#i miss you though and i hope you are in a better place now

[this-is-tiny-mia]

Table 11 (H.S One Shot)

ceo!harry x fem!reader

Summary: based on this request.  An encounter at a restaurant brings together Y/N, a hardworking waitress with little time for love, and Harry, a successful yet guarded man who fears opening up. Both hesitant to risk their hearts, they find themselves drawn to each other, their bond growing through late-night conversations, stolen moments, and quiet acts of understanding.

A/n: Hi again!! my second one shot out there! i’m so excited! i hope you all enjoy it and thanks to @panini for sending the request i enjoyed writing this sooo much. And as always thanks to @eileenrry for hyping me up always. If you wish to be tagged in other works please comment, or dm me.

Word count: 8k

Warnings: A tiny bit of angst, use of y/n, casual alcohol consumption over dinner, 700 words of SMUT at the end, use of puppy and daddy, unprotected sex. (If i missed something please do not hesitate to tell me)

“Can you grab table 6 for me?” you asked Mandy while balancing three cocktails on a tray, your fingers trembling slightly from the weight. It was Valentine’s season, and Velours et Flamme was packed to the brim. The sound of laughter and clinking glasses echoed through the gilded dining room, where even the flickering candlelight seemed to exude wealth.

It didn’t matter that it wasn’t Valentine’s Day yet—everyone wanted their moment under the chandeliers. For them, it was romance; for you, it was a chaotic shift.

You’d been working at Velours et Flamme for a year now, and you knew the drill: smug diners with wallets thicker than your rent, checks that could pay off your student loans, and that absurd scotch on the menu—£1,500 a pour. To this day, you were waiting for the kind of client who would actually order it. 

“Sure thing,” Mandy said with a wink, swooping past you with practiced ease. She had a knack for smoothing things over, whether it was with a picky customer or a stressed coworker. If Mandy wasn’t here, you weren’t sure how you’d survive these shifts.

London was unforgiving, and the pay barely covered the essentials—your rent, your transit card, and the occasional discount coffee from the café down the street. Your shoes, now with a small but growing hole near the toe, told the story of just how tight things had become. God forbid you needed to replace anything.

As Mandy headed for table 6, you stole a moment to glance around the room. The scent of truffle oil and roasted lamb was in the air, mingling with the sharper scent of overpriced cologne. Couples leaned in close at every table, champagne glasses raised, their conversations drowning in the clinking cutlery and soft piano music. Mandy, as usual, glided effortlessly between the chaos. She was stunning—like she belonged on the cover of Vogue instead of weaving through tables at Velours. The way she carried herself, you wouldn’t guess she was struggling just as much as you were. But you knew better. Beneath her flawless smile and the perfectly knotted apron, she was just like you: one bad week away from disaster.

You adjusted the tray in your hands and sighed. This was your life now. Maybe someday you’d climb out of this rut, but for now, it was all about surviving one shift at a time.

Just as you turned to deliver the drinks to table 9, the heavy oak doors of the restaurant creaked open, and the cold London air swept in. You glanced toward the entrance, catching sight of a man walking in. His tailored coat was with some raindrops, and his dark hair was just long enough to curl at the edges.

He was greeted by the host, and you caught his name—Harry Styles. You watched as the host confirmed his reservation.

Harry was alone, which was odd for this time of year. Valentine’s season practically demanded companionship at a place like this. But maybe his date was running late. Or his wife? You glanced at his left hand, but from this distance, it was impossible to tell.

He looked about 33, though it was hard to pin down exactly—youthful yet mature, effortlessly put-together in a way that suggested his wardrobe cost more than your yearly salary. His tailored black coat hung perfectly over broad shoulders, and when he ran a hand through his hair, the movement seemed practiced, like he was used to being observed.

And worth a million dollars? That part wasn’t in question. Everything about him screamed money—the subtle watch peeking out from his cuff, the polished leather boots, the way he carried himself like the room was his even though he’d just walked in.

The host gestured for him to follow, leading him straight to a table in your section. Your section.

You felt a flicker of something—nerves? Annoyance? You couldn’t quite put your finger on it. All you knew was that your curiosity had been piqued. You adjusted your apron and reached for the notepad tucked into your pocket, readying yourself to take his order.

Before you could take a step, Mandy appeared at your side, her lips curving into a sly smile.

“Think that’s the guy who’s finally ordering the scotch?” she teased, nudging you with her elbow.

You snorted softly, shaking your head. “If he does, I’ll frame the receipt,” you muttered.

Mandy’s grin widened, and she winked before sashaying off toward table 6.

You took a steadying breath and made your way toward his table. As you approached, you couldn’t help but notice how his gaze briefly flicked up from the menu he’d been scanning

“Good evening,” you said, forcing your voice to steady as you reached his table. “Welcome to Velours et Flamme. Can I start you off with something to drink?”

He looked towards his phone on the table “Just water for now, thanks,” he said, his voice rich and smooth, but maybe with a tired undertone

Not the scotch, then.

“Of course,” you replied, scribbling it down. You walked towards the bar and Mandy was there patiently waiting

“The scotch??” she asked, her smile mischievous as her eyes flicked over your shoulder in the direction of his table.

“Water,” you said, your voice tinged with mock defeat as you plopped your notepad on the counter.

Mandy looked at you for a moment before the bartender slid the glass of water across the counter. She grabbed it and handed it to you with a knowing smile. “C’mon don’t be so sad, we will find that scotch guy”

You laughed softly, shaking your head as you headed back to his table. As you approached, you couldn’t help but glance at him again—his fingers tapping idly against the edge of the table, his eyes scanning the room but never settling on anything. There was something about him, something you couldn’t quite place.

“Here you go,” you said, placing the glass of water on the table.

“Thanks,” he murmured, his voice low and steady. “Can I get the smoked salmon, the asparagus salad, and…” He paused, finally looking at you. The pause lingered longer than you expected. “A Blackthorn Reserve. Neat,” he finished, his gaze still fixed on you.

“Smoked salmon, asparagus salad, and Blackthorn Reserve,” you repeated, trying to read him, but his expression gave nothing away.

“Thanks…” he said going back to his phone No date, no wife—just him, casually dining in an absurdly expensive restaurant while everyone else was tangled in whispered conversations and candlelit stares. He was the only one alone, a stark contrast to the Valentine’s frenzy buzzing around.

Something about him tugged at your curiosity. Why was he here, of all places? Who was he? How much was his coat, and why did it cost more than your rent? Rich men came and went every day, dripping with smugness and entitlement, but he was different. There was no show, no pretense. He treated this place like it was McDonald’s—calm, unbothered, as if the exclusivity and extravagance meant nothing to him. That nonchalance only added to the mystery, making it impossible not to wonder what his story was.

The bar hummed with activity, a low symphony of clinking glasses, muted laughter, and the occasional scrape of chairs against polished wood. You navigated the crowd, the weight of the tray in your hand feeling oddly grounding amidst the chaos.

“Can I get a Blackthorne Reserve, neat?” you said to the bartender on call. He barely glanced up, focused on shaking a cocktail for the group at the other end of the counter. The momentary wait was a blessing—giving you a second to steal a glance at him again. He sat at the corner table, the one slightly shrouded in shadow. His posture was relaxed, one hand tracing the rim of the empty glass in front of him.

When his drink was ready, you balanced the tray carefully and made your way over. The coaster slid neatly onto the table before you placed the drink on top.

“Blackthorne Reserve, neat,” you said softly, your voice steadier than you felt.

He looked up, his expression calm yet unreadable. “Thanks... Can I get your name, please?” His tone was casual, but his words carried a strange weight that made your heart stutter.

“Y/N, sir,” you replied, meeting his gaze for a second longer than you intended.

“Thanks, Y/N.” He smiled then—a small, soft smile that you could feel, inexplicably, in your chest.

You nodded and turned away, heading to the next table, though you were suddenly more aware of the way you moved. You kept busy—taking orders, clearing plates, laughing politely at some table’s joke. Yet, every so often, your gaze wandered back to him. He wasn’t demanding, not like some of the regulars who snapped fingers or tapped glasses. No, he sat with an air of quiet patience, occasionally checking his phone, occasionally glancing around the room. You wondered what had brought him here tonight. A celebration? A distraction?

When his dinner order was ready, you rushed to the kitchen pass, grabbing the plate with a precision born of habit. You steadied your breathing as you approached his table, placing the dish down with care.

“Smoked salmon and asparagus salad,” you announced.

“Perfect, Y/N. Thank you so much,” he said, and there it was again—the faint curve of his lips, his voice as soft as it was warm.

The evening rush began to taper off, leaving the restaurant quieter but no less busy. You caught sight of him still at his table, the remnants of his meal neatly pushed to the side. His glass sat empty now, save for the last amber droplet at the bottom, and you found yourself wondering if he was ready to leave.

Before you could approach, he raised his hand slightly—a small, deliberate gesture that seemed to summon only you.

“Another Blackthorne Reserve?” he asked when you were close enough to hear.

“Of course, sir.”

“Drop the ‘sir,’ please,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching into a barely-there smile. “Harry, my name it’s Harry”

You felt a flush of warmth creep up your neck but nodded. “Coming right up, Harry”

At the bar, you relayed the order, watching out of the corner of your eye as he leaned back in his chair, gaze drifting lazily around the room. By the time his drink was ready, you were certain he had no intention of rushing out. You placed the glass in front of him with the same careful precision. “Blackthorne Reserve,” you said softly.

“Thank you, Y/N,” he said, his voice quieter now, as though the dimming energy of the restaurant had reached him too. “Anything else?” you said softly

He didn’t immediately answered instead, he cradled the glass in his hands, staring down at the dark liquid for a moment before lifting his gaze again. His eyes roamed the room, landing briefly on each table. Couples sat scattered around the restaurant—some leaning close, sharing quiet conversations; others laughing over shared plates. A few tables sat in comfortable silence, the kind that came from years of companionship. And then at you.

“Busy night,” he murmured, catching you lingering nearby.

You looked around as if you didn’t knew it ws a busy night, then nodded. “Always is, especially with so many couples out. Valentine’s coming up”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice carrying a wistful note. He swirled the drink in his glass before taking a slow sip. “Guess I picked the wrong night to dine alone.”

The words caught you off guard, but you managed a polite smile. “Some people prefer it. A quiet drink, good food—it’s not a bad way to spend an evening.”

He looked at you then, a glint of curiosity in his eyes. “What about you? Do you get much time for quiet evenings like this?”

The question was unexpected, and you faltered. “Not much,” you admitted. “Work keeps me busy.”

He nodded, as if that answer satisfied him, but there was something in his gaze that lingered. It felt like he wanted to say more but didn’t. As the evening wore on, he stayed longer than most, nursing his second drink and watching the world around him with a quiet attentiveness. You found yourself glancing his way more often than you meant to, wondering what kept him there—and whether he might ask for something else before the night was over. The restaurant was nearly empty now, the hum of conversation replaced by the clatter of plates being cleared and the occasional murmur of the remaining people. You passed by his table one last time, noting the way he stared into the near-empty glass, lost in thought.

As if sensing your presence, he looked up and offered a faint smile. “Can I get the check, please?”

You nodded, quickly retrieving the bill and placing it on the table. “Here you go.”

He glanced at it, pulled out a sleek black card, and handed it back to you. “Thanks, Y/N.”

The transaction was quick, and when you returned with the receipt, he stood, slipping the signed copy back into your hands.

“Have a good night,” he said softly, pausing just long enough to meet your eyes before heading toward the door.You watched him leave, his figure disappearing into the cool night air. The faint sound of the door closing behind him was a strange punctuation mark to the evening—unremarkable, yet lingering all the same.

And then, the rhythm of work pulled you back, but you couldn’t quite shake the weight of his presence. “Y/N? C’mon there’s a lot of mess here” you heard Mandy and glanced at her, plates, glasses, napkins. It was going to be a long week.

-----

Valentine’s day arrived and the soft murmur of conversations filled the elegant space of Velours et Flamme. You were just adjusting a neatly folded napkin at your station. It was already late, just 2 hours before closing, couples were coming and going, but this was the last shift of reservations

“Good evening, welcome to Velours et Flamme. Do you have a reservation?” the host asked.

“Yes, Styles. Harry Styles,” came the reply. His voice was smooth, distinct, and enough to draw your eyes toward him. Standing tall in a sleek coat.

“Table 11, if possible,” he added with a polite nod, his gaze drifting briefly over the dining area.

“Table 11 is currently busy, but I can offer you 19. It’s a lovely table by the window.”

There was a brief pause “19 it is,” he said, his voice tinged with reluctance.

The host gestured toward the far side of the room, leading him past softly glowing tables and couples lost in intimate conversations. He sat down, still looking for you but his perspective was interrupted by Mandy, the epitome of calm under pressure, She greeted him warmly, placing a menu on the table. “Good evening, sir. Welcome to Velours et Flamme. Can I start you off with a drink tonight?”

He looked up from the menu, his polite smile softening as he spoke. “Thanks, but before I order… Is Y/N working tonight?” 

Mandy blinked, caught off guard, but quickly recovered. “Y/N? Oh, yes, she’s here tonight. She’s been covering the other section.”

He leaned back slightly in his chair, his expression unreadable “Do you think she could take my table instead?”

Mandy’s lips curved into a knowing smile. “Of course. Let me check with her, and I’ll be right back.”

As Mandy walked toward you, you noticed her smirking like she was holding onto some juicy secret. “You’ve got a request,” she said, her tone teasing.

Your brows furrowed. “A request? For what?”

“For you,” she said, nodding toward table 19. “Mr. Styles wants you to take his table. Any idea what that’s about?”

Your stomach flipped at the mention of his name. You clearly remembered him from two nights ago. You wiped your hands on your apron, trying to steady yourself. “I’ll take it and you can take table 10 for me” you said, as you headed toward his table.

When you arrived, he looked up, his expression softening into a warm smile. “Y/N,” he said, your name sounding effortless on his lips. “Good to see you.”

“Good evening, Mr. Styles,” you replied, your voice steady despite the quickening beat of your heart. “I’ll be taking care of your table tonight. Can I start you off with something to drink?” “Wine, Soléne Blanc, Truffle-infused Fettuccine and sparkling water” he said not even looking at the menu “Coming right up” you said smiling, you somehow felt happy, you had your usuals clients, but they were cold, smug, mostly annoying, him? totally different vibe. You kept serving him with a small smile, always checking in case he needed something, but he didn’t ask for much. He ate quietly, sipping his wine and enjoying his pasta like it was just another evening out. Like if the restaurant wasn’t all decorated with heart balloons and cupid stuff.

The night went on, and the restaurant slowly emptied. Couples left hand in hand, tables were cleared, and the soft hum of conversation faded away. Eventually, it was just one other customer in the far corner—and him. You busied yourself wiping down tables and resetting for the next day, glancing at his table now and then. He didn’t look like he was in a rush, finishing his wine and leaning back slightly in his chair.

Finally, he raised his hand, and you walked over, thinking he was ready to leave.

“Would you like the check, Mr. Styles?” you asked politely, ready to grab it for him.

But instead of nodding, he looked up at you, his expression calm but curious. “Not just yet,” he said. “Are you allowed to sit down for a bit?”

The question caught you off guard. “Yes, of course,” you said, glancing around. The manager and the host had gone home early that day to be with their SOs, but you? Along with the servers, chefs, and cleaning staff? Yeah, no such luck.

You sat down across from him, feeling a bit nervous, not sure what this was all about.

“You know,” he started, his tone hesitant, “I don’t know if this is weird at all—and you can tell me to fuck off if it is—but...” He paused, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t have many friends, and tonight... I just need to vent.”

“Well, I’m a good listener,” you replied, suddenly way more curious than before.

He exhaled deeply, his hand still resting on the base of his glass. “It’s Valentine’s Day, you know?” he started, glancing out the window. “Supposed to be about love, connection... all that.” He let out a dry laugh. “But here I am, eating dinner alone, wondering if I’ve got it all wrong.”

You tilted your head slightly, encouraging him to go on.

“My love life?” he said, leaning back in his chair. “It’s... nonexistent. And it’s not like I haven’t tried. But most people don’t stick around. They see me, and they assume—‘CEO,’ right? So they’re either intimidated or they expect me to be some larger-than-life, perfect version of myself. I end up pushing people away because... what’s the point? I’ll never be what they want me to be. And even if I could... it wouldn’t feel real.”

He paused, his expression softening. “It’s stupid, isn’t it? A room full of people earlier tonight, and I’ve never felt lonelier. Sometimes, it feels like there’s this... wall between me and the rest of the world. Like I’ll never find someone who’s really... my person.”

Your heart ached a little at his words. “I don’t think that’s stupid at all,” you said softly. “I mean, I get it... in a way. Maybe not from a CEO perspective,” you added with a small laugh, “but... I get it.”

You leaned forward, your fingers lightly tracing the edge of the table. “I’ve been working as a waitress for years now. Just trying to make ends meet, you know? And between shifts and side jobs, there’s no time for... anything else. No time for dating or even dreaming about a real future.

“The few boyfriends I’ve had?” you continued, shaking your head. “They never got it. They’d complain about me working too much or not spending enough time with them. But they never thought about my goals—what I wanted. And let’s be real,” you added with a small shrug, “it’s not like my paycheck could make those dreams happen anyway. So, yeah, I guess I’ve given up on that, too. What’s the point, right?”

You let out a short laugh, trying to lighten the moment, but he didn’t laugh with you. Instead, he studied you, his expression softening even more.

“It’s different,” you said quickly, “but... I think I understand. Feeling like you’re giving so much of yourself but never really... being seen.”

He nodded slowly, his gaze fixed on yours. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Exactly that.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The sounds of the kitchen winding down and the soft hum of the music filled the space between you.

“Thanks” “Anytime”

-----

After that first night, when he opened up to you, something shifted. He became a regular, showing up more often than you expected. Always in your section. Always polite, Always Harry. with that soft smile that somehow made your stomach flip no matter how much you tried to ignore it. And yet, every time he walked through the door, you felt a tiny pang of dread mixed with curiosity.

It wasn’t that he wasn’t kind—he was. He never made you feel uncomfortable, never crossed a line. But that was exactly the problem. It was too easy to talk to him, to laugh at his dry jokes or share fleeting glimpses of yourself you hadn’t meant to reveal. You’d been down this road before, or so you told yourself. You knew what happened when you let someone in. It started with little things—a laugh, a smile, a shared moment. And before you knew it, your heart was tied up in something messy, something that always felt like it demanded too much of you.

Your exes had taught you that love wasn’t about equal footing, at least not for someone like you. Love had been another job, another place where you had to prove yourself, where your dreams took a backseat because someone else needed more—more time, more attention, more of you.

And now, here he was. Harry. A man who, on the surface, seemed worlds apart from you but had a way of making you feel like he truly saw you. And that terrified you.

Because what if he didn’t? What if, like everyone else, he was drawn to an idea of you—someone kind, patient, maybe even a little mysterious—but not the real you? The one who worked double shifts just to keep the lights on, who barely had time to think about her own dreams, let alone share them with someone else?

So, you kept your walls up. You kept things professional, polite. You smiled, laughed when it felt safe, but you never let yourself think too much about why his visits mattered or why your heart raced when you saw him.

Until that night.

You brought the check over as you always did, a practiced smile on your face. He signed it, handed it back, and thanked you like he always did. But rushed to go out.

When you glanced down at the receipt, your breath caught.

“123-456-7890 Call me? - Harry”

The number scrawled below it was neat, confident, like he hadn’t hesitated for a second. But you did.

You gripped the paper tightly, your mind spinning. This was the moment you dreaded—the moment where things teetered on the edge of something more. And with it came all the fears you’d been trying to bury.

Because what if he meant it? What if he actually wanted something real? What if he saw more in you than you could see in yourself? And maybe worst of all... what if you let yourself hope, only to have it all fall apart again?

You froze for a moment, staring at the slip of paper, your mind racing. He had just walked out the door, and you glanced after him through the window, catching the faintest glimpse of his silhouette.

----- A few nights passed, and you convinced yourself that ignoring the receipt was the right thing to do. The thought of calling him felt too big, too real. You’d gotten good at guarding your heart, at keeping things simple. But deep down, you felt the faint sting of regret every time you thought about it.

Then, on a quiet evening, as the rush died down, there he was.

You saw him before he saw you, his figure familiar now, confident but approachable. He made his way to the host stand, scanning the room until his eyes landed on you. His smile was soft, almost hesitant, like he wasn’t entirely sure he’d made the right decision coming back.

“Table 11 again?” he asked the host.

---

You approached, trying to steady your nerves. “Good evening,” you said, your voice quieter than usual.

“Hi,” he replied, leaning slightly forward. His expression wasn’t upset, but there was something thoughtful in his eyes. “I hope you don’t mind me stopping by.”

You shook your head, unsure what to say. “Why would i?” 

“I just wanted to check in,” he said. “About the number. I wasn’t sure if I crossed a line leaving it. If I did, I’m really sorry. That wasn’t my intention.”

You blinked, surprised. The last thing you expected was for him to apologize. God you expected an angry response, even pretentious but you even scolded yourself in your mind just thinking Harry was capable of that. “No, you didn’t cross a line,” you said quickly. “Not at all. It’s just...” You hesitated, feeling your walls crack ever so slightly. “It’s complicated.”

“I get that,” he said softly, leaning back in his chair. “I just didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. That’s the last thing I’d want.” The sincerity in his voice made something shift in you. For all your fears about opening up, he was here, not pushing, not demanding, just... waiting. The crack on your walls was now getting bigger.

“Thank you,” you murmured. “For saying that. And for... being patient.”

He nodded, smiling faintly. “I figured it was worth it. You seem worth it.”

The words hung between you, and for a moment, you couldn’t speak. Your chest felt tight, like you were standing at the edge of something unknown. And then, before you could overthink it, you made a decision. 

One wall completely down.

You reached into your apron pocket, your fingers brushing against the scrap of paper you’d tucked away days ago. Slowly, you slid it out, unfolding it carefully before placing it on the table in front of him.

He glanced down, his brows lifting slightly as he recognized the paper.

“I didn’t call i did save the number in my phone but..i didn’t call…” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “Because I was scared. I’ve always been scared. But maybe...” You took a shaky breath. “Maybe I’m tired of being scared.”

His eyes softened, and for the first time, you saw a flicker of something you hadn’t let yourself hope for—understanding, warmth, maybe even relief.

“So,” you continued, your voice steadying as you looked him in the eye. “If the offer’s still open, I’d like to start over.”

His smile widened, and he picked up the slip of paper, tucking it into his jacket pocket like it was something precious.

“The offer’s still open,” he said, his tone light but full of meaning.

For the first time in a long time, you let yourself smile back. “Can I start you off with something to drink?” you said going back to your waitress self, but this time with a big smile on your face.

The rest of the night carried an air of something new, something unspoken. You noticed it in the way his gaze lingered as you brought over his glass of wine—a different one tonight, a crisp Sauvignon Blanc.

“You’re not sticking to a favorite?” you teased lightly as you set the glass down.

He smirked, his fingers brushing the stem. “I like variety. Keeps things interesting.”

“Does that apply to everything or just wine?” you asked, surprising yourself with the boldness.

He chuckled “Guess you’ll have to find out.”

The banter flowed easily after that, your interactions feeling more relaxed, almost playful. When you brought out his dinner—tonight, a wild mushroom risotto—you couldn’t help but make a small quip.

“Risotto,” you said, placing the plate down. “Trying to impress someone tonight?”

“Just my server,” he replied smoothly, making you glance away with a shy smile.

As the evening wore on and the restaurant began to empty, you found yourself gravitating toward his table more often. He didn’t seem to mind; in fact, he welcomed your presence with a smile each time. When he finally asked for the check you came quickly and handed it over.

“Thanks,” he said, glancing up as he pulled out his card. “Should i leave another note on the receipt or should i ask right away?”

You laughed, rolling your eyes. “About what?” 

He handed back the signed receipt, a sly grin on his face. “Well, if we are skipping the middleman. Have dinner with me—somewhere that isn’t here. I promise I won’t make you serve me.”

You blinked, caught off guard by how casually he’d said it. “You’re asking me out?”

“Too fast?” he teased.

“A little,” you admitted, but your heart was pounding. “But i like it this time”

He stood, shrugging on his jacket. “Well, think about it. No pressure. Just... somewhere nice, where we can talk and you don’t have to carry plates around.”

You couldn’t stop the smile spreading across your face. “Okay,” you said softly. “But only if I get to pick the place, no fancy Michelin-star restaurants.”

“Deal,” he said, standing and shrugging on his coat. “But just so you know, I’m good with street tacos or diner burgers.”

The laugh that bubbled out of you was genuine, and as he waved goodnight and walked out into the night, you realized you were already looking forward to whatever came next.

-----

The dates started slow, testing the waters of this new, fragile connection. Their first was at a cozy, family-owned pizzeria, far removed from the polished dining spaces Harry was used to frequenting. They sat in a corner booth, sharing stories over thin-crust slices and soda. You learned that his laugh came easily when he was truly comfortable, and also learned or imagined how wealthy he was. Him telling you about his company didn’t compared how one of your ex-boyfriends talked about a new crypto. He was passionate, honest, not even mentioning how much money he makes in a year, it was pure. As pure as corporate can get.

After that, there was a second date at an indie bookstore. Harry had smiled as you danced from shelf to shelf, excitedly recommending titles, while he kept his hands tucked in his pockets, quietly absorbing your passion. You ended up leaving with two novels you insisted he had to read and a poetry collection he bought, saying, “I thought of you when I saw this.”

Then came the late-night phone calls. You both quickly learned that your lives rarely aligned, but you made the most of the small pockets of time you shared. He’d call after a long day at work, his voice a little tired but steady as he asked about your day. You’d talk quietly from your bed, recounting the chaos of the dinner rush and sharing little anecdotes about your coworkers. sometimes until you fell asleep and he heard your steady breathing through the call.

“Do you ever get a day off?” he joked one night, his voice warm through the receiver.

“Not often,” you admitted. “But I’m used to it. And hey, at least I’m not running a company.”

“Touché,” he replied, laughing softly. “But don’t think for a second I’m not impressed by what you do.”

The weeks passed in a flurry of mismatched schedules and stolen moments. When aligning your off-days seemed impossible, Harry started stopping by the restaurant on his way home from work, not to eat but just to see you.

“Table for one?” you teased the first time he showed up unexpectedly.

“Not quite,” he said with a smile, taking a seat at the bar instead. “Just water, please. I didn’t want to add to your workload. i just wanted to see you” 

You brought him the water, leaning against the counter for a brief moment when the restaurant was quiet. “You didn’t have to come all this way,” you said softly.

“I wanted to,” he replied, his gaze steady. “You’re the best part of my day.” ---

The first kiss came on a rainy night after one of those visits. The restaurant was closing, and he had waited outside under the awning as you locked up. When you stepped out into the night, he was there with an umbrella, holding it out for you.

“Need a ride home?” he asked.

You nodded, and he quickly arrived to your place. At your door, there was a brief pause as you turned to thank him.

Before you could speak, he leaned in, his movements precise, as though giving you time to pull away. But you didn’t. When his lips met yours, it was soft and sure, his hand coming up to cradle your cheek.

It wasn’t hurried or frantic—it was the kind of kiss that made you feel like you had all the time in the world. And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself believe you deserved this. When he pulled back, his forehead resting lightly against yours, he whispered, “Finally.”

You laughed softly, your cheeks warm despite the cool rain. “Took you long enough.”

And with that, the lines between your busy lives blurred a little more, the moments you carved out for each other feeling less like an interruption and more like a necessity.

----

It happened on an unusually quiet night. You were sitting across from him at his place, a cozy loft that felt miles away from the chaos of the restaurant. The table was littered with the remnants of takeout boxes, and you were laughing at a story he had told about a disastrous business trip. The laughter faded into a comfortable silence, he leaned back in his chair, his eyes scanning your face as if trying to figure out the best way to say something.

“I’ve been thinking,” he started, his tone casual but his expression serious.

“That sounds dangerous,” you teased, though the look on his face made your heart flutter with curiosity.

“I’m serious,” he said with a small smile, leaning forward now, his elbows resting on the table. “I’ve been watching how hard you work. You’re on your feet all day, running around, dealing with difficult customers. And then you come home and somehow still have the energy to take care of everything else in your life.”

“That’s just life,” you said, shrugging. “You know how it is. You make it work.”

“I know,” he said, his voice softening. “But it doesn’t have to be like that. Not for you.”

You frowned slightly, unsure of where this was going. “What do you mean?”

He hesitated for a moment, then took a deep breath. “I’m saying I could offer you something different. A way to work that doesn’t involve twelve-hour shifts and aching feet. Something where you’d have more time for yourself, for your dreams, and…”—his voice faltered just slightly—“for us.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you leaned back in your chair, trying to process his words. “Harry, are you asking me to quit my job?”

“Not asking,” he clarified quickly. “Just… suggesting. If you wanted to. I could offer you a job. Something in my company, but nothing high-pressure. Maybe in admin, or operations, or whatever you’d like. You’d have a flexible schedule, a good paycheck, and, most importantly, time to breathe.” Of course he wasn’t asking, he’s Harry, ALWAYS making sure it was purely your decision.

The weight of his offer hung in the air, and you felt a tangle of emotions—gratitude, doubt, and an overwhelming sense of being cared for in a way you hadn’t expected.

“I don’t know,” you said slowly, trying to find the right words. “I’ve always worked for everything I have. I wouldn’t want you to think I’m just…”

“Stop,” he said gently, cutting you off. “This isn’t about charity. It’s about giving someone I care about a chance to live their life differently. You deserve that. And it’s not just for you—it’s for me too. I want to see you happy. I want to see us happy.”

You looked at him, his eyes earnest and unwavering. “And you think this would make me happy?”

“I do,” he said simply. “But it’s your choice. If you’re not ready, or if you want to keep things as they are, that’s okay. I’ll still come to the restaurant and order my overpriced water just to see you.”

That last comment made you laugh, easing the tension in the room. You stared down at the table, tracing the edge of a takeout container with your finger. “What would I even do at your company?” you asked softly.

His expression brightened slightly, and he leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “Anything you want. Admin, scheduling, planning events—whatever feels right to you. And we can figure it out together. No pressure.”

You bit your lip, considering his words. “You’re really serious about this, aren’t you?”

“Dead serious,” he said, his tone firm but gentle. “You deserve more than what you’ve been settling for. And selfishly…I’d love to have more time with you.”

His honesty warmed you in a way you hadn’t expected. For so long, you’d carried everything alone, convinced that leaning on someone else meant weakness. But Harry wasn’t asking you to lean on him; he was offering to walk beside you.

“Okay,” you said finally, the word barely audible.

His brows lifted in surprise. “Okay?”

You nodded, a nervous laugh escaping. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll do it. I’ll work for you.”

The grin that spread across his face was enough to make your heart skip a beat. “You won’t regret it, I promise.”

“I better not,” you teased, though the smile on your face betrayed your nervousness. “But just so you know, I’m not going to be some pushover employee. If you’re a terrible boss, I’ll quit.”

He chuckled, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Fair enough. But I think you’ll find I’m quite charming.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing despite yourself. “We’ll see about that.”

In that moment, the fear you’d been carrying felt lighter. You weren’t just throwing yourself off a cliff—you were trusting that Harry would catch you, and for the first time in a long time, you felt like maybe that was okay.

----

Life had changed in ways neither of you could have imagined. The small apartment you'd once called home was now replaced by a shared space filled with light, laughter, and little touches of each other everywhere—his collection of vinyl records stacked neatly in the corner, your books scattered on the coffee table, and the scent of fresh flowers he insisted on buying for you every week.

You had found a rhythm together, a balance between his busy days running his company and your own work, which had evolved into a role that allowed your creativity to shine. You weren’t just an employee at his company—you were a partner, bringing ideas and energy to projects in ways you never thought possible. And at the heart of it all, there was love. Open, unapologetic, and boundless love.

Mornings were filled with teasing banter over breakfast, and nights ended with shared dreams and whispered promises under the covers. On weekends, you’d go on adventures—sometimes exploring new cities, other times simply enjoying lazy days at home. There was no hesitation in showing how much you adored each other, whether it was in the way he’d kiss your forehead absentmindedly or the way you’d hold his hand tightly in crowded rooms.

One evening, after a particularly exciting day of work, Harry had an idea. “Let’s go out for dinner,” he said, tossing his jacket onto the back of the couch.

“Sure,” you replied, grabbing your shoes. “Where to?”

He paused, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “Velours et Flamme.”

You froze for a second, then burst out laughing. “You’re kidding.”

“Not at all,” he said, his grin widening. “It’s been a while. I think it’s time we revisit the place where it all started.”

Despite your initial hesitance, you found yourself walking into the restaurant hand-in-hand with him that evening. The familiar scent of wine and spices filled the air, and the decor, though slightly updated, still held the charm you remembered.

The host greeted you with a polite smile “Welcome to Velours et Flamme. Do you have a reservation?”

“Styles,” Harry said smoothly, squeezing your hand.

You were led to a table by the window, the same spot you’d served him on that Valentine’s Day when everything began. As you sat down, you couldn’t help but feel a wave of nostalgia wash over you.

“This feels surreal,” you admitted, glancing around.

“Good surreal?” he asked, his eyes twinkling as he leaned forward.

“Very good surreal,” you said, smiling and carefully looking at the menu, when an idea quickly popped into your mind. You bit your lip, hesitating for a brief moment before speaking up. “Can I splurge a little? Or maybe… a lot?”

Harry tilted his head, intrigued. “What’s on your mind?” he asked, glancing at the menu with a playful smile.

You took a deep breath, letting your finger trace over the menu’s edges before landing on the words you’d been eyeing. “Cairnburn 18,” you said firmly, looking at him with a small, determined smile.

“Scotch?” he asked, raising an eyebrow but not even glancing at the price.

“It’s something I need to do. Please,” you said softly, a touch of vulnerability in your tone.

He didn’t question it, didn’t protest or ask for a reason. Instead, his expression softened, and he reached for your hand, cradling it gently before bringing it to his lips. The kiss he pressed to the top of your hand was tender, a silent reassurance. “Anything you want,” he said, his voice calm and sincere.

The waiter arrived, and Harry placed the order without hesitation, his gaze never leaving yours. You couldn’t help but feel a swell of gratitude for him in that moment—not just for agreeing, but for understanding without needing an explanation.

As the Cairnburn 18 arrived, the rich, £1,500 a pour, amber liquid catching the light, you smiled and raised your glass to him. “To us,” you said simply.

“To us,” he echoed, clinking his glass gently against yours. ----

You both knew how the rest of the night would go the minute you left the restaurant. Back home, he helped you undress, kissing every inch of exposed skin as he did. When you were bare, he pressed his lips to yours, the heat between you building as his hands roamed over your body.

The way he touched you everytime was unhurried, like he was memorizing every curve. His fingers teased along your collarbone, traced your hips, and softly grabbed your breasts. His hands were everywhere, But nowhere near the place you needed him most.

Finally, he pulled back, his breath ragged, his eyes dark with desire. You let him guide you to the bed, watching as he stripped off his clothes and joined you. The heat of his body was intoxicating, and you found yourself craving more—more contact, more skin, more of him.

He sensed your need because he moved closer, the length of his body pressed against yours, his cock hard and thick against your thigh. You ached for him, the anticipation coiling in you, but he didn't rush.

Instead, he trailed kisses along your neck, his stubble rough against your sensitive skin. His fingers danced along your inner thigh, teasing closer and closer to your folds. When he finally touched you, it was with a firm, confident stroke, his thumb brushing against your clit and making you gasp. "Harry..." you moaned breathless

"Yes puppy?" He asked with an innocent tone and used that nickname that made you weak, and kept up the torturous pace, working you higher and higher until you were a trembling mess beneath him. You moaned, begging him for more, and he finally relented, easing a finger inside of you and setting a relentless rhythm. “More” Your pleasure built quickly, the intensity making you cry out, but just as you were about to tip over the edge, he pulled away. Before you could protest, he positioned himself between your legs, his cock hard and glistening at the tip.

He leaned forward, bracing his forearms on either side of your head and gazing down at you with a look of pure devotion. "I love you," he whispered, the words sending a thrill through your entire body. "And I'm gonna take care of you, puppy. Always."

With that, he thrust into you, filling you completely and stealing the breath from your lungs. The feeling of him inside you was almost too much, and you clung to him, desperate for more.

"Fuck, Harry," you breathed. He didn't respond, instead burying his face in your neck and moving slowly, deeply, as if he was savoring every moment. His hands roamed your body, teasing and caressing as his hips continued their torturous rhythm.

"Do you like it puppy? me being so deep inside you?"

You could only nod, too overwhelmed to form words. The sensations were overwhelming, the pleasure building and building until it threatened to consume you.

Suddenly, he shifted, changing the angle and hitting a spot deep inside you that made you see stars. "it's so....big" you barely said in a moan

"That's right puppy. Take all of it. Just like that"

You writhed beneath him, unable to hold back the moans spilling from your lips. Your release was within reach, and when he finally slid a hand between your bodies, stroking your clit, it was enough to send you tumbling over the edge. "Come on daddy's cock puppy, don't be shy" he murmured

His words were enough to push you over the edge, your body tensing and trembling as pleasure washed over you. You felt him pulse inside you, and he followed soon after, his breath hot on your neck as he came with a groan filling you with his hot cum.

When the last waves of your orgasm faded, you collapsed against him, completely spent. You both stayed there for a moment, tangled in each other's arms, neither of you willing to break the spell.

Eventually, he pulled out and gathered you into his arms, holding you close. You nuzzled into his chest, breathing in the scent of his skin and the faint trace of his cologne.

Both of you were now cuddled in bed, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting warm light across the room. Harry’s arm was wrapped securely around you, his fingers tracing lazy patterns along your shoulder as you rested your head against his chest, listening to the now steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

Your eyes drifted to the two frames hung just above the bed. The first one held the receipt from the night that had changed everything—the receipt where he’d written his number, sparking a connection that had grown into the life you shared now.

The second frame hung beside it, empty but not forgotten. Its purpose was clear—it was waiting for tonight’s receipt, the one with the Cairnburn 18 scribbled on it. The night where everything had come full circle.

Taglist: @hermionelove

[rcvcgers]

Loathe To Paint You, part one

masterlist , series masterlist , ao3

18+ MINORS DNI

pairing ; rafayel x non!mc reader

synopsis ; you and rafayel are rival artists, always fighting for the spotlight. when it's revealed that rhys nixon, esteemed director of the famed art gallery the dreamscape, is looking for an artist couple who are the epitome of soulmates to be his next headliner, you and rafayel set your rivalry to the side and couple up in the hopes that you'll be chosen to be the headliner.

word count ; 7.4k words

author's note ; i would like to dedicate this part & series to a few people!!!! @zeskyzed , @kazbrkker , @jexireads . . . this is for you!!

content warning ; vulgar language, mention of an ass slap, nothing too crazy! slightly proofread! let me know if i miss anything!

my painters ✐ᝰ. ; @drowsyapple , @llamabois , @romils , @debrahhhhhhh , @kebarney , @mentaltrouble2201 , @itsmeaudrieee , @flamedancer13 , @lolightrealm , @ghoulishnero , @leeniverse , @justpassingdontworry , @yumesagashite , @m0ss-gremlin , @yunozumi , @azlyneamie099 , @m00nchildwrites , @mxkvlio , @nautismgremlin , @rafshottestgf , @blcknebula , @eve-ishu , @futurecorpse92 , @kaiii07 , @imhere2dosomething , @vyntheria , @queenkymmie

want to be a part of the taglist? click here!

The Dreamscape Art Gallery is every artist’s dream. They wish for their paintings to be chosen, to be hung on the gallery’s walls alongside other great artists. Every famous artist, known in every single country across the world and throughout the last fifty years, has been featured in The Dreamscape’s visions and exhibits.

Every exhibition they hold is otherworldly. Every detail, painting, sculpture, and layout is meticulously planned by the museum’s director, Rhys Nixon. He’s an older man now, being in his early seventies. He founded The Dreamscape when he was only twenty years old. Fifty years of excellence has made him a millionaire and has brought him worldwide fame and accolades.

Rhys is known for his kindness and sense of equality. He treats every person he meets with a gentle touch and heartwarming smile. His sense of life has been nothing but taking creative risks, treating those how you would like to be treated, and actions filled with love and splendor. He hates routine and people who play by the rules, always opting for unconventional art and sculptures that make people think. To Rhys, art should reflect the emotions of the soul while also challenging its audience to turn inward and reflect upon themselves. 

The sad truth, though, is that Rhys Nixon is getting old. The Dreamscape has survived through his constant care and attention, always rotating a new theme every six months. He’s given up on so many shared memories with his children and wife, always tending to the museum and artists who fall at his feet. His children are all grown up now and are falling in love just as he did at their age. He is ready to pass down the museum to one of his children so he can live the rest of his life out in peace with his wife. Rhys wants to fall in love with his wife and family all over again before he leaves the world.

Love. What a splendid concept, no?

The Dreamscape is located on the opposite of Whitesand Bay. Rafayel is lucky to live so close by, usually taking a trip to the extravagant museum when he is need of inspiration or needs a break from Thomas and life.

The building itself is located alongside the shore, built from an abandoned warehouse. It was supposed to be a place to build ships but Rhys Nixon saw the potential for it become something better. The building is white on the outside but the inside colors change depending on the theme. It takes about a month or two to set up for the next exhibit, the floor to ceiling windows covered with navy blue satin curtains so the public cannot see what it to come. It has three floors, each one perfectly decorated and dressed for the theme.

The moon hangs low in the sky, beaming a warm yellow color. The stars in the sky are faint, quietly sparkling against the dark black sky. The brightest constellations tonight are Cygnus and Lyra, their stars brightest amongst the other faint dots. The further one gets from Linkon City, the more and more bright and exposed the constellations become.

Rafayel’s purple hair flows in the wind. He leans against the convertible’s door, the summer breeze warm against the Lemurian’s skin. The air is salty, the dark waves crashing against the tan rocks. The car drives away from Rafayel’s house in Whitesand Bay, driving through the narrow sandstone passageway. Rafayel smiles at the moon. He slowly inhales the salty breeze and closes his eyes, feeling the car turn down the road and away from his home and studio. He feels at peace.

“Promise me you aren’t going to fuck up?” Thomas asks, looking at Rafayel from the corner of his eye. The roads are clear, just a few other people passing by on their way home from the beach and back to Linkon City. Rafayel pulls down his sunglasses that sit on top of his head, covering his eyes from the bright headlights and to, well, avoid Thomas’ question. “Rafayel!”

“What?” the Lemurian whines. He sits up in his seat and pulls his sweater back over his shoulder, the knitted fabric soft against his touch.

“We can’t fuck things up tonight,” Thomas turns on the blinker and changes lanes, falling into the lefthand turn lane that enters The Dreamscape’s parking lot. Thomas looks away from the road, the car fully stopped, and narrows his eyes. “Tonight is important, okay? The future of your career is on the line—”

“My career? Now I know you’re messing with me,” Rafayel rolls his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest. He looks in the opposite direction, the car now pulling into the large parking lot.

There aren’t many cars in the parking lot. The last night of the current exhibit at The Dreamscape is always dedicated to artists in the community and their agents. It’s a way for Rhys to find and assess new talent. To him, it’s not just the art he picks but the artist as well. No matter how talented somebody may be, Rhys will always choose the ones that are humble and kind.

“Look…I wasn’t going to tell you until we got inside, but,” Thomas parks the car. The engine shuts off and he turns to Rafayel, his face completely serious, no ounce of humor or playfulness hidden below his skin. “There’s a rumor among the other agents that Rhys’ upcoming exhibit is going to be his last. He is looking for two specific artists to fill all three floors and wants to closely work with them. It’s going to be a bloodbath when we get inside, Rafayel. If we don’t secure this for you, your—”

“What?!” Rafayel yells. Nearby artists and their agents look at the duo in their car as they walk to the art gallery. Thomas’ eyes widen. He frantically presses the button to close the convertible’s top but it malfunctions, moving back and forth, glitching. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?! I wouldn’t have worn this if I knew Rhys was on the line!”

“I didn’t want to make you nervous!” Thomas quickly retorts.

“Well, now I am! This is all your fault! This sweater is wrong and it doesn’t go with my pants! The cream color does not blend well with my pants!” Rafayel whines, frantically shrugging off his sweater, throwing it into the backseat.

All that remains is his white dress shirt underneath but the sleeves are covered in dried specks and brushes of colorful paint. Thomas reaches behind him and grabs the sweater, putting it on Rafayel’s lap. He leans over and points a finger in his face, glaring.

“You are going to put the damn sweater on and you’re going to like it! Understood?” Thomas’ breath is hot n Rafayel’s face. The painter rolls his eyes and gets out of the car, slamming the door behind him. “And don’t slam my god damn doors!”

Rafayel flips Thomas off and slips the sweater back on over his shoulders. His body becomes jittery, nervousness flooding his body. He checks his fingers, quickly scratching away any leftover dried paint from that day’s work. The blues and yellows come off with ease while the reds linger behind, staining into his pale skin. Thomas catches up with him, smiling and waving to other people as he passes them by. They step in sync with each other, passing through the open doors as employees greet and hand them pamphlets of the exhibit.

Rhys’ current theme is “Messy & Sloppy.” The walls are painted pitch black. Black canvases are spread out in even increments, about teen feet away from each other, and are covered in vibrant paints. The colors mix and match, showcasing abstract expressionism at its best. With some canvases, the paint moves past the canvas and onto the walls, breaking free from its confines whereas others remain inside the small white space, barely taking up the entire piece. The lighting is bright enough for the vibrancy of the pigments to come out yet dark enough where it looks like the paintings are in 3D, popping out at its audience.

“Rhys Nixon gathered twenty artists for the exhibit,” Thomas quietly reads from the pamphlet, “and they created the art in house. It took about three weeks to complete. He would like to thank all of those who accepted his invitation to paint alongside him and his wife.”

Rafayel hates to admit it, but he is jealous of the artists that were chosen to partake in the exhibit. He would have loved to come in and join the abstract artists in creating messy masterpieces by just flicking his wrist and splattering paint onto the canvas. He wishes that he would be carefree with his art and not toss a canvas out whenever he makes a mistake. Maybe it was best that he wasn’t on the list.

“Is there anyone we know on the list?” Rafayel asks, moving to the next painting. It is mainly filled with pinks and purples, a tinge of green hitting the edges. It is reminiscent of those machines where the small pieces of paper spin around and the paint creates rims of colors around it.

“Let me check,” Thomas hums. His finger runs down the list, moving over names of artists from other countries and ones that are outside of their social circle. He stops on one name, though, and turns to Rafayel. “Bob is on here.”

“Bob?! Like…” disgust is prominent in Rafayel’s tone, his voice growing loud before he drops it below a whisper, “the guy we caught chugging a bottle of tartar sauce? That Bob?!” Thomas solemnly nods. “How the hell did Rhys pick that guppy over me? What kind of cruel joke is this?”

“I don’t know, but I am going to make for sure that he chooses you for this final exhibit, Rafayel,” Thomas nods, moving along to the next painting, “nobody will get in my way!”

“Nobody?” the painter glances at Thomas. The agent rolls his eyes and nods. “Well, at least there isn’t much competition!”

Thomas stops walking. Rafayel smiles to himself, crossing his arms, walking ahead of Thomas. When he finally notices that Thomas isn’t at his side, he turns around, rushing back over. With one eyebrow perked up and his hands on his hips, Rafayel narrows his gaze at Thomas.

“What? What could possibly have you glitching now.”

“She’s here.”

“Who is she, exactly?” Rafayel scoffs and rolls his eyes. He crosses his arms over his chest. Thomas nods his head to a space behind Rafayel. The Lemurian sighs and turns on his heel, following Thomas’ gaze. When his eyes finally land on what the agent was referring to, his jaw drops.

You stand beside your agent, Abigail, and laugh along with a group of painters and agents. You hold a glass of champagne in your hand, your light red lipstick staining the rim of the glass, and reach out to touch a man’s bicep, leaning in as you laugh. Your hair is perfectly straightened and is held back by bobby pins that are adorned with, Rafayel’s hater ass is assuming, fake diamonds.

His cheeks heat up, balls fisting at his sides. His blue and pink eyes fall to your outfit, which is just plain better than his. It is effortlessly cool compared to his mess of a sweater and designer sneakers. You wear a baggy navy blue dress that is fastened at your waist with a belt, complimenting your figure. A pair of sunglasses sits on top of your head. Rafayel suddenly becomes aware of his own sunglasses and takes them off his head, hooking them into the collar of his shirt.

Rafayel clears his throat and looks back at Thomas, who slips his phone into his jacket pocket. His cheeks are pink and he avoids Thomas’ gaze, scratching the back of his neck.

He may hate you, but fuck do you look amazing.

“I can’t believe she’s here!” Rafayel turns his back to you and the group, not wanting to be seen just yet. He fixes his hair, going off of vibes and aura alone in the hopes that it looks good.

“Are we really surprised, though?” Thomas turns with Rafayel, “She is a front runner for Rhys to pick. She hasn’t been used yet, either!”

“And we’ll make for sure she isn’t!” Rafayel snaps back. He turns back around, gasping and taking a step backward.

You and Abigail stand in front of them with smiles on your faces. Abigail wears a suit similar to Thomas’, matching the cool tones of his suit jacket but is more on the vibrant side than gray. Your arms are crossed over your chest and you swirl the champagne around in its flute.

“Rafayel,” you smile, voice teasing and provocative. Rafayel places his hands on his hips, holding back a sneer.

“Long time no see,” he cocks his head to the side, “you’re like a barnacle I can’t get rid of.”

You fake a laugh, turning to Abigail who joins you. Rafayel and Thomas blink at the two of you before sneaking a side eye glance. They shift uncomfortably in their place. You stop laughing and pass off the champagne flute to Abigail. You step forward, eyes focused on Rafayel’s, only a couple of inches separating you. You reach forward and grab one of the fronts of his cardigan, giving it a gentle tug before letting go. Goosebumps spread across his skin, uncertainty tingling the back of his mind.

“I love your outfit,” your tone is dripping with sarcasm and patronization, “it makes you look like a fathead sculpin.”

Rafayel gasps. His hand smacks his chest, protecting his fast racing heart. The tips of his ears go hot. You smirk and sink back in place, taking the glass back from Abigail.

“That’s right, Rafayel, your aquatic insults will no longer swim over my head!” you announce with a proud smirk. His eyes remain wide, watching as Abigail pulls out a document from her tote bag, holding it up. A tan document sits inside a black frame.

Linkon University. Degree. Marine Biology. Your name in big, bold letters.

Rafayel turns his attention back to you. Your smirk makes his skin crawl, a frown tugging his lips down. His eyes sharpen and yet you remain unfazed, checking out your perfectly painted nails under the hanging light of the gallery. You look back to him and chuckle.

“That’s right. I’m accredited, bitch.”

“You—!” Rafayel takes a step forward but Thomas pulls him back.

“Raf. We’re in public. Calm down,” Thomas whispers the warning in his ear.

Rafayel nods and pulls away. He adjusts his cardigan and covers his torso, turning his glare back at you instead of the crowd. Your smirk turns into a smile, giving him a little finger wave. He sticks his tongue out at you.

“So! Abigail,” Thomas claps his hands together. Your agent, and best friend, turns her attention to the man, raising an eyebrow. Despite your rivalry with Rafayel, Abigail has decided to remain neutral with Thomas since they’re both agents that deal with personalities that are…larger than life. “Have you heard the rumor?”

The two of them attach themselves to each other’s sides, Thomas even going as far as offering his arm to her because he is a gentleman (and yes he is married. His wife is okay with him doing this at events okay leave Thomas alone). Abigail links her arm with his and they walk ahead of you and Rafayel.

The two of you exchange dirty looks. You turn, flipping your hair in his face before following after the two agents. Rafayel’s face scrunches up and he shoves his hands in his pants pockets, groaning as he follows in your wake. He steps in pace with you, keeping a decent amount of distance between your bodies. Thomas and Abigail’s voices float behind them, landing in your and Rafayel’s ears.

“I did! Isn’t it exciting? Scary as fuck, though, I can’t imagine how much pressure artist’s feel trying to get one of the two spots,” Abigail smiles at Thomas. They stop by a few paintings as they walk, making small comments about the colors and how creative the artist was for using the canvas.

“I’m pretty scared too! Rafayel is destroying his career because he’s a social recluse who refuses to let people buy his art — or display it for that matter — and refuses to do interviews!”

Rafayel’s head pops up. He glares at the back of Thomas’ head. You snicker from his side, covering your mouth with the back of your hand. Rafayel turns to you, glaring.

“That’s not funny!” he says in a loud whisper. You continue to laugh at him, breaking the barrier between you two and nudging into his side. He pushes back into you, though, and you stumble over your feet. You quickly regain your balance. He laughs now and turns his face away pretending to look at a nearby painting where it is nothing but white and gray paints on the canvas.

“Don’t get me started!” Abigail begins. You gasp and Rafayel’s head turns back to you, a devious smirk forming on his face. “She has no variation whatsoever! All she does is paint the same damn thing! People are getting tired of it!”

Rafayel snorts and doesn’t even cover it up. What a bitch! You smack his arm and he winces, turning to you, ready to fight back when Abigail and Thomas snap their fingers at you. The two of you stop, slowly inching away from each other.

“You two need to behave!” Abigail whisper yells.

“Rhys can be watching!” Thomas adds. “I…I can’t even look at you,” he rubs his eyes, trying to soothe away the budding headache that forms in the center of his head.

You move to laugh but Abigail shoots a glare in your direction, shutting you up as soon as you open your mouth. You swipe your tongue over your front teeth and turn to Rafayel, who glances at you with an equally annoyed and ashamed expression. Thomas and Abigail situate themselves in front of the two of you. Their eyes burn into yours, leaning in as you lean away.

“Play nice. Drink some champagne or wine or whatever fruity cocktail I know you’re going to order, Rafayel,” Thomas groans.

“Hey—!”

“Go look at the art and mingle with other artists, go scope out the competition for Rhys’ final exhibit,” Abigail continues for Thomas.

“With him?!” you point at Rafael. He audibly scoffs at you and roll his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest.

Thomas and Abigail circle around the two of you. They place their hands on your shoulders and push you together. Rafayel’s hip bumps into yours and the two of you share embarrassed looks. Thomas shoots the Lemurian a glare. Rafayel rolls his eyes and holds his arm out, looking away and in the opposite direction. You turn away as well, turning your chin up and into the air while you admire the ceiling. Abigail reaches out and links your arm with Rafayel’s, Thomas giving your backs a gentle push.

You and Rafayel stumble over your feet for the first couple of steps before you fall into a rhythm at his side. He guides you towards the steps, Thomas and Abigail following in your wake, and quickens his pace. You try to keep up with him, your heels dragging against the ground as feverish clacks sound off across the floor. He’s quick up the stairs, practically dragging you with him. Thomas and Abigail share quiet laughs.

When you reach the last step, the tip of your heel catches against the step. A gasp flies from your lips, your grip on Rafayel’s arm tightening. He looks down at you, one eyebrow raising in the air, before the momentum from your fall brings him down to the floor with you.

You land face first on the ground. Rafayel tumbles on top of you, your arms becoming an amalgamated mess.

The room falls silent. Hell, even the person in charge of the playlist at the event stops the music! All eyes are on you and Rafayel. He whines in your ear, matching the ringing you hear. His purple hair tickles your forehead, hands resting on either side of your head as he pushes up from the ground. You move onto your back, looking up at him with a large red circle on your forehead from where you hit the ground. Your eyes are half-lidded, somewhat dizzy from the fall. Rafayel’s mouth falls open when he looks at the red spot on your head, a laugh escaping his lips.

“I would ask you how many fingers I’m holding up but I think the only thing you’re seeing are floating pufferfish,” Rafayel quietly snorts.

You scrunch your face at him and throw a weak punch to his chest. You cover your face with your hands, remaining on the ground as he gets up, standing on the step below the top. He brushes himself off, the dust falling onto your crumbled body, and steps over you, smiling and waving at nearby artists who watch with amused faces.

You sit up from the ground, a glare burning into the back of Rafayel’s head. Abigail leaps up the stairs and drops to your side. She helps you up. You brush the dust off of your body and fix your dress.

“Did I flash anyone?” you ask in a hushed whisper.

“No, your spanx covered everything,” Abigail teases. You roll your eyes as she grabs a nearby glass from a silver plate, pushing the cool glass up against your forehead. A mortified Thomas walks up to you, placing his hand on your elbow.

“I am so…so terribly sorry for Rafayel’s behavior,” his cheeks are flushed pink from embarrassment, “I swear, I need to keep him on a leash like a toddler.”

“Or train him like a dog or cat—”

“I think he prefers aquatic animals to land creatures,” Thomas and you share a breathless, half-hearted laugh.

“Yeah?” you smile before it immediately falls, “then he really is a fathead sculpin.”

You take your leave from Thomas’ side, making a beeline for Rafayel’s side. He looks at a blue and white painting, one that took inspiration from the wave sin the sea. Well, that’s what the pamphlet told you, at least.

Rafayel’s gaze sharpens when he feels your arm link back with his, tugging him to your side. He lets out a puff of air and turns his chin away from you, crossing his arms, which in turn makes your arms be at chest level instead of at your side. You force a smile through the adjustment, though, and look up at the purple haired man.

“Aw, they’re cute together!” an oh so ignorant person asks from behind Thomas and Abigail. They laugh in sync, shaking their heads before turning around. The woman blinks at them. A few other people catch on to Thomas’ and Abigail’s laughter and float over. All of their eyes move to you and Rafayel.

“No,” Thomas sighs, grabbing a champagne glass for himself and Abigail as the server passes by. He hands it over and brings it to his lips, drinking the golden liquid. “They are definitely not cute.”

“Whatever the opposite of what ‘cute’ is, that’s what they are,” Abigail chimes in.

“Ugly, plain, unattractive, hideous, a fucking train wreck,” Thomas finishes his glass.

The group’s eyes follow you and Rafayel as you move to the next piece of art on the wall. He leans down and whispers something into your ear. A squeak comes from the forming group. Everyone leans in, dragging in a collective breath. When Rafayel’s face is pushed away by your hand, the group exhales and relaxes into their spots.

“How did they meet?” another person in the group asks. Abigail sighs and drinks the rest of her champagne, looking at someone else in the growing group. She hands them her empty flute and they replace it with a glass filled with red wine. She nods with an impressed smile and tips the glass to them.

“It’s a long story,” she breathes out.

“Is it, though?” Thomas shoots back. Abigail rolls her eyes and take a deep sip from the glass. “Well…their complicated friendship started two years ago on Rafayel’s twenty-second birthday…”

Rafayel stands in front of a large painted canvas. A proud smile lays on his face, one arm crossed over his chest while the other holds up his chin. His purple and blue eyes scan the dark pigmented paints, the blues and reds calling out to him from his spot against the light wooden floors. He tilts his head from side to side, taking in the painting from a new angle.

You stand from behind but you don’t observe the piece, no, you observe him instead. You tilt your head with him, a small smile forming on your face. Boldly, you take a few step forwards and take the place at his side, hands behind your back. Rafayel doesn’t look at you. His eyes remain on the pain strokes on the canvas.

“So,” you begin in a calm, cool, and collected tone, “what do you think about the piece?” Your gaze flickers down to the small piece of paper that displays your name beside the painting. Pride fills chest, knowing that you have worked so hard to get one of your paintings to be displayed in a prominent art gallery, even if it is in a desert city like Aridum.

“It’s grotesque,” Rafayel’s voice is intrigued, filled with wonder and awe. “It defies all rules of art. There’s standards and this…” he makes a ‘tsk’ sound, “does not follow those standards.”

You, on the other hand, take his ‘compliment’ as an insult. Your face immediately sours and you turn to face him.

Smack!

Rafayel gasps, finally looking down at you. He places his hand over his arm on top of the spot that you hit him. You smirk and flip your hair over your shoulder, looking back at the painting. Rafayel laughs from shock and complete and utter disbelief. He diverts his gaze to look around the art gallery.

Nobody saw your surprise attack, nobody even flinched!

His jaw drops. The Lemurian swivels back to you. Without thinking, he reaches out and pinches your arm. You gasp and face him. He has the same smug smirk you wore just seconds earlier. You slap his arm again. He slaps your arm back. You hit him again, a hit in which he returns. The two of you begin to fight now, exchanging blows and slaps.

There’s a slap to the face! A punch to the stomach! A half-opened hand to the groin! Did Rafayel just slap your ass?

The two of you fall to the ground and roll around, bumping into nearby patrons as you pull on his hair and he scratches into your skin. Your yells and screams fill in the quietness of the art gallery.

“What the fuck are you even talking about? That’s not how it went!”

The group turns to look at Abigail. They lean in towards her and away from Thomas, who crosses his arms over his chest with an eye roll. Abigail chuckles and waves the group in closer. They follow her silent instructions like an obedient puppy dog.

“This is how it really went…”

You stand in front of your painting with your arms crossed over your chest. You wear a prideful smile on your face, eyes trailing over the painted lines on your red and blue coated canvas. The colors merge together and form a dark purple, although in the darker lighting of your studio it looked brown, and forms into the shape of a woman sobbing on the floor.

You gasp. Your shoulder lurches forward as Rafayel pushes past you. He reaches up to the wall, his hands grabbing the sides of the golden painted frame that hold your painting. The Lemurian rips it off the wall. A screech flies from your lips. He turns around and begins to walk away before you snatch the other side of the frame from him.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” you yell at the man. He leans in, his torso now hovering over the large canvas.

“This belongs at the bottom of the sea! It’s hideous! We need to drown it!” he tugs on the painting. 

The two of you take a few steps in his direction. Your fingers curl over the frame and pull back on it, moving back in your direction.

“It is not hideous!” your voice raises, “It is art! And art is subjective, motherfucker!”

“Mother…motherfucker?!I am not a motherfucker!” Rafayel screams back.

“Yeah?! Well you look like a bitch and a half then!” your retort is quick and sharp. It pierces Rafayel’s heart. His posture straightens, grip tightening on the frame so hard that the wood splinters. The man pulls on the painting and you pull back. His grip inches up the frame, moving closer to yours side. The two of you move in a circle, slowly picking up speed as you hurl insults at each other.

“Bitch!”

“Pufferfish!”

“Blobfish!”

“Asshole!”

“I bet your penis is microscopic!”

“Yeah? Well it’s bigger than yours!”

The room gasps. You let go of the painting, hands slapping over your mouth. The canvas tilts up with such force that it smashes over Rafayel’s head. The canvas stops right below his shoulders. His blue and pink eyes are wide, looking down at you. He clears his throat and adjusts his stance, relaxing with his hands on his hips while the canvas acts as a new fashion trend around his shoulders.

“Well…at least it’s destroyed now!”

“And now here we are!” Abigail proclaims with a smile. She finishes the wine in her glass and sets it down on a nearby table. “They have been rivals ever since that day!”

“You are so fucking ridiculous,” Thomas points his finger at Abigail who holds her hands up in the air as a defense against his words. “I mean, they are rivals, yes, but that’s not what went down between them. Don’t be so dramatic.”

“Oh and yours isn’t?” she quips back, crossing her arms over her chest.

The group is suddenly bigger now with you and Rafayel out of sight, now on the third floor. Their eyes move back and forth between Thomas and Abigail as if they are at a tennis match where the current rally is tension filled and never-ending. If they didn’t know any better, they would think that they are the real enemies here instead of being really, really, really passionate allies.

“So, are they dating?” an older man’s voice rings out. Thomas snorts and looks inside his champagne flute, the glass now void of its golden beverage.

“Oh, no, they—” Abigail goes silent. Thomas looks at her, amused. Her eyes are big and wide, lips formed in a small frown, gulping away her sorrows. He shifts back and forth on his heels, slowly turning around to finish her answer.

“No, they are—” Thomas’s eyes shoot open. He stumbles over his words, incoherent blabbering now leaving his mouth. The large group that blossomed for your and Rafayel’s rival origin story now vanishes. The once gargantuan group disperses, a lot of the artists and agents flocking to nearby paintings and pretending to be invested in the abstract artwork. “They are…uh…” Thomas looks at Abigail. She’s of no use, completely frozen.

“They…they are not dating?” Rhys Nixon smiles at Thomas, hands resting on top of a simple black cane, leaning on it for support. “That’s a shame. I would have loved to talk to them about my next exhibit—”

“Yes!” Thomas breathes out, clapping his hands together. Rhys raises an eyebrow. He takes a step closer to the agents. Their hearts race in their chests the closer the famed art director gets. Thomas gulps and Abigail grabs his wrist, nails digging into the fabric of his silver-blue suit sleeve. “Yes! They are dating! I’m sorry for the confusion, Mr. Nixon.”

“Please,” Rhys extends his hand, Thomas immediately taking it, “call me Rhys!”

‘O-Okay, Rhys!” Thomas beams. “My name is Thomas and I am Rafayel’s agent!” Abigail pushes Thomas to the side and is the next one to shake Rhys’ hand.

“And I’m Abigail! I’m her agent! She adores your curations, truly!” the woman gushes over the elderly man. Rhys’s chuckle is gravelly yet is filled with warmth and delight. It puts both Thomas and Abigail at ease.

“Do you mind introducing me to them? I would love to discuss my final exhibit as The Dreamscape’s art director.”

“Yes! Of course! Follow us, please!” Thomas steps to the side, holding his arm out for Rhys to pass by. Abigail and Thomas attach themselves to Rhys’ side, helping him walk up the stairs to the third floor where you and Rafayel stand.

The third floor is empty. There’s a few sculptures scattered across the barren wasteland. The walls are lined with more canvases but the art pieces themselves are more conservative within the abstract style. Rafayel observes the pieces, humming to himself, while you stand by the large glass window that overlooks the sea. You sigh heavily. The lights from the building illuminate the nearby waves, the white bubbles from the collision capturing your attention.

Rafael’s attention soon turns to you. A faint smile spreads across his face. Je never knew you that you liked the ocean so much. Every time you ran into each other in Whitesand Bay, he always caught you looking out at the waves, a sense of longing in your eyes.

The Lemurian steps forward, silently closing the distance between you. His eyes catch how your smile grows when there’s a particularly large wave of water that crashes against the sandstone rocks. He stands right behind you. He can feel the warmth from your body on his chest, chills running down his spine. He tilts his head to the side, admiring your side profile.

He wonders how your features would look on a canvas but in his style instead of yours.

“You know, I can always throw you into the ocean if you want me to,” Rafayel’s voice is close to your ear. You shriek and jump, your hand backhanding him across his face.

“Fuck! You scared me!” your voice is loud and trembles. Rafayel stumbles backwards, holding his face in his hands. “Please tell me I didn’t break your nose! I didn’t mean to hit you that hard! You were just…there!” You reach out for him but he takes a step back, shaking his head no. You obey his silent command and stay where you are, watching as he slowly uncovers the bottom half of his face.

His nose isn’t broken, at least it doesn’t look like it, but his cheek is definitely a bright red color with a hint of purple shining through. You flinch and close your eyes, shaking your head, the stinging sensation somehow attaching itself to your cheek now.

“What?!” Rafayel’s voice is loud and trembly, “Is it bad?! How badly did you fuck me up?!”

“It could be worse! It could be a lot worse!” you immediately respond. You turn to face the stairs, giving him some privacy for whatever reason.

Well, the actual reason being that you’re so fucking embarrassed that you just did that to him. You hate the guy and his stupid fucking fish-themed guts, but you would never want to purposefully and physically hurt him! Just his career…and pairings…and the occasional sculpture he comes up with every now and then to try and one up you.

Thomas and Abigail’s head pop out from over the stairs. You sigh and wave to them, but they wear an expression on their face that tells you that something is simply amiss. Your face falls. Rafayel’s footsteps grow loud behind you, his presence becoming all too familiar at your side. Your cheeks heat up and you avoid his gaze, feeling his disappointment and annoyance burning into the side of your head.

 “And here are the lovebirds!” Abigail declares with a bright smile.

Rafayel and yours faces contort from confusion. With a shared glance, you watch as Thomas and Abigail appear over the stairs with the one and only Rhys Nixon. Abigail walks ahead, her hands frantically waving at the two of you and hidden from Rhys’ sight. She mouths three words to you and Rafayel.

You. Are. Dating!

“What?” you whisper. She shakes her head as Rafayel takes a step away from you. She rushes to his side and bumps her hip into his, your bodies colliding, and she wraps his arm around your waist like a pro before Rhys can notice.

“Ah! Hello you two!” Rhys smiles. You return it, feeling Rafayel’s grip on your waist tighten. You clear your throat and nudge your elbow into his side before moving your arm around his torso. “How is the lovely couple doing?”

“The lovely couple!” you repeat his words with a shocked laugh. You look up at Rafayel, who looks completely bewildered despite the grin that spreads across his lips. You turn look at Thomas, who stands behind Rhys, furiously typing on his phone. “The lovely couple is……doing well!”

“Yes! They are!” Abigail chimes in, stepping in front of you two just as Thomas passes off his phone to Rafayel.

He wants a couple to headline his next exhibit. You two fuckers are dating! Act like it!

You blink at the message, struggling to understand before Rafael slips the phone into his pocket. He pulls you closer to his side, fingers curling into your dress and body. You gulp. Abigail steps back out of the way, no longer eclipsing the happy couple.

“What happened there?” Rhys chuckles, using his cane to gesture to Rafayel’s freshly bruised face.

“Oh! That!” Rafayel’s laugh is effortless and cool. It didn’t come off as unnatural or forced, but rather  genuine and wholehearted. “My silly cutie here got a little too excited when she saw the beautiful view from up here!”

A belly laugh booms from Rhys’ mouth. Everyone else joins in with his laugh, exchanging awkward glances and winks from the agents behalf. His laughter dies down and he places his cane back down onto the floor, resting some weight onto it.

“How long have you two been together for?” Rhys’ question makes you and Rafayel look at each other with puckered lips and narrowed eyes.

“Um…great question, first of all,” you gush, buying the two of you time. “We met two years ago at a gallery!”

“Yes! And I asked her to be my girlfriend a year later!”

“So…you have been together for a year?” Rhys leans in. The two of you nod and exchange timid smiles and nods.

“Yup! She’s my little guppy!” Rafayel laughs.

“Yes! And he is my…” you pause, swallowing as you try to come up with something, “he is my…fathead sculpin?”

“Now that is just wonderful!” Rhys turns to your agents, who feverishly nod. When he turns back to you, they signal for you to keep going with thumbs up. “Your wonderful agents were telling everyone your meet cute! It caught my attention and, well, I thought I would introduce myself and extend an invitation to be courted.”

“Courted?” you repeat. He nods.

“Yes…as you may know, my next exhibit shall be my last. I want it to be a testament to the time and energy I have put into The Dreamscape as well as a celebration of my love for the art community and my family,” Rhys sighs.

He walks to a nearby painting, one that has bright pinks and reds and purples on it. Rafayel guides you over to him, settling in the space beside him. You pinch his waist. He lets out a quiet ‘oof’ before pinching you back, your hips pushing into his as you try to escape his touch. When Rhys turns around, the two of you immediately return to normal and smile at him.

“Love. That is the final theme,” he nods a knowing nod, “I know it may be cheesy, but I have never done it before. I wish for a couple to fill up all three floors The Dreamscape. I want to see their passion and desire for each other on these walls. I also want it to tell a story…your stories. How you fell in love.”

“That sounds like a wonderful theme, Mr. Nixon,” you breathe out.

Your words are genuine. If you weren’t stuck in a fake relationship with Rafayel and in a real one with someone else. Another creative who matches your artistic genius — one that is not Rafayel — and is there to push you past your limits instead of holding you back

“Thank you, young lady,” Rhys nods his head and takes a step closer to you and Rafayel. “I need to make for sure that the couple I choose are pure and not in it just to be featured in the gallery. I wish it to be as genuine as possible. There are many others who have already tried to be my…perfect couple, but I can sense that there is something real between you two...I need the epitome of soulmates for my final work. Nothing more, nothing less!”

Rafayel pinches your waist. You chuckle and look up at him, face scrunched and disguised as a loving face when in actually you’re silently planning for his demise.

“See! That is what I’m talking about! The love you share!” Rhys beams. “I’ll be in contact with your agents about meeting again soon, yes?” The two of you nod. “Wonderful! I will see you soon, then!”

Rhys bows his head and walks off. You wave, watching as the elderly man is helped down the stairs by Thomas. Once he is out of sight and Abigail gives a thumbs up, you shove the Lemurian away from you and shudder.

“Too close!” you quietly squeal. “Now I have your douche perfume all over me!”

“Okay, first of all: rude! Second of all: bitch! My perfume is delightful! It carries the scent of the sea with hints of—”

“Rafayel, shut the fuck up,” Thomas rushes over. The four of you stand in a circle. You stand across from Rafayel and stare at his face, memorizing the way a crease forms between his furrowed brows and the way he pouts when his agent chastises him. He turns his head and your eyes meet for a split second before you turn away, a blush creeping up on your cheeks. 

“So, you heard the man,” Abigail takes a deep breath. “You two are a couple until this whole thing is over…or until he doesn’t pick you then we can stage a very convenient break-up to convince him that the stress was just too much. Maybe we can guilt him into giving us some connections, you know, gain something from this!”

“That’s horrible, but I agree!” Thomas points at Abigail. “We need to keep this charade going. Think you two can handle it?” Before either of you can disagree, Thomas claps his hands and smiles. “Great! Now, I’ll be in touch with Abigail about making you two appear more…loving with each other.”

Thomas takes Rafayel’s arm and yanks it back around your waist. He gasps and his cheeks turn pink. The agents furiously fix your appearance; they fix your hair and cover up the bruise on Rafayel’s face with a smudged kiss from your red lipstick (thank you, Thomas), and even switch around a few accessories to make it seem like you two share everything. Once they are down, they push you in the direction of the stairs, ready to feed you to the wolves.

Both of you hesitate when you reach the top step. Rafayel’s hand is at home on your love handle, dangerously close to your ass while your arm is wrapped around his torso and your other hand rests on his chest. You gulp. His body trembles, just ever so slightly, and you take a deep breath in sync. With one final look, the two of you nod, stepping down the first step.

Rhys’ courtship will only be a few weeks, right? He’ll probably only have a few meetings here with you two here and there. A simple few interrogations to try and weed out the phonies from the real couples. You and Rafayel descend into a minefield, a no man’s land where your only ally is each other. 

Buckle up, fuckers, because oh my, my! What a ride this is going to be!

likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated <3 i love seeing what y'all have to say! <3

[pinkbowsxo]

Corrupted Innocence - Part 5

Choi Su-bong x F!Reader

Corrupted Innocence Masterlist

summary: after he took your virginity, you’ve been avoiding him. when one evening he drove up to your place, you made it up to him.

warnings: swearing, vaping, smut, p in v, hair pulling, spanking, manipulation, dom thanos, car sex

comments: mdni!!

a/n: ugh i feel so bad i wrote this chapter so much more detailed but my stupid ass accidentally deleted a big part so i had to rewrite it all and it was so frustrating plus its 3 am😔

i hope it doesn’t look rushed… let me know if y’all like or else i will do better the next chapter

so anyway have a good day and love from me xx

You slowly opened your eyes, for a second you had no idea where you were. Then you realized you were in his bed...naked. You turned your head to the side where he was sleeping.

You sat up to look for your phone, but then you realized that you never brought it upstairs, it was in your bag that was downstairs. You then went to look for your clothes, because they were scattered all over the floor, you got up from the bed, careful not to make any noise, you grabbed your clothes and started to get dressed... only you couldn't find your panties anywhere. You thought never mind and you just put on your skirt, luckily your skirt wasn't so short that you could see that you weren't wearing anything underneath.

You quietly started to sneak out of his bedroom as you walked downstairs, you grabbed your bag as you pulled out your phone to check the time, it was almost four in the morning. You looked around to make sure you hadn't forgotten anything before walking out the front door.

You walked to your car and drove back to your apartment, you couldn’t stop yawning the entire drive home because you were exhausted. You also had to process what had happened, you had sex with Thanos, your friend, you weren’t even sure if he was a friend anymore because all you’ve been doing lately is making out and now you’ve even slept with him.

You enjoyed the sex, the feeling of it... the feeling he gave you. You've never had sex before and he took your virginity. What are you with him anyway? That's why you left, you didn't know what to say to him.

As soon as you got home you just went to bed because you were exhausted. In the morning when you woke up you realized that Thanos probably already noticed that you were gone, you hoped that he wouldn't send you anything or even come to your apartment.

Today you had a relaxing day at home, you needed that after this week and after tonight. Every time your phone rang you thought maybe he had texted you, but he hadn't.

He didn't text you, you were relieved in a way, but on the other hand you also felt bad that he didn't text you. You probably thought about it too much.

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

You were at university all week, you were stressed and tired, and because Thanos had left marks all over your neck, you had to cover them up every day because you didn't want anyone to see it and ask questions, especially Se-mi.

This weekend you don’t want to do anything, just stay home and be lazy. That actually worked out really well because even though you had the energy to go out with the group, you couldn’t see Thanos for the first time after you slept together and it would have been with your friends, you would definitely act weird and they would notice something is up.

You texted the group app that you wouldn't be coming this time and used the excuse that you were 'tired'. Thanos hasn't texted you once this week. It's not like Thanos texted you this week, so you knew for sure he wouldn't miss you.

All you did this weekend was relax and do some simple things like grocery shopping, cleaning and cooking. You were glad you didn't run into him while you were out.

After you cooked for yourself, you sat down on the couch because you wanted to watch TV. You tried to focus your thoughts on something other than him.

Then you heard your phone go off, it was probably Se-mi asking what time your first class started tomorrow or your mother asking when she could see you again, but no. Your eyes widened as the text from Thanos came, you read the message he sent you.

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

Su-bong

you home?

You

Yeah, why?

Su-bong

come outside

You

What?

Su-bong

just come outside

You

What? Are you here?

Su-bong

ye don’t make me go up there

You

But it’s pretty late…

Su-bong

i know what time it is

You

Good to hear that you can read the clock

Su-bong

jesus christ

Su-bong

just come outside already

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

You read the message come outside over and over again, he was outside now and he wanted you to come down. He probably just wanted to talk... you thought to yourself. You put your phone down for a moment as you grabbed a hoodie and put it over your shirt and shorts, you grabbed your phone as you then walked out the front door, took the elevator down, you were nervous...

Once you were outside, you looked around, looking for him. You didn’t see him anywhere but then you spotted his car as you walked over, he gestured with his head for you to come inside, you hesitated for a moment before you opened the door to the passenger seat.

When you got outside you looked around to see if you could find him but you didn't see him anywhere. You didn't see him but after a moment you saw his car, you walked over to his car and he gestured with his head for you to get in. You hesitated for a moment before opening the door to the passenger seat.

You saw him sitting in the driver's seat, he was wearing jeans and a graphic shirt, you watched him vape, you turned your head and looked out the windshield of the car. "So... why did you come all the way out here?"

He took a drag on his vape before speaking. “Because you’re avoiding me.” He’s right… “I’m not avoiding you… I was just-” You couldn’t even finish your sentence. “Liar.” He mumbled, not believing you for a second. You turned your head to look at him. “Okay, yeah, maybe I was…” You admitted.

“You’ve been avoiding me because we fucked and now you're all weird around me,” he said bluntly as he took another drag on his vape. “It’s not like that.” It was exactly like that.

He grabbed your chin, making you look at him. “You know what hurts my feelings? When you avoid me like this. I was actually looking forward to seeing you this weekend, but you didn’t show up. And the way you snuck out that night made me wonder if you regretted… us.” He paused, running his thumb over your cheek in a manipulative gesture.

Of course you were far too naive to see what he was doing, he had you completely under his spell. “I’m sorry, I didn’t regret it, us… at all, it was just all new to me and I didn’t know how to act around you so I took the easy way out, but I’m sorry and I won’t do it again.”

He just looked at you as he took a drag on his vape, the smoke coming your way. "Why don't you show me how sorry you are?" He patted his lap invitingly. "Come here." He commanded. He watched as you moved your body as you sat down on his lap. He took another drag on his vape and blew the smoke out in your face. "Show me how sorry you are, baby." He was enjoying this way too much, seeing how easily you fell for his tricks.

He put his vape away as he hooked his thumbs into the pockets of your shorts and pulled you closer. “Are you going to be a good girl and make it up to me?” You didn’t hesitate and pressed your lips to his.

He seemed upset that you were avoiding him, so you wanted to do your best to make it up to him. He pulled away when you could catch your breath. "That’s not making it up to me, baby." He watched your reaction. "Show me that you don't regret that perfect fuck we had." You started kissing his neck, hoping that would make him happier.

He let out a low groan as your lips attacked his neck, tilting his head to give you better access. “Mmm, that’s more like it.” His voice was husky with growing arousal. One hand slid down your back as the other went to your hip, squeezing. A smirk tugged at his lips as he began to feel your lips slide across his jawline. One hand went to your hair, tugging to make you look at him. “Now be a good girl and ride my cock, hmm?”

His large hands quickly worked to undo his belt and pull his cock out of his boxers, exposing his throbbing cock. He quickly grabbed a condom wrapper and tore it open with his teeth, rolling it over himself, his eyes locked on yours, lust and urgency. He pulled your hoodie up a little and pushed your loose shorts to the side, then your panties, his fingers quickly making contact with your pussy.

He let out a low groan as his fingers grazed your wetness. “All this just from kissing me.” He mumbled, his voice thick with lust. He rubbed your clit, feeling you shiver in his lap. “Is this what you wanted? For me to fuck you again?”

You remained silent as you looked at him. "Come on, baby, sit on my cock." He ordered gruffly, his voice shaking slightly. "Show me how much you missed it." He removed his hand from your pussy as you pulled your panties and shorts aside.

He groaned as you slowly sat down on his length, every inch deep inside your warm, tight pussy. His fingers dug into your hips, pulling you all the way down until you were completely impaled on him. “Look at you, taking my cock like a good girl.”

He felt so good inside you, you couldn’t help but start to move on his cock. His eyes were focused on the way your body was moving, your large hoodie hiding everything beneath your chest. He grunted approvingly as you rode him, his fingers tightening on your hips, lifting you slightly to control the movement. “So eager to please me, huh?” he asked darkly, bouncing you on his length.

You began to moan loudly as he bounced you up and down on his cock. "That's right..." he panted, one hand moving around to slap your ass hard while the other gripped your hips tightly. He groaned, picking up the pace, fucking you all the way onto his lap, the sound of skin on skin filling the car.

You tried to steady yourself by holding one hand against his chest and the other in his hair. He shivered intensely as your fingers tangled in his hair, a deep groan rumbling from his chest. The delicious, overwhelming pleasure of your tight pussy gripping his cock was so fucking good. "Mmnh..."

He spanked your ass again. You moaned into his mouth as he grabbed your ass firmly with both hands now, squeezing it hard, bouncing you up and down on his cock even better. “You’re doing so good, baby.” He praises. “You’re doing so good to make up for it, baby girl.”

He continued to pound into you with each downward bounce, his hand landing hard on your ass again. You buried your face in his shoulder, muffling your cries and whimpers against his skin. The stabbing pain mixed with the pleasure of him filling you was overwhelming.

He was now so ecstatic in his pleasure, that when you looked at him with your pretty eyes, you held a vulnerable expression. Time seemed to slow down. His thrusts remained steady, but his focus was completely absorbed by your enchanting eyes.

Something in his expression softened, if only for a moment. He rarely showed his vulnerabilities, but right now, the way you were looking at him. One hand moved from your ass to your hair, holding it tightly as he continued to push into you from below.

His fingers sought out your clit, circling and rubbing with expert precision as he felt your inner walls flutter around his cock. “Come on, baby,” he encouraged gruffly, his voice thick with excitement. “Want to feel this pretty little pussy cum on my cock.”

“That’s it,” he growled, his fingers moving faster over your clit as he felt you tense around him. “Let me feel that pussy explode. Don’t hold back.” He thrust up harder, hitting a spot deep inside you that made your eyes roll back.

You came hard on his cock, moaning loudly. He kept thrusting into you through your orgasm, prolonging your pleasure as he chased his own. Your walls continued to clench around him rhythmically, pushing him closer to the edge. “Fuck…” he groaned, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

His arms went around your waist, pulling you tight against his broad chest as he watched his own seed release into the condom. He buried his face between your shoulder and neck, inhaling your scent deeply as he shivered from the aftershocks of his intense release.

Your head fell against his chest. He remained still, his chest rising and falling with each deep breath. His arms remained relaxed at his sides. The car was filled with a sense of calm after the intense fucking.

After a few moments of heavy panting, you spoke. "I gotta go." You said, your face against his chest. "Mhmm." He mumbled. You pulled him out of you. He watched you silently as you cleaned yourself up and went back to the passenger seat. He put the condom away, wrapping it in paper so he could throw it away later. He put back on his pants and threw his head back against the seat in exhaustion.

"I hope I made up for it." You said as you looked at him, waiting for his approval. He was far too exhausted to talk. "Yeah, you did." He said approvingly.

You smiled at him. "I really have to get inside, I have class tomorrow morning." You leaned towards him, placing one hand on his cheek and kissing the other. "Sleep tight, Su-bong." You opened the car door and got out, closing it again.

He was slightly surprised by the sudden kiss on the cheek, not used to such a soft or loving gesture. As you walked away, he found himself watching you go.

He leaned against the seat for a moment before leaving. You felt so good that it left him breathless. He needs more of you. Now that he’s had a taste of your innocence, he can’t go back.

[souluvvv]

Hallway crushes - Kim Jongseob x reader

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Kim Jongseob x reader oneshot ~ ⋆·˚ ༘ *

genre: fluff - school crushes

notes: english is not my first language!! sry for any errors, hope you still enjoy :3

likes and reblog are appreciated!! .⁠｡⁠*⁠♡

→ m.list"

School days are always filled with the usual chaos of lectures, assignments, and the never ending stream of thoughts that Jongseob's mind has. But there was one thing that had kept him distracted a thought that flickered through his head every few minutes, a thought that wouldn't leave him no matter how hard he tried to focus on anything else, you.

You his longtime crush from the hallway, the girl he'd admired from afar but never had the courage to talk to. He'd spent months watching you from across the halls of the school, wishing he could find a way tò approach you without stumbling over his words, without seeming like the awkward guy he sometimes was. He knew you didn't even notice him most of the time, and that thought made his chest ache.

But today something had changed. Something had finally clicked into place.

His friend, Intak, had caught him staring at you one afternoon while you were chatting with a group of friends. "Dude, just ask for her number," Intak had said, his tone casual, as though it was the easiest thing in the world.

"I don't know... what if it's weird?" Jongseob mumbled, still unsure.

Intak raised an eyebrow and smirked. "What's weird about it? It's just a number, man. She won't bite."

It was those words that clicked in Intak's mind. He wasn’t going to let his friend miss out on this opportunity. He was confident, and if anyone was going to take the first step, it might as well be him.

With a purposeful stride, he made his way over to where you were chatting with your friends in the school hallway after class. As he approached, you looked up, surprised, but greeted him with a warm smile.

Without hesitation, Intak met your gaze, his voice steady and assured. "Hey, could I get your number? it's for my friend" he points to jongseob in a corner all embarrassed by the situation.

You raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised, but he smiled as you handed him a small folded note with your number written neatly on it.

"Thanks," Intak said smoothly, giving you a quick nod before turning back toward Jongseob.

When he reached his friend, Intak handed him the note with a grin. "Here you go, man."

Jongseob stared at the note, then at Intak, his eyes wide. "You actually did it?"

Intak shrugged with a cocky grin, clearly proud of himself. "Of course. What’s the big deal? Now you’ve got her number."

And now, Jongseob was sitting at his desk, staring at his phone. The screen was on, and his thumb hovered over the text message field.

What should he say? What could he say that didn't make him look like a complete weirdo?

He had already typed out a message several times deleting each one before sending.

"Hey, it's Jongseob from school. You probably don't remember me, but intak today asked your number for me"

Delete.

"Hi, it's Jongseob! You gave Intak your number today, and I wanted to tell you that i want know you better"

Delete.

And so it went, overthinking every word his fingers hovered over the keyboard as his mind raced, trying to figure out the right way to break the ice, but suddenly he remembered Intak's advice...

Finally he let out a shaky breath, his heart pounding in his chest as he typed the message.

"Do you believe in love at first sight, or should I walk by again?"

"Dude, believe me girls are always down with this shi" Intak's word echoed in his mind.

He stared at the message for a long moment, is eyes flickering between the text and the blinking cursor.

Was it something he would actually write? No.

With one last glance at the screen, he hit send before he could second-guess himself and the advice his friend gave him again.

His heart thudded in his chest as he leaned back in the chair, feeling like he was about to explode. What if you didn't respond? What if he had just made the biggest mistake of his life?

But, then to his surprise, his phone buzzed with an incoming notification.

You had replied

"Sry, but who are you?"

Jongseob's eyes widened his pulse quickened. He read your message over and over again, his mind struggling to process it.

"Wait, are you Intak friend? Jongseob right??"

His fingers rushed over the screen as he typed back quickly.

"Yeah i'm Jongseob" he replied and added "so...how many times do i have to walk past you to get noticed?"

The phone buzzed again Jongseob's heart skipped a beat when he saw it.

"Honestly, you're pretty bold for a guy who's been hiding behind Intak the whole time, but i'll admit that i'm interested"

Jongseob’s heart fluttered as he read your message, his mind racing with the words. He couldn’t help but grin, relieved that you hadn’t written him off completely. Bold? He wasn’t sure if that was a compliment, but he’d take it.

He quickly typed back, another message.

"Well, I figured if I kept waiting for the perfect moment, I might never get the chance. But now that I have it... what do you say? Want to grab coffee sometime? Just you and me, no Intak lurking around."

He hit send, not even giving himself time to second-guess. The minutes felt like hours as he stared at the screen, waiting for your response, his palms sweaty.

Then, the phone buzzed again.

"Sure, I’d like that."

Jongseob let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, his heart soaring as he leaned back in his chair, finally allowing himself to smile. He had done it. He had actually done it.

And for the first time in a long while, Jongseob felt like maybe, just maybe, his world was about to change and,

his hallway crush wasn't just a crush anymore, it was something real.

୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨

~ hope you enjoyed it, let me know if you want a pt.2 and if you have any requests feel free to write them in the ask box!!

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[changingplumbob]

First Round - Day five (Chloe group)

The Chloe group are lucky last, meaning they've had some extra time to get to know each other before this. Tensions still exist though as some personalities clash.

Callie: This is so exciting! This place looks amazing

Apolline: I think it needs work. A lot of work

Billie: I suppose you're used to a higher standard?

Elise: It's a lot nicer than some places I've been let me tell you

Hana: I hope we get some free time to paint. At the moment the schedule seems pretty tight

Lara: We have some free time now don't we?

Callie: Yeah but we should be bonding and getting to know each other

Apolline: Why would we want that

Billie: Maybe you don't understand Callie but this is meant to be a competition

Lara: Why would you say that? We don't need to kill the vibe

Hana: Maybe not all of us feel as relaxed about the situation as you are Lara

Elise: You know what's relaxing? The onsen in Mt Komorebi

Hana: I think I'm going to go unpack

Elise: I'll come with, I've got the room beside yours

...

Callie: I know it's a competition but it doesn't mean we can't be friends... does it?

Billie: I didn't mean to sound quite that harsh

Apolline: *scoffs* You really want to befriend 29 woman chasing the same person you are?

Lara: You make it sound so cut throat Apolline. Maybe not everyone thinks the way you do. We should try and be friendly

Hana: Now where do you suppose the remote would be?

Hana decided that she didn't want to be overly social that morning and instead chose to watch some sports on TV after unpacking.

Apolline: I can be friendly! I love your... green?

Lara: *smiling* See now Polly, we're getting along great

Apolline: *seething at being called Polly*

Elise: So what did I miss

Callie: Nothing much. Can you tell us about one of your adventures?

Billie: Yes! I'd love to hear more of your travels

At lunch Deanna appeared to say hello to everyone and see how they were settling in.

Deanna: Are you doing okay?

Apolline: Yes. Deanna you look tres jolie in that shirt

Deanna: *smiling* Thanks. But really is it going okay

Hana: Things are bound to be awkward while we adjust right

Lara: Some things are bumpy but we're getting through it

Hana: I said that

Lara: I'm just trying to make conversation

Callie: The rooms are lovely

Billie: And the views are so inspiring

Elise: I love it here but I do miss home

Apolline: Deanna you must come visit Champs Le Sims, you as well Hana

Hana: I've heard the galleries there are impressive

Billie: I'd love to see them to

The rest of lunch is filled with jokes and laughter. Despite initial clashes these contestants do seem to want to understand each other.

Lara (voiceover): Things may have got tense this morning but it's nothing I can't handle. You don't get to be a party animal without learning how to handle an awkward situation. Apolline seems like she likes us, but it also feels like maybe she's liking us against her better judgement? I don't know. I decided to polish my charisma today, that way I can help diffuse any other arguments that might pop up

Elise (voiceover): It was a lot of fun talking about my travels with the others. Apolline didn't seem too impressed by the places I chose to visit but I think she respects my determination. There was an awkward moment with Apolline and Callie for sure though, and Billie. I think they just need to size each other up and move forward, eyes on the prize. I chose to practice video gaming for skill time, it was good to unwind

Callie (voiceover): So maybe I was a little bit naive thinking everyone would want to make friends. I just thought there's only so many people who do these kind of things, who else would best know what we're going through than a fellow competitor? At least Lara seems welcoming, and hey maybe the others just need to get to know me. I picked charisma to work on for the afternoon, I could do with less social slip ups

Hana (voiceover): I tried to tell myself not to be annoyed at Lara just because she was number one... but my hot-headedness got me. Hopefully she's cool enough to forgive it though because yeah... I do have to admit she seems pretty awesome. I think it was right to do some sports watching before lunch though, helped get me in a better place to chat. For the skill time I picked videogaming. I'm interested to see what challenge it's recommended for

Apolline (voiceover): I mean... I'm trying to overcome quite a bit right now. I do think it might seem like I'm cold but I'm being realistic. We can't all win. Deanna is only picking me- I mean, one of us. I don't know about you but I would rather not befriend people I know are flirting with the same person as me. How can you establish trust? I picked charisma to work on, not that I really need to, but it does seem like a skill that will be essential in the villa

Billie (voiceover): I didn't mean to be rude to Callie, she just doesn't seem like a serious competitor. But after I snapped she looked like a puppy someone had pushed in a puddle. So I backtracked and tried to patch it up, hopefully she's not the kind to hold grudges. Lunch was fun, it would be nice to visit Champs Le Sims one day if Apolline ever deems me worthy of invitation. For skills I chose charisma, I'm going to need it

For dinner Deanna made some Chicken Saltimbocca.

Apolline: Merci! Some real food

Billie: Thanks Deanna

Deanna: You're welcome

Elise: It tastes really nice, what brand of nectar did you use?

Deanna: Uhh, the one in the cupboard?

Lara: Brands don't always tell you how good the nectar will be

Hana: I didn't realise you drank nectar

Lara: I don't much but I know how to navigate behind the bar

Apolline: A useful skill?

Lara: It can be. Sometimes your ordered mixologist will not appear and you need to keep the party going

Callie: I've never really been to many parties

Elise: I've been to parties on almost every continent

Billie: Gosh this sunset is just gorgeous

Hana: I know! I wish I had my full set of paints to capture it

Following the cleaning up, Deanna invites the women to watch a movie with her. While most seem excited at the idea of a film in a language that is not English, Lara is skeptical and Callie is worried.

Callie: Will there be subtitles? We can have subtitles right?

Deanna: Absolutely

Apolline: Disappointed Lara?

Lara: Huh? No, I just prefer action films not drama

Billie: I saw a review of this one but have yet to watch

Hana: Shhh, it's starting

Despite her initial hesitation Callie gets drawn in to the film, crying along with Elise at the sad moments.

Deanna: *sniffling* I don't have a good feeling

Billie: I think they'll make it through this, they're so cute

Hana: Maybe but the lighting says not

Lara: Apolline do you have to cry quite so loud

Apolline: *loud sobs and words in French*

When the film has concluded absolutely everyone headed off to bed despite there being some socialisation time with Deanna left. Emotional films can take a physical toll though so maybe that's why everyone had to rest up?

Sims created by: @belsasim, @igglemouse, @invisiblequeen, @paracosmic-sims, @perolesims (@peroleeesims), @simscici

[a-super-cutie]

Persistence. Obsession. Persistently obsessed.

(Part 3 of 8) SFW chapter, MDNI, 18+ series

cecil stedman x female!superhero!reader

wc: 1,623

series synopsis: You and Cecil have started seeing each other but your jobs (mostly his) keep interrupting date after date. He clearly thinks this won't work for you, but how many times do you have to tell him how utterly head over heels you are for him?? Well, if telling won't work, maybe showing him will.

Masterlist ~~~ Last Part ~~~ Next Part

Cecil texted you at 1am Saturday morning, though you still considered it Friday night. He was driving over which surprised you since you didn’t even know he had a license. Why would someone who could teleport, request helicopter transport, or order anyone to give him a ride in a bulletproof armored vehicle ever drive a car himself?

Your stomach flipped uneasily and you turned away from the window to look at your plants. “I hope he doesn’t know… It’d take a whole day to drive there. That’s too much time wasted.”

You saw Cecil park and get out. He was in his usual suit and your mouth watered. The wind blew his silver hair around but he paid it no mind and combed it down. His shoulders slumped and your own tensed. Poor guy looks so stressed. He stood there staring at the pavement for a few more seconds before ascending the steps to the front doors of the building and disappeared from view.

You flew to your front door and waited patiently - or as much as you could manage. He knocked and you flung it open, throwing yourself into him.

“Cecil! I missed you! I’m so glad you’re here!” You pulled away and let him in.

He chuckled. “Thanks for having me… You've done good with this place.” He looked around as he slipped off his shoes. His socks were a deep blue with gold-ish-yellow over his toes and heels. “You like it here?”

You followed him around as he inspected the loft. “It’s wonderful! Waaay better than my old apartment. And the best thing about it is I’m constantly thinking of you.”

“Uh.” He gave you a little sideways grin.

You blushed and turned around a kitchen-counter chair for him to sit at. “You thirsty? You got me some fresh orange juice this morning.” You smiled and floated over to the fridge and motioned to the square container. “Hmm?”

He nodded and ducked his head. He was acting weird. This wasn’t his normal nervousness but you brushed it off anyways and got both of you a glass of the sweet citrus-y juice. He took it and looked around the apartment again.

You watched him while you finished your glass of the fresh-squeezed goodness. “How was work?” He jumped at that and you winced. You didn’t asked him about work anymore, he never answered the question. “I just mean… You seem extra…“ How could you word this? “Anxious?”

He hummed and took a swig. “Stressed. Just stressed.”

You nodded in understanding but couldn’t keep the small smile from showing. 'Stressed' he says... “Well then maybe we should take these two days to do some de-stressing. Just the two of us.” You hovered closer and leaned into him. His blue eyes followed your lips as they connected with his.

The clank of his glass echoed as he gave you his full attention, both now fully making out on the swivel bar-chair he sat in. You turned him away from the counter and settled yourself between his legs, your own still hovering above the wooden floor.

He hummed and you deepened the kiss, feeling his lips part to let your tongue in. Every so often you felt the rough texture of the scarred side of his lips and you hummed with lust every time. Your hands found his soft hair and tangled into his locks, pulling his head back as you hovered higher to kiss down on him, your legs wrapping around his waist.

His hands, at first distant and hesitant, now clung to your hips, pulling and pushing you over his growing erection. He grunted and you moaned into his mouth without thought, there was no reason to hold back. His slacks allowed you to move over him so easily, the friction between your legs so agonizingly amazing. You moaned again, this time pulling away to curl into him, your head resting on his shoulder as he ground you into his hardness. This was heaven. This was everything you wanted.

Then it was over as quickly as it began.

He pushed you away and cleared his throat, fixing his clothes as he stood idly.

“Cecil? What’s wrong? I really liked that.” Your arms wrapped around him as your eyes searched his, blue as the ocean on a cloudy day.

“Just don’t want to rush into things.” His arms didn’t wrap around you. His hands didn’t hold you either. He felt miles away. “Let’s take things slow.”

You nodded and watched him walk over to your bed area, separated from the rest of the studio by a few half-height shelves. Despite his serious demeanor, he really was cute as he inspected your space. “You say take things slow and then you walk over to my bed. Those are some mixed signals.” You giggled and followed him.

He looked around. What was he looking for? Dirty laundry? Trash pushed under the bed? A secret pet he told you the apartment inspectors wouldn’t allow?

You sighed and placed your hands on his shoulders, turning him to face you. “I’ve got an idea. Do you trust me?” It was time. The door was locked. The fire escape ladder was jammed on your end. The apartment was well guarded for two days if you left through the window like you always did on missions.

“What idea?”

You grinned wickedly. “It involves a blindfold.”

“We’re taking things slow. Remember?”

You snorted. “There are multiple uses for a blindfold outside of bed-use. Here put this on. I promise it isn’t about that.”

His blue eyes glared at the offending cloth in your hand but after a few beats, he relented and put it on. You fixed his hair after he tied it, pulling out the little tufts that always stuck up in the back of his head.

You floated back around to face him and giggled, pressing your nose to his. “You look very cute.”

He gave you the first true smile of the day with a breathy chuckle. “If your idea was to embarrass me to distract me from the stress, it worked.”

“This is just step five. It’s step seven that’ll de-stress you.”

He moved to pull away the blindfold but you swatted his hand away gently. “Now put this on.” You pulled out Donald’s jacket from a bin and helped him slip into it.

“Uh. The hell is this?” He tried again to remove the blindfold but you pressed his arms to his side.

You zipped him up quickly. “You need it. Trust me.” You could see his teeth begin to grind and his jaw lock like he was trying very hard not to loose it. The fact he was humoring you to this extent despite clearly hating every second of this made you swoon. He deserves this vacation. “And then make your way here.”

He let you push him towards the window (not that he realized it - or did he? He probably has this whole place perfectly mapped out). You collected his shoes and helped him into them then left him again to take out the packed bag containing cozy clothes from a local store, tasty snacks, and a nice blanket (and a few condoms).

His hands trailed over the jacket, inspecting it. His fingers moved over the pockets, the zippers, the fur along the hood.

“Is this a standard issue yellow winter jacket? Where did you get this?” He was pretty aware of things despite not having one of his senses.

You were ready. “That’s not important. Let’s go out my window.” He frowned at you, his eyebrows dipping below the blindfold but you turned him around anyways and opened the window. “Watch your head.”

Cecil stood still. “If you’re trying to get me killed you should know I auto-teleport and also it’d be less trouble for you to just send me that memo.”

You snorted. “This is where trust comes in. I promise nothing I do will harm you in any way.”

“There are multiple ways to hurt someone.”

You rolled your eyes and pushed him gently until his hands gripped the windowsill. He exited onto the fire escape landing like a pro and waited for you to join him. You shut your window and looked up. “To the roof.”

Before he could question you, you looped your arms under his arms and flew him up.

“Fuck. You know I’m reaching my limits here. If it was anyone but you I’d have laughed in your face when you pulled out this fucking rag.”

He almost pulled off the blindfold again when you set him down. “Not yet!”

“Not yet? Aren’t we here? Some sort of rooftop picnic date or whatever-the-fuck insane date idea is trending that has people thinking this type of thing is romantic?”

“I’ll have you know I’m rolling my eyes at you right now.”

“Then what -“

Now that you had more room to hold him correctly, you scooped him up into your arms.

“FUCKING H-“

And off you went into the night sky. “The blindfold was to keep you occupied.”

He ripped it off and looked around, pressing in closer to you with fright. “You have five seconds to explain yourself before I teleport the fuck home.”

You kissed his scarred cheek and nuzzled him close. “Two days. You and me. Cuddling at a VERY nice resort not too far from your work.”

He turned to you, his mouth opening and closing with words he did not have. “I…”

You held him tighter, hoping to give him a sense of security. “It’s a vacation. A mini one.”

“It’s a kidnapping is what this is.”

You smiled but kept your eyes ahead. “Is it kidnapping if you haven’t put up any sort of fight?”

He didn’t respond.

Your heart stopped… and started again when he chuckled, his warm breath tickling your cheek. He was ok with this? Holy crap it’s working! Cecil Stedman, director of the global defense agency, former secret agent, un-named savior, and boyfriend, was in your arms letting you fly him through the sky to an unknown location of your choosing for two days AND it wasn't a kidnapping!

You finally looked down at him and he looked at you. “Date number six.”

He rolled his eyes. “We’ll see if I don’t leave immediately.”

He pulled up the hood and rested his head on your shoulder. You watched him close his eyes. He had dark circles and though the beautiful blue of his eyes was all you ever saw… you had to admit they had been a little red when he had first arrived.

“Rest your eyes. We’ll go straight to our room.”

“Mhmm,” he murmured.

Just a couple hours to go.

______________________________________________________________

Masterlist ~~~ Last Part ~~~ Next Part

a/n: hope you enjoyed part three and bonus art! I'll post the next part next week :)

[walkingnearfoxes]

Hi walker!! Bit of a stretch, but I loooove how your fanfics have been turning out and was wondering if I could make a request? I've been having a little bit of a tough break right now (college stuff, family, you know, the works) and could use a good comfort fic from the Homie himself? Feel free to go crazy, it can be just fluff, or fluff turned NSFW, whatever first comes to mind. Thank you soooo much! Well wishes, H. Dok

Hi, there! Thanks for the adorable request. I’m so sorry you’re going through a rough time right now. Wishing you all the best and hope this brings a little comfort <3

“How much does this paper actually matter?”

Your responding sigh is exhausted - the kind of exhausted that has already answered this question twice. You turn in your desk chair to look at the pouting supe behind you. Homelander has been sitting on your bed for most of the day. Despite warning him you would be working on this assignment for the better part of the day, he hadn’t moved from his spot. He sits with his legs spread, his fingers impatiently drumming on the tops of his thighs. He looks every bit the child denied their favorite candy.

“I told you it would be an all-day thing,” You remind him as gently as you can manage - which, at this point, isn’t very. 

The wrinkle between his brows crinkles further. “How does an essay take this long?”

Your grip on the back of your chair tightens a bit, and his eyes follow the movement curiously. You reply slowly, “It’s not just an essay, Homelander. It’s the final. It’s the biggest part of my grade.”

He scoffs. “That’s ridiculous. Just turn it in already.” His knowledge of college, though he’d never admit it, is minimal. Anything he knows about postsecondary education comes from movies where courses last twenty minutes, and the rest of the day is in booze-covered basements. 

“I can’t,” You tell him as you turn back to face your laptop. “If you’re bored, I’m sure a few sororities would lose their minds at a Homelander spotting.”

He huffs a quiet laugh, and you hear the squeak of your mattress. His gloved fingers descend on your shoulders a moment later, squeezing them lightly. “Why have them when I could have you?” He purrs, and his voice is dangerously close to your ear. He sucks gently behind it and smirks against your skin at the unconscious gasp you let out. “C’mon, babe. You deserve a break.”

He is a master at temptation, enough that you nearly fall for it. It would be so easy to let him use his many talents to climax away your problems. But your eyes remain locked on the paper, and you find the willpower to shake your head. “I can’t.”

There is a long pause, and you don’t need to turn around to read his expression. People do not say no to Homelander. Hearing it from his partner is an insult that has him frowning and immediately removing his hands from you. He lets out a growl of frustration. “For fuck’s sake…you’re doing all of this for what? A diploma no one’s gonna look at?”

That gets you to turn and look at him. He looks so ridiculously out of place, the bright colors of his costume too harsh against your apartment’s landscape. “What’s that supposed to mean?” You ask him. You stand up from your chair, and the motion worsens his irritated glare.

“It means you’re stressing yourself out over bullshit that doesn’t matter!” He snaps. “You don’t need this degree. You have-”

“You?” You snap immediately. “And what exactly does that make me, Homelander? I am not just your partner. I’ve worked hard for this and won’t throw it away because you can’t stand to be alone with your thoughts for a day!”

In a flash of expression so quick anyone else would miss it, he looks like a kicked puppy. His blue eyes are wide, his lip jutting out in clear insult at anyone else talking back to him in such a way. You’re sure he would rip anyone else in two for daring to say such words, but you have always been the exception for him - even now. He expertly masks the hurt to a cold annoyance and huffs. “Fine. You wanna be alone so bad? I’ll leave.”

You don’t have time to say anything before he storms out of the room. He’s too quick for you to be sure if he leaves through the door or the balcony, but the apartment feels eerily absent without him. This is what you wanted, you remind yourself. You slowly sit back in your chair and stare numbly at your laptop. He’ll be back. You know that. But now, on top of everything else, you’ll be dealing with a very grumpy supe at one point or another.

~-~

It takes you a few more hours before you finally submit the assignment. Your eyes are strained, your back hurts, and you have never so desperately wanted to be clean. You manage to get yourself up and into the shower. You think back to your little Homelander spat as you wash. It’s not the first time you have disagreed as a couple, but it’s certainly the closest you have come to losing your temper with him. You’re so stressed. There’s classes, there’s family, and there’s him. Can he blame you for losing it?

Yes, you think to yourself as you exit the shower. He can. Homelander always gets what he wants, which doesn’t involve his partner sassing him. You shake your head as you exit the bathroom and pull a cozy bathrobe over your body. Whenever you saw him again, there would be hell to pay.

You didn’t expect him to be here already.

 Homelander stands in the center of your bedroom with his hands folded behind him. You give a little jump and squeak in surprise. His lip curls up in fond amusement so briefly you nearly miss it, and then he steels his face. He nods curtly over to your desk. You follow the motion and find a pile of things next to your laptop. You take a step closer for a better inspection. Among the treasure trove are your favorite snacks, bath bombs and shower steamers every color of the rainbow, and candles in your most beloved scents. You spy a new video game you had mentioned being excited about, a book you eyed in a bookstore months ago, and jewelry that perfectly reflects your eyes. You stare at the valuables for a long moment and then slowly turn to look at Homelander. He quietly clears his throat and bounces on the pads of his feet.

“I put ice cream in the freezer,” He murmurs with a near-boyish shyness. “Didn’t want it to…melt. On your desk. Get all sticky.”

“What is this?” You ask quietly. He loves lavishing you with gifts, but you had practically kicked him out a few hours ago.

He stops lightly bouncing and gestures to your personalized fortune. “You’re pushing yourself too far. Your body smells like adrenaline and defeat.”

“Thank you.”

“I mean…” Homelander growls, pinching the bridge of his nose and clenching his eyes shut. He takes a breath and then looks back at you. His frustration fades immediately, and his hands twitch at his sides - like he’s using his whole reserve of self-restraint to keep from reaching out to you. “You need this, so I got it.”

Homelander will never form the words “I’m sorry.” Not seriously, anyway. He may never be able to come out and say that he’s worried - that he needs you to be okay. But he is, and he does. You move over to the pile and pick up one of the snacks. You tilt your head. “Wasn’t this discontinued ages ago?”

You see him smile out of the corner of your eye. “Had to call in a favor or two,” He explains, and you could swear you see his chest puff.

You laugh and place it back down. You walk over to him, and for a split moment, he looks nervous. Then, you gently wrap your arms around his waist, and he deflates. He lets out a quiet sigh of relief and nuzzles his head into the side of your neck. 

“I’ve got good news for you,” You murmur to him, smiling at his quiet hum of acknowledgment against your skin. “That’s the last assignment for the term.”

“Thank God,” He mutters between soft kisses to the side of your neck. “Sure you’re not gonna quit?”

“Very sure, yes.”

“Worth a shot,” He brushes his lips up your jawline and gives a nip beneath your ear. His hands shift from embracing you to running purposefully along your sides, squeezing with just the right amount of pressure. “You know, there’s plenty of other ways I can help you to relax…”

You snort and tighten your arms around him. “If you want to do all the work, sure.”“Oh, I’d be honored to do so,” He purrs, reaching around to give your ass a good squeeze. “Anything for my poor, overworked lover.”

[qwordavoider]

Reunion

The first one-shot in the series following More Important Than Blood is posted! It is Eddie and Chris's first time meeting Liam. I am taking a break from my Eddie bashing for this one, because in this au, Eddie isn't a total dick about Buck being upset he has to move. Also, he and Tommy talked a bit after the breakup. I am hoping that later additions to the series will be a bit longer, but you can read this one below or on ao3!

Buck is bouncing on the balls of his feet in the entryway with excitement. Tommy and Liam are giving him the same incredulous look from the living room, which Tommy definitely taught him in the almost 3 months since they had met. Normally he was glad when he got to see some of Tommy rubbing off on him. Except right now it was dampening his mood the tiniest bit. 

Today was the day that Chris and Eddie came home. And Buck could not be more excited for them to meet Liam. Almost as if conjuring them, there was a knock on the door. He opened it before the knocking was even over and he barely registered Eddie raising his eyebrows because he was too busy pulling Chris into a bear hug. 

“Hey, Superman!” 

“Hey, Buck!”

He set him back down and was surprised when he wasn’t met with the usual groan and eyeroll that became common before he left. Chris must have really missed him. 

He pulled Eddie into a brief but tight hug before turning back to where Tommy had picked up Liam. He was tucking his face into Tommy’s neck. Buck had noticed that Liam was a little bit shy around new people. Like when they had left him at his new daycare for the first time. He had hid behind Buck’s leg for a few minutes until a little girl came up and said hi. From then on he was Mr. Social Butterfly. He was almost upset when Buck came to pick him up later that day. They had been trying longer and longer shifts in preparation for Buck to go back to work in 2 weeks. Tomorrow was going to be the first full 24 hours that he would be alone. 

Now though? He could see the curiosity getting the better of Liam as he started squirming for Tommy to put him down. He approached slowly and was looking straight at Chris’s crutches. Chris just took it in stride and said, “Hi, I’m Chris.”

Buck could see the slight recognition in Liam’s eyes as he realized it was the same person he had talked to over the phone, and then confusion as he took in Christopher’s crutches a second time.

“These are my crutches, they help me walk,” Chris as he patiently waited for Liam to say something. 

Finally, Liam seemed to have investigated enough, because he said, “Chris come play?”

“Yeah, let’s go play,” Chris responded. 

So the three men just watched as Liam led the way to the play area. Once they got settled, Tommy wrapped Eddie in a hug finally. 

“It’s good to have you back man,” Tommy said as he pulled away. 

“It’s good to be back.”

“How are things going with Chris?” Buck asked.

“Better, still fragile but I think he’s glad to be back so that’s a point in our favor,” Eddie said. 

Buck didn’t want to dwell on that right now because he was excited for Eddie to see the new place. So he gave him a quick tour before they joined Chris and Liam. Christopher was helping Liam put together some of the more complicated Lego sets that he had been gifted. It was great to see them playing together despite the age difference. That went on for a while before Liam started to get bored. He walked over to Tommy and crawled into his lap. Eddie was sitting next to them and Liam seemed content to just study him. 

Eventually, shocking everyone, he said, “Eddie,” while pointing a finger at him.

“Yeah, Liam! That’s right!” Tommy said excitedly.

Encouraged by that Liam reached across to Eddie. Unable to say no, Eddie grabbed Liam and set him in his lap. Liam seemed content to just play with Eddie’s hands for a while. After that, Liam was a ball of energy who seemed more than comfortable with the Diazes. The toys did not stay confined to the play area after that. But Buck didn't mind, he was happy to sit back and let them play, glad that Liam was getting along with Chris and Eddie. 

Eventually, Liam started to get tired. Before Buck could even stand up, Tommy had scooped him up. He turned Liam toward Chris and Eddie, “Say night night, Liam.’

Liam already had his head tucked into the crook of Tommy’s neck, but he lifted it slightly, “Night night Chris, night night Eddie,” before promptly falling asleep in Tommy’s arms. 

Buck watched after them with a smile on his face, which was rudely interrupted by Chris saying, “When’s the wedding?”

Buck picked up the pillow behind him on the couch and threw it at Chris, who laughed as he swatted it away. 

“It’s too soon for that,” Buck said.

“So you’ve been thinking about it?” Eddie asks with a grin on his face. 

“Remind me why I ever wanted you guys to come back?” Buck groaned, but it was drowned out by the sound of Eddie and Christopher’s laughter.

“Because you missed us,” Chris said, matter-of-factly. 

“Fine kid, you got me. I did miss you guys,” Buck said with a smile on his face. 

tags (comment or reblog to be added): @chococara25 @inawickedlittletown @moonydanny @manifestingchaoticvibes @hummelinski @crimsonwildcat-blog @n1kkii @captainwitharedstar @javanicko @tommy-loves-evan @rubydaiquiri

[riverxsong-ao3]

Just some fun writing, not sure if this will expand into a full thing

“It was Hagrid, Ron. Hagrid opened the Chamber of Secrets fifty years ago.”

Later that night, when the lights had turned down low and everyone else had long since retired to bed, Harry lay awake, his thoughts whirling, unable to settle. At long last he sighed, reached under his pillow, and retrieved the small black diary from where he had concealed it. The more he thought about it, the less sense it made. Hagrid? Really?

He had always known that Hagrid, despite being his first and oldest friend, had an unfortunate penchant for surrounding himself with large, dangerous, magical creatures. He’d confided in Harry that he’d always wanted a dragon, and then he had acquired one. The three-headed dog that had been put into service guarding the Philosopher’s Stone had belonged to Hagrid as well, and even his other dog, Fang, was about as big as normal, non-magical dogs went – though not particularly vicious. That Hagrid might want to liberate and keep an ancient, magical insect or something similar – for it must have been, with that many legs – was not outside the realm of possibility.

But the heir of Slytherin?

If there was one thing Harry had come to learn about the magical world, at least in what little he had seen of it thus far, it was that one’s Hogwarts house was something to be carried with a sense of pride. Malfoy had crowed about his entire family being in Slytherin, Ron cherished his place in Gryffindor among his brothers, and even Harry himself, who had not known about Hogwarts until he was eleven, carried no small amount of satisfaction that he had convinced the Sorting Hat to place him in the very same house as had been his parents’, years and years back now. And hadn’t Hagrid derided Slytherin, the very first time they met? Hadn’t he claimed that there wasn’t a Dark witch or wizard who hadn’t come from Slytherin, his voice thick with contempt as he recounted that Voldemort himself had been sorted there?

No, Harry thought, Hagrid was most certainly not the heir of Salazar Slytherin. Harry himself stood a better chance of that, what with his ability to speak to (and, if he were truly honest with himself, his own fondness for) snakes, not to mention the heated exchange he had held with the hat during his sorting. Hagrid might try to force open the Chamber of Secrets to release the creature within, but he would not leave a veiled threat against Muggle-borns painted in blood, and he would most certainly not go around attacking people. Harry was missing something.

With another heavy sigh he fetched a quill from his nightstand, opened Tom Riddle’s diary, and began to write.

“Tom?” His handwriting was shaky, his body and mind both fatigued. He almost hoped Riddle wouldn’t answer, but Harry knew he had to understand what he had seen.

“Harry? Is that you?”

“Still me, yeah,” Harry wrote. “Sorry to bother you again, I hope you weren’t sleeping. Do talking diaries sleep?”

There was a pause. “I am not, precisely, a talking diary, Harry,” Riddle responded at last. “I am more than a mere enchantment, more than a talking portrait or statue, less than a mortal human. But no, I do not sleep – not in the traditional sense of it.”

This only left Harry’s mind swirling with more questions, but he pressed on. “Oh, alright then,” he replied. “I had some more questions about the Chamber of Secrets, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all, Harry. I feel most alive, most human, when I have someone with whom to speak.”

This made Harry smile; he wasn’t quite sure how he felt about Tom, yet, but it was nice that the older boy seemed to enjoy his presence. “I was just wondering – are you sure it was Hagrid that opened the Chamber?”

“Quite certain,” Riddle wrote back. “The monster escaped, and a thorough search was made of the grounds and the Forbidden Forest, but it was never found. After Rubeus was expelled, however, the attacks ceased, and those unfortunate students who had been Petrified were restored to their former selves.”

“Right,” Harry replied slowly, “but it doesn’t make sense. I know Hagrid, and he can’t possibly be the heir of Slytherin. Maybe he let out the monster fifty years ago, but he wouldn’t bring it back to the castle now. What if… what if someone else opened the Chamber of Secrets, and used Hagrid being expelled as a reason to stop the attacks?”

There was a very long pause this time. “I suppose that could be possible,” Riddle said finally. “You are very clever for your age, has anyone told you that?”

A warmth spread through Harry; Hermione was clever, not him, right? But Riddle had said it, and Harry felt a bond growing between the two of them. “Did they let you stay at Hogwarts for the holidays?” he asked, changing tack. “After the attacks stopped, I mean.”

“No.” Even in writing, Harry could feel the bitterness seeping through. “I was compelled to return to my usual living situation, though thankfully this did not last longer than a few more summers.”

“I’m sorry.” Harry wrote. “I live with Muggles, too – my aunt and uncle. They don’t like magic much.”

“Most Muggles don’t, no.” Riddle wrote. “If I may ask, why are you living with them?”

“I’m an orphan, too,” Harry replied. “My parents died when I was a baby. I don’t remember them at all.”

“We are very similar, Harry,” Riddle said. “Are you, by chance, in Slytherin as well?”

“You’re a Slytherin!” Harry wrote, absolutely gobsmacked. “But you’re so… nice. All of the Slytherins in my year are pretty awful. But no, I’m in Gryffindor, like my parents. Everyone seems to think I’m the heir of Slytherin, though.”

“And why would they think that?” Riddle asked. “For the record, most of my classmates in my own house were fairly unlikeable as well, though I worked hard to earn their respect.”

“It’s because I’m a Parselmouth.” Harry explained. “I don’t know how, but somehow I can speak to snakes, just like Salazar Slytherin.”

“What a strange coincidence,” Riddle wrote, the letters slow, elegant, and deliberate. “I, too, am a Parselmouth.”

A horrible thought struck Harry; Riddle, a Slytherin, and a Parselmouth? “Tom,” he replied, his hand shaking again, “you’re not the heir of Slytherin, are you?”

“I would have no idea,” Riddle wrote back. “As you saw in my memory, my mother died when I was born, and my father… Well, with a name like ‘Riddle’ I have to assume he was a Muggle. There are no wizard families that I know of with that surname.”

“Oh,” Harry wrote, calming. “I’m sorry. At least I know who my parents were now. It’s terrible not to know anything about your family.”

“I agree.”

“I wish we could talk for real, Tom,” Harry wrote, after a moment’s deliberation. “Sorry, can I call you Tom? I barely know you, but…”

“Of course, Harry.” He breathed a sigh of relief; he wasn’t usually so forward. “I too would enjoy speaking with you, face to face. I have never met anyone else with whom I could hold a secret conversation in the ancient and sacred language of snakes. We could even be friends, possibly.”

“We can be!” There was that strange feeling again, a sense that he had known Tom for a long time, much longer than he had had the diary. “We can be friends like this, even if we can’t actually speak to each other. Maybe someday…”

“If I discover a means by which we might properly converse, you will be the first to know,” Tom replied. “For now, I look forward to our correspondences.”

“Me too,” Harry wrote. “I’ll write you every day, I promise. I need to sleep though, now.”

“Good night, Harry,” Tom said. “Try not to think of the Muggles too much. You’ll always have me to talk to.”

“Good night, Tom.” Harry closed the diary with a satisfied smile on his face, a curious feeling spreading through him as he curled on his side, the little book warm and comforting where he pressed it to his chest. A friend! Of those, Harry had very few. Ron and Hermione were wonderful, of course, but there were things they didn’t really understand. Both had loving families, both had grown up wanting for nothing. Ron’s family struggled, and Hermione’s were not magical, but they didn’t really know.

Tom did.

The days passed, and the two of them grew closer and closer. Though Tom was a few years older than Harry (well, more than fifty years, strictly speaking, but he seemed to have frozen in time at age sixteen), they understood each other on a deep level. Harry wished for the day Tom might be released from his paper and leather prison, or to someday meet the man Tom Riddle, the one who had preserved himself thusly. Each evening and morning they spoke, and each night Harry fell asleep with the diary clutched tightly in his arms.

And then came the day that Tom was stolen.

[yourcousin-vinny]

(went uhh way longer than i thought but hey)

Kallus didn’t expect the narrow street to bring him such a feeling of home. It was more of an alley really, but because it had numbered signage and a handful of legal businesses, it was officially a street in Level 1947, Block L. The noodle bar he and the other dancers would go to after the bar closed at 0300 was still there with the high top stools along the counter by the window, but the name on the neon sign had changed. Distant speeder traffic 50 levels up almost looked like passing stars, now that he knew what stars looked like. The orderly grid would never compare to the constellations of Yavin IV though. That moon wasn’t quite home yet, and this alley wasn’t quite home anymore, but Kallus was beginning to learn what to look for to find home wherever he was.

The El trundled past. Zeb flattened his ears back at the squealing brakes.

“I used to be able to sleep through that, if you can believe it.”

“I can’t,” Zeb replied, scowling at the train. “Worse than puffer pigs squealing.”

“For a little while, when I first started at the academy, I couldn’t sleep because it was too quiet.”

Zeb cracked a grin. “Only you would think anywhere on Coruscant was quiet.”

Kallus shrugged. “I was too comfortable in the quiet eventually.”

“Do you miss it?”

Zeb wasn’t asking if Kallus missed the Empire, but it still drew him up short. He thought back to the long, silent nights aboard every star destroyer. Every night had been exactly the same. Any sound in the halls had been a sign of something aberrant, if not deadly. A boot squeaking against the plasteel flooring in the hall was a warning; he would’ve been a fool to sleep through that.

A human hawked bangcorn from his cart. Three Twilek women leaned on each other and laughed over something on a datapad. A taxi blared its horn and the crowd at the intersection yelled back in their dozen languages.

“I thought I would miss it,” Kallus finally said. “I missed the noise more.”

Zeb smiled at him. Kallus smiled back, and gods, how easy that had become. The past few months, Kallus had felt the two of them sharing longer looks, smiles, and laughs over ale or while splitting one of Sabine’s breakfast burritos. There was something happening, and Kallus was pretty sure they both knew it. Neither of them had said anything yet. Kallus was biding his time. It was fun to make Zeb lean closer so he could murmur in his ear at the tap café or watch his eyes widen the rare times Kallus could pin him at the end of a sparring match.

Being able to move his body how he wanted to again, instead of how imperial decorum dictated, felt good, and it felt even better when he knew Zeb was watching. When he went before Draven or talked to Hera he still kept his posture rigid, but the pilots always paid better attention when he cocked his hip. Zeb always (always) stared when he ran a hand through his hair, even when he wasn’t trying to flirt and just wanted it out of his face. Kallus would do something about that soon, but for now it was enough to know that he could just wink or kama walk and someone on base would stumble.

“This is the place.” Kallus nodded to number 128-0056: NIILO’S BAR & BURLESQUE. At least that one neon sign hadn’t changed in the past twenty years. Pink and blue lights flickered into the street when the door swung open and belched out a group of cadet-aged humans shouting in a mix of Basic and gutterspeak. Kallus regretted wearing this particular jacket; he should’ve remembered the amount of body glitter worn by patrons and employees alike.

The bouncer, a barrel-chested human man with a white mustache, sized them up at their approach. “Twenty credit cover, each,” he said in accented Basic. The tattoos on his forearms seemed to move under the pulsing lights.

“Happily paid, good sir,” Kallus replied in Eesti, hoping he guessed the right dialect. He still could speak it fluently, but not with the same nuance when he wasn’t hearing it every day.

The bouncer narrowed his eyes but smiled. “Coming home, young pup? Don’t get pretty freckles like that down here.”

“Home, indeed. Tell Niilo that Sasha stopped by, if he’s still upright at this hour.”

Zeb’s ears flicked at the one word he knew — Sasha — as he held out his portion of the cover charge.

The bouncer guffawed and clapped Kallus on the shoulder. “He goes to bed before the streetlamps come on now, that old man. But he’ll be glad to hear from an old friend.”

Kallus couldn’t help himself from smiling at the bouncer’s honorific for him. “Forty, jah?”

The bouncer waved away Kallus’ offered credits. “Ei, discount, for old friends.” At Kallus’ insistence he took a 10-credit chip, but no more. He ushered them both inside and directed them towards the bar. “Welcome back!”

“Old stomping grounds for you, Kal?” Zeb asked, waggling his eyebrows. “I wouldn’t have picked this place, knowing the old you.” He leaned against the bar to take in their surroundings. Kallus did likewise opposite him and flagged down the bartender.

The lighting design was better, and the floor wasn’t nearly as sticky as it used to be, but the masc  dancers’ outfits hadn’t changed a bit. Fishnet tights stretched over muscled thighs; halter tops crossed wide shoulders; platform heels made the dancers tower over even him; jeweled armbands wrapped around toned biceps; and those lace gloves were always a pain and did he miss these outfits? Well, maybe. They were drawing Zeb’s eye a bit — and now that was an idea. He hadn’t planned on telling Zeb that he used to work here, at least not while they were still in the middle of their mission. But far be it from him to pass up an opportunity when it presented itself.

Kallus ordered two ales and tipped the whole price of the drinks (honestly, what else was he supposed to do when they practically got in for free) before meeting Zeb’s gaze again. “I spent quite a bit of time here, actually,” he said, handing Zeb his glass. “Of course, it’s been a while. I haven’t been here since I was a dancer myself.” He sipped his drink and headed for the booth where he had spotted their informant, a Rodian identifiable by his red jacket.

Zeb’s hand had stilled with his drink halfway to his mouth. His eyes darted between the half-naked dancers and Kallus’ questioning look.

“Coming?” Kallus asked. They had a job to do, after all.

“Right, yep.” Zeb quaffed a third of his glass and followed Kallus into the booth with the Rodian.

As far as garnering intel from an informant went, Kallus wished every time was this easy. Apart from his garrish jacket, the Rodian was perfectly discreet, knowing to lower his voice whenever another patron gets too close and paying a normal amount of attention to the dancers and waitstaff. He handed over a datastick without any pomp, and Kallus passed back a credit chip and passport without any promises.

Zeb, when he wasn’t providing a Basic translation for a Rodian phrase that Kallus hadn’t quite understood, was uncharacteristically tense. Whenever the two of them went on a mission together — hell, whenever they were in a large group setting — they checked in with each other. Kallus wouldn’t go as far as to say it was a connection through the Force, but they could read one another with the barest of eye contact and the smallest of facial tics. It was a good way to have each other’s backs and know their next move, but it also had been a comfort to know that they understood each other.

The entire interaction with their informant, Zeb did not look at Kallus. He didn’t touch him, even in the small confines of the shared booth. He downed his ale but didn’t order another, and looked positively stricken when a server in a deep purple silk and lace teddy offered to refill his glass.

Once the Rodian left, Kallus turned in the booth to face Zeb. Lasats didn’t blush the way that humans did, but Kallus saw the pulse jumping at Zeb’s throat. Kallus finished the dregs of his ale (his second) and placed a soothing hand on Zeb’s arm. Admirably, he held himself back from running a hand through the thick fur. Later, he promised himself.

“Is everything alright, Garazeb?” Kallus asked, as if he held no ulterior motives and never had.

Zeb tensed impossibly further. “Yep, fine. Well, might as well head back to the ship then.” He leapt from the booth and out of Kallus’ grasp.

Kallus followed, leisurely stretching to let his shirt rise above his waistline. Zeb audibly gulped, and Kallus finally let himself grin. He led the way out of the bar, making sure to swing his hips to the dancers’ beat.

As they exited the bar, Kallus turned and finally caught Zeb looking back, ears pointed forward and pupils wide. Kallus fell back in step beside him to walk back down the narrow alley to the main street. 

Zeb incrementally relaxed as they wove through the crowd. He let their shoulders brush when they passed clusters of friends hogging the sidewalk and didn’t step away when the crowd cleared. “So.” He chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck. “You were a go-go dancer?”

Zeb couldn’t stop thinking about Kallus dancing, Kallus under the lights, Kallus in those outfits, and Kallus was elated.

“Garazeb,” he said, grinning again, “if you want to see old holos of me in that purple teddy, all you have to do is ask.”

Headcanon where lower Coruscant street kid Kallus who has been on their own since they were like 14 and did random jobs to survive. (Plus even though they were all poor, the people in his neighborhood watched out for each other because someone has to)

Eventually he enlists with the empire for a chance at a better life, believing the propaganda that they can help.

BUT before then, what I am absolutely feral for his young adult Kallus dancing at a queer dive bar where like obviously some shady people hang out but like the tips are nice. I want Kallus to know he is hot and work with that. Like he never lets people get too hands-y, he is always in control of his sexuality and using it to make money. Plus he knows how to fight if someone is overstepping.

And like down the road when he is a rebel, he and Zeb(not dating yet) are being sent on a mission to meet with an informant. Reading the brief, Kallus realizes it's his old neighborhood at the bar he used to work in.

But like even today Kallus is in control of his sexuality. He also realizes that he and Zeb have been flirting for months but neither have made the first move past that.

So he waits to mention that he is familiar with this bar specifically(Zeb knows it is his old neighborhood) until they get there. Walking past the scantily clad male dancers in the bar, on their way to the informant waiting at a table, he matter-of-factly says "I haven't been here since I was a dancer."

But before Zeb could reply, he continues to the informant. But he watches as Zeb proceeds to malfunction, obviously picturing Kallus in one of these tight little outfits the men up on stage are wearing. Throughout their meeting, Kallus notices the obvious fluster in Zeb's face everytime he looks over at him.

Then this man has the audacity to give Zeb a "concerned" look when the informant leaves, placing his hand on the Lasat's arm. "Is everything alright, Garazeb?" He asks in a way too innocent voice.

It takes everything on Zeb not to combust right there.

[neonacidtrip]

we haven't spoken in a very long time, but i dreamt of you last night, so I couldn't help but think of you. I'm not sure you remember me, but i hope life is treating you well these days. take care.

I'm not sure what to say, but I can promise you I have not forgotten you. My time on Tumblr has been a mess full of hiatuses, I admit, but it will always be a place where I met some very wonderful friends, including you. With 100% honesty, I can say the friends I made here are some of the best friends I have ever had, even though most of us don't talk anymore.

It doesn't matter how often I speak with people, or if we never speak again. I'll always remember you, and I'll always think fondly of you and hope that life is treating you gently and kindly.

I hope you had a nice (or at the very least an okay) dream, and I'm glad to know you still remember me, too, regardless of all else.

Take care, love <3

[hana-bobo-finch]

jørgan clan my beloved. you guys are so messed up

[astertimberwolf]

I miss my Italian grandma.

She is the reason I love Ruby. Because they share the same personality.

This is the reason I am still in love with the adult version of a fictional character.

My Italian gran was the only healthy maternal figure I had growing up... And the only person to love me unconditionally in my entire life.

... And I'm afraid it will stay that way, with how things are going...

...

There. I said it. The cat is out of the bag.

May the budding rose she imprinted in my heart stay intact and safe, even though it will likely never get to bloom...

All the other bad imprinting, represented by roots of all evil, has / have been removed.

This rosebud is the only living flower standing in the middle of the snowy clearing and scenery inside my soul.

I will cherish this rose forever, with all I have.

[mainfaggot]

the last time i felt emotionally fulfilled in a friendship was when i was 15, and before that when i was 13. im turning 21 next month

[g-k444]

health ed class where im the shy girl at the back who blushes, embarrassed when the teacher announces we're doing sex ed in class today.

the first thing he asks for is a volunteer

i normally get picked on for these sorts of things - y'know - given im the one at the back of the class that always tucks her head into her book whenever she's noticed... i do my usual interested-in-book act and hope to go unnoticed.

it fails once again.

against my volunteering-want, i pick myself up - cheeks darkening as I feel the class' attention turn to me as my chair scrapes the floor, my heels dragging as i stand at the front and look across the classroom - seeing how many judgemental pairs of eyes stare at me - today's subject.

"Now that we have someone who has kindly volunteered - will you hop up onto the desk-"

I leaned back and let myself pull my bodyweight up so that I sat with my legs extending from the teacher's desk on the front

"-And pull your skirt up."

the words took a second to resonate before my eyebrows flew up in shock. "S-sorry?"

"Show the class your pussy," he said as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. "we're in a health class and you volunteering yourself - your body - so go on, show the class your pussy."

My throat dries and closes, face draining of colour and yet heating up simultaneously, legs crossing over each other defensively whilst my body seemingly freezes at the overwhelmingness of it all.

I can't talk - my throat hoarse from the shock of it all - and instead the best i can do is shake my head erratically, not willing to oblige. was he joking? was this some example of how if you don't wanna show your body to everyone you shouldn't send pictures?

what sick thing what going on?!

it wasn't a joke though - and seemingly bad was turning to worse at the teacher frowned. "well, you've already volunteered yourself, and if you don't comply with what i tell you to do then there will be consequences, miss."

my body remained frozen in place from the shock of it all. and looking across the classroom, all the other students seemed perfectly okay with what was going on - as if there were some universe where this was normal! And if not neutral to it - some of the body even seemed to have their interests piqued by the idea, leant forwards in their desks as though trying to get closer to the action.

the teacher noticed my lack of movement and took matters into his own hands.

"Jones! Up!"

I looked across the room as my bully - the one that antagonized me for all things stupid and trivial - stood up and came to the front of the class.

"I'm going to lift her skirt up and hold her body to keep her still - i want you to hold her thighs open and pull her panties off."

this time the words clicked faster, and I pushed myself off of my arms to get off of the table and not let myself get undressed in front of the whole class - yet my teacher was faster. his arm wrapped around my body and pulled my back into his chest, his other forearm grasping at the hem of my skirt before yanking it upwards and revealing the upper skin of my thighs and the baby pink panties i'd chosen this morning - things that I hadn't expected nor wanted the class to see

"get-off- mE!" i wriggled under the teacher's hold and yet couldn't escape his grasp - and looking across the class with teary eyes, noone cared to make eye contact with me or help - instead they all made eye contact with the baby pink between my legs, uncaring for the yelps that left my mouth

the only one that looked me in the eyes was Jones. My bully, who hadn't shown kindness since I'd first joined. please, Jones... I'd whispered with a wavering tone to him - holding eye contact as he leaned down, his hands falling on either of my thighs... before he gripped them - hard - and prised them open to give everyone a better view of the pair of panties. and with both his hands occupied, his head fell between my legs as a scream left my mouth, his teeth clenching around the material to pull it away from my pussy and expose the raw flesh that evoked some scattered gasps and wows across the classroom.

"Terry, take my place holding her - everyone gather round-"

My body was grasped by a different set of arms, blubbers falling from my lips as the teacher came to my side and the class left their seats to come closer to my bare pussy - eyes fixated on the exposed mound

"This is what a real pussy looks like - this up here-"

he touched my clit and made my whole body jerk, a cry mixing ang mingling with a moan and making something of a wailing noise that seemed to make someone's trousers tighter

"that is the clitoris. the place that had the most nerves and it a pleasure point on the female anatomy. This set of lips is the labia majora - the other lips - and these inner ones are the labia minora"

i felt utterly degraded feeling him pinch either set of lips, shaking them with his words to emphasise what he said using my body - a trail of dampness following his fingers as he pulled away from my pussy

"and most importantly - this here is the vagina - the hole from which women have periods and babies from - but most importantly - the place which you put cocks, fingers and toys into to pleasure a woman."

"everyone, you may now touch and feel the demonstration."

my whole body jerked as various prods and motions were conceded on my pussy - Jones' hold firm around my thighs and stopping my from squirming or wriggling myself away from all the touch that made tears leak from my eyes

"can i finger her, sir?"

"absolutely, how else would you learn?"

a scream leaves my mouth as a pair of foreign fingers breaches my pussy, twisting and almost patting my inner walls curiously, before pulling away with a trail connecting his fingers to my pussy - fluid dripping between his fingers as the separated the two that had been inside my pussy

"okay, so, our first assignment will be to see how a pussy reacts when stimulated with pleasure"

everyone is given a chance to make me cum.

initially i scream and writhe on the desk whilst I'm instead pinned down, and have my pussy violated with fingers what scissor my walls and prod a sensitive spot until my juices spread over my shaky legs. then it's a tongue that breaches my hole with flicks and thrusts. they gain confidence though - and it's not long before a cock is inserted into my pussy and leaves stains of white over my pussy when he finishes.

my throat becomes so raw i cant speak - my mind a broken scramble and my pussy is so spent and broken that it doesn't even contract in horror anymore. it's completely passive as the orifice is breached over and over until...

"okay, that's good - now, as we still have a bit more time before class finishes... let's have some fun - everyone - find something in your bag or in the classroom to shove in her pussy to see how she reacts."

my mind is still scrambled - yet someone props a book beneath my head so that i can at least see all of the objects that are pushed into my hole - the pupils' cum acting as lubrication that allows the random objects to enter my pussy

a whiteboard pen, markers and other various stationary items enter first - testing the waters before someone tries to push a water bottle up there - then a chair leg that two people need to hold to effectively spear me with the metal rod

"good job today," the teacher bends to say into my ear as the students thank him and leave the classroom whilst im still starfished, energy dead on the desk. "clean yourself up and go the principal's office once you've done that. apparently he could hear all the racket in here and wanted a private meeting with you"

[savanir]

The What Corps?

“we have you now spook! there is nowhere you can run and hide with our new spectral tethers active!”

Danny winces at the small metal clips that have hooked themselves in his leg, some new GIW tech that is messing with his powers.

“oh yeah? I was just dying for you guys to give me a challenge” plan. plan. He's gotta think of a plan to get out of here and fast. He takes a steadying breath and starts to look for anything that can help him.

he can’t get caught here. He just can't. He simply won’t allow himself.

suddenly the two GIW goons in front of him click their earpieces to clearly listen to what someone else is telling them, Danny is very glad for his own enhanced senses.

“Operatives K and O, be advised, there have been sightings of a new ectoplasmic entity near your location. Other operatives report that it’s incredibly small and moves fast. watch your backs, this may be an ambush”

small and fast? it better not be some poor little blob ghost, Danny sort of hopes it’s some manner of ectowasp, at least that could be entertaining to see.

“you better not be hoping for back up, ecto scum”

“I have no idea what you are talking about”

It's then that a small bright green light zips on scene and weaves through crowds in the distance with ease and then speeds up towards the two operatives who do not hesitate to shoot, missing completely like the storm troopers they are.

Whatever it is, it is indeed going very fast but Danny manages to figure out what it looks like and it appears to be a… ring?

“hold it you tiny accessory shaped ecto fiend!”

The ring does a speedy circle around Operative O while K is lining up a shot and ends up blasting the poor guy point blank in his face, “O!”

Danny takes a step forward with an arm outstretched and a “oh damn! Are you alright?” on his lips when the ring takes the chance to slip on his finger. “Daniel Fenton of Earth”

Danny already had a freakout about a ghost jewelry getting on him, his experiences with those so far have been incredibly bad after all, what with the rings and crowns and pendants… now this damn thing is just straight up outing him! 

Thank the ancients the two GIW stooges are too busy with each other right now to pay close attention to what this weird ring is saying.

“You have the ability to overcome great fear” ah so this is related to him steeling himself just now? Maybe? or something??

You have been chosen” never good, we are back to freaking out again.

“Welcome to the green lantern corps” 

… the what?

Danny notices that his usual outfit suddenly has more green going on, and his DP symbol has some sort of… he guess it’s supposed to be a lantern, maybe? shape around it.

He’s somehow even more glowy now, and there is something on his face. Feeling its shape makes him think it’s some sort of mask.

The metal clip things are no longer attached to his legs though so that’s great!

“You’re not getting away so easily ecto scum! sentient ghost paraphernalia coming to your rescue or no!” They both aim their weapons to take a shot.

Danny figures he can now easily hold them back with his usual shields,“you guys realize you just called this weird ring sentient and thereby negate the whole nonsentie-ack!”

“Attacking a corps lantern is punishable offense as of the instatement of the galactic diplomatic immunity as declared by the-” Okay so now Danny is just raising his eyebrow at this weird as fuck ring. Just what is it going on about?

“notifying nearby lanterns and requesting assistance with apprehension of hostiles”

what?

“getting your friends to help you out vile spook? such a thing is useless with the Blackout still very much in place”

Well… the two streaks of green light in the distance is making Danny doubt that statement.

Maybe there is more to this Lantern corps thing than he thought… And something tells him his life is about to get even more complicated than it already is.