#i'm just genuinely bemused

[overelegantstranger]

what i find confusing is the rampant dislike of purling in the knitting community. and it's like, i understand we have likes and dislikes and they're personal and that's fine. i guess to me, purling is one of the fundamental stitches, and if I was knitting in a way where I disliked it, my personal reaction would be to find a way of purling i liked better. That's not to say like. You Can't Dislike Purling, it's to demonstrate my feeling of disconnect

but I think my main confusion is that it seems "standard" to dislike purling, and so I think some of my confusion is coming from a sense of, have we talked newer knitters into disliking purling? like, to fit in you must be able to talk about how much you dislike it?

To clarify: I'm only mildly bemused by individuals disliking purling, but I'm VERY bemused by the community culture of disliking purling to the point that designers will make a point about how little purling a design has

[elephants-are-cool]

has changed just a little after typing the tags.

Made an Apple White ship tier list in honour of some of the dumbest fandom discourse I've seen <3

[shesgaymichaelscott]

melissa x fem!reader where they're just friends but melissa gets jealous about someone flirting with reader and reader is clueless

Jealousy and Power Ballads

Word Count: 3.8k <3

(mutual idiots in love, jealous mel, confessions, eventual smut)

taglist  - @writerspirit @schemmentigfs

~

The Abbott crew had descended on K-Town Karaoke like a sitcom cast invading a dive bar. Someone (Ava) had declared that the only way to celebrate surviving benchmark testing was with "power ballads and power pours," and somehow the plan stuck.

You were sandwiched in a corner booth between Jacob and Janine, your third cocktail sweating in your hand, your cheeks flushed from laughing at Jacob's dramatic retelling of running into his ex ten minutes ago.

"You don't understand," he was saying. "I was just trying to refill my parking meter and boom — Avi. Same scarf. Same smug smirk. He looked like a sad gay raccoon in Lululemon."

Janine snorted. "You okay?"

"Oh, I'm better than okay," Jacob said, eyes laser-focused on the tall, bearded bartender wiping down the counter. "Because that man? Is about to become my post-breakup moment. Bestie, come on. Wingwoman protocol."

You blinked. "What? Me?"

"You're charming, unassuming, and no one can resist that thing you do with your smile when you're trying to help me lie."

"Thanks?" you said, bemused, sliding out of the booth anyway. "I'll get us another round."

Melissa was across from you, one arm draped casually over the back of her seat, legs crossed, a knowing smile on her lips. "Don't let this one get you into trouble, sweetheart."

That was your thing—her calling you "sweetheart," "baby," "trouble." You'd told yourself a hundred times it didn't mean anything. Just the way Melissa was with people she liked. Friendly teasing. No big deal.

Still, her voice did that thing to your stomach it always did. The fluttering drop.

"I'll behave," you promised. She raised an eyebrow like she doubted it, and you pretended not to melt.

Jacob beelined for the bearded bartender, tossing you a look that said "pretend we're very interesting." You leaned against the bar, flipping through the laminated karaoke list even though you knew you'd chicken out before ever picking a song.

That's when the other bartender—a woman with sleeve tattoos, bold eyeliner, and a smirk that could probably make Ava nervous—slid up in front of you.

"Hey," she said, tossing a bar towel over her shoulder. "What can I get you, gorgeous?"

You blinked. "Oh. Uh, three whiskeys and a tequila soda?"

"Sure," she said, already pouring. "You've got the sweetest face. You sing too?"

"I—sometimes? Badly. Only if no one's recording."

She smiled. "That's okay. I'm off in an hour if you need a duet partner. I've been known to make a mean harmonization of 'Jesse's Girl.'"

You laughed—awkward and caught off guard—but it was genuine. "I'll keep that in mind."

Across the room, Melissa watched, jaw tight, arms crossed over her chest. She'd been laughing at something Janine said, but now her eyes were locked on you and that bartender like a laser sight.

Barbara, ever perceptive, noticed immediately.

"She's just being friendly," Barbara murmured, sipping her wine. "Let the girl live."

"She's flirting," Melissa snapped under her breath.

Ava leaned across the table. "Damn, Schemmenti, jealous much?"

Melissa shot her a look. "She doesn't even know that woman. And that woman doesn't know a damn thing about her."

"She's allowed to get hit on, you know," Janine said carefully. "Our girl's hot. It happens."

Melissa's mouth twitched. "Not if I have anything to say about it."

Meanwhile, back at the bar, you took the drinks gratefully from the bartender and gave her a small, uncertain smile. "Thanks. You're...nice."

"Nice?" she repeated, clearly amused. "That's what you're going with?"

You blushed. "Sorry, I'm just—" You glanced back toward the booth and froze. Melissa was already standing, looking your way, fire in her eyes like she'd just lost a bet and was gonna take it out on everyone.

"Thanks, um, for the drinks," you mumbled, barely able to hold eye contact any longer.

You returned to the booth, balancing the tray of drinks like you hadn't just been aggressively flirted with by a woman who looked like she rode a motorcycle and listened to Kehlani exclusively. Melissa was already seated again, but she wasn't smiling now.

You slid the drinks across the table with a cheerful, "Mission accomplished," only for Melissa to nod once and mutter a flat, "Thanks."

Your brow furrowed. "Everything okay?"

"Peachy," she replied, eyes on her glass, not on you.

Okay... odd.

Janine took her whiskey with a curious glance between the two of you but wisely didn't comment. Jacob was too busy grinning at his phone—presumably exchanging thirst texts with the hot bartender—to notice anything.

You tried again. "Melissa, seriously. You good?"

"Fine," she said, sharply enough to make even Barbara glance up.

Melissa took a long sip of her drink like she was trying to drown the part of herself that wanted to say something else. Your stomach twisted uncomfortably. You were used to her teasing, her warmth wrapped in sarcasm—but this? This was cold.

You looked down at your drink, confusion rolling around in your chest like a marble in a jar. Across the table, Melissa refused to meet your eyes. The ice in your glass wasn't the only thing melting fast.

Janine leaned over and stage-whispered, "Y'all fightin'? Should I order the group therapy karaoke package?"

Jacob perked up. "Is that a thing?"

Melissa stood suddenly, muttering, "I need a smoke," even though everyone knew she hadn't had a cigarette in almost nine years. She disappeared toward the front door like she couldn't get away fast enough.

You stared after her, dazed.

Barbara gave a sigh and sipped her wine like it pained her to be right all the time. "Child," she said under her breath, "she's jealous."

"What?" you blinked at her.

"Don't play innocent," Ava cut in, gesturing with her straw like it was a pointer. "You're out here accidentally picking up bartenders like it's nothing. Schemmenti's about to combust."

"I wasn't picking anyone up," you protested. "She was just being friendly!"

"Friendly with bedroom eyes," Janine muttered.

Jacob waved a hand. "This sounds like the exact plot of a musical. Love triangle, yearning, maybe a rain scene—anyway, let's go. We're up."

"Huh?"

"Karaoke, remember? Come on," he said, dragging you by the hand. "You owe me for bar backup."

You let him pull you up to the stage, your mind still in the booth with Melissa's unreadable expression and the sting of her voice in your ear. The lights above the karaoke screen flared to life, casting everything in a dreamy haze as the opening notes of a soulful, slow-jam duet filled the air.

You and Jacob harmonized better than expected—honestly, you were sort of killing it. But your eyes kept flicking toward the bar, where the sleeve-tattooed bartender was still very much watching you with a smirk that said she liked what she saw.

You offered her a brief, nervous smile—reflex more than anything—and she winked. Winked. You missed your next note completely.

Then, to your absolute horror, a server appeared at the edge of the stage holding a tray with a fresh tequila soda.

"This is for you," he said, pointing toward the bar. "From her."

You stared at the drink. Then at her. Then at the booth—where Melissa had returned just in time to watch the entire thing.

She looked like she was chewing glass.

"I need to talk to you. Now." Melissa grabbed your wrist and pulled you off the makeshift stage without a second thought.

You barely managed to pass your mic to Ava (who gleefully took over, belting the bridge with unnecessary commitment) before Melissa was ushering you away from the others and out onto the back patio, her steps quick and clipped.

The night air was cool, biting against your skin. You folded your arms, confused and flustered. "Melissa, what the hell?"

She turned on you, eyes flashing. "Are you seriously entertaining that bartender?"

"I'm not—she was just being nice!"

"That's not what nice looks like. That's what 'take me home and ruin me' looks like."

Your face went hot. "Melissa!"

"I mean it," she said, softer now, but no less intense. "Do you... like her?"

"No," you said honestly. "I don't even know her."

"Then why were you smiling like that?"

"Because I'm nice!" you said, exasperated. "Because I didn't want to be rude!"

Melissa paced two steps away, running a hand through her hair, clearly trying to keep it together. "I can't do this."

"Do what?"

"This," she gestured between you. "Watching you get hit on by people who don't know a damn thing about you while I sit there pretending it doesn't bother me."

You blinked. "Wait... so it does bother you?"

Melissa looked at you like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Of course it does. I—God. I've been half in love with you for a year. I've been flirting with you ever since you walked into my life and you never flirt back."

Your mouth dropped open. "I thought that was just your thing!"

"It's my thing with you," she said softly.

Your heart stopped, restarted, then thudded against your ribs so hard you swore she could hear it.

"What?"

Melissa stepped closer, voice quiet now. "I just thought you'd never see me that way. So I teased. I flirted. I stayed your friend. But watching her flirt with you? Watching you light up? I lost it."

"I only lit up," you said slowly, "because someone was finally looking at me the way I wanted you to."

Melissa blinked.

"You," you clarified, stepping in, daring to touch her arm. "I wanted it to be you."

It was her turn to stare. "Are you saying—?"

You kissed her. You didn't think about it, didn't plan it, just closed the space and kissed her like it had been bottled up for far too long.

When you pulled back, she looked like someone had just unplugged her and rebooted her from scratch.

"Oh," she said faintly. "Okay. So that happened."

"Yeah."

She smirked, wicked and stunned all at once. "Fucking finally."

Melissa was still grinning, her hands now on your waist like they belonged there — like they always had.

You could feel her breath on your lips, her forehead almost resting against yours, her voice lower than a whisper. "Wanna come home with me?"

Your pulse fluttered like a trapped bird. "Yeah. Yeah, I do."

She nodded once, sure and certain, and laced her fingers with yours like it was instinct. "Let's get outta here."

You didn't even look back as she led you toward the exit — but your friends, of course, noticed.

Ava leaned over to Janine and said, "Look at them. That's not just 'we kissed outside the bar' energy. That's 'we're skipping dessert because we are dessert' energy."

Barbara, who had been quietly sipping her drink, gave a knowing nod and murmured, "About time."

Jacob raised his whiskey like a toast. "May they finally stop eye-flirting across the lunch table."

Janine clutched her heart dramatically. "Do you think they're gonna tell us what happened?"

"No," Ava deadpanned. "But we'll hear about it anyway."

Outside, the cold air sobered the world just enough to make everything feel real — the slick sidewalk under your feet, the warm strength of Melissa's hand in yours, the stunned giddiness still pinballing through your chest.

She looked at you when the wind tugged your hair across your cheek, her eyes lingering like she was memorizing you. "You sure?"

You laughed softly. "I've been sure for a while. I just didn't think I got to have this."

Her smile was softer now, the edges folded with something fragile — reverent. "You do. You get me."

The drive to her place was quiet — not awkward, but full. Her hand stayed on your thigh the whole time, her thumb tracing lazy, grounding circles against your jeans.

At every red light, she looked over at you like she couldn't quite believe you were really there.

"Are we gonna talk about what just happened?" you asked, half-laughing.

Melissa smirked. "Later. Right now I just wanna hold you and maybe kiss you again a lot."

"That sounds manageable."

Inside her place — familiar but newly charged — she kicked off her boots, tossed her keys on the counter, and turned to face you like she'd been waiting her whole life to do it properly.

You stood in her living room, breath caught between anticipation and disbelief.

Then she stepped forward, took your face in both hands, and kissed you like she meant it. Like she always had. Like her teasing, her protectiveness, her jealousy — it had all been orbiting this moment.

When you pulled back to breathe, her forehead pressed to yours again, voice low and fond. "Still with me, sweetheart?"

You nodded, hands fisting in the fabric of her shirt. "I've always been with you."

Melissa kissed your temple, then your cheek, then your jaw — slow and certain. "You have no idea how long I've wanted this."

"You could've told me."

"You would've laughed."

"I might've kissed you anyway."

She smiled. "You're gonna be so smug about this."

"Oh, absolutely."

"Good," she said, mouth brushing yours again. "I like you mouthy."

You tilted your head, grinning up at her with that smug little glint in your eye — the one you knew made her crazy.

"Oh, baby," you purred, voice faux-innocent, "if you think I'm mouthy now, you should've seen me with the bartender."

Melissa froze mid-kiss.

You smirked, satisfied at the way her grip on your waist tightened instantly. "She said she liked my voice. Said we'd make a great duet."

"Did she now," Melissa said flatly, but her eyes had darkened, voice husky and low — and unmistakably possessive.

You gave a half shrug. "I mean, I was just being nice. Laughing at her jokes. Flipping my hair a little. You know, all those things you claim you don't notice me doing."

"Oh, I notice," she growled, walking you backward until you were trapped against the wall. "I notice every damn second."

You bit your lip, barely holding back a smile. "So... the jealous thing? Kinda hot, not gonna lie."

Melissa's hands were already on your thighs, her knee nudging between yours. "Yeah? You like getting me worked up?"

"I like the results."

She kissed you again — firmer this time, hands sure and possessive. "Then maybe next time you feel like flirting with someone else in front of me," she whispered against your mouth, "you think real hard about whether you want me pissed off or just plain worked up."

You exhaled a shaky breath, already dizzy from her attention. "Guess it depends on how fast you're gonna drag me out of there."

Melissa grinned, wicked and fond all at once. "Oh sweetheart," she murmured, nudging your nose with hers, "next time? I won't even wait until we're home."

Your breath hitched, a hot little tremor skating down your spine.

You barely managed to whisper, "Take me upstairs?"

Melissa's eyes flicked over you — hungry, reverent — and the shift in her was instantaneous. No more teasing. Just intent. Just heat.

She didn't answer with words.

Instead, she grabbed your hand and pulled you with her, the pace brisk and electric, her grip firm like she was afraid letting go would break the spell. You stumbled a little up the steps, laughing once under your breath — a giddy sound that died the second she turned and kissed you again halfway up the staircase, her mouth claiming yours like it was owed.

By the time you reached her bedroom, you were breathless, giggling between kisses and muttering things like "finally" and "took you long enough."

Melissa shut the door with a soft click and pressed you against it like she needed to feel you everywhere — her hands exploring now with more purpose, her mouth trailing along your jaw, down your throat.

You tilted your head, gave her access, your voice already ragged. "Still jealous?"

She hummed against your skin. "You have no idea."

You gasped when her hands found your waist again, sliding under your shirt, her touch hot and reverent and entirely hers. "Good," you breathed. "Because I'm not sharing."

"Neither am I."

Melissa's voice was a low rasp, more breath than words, as her fingers brushed the hem of your shirt again — not rushing, just slow, deliberate, reverent. She peeled it off of you inch by inch, like it was some ceremony she'd been dreaming of performing for years.

Her gaze swept over you, dark and possessive and awed. "Jesus," she murmured. "You're even better than I imagined."

You reached for her shirt, tugging at the edge until she obliged and slipped it over her head. And, God help you, the sight of her — toned, freckled, all curves and confidence — nearly knocked the breath from your lungs.

"Oh my God," you whispered.

She smirked, clearly enjoying the way your eyes devoured her. "What's that look for?"

"You," you said, dazed. "Just... you. I've had dreams less vivid than this."

She laughed — low and smug and fond — and stepped in close, brushing her lips along your cheek, your ear. "Wanna make those dreams come true, baby? You just have to ask."

You swallowed hard, fingers gripping the waistband of her jeans. "Melissa—please."

"Please what?" she asked, kissing the corner of your mouth, then lower, her hands skating down your sides. "Use your words, sweetheart. You know I like when you use that pretty mouth."

You whimpered, body arching toward her. "Please touch me. I need you to—God, just—"

That was all it took.

She pushed you gently back toward the bed, her eyes locked with yours as she followed, every motion patient, confident, hungry.

Your back hit the mattress with a soft thud, and you barely noticed — too caught in the heat of her, the way she loomed over you, confident and steady, like she already knew you were hers.

"Look at you," Melissa murmured, eyes raking over you. Her voice was rich, smoky. "So eager."

You couldn't help it — the way your legs parted for her, how your body just... gave. She hadn't even properly touched you yet, and you felt undone.

"Please," you whispered again, voice trembling, desperate now. "I can't—just touch me, Mel. I need you."

She took her time, like she had all the patience in the world and none of it at the same time — her fingers brushing the inside of your thigh, teasing you with maddening care. And when she finally slipped her fingers where you needed her most—

"Oh, baby," she exhaled, low and reverent. "You're soaked."

You moaned, flushed with the sheer vulnerability of it, the way she made you feel easy and pliant and known. Like she was reading your body like a favorite book she'd always wanted to finish.

"You've been like this for me all night, haven't you?" she murmured, kissing your neck, your shoulder. "All that time, pretending we were just friends..."

You arched into her touch, breath hitching. "I never wanted to be just friends."

"Good," she said, and her voice was something rough and tender all at once. "Because I'm never letting you go now."

Melissa kissed you again — deep and slow — as her hand moved with aching precision. She touched you like she already knew every way you liked to be unraveled, like she'd spent years imagining this exact moment and wasn't about to waste a second of it.

You clutched at her shoulders, gasping her name between broken pleas and breathless laughter, overwhelmed by how much you wanted her — how much she gave, how much she took.

She pressed her forehead to yours, her voice low and wrecked. "That's it, sweetheart. Let me take care of you."

You nodded through a choked moan, body arching, clinging to her like gravity didn't exist anymore. "God, Mel—please—I need—"

"I've got you," she whispered. "Always."

When it was too much, when you were shaking and breathless and clutching at her like she was the only thing holding you together, you managed to gasp out, "Let me touch you. Please. I want to—I need—"

The look she gave you — dark, affectionate, stunned — nearly undid you all over again.

"You want to take care of me now?" she asked, brushing your hair back from your flushed face.

You nodded, desperate and raw. "Let me make you feel the way you make me feel."

She kissed you like a promise and whispered, "Then come here, baby. I'm all yours." She shifted, hand still between your legs, but now she guided your fingers between hers. Her eyes fluttered shut as you were met with her warm, dripping center.

"Oh fuck. Mel, you feel-" you groan into her neck.

Your heart stuttered. She was still inside you — still warm, still close — and now you were inside her too, your bodies tangled, trembling, synced like a secret rhythm only the two of you knew.

Her moan was low and ragged in your ear as you moved together, lips brushing, foreheads pressed, breathing each other in. It was messy and tender and overwhelming — not just the heat, but the trust, the ache, the years of friendship turned into something breathtaking.

You kissed her messily, desperately — lips brushing, missing, catching again. There was no finesse left, no teasing edge, just need. Pure and simple and burning.

"God, Melissa," you breathed against her mouth. "You're so good — so good to me. So beautiful."

She whimpered at that, hips stuttering against yours, her own voice thick with want. "Say it again," she begged, breath hot in your ear. "Say my name like that."

You did, over and over, like it was a prayer you'd only just learned how to speak.

She was trembling now, her face buried in your neck, her words broken and reverent. "I've wanted this — you — for so long. You feel like everything I never let myself hope for."

You cupped her cheek, eyes glassy as you whispered, "Then take it. Take me."

Melissa met your gaze, something blazing and tender in hers. "Come with me," she said, forehead pressed to yours, her voice low and ragged. "Let me have all of you."

And then you were gone — together, lost in the same wave, clinging to each other like the world narrowed to just this: breath and touch and everything that had ever simmered beneath the surface finally breaking free.

When it was over, you collapsed into each other, tangled and shaking, her hand finding yours between your bodies and squeezing tight.

You stayed there like that — skin to skin, heart to heart — until your breaths slowed and your smiles returned.

Melissa kissed your temple, still a little dazed. "So... karaoke nights. We should do those more often."

You laughed, soft and breathless. "Only if they always end like this."

She grinned. "You've got yourself a deal, sweetheart."

[cherryrainn]

Adam taking off his mask around his s/o the first time and she goes absolutely berserk and tells him over and over how handsome he is

UNMASKED .

; pairing ; adam x fem! reader

; note ; he actually is so handsome i wanna kiss him

; warnings ; none

adam sat across from you, his mask concealing the features that lay beneath. out of nowhere, with a casual motion, he reached up and removed his mask, revealing his face for the first time.

you glanced at him for a moment, then quickly averted your eyes, not quite processing what had just happened. but as you looked back at him, it hit you like a bolt of lightning – adam's face was exposed, and it was, well, unexpectedly handsome.

"huh," you muttered, your jaw slightly slack as you took in the sight before you.

adam, oblivious to your turmoil, raised an eyebrow. "what? somethin' on my face?"

you shook your head, finding your voice as excitement bubbled up within you. "no, no, it's just... you're really, really handsome. like, why were you hiding this?"

a bemused smile played on adam's lips. "i wasn't hiding anything!"

but you couldn't let it go. "seriously, though. i mean, come on, you should've warned me!"

adam, caught off guard by your enthusiastic reaction, couldn't help but smirk. "well, babe, not everyone can handle the beauty of the first man," he teased, reveling in your unabashed admiration.

"you're not just the first man, you're the most handsome man!" you gushed, unable to contain your excitement. "i can't believe you've been hiding this from me. do you know how unfair that is?"

adam chuckled, enjoying your genuine enthusiasm. "i dunno... but hey, I'm not complaining about the compliments."

you continued to shower him with praise, repeating over and over how handsome your man was. the revelation had sparked an unexpected frenzy of affection, and adam couldn't help but revel in the newfound adoration.

[imjustdreamingig]

Jesus, what's a girl to do?

Part 1, Part 3, Part 4

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Summary: Robin meddles, Steve is clueless, and you're freaking out. So a regular day.

A/N: i genuinely have no idea where this came from, i legit posted the first part like 2 years ago. but I guess I want to start actually writing more? idk! we shall see. anyways, this fic stems from my (occasional) exhaustion to shy!reader and i'm basing this more on how horrifically i acted around the guys i would like even tho i consider myself an extrovert. enjoy whatever this is??? and lmk if u want a part 3! also this is not proof read so bear w me

warnings: sfw, swearing, uhhh i think that's it???

You were screwed. Absolutely, terribly, fucking screwed.

You were also very angry at your mother, giving her a glare every time she glanced your way at the dinner table. She merely gave you a wink in return, not understanding the true implications of her actions.

"So, Steve," your mom began as she cut a bit of the chicken on her plate, "you play basketball, right? Is that something you want to keep doing in university?" This time, you openly stared at your mom, trying to telepathically convey that you would literally kill her if she kept talking. You haven't made up your mind if you're joking or not.

Steve cleared his throat, "Yeah, I do, I'd say I'm pretty good at it, too. Wherever I end up going, I'll probably join their team for fun." He turned to you after taking a bite of his meal, smirking. "You like basketball too, right?"

You choked on your water, wiping your mouth with your sleeve. You looked at Steve properly for practically the first time that night, but your voice never wavered. "No, not really, why?"

He turned back to his food, amusement gracing his voice. "Well, I see you and Robin sitting together at every game, even the away ones, so I just assumed." If your face could sport a visible blush, you knew it would be a bright red, hot, mess.

"Well, I- I get dragged by Robin because she doesn't like sitting alone or going to random schools by herself like, half an hour away. Do you even watch the news? Girls by themselves are basically the perfect bait for random kidnappings and stuff, especially girls in high school, like I mean the statistics for-"

"Y/N" You're rambling is halted by your mother's voice. Steve is looking at you in bemusement. You are contemplating death. The situation is not looking good.

"Could you grab me some water from the kitchen, with ice," your mother said with a strained smile, holding out her glass. You grab it and push your chair out. "Sure, yeah," you replied. As you made your way to the kitchen, your mind replays the last hour of the events that have transpired, wondering what you could've possibly done in your past life to deserve this.

How could your own mother, the woman who birthed you, ask the hottest guy in your grade if he wanted to stay for dinner and not consult you first, all whilst knowing you had the most ridiculous crush on the guy.

Betrayed by the ones closest to you. This is probably how Julius Caesar felt.

After overcoming your initial shock, and lets face it, mortification of being paired up with Steve for your English project, you attempted to the best of your abilities to push down your feelings and remain professional in order to actually work on the project and make sure you got an A. Your grades would not suffer over a stupid crush on a stupid boy, that's where you drew the line. Unfortunately, this plan was not working out so well.

It was actually failing, horrifically at that.

It had been about a month since the semester started and the project had been assigned—a complex analysis of a classic book of your choice and how that particular novel has inspired the creation of others and advanced its genre. You had to write a collaborative essay to hand in to your teacher, as well as create an interactive presentation for your classmates explaining your chosen novel.

This was all due at the end of the semester and you'd be given no in class time to work on it since you had an ample amount time to work on it outside of school. It would also replace the need for a final exam, which was great news. When your teacher had explained the project, you were ecstatic, knowing exactly what book you wanted to do: Pride and Prejudice.

Then, you remembered who you had to do the project with, this huge, daunting, complex, project, where you would need to interact with your partner in close proximity for an extended period of time. You felt faint.

Steve, in his defence, had tried to approach you on multiple occasions to try and figure out when you two should meet to try and start the project. But, obviously, whenever you saw so much as a glimpse of him in the hallway, you would make yourself scarce.

The only time he would actually be able to talk to you was in your shared English class. Robin was beginning to go crazy at your increasingly outlandish excuses as to why you couldn't meet up with Steve after school in order to work on your project.

"Oh sorry, my mom needs my help on some stuff tonight."

"I have to take my brother to soccer practice."

"I can't today, I have an eye doctor appointment."

"My dog actually needs to go to the vet, she's sick, sorry."

"My family and I are going on a road trip this weekend, so I'm not free."

"My sister broke her leg uh— skiing, and she needs help writing stuff for school."

"Funny story, Robin has a crazy ex thats trying to get her to meet up with him again, and I have to help her slash their tires and like, do girl stuff, it's personal, so I'm not free, maybe next week though?"

That last excuse is what caused Robin to snap. She knew that Steve knew that you were making shit up, Robin has never even been in a relationship, let alone have an ex. Also, you didn't even have a sister, what gives!

You also had no clue exactly how close the pair had gotten due to working together at the video store and that she'd told Steve she was into girls. Therefore, like the great best friend she was, Robin decided it was time she intervened, for everyones sake really, but mostly yours.

"God," you sighed, "I never thought I would be so into arms, like not the huge, bulging one, you know? All veiny and red, that just scares me, hello, his are just ones that are like slightly defined, but have a very obvious outline of muscle, like I can tell he's strong, and fuck, his biceps, is it bad that I want to like, bite them? Because every time I look and him and he's fixing his hair I just keep getting this urge to—wait where are you going? Robin? Ok, OK! I'll stop, I promise! Come back!"

If Robin had to hear another anecdote about how you wanted to bite his arms, she was going to puke.

Your continuous blabbering about how good Steve's hair looked or how good those jeans looked on him and your inability to have one proper conversation with him or stay in the same room as him for longer than two minutes was making her go insane. She couldn't take it anymore.

So, Robin devised a plan, which one day she was sure you would thank her for—hopefully.

First, she inconspicuously made sure that you had nothing planned for Thursday night, already knowing you were free but wanting to double check that no random stuff had come up.

Then, she called your mom, who absolutely adored Robin. She told her about your situation and how if she did nothing, your infatuation for Steve was literally going to give her an aneurysm. Robin would tell you that she wanted to hang out Thursday night so you would get ready, but instead of her showing up, it would be Steve.

Not surprisingly, your mom agreed to Robin's crazy plan. She thought it was about time you got a boyfriend. You had already talked about Steve so much to her anyways, but any time she would tell you to just try talking to the guy, you vehemently refused.

"Mom, are you insane, I'm not going to do that," you scoffed as if literally just having a conversation with another person was the most insane idea in the world.

"Mija, how else are you supposed to get to know people if you can't speak to them? Besides, you never seem to have a problem talking back to me whenever we have an argument," you mom shrugged as she continued folding the laundry you were helping her with.

"Oh come on," you sighed exasperatedly, "that's not the same thing and you know it."

"I'm just saying, by the looks of it, I don't think I'll be a grandmother."

"Mom, what, hello!?"

Getting Steve to show up at your house was easier than Robin thought. She conveniently told him right before the beginning of their shift on Thursday that you'd told Robin that they should all get together at your house to finally get started on the project. Robin smiled a bit wider than necessary when Steve enthusiastic agreed to go.

When Robin gave Steve your address and told him that she would be over a little later because she left some stuff at her house, that no, she didn't need a ride and that no, she was fine walking, Steve was none the wiser to her actual plan.

As Robin saw Steve pull out of her driveway and making his way to your house, she gave herself a mental pat on the back and started thinking about what movie she should watch after dinner, knowing that the school day tomorrow would be very entertaining.

When Steve rang your doorbell, he was still clueless about the real intentions of Robin's plan, but when you opened the door and he saw your eyes go wide and your mouth drop slightly open, almost as if you weren't expecting to see him, something clicked in his head.

This was going to be fun.

[sainteclectic]

I don't mean to be hard on a fandom that's largely teenagers. you can not like ships, I don't ship anything romanticstyle BUT. there's a difference between being personally uncomfortable and treating your discomfort as a moral judgement of others. it's also just funny how different author avatars are treated in mcyt fandoms vs this one

anyways I think everyone in the cccc fandom should get into at least one smp. perhaps then you will understand the difference between the actual creator and the abstract representation of a creator within a fictional narrative

[luveline]

Hey Jade! I was wondering if you could do some Derek Morgan comfort?! Maybe reader who deals with headaches/migraines?

Hope you're having a nice day/night!!💛

thanks lovely, you too!

You're pinching the bridge of your nose pointlessly when Derek and Spencer arrive that morning. 

“D'you guys do a coffee run?” you ask, surprised to see them come in at the same time. 

“We did!” Spencer says, putting a paper cup down in front of you. “I got you a donut, too.” 

“Thanks, honey,” you say, rubbing the hot spot between your brows to no results. Spencer smiles, pleased, and sits at his desk with the bag of donuts to start a napkin dissemination. 

You wrap your hand around the coffee and let it warm your fingers. 

“You okay?” Derek asks. His brows are pinched upwards at the starts but otherwise furrowed. “You don't look happy.” 

“I have a headache,” you admit. Talking is twice as hard with the pain pulsing behind your eyes; you slur. 

“What?” 

What does he mean, what? You look up from the desk in confusion, but he isn't confused like you, he's borderline upset. “It's not that bad,” you say. 

“It looks pretty bad where I'm standing.” 

Derek grabs the back of your chair and turns you toward him, his expression a mirror of your own discontent. He's wearing a short-sleeved shirt that in any other circumstance would draw your attention, and the badge clipped to his shirt is wonky. 

You're in pain, but you like him. You care about him in the weird way that makes you want to make him breakfast and tie his shoelaces. He is not a man that needs coddling, but you can't restrain yourself, reaching for his pocket to right his badge. 

He laughs quietly. “You're squinting.” 

“Pain's in my eyes.” 

“Sweetheart.” He takes your face in one hand and turns it down, away from the harsh office lights. “You're impossible to understand.” 

You laugh but wince when a flame of pain sparks anew. “I think it's travelling. It's in my brain.” 

“That's your second best feature.” 

“Don't make me laugh,” you plead. 

Morgan gives your cheek a rub with his thumb before pulling away. He takes the few steps to his desk and opens the drawer, pulling out a familiar pair of sleek black Ray-ban shades. “Here. Try these on for size,” he says, opening the arms wide. 

You close your eyes, but there's no need. Derek's extremely careful pushing them over your ears and up your nose. 

“Too sunny in here?” Kate asks, bemused as she skirts past with her mug of tea, her baby bump nudging the back of your chair. 

“Poor girl's not feeling good,” Derek answers for you. 

“Poor girl thought you felt sorry for her,” you say, staring at him through the grey lense of his shades. They're immediately helpful. You won't tell him that, though. 

“I pity anybody stupid enough to feel sorry for you, sweetheart.” He hesitates for no more than a second, dropping his hand onto the stretch of your shoulder blade gently. “You take anything for it? Aspirin?” 

“I did,” —your voice wobbles of its own accord, the instability that comes with a pain that has no clear end in sight— “but it hasn't kicked in yet.” 

He rubs your back, pressing his cheek briefly to your forehead in a side-armed hug. “Let me get you a glass of water.” 

“Morgan?” you ask, catching his arm. He waits. “Kiss it better?” 

You say it because you know he'll crack a smile. It's not nice seeing him so worried, and your headache genuinely feels a little better when he laughs. “Don't start with me. I'll do it. You know I will, beautiful.” 

You sink back into your seat and push his sunglasses up. “I'll be here.” 

He leaves to get you a glass of water. While you're waiting, Spencer passes you your donut, which you pick apart and chew on feebly. Distracted, a warm, chaste kiss is pressed to your cheek as a familiar hand places a glass of water in front of you. 

Derek wiggles his eyebrows at you, asking, “Better?” 

“I'm telling Penelope.” You wince as you turn on your monitor. “In a bit. Just as soon as this screen gets less bright.” 

[eveningepiphany]

pirates gold, H.S series part 4

series masterlist

my masterlist<3

summary: another day on the ship with your captor turns into him teaching you a thing or two about the pirate life. but as controversy’s of your past come up, somehow the captain and the princess wind up back in his bed- with anything but sleep on their minds.

warnings: mentions of violence, talk of unconsensual past experiences (not descriptive!) swearing, SMUT: f!rec oral and fingering, m!rec oral with slight edging, p in v penetration, dirty talk, lots of sex, anyways oopsie enjoy

a/n: i genuinely can’t believe how long this took to write and publish. thank you all for your patience, i like to think the sex they have makes the three million year wait worth it. can’t wait to hear what you all think<3

———

Nothing can prepare a person for realising they don't know themselves as well as they thought.

There's a mixture of disappointment, shame, dread. But sometimes, deep down—despite not ever admitting it to oneself— there's can be an element of excitement.

Not always, but occasionally. There’s that moment of wonder, who really am i?

It’s a bewildering spiral of good and bad feelings, you hardly know left from right, or up from down.

Rarely did you do things for yourself purely for the sake of it. Back at home there was someone for everything, not only to do things for you, but to make sure you weren't stepping out of line.

You couldn’t experiment. No finding out who you are deep down. There was never the chance for self discovery.

Now, you’ve landed in a situation where somehow you’re supposed to be more trapped. Yet you don’t think you’ve ever been more free.

No more straight posture at the dining tables of the banquet hall, being left to sit with a cautious mouth for hours upon hours. Engage in colourless and dull conversation while you imagined freedom.

Funny to think of it now… the picture in your head. Neatly pulled back hair. A spotless dress without a hunch of what was past the waters you stared out at every night. It was like trying to explain what something tasted like, yet having never tasted it yourself.

You knew nothing of freedom.

Not until you felt the sea nearly swallow you, the wind whip your hair a mess, the heart in your chest pounding as you ran out of Sintir— a place you’d only ever seen on a map.

Indulging in late night caressing with a pirate, something that selfishly bled into early morning, in his own bed. Hands on bare skin, hands in hair, hands wherever they could feasibly touch without crossing some sort of invisible line. Definitely not something that would’ve flown back in Kelna.

Yet that is exactly what you did a few days ago, and your head has been a complete mess since. After you stooped as low as to beg the Captain of this very ship to stay with you, he did just that. For how long, you dont even know. Long enough a crew mate of his was rapping his fist upon the locked door, calling out in bemused annoyance.

“You're either so hungover you cant move or tied up in there by our supposed-to-be prisoner.”

The heave of his chest underneath your head is ingrained into your memory. A strong huff, perhaps annoyed, but something you hope was from sadness. A regret for having to leave at any point, for not being able to stay forever.

"Free of any ties, Tanner. Just... tired." He calls back, tone rather harsh.

You'd moved yourself off him, "I'm embarrassed i didnt think to do such a thing."

The quip lacked all venom it used to, and you scolded yourself internally. You were screwed.

---

The days since were as bipolar as the weather at sea. You craved him, his touch, his voice of silk. It was like a drug. But you knew better for yourself.

After the hangover wore off, and the reality of what you had done set in. You forced distance between the two of you. He saw it coming, even he played along with it.

You two never stopped the game. You just went from a chess piece on his board to being the person opposite him.

Meant to be playing to win.

Up on deck, now the sun has come back out, everyone is saying the good weather is to return from now. Unsure whether to trust it— like many other things on this ship. You keep your gaze trained on the distance, where the waves ripple and swell. There is still a gusty wind, but the sun is hot on your skin.

Slowly, you chew on the fish roll you made in the kitchen with Zayn. He is a gifted cook, you on the other hand, are far from it. Used to it ‘being done for you’ he'd scorned playfully.

He'd shown you a few things this past week, stuff you feel envigored learning about. Knowing how to live independently for yourself is freeing, just as you knew it would be.

Wiping the crumbs off the sides of your lips with the back of your hand, you wonder how you are to go back to living the way you used to.

Before you could spiral into that rabbit hole, someone interrupts.

"Y/N." Harry said, his tone unreadable.

Tearing your gaze from the far horizon, your eyes met his.

The purple silk top covering him today has a typical amount of ruffles for a fashion heavy pirate. He looks tragically good in purple.

"Yes, Captain." You kept your own voice level.

The past week your walls have gone back up, albeit, haphazardly. You still struggled to stay on your side of the bed. And the few brief moments the connection between the two of you has festered in the air, and you’ve allowed it to linger.

Or better said, the moments you didn’t have the strength to resist it.

Like brushing past him in the kitchen yesterday, his hand coming to your waist as you attempt to squeeze through the gap. He wasn’t holding you, but you stopped dead in your tracks.

For but a second you both sucked a breath in. No longer than that, and then you cleared your throat and pushed past him.

Either way, he's noticed it, obviously. Feeling like he should regret the night after taking you into Sintir. But he selfishly cant.

He can’t regret it when the sensation of your skin is burnt into the pads of his fingers. No part of him is strong enough to forget the way your body felt pressed against him, leg thrown over his waist and curled into his chest.

Yet, despite all of that, back to the game you both went, head first. Your bickering was more contained, but his title of mean pirate was attempted to be restored in your mind.

Maybe he couldn’t forget the imprint of your skin against his, but he did love a good game.

Who was he not to feed into that?

A chuckle rumbles in his chest, “Captain, aye? We back to that are we. Two can play at this game Princess.”

The name makes your stomach stir, a small punch of adrenaline tingling in your limbs. How far can you push this before someone gets hurt?

He leans down to you, the blouse is loose on him and falls at the front. He’s eye level with you but your gaze locks onto the view of his chiseled chest between swirls of purple fabric, the tattoos you can vividly remember tracing with your fingers.

His tan skin is glistening between his pecs… a light sweat over him, making your mouth dry.

Suddenly his hand lifts your chin, “my eyes are up here, dove.”

“Don’t be disgusting.” You scoff, despite being caught in the act.

“What is it you want. Why are you pestering me?”

“Such a princess thing t’say, that im bothering you. You’re on my ship, need I remind you.” His fingers tap your cheek with a smirk.

“Need I remind you, that’s not to any choice of my own.” Your voice is indignant, and you pull your chin from his grasp, turning your face away with a scowl.

He’s pressing your buttons, winding you up exactly the way he knows how.

“Well, I haven’t heard much about how deeply y’long to be back home.”

It works a charm, because you’re quick to snap back at him.

“That is none of your business. And frankly I would rather keep that matter to myself than share it with the people who are responsible for kidnapping me.”

He loves hearing your accent when you argue like that, the pompous royal tone returning briefly to you. So stuck up, said always like a challenge.

Letting out a breathy laugh, his hands suddenly coming to under your arms. He hoists you off the floor like you’re but a parcel of feathers, standing you upright.

“Won’t you leave me be!” The raise in your voice causes a few crew to turn their head at the scene.

“‘M trying to make y’useful ‘round here.” He chides, his hand snakes down to one of your wrists, a smirk pulling at his lips.

The feeling takes you back to the first day on the ship merely weeks ago, when that was the only way you got around.

His hand wrapped around the rope tied around them.

You think back to when you threw yourself off the ship, When he swam out to retrieve you, when his hips pinned you to hull of the ship and he cut the ties free.

“Instead of jus’ leeching our supplies,” his voice draws your attention away from the tan hand wrapped around your wrist. “And laying around not carrying y’weight.”

“Maybe you can just starve me then. That way I won’t be taking away from your precious supplies.”

“So much sass on y’today,” The smirk that comes across his face is devilish, walking you over to the bass of a mast, “c’mere”

He pulls you infront of him, his chest to your back. Forcing himself not to take any notice to your figure, the white blouse covering your top half and the black fitted pants that are tight around your bottom.

“See this rope, how it’s worn?”

Your head turns over your shoulder to catch his eyes, and your heart lurches in your chest as you clock how close his face suddenly is to you. The green in his eyes is captivating in sunlight. With his captivating eyes burning into you, his mouth is still holding a smirk.

You give a swift, forced nod, but you’re not even looking. You’re pretty sure you haven’t even blinked.

This causes a laugh to bubble from his chest, suddenly he’s leaning in.

What the fuck?

Your brain is racing as his body leans towards you, and face is inching closer.

There is no way he’s about to kiss you.

Suddenly he’s placing something in your hands, and his body is going back to its original stance.

He was handing you the rope.

Your cheeks feel like they’re on fire, and he’s surely seen the flush that’s spread across it. It’s making you overheat, and your lungs are rising up and down in your chest ten times as fast compared to just five minutes ago.

What is wrong with me?

You snap your gaze down, hoping that your hair falls enough to cover your flaming cheeks.

“It’s…” your voice falters— great— you’re so embarrassed right now.

“Princess, has a cat got your tongue?” He chides with sarcasm.

“It’s frayed, feels weak, yes.” You nod hastily.

“Good girl,” he watches you purse your lips at his silky praise, and focuses on purely the amusement riling you up stirs in him. Not any of the other emotions that arise.

“Y’gonna help me replace it.”

“Like hell i am. Do you want your ship to fall apart?” You scowl, there is no way you can do that without something going terribly wrong.

“That’s why I’m teaching you, y’could do with a bit of hands-on work.”

Your eyes trail up to what the rope connects to, it’s holding down a part of the sail, helping to pull it taut.

“Taking this off won’t do much since we aren’t on too rough of waters, so it’s a good time t’change it.”

He steps a few feet away from you and retrieves a wad of fresh intact rope. A lot of it too, metres upon metres.

Your body remembers the sensation of it wrapped around your hands and your feet with a slight shiver.

“Firstly, we’re gonna untie and remove the old one.”

“Harry, I don’t know what im doing.” You whine, wishing to be anywhere but here, immediately frustrated.

He tuts, dropping the pile of new rope down next you both, “Zayn did tell me y’were bad at this.”

“Excuse you?” You scoff, shocked at his audacity. Slightly offended.

He steps back behind you, ushering you forward so you’re close to the metal bar that the worn tie is wrapped around.

“Told me y’don’t like being bad at things. Don’t like not knowing how to do stuff.” His voice is smug, like that is a fatal flaw.

“I—“ you’re so annoyed right now.

“I am not!”

“Y’defensiveness only proves m’point.”

You don’t even know what to say to him right now. Truthfully— ego aside— you don’t know if that’s how you get. You have gone laps around the sun without knowing this kind of stuff about yourself.

In defiance, you don’t admit this to Harry. But you stay silent as his hands reach for the knot in front of you.

“Now, princess. Look at this.”

“I’m looking.” You huff.

“Where do you think we’re gonna start untying this, what kind of knot do y’think this is?”

“I have half a clue of what kind of knot this is, Captain.”

“This is a water bowline, angel.” The words mean little to you, but your stomach does a weird squeeze at his confident words, the way his accent makes the word angel sound.

“I’m going to guess this loose end here,” Your right hand extends out, tugging at the few inches of rope that extends out the middle of the knot, “has something to do with untying it.”

He smiles at the way you’re starting to soften at the idea of what’s happening. Yes, you’re still standing tense and your tone is still veering on irate. But you’re indulging, playing along at the least.

A small sense of pride bubbles through him, “Smart girl, it does.”

“You’ll see these knots everywhere on the ship, in many different forms. They’re nice and secure, can take a lot of tension but aren’t hard to tie or untie.”

“This here,” his fingers trace a loop in the top of the knot, “is what you’re gonna pull on first.”

You grab it and he brings his hand to your waist. The action makes you flush as you try and focus.

“Fold it forward, this is gonna loosen it against the standin’ end of the rope.”

You don’t know what that means, but you pull the part he’s directing you to towards yourself, applying a bit more pressure when you see it needs it.

He hums in approval, and your lips purse together, “Now that loose end, feed it out of the wrap in the middle there.”

You do that, and he reaches forward to add tension on the upper section of the rope as you now use both hands to untie the rest of the knot— unhooking it.

“Tha’s it. Now we can replace it, and I’ll show you how to tie the knot.” He takes the old rope and figure 8’s it around a metal hold, so it’s still holding the sail.

He sees your curious eyes at his action, and explains, “We could cut it, but just incase it’s better to have it handy until y’know you’re ready to replace it.”

You nod, and he grabs the fresh rope and sets it up for you.

Grabbing your hands, he walks you through the process first himself, then he unties it to make you do it.

You curse for the first few minutes as you try to tie it properly, but once he guides you again, you’re staring at the tied knot.

“There you go, look at that princess. Jus’ tied ya first water bowline.” He comments proudly, and you can’t help but smile.

“Thanks…” you feel good, accomplished.

“I’m gonna secure it in the eyelet up there now, y’stay down here.”

He leaves you down there. All while you watch him bring the sail in, so he can reach it from the mast. Rope tied to his belt loop, he unties the old one and lets it drop.

You’d stepped back so it could fall without nearly taking you out by the head. Staring with hardly enough shame as Harry worked his fingers to create a new knot through the eyelet of the sail.

His brow furrowed in concentration, unbothered by the metres between him and the deck of the ship as he balanced entirely unsuspended.

His strong thighs are tensed as he holds himself stable, black pants look good on him.

He cut the excess rope off with a dagger and climbed down with ease. Unbelievable how good he can look doing something like that.

Once he’s back down, he walks over to where you stood and admires the new rope alongside you. You aim to pretend you hadn’t been checking him out the whole time.

Nudging you with his shoulder, “And who said princesses couldn’t learn pirate things.”

“I’ve learnt plenty of pirate things.” You state.

“So, what are you, more princess or pirate then, dove?”

With a frown your eyes slant to him, trying to search in his gaze the motive behind the question. So many tricks are up his sleeve, he never fails to remind you that.

“I’ll leave that up to you.”

His eyes scan your face, flickering over you. A tick of silence, and then he curtly nods, “Well, they say practice makes perfect, so don’t think we’re done yet.”

He intends on spending this afternoon with you, regardless of what other things he should be doing.

“I thought it was my turn to teach you something.”

“What? Like how to manage my table manners?”

You can only roll your eyes.

And to be fair, you did plenty of that as the blue sky bled into sunset.

“No, you dolt. If you picked up that fork first they’d barrate you on the spot.”

“Whatever,” he’d sighed, “I find getting your hands dirty with a good meal is the only way to eat something.”

The evil smirk on his face as he’d said that was all telling.

The two of you did both lots of thinking and lots of talking. Lapsing between periods of comfortable silence and discussion.

A part of you wondered if this was his tactic to pry your guard back down. You hated yourself for letting it work, the fact you somewhat allowed him into the works of your brain again.

After finishing the last rope he wanted to replace, you’d stretched out your shoulders.

"Do y'feel accomplished?" His own arms reaching above his head.

"I feel productive, which is rare that happens.”

He starts walking in the direction towards the communal quarters, in presumption that you'd follow.

You do just that, wasting no time matching his pace.

"Thanks. For showing me." The words are hard to push pass your lips, they're clunky and almost shy. But they pack the same level of meaning.

He stops the few steps in front of you, right next to the wall of the communal quarters. He turns around so his full front is facing you. The sun has dipped below the horizon of the sea, the warm golden hour glow sinking with it.

Now it's lingering in that space of inbetween, where it’s not quite dark, but not light enough to class as sunset still.

You can almost relate.

His green eyes have pinned you to a stop as well, your hands falling to the front of your white blouse. The wind is toying with the loose material, gently, your fingers ring the ruffled bottom that cuts off midway down your ribcage.

He's been forcing himself to hold his eyes strictly to your face, not anywhere near the sweetheart neckline thats dipping to show the swell of your chest.

Can’t believe I bought that for her and thought I’d be able to not stare, he thinks internally.

"You dont have t'thank me." He answers truthfully. Despite the fact he may have mocked your lack of gratitude he wholly believes you did him a favour today.

"You showed me how to do something. Something useful, and practical." You remark cautiously, watching your tone doesn't give away too much sentiment, "I cant tell you the last time i've had that."

"Y'can read right?" he chuckles, stepping forward.

"I went to school Harry."

His eyes rolled playfully, finally breaking off you, making you feel like you can suddenly inhale again.

"What do they even teach you there."

"Table manners, exactly the knowledge I so kindly imparted on you earlier." you dryly joked, despite it being entirely true.

"How to talk, how to act, what to do, what not to do." You sigh as you think back on it, walking to go lean against the wall.

"Ooo” he hums, intrugied, "what not to do?"

You prattle off the first ones that come to mind, "Dont get caught lying, it brings dishonour. Dont curse, it displays immaturity and impurity,” a pause, and you scoff— one drilled into any royal in the court, “dont engage in any premarital relations."

His pupils are the only part of him that reacts at the mention of the third rule you listed, they dilate and almost shake with the intensity he’s staring at you with.

A shrug of your shoulders, "That one gets surpassed all the time though.”

At your words, his brows twitch, he thinks you're talking about yourself. The look that passes over his face is unmissable. You can't pinpoint the exact emotion, and honestly, neither can he.

You are old enough to make your own decisions, he reasons. Old enough to decide if you want to...

His brain crafts a million different scenarios. They flash past faster than he can keep up with. Lingering heavily on whether or not it was consensual.

You had spoken about how men in Kelna acted around you. Whispering disgusting things, touching you. He thinks they’d be people similar to Garret, dirtbags who would’ve forced anything if they wanted it bad enough. The thought makes him livid, to his very bones.

"You look worried." You comment ambiguously, toying dangerously with the curiosity surrounding his reaction.

When he doesn’t reply, you take it a step further,

"Does my value decrease if i cant be labelled as a pure, untouched little angel?" Your tone is sarcastic, but the second the words fall from your mouth, he reacts.

His whole body tenses where he stands, and he steps closer to you.

"Y/N." A stern but bordering protective voice comes from him, a way he’s not spoken before. "Do not ever talk ‘bout yourself like that on this ship, or I swear..."

His throat tightens with anger, voice faltering and eyes fluttering with tension. A hand grabs the wall you're standing near. Knuckles white as his fingers dig into it, "I swear t’god, it makes me want to break something."

"If somethin’ happened to you in that fucking ring of psychotic royals—” He spits it out like the thought disgusted him, “You're a human being, not a slab of meat."

It’s not often he feels the need to genuinely punch something. Someone. But right now anyone that has ever done something to you is on his immediate black list.

In the back of his brain, he recognises that in your eyes he’s equally a bad person for what he’s done to you. He stands here a hypocrite.

Furious at anyone whose ever hurt you, yet being the very person that’s holding you somewhere against your will.

The tension rolls around in your stomach, almost making it ache with the sudden anxiety. You’re so utterly confused with how to feel in this situation you force your mouth to move,

"For the record, i was not talking about myself." The clarification comes out meek despite trying to keep your tone unbothered.

He doesn’t attempt to hide his feelings, face contorted into a sneer, “Wouldn't put it past those pigs."

“No one did that to me.” You amend again, this time, your own tone stern.

“Alright Y/N, what did they fucking do to you then?” His question forces you relive every unwanted advance you’ve had to uncomfortably sit through.

Every ‘accidental’ hand placement, every provocative comment directed to you, every situation that made bile from your stomach rise into your throat.

Somehow, you find it in you to argue back, even though you don’t believe Kelna is even a shred better than a ship of pirates, "Its not like im safe in your world either."

It’s clear this is his tipping point.

The heart in his chest clenches and his body is moving before he can register it.

Because suddenly, the space surrounding you is being entirely filled, he grabs you with his hands. There’s not a sliver of violence in it at all, but it does make you jump.

Regardless, he sinks his hands into your hair. He can’t help it, curling them gently into the soft strands at the nape of your neck.

Despite how pissed he is, his touch is nothing but gentle.

It causes you to shudder, unsure if it’s out of unease or somehow a little bit of pleasure— the feeling his ringed fingers graze across the nerves that typically lay behind your hair untouched.

They ping around in your muddled brain, electromagnetic signals making you light headed. It’s overwhelming, how did this even happen?

Even with the soft touch of his fingers, the look behind his hard gaze makes your skin prickle with goosebumps.

“I…” you try to make words, yet nothing comes out. Hands against skin are all you can make sense of.

It’s tangible, they’re there. If your strip everything else away, it’s just someone holding you.

Someone touching you softly. Someone who you—deep down, no matter how hard you try to feel otherwise—are okay with touching you.

You can swallow that pill. If only you could make it that simple, of course.

“Harry.”

One thing he’s learnt since having you around is that he can’t handle the way his name sounds when it comes out of your mouth.

Especially not with that whined tone. When it falls from your lips like a plea.

He can’t seem to find the words either. Your feet are planted between his and your own hands are braced on his hips.

“Dove, y’can’t keep bloody doin’ this to me.”

“I’m not doing anything to you,” his hands slide to your face, they cradle your cheeks, “Harry im just standing here. I’m telling you the truth.”

His face feels so close to yours, you swear you can feel the breath that passes through his lips meet your own.

Intimate almost, if you think about it hard enough.

“I don’t care about that, I care about you.”

“You can’t do this to me!” You whine, pushing his hands away, stumbling back. Breaking that connection by force if you have to.

You don’t remember how you ended up like this, with your blood pulsing in your ears and your chest heaving so hard your ribs could break.

Exasperated, “I am fine! I am okay!”

He is at a loss for words. You are so complex, so intricate. His curiosity for you deepens, even when he thinks it can’t anymore.

“I do not need any kind of pity, there is nothing to pity!”

“They made you not trust people.” He says with disgust.

You cant believe he can say that when he literally kidnapped you. And although he’s right to a degree, this experience hasn’t been great for your trust issues either.

“This world made me not trust people.” You gesture out to the ship around you, in sheer disbelief, “I’m standing on a fucking boat in the middle of nowhere because nothing is okay!”

Yelling against the wind, “Because the only thing people care about is themselves, and what they can gain from exploiting others.”

“I am a fucking object to everyone I’ve ever met.”

A part of his heart cracks hearing this, he has to physically restrain himself from stepping closer to you.

Space, give her space, his brain urges him— despite his physical body begging to do the opposite.

“Y/N,” his voice attempts to stay level. He watches your reaction.

Like a timid yet fired up animal, your hair is being thrown by the wind, pupils wild.

“There’s nothin’ i can say that will justify any of this. I know tha’.”

“There’s not.” You snapped, eyes threatening an emotion you can’t imagine letting out around him.

Crying is another thing frowned upon in the court, not unless the circumstance is so dire it warrants it.

You think for a second that you’re going to have the strength to pull yourself together, but suddenly, a wet and salty tear slips past your waterline.

The humiliation inside you that followed the single tear that just slid down your cheek would be enough to crush a grown man.

You knew he’d seen it, your face is flaming with embarrassment.

“This— this conversation is over.” You curtly reply, voice worn as you force out a tone reserved for Kelna.

The way you’re speaking to him like an associate causes him to move, “Y/N, stop—“

But your feet are suddenly moving, “Do not follow me.”

The warning is clear, he hesitates into a stop. Debating what to do.

Give you space or force you to stay in his company?

The conflicting thoughts on his face are clear.

Yet he swallows, and nods.

Then you turn around and walk away.

———

He forced himself to wait an hour. An excruciatingly long one.

After he watched you walk away, he went into where his crewmates were. Predicatably, they were sharing pints and throwing darts. The room was warmly lit, filled with chatter that echoed inside the dark wooden walls. A few of the boys asked where you were as Harry passed them. He could only lie.

“Tired after working.” Was his chosen reply, hoping now was the time more than ever that the crew just took his word for something.

“Probably the hardest she’s ever worked aye?” Tanner drunkenly joked to him, patting his back and throwing another sip of beer back.

Harry had to refrain from shooting him a look. Despite it being something he’d likely say himself, right at that moment, all he felt was worry for you. Even a shred of defensiveness, but that’s a feeling he has to shove down for the moment.

Making way to the cupboards that held their fair share of staple pirate beverages, he pulled a metal flask out and leaned against the bar top.

He forced himself to act as though he was unbothered, and that he was interested in the games of darts unfolding.

However his brain was heavily preoccupied,

Is she okay? Did I do the right thing letting her have time to herself? Is she mad at me?

Questions ran on loop, running a hand through his curls he struggled to reason with himself.

A hand was placed on his back, that interrupted his spiralling thoughts as he sipped at the flask of whiskey. A short sideways glance revealed his blonde haired crew mate.

“Y’seem off.” He quietly remarked.

Niall, often unserious, was surprisingly good at knowing when something was up. And even better at handling it discretely.

Due to that, Harry let out a short sigh through his nose before admitting a shred of truth.

“May have struck a cord with her.”

“Go too far with something, mate?” He asks quietly, curiously.

“No,” he frowns, unsure if he’s insinuating something else, he quickly clarifys, “was talking about the courts, got her upset.”

Niall’s blue eyes dart to meet his captains. Allowing a curt nod before looking back out to their crewmates that are fake tackling eachother over a stolen swig of beer.

“Y’checked on her yet?”

“Givin’ her space. She’s not too happy w’me at the minute.”

He lets out a light snort, “Good choice. Unless she’s thrown ‘erself off the ship, then t’was a bad one.”

“Ha-ha.” He fake laughs and rolls his eyes at Niall, taking a moment to swallow down the anxiety that’s built in his throat.

He can’t avoid stressing about you.

After a few ticks of silence, Niall clears his throat,

“Jus’ careful wit her. For both your sakes.”

He adds on with a pat on the back, “here if you need cap. It’ll be alright.”

Anyone else he would’ve been annoyed for saying that, but Niall is probably wiser than Harry himself. So his advice is taken with gratitude.

“Thanks mate. I’ll be careful.”

After another half hour, he’d had enough of the ill feeling that stirred in his stomach.

He left the room to find himself outside in the now cold but still windy air. It took a second for his gaze to adjust to the darkness, immediately scanning the deck around him for you.

Without any sight of you, he checks all the places he can think you’d be. His room, the cells, the kitchen.

His heart doubles in pace every time you’re not in a place he thought.

Coming out of the kitchen, his quickened pace. Starting to walk along the deck that leads him along the perimeter of the boat.

As he gets closer to the stern of the boat, he feels genuinely sick.

What if you had—

“Y/N!” He gasps without any thought the second his eyes spot your silhouetted frame.

You’re leant against the edge of the boat, staring out into the black water that swirls beneath the ship. He thanks the stars you’re not in it right now, given he was starting to think the worst of the situation at hand.

He doesn’t give you any time to talk before his long strides are invading your personal space. Warm hands coming to your cheeks, turning them to inspect your face for any damage, as though you are some kind of treasure to him.

“Im sorry.” He immediately begins.

“I shouldn’t have pushed m’luck.”

Your eyes scan his, taking in his face as his hands have come to rest in the crook where your neck and shoulders meet.

You still haven’t said anything, which isn’t working in his favour because his words are filling the silence, becoming more risky with each passing second.

“Jus’… the idea of something like that happening to you made me…” his thumbs stroke upwards along the valley of your throat subconsciously, “makes me fuckin’ sick.”

Your lips part as he begins to spill things he probably shouldn’t. Swearing that he can probably feel your pulse in your neck where his fingers lay.

He can’t stop now, “hearing you talk about y’self like that, like y’an object... I know I am no better than any average person in the Kelna courts for what I’ve done to you. But I promise you that I’d take a dagger to my own hands till there was nothing left of them before I ever let something of that nature happen to you…”

A deep breath and he shakes his head, “Not without your permission, darling.”

He doesn’t even care what that’s insinuating. Never does he want you under the impression he has control of you in a sexual regard.

The thought of you even believing that made him sick.

The air around you feels pressurised, and it’s like you’re about to spill even more out to him.

“I am being held captive, yet I’ve never felt more fucking free. How fucked is that?”

He is silent to your admission, shocked into it almost.

“You don’t understand how it feels to go from having to watch your every move, every word, just to stay alive. You are loved with conditions.”

Your voice suddenly heavy with anger again, “People cannot be trusted, everything is always two-sided, no matter what they say to portray otherwise.”

His hands have slipped from you, you’ve started pacing the deck and throwing your own hands out as bouts of sheer outrage wash over you.

“Here, god— you’re atleast half fucking honest with me. I don’t have to conform to any stupid rules to how I speak or sit or dress. I can swear at you, and you only raise the stakes.”

He can’t really fathom that you’re not speaking less of him. That you’re admitting that the life you lead on the ship as a hostage is better than as a princess.

“And I go against every promise I made to myself when I woke up here. I would let you do anything to me, Harry. Do you not understand that? How hard that is to live with everyday?”

“y’implying a lot right now…” he answers.

“You have my permission!” You spit out, pissed off now. At him, for being so charming and handsome that you’ve wound up as the lamb that fell for the lion. And pissed at yourself for being so unable to halt your snowballing emotions for him.

You’re self aware enough to know you’re an idiot, yet you’re still in the same position nonetheless. You’re also going to blame it your lack of education on how to handle sexy pirates that kidnap you for ransom money.

All the same, you’ve come aware that you’d let him do anything to you. You’d do anything to him.

God forbid the day you would do anything for him.

You’re terrified because whether or not this is some kind of fucked up situation of Stockholm Syndrome, you’re too deep in it to turn back now.

“Fucking Jesus Christ…” he curses to the sky, stepping towards you where you’re pacing.

“I hate you, you know! For putting me in this position.” You point at him, stating with contempt once you lock eyes.

“Y/N. Stop.” His voice has dropped several octaves. The wind has urged the curls that usually sit pushed back to fall over his eyes and forehead. Standing over you, his gaze is pinning you to the spot.

His brows are furrowed in an unreadable expression, but you don’t care. Right now, everything you have is about to go on the line.

“Stop what? Telling you that there’s something going on with me— with us here?” You gesture between the two of you.

“Am I meant to tell you that I—“ His hands come to your waist and urge you backwards against the edge of the ship.

The low of your back is pressed into the wooden beam, something you should be scared about realistically, but his hold around you is tight.

“Don’t fucking say it.” He says, “whatever you’re about to say, keep it to yourself.”

“Can’t handle the truth, Captain?”

He tips your chin with his hand, bringing your head on an angle to look him in the eyes, “You won’t be able to handle what comes after that, Princess.”

You’re unsure when both of your breathing became short and laboured. His panting chest made your head physically spin.

“What? Are you gonna put me down in the cells, hang my by the chains on the walls?”

His exhale stutters out of parted lips, “Don’t even joke about that.”

“Ignoring your problems does nothing, Harry. They keep getting bigger while you hide from them. Out of sight out of mind doesn’t work the way you think it does.”

Your frustration easily spreads to him, pushing him closer to a point neither of you can come back from.

His hands grab yours suddenly, they wrap around your wrists and hold them tight between you both. Like he’s grasping for any element of control he has left before everything spirals.

“There is no problem here, Y/N.” He whispers into your ear, voice stern, “do not make one.”

The tension between you both is absolutely palpable, his body is so close to yours it’s spinning your senses haywire.

“So we what? Go back to your room and act like nothings going on… I go get into your bed, and I let you wrap your hands around me like it’s just— it’s just…”

There’s not even a word for it, your voice trails off. His breath hot against your ear, and his one hand still tight around your two wrists.

Fuck it, fuck this, you think.

You turn your face to his, noses bumping.

It’s like the pull between your lips is so strong it’s easier to give in than put an inch of distance between them.

Your body squirms against his. It’s making him wild, he needs you so bad it’s going to break him.

“Not doing it.” He pants out, voice so deep it sounds like he just woke up.

“Not kissing me?”

“Nope.”

“Im giving you permission.”

“Numbing your problems doesn’t make them go away. Feeding into them only makes them worse.” His eyes fluttered shut, brows in a deep frown as he holds himself back with every part of his being.

“So you admit there’s a problem.” Your voice sounds dignified.

The metaphor of your situation has taken on a nickname clearly, and you’re not sure if it’s helping at all.

You nudge your nose into his again, his head falls into a tilt. His mouth so easy to access…

A dance between you ensues. Your mouth moves forward but his moves back.

“It’s so wrong…” he whispers, tongue jutting out to wet his lips. They’re left parted open, air escaping and fanning onto your own.

“I want to rip your shirt off your body right now, how’s that for wrong?”

“if I kiss you, Y/N,” he begins, breath stuck in his throat, “I’ll never be able to send you back.”

And how wrong is it for you to admit that’s beginning to become exactly what you want.

A stretch of silence, and you finally just lean into him. The second your lips meet his, your whole body melts.

Air empties out of his lungs in sweet relief, he swears for a moment he feels so lightheaded that he’s dreaming this whole moment up.

The hand wrapped around your wrists slides off and finds refuge on your waist. A voice in his subconscious is selfishly begging your own soft fingers to touch him wherever they can.

It appears words are suddenly useless to you both, and all that’s important is the kiss that is finally happening.

The meaning behind it weighs like a tonne of bricks, yet somehow makes it all the better. It shows in the way his mouth moves against yours like velvet, kissing back into your upper lip like he’s desperate for you.

He still recalls the first time he caught himself thinking about kissing you.

You were down in the cells, playing the waiting game after pushing him one step too far. It’d been over a day since he’d pulled you out of the water you’d thrown yourself in.

The sun was hot on his skin as he thought of your fully soaked body that he pressed into the hull of his ship. He remembered looking up to your lips as he untied your bound wrists.

They were glossy with water from the sea.

As he thought about, he only could imagine tasting them. Kissing over the salt water until they no longer shone with ocean drops, but with his saliva instead.

He had to physically shake his head at himself. Blaming it on not having been laid in so long.

Didn’t take long to release that was far from the problem when it came to his unseemly attraction to you.

A deep whine sounds from your chest, drawing him back to the present, and he pushes his body as far into your space as it can. You’re physically pinned against the edge of the ship. Theres not a care in the world at the endlessly deep swell of water thats just past you.

You don’t even remember when tongue started getting involved, nor when exactly you worked up the courage to lick into his mouth.

It’s hot, so hot.

His body feels like it’s on fire, and your hands feel that tangible warmth as they slide underneath the purple silk covering his chest.

That heat isn’t just budding in chests, it’s striking hot between legs. Only growing worse by the minute.

“My fuckin’ god…” he groans into your mouth, hands squeezing the swell of your chest.

“You taste devine, angel…”

His words make you tipsy. You smile and kiss him harder, letting his hands roam your body like you’ve never touched eachother before.

Despite the nights he’s dragged a delicate touch along your back and the skin over your waist, it’s nothing compared to this. It’s like you’ve never felt him before. The way his tongue glides against the roof of your mouth skilfully, and firm yet gentle hands are palming the flesh between your ass and thighs.

He’s wasted no time roaming and squeezing every inch of your skin, even over clothes he’s desperately trying to commit it to memory. Rubbing over the swell of your ass like you’re the only thing in the world he wants this bad.

“Harry.” There it was, his name.

The way it falls from your kiss swollen lips in that same pretty plea that sends him spiraling every single time. Yet it was so, so different in this moment.

Sheer pleasure courses through him, and he pulls your leg up to bracket his hip, letting him push himself closer into you. Imagining what lay between the peak of your thighs.

Wishing to see the state of you, wondering if this situation has worked you up to the same extent as him.

You can feel him, every inch. Every hard slab of muscle is pressed into you, warmth radiating off him like rays of the sun.

“My name.” He murmurs into your lips, “Say it again.”

His kiss trails down your neck, sucking gently over your pulse before licking a stripe back up your throat. His saliva leaving a hot, wet trail behind.

“Harry, please… more.” You don’t even have to try, the words all come from your mouth like it’s your only purpose.

His prick is swollen in the black trousers he’s in, shamelessly being pushed into your thigh. The feeling, it’s like heaven. You don’t have any single other way to explain it.

He’s behind layers of clothing and he’s pretty sure this is better than any sex he’s ever had.

Your little experience with genuine sexual interactions has not stopped you at all. And reflecting on every past experience of a sexual nature, they fall incomparably flat to this.

Despite the majority of them being unwanted advances, even the few you engaged in— mostly with random strangers at ballroom parties— were nothing to this.

They took place in dim hallways and in secluded gardens, the kisses were always slimy, laced with the intention of taking anything from you they feasibly could. You always stopped it when you released you felt no desire to go further.

This, however, was happening because no matter how hard you both attempted to deny it, you both wanted it. Wanted eachother.

And this time, all you felt was desire.

Your hand comes down to suddenly cup the bulge of his cock between you. He moans at the feeling, rocking into your palm shamelessly.

“Fuck— I could come jus’ like this. Against your innocent little hand…” he curses into your neck, making your mind swirl with his lustful and dirty words.

“Tha’s no fun though.” He amends, swollen lips coming up to your ear, “Not when I could take you back to our bed…”

Our bed… your hazy brain notes, trying to commit it to memory as his tongue drags lightly over the shell of your ear.

“I could leave your hands free, so you could lace them into my hair. Pulling on it like I know you would while I lick into you, Angel.”

“Or would you prefer them bound up against the headboard? Just as we’ve always joked, all tied up. At my mercy.”

“Please… Harry.” Your whole body feels like it’s been set alight, the pulsing between your legs so intense it made your knees weak.

“Please what, dove? Or you don’t care? As long as someone is looking after that pretty place down here, hmm…”

His hand meets the fabric between your legs, both of you now rutting into each others palms.

You can’t help but whine, “it hurts… Harry. Fuck…”

He shakes his head, leaning in to kiss your lips. He can’t believe you’re so worked up you’re telling him its physically hurting you. He thought it was just him, with his cock so hard he is bordering on being in pain.

“Cmon,” he starts to pull you back, your body leaving the dangerous edge of the boat.

But you hardly can figure out how to walk, almost like a little spring doe. Knees struggling to function.

He picks you up effortlessly by your thighs, wrapping them around his waist. Your arms naturally draping over his broad shoulders, tangling into his messy brown hair.

You whine and push into his chest without any thought. Attempting any kind of friction you can, causing his to laugh. His eyes finding yours, “you’re so needy you’re grinding against my chest…”

His long legs make quick distance across the boat, out of the cool wind and through the winding halls below deck.

Thankfully not running into a soul as he enters his room with you, locking the door swiftly behind him.

The second the latch flicks in place, his lips are back against yours. The kiss is sloppy and desperate, open mouths pushing against eachother like you’ve been apart for weeks.

You’re moaning into his mouth as he squeezes your ass in the dark room. Walking over to his bed, still holding you against him as he climbs atop the mattress.

He lets your back drift down until it meets the plush comforter, but your legs still elevated by his. Ass against his thighs, and his erection tightly pushed against you.

He follows your lips the whole way down, hands rolling up and down your body, lingering against your breasts as he nicks your bottom lip with his teeth.

“This okay?” He breathes out, making sure you’re alright.

“Yes…” You nod, responding without even a second between his question.

He soaks up the feeling that swells in his chest as you consent to him. You said it without an ounce of hesitation. He’s almost feeling honoured.

“This is on your terms, my Princess… you tell me to stop and I stop.”

My. Your brain struggled to compute his possessive words.

My Princess.

You drag your hands up his back, sliding them all the way to his cheekbones.

Your eyes find his.

They lock with intensity. Green gaze piercing into your soul.

Silence ticks over between you, only filled by the panting of your breaths.

Your thumb slips down to his plump lips, pulling down his bottom one. The pad of your finger tracing over its fullness, dipping into the wetness that coats it.

He allows it, eyes fluttering at the gentle yet seductive touch.

He is so gorgeous.

When your thumb is wet with his saliva, you bring it back down to your mouth. He watches you, the action so small yet so utterly filthy as you draw your finger into your mouth. Taking it between your own lips and sucking it clean.

Once you draw it out of your mouth, you keep your big eyes looking at him, “You have my permission, Captain.”

He curses at your words, and they kick him back into gear. His body folds over yours again, meeting your lips with his— fuelled with a fever that makes his head spin.

He tastes like whiskey, and you feel simply drunk off of it. You want to drink him up. He is the warm, tingly feeling in your throat after throwing back a shot of the brown liquor.

His mouth moves down your neck again, kissing and licking as far as your clothes will allow. He gets to the very top of your chest before the fabric gets in the way. Having half the mind to just mouth over your nipple anyway.

But, it’s the satisfaction that’s to come with stripping it off of you. The very clothes he bought.

Fingers shuck the material up over your chest, and your arms lift up instinctively to help him get it off. He’s surprised to see you were without a bra.

There you lay, arms up above your head, back arched against the mattress, and your beautiful chest on display for him.

“Oh, dove… you are a work of art.” He coos, hands immediately coming to run against the soft skin of your breasts.

He stares intently in the dark, suddenly asking, “Can I light a candle?”

His voice is hasty, “I can see you, but not s’well as I would if there was a bit of light.”

“Want t’see your skin coated in that warm light,” he leans down, voice dropping into a whisper, “and so I can watch y’nipples harden when I wrap my mouth ‘round them.”

You nod quickly as you speak a desperate yes, squirming at the idea.

It would be unfair for you also, not to see his chest and tattoos while you two did whatever this was together.

He pecks a chaste kiss over your lips.

“Thank,” kiss.

“…you.” another gentle kiss.

He slides upright, struggling to tear his eyes off of you as he fumbles for a match to light the candle on the sconce mounted to his wall.

You hear the match flick alight, and the room suddenly being cast on a golden glow as he brings the flame to the wick.

Discarding of the match, he wastes no time coming back to where you lay— hair fanned out underneath you. He stands at the edge of the bed, staring breathlessly at you.

He had hummed the second he saw you—properly saw you. Your cheeks are flushed red, beautiful brows upturned into an expression of sheer want.

“Let me take yours off,” you gesture with your eyes to his own shirt, “please?”

“C’mere then.”

You bring yourself up, knees to the edge of his bed. Your hands lift the purple fabric over him, and suddenly the tan, chiseled skin you eye off so often is finally yours to freely touch.

Tattoos and muscles, fine hairs and freckles, he is the embodiment of beauty and sex.

You run soft hands over his abs, the muscles almost rippling as he feels the skin to skin contact. Throwing his head back, he groans into the tension filled air.

Hands wrap around your bare waist, pulling you flush against him, chest to chest.

He follows through with exactly what he’d said moments earlier, kissing a trail down to your breasts before wrapping his soft mouth around the peak of one of them.

Wet and hot, his tongue sucks and swirls until you’re moaning embarrassingly loud. You react like you’ve never felt someone like this before, because truthfully, you hadn’t.

Your spine arches, pushing into his mouth and lacing your hands around his neck.

He pulls away, smirking at the hardened nipple he’s looking after, while you catch your breath.

“My turn.” You whispered, and despite your legs feeling like jelly, you kiss your own way down his chest until you meet his defined pectoral muscle.

Your lack of experience doesn’t show, you’re so eager to please him it makes you only confident. You lick against the warm skin of his chest, lulling your tongue over his own nipple— something a girl has never done to him before.

“Fuck—!” He bites out, teeth clamping down onto his lower lip.

You pay some attention to it before trailing up his shoulder, sucking the skin above his collarbone. Biting against it and making sure to leave a mark.

He slaps lightly at your ass, still covered in tight black pants, just as he is.

“You are so filthy, dove.” His voice lilts, dripping with honey,

“Who would’ve known… to look at you, no one would know you’re the kind of girl that’s going to wrap her hot little mouth on any skin she can.”

“Innocent thing you are, ready to do anything, hm?”

His nose nudges yours so he can get better access to your mouth, kissing into it again.

Merely minutes since he last had his lips on yours, and it feels like the first time all over again. It strikes and stirs hot in your stomach. Making you arch into him again, pressing your chest against his.

“So needy… you must be soaked…” his thoughts spill from his lips out loud.

“Panties that I bought you are probably wet through by now, little cunt all weepy for something it’s never had.”

“D’ya want it, baby?” His sultry voice asks.

“Harry, I want it, I want you.” You plead, and he unbuttons your black pants.

The zipper is pulled down by him, and he slides his hand in between your legs. Cupping over the fabric, it’s almost hot to touch.

“So warm in there, I can feel y’clenching around nothin’.”

He rubs softly over you, and you moan out, rutting into his hand.

His lips kiss you hot and slow as he runs tedious circles over the top of your panties.

Once you’re moaning and arching into him, he slowly retracts his hand out, “get in the middle of the bed.”

You follow his instructions moving to lay in the centre of his mattress as he shucks his pants off.

He’s in nothing but boxers as he climbs above your legs, “No one else has ever made you come, have they?”

His green eyes lock with yours,

“N-no.”

“No one’s ever wrapped their lips around your swollen clit and sucked until you finish against their tongue? Or fucked their fingers into you until you are almost crying?”

You can’t even verbally answer, only able to shake your head side to side.

“Mm, okay,” he hums, lowering down to kiss your belly as he slowly pulls your pants down from your legs.

A smirk rises on his lips as he kisses below your navel, “Then I take it no one’s ever pushed their cock into you?”

Your cheeks were burning as you squeezed your thighs together, only in black lacy panties that he bought you.

“Alright baby,” he smirks, “look at you then, in this little pair of black underwear I got ya. Did you think about what was going through my head as I picked them out?”

“Never thought I’d be privledged enough to see y’in them.”

The warm candle highlights the goosebumps that have already prickled over your skin, each kiss he’s pressed to your bare body has made them spread like wildfire.

He takes his time to tease you, lips lulling over your lower stomach, tongue tracing the upper band of your underwear.

This continues until you’re begging him for anything, “I can’t— h— fuck… Harry.”

Your speech is slurred like you’re half awake, “Please touch me.”

“I am touching you.” He stated, green eyes flickering up to yours, face with devilish intent.

“More…” was the only word you could sigh out to him, unable to hold eye contact with him for longer than a second.

His hand comes to the back of your knee, pushing it up so your legs spread. He licks a slow, pleasing stripe against the dip between your thigh and where you want him the most.

Your hips jut upwards, and his fingers trace over your centre above the fabric covering it. As you whine wordlessly into the comforter, he tucks his finger into the edge seam of your panties. Pulling the elastic back and letting it snap back against your skin.

Not enough to hurt, but enough for the vibration to ripple through your core.

“Jus’ say the words, dove.” He murmurs, kissing over where your clit is.

“Take them off.” Your own hands start frantically pulling the sides down your thighs.

“Tha’s my girl.” He taps over where he just kissed with his thumb, laughing at your attempt to get them off, helping you get them all the way down. Tossing them over his shoulder, leaving them somewhere behind him to be dealt with later.

His eyes finally lock onto your bare body. Entirely naked.

How badly you want him is evident, and his fingers immediately move to run down your dripping centre.

“You…” he speaks, voice raspy and dripping with desire, “are a fucking angel.”

“Prettiest little cunt I’ve ever laid my eyes on. Fuckin’ hell. The things im going to do to you if you’ll let me.”

The second they glide down you, grazing over your entrance, all conscious thoughts and conscious movement disappear. Almost like a magic trick. Suddenly everything you do is automatic, like your breathing or your heart beating. You have no conscious play in it.

This includes the words coming from your mouth.

“Finger me.” You moan shamelessly, clenching around nothing as he touches you.

He almost groans at your request, “Mm, well I gotta stretch you out, hey?”

Taking a few moments to rub over you slowly, he eventually slides his middle finger into you. It glides in so smoothly. Even just the idea of his hands touching you this way has you completely melted, your back arching off the mattress as he moves in and out gently, the subtle rolling inside you enough to send you insane.

“C’mon dove, let me taste.” He pushes your legs open wider.

No part of you registers what he’s saying until his lips attach to your clit, licking over your arousal that’s spread entirely over your core.

“God!” You cry out as he flicks his tongue and curls his finger, the combination heavenly.

It’s bliss for him just watching you, the way your body reacts to every little touch he administers.

Another finger pushing into you and you’re already a mess around his hand and mouth. At whatever point he thought you couldn’t get any wetter, he was entirely wrong.

“Y’gushing around me, baby. Two fingers and you’re clenching like you could finish jus’ like this— so tight too.” His words are spoken against you, and the vibration just makes you fall deeper and deeper.

“Feel so good, Harry.” You moan out, hands finally finding his soft curls. Wrapping around them and tugging his face into you.

The scene is erotic. Pink lips against you, fingers pushed into you. Same tan arm holding onto your leg that you’ve stared at many times before.

His cock is aching while he does this to you, hearing you whine his name like a broken record as he picks up the intensity. Tongue and fingers forming a rhythm, one that quickly is building an intense heat in the low of your stomach.

Sitting up, he removes his fingers without warning as he repositions himself. You immediately miss the feeling of him inside of you, somewhere in the back of your head wondering how you’re ever going to go without the sensation.

It blips suddenly to wondering what the fuck you’re both going to do after tonight… something that would make you overthink into a deadly spiral usually. But it’s quickly forgotten about again when he rests on his knees between your spread legs, and pulls your ass up onto his thighs.

Your legs are spread open completely, he has a view of you he’s only ever dreamed of. Your wet glistening cunt in front of him, entirely his to please tonight.

You’re still babbling out his name like a mantra, mixed with a few different sighed words. Varying from “please” to “fuck” to “touch me”.

They get lodged in your throat when you watch him dip down and lick along you completely. Spitting onto your clit once he gets to it.

Fucking filthy.

You loved it.

His free hand reaches to touch your chest, rocking his tongue against you. Mixing spit and arousal together over your swollen core.

“Taste so fuckin’ good.” He moans into you, flicking his tongue over your entrance.

He’s eating you out so damn well you want to suck him off desperately in attempt to thank him.

It doesn’t take long before the same hand that was pressed into your breast, tweaking your sensitive nipples his sliding back down along your waist.

“Three,” he murmurs into you, “reckon you can take that like a good girl?”

“Yea… yea!” You eagerly nod, your own hand coming to squeeze your breast, “need to feel you.”

“You are so fuckin’ dirty… beggin’ t’take more n’ more of me.”

He holds the back of your thigh as he works to push in a third finger. This one burns, you never put more than two of your own fingers inside of you. And compared to his— size wise— they don’t measure up in the slightest.

The pinch you feel is a mixture of pleasure and pain. But your body registers the sensation that feels otherworldly as you stretch around him.

“Harry!” You whine out, hips stuttering as he slowly curls his three fingers inside of you, “Holy shit.”

He moved feverishly, showing clearly how bad he wants you to come. He wants to watch you entirely unravel between his touch.

Everything is starting to build up in your stomach, the pressure twisting and clenching. Your hand comes up to your own hair, fisting through it at the intensity.

He pumps his fingers in fast, quick movements, curling them quickly inside of you as he watches in complete awe at your bodies reaction to him. Your back is arching, lips whining out beautiful sounds, a light dusting of sweat shines between your chest.

“Taking it so well,” he murmurs, leaning down to attach his lips to your clit as he continues fucking you with his fingers.

The second his tongue swirls over you, you realise you’re about to loose it.

“H-harry—“ the sheer desperation in your voice tells him all he needs to know, along with the pulsating of your entrance.

“Don’t stop…” pleading to him, “i— im gonna come.”

He smiles against you, sucking harshly as you start to squirm and pant underneath him.

“Want to watch it,” he presses a kiss above your clit, “want to watch every second of it.”

You nod feverishly, head starting to spin and body starting to feel like it’s floating.

“Are you gonna show me, dove? Show me just how good im making y’feel?” His voice is seductively low.

“Don’t want you holding back, I want to hear you.”

“Harry.” The thrust of his hand is beginning to tip you over the edge, his words only bringing you closer.

He leans his body over yours, mouth coming to kiss over you. Trailing up your chest until his lips meet yours.

The kiss is open-mouthed and desperate as you moan into it.

You want his fingers as deep as they can possibly fit into you, and you suddenly are verbalising this, “harder, deeper, please…”

“Want it rough, baby. I’ll give you rough.” He chuckles against you.

All the sudden, his pace quickens, and he’s pushing them in and out of you at a rate your brain can’t even keep up with.

The feeling of the palm of his hand slapping against your clit makes your whole body seize up, you cry out in pleasure as he talks in your ear.

“Cmon, let it all out baby.” He coos, voice soft compared to his movements.

Your moans are loud and stuttered out at each thrust. Starting to shake as your stomach tightens, “Please, please!”

His movements don’t falter for a second, and suddenly your orgasm hits you like a train. Whole body shaking as you clench around his fingers.

He even moans as he feels you finish, imagining how it would feel to have your cunt squeezing his cock instead.

You cry out his name so loud it echoes through his bedroom, all while he rocks his fingers through your orgasm.

“That’s it angel,” palm hitting your clit to make you clench again, drawing out the pleasure, “fucking gorgeous…”

“So beautiful, letting me watch your face screw up as you came all over my hand.”

“Can’t wait to have my face down there someday.”

The thought makes you writhe against him, “maybe later, hm?”

“I’ll get my tongue inside of you, play with that pretty clit until you do that all again… finish on m’face.”

He’s dirty talking you as you come down, and even when he finally draws his fingers out of you, you can’t help but want more.

Unsure if it’s just him telling you all the stuff he wants to do, or just how badly you want him in general, you realise how worked up you still are.

Not often would you orgasm and still be craving more, but right now you swear you could be doing this all night with him.

His soaked fingers run up between your chest and come to his mouth. His green eyes finding yours as he sucks them clean, humming as he tastes you.

“Fuck me—“ a sudden burst of energy comes to you, hands coming to push yourself to sit up. During it all, you’d slid off his lap and back down onto the mattress.

“Let me suck your cock.”

He’d straightened upright along with you, sitting back on his knees as he had been earlier.

His brows shot up in surprise as you suddenly had this new found energy, “baby— you haven’t even fully come down yet, just have a moment.”

“Harry.” Your gaze snaps to him, “im going to suck you off until you decide you’re going to fuck me, okay?”

“I need you to fuck me.”

“Jesus Christ.” He curses, throwing his head back. His cock is aching, and he can’t even imagine saying no to that.

“I’m gonna struggle not to finish the second you wrap your lips around me, princess.”

“You can hold it, captain. I want to taste you.”

It doesn’t take you long before you’re pushing him backwards, making his legs stretch out as you kiss him quickly.

He hums into your mouth as you palm at his briefs, squeezing the fabric over his hard cock.

You move to pull his briefs down his thighs, listening to him groan once he is finally out of the tight confines. Pulling away from his warm lips, you look down between you.

Jesus Christ.

Of course the Captain was heavily equipped.

The tip of him was flushed and swollen, you just knew how well it would fill your mouth. He was the embodiment of pure sex. Everything about him.

“Can i?” You glance up, looking at the way his plump bottom lip is taken between his white teeth.

He nods quickly, fluttering his eyes as he pictures the mental image of what you’re about to do to him. How much this is about to fuck him up.

Not having to imagine long. Your body sinks down, knees pushing back on the comforter as you half lay between his legs.

“God—“ he draws out, you haven’t even touched him, but the sight of you is enough to make his head spin.

Your bare ass and the arch of your back is all he can pay attention to as you rest on your elbows between his thighs.

“You look so…” he struggles to find the word, and the thought will never be completed. Your hands wrap gingerly around him, and although you’re unsure how to go about pleasing him, you waste no time licking along the underside of him.

“Fuck!” He spits out immediately, hips flexing upward at the touch.

Lips wrapping over his head, you just go with what feels natural, sucking the tip gently, careful not to nick him with your teeth.

“Y/N.” He sighs out your name, letting you envelop his senses entirely.

He doesn’t know how long he’s going to be able to hold out from finishing in your mouth. He’s already feeling that tightness spread across his abdomen, and you haven’t even been on him for a whole minute.

You hum around him in response to your name, hands sliding up his thighs and meeting the muscles of his chest. Selfishly you palm over the hard slabs, watching his brows furrow in pleasure as you slip further down his length.

Hollowing your cheeks you suck around him, moving up and down gently as his hand laces into your hair.

“You… your mouth is like fuckin’ heaven.”

“Could sit here all night with that thing wrapped around me.”

You revel in the idea, saliva dripping down his cock as you draw back up to having only his tip between your lips. Gently pulling off to talk, “I’d do it.”

He feverishly lets his head fall back, pulling at the hair he’s got between his fingers.

“You’d be a good girl and warm my cock all night with that mouth of yours?”

You nod as he leans down to pull your face up to his, kissing your lips without shame of where they’d just been.

He slides his tongue into your mouth, drawing across your bottom lip, “Another night baby. You wanted me inside of you, so you’ll get that.”

“A little longer on you, please.” You whine, wanting to please him with your mouth just like he had for you.

The briefs hanging onto his thighs get pulled all the way off before your body leans back down, kissing over his length and sucking harshly at certain sides of him.

Who is he to say no to you.

Licking along him, you drag your tongue over his tip before sliding your lips down him again. This time you move faster, and he is trying to keep his thoughts controlled as you fill your mouth with as much of him as you can without gagging.

“Good girl,” he moans, watching your ass rise and fall with each bob of your head.

His prick is practically dripping with your saliva, and he don’t think he’s ever felt a better feeling in his life.

So good that he can only go so long before he’s swearing, and pulling at your hair, “Fuck— Y/N I’m going to come if y’don’t stop.”

You hum around him, having half the mind to just keep going so you can taste him fully. Somehow he finds the strength to hold it off, “No, baby, take your mouth off— please.”

You slide off him with a pop, looking up at him with swollen lips.

The sensation of your mouth trailing up him had him teetering on the edge of his high, “Fuck,” his hips stuttering against nothing as his head is thrown back. Attempting to push down the feeling he was so close to giving into.

Its so hot. Watching his frown get deeper as he screws his eyes shut, all the hard muscles on his body tightening.

His hand comes to his hair as he pulls on it, the orgasm he was so close to was finally receding. You’d just unintentionally edged him.

“Y’so fucking horny.” He pants, “can’t even wait to have me inside you.”

He lifts you up by your arms and pulls you on top of him, chest to chest. You can feel his length curving against your ass as his lips come down to suck on your nipple. Licking over it harshly without mercy.

“Want you to fuck me senseless, Harry.” You moan, back arching into him as you grind down against him, arousal practically dripping down onto his cock.

“Please,” you begin to beg as he works over your breast. You can’t seem to stop the words flowing from your lips, “I want you so bad.”

His mouth moves off your hardened nipple, looking you in the eyes, sighing out a deep breath.

You search his unreadable gaze, and there’s a sudden blanket of silence that falls over you both. Maybe a hint of realisation has set in, in that what you’re about to do is irreversible.

“I jus’ want y’to be sure.” He says, sobering the intense moment.

“Think about it for a moment, okay? Just take a second.” He kisses your cheek, hands rubbing delicately on your back, “I don’t want this to be something y’regret.”

You nod slowly, pursing your lips as you genuinely take the moment to consider everything. You are about to fuck a pirate. Which isn’t even the worst part.

Still, even as you think about the situation, and all the potential repercussions, you can’t find it in yourself to want to stop.

“I know we don’t know where this is going, and we both know we shouldn’t be doing this.” You speak quietly.

He hums in agreement, his pink lips pursed as he lets you talk, “but… no. I still want this.”

“And I rarely ever get to make decisions for myself… so thank you for letting me do that.” You say, voice sounding certain.

“Don’t thank me for that, that should be your right.” He states, brows furrowed.

“Shh, let me thank you anyway.” You nudge his nose to the side, kissing him gently. Lips clicking as you both take a moment to do just that.

“I think i have condoms,” he begins.

A laugh bubbles from your chest at his uncertainty, “You think,”

Shaking his head in a sort of amusement, “I haven’t used them in a long time, dove. I don’t bring girls in here.”

“Yet here I am.”

“Yet here you are.” He hums, hoping you pick up the underlining statement in his words. You are special. Much more than just a girl he’s got in his bed for the night.

“Wanna feel you.” You whispered, implying you don’t want to use anything. And honestly, your whole body ached to feel him for the first time without a condom on. Especially since you knew it wasn’t an issue with it.

“The court mandates us to have a rod…”

He frowns, “what do you mean?”

“So I don’t get pregnant before I’m married. It’s fine it’s reversible… they can take it out. They do it to most girls incase we start fooling around behind their backs.”

“Fuckin’ Hell. I hate them.” He spits, “Always controlling other people bodies.”

“If you’d prefer to—“ the sentence doesn’t even make it out of your mouth before he interrupts,

“No baby, that’s your choice.“ His tone is entirely certain, not wishing to have any influence on your decision.

“As long as you don’t have some kind of pirate STD, i wanna feel you, harry.” You tease, but tone still genuine.

It causes him to laugh, “No STD’s here.”

“Alright, good.” You nod, mouth forming a grin, “I trust you, if you trust me.”

His green gaze searches yours, and you feel the weight of your words for a few seconds until he breaks the silence, “I trust you.”

Nodding, you bring your lips back to his. Giving him a chaste kiss of appreciation that he smiles into.

But now that you’ve committed, that sense of need is rushing back into you. But this time, it’s like the flood gates are open, your movements starting to get quickly eager again.

That gentle kiss quickly turns heated as you grind down over his length, excited he gets to feel you skin against skin.

He mutters into your mouth, “Perfect baby, every inch of you.”

Immensely tired of waiting, your voice whines out a plea, “Fuck me harry, please.”

“M’gonna fuck you, don’t worry.” He whispers, grabbing your hips and flipping you around. Leaving your back pressed into the pillows as he pulls your waist to his.

He looks down at you, hair fanned out and big eyes looking at him with parted lips. His own gaze dips to the supple flesh of your tits, inexplicably excited to watch them bounce as he fucks you.

You can’t help but take the opportunity to commit his stance above you to memory, the muscles of his tan chest and the dark ink of his tattoos. The thought of scratching your nails along his laurel adorning hips…

He can’t take you staring at him like that. He leans down to pepper kisses along your neck— finally grabbing himself, a hiss coming from his teeth as he rubs his tip along you and over your clit.

“Tell me if it’s too much okay?” He says, lining his head up to your soaked entrance.

You sigh out several words of agreement, clutching his shoulders as he slowly starts to push into you.

With how turned on you are, and his early preparation with his fingers, his tip slides into you with some ease. There’s still some tension as he pushes in, “Relax, dove…”

His voice is so deep. He’s still clutching onto every ounce of his control, praying he can hold himself together when he hears you whine as you’re being stretched out by his cock.

“I won’t last long if you keep squirming like tha’.” He screws his eyes shut, holding you still by the hips.

“Fuck—“ it feels so different to anything you’ve ever felt. He curves into you like it was fate, like every inch of him was tailor made to you.

“Deeper, go deeper please…” you beg, nails scratching at the messy curls on his head.

His brain works on overdrive to process the fact he’s the first person to ever do this to you. That you’re experiencing this with him for the very first time.

Virginity is a tacky term for him, in the pirate world it’s regarded as the best thing you can take from a girl. The way it’s treated disgusts him. But the only thing for him that’s important is that your first experience is the best he can give it, and that you feel safe— treasured even. Exactly how you should.

“Takin’ it so well…” He sighs out, finally all the way inside of you.

“Kiss me, Harry.” You say, and he wastes no time leaning down to capture your mouth.

Kissing him with his cock fully pressed into you is an entirely different experience. As your tongue glides against his lower lip, he stutters his hips inside of you. Hand coming to play with your clit as he starts to move gently.

You roll your body against his uncontrollably, wrapping your hands into his hair to pull his lips further into yours.

“Feels so good—“ you groan into the corner of his lips, the stimulation you’re getting feels like it’s coming from all angles. Like you could float away.

“You feel so good. So tight around me, Y/N.” He thrusts a little harder as he speaks, moving back down to kiss you. It’s also harder this time, both your tongues clashing against each other as he starts to build a pace between your legs.

He can feel how coated he is with your arousal, your cunt only growing wetter as he ruts into you.

“Do what you want to me.” You pant out, your body aching for anything he’s willing to give to you.

His green eyes are almost swallowed entirely by his pupils, “Fuck.”

“Can y’take it rough y’think?” He asks, nose bumping yours as you hold eye contact.

You nod feverishly, and it causes his head to throw itself back as he starts to work himself into you harder. Taking the opportunity, you bring your lips to suck against the arch of his throat.

He never wants this to end. He wants to take you like this all night. Change locations, fuck you on the floor, against the wall, bent over his bed, even with you pressed into the counter of the bathroom so you can watch it all in the mirror.

His throat is vibrating as he moans, you can feel it against your lips. You’re licking over his tan skin with your tongue, swearing you can feel the beat of his pulse underneath.

You start to loose yourself in him again, hands drawing down to scratch against the muscles of his chest as you clench around his cock. He is captivating at the best of times, even when you’re 5 feet apart you can get swept up by him.

It’s like a hold down under a wave, you can’t get up above the surface long enough to catch a breath. You don’t know what way is up or down, you’re spinning and all you can feel is him, he is the water glistening with rays of sun that fully surrounds you.

Now amplify that by a hundred and maybe that begins to cover how he feels while he’s inside of you.

Moans start bubbling out of you with each thrust, you feel him hitting that spot inside of you everytime he ruts back into you, balls slapping against your ass as he gives you himself exactly how you’d asked.

He moves his hand off your clit and grabs your hips, angling them up, pulling you flush against him. Entirely rough as he fucks into you at a slightly new angle, this on its own sends you wild.

Your back arches off the bed, crying out as he slams into you, your wet cunt taking him as deep as it allows. Squeezing around him so hard his jaw is going lax, curls on his head sticking to his forehead.

“Good girl,” he groans out, “taking my cock so fuckin’ well.”

“Knew how good this would feel. M’gonna want you all the fucking time.” Slapping your ass, he keeps the filthy words coming from his mouth, “Gonna be bending you over any chance I get, angel.”

“Please…” you nod feverishly, “Need you all the time, need your cock.”

His tattooed arm comes from your hip and runs up along your side, hand cupping your bouncing tits. Squeezing one of them, he then trails up your neck and coming to cradle your jaw. His thumb slides past your lips and presses into your wet mouth.

You don’t need him to even tell you, you just suck on it, letting saliva pool around his warm finger that’s rubbing circles against your tongue. He draws it in and out, rubbing over your plump lips and tracing a line down your chin. Eventually coming to flick his thumb against your nipple— your own spit coating it.

All of this, and you start to feel the pressure build in your stomach, of course you couldn’t last long as he fucked you like this.

“Harry!” His name started to come from your lips over and over again. Legs beginning to shake, heart racing in your chest.

“Gonna come?” he grunts out, “this sweet pussy gonna come around my cock? Drip all over it?”

You cry out as his body pounds against you, his hands guiding your hips into the movement as your eyes physically can’t stay open. You swear stars are beginning to explode behind them.

They squeeze shut as your whole body almost stops working. Your heart and lungs feel like they completely seize as you hang onto the peak of your orgasm for a breathless moment.

“Fuck—“ he hissed out, feeling how tight you’ve gone around him, “I’m gonna finish with you, cmon baby.”

His fingers come to quickly rub over your clit— a few fast, tight circles, and that is all it takes.

Your moan reverberates around the four walls of his room as you come for the second time, bouncing against his cock as your whole body writhes in your climax.

“Harry, I’m coming!” Your voice is pitched so high, half whine half cry as you state the obvious. As if he missed the fast clenching of your entrance around him.

“Fuck— fuck, im—“ He can’t get the sentence out as his cock starts to pulsate, his balls tightening as he realises he’s about to follow along with you.

He gives a final, deep and hard thrust that brings him to his orgasm. You feel the heat of his come inside of you as the movements of his hips become sloppy with each squeeze of his cock.

The strength of his climax is only amplified by you edging him accidentally earlier, he feels this in his bones.

“Yessss—“ The feeling of him emptying out in your cunt is like heaven, “give it all to me, Captain.”

“Want all my come huh, fuckin’ filthy thing?” He rasps, body hunched over at the heat still bursting through his whole body.

You both ride out your highs with eachother. Hands coming to touch eachother all over as your bodies begin to slow down. His palms skate over your breasts, and your own fingers run up and down his tensed arms. The two of you start to stop shaking and squeezing as the high of your orgasms naturally close out.

The sound of panting is all that fills the room. Breaths laboured and exhausted.

“Baby,” he says, sounding entirely out of breath, “took me so good.”

He leans down to kiss you gently, and you whine against his lips, unable to find the words for anything that just happened.

Slowly, you make out with eachother. Tongues licking gently along lips and against one another. An entirely different sort of intimacy from the sex you just had, and a silent form of a thank you as he slides his cock out of you.

He groans into your mouth as he does it, feeling sensitive as he slips out of your warmth. He pulls away to look at the state of you, something he’s not willing to miss.

The sight was something he wish he could capture forever— no matter how filthy it sounds. Your pussy is swollen, all fucked out as his come is starting to drip out of you.

You watch him stare, a prideful smirk on his lips at the mess he’s made of you. Chocolate curls over his forehead, cheeks and lips flushed a warm red, and his tan skin glistening in a sweat.

Looking at him is like looking at a painting.

He longs to lean down and clean you up with his mouth, but it’s clear how exhausted you both are, so he gets up instead— despite you begging him to stay, he kisses your forehead, “Just getting a cloth to clean y’up. I’m coming back.”

Running water over a washcloth in the bathroom, he comes back out to wipe the fresh and damp material over you. You whine at the touch, the area sensitive from two intense orgasms. Despite the dirty nature of it, it makes him smile softly.

Tending to you after he’s fucked you breathless is almost half the treat. Watching you smile back at him, how content you look. Knowing you’re safe in his company.

Once you’re cleaned up, he chucks the dirtied cloth back in the bathroom to be dealt with later, not wasting any more time and coming to lay back down with you.

“Thank you.” You whispered, now that your brain is clearing you’re becoming unsure what to do now. Do you act as normal? He senses your sudden unease like instinct, wrapping a hand around your waist and tugging you into his chest.

“Don’t be shy, y’fine dove.” He kisses you again, hand running over your side comfortingly, “just had m’cock in you, no room left for that.”

You nod into the gentle kiss he’s giving you, pressing your body to his as you feel less anxious now he’s affirming everything is okay.

As you both lay with eachother, softly touching skin, you wonder what this will change. How the after effects of this will alter the future.

You’re hyperaware standing on top of a precipice of change. Despite wishing you could act naive, and attempt to believe that everything can go back as it once was— you know that will never happen. It’s something you’re both excited and terrified of. But in this moment, with the way the captain of this ship is holding you, touching you, kissing you— you can’t help but feel like everything is going to be alright.

———

taglist:

@saturnheartz @slap-me-harry @ilovehsstuff @ameerakane20 @matildasatellite @harrysslut7 @sunflowersey @styleswiftie @anotheryoutubefanpage @straightontilmornin @oknothanks26 @closureesny @angel-upon @brother-lauren @maddie7writes @tenaciousperfectionunknown

let me know if you want to be added to the taglist for the next part<3

another a/n:

wow!! so hello

mini catchup on me being absent for literally half of last year!! 2024 I was sooo busy with my studies, but you’d all be proud since I pulled some really good grades last year, so my absence in creative writing field on tumblr did have a reason and at the very least paid off. but I missed posting soo much and I’m so happy to be back. unbelievably grateful for how many messages and inboxes I got about my writing over last year as well, I love you all so much.

i literally can’t believe it’s been so long since part 3 of pirates gold was released. really left yall high and dry😔 hopefully not after this part, I swear this is the longest piece I’ve ever wrote on tumblr, so I hope you all have enjoyed it. I have plenty of plans for part 5 in my notes app so yall keep ur eye out for that.

thank you for not only reading my silly authors note, but for reading this next part. your support means the world, and I am planning on being much more active this year so get excited for heaps of oneshots and other tidbits.

much love to you all, stay safe and hydrated I’ll see you very soon!!

P.S ALSO IM SO SORRY FOR ANY TYPOS I MISSED💔 I have reread this as much as my brain will allow me the last week, I will be making edits over the next little while to fix those mistakes but hopefully there’s not too many x

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

AU where Kara is still an assistant when Lena becomes CEO of CatCo. She makes some changes but one thing Cat tells her under no uncertain terms is that a) Kara stays, and b) she's destined to become a reporter when she's ready.

I'm going back and forth on whether Lena and Kara are friends at this point, or whether Lena simply takes on CatCo before they meet. But basically I want to see Kara having to a) build new connections to get Lena what she needs and b) learning what it's like to work for somebody who doesn't treat like dirt most days.

Like, imagine her standing dumbfounded the first time she brings Lena her coffee, because Lena simply thanks her, genuinely. And then the flush of pride when Lena comments in pleasant surprise when she discovers the coffee is perfectly warm-- not hot enough to scald, but not the usual tepidness of coffee thats had to travel three blocks to get to her.

Because Cat always took those little efforts for granted, as an expectation. But Lena smiles slyly as she regards Kara anew, and says "I think we're going to work together just fine."

Because Kara worked for Cat, not with her. And that small semantic means the world. Because its true-- Cat, and now Lena, wouldn't be able to do what she does without Kara doing what she does.

And that just makes Kara want to work all the harder. She finds she WANTS to stay late when Lena does, mostly because Lena urges her to go home, and that kind of kindness is the kind that's paid back by staunchly ignoring her and sticking around anyway. And she takes extra effort to learn all of Lena's preferences and idiosyncracies, so that she knows exactly what Lena needs when she's had a meeting with that particular board member she's outwardly civil to but clearly loathes.

The first and only time Kara brings Lena salmon for lunch, she's absolutely devastated when Lena looks at it, shoulders falling. "I forgot to tell you I can't stand salmon," she says, resignedly.

Kara's eyes go wide in horror. "Oh! No, that's okay, I'll just go--"

"Please don't bother, it's my fault, I never told you--"

"It's no problem at all. Just-- wait here okay?"

As if Lena would be anywhere but her desk. But in ten minutes, Kara returns with a greasy paper sack.

"I promise, this isn't a punishment for needing something last minute," Kara says quickly. "These are legitimately the best burgers in the city, and honestly, it's the greatest gift I could ever give you."

Okay. Maybe she's laying it on a little thick. But Lena only looks at her with a bemused smile. "All right," she slowly agrees. Her eyebrow quirks. "I'm assuming you picked up something similar for yourself?"

Kara blushes. "Yeah. Can't help myself."

"Good. Then you can eat with me."

Freezing, Kara feels like a deer in the headlights. For all that Lena has treatedher as an equal, they've never eaten together in the same room. They usually eat at their own desks, working through.

"Really?"

"Really." Lena's gaze turns artificially solemn. "If I'm going to have a self-induced heart attack, I better have someone there to call 911."

Unable to keep herself from grinning, Kara scuttles to retrieve her own burger and fries from her desk. And there, together, they share the first of many, many meals to come.

[holdinggrudges]

splinters in my knuckles - ruby

pairing: ruby x reader

content: EXPLICIT 18+, angel!reader, reader is an angel in an afab vessel, mostly gn!reader (she/her used once), enemies to lovers (in a sense), implied sam x reader, brief but explicit samruby, voyeurism, dubious consent (the sex is consensual but some of the scenes leading up are questionable), RUBY HAS A HAPPY TRAIL AND A BUSH IDC, dom!rudy/sub!reader, wall sex, oral sex (ruby receiving), hair pulling (reader receiving), thigh riding, name calling/degradation (whore, slut), use of angel as a pet name, religious imagery

word count: 6.6k

summary: It would not be your first choice to work with the demon girl. But the younger Winchester, the boy with the demon blood, seems to have grown quite fond of her. And Dean, well…he, like you, doesn’t trust her, you can tell, but he trusts his brother more implicitly than you’ve seen some of your brethren trust their own. And so Dean Winchester insists, and every angel in heaven knows that, in the end, what the righteous man wants, the righteous man will get. But you have a job to do. Your mission is to protect the brothers, and Ruby’s presence sticks in your mind like a splinter. She’s dangerous, she must be. You need to neutralize the threat.

notes: you can all thank daisy for this one. i have been enabled. also, it seems i am genuinely incapable of writing fic without mentioning sam idk. ALSO also (sorry guys i'm a yapper), i love spn angels. i find them so interesting (probably the religious trauma idk) and it is VERY MUCH EVIDENT in this fic. the religious undertones are overtoning, frankly. and, btw, the title is from harry styles' only angel, which i thought was appropriate. anyways... i hope you enjoy my first ruby fic just know that it shan't be the last >:)

crossposted on ao3

It would not be your first choice to work with the demon girl. Nor would it be your second, or your third. She’s a traitor even by hell’s standards, and you don’t trust her as far as you can throw her (which, admittedly, would be quite far. You’re still getting the hang of the human turns of phrase). But the younger Winchester, the boy with the demon blood, seems to have grown quite fond of her. And Dean, well…he, like you, doesn’t trust her, you can tell, but he trusts his brother more implicitly than you’ve seen some of your brethren trust their own. And so Dean Winchester insists, and every angel in heaven knows that, in the end, what the righteous man wants, the righteous man will get. Besides, you’ve grown a fondness of your own for the Winchesters, even, and perhaps especially, the boy king, as it were; their judgement seems to be generally quite sound, and their hearts nearly always in the right place. 

You’re cordial with her when you must be. It’s not often that you meet her face to face. The Winchesters like you, you think—more than they like most of the angels, at least—and they must know you’re not too keen on interacting with this Ruby. Though they call on you and Castiel like you’re their own personal guard dogs, though you can sense her continued presence all over Sam everytime you speak to them, the men do a good job of keeping the two of you entirely separate. You’d find it considerate if you didn’t have a job to do. Your mission is to protect the brothers, and Ruby’s presence sticks in your mind like a splinter. An itch you can’t scratch. The way she occupies your thoughts—she’s dangerous, she must be. You need to neutralize the threat.

You cannot track her, not the way you could anyone else. You’d fear she warded herself physically, but a few pointed conversations with the Winchesters lead to a bemused Dean telling you the shroud comes from some sort of spell. A hex bag. This, you know, will be much easier to deal with than any sort of markings on the skin—or, Father forbid, the skeleton—of her vessel. All you have to do is sabotage the spell, and all you have to do to accomplish that is find her. 

It’s not hard. Ruby may be hidden from you, but Sam is not. The younger Winchester is a bleeding heart; he trusts you. Following him to his pet devil, an angel on his shoulder, is no challenge at all. The motel he meets her at is exceptionally normal. Somehow, you expected something overtly evil. She is hellspawn, after all. But the room is simple, nearly identical to the ones you’d grown accustomed to Sam and Dean calling you to over the past few months. You’re not sure you like the association. 

You slip the hex bag from its place tucked in the pocket of a coat, careful to keep your actions as silent as possible. You may not be visible to the two occupants of the room, but if you make enough noise to draw them from their conversation, your cover may still be blown. Strangely, as you carefully untie the knot at the top of the cloth, you feel almost…guilty. It is true, you suppose, that you’ve betrayed Sam’s trust by following him here, but what you’re doing is for his good, in the end. That’s what you tell yourself as you remove a bone from the cloth and replace the bag exactly where you found it. If Sam Winchester’s trust is the only casualty in keeping him and his brother alive, then that’s simply a sacrifice you will have to make. 

Your sabotage works exactly as you expected it to. The next time you search for her, when you’re sure Sam is occupied on some hunt or another, you find her as easily as you’d find anyone else, demonic or otherwise. It sends something smug up your spine, and your wings, which usually after flying would return to relaxing at your back, flutter and spread wide like a preening bird, watching Ruby wipe the blood off her knife on the shirt of the fallen demon at her feet. 

It would be so easy to smite her, here and now. She could fight you, perhaps, if you don’t quite have the element of surprise you think you do, but she has no way to kill you. Her puny knife has no effect on the heavenly host. Still, something gives you pause. A hesitance that emanates somewhere near your gut, rather than your mind. It makes no sense, but gives you a moment to think. You may be willing to sacrifice the Winchesters’ trust in you, but Heaven needs the begrudging trust they’ve gained with the righteous man. Dean may not like Ruby, but for you to kill her despite their hesitant allegiance…he will see it as a betrayal, and in his eyes, a betrayal on your behalf is a betrayal on behalf of Heaven itself. So no, you can’t kill her, not without reason—a provable reason. 

You assume it would be fairly easy to find one, but Ruby doesn’t seem to do much of anything at all. She meets up with Sam, interrogates the occasional demon, but outside of that she seems mostly to be lying in wait. 9 times out of 10 you find her drinking, eating. Nothing really all that debaucherous at all. The lack of anything substantial should soothe your mind, but, if anything, you fixate even more with every day that passes by with no proof. Obsessive, every moment you have to yourself is spent over Ruby’s shoulder, watching. She will slip up, you know it, and when she does, you will be there to see it. 

You find yourself watching as she patters around a motel room. From your station at the corner of the room, you can see it all. She picks up a takeout menu, she picks up a phone, sets them both down, seemingly changing her mind. She stretches her arms over her head, and your eyes drop and catch on a strip of smooth, tan skin above the waistband of her jeans where the tank top she wears has ridden up. Her bare skin holds your attention even as she drops her arms. She doesn’t fix her top. Your heart—your vessel’s heart, technically, that still beats to keep the skin and muscles that contain your angelic form from decaying and rotting around you—stutters and begins to race. It’s such a novel event that you don’t notice Ruby’s approach until it’s too late. 

She stops in front of you, less than a foot away, and you are suddenly stuck between a rock and a hard place. You cannot back up, the bedside table directly at your back prevents you from doing so. Obviously, you cannot move forward past her. You’re stuck. 

Ruby faces you, but she does not look at you. Instead, her gaze casts downwards, and you follow her eyes to see her chest, cleavage accentuated by the deep cut neckline of her shirt. Your hand twitches, warm at your side. Her hands shift to the hem of her top, fingers hooking underneath it. With her arms in front of her, the space between you grows even slimmer. You don’t breathe, you have no need to; still, you hold your breath as if it would help you pass undetected. 

Time seems to slow—every inch of revealed skin feels like it takes hours as she removes her shirt. Your gaze lingers on every one, heart pounding in your chest as your eyes take in acres of tan skin, catching on the tuft of coarse hair below her navel. It becomes increasingly clear with each passing moment that she wears nothing underneath, clearer and clearer until her bare torso is laid out in front of you and there is—

There is something wrong with your vessel. It should have been obvious from the moment your heart began to race, but you allowed the hellspawn to distract you. Now, though, it is undeniable. Your skin is hot, especially your face, and your pupils are blown wide as if the room was pitch dark. Your muscles are tight, something twisting in your chest, your gut. She turns to the side, facing the bed, and stretches again, and the shift of her shoulders makes your heart beats so loudly you fear the sound will give you away. Most concerningly of all, though, is your wings. Again, they spread wide and preening at your back, almost as if you were presenting them. Something is very, very wrong. 

You stumble back in an effort to put as much distance between the two of you as possible, and you knock into the table in the process. Ruby’s attention snaps to the noise, and the grin on her face leaves no doubt in your mind. She’s done this. She knows you’re here, she knows you’re onto her, and she’s performed some sort of spell—though you know of none that would have this effect on your kind. 

In the split second between the flutter of your wings and your leaving, you swear you hear her laugh. 

You’re determined to keep your distance for a few days. You have no idea what she’s done to you to make your vessel react like that, and you have no idea what other effects it could have. Despite your urge to tail her even closer in response, you know it would be unwise. 

Except you can’t stop seeing the way she grinned, like she’d gotten exactly what she wanted. Except you can’t stop seeing her. The expanse of her stomach, the small of her back dusted with soft peach fuzz. The dip between her breasts. Her visage plagues your mind incessantly, and before you even realize what you’re doing, you find yourself in a motel room, staring her down. 

“I told you before, Ruby.” You’re so fixated that Sam’s voice startles you. You don’t know how you could have missed him; he sits on the edge of the bed, hands on Ruby’s waist where she stands between his legs. She cuts her eyes to the side, and if you weren’t sure there was no way she could see you, you’d be worried. “I’m not—I’m not doing that anymore. I meant it.” 

That piques your interest. If you could prove to Dean that Ruby was drawing Sam back to the dark he’d been so adamant on keeping away from his brother, he certainly would not protest putting her down.

Ruby smirks, drawing her hand up Sam’s chest. “I heard you. But you can’t think I’d be opposed to some good, old-fashioned hedonism.” Then, in a mirror of her actions the last time you saw her, she draws her shirt over her head, letting it fall from her fingers carelessly. Sam’s fingers tighten on her waist. Yours tighten into fists at your sides. “Hmm?” 

You really should leave. Following Sam to get to Ruby was one thing, but this, the look on his face, this is…vulnerable. You never wanted to get him caught up in your obsession, not like this. You shouldn’t be here. 

But then Ruby leans forward, her mouth brushing his skin, to speak quietly in his ear. You can’t quite make out what she says, but you’re almost sure she says your name, falling like a hymn from honeyed lips. Entranced, you take a step towards them just as Sam groans, his hand slipping across her skin to settle at the small of her back and drag her closer. He sinks his teeth into the juncture of her neck and shoulder, and you can almost feel it. The warmth of her back under your palm, the plush of her skin beneath your teeth. 

Your eyes meet Ruby’s, the warm, chocolate brown irises of her vessel drawing you in, so much so that you ignore the echoing strangeness of the eye contact until it finally clicks in your mind. She’s looking at you; not just near you, but at you, as if she could see you, but that is not possible. Although, you consider the way she walked straight up to you the last time she antagonized you. The way she’s looking straight towards you now. She shouldn’t be able to, but she knows exactly where you are. And she is doing this on purpose, you know she is. And you are done playing her game. 

Your wings flutter, taking you out of the motel room and into the quiet rose garden of an elderly midwestern woman’s heaven. It’s peaceful here, and it leaves you with room to think, finally, a million miles away from that devil. What she’s done….you’re not really sure, exactly, what she’s done, but you know that it is vile, and you’re sure that if Dean Winchester knew what you do, he would not hesitate to agree that Ruby needs to be neutralized. 

Your hand tingles with phantom sparks, your teeth grinding where you pace along the edge of the garden. Righteous man be damned, the next time you get her alone, you will put that blasphemous creature down, so help you God. Heaven will thank you, in the end. 

You must wait. It’s hard to do so now that you’ve made your mind up, but patience is a virtue. The last thing you want is to end up in a similar position to the last time. Sam Winchester must be as far away from Ruby as possible when the deed is done. In the end, it takes two days for the distance to be wide enough for you to feel comfortable. 

Ruby lounges on a motel bed when you arrive. Her eyes are closed, but her smile tells you she knows you’re here. So much for taking her by surprise. “You know, I was starting to think you’d forgotten about me,” she says, speaking out loud to what to her is essentially an empty room. But, of course, she opens one eye to look right at you. “How about you come out and play, huh?” 

Her voice, so taunting, draws a billowing sort of rage from your chest. You cross the room before you appear before her, just so you don’t prove her right. “There should have been no way for you to even tell a difference,” you tell her, your own voice tight with your growing frustration. She’s toying with you. 

She rolls her eyes, her head lolling to the side to look at you. “Chill, feathers. Don’t get your halo in a twist.” She pushes herself up and tosses her legs off the side of the bed, now sitting facing you where you stand near the wall. Her hair is mussed from the cheap pillows. Your mind unhelpfully provides you with an image of your fingers smoothing it down.  “I thought it was only fair, seeing as you decided to ruin my hex bag. Was I supposed to let every holy roller from on high come and zap my ass just because you wanted to shadow me?” 

That certainly would’ve made your life a lot easier. You shift on your feet, straightening your spine as you stare her down. “So you have placed a spell upon me?” At least you’re not going crazy. 

Ruby scoffs. “No, I placed a spell upon myself, genius,” she retorts, her voice mocking as she shoots your words back at you. The irritation in your chest sparks and shoots down your spine where it twists into…something else. “Just so I’d know if you or any of your buddies were coming after me. Came in handy, though.” She shifts her eyes, then, from your face to somewhere to the side and just behind you, and she grins—that same, infuriating, ‘you’re playing right into my hand’ type grin that got you here in the first place. “Your wings are pretty, angel. You preening like that for me?” 

She’s bluffing. It doesn’t matter what sort of spell she’s using, there is absolutely no way she could see your wings. Her eyes would melt from her skull before she could even catch a glimpse. Still, your jaw grows tense, teeth clicking together as you close your wings behind your back self-consciously. “What have you done to me?” you growl, taking a step towards her that you hope is threatening. 

She just laughs, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees. Your eyes flick down to the neckline of her shirt before you force them back to hers. “You poor thing,” she coos, the condescension twisting your gut even further. “You don’t even know you want me, do you?” 

Her words give you pause. Arousal. That is what you feel twisting around your spine and your gut and dipping between your legs, that is what has had your heart racing and your skin heating and your mind stuttering and stalling. Like many things when it comes to Ruby, it shouldn’t be possible—not for you, not for any part of the heavenly host—but as she points it out, you cannot deny it. Not to yourself, anyway. “I am an angel of the Lord,” you say, your voice carefully level. Purposefully impartial. “The only thing I want is your head on a pike.” 

She doesn’t seem to believe you. In fact, she doesn’t seem threatened at all, hasn’t since you got here. “Sure. So why don’t you kill me then?” She stands and takes a step towards you. You take a step back. “If you want me dead so bad, why didn’t you kill me right after you sabotaged my hex bag?” For every step she takes towards you, you take another away. It doesn’t deter her—it only makes her smirk as she mocks you. “Or when you were watching me change? Or, you know what, how about when you were watching me and Sam?” Your back hits the wall, and she laughs in your face. “You know, I think he likes you—”

“Enough,” you grit out, ignoring, once again, the pounding of your heart. She stands so close. You could count her eyelashes, if you wanted to. You almost do. 

Her lips turn down in a little pout. You kind of want to bite it. “Oh, don’t get all upset, angel,” she purrs, lifting her hand to brush her fingers against a strand of your hair. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, and you watch her eyes follow the movement. It’s a little intoxicating. “I like you too. Why else do you think I put up with you trailing me like a lost puppy for so long?” 

The space between you—what little remains of one, anyway—sparks with tension, heavy and thick like the air before a storm. You gather yourself, dragging your voice up from where it’s dropped out along with your stomach. “I don’t…” you trail off, lost for words to describe this because you don’t know. In the abstract, of course, you understand. Sex, desire—you understand these things in perhaps the same way a human might understand your metaphysical form. Something entirely theoretical, something that wasn’t meant for you. But here you are, wanting, yearning. Desiring. And you are left with no concept as to how. 

Ruby smiles again, but this one is…not quite so biting. Not soft, nothing about her is soft, but it’s something close. “I know,” she mutters, and her voice brushes over your skin brimming with mirth, a joke passed between the two of you that you’re not sure you quite understand. Then her hand slips behind your head, firm against the back of your neck, and you don’t care anymore. “That might just be the best part.” 

Then she draws you in, presses her lips against yours, and as your eyes flutter shut, you know you were wrong. She is not soft, not even now, not even as she kisses you, deep and intent, but her lips where they move against yours, the skin on her face where you lift your hand to hold her, they are soft. They are plush and warm and deceiving, and you understand, in an instant, why Eve bit the apple. You sink your teeth into Ruby’s bottom lip, swallowing her groan as sweet, ripe fruit. 

You chase her lips as she pulls away, and she laughs as you land another kiss, two, three, before she catches you with a hand buried in the hair at the back of your neck. “You sure you’ve never done that before?” she teases, tugging at your hair and sending shocks of pleasure-pain down your neck until you open your eyes to meet hers. “You’re a quick learner, angel.” 

It takes you a moment to catch your breath again, your hands smoothing down her neck and across her shoulders. Her skin is warm under your hands, and you want to feel more. You want to feel it all, you want to draw up a map on her flesh, mark down all the places that make her shudder. “My…vessel, perhaps—” you start, but she interrupts you before you can get much further. 

“I don’t actually care,” she tells you, and though the words are blunt, they are not unkind. You think she may be just as impatient as you are. Her hand drops from your neck to your waist and the other comes up to meet it, shoving their way under your shirt to press against your bare skin. “I’ve got something better planned for that mouth of yours. Come on, arms up.” 

Ever obedient, you lift your arms and hers follow, tugging your shirt up and over your head. You feel her heated gaze like a physical thing as it roves over your skin, a phantom touch as her eyes linger on the line where the fabric of your bra ends and the swell of your breast begins. She raises her eyes to meet yours again, and then she smirks, and for the third time, you watch her remove her top. The difference is this time, you get to touch. 

She presses you back against the wall in another all-consuming kiss, distracting you from her hands fiddling with the button of your jeans. You give as good as you get, a new mission growing clearer and clearer in front of you. You want to know every part of her, you want to leave your fingerprints on every inch of her skin. You start at the small of her back, drawing her closer until she shoves her knee between your thighs, sending jolts of pleasure up your spine. The noise that it draws out of your throat shocks you, leaves you panting into Ruby’s mouth as she smirks against yours. 

“Yeah?” she murmurs, ducking her head to lay a line of biting kisses up your throat as her fingers finally pop the button on your pants. “I’m not so bad, am I?” 

You slide your hands over her waist, drawing your fingers through the hair at the center of her lower belly. Your mouth waters at the thought of it. “No. No, you’re…” you trail off, too busy cupping her breasts in your hands to come up with a word to describe what she’s making you feel right now. 

You feel her moan against her neck, and the vibrations of it against your skin encourage you to brush your thumb over her nipple. She rewards you with the sensation of her teeth against your collarbone and her fingers hooking into your belt loops and dragging you bodily forward. Your senses are so overwhelmed that you don’t even realize she’s flipped your positions until she’s using your belt loops to pull your hips against hers as she backs against the wall.  

“You know, angel, I’ve gotta say…you look good like this,” Ruby tells you, dragging a line of hot, wet kisses all the way up your throat and smoothing her hands over your stomach, your ribs. She pauses when she gets to your bra, paying a little extra attention to your clothed breasts and huffing out a laugh when it gets you to whine. But, soon enough, her hands continue their journey until they land on your shoulders and begin to push you down, down, down, until she’s got you kneeling in front of her. She draws a finger along your jaw before using just the tip to tilt your head back, until you can see her smirking down at you. Towering over you. She’s an idol, and you’ve fallen at her feet. “But I think you look better on your knees.” 

There isn’t a view on Earth or in Heaven that could compare to the one you have right now. You draw your hands up her thighs, the denim of her jeans rough against your palms. With your hands on her hips and your eyes cast up to meet hers, you press your lips to the soft skin above her waistband, just to watch her pretty lips part around a gasp. And then, because you can’t help yourself, because you’ve wanted to since you first saw it, you lave your tongue over the trail of hair there, a low, satisfied moan escaping your throat as you do. 

You can feel her lungs inflate with the sharp breath she takes. Her knuckles brush your throat as she fumbles with her jeans’ button. “Damn, that fucking face,” she mutters, shoving her jeans down her hips. You take over pretty quickly, dragging them down her legs until she steps out and kicks them away. “Can’t wait to cover it in my cum. C’mere, pretty thing.” She gets a hand in your hair, firm on the back of your head, and then draws you closer, practically shoving your face against the fabric of her panties. 

You can feel the warmth of her through the lace, and you groan, open mouth dragging over her as she uses her grip on your hair to shove you even closer. God, you can smell her arousal—it’s so distinctive, sharp and musky, and your mouth waters with the need to taste it. You stick your tongue out, moaning as it drags over the rough fabric. 

“Oh, you’re just a natural, aren’t you, angel?” Ruby says, her voice pitched deep and almost raspy. It sends a shiver down your spine to know that you’re the reason for that. “You want it? You wanna taste?” You don’t even need to breathe, and yet you’re panting like a dog against her. You nod, and she reprimands you with a sharp tug at your hair. “Uh-uh, ask. Come on, nice and polite. I wanna hear it.” 

She doesn’t have to ask twice. Right now, you’d rip your grace from your chest and present it to her with a bow without a second thought if it meant you could get your mouth on her. “Can I taste you? Please?” 

Her hand leaves your hair in favor of hooking her fingers under the waistband of her panties. “I’ve got an angel begging at my feet,” she mutters, a short laugh punctuating the statement. “Yeah. You can have it.” 

It takes longer than it maybe should for her to tug her underwear off, entirely due to your unwillingness to budge even an inch from where you’re pressed against her. The fabric snags on your nose, your chin, but soon enough, it’s gone. Or, at the very least, out of your way. It makes no difference to you; you get what you want either way. 

Although, now that the opportunity is right in front of you, you hesitate. You want to do this right; you want to hear more of those sweet, raspy moans, you want to hear your name in that low, affected voice of hers. But you have no idea where to start. 

Ruby, of course, has no patience for your internal dilemma. She shoves her hand into your hair and drags you in, her stance wide to leave room for you. “Do I have to do everything for you?” she complains, even as she presses your face against her cunt, your nose buried in a shock of coarse curls. “You were so eager before, fuckin’ begging for it. You really gonna get shy on me now?” Well. When she puts it like that. 

You open your mouth, experimentally pressing your tongue flat against her wet cunt. The taste of her explodes on your tongue, the sensation so overwhelming that for a moment, it’s almost blinding, deafening—the entire function of your mind too focused on consuming her to make use of any of your other useless senses. The two of you moan in tandem, and in an instant, your hesitance fades, replaced with a gluttonous desire for more, more of her taste on your tongue, more of the feeling of her pussy against your lips. 

Your hands slip from her hips to spread over her ass, pulling her hips forward to press her more firmly against your mouth. You’re not sure what’s more obscene: the noises coming from you as your tongue works her over—the slurping, the whining and moaning—or the words falling from Ruby’s lips between her moans. 

“Look at you, angel,” she coos, using her hand on your head to guide you even closer, even deeper. You press your tongue inside her, and the gasping moan you pull from her is more beautiful than the choirs of Heaven by far. “Eating me out like a pro. Only took one taste to turn you into the perfect little whore for me, huh?” 

Her words only spur you on, encouraging you to be better, to press deeper. You’re glad you don’t need to breathe because you know, as your nose smushes against her clit, that you wouldn’t be able to. Her core spasms around your tongue as you fuck it in and out of her, the entire bottom half of your face slick with her cloying wetness. 

Her thighs have started to tremble beside your head, and her hand holds you steady against the back of your skull as her hips rock against your face. “Oh, fuck, don’t stop—” she moans, as if you would ever dream of stopping, come Hell or high water. Not when her cunt is pulsing so beautifully, not when she’s keening with every movement of your tongue. Her hand twists in your hair, pulling at it, and you moan, muffled against her skin. 

Her arms and her stomach and her thighs tense, and the whole world holds its breath. And then she cries out, her cunt gushing as she comes on your tongue; and she certainly fulfills her promise to cover you in her cum, smearing all over your mouth and chin. She’s breath-taking, riding out her orgasm with a firm grip in your hair just to make sure you stay right where you’re meant to be. You don’t want to pull away, anyway, lapping at her clit until she twitches with oversensitivity and quite literally drags you away. 

For a moment, the two of you simply stare at each other, both panting and messy with her slick. That is, until she drops to her knees in front of you, on your level now, and drags you into a bruising kiss, moaning into your mouth when she tastes herself on your tongue. “Fuck, you’re so good, angel,” she murmurs, hardly even pulling back to talk, just muttering against your lips. “Gonna make you come so hard for that, gonna rock your multidimensional world.” Her hands paw at your jeans, shoving them down your hips as she licks into your mouth. You hardly even notice. 

Your chest practically glows with the praise, and you draw your hands through her hair, smoothing it like you’d imagined when she’d first sat up what feels like a million years ago now. “It was good?” you ask when she pulls away, her forehead still pressed against yours, to yank your jeans down your legs, apparently frustrated with her inefficient shoving. You don’t pay attention to where they land, focused instead on the soft flush to her cheeks, exertion and pleasure coloring them rosy. 

She lifts her eyes to meet yours and grins, snapping the elastic of your panties against your hip as she reprimands, “Don’t fish. I told you you were good, didn’t I? Greedy.” Her voice, while teasing, seems to hold some finality. Take what you get. You suppose if you wanted soft, if you wanted praise, you shouldn’t have chosen to do this with a demon. You don’t regret it for even a moment. “God, I can’t believe how good you look. I just know Sam’s gonna be so jealous that I’m the first person to touch you like this.” 

You open your mouth to tell her you don’t think Sam would ever find out, not that you’re sure he’d care even if he did, but your words cut off with a gasp as she shoves her hand between your legs, cupping your clothed pussy with a soft pressure that sends sparks throughout your whole body. You hadn’t realized how much your cunt was aching for relief until now, with Ruby dangling it just out of your reach.

“You’re so wet,” she says, teasing a fingertip over you through ruined, messy fabric and laughing when it makes you whine. “Look at you. God’s perfect little soldier soaked through her panties like a slut, just from eating me out.” 

You reach down, closing your fingers gently around her wrist. “Ruby…” You’ve never heard your voice sound like that, breathy and downright needy, and it almost shocks you when it reaches your ears. You’d be embarrassed, but it makes her eyes darken and the meat of her hand press more firmly against you, so instead you lean into it, brushing your lips against hers. “Please.” 

She hums, her gaze flicking down to your lips. “Mm. Pretty whore,” she mutters, her breath puffing over your skin like the words are a physical thing, wrapping around your core and pulling tight. “Yeah. I’ll give you something to rut against.” Her fingers, deft and sure, tug the fabric of your panties aside to dip into your cunt, and her mouth swallows your gasp as she presses her lips to yours in a lingering kiss. All too soon, though, her hand draws back along with her kiss. She taps your waistband before flattening her hand there and shoving you back, just a little. “Take those off.” 

You do as she orders, dragging your underwear down your legs and placing them to the side once they’re off, although you think they might be well and truly ruined. When you turn back to Ruby, she’s sitting on her calves with her back against the wall, her legs spread just enough that you can see her glistening cunt. Her eyes rove down your body, then she lifts them to meet yours again and beckons you closer. “C’mere.” 

You shuffle towards her until she can reach out and grab you by the hips, guiding you to settle over her thigh. “Oh,” you breathe, finally understanding her intentions. 

She laughs at you as she encourages you to lower, to settle fully over the plush of her thigh. Even just that, just straddling her, has you clutching her shoulders, searching for something solid. “Yeah. Oh.” Her hands on your hips guide them forward, rolling against her skin, and your mouth falls open—this is unlike anything you’ve ever experienced before. This is carnal, this is pure sin, and you’re not sure you’ve ever felt need like this before. 

“Oh.” A broken record, that exclamation seems to be the only thing that can fall from your lips as her hands guide you back and forth, white hot pleasure zipping from your aching clit all the way up your spine. Your hands move from Ruby’s shoulders to bury themselves in her hair; you’d kiss her, but you’re not sure you’d be able to do much more than moan and whine into her mouth. 

She doesn’t seem to mind. She moves one hand from your hip—the other still encouraging your movements—to cup one of your breasts over the thin fabric of your bra, brushing her thumb over your hard, pebbled nipple. You drop your head to her shoulder, your whimper muffled against the skin of her neck. “You were just made for this, weren’t you?” she coos, shoving your bra out of her way to get her hand on your bare skin. Your hips stutter in their rhythm, shocked by the chill of her hand against your sensitive nipple, but Ruby doesn’t hesitate, her other hand immediately dragging your hips right back into their rocking. “Forget the leagues of Heaven, baby, you were made to be my pretty little slut.” 

“Oh, my—Ruby—” The pleasure builds and builds and builds in your core, and you can’t help but sink your teeth into the juncture of her neck and shoulder, desperate for something, anything, to ground you against the overwhelming onslaught. 

She rewards you with a bounce of her leg, pushing her thigh even firmer against your pussy. Your panting breaths catch on a sobbing moan, your hands white knuckled in her hair. The muscles in your abdomen go tense and tight, and you recognize it only because you had seen it in Ruby just minutes ago: you’re close. “Yeah? Are you gonna come for me, angel? Gonna soak my leg like the whore you are?” 

Your cunt clenches, and you’re sure she can feel it where you’re pressed against her, humping her leg like a bitch in heat. You’re so close, you only need a nudge now to tip over the edge. “Please, please, Ruby. Please.” You don’t even know what you’re begging for, only that Ruby is the only one who could give it to you.

She knows what you need. Of course she does. She ducks her head to close her lips around your nipple, the warmth of her mouth and her sweet, velvety tongue dragging you ever closer to your peak, the coil in your gut growing ever tighter. And then her hands—both of them on your hips now—drag you, firm and slow, over her thigh at the same time her teeth graze your nipple, and the hint of pain coupled with the intense pleasure has the coil finally snapping, your pussy spasming as you come for her. 

Your vision goes white, your whole body buzzing and humming with ecstasy. Distantly, through ringing ears, you think you hear something shatter. You can’t bring yourself to care, not with Ruby’s mouth on your breast and her hands guiding you as she works you through your orgasm. 

Of course, once you come to and open your eyes—when had you closed them? You can’t remember—you can’t help but notice the room is significantly darker than it had been before. Ruby laughs and, with a hand on your chin, guides you to look to the side, where the shattered remains of the lamp’s lightbulb litter the floor. “Talk about explosive,” she quips, bouncing her thigh underneath you just to hear you whimper. “Next time, I’ll make sure to turn the lights off first.” 

You could be cast out of Heaven for this. If you were found out…you could be killed. You certainly would never be allowed back into the pearly gates. But…as Ruby turns your face towards her again and draws you into a kiss, you think this may be worth falling for. At your back, your wings spread wide.

[eveninggstar]

he's a car mechanic ⊹ ࣪ ˖

max verstappen x female!reader

08.08.24

୨ৎ back one page ୨ৎ back two pages

୨ৎ With your lack of knowledge for the word of Formula One, you don't realise your "cat stealing" "car fixing" neighbour is arguably one of the best drivers on the grid at the moment.

(please dont crucify me if you see this and you think max is shit im not ready to be hung drawn and quartered)

The high-rise apartment you had moved into a few months ago was everything you had dreamed of. Spacious, modern, and with a balcony that offered a panoramic view of the city, it was perfect for you and your Siamese cat, Asparagus. Asparagus was a curious and playful companion, always finding new ways to amuse himself.

You quickly settled into your new routine, working from home during the day and spending your evenings relaxing on the balcony with Asparagus. Over time, you noticed that Asparagus had developed a fascination with your neighbour's balcony. The two balconies were close enough that Asparagus could easily hop over the railing and explore the neighbour's space. He particularly seemed to enjoy playing with two Bengal cats, Jimmy and Sassy, who lived next door.

Your neighbour was often away, traveling for his job, so you hadn't had a chance to meet him yet. You only knew his name from the mail slot next to yours. You knew nothing about him other than his name is Max and he's gone a lot.

One sunny afternoon, Asparagus had once again made his way onto Max's balcony. This time, however, Max was home. He was standing on the balcony, looking down at Asparagus with a bemused expression.

"Hey there, little guy," Max said, bending down to let Asparagus sniff his hand. Asparagus, being the friendly cat he was, immediately rubbed against Max's leg, purring loudly.

Max chuckled and opened the sliding door, allowing Asparagus to wander inside his apartment. Over the next few hours, Max found himself charmed by Asparagus's playful antics. He fed the cat, played with him, and even set up a little spot for Asparagus to nap. When evening came, you began to worry. Asparagus hadn't come back yet, and you had no idea where he was.

You spent the next morning designing missing posters, ready to plaster them around the building. But as you were preparing to print them out, you glanced out onto your balcony and saw Asparagus lounging on Max's gym equipment.

"Really, Asparagus?" you muttered to yourself, quickly making your way to Max's apartment. You knocked on his door, feeling a mix of relief and annoyance.

Max opened the door, looking surprised. "Hi, can I help you?" he asked, his eyes widening slightly when he saw the worried look on your face.

"Yes, my cat Asparagus is on your balcony," you said, pointing towards your apartment. "I was really worried about him."

Max's expression shifted to one of defensiveness. "Oh, this cat?" he said, gesturing to Asparagus, who had followed you to Max's door. "I thought he was a stray that wandered in. He's been here for a day or so."

You sighed, feeling both relieved and frustrated. "No, he's my cat. I live right next door. He must have hopped over the railing."

Max looked genuinely surprised. "Sorry, I don't believe you. Do you mind?" He then closed the front door on you. The nerve!

Deciding to escalate the matter, you went to the building manager, who was a friend of your uncle. The manager knew you and Asparagus well, and he assured Max that the cat indeed belonged to you.

Max returned Asparagus with an apologetic look on his face. "I'm really sorry about that. I had no idea. I just got back from a long trip and found him here."

You shrugged off his apology. "Asparagus is a girl." You the returned the favour of shutting the door in his face.

A few weeks passed, and you continued to adjust to your new life. You still hadn't had much interaction with Max, apart from a few polite nods in the hallway. Life was busy, and you were preoccupied with work and taking care of Asparagus.

One morning, as you were trying to head out for some errands, your car refused to start. Frustrated, you tried everything you could think of, but the engine wouldn't turn over.

Max happened to be in the garage, and he noticed you struggling. He walked over with a concerned look on his face. "Having some trouble?" he asked.

You shot him a glance, your frustration evident. "if you're hear to take the piss I will gladly hijack someone's car and run you over with it."

Max halted his words as he came up next to you. He was just staring at you, taking in the features of his pretty neighbour with the adorable cat. He didn't hear your questions as you began to get more and more irritated, or even the clicking and clapping in his face. Eventually Max broke out of his beauty filled trance and stumbled for an answer. "I can take a look at it for you, if you want."

You were sceptical. "What?"

Max nodded, trying to appear confident. "Yeah, I’m a car mechanic. I can fix it up for you, free of charge."

You raised an eyebrow, surprised. "Really?"

Max felt a pang of anxiety, knowing he had just lied. But he wanted to make things right. "Consider it an apology for the whole cat thing." He paused looking down at his hands that had began to become both equally interesting and sweaty. "I am still sorry about that, i just really like cats! I mean Siamese cats-"

"Okay! You can fix my car." You interrupted him, dropping the useless keys into his clammy palm. Only then Max realised what he had done.

Later that day, Max called a friend who was an actual mechanic and arranged for him to come pick up the car, and then fix it, whilst he took credit for it.

The car incident became a turning point in your relationship with Max. Over the next few weeks, the two of you spent more time together. Max often found excuses to visit, sometimes bringing treats for Asparagus, other times simply to chat. You started to see a different side of him—one that was caring, considerate.

One evening, Max invited you over to his apartment for dinner. This wasn't unusual as the two of you hand never been out together-as a thing. Something you both agreed about was that staying in with the cats is much better. The atmosphere was relaxed, with soft music playing in the background and the smell of delicious food filling the air. Max had prepared a three-course meal, and as you ate, you found yourself opening up to him in ways you hadn't expected.

"Growing up, I always felt like I was living in someone else's shadow," you confided, tracing the rim of your wine glass with your finger. "My older sister was the golden child, and I was just... there."

Max listened intently, his blue eyes focused on you. "I get that. Luckily for me I was the older child. My dad would teach me to kart." He paused to think of his next words. "Sometimes the conditions were a little unorthodox, but I did enjoy it. The reason I'm so into cars." He thought back to his words, hoping it dint slip of his true profession.

You looked at him, surprised. "I'm sorry," You reached over to rub his arm on the table whilst offering a sympathetic smile.

He smiled wryly. "It's all an act, really. Inside, I'm just a guy who loves speed and cats."

You both laughed, and the conversation flowed naturally, moving from childhood memories to dreams and aspirations. By the end of the night, you felt a deeper connection with Max, one built on mutual understanding and shared secrets.

As your relationship with Max grew closer, the romantic tension between you became palpable. There were lingering glances, accidental touches, and moments when it felt like the world had shrunk down to just the two of you.

One night, after a particularly gruelling day at work, you found yourself at Max's door. He opened it, concern immediately crossing his face. "Hey, you okay?"

You shook your head, tears brimming in your eyes. "I just... I need someone to talk to."

Max pulled you into a hug, holding you tightly as you let the tears flow. "I'm here," he whispered. "I'm not going anywhere."

You spent the evening on his couch, talking about everything that had been weighing on you. Max listened, offering comfort and reassurance. At some point, you fell asleep, your head resting on his shoulder. When you woke up, a blanket was draped over you, and Max was still by your side, watching whatever movie that was playing on mute with subtitles.

Your sanctuary of calmness didn't last long. A flood of messages came through from your friend. Multiple screenshots of instagram posts, or twitter posts, with the occasional article highlighting your cat and car loving neighbour and yourself at the slight hint of a relationship. You scrolled through as much as you could, and found a few underlying facts.

Your face was pasted pretty much everywhere you looked online

Your cute, cat loving, car mechanic was actually an f1 driver.

And that you were lied to heavily.

You went silent on Max for a few days, avoiding his calls and texts- sometimes even the knocks to your door. When you finally looked at his messages, the most recent one stating that he had finished your car and was brining your keys back to you. His rhythmic knock sounded at the door. You cursed god that there wasn't a mail slot on your door for your keys to be dropped in as you strolled to the door.

"Hey, I haven't heard from you in a few days. Is everything okay?" he asked, smiling nervously.

You opened the door, feeling a surge of anger. "You lied to me, Max. First, you steal my cat, then you lie about being a mechanic. You're a freaking celebrity, and you never said anything!"

Max was taken aback, his smile fading. "I... I didn't mean to lie. I just didn't want to complicate things." He paused looking at you taking in the details he missed over the past few days. "Also I didn't technically steal your cat, Asparagus-"

"Did you even fix my car, Max?" You put your hands on your hips, looking at him with furrowed brows.

Max stood there awkwardly, muttering a quiet "No" before breaking into a rush of apologies. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to lie to you. I just wanted to help. It felt nice with you, being known as Max and not Max Verstappen the driver!"

You looked at him, feeling a mix of hurt and betrayal. Without another word, you grabbed your car keys and shut the door, not realizing that Asparagus had slipped out and followed Max.

Max sighed, picking up Asparagus and knocking on your door again. "Please, just hear me out."

"Go away!" you yelled through the door.

"But-"

"Max, leave me alone!"

Max stood there for a moment, feeling desperate. He needed a way to apologize and give Asparagus back. Suddenly, an idea came to him. He went back to his apartment, grabbing a notepad and pen.

The next day, you found a letter and a small box outside your door. The letter read:

Dear Y/N,

I’m incredibly sorry for everything. I never meant to deceive you. Please accept this as an apology.

Inside the box, you'll find the necklace I was going to give you when I eventually gained the courage to ask you out and tell you the truth.

I know I cant buy your way into forgetting, but I just want you to take it.

I hope we can start over.

- Max

p.s I do have asparagus, after you shut the door she came out and won't go back to your balcony

Inside the box was a beautiful necklace with a pearl in the centre, with a small note that read:

"I might not be a mechanic, but I want to be honest with you from now on. I hope you can forgive me."

Feeling a mix of emotions, you decided to go over to the apartment opposite yours. You knocked on his door, and it was opened straight away. You saw the tentative look he had.

"Can we talk?" you asked, bending down to hold Asparagus.

Max nodded, stepping aside to let you in. "I'd like that."

As you sat down together, you felt a sense of hope. Maybe, just maybe, this was the start of something real.

Please don’t steal my work, much love ᡣ𐭩

Tag list: (comment if you want to be added)

𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃 eveninggstar

[dorylinae-supremacy]

Thinking about an AU where Techno, Wilbur and Tommy are all the harbingers of the actual entire apocalypse and Phil (just some insane guy) decides that those are in fact his kids and starts gaslighting the absolute shit out of them about it.

Rambles under cut!

I wanna try something where they're just more insidious and passive killers than anything else, theyre mostly just biding their time and watching as wherever they're lingering around gets sicker and just starts withering away.

They're a slow moving threat that just can't be stopped and for some reason (because Kristin thinks its funny) Phil just isnt affected by them.

Phil: Oh Techno's always been like that ever since he was a baby Techno: I have literally never met you a day in my life Tommy: Idk man... you have always been like that Wilbur: Oh my death he's actually getting to us

Its a mix of that combined with that "how did he know I was a gemini" meme

Phil: Wil! I brought you some salmon, I know how much you love it! Wilbur: How the fuck did you know I like salmon Phil: I'm your dad silly, of course I'd know :-)

I just think itd be super fun since Phil in this au is literally just some insane dude. He literally lies about their entire childhood but does it so consistently and so realistically that it throws them off guard.

I also have a few ideas where they start referring to Phil as their dad in the beginning as a sarcastic / mocking thing but accidentally just getting themselves even more adopted as they do it.

Phil: Wilbur put on a coat Wilbur: I don't need one! Techno: Go on, Wil. Listen to dad Wilbur: Ugh fine. Only because dad wants it, though

Stranger: Whos this? Tommy: Oh thats our dad. He kinda just tags along Stranger: Aww thats so sweet! You got his nose and everything Tommy: I- wh- no he's not actually our da- Phil: I know he did! Isn't he the cutest, spitting image isnt he? Tommy: You're not my dad! Stranger: Oh someones embarrassed! Phil: Yeah he's going through a rebellious phase right now

Just a mixture of things like that where it starts as calling him it but then accidentally actually giving him parental authority along with that.

I also wanna explore how Kristin and Phils relationship would be like. Maybe her as death being very bemused by this silly human that just decided she was his wife one day.

She literally visits him in dreams and stuff and he just acts as if they're married and have been for years. He complains about their 'rambunctious kids' and how he has to threaten them with her so that they behave sometimes. She finds it so silly and just cant help but play pretend.

Kristin: Hello, human Phil: My love! Its been so long since I've seen you Kristin: We've never met Phil: Oh don't say that! It hasnt been that long. I've just been far too occupied with our boys to visit too much Kristin: Our boys? I made them Phil: And they came out beautiful! I'm so glad Wil and Tech got your eyes. I was hoping they would.

I think that'd be a core part of this AU as well. Everyone is playing pretend but then it just fuzzies and it all becomes real for them. At first its a joke that Phil is her husband and their father but then they get lost in the fantasy and fun of it all and actually accept him as such.

Phil has no ulterior motives either, he's literally just a strange insane man that heard stories about neotrio and started thinking they were his kids one day. He genuinely believes his delusion and they end up accidentally making it a reality.

He just makes lucky guesses and plausible lies often enough that he's still shiny and new, he's still fun to play with and thats what ends up 'tricking' them all.

[frostyhelltime]

Good morning/afternoon! Love your work so much! Could you write what reactions Vox, Alastror and Lucifer (my favorote trio haha) would have when they first realise they have feelings for someone? Like, they are not dating yet, they just got first "o sh*t" moment while eating breakfast or something.

Sorry this took so long! ❤️ Alastor's got COMPLETELY away from me and did not end up being as small as Lucifer and Vox, so I'm gonna give Alastor his own post which you can find HERE.

And thank you!! You're so kind and I hope you like my writing for this as well! I had a lot of fun so feel free to send more requests! ❤️

Vox and Lucifer Realize They Have Feelings For You

Vox x GN!Reader

Lucifer x GN!Reader

Vox

Vox genuinely confuses his feelings of love with simple lust and friendship for the longest time.

It's his possessive nature that helps him realize it's actual feelings instead of just something sexual he wants.

Plus a little ribbing from Valentino and Velvette when that possessive nature shows.

Whether you've had sex with him or not yet is irrelevant. He thinks what he feels for you is just lust, and you get along well and don't frustrate him like his cohorts often do. So obviously he enjoys having you by his side and spending time with you.

But it's Valentino's pushing and prodding that makes him realize, and as soon as he does actually realize it, he goes into planning mode.

Vox wasn't always the biggest fan of the loud club the trio found themselves at, but the music was a little quieter in this VIP section away from the crowds. Which made it a lot easier to actually relax with the drink in his hand as he listens to Valentino chatter about something he's only half listening to until he says your name.

He thinks perhaps Val hadn't noticed, but the way Vox's eyes clearly focused in on Valentino when they hadn't been before says everything, and Vox decides not to comment on the shit-eating grin the moth is wearing.

"Sorry. What did you say about them?" He asks for clarification, since all he actually zoned back in for was your name.

“They're very beautiful, no? I think I'll ask them to star in something. I already have a script that would be perfect for the-” Val is about to continue talking about it when Vox immediately snaps, posture becoming rigid as he speaks before he can even realize what he's saying.

“Fuck no Val.” His face has a look of genuine disgust and the visceral way he responded even has Velvette looking up from her phone for a moment, especially after hearing the distortion in his voice. She's eyeing him to try and figure out what the reaction was for.

Valentino only blinks a few times as if processing actually being told no, and then trying to figure out why. But as soon as it hits him the befuddled expression turns to one of delighted bemusement, snickering as he grinned saliciously at Vox.

“Oh~ I didn't realize you had a little amorcito you were hiding from us.” Valentino sounds so smug as he uses his long cigarette to tilt Vox's face up to see him better. Velvette just snorts a laugh, putting her phone down fully now. This was far more entertaining.

But Vox still didn't get the memo yet apparently.

“Amor…? What. No. We're not dating. I have no idea what you're talking about but you're not asking them to star in one of your flicks.” Vox says concretely even though he's very confused by Valentino's suggestion, pushing the cigarette away from his face in annoyance. Velvette just raises an eyebrow, locking eyes with Val as if to silently ask if their companion was truly this dumb. At least in this area. Val just shrugs and Vox watches this silent exchange, just becoming more vexed by it.

“What?! I can't say someone is off limits?!” He's quickly getting annoyed by the way they're both acting.

“Oh no no. You can ask for someone to be off limits….but no one asks for just anyone to be off limits.” Velvette explains, trying to lead this horse to water, trying to coax his line of thinking in the right direction.

“Well duh. They're great company and I don't want Val or his people ruining that.” Vox says coolly, trying to reel himself back in to maintain his composure.

“Oh, so it's just Val and his lackeys you don't want being intimate with them? Then it should be fair game for me to throw my hat in the ring, yeah?” Velvette asks, tilting her head cockily, a knowing smirk on her face. She didn't actually want to pursue you. She was just baiting him.

"We'd be the cutest couple on Sinstagram don't you-"

But Vox is immediately snapping, taking said bait without even realizing.

“No!”

Another, heavier voice distortion colors the word.

“So it's anyone being with them that pisses you off? That sounds like a genuine crush, not just ‘great company’, campañero~” Valentino takes another drag of his cigarette before taking another sip of his drink, adjusting the busty demon currently sitting on his lap to be his eye candy and thing to squeeze tonight.

Said demon is pointedly avoiding all of their eyes, as if to silently tell them she doesn't hear shit and she won't be repeating anything she hears herself. She values her afterlife enough to know to not mention this to anyone.

Vox’s expression goes through multiple stages, indignation, surprise, confusion, amusement, disbelief, annoyance, and eventually…

“...Holy shit.” He eventually whispers leaning back in his seat, eyes wide as Velvette claps.

“Theeeeere it is! Knew you'd get there eventually.” She snickers, as well as Val, both ignoring the pointed glare Vox was sending them now.

He's not even going to bother dignifying it with a response. He wouldn't give them the pleasure.

For now he just leans back further, grumpily folding his arms and continuing to sip his drink as he thinks.

Now that he's aware he can figure out what to do. Like there is anything to figure out anyway. He's charismatic and rich and powerful. What sinner wouldn't want to be the one to earn his affections? With that certainty in his mind at least, he loosens up a little, relaxing. Surely he can approach you tomorrow. For now he'll just relax here, and let Velvette and Valentino have their silly little laugh while they can enjoy it.

Lucifer

He's the fastest to realize.

Partially because he's actually been in love before so he's familiar with the feeling.

But he's also the first to panic because of it, wondering what Charlie will think.

Their relationship was just beginning to rebuild itself and he's scared about what such a big change would do to what he's rebuilt so far.

He most likely realizes when he's talking to Charlie actually.

Charlie is talking about how much she loves Vaggie, how everything reminds Charlie of her, or how if she sees something wonderful her immediate thought is that she wants to bring Vaggie there.

She's just talking about how she just loves Vaggie so much she just wants to share everything with her, boring and exciting!

And that is when it clicks for him, eyes widening.

“And despite the people of Cannibal Town being…interesting…They have amazing gardens and a gazebo and I can't wait to surprise Vaggie with a date there!” Charlie is talking at the typical fast pace she does when she is immeasurably excited, Lucifer just grinning and nodding along and just enjoying her sharing news about her life with him. There was so much he felt he still didn't know about his daughter and he was very eager to make up for lost time.

“And I heard this amazing new song that made me think of her! It went something like….Oh how did it go...?” Charlie trails off before attempting to sing what words she did remember.

“Or something like that! Anyways! Ugh I even love just sitting next to her while I write out new trust exercises!” She gushes, clasping her hands together as she continues to wax poetic about Vaggie. Others in the hotel didn't really care or were just tired of hearing it, and Lucifer wanted to spend time with her regardless of what they spent the time doing. So it made sense she would gush about her wonderful girlfriend to her dad, who patiently and happily listened to almost anything she wanted to talk about.

At some point during this monologue that he nodded and made noises of acknowledgement during, he stiffened, eyes widening as he realized the parallels between Charlie and himself that he hadn't really thought about before now.

Whenever he saw a pretty part of Pentagram City, his first thought was to show you. When he tried a new restaurant, his thought afterwards was always ‘Good enough to take you there.’ or ‘Not good enough to take you there.’ He adores the time when you're just sitting next to him, reading a book, or drawing, or whatever strikes your fancy that day as he toils away at his latest invention. He just enjoys…existing with you, even if no one is talking. Even mundane things like what he did that morning are things he finds he wants to share with you…he hears songs of love and happiness and his thoughts drift to you without even realizing until the song is over. If all of those things are things Charlie feels about Vaggie…then…

Fuck.

When did this even happen?! At what point did you turn from just a delightful part of his day to a required part of his day? How long has he had these feelings?! Why didn't he realize he had these feelings?!

Okay! No need to panic! He's been in love before. He can handle this. Right? He's the king of hell. Surely he can handle some feelings. He had been in love before!

…Except back then it had been completely obvious the feeling was reciprocated because they literally fell to hell together.

He's still panicking a little inwardly but…perhaps Charlie could help with some suggestions? He doesn't really know if he trusts anyone else to ask them that vulnerable of a question. To expose a weak point a sinner could gleefully take advantage of, to put you in harm's way. He also trusts you of course, but for obvious reasons he can't discuss that with you.

He realizes in his panicked internal monologue he's missed a good chunk of what Charlie has just said, and she realized it too, judging by the concerned look on her face.

“Dad? You in there?” She asks, leaning over him and waving a hand in front of his face to try and grab his attention, smiling when his eyes focused back on her.

"Whew! Thought I lost you there!" She laughs, shoulders relaxing now that he seems to be okay.

“Yes! I'm right here CharChar! Uh. Actually…now that I think about it I was wondering if I could ask you about something…” He trails off, taking her arm and beginning to walk to a more secluded area of the hotel to talk.

[doodle-pops]

Of Heroism and Heart

Glorfindel x reader

A/N: I've never been one for writing the whole 'modern–day reader falling into Middle Earth stories', I always preferred to read them. So, I'm attempting my hand at this for the first time. It is a bit different from what is typically written. So, here's your Glorfi fic that won the poll.

Warnings: none, tooth-rotting fluff, Glorfindel has learned how to use his charisma.

Words: 1k

Synopsis: Talks of heroism and villainy become the new philosophical method of displaying one's charm.

“There’s a saying about villains and heroes where I’m from,” you began, your voice thoughtful and reflective. “It goes something like this: ‘A hero would sacrifice you to save the world, but a villain would sacrifice the world to save you.’”

Swinging gently in the breeze, swaying side to side in your hammock, your elven Lord sat across from you, engrossed in the exchange of tales and sayings from your world. Each day seemed to bring a new layer of fascination as he delved into the intricacies of human culture and thought. He had never expected your arrival to kindle such curiosity and interest in his heart. Mortals were extraordinary beings, but your presence had illuminated new facets of their nature that he had yet to explore.

His gaze followed the motion of the potted celandines hanging above, his lips pursed in contemplation as your words settled into his mind. “Care to elaborate?” he inquired, his curiosity genuine.

Shouldering a casual shrug, accompanied by a half–formed smirk, you stretched languidly in the hammock, nestling further into its embrace. You playfully placed your small feet beside his torso. “It’s just one of those sayings people come up with, you know? Derived from observations about heroes and villains,” your tone conveyed a sense of ease, as if you were simply relaying common wisdom passed down to you. “Heroes are driven to save the world, which in turn saves their loved ones. However, sometimes, their loved ones end up perishing in the process of saving the world. On the other hand, villains prioritize protecting their loved ones before pursuing their goal, even if that means destroying the world.”

His brow furrowed as he mulled over your explanation, his expression a canvas of deep contemplation. With each piece of your interpretation, it was as if puzzle pieces were clicking into place within his mind, accompanied by mental light bulbs illuminating his understanding. His appearance resembled that of a bemused puppy, and you couldn’t help but toy with the idea of labelling him your “Golden Retriever,” a nickname he strangely seemed to embody.

“What specifically are you conveying here?” Glorfindel’s head tilted to the side, his gaze fixed on you with a tinge of displeasure. “Your words seem to imply that villains are superior to heroes, given their commitment to safeguarding their loved ones. I find myself in disagreement with that declaration.”

Laughter bubbled from your lips in response to his dissatisfaction, prompting you to sit upright and meet his gaze directly. “What it suggests is that when faced with a choice between saving the world or saving their beloved, a hero would typically choose the world, while a villain would opt for their loved one,” you clarified. “Heroes tend to be focused on overarching morality and the greater good, whereas villains are often more concerned with their personal connections. It’s a play on perspectives—what’s considered right or wrong isn’t always straightforward.”

Glorfindel blinked rapidly, his gaze unwavering as he sat upright to face you directly. His unruly golden locks, cascading like sun–kissed tendrils, framed his countenance like an ethereal halo. A soft blush warmed your cheeks despite the intellectual discourse at hand. It was easy to lose yourself in these conversations, and at times, it almost felt like he possessed an uncanny awareness of his own effect on you.

“I beg to differ,” he asserted firmly, a challenge evident in his voice. “I am regarded as a hero by many for my accomplishments, and I would never permit harm to befall either the world or my beloved. I would strive to safeguard both.”

Raising an eyebrow, you leaned in, your foreheads nearly touching as you met his steadfast gaze. “And how, might I ask, do you intend to accomplish such a feat, renowned Lord Balrog Slayer?”

Drawing even closer, his forehead pressed gently against yours, and he whispered with an air of triumph, “I would ensure your safety...for you are my world. Without you, the world would lose its meaning; you are the bane of my essence, my reason for existence, the very breath I inhale. There can be no world without you at my side, just as there can be no you without the world. As a hero, I would save my world, meleth–nîn. I cherish you deeply.”

A lump formed in your throat, a mixture of emotions leaving you momentarily speechless. The rising heat in your cheeks contrasted with the tears that shimmered in the corners of your eyes. The rush of emotions and the depth of his words left you with a heartwarming smile. Glorfindel’s eloquence had the power to move your soul and reshape your worldview. He effortlessly wove his sentiments into words that stirred your heart, offering you a love and life you had previously only encountered in fairytales. The dream of falling in love with Prince Charming had become a vivid reality ever since you had stumbled into Middle–earth and into his arms.

In the stillness that followed, he took advantage of the moment, his fingers gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. He placed soft kisses on your forehead and cheeks before hesitating, his lips hovering near yours. The anticipation hung in the air, drawing out the moment until his lips finally met yours in a fleeting, yet intense, kiss.

Pulling away, his lashes brushed against your skin as his lips traced playful patterns along your cheeks. “You’re quite the romantic, you know?” you giggled.

“If it means being right, then I shall embrace the role of the romantic for you, my beloved,” he murmured, a warmth of affection evident in his smile.

“Just ensure you tie your hair before rushing to save me, I don’t need another hair–pulling accident in this day and age.”

Masterlist

Taglist: @eunoiaastralwings @koyunsoncizeri @ranhanabi777 @lilmelily @someoneinthestars @mysticmoomin @aconstructofamind @hoshinokurasa @singleteapot @the-phantom-of-arda @rain-on-my-umbrella @asianbutnotjapanese @ilu-stripes @justellie17 @justjane @bunson-burner @stormchaser819 @wisheduponastar @roselovesong @batsyforyou

[nevertheless-moving]

More from the Hesina Willshaper AU. Specifically Continued from Here.

while hesina and Lirin were travelling with the band of freed slaves the two were loosely in charge, but decent enough at delegating that other people quickly took on major leadership rules.

erk. gonna need a bunch of ocs

layla, 8th nahn before being sold to pay family debts. quartermaster/ house steward role. roughly same age as hesina. worked mostly as a house slave.

she had actually managed to half pay off her slave price, something she gripes about for laughs, she could have bought cool stuff with that money. most of the money came from the child she had, who was sold as a baby, wouldn't be able to find it if she wanted to, and she's not even completely sure she does.

layla is fascinated by different peoples religions, languages, beliefs...she's met people from a surprising number of countries working as a lighteye's servant. mostly self taught reading, hesina teachers her to write. hesina and her talk a lot about religion and philosophy. one of the few people who doesn't put hesina on a pedestal. hesina's first squire.

it seems that the squire rules are different for each order. i'm wildly but confidently headcanoning that willshapers get exactly ten, and they can tangibly feel each squire bond being formed.

willshapers have an interesting relationship to Connection. Connections can free you. Connections can become chains. best to be aware. either side of the willshapers squire bond can break the connection at any time.

(willshapers also have an interesting relationship to Oaths. Oaths can very definitely become chains. they just... i mean oaths still matter, but they don't take breaking them as seriously as some of the orders. circumstances matter. people grow. the spren once vowed not to bond with the singers again, and yet...it's been millenia. The lightspren are thinking. Things have changed.)

they're not freeing people because they made an oath. They made an oath because they chose to free people.

-

Ruush, 5th nahn before being enslaved for refusing to follow orders. One of the only ones with actual military training, though his leg was broken and healed wrong, meaning that he could only train, not fight, until he became hesina's second squire and healed.

Often Lirin's guard. Only 15 years younger than Lirin, but has for sure called him dad. Lirin calls him son and tries not to lecture him too much on being a soldier.

Ruush is mildly bemused by the entire concept of pacifism (Not common among Alethi!) and listens very patiently, with genuine if slightly abstract interest. i mean, you gotta admit, violence does beget violence. wild. anyway, back to work.

Has heard enough stories about Tien and Kaladin that he pretty much thinks of them as his brothers.

When kaladin and him finally meet kal is... mostly cool with that (sure, this might as well happen. can't have too many brothers). but there is significant disagreement over who's oldest.

-

shortly before making it to Urithiru oathgate they run into the listeners. layla and ruush hastily throw up some walls between them while Hesina tries to communicate that she comes in peace. The listeners scramble to get Eshonai to translate.

it takes some time to talk. the translation process with the council of five. mistrust on both sides. lirin gives an impassioned speech about wanting to be free from violence, and some listeners swear they could almost hear the man attuning to the rhythm of hope.

Eshonai gives her plate and blade to Thule before traveling to Urithiru. Venli calls her a fool. The council approves. This might be their one last chance.

Eshonai returns full of enthusiasm. This is it. They could escape. They would still need gems to make the fields grow, but the Neshua Kadal leader women and her mate have been robbing other humans blind while traveling. This could work.

-

Venli presents her own radical idea, storm form, a form of power.

Maybe two thirds of the listeners take the chance on Urithiru.

A third stay on the shattered plains to fight for vengeance to the bitter end.

-

Listeners slightly outnumber human population. People learn quickly that any violence gets randomly duplicated, which Lirin is weirdly smug about. Eshonai spends a lot of time on language lessons.

After sitting down and talking it out, they eventually decide to make a council of ten — 5 humans, 5 listeners. Hesina's lightspren is given the deciding vote if they tie.

They need each other too much to operate separately, even if the place is technically big enough.

Over the course of a month they actually settle into a decent routine. There's some mistrust, but Eshonai manages to explain fairly eloquently why they decided to kill the king, fearing being enslaved by the return of the gods

yeah the humans can get that. we don't really care about the king anyway.

the parshendi were shocked by how brutally and disproportionately the Alethi responded

tell me about it. i once scratched a window and was beaten until i couldn't walk.

Really, things are promising, common ground, willingness to move forward together.

-

Layla draws her own lightspern to much rejoicing, reaching the third oath, so now they can move between the oathgates without worrying about leaving people trapped in Urithiru without Hesina.

Eshenoi swears her own first oath!! even more rejoicing!!! listener and dark eyes going together into the future freely and equally.

if only they could convince Venli's revenge splinter group to join them. of course everyone wants vengeance but... they want to live more. they want to live for more.

the 'stormform' group is going to get themselves killed. and if somehow they don't... fear grows that the songs, the warnings about forms of power — they were for exactly this moment but what are they going to do? attack their own people?

The radiants alternate going out on a few more raids, freeing more slaves. They also bring stolen parchmen now, which they had mostly decided to leave behind in past raids, as they wouldn't really help in their own escapes at all, and everyone felt bad continuing to treat as slaves even if they come with, but they just...stand there. The Listeners are continuously baffled by them.

Some humans think about another few thousand years of their children and their children's children and their children being tenth dahn eternally ... they know humans who are dead behind the eyes and stormfather. If you bred for that...

-

(a storm is coming and things are going to get messy but those who were there will look back on these months and know how important they were. when the lighteyes come and the singers come things will change. but for a moment there was something beautiful and almost pure. and those foundations will matter more than anyone could possibly imagine)

[its-all-papaya]

Cat for the prompt game

this one was almost an hour and a half but in my defense my brain is a little fried. forgive.

Lando's looped the video probably about a hundred times already, but it still tickles the back of his brain the same way when he watches Oscar's face light up for the one-hundred-and-first time.

"I'm meeting some fans today, apparently."

Lando's seen it so many times he could mouth the words along with Oscar if he wanted. His expression is one Lando'd already had memorized even before, the bemused little smirk he pulls out whenever McLaren throws him in front of a camera alone. Put-upon, like he wants the whole audience to know he's just humoring them.

"Here they are," says the voice off camera that Lando could place if he thought about it long enough.

He hasn't thought about it at all, though, because it comes just before Oscar's face goes surprised, then melts into something soft and happy. Bit distracting, that part. Because Lando knows that expression, too, and it's only the fact that he's got it in high-def now that keeps him from being jealous that the video has gone and shared it with the whole world.

There are three of them, all orange.

"Hello there," Oscar says. It's in his normal voice, like he's talking genuinely to fans and not to the three itty bitty kittens tumbling around his legs.

The bravest of the bunch noses suspiciously at the top of his sock where it meets his shin as soon as it gets close enough. It shrinks back when Oscar smooths two fingers down the back of its neck.

"I reckon they were born to be fans," Oscar's eyes shoot quickly up to the camera and then back down as the second kitten props both tiny paws on his knee, "they're already in the right color."

It goes on like that. Oscar's smile never fully leaves his face and it never makes Lando's chest feel any less warm, no matter how many times he watches it repeat on his phone screen. The marketing team will probably be in fits over the numbers the post is doing, and all the while it'll be just Lando, curled up in his sweats in bed listening to Oscar say "I've seen that people compare me to one" over and over and over again.

Lando's seen, too. That people compare Oscar to a cat. He thinks that's probably where the whole thing came from, actually, the social team cashing out with a partner and tapping in on the fans' fancies at the same time.

He's not quite sure what they mean, but privately, Lando agrees. Carlos and Daniel had been all dog, bouncing into his life and wagging their proverbial tails at him until he keyed himself up to match. All play-fighting and sloppy, open affection; crowding his personal space and shedding everywhere until he had no choice but to love them back just as loudly, just as whole-heartedly.

Oscar had been different from the get-go. He was wary like a cat, circling quietly closer, sneaking in at the edges when he thought Lando might not notice. Shrinking away when he got too much affection too quickly. Slinking back to his own side of the garage when he'd had whatever he decided was enough, always resetting on his own terms.

"Bit scared, I reckon," Oscar says at the fifty-seven second mark. His gaze is off-screen, watching as the kittens are herded carefully back towards him. "New place, and all."

He chats on about the shelter they're promoting, hands busy corralling the kittens when they try to wander again. It takes until nearly a minute and a half in for him to successfully get a hand under one of them. His cheeks go a bit pink as he draws it up towards his chin, and Lando's always go a bit pink as he watches Oscar smile, listens to him say, "See? It's alright."

The next part is Lando's favorite. Sometimes he's been stopping to loop just the same fifteen seconds over, watching again and again as Oscar tucks the kitten against his chest, one hand cradling its back while the other nudges up under its furry white chin. Lando gets a bit hung up on the curve of Oscar's finger there, and he understands it, the way the kitten's eyes close into two pleased little arches on its face.

"Now you're happy, huh?" Oscar asks. His grin suddenly brightens into a soft laugh, and he looks directly at the camera to say, "I don't know if you can hear the purring."

They can hear it. Lando'd had to pull out his headphones a few loops in to catch it the first time, but he can pick it out through just the phone speaker now that he knows what to listen for.

Oscar finishes the video with the sponsored read at two-minutes-and-fifty-five seconds. The kitten is nearly asleep in his palm. Oscar's just sort of knuckling along its stomach gently as they close out, but he slips the pad of one finger under the kitten's paw just before the fade-out, and the cat's little toes flex out, like he's petting Oscar right back.

"What are you watching?"

Lando's eyes snap up from his phone screen, where the McLaren logo is frozen under the repeat icon. Next to him, Oscar rolls closer with a yawn so wide Lando can hear his jaw click. His voice is groggy, still half-asleep.

"Nothing," Lando whispers back.

Oscar slides an arm around his waist and Lando gets distracted enough by the feel of it that he doesn't notice Oscar's fingers closing around the phone, tilting it up so he can see what's woken him just after he'd drifted off.

He breathes out an exhale sharp enough to be a laugh and drops both the phone - onto the bed - and his head - onto Lando's chest.

"Interested in adopting one?" he asks, too cheeky for how awake he can possibly be. His fingers curl around Lando's bare side and Lando can feel his lips move vaguely against his collarbone.

"Maybe," Lando says back.

Oscar gives another of the breathy laughs, "You don't even like cats."

Lando locks his phone and finally sets it on the nightstand to charge. The stretch jostles Oscar enough that he huffs, but Lando soothes him easily with a palm up his spine. When he reaches the top, he threads fingers through the hair at Oscar's nape and presses a kiss to his forehead at the contented hum it draws out of him. A bit like a purr.

Lando smiles.

"That's not true."