#if you STILL think ANY of this is even REMOTELY acceptable

[sirhamburrger]

DIE WITH A SMILE (m. bachira x reader)

━☆ (post-apocalypse au, for day three of @phantasmaebg) ━☆ in which the only thing you can do is join him in undeath. ━☆ wc (written portion): 831 || tags/cw: f!reader, reader is a researcher working on a cure for the virus, bachira is part of an elite military squad, major character deaths (both bachira and reader, among others)(this is a zombie apocalypse au after all) || event m.list ━☆ why did i write this... this is so sad *runs away crying*

meguru bachira is beautiful. a little tired - that much is evident from the dark circles under his golden eyes - but still: beautiful. his eyes practically light up when you step into the room, clad in full personal protective equipment. 

for a moment you get self conscious of how you look dressed like a walking banana, but that all disappears when he chuckles warmly, making you blush beneath your mask.

“you’re even more beautiful than i expected,” the squadron member breathes.

you cock your head to the side, highly skeptical as you take a seat in front of him. “you can only see my eyes, though,” you point out, voice muffled.

“yeah, well.” a short pause, then, “they say true beauty is all in the eyes.”

you don’t quite know how you should respond to that, so you don’t.

you end up talking to him than is honestly necessary for the psych eval. he’s a sweet man, and the things his squad-mates have said about him are proven true - optimistic, cheerful, perceptive. somehow, the man you’ve only ever been able to talk to over the phone from behind a reinforced glass panel has become one of the people you trust most in this world.

maybe it’s the way he listens to you intently about the stresses of work, lets you confide in him about hard days - especially really hard days when you find out another one of you has been lost to the virus - trusts you enough to spill his own secrets too.

maybe it’s the way he laughs, or calls you pretty when he’s not calling you “doc”. maybe it’s the way you relate to him, both being people with risky jobs. in a broken world like this, either of you could go at any minute. but he helps you accept it, and he helps you embrace it.

but maybe it’s the way he tries to reach a hand out to hold yours on the table during a particularly hard part of the conversation, but restrains himself, a dejected and heartbroken expression on his face.

how ironic that the only thing you want is the only thing you cannot have. not just yet, at least.

it’s been three days since squad z perished in tokyo’s biggest hot zone, and meguru is not doing well.

it started with erratic vitals - high blood pressure, arrhythmia, severe migraines, then escalated  violent outbursts. your superiors don’t allow you in the room with him any more, even though you’d bet your life he would never hurt you. it hurts to see him like this. delirious, in mourning, broken.

he is not the man he once was, and you’re not entirely sure he’ll live long enough to see that change.

he still talks with you, so at least that hasn’t changed. you are one of the last few scientists on earth even remotely close to synthesising a cure, since many have been wiped out already. it’s stressful, frankly, and you’ve had shameful, selfish thoughts about ending it all - joining the dead before you are forced to walk amongst them. but meguru tells you to keep your chin up, doc, you’re getting there.

and who are you to say no to him, if not for the fact that he’s not doing much better himself?

you open up to him once, more than you think you should. you tell him about how you’ve wanted to be a scientist for the longest time as a child, but before that, you wanted to be a singer. but your parents saw no future in it. so you never pursued it further.

in the quiet of the space between you, then, meguru bachira asks if you would sing for him.

and you do.

you don’t even notice when he starts to cry, but you know that you’re crying too.

you bring him flowers sometimes. he lets them die in a corner of the confinement cell. you can’t blame him for not even trying.

the horde has broken in.

all your colleagues, your superiors, your friends - they’re all gone. they’ve all been reduced to mindless monsters, hungry for human flesh. now, those monsters push against the door, trying to get to you.

you stare back through the glass, eyes landing on meguru, who convulses on the ground, clutching his head. his head jerks backwards, blood spilling from his mouth. just like all the others. you let out a sob, your heart aching for him.

you fumble for your phone.

the air smells like blood, and meguru looks like hell.

you pad towards him slowly, tears streaming down your face. you freeze when he notices you, hunger in his bloodshot eyes. you take a step towards him. hold his hand. embrace him. tilting your head to the side, exposing your neck to him.

he’s crying now as he mumbles something. it sounds like i’m sorry and thank you. maybe it’s both. you feel hot breath on your neck, and his sharp teeth sinking into your skin.

and all is well in the world.

bllk masterlist || general masterlist © sirhamburrger 2025

[dresshistorynerd]

My favourite podcast Behind the Bastards unfortunately made a two-parter of Beau Brummel. Unfortunately because while the host Robert Evans is usually very good at researching history even though he is not a historian but a journalist, he has in previous episodes misunderstood dress history in very typical ways. I don't really blame him, since most historians not specialized in dress history also make these very basic mistakes, but for personal reasons (ADHD) it's just intolerable to me. The name of the episode is "Beau Brummell: The First Celebrity and Inventor of the Suit and Tie" so I was immediately assuming the worst takes. Then I checked the sources and it's bad guys, it's real bad.

Beau Brummell was a 19th-century fashion icon for men (archive.is) "Beau" Brummell, the Dandy Who Invented Men’s Suits (aristocracy.london) Beau Brummell Wasn’t a Hero of Modern Men’s Fashion. He Was a Villain. A Boring, Uptight Villain. (esquire.com) https://reginajeffers.blog/2022/07/18/purchasing-commissions-during-the-napoleonic-wars/ A Revolution in Masculine Style: How Beau Brummell Changed Jane Austen’s World » JASNA Beau Brummell: The Most Stylish History Maker – Never Was (neverwasmag.com) Man of the Cloth - The New York Times (nytimes.com) Blog | Regency History https://www.amazon.com/dp/1416584587?psc=1&language=en_US

So all but one are magazine articles or blog posts. The only book is by a fiction and biography writer, who is not a historian, definitely not a dress historian. The only writer of any of these sources that has any related credentials is one of the writers of that JASNA article and he is an art historian specialized in Byzantium, he's other specialty seems to be Jane Austen. In addition that esquire article is one of the worst perpetrators of these Beau Brummel myths. It's so disappointing because while his sources are not usually academic level, they are usually of good quality and he does usually practice critical assessment of his sources. Like I just wish people would cite actual dress historians in these matters and not random historians who actually know nothing about dress history because it's such an underappreciated field even inside academia. Or worse the god damn esquire or random blogs.

Obviously I can't listen to the episodes because three hours of dress history misinformation might just kill me. I will entertain a slight change I'm wrong about the episode, but where would he get high quality info if all his sources are garbage? So I'm reblogging this post now to even slightly balance the misinformation that will now spread even further to new audiences.

This just might be my 9/11.

https://www.tumblr.com/thebaconsandwichofregret/189924928150/comepraisetheinfanta-thebaconsandwichofregret

whenever i see people rbing the op without the additions i die a little inside so i thought you should have a go at debunking it 🫠

So these are the tweets from the post. I had blissfully not come across it before. This is one of the weirdest takes I have ever seen. It's amazing to see these fashion history takes that are so boldly and confidently wrong and inaccurate.

It's honestly hilariously ignorant to think that a massive cultural and societal shift that took couple of centuries was all because of one guy. It's so reductive and even goes to the great man territory to pick one person to blame for something like this that really had much more broad and complex reasons than "a guy did it". It's stressed in this tread that Beau Brummell was not noble or gentry and "just some guy", so how would he single-handedly change the fashions and concept of masculinity of the whole western world? He was a London socialite, it's not like most of his contemporaries in continental Europe knew about him. Like maybe the French, but does anyone really believe people in Eastern-Europe or Nordic countries or the Mediterranean knew about? Not to mention places like US. Yet everyone dressed like that in his lifetime, so how could his influence reach so far so quickly? Not even kings and queens could so directly and massively shift the fashions. So in the face of it the whole claim is ridiculous, but it's also full of inaccuracies.

The shift from Rococo fashion to regency fashion was extremely stark and quick in both men and women's fashion, but it happened during 1780s and 1790s, before Beau Brummell became a well known figure in the London society (he was born in 1778 and became well-known in the society after his military career, during which he befriended the Prince of Wales, around the end of 1790s). Here's first an example from 1780s and then from 1793-94 and 1797.

The one from 1780s still has some Rococo elements like the wig, but it's already much more toned down and the coat is already turning from frock coat to a tail coat. It's an example of the more casual men's countryside dress from the period. The court dress was still quite elaborate, though also toned down from the 1770s. But there's a big shift when it comes to the examples from 1790s. They are unmistakably Regency fashion. All of these example are French too. I'm sure these people had no idea and gained no influence from an unknown middle class English officer. So what did actually happen? Well, I'm pretty sure the French Revolution in 1789 had a little bigger impact on the European society and fashion than Beau Brummell.

I'm not going to go too deep into this, since I'm working on an in depth post about the masculinity and fashion in the modern era and I go into detail about how the French Revolution had a massive part in shaping them. But the short version is that the French revolutionaries rejected the elaborate fashions of the Rococo French nobility (in both men and women's fashion) as those over the top fashions stood as symbols of the excess wealth of the nobility and the extreme wealth gap. This is also why the high fashion was getting toned down thorough the 1780s before the Revolution. The anger towards the ruling class was mounting at the time and it encouraged the nobility to try to act a little more palatable in their aesthetics to maybe appease the angry people without doing any actual change to address the wealth gap and the centralization of power.

The revolutionaries looked for ideal masculinity and femininity elsewhere then. To contrast themselves against the ruling class, they looked to the antiquity and it's simplicity as well as the peasantry and the country gentleman fashion. Romanticism was the driving force behind the artistic expression of the Revolution. It weaved nationalism to the class struggle that was at the core of the revolutionary movement. So the Revolution was not just the working class and peasantry against the ruling class, but the French People against the nobility. That's how the bourgeois was able to align themselves with the working class and peasants. This is when physical labour, militarism, dominance and leadership really became intrinsically attached to masculinity, as the ideal man of the revolutionaries was a working peasant, who with military might took the the power back to the people from the nobility. The democracy would not last long, but it's not a mistake that only men could vote under the new democracy after the Revolution was won. It's also not a mistake that even when the post-Revolution France eventually abolished slavery (but not without some push-back first and a couple of slave revolts to force their hands) they didn't give most people of color rights to vote. Since colonialism whiteness had become intrinsic part of masculinity and femininity to dehumanize everyone else, and the new form of masculinity and femininity born out of the Revolution did not contest that. In fact the Enlightenment philosophy that had laid the ground work for the Revolution and the Romantic movement and it's nationalism that were driving force in it, in no way contested colonialism or it's white supremacy. In fact Enlightenment aimed to rationalize those things. Which is why the power in the new democracy went to the (mostly) white men.

These elements were in the new men's fashion too. Nationalism, the idealization of militarism, romanticization of peasantry and antiquity were basis of the fashion. Because antiquity was seen as the origins of democracy and the so called Western Civilization, that made it, and especially Antique Rome with it's militaristic connotations, perfect inspiration for the Revolutionary France. The short hairstyle was inspired from the Roman fashion seen in statues. The fashionable tail coat was influenced by military uniforms and the short jackets of the working class. The long trousers also came from working class dress. Here's examples of the revolutionary fashion of commoners, first from 1792 and then around 1790.

To be very clear, the revolutionaries were not a single entity with single ideology. They were collection of movements, who were united in their shared desire to overthrow the ruling class and establish some sort of democracy. But inside the movement were much more radical factions than what eventually ended in power after the French nobility. Socialists, abolitionists, feminists, slaves and others also fought for the Revolution and there was a lot of internal struggle too. Romantic movement was also very varied and contained extremely nationalistic elements as well as outright socialist elements.

It's important to note that the 18th century Rococo fashion was never as extreme elsewhere in the world as it was in France, so the change from Rococo to Regency style wasn't as stark elsewhere. If you put the most elaborate French court fashions of mid 1700s and Beau Brummell's style next to each other the difference is certainly massive, but fashion for men as well as women was through 18th century much more restrained and somber in England. Here's an English example from 1755-65 and for comparison a French example from 1755.

In fact as the tensions were rising in France the upper class begun to adopt the more toned down English styles. After the Revolution the new Republican styles would spread to Britain too. In Britain though Romanticism had a more pronounced effect as it stayed firmly monarchist. Therefore the English fashion was especially influenced by the styles worn by country side gentlemen.

There's another claim in the thread that fully fails to understand the broad implications of fashion and societal gender and how these things change and evolve. It's the claim that Beau Brummell created the modern men's suit and he's the reason the suit has long trousers. We already went through how long trousers initially got into men's fashion and it was not him. But the writer is not wrong in saying that Beau Brummell's outfit in this picture is a direct ancestor of modern men's suit. It is.

But you know what else is a direct ancestor of men's suit? This.

The modern three piece suit has it roots as far as in late 17th century. Before suit men wore doublets, hose and jerkins, where the sleeveless piece, jerkin, was on top of doublet. Aside from hose, these were also items women used and the fashions for men and women resembled in style and construction each other much closer than after the suit took over (as seen in these examples from 1630s). However the distinction between men and women's fashion had started to grow much earlier. A big shift that happened during the 16th century was that men stopped wearing skirts. Men and women wore the same garments for centuries before that. The styles and silhouettes for men and women had some differences (the skirts were often shorter for men for example) but they were parallel to each other. I wrote a whole very long post about how skirts stopped being acceptable for men. In it I write about how the shift in men's fashion was part of the large shift from feudalism to colonialism and capitalism, that needed a new hierarchy to justify the new system after the previous divinely justified feudal hierarchy was no longer an option. The new hierarchy was white supremacist patriarchy and therefore needed a clearer distinction between white men and white woman, that would also help distinct white people from the racialized people.

But such fundamental changes in the societal structure and culture are long processes. The process was continuing in the latter half of the 17th century, when Orientalism first became very popular. Orientalism is the dehumanization and fetishization of Asia and North-Africa, and it was born as the European colonial project was properly getting going in Asia. Colonialism in Asia and North-Africa took a little different form. I suspect it was because it was not that long ago, when Europeans had felt inferior to many of the peoples and empires in Asia and North-Africa, which they had always had much closer relationships with than the rest of Africa and certainly the Americas. I think that's why Orientalism is such a mix of coveting Asian and North-African cultures and bodies in a very fetishistic ways, while also demeaning and diminishing them. Nevertheless, Orientalism had a huge impact on European fashion in late 17th century. Both the way men and women's clothing was made after that to this day was strongly impacted by Orientalism. The coat and waistcoat combination was an adaptation of Turkish fashion. The three piece suit became popular in 1670s and fully took over men's fashion in 1680s (an example from 1687). The cravat was also adopted around the same time to men's wear from a light cavalry mercenary army in the Habsburgian Empire known as the Croats or Cravats. They were mainly Croatian, which to Western European was almost "Oriental" due to their proximity to Asia and Turkey in particular, and therefore the popularization of cravats as a fashion item was also influenced by Orientalism. Orientalist fashion encompasses the paradoxical nature of Orientalism itself; the Europeans coveted "the Orient" so they bastardized their fashions to construct a gender binary that left out the people who originated those fashions.

The Regency three piece suit also has all the same elements as the suit 150 years earlier, the individual pieces had just evolved into different cuts and silhouettes. The construction and the basic elements have stayed pretty similar to this day.

My point is not to in any way deny Beau Brummell's influence on Regency fashion. He was the most influential fashion icon for men in his era after all. I hope this just made it very clear that these bigger changes are not about individual people but much larger shifts and movements in society and culture. His actual influence was popularizing some of the English countryside styles, that were already part of casual fashion, as more formal fashion in the London high society, making extremely elaborate cravats into the fashionable items of the day and becoming the image of the English dandy.

The picture of him above shows him the typical English countryside suit with dark blue tail coat, white cravat and light pantaloons with polished hessian boots. He helped to make the outfit and pantaloons in general fashionable. Breeches would stay as the formal leg wear for some a decade still, till young fashionable men would start to use black or gray pantaloons in formal events too. Pantaloons, which originated from military wear, were very fitted, basically similarly constructed as breaches but long. The trousers, which were looser than pantaloons, had their moment in France during the Revolution, but because of their Revolutionary and working class association, they didn't at first pick up in the high society, especially in Britain, until 1810s. They stayed as casual fashion through the Regency Era and only started gaining formal status in 1820s and 1830s. Beau Brummell is credited for inventing or at least popularizing trousers that have strap to go under the foot in order to keep them straight. Here's first a painting from of a gentleman in a very country style emphasized by the setting. Then a illustration from 1810 of a full formal dress with breeches and a fashion plate from 1817 of day wear with trousers.

The thread also misses what dandy really was. Dandy was the embodiment of the middle class social mobility of the modern era. He was the "self-made man", the fashionable middle class and the new celebrity of a post-feudal era. He dressed in refined fashionable countryside middle class clothing and was celebrated for his style and refinement, not for his birth. Ironically though, there was a distinct reactionary quality to the Regency dandy. After all dandy did not embody social equality, but mobility. He was the ideal man of the capitalist hierarchy. A bit of dilemma for the dandy was that being extremely fashionable was central to the dandy, but after the French revolution being too fashionable and too concerned about looks had been associated with the aristocracy and was now therefore unmanly. Which is why dandy quickly came to be seen as effeminate. There is a lot of satiric cartoons from the time period that make fun of dandies and their preoccupation with fashion and looks. Here's couple from around 1810s.

In conclusion it's pretty ridiculous to say modern men's fashion was all created by one guy. The real reason why men's formal suit (and to be clear more colorful and elaborate styles have come and gone from men's informal fashion during that time) has been what it is for more than hundred years is because much bigger changes, like capitalism, colonialism, Orientalism and white supremacist patriarchy.

[joelsgoldrush]

“you can use my skin to bury secrets in” | 6.8k

old man!logan x f!reader

SUMMARY: Saliva floods his mouth as you rise to your feet, looking down at him from above. Gracefully angelic, and yet— “I know what I’m asking for,” you continue, your voice descending to a low murmur that scratches pleasantly against some dark and remote corner of his brain. Then you lower yourself onto his lap, your thighs bracketing his waist. You repeat your question: “Can I help you?” OR Logan had always known your generosity would get him in trouble. WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni smut 18+ cursing. drinking. pining. mentions of alcohol. dirty talk. age gap (reader's in her late 20s). logan’s POV. angst/self-deprecation (he just needs a little loving). religious imagery. feelings. petnames. chauffeur!logan. oral sex (m receiving, tiny bit of f receiving). sort of dom!logan. doggy style. unprotected p in v. creampie. A/N: i could say i'm sorry for this, but i'm not. love love love this old man (#needthat). heavily inspired by the song "i know" by fiona apple. @lubdubology my partner in crime who keeps putting up with me, tysm!!! hope you all enjoy it <3

The line between being a good and bad person is thin. So thin, in fact, that Logan finds himself stepping back and forth across it constantly.

Rescuing a kitten from a tree? Good.

Punching a guy at a bar because he didn’t feel like being acknowledged? Bad.

Saving countless lives from mass destruction? Good—heroic, even.

But killing others to do it? Bad—condemnable, scum of the earth.

Where does that leave him? Which side has laid claim to his soul? He’s long accepted he’ll never see the pearly gates.

When the day comes that his body can no longer take it, and he only grows wearier, he’s pretty sure there’s a special place in hell with his name on it, etched in some grave awaiting to be filled.

Maybe Satan’s already counting down the days until he shows up at his door, who knows?

Yet, the more time passes by, the less afraid he is of what lies beneath the surface. He’s learned to coexist with the darkness, with the kind of pain and loneliness that would crush most men.

He doesn’t know how, but he survives it—the agony, the memories, the solitude that hits him from time to time.

And still, he doesn't lose himself entirely. He’s tempted, of course, to linger in the past—it’s always easier to drown there.

If he could go back, he knows he wouldn’t be alone in choosing that path. Some days, it feels like the only option.

But there’s no you in his past.

Logan inhales sharply when your tongue teases his slit, lapping at the precum pooling there. You hum at the taste, your hand resting on his bare thigh, fingers pressing into his skin. Your other hand lazily strokes the length of him, working the inches your mouth can’t take.

It’s clear you’re enjoying this. He can tell from the way your lashes flutter each time he thrusts a little deeper into your slick warmth. A win-win situation.

Letting a girl like you do this to him? That’s bad. Very bad. Red flags all around.

He meets you when he least expects it.

It’s a night like any other. He’s been driving for God knows how long. His joints ache from being in the same position for hours, and a part of his left knee he didn’t even know could hurt begins to throb.

It takes everything in him not to call it quits for the night, not to turn around and head home like a coward.

When exactly his life fell into this monotonous cycle, he’s not entirely sure, but it happened somewhere along the way. Now, it’s all the same: taking care of Charles during the day, catching an hour or two of sleep, then gripping the steering wheel with white-knuckled intensity, driving through endless stretches of road, resisting any attempts at small talk from the passengers he chauffeurs around.

They all try—every single one of them. They think if they can crack his harsh and bitter exterior, he’ll open up, reveal something, anything to make their eyes go wide.

But why? Why do they insist on breaking through his shell? What do they hope to discover?

No one really cares what’s going on in his mind. They just want to feel good about themselves—like they’ve been kind, amiable, empaths intending to fill some empty and obscure corner of their own lives.

Logan refuses to be the person who grants them that satisfaction.

You slip into the backseat of his limo, closing the door with a soft click. The night clings to you, the scent of the bar still lingering on your clothes. The music is loud enough for him to hear from outside, and he sees the people lined up at the door, willing to cause a fight if it means securing a good time.

There's a slight frown tugging at your features, your lips pulled downward, though your voice is still polite when you blurt out your address.

Five minutes into the drive and you haven’t said a word. Internally, he’s savoring the silence, so happy he could jump on one foot.

This kind of peace is rare. He’d grown unaccustomed to it. The tension in his shoulders eases as the city lights blur past.

But, all good things come to an end, because—

“How’s your night going?” you ask, fiddling with the seatbelt to have something between your fingers. Logan glances at you through the mirror, his eyes catching yours just for a moment, long enough to see the faint, apologetic smile you offer him. He allows himself a heartbeat more to take you in before focusing back on the road.

You click your tongue, a soft sound of disapproval ringing in his ears. “Well, thank you.”

He lets out a quiet huff, grinding his teeth together. “I’d prefer if we stayed like we were before,” he mutters, his voice rough and gravelly. His attention flickers between the passing cars and the occasional glimpses of you that startle him every time he searches for the mirror. Cars. You. Cars. You. You. You. “Y’know, not talking.”

“But that’s no fun at all,” you retort, sliding more to your left, nearly positioning yourself in the middle of the backseat. It gives him a better view of you—whether intentional or not, he can’t say.

The lipstick on your lips is still flawless. A sparkly necklace glints just above the neckline of your dress, and matching earrings dangle from your ears. Wrapped in a leather jacket, you look effortlessly alluring.

This entire sequence is enough to confirm that by no means is he going to heaven. Straight to hell, he thinks, allowing his gaze to trace over each detail of your frame. Straight to hell.

You don’t give up. “Your aura is off.”

That prompts a crooked smirk from him, a shake of his head as he mumbles under his breath: “M’sorry, my what’s off?”

“Your aura,” you clarify, motioning toward him with a light jingle from the many bracelets adorning your wrist. “It’s the energy that surrounds you.”

Logan snorts, amused for a brief second. “Well, you weren’t exactly a beacon of life when you got in either.”

You chuckle softly, leaning back against the seat and looking out the window. “I’m much better now.” A pause before you continue, your tone shifting, losing strength. “My date stood me up. Last-minute cancellation.”

It’s not anger, nor is it disappointment, that laces your words. You seem more resigned than anything else. He’d have expected you to sound at least a bit more conflicted.

“I should’ve seen it coming. He’d been asking to move it forward for a while.”

Does he look like the type of driver who doubles as a therapist? He wishes he could understand why you're telling him all this.

“That sucks,” he still responds, because even though he hasn’t gone out with a woman in what feels like centuries, he understands that sensation all too well. “First time meeting him?”

Listen up, everyone—he’s genuinely engaging in conversation with another soul. This doesn’t happen often.

He hears you hum, eyes still trained on the outside world. You sigh, crossing your arms over your torso. “Would you mind rolling your window up? I’m kind of freezing here.”

“I’d mind that very much,” he says, his voice carrying its usual gruff edge. He fights the urge to grin, but then you unbuckle your seatbelt, leaning in closer to him. Your body is wedged between his seat and the passenger’s, and he perceives your stare boring into his side profile. “Put your seatbelt back on.” 

“You’re fucking with me.” Your finger taps his shoulder once, twice. “First, I get all dolled up for an idiot who bails on me, and now you have the nerve to make fun of me? Give me a break.”

Your eyes stay on him, a smile plastered on your face, anticipating any possible answer.

Crack, crack, crack—you intend to break through his shell, watching him from the front row, waiting for the moment it gives way.

Before you can say more, he cuts you off. “Seatbelt.”

It’s a command, an instruction, and you comply without hesitation.

Warmth pools and stirs low in his gut as he notes how quickly you obey him. 

Would you still look at him like that if you knew the blood he’s scrubbed off his hands? The flesh that his claws have shredded? The names of the lives he’s taken?

Would your warm gaze turn cold, filled with dread instead of curiosity?

Maybe this is hell. Are you the Devil in disguise, tempting him to cross a line he won’t be able to come back from?

A few minutes later, he pulls up to your building. A really nice one, he notes. You announce you live on the sixth floor. He doesn’t need to know that, does he? Why would you tell him that? Why give that piece of information to a complete stranger?

You linger in the backseat, as though you’re expecting him to turn and look at you. And he does, though not for the reason you might expect. “You got everything?”

Eager and full of life, you nod, clutching your purse to your chest. You avert your gaze to read his ID tag, the one that contains his personal details. “James?”

“Glad you can read,” he utters, pulling out a small bottle of liquor from under the seat. He drains it all in one go, savoring the fleeting burn as it slides down his throat, which is enough to keep him going. “C’mon, kid. I already charged you.”

“You drink while you drive?”

“Keeps me entertained,” he says dryly. It’s the only thing he knows how to do. Raising the empty bottle in your direction, he arches a brow. “Goodnight, darlin’. Leave me a good review on your way out.”

You roll your eyes at him, silent as you exit the vehicle, closing the door behind you. While fumbling for your keys, four words escape your mouth. Casual yet devastating, they ruin him: “I’ll see you around.” 

For a couple of days, you don’t bother him again. Bother—notice the implication of the verb in question.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t think of you after that drive. Each time his phone buzzes, a small, restless part of him hopes it’s you, asking for his services, wanting him to be the one you seek out.

And it happens. The best things seem to occur when the moon hangs high and bright.

You: Hi.

He stares at the message, recognition washing over him. He knows it’s you; he can see the other texts you exchanged that night he took you home.

You: Are you working tonight?

You’ve got to be kidding him.

Logan: Why are you texting me?

He types the words with frustration, his thumb hovering over the screen longer than usual. 

You: Why are you answering me?

Oh, you’re smart. 

Logan: Take my advice. Talk to a guy your own age.

You: Damn. Already jumping to conclusions. I was just going to ask you if you wanted to have a drink with me.

Logan: I’m busy.

You: Well, what time do you get off?

Logan: I work all night.

You: Can’t even make a quick stop? I swear it won’t take you more than twenty minutes.

An impulse to throw his phone out the window surges within him, but he manages to restrain himself.

Then, as if on cue, the device vibrates again—of course, it’s you.

You: The drinks are on me. Let me know if you change your mind.

Do you think he’s going to let you pay for him? Absolutely not. 

What surprises him more than the message is how easily he remembers your address. It appears to be ingrained in his mind.

He cancels his next trip, scheduled for ten minutes from now, his new destination being your building.

Once he pulls up, he does what feels most natural: he honks. Multiple times. Maybe he’s lucky and you’ll tell him to fuck off.

But you don’t. You’re laughing as you make your way over to the limo, sliding into the backseat in the same way you did a week ago. Your plan had succeeded—you had him exactly where you wanted.

Far from hiding it, you make it evident, obvious. Your heartbeat thrums in the air, and Logan can hear it loud and clear, like the bass in one of those funky songs he likes.

There’s no room for mistakes. He won’t deny it. Even if the feeling is mutual, he can’t shake the idea that he’s doing something wrong.

In his eyes, you’re the forbidden fruit—irresistible, the ultimate temptation known to humankind, camouflaged in the fur of a pretty woman.

You, his paradise on earth, could only lead to one thing: a longing for a chance with you, which he should never be granted in the first place.

He’s diving headfirst into disgrace, and the more he realizes it, the worse it feels. If he were to be scolded like a child, maybe he’d feel relieved, but he’s no kid. He’s a grown-ass man who should be able to resist.

Yet, self-restraint is like sand slipping through his fingers—never lasting long enough.

“You came.” Astonishment. Uncertainty. Amusement. Blinking your eyes at him, you sit very upright, and you don't even bother fastening your seatbelt. “Honestly? I thought you were going to block me.”

I can’t, he thinks. I wouldn’t be able to. I’m not that strong.

“What happened this time? Another failed date?” he inquires, still not starting the car. A look of perplexity appears on your features, puzzled about why he’s not moving. “Ain’t you forgetting something?” He tugs on his own seatbelt for emphasis, the fabric snapping back into place against his coat.

Once again, you follow his lead. “I don’t need to get stood up to want to see you,” you say, placing your hand on his shoulder for balance—or so he tells himself. It takes him all his willpower not to collapse right then and there. “Besides, I’m not bad company. I’ve been told I can be pretty funny.” 

“I see…” he trails off, catching your gaze through the rearview mirror, not shocked in the slightest to find you waiting for him to look back. “Where to?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, you should. You invited me.”

How easy it is to make your chest rumble with laughter, the genuine sound bubbling up, pure and unrestrained. He feels like some amateur comedian who has just realized his real passion is to cause this type of response in others.

Except, it’s not just anyone’s laughter he insists on provoking—it’s yours, and yours alone.

An unsettling sensation envelops him the second you retrieve your hand, not before squeezing his shoulder in a friendly manner. “There’s a bar I go to with my friends sometimes,” you suggest after a beat, shoving your phone in the pocket of your jacket. “We could try that one.”

The moment he steps inside, regret washes over him. Why is everyone here under forty? He feels ancient, like fucking Fred Flintstone.

A fossil out of place, meant to dwell in the shadows, not in a scene like this.

When he freezes in the middle of the bar, your fingers intertwine with his, tugging him along, and he follows after you like a lost puppy. The only thing he’s missing is the leash.

You’re met with his quirked eyebrows as you peer into his eyes over your shoulder, a toothy grin threatening to shake the floor beneath his feet. “You know, people usually sit down before they start getting shit-faced.”

“I’m not getting drunk tonight.” Logan exhales a deep breath, trying to hide his discomfort, his eyes scanning the room. “And neither are you,” he practically yells in your ear trying to make himself heard above the pounding music and incessant chatter. He wonders if you even hear him at all.

The two of you eventually settle at the counter, drinking in silence. Logan half-expects one of your comments to pierce through the quiet, but you delight in proving him wrong.

Instead, your head sways gently to the rhythm of the song playing in the background, and you take a trial sip of your beer.

He’s acutely aware of the stares from the rest of the patrons. He can pretend to be oblivious, but the weight of several pairs of eyes burning holes into the back of his neck doesn’t go unnoticed.

Being watched has never been his favorite pastime, and somehow, it feels even more uncomfortable with you by his side.

He knows what those looks imply, can nearly taste the hidden implications behind each fleeting glance.

What’s a girl like you doing with a man like him? A question that makes no sense.

Does he have money? A well-endowed reputation? Did he recently inherit any properties?

Are you truly that desperate for human contact?

Is your bed so cold that you decide to go for the first guy who can string ten words together?

Logan doubts whether this whole experiment is part of the community service you must be doing. Maybe he should look up your name online to see if any criminal records come to the surface.

Now that he takes a moment to ponder it, you certainly fit the mold of the criminal type. The kind who gets what she wants when she wants it, leaving a trail of intrigue on her wake.

His fingers circle the glass so tightly he fears it might shatter into a million shards. You notice his tension, nudging his arm with yours, aiming to meet his eyes.

When you do (because, as he said, criminals have their own ways), you smile, and he internalizes that gesture as something familiar, something he feels he’s grown used to. Something rankled in his memory.

It’s as if he’s known you for a lifetime.

“Thank you for coming,” you say softly, and he may be going down the path of hallucinations,  but your attention remains a little too long on his lips. Then, just as quickly, it flickers back to the rest of his face, and you lean back to drink from your beer once more.

Straight to hell, he thinks, tasting the remnants of whiskey on his tongue, for ever daring to believe himself worthy of even a moment of your precious time.

You’re probably the first person to have his full, undivided attention. And that’s… well, that’s saying something.

Most days, you’re pretty talkative, a steady stream of conversation, your words pouring out in an endless flow.

You tell him about your family, your career, that pet of yours that died when you were six years old. You mention a friend you no longer speak to, and the events that led to the downfall of your friendship.

There’s also that dish from your all-time favorite restaurant, the one you buy at least once a week because it never fails to comfort you.

Nonstop, you talk and talk, and Logan doesn’t mind one bit. Soon, he finds himself becoming an active listener—asking follow-up questions, chuckling at your jokes, even when they’re not funny at all.

He sincerely cares about what you have to say.

This whole situation with you is beyond his comprehension. Before he realizes it, you start wanting to spend more time with him.

Sometimes, you ride along in the passenger seat while he drives aimlessly through the city.

Sometimes, you invite him over, cook a meal, and he always takes the leftovers with him, as if a part of you goes with him when he leaves.

Sometimes, you come over to his place, and the roles reverse—you’re the one with the mic, asking the questions, fully aware that you’re treading on holy ground. 

Logan’s got a sign on his forehead that reads ‘Stop: do not enter.’ It’s rough around the edges, hardened by the years, all capital letters in stark blank ink. But in the end, you just take the sign and set it aside.

He never goes into too much detail. Not because he doesn’t trust you—it’s just that there’s too much to unpack, and you don’t need to know all of it. You’ll be better off not carrying the garbage he does.

Yet, you’ve got him by the throat, encouraging him to cough up disjoined pieces of his life, bits of his day, his thoughts, his feelings. It sounds stupid to him, but you make him feel alive. 

You never judge him, never flinch when he brings up stories from his past. As he sits at your table one afternoon, you look at his hands, his claws fully extended, and you don’t shy away. You rub the pad of your thumb across the rough skin of his knuckles, right where the adamantium tears through his flesh.

You don’t care that he’s a mutant, that he’s killed people. You don’t try to deny who he is or what he’s done. Oddly enough, you just wish to be by his side, staring off into the void with him. 

“But why?” he asks, partly flattered, partly frustrated. This could be compared to learning a new sport from scratch—he can’t figure you out, can’t understand why you haven’t run the other way yet.

He likes your company, though he’s always bracing himself for the inevitable day you find a better hobby and leave.

Your reasoning defies logic, and he’s afraid that at any moment, you’ll grasp the gravity of your choices.

Almost as if you could feel the turmoil brewing in his mind, you simply say: “You’re nice to be around.”

Nice. Nice. Nice. He’d cackle if he were alone. That word reverberates through him. When was the last time someone called him nice?

Bad-tempered, sure.

A pain in the ass? Definitely.

But nice? Not a term people employed to describe him.

It’s a quality reserved for you, with your endless charisma and kind heart, but not for a man of his kind.

He’s nothing more than a chauffeur, a driver, someone who does and says what’s necessary to survive. Does that make him nice? 

When he tells you he’s probably going to hell, you don’t try to make him feel better. Anyone else in your position might try to soothe him, to offer some hollow reassurance.

Your intention isn’t to change him, for him to pretend to be something he’s not. “Then I’ll meet you there,” you mutter, your shiny eyes searing into his. Under the table, your hand finds his, tender fingers grazing over his knuckles, and for once, he doesn’t pull away.

Could it be that an afterlife catching fire doesn’t sound so bad after all?

As much as he likes to admit how easily you can shift his mood, today is not one of those days.

He’s had a nightmare—nothing new, but this one had been… different. The empty bottle on the nightstand hadn’t been of any help; it never does when they visit him in his sleep.

The ghosts of those who used to be his friends, his family, tiptoe around his dreams in the form of shadows.

Blood. Screams. Shouts of his name. He can’t save them all. Walking through the wreckage, he dodges the bodies of those he couldn’t protect, the knot in his throat tightening with every step, not allowing him to breathe.

Wherever he turns, there’s death, destruction. Sadness. Did he save them all?

It’s always the same routine. He wakes up, screaming, chest aching from the effort. His lungs burn, and he has to remind himself that the limbs attached to him are his own and not the remnants of an immobile corpse.

Sweat clings to his skin, pooling at his temples and nape. He wipes it away with the back of his hand, rubbing at the soreness in his neck.

His phone rings somewhere in the distance, pulling him from his dizzy state. He scrambles to his feet, accepting the call just before it hits voicemail.

It's you. Despite it being late, he swears he feels the gentle kiss of the sun over his brow. Your sweet voice chases away the lingering shadows of his dreams, replacing the bitter taste in his mouth with something real—a reason to get up, to start moving.

He holds onto every second of the brief call, replaying those thirty seconds in his head as he steps into the shower. When the cold water shocks his system, it pulls him fully back to consciousness. He has to get ready.

Even though you insist on getting a taxi, he refuses. He doesn’t mind the drive. His gas tank does, his wallet maybe, but Logan? He just doesn’t.

At the end of the day, he’s protective by nature, and who knows what kind of men are roaming the streets at night?

God forbid they’re anything like him—eager to prompt a smile from you, trying too hard to impress you. He arrives at the conclusion that he’d rather lose fuel and money if it means orbiting around you for longer.

You make him feel better, and tonight, he needs it more than ever. He needs you.

(Now he’s driving. He honks five times when he pulls up to your building. You get on the limo, giggling as you say: “My neighbors must hate you.” He grins. You kiss him on the cheek. Subtle. Not the first time. Still, it doesn’t get old. He feels the faint residue of lip gloss on his skin. He doesn’t wipe it off.)

Not in the mood to cook, you declare as you step into his place. The mouth-watering aroma of the Chinese food you bought fills the air, but when he reaches for the bags, you insist that he sit and relax.

Sure, he can take a seat. But to expect him to relax with you around, playing this intricate game? That’s simply impossible. You’re asking for too much. He’s a player at heart, drawn to the thrill of the chase, and he will play along.

What seems inconceivable is the expectation that he can act as if nothing is happening between these four walls.

His attempts to focus on you are futile, as his mind betrays him tonight. All he hears spilling from your lips is pure and plain gibberish. Your very presence is no longer enough to anchor him.

Already immune to your charm, Logan eats his noodles, occasionally nodding when your voice rises at the end of a sentence, indicating a question.

But he nearly chokes on his drink the moment he registers your serious expression, having never witnessed you like this before.

“Are you even here?” you ask, shoving your food aside with a swift motion of your wrist.

What should he answer? What is it that you want to hear? Of course! I’m here, listening to you. It’s a delightful night. Should I start by telling you about my most recent nightmare? Quite the entertainment!

There’s a shake of his head as he lowers his gaze, escaping your concerned expression. “M’sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m not trying to make you feel guilty.” You tug your chair forward, claiming a piece of his personal space. You know he doesn’t mind. “Want to talk about it? Did something happen?”

“My brain is just… off today.”

“Many thoughts at the same time.” Not a question. Have you completely figured him out?

“Yeah.”

He remains still, dragging his plastic fork across the now-cold steamed veggies, which have lost their appeal.

How amusing—your knees bump against his, drawing his attention. “Can I help you?” It’s new, the breathy tone you’re using, a whisper of agitation weaving through your calm demeanor. 

“Can you erase my memory?” he shoots back, attempting to smirk through the wave of memories that flash behind his eyelids. When he looks into your eyes, the siren in his head blares.

Your pupils are dilated, blown wide, chest rising and falling rapidly. Sweaty palms that you wipe on your jeans. Tongue darting out to lick your lips. Your heartbeat accelerates, drumming wildly like the fluttering of a hummingbird’s wings.

He hasn’t been with a woman in ages, but he knows how they react when they see something they like—or, in this case, someone.

“Logan.” His name rolls off your tongue once more, tinged with an unmistakable need. The thought of checking his temperature dances through his mind, but the heaviness in his limbs roots him in place. He feels feverish. “I want to help you.”

Oh, no. No, no, no, no—

“What—what are you on, sweetheart?” Get up. Find your keys. Drive her home. “You don’t even know what you’re sayin’.”

Saliva floods his mouth as you rise to your feet, looking down at him from above. Gracefully angelic, and yet— “I know what I’m asking for,” you continue, your voice descending to a low murmur that scratches pleasantly against some dark and remote corner of his head. Then you lower yourself onto his lap, your thighs bracketing his waist. You repeat your question: “Can I help you?”

He’s no longer in control of his actions. His right hand crawls up your knee, palming the fabric of your pants. It’s numbing: a lapful of you, your rich smell, your quickened pulse.

Tempting. So fucking tempted to take you right now, just like this, without the need for words. Your bodies can communicate in a language of their own, one that transcends spoken phrases. 

I want you, he lets you know through the way he gropes your breasts over your shirt, squeezing them together. He’s always been good with his hands. But what the hell am I supposed to do with a sweet thing like you?

His patience teeters on the edge of a precipice. “Tell me what you want.”

“I asked you first.”

“You’re gonna pretend you don’t know the answer?” He thrusts into the air, grinding against your clothed core, and you close your eyes. He’s rock hard beneath you, the bulge in his jeans shockingly obscene, bordering on grotesque. “We both know what I want, but I’m no telepath, baby. Need you to speak up.”

Twisting the locks of hair at his nape, you press your lips to his neck. “I want to make you forget, to focus on this moment. I want you to live in the present, Logan.” A bite on his earlobe sends shivers down his spine, and he grips your hips with a primal growl. “I can do whatever you want. Just tell me. Tell me, and I’ll do it, please.”

Please? He’s spiraling. Please? That’s it—he’s doing it. He’ll grant you your plea, which aligns perfectly with his own desires.

Once his back meets the mattress in his room, you get to work. With delicate precision, you pull down his pants, sliding his boxers off until only his thick thighs and the crown of short curls adorning his cock remain in sight. Your fingers tremble slightly before you wrap them loosely around his length, and it springs to life in your grasp.

Your gaze pierces into his, mirroring the intensity of his own. But something holds you back, prompting you to reach for his hand.

At that moment, it all clicks into place. Logan urges your head down onto him, and he’s welcomed by the slick warmth you provide.

Indeed, he’s very much alive.

“That’s it. That’s—fuck. There you go.” 

His fingers dig into the mattress, clutching the cotton sheets, stopping himself from thrusting into your mouth. It’s not that he doesn’t want to—God, he does—but tonight, he’s on his best behavior.

He wipes the trail of drool from your chin, smearing it gently across your cheek, his thumb lingering as he watches your nostrils flare with a strained, muffled gasp.

Bringing his thumb to his mouth, he tastes the wetness on it the same way you’re sucking him: greedily, without any trace of mercy.

This proves I’m going to hell, he thinks, enraptured by the sight of his cock disappearing between your parted lips. Straight to hell.

You draw him back to the present, nuzzling your face against his thigh, your humid breath teasing his thick shaft, pulling him from a deep reverie. Your glossy eyes roam, exploring until they find his, and you gift him an authentic smile. Wrecked and blissed out, it’s as if the lights are on, but no one’s truly home.

He would’ve never guessed how much you reveled in sucking cock, radiating enthusiasm with each of your movements.

“Am I doing it okay?” you wonder aloud, hovering over the tip, swirling your tongue around the velvety head. He’s no fool, and neither are you; deep down, you know you’re doing more than just okay. Actually, you’re giving him the best blowjob of his long, long life.

Each panting, airy praise he huffs fuels your eagerness, making you even more receptive to his desires as the words slip past his lips.

“Fuckin’ amazing, honey. Got me so hard, y’see?” His tone is heavily charged with carnality, gripping himself and smacking the tip against your mouth, the wet sound echoing like music to his ears.

He pulses against your tongue, and you seize the opportunity to trace the thin veins scattered along his length. Gulping, with his gaze fixed on you, Logan notices how you’re still wearing your clothes, wiggling your hips against the mattress, rubbing your thighs together to get something in return. “Are you wet?”

Humming against him, you suck in shaky breath. 

“Words.”

“I’m—I’m wet,” you rasp, voice hoarse. You try to guide him into your mouth and fail miserably, because his grip only tightens, stroking himself instead. “Logan,” you keen, stretching your neck in a silent plea, “don’t be mean.”

“Not mean. Just enjoyin’ myself,” he replies, pulling the foreskin back to expose the head, arching his eyebrows. His fingers curl around your chin, drawing your face nearer to his girth, fascinated by how your eyes flutter shut the more you surrender to the pleasure. “C’mon. Be polite.”

Blame him for it—he believes he’ll never get tired of this game.

“Please.” You whisper, returning to your begging while tenderly rolling his balls, staring at him through your lashes. And then you say it again: “Please.”

Your gaze burns a hole through his crumpled heart. He lets you have it, eager to give whatever you may ask him for. You dive back into it, engulfing his length and bobbing your head up and down with fervor. Hushed whines escape your lips, savoring another bead of his precum.

Logan almost loses it as you hollow your cheeks, instinctively cradling the back of your head. “Easy, baby. M’not going anywhere. Take your time.”

Whenever he feels himself approaching that long-awaited release, he forces his mind to conjure thoughts that will stall his impending orgasm.

The water stains from flooding on the walls.

The supermarket list.

The rising price of gas.

The—

“Fuck. Slow down,” he groans, utterly captivated by the way you point your tongue to draw imaginary patterns along his cock, seemingly memorizing every detail. “Don’t go too hard on me, remember?”

You mumble something under your breath, and at first, he can’t quite make it out. “What is it?”

“I said I want you to fuck me.”

Under no circumstances is he surviving this night.

“Really, doll?” Logan seeks the reassurance he desperately needs, fearing that this is all a dream from which he’ll awaken the moment he properly touches you. “You sure you want this old man to fuck you?”

You’re a rambling mess, murmuring Yes, Logan, please, until he maneuvers you to lie on his chest, his glistening cock sliding against your clothes, leaving a trail of dark spots. A whimper dies on your tongue as you brush your lips together, your hot breath enveloping him. “Give me a kiss at least.”

Tilting your head up, he connects his mouth to yours, growling as he detects the dull, sour tang of what must be him. He sucks your bottom lip, hardly aware of what his hands are doing until he shifts your positions, pinning you down.

Logan tugs at your clothes, peeling them away with urgency, his fingers dancing over your nipples until you’re grinding against his thigh, quivering beneath him. With a nip at your damp skin, his eyes flutter open as he studies your expression, casting you a glance that seeks your permission.

A ripple of desire courses through him when you dutifully turn over beneath him, pressing your face further into the pillow. He runs his knuckles along the curve of your ass, his throat going dry as you follow after his touch, arching your body in response.

Unable to resist the temptation any longer, he licks a long, slow stripe up your wet folds, keeping his tongue flat against your clit for a brief moment. Your arms give out and you stumble forward, stuttering as you mewl his name, fully consumed by the feeling.

So he does it again, and again, and again, flicking the sensitive bud, even though you’re already beyond soaked. It’s a pleasure he indulges in simply because he can.

Straight to hell, he thinks, coating his length with your arousal, teasing your entrance while pushing in only the tip. That motion alone is enough to make him draw a trembling breath before he continues, gradually feeding you his cock, inch by inch.

Straight to hell, the voice in his head utters as he buries himself to the hilt deep within your body, his heavy balls resting against your ass.

Like an intruder in your territory, he’s free to do as he pleases, and you let him have his way with you.

If only this moment could stretch into infinity—he longs for time to relent and never draw to a close. 

What will happen after? Will you spend the night? Does he—

“L-Logan,” you mumble, having adjusted to his size. You rock back into him, impaling yourself even more on his cock. “Please, move.”

The pace he establishes is brutal. Your warm, inner walls exquisitely massage him, and the earth as he knows it stops spinning. Fire pools low in his abdomen, his hands holding you by the flesh of your hips to keep you anchored, each thrust driving you closer to the headboard with an intoxicating urgency. 

“You wanted it from the very start, didn’t you?” He doesn’t know if a response will ever come, but these kinds of thoughts are impossible to contain. He’s just a simple man, powerless against the allure of a tight cunt. “Just got in my car and knew it would end like this?”

You roll your eyes at him, silent as you exit the vehicle, closing the door behind you. While fumbling for your keys, four words escape your mouth. Casual yet devastating, they ruin him: “I’ll see you around.” 

His next thrust punches a whine out of your lungs. Even as you clench around him, stuffed and filled to the brim, you beg for him to fuck you harder. He would’ve laughed at you were he able to catch his breath.

With a more deliberate rhythm, he rolls his hips, jackhammering your most sensitive spot, pulling you closer as he wraps an arm around you. When his fingers find your clit, drawing slippery circles, a cry escapes you, and your body merges with the mattress under you.

Your release takes him by surprise, urging him to continue as you reach back, encouraging him to chase his own climax. He knows all too well the struggle of bringing you to this point without succumbing to his pleasure too soon. Your nails graze along his thigh, leaving delicate marks in their wake, and somehow, the passion and bliss he’s been nurturing ignites into a fiery crescendo.

Shortly after, he goes completely rigid inside you, pressing his forehead against your back as he bites down on your shoulder to muffle his groans. His hand squeezes your breast tightly, riding out his high, blood buzzing in his ears, continuing to spill into you. You spam around him, milking him until the last drop of his seed, his release painting your insides with his warmth.

Logan tucks you under his chin as his vision returns to clarity. You nose his jaw, your fingers softly tracing the contours of his beard. He pulls you closer into his chest, gliding his hands up and down your back.

Half a minute of dreadful silence, then: “Can I stay?”

Oh, yes—pillow talk. He’s not great at this either. Despite that, his eyes soften, snapping to your face.

Logan pauses for a moment. “Sure,” he retorts, dragging his fingers along your shoulder blades. He’s a one-word kind of guy. Just perfect.

Tell her you like her. Tell her you don’t want this to be a casual fling. Tell her it’s more than just sex for you.

Or maybe don’t. Get ahold of yourself, will you?

“Logan?” you ask, resting your palm against his heart.

“What is it?”

“I know.”

You do?

Try as he might, he can’t deny it. He might care about you more than he ever realized.

dividers by: @/cafekitsune thank you!!! <3

[whokilledsamara]

hii!! I saw you write for homicipher so i was wondering if you could write some dark/yandere sfw & nsfw headcanons for mr scarletella 🥹 thank you so much & take ur time!!

MR. SCARLETELLA HC {N/SFW}

a Mr. Scarletella {homicipher} x reader n/sfw hc list.

{thank you for your support and nice words! :3}

warnings! : stalking, non-con, dub-con, hardcore, marking, slight gore, rough sex, violence, rough fingering, biting, cunnilingus, blowjobs, smut, murder mention, somno

{an : i didnt quite get what you meant when you said "dark" so hopefully this is what you meant. this is really hardcore. to the soft hearted people and people who cant handle ACTUAL freaky stuff, i wouldnt recommend reading this. there is a small section underneath the regular nsfw hc with a cw on it, so if you cant handle certain topics, there is still an nsfw section without it. he is my favorite character from homicipher ommggg hes so hot. id give him my name HAPPILY.}

SFW HC

sfw relationship/meeting him hcs

when you first meet him alone, he is very unexpected. his presence and constant facial expression is unnerving to say the least, but as long as you can manage that you will be fine.

if you end up "accepting" him, the relationship would be very weird.

he would be a wonderful partner despite the obvious other reasons, but dont think he wont be watching you constantly.

he will bring you daily gifts, consisting of anything he can find that he thinks you will like.

as for touch, he will let you touch him. usually he wouldnt let anyone even accidentally touch him, as he would teleport away, but one you are in a relationship with him, most boundaries he had before are gone.

he is rather fond of holding you. whether that be in his coat {for some reason} or just in general.

in Japanese culture {from my research, i am NOT Japanese!!} holding an umbrella with someone is a sign of love and acceptance. therefore he always likes you to hold it with him.

he isnt one of those "down-lo" kind of people. he makes it known everywhere that you are his.

he will do whatever it takes to please you. you are literally his princess/prince. even if that includes killing someone {he does it anyways}

if he catches anyone staring at you, or even remotely close to you, he will either teleport you away {if you are friends with the person} or kill them on the spot.

no matter how much he seems to be emotionless, anything involving you in pain or discomfort, it will flip a switch in him.

he has to be near you always. whether you know it or not, he will be there.

he hasnt quite grasped the concept of kissing or "romantic" things, but whatever you do he goes along with it. he rather enjoys hand holding or pressing his face into your neck.

he is the delulu type {this whole fandom knows it} and anything you do he will take as flirting. dont deny it though, hes too obsessed to care

he has a big thing for the height difference. he is a little over 8 feet tall, and feels a need to protect you at any cost.

any cost.

NSFW HC

what its like to have sex with him.

starting off, this man is a BEAST during sex.

he is a quick learner, and whether he is using his hands, mouth, or any part of his body, he will find those spots that makes you squirm.

one of his favorite things is you riding his thigh in public. say he was talking with Mr. Silvair, and happened to be sitting down. he would want you on his thigh "discreetly" getting off. bonus points if you cum.

he wouldnt be opposed to a threesome, but he has to trust the other person. a rare occasion.

anything you want to do, he will immediately comply. need him to go down on you? hes on his knees. even in public. need his fingers inside of you? absolutely. need his dick? against the wall you go.

he has a big dick, and luckily he knows it. he wont force everything inside at first, but eventually he will. you can take it. he thinks

he loves your body, and he makes sure you know it. even in his strange language, you can understand the things he is saying because he is touching you while he is doing it.

he makes little to no noise during sex, but not because he isnt enjoying it. he LOVES sex with you, but he prefers to listen to your noises. he would have it on repeat if he could.

you could look like anything and he would still find you to be the most attractive person on earth {or his earth, whatever}

for afab, he isnt one of those guys who has a hard time finding your clit. in fact, he doesnt even have to look. immediately his fingers will be circling that little nub that he loves so much.

he is a very dominating person, but it probably wouldnt be hard for him to let you dominate him. i say let because in no situation do you actually have control.

his fingering sessions are borderline violent, the pads of his fingers hitting that perfect spot with every curl.

cw! its about to get very dark and possibly triggering! viewer discretion is advised!

if you are one of those people who get off on your man killing for you, then he is the man. he will torture people in front of you as you touch yourself.

his sex isnt even borderline violent, it IS violent. if hes angry especially, he doesnt care if he hurts you.

afab, he will bruise your cervix and make you bleed. his tip hits so hard with his brutal thrusts that you will.

on certain occasions, {tw!!!} he will force himself on you. while it is rare, r...pe can happen, so be careful and dont piss him off.

he doesnt need sleep, so if hes horny enough then he will fuck you while you're sleeping. if you explicitly ask him not to, then he will just jerk himself off over your sleeping form.

dont expect to walk away from a rough fucking WITHOUT marks all over you. he makes it a mission to bite, claw, tear, any part he can. he wants you covered in blood, it gets him off faster.

will probably brand you with something

if you have a trauma kink he WILL use it to his advantage.

thats all bye bye!!! :3

{ made by @whokilledsamara }

[evnseokz]

{ ☆ needy for jay }

pairing: bf! jay x needy! shy! f. reader

contents: ovulation mention, fingering, kissing, pet names, p in v, soft dom jay, reader a simp lowk, finger sucking, cum eating, riding, nipple play

synopsis: reader is horny af during ovulation week but is too shy to directly ask jay for help

w.c. 1.7k

ovulation week is a bitch. literally every little thing your boyfriend did was turning you on beyond belief. the way his sleeves were rolled up while he was cooking dinner, showcasing his forearms, the veins trailing down to his pretty hands. his long, slender fingers precisely cutting up vegetables. your eyes trailed down every inch of his profile, taking in every aspect of your gorgeous boyfriend as you watched him from the dinner table. jay pretended not to notice your stares, but he could feel your eyes on him. he’s felt them on him all week but hasn’t said anything, hoping you’d come to him first.

once dinner was ready and jay brought the plates to the table, you couldn’t help but trail your eyes down his arms, to his hands, and to his fingers again. wishing they were inside you. you press your legs together under the table as you mutter a quick thank you to jay. “you’re welcome, baby,” he says as he takes his seat across from you at the table. you keep your eyes on him, trailing down to his chest, where he’s got a couple of his buttons undone, showing a small amount of skin. he was driving you crazy. you bring your eyes back up, and he’s already looking at you, giving you a small smile, a blush creeps onto your cheeks, and you look down at your food. “are you feeling okay, my love? you’ve been awfully quiet this evening.” jay says, snapping you out of the trance you’ve been in since he sat in front of you. “y-yeah, i’m okay! don’t worry,” you smile at him. he nods, accepting your answer for the time being.

you both continue to eat your food, and you offer to do the dishes since jay did the cooking. “you’re the best, baby; i’ll go find something for us to watch on TV,” he says while placing a chaste kiss on your forehead. you close your eyes at the feeling, trying to keep your composure as you smile up at him. he heads into the living room, settling on the couch and grabbing the remote to find something to watch. you try to clear your mind of these thoughts you’ve been having while you wash the dishes, almost feeling successfully distracted until you look over to see how jay was sitting on the couch. he sat with his lap open and inviting, manspreading, with his arms crossed over his chest. at any other time, this was completely normal; you’d seen him sit like this many times before. but this time was different. you watched him from in front of the sink, lip tucked between your teeth as you trailed your eyes down to his lap. you tear your head away and focus on finishing the dishes. dirty thoughts about your boyfriend running through your mind still.

you finally finish up the dishes and dry your hands. you begin to make your way into the living room. wetness pooling between your legs as you watch your boyfriend intently. he turns his head to meet your eyes as you make your way over; he smiles at you, and that’s it. you can’t take it anymore. once you make it to the couch, you climb into his lap, head resting on his chest as you pout slightly. his arms wrap around you, holding you close. you sigh slightly. “what’s the matter, baby?” jay asks. and he already knows what’s wrong; he just wants to hear you say it. jays hands travel up to pick your head up of his chest, making your eyes meet his. your eyes are big and glossed over, sending pangs right to his chest . “talk to me, baby, what’s bothering you?” he asks again as he tucks a stray hair behind your ear. you really don’t want to say it; you’re embarrassed that you’ve been thinking such dirty thoughts about your boyfriend. “don’t make me say it, please,” you say back to him, your voice shaking slightly as the ache between your thighs becomes stronger. “do you need me, baby?” he finally asks, and you nod shyly, heat filling up your cheeks. “where do you need me?” he cocks his head to the side, one of his hands traveling down to come in between you two. his hand lands on your clothed heat, you gasp slightly. “here?” he says, and you nod, your lip tucked between your teeth.

“mmm, my needy baby, why didn’t you just say so?” he chuckles lightly. “what do you need from me? you want my fingers my mouth, my cock?” he asks. you stare at him with big doe eyes before nervously answering, “f-fingers, please." he smirks at you. “so polite, my good girl,” he coos. words sending shockwaves straight to your core. he brings his hands to the waistband of your shorts, beginning to pull them down. you lean up slightly, making it easier for him to get them off. your underwear comes next, then your shirt, and lastly your bra, until you’re completely bare on his lap. he takes in the sight of you, completely on display for him, practically begging for him to do something. his cock aches at the sight. he kisses your lips, then your cheek, and trails kisses all the way down your neck and to your chest. he gives attention to both of your nipples, licking and sucking slightly, making you moan at the sensation.

he trails a hand back down to your heat, and begins collecting your wetness on his fingers. you shudder at the feeling, letting a whine fall from your lips. “so sensitive already, baby,” jay comments. you roll your head back as jay begins to move his fingers at a faster pace, making sure to circle around your clit more often than not. you’re a moaning mess already, climax building up quicker since you were so needy. he removes his fingers from your clit, bringing them down to circle your dripping hole. he inserts a finger, a loud moan escaping your mouth. he moves his finger slowly at first, then adds in another as he picks up the pace. your head is cloudy as he fucks you with his fingers, your orgasm approaching, jay realizes this when you start clenching around his fingers and your breathing becomes more ragged. he brings his thumb to your clit, paying it attention while his fingers are still buried inside you. this sends you over the edge; your hips bucks, your legs shake, and a string of lewd moans falls from your lips. jay helps you ride your orgasm before removing his fingers and bringing them up to his lips. he takes his fingers in his mouth, tasting your juices, before removing them with a pop. “so sweet, my pretty girl,” he coos and gives you a kiss on the forehead.

“can i fuck you now? hm?"  he asks, and you nod. “yes, please, jay.” he smiles triumphantly before moving you off his lap to undress himself. you watch every move he makes, lip between your teeth, as you admire your boyfriend's body in front of you. he sits back down, wasting no time to pull you back onto his lap. you feel his length press against your core, causing both of you to moan. his cock is pressed perfectly between your folds, and you start to move back and forth on his cock, wetting it with your juices, and moaning at the feeling. jay winces slightly, “fuck baby, if you keep going like that, i’m gonna cum,” he rolls his head back, and you take the opportunity to place a few kisses on his neck. “someone’s gotten bold now, huh?” he chuckles, and you smile at him, nodding bashfully. “please give it to me, jay” you say, looking so prettily at him. how could he say no?

he lifted up your hips enough to line himself up with your entrance, and you whined at the feeling of his tip pressing against your hole. he slowly guides you down on his cock, the both of you moaning at the feeling. “fuck you’re so tight,” he winces, as he stills himself inside you, letting you get used to the stretch. “so big, jay” you moan, “please move.” he immediately grabs your hips and starts fucking you onto his cock. you cry out at how deep he’s reaching. your hands fly to his shoulders to steady yourself. his fingertips holding your hips so tight you’re sure it’ll leave bruises. his cock is continuously hitting that spongey spot inside, making you cry out his name over and over again.

you feel your stomach start to tighten; you’re getting so close to cumming, and jay can tell. he reaches down in between you and starts rubbing circles on your clit, the stimulation sending you into overdrive as you cum all over his cock, legs shaking and clenching around him. jays thrusts become sloppy as he comes undone, spilling his seed inside you. he pulls out completely to see his cum seeping out of you, he’s got a proud look on his face as he caresses your cheek. “look at the mess we made, baby, so pretty.” he says, your breathing is still ragged from your high, but you lean against him, wrapping your arms around his neck. he caresses the back of your head with his hand, his other arm wrapped snugly around your waist. “you tired, baby? you did so well for me.” he coos; he feels you nod against his chest, too tired to speak.

he sits up from the couch, lifting you with him. you automatically wrap your legs around his waist as you hold on close to him. he brings you into your shared bedroom and then into the bathroom, and sets you down on the counter. you whine when he lets go of you to walk towards the bathtub. “one second, pretty, i’ll be right back,” he says softly. he turns on the bathtub, making sure the water is warm before letting it fill. he comes back over to you while the tub fills, using his hands to massage your legs, and then your back lightly. once the tub is full he picks you back up and places you in the tub. he then climbs in behind you, you sitting in between his legs with your back against his chest. he takes his time cleaning you up, and after he’s done, you turn around and do the same for him.

“i love you, my jay,” you say sweetly.

“i love you too, baby.”

.

.

.

[yanderenightmare]

Deku - Midoriya Izuku

TW: NSFW, noncon, yandere

gn reader

Thinking about being childhood friends with Izuku, who’s always had a bit of a crush on you. 

You’ve always known, but you’ve never humored it. He’s your friend – anything else would just be awkward. If you had to put it in any other term, you’d say he felt more like a little brother.

You wish he’d allowed the two of you to grow apart – as normal people do.

There wasn’t really any reason for the two of you to stay friends after middle school. His quirk suddenly manifested, and he got into UA – became a pro-hero – and then the symbol of peace. And you were still… kind of just doing your thing – studying, working, struggling to pay rent – struggling to keep a date…

The two of you never had much in common anyway, and you never really knew what to talk about with him anymore – only knowing to ask him how his mother was. After all, you grew out of your otaku phase a long while ago – and otherwise, you felt out-educated in any and every conversation the two of you had with each other. You swear talking to him makes you feel like a toddler learning your first words – it’s humiliating, and you don’t understand how any of it’s remotely stimulating for him, either.

Still, he’ll text you when he has the time, asking if you’d like to meet up at a café – talk, catch up – and you, not wanting to be rude, always accept.

You’d gone wide-eyed the first time you’d met him after middle school. Jeez Louise – he’d had to have grown twice his size – jacked and scarred to no end. It only got worse over the years. Now, adults – he must be twice your size. Bigger even.

You blush now when he flirts with you. But not so much for the reasons he wants.

Honestly, it’s more uncomfortable than it’s flattering. It was Izuku, after all – Deku – no matter how little he resembled the crybaby from your childhood – he’d always be that same nerdy loser friend who’d chased after you ever since you first met.

He might have grown up, but his crush on you hadn’t.

His doe-eyed look of longing and adoration had always made you feel a little awkward – a little sorry for him. And now that he’s become a man, it’s only become even more… desperate… a little pathetic, actually…

Bedroom eyes that make you laugh nervously, pretending to brush it off as a joke but really wishing he’d just give it a rest already. Surely, as a pro-hero and public figure, he could get a date? One of the many screaming fans that pine for him everywhere he drags that awful golden cape he has on his shoulders. And if not any of them, then maybe a model. A movie star even.

Why is he so hung up on you?

The funny thing is, you’d tried vying him of his crush by telling him about hook-up after hook-up, boyfriend after boyfriend – treating him like a girlfriend you could gossip with.

But it’s almost like he takes it as a challenge – talking and helping you through your relationships, giving his input and advice – just like a real friend would… only… always implementing something… something condescending, something suggestive, something saying you ought to be with him instead – he’d never treat you like that, he’d never do you wrong, you’d be taking good care of with him.

You’d made the mistake of saying you were struggling with a class at university – just to make conversation – just to talk about something trivial. But of course, he’d seen it as an opportunity – quick to offer his help, saying he’d taken that class as an extracurricular – just for a bit of fun, he’d said, light reading material he’d done on the side of his internship.

You don’t know why it’s so hard to tell him no.

Suppose it’s the possibility of being wrong – the guilt of thinking he has impure intentions when he’s supposedly the purest person in the world.

But you should have trusted your instincts.

“Please, Izuku-” You’d immediately restored to begging. Who wouldn’t? He’s a two-meter-tall monster of a man – jacked with muscles fatter than a bear.

Your phone’s been missing since you came back from the bathroom – your lips wet with his unwanted kisses – your neck sore from having his fist wrapped around it when you tried stopping him.

You’d only managed to break free after biting – blood salty in your mouth. You nearly vomited, choking on a mix of bile and fear.

Fuck – your legs are so weak, you might just buckle from the dread alone – feeling like a bunny snagged on fox teeth.

“You used to take me when we’d play wrestle... you remember?”

The comment is pulled out of nowhere.

He stalks you, a fond look on his face as though the two of you were reminiscing good old times. As though his eyes weren’t a nocturnal green like foxfire on the fen. As though he wasn’t radiating black whip – ready to snare you.

“Think you can take me now?”

You had your hands raised apprehensively – but the hopelessness took its toll and made your entire body shake on the spot.

Your only hope was to talk him out of it. If only you could think past the fear and string a sentence together that wasn’t along the lines of “Please-”

But something about that look on his face told you he wouldn’t listen to reason anymore. Not manic, not like a person who’d finally snapped – but controlled – resolute – and playful even. Nothing like you’d ever seen. Nothing you could understand.

“What’s wrong, hm?” He smiles, head tipped in that charming way that used to make you want to pinch his cheek. Now it just makes you sick to look at – swallowing thickly as you tack another step back away from it. “I’ll go easy – so don’t worry… I know it's not exactly a fair fight anymore…”

Your better judgment failed you – fight-or-flight kicked in, and you made a break for it. 

Budging into the couch on your way, it’s a messy scramble for the door – but you manage. Feeling feverish with dread and pumped full of adrenaline, you brush the cold handle with just your fingertips before something wraps around your midriff in a snug grip – pulling you back into the living room.

You’re lifted from the ground, kicking – now screaming – flailing in the air before you’re flipped on your back against the couch.

“Don’t be like that~” He murmurs. “Always so wishy-washy~” Voice in a low purr that makes you feel like coughing up your heart – squirming beneath him and his heavy hands as they paw your thighs – manhandling you like nothing you’d ever imagine him to do.

Raking his fingers through the dough before squeezing your ass greedily – kneading his fat crotch against the thin fabric protecting your sex. 

“Complaining about all your weak-dicked boyfriends as if begging me to come fuck you myself – yet such a flighty little slut when it comes down to it.” He sneers, and blackwhip tightens some around your limbs. “Let me help you out.”

One hand tugs your underwear until it rips, whilst the other hand pulls up to grab your face – squeezing your cheeks to keep you still when forcing his kisses on you.

“After all… what are friends for?”

♡ DEKU - MIDORIYA IZUKU masterlist ♡ BOKU NO HERO ACADEMIA masterlist

[thehauntedetheral]

Yan Sugar Daddy

Requests are open!

• You were a broke college student even after doing part time job. You wanted to earn more money so asked your friends for suggestions.

• One friend of yours suggested to get a sugar daddy from website. You were a bit scared as you have no idea and experience about this but after much convincing from your friend you made an account on the app.

• After scrolling a bit you thought It's very unlikely for any sugar daddy to show interest in you when the website was filled with drop dead gorgeous sugar babies available. You felt insecure and deleted the app forgetting to delete your account.

• You continued your college and part time job. Forgotten about your account still being active.

• While Yan Sugar Daddy scrolled through the app and your account caught his attention especially your photo. He thought you were beautiful and so simple. He sent you many messages on app but no reply. He would check the app many times a day in hope of seeing your reply. After many days passed and nothing from you he decided it's time to finally meet you in person.

• He got details about you through his mens. Your address, your college schedule, your part time job location, your birth place, your date of birth, your zodiac sign, your favourite ice cream flavour everything. This man made sure his team didn't leave anything.

• And hence here he is waiting for you at your college campus radiating money, power and glory through his work suit, and handsome face. Hell even the watch he is wearing is of the cost of your years of salary you thought.

•"Ms y/n?" He approached you while you were just stood like a statue there mouth open. How come this man is here you thought. You remember seeing his profile in a blur on app before deleting.

"Close your mouth, love. Or people might think I said something offensive to you" he said chuckling looking at your expression.

Seeing your uncomfortable expressions he offered to talk to you over a lunch in a nearby restaurant rather than in your college campus. You accepted it not wanting to create any gossip at college.

You both wear sitting in a fine dining one of the most expensive restaurant in city whose reservations are hard to get even for some elites. By saying a near by restaurant you thought about some local restaurant near your college campus not this. But nevermind it's his money not yours. His money his choice you thought.

• He explained how he wants to be your sugar daddy. When you didn't reply his next sentence was "I can double the weekly allowance if you want". But you still didn't accepted it. You told him how the account and everything was a mistake and that he should find some one else you explained and left. You were scared about this whole relationship even though you needed money.

• You left the place but not his mind. He would send you expensive flowers with notes, perfumes, wines of old collection to your address in hope of you accepting. He never got a no as answer. And he will make sure to convert your no to yes. no matter what it takes.

• What in the fifty shades of grey Christan grey the fuck is happening? You thought while continuously getting gifts from him.

• He even paid your college fees in advance for upcoming years.

• By all the constant stuff he was doing you finally said yes and signed a contract with him.

• You entered his world.

• Yan is definitely dominant and rough in sheets.

• Would tie you up, blindfolded you,pull your hair, overstimulate you until you are a begging, crying mess.

• Is kinky. Would put a vibrator in your cunt and control the speed via remote kept in his pocket while you both are dining outside. Enjoying seeing you trying to control your moans.

• Is very protective of you. Someone tried to flirt with you? Would definitely make his security team beat him up till they are unconscious.

• You liked him while this man was crazy in love with you.

• Would spoil you with gifts, jewellery, dresses, perfumes, flowers, dates, vacations, handbags, shoes anything you want. Hell even his black card is with you most of the time because he says so.

• Kisses you any chance he gets.

• Makes you move into his penthouse so that he could spend more time with you.

• Carriers you in his arms whenever you are drunk afraid that you will fall with your high heels.

• Helps in wearing your heels.

• Is a gentleman in public and an freak in sheets.

• You looked at something for too long during shopping next day it's getting delivered to you. ( This man is god level rich and doesn't even think about the cost when it comes to you)

• You always wanted to go to paris? Well let's go darling his private jet is ready.

• This man is utterly whipped for you. Would do anything for you.

• You came into this arrangement to pay off your college and since your graduation is near and so is the contract expiry.

• You decided to part ways after graduation and contract expiration. When you tell him about your decision. He is absolutely devasted. Did he not love you enough? You are his everything. How could you even think about leaving him??

• This man has hired a professional proposal planner to propose you to be his wife and you are thinking about parting ways? Good joke baby. Good joke. But this is not gonna happen. The only way you are leaving this contract is with your last name changed to his and your finger bearing his engagement ring.

• And even if you rejected the proposal despite all of it he can trap you with him by his baby he thought with an evil smirk.

Requests are open!

For more yandere reading:

[deputyrook]

In Her Absence: Lucanis/Rook/Spite.

A03 link! Female Crow Rook x Lucanis. Lucanis POV.

Takes place when Rook is in the fade prison, because 1) I love angst and am a big softie; and 2) I wanted to try to work out the logistics of what the team did in Rook's absence, and how they managed to reach her.

---

In the four days that Rook’s been gone, the Veilguard has devolved completely into infighting.

Taash wants to know why they can’t just “break into the fade and pull her out.” And no one really wants to hear Emmrich’s overly technical explanation as to why that’s not feasible, least of all Taash, who’s grieving and angry. Davrin keeps saying that it should have been him instead, which isn’t helping, and no one even wants to think about what’s happening to Bellara right now. 

Harding is dead. Bellara is kidnapped by Elgar’nan and Maker knows where. They’re a mess as a group, angry and hurting. And Rook...

Rook’s gone.

Neve is the only person who remotely has their shit still together, and for that at least, Lucanis is thankful. 

Because he absolutely does not have his shit together. Maybe the others can’t tell, since he’s not arguing or yelling or breaking down, but his thoughts are spiralling so badly that he’s barely said a word in three days. All he can think about is Rook.

He loves her. He loves her. And she’s lost somewhere, trapped and alone, and they have no plan whatsoever on how they’re going to get her back. 

He never told her. It’s tearing him up inside. The thought that he might never hear her voice again. Never hear her make some stupid pun, or hear her teasing, or hear her give them all one of her legendary pep talks. Never hear her laugh again-

“Lucanis,” Neve’s voice is firm, dragging him out of his despondency, “You need to focus.” 

How can he possibly focus? “You’re right,” he says instead, voice tight, because Neve is right. Standing around brooding isn’t getting them any closer to getting Rook back. What he needs to do is act- but how?

Solas is a God, and even he couldn’t break out of that prison. This isn’t the kind of problem Lucanis can solve with a dagger. He can’t stab at the prison walls until they crumble away- but Maker knows if that could work, he would stab until his daggers shattered and his body collapsed. 

What is he supposed to do? What can he do? How can he help them, when all he knows how to do is kill things?

No. Spite says to his left, his voice hard and determined, No! We will find Rook. Won’t leave them there. 

Neve puts a hand on his shoulder, and gives it a squeeze. 

“When has Rook ever been content to sit and wait to be rescued?” Neve says, and he lets out a long, even exhale, because it’s exactly what he needs to hear. “I’m worried too. But Rook would chew off her own leg to escape a trap. If there’s a way to get out, she’ll find it. Have some faith in her. In all of us- and in yourself.”

“Thank you,” he murmurs, voice quiet. After a moment, he adds, “…Someone should let Viago and Teia know.”

That, at least, is a burden he can bear. 

But the days stretch into weeks. Elgar’nan seizes control of an already broken Minrathous, and even Neve has a hard time keeping herself together after that one. 

Lucanis is in no place to offer comfort. Without Rook’s leadership and steadfast optimism, the lighthouse has gone dark, leaving them all ships to smash into a rocky coast. He won’t soon forget the way Viago’s eyes widened when he told him what had happened to Rook, nor the look of horror that flashed across his face before his expression settled into stony devastation. 

Strangely, it’s Spite that keeps him from falling apart completely. He refuses to accept that Rook is gone. Every time that Lucanis’ mind whispers to him that this happened because he wasn’t good enough, and that he’ll never see Rook smile at him again- Spite cuts him off with an angry, defiant hiss of NO. 

Rook is strong. Rook is smart! Rook will not allow herself to die in a prison. She would not let you die in prison, either. We will not let her. We will find her. We will find her!

He repeats the words in his own head, holding onto them like a buoy. Right, yeah. She’s good at prison breaks. It’s enough to make it through the day.

Sometimes- although Lucanis would never admit it to the others- he realizes that Spite is the one who has been moving his body,  keeping him working while he’s been stuck in his mind, ruminating and aching with missing her. It’s been Spite that’s forcing him to eat, to bathe, to sleep. Spite is keeping him alive. 

Will not let you do this to us. Rook needs us.

It’s that thought that ultimately gets Lucanis to snap out of his despair. 

It’s not over yet. He agrees, finally. Rook needs us. 

Finally! Spite snaps back.

---

First, they try to make a copy of the dagger. Something that will be able to slice through the fade prison, so that they can cut Rook out of it. That’s how Solas left, after all- by tricking her, and stealing the dagger to cut himself free. 

But a dagger of pure lyrium isn’t exactly easy to replicate. Brilliant as they are, Emmrich and Neve can only do so much. So after days of meticulous work, they end up with a dagger that looks identical to the real thing, but doesn’t actually work. Great.

Next, Emmrich hypothesizes that in order to get to Rook in the fade, they’ll not only need to figure out how to access the fade prison, but also to figure out where the prison actually is, physically within the fade.

It is, apparently, not as simple as yelling out “ROOK? CAN YOU HEAR US?” from the top of the Lighthouse, which has been Taash’s strategy. Spite, too, is ready to start just travelling through the fade, for as long and as far as he needs to until he finds her. Lucanis is doing what he can to support the group, cooking the meals and making sure Emmrich and Neve are able to stay on their feet.

Word gets to them that Solas is in Minrathous, keeping the rebellion alive. The news poisons Lucanis so thoroughly with hate that he nearly can’t stomach it. Spite has been so determined to save Rook that Lucanis almost forgot how it felt when he was really, truly spiteful. 

Hearing Solas is pretending to be a hero in Tevinter, after consigning Rook to take his place in a prison? Yeah. That’ll do it. The things he’d wanted to do to Illario after his betrayal had left him conflicted. He is not remotely conflicted about what he wants to do about Solas.

What they want to do. Spite agrees with him on this one. He hurt our Rook.

Finally, Emmrich and Neve work out a real plan, with the help of the Veil Jumpers. It’s based largely on luck, but it’s something. It’s a sliver of hope. It’s enough to keep them all going.

First, they need to find a spot where the veil is particularly thin, where the fade peaks through the seams of reality. Then, they need to use an artifact of the Veil Jumper’s to do… magical, fade, location-y… stuff. Emmrich actually uses a bit of Rook’s blood for this part, located on some stained clothes that Assan had dug out in her room. 

Blood magic. Ordinarily, Lucanis would be opposed. But no one says a word against it. They are all desperate for this to work. 

The first day they try it, it doesn’t work. They make some adjustments, and try again.

The second day, it doesn’t work. They make some more adjustments, and they try again.

On the fifth day, Spite says it in his ear, voice sharp with excitement.

I can smell her- I can smell Rook!

Lucanis’ heart feels like it’s about to burst from his chest. He’s yelling, “Rook?” into the rift before he can stop himself, but the team’s caught on already that this isn't like the other times they’ve failed to make their plan work. The rift is spitting and spasming sparks of magic, and they can see through it in a way they’d never been able to before. They can see a light in the rift.

Emmrich seems to throw caution entirely to the wind, rolling up his sleeve and plunging his arm into the rift. The energy is wild, unrestrained, and they’re all calling out to Rook, reaching and trying to get to her.

“I’ve- I’ve got her!” Emmrich yells out, and Lucanis swears he can see Rook’s wavy form on the other side of the rift. Like looking through a fishbowl, or the walls of the Ossuary.

He reaches in too and grabs her hand with Emmrich, and they yank. Rook stumbles out, collapsing onto the ground.

“Varric’s dead,” she says, voice hollow and wobbly.

Neve shoots Lucanis a confused, concerned look, but he’s too relieved to care. He’s grabbing at her shoulders, pulling her into a tight embrace, and his throat feels like it’s closing up on him. Tears prick at his vision. She’s safe. She’s alive, she’s free, and she’s safe. She’s back with them.

They all want to hug her, and make sure she’s actually, really okay. But Lucanis gets to first.

Told you. Told you, told you! Spite repeats, ecstatic, She’s back!

“Are you okay?” He murmurs, pulling back and looking her over critically, trying to see if she’s been hurt or if anything has changed. But no. It’s just her. Like not a day has passed.

Rook nods slowly, and Lucanis smooths a hand down her hair, before cupping her cheek in his hand. All he wants to do is hold her, but he can’t be that selfish and drag her away from the others. Not yet, anyway. 

Pulling back, the others take the moment to rush in, making similar careful assessments and doting over Rook. The last few weeks have been almost unbearably difficult. There’s been little to celebrate. But this is joy again. Hope. With Rook back, not everything is completely fucked.

Davrin pulls her into a crushing hug, and Taash joins in, and they’re all hugging and crying a little. The trip back to the Lighthouse is a blur, with Rook thanking the Veil Jumpers and swearing to them she’ll get Bellara back.

How she can already be so determined, so ready to act, Lucanis will never know. He is, as he has so often found himself, in awe of her ability to forge forward, the light cutting through the swathes of dark that seem to surround them.

Spite is just about ready to try to crawl out of their skin in impatience, but they have work to do first. They all brief Rook on what has happened in her absence, and learn- horrifically- that she’s somehow been brainwashed into believing Varric has been alive, for months, by Solas.

Not for the first time, Lucanis feels anger and spite bubbling in his veins and vows to himself that he will not let Solas get away with hurting Rook. God or not. He finds it hard to fathom why he would mess with her head like that, if he wanted her to succeed in at least stopping Ghilan’nain. It reminds him too much of the mind games that his captors would play on him when he was in the Ossuary, tormenting and confusing him for no other reason than to break him down. Was that what Solas had tried to do to Rook, too? To break her down mentally, so she’d be easier to manipulate and trick?

It seems to take forever, but finally, Lucanis gets to see her alone. She’s lying down when he enters her quarters, her eyes closed, but the words spill out of him before he can even consider leaving her to rest.

“I cannot believe we found you,” he says, voice soft. All of the fear he’s felt for weeks, the doubt and the despair that Spite had helped him just barely keep at bay… the relief, now, is making him lightheaded. 

“I’m a little surprised too, honestly.” It’s a testament to the gravity of the situation that she’s not trying to make light of things. The words aren’t meant as a joke. 

“I thought I’d never see you again,” he admits.

“And I didn’t think I’d ever get out of there,” Rook tells him in turn. It leaves him cold, to think of her there, alone and believing she might never be found. “How do I know if I really did? This could be... more of the fade.”

Lucanis realizes then, that he’s never seen her vulnerable like this before. Emotional, yes, but lost? Frightened? Rook has always been the solid centre of the group. Unmoving, unyielding, steady. Utterly dependable. 

It’s almost surprising that she’s not actually invincible. She’s so consistently been their guiding light. But more than shock, more than anything else-

He wants to protect her. He wants to hold her until her worries melt away, to chase away the horrible memories of the last several weeks and see her smile at him. He wants her to know that he won’t let anything hurt her. He wants to kiss her until she feels safe and warm again. 

So he does. Kneeling down in front of her, holding her hands in his own, Lucanis reassures her she is real. There’s so much he wants to tell her, that he’s been praying he’ll get the chance to say. But now that Rook’s in front of him again, he can’t seem to find the words for everything he’s been feeling.

So he kisses her. So, so gently. And when he keeps kissing her, pressing her back against the chaise as she wraps her arms around his neck? It seems Spite is right there with him, because the wings unfurl right in that moment, curling around them both protectively, like he wants to help shield them from anyone in the world who might try to hurt them.

[starsofang]

CALL OF THE SEA / PART THIRTEEN

pirate poly!141 x f!reader tw: NSFW, MDNI, heavy topics such as death, blood, and past trauma mentioned, lots of tension in this chapter masterlist

When a group of unhinged pirates invade your small village, you're whisked away from your peaceful home and thrown on to a voyage out at sea. Forced to obtain a new role as their medic, you have no choice but to accept your fate as you join their forces and aid them in their treacherous travels.

“Shadow’s Peak,” Price began, pointing to the circled island that seemed to be parted from all of its neighboring ones, “is where Graves resides when he’s not at sea. Nobody’s been to the island that’s been able to return home. It’s cursed to many, deemed uninhabitable.”

“If you have never visited it, then how do you know?” you risked asking.

Price looked up from the map, a frown on his face. “Ghost,” he answered, and you let out a sound of recognition. “You must understand that Graves is known amongst the people as a danger, same as us. People see monsters when they see pirates, but Graves lives up to the name.”

You trailed your finger along the map, studying the remote island and the ink around it. It looked as if Price had been the one to sketch it out himself, rather than a merchant selling it with the island displayed.

Monsters, you thought. For a long time, you were in the same boat as others. Pirates were never in good fortune. They were a rarity, but when they appeared on land in the public, you’d heard the stories. They almost never ended well.

“I do not think you are monsters,” you murmured quietly, more so to yourself than anything. Still, Price cocked his head, eyes locked in on you as you kept your own focused on the map.

“Even now, after everythin’ we’ve done?” he asked, watching the way your fingers flattened against the map. “You do not view us in the light everybody sees is in?”

You finally looked up at him, and you felt your breath catch in your throat uncomfortably. Your gaze flickered over his face, down to the frown lines permanently etched into his skin, and the way his eyebrows tugged together in heavy doubt.

“Perhaps at first, I did,” you admitted honestly. His expression didn’t falter, and he seemed to be expecting that answer. “I do not now. I have seen the true monster and where it hides. It is not you.”

Price blinked, softening. A look of relief passed over him. “We have done horrible things,” he muttered. “We are prepared to do more until we can no longer. I truly hope you’re aware of what you are agreein’ to, dove.”

You pressed your lips together. You contemplated, though you knew your answer and had already made it previously. You knew the moment Graves invaded your mind and filled it with parasites that he was the true monster in your world and not Price or his men.

It didn’t make their doings any better, not did it excuse it. But you knew they were trying, and that was all you could do in return.

Perhaps you were an idiot for thinking so.

“You will protect me?” you asked Price, catching him off guard.

“With my life,” he confirmed instantly. “I will not allow you to be harmed. I swear on it.”

You watched his finger cross an X over his chest. You didn’t know why it made your heart pick up its pace.

He was swearing to you, on behalf of him and his men, to keep your life as untouched as possible. It was an oath that was to be taken serious. Price was devoting his life to yours the same he did with Soap, Gaz, and Ghost as their Captain.

“What is your plan, Captain?” You gestured to the map, right at Shadow’s Peak that sat on the paper in its lonesome wake. “With Graves. What exactly is the outcome you wish for?”

Price looked at Shadow’s Peak briefly, his eyes hardening. The mood in the room shifted, and the heaviness weighed on your chest when you took a sharp breath in.

There was a protectiveness that came over him, one you were beginning to recognize when the thought of his men or you getting harmed seemed to take control of his thoughts. The idea that he cared enough for you that he placed you in the same category of priority as his men had your mind running astray.

“He has to die,” he grunted out firmly. There wasn’t an ounce of hesitation or doubt in his tone. “One way or another, I’m goin’ to kill that fuckin’ beast. For Ghost, and for you.”

Your breath hitched at the pure determination he exuded, the way his fists clenched on the table and jaw tightened until it looked painfully taut. Wide-eyed, you said nothing outwardly, though your mind was a gamble.

He was willing to kill for you. He was willing to die for you.

You shouldn’t be thinking that way. It was crude even being flattered by the prospect of it, yet your heart and mind were both in unity with how you were growing increasingly flustered.

When Price’s gaze met yours, and the hardness immediately softened and was replaced with a distant tenderness filled with words unsaid, you weren’t sure how much longer your thoughts could be suppressed.

“I’m goin’ to fuckin’ kill him, dove,” he said softly, a stark contrast to the venomous words being spoken.

Your fingernails dug into your palms, fists growing clammy and restless by your sides.

“I understand,” you whispered with a curt nod.

Price’s eyes flickered over your features, the silence growing between you two. His hand furled and unfurled on the table, fighting with itself to not reach out and touch you.

“You look tired,” he murmured, tearing his gaze away. “You should go get some rest.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but quickly snapped it shut when you realized. Price seemed to be in just as much a whirl of confused emotions as you. He was giving you an out, while also expressing his desire to be alone.

You could respect that. After all, you truly were tired, given your earlier sleep was interrupted by the cruel, cold hands of death knocking at your doorstep.

“Alright,” you agreed softly. “You should rest as well, Captain. You wear yourself out too much.”

Price looked up at you in surprise, expression furrowing. He bristled, slumping with a quiet chuckle under his breath. Shaking his head to himself, he spoke. “I have never been the one told to rest. It is usually me doin’ the biddin’.”

You smiled, watching his every movement as he sat in his chair, melting into it. “Perhaps you need to hear it more often,” you reckoned in amusement.

Price smiled back, and you did your damn hardest to ignore the low ache it gave you in your chest. “Perhaps I do,” he hummed. “Go on and rest, dove. We will talk in the mornin’.”

You nodded briefly, shooting him a farewell before retreating out of his quarters and into the night. The Captain watched as you left, eyes lingering on the door even after your absence, before forcing himself to bed, only because you told him to.

Strange girl, he thought to himself, yet his heart thought otherwise.

Upon entering your shared quarters, you nearly flung up in surprise to see Soap meddling about. Your clothes were spread out on his bed, and the miniature telescope you bought for Gaz was in his hands, held up to his eye as he peered through it curiously.

“What are you doing?” you asked suspiciously, eyes narrowed in on the telescope.

Soap startled, dropping the telescope from his eye and clenching it between his hand. “Dove!” he exclaimed. “Give a man a warnin’, will ye?”

You mumbled an apology, stepping towards the bed and eyeing your clothes. “Why are you going through my things?”

“Ach, I’m a nosy lad. Ye can’t buy all these things and not expect me to go through ‘em,” he tsked, and at your side-eyed glare, he stammered. “Don’t look at me like that. Makes me nervous.”

You let out a heavy sigh, seating yourself on the edge of the bed. You carefully grasped one of the flowy dresses you bought for yourself, thumbs running over the fabric. Its quality was rich, much richer than you were used to, and it felt soft under your touch.

“It’s pretty,” Soap hummed. “Didn’t expect ye to be into dresses like that.”

“I never had the opportunity or funds,” you explained, staring down at the dress. “Gaz was very gracious with gifting me the money.”

Soap cocked his head, looking between the dress and you. “That lad never buys me anythin’,” he huffed, taking a seat next to you. The telescope sat carefully in his lap. “And here he is, buyin’ ye a whole store.”

Your eyebrows furrowed as you looked up at him. You briefly recalled Ghost seeming just as confused by the generosity. “Is this not common?”

Soap snorted, shaking his head. “Nah. Gaz is a stickler with his money. Doesn’t like to spend it unless necessary.” He sniffed, peering down at the fabric in your lap. “He clearly didn’t care to give ye some, though.”

You were surprised, to say the least. Gaz didn’t seem the type to be cautious with his spendings, and to learn that he gave you money despite that left you just as confused.

He had no reason to do so. He was simply being generous. But now, knowing it wasn’t just something he did casually, it left you wondering.

“Strange,” you muttered to yourself. Soap gave a hum of agreement.

“What’s this, by the way?” he asked, lifting the telescope. He inspected it, turning it in his hand. “Ye don’t seem the type to use it.”

You watched as he fiddled with it, growing a sense of protectiveness. You were scared he’d break it, or worse, deem it unusable.

“Gaz’s one request was to bring him back a gift,” you explained. “I know he likes to sit and watch the sky at night when it is quiet and peaceful. I got him a telescope to make the experience better.”

Soap’s eyebrows raised and he placed the scope to his eye, frowning. “I don’t think it works, dove.”

You sighed, shaking your head. “It does not work well indoors, Soap. It is meant for distance.”

“Ah.”

He pulled it away, smoothing a thumb over the gold detailing. As if sensing your faint distress, he turned to you, holding it out. “Ye gonna give it to him?”

You took it graciously, cupping it in your palm. “Do you know where he is?”

Soap nodded, giving you a toothy smile. “North end of the deck. That’s his favorite spot.”

You noted that in your mind. Gaz was always a lonely wanderer, so it came as no surprise that he was on the opposite end of the ship, soaking in the quiet. That was something the two of you had in common.

You couldn’t help but wonder. “Do you think he will like it?” you asked, uncertain.

You felt silly, stressing yourself over whether Gaz will appreciate your gift. A gift was all it was, one he specifically told you to surprise him with, yet you found your stomach in knots.

Soap lifted a hand, giving your shoulder a gentle squeeze. When you looked at him, he was smiling softly, a hint of amusement glistening in his eyes.

“He’ll love it,” he assured kindly, and he gave you no reason to think otherwise. “Though, I also like gifts.”

You felt your lips curl up involuntarily and you laughed lightly, something Soap reflected. “There is no need to be envious, Soap,” you jested, standing from the bed. “It is but a one time thing.”

Soap beamed, eyes following you as you stood. “Just a mental note for the future,” he replied back cooly.

You shook your head, making your way towards the door with the telescope in your grasp. You felt Soap watching you, and when you turned, you stilled when he seemed to be in thought so quickly.

“I really do think the dresses are pretty, by the way,” he murmured, voice much quieter. “They… suit ye.”

Your gaze flickered over to the dresses muddled behind him before returning to him. “Thank you,” you replied warmly. “I’ll be sure to try them on tomorrow.”

Soap smiled softly, giving you a nod. You returned the favor, turning back around to leave the quarters, beginning your mission to find the mysterious pirate who loved to vanish in the night.

Your nerves grew the closer you got to the North end of the ship, and you weren’t sure why. It wasn’t as if Gaz were a danger nor a stranger, yet your heart pounded aggressively against your rib cage with every step you took.

The telescope felt infinitely heavier in your hand, and you repeatedly swiped your thumbs over the gold detailing to rid it of any grimy fingerprints and ensure it looked good as new.

Gaz was exactly where Soap said he’d be, and you instantly paused your walking, staring at his back. His gaze was towards the sky, shoulders relaxed and at ease. One knee pulled towards him while the other dangled loosely over the edge.

“Gaz?” you called out quietly as not to startle him.

Gaz’s head tilted back to look at you, and a smile graced his lips. “Hey, dove. Y’alright?”

You stepped closer until you were standing by his side, peering down at the dark abyss the ocean offered below. It was black, your eyes struggling to adjust to the waves that lapped at the ship.

“Mm. Soap told me I could find you here.”

Gaz studied you, curious. “What’s the occasion?” he asked, before his gaze dropped down to your furled hand that held the telescope.

You shifted awkwardly on your feet, before Gaz gestured for you to sit beside him. You complied, letting your legs dangle with his one over the edge, knee brushing his.

“What’s that?” he questioned in faint amusement, nodding towards the telescope.

Gosh, you didn’t know why you felt so unnerved. Perhaps it was due to this being the first time you were gifting somebody something special. You feared he wouldn’t like it, and your heart kept lurching out of your chest as if it were running a marathon.

“Your gift,” you answered, slowly reaching the telescope out. He took it carefully, immediately observing the intricate detailing. “I know you like coming out at night, so I thought it may help you see the sky better.”

Your hands furled into fists on your thighs. You kept your gaze on the sea, reveling in the breeze that came with.

Why wasn’t he saying anything?

It had knots growing in your throat that you desperately tried to swallow down.

You felt foolish and silly. The entire duration of your stay on the ship, you held your ground and stalked your claim. You remained stubborn and fearless for as much as your fragile heart could possibly take, yet all it took for your resolve to crumble was a sickening anxiety over whether or not Gaz liked his gift.

It felt like you were a little girl again, fighting for approval from the other kids in the village. Wondering why you had to be different, why they couldn’t be friendly towards you.

You felt so stupid—

“Hm. You win,” he hummed, smiling faintly to himself.

You whipped your head up to look at him. The scope was pressed to his eye as he gazed up at the stars, admiring them through a new lens.

“What?” you breathed, confused.

“Our negotiation,” he recalled, pulling the scope away to glance at you. “You win.”

You stared at him dumbly, realization creeping in. If he didn’t like your gift, you were to owe him the money back for the clothes. If he did, then you were home free.

“You like it?” you asked, unsure. You thought he was messing with you. He was secretly more of a tease than Soap, and you knew it just from the day of the negotiation alone.

“Oh, yeah. This thing is a real dime,” he assured, inspecting the telescope in his hand. “You know me better than I thought. Lucky you.”

You watched as he looked into the scope again, his other eye squinting to focus. You shifted your gaze to join him in looking up while your stomach twisted and rolled in shot nerves.

“It’s a shame I lost, but I can’t deny that this is somethin’ I would’ve killed to have had I thought of it. You did well, dove,” he praised and you felt your heart leap.

Gaz turned to you before holding out the scope. You raised your eyebrows, shaking your head and throwing your hands up in protest. “No, it’s for you—”

“Look through it, dove,” he sighed. “Give it a shot.”

You paused, glancing down at the scope. You hesitantly took it, giving Gaz a quick look before lifting the scope to your eye.

The sky was pretty before, but now, it was breathtaking to look at. You didn’t appreciate it enough before.

Through the lens, the stars twinkled brightly, waving hello. They were much easier to see, and much more beautiful up close.

You could finally understand why Gaz enjoyed his time out here. It was as if lying under a blanket of warmth, shielded away from the troubles day brought and invited into a night of oasis.

“Beautiful,” Gaz breathed out. “Am I right?”

You nodded, lost in the shining lights. It truly was, and you felt calmer than ever since your first night aboard. In the night sky, there was no Graves, nor danger waiting for you. Just blissful serenity.

You reluctantly pulled the scope away, handing it back to Gaz. He was already looking at you, and when you met eyes, he grinned, taking the scope.

“It’s a nice gift, birdie,” he said calmly. “No need to beat yourself up about it. I could feel you gettin’ all nagged up before you even arrived.”

He knew you were there? Embarrassment flooded your body and you grumbled in feigned annoyance, looking away. He snickered to himself, resuming his time with the scope.

The air filled with a light silence, the only sound being the crashing waves that seemed to further the peace. It was an escape from the hands of life, and you understood enough to see Gaz in a new life.

He was a pirate, through and through, but that human side of him stilled longed for a simple life. You couldn’t help but think of the last time the two of you spoke beneath a blanketed sky, when he had confessed he was a prince, yet turned to a life of crime.

“What was your life like before?” you couldn’t help but ask. “Before you were a pirate, I mean. When you were a… prince.”

Gaz made a noise under his breath, one of thought, and he slowly removed the scope, letting his hand fall into his lap.

“I had everythin’ I could ever want,” he started slowly. He made no efforts to look at you, lost in his own world.

“Then why’d you leave?” you pushed.

Gaz glanced at you from the corner of his eye before sighing through his nose. “Everythin’ can still mean nothin’,” he explained. “There was an arranged marriage between a princess from a neighboring country and I. When I flat out refused, it caused tension.”

Gaz twiddled with the telescope absentmindedly, his focus stuck on the stars. You wondered if he was embarrassed or ashamed.

“I didn’t want a lifetime of dead romance between a woman I did not want. I wanted freedom and individuality,” he continued, growing solemn by the second. You could feel the passion in his words.

“Did you run away, then?” you asked, curious. “You left the kingdom?”

Gaz snorted through his nose, though it was more bitter than amused. “I fled like a coward,” he corrected sharply. “War broke out the moment I left. Blood and ash was the only thing left of my home.”

You gawked in surprise, feeling a tightness in your chest. It seemed all too familiar, in which your home was destined with the same fate. By none other than him, too. It was dramatic irony.

“Your family?” you whispered, and he shrugged.

“Dead, surely.” His fiddling with the telescope grew more consistent. “I wouldn’t know.”

You frowned, turning away from him when he began to seem uncomfortable. Whether it was with your questions or simply his past, you weren’t sure, but you hated ruining a decent moment. They were rare as is.

“I apologize,” you murmured lowly. Gaz perked up, throwing you a weary look.

“Hm?” He sat up straighter, shifting so his body faced towards you. “Why are you apologizin’?”

“I made things uncomfortable for you,” you replied, deflated. “It is a difficult topic, I understand. So, I apologize.”

Gaz went quiet, staring at you with eyes that felt like they’d pierce through your soul. Then, he smiled, tilting his head to the side and eyeing you down. “That is to nobody’s fault but my own,” he assured kindly. “You lost your home just as much as I. I am not uncomfortable talkin’ with you.”

You lifted your head up enough to side eye him, testing the waters. He didn’t appear upset, especially not with you, to your surprise. You’re used to Price having an easy temper to set off, yet Gaz acted as if no anguish had been spoken.

You felt relieved.

“I am glad,” you commented stiffly, awkwardly. “I do not feel uncomfortable talking to you as well.”

Gaz released a lovely laugh that filled the air, easing the previous tension you’d been building on your own. “I’m glad myself, birdie,” he retorted easily. “I appreciate the gift.”

The gift sat in his palm, no longer being fiddled and moved at an anxious rate. It sat calmly, his grip light on it, as if he was now worried about holding it too tightly and damaging it.

“Soap told me you do not normally offer luxuries to them, nor yourself,” you recalled. “Was I a special case?”

Gaz hummed in thought, a smile gracing his radiant features. You had to stifle your own beating heart and sweaty palms. “I feel bad for you,” he confessed without a moment’s hesitation. “I figured an act of kindness could go a long way with you. It seems it has.”

He shook the telescope teasingly before letting it rest back on his lap. You smiled small, happy to know he truly enjoyed the gift and not simply out of pity.

“You do not have to feel bad for me,” you assured. “I will be quite alright.”

“Will you?”

You cocked your head in question.

“It is a lot to take on for a bird like yourself. You should be out there, livin’ how you want. Now stuck on here with us,” Gaz said. His expression was unreadable, but you could sense the slight concern.

“I could say the same for you, could I not?” you replied with a shrug. “You also seem to suffer similar fate.”

Gaz quirked his eyebrows, pursing his lips. He mulled over your words, giving them a decent thought. Truthfully, he knew you were correct. Perhaps that’s why he liked you.

“You win again, dove,” he replied softly, a warm smile on his face.

You smiled back, unable to hold back the sudden burst of feeling that coursed through your veins. Gaz made you feel heard, and under the concept of moonlight and stars, it made everything feel much more of a rush.

Your eyes locking on to one another’s made you nervous, even more so that he did it so shamelessly. It seemed as if the two of you got lost in time, the world around you freezing. The sound of waves faded away, the rocking of the boat seizing to a halt.

“Thank you for the telescope,” Gaz thanked, voice soft as ever. You nearly missed it.

You fumbled for words, wanting to look away but unable to. “It is nothing,” you murmured, fisting the fabric of the old night shirt you wore and had yet to discard.

Your daze seemed to falter momentarily when you felt a finger graze your cheek, the touch gentle as it mapped out your skin. Gaz seemed just as entranced as you, and in that moment, you grew fearful.

Fearful of what?

You couldn’t figure it out.

The distance between the two of you seemed closer than ever, and you don’t recall either of you moving. The realization made you jolt, forcefully tearing your eyes away and leaning back.

“I am glad you like your gift,” you muttered, flustered. You made quick work to stand on your feet, stumbling in the process. “I should rest. Enjoy your night, Gaz.”

You didn’t stick around to see the surprised look on Gaz’s face, nor how it morphed into crestfallen. You left as quickly as you could, making haste to the shared quarters so you could lock yourself in, pray to the Gods you fell asleep before he returned, and that Soap wasn’t awake to burden you with any questions.

[henry7931]

TF NBM/Head Swap Shorts I

Personal Trainer

Zach:

I think most people really push to meet their personal body goals but it takes a lot of motivation. My client Bradley puts in the work but I know sometimes it can be exhausting especially after a long day. That’s why I offer my customer’s a once a week head swap where I let them have my body for a day while I work out with theirs.

I actually really enjoy having Bradley’s body, he’s exactly my type! Thick and hairy. So it’s an extra bonus that I can work out naked since Bradley’s not here.

I even reward myself with a jerk session using Bradley’s thick cock. God this fury chest and these stinky pits… I’ve been working hard.

I run Bradley’s fingers over his sweaty hairy balls and bring them up to my noise.

“Yep… it’s time to have some fun now!”

I get up go over to Bradley’s bed and start sniffing his big smelly hairy feet. God, I sometimes just look forward to this all week.

I lay back and start jerking his meat.

I look over at the clock and notice the time. I still have 2 hours.

Hell, I could get loads done in that time! Woohoo!!

Bradley:

God I love my personal trainer, I don’t even give a shit about the work out. I just love that once a week, I get to have his body for a whole day.

I love exploring every inch of him. His nice bubbly ass, his thick cock, the muscles, oh I can’t forget about his big sexy feet!

I’m so glad that I really don’t need to do anything when we swap heads. Zach thinks that I work remote from his home but I haven’t told him that my day off is the same day we swap.

I’m just glad that I can send my entire day playing with his cock. I’ll spend hours stroking it and edging it. When I’m ready for it to bust, I’ll pull my head off and plant my mouth right on it.

It’s the best feeling, using your own head like a toy. And I get to swallow all of Zach’s load.

Hmmm I wonder if we would be open to swap for more than one day….

Roommate’s Condition

Mitchell

My roommate and one of my best friends Felix was recently diagnosed with a special condition where his body parts uncontrollably become detached.

Most of the time, it’s just his head separating body and it will wonder around our place. Sometimes it’s just his lower half of his body. Every now and then I’ll find his hand or his foot lying around on the floor.

I feel bad for him since he can’t really help it.

It’s been over a month since his diagnosis and I think he’s starting to accept it since they don’t have any kind of cure.

But one day he said something to me that I wasn’t ever expecting.

“Mitch, I know you’re gay and single. You’ve done a lot for me. I want to offer you something. You’re more than welcome to use my body parts to explore and enjoy. Just not my head lol”

I was stunned by his words, I knew Felix was straight so I could never imagined him making such a crazy offer.

So the first time I took him up on his offer was after I came home from a party just a little bit tipsy. I went to take a piss when I saw his lower half stuck in the shower. They must have fallen in at some point and I knew Felix was already asleep.

So I pick up his lower half and started to take them back to his room.

But I looked down at Felix’s sexy legs and feet…

I could feel a nervous excitement rush through me.

I turned to my room with his lower half and laid it down on my bed.

I took his feet into my hands and smelled them. I could feel his toes wiggling in excitement on my cheeks. I ran my tongue up and down his soles…

I was so turned on that I couldn’t help myself. I unbuttoned his pants and pulled them off along with his briefs.

I held his briefs in hands taking a huge whiff….

I looked down at Felix’s hairy balls and semi hard cock.

I start to toy with some until it was standing rock hard and leaking out a bit.

I reached into my drawer and pulled out my lube. I run it over his hairy hole and start gingerly inserting my fingers into it. It’s so tight…

Once I knew it loose enough, I pulled off my pants and started inserting my dick into it.

It’s so much easier getting it into him with an upper half. I positioned him to where I’m laying down and it’s on top of me.

I start showing it by guiding his hips on how to ride my dick.

Soon Felix’s lower half was becoming a pro at bottoming.

It felt so good! I would toy with his dick while letting his legs and butt do all of the work.

It started to most faster and I kept up with his speed on his dick. Started yanking at it and hurt a popping noise. His was now detached in my hands.

So I started sucking it back and forth like a lollipop.

I could feel myself getting so close!

I started to cum inside of him and what was so crazy was that his dick started to squirt in my mouth all at the same time!

I stuck his wet dick back into place and turned his ass around only see my cum leaking out.

I cleaned it up before bed and brought it back with me to cuddle with in bed.

Weeks later of hooking up, Felix’s body goes to bed with me every night knowing I’m going to get it off at night. I think his body not only enjoys the sex but also likes the companionship. And I do too.

Maybe one day his head will join us but for right now, I just love having his body with me!

Uncle Franks Out of Town, But His Body Isn’t!

Caleb:

God I love it when Uncle Frank gets me to watch his body for him.

He does this weird job where he had to wear certain bodies for it. He can’t tell me too much about it.

Although, I couldn’t care less! Because now I have an entire week where I can wear his body as my own.

Uncle Frank is about 6,2’, muscular, and has an ungodly size cock. You see how big his feet are?

Yeah, imagine what his dick looks like…

This time I started my morning off lying in his California sized king bed butt ass naked. It’s so comfy, I hardly want to move.

Then I fondled with his morning wood until I’m so close to cumming…

That’s when I got a very evil idea. I went to guest bedroom and picked up my 19 year old, petite body and brought it into his room with me.

My body was naked and covered in dry cum (mainly from the fun I had last night fulling around with uncle franks headless body) . I carried it back to his room where I placed it bed with me.

I positioned body to where my ass was easily accessible and started to lick my clean hole.

Once good and wet, I carefully inserted uncle Franks massive dick into it. But I only went half way scared I’d hurt myself.

I began thrusting which became kinda hard to do.

That’s when I got another idea, I pulled out of myself and repositioned my body.

I had both of my soft smooth feet in uncle Frank’s manly hands.

I spit on both of them and cupped them around his dick.

The softness of my soles felt soooo good on his dick.

I was turned on that could only last a few minutes before squirting loads of cum all over them.

Afterwards, I carried my body to the bathtub and started the water to let it soak.

I immediately had to piss but uncle franks dick was still so hard.

So I sat down on the toilet and peed, I can’t help but be so obsessed with my Uncle’s hairy legs and feet. They’re just so big and powerful.

I walked back over after my piss to my body, I noticed my cock was throbbing still from thrusting into my hole so I figured I’d help it out a bit. I jerked my body off and licked all of the excess cum off of uncle franks fingers.

God my morning has already started out great!

I walked back to franks room and saw my phone going off.

It’s my friend Jeremy FaceTiming me. I answered it not thinking about the fact that I still had my uncles body on.

“Dude… wait what the hell?”

“What?” I say back still not realizing.

“Caleb, whose body do you have on?”

Oh shit!

“Oh it’s um, well it’s my uncle franks.”

“You’re hot uncle???”

I rolled my eyes at the camera.

“I’m coming over now!”

Jeremy seemed so excited to come see my uncles body. Jeremy’s a good looking guy and I wouldn’t mind fooling around with him some time.

I wonder if he’d be open to it with uncle franks body on 😜

[therandompagesblog]

SKZ Mate: Chapter 16

Warnings: trauma related, abuse, bondage, reader has flashbacks, stockholm syndrome, assumed sexual assault but uncertainty if true, uncomfortable scenes

The first few days were hard for Y/N. She felt lonely and craved physical affection. Jisung was still not back and she was worried Chan and Hyunjin were torturing him. Some of the wolves spoke to her, like Seungmin and Chan who made sure to check in on her but she still felt isolated. Not as isolated as her dream. Even Felix and Minho completely refused to make any verbal contact with her. Y/N wanted to beg Chan to make it stop so she could apologise to the wolves and make the bond better.  She even made a list in her bedroom on how she could fix it. Her biggest priority was Felix, her ray of sunshine was now an icy wolf. Y/N wanted to apologise to him, even if he didn't want to hear it, it would be enough. The next grumpy wolf on her list was Hyunjin. She wanted to understand him and learn how to please her alpha but she found him difficult to be near sometimes. For the simple reason that she never actually saw him that often. Then there was Minho, he was another one she did not understand but she still wanted to check in on him. Jeongin was another alpha who she desperately wanted to get to know him but knew he was still learning and was at his vital stage of growing and gaining power. Y/N had no intention of disrupting his journey, she only wished to get to know him than mere passings. Y/N wanted to ask Chan when he came back if they could spend time together if he was ready, but Y/N was patient. Seungmin and Changbin were comfortable and happy with her. Both made efforts to talk to her despite the circumstances. Y/N sighed as she looked at her list. The only way she could bond with them was by using words as actions were prohibited. In all honesty, her ass had turned black and was rather sore, which she did not appreciate. She had never seen it so black, ever. Focus Y/N. Focus. Y/N placed her hand on her head tapping it in frustration. She was an omega for goodness sake and she couldn't even please her pack. She got it right the first time so why did she get it wrong the second time? Y/N shook her head and forced herself to find Felix.

Felix was sat downstairs in the living room watching one of his programmes with Seungmin. He seemed to be in a better mood but not his usual self and Y/N hoped she could reconcile with him.

"Felix-ssi?" Y/N called out as she plopped down in front of his feet, leaning her head against the sofa, making sure she didn't touch him. Felix didn't respond to her and carried on watching his programme so Y/N tried again.

"Felix-ssi. I am sorry for getting you into trouble. I am really sorry if I caused you more pain. I only want to fix it." Y/N pleaded but was met with silence.

"Felix. Y/N-ssi is speaking to you." Seungmin spoke as he turned off the TV.

"I heard her. I have nothing to say to her." Felix answered.

"Don't you think that's unfair? Y/N has been through enough as it is. She didn't ask for this-"

"Neither did we Seungmin. Neither did we. We didn't ask to be given a broken omega. We didn't ask for all this trouble, but everything seems to follow her." Felix shouted, causing the female wolf to drop her head in shame. Y/N accepted Felix's outburst, his feelings were valid but she didn't know what else to do.

"Felix, stop!" Seungmin shouted as he threw down the remote. He was sick of all the arguments.

"Felix has a point, Seungmin. It's not even been two months yet and almost all of us have been punished by Hyunjin. She doesn't even know how to be an omega!" Minho shouted, his words burning deep into her body.  She doesn't even know how to be an omega. He has a point. His words were true. Everything she thought she did know was gone. Two months I've been here and I've caused a pack to divide because of me. Jisung is downstairs because of me. Felix killed San because of me. San died because of me. It's all my fault. Y/N stood up, ignoring the shouting matches around her as she made a decision. An irrational decision? Maybe, but Y/N needed to put things right.

"I'm going to put it right," Y/N spoke up but they ignored her, only scoffing at her words. "I'll go to Hongjoong."

Y/N ran out of the house and phased into her wolf form without a second thought heading straight into the woods. Her heart burned with determination as she broke through the clearing. She was close to the border of Wraithwood. She could smell its dark essence. Y/N sped up, ready to bolt towards the clearing when something tackled her with a snarl.

"You will not go." The brown wolf growled, almost challenging her. He was an alpha, but she did not recognise him. Y/N challenged the alpha with a growl ready to pounce when the alpha ordered her to sit down.

"Jeongin?" Y/N called out as the werewolf paced, ready to block her moves.

"Yes. I didn't mean to frighten you, but what you are doing is wrong. You cannot go back to them. We are your mates." Jeongin stressed, his dark brown eyes looking deep into hers.

"No. I'm not leaving. I wanted to put it right and talk to Hongjoong. I don't want a war." Jeongin huffed at her words and trotted over to her, nuzzling his head into her neck as he tried to calm her.

"You're so brave but it would not work. Trust me it would not. Hongjoong would never let you come back." Jeongin explained as his snout nuzzled against hers.

"I want to put it right." Y/N pleaded with the young alpha.

"You put it right by staying with us. Do not let Felix and Minho hyungs anger cloud your judgement. Hyunjin ssi tells me you're smarter than Hongjoong himself so why have you forgotten all your wisdom? Why have you forgotten who you are." Jeongin asked.

"I'm scared of Jeongin. I'm scared of being treated badly all over again. I'm scared of people having high expectations. I'm scared of being actually loved." Y/N admitted.

"No one has expectations of your omega." A black wolf called out. "No one has treated you badly, you're imagining it. Almost craving it. You see the good in Hongjoong that is not even there, Y/N. He brainwashed you and all your views you ever had. That's why it hurts so bad to see San killed. It felt like you had killed him."

"I feel like I'm missing the whole plot here," Jeongin explained as he looked between her and Hyunjin's wolf.

"She misses Hongjoong. She loves him. Y/N believes that everything Hongjoong did was in her best interest. Every time he punished her she would do her best to please. Her existence only existed if he was there. She could only breathe if he was there and the only way she could survive was by pretending that it was all because he loved her. Yet, that pretend feeling accidentally moulded itself into reality. She accidentally rewired her own brain to survive which lead to Seonghwa being allowed to punish her more. Locking her in a dark room as he taunted her, slowly dragging her until she went mad. But still she somehow managed to fight her way out and now her brain is still trying to justify his actions, because she's afraid of the reality. She's afraid to recognise that she was going to be used in a ritual so her brain tells her we're the enemy."

"How do you know that," Y/N whispered, slowly backing away. He can't know that.

"I can know that Y/N. Which is why I'm telling you to accept that your feelings were real but you need to let them go. It's time to come to terms with that and I'll help you, just like you helped me." Hyunjin whispered while Jeongin nuzzled himself into the omega, trying to piece together what the older alpha was explaining.

"He's right omega. We can help you get past this. We will listen to whatever story." Jeongin promised as he felt the wolf whine out in pain. Images of her struggles flashed through the male's mind.

Jeongin shuddered as he saw her reliving her darkest moments. He saw Hongjoong's menacing eyes burning deep into hers. He saw the way Hoongjoong's fingers gently touched her body, caring tentatively to her before they shifted into bloodied hands that grasped her throat as he whispered cruel things to her. The way he changed from a proud alpha to a disappointed one. He saw the way Seonghwa babied her as he carried her around, spoiling her, only for him to edge her closer and closer to their goals. He saw the way the wolves pleasured her as a group, driving her to every brink of madness and he couldn't tell if she wanted to or wanted to. Jeongin wanted to be sick as her images flashed through him. He tried to be strong like Hyunjin who allowed her to break in confidence. He wanted to be a strong alpha for her. He wanted to protect himself from all the horrors of the world. He wanted to show her how much better the world is but he wasn't strong enough, not yet, but he will be.

Taglist for the iconic readers:

@galaxy4489 @mbioooo0000 @jisungs-iced-americano @maybeimmia @hwangrfrnd @pixie0627 @wolfo2027 @kayleefriedchicken @leamueller920 @borahae-reads @jennibahng @cookiesandcreammy @leezanetheofficial @jutdwae-flower @danceonmyheyday @jc003 @hpnsfwaddict @linocz @itzreetal987 @skzdreamer13 @reallychaoticwoo @liv1sworld

[qqueenofhades]

So I keep seeing people play the "Harris is a Cop, so I'm not voting for her because ACAB" card, and not even pointing out that she was a DA/Prosecutor rather than an actual cop seems to change their minds - as far as they're concerned, working with cops in any capacity makes you a cop. Do you happen to have anything that'd make for a good counterpoint to this argument (or, at the very least, something to make those of us who still plan on voting for her despite our dim views on Law Enforcement not feel so bad about it)?

....Not feel so bad about it?

First of all: these are laughably, incredibly unbelievably unserious people, and frankly, my first advice would be NOT to bother trying to engage with them at all, because there is nothing whatsoever they will ever accept in the way of logical proof to change their minds. First it was "you can't ask me to vote for Biden specifically because of [insert issue here.]" This changed a lot, from Roe getting overturned by the corrupt SCOTUS, to the train strike (hey anyone remember that?) to student loan forgiveness and then had settled firmly on Gaza. So now, lo and behold, they're given exactly what they asked for: a new younger candidate who is not Biden and explicitly more progressive on the Gaza issue (Harris was the first member of the administration to openly call for a ceasefire). So they turn their noses up, rush to their favorite 2020 disinformation founts that were first spouted when they were trying to sabotage her in favor of Bernie (who endorsed Biden pretty strongly before he dropped out), flirt with Jill "Actual Agent of Putin" Stein, and other equally expected and equally bullshit maneuvers. Lololololololol online leftists. Never change, or something.

That said: because their minds are so set that they will never vote for any Democrat ever, you can't really give them any logical information to separate them from this conclusion. I don't have the links on hand, but etc Google and Wikipedia are free: Harris's tenure as district attorney and California AG was progressive even by modern standards, and it was happening in the early 2000s: she refused to prosecute for low-level weed offenses, pushed for harder sentences for assault weapons, performed gay marriages LONG before it was legal even in San Freaking Francisco, refused to seek the death penalty, worked with restorative justice programs, etc. This was after she was a first-generation American child of brown immigrants who took advantage of equal-opportunity education programs to go to law school, and her parents were already high-achieving academics (one a cancer researcher from India and one an economics professor from Jamaica). Sure sure, she definitely seems exactly like Derek Chauvin to me. Critical thinking is great! #VoteJillStein! A literal puppet of Putin and unabashed Assad fangirl is definitely the pro-peace morally correct option here!*

In other words, the morons do not give a single shit about factual reflections of Kamala's record. They do not care about whether her time as a district attorney was progressive (it was) and whether she was actually a cop (she wasn't). They're so wedded at the hip to their braindead disinformation propaganda that now we're going to see the excuses change at lightspeed from why they can't vote for Biden specifically to why they can't vote for Harris specifically. None of it will be remotely tethered to reality and all of it will be in extreme and obvious bad faith. As I said, there are plenty of persuadable voters elsewhere who HAVE been energized by her elevation to candidacy. If you are indeed interested in winning voters to her side (as opposed to having to find reasons to justify yourself to the All Voting Is Evil crowd who will never listen to or believe you anyway), I suspect your time would be better spent elsewhere, and outside the echo-chamber leftist social media space in general.

Aside from that, I have gotten a few hand-wringy asks about Kamala and the election overall, and I gotta say, I am not going to waste my time and effort replying to them. We have about 100 days to win this election or become a fascist dictatorship. We are already in uncharted territory, but the replacement of Biden with Harris went UNIMAGINABLY smoothly, far, far more than anyone (including me) ever expected. It reminds me of the presto-chango that the French center, left, and center-left parties pulled off to replace candidates, IN FIVE DAYS, to better position themselves to defeat the fascists. Compared to that, three and a half months is a cakewalk, but we still absolutely do not, DO NOT, have time to sit around worrying and hand-wringing about this or that hypothetical Bad Thing. It deeply unsurprises me to hear that US Online Leftists are still throwing snits and pitching their toys out of the pram rather than getting on board, but the rest of us don't have any time to waste and need to apply our energy to where it will be best put to use. So yes.

*extreme, extreme sarcasm alert

[gucciwins]

Y/N just wants Harry to like her.

Word count: 5964

A/N: Friends!!!!! I am sorry to have disappeared but I am back. Yes, I am aware this is a Halloween/October story but you're getting it now mid November (that has been going by fast). I won't work on any holiday stories because I have no idea what to write. So if you have an idea and want me to write it feel free to shoot me an ask.

Now happy reading! I love you

+

Many people go to work ready to return home, but not Y/N. No, she walks in every day with a smile and a pep in her step. She greets her coworkers by name and occasionally brings baked goods she knows everyone will enjoy. Y/N loves her job, and she’s happy to go every day.

Y/N went from working in a job she hated because it was filled with men constantly belittling her and gaslighting her that she was doing her job wrong when she was actually excelling. It all got to be too much, and Y/N decided to quit. Thank goodness she did because soon into her job search, she received an email from Carla Crain asking her if she’d be interested in joining her company. Y/N went to the interview, and after basically being pitched her dream job, she accepted and entered as head engineer. 

She’d be lying if she wasn’t nervous starting, but the people Carla had hired all shared the same values on work and life. Y/N knew she’d be in safe hands. The company is small but slowly growing. It allows for every employee to get to know each other and everyone to remember that together, they can be successful. Y/N had been at the job for two years and, with time, brought new coworkers. 

There is Estrella, who loves to talk to you about astrology, ironically enough. She states that the invisible string theory is real and that if everyone tracked it, they would notice just how small the world is. 

Carmy has a tough exterior, but once anyone gets him talking, he never stops. He loves chatting about his family and his pet Pitbull named Daisy. 

Maeve is petite, and every other month comes in with a new color in their hair. Y/N enjoys it when everyone in the office places bets on what it will be. 

Tatum is from Scotland and loves to remind everyone when they all go out for drinks on the weekend. 

Chessy is the only one who works remotely, but when she comes in, she is always laughing in the office. They also all get a basket of fresh fruit and vegetables from her garden. 

Overall, Y/N knows she had the best coworkers and wouldn’t change her job for the world, but as their company grows, so does the need in their team. The newest hire is Harry Styles, who has come in as a computer technician to help develop their website and also help with any internal security. Honestly, all she knew was that it was a complex job. 

Harry was on the quiet side. She tried to start conversations with him, but he always seemed to brush her off. At first, Y/N wondered if she should take it personally but soon learned he did that to everyone. Even though he didn’t open up to them, they still invited Harry to join them. 

The thing was, he rejected all their dinners. Y/N loved going to a Korean BBQ Maeve introduced them to, and Harry claimed not to eat meat (not that she didn’t think it wasn’t true. Chessy was vegetarian, after all.) They would go to a bar and share a few drinks when they knew they would all be having a long weekend off. Harry always claimed he had an early morning. It didn't matter if they offered to meet earlier. Y/N’s favorite nights were trivia nights that happened at a local brewery. Y/N was a beat, especially in history. Harry declined, and this one hurt her the most.

 Everyone would ask Harry to join. 

Karaoke. Can’t hold a tune.

Bowling. Too loud. 

It seems there was an excuse for everything.

Everyone began to stop inviting him out, and while Y/N didn’t enjoy being told no, she would send notes to the office with the time and place of what they would be doing. She’d always keep an eye on the door, but Y/N went home disappointed each time.

The thing was, Y/N was determined to make a friend out of Harry. She soon learned large public settings must be overwhelming for him and decided to find a new way to approach him. Everyone took lunch at the same time in the office except for Harry. Sometimes, they all ate at the sub shop across the street. Most times, Y/N brought food from home, and she cooked. While she liked eating out, Y/N preferred a home-cooked meal. She caught Harry taking his lunch half an hour later than her and used that to her advantage. 

They had a conference that always remained empty as everyone preferred the main lounge. Harry went in there every day for his lunch hour. One day, Y/N walks in, smiles at him, and sits as far away as she can. She made sure to only be there for ten minutes. The next day, she stayed for twenty and wished him a nice lunch when she left.  

Slowly, Harry begins to spare her glances, but Y/N keeps to herself until the day she sits across from him. 

“Hi, Harry. Is it okay for me to sit here?” 

No answer. 

“I’m going to take that as a yes.” 

He fidgets with his fork. 

“I saw a lime bike out front. Did you ride that today?” 

Harry looks at her briefly before staring back at his plate. 

“I’ve always wanted to try one, but I’m honestly scared of being hit by a car. Chessy lets me ride hers when I go down to visit her. She’s got beautiful trails. You’d probably enjoy it.” 

Y/N thinks that’s enough for today and excuses herself. She doesn’t realize Harry noticed she didn’t take a bite of her lunch. When she goes back to her desk after using the restroom, she finds three chocolate chip cookies sitting on her desk. Y/N rushes to try one, doesn’t even think of who delivered them or that a green-eyed man was standing right outside waiting to hear her reaction. 

With time, it seems Harry is coming to appreciate Y/N’s presence. He has never expressed it, but she knows because he nods when he agrees to something she says or tightens the hold on his fork when Y/N shares something upsetting. Y/N had not gotten more than two words out of him. At this point, Y/N felt like Harry knew everything about her; all she knew was that he had the most beautiful eyes, and his hair always looked soft. 

One day, after many lunches together, she finds Harry reading a book. Y/N knows he might want quiet, but her curiosity gets the best of her. 

“Any good?”

Harry looks up and grimaces. “Think it’s really boring.” 

Y/N laughs because she wasn’t expecting that response. “Then put it down.” 

He shakes his head. “Don’t like not knowing the ending.”

Y/N shrugs, “if you don’t like a book, I wouldn’t put myself through the torture of it all. Skip to the end if you're curious.” She understands she spoke too much and excuses herself. 

The next day, Harry is sitting in his usual spot, but this time, a new book is in his hand. Y/N bites back a smile. 

“What’s this one about?”

“My sister recommended it,” he defends. 

Y/N isn’t halted by his harsh tone. “What’s it about?” 

“Well, it’s Pride and Prejudice.” He shows her the book cover. 

“Like the movie?” Y/N asks.

Harry laughs, and Y/N feels successful. His laughter rings in her ears. It’s a lovely sound, and she wishes to hear it more. “Yeah…I like the movie.” 

“Me too,” she gushes. “Do you think I’d like the book?”

He frowns, “if you like Jane Austen.” 

“Might have to pick it up next time I’m in the shops.”

+

Their interactions are solely during their lunches but sometimes spills out during work. Y/N seemed to have an issue with her computer and radioed IT. She needed to submit her document, but her desktop appeared to freeze whenever she opened a new file. Harry knocked on her door, and she welcomed him in. Y/N explained the issue, and Harry was quick to get to work. It was only a few minutes when she noticed that her document was open and her computer wasn’t having a meltdown.

“Thank you so much, Harry!” Y/N cheers, knowing he saved her. 

Harry shrugs because it’s his job. “You have a nice photo.” He’s pointing to her picture frame on her desk. It’s a picture of her and a dog in Iceland at the end of her hike. It was taken back when she was nineteen years old. 

“Thank you. I took that on my first solo trip.” She bites her lip, hoping Harry takes the bait. 

“Where to?” He asks curiously. 

She silently cheers, “Iceland.”

“Is that your dog?” 

“I actually found him mid-hike and took him back with me. I hoped to see his owner on the trail, but there was no luck. He didn’t even seem worried. Once I returned to the car park, his owner was there. After that hike, I decided I liked the company of a dog and returned home to adopt Tutter, a Jack Russel Terrier who loves to play fetch.”

“Why isn’t Tutter on your desk?” 

Y/N feels her face flush, “now, don’t be mean. I love my son, but that trip taught me I can do anything I set my mind to, whether alone or with company.”

Harry gives her the slightest smile. “I-I learned Italian because I always dreamed of having an Italian home.”

Y/N’s eyes brighten. Harry is opening up to her, and instead of pushing, she offers more of herself. “I’ve dreamed of visiting. The Amalfi coast is my dream to swim in. Silly, I know,” she brushes off, trying to downplay her excitement. 

Harry doesn’t let her. “You’ll make it.”

He finally excuses himself. Y/N is happy for the rest of the day because she realizes Harry is allowing her in.

+

September means the preparations for Halloween have begun. It starts with little things, from coasters and mugs to the occasional treat. One day, a tiny spider sits on his desk for a second. Harry believed it was real until it began to glow purple. Harry kept it on his desk next to his sticky notes. He doesn't do anything about it; there’s no need. By the second week, the office is entirely decorated. Harry admits a few decorations have scared him, especially the skeleton in the corner of the restroom.

It’s a quiet day when he’s walking by the break room on his way to the secluded office to have lunch when he hears people talking. Harry pauses because he hears Y/N’s voice mixed in with everyone else. 

“But it seems like he doesn’t like us,” Harry hears quietly. 

“It’s hard,” Y/N defends. “You’re all extroverts. It can be overwhelming.” 

Harry knows she’s trying for them to understand.

“But Carla is all about unity in the office. This is a concern.”

“It’s not, Carmy.” Y/N shuts him down, clearly upset she had to defend him.

Harry decides he’s heard enough and decides to eat lunch alone in his car. He’s thankful it was a sandwich and nothing he had to heat up. For the entire lunch and the rest of the day, all he thinks about are the words of his coworkers. 

Y/N looked for Harry, excited to talk about a book she started, but Harry was nowhere to be found. She wouldn’t have been concerned, but it’s clear no one saw him since before lunch. She wishes Harry could confide in her even if a fraction of what she shares with him/ 

The next day, everyone walks into the office at their usual time, everyone making their rounds together to the break room to prepare their coffees and store their lunch in the fridge. When Y/N walks in, she sees her coworkers huddled around the table and peeks around them to see what has captured their attention. There on the table is a box of Halloween cookies from a bakery uptown with a note attached. 

Enjoy - HS

Y/N lets a smile take over her face. She knew Harry cared about them but understood why he finally did something. She tells her coworkers they owe him an apology, and they all agree. Y/N makes sure to head to Harry’s office and thank him for the cookies. Harry tells her it’s nothing. She bounces away to her office, where Estrella, Carmy, Maeve, and Tatum are standing outside her door. 

“Can you come with us? Feel like he likes you.” Tatum tells her. 

Y/N sighs and tells them to follow her. Once again, she knocks on his door, and they all file in when he welcomes her in. Harry looks at them confused. 

“Uh, is there an issue?” Harry asks, concerned. 

Carmy starts, “we want to apologize if you overheard us yesterday.” 

“Right,” Harry sighs, knowing it might be a good time to share with them. If he trusted Y/N and she trusted them, he knew he could also start to. 

“It was wrong of us,” Maeve continues. “Y/N raves about how smart and nice you are, but we don’t get to see that. We’re sorry.” 

Everyone else repeats the sentiment while Harry looks at Y/N, who offers him an encouraging smile. She must know his anxiety is through the roof. 

Harry takes a deep breath, “right, uh.” He looks down at his shoes, untied lace on his black Adidas. “I struggle with social anxiety and new environments. It’s better than when I was a kid, but it’s easy to get overwhelmed even more when being the new guy.” 

“No worries. We get that,” Tatum expresses. “Estrella gets bad migraines.” 

“Don’t air other people’s personal stuff,” Y/N reminds them. 

“We’re sorry,” they offered one last time. “Thanks for the cookies.” 

After that, they hurried out while Y/N stayed behind. 

“I wanted to apologize,” he begins.

“You don’t–” Harry cuts her off. “You’ve made me feel comfortable.”

Y/N sighs, letting her shoulders drop. “Not enough, it seems.” 

“It can just be too much sometimes.”

“I-I get panic attacks.” Y/N shares, surprising herself. “When I overwhelm myself, it can happen. It’s uncommon and has not happened at work, but I understand.” 

“Thank you for sharing,” Harry tells her honestly. “Lunch?” 

“See you in a bit then.”

+

Through September, Y/N and Harry have lunch together every day. They read together, Harry more into classic literature, and Y/N loving to devour a juicy romance that has her pausing every few minutes, trying her best not to scream because the love interest brushed hands. Some days, Y/N will do a sudoku game while Harry does the daily crossword. Y/N likes to solve the Wordle of the day and most times asks Harry for help if she fears she might not get it. Some days, Y/N brings in her laptop during lunch because she is behind and needs to catch up. Harry reminds her to relax. He knows it’s easier said than done, so he tells her about the book he’s reading or asks about her dog and the snacks he eats. 

Before she knows if they’ve made it to October. One of the best months of the year. Y/N loves planning events, and this is one she wishes Harry would say yes to. She knocks on his office door, and Harry freezes, staring at his computer screen. He glances at the calendar; it's the first Monday of the month, and Harry knows they’ve planned a fun event. 

Harry is practicing his excuse when Y/N walks in with a bright smile, wearing a “Great Pumpkin” shirt with Snoopy and Charlie Brown. She has told him it’s her favorite movie to watch during the month and “The Conjuring” Harry wasn’t sure how the sweetest girl he knew could handle a horror film like that. He had told her she was fearless.

“Hi, Y/N, pretty shirt.” 

Y/N looks down at it as if she had forgotten what she was wearing. She beams at his compliment. “Thank you, Harry!” 

Harry asks how her day is going and shares how there was traffic on the way down and how she didn’t have time to stop by her favorite coffee shop because there was a line out the door. “Pumpkin spice isn’t even that good, H. I mean, it’s okay, but I wanted my coffee.”

He laughs at her pouting and promises to make her one during lunch. She perks up at his mention of their shared time together. 

“Speaking of our time together. We plan to go to a haunted pumpkin patch in the next town over if you want to join us. It’s two weeks from now, so it's the 21st.” Harry could hear the excitement in her voice and didn’t think he could say no to her.

“Everyone is going?”

“We invited everyone, but only Carmy, Estella, Maeve, Tatum, and myself are going. Carla was not for it. Dan is warming up to us but still says no. Though he did agree for trivia next week.”

Before he can stop himself, he says, “yes.”

“You will?” Y/N answers surprised. 

“Mhm…uh, it sounds like fun,” he says unconvincingly.

Y/N’s smile brightens, “I’m not hung on haunts, but they’ve got amazing apple cider you’ve got to try with me.” 

“Happy to join,” he tells her honestly. “Let me know the ticket cost or if we need to purchase our own.”

She nods eagerly. It’s clear Harry has just made her day. 

+

The day comes faster than he’s ready, and while a part of him is excited, Harry feels his nerves will get the best of him. Y/N had told them no one was dressing up in costume and even went as far as to send him a photo of her outfit to assure him she wasn’t playing a joke with him. She was wearing bell bottoms with a Mickey Mouse in a pumpkin shirt. She told him it was his favorite to wear each year. 

Harry knew it would be cold, so he wore a simple Halloween shirt in his closet and loose-fitting jeans. His jacket in his car he knew would keep him warm throughout the night. He wasn’t trying to impress anyone (only Y/N) but also wanted to look nice outside of the office for once. When Harry parked, Y/N told him she’d wait by the entrance for him, and he couldn’t miss her as she had a cute pumpkin headband on.

It seemed Y/N spotted him, too, because she rushed towards him. “Hi, Harry,” she greeted with a cheery smile.

“Hi, you look lovely,” he offered her a small compliment that made his hands sweat.

“You’re too sweet. Come on, we were waiting on you.” She grabs his hand and pulls him along to where everyone else is. 

Everyone offers their greeting, and he receives a few compliments on his tame outfit. It’s an old Halloween shirt he got at a vintage shop in New Orleans five years ago. His sister went on a trip and asked him to join. Harry could never say no to her. 

Harry notices everyone begins to drift off into conversations, but Y/N stays by his side. He takes the time to admire her as she looks around at all the decorations. There are a lot of people, but it seems they are heading to the pumpkin patch. There are stalls selling sweet treats, and he keeps in mind to buy Y/N a cider, remembering she mentioned loving it. Harry has always thought being in a relationship to be intimidating. He loves love but struggles to put himself out there, to allow someone else to get to know him, but here is Y/N, who managed to worm her way into his life, knocking down all of his walls. 

Harry likes Y/N.

It’s something he took a long time to figure out, but when he realized the excitement of seeing her each morning, he looked forward to it. He let it consume him, but he had no idea if she could feel the same way. 

“Did you drive here, Harry?” Y/N asks, breaking their silence. 

“I did,” he answers. 

“Do you think you could maybe take me home?” She brushes her hair out of her face. “I came with Tatum, but she’s been wanting to take the time to connect with Estella, if you know what I mean,” Y/N gestures to them kissing on hay bales. 

Harry had no idea that there were feelings between them. “I can do that, Y/N.” 

“Great!” She cheers gratefully. “I owe you an apple cider, then.” 

Y/N eagerly walks them to the stand, and before she can pay for both, Harry slips the kind older lady a twenty walking away with their drinks. Y/N stays behind, shocked, but quickly catches up, pouting at Harry. “Harry, I was going to pay.”

He shook his head, “my mum would have my head if I let you pay.”

Y/N bends her head, careful to take a sip of the warm drink. “Well, thank you.”

Maeve bounces over to them. “Hi beauties, we’re ready to start if you all are.” 

Harry eyes Y/N, waiting to see her response. Y/N offers her friend a large grin, and Harry agrees he’s ready. He throws away their ups, and once he finds Y/N with the group, he slithers to stand behind her. Y/N offers him a tense smile as the group tries to decide who will lead. 

“I can go in front,” Harry offers, sensing no one wanting to make the first move. Everyone thanks him and heads to the first maze. Y/N informs him it’s once based on the catacombs in France. 

“There’s a movie based on the catacombs,” Y/N shares as they walk together.

“As Above So Below,” Harry says. “It spooked me.” 

“You’ve seen it,” she laughs, holding onto his arm for a second, unable to contain her excitement. “It’s one of my favorites.”

“It’s a good one,” he agrees. 

They fall into silence as the chatter of their coworker fills the air. Harry sees Y/N get fidgety, but she’s smiling as she leads the way to the short line. “I’m actually really nervous,” she tells Harry. 

“We’ll be fine. I got you,” he assures Y/N.

Harry extends his hand, and she accepts it. He intertwines their fingers and pulls her along as the line moves slowly. Y/N does her best not to think about the feeling of his hand, but it fits perfectly between hers. She feels her hand begin to sweat and wants to pull it away, but Harry has a firm grip on her. 

“Is it okay?” Harry nods, gesturing to their hands. 

“Safe, uh, I feel safe.”

The worker asks how many, and Y/N peeks behind Harry to tell her six. Harry is grateful Y/N knows when to take charge because while he can lead a scary maze and knows everyone is dressed in costumes, he still feels nervous speaking to strangers. Harry squeezes her hand once in thanks. She gives him two quick squeezes in return.

Harry guides them in. Y/N lets go of his hand to hide behind Harry, her hands on his shoulder as she peeks behind him. There is a group ahead where she can hear the people in front screaming, which allows her to prepare for the scare, if that is even possible. 

Her eyes widen in amazement as she takes in the darkness of the building. Everything is covered in black cloth. She can see the spots where actors will jump out. Y/N mumbles an apology to Harry for holding on to him tight. Estella is behind her, screaming at everything that moves. Harry steps through the curtain, and she feels her hold on him loosen. As she is stepping closer to reach him, a man screams in her face, making her rush forward and propel Harry into a wall. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry.” Y/N apologized repeatedly as Harry rushed them to finish the maze. She felt her heartbeat in her throat and knew she needed to calm down. One look at Harry, and he rushed her to a dark corner, not concerned about their friends. 

“Y/N? I’m okay. You’re okay.” Harry tried assuring her.

She repeated it in her head. They were okay. They got out of the dumb maze, and Harry wasn’t hurt. It took her a few minutes to realize she had a panic attack. Y/N had not even felt it coming and didn’t think a haunted house would trip her into one, but with all the overthinking she had been doing, it made sense it led to this.

“I’m sorry, Harry.” Y/N bashfully looks away from him. She can’t believe she embarrassed herself in front of him like this. 

“No apologies,” he brushes her off and doesn’t ask her any questions, only to ensure she is okay. 

They rejoin the group after ten minutes by the looks of everyone's sympathetic smiles. She knows they saw her freak out, but they’re her friends. She knows she’s in safe hands with everyone, especially Harry.

“What’s the next maze?” Y/N asks cheerfully. 

And so they continue on. 

The next maze is much smoother than the first. Carmy leads, tucking Harry and Y/N in the middle with Tatum and Estella in the back. That order seems to comfort Y/N for the next few mazes. Each worker makes her scream but then falls into giggles when Harry traces comforting shapes on her hand. It takes her mind off these scarers trying to get her to scream and instead focus on the gentle touches of her crush. 

While doing the mazes is fun, Y/N is soaking up talking to Harry in line. They’re in a new environment where they do not need to discuss work. She feels free to ask him anything, but sometimes she is unsure where to start. Y/N doesn’t know if she wants to hear about his weekend plans or ask him about his favorite movie or who his favorite Muppet character is? 

Talking to Maeve and everyone else is easy because she’s gone out with them. She knows them personally, but with Harry, he always kept that guard up, and now she’s unsure what to do if he decides to keep it up. 

To her surprise, Harry always starts the conversation with her. Harry shares about a new show he started watching and how it makes him anxious for the main character when they do something out of character. When he asks Y/N if there is a show she recommends, her mind goes blank, and the first thing that comes to mind is “Fleabag.” 

“It’s the saddest but most comforting show I have ever seen,” Y/N gushes. 

“With Phoebe Waller-Bridge?” 

“Mhmm…the second season has Andrew Scott. Irish treasure.” 

“Paul Mescal,” he adds. 

“Hozier.” 

“Saoirse Ronan,” they say in unison before falling into fits of giggles. 

“You’ve got taste, Styles.” 

“As do you.” 

The line moves, and they change conversations to talk about the best musicals they’ve seen. Y/N swears “Waitress” is the best thing created, but Harry tells her “Moulin Rouge” is his favorite. Y/N loves how easily the conversation with Harry seems to flow. He feels like a long-lost friend. Someone who once was in her life has now found his way back to her. 

Not only is he getting along with her, but everyone is getting to see the Harry she had come to know. The one who makes cheesy jokes and loves to hear every detail of the story being told. It turns out he and Maeve frequent the same record store. There’s a Stevie Nicks vinyl Harry is on the hunt for, and Maeve promised to keep an eye out for him. Tatum learns Harry can play guitar and asks him to show them sometime. Something he agreed to with pink cheeks. Y/N knew tonight was a big step for Harry, and she was glad everyone made him feel comfortable.

As the night was coming to an end, the maze lines got shorter, and the more Y/N screamed. It made her laugh right after, but still not her favorite part of the night. Before the cold can settle in, they all call it a midnight night. Tatum and Estella head out hand in hand. Y/N can’t wait for the details of that on Monday. Carmy is telling Harry a story, so Maeve uses the opportunity to remind Y/N to make a move.

“It’s now or never, girlfriend.” 

Y/N rolls her eyes, “please don’t pressure me on this.” 

“Y/N that man is, head over heels for you. If I was antisocial this is not an event I would ever do. Unless someone I fancied asked.” 

Y/N toes her food in the sand and, in a low voice, asks, “do you really think he likes me?” 

Maeve smiles, brushing Y/N’s hair out of her eyes. “That man lit up every time your eyes were on him. I don’t know Harry as well as you do, but I can notice a guy with a crush from miles away. Trust me on this.” 

Y/N backs down, relaxing, “okay.” 

“Good. Now text me when you get home. Carmy’s got me.” Maeve gives her a tight hug and then pulls Carmy away from Harry. 

He walks over to her with a shy smile on his face. “Have a good time?” 

“The best,” she tells him. “Though I might need another apple cider. Think my heart needs it.”

“By all means, lead the way.” 

After getting one last warm apple cider, they reach Harry’s car. It’s an electric car because he’s conscious of his environmental impact and knows one person can go a long way into the future. Harry opens Y/N’s car door and waits until he sees her seated and buckled to close her door. As he gets ready to drive off, he turns on the heater, knowing if he’s cold, Y/N must be too. 

The car ride starts off quietly, Y/N guiding him every so often when to make a turn. Y/N sees her favorite coffee shop and knows she is almost home. “That was fun,” Harry starts. “I’m happy I went.” 

“Mhmm…it was a good time. Glad you joined us,” she tells him honestly. 

Harry notices at a red light that she’s fidgeting with her hands and thinks he might still be cold. “Do you need me to turn up the heater?” 

Y/N shakes her head, “no, sorry, I’m fine.” 

Harry drives down a few more streets when Y/N tells him to turn left. “It’s the third one on the right.” 

He parks right outside her driveway. From here, he can see her decorations hung up. It’s decorated charmingly. It’s clear no scaring would happen here. She’s got two pumpkins outside her door. One has stars carved all around; the other is a cat on a witch’s broom. Bat lights are hanging up the railing of the steps. She even has a few inflatables. His favorite has to be the one of Mickey Mouse as a vampire.

“Thank you for driving me home. I appreciated it.” She smiles at him, and he returns it. Harry gets out of the car and opens her door. 

“Let me walk you up.” 

Y/N feels her cheeks burn and leads the way. 

“We’re planning trivia soon,” Y/N says, testing the waters. 

“Hmm…only if you’re on my team.” 

“We would all be on the same team,” his flirting going over her head.

Harry’s face turns pink, “uh, right.” 

She laughs, placing her hand on his bicep. “Only joking.”

Y/N pulls him in, whispering good night, except when she pulls away, she locks eyes with his emerald eyes, and it’s like she’s in a trance. She feels herself leaning in closer, and before she knows it, Y/N presses her lips to Harry in an airy kiss.

She pulls back, shocked. “Sorry,” she breathed out. “I-I should have asked.” 

“Ask me,” he pleads. 

“What?” Y/N isn’t sure if she heard him correctly. 

Harry doesn’t care anymore. He raises his hand to rest on her cheeks. “Can I kiss you, Y/N?” 

She feels how close he is. She can feel his breath mixing with hers. “Yes.” 

When their lips meet, Y/N swears she feels time stop. Harry is starting slow as he begins to learn what she likes.  Y/N places a hand on his chest, needing to have a secure hold as she feels him take her breath away. Her emotions are all over the place. His lips are smooth as they move against hers in a dance that feels like they’ve done a hundred times before. Harry deepens the kiss, pushing her up against the door, making Y/N grab a fistful of his shirt, not wanting him to pull away. Y/N lets herself get wrapped up in all her feelings because she knows that a kiss this special means it won’t be her only one, and she finally allows all her feelings to pour into the kiss. 

Y/N isn’t sure how long they spent kissing outside her door. It seems she’s lost track of time since she got a taste of Harry. “I don’t want you to go,” she mutters against his lips when she feels him begin to pull away.

“I’ll see you Monday,” he promises. 

“Too far.

Harry laughs, “you can call me tomorrow when you wake up.” Knowing she likes to sleep in, he would rather not wake her up. 

“Okay,” she whispers in defeat. 

“Good night,” Harry takes a step back. 

Y/N bites her lip and gives him a wave. “Do you want a kiss goodbye?” 

Harry can’t say no.

+

Monday morning, Y/N walks in with a large smile. It makes everyone stop and stare. She makes her rounds, wishing everyone a good morning, and saves Harry for last. 

“Hi, Harry.” She chirps. 

“Morning,” he answers timidly. 

Y/N pouts because he didn’t even look at her. She wanted to see his beautiful eyes. “So I was thinking…” she trails off. 

Harry turns, giving her his undivided attention, and Y/N’s smile widens. “How does a date sound to you?”

“A date?” He echoes. 

“With me,” she giggles.

“Best thing I've heard all day.”

Y/N claps her hands together, “wonderful.” 

“How does this weekend sound?” 

“Too far,” she teases. “Saturday?” 

“I’ll pick you up,” he promises. 

“Good. Good.” Y/N lingers by his door. 

“Yes, love?” 

Y/N feels her cheeks heat up but doesn’t look away from him. “Are we still on for lunch?” 

Harry gives her a dimpled grin, “I’ve got a new book for us to discuss.” 

Y/N tells him she can’t wait and walks away. Harry watches her go, and as if she can feel his stare on her, she turns around and gives him a wink. Harry knows he’s way in over his head with someone as amazing as Y/N, but he can’t wait to prove each day to her how much he deserves to be with her.

[bookshelf-dust]

soul made of honeybees

billy hargrove x fem!reader

gif by @biillys

word count: 6,418

warnings: brief swearing, mentions of smoking, reader deals with body insecurities/dysmorphia, uses exercise as a punishment, all of the struggles that come with trying to accept oneself

synopsis: on a journey of becoming more active and trying to be happier in yourself, you find billy, who helps you develop a healthier relationship with exercising and shows you that your body should be celebrated for all it does for you.

a/n: well, what do we have here? my creative juices have begun to flow again, and this is the first fic to be born of that particular affair. in my head i’ve set this in the late 80s, maybe early 90s, where i imagine billy still works at the pool during the summers when he’s home from college. this is a situation i’ve found myself in over the past year, and i wanted a chance to explore it in this way and sort through some of my own experiences. i hope you will enjoy it. as always, happy reading! <3

————

Jane Fonda is a fucking fantastic woman. But right now, you hate her. 

She manages to look stunning and effortless with each kick of her legs; while you are sweating profusely, your shorts are up your ass, and your fingers are swollen from overheating. 

You hate exercising in the moment, but once her thirty minute video is over and her group of people in tights and tiny shorts are gone, admittedly you do feel better. Rinsing the sweat from your face, feeling your muscles ache the next day—it brings you some sort of satisfaction. 

Your body likes that you’ve gotten more active. 

But your own hatred for your body was the reason you allowed Jane Fonda into your home to begin with. Sick, right? You know it’s bad, and yet each time you squat, crunch, and press, you can’t stop yourself from wishing you were shaped differently. From looking at the toned and athletic bodies in Miss Fonda’s videos and imagining what it would be like to feel that comfortable in your own skin, to be so graceful and…perfect.

So, you continue to push yourself, in hopes that you’ll become more appealing, that if you keep doing this, there will come a point where you aren’t totally and completely disgusted with the body you’ve been given. 

Because at this point, you’ve truly convinced yourself that you cannot be happy in your body. Even if you have noticed your strength levels increasing and really want to push yourself more. But you won’t let that positivity ring free like the woman on your television always wishes you would. 

“You did a great job!” Jane’s voice rings throughout your living room as the workout video ends, and you scramble for the remote, having had enough of these cheery attitudes for one morning.

You sit back on your hands, stretch out your legs, and try to steady your breath. Your knees have carpet burn, and you can feel sweat dripping down your temples. 

You may be a heaving mess, but you need more. The workouts have gotten easy, and you need something new. 

A woman runs by outside your window in a bright pink leotard and blue jogging shorts, matching pink leg warmers meeting her tennis shoes.

I could try that, you think. Maybe I’d like running. 

You certainly didn’t like it in school, but most of that was the result of shitty phys-ed teachers and the fact that you were never the athlete those instructors wanted you to be. 

You push off the floor and stalk to your room, digging for the sneakers you know are buried in the back of your closet. You have to try this. You need to keep pushing yourself. And if you don’t do it now, with this sudden spark of energy, you probably never will. 

Five minutes. You can run for five minutes. And if you feel like you can after that time is up, you’ll do ten. 

You squeeze your eyes shut as you’re tying your shoes, shoving away the thoughts telling you that you’ll definitely not look as cute as that woman on the street or any other woman that goes for a run, their ponytail swaying and their cheeks perfectly pinked. 

But what does it matter? You have to try. You have to be productive and make something out of yourself. You can’t deal with the pulsing, clawing thoughts of self-hatred anymore. Your body has to change.

The only problem is that you haven’t yet realized your mindset must too.

The heat that swallows you up when you step out of your front door is almost enough to send you right back inside. But how disappointed will you be in yourself if you retreat that quickly? 

You let your body begin to walk before your brain can start to argue. Your street doesn’t really have a sidewalk, so you keep to one side as the cyclists and other joggers do, ensuring you won’t be in anyone’s way. Subconsciously, you’re already making yourself smaller even though there’s no one outside to judge you. 

You look down at your watch, noting the time, and start to run. Not as though you’re being chased by a serial killer—or a man—but enough that it counts as a run. Those first few seconds are blissful. You feel like a little kid as the adrenaline spreads through your veins. Like your mom has just called you in because dinner is ready, like you're racing against the sunset so that your feet land inside the door just before the streetlights flick on. 

You forgot what it was like to move your body in this way. To feel this momentary freedom. You make it about three minutes before your side starts to hurt, a telltale sign that you haven’t done this in far too long. The heat is starting to get to you too, but you said you’d go for five, and that’s what you’re doing. 

It’s pitiful, the way you press yourself to the inside of your front door, trying to catch your breath from that little bit of work. Why did it hurt so much more than everything Jane Fonda tells you to do? 

Maybe you’re not meant to be the athletic type. Or maybe I need to eat something, you think. I need to make a plan for myself. That could make it easier. 

You can’t eat with your shirt sticking to your back though, so you strip and turn the shower on, practically jumping under the cool stream of water. But not before you glance at your body in the full-length mirror hanging on the wall. Your hands find your stomach, eye each stretch mark and bit of cellulite. Each extra-soft spot of skin, every part of you that doesn’t conform to the vision you have in your head. 

You wish that five minute run had fixed everything. That you could magically look like an aerobics instructor and be happy in your own skin. Your eyes fill with tears, and you think for a minute that it could be better to just stop before you get ahead of yourself. What’s the point? You don’t know if you have it in you to wait and see results. And you know you won’t turn into someone else, won’t form a new shape…and then you’re spiraling. You can’t think of a single reason why exercising is worth it.

Because it can be fun. Because it pushes you and makes you stronger. You shove this tiny voice away and let your gaze flick back to the shower, where you’ve completely abandoned your cold sanctuary. You hop in and start scrubbing your hair, trying to think of anything that isn’t your body in that mirror, anything other than how much you looked like a fraud trying to fit in with everyone else. 

————

You continue on this way for a while longer: running in the mornings, doing as many of the Jane Fonda videos as you have access to at work, drinking more water, blah blah blah. One of the perks of working at the library is that you can check out as many tapes as you want. But you’ve done all of Jane’s workouts, and you need more. 

You could swim, but when is the community pool ever not full to the brim during the summer? You could try jazzercise. No. That’s just not for you. You could…go to the gym. 

The pool also has small gyms for both women and men, and you know the men’s one is usually very busy, but most of the women in Hawkins take part in other forms of exercise. And if you went in the mornings…you might have the place to yourself. You might could try and tone up. 

God, this sounds so stupid. 

And your heart rate picks up just thinking about doing this very new and very big and very embarrassing thing, but you want to do it. You’re going to try. 

Hopefully you’ll just go unnoticed. This is a totally normal thing for people to do, right? 

The community pool opens at ten during the week, but the doors to the gyms open at seven. And that’s what time you get there, out of pure fear that you’ll have to interact with another human and make a fool of yourself. But the universe must be looking out for you on this particular morning, because the door is unlocked, and you slip in without any hassle. 

Billy isn’t a morning person. He never has been, but an excuse to get out of his hellhole of a house before anyone else is up to fuck with him? Yeah, he jumped at that opportunity. 

Usually the manager opens the gyms and stays to open the pool during the summer, but he volunteered. Especially because he can usually get in a workout before his shift technically even starts. 

He’ll bench as much as he can without a spot, work on the pull ups he never tells anyone he struggles with. It just feels good to be able to use his muscles and push himself. Billy is proud of what his body can do, what it does for him, how it protects him—and he’s not ashamed to admit that.

His body is one of the only things he has control over, and he’s heard his share of people talking about how vain he is, how he shouldn’t spend so much time doing this or that. But he doesn’t give a fuck. He’s built a body he’s proud of and feels comfortable in, and truthfully he feels like everyone should be comfortable in their body without anyone else pushing them to look another way. 

Billy is leaning against his car, hands tangled in his hair in an effort to tie it up, a cigarette dangling loosely from his full lips when he sees you for the first time. 

He watches you get in your car, bag slung over your shoulder, interested only because he never sees another soul here this early. 

You’re pretty, he thinks. Your hairline shines in the morning sunlight, damp with sweat, your neck the same. Your sports bra peeks through your pale shirt, and one of your slouchy socks is hiked up higher than the other. You’ve clearly just finished working out, but he thinks you look breathtaking. 

There’s something about you. Something light and sweet that he can feel even from this distance, like something is telling him you have a good soul. 

The next time Billy sees you, you come out of the door looking frustrated—he assumes at yourself. He doesn’t want to bother you, but he would like to talk to you at some point. 

You turn around when you go to unlock your car door and lock eyes with him. Your heart stutters at the fact that someone has caught you, probably knows you were exercising. But he is gorgeous. You give him a small smile, and climb into the driver's seat. All you can think on the drive home is that it must be nice to be so effortlessly gorgeous. 

————

You continue on this way for weeks. Close to a month. You workout, you wave and acknowledge one another. This other person who you share this tiny thing with and who you are not judged by. 

On this particular day, you decide to be brave though. You packed a swimsuit, and you’re going to speak to that gorgeous boy and hope he doesn’t get freaked out by you. 

You place your weights back on the rack, the muscles in your thighs pulsing, your arms feeling like jelly. You’ve only worked your way up to the set of fifteens, but that’s something, right? 

You’re sweating, and dread walking outside into the swath of steadily climbing heat and humidity. Your heart pounds at the prospect of speaking to him. 

With your bag over your shoulder, you push open the door and step outside, jumping almost immediately. “Shit!” 

Billy laughs at your reaction, both because he hadn’t expected to frighten you, and because your jolt was pretty entertaining to witness. 

“I’m sorry,” he chuckles, “I didn’t mean to make you lose your shit, it’s just too hot to stand anywhere without shade.”

You lean against the cool metal door behind you. “Fuck,” you sigh. “My survival skills are clearly not what they should be.”

Billy laughs into his drink, taking a swig from the Coke he bought at the vending machine. 

“You headed out?” he asks, subconsciously fussing with a belt loop. 

“Well, yeah, I was. But um, I was going to ask a favor from you, if that’s okay?” You must sound like a dumbass, speaking to this man for the very first time, only to ask him for something.

“Shoot,” Billy responds.

“Do you think it’d be okay for me to swim a few laps in the pool? I know it’s not open yet, and I haven’t even told you my name, but I promise not to be a bother or anything. I just kind of wanted a chance to swim when there was no one else around, you know?”

Billy finishes his drink and tosses the can in the recycling bin inches from your hip. It lands with a resounding ping. 

You start to think this was a very stupid idea, and that maybe you should’ve just kept yourself at home like always.

“You can totally say no—”

“Yeah, sure I don’t see why not—”

Your words clash together and the both of you start to laugh. You raise your hand, gesturing for him to continue his thought. 

“It’s fine by me if you swim a little. I doubt you’re gonna trash the place.” He grins at you, dimples forming in his cheeks. “I’m Billy, by the way.”

A heat rises up your neck and washes over the tips of your ears. You tell him your name and thank him for letting you bend the rules. 

“Ah, fuck the rules. It’s just a community pool,” he winks, opening up the gate for you and telling you to have at it. 

You’d put your one-piece on underneath your workout clothes this morning, and you try to ignore the prick of shame, even disgust, that you feel having put your body in it as you wade into the pool. 

The water is cool, and as it drenches you, you feel lighter, somehow. You swim out to the deep end and push off the wall with your toes, propelling yourself underwater and kicking for as long as you can go while holding your breath. 

The little girl that still lives within your soul leaps to the surface, giddy with each push off the wall, each stroke of your arms underneath the water. She is excited. Free. 

She isn’t thinking about what your stomach looks like in this swimsuit or how stupid you probably look with your sloppy swimming skills. 

You swim for maybe twenty minutes, or at least until your shoulders are aching. You kick over to the wall, hoisting yourself up just that little bit so you can prop your elbows up on the warming concrete. 

You feel so light here that it almost makes you forget why you came. 

You hear footsteps and Billy appears from around the corner, a fluffy white towel in hand. 

“You getting out? I figured I’d come and make sure you hadn’t drowned.” 

You giggle. The sound makes him smile, pearly white teeth on display. Your eyes are drawn to his, where the summer sun has multiplied his freckles so much that they blanket his nose and the tops of his cheeks, washing over his temples. 

“I appreciate you looking out for my safety,” you say, climbing up the short ladder. Billy holds out a hand to help you steady yourself as you stand. You’re hesitant to take it because you’re all wet, but your hand moves before your mind takes control. “Thank you.” You give him a shy smile.

He grins at you and hands you the towel. You wrap it around your shoulders and follow him back under the awning when he starts walking away. Billy leans up against the cold brick wall and you stand, a little nervously, in front of him, trying to think of what to say. 

“I’ll admit, uh, it’s been nice to see someone else here so early in the mornings.” Billy lets out a huff of a laugh. “I was gonna ask though, why’d you pick this shithole to workout in?”

You pull the damp towel tighter against your torso. “It’s a quiet shithole,” you say. “And this whole exercising thing is pretty new to me, you know? I didn’t want to be somewhere people could see me like that.”

You realize how self-deprecating that comment was, realize you’re being too upfront, and try to quickly cover your ass. “What about you?” you ask, daring to make eye contact just to make sure he’s not disturbed. 

“Well, it came with the job,” he laughs, “and I love working out. Always have. Plus, it might be a shitty place, but the older equipment is a lot better than what newer gyms are using. So it works for me.”

Huh. 

“Oh. Nice.” You chew on your thumbnail. What a fuckup you are. 

Billy tilts his head, trying to encourage your gaze to raise to his. “What just happened?” he asks, a teasing lilt to his voice. 

You look at him, his sunglasses pushed up into his hair and arms crossed in front of his chest. “It’s nothing…I just don’t really know what to say to someone who enjoys the gym? Who has a positive relationship with it and everything.”

A crease forms between Billy’s brows. “You’ve been crazy consistent with it, but you don’t like it?” He asks you, but based on your body language and how you’ve acted the past month every time you head out, everything adds up and Billy knows the answer before it even leaves your mouth. 

You shake your head, ashamed that you even brought this up. “No,” you laugh nervously. “I hate it. I only started because I’m unhappy with myself? So it’s more of a punishment than something that brings me joy.”

Billy’s chest squeezes at your words. That is exactly why he started working out all those years ago. To make himself stronger because he was ashamed his father had power over him. Because he wasn’t good enough for anyone, so out of anger he made himself more powerful.

But he doesn’t want you to feel that way. You shouldn’t be working out purely to punish yourself for some absurd reason your mind has come up with. 

And even though Billy has had very minimal interactions with you, he likes you. He wouldn’t wish the horrible thoughts he’s had for himself on anyone else, but he gets the feeling you already know. 

“Well, I’m not gonna berate you or nothin.’ But uh, if you ever want help, or want to workout together so it’s not so miserable, let me know alright?”

You smirk at him, hoping to make the situation a bit less awkward. “Are you implying you’re the reason working out would become less miserable?”

Billy laughs, glad to see you’re not totally opposed to the idea of him offering help. “Yeah. But really, you shouldn’t have to hate it y’know? If I can help you figure out not to hate it…I’d like to try. And we could get to know each other better.”

Billy fidgets with the lighter in his pocket. He’s weaned off cigarettes, but he keeps loads of lighters around so he has something to occupy his hands with. If not, it’s usually not a good situation for him to be in. 

Your heart squeezes at the genuine quality in his words. You feel like you’re a lost cause at this point, but there’s a big part of you, the soft and squishy and easily flustered one, that wants to take him up on this offer. 

You nod, wrapping up your towel so you can drop it in the bin and go get changed. “Okay. I’ll think about it, Billy. Promise.”

————

“One more.”

“I can’t, Billy. I told you, I’m not strong enough for this shit.”

You swear when you’re frustrated. Billy has learned that over the past few weeks. 

He crouches, leveling with you. Your knee bounces, the dumbbells in your hands sitting on the tops of your thighs. “Yes, you can. You’re already up to twenty-fives for your presses. Try one more for me and then you can rest a minute.”

Your eyes well with tears that you quickly blink away as you settle back against the bench. This is the point in a workout where you just start to hate yourself. You think it’s pointless, you know you’re body hasn’t changed enough, you feel like total shit—everything just feels fucked.

You use your knees to help lift the dumbbells and slowly lift them to the appropriate height, making sure to protect your shoulders like Billy taught you. You inhale and raise them up. Your arms are shaking, especially your non-dominant one which is really fighting this shoulder press, and you’re not sure you’ll be able to lift them fully until you do. 

“Fuck, yeah!” Billy’s voice reaches your ears just as you’re lowering your arms, completely out of breath. You set the dumbbells on the floor. 

Billy is thrilled for you. He can see the progress you’re making, how much stronger you are and less hesitant to try new exercises.

When you look up at him the expression on your face tells him you are not thrilled. 

“Hey, hey, hey, what’s the matter?”

You stand and walk over to the mirror that covers one whole wall. You put your hands on your hips and bite the inside of your cheek. “Billy, will you look at me, honestly?” You gesture to your body. “This is the matter. I don’t look any different than the first day I showed up here, do I? Even if I’ve been busting my ass, I’ll just never—”

You stop, rubbing your hands down your face and over your bloodshot eyes. 

“You’ll never what?” Billy locks eyes with you in the mirror. 

You set a hand on your chest, nails digging into your skin. “My body will never be good enough for me. I’ll always look at every other person that walks by, jealous that they have the figure I want and I’ll never have. Why did I have to get stuck with this shit? Why couldn’t I be given a body that I’d be happy with. Life if fucking hard enough, why couldn’t I have this one thing?”

“And you’re just so effortlessly gorgeous, you know that? I wish it was that easy for me, too. It’s just like, why am I even doing this anymore when I know I’ll never look the way other women do? I’m bullshitting myself, aren’t I, Billy? Working out like it’s gonna do anything.”

You exhale and drag your arm across your nose, avoiding Billy’s gaze. 

“Hey. Look at me.” Billy’s tone is firm. “Listen for a second, will you?”

“You are getting stronger. You’re using heavier weights all around. Shit, you’re up to fifty for your deadlifts. Hold your arm up for me—yeah, and squeeze, yep. Look at that.” 

He taps his index and middle finger on your bicep, on the bit of muscle you’ve grown and shape you’ve built. “You are absolutely not bullshitting yourself, you hear me? If anything, you’re bullshitting yourself by thinking you can’t be happy in this body. You don’t have to look like other women. Who the fuck put that idea in your head? I don’t know if you see how I look at you, but I think you’re gorgeous, and I love to see you becoming more comfortable in the movements you do, in your own strength. Your body does so fuckin’ much for you.”

Billy is still keeping eye contact with you in the mirror. You can feel the warmth of him behind you, and you swear you sweat more because you know he’s right and you know you are getting stronger but fuck you just can’t believe that. You look at him and you just wish you were that lithe, that comfortable in your own skin. 

“I’m doing this with you—hey, take a deep breath, alright?” He clocks the way you’re shaking out your hands, trying to keep yourself from breaking. Crying. Screaming out of frustration. “I’m doing this with you because I used to be just like this, you hear me?” 

He hates being vulnerable, fucking despises it, but he knows that giving you this information, giving you this little pathway into his life just might save you right now. 

“I worked out all through junior high and high school because I fuckin’ hated myself, and I thought if I could get bigger, if I could make myself look intimidating, then maybe other people wouldn’t treat me like shit. That part worked in some places, but I didn’t like myself any more because I hadn’t sorted through any of my mental shit.”

He says your name. Slowly. You like the way it sounds when he says it, hating the way it sounds when it leaves your own lips. 

“I know we aren’t all that close yet, but I see so much fuckin’ potential in you. I’m not gonna let you suffer with all this shit alone. I know you hate your body, but this is the one you were given, and there’s no point spending so much time destroying yourself over that simple fact.”

You turn around to face him, your hands on the sides of your neck, rubbing as if that will stop the emotion from rising in your throat. It doesn’t work. Billy’s eyes move back and forth between yours, across your face, tracking every change in your expression. He recognizes what you’re doing, trying to suppress all of this. 

“C’mere.”

You go before your mind can fight back. Billy takes you in his arms, tucking your face into his chest, resting his chin on your shoulder. 

You breathe unsteadily into his skin. You don’t care that he smells like sweat and you smell like sweat and that you’re shaking and tears are slipping from your eyes. His arms are strong, and the feeling of his biceps squeezing you closer, his hands running up and down your back, it makes it all feel like it’s okay. 

“It’s just so fucking hard, Billy,” you mumble, lifting your head up slightly. “It’s not fair. I just want to be pretty and normal and have a body I can accept like everyone else.”

Billy gently touches his index finger just below your chin, coaxing your gaze up to meet his. “I know it is. And I mean it when I say that you are pretty. Honestly, you gotta think about how many ‘pretty’ people there are out there, people who have the bodies the tabloids tell them to have—and are absolute dicks. Hell, that’s how I was in high school.”

Your eyes crinkle at the corners, signaling that he did get a little joy in you having admitted that, even if it’s not a full on smile. His thumb swipes down your cheek, mopping up the little track left by a tear. 

“Point is, this, what I’m holding right now, is your body. No one else would know it like you do, know how to take care of it, know where each mark has come from or each thing you’ve put it through. Each thing it’s gotten you through. You can accept it, because I’m going to help you get to a point where you can look in the mirror and not shit-talk yourself.”

You pull back a little, pressing the palms of your hands to your face, your elbows slightly poking the top of Billy’s rib cage. “I’m just so scared.”

“I got you, you hear me?” He pulls your shirt away from your collarbones just so it’s not sticking to your skin so much. “You don’t need to be scared. Not with me.”

You nod. And you keep doing that until it feels a little more believable. 

————

Billy can’t stop looking at you. 

And he really needs to focus before he runs off the sidewalk and into the road. 

But for the first time in the few months he’s known you, you look free. You look happy. You look all of these things and you’re running. There’s a baseball cap perched backwards on your head, one of his from forever ago that he lent (gave) you when you mentioned you didn’t have any. 

He can smell the sunscreen you’ve slathered all over yourself, see the sweat dripping down your spine. This is the first time you’ve felt brave enough to go out in just a sports bra and a cropped sweatshirt, bright colored biker shorts covering the tops of your thighs. Your frilly socks make it too, just because it shows how much more comfortable you’ve gotten with doing this. 

It turns out you never hated running. You just needed to do it in a different atmosphere, with different thoughts running through your head. And having a good running partner helps, too. 

“There’s a bench up here if you want to rest a second before we finish,” Billy says through a rather aggressive exhale. You’re glad the sun is setting, because that makes it so much cooler than when you try to run in the morning with the sun beating down on you and seeping into your veins.

You sit down, taking a long drink from your water. Billy crouches on the sidewalk, shaking out his hair and retying the mess of a bun he was wearing. 

“You’re doing so good today,” he tells you, winking at you from his place just a few inches to your left. 

You grin into your water bottle. “How long was that?” you ask. 

He rises and sits down next to you, his arm slung behind your back on the bench. His thumb brushes the shell of your ear, rubs over the little hoop you’re wearing. You watch as he does a little math in his head, checking out where exactly you are. “Little over two miles, bee.” 

Bee. Your heart skips every time he says that. It’s a very new thing, but it sort of slipped out one day, and you’ve loved it ever since. 

“What movie you wanna see this weekend, honeybee? My treat.”

When you’d asked why he chose that name for you, he’d teased at first, telling you it was just because you’re so damn sweet. But really it was a little more sappy than that. 

“Well, you are sweet. And bubbly when you want to be. But think about how much shit those little fuckers get done. How persistent and focused. They’re all cute and fuzzy n’ whatever, but they’re like, badass lil’ things, y’know?” 

Your knee bounces excitedly on the pavement. “Really?” That’s the farthest you’ve run so far. And you didn’t even hate it. You had…fun.

Billy laughs, throwing his head back a little and bearing his neck to you. It shines with sweat and it almost looks like he’s glowing. “Fuck yeah. You’ve been kicking my ass this week. I hate running.”

“But you do it with me,” you say.

“But I do it with you.”

You reach over your shoulder and squeeze his hand. “I like running better when it’s with you. Just for the record.” He squeezes back, lifting your hand up gently to press his lips to it. 

“I’m proud of you, you know that?”

A crease forms between your brows as you meet his gaze. “What for?”

“For not giving up.” You start to argue with him, but he continues before you can belittle yourself even the slightest bit. “You’ve kept at this, at trying to get yourself stronger and to try and feel more comfortable in what your body can do. I know you probably still wish you looked like some fuckin’ model or some shit, but I can see how much you’ve eased up, you know?” 

You nod, giving him a small smile. “I do still wish that sometimes. It would be easier. But I’m getting better, I think. I hate to tell you you’re right—,” he shoots you that cocky, prideful grin, “but my body does do a lot for me. I’m starting to accept that it can do a lot for me…” 

You trail off, tapping the toes of your sneakers on the concrete below you. “And I did squat with the bar and those little plates yesterday without a spot.” 

The spot in question was watching you carefully from a few feet away, ready to sprint if you needed help. 

“Yes, you did, bee. You’re kicking ass.” That dimple forms in his cheek, and you know he’s about to say something smart. “Speaking of ass—”

You stand abruptly, turning around quickly so that the area he’s speaking of isn’t directly in his face. You’ve learned he has a staring problem, specifically with that part of you. Not that you mind. Maybe that’s where your pride comes in.

————

The sun has slipped beneath the horizon by the time Billy slips his key into the gate, pulling it securely shut behind him. The first spattering of stars are trying to show in the purple-blue sky. 

The pool is calm, empty, and lit only by the pale bulbs built into it and the two light poles on either side of the patio. 

It was Billy’s idea to sneak in for a late night swim. He thought it would be fun, and he knows you hate swimming in an overcrowded pool. But truthfully, he just wanted to give you another space where you could feel completely without judgment and just exist. 

“What’s the plan here, Billy? I didn’t even think about taking a detour to get a swimsuit.” 

It’s true, you’ve felt so carefree around him that you weren’t overthinking, overanalyzing a scenario like this. You weren’t worried about running inside and finding the most full coverage bathing suit you have because you’re afraid of Billy seeing your body. But right now…you just feel calm. Your body isn’t perfect, but it’s okay if he at least sees your legs. 

Billy is already slipping off his shoes and taking off his shirt. “That’s because the point of this is being spontaneous, bee.” He walks to the far end of the pool and dives in, just in his little running shorts, before you can even blink. 

You’re nervous, just that little bit because this is so different from something you’d usually do, and now you’re just stripping? You’re just living and having a good time? Who the fuck are you?

You step out of your own shorts and pull off your socks. You’re left in your underwear and your little cropped sweatshirt. You register, as you walk down the stairs, that your underwear are blue, and you look just like Lisa from Weird Science. It makes you smile. 

You track Billy’s movements once you're up to your waist and realize he’s heading for you. He squeezes your ankle beneath the water before coming to the surface, a wide grin on his face. His necklace is stuck around his back and on instinct you reach out to straighten it. 

His eyes drag up and down your figure. “Hi, gorgeous.” The low drawl of his voice makes the tips of your ears burn. 

You wade a little deeper into the water, circling behind him. When you’re drenched up to your chest, you splash him. Billy cackles. It is possibly the most joyous sound you’ve ever heard. 

He dives for your waist, hooking an arm around you and swimming off, making you howl with laughter before you have to hold your own breath when he pulls you out deeper than you are tall.

He hoists you up out of the water and gently tosses you to the side, letting you fall into the water on your back. The adrenaline coursing through your veins is magical. 

You keep playing with him, playing, like you’re both kids who’ve never been in a pool before, until you’ve run through most of your energy. You try and teach him a game you played as a child, where one person spreads their legs and your goal is to swim between them without touching their skin, even as they move their legs closer together each time. 

It’s silly, because you inevitably know you’ll touch your opponents legs, but it’s fun. You don’t think about anything else when you do it. He teases you though, trapping you with his calves most times so you automatically lose. 

Now though, you and Billy stand nose to nose, at a depth where you’re not up to your chin so that you can actually speak to him. “This was a really good idea,” you tell him. You push some of his wet hair out of his face and then, rather than pulling away, you set your hands on his shoulders. 

He wraps his arms around your waist. “This okay?” he asks, lowering one arm so he can show you he wants to lift you up. You give him a sweet yes. 

Billy’s hand grips your thigh, coaxing you upward so you can get your legs around his back. You adjust your arms behind his head, him respectfully keeping his hands on the backs of your thighs. He steps back just that little bit more so he can submerge himself further in the water now that you’re held up. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile for this long before,” Billy says. His blue eyes flick back and forth between your own. 

“You’ve given me a lot more reasons to.” Your hand cups his cheek and he swears he could fucking collapse. You’re so gentle with him and Billy never knew he even wanted that. But now he craves it. Craves you. 

That cocky smirk you’ve started to recognize before it even begins makes an appearance. “Yeah? Can I give you one more reason to?”

You hum in agreement, and then Billy is pressing his lips to yours. They’re damp and he tastes a little like chlorine, but…he was right. You smile brilliantly into the kiss, and you’re not sure you stop the rest of the night either. 

————

please let me know if you liked this! feedback is always appreciated!! comments and reblogs mean more than you know. <33

note: none of the gifs or images i use are mine! i get most of my images from pinterest or here, and gifs from about the same. please let me know if i ever don’t credit someone properly!

[myboipotterimagines]

Golden Pt. 2 - Weasley Twins x Reader

Thank you for all the love on part one. I genuinely love this AU and hope you all do too. <3

Other Parts: Part One

Your eyes flickered between the two Weasley boys, refusing to accept that you could have two soulmates - even though they were looking you straight in the face. "This is a joke, right?" you finally ask. "I don't think anyone could pull off a joke like this," Fred spoke, gently placing his palm back to the matching spot on your cheekbone. "Even us," George laughed. "And why would we? No one dreams of half a soulmate." You don't know why, but your heart aches at his words. "I didn't dream of having you as my soulmate, either," you retort, pulling away from both Weasleys. "Is that so, sweetheart?" He takes a step closer, smirking. "Because the rouge of your cheeks says otherwise."

"Back off her, George," Fred commands, pulling the two of you apart. "We have to get out of here now or Umbridge will kill us. Like actually kill us." "Alright, soulmate. You coming with us or not?" George asks. "Like she's going to go anywhere with us now, George," Fred scoffs. "You're a total-" "I'm in," you say, cutting him off.

Fred pulled you out of the broom closet before you could change your mind. He held onto your hand as the three of you ran through the halls, avoiding the blasts of light above you. Suddenly, curses mixed into the light of the fireworks. You risked a quick look back and saw Umbridge and the rest of her cult following you. "Shit!" you yelled, ducking from a bright red ray of light.

"Accio!" both twins yelled, and after a moment a broom hit each of their hands. They mounted the brooms, Fred pulling you right behind him. You clutch him closely while shooting a string of spells behind you at Umbridge. With a final toss of fireworks, you're gone - Hogwarts far behind.

It was no time before you landed down in Diagon Alley. "What are we doing here?" you ask. The town was a graveyard - each shop having been closed for what seemed to be months.

"Alohamora," George whispered, cracking open a door to a building near the end of the lot. "You are looking at the start of our joke shop - name still pending." "And our home for the next few days. If we told our mum we were leaving Hogwarts for good she would drag us straight back. So we have to wait her out here," Fred adds.

After spelling on the lights, George leads you in. The place was nowhere near finished, but you could see the bones of the operation. Half-finished products were strewn over the ground, haphazard notes that only they could read near each one. "This is really cool," you smile.

"I would advise you not to touch anything. There's a method to our madness and I really don't want you to accidentally blow yourself up," George says. You nod. "No touching. Got it." "Come on, bedroom's this way," Fred leads. You wish you could stop the heat from rising to your face, but George sees it immediately, smirking to himself. You ignore him, following Fred closely up the stairs.

"We didn't really prepare for guests," he admits, rubbing the nape of his neck. You enter the bedroom to find two beds on either side of the wall, an simple dresser by each one. And that was it. Not even a couch. The room was just sad. You laughed, "I can tell. If you can spare a pillow I'll sleep in the corner. It'll be cozy." "You are not sleeping on the floor," both twins immediately protested. "No way we're letting any guest sleep on the ground, let alone our soulmate," George scoffs.

"You'll have my bed tonight. We'll figure something else out by tomorrow," Fred adds.

You protested, of course, but the two fought back harder. You finally just gave in, heading towards the bed. You finally take off your cloak, aching to get out of your whole uniform, but knowing you would have to wait until tomorrow to get anything remotely comfortable to wear.

Fred immediately picks up on your discomfort. "You can wear these tonight," he says, pulling a sweater out of his dresser, then a pair of joggers. You retreat to the bathroom to pull on the clothes, and as you do you notice the golden F stitched into the sweater. You smile as the rub the end of the sleeve between your fingers.

The twins had changed out of their robes by the time you returned. George had already gone to bed, and Fred was waiting for you on his. You sat down beside him, finally taking a moment to rest after the insanity of the day. "Thank you for this," you said, nodding down to your sweater. "And for bringing me with you, and letting me sleep on your bed, and for not meeting me in the way I always feared you would."

Fred brings his hand to your face, holding you from your jaw to your ear, just as he had when you fell. "I don't think my hands could ever hurt you." He spoke the words quietly, but they filled your entire head. When you looked at him, you felt dizzy. It was all too much - his kindness, his brother's apprehension, the fact that they were both your soulmates. Was that even possible? In all your years you'd never heard of a person having two soulmates, let alone at the same time. But there they were. There he was, staring down at you with the kindest eyes you'd ever seen on a man.

"Can I kiss you?" Fred asked. His cheeks rouged as he asked, and yours followed. You couldn't speak, so you just nodded. And then the hand that had settled onto your skin, like it belonged there, pulled you into him. His lips were soft against yours, moving as slowly as a person possibly could. Still, his touch was electric and the shockwaves surged through you.

Your heart lurched in it's chest when he pulled away from you. "Goodnight," he smiled, pushing himself off of his bed. You quickly grabbed his hand, halting him. "Stay." Fortunately, he didn't require much convincing. He let you become comfortable before sliding into bed behind you, wrapping one hand around your waist.

"Merlin," George huffed, causing both of you to jump. "The two of you cannot fit comfortably on that bed. With a quick flick of his hand, his bed pushed against his brothers, the sheets melding together. You yelped as strong hands pulled you up from the outside of the bed and plopped you back down right in the middle. "I will not be cuddled by Fred in my sleep again. I trust you to keep your distance."

"With all due respect, Georgie. You are the last person I would want to cuddle in this room," Fred shot back, wrapping a protective arm around you. "I would sure hope so," he rolled his eyes, finally lowering himself into bed beside you. He didn't bother to face the other direction, instead studying your face. Against your will, you blushed once more - which only caused him to smirk. "Sweet dreams, princess," he teased.

"Sweet dreams, Georgie," you smiled back, finally causing his cheeks to burn.

***

Author's Note: I'm thinking about making this a series. Let me know what you all think. And if I do make it a series - would y'all want smut or no?

Next in the series: Part Three, Part Four, Part Five

[cvnt4him]

..............................................

It doesn't make any sense to him, really.

How did you, the same person he, not that'd it even come up in conversation, helplessly.... 'massaged' himself a little too 'roughly' until he blew his load, how did you have him like this? You were towering over him on his bed as he held your hips, bucking into you, god he needs you so bad. You felt that and you ate it up. You loved the fact he needed you.

The room was filled with hot breaths and moans accompanied by groans and whines occasionally, it was a little misunderstanding really, you had never intended to get the #1 hero all hot and bothered while spending the day with him for your little vlog.

"SPENDING THE DAY WITH THE #1 HERO!!!"

The title of your YouTube video, you just wanted to meet him is all, and when he dm'd YOU, for a colab? You were over the moon!! You'd wanted to meet him for so long!! Maybe at a meet n greet, or some kind of convention, or anything else but no, he wanted to colab with you.

You were in another state at the time, filming in case you have some kind of posting material, when he told you you'd be flying in his very own private jet??? Yeah what kind of Wattpad fanfic is this?? This doesn't just happen in real life, and yet it did, to you.

The way he hugged you for the first time like he loved the warmth you aid to him, like your body was just what he needed, craved. God if only you knew what slutty dirty things he did to himself thinking of you that night, you'd be so disgusted in him!!

Or would you?

That question was all that clouded poor zuzus thoughts as he studied and observed you very closely as you spent your time together.

"we'll be staying in my penthouse! It's pretty big so you can have your own room until I fly you back out to New York!! If that's alright with you, of course."

He spoke to you in the sweetest, calmest, voice ever, his words so hypnotic, he hadn't realized you'd practically been under his spell for so long, this really was the dream, meeting your celebrity crush, STAYING WITH HIM?? You're sleeping, in his very own house. penthouse, that is.

You two played games, watched movies, and you asked him questions his very own fans would've loved to have known. And he shared every detail with you, with pure utter truth laced in his words. Everything he told you was true, because he felt he couldn't lie to you. You were so pure!! Such an angel! You didn't deserve to be lied to or harmed, ever!

"and that was 'spending the day with izuku midoriya'!!' you say as you end your video with your normal 'like n subscribe' shit and turn your camera off sighing at how much footage you'll have to edit and keep to yourself, but hey at least you got a day with your husband out of it!!

He looked at you, observingly, as you sigh and out your hand in the back of your neck in a tired sense.

"man you don't know how tiring it really is being an influencer, haha!" You joke.

He chuckled lightly, gaze still locked on you, your hands, how much smaller they are in comparison to his, how soft they are, how well you'd please him with them.

He really didn't want his mind going there with you, honest! It was never his intentions!! But how could he help himself? You were just so mesmerizing, corrupting. Izuku had never been such a pervert before he'd looked at your beautiful face!

So really, these thoughts, his growing erection that painfully twitches behind his zipper, the amount of precum leaking from his already needy and ready cock, it's your fault. All your fault.

If you hadn't looked so good, spoke to him with a honey like voice, with such a sultry tone, he wouldn't have gotten these thoughts! He wouldn't have gotten this hard.

So yeah, when he stood and glided behind you and put his hands on your shoulder, rubbing and massaging the tense area, causing a low moan to rip right out of you, which he heard and accepted, there was no way, in any way, any if this could even remotely be his fault!

He was just giving you what he knew you needed, a nice relaxing massage. Like the one he gave himself 2 weeks ago listening to the sound of your drunken voice and slurred words as you fan girls over meeting him, how much you loved his suit and how sexy you really thought he was, it's a shame you hadn't actually gotten to see him in his hero suit much today, maybe some other time!

He continued to massage you little whimpers escaping you from the rough yet gentle motions of his heavy, warm, hands, the way his hands trailed up to your neck then back down to your shoulders, it felt so amazing, you couldn't help but close your eyes and let him control you.

You hadn't realized it at first, but this slut really was pressing his oh so hard cock right up against your back, and he.. was he moaning?

The sounds of this grown adult man, whimpering lightly above you, grinding his weeping cock, against your back like some teenaged virgin, made your eyes shoot wide open, you didn't move, you say there, listening and being patient to assure this was what was actually happening.

Once you were sure, you quickly whipped your body around to look at him with a smirk, he jumped in confusion and terror, he was so afraid that you had caught onto what he was doing, and you did.

You scoffed, and looked him up and down, eyes trailing back down to his hard on them widening at the heavy amount of precum that left his still twitching cock.

Damn, well at least you knew his cock was thick and strong enough to make his pants move along with his cock.

"had you really thought I didn't notice the way you were grinding against me like a slut?"

He whimpered opening and closing his mouth like a goldfish. It was never his intentions!!! Honest!! Why won't you believe him! This is your fault anyways!! Take responsibility!

He thought of what he wanted to say, opening his mouth before being completely shut down by you, as you laughed out loud at the sight in front of you, his eyes were glossy, his cock was still twitching, and his hair was slightly messy, was he really gonna cum against your back?

"wow, I idolized a hero, a man known for his big bright smile, a smile that could save a man's life. And yet, here he is, rubbing his disgusting cock against his acquaintance, not even, technically a business partner. I never knew you were such a dirty, pathetic, slut."

He looked at you in horror, fuck. He really was a slut. And damn did it get him so hot and bothered when you called him one, the way you spat venom with each word that left your beautifully glossed lips, a smirk still painted upon your features, and you scoff once more.

He looked as if he was gonna cry, really he did, you laughed at that.

"are you really gonna cry because I caught you, being a dirty whore? God, you really are pathetic."

You laughed again, but you hadn't known, the real reason he was gonna cry was because, yeah sure, he was humiliated and embarrassed, but he was teary eyed because he was enjoying it. He knew he was a slut, only slits enjoy being degraded in such ways, with such hurtful names, he enjoyed it so much his cock started leaking again.

You wiped a tear that left your eye from the belly laugh you just had, as you sigh with a smile still on your face, you look at him in his eyes as he instantly looked away, covering his face with his arm.

"This is your fault.."

He said to you, in the softest, sluttiest, shakiest voice he could muster up.

It really was pathetic you almost busted out laughing again, but you'd thought you'd spare him the extra embarrassment.

You were curious on what he meant by 'your fault'.

"whatever do you mean, midoriya?"

You ask blessing him with the beautiful sound of you calling him by his last name.

He couldn't even look at you, let alone speak. He sighed, arm still covering his red, sweaty, freckled face.

So he asks himself again, how did you, manage to get on top of him, stroking his leaky, dribbling cock as he moans and writhes underneath you, you had demanded he tie himself up with black whip and he obeyed without a word. He needed this and you loved that.

You had been edging him for an hour now, he hadn't came but he felt like he could, all he wanted to do was cum for you, all he wanted was to please you, be inside of you!

You were really bullying and torturing him for basically defending himself against your forceful will. You were the one who started rubbing your neck as your shirt draped off of your shoulder.

You did this to him, and yet he's being punished? It wasn't fair! He didn't deserve to be edged and tortured by your, just as predicted, soft, smaller than, hands, the way you held his thick cock with both of your hands, your fingers not being able to touch around his slightly veined length, he loved how much you enjoyed getting him off like this, hell just blatantly torturing him, so you endured it for a little while longer, for you.

His pants and boxers had been ruined with his precum, you had discarded them long ago, you rub your hands up and down his cock in painfully fast strokes, it hurt so bad all he could do was sob underneath you and arch up into your touch.

His leaky cock just wouldn't stop leaking, giving you more precum every time you gave his pretty glossed cock a full stroke, you rubbed the tip of his cock repeatedly, rubbing and smearing his sticky precum around the head of his cock, earning a loud whine from him, he was putty in your pretty, manicured hands.

"do you want it, big boy? Does my big strong man need it? Need to cum?~" you tease and coo to him in a baby like voice, with pouty lips, laughing at his reactions to this, he nodded eagerly with little 'yes please's and 'mhm!'s leaving his plump lips that had been chewed to the point its practically numb.

You continued your fast strokes before pulling both your hands away laughing at his body leaning forward for your touch, the sobs and heavy tears that leave his body are genuinely so cute.

He wanted to cum so badly, he needed it! How could you be so cruel!

"please.. please! Let me.. make me cum!! Mommy~..."

He whined with a string of pleas leaving his mouth as he sobs helplessly begging for the release he needed, he could taste, he just needed you to get him there.

Oh?

That's new? And actually, oddly fucking hot, you'd never been called mommy before, you actually fucking liked it.

"what's that, pretty boy?"

He hadn't meant for it to slip! It just did! He felt far too good in the given moment and had to beg for his release which you still haven't graced upon him.

He whined and looked away, you scoff and think, how will you get him to call you mommy again?

Oh, that's right, bargaining!

"alright, midoriya, let's make a deal. You call me mommy again, no, beg for me, whilst calling me mommy, and I'll let you come, promise."

He listened, he liked the way that sounded.

He gulped down hard, look at you with those big die eyes of his, batting away tears threatening to spill from him, as he sighed shakily.

"please... mommy?" Was all he gave, his voice whispered as he looked up at you with tired pleading eyes,he sighed frowning deeply as he was sticky in sweat and his own pre, his cock still twitching and aching, he needed it but he wasn't going to make you give it to him, he truly was a good boy!!

You sighed, satisfied with what he'd given you, and you finally, granted him with the sweet relief of cumming his brains out, which he did, beautifully as he shook and turned and sobbed begging for the sweet release while you stroked his cock in a hurried pace, you were glad you'd given him the sweet and savory release he needed.

"good boy."

Was all you said as he rolled his eyes back and shot thick, white, planks of his hot white cum all over your hands, shirt, and all over his own chest, he always came a lot, so this was expected from him, however you, you hadn't expected there to be this much, and hell he was stilk cumming, little drips of his white seed still spilling from his overstimulated, twitching, cock now softening in you palm as you petted his thick girth it lying limp in your hand.

He sighed in relief, he'd finally cum and was spent, all he wanted now was to cuddle the cause of his explosion of an orgasm.

Which you granted, you hadn't expected to start dating after this, but you'd better believe you'd be meeting like this again. He vowed that he'd bend you over every surface he had to, to get you obsessed and brain dead with his cock, it belonged to you.

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AN; I feel like this is pretty good, now that I'm for the most part well rested and not in a mood, I think I wrote this well enough! Enjoy babes<33

Taggies!!; @lovelykil, @heromissy, @v3n7s, @lily-sinclair-2006