#having the intense need to focus on anything other than work/real life at this moment in time!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[marleysfinest]

can I have ur spicy opinions on things again

[winterarmyy]

Against All Odds | Part III

An arranged marriage with the duke's illegitimate son!bucky.

Navigation: Part I | Part II | Part III (end)

Words: 5k++

Pairing: duke's illegitimate son!bucky x noble!female!reader

Warnings: 18+ contents, no minors allowed, nsfw, gore, blood, violence, short yet emotional smut, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, overall low intensity angst with a bittersweet ending.

A/N: i want to thank all of you for taking some of your precious time to read my fic, i really appreciate it! this is the last installment of the main series, i hope you enjoy your time.

Read my other works here: Masterlist

Standing at the altar, Bucky’s heart pounded loudly; excitement and sorrow interlaced within his being. The weight of Y/N’s death still haunted him; every time he closed his eyes, those horrifying images conquered his mind.

But today, this very moment, he had been given another chance. The conflict within him was fierce; he was determined to protect her this time, to keep them safe no matter the cost. His mind raced with plans and contingencies, but all his thoughts were interrupted when the church doors opened.

As the crowd rose to their feet, for a moment, everything else ceased to exist. Y/N walked toward him, each step amplifying the intense storm swirling inside him. She was more beautiful than he remembered, more radiant than he ever thought possible. In the past, he had been unfamiliar with the nuances of his emotions, but now, with his heart fully opened, he was consumed by an all-encompassing love.

The urge to rush to her, to pull her into his arms and never let go, was almost unbearable, but he forced himself to remain composed, to hold onto the control he needed.

As she walked down the aisle, he felt like his chest was on fire; it was almost overwhelming. Memories of their past life together flashed before his eyes, a painful reminder of what he had lost and what he was determined to save. 

And as Bucky lifted her veil, he couldn’t focus on anything else; the sight of her, so radiant and beautiful, so close, so real.The delicate fabric framed her face, accentuating the soft curve of her cheeks, the gentle arch of her brows, and the deep, soulful eyes that had captivated him from the moment they met. 

When her eyes met his, he saw something unexpected in their depths; an innocence and trust that made his heart ache. He felt an overwhelming sense of responsibility to protect this woman, not just from the dangers of what lies ahead in their future but also beyond this earth; heaven or hell, it does not matter.

Bucky gently placed a hand on her waist, feeling the warmth of her body through the pristine fabric of her dress. His other hand cupped her cheek, the touch both tender and deliberate. The sight of her up close, the feel of her under his touch, was both too much and not enough. 

He leaned in and his heart raced vigorously in the trepidation of the chance that he might lose her again. But when his lips met hers, he was completely engulfed by immense euphoria. The happiness of being able to hold her again, to share this moment of tenderness, was so much stronger than the anxiety that hounded his mind. As he pulled away, he saw her blinking slowly, her cheeks flushed and her eyes filled with confusion and awe.  

To be able to see such a sight again was a blessing; Bucky thought he had lost it forever. His chest seemingly expanded to accommodate the hope and determination filling the space within his ribcage. To ensure that this time, things would be different. He had longed for this moment, to have her in his arms again, and now that it was real, it was even more profound than he had imagined.

“I’m sorry if I startled you,” he said softly, his voice carrying the depth of his emotions. “I hope I didn’t scare you, my dear.” The reassurance in his tone was genuine, a reflection of his own relief and longing.

“I—no, you didn’t scare me,” she managed to say; her voice barely more than a whisper. His eyes softened as he adored the tint of pink on her cheeks, “Good,” he added, his gaze tender and full of warmth. “I’m glad to hear that.”

Bucky’s nightmare was a relentless torture decorated with anguish and despair. And it was always the same series of events. Him riding through the frozen landscape, the biting cold of the snow searing through his worn leather boots. The icy wind howled around him, matching the torment that gripped his heart. The landscape blurred as he navigated the bloodied halls of their home, a once serene space now stained by violence and death.

Him, stumbling into their shared bedroom, his heart pounding in his chest as he saw her; Y/N’s body, brutally maimed and lifeless. The sight of his child, still and cold, was a dagger to his soul. The room was a horrifying tableau of shattered dreams and crushed hopes. His cries of despair echoed in the empty corridors of his mind, the reality of the scene blending with his deepest fears.

His body jerked violently as he jolted awake, the sudden shift from the nightmare to the waking world leaving him disoriented and breathless. The line between a mere dream and reality was blurred, the remnants of his terror clinging to him like a shroud.

He fumbled through the darkness, his mind racing as he struggled to grasp where he was. The echoes of his terror still haunted him, a grim reminder of the fragility of their happiness.

“Bucky?” Her voice, soft and uncertain, cut through his haze of panic. He blinked rapidly, struggling to focus.

“Y/N?” His voice was a whisper, fragile and filled with a tormented confusion. Seeing her was almost like a divine intervention, a moment of disbelief at her presence. He stared at her, trying to reconcile the vibrant, alive woman before him with the haunting vision he had just escaped.

Her presence was a stark contrast to the lifeless image burned into his mind. Seeing her breathing, speaking back to him, felt like a dream that will never come true.

Not wasting any time dwelling, his body surged forward, enveloping her in a gripping yet desperate embrace. “Y/N…” he murmured, his voice trembling with the raw intensity of his emotions. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, his grief and dread pouring out in the hidden agony.

The truth of his nightmare and the burden of his misery weighed heavily on him, almost impossible to bear; at least not alone. The words he wanted to speak were trapped within him, their pressure making it hard to breathe, let alone articulate his pain.

Bucky took refuge in his wife’s arm, focusing on the feeling of her hands moving soothingly up and down his back. “I’m here,” she whispered softly. “I’m here, Bucky.” Her presence was grounding; holding him tight in a reality that felt too fragile to trust.

The night was still and intimate, and Bucky’s need for her overwhelmed him. Their connection deepened as he made love to her, each touch, each kiss a frenzied affirmation of the life they still shared; a way to anchor himself to the truth of their love amidst the chaos of his dreams.

In the opulent chamber, Bucky stood like a silent sentinel, his form partially obscured by the shadows cast from the full moon behind him. The eerie silhouette of his shadow filtering through the large, arched window. The room was a luxurious display of wealth and power, adorned with velvet drapes and golden accents.

Despite the grandeur, the atmosphere was chilling, accentuated by the presence of Bucky in his Winter Soldier attire: a black mask, heavy boots, and a sleek, tactical uniform that made him appear as if he were more machine than man.

He moved with the ghostly grace of a predator, each step intentional and calculated as he approached the enormous bed at the centre of the room. The Emperor lay sprawled beneath an elaborate canopy, his slumber seemingly undisturbed by the chaos outside his lavish walls. It was almost laughable to Bucky that such a cruel ruler, whose hands were stained with countless deaths, could rest so easily, untouched by the spectres of guilt that should have plagued him.

Bucky’s gaze was unfeeling as he surveyed the sleeping figure. The Emperor's peaceful expression was a dichotomy to the turmoil that simmered beneath Bucky’s cold exterior. His presence, unmoving and imposing, made the room feel colder, his eyes devoid of warmth or emotion.With the steely void in his mind, his purpose clear as he stalked closer, each step making the heavy boots sound like distant thunder.

The Emperor stirred, his eyes fluttering open to the sight of Bucky standing at the foot of the bed. For a moment, there was confusion in the Emperor’s eyes, quickly replaced by a smirk. "I don't remember calling for you, soldier," he said, his tone half-joking, half-curious.

This was not the first visit at such ungodly hours for Bucky. Often the Emperor would call upon him to send him out on clandestine missions or covert operations.

Bucky’s unresponsive silence made the Emperor uneasy, a subtle crack in his facade of control. As Bucky’s form loomed closer, his eyes glinted with an icy determination that cut through the darkness like a blade. The realisation of the danger crept into his expression as Bucky reached the side of the bed.

Before the Emperor managed to call out for help, Bucky’s metal hand shot out, encircling the Emperor's throat with a grip of iron. His eyes widened in shock, "What is the meaning of this?" he croaked, his voice strained as he struggled against the unyielding grip.

Bucky’s voice was a low, menacing growl. "Why did you kill them?" he demanded. The Emperor’s face twisted into a mask of genuine confusion. “I don’t understand. What are you talking about?” he said, his voice strained with bewilderment.

Eyes burning with an intensity that spoke of old wounds and unending fury, Bucky was in a trance-like state. His mind focused on the Emperor as the embodiment of the callousness that had devastated his life. To him, it mattered so little whether this version of the Emperor had committed the heinous acts or not. The knowledge that past him had once inflicted such horrors was enough to ignite Bucky’s rage.

“My wife,” Bucky growled, his voice cutting through the Emperor’s confusion with chilling clarity. The Emperor’s eyes widened further, a flicker of fear beginning to replace his initial disbelief. “Why did you kill her?,” Bucky continued, his tone carrying the heaviness of an unspoken pain.

The Emperor’s expression remained in a genuine concern, though it did little to mask his growing foreboding. “I never ordered anyone to lay hands on her,” he insisted, his voice cracking with a hint of desperation. “I would have remembered something like that.”

Bucky’s gaze remained unwavering, his anger as fiery as ever. The Emperor’s words, though spoken with a semblance of sincerity, only fueled Bucky’s fury. It wasn’t merely about this specific Emperor’s actions; it didn’t even matter if he had not done the deed yet.

It was about the realisation that such brutality happened once before. Much more atrocious to know that it had been sanctioned by someone in a position of power. The sense of betrayal ran deep, rooted in the knowledge that the cruelty was a part of a larger, systemic evil that had haunted Bucky’s past.

As the Emperor tried to reason with him, his terror and desperation were transparent. "I would never harm your wife," he protested weakly, his voice trembling with an echo of dismay. Bucky’s mind flashed with ghastly memories; the cold snow he rode through, the bloodied halls leading to their shared bedroom, the image of Y/N’s body maimed, his child lifeless. The horrific images fueled his rage.

"Oh, but you will." Bucky hissed, his anger boiling beneath the surface. His free hand drew a blade, the steel glinting with deadly intent. The Emperor's eyes were wide with horror; his pleas of defence were simply a string of meaningless words lost in the wind as Bucky’s resolve hardened.

With a swift, adept motion, the blade struck through the man’s throat. The Emperor gurgled; blood bubbling from the wound as his eyes widened in shock. Bucky’s face remained impassive, his cold eyes reflecting no mercy. He plunged the blade deeper, the Emperor’s feeble attempts to grasp Bucky’s arm proving futile. 

Unfortunately for him, the first strike was not enough to quench the rage that burned within Bucky. He pulled the blade out and struck again. Again and again, the knife met its target, each jab driven by the anguish of countless painful memories. The bed beneath them soaked with the colour of crimson, the luxurious chamber now marred by the blood of its cruel occupant. The room filled with the grotesque sound of a life being extinguished, a gruesome symphony that echoed Bucky’s inner anarchy.

Bucky stood over the fallen ruler, his breath coming in harsh, ragged gasps. As the adrenaline faded, Bucky’s vision suddenly began to blur, the edges of the room dimming into darkness. The world seemed to contract into a tunnel of darkness until a voice cut through the haze. “You really have to be that… brutal?” The voice was calm, yet filled with an air of reproach.

With his sight suddenly altered, Bucky turned towards the sound; the silhouette was unclear in his clouded vision, however he recognized the voice. “Steve,” he called out, his voice a low rasp.

Steve, the crown prince, stood in the doorway, his expression was weaving traces of concern and resignation. He took a step forward, the dim light catching the determination etched in his features. Tomorrow, he would be the new emperor, a role thrust upon him by necessity and circumstance.

Although Steve was one of the emperor’s blood; his only living male heir. His mother was not the empress but one of the many wives the emperor had taken. In the emperor's eyes, this made Steve unworthy of the crown, despite his lineage. This disdain had placed Steve in a precarious position, viewed as a threat rather than a successor.

In the past, Bucky and Wanda had seen Steve meet a tragic end, assassinated by the devout followers of the Emperor who refused to relinquish power. This time, Bucky and Wanda had approached Steve with a plan to overthrow the throne.

While withholding the truth of their origins, they convinced him to claim the crown for his own, knowing the kingdom already favoured him. The real challenge lay with the noble families, whose support was crucial. Over the past few months, Steve had skillfully manoeuvred through the intricate web of politics, winning their allegiance.

Meanwhile, Wanda had been executing a 'clean-up' operation at the magic tower, ensuring no loyalists of the emperor remained. By the time Bucky entered the emperor’s chambers, all potential threats had been neutralised. Soon, the kingdom would surely hear news of the youngest female master of the tower reigning in power.

“Hey, Buck. You okay?” he asked, his voice gentle but firm. Steve noticed the way Bucky’s eyes seemed to glaze over, staring into nothingness. Concern etched into his features, he took a step closer. Bucky blinked a couple of times, trying to clear his vision, but the blurriness persisted, leaving him disoriented.

As Bucky’s vision began to clear, he saw Steve’s concerned blue eyes staring back at him. “Yeah, just…” Bucky shoved his hand into his pocket, retrieving the teleportation stone given to him by Wanda prior to the mission. His gaze fixed on the shimmering stone, the weight of his debt to the ancient magic pressed heavily on his mind; knowing the time to pay for it was drawing near. “…just missing my wife.”

Steve watched, a silent understanding passing between them. Bucky crushed the stone in his hand, the stone's magic activated with a flash of deep red light, enveloping Bucky in its embrace, swallowing him into the abyss and back to his home, to Y/N.

Moments later, the warmth and chaos of the Emperor’s chambers vanished as the cold night air hit him as Bucky found himself on the balcony of his home. Through the transparent glass, he could see his room bathed in a faint light. Inside, Y/N was reading by the soft glow of a night lamp. The sudden swoosh of Bucky’s arrival drew her attention, and she lifted her gaze from the book to the source of the sound. Her eyes widened as she saw the dark silhouette standing on the balcony.

"Hello?" she called out softly, her voice quivering with fear. She set her book aside and stood up, her silk nightdress flowing around her like a whisper of moonlight. She walked to the balcony door, the rhythm of her heart quickened as anxiety creeped in. 

As the door opened, the cold wind tickled a shivering goosebumps on her skin. She looked up at the man, her eyes widening in surprise and anxiousness. Bucky, on the other hand, remained still; his mask and dark attire made him look as if he were a ghost from her nightmares. His eyes, however, were unmistakable. The familiar blue gaze met hers, and she recognized him instantly.

Y/N’s initial fear melted away as she stepped closer towards him, "Why are you out here in the cold, love?" she asked gently, standing only inches from his foreboding self. The distinction between them was hardly difficult to spot: her soft, fragile appearance in her silk nightdress against his imposing, almost monstrous form in his combat gear.

Bucky stayed silent, his eyes trained on her as if trying to memorise every feature, every delicate line of her face. She reached up, her fingers slightly trembling to the cold, gently removing his mask. The emotionless facade that he put up crumbled almost instantly, his eyes softened as she smiled up to him. Her hand reached up to cup his cheek, feeling the roughness of his stubble, "Come inside," she urged softly. "You're freezing."

He didn’t argue as he allowed himself to be led into the warmth of their room. Y/N’s hands moved with gentle resolution. As they reached the side of their bed, she began undressing him from his harsh, restrictive attire down to his shorts and sat him on the mattress behind him. She traced the scars on his body, each one a testament to the battles he had fought, and her fingers made their way up to his stubbled jaw, cupping his cheek tenderly.

"Bucky… you look so troubled." She noticed. "What's wrong, my love?" her voice filled with concern. She came to his side, sitting close as she spoke softly, “Tell me,” her eyes searched within his, “...please?” 

Bucky took a deep breath, his heart heavy with the burden of the truth he was about to reveal. "Y/N," he began, his voice slow, as if he was afraid, "This... this isn't our first time living through this. Our marriage, our life together, it was supposed to be different.”

Everything that had been haunting him for the past months spilled out for Y/N to consume. He spoke of the first time he stood at the altar, the way he was clumsy and rough the first time he touched her, their awkward moments, and the ups and downs that became the foundation of their budding romance.

He told her about her pregnancy, the joy he felt from it, how she glowed with happiness, and the dreams they had for their child. He recounted his request for retirement, wanting to leave his life as a weapon behind to be with his family, to protect and cherish them.

But then he spoke of the horror that shattered his world. How he found her dead with their child, both victims of the Emperor’s cruelty. He described the devastation, the unbearable pain, and the crushing sense of failure. He had lost them both, and his heart had been torn apart. "I lost you once before. You and our child," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

Bucky continued, his words pouring out in a rush. He spoke of Wanda, how she had given him a chance to come back, to change things, to save her, to save them. He told her about the sacrifices, the battles fought in the shadows, and the relentless drive to protect her and their unborn child. He described the nightmares that haunted him, the fear of failing again, and the desperate hope that this time, things would be different.

Yet, as he bared his entire soul to her, Bucky kept one critical detail shrouded in silence. He did not mention the true cost of altering time, the personal price he had to pay for this chance at redemption. The burden of that price, the debt to ancient magic that had exacted a toll on him, remained untold, a hidden weight that he bore alone. At least for now.

Y/N was silent, her mind racing to comprehend the enormity of his confession. It sounded impossible, yet there was a sincerity in Bucky's voice, a pain that was all too real. She thought back to the subtle hints in his behaviour, the way he seemed to know her so intimately, as if he had known her for a lifetime. She remembered the moments when he would finish her sentences, anticipate her needs before she even voiced them, and the way he looked at her with such profound love and fear, as if he was afraid she would disappear.

Tears welled up in Bucky’s eyes as he reached for her hand, holding it tightly. “It’s true, Y/N. Every word. I’ve lived through this nightmare, and I couldn’t bear to lose you again.” However, Y/N’s silence scared him. He felt his heart pounding in his chest, terrified that she would reject his story, reject him. Bucky's tears fell freely now, landing on her skin like tiny droplets of despair. "Say something, please," he begged, his voice choking with emotion.

Y/N’s mind and heart were in turmoil, but something deep within her, something in her soul, told her to put her faith in him. Just like that, she believed him. Her heart ached at the thought of the pain he must have endured. She cupped his face in her hands, her eyes searching in his ocean blues. “I’m so sorry for leaving you so soon, love,” she said softly, not knowing why her voice broke..

Bucky’s reaction was immediate. His eyes widened with relief, his tears flowing even more; raw and unfiltered. He pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly as if afraid she would vanish. “Y/N” he whispered against her hair, his voice was a sound of agony and respite. 

Y/N’s own tears fell as she held him close. She didn’t fully understand the mechanics of time or the magic that had brought him back, but she knew one thing: she loved this man with all her heart, and she would do anything to ease his pain. 

“Thank you for saving me.” she echoed, her voice soft but firm.

Their tears of sorrow began to shift into a more tender, fervent connection as their need for each other deepened. Bucky’s lips found Y/N’s in a searing, passionate kiss. Their tears mingled and cascaded down their cheeks as they lost themselves in the embrace. Each touch, each kiss, was imbued with an urgency to reaffirm their bond and erase the pain that had haunted him.

Every piece of clothes were thrown aside; discarded in their frantic desire to be closer. Bucky’s touch grew more intimate; hands moved to pin Y/N's hands above her head, pressing her wrists gently but firmly into the bed. His eyes, dark with desire and love, bore into hers.

“Let me see you, my dear. Please, let me see all of you,” Bucky whispered, his voice trembling with emotion as he removed his hands from her wrists, roaming over Y/N’s body. His touch is a mix of reverence and desperation. He explored the curve of her waist, the gentle slope of her hips, and the soft, supple skin that felt like a lifeline to him. 

He trailed his lips down Y/N’s neck, savouring the softness of her skin, leaving a trail of heated kisses. His breath warmed her as he explored her collarbone, the hollow of her throat, and lower, where his lips brushed against the delicate curve of her breasts. Each kiss was a worshipful caress, a testament to his adoration and need for her.

A simple nudge of his hips and Bucky sinks in, breathes caught in the air when he starts to move; “You feel so good, so tight around me.” His thrusts were slow, sensual yet deliciously deep. “I love you so much,” his declaration spread warmth all over heart, filling up every space possible; much like his huge, throbbing cock to her cunt. So full, so good. While he rocked his hips, Bucky’s lips trailed delicately on her cheek, “My dearest” he murmured watching the tears fall from the corner of her eyes, “My everything”. 

Y/N, feeling the intensity of his love and the raw need in his embrace, responded with equal fervour. Her hands ardently moved over his broad shoulders and down his back, feeling the contours of his muscles tense and relax under her touch. She could sense the urgency in his movements, the way he clung to her as if she were his salvation.

Bucky’s calloused fingers slipped downwards, reaching to where their bodies were most connected. He found a grounding pleasure as he swirled soft circles on her sensitive clit; rubbing it the way he knew she loved. Y/N leaned into his touch, her body responding to his every movement. Her breaths came in short, heated whimpers as Bucky’s hands continued their exploration, his fingers grazing over her sensitive skin with a mix of tenderness and hunger.

Creating a slight distance between them, Bucky leaned back and revelled in the sight of her; what a view she was.

Her hair was messy in the most beautiful way, cascading around her face like a halo. Her hands gripped the sheets behind her, knuckles white, grounding herself in the intensity of the moment. Her body arched gracefully, a perfect curve that pushed her hips toward his in a silent plea for more. His fingers; now wet with her slick, continued to rub tight circles on the sensitive bundle of nerves.

“There she is. So pretty for me, so fucking gorgeous,” Bucky murmured lowly, his voice filled with desire and awe.

“Bucky, please,” she whispered, her voice a plea, her legs around his waist tugging him closer.

Bucky found her shy desperation was seductive yet so innocently pure. “God, how am I so fucking lucky?” Bucky’s breath shuddered as he felt the way her pussy clenched in protest of his delay; his voice heavy with emotion as he moved against her, his eyes locked onto hers. The raw need in her voice, the way her body responded to his touch, made his heart swell with unrestrained desire.

The metal of his left hand found their way to her hips, guiding her with a gentle yet insistent touch as his fleshed finger worked on her clit. Despite the hard and hasten pace of his thrusts, their movements were synchronised, each grind was a need to chase that height of ecstasy. 

The room was filled with their whispered breaths, their shared moans of pleasure, and the undeniable proof of their love. Their connection transcended the physical, reaching into the depths of their souls, reaffirming the bond that had defied time and fate. 

“I love you so much, Y/N,” Bucky whispered, his voice raw and filled with affection as he held her close, their hearts beating in perfect harmony.

“I love you, too, Bucky.” she replied, her voice trembling with the intensity of her feelings.

As they reached the peak of their high, their cries of passion were mingled with their whispered promises of devotion. Every touch was a declaration, every kiss a vow to never be separated again, and every warmth filling inside her was a possible gift of a future they looked forward to.

Afterward, they lay entwined, their breaths slowly returning to normal, the room filled with a quiet sense of contentment and amour. Compared to prior, this time, their touch was gentle, almost innocent compared to the fervent passion earlier. They held each other, caressing skin, savouring the quiet moments of closeness. Bucky felt at ease, a sense of peace washing over him that he hadn’t felt in what seemed like lifetimes.

Bucky’s perspective was filled with the sight of Y/N. He drank in every detail, from the curve of her lips to the softness of her cheeks, to the way her eyes sparkled even in the dim light. Her skin was a beautiful contrast to his own, delicate and smooth; pure and untainted. He traced his fingers lightly over her features, committing them to memory with a sense of awe and gratitude.

She yawned as fatigue creeped in, snuggling closer, tighter. Bucky brushed a stray lock of hair from her face. “You should sleep, sweetheart.” he whispered softly. Y/N smiled, her eyes already half-closed. “See you in the morning?” she murmured, her voice laced with drowsiness.

At that moment, Bucky’s vision began to blur again; worse than before. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear it, but the edges of his sight remained dark and unfocused. He felt a pang of fear but pushed it aside. The time had come, he realised. He kissed her forehead gently, revelling in the feel of her skin against his lips. “See you in the morning, my dear,” he replied, his voice steady despite the growing darkness in his vision.

He smiled down at her as she snuggled, his heart filled with joy and serenity. Bucky held onto her tightly, cherishing the moment, knowing that no matter what happened, their love had conquered time itself. He marvelled at the fact that against all odds, he had saved the woman he loved, and nothing could take that triumph away from him. In the end, even with his eyes still wide open, he let the encroaching blackness take over, surrendering to the inevitable with a heart full of love and a soul finally at peace.

End.

Read my other works here: Masterlist

A/N: we have reached the end of the journey, i am sorry if you feel like the story is a bit rushed; i am not capable to commit more than 3 chapters, otherwise this will ended up being in a hiatus. i, however, can consider writing oneshots for this au somewhere in the future. meanwhile, leaving your comments behind would definitely make me happy!

[mindofharry]

Can’t catch me now | hunger games!harry

The nation of Panem is divided into 12 districts. Each year, two representatives from every district are chosen at random to compete in The Hunger Games. This so called game is the most brutal thing you will ever do, and only one person comes out alive. You are told to play the game and that means doing the most unthinkable things to win.

In district 1, Harry Styles is the most desired man at the moment. With his muscles and long hair, nobody knows if they want to be him or fuck him.

In district 12, Y/N L/N is the underdog. She liked that. Her kindness is her greatest gift and she’ll never let go of that.

Y/N is open with her other districts. She’s a nurturing nature when they were all training, especially for the younger kids. Harry thought she was naive and weak. He didn’t like how pure she was. He couldn’t find anything wrong with her and he couldn’t understand why. Shes from district 12, she should be mad. But she’s not. She’s smiling and giggling, and twirling around like she’s not about to enter a blood bath.

“There’s something wrong with her,” Tori murmured, picking up a gun and looking over its parts. Harry shook his head.

“Definitely. At least we know who’ll go out first,” Harry said, making Tori laugh.

Y/N smiled to herself as she overheard the two. Good. She liked that. They don’t see her as a threat.

She has a plan and if everything goes well, she’ll be the next victor of the hunger games.

After two weeks of intense training, media work and having the best meals of her life — Y/N was ready to enter the game. She felt prepared, well however prepared you could be in this game. Her mentors gave her valuable information and she hopes she’ll do them proud.

“Remember, straight for the trees. The cornucopia is no use to you as of right now, ok?” Her mentor, Lila, advised. Y/N nodded and bit her trembling lip. Her eyes filled up with water and Lila tutted.

“Save the tears for the cameras. They’re always watching. Remember who the real enemy is, Y/N,” Lila whispered, pulling her into a tight hug.

“I hope I do you proud,”

Lila smiled, “You already have,”

The speaker called out ten seconds. She had to get in her pod.

“See you on the bright side,” Y/N grinned, getting into her pod. The door closed straight away and her heart pounded, sweat pouring down her face.

“Use your gifts, Y/N,” She whispered.

Suddenly, it all felt real. There they all stood on the podiums, waiting for the canon to go off. Y/N’s hands shook as she waited for what felt like an eternity. She swallowed and let out a breath.

And then, it happened. The games began.

She ran so fast to the forest, she thought she was flying. She quickly hid behind a bush as people started filing in behind her.

“You know who I want to kill? That little snow white girl. Y/N,” Tori said, cutting branches away with her knife as they walked through the forest. Y/N swallowed and tried to stay as still as possible.

“You’ll get her. We just need to focus on shelter right now,” Harry reasoned, the other allies in his group agreeing.

The retreated into the forest and Y/N was in the clear.

“Assholes,” She murmured, wiping down her trousers. A beeping noise came from the trees. A gift. Y/N grinned. She opened it up quickly, finding a knife.

kindness is the greatest weapon of all — but here’s a little help ~ Lila.

Y/N giggled and put the knife in her pocket. She was going to be just fine.

A few days passed and Y/N had only killed two people. People she had tried to help. But she had no choice. Now she had a bow and few arrows, so she could properly hunt. She used this in her district to help out her mother, so she was pretty handy with it. After shooting a rabbit, she went back to her camp to cook it. Only to fine Harry and Tori sitting down on a log, smirking at her.

“Well, Well, Well,” Tori taunted, walking up to Y/N.

“You lasted longer than I thought you would, I’ll give you that,” Tori said, Y/N cleared her throat.

“Thanks?”

Tori hit the back of her knee, Y/N fell to the ground. She clutched her bow quickly, and shot at Tori. The arrow shot into her stomach and her face went white.

Harry yelled and ran towards Y/N.

A click stopped him.

His foot was engulfed in a bear trap. His other allies walked out of the woods with a laugh.

“It was meant for her, but if the shoe fits,” Alex, a boy from district two laughed. Harry’s face morphed from pain to anger.

“What do you mean? Get me the fuck out of here!” Harry yelled, his voice hoarse. Y/N looked between the two and noticed the guys gun at the ready. They were going to kill Harry and then Y/N.

Not on her watch.

“Oh, for fuck sake,” Y/N groaned, pulling her arrow and shooting straight for Alex’s head. He dropped immediately. Gun shots rang out, aiming at Y/N. She ducked and shot another arrow.

She didn’t miss one.

All three of them were dead and Y/N quickly ran over to Harry.

“Why are you helping me? I was going to kill you,”

Y/N shrugged, “Kindness is the best weapon,”

[stwrkeys]

the obsession with you had only grown increasingly every time you turned his advances down. the beautiful bartender at the country club who clearly had no interest in him had rafe cameron craving her more than any drug. he’d come to the country club and drink way more often, if that was even possible. just to see you. just to see you in that tight polo shirt and miniskirt. you had him whipped, and he was going to do whatever it took him to make you his. rafe had already tried countless times, you insisting you weren’t available for a relationship, bullshit about needing to focus on school and yourself or something. he didn’t care. he knew he’d be worth your while. truth was, you liked rafe. he wasn’t like other guys you had met. there was something about him and the way he carried himself that made you want him. he had this sort of mysterious, almost eerie ambience to him. but he was also confident and charming. ever since you had gotten a job at the country club at the beginning of summer, you had seen him there almost every day, strutting up to his usual seat on the bar to strike up a conversation with you. he’d always start off by complimenting you, telling you how beautiful your eyes looked, or how he loved those new earrings you chose to wear. it was a late evening at the bar when rafe came in after being MIA all day, bouquet of flowers in hand and hair messy, wearing a fitted white button up top and black slacks. he looked good. he didn’t care how desperate he looked. he needed to have you in his life. he desired you more than anything else. he stepped up to the bar and sat down with a cocky grin on his face. you were cleaning up as your shift was almost over. “let me take you out tonight, baby. i’ll take you to a nice restaurant, we can go for a drive, then i can take you home with me and we can finish the night off good, huh? come on, gimme a chance,” he pleaded. “rafe.” when you thought about it, there was no real reason to say no to rafe. you didn’t have classes the next day. plus, the kook king wanted to spoil you. why not let him? “rafe, im in my work clothes.” the cocky smirk on his face grew wider. “no worries, sweetheart. we can stop by your place.” you couldn’t believe you had actually agreed to a night out with rafe cameron. after your shift, he took you home and waited for you to get ready, the smile never leaving his face. that night he followed through with all of his promises. it was one of the best days of your life and it only led up to more. after that night, you and rafe began to see each other a lot more. you quickly found yourself reciprocating his intense feelings as you got closer to the boy. once he knew you were all in like he was, he practically claimed you as his. you never spent a moment alone. he took you everywhere, his touch was on you almost always. whether it was him holding your hand across the bar as he watched you work, or an arm around your neck, he always had to be touching you. because you were his girl. oh and the way he would mark. you. up. he just had to leave his mark on you. had to show everyone that you’re his and only his. plastered your whole neck, chin, and cleavage area with dark spots because he had to make sure that any guys who came to the bar and tried to hit on you knew that you belonged to him. he loved how you were his. how no one else could ever love you like he did. how no one else could ever make you feel like he did.

[jacevelaryonswife]

After Dark | Part Two

As the week went by, an important achievement fell on Sihtric and tormented him completely: you didn't get out of his head.

pairing: sihtric kjartansson x stripper!fem reader | small appearance of finan

warnings: plot? no honey, porn! tiddy sucking, p in vagina sex, fingering, sligh dom!sihtric x slight dom!reader (yeah dude). English is not my first language. 4k of words

after dark masterlist

As the week went by, an important achievement fell on Sihtric and tormented him completely: you didn't get out of his head. It was ridiculous, totally, why would he think of a girl like you?

He was a man with physical needs, of course, but besides being a stripper it was not as if you were the only hot lady in the city (unfortunately the only one who gave him beer in the mouth wearing lingerie), and yet you haunted him in the most erotic way possible since the night of Osferth's birthday.

That was a shot in his ego, obviously. A shot? No, it was a real massacre against his pride. You see, he was not ashamed of your profession or of being attracted to you but with the idea of paying to have sex with a lady. He didn't need it, he never needed it, and he intended to keep not needing it — even after the conversation with Finan that night while they were waiting for the birthday boy.

"I'm not against strippers or anything like that, I just don't like the idea of paying to have sex," he said.

“Ya don't have to pay to sleep with someone, just in case you choose a lady of the night because - don’t tell me, it's her job to charge for sex,” his friend said bluntly.

"I know, but it's not real you know? I don't want to see a girl pretend to fake like in bad porn," the Dane replied low when he saw the waitress approach with another ale.

"Aye, she will only pretend if you don't treat her properly," Finan commented in a tone of obviousness. "You're overthinking about it, see Osferth, he was almost a monk and is being devoured at this moment by a ferocious fox."

And the same ferocious fox was being devoured in his thoughts at that very moment. He wanted nothing more to devastate the fuck out of you.

And that's what Sihtric intended to do by dismissing his mates at the typical pub and going to meet you. Things from work, he justified, driving to the club while continuing to fight the battle against his pride, asking what he tought being some employee if there would be a performance of the dancer whose artistic name — recently discovered by him — was Aura. The confirmation cheered him up to the same intensity that created a small focus of nervousness beneath the stoic and well-constructed feature of his face. Would you remember him?

No, of course not. How many men did you see in one night? How many passed by your bed? He was just another forgettable idiot who paid your bills.

It was informed that that night you would only be on a private stage (damn premium girl), which would make him pay obligatorily for dance and sex — something he obviously wouldn't do. Even though he received enough money to have a comfortable life, he knew that you were not a cheap girl and it was more than absurd for him the double payment. That's why he preferred to ask when you would be available on the other stages again.

Sunday on the main stage, they informed, and he waited restlessly for another day.

A great deal of shame warmed his body as he passed through the door of the club until the moment of sleep. What the hell was he doing? Waiting so long to have an uncertain moment with a girl who could reject him for a larger amount? That you would certainly do that. Where did his pride come from?

He was sure you had bewitched him. Damn Aura.

The rest of Friday night, the whole day of Saturday and the day and afternoon of Sunday were passed in great doubt as to how it should proceed, with rational peaks of not going to the club that night. But then, there he was in the same place last time waiting for the main show to start. (He wasn't proud of it).

Scarlet lights illuminated the center of the stage and you appeared covered with a red overcoat and gloves this time, hair stuck and walking in the direction of the central poledance right from the start. Your gaze ran along the audience from the left end to the right, quickly landing on it with a subtle smirk before the music started.

Standing there with your red coat on

French perfume looking vulnerable

Black widow girl you sit and wait

Till I climb into the web you made

Your performance was different this time, with so many layers covering your body that it limited your movements to the most simple. Until the glove was removed from one hand and a red smoke spread across the stage, with you distancing yourself a little from the poledance and throwing the piece in the direction of the audience anxious for your nudity.

I'm an animal, you got me losing control

The first button on the overcoat has been opened.

You got me losing control

The second came next, revealing some of the crimson lacy bra.

You got me losing control

The third exposed your skin even more, but not enough.

It's not right

Your hair was dramatically revealed to the audience and your head turned in the momentum of the music, taking on poledance with precise and sensual acrobatic movements that impressed him considerably.

I can't take it no more girl

I can't take this abuse

Every time that you walk in the room girl

I'm hypnotized by the way that you move

It's the way that you move

You were upside down with your thighs attaching your body to the structure, undoing the other glove and throwing it again towards the audience, who howl like hungry wolves. In the mismatched eyes of Sihtric your performance was more provocative and impersonal than the previous one, so far, creating a certain discomfort in him, placing him beyond what he had fantasized. That was your job and his sexual desire, nothing more than the basics.

Your position exposed the provocative garter that connected the bottom of the lingerie with the transparent stockings that made up your look, making you even more sensual and domineering especially when maneuvering the vertical bar so well and standing up effortlessly, facing the audience with while playing with the fourth big button of the piece that covered a part of your body.

You looked at the men who made up the audience, a great mix between businessmen, apparently normal men and visibly failed men. Your choice was obvious and rational as you approached a cunt who was proud of the Ralph Lauren suit and the shiny Rolex on his wrist. No word was said by you when collecting the roll of money and releasing the penultimate button with a satisfied smirk, putting the notes inside your bra.

You call me out at your beck and call

Set me up just to watch me fall

Twist and turn bend and sway

I move in then you push away

Sihtric held his breath for some seconds when your gaze found his, maintaining the connection by slowly approaching him like last time. But he was not Osferth, his cheeks did not turn red when you bent down to face him directly, nor when you signaled with the index finger so that he approached to the point that your sentence was audible only to him.

"Did you come back to see me, dear? That made me very happy. I hope you want to follow in the footsteps of your sweet friend too,” your voice was soft as velvet in his ear, not expecting an answer when you got up and continued to face him. "Unbutton the last one, sweetie."

His heart missed a beat when he was remembered by you. Damn it, he felt pathetic for his inner reaction but mirrored his fierce look, without the twinge of fun. Sihtric liked boldness and insubordination in his women and that made him truly truly fucking aroused, he wanted to fuck the shit out of you and wanted to see you fuck him like a real lady of the night.

“Good boy,” your superb smile sent a gust of heat to his cock and he hated how easily he was affected as a teenager at puberty.

I'm an animal you got me losing control

You got me losing control, you got me losing control

It's not right

No, it wasn't certain at all.

Now, without the thick layer that hid your soft curves from the hungry pack you moved more easily in poledance, curling up acrobatically like a cat in a tree. Sihtric got drunk with his sample body and rubbed his palms on the side of his pants to soften the tingling that took them, enjoying his performative and sensual show.

I can't take it no more girl

I can't take this abuse

Every time that you walk in the room girl

I'm hypnotized by the way that you move

It's the way that you move

Upside down again, you looked at him a few times as you moved your arms, crossed your thighs technically against the metal bar and changed position, always subtle and discreetly, but not for him.

I can't take it no more girl

I can't take this abuse

Every time that you walk in the room the room, I'm Hypnotized by the way that you move

It’s the way that you move

Yes, he was fucking hypnotized, so absorbed that he didn't hear the desperate appeals of the men asking to see more of your body. Idiots. All of them, idiots. You would be his lady that night.

I can't tell you the future, I may promise the moon.

Cause every time that you walk in the room girl, I'm hypnotized by the way that you move.

It's the way that you move

What happened when you withdrew from the stage was very fast, Sihtric got up at the same time as the previous idiot and followed the same dark corridor that Finan had gone. The security guards who were willing along the way went unnoticed by the determined focus of the Dane in his fervent steps, contrasting with the calm (excess of security) of the other man who also went looking for him. He waited to go to some administrative or security employee to get to you, not to your own person who arrived at the door of one of the rooms.

“Aura! Aura,” he practically screamed in your direction, watching you turn to face him with a satisfied smirk.

“Good to see you, big boy, I figured you were coming,” you purred as you faced him. "Would you like to come in so we can negotiate?"

Before his confirmation, the other man was opposed to what was being suggested. “Common babe, you won't waste time with anyone having a gold mine right here in front of you."

Fortunately your answer was satisfactory enough that Sihtric did not hold that cunt by the lapel of his ridiculous suit and crush him against the wall. The guy was nothing close to him physically speaking, but the weight of the wallet certainly made him believe that he could have anything he wanted, including you.

"I like to draw my own conclusions, sweetie, especially with those who arrive first." That's all you said as you held Sihtric's hand and guided him inside the room under the asshole's protests. He was probably right to call himself a gold mine and the Dane knew that. That worried him like hell. "Don't call him, guys like him are in droves out there with full wallets and bad sex. It's not my type."

"And what's your type?" He asked emotionlessly in his voice, seeing a malicious little smile form in your features.

“Handsome men like you; good boys, bad boys who need a lesson... it's a long list,” you replied bluntly.

The previous anger felt for him dissipated considerably with your response, recalling the reason for being there in the first place, but still keeping a small fraction in case he needed it.

"What if you're the one who needs a lesson?" His tone was intense and low, entering in your little game.

"Do you think I've been a bad girl?" You purred as you leaned on it, leaning your hands on the deliciously defined chest.

“I think you need a good lesson, babe,” he circled your hips with one hand, holding firmly on to his soft skin, enjoying the warm course the situation was taking. But there was still a small problem. "But before that I need to know about the price."

"... see, I'm an expensive girl but I get very well only with the dance, which makes sex an activity done only when I want and with whom I want," your explanation was categorical, but the sensuality remained in your manners. And then you revealed how much you normally charged and Sihtric was sure that his pressure dropped for long seconds and his eyes widened more than he wanted to show. At the same time that his world overturned furiously, your explanation did not stop.

"But I can always make exceptions for guys to make me cum nice and easy, which I hope is your case, handsome, someone with such beautiful eyes could not be disappointing."

The new suggested value thawed his blood and pumped it directly to the stick. It was still high, but less atrocious than the previous one. It was promising.

"And I have restrictions on certain fetishes, so I need to know what you like to do."

Ah, he really liked to please the ladies. He liked to fuck good and strong beautiful things like you, but he also liked slow and sensual sex.

It was natural for Sihtric to take control of sex, but there were no problems when the lady took the reins of the situation. In fact, he found it extremely aroused to see a girl in a position to take what she wanted from him. Although the dane appreciated a certain versatility, he preferred dominance. And that's almost what he answered.

"So, how do you want me, darling?" You asked as you leaned all over it again, shortening the distance between your lips. “Because I have some ideas, including knowing your name,”

"Mm," he buzzed satisfied only to practically growl next: "It's Sihtric, and I also have some ideas."

"Good," you surprised him with a warm and overwhelming kiss, wrapping the back of his neck with one hand and leaning the other on his shoulder. Sihtric devoured your mouth with an even greater ferocity, circling your back and squeezing your arse and claiming your body for him and only for him.

There was no fear or shyness in the way your lips moved against each other, tasting, biting, sucking, confronting each other. He squeezed your soft flesh and brought you impossibly close during the hot make out, grunting when you pulled the sensitive hair from the back of his neck and pulling your lower lip with your teeth.

"Bad girl," he growled, pushing your body to the edge of the bed and breaking the kiss reluctantly to say, "Take off your clothes for me, slowly."

You bit your lower lip and looked at him seductively, smiling with menace and leisurely lowering the straps of the bra before leaving your breasts in full display. His hands immediately met your warm flesh, holding firmly, squeezing and massaging vigorously.

"Did you like them, babe?" You sighed when he turned both halos between his fingers.

“A lot. You're fucking gorgeous, lady."

The lower part of the set was the next to be removed, slipping between its soft thighs with ease exhausted.

Not even in the most explicit daydreams would his mind have projected anything close to your magnitude. You were completely ravishing and he wanted nothing more than to devastate you. The Dane attacked the soft skin of your neck with kisses and incisive licks that made your body soften below him, your scent touching on all his senses.

Reluctant to move away from you, his clothes were then discarded and your hands flewed to explore the defined abs marked with some scars. He was a fucking view, especially all hard with pre cum leaking from the tip of his huge cock, holding the condom in his hands.

"Damn, handsome, we're going to have a lot of fun today. But this brand sucks, let me get a better one.”

The dane's answer was a proud smirk, diving over you when pushing you in bed, not wasting time in claiming every little piece of your body with his hands, lips and tongue. First kissing your, neck, collarbone to reach your velvety breasts, turning the halo before licking them and wrapping them around your lips, sucking and bitting like a hungry man, making you moan pleasantly.

“Mmm,” you purred with a smile and caged him between your legs, rubbing your warm intimacy against his thigh.

"Do you want more, babe?” He asked close to his skin.

“Yes Sihtric, give me more!”

“Mmm,” he lowered his attention down your stomach, kissing all the way until he reached your wet heat, groping from the bundle of nerves to the wet entrance. "Fuckin' pretty," his mouth watered in the vision of your perfect body and pussy, longing more than anything to taste and fuck you with his fingers.

Before Sihtric could ask for permission to do that, you took his hand and sucked his index and middle finger, leaving your eyes more open throughout the act. "I'm glad you liked it, darling, because at that moment I need to know what these fingers can do," your velvety voice made his cock squirm and his fingers tingle to satisfy you.

He didn't think twice about inserting a finger into his soft, wet walls, moving slowly to prepare you, biting your lower lip with a soft murmur.

"Hmm," you moaned with the delicious intrusion that came along with the thumb of the other hand on your clitoris, "just like that, babe."

"Are you enjoying it, darling?" He purred with a confident smile, leaning to kiss your stomach and tits.

“A lot,” you massaged his head and brought him closer to your skin, closing your eyes in delight and moaning slyly when he wrapped his fingers. "But I just want to cum on your dick tonight."

He let out a short, nasal laugh, removing his fingers from your walls and rubbing your fluids into your nipples. "What a shame, I wanted to feel you squeezing my fingers like you were doing just now."

"You'll prefer to feel my tightness somewhere else, pretty boy, let me ride this impressive big cock," you groped his chest with your fingers and captured his lips in a short and sloppy kiss, taking control by turning it to climb on his lap.

Allowing you to pick up the condom thrown on the bed, the Dane watched with a low grunt as you laid out the material along his length, pumping a few times to provoke him before taking your position by taking him inside your warm, wet and soft prison slowly. "Damn it," you closed your eyes and stopped halfway, "I need some time to take everything, you’re so big and good."

He held your hips and leaned his feet on the bed to contribute to your movements. “Take your time little lady.” Sihtric was really struggling to let your body adapt, but the delicious tightness of your cunt left him yearning for more.

Your hips got closer and closer to his groin, moistening the entire stretch until your finally reached the base with a long sigh. Sihtric's hands smoothed the sides of your body and handled your tits with dexterity while contemplating you and your body with admiration and lust. Finally.

His weekly torment was being solved and he would do his best to prolong it.

Your initial jumps were smooth, leaning your hands on his chest to establish a constant and light rhythm that made him grunt low in contentment. Although...

Although he was appreciating how your movements intensified, it was not the way he wanted you that night, but he could deal with it for a while, especially when he started hitting his hips with your own. Fuck.

“Hmm, just like that,” you moaned and leaned over to take his lips, which gave him the chance to wrap an arm around your back and hold your body against his, holding your arse with a big hand to fuck you in that position. “Fuck, you're so damn big,” you whined with pleasure on his lips. “It feels amazing,” your head fell into the crooked of his neck.

"Let me know when it's too much, lady, I don't want to hurt you," he wandered with strong breathing before turning your body in a quick and fluid movement down, taking over the top, rubbing his groin against yours.

There was no reluctance in the rhythm he established, reflecting on the way your legs caged him and your arms brought him even closer, making him more intimate than he thought you would like. But who was he to displease with such?

“Sihtric! Keep going!” You sang sweetly, contrasting with the previous dominating attitude, melting and releasing juices on his cock. He grunted in a particularly strong grip followed by a soft tow. “More!”

He hit that spot again and again and almost growled when your nails scratched his back, beating relentlessly at a maddening pace. He was mortally proud of the idea of taking an orgasm out of you so fast that his mind led him into an inconvenient trap: what if you were pretending?

No, he couldn't accept that.

Pressing his thumb on your pearl and sucking the sweet place in the conjuncture between your neck and shoulder, Sithric kept his movements focused on getting your pleasure, taking your breath out and making your body arch violently against his with a loud moan, squeezing him in every way for dear life, leaving him almost painfully motionless throughout your high.

You were a damn sight with eyes closed and mouth between open, then staring at you with a satisfied and open smile. "Fuck… if I had known it would be like this I would have let you fuck me in the middle of the stage... in front of all those idiots," you laughed and smoothed his face, "keep going, I want you to cum for me."

If the glorious connection between your bodies leading him to madness was not enough, your dirty words made it difficult to postpone the weight on his balls with each intense and deep thrust on your velvet walls. He was on the edge of the apex when he sank his face into your neck and grunted loudly, making his folds vibrate. It was too much to deal with.

His senses failed when he came strong and hot, filling the condom and your ear with idle and guttural sounds while squeezing your hip with a force that would be felt for days. Sihtric leaned on the opposite forearm so as not to deposit all the weight on you during the climax, delighting in the newly formed sweat where your breasts and his chest were.

"Fuck," the Dane slowly withdrew from your cozy interior and removed the used condom, visually looking for some disposal point inside the room. When you signaled the nearest dumper he drove quickly before falling to your side with irregular breathing and eyes momentarily closed. He was a fucking view.

“I hope it doesn't take long to recover because I need you to fuck me again,” you said after a short moment in comfortable silence.

A quick nasal laugh was his first reaction. "Mmm, you're a needy girl, aren't you?" His mismatched eyes shone with sensuality when they found yours, "don't worry, I intend to make good use of time."

An open and satisfied smile was the preceptor of your answer. “Good. I have more ideas."

═════════════════════

— taglist: @gemini-mama @lexwolfhale @ireallydontcareanymorebrooo @tssf-imagines @chompchompluke

[vtoriacore]

✧ irresistibility, in all its forms

note: im fucking delusional but i am free !!! that fucking vil v leona poll is ruining my life and this is the outcome. this is both romantic and reads like a pwp except it isn't pwp lmao

warning: gn!reader, n$fw-ish(?) nothing explicit just some heavy makeout hehe

synopsis: when the already intense scene rehearsal turns into something else.

reblogs much appreciated, ily y'all 💓💞

"C'mon Schoenheit . . . Not one for intense make out scenes? And here I thought I've finally bewitched you," you were aware your lopsided, playful grin would only irritate him further than he already was. And by the way his eyes narrowed ever so slightly, you already knew you won.

"Don't flatter yourself dear, you're letting the ego get to your head," the blonde muttered underneath his breath, leaning in closer until your lips were nearly touching. Your grin only widened as your hands snaked around his neck slowly, index fingers moving along his throat and tracing the outline. Even from the way he shivered under your touch, you could tell he was enjoying this way more than he was letting on.

"You won't be saying that when I kiss you senseless," you brought your lips to his earlobe, before biting down gently. Vil wouldn't ever admit it, but the simple act made his heart violently thrum against his chest. It was near impossible to not fully give into you then and there.

"You're awfully cocky for someone making all the moves on me," he rasped out, pressing his body flush against yours until you felt the coldness of the wall behind you seeping into your very skin, a pleasant contrast to the warmth emitting from his flushed up form.

"Mmh? With the way you're going against me I'd say otherwise," your right hand nestled itself into his beach blonde hair, pulling the strands gently until his head tilted back to expose the skin of his neck. With no hesitance, you started to place open-mouthed kisses at his jaw until you went further down his neck, feeling his adam's apple bob at every touch.

"This better not . . . Better not leave any marks. We need to be ready for filming by tomorrow," Vil sighed out, biting his rosy bottom lip to try and conceal any noises of satisfaction threatening to leave his throat. And by the Great Seven was it hard to keep to himself in this very moment - how could he possibly have any self restraint for the real scene?

"You know, this might just be my favourite scene from the entire thing," you pulled away to gaze into his lavender eyes, finding it absurdly hot with how they tried to stray from your lips to no avail. There was simply something more to the way he found it so difficult to focus on anything other than you, and god damn did it make you feel overwhelmed.

"Of course you'd say that," with a hard swallow, Vil finally managed to breathe again, but he'd honestly prefer not to if it meant taking you up on that offer of 'kissing him senseless'. It wasn't his fault you were so effortlessly enticing, and so damn good at navigating his mouth. Could anyone blame him for wanting you all over him when you simply worked magic of your own?

"I'm delighted you know me so well. Now come even closer," you didn't bother hiding the want in your eyes, not that you needed to either way as Vil was more than happy to oblige to your request by slotting his lips against yours, no doubt smudging his deep rosy lip tint in the process. You wasted no time in biting the flesh of his bottom lip, feeling him groan in response and with the way his grip on your waist tightened, you were positively sure it was going to leave some marks from his nails - not that you minded, of course.

"Go rougher, this pace won't do," Vil briefly pulled away, cheeks flushed and eyes half lidded as he clicked his tongue lightly.

"Is that an invitation for something more?"

"Only if you want it to be," your eyes widened momentarily, caught so off guard you couldn't respond.

"Is that all it gets to render you speechless?" you knew the taunt was designed to reel you in further, and you weren't one to shy away from directly catching the bait.

"If you want this to go further, ask me for more and I'm yours," you grinned after regaining your composure, taking pleasure in the way Vil scoffed with a roll of his eyes before adjusting his hold on you, hand now travelling up the side of your clothed body.

"Tempting offer . . . All mine, you say? I suppose there's no harm indulging you this once, please, allow me to be yours as well," you both dived back into the kiss.

[whimsicallyenchantedrose]

Season 3 Rewatch Drabbles: 3x22 There's No Place Like Home (Part 3)

Summary:  A series of 100-500 word drabbles to accompany my    rewatch of season 3 of Once Upon a Time.  There will be a drabble–either a deleted scene, a “fix it” fic or a character musing for each episode of the season.  Focus will be on Emma, Henry, the Charmings and Killian–with an emphasis on Captain Swan’s epic love story.

Word Count: 826

Other Chapters: (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11) (12) (13) (14) (15) (16) (17) (18) (19) (20) (21) (22) (23) (24) (25) (26) (28)

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Notes: I knew there was no way I could stick to just one drabble an episode for the CS movie, so I didn't even try. There will be 2 drabbles for 3x21 and 4 for 3x22. They are all written, so the plan is to post one per day until they're all posted.

Now what?

Emma turned in a circle, looking around Rumplestiltskin’s vault–so tall and vast, she couldn’t see the ceiling.  So compact there was no door or window.  Had they fixed the past only to die of hunger, thirst or suffocation?

Could they ever get a break?

She turned to see Killian picking up an urn and perusing it, and her heart rate spiked. “Wait! Don’t touch anything!” she said insistently. “If Rumple’s afraid of this stuff, there’s gotta be a reason.”

He placed the item back on a shelf, and turned to her, arms wide in a placating gesture. “I’m just trying to figure a way out.”

He was always the optimist.  Unfortunately, her optimism had all but run out.  They were at the end of the line.  “I don’t think there is one, and what’s the point?  You heard what he said; he can’t reopen the portal.”

Killian stepped forward, and gave her an intense look–one filled with hope and belief.  “But you can! All he said we need is magic.  You’re the savior, Swan. You can do it.”

Her heart plummeted. He always had such complete and indefatigable faith in her, but in this instance, she knew that faith was misplaced.  Her hands were tied, and she was of no more use in this situation than was the unconscious woman Killian had gently placed on the table.

“Not anymore.  I lost it,” she said simply.

A hint of something else–desperation? Frustration? Irritation?-- crept into his eyes as he stepped forward and spoke again. “When Zelena died, all of her spells were undone. Your powers should have been restored.”

What was he implying?

“Believe me, if I could make it work, I would,” she said shortly.  “You think I’m faking it?”

For the barest of moments, he hesitated, and she knew he was debating with himself whether or not to say what was on his mind.  A look of determination came over his face, and she knew he’d made his choice.

“I think not having magic makes it a hell of a lot easier for you to run back to New York and pretend to be somebody else,” he said, stepping closer to her, “but listen to me Swan. You’re not.  It’s time to stop running.”

It wasn’t fair of her after running so insistently from him and her real life for the past couple weeks; she knew that, but she couldn’t stop the frustration from mounting. “You think I don’t know that?” she bit out. “Yes, I run away; that’s how I’ve always survived, but believe me. I want this to work. I wanna go back; I wanna stop running.”

His eyebrows rose at that.  “What’s changed your mind?”

Emma thought back to last night when they’d found her mother again and Blue had been able to restore her.  She couldn’t hold herself back.  The joy and relief had been so strong she couldn’t possibly do anything but take her mother into her arms, laughing and crying, as she held on, cupping the back of Mary Margaret’s head.

“You’re alive!” she’d nearly sobbed.

When the hug came to an end, she looked at her mother to see nothing but a look of confusion. “Thank you. It would appear so.” 

Something inside of Emma had broken.  Suddenly, in a moment of total clarity, she’d seen the truth.  

She needed her family and she loved them more than anything.  Everything else had fallen away, all the fear, all the delusion.  She decided right then and there that whatever it took, she wanted to get back to her family–her current family, the ones who knew her and loved her and would be devastated if she left.  She wanted to get back and she didn’t ever want to leave again.

She did her best to convey all of this to Killian, pouring out her thoughts and emotion.  “Neal was right,” she finished.

“About what?” he asked, voice gentle.

“You don’t have a home until you just miss it,” she answered. “And being with my parents the last few days but not really being with them, I’ve never missed them more. Storybrooke is my home.”

It was the first time she’d spoken the words aloud, but she knew with absolute certainty that they were true.  Home, the word, the concept, the fact that she was ready to embrace hers left her feeling such warmth and belonging that it was as if it were spreading through her veins, to her very fingertips.

Killian smiled down at her, and she couldn’t stop her answering smile.  “What?” she asked.

“Look down,” he answered simply.

The wand she still held in her hand was glowing a bright, vibrant white, and Emma knew Killian was right.  Her magic was back.  All she’d needed to do was embrace it, embrace her home and family and destiny.

“I’d say you got your magic back,” he continued. “Now, should we go?”

Nothing in the world sounded better.

NEXT CHAPTER->

[knickynoo]

Okay, so, I've made a handful of Family Ties posts in the past examining some of my favorite Alex and Elyse scenes, but there's one between Alex and Steven that I've always wanted to write about. It's such a good scene—so well acted and so in line with the relationship that Steven and Alex have with each other.

I haven't done a post breaking down a scene (from either FT or BTTF) in a while, and the itch to take a look at this particular scene struck me today. Will put under a read more on account of I'm sure it'll end up being kind of lengthy.

The Steven and Alex dynamic. Great, right? My favorite father and son duo in all of TV.

They're so different from each other! Opposites in many aspects. Yet, at the same time, they share a ton of similarities. When you really look at who Steven is, the things that make him tic, his quirks, etc., you realize that someone like Alex didn't come out of nowhere. See the post all about that, here.

They have a lot more in common than it appears, but one area where there's a very clear difference is the way they process and express emotions. If you know the show well, you know what I'm talking about. If you don't (because I do have several people who read my FT posts but have never seen an episode, hehehe) it basically boils down to this: Steven is super open about his emotions and expresses them in "big" ways. When he feels something, he can't hold it back, and he feels it all very intensely.

Alex, on the other hand, has a near-constant wall up that prevents his emotions from escaping. He feels deeply as well; it's just that he has no clue what to do with them most of the time and is afraid to really let himself feel them. The Keatons know this. They have an unspoken understanding that every so often, things are going to temporarily grind to a halt because Alex is spiraling and someone needs to help him sort his life out. Normal day.

One of the BEST examples of this is a flashback scene between Alex and Steven from the "Heartstrings" three-parter. A huge chunk of Alex's plot deals with him struggling to process a very serious situation surrounding the family. He's terrified but can't properly express it, so it comes out in a way that makes him seem uncaring and self-centered. The flashback is inserted there to remind us of a few things: 1. Alex does feel things 2. He needs help to get there 3. He loves his father, and Steven knows exactly what to do to help Alex in these moments

To set the scene: the flashback begins with Alex and Steven on the couch, watching TV together. They're having a great time. Steven gets a phone call and leaves the room, and when he returns, his demeanor has totally shifted. Alex asks what's wrong, and Steven tells him what happened. Steven's just found out his father has died. Right away, Alex goes straight to shoving the emotions away and trying to rationalize it all in his head. Talking and looking at it logically is his immediate coping method.

And you can see. You can see that Alex is teetering. His breathing is heavy, and his voice is shaky, but he keeps going—unable to do anything other than try to talk himself out of the emotions that are trying to take root.

"I mean, he worked hard. Did the work of two men—three men. And yet, he was with you, you know? Every step of the way, guiding you until you were ready to go out into the world and start your own family, which you did. But time, as we know, marches on—"

He is babbling. Spewing a hurried, frantic stream of words until Steven interrupts him with a soft, "Alex. Stop." But Alex KEEPS GOING. And Steven is just sitting there, watching his son jump through all these hoops to keep from actually emotionally processing the situation. Keep in mind that Steven himself is reeling from this information, but he immediately sets it aside to focus his attention on Alex instead.

"Not to mention the house," Alex continues, "which, if my sense of the Buffalo real estate market is accurate—and, you know, I have no reason to believe that it's not—"

Yes, Alex pivots right to what he knows: numbers, market information, and facts. Alex himself mentions in a past episode that these things comfort him. It's concrete information that he can rely on without the mess of emotions or complicated relationships with others.

And it's one thing for people to have different ways of coping with tragedy. People deal with things in unique ways, which is fine. The difference here is that Steven knows that unless he intervenes, it's unlikely that Alex will ever reach the point of being able to process this loss on his own. He's going to bury it and pretend it didn't happen (or that it doesn't impact him), and that's not healthy. Steven tries again to reach him.

And it's at this point that Steven takes an interesting approach to handling this. If Alex isn't going to give himself permission to feel his feelings, Steven is going to push him until he has no choice to. Might seem to be an odd method—maybe even a little mean to force your kid to break—but it's important to remember that Steven knows Alex inside and out. He knows Alex will put this neatly into a box in his mind, hide it away, and pretend he isn't hurting. And it'll either turn into a painful memory that he simply never deals with, or it'll eat away at him until he runs the risk of reaching the point of meltdown, a la "A, My Name is Alex."

Alex needs to cry, and Steven needs to get him to the point where he can do it. But Steven's going to bring him there in his usual gentle, loving way.

"Alex, my father died," he says. "Your grandfather."

Alex knows this, of course. But Steven is drilling it in. Trying to shove aside the talk of insurance settlements and the housing market and focus on the reality of it all. We flip back to Alex, who is quite literally trembling with the effort of trying to keep those walls up.

Steven goes on, his own voice breaking with emotion, "You can cry. We love him very much. You can grieve."

This moment! Alex's response says so much, and it's another one of those "THIS SHOW! MJF'S ACTING!" moments. He's still fighting it, but not quite as strongly. He leans back into his father's embrace, moving from where he was previously perched on the edge of the couch, trying to "distance himself" as much as possible from facing Steven. He takes a breath finally.

"Your grandpa died; you can cry," Steven tells him, to which Alex reacts in another poignant way.

There's the briefest flash of eye contact, something Alex has not done since before he was told about his grandfather's passing. Soon after the information was delivered, he moved to the edge of the couch, gaze straight ahead, rocking himself ever so slightly as he went through his rambling. He has not turned to look at his father once during this whole thing until this point, and this little exchange has meaning. Alex is checking in—making sure it's okay. He sees the emotion on Steven's own face and really absorbs that he's safe, and he can cry. And he does.

The flashback ends with their embrace, and we return to present-day Alex as he continues to deal with the new, serious situation that's befallen him and the family. (I won't get into that, but the Heartstrings episodes are phenomenal)

It's a very well-done scene and a relatively short one! But it does so much to encapsulate the relationship that Steven and Alex have. There's really such a good balance to this show, because these two can get so silly at times. Lots of fun, light-hearted and ridiculous scenes between them. However, they're interspersed with more serious moments like this. You get a really nice look at the type of man Steven is—someone with a quiet sort of strength, who consistently puts his family before himself and loves his son fiercely. (Steven even tells Alex in the very first episode that there are no other fathers who love their sons as much as he loves Alex. I mean, COME ON. This guy is a gem.)

When it comes down to it, I just really like that this show gave us a character like Alex, who we see struggle so much in the area of emotional connection, and then gave him someone as kind and attentive as Steven to help guide him and love him through everything.

[demcnsinmymind]

Realized I never did a personality test for Azzy.

Busy laughing my ass off

"People with the ENFP personality type (Campaigners) are true free spirits – outgoing, openhearted, and open-minded. With their lively, upbeat approach to life, ENFPs stand out in any crowd. But even though they can be the life of the party, they don’t just care about having a good time. These personalities have profound depths that are fueled by their intense desire for meaningful, emotional connections with others. They regularly use their natural curiosity and expansive creativity to try to better understand themselves and the complex dynamics of human relationships. And they are truly devoted to nurturing their relationships with and their understanding of the world at large." Many ENFPs harbor a deep longing to share their life with another person. As a result, these personalities may feel a bit empty or uninspired when they’re single. While their dedication to relationships is admirable, ENFPs may need to guard against investing too much of their sense of self in their relationship status.

When ENFPs are interested in someone, they rarely hold back. People with this personality type tend to fall in love easily – and they fall hard. These individuals shower their new flame with affection, trusting that the devotion and passion that they feel are real. "Curious – People with the ENFP personality type (Campaigners) can find beauty and fascination in nearly anything. Imaginative and open-minded, ENFP personalities aren’t afraid to venture beyond their comfort zone in search of new ideas, experiences, and adventures. Moreover, their curiosity extends beyond simply seeking novelty. They also have a deep desire to understand how things work and why they are the way they are. Perceptive – To people with this personality type, no one is unimportant – which might explain how they can pick up on even the subtlest shifts in another person’s mood or expression. Because they’re so sensitive to other people’s feelings and needs, ENFPs can make full use of their caring, considerate nature. Enthusiastic – When something captures their imagination and inspires them, ENFP personalities want to share it with anyone who will listen. And they’re just as eager to hear other people’s ideas and opinions – even if those thoughts are wildly different from their own. Excellent Communicators – People with the ENFP personality type brim with things to say, but they can be caring listeners as well. This gives them a nearly unmatched ability to have positive and enjoyable conversations with all sorts of people – even people who aren’t particularly sociable or agreeable. Easygoing – ENFPs may live for deep, meaningful conversations, but they can also be spontaneous and lighthearted. These personalities know how to find fun and joy in the present moment – and few things give them more pleasure than sharing their joy with others."

Unfocused – The thrill of a new project – especially one that involves collaborating with other people – can bring out the best in these personalities. But ENFPs are known for having ever-evolving interests, meaning that they may find it challenging to maintain discipline and focus over the long term. Disorganized – ENFPs’ focus on the big picture and their love for exploring new ideas and experiences can sometimes overshadow their attention to everyday practical matters. Specifically, people with this personality type may try to avoid the routine tasks that they view as boring like household chores, basic maintenance, or paperwork. The resulting sense of disorganization can become a major source of stress in their life. Overly Accommodating – ENFP personalities feel called to uplift others, and they may find themselves saying yes whenever anyone asks them for guidance or help. But unless they set boundaries, even the most energetic among them can become overcommitted, with too little time and energy to tackle the necessities of their own life.

96% Extraverted

Extraverted individuals readily enjoy group activities and value social interaction. They tend to be outwardly enthusiastic and express their excitement.

89% Intuitive

Intuitive individuals are very imaginative, open-minded, and curious. They value originality and focus on hidden meanings and distant possibilities.

83% Prospecting

Prospecting individuals are very good at improvising and adapting to opportunities. They tend to be flexible nonconformists who value novelty above stability.

86% Assertive

Assertive individuals are self-assured, even-tempered, and resistant to stress. They refuse to worry too much and tend to be self-confident when striving to achieve goals.

[belaprus]

Dottore x reader: being his assistant (pt.3)

"Are you sure you want to continue?"

"Yes"

"Even if it meant for you to spend more time with him?"

"Yes"

Pantalone was looking at your injured arm, slightly concerned. It felt like he was carefully searching for the right words to express himself. After some moments, he opened his mouth to speak again:

"Are you growing attached, maybe?"

"Absolutely not. It's just I'm the only one who can take care of him properly"

The skeptical expression on his face was clear, especially when he had heard you say 'take care of him'. You continued:

"He's no different from my average patient. At least this job is more rewarding, and I can focus on only one person"

"The latter might be a problem. And if you think he's just the average patient, need I remind you that his name is forsaken from the entirety of Sumeru?"

"He's still a person, and I'm the more capable one on this job. This is nothing I can't manage"

"If you say so..."

After a second of pondering, Pantalone smiled at you:

"I guess you really are suited for him, after all"

You smiled back. You were no average person either. You wouldn't deal with the average people. To be fair, your whole life wasn't average at all. You were used to it, it was almost in your comfort zone to be with people like Dottore. You had always found them interesting. Sometimes it would get scary, like with the ruin hunter's incident, but you felt like it was definitely worth it: your payment was not average either.

After you parted ways with Pantalone, you returned back home. 'Tomorrow will be another day of work', you thought while drifting off to sleep in your bed. --------- He was face-down on his own desk, mentally searching for whatever way to continue his experiments. Now he was left with only two children and some chemical components, all because of that bitch-sitter who never shut her mouth. Speaking of the devil, she had just entered the room. He didn't react at all. No, he was staying like this until something, ANYTHING, had caused his funds to raise. He heard a chair moving onto the other side of the desk, her sitting on it. Silence fell onto the room. After some moments, he noticed it wasn't completely quiet around: he could feel someone breathing and an intense stare on him. His heart-rate was just a little faster than normal, meaning he could feel it pump inside his own body. 'Stop, please... Someone make her stop' was all he could think about. It was torture to feel her so close, it was getting him anxious. Was he the real freak, at this point? ----------- You found it so amusing. He was clearly tense, but was trying so hard not to make any moves. It kind of reminded you of your cat's passive-aggressive behaviour: when you haven't been home for a long time, he would always act like you were not there, playing on your sense of guilt. Luckily for you, you barely had any. If the game was set on resistence mode, you were absolutely sure of your win. You noticed his mask was left beside him on the desk. 'It may be uncomfortable for him to wear it in that position.' - you thought to yourself - 'Still, I've never seen his whole face. I'm kind of curious'. You were trying to make out his features by watching him closely, when you were suddendly met with his scarlet red eyes. You instinctively gasped and backed out a bit, as he did the same. Were you too close? You hadn't noticed. He quickly put his mask back on, but you had already seen the big scar on his left eye. You were completely undisturbed by it, but guessed he would feel another way, since now he looked offended.

"You're a freak", he told you as he agitatedly walked around the narrow space between the desk and the freezer, covering his face in a hysterical motion.

"What do you want now? I don't have any new experiments to show you"

You stayed silent, analyzing his behaviour. Most of his sentences didn't have sense, but sometimes he was spitting out things like "Am I your experiment?", "Do I look stupid to you?". The fact that you simply being too close had left him in this state was unmistakably abnormal. 'Did I mess up that badly?', you were thinking. He suddendly stopped. Then, taking a deep breath, he turned in your direction and walked past you, grabbing some cigarettes along the way and rushing out. You had noticed how, when he was too stressed, he would just run away from the place he's in. As you were thinking about it, you sat there, trying to figure out what had just happened. After a few moments, you decided to follow him out.

[gillianthecat]

I'm having the horrible feeling that I'm losing interest in BL 😭 Or at the very least I need to add some non-BL variety to my watch list so that the BL shows I am watching will hold my attention. I'm enjoying Between Us and The New Employee but not with the same intensity as before and I feel like I have nothing to say about them.

I've glancingly seen your posts for Reborn Rich. If you have the spoons, can you share what liked about it, or if you've talked about it elsewhere, link to the post? ❤️

Me too 😕 I am also worried I'm losing interest in BL. The only shows I'm managing to keep up with are two I'm not feeling that invested in: Candy Color Paradox (which I don't think is very good but first I was pulled to figure out why, and now I'm just watching for Izuka Kenta) and The New Employee (which I like a lot but mostly it feels more like an intellectual appreciation rather than an emotional connection). Probably this pulling back is overall a good thing for my life, as I'm going back to school and need to focus on the real world. But it makes me sad—I don't want my love for BL to be a brief thing that comes and goes in 6 months, I want to keep it a part of my life. In part because I like it, but also because of the community I've found here, with people like you.

Hopefully for both of us this is just a temporary thing and we will regain our interest in BL shows. I know for me part of what's going on is it's hard for me to watch a show now without wanting to write about it, and that's simply unsustainable with the number of shows I want to watch (or at least want to want to watch), and I need to figure out a new approach. It only worked before because that was literally all I was doing with my time most days. And that's not actually how I want to spend my life, once I emerge from that bubble of avoiding the real world.

So I need to find a way to just watch shows without it feeling like an obligation, just for fun. That's part of the reason I've been watching more non-BL, I don't feel the need to talk about them in the same way. Although honestly I've also been struggling to focus there too, so a lot of it's not about BL, just my attention span at the moment. The only two shows I've recently watched straight through, completely absorbed, were the Korean revenge drama The Glory, and the 2018 Japanese BL The Novelist.

So to answer your original question, I'm liking Reborn Rich, but not captivated by it. I'm on the fourth episode, and I'm largely continuing at this point because I want to figure out what the show is trying to say, if anything about money/wealth/chaebols/recent S. Korean history. And because I like watching Song Joong-ki onscreen (the other show that I've been intermittently watching is Vincenzo). But it's very well done, and expensive looking, and the story is intriguing. This is another one that I went into without seeing the trailer or anything; I watched the first episode the week it came out, last fall, then for some reason (probably saw a post on here) decided to pick it up again. So I'm not quite sure where the story is going, which makes it interesting for me.

I was going to write more detailed thoughts, but in support of me being a responsible student and having a life outside of drama series, I should really go to bed. Whatever I have written should be under my reborn rich tag, but I think it may just be the one post.

It's always wonderful to hear from you 😘 Let's keep talking on here regardless of the role BL has in our lives.

[illwriteatragedy]

I Am going to say five times kissed BC lil bby Roman and forehead kisses???

first.

phil coulson talks, and roman bragin listens. he will not speak unless something is directed to him, and he will not elaborate on anything further, testing the limits of phil's patience. he watches. and he waits. and he listens, because he has always been good at that, even in the midst of violence and chaos.

but phil does not get angry with him. he does not call him stupid, and he does not raise his hand when roman refuses to look at him, does not make a scene when he crosses his arms and doesn't answer his questions.

the first few days go like this. roman waits, expectant that it will come, but it never does. his guard is lowered, his hopes wavering into dangerous territory ( that maybe someone can be like this, after all. ) when phil places the covers over him that night, and presses a kiss to his hair, he calls to him before he leaves the room, voice small.

" goodnight, phil. " it is the first time he has said anything to him without being asked, first.

second.

he has a knack for languages. it is what phil has told him, what the other agent he that is tutoring him has said, but --

" i have to hurt people? " there is hesitation there. phil stands opposite of him, dressed in his gym clothes. they have been training together for months now, building up his strength, working on his body. martial arts was next. they would see which form would fit him best, but mma was where they would start.

you have to be able to defend yourself, no matter the cost. phil circles him as he speaks, forcing roman to spin his head to watch him. there will be people who want to take your life because of who you are. whether it be where you came from, whether it be because of shield, whether it be because of me --

phil stands in front of him now, and crouches down on one knee. he brushes the hair from his face and looks him in the eye. i will always have your back. but you need to survive, roman. that means hurting people. even killing them. do you understand?

there is a heavy gravity here that roman can feel, a pressure that separates his head from his heart. but phil looks at him with such intensity that roman can only nod. " i understand. " phil nods too, kisses his hair, and sends him flat on the floor.

third.

roman sits on the counter so he can see better. this time, he is the one who asks questions, leaning with his palms pressed on the marble. " do you think i'll get tall? " he asks after a barrage of cooking questions, still much shorter than phil's 6'5 height.

phil laughs, ruffles his curls up, nearly knocking him over. twelve is the perfect age for a growth spurt, he says, you've got a foot since eleven.

" a foot is nothing. " roman complains, watching the sauce thicken in the pan. " if you were my real dad i would have -- " he stops, clamps his mouth shut, the tips of his ears turning red. the kitchen goes quiet for a moment. in the other room, he can hear carol move around, painfully aware.

the fire on the pan is turned off. phil turns to him, leans against the counter. before he can say anything, roman is the one who speaks first. " i know -- you're my handler. not my dad. " he exits the kitchen in a hurry, going to his room.

( they have dinner that night. carol keeps looking at phil, waiting for him to say something, but he doesn't. when he goes to bed, he can feel phil sit on the side of the bed, but his back is turned -- the gentle kiss to his hair is ignored, and they both say nothing about it the next morning. )

fourth.

they're at a baseball game. the soda tastes wrong.

that's not right. it's the sharp metallic taste of blood. but -- there's the sun, and it's shining --

that's not right either. it's the fluorescent light fixture overhead. he has to focus, he just has to focus ---

but everything for just a minute is warm, and he's happy, and it might just be better if he stayed this way --

roman !

they're shining lights in his eyes. he can feel his body being moved, can hear them discussing what to do next. it all sounds jumbled in wrong. but amidst it all, he can hear one voice better than the rest, because he knows that voice --

you don't understand, that's my boy, you need to let me --

he realizes, with sudden jolting clarity, that he is in the hospital. a shock of pain rushes through him, tears forming in the corner of his eyes. through whatever they have shoved in his mouth, he tries to speak, voice weak. " i want my dad. " he manages to spit out whatever is in there. " i want my dad -- i want my dad -- "

everything after that is a blur. he knows that phil got to him, that he held his face, that they were able to do what they needed to do after he saw them. that he fell into a coma for a few days after to heal. that they both didn't talk about that, either, because it seemed they were always going to be good at not saying the things they needed to say.

fifth.

he is twenty-two, almost twenty-three, when he tells phil that he met a girl. roman only blushes when phil asks if she's blonde, and laughs when he says yes.

that's my boy, phil says, arm around his shoulder, a kiss to his temple, roman only three inches shorter now, that height he had always wanted to be. just like your old man.

[bonniesbookreviews]

In The Miso Soup

Author: Ryu Murakami

Published date: 1997

Plot: 

In The Miso Soup is about Kenji, a just-turned-20-year-old who works as a tour guide of Japan’s nightlife that revolves around the sex industry, ranging from massage parlours, S&M bars and pretty much everything else you could imagine. On New Year's Eve, he meets with a client, Frank a tourist from America who has all the means and cash for his desires. 

Kenji begins his tour with Frank, showing him what the nightlife offers but as time goes on and Frank starts to open up to him showing his personality Kenji starts to get creeped out, be it over Franks's odd inhuman-looking skin and his cold empty eyes. 

In the meantime, there has been a gruesome murder of a young girl that seems to be sexually motivated. Kenji becomes paranoid, thinking of who the killer could be, even feeling them closer than he wished not to.

Review:

*SPOILERS HAVE BEEN INCLUDED IN THIS REVIEW*

I was surprised with how I liked this book and that it was good enough to get me out of a reading draught, the length of the book was good enough that it didnt overwhelm me and suited well for the story and the way Kenji and Frank only knew and spent time with each other for 40 hours, a longer word count wouldn’t have suited this story. 

There is not much character development for Kenji but I feel thats okay for this story as the main focus is on Frank and the disturbing things he is involved with.   

The story itself is creepy and unsettling but Chapter 2 is the so-called money shot of the book with its grandiose and gory indulgence of the reader seeing Frank in action, brutally killing everyone in a bar. Kenji reacts to this by freezing from fear unable to do anything but personally, I feel it could have been more intense and it needed more adjectives to show his fear, but thats just me being picky.

I didn’t find the grand killing scene to be the most scary scene in this book, instead, I felt more disturbed towards the ending when Frank has his monologue on when he started to kill and feed on blood as a child. Seeing where and how it developed, moved me more than the slashing and butchering.  

The ending was effective even giving me chills, I was expecting Kenji to hand Frank over to the police but instead, the only thing being handed over was the feather of the swan most likely from the same swan Frank killed years ago. It's almost like Frank had kept the swan feather all of these years because he was expecting to tell his truth one day to only someone he fully trusted.

Although Kenji is not the villain in this story, is Kenji the second villain in the story for not telling the police about Frank and even letting many more murders come in the future? 

In the ending, during the see final moments between Kenji and Frank and even where the name of the story comes from when Frank says 

“But now I’m in the miso soup, myself just like those bits of vegetables. I’m floating around in this giant bowl of it.” 

I feel like this shows that as he didn't get caught again he will still be floating around drifting, floating in the soup that Japan’s nightlife, leaving pieces of human remains here and there as he floats and dips under hiding from the law once more.

I noticed a somewhat misogynistic description of teenage girls and women that made me pull a 'not impressed facial expression' in real life. Still, I think thats on the writer himself and maybe a reflection of the subject matter of the story but who knows right?

Overall, I really liked the fast-moving pacing of it as I am someone who gets frustrated with slow-paced stories and will easily give up books halfway through if I dont see any hope or reason to finish them. But in this case, I got stuck into the story pretty quickly and that was good motivation for me to finish the book.

Favourite Quote / Highlight: N/A

Rating: 4/5

Keep or sell: Keep

[bnha-dumpster]

The thought of a submissive incubus just came to mind and now I can’t stop imagining the reader (incubus) trying to take control of the situation but gets fucked and tamed instead.

this? this is a good idea. i feel like doing some priest au iida lmao

Pairing: Priest Iida x Incubus Reader Content tags/warnings: dub-con, dom/sub dynamics, spanking, mind break/mild dumbification, aphrodisiac spit Word count: 1.6k

You’re a poor excuse of an incubus, you know this. Naturally submissive, shy and introverted, inexperienced with sex- all things that an incubus shouldn’t be. You’ve been feeding off of other incubi and some succubi for energy. You knew that it wouldn’t last forever, that you’d eventually have to feed off humans. But it’s dangerous with your submissive nature. That’s why you’ve been trying to stay with your kind for as long as possible. 

Now you’ve been tossed out, left on your own without any sort of advice. There’s an intense hunger inside you that’s clawing at you, one that’s clouding your reasoning. You stumble through the streets as if you’re drunk. Humans ignore you thinking you’re just an annoying drunk and you know you’re not going to get energy in time. 

Then you run into a priest. 

“No, I’m fine-” Your speech is slightly slurred as you protest his help. A priest is the last person you need to run into right now. He’ll exorcise you or contain you until you tell him about other incubi in town. Both things scare you and you try to tug yourself out of his hold. Unfortunately for you, the priest you’ve run into is not only stubborn but strong. If you weren’t so weak, you might’ve been able to break away. There are so many things that would’ve been solved if you weren’t so weak.

He helps you walk, leading you to his church. The second you reach the steps, you tug on his cassock and shake your head. 

“I can’t go in there. I can’t. I’m sorry, I can’t.” 

Your hopes of him listening to you are crushed instantly as he shushes you and opens the large doors. The moment you step in, your already fading human disguise vanishes. Large, spiraling horns protrude from the sides of your head, a thin tail at the base of your spine, your hands and feet turned to claws and the small tattoo below your navel; if he can’t tell you’re an incubus from this, you don’t know what will.

The priest stops and stares at you, letting go of you. You fall to your knees on the floor, no longer strong enough to keep yourself standing. It’s humiliating to be found out in such a way. Though it’s your fault for allowing yourself to be grabbed by the priest in the first place. 

“An incubus?” He seems a bit curious as he kneels before you, lifting your chin to look at your face. “You’re not doing so well. What happened to you?” 

What little pride you have left keeps you from answering. 

“You must be hungry. While my fellow clergy may look down at me for this, I’ll help you.”

Confusion is clear on your face. You look at him like he’s insane. Maybe he is, but the thought of being able to feed matters a bit more than figuring out where the hell his common sense went. 

“I thought incubi were good at pleasing their partners.” He’s mocking you. The priest, who introduced himself as Iida Tenya, looks down at you as you do your best to take him into your mouth. He’s thick and your jaw aches slightly, but that ache naturally turns into pleasure that goes straight to your core. “You’re inexperienced, aren’t you? Don’t worry, I’ll help you.” 

Hands grab your horns and force your face further, making you take his cock down your throat. While you don’t gag, you’re clearly uncomfortable. You claw at his wrists to make him stop but it doesn’t seem to bother him. 

“See, you take all of your partner’s cock into your mouth.” Iida groans. “Suck and move your tongue around it. You can do it, I’m sure you can.” 

Surely he’s making fun of you. You may not be like the others, but you can still do what you were born to do. So you begin to bob your head up and down, letting things come to you naturally. His cock is heavy on your tongue as you lick the underside of it, teasing the vein that runs along it. You make use of your lack of gag reflex and make sure that you take him fully each time. 

It seems like it’s working, like you’re gaining some semblance of control. Just from this, energy is already beginning to flow your body. If you can make him cum, then maybe-

“Tsk, I thought you’d be better than this.” Seems like he knows exactly what’s going through your mind. “Do you really think you can overtake a priest when you’re in such a state? Don’t be foolish.” 

You’re tugged off his cock. Iida is about to grab you by your hair and bring you up onto the bed until you press a hand on his lower stomach. You have enough strength to leave a branding: a piece of incubus magic that forces a human to be overcome with lust. It typically leaves them a mess, unable to do anything but beg for pleasure. But going along with your lack of luck, it backfires. 

The feeling of intense lust fills the room and instead of the priest curling in himself, he drags you onto the bed by your horns. You’re laying on the bed with your ass up, Iida already lining himself up with your hole. 

“Natural lubricant, hm?” There’s a bit of slick coating your ass and inner thighs. It’s something incubi are able to make when they’re anticipating being the bottom. 

He pushes in slowly. Your hole greedily swallows his cock, clenching around it to milk him. Iida grabs hold of your tail and wraps it around his hand like a leash, using it to bring your ass against his hips. You can feel the heat of the brand and the lust radiating from him. The fact that he’s managing to stay even the slightest bit composed is amazing. 

“You’re begging for me to give in, aren’t you? You just want me to let go and let you have your way with me, yes?” 

“C-clearly!” 

Once the words leave your lips, a harsh spank is left on your ass. The pain instantly changes to pleasure and you tighten around him. He begins to spank you more, enjoying the way your walls clench and shudder with each impact. You’re doing your best to hold in any moans and pleasured noises to spite Iida. It’s all you can seem to manage to do. Even with strength filling you, he’s still got a good hold on you.

Your cock twitches from neglect. It’s not that you need it to be touched, you just prefer it. Yes, you can cum without touching it, but you want to touch it. So you reach between your legs to pump your cock, letting out a small groan. But your hand is swatted away. 

“Who said you could touch yourself?

He lets go of your tail and and pulls out, watching you flip yourself over. His cock twitches in anticipation when you pull him towards you for a kiss. 

Your tongue is long and clearly inhuman. It invades his throat and nearly makes him gag. The properties of your saliva are forgotten, letting his mind become a haze. Between the brand fueling his lust and the sudden warmth caused by your saliva, he loses what little cleric dignity he had. 

Iida pulls your face away from his by your hair, pushing you back onto the bed so he can thrust into you again. Your legs go over his shoulders and you’re able to recognize that the priest has you in a mating press before he begins to pound into you. He smashes his lips against yours, mouth open- he’s asking you to kiss him more. You happily do so, thinking that the haze he’s being enveloped in will give you a chance to take control. Lips mash against each other as you shove your spit down his throat with your tongue. 

The aphrodisiacs in his system must be too much and he cums, filling you. A strange daze washes over you and you lose your focus on the brand. Is this what human energy is like? It’s absolutely addicting. That addicting feeling pushes you over the edge, your own cock covering your stomach in cum. Your eyes roll back into your skull and you lose yourself for a few seconds.

He hasn’t stopped and you don’t think he will anytime soon. His cock is still hard, stretching you and pushing his cum even deeper inside you. 

“Maybe I’ll keep you, hm?” When did he regain his mind? “Keep you like a little pet. You’ll have to rely on me to survive anyways.”

Your mind is still in a haze and he takes advantage of it. He continues to pound into you with no pause, his own stamina still high. While your cock is limp against your stomach, he watches as more cum dribbles out of it. 

“Be a good incubus and cum more and more. If you do what I ask, I’ll give you more than you could ever need.” 

If you could think properly, you would curse how obedient your body is. Your cock twitches to life for a few moments before you cum again, an almost never ending stream of cum landing on your stomach. He groans as your walls clench around him. It’s like your body is begging for more of him, which it is. 

“There you go. I’ll keep you here so you can’t hurt anyone else.” That’s not the real reason he’s keeping you, but that doesn’t matter. You’re already lost to his words, the feeling of a human’s energy destroying your mind.

[finelinevogue]

Just wanted to say 2 things:

1)Love the fic where he proposed over a cup of tea…so sweet💗

2) we all know how H has asthma sometimes so…could u write something w/the reader helping him with an attack idk or during an interview/concert/family gathering do as u pls

A nice day

XOXO

firstly, thank you so much that’s so sweet of you <33 and secondly, um yes i would love to give this a go at writing for you! hope you enjoy;

Harry couldn’t breathe.

He was in a panic, completely terrified of the uncontrollable situation. He was having an asthma attack concocted with a panic attack and it was brutal.

“Shit,” Jeff whispered as he watched Harry breathe heavily and loudly on the floor. His friend was currently on his hands and knees trying to gasp for air, whilst dressed in his notorious Fine Line outfit.

It was the big night. The one night only at The Forum for the release of his new album Fine Line, hence the costume. He had been nervous all day, with shaking hands and a tendency to forget simple things. You had been with him all day; having a slow brunch together out in the Hollywood Hills and then just chilling around for the afternoon. You didn’t want to anything to strain his voice, so talking hadn’t been an option. That left you either to sleeping and cuddling, whilst watching a movie, or sex. Now you were all for sex, but Harry complained that he liked talking to you during it and so that got shut down pretty quickly. You didn’t forget what he whispered to your ear though just before you cuddled into watching Bambi;

“Keep your moans for later, you’ll be fucking needing them for what I have planned.”

But that was over two hours ago now. Harry had been whisked away to start getting ready, what with hair and makeup first. You’d left him to it, telling him you would just lounge around and wait for him. It was when he was getting into costume had you announced you were just going to go down the street to get some coffee from Dunkin’ - seeing as there were few of them back in England, where you most commonly lived with Harry. The problem was you hadn’t come back yet, and it was an hour later.

“Harry mate, you need to calm down.” Kid Harpoon told him carefully, kneeling down next to his good friend. Nothing was working though and Harry was too breathless to ask anyone for his inhaler.

It had started by thinking about how nervous he actually was for tonight. It was such a huge show and one of a kind too. He was playing his new album and it wasn’t even 24 hours old yet. There was so much pressure weighing him down that he couldn’t breathe - he was suffocating in the anxiety of his own mind and he couldn’t escape at all. Then because he was in so much of a panic his asthma hit him and added another reason to his breathlessness. It was finally made worst when he realised you weren’t by his side to help him. You weren’t there to quickly eliminate the asthma and focus on helping him overcome the panic attack, instead he had his mates surrounding him - crowding him - and they didn’t know the first thing to do.

“Sarah, where’s Y/N?” Mitch shouted, making Harry squint the thought away. He didn’t want to think about how something back might’ve happened or might be happening to you. Where were you? Sarah’s response did no better to help him.

“I don’t know.”

“Harry bud. Talk to us.” Jeff spoke, crouched down in front of him. Harry shook his head, tears running from his eyes as he began crying. The sobs were really harsh and embarrassing. The tears were heavy and mixed with snot running from his nose to pool on the floor below him. He was not doing well at all, coughing when the asthma choked him up. He couldn’t do this. He felt like he was in a small box and it was only getting smaller. He felt as if he were going to die. Genuinely.

“Does he look like he can talk, dickward.” Adam’s voice came from the other side of Harry, messing his head up even more. There was so many voices and he couldn’t focus on just one, but he didn’t want to. He wanted yours. He needed yours. You.

Whenever this has happened before he was always luckily in the comfort of his home, or the tour bus and always with you. So this was unfamiliar and terrifying. He was beginning to think you’d left him or you’d gotten seriously hurt, but he couldn’t do anything to help. He was stuck - paralysed to this position as his lungs collapsed in on themselves and his brain sped the same speed as a train. You were his comfort person and it was only ever you that he wanted in situations like these. Just you.

“Move out of my way. Move!” Harry thought he heard you and your voice, but he hated that his mind could be playing tricks on him in desperation for what, or whom, he truly wanted.

He felt someone crash on the floor in front of him and the almighty smell of lavender and soap hit him all at once. This time, he was glad to have someone sit so close to him, because it was you.

“Harry look at me, hey, hey. You’re okay. Look at me bubs.” You spoke calmly, trying not to sound panicked yourself, even if you were heavily worried. You watched as he looked up at you, eyes ridiculously red and puffy whilst his nose was dripping like a leaking tap. You wanted to rub his tears away and dab away the snot, but your main priority was on his breathing first. “Okay good, okay.”

Your hand went into your bag and picked out his inhaler. You shook it a few times, before putting it into Harry’s mouth. “On three, one, two, three…” Harry tried is best to breathe in and you pushed down on the canister. “Good, bubs, really good. Okay again, one, two, three…” You repeated and then a third time until you could tell that the wheezing of his asthma attack had disappeared.

“T-than…” Harry tried to mumble out, but couldnt because he was still in panic and his throat was so dry.

“Sshh you’re okay.” You turned to one of the crew members and asked for them to fetch you a bottle of water. You asked people to clear out of the room and leave you with Harry for a bit, knowing he wouldn’t settle in front of all these people. You sat on the floor, crossed legged, and brought Harry to lay his head in your lap with his body trailing behind. You offered him one of your hands to squeeze if he wanted to, which he appreciated, cupping both of his around yours. Your other hand laid to stroke through his gelled hair - that would no doubt have to be redone now.

Instead of going straight into talking to him, you sang his favourite lullaby to him in aid of calming him down. It always worked, or at least helped a little. You sang quietly, noticing the beat of his heart soften with every line you sung. You were by no means a professional singer like him, but he liked the way it was so imperfect and mellow. It calmed him to hear something so simple and so you. Whilst you sang the crew never came back with your requested water and you thanked them, before you were the only ones left in the room.

After you finished singing you noticed how calm Harry was, almost still - the complete opposite to how he’d been all of 10 minutes ago. It was amazing what the power of you could do to him.

“What colour are we feeling?” You and Harry had created your own little system by which you would let each other know how you’re feeling by a colour of the rainbow. You’d designated a meaning to all of them that only you two could understand and used them on the days when you weren’t feeling great, to help understand each other’s feelings better.

“The whole bloody rainbow.” Harry mumbled out and you passed the water around so he could take a few sips, to which he thanked you graciously for.

“Oi, you can’t have that as your answer.” It was a rule that you could only use one colour to some your most intense emotion in that moment, otherwise there was kind of no point to the system.

“But it’s true. I feel grey with confusion, blue with sadness, purple with frustration, yellow with fear and even light yellow with cowardice. Yet I feel pink with happiness and light red with love.”

“What about red red?” You teased, not being able to help yourself.

“What? Lust? Always, for you that is.” You leant down to kiss his head as he cracked a joke, showing you that your Harry was still there beneath all this worry.

“Tell me what the colours represent in real life.”

“Purple because I am frustrated that I had to have a panic attack right before the biggest show of my career. Yellow because I am frightened that nobody will like the album and it will be a complete fail of a night. Grey because I can’t choose one colour and focus on it. I.. I—”

You could tell he getting himself worked up again, so cut him short. “Bubs stop, you’re okay. Listen to me.” You tucked his hair behind his ear as if to open it up for him to hear better. “Don’t ever be frustrated with yourself for something like this. You are allowed to have moments of weakness; you wouldn’t be human if you didn’t. Did this compromise your show? No. Did this show off how strong and brave you are? Yes. That’s what is important, therefore we can swap purple for dark yellow because you were brave. Which means yellow can also turn to dark yellow because you are so brave for doing something so huge and so wonderful. People already love the album H. Can’t get enough of it. Everyone will sing along to every word, I can promise you that. Or at least I will. You are amazing, so never undersell yourself. That’s important to me and for you. Bubs, you are so amazing for what you’re doing here tonight and I couldn’t be prouder of you. Yes, a panic attack isn’t nice and it isn’t convenient, but it just helps show how much you care about tonight and it going a success. That must count for something.”

He didn’t say anything for a bit and that was okay. He was most likely getting his thoughts together and mentally preparing himself for the greatest night of his life. You bent your body over so you could hug him, since his back was to your front, and just give him a squeeze to reiterate how proud you are of him.

“Y/N.” Harry spoke quietly, as your body encased his. You embraced his warmth and inhaled the beautiful scent that he was wearing. He both smelt and looked phenomenal.

“Yes bubs.”

“You know I love you right?” Of course you did, but it still made your heart flutter as crazy as the first time he said it to when he tells you now.

“I do.”

“And you know you’re it for me right?”

“Well.. I—” You didn’t want to get too ahead of yourself.

“Because you are.” Harry turned himself around, making you sit up so he could move. He was lying with his head facing upwards now, face looking less red and puffy, and staring right into the souls of your eyes. He looked magical. Beautiful. He thought the same of you. “And,” he moved his fingers to take off his S ring from Gucci, that probably cost more than your annual salary, and place it onto your ring finger of your right hand, “I give you this as a promise to share my last name with you someday.”

Seeing the initial of his last name sat on the finger opposite to the one he claimed he would one day put two more rings on, brought you to tears. “Harry…” You didn’t know what to say, you were speechless. You had never expected for him to do something as monumental as this and had never experienced it before to know how to react.

Of course you’d always dreamt of marrying him and being his for eternity, but never thought of it possibly becoming your reality. Now, Harry was completely devoting himself to you and only you and it suddenly all felt like the dream was settling in place.

“I swear to you Y/N, i’ll love you until the next lifetime and i’ll find you again. I love you so much, I can’t even tell you how much because it is so infinite. You’re so kind and patient with me and you see me for me, not for the Harry Styles, just Harry. I’ll never let a day pass without you on my mind and I think it’s because you were always meant to be mine. My heart is yours.” He smiled once he noticed you were crying, moving one of his hands up to wipe the tears away.

“How do I top that?” You whispered to him, but mostly to yourself. Both of you laughed.

“Just tell me you love me.”

“I do. I do love you Harry.” You nodded and then he sealed your confirmation with a kiss to his lips. You rested your hand upon his cheek, placing the coolness of the S ring upon his cheekbone, as he placed his hand under your chin to guide you into the kiss. He tasted divine and you smiled knowing that you got to have him like this, taste him like this, for the rest of your beating hearts’ days.

[thefanficmonster]

Interesting Encounters

Corpse Husband *& Reader (Female)

Warnings: Swearing, Mentions of Paranoia and Fear of Invasion of Privacy

Genre: FLUFF, Humor, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: Corpse has an interesting run-in with his regular delivery girl, having the chance to talk to her for the first time despite her having been delivering to his door for months. It’s a big step in overcoming his anxiety and paranoia when talking to strangers.

Requested by Anon. Hi darling! Thank you so much for your wonderful request! Hope you come across the final product of your request and give it a read and if so I hope you like it! Sorry for the wait, I hope it was worth it though! Love, Vy ❤

It’s a regular Monday morning, close to 10AM and Corpse’s face is practically glued to the sound editing app he’s downloaded, playing around with some cool effects to add to his voice in the background of the new song he’s been working on. He hasn’t been able to sleep a wink thanks to the immense excitement, not that he would’ve been able to regardless, but the tune and the lines have been stuck in his head all throughout the weekend and he knows they’ll be bothering him until he turns them into something other people will be able to listen and give an opinion on as well. So far he’s done plenty of work but there’s plenty more to go until it’s done. He’s at that point he usually needs feedback and wants to ask for it but would rather not to avoid either too harsh judgement or fake praise.

He slides the headset off, deciding to take a break for the sake of his sanity before he drives himself to insanity with the intensity of his focus on this new piece. His brain just so conveniently sends him a reminder that his groceries are probably waiting for him outside the door. He has, as of the last half a year or so, had someone deliver his groceries to him to avoid trips to the grocery store with both the whole pandemic situation and the growth of following which translates to growth of the risk of him getting recognized. That’s the main reason - and maybe the only one - as to why he doesn’t interact with the people who deliver to him either. He always gives his delivery person the instruction to leave whatever he’s ordered at the doorstep and if it’s not takeout to not even ring the doorbell. 

That being said, the deliverer of his groceries doesn’t ring the doorbell to give him the kind reminder to be responsible, but luckily he hasn’t forgotten to collect them yet in the six months he’s been practicing this delivery technique.

Going to the front door and looking out of the peephole, he confirms there are several full plastic bags waiting to be picked up on the mat. With the person who brought them not in sight, Corpse unlocks the door and steps out to bring in the groceries for the week. Taking them to the kitchen, he unpacks the goods in the three bags. At first glance he would’ve been fooled, seeing as how it seems that all he has ordered is there. But, each Monday, he receives exactly four bags of groceries. One is missing. He rolls his eyes thinking he didn’t see it outside and left it there while he was hurriedly collecting the rest so he gets up to go grab it real quick.

While in the meantime...

Y/N looks through the remainder of bags in her minivan, making a route in her head for what roads and shortcuts she can take to deliver the last of the groceries to the respective homes they need to be taken to. Upon looking through them, however, she sees a bag labeled ‘MM’ that she uses short for ‘Mystery Man’, aka the guy who never opens the door to greet her whenever she delivers him anything. She works for several delivery services such as takeout, groceries, clothes even and has delivered to that apartment hundreds of times but has never met the resident, giving her the right to call him Mystery Man, aka ‘MM’.

“Ah, shit.“ She mumbles under her breath, realizing she failed to grab the fourth bag when on her way up to MM’s apartment.

Coming to terms with the fact that she’ll have to lose another five minutes going back up to his floor, she grabs the bag and takes off running back inside the building and up the stairs, deciding it would be quicker than taking the elevator.

Just as she arrives to the floor, heading straight for the door, it opens, freezing her in her tracks as her eyebrows shoot up.  At the doorstep stands a guy with an eye patch who looks more surprised and maybe even a little terrified than her. Taking in that Mystery Man is not such a mystery anymore, she returns to her professionalism, remaining at a distance and outstretching the hand holding the bag towards him.

“Sorry, forgot to drop this one off as well, I’m a bit all over the place today.“ She says in her most professional voice.

Corpse too regains his composure and takes the handed bag from Y/N gloved hand. Before he can think twice about it he says, “Thanks, uh...”

“Y/N.“ She says, “I’ve delivered to you countless times, it’s funny you don’t know my name but it’s to be expected since I’ve never seen you. This would be a good time to tell me your name so I don’t have to call you Mystery Man anymore.“ She laughs, cutting her own laughter off barely a second later when she realizes what she’s said, “Oh, fucking shit...”

Corpse chuckles, clear amusement in the sound, “Mystery Man? Interesting, interesting. If I ever become a superhero I’ll make sure to pick that name.” He fails to even pay mind to the fact that he’s spoken a lot more than he’d usually feel comfortable with.

Y/N laughs a little awkwardly, rubbing the back of her neck, “Yeah, sorry about that. I promise to come up with a better one if you’re not willing to tell me your real one. Like....Pirate, for example?” she suggests, raising her shoulders.

He can’t help but let out a laugh, “You’d be surprised, but my name is not so far from your mark. It’s, um....” He’s not looking forward to the judgmental look or the questions he might receive in response to his statement but he succumbs to the expected disappointment, “My name’s Corpse.”

Surprisingly, she just smiles - a smile he cannot see due to the surgical mask she’s wearing but the crinkle at the corners of her eyes gives it away. “Cool! Well, I better get going then.”

Just as she turns to head for the elevator this time, seeing as she’s still out of breath from the run up the stairs, Corpse gets an idea he’d probably not be too fond of if he gave himself time to think it over. Which is exactly why he didn’t.

“Hey!“ He calls after her, gaining her attention immediately, causing her to turn around, “You got a minute? I need a little help with something...“

Y/N’s eyebrows raise a little, a moment before she shrugs her shoulders, “Meh, I’m already behind schedule, what’s an extra minute gonna do?” And just like that, they strut their way back towards his apartment.

He can’t help but chuckle, taking the opportunity to crack a joke, “This is how people often get killed. You don’t just walk into a stranger’s apartment like that.”

She scoffs as she passes the threshold, “Believe it or not, you can learn a lot about a person based on the groceries they buy. And trust me buddy, you’re not a murderer.” Earning herself a laugh and a nod with that remark, she continues, “You do appear to be an artist with all the cheap food you’re buying though.”

Corpse laughs yet again, a hint of nervousness is sensed in his laugh this time around though, “Yeah, well, I don’t know if you’re still gonna call me an artist when you hear this song I’ve been working on. Not even out of the box yet.”

Y/N stops in her tracks, “Well, well, well, aren’t I honored to be one of the lucky people hearing this before its release.”

“The first hearing it before its release.“ He corrects her with a pointed look, not missing the excitement that arose in her eyes.

“Let’s hear it then!“

Of all the friendship stories that exist, no one can say this ain’t a unique one.

@maat-the-prescriptive  @simonsbluee  @save-the-sky  @itsminniekat  @hacker-ghost  @bi-andready-tocry  @imtiredaffff  @jazzkaurtheglorious  @hereforbeebo  @fandomgirl17  @chrysanthykios  @maehemscorpyus  @loraleiix  @letsloveimagines  @annshit  @i-cant-choose-a-username-help  @enigmaticmaze  @divine-artemis  @waterlilypat  @idontknowwhatthisisfam  @evi-ka  @classyandfabulous00  @redperson58  @lilysdaydreams @solowheein  @mythicalamphitrite  @axen-gers  @luckygirl144  @nj01  @buddyemily   @the-albino-lioness  @stardream14  @gdhdkfnn  @nomadicgypsyy  @preciousskye  @fluffysuicideunicornsworld  @o-kaelin  @manacharlotte  @awkward-youtube-trash  @lolalee24  @bonky-beerns  @meme-lord-and-savior-sebastian  @strawbrinkofdeath  @teenloves  @tams0527  @browneyespinkhair  @starstruckllamapuppy  @daisychains012  @y0ulooked  @tinytacosuitcaseflap @supernatural-is-my-only-life  @jula-pauline  @melodykitty  @just-that-bi-girl  @crazybutconfidentaf  @lowellshade @alphakees  @bellero  @weallneednamjesus  @starryhanji  @boiled-onionrings  @husherstan  @fockingwhore  @melaningoddessthings  @prettypastelpetals  @haleypearce  @godwhyamiawkward  @y-napotat  @daisychainyoonmin  @little-miss-rebel3  @free-wheelin-bi-sexual  @redmoon261 @darkacademic2  @wiseflamingoqueen  @into-the-end  @namikhai-i  @nastiablr  @thelittleplantlover  @mirktuan  @dont-hyuck @jjk-bunny  @vintagegothlover  @easygoingtheatre  @itsrandombooklover  @miiaivi  @emmybaybee  @befourgolden  @jjk-is-my-shit  @eternalteaaars  @spacebadgerx  @princesslunalight  @acequinn14  @samm48  @misselsbells06 @simp-lykawa  @fo-love  @marishimomura-blog  @therealglenncoco  @cinnamonbun332  @killtherandomness  @sanshinexxxsan  @fee-btheweeb  @press-lay  @cathleenpotgieter16  @jazzydoesstuff  @moonlxghtbay  @forestrain2000  @hyunjinhugs  @blood-of-fandoms  @lovellylies  @ukiyolixx  @simpforhpcharacters  @chrisdylan17  @parkerjisung  @pedernille  @theodonyous  @wineandionysus  @malfoystilinskii05  @morbid-x  @coryisagee  @jessewa26  @scoobydooluver97 @mindintheskies365  @raeanneinwonderland  @indecisive-empanada  @gluttonypalace  @loriane2503  @btsiguess-kpop  @khaoticbunny  @lucidlycactus  @smiithys  @rottenroyalebooks  @kpopgirlbtssvt  @fangirl-tc27  @fr0z3n-1  @notmesimpingfortechno  @shotarosleftpinky  @kunoi-chan  @idk-whats-wrong-with-me  @yikeroonie  @goldenstarofthunderclan  @poetry-and-tea  @ama-do-writing-stuff  @wishbonewolf  @emeraldxhope  @t0xick1tty  @kusuinko  @speakyourselfloveyourself  @sophia902103  @lo-manburg  @classsykittykat  @dmgama  @depressedpuppythatneedscoffee  @btsiguess-kpop  @akaashi-baby  @gun-jong-simp  @geschichtenfee  @yerapotato-wp  @browneyedgirl365  @thysagclub  @sparklycloudnight  @helloatomicshadow  @queentorresstuff @vtte @val-gal  @lucy-bunny17  @aaliyahh0  @katluckybear  @boyleanti  @straybids  @franchesca-791  @cosmicstorm19  @averyisbackinthetrashcan  @aomi-nabi  @xlanawriter  @allensimpsforcorpse  @sunnyrae-cessh  @ladykxxx08  @meowiemari  @renupf  @booklover76  @sra-verissimo  @beatrhizn  @blueberrystigma  @beatrhizn  @chicken-taco-burrito  @scorpios-echos