#and it just makes him look like a big bumbling asshole

[thisgodwontforgiveyou]

making nemesis a big stupid thang still feels lame to me

[ronearoundblindly]

Ransom x reader

Enemies to lovers , bot came from wealthy backgrounds as one is a trust fund (ran) then the other has her life getting good with a buissness outside her family . Why are they enemies at first? Shes admired for not relying on her folks too much as a teen and down to earth , enjoys the finer things as she views them as a reward or gift but ransom Demands that shit they also bicker how shes freinds with people bellow her and she sasses him how he always rely on perks thats petty

Warnings: so. much. cursing. It's all from Ransom's point of view, and since he's a disturbing(ly sexy) asshole, that translates to language. Plus smut (protected sex) MINORS DNI. 18+ ONLY. Reader's background/company is ambiguous. Also of note is the 'enemies' portion is quite subtle. WC 4k

The Root of All Ransom, Part One (see series)

There’s new money and then there’s new money.

Ransom loves the smell of new, physical money, and because he spends so much of it, he gets to feel those crisp bills all the time. Sure, his black card gets the same look at a register, but the plastic gets tattered after a while. The metal cards are a nice touch. Hefty. Metal makes a great tapping sound when he’s bored of waiting for a retail worker to do their fucking job and let him leave already. Cash is easiest to toss down and run out. He likes all forms of money. Ransom is diverse that way.

You, however, you are the New Money, the shit that’s a title, the shit that’s been earned, and it reminds him of his mother’s ranting. ‘Self-made’ his ass. Grandpa Harlan never made Linda repay a dime; that’s not a million-dollar loan. That’s good, old-fashioned nepotism. That’s inheritance come early. Old Harlan is Old Money, but New Money You is just as stale.

“She’s a breath of fresh air,” the middle-aged woman beside him coos.

Fucking gross.

Each time Ransom sees you he gets a foul taste in his mouth. His nostrils flair. He can smell the budgeting on you even at a distance. For every one of these events (with swag bags and a charity write-off promise) where you make a speech after receiving an award for whatever—he’s already too bored to listen—Ransom drinks heavily to make it to the end of the night.

He hasn’t given a dime, mind you, but Harlan has, and Linda has. Neither of them ever wants to go hobnob. Linda would but can’t trust Richard at these things, so she sticks to daytime shindigs. Walt is a bumbling, awkward mess, so he can’t represent anything other than why big pharma for every neurosis exists. He’s not welcome. Instead, it falls to nowhere-else-to-be Ransom. 

He thought he’d hate the events as much as the company until he found a thick, silver lining: some starry-eyed wannabe is always seated at an adjacent table. Handsome, young Ransom is guaranteed someone to go home with. Bonus points if they give head during the car ride.

Tonight though, he fucks up.

Ransom Drysdale makes the mistake of chatting up your date: your friend, Mariah, from high school who’s in town for the weekend. She’s doing a remarkable impression of a bimbo socialite, and he’s already wasted most of the meal trying to land an unattainable prize—though not a worthwhile prize, obviously.

It’s not his fault; he was at the bar when you and Mariah arrived, so he had no clue.

He expects you to be defensive once you make your way back to the table after your speech and find your friend with him. Ran is sure his reputation precedes him. He looks great in the photo ops just as he looks for great ass. He thinks your smile seems forced until you get closer. All you do is tell them to enjoy themselves.

Mariah here looks like she’s about to drop to her knees under the table, and you’re gonna let her?

You can’t possibly be stupid enough to trust him, can you?

He snorts out a chuckle, thinking you may know your business but you clearly do not know people. He wants to fuck Mariah. Then he really wants Mariah to tell you about fucking him, ad nauseam, hopefully, multiple times. Then he’s not sure whether he’d prefer you want to fuck him or you be mad about him fucking Mariah. He’ll have to wait and see.

“Isn’t she the best,” Mariah tosses out as flippantly as her hair extensions over her exposed shoulders. “I’m surprised she wanted me to come instead of a real date.”

“Sure,” he swigs his whisky quickly, “but then I wouldn’t get you for the evening, too.”

If he’s not mistaken, Mariah just soaked the pretty little thong he can just see the outline of in her tight dress, so Ran lays on a few more easy moves and thinks it’s a done deal.

Alas, he is wrong, and you and your friend leave together smiling while he races to text a booty call to meet at his place in a half-hour.

It’s all very frustrating, and Ransom hates you that much more.

Ransom has two new coats, a half-dozen new shirts, a three-piece suit, three new pairs of shoes, and he’s looking for the piece de resistance: a scarf (or several).

He loves accessories because he loves to change things up. He gets bored extremely easily, and he feels better when he treats himself.

In Hermès, he eyes a few options. He might even bother to get that one for his mother just because it has a few hideous accent colors he knows she’ll hate. Linda will still smile tightly and fake gratitude; it’s the only type of gratitude she knows. He doesn’t find anything for himself though, so he heads to the counter and recognizes the curves of a woman’s backside…in a dress that he’s seen in multiple candid tabloid shots.

How old is that garment? Jesus. Have some pride, woman.

His bored greeting startles you.

“Mr. Drysdale,” you exclaim, hand over your heart, “good to see you again.”

Is it?

“Right,” he grumbles roughly. “What brings you out of your goodie-two-shoes hole this afternoon?”

You seem excited, but in a different way than he’s ever noticed. At events, you are the picture of humility, full of genuine gratitude (and possibly the only reason he knows what that looks like), but this is something else.

The salesman returns with your order and unboxes a Birkin bag for you to inspect.

Now you’re just plain giddy, overjoyed, and vibrating, and Ransom preens a little to see Ms. High-and-Mighty so lowered as to indulge in retail therapy.

That’s a twenty-five thousand dollar bag you’re holding.

“Nice color,” Ransom chides, but he isn’t rewarded with your deterrence. You simply turn to beam at him.

“My favorite!” Your hands return to sweeping over the beautiful pebbled leather. “I had to wait for years—which is fine—“ you quickly add “—but I promised myself I’d do ten hours a week of volunteer work to earn such an extravagance.”

“Are you going to use it?”

You nod without turning back to him.

“Are you going to enjoy it?”

Another saleswoman motions to help him with the scarf he holds, and Ransom says nothing to her but drops his black card on the counter.

“Very much so,” you say quietly, almost like a confession.

“Then what’s so crazy about that?”

You giggle. You actually giggle. You don’t tell him how wrong he is or judge his spending in any way, which is surprising when that’s all those events he knows you from are for—to get him to spend money their way.

Ransom doesn’t know what compels him to stand there with his small purchase and watch while your bag gets squared away. You don’t choose to wear it out of the store, something he finds patently ridiculous because it’s a fucking Birkin and you’re about to walk out of Hermes with it in a box in another bag.

He pushes off the counter to walk out with you, an idea springing up.

“You’ve met my mother, I believe.”

Your polite smile gives nothing away. “Yes, a few times. Very briefly.”

“Her birthday is next month—” he lets an employee open the door for you both “—her sixtieth, allegedly.”

“Oh, well, tell her happy birthday for me.”

“You could come.”

Your face scrunches but whether from his offer or the bright sun on the street, he doesn’t know. His sunglasses are already on. You rummage around in what looks like a tapestry bag on the bad side of vintage for yours. 

This is why you should have left using the Birkin, and he’s honestly surprised Hermès even served you looking like you do.

Where’s all that new money now, he thinks, because one bag is certainly not all of it.

“Why not? You both own businesses and run in similar circles.”

“Hugh, I don’t think—“

“Ransom,” he corrects with a sneer.

“Well, I just…” You regard him thoroughly for a long moment until a black car pulls up and its driver opens the door for you.

There it is. There’s a bit of pomp. He’s almost proud to see you being served. You’re just like him—or rather his family—in a way; you have help.

“Fine,” you say to Ransom while nodding to your driver, “text me the details, and I’ll see if I’m in town.” Even though your words are dismissive, they sound genuine and kind.

Yuck.

Your driver fishes a card from his breast pocket and curtly adds a ‘sir,’ before shutting you behind tinted windows.

Ok, so it’s not the easiest ‘yes’ he’s ever gotten. It wasn’t a ‘no’ either. Good news is that Ransom is not holding his breath. If it works, it works.

The idea is to flaunt you in front of Linda, not romantically, of course, but as a younger woman, perceived as better, more self-made, more successful, with a Birkin bag in his mother’s actual favorite color, while he gives her a scarf she’ll be revolted by. It’s perfect.

This did not at all go to plan.

Linda is supposed to be pissed. She’s supposed to be appalled and furious and have to hide that from her guests—which is most of the family, catering staff, and Harlan’s house help. She’s supposed to look at Ransom and know that he did this on purpose.

He told you not to bring a present for a reason, but he made damn sure when he picked you up that you were wearing that damn bag.

How the fuck was he supposed to know you’d go and be the dumbest bitch ever?

Linda got through two whole sentences of greeting after obviously clocking the Birkin and then turned it about her. She’s predictable that way, but you are not.

“That’s my favorite color,” she said.

“Mine too,” you said.

You both fucking laughed.

“I’ve always wanted one,” she said.

“You should have one,” you said.

He should have known right then except for on what planet does someone…

Ransom only stepped out for a few minutes to mess with Walt, smoking that sickening cigar. When he comes back in, there on the table right beside Linda is your bag. He looks around, but you aren’t in the living room. Then his mom smiles and pets the Birkin possessively.

“Oh, Ran, that girl is so sweet,” Linda coos.

Richard snorts in astonishment. “She’s really something.”

Ransom cringes at the lustful leer on his father’s face while he stares off toward the library.

What the shit? 

You gave his mother your bag? After one minute of conversation?

God fucking damn it.

He has no words. Ran just purses his lips and stalks off to the other room in search of you. You’re deep in conversation with Harlan, seated across from each other in the bay windows of the library in high-backed upholstered chairs. On the floor beside your foot is a Blood Like Wine tote, partially filled.

“Grandpa,” he interrupts, leaning one arm against your chair with a questioning gaze.

“Ransom, my boy, it’s good to see you.” Before he can get a word in, Harlan waves an arthritis-gnarled hand in your direction. “Have you met my neighbor?”

“Neighbor?”

You shrug with a weak smile. “I purchased the Carlyles’ old property last year but kept my apartment in town.”

He’s thrown off by this news, thinking. “That’s walking distance from here,” Ransom says flatly.

“Yes, it is. That’s why I can find my own way home tonight.”

“Ah,” Harlan taps his nose, “so you two know each other.”

“Your grandson was kind enough to invite me.”

“And you made quite a fucking impression,” Ransom growls while putting a hand on your shoulder.

Harlan flicks Ransom away. “Don’t be creepy, son. Get the lady a drink.”

“Mr. Thrombey, please.” You stand, forcibly pushing his hand off of you. “Ransom’s your family. Why don’t I get you boys something while you catch up?”

“Whiskey, neat, two fingers,” Ransom bitterly spits, shoving the hand in his jean pocket.

Harlan tsks him with a solemn look.

“The same,” his grandfather sighs before returning your smile. “I appreciate it, dear.”

“Anytime.”

Ran fights the urge to kick your tote on the floor.

Harlan simply moves on. “One of my next novels is an intrigue of corruption, involves a non-profit, and Good Miss was enlightening me to a few details of their inner workings.”

“Glad you both can turn it off for five minutes,” Ransom grunts back.

Harlan’s sharp gaze lands on him.

“While I am glad you did not use her and lose her, as they say.”

“God, no,” Ransom groans in revulsion. “She’s here to rub Linda the wrong way…not me.” He tries to bury his self-satisfied smirk in a sweater sleeve held to his mouth.

“Charming.” Harlan means anything but charming as he looks to see you side-tracked again by a chat with Marta. “You’ve done much worse before—“ he turns to the window “—but my guess is she never has.”

Ransom’s jaw twitches. This is why he hates his family, even his favorite among them. No wonder he brought someone exclusively to annoy them, hoping to make them feel small and selfish, but he forgot something important.

They’re all like him. None of them care to be selfless. They don’t want to be charitable. They are fine being perceived that way, if necessary, if it gains them something else they want.

But.

What Harlan says gives him another idea. What if he keeps you around? They are sure to lose their minds. Harlan would be impressed (and proved wrong). Richard will be jealous (although that’s still gross). Linda would be unable to manipulate that situation (though she’ll try).

Plus, Joni will hate you instantly because you’re prettier and don’t need her snake-oil skin shit.

“Harlan,” you offer his grandfather his drink first, then turn to Ran with that irritatingly kind smile. “Hugh.”

He takes the glass and flashes pearly whites.

It’s decided. He just hopes the sex won’t be as boring as he thinks. You’re definitely not a roadhead bitch.

Although based on that damn Birkin, you are stupidly generous, so he hopes that translates to the bed…or wherever he fucks you.

“Sure your shoes can take it?”

As if he can’t walk across the fucking woods…the embers of waning alcohol all push around in his gut on the trek over to the Carlyles’ place. He hasn’t gone over there since maybe freshman year of high school during a long Christmas stay at Thrombey Manor.

He was wrong. Ran’s shoes are not fine, but he has to bury that irritation down deep while entering the warm and inviting mansion filled with your...roommates?

Four other people live in a house that you sometimes stay in: Angela, Diego, Terrell, and Luca.

Ran doesn’t fucking care. This is not some weird orgy he’s planning. He almost walks right back out and floors the Beamer back to civilization.

Mercifully, you have most of the upstairs entirely to yourself, a small suite of a bedroom, office, and bathroom neatly tucked above a quieter part of the house.

He’s surprised that you drop the tote bag and start shedding clothes so quickly.

“Sorry about them. We all went to uni together and this works as a crash-pad for the internationals.”

“No problem,” he sighs, “I know what it’s like.” They’re freeloaders, like my cousin Meg, is what they are, but Ransom keeps that thought to himself.

You offer him another drink, which Ran accepts, watching you like a hawk with sky-blue eyes.

Beneath your dress, you wear a slip, a silky satin thing that actually impresses him. He’s convinced there is thick shapewear beneath it because that just seems like a you thing to do: one sexy move, one boner killer. Instead of showing him though, you spin your finger around in front of him.

“Really,” he quips. He’s already resigned to putting his dick in either way, so he doesn’t really care.

You smile too sweetly for it to read as coy. “Make yourself useful and go to my bag.”

“That’s not a bag,” he scoffs. “Might as well be made of tissue paper.”

He still obediently wanders over to the chair you draped it over and flips back a handle. Excellent. This nearly makes up for the entire party. Ran derives a sickening amount of pleasure from knowing these condoms were stored in the Birkin his mother will now carry around with pride.

He downs the remainder of his drink and whips out a wrapper. He wouldn’t care if you didn’t have any, or didn’t want to use one, or if you made some reference to them but the lights were off and didn’t check. The lights are still on though, and you’ve pointed him right to them. He’ll play ball. He hopes you play with balls, too. He hopes this is fun instead of just mediocre. He prepares himself to be actively bored, however, because that’s the most likely scenario.

It’s his usual MO. Works like a charm. Start out slow and teasing—girls tend to think it’s sensual but he’s being lazy (and they beg soon anyway)—until he can take over in exactly whatever fashion he wants. Except you don’t quite let things unfold that way.

He expects you to want him to kiss you, but you playfully turn away each time he advances. You swat his hands when he tries to touch you, only to grab the hem of his sweater and rip it off him. You don’t wait for him to unbutton his jeans before sliding cool fingers down past the band of his boxers.

Fuck, he does like it when they're forward.

He pops the button, pushes the zipper, and shuffles out of the heavy cotton while you get a good hold of him. Ransom doesn’t care that your hands are soft, just rough enough for friction and nothing more, and he doesn’t really care that your slip is still on because he’s figured something else out.

You’re not wearing underwear. He’s not sure if you were but tossed them aside while he grabbed the condom, or perhaps you’ve been speaking with his family for the better part of two hours with your cunt kissed by the same air they were all breathing, but he’s happy about it.

Ransom leans forward to you again, but instead of letting him kiss you, you look down to spit in your hand and work him harder.

“The sooner you suit up…” you taunt him, glancing at the wrapper still clutched in Ran’s hand, “sooner you get in for the night.”

He’s been with bossy doms before—not his favorite—but this is different. His instinct is that you want a show of it, maybe you want to see him touch himself, maybe you want to see his face as the tight latex is rolled down his throbbing cock, but you hold his gaze while turning your body away from him.

Since he doesn’t have to play up how he looks, Ran focuses on the expanse of skin across your back. There’s so much more than your dress showed, yet not enough, and it’s beautiful. He thinks about the same, smooth skin that must be stretched across your ass and rolls his hips against the fabric while his mouth maps your neck and shoulders.

Not romantically, of course, he’s not trying to make you feel better—you are more than capable of feeling yourself, but Ransom enjoys a little taunting of his own now and then.

His hands move to cup your breasts, and fuck, did you not have a bra on earlier either? This day is full of surprises.

His intense rutting coupled with teasing your taut nipples makes your slip catch between your ass cheeks, and he angles his dick to press through the apex of your thighs, taking the satin with him.

Pretty skin beneath his lips, pretty noises ringing in his ears, Ran pulls away.

The fresh wet spot on your slip sticks to the condom when he looks down at his demanding erection.

You’re ready. He’s ready.

Fuck, Ransom is so ready, and you know it, climbing onto the edge of your bed to get comfortable presented in all your glory, all the lights on, fingers already teasing and working yourself open.

This is already way better than he expected. He doesn’t have to work. He doesn’t have to try. He doesn’t have to fake interest. You handle your clit like the expert you are on yourself, and Ran works himself up, sheathed and thrusting in you like the expert he is on himself. Pleasure for pleasure, and fuck is it pleasurable. 

His fist holds onto the bundled satin across the small of your back, and you make natural escalating noises.

It sounds genuine.

Shit, when was the last time he didn’t get annoyed at some bitch hamming up her moans? Not that it distracted him from coming, no, he could get him whether she was dramatic or an awkward, silent one. Takes more effort when he has to ignore something she’s doing though. 

Then you demand he goes faster, and he’s into it. Then you come with a groan that’ll haunt his hindbrain, and he can feel the massaging grip and release. Then you take his balls in hand, tugging gently, and he fucking loses it.

He feels the hot flood of his cum into the condom as your walls still ripple against him. 

Damn, he doesn’t even care if you made him wrap up. That was fucking satisfying. It wasn’t even complicated, but you came and he came and that’s all he needed.

Ransom hasn’t been at a girl’s place in a while (certainly not without his car ready to get away) because he prefers to kick them out and already be home, but his hookups are usually clinging to the idea of staying the night.

You immediately go to the bathroom, clean up, and—now completely naked—stand at the foot of the bed.

“You good, Hugh? I’m on a call with Beijing in fifteen, so take your time—“ you button up a plain, blue shirt, your nipples showing right through “—or sleep or whatever. I’ll be a bit.”

“Only the help calls me Hugh.” It’s all he can come up with while he stares at your breasts and contemplates why he feels a bit used.

He got off, you’re not clinging to him, and you’ve given him an easy out. If he had to describe his perfect fucking date, this would be it, and his gut twists oddly just thinking about being dismissed.

You don’t miss a beat, heading for the door with only panties and the shirt on. Your ass pops out easily from under the hem.

“Suppose I’ll see you at the Kennedy thing next weekend, huh?”

Ran slaps his hand over his face, remembering there’s another fucking event coming up. “Yeah. Is that the stupid inner-city garden initiative?”

You hum in response, grabbing something else out of your flimsy purse tote. He better not see you carry that fucking thing around in front of actual fucking people. You don’t see him staring at your ass through his fingers before you swivel back around.

“If you need something, text me. Don’t knock.”

He snorts, knowing that he wouldn’t stay if a girl paid him to.

For one shining moment, you turn to beam at him. “Thanks for making it quick,” you chirp with a wink and shut the door behind you.

You goddamn wink at him after chucking him into the quickie category in your own mansion.

What the fuck?

Out of spite, he should just sleep here, he thinks. Let Harlan question why the Beamer is still in the drive. Let Walt stare at the car and know Ransom can get better pussy than that twat has had in a lifetime. Let Linda…

Hell, let Linda do whatever the fuck she wants and let Richard think whatever the fuck he wants.

Ransom takes his own naked walk of glory to the bathroom and does just that—he sleeps in a hookup’s bed all night, completely pleased with himself and his control of the situation.

a/n: Honest to god, this was supposed to be a one-shot. Genuinely, I swear. Now that I've plotted it out though...there was no way. I just personally don't really like more than 5k per Tumblr post. Too easy to lose your place. This way we stick with a three-ish-act structure, too. Squee! Hope you enjoyed this, and please let me know what you think in comments, reblogs, or anon asks!

[Next Part]

[Main Masterlist]

[spurious]

Compulsory Heterosexuality & McShep: Parallels

Thinking about the parallels between John & Nancy and Rodney & his relationships, because one of the really just absolutely nuts-making things that I've realized about McShep is how much they're mirrors of each other in so many ways (insert "everybody straight until the narrative foil walk in" textpost here)

So like, with Rodney and Katie/Jennifer there’s this sense of “ok this is what is supposed to happen/what I’m supposed to do” (not even just in the narrative but even in the show itself where it's like...do the writers not feel they need to build out a relationship for them? That they can just tell us that it's happening and we'll be like "OK yeah sure seems right" even though what they actually show us is Rodney spending all of his time with John and his team?) but anyway you can see both women are these very smart, successful, self-possessed women who would look at Rodney as someone "safe," like yes he's volatile and an asshole in certain ways but those ways are almost "harmless" compared to a lot of men, and in addition--and this is what I feel is pretty important--is the fact that he doesn't really require a ton of...care and feeding? Attention? He's pretty clearly not going to pull them away from their own (accomplished and serious) trajectories. Rodney being self-centered and distracted is a feature not a bug.

So they work as essentially these little "placeholder" relationships on both sides. For the women it's "ok, boyfriend, got that sorted, rarely see him but that's fine he doesn't need much from me" and for Rodney it's like this badge of Masculine Success (tm) that he has this beautiful woman who likes him or tolerates him or whatever (see: Brain Storm and how he pretty clearly sees Jennifer as a trophy to display to his former peers).

And so, ok, I titled this note (while I was working on it) "John and Nancy" and then spent two paragraphs on Rodney but HEAR ME OUT, we're getting there.

I think we can draw a pretty direct parallel in the sense of "this is what's supposed to happen" with Rodney's relationships and John's (only big relationship we know about since the man does not have a single viable love interest in five seasons.../seal shouting "gay".png).

There's a sense (from the info we have) that John was just...never really present with Nancy. That this was something that seemed like a correct step, and it'd make his family happy or whatever, and hey, it's not like he was gonna really go off and Live His Truth if he wanted to fly fighter jets, so why not settle down with a nice woman? And I think Nancy in the beginning saw it the same way Katie and Jennifer would see Rodney, like OK this guy doesn't want much from me and I have my own aspirations, this can work as something that checks off that box.

And then eventually, for one reason or another, it ends, I imagine because Nancy looked at what they had and realized she deserved a lot more than that, and John wasn't going to argue because he knew it was true, and he cared for her and didn't want her to be shackled to him if it wasn't doing something for her.

NOW. The thing that has made me want to set things on fire and throw myself into the sea. Is realizing that John is watching Rodney go through exactly what he has already lived and he can't fucking stop it.

And maybe he thinks "well it's different for Rodney," thinks that because he's fucked up in a way that makes him patently unloveable and unworthy while Rodney isn't, thinks that because he's gay and Rodney isn't, that maybe it'll work for him in a way it never did for John.

So now I just go absolutely fucking feral about John Sheppard and how he doesn't think he's worthy of love and happiness and tenderness, and how he thinks that his purpose, the best thing he can possibly do, is die for people he loves; so of course he lets Nancy walk away because he knows it's better for her, and of course he lets Rodney bumble his way through these relationships because the alternative is, what, being with John? and as much as he loves Rodney and wants him, he believes deep down that Rodney deserves "better."

I don’t know exactly where to go with this other than screaming and wanting others to scream along with me but like. The two of them fit together so perfectly but it’s just out of reach because it’s not what’s expected of them, and John’s self-sacrificing streak means he’ll never try it, while Rodney just…I think doesn’t really put that much thought into relationships to understand that he could have something different than the boxes he’s attempting to shove himself into? Ofc our job here in fandom is to give them catalysts that bridge that gap but without some outward impetus I can see them running along these sad little parallel tracks forever and oh my god, why has a military science fiction tv show from the early 2000s given the world this amazingly complex relationship WITHOUT EVEN MEANING TO?

[chifuyusgangshirt]

The implication that

1: taiju must not have been an abusive asshole?? If all the sibs are cool now?

2:inui's fire didnt happen so ig akane is theoretically still alive but we never see her and I guess no one is truamatized but there's less intense history for them to stay together like glue now?

3: and south, after that childhood just becomes a happy bumbling MMA fighter????

All through the magical curse resolution of dying in your (not) lover's arms is :///

Just every single bad thing was erased?? This eerie everyone-is-suddenly-friends thing is just uncomfortable. You don't have to be friends with every person in your life. Why is this the goal? I-

!

The taiju issue: the thing is, how would it happen any differently when Taiju was an abusive asshole even way before they timeleaped. It's one of my main issues because honestly, it takes a lot from domestic abuse survivors validation that in another timeline abuse just doesn't happen or you just need to be nice and wait until he changes - I was actually very happy that they didn't forgive taiju, especially yuzuha not because she had every right to want him out of his life. The fact he choose to go away on his own and end the situation was such a good way to approach this situation and now they are just happy?

At least give us some backstory to make it understandable :/

Inui and koko: oh this is my biggest issue. Because this just plain out didn't make any sense. They couldn't have known when, where and why the fire started not could they have saved them all so how did this just not happen? Was it all the dark impusles that affected everyone around shinichiro or what? I just-

Koko and inupis whole development, thwir history and redemption arc is destroyed with that? Their history, their love, it's all gone. Fron what I saw they weren't even working together anymore and I swear if they make koko engaged to akane I flip my shit

Why did wakui take away his scar anyway? Because you can't heal from trauma and be fully happy? Because it's only a happy end if no bad ever happend?

Weird message if you ask me

The others: Big fat yes my woman. Look, the S62 amd Izana were still in juvie, they still did all those things and while yes, people can change and especially Izana and kakucho deserve this, the haitani brothers, mochi, shion and south were introduced as people who just love violence and chaos/Gangs. Why are they all noe your friendly neighbourhood dads? Did they just decide to now that there is ko big, bad, crauy alpha male leading them? I really wanna know how this happend. I get the fact they tried to involve every character in the ending but why at the wedding? They could have made them friends that come by or show them all at their work places - that would make so much more sense

[tortoisebore]

i loved your post about sirius and remus’ jobs! i was wondering what do u think the girls would work as?

hmmmm okay okay i don’t feel like i know them as well as characters so i’m just spitballing here

my gut says marlene & sirius work together at the diner. like imagine the vibes. the early saturday shifts and taking all the overnight weekend shifts nobody else wants during summer break. she’s got her apron with all her pins and buttons and her pen with the pink pom pom on the end that she uses to take orders. and her hair is always different colors and she does all these fun ponytails and braids and scrunchies and butterfly clips that make the plain t-shirt + jeans + apron combo so so cute

and when she and sirius are on shift together they’re putting the old radio in the back on the pop girlie station and irritating the manager and bugging the line cooks for “leftover” fries. she’s really personable to the nice customers and carries lollipops in her apron for the kids that don’t scream their heads off. she gets promoted to shift lead during summer break which means she’s technically sirius’ boss and she takes full and complete advantage of that and orders he make her and dorcas milkshakes and sundaes when dorcas comes in to see her ((he acts really put out about it but where james and lily are like his second parents, dorcas and marlene are like his cool aunts that travel a lot and like to gossip with him so he’ll bumble around and keep the place in order while marlene takes a long lunch if it means they’re happy)) ((remus pokes fun at him for it but secretly thinks it’s sweet when sirius only seats new customers in the back section so that the girls can sit at the cute sparkly booth by the window in peace))

dorcas works at the local library maybe? but as the person that sorts the shelves and puts the returned books back bc being at the front desk dealing with the assholes that don’t want to pay their fines is not her speed. she does the saturday kids story times sometimes and on those days she wears her sparkliest dangly crystal earrings and ties a few more into her locs because one time a little boy told her she looked like a crystal fairy and she’s never forgotten it

mary’s running a plato’s closet like the navy. she’s arguing with the weirdos that come in with fifteen year old forever 21 tops that ‘no, this is absolutely not worth $20, you’re delusional. you’ll take $3 of store credit or you’ll get the hell out of here.’ she’s sorting the shoes by both color AND size and the knits and dresses wall in the back is pristine on the nights she closes. she’s texting marlene that someone just brought in a bright yellow leather jacket or telling sirius that these big combat boots with chains just got dropped off and she’ll set them aside so they can come grab them if they want. everyone’s getting clothes for birthdays—she’s picking the ugliest, thickest grandpa sweaters for remus and the plaid miniskirts for marlene and the patterned maxi skirts for dorcas and the tiny tank tops that say “babydoll” for sirius. james is getting sweatshirts because he genuinely loves them and loses his shit when he opens the gift bag and finds yet another random college hoodie for a university he does not attend. lily gets all the best tiny purses and the belts with cute butterfly buckles

[sailabovethis]

I stumbled upon an old Little Miss Sunshine short fanfic I wrote years ago and…bruh…I wasn’t expecting to get punched in the gut tonight.

AUTHORS NOTE:

This is a small moment between Dwayne and Olive that takes place a few weeks after the end of the movie.

This short fanfic was too personal to post on AO3 but I still felt the need to share as a tribute to my old self. It’s cringey and angsty but I’ve been trying to embrace that side of me lately.

----------<>----------<>----------<>----------

Dwayne had no idea what time it was. All he knew was that it was too fucking early for this shit. From the muffled yelling match down the hall, Dwayne guessed that Richard had finally hauled his drunk ass home. But Sheryl was not going to let this go tonight.

Dwayne turned away from the dawn light peaking through his window, trying to will himself back to sleep, but to no avail. A light snoring from his uncle on the cot across the room confirms that he is the only one affected by the noise. That is until he hears his bedroom door creak open.

“Dwayne?” A small voice whispers.

Olive peaks her head through the door. Her hand sitting on the doorknob and her face scrunched up trying to see without her glasses in the darkness.

“Go back to bed.”

“I can’t.”

She bites her lip and Dwayne lets out a quiet sigh.

“Alright.”

He scoots his back against the wall to make room for her on his twin bed. She steps through, slowly closing the door behind her, and dramatically tip-toes across the room in an effort to not disturb their sleeping uncle. She climbs in and immediately cuddles up next to her brother, hugging her hands between them.

To say he’s not used to this kind of close contact is an understatement. Dwayne had purposefully kept away from his entire family during his ‘Oath of Silence’. He tolerated them enough to follow orders from Sheryl and entertain Richard, only when necessary, but he always kept touching to the bare minimum. So this felt…weird.

Debating where to put his other hand, he decided to keep it on his side. They stayed like that for a couple minutes. Quietly matching their breaths and listening to the yelling just down the hall. Dwayne briefly reminisced of just a few years ago when little toddler Olive would delight in Dwayne reading her bedtime stories and then demand that he stay to sleep with her. He could never say no to his baby sister.

She had grown so big now. Her forehead was wrinkled with worry.

“Are you okay?” He asked softly.

“Mmhmm.” she nods, “Normally I do this with Grandpa but…” she trails off, unwilling to finish her train of thought.

Richard has now devolved into bumbling and groaning taunts as Sheryl’s yells begin to crack from crying.

Olive shifts her head, looking up at Dwayne before whispering, “Are Mom and Dad gonna get a divorce?”

About a month ago this thought pleased Dwayne. His Mom wouldn’t let some ‘wannabe-writer’ drain out her savings and come up empty handed at the end of each month. Finally that asshole would leave him and Olive and Mom the fuck alone. Even Frank, for that matter. But he knew that was a lie. Even now he had to deal with his own Dad’s shit, visiting him most holiday weekends in order to placate him.

Olive would end up just like him. A leftover from a failed marriage.

He didn’t want to watch his Mom throw herself in the dating ring again. Or Richard drink away the rest of his money. But was this really any better?

Dwayne tries to keep his expression still while his mind reels.

“I dunno.”

Olive hums and snakes her arm under Dwayne’s trying to snuggle closer.

“I hope they don’t.” She murmurs into his chest.

“Yeah.” Dwayne hesitates before softly setting his hand over her shoulder and watching sleep take over her.

“Me too.”

----------<>----------<>----------<>----------

To my past self, and all the kids and teens going through this right now, I swear it will eventually be okay. Find someone to talk to and tell them everything. It is the only way to heal the pain you’re going through right now.

I love you and I am sending you a big hug.

[erodasfishtacos]

Crackin’ the Code

prompt: Harry and YN tie the knot in a beautiful castle off the coat of Italy. Harry reflects back on his life before his love. YN has past insecurities creep on on her before the wedding. 

note: this is the necklace that YN receives as (one) her wedding gifts from H and she wears it during the ceremony.

word count: 9k

warnings: smut

***<-- click for visuals throughout (super important for this one shot!)

if you enjoy this fic (which i worked REALLY hard on) please reblog, like, comment, and come talk to me!

please please considering donating to my kofi since all my work is FREE to you guys!

---

The world expected an extravagant wedding with week-long festivities, celebrations in destinations only the richest could afford, and all the big names of the business world who ran in his circle.

The media outlets were just waiting, quite impatiently, for the day that the richest man in Europe settled down with a significant other. They would have news stories for decades when it came to the couple.

Of course, Harry Styles was going to marry a household name - the public thought. 

Whether it be an heiress, a model, maybe even an actress? The choices for the most eligible bachelor were limitless.

Any time he was at an event, usually a charity gala or black-tie dinner, paparazzi would take candid pictures of him with any female and then the following day publish an article about how they were a couple.

However, what the world didn’t know was that he’s been in a relationship for a year and a half, has already been engaged after the eight month mark, and moved into pretty soon after but that was hushed.

Nearly no one except a few key employees and family members knew about the couple. Everyone in his office building in the heart of London had to sign NDA’s at the beginning of their job - though almost all of them didn’t know she existed.

Harry did not put any limits on YN for the wedding planning. 

No price, no expectations, nothing. If she wanted ten-thousand people or zero people in attendance that was her call. If she wanted to drop ten million dollars on a wedding or a hundred that was fine too.

The CEO never fantasized about a wedding. 

Well he had but no in the terms most do. He didn’t sit and imagine the venue, the food menu, or the decorations. 

No, he didn’t care about any of that, he daydreamed about the fact that he and someone would commit themselves to each other for the rest of their lives.

Harry wanted to marry his fiance after their first date.

He was usually a very patient man, couldn’t have gotten where he was if he wasn’t. When it came to this, each day he wasn’t married to the love of his life felt like torture.

Since he proposed to her in his briefs in their bedroom, he had imagined her looking immaculate in whatever she chose to wear, exchanging vows of devotion, and then being tied together for life.

He never thought he would get here. He’d never felt a connection with someone like he had with the feisty waitress who bumped into him. Begin to believe that he was broken or lacking emotion because no matter how sweet the girl was he couldn’t see himself with the person.

Don’t get him wrong. 

He took many women out on dates that were downright awful. Asking him about money, suggesting he take them on expensive vacations or buy them a designer item, being too forward and palming his crotch in the middle of dinner.

One of the last dates he went on before he gave up was the one that made him stop looking all together, about six months before he ran in YN.

---

It was an expensive restaurant in the heart of London. It had a waitlist for months but one call and they could magically make an available booth for the billionaire within the hour. 

The girl he was sitting across from was a so-to-speak blind date. 

A set up by one of his business partners who stated that they would be a good match. Harry had rolled his eyes at that but couldn’t come up with an excuse fast enough to say ‘no.’

Her name was Aria, she had a respectable job at a local law firm as an assistant to a very well-known lawyer in the area. 

She was beautiful in the way of looking just like an instagram model with long dark extensions, false eyelashes that made it hard to determine what color her eyes were, and an outfit that made Harry a bit embarrassed to be seen with her - short and low cut at a five-star restaurant.

“Yeah, I just got back from Mallorca with a group of friends,” She tells him, flipping through the photo album on her phone to show him pictures. 

When she ‘accidentally’ swipes (and slowly swipes) again so that Harry definitely gets a glimpse of a nude selfie.

Harry internally groans, couldn’t be less turned on by that, and doesn’t acknowledge it - much to Aria's disappointment. 

She was fishing for a compliment, maybe a request for him to take the phone and look closer at the picture like most men would.

Instead he sits back, takes a sip of his wine, and nods curtly, “It looks like you had a good time.”

She stumbles for a second, confused by his sudden standoffishness, and clicks her phone locked before putting it next to her on the table, “Did I offend you?”

He was already done with the date, with the dating scene, with fucking everything honestly. 

What a goddamn waste of a night.

Harry barks out a cruel laugh, “It takes a lot more to offend me than a picture of y’tits but it’s a bit offensive that y’think so little of yourself that you think that’s how y’going to impress me. Those tits didn’t impress me much, darling.”

Aria’s eyes narrow in blatant disbelief at how much of an asshole he was being. 

Granted, she did feel a bit of embarrassment creeping up in her stomach about thinking showing him that picture was a good idea but still, he didn’t need to react like that.

“It really makes sense why you don’t have a girlfriend, it’s because of what an asshole you are,” The girl sneers with venom as she tucks her phone into her clutch, swigging down the last drops of the expensive wine.

He shrugs like he’s unbothered, a nasty feeling quilling in the pit of his stomach as he keeps an outward expression of nonchalance and ease, it make the raven-haired woman even more furious as he replies cooly, “I’m not being an asshole, honesty hurts sometimes. Maybe if you think the way you attract someone is by nude pictures, you should try Tinder or Bumble.”

“I hope you have fun living the rest of your life alone. You may have your money but you’re going to end up alone and it will be all you fucking have,” Aria tells him before pushing out her chair and leaving before the main course even arrives. 

Harry sits there for a moment, swallowing and pleading with himself to not let the nasty words set in because they felt too real and too personal - she had actually struck some type of chord within and it had his stomach churning.

When he pays the bill, apologizing profusely for leaving dinner before the entree arrives but with an excuse of a company emergency - it’s eerily quiet in his car as he drives home to his massive home with no one in it.

It doesn’t happen often. 

He should call his mum, Gemma, Dorothy even to talk it out but he feels so fucking alone because he can’t get it right. He can’t connect with anyone and it is starting to feel hopeless.

He is angry, so angry at himself, that he can’t shake the feeling of it and he feels like he’s losing control because he never fucking talks about his emotions.

A beautiful set of dishware was sitting out his dining room table, the housekeeper had carefully unwrapped them earlier in the day. 

They were imported from Beijing, decorated with real gold, and handcrafted. It had cost him nearly forty-thousand dollars for a set of fucking plates and bowls.

I hope you have fun living the rest of your life alone. You may have your money but you’re going to end up alone and it will be all you fucking have.

It is repeatedly on a loop in his head, glares at the items on the dinner table like they’re mocking him, and he has no wits about himself before he’s taking one of the beautiful bowls and throwing it against the wall as hard as possible.

I hope you have fun living the rest of your life alone. You may have your money but you’re going to end up alone and it will be all you fucking have.

By the time he’s done, his chest is heaving, and his face is red. 

When reality starts to set back in, every single item from the set is destroyed on the floor, the wall’s paint chipped from where he’d hurled them.

He was so fucked up.

-

Harry couldn’t help but relieve the feelings of that nasty flashback. He couldn’t believe that he had been at that point in his life - not when he had the most all-consuming, amazing in every single way woman laying next to him in his bed.

YN had shown Harry that he had never been broken, he had just been waiting. 

She was his soulmate and he had been waiting for her since forever. He truly believed that as he looked at the girl next to him with enough emotion his heart might burst.

She was just...everything.

YN was so fucking funny - the funniest person Harry had ever met. She was loving in a way that made you feel like you belonged. Compassionate in a way that makes you want to be more selfless yourself. Intelligent enough that it was breathtaking and unreal - and that was just the tip of the iceberg.

She was uncaring of who Harry was - in the most perfect way. 

Money wasn’t a personality trait that she defined him with. She loved him for who he was at the bare basics, stripped away from his public life.

She was confident in a way that girls rarely were. 

Bared face and more beautiful than the highest-paid models. 

Her body was her own, embracing every curve and inch of it without any shame. Let herself be authentic in front of Harry which made him feel like he had won a secret lottery.

Right now, she was fast asleep next to him in bed after stuffing herself full of oreos that she was dunking in milk. She ignored Harry’s looks of disgust at the soggy cookies and munched away happily which made him happy in turn.

She still had a dark crumb on the corner of her puffy lips, her mouth parted just the slightest amount, and her face smushed halfway into the pillow. 

The shirt she had on was so oversized she was swimming in it and a pair of soft pink cheeky underwear.

Currently, she was the farthest thing from graceful and Harry loved that so fucking much. 

As they lay mere days away from their wedding, remembering that nasty flashback, he can’t help but remember their first date and how he had known from them that he had finally found a spark, a connection to another human being.

--

Harry cannot remember the last time he had been nervous. 

Maybe back in his teenage years? If that. 

It was an unsettling feeling that was currently pooling in the pit of his stomach as he changed his outfit for the third time before finally being somewhat satisfied with the suit he had picked out - tighter black jeans, black button-up, black blazer - couldn’t go wrong there. ***

YN had texted him asking what she should wear for their first date when Harry told her he was going to keep it simple and take her to a restaurant.

He had to dress nice, it was an expensive restaurant that he had not taken any other dates to before, it was right outside of London - going towards the countryside with a beautiful view of a meadow and stream.

When he had arrived in front of her apartment, well he had never been on this side of town, and it quite frankly looked like the roof of her building was about to collapse at any minute. It was rough to say the least.

Harry had picked out a car he thought would impress her. He remembered her saying the doors of his Lamborghini were stupid so he picked a car with normal doors this time. It was his new Audi Quattro that had cost him upwards of 170,000 pounds. ***

YN had popped out of the front door, her face didn’t read impressed when she saw the car like he had hoped. It was interesting before YN, he did not care whether or not his dates were impressed by him - now he craved it.

She looked extraordinary in a form fitting silky black dress that hugged every single curve of her body perfectly while accentuating them at the same time. Minimal makeup, loose waves, and simple high heels - it was like a dream that he was taking this girl out on a date. ***

When she slips into the passenger seat, the smell of her floral yet cinnamon perfume makes the car smell heavenly, she looks over at him and says, “You didn’t even come open the door for me. We’re off to a bad start, Harry.”

His heart sinks, fuck - he had been blindsided by her beauty that he wasn’t even being a proper gentleman, “M’so sorry, I wa-”

She chirps out a tender laugh, patting his arm, “You’re face, oh my god. I was just fucking with you.”

Harry’s frown turns into a pout, “S’not nice, pet.”

YN shrugs before a bit self-consciously adjusting the fabric around her midsection, “Erm, I hope this outfit is nice enough? It’s really the only semi-decent thing I own.”

He shakes his head in disbelief, “Y’look absolutely stunning. I can’t even believe y’real to be honest, so fuckin’ pretty.”

YN gives him a shy, unsure smile but he can tell she’s preening at the compliment internally (which she totally is).

The restaurant is one of the nicest in England, let alone London. 

There wasn’t even a menu, they just served eight courses over a few hours time by servers in suits with bowties on. 

YN had never felt more out of place.

As they sat down, Harry was proud that he was able to show off his abilities for a good date, YN was looking around nervously before looking up at the server and saying, “We didn’t get menus yet.”

The man gives her a humorous expression before telling her, “We don’t do menus here, miss. Your date is a regular, I am sure he can fill you in. However, we are starting off with a Cabernet from 2001 imported from Napa, California.”

As he pours the wine into their sparkling glasses, she asks unknowingly, “I don’t really like wine. Is there any way I could get a Coke?”

Harry frowns when the server laughs meanly at her, “Ma’am this isn’t McDonald’s. We do not carry soda. I can provide you with water, if you so wish.”

Harry can’t help but snap at the waiter, “Oi, she’s never been here before. Lay off with the attitude alright?”

“My apologies, Mr. Styles,” He murmurs obediently before finishing the pouring off the whine and retreating from the table.

YN is trying to hide how uncomfortable she is but it is still obvious with how she fidgets in her seat, doesn’t quite know what to do with her hands as she doesn’t even bother to reach towards the wine glass.

“This isn’t really your scene, is it?” Harry murmurs, embarrassment with his failure to impress her with an expensive car and dinner. 

It was falling flat and it was the only thing he knew how to do - flaunt his wealth, everyone else had always been impressed.

“No, it isn’t,” She agrees quietly, fingers folding the edges of the cloth napkin to keep her anxiousness directed somewhere, “I appreciate this, er, dinner. I thought we were going to go somewhere like Mary’s.”

Mary’s was a restaurant that was considered ‘nice’ to the commoners in the city. It was a bit more expensive than a pub and the attire was a bit fancier than if you were going out to a bar. 

For someone like Harry, that was not considered a fancy restaurant. 

However, YN was not him and this was not something that she had ever been accustomed to. He now definitely felt like an idiot.

It’s made even worse when a massive plate is put in front of each of them. 

The plate is huge but the dish is merely one scallop with a lemon sauce and sprinkle of parsley on top. YN can’t even try to hide her confusion at the food.

 “I’ve mucked this date up,” Harry sighs, nearly thirty minutes into the actual date. 

YN had taken a small bite of the scallop before setting down her fork and not touching it again - it tasted like dirty feet. Did rich people like that taste?

She decides not to answer directly, “I already know you have money. It doesn’t ‘wow’ me. I was hoping for a fun date, this is….nice but quite truthfully, not for me. I prefer a pub or bowling - this feels more like a business meeting.”

Harry usually doesn’t have dates that are this honest with him. 

He feels embarrassed but he really did appreciate her honesty. He should have known to do something different than this but he was comfortable with his normal pattern.

“Can we get out of here?” YN asks, placing the napkin back on the table and gathering up her small purse to swing over her shoulder.

He feels defeated as he nods, paying for the meal in full as he accepts that he’s fucked up the date beyond repair by being an arrogant, ignorant asshole who doesn’t truly know how to talk to a girl he likes.

It’s quiet as he starts the car and pulls back onto the road, he startles a bit when YN points to a glowing sign of a golden arch and demands, “Go there.”

With a bit of confusion, Harry pulls into the McDonald’s parking lot and then to the drive-thru as she motions for him to do so. 

God, he hasn’t been to a fast food joint in years now if he was being honest.

When they pull up to the screen, YN leans across and shoots out their food order with ease before sitting back with a smug smile, “We’re going to have a date my way.”

Harry sighs with relief when he realizes the date isn’t over - but really just beginning. They sit and chat in the parking lot. He is thoroughly impressed when YN manages a box of nuggets, a fry, and a milkshake without shame.

Not like she should be shameful - just usually on dates women were hesitant to actually eat and instead picked carefully at their food instead. Their conversation in the car is bright, at some points deep and meaningful, but refreshing. It made him feel young again.

After they finished eating, she’s ordering him to drive a bit further out into the country where he can’t help but make the joke, “Are y’taking me somewhere to kill me?” YN smiles happily with a wide grin, “You’ll just have to wait to see.”

It ends up being a lake. A beautiful body of water that was surrounded by trees that were being reflected into the ripples with the light of the moon. The only sounds were of crickets chirping and the light lapping of the water against the small shore. ***

“I used to come here a lot in the summer in high school,” YN murmurs as Harry takes in the scenery of everything. It had been so long since he had appreciated nature - not the bright clear waters in the tropics but something like this.

“S’beautiful,” Harry replies, can’t help but observe this girl he’s infatuated beauty in the moonlight. 

Her skin looks like it’s glowing, the moon sparkling off the twinkle of her iries, and she just looked...ethereal. Like she belonged in the beauty of the wilderness.

He couldn’t believe his eyes - had to blink harshly a few times to make sure he’s not imagining it when she pulls the thin straps of her dress down her shoulders and shimmy the garment down her body until she’s left in a delicate lace bra and cheeky pair of underwear.

Harry, always the gentleman, keeps his eyes (with effort) on her face. Unsure of what is going on in her mind before she turns around with a little run and dives headfirst into the deep waters before popping back up and giggling, “Jump in!”

She’s just so...carefree, adventurous. Harry hadn’t felt free in fucking years.

It has him shucking out of all of his clothing, just down to his tight black briefs before he’s diving in, right next to her, and feeling around. He wraps his hand around her ankle to teasingly tug her under with him before they both surface.

As they wad in the water, YN swims over to him, and wraps her legs around his waist, arms around his neck. Her soaking wet hair was dripping and he was breathing heavy, feeling his ribcage expand against her soft tummy.

She murmurs quietly over the light lapping over the water, “You haven’t even looked at me once.”

Harry swallows, feeling like a schoolboy again, “I...I didn’t want to without permission.”

“I want you to look at me,” YN replies, letting her nose nudge his and her eyes searching into his nervous ones. 

He nods, closing his eyes when he feels her lips brush his, letting his large palms grip at her sides and pull her closer to his chest. Their lips not breaking when his hands begin to explore the intricate, plush curves of her body.

They don’t do anything else, don’t go any further but he groaning when she traces her fingertips down his muscular, defined abs and thumb rubbing over the trail of light hair leading into his briefs.

After a swim, filled with splashing and dunking, they retired to lay in the grass. Both of their backs, looking up at the clear night sky, moon full and stars glittering against the stark darkness that surrounds it.

YN wriggle until she’s tucked into his side, hand running up and down his chest, as she says, “I’m sorry your date didn’t go as planned. I ruined it.”

“Y’didn’t ruin anything. I...I haven’t felt like this in a long time,” Harry admits as he gives off an embarrassed laugh, “I..I’m a little bit scared, to be honest.”

“Scared? Of what?” YN asks, lips pressing against a tattoo on his bare shoulder.

“Because I already am falling for you,” Harry utters, heart racing and his eyes glued upwards and pointedly not wanting to see her interaction.

“That’s a relief.”

His eyebrows shoot up, “A relief?”

“Yeah, I would say. I’m falling too,” YN whispers before leaning up to connect their lips once more as the moon rises further in the sky and the crickets sing a little louder. They lay like that for a very long time.

Harry went home that night for the first time not feeling the empty weight of his loneliness, instead he feel asleep imagining the beautiful, spontaneous girl next to him in his bed.

--

It wasn’t going to be the wedding everyone expected for The Harry Styles. **

There was not many invites set out for this event. It wasn’t the wedding of the century or the most expensive wedding of the decade.

Harry would have let his wife-to-be have this day however she wanted without complaint but could say he was very happy that it was going to a be a low-key event. It was going to be some of YN’s family, though she didn’t have much, and Harry’s extended family. No one from work or business. Just family.

They had just gotten finished with the rehearsal dinner, the couple being ordered to separate rooms for the final night before they were married. It was tradition. 

Harry had walked YN to her hotel room, they were staying at the venue, and pressed her up against the door. His hand coming to weave into her meticulously curled hair and cupping the back of her head, bring her mouth to his.

He wastes no time in letting his tongue find hers, hips coming to press her further back against the aged wood, and his teeth nipping roughly at her plump bottom lip, “Baby, y’gonna be m’wife tomorrow.”

YN’s eyes twinkle up at him like they did during their first date, “I can’t wait. I can’t wait to spend forever with you.”

His fiance laughs kindly as he gets a bit watery eyed, her thumb coming to swipe under his eye, she jokes, “Are you regretting proposing now?”

“Just never knew I could be this happy,” He murmurs against her lips, can’t help but reach around to grip a generous amount of her backside and pulling her flush against him where he’s hardening quickly.

“Mm, down boy. You don’t get the goods until tomorrow,” YN scolds, hand wrapping around his wrist and squeaking when he squeezes harder to get the point across - how much he wants her, all the fucking time.

“Want it now, pet,” Harry whines lowly, grinding his hips forward into her, “Give it t’me, y’mouth, y’cun-”

“Alright lovebirds! Separate now!” Gemma barks to interrupt with the laughter of their childhood friend Chloe.

They pull Harry by the back of the shirt and push him forward towards his room, Gemma smiles back at YN, “Make him put a ring on it before you give it to him!”

“Gem!” Harry scolds with a whine, giving his fiance puppy dog eyes and a pouted bottom lip, “Baby, don’t let them take me!”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, I love you!” YN shouts back, waving and smiling to herself as she opens up the door to her room and then locking it after she steps in. It feels weird being in a hotel room without him but she was a bit sweaty and her nerves were wiry so she decided a nice bath would be a good idea.

-

It’s past two in the morning and she was no less ready to find sleep. The worries of whether everything will be set up properly, if she’ll stutter during her vows, there were just so many things that could go wrong.

Life didn’t even seem real at this moment. 

She was marrying her husband at an amazing castle on the coast of italy with family to surround them in love. She had the perfect dress, the perfect flowers, the perfect partner. ***

She had never had it easy. Never thought she would deserve something like this. Harry had made her feel worthy of all this, they deserved to have a happy ever after. 

When it hits three in the morning, she can’t stand the quiet of the italian countryside anymore, and is swinging her legs over the bed. She pockets the keycard Harry gave her earlier in the day in her cotton shorts before sneaking out of her room.

After she taps the card to the sensor, the large oak doorknob clicks, she slips in and closes the door as silently as possible. YN steps in to the room, Harry's asleep in his bed on his stomach, face smushed into the pillow.

Harry’s facial expression and body language while he was awake was so severe, serious, intimidating. In sleep, his face was lax and his limbs loose. He looked more boyish when he was dreaming.

YN’s heart aches at how much she loves him, pulling the covers up, and crawling under them until she’s jostling him unintentionally, waking him from his light sleep with a mumble, “Baby, y’okay? Wha’s wrong? Y’alright?”

She giggles at his dazy panic, “I just missed you.”

“Mmm,” Harry agrees, pulling her all the way down and rolling on top of her, “Missed y’more.”

“You’re like a toaster!” YN squeals as he’s encompasses her, laying on her with his weight. His lips finding her pulse point and gently sucking. He was barely awake and he still couldn’t stop himself from her finding comfort in her body.

“I’m warmin’ y’up,” Harry growls against her neck before giving her a lick which has her giggling even more and pushing him off until he falls on his back and she’s swing her legs over his waist, straddling him.

“Y’breakin’ the tradition, m’heart.”

YN shrugs, humming while he palms at her belly, and she (much to his disappointment) ignores where he’s hard and waiting for her.

“I want t’sleep with you,” She pleas sheepishly, leaning all the way over to connect their lips in a quickie peck before she’s moving off of him and into his side.

“Never say no to you, y’know that, dovie,” Harry replies as if it’s obvious (it is).

“We’re getting married tomorrow,” YN whispers into the dark, like it’s a secret just between the two.

Harry nuzzles his nose against her temple, “Never wanted anythin’ more than I want you.”

YN can’t help but sniffle softly, overwhelmed with emotion and love, “You’re so good to me. I don’t deserve you.”

“You saved me. You saved me from myself, from where I was going. You gave me hope, feeling again. Y’are m’heart, it fuckin’ beats for you.”

It may not be tradition but YN wouldn’t of had it any other way, sleeping in a magnificent castle on the ethereal coast of Italy in a classic hotel room, and the excitement of their wedding rumbling in both of their stomachs.

--

“You sneaky bastards!” Bethany screeches, door flinging open with Gemma in tow as they intrude into Harry’s room - finding the couple curled up under the covers with Harry spooning YN with his face tucked into her hair.

“Fuck off,” Harry groans, pulling his fiance closer into his chest as she wriggles awake and whimpers lowly, “Mornin’ lovie.”

“Out out!” Gemma shoos, pulling the covers off of them and the sisters showing no mercy while they yank YN out of the bed and titter about how she needs to start getting ready, no time for cuddles, breaking traditions.

“Bring her back!” He whines childishly, hurling a pillow at his sister’s retreating back as they guide YN back to her own room.

“You’ll see her in a few hours!” Gemma shouts back before slamming the hotel room door and leaving Harry to doze off for just a few more minutes.

-

Hair and makeup went fast. 

It was getting closer and closer to actually walking down the aisle towards her soon-to-be life partner and she’s never felt more nervous.

Rosemary and Bethany were all rushing around - attempting to get ready in the midst of getting the bride ready.

YN didn’t want to look like a doll or have any intense makeup. It was a soft champagne smokey eye with dewy skin and a glowing highlight. A nice lip with a bit of glittering gloss.

Her hair was in big, loose curls that cascaded down her back with the front pulled off of her face. A real white flower holding it back.

Then it was the dress. She was anxious about whether Harry would like it or not. She wasn’t sure what he was expecting her to wear - a massive ball gown, a form-fitting mermaid, or something less over-the-top?

It was a show-stopper that had her memorized when she had first seen it - could automatically imagined herself getting married in Italy with this on her body.

It was also one of the only times she didn’t even care about the price tag - she knew this was it. Yes, it was absurd to spend fifty thousand pounds on a dress but it was the one time she took advantage of Harry’s wealth.

It was flowy, reminding her of the soft waves that lapped at the coast of the italian beaches. It was sophisticated, classy with a sharp starch white that billowed into a dreamlike beauty.

What had made her fall in love was the sheer, detailed sleeves that gave the dress more of a vintage, glamour appearance than the modern tight-fit, overly sexy gowns that most brides wore nowawadays. ***

The train was long and sleek. It would trail beautifully down the aisle before being bustled for the reception. It made her feel confident in a way that an item of clothing next had made her feel before.

“Your tits look amazing,” Bethany compliments before giggling when their grandmum pinches her arm for her crude language.

YN couldn’t find it in her to laugh. She felt like her voice was stuck in her throat and it wasn’t moving. 

It started to feel real.

The fact that Harry had proposed, had planned a wedding with her, that he was agreeing to marrying her today.

It was starting to scare her - no, not cold feet but anxiety that he would realize that he could do better than the lowly waitress.

Now, on a normal day, she wouldn’t be having these irrational thoughts. Today was different and it felt too good to be true.

Rosemary and Bethany sense the tension in the room, rub her shoulders, and respect her wishes when she asked for a moment alone.

YN debates picking up her phone, knowing he was busy with his bigger side of the family in the groom’s suite.

She finds herself picking up her mobile, dialing his number, and waiting with bated breath for his syrupy, warm voice to pour through the speaker.

“Everythin’ okay?” He answers, she can hear Anne and Gemma tittering about in the background, yelling at him to get a move on.

“I’m scared,” YN whispers, she holds back her tears because the last thing she wanted to do was ruin her meticulous makeup.

“Leavin’ me at the altar?” Harry jokes lowly, stepping away from prying ears.

YN giggles at his teasing tone, “Never. I…I feel like this is all too good to be true. Like it’s a dream and I’m going to wake up.”

Harry huffs, “Sweetheart. Y’my soulmate, if y’wake up - I’m right there with you, okay? God, if anyone is dreamin’ it’s me. I get t’marry the most beautiful, intelligent -“

Gemma’s voice interrupts him, “You already seduced her into marrying you! We don’t have time for this sweet talk!”

The line goes dead but YN feels much better now.

—

Rosemary was going to be the one walking her down the aisle to her new husband. It didn’t feel right to have anyone else do it as she was the one who raised her into the strong, independent woman she was today.

YN knew she wanted to have an outside wedding. 

What would be more perfect than a cool evening in Italy? It was what she had dreamed about since she was little without the idea that it would ever happen.

The weather was absolutely perfect. There was a slight warm breeze that would keep the guests from being overheated, the sun was peeking in and out of vibrant white clouds that complimented the blue sky.

She knew exactly where Harry would be standing. 

Underneath a beautiful, dated archway with intricate designs about. 

The old material had lovingly grown luscious ivy that kissed the walls in a swirling, natural design. 

YN would never forget how beautiful that ivy had looked on her wedding day, encompassing the magnificent that was her soon-to-be husband.***

The venue was open, airy but still gave off an intimacy. There weren't many rows of chairs because not many were invited to share in such an ethereal experience where soulmates have found each other and were announcing their commitment to the world.

“Are you ready, my daughter?” Her grandmother had asked quietly as they lined up behind the expansive, old brick wall that hides them from the rest of the ceremony and crowd. She could hear the whispering as people took their seats.

YN nods, her vocal cords refusing to cooperate as she imagines Harry just as nervous on the opposite side with his family. 

When the twinkling, traditional music begins from the small orchestra off to the side - the realization hits her - it is actually happening, right now.

Bethany puts her bouquet in front of her, giving one last meaningful smile at her sister before she takes her cue to turn the corner and begins her walk down the aisle. 

It meant Harry was up there, watching as she was about to appear.

Then the orchestra’s melody became louder, more grand in the signaling for the guests to stand and turned toward the back of the room - awaiting the bride’s entrance to the ceremony. 

Rosemary takes the initiative to hook their arms and guide her past the wall.

YN clutches onto her own flowers as if it’s her lifeline. ***

Every fear, insecurity, moment of self-doubt dissipates when her eyes connect to Harry’s. There is no longer a doubt in her mind that she wasn’t enough. It was a deep, unbreakable stare as Harry’s mouth parts in a gasp of awe.

He was in a suit that was undeniably him. It displayed how fucking regal he was, how it looked like he was handcrafted into the italian design, how it fit him just perfectly.

It wasn’t a normal tuxedo. It was a perfectly tailored, custom (of course) Gucci suit that excentuate his broad shoulders and the nip of his narrow hips *** ***. 

YN can’t even hear the noise of the guests - whispering about how beautiful she looks.

All she can see is her future husband, who swallows harshly as an unexpected sob wracks through his chest at the sight of his bride.

The guests can’t help but look with wide eyes as the man they know - who they’ve barely ever seen smile, let alone cry, cannot control his emotions.

Gemma, who was his ‘best man’ which they deemed ‘best woman’, rubs his back soothingly with a watery smile herself at seeing her brother so estastatic as he looks at the woman of his dreams.

Harry rubs his eyes before meeting hers again.

YN is holding back her own tears as she reaches the end of the aisle.

In tradition as old as time, Harry steps forward and Rosemary passes her hand over to him in a signal that she trusts him to take care of the girl she’s spent meticulous time raising and cultivating into the person she is today.

“I trust you to take care of my girl, she is now yours,” Rosemary tells Harry, her tone is calm and full of emotion as she allows Harry to lean over to kiss her cheek softly.

Harry nods, his usually stable voice shaky as he replies, “I promise, I’ll take care of her until the day I die.”

Rosemary nods before patting his cheek and finding her seat in the audience.

When they are finally standing face-to-face, YN reaches over to thumb off a stray tear that was sliding down his cheek before he turns his head to kiss her thumb then kissing her palm. 

Harry didn’t even acknowledge that there was anyone else watching - it was just him and her.

“Y’look breathtaking, can’t believe y’mine,” Harry murmurs trembling, his chest moving faster than usual and it felt like it was nearly impossible for him to catch his breath as he looked at the woman in front of him.

When it comes to the vows, Bethany hands over her small piece of paper that she had scribbled onto and scratched out multiple times - never quite able to get the wording just right and she says just that.

“I couldn’t find the right words to explain my love for you,” She starts, voice raspy as she looks up to see Harry watching her raptly, eyes intense and only focused on her.

“And maybe there aren’t even words to explain it because nothing felt like enough. It is how I feel a lot of the time with you. I’ll never have enough of you because you’re all-consuming to me. I have never felt happiness like I have with you.”

YN is trying to stifle her tears as she continues, Harry reaches out to rub her arm in reassurance then he lightly brushes over the new necklace he had gifted her, “You’re by far the most complex, closed-off person I have ever met. I feel like you’ve allowed me to crack the code and once I did, I wasn’t disappointed. I’ve cracked my own code, you see.”

“The code to explaining my feelings for you will come with my dedication, love, loyalty to be your wife for the rest of our lives.”

Harry can’t help what he does next despite it not falling in line at the ceremony.

His hands come up to cup her jaw and he sears his lips to hers, kissing her with all the passion and emotion he cannot seem to keep in any longer. It’s too much, has to show her in that moment how much he loves her.

A few of his uncles whistle from the crowd as their wives smack their chests in warning.

YN giggles, returning the kiss before pushing him off. 

The look in his eyes is one she knows extremely well - it sends shivers down her spine and makes her hair stand on end -, the stare down of lust and want.

“Mr. Styles,” The officiant redirects, nodding towards the piece of paper he has in his hand.

“Yeah, sorry,” Harry mumbles, unraveling the wrinkled notecard he had tucked in his inner suit pocket.

“I knew I was in love with you the moment you spilled that drink on me and undressed me in that dodgy employee bathroom,” Harry says with full sincerity, smirking at YN’s blush when he brings up the way they met.

“I tried to talk myself out of it. It was impossible to fall in love in mere minutes of meeting someone but it was the truth. I knew after our first date that I wanted y’to be m’wife. I knew after the second that I wanted y’to be the mother of my babies one day. And by the third date, I was planning on buying you a ring.”

“It sounds insane because it is. I’ve never been an impulsive, spur-of-the-moment, hopeful person before you. You made me throw all that out of the window, you make me feel alive, and when I tell you that you saved me. You saved me, m’love.”

“There is a lot of uncertainty in this world but I can tell you one thing that is absolutely fuckin’ certain -”

“Harry,” YN hisses with an eye-roll at his crude language.

“The one thing that is absolutely certain in this world is that I will always love you, always take care of you, and always do everythin’ in m’power to make you happy.”

The guests in the chairs are quite speechless. 

They’d never heard such passionate, meaningful vows from a couple. 

This was not what they were expecting of Harry who had never once put his heart on his sleeve and right now he’d laid it all out on the table.

--

“YN LN, do you agree to take Harry Edward Styles as your husband? To have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for better or for worse, until the end of your time on earth?” The officiant asks, voice ringing against the walls of the castle.

YN has to take a big breath before she replies in a strong, firm voice as her eyes bore into Harry’s, “I do.”

“Harry Edward Styles, do you agree to take YN MN LN as your wife? To have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for better or for worse, until the end of your time on earth?” The officiant repeats.

Harry, in ever typical fashion, in his loud, booming voice replies, “Of course I fuckin’ do.”

The guests in the audience laugh lightly as the officiant states, “I now announce to you, Mr. and Mrs. Styles. You may now kiss your bride.”

It doesn’t take more than a second for Harry to step forward, grip her face and pull her in for a kiss, it doesn’t matter that their family is there to him as he licks into her mouth which is bordering on obscene before YN brings it back to a softer, more appropriate one.

He whispers against his lips, barely audible, “Can’t believe y’my fucking wife, m’fucking heart.”

--

As people are moving towards the reception area, Harry manages to find a secluded area of the outside gardens where there is no one in sight.

“Baby, baby, y’married me,” Harry is nearly chanting, like he’s in disbelief, at the same time he’s cornering his new bride up against the brick wall with his mouth trailing sloppy wet kisses down her shoulder.

“Mmm, it was everything I ever imagined, it was so beautiful. Everything I had imagined for our day,” YN replies blissfully, hands running carefully through his meticulously styled hair.

When he bends down and lifts up the bottom of her dress, she giggles when he ducks his head underneath all the tulle and fabric, finding a very skimpy pair of white lace panties that are supposed to be saved for later.

“Harry,” YN scolds half-heartedly, it would only take one person to find them in this undeniable inappropriate situation but she willingly let him push her further against the brick and take one of her legs over his shoulder.

“Baby, these fuckin’ panties,” He groans, muffled by the barrier of the heavy fabric, and she hisses when pulls them down to the thick of her thighs and his mouths finds her center within moments.

“Fu-fuck,” She hisses, trying to keep her moans down as he wastes no time in pushing in two thick fingers to curve towards her front as his tongue laps quickly and sloppily on her clit until it feels like she’s about to explode.

“S’right, fuckin’ m’cunt. I have it f’the rest of my life, found the best one,” Harry mutters against her wet skin, almost to himself like he can’t even believe the words, before he’s back to speeding up his fingers to match the rhythm of his mouth until she’s quivering for a whole other reason now.

It takes a few minutes for Harry to calm himself down enough to be able to go into the reception, he tells YN that he can’t even look at her right now because if he does he’ll be perpetually hard throughout the whole thing.

--

The reception is more of a dinner than a party. 

Fairy lights strung above the two long tables where decadent, mouth-watering food was served with the orchestra playing light, melodic music in the background. ***

It was perfect. 

Their family drank, laughed, ate, and were merry. 

Everyone was basking in each other’s company, congratulating the new couple, and enjoying all the beauty that was surrounding them at the castle. 

There is not much more to say than that. 

--

The honeymoon suite was located on one of the highest floors of the castle, away from all of the other wedding guests and staff.

YN was sure it was beautiful but from the moment she was carried over the threshold, she didn’t see anything but her new husband - he was blinding in his beauty. His skin was glowing, a slight sheen of sweat from the reception, and the still warm bite in the breeze. ***

“Sweetheart, baby. Please let m’undress you, y’my wife,” Harry pleas softly, his hands are everywhere - her face, her shoulders, hips - continuously wandering as if it’s impossible to find one place to settle.

“Please, c’mon. I need you, H,” She agrees, letting him take down the zipper on the side of her gown.

The expensive garment discarded on the floor in a pool of fabric as he fully takes in her lingerie set. ***

“Fuck me, darlin’,” Harry chuckles in amazement, fingertips tracing over the delicate lace that was stitched by Alessandro Michele himself for the bride, "Y’body is a god damn dream, look at you. - fuck.”

“Please,” His wife whimpers, voice desperate as his light and careful touches are no longer enough. 

She needs him close, she needs her husband.

“Okay, okay,” He simpers, moving her back until he can have her right where he wants her, on her back in the middle of the massive, blanket-ridden bed - her white lingerie standing out against the dark duvet.

Harry had always imagined this night. 

To have someone laid out underneath him. 

No rush, no urgency but to truly, physically show that person through touch that you love them.

He starts near her collarbone, feathery heated kisses that warm her skin as she welcomes him with heavy weight on top of her so eager he wasn’t even undressed yet.

When his mouth finds her nipples through the sheer fabric, she pushes her chest up in encouragement as he bites at the nubs with sharp but careful teeth that wet the fabric.

“It feels so good, baby,” YN mewls, letting him nip and suck for a moment before pushing him up until he’s rid of every inch of fabric that had been covering his body.

“M’always gonna make y’feel good. I’ll fuck you wherever, wehenver cause you’re m’wife,” Harry grunts, impatiently reaching behind to unclasp the corset until her breasts spill free and jiggle in a way that makes his mouth water.

“Wait, wait,” YN puts a hand to his cheek when he already has his mouth darting out to lap at her hardened nipple.

“Don’t make me wait, m’heart,” Harry grumbles with a furrowed brow, his hand still unable to stop from reaching up to palm at her full breasts, thumbs rolling the nipples as he stares fiercely up at her.

“You know how you got me a present?” YN murmurs, biting back a whimper when a zip of electricity shoots from her nipple down to where she’s already dripping for him, “I got you something too.”

Harry’s face relaxes, it’s like he finds his grounding again, “Baby, didn’t need t’get me anythin’. Y’the best fuckin’ gift I could have gotten. Does look beautiful sittin’ between y’tits though.”

His new wife giggles, “Well I really hope you like mine….it’s non-refundable.”

He looks at her with confusion even more so when she wriggles down her panties and flips on her belly with her arms resting under chin.

Of course, Harry finds it immediately and she can tell by the deep, pleased growl he emits from the back of his throat, “You fuckin’ didn’t.”

“I did.”

It was his name, small and cursive right on her bum cheek. 

After they got engaged, he went out and got her name tattooed on his pec - much to her dismay. 

She had never talked about returning the favor and had kept it the ultimate surprise.

“I think I almost just came from this,” Harry rasps, his fingers tracing the small ink over and over in awe, “Baby, y’put m’name on your bum. It makes y’look like my property, sweetheart.”

“I am yours,” YN giggles, yelping when she feels his teeth graze the sensitive skin before he’s suckling and licking at his name - can’t take his eyes off the beauty of her.

“Yeah, you fuckin’ are,” He agrees whole-heartedly, his hands calming to cup and palm at her cheeks as he fawns over his wedding present, “This is the best present I’d ever fuckin’ received, fuck - never goin’ to get over this.”

He doesn’t want to look away from the tattoo but knows how he wants to fuck his wife for the first time so he flips her onto her back once again, lips finding hers. 

She whispers, hand wrapping around his cock, “Still have to pay you back for earlier.”

“No blowies tonight, pet. We’re goin’ to do it the right way, m’gonna make love to you,” Harry murmurs, his lips finding hers as he bats her hand away to grasp at his thick base. He teases the sensitive head over her clit and entrance a few times before slowly sinking in.

“Ohh, been ready for you all day. You looked like a fucking wet dream standing at the alter, waiting for me,” YN sighs happily, wriggling her hips to adjust a bit before she spreads her legs and lets Harry rest in between them, “Ever since I saw you in the suit, I’ve been waiting.”

“Yeah, baby? I can tell, y’so wet, warm f’me,” Harry praises, his movements are slow and unrushed, their hips meeting gently as he pushes in each time with care, “Can’t believe y’gonna let me have this for the rest of m’life.”

“I love you so so much,” She utters breathlessly as he continues to make her feel so fucking full - emotionally and physically, “Best husband ever, can’t believe it.”

Harry chuckles tenderly, “Baby, I need y’to come soon. I’m so close, never come this quick. The thought of y’being my wife is making it impossible to last then with the tatto-”

YN soothes his hair in understanding, pushing up to meet their lips and allow their tongues to dance as he lifts her thigh against his hip to thrust in with a bit more force. His thumb comes to her clit to spur her along which doesn’t take much with how aroused she’s been all day.

Harry follows right after, much to his embarrassment of his lack of stamina but can you blame him? He has the hottest fucking wife on the planet.

“Round two?” YN smirks as he leans down to pepper kisses all over her cheeks. She knows the night has just begun.

“Mmm,” He agrees instantly, “Now that we made love, m’gonna fuck y’from behind so I can watch my name jiggle on your arse.”

And that’s what he does. It takes nearly no rebound time, flips her on her belly again to gaze and worship his name as he fills out in no time again. His fingers occasionally dip back between her thighs to tease at her entrance before he swipes her own wetness on the tattoo to lick it off.

She’s tired, exhausted from the events of the day but wants to reach that last orgasm before sleep overtakes them. 

On her hands and knees, Harry doesn’t pound into her like he normally would. 

Instead, he eases back in with eyes darting between his wedding present and where they’re connecting, his thumb diligently rubbing hard and steady circle on her nerves.

“C’mon wifey, need y’to not be stubborn,” Harry goads, feeling his release coming again - he pinches her clit with just enough pressure that has her whining before Harry has to hold her up by the waist as she quivers.

It has him finishing right after with a gentle smack to her bumcheek, the skin already tender and sore from all of his attention on the spot as it was.

“I loved your vows,” YN murmurs against his chest. He had wrapped her up in one of the plush blankets and he had pulled on a tight pair of briefs and they were laying on a lounge chair on the blacony under the italian stars.

“I loved yours just as much, y’did crack the code m’love ‘cause now I’m yours forever,” Harry rumbles, his voice raspy with drowsiness.

Little did they know that in a few short years, they would be back under these italian stars with knowledge that they were growing a little product of their love in her belly.

A litte baby named Ivy, just like the beautiful, lucious nature that had decorated the place in magneificent as they spoke vows - dedicating their lives to each other.

if you’ve ask to be on my taglist and you’re not here - please check your settings because i’ve tried to add you and it didn’t work.

taglist babies (thank you): @dioc4ne @hazgoldenstyles @harrysdimple05 @wonwooen @ficnarry @leeroysdancer @harrysloveheart @harryscherrysugar @pradastardust @rish-haz @wildcstdrexms @evanstylestan @wisetoadbonkbiscuit @meredithhuntt @tpwkvictoria @lovely-him @haymix @eiffelmezarry @pilgrim-harry @soullessbabee @afterglowstyles @tulsasjesus @elenagilbert01 @meh–mood @pretty-pop-princess-hs @msolbesg @localfalsegodstan @evanjh @i-just-like-fanfics @harrys-hs-gf @lightsupdoyouknowwhoyouare @afterglcwswift @harrystyles-tpwk @amyvandijk @godilovetheenglishx @harrys-cherrry @theprofessionalfanby @your–sweetest–downfall @la-cey @bdbtchdir @killerqueencapstan @elizabeth23567 @camflowervol6 @its-a-finee-line @rish-haz @solonelytobe @nav1234 @harrynamjoon @hopefullimaginer123 @westallenhes @awesomebooklover17 @will-be-a-fineline @vasilikir5 @your–sweetest–downfall @pretty-pop-princess-hs @harrynamjoon @harrypinks @ivyirenehoax @harryspink @sunsetcurve-h @goldenstylesh @mouthfulloftoothpastehs @hello-34583 @prettylovley @nicolecarsley @lamariettes @imavirginhoe @unknown7549 @mellamolayla @kiwitsayedsugar @hopefullimaginer123 @harrysmatcha @weaslettesstuff @saintsmotels @hi-yekaterina @aubreyfineline @harrysgoldenbum @ebstylesx @goldeng1rl8 @tnqueen @percysaidnever @bebecalpal

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hiiii :)) looooove the way you talk about wilmon!! so here goes.. this one’s a bit long haha. what do you think Wille loves most, physically and otherwise, about Simon and vice versa?? xx

you ask the big questions, you get the excessively long answers.

i’ll start with wille.

this is the most blatant case of love of first sight that i’ve ever seen.

wille is instantly drawn in - by simon’s voice, by his face, by his presence.

simon is standing his ground here. victor heckled him a second prior, but he perseveres, projects his voice, and makes a point to show every person in the room how gorgeous his singing is.

simon isn’t afraid to stand up for himself or what he believes in. does he get bullied? yes. and he clearly feels like an outcast, but he doesn’t show it. he doesn’t give people like victor the satisfaction of knowing that he’s hurt. he doesn’t sit back in class and let stella be snide about welfare beneficiaries, he doesn’t let henry get away with spewing bullshit about how the rich are taxed unfairly.

simon is such a strong person and that’s a quality wille admires - because he believes it’s something that he himself lacks.

wille feels strong by association when he’s with simon. he wants to be better, wants to emulate that confidence that simon has, wants to stand up to his mother, and all of the expectations that have been heaped onto his shoulders by no choice of his own. simon brings that side out of him.

(siri, play strong by one direction)

as for what wille loves about simon physically - this moment really speaks for itself.

instant attraction, love at first sight, whatever you want to call it; wille looks at simon like he’s the most beautiful person he’s ever seen.

continued under the cut;

now, on to simon.

i think the thing simon loves about wille most, is the thing that attracted him to him in the first place: he defied and continues to defy his expectations. 

wille is the definition of privilege - born into excessive wealth and opportunity by no merit of his own. simon (rightfully so) assumes that he’ll be a stuck up, rude (unfortunately attractive) asshole, because realistically, most people in wille’s position would be just like that.

but when he gets to know him, simon discovers that wille is actually a gentle, clumsy, shy boy who literally makes up reasons (”i was just about to go outside, do you want to come with?”) to hang around him. we know simon deals with bullying at hillerska, we know he doesn’t have any real friends there, and here wille is, bumbling and a little awkward, and he’s going out of his way to talk to simon, to try and be his friend.

simon wants to be loved, he wants to be cared for. and wille, despite all of his mistakes, cares deeply about simon - he’s been blatantly obvious about that fact since the first time they met.

wille crosses his arms across his chest and asks (begs) simon to come and stay with him for the weekend because he knows he made a mistake and he misses him. wille calls simon up in the middle of the night high out of his mind because he (really) likes him and he can’t bring himself to stay away. wille groans and buries his head in simon’s chest when simon brings it up the next morning because he’s still so nervous around him. 

basically, simon thinks wille is cute.  

as for what he loves about wille physically, i think we all know simon has a very obvious thing for wille’s hair. (although i’m sure he’ll love wille 2.0 with his new haircut next season just the same)

among other things, of course. wille is very handsome, and if simon himself were to answer this question earnestly, he’d probably have trouble narrowing it down to just one thing. 

[stratiotis-nth]

Castiel has been able to see Glimpses of people’s future when he meets them for the first time—specifically when he first makes eye contact. It’s the big family secret and Castiel hates that he’s the one stuck with it. It’s infuriating—Gabriel asks if Castiel could make eye contact with some hot guy or girl to see if he’ll get lucky, and Castiel ignores him every time.

He doesn’t see the person’s entire life when he looks like them. It’s more like…a tsunami of information. Sometimes it’s images or feelings or sounds. Usually, Castiel can’t make heads or tails of what he experienced, so he stopped trying to interpret them a long time ago.

At this point, the flood of information is an annoyance, and he’s done his best to just avoid eye contact altogether.

Maybe that’s why Castiel is so quiet and keeps to himself. He doesn’t like meeting new people if only to avoid the data dump of another person’s future. He’s thankful he doesn’t get Glimpses when he looks at anyone he’s already Glimpsed, because he’s never be able to look Gabriel in the face. And anyone who Castiel had accidentally Glimpsed before have long since disappeared from his life, and Castiel is such a recluse that he hasn’t had a new friend in years.

Until Gabriel was an annoying asshole.

His older brother practically wrestled Castiel out of the house they shared to go clubbing. It had been a close fight and Castiel had gotten damn well near to biting Gabriel’s arm—but he eventually lost because Gabriel threatened to trample Castiel’s carefully cultivated garden in the backyard.

For the sake of his plants, Castiel reluctantly ducked into Gabriel’s obnoxiously bright red Camero.

“This is a stupid idea.” He grumbled, crossing his arms and keeping his hands tucked firmly against himself. “I’m just going to be standing there staring at the floor like an idiot.”

“No, you’re gonna keep that chin up and meet some people, Cassie.” Gabriel said briskly as they drove to Downtown. “Glimpsing a few people isn’t gonna change your life. You need friends, my bumbling, weirdo brother.”

“I can live my life just fine without friends, Gabriel.” Castiel snapped. “I have you, my cat, and my garden. I work from home and can support myself if needs be. What else do I need?”

Gabriel sighed.

“You’ll always have me, Cassie.” He said. “But have you ever thought about what you want?”

No. Of course he hadn’t. Castiel hadn’t had the luxury of knowing what he wanted since he first discovered the Glimpses.

“Your Glimpses shouldn’t be what stops you from having a life, little bro.” Gabriel continued firmly. They were in Downtown now, string lights lighting the two way street and neon signs making the air gleam in multicolor. Castiel’s chest clenched with anxiety, carefully avoiding the stream of bodies moving up and down the sidewalks in case he made eye contact with as passers by.

Gabriel pulled into the VIP spot of his nightclub, Sugar+Spice and grinned at Castiel.

“C’mon, brosky, time to swim amongst the fishes.” To complete Gabriel’s inspiring speech, he slapped two condoms into Castiel’s hand and ducked out of the car before he could throw them back.

Grumbling under his breath about invasive brothers, Castiel begrudgingly followed Gabriel through the back entrance of the club.

It was loud, hot, and chaotic. Despite not having made eye contact with anyone yet, Castiel’s senses were immediately overloaded with noise and light. He could barely hear Gabriel over the din, risking a glance up in an effort to read his lips.

This way. He seemed to be shouting. Gabriel grabbed his hand and tugged him along anyway. Castiel allowed himself to be dragged, bumping through a crowd of people with his eyes fixed on their passing feet.

Gabriel took him up to a slightly quieter, less crowded second floor and sat him down at the bar.

“Alfie!” Gabriel called to the bartender, rapping his knuckles on the glass bar top. “Dirty Shirley for my fruity brother!”

“Gabriel!” Castiel hissed. He didn’t necessarily care if people knew he was gay, but he didn’t want Gabriel going on trying to get him laid.

“Coming up, boss.” Alfie called, already moving nonstop and smoothly as he tended to the other patrons lining his bar top.

“See ya, Cassie.” Gabriel clapped his shoulder. Castiel’s heart seized with terror.

“Gabriel, don’t you dare—“

“Sorry little bro, I’ve got club owner responsibilities to attend to.”

And then, Castiel was alone. Alfie’s slim hand set a red-pink colored drink in front of him and moved on before Castiel could think he would wait a second for a thanks. He was probably too busy to care for social expectations like please and thank you.

Castiel didn’t know how long he had sat there, hunched over his drink and staring at the bar top resolutely. Gabriel could drag his ass into public, but he couldn’t make him talk to people.

People seemed to catch the hint to leave him alone, or maybe Alfie had warned them against it before Castiel could sense their presence. Some tried, though, but Castiel just shook his head. That was usually enough to leave him be.

It was well after 1 AM when he’d finally had enough sitting around and staring at his drink to ward off horny one nighters. He stood, determined to find Gabriel and force him to take him home. He was tired, anxious, and terrified of this place and of people. He didn’t like Glimpsing—it was like intruding into their privacy and instead of doing it intentionally like how a burglar would invade a home, it was hurled at him when he didn’t want it. The last time Castiel had Glimpsed, the images and noises had been too much. It had overloaded his mind and nearly made him pass out from the onslaught.

The last time he had Glimpsed was the first time he’d met a future serial killer. One could imagine why Castiel didn’t like Glimpsing anymore.

He pushed his way through the crowd, trying to find Gabriel’s recognizable white dress shoes amongst the writhing sea of legs and lower bodies.

Castiel finally reached the stairs, the door swinging shut and blessedly blocking out the din of the dance floor. The peaceful silent lasted for only a moment, though.

“Whoa, Jesus!”

Castiel slammed into a very solid form and went tumbling backwards, his back hitting the bottom staircase with a painful thud before he toppled back onto the concrete floor.

“Shit, shit, shit! I’m so sorry! Jesus fuck, here, lemme help—“

The person he collided into was scrabbling down the last few stairs, kneeling over him and grabbing his arms.

“Hey, man, you okay?”

Castiel’s entire body was ringing with the aftershock of his fall. His back throbbed painfully, already promising a nice purpling welt.

Maybe it was the pain, or maybe the ringing in his head muted out higher reason, or maybe just fate, but Castiel drifted his gaze to stare at the person who had run into him.

The moment he met the pair of green eyes the color of matcha and wild grass, he was assaulted with an onslaught of Glimpses.

Warm, comforting yellow and orange, the color that light up a home on a cozy, winter night.

The sizzle, pop and bang of fireworks in a dewy field, ringing with a pair of laughter. Bursting, bright colors lighting up a starry sky.

Metallic, greasy smell of an auto shop, the sharp chemical scent of acrylic paint, the words Winchester Auto in neon lights on the top of a busy garage and art studio.

But the main image, the one that always came through crystal clear when he had a Glimpse—

was Castiel himself.

He couldn’t force the image away, or what followed after.

It was Castiel, looming over the man’s point of view with his arms braced on either of his vision. His own face was slack with pleasure as his entire body moved up and down in a very obvious thrusting motion. His eyes were bright and wide and so full of something warm and gentle and careful that Castiel didn’t believe he could ever really do that.

He closed his eyes, willing the main image and surrounding flashes of senses to fade.

“Dude, please tell me you’re okay.” The man fretted, his hands now cupping Castiel’s face and shaking slightly. The way the man was leaning over him looked so much like how Castiel was leaning in the Glimpse that it brought him back to himself.

He sat bolt upright, smacking foreheads with the man and immediately making himself dizzy again.

“Ow.” They both mumbled. The guy scrambled back to give Castiel some space.

“You okay, man?” The guy asked again, staring at him with wide eyes. Castiel’s first reaction was to advert his eyes, but this time for an entirely different reason than the Glimpse. His cheeks burned with the embarrassment of what he had just witnessed.

“Yes.” He managed, but it sounded strained. The man, apparently took that strain as pain instead of mortification.

“Oh shit, you’re probably all banged up, shit. Did the stair hit your back? Did it break the skin?” Suddenly, warm hands were gingerly touching his lower back, feeling for the welt already swelling. Electrical shocks rippled under his skin despite the layers of clothes between him and the hand, but Castiel hissed sharply when the pressure of his fingers hit the welt.

“Sorry, hang on. Don’t move too much, not until I can be sure you didn’t break anything.” The guy was completely unfazed by touching Castiel. It was a gentle touch, but definitely clinical. Was this guy a nurse? Doctor?

“I used to be a paramedic.” The guy answered Castiel’s unspoken speculation. He gently pressed around the welt. “Anything hurt?”

“No.” Castiel managed faintly, his brain already providing unhelpful scenarios where the man’s hand drifted lower and suddenly his last Glimpse was coming true right then and there—

“Okay, I don’t think anything’s broken.” The guy said, sounding relieved. “Can you stand?”

“Yes. It’s just a bruise.” Castiel said, his defenses rising with the determination to never allow that last Glimpse to come true. There were too many risks, too many dangers associated with having friends, let alone pursue a romantic relationship. For this man’s sake and for Castiel’s sanity, he would do everything in his power to stop that Glimpse from happening.

“I’m alright, thank you.” He said quickly, stepping back to allow an acceptable amount of space between him and the man.

“Okay, uh, good.” The guy said, ducking his head sheepishly.

Please don’t. Castiel begged helplessly, staring as the man glanced up at him through his lashes. He was undeniably gorgeous. Light brown hair styled lightly and freckled, tanned skin. Those enrapturing green eyes that made Castiel want to smother himself in that very shade, framed by long lashes. Plush pink lips and a little scruff that Castiel wanted to feel on his skin. Broad shoulders filled a worn leather jacket over a flannel and Henley. Oil-stained jeans and scuffed boots. Rugged and beautiful.

What the hell did future Castiel do to secure a night with this man? How did an awkward, nobody with a fear of people manage to have sex with this perfect, gorgeous man who could get anyone he wanted?

“Sorry about that, man. I swear I don’t go running into hot guys as a pick up line.”

Castiel’s jaw dropped, and the man went very red when he realized what he’d said.

“Ah, fuck. I-I didn’t mean, that’s n-not—shit, I didn’t mean for it to come out like that—“

“It’s alright.” Castiel cut him off hastily. “I’ve actually got to go. I’m supposed to meet my brother and he’s probably worried that I haven’t shown up.”

The man looked embarrassed but startled by Castiel’s hasty retreat. But he moved to let him up the stairs.

He was already a few steps up when the man spoke again.

“Sorry again, man.”

It was a mistake to turn back around, but Castiel did, perhaps selfish enough to indulge in the man’s beauty one more time.

Then something happened that never happened before. Castiel had another Glimpse when he met his eyes.

It was gentler than the first, like an aftershock after an A-bomb.

Deep, sweet spices mixed with buttery pie dough and tangy apple.

A warm, soft red that enveloping his entire body like an embrace to protect and cherish.

The man’s deep, rough voice murmuring “Cas” with such profound affection and care.

Then, Castiel’s voice answering in the same low, gentle caress of soft happiness—“Dean”.

This could not be happening.

[justasimplesinner]

I CANNOT get this phrase out of my head.

The big boys reaction their s/o telling someone rude to, and I quote "Choke on a sandpaper cock"

I love this quote so much, you don't even understand

Bane's s/o being a badass hcs:

Bane had his group of trusted men, the henchmen he kept close to himself at all times and that were always a part of his crew. but his plans sometimes require a bit more hired muscle, so he gathers some henchmen for hire. he only does a basic background check on those to see if they'll be useful, other than that, he doesn't pay them much mind as long as they get the job done. and so, he had no idea what kinds of people they actually were

and, as it turned out, one of them was a certified asshole and a very insistent flirt. you didn't want to bother Bane with the fact that one measly henchman with his brain half-rotten was trying to get into your pants. as long as he didn't overstep, it was fine, it was just talking (although to Bane, the mere fact that he was hitting on you would be overstepping, and you simply didn't want any unnecessary drama)

but enough was enough, and when that exact asshole decided to do exactly the thing that'd put a target on his back - overstep. neither of you realised Bane had just come out of his makeshift office to check on how the crew, and maybe that was why the insistent guy thought it was a very good idea to crank his "flirting" up a notch and smack your ass. immediately, his offending arm was in your tight grip, your face inches away from his. "you know you like it, babe, don't deny it" - that was what riled you up the most. his fucking cheek. so it was only natural that seconds later, your fist connected with his stupid face as you spat out "choke on a sandpaper cock, asshole" straight at him, straightening your clothes and about to go on your merry way

and then, your eyes locked with your beloved, and before a minute could've passed, his booming laughter revebrated off the walls of the warehouse. and let me tell you one thing, you were about to be generously rewarded for your undying loyalty to him, if you know what i mean

Croc's s/o being a badass hcs:

we all know people weren't too nice to Waylon. all his life, he's been ridiculued and insulted. at this point, the jabs don't really get to him that much, he's accepted the fact that he's a monster. but they got to you. you, who knew that a monster is the furthest thing from what he truly was

Narrows were a place where many individuals could be found, and possibly the only place that had dingy, hole-in-the-wall bars that would host Waylon. people there just didn't have the strength to care about shit like this. and so, you and Croc made a habit of coming over to a bar every now and again, just to go out somewhere where he wouldn't be judged or, at least, where he wouldn't be kicked out and sold to the cops

but even that small piece of heaven was taken away from you. all it took was one fucking drunk to ruin a moderatively nice evening. one wasted fucking dude that seemed to have a death wish and decided it was his responsibility to remind Waylon why he prefered to keep to himself in the sewers than go out among people. this stumbling, bumbling fool that thought calling your man an abomination and a pain to look at was a great fucking idea and he was fulfilling his civic duty

Waylon didn't even have time to react, nobody did, before you were all up in his face, his drink spilt on his shirt, flailing and positively fuming as you used the most creative insults under the sun to remind that fucker of his place in the food chain, "choke on a sandpaper cock" being a clear fan favourite, if the laughs and cheers around you indicated anything. and let me tell you, Waylon has never felt so loved and appreciated as then. oh, he's going to make this up to you, just you wait. you'll see just how grateful he is for you

[sohotthateveryonedied]

Dad...I’m Bilingual

Read here on AO3!

Summary: 

Dick hums—a quiet, sleepy sound. He’s drifting, but only slightly. The painkillers are doing their job. “It’s dumb,” he says. “I can beat up bad guys an’ stop an apocalypse, but I can’t even tell my own dad I’m bilingual.”

Bruce just stares at him. Realization kicks in a moment later. “Do you mean bisexual?”

“Yeah, bionical.” He said that, didn’t he? Bruce must be getting slow in his old age.

When he wakes up, the first thing that Dick’s sluggish mind can latch onto is how tingly his tongue feels. His taste buds buzz like someone poured a can of Pepsi into his mouth while he was sleeping, bubbles tickling the path down. Or maybe pop rocks. Or tiny little bumblebees, their legs scritching and scratching the surface they tread. The tingling spreads outward, Dick notices as he careens toward the wakeful part of wakefulness. Mouth to neck to torso to fingers to the cement block that he is pretty sure used to be his right leg. Soda and pop rocks and bees, the whole way. A quiet, questioning groan slips through Dick’s heavy lips. He cracks his eyes open and squints, blinking against the unforgiving brightness of the room he’s in. “Mm. Bruce?” A nearby chair squeaks. “Dick? Are you awake?” Bruce’s voice is uncomfortably close, booming in the short space between them. Dick grimaces. “C’n you...back up? Your breath smells like meatloaf.” He opens his eyes fully and is greeted by Bruce’s lined face, bags sagging under his eyes. They’re in a hospital room, white walls and white sheets.

Bruce’s meatloaf breath huffs once in amusement, then retreats. “I’ll take that to mean you’re back up, then.” In his lap is a magazine laid open to a page that’s all squiggles and bumbled lines. It matches the rest of the room. Dick’s head swims.

The numbness has receded mostly now that Dick is back online, but his stubborn cement leg takes longer to reboot. “Feels like I died. Then came back to life. Then died again.” His mind churns slush and soup. “You did just get out of surgery,” Bruce tells him. “Leslie said you’ll be woozy for a few hours.” Dick frowns. “I can’t feel my leg.” He has to parse his words carefully, his mouth working slowly like his muscles have melted into molasses. “I should hope not. You just had your knee put back together.” That part sounds...somewhat familiar? Dick has mismatched memories of surfing a stop sign across Clayface’s back, then sirens so loud and so close they split his head in half. He remembers Leslie yelling into one ear while the other listened to Bruce and Steph arguing about a video she uploaded to the Batman Incorporated Twitter account. That was completely irresponsible, Bruce said, out of his Batman suit and in one of the backup outfits he has stored in Leslie’s office for nights like that one. You’re lucky he only broke his knee. That stunt earned the Bat brand fifty Twitter followers, Steph snarked back. I need a goddamn vacation, Leslie said. “Tim left to crash a jet ski in the harbor,” Bruce continues, though Dick doesn’t remember asking, “so your alibi is taken care of. Jason and Cass went to track down the pudding cart, and Alfred took Damian home to sleep.” The half-drawn curtains make it hard to decide if that’s a sunrise or a sunset he’s seeing. Either way, it speaks to long hours of sitting and waiting and hoping. “I think…” Dick licks his dry lips. “I think they cut my leg off?” It feels like it. Did Leslie take his leg away as punishment for being dumb? Is the hospital hiding it from him? Bruce snorts. “Then what is that?” He gestures to Dick’s leg, the entire thing encased in weighty layers of gauze and plaster. “An imposter,” Dick says. Duh. “They gave me fake metal parts like Vic.” Dick slumps against the pitifully flat pillow behind his head. “My brain feels fuzzy. Did they take stuff out of my head?” That would explain the foggy memories and the way all of his words swim away from him like he’s been plunged underwater. Underwater hospital. Now there’s an idea. “You’re on painkillers,” Bruce says plainly, licking his thumb and turning the page of his magazine. “Heavy ones, it looks like.” Dick can’t remember if painkillers are supposed to feel like bumblebees buzzing around inside his thoughts. Maybe they’re made of honey. “Y’know, last time I woke up all confused in a hospital room, a bullet stole secrets from my head.” Bruce looks pained. “I assure you that all of your secrets are intact this time around.” Dick hums. “You should...take the painkillers out.” “Why is that?” “‘Cause I don’t wanna spill stuff.” Bruce frowns. He doesn’t say anything for so long that Dick wonders if he spoke in Portuguese by mistake. Bruce places his magazine on the plastic chair beside him. “Well, I can’t take out the IV because you’ll be in pain, but I promise you that the room is safe. Tim checked for bugs.” Why a bug would be in the human hospital, Dick doesn’t know. He shakes his head. The front pieces of his hair fall into his eyes, but his arms are too tired to fix it. “That doesn’t work, ‘cause then...then you’ll know. And that’s bad.” “This isn’t about your secret identity, is it?” Another head shake. “I might acci-mentally tell you ‘bout how I spilled tapioca on the Batmobile’s seats.” Bruce’s eyes widen. “That was you?” “Yeah, but don’t tell Bruce, ‘kay? You gotta promise.” Bruce rubs his temples like he’s sleepy. “I spent ten minutes yelling at Jason for that. I made him clean the seats.” “Yeah, ‘cause you’re an asshole.” Dick huffs, blowing at his pesky bangs until Bruce rolls his eyes and pushes them back for him. “Thank you.” “I appreciate you telling me about the tapioca. We’ll talk more about that when you’re sober.” Dick makes a face. “The whole point’s that I can’t tell you about the tapioca. It’s a secret. I’ve got too many of those—a whole big fuckin’ army of secrets. And it’s too many. No fun when you can’t share ‘em.” “What about Nightwing?” Bruce asks. “‘S different. You already know that one. I can share it.” “But you can’t share the other ones,” Bruce finishes. Dick snaps his fingers. “Zactly.” Bruce studies Dick—his bundled-up leg and the clear bag hanging on the hook beside his bed, pumping drugs into his bloodstream. “I should let you rest.” He starts to get up, the action somehow guilty despite there being no inherent guilt in vacating a chair. Bruce can pour guilt into anything if he tries hard enough. “You wanna know the worst part?” Dick continues on like Bruce hadn’t spoken, words spilling freely over compromised lips. “I could tell you. I could. But I’m a scaredy cat, so I can’t.” Reluctantly, Bruce sits back down. “I don’t know about that. I think you’re very brave.” “I’m not. If I was, I’d be able to tell you, because I know you’ll still love me no matter what I am, and I’m still scared. And that’s what scaredy cats do. They run away.” When Bruce’s face wears that expression, that gentle turn of his mouth and that pang in his eyes, Dick is stricken by memories of being nine years old. He’d go out every night in the Robin suit, wearing it like a suit of armor and trusting that nothing could hurt him. Bruce would be there by his side, protecting his Robin from harm at all costs. His soul wrapped around Dick’s like a second layer of armor, and it was then that Dick started to wonder if it was possible to have two fathers. “There’s nothing wrong with being scared sometimes,” Bruce tells him now. “There is if you’re a superhero.” “Even then. Sharing a secret can be a scary thing, even when you know it’s safe. That’s why they stay secret for so long.” If Dick didn’t know any better, he’d think that Bruce already knew what Dick desperately wanted and didn’t want to say. But not even Batman can read minds. Dick hums—a quiet, sleepy sound. He’s drifting, but only slightly. The painkillers are doing their job. “It’s dumb,” he says. “I can beat up bad guys an’ stop an apocalypse, but I can’t even tell my own dad I’m bilingual.” Bruce just stares at him. Realization kicks in a moment later. “Do you mean bisexual?” “Yeah, bionical.” He said that, didn’t he? Bruce must be getting slow in his old age. Bruce leans back in his chair with an odd, bemused expression. It’s not an angry one—more like when he’s cracked a case and lets the truth soak in. What case he’s cracked, Dick doesn’t know. Puzzlement morphs into something soft. “Okay. You’re bisexual. That’s not so bad.” “Yeah. But it would change stuff if you knew.” “Not exactly,” Bruce says. “You’re still you, Dick. Nothing’s changed—not really.” “Mm.” Dick’s chest warms. That must be a delayed effect of the painkillers, surely. “Maybe I’ll tell you sometime, then. Later,” he amends. “When my head’s not full of mothballs.” “Sure, son.” Bruce reaches out to ruffle Dick’s hair. “Whenever you’re ready to tell me, I’ll listen.”

[mynameisjag]

If the B.O.W.s had their own language that only they understood.

Be trained, go on missions, obey your handler…or your family pays the consequences…

Ethan wonders if Chris was aware of what the B.S.A.A had offered/threatened him with…did the man know that he never wanted to this...to be what was basically an attack dog for them? It never comes up in conversation…maybe he doesn’t…maybe he thinks Ethan is doing this to be a good person and help out others…

He rather be at home trying a new recipe…instead he is in the middle of some random city hunting down any leads to the current situation. The situation being the fucking zombies bumping into each other without a care in the world as they bumble down the streets in hopes of food.

Apparently he doesn’t count as food for them as a literal walking mushroom…no red meat to his fake bones…or more concerning, an actual brain but he doesn’t want to think about how that works.

The scientists back at base are just confused as he is…

His outfit is awful…there is someone that’s in charge that is just fucking horny and has the power to act on those urges given the tightness of the black suit he is wearing. Practical his ass…speaking of his ass, his pretty damn sure the design was made with his in mind given the statements and stares he has been given.

Also his helmet is fucking stupid…he gets that Chris has a fucking theme with his team but his helmet looks like a motorcycle helmet with cute little bumps on the top that just happen to look like ears.

At least it has cool tech in the visor giving him updates and when he gets home he is so prying the secrets out of its design.

If he got out of here considering the loss of contact from the squad…

Rounding a corner, gentle pushing one zombie away as it bumps into him much like swatting away a very lazy bumblebee, it continues on its way as he heads forward with the thought if he…borrowed…a drink from the nearest store…would he be in trouble?

Coming around the corner in hopes of mapping out a new location, he pauses at the scene before him.

The hell happened here?

There is fire?

And bodies thrown everywhere like something landed in a middle of a pack and the impact slung them away like ragdolls.

That…isn’t good…

Pressing the communicator on the side of the helmet, he tries to patch through but gets nothing for his efforts…

Damn…

A large crash comes down the street and he watches as a few people go running from an actual car being thrown and they disappear into a nearby building.

Interesting…he hadn’t received information about survivors…they weren’t dressed as any kind of agents either…

Suddenly, another flying car and he gets to see what is causing the panic.

Oh…that is one ugly motherfucker…

Big too…

And looking right at him…

Why was he just standing in the middle of the street like an idiot…

Ethan doesn’t move even as the creature makes its way to him, stopping a few feet in front of him to stare him down.

Oof, poor guy looks like they patched him together with whatever…but hey, it looks like the black outfit look is popular with all assholes in charge!

The creature eyes him and its bottom jaw moves slightly before a low grumble comes out like it was clearing its throat.

“Identify.”

Oh…it can speak.

“Identification: Vallhund. Identify.”

“Identification…Nemesis…Chaser…”

It…he speaks slowly…obviously having issues and honestly Ethan just impress he can talk at all given his state.

“Mission.”

“Mission: Scout. Mission?”

“Mission: Rid Connections Scientists.”

Figures Connections was part of this…of fucking course…though they dealt with the more…moldy type like him…not with what was going on. Though he has to wonder who sent out the big guy and why…he remembers something about the Nemesis branch from years ago, they’re…to put it plainly…an old model.

The creature twitches as a group of zombies stumble over each other and the thing actual snorts at them.

“Dumb things.”

Ethan nods his head in agreement and they both watch as one continues to run into a wall, he can understand why people are scared of them…at the same time though…these things can be ridiculous stupid.

“Vallhund: Hunt?”

Oh…was he offering they hunt the Connections scientists together? Well…he can get better information if he can get his hands on one of them, “Acceptable: Information needed from scientists…then Chaser completes Mission?”

“Accepted.”

Looks like he made himself a friend as the beast turns and heads off toward the building the people ran into earlier.

Might be able to get some info on why and who sent the thing here as well if he feels chatty enough.

Ethan takes a running start before jumping and landing on the Nemesis back, the creature doesn’t even make a sound as he perches himself on the shoulder like a cat.

He internally chuckles at himself as he remembers the fucking ears on helmet and imagines what he must look like.

Oh, he knows he is going to be yelled at later when he gets back…but they never said how he should get the information they wanted.

In all honesty, the top probably won’t give a shit on how as long as he does.

Chris though…he is going to be pissed…

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

My friend is a big fan of you as well and asked me to request this:

A Janus fic based on the song Monster by Dev https://youtu.be/5iA_oFDNt9E

I think the song could fit him quite well, maybe with the others being like “out of all of us, h i m???”

-🦑

Songfic?? With Janus angst?? My time has come *ascends*

CW: Unsympathetic Light Sides (they're not assholes but they're basically unsupportive, concerned for Reader, and hateful/distrustful of Janus)

...........

Call the doctor, call the doctor Must be something wrong with me He's a monster, why do I want ya Please tell me, please tell me

"What?!! [Y/n] this..this cannot possibly be true!"

"Roman-"

"You could've had any one of the fine gentlemen here...but more importantly me.."

"Roman, just calm-"

"And yet you chose him?! That wretched slimy snake?!" The princely Side pointed rudely at Janus, who was just sitting on the couch beside you. He frowned as he fiddled with the chain of his capelet, finding more interest in that than the uncomfortable conversation currently taking place.

This wasn't even the direction you nor him expected it to take. It was already going south..straight towards hell.

All because Remus couldn't keep his mouth shut and blurted out the revelation that you and Janus were dating.

Ironically, he was the one who confessed to you first--something that you're certain no Side would ever believe.

"There's got to be something wrong with your head." Roman shook his head in dismay, before approaching you. "Come now. We'll find you a true Prince Charming! One that's not a vile fibber like-"

Suddenly you sprang up, moving away from him. "You don't get to choose who I fall in love with. Remus.." You glared at the dark half of creativity. "I'm gonna kick your ass if you don't leave right now."

"Do ya promise~?" He giggled, refusing to acknowledge the seriousness of the situation. "You know I'm into that."

"Let it go, [y/n]." Janus tried to assure you. "They're both bumbling fools."

"A fool?!" Roman gasped. "The only fool here is YOU!! Trying to tempt them with your false promises of love and affection! What do you know about romance?!"

"Apparently more than you." You interrupted, standing by your lover in a defensive manner. "I know this isn't exactly how I planned to tell you but god just calm down for a minute."

You definitely didn't anticipate this kind of freakout from him. You thought he'd be asking about the how's and when's of falling in love, as one would expect from the "romantic expert" of the Sides.

You had a plan to tell all of them individually, but..starting with the guy who was deceived most and openly mocked his name probably wasn't a good idea.

Eventually the two halves of creativity left you both alone. And only then did you sit back down next to the now-dejected Janus, holding his hand. "Sorry you had to hear all that."

"Oh don't worry, it'sss new to me." He muttered, squeezing your hand in turn. "I'm sure Roman will have a tough time realizing he's definitely the most handsome one around here." The smirk he gave made you chuckle.

"Yeah, well..he'll get over it. We got off on the wrong foot with him, but I'm sure the others will be more accepting."

He's a monster He's a monster That boy, he's a motherfucking monster But I love him, yeah I love him Ooh ah, ooh ah ah

"Seriously? That guy?"

"Just hear me out, Virgil-"

"Oh I've heard plenty. I'm just warning you that it's a bad idea." Virgil huffed as he put his phone down. "He's a monster who's gonna use you for some selfish gain. You've seen it. He only cares about himself and hurts people to keep it that way."

"I know you've known him longest but...I'm pretty sure at this point he's moved past all of that." You pointed out. "Honestly, the only one being hurt here is him. First Roman, and now you?"

Despite your arguments, he just didn't seem convinced. "I'm not doing this to give you anxiety...I can only do that to Thomas. And I'm not gonna say "breakup with him right now". I'm just telling you that he's not what he seems."

"I appreciate your worries, but I love him and that's that." You insisted, crossing your arms over your chest as you stood defiant. Obviously it was in his nature to tell you to stay cautious, and he'd probably say the same if you were dating anyone else.

But calling Janus a monster seemed awfully harsh. You haven't even heard him call Remus that, which was odd.

'Seriously why is he being such a prick?'

"..whatever you say." Virgil shrugged before sinking out, leaving you alone by the staircase.

"I wouldn't worry. His opinion of me has never changed."

You realized Janus was eavesdropping and turned to face him, sighing. "Jan, are you doing something that's making them be so... brutally honest? This just seems unusual for them."

"Not that I'm aware of." He had briefly removed his glove, indicating he was tell you the truth.

"Hm..then again, Roman and Virgil are sorta the least-rational ones. One's jealous that he doesn't have a date and the other overthinks a lot."

"Wonderful observations, my dear."

"Patton and Logan are more down-to-earth and clear-headed so they might have more understanding."

"I'm sure they will." Janus' tone didn't match the optimistic words he uttered as he slipped the glove back on. "Oh and..I'll try not eavesdrop anymore."

Little did you know, that would be two lies.

Most people are scared When they look him in the eyes, all they see is fear (but) Let me make this clear I want him near

"How can you look into his eyes and..and.."

"Go on."

"And not be scared?! I know I would be, kiddo."

"...Patton, is that seriously your only argument? That he looks creepy?"

"No, no! I just..." For a moment the fatherly Side paused, before he sighed and patted your shoulder. "Listen, I do think you're being a good influence on that wriggly snake but...I only worry he's being a bad influence on you. Every time he's near you I-"

"It sounds like your only argument is "he's a creepy crawly snake so I shouldn't trust or love him". Is that all?"

"It's...a bit more complicated than-"

"It's a yes or no, Pat."

"...I'm trying to look at the bigger picture and, sure there's some good in him but..I worry he's gonna hurt you in the end, that's all. Like he hurt us several times by impersonating us." He tried to reason, but you just brushed his hand off your shoulder in disbelief.

"Wow, I didn't think you'd be one to judge books by their covers." You frowned slightly. "Well let me make this clear: I want him near me. I feel safe around him. I love him, outward appearances and all. So if you can't accept the way I see him then...we're done here."

With no more defenses, Patton sank out as you left the room. But in the hallway you spotted a familiar capelet vanish around the corner, and you found Janus, who manifested a brown eye contact over his snake eye. His scales almost vanished under his skin, but you called out to him before they could disappear entirely.

"Janus? I thought you weren't going to-"

"I..n-never expected Patton of all people to say that.." He held the side of his face shakily, keeping his head lowered so you didn't see the gradually forming tears. Only now he was starting to feel the impact of everyone's words. "If..it's my looks then...I can surely make adjusssstments.."

"No, sweetheart. You don't have to change your looks or be anyone else for me." You cupped a hand over the one that still covered the scales. "C'mon. You can't seriously believe Patton's dumb reasoning, right?"

"........."

All you got was a silent nod.

Most people can't sleep Feeling he's out, on the streets (but) He is my creep He is my creep

"While I see your relationship to Janus is beneficial-"

"Actually, nevermind. You're just gonna tell me the same shit everyone else did."

"...now [y/n], remember what we've discussed on cognitive distortions-"

"Jumping to conclusions? Overgeneralizing? I know. But I have valid reasons for those. You all think Janus is gonna hurt me because he's some "freaky selfish snake". But he's not, alright? He's been more truthful with me lately and I'm sick of the others not believing anything we say. So please, Logan..can you take my side for once?"

Logan was surprised by your outburst. He didn't even know you've talked to the others about Janus and assumed he'd respond in a similar fashion.

But he adjusted his glasses and looked at his notebook, all traces of emotion vanishing. "Logic can't take sides. If you would just listen..I've observed that your interactions with him have been generally positive, and that's helped Thomas-"

"There you go again..why does everything always gotta lead back to Thomas? Can't you just recognize Janus as his own person without assuming I'm only dating him to help-?"

"Because he can't be distracted from his core function!!"

You jumped a bit as he slammed down the notebook, scowling at you with a slight orange tinge behind his glasses. Though it was quick to disappear as he sighed. "He can never be his own person. You two will never have a truly normal relationship. I only advise that you keep that in the back of your mind."

And just like that, he left.

Every discussion you've had with a "Light" Side only left the bitter taste of frustration in your mouth...

Now what should you-?

You were startled again as you heard a nearby door slam shut, before realizing who overheard this conversation.

"Shit."

Is he human, does it matter I know he's what I'm after I can reel him, from disaster I know

"So..th-that's how they all see me, huh? A monster..n-not even a person."

"Jan.." Joining your boyfriend on the king-sized mattress, decorated in black and gold much like himself, you could finally see those walls he built up now crumbling to pieces.

One way or another, he heard what every Side had to say about him. And it was more than enough for him to realize they not only shun him for simply existing..

But they refuse to accept the idea that he's worthy of love, too. He can take the name-calling and insults in the videos, but this is what truly broke him.

He just scratched at his scales, his human eye already red and raw from crying as he wondered why you went through all of this just for him.

Any sane person would listen to the others and just breakup with him. He wasn't worth the effort.

You clearly deserved better.

You deserved someone who's more handsome, chill, kindhearted, or sensible-

"I know you can't truly be human but..does it matter?"

"...does it?" He sniffled, leaning into your touch more as you ran a hand through his hair. "Because apparently not. I know I'm not a perfect, flawless individual..I-I don't expect any of us to be. But if only I-I never-"

"Jan..you can't focus on what you can't change. I know you feel guilty, and if the others can't see that...it's their own fault. I won't stop fighting for us and for your happiness. I love you, okay?" Turning to him fully, you cupped both sides of his face and looked into his eyes.

"And in case you think I'm lying, I'll say it again: I. Love. You. None of their words will change that."

Hearing you become so determined to love him despite all odds made him sob again, this time from relief, as you put your arms around him.

Nobody's ever taken his side on anything...and certainly never defended him the way you did.

You felt several extra arms manifest to hug you back, and you smiled, closing your eyes.

Maybe in time the others will understand. But while it's true he looked like a monster and had his deceitful ways..

You knew what you were after.

And so did he.

Call the doctor, call the doctor Must be something wrong with me He's a monster, why do I want ya Please tell me, please tell me

[mxchellesworld]

Attraction and Repulsion 

Harry Styles x Reader

Synopsis; Where Harry is too much of an asshole for a proper relationship but too good in bed for you to leave 

Warnings; mean!harry, arguments, name calling, smut, unprotected sex, creampies, degradation, impact play, choking, 

a/n; harry styles fans come get yall juice!! ok i wont lie this kinda seems all over the place but i like it anyways. hope yall enjoy and please send some feedback:)

***

You thought it was real funny. It was absolutely hilarious how the whole world saw Harry as a sweet lad who wears big trousers and has fun nails. But you saw him for who he really was. Harry Styles was mean. Plain and simple. 

But you loved it. 

And as much as you tried to deny it, you both knew it was true. You were like magnets. When you weren’t absolutely repulsed by one another, starting an argument, you were wrapped up in each others sheets feeling the strongest attraction you’d ever felt for another person. 

You were always stuck in a limbo of back and forth. Arguments and name calling over the phone leading to quick hang ups and the eventual knock on the door signaling he was there to deal with you the only way he knew how to put you in your place. 

You were drawn to him like a moth to flame. And just like you, he was also too stubborn to admit that he’d want anyone else but you. No matter how cocky he got flaunting the fact that he could get any person in the world with just a smile and wink, he knew he’d never actually do it. 

Under all the petty acts and insults there was the smallest bit of adoration he held for you and you only. 

_ 

You had been lounging around your apartment when your phone chimed. It was one of your girlfriends sending you a link to a newspaper article. You hadn’t bothered to look at the title on the message before clicking on it and seeing the large cover photo on your screen. 

Right there Harry and some model getting cozy after his last show. Big bold letters on the teen magazine reading ‘HARRY STYLES AND NEW BAE???’. You audibly scoffed. 

It wasn’t like he was your boyfriend so you couldn’t really do much about it, you thought ignoring the small sting in your chest. Shaking off the feeling you skimmed the rest of the article then replied to the message, “she is kinda hot, maybe he’ll give me her number lol” 

With that you threw your phone on the other side of the couch and started to get up. It was 3pm a little too early in your book to start drinking at home and especially too early to start letting him ruin your day. 

Maybe it was time to start looking at other people. You were hot and single, living in a big city with other hot singles, it shouldn’t be too hard for you to find someone to get in a stable relationship with or at the bare minimum a good fuck for the night. 

So you did what anyone else does and picked up your phone once again, going straight to the app store. Right on the front page was tinder and just for good measure you added bumble. Making the accounts were easy enough but selecting the pictures for your profile was tricky. You wanted a good amount of selfies and body shots. Cute pictures but also something risky enough to catch the eye. 

Soon enough you were already swiping and giggling to yourself about the future prospects you had lined up. Meanwhile in a city about a few hundred miles from you Harry was sitting with a frown on his scowl on his face in the same predicament you were in earlier that day. 

He was in his hotel room packing up and getting ready to head back home when his phone chimed. He looked over to see if it was his manager or someone from crew with any updates on departure times however it was one of his close friends. 

At first he was expecting a sports update or an invitation to go to a bar when he got back but instead it was a screenshot of your tinder profile. When had you gotten that? he thought to himself. 

It wasn’t like he could get mad since he knew he didn’t treat you the best. But that was just your dynamic, deep down you both cared for each other and even then it made for the best sex of his life. 

Looking back down at the glowing screen he swiped through the few screenshots he was sent. Various pictures of you out with friends. The one that got him was a picture of you in the bathtub, your body was covered by the porcelain yet just enough of your chest just was showing in the mirror as you gave the camera your best sultry look. 

Yet the real kicker was the bio where you included him in your top artists. He scoffed and shook his head, biting his lip as he clicked out from the messages app. Instead he called up his manager to get him on the fastest plane back home. If the blood wasn’t rushing to his face he knew he’d be hard as a rock but for now he’d save that frustration for when he saw you. 

_

You knew tinder hookups were easy to get but you didn’t know just how easy. After spending the day scrolling away, putting your phone down for food and subtle chores you landed a ‘date’, which you really knew was ‘lets get tacos before we fuck on my couch’. 

You had planned to meet at 8pm at some restaurant by your house. At 6:30 you started to get ready slowly, taking your time in the shower, shaving, the works. You had your music connected to a speaker getting yourself excited for the night. 

Who wouldn’t be? You needed this. This was your time to get all dolled up and get to cum from someone other than yourself or the man who makes the vein in your forehead pop when you think about him. 

You put on your sweet smelling lotion and head to your closet looking for an outfit. It was starting to get warm so you settled for a black t-shirt dress that fell to mid thigh with tan heeled booties. You pulled out a jean jacket to put on top in case it was windy.

After finishing your hair and makeup, it was nearing 7:30 and you were back on your couch fixing up the pillows and picking up any misplaced items in case the night led you back to your place. Suddenly you heard a knock on your door, the same hard 3 rasps which only meant one person. 

Your heels clicked on the hard wood as you made your way to the door, unlocking it and opening it halfway, “What do you want Harold,” you said unamused. 

“You look pretty,” he said pushing past you, ignoring the annoyance in your tone. 

“Wish I could say the same about you. Now what do you want? I’m busy and I have to leave soon,” you said rolling your eyes. 

He took a seat on your previously neat couch, spreading his legs and putting his arms up on the back. The way he looked you up and down sent chills up your spine, “What did you get a date that quick? The internet works wonders doesn’t it love”, he said rolling his neck. 

“How did you know abo- actually I don’t care. As a matter of fact I do have a date and I’m meeting him soon so if you don’t mind leaving,” you said picking up your jacket and purse, “Why don’t you call that one girl from your show? She probably misses you.” 

He let out a short laugh before pushed on his knees to stand back up, “Ah I see what this is. You’re jealous and you think going on a little date with some nobody would hurt me.” The cockiness was just seeping out of him. 

“Pull your head out of your a-,” you started before he cut you off. 

“No no you’re gonna listen to me angel. We may not be together but you belong to me. No one else can ever touch you or fuck you as well as I can,” he said leaning in to whisper in your ear. 

It was almost sad how easily he could have you crumbling. Just then your phone dinged. It was a message from the guy, Danny? You couldn’t remember at this point. 

“Answer it sweatpea, tell him you can’t make it.” 

You were really debating it. On one side this could be your chance to finally tell Harry to fuck off but on the other you knew it would be hard to replace him and you weren’t even sure you completely wanted to. That was a whole other layer of emotions to dig through. 

You looked back up at Harry, one of his curls falling into his eyes which were filled with lust. The way his tongue peeked out to slip over his pink lips gave you the answer you needed. 

“Fuck,” you whispered unlocking your phone. Quickly you typed out a half ass apology about your sister needing you to babysit, even though she lived out of state, he didn’t need to know. 

After you hit send your phone was quickly plucked from your grasp and pushed into Harry’s pocket. You didn’t think much about it when his lips pressing onto yours was acting as a great distraction. 

He pulled away lightly mumbling a “taste like strawberries”. If you weren’t so turned on you would’ve giggled. 

You moaned into his mouth pulling him by his loose button up shirt into your bedroom. It was a routine you had almost perfected at this point with little stumbling or need to grab onto the walls as a guide to make sure neither of you hit any corners. 

Your lips never left each others in the feverish mess of kisses. Each one making you grow needier and needier. Your fingers worked quickly in trying to get the buttons on his shirt undone. You felt his warm ones wrap around yours halting your movements. 

“Not so fast, you think I’m gonna let you off easy for what you did today?” 

You huffed out, “You did the same-”, again he cut you off. 

“I get to do whatever I want because you know who I am,” he finished trailing his thumb over your bottom lip, slowly tugging it down. All you could do was nod. 

“Say it then.” 

“Harry Styles,” you whispered out. 

You could see his pupils get bigger with each syllable. It was his favorite thing, the power, the dominance. He got off on his own name. But so did you, the thought alone made you clench your thighs as you were in the moment. 

His hand came up and tapped on your cheek, a small implication of what you knew he could do, “You’re gonna have to be louder than that lovie. Don’t worry though I’ll let you try again later.”

He backed you up until your legs hit the bed, pushing you down. You slowly crawled back, pulling your jacket and dress off as he worked on his belt and pants. You made quick work of kicking off your boots and settled into the plush sheets. 

“Hurry up Styles. I think Danny could’ve made me cum at least twice now,” you said sliding a hand down to your panties. That move would bite you in the ass but the risk was worth it. 

You let out gasps at the touch of your fingertips, moving your hips, doing anything to put on a show and hopefully have him give you what you wanted quicker. 

He eagerly got on the bed, trapping you under his knees. His hands quickly ripped yours away from where you needed them most, pinning them over your head. He leaned down, face inches from yours until you shared the same breathe. 

“You just want to be punished don’t you? Don’t worry I’ll help you get it through that stupid little slutty brain of yours,” he finished with a sadistic smile. 

You nodded frantically moaning out pleases. His hand came down on your cheek, the chill of his rings pressed against the now warm skin on your face. His nails raked down until his hand was snuggly hugging your neck. 

You tilted your head back giving him more room to squeeze and mark as he pleased, “Please Harry, want you to fuck me already.” 

He tutted his lips giving your neck one last squeeze before he pulled away. “I think we should work on your patience,” he said moving down to your spread legs. 

His warm hands pulled on the lace fabric on your hips, scoffing at the visible wet patch, “Don’t tell me this was all for old Danny-boy.” 

“No Harry its all for you,” you mewled as he let his fingers swipe through your folds. It was evil how he was leisurely propped up between your legs teasingly circling your aching bud, switching between blowing on it and nipping at it. 

You already felt the tears springing in the corners of your eyes. So little was doing so much. Just a little more and you could cum right then and there. And he knew it too. 

“Oh you better not cum. I’m not gonna be very forgiving if you do,” he trailed off almost laughing. He never let up, quick circles on your bud making your body tense up. 

“Ple- no.. oh god Harry,” you whined out. You felt your juices gushing out of you as you reached your peak. He never let up on his motions, going even faster on your overstimulated clit. 

“God you’re so pathetic. Such a whore you just had to cum,” he punctuated with a slap right on your pussy. 

At this point you were sobbing. Your head was swimming in the pleasure. You tried to apologize but the words weren’t coming together, just broken whimpers and mixes of sorry’s. 

His hand came down on your sensitive cunt two more times, each one had you trying to close your legs but he was quick to keep them open with a bruising grip. 

“Please.. Harry.”

“Please what?” he said taking in your shivering frame.

“Please fuck me! Want you to cum inside me, mark me so everyone knows i’m yours!” you spoke out breathlessly.

Quickly he flipped your over, pulling your hips up so that your pussy was on display for him. He groaned as he swiped the tip of his weeping pink cock over your already puffy folds.

With a long stroke he filled you completely. Your nerves were on fire and he hadn’t even started. His rough hands grabbed onto your hips for leverage on his thrusts.

“Fuck you’re so tight. Such a good little whore just for me to ruin,” he gritted out. He kept a steady pace, quick and deep making sure to hit your sweet spot each time.

Your nails were digging into the pillows for dear life. Eyes shut closed as your mouth fell in silent screams and jumbled phrases of pleasure. The only thing on your mind was HarryHarryHarry.

“Wanna cum again.. oh my god.. Plesse Harry fill me up! I need to feel it,” you said arching your back further. You felt each vein slide along your spongy walls making sure to clench around him and milk him for all he was worth.

His grip on your never let up. He let his hand come down on your ass cheek. Once again the rings contrasting the heat radiating off of you, “That’s it cum for me baby. I want you to scream my name when you do. Can you do that love? Shit , tell me who fucks you this good? Who’s cum do you want spilling inside you?”

You all but screamed a “Harry Styles” letting your neighbors know just who was with you that night, nights before, and nights to come.

The sweet noises and screams of his name had Harry’s cock pulsing inside you, ready to burst at any moment.

One look down at where you connected and he was sent right to heaven. Your cute little pussy creaming right on his cock had him shooting his load deep inside you.

You both gasped and groaned at the feeling of him filling you to the brim. He stilled his motions and you all but collapsed onto your bed.

You felt him lean down once again, pressing a kiss to the shell of your ear before whispering, “You think Danny could’ve done that?”

[demonprincezeldris]

Big Bro Zel AU

Zeldris goes back to the Commandments. They have their own headquarters, not attached to the royal palace, that most of them stay in anyways. He barged in, the doors swinging in and banging against the wall. They jolted, and looked at him with a "What the fuck??" Expression.

He took a moment to catch his breath, beaming. "I talked to Meliodas, he knows!!" Excited cheers and chatter broke out immediately, and they bombarded him with questions.

Three days later, he was waiting for Mel at the old theatre, drawing little doodles in the dirt with a stick. He sensed more than heard his brothers arrival, as the younger landed behind him and hugged him. "Hi, Zeldris!"

"Hello, Little One." He said happily, basking in his warmth. "Come, sit. I have some things to discuss with you."

He did, slipping down beside him easily. Zeldris smiled and tucked a strand of his wild golden hair back out of his face. "Do you know about demonic packs?"

"Mmm, kinda? I know that demons are pack animals, and have pretty close knit family units."

"Yes. And you know that family unit doesn't have to be blood, right? Not necessarily?"

"Kinda. Why?"

"You know of the Ten Commandments, I'm sure."

"Well, obviously."

"Right. Well, the Ten Commandments, they're MY pack. And when you were born, you became part of that pack. You may have been stolen from us, but you are still our pack. They want to meet you, Mel. Desperately."

Mel bit his lip, thinking. "...Not here. One other demon on the edge of the Celestial Realm is one thing, but ten? No."

"We have an old base in Brittania. Don't use it much, just when we spend several days at a time at the border. How about there?"

"...That'll work."

Mel spent the rest of the day showing Zeldris what the Celestial Realm was to him. Showing him the glowing golden sunset over the clouds, showing him the sky fish that swam around the islands docily, showing him the little bumbling bundles of fur that ran in packs. "I just call them puffs." Showing him the multicolored birds, showing him everything in his world that made it beautiful.

"Do you see why I love this place?"

"Yes. Soon, I'll show you my home."

A week later found the commandments gathered at their rural Brittanian base, impatiently waiting the arrival of Meliodas.

"Ugh, Zeldris, when is he gonna get here??" Derieri half snapped, Monspeet giving a little amused huff beside her. Gowther chuckled in his wheelchair, Glariza standing next to him. "Have patience, Derieri, he'll be here."

"But when? What if he doesn't come? What if he's in danger??"

"My brother is strong and smart." Zeldris said firmly. "If he cannot come, it is for good reason." Gelda, who was next to him, nodded firmly. While his father didn't know he was mated to the Vampire, the commandments figured out he was courting someone in a week, long before Meliodas had been born. They knew, and she wanted to meet her mates brother.

"Yes. Have faith in him, Derieri."

"Melascula, I love you, but if you make another pun related to your commandment today, imma throw something at you."

She just giggled.

They waited some more. And some more. And Mel was beginning to get impatient.

"...I was here before all of you, I was just waiting to see how long it would take you to notice me. For the elite, your observation skills aren't great."

They jolted and whirled towards his voice. He was hanging upside down from the rafters, head tilted. Zeldris was the first to break the stunned silence with a laugh. "Oh, get down here, stop being mean to them."

Mel shrug, grabbing next to his knee with one hand and flipping down, landing lightly on his feet. He put his hands in his pocket, a nervous habit of his, and gave a half shy grin. "So, um... Hi?"

Galand laughed. "He's as much of an asshole as you, Zeldris!" The elder prince squawked, and with the tense moment broken, the other Commandments hurried to greet them and introduce themselves. Mel looked a little overwhelmed, but also pleased. Like this was a lot, but he was enjoying it.

Before he knew it, he'd been bundled into some weird, giant pile of blankets and pillows. He was in the middle, and everyone was around him, chattering and cuddling up to him, or playing with his hair. It was weirdly relaxing, and he remembered learning about grooming during his stolen lessons.

Then came the dreaded question.

"So you'll come back home, right?" Zeno asked. Everyone picked up on the change in the young ones mood fast, and grew concerned. Zeldris already knew his answer, and squeezed his arm gently.

"...I can't. It's- it's not like NO ONE loves me in the goddess clan! My Mom and my Mama, they raised me, they love me, a-and I love them too! And Elizabeth, she's my best friend! I can't just leave them! They're my family too..."

"...Well. That would be an issue." Gowther had that same gentle, patient smile that Zeldris had, and Mel looked up from the little ball he'd curled into miserably. "I'm sorry..." He whispered.

Galand ruffled his hair. "Don't be upset, young one, we'll work it out. We're not cruel enough to steal you away from your family." His voice was a little bitter, a little pointed. Mel sighed and gave them a tired smile.

Years trickled by, and he felt like a traitor, almost. He never leaked information, of either clan. And he went out of his way to avoid harming civilians and engaging in unnecessary battle. After a while, he requested to be based in Stigma. It took some arguing back and forth, but Elizabeth had taken his side, and he was finally moved.

Elizabeth KNEW. He had intended on telling her... eventually. But she'd followed him when he snuck out once, curious and worried, wondering where he kept disappearing to. She saw him come face to face with ZELDRIS, but before she could leap into the inevitably battle, Mel threw his arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. Zeldris hugged back just as tight, his face the picture of bliss and love. That's right... the whole reason this damn war had started... was because Meliodas had been stolen from Zeldris. It would appear that her friend knew his origins.

She confronted them, and they came to a tentative agreement where as long as Mel was careful, very very careful, he could continue. He thanked her profusely, hugging her as well.

She reluctantly tolerated Zeldris, for Mel's sake.

Mel and Zeldris still fought eachother in battle, but it was more for keeping up appearances at this point. Mel no longer sought to maim or kill him, and Zeldris no longer sought to capture him. At this point, it was almost PLAYFUL. Sparring back and forth. Though they tried to make it look serious when the goddesses were watching.

Mel also had a daughter, a young human mage he'd adopted named Merlin. When he'd introduced her to Zeldris, he damn near had a heart attack, asking where her mother was. Mel explained he had not, in fact, sired her, but that didn't make her any less HIS. The commandments thought she was absolutely the cutest thing in the world, especially when she threatened to kill them. "Aw, death threats, just like Mel!" She was quite miffed by their reactions.

When he got to Stigma, he found himself falling for an attractive human named Rou. He ranted to Zeldris about it, who encouraged him to go ahead and try. He also told the commandments, the traitor, and they took great joy in teasing him, much to his horror. The betrayed look he sent Zeldris in the midst of the teasing had him quaking with suppressed laughter.

He DIG manage to court Rou, successfully at that. This was proven when the next time he visited the commandments, they found him already sitting in the nest, drinking tea, and looking VERY satisfied with himself. When they tried to go out with him, he told them that he was not walking ANYWHERE, his ass still ached far too much for that. Zeldris blinked, getting it first, and making a face. Then Monspeet burst out into a rare fit of laughter as it clicked, and Mel's smirk only widened, hiding it in his cup as the others got it one by one.

Then it all came to a head. He was beyond horrified when he saw Ludociel pull up the omega arks full of demon civilians, plenty of whom he recognized, including Derieri's sister! He snarled, and before the Archangel could do anything more, flung himself into the air and punched him hard in the cheek, stunning both armies. He took the momentary distraction to lift his arms to the omega arks, forcing his own magic to overtake Ludociels. It took strain, but he was a demigod, dammit, he had raw power. The white darkened until it was the familiar purple glow of his magic, lighter than a normal demons. Then Ludociel stabbed him, hissing that he should have known he'd betray them eventually, the Demon filth he is.

Derieri and Monspeet snarled, but before they could do anything, we're swarmed by the goddess army. Mel did his best to hold his own, while maintaining the protective shield on the demons, but Ludociel was not leader of the Archangels for nothing. He stabbed him again, this time, plunging through one of his hearts, and Mel screamed while the light magic burned through him.

Derieri and Monspeet wouldn't allow this to go on any further. If they turned Indura, they wouldn't hurt their kin, and right now, it might well be the only thing to save the life of their youngest pack member. So they allowed it to happen, and Ludociel was torn away from Mel.

The battle was brutal and bloody, and when Ludociel was knocked back out of the sky, Mel tried to stop them, terrified at their strange form and their rampage. He pleaded with them to stop, to come back to him, but Ludociels enraged yells and attacks only made them more hostile.

Then Elizabeth purified them, and he rushed after their falling bodies, giving her a thankful look as he caught them.

Zeldris had made his way to the battlefield, and was horrified as he rushed to his wounded pack mates. Mel gave him the other two, allowing Zeldris’s magic to take hold of the hundreds of civilians, and started to head back, but Zeldris grabbed his wrist.

"You're hurt, badly-"

"I have to go find my Mom's, before they're executed for MY actions-"

"Mel, you're down a heart-"

"And they're down six, I've only lost one, I'll be FINE, now LET ME GO!" He yanked his hand away and flung back towards Stigma. He ground Amihan and Inanna, the two desperately searching for him. He called for them, and they collided in a hug. He coughed, wheezing as blood bubbled up past his lips. "I- sorry- heart-"

They wanted to heal him then and there, but he insisted he hide them first. He brought them to the border base where Melascula and Galand were anxiously whispering to each other. He flew in and settled his mom's in the social space. "Stay here, I'll be back-"

"Absolutely not, Mel, you're wounded, you need medical care, NOW-" Galand tried to grab him and he swatted his hand away. "I'll be fine, I need you two to stay here and protect my Moms, I need to go find Elizabeth and Rou and Glox and Drole, and my DAUGHTER- I need to make sure everyone is ok-"

"If you go back now, you'll be attacked for sure-" Inanna tried to argue, but he hissed. "So be it." He flew off before they could stop him.

He found Rou's corpse first, just laying on the ground, still seeping blood. He wailed and cradled him, but he didn't have time to spare on this, however much he wanted to. So he ignored the gaping wound in his chest, closed his eyes, and brushed a final kiss to his cold lips.

He gently picked up the injured Gerheade, who was miraculously still alive, and brought her to where the other wounded faeries were being treated, leaving her there with a squeeze of her hand to find the others.

Gloxinia and Drole were both missing, nowhere to be found, and he repressed the stressed sob to find Elizabeth.

Before he could, he felt his body fizzle in a strange teleportation spell, and suddenly, he was somewhere strange. Elizabeth was by his side, looking exhausted, and he took a moment to note that at least she was alive before he turned, and-

Holy shit

That's what his sire looked like??

They told them their crimes. Betraying the Demon Clan, (like that was his fault) helping the Demon Clan. Elizabeth for helping the Demon Clan.

They tried to fight, desperately, but it was to no avail, and they knew that. They saw it in the acceptance and grief in each others eyes, trying to mask it with a grin.

They died.

Meliodas woke up. Elizabeth didn't. And he screamed for her for hours before eventually burying her. He still- he still needed to find his daughter! He needed to make sure everyone else was alright.

He found Merlin crying in Heavens Theatre, his families secret place, and scooped her up as she gasped. She cried harder and clung to him. His girl was so strong, but she thought he was dead and everyone was gone. She explained what happened with the goddess and demon clan, explained that Gloxinia and Drole were still MIA, and he didn't want to believe her until he saw it himself.

At that point, he just held her as they cried. Everyone else was gone. They were alone.

Damn! What a way to tie everything into the canon universe.

[silverhandsamurai]

Chaos ♦ Johnny Silverhand/Fem!V ♦ Part I

Summary - AU; In a future where both Johnny and V manage to survive. Each with their own body. Just when things are finally hopeful fate throws them both back into hell and while this is happening the two of them are struggling to figure out their ever-changing relationship. In Night City things are always chaotic.

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This is a multi chapter long story so hope everyone enjoys the ride ♥

chapter warnings; swearing & minor spoilers

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I didn't think it would be possible, but it happened...

A future where both Johnny and I lived - in separate bodies.

No one dying.

Just hope and a fresh start.

A few days before my set meeting with Hanako I got a random call. The name was unknown and the voice was even disguised all of it just screamed- suspicious, but I still answered. Johnny wasn't too happy about it and started going on a tirade.

Something along the lines of we haven't the time for dumb side bullshit and I was wasting my breath on it. Also that corporats were just scheming again.

Blah blah corpo hate crap blah blah big boy rocker bullshit...

Since that call Johnny didn't say anything anymore. Guess the asshole just couldn't admit I was actually right and he was wrong. His poor pride....

One thing lead to another and the mysterious caller was able to lead us to this ripperdoc from out of the country. This guy was all kinds of weird, but he was able to fix ol' Johnny boy and me up easy.

It...almost felt like a slap in the face how quickly the problem was resolved.

All that hell and trouble was just gone in an instant...

The biochip was taken out of my head without me dying and then placed into a perfect replica of Johnny's body. Only a few things were missing like his cybernetics and his tattoos.

The body was a soulless sleeve cloned from Johnny's DNA in a lab.

Yeah....and I thought shit couldn't get weirder and I still don't have any real answers for why Johnny's body was being cloned.

Don't know if I do want the answers honestly...

Once Johnny's biochip was jammed into his new body he and I were placed in a medical ward at a private location under watch by the weird ripperdoc and a few unseemly nurses.

It took Johnny a few days to get used to his body. He couldn’t walk properly or even talk. He was like a toddler stumbling around only able to communicate through throwing things and punching shit.

I learned true bliss during this time.

Johnny Silverhand, rendered completely silent. Sure it was against his will since he was just a bumbling babe that couldn’t talk yet. But after having said rockerboy in my head for weeks I appreciated the unintended mute button that was placed on him- yup that was true bliss. 

Watching him glare at me from across the room was enjoyable. The occasion middle fingers sent in my direction became a ritual greeting among us. I gladly returned each time to him.

While Johnny was in his training wheels stage with his new body. I on the other hand was literally going through my body becoming my own again. The ripperdoc didn't go into details only said my body was removing all traces of biochip's influence.

Mostly it meant I spent days in bed popping pills like candy as Johnny's tantrums lured me to sleep.

After a few weeks Johnny was fully transformed from an angry man toddler to his final true form - raging dickhead.

After his metamorphosis in true Silverhand fashion a few events occurred.

First - he decked the weird ripperdoc in his face and then marched off to Cassius to get his old tattoos again.

Second - went to the shadiest back alley ripper and had his arm cut off and replaced into his signature arm cybernetic.

He could have easily let Cassius fix his arm, but Johnny ranted about how overcharged the price was so of course, he sought out the cheapest unsafe option.

Third - he got piss ass drunk at Afterlife then got thrown out onto the streets shouting for a cigarette.

It was two in the morning when I got a message from Rogue to come and pick up my stray cat ...

While Johnny was off storming the streets in a blaze of hell after leaving the medical ward I was the opposite. Once I was freed to go I paid for the nicest hotel in the city and then I relaxed in a nice warm jacuzzi with a glass of my favorite booze.

After the chaos I had lived I deserved to pamper myself. I was free of my rockerboy brain tumor and life was looking bright again.

But I was naive to think I could go a day without hearing his name for even a few hours.

Once Johnny Silverhand pulls you into his orbit there is no escaping even if you wanted to.

Getting out of the car I felt my jaw lock anger slowly rising up into my veins as I made my way over to Johnny spread out on the ground waving his hand in the air and shouting for the bouncer at the back of Afterlife to get him a beer.

"What the fuck Johnny?"

Lifting himself slightly to glance at me the instant his eyes locked with mine that damn smirk of his danced across his face.

" So Rogue finally decided to call my babysitter shoulda fuckin' figured. Well since you are already here mind making yourself useful and getting me a smoke."

I took two deep breaths to calm myself and ran my hands down my face. Without a word, I spun on my heel and headed back to my car and I pulled out a pack of cigarettes from the glove box. I glared at the pack knowing that it was only there because Johnny snuck it in at some point in the past when he was in control of my body.

" Sneaky asshole. "

Closing the car door I marched over to Johnny and then threw the pack at his face making it smack hard into his head.

" Christ V, watch where you are aimin'!"

Nudging my boot into his side I crossed my arms and glared at him on the ground.

"Who says I didn't hit my target?"

Muttering curses as he set up Johnny took a cigarette out of the pack and then lit it before slowly standing up to full height. Closing the distance between us Johnny stopped just a few inches from me before leaning down to my level and blowing a long puff of smoke into my face.

" Real-fucking-charmer you are, V."

Not even coughing as the smoke dissipated my gaze remained locked with his as he stepped closer the burnt tip of the cigarette a hair away from my lips. I could feel the heat rolling off at it, but the only thing my attention was drawn to was the swirling emotions in Johnny's eyes as he glared back at me with full force.

" I aim to please, Johnny . "

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I've been binge playing Cyberpunk since release and I've been wanting to write a story with Johnny since I started.

Finally got a plot worked out and will be updating this when I can.