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sunnypopoki · 3 months ago

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━ 𝐌𝐔𝐙𝐙𝐋𝐄 : P.1

(𝘠𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘔𝘢𝘧𝘪𝘢 𝘏𝘶𝘴𝘣𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘹 𝘍𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘦 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳)

𝗦𝗬𝗡𝗢𝗣𝗦𝗜𝗦: 𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘶𝘴𝘣𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘶𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺. 𝘎𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘥𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝘦𝘯𝘥, 𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘶𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘱𝘩𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘴, 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘦𝘹𝘵𝘳𝘢 𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘺 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘯… 𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶? 𝘓𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘥𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸, 𝘪𝘵’𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘧𝘪𝘢 𝘪𝘴 𝘶𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨.

ᴛᴡ: ɪɴꜱᴇᴄᴜʀᴇ ʀᴇᴀʟɪꜱᴛɪᴄ ꜰᴇᴍᴀʟᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ, ꜰᴏᴜʟ ʟᴀɴɢᴜᴀɢᴇ, ᴍᴀʀʀɪᴇᴅ ʀᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱʜɪᴘ, ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ, ᴍᴀᴛᴜʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇᴍᴇꜱ, ᴏᴠᴇʀᴛʜɪɴᴋɪɴɢ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ, ᴀꜰᴀʙ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ, ᴇᴛᴄ.

ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ʜᴀꜱ ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ. ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴍᴇᴀɴꜱ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴍᴀᴛᴜʀᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɪɴ ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴀ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ᴍᴇᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ʀᴏᴍᴀɴᴛɪᴄɪᴢᴇ ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇꜱ, ꜱᴏ ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴅᴏ ꜱᴏ ᴇɪᴛʜᴇʀ. ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ. ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ʀᴇꜱᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴘᴏᴘᴏᴋɪ ᴏɴ ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ, Qᴜᴏᴛᴇᴠ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ.

P.2 / P.3

When you first saw him, you were left breathless.

That was years ago though, back when you were a teenager in high school who was only worried about the acne on your forehead and the 'F' you got in your math class. Now, you were preparing to head into college to become a psychiatrist.

You met Kieran as a freshman and started dating him months after. You weren't sure why you started dating him at first, you couldn't remember what he said that left your cheeks on fire, but the feeling next stopped.

Kieran grumbled curses under his breath as he heaved the last of the groceries through the door. His long black hair was messier than normal, tied into a low bun that curled strands around the nape of his neck. His tanned cheeks were red from the cold outside and a button on his shirt was popped open. Did he tousle a bear to get inside? He put the items on the counter and turned to face you.

"The groceries didn't want to come inside," he mumbled.

"You didn't give me a chance to help you carry them in."

His dark green eyes softened. He didn't look at anyone else the same way he did you. There was a time after you got married that you were afraid that he'd leave you because the two of you were yet to be intimate... but he didn't seem to care. You were glad he didn't care. His arms wrapped around your waist and he pressed a chaste kiss against your forehead.

There it was again. Breathless.

"But you've been working all day, Котик," he cooed, his Russian accent thick whenever he muttered the pet name he always used for you. "You deserve to rest."

All you wanted to do was melt into his arms. You couldn't deny that some part of you already was, sinking further into his embrace, eyes closed—but something was amiss.

Ever since high school, Kieran has been odd. He was a transfer student from London but he was born and raised in Russia, so he was always the popular kid in any class he was placed in. Even after he got in trouble multiple times for delinquent behavior. Sure, his behavior was better than what he was in high school and he was mature, but he was a lot more secretive now. So secretive that he refused to tell you where he went whenever he disappeared for "business trips" for days on end.

Now, you were a trusting wife, but you weren't naive. He worked as an editor for authors and yet he disappeared for days on end because of work? Even a baby could realize that was odd!

That wasn't the only thing though.

You've only been married to Kieran for six months but you were already starting to see signs that he wasn't entirely focused on the marriage anymore. Whenever his phone rang, he scrambled to pick it up before you had a chance to answer it for him. On the days you scheduled to go on dates together, he always arrived late with his clothes tousled about and his hair was undone. Late, late, late! He always seemed to be late for every activity the two of you scheduled together. Of course, he'd apologize over and over again, but the behavior never changed.

So maybe he did look at someone else the same way he did you. The thought left a bitter taste on your tongue.

Is he cheating on me?

It was a thought you never thought you'd have with Kieran. Whenever the two of you were dating in high school, he was loyal to a fault. You couldn't erase the memory of whenever a girl started smack-talking you and he yanked her hard so hard that a chunk of hair came from the roots. Even now, looking at him and being held by him, the thought felt distant. But it was there. That gnawing worry got worse and worse each time he got a call, text message, or left the house.

Well, who'd he be cheating on you with? He refused to have female friends in school because he always claimed that you were the only "woman" he wanted in his life. Of course, you didn't care if he had female friends or not, but you doubted it was someone the two of you knew from high school.

Your jaw clenched. Maybe he's bothered I haven't been intimate with him and he's been going to see someone?

The bitter taste worsened. Making out and slight touches wasn't the same as sex, you knew that, which is why you were so nervous to do it, even if it was with him. He never rushed you and he hadn't ever made comments about it. You listened to the thudding of his heart against his chest and pursed your lips.

You couldn't bring yourself to ask him if he was cheating on you. What if he said yes? What if he wasn't and left you because he thought you were a psycho? What if he lied and continued to cheat? Your hands scrunched up the fabric of his shirt as you hugged him tighter. You didn't want your first love to cause you heartbreak by something as revolting as cheating.

A cold hand pressed against your cheek. Kieran tilted your head back and his eyes flickered across your face. His brow creased in worry.

"Are you okay?"

No, not really. I'm worried you might be cheating on me.

But you couldn't say that.

"Yeah! I'm fine," you beamed and pulled him closer to you. "I just missed you, that's all. It was your day off but you've been out doing errands since this morning. You first went to the pharmacy to get our medicine, then the bank, then to get groceries... aren't you tired?"

He didn't look convinced. Then again, he'd known you since you were fourteen years old, so he knew how to read you like a book. His green eyes darkened momentarily and his teeth nipped at his bottom lip. His fingers traced lines above your cheekbone, jaw, and the shell of your ear.

"I'm sorry. I should have spent more time with you today."

"No, Kieran, what are you even saying? Errands need to be run so I'm appreciative that you did them," your hands fiddled at the button that came undone on his shirt. "That can't stop me from missing you though. I just feel as if you've been..."

His fingers stopped. "What?"

You regretted saying anything at all. You should have just said you missed him after a long day and went on with it, dragged him to the couch, and asked him to watch a movie with you. Your hands pulled away from his shirt and you saw the way his body tensed up like a spring. It wasn't too late to change the conversation. Maybe lie to him and say it was just a joke, that you weren't really worried. No, no, that'd be an asshole thing to do to your spouse, to make them worry you for nothing.

"(Y/N)?"

He never says your name unless he's serious or mad. Your eyes dragged back up to meet his and his jaw was clenched. He didn't look mad, he looked worried. Almost like you just punched him in the gut and he was doing his best to stay upright.

Why did he look like that? Based on all your rushing thoughts, worried about the possibility of him cheating on you, you were the one who was struggling.

"...I just feel as if you have been distant lately," you confessed with a tight smile, "but it's okay. I know you've been busy with work and I've been busy with getting ready for my upcoming lectures next week. I'm probably just being clingy again."

He didn't say anything. You weren't sure if you were supposed to feel hurt that he said nothing or relieved, but you knew that he didn't buy a single thing you just said by the way he was looking at you. He wasn't moving from the position he had on you; hand on your cheek, tense jaw, stiff muscles, darkened gaze. He breathed slowly out through his nose and opened his mouth to say something, but then shut it.

You saw a flicker of something else in his eyes whenever he closed his mouth. Guilt.

Why does he feel guilty? you thought, dread creeping up your spine. Am I right? Is he cheating on me?

You blinked in surprise whenever he pulled you into him again. His nose nuzzled into your neck and you almost suffocated with how tight his arms wrapped around you. His lips pressed little kisses against your neck and he breathed in deeply. For a split second, you almost forgot what you were so nervous about, you almost let the worry of him cheating on you slip from your mind.

"Котик, I'm sorry you've felt so lonely. I'll be able to spend more time with you soon. It's just... work, it gets in the way of so much. But I swear, I'll be able to hang out with you tomorrow without doing anything. I promise, okay?" he let go and cupped your cheeks, "me and you can do whatever you want to do for tonight. A date? I'll do it. Go to bed early? As long as you're in my arms. Anything."

Lies were best told with a sweet tongue. You weren't even sure if he meant well by telling you that, not whenever this wasn't the first time he'd promised something like this. In the end, he always got a call which caused him to leave the house for a couple hours (or sometimes a couple of days). You were used to it by now, so you only forced a smile and nodded. His face lit up.

"We can go ahead and watch a movie now if you want?"

You blinked. Now? He usually put things off whenever it came down to sitting down and watching something. You refrained from glancing at the clock. You wanted to spend time with him but you were already fearful of how much time you could before he was called away or got distracted with something. You couldn't remember the last time you sat down and watched something with him. Though, you supposed it was better than him not being there.

"And what movie do you want to watch?"

He grinned. "I believe I said whatever you want. Maybe we can watch a horror movie? So I can..." he twirled you around and hugged you from behind, "wrap my arms around you like this and protect you from evil. Hm?"

You felt your cheeks warm. "That sounds just like an excuse to hold me."

"I'm your husband, I don't need an excuse for something like that," he kissed your cheek. "truthfully, I adore it whenever you depend on me. That includes each time there's a jumpscare and you almost shit your pants each time."

"Ha. Ha. Very funny. I don't get that scared."

"You cried when we watched The Haunting of Hill House together."

"Okay, there's a difference between a demon that you can't fight and some serial killer breaking into your house! I'd rather take the serial killer. Plus, that was years ago when it first came out and it was a sad show."

You didn't miss the way his jaw clenched ever so slightly. Maybe the term 'odd' wasn't the best way to describe him with the way he has been acting recently. After the two of you graduated high school, he started to get touchy about certain topics about crime. He always had a fascination with crime back when he was a teenager in high school, but the topic suddenly became grim for him whenever he got older.

You weren't sure why. Honestly, you've never asked. The topic wasn't something you'd be able to bring up with ease, especially when he tried to change the topic each time someone wanted to talk about true crime or the news with him. You remembered that he was worried when he found out you were going to school to become a therapist... worried that you'd get stuck with a patient who did bad things.

You didn't even want to get into how paranoid he was about the police. That was a different topic entirely.

"I find something real to be much more terrifying than a fictional ghost," he murmured.

"But demons could be real!"

There was a long pause. You felt his muscles churn around you, squeezing you tighter, refusing to let you go and he mumbled seriously. "Promise me that if anyone broke into our house and you had to pick between going with them or a demon, you'd go with the demon."

"What are you on about?" you deadpanned, "I thought were talking about movies, and Kieran, I doubt a scenario like that would ever happen."

"Promise me, (Y/N). Demon or not, you won't go with anyone who breaks into our house."

Your eyes narrowed. "Keiran, I don't have to promise you something that is common sense. I obviously won't be going with anyone who breaks into our house. You act like you think someone will."

He huffed and let go. The warmth of his embrace leaving left goosebumps all over your body. You didn't get a chance to say anything before he flashed a blinding smile, chuckling.

"I was just making sure. You've always been a daredevil, so I just wanted to make sure you wouldn't try and challenge anyone who barged into our house. I doubt anyone would break in anyway."

It was only natural that you didn't believe him. There were a lot of stories where people said that their partners changed after marriage, sometimes for the better or the worse, and you weren't sure if Kieran's change was good or bad. His paranoid nature only made it hard to believe that he wasn't cheating on you. He was clingy before he married you, but he was overly clingy and sweet now. Which was odd because he was often out of the house or on phone calls...

It was just, well, odd.

"Oh... okay then. Do you need help putting up the groceries before we watch a movie?"

"No need, Котик. You can prepare the movie for us to watch. Choose anything you want."

There was a game you played. Each time you noticed Kieran avoid looking you in the eye, you took three gulps of breath. It was mostly a game you played to calm yourself down from the rush of anxiety you felt each time he did. It left you wondering if you did something wrong, if you made him pissed and he didn't want to look at you anymore. Your lips curled into a frown.

He could just be watching a movie so I wouldn't complain about missing him.

You nodded silently and turned on your heel. It would be best to ignore that entire conversation happened. Worrying over his suspicious and paranoid behavior wouldn't change the fact that he was acting that way. You glanced at him one more time as he placed the milk into the fridge. Yeah. Don't worry about it. Just don't worry.

The living room was down the hallway to the left. The floorboards squealed at the weight and you sighed whenever you walked to the couch, picking up the remote and turning it on. The two of you didn't have a lot of streaming services so almost everything you watched was on Netflix. Your fingers tapped around and you absentmindedly scrolled through the list of movies.

You were tempted to throw on a movie that you already watched. However, it was supposed to be time spent together and you knew he'd get bored if you clicked something that he had already watched. You clicked a random scary movie. The name was confusing and it looked like a found-footage aesthetic, something about the catacombs under Paris and the philosopher's stone.

"I'm sure he hasn't watched this..."

"Watched what?"

You jumped whenever he clamped a hand on your shoulder. Whipping around on the sofa, Kieran was leaning over the back with a sly smirk on his face.

"Already scared?" he chuckled, "I have a gut feeling you're going to be clinging to me throughout this entire movie."

You pursed your lips. He already got all the groceries done that fast? You knew that he didn't like to waste time but he was insanely fast doing that. He massaged your shoulders whenever he noticed the frown you had, his smile growing wider by the second. He jumped over the back of the couch effortlessly and plopped down right beside you.

"Why are you frowning, my sweet Котик?"

"You got done way too fast with putting the groceries away" you squinted. "It's not normal."

He inhaled. There was a rasp in the back of his throat whenever he leaned forward, his breath tickling your skin. The air was knocked from your lungs whenever his gaze flickered to your lips and back up to yours. "Would you believe me if I told you that I have been craving to be close to you? Especially to kiss you..."

Heat crept up the back of your neck. All the worries you had melted away whenever he pulled you closer to him and wrapped his arm around your shoulders. He wasn't avoiding your eyes, now he was staring so intently that you were afraid that you were going to become a puddle of goo in his arms. His teeth nipped at your bottom lip.

"Mm, can I kiss you?"

"...do you have to ask?"

He chuckled breathlessly, "Yes. It's polite."

"But you're my husband."

"Yes, I am."

His lips smashed against yours. Anything you wanted to say was thrown out the window whenever his hands gripped your waist and yanked your body against his. His hand brushed up your spine, up your neck, brushing over your hair and going to cup your face. His lips were cold and his nose was too, breath smelling like the mint gum he always seemed to chew. The hint of his cologne tickled your nose.

Your hands ran up his arms and you tugged at the collar of his shirt. He was still a ruffled mess from when he came in from outside. His hair was a knotted mess that needed to be brushed out, but that didn't stop your hands from tangling in the strands and tugging at them. A groan tore through his lips.

"God, you're so fucking perfect," he whispered against your lips. "I don't want to stop kissing you now. Mmm, do we have to watch the movie? I want to give you more kisses."

You almost agreed. "...But the movie is already waiting to be played."

He licked his teeth and his hands ran up and down your back. He swallowed and you noticed the dip of his adam's apple, his eyes staring at your lips again. "Of course, we should watch the movie, but..."

"But what?"

"Can I kiss you even more after the movie?"

The fire in your cheeks felt like your skin was melting off. There were times when it felt like you were in high school again, getting all flustered because of his needy nature. Ever since you have known him he has always been the type to enjoy kisses. Even something as chaste as a peck on the forehead, he was a sucker for it. Whenever the two of you first started dating, he'd get so red each time you kissed his cheek, stammering over nothing and quickly kissing your cheek back and scurrying away.

Now look at him. He was pulling you in, begging for more, kissing you like you were his only source of oxygen. He even kissed you like that on your wedding day. His entire family was whooping and cheering after that, and your few family members who attended frowned. You remembered being embarrassed at the time... but you were glad that something like that didn't change.

"Very well. You can kiss me all you want after the movie. Don't try and sneak some in while we are watching, because then you won't focus on the movie at all," you mumbled.

"You're flustered so easily, Котик," he grinned. He leaned into the couch and placed his arm around the back, fiddling with your sleeve as he rested his cheek against your head. "But fineeee. I guess I'll obey your orders for now."

You chuckled and rolled your eyes. It only took you a couple of seconds for you to get comfortable and curl into his side, shuffling to find the remote as he tugged a blanket over you both. You never got an answer on if he watched it before or not but by the way his eyes were glued to the screen whenever you clicked play, you assumed not.

Time became a blur. Now and again he'd comment on the movie or just something toward you, but his arm never moved from its spot behind you. He curled his legs up on the couch and mumbled complaints under his breath whenever he saw the characters do something stupid.

You started to forget your anxieties. Even just for a short while, it was nice to relax with him and to feel him close without having to worry about him leaving to go on some 'business trip'. You were focusing on him too much to even care about the movie. The way his lips formed a thin line whenever he was annoyed, his rapid blinking each time something shocking happened, bouncing his leg up and down.

It was impossible to not love him.

He noticed you staring. His cheeks turned a little pink. "What?"

"Nothing."

His ego would explode if you told him you were staring at him just because he was fun to watch. Hearing his endless teasing wasn't something you were in the mood to hear, so you just feigned looking back at the movie to watch it. His eyes burned into the side of your head for a second long before he looked back to the screen.

You glanced back at him. He was sucked into the TV again. He chewed on the edge of his knuckle and you let your eyes wander. You stared at the tattoos that peeked out from under his collar and sleeve. All those colorful tattoos were hidden away. He had some of them before you met him, which you always found surprising that he had tattoos at such a young age, but he just said "It ran in the family".

It was addicting to trace your fingers over them. Kieran liked laying around shirtless whenever it was summer. You always used to visit his old apartment to sit with him and let him read his books while you doodled on his arms and called them 'new tattoos' while you colored in his blank tattoos. Butterflies fluttered whenever you remembered the way he smiled at you each time you drew on him.

He had so many tattoos that you weren't sure how many he had. Some were in Russian, but a lot of them were creatures from folklore and mythology. Like Baba Yaga, who came from Slavic Folklore, which was tattooed on his right hip. You always used to doodle accessories onto her face.

"Котик, are you going to continue staring at me or are you going to watch the movie?"

You quickly avoided his gaze and looked at the TV. "I am watching the movie."

"Surreee."

Everything was fine for a while. A while, you said, because it didn't take long for all that built-up hope and affection to come back down from its high. Soon enough you'd be feeling the withdrawal. You were in the middle of watching the characters climb through a tunnel of bones whenever a phone started to ring loudly. It bounced off the walls and jarred Kieran out of his trance.

Ring! Ring! Ring!

Your smile fell. Kieran cursed.

The arm slung around your shoulder tensed, his hand curling into a fist that turned his knuckles white. His jaw flexed, and the phone rang for a couple more seconds before he moved from the couch and grabbed his phone from the cushion.

It was bad luck. You were convinced that you were cursed with bad luck. A sour taste bubbled in your chest and coated your tongue. Biting at the inside of your cheek, you shut the TV off completely as that swell of expectation came back. The remote was tossed to the side and the blanket slipped to the floor.

You caught a glimpse of the phone screen before he answered it. UNKNOWN. Of course, it was another random number that he didn't have saved to his contacts. You clutched the blanket in your lap and a lump formed in your throat. Seriously? Why were you going to cry? You knew that he wouldn't be focused on you forever. It also wasn't like you knew he was cheating on you, you had no proof, it was just a suspicion. But that didn't stop the familiar sting of tears welling up behind your eyes.

You knew it was a lie whenever he promised to spend the rest of the day with you, you weren't sure why you let your hopes get up. But it still hurt.

He pressed the device to his ear and snapped.

"What?"

Just who was it that made him sound like that? You've never heard him sound so hateful, so nasty, to just some random caller on the phone. That meant he knew who was calling him even when the number popped up. The random person he didn't have saved in his phone. Someone he possibly didn't want to be linked to.

Thousands of questions tumbled through your mind. Kieran wasn't interested in men, so if he was cheating, it wasn't a man... unless he was interested in men and hasn't told you? He has a lot of male friends. No, no, having friends of any gender doesn't just mean that you'll sleep with them or have a second life with them behind your partner. So if it was a woman... where would he have met her? Maybe it was a client and he was editing her book?

He did read a lot of articles. There was always the possibility that it was a writer of those, right? Wait—

I'm not being a good wife right now, you thought. Your nails picked at your cuticles. I'm just assuming things without any proof. Am I being like one of those psychotic, obsessive wives? Is there something wrong with me? What if I'm the issue?

Your bottom lip wobbled. You clamped your teeth on it to keep Kieran from noticing.

He started to pace and ramble around the room in Russian. He didn't seem to be talking to anyone, mostly to himself in frustration, as his hand was placed on his hip and he cursed under his breath. There were many times in your life when you wished you knew Russian; when you first met him, to impress him, to have conversations with him, to learn his culture and language... now you were more concerned if he was frustrated about a girl or not.

The only Russian word you knew that he actively said around you was 'Котик', a Russian term of endearment meant for a lover which meant "kitten" or "kitty". You didn't need to jump leaps to guess what it meant even if it was a somewhat cheesy term to use (at least in your opinion), but you never argued, since he has called you it since the two of you were teenagers.

"I thought I told you to—"

Kieran cut himself off quickly whenever he realized you were still in the room with him. He dragged the phone away from his ear and his eyes snapped to you, his face falling into despair whenever he noticed the TV was off and you were staring up at him. Another broken promise. Another lie. Another phone call he just had to pick up, that he couldn't ignore for one night. Just how many more broken promises were you going to take before you finally asked him why he couldn't keep them?

Damn it. You really wanted to cry.

Even if it wasn't him cheating on you, even if it was work, some part of you wished that he included you in it as well. You were aware that you weren't supposed to be in every single part of his life. The two of you were supposed to be comfortable in the relationship, not joined at the hip breathing down each other's necks.

You just didn't get it. It wasn't like 'work' was going to straight up kill him if he didn't answer the phone for one night!

Kieran didn't know what to do. He stopped dead in his tracks and stared at you with so many open emotions on his face that you couldn't read all of them. But he knew what he had done. He picked up the phone and that alone was enough to break a promise, even if he hadn't left the house. Yet. You knew how it worked—he always left the house after late phone calls like this. You were slowly starting to get used to the feeling of falling asleep without him there. And some mornings, he wasn't in bed either, only a note left on the counter with breakfast he made.

His shoulders sank. "Котик, I... uhm, I need to take this phone call real quick so I'm going to step into the other room, okay? I'll be right back though and me and you can finish the movie—"

Liar.

"Uhm... I think I'm just going to go to bed. I'm starting to feel tired anyway. Uh, make sure to lock the door behind you whenever you go out."

He always did. You weren't sure why you were reminding him.

Deep down, some part of you wanted him to feel guilty. It was that small whisper of hope that if he felt guilty then maybe he'd start changing things for the better, to start telling you why he was so secretive, and to start sleeping in your bed again. You missed the feeling of his arms wrapped around you. Sure, some nights he did fall asleep in your bed. But some nights weren't most nights, and most nights weren't every night.

I miss a man who's right in front of me.

His entire expression crumpled. He opened his mouth to say something but faltered, watching as you got up and threw the blanket the two of you were sharing back on the couch. Oh how badly he looked like he wanted to say something. And how badly you felt about yourself whenever you saw his expression, because seeing him feel guilty didn't bring satisfaction, it only made your heart hurt more.

"(Y/N), I—"

"It's okay," you flashed a smile, "I'll talk to you tomorrow morning."

If he'd be there tomorrow morning.

You didn't give him a chance to respond before you turned on your heel and scurried to the bedroom. The house which you picked with him seven months ago now felt cold and lonely compared to the warm idea you had when you first saw it. Tears sprung forth whenever you closed the door behind you, choking into your elbow as you did your best to muffle the small sobs that let your lips. You couldn't hear him anymore or the muffled rambling over the phone.

The room was dark. The floorboards were ice cold and you didn't bother to brush your teeth, wash your face, or change into pajamas before you crawled under the covers and hid.

Emotions were a complicated thing. You hated how they felt and how it was so hard to understand them. All you wanted was for Kieran to come to you and have a conversation about what was going on, but now you were dreading that he would because you didn't want him to see that you were crying. He always got so panicked whenever you cried. Always brushing away your tears, cooing sweet things in your ear, kissing your face and neck anywhere he could.

Which made you wish he did see you cry.

See? Emotions were complicated.

You don't know how long you laid in bed. You only heard the whir and popping of heat rushing through the vents, warming up the room until you were toasty under the thick blankets. There were times when you swore you heard a shout from the other room, muffled and something you couldn't understand, but then it was gone. Possibly a figment of your imagination, maybe it was Kieran shouting over the phone.

Your day started with a good start. Then everything deescalated in a whirlwind of emotions that you didn't know how to control. All the suspicions you had about Kieran were becoming worse and worse.

If he is cheating on me, you thought. What would I do?

The idea of divorcing him left your heart aching. Ever since you started dating him, you've never wanted to leave him, but cheating would mean you'd have to. While you loved him, you didn't love him enough to stay if he was living some second life with another woman. You gnawed on the edge of your thumb and curled your legs up to your chest.

If you divorced him, you'd have to find somewhere cheap to stay where you could still go to college and not sleep in the streets. No way your parents would let you stay with them until you got back onto your feet, they didn't like you marrying Kieran in the first place because of his delinquent behavior in school and the fact he wasn't going to college. They'd probably tell you 'I told you so' and let you rot.

The part-time job you had now wasn't enough to live in a decent apartment. The two of you lived on the outskirts of the city, you wouldn't be able to afford a good apartment in the city closest to campus so you would have to settle in one of the apartment complexes near the beat-down part of the city, where a lot of reports of trafficking and crime were made.

A shiver shot down your spine. While the apartments there weren't the cleanest or nicest, the issue of rampant crime was the most concerning. You'd have to buy a taser or pepper spray, something like that. Or learn martial arts? You'd have to find a teacher that wasn't expensive.

Why am I even thinking about this?

Guilt crashed into you like a barreling stampede of horses. Tears blurred your vision as you nuzzled into the pillow and whimpered, muttering soft apologies under your breath. You hated how your mind worked. One thought and you'd take it and run, not giving the chance for hope and optimism to spark. You had to remind yourself for the umpteenth time that you didn't have any proof that Kieran was cheating.

You were the bad one for treating him like he was whenever you didn't know. At least, that was what you believed. Other wives acted better than you. They trusted their partners, but here you were, already daydreaming about your life if Kieran was cheating on you. Just a was.

Soft footsteps broke you from your thoughts.

The door creaked open and light poured into the dark. You stayed still under the blankets, face hidden away in the pillows to keep the sight of your tear-streaked face away from him. The floorboards creaked a little bit the bed shifted whenever you felt him sit down and lean across. His familiar touch grazed your cheek and traced the contours of your face. He sighed.

"Котик, are you awake?"

You didn't respond. Not this time.

He tugged the blankets down and there was another sigh. His fingers trailed farther downward and rubbed circles on your back and patterns that only he understood. He mumbled under his breath to himself. "She didn't change into something comfortable... not even the belt."

It took everything in your power to not move whenever his fingers fiddled with the metal clasp of your belt and he slipped them from the loops. He put the belt on the other side of the bed and the mattress shifted whenever he got closed, strands of his hair tickling your cheek whenever he leaned over. He pressed a kiss on your jaw.

"Ah fuck," he grumbled.

What is that supposed to mean?

Then there were more kisses; jaw, cheek, forehead, lips. He attacked you in kisses and every now and again he'd sigh and stop to trail his hands across your head or over your back. You could tell he refreshed his cologne. It was subtle but it was there, tickling your nose each time he moved to kiss another part of your face.

"Котик, if you're awake, I'll be back tomorrow evening and we can watch all the movies you want. I'm sorry I'm heading out again, but some people at work are being really stupid right now," he whispered against your ear. He kissed it tenderly. "I'll buy you your favorite ice cream on the way back home too. I know you'll be happy with that..."

There was a long pause. He didn't move.

"I love you."

Maybe he waited for you to respond, to say 'I love you' back, but you didn't. It wasn't that you didn't love him... god, the one reason why everything hurt so much was that you did, but you didn't dare to confess that you were pretending to sleep just to avoid talking to him. You didn't want Kieran to hear your voice cracking from crying. Especially since now, you knew he was leaving the house again.

You didn't believe him when he said it was work and you felt guilty that you didn't. He was an editor, he worked from home or his rented-out office, and it wasn't like he had people who worked underneath him.

"Котик, I'll make it up to you, I promise," he whispered.

He didn't say anything else except for a lingering kiss on your temple before he got off the bed. The weight of his body leaving felt more familiar than him being there. Kieran blew a breath and muttered something in Russian before he left the room. The door clicked shut behind him and you were left in the dark alone once more.

The emotions you felt earlier surged back up to the surface. Your nails bit into your palms and tears trickled down your cheeks and dropped onto the pillow. All you wanted was for him to get in bed with you, hold you, fall asleep, and still be there whenever you woke up the next morning.

So instead of facing them and bawling, you swallowed the lump in your throat and closed your eyes. Sleeping it off was better than facing it. Soon enough, you'd find out what he was hiding and what this "work" meant. Your small cries were muffled as you did your best to fall asleep before you got too heavy into your thoughts and cried even harder.

Luckily for you, sadness was exhausting, and you crashed before the clock hit midnight.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━��━━━━━━━━━

A/N ;

So you might have noticed the reader isn’t a Mary Sue or know it all. I tried to make her realistic, someone who’s insecure in her relationship, etc. So I hope that came across well. If you don’t like her, remember she’s human, she can change and develop in the story. She isn’t going to be perfect.

But anyway, did you enjoy this first chapter? You can also find it on my Wattpad and Quotev, which is listed on the top of my account. My discord server is also listed there! Remember to comment and heart if you enjoyed it.

[ Read P.2 ]

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someonegoood · 2 months ago

Text

I’m not a kid! pt. 2 ✫ jeon jungkook

in which you’ve always had a hopeless crush on your brother’s best friend, Jungkook, who’s made it painfully clear he doesn’t feel the same—until a family vacation forces buried emotions to the surface.

CONTAINS: brother’s best friend troop, angst & fluff ! idolverse, age gap, arguments, jungkook is an ass with reader, +18, making out, smut, dom!jungkook, sub!reader, unprotected sex, explicit language…

NOTE: here’s part 2!! hope you like it!! this work is not revised and english is not my first language :) minors, please do not interact!

part 1, part 2.

my main masterlist! ❀

The dining table stretched out in the middle of the open-concept villa, a long, wooden piece covered with platters of food your moms had spent the day preparing, drinks being poured.

You were aware of the man sitting across from you. Jungkook. His sleeves were rolled up, exposing his tattooed arm as he sipped from his glass. He wasn’t saying much, but he didn’t have to. His presence was magnetic. Every move he made drew your attention, no matter how much you tried to focus on your plate.

Your mom was talking about you now, her voice brimming with pride.

“My daughter has been working so hard these past few months in her comeback,” she said, smiling as she looked down the table at you. “I don’t know how she does it. She barely sleeps!”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, hating how everyone’s attention shifted to you.

“She’s always been like that,” your brother chimed in, grinning. “Remember when she stayed up all night practicing for that school play? She was so nervous she forgot her lines.”

The table erupted into laughter, but you felt your cheeks burn. You glanced at Jungkook, expecting him to join in, but his expression was unreadable. He was leaning back in his chair, one hand curled around his drink as his eyes were fixed in you.

“She’s always been determined,” Jungkook said suddenly, his voice cutting through the noise. It wasn’t a compliment exactly—more of a detached observation—but the way he said it made your heart stutter.

“Yeah, determined to prove she’s not a kid,” your brother teased, nudging your arm.

“I’m not a kid,” you muttered, but it was drowned out by another wave of laughter.

You forced a tight smile, trying to play along, but the heat in your chest wouldn’t go away. When you glanced at Jungkook again he was taking another sip of his drink, now his eyes looking at the sky.

Halfway through dinner, you accidentally knocked your knife off the table. It clattered to the floor, and before you could reach for it, Jungkook leaned forward, his voice sharp.

“Careful,” he said, his eyes locking onto yours. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”

The comment was casual, but there was an edge to it that made your stomach twist.

“I can manage,” you replied, grabbing the knife yourself. Your voice was quieter than you wanted it to be.

Your brother, completely oblivious, just laughed again. “She’s always been clumsy, too.”

Jungkook didn’t laugh. He leaned back in his chair, his eyes fixed on his plate, and the tension between you grew thicker.

As the night wore on, you tried to lose yourself in the chatter around the table, but it was impossible to ignore him. The way he looked at you—brief, fleeting glances that felt like they burned—kept pulling you under.

By the time dessert was served, you were exhausted. Not from the conversation, but from trying to act like his presence didn’t affect you. And when you finally excused yourself to the kitchen, you swore you felt his eyes follow you as you left.

The soft glow of the kitchen light greeted you as you stepped inside, seeking refuge from the buzz of the dining room. You reached for a glass of water, letting out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

“Couldn’t take the noise anymore?” a warm voice asked behind you.

You turned to see Mrs. Jeon standing at the doorway, her kind smile immediately softening your nerves. She was carrying an empty platter, her movements unhurried as she crossed the room to place it on the counter.

“Yeah,” you admitted, setting your glass down. “Needed a little breather.”

She chuckled, opening a cabinet to grab some storage containers. “I don’t blame you. That dining table can get a little overwhelming, especially with all the teasing going on.”

You gave her a small smile, nodding. “It’s like they’re never going to let me forget I’m the youngest.”

She glanced at you knowingly, her eyes sparkling with warmth. “That’s because we all adore you. Even if they have a funny way of showing it sometimes.”

You leaned against the counter, watching as she began packing up some of the leftover food. It was comforting—being here with her, away from the tension that lingered with Jungkook at the table.

She smiled, her gaze flicking to you. There was a brief pause before she spoke again, her tone softer this time. “You and Jungkook… you used to be so close when you were kids. He used to talk about you all the time.”

Her words caught you off guard, and you felt your heart skip a beat. “He did?”

She nodded, her smile tinged with nostalgia. “Oh, yes. He used to come home and tell me all about the adventures you two would have with your brother. He always said you were fearless—always trying to prove yourself.”

You let out a quiet laugh, staring down at your hands. “I guess I was just trying to keep up with them.”

“Even now, I can see how much he cares about you.”

You froze at her words, your chest tightening. “I don’t think that’s true,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

She set down the container she was holding and turned to face you fully, her expression soft but serious. “Trust me, I know my son. He’s not always the best at showing how he feels, but it’s there.”

You looked at her, unsure of how to respond. The knot in your chest only grew tighter, and you fought the urge to spill everything—to tell her how hopelessly you’d fallen for him, how his mixed signals were tearing you apart.

But you didn’t. Instead, you forced a small smile and nodded. “Thank you.”

She reached out, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. “You’re a good girl. And I know you’ve got a lot on your plate with your career, but don’t let the little things pass you by, okay? Sometimes the things we think we can’t have are just waiting for us to take a chance.”

You stood there for a moment, her words replaying in your mind. And as much as you wanted to believe her, the memory of Jungkook’s distant gaze at dinner told a different story.

The next morning the sun was high, shimmering over the gentle waves and warming the soft stretch of sand. You stood at the edge of the villa’s terrace, adjusting the straps of your pink bikini, the light breeze brushing against your skin as you took a deep breath.

When Jungkook stepped onto the patio heading to the beach, his footsteps faltered. For a moment, he froze. His gaze landed on you, his eyes taking in the vibrant color of your bikini that hugged your frame, your beautiful curves, in a way that felt unfairly distracting.

You caught his gaze, and his dark eyes quickly flicked up to yours, as though caught red-handed. His jaw tightened, and he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his shorts.

“You coming or not?” your brother called from down the path, completely unaware of the sudden tension hanging between you and Jungkook.

“Yeah,” Jungkook muttered, tearing his gaze away and following after him. But as you trailed behind, he couldn’t help but glance back at you. Noticing how some of the guys at the beach—strangers sprawled across towels and tossing a frisbee—let their eyes linger on you just a little too long made his stomach twist.

The feeling was foreign, uninvited. He hated it.

By the time you reached the beach and found a spot to settle, Jungkook had barely spoken a word to you, though his eyes betrayed him every time you moved. As you pulled out a bottle of sunscreen and started rubbing it into your arms, he tried to focus on anything else—the waves, the sky, the sound of seagulls—but the sight of you struggling to reach your back was impossible to ignore.

“Need help?”

You looked up, startled by his sudden voice. His expression was guarded, but there was a flicker of something deeper in his eyes.

“Oh,” you said, hesitant. “Sure. If you don’t mind.”

He positioned himself behind you, his hands steady as he took the bottle from you and squeezed a small amount into his palm. The first touch of his hands against your skin sent a shiver down your spine, though you tried your best to hide it.

Jungkook swallowed hard, his fingers gliding over your shoulder blades and down the curve of your back. He tried to keep his movements clinical, detached, but the softness of your skin under his touch and the scent of the sunscreen—mixed with whatever perfume you were wearing—was messing with his head.

“All done,” he said quickly, pulling his hands away as if they’d been burned.

“Thanks,” you murmured, glancing at him over your shoulder. He was already looking away, his jaw set tight.

A few minutes later, you waded into the water, the cool waves lapping at your legs. Jungkook followed, his hair pushed back by the wind as he tried not to look at you too much. But when you laughed—light and carefree, splashing water at him—he couldn’t help it.

“Is this payback for all those summers I beat you at volleyball?” he teased, smirking as he splashed you back.

You rolled your eyes, the sun catching in your damp hair as you moved closer. “You didn’t beat me. You cheated.”

“I didn’t cheat.”

“You totally did,” you said, laughing again. The sound was like a melody he couldn’t ignore.

The two of you were close now, the waves brushing against your waists. His smile faded slightly as he looked at you, the playfulness in his expression giving way to something softer, something heavier.

“Hey,” he said quietly, his voice barely audible over the sound of the waves.

Your laughter faded as you looked up at him, suddenly hyperaware of how close you were. His gaze dropped to your lips for just a moment, and your heart leapt into your throat.

He took a step closer, his hand brushing yours under the water. The air between you felt electric, charged with everything unspoken.

But before either of you could close the distance, a voice shattered the moment.

“Hey! You two good out here?” You jumped, spinning around to see Minho standing on the shore, waving at you both.

“We’re fine!” you called back, your voice a little too loud, your cheeks burning.

Jungkook cleared his throat, stepping back and running a hand through his hair. “I-I should probably head back,” he said, his tone clipped.

“Yeah,” you agreed quickly, your heart still racing as he turned and waded back toward the shore, leaving the moment—and whatever it could have been—behind.

“I’m telling you, we should go for a darker concept this time,” Yunjin said, her eyes gleaming with excitement. “Something intense and powerful. No one’s expecting it.”

The night was quiet, save for the distant crash of waves against the shore. You were tucked away in your room, sitting cross-legged on the bed with your phone in your hands. The screen glowed with the faces of your members—Nari, Mimi, Yunjin, and Sky—who were all chatting animatedly about your group’s upcoming comeback.

“Darker? That could work, but we need to make sure it fits the choreography,” Nari said, her expression thoughtful.

You leaned back against the headboard, a soft smile tugging at your lips you play with the edge of your oversized white t-shirt with Hello Kitty's face. The conversation was exactly what you needed after a long day—something normal to ground you. But as the topic shifted away from the comeback, you felt the air shift, like they were plotting something.

“So…” Sky began, dragging out the word with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “What’s going on in the villa? Did you fuck?”

“Sky! Oh my god…” You shouted while your cheeks were turning redder. The mention of a situation involving his body and touch made your stomach flip.

“Don’t act clueless,” Mimi teased. “You probably have fucked him ten times by now.”

“That’s my queen!” Yunjin chimed in, laughing.

“There’s nothing, no fucking,” you muttered, but your voice lacked conviction.

“Liar!” Nari laughed. “Come on, spill. What’s the deal?”

You sighed, finally giving in. “Fine. Something happened today.” Their eyes lit up, and you immediately regretted opening your mouth.

You told them everything: the way Jungkook had helped you with sunscreen at the beach, the near-kiss in the water, and how he’d gotten jealous over the way other guys were looking at you.

Mimi gasped. “He helped you with sunscreen? That’s practically a love confession.”

“And he was jealous?” Sky added, her grin wide. “Oh, he’s down bad.”

Yunjin leaned closer to the camera, her eyebrows raised. “So, what now? Did you talk to him about it?”

Before you could answer, a faint noise broke through the chatter—a soft scraping sound, like someone fiddling with your doorknob.

Your heart skipped a beat. “Hold on,” you whispered, staring at the door.

“Girl are you alright?” Your members asked.

The sound grew louder, more insistent, and then the door handle turned. You grabbed the nearest object—a hairbrush—your grip tightening as the door creaked open.

“Kid?” came a familiar voice, low and annoyed.

“Jungkook?” Your breath hitched as he stepped into the room, his broad shoulders filling the doorway.

“Relax,” he muttered, closing the door behind him. “It’s just me.”

“Just you?” you snapped, lowering the hairbrush. “What are you doing barging into my room like that?” You grabbed your phone and turn the video call off.

He ignored your question, his gaze flicking to your phone. “What are you doing? It’s almost midnight, and you’re loud enough to wake the entire villa.”

Heat rushed to your face. You quickly ended the call, ignoring the teasing protests of your members, and turned to face Jungkook. “You could’ve just knocked.”

“I did knock,” he said, crossing his arms. “But you didn’t hear me. So, I let myself in.”

You stared at him, unsure whether to be angry or embarrassed. “Fine. Sorry for keeping you up. You can go now.”

But he didn’t move. Instead, he locked the door, his expression shifting into something more serious.

“Jungkook?” you asked, your voice softer now.

He leaned against the door, running a hand through his hair. “At the beach earlier, when those guys were staring at you…” His jaw tightened, and his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “It made me so jealous I couldn’t think straight.”

You blinked, his words hitting you like a tidal wave. “You… Please, you don’t get to be jealous,” you said, your voice trembling with frustration. “You’ve been with other girls before, and I respected that. I didn’t say anything. Why should you get to feel jealous when I’ve done nothing wrong?”

His dark eyes flicked up to meet yours, the weight of his stare almost too much to bear. “You’re right,” he said after a moment, his voice rough with emotion. “But that doesn’t stop me from feeling it. I can’t stand the idea of anyone else looking at you that way.”

Your heart raced, your chest tightening as his words sank in. “That way?” you whispered.

“Like they can have you,” he admitted, stepping closer. “I’m not allowed to want you, even though I do. So… seeing that guys-”

You swallowed hard, your hands trembling at your sides. “Jungkook…”

“Tell me to leave,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “If you don’t want this—if you don’t want me—just tell me to leave, and I will.”

But you didn’t. Instead, you took a step closer, your heart pounding as you reached for him. His lips met yours in an instant, the kiss urgent and electric, like a dam breaking after years of restraint.

His hands found your waist, pulling you flush against him as your fingers tangled in his hair. The world outside the room faded away, leaving only the two of you and the emotions you could no longer deny. When you finally pulled back, your breaths were shallow, your foreheads pressed together.

“This changes everything,” you whispered.

“I know,” he said, his voice steady. “But I don’t care anymore. I just want you.”

And for the first time, you allowed yourself to believe him. “Jungkook...” Little by little, he brought you both closer to your bed and out of nowhere you were lying between the soft white sheets and him on top of you.

“Jungkook, what? Now you wanna beg?” He grinned, your arms found their way around his neck, legs already wrapping around his waist and pushing him against you. You almost had to chuckle when you felt that he was hard already.

You looked down to your t-shirt, only to realize you had still had your oversized Hello Kitty t-shirt, shit.

“That t-shirt looks good on you. Although one of mine would look even better,” he said, kissing your nose. You punched hin lightly in his chest, laughing softly.

“Mm-uh.” he opened your legs and traced with his hand an imaginary path in your lower stomach.

“Wait… anyone can hear us,” you said, fear in your voice.

“I know baby, but I’m so serious right now,” he pauses and gives you a hungry daring stare. “Dead serious. I won’t let anyone else fuck me if it isn’t you.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“One hundred percent.” He smiled. You knew he couldn’t wait much longer, not when he knew what effect he was having on you today. He could feel your wetness before he even came in contact with it.

Jungkook softly pressed his lips against yours. Each kiss grew longer and more intimate than the last, and there was an intense rhythm in the movement of your lips. The sensation of him against you filled your body with excitement.

You ran your hands up his chest and pulled him in close. His hot breath teased you as he left a trail of kisses along your neck. The tingling of him making his mark on you triggered a small moan from your mouth. You took a peek and caught him smirking and admiring the tiny pink spot he left on your skin.

He pulled from his t-shirt and the sight of his bare chest made you blush. Of course you had seen it many times before, but it was the first time in this context. Then you felt him grasp the hem of your shirt, looking at you for confirmation.

“Is this okey, princess?” That was the first time he was calling you like that. Princess. It sounded good. Still blushing, you nodded as he lifted the shirt over your head and tossed it to the edge of the bed. You saw him shift his eyes to your exposed chest, biting his lip to hold in his lust for you.

“You don’t have to be shy, okay?” He spoke in his low and soothing, yet very sensual voice. He tucked your hair behind your ear and entwined his fingers with yours once more.

“Okay,” you smiled back.

He slowly moved his hand down your waist to your inner thigh while licking one of your nipples. Each time he squeezed your thigh, you felt a heated sensation growing between your legs. You squirmed around to kick all lingerie, until you were completely vulnerable to Jungkook’s eyes.

“Fuck… you were prepared?” He asked, wondering why you were not wearing any shorts and a lingerie thong.

“Maybe…” You were not prepared for this situation in particular, but you never know when something can occur. You wanted to kiss your past self for packing this set.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he replied, continuing to slide his hands up your thigh and closer to the sensation where you felt hot and wet. Just before he reached the spot, he paused to give you another warm, delicate kiss. He ripped off your panties in a second.

“Jungkook! They were new!” You said, amused.

“Princess, I’ll take you on a shopping day and buy ten of these,” he said.

As his lips kept you calm, he snuck a light pair of fingers between your legs. His fingers glided up and down with such ease. You arched your back when he brushed against the center of your pleasure. You hadn’t even realized how needy you were for his touch until a loud moan escaped your mouth.

“Jungkook…” You whined desperate for him. You’d been fantasizing for years about what he must feel like and now you were so close to having what you dreamt of.

He put in a bit more pressure and speed as his fingers circled your center over and over again. “You like that, princess?” He asked, while you felt the pleasure building up quickly.

“K-kook…” At the sound of your desperate cry, he slid two fingers inside you and began curling them in and out at a frustratingly slow pace. Immense waves of pleasure consumed your body as he continued to touch your most sensitive areas. “Faster please…”

“Torturing you is like torturing me,” He sighs. “Fucking wet.” You clenched around his fingers as you let out another loud moan, trying to keep yourself from cumming so fast.

“You like that, baby?” He teases you, his face decorated with a proud smirk as his fingers move faster than before. Almost screaming, you felt your orgasm come through while you suppressed your moans with a hand in your mouth.

“Fuck, you’re so hot,” you had very little time to recover though, as Jungkook stood back up, turned you around and pushed you down onto the matress.

Leaving a rough slap against your ass cheek, he pulled himself out of his pants sliding his dick along your folds to collect your cum on him. “Fuck, so wet for me, baby.”

He introduced his tip in your folds, waiting for you to get used to the feeling. “Does that hurt? You’re fine?” He asked you, and you chuckled at his reaction.

“I’m alright here, you can start moving.”

He didn’t take long to start fucking into you at a ruthless speed, hands on your hips, the euphoric expression written on his face turning you on even more. His head fell back as he let out a low moan. He smirked as he landed another firm slap to your ass before he griped you shoulder.

“K-kook they will hea-hear us,” you said in between muffled moans without a doubt in your mind that your moans could be heard throughout the hallway.

Your arm coming up to rest on the bed to help you support yourself. He let go of your shoulder and moved his hand around to your clit, his nimble fingers moving against you in rhythm with his dick.

His throaty moans keep sending electric shocks through your body and within long you can already feel yourself building up to your second orgasm of the day.

“God…. You feel so good,” you moan against his lips, his tongue tracing your lover lip before he gently bites it. He hums in response.

He hums in responds. “You’re so fucking gorgeous like this,” he praises you, his hand brushing away a lose strand of hair from your forehead.

Upon hearing his words, your walls clamp down around him and he falters for only a second from the feeling before he picks up the speed slightly.

His hips are slamming against yours, his length ramming in and out of you as your back arched off the bed, your hands grasping whatever they can hold on to.

You were both moaning loudly as his thrusts got sloppier and rougher, the pulsing of your walls pushing him over the edge only seconds after you.

“I’m gonna cum baby! Fuuuuck!” Jungkook groans above you and you can feel as he releases inside you. His pace slows down but he keeps pumping in and out of you until he’s sure you both rode out your orgasm.

Jungkook fell forward, right above you as he slowly and gently kissed down your back, riding out his high.

He eventually pulled himself up and out of you before helping you back up. He situated himself back into his pants as you readjusted oversized t-shirt.

“You did so good for me, kid,” he softly pressed his lips to yours, one hand on your waist as the other caressed your cheek softly.

The first thing you felt in the morning was heat. You were drenched in your own sweat, and the thin sheets that were draped around your body clung tackily to your skin.

As you listened to Jungkook’s steady breaths, you meandered through the events of last night. The weight of his arm slung loosely around your waist was comforting. You chuckled, remembering last night.

“What’s funny?” Jungkook mumbled groggily, his arms tightening around you. You lifted your head, looking up at him.

“Morning.” Your mouth spread into a smile.

“Good morning, kid.” He ruffled your hair lazily, running his finger through the wild strands.

The peaceful atmosphere didn’t last long. A shrill knock on the door shattered the stillness, making you both freeze.

“Shit,” Jungkook whispered, instantly alert. He sat up, his bare chest gleaming in the morning light. “Who the hell is that?”

You didn’t have time to answer before the knock came again, louder and more insistent. Panic surged through you as you scrambled out of bed, tugging on a pair of shorts over your underwear.

“Jungkook, you can’t be here. They’ll kill us if they find out.”

He shot you a quick glare, already pulling on his discarded shirt. “I know, okay? I’m trying to figure out how to sneak out without a parade waiting for me outside.” He stated, annoyed.

The sound of the door handle turning made your heart stop. You grabbed the nearest object—a hairbrush—and held it like a weapon, ready to face whoever dared to intrude.

The door creaked open, revealing your mom and Jungkook’s.

Her eyes widened as they darted between you and Jungkook, who was awkwardly trying to zip his jeans while hiding behind the door.

“Wha-what’s going on here?”

Before you could think of an excuse, Jungkook’s mom appeared behind yours, looking equally suspicious. Both moms stared at each other for a long, loaded moment. Then, as if by some unspoken agreement, they exchanged a knowing look and stepped back.

“Take the back stairs,” Jungkook’s mom said, her voice calm but stern. “No one’s awake yet.”

You and Jungkook nodded fervently, like children caught stealing cookies. As Jungkook slipped out the back, you exchanged a glance with your mom.

“Don’t think I’m letting this slide,” she warned, but there was an unusual softness in her eyes.

And with that, she turned on her heel and left, leaving you with nothing but the lingering embarrassment—and a lingering warmth from the night before.

Since that day, you hadn’t seen Jungkook.

The morning after that unforgettable night, he had slipped out quietly, leaving behind a soft kiss on your forehead. He promised to see you before the end of your vacation, but the last day came, and Jungkook was gone. His sudden departure was blamed on a last-minute dance practice he had to attend, and while he responded to the one message you sent him, his replies were distant and curt.

you

kook have you arrived yet? read, 18:34

kook? read, 20:40

Days turned into weeks, and the excitement of what had happened between you two began to feel like a distant memory, replaced by lingering questions. Was it a one-time thing for him? Had you misread his intentions?

Months later, an unexpected invitation arrived: two front-row tickets to BTS’s concert in your city. It was addressed to your family, sent with love from Jungkook’s mother, and you weren’t sure if it was his idea or hers. Either way, the thought of seeing him again made your heart race.

The night of the concert, your family and you arrived early with backstage passes. Walking through the bustling corridors filled with staff and crew, you felt a mixture of nervousness and excitement. It wasn’t long before you spotted Jungkook’s mother, her kind smile instantly putting you at ease.

“Darling” she exclaimed, pulling you into a warm hug. “It’s been too long.”

You returned her embrace, feeling a flood of nostalgia. “It has. How have you been?”

“I’m well. But you… you look lovely,” she said, stepping back to examine you. Her gaze softened as she added, “You and Jungkook remind me so much of me and his father when we were young.”

Your breath hitched at her words. “Really?”

She nodded, her expression wistful. “The way he talks about you, the way he looks at you… It’s the same way my husband looked at me when we first fell in love.”

The mention of love made your chest tighten. “Well, he’s been distant lately,” you admitted, unable to hide the sadness in your voice, “you know… since the incident, yeah.”

She placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “Give him time, he’s being dumb now. If it’s meant to be, it will work out.”

Before you could respond, a loud commotion signaled the arrival of BTS. The members spilled into the room, their energy infectious as they greeted your family with enthusiasm.

“Look who’s here!” Taehyung called out, grinning as he pulled you into a quick hug. “It’s good to see you again!”

The others followed suit, each greeting you warmly. They joked, teased, and chatted as if you were part of their family, making you feel at ease despite the tension simmering beneath your calm exterior.

And then, he walked in.

Jungkook appeared in the doorway, dressed in baggy jeans and an oversized white BTS t-shirt that hung effortlessly on his frame. His dark hair fell into his eyes, and he looked better than you remembered.

“Hey,” he said, his deep voice sending a shiver down your spine. He greeted your family with polite smiles before his gaze found yours.

“Can we talk?” he asked, his tone low but firm.

You nodded, following him as he led you to his dressing room. The door closed with a soft click, and the silence was heavy.

“Why didn’t you call me back?” you blurted out, unable to contain your frustration any longer. “I called, I texted, and you barely responded. Do you have any idea how that felt?”

Jungkook sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I know. I’m sorry. Things got… complicated. I didn’t know how to handle it.”

“Complicated?” you repeated, your voice rising. “All you had to do was talk to me. Instead, you left me wondering if I meant anything to you at all.”

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, he looked like he was struggling to find the right words. Finally, he stepped closer. “You mean everything to me and that’s the problem. I’ve never felt this way before, and it scared me. I thought pushing you away would make it easier, but it didn’t. It made it worse. And your brother he…”

You blinked, his confession catching you off guard. “Kook, you let me have the talk with my brother. We’ll figure it out.”

He reached out, his fingers brushing against yours. “I’m sorry for being an idiot. I know I hurt you, and I hate myself for it. But I’m here now, and I’m not going anywhere. If you’ll have me.”

Your heart ached at the sincerity in his voice. “You’re really bad at this, you know?” you said, a small smile tugging at your lips.

He laughed softly, relief washing over his face. “Yeah, I am. But I’ll do better. I promise.”

You nodded, letting him pull you into his arms. The tension melted away as he held you close, his warmth grounding you in the moment.

“I have to go,” he whispered, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead. “But I’ll be looking for you in the crowd.”

And he did.

From your spot in the front row, you watched as Jungkook lit up the stage, his energy and passion unmatched. But every now and then, his gaze would flicker to you, and in those fleeting moments, it felt like the world belonged to just the two of you.

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floredaqueen · 6 months ago

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✿︎𝐀 𝐁𝐢𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐀𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞✿︎

𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐝 𝐚 𝐰𝐢𝐩 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐟𝐞𝐰 𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐚𝐠𝐨! 𝐘𝐞𝐬, 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐰𝐢𝐩(𝐥𝐨𝐥). 𝐈 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐭. 𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐈 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐢𝐭.♡

✿︎♡︎𝐏𝐥𝐬 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲♡✿︎

𝐌𝐮𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 (𝐩𝐥𝐬 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐝 𝐚𝐭 𝐦𝐞): @rafeyscurtainbangs @xxbimbobunnyxx @eddiesxangel @loserboysandlithium @userchai @stvolanisinvenus @babygorewhore

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monstersholygrail · 9 months ago

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The Monster’s Lair

*Aka my Masterlist*

Hello, my lovely little monster fuckers. My name is Dray and welcome to The Monster’s Lair.

Please send in any ask or request your heart desires. All comments are welcome! Any thoughts, opinions, comments, compliments, and anything else you’d like to tell me so long as you’re kind.

The things we will not, nor will we ever, cover on this blog is right here until further notice. Also, just a reminder, this is an 18+ blog! MDNI! Any found on the premises will be promptly escorted off and banished to the deep seas :)

Please, do not Spam Like or at least reblog a post every few fics if you’re binge reading. The shadowban is real and it is painful. So plz help me out here lol

Emoji Anons: ☎️ ,🥚, 🩰 , 🍓, 💤, 🍰 , 🐋 , ✨, 🩸, 🐀 , 🗣️, 🥒 ,

Patreon/Commissions/Tip Jar

Here is my Ko-fi where you can go to commission me for a fic at your hearts desire. You can find all information you’ll need on the page itself. A proper information page is coming soon. It is also where you can find my tip jar if the mood ever strikes you <3

Here is my Patreon where you can go if you’d like to get more special content from yours truly. You can find all information on the tiers list in the link. A proper information page is also coming soon lol.

Here’s my work! Read to your hearts content, you freaky horn-goblins. Shoo! Go on, get!

General:

Monster Fics

Hybrid Fics

Yandere Fics

Characters:

Demon Priest

Series + Longer fics:

Free Use City

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narrycherries · 2 months ago

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(1) how’s one to know..

harry is just an ass and she is just a stranger — series introduction, bit of angst (8.6k)

(2) an incandescent glow

She just wanted to have a fun night out, but Harry has a tendency to ruin things.. — angst and sadness filled (10.9k)

(3) putting roots in my dreamland

Despite wishing he didn’t exist, she had no choice but to be around him.. — short but necessary angst for the story (8.4k)

(4) and now I’m covered in you..

She can’t seem to keep herself out of trouble and it irritates him more than it should. — a scary situation creates a lot of conflicting thoughts for both characters.. angst (14.3k)

(5) magnificently cursed

She can’t seem to ignore him and he’s rather observant of her.. - angst, little dramatic incident (11.4k)

(6) clover blooms in the fields

She needs help and he just so happens to be the only one available.. - little angst, more fluff (tw: does mention surgical procedures) (12.3k)

(7) crescent moon, coast is clear

She was struggling to let go of her worrying thoughts, but he was determined to help her through it. — there’s some angst & fluff (15.2k)

(8) he’s gonna burn this house to the ground

He has added insult to injury and she gives him one chance to make it right. — bit of angst lots of fluff and dialogue (17.5k)

this series is loosely inspired by the song ivy by taylor swift

more pics // more pics (2) // more pics (3)

part 8 teaser post(with photos)

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ playlist *ੈ✩‧₊˚

(just a few songs that inspired this series & what I listen to while writing it :: these are my music preferences so if you don’t like them.. don’t listen) •••slight spoilers so be aware/you can skip over this•••

ivy - taylor swift

lie to girls - sabrina carpenter

my boy only breaks his favorite toys - taylor swift

norman fucking rockwell- lana del rey

right now - one direction

souvenir - selena gomez

something in the way - nirvana

fine line - harry styles

guilty as sin - taylor swift

cinnamon girl - lana del rey

brain stew- greenday

the next best american record - lana del rey

dancing with our hands tied - taylor swift

lips of an angel - hinder

tonight - zayn

small talk - niall horan

iris - goo goo dolls

so it goes - taylor swift

stay over - tove lo

love is a wild thing - kacey musgraves

false god - taylor swift

little freak - harry styles

crimson and clover - joan jett (& the blackhearts)

I can fix him (no really I can) - taylor swift

get stoned - hinder

angel - kacey musgraves

there you are - zayn

nobody gets me - sza

alone - heart

cardigan - taylor swift

lover of mine - 5sos

mateo- tove lo

strong - one direction

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ladybirdswritings · 2 months ago

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SWEET THING, DBF — joel miller x reader.

DESCRIPTION: your life is a storm—an overbearing father, a shitty boyfriend, and the ache of growing up. everything becomes more tangled when you find yourself drawn to your father’s best friend, joel. NOTES - finally, part two. leave me all your thoughts and opinions. i love them <33 | prev part ; next part

two;

“Put your seatbelt on, Y/N.”

His voice was gruff—tired from overuse, nearly ready to silence entirely. A rich, southern rasp that sent chills down anyone’s spine, yours included. You obeyed without hesitation.

“Thank you for this…” was all you managed in a whisper while locking the metal into place—trapped.

You didn’t know your daddy’s friend too well, but you knew enough. Most people avoided him, whether it was the constant scowl etched on his face or those dark eyes that seemed to scream threats his quiet mouth never voiced. Everything about him made people stiffen, their bodies rigid as old boards.

He only hummed, his eyes fixed on the road, his jaw ticking as he navigated toward the party nearby.

“A left here,” you offered, leaning forward and pointing just past his line of sight.

When he breathed, the scent of honey and jasmine flowers on your skin clung to the air between you. His jaw locked tighter.

You knew you looked every bit the spoiled, overprotected little princess your daddy raised you to be. Skipping Jackson’s town dance to attend some trashy house party hosted by your boyfriend wasn’t exactly subtle rebellion, but you didn’t care.

Where your father insisted on preserving the innocence of your youth, you argued you’d only get to be young once. Only get to date questionable men, drink questionable drinks, and laugh about it later one time in your whole life.

Naive? Sure. But you didn’t know that.

Joel didn’t wait for you to notice he’d parked before snaking a firm arm across the console. His calloused fingers brushed the hem of your denim-clad thigh. Your heart stuttered, your eyes widening as his glare burned into you.

So close.

And then, the seatbelt clicked.

You exhaled shakily, a smile tugging at your lips as you reached for the door. But before you could escape, his rough fingers caught your chin, tugging your face back until you were forced to meet his eyes.

Dark, chocolate eyes.

“You’re real lucky tonight, sweetpea. Now don’t go in there and make me look like a fool to yer’ daddy. You drink responsibly, and you don’t touch a blunt in sight—understand?”

You gulped, cheeks burning tomato red. Wide-eyed and frozen, you nodded. You were nothing more than a fish caught in the hands of a cold fisherman, your pretty face cradled between his calloused palms.

“What, you think I’m stupid? Think I don’t know what’s gonna go on the second you walk that purtie lil’ ass inside?”

His voice was sharp, and you stammered, blinking up at him as your breath hitched. He knew. Of course, he knew. He was young once, too.

“I’ll be responsible, Mr. Miller—sir,” you lied through your teeth, the sweetness in your voice a thin disguise.

A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, and a deep, gravelly laugh escaped him.

“Oh, sure you will, sweetpea.”

Satisfied he’d issued a proper warning, he released you. But before you could scramble away, he added, “Go on and behave, and I might just convince your daddy to let you live a little more often.”

Hope bloomed in your chest like wisteria tangling with your rapid heart. If Joel vouched for you, maybe daddy would ease up.

A plan solidified in your head. All you had to do was be good.

You could do that! Easy, just be good.

Step one? Sweeten him up.

“You’re a peach, Mr. Miller,” you chirped, leaning forward to press a kiss to his stubbled cheek.

You lingered a moment longer than you should have.

Where Jesse smelled of beer, snow, and fresh spices, Joel smelled of whiskey, cedar, and leather. Of hard work and blood-stained hands.

Joel noticed the pause, and slowly, his head turned. Just an inch closer, and his lips could press right against yours.

The thought made your eyes widen.

What was wrong with you? He was doing you a favor, and here you were imagining how his scowling lips might feel against yours. How his tongue—experienced, confident—might tease the roof of your mouth, trail down your neck…

He peered at you through bourbon lashes.

“That business doesn’t work on me, sweetpea…” he started, freeing a hand so to tuck a stray ringlet of your untamed waves behind your ear. You inhaled sharply.

“You gon’ be good?” His voice was low, a tickling whisper that sent warmth flooding through your body.

“I am,” you promised, your teeth betraying the truth behind your pretty smile.

He nodded once. “Go on, then. I’ll be parked out front. Holler if you need me.”

His knuckles whitened on the steering wheel as you slipped out, your heart racing with every intrusive thought lingering in your head.

Maybe you were ovulating. Or maybe you were a basket case.

You shook your head. Jesse. Jesse. Jesse. Your boyfriend—Jesse.

With that, you slammed the Chevy door and hurried toward the party.

•••

Big. Fucking. Mistake.

As soon as the scent of weed and tequila hit your senses, you grinned. A tiny buzz wouldn’t be too hard to hide from Joel.

One shot here. Another there. You inched closer to Jesse, ready to surprise him.

And you did.

“Y/N!”

There he was, wide-eyed and guilty, his lips swollen from Abby’s kiss.

Tight, toned Abby.

They were tucked in a corner, her lips lazily trailing his throat. The sight made your knees wobble. When Jesse saw you, he jerked away, but the damage was done.

Abby’s hands shot up as though she were innocent, and it took all your strength not to lunge for the bitch.

“Baby—” Jesse started, but your throat tightened, hot tears threatening to spill.

You remembered how he admired your strength back in high school. When you were nerdy and unimportant — only glanced at after the tragic death of your mother. Everyone else pitied you. Jesse was different. He’d whispered sweet words to you after your mother passed, he’d made you less… stuck-up; convinced you that tequila could numb the pain. God, it did.

“Y’know, you’re a real tough girl to show up every day with your head high after everything that’s happened…”

“Sip this— baby. all those thoughts about your mom will go away…” he’d whispered once, tipping vodka onto your tongue. He had lost his mom, too. He knew how to stop the agony.

And now? He was the one causing it.

“Fuck you, Jesse. We’re done,” you snapped, your voice cracking despite your best efforts to sound strong.

You turned to leave, but Abby’s smug voice stopped you cold.

“Don’t know why you’re so pressed, princess. I dig chicks too. You could’ve joined us.”

You saw red.

Before you knew it, your ringed fist collided with her chiseled jaw.

Gasps echoed as she stumbled back into the crowd, her wide eyes meeting yours. Jesse grabbed your wrists, but you yanked them free.

“Stay the fuck away from me!”

And just like that, you stormed out, leaving the crowd and your dignity behind.

This wasn’t how your night was supposed to go.

But instead of sulking to Joel’s truck, you vowed to drown your sorrows in tequila until the world stopped spinning.

Oh yeah, that’s exactly what you intended to do.

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hazzashouse · 3 months ago

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Forgotten - Harry Styles one-shot

A/N: Merry Christmas everyone! This one is a bit sad but I hope you’ll like it!

Summary: After Harry forgets an important anniversary, tensions boil over into a heated argument that leaves both of you hurting. Harry is forced to confront his mistakes and the cracks forming in your relationship. Determined to make things right, he sets out to prove that his love for you is stronger than his faults.

Triggers: arguments/raised voices, miscommunication and emotional tension, feelings of neglect/loneliness in a relationship, brief mention of crying and hurt feelings

Pairing: Harry Styles x female reader

Harry stepped into the house, running a hand through his hair as he closed the door behind him. It had been a long day, back-to-back meetings and calls about the tour, and all he could think about was collapsing into bed.

But when he looked up, you were standing in the middle of the room, arms crossed tightly, your expression a mix of anger and something sharper—disappointment.

His brow furrowed. “What’s wrong?”

Your gaze flicked toward the dining table, and his stomach dropped. The candles, the neatly set plates, the untouched food—it all clicked too late.

“It’s our anniversary,” you said quietly, your voice trembling with restrained anger.

“Shit.” The word slipped out before he could stop it. He ran a hand through his hair again, cursing himself. “I—fuck, I forgot. I didn’t mean to, I just—”

“Got busy?” you snapped, cutting him off. “That’s your excuse for everything, isn’t it, Harry?”

“It’s not an excuse,” he shot back, a defensive edge creeping into his tone. “You know how crazy things have been. I’m trying to keep everything together—”

“Everything except us,” you interrupted, your voice rising. “Do you even care anymore? Or am I just supposed to sit here, waiting for you to remember I exist?”

His jaw clenched. “That’s not fair. You know I love you. I’m doing all of this for us—for you.”

“For me?” You laughed, bitter and sharp. “Don’t put this on me. I didn’t ask for your schedule to swallow you whole. I didn’t ask to be forgotten.”

“Forgotten?” he repeated, his frustration bubbling over. “I’m out there working my ass off, trying to balance everything, and you think I’ve just forgotten about you? That’s not how this works!”

“It’s exactly how it feels!”

The words hit him like a punch to the gut, but he didn’t know how to respond. He wanted to explain, to make you understand how much he hated being away, how much he hated this argument. But the words got stuck in his throat, tangled up in his exhaustion.

You shook your head, tears shining in your eyes. “I can’t do this right now.”

Before he could stop you, you grabbed a blanket from the closet and headed for the couch.

“Don’t,” he said, his voice quieter now, tinged with desperation. “Don’t do this.”

But you didn’t look back.

———————

The house was silent, the weight of your argument pressing heavily on Harry’s chest. He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying every word you’d said. Forgotten. The word echoed in his mind, a sharp reminder of how badly he’d messed up.

Around 2 a.m., he gave up on sleep, his body restless and his guilt gnawing at him. Quietly, he slipped out of bed and padded down the stairs.

There you were, curled up on the couch, your face turned toward the backrest, your body stiff even in sleep. The blanket you’d brought was tangled around your legs, barely covering you.

Harry’s chest tightened at the sight. You looked so small, so vulnerable, and it killed him to think he was the reason you were here instead of beside him in bed.

Carefully, he grabbed another blanket from the chair and draped it over you, tucking it gently around your shoulders. He crouched beside the couch for a moment, watching the slow rise and fall of your chest.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

———————

When Harry woke up the next morning, you were already gone. A note on the counter simply said, At work. See you later.

The pang of guilt in his chest only deepened. He couldn’t leave things like this—not after last night.

When you came home that evening, the house smelled incredible—like garlic, herbs, and something warm and inviting.

You stepped into the kitchen, dropping your bag by the door, and froze. The dining table had been reset, fresh candles flickering softly, and a vase of flowers sat in the center. Harry was there, standing by the stove, wearing an apron that made you bite back a reluctant smile.

“Hey,” he said, turning to face you, his expression equal parts nervous and hopeful.

“What’s all this?” you asked cautiously.

He stepped closer, wiping his hands on the apron before pulling it off. “This is me trying to make it up to you. For last night. For forgetting. For everything.”

You stared at him, your emotions tangled. “Harry, I—”

“Please,” he interrupted gently, his eyes searching yours. “Let me say this.”

You nodded, crossing your arms over your chest, waiting.

“I know I’ve been…distracted,” he admitted, his voice low. “And I know I’ve been terrible at showing it lately, but I love you. More than anything. I hate that I made you feel like you don’t matter, because you do. You’re my everything, and I never want you to doubt that.”

Your throat tightened, and you looked away, afraid he’d see the tears welling in your eyes.

“I’m not perfect,” he continued. “I’ll probably mess up again. But I want to do better. For you. For us. If you’ll let me.”

When you looked back at him, the vulnerability in his expression made your chest ache. Slowly, you stepped closer, your walls crumbling. “You really hurt me, Harry.”

“I know,” he said softly, his voice thick with guilt. “And I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you if that’s what it takes.”

You let out a shaky breath, nodding as you wrapped your arms around his waist. He pulled you close, his chin resting on top of your head as you finally let the tears fall.

For the first time in weeks, you felt like you had him back.

The two of you ate dinner together, talking and laughing like you used to. It wasn’t perfect—there were still things to work through—but it was a start.

And for now, that was enough.

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deadlymistletoe · 8 months ago

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lxkeee · 1 year ago

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END GAME

PART ONE

pairing: lucifer x fallen angel! fem! reader

fandom: hazbin hotel

genre: fluff

warnings: no warnings yet.

notes: very feral for this man and this is multishot fic and would be writing a smut for this. Reader is close to his age (probably a hundred years younger but meh)

additional notes: this is a long one.

Part two |

[y/n] stood in the podium, her hands bound by golden chains. She looked at the higher angels who sat on the high chairs of the courtroom, her [e/c] eyes stared at them with boredom. She never liked being in heaven, so many rules to the point she couldn't breathe. She was created a few years after the infamous Lucifer fell from grace, she admired him. She has heard his cause and mentally agreed to his beliefs—she couldn't say it out loud as the higher beings would punish her. She was a good angel, always a rule follower and a good role model, then she suffered from burnt out, repeating the same thing everyday—waking up, praying, doing good, following the rules.

She started questioning their ways and now, the time has come for it to bite her back as she finally faces a trial. [Y/n] what happened the majority of her trial, she remembers doing a couple of nods in agreement and occasionally rolling her eyes whenever Adam said something stupid. She couldn't take whatever bullshit Sera was yapping about and decided to cut her off, “Enough about all these rules, just admit that us angels are egomaniacs, always hungry for control. Heck, Lucifer was right with his intentions but you guys saw it as an act of disobedience. You didn't like what he was doing since it didn't follow what you guys wanted him to do.” She said coldly, her tone making the whole room tense and cold, “he thought it was unfair to the humans to follow whatever heaven's command is without question and hesitation. But Lucifer gave them freedom,” [y/n] pauses, glaring at the higher beings, eyebrows furrowed and her eyes staring at their very soul, “Heaven is fake, you put on a show for everyone, pretending that everything is fine and this is a fun place filled with peace and we all know you guys want them to blindly follow your rules.”

“Do not ever speak his name or do you want to follow where he is?” Sera asked loudly, her voice commanding and echoing off the walls of the court but her message just made the angel in trial smirk, “Oh...? Frankly speaking, I think hell seems to be a better and more fun place than heaven. I could do whatever the fuck I want.” [y/n] says with a smirk, heart thumping loudly for the first curse word she had said. This made Sera more angry, “Then, so be it.” Sera sneers.

Falling... So this is what Icarus felt when he flew too close to the sun. Lucifer was lucky as heaven wasn't this harsh before, [y/n] closes her eyes as she felt the stinging pain of the wind caressing her back, golden ichor flowing from where her wings should be, but despite the pain, a grin was plastered on her face as she embraced the imminent pain she'll receive once she hits the burning ground of hell. Despite the extreme pain she felt on her back, the missing part of her that heaven decided to take—she felt free, shimmering tears cascades down her cheeks as she cried for her acquired freedom while simultaneously mourning for the loss of her wings. Her weak body passing by many, many clouds, passing by the crust of the earth and soon she could see the fiery red skies of hell, she can only wait for the impact.

She could hear the sound of something breaking and cracking, the loud ringing on her ears before her world turned dark. Falling from grace isn't enough to kill her.

Lucifer's usual schedule usually consists of him wallowing in self pity inside his room, making rubber ducks, or having an existential crisis in his balcony. Lucifer just so happens to be on his balcony that day, talking to his newly created rubber duck that looks like his daughter when his eyes noticed the dark red clouds of hell parting and a figure falling at extreme speeds, at first he thought it was another soul who ended up in hell but his eyes widened to see occasional gold shimmering on the figure. “What...” Lucifer murmurs in confusion, his eyes following the figure and what the...? It's about to land in his front yard.

Only his eyes widened in fear as the figure crashed and golden ichor splattered everywhere. The realization damned upon him that another angel has fallen from grace.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Lucifer never cursed so much as he jumped off the balcony, three pairs of wings springing out of his back as he quickly flew next to the crash site. “I swear to me if this person died,” this wouldn't be the first time someone died in his front yard but it would be the first time an angel would, but can an angel even die from this impact?

He quickly checked the fallen angel, identified that it's a female. She looked like such a mess, golden ichor splattered everywhere, messy hair from falling, eye bags, and passed out but despite all that, he found her to be very beautiful, “I swear to me, this isn't the time Lucifer.” he muttered to himself as he began to work and make sure this woman is treated properly. What made the king of hell freeze was when he used his power to lift her up gently, he noticed that so much blood was gushing out of her back where the bone that should connect to her wings. He just realized why this angel crashed, she couldn't fly. She doesn't have her wings anymore and that realization filled his heart with anger.

He stared at her broken form lying on the bed of the spare guest room of the castle, he couldn't fully heal her. There's a limit to how much his angelic powers could do, it can't reverse the damage heaven themselves have done to her. Thankfully, he managed to fix all broken bones and close the wounds she had received but he can't fix the trauma she'll receive from this. Believe him, he tried (with himself).

His hand caressed away the hair that was falling on her face, finally taking a good look on her. She looked more beautiful without those wounds, she looked better without the stress—a contrast to the first time he's seen her. Warmth flooding his cheeks, he doesn't even realize that the red of his cheeks has become significantly darker.

“Ah, Lucifer stop. You don't even know this woman,” Lucifer mutters in annoyance as he squeezes his own cheeks to stop the warmth before eventually leaving the guest room to continue his usual routine.

He's starting to get worried, the fallen angel that currently resides in his guest room still hasn't woken up. It's been eight days. He spent the entire week checking up on her and continuing to treat her, he admits that this unknown angel's presence did good to his mental health as he was busy worrying for her that he forgets to listen to his intrusive thoughts. “What am I going to do with you?” Lucifer mutters softly as he places his hands above her, hovering over her body as golden hue begins to glow. Slowly and surely healing her.

Aching pain in her muscles is what she felt, slowly regaining consciousness. [Y/n] woke up in an unfamiliar room, oddly reminds her of the rooms that only royalty have. She tried to move her muscles but she could feel it cracking from not moving for a long time. “What happened...?” she asked herself softly, trying to remember what happened. The trial, Sera's anger, Adam being annoying, falling, her wings, then crashing. “Where am I?” she asked herself again, her voice croaking slightly, she slowly moved her body so she could sit on the bed, her eyes wandering everywhere, taking in her surroundings. She noticed that the symbol apple and snake was present on the designs of the tinted windows. The door opens.

Another week has passed, still no sign of her waking up. Lucifer was walking towards the guest room, preparing himself to try to heal her again. He opens the door and he froze to see the fallen angel who's usually lying limp on the bed is now sitting and staring on the window. “You're awake.” he says softly and she turned to look at him, her eyes, it's so beautiful. “Who are you?” she asked him softly and he smiled, “The name's Lucifer Morningstar, welcome to hell.”

#Spotify #lxkeee hazbin hotel masterlist #lucifer morningstar x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #lucifer hazbin hotel #lucifer magne #lucifer #PLEASEE THIS WAS ORIGINALLY A SMUT BUT I DECIDED TO DO A BACKGROUND WRITING ON THEM FIRST FOR THEIR RELATIONSHIP TO BLOOM #“END GAME” — LUCIFER X READER

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lilacxquartz · 6 months ago

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💜 welcome to lilacs’s kinktober 💜

everything is x reader and is multi fandom, some are gender neutral—this year we have 19 whole prompts & they here they are, ranging from tame to pretty out there. note: some of these will include dub or noncon, but this will be warned in the post.

week 1:

1st: free use — satoru gojo, suguru geto

2nd: medical exam — nurse kenjaku

3rd: power imbalance — levi ackerman

4th: dreams — bill cipher

6th: mushrooms — sovereign spaw

week 2:

8th: foursome — multiple mahito

9th: mirrors — lae’zel

10th: lactation — fem!sukuna

11th: brain riding — kenjaku’s brain

13th: double penetration — true form sukuna

week 3:

15th: shower — shoko ieiri

17th: breeding kink — choso kamo

18th: monsters — my oc/demon incubus

20th: pegging — makima

week 4:

22nd: period sex — toji fushiguro

24th: humiliation — naoya zenin

27th: trapped — pyramid head

29th: voyeurism — L

31st: roots/vines — hanami

fully completed! you can find the links on ao3 as well — ao3 series link

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someonegoood · 1 month ago

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SUTURES & SCARS | coming soon

— miniseries ✫

Pairing: surgeon!jungkook x surgeon!reader

CONTAINS: medical!au, surgeon!jungkook x surgeon!reader, slow burn, teasing, mutual pining, enemies to lovers, fighting turned bonding, past and present love, fluff & angst :)

in which a viral video of you standing up to your superior forces you to transfer to one of the most prestigious hospitals—only to find yourself working alongside Jungkook, the cold and brilliant trauma surgeon you once knew all too well. You're forced to navigate life-or-death situations together, blurring the lines between past resentment and something far more dangerous.

my main masterlist! ❀ playlist <3

Release date: FEBRUARY 21, 2025 🩺

taglist is open! 💟 if you want to be added, drop a comment below

NOTE: well... i'm back with a medical!au inspired by doctor slump 🏥 (that drama was so good omfg). thanks so much for reading, hope you enjoy it!! (english is not my first language).

PART 1, PART 2, PART 3 AND PART 4 ARE UP!

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messyemmy · 1 month ago

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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

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