#so it's like packing 'what if i want fantasy' 'what if i want a classic' 'what if i want my fav books'

[therealjammy]

The hardest part about packing for me is deciding what books I'm going to take

[messyemmy]

Grapejuice (fic) Part Four

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

Word Count: 15k.

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

Grapejuice Masterlist

Fashion Board / Playlist 

Other Writing

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You say that every year.” You scoff. 

“I do not.” 

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

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

“Complain about winter.”

“Oh, he definitely does.” 

“Not every-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Say more.”

“Botanical Gardens.”

“Say more, more.”

“Flowers.”

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

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

“I like flowers.” 

“Ground-breaking.” Your eyes roll. 

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

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

“Nonsense.” Harry waves you off in return. 

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

“Let me just grab my wallet.”

“And a shirt, Harry.”

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

“You sure about that?”

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

“Oh c’mon, you’ll have fun!”

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

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

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

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

🍷

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“God, I miss her cooking.” 

“I miss your cooking.” He counters. 

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

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

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

“No, I did not know that.”

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

“Delphinium.”

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

“Does this count as our date?” 

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

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

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

“I just-  I don’t get you!”

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

“That’s because you have little patience.” 

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

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

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

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

“Doesn’t it always?”

“You’re putting me on edge.”

“That’s also nothing new.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Impatiens.” 

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

“What does your new house look like?”

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

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

“That tells me nothing.”

“Cute is better than my home in London.”

“Well, that’s not hard to beat.”

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

Especially when he smiles knowingly and ignores your sarcasm, 

“Tell me more.”

“Loads of colour.”

“Purple?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Maybe I can show you one day.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Huh.” Your astonishment is hard to repress. 

“What?” 

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

“Like?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, what are these, then?” 

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

“When did  you become a botanist?”

“They have labels, moron.”

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

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

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

S: Are u out?

S: Can’t believe ur up before noon

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

Y/n: Beauty sleep is vital.

Y/n: I’m at the Botanical Gardens

Y/n: ….

Y/n: With Harry

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

S: Ooh la la!

Y/n: Don’t start.

S: Is this the date?

Y/n: Apparently not

S: What is he waiting for?

Y/n: That’s what I said!

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

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

“I got you this.”

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

“Clearly.” 

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

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

“We’ll get caught-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The ones at your house?”

“Yeah. For close friends and family.”

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

“I-”

“No excuses.”

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

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

“That’s a lie, too!”

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

 “Really?”

“Trust me.” 

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

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

“That’s ridiculous.” He scoffs.

“It is ?”

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

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

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

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

“Yeah?”

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

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

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

“That’s actually… very cute.”

“Is that affection I hear?” He coos. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t be a suck-up.” 

“What if I’m telling the truth?” 

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

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

“You want me?”

“Y’know me so well.”

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

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

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

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

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

“You’ll have to go back and listen.”

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

🍷

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“C’mere.” He requests. 

“No.”

“Just c’mere.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“If you were my boyfriend?”

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

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

“Wouldn’t have hit anyone…”

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

“Tried and true.” He smiles smugly. 

“You’re so predictable.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’d be even better now.”

“Thought about this before, have you?”

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

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

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

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

“It never leads to anything good.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re a good kisser, Harry.” 

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

“What, then?”

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

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

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

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

“Is someone gonna try to punch me?”

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

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

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

“Can you take a punch?”

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

“Then, I think you should risk it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“In the kitchen!” 

🍷

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I think we should hire out a catamaran.”

“Aren’t you scared of boats?”

“Only the little ones.” She dismisses.

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

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

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

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

“I can’t say no when people ask me.” 

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

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

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

“So, what day should we book for?” 

“Wednesday?” 

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

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

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

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

“I’m sold. It’s a date!”

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

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

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

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

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

“Savina.” You hiss between clenched teeth. 

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

“How does Wednesday sound?”

“Wednesday it is.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Darling, we always do.” 

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

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

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

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

“Loathe.”

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

“Detest.”

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

“Despise.” 

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

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

“Pesty, irritating, frustrating, antagonistic bastard.”

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

“Stop or I’ll bust.”

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

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

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

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

“You are the worst!”

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

🍷

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re a little liar.”

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

“What the-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s the same-”

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

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

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

“I-”

“Read the book.”

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

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

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

“Uh, uh.” He scolds, “Read, Y/n.” 

And you prop the book back up with embarrassing haste. 

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

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

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

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

“Tell me more.” 

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

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

“Gonna be a good girl from now on?”

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

“For who?”

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

“For you, Harry.”

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

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

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

“It was a mistake-”

“Are you sure about that?” 

“Yes-”

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

“Are you sure, Y/n?” 

“...No.”

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

“Was that so hard?” 

“No, sir.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And you’ll deeply regret it.”

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

“Why’s that, angel?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“G’na show me how good you can be?” 

“Ask me nicely.” 

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

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

“Please, Y/n.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“C’mere pretty girl.” 

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

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

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

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

“Fuck, Harry.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So you can be a good girl.”  

“So you can be something other than annoying.” 

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

“I can be anything you want, Y/n.” 

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

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

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

🍷

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s awful.”

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

“He spanked me.”

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s… messed up, Y/n.”  

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

“Don’t say his name.” You shush. 

“You’re so dramatic!”

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

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

“Ugh. I want a summer love.”

“We’re too old for this.” 

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

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

“Please, let me live vicariously.” 

🍷

Déjà fuckin vu. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“... Well it won’t work today.”

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

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

“Spiralling again, sweetheart?”

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

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

“Dont ask me, I rarely understand you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

🍷

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do not laugh.”

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

“Oh, dear God.”

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

“Help me.” 

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

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

“What did I tell you?”

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

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

“Make yourself at home.”

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

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

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

“You look it.” 

“Everything hurts.” He whines.

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

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

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

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

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

 “S’not funny!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What am I supposed to do?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who knew you had a soft side.”

“Don’t start.” 

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

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

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

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

“Head still feels like a rave.” 

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

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

“How have you survived this long?” 

“Pure luck.” He thinks. 

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

“Drink the whole glass.” 

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

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

“You’re an angel, I owe you.”

“Don’t you always?”

“Add it to my tab.”

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

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

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

“What are we watching?” 

“Fleabag.”

“Seen it before?” 

“Plenty.”

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

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

“You don’t have to-”

“Zip it, strawberry boy.” 

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

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

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

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

“Y/n?” 

“Harry.”

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

“Shush.”

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

---

Let me know what you think! - Emmy. xo

[iamgonnagetyouback]

hi it's me back again this time for the trope corner! my fave character atm is definitely remus and I'd love something with the trope roommates to lovers with him pls? maybe with a bookworm!reader if that's okay? love ya bunny 💕💕

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ⠀────۶ৎ roommates

synopsis: you always thought remus had a problem with your taste in books—until he started leaving you new ones with little notes. when you try to return the favor, he catches on way too quickly, and your terrible attempt at playing it cool completely backfires content warnings: fluff, mutual pining, remus being an observant menace, reader being adorably clueless, and secondhand embarrassment from failing to play it cool author's note: thank you so much for the request, bun <3 hope u like it!! ♡

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ᡣ𐭩 words.ᐟ 621

As a bookworm, your life has always been about books, shelves packed to the brim, and stacks overflowing onto every available surface in your room. And then there was your roommate, Remus Lupin. Tall, thoughtful, annoyingly observant Remus, who, despite his quiet nature and penchant for his own bookish pursuits, seemed to approach reading differently. He devoured classic literature and thick academic texts while your heart beat for modern fantasy and anything with a fairytale retelling. You’d always thought he found your taste… well, inferior. There were times you’d catch him glancing at your bookshelves with a slight furrow in his brow, and it made you think he didn’t really like you, or worse, that he found your tastes childish.

But then something strange started happening.

One morning, you’d found a new book on your desk with a small sticky note: "I thought you'd like it. - Remus." The title was something you’d had on your “to-read” list for months, a limited edition copy with a beautiful cover. You’d been bewildered, touched, but totally thrown off. How did he know? He barely even seemed to notice your genre.

From then on, more books started appearing, each one exactly something you’d wanted to read, always with a note in his scrawled handwriting: "Saw it and thought of you." or "Seems like your thing. - Remus." Each time, you’d been filled with a strange mix of happiness and confusion. Whenever you tried to bring it up, Remus would brush it off with a casual, “Oh, they were on sale.” Yet, none of the bookstores nearby had any sales at all—believe you, you’d checked.

Finally, you decided to return the favor. After sneaking glances at his desk and asking him (subtly, of course) about his favorite authors, you picked up a series you thought he’d like. You left it on his desk with a little note—but no signature. When you heard the familiar jingle of his keys in the lock, you dashed to your room, grabbed a random book, and opened it, pretending to read with intense concentration.

Only to hear footsteps pause in your doorway. You didn’t look up.

“Dove…” Remus’s voice had that exasperated yet amused tone you knew all too well. “Why are there new books on my desk?”

You looked up innocently, feigning ignorance. “What books?”

His hands went to his hips, and he gave you that intense stare he used whenever he was piecing something together. “Some new books that, interestingly enough, I mentioned to you in passing last week. Books I happened to say I’ve been dying to read.”

You shrugged, not meeting his eyes. “I don’t know anything about that. Besides, don’t flatter yourself, Lupin. I don’t hear half the things you’re saying most of the time.”

“Sure,” he said slowly, though his eyes gleamed with mischief. He turned, but as he reached the door, he paused, then poked his head back around the frame. “By the way, dove…”

You raised an eyebrow.

“Your book is upside down.” He smirked, taking in your mortified expression. “While I think you’re quite brilliant, I don’t think you’ve quite mastered the art of reading that way.”

You felt your cheeks burn as he left with a wink, and as soon as he was out of earshot, you grabbed your pillow, letting out a muffled scream into it.

The next day, a new book sat on your desk, along with a sticky note: “I’ll gladly accept more book recommendations if they come with you pretending you don’t like me. - Remus”

You bit back a smile, your heart hammering with a mix of frustration and excitement. Remus Lupin was infuriating. But maybe, just maybe, he was also a little bit wonderful.

© iamgonnagetyouback ⋆.˚ please do not copy, translate, or repost any of my work.

[terapsina]

Ask Game for us Self-proclaimed BOOK WORMS 📖🐛

Name the best book you've read so far this year.

Favorite fantasy book(s).

Favorite fantasy sub-genre(s). (high fantasy, urban fantasy, portal fantasy etc.)

Favorite science fiction book(s).

Favorite science fiction sub-genre(s). (dystopian, superhero, aliens etc.)

Favorite romance novel(s).

What kind of common romance tropes do you enjoy and what kind do you dislike?

Favorite queer fiction book(s).

Favorite detective novel(s).

Favorite classical literature.

Favorite historical fiction.

Favorite horror book(s).

Favorite thriller(s).

Favorite humor and satire book(s).

Which genre(s) are your favorite?

Favorite trilogy.

Favorite finished book series.

Favorite unfinished book series.

Do you read new and less known books or only the big bestsellers?

Where and how do you find new books to read?

The book(s) on your school reading list you actually enjoyed.

Favorite example of a Chosen One trope in a book.

Favorite heist story book(s).

Favorite Young Adult book(s).

Favorite Middle Grade book(s).

Favorite novella(s).

What was the first book you remember reading as a kid?

Goodreads or StoryGraph (or something else)?

How many books do you have on your 'to-be-read' list?

How many books do you have on your 'currently-reading' list?

Do you mostly read through e-reader; reading app on phone; on your laptop; a physical copy; or by audiobook?

Name your favorite author(s).

How often do you read by listening to audiobooks?

Favorite book narration voice actor(s).

Least favorite trope in your most favorite book genre.

Your absolute most favorite character(s) from any book you've ever read.

The only example of your least favorite trope being written in such a way that you enjoyed it.

How many books have you read this year?

Do you read reviews before picking up a book?

Did you ever want to be a writer?

When you get ready for a week long trip to somewhere how many books do you download/pack inside the suitcase?

Do you buy hardcover book copies for previously purchased paperbacks and library books you enjoyed reading?

Title of a book you own that's in the worst physical condition you have. Explain what happened to it. Post a picture if you want.

The book(s) whose stories have become part of your very makeup.

What book(s) would you sell your soul to get a TV or movie adaptation of?

I like _____, recommend me a book to read, please (insert a book, or trope, or character, or... anything you like before asking for this one).

What are the last three books you read?

Do you leave reviews for the books you've read? How often?

Do you prefer hopeful, humorous, very emotional or darker books?

What kind of book have you never read but always hope to find at some point in the future?

[g1rld1ary]

lifeguard!James Potter but its just him shamelessly flirting with reader whilst she stands there stunned.

lifeguard!james potter x reader 4

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wc: 1874

cw: horny again

anon i love you ur a genius. this kinda ran away from me lol but i will def be using this again so look out for future parts of flustered r if this isn't quite what u meant!!

the next time you saw james wasn't for a few days. there'd been a few days of colder wind coming from the north -- not enough to be cold necessarily, but unpleasant enough you didn't particularly fancy sitting by the pool.

after two days of mediocre, sunless weather, a real storm came in. rain beating down from the time you woke up, you spent breakfast pondering how to spend the day. you didn't particularly want to spend the whole day rotting away in bed doing nothing and so called up marlene, begging her to pick you up in her parent's car to drive everyone to the shopping village. she was easy to convince, and soon enough you were all packed into the much too small car, singing loudly to the songs on the radio.

the village wasn't anything special, most of the stores were uninteresting, but it was all undercover which was ideal for a rainy day.

the group of you had already wasted an hour in the oxfam, trying on the most ridiculous outfits you could put together. sirius had even managed to turn a truly hideous cheetah print belt into something that looked honestly cool on him, much to the annoyance of everyone else. he tended to do that, though, it meant you had to work even harder to give him awful clothing items. the only one he truly couldn't pull off was a horrendous orange hand-knitted cardigan.

that easily became boring though, and you could tell the cashier was getting annoyed that clearly none of you intended to buy anything. so you left, wandering aimlessly until lily pulled you all into the bookstore. it was warm inside so no one put up much of a fight, splitting up to find their preferred genre. peter went to the historical fiction, lily to literary fiction, remus dragged sirius with him to the classics, marlene to science fiction and mary to fantasy. that left you to wander over to the romances. you weren't much of a reader, preferring the lighter subjects to lily's more serious.

finding the brightly coloured covers you began browsing before catching a glimpse of a mop of dark curls over the next shelf and narrowed your eyes suspiciously. there was no way...

"are you following me?" you asked, no edge in your tone. james looked up with a start, breaking into one of his golden retriever smiles.

"you're the one approaching me," he said, closing the book he'd been checking out.

"touché." you grinned, looking around for the first time to observe what section you were in -- plays. "i didn't know you were a shakespeare nerd under all that muscle. doesn't seem fair you get brains and brawn."

"graze on my lips, and if those hills be dry stray lower, where the pleasant fountains lie." james looked much too pleased with himself and his shakespeare quotes, and you couldn't deny it was having some effect on your own 'pleasant fountain'. you stammered for a moment, lost for a response. no boy had ever quoted shakespeare to you before, and certainly not of such explicit content. truthfully, you didn't realise the world's most revered playwright wrote like that.

"what's that from?" you asked, desperate to get away from his innuendos before you did something you'd regret. plus, you really were curious, the only shakespeare you knew was from when you studied romeo and juliet in year nine and clearly that was becoming insufficient.

"venus and adonis, one of his poems. doesn't continue as happily, but i thought the line was nice enough."

"yeah," you managed through gritted teeth, "really nice." james only laughed at you, evidently enjoying having the upper hand in your banter. it was a testament to his goodness, though, that he didn't continue to hold it against you. instead, he settled down, going back to browsing and letting you hover next to him, answering whatever questions you had about the plays patiently. it was nice, you realised, looking over at him fondly before you caught yourself. you barely knew james, and just because he was a pretty face and a decent brain didn't mean you had to go boy crazy.

you stayed there for what felt like ages, quietly looking at the books until sirius came strutting around the corner.

"since when have you ever read a play in your life -- oh," he said, catching sight of james next to you. "who's this?" you could have sworn sirius gave him a flirty once over, but maybe you were just projecting.

"this is--"

"james," he finished, sticking out an enthusiastic hand. sirius raised an eyebrow, a flicker of recognition in his eye that made your stomach drop.

"james the lifeguard? the one you thought was, and i quote, 'hotter than robert plant i swear to god' and who you would 'pay to suck his dick'? nice to meet you mate!" you wished the ground would open up and swallow you whole as the boys shook hands, james looking significantly more confused than sirius (though not displeased).

"i hope you sleep with one eye open, black," you muttered, trying desperately not to make eye contact with either or let your blush show. you had an inkling you were failing.

"so james, you doing anything today?" sirius asked, and you could only feel the dread spreading throughout your body. james shook his head, quickly slotting the book he was holding back onto the shelf. when sirius invited him to spend the rest of the day with your friends your body had a physical reaction, an embarrassing half-flinch-half-jump that had both boys laughing at you.

you all reconvened outside the bookshop, only a few new books bought between you all. james had been introduced to remus and peter and the girls were all pleased to see him. it seemed like it was only you who was flustered, which seemed to be more common each time you saw him. you missed the first time you spoke when you had all the power.

sirius was the one who dragged you all to the record store, begging to check out their new stock.

"you know," james said as the two of you fell behind, "if you wanted to suck my dick you could've just asked, no payment required." this had to be the worst day of your life. you couldn't bear to look at james, already knowing the shit-eating grin you'd be met with.

"shut up," you mumbled weakly, "sirius is a dreadful dramatic."

he thankfully gave you a bit of a rest in the record store, taking the opportunity to talk to the boys as they perused the albums on offer. you definitely heard james and remus bonding over a love of bowie (not that it was a particularly niche interest) which made you smile.

while you were sure peter was being kind to james to his face, every time he turned away to look at something peter was quick to tease you, fanning his face like james was a supermodel or imitating a crude makeout. you responded with a firm middle finger, but it held no effect.

"i love that album," you said, pointing at the one james had picked up. it was bruce springsteen's born to run, a record you played in your room on repeat.

"i'm stupidly uneducated, i think i've only heard the singles. maybe we can listen to it together sometime, you can teach me his ways." you grinned, honest james was much easier to handle than flirty james.

"only if you're ready to listen to me fantasise about bruce," you said, "his eyes really do something for me."

"i have eyes," james said, pulling a giggle from both you and mary.

"guess so." it wasn't one of his better attempts at flirting, but it still drew a smile from you, so james didn't look too upset.

you didn't really talk to him again until you'd retired to the food court, all desperate for lunch. sirius had made sure you two were seated together, and you were suspicious of how much of a matchmaker he was being. you only wanted to jump his bones, you weren't looking to get married.

you'd just told an impeccable pun -- you knew it was good as the whole table began berating you -- and had caught james' eye by accident. he'd smiled at you in his lopsided way and rolled his eyes light-heartedly.

"i didn't picture you to have such terrible taste in jokes," he said, and you exaggerated a frown.

"and yet you're still talking to me," you countered, "so what does that say about you?"

"that i'm lucky." your mouth dropped open without your brain consenting. james had well and truly caught you off guard, an irritatingly perfect combination of earnestness and shameless flirting all rolled into one. you could feel yourself floundering, mouth opening and closing as you searched for anything to say. james was clearly enjoying his victory, cocky grin on display for anyone to witness. you couldn't bring yourself to look at him, flushed with embarrassment (and lust) and not a single inkling of thought in your head.

you'd ended up on james' lap. it started with marlene offering james a lift home, not wanting to leave him walking in the rain. that led to the realisation you had far too many friends for seats; five available in the car and eight people. sirius had dibs-d remus' lap before the rest of you had even caught up to his train of thought, and lily and mary teamed up together shortly after. you were consequently assigned to james by the others, marlene obviously driving and peter refusing to even take part. you had sympathy for james, only an hour or two into meeting half the group and already pushed into doing their bidding because of remus' easy "you don't mind, do you, mate?"

and so you were sitting on his lap, not uncomfortable but definitely nervous. you'd imagined your first time being in his lap being slightly more sexy and autonomous.

"i'm not too heavy, am i?" you asked, hating how insecure you sounded. james just laughed softly.

"weren't you the one pining after my muscles? have a little faith in me!" james was unbelievably confident today, even more so than you remember him being in your previous meetings. you were the opposite, never having felt so meek around him.

you figured you couldn't be the only one experiencing the torture and so rolled the window down, pushing your upper half out and into the wind, laughing as you felt the rain on your skin. whilst enjoyable for yourself, it also required you to shift your position on james' lap and stretch out your torso, giving james a good view of your bra from under your sloppily done, homemade crop top. the combination was clearly effective if the development in his crotch was anything to go off. plus the way he held your hips to keep you concealing his little problem was telling you all you needed to know. another little wiggle from you and his grip tightened to almost bruising, but far from unpleasant. maybe james could flirt, but you had tricks you weren't above using.

[guywrestlingaddiction]

Everything Great About a Match: Joshua Goodman v Randy Stanton (bgeast.com)

Everything Great About a Match: +8

Joshua Goodman v Randy Stanton (bgeast.com)

SPOILER ALERT: I highly recommend viewing this match in its entirety before reading this post.

So let's begin: 

+1: For the fan fantasy match.  It starts off as a wholesome outing with star-struck Randy being led to the wrestling mats by his idol and obsession, Mr.Joshua.  Randy looks like he cannot contain his excitement at being offered a chance against the man, the myth, the legend himself.  That's right, out of all the men on this planet, he picked you Randy - this is going to be an epic day for you.

Randy: *Gulp* This is hot, what you got in here?!

+1: Definitely worth a point to spotlight Mr.Joshua and Randy's chiseled, statuesque bodies. Mr.Joshua is a ripped, muscled mountain of perfection and while Randy's got muscles for days, standing next to Joshua is a exercise in futility - the guy puts everyone to shame.

Joshua: Hey. Six packs are for amateurs, this my friend is an 8 pack!

Randy: Hey I'm working on it...

+1: Joshua play wrestling with the fan. I love how Mr.Joshua gives his fans the full heel treatment by letting them think they have the upper hand only to crush them. In fact, Randy even rallies a come back or two.  I mean, we are talking about Mr.Joshua here, the guy is a wrestling god and to see him lure an unsuspecting rookie, later to crush his dreams and discipline him like a misbehaving child is worth a point. 

Mr.Joshua: Yeah feel that chest. You like that don't you?

Does Randy have the upper hand or is this a trap ready to spring into action?

Mr.Joshua: It hurts, it hurts. Randy: Now you know what I felt like. 

Mr.Joshua: Damaging my pecs?! I'm going to kick your ass for that. 

+1: Dirty talk.  Mr.Joshua knows he's the man.  He knows when a guy wants him and he knows that Randy is aching for this domination.  We all want Mr.Joshua but Randy gets some 'special' treatment here.  I can't recall him indulging his opponent with seductive talk as much as he does here. 

Mr.Joshua: I know you like that.  You like those balls in your face! Who's the man? Randy: ... You are...

Mr.Joshua: I bet that gets you going. Those big thighs.

Randy helplessly squirming under the domination. Mr.Joshua: I know you like that. You like that, it turns you on! 

Mr.Joshua: Look at you.  Look at that package in the mirror...

+1: Mr.Joshua forces him to worship the body that dominated him.  Randy is hurt and curled up in the fetal position only to be dragged back to his senses and forced to worship the man.  

Mr.Joshua: That's it.  Good.  Worship that body.

Randy is looking mighty small against the adonis Mr.Joshua!

+1: Some of us wait for a perfect sunset, others wait for that perfect moment during the match.  It's that moment when Mr.Joshua graces us with his sexy signature move - the "Adjustment".  

+1: Randy gets owned in all the best ways.  There's a moment, around submission #50 when Randy simply goes with it all.  This match is not going the way he wanted it to go and he clearly has no chance against the muscle adonis, Mr.Joshua.  So instead of fighting back, he is overcome with defeat and simply offers himself up to his dominator.  Mr.Joshua says pose for me and Randy eagerly complies.  

[+1] Bonus point for Randy's reaction to it all.  The guy is in unconscious ecstasy here and nearly begs to be put away by Mr.Joshua.  

Randy: *Muffled* Fuck... I submit.  

Mr.Joshua: Flex for me.  Show me your best pec. 

------- Everything Great About this Match: +8

So there you have it. This is an instant classic match with a brutal beat down. While Randy might be sore in the morning, all he'll remember is Mr.Joshua giving him the time of his life.  Randy follows Mr.Joshua on to the mat hoping to put through the ringer and our heel does not leave him hanging.  By the end, all those tips from Mr.Joshua about building muscle are thinly veiled distractions to pump up our jobber only to have his world crash around him like a huge set of biceps chocking him out.  

And with that I leave you with our final 'Adjustment' for the night.

Mr.Joshua: If only you were awake to see this...

[fairytales-and-folklore]

Sugar and Tea and Rum

Teen Wolf » Sterek

Title: Sugar and Tea and Rum

Author: fairytalesandfolklore

Fandom: Teen Wolf (Masterlist)

Relationship: Derek Hale x Stiles Stilinski

AO3 Rating: Teen & Up (a complete collection of author's notes, inspiration credits, content warnings and tags can be found on AO3)

Summary: Stiles discovers that Derek harbors a secret love of sea shanties and keeps turning every lyric into a sexual innuendo. But soon enough, he's just as into them, the two of them spending a scenic road trip down the coast with the stereo on full blast, singing along with the song Wellerman at the top of their lungs (and making out in the back of Derek's car at every rest stop.)

"Sorry, it's just—" Stiles snickers, catching his breath. "These lyrics, man. They're a veritable goldmine of sexual innuendo. I mean, 'one day when the tonguing is done'? What kind of tonguing are we talking about here? Cause if that's how it is, maybe I should think about becoming a sailor. I've certainly got the mouth for it." Derek's brain short-circuits, sweeping right past the obvious swears like a sailor joke and diving headfirst into a fantasy detailing all the ways Stiles could put that mischievous mouth of his to good use.

Read On AO3 | Read On Tumblr:

In an effort to get the whole pack together for one last end-of-summer hurrah before they all head back to college, Lydia invites everyone to come stay at her beach house for a weekend getaway. And because everyone else is all coupled up — Scott and Allison with Lydia and Jackson in one car, Erica and Boyd with Isaac and Danny in another — Stiles and Derek get stuck together in the carpool. And since Derek absolutely refuses to subject himself to Stiles's Jeep, convinced the "absolute deathtrap" won't survive the trip, they have no choice but to take the Camaro.

Which is how the two of them end up squished into the cozy confines of the cab, Derek so distracted by the thought of Stiles shirtless, sunkissed, and soaked in saltwater that he nearly crashes every time Stiles so much as looks in his direction, while Stiles runs on a 50/50 blend of too many espresso shots and nervous energy as he fidgets in the passenger seat and drums out a steady beat against the dashboard, lamenting the fact that he'd left all of his mixed CDs in the Jeep, because what he desperately wants right now is some classic 90's summer pop to set the mood.

"Why don't you just play something from your phone?" Derek suggests with an air of mild impatience. "This car's got bluetooth. I'm sure I can stomach your terrible taste in music for—" he glances down at his phone to check the map, and huffs out a groan. "Ugh, we've still got another two and a half hours until we get there."

"Oh, ha-ha," Stiles retorts, rolling his eyes. "Can't believe I'm stuck in a car with a guy who thinks *NSYNC was just okay."

"You're never going to let that go, are you?" Derek sighs. "I told you, I just think Backstreet Boys was better, that's all."

"Heathen."

"I mean, come on, you can't top Everybody."

"Oh, but I can try," Stiles smirks, arching his eyebrows suggestively. 

"Stiles," Derek says his name like it's a curse. 

And really, Derek should have known that Stiles would find a way to make that sound dirty.

"No, you're right. I'm probably more of a bottom," he adds with a mock-thoughtful tap against his chin, delighting in the delicate blush that curls its way across Derek's cheekbones. 

He grips the steering wheel until his knuckles turn white and grumbles, "Oh my god, will you just connect your phone and pick a damn song already?"

"I would, but my piece of shit phone deleted all of my playlists, and I have like, no service out here."

Stiles sighs, turning his attention to the rolling landscape framed in the passenger's side window — mountains towering toward cloudy skies whipping past them in a blur of green and blue, summer breeze perfumed with the scent of orange and jasmine blossoms as they wind their way through a sea of citrus groves — and contents himself with the fact that at least the view, both inside and outside of the Camaro, is breathtaking.

A solid weight lands in his lap, and Stiles glances down in time to see Derek offering him his phone. Stiles blinks up at him, confused.

"You can use mine," he says.

"You have playlists?"

"I have youtube."

Stiles nods and gives him an appreciative smile, a warm glow settling in the center of his chest as he cradles Derek's phone in his hands like it's a precious thing. They've known each other for years now, but every subtle gesture of trust still takes him by surprise sometimes.

Stiles opens the app, scrolling through his mental rolodex to figure out which upbeat boy band classic he should start with first (read: which one he thinks he could badger Derek into duetting with him) when he accidentally clicks on something in Derek's browser history, and—

"What is this?" Stiles asks as a deep, rumbling voice with a thick accent hums through the speakers.

"It's a sea shanty," Derek says with a casual shrug.

Stiles gapes at him. 

"You. Derek Hale. Listen to sea shanties," he says.

Derek shrugs again. "I like it when they harmonize."

Stiles practically vibrates with glee.

"This is awesome. You just keep getting more and more interesting the more layers I unravel."

Derek pretends to scoff and roll his eyes, but Stiles can tell by the subtle twitch of his lips that he's secretly pleased.

As for Stiles, he's smiling so hard his face hurts. He can't help it. He doesn't even know why this is so amusing to him. Before he knows it, he's concocting a whole Derek The Sailor fantasy in his head, crisp white form-fitting uniform drenched in a crash of ocean waves, the chiseled muscles of his arms flexing as he weighs anchor and hoists the sails, sun glistening off the beads of sweat clinging to his bare chest, and— oh, this slipped into dangerous territory real fast. Oh god, oh fuck, he can't let Derek know he's having secret seafaring fantasies about him while he's literally sitting right next to him, close enough for Derek to hear the sudden spike in his heartbeat. Shit, he's in trouble. Quick, think of something non-sexual—

"I'm sorry, did he just say 'blow me'?" Stiles blurts out around a pearl-clutching gasp.

Derek heaves a long-suffering sigh.

"He says 'blow, comma, me bully boys, blow'," Derek corrects him. "It's a seafaring term."

Stiles stifles a laugh, because he's still a sarcastic asshole with the mentality of a twelve year old. Curiosity piqued, he pulls up google and looks up the rest of the lyrics. 

A sharp burst of laughter nearly makes Derek swerve into the minivan in the lane next to them, and there he goes again, barking Stiles's name like it's the king of swear words, his entire face just one big frown.

"Sorry, it's just—" Stiles snickers, catching his breath. "These lyrics, man. They're a veritable goldmine of sexual innuendo. I mean, 'one day when the tonguing is done'? What kind of tonguing are we talking about here? Cause if that's how it is, maybe I should think about becoming a sailor. I've certainly got the mouth for it."

Derek's brain short-circuits, sweeping right past the obvious swears like a sailor joke and diving headfirst into a fantasy detailing all the ways Stiles could put that mischievous mouth of his to good use.

"Stiles," Derek says warningly, gripping the steering wheel in an effort to not run them off the road.

"I'm not trying to offend, I swear," Stiles insists, holding his hands up in surrender. "I just think it's funny."

Derek levels him with a pointed glare.

"You do know the song's about battling a whale and that 'tonguing' means butchering, right?" Derek asks, arching an eyebrow.

Stiles pales.

"Oh god. Okay, then I definitely do not want to experience that kind of tonguing," Stiles amends with a grimace and a sharp shake of his head.

"Granted," he adds with a melodramatic sigh. "After all the shit we've been through over the years, that's probably the only kind of 'tonguing' I'm ever going to get, so…"

There's silence for a moment, and then Derek hums thoughtfully and says, "I'll see what I can do to remedy that," a roguish smile curling across his lips as he arches his eyebrows suggestively, and Stiles chokes on air.

They make a quick pit stop at the next exit to stock up on snacks, and absolutely do not spend a full twenty minutes making out in the back seat.

(Okay, fine. An hour.)

• • •

Sunset finds the two of them beating a steady rhythm against the dashboard and the steering wheel, twin beatific grins plastered across their ruddy faces, singing at the top of their lungs with the stereo cranked to the max, Stiles taking the melody, Derek the harmony.

"SOON MAY THE WELLERMAN COME

TO BRING US SUGAR AND TEA AND RUM

ONE DAY WHEN THE TONGUIN' IS DONE

WE'LL TAKE OUR LEAVE AND GO"

Over the course of the next couple of days, Lydia comes to regret keeping her liquor cabinets well-stocked with a variety of rum, and asking if anyone wants sugar in their tea gets taboo'd faster than you-know-who in Deathly Hallows, because any time any one of them even so much as hums a single bar, the whole thing starts right back up again with an obnoxiously giddy Stiles and Derek chanting at the top of their lungs with no regard for the time of night, before collapsing against each other in a fit of giggles and stolen kisses, until the rest of the pack is so fed up with their shit, they're threatening to chuck them both into the sea and make it look like a whaling accident.

[iwanttoswimintheswanepoel]

Candice’s Advice

(heavily inspired by @entice333 ‘s “adriana’s advice” on youtube and a thread made by @YVESOTICA on X. i also watched as many candice interviews as i could to collect some parts of this so enjoy :p)

beauty

-“i sometimes go a little bit overboard in the morning with my perfume”

-“everything is in the eyes”

-[what makes you feel the sexiest?] “being on the beach in the sun and in the water. i feel sexiest when i’m tanned and free”

-“a great tan will always make you feel better”

-“a bombshell is all about a voluptuous woman, not being afraid to put on an extra bit of makeup. a nice eye, a red lip. just embracing being a woman and being more powerful”

-“i feel sexy and glamorous if my skin feels great, like moisturized. go for a great facial.”

-“i do like to take time and do a look its kind of like a ritual. doing your makeup i think its a moment for yourself as a woman to just tune into you and make yourself feel good”.

-“the bushier the better [eyebrows]”

-“the trick to get the messy mascara bits is dipping the q tip in concealer.”

-“[contour]i went in on the eye, i go into the hairline as well and into the jaw.i would be nothing without contour.”

-“i like the hula benefit it gives you a great tan”

-“i like to put a lot [bronzer] on my forehead because thats where the sun would hit the most. i didn’t go to Greece but thats not a problem because i can fake it.”

-“on a day when i don’t have any time this [lip tint] is the only thing i would put on”

-“instead of doing a liner you can kind of paint it onto your lips to look a little more pouty”

-“i’ve always felt freckles look really youthful and like you’ve been in the sun”

-“if you want to look a little more awake you use a cream pencil on the inside of your eye here it just opens up your eyes and you put a shimmer in the corners. it just kinda pops”

-“i’m drawn to the classic bombshell women who are unapologetically themselves. women who really played on femininity and grace. thats our superpower”.

-“for me i like very floral scents and soft scents nothing to strong”

-“if you want to look a little more awake you use a cream pencil on the inside of your eye here. and you put a shimmer in the corner it just pops”

lifestyle

-like candice swanepoel i understand the beauty and importance of mother nature.

-i am a spiritual being that aligns my chakras and my needs to obtain my greatest desires

-i’m always described as a kind, positive and lovely girl by everyone around me

-i’m that one bitch that collects crystals except they actually do solve all of my problems

-like candice swanepoel i love being an extremely intuitively feminine woman. i love to surround myself with like minded beautiful women

-“i’m very kind of a spiritual person, a lot of the time i listen to my heart”

-“my summer fantasy is to just be on a beach somewhere , relaxing. drinking a nice coconut water and being active on the beach”

fitness

-i eat antioxidant rich foods like candice swanepoel’s “beauty smoothie” which contains coconut oil, banana, protein and antioxidant rich fruit like berries

-little workouts are better than nothing

-i truly feel best when i’ve taken the time out of my day to sweat out my bodies impurities at the gym

-i love squats, yoga, ballet, boxing & pilates more than i love to bed rot

-i always pack resistance bands & ankle weights in my bag lol i can’t rest if i haven’t done a set of squats

-my legs have to look long and toned and my butt has to look as round as a cherry because what if rhianna looks???

-i’ve found a balance of wellness that i’ve grown to love in my daily life. a constant dedication to myself and my absolutely divine body

-i choose to travel and stay in hotels that will accommodate my gym and wellness needs.

-david goggins hope core? nah bruh i just need a cute alo set for motivation

-i love to eat dairy products. its almost like i grew up on a dairy farm

-i’ve truly found active activities i enjoy that make me feel my best

-“if i only had five minutes to workout i’d do squats”

-i love avocado, bananas, blueberries, strawberries and make lots of smoothies at home

-“if you want to stay away from sweet stuff, frozen grapes”

-“i’ve been focused on boxing. doing a lot of weight stuff to build some thighs and a good butt. and a lot of (resistance) bands”

-“i’ve been working out for years my body is like a machine it just has a lot of muscle memory and i get muscle quickly”

-“try to run on the beach if you can, i have certain weights to take with me to the hotel. whatever works”

-“i think its really important to have beautiful strong legs and a nice full butt”

lingerie

-“lingerie is the perfect way to show someone you love them”

-“who doesn’t want an extra push up?”

-according to candice swanepoel the key to feeling sexy is lingerie and fragrance

-“whats important is what you wear underneath. a little something sexy”

-“i have great motivation i’m in lingerie all day”

-“buy yourself some sexy lingerie just to say i’m a woman. i’m feminine”

-“i have a crazy collection of lingerie”

-“always having the feeling of great lingerie under what you’re wearing. that gives you a sense of i’m a sexy woman you know?”

[+]

- i always have silly names on my personal products “do me baby? nice!”

- “the ultimate candice swanepoel beauty secret is literally coconut oil” -YVESOTICA on X

-i use coconut oil to remove my makeup and have luminous glowing skin like candice swanepoel’s

-i understand the power of an at home exfoliator like one using coconut oil, coffee & sugar. and one using sugar & coconut oil for my plush lips.

-i owe my glowy skin to using coconut oil for that luscious dewy sheen

-i owe my silky locks of voluminous hair to my coconut oil hair mask

-rose water keeps my skin silky smooth and my aura bright

-everyone can automatically associate my desired fragrance note to me. i’ve made it specifically my own and entirely one of a kind.

-i wouldn’t be caught dead without sun protection in my bag

-i roll out of bed with perfect beach waves because like candice swanepoel i’m just that girl

-i always have the perfect beach ready sun kissed tan like a swimsuit model

-my fragrance is an extension of my personality as is my style

-i travel with a hydrating mask because i won’t be caught dead with dry flakey skin

-i radiate the same beauty and appeal as candice swanepoel

-i’ve acquired my desired humidifier to keep my skin hydrated at night

-i have feline like eyes like candice swanepoel

-i take care of my body through acts of self care and devotion like candice swanepoel

-i have the same sex appeal as candice swanepoel

[the-most-humble-blog]

🚨 If a Non-Male Starts a Debate with "A Real Man Should, or Would Do…"—Step Back, You’re About to Get Nonsense on Your Shoes. 🚨

A PSA for Every Man Who’s Tired of Being Lectured About Manhood by People Who Have Never Had to Be One

📌 THE SETUP: HERE COMES THE BULLSH*T

There you are. Minding your own business. Maybe you’re in the middle of a conversation. Maybe you made a comment online. Maybe you simply existed too confidently in public.

🚨 Then it happens. 🚨

A non-male (or, occasionally, a deeply misguided man who has fully assimilated into the Cult of Delusion) utters the cursed phrase:

📢 “A real man should…” 📢 “A real man would…”

🚨 WARNING: This is not a debate. This is a trap. 🚨

Your instinct might be to engage, correct, or challenge the incoming nonsense.

Don’t.

Why? Because you are not about to hear wisdom. You are about to hear some of the most ass-backward, reality-detached drivel to ever escape human lips.

It’s going to be: ❌ Unhinged ❌ Incoherent ❌ Surgically engineered to benefit only the speaker

And worst of all? It will not be based on what men actually think, feel, or experience.

📌 THE “REAL MAN” SPEECH: A DEEP DIVE INTO WEAPONIZED NONSENSE

Here’s what you can expect from the “A Real Man Should…” starter pack:

1️⃣ “A Real Man Should Always Pay for Everything”

Ah yes. The classic gold-digger anthem.

According to this logic, a man’s worth is measured exclusively by his willingness to hemorrhage cash for someone who: 📌 Talks about independence but won’t touch a check 📌 Thinks equality is great—until the bill arrives 📌 Believes her presence alone is a form of currency

🚨 Spoiler Alert: A real man should recognize a walking financial liability when he sees one.

2️⃣ “A Real Man Should Accept That Women Are Superior”

Translation: “I want the privileges of being pedestalized while also being immune to criticism.”

❌ Equality? No thanks. ❌ Fairness? Not interested. ❌ A relationship built on mutual respect? BORING.

The goal here is not to uplift women—it’s to emotionally neuter men so they will never challenge, disagree, or even have personal boundaries.

🚨 A real man doesn’t need to be told he’s lesser to validate someone else’s delusions.

3️⃣ “A Real Man Should Never Cry” (Unless It Benefits Me)

Oh, this one is extra rich.

You’ll hear two versions of this contradictory nonsense:

📢 Version A: "Men should never show emotions, ever. Weakness is disgusting." 📢 Version B: "Men should cry more! Be vulnerable! Why won’t you open up?"

But let’s examine the fine print:

📌 If a man shows too much emotion, he’s unstable. 📌 If a man shows too little emotion, he’s cold and unloving. 📌 If a man shows emotion at the wrong time (i.e., when he’s the one struggling), suddenly it’s “Ugh, I can’t deal with this right now.”

Translation: "I want men to be emotional when it benefits me, and emotionally invincible when I don’t want to deal with their problems."

🚨 A real man processes his emotions in a way that works for HIM, not based on the shifting expectations of people who see him as a tool.

4️⃣ “A Real Man Should Always Protect Women” (Even if She Treats Him Like Trash)

Ah yes, the disposable bodyguard fantasy.

🚨 Reminder: Protection is earned, not owed. 🚨

📌 If you treat men like walking ATMs and security personnel, don’t be surprised when they stop volunteering for the job. 📌 If you refuse to listen to men, respect men, or even acknowledge their struggles, don’t expect them to throw themselves into harm’s way for you. 📌 If you believe all men are “toxic,” then congrats—you are not entitled to one’s protection when sh*t hits the fan.

A real man should protect those who respect him. That’s it.

5️⃣ “A Real Man Would NEVER Date Younger/Thinner/More Feminine Women”

Oh no. A man is making choices for himself. A man is valuing what he actually finds attractive instead of what society tells him to accept. 🚨 Sound the alarm! 🚨

This one is about CONTROL.

If a man’s standards disqualify the person speaking, suddenly his preferences become: 📌 “Patriarchal brainwashing” 📌 “Misogyny” 📌 “Unrealistic”

🚨 A real man isn’t guilt-tripped into dating people he’s not attracted to.

📌 WHY “A REAL MAN SHOULD” IS ALWAYS BULLSH*T

Let’s get to the core truth of it all.

📢 Every single time someone says, “A real man should…” what they actually mean is, “Men should behave in a way that benefits ME.”

❌ It is never about what men actually want. ❌ It is never about what’s logical or fair. ❌ It is always about reprogramming men into something weak, compliant, and useful to others.

That’s why none of these rules apply universally.

📌 If a rich, powerful man breaks these “rules,” suddenly they don’t apply. 📌 If an attractive man breaks them, suddenly nobody cares. 📌 But if an average guy says “No thanks” to these ridiculous standards? OUTRAGE.

🚨 Because the game was never about fairness. It was always about control.

📌 FINAL VERDICT: IF SOMEONE TELLS YOU WHAT “A REAL MAN” SHOULD BE—BLOCK & WALK AWAY

If you’re a man, understand this:

📢 You don’t owe anyone an explanation for who you are. 📢 You don’t have to twist yourself into knots trying to be someone else’s fantasy. 📢 You are not obligated to meet the standards of people who see you as nothing more than a resource.

👉 You define what being a man means to YOU.

If someone starts a conversation with “A real man should…”

💀 Step back. 💀 Let them spill their nonsense somewhere else. 💀 Try not to get it on your shoes.

Because at the end of the day?

🚨 A REAL MAN DOESN’T GIVE A F*CK ABOUT WHAT FRAUDS THINK HE “SHOULD” DO. 🚨

🔥 REBLOG if you’re tired of fake “real man” lectures. 🔥 FOLLOW [The Most Humble Blog] for unfiltered, nuclear-grade truth bombs. 🔥 COMMENT if you’ve ever been hit with one of these “real man” BS arguments.

💀 You either define manhood for yourself, or you let people who don’t even respect men do it for you.

🚀 Choose wisely. 🚀

⚖️ LEGAL DISCLAIMER: This post is written for the purpose of artistic expression, cultural commentary, and psychological exploration of social and gender dynamics. It does not condone or encourage violence, harassment, or discrimination of any kind. Any references to power, strength, restraint, or critique are metaphorical, symbolic, and rooted in historical and cultural analysis. This is not a call to action — it’s a cultural mirror. If you feel offended, ask yourself if it’s from actual harm — or from seeing something you hoped no one would say out loud.

✨ TL;DR: If you're mad, it’s probably not because it’s wrong — it’s because you know it’s true.

[ladyloveandjustice]

My Favorite Books I Read in 2023

I read a ton of good novels last year- 36 in all (and uh, 78 manga/graphic novels, but we'll examine that in another post). Here's a link to my Goodreads year in books (the manga is at the beginning, the novels start with Siren Queen) and my storygraph wrap up.  

I reread a ton of Discworld this year, and it's as spectacular as ever. But what about new reads?

Well, here are my favorite books I read in 2023!

In the Dream House by Carmen Maria Machado

This is an autobiographical memoir about the abusive relationship the author went through with her ex-girlfriend. It's absolutely gut-wrenching, and at times, achingly beautiful. Machado uses the house she shared with her girlfriend, which she calls the "dream house", as a back drop. It's a place she always wanted and also a place she became trapped in, Machado's language is beautiful as she explores the relationship from different lenses-- The Dream House as Lesbian Cult Classic, the Dream House as Noir, the Dream House as Creature Feature, the Dream House as Stoner Comedy....All facets of the relationship are explored in a way that grips you by the throat and makes you remember everyone who ever tried to suffocate you-- but it also explores the hard work of moving on, of picking up the pieces, of living and embracing tenderness along with hardship.

I especially related to Machado's struggle to talk about abuse between queer lovers because of her fears of giving homophobes more ammunition...and when she says "we deserve to have our wrongdoing represented as much as our heroism, because when we refuse wrongdoing as a possibility for a group of people, we refuse their humanity", I felt that deeply.

This wasn't just one of my favorite books this year, it goes on the list of all-time favorite books. I wish I had this kind of writing style. I'll be returning to this again and again.

Zachary Ying and the Dragon Emperor by Xiran Jay Zhao

A middle-grade novel about a Chinese-American teen who feels a bit alienated from his heritage, which becomes a bit of an issue once he finds out the First Emperor of China has possessed his A.R. Gaming Headset. Now he needs to close a portal to the underworld with the help of other kids possessed by emporers.

This was a whole lot of fun, and often quite poignant. I was unsure if I could really enjoy middle-grade books as an adult, and this absolutely proves I can. There's a lot of really interesting Chinese history blended with action-packed fantasy, and exploration of the complicated feelings a kid can have about their own heritage . The dynamic between Zachary and Qin Shi Huang was so entertaining with the Emperor being villainous, heroic, charismatic, detestable-- and Zachary realizing how his complicated feelings about him mirror his relationship with his culture at large. There was also a lot of fun with other historical figures, and Xiran's take on Wu Zetian is a joy. (Also, if you like Yu-Gi-Oh!, you'll probably like this, since Xiran says it was one of their influences).

Camp Damascus by Chuck Tingle

Rose is young woman who's raised in a fundamentalist Christian household, and she's a devout, obedient daughter. But some weird things are happening. She's seeing a terrifying demon everywhere, insects are coming out of her mouth....and she's possibly having feelings about other girls. What's going on?

Yes, this is by the Chuck Tingle who makes all those Tinglers. But THIS one... will make you tingle with fear! It's a great horror novel! It's skin-crawlingly creepy at times, but also does a great job digging into how fundamentalist dogma harms queer people, and the hypocrisy of such beliefs. The conversion camp aspect is handled tastefully, and overall it was a great spooky read that's also ultimately very affirming, cathartic, and hopeful.

Qualia the Purple by Hisamitsu Ueo

You might go into this thinking it's just a quirky yuri light novel about a schoolgirl and her crush who sees everyone around her as robots (like literally, when she looks at someone she sees a robot instead of a human). But it quickly becomes surreal queer psychological horror steeped in absolutely wild applications of quantum mechanics and thought-provoking time travel.  Some of the quantum mechanics  exposition dumps were a bit much but I deeply enjoyed having my mind cracked open by this book. 

It's one of the most interesting takes of time loop stories I've seen. But it definitely covers a lot of rough subject matter, including a relationship with a serious age gap and extremely messed up relationships, so be cautious if you have triggers.

Our Wives Under the Sea by Julia Armfield

This book follows Miri, whose wife goes missing on a deep-sea submarine mission for six months. Miri thought her wife dead, but she miraculously returns one day...but her wife has changed. She's like a stranger. She may have bought the horrors of the sea home with her.

This is a gripping exploration of grief and loss combined with a delicious, slow horror that creeps under your skin. There's excellent Lovecraftian and body horror elements to the novel, but it works very effectively as a metaphor for a loved one going through trauma, and a relationship starting to crumble because everything seems different. A moment that really stuck out to me is when Miri copes with her wife's disappearance by frequenting an online community where women roleplay as wives with husbands missing in space. The way the online drama of the community interacted with her grief was  both funny and heartbreaking. 

This is another example of a book that makes me deeply jealous with its lyrical writing, and another one for the ever-lengthening all time favorites list.

Otherside Picnic Volume 8: Accomplices No More by Iori Miyazawa

The latest entry in a series about two girls exploring an alternate dimension full of creepypasta monsters, while also falling in love with each other. See my other reviews here and here.

This volume has the payoff to a lot of careful character work and relationship building, and it was completely satisfying. In fact, it was...show-stopping. Spectacular.  Incredible. I loved the exploration of how love, sex, and romance are so different for different people and it's impossible to put it in neat boxes. The frank and messy conversation our leads have about their relationship was perfect and so was that absolutely  bonkers, wonderful finale. This is another one for the all times favorite list, and I loved it so much I wrote a extremely long review/recap here. 

Queer Ducks (and Other Animals): The Natural World of Animal Sexuality by Eliot Schrefer

This was a well-researched, well-crafted, easy to read book that explores queerness (mainly homosexuality, bisexuality, trans and genderfluid expressions in animals, and even the question of if and how animals can related to gender) in the animal kingdom. Though it's definitely aimed at teens, I learned a lot from it (who knew female bonobos were such life goals) and it presented its information in a fun way. It included some interesting examinations of how proof of homosexuality and bisexuality in animals was historically suppressed and filtered through homophobic assumptions. If you want to learn a little animal science in an accessible format, definitely check this out.

Night’s Edge by Liz Kerin

The story follows Mia, a woman in her 20's living with her vampire mother. Her whole life revolves around not drawing suspicion towards her Mom. She also has to make sure to feed her Mom some of her blood every night--lest her mother fall back in with her abusive boyfriend and start hunting humans.  But when Mia meets a cute girl, she starts to dream of living her own life...

It was a really interesting use of vampirism as a metaphor for both living with a parent struggling with addiction and having an abusive parent. It's just a well-told, heartwrenching tale that got deep into the character's mindsets. I thought the ending was bit abrupt and rushed, but it did make more sense once I realized this was the first in a duology. It's a fascinating take on vampires, and I'm interested in seeing more.

The Adventures of Amina al-Sirafi by Shannon Chakraborty

This novel follows a middle-aged Muslim female pirate living around the Arabian Peninsula. She's supposed to be in retirement, but wouldn't you know it, she's lured in for one last job! I she rescues a kidnapped girl,  she'll have all the riches she needs to set her family up for life. So Amina begins her adventure of fighting demons and monsters and ex-husbands. But the job might not be all it seems.

This novel is full of all the entertaining swashbuckling action and shenanigans that any pirate story should have. It's a rollicking good time, and feeds my craving for middle aged women going on quests and kicking ass. Amina's journey is a fun, wild ride full of dynamic characters and interesting mythology!

Yellowface by R.F. Kuang

Juniper is friends with a successful Chinese-American author, Athena Liu, and has always been deeply jealous of her. When Athena dies in front of her, Juniper decides to steal her manuscript rooted in Chinese history and claim it as her own. But plagiarism might catch up with her...

This is a strong example of a book I thought was really well-done, but one I'm probably never going to read again. The way it depicted Twitter drama is just too accurate and I got anxiety. It did such a good job putting you in Juniper's awful shoes so you can feel the pressure close in along with her. The book's commentary on the insidious racism of the publishing industry was effective, and it made a horrible character's journey fascinating to follow. I was so intrigued yet anxious I had to force myself to finish the last few pages.

Bonus read:

Legends and Lattes by Travis Baldtree

A very cute novel about an orc named Viv who decides to retire from the violent life of a bounty hunter and run a coffee shop instead. She ends up getting a lot of assistance from a succubus named Tandri...and my, is that a slow-burn coffee shop romance brewing? This book reminds me a lot of various cozy slice-of-life anime, and it's nice to be getting more of that feeling in book form. I wish there was a little more specific to the fantasy world rather than making it a coffee shop that line up 1 to 1 to a modern day shop, but it was definitely a sweet read.

[writers-potion]

No, you’re NOT a real reader. I’m so sick of all these people that think they’re readers. No, you’re not. Most of you are not even close to being readers. I see these people saying “I read over 52 books this year! That's one book a week. I'm so smart!” that’s nothing, most of us can easily read 176 books or more in a year. I see people who've only read Daniel Green and claim to be readers. Come talk to me when you pick up Atlas Shrugged, then maybe we can be friends. Also DEAR ALL WOMEN: Fantasy is not a real genre. Romance is not a real genre. Omegaverse is not a real genre. Forced Proximity is not a real genre. Romantasy is not a real genre. Coleen Hoover is NOT. A. REAL. WRITER. put down the baby books and read something that makes your brains hurt for once. Stephanie Meyer and Jane Austin don't count. :) Sincerely, all of the ACTUAL readers.

I don't know where to start, because you've called me out on too many occasions in this paragraph. Here are my (probably unpopular) thoughts on this:

Agreed that the sheer AMOUNT of books you read doesn't make you a good reader - it's what you understand/learn/feel about them that gives you the right to comment properly on a book.

Excuse me but fantasy and romance are genres??

Omegaverse, forced proximity and romantasy are subgenres/tropes in romance that I don't have anything against. If you don't like romance in general, well no wonder you don't like them.

Jane Austen was the author that got me into reading classics. What the hell do you mean when you say she doesn't count???!!

Stephanie Meyer - okay, the first book in the Twilight series wasn't bad, the rest went downhill....don't like her much but I can see why she's popular...

For me, as long as you read, you're a reader.

I believe the purpose of reading (apart from being entertained) is to expand our horizons, step into someone else's head and look into how others see the world. Throughout my reading journey, I've learnt to be better than to judge others on the honestly quite narrow subset of the human experience I've had.

Sure, not all books/genres are "helpful" per se. But novels are meant to allow readers to experience a diverse range of emotions that they otherwise wouldn't, and if reading give someone pleasure, why not? Even though I personally don't like romance too much, I can see the appeal of just wanting to read something for the fun of it. As long as they don't confuse reality with the six-packed, tall & rich billionaire heroes, I respect everyone's reading lists.

NOW, one last note:

Coleen Hoover IS TERRIBLE. Commercial success aside, I hate how to turns literal CRIMINALS into romantists (which doesn't even work).

COLEEN HOOVER IS NOT A REAL WRITER. I'll agree with you on that one.

[johnslittlespoon]

i have been dealing with the brainrot of twink college student john and biker gale but then the other half of the post jumped me in a dark alley and all i can think about is john's friend who is used to their friends having crushes on their dad but it's whatever. weird, but whatever, as long as they don't get vocal about it they can just use it as something to tease them about at the worse. john looking up at gale with big doe eyes isn't the first time they've seen a friend do that, they've seen other people who are considered more age appropriate do worse when faced with the gale cleven effect. only it never occurs to them gale feels like he can't breathe right and like is organs are too big for chest whenever he looks at john and feels like he's something too soft than he should allow himself to be but around john it doesn't feel bad, maybe it's a good thing he can unapologetically be soft for someone.

cue the ladies who thought they might be able to win over the quiet, intimating and rugged dilf biker seeing that his heart was stolen by none other than john clarence egan, the son of mr and mrs egan who everyone is sure are moments away from a heart attack.

the au post | GOD same it has notttt left my mind. and you GET ITTT you captured the vibe i was picturing for that version perfectly ugh.

literally 1k+ words of brainrot below the cut... deeply sorry. any excuse to talk about them and i'm spinning in my chair apparently LOL <3

like john takes one look at gale and knows he's not the only one who swoons over him, spends an ungodly amount of time pining from day one. but any fantasies are only fantasies, because he knows (thinks he knows) he doesn't stand a chance, both for the fact that he's his son's friend, and that gale probably thinks he's too immature, and that he's, y'know, not a girl.

but gale is gone too from their first meeting, he's just a lot better at hiding it (and finds it so endearing how bad john is at hiding it despite how well john thinks he's doing lol.) once he and john start tentatively feeling things out, and even before that really, the way he feels when he looks at the doe–eyed boy scares him– a vulnerable softness and urge to protect that he's been just fine with not feeling.

of course there's the conflict when he tries to shove down these feelings at first, because he knows how mad his son (who i headcanon as ken because he and leaving!john would be precious dorky besties) would be if he were to ever indulge in them, regardless of how much john wants it. and there's the guilt of feeling like john would be happier with someone his age, but john is the most persistent, stubborn person he's ever met, and the way he folds so quickly for him is terrifying.

and yet he falls for the attentive softhearted absolute puppy dog of a boy that john is, finds himself as fond of his moments of angsty bite and bristle as he is when he's docile at his side, melting under gale's gaze. there's no proper confirmation ever made to others about their status, no reason to need one, because they're attached at the hip and people learn quickly not to so much as look at john the wrong way, because gale's never far behind him.

and the angsttt of john's parent's disapproval– yeah, he's an adult and he's independent and is off doing college and all, but his parents aren't chill with "that gay shit" and he gets the classic "so long as you're living under our roof, you're not to see that man" talk, and what's an angsty rebellious lovesick john to do but get better at sneaking out of his window and jogging down the street to meet gale at his motorcycle so his parents don't hear it pull up?

i'm sure eventually it would come to a head because they'd find out he's been going behind their back when they catch him sneaking back inside late one night, and he's given the good old "stop seeing him or pack your bags" ultimatum. it takes gale a wild amount of self control to not storm into the house and chew out john's parents when he picks up the phone to a sniffling terrified john at two in the morning less than an hour after he'd dropped him off down the street.

it takes even more self control when he sees the angry red of a handprint on john's cheek when he pulls up and finds him sat on the curb with a hastily stuffed backpack, and his heart shatters when john starts apologizing, as if he'd ever be upset with him. but then, cue domesticity (and a different kind of sneaking around) as john temporarily moves in with him and ken. all ken is told is that john's parents kicked him out and he knows how badly they treat him so he doesn't ask many questions, so shitty circumstances aside, he's over the moon at getting to have his best friend stay with him.

john promises to find someplace to rent a room in as soon as he can because he feels awful for intruding, but gale finds that he really likes having john around, insists he stays with the two of them at least till he's done with his semester so he doesn't have to worry about paying rent. lots of nuance to sort out there but you get the gist. <3

also. john wearing gale's leather jacket sighhh. finding any excuse he can to steal it, face going all pink when gale drapes it over his shoulders when they're out on dates, beaming when gale lets him wear it home with the promise that he'll return it the next day, falling asleep with his face pressed to it, drowning in the smell of gale's aftershave and cigarettes and diesel.

+ slight tangent but the things that could come about from the sneaking around?? minor spoilers for anyone who hasn't seen callum's show 'leaving' that his character in this au is loosely based off of, but there's a scene where he and his milf not–gf are fooling around in his room and his parents get home early.

i have this scene in my head where john thinks he's meant to have the house to himself for the night, invites gale over, they end up in the shower and they hear the front door slam mid–fuck. there's a moment of panic, both of them freezing, john whispers that "dad's probably forgot his wallet or something," assumes gale will stay unmoving until they hear the door slam again.

only gale suddenly rolls his hips forward, and john chokes on a moan, gale's hand coming up to quickly cover his mouth, his other hand squeezing john's hip as he kisses his shoulder and murmurs "you can be quiet, can't you, sweetheart?"

anyway. yeah, this au has me in a chokehold so hard still, i'm 100% still planning on writing it post–dog fic <3 i do love this whole cliche best friend's dad route of this au, but i'm also not sure i feel like tackling the conflict of john having his friend find out about the two of them, and i feel like that would be kinda inevitable to have to write about if i took that route for the fic lol </3 so i think that version of the au will be limited to brainrot like this and when i write the actual fic it'll just be the college student x bikerider vibe, but honestly there's so much overlap with the two concepts anyway that it won't make too much of a difference!

thx for unintentionally encouraging my yapping i love this version of these two so much and i am apologizing in advance for the person i will become when i see the bikeriders in theatres xoxo

[theresattrpgforthat]

Do you happen have anything that's about food, but in the way that Dungeon Meshi is about food? (defined to me as, classic(TM) adventure but with food as a central feature) Generally food-centric games would be welcome too!

Theme: Dungeon Meshi, Food Adventures.

Hello friend, I am very excited about this week's request! I have some recommendations that have been simmering in the back of my head for a while now - a few of which can be used in the game of your liking!

Bakto’s Terrifying Cuisine, by Roll 4 Tarrasque.

"The entrance to the Kitchen Arena appears only to those hungry or foolish enough to find it. Perhaps a dusty pantry in a backwater restaurant, or a forgotten refrigerator in the basement of a busy hotel. The door closes behind you—it never opens again. At the bottom of a long set of pristine stairs, Bakto awaits."

Bakto’s Terrifying Cuisine is primarily an adventure for The Vanilla Game, which is free to play, but it strikes me as pretty system-friendly. You are all responsible for creating a dish for a hungry demon, and are provided with a dungeon map as well as descriptions of what waits for you in each room. The pamphlet also comes with 10 terrifying ingredients and 6 possible treasures, as well as a d6 table of random encounters. There’s so much packed into just 2 pages!

While this is probably only good for a one-shot or a two-shot, I think it’s definitely worth it. If you end up liking this game and want more from the same creator, you can also take a look at To Catch A Hellforged Swine, a system-agnostic adventure about hunting a cursed pig.

Gourmet Street, by theunlawfulneutral.

Gourmet Street is a setting that can be plopped directly into any world or adventure and serves up an extra side of gonzo fantasy. It is populated with street vendors serving every possible food you can conceive as well as a fascinating accoutrements of culinary artifacts, edible monsters, and bizarre dishes.

Another setting rather than game, Gourmet Street is great for OSR games like Knave or The Black Hack, but also works in games such as AD&D. It’s a street vendors’ alley, rife with rival factions and dangerous foods, as well as a series of custom, culinary-related monsters to throw at your players. There’s roll tables for dishes and their effects, as well as some descriptions of major food factions, including their defining characteristics, their advantages and disadvantages, and a quick summary of their values or goals. If you want the culinary process to be stick, dangerous, unpredictable and full of slime, this is the setting for you.

Iera Entera, by Nathan Blades.

In this world, Divine Beasts roam the land. Delivered to us from otherworldly realms, they lord over the grounds they manifest on. They’re incredibly violent, are replaced in mere days after being removed, and are capable of supernatural powers.

They’re also delicious.

This game takes the idea of eating monsters and turns it up to 11. You’re not just eating dungeon creatures - no, you’re hunting down Divine Beasts. The game is split into two sections - working out how to bring the Divine Beast down, and then figuring out how to cook the damn thing. If you are playing with folks who are familiar with Dungeon Meshi, I imagine they would have a lot of fun ideas about how to cook the entrails of a great beast, but there’s also three or four suggested beast hunts in the game itself to get you started.

Cook & Hero, by Raul Fontoura.

You’re an aspiring master cook, in a face off competition amongst worthy rivals to create the perfect dish. Unfortunately, you’re supposed to make it out of scary and scaly monsters in very dangerous underground conditions.

This is another pamphlet game, similar to Bakto’s Terrifying Cuisine, but the tone is very different. In Bakto’s, players are on the clock to satisfy a dangerous enemy. In Cook & Hero, the art conveys a more lighthearted competition, even if your character decides that it’s a matter of life or death. The 2-page game comes with some simple character creation, and the resolution uses a roll-under mechanic with a d10. It feels like it takes a number of cues from Honey Heist, but it’s definitely a distinct game.

Ghastronomy, by Timepool.

You are a ghastronomer, a chef that doesn’t cook for the living— but for the dead. You have been hired to help guide a ghost to the afterlife, by collecting the lost pieces of its soul and cooking ghostly grub to make it whole again.

Alongside your co-workers, you will arrive on the scene and use your cooking credentials and what you learned from each of your ghastronomy schools to find, obtain, and cook a wayward spirit's remaining traces. With proper planning, teamwork, and a little bit of luck—  you might just piece its soul back together before it fades away forever.

Ghastronomy looks fairly easy to learn, with an interesting apron mechanic in which your apron is also a shield. You’ll also probably all have different styles of cooking, as each character will come from a different culinary school. If you like the idea of cooking for more than just survival, and you want to incorporate the paranormal into your game, this might be for you!

Lutong Banwa, by Sinta Posadas / Diwata Ng Manila.

Lutong Banwa is a cooking game, where you set out to adventure and find ingredients from Spirits and recipes from old civilizations. Embark on this anti-canon storygame adventure with its own custom system and play to find out just what sort of zany adventures you can get up to in this weird, wild world. Do whatever you want.

Lutong Banwa feels like a cozier game than some of the others on this list, and I enjoy the perspective it brings to the genre. You are playing tamale, the successors of the earth after Humans have faded to history, trying to replicate old world dishes. Your characters will use a number of different-sided dice, depending on which stats they use, and what strengths they have. Rather than character death, your characters simply have a limited number of chances to complete a task before they are forced to rest for a day or so. Altogether the game encourages creative thinking and playing outside the box. I think this is an extremely charming game and you absolutely should check it out.

[myrandomscribbles]

One Short Day in the Emerald City: My Review of Wicked (2024)

For my first post, I think it would be perfect to kick it off with a movie review - which, by the way, this blog will be 90% filled with lol - so here it goes!

It's been more a week since my friends and I saw Jon M. Chu's Wicked (2024) in theaters. It was opening weekend so you can expect the cinemas to be jam-packed. But probably my favorite part pre-movie (aside from the popcorn!) was the ongoing trend of people showing up at the cinemas in costume or following the theme of the movie. This trend is one of the reasons I love going to the cinemas versus just streaming it at home. So imagine, we arrived about 15 minutes before the start and the lobby & popcorn lines were filled with people wearing pink & green. I myself was wearing a green knitted top and pink shorts! As funny as it sounds, it literally gives life to the meme of the cinema ticket person asking what movie the person is seeing and the camera pans to the moviegoers in costume. Absolutely hilarious. (And I thank Avengers: Infinity War for starting this trend & the Barbenheimer craze for heightening it!)

Also, I wanted to add that this experience was personally special because I bumped into my favorite high school teacher of all places! We haven't seen each other in years, so this was really a delight.

(By the way, this may be a spoiler-ish review when it comes to the technicalities but in terms of the story - unless you haven't seen the Broadway musical or seen the 1939 film, then I don't know what to tell you lmao)

Now on to the movie itself... The title card!!! From there, I knew right away that this film was not just going to pay homage to the timeless classic that is The Wizard of Oz (1939), but to create a new world of Oz for this generation without losing the magic of the original. We see right away the iconic quartet walking down the famous yellow brick road, snippets of "Somewhere Over The Rainbow" in the music, and the dazzling Emerald City. For a semi-theater kid (I say semi because I grew up with musicals, just didn't get involved with acting in any of them at school or anything lol), I was already having goosebumps in the first few minutes.

Of course, Wicked is known for its many iconic songs that legends Idina Menzel and Kristin Chenoweth have made timeless, but my personal favorites are "What Is This Feeling?", "Dancing Through Life", "For Good", and of course, "Defying Gravity". Now obviously with the exception of "For Good", the other three musical numbers really lived up to expectations. "What Is This Feeling?" now has the dance routine as an online trend everywhere, "Dancing Through Life" just made you want to marry Jonathan Bailey right there, and "Defying Gravity" was just mind-blowing. Cynthia Erivo and Ariana Grande nailed it, especially with the fact that they were apparently singing that number live! I also loved Ariana's version of "Popular"; she sounds so much like Kristin but still made it her own! (Plus not to mention she feels like Sharpay Evans in another universe in that scene lol)

Now before the film came out, it was already met with a lot of criticism especially with how dull the lighting and coloring was. Now I'm not a technical expert nor do I have any kind of film knowledge in that sense, but I agree that in many scenes, the lighting and coloring could have been better. This movie was meant to be a colorful world and most musicals are supposed to be vibrant (unless of course the musical is Les Miserables or Sweeney Todd lol). I agree in that sense wherein it could've been better. Though I read somewhere that the director, Jon M. Chu wanted it to feel like a "real place" that the audience can visit so it has a more realistic rather than fantasy vibe - but if you ask me, this defeats the fact that, my brother in Christ, Oz is literally a magical land. On the other hand, I admired the fact that many of the scenes were practical sets and minimal CGI was used. For a film that pays homage to and is a prequel to one of the first films ever in technicolor, they slipped a bit on the color part but did good on the set production part.

Look, I'm biased here okay. I love Wicked so much, it's one of my favorite musicals ever, just behind The Sound of Music and Les Miserables. Seeing it come to life on the big screen has been something I've been asking for for years. I first saw the theater musical in 2013 and immediately fell in love with it, especially since it was connected to the story of Dorothy. Imagine, there is only a teeny tiny portion of the world's population who's still alive today and saw The Wizard of Oz in 1939, so this film is a whole new experience for today's generation. Jon M. Chu was the perfect director for this; after Crazy Rich Asians (2018) and In the Heights (2021), he's clearly meant for vibrant (in the literal and fictional sense) stories that pops. I'm still in awe of Cynthia and Ariana's vocals; I didn't know Ariana could hit opera-level octaves, wow. I'm so excited for Part 2 next year, and I can't wait to see what awards season will bring for this film. And I may sound like an overused tape recorder, but I have been changed for good after seeing this!

P.S. Enjoy a photo of a sticker I made on the official backdrop; isn't it prettyyy 💚

[wanderersrest]

An Abbreviated History of Mecha Part 3.2: Condition Green (1986-1990)

Welcome back to An Abbreviated History of Mecha! Last time, we covered the first half of the 80's with a bit too much of a focus on the works of one Ryousuke Takahashi. If you remember from the last post, I also covered one series in particular: Legend of the Galactic Heroes. I'm bringing it up here so that it'll be fresh in your head: Galactic Heroes would be one of many Original Video Animation (OVA) series that would be released in this time.

It should also be noted that, unlike last time, there would be a new medium for mecha stories to flourish in: video games! While video games existed at least since the late 70's, it would be in the 80's where they would become mainstream.

Anyways, let's get down to business. Now, before I throw each and every one of you into the bay!!

The Five Star Stories (1986)

Created by Mamoru Nagano, the Five Star Stories would be his first major solo project after leaving Sunrise due to the higher-ups constantly blue-balling him. Covering at least five books and a couple of OVAs, the Five Star Stories is one of the true classics of the canon of mecha.

Now if you want to get an inkling of what he did before the Five Star Stories? I'll cover that next time.

Metal Armor Dragonar (1987)

Coming off the heels of Mobile Suit Gundam ZZ, Sunrise was eager to fill in the void that Gundam left in its wake. And that's where Metal Armor Dragonar comes in. While I felt weird referring to Layzner as being Gundam-like, here I don't. Dragonnar was made first and foremost to fill in for Gundam, especially after the lackluster performance of ZZ.

Robocop (1987)

Also in 1987, we would see the release of Paul Verhoven's Robocop. Robocop is a part of that generation of 80's films where the original movie's deep scathing criticism would be watered down by corporate America's need to constantly make money off of each and every remotely popular series. And while that may be true, the original Robocop still holds up as a scathing criticism of American capitalism in the 80's.

Rockman/Megaman (1987)

(I just found this gif on Tenor. If anyone knows who to source it to, please let me know.)

1987 would also see the release of Capcom's Megaman, one of the icons of the halcyon days of gaming. Sporting his arm-mounted Mega Buster, Mega Man would run through multiple stages in an attempt to stop Doctor Wily and his army of Robot Masters. Megaman would become one of the more iconic of Capcom's roster of characters, though over time he'd be left behind in favor of other characters like Ryu from Street Fighter, Dante from Devil May Cry, and my personal favorite, Rathalos from Monster Hunter. Fortunately, the Blue Bomber would never truly be forgotten, especially with the surprise release of Mega Man 11 in 2018.

Warhammer 40,000 (1987)

Man, 1987 was a packed year for mecha, wasn't it.

In 1987, Games Workshop would release the first edition ruleset for Warhammer 40,000, the sci-fi spinoff to their popular Warhammer Fantasy setting. The grim dark future of the 41st millennium is filled to the brim with all sorts of mechanical monstrosities, from the hulking Imperial titans, to the crimson-robed tech priests of the Adeptus Mechanicus and the mechanical hordes of the Necron.

A fun thing to also note is that, due to both series having a big modelmaking scene, Warhammer 40k tends to see an overlap in fanbases with Mobile Suit Gundam. It certainly helps when both peddle in plastic crack, and as someone who is addicted to the Gundam variety, game respects game.

Patlabor (1988)

Created in 1988 by the collective known as Headgear (which includes famed director Mamoru Oshii among its ranks), I would consider Patlabor to be one of the greatest love letters to mecha ever created. Patlabor is a series where a lot of worldbuilding was added to justify the existence of the giant robots that the creators love so dearly. Something to take note of while watching Patlabor is the general optimism the series brings to the table, even though the series is often grouped together with shows like Armored Trooper VOTOMs.

Most of the series would release between the the end of the decade, but one entry in this franchise would release during a rather rough moment in Japanese history. I'll cover it at some point when I get around to the 90's. Let's just say that if you know what the phrase "Kill Wyvern" is, you'll probably recognize what it'll be.

Also, not to toot my own horn or anything, but I did a write about Patlabor back in the day. So feel free to check that out as well if you have the time.

Cyberpunk 2020 (1988)

(Footage from Cyberpunk 2077)

In 1988, Mike Pondsmith would release the first edition of the Cyberpunk 2020 ruleset, because this is the 80's and tabletop RPGs are kind of the thing (Satanic Panic notwithstanding). In a move that will surprise no one, this series would help to codify a lot of tropes associated with the cyberpunk genre, including at the very least the concept of cyber psychosis.

In 2012, former Internet darling company CD Projekt Red would announce that they would be working on a video game adaptation of Cyberpunk called Cyberpunk 2077. Let's just leave it at that, as I don't really have nice things to say about CD Projekt Red.

Dragon's Heaven (1988)

From mechanical designer Makoto Kobayashi comes 1988's Dragon's Heaven. This extremely stylish and artistically unique OVA is a product of what happens when you give someone who's career started with building garage kits the budget to make an OVA. You want to know where the budget went to? It went into making the models for the main mecha of the OVA. Don't take my word for it? Here's Kenny Lauderdale talking about exactly that.

And in case anyone's wondering, Makoto Kobayashi has, in fact, worked on Gundam before. He's the one who designed Zeta Gundam's Baund-Doc and The O.

Ghost in the Shell (1988)

Also releasing in 1988 is the manga Ghost in the Shell. Created by Masamune Shirow, Ghost in the Shell would become an important series in the worlds of cyberpunk and anime, especially with the film that would release in 1995 directed by Mamoru Oshii. Specifically, this movie along with Akira would be some of the first anime that would really show that people outside of Japan had an interest in anime. Ghost in the Shell would also come to be one of the more influential works out there, as it would be the basis for the Wachowski's iconic movie The Matrix.

Mobile Suit Gundam 0080: War in the Pocket (1989)

1989 would be greeted with the introduction of two (of many) culturally important mecha OVAs. The first is Mobile Suit Gundam 0080: War in the Pocket, which is also the first Gundam series to be directed by someone not named Yoshiyuki Tomino. War in the Pocket would be a great reminder of why Gundam works as a story, but it would also be one of the Gundam stories with, in my humble opinion, the strongest anti-war messages of the franchise.

Gunbuster (1989)

The other would be Studio Gainax's first official (meaning not the Daicon short) animated series, Gunbuster. Arguably one of the most hot-blooded mecha series out there, Gunbuster is a series that tries to ground itself with real world physics before going "eh," throwing it all in the waste paper basket, and deciding that all we need is HOT BLOOD. This would be the first of many of Gainax's hits, and it would be the first of what I'm going to be referring to from here on out as Gainax's Elite Four.

Conclusion

We've covered a lot of series, but you might be asking yourself things like: "What was going on with Nagano?"

Don't worry, my friends. We still have one more part for the 80's. And in case you're wondering why I saved this part for last, it's because Tomino's output in the 80's is pretty legendary due to how iconic pretty much every series is. Granted, not everyone talks about these series in this day and age, but anyone who's talked about mecha in any capacity will more than likely be able to recognize at least one of these series.

You will see the tears of time.

[sheepfics]

Kings of the Wyld (Nicholas Eames): 🫵 RUSH FAN SPOTTED.

4.5⭐

Hey. You. Yeah, You. 

Do you like Fantasy? Have you even vaguely heard about the concept of famous classic rock bands? Do you want a fun, fast read?

Do you like

DILFS?

Is the idea of Just Some Guy, an Emotionally Broken Father, a Gay Wizard, a Rogue-Turned-King-Turned-Alcoholic, and A Rejected Fate Series Berserker all adventuring in one group really funny? I got the book for you!

Kings of the Wyld is an easy-reader fantasy adventure romp that, despite clocking in at around 415 pages, is fast, fun, and funny.

From the get go, this book has the makings of a good time. Adventuring groups being treated like rock bands? An incredible idea. Old men who used to be one of the best adventuring group-rock-bands getting together for a farewell tour? An even better one. If you find this premise enjoyable in the slightest, this book has the quality to deliver on it. It rides the knife's edge of humor, action, and genuine emotion. 

What’s this book about? The cover blurb was actually quite accurate for this book. After some 20 years retired, Saga, one of the most famous bands in the modern time, is rallied back together to save their frontman Golden Gabe’s daughter from a nigh-unbreakable siege. Like, that's what happens. That's the book. Sure, they gotta deal with their old booker, some ex-wives, a very much alive wife who's trying to kill one of them, and also a super evil dude with bunny ears, but that’s the jist of it, really. However, this blurb would have you believe that the famous Golden Gabe is our narrator. That is not true. We view this story through the eyes of someone much more interesting: Clay Cooper.

Clay Cooper was made in a lab for me to be a fan of him, I love grimy little dudes who are Just Some Guy. His signature weapon is a giant shield and his nickname from his youth is Slowhand because he kept getting his ass beat during fights. He’s our narrator, our entrypoint into the world, and also the keystone of the band itself. He’s funny, just observational enough you can pickup whats going on, but also just lame enough to ignore things that aren’t his business. He’s great. No notes. 

Something to note about this book before you pick it up: I gave it a 4.5⭐ instead of a 5 because it definitely raises some plot themes/threads/beats before dropping them, however, I would state that those plot threads aren’t super important to the main focus of this story, which is 5 old dudes grappling with getting old and growing apart and the emotions around that. Additionally, there are some instances of mildly tasteless/outdated/not PC humor. I’m used to that so I can handwave it, but others may not be able to. 

I was likely not this book’s exact target audience, being a young adult woman who has no nostalgia for the great rock bands of our times, but I was familiar enough with things. Through my casual knowledge (and a couple live Iron Maiden shows) I was able to pick up on just enough easter eggs to be proud of myself.Some of the jokes and references are probably enhanced by more extensive knowledge, but most of the comedy is good enough to stand on its own. Having knowledge of music history is not required at all to enjoy this story. If you are any kind of fantasy enjoyer who's sick of reading about plucky young teens doing coming-of-age nonsense, you'll probably like this book. If you have any more knowledge of rock music than I, you'll probably like it more. 

I am debating picking up the sequel, the main perspective not being Rose is a bit strange to me, and I will agree with many reviewers that Clay Cooper was absolutely integral to the way this book is delivered to you as a reader. Maybe I'll revisit reading the sequel after I've checked a few more things off my list, but for now, this is solid to me as a stand-alone novel. 

There are no spoiler-packed contents for this book I wish to emphasize heavily, but if you have questions about anything, please free to DM me.