#i have a longer idea concept for this but this part i needed to put down rn

[messyemmy]

Grapejuice (fic) Part Four

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

Word Count: 15k.

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

Grapejuice Masterlist

Fashion Board / Playlist 

Other Writing

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You say that every year.” You scoff. 

“I do not.” 

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

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

“Complain about winter.”

“Oh, he definitely does.” 

“Not every-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Say more.”

“Botanical Gardens.”

“Say more, more.”

“Flowers.”

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

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

“I like flowers.” 

“Ground-breaking.” Your eyes roll. 

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

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

“Nonsense.” Harry waves you off in return. 

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

“Let me just grab my wallet.”

“And a shirt, Harry.”

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

“You sure about that?”

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

“Oh c’mon, you’ll have fun!”

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

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

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

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

🍷

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“God, I miss her cooking.” 

“I miss your cooking.” He counters. 

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

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

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

“No, I did not know that.”

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

“Delphinium.”

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

“Does this count as our date?” 

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

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

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

“I just-  I don’t get you!”

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

“That’s because you have little patience.” 

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

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

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

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

“Doesn’t it always?”

“You’re putting me on edge.”

“That’s also nothing new.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Impatiens.” 

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

“What does your new house look like?”

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

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

“That tells me nothing.”

“Cute is better than my home in London.”

“Well, that’s not hard to beat.”

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

Especially when he smiles knowingly and ignores your sarcasm, 

“Tell me more.”

“Loads of colour.”

“Purple?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Maybe I can show you one day.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Huh.” Your astonishment is hard to repress. 

“What?” 

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

“Like?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, what are these, then?” 

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

“When did  you become a botanist?”

“They have labels, moron.”

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

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

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

S: Are u out?

S: Can’t believe ur up before noon

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

Y/n: Beauty sleep is vital.

Y/n: I’m at the Botanical Gardens

Y/n: ….

Y/n: With Harry

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

S: Ooh la la!

Y/n: Don’t start.

S: Is this the date?

Y/n: Apparently not

S: What is he waiting for?

Y/n: That’s what I said!

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

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

“I got you this.”

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

“Clearly.” 

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

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

“We’ll get caught-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The ones at your house?”

“Yeah. For close friends and family.”

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

“I-”

“No excuses.”

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

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

“That’s a lie, too!”

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

 “Really?”

“Trust me.” 

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

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

“That’s ridiculous.” He scoffs.

“It is ?”

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

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

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

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

“Yeah?”

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

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

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

“That’s actually… very cute.”

“Is that affection I hear?” He coos. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t be a suck-up.” 

“What if I’m telling the truth?” 

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

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

“You want me?”

“Y’know me so well.”

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

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

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

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

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

“You’ll have to go back and listen.”

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

🍷

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“C’mere.” He requests. 

“No.”

“Just c’mere.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“If you were my boyfriend?”

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

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

“Wouldn’t have hit anyone…”

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

“Tried and true.” He smiles smugly. 

“You’re so predictable.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’d be even better now.”

“Thought about this before, have you?”

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

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

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

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

“It never leads to anything good.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re a good kisser, Harry.” 

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

“What, then?”

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

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

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

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

“Is someone gonna try to punch me?”

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

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

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

“Can you take a punch?”

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

“Then, I think you should risk it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“In the kitchen!” 

🍷

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I think we should hire out a catamaran.”

“Aren’t you scared of boats?”

“Only the little ones.” She dismisses.

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

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

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

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

“I can’t say no when people ask me.” 

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

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

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

“So, what day should we book for?” 

“Wednesday?” 

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

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

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

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

“I’m sold. It’s a date!”

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

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

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

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

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

“Savina.” You hiss between clenched teeth. 

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

“How does Wednesday sound?”

“Wednesday it is.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Darling, we always do.” 

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

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

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

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

“Loathe.”

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

“Detest.”

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

“Despise.” 

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

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

“Pesty, irritating, frustrating, antagonistic bastard.”

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

“Stop or I’ll bust.”

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

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

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

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

“You are the worst!”

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

🍷

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re a little liar.”

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

“What the-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s the same-”

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

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

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

“I-”

“Read the book.”

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

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

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

“Uh, uh.” He scolds, “Read, Y/n.” 

And you prop the book back up with embarrassing haste. 

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

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

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

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

“Tell me more.” 

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

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

“Gonna be a good girl from now on?”

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

“For who?”

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

“For you, Harry.”

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

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

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

“It was a mistake-”

“Are you sure about that?” 

“Yes-”

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

“Are you sure, Y/n?” 

“...No.”

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

“Was that so hard?” 

“No, sir.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And you’ll deeply regret it.”

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

“Why’s that, angel?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“G’na show me how good you can be?” 

“Ask me nicely.” 

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

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

“Please, Y/n.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“C’mere pretty girl.” 

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

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

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

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

“Fuck, Harry.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So you can be a good girl.”  

“So you can be something other than annoying.” 

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

“I can be anything you want, Y/n.” 

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

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

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

🍷

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s awful.”

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

“He spanked me.”

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s… messed up, Y/n.”  

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

“Don’t say his name.” You shush. 

“You’re so dramatic!”

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

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

“Ugh. I want a summer love.”

“We’re too old for this.” 

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

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

“Please, let me live vicariously.” 

🍷

Déjà fuckin vu. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“... Well it won’t work today.”

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

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

“Spiralling again, sweetheart?”

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

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

“Dont ask me, I rarely understand you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

🍷

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do not laugh.”

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

“Oh, dear God.”

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

“Help me.” 

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

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

“What did I tell you?”

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

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

“Make yourself at home.”

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

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

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

“You look it.” 

“Everything hurts.” He whines.

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

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

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

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

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

 “S’not funny!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What am I supposed to do?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who knew you had a soft side.”

“Don’t start.” 

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

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

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

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

“Head still feels like a rave.” 

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

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

“How have you survived this long?” 

“Pure luck.” He thinks. 

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

“Drink the whole glass.” 

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

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

“You’re an angel, I owe you.”

“Don’t you always?”

“Add it to my tab.”

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

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

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

“What are we watching?” 

“Fleabag.”

“Seen it before?” 

“Plenty.”

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

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

“You don’t have to-”

“Zip it, strawberry boy.” 

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

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

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

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

“Y/n?” 

“Harry.”

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

“Shush.”

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

---

Let me know what you think! - Emmy. xo

[buckyalpine]

18+ Minors dni Enemies to lovers with some massage therapist Bucky. Breeding kinnk, aftercare, Bucky is a secret softie, all that.

Imagine Rival Biker Bucky x f reader. A smutty, slutty little concept while I add the finishing touches to another fic, just getting this out of my system first. I just love the idea of a sexy, bad boy Bucky getting his hands on the one girl who won't give him a second glance because she's too good for him and they're from opposite worlds. Since childhood. Now he's a biker. Covered in black ink. He works in an auto shop. Owns the bar that brings in chaos. He's smoke, whiskey and leather.

She, however, is soft, pretty, smart and does not have the time to entertain someone like him. She has her degree. Working on a second. She has a career. She does not associate with the likes of him, not as the police chiefs daughter. She'll be damned if she has to even breathe the same air, especially when his gang is the cause for half the problems in the town that her father has been trying to get rid of.

Now, imagine that hours of working on her notes and papers leave her with unbearable knots and kninks in her back. She doesn't want to take a break but the pain only gets worse as the week goes by. It doesn't take long for her to shoot her regular massage therapist a message to book the very first available appointment.

-

You unclasped your bra, folding and setting it off to the side while waiting for Wanda in the warmly lit room. You could have sworn she was a witch with the way she made pain disappear; she’d also become a good friend after your many visits.

The knock at the door interrupted you as you slid your shorts off, leaving you in your panties, not rushing to jump onto the table considering it was just Wanda anyway.

“Come in!” You smiled, making your way to the massage bed as the door clicked open- “Oh my God!!” You nearly shrieked seeing Bucky walk in, a shit eating from spreading across his face as you scrambled to grab the tiny towel to cover yourself though it was a futile attempt. “What the hell are you doing here?!”

"You have an appointment, don't you?" He quirked an eyebrow as if it was clear as day why he was there.

"Yeah, with Wanda, why are you here, did you get lost on the way to jail?" Your face scrunched in a mix of confusion and disgust ignoring the roll of his eyes while you snatched your shirt to better cover up.

"Well Wanda couldn't make it in but she sent me" He said with a shrug, sighing when he saw your less than impressed face, "Don't flatter yourself, I'm just training under her as part of my physiotherapy internship"

"I'm sorry, you're trying to tell me you of all people are learning how to give massages? Please"

"Physiotherapy" Bucky corrected, "You're not the only one who has a degree, princess" Bucky watched as you groaned realizing you hadn't put your bra on, opting to stuff it in your bag instead of putting it back on in front of him.

"You are NOT laying a finger on me-ow!" You hissed, feeling the knot in your back tug at the rest of your muscles.

"You're not gonna be able to do a whole lot with that much pain" Bucky smirked, only half joking. He wasn't wrong. The pain was worse than before and you needed this an you really didn't have the time to reschedule.

"Fine" You mumbled, turning away from him so you could take your shirt off again, glaring at him when you noticed he hadn't turned away. "Could you at least give me some privacy instead of lurking in the corner like a pervert"

"Whatever you want, princess" He bit his lip as he faced the wall, hearing your feet pad across the tile to lay down on the massage table.

"Alright" You huffed after covering your lower body with the towel, now laying face down, immediately second guessing yourself as he walked over.

"Let me know if anything's uncomfortable or if you want me to stop" His voice was no longer snarky; in fact he sounded professional. "Where do you feel the most tension?"

"Um-shoulders and-lower back" You mumbled out the last bit, he was going to massage you there anyway so there so no pointed hiding it. You tensed at the feeling of his oiled fingers starting to work at your muscles, he had no right to be that good. At all.

“Shit” you hissed trying to keep your voice down, ignoring the clench of your stomach feeling his rough fingers press down on the areas that were tight. Little did you know Bucky was struggling far more than you were.

It went against every bit of professionalism he had. Every moan you tried to silence went right to his cock, his hands making their way lower before trailing up again. Fuck, you sounded so pretty...

"Better stop making those sounds"

"Or what" You challenged back before you could even stop yourself.

"Princess..."

"Your attitude is what needs fixing" Bucky growled, professionalism be damned, "fuck this"

-

You have no idea how you ended up here. It didn't matter though, not when there wasn't a single cohesive thought in your brain as you wailed letting Bucky absolutely rail you. Your back didn't feel an ounce of pain as he took you on all fours, pulling your hips to slam back against him, gripping your ass with enough strength to leave you sore.

"Feel better now huh baby, not trying to stay quiet anymore, are ya" He let out a low chuckle which melted into a groan feeling you tighten on his dick, "Such a good little princess like you letting me put my dick in you, dirty girl"

You hate to admit it but the clench of your cunt betrays how much you love this. It was so wrong. You had no business fucking someone like him and yet where you were letting his precum paint all over the inside of your walls.

"What would your daddy say princess, if he knew where you were right now, what you were doin'? Thinking you're studying when you're actually all pretty and naked, letting me rub that gorgeous body up and down, bet you'd let me put my cum in you too, huh? Bet your dad would love that, his perfect little girl all knocked up with some bikers baby"

You could have said no, stayed silence, just about anything but nope. You screamed feeling his fingers reach around the massage your clit, your orgasm wasting no time hurling towards you.

"Ja-Ja-JAMESSS"

"MMMPHH I love the sound of that baby, could get used to hearing you sayin' my name, say it again princess, say my name with my cock in you, c'mon, that's it"

"Fuck-James-I-James" You were a mess and loving every bit of it, tears starting to flow down your cheeks, all the pent up stress you were feeling finally releasing. You felt your throat tighten, a sob escaping your lips as you let go, your arousal making a creamy mess on the dark curly hair on the base of his cock.

"God, you're milkin me, you want my cum that bad huh baby, want a little biker baby in that tummy of yours, I'll give it to you, give you so much I might even put twins in there-FUCKK"

-

"Shhhh" Bucky cooed, wrapping you up in a fluffy towel while cuddling up your limp body, wiping away any remnants of tears while you stayed floating in a subby, post sex haze. "I got you, you did so good princess" You only manage to let out a weak whimper, giving into his warm, thick arms that rock you.

"You alright angel?"

"Mph" you mumble against his chest and he reaches over for a glass of water that's nearby, bringing it up for you to take a sip. You're surprised at how sweet he's being, drinking up before snuggling into him again. Damn him for being so warm and comfy.

"Y'know, there might be a little Bucky in there" He whispers with a playful smirk in his voice, fingers tickling your lower belly, chuckling when you narrow your eyes at him.

"You wish" You sass back, ignoring the butterflies you feel.

"I do" He admits, biting his lip, his previous cocky demeanor replaced with a shy one, though he tries to mask it. Poorly. His cheeks are pinker than the time you threw paint on him for pulling your pigtails. When you were both 4. "I'd want Bucky jr. to have your brains though"

Imagine that incident sets off a very interesting chain of events. A confession of feelings. You both couldn't be happier, meanwhile your father is grumbling about how he knew this fuckin' day would come, God damn it.

"I never liked that boy" He struggles to keep a scowl on his face watching you giggle like you were 4 again, running to the door as soon as you hear the rumble of his bike.

"Shut up, you love him" Your mom chides, watching Bucky swoop you up for a loving kiss, heading you a bouquet of yellow flowers as he always does.

-

"I still don't like 'em" Your dad says while you roll your eyes, your arm linked with his as he walks you down the aisle.

"Is that why all the files you had to build a case against him all suddenly went missing?" You tease and your dad shugs.

"Wasn't me"

-

just an idea.

[sematarygirls]

   EX-CONVICT!BABYDADDY!RAFE x FEM!READER

WARNINGS .ᐟ unprotected p in v, breeding kink if you squint, heavyyyy angst, rafe being an asshole (as per usual), brief mentions of guns/police raid and drugs

NOTES .ᐟ guys, i need him so bad, like actually. based on this concept from my silly little brain. dad!rafe stays in my mind 24/7, but this is me we're talking about, so of course, i had to put a lil spin on it. also this turned out way longer than i meant it to, woah

After almost four years, you were finally starting to feel like you were getting your shit together. You were living in a nice house in a nice neighborhood where everyone knew everyone—the kind of place where people literally asked their neighbors for cups of sugar. You had a stable job that allowed you to live comfortably and provide for yourself and your daughter, and you had a big St. Bernard, lovingly named Moonshine after you'd watched one too many episodes of Moonshiners, that provided a sense of safety and security when the nights were cold and the paranoia started to creep into your mind.

Being a single mom was not easy, and it definitely hadn't been a part of your life plan, but then, you met Rafe Cameron—the ever charming, sweet talking man that he was. He swept you up and made you feel like the only girl in the world, like nothing else mattered as long as you were by his side, so when you found out you were pregnant, you were over the moon at the idea of starting a family with him.

But Rafe Cameron was a liar. He was selfish and manipulative, and he turned your life right on it's head.

You could still remember the day the police kicked in the door of your apartment, bursting in with guns drawn, pointed directly at you. You were eight months pregnant and having a gun pointed at you—at your baby—made you physically ill.

They had raided the apartment and found copious amounts of drugs. Your heart dropped, and you immediately felt like an idiot. How had you not known? You knew he made more money than he realistically should have, but the thought never even crossed your mind that this could be the reason. You were heartbroken and angry. Angry that he had lied. Angry that he put you in this position. And, angry that he was leaving you.

Rafe was arrested, and eventually charged with possession with intent to distribute due to the amount of drugs they found, which resulted in a five year sentence. You were sad and angry, not only because you were losing the man you always thought was the love of your life, but also because now, you were alone, and your daughter wouldn't know her father for the first five years of her life.

This anger and resentment festered, mixing with longing and a deep, aching sadness. You couldn't bring yourself to answer his calls or letters, let alone visit him. You didn't know who he was anymore. The man that you saw sporting handcuffs and an orange jumpsuit at his trial was not the same man you fell in love with, and you wouldn't pretend like he was.

You had known Rafe's release date was approaching, but you were under the impression that you still had a little over a year to plan on what you were going to do when it finally came. That's why you were so unsuspecting when you went to answer the harsh knock at your door.

It was a Thursday night, and you were cuddled up on the couch with Moonshine, who was practically the size of you. A horror movie was playing on the TV before you, one you'd seen practically a million times, and every few minutes, your gaze would flicker to the baby monitor on the coffee table that displayed the feedback from a camera in your daughter, Rhiannon's, room.

You jumped a little at the harsh sound of a knock on your front door, the horror movie already having you on edge. You could be paranoid sometimes, especially being a single mom, so realistically, you knew you shouldn't have been watching it so late at night, but they were your guilty pleasures that you couldn't indulge in the light of day because of your toddler.

Moonshine immediately jumped up, a low growl escaping his throat as his hair stood on end. Your brows furrowed at his odd behavior, pausing the movie and unfurling yourself from your comfortable position. Your steps were soft on the hardwood, your socks cushioning the sound as you padded over to the front door, patting the dog's head comfortingly as you unlocked the door, completely unaware with what would greet you on the other side.

As you opened the door, the cool night air hit you, carrying with it the faint scent of cigarette smoke. You blinked in surprise, expecting to see a neighbor, but instead, you found yourself face to face with Rafe Cameron.

Your eyes widened, the air knocked from your lungs as you took him in. He was changed, broader and more imposing, his muscles flexing under his tight black t-shirt as he crossed his arms. His hair was buzzed, his chiseled jawline sporting stubble that made him look older, more mature.

He looked so different, but still, somehow, the same. You were hit by a wave of emotions—longing, love, sadness, but most presently, anger. Who did he think he was showing up unannounced in the middle of the night after all these years, especially looking so unapologetic and devastatingly handsome.

His piercing blue eyes bore into yours, captivating and dangerous like a wave pulling you under when you least expected it. "Hey, baby," he greeted, his voice low and smooth, like honey dripping off his tongue. The term of endearment fell from his lips without any semblance of warmth as he stared at you with an intensity that made you want to shrink in on yourself.

"What are you doing here?" You asked, your jaw clenching and grip on the door's edge tightening. You shivered a little as the cold air bit at your bare skin, barely registering the low growls of Moonshine behind you due to your tunnel vision on the man standing before you.

He smirked confidently, knowing the effect he had on you—the effect he always had on you. His eyebrow arched as he took in your appearance, his eyes lingering on your bare thighs, courtesy of your pajama shorts. "Aren't you going to invite me in, sweetheart? It's been a long time." He took a step forward, his broad frame filling the doorway intimidatingly.

You swallowed hard, resisting the urge to step back and let him intimidate you into getting what he wanted. You craned your neck to look up at him, his close proximity looming over you, making him seem even taller and more imposing than he already was. "And whose fault is that?" You managed to say, despite the pit in your stomach—a mix of dread, anxiety, and strangely, desire.

Rafe's gaze sharpened, his eyes glinting dangerously. He uncrossed his arms and braced one hand on the doorframe beside your head, leaning in closer. It made your breath catch in your throat, but you held firm. You couldn't let him see that he was getting to you. "Let me in," he clenched his jaw. His anger at you for abandoning him in there had been bubbling up, and your defiance was bringing it to the surface.

A light flickering on in the house across the street caught your eye. Old lady Flanigan had a habit of making everyone else's business, her business, and she was a nasty gossip. Unless you wanted people talking, you either had to let him in or get him to leave, and one of those would be a nearly impossible feat. "Rafe, you can't be here. You can't just barge back into my life after all this time," you told him firmly, your own eyes blazing with a fiery intensity.

"And why not?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous. His body was practically vibrating with pent-up anger, his muscles taut as he leaned in closer, his breath fanning across your face. "Did you ever think about me? Did you ever think about what you did to us?"

"What I did?" You scoffed, anger bubbling up inside you at his accusation, blaming you as if he wasn't the one that went to prison and left you alone. "Are you fucking kidding me?" The old woman across the street was now shamelessly watching through her window, and you knew you had no choice but to let him in before her nosey ass called the cops on the strange, clearly out of place man lurking in the neighborhood.

He followed your eyes, looking over his shoulder to the nosy neighbor, his expression darkening. Without another word, he pushed past you, entering the house and forcing you to step back.

Your jaw clenched at his blatant disregard or respect for your wishes as you gently closed the door behind you. Moonshine barked, baring his teeth at the intruder, clearly sensing the tension and jumping into action to protect his family. "Moonshine, stop," you told him firmly. You were proud of him, but you didn't want his barking to wake Rhiannon. The last thing you could deal with right now was Rafe and a crying toddler. You could only focus on one temper tantrum at a time.

Rafe's eyes narrowed as he watched you control your dog, a muscle ticking in his jaw. His gaze then swept the interior of your home, taking in every detail as if memorizing it. "Nice place," he commented flatly, turning back to face you. "Where's my kid?"

You took a deep breath, your gaze hard at him calling your daughter his kid, like he had any right. He didn't even know her name or that she was a girl. "She's asleep," you told him, crossing your arms over your chest.

His piercing eyes bore into yours, unyielding. "Her name." he demanded gruffly.

"Rhiannon," you informed him hesitantly, your gaze darting to the monitor on the coffee table, making sure she was still asleep.

His expression flickered briefly, a flash of something softer, almost vulnerable, in his eyes before it was quickly concealed. He nodded once. "I want to see her." It wasn't a request. His posture remained tense and coiled, ready to react to your response.

You huffed, running a hand through your hair and heading to the kitchen with him hot on your heels. Maybe you wanted to busy yourself. Maybe you wanted an excuse not to have to look at him. Maybe you just wanted to walk away from him, to assert some kind of power. Either way, your next words were spoken with your back to him. "I told you. She's asleep. It's the middle of the fucking night, Rafe, what did you expect?"

He followed you into the kitchen, his presence overwhelming in the small space. The air felt charged, thick with unspoken words and unresolved tension. "I don't give a fuck what time it is," he growled, his voice low and intense. "I've missed four years of her life already."

You rounded the kitchen island, planting your hands on it as you turned to face him, feeling more comfortable with the counter between you. Not because you were scared of him but because, despite yourself and despite your anger, you longed to touch him and have him touch you. "And whose fucking fault is that, huh?" You asked angrily, echoing your earlier words that he had ignored.

Rafe's expression darkened, his jaw clenching as he stared back at you. The muscle in his jaw clenched as he ground his teeth together, trying to rein in his anger. "Yours," he bit out. "You left me in there," he accused.

"You left me out here!" Your voice raised slightly before you caught yourself, letting out a hard breath. The only way you could keep yourself from getting sad, from crying over the loss of the only man you'd ever truly loved, was getting angry at him.

"You think I wanted to go to prison?" He hissed, rounding the island and backing you against the counter. "You think I had a fucking choice?"

"You did have a choice," you said sharply, bracing your hands on the counter behind you as you stared up at him. "You chose to deal drugs, and you chose to keep dealing even after you found out I was pregnant. Prison was just the consequence of all your shitty choices."

His hand came up, slamming on the cabinet beside your head, the sound making you jump slightly. "And what about you?" He seethed, his chest heaving as his breath came in short, angry bursts. "What about your choices, huh? You could've waited for me."

"I did what I had to do," you said, glaring at him. You weren't quite sure what else to say. You had to protect yourself, your own feelings, and your child. You couldn't have stayed in touch, sick with worry every night while you soothed a colicky baby all by yourself. You had to forget him; it was better that way, easier.

"What you had to do," he repeated, his voice dripping with sarcasm and the faintest hint of hurt. "You moved on pretty quick, didn't you? Found some new dick to warm your bed, is that it?"

"Fuck you," you spat, the words stabbing you like a knife to the heart. You hadn't been able to bring yourself to even look at another man since he went away. You told yourself it was just because of Rhiannon, that you were focusing on raising her and being the best mother you could be, but deep down, you knew it was because your heart would always belong to Rafe.

"Is that it?" he repeated, his face inches from yours. His voice was low, his eyes searching yours for something. "You found some other man to replace me?"

"Maybe I have," you said stubbornly. You knew you were being petty, wanting him to hurt like you hurt, but you also knew you were a shit liar, so there was no way in hell he would actually believe you. "Maybe I have moved on."

His other hand shot out, gripping your chin roughly as he forced you to look at him. "Bullshit," he growled, looking down at you, his blue eyes darkened. "I can see it in your eyes. You haven't moved on to shit."

You stared up at him defiantly, your chest heaving with anger, which only intensified when you felt the wetness between your thighs. Even after all this time, all it took was a look and a simple touch to get you so wet, and as much as you hated it, you couldn't deny that something about his post-prison appearance—how rugged and large he was—made your knees week.

His hand tightened on your chin as he leaned in, pressing his lips to yours in a brutal, demanding kiss. It was clear he was angry, punishing you for the words you'd spoken, and you knew you should've pushed him away—yelled at him and told him to get the fuck out of your house—but you didn't.

Instead, you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer as you kissed him with an intensity that matched the war going on within you—the jumbled mess of love and hate that he had brought up within you.

He groaned into the kiss, his hands gripping your face roughly as he devoured your mouth. He pushed you further back against the counter that was now digging into your lower back, his body pinning you in place. You could feel his anger, his frustration, his desperation, and it only fueled your own emotions.

The kiss was raw and charged with a passionate mix of need, longing, and pure, unbridled anger, both of you trying to show the other that this wasn't a surrender of power or giving into the other and accepting blame. The kiss itself was an argument, a fight all of its own that didn't require words.

He hands went to your hips, lifting you onto the counter and stepping between your parted legs. Tearing his mouth from yours, he began kissing along your jawline and down the column of your throat. His lips were hot and insistent, his teeth nipping at your skin as he continued to mark you.

You panted, your chest heaving for an entirely different reason now as you let out soft gasps and breathy sounds of approval, your head falling back against the cabinet behind your head. You had forgotten how good he was with his mouth, always knowing exactly how to drive you wild.

He took advantage of the exposed column of your throat, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. His hands gripped your thighs, pulling you to the edge of the counter. You let out a low moan, your nails raking against his buzzed scalp. As sexy as he looked with a buzzcut, you wished you could run your fingers through his hair, tugging on it slightly everytime he touched you just right.

"Mmm," he hummed against your skin, his voice a low vibration that seemed to go straight to your core. He kissed his way back up to your mouth, his hips pushing forward to press his hardness against your core. "Did you forget how good I am, baby?"

You internally rolled your eyes at his cocky tone, like he had won. "God, do you ever shut up?" You asked, sounding less annoyed and effective since you were still breathless from his kisses.

His hips thrust forward again, making an involuntary whine fall from your lips at the feeling. "Not when I'm right." He smirked, his eyes crinkling at the corners. His smirk was as frustratingly handsome as it had always been, and it made you want to smack him and kiss him all at once. "And I am."

"Don't be a dickhead," you glared at him, his arrogance and your own unyielding need for him only heightening your frustration. You were desperate and aching for him, but you refused to give in and beg him like you wanted to.

"Then quit acting like you're not soaking wet for me." His grip on your thighs tightened, calloused fingers digging into the soft flesh. "I bet if I slipped my hand into your shorts, I'd find you drenched and ready for me, wouldn't I?"

His smug tone infuriated you and turned you on all at once. "Shut up, Rafe," you demanded, balling your fist into the fabric of his shirt and pulling him closer, so you could press your lips to his, forcing him to shut up and quit pissing you off.

Your grip on his shirt loosened, hand sliding down his hard, muscular chest to his waistband. You had always seen the trope of guys working out their frustrations in prison movies, but you didn't know that was actually a thing. Your fingers fumbled with his belt as he slipped his tongue into your mouth, sliding it along yours in a way that had you moaning against his lips

He groaned low in his throat as you finally worked the belt buckle open, sliding the leather through the loops and dropping it to the floor with a clank. His hands immediately slid up your thighs, hooking into the waistband of your shorts and pulling them down your legs—with the help of you awkwardly shifting to lift your ass enough to do so.

He discarded the garments to the floor with his belt, his palms running along your bare thighs as he parted your legs wider, opening you to him. His calloused fingertips brushed against your center, feeling your slick folds, making you gasp into his mouth. "Told you," he grinned against your lips, finding it in himself to be a complete dick, even when he was about to be inside you.

"Asshole," you mumbled, fingers deftly popping open the button of his jeans and unzipping them. You hooked your fingers in his waistband, shoving his pants and underwear down as he had done to you.

He kicked his pants and boxers off the rest of the way, stepping between your thighs again. His hard cock was flushed, the tip glistening with precum. He gripped himself at the base, rubbing the head through your slick folds teasingly. "What was that, baby?"

Your breath caught in your throat. "Just put your dick inside me before I kill you," you threatened him, though you both knew you wouldn't do anything, not really.

He chuckled lowly, the sound sending shivers down your spine. "You want it so bad, don't you?" He teased, his tip nudging against your entrance but not pushing inside. "Beg for it, baby. Let me hear how much you need my cock." He didn't need to be angry when he could punish you like this. He knew begging was the last thing you wanted to do, but he also knew that you'd do it.

"Don't piss me off right now, Rafe," you gritted your teeth, the feeling of him against your entrance making you dizzy with desire.

"Or what, baby? You'll what?" He pressed against you again, the tip of his cock pushing inside just slightly before pulling back out. "Tell me what you'll do if I don't give you what you want." He was pushing your buttons, knowing exactly how to make you snap.

You practically whimpered at the feeling of him pulling out. "Fuck- fine, please, Rafe," you panted, furious with yourself and him that you were giving into him. "Please just fuck me already."

The confident, victorious smirk that instantly appeared on his face had you wanting to slap him. "Now was that so hard?" He condescend. Your annoyed retort died in your throat as he finally pushed into you, making you moan, your head falling back against the cupboard at the feeling of him inside you after so long.

He groaned as your tight heat enveloped him, his fingers digging into your thighs hard enough to bruise as he started to move. His body tensed, using every ounce of his self control not to cum on the spot. Four years of fucking himself in his hand was nothing compared to the way you were squeezing him right now.

One hand moved up to your mouth, muffling your growing moans and whines. "Shh," he cooed. You were thankful for it. You knew you had to be quiet, but the way he was pounding into you made it nearly impossible.

"Did you miss me, baby?" He leaned down, breathing hotly against your neck as he nipped at your throat. "Did you lay awake at night thinking about me stretching you like this?" He flexed his hips, driving deep inside you.

You nodded, letting out a muffled "mhm" against his palm as your back arched into him. He felt so good, better than you'd remembered, and you hadn't had sex in four years, so you were so worked up.

"Good," he purred, his teeth scraping against your skin as he continued to pound into you relentlessly. "Because I missed you too, baby. Missed this tight little cunt wrapped around my dick." The hand on your thigh dipped down between your legs, his calloused thumb rubbing circles on your clit.

You gasped against his palm, your eyes rolling back at the mix of sensations. You were already so pathetically close, feeling that familiar aching deep within you.

He could feel your weepy cunt starting to flutter around him, and he was more than glad that you were so close so quickly because he didn't know how much longer he could hold back. "Gonna cum inside this pretty little pussy, baby. Gonna get you pregnant again, and this time I'm not gonna miss a damn thing"

His words turned you on more than they should have, snapping that coil inside you and sending you over the edge. You tensed around his dick, feeling your orgasm wash over you as you cried out his name.

"Shit, baby," he groaned, burying his face into your neck, his facial hair tickling your skin as he pushed himself deep inside you, painting your insides white with his release. His breath was hot against your already heated skin, a thin layer of sweat coating both your bodies as he slowly softened inside you.

Your chest rose and fell rapidly as you tried to catch your breath, his hand falling from your mouth to brace himself on the counter. You couldn't believe that after all these years of promising yourself you wouldn't let him back into your life, you had so easily opened your legs and even let him cum inside you—because clearly that worked out so well for you last time.

He stayed buried inside you for a moment, enjoying the warmth and the feeling of finally being home where he belonged. He eventually pulled out, his softening dick slipping from your tender cunt.

You had to tell him that he couldn't stay, that it would confuse Rhiannon to wake up to a strange man in the house, but you didn't know how, not after what just happened.

He stepped back, allowing you to get down from the counter. A silence fell over both of you as you got dressed, neither one knowing what happens now. He finished buttoning up his jeans, his eyes flicking up to you as he ran a hand over his buzzed head. "So... what now?" He asked gruffly, breaking the silence.

"You can't- you have to go," you told him, pulling your shorts back up and crossing your arms. It seemed unfair to say such a thing after sharing such an intimate moment, but you needed to think of your daughter. She didn't even know who Rafe was.

"You're kicking me out?" He echoed, as if he couldn't believe it. "After... that?" He gestured vaguely, a muscle in his jaw ticking.

You pinched the bridge of your nose, both of you finding yourselves right back where you started. "You cant just... be here. Rhiannon doesn't even know who you are." The words seemed cruel as soon as they left your lips, but they were true. You wished they weren't, but they were.

"I know. Fuck, I know that. Don't you think I know that?" He was frustrated, your words like a slap to the face. "But goddamn it, I want to know her. I want to be a part of her life."

"I'm not saying you can't be, but... she's four, Rafe. She's old enough that you can't just walk in and call yourself her father," you told him firmly. "It's going to take time. I don't want to overwhelm her."

"Time?" He asked incredulously. Deep down, he knew you were right, that you were doing what was best, but he was so angry at himself, and instead of facing that anger and acknowledging that this was his own doing, he was taking it out on you. "I've already missed four fucking years. First steps, first words, first everythings."

"I can't keep going in circles with you, Rafe," you ran your hand through your hair, utterly exhausted. "You do this my way, or you don't do this at all." It hurt you to be so cold. You wanted Rhiannon to know her father, but she was just a kid. She wouldn't understand why her dad just showed up out of the blue, and you didn't know how to explain it to her.

He stared at you, his face unreadable. For a long moment, neither of you said anything. Then, he spoke, his voice low. "Alright. Fine. Your way. But you better not shut me out again. I'm not gonna miss anymore. Understand?"

You nodded, thankful that he was going to stop fighting you on this. "Do you have a-a number or something?" You asked, unsure how long he'd been out, if he got his phone back and was able to pay the bill or if he bought a burner. You didn't even know where he was staying.

He shoved his hands in his pockets. "It's the same as my old one," he said gruffly, clearly annoyed by your previous ultimatum.

"Right, okay," you nodded, your fingers drumming against your upper arm. You two stood in silence for a long moment. Rafe didn't want to leave, and you didn't want to tell him to.

Rafe's gaze fell to the floor, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed thickly. "Can I see her before I go?" He asked softly. "Just... just to see her."

There was a shift in his demeanor, a vulnerability about him that told you he really did care about Rhiannon, even if he'd never met her. "Yeah," you found yourself nodding, turning to lead him to her room. As you entered the living room, you could've sworn Moonshine was giving a disapproving side eye. "Don't judge me," you mumbled.

He followed you down the hallway, his heavy boots thudding on the floor. He paused in the doorway of Rhiannon's room, looking in on her sleeping form. She was curled up on her side in a princess toddler bed, her little arms wrapped around a stuffed cat. Rafe's expression softened as he took her in.

His eyes swept over the room, the nightlight plugged into the wall illuminating the space. The walls were painted a light shade of pink, toys strewn about. A small bookshelf sat tucked in the corner, various children's books inside, some sitting on the floor in front of it.

He stepped into the room, moving closer to the bed. He crouched down, his eyes fixed on Rhiannon's sleeping face as he reached out, his large hand gentle as he brushed a strand of hair from her forehead. "She's so little," he murmured softly, almost reverently.

You leaned on the doorway, a small, sad smile pulling at your lips as you watched the exchange. You found yourself wondering what life would have been like if Rafe never got locked up, your heart aching as you thought about sharing all of Rhiannon's firsts with someone, bickering over whether she would've said mommy or daddy first. The wobbly first steps, the soothing and band-aid applications after she scraped her knees. What would it have been like to share those moments with him?

Rafe's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed thickly, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "She's beautiful." He turned his head to look at you, and you saw the sheen of moisture in his eyes. He blinked it away quickly, clearing his throat as he stood, masking his emotions as he always had. "I should go."

You hesitated, for a moment wanting to throw everything you'd said out the window and tell him to stay, but you knew you couldn't. You just nodded, letting him push past you. You didn't move from your spot, even after you heard the front door open and shut. You simply closed your eyes, leaning your head against the doorframe as a few tears rolled down your cheeks.

[ozzgin]

Yandere School Q&A

I've gotten some related asks and thought I'd put them in a cleaner format, so I don't spawn another round of screenshots from my inbox.

Ohhh how would yan school react if y/n got hurt somehow?? Also quick question is her parents also platonic yans for them? Thanks!! - Anonymous

It only makes sense that the staff of the school is yandere material, too. The students may rush to help and insist they've got it under control, but the school nurse will be quick to act. It's the chance of a lifetime, having you to himself, and for longer than the usual standard checkup. The curtains are pulled, and the "do not disturb" sign is flipped. Your injuries are not to be taken lightly. You'll need to spend all day under his supervision.

The parents and all relatives are indeed platonic yanderes! I thought it'd be a nice touch since I've never approached the trope before.

YAYAYAYYAYYAYAYAYAYAYAYAA MORE YANDERE SCHOOLLLLLL You’re amazing!!!!! (I had to ask to make sure I used the right your/you’re) also is the darling yandere gonna keep sabotaging y/n? - @femboybasil

The tying up incident was actually an exception to what I originally planned, haha. For most of the competitions, darling yandere will guide (Y/N) and aid them for a flawless win. That's the comedy of it: he's indirectly doing the yandere part while trying to be discreet enough as to not alert the other yanderes. Additionally, (Y/N) helps him with the darling tasks. Though that part is very much expected by everyone from school. The Daring Academy teachers are probably observing the activities, baffled. "Who the hell is that student? What skill...what obliviousness. They should've applied to us."

If you’re comfortable with this concept, (since it’s a school-based series I don’t know if the reader and yanderes are minors are not, if they are then you don’t have to write this.) but obviously the students of the Yandere Academy are going to need to learn how to tie up their darlings once they’ve been captured. Would you mind writing a little blurb about it since Reader is the unofficially assigned darling stand-in for their classes? - Anonymous

This is the ask I used for the tying up idea in Part 3! To answer your worries, all of my stories involve 18+ characters! Just wanted to clear it up for anyone in doubt. The school/academy setup is more of a college/university kind of institution. I do love a good high school setup, but not for self insert romance.

I’d imagine that there’s a drama class at the yandere school to help the students learn how to act and seem innocent. What if they put on a musical or something like Phantom of the Opera (because of course it would be that) and reader got the role of Christine or the equivalent. Imagine all the yanderes fighting for the role of their love interests to get the excuse to kiss them, and other yanderes trying to sabotage them as tactfully as possible to keep the show going, but replace the leads to be alongside reader. Think that may be something cool to add/write about? No pressure of course! - Anonymous

You know the whole thing is going to turn into a ninja survival shitshow. They had hoped to never cast (Y/N) in any role, for everyone's safety. And for the most part, (Y/N) thankfully never showed any interest in the drama club.

The supervising teacher held (Y/N)'s application form with trembling hands. It seems their little club had finally run out of luck.

Worst part: the school can't even rely on the teachers. They're just as desperate to see their cute little (Y/N) perform on stage. "Maybe this job is too overwhelming for one person, sensei..." they'll smugly tell the original supervisor. "We could divide some tasks. Someone else could train (Y/N), for example..."

ok here me out, what if there is like a field trip or sports festival kind of thing where the Yandere and Darling academy meet up. Basically where a Yandere and a darling are made to pair up to go through the numerous activities (maybe ones that test their yandere/darling skills) so reader decides to pair up with clumsy Yandere ( who is in Darling academy) much to the displeasure of Yandere classmate. Maybe like a battle of the the Yanderes? - Anonymous

This was a little trippy to read, because it came right after part 3, haha. Which I feel is basically the same plot. Though it would be interesting to see how it'd play out if the stranger was Reader's best friend instead.

Reader excitedly approaches Clumsy!Yandere and asks him to work together, to the dismay of all other students. They're enraged. You can see it plainly: their hands tremble, their jaws are clenched, their eyes have a psychotic glint. Poor Clumsy!Yandere is in constant shivers, unaware of the death stares. You're cheerfully guiding him around, his hand in yours, happy to see your friend again.

[ask-the-rag-dolly]

after listening to an among us song i was given the drive to reboot this au so ,

originated from a doodle that spiraled , SPREAD THE INFLUENCE is an au where ragatha is the ( unwilling ) host of a parasite called ' the influence ' which is a virus that only wants to spread and survive . she wasn't compliant about it at the beginning which was ' fixed ' with an itty bitty bit of psychological torment !

also yes i know the abbreviation is unfortunate and i do not care it's funny

even though ragatha's still our usual sweet little optimist , there is this persistent feeling of wrongness . too positive . too affectionate . it's like all of her humanity has been scooped out and you're left with the mask she made for others in the circus .

which is how the virus spread in the circus - they preyed on vulnerabilities which was what their host is perfect for . striking when the victim puts their guards down , making them submit under the guise that their problems will be fixed ... unfortunately it's a monkey's paw situation .

of course , that's only for this particular instance of the influencer ! something to note is that the virus takes a lot from the host's personality , so t.i's mellow and passive , only resorting to violence whenever necessary . t.i's not really an opposite ragatha she's more like a Dark , Fucked Up Version of ragatha the amazing digital circus . she cares a lot for everyone she considers a part of her hive , but it took a lot of manipulation and gaslighting for them to get infected .

caine is left uninfected because " i would do that if my goal is to destroy this place ! " t.i's ultimate fear has always been dying . it'll do everything to not die , to the point it's trying to spread out of the circus ( <- honestly take this info with a grain of salt i wrote this before i fully developed the story ) . unfortunately there's this jester who's resisting the virus with pure lesbian rage and is trying to stop her .

now rags would eventually get de-influenced and the circus will no longer be infected , but we will talk about the extremely rocky journey of recovering from knowing you harmed everyone you cared about Later

was this ' the influence ' that amanda ( ragatha's va ) keeps referencing ? sighs ... yeah . ( feels so surreal that i can say i have their seal of approval for this )

why ragatha ? in story , how is she not the perfect host ? metatextually , this is an au of an au - this came from a blog about ragatha getting a virus that is inconveniencing her life . i simply thought of an idea of ' hey what if the virus took over her body ' one day . then this abomination was born . i would reveal the why and how she got infected ... eventually .........

is she still afraid of centipedes ? is it a ragatha if she doesn't have a fear of centipedes

does pomni still use a taser ? yeah

could i use / be inspired by the influence for my au ? i did not invent the concept of Computer Viruses so feel free to be inspired by it , no credit needed . for t.i as a character specifically , please credit me !

are there ships ? just pomni x ragatha

is suggestive content of t.i ok ? just don't send them to me , tag it as #tw suggestive or #suggestive so i could filter it out

is nsfw content of t.i ok ? my tiny artist hands are powerless against the unstoppable force that is the internet so my answer will not matter . that being said , i recommend that they're not put in the main au tag so people won't unexpectedly come across it . and no i do not want to see it please do not send them to me

could i draw fanart / write fanfic of this au ? 100% yes you could either mention me or tag it under #tadc influence au

does this au have an ask blog ? nah just a normal blog lol

READ THE COMIC ... I GUESS ... !!

the main story

oh boy a prologue

[casualmonsterenjoyer]

So, I have no idea if anyone has already figured this out but I have just spent an unreasonable amount of time translating this part of the Soul Contract...just because

and like...

You are now twenty-one grams lighter

THIS CONTRACT IS LEGAL AND BINDING. WE RESERVE THE RIGHT TO USE YOUR LIKENESS, FACE, VOICE AND SMELL TOWN PLUCK IN WHATEVER NEFARIOUS MANNER IS DEEMED NECESSARY.

SANS SOUL, YOUR SOULMATE WILL NOT RECOGNIZE YOU AND WILL WALK RIGHT PAST YOU ON A COLD AUTUMN DAY. NEVER MAKING EYE CONTACT. NOT EVEN PROCESSING THAT YOU HAVE EYES AT ALL. NO AMOUNT OF INTERACTION WILL MOVE THEM TO A PLACE WHERE THEY CAN REMEMBER, IN FEELING, THE THOUSANDS OF LIFETIMES YOU HAVE ALREADY SPENT TOGETHER. EACH TIME CHOOSING THOUSANDS FORM WOULD KEEP YOU CLOSEST LIKE OTTERS HOLDING HANDS IN A TUMULTUOUS RIVER. YOU WERE BIRDS. YOU WERE TREES WITH ROOTS ENTANGLED, DRINKING IN THE SUNLIGHT TOGETHER.

WHEREVER WE GO NEXT, WHATEVER YOU CHOOSE, I WILL ALWAYS BE RIGHT THERE WITH YOU…THATS DONE, BUDDY. CONGRATULATIONS! YOU HAVE CHOSEN BILL INSTEAD!

MCDONALDS RESERVES THE RIGHT TO PUT A GIANT YELLOW M ON YOUR TORSO AND FOREHEAD AND SEND YOU WALKING THROUGH A CROWDED TIMES SQUARE WHILE YOU SCREAM "THE FRIES! THE FRIES! THEY DON´T DEGRADE IN NATURE!!! IT´S AN IMMORTAL FOOD!!! THEY WILL BE IN THE LANDFILLS LONG PAST OUR DEATHS!" GOOD GOD! THE THINGS S I´VE SEEN!

ME? WHO AM I? OH I´M BILL´S PREVIOUS LAWYER! HE PUT MY SOUL INTO A QUILL PEN SO I CAN WRITE HIM LEGAL DOCUMENTS UNTIL THE SUN SNUFFS OUT LIKE A CANDLE IN THIS SICK UNIVERSE! I USED TO BE SO HOT! I WAS SO FINE! NOW I´M FINE PRINT!

SPEAKING OF WHICH, BILL RESERVES THE RIGHT TO PUT YOUR SOUL INTO AN INANIMATE OBJECT, A STRANGE CREATURE, A CONCEPT, A SENTENCE, A TASTEFUL BUT RUSTIC MASON JAR WITH WILDFLOWERS IN IT.

IF AT ANY POINT YOU WANT TO HAVE VISITATION RIGHTS WITH YOUR SOUL, YOU WILL BE SWIFTLY DENIED. UNLESS YOU HAD A COOL DAY PLANNED FOR THE BOTH OF YOU, THEN BILL MIGHT WANT TO COME ALONG.

BY SIGNING THIS DOCUMENT YOU FORFEIT ANY RIGHT TO EATING SOUL FOOD. IT WILL TURN TO ASH IN YOUR MOUTH, A FITTING PUNISHMENT FOR A FOOL WHO SQUANDERED THE ONLY TRUE GIFT LIFE OWES YOU.

BILL RESERVES THE RIGHT TO DRESS YOUR SOUL HOWEVER HE DEEMS NECESSARY, ESPECIALLY IF YOUR SOUL WAS A NERD BEFORE ACQUISTION. SOULMAKOVERRR!

YOUR SOUL MAY BECOME FRACTURED AND PLACED INTO DIFFERENT OBJECTS. THIS HAS NO PURPOSE AND WILL NOT RESURRECT YOU IF YOU DIE.

SIGNEE HAS FORFEITED ALL RIGHTS TO ANY AFTERLIFE. INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO: HEAVEN, HELL, PURGATORY, BIG CORNER, FLOW STATE, THE DREAM HOUSE, THE REINCARNATION PROCESSING CENTER, AXOLOTL´S TANK AND CONSEQUENCES HOLE.

SIGNEE CAN NO LONGER BOARD THE SOUL TRAIN AND IS ADVISED TO DISCARD ALL BELLBOTTOMS.

SIGNEE CAN NO LONGER HAVE A PUPPY AS A BEST FRIEND, THEY CAN SENSE WHAT IS GONE. BATS ARE INDIFFERENT.

SIGNEE MAY EXPERIENCE OCCASIONAL DEMON POSSESSIONS FROM HORCULUS THE RED, PLABOS THE MERCILESS, MORBUS SON OF MORTEM, PLAGA THE OOAING AND OTHER SUCH COMMON DEMONS ROAMING EARTH SEARCHING FOR WEAKENED, EMPTY VESSELS!

TIPS FOR RIPPING YOUR SOUL OUT AT HOME: WATCHING YOUTUBE COMMENTARY CHANNELS, ATTENDING AN EXTENDED FAMILY EVENT WITH AN OPEN BAR, USING GENERATIVE AI AND ASSERTING THAT YOU ARE CREATIVE, TURNING A BLIND EYE TO HUMAN SUFFERING, AMASSING MORE WEALTH THAN NEEDED, PURCHASING A BLUE CHECKMARK...

I had fun with this and yeah...rip to anyone who signed (me included, I would have loved to visit axolotl´s tank...)

[proxycrit]

I love your au!!! I love how the hylian duo look like gremlins, I LOVE the expressions and sass constantly and the changes to the lore, the worldbuilding and also the emotions (OUCH). I love their relationship with purah and each other and the new champions. I love the depth you gave Yona and her relationship with Sidon and Mipha. I love how link feels comfortable talking to sidon in addition to sign, I don't know if he does that with anyone else but Zelda unless its absolutely necessary (eg: just launched out a cannon and is paragliding down, so hands are busy) (side note: i love how much of an adrenalin junky/gremlin he is!!)

I do got a few questions! Will the pair get the sheikah slate again (so say link has the slate and zelda the pad), and can both slates do the warping and item storage (food, ingredients, armor, weapons, etc) (if so: no WONDER link was so upset! His collection!)

Does link have access to the ultrahand abilities (ik you said not The ultrahand, but what about fuse or ascend or rewind etc?) Where is the mastersword??

Does Link still have the champions' abilities, or did he lose those when their spirits moved on at the end of botw?

I know these are a lot of questions but I can't stop thinking about it!! The last few updates sent me back rereading the whole au and now its just vibrating in my head and giving me no piece

This is long and rambly, just know I am very much enjoying this au! Its silly and fun and touching and cute. Thank you for working on it!!

Oo some notes (also ty for circling my au haha im glad other people fixate like i do)

(Prewarning— i did not finish totk despite putting triple hours in it, so a lot of this story is being written while playing, though i know the big broad strokes thanks to cultural osmosis and video essays. A lot of Familiar Familiar builds from my playthrough with BOTW over TOTK, so the sheikah influence is significantly stronger and I will always choose botw characterization over totk characterization as a result.)

That aside

1. Sheikah slate’s dead. Rest in pieces, link’s rare collectable korok poop. Purah’s extracting as much data as she can to put on the purah pad but you can see the dread in her eyes whenever she has to tell link resurrection is not possible.

2. No idea about the zonai arm powers yet— im thinking about ascend, but the longer i go through this story the less likely ill hand it to him just due to immersion breakage. He and zelda will be getting sheikah gadgets from purah though! Maybe ill have a scene of him wandering through the sky island shrines, but without zelda warning rauru he and sonia wouldnt have prepared anything for the hero of the future. (But i DO love ascension and fuse. Lowkey dislike the building mechanics from a concept art pov because the green glue makes me want to cry, but it’s FINE i GUESS)

2b. Master sword’s chilling in korok forest. Link put it back in this au because of Reasons (part of his and zelda’s characterization in this au is to discard their past roles and embrace the present, not as knight and princess but as hero and researcher. They both have to face the reality those roles aren’t dead, but it’s a work in progress. I may also never address it. This “one off hehe lemme draw some guys” idea quickly spiraled into a web comic series so apologies for the vagueness, because i too am watching them adventure with dread and awe and i don’t know where they’ll go with it. They literally write themselves.

3. Rip champions, their ghosts are Gone (but their influence remains. You go mipha, keep haunting the narrative girl, i love you)

I know that some of these story notes don’t quite match up to what totk states is stone cold canon, but that’s the joy of fan work! Anyways sorry for folks who i have NOT answered asks of— i have a lot of them and I’m much better at the drawing and writing part then the socialization aspect (please feel free to peak in to my zoo enclosure ever so often though. I need the enrichment)

[heartlogan]

living to lose

✮— logan x f!mutant!reader (set in worst wolverine’s universe)

✮— summary: logan won’t wear the suit.

✮— a/n: this is gonna be kinda short, but i am in <3 w the concept. (i wrote this in less than an hour bro) i haven’t seen this before so .. lmk if yall want a longer version . perhaps a series ? if yall do, let me know what power reader should have !! and perhaps a nickname 🫡

✮— warnings: DEADPOOL & WOLVERINE SPOILERS, humans vs mutants, and all the prejudice that comes with that, talk of mutants being killed for being mutants etc, xmen bonding, angst, canon typical violence (kinda? mentioned?), logan being stubborn, lmk if theres more!

masterlist | part two

✶⊶⊷⊶⊷❍⊶⊷⊶⊷✶⊶⊷⊶⊷❍⊶⊷⊶⊷✶⊶⊷⊶⊷❍⊶⊷⊶⊷✶

Life in the X-Mansion wasn’t what it once was.

If you were honest, life itself had begun to lose that glow that it once had. You supposed that it was hard to retain it when every day you were faced with the reality that humans wanted you all dead. And sure, it wasn’t like you hadn’t known that before, but each day you saw news stories coming out about mutants killed in the street, the X-Men were called out constantly to assist in human and mutant matters, and were always met with hatred.

You just wished that people could coexist. Would that be so difficult? For the humans to realise that mutants weren’t that much different from themselves, not really. Everyone had the fundamental building blocks of human DNA, mutants just so happened to have the X gene thrown in the mix.

Still, there were positives to life. Such as Logan, for you, because you were pretty sure Scott wouldn’t categorise him as a positive.

There had been something unspoken between the two of you for almost a decade, stretching across hundreds of battles and memories. Neither of you had actually brought yourselves to talk about it, both too afraid of loss.

But every night when he struggled to sleep, he joined you in your own bed. An incredible progression of your relationship, really, because it wasn’t like Logan to actually ask for help. Not that he did much talking on those nights. Every time you needed comfort after a painful mission, he was there, brooding silently at your side. A hand on the small of your back, or around your shoulders, if you were lucky.

He refused to acknowledge his role in your life, or his role on the team, no matter how much everybody begged him to.

The infamous Wolverine was so intimidated by the idea of admitting he cared, so scared that it would turn out like his past relationships, that he couldn’t bring himself to accept his place in your lives. He was stubborn, and wouldn’t allow anybody to have leverage over him.

It was another afternoon call out, a mutant in distress, and humans harassing whoever it was. It was bound to get violent, which was why everybody was suiting up.

“C’mon, Logan, just wear the suit.” You said, brows furrowed as you held the folded suit out towards him, watching him roll his eyes. “You’re a part of the team. Wear it.”

“She’s right, Logan.” Storm agreed, already clad in her own suit, much like yourself. It presented a united front, a symbol for other mutants that there was hope out there for them, no matter how dire the world seemed.

“Fuck, no.” Logan responded immediately, voice gruff and dismissive, barely sparing the yellow spandex a glance before he was turning away, grabbing his own jacket from its hanger. “Yellow ain’t my colour, bub.” He grumbled when he felt your eyes still on him, practically carving a hole in the back of his head.

“Logan.” You said pleadingly, feeling disheartened. “We all wear it. You’ll look as handsome as you ever do, I swear.” You attempted, although you weren’t naive enough to believe that the almighty Wolverine could have his mind changed via flattery.

He might have admitted, in another life, that you made the yellow work extremely well. That he knew the team looked good in it, looked put together, almost untouchable. But that wasn’t this life. And he refused to let anybody believe he actually wanted to be a part of this godforsaken self-righteous team that named themselves the X-Men. That wasn’t him. It wouldn’t be him.

Scott wandered in, clad in his own suit, matching visor and all. “It’s not gonna work, guys. I’ve tried. Logan’s far too stubborn.” He said, and none of you could see his eyes, but his disappointment was palpable. Logan only grunted in response.

“Fine,” You said, and he could hear the disappointment despite this not being the first time he had denied the suit. It had been a debate for a long while, by now. “I’ll leave it with you. Just in case you change your mind.”

“I won’t.” Logan said, with an air of finality. You said nothing.

The four of you headed out to the distress call not long after, three in cohesive suits, one decidedly not.

It turned into a fight, as most calls do nowadays, which lasted for what felt like ages. You returned, feeling more exhausted than you had in days. The humans only got more violent with time, inventing new and more powerful ways to hurt mutants. Weapons were being developed against mutant-kind with every day that passed, and it wasn’t lost on the X-Men. Your job was only getting harder and harder. And it was taking its toll on all of you.

“‘M goin’ to the bar. You coming?” Logan asked you, standing in front of where you sat on the couch with Storm, both still in your suits and equally tired. He raised his brows at you, indicating that this was a timed offer. You knew he would be out most of the night, getting as drunk as his healing factor would allow him. It wasn’t that kind of night for you.

“No, thanks. I’m gonna stay with the others.” You answered quietly, wanting nothing more than to marinate in your frustration with the rest of the team.

Logan looked at you for a second longer, hesitating for only a moment, before he grunted and stepped away. You could’ve sworn that he looked disappointed, as though he was hoping you would join him, or maybe ask him to stay. But you knew better, had become familiar with the sting of his rejection each time you had asked him to stay.

You wanted him to be a permanent feature of the X-Mansion, to stay after long missions, to not disappear for weeks at a time. You wanted the whole unspoken thing to become spoken at last, even if it hurt, but you knew he wasn’t ready for it. And despite you feeling similarly, feeling that exact same fear he felt, you knew he wasn’t willing to take on the challenge. To try. Hell, he wouldn’t even wear the suit.

If he had asked whether you wanted him to stay, you would’ve said yes without thought. Without hesitation. But Logan wouldn’t put himself in that situation, so he never did ask. He only hesitated. And for you, that wasn’t enough.

He knew it, too, which might have been the worst part of it all.

You watched him leave, heard the slam of the door behind him not long after, and could only sigh to yourself.

“Everything okay?” Storm asked you from the opposite end of the couch, tilting her head towards you from where she had been idly staring at the ceiling. She looked as though she knew the answer, whether she had already known, or had gotten it from the look on your face, though, you weren’t sure.

“D’you think he’ll ever stick around? Wear the suit?” You questioned her in response, fixing your eyes on the fireplace in front of you for a few moments before her silence became too much. You looked at her, confused and slightly concerned.

She looked as downtrodden as you felt, which was saying something. “I… don’t know. I hope so, but… hope is a feeble thing, in this world. I’m not sure it means much anymore.”

Beast wandered in, with Scott at his side, blue fur still singed from a battle a few days prior. “I’m sure he will come around. Logan is a stubborn man, but a good one.” He commented, pushing his glasses further up his nose, but still squinting through them as he found his place in an armchair.

“We’ll see. Maybe we can make an X-Man of him, yet.” Scott added, sinking into the sofa cushion between you and Storm, wearing his glasses rather than his visor, for once. You thought could almost see the shape of his eyes, through the red lens.

“Either way, I’m sure he’ll linger. If not for us, then for those poor kids. We have all seen how much they idolise him.” Storm said, which was true, but still stung slightly. You wished that Logan would linger for you, too, but you knew it wasn’t likely. But for the kids… well, he might just look back for them.

“He’s their hero.” You agreed quietly, before resting your head on Scott’s shoulder. He said nothing, but you felt his quiet appreciation of the touch. The team needed comfort, in times like these, you included. Beast reached over and took Storm’s hand not long after, and you saw her squeeze him in response.

Jean wandered in not too long later, having been busy helping to look after the new mutant in the medbay. You made space for her between you and Scott, and resumed your position on her shoulder. She rested her head on your own, and the five of you breathed quietly, not speaking. There was nothing much to speak about, nothing that could comfort you, anyway. The world continued its descent into chaos and hatred, and despite the X-Men’s best efforts, nothing any of you did would be changing it.

✶⊶⊷⊶⊷❍⊶⊷⊶⊷✶⊶⊷⊶⊷❍⊶⊷⊶⊷✶⊶⊷⊶⊷❍⊶⊷⊶⊷✶

It was Beast raising the alarm that woke you up, and Jean jolted awake soon after you.

“The humans, they’re here!” He shouted, diving into action, with Storm and Scott following soon after while you and Jean shared a single glance, her eyes filled with terror.

“Get the kids!” You yelled to her, as you jumped from the couch, heading to confront the humans with Scott, Beast and Storm. All the while, you were wondering where Logan was.

It was a thought that remained present in the back of your head, a wish that he was safe, unharmed. You couldn’t decide whether you wanted him to show up, to be the hero all of the kids knew him to be, or whether you wanted him far away, safe from what you were certain would be a lethal encounter.

The humans wouldn’t just come to the X-Mansion lightly. They would be prepared. Armed to the teeth, you were sure. And the moment you caught a glance outside of the window, seeing the crowds outside, glints of machinery and weapons, you knew you were right.

For a moment, you thought you saw him out there, until the two humans stepped apart, shattering the illusion of their shadows. The call of his name died on your lips.

“X-Men, to me.” Scott called out, and his grave expression told you that he had already had the same realisation as you. Most of you, if any at all, wouldn’t be getting out of this alive.

“Together?” Storm questioned, eyes glowing that bright white that only added to her ethereal look. She locked eyes with you, and you nodded firmly.

“Together.”

[screamingcrows]

Once Diluc settles with you, he finds that a new passion - bordering on obsession - has taken root in place of his desire for justice.

He needs to express just how grateful he is to have you by his side. You'd seen the damage left by all the times 'home' had been torn apart and taken with it a piece of his being. But instead of turning away, there'd been nothing but warmth in your eyes as you wove together what remained with strings of love.

Everyone around him had noticed the difference; 'You seem excited today, Master Diluc, something good happen?' 'Finally settling down huh? Who'd have thought you'd manage before me' 'It's good to see you smile again.'

But how could a mortal man hope to thank the sun for bringing dawn and disperse the dark night?

His fingers hadn't touched the violin since well before leaving Mondstadt. Despite several late night attempts, his fingers felt far too rough, grip on the bow too harsh. The notes didn't sound right.

Flowers didn't feel like enough (and something about having to watch them wither away didn't sit right)

Marjorie had suggested a piece of jewellery, but loathe as he was to admit it, the moment he laid eyes on but a fraction of the selection, his mind had locked up. What if you didn't like what he chose?

'Your mother didn't leave anything?' Marjorie had asked with nothing but good intentions, he knew, but Diluc was terrified that you'd turn tail and run at the weight of such a gift.

The picnic he'd invited you on had been perfect, gentle weather, solitude (he'd made sure to give his workers a paid day off), he'd been cooking all morning. Just the memory of your blissful expression as you'd looked up at him, head on his chest, had heat rushing to his cheeks.

Still, by the time the sun was setting, even with circumstances as perfect as that, Diluc had found himself tongue-tied. Words that had fought to be liberated from his heart for so long always vanished in your presence. Stunned into silence. Too busy revelling the sound of your breaths, the steady rise and fall of your chest, the weight of you against his body.

Could a man such as himself ever be worthy of it all?

When Adelinde had first suggested he write you a letter, pour his heart out and leave it upon your windowsill alongside a lamp grass, he'd nearly fallen to his knees, lamenting his own inability to consider something so simple yet effective.

It was a perfect idea.

It had been a perfect idea.

Surrounded by countless crumpled sheets of parchment, blots of ink staining both his fingers and the desk, words no longer a tangible concept in his mind, it seemed as impossible a task as the rest.

Letters danced before his vision, stringing together words that didn't hold half the meaning you did to him. It was downright humiliating to watch the growing pile of unsatisfactory drafts, to the point that meeting Adelinde and admitting defeat almost felt alluring.

A beast to be put out of its misery.

But he persevered, knowing it'd be impossible to find rest before at least managing to finish one letter.

A brush of warmth along the shell of his ear had him shivering, too keenly aware that the world was sideways before his eyes. Sitting up, Diluc noted with dismay that light already streamed through the windows, the candles that had kept him company burned down long ago.

When had he fallen asleep, and more importantly-

"Adelinde told me you hadn't left your study all night," you sounded almost amused, a realisation that tempered his initial shock at your presence, hands frantically moving to sweep together the scattered papers.

"Ah- I had business to attend to," another warm breath ghosted along his ear, "plenty of planning to get settled before harvesting begins."

His eyes widened in nothing short of horror as he turned towards you, blood running colder than it had in Snezhnaya when his gaze fell on your lovely hands.

Before more than a startled noise could leave his lips, yours had parted in a mischievous grin, "And your business often involves 'hands so gentle I could never bear to recoil from their touch, even if they should wish to drive a knife through my heart', or is this a special case?"

A string of stuttered protests were all that left his lips in the wake of your question, seeing how the amusement slowly bled from your features only worsening his guilt. Not only were you subjected to reading that but here he was, unable to explain himself.

The feeling of your fingers tangling in his hair and the press of fabric against his cheek calmed his frantic heart a bit, letting out a sigh in resignation as Diluc allowed himself to hide his face in your shirt.

"I didn't mean to pry, I was simply worried because you hadn't come outside to meet me like we'd agreed," your tone was soothing, but the realisation that he'd forgotten the plans you'd made stung, "Adelinde came out and explained what was going on. I think it's sweet, if a little silly, to be fretting like this Diluc. You don't have to prove anything to me, if you'd like, I can make a little list of all the ways I know you love me?"

Though it was said with a little chuckle, Diluc knew you were being honest, allowing himself a calming breath before trailing his fingers along your waist. He truly didn't deserve you, unable to even say aloud how deep his affection and gratitude ran, but he would make sure to treasure you in any way he could for as long as you'd have him.

Perhaps a list wasn't the worst idea.

[lovincherries]

Corio's Pawn

a/n: first of all, I want to say hi! I know it's been a really long time since i've written anything and i wanted to say thank you for your patience. 2023 has easily been the hardest year of my life, and i am so grateful for all your messages and support. it has truly meant the world to me. hopefully you enjoy this as much as i enjoyed writing it. i love you guys! (p.s it's almost been a year since i have written anything, of course snow brought me out of my slump)

NOT PROOF READ! I AM LAZY

word count: 3,735

warnings: taking of virginity, dub con, breeding kink, just smut! corio being corio (bad), reader is curvy (idk actually, i think i only mention it once, but you could really skim those parts. it isn't central to the storyline tbh)

You had loved Corio long before he knew you existed. To you, he was everything you wanted, everything that you desired, everything that you longed for. To him, you were a shy girl, kind, sweet, but shy and rather unnoticeable, or you were unnoticeable. You don't know what did it, neither did he really. He didn't know if it was the harshness of district 12, or the uncertainty (and paranoia) that Lucy gray caused him that made him long for you when he arrived home, or if it were the fact that he really looked at you for the first time. You had the softness that he desired, and the look in your eyes that you would give up everything for him if he said the word. He desired that kind of relationship, one where he held the power and none of the vulnerability. With you, he had nothing to lose. There was no game you were playing, your eyes and quiet smiles held everything he needed to know.

Before he left for District 12, and before the 10th games, Corio considered love a waste of time and resources. After, he considered it a betting game that both sides were bound to lose. While he considered love a waste of time, his desires and needs were still prevalent and crowding his head with thoughts where plans and ideas should be. That's when you fell into his lap, his little rose. It didn't take him long to realize the hold that he had over you, and it took him even less time to put his charm to use.

He knew what you were, a good girl who came from good parents that raised her right. And while the whole world had long since passed the concept of purity, he knew it was something that your parents had taught to you. His little white rose. Except, he didn't want to keep you that way. He didn't have to ask if you were pure, it was something he could almost smell. Your innocence seeped out of your pores like a perfume he couldn't get enough of. Before, he never noticed you, now you were all he desired. He wanted to know all your curves and edges, wanted to fulfill your desires, he wanted to take you. Most of all, he desired to see your cheeks red, your eyes dark with desire, and his cum filling you up.

You and Corio had been seeing each other for a few months, and while you tried to pretend like it wasn't the most exciting thing to ever happen to you, it was. He was all you could think about, all you could talk about with your parents, and he was the only person you wanted to see. You were oblivious to his charm, blinded by everything that he promised to you. You were funnier and more interesting than he originally gave you credit for, he could actually relax around you and laugh, but he would never turn off the person he presented to be. He couldn't wait for much longer though, his composure was slipping, and all he could think about was being wrapped into your legs and diving into you. Your kisses were sweet and genuine, you kissed him with love, but he wanted something darker. He needed it. It was something you didn't intend to give to him though, not that you really knew what you were giving or not.

Your parents had long taught you that certain things were for married couples, after all, if you weren't pure you weren't going to be any good to them to marry off. Even to them you were a pawn, a piece that only furthered their own further interests and success. That being the reason why you were probably oblivious to the games Corio was playing with you. And you didn't know it, but tonight was the night Corio was going to win a game that you didn't know you were playing.

You were getting ready for bed, your light blue light gown skimmed mid-thigh as you sat down at your vanity brushing through your long hair. You examined your features as you did, humming a song that had been stuck in your head all day. You heard a soft knock at your window, turning your head to look for what made the sound, but you found nothing. You quickly brushed it off and went back to the task at hand, your mind getting lost in thought about a certain someone with blonde hair and blue eyes. It was almost like he never really left your mind at all, he was constantly grazing your thoughts. He seemed to appear everywhere that you went, in the color red, in roses, in the fallen snow on the ground. It wasn't till you heard another knock at your window, this one much harder than the last, that you actually went over to check what was making the noise.

When you looked you found your lover waiting for you, his nose and cheeks tinted pink from the cold wind that bite at his face outside. An instant smile flew to your face when you saw him, a white rose clutched in his hand, waiting for you. You quickly opened your window to let him in, he had never done this before. You quickly tried to fight the nervousness in your stomach while you lifted the window as you almost sang his name with excitement. The cold air bit at your nipples, making them hard in an instant as it flew in from the outside. You quickly shut the window after he made it inside, a smile so big on your face that your cheeks hurt from the strain. You were so excited to see him, that you didn't notice the darkness that clouded his eyes, or his gaze that kept falling down to your almost see through dress.

"Corio!" You sang again, your arms hugging around his broad shoulders, you stepped on your tip toes to be able to reach that high. You laughed gleefully, his arms wrapping around your waist. He lifted you up so your legs wrapped around his hips as you giggled in excitement, your night gown riding up to the point it almost exposed your white panties. Corio quickly put you down after the initial excitement, softly kissing your lips after your feet touched the floor.

"My rose!" He laughed purposefully, looking down at you. Your innocence and excitement gleaming up at him through your eyes, and all he could think about was taking it from you. Unbeknownst to you. Corio's height gave him an advantage to look down at your swollen breasts in your night gown. It caused his dick to strain in his pants, he wanted to audibly groan from the pain, but he knew that tonight he was going to get what he wanted.

"What are you doing here?" You asked, your smile radiating through your words. He picked up the rose that had slightly gotten crushed in your big hug.

"I was thinking of you when I saw this, and I just had to come bring it to you," he said as he brought the rose to your hand. It was beautiful, even with some of the petals fallen onto the floor. Your heart melted at the thought of him thinking of you, if only you knew the ways he thought of you.

"Thank you, Corio, it's beautiful!" You gleamed as you took the rose, "I don't have anything to put it in here though," you quickly frowned. You knew that your parents would hear you if you began clattering about through your house looking for a vase. He brought his hand to smooth the lines of your worry, lifting your chin to look up at him.

"It's okay," he soothed. Even while he was comforting you, power radiated off of him, "I can always bring you more." You quickly set the rose on your vanity where you had sat moments before. You were so comfortable with him; it didn't even register in your mind what you were wearing and how inappropriate it might be.

Corio walked over to your bed and sat down, not bothering to ask for permission. He admired you from a distance, your curves prominent in the night gown. Your nipples poking through your dress, begging for his attention, begging for his lips. He would get down on his knees and beg now (something he would never admit to), if it meant that he could suck on them. You turned around fully to face him, looking at him with so much love and admiration.

"Come here, love," He stated, not giving you an option to say no. You did as he demanded, your hips swinging in an unknowingly alluring manner. He grabbed your hands when you were stood in front of him, pulling you onto his lap. You gasped at the action, attempting to pull away from the shock of the sudden closeness but his grip stayed firm. Your legs encased his hips, his hard dick pushing into your folds. You weren't necessarily used to this type of intimacy with Corio, but he had been getting you prepared for what was to come. Heated kisses whenever you two were alone, his fingers would always brush your most sensitive parts without getting too close. He knew how to make you long for things, without you even necessarily realizing what you were longing for. You didn't even really process what was poking into you know, all you knew was that it shot tingles up your spin.

"Corio!" You gasped again when he slightly pushed his hips into yours, an uncontrollable movement on his part, but he longed for a touch that he hadn't felt in so long. His head fell into the nape of your neck, landing soft kisses from your exposed collarbone to your jaw. You giggled at the ticklish feeling of his lips, but it also sent a familiar warmth through you.

"So beautiful," he murmured, still planting kisses on your neck. You brought your hands to his face and made him face you as you planted fast kisses all over his cheeks in face in a girlish manner, giggling softly. Corio smiled at the action, letting it warm his cold heart for only a minute. The guilt of what he was going to do tinged his thoughts for a second before he thought about what he wanted, what he needed. He knew he didn't love you, but you were something he wanted, something he possessed. He liked his possessions.

You both stared at each other for a minute, your hands still cupping his cheeks and his hands held your hips firmly. The light feeling from before replaced itself with something heavier, something you couldn't quite place, and you weren't sure if you wanted to. You saw Corio's eyes fall down to your lips, your hands fell from his face and landed on his chest as the tension weighed down on yours. Corio gripped your hips tighter, squeezing him impossibly closer to you as he leaned in to kiss you. The kiss started off sweet, his lips brushing against yours softly. This you were used to, you quickly fell into the groove of his lips. Finding your home in the way he touched you. There was something different this time though, something new. Corio quickly made the kiss faster, harder, and you tried your hardest to keep up. He licked your bottom lip, asking for permission. You parted your lips, trying your best to match his fast aggressive pace. His tongue edging yours. Your hands now gripped his face out of instinct and his right hand trailed to grab your breast. You gasped into the kiss; he had never done that before. He squeezed as he pushed his hips into yours, eliciting a moan from your lips as his dick pressed into your clit. You had never felt this way before.

Corio pressed himself harder into you, he could feel the wetness from your cotton underwear staining his red pressed trousers, but he couldn't find it in himself to care. All he wanted to find himself was deep into you, pounding into you, he wanted to feel you quiver around him. His lips were still attached to yours, the rhythm long gone, it was all teeth and tongue. He was surprised at your ability to keep up with him, but he noticed your hesitancy. He moved back from you, separating the kiss harshly. You gasped at the lack of contact, subconsciously pushing your hips into his. Longing for that pleasure that he was giving to you.

"Y/N," Corio said sternly, causing you to look at him. He could see the desire in your eyes, and he knew he had you right where he wanted you. "I need you." He said, with as much desperation he could allow himself. Corio wasn't above begging you for what he wanted, although he would never admit it.

"You have me," you said softly, attempting to smile at him. You leaned back into the kiss, attempting to regain the passion, but he stopped you.

"No, I need you," he emphasized the need, pushing his hips into yours. Your face held the confusion that you were thinking. That was another thing he liked about you, if you wouldn't say it, your face would. It made it extremely easy for him to understand you.

"I-I don't get what you mean," you stuttered, your lips making a slight o shape when he pushed into you again. He moved his hands down to your vagina, eliciting another gasp from your lips.

"I need you here," he said as he moved your dress to your hips and pushed your panties to the side. His fingers grazed your soaking folds, both of you looking down to find a dark wet spot on the crotch of his trousers. "It feels like you need me to, my rose," he said softly, as his fingers dived in between your folds. He quickly found your clit, pressing into it as he watched your sweet face change in pleasure.

"I don't understand still," your voice cried out in pleasure and confusion. He could almost hear the tears in your voice, it should have made him stop, should have made him quit, but it only made him want to take it further.

He used his spare hand to grab yours, he slowly pulled it over his hard chest. You felt the bumps and ridges of his ab muscles and then felt the hardness of his dick. He forced you to squeeze him with your hands, still circling your clit in a harsh manner.

"Y/N, I need you," he emphasized by pushing into your clit, causing you to throw your head back, "here." He said using your hand to squeeze his dick. You didn't respond, you couldn't from the shock waves his fingers were sending through your body.

Corio moved his pointer finger from your clit to your entrance, your wetness coating him even more. He didn't know a girl could get so wet, but God was he grateful for that. All he could think about was you encasing him, your heat squeezing him till he forgot all about District 12 and that Lucy Gray. He could imagine a life with you, a real life, one with happiness and love, but that thought quickly disappeared from his mind.

He could see a life with you though, maybe not a real one but a life. One where you were constantly swollen with his babies. The thought of that caused him to groan as he pushed his pointer finger into you. As he felt you squeeze his finger, all he could think about was how good you were going to feel.

"Please, Y/N," Corio begged, you had never heard such a neediness in his voice before, not that you were aware enough to pick up on it. All you could think about was his finger in you and his thumb grazing your clit.

"O-okay," you agreed. Not even exactly sure what you were agreeing to, but you had a feeling it wasn't necessarily good.

Corio let out a sigh of relief at your agreeance, as much as it shamed him to admit, he would've gotten on his knees for that affirmation. He quickly threw his shirt of his head and gripped your waist. He pulled you in for another kiss, pulling you down onto him once more. Your exposed folds felt even more of him. He quickly tossed you around, laying you on your back as he stood in front of you.

He sat you up, lifting you light blue dress over your head. Your swollen breasts now bare for his viewing, but not an ounce of insecurity ran through your head. You trusted him with everything you had in you. You truly believed he would never hurt you.

"God," he groaned as he looked at you. He couldn't waste another second not being inside of you, he quickly unbuttoned his pants and pulled them down his legs. You admired his muscular form, which only sent more waves of warmth down you. You gasped as he pulled his dick out from his pants, it looked terrifyingly huge for a moment. He laughed at your expression but swelled up with pride as you looked at him with amazement. He quickly pulled your white cotton underwear off of your legs, looking down at your glimmering heat. He needed to be inside of you.

He crawled on top of you, kissing his way from your torso to your breast. He licked at your nipple before fully enveloping it with his mouth and sucking on it. This caused you to let out a loud moan, the tingle that you felt from this sent shockwaves everywhere. He released it, but not before biting it harshly.

He then moved up more, bringing your legs around his waist and his dick in between your folds. You let out a sigh of relief from the contact and he kissed your lips. This time, much softer, gentler than before. He began to grind himself into you, properly getting himself coated in your wetness.

He guided the tip of his dick to your entrance, slowly poking himself in. He maintained control of himself in this moment, even when you moaned from the pleasurable contact. He just put the tip in and you already felt so full. Corio had to separate himself from the kiss and his head found its home in the nape of your neck. He was breathing heavily as he maintained control, slowly pushing into you. Even though, all he wanted to do was wreck you.

He pushed in slowly, inch by inch. Stopping every few seconds to make sure you were okay, and not hurting. Before long, you were gasping at the fullness of him bottoming out into you. You two stayed like this for a long time before he lost control and started moving again.

"God damnit Y/N," he groaned, the sweat of losing control falling onto your skin. His words flew past you as the fullness was all that crowded your mind. "So fucking tight," he cursed as he drew himself out and back into you. He pivoted ever so slightly and was now making you see stars.

"Corio, corio, corio," you moaned as he now began to pound into you. Any sense of self control he had, was long gone as he heard you calling out his name with such need.

"So big," you moaned, drool coming out of your mouth as your grasped your breast with your hands. His hips stuttering inside of you as he watched you fondle yourself.

"Fuck, Y/N, fuck," he repeated, slamming into you harder. It should have hurt you, should have made you cry from the pressure, but it didn't. It drove you nearly as mad as he was. His words were lost on you, anything he said was tuned out by the feeling of being so full of him.

Your pussy let out squelching noises from how wet you were and hard he was pounding into you. Corio began to kiss to your ear and let out breathy whispers that you were too out of it to notice.

"Fucking hell, tightest pussy I've ever had," he murmured more to himself. Corio thought in his head he should have taken this from you long ago, you were handling yourself so well. He practically cursed himself out thinking of all the months he missed out on this feeling. You moans were fuel to his fire, your sweet soft voice paired with the debaucherous noises of your body colliding made him impossibly harder than he already was.

"Gonna fill you up," he moaned again, driving himself deeper into you. He was barely leaving you now, all he wanted was to be completely encased in you. "Wanna see you swell with my babies, want everyone to know that Coriolanus Snow was here," he talked in circles. One of his hands moving to press into your clit, this sent you into over drive. Your pussy began to squeeze him impossibly harder and your head was thrown back in the pleasure he was sending through you, you didn't know it but this was your very first orgasm.

Corio was trying his hardest to maintain his composure, to hold onto the feeling of driving himself inside of you like a mad man, but he quickly lost control when hearing your voice. "I love you, I love you, U love you," You repeated, pulling him closer to you with your legs. You squeezed him so tightly, he thought that even if he wanted to, he wouldn't be able to leave your tight hole.

This only drove him further into you, and this is where he released his cum. His hips stuttered into yours for a solid minute, filling you up with everything he had been saving for you for the last few months. He came so much it began to spill out of you with him still inside of you. He looked down and saw how swollen your vagina was around him, the white semen leaking out around his dick, and for just a moment he wanted to say I love you too.

a/n: shit man. that took me two and a half hours.

[brucewaynehater101]

Just read a fic about Tim finally getting post patrol ice cream and his own renovated room after admitting to never getting any unlike his siblings and now I'm imagining an AU

Imagine this, Tim is tired, pulling an all nighter, because he did too poor a job at pretending as Robin, and it's too late to do damage control. Not in front of villains or heroes alike

But the people

They've caught onto how the third robin receives less than the first two

Robin acts less like a child, less like a son to Batman, and more like a 'Business Partner's as he said with his own words. Like a handler

Robin who has to put work into keeping Batman from overexerting himself, from cruelly punishing those who fall victim to him

Robin who receives less praise or care from Batman and cares for both himself and his "Boss" as he said with his own words

And it gets worse after the mantle passes down to Stephanie and Damian because the people notices how even as Batman treats them better than the third, now rebranded as Red Robin—

—Red Robin is still as much a Business Partner to batman as he always has been since the Dark Knight's loss of his second bird

And as much as tries to keep things buried, word is spreading that Red Robin is black sheep of the batfamily, and he won't be able to hide it for much longer

Have fun with this idea lol

I know the fic you're talking about! "with the exception of..." by DSS1101. That's a good one!

"Home Decor" by sElkieNight60 is about Duke remodeling his room as part of the new Wayne member tradition. This brings up feelings in Tim cause his bedroom still looks like a barely used guestroom.

The concept you've mentioned gives similar vibes to a hc/au post I read about how JJ (Joker Junior) isn't known by anyone but the goons/Rogues, Barbara, Jim, and Bruce. All the other Bats don't know. In consideration of Tim, electric shock weapons are immediately put away when Red Robin arrives on scene (I love that idea so much).

I think, with the Gothamites around when Bruce was going on his grief spiral almost killing spree, people feel a kinship with Tim. They couldn't have stopped Batman and, with part guilt and part relief, it seems only a child could. They watch this child, who seems to be sacrificing everything for a brutal and cruel man, and how he pulls Batman back into the symbol he's supposed to be. It brings out the protective and parental instinct of a lot of people.

This cues civilians, goons, and rogues alike trying to assist Robin in small ways. Tim as Robin had people offering him food (in sealed containers), giving him compliments, handing him scarves or hats (how could Batman let a child out in this weather without a hat?!?!?), and more. They tried to give him small moments to be the child he was pretending he wasn't. He obviously wasn't getting decent parenting at home if Batman was just his boss and his real folks were letting him out to fight.

There's a kind of guilty gratefulness towards the third Robin and a protectiveness of him. All young Bats are treated with care by civilains and some goons, but Robin three was special. He willingly became the barrier between Batman and Gotham. A lot of folks owe their ability to work (and not have exorbiant medical debt and medical conditions) to Tim. He saved them by damning himself. He needed the support Batman obviously wasn't providing.

Tim, as intelligent as he is, doesn't realize the affect he has on Gotham's older population. The younger ones will react with slightly more respect towards him than the other Bats, but they weren't around to see what Tim's sacrifice did for everyone.

Tim, with his self-doubt and hero-worship of his predecessors, thought his treatment throughout Robin was the work of those who came before him. Of course Gothamites trust and help out Robin when Dick and Jason built that foundation.

He's not exactly wrong, but it isn't to the extent they actually do for Tim.

Unfortunately for Tim, Damian and Jason do know that his Robin was treated with such reverence. They don't know why, but their Robins did/do not get treated that way. They chalk it up to Tim being the "perfect" and "can do no wrong" Robin. It's one point of contention they are unable to clear up due to Tim not knowing about it and the other two not wanting to explain their jealousy.

Steph was not treated as well as Damian and Jason when she was Robin. She, in this AU, was not treated as much of a crutch as Tim is. Despite that, her Spoiler/Batgirl/whatever persona gets some of the protectiveness that Tim's personas do. Bruce was more healed with Steph, but he was still an ass. That was obvious to any Gothamite watching.

Steph, because she was around at the time and talks with Gothamites to know what rumors are floating around, becomes aware after her death of why Tim's Robin is held up with such respect. This allows, unknowingly to Tim, for them to reach more understanding. With her knowledge of Tim's time as Robin, she's able to point out how he was being an ass, what he should've done instead, and that she herself was sorry for some of her actions.

When more and more individuals cue into Tim's black sheep position in the Batfam, this could go two ways.

One, Tim is targeted more due to his lack of support.

Two, Gothamites and Rogues increase their aid to Red Robin and become slightly cold to the Bats for their treatment of him.

[mias-back-from-the-dead]

so this was a line in a fanfic I recently read but it has me fuckign crawling up the walls and watching D&W in a new light

it's part of a larger oh/oh moment paragraph rant wade goes on but the line is:

"I would have happily gone on assuming that this Wolverine is canonically a fuck machine who only sleeps with women ever and that I could hit on him to my dick’s content and never have to worry about the possibility of real rejection"

and that last line COMPLETELY reframed half of wade's actions for me in the movie.

Cuz on the surface level there's the hee-hoo deadpool hits on every single hero joke of it all, which is probably all the writers were thinking about when those lines and directions went onto the script. They needed the throughline of wade being seriously still hung up on vanessa for plot reasons but didn't want to give up all the ridiculous flirt jokes.

From a hollywood writer's perspective, the solution is an easy 'Okay, he flirts with dudes ONLY, no prob, there's a Logan shaped comedic 'straight man' for him to do that at for 90+minutes'

But like. There's Implications to that as a Choice, when you characterize a dude that's so rejection avoidant and purpose-seeking that an avengers' dismissal kills all motivation for putting the suit on at all.

Pointing affections at literally any direction other than people who MIGHT take him seriously. Flirt on his favourite heroes, antiheroes, maybe even a TVA employee or two instead. It isn't that he's not ACTUALLY into Colossus's giant metal ass or Logan's oiled up tits, I'm sure they rev the engines like anything else, but I'm super willing to explore the idea that he's way more comfortable in throwing himself in directions where the rejections aren't 'real' to him. If the writers never thought about that implication, I'm going with concept that Wade doesn't even realize he's doing it at all unless he's in a fanfic universe with a decent oh/oh moment.

It makes me wonder what style of bluescreen he'd go through the second Logan yes-and's in a way that might be interpreted as flirting back. It makes me think of the countless number of dudes he's hit on in the comics despite most of his longer-term relationships being with women. Don't get me wrong, I KNOW the Doylist perspective is likely that most writers go down the straight relationships, gay jokes avenue but it's SO much more interesting to play it watsonian here. it's just a really good fanfic direction to lean down, this fucker is made up of exactly 50/50 emotional anguish about rejection and shitpost dick humour and I just wanna read more works where they feed into each other instead of being tackled separately

HHHHHHh I dUNNO IF I KEEP WRITING IM JUST GONNA GO IN CIRCLES JUST GO READ THE FIC ^

[restinslices]

So that Sektor trailer came out and I’m specifically hooked on more info we got about what happens to Bi-Han when he goes after Havik. There’s a line that Sektor says to Bi-Han: “Bi-Han, can you hear me?” I NEED SOME BI-HAN X READER BASED OFF OF THAT LINE ALONE- you can do whatever you want with it I just thought that would be a cool prompt

Hey anon! For some reason this prompt made me think of the song “Once Upon A Dream”, so here we are.

Bi-Han X GN!Reader

Word Count: 3287

Summary: Using your power to jump into other’s dreams, you jump into Bi-Han’s in hopes of speaking with him. Unfortunately for you, things don’t go as you wanted it to.

Content Warning: Angst, hurt w/ no comfort, Bi-Han fighting demons and them mfs got hands, mean Bi-Han, I wrote this while downing a energy drink

“I know you

I walked with you once upon a dream

I know you

That look in your eyes is so familiar a gleam”

Dreams were a powerful and interesting concept. You always thought so, but perhaps that made sense for someone like you - someone who could manipulate dreams and bend them to your will.

You had seen first hand how dreams could affect someone’s day. A bad one could cause someone to be cranky in the morning, a good one made them awake with a smile, a dream about a lost loved one caused tears to pool in one's eyes. The list went on and on.

Dreams were where people could escape their day to day lives. You were no different. Life had been less than ideal as of late, causing you to look forward to sleeping more than you used to. You wished everyday that you weren’t like this, that you could be happy when you were awake. You tried. You tried so hard, but life was too quiet. There was someone missing. Someone you couldn’t have.

Your longing for him only got worse after your recent encounter with Titan Havik and his ridiculous dreams of chaos.

Him. 

Seeing him after his betrayal… seeing him in such a hateful manner at his own brother’s wedding… then what Havik did to him…

Him.

Why was thinking his name so painful? 

And why were you trying to connect with him like you used to? 

Around you was a dull void. No walls, no solid ground, nothing physical. Just a blackness with an unknown light source coming from above, highlighting your frame. Your body hung in this void. Was this the right choice? Maybe you should just abandon this idea and actually dream.

“Bi-Han, can you hear me?”

Under normal circumstances, Bi–Han would respond to your telepathic message. 

“Yes” he’d say back to you.

Such a simple word, yet you were missing it desperately. There was no response. You’d have to check if he was asleep your own way then.

You closed your eyes and pictured the outline of his body. He had no facial features or any details to him. The inside of his silhouette was a white light, the outline a bright blue. The light dimmed and brightened to the rhythm of his heart.

Thump - Dims

Bump - Brightens

Slow and steady.

Thump-bump… thump-bump… thump-bump…

He was sleeping.

“Bi-Han, can you hear me?”

Of course he could. He was choosing to ignore you. Choosing not to imagine himself putting a letter in a mailbox like you taught him to. This should’ve made you abandon this quest, but instead you imagined his silhouette becoming bigger and bigger, consuming your entire vision until-

Birds singing.

He was dreaming of birds singing?

You opened your eyes once you felt your feet touch solid ground. Of course he’d be with his clan in his dreams. This no longer felt like home to you, but it still was to him. 

Dreams were strange. Brains just threw context at dreamers without actually showing them anything at times. You could feel parts of his dream being absorbed into you like a sponge. Somehow you knew that he was dreaming of his perfect future. You could tell Liu Kang was gone. Maybe he was dead, maybe not, but you just felt it in your bones that he wasn’t a part of this reality.

You willed yourself to find him, creating a blue string to show you the way to him. You tried to ignore your own thumping heart. Tried to ignore the stone warriors Shang Tsung promised Bi-Han staring daggers into you. Tried to force yourself to take slow and deep breaths as you continued on the path.

Then there he was. 

Standing atop a cliff, hands behind his back, watching the beautiful sunset. What Havik made him was gone. He looked like his normal self; same suit, shoes, hair, even the details in his skin were the same. His name left your lips hardly above a whisper, “Bi-Han… it’s me”. 

“I know” his voice came out gruff - so the usual. 

“Did you hear me when I tried to-”

“Yes”.

You had known it, but it hurt like hell having him confirm that he ignored you. You should’ve left, but instead your feet carried you to be at his side. You could see now that he wasn’t watching the sunset. He was watching his clan train, their moves perfect. Abnormally perfect.

You didn’t know what to say. All of this was a last minute decision. You hadn’t practiced some big speech about how much of an asshole he was and how your ring felt heavier on your finger. You had nothing planned. 

“I’ve missed you Bi-Han”.

It was the only thing you could think of. You missed him. Morning, noon, evening, night, you missed him. 

“I’ve missed you dearly. The sun doesn’t feel as warm when you’re not around”.

“So?” he said indifferently. You hadn’t looked up at him, afraid of what you’d see in his eyes.

“Have you-” you swallowed. Did you really wanna know the answer? “Have you missed me?”.

He took a few moments to answer. Once he did though, your heart fell to your stomach. “Why would I?”. Why would he? Because you were his closest friend. Had been ever since you were kids! Or maybe because he had proposed to you. Maybe he should miss you because whenever he talked about his future, you were always in it. He spoke again before you could force out a response, “what do you want from me?”.

You stammered your answer out. His shell was always hard, but never this.”I-I, well- I mean, I wanted to see you”. Your eyes finally looked up but his eyes were still on the people below. He was perfect to look at. Always would be to you. Even his new appearance after Havik was perfect to you. It was perfect because it was him. “I love you-”.

He scoffed, which made you furrow your brows. “Love” he shook his head. “You don’t love me. You are a traitor, and it’s a good thing you’re no longer Lin Kuei. You only dragged us down. Dragged me down”. His words sounded like a mantra. Like he had repeated these words over and over again in his head until it became second nature to say it. It still didn’t stop your mouth from opening slightly in shock. People could call Bi-Han mean all they wanted. He had never ever said such cruel words to you. Even when you made mistakes. His lectures always had care and concern under them. This? This wasn’t right. 

“Why would you say that to me?”.

Only now did he look at you. You expected to see disdain in his eyes. Malice, disgust, fury, something that showed he had no love for you. You saw nothing in his eyes. Just blackness. Coal. Darkness. A void. 

“Why are you still here?”.

“Why did you say that to me?”. He tried to walk away from you but stopped in his tracks when he heard you speak again. “How could you say something like that to me?”.

You heard him take in a deep breath before muttering “don’t do this to yourself”. You hardly even heard him. 

“I love you” you hadn’t realized how softly your words came out. Nor did you see Bi-Han close his eyes due to his back being to you. “I’ve loved you practically all my life. You’re all I’ve been thinking about recently, that’s why I’m here. And- and that’s what you have to say to me?”.

“What do you want me to say?”

“That you love me. Or miss me. Or both”

“Why would I?”

“Because that’s what people who love each other say!” you exclaimed a lot louder than you meant to.

He turned to face you. Damn him! You wanted him to look at you lovingly, then wrap his arms around you and say he loved you too. His stare was hard, mouth in a deep frown, hands at his sides. “Sometimes people say things they don’t mean”.

“Are you serious?” you both could and couldn’t believe him. He was always stubborn but to question your love for him? Despair, anger, betrayal, it all began to bubble inside you. “You don’t think I love you? After all we’ve been through? Has it meant nothing?”. Then another thought crossed your mind. One that made you have to take a deep breath before asking. “Have you found another?”.

“I don’t want another” he responded quietly, which was somewhat odd for him. Not necessarily because it was quiet, but because it was soft. Delicate almost. Then he cleared his throat, “love is a weakness. You’ve shown me that”.

“Bi-”

“Leave”

“No”. You kept your feet firmly against the ground. You wouldn’t be going anywhere. Especially not on this note. You didn’t expect that all your problems would be fixed in one conversion but this couldn't be how tonight ended. “We need to talk-”.

“I don’t want you here!” The sudden rise in his voice made you jump. Was that regret in his eyes? No. It couldn’t be. If he actually felt any remorse, his next words didn’t show it. “I don’t want to speak to you. I don’t want to see you. You are a traitor, meaning that you are dead to me! You were only slowing me down and now? Now I don’t have to worry about you! Enough of this! Leave!”. Your breathing began to speed up, eyes becoming watery, vision blurring. Bi-Han spoke again, his voice quieter this time. “Don’t cr-” he took another deep breath. “I don’t care”. He tried to walk away again.

He got mere feet away before the ground around him rose, trapping the both of you in a wide box. You didn’t know what you felt more. Anger because he had the audacity to yell at you, or sadness because he purposely chose to hurt you. They both bubbled inside you. Your mouth worked a lot faster than your brain. “I have always been by your side” you began, “even as children. Whenever you fell, I was there to help you up. When you needed a laugh, I found any way to make you laugh. When the responsibility of becoming the next Grandmaster felt like a hard burden to carry, I was there to support you”.

“The Bi-Han then was a weak child! I’m older now! I have more challenges!”

“And have I not faced your challenges with you by your side?!” you fully yelled now. Your words were laced with grief and you hoped he could hear it. “When others called you heartless, strict, mean, selfish and whatever else they could think of, I defended you! I always did Bi-Han! I would tell them that you had a huge heart under that hard shell of yours! I would tell them you were strict but loving! That I loved you for a reason! That you genuinely cared for your family!”. All the emotions made you bolder. With each remark, you pointed an accusatory finger at him, stepping closer and closer until you jabbed him in the chest. “I would tell people that I never cared about having children, but if it was with you, I’d consider it! And as more days passed, I wanted it! A family with you was all I wanted! All I want even now!”. It was hard to see his expression. Your vision was too blurry. You thought about wiping your tears away, not wanting to appear weak, but they came too frequently. Your cheeks were already wet. “You can be angry with me. I would be okay with your anger, but do not ever make it seem like I do not love you! I was one of the few people concerned about your safety when you were taken! I carried your body to Liu Kang! I-!”.

A sob passed before you could stop it. You couldn’t stand to look at him. You turned away from him, walking a few inches away, suddenly feeling suffocated. Your chest ached badly. You felt that at any point, your heart would explode, or your throat would get tired of your sobs and decide to close instead, leaving you to die. You covered your mouth with the back of your hand in an attempt to quiet yourself. It worked, but only somewhat. 

With your back to Bi-Han though, you couldn’t see his reaction. You didn’t see his look of confliction, or him clenching and unclenching his fist. You didn’t know how angry he was at himself, because he should’ve hated you for being a traitor, but he just couldn’t. You didn’t know how badly he wanted to comfort you but forced himself not to. He just needed you to leave but you wouldn’t. 

“You betrayed me, do not forget this” he forced himself to say. “I needed you. You, my father, Kuai Liang, Tomas, Liu Kang, you all lack vision! You want me to shackle the Lin Kuei to mediocrity when we could be achieving greatness! No!”. You hadn’t faced him yet. Your bottom lip still trembled. It was humiliating. All this crying on your end and it didn’t even seem like he cared. 

No words were exchanged for a moment. You had to focus on slowing your breathing. What you needed was for him to apologize as he held you. Nothing came. Not even when you walked up to him, putting a hand on his arm in hopes to trigger some hidden affection. 

He took a step back.

You scoffed, then wiped at your eyes again. Your eyes stayed on the floor as you spoke again. “I have spent days and nights thinking about you. Hoping that-” you sniffed, “that you still loved me. I kept hoping that somehow this would all work out and…”.

You couldn’t say it. Everyday you hoped that everything would get better. You’d have each other again. Life would go back to normal, then one day you two would start expanding your family, and when you finally took your last breath, you’d be holding his hand. 

You couldn’t say it out loud. It hurt too much.

“Spare me. Spare me this agony and just say-”

You motioned back and forth between you two hoping he’d get it.

“Say what?”.

You forced it out finally.

“Say you do not love me. Just spare me of this agony and hoping. Just say you do not love me”. Silence passed. You expected that he would just say it right then and there. He didn’t. “Bi-Han please just do this for me”.

More silence.

Then,

“You are a traitor”.

“Fucking shit” you mumbled while wiping your eyes for the millionth time. “Just say it”.

He didn’t. “You were holding me back”.

You looked up at him, though you immediately regretted it. Since when had you gotten so bad at reading him? You tried to guess what he was thinking, but kept drawing a blank. “Please”.

“You left”.

“Bi-Han please”.

Over and over he’d shoot an insult at you, and in response you’d plead with him to say what you needed to hear to hopefully start fully mourning. 

You couldn’t take the back and forth anymore. Why couldn’t he do this one thing for you? Just this one parting gift. “You are so fucking selfish! Why can’t you just be honest with me and say it?!”.

“Why don’t you say it to me?!” he challenged, which was ridiculous to you.

“Not only would I be lying, but I would never wanna hurt you like that! You want me to hurt you the way you hurt me?! Fine!”. You pointed a finger at him, “you are everything that is wrong with you!”. The hardness in his eyes softened. Good. You wanted to see him have some sort of reaction. To hurt as much as you did. “You love to blame me, your father, Kuai Liang, Tomas, anyone for how shitty you can be! You betrayed Earthrealm and your brothers! It isn’t wrong to want a new future, but how you went about it? No, Bi–Han! I wasn’t gonna stand by you as you did something so selfish! You love blaming everyone else and refuse to see that you are in a war by yourself! You scarred your brother! You attacked a wedding and killed innocent people! I am by no means an innocent person. I have made mistakes, and if you have ever genuinely felt like I did not love you, then I’m sorry… but the blood you have on your hands, the blood of innocents and your own” your hand found its way to your chest, your palm feeling your heartbeat under it. “That is not on me”. 

There was no relief after you finished your rant. 

You didn’t feel relief, or satisfaction at the possibility of hurting him. No. You felt terrible. Like you had broken an oath - another one according to Bi-Han -. Once again your gaze tore from his. You shouldn’t have come. This was a mistake. Or perhaps it wasn’t. He hadn’t said the sacred words, but everything else he said was confirmation enough. 

He no longer loved you.

The walls surrounding the both of you collapsed. “You don’t want me here, fine” you forced yourself to say. “I won’t come back”.

“And I know it’s true, that visions are seldom what they seem

But if I know you

I know what you’ll do

You’ll love me at once

The way you did once upon a dream”

The heartache was wet tar, sticking to your skin and refusing to budge. You hoped it would cease sometime soon- dammit. Why did you keep hoping for things? Where had hope gotten you? Hope was foolish to cling onto.

A week passed, and still the pain refused to move. You felt it in everything you did. It made your bones stiff, your movements slow, your focus low, your insides hurt. It was the most diabolical of poisons. 

When a knock against your door filled your ears, you didn’t bother getting up. You simply told them to come in, and although your voice could rival a church mouse, they heard you anyway and came in. “Kuai Liang” you greeted once he came into view.

“Have you been well?”.

At least he didn’t beat around the bush.

“I’ve noticed your recent behavior and-”

“I apologize if I have been lacking, Grandmaster”

Out of respect you got out of bed and bowed. You must’ve been messing up during training, or-

“You have nothing to apologize for” he took a step closer to you, “you seem unhappy. You know you can come to me, right? I’m your friend, family even. Not just your Grandmaster”. Keeping eye contact had become something hard for you. You looked everywhere else when speaking to someone, which was something you hated because it made you feel weaker than you already typically felt.

His hand found your arm. His touch was light, like he worried you would crack if he pressed against you too hard. “Are you okay?”.

There it was. Those three words opened the floodgates, causing you to wrap your arms around his torso and bury your face against his chest as sobs wracked your body. Had he always felt so similar to Bi-Han or was your mind playing tricks on you?

Kuai Liang was the one who held you close, comforting you with his presence alone.

And like a selfish and desperate bastard, you pretended he was Bi-Han.

“But if I know you

I know what you do

You love me at once the way you did once upon a dream”

A/N: Bi-Han angst is my fave genre y'all. It’s always gonna hit. This is a stand alone so uhhh no part 2 :D.

[unintentionalseductress]

Why does everyone portray Caleb to be 'dark romance, zade meadows' coded? :/

Yeah he's got yandere traits to wanna keep her forever and for himself but he never implies that he'll hurt mc- instead expressing a fierce desire to protect her, so why do ppl write ffs Abt him being manipulative? Making him have 'rough jealous s*x' in which he's spewing a bunch of hurtful things just to manipulate mc to his liking?

I guess it's because of the initial show of possessiveness in his trailer, but literally every love and deepspace guy is possessive so why portray him so darkly?

I like that you portray him more realistically to his character and not so ooc because that's what it feels like most of the time

Hello there anon! I'm glad you think my portrayal of Caleb feels more realistic than some other interpretations. I really don't know where this concept of comparing Caleb to Zade comes from since Zade literally r**es the MC in that book and I simply can't picture Caleb doing that?

This might be a much longer response than you'd expected and I'm sorry, but I've been taking little notes as I went through Caleb's memories, anecdotes, and myth. I feel like most of the people that are portraying him in this sadistic way simply didn't read all the material and just clicked through to get the diamonds.

So let me start by saying, all the other 4 LI's met MC quite recently, meaning they had no say in her life and weren't there when the Chronorift Catastrophe occurred. They met her as an adult, when she'd had time to put herself together and act like a rational grown woman.

Caleb met her at the worst time in their lives as a child until Josephine adopted them. They trauma bonded and after all they've been through together, they're extremely possessive of each other. Not just Caleb, but even the MC as well. She's just as paranoid and possessive about Caleb as well, and this is evidenced in their memories which I will delve into shortly.

But imagine being so close and growing up with this person that you think you know like the back of your own hand. She and Caleb appeared to be quite close up until the explosion. Now MC had to deal with the loss of her second family, and possibly the love of her life. Yes, I said it. The love of her life, because after going through the memories, there's nothing that can be said to change my mind that these two weren't in some kind of relationship before Caleb's death.

Now Caleb is back. MC is wary of him, she's scared to be possessive of him like she was because she knows what it's like to lose him. Caleb has no idea where he stands in her life, and inside it's because he knows he fucked up. He realizes he wants her back, the same woman who was just as obsessed and possessive of him like how he was with her and he has no idea how to fix it.

Caleb imo slides into the tip of the yandere iceberg because of that scene in the main story where he says he'll rebuild their house in Linkon and they can move in together etc. To me, that's the effect of the chip (more to be discussed about that below), and also him literally breaking down because MC said his worst fear to his face; she doesn't need him anymore. How do you recover from having the one person you've loved for most of your life look at you with so much hate and say they don't need you? (reminded me of Sylus a little bit when he's told MC is disgusted by him) For him to be truly yandere, he would have locked her up then and there but he doesn't. He backs off, allows her to get back to her life unharmed, and he keeps himself busy with work. That doesn't look like true yandere behavior to me.

NOW. MYTH EVIDENCE. The part with the chips. The chips seem to exacerbate certain feelings that already exist and take them to the extreme, hence why people who are chipped are very emotionless and almost have a robotic character to them, perhaps to avoid the pain of being emotional. In his myth, we find Caleb actively fights the chip, and it puts so much strain on his body that he falls unconscious or goes into fits. I think that 'yandere' scene is because the chip and his body are at odds with each other. Even MC when she chips herself, finds herself being manipulative of Caleb, trying to make him think of memories that were only half-truths. They're both obsessed with each other, and without the chip, it was fine, but with chip, things get crazy.

Also, I think it's safe to say, Caleb hasn't shown yandere tendencies towards MC in the past pre explosion, beyond telling her to be careful during missions or to let her know when she got hurt. He wasn't upset because she wasn't staying at home, he's upset because she's hiding things from him (like when she lied about getting scratched by a cat pre explosion).

NOW ONTO THE MEMORIES. Because omg, there's so much evidence in the memories that Caleb realizes his limitations in his ability to care for her. In their bond memory Rain's Embrace, when MC is asleep on his shoulder, Caleb literally says something along the lines of "I promise not to be so overprotective of you." He says something similar in Endless Summer and Exclusive Aftertaste, stating he knows his tendency to protect her isn't good for either of them.

And to show how possessive MC was of him. In the memory Longtime Yesterday, we find out Caleb was super popular in college and many girls tried to befriend him by giving him bento boxes. His friends teased him saying "Miss Apple" helped him avoid having to accept the bento boxes. MC literally sulks all the way back to the airport and when Caleb asks her what's wrong she goes, "You have a Miss Apple," like that was a perfectly plausible explanation. Miss Apple turns out to be a hairtie that Caleb took from MC that has apple shaped beads on it and he wears it (presumably on his wrist) all the time, which drove away unwanted attention from other girls. MC was so upset prior to hearing this, and Caleb reassures her that he doesn't want anyone else's attention but her's.

In Borrowed Promise, which occurs when MC is still in high school, Caleb is visiting from college and MC has a fight with a friend who is a girl (important). Caleb notices she's unhappy and takes her to a fair of sorts to cheer her up and she tells him she's worried someone may not like her anymore. Caleb tries to act nonchalant but you can tell he's thinking MC has a boyfriend or a crush and he goes "their loss but oh well you're not for everyone." It's at this point she tells Caleb it's a girl and he's dumbfounded but his relief is evident.

And my favorite, Stage Observer. MC is helping Caleb empty his dorm since he's about to graduate from college and she finds an envelope tucked away in one of his books with cutesy apples on the surface. She mistakenly thinks this is a love letter and then gives a very confused Caleb the cold shoulder for the rest of her visit. Then on his graduation day, she softens and helps fix his tie as he's about to give his valedictorian speech. During this time, she admits she's scared about him finding someone else and he says he worries about her meeting someone else too, but he's happy having just her and grandma in his life. In his speech, Caleb talks about how people go through their whole looking for meaningful connections with people but he's fortunate to have found the one person he knows he can count on. Afterwards, MC runs to him and gives him what I think is their first kiss. And why does she do this? She says, "I kissed you so you can't have a girlfriend now!" Caleb is confused and then she finally admits seeing the envelope. Well guess what? It turns out the envelope actually holds a good luck charm she had sent Caleb but the cover got ruined so Caleb replaced it with the apple envelope. He teases her but the ending implies they now know how they feel for each other and that was the start of a more romantic relationship between them.

So there. MC is just as possessive and obsessed with Caleb as he is with her. He knows that and it's because he's so in tune with these feelings that to him, his actions don't seem out of line, because that's how he expects her to be with him as well. I think like the other boys, his love is limitless, he literally says, "I love you more than you realize" in his myth. He's struggling with mental health and trauma and I think people just want to downplay him for various reasons without delving into the complexity of his character, or the incredible history he has with MC, not from a past life, but in this very real, present one. He was there with her during a time when she didn't know a Xavier, a Rafayel, or a Sylus (maybe Zayne since Caleb mentions him).

There. It feels good to get this out. I will end this by saying, sure, Caleb qualifies as a dark romance, maybe a mild yandere, but definitely, nothing along the lines of Zade because I genuinely don't think he'd want to hurt MC by doing something that could hurt her or violate her consent.

I'm open to more discussion on this. And a reminder about my usual policy; if you have nothing nice to say, scroll on by.

[miserycanary]

MISSION: LOVE KILL  ᡣ𐭩 [trailer]

pairings: Simon 'Ghost' Riley & fem!reader

synopsis: the trailer to my very first full-length series set in a soulmate AU. 

pairings: (applies to future parts) angst, smut, fluff, mutual pining, misunderstandings, rivals to lovers to rivals, featuring Ghost's inability to communicate, graphic mentions of violence, might hint to sexual violence, BARELY PUT TOGETHER, torture, one bed trope, i-will-wait-for-you trope, loving-you-is-like-breathing trope, slowburn (unless I get bored and rush this), poor poor attempt in crack, will add more as we go on

The subtle searing pain on the back of his neck is enough reason for Ghost to hate the idea of soulmates existing. It wasn’t just the fact that he has lived up to his 30s feeling like a fire wasp is buzzing under his skin, it was that the government fully developed their system with pairs in mind. You mean to tell him that he has to have found his partner—who’s probably cities or even continents away—just so that he could fucking own property? Utter fucking bullshit, he calls it. 

‘Nutjobs! The lot of them’

It was also the fact he had to watch his mum’s so-called soulmate almost beat them up to death each day. How could someone whose single purpose in life is to torment them be his mother’s soulmate? Fate either has a weird take on the concept of love and the whole shenanigan or it’s fucking wicked. Either way, the S-word has left a bad taste in his mouth—and memory. He would rather die, not having property—or anything really—to his name if it means that he wouldn’t comply to the fucking standards of pairs. 

Or so he thought because, once again, life is fucking wicked like that. 

When he first broke the news that he would be retiring from the army, he expected his future days ahead full of smooth-sailing lounging. Maybe a cup of tea in hand or even some biscuits if he was feeling fancy. Imagine his shocked face when he inquired with a real-estate agent to finally have something to call home, no longer needing to stay by some cheap hotel with what his little pay could afford, that he cannot fucking do that! 

“Yeah, this would be good. Really nice stuff here,” Ghost gruffs. “Yeah? Well, let’s get started then. Um, here are the paperworks that you need to fill out. Uhh, you just need to input your government code and your partner’s. It is policy that you bring your pair in with you when it comes to legal documents, but I’m sure that we could make an exception for our veteran here,” the agent smiles; one that Ghost did not reciprocate. “I ain’t got a missus with me. Haven’t found them yet.” 

It was a simple explanation, not wanting to dwell too much on his reasons. Before he could even take the papers in his hand, the man retracts. Confusion etched on Ghost’s face while pity is on the man’s. “Oh, I am really sorry but you are legally required to have a partner before you could own property—or anything for that matter.” Ghost looked this agent for a good few minutes, anticipating the ‘sike’ that he desperately wishes to hear but only dead silence echoes. “Surely you could, say, make an except for a veteran?” he nervously chuckles out, trying to weasel his way into a fucking home. Nothing. Dead fucking silence that’s heavy with pity. Ghost loathes it.

Without even saying a word, he turns his back and starts walking towards the car he rented today, because you can’t even own a car in this government! He should have flagged it as weird when the lady in the car shop insists that he should rent first before buying something. So, now he sits in the dingy bar that Soap has dragged him into after he informed the force that he would not be settling anytime soon. After explaining his circumstance, he expected them to react like he did before, but no. They all replied like they knew this. Even saying stuff like, “you didn’t know?” Of course he didn’t! It wasn’t like Ghost was invested in property or anything for that matter while he was serving. All he cared about was surviving each day, and that is it. 

“Aye, cheer up, lad. Life ain’ that bad. Ya’ just gotta get them lassie, and all yer problems would go away,” the Scot on his right drunkenly offers advice—a shit one at that. Did he really think Ghost hasn’t stepped foot on every land they got deployed with heavy hopes that he’ll find whoever he needs to find there? He fucking hates it here. He should have not retired this early if he knew this would happen. Now he needs to go around the world and search for the lassie whose presence—or her lack thereof—is the root of all his problems. 

If finding a needle in a haystack is hard, imagine finding a lady that’s probably moving countries as he speaks with Soap. “Yeah, like that’s fucking easy,” he scoffs, rolling his eyes before lifting his mask just enough to down his shot of whiskey. The fiery burn of the alcohol down his throat is nothing compared to the one on his neck. He would rather have it cut at this point than to go on about this miserable lifetime any longer.

“Should I just cut and peel it off?” he mumbles to no one in particular; probably to Fate if that shit is listening. Seeing that no one else in the rundown bar is really paying attention to him, Soap takes the honour in replying to him instead. “According tae what I’ve seen, jobby pain is hee haw compared tae th' pain ye will feel in yer heart. Doctors say that th' pain goes tae th' heart instead while tripling”. Unprompted, Ghost curses like a fucking sailor. Saying stuff that will probably get him on the government's watchlist if he wasn’t part of the military serving this goddamn country. He risks his life daily and this is what he gets? Ungrateful bastards.

With a slam of the glass on the mahogany table, he stands up with a new profound determination. “Fuck it, I’m finding that missus if it’s the last thing that I do”. “Eyy, that’s the spirit, matie,” Soap drunkenly encourages him, which should have been the first red flag on this idea. Any idea supported by Soap is an immediate botch.

Well, what could go wrong? He’s retired anyway. 

Turns out, many could go wrong. Well, here’s to the fucking shit-show of his life.

꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱: please give this love!!

dividers by @cafekitsune

Please reblog!! Ask is open!

⟢ taglist is open!! @hotvinimon

check out my other works in the masterlist: ୭!

[silverryuan]

TWST with a Blood Mage reader (Part 3)

Warnings: Blood and Gore, Slight Swearing

• When the fae entered the room, the sight made him fall out of his levitating upsidedown posture out of shock. He closed his eyes, trying to gather his bearings, and blinking his eyelids a few times before he expressed what looked like mild panic. He looked at the headmaster, expecting an explanation, but it seems like Crowley also froze in what looks more like mild fear.

?????: "BY THE SEVENS, WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED HERE, CROWLEY?! WHY ARE YOU JUST STANDING THERE?!"

Crowley: "DO I LOOK LIKE I HAVE ANY IDEA OF WHAT HAPPENED?!"

?????: "NOW'S NOT THE TIME FOR ONE OF YOUR SORRY EXCUSES, YOU BIRD BRAINED MORON! THEY NEED MEDICAL ATTENTION!!"

Crowley: "I'LL CALL THE INFIRMARY --"

?????: "INFIRMARY?! WHAT ARE YOU, STUPID?! THIS ISN'T JUST SOMETHING YOU COULD SIMPLY PUT A BANDAID ON! CALL AN AMBULANCE!!"

• Seeing the gore in front of the fae caused him to lash out at Crowley and hollar for any medics. The seven men in robes snapped back from their shock. The man with glasses pulled out his magical pen to summon bandages and the man with red hair pulled out his to cast a healing spell.

• The floating tablet dialed an emergency hotline while stuttering and hyperventilating, the man with blonde hair quickly talked to the operator on the other side of the screen.

Operator: "Hello, this is the Sage Island Hospital, what's your emergency?"

????: "W-W-We... They.... B-blood... sob..."

Operator: "Sir? I can't hear you. Please speak clearly."

????: "Blood...sob... Everywhere.....sob... H-h-help...sob... "

Operator: "Sir, please--"

???: "OH FOR SEVEN'S SAKE! LISTEN HERE, THERE'S A PERSON HERE THAT NEEDS AN AMBULANCE! IF YOU DON'T COME HERE QUICK, I DOUBT THEIR SKIN WILL STAY TOGETHER ANY LONGER. DO YOU HEAR ME?"

Operator: "W-we hear you, sir... Please stay on the line. We sent an ambulance to your location."

• The man with glasses and the man with red hair surrounded you cautiously, careful not to touch the exposed mangled flesh and wrapped your wounds with the bandages. All you can do is just go with the flow, knowing that explaining the concept of your complicated magic would be useless now. Besides... It's very amusing.

??????: "... A-alright. Can you hear me?"

BloodMage ! Yuu: "Yes."

??????: "Calm down. Breathe. The ambulance will be here for a moment, alright?"

BloodMage! Yuu: "Okay."

????: "Stay with us, now. Don't faint. Oh Sevens!"

BloodMage! Yuu: "I won't."

??????: "Azul, please pull it together!"

??????: "Look at us. Y-You're going to be fine."

BloodMage! Yuu: "Okay."

• You're not sure if the men are comforting you or they're comforting themselves, judging by the look on their eyes. Their hands shaking and their breaths shortened. They're more unnerved by how calm you are despite your burnt skin.

• The man with lion ears ordered the students to call the infirmary ghosts in case the ambulance doesn't arrive on time. The fae guided the panicking students to the exit, including the man with the turban.

• Crowley ordered the ghosts to immediately vacate Grim from the premises. The cat did not resist and could only look at the mess he caused as the doors closed behind him.

?????: "THE GHOSTS ARE HERE!"

Crowley: "Finally!"

?????: "EVERYONE, STAND BACK!"

Random Student A: "Th-th-they're dead 😰!"

Random Student B: "There's blood everywhere 😱!"

Random Student C: "Eugh... Crap, I think I'm gonna be sick 🤢..."

Random Student A: "It's that horrid monster's fault 😨!"

Random Student B: "...sob... Why is this happening?...sob... I just got into this school!...sob.... 😥"

Random Student C: "I just wanna go home, man! 😭"

Infirmary Ghost A: "LET US GO THROUGH!"

Infirmary Ghost B: "PLEASE LET US SEE THEM!"

• The wall of students parted like the Red Sea to make way for the ghosts. The ghosts immediately operated on you and began to layer the bandages the two men wrapped. A crowd of nosy students gathered around, either fascinated by the gore or wanting to witness how the ghosts apply first aid.

?????: "Hey, hey, I wanna see- EW! I regret seeing that! #NotForWeakStomachs!"

????: "Cater, just stop taking photos! Aren't you supposed to evacuate the students?"

Cater: "Don't worry, Trey. Lilia already handled that... Ugh, I'm gonna need bleach for my eyes for the rest of the week..."

Lilia: "Alright, I guided everyone to safety and the monster was captured and removed not long ago... How are Riddle and Azul doing?"

Trey: "Lilia! Thanks for helping us."

Cater: "Yeah, seriously thanks."

Trey: "Riddle is actually calm but it's hard to think that this is his first time doing first aid."

Cater: "Azul looks pretty pale but surprisingly, he can handle it without Jade after all."

Trey: "sigh, Cater... How's Kalim?"

Lilia: "He's horrified. The poor boy cried rivers. I had to call Jamil after he vomited on the floor."

• While the three of them are chatting, the ghosts give permission to Riddle and Azul to let go and let them do the rest. The boys approached the three looking disturbed. They look at the blood stains on their clothes, unnerved by what they had seen.

Cater: "Riddle! Woah... That's a lot of b-blood..."

Trey: "How are you holding up? Are they still alive?"

Azul: "........"

Riddle: "..........."

Lilia: "Riddle? Azul?"

Azul: "...Riddle, did you see that?"

Riddle: "...Yes."

Trey: "What are you talking about?"

Cater: "They're not dead, a-are they?"

• Cater and Trey eagerly wait for an answer, clearly hoping that you would stay alive and kicking. And well... You are.

Azul: "F-forgive me if I sound delusional, Riddle. But did you see how they aren't affected at all?"

Riddle: "No, you're not delusional. I definitely saw that... They seemed to stop the bleeding by themselves without us using pressure..."

Cater: "Guys, you're scaring us. So please just spill it."

Lilia: "... Just what I suspected."

Trey: "W-what do you mean?"

Infirmary Ghost A: "WAAAH!!!"

• All of the students become more alert after hearing the ghost's shriek and another panic surged through the room. The ghosts frantically search for more bandages as the blood starts... Levitating?!

Infirmary Ghost B: "Th-they're certainly not normal!"

Crowley: "Move, move! What in Twisted Wonderland is happening?"

Infirmary Ghost B: "They are healing themself!"

BloodMage! Yuu: "Hehee~"

• Everyone heard a giggle from you and they froze. They looked in your direction and were frightened to see streams of blood coating your every limb, encasing it like additional bandages and melted itself into your bones. Finally, it solidified and healed your limbs perfectly.

Lilia: "...Could it be?"

Crowley: ...I-it's...!"

Lilia: "...Blood Magic."

• You're unfazed by the attention you're receiving. You stood up and flexed your newly healed limbs. The mirror's face then disappeared.

Crowley: "...I... I thought it was forgotten...!... I-i thought it's forbidden to...!"

Lilia: "... Crowley, please listen to me. We must guide the students to the dorms before things get even more complicated."

Crowley: "And you're leaving this unexpectedly violent event to me? With them?!"

Lilia: "Crowley, I apologize... I may be centuries old but even I cannot grasp the knowledge of Blood Magic. I hope you understand."

Crowley: "Oh... Very well. I shall take matters into my own hands then..."