#specially the moment that says /can I run to you/

[elryuse]

May I request a fluffy smut Le Sserafim Sakura x Male Reader where Kkura stumbles upon a small, cozy café owned and run by the reader, where she often seeks and finds the comfort and support in the reader, seeking solace from the hateful comments she has received throughout her career. Eventually, they develop a special relationship and become a couple. Thanks :) Im not good with plots but this is the best i can think off :(

Our Beloved Summer

Sakura X Male Reader

Tags : Fluff, Fluffy Sex, Romantic, Lovey Dovey, Sweaty, Steamy Sex, Kissing, Public Sex, Love Words : 4,403 Words

A/n : Aww don't Worry bud, Your plot is Good for this type of Fluffy Smut Stories. Keep Up The Good work. Hope You All Like it.

The bell above the café door jingled softly, breaking the quiet hum of the afternoon. You looked up from polishing the counter to see her—Sakura. She hesitated at the entrance, her usual vibrant energy replaced by a heavy slump in her shoulders. Her face, usually bright with a smile, was shadowed, her eyes downcast. She looked… lost. You straightened, your heart tugging at the sight.

“Welcome,” you said warmly, your voice carrying a lightness you hoped would reach her. Her head snapped up, startled, and for a moment, she just stared at you, as if she hadn’t expected anyone to notice her.

You chuckled softly, leaning slightly against the counter. “What can I get for you today?”

She blinked, her fingers nervously fidgeting with the strap of her bag. “I… I’m not sure.”

You tilted your head slightly, studying her. “How about something warm? A latte, maybe? Or… something sweet to lift your spirits?”

Her lips pressed together, and for a moment, it looked like she might cry. But she nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. “Latte sounds good.”

You smiled, though your chest ached for her. “Coming right up.”

As you worked on her drink, you couldn’t help but glance her way. She sat at a corner table, her hands clasped tightly in front of her, her gaze fixed on the tabletop. You remembered her—the cheerful, radiant Sakura from Le Sserafim. The one who had always seemed to light up the stage. But lately… the internet had been relentless. The criticism, the ridicule. It had been impossible to miss.

When her latte was ready, you carried it over to her, placing it gently on the table. “Here you go. On the house.”

Her eyes widened in surprise, and she looked up at you, confusion flickering across her face. “Why?”

You shrugged, your smile softening. “Because everyone deserves a little kindness, especially on a hard day.”

She stared at you for a moment, her lips parting as if to say something, but no words came. Instead, she nodded, her eyes glistening. “Thank you,” she murmured, her voice barely audible.

You gave her a gentle nod before returning to the counter, giving her space. But you couldn’t help noticing the way her shoulders seemed to relax, just a little, as she took a sip of the latte.

Over the next few weeks, Sakura became a regular at the café. At first, she was quiet, reserved, staying in her corner with her latte. But gradually, she began to open up. She started with small talk, asking about your day, your café. Then, one afternoon, she stayed longer than usual, and the conversation deepened.

“It’s just… it’s so hard,” she admitted, her voice trembling as she stared into her half-empty cup. “I try to stay strong, but the comments… they hurt. And the pressure… sometimes I feel like I can’t breathe.”

You listened, your heart aching for her. “You’re allowed to feel that way,” you said softly. “It doesn’t make you weak. It makes you human.”

She looked up at you, her eyes searching yours, as if she were trying to find the truth in your words. And then, slowly, she smiled—a small, fragile smile, but a smile nonetheless.

From that day on, Sakura began to visit more often. She brought her members with her sometimes—Chaewon, Yunjin, Eunchae, and Kazuha. They were a lively group, filling the café with laughter and warmth. But it was Sakura who always lingered, who always seemed to gravitate toward you.

One evening, as the summer heat began to wane and the café was quiet, Sakura appeared at the door. Her expression was serious, her usual warmth replaced by a quiet intensity. She walked straight to the counter, her eyes locked on yours.

“I need to talk to you,” she said, her voice lower than usual, almost urgent.

You nodded, stepping out from behind the counter. “Of course. What’s on your mind?”

She hesitated, her fingers twisting together. “I… I don’t know how to say this.”

You placed a hand gently on her shoulder, offering her a reassuring smile. “Take your time.”

She took a deep breath, her eyes closing for a moment. And then, before you could react, she stepped forward, her lips meeting yours in a kiss that was both hesitant and desperate. Your breath caught, your mind racing, but you didn’t pull away. Instead, your hands found her waist, pulling her closer as she deepened the kiss, her fingers tangling in your shirt.

When she finally pulled back, her cheeks were flushed, her breath uneven. “I’ve been thinking about this for a while,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “I needed to know… if you felt the same.”

You stared at her, your heart pounding. “Sakura…”

She shook her head, cutting you off. “Please. I need you. I want this. I want you.”

Her words sent a shiver down your spine, and without thinking, you leaned in, capturing her lips in another kiss. This time, it was fiercer, more urgent, as if all the unspoken feelings between you were finally breaking free. Your hands roamed her body, exploring the curves you’d only admired from afar, while her nails dug into your back, pulling you closer still.

“Take me somewhere private,” she whispered against your lips, her voice trembling with need.

You nodded, your mind hazy with desire. Grabbing her hand, you led her to the employee-only room, the door shutting behind you with a soft click. The room was small, intimate, and in the dim light, Sakura looked even more breathtaking.

She turned to you, her hands reaching for the hem of her top. “Help me,” she murmured, her eyes dark with hunger.

You stepped forward, your fingers trembling as you helped her out of her clothes, your breath catching as her bare skin was revealed. She was beautiful—every inch of her was perfection. And as your hands explored her body, she let out a soft moan, her head falling back as she leaned into your touch.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” she whispered, her voice shaky as your lips found her neck, trailing kisses down to her collarbone. “I’ve wanted you.”

Your hands found her breasts, your thumbs brushing over her nipples, and she gasped, her body arching into your touch. “You’re incredible,” you murmured against her skin, your voice rough with desire. “So beautiful.”

She tugged at your shirt, her fingers fumbling with the buttons. “I need to feel you,” she breathed, her voice desperate. “Please.”

You shrugged out of your shirt, your skin burning where it touched hers. And then you were kissing her again, your hands roaming her body, exploring every inch of her as if you couldn’t get enough. Her moans filled the small room, sending waves of heat through you, and you knew you couldn’t hold back much longer.

“Are you sure?” you asked, your voice low as you looked into her eyes.

She nodded, her hands gripping your shoulders. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

With that, you lifted her, her legs wrapping around your waist as you moved toward the small couch in the corner. Her back hit the cushions, and you followed her down, your lips finding hers once more as your hands explored her body. Her moans grew louder, more desperate, and you knew she was close.

“I need you inside me,” she whispered, her voice trembling as she reached for you.

You nodded, your own need overwhelming as you positioned yourself at her entrance. And then, with a slow, deliberate movement, you pushed into her, her body tightening around you as she let out a gasp.

“You feel so good,” she moaned, her nails digging into your back as you began to move.

You groaned, the sensation overwhelming as you thrust into her, her body responding eagerly to yours. Her moans grew louder, more urgent, and you knew she was close.

“Say my name,” she whispered, her voice shaking as she looked up at you.

“Sakura,” you breathed, your voice rough with desire.

She gasped, her body trembling as she reached her climax, her nails digging into your back as she moaned your name. And then you were following her over the edge, your own release crashing over you as you held her close, your bodies trembling together in the aftermath.

As you lay there, tangled together, her head resting on your chest, you knew this was only the beginning. And as her fingers traced patterns on your skin, you couldn’t help but wonder what the future held for you both.

“I don’t want this to end,” she whispered, her voice soft but filled with determination.

You looked down at her, your heart swelling with affection. “It doesn’t have to,” you replied, your fingers brushing through her hair.

She looked up at you, her eyes searching yours. “Promise me,” she said, her voice trembling. “Promise me this is real.”

You leaned down, capturing her lips in a gentle kiss. “I promise,” you murmured against her lips.

And as she melted into your embrace, you knew this was just the beginning of something beautiful.

The sun was just beginning to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of pink and orange, as you and Sakura walked hand in hand along the riverside. The gentle breeze carried the scent of blooming flowers, and the soft sound of the water flowing created a serene backdrop. You had planned this day for weeks, wanting to give Sakura a moment of peace away from the relentless chaos of her life as a K-pop idol.

“This place is beautiful,” Sakura whispered, her eyes scanning the picturesque view. Her grip on your hand tightened slightly, a small sign of her lingering nervousness.

You glanced at her, your heart swelling at the sight of her delicate features softened by the golden light. “I’m glad you like it,” you said, your voice warm and reassuring. “I wanted to make sure you got to breathe for once. No cameras, no schedules, just us.”

She smiled faintly, but you could see the hesitation in her eyes. “It’s just… I’m not used to this. Being able to relax, to just… be. Everyone’s always watching, always expecting something from me.”

You stopped walking and turned to face her, your hands gently cupping her cheeks. “Sakura, you don’t have to be anyone but yourself with me. No expectations, no judgments. Just you.” Your thumbs brushed lightly over her skin, and you felt her lean slightly into your touch.

Her eyes searched yours, and for a moment, it was as if the world around you faded away. Slowly, her lips curved into a genuine smile. “Thank you,” she murmured, her voice barely audible above the rustling leaves. “For everything.”

You bent down, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. “Always,” you whispered against her skin.

She sighed, a contented sound that made your heart skip a beat. Then, without warning, she closed the distance between you, her lips meeting yours in a kiss that was both tender and filled with unspoken emotions. Your hands slid down to her waist, pulling her closer as she clung to you, her fingers tangling in the fabric of your shirt.

When you finally pulled back, her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes sparkled with something deeper than happiness. “I love you,” she said, her voice trembling but firm. “I don’t want to hide it anymore. I want you to be my boyfriend.”

Her words sent a wave of warmth through you, and you couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face. “I love you too, Sakura. More than anything.”

She let out a breath she seemed to have been holding, her shoulders relaxing as if a weight had been lifted. “I was so scared to say it,” she admitted, her voice soft. “But being with you… it feels right. It feels like I’ve finally found where I belong.”

You brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, your gaze never leaving hers. “You’re my home now, Sakura. And I’m not going anywhere.”

Her smile widened, and she leaned in to kiss you again, this time with more urgency. Her lips moved against yours with a hunger that mirrored your own, and you could feel the heat building between you. Your hands roamed her back, pulling her even closer as her fingers traced the line of your jaw.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathless. Sakura rested her forehead against yours, her eyes closed as she tried to steady her breathing. “Take me somewhere private,” she whispered, her voice husky with desire.

You didn’t need to be told twice. Taking her hand, you led her to a secluded spot beneath the shade of a large tree, a blanket already laid out for the picnic you had planned. The moment you knelt down, she was on you, her hands tugging at your shirt as her lips found yours again.

“Sakura,” you gasped between kisses, your fingers fumbling with the buttons of her blouse. “Are you sure—”

“I’ve never been more sure,” she interrupted, her voice firm despite the way her hands trembled. “I want this. I want you.”

Her words sent a shiver down your spine, and you quickly discarded her blouse, revealing the soft, delicate skin beneath. Your lips trailed down her neck, eliciting a soft moan from her as she arched into your touch. Her hands pulled at your shirt, and soon it was tossed aside, your bare chest pressed against hers.

The warmth of her skin against yours was intoxicating, and you couldn’t resist the urge to explore every inch of her. Your hands cupped her breasts, your thumbs brushing over her nipples, already hardened with desire. She gasped, her hips bucking against yours as you leaned down to take one of them into your mouth.

“Yes,” she moaned, her fingers tangling in your hair as you teased her with your tongue. Her breaths came in short, shallow gasps, and you could feel her heartbeat racing beneath your palm.

When you finally pulled away, her chest was heaving, and her eyes were dark with need. “Please,” she whispered, her hands reaching for the waistband of your pants. “I need you.”

You captured her lips in a searing kiss as you helped her remove the rest of your clothes, your hands trembling with anticipation. When you were both naked, you paused for a moment, taking in the sight of her beneath you. She was breathtaking, her body bathed in the soft glow of the setting sun, her eyes filled with a mix of love and desire.

“You’re beautiful,” you murmured, your voice thick with emotion.

Her cheeks flushed, but she didn’t look away. “So are you,” she replied, her hands reaching up to cup your face. “Now, please… don’t make me wait any longer.”

You positioned yourself between her legs, your hand guiding your length to her entrance. She was already wet, her body ready for you, and when you slowly pushed inside, she let out a soft cry of pleasure. Her walls clenched around you, so tight and warm that it took every ounce of control you had not to lose yourself right then.

“God, you feel amazing,” you groaned, your forehead resting against hers as you began to move.

Her legs wrapped around your waist, pulling you deeper as she matched your rhythm. Her moans were music to your ears, each one driving you closer to the edge. Her hands roamed your back, her nails lightly scraping your skin as she clung to you.

“I love you,” she whispered, her voice trembling with the force of her emotions. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” you replied, your voice rough with desire. “Always.”

Her hips bucked against yours, her body trembling as she chased her release. You could feel her walls tightening around you, and when she finally came, her cry of pleasure echoed in the quiet evening air. Her orgasm pushed you over the edge, and with a deep groan, you spilled inside her, your bodies trembling together as you rode out the waves of pleasure.

When you finally collapsed beside her, both of you were breathless and sweaty, but there was a sense of contentment that settled over you. She curled up against your side, her head resting on your chest as your fingers traced lazy patterns on her arm.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice soft but filled with emotion. “For making me feel safe. For making me feel loved.”

You pressed a kiss to the top of her head, your arms tightening around her. “You never have to thank me for that, Sakura. I’ll always be here for you.”

She sighed, a contented sound that made your heart swell. But then, she shifted, propping herself up on her elbow to look at you. Her eyes were serious, and there was something in her gaze that made your breath catch.

“I want more of this,” she said, her voice steady. “More of us. No more hiding, no more pretending. I want the world to know that you’re mine.”

You reached up to brush a strand of hair from her face, your heart pounding in your chest. “Are you sure? Your career… your fans… it won’t be easy.”

She shook her head, her expression determined. “I don’t care. I’m tired of living for everyone else. I want to live for us. For me. And I want you by my side while I do it.”

You were about to respond, to tell her that you’d stand by her no matter what, when she leaned in, her lips capturing yours in a kiss that was filled with promise. Her body pressed against yours, and you could feel the heat building between you once again.

“Sakura,” you murmured against her lips, your hands already roaming her body again.

“Just kiss me,” she whispered, her voice breathless. “And don’t stop.”

And so you did, losing yourself in the taste of her lips, the feel of her skin, and the sound of her moans. The world around you faded away, leaving only the two of you, wrapped in each other’s arms as the sun dipped below the horizon.

But even as the night fell, you knew that this was just the beginning of your story together. And nothing could take that away from you.

“I’m yours,” you whispered against her lips, your voice rough with emotion. “Always.”

The air between you and Sakura was thick with desire, her body pressed against yours as she fumbled with the key to her dorm room. Her breath hitched as the door finally clicked open, and she pulled you inside with a urgency that made your heart race. The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of fairy lights casting a warm, intimate ambiance.

Sakura wasted no time. Her lips crashed against yours, hungry and insatiable, as her hands roamed over your chest, tugging at your shirt. You responded in kind, your hands sliding down her back to cup her ass, pulling her closer until there was no space left between you. Her moan was muffled by your kiss, but the sound sent a jolt of heat straight to your core.

“I need you,” she whispered, her voice trembling with need as she pulled away just enough to lock eyes with you. Her gaze was dark, filled with a raw intensity that made your knees weak. “Right now.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. Your hands moved to the hem of her dress, lifting it over her head in one swift motion. She stood before you in nothing but a delicate lace bra and panties, her body trembling with anticipation. You couldn’t help but marvel at how breathtaking she looked, her skin glowing in the soft light, her curves begging to be touched.

You leaned in, capturing her lips in another searing kiss as your hands explored every inch of her. She moaned into your mouth, her fingers digging into your shoulders as you trailed kisses down her neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin. Her breath came in short, ragged gasps, her body arching into yours as you reached around to unclasp her bra.

The moment it fell away, you pulled back to take her in. Her breasts were perfect, perky and inviting, her nipples already hard with arousal. You couldn’t resist. Leaning down, you took one into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the sensitive bud as she let out a soft cry. Your hands cupped her other breast, kneading it gently as you continued to lavish attention on her.

“Oh god,” she moaned, her fingers tangling in your hair as she pressed you closer. “Don’t stop.”

You had no intention of stopping. Your hands moved down her body, slipping beneath the waistband of her panties to find her already wet and ready for you. She gasped as you slid a finger inside her, her body trembling as you began to move. Her hips rocked against your hand, her moans growing louder with each thrust.

“Please,” she begged, her voice barely above a whisper. “I need you inside me.”

You didn’t need to be asked twice. You lifted her into your arms, carrying her to the bed and laying her down gently. She watched you with hungry eyes as you stripped off your clothes, her hands reaching for you the moment you were free. Her touch was electric, sending shivers down your spine as she guided you between her legs.

The moment you entered her, it was like coming home. Her body welcomed you, tight and warm, and you couldn’t hold back the groan that escaped your lips. Her nails dug into your back as you began to move, her hips meeting yours with each thrust. The room was filled with the sound of your bodies moving together, her moans mingling with your growls of pleasure.

She wrapped her legs around your waist, pulling you deeper as her head fell back against the pillows. “Faster,” she begged, her voice desperate. “Please, faster.”

You obliged, picking up the pace as her cries grew louder. Her hands moved to her breasts, pinching and teasing her nipples as she writhed beneath you. The sight of her, lost in pleasure, was enough to push you closer to the edge. But you weren’t ready to finish yet.

You pulled out, earning a whimper of protest from her, but you quickly silenced it by flipping her onto her stomach. Her ass was raised in the air, inviting, and you couldn’t resist giving it a light smack before guiding yourself back inside her. She let out a loud moan, her hands gripping the sheets as you began to thrust into her again.

The new angle seemed to drive her wild, her cries growing more frantic with each movement. You leaned over her, your lips brushing against her ear as you whispered, “You feel so good, Sakura. So fucking good.”

She moaned in response, her body trembling as she neared the edge. You could feel her tightening around you, her walls clenching as she reached her climax. Her cries echoed through the room, her body shaking with the intensity of her release.

But you weren’t done. You flipped her onto her back again, her legs wrapping around your waist as you continued to thrust into her. Her hands moved to your face, pulling you down for a searing kiss as her hips rocked against yours.

“I’m close,” you groaned, your body trembling with the effort to hold back. “Where do you want me to finish?”

“Inside me,” she begged, her voice desperate. “Please, I want to feel you.”

It was all the encouragement you needed. With a final thrust, you buried yourself deep inside her, your release flooding her as she cried out in pleasure. Her body trembled beneath you, her nails digging into your back as you both rode out the waves of your climax.

When it was over, you collapsed onto the bed beside her, both of you panting and covered in sweat. She turned to you, a soft smile on her lips as she cuddled up against your side. Her hand rested on your chest, her fingers tracing lazy circles on your skin.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice filled with emotion. “For everything.”

You pressed a kiss to her forehead, your arms wrapping around her as she nestled closer. The silence that followed was comfortable, the kind that only comes when two people are completely at ease with each other.

But the moment was short-lived. The sound of the door opening startled you both, and Sakura’s eyes widened in horror as Chaewon stepped into the room.

“Sakura, I—” Chaewon’s words died on her lips as she took in the scene before her. Sakura’s scream of embarrassment echoed through the room as she grabbed the blanket to cover herself.

“Chaewon!” she shrieked, her face burning red as she tried to hide behind the blanket.

But Chaewon didn’t look angry. If anything, she looked amused. A slow smirk spread across her face as she took in the sight of the two of you before turning to call over her shoulder.

“Guys, you’re not gonna believe this!”

Sakura groaned, burying her face in your chest as the other members of Le Sserafim filed into the room, their laughter filling the air.

“Well, well, well,” Yunjin teased, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Looks like someone’s been busy.”

Eunchae giggled, covering her mouth with her hand as she tried to stifle her laughter. Kazuha, ever the calm one, simply shook her head with a small smile.

“Take care of her,” Chaewon said, her tone softening as she looked at you with a knowing smile. “For us.”

And with that, they left, closing the door behind them as their laughter echoed down the hallway. Sakura groaned again, burying her face in your chest as you couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Well,” you said, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “That was unexpected.”

“I’m never going to live this down,” she muttered, her voice muffled by your chest.

But as she looked up at you, a small smile tugged at her lips. And in that moment, you knew that no matter what came next, you would face it together.

[yuechihua]

a strange case of bangboos.

summary: Harumasa brings exact Bangboo replicas of you and your Section Six coworkers to the office. For some reason, his Bangboo won't leave you alone.

notes: 3.7k words, author's notes, spoilers and references for Section Six special episode, fluff

There are a few things you’ve come to expect from your coworker, Asaba Harumasa: falling asleep at his desk during the middle of the day, sneaking requests for time off work alongside his pile of overdue reports, and walking into the office several hours late with a ridiculous excuse.

So when Harumasa strolls into the office for once, on time, with a light step and casual wave, it’s enough to make you look up from your flood of paperwork with a confused glance as he throws you a wink.

“Good morning, everyone,” he says cheerily, hand on his hips, stopping just short of entering the office. “I have a surprise for you all!” 

Soukaku and Miyabi, who have been diligently working (read: eating snacks and playing tic tac toe on official bureaucratic documents), are the first to run over. Yanagi remains at her desk, and the two of you exchange wary looks. 

“They’re so cute!” Soukaku says with childish delight, crouching down to mess with something half-hidden behind Harumasa and the open office doors. 

“How lifelike,” Miyabi muses, arms folded.

It’s at this point that you and Yanagi can’t resist striding over to see what Harumasa’s surprise entails. You’re greeted by the sight of several Bangboos crowding behind him. They appear to be custom-made: one in blue, one in black, one in white, and one in your favorite color—they’re the exact same as the Bangboo forms you and your colleagues had taken during a virtual reality attack from a hacker group. 

Soukaku is patting her Bangboo, her eyes bright as the Bangboo (Soukaboo, you decide it should be called) makes happy noises. Miyabi and her Bangboo (Miyaboo would be a good name for it) simply stare at each other without blinking, though after a moment, Miyabi nods, as if coming to some sort of internal decision.

“Bangboo?” Yanagi murmurs. “But why?”

“You can interact with them, you know,” Harumasa interjects.

“Interact with them?” you ask. 

At the sound of your voice, your Bangboo tilts its head at you. It appears to be sizing you up in the same way you’re observing it, with the same measured detachment. It’s a little eerie how similar it is to you, your mannerisms captured in a robot. 

Harumasa’s Bangboo (Asaboo, you dub it in your head) takes a few steps towards your Bangboo and tries to nuzzle it, only for your Bangboo to swiftly sidestep its advances, turning its body away in a clear sign of rejection. Asaboo lets out a sad little sigh, synthetic ears drooping, before it immediately perks up when its gaze alights on you.

“Ehn-nah!” Asaboo says, its mechanical voice sounding like the cheerful jingle of a bell.

Its body is chubby and white, smooth and sleek like the shell of a fat egg, and it preens under your newfound attention. Asaboo spins in a circle, revealing a little red target and arrow on its butt, and it takes all your self control not to throw your arms around it. 

There’s one thing you can’t deny: these Bangboo are absolutely adorable.

“It’s so much cuter than Harumasa,” you say out loud, arms crossed, as Asaboo beeps a little “eh-nah” in agreement, shuffling closer to you as it does.

“I agree,” Yanagi says. “Perhaps we could consider replacing Harumasa with this Bangboo. I imagine reports would come in a much more timely manner if we did.” 

“You know I can hear you, right?” Harumasa says, a faux wounded expression on his face.

“I know,” you say dryly. “But what’s the point of bringing them over? Don’t these look like the time we were turned–”

“It’s a change of pace,” Harumasa interrupts. “I figured we needed our own mascots, don’t you think? Think of the merchandising we can do. And they would brighten up the office.” 

“Yeah?” you say, unconvinced. “Since when did you care about that?”

“Well…” he continues, “There was also a deal at the shop I went to where if you bought one, you could get one free. Why wouldn’t I take advantage of such a good deal?”

Miyabi is watching Harumasa with a contemplative expression, her ear twitching slightly at his words. Before you can ask her what she’s thinking about, Asaboo suddenly tugs at your leg.

You glance down, and its chubby arms are wrapped around your calf, its little face peering up at you with its wide eyes.

“Eh-nah?” it asks, in the cutest, most innocent voice imaginable. 

You can’t stop yourself from reaching down and patting the top of its head. It wiggles at your touch, reaching up its little hands, as if trying to feel the spot where you just pat it to capture your warmth. 

“It’s so cute,” you say fondly. 

At your words, Asaboo jumps up and down in excitement. 

“And it’s oddly attached to you,” Yanagi remarks. “Asaba, what does the AI data for these Bangboos look like?”

For the first time this morning, Harumasa looks abashed, but that doesn’t stop him from responding, “Well, these Bangboos are modeled closely on our personalities.”

“Harumasa, is there something you want to say to me?” you tease. “I don’t recall you being as desperate for my attention as this Bangboo.”

“I think this is very telling, Asaba,” Yanagi says, crossing her arms. 

“What on earth are you two talking about?” Harumasa says, widening his eyes, neatly sidestepping your questions and avoiding your gaze. “Telling in what way? Deputy Chief, don’t tell me you’re feeling left out. Should I order one for you, too?”

“No,” Yanagi says wearily, “That won’t be necessary. I’d rather you save your money for something useful.”

“This is useful, though! It’s excellent for team morale! Don’t you think they’re cute, Soukaku?”

“Hm…” Soukaku looks down at Soukaboo, who does a little hop. “They’re cute! I like them.”

“Don’t drag Soukaku into this!” Yanagi says. 

“I think my Bangboo will make an excellent training partner. I haven’t had a chance to spar with myself yet,” Miyabi interjects in a thoughtful voice. Miyaboo nods its head in agreement.

“Chief, not you, too!”

“I think it’s harmless, Yanagi,” you say. “It’s one of Harumasa’s better ideas.” As you speak, Asaboo tugs on your leg again, looking up at you with a pitiful expression. “Oh, are you feeling left out?”

You reach down and run your gentle fingers along Asaboo’s head, rubbing alongside its ears. It has a smooth, rubbery texture, but if you press down harder, you can feel the vibration and stabilized heat of its whirring machinery beneath its exterior.

Harumasa watches you with a conflicted expression. “Why aren’t you this nice to me?”

“You’re not as cute as Asaboo,” you say resolutely, and Asaboo lets out a little “eh-nah” of agreement. 

Harumasa purses his lips. His eyes narrow at Asaboo, and it’s the exact same expression he has  right before he lets loose an arrow aimed for an Ethereal’s core. “I’m starting to regret this purchase.”

“You’re the one who brought them over. Asaboo hasn’t done anything wrong,” you say. 

“But you’re taking its side!” Harumasa protests. “Against me, your loyal partner! Our bond is forged through countless adversities in the Hollows, against the worst Ethereals New Eridu has ever seen! And you’re choosing a Bangboo over me!”

“Our relationship is strictly business. This is different,” you say, fingers dancing over the top of Asaboo’s ears as it lets out a content sigh. 

“Harumasa’s been replaced,” Miyabi murmurs.

“He’s been replaced,” Yanagi agrees. “Harumasamasa has been replaced!” Soukaku says cheerfully.

“There’s no need to rub it in…” Harumasa glances at your Bangboo, which is peacefully sitting on the floor in a patch of sunlight, staring out one of the windows, oblivious to the chaos around it. He crouches, and holds out his hand, as if to pat its head. “Hey there.” Your Bangboo immediately jumps up and scampers away without looking at Harumasa, resuming its vigil farther away.

“Rejected, even by a Bangboo,” Yanagi murmurs. “Asaba, I’m starting to feel bad for you.”

“Tsukishiro, if you say that, that’s just going to make me feel worse, you know?” Harumasa says ruthfully. “But it’s fine. We can just let them run around a little longer.”

The newest members of Section Six settle into the office with relative ease. The Bangboo are given free range around the office, though you notice that Soukaboo likes to sit near anyone with visible snacks, and Miyaboo is found in increasingly odder positions: on top of the door, hidden in a bookshelf, or tucked under a desk. 

Your Bangboo, on the other hand, is perfectly content to help deliver paperwork or coffee around the office, though it’s not immune from Miyaboo and Soukaboo pulling it into sudden games. Asaboo has no similar luck with your Bangboo, which seems to ignore Asaboo’s attempts to get close. There’s a hint of dissatisfaction in your Bangboo’s expression, though you can’t tell where it’s coming from. 

So Asaboo ends up waddling after you, settling right next to the side of your desk. Whenever you get up to grab a cup of coffee, discuss confidential information with other officers, or simply to stretch, Asaboo immediately jumps up to follow.

“Not interested in playing with the other Bangboo anymore?” you say. The other Bangboo are hopping around in the distance, bouncing a ball Soukaku pulled out from her desk back and forth.

“Eh-nah!” it says, puffing out its chest.

“Well, I’m happy to hang out with you, too.” You pat its head once more, and it gives a wiggle of delight.

“I’m also happy to hang out with you,” Harumasa adds. His desk is right next to yours, so it’s easy for him to see everything that’s going on. You glance at him, with his chair pushed back from his desk, feet propped up on the table, ankles crossed.

“Sure, but you’re not voluntarily spending time with me. We work together,” you respond dryly. You don’t miss how his mouth tugs into a pout, looking for all the world like a displeased cat which has been denied its favorite meal. 

Around lunchtime, when you pick up your packed lunch to head to the break room, Asaboo jumps up and down in the air, holding out its hands.

“Oh? Do you want to carry this for me?” you say, holding the package aloft.

It nods enthusiastically, ears flopping, and you gently place your lunchbox into its hands. Asaboo clutches the bundle to its chest like its most precious treasure, though it’s nothing more than some plastic containers set in a carrying case, with a handle that pops out that Asaboo loops its hand through.

“I could carry that for you,” Harumasa adds. His head is down on his desk, gazing at you through the fringe of his dark eyelashes. They’re unfairly long and pretty.

“Are you sure?” you say, raising your eyebrow. “I thought you said you weren’t capable of lifting anything heavier than a single sheet of paper.” 

“Well, I’m feeling a burst of strength today, so–” Harumasa raises himself from his desk and reaches out towards your lunchbox, but Asaboo leaps back before his hand can even graze it. 

“Eh-eh-nah!” it says defiantly. 

“Oh, you little–”

“Don’t bully Asaboo,” you scold, moving to stand in front of it. “Come on, Harumasa. It’s just a cute little Bangboo.” 

“It just made a face at me,” he says indignantly, throwing his hands up helplessly.

“Well, like you said, the data for its personality is based on you.”

With that, you and Asaboo head towards the break room, Asaboo wobbling behind you cheerfully the entire time. The break room itself is surprisingly spacious, with floor to ceiling windows, tasteful plants tucked in corners, and clusters of tables and cushy chairs scattered about. Various gleaming, stainless state of the art kitchen appliances are huddled in the corner. It’s one of the nicer break rooms you’ve seen, and you have HSO budget to thank for that.

Asaboo quickly runs to a table near one of the windows, and hops up to place your lunchbox on the table. It’s a quiet spot, away from the other officers, and the sunlight pleasantly warms the area.

“Did you choose this place on purpose? You’re so thoughtful,” you coo, and Asaboo ducks its head, raising its hands to cover its face in embarrassment. Really, when it reacts like that, it’s hard to imagine Asaboo derives its personality from Harumasa. It’s not as if Harumasa isn’t thoughtful; in fact, you have a feeling the presence of the Bangboo is his roundabout way to make everyone happy, somehow. 

But Harumasa, clinging to your leg, or following you everywhere? It’s hard to imagine. Is that how he really wants to act around you, or is it simply that Asaboo has its own individual quirks, separate from the influence of Harumasa’s personality data? Despite Yanagi’s earlier comment about how “telling” Asaboo’s reactions are, your own teasing, and Harumasa’s reticent response, it’s not a clear marker for Harumasa’s own feelings. 

You’re not sure you want to use Asaboo to measure Harumasa’s feelings, either. That brings up its own complications, especially regarding your own emotions towards Harumasa. It would be a lie to say that Asaboo being Harumasa’s Bangoo doesn’t make you extra sweet to it. Well, that and the mischievous desire in you to see Harumasa pout. After all, it’s payback for all the teasing you’ve endured from him since the two of you joined Section Six.

You enjoy a quiet lunch with Asaboo, though once you’re both back at the office and you’re settled at your desk, Asaboo lets out a little “eh-nah” when it sees Soukaku holding up a picture to her Bangboo, a crayon drawing of her and Soukaboo in a field of flowers, holding hands. It immediately leaps up and heads out the door. You don’t have time to wonder at its behavior, though, not when you have a mountain of tasks that’s piled up since you were away at lunch.

“Your loyal companion left. Want me to take its place?” Harumasa offers.

“Get back to work, Harumasa.”

Ten minutes later, you’re interrupted from your workflow by the patter of mechanical feet and something tugging at your leg.

You look down to see Asaboo, covered in mud and grass stains, a trail of dirty footprints behind it, and a proud expression on its face as it clutches a flower in its hand. In contrast to Asaboo’s appearance, the flower is pristine, with soft, pure yellow petals.

“Eh-nah!” Asaboo says. It holds the flower in your direction.

“Oh, Asaboo, where did you get this? Is this for me?” you ask. You gingerly take the flower from its hand, and Asaboo looks proudly at you.

“Eh-nah. Ehn-nah-nah!” It jumps up and down for emphasis. 

“I’ll cherish it forever,” you promise, and carefully place the flower on your desk. You’ll ask Soukaku to help you press it later so you can preserve it. Was that why Asaboo had been looking at Soukaku’s drawing? Because it was thinking of you?

“If you want flowers, I can give you some, too, without ripping up the building’s lawn,” Harumasa says. He looks at you sleepily, with that familiar pout curling around his mouth.

“Then why haven’t you?” you tease him. “Besides, think about it. If Asaboo gives me a flower, isn’t it essentially the same as if you gave me the flower yourself?”

“It’s completely different,” he protests. “It’s not like I knew you wanted flowers. And Asaboo isn’t me. If anything, it’s…” He brings a hand to his tie, which already hangs loose from his collar, and unconsciously slides the knot lower. 

“It’s what?” 

“The Bangoo weren’t meant to do any of this,” he says. 

“I thought you said these Bangboo were bought on a whim,” you say.

“I did. That’s not exactly wrong, but…” Harumasa hops up on your desk, perching on a spot free from papers or office supplies. He crosses his legs, and you swing your office chair in his direction. “Sometimes, if you have a bitter memory, you can overwrite it by facing it over and over until you get used to it and it’s no longer so painful, right? Like exposure therapy.”

You’re quiet for a moment. Asaboo, at some point, has slowly run off to find the other Bangboo. They circle each other and jump around, an innocent dance of happiness, though Asaboo is watching your Bangboo more intensely than anything else in the room.

“Are you talking about the time we were turned into Bangboo?” you venture. It’s a memory whose threat has faded with time, becoming less of a menace and more of a funny office story to relay to coworkers. Dangerous situations and odd circumstances come part and parcel with your job.

Still, you can remember the sensation of being a Bangboo with startling clarity: the virtual buildings of Lumina Square inflating in size around you, wobbling on legs you weren’t used to, unable to wield a weapon. When you lifted your hands, a shock would jolt through you to see metal and not limbs and fingers. It’s a feeling of helpless you aren’t eager to return to.

“I was the first to turn into a Bangboo,” Harumasa says ruthfully. “And I couldn’t do anything. I had to watch everyone fight, knowing every second we wasted was a second closer to death. I had to watch you put your life at risk to keep me safe, and I couldn’t do anything at all. Everyone here is strong, but…” He taps his fingers on your desk. “You all pretend to be fine when you’re really not.”

How long has this been on his mind? It must have been what Miyabi noticed right away, from the very moment Harumasa started showing off the Bangboo. You slowly cover his hand with one of your own, entangling your fingers together. The heavy fabric of his gloves brush against your bare fingers, but you can still feel the bump of his knuckles, the curve of the back of his hand.

No one else in the office can see the two of you right now, the front of your desk with your computer and stack of books and folders acting as a barrier from the rest of the world.

“Harumasa.” You dip a finger under his glove, to feel the tender, warm, uncertain flesh underneath and trace designs on the back of his hand. His breath hitches. “You don’t need to take on everything yourself. You also like to pretend you’re fine when you’re not; you can rely on us a little more.”

“So the Bangboo weren’t a good idea, huh?” The joke comes out light-hearted and weak.

“No, they’re very cute,” you say. “I really like them, even if you don’t. But if you want to overwrite bitter memories, I think we should all do it together.”

A heated intensity steals across Harumasa’s face, his attention on you as unwavering and steady as a shaft of blazing summer light. “Together? Do you promise that?”

He bends his head a little closer, and you tilt your head upwards in response. Whatever it is he offers, you’ll accept.

However, before either of you can make another move, there’s a great crash, metal slamming on cold tile, and you instantly rise from your seat to seek out the source of the noise. In the middle of the offic, you see Asaboo collapsed on the floor, sprawled over like a fallen egg on its side.

“Oh no,” you murmur. But before you can rush over, something astonishing happens. Your Bangboo, which previously has ignored Asaboo, immediately leaps to Asaboo’s side, patting its head with its hands.

“Ehn-nah,” your Bangboo says worriedly.

“Eh-ne-ne,” Asaboo says back in a faint tone.

Your Bangboo cradles Asaboo’s hand in its own as it helps Asaboo stand. Asaboo leans on your Bangboo, though you can’t help but feel Asaboo’s steps are a little too energetic as your Bangboo guides it out of the door, their hands entangled together the whole time, probably to find a charging port or a mechanic. 

“Huh? I thought their Bangboo didn’t like Asaboo!” Soukaku says. She jumps up from her chair. Miyabi and Yanagi are clustered around Soukaku’s desk, ostensibly discussing some business that’s been interrupted by the Bangboo drama. “It didn’t want to play with Asaboo before!”

“I wonder if their Bangboo was just shy towards Asaboo,” Yanagi theorizes. “Or it’s possible it was jealous, too, of Asaboo clinging to someone else.”

“It’s most likely both,” Miyabi says. “I believe it’s always cared for Asaboo, and Harumasa by extension, but would loathe to let everyone know the extent of its feelings.”

Your face heats up as everyone’s gazes swing towards you, like bright stage lights revealing you to an audience you didn’t realize was there. You don’t even want to look at Harumasa, still perched on your desk, because you can already imagine the smug, overly pleased expression on his face. 

“I think we should talk about something else,” you suggest hastily. “Don’t you think Asaboo’s behavior was a little strange?”

“As Asaboo’s owner and foremost expert,” Harumasa says, one hand cupped around his chin, “I think it’s obvious Asaboo was faking its sudden bout of dizziness in order to get the attention of your Bangboo.”

“Why does that sound exactly like something you would pull off?” you say. “Like owner, like Bangboo.”

“Speaking of… I feel a little faint… I think… I need to lean on you…” Harumasa, with no attempt to hide his theatrics, begins to lean strategically in your direction, face landing on your shoulder, slumping his entire body so his weight falls on you.

“Asaba Harumasa, can you at least pretend to hide your intentions?”

“Can’t hear you… Still dizzy… We need to hold hands or I’ll fall…” 

Harumasa reaches for your hand with surprising speed, but you tuck it behind your back so he can’t hold it. He takes the opportunity to wrap his arms around you instead, and it takes all your willpower not to shove him off and onto the floor. 

You can still feel the gaze of your other coworkers upon you, and hear the whisper of their conversation, though they aren’t making any effort to hide their comments.

“They’re embarrassed,” Miyabi says quietly.

“They’re very embarrassed,” Yanagi says.

“Super embarrassed!” Soukaku chirps. You close your eyes, face still hot. From now on, you’re not going to underestimate Harumasa’s or Asaboo’s capacity for cunning. As cute as the Bangboo are, maybe they are more trouble than they’re worth.

[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

[jinx-isha-forever]

Chef kiss

(Jinx x fem!reader)

Summary: It’s Valentine’s Day! You and Isha are cooking a surprise for Jinx.

Warnings: none.

A/N: I was extremely hungry for pizza when writing this. Happy reading!

“Ooooo Isha that’s perfect.”

You say tasting the tomato sauce, Isha had been helping you stir and season.

She smiles up at you, tasting it as well.

It was Valentine’s Day evening, and both of you were cooking a delicious surprise for Jinx.

After much debate, you both decided to make super deluxe cheese pizza!

Jinx had been out for most of the day. Which gave you plenty of time to cook.

“Okay Isha.”

You finish flatting down the doughy crust into a heart shape.

“Can you bring over that delicious sauce and spread it around?”

You motion your head to the doughy crust in front of you.

Isha nods. Moving to grab the pots handle. She brings it over carefully.

You smile. Watching her look so focused. Her eyes and nose are slightly scrunched in concentration.

“Yep! That’s it!” You say behind her as she spoons out the sauce to the crust.

While Isha finishes. You go and grab several badges of cheese from the fridge. You had bought 6 different types of cheese.

(I mean this was supposed to be super deluxe cheese pizza right.)

You walk back over, juggling all the bags in your arms.

You sit the bags down on the counter.

“Let’s do this.” You say, before turning the first bag over. Dumping the cheese everywhere.

You both repeat until all the bags are empty.

Isha looks at the mountain of cheese in awe.

“What do you think?”

You ask. Ruffling the kid’s hair.

She giggles, before doing a little chef kiss in the air.

You laugh.

“Let’s get this masterpiece in the oven!”

You pick up the tray the pizza is on and start to walk over to the oven.

“Can you open the oven door kid?”

Isha quickly swings the door open.

You sit the pizza down on the rack and shut the door.

“Good work!”

Isha beams up to you.

You glance at the time.

“Looks like we’ve got maybe a couple more hours till Jinx gets back.”

You pause a moment.

“What do you think about getting some cool lights up?”

Isha nods, before running off. She brings back a box. Pulling out a string of pink lightbulbs.

“Brilliant!”

You say looking at all the lights.

Isha smiles.

Both of you start to string up the lights all over the hideout.

You pull a table out, and potion it under the lights.

Putting a few candles on the table.

You take a step back, before you hear-

Shhhrrrrsssss

You spin around towards the noise to find Isha with a spray paint can. She’s spraying little pink and blue neon hearts all over the walls and floors.

“You’re a little genius!”

You say, smiling and tilting your head, looking at the small girl.

She looks up at you with a proud smirk.

Beep. Beep. Beep

The oven timer alarm filled the air.

You run over. Grabbing a towel, you open the oven door and pull out the cheese goodness.

“Woooooooo.”

You’re practically drooling at how delicious it looks.

Cheese dripping off the edges of the crust. The smell explodes in the air.

Isha runs over.

Her eyes get wide, taking in the pizza as well.

“This is going to taste incredible.”

You bump Isha’s shoulder playfully, sitting down the hot pizza.

You glance at the time once again.

“She should be here any minute.”

You say folding your arms.

“And then we can—“

“Hoooly mooooly!”

Jinx’s loud voice bounces off the walls.

“I can’t believe.. this is the coolest.. why does it smell so good in here?”

Both of you rush over to Jinx, tackling her in a hug.

“Happy Valentine’s Day!”

You say. Isha giggles at the excitement.

Jinx laughs.

“We made super deluxe cheese pizza!”

You point towards the table where the hot pizza was sitting.

“Nooo way! I’ve been craving something cheesy all day!”

Jinx pauses. Her eyes darting around the room, taking in the sight of everything you and Isha did.

Everything looked special. The lights casted a soft pink glow. The neon paint hearts everywhere were right up her alley too. And the pizza was just the icing on the cake.

“Well! You guys aren’t the only ones with a surprise.”

She brakes away from you both, skipping over to door she just came from.

Jinx quickly hides something behind her back, skipping back over.

Excitement all over her face.

“For you Isha.” She kneels down holding out a soft looking rabbit toy.

Isha’s whole face lights up. She nearly knocks Jinx over giving her a hug.

“You like it! I had a felling you might.”

Jinx looks up at you. A little smirk playing on her lips.

“And for yooou…..”

She moves to stand Isha now holding Jinx’s leg.

Jinx slips her hand in her back pocket, pulling out two bracelets.

They were both black with pink and blue neon paint splatters here and there. They also had a couple little buttons on the side.

“So these are not your everyday bracelets.”

She holds up the bracelets closer to your face.

“They can do quite a lot. But the coolest thing is that if we’re ever separated or lost, you can push that little button, riiiiight there, and it will help me find you.”

You raise an eyebrow. Extremely impressed.

“And I made two! One for you and one for me. So it can work both ways.”

She takes in a deep breath looking in your eyes.

“Dooo you like it?”

She tilts her head.

“I love it! Jinx I love you!” You put it on your wrist before pulling her in your arms.

She chuckles. Pulling you impossibly closer.

“I love you too toots! So,so much.”

[amitiel-truth]

River Maiden Pt. 11

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10

(A/N: So I got sick after posting Part 10...i think Poseidon's onto me)

🔞🔞🔞

Days have passed since that fateful day.

(Y/N) looks in front of a mirror, smiling as she's perfectly dress for the occasion, brushing a hand over her arm bracelet, before remembering that she had shed that part of her, frowning, it was the only thing she could remember her mother off.

As she stands in front of the mirror, lost in thought, Penelope enters the room with a small box in hand.

She can tell that (Y/N) is troubled by something and approaches her with a caring expression.

"Is everything alright, my dear?" Penelope asks gently, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"Y-yes, I'm fine." (Y/N) tried to answer with a smile, but melancholy is still in her eyes.

Penelope studies her face for a moment, not fooled by her smile. She can sense that something is weighing heavily on her mind.

"Are you sure?" Penelope presses gently, keeping her tone soft. "You know you can talk to me about anything."

"It's just that..." She frowns, before running a hand over her upper arm.

"I gave up the last thing I can remember my mother off, because it also connects to...Him." (Y/N) frowns harder at the thought of her 'Father'.

Penelope's expression softens in understanding as (Y/N) explains her feelings. She knew that her relationship with Poseidon was complicated, to say the least.

"I see," she says quietly, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "It must be difficult to let go of something that connects you to your mother, especially when it's marred by your connection to Poseidon."

Penelope smiles warmly as she reveals the box, opening it to show (Y/N) the golden laurel arm bracelet inside.

"I thought you might like this, my dear," she says gently, holding up the bracelet. "It's a symbol of wisdom and triumph, and I think it suits you perfectly. Plus, it will serve as a reminder that you are not defined by your connection to Poseidon. You are so much more than that."

(Y/N) gasps in surprise as Penelope reveals the gift, a golden laurel arm bracelet. It's intricately designed, with delicate leaves and flowers.

"Mother, this is beautiful," she says, her eyes widening as she takes in the sight of the bracelet. "But...why are you giving it to me?"

"Because you deserve it, (Y/N)," Penelope answers with a soft smile. "You have been through so much, and you have come out of it stronger and more resilient than ever before."

She gently takes her arm and clasps the bracelet around her arm, adjusting it to fit perfectly.

"This bracelet is more than just a symbol of wisdom and triumph," Penelope says, looking up at (Y/N). "It's a reminder that your past, your struggles, they don't define you. They have made you into the amazing person you are today."

"And, It's the perfect gift for a bride, correct?" Penelope asked, as (Y/N)'s cheeks flush crimson at Penelope's words. She can't help but feel a flutter of excitement at the thought of her upcoming wedding.

"It is," she replies dreamily, toying with the bracelet on her arm. "But it's more than just a gift for a bride. It's...it's..."

She trails off, feeling overwhelmed with emotions. But then, she looks at Penelope with teary eyes, filled with gratitude.

"It's...perfect," she whispers.

"Thank you, Mother," (Y/N) says, her voice choked with emotion. "This bracelet... It means so much more than you can imagine."

She runs her fingers lightly over the intricate leaves, marveling at the craftsmanship.

"And… it's the perfect accessory for a bride," she adds, her cheeks flushing again.

Penelope chuckles warmly at (Y/N)'s reaction. She knows just how much this bracelet means to her, and it fills her heart to see (Y/N) so happy.

"You're welcome, my dear," she says, taking her hand in hers. "I'm glad you love it. And I'm sure Telemachus will love seeing you wear it on your special day today, the both of you."

(Y/N) smile can't be remove, chuckling a bit. "Thank you, for trusting me." (Y/N) looks at Penelope with a grateful smile.

Penelope returns the smile, her eyes sparkling with affection.

"There's no one else I trust more than you, my dear," she says sincerely. "You have a kind and compassionate heart, and you love my son fiercely. I couldn't have asked for a better partner for him."

She squeezes her hand gently. "You make Telemachus so happy, and that's all a mother could ever want for her child."

(Y/N) smiles as Penelope placed the stephane crown on her, the finishing touche of the bride.

She runs a hand over the stephane crown now resting on her head, feeling its weight and its significance.

"How do I look?" (Y/N) asks, her voice tinged with both excitement and nervousness.

"Absolutely beautiful," Penelope replies, taking a step back to admire (Y/N)'s appearance. "You look radiant. Telemachus is a lucky man."

"Thank you." (Y/N) answers gratefully, as Penelope leads her to the courtyard, where the wedding is taking place, leaving her by the wooden door entrance to check the final touches if the wedding.

She heard footsteps behind her as she looks, there she met Telemachus, who's also dressed for the occasion.

She couldn't help but gasp slightly as she laid eyes on Telemachus. He looked so handsome in his formal attire, a stark contrast to the young man she had first met, fresh from his adventure. But there was something else different about him, something about the way he held himself with newfound confidence and maturity.

She couldn't help but let a soft smile creep onto her face, her heart fluttering with anticipation and excitement.

Telemachus couldn't help but gasp as well, his eyes widening at the sight of (Y/N). She looked stunning in her white peplus, her hair adorned with the golden stephane crown. Telemachus felt his heart beat a little faster in his chest, but he managed to compose himself.

He took a step forward, taking her hand in his and gently kissing it. "You look...incredible," he whispered, his voice tinged with awe.

(Y/N) smiles, squeezing his hand.

"You don't look half bad yourself, my Love." (Y/N) grins at him.

Telemachus grins, his eyes gleaming with affection. "You sure do know how to boost my ego," he teases, winking at her.

He takes in her appearance again, admiring the way the peplus hugged her curves and the way her hair cascaded down her shoulders.

"But seriously, you look absolutely stunning," he says, his voice dropping to an intimate murmur. "I can't believe how lucky I am."

"I should be the one saying that, I'm marrying a Prince." (Y/N) jokes with a grin.

Telemachus chuckles at her remark, his smile growing wider.

"Well, you're not just marrying any Prince," he says, pulling her closer to him. "You're marrying the Prince of Ithaca, future King, and a damn good kisser, mind you."

He playfully winks at her, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

"Oh, you sure reminded me on our nuptial bath." (Y/N) teases with a smile.

"That bath was meant to cleanse us separately, and yet you just had to sneak in ravage me then and there, didn't you?"

Telemachus grins unapologetically, his eyes glinting with desire at the memory.

"Well, you can't blame me," he says, his voice dropping to a low, seductive tone. "You looked so beautiful and desirable in that water, so temptingly within my reach. How was I supposed to resist?"

He leans in, his lips brushing against her earlobe as he whispers, "And I don't regret a thing, you know."

"Oh, you." (Y/N) could only slap his chest, leaning her head on it.

Telemachus laughs at her playful swat, his chest rumbling with mirth. He takes her hand in his, lacing their fingers together before pulling her closer, their bodies almost touching.

"You know you love it," he teases her, his eyes full of warmth and affection.

His hand comes up to brush a strand of hair away from her face, and he gazes at her with unwavering devotion. "I love you," he murmurs.

(Y/N) smiled up to him, pecking his lips.

"I love you too." She looks back at him with the same devotion.

Telemachus's grin broadens, and he pulls her closer, wrapping his arms around her tightly. He leans down and captures her lips in a tender kiss, holding her close against him.

He breaks away just enough to meet her gaze, his own eyes filled with love and adoration. "I can't wait to call you my wife," he says, his voice rough with emotion.

"I couldn't agree more, Husband." (Y/N) agrees, leaning her head to his chest.

Telemachus's heart swelled with happiness at the sound of her calling him "Husband." He held her close, his chin resting on top of her head as he inhaled her sweet scent.

"It feels strange," he says with a soft chuckle, "to think that after today, you'll be mine in every sense of the word."

He gently lifted her chin, his eyes locking with hers. "I promise to love and protect you, always," he vowed, his voice filled with sincerity.

"I know you will, as do I" (Y/N) agrees, pressing her forehead against his.

Telemachus closed his eyes, savoring the sensation of her skin against his. He took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling against hers.

"You know," he murmured, his voice low and intimate, "there's something else I'm looking forward to."

"Love, we can't ditch our own wedding, your parents will be furious~" (Y/N) teases, rubbing his chest.

Telemachus laughs softly at her tease, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Who said anything about ditching?" he retorts, a sly smile playing on his lips. "I mean, we could just...take a little detour, you know."

He leans down, his breath hot against her ear, as his hand drifts lower on her back. "And my parents will understand. I'm sure they're eager for grandchildren."

"How long till we need to show up?" (Y/N) asked, up for it.

Telemachus glances at the sun, his mischievous smile growing.

"We have some time," he says with a smirk, his fingers tracing slow circles on her back. "The rest of the guests won't be here for a while yet."

He takes her hand in his, his grip firm and possessive. "Enough time for... other things."

"Just don't ruin my hair." (Y/N) kissed his forehead.

"My dress." His cheek.

"And my makeup." His lips

Telemachus laughs softly, his hands finding their way to her hips, pulling her closer.

"I'll try my best," he promised, his voice low and husky with desire. "But you know how I get when I'm with you."

🔞🔞🔞

He captures her lips in a passionate kiss, his tongue slipping into her mouth as he backed her up against a nearby wall.

Telemachus's hands roamed over her body, his touch becoming more insistent and desperate as desire burned within him. He pressed his body against hers, trapping her against the wall as he deepened the kiss.

"You drive me crazy, you know that?" he whispered between kisses, his breath ragged. "I can't get enough of you."

He nipped at her neck, his teeth grazing her skin as his hands found the hem of her dress.

Telemachus lifted her dress, his fingers trailing up her soft, bare thighs, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. He groaned as he felt her shiver against him, his own arousal growing more intense.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured, his voice thick with desire as he continued to kiss and nip at her neck. "I want you so badly. Right here, right now."

"Then what are you waiting for? We have a wedding to attend to." (Y/N) teases, before wrapping her legs around his waist.

Telemachus groans at her words, the feel of her legs wrapped around him sending a shiver of desire through him. He takes a moment to steady himself, his hands gripping her thighs tightly.

"You're a tease, you know that?" he murmurs, his eyes darker with arousal as he presses her against the wall, his body firmly against hers.

"But you know I won't disappoint." He claims her lips in another kiss, his hands roaming over her body, desperate to feel every inch of her skin.

She gasps as he quickly enters her, having his way with her already, quietly moaning to not get caught

Telemachus covers her mouth with his hand to keep her from making any noise that could give them away. He moves inside her urgently, his own need for her

She holds onto him, wrapping her arms around his neck.

Telemachus buries his face in her neck, his breath hot against her skin as he moves within her. He's consumed by a primal need to claim her, to make her his in every sense of the word.

He lifts her slightly, changing the angle slightly, eliciting a soft cry from (Y/N) as he hits a particularly sensitive spot.

He leans into her ear, his voice rough with desire, "You're mine, you know that?"

"Yes, all yours, Husband~." (Y/N) moans, looking up at him pitifully.

Telemachus growls, his eyes dark with desire as he hears her call him "husband." It stirs something primal within him, a possessive need to claim her fully.

He quickens his thrusts, his grip on her thighs tightening as he takes her against the wall, his own pleasure building.

"You're mine," he repeats, his voice a rough rasp. "Mine in every sense of the word. And I'll never let you go."

Telemachus captures her gaze, his eyes filled with a primal mixture of love and lust. He leans down, his lips trailing a path of hot kisses along her jawline and neck as he drives deeper into her.

"And I'm all yours," he whispers huskily, his hands gripping her hips tightly. "No one will ever have you like I do."

"I love you, I love you so much!~" (Y/N) professes, before hearing the music, their wedding is already starting.

"L-love... it's starting." She pants as Telemachus continues to dive into her

Telemachus glances up, realizing that the music has started, signaling the start of the wedding ceremony. He groans, his desire for (Y/N) warring with the knowledge that they have to attend their own wedding.

But he can't stop himself from continuing, his need for her overriding any sense of propriety. He increases his pace, driven by his primal need to claim her as his own.

"I love you too," he gasps, his words punctuated by sharp, ragged breaths. "But we... we have to stop."

"Why-ah!, why aren't you?" (Y/N) gasps as Telemachus continues, speeding up even.

Telemachus can't stop himself from continuing, despite the fact that he knows they're about to miss their own wedding ceremony. His desire for her is overpowering all sense and reason, and he drives into her with reckless abandon.

"I can't stop," he gasps, his voice ragged with need. "I need you too much."

He captures her lips in a desperate kiss, silencing any further protests she might have as he claims her fully, all thoughts

(Y/N) moans as she held onto him tighter, before finishing, moaning against the kiss.

With a final, desperate thrust, Telemachus follows her over the edge, muffling his groans into the kiss.

Telemachus leans against her, panting as well, his own breathing ragged and unsteady. He holds her close, not wanting to let go just yet.

"We... we're so irresponsible," he manages to say, his voice hoarse. "We nearly missed our own wedding."

(Y/N) laughs, pressing her forehead against his.

"You can say that again." She pants, calming down from their high.

Telemachus joins her in laughter, his own breath beginning to steady. He rubs his nose against hers affectionately, a small, satisfied smile on his face.

"I can't believe I let myself get so carried away like that," he says, shaking his head. "But when I'm with you, all reason goes out the window."

he shakes his head, still reeling from the intensity of their encounter. "I mean, who does that? On their wedding day?"

"Us, apparently." (Y/N) answers, pecking his lips.

"And I wouldn't have it any other way."

Telemachus chuckles softly, his eyes warm with love and affection.

"You know, you're terrible for my self-control," he teases, running a hand through her hair.

He takes a moment to look at her, marveling at her disheveled appearance and the flush on her cheeks.

"And you look... absolutely divine," he murmurs, his voice thick with desire.

"Save it, my Love, we have a wedding to attend to." (Y/N) drops down from his hold, fixing her clothes before fixing his.

Telemachus groans as she drops down, already missing the feel of her in his arms. But he knows she's right.

"You're right," he sighs, straightening his own clothes. "As much as I'd love to spend the rest of the day doing... other things, we do have a wedding to attend to. And we've already made enough of a spectacle as it is."

Telemachus couldn't help but feel a deep sense of satisfaction at the thought of his seed inside (Y/N). The idea of her womb filled to the brim on their wedding day filled him with a possessive and primal sense of pleasure.

He watches her fix her hair, his eyes never leaving her. "You look beautiful," he says softly, his voice filled with reverence. "And so... mine."

"That'll have to wait, My love, for in a few minutes, I'm all yours." (Y/N) murmurs, pressing her forehead against his.

Telemachus groans at her words, his desire for her still smoldering under the surface.

"You're not making this easy," he grumbles, his hands coming up to cup her face gently. "How am I supposed to stand up there in front of everyone and recite our vows when all I can think about is taking you back to bed and making you mine again?"

"And you're always complaining how you're trying to be a dignified Prince when all your thoughts are of me on my back on your bed." (Y/N) teases, slapping his chest.

Telemachus laughs, unable to deny the truth of her words.

"I can't help it," he replies with a sheepish grin. "You drive me crazy, you know that? All I have to do is look at you and all I can think about is getting you back into the nearest bed."

He wraps his arms around her, pulling her close, his lips finding her neck. "But I promise to behave today," he murmurs against her skin. "At least until the reception."

"Why are you so hormonal?" (Y/N) asked, chuckling at him.

"Oh, you know why," Telemachus answers, his hands roaming over her body with a possessive touch. "It's you, sweetheart. You drive me crazy, and I can't get enough of you."

He nibbles at her neck, his voice low and suggestive. "It's your fault, really. You're just too irresistible."

"There you two are." Penelope calls out with Odysseus from a distance.

Telemachus quickly lets go of (Y/N), straightening up as he turns to face his parents. He feels a bit sheepish, knowing that they likely have a pretty good idea of what he and (Y/N) were up to.

"Mother, Father." He greets them, his voice casual, as if they hadn't just made a mess of themselves. "We were just... making sure we looked presentable for the ceremony."

Odysseus and Penelope exchanged a knowing glance, both of them clearly aware of what went on between their son and his betrothed. But they didn't comment on it, simply nodding in understanding.

"You both look lovely," Penelope said, a hint of amusement in her voice. "And we're glad we found you. It's time for the ceremony to start."

Telemachus nods, his cheeks slightly flushed with embarrassment. He offers (Y/N) his arm, giving her a small, sheepish smile.

"Are you ready, sweetheart?" he asks her, trying to regain his composure.

"More than anything." (Y/N) hugs his arm before pressing her forehead against him.

Telemachus feels his heart swelling with love and affection as (Y/N) presses her forehead against him. For a moment, it feels like they're the only two people in the world, and he savors the feeling.

He takes her hand in his, his grip strong yet tender, and turns to Odysseus and Penelope. "Lead the way," he tells them, his voice steady but filled with anticipation.

Odysseus and Penelope lead the way to the ceremony area, where guests are already seated, waiting for the ceremony to begin. Telemachus and (Y/N) follow behind them, trying to maintain their composure despite the whirlwind of emotions and desires swirling inside them.

As they approach the altar, Telemachus can feel his heart pounding in his chest. This is it, the moment where he will pledge himself to (Y/N) forever.

A lamb was already sacrificed to the Gods to bless their union, and a Hera priest stood before them to officiate their union.

Telemachus and (Y/N) stand before the Hera priest, their hands clasped together, their eyes locked on one another. The priest begins the ceremony, reciting the traditional verses that will bind them together in the eyes of the Gods.

A goblet was presented for them to share, to solidify their union.

Telemachus can't help but smile back at her, his heart overflowing with love and joy. He takes the goblet, taking a small sip before holding it up to (Y/N), who takes a sip as well.

The priest recites a final prayer, asking for Hera's blessings upon their union and their families. Once he finishes, the priest declares them husband and wife, and Telemachus cannot resist a celebratory kiss.

(Y/N) could only stifle a laugh into the kiss, as she leans onto it.

Telemachus wraps his arms around her, pulling her into a tight embrace as he kisses her deeply. He loses all sense of time and place, consumed by his love for her in this moment.

As the kiss finally ends, Telemachus rests his forehead against hers, his breathing ragged and heavy. "You're mine," he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. "Forever."

"All yours, My Husband." (Y/N) smiles fondly at him, pressing her forehead against his.

Telemachus grins at her words, feeling a possessive thrill at being called 'husband'. He runs a hand through her hair, his touch gentle and loving.

"Mine," he repeats, his tone still filled with a hint of possessiveness. "And I'm yours. Forever."

He lowers his lips to her ear, his voice lowered to a whisper. "And later tonight, I'll show you just how much you're mine."

(Y/N) chuckles, shaking her head, as Telemachus pulls her to the center of the courtyard, where the feast began.

As Telemachus and (Y/N) reach the center of the courtyard, the feast begins in full swing. The air is filled with music and laughter as guests mingle and feast on roasted meats, fresh fruits, and fine wines. Telemachus and (Y/N) make their way through the crowd, greeting well-wishers and accepting congratulations for their union.

Despite the merriment around them, Telemachus can't take his eyes off her. He's still reeling from the intensity of their ceremony and the love he feels over his wife.

Another tradition began, one (Y/N) requested, a dance, a tribute to Hera, as she began dancing with the Priestesses of Hera, still in her wedding robes, smiling brightly while doing so.

Telemachus watched as Egeria began dancing with the Priestesses of Hera, her wedding robes billowing around her as she moved. He couldn't help but smile at the sight of her, her eyes sparkling with joy and her movements graceful and fluid.

The dance was a tribute to Hera, the goddess of marriage and childbirth, and Telemachus knew it held great significance for (Y/N). He watched, entranced by her beauty, as she twirled and spun in time with the music.

As (Y/N) twirls, she noticed someone in the crowd, Hera, who couldn't help herself but see her precious niece's wedding, as (Y/N) smiles brightly at her, continuing the dance while Queen Hera smiles fondly at her.

To them, they may see a happy dancing bride, but to Hera, she sees a little girl playing in Demeter's Garden, running up to her with a flower crown.

The wedding celebration continued well into the night, but Telemachus was ready to be alone with his wife. As the festivities began to wind down, Telemachus took (Y/N) hand and led her away from the festivities, back to the privacy of his room.

🔞🔞🔞

As soon as the door closed behind them, Telemachus wasted no time in pulling (Y/N) into his arms, pressing her onto the wall, claiming her lips in a urgent and hungry kiss.

(Y/N) tugs at his chiton, wanting it off, as she begins to remove her own robes, but Telemachus stops her before she did.

Telemachus breaks the kiss, gently grasping her wrists to stop her from undressing. His eyes rake over her body, his gaze taking in every inch of her.

"Not so fast, sweetheart," he murmurs, his voice low and gruff. "I want to bask in the sight of you in your wedding robes for just a little while longer."

(Y/N) pants, a light blush on her cheeks, as her wedding robes lay flat on her, making Telemachus want to ruin her in them.

Telemachus runs his hands over the fabric, his touch possessive and reverent. He notes how the material clings to her curves, accentuating her figure in ways that make his mouth go dry.

"You're beautiful," he murmurs, his voice filled with desire. "And these robes... they drive me absolutely insane."

He pulls her close, his hands dropping to her hips as he kisses down her neck, his teeth grazing her skin. "I want to rip them off you," he growls, his fingers clutching the fabric. "But I also want to savor you in them. It's... maddening."

Telemachus captures her lips in another bruising kiss, his tongue sliding into her mouth, tasting and claiming her. His hands continue to roam over her body, exploring every inch that the fabric of her robes allows him to touch.

(Y/N) moans as Telemachus only removes his own robes, leaving her fully dressed to completely savor her in her wedding robes, wanting to completely know that he's married to the most beautiful bride in his arms.

Telemachus lifts (Y/N), carrying her over to the bed, his arms wrapping around her with a possessive grip. He lays her down gently, his eyes drinking in the sight of her, still in her wedding robes.

"You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this," he murmurs, his hands roaming over her body. "To have you here, under me, all mine to ruin in those garments."

Telemachus positions himself between her legs, his body trembling with anticipation. He can't help but pause for a moment, taking in the sight of her, still in her wedding robes. She's a vision of sensuality and beauty, and he wants to burn the image into his memory.

But his desires are overpowering, and he can't wait any longer. With a sharp thrust he slipped himself inside her, closing his eyes at this familiar, favorite sensation.

Telemachus begins to move, setting a slow but steady rhythm as he takes (Y/N). His lips rain kisses all over her face, a frenzied display of affection and desire.

"You're mine," he whispers, his voice a possessive growl. "Say it. Say it, my love. Say you're mine."

"Yours! A-all yours, My Husband~!" (Y/N) proclaims, holding onto him.

Telemachus grunts in approval, his pace quickening at (Y/N) words. His body covers hers, his arms wrapping around her like a vice.

"That's right," he hisses, his breath ragged. "You're mine. Mine to love, mine to cherish, mine to ruin. You're my wife, (Y/N)."

"Oh, Gods! I love you, I love you so much!~" (Y/N) squeals, holding his face as she pressed her forehead against his.

Telemachus's heart thunders in his chest at (Y/N)'s exclamation of love. He feels a wave of emotions crash over him, and he captures her lips in a desperate, passionate kiss.

"I love you too," he gasps, his body moving faster and harder, his hands gripping her hips tightly. "So damn much."

(Y/N) moans as she holds his shoulders, arching her back at Telemachus's relentless assault, her toes buried onto the sheets.

Telemachus's gaze drifts over her, the vision of beauty and elegance, of sensuality and desire. She's still dressed in that damn wedding dress, and he wants to ruin it, to make it a reminder of this night and how thoroughly she belongs to him as he is to her.

"You look so good, sweetheart," he growls, his hands roaming over the fabric of her robes, wanting to tear it off yet still wanting to leave it on. "All mine now."

"Don't stop, please~." (Y/N) begs, holding onto him.

His heart pounding, his body hot with need, Telemachus can hardly think straight. All he knows is need and desire, and (Y/N) below him. He's lost to lust and love, and there's no turning back now.

His pace quickens, his breath ragged. "I don't plan to," he growls, his voice hoarse. "You're mine, sweetheart. And I'm not stopping until I've had all I want."

"Which is your womb, full of my child." Telemachus reveals, pressing his forehead against her.

"Is that alright, my wife? To have you pregnant right here, right now?" Telemachus asked, continuing his fast pace.

"Yes!." (Y/N) squeals from pleasure, wrapping her legs around his waist.

Telemachus's eyes darken with primal desire at (Y/N)'s answer. He can barely think straight, lost in the sensations and the raw passion between them. All he knows is that he wants her, in every way.

"You're going to look so beautiful, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. "Carrying my child. Filling you up."

Telemachus continues his relentless assault, each movement pushing her closer to the edge. Her legs wrap tighter around his waist, wanting him as close and deep as possible.

Telemachus kisses her deeply, his tongue delving into her mouth. "I want it," he whispers, his voice a low and possessive growl. "I want you to be mine, in every way."

"I love you, my husband, please let me make you into a father, please?~." (Y/N) begs, looking up at him pitifully.

Telemachus groans at her words, overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of it all. His mind is clouded with emotion and desire, and there's nothing he wants more than to claim her, to have her carry his child.

"Yes," he gasps, his voice ragged. "I want that, sweetheart. I want you to make me a father. Now. Please."

"Then please, give it to me, give it to me my love!~." (Y/N) begs, holding onto him tightly, nearing her end as well.

Telemachus can't hold back any longer. He's on the brink, teetering on the edge of ecstasy. (Y/N)'s words drive him over the edge as Telemachus spilled his seed inside her, pressing himself deeply into her.

(Y/N) moans loudly as they finished at the same time, holding onto him tightly, feeling his warm seed floods her once more

Telemachus collapses on top of her, breathing heavily, his heart pounding in his chest. It was everything he wanted and more, and he can't imagine a better way to show just how much he loves her.

"Gods," he whispers, his breath hot against her skin. "You're amazing, sweetheart. Just... amazing."

"And your...my husband now." (Y/N) smiled fondly at him, caressing his cheek.

Telemachus captures her hand, bringing it to his lips and pressing a gentle kiss on it.

"And you're my wife," he replies softly, his voice filled with affection. "My beautiful, amazing wife."

He wraps his arms around her, pulling her close against him.

Telemachus buries his face in her hair, taking in the sweet scent of her. He feels content, at peace, and utterly and hopelessly in love with her.

"I'm so happy," he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. "You have no idea how happy I am, right now, with you in my arms like this."

"I'll do anything for you, Telemachus." (Y/N) proclaims with adoration in her eyes.

Telemachus's heart swells with love at her words, and he pulls her even closer, her body pressed against his.

"You already do so much for me," he whispers, his voice filled with emotion. "Being by my side, showing me love and affection... there's nothing more that I could ever ask for. You're everything I need, sweetheart."

"And you've given up so much to me, you sacrificed your divinity just to bring me back."

"and I'll do it once more in a heartbeat." (Y/N) proclaims with a fond smile.

Telemachus's heart skips a beat at (Y/N) words. The idea of her sacrificing a part of her again, just for him, is both humbling and overwhelming.

"Please don't ever do that again, sweetheart," he says, his voice filled with an urgent plea. "I would never ask that of you. You don't need to sacrifice everything for me."

"But you're worth any sacrifice." (Y/N) proclaims, holding his face to make him look at her to make her point across, she's serious.

"If I lose you, I'll lose myself, Love."

Telemachus looks into her eyes, his gaze softening at her words. He knows that he feels the same way. Losing her would be like losing an essential part of himself, like losing a limb.

"Sweetheart," he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. "You won't lose me. I swear it. I'll be by your side for as long as you'll have me."

"While getting me pregnant?." (Y/N) asked, pouting up at him, knowing she's riling him up.

Telemachus groans at her question, his desire for her flaring up again. The thought of her round and pregnant with his child is incredibly arousing.

"You have no idea how much I want that,” he breathes, his voice rough. “To see you, changed and glowing with life we created together. It's like a primal need within me."

"I'll carry your children, as many as you want, my body is all yours to take, you're the only man I'll ever allow to impregnate me, my husband" (Y/N) professes with a soft smile, but deep down she knows it's riling him up.

"You're a minx." Telemachus growls, unable to deny how her words are affecting him. He presses his body against hers, his hands roaming over her curves.

"You know exactly what you're doing to me, don't you? Driving me wild for you, teasing and tempting me. It's like you're trying to make me lose control."

Telemachus's eyes darken with fierce desire as he starts to rip away the layers of her wedding robes. He craves her, more with each passing second, and he can't resist the need to claim her as his own.

"You look so gorgeous in these robes," he growls between kisses. "But I want you, all of you. Now."

(Y/N) leans into the kiss before panting, as Telemachus looks at her body, biting his lip as he saw his seed leaking out of her.

Telemachus groans at the sight of his seed leaking, and it only serves to heighten his desire for her. He moves to settle to settle between her legs without warning, his mouth on her neck.

"Gods," he hisses, his words a ragged breath against her skin. "You drive me crazy, sweetheart."

(Y/N) moans as Telemachus descends on her, his mouth hot and hungry on her skin. His need for her is primal and urgent, and there's nothing he wants more than to claim her completely.

"Please," (Y/N) gasps, her voice ragged with desire. "Take me, my husband. Make me yours again."

He lifts one of her legs as he sets the pace, making (Y/N) gasp at the new position.

Telemachus growls as he adjusts the position, his hands gripping her leg tightly. He can feel her body responding to him, and it fuels his desire even more.

"You feel so good," he whispers, his voice hoarse. "So tight and warm. I can't get enough of you, my wife."

"You feel so good! So good inside me!~" (Y/N) moans out, trapped under her husband.

Telemachus groans at her words, his pace quickening in response. He can't get enough of the way she feels, of the sounds she makes. She's his everything, and he wants to make her feel it with every fiber of his being.

"Yeah? You like that, sweetheart?" he pants, his voice thick with desire. "You like it when I'm deep inside you?."

"Yeeees!!~" (Y/N) moan out, before squealing loudly as Telemachus sucked on one of her areola.

"this is what our babies are going to do." Telemachus proclaims, continuing to suck on it while continuing his assault.

"And I'll have to share, but that's fine, as long as you're pregnant all the time." Telemachus looks at her in the eye as he continues his action

"Then you better keep it that way." (Y/N) held his shoulder. "Cause I want to carry as many children as you want~."

Telemachus looks up at her, his eyes dark with desire. "Sweetheart, if it were up to me, you'd never be without a child in your womb."

He presses his forehead to her shoulder, his breaths hot and ragged against her skin. "Just the thought of you swollen and round with my child drives me wild. I can't think of anything more beautiful than seeing you carrying our little ones, our family."

"Promise me, sweetheart," Telemachus murmurs against her skin. "Promise me you'll always let me keep you full, always let me put my babies inside you."

"I-I promise." (Y/N) stutter, as she lays there taking Telemachus's pounding.

Telemachus captures her lips in a deep, passionate kiss, his tongue tangling with hers. He's overcome by a wave of love and desire, and he can't get enough of her.

"I love you," he whispers, his voice ragged with emotion. "I love you so much, sweetheart. I don't deserve you, but I'll spend the rest of my life trying to be worthy of you."

"Prove it...hah...by impregnating me...over and over~." (Y/N) challenges, slowly getting cock drunk by Telemachus.

Telemachus growls at her challenge, his desire flaring up at her words. He knows he can't resist her, not when she's challenging him like this.

"You know I will, sweetheart," he whispers, his voice thick with promise. "I'll make you a mother, over and over again, until you're begging me to stop."

"I don't think I will if you're the Father~." (Y/N) added, before moaning as Telemachus hit a sensitive spot inside her.

Telemachus chuckled gruffly at her words, his hands roaming over her body. "You're playing a dangerous game, sweetheart," he warned, his voice low and raspy in her ear. "You won't escape me, you know. I'll keep you pregnant and needy, year after year."

"Then start now~" (Y/N) proclaims, pulling him into a deep kiss, before moaning into it as he pumped harder into her.

Telemachus kisses her with a primal hunger, unable to resist the pull of her body. His pace quickens, his body slamming into hers with relentless intensity. Every thrust is harder, more urgent than the last.

"Sweetheart," he gasps, his voice ragged with desire. "You're going to be the death of me."

(Y/N) moans loudly, her legs twitching up in the air as she's wracking in pleasure, holding her close to him, burying his face onto her breast.

Telemachus buries his face between her breasts, his hands roaming over her body. He's lost in the sensations, lost in the pleasure of her body. He needs her, he needs to be as close to her as possible.

"You're everything, My love," he whispers, his voice ragged. "I can't get enough of you. I need you like I need air."

"I-I'm...I'm close!~" (Y/N) moans out, panting as she felt him twitch inside her.

"Me too, sweetheart," Telemachus grunts, his breath coming in short gasps. He can feel his climax building, her body writhing beneath him sending.

"Love, please give it to me, I swear it'll take, I swear I'll get pregnant, pleasepleaseplease, my husband?~." (Y/N) coaxes him as she caresses his face, urgently begging him.

Telemachus is on the edge, his body trembling with need. Her begging is like music to his ears, and he knows he can't hold back any longer

(Y/N) moans as she feels his seed inside of her, filling her to the brim.

"Full...so full~"

Telemachus growls, his body still shuddering with the aftershocks of bliss. He holds her close, his hand caressing her stomach possessively.

"You look so beautiful like this," he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. He presses a gentle kiss to her forehead. "I hope you're ready to carry our children."

"Y-yes~ ready to carry your babies, My Husband~" (Y/N) swoons, cock drunk by Telemachus.

Telemachus leans in, capturing her lips in a deep, possessive kiss. "I'll keep you full, sweetheart," he whispers, his voice rough with desire. "You'll be carrying my children until you can't anymore."

(Y/N) suddenly whines when Telemachus flips them around, making her sit on top of him

"Noo~ It's spilling out~" (Y/N) complains, her hands on his chest as he lays on the bed.

Telemachus chuckles softly, his hands gripping her hips. "That's a good thing, sweetheart," he whispers, his tone low and sensual. "It means I have enough to keep filling you, over and over again."

"Why put me on top?~" (Y/N) pouted at him in a daze, tearing up a bit at him

Telemachus's gaze darkens with lust as he sees the look in her eyes. He knows how this is affecting her, and he loves it.

"Because I want you to look at how you're riding me, sweetheart,"

She shivers, before beginning to move her hips. "Please, I want more~" (Y/N) begs, her hands on his chest.

Telemachus is lost in the sight of her, his eyes roaming over her body as she moves. He reaches up to her hips, his grip tight as he guides her movements.

"You're so beautiful like this, sweetheart," he whispers, his voice rough with desire. "Riding me, begging me for more...it's driving me wild."

"I want it all inside me~" (Y/N) begged, moaning as she suddenly slammed onto him.

Telemachus growls at her words, his body responding to her need. He's hard and ready beneath her, and her begging is driving him wild.

"Yeah? You want me to give it all to you, sweetheart? You want me to fill you up again?."

"I...I can't do it! I'm too tired!!" (Y/N) whines, unable to move her hips, as Telemachus moves it for her.

Telemachus can tell she's tired, her body trembling with exhaustion. He knows she's done her best, and she's taking him to his limits.

"It's okay, sweetheart," he whispers, his voice gentle. "You don't have to do anything. Just relax and let me take care of you." Telemachus takes over, his hands guiding her hips gently.

She whimpers as he takes control, his touch gentle but firm. Telemachus loves seeing her like this, knowing that she trusts him completely.

"I...I'm close~." (Y/N) whimpers out, her hands still pressed onto his chest.

"That's it sweetheart," Telemachus encourages, his voice low and soothing. "Let go, I've got you." His grip on her hips tightens, guiding her in the way he knows she loves.

(Y/N)'s back arched as she felt her release at the same time as Telemachus, moaning in pleasure, her nails scratching his chest.

Telemachus feels the sting of her nails on his chest, the sharp pain a welcome contrast to the pleasure he feels. He rides out their climax together, holding her close as they both gasp for breath.

"You're amazing, sweetheart," he whispers, his voice ragged. "So beautiful and strong and perfect. I can't get enough of you."

Telemachus holds her gently, wrapping his arms around her, pulling her close as he tries to catch his breath.

"You are incredible," he whispers, his voice thick with love and admiration. "I hope you're not too tired, my love. I'm not finished with you just yet..."

He rolls them over so that he's on top of her, his body hovering over her, his eyes still hungry with need and desire. His hands roam over her body, caressing and exploring every inch of skin, his lips following close behind, pressing kisses and soft bites along her neck and shoulders.

"You... insatiable...hah...monster" (Y/N) gasps, as Telemachus began ravaging her once more.

Telemachus grins down at her, his eyes sparkling with amusement and desire.

"You brought this out in me, sweetheart," he whispers, his words teasing as his hands continue to roam over her body. "I can't help it if I can't get enough of you."

Telemachus leans down, his mouth trailing kisses down to her collarbone, his teeth grazing over her skin. "You're so beautiful, so perfect," he murmured between kisses. "I could worship you all night, sweetheart."

His eyes dart up to meet hers, a fierce and primal hunger burning within them. Without breaking eye contact, he takes her wrists gently but forcefully, pinning them above her head as his lips continue to explore her body

He kisses, licks, and nips along her collarbone, down her chest, towards her breasts.

"I could devour you all day and all night," he whispers, repeating his words from before. "And never get enough of you."

He continues his trail of kisses, moving down her chest and abdomen, his lips moving past her navel and down to her hips.

(Y/N) gasps as Telemachus began devouring her, sucking out his own cum.

"No! I want it to stay in!!" She whines, tearing up as his seed is leaving her body.

Telemachus laughs against her skin, his words muffled against her skin.

"Don't worry, my love. I have plenty more where that came from."

The sun is just beginning to rise in the sky, casting a warm, golden light over the entire island as Telemachus awoke. He groans, stretching his muscles, feeling a pleasant ache throughout his body.

His eyes slowly open, a smile immediately pulling at his lips as he looks over at the figure next to him, still fast asleep

He takes a moment to just watch her sleep, his eyes tracing the curves of her face, the way her eyelashes flutter against her cheeks, the steady rise and fall of her breath. Telemachus can hardly believe that this beautiful and amazing woman is his wife, his partner, his everything.

For a minute, he just relishes the peaceful quiet of the moment, feeling the warmth of her body against his.

(Y/N) stirred awake, opening her eyes to Telemachus.

Telemachus sees her stirring, and he can't help but smile. He reaches over and gently brushes a strand of hair away from her face, letting his fingers linger on her cheek.

"Morning, sweetheart," he whispers, his voice still rough with sleep. "How are you feeling?"

"Quite good, even when a rabid beast was attacking me all night long" (Y/N) teases, caressing his face.

Telemachus laughs, a deep rumble filling his chest. He playfully nips at her fingers as she caresses his face.

"Rabid beast?" he asks, mock offense in his voice. "I thought you enjoyed it. Begged for it, even."

"Oh you hormonal man" (Y/N) chastises lightly, slapping his bare chest.

Telemachus chuckles at her smack, the impact barely even fazing him. He catches her hand, bringing it to his lips.

"Hormonal?" he repeats, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You bring out the beast in me, sweetheart. It's your fault."

He rolls her onto her back, pinning her to the bed beneath him. His eyes darken with desire as he gazes down at her. "Don’t act like you don't love it."

"Oh, calm yourself down, my beloved, I'm still quite sore from last night" (Y/N) pouted, holding his hand.

Telemachus pauses at her words, his expression softening. He looks at her with concern, his teasing demeanor replaced with genuine care.

"Oh, sweetheart," he whispers, his voice filled with tenderness. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I'm sorry if I was too rough last night." He brings her hand to his lips again, placing a gentle kiss on her knuckles.

He leans over her, his body hovering just above hers, his eyes searching hers.

"Are you alright?" he asks, his voice filled with worry.

(Y/N) chuckles, taking his hand "Not that I don't approve of, Love, but I am a bit weakened" Egeria admits, kissing the palm of his hand.

Telemachus relaxes a bit at her reassurance, his worry melting away. He intertwines his fingers with hers, a soft smile on his lips, before rolling her back to his chest.

"You're too good to me," he murmurs, bringing their joined hands to his chest. "I'll try to be more gentle next time. I didn't mean to get carried away."

"You should have told me, my love," he whispers, his voice filled with gentle concern. "I would never want to hurt you, no matter how... hungry I may be."

He kisses the top of her head, holding her close to his chest. His hand rubs gentle circles on her back, a soothing motion.

"And it's one of things I love about you, but I also love that you let yourself go, so there's no need to fret, my Love" (Y/N) reassures, pecking his lips.

A pleased grumble leaves his lips at her praise. Telemachus takes a moment to admire her. Despite the soreness and exhaustion, she is still as beautiful as ever, her voice, her touch, her entire presence captivating and addictive. Telemachus can feel his own hunger stirring, but he pushes it down, remembering her current state.

He chuckles.

"You are too good for me, my love," he murmurs, kissing her forehead.

(Y/N) chuckles as she lays her head down on his chest, tracing mindless lines on it

"...how many children do you want, my Love?" She asked mindlessly, innocently.

Telemachus raises an eyebrow, his head tilting to the side in mild surprise at her seemingly random question. But he quickly smiles, feeling his heart skip a beat at the thought of starting a family with her.

"As many as you're willing to give me, my love," he responds, his fingers playing with a strand of her hair, his tone lighthearted but earnest. "Though I have to admit, the thought of having a house full of little ones running around, with your eyes, and your smile, makes me happy."

"Oh? But I want them to look like you" (Y/) raises her head, pouting at him.

Telemachus chuckles, gently poking her nose with his finger.

"Oh, you want them to have my handsome looks, do you?" he teases, his tone playful. "But I wouldn't mind if they had your fiery spirit and stubbornness as well."

"I guess many of them can have my good looks, and some can look like you" (Y/N) teasingly retorts.

Telemachus laughs at her response, his eyes sparkling with adoration.

"Oh, so you're saying my looks are 'bad' now, are you?" he teases, feigning hurt. He jokingly places a hand over his heart, playfully acting offended. "I'm wounded by your cruelty, sweetheart."

"What? You said you wanted them to look like me?" (Y/N) teases.

Telemachus chuckles, shaking his head at her playful banter.

"Alright, alright," he relents, a smile on his lips. "Maybe I do want them to look like you. I can't deny that your beauty is a sight to behold."

He tugs her closer, their bodies pressed against each other.

"But you know," he whispers, his tone growing huskier, "I can't help but imagine having a little one with your feisty spirit, just as sassy and stubborn as their mother."

"They'll be the death of you, especially when they're all grown" (Y/N) teases as she sighs, a content smile on her lips

"Would you like a girl or a boy?" She asked, tracing a finger on his chest.

Telemachus grins at her words, imagining a future filled with little ones running around, their laughter and playful banter filling the air.

He lets out a thoughtful hum, considering her question.

"I don't mind either way," he answers honestly, his fingers gently tracing circles on her skin. "But I can't help but think a little girl who's as stubborn and beautiful as her mother would be absolutely enchanting."

She chuckles, pressing her cheek to his chest

"Imagine when our girl is all grown up and has too many Suitors to count, she'll definitely be the death of you" (Y/N) teases, running a hand through his hair.

Telemachus grumbles playfully at her words, feigning annoyance.

"Oh, don't remind me," he groans, his expression betraying feigned worry. "I can already imagine the headache those suitors will give me. Constantly trying to impress her, and me constantly wanting to chase them off with a broom."

He laughs, tugging her closer.

"But at least she'll have your spirit and stubbornness to fend off any unwelcome suitors, right?"

"The heart attack you'll endure if you found out she's exactly like me, already coupling with a man she met on the second day~" (Y/N) ponders even more, tilting her head.

Telemachus's expression immediately changes to a look of mock horror at her words.

"Oh, no, please spare me from that," he moans dramatically, placing a hand over his heart, "My poor heart wouldn't be able to handle the shock. A daughter all grown up? Coupling with a man she met on the second day? I'd need a decade's worth of headache medicine just to survive."

"What? We did just that~" (Y/N) teases ones more with a grin.

Telemachus scoffs, a mixture of mock offense and amusement on his face.

"That's different," he protests, his voice playful. "We're the ones who did the coupling. Our daughter? She's my precious little girl. The thought of her... doing those things with some random boy makes me want to lock her away in a tower forever."

"Look at you, already having a heart attack, planning on locking her away and I'm not even pregnant yet" she teases once more.

"We'll definitely have a girl"

Telemachus laughs, shaking his head at her teasing.

"Oh, so you're an oracle now, are you? Predicting the gender of our future children?" he replies, feigning skepticism.

"But even if we do have a girl, I just know I won't be able to resist spoiling her rotten. Every little 'daddy's girl' whim will be granted, and every unwanted suitor will be sent packing."

"A girl more cherished and loved, one that you should have experienced when you were just a girl yourself" Telemachus proclaims, caressing her cheek, making (Y/N) look at him in shock, tearing up a bit

"You promise?" (Y/N) asked, leaning onto his hand.

Telemachus's expression softened as he looked into her teary eyes. his hand cradling her face tenderly.

"I promise," he whispers, his voice filled with conviction. "Our daughter will be everything you didn't have, everything you deserve. She'll grow up knowing she's loved, treasured, and cherished. She'll have a father who will love her unconditionally, no matter what."

He tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear, his gaze filled with tenderness.

"And you'll be an amazing mother, sweetheart. I have no doubt about that."

"Oh, Telemachus" (Y/N) swoons, pecking his lips

"I think I want to make that dream come true now" (Y/N) smiles seductively, removing their covers.

Telemachus's eyes darken with desire as the covers are removed, the sight of her bare skin igniting a primal fire within him.

But even amidst the rising hunger, he pauses, his hand gently cupping her face one's more.

"Are you sure, sweetheart?" he whispers, his eyes searching hers, concern for her well-being mixing with desire. "You're still... sore, from last night. I don't want to hurt you."

"Yes~" (Y/N) reassures, before she attacked him with kisses.

Telemachus grunts, his resistance fading as (Y/N) attacks him with kisses, the hunger within him growing stronger with each touch.

He responds eagerly, his hands roaming over her body, his mouth meeting hers in a passionate flurry of kisses.

"You're going to be the death of me, woman," he growls between kisses, his hands gripping her hips, pulling her closer to his body.

"You tell me all the time, my love, now impregnate me~" (Y/N) orders, kissing him fiercely.

Telemachus growls, the primal need within him surging to the surface. He flips her onto her back, pinning her to the bed.

"You don't need to ask me twice," he whispers, his voice thick with desire. "I'll gladly make that dream come true, my love."

He captures her lips in a deep, hungry kiss, his body moving over hers, his hands roaming over every curve and contour.

"You're mine," he whispers, his breath hot against her ear. "And I'm going to make sure you'll bear my child within this day."

That entire day was filled with intense love-making, fueled by the couple's desire and the promise of starting a family. Telemachus worshipped and adored every inch of (Y/N)'s body, his actions filled with both tenderness and passion.

They were lost in each other, lost in the moment, as Telemachus kept his promise, passionately making love to (Y/N), hoping to fulfill their dream of conceiving a child together.

After the throes of their lovemaking, Telemachus decided they needed a relaxing bath, grapes and wine were already prepared.

Telemachus lit the kindling for the bath, filling the bathroom with warm, soothing steam. He added fresh rose petals and a few drops of scented oils, creating a sensual atmosphere. As the water warmed, Telemachus carefully carried (Y/N) over to the bathtub, lowering her into the water.

He followed after, sliding into the tub behind her, his arms encircling her from behind. Telemachus gently massaged her shoulders, his hands moving in soothing circles, while he kissed her neck.

Telemachus reaches for the goblets, pouring some wine for both of them. He hands one to (Y/N) before taking a sip of his own.

He wraps his arm around her again, pulling her back against his chest, placing his goblet to the side of the tub before his hands resume their gentle massaging. Telemachus nuzzles his face into her neck, breathing in her scent, his hands tracing feather-light patterns on her skin, as if mapping her body.

(Y/N) took her goblet before plucking a grape from the plate, holding it up to Telemachus's lips.

Telemachus leans forward, accepting the grape from her fingers, his lips gently brushing against them as he takes a bite. He savors the sweetness of the fruit before slowly chewing and swallowing, his gaze never leaving hers.

His hands continue exploring her body with gentle and sensual touches. He slides them down her arms, tracing the curves of her waist, before gently resting them on her hips, pulling her even closer.

(Y/N) takes a sip of her wine, before holding it up to his lips as he's hands are occupied to have another drink.

Telemachus leans in, accepting the offered wine, his lips wrapping around the edge of the goblet. He takes a slow, deliberate sip, his eyes locked with hers.

As he drinks, his hands begin to wander once more, sliding up her sides and then back down, his touch leaving a trail of fire on her skin. He pulls her even closer, his body molding to hers, the water in the tub lapping gently against them.

(Y/N) then held his cheek before sitting up, kissing his lips, tasting the wine in his mouth, placing the goblet back.

Telemachus lets out a low moan as (Y/N) kisses him, the taste of the sweet fruit mingled with the sweetness of her own lips. He wraps his arms around her waist, pulling her even closer as his tongue tangles with hers in a slow, languid dance. His hands caress her body, tracing the curves and dips of her figure, relishing the feel of her soft naked form against his.

(Y/N) pulls back, panting "I love you, Telemachus" she proclaims, brushing a stray hair away from his face.

Telemachus gazes up at her, his expression filled with tenderness and affection. He cups her face in his hands, gently stroking her blushing cheeks with his thumbs.

"And I love you, (Y/N)," he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. "More than words can say. You're everything to me, my love, my life, my world."

(Y/N) smiles as she leans onto his hand, enjoying the silence, simply feeling each others presence.

Telemachus enjoys the silence as well, simply soaking in the feeling of her soft skin against his, her body cradled against his chest. His hands caress her skin idly, running up and down her arms, her back, over her hips, a lazy, soothing gesture. He rests his chin on her shoulder, peppering light kisses along her neck and collarbone.

[kugikizuchi]

"The doctor and his devoted assistant."♡

Warnings: I decided to make it so that the character in our story is not the main character in the game, two different personalities. Our character is a girl. This is done for convenience. Yandere. Partial Stockholm syndrome. Obscenity towards a young female employee. Sexual pressure. Slight compulsion. Excitement games. A vibrator. A weak current through the body. Binding. The girl's submission to the doctor. Murder and brutality. The orange text is Harley's words, the pink text is your words. English is not my native language, I'm sorry for any mistakes!

Volume : 8,2k. Sorry, I overdid it.

Have fun reading! 🐉

"Everything has to be perfect" - these were the words that were on your mind when you laid out Dr. Sawyer's supplies on the table, finally receiving the position of assistant to such an honorable person in the company. In your eyes, he was the epitome of rigor and perfection. His calm and tired voice could overshadow any fears that you might not be hired for this service, but also make you wake up and jump from his harsh cold tone and rare shouts at employees who did not satisfy his desires.

But you tried so hard to become the perfect employee by literally learning the doctor's daily routine. You were willing to do anything to stay in such a prestigious position at a toy manufacturing company. And unfortunately, Harley Sawyer knew about your fanaticism to prove to your family that you are an independent person.

The first few days were hard. It's even too hard.. Your legs are shaking from constantly wearing heels and running around the floors, but I would like to deliver certain reports to different employees. It annoyed you deep down that you looked like a dog on wheels even to yourself, forced to run back and forth just to earn the impossible trust from the owner. But despite the Doctor's indifferent gaze and the sometimes sarcastic smiles of other employees, you just smiled, brushing off all the problems.

What a pity you didn't see how Sawyer liked that you could barely walk on your already aching legs. It might have given him the motivation to finally give you a reward, but he was giving himself the opportunity to delay the moment to the peak of its accomplishment.

And unfortunately or fortunately, the "Peak Height" was reached after almost half a year of your working shift with this young man. You're tired of being the secretary who was always described in jokes and anecdotes as the boss's girlfriend, who was ready to do anything for his pleasure, descending even into the very niche of debauchery. The way you tried to talk to Harley at first, always saying respectfully, "Dr. Sawyer, please, could we talk a little bit about my work shift and my responsibilities?" You always got a calculating look from under the glasses of the man who filled out the next document for you and his slight manic smile that made you twitch a little. "No, Assistant, I don't have time for idle conversations right now if they have nothing to do with the idea of improving the company. And judging by your words and body gestures, you clearly don't want to talk about the happiness of the company, so please take this document and don't try to disappear for more than 10 minutes. It's just another building. You'll get there fast. "he said it over and over again, while you were biting your tongue in your mouth, so as not to spit out the poison. He never even addressed you by your first name, although it was always written on the badge like all employees, but he took it for a special occasion.

And now your patience was over, you were ready to start swearing if you even needed to turn on your artistry, because it's not just your boss who can pretend to be a second person. But as soon as you crossed the threshold of his office, closing the door behind you, the man seemed to be already ready for this meeting and, without looking up, ordered you to close the door in his usual empty manner. You did so, as if out of habit, which was reflected on the doctor's lips with a smile and a relaxed look, to which you flinched slightly, not knowing how you spoiled him with your obedience. As soon as you got closer to the main figure in this room, your body was pressed against the table, your hips were painfully pressed against the table, and your hands were twisted behind your back, while the second man's hand covered your mouth, preventing you from uttering a whisper or a cry of pleading for help, judging by your frightened darting eyes, while you were trapped between the table and the tall figure. "Don't shout or deny it, the more resistance you put up, the more brute force I'll have to use on you, Assistant. " he was talking and you couldn't understand - your legs were shaking so much from fear because of the current situation or from the discharge of excitement, being in such a precarious position that it was not clear whether you would really quit tomorrow, or remain an obedient assistant.. Unfortunately, you both knew the answer from his calm smile and your heavy breathing when the dialogue began, although no one let you out of the man's strange embrace.

And now you have achieved your goal. Isn't that right? Now you didn't have to run around the floors, rub your feet to the knees and whine to your friends about the idiot boss. No, you didn't even have to wear heels now, because they would only get in the way while you were sitting on the elder's hip, watching his well-honed hand movements with a listless look as he drew another monst- ...toy for children. The silhouette of a huge purple-colored cat loomed while you read its name, sometimes disinterestedly swinging its legs dangling from the edge of the chair. Your hips, waist, and hair suffered the most. When someone infuriated the doctor by bringing him to a white knee, you could only stifle a groan, which the elder never liked, while his hands squeezed your hips, moving to your waist and hugging tightly, as if the child did not want to let go of his favorite plush toy at night, which could ensure his safety in the dark. The most unexpected thing was when the sadist's elegant hands found their way to your chest, squeezing it, and someone else's lips stopped right in front of your ear, red with embarrassment and shame." What do you think is worse for those employees who can't even complete their assignments properly, like being fired or getting a lot of work, much more than usual? " he asked you, massaging your chest through the fabric of your shirt, forbidding you to wear any additional fabric in his office in the form of a jacket, vest or dressing gown, " I think it would be better for them to do more work than usual" you say, swallowing, having already learned that your words could often acquire weight and leave employees with torn nerves and a nervous breakdown, or, which was rare, because the company needed employees, to throw out completely poorly working people from the company.

But the worst part, as you convinced yourself, even though you were grinning nervously alone, was remembering the events that happened to you when you unknowingly flirted with some of the staff, leaving Dr. Harley in a bad mood. What can you say? He was furious. You could get used to the compressions that left bruises on your body later. But you couldn't get used to the man's jealousy when you re-entered his office, kicking off your heels and closing the door, as per the usual ritual. You wouldn't have entered this room knowing what was waiting for you. In less than 15 minutes, you were standing on trembling legs, leaning your torso on the table, not completely, but only with your waist and arms, whimpering and slightly swaying your hips from how pleasantly and painfully the elastic and smooth head of the vibrator slid, caressing your femininity, and the body of your boss pressed close did not give you a chance to move. And all I can do is choke on moans and sobs. Sometimes getting slapped on the hips, you twitched, whining, but rather from how at such moments it was pleasant and humiliating for a toy to torment your clitoris, pressing against your labia, but focusing on a lump of nerves, bringing you to tears and removing the vibrating object from your body again when you had a little bit left before climax, and your natural lubricant was already flowing down your legs, staining the floor. "Repeat what a good assistant should do and how he should treat his boss, even if he is not in charge of the company, but in charge of a subordinate" the man whispered threateningly in your ear, hearing with sadistic pleasure your hoarse apologies for allegedly cheating, which you did not allow, but in the perverted mind of the elder, you could do anything wrong, just to untie his hands and give him a reason to torment you and bring you to the edge of ecstasy. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Dr. Sawyer" you apologized in a trembling voice, moaning, rolling your eyes with treacherous pleasure when men's hands squeeze your bare breasts thanks to your removed shirt and bra, which makes you bite your tongue, which you shouldn't have talked much to other people, while your knees are weak from rough play with your nipples. "Please forgive my assistant, I will never again pay so much attention to those who do not deserve anything, but I will give all my attention only to the genius of science and surgery, you, Harley Sawyer" you begged with a hoarse voice, pleasing his ego, rolling your eyes when the toy returned to your clitoris. get the long-awaited orgasm, but the doctor's silence never ended such evenings of punishment and obedience. You could only lie down on the table with your chest, trying to catch your breath, and with excitement and horror you could hear the sound of your fly being unfastened and the almost lightning-fast pressing of the elder's erection with a languid sigh, which meant that for you it was not at all the end of re-education.

"You got what you wanted. You're not overworking anymore" the man said carelessly, holding you in his arms, while Rob ran a pencil over a piece of paper, drawing out different poses for an entity called "Yarnaby." "Yes, it's true and I'm grateful to you for that, but maybe you'll still give me at least a little contact with the staff, I spend time with you from morning until late at night" you timidly answer, looking away and not daring to get up from someone else's lap while his head rests on your shoulder. your shoulder, and your back is pressed against his chest. You hold your breath, hearing that grin right in your ear again, "Is there something you don't like, Y/N? You really wanted to avoid running around platforms and seeing the smirks of some employees. I'm just fulfilling your wish. "he was saying, which made your toes feel a little tight, because even though he fulfilled your wish, he did it in such a sophisticated way and turned everything around to his advantage, as always. Once again, you were left without the opportunity to argue your answer, sighing and continuing to rest in strangely caring and proper hands. You could only bite your cheek and reflect that both you and the young man know about your situation with trying to appear as a higher person in other people's eyes and that Harley would use this against you every time you had at least one thought about leaving him. Only sometimes, glancing at the notes on different sheets left at some time to the owners of this office, you are distracted from dark thoughts. And an intriguing question for you was - who is Riley and why do I need to check her every day on.. bouts of aggression?

You were distraught when you were fired from your job right after Sawyer went missing. You couldn't answer what hurt you more, the fact that he ran away, the fact that you were fired because of him or because of his possible report on you, because if he's not in the workplace, then you shouldn't be either. At least that's what he kept saying when he dragged her into his bed, arguing that if he had a day off, so did you. And it means that you will limp again later in the evening from making love to him. But now. You were broken and confused, returning to the apartment, which was now so lonely without yours.. A lover? You didn't even know what kind of relationship you were in with him before he disappeared. That's all you could say for sure. You've become more attached to him than you planned, wanted, or could have been.. It scared you and made you cry without the affection of your beloved doctor. And his sometimes persistent kisses.

But here. After almost a few years, returning to the factory with your employee, having overcome so many dangers and living creatures that you saw only with children and only with smiles, thinking that they were harmless. You could only realize with horror that all this was an illusion, and judging by the tapes that you listened to with bated breath with your colleague, each of the experiments suffered. And you suffered the same way because of your former boss Sawyer, which made your heart sink into your heels and you were ready to collapse on the floor, not realizing that you had always been so close to a real monster.

And now. While you heard your friend running away from the mechanical bodies, you only screamed faintly into the fabric of your skirt, which was torn off at your bottom and covered your mouth from the way the wires bound your body, tightening the same on your miniature figure, clasping your hands behind your back again, while other bare wires slid over your though and a body covered with clothes, but still sensitive to weak electric shocks. And these blows were imitation kisses, while you stared wide-eyed at the humanoid creature standing above you, not allowing you to move or get up from the table on which you were sitting like a prisoner. Just the way he likes it... You just stared with horror in your eyes at the TV, which displayed a single eye that described all your features and the fact that you had hardly changed in any way over the years. His mechanical hand rests on your chin and with deliberate tenderness presses on it, forcing you to swallow out of habit from the learned signal sign - to be closer to the boss, which you do, leaning towards the figure, not even giving yourself an account of the actions, but only mechanically doing the work itself. "I've been waiting for you for so long, my beloved assistant. You've missed and missed me too much, Y/N, but don't worry. I won't leave you alone anymore. Never. "

[wendichester]

I need to ask because I want someone else’s perspective on this, what kind of nicknames do you think dean would say to his significant other? I feel like baby/babe would be more like sam to say to his own significant other—at least to me, I might be wrong, idk—i feel like if they’re alone, maybe dean would call his significant other something cheesy, but if someone else is around, I believe he would keep it “classic”, like sweetheart. Maybe I think that way bc dean’s Impala is named baby, but now I don’t know, rn I’m kind of spiraling about this nonsense and confusing myself lol

okay but this is such a good question! i love you for sending me this 🩷

in my opinion, dean is definitely a nickname kinda guy. from the way he casually calls every single woman he runs into sweetheart, darlin', or doll to the fact that he saves crowley's contact as 666 (or even something as simple as calling sam sammy all the damn time), it's clear that pet names or nicknames are second nature to him. they're a part of his charm, almost a mix of flirtation, habitat and a means of keeping people at arm's length while still making them feel special--at least on the surface.

now, when it comes to someone who actually matters, someone he's built something real with, I feel like the nicknames would evolve.

in the early stages--when you're just friends--dean would probably lean into playful teasing nicknames, especially if there's an inside joke between the two. he'd find something unique, something that sticks. mostly likely something to get under your skin in that smug, shit-eating way of his. i see him as someone who'd use brat a lot. sunshine if dealing with someone chipper (specially in the mornings). names like these. simple, commonly used, but that he'd only use for you and you only. these would be casual, easy to throw out around sam or even strangers, because at this stage, there's no real vulnerability attached to them. sometimes, he'd used them even in a annoyed or slight mocking tone.

but as things progressed--as you became his person--the pet names would grow more intimate, more meaningful. he'd still keep the classics because those would never really leave his vocabulary, but they'd be spoken in a softer and affectionate way. babygirl seems like something he'd often use, something that rolls off his tongue when he pulls you close or murmurs in your ear. i can also see beautiful slipping through his lips when he's feeling completely lost in infatuation, but only in private--never in front of sam, never in a moment where he might get caught being too soft. i feel like, despite everything, dean would continue guarding his emotions around his lil bro. the idea of being vulnerable in front of him still unnerving.

now i definitely agree with you on the baby one. it just feels off-limits. baby belongs to the Impala and we all know how Dean is nothing if not sentimental when it comes to his car. if he'd ever say it, he'd either have to be wasted, dead tired, or caught up in the heat of the moment where the word would just slip. babe on the other hand, i could see it being used when he's frustrated--an exasperated "babe, c'mon!" when he's losing patience or he's trying to reason with you.

overall, i think dean's pet names would reflect your relationship and how close/intimate you are with him. to the rest of the world they would seem like nothing--just another layer of his charm--but to you, they'd be something deeper. something special. a way of saying I see you, you're mine, you matter. without ever having to say those words out loud

p.s. did i get too carried away with this? 100% but I have no friends to discuss supernatural with irl so--please share your thoughts with me and send me more questions ehe 😙

[brain4stew]

Hi!Can you please make a chance,shedletsky,007,and 1x4 with a robot reader?Like theyre basically a walking four leaf clover(their ability gives people luck basically)And is also able to heal????TYSM i love your fics!!!!!

Hi, hi anon! So glad you like my fics!! Full honesty, the fics were my first ever fics I have written! 🫶

I’ll see what I can do with your request, anon!

(Reminder; I do not entirely know the characters personalities and etc, so they might if not most likely will be OOC!!)

That being said! Here’s the headcanons/something after the cut! ;

(Since 1x4 is the only killer, I’ll start with him first!)

(1x1x1x1)

• You infuriate him in every round you’re against him. Stop healing and giving the survivors luck!

• You’re somehow extremely lucky to not be hit by his “Mass infection” and “entanglement”, or else your system would malfunction.

• You did get hit by it once, and had to immediately find 007n7 or Builderman, so they could fix you.

• But, how unfortunate for you… Everyone of your survivor teammates are dead, and your system is basically… Fckd.

• You get somewhere high ground, and try and fix yourself, unbeknownst to you, that 1x1x1x1 is watching.

• Why hasn’t he killed you, you may ask? You’re interesting to the embodiment of hatred. You aren’t a human, or some annoying thing with two lives, you’re a robot!

• When you do manage to fix yourself, you’re somehow met face to face with him. 1x1x1x1. He’s just, staring at you.

• You, unsure what to do or say at the moment, were about to speak, but you don’t manage to. As the round ends, transporting you both back to your lobbies.

• You’re confused, so you immediately go to find either 007n7 or Builderman, so they can help you with your system and check over your mechanical body.

• 1x1x1x1, who hasn’t said or even moved a single muscle since he got back to the killer lobby, has gotten pieces of your code from his abilities.

• You intrigue and infuriate him, little robot. ♡

(Survivors)

(Chance)

• Chance absolutely loves having you around him. You’re his lucky robot!

• He always tests his luck whenever you have given other survivors luck. (Spoiler; the luck kept going back and forth between him and the other survivor. 😭)

• In rounds, he doesn’t flip his coin right away. He immediately goes to find you.

• When he finds you, and is near you, he feels lucky, but, he asks you to give him luck. Which, you do. Then, and only then, does he flip his coin, getting good stats, and only weakness VI, with 3 charges.

• He shoots the killer when the killer is too close for comfort of you and him, and it lands its shot. (The killer kind of got sent flying into a wall by that shot…)

• Of course, whenever he’s injured, he trusts you more than Elliot, which, you find a bit strange, as you specialize in luck giving more than healing. But, you don’t complain and heal him.

• When the round is over, and you’re both back in the lobby, he’s quite exhausted from running and walking around. He, jokingly, asks you to carry him to the couch.

• …You carry him. Bridal style. He’s embarrassed, flustered and shocked. He didn’t expect you to actually do it!! (He’s not complaining about it… He secretly likes it…)

• Go easy on the poor gambler, little robot. ♡

(Shedletsky)

• He helped both Builderman and 007n7 with your code, but not too much.

• You constantly have to remind him of his health, which, he finds a bit annoying, but he doesn’t say or do anything about it.

• He loves it when you give him luck in rounds, he manages to hit the killers more faster for some reason!

• Whenever he’s out of his fried chicken, he goes to you to heal up, as he’s had enough to eat, and doesn’t want pizza’s from Elliot…

• Again, you find it odd, but oh well, you don’t question it. You heal him up, earning a “Thank you” from him.

• When the rounds are over, he’s almost passing out everytime and everywhere.

• You end up carrying him, and he doesn’t even complain or just doesn’t have the energy to fight back. (Not that he can do much about it anyway…)

• Watch over him, little robot, he might be in trouble, if it’s not for you. ♡

(007n7)

• He was the main person for your code, with a little help from Shedletsky and Builderman.

• He originally wanted to program you to watch over, and take care of C00lkidd for him, but decided against it.

• You’re mostly always around him or Builderman, in case your system malfunctions or something.

• In rounds, he doesn’t need to go to you, as he knows he and you’ll be alright.

• (He won’t be alright, the killer is his son… How unfortunate for 007n7, to see C00lkidd, yet again…)

• He’s hurt, of course. He first thought of going to Elliot, but, he’s dead unfortunately. So he goes to search for you!

• You have just given Guest 1337 luck, to block, punch and charge more quickly and correctly, before you finally spot him.

• You rush towards him, and pick him up, running to a more safer and hidden place, before healing him. (He’s very grateful for it, but you didn’t have to CARRY him!)

• Once back at the lobby, he goes to check on your system, and check if anything is wrong. He finds that a wire of yours has gone aflame, and tells you to go to Builderman, out of worry.

• You insist you will be fine, but, the stern glare he gives you, somehow scared you. So, you relented and went.

• Perhaps he likes you, little robot! ♡

[hxrsheykisses]

I’ve been following this acc for a bit and I LOVE your writing and how you characterize the boys, I was wondering if I could request an oc x canon fic (My main man CJ x Josh,,,) All his info is pinned on my blog! >:333

Awwww!!! This oc is so creative! I love the design!♥️ i’m glad that I can finally get to this request since I got sick before I could even get a draft started up. I love writing for Josh SOOOO much, he’s so underrated and whenever I see OC X CANONS of him my world just brightens. I really hope I got your oc right… I get really anxious with these ocs x canons because I don’t want to mischaracterize the c LOLOL!!! Thank you so much for requesting!!♥️💋💋

🩷 SPECIAL | CJ TAKAHARA X JOSH LEVY 🧡

CJ was cool.

Ever since he joined in with the club, it was a new thing for Josh and the other members. They never met someone who had a crazy passion for Karate—something that wasn’t technically put into play in the club. Everyone had their personally views on CJ being the newest member in the club.

Josh had a few that ran deep.

CJ is that type of kid who may look relaxed and easygoing—which is true. But as soon as you spark up about one of his interests, he talks about it in such a way where you can see that CJ loves his passions, he lives on his passions, and he isn’t afraid to show it off or tell it. Josh found that to be a fascinating character trait. He too was passionate about his nerdy interests but it wasn’t like he had anyone else to talk to death about them besides his so called friends. He liked the fact that CJ didn’t care if some of these people who got an earful from him about his passions didn’t know jack about him, they will hear it and get to know CJ as a person.

CJ is confident.

Josh envies CJ for this one. CJ is loud and lets everyone know who he is. If he was a stranger a second ago, he sure won’t be now because he’ll let everyone know that he has talent. He has the potential. He has the ability. He is willing to show out for anyone who spares a moment—just a moment. That feeling of accomplishment runs deep. CJ isn’t afraid—he’s fearless. He doesn’t let anyone tell him that his successes are a waste of time because he believes that it’s not true. CJ is everything that Josh isn’t and wants to be. It’s a tough pill to swallow but it draws Josh in more. He wants to listen to whatever CJ is spouting about when nobody else would and he’d remember every single thing.

CJ talks a lot.

And Josh loves a long talking session. Oh, he loves them so much. He does it everytime when he gets the chance too during club. The guys aren’t as good when it comes to listening into what Josh had to say unless it included something about a tape or a comic that shows female anatomy, they’d get a rush for that, no duh. But with CJ? He’s able to talk. He’s able to go into detail. He’s able to go on and on.

CJ gets the same respect back. Josh loves hearing what CJ has to say. Whether it’s about his all time favorite action movie, something that happened in karate, how he learned how to play a character from Mortal Kombat or Street Fighter, the new fighting techniques he learnt—Josh wants to hear it all. Josh yearns to hear about the latest details of anything that CJ has for him and he savors it every single time.

…

…CJ is—

“Hey! Are you watching?”

Josh audibly gasped as he jerked a little bit, shaking his head to bring himself out of the daze he was in. “Oh—Oh, yeah! I-I’m watching!” Josh said quickly, readjusting his glasses. He had forgotten that CJ was going to show off one of his newest techniques he learned from watching this choreography video last night.

CJ put his hands on his hips as he gave Josh a look. “Really?” He asked flatly. “These techniques aren’t easy to do, y’know!”

“I know! I’m sorry, okay? I was just thinking! I’m for real watching right now.” Josh encouraged CJ to get back into his original stance in the middle of the mat on the floor, sitting upright and watching CJ intently just so that he knew that Josh was giving him his full attention.

…CJ is special.

CJ has a lot of talent—amazing talent. His love for Karate is what puts all the pieces together, it’s what makes CJ—CJ. Josh was always the first one to get to see these new skills that CJ had picked up on and he felt honored. He enjoyed seeing the determination on CJ’s face as he prepared himself. It felt kinda like a movie, an action movie at that. It also a little intense in a good way and that’s how Josh liked it. The various moves CJ did looked like something straight out of a comic. It had so much perfection, stealth, and most importantly—focus. During these times is where Josh finally shuts his mouth for a moment so that CJ can concentrate. The silence is breathtaking as Josh watches with astonishment each time.

After CJ finished up with the choreography, Josh would lift both of his hands and clap. “Holy shit? That was insane!” Josh exclaimed. “And what did you say that move was?”

CJ let out a slow sigh leave his lips before replying, “That was a Jumping Back Kick I just did! I spent hours perfecting this yesterday night so now I remember it like the back of my hand.” CH proudly boasted in triumph. “It was practically light work!”

“That was…amazing. Especially since you learnt it just yesterday! CJ—how come your not a black belt yet?” Josh asked. Josh was still in much disbelief at how CJ wasn’t a black belt yet, this seems like black belt level techniques!

CJ felt his heart skip a beat at Josh’s words. He fidgeted with the orange belt that was wrapped around his waist as he looked away for a second. As crazy as it sounded, CJ never really got compliments—he’d get them—but not as much as he thinks he should. Karate is a hard sport and it takes time, effort, and patience. He wishes that more people would see that. He’s grateful that Josh understands that and knows that Karate isn’t just some sport where you do some easy techniques and call it a day. It’s so much more than that—and Josh knew. CJ shook off the thought with a toothy grin. “I’ve been wondering the same thing! But it is what is… someone needs to stay back and teach my peers how to do some hand and kicking techniques!”

Yeah, CJ is one of a kind.

[leonawriter]

I have another (bigger) post in the works, but the concept and argument of "Would things have gone better if Angela had been allowed to be kind to the Sephirah?" keeps sticking in my head, because I have my own arguments against it based on the setting and the concept of the Seed of Light Scenario.

(Post has spoilers for the end LobCorp/LoR.)

Thing is, going through Angela's memories in LoR makes what she went through seem unreasonable. Which I think it's supposed to, since you're seeing things from her biased perspective. It's also fair to show her perspective; she's the main character of her game, and as she herself points out, she's the only one who didn't get her own catharsis and conclusion from Lobotomy Corporation (an argument can also be made for Ayin himself not having a perfect conclusion, but that's for another time, and other people have talked on it).

The problem with Angela being able to simply be kind the way she wanted to at the start lies purely and solely in the very nature of the Seed of Light, and also in the tagline of the Corporation/game itself:

Face the Fear, Build the Future.

In order for each of the Sephirah to "Face their Fear," each one has to break the veneer of their shell, have their meltdown, and air their ugliest thoughts.

In other words.... the selves that they have as Sephirah - Gabriel vs. Yesod, Daniel vs. Chesed, for example - are masks for their insecurities and traumas. "In the past, [x trait] caused me to fail, therefore I will have nothing to do with that trait and be better that way."

In that sense, Angela encouraging them to be the best that they can be as Sephirah is encouraging them to remain happily in their own masks, not requiring them to take said masks off, and in theory things could remain the way they are like that in perpetuity (ironically, much like Hokma wanted in his meltdown).

Sure, they'd get what they want... but would they be getting what they need?

Answer says No, Not Really. With a loud buzzer. And flashing lights.

Because what was that tagline again?

Face the Fear, Build the Future.

In order to face the fear, you have to accept that it exists in the first place. The first step to solving your problems is to recognise them.

You have to, quite literally, face your fears. The Sephirah had to each face the fact that they were running away from their problems.

Only by remembering who they were (in the correct way) and allowing them to process the grief, despair, rage, and turmoil of their past selves could they hope to accept that fully, and to build themselves into better versions of who they are, starting from that moment on.

It's pretty much a certainty that Ayin, who studied the brain, who almost certainly knew a lot about psychology, and who would have listened to the specialities of the others, would have had all of this in mind while writing the Script.

So like... yeah. Yeah, it IS cruel to Angela. Unconscionably cruel!

Personally I abide by this being part of the reason (much like how he couldn't face the others while they were dying) why he could never look at Angela the way she wanted him to; much like with them, he could see the suffering she was going [to] go through, and couldn't face her.

All of which is the reason why Library of Ruina was necessary for her own character development. She is justifiably upset over never having been given the same catharsis in Lobotomy Corporation - but with how much anger she has at Ayin, would she have accepted him trying to help her? No matter how different she could tell that he had become? I highly doubt it.

I think that it's only because she herself had, by the end, gone through an arc similar to Ayin's, where she (knowingly or not) follows the footsteps of both of her "parents" that she's able to hear Ayin saying "I'm sorry, and good job" at all. She's reached a point where she's able to see more of who Carmen truly is (a bad influence) and who Ayin was outside of some of her own biases (even if she hasn't forgiven him).

[infiniteeight8]

When Tony said he wanted Stephen to get him pregnant, it was more of a spur of the moment “I’m about to cum and saying dirty things.” But when Stephen brings him a spell that would actually allow him to carry a child… well, you get where I’m going with this ;)

This is actually not a sequel to the breeding kink ficlet from a while back. It came in as a prompt well before I posted that! So this is in its own universe.

It also got a bit emotional. But good emotional!

-

Stephen has been squirrely ever since he joined Tony in the Sanctum sitting room, his duties for the day nominally done. Tony is dying to ask, but while that sometimes works with Stephen, sometimes it just makes him clam up harder. So he makes himself wait. 

Eventually, Stephen huffs a quiet breath, firmly sets his book aside, and says, “I know that things said in the middle of sex don’t always mean anything.”

Oh, this is going to be good. Tony closes the program he’d been working on. “Not always,” he agrees. “But sometimes.”

“Right.” Stephen nods firmly. “So if this is one of the times it didn’t mean anything, please just say so. But. Just in case it did mean something, I found a spell.”

“You’re going to have to be more specific,” Tony says. He smirks. “I say a lot of things during sex.” What can he say, he’s a talker.

Stephen snorts a laugh, but leans over to the side table and retrieves a book there. Not the one he was reading before, a different one. He opens it to a marked page and leans across the space between their armchairs to hand it to Tony.

It takes Tony a minute to understand what the spell is getting at. When he does, his breath catches. “Is this a spell to let a man carry a child?”

“Yes.”

Tony stares at the words on the page. It really had just been dirty talk. Tony made peace with being childless a long time ago. But… he’s always wanted kids. He rarely said so, because people tended to respond by commenting on how unsuited he is to parenthood, but he’s wanted them. And now… now Stephen apparently thinks Tony would be a good enough father that he went to special effort to find a way to make it happen even though no one, Tony included, would ever have expected them to produce kids of their own. 

Tony blinks hard, a little startled when tears run onto his cheeks. He looks up at Stephen, who looks worried. 

“Good tears?” Stephen asked carefully.

“You really want to do this with me?” Tony asks, a little roughly.

Stephen smiles carefully. “I really do.”

Tony laughs and swipes at his eyes. “Then yeah. Very good tears.”

[annasmafroo]

I felt silly

MERCS ON THE ROLLERCOASTER

Scout: is acting brave in front of you, puffing his chest, all hero-like and saying that this ride is for BABIES, but the moment the cart sets off he screams like a little girl for the duration of the whole ride. Would again be acting brave and saying that the ride wasn't a big deal when it ends. Would come up with a million excuses not to go again tho.

Soldier: LET ME SHOW YOU HOW A REAL MAN RIDES THE ROLLERCOASTER. Screams until he's hoarse. So that Rollercoaster is afraid of him instead!!! Take that! He IS having fun tho. Would be overly eager to go again and will drag everyone he manages to grab with him. You included. Pyro: SO HAPPY ABOUT THE RIDE, is giggling and letting out excited cries during the ride with hands in the air and all that. Gets kitten-like hiccups that haunt him after the ride but the fun was worth it. You will need to restrain Pyro from running to the cart for another ride because they might get sick. Yes, it happened before. Demoman: NO. Don't let that man on the ride ever, unless you're evil enough to want to cause a major chaos with everyone needing a doctor and to dump their clothing into the dirty laundry. By the end of the ride he won't bat an eye and say it was fun. Better take him there when he's sober. Would be a special occasion, indeed. Jokes aside, he'd have great fun, he'd especially love the feeling of wind against his face. Heavy: Probably never tried one before. Doesn't get the fun at first but somewhere in the middle of it starts to enjoy himself a lot, chuckling and having fun. Would feel a little dizzy afterwards but still it was great fun for him and he'd be thankful that he got coaxed into trying the rollercoaster. Engineer: He's having fun! But he gets very quiet when it ends... He's thinking. What if he built his own insane ass rollercoaster?! Accepting requests from other mercs on what to add. This will be hell on earth and you contributed to it by taking him on the ride. Medic: Gladly agrees for the ride and has fun, he's a simple man. Would talk for an unhealthy amount of time with the park's staff about the rollercoaster incidents, fatal mostly, and if they ever happened in their park. Please, take this man by the hand and lead him away before he asks the ticket lady if he can scoop what's left of someone if the next ride is gonna end up in tragedy. Sniper: Surprisingly, genuinely terrified but tries his bloody best not to show it in front of you and other mercs (he wants you to have fun and the mercs not to MAKE fun of him). Being somewhere up high to scope in and wait is ONE thing but falling down at extreme speed even in safety of the rollercoaster cart is a whole different shit. Holds onto his hat for dear life. DOESN'T want one more ride. Spy: Isn't a big fan of rollercoasters. No enthusiasm for it. But if you want to, he will go there. Has his fun purely because he enjoys seeing you happy. The ride leaves him with a nice warm feeling in his chest because he gets to see you smile.

[defectivevillain]

underestimated

pairing: House/Reader (no explicit romance)

reader is referred to with they/them pronouns. otherwise, race is ambiguous and no physical descriptors are used.

word count: 1.6k | ao3 version

author's notes: I have no idea what I'm doing when it comes to this fandom. I've never watched the series—I've only watched Trixie and Katya watch it.

But I have a weakness for arrogant savant doctors who are given a swift reality check when they experience a career-threatening disability. Cough cough, Stephen Strange. Cough cough, Lawrence Gordon.

We knew this was going to happen eventually. I've outrun my fate for long enough.

Enjoy!

“I’d like to speak with another doctor. One with more experience. Who’s your supervisor?”

Everything around you seems to grind to a halt, as you stare at your patient’s father in disbelief. You went through years of schooling; participated in extensive specialized training; and incurred an ungodly amount of student debt to finally earn your reputation as a doctor… All for someone to disrespect you in a single breath? You stare at the man for a long moment, swearing you can hear your ears ringing as you process just what he had the audacity to say to you. 

Due to your relatively young age, you’ve been forced to grow accustomed to skeptical looks and backhanded remarks. You’ve been confused for a nurse more times than you can count, despite the undeniable fact that you wear a doctor’s coat instead of scrubs. There have been many times when you felt as if you were being subtly judged, but never has someone had the gall to blatantly disrespect you like this. 

Realizing you’ve been stewing in silence for longer than socially appropriate, you mutter an excuse to leave before departing from the room. You grit your teeth and try not to notice how quickly your heart is racing in your chest. You’re so concentrated on the frustration brewing in your chest that you aren’t watching where you’re going, and you accidentally bump shoulders with someone. 

“Hey, watch it, speedster.” Broken from your thoughts, you look over to find Dr. House staring at you in mild amusement. You feel an ugly emotion stewing in your chest at the thought of what you need to request of him. 

“My patient needs you.” You manage to choke out. There are a plethora of negative emotions running through you now: anger, shame, frustration, disbelief. You’ve been underestimated before, but never so overtly. It feels like a slap to the face. 

House lets out a loud sigh. “What have I told you?” He says, shaking his head in annoyance. “Everyone needs me. They’ll have to get in line.” He waves flippantly with his free hand. 

“No, I mean-” You choke off, struggling to keep your composure. You take a slow breath, pretending not to notice how the doctor’s gaze intensifies in its scrutiny. “His parents asked for my supervisor.”

House stares at you for several long moments, studying your face as if looking for any traces of dishonesty. When he doesn’t find anything, he frowns. “They did?”

You nod. Your fists clench at your sides as you struggle to fight off your distress. This shouldn’t be bothering you as much as it is. You shouldn’t care what anyone has to say about you—least of all, two complete strangers. That recognition does nothing to rid you of your spiraling thoughts, however. “They wanted to speak to someone with more experience.” You remember to say. Your voice sounds a bit hollow, but you can’t tell if you’re imagining that. 

Dr. House stares at you for several seconds. “Ordinarily I’d say I’m much too busy,” he reasons, leaning on his cane as a speculative expression passes across his face. “But, would you look at that? My schedule has suddenly cleared up.”

There’s a vindictive glimmer in his eyes now and you quickly try to backtrack. “House, it’s fine. I’ll go get Dr. Cuddy or something-” You suggest, suddenly a bit nervous. 

Dr. House interjects before you can make any more excuses. “What room is your patient assigned to?” He questions, not even bothering to acknowledge your weak justifications. 

“213.” You respond. 

“Excellent.” He says, his eyes already set on the end of the corridor. House has already made up his mind—it’s too late for you to object. You’re forced to watch regretfully as he heads down the hall towards your patient. You can only hope you haven’t just made a big mistake.

Dr. Gregory House enjoys having a staff that isn’t entirely useless. He never would’ve described them so positively before—but maybe you have something to do with that. Ever since House hired you, he’s been a little less annoyed at work. It’s hard for most people to notice, but Cuddy and Wilson are particularly perceptive in that regard. He has learned to ignore their jabs and inquiries, despite knowing the facts of the matter. 

You were the only one of the newer employees who didn’t undergo House’s rather extensive examination and hiring process. In actuality, you had attended the first day of the “examinations”—but you had approached him at the end of the day with the intent to drop out of the process. 

House still remembers the humble confidence you wielded in that moment—the certainty in your eyes as you met his gaze and asserted your self-worth. It stunned him for a moment, truthfully, before he found himself weirdly impressed. When he asked for further elaboration, your points were quick and concise: you felt as if a standard interview process would be a suitable portrayal of your abilities; and you asserted you weren’t going to fight to change someone’s perceptions of you. 

Intrigued, House interrogated you about your background: where your residency was located, what specialties you were interested in, and what kind of position you were looking for. He hadn’t realized it at the time, but you essentially tricked him into a genuine interview—without him even realizing it. Of course, you couldn’t have predicted that you would capture his attention. Even so, he found your strategy both clever and well-executed. 

It wasn’t until Dr. Cuddy entered the room nearly forty minutes later, wondering what was taking House so long, that he was truly convinced. House saw you slowly begin to retreat as Cuddy spoke to him, as if you were about ready to slip out of the room and leave the building for good. House didn’t want that to happen—didn’t want your talent to go to waste. That was how he found himself with a new doctor on his staff: one both competent and, even better, unassuming. You didn’t try too hard to be social with him, evidently recognizing that he had no desire for friendship. Maybe that was why he felt drawn to you. 

And perhaps that’s why he’s angry at the thought of your abilities being doubted. House knows you well enough to recognize that you make very few mistakes. There’s no doubt that the parents of your patient underestimated you because of your age. You’re relatively young for a doctor—if House remembers correctly, you were able to graduate from undergraduate schooling early and earn a dual degree. Even so, you’re infuriatingly competent. And the thought of you facing unfounded suspicion is enough to send him down the hall and into the patient’s room with renewed vigor. 

He knocks on the door harshly and practically throws it open, setting his eyes on the parents who created this whole mess. “You’re going to wish you hadn’t said anything.” He says in lieu of a greeting, closing the door behind him with a bit more force than necessary. “You had the ray of sunshine; I’m the dark clouds. Or the torrential downpour. Whatever fits.”

“Sorry?” The mother asks in confusion. 

“Right, let me put it in layman’s terms,” House continues, tapping his cane impatiently. “I’m a bastard. An asshole, even.” He states plainly. 

“This doesn’t seem-” The patient’s father tries to say, glancing at his young son. 

“Appropriate?” House interjects. “Yet you thought it appropriate to harass my helpless staff and demand another, more experienced doctor. So here I am. Dr. House, Head of the Diagnostics Department. No need to bow.”

The parents are stunned silent. Satisfied, House continues. “I made sure to fact-check the good doctor’s work—an unnecessary precaution, because it’s all in order.” The parents have the self-awareness to look embarrassed at that. House muses on what he reviewed with you only moments ago. You hadn’t said anything even mildly accusatory, of course; House isn’t so kind, however. He looks the parents in the eyes. “Your son’s illness is entirely your fault. You didn’t get him vaccinated, probably because you fell prey to some bullshit fear-mongering. Now, you feel guilty about it… You lashed out at the doctor, who can actually do something to help your son… It all checks out.” He nods. 

Both of the patient’s parents seem lost for words. House decides to take advantage of their momentary silence. “Now, you have two choices.” He drawls. “If you have anything resembling a brain in that head of yours, you’ll apologize to the doctor and I’ll approve the script they recommended.” 

The parents are quick to catch onto what he’s implying. “Is that a threat?” The father asks disbelievingly. 

He’s tired of this conversation already. It takes a concerted effort for him to focus on the matter at hand. “Now I’ll be taking my leave.” House announces, no longer bothering to hide his irritation. “The doctor will return in a few minutes. If you can behave, then your son will stop whining.” He pauses in the doorway for a moment, before turning to look at them once more. “And keep it down. Your voice is grating enough to give a deaf person a headache.”  

Dr. House finds you no more than five minutes later, an unreadable expression on his face. “They’ve been euthanized.” House states with unwavering certainty as he approaches you. Before you can wonder just what the hell that means, he’s already continuing down the hall. You stare after him with mixed feelings, before turning back around and heading to Room 213. 

When you return, you find that the parents are completely different people now. They apologize to you for their rude behavior and promise not to make harmful assumptions in the future; satisfied with their apology, you continue with treatment as planned. As you’re writing a prescription for the patient, you can’t quite stop the smile that’s rising on your lips at the thought of House defending you—even in his own twisted, antagonistic, patronizing way. 

©2025, @defectivevillain | @defectivehero, All Rights Reserved. Reblogs are greatly appreciated—just don't steal or share outside of Tumblr, please.

thanks for reading! <3

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[adutchlover]

Post the fic summary for a fic you haven't written/published yet. It can be hypothetical or something you really plan on releasing...

This is a snippet from a plot where Charles is a salesman at a Ferrari dealership and Max wants to buy a new car 👀

“You’re the first one I’m showing her.”

This time, he speaks as if introducing a bride to her mother and brothers, and his voice carries a hint of reverence that he doesn’t bother to hide. It’s fascination, the name.

“She’s not mine, but I confess I might be a little jealous of this one.” The sentence is accompanied by a smile that forms a dimple on the left, and before he can hold back, he adds, “I think only someone special deserves to drive her.”

Max Verstappen turns his face toward him, his eyes gleaming with something that Charles can’t quite identify, just like the tone from earlier. The blonde doesn’t respond immediately; instead, he runs his hand across the steering wheel again, his fingers securing themselves on the paddle shifter in shades of gray. The blonde secures the control in place with such ease that it makes Charles feel warm, and teases in a low voice, “Maybe I’m that person?”

Charles feels his face heat up but decides to play along. “There’s only one way to find out,” he says, moving like a clever cat and adjusting his seatbelt before casting an expectant look toward Max Verstappen.

The blonde calmly adjusts his seatbelt, licking his lips before reaching for the ignition button on the steering wheel. The engine roars to life, filling the space with a powerful sound that echoes around them, and both of them smile. Max Verstappen, for the first time, does so more openly as he hears the sound of the V12, revealing the beautiful crescents forming in his eyes — a detail that Charles, inexplicably, wishes to reach. Charles smiles too, not just for the engine’s sound, but for the awareness of the moment, feeling capable, if only for an instant, of forgetting everything except the man beside him.

[pokepollsters]

Lumi Plays Pokémon: White 2 Bug Monotype Run- Part 11

With the newly named Volcarona on our side, it's time to take the Pokémon World Tournament by storm!

Can we overcome Driftveil's mightiest and come out on top? (Yes we can, for some reason they're all level 25??)

The squad for the tournament is Lava Cake, Gumball, and Drumstick!

Lava Cake was suggested by @joltiksforbrains (the artist behind this gorgeous piece!) I love both the food reference and also the firey name! I just had to pick it with the image of Lava Cake being the proverbial icing on the cake that is the team!

Shout out to Godiva, a very good suggestion from @latyus that I only didn't go with because I didn't really want a brand name? But the reference to Volcarona's past worship was excellent!

Anyway, Lava Cake breezed through Boot, Cheren, and finally Colress with only a little support from the other two! She's definitely proving herself already, as she wins us the tournament and a single BP? They seem to skimp on the rewards here.

With some accolades under our belt, we head out on our way to Route 6, but we're stopped dead in our tracks by Team Plasma.

I switch Candy into the front to get the experience from all these battles, and we go to town! Several battles later, including a multi battle each with Cheren and Boot, and Team Plasma give up. Still, we're kicked out after meeting Zinzolin for the first time- a chilly man if ever there was one.

Boot is characteristically upset-

-but there's nothing to be done, so we head out for Route 6.

Candy stays in the lead because just one more battle later, he gets enough exp for...

Evolution!!! Our sweet lil rock Candy has grown up. I take a moment to go to the move relearner and get Shell Smash for Candy. Now we're really cooking! Congrats lil guy.

Route 6 continues, we're suddenly interrupted by Cheren telling us about the weather? It's okay though, because he gives us an important HM!

No one on the team can learn it, but I picked up a Ducklett earlier for this purpose, whenever we need to cross some water.

Route 6 keeps surprising with encounters though! A surprising face pops up, before quickly disappearing.

We'll be keeping an eye out for Cobalion in the future I suppose.

Finally at the end of the Route, I head into Chargestone Cave for another very important encounter.

Joltik, the final team member, has arrived! This lil guy is the last bug I wanted to grab. He's fast, a good special attacker, which we need more of, and the Electric Type will be instrumental in the next gym! We catch him, and head back to the Pokémon Centre to pick him up from the PC.

It's now we have to say goodbye to Nectarine. She's done well, but she doesn't have a place in the final squad I'm afraid. Everyone else brings more to the team, though Nectarine definitely proved her worth in Clay's gym! She gets a well earned rest now.

So for the last time- we need a name! I look forward to seeing what you come up with for our tiniest friend yet.

Next time, I'm planning on taking Surf around the world and grabbing items while training up the newbie! See you then!

[sageandred]

A Long Examination on The Progression of Min Ho's Feelings for Kitty:

This is a bunch of scattered thoughts I've had over time that all apply to the main topic. The progression of Min Ho's feelings are as follows: thinking he thinks he hates her -> dreaming about her -> she becomes his world the most significant person to him in the room and subsequently he falls in love with her leading up to the plane.

I need to talk about his feelings leading up to The Dream. When Min Ho first had his dream back in season one, it came as an utter shock to him, much like Kitty's, but the points that they are at in their relationship are very different; Kitty already saw him as a friend, but he didn't see or wouldn't admit that when he had his dream. The arrival of Kitty's dream goes back to that post analysis on how her feelings progress in emotional bonds and are generally prompted by friendship with a person, through knowing them to some extent and quality time for it to grow...while for Min Ho it's a turning point of realizing his attraction. Min Ho upon meeting her was convinced he hated her. He needed the signs he wouldn't acknowledge to the true direction of Kitty; it's the same with how Kitty was in denial about her feelings for him, but she already viewed him as a friend by the time her dream shocked her. Before Min Ho's dream, he quote, "found her annoying," but that is the very thing that initially drew him to Kitty even in moments he'd think there was any possibility (to his actions showing it) but. His reasoning for his dislike of Stella early into the season solidifies exactly what he appreciates about Kitty; "She's too nice," he says about Stella, but what is the subconsciousness of that statement is she doesn't challenge him. Also, like Kitty finds connection in emotional ties and deep feeling, Min Ho's dream, too, comes after he and Kitty bond for the first time over something vulnerable during Chuseok (both cooking (sharing their thoughts on their moms) and her extending her assistance by the bushes, which placed him in an embarrassing mishap/failure re:his date); they had these moments of seeing each other in a different light. It was a point of leading him in the right direction that, 'hey, this could be something that I never realized!'...even subconsciously.

However Min Ho actually was beginning to fall pretty instantly. Was it him bumping into her at the beginning of year party coupled with her eager spirit and ability to fight back in a verbal battle? Was it her fighting back in class and airing out his nickname without a second of hesitancy? What did it? These are all things that fall in line with her challenging him. We see more in season 2, she causes him to think differently and they have opposite thinking that lends to them helping each other in times of distress, which can grow to similar thinking patterns that ultimately helps them grow in the long run.

Following his dream, the episode 6 journey of him going from denial to acceptance was the beginning point of recognizing the inability to avoid his feelings for her, even if he wasn't ready to accept that yet (I don't think he recognized that he was unable to avoid his feelings for her or that he consciously accepted his feelings atp, but it's an unprompted moment where he's lacking control, and definitely for us as the audience to take note of for where his feelings lie). Yet, when he sees her doing 'nothing special', but talking to Dae (when he's watching her while she's completely unaware anyone is watching her & being her natural self in slow motion), it's special to him and the start of this "love of a lifetime," peaceful type of love where you can find adoration in the mundane, simple observations of just "seeing" the other person (for the real them).