission to use Pete, and his voice sounds rough, broken, worshipful even. He angles his head and slides his mouth over Ice’s, reaches up to run has hands through his hair and hold him in place while Pete kisses him. Tom isn’t trying to move away though, is pressing back into him like he wants nothing more than to be in the same space that Pete is currently in.

“You done this before?” Pete asks, because it’s one thing to skirt around the subject through messages back and forth, Ice an expert at writing words and saying things without giving anything away. He’s never lied to him though and Pete knows he’s not about to start.

“Yes. Not in a long time though. Not with someone who… who matters to me.”

“Mmm. Yeah. Me too. Just… we don’t have to… just want to make you feel good.”

“Yeah, I know, I just… fuck. I’ve been thinking about it okay? Want… want you to…”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“Bed’s not just there for decoration. Come on…”

Ice follows close behind him as they make their way up to his new bedroom, the one he’s refused to let him use. He turns toward Ice and reaches for his hand, urges him close even though there’s not more than inches between them. He’ll never admit it, but his hands feel shaky as he unbuttons Ice’s shirt, pushes it off his shoulders. Doesn’t think Ice notices because he’s intent on undressing Pete which is something he’s totally on board with. Ice kisses every part of his body as he takes the clothing off and when he shoves his underwear down he shouldn’t be surprised at the kiss Tom places on the head of his cock.

Then Ice is kissing him again and he wants to look and touch everywhere, have Ice’s hands all over him and he urges him toward the bed, wants to do exactly what they were doing this morning, but naked and with added orgasms. Fortunately Ice seems completely on board with his unspoken plan, shifting to lie on the bed on his side, head propped up on his hand as he watches Pete move closer, knee walking up the bed a little awkwardly.

Ice’s skin is pale all over, no tan lines like Pete has himself, his career taking him inside. The hands though catch his eye, one wrapped around his cock as Ice strokes himself, eyes on Pete, intense in a way that he recognizes, that feeling of electricity zaps through him again.

“Come here…” Ice says, his voice rough and Pete almost falls on him in his eagerness to comply, catches himself with a grin, face inches away and he kisses him with a laugh.

“I’m here.”

He settles on his side, facing Ice, feels long fingers curl around his cock and he groans, hips jerking into the pressure. His own fingers trace along the length of Ice’s erection and he wraps his fingers and strokes before pulling back, reminded that he went out and bought supplies for exactly this reason.

“Lube?”

“Fancy…”

“Shut up…” Pete mutters playfully, and he doesn’t want to move away, because it’s going to mean Ice taking his hands off him and it’s taken years to get here.

“Get your lube… I’ve always just used lotion.”

“Mmm. Explains why your hands are nice and soft…”

That earns him an eye roll and a slight shove, but as he moves to grab the bottle he feels a hand grab his ass, fingers digging into the muscle and his cock jumps again. Then Ice is taking the lube from him, pumping some out into his palm, stroking himself, then reaching for Pete’s cock.

“Come here…” Ice repeats, and this time he’s already close, settles in close and slides their mouths together, feels Ice wrap his hand around them both, jerking them together, adjusting his grip a few times before he seems.

“God… your hands…” Pete moans against Ice’s mouth, whole body jerking toward him and he doesn’t miss the way Ice’s mouth twitches with amusement. They lie facing each other, thighs slotted together, eyes lingering, Ice’s hand wrapped around their cocks, breath intermingling and the air between them is warm and humid. They’re both shifting and grinding, into Tom’s hand, against each other, kissing spit-slick lips and licking over the delicate skin of each other’s necks, nipping at earlobes and to finally have this after weeks of knowing he can but years of denying it is overwhelming.

“Mav… Pete…”

“Yeah, yeah. Right here… fuck.”

… … …

Maverick is gorgeous. Tom’s always thought so. He can’t believe that his touch is not only wanted but is so clearly being enjoyed by Pete, his eyes dark with arousal, mouth hanging open like he can’t catch his breath and Tom bites at the hinge of his jaw, grips harder. Would worry that it’s too hard except for the hitch in Pete’s breath and jerk of his hips into the pressure. He’d been worried that they would be awkward with one another, that they’d maybe start off slower.

He should have known better. He’s dealing with Maverick, and it’s working in his favor, just jumping in feet-first with no care for the consequences. Or rather, so sure that the outcome is going to be a positive one. He’s quietly confident of that too, can’t imagine them slipping back into solely friendship now that they’ve introduced this into the equation. Ice. Tom. Close. God. Please. Faster. Just a little… please all panted against his neck and he shouldn’t be surprised that Mav likes it fast, his body almost vibrating against Tom’s as his hips jerk, thrust and twitch, shoving his cock into Tom’s grip.

He let’s go of them then, quickly grips Pete’s cock again, bites at his bottom lip as Mav whines at the brief cessation of pressure. But with only Pete’s cock in his hand he can go harder and faster and he shifts so it’s a bit more comfortable, his hand able to move more easily and he resumes the stroking, faster, his hand a blur and Pete’s breath is coming like he’s running, eyes now squeezed shut, bottom lip trembling and Tom doesn’t know where to look, what he wants to watch most.

“Come on Pete…” Tom breathes, his voice sounds rough and he feels the kick of Pete’s body, the sudden slick sensation of come on his fingers and he loosens his grip, feels Pete’s entire body shudder against him, breath coming in loud pants. He looks down between them, suddenly wants nothing more to come, wrap his hand covered in Pete’s come around his own cock so he does exactly that.

“Damn that’s a pretty sight…”

He groans, knowing that Pete is watching him, shifting to get a closer look; but then Pete is sucking one of his nipples into his mouth and Tom comes with a shout, shuddering through the intensity of it and very glad he’s already horizontal.

“Fuck…” he manages, and Pete is laughing against his chest and Tom ducks his head, bumps it against Pete’s. He looks up and then Tom can kiss him again and it’s sweeter. But he also feels sweaty, and sticky and Pete must be feeling the same.

“Did you upgrade the shower as well?”

Pete’s frozen and he has his answer right there, because a new kitchen and bed are great, but an inside shower is apparently a step too far.

“I’ll, uh, get on that right away…”

“You’re lucky I love you,” Tom says with a grin, and it’s a little bit of a relief knowing that despite everything that Mav is still Mav.

The outside shower isn’t bad, perfectly functional and the wooden screens offering enough privacy for them to shower together. Neither of them can stop smiling, laughter bubbling out occasionally and he feels lighter and happier than he has in years. They’re clean, dry, changed into comfortable clothes he’s glad he had the foresight to bring with him. Although he notes that an entire side of the dresser is filled with his own clothes and he wonders exactly when Pete stole them and relocated them here.

“Thought you were going to make me dinner or was that just a ploy to get me into bed?”

Pete snorts and bites playfully at his shoulder.

“No, I plan to cook… Penny gave me instructions.”

… … …

He feels Ice’s huff of breath and realizes mentioning one of his exes is probably a faux pas, but it’s Ice. He knows every embarrassing detail of his life and relationships, some that Pete himself has probably forgotten. Plus he knows Penny and Ice are friends as well. He moves around the kitchen, accepts the glass of wine the Ice pours him and Penny was right. It will take twenty minutes. Huh.

“We going to talk about it?” Ice asks and Pete turns from watching the potatoes going around in the air fryer. It’s kind of mesmerizing.

“About what?”

“How it took Jake and Bradley meddling for us… for us to…” Ice starts, hand waving between them, frown growing on his face at his apparent inability to find words. Pete grins, steps in close and wraps his arms around him.

“We’ll figure out a way to thank them.”

“Mmm. Okay.”

“That’s… that’s all you want to say?” Pete asks, because he’d sort of expected a far more detailed and in-depth conversation, something akin to a debrief.

“What else is there to say? Best possible outcome I can imagine.”

Oh.

“I love you,” Pete says, and he’s never going to get sick of seeing the small little smile that his words invoke on Ice’s face. He kisses him, sneaks his fingers under his t-shirt to stroke at bare skin.

“Love you too. Love you more if you actually feed me…”

As if on cue Ice’s stomach rumbles, making them both laugh. Pete shakes his head, gives him a little shove which is completely ineffective but he goes about finishing up making dinner. It’s exactly what he’s always wanted, the quiet companionship of someone who knows all his flaws and loves him anyway. They clean up together, have a quick game of chess where he limits Ice to ten seconds per move, and Ice still wins.

Then they’re preparing for bed, and it’s a different type of intimacy but not unfamiliar at all with their years of friendship between them. There are soft touches and lingering fingers, looks which cannot be construed as anything other than love and desire and yeah, he’s in love with his best friend and he loves him back.

… … …

He wakes up stiff. That’s not unusual these days, but he’s stiff in places that aren’t usually stiff and he groans at the discomfit. He opens his eyes to find Ice already awake, closing his book and looking at him with concern.

“You okay?”

“Yeah… just… my body isn’t used to the kind of workout we put it through last night.”

“Mmm. Mine either. Good mattress though. I already got up and stretched a little.”

“Yeah. Figured it was a good investment.”

“See. You can forward plan.”

He opens his mouth to object but Ice is grinning, reaching to pull him in for a kiss and yeah, that’s a much better option.

… … …

He is quietly content, happy in a way he hadn’t realized was even a thing. His relationship with Maverick feels… well. Somehow brand new and fragile, but also deep and foundational, integral to his very being. All they’ve really done is add sex to the mix, and he’s enjoying that plenty, refusing to dwell on years lost. He isn’t going to lose his future to past regrets.

His phone vibrates on his desk and he looks at the message, because it’s close enough to lunch that he’s sort of expecting Mav to be joining him, his presence in and around his office no longer questioned, which is probably just as well. Rather than a message from Maverick through their usual app it’s from the one that Jake set up, when he was pretending to be messaging Pete and not know exactly who it was he was talking with.

>>Please go outside and look up toward the northwest.

>>You have five minutes.

“Oh, for…” he grumbles, because this is giving him flashbacks to when Pete used to steal planes. Of course, now that he has his own he’s gotten better about that and he hopes Pete isn’t stupid enough to fly the Mustang into military airspace. He wonders why Pete has chosen to message him using that app, is thumbing out a message asking exactly that when he hears the hum of several planes approaching and he looks up to see five prop-planes.

Then they start releasing puffs of smoke and he realizes they’re sky typing, and he can already make out the first two letters and he has to remind himself to breathe. Wonders if Mav is up there in one of the planes. Wonders when the hell he learnt how to fucking sky type. Not that he’d put it past him, or is even surprised, because as the letters continue to appear he’s reminded that this type of over-the-top romantic gesture is exactly Maverick’s style.

MARRY ME?

“So… what do you say?”

Tom startles, turns toward the sound and Mav is kneeling, that can’t be good for his knees on the asphalt, there’s a ring in his hand and he’s holding it up, clearly waiting for Tom to answer.

“I think there’s no point in waiting. We know each other in all the best and worst ways. I can’t imagine anything better than being married to my best friend.”

Tom swallows, doesn’t trust himself to speak so he simply nods, knows Mav understands because he’s standing with only a slight wince, slipping the ring onto Tom’s finger and giving him a surprisingly quick and chaste kiss before pulling back. Then he hears the applause and he turns to see the entire personnel population from the building there watching, and now they’re applauding. He’s very grateful it was exactly the quick-soft kiss it was now, and he does his best to ignore Mav’s shit eating grin as people start coming forward to give them their congratulations. Of course they all know, Pete would have had to get clearance for such a grand gesture.

“Congratulations Tom. Now he’s your problem both professionally and personally.”

Tom laughs.

“He always was.”

#IceMav #From The Top #tom iceman kazansky #pete maverick mitchell #Top Gun fanfic

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rebelliousstories · 23 hours ago

Text

Single Awareness Day

ValenFics

Relationship: Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Reader

Fandom: Top Gun: Maverick

Request: No

Warnings: Fluff, Mentions of Alcohol and Drinking, Brief Strong Language

Word Count: 698

Main Masterlist: Here

Top Gun: Maverick Masterlist: Here

Summary: Another year of failed romance leads to a night at the bar with her best friend.

Consider Donating: Here

“Pen, can I get another one, please?” She called to the brunette behind the bar. When the older woman came back with her drink, she looked at her with sad eyes.

“Why are you so down in the dumps, honey?” Wetting her lips with her drink, the naval communications officer began her lament.

“Had a date again this week. Some IT tech in the force. He spent the whole night talking about how what he did was so important. Was reliving his high school glory days too. Just… been a shit week. Hell, a shit year.” She finished, taking a swig out of her glass. Penny giggled at this.

“It’s only February. You have ten more months on the calendar.” The brunette teased.

Waving her off, the officer decided to shift gears, “how are you and Mav?”

“Good,” Penny replied, wiping down a section of the bar to remove something sticky. “He’s gonna take me on a date Saturday morning since he’ll be working Friday morning, and then I’ve got this place in the evening. Valentine’s Day is always busy.”

Another drink washed down her throat, which made her upset that she was now on a dry cup. “Well, you enjoy. I’m not planning on going on a date again anytime soon.”

“Who’s not dating?” A soft drawl of a voice saddled up next to her at the bar. Turning her gaze to view the man, she was greeted with the familiar blonde- haired, blue- eyed best friend pilot.

“Me, Jake. I’m not dating.” The woman confirmed. “I’m just so over guys and their bs. Seriously, what does it take to find someone that checks at least most of the boxes? Doesn’t have to be all of them, but maybe shoot for a nice seventy- five percent.”

At this, the pilot let out a boisterous laugh. “What you need, darlin’, is a night of no troubles. Come on, another round Pen, and we are going to the back.”

She groaned as she was now carrying her next drink, and being pushed towards the back of The Hard Deck. Hangman had been a friend for many years, being one of the few women that never fell for his bravado or southern charm. There were definitely times that she felt like maybe they could be more, but then the fear of ruining her one good, stable, and longest friendship creeps in, and that goes out the window.

So she just let him bring her to the back, where he could continue to run them a, now, joined tab, while fighting over darts and pool. It brought her mind away from her crippling loneliness for a while. Each time that she scored against him, she would cheer and revel in Jake’s playful defeat. And each time that he scored, the woman would just chuckle, and watch as Seresin winked over towards her.

In between games, Jake would tug her close by the shoulders, and usher them to the bar. Chatting about their latest dates, and why they did not pan out. She fell further into his side the longer the night came on, and the drunker she got. However, Hangman was not in much better of a position. As his inhibitions loosened, he found himself becoming far more touchy with her, but still remaining polite. He tried not to push the boundaries, even though he was fairly certain that she would welcome it; but now was neither the time nor the place.

They had bother been drinking heavily, which meant that he would not be able to get the consent that he would require. Besides, he was trying to save her heart from being shattered as she grappled with being single. For now, he would just be the other single friend that hung out with her when she was down in the dumps.

What neither of them saw, was the keen eyes of Penny Benjamin who was texting Pete to tell him about what she had been witnessing the entire evening. Starting from now until next Valentine’s Day, they also had a bet on how long it would take the two to get together, and who would be asking who out.

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vampiricstoryteller · 1 day ago

Text

Safety Net

Im back yall, here’s a new Richette smut I’ve been working on. It took me a little bit to find a groove with this but I do like how it’s turned out. This a modern AU one. I love modern Annette and Richter. I hope yall enjoy! Thank you for reading!

Summary: Annette takes care of Richter after a grueling month of working with Juste

Read on A03 here

All mistakes are my own

Warnings: Explicit smut, AU, Modern AU, cursing, Juste is super OC but it’s for the greater plot

If there was one thing Richter hated, more than anything, it was the month long business trip his grandfather, Juste Belmont, went on every other year. Nothing came remotely close to being as awful as the time he had to spend with his mothers father. Not that time he broke his leg when he was eight and had to stay in bed for weeks. Not when, at fifteen, he’d had that severe allergic reaction to kiwis and ended up in the ER. And not at twenty two when his father died and he’d been handed the keys to a multi-million dollar company. None of those even held a candle to the dread that locked into his chest when he would get the notification on his phone from the European side of the business.

Because it meant that Juste came to the states to check in on business “across the pond”, he came to stay with Richter’s mum; make snarky comments about the food she cooked and use up all the laundry detergent while never replacing it. He came to terrorized the employees that idolized him and unfairly challenge the ones that didn’t. He came to make Richter’s life hell, especially during the work week where he would follow Richter around and question every decision the youngest Belmont made.

Didn’t matter what it was, when Richter made a decision his grandfather had comments about it. If Richter picked sushi for lunch, Juste questioned why not something a little less raw. If Richter chose paint color number 4834, Juste needed to know why he hadn’t gone with 4835 instead. When they sat down to discuss models designs and reference points that should be paid attention to, his grandfather could and usually would rebuke them all.

Every. Single. One.

It was fucking infuriating.

Richter’s been in charge of the company for three years now. Their stock has risen, they’re on track to have the highest grossing year ever in their history and he’s already been honored by the national board. He’s the youngest CEO in the entire Belmont line, and his grandfather couldn’t give two shits about any of it.

He just wants to give Richter migraines for an entire month.

If he could get away with it, Richter would strangle him. But his mother would never forgive him and jail would completely ruin the fashion sense he’s been so meticulously building. Not to mention, if he ends up in jail his girlfriend will break up with him. And there’s nothing in the world Richter fears more than losing her.

He’d been dating Annette for just over a year. Fourteen months to be exact. And they’d been some of the happiest months of Richter’s life.

Annette meant everything to him.

She cared about Richter on a level so deep that he often felt like he was having the perfect fever dream. Annette believed in him, she encouraged him to be different than the men who came before him, she challenged his inner integrity and she kissed him like there had never been any other man on her mind ever. He’s certainly not thought about any other woman since the day they met, she clears them all by a mile at least.

Richter loved Annette, she was it for him. He already knew he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her.

Which is why two weeks before his grandfather is set to arrive, he sits Annette down and tries to explain that his grandfather is the destroyer of joy and if he sees that Richter is happy he will try to ruin it.

She’d laughed, hugging him comfortingly and said. “It’s only a month, Richter. We’ll make it through it.”

Then she crawled into his lap, kissing him as she promised even further, “I’m not going anywhere.”

Richter knows that.

And he knew she was right, they would make it through the month long visit from Juste; but would his sanity be the same when the old man finally boarded that 7pm flight six weeks from now?

He wasn’t so sure.

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

Once his grandfathers plane lands, the days immediately begin blending together. There is nothing that the old man won’t complain about. This time he even has one locked and loaded when he greets Richter at the car pick up line.

“You couldn’t have had one of those golf carts waiting to bring to you?” Juste grumbles, his long hair pulled into a ponytail at the nape of his neck.

“The walk is good for you after sitting on a plane for so long.” Richter replies evenly, picking up the older man’s suitcases and loading them into the trunk.

“Suddenly care about my health do you?” Juste asks, looking him over a few times as he pulls out a cigarette and lights it.

“No but mum does and me picking you up was her idea so,” Richter shrugs, closing the trunk and walking around to the driver side. “Come on, I’m trying to beat traffic.”

His grandfather doesn’t reply but he does get into the car, even going as far as rolling down the window.

“There’s something different about you, this time Richter.” The older man comments as the car pulls away from the curb. “You’ve got a pep in your step.”

He grunts in reply, refusing to give his grandfather any kind of information to take and run with. As they merge into traffic, Richter sends up a slightly prayer to the spirit world for his ancestors to give him strength to deal with their own bloodline.

By the second week of his grandfather’s visit, their conversation that morning he arrived seems like it happened years ago. To think that it’s only been fourteen days since then makes Richter want to vomit. There’s been a never ending stream of steady stress since the old man lit that cigarette and told Richter that he seemed different.

Juste had been relentless in his pursuit of what exactly had changed Richter since last they saw each other. He keeps Richter at the office longer and longer every day, wanting to go over things six or seven times even though they come out perfect the first three. He demands Richter meet him earlier and earlier, calling him until he answers and drags himself out of bed; away from Annette. Which was crushing Richter’s soul little bit by little bit each time.

It eventually gets to the point where Richter isn’t even sure what day it is anymore. He remembers sometimes when people greet him in the mornings, but the more time he spends with Juste the more people around them avoid them. Even in the building cafeteria, if Richter and Juste enter it, by the time they’ve gotten their plates, everyone else is gone.

Isolation is one Juste’s favorite ways to pick people apart, Richter’s known this since he was a child but this time around; the loneliness eats away at his heart. Being away from Annette for days at a time and then only seeing her when she’s curled around his pillow asleep makes Richter feel invisible.

They text, which isnt the same but it’s something and Richter desperately clings to any kind of normalcy he can find. Annette constantly sends little “I love you, be strong” messages throughout the day and each one wraps around Richter’s heart in a short of protective shield. She sends lunch to his office almost daily, orders his favorite snacks and tucks them into his suit jacket pockets days in advance so they can be a tiny surprise to brighten his day; and often leaves dinner waiting for him in a microwaveable container for when he gets home at those god awful times past midnight. He would be lost without her and Richter has never been more aware of it than he is now. She is a saint, she is heaven sent and when Richter can have a thought that doesn’t trace back to his damn grandfather again, he is going to dedicate a lot of his time to giving her the world.

Annette’s genuine love and care for him is the only thing keeping Richter from jumping off the roof and flipping Juste the bird on the way down. He cares too much about her to leave her, especially not when she’s sticking by him through his.

Richter just has to grit his teeth and bare it, for two more weeks.

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

When the day finally— finally —comes, it starts raining in the morning and doesn’t stop. Effectively delaying Juste’s flight hours into the night. What originally was a 3pm flight shifts to a 6pm one, then 8pm, and finally 10pm. They’ve just finished eating a late dinner when Juste’s phone gets another notification and Richter fears he’s going rip his own hair out from frustration based insanity if his grandfather tells him the flights been canceled.

But thankfully Juste looks up and instead tells him his flight will be boarding soon so it’s time to leave. Richter throws away his half eaten burger that he hadn’t really wanted anyway and tries to stay level with the speed limit as he all but races towards the airport.

His chest is tight the entire way, the uncomfortable prickle of tears in the back of his throat makes Richter want to scream. Even as an adult, running a million dollar company, he still crumbled under the pressure of his family name. Logically, he knows the expectations are bullshit and that if he would ignore them the way his mother and Tera managed to so eloquently do he would be much happier. But his mother and Tera had to go all the way across the ocean to “ignore” the expectations that Juste and his father before him rained down on them. Richter would be damned to hell before he let an old man chase him away from the life he had here in the name of “tough love”. He wouldn’t allow it.

As he turns into the drop off land of the airport and shuffles into the long car line, Richter bites the inside of his cheek until it bleeds to stop the tears. He won’t give Juste the satisfaction. He refuses.

“You do good work here, Richter.”

His grandfather’s words bring all ten thousand of his thoughts to a screeching halt and Richter nearly slams on the breaks.

“What?” He snaps his gaze over to the man in his passenger seat.

“Your building runs like a well oiled machine, much better than two years ago when I was here.” Juste says casually. “This girl you’re hiding from me—.”

“I’m protecting my—.”

“This girl you’re hiding from me is very good for you, I hope she’s here to stay.” Juste says firmly.

When the next spot opens, Richter pulls in and throws on the hazard lights, unbuckling his seat belt.

“You don’t need to meet her.” He states trying to keep the threat out of his tone.

Juste chuckles, taking his time to gather his carryon, phone and wrapped lunch Richter’s mother made him. “You’re right. I don’t. Keep up the good work Richter, see you in two years.”

His grandfather is out of his truck and around at the trunk to get his suitcases before Richter can think of anything to say. The migraine behind his eyes is almost unbearable now and he can’t even begin to try to have coherent thoughts beyond getting home. Once his grandfather disappears inside the busy airport, Richter pulls away from the curb and doesn’t look back.

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

He unlocks the apartment door with a shaky hand at 2:27am. He’d nearly fallen over in the elevator and he was pretty sure the next time he could think he would embarrassed by how badly he parked his truck down in the building garage. But that was a problem for later, Richter didn’t give one flying shit about anything other than taking off his clothes and crawling into bed with—

He pushes open the door expecting to be greeted by darkness. Instead, the soft hum of the tv and the gentle glow of the color background lights are waiting him. Annette is sitting on the couch, in a pair of blue panties and a black tank top with her legs crossed and her Switch in her lap. The soft hyper sounds of Mario Kart jingle in Richter’s inner ear but his brain can’t make heads or tails of the sight before him. Annette is awake, for the first time in a month Richter is finally able to bring himself back to her. He has made it out of the iron claw grip labeled family, he can breathe again and just be with her.

She looks up, her beautiful brown doe eyes lighting up the second she sees him.

“Richter!”

She unfolds her legs, placing her game on the couch and practically leaps towards him. He catches her, he always will no matter how tired or mentally exhausted he is; and the warmth of Annette’s body against him sends shocking waves of emotion through his entire being.

Richter folds around her, wrapping his arms tightly around her frame and holding her to him; his face seeking out her neck. She hugs him back, just as tightly and just as fiercely, her small finger tips gripping his shoulder blades. He squeezes his eyes shut, breath shuddering a bit when tears wet his eyelashes.

“Oh Richter.” Annette soothes softly. “It’s okay, it’s over.”

Richter nods, he kisses her neck before pulling back slightly. “I just didn’t expect you to be waiting up.” He says trying to smile. “I missed you.”

She smiles, reaching up and smoothing her thumbs over his eyebrows; pressing away the frown he didn’t know was there.

“I missed you too.”

They pull apart, only so she can close the door and Richter can shed his jacket and shoes.

“Are you hungry?” Annette asks.

“No, later. I just want out of these clothes, maybe a shower and sleep.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, pulling his eyebrows back down into the frown she just tried to rid him of.

“Come on then, plan A it is.” Annette says gently. She turns the tv off before taking his hand and leading towards the bathroom.

Upon entering, Richter blinks twice and looks around in surprise. Annette’s lit several candles, strategically placing them around the large bath tub he’d specifically had installed at her request five months ago. It was deep enough that they could comfortably sit and bathe together without feeling cramped. Richter had been skeptical at first but baths with Annette were soon high on his list of favorite things to do with her.

It was exactly what he needed right now and warmth spreads through his entire body when she turns on the hot water, plugs the tug and starts to add a combination of their favorite oils. She smiles prettily at him when he doesn’t immediately begin moving, his brain still sluggish despite the tiny flames of energy he felt finally being around her again.

“Take some ibuprofen. Brush your teeth. Take off the rest of your clothes. I’ll keep an eye on the water.” She says, already seated on the lip of tub.

Richter salutes her lazily, happy to hear her chuckle in amusement at him. It feels like it’s been years since he’s heard her laugh. He does as she requested of him, taking the pain pills, brushing his teeth, sneaking in a quick piss then taking off all of his clothes and stuffing them into the bathroom hamper.

When he returns to the side of the tub, Annette has turned off the water and slid down into the tub at the end where the curve of the bottom doubles as a seat.

“Come on.” She grins up at him.

Richter raises an eyebrow. Normally, he would be the one sitting there and Annette would sit either on his lap or between his legs if he was helping her wash her hair. He wasn’t sure they’d ever traded places in this way before.

“I might crush you.” He says rather lamely but Annette only rolls her eyes.

“I’m not a doll, Richter, you of all people should know that.” She smirks then splashes the water a bit. “Come on, don’t waste all this heat.”

Richter chuckles and climbs into the tub slowly, so not to slosh the water over the sides. He settles between her dark, pretty legs; leaning back against her chest her while her slim hand reaches around and presses on his sternum.

“Just relax Richter, it’s been a long month for you.” She says, kissing the shell of his ear and making him groan.

The water smells like honeysuckle, lavender and just the barest hints of cucumbers, the heat of it already turning his pale skin red as steam rises in slow waves all around them.

“Thank you,” Richter says, feeling his body sinking into the water. “For your patience and the lunches and the notes and the texts, all of it.”

Annette wraps her arms around his neck, her nose pressed into his hair behind his ear and she grins when he shivers.

“I love you Richter, I knew we’d make it through this. We just had to be patient, the time was going to pass no matter what. What would I have gained by making it difficult?”

He chuckles, gently grabbing her hands and bringing them to his lips so he can kiss the soft skin.

“I love you too Annette, I’m so glad that you let me.” He murmurs against her fingers.

They sit together for several long minutes, soaking in the heat and basking in each other’s presence. She washes his hair, fingers massaging his scalp and his temples. Her fingers are like magic, finding just the right pressure points to alleviate the throb in his head every so slightly. He’s pretty sure he lets out a pathetic moan or two that he’s grateful Annette’s nice enough to ignore.

Her fingers work their way from his scalp to the back of his neck, over his shoulders and biceps then back round to his chest. Richter watched her small hand, fingers spread wide across the broad plains of his pecs and he bites his bottom lip when she starts to slowly massage her way down.

“Annette.” He murmurs, eyes fluttering when her fingers dances along the lines of his stomach. She traces out his abs, teasing him as she playfully dips lower only to drag her fingers back up.

She giggles when his hips rock up a few times to try and bump her fingers against his half hard cock.

“Be patient Richter.” She whispers kissing his ear. “Relax and enjoy it.”

He closes his eyes, soft colors dancing behind the lids in the same patterns that Annette’s fingers are drawing on his skin. Breathing deep through his nose, Richter lets the last of his muscles relax completely. Annette seems ready for it, she never falters in her ministrations; instead she finally dips her right hand completely down and wraps her fingers around him.

The whimper that escapes Richter is pathetic. He knows it. But he doesn’t care. He’s had no time to himself for a month, he’s had this migraine for a month, his brain has been running twenty four hours a day for the last month. He’s allowed to be pathetic right now.

And it’s not like Annette would ever judge him for the sounds she’s able to pull out of him. She lives for them, and Richter lives for the things she’s willing to do to hear them. It’s a win win situation for both of them.

She licks the shell of his ear, twists her hand around his cock twice and Richter’s mind goes blissfully blank. His breath hitches, hands fisting and his teeth dig into his bottom lip.

“A-Annette…”

“Does that feel good, Richter?” She asks softly, her breath tickling his ear in a way that makes his spine tingle. She swipes her thumb over the tip, smearing the precum around the plump head.

“Fucking yes —Annette.”

She digs the nails of her hand still on his chest into his skin, making him hiss through his clenched jaw. His hips start meeting her hand with every stroke, fucking up into her tiny fist with thinly veiled desperation.

“Richter.” Annette sighs softly,

His forces his eyes open, looking down at her pretty dark hand squeezing and jerking his weeping, hard cock. The contrast between them starts to curl Richter’s toes and his back arches when Annette opens her hand leaving just her thumb and index finger nestled under the pink engorged head, twists her hand again and Richter sees stars.

He shouts, he know he does and one of his hands grips her calf hard enough to leave deep bruises but Annette continues to stroke him as a thick stream of cum bursts from him. She kisses at his ear, biting at the shell and pinching the lobe between her teeth.

Richter thinks for a moment that he’s going to pass out and drag them both under the water.

The feeling passes, only because Annette is there to help him come down slowly. She massages his hips, gently pinches at his sides and whispers playfully in his ear until he’s able to open his eyes again.

“I…I love you—so much, Annette.” He mumbles.

“Good,” she says kissing his cheek. “Cause I feel the same way about you.”

He chuckles tiredly, a yawn sneaking out of his mouth. Annette pats his stomach,

“Come on; let’s get you into bed.”

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

They end up cuddled together under the sheets. Richter tucking Annette close to him, his arms holding her tight like she’s his lifeline. And at this point he’s pretty sure she’s is.

“I want to go on vacation.” He mumbles, his face buried in neck. “Like, tomorrow.”

Annette laughs softly, her fingers intertwining with his that are spread across her stomach.

“Sleep first,” she all but demands. “Then we can talk, over breakfast.”

Richter smiles against her skin, she had know idea how excited he was to be back able to make promises of conversation and meals together.

He would never let himself be to too tied up to do so regularly again.

The End…

Thanks so much for reading y’all! I hope you liked it!

Evie 🤟🏾

#Safety Net #richette #Richter x Annette #richette smut #richette fanfic #smut #alternate universe fic #alternate universe #modern fic #evie’s stories #my writing #netflix castlevania #castlevania fanfiction #castlevania nocturne #richter belmont #annette #annette castlevania #castlevania

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