#for those wondering things are still touch and go

[vevobly]

omg bestie give me lover reader as new antler queen 😍😍

Yellowjackets Headcanons To Lover Reader As The New Antler Queen!

A/N: just pretend that this is set in an alternate universe where Jackie and Laura Lee never died, but it was two entirely different characters instead because they did not deserve to go out the way they did 😭

Jackie Taylor:

Jackie doesn't know what to do at this point. Everyone around her has changed, and you? You're just beginning to. You're stepping into a role she doesn't understand, a role she fears. And that terrifies her. She already practically lost everything she knew before, and now she's losing you—the one thing that hasn't changed. The one person who hasn't changed, and just remained the same despite everything. With your new role, Jackie becomes desperate. She can't let you change. She can't lose you to all of this insane wilderness bullshit and lose the one person who still loves her through everything.

Jackie would be so conflicted. A part of her loves you and wants to support you despite all of this, but she's also starting to see you differently. Because you're not denying the role that the others are telling you that you own, you're not refusing to believe the words that they're saying. And that? It fills her with nothing but dread. It drives her to the edge that she just pulls you aside one day and begs you to leave the group with her, offering you an ultimatum you could either take or leave.

“You don’t have to do this.” She swallows before continuing. “We can still be us,” She rests her forehead against yours. “but not like this.”

Shauna Shipman:

Shauna would follow you, no question. Even if she's a little wary, she can't bring herself to not be on your side. She tries to convince herself that this doesn’t change anything. That you are still you, just with a title now. But deep down? She'd be scared. Because she knows what it does to people. She knows what it did to Jackie, and what it's doing to Lottie. And she knows that it's doing something to you. The way your touch is less familiar, more like a gesture of ownership than affection. The way your voice no longer asks, but commands. It makes her stomach twist.

Her feelings for you are a mess—love, loyalty, jealousy, and something uglier she doesn’t want to name. In public, she's neutral to you. But in private? That's where she lets everything slip away—the fear, the resentment, and the pain of feeling like she’s losing another piece of herself. In the back of her mind, she wonders if you ever look at her the way you look at the others when they kneel. If she's just another subject to you now.

“It’s just survival, right? You don’t actually… believe in this?” She looks at you with those doe eyes of hers. “Do you still love me, or do you love the crown more?”

Taissa Turner:

Taissa, the rational part of her, hates this. She doesn't believe in the wilderness, doesn't believe in fate but she rationalizes it. She tells herself that if anyone had to be antler queen, she's glad it's you. She trusts you more than she'd trust the other. But deep down? She's scared. Scared of what this means for the group, for you, and for her. Because even if she doesn't believe in the wilderness, she believes in you. And now? You're starting to become something terrifying. You change when you wear the crown—your voice is sharp and your eyes are cold. She tells herself she can keep you grounded. That she can hold you back if it ever gets too far.

But you don't lean on her the same way anymore. You're still loving, still kind. But there's a distance between you now. Tai wants to believe that you two will make it out of this fine. That you're still you, you're just playing along with what everyone else on the team expects out of you. But...

“Tell me you still see what’s happening here,” She grabbed your wrist. “Tell me I won't just wake up one day beside you, and see a stranger.”

Van Palmer:

Van would be so proud. She already believes in some unforeseeable higher being guiding you all, and if that being has chosen you? Then it has to mean something. She'd be the first to kneel, the first to chant, your name, the first to hold your hands when the crown is placed on your head. But Van isn't blind. She loves you, but if you ever faltered? That doesn't mean she won't question you. If she thinks you're making the wrong call, she'll voice it. And if things start to go too far? if you start making choices even she can't rationalize? Then for the first time, she'll hesitate before bowing her head.

Van will still be by your side. She'll still believe in you but there's a moment—maybe the first time you order a hunt, or the first time you let someone suffer for defying you that she realizes you’re not just their leader. You’re something else now. She starts to worry. Not about you necessarily, but about what being antler queen is doing to you.

She presses a kiss on your nose, before resting her forehead against yours. “Don’t forget who you are, okay?” She smiles at you, melancholy.

Natalie Scatorccio:

Natalie doesn't buy into any of this. But you? You're different. You're her person. And that's the only reason she hasn't already run into the woods and left everyone behind. She doesn't bow, not at first. But when she sees the way the others look at you, the way they listen, the way they would kill for you? She realizes it doesn't matter what she believes. It matters what they believe. She'll fight for you, against the group even if she has to. But when you lean into their bullshit, if you start acting like the role truly belongs to you? That's when the cracks form. She distances herself a bit from you, not far, but close enough to watch over you.

She hates this. Hates that she still loves you even as you become something she doesn't recognize. She watches it all—you stop asking for her advice, you stop looking at her like you guys are equal and instead as if she's just one of your oh so loyal subjects. But she won't stop loving you, And perhaps that's the cruelest part of it all.

“Tell me you don’t actually believe this,” She hugs you, burying her head into the crook of your neck. "You don’t have to do this. You don’t have to be this."

Lottie Matthews:

Lottie treats this as inevitable. The wilderness chose you, just as it chose her. She knew you were meant for something greater, but even she didn't expect the full weight of what you'd become. She hands you the crown herself, and she does it with a smile. Maybe she always knew it would be you. Maybe she never wanted it for herself, or maybe she just trusts the wilderness more than she trusts her own desires. But when she steps back and watches you take her place, something flickers across her face. It's not envy, not quite. But something more unsettling entirely. Lottie doesn't see you as her replacement, but rather as her continuation.

If she supports you, it's because she sees you as the one who will take them even further. She will guide you, shape. But even though she believes in you, there's a part of her that aches at not being the chosen one anymore. That wonders if you're truly the leader they need or if she made a mistake. And when she kneels for you? She does it with a small, knowing smile. Because leaders will rise, and fall. Only time will be able to tell if you were made for this. And Lottie will rightfully seize what's not yours.

“You feel it too, don’t you?” She presses a kiss onto your knuckles. "It was always meant to happen this way."

Laura Lee:

The moment you're chosen as the new antler queen is the moment Laura Lee thinks you need saving the most. This is proof that whatever darkness is in the wilderness is winning over you, and this is the moment you lose yourself to the point of no return. She begs you to stop, to think, to remember who you were before the wilderness got its hands on you. When you don't listen to her? When you take on the role fully? She just looks at you like she doesn't even recognize you anymore. But she wouldn't hate you. No, she'd pity you. And in some ways, that's somehow worse.

Despite everything, she would still love you. She would still fight for you, even if it meant making herself an outcast. Even if it meant facing the team's dislike for it. Because if she lost you? Really lost you to all of this madness? That would mean the wilderness had truly won. And she doesn't want to lose the only person she has to it.

“You don’t have to do this,” She cried, hugging you tightly as if you'd disappear. “You don’t have to let them turn you into something you’re not.”

Misty Quigley:

Misty kneels so fast immediately that it's like she's been waiting for this. She doesn't care about the wilderness. She doesn't care about fate. She only cares about you. And since you're in charge of things now? Then that means she's important. That means she's needed. She'll do anything to prove her loyalty to you. Anything to make sure she stays by your side. If anyone on the team questioned your leadership, she'd be the first to “take care” of the problem whether you approved or not. She wouldn't just love you, she would worship you. The problem? She's desperate to be useful.

If Misty ever felt like you didn't need her anymore? If she ever feels like she's losing you? If she thinks she's losing her place? Well, then she just might have to take matters into her own hands. Just to remind you why you needed her in the first place, to begin with.

“You need me,” She tells you, holding your face between her hands before resting her forehead against yours. “And I need you.”

[messyemmy]

Grapejuice (fic) Part Five

Premise: How much chaos could possibly happen in a single day? A lot. When that day involves the company of Harry, prancing about in tiny trunks, and he's promising pastries in exchange.

Word Count: 12.3k.

Warnings: Smut (oral), Alcohol, Mind-blowing banter. Use of She/Her.

Grapejuice Masterlist

Fashion Board / Playlist 

Other Writing

Its just past noon, and the catamaran has docked along the coast of Marina Piccora for the rest of the days adventures.

The four of you have already spent the morning snorkling coral reefs, stumbling upon a small pod of playful dolphins, and Jack has already somehow managed to scrape his knee.

Savina is seeking out shade, Jack is swimming, again, and you’ve decided to take this opportunity before supper to catch up on some good reading. 

Harry doesn’t have to do a thing to prove he intends to make his presence known; you know him well enough, and you feel his lingering stare simmering atop your skin as you try your damndest to pay him no mind. 

But just in case his peacocking has only been 99% successful in garnering your attention, he’s still taking measures for that last one percent, waiting patiently for you to pick a spot where the pebbled stones are scattered and the sand is at its softest, rolling out a neon orange bathtowel and settling down, before he saunters over. 

Pine green swim trunks tight against his obliques, hanging dangerously low, Harry halts as his toes meet the edges of the fuzzy towel, casting your exposed body in his pining shadow as you busy yourself searching the tote for sunnies and your newest Murakami.

And you’re clearly clinging to that one percent, ignoring his presence and leaning back, elbows sinking into the sand. It would be so much easier if Harry weren’t stealing the sun, if he would just do the normal thing and admire from afar. Or at least from an angle that doesn’t soak up the rays. 

Letting the glasses dip to the bridge of your nose, eyes bright and glimmering up at him, there’s that familiar faint crinkle of expectancy for him to go on to express his intentions. 

Harry lets his hot gaze glide up the curves of your hips and conjures up the first thing that comes to mind, 

“Why aren’t you in the water yet?”

“Have to get hot before I get cool.” You simply shrug, opening up the paperback. 

“Lookin’ like that, how could you possibly get any hotter?” 

“Do you have an off switch?” Scoffing, you find the page where you had last paused.

“Yeah, it’s below my waist.” 

You don’t have to look to feel that cheeky, proud grin of his, and you have to work even harder not to give in to your desires to take a peek at his ink-stained waist, his meaty thighs, the slight cock-bulging consequences of those tight little shorty-shorts, and… 

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

All you can do is lift your shades to mask your bashful blinks, letting the softest huff slip as you will the guaranteed blush to stop blooming like a damn garden filled with the sweetest daisies. 

Harry would somersault to match the ones his stomach and heart do at the sight of the faintest tint of fresh strawberries ready to be harvested along your cheeks. 

Perhaps he could use his lips to help, gentle kisses plucking each one with great kindness. Then he would drizzle the berries in thick, melted chocolate caresses, moulding his touch along each crevice of your flushed skin till’ you’re a sticky mess of his fervorous, molasses-y adoration. 

Harry can’t keep away, needs to crawl nearer into that static bubble of yours, and when he starts to lower to his knees, he wonders if it stirs up something deep within you. If you like the idea of him being at your beck and call, just as he predicts. 

It seems to nudge a spot hiding just below your surface whenever his neediness takes the forefront, a sudden and extremely subtle reaction of your body- the slightest stutter- a jolt of desire that has Harry believing there’s a part of you dying to push past that silky dermal layer, to put him in his place. He’d beg until hoarse if it pleased you so. 

Harry can’t- just yet- so for now, he focuses on perforating that precious bubble of yours, invading it by wordlessly resting his head atop your stomach, warm skin connecting with the curve of his neck. 

And you swear your guts have shrunken into nonexistence, your mind straying to the gallows with the swift, satiating satisfaction of being in close contact with Harry again. As if a piece of you was craving something you couldn’t quite place, something it seems only Harry knows how to soothe. 

Tummy muscles clenched, stiffening under his curls, you figure that he’s warmed you up more than some massive glowing star ever could, and instead of being free to relieve that simmer with fresh saltwater, here you are, trapped under Harry’s spell, willing to stay put even if it ends with your skin melting off and sticking to each grain of sand. 

It’s in these moments that your mind starts to ponder if Harry feels the same. If this nerve-aching longing is something he has also been sentenced to suffer. 

But he always seems so unfazed, as if slipping into your orbit is something second nature to him, like he doesn’t mind this gnawing desire to hold you nearer, perhaps wants to indulge in it. 

Far too calm and collected for your liking, you’d pay a fortune to find out what Harry’s fantasies look like, if his thoughts are also a flushed mess of stray hands, pulling one another nearer, sloppy kisses leaving glistening trails along your calves, and if they’re as half as vivid as your own, how the hell does he consistently keep it together?  

How can he think about doing anything other than grabbing a pair of scissors and tethering those thin little strings that bind that restrictive pink material to the natural waves of your body, replacing them with his hands and fitting you oh so perfectly between his soft palms? 

But he soaks up the summer sky without a care in the world, sinking into the sand and wondering aloud, 

“What’re you reading?” 

“Kafka on the Shore.”

“Fitting name.” He hums, “Read it to me.”

“No-”

“Please? I like your voice.” 

And how could you refuse when he used that one little magic word that slips from his pretty, plump lips so sweetly, so very politely? 

Sighing, you pick up where you left off last night, skimming the page until your eyes land on the next unread sentence.

“I'm not trying to imply I can keep up this silent, isolated facade all the time. Sometimes the wall I've erected around me comes crumbling down. 

It doesn't happen very often, but sometimes, before I even realise what's going on, there I am- naked and defenceless and totally confused.” 

The universe must have picked up an extra shift today, what else could explain the odds of inadvertently baring your soul through the expression of a story? 

You wish Harry were thick enough to miss the nuance. Then again, he seems to know things about you well before it ever registers on your end. 

🍷

“Harry. Don't you dare!” 

He has you slung effortlessly across his shoulder, free hand stretched along the expanse of your upper thighs, dangerously close to the perky curve of your bum cheeks. 

Your view is that of his caramel freckled back as his body dips up and down with his feet sinking into the sand. 

“I'll deal with the consequences later.”

The water is nearing, you can feel flecks of salty droplets painting your forehead as Harry’s ankles submerge and disappear beneath the sea foam. 

He’s moving so fast, it makes you loathe his love for running; he’s up to his thighs by the time you start to accept your soaking-wet fate.  

In a last-ditch effort, you take a hearty chunk of his back between your teeth and bite down just hard enough to deter his mission. 

And it does deter Harry; he yelps out in surprise, stumbling forward until he can no longer hold the two of you up, and you come crashing into the sea, a wave of splashes left in your wake. 

You reemerge, salty droplets clinging to your eyelashes, pooling past your stunned and parted lips. 

Harry’s already back on his feet, water bumping and breaking against his mid-torso, and he’s beaming down at your sopping figure with a satisfaction painting face. His stupid, stupid, pretty face. 

You finally find some footing, chest completely submerged by the sea, toes digging into the soft sand, and your arms find their home, crossed and pressed to your rest below the curve of your breasts. 

“You are so dead.” The only threat you can muster after Harry has just proven that they mean nothing at all. 

“Please, you would've killed me long ago.” He confirms with a predictable eye roll. 

The web of punishment you always threaten seems too easy for Harry to weave out of; perhaps it’s time for a new tactic. One that will leave him a little more apologetic than ever before. 

So you push your arms upward, tactically pressing and presenting your chest to Harry, who evidently has the perfect seagull-eye view. 

As predicted, his gaze travels and greedily indulges in the idea of replacing your arms with his palms, giving you pleasing squeezes, pebbling his thumb across your nipples, latching his tongue- teeth- onto your supple skin, leaving you covered in dainty lavender love bites. 

He’s putty, and you’re going in for the kill. 

“Maybe I like keeping you around.” 

Your body wades over to his, knee brushing along his outer thigh, palm reaching out and slowly grazing along the waistband of his tiny swim trunks, 

“It's fun to have a plaything.”

“Hm.” Harry’s features morph into one of thoughtfulness with something mysterious glazing across his green gaze.  

“You don't like?” Your hand trailing further up, gliding along his stomach, then his ribcage, palm splaying flat atop his damp chest. 

“Oh, I like. Very much.” He confirms with an avid nod as his arm snakes around your lower back like a liferaft, gently tugging, your body bobbing effortlessly into his own as he bows his head and shrugs,  

“Just don't think you're taking full advantage.”

His chest clashes with your own, back and forth, in sync with the choppy sea, and your thoughts are sloshing about, swirling between the desire to punish Harry and the greedy need to indulge in this closeness.  

“Yeah, if you had it your way, you'd be on your knees and between my thighs.”

Harry’s guts twist with pleasure at the mere mention, and he gladly lets a soft groan slip in agreement, hands gently squeezing your skin, 

“You know me so well.”

“Mhm. And I'd tire you out eventually.” You sing-song, and Harry hopes you’re being serious.

“Kiss my forehead and snuggle me after?” 

Your hand continues its invasion along the divots of his collarbone, isolating the curve of his shoulder beneath your arm, nails spanning out along the back of his neck, slipping into his mass of blackened curls and shrugging, 

“If I'm feeling nice.”

“Baby, you'll be feeling more than ‘nice’ when I’m done with you.” 

Guaranteed. Nice is an understatement. 

Though you’ve been feeling anything but. This entire day has been nothing but a nerve-riddled, relax-free nightmare. 

Perhaps if Harry had skipped all the alluring suffocation and had simply invited you into the sea, you would’ve indulged his wishful desires.  

Now, you’ll fulfil your desires, gliding your free hand down to the curve of his waist, palm pushing past the dense water to settle on the dune of his swim trunks, softly, but sternly cupping his cock, 

“What about this?” Adding pleasurable pressure, “Does this feel nice?” 

“So nice.”

Harry’s eyes are feeling heavy, fighting a war to remain open and fixed on the way you so proudly gaze up at him, sparkles of water reflecting like a disco ball dancing along the dips and swoops of your face. 

“Yeah? Like it when I take care of you?” Palm moving in a lax, swirling motion.

“Love it.” 

Harry seems short on words, a sure sign that he’s losing the ability to pay attention to anything but the blood-pusling arousal pooling below his waist. 

For someone who sets so many sneaky traps, he sure does let his guard down a lot around you. 

“Aw, poor baby, already so hard. These shorts must be hurting, hm?” You sweetly deride. 

“A little.” He admits softly.

“Shouldn’t have picked such tiny trunks just to get my attention.” 

“I didn’t-” 

“Don’t lie. You always pick your little outfits in hopes that I look at you.” 

Tutting, your touch subdues, starting to turn featherlight, goading Harry for his greedy attempts to make you his girl. 

“Silly boy, doing almost anything just to be seen by me.” 

“That’s not-” 

Harry doesn’t know why his mouth is making such contradictions; all he knows is that this fleeting hold you have on him is on the line, and just as predicted, your movement comes to a cruel conclusion. 

“Alright then.” You feign disappointment, revelling in the panicked despair robbing his features of pleasure. 

But your palm remains in place, a sinisterly friendly reminder that just as Harry sees through you, you see through him. His lips part, and a jumble of mutters fills the space between your faces. 

“What's that, sweetheart?” You chide.

“Want you to keep touching me.” 

Every word holds individual desperation, each letter is a plea for you to put him out of his misery. The waves are ringing in his ears, he’s nearly drowning in the anticipation of your next move. 

“Harry.” Cooing agreeably, tilting up as far as your toes allow. 

“Y/n?” 

He’s bending his back, ready to latch onto your words, and hopefully, your lips. They’re near enough now as it is, beelining for the bulb of his earlobe, ensuring those words he’s waiting for are extra sticky for his clinging. 

“We don't always get what we want.” 

With a feisty smirk, you use all the force the water allows to give his chest a firm shove, and Harry stumbles back with shock spreading along his face, allowing enough distance for you to get a head start back to the shore. 

He’s sure to catch up, but that blood-pusling problem below his pants is guaranteed to slow him down. Your hips are ascending the water by the time Harry’s gained enough balance to call out your name, and all you can do is let out an evil chuckle.

🍷

Harry’s gaze has been searching for you, and you’ve only been gone for roughly three minutes. Three too many, he thinks. 

His stare is soon satiated at the sight of your figure: the open back of your fuchsia sundress is a fantastic view, and the red frills draped midway and at the bottom of the dress flow in similar motion to your body as you busy yourself with balancing two cups needing refills, and talking to a stranger. 

A stranger whom Harry can’t get a good look at, but still manages to evoke a sting of envy that prickles up the nape of his neck. Even though the margarita in your left hand is for Harry, a top-up you had offered, his body is out of the chair and ambling over to interrupt whatever seems to have you smiling so sweetly. 

And, lord knows, Harry feels like a fool when he’s already halfway over and you’re turning his way, the unknown man disappearing with nothing but an unnecessarily small gap taking his place. 

Harry briefly considers turning on his heels and fast walking back to the fire, but it’s obvious you’ve spotted him by the way your eyes brighten and your hands raise to show off your successful refills. 

God, you’re adorable, and totally unaware of the power you yield: sending Harry into a tizzy and then soothing him with a tender gesture seconds after. 

Strolling over, you meet Harry’s still figure, extending your arm for him to take back his drink, and he does, but as soon as your hand is free, he grasps it in his own, entwining your fingers, giving you a gentle tug to follow him. 

Hardly keeping up, you protest something along the lines of “G’na spill my drink” as Harry leads the two of you to the nearest palm tree, and after the past few interactions you have had with these thankfully large trees, there’s no way this is gonna end well.

He has you gently pressed against the palm bark, creating a little cave around your perplexed body as he steps nearer, slotting a leg between your separated ones and bows to see you better.

In a bid to ignore how mouthwatering the blend of salt water and coconut seeping from Harry’s pores is, you shift focus to the small splotch of margarita that seems to be soaking into your dress, pouting and using your pointer finger to guide his gaze to the deep magenta patch. 

“Now my clothes smell like tequila.” 

“Hush up.” 

Harry’s shushes, his free hand finding its rightful home latched around your jaw, thumb brushing firmly along your bottom lip- and they separate with a sigh like it's second nature. 

His body tilts forward to close that selfish gap separating his chest from your own, and you’ve already succumbed to whatever Harry’s attempting to achieve. Now, his face is a breath away from yours, and you want to suck the air out of that breath like life depends on it. 

A gaze is worth a thousand words when it’s yours, quizically waiting on Harry to tell you what's coming next. And Harry’s ability to understand and answer your charade is worth a thousand pounds.  

“Just wanna finish what you started.” 

He expects a comeback, but it was swallowed and settled in your stomach the second he curled your hand in his and dragged you into the shadows of the trees. Your only desire is to submit. So, you do, soft as a whisper. 

“Okay.” 

That breath-sized gap is gone, and Harry has sucked it in with startled glee, taking that green light and putting it to good use with his lips, slotted against your own, his fingers splaying out along the nape of your neck. 

Free hand fisting the collar of his white tee, you feindishly tug him nearer, Harry quickly follows orders, his palm snaking around the back of your thigh and lifting it up to wrap around his hip, and your hand releases the cotton, hooking your arm around his shoulders.

Forgetting where the two of you are, it’s all tongue and teeth as Harry’s mouth parts and your lips mould against his, taking any and every chance to lick along the curves of his pretty, plump lips, and with his body, so plianty, so languidly, lulling into your hold, a feral impulse acts on your behalf and takes a gentle bite. 

Harry shamelessly and seductively moans out into the chasm of your mouth, filling the space inside of you, just begging for him to take care of you. Giving in is inevitable, and… exciting? 

His hand takes hearty squeezes at the sides of your waist, fingers digging into divots of your dress-clad upper thigh, and you’ll do absolutely anything to coax more sounds out of him. 

That proves easier than pi as your lips detach from his, and Harry whines out pitifully, only to emit another gravelly groan as your splayed-out tongue drags up along the lower dune of his neck, ascending until the lobe of his ear and nibbling gently. 

He reaffirms his hold on your face, luring your flirtatious lips back to their rightful position, smooshed against his own, and you simply slip like silk under his touch, kissing back unabashedly.  

Just as Harry cheekily pinches your thigh and causes you to softly squeal, this perfect moment comes to a familiar crashing halt with the faint ‘helpful’ calls of Jack. 

“Harry, there’s food!”

Your arm swiftly unlatches from Harry’s shoulder and moves to his chest to give him a soft push back. 

He stumbles out of your orbit, but is clearly undeterred by the interruption as his smile only spreads cheekily and starkly counters your shock-infused gasp. 

“That’s exactly why we shouldn't be doing this.” 

“Oh, please. You love the thrill.” 

“I do not.” You breathlessly defend.

“You do.” 

Harry’s pointer finger dips into the curve of your flushed cheek, and his palm presses fretfully to your chest, which thuds so powerfully that your hand raises and falls in tense tandem.  

“Seriously, my heart is in my throat right now.” 

The mixture of skittishness and mortification morphs your features, and Harry thinks you might be the most adorable person, but nobody should be so high-strung after such a spellbinding smooch. 

“C’mere.” 

He offers his palm as a pillow for your flushed face, and you lean into him with little thought, eyes lulling shut under his smooth, silky skin, heart rate already settling down to subtle thuds. 

Harrt steps nearer, glistening lips ghosting over your lax forehead as he rests your back neatly against the tree, his even-paced breaths start to encourage your own to slow,

 “Take a deep breath.”

You fulfil his command like it’s the difference between life and death, mimicking his deep inhale, holding, and letting it out with a sigh of composure. 

“There.” He places a tender kiss just above your brow, “Good as new.” 

Harry lets his hand drop, and your cheek chills at the absence. He looks calmer than ever, and far too chuffed for the circumstances. Taking a sip of his untouched drink, he gives you a cheeky parting glance, 

“I’ll go first.” 

“This is the last time, Styles.”You call out in a desperate bid for control.  

“Sure it is, Klutz.” He mocks sweetly, exiting the mask of trees. 

Your hand is still stunned and stuck to your chest as you wait for Harry to successfully keep this little interaction a secret. 

“Where’s Y/n?” Jack ponders, eyes scanning the area. 

“Think she needed another refill.” 

Harry shrugs casually, and their voices are starting to fade before you can hear Jack’s response. 

Perpetually, you bring the mostly full cup of sweet spirits to your mouth and gulp down its entirety. A refill is precisely what you need.  

🍷

Someone has carefully dug a wide, shallow hole in the sand, which has become home for today's captured seafood. 

Lying a few logs atop the scattered crustaceans, a twig and charcoal fire begins to cook the assortment of clams, lobsters, oysters, and more.  

Your friendship quartet are seated around the toasty flames. Savina attempts to explain the life cycle of a crab to a very curious Jack, and Harry listens along with you. 

But after a third question, it’s clear that this will take a while, and Harry finds it far more entertaining to carry on his favourite hobby of making you hot under the collar. 

“I’ll give you credit.” He commends, “You might be the strongest-willed person on earth.” 

“It’s taxing.” You concur.

“How do you do it?”

Listen to Jack’s silly tandems? Well, it takes years of practice and patience, but Harry should know that by now. 

“Do what, exactly?”

“Not give in to your desires.”

Oh, that. Well, that right there is something you’ve spent the last few weeks going back and forth over. 

No worthy developments so far, all you know is that it’s becoming more difficult by the day, and Harry does not need to be privy to that discovery.

“I give in to plenty of my desires.”

“But not me?” He counters. 

“Bold to assume I desire you.” 

“I see the way you look at me.”

Any hopes that your longing gaze had gone unnoticed are stomped like grapes beneath his slides, and to cover up how shameful that makes you, the best bet is to find out how much he knows. 

“How do I look at you?” 

“Like you want me to help you forget your own name.”

Harry’s right on the money. Thank the pope that he chalks your stare up to fervour and not the complicated crush that truly simmers below the surface. 

“Maybe I do.”

“So, what's the hold-up?” He shifts to humbly face your honesty, 

“You can't still believe I have nothing to offer.” 

“No, that's not what I'm worried about anymore.” You grumble.

“Give us a shot, then.” 

Harry has this cute hopefulness clouding his clear gaze, he has you wishing that you shared his brazen surety, wishing you could switch your brain off for just a while, just long enough to see things through his eyes. 

“Stop being so confident.” 

“You love that about me.” He’s not wrong. 

“It's annoying.” You’re not wrong. “How can you possibly know?” 

“That us sleeping together would be otherworldly when just kissing you is heaven? How could I not?”

Flashbacks of your skin pressed to the palm trees, sitting on the bedroom dresser with his head between your thighs, kneeling for him in the club bathroom, so many stolen kisses, so many almosts. 

“Jesus, Harry.”

“Want me to get on my knees and beg? Have a feeling you quite like it when I’m at your mercy.” 

Your features frantically snap sideways to see if Jack and Savina are hearing any of Harry’s immodest, crude statements. 

Miraculously, Savina seems interested in whatever theory Jack is currently proposing, and your tipsy lips turn back to Harry,

“You're saying all the right things.”

“Remember when I recommended Atonement and you said it sounded lame?” Yeah, you remember. 

The two of you shed tears and pretended not to see the other doing the same,

“And then you made us rewatch it like three times?” Oh yeah, you cried thrice,

“Every now and then, I'm right, y’know?” 

“Yeah, about music and movies, not about fucking me.” 

Saying it aloud feels liberating; it sends a shiver of anticipation along your bare spine, and a similar spark ricochets against the bones sleeping beneath Harry’s skin. 

“Don't be crass.” He chides sternly, “And don't doubt me till I give you reason to.”

Perhaps you’ll keep that in mind. 

🍷

Dinner was delectable, there’s nothing like fresh supper down by the seaside- the view and company that come with it is simply a bonus. 

Harry finds himself taking a breather from the bunched-up group of diners, finding a spot on the boardwalk, letting his back rest against a bamboo railing. 

This time, it’s you who seeks out his company- coming as a surprise to both of you- under the guise of gathering him for the boat ride home. 

A couple of passengers are slowly gathering around the docks for the departure of a boat yet to arrive.

Harry has been cocooned by the comfort of your presence either way, and is a tad flattered that you’re visiting him by total volition. 

His focus has been fixed on the repetitive sea meeting the shore, revelling in the many moments that have made today so rewarding. 

Now, you’re looking at him like you want to know what he’s thinking. 

“Where’s that cute head of yours at?” Your own quirks to the side. 

“You really wanna know?” He lures.

“Think I already have an idea.” Stepping forward, shoes bumping into his. 

“Do tell.” This he wants to hear. 

“Probably thinking about how wet and snug I must be.” You shrug, “How you’ve been dying to taste me again… Something along those lines.”

“Well, now I’m thinking about a few things.”

Harry loosely loops his hand with yours, and where bashfulness would usually have stopped you in your tracks, the words you’ve uttered are now the only thing worth thinking about. 

“What was the first thought?” 

“Watchin’ Fleabag and kissing you till my lips are sore.” Harry’s preface is as innocent as it is enticing, but he just can’t resist adding a little retort, 

“But if you’re offering another taste, who am I to decline?”

A chuckle exits the chamber of your chest and echoes out into the early evening air, head tilting to the sky before returning to Harry’s enamoured stare, your features showing endearment in a way words just can’t encapsulate. 

“You’re a trip, Styles.”

Then it clicks. That loopy grin, front teeth biting your lips, glossy with remnants of salty tequila, the way your eyes seem to be swelling with giddiness, shamelessly travelling along his face with an obvious and filthy desire. Harry’s amused, to say the least. 

“Hang on, missy. Are you drunk?” 

“Drunk on you.” Your pointer finger pokes the middle of his chest. 

“That’s a yes, then.” His chest vibrates with chuckles. 

After evidently indulging in all of those refills, you don’t bother with a response, simply letting your body lean back against the bamboo. 

You stare so innocently at Harry, clueless to how nervous you’re making him, how your gaze bores so sternly into his soul. How could he not be in so deep? 

And when you’ve finally thought of something worth saying, it’s enough to anchor Harry to the ocean floor,  

“Bet you’ve heard how pretty your eyes are a thousand times. But I’ll be a thousand and one. You have very, very pretty eyes.” 

“Coming from you, it sounds brand new.” 

Harry wishes he could put into proper words how stunned he feels at just the sound of his name slipping past your lips, a direct compliment has his body pulsing as if the wooden railing suddenly struck up an electric current. 

And hell, you wish these similar shocks pulsing up your spine were from an electric railing and not just from being in Harry’s presence. 

It’s uncomfortable, and has you desperate to shift closer to him, to soothe your scalding skin with his soft kisses. But the only thing your ego will allow is a tried-and-true scoff, 

“Just say thank you.” 

“Thank you.” Harry pauses, but ultimately can’t help himself, “For being even prettier than me.” 

“Ugh.” You should’ve known better. 

You should also know better than to let that ball of self-doubt dictate your actions, but here you are, asking for reassurance,

“D’you really think I’m that pretty?” 

Harry thinks you’re perfect, but he also thinks you must be insane for asking a question that is, in his eyes, so obviously true, something that simply makes up just one of the many intoxicating things about you. 

“You’re kidding… Right?” 

But when you only stare up at him with confused doe-eyes and pouty bottom lip, Harry realises that despite the thousands of sweet compliments he might have coated you with, maybe it merely dusted over you like powdered sugar instead of sticking to your skin like the thick caramel adoration he truly feels.

God, if he could show you- properly show you- how quickly he would jump at the opportunity to leave kisses and touches all over your body until there’s no question about his attraction for you. 

For now, he’ll try to make it as clear as words can,

“Every time I see you, it’s like the first time. ‘Nd I get lost for words. Pretty is the biggest understatement.” 

“Stop.” 

You can feel the tips of your ears throbbing with redness, feeling silly for asking, because nothing is worse than Harry seeing your shyness as a result of his statement. 

But he does see it- a faint rosy tint creeping up your neck, tickling your jaw, even reaching the tips of your ears.  

“Klutz, are you blushing?” He practically sings. 

“You’re seeing things.” 

“Sure am.” He nods in agreement, “I can see that you’re blushing.” 

“Alright. I am. Happy?”

You concede- though it leaves a sickly sour feeling in your throat, revealing such a safeguarded secret. 

Harry’s face remains unsurprised, but his gaze gives it away as his pupils swallow up all of that greenery: you’ve definitely set him off. 

Enough that he wavers nearer, entering your orbit with that intoxicating minty, musky incense of his, Harry holds your stare captive, clinging on to whatever spell he seems to have cast over you.   

“Do I give you butterflies?” 

“You make me nervous.” Swallowing hard on the ball of anxiety suddenly sticking to the back of your throat. 

“Y’seem just fine to me.” He shrugs with a testy smile, inching closer, head tilting lower.

“Send your regards to the Margaritas.” 

“So, not nervous now, then?” 

Harry wonders aloud, hand returning to its home resting atop your jaw, waiting for an answer that never arrives. 

He can see your chest harshly hitching with anticipation. Angling his face to reach the arch of your neck, his lips ghost cooly against your goosebump-ridden skin,

“Even when I do this?” His pearly whites harshly nip at the thin skin of your jugular. 

“Not at all.” You gulp, gearing your attention to the subtle shaking of his palm: that poker tell of his, 

“But you seem to be.” 

“I am.” He states simply, sloppily licking over the blooming bite mark. 

“Y’are?” You didn’t expect this type of candour. “Never known you to be a shy little thing.” 

Around you, Harry can’t help but bring his most assertive and self-assured attitude, but it’s only because he feels the need to live up to you, to show no signs of cracks in his sanguine persona. 

“Better keep it between us. Got a reputation to uphold.” 

“Your secret’s safe with me.” They always are.  

Harry’s hand drops from your face and settles along the span of your left waistbone, squeezing the swells of your skin as he urges, 

“Now, tell me one.” 

Either you spill your guts about these unresolved, conflicting feelings you seem to be harboring for him, or you sacrifice a good enough secret to satiate his curiosity. 

“I was kinda hoping you’d win the bet.” 

Departing your lips, it sounds as foreign as it feels. Keeping the truth train running, 

“But if you mention this in the daylight, I’ll deny, deny, deny.” 

Harry’s face has inched back from your neck to take in this vital information. 

One look at his mossy irises and you are so done, mercilessly whining, 

“And now you’re edging me, ‘nd there’s no reward in sight.”

Harry’s watching you go through some type of computer malfunction, rushing through the motions, and he’s just waiting for you to run your course so he can whisk in and problem-solve. 

Right now seems like a good time to get a word in, 

“Who said anything about ‘no rewards’?” 

“Focus, Harry.” Your insides lurch, but your mouth protests, 

“I’m being haunted by my imminent doom.” And the way your brows furrow to match your sweet pout is a death sentence for Harry. 

“First off, you’re so dramatic.” He informs, and you groan- proving his point, 

“Second, if you wanted an orgasm, all you had to do was ask…” Loving the way your lips part in a little “o” shape, Harry wants it to widen enough to slot his fingers into,

“And C, you need to learn patience to be a proper good girl.” 

Both you and Harry know how much distaste you carry for the inclination of being anything other than a well-behaved brat, enough to earn him an unimpressed eyeroll.

“If I lacked patience, we wouldn't be talking right now.” 

Harry wishes you had as little patience with him as you do when it comes to scarfing down chocolate croissants. Wishes he got to be the one to feed, and then fuck you, into a euphoric stupor. 

Mostly, he wishes for the tender touches and cuddles in between all of that chaotic tension, the moments of shared stillness. 

“You’re such a romantic.” 

“I’m actually a very romantic person, thank you very much.” 

You’ve defensively hopped into Harry’s snare of sneaky investigation, a furry creature who doesn’t know her fate is being tested by a sly fox disguised as a harmless hunter. 

“Oh? Enlighten me.” 

“All I’m gonna say is, if I treated you the way I did my ex, I think you’d be a very happy, very satisfied man.”  

There’s a tinge of jealousy circling Harry’s thoughts at the reminder of the past, but that’s little compared to the surge of longing that won’t be cured without your reciprocated love. 

“Don’t tempt me with a good time.” 

“Last thing I need to do is convince you.” Right arm slinging over his shoulder, 

“Have we or have we not watched almost every rom com ever to exist?” 

This is a piece of the past that Harry doesn’t mind returning to, a time where weekends consisted of movie nights, Jack falling asleep during the action film he picked. You putting in whatever romance you managed to get ahold of. Harry finding excuses to sit by your side, sometimes staying up to greet the sunrise, sometimes falling asleep on laps or shoulders. 

“Think we have a few to catch up on.”

“Deal.” You’d like that. 

“We should start with Normal People.” 

Harry doesn’t know if it’s possible to ignore opportunities to tease you, how can he when it earns him some endearing variant of chastising, every single time? 

“That’s practically just sex and tears.”

“But mostly sex.” 

That’s debatable, but there’s no time to get into it because a boat horn is going off, and that’s the cue to go back to the catamaran before there isn’t one to return to. 

“Which you’ll never get if we miss that boat.” You straighten up. 

“Lead the way.” 

His back leaves the bamboo, and as soon as you’re around a foot ahead of him, he plants a soft and swift smack across your bum cheek, causing you to squeak, and Harry thinks that might be his favourite reaction. 

🍷

Harry’s pretty green gaze reflects the stems of the fresh array of blooming flowers scattered before his view. 

On his daily stroll through the quaint town, he nearly walked past the little florist on the left of the sidewalk, but his senses were suddenly so overwhelmed with an assortment of sweet aromas akin to the ones from that day at the Botanical Gardens, that Harry stopped in his tracks. 

His attention is garnered quickly by a gorgeous bundle of lime-stemmed tulips, an array of pastel pink, ducky yellow, and bloody red. They seem perfectly suited to be scattered around your body in a spiral of adoration. 

He hasn’t seen you for a few days now, and as much as he enjoys being kept entertained by Jack and all of his antics, Harry hasn’t been thinking about anything other than you. He feels guilty, almost, for having a mind many miles away, harbouring a longing to be lounging about in the lagoon of your lovely eyes.

The young florist is tending to another patron, and Harry is already deciding on his desired selection of colourful petals, imagining how they might look idolised in a vase. What would you prefer? You’ve always had an eye for these things, he thinks. 

With all this thinking of you, Harry’s on the edge of tumbling into an excitement-turned-anxiety-ridden disaster. Forget what you’d think about the colours; how would you feel about receiving flowers? From him? In general? 

Now he can’t think straight, and the sound of a cash register dinging is reverberating in his chest. In a couple of seconds, the spotlight will be back on him- and this time, he feels woefully unprepared. 

Change is being exchanged, and then an enthusiastic, ‘Ciao!’, and Harry doesn't wait for the employee to turn around because he is getting as far away from that stall as fast as his sneakers will allow.  

Muttering, feeling foolish, and out of his element, Harry only slows to a stroll when a grocery store comes into view, letting the cool air conditioning wash over him like an ice bath, like some miracle healer for a love-sick musician like himself. 

Nothing could completely dismiss your presence; it had taken up permanent residency before Harry could negotiate agreements, and now he’s just a nervous wreck wishing for you to invite him inside. 

-

Around forty-five minutes later, just past noon, you open the front door and find yourself breathless at the sight of Harry, his cream pirate shirt partially buttoned, the cotton has shifted from his movements, framing his chest like the artwork it is. 

And, did he even pack long pants for this holiday? Because how are you supposed to spend the rest of summer suffering a shortness in willpower every time he steps out with those dense, chewable thighs on full display? 

Today’s pair are striped maroon and deep green, barely visible tattoos peaking out, and boy, do you want to take a big bite.  

He looks soft and sun-kissed, staring back at you like he’s waiting for you to get a clue. God hopes he mistakes the parting of your lips as a bid for frustration and not the fiery attraction you feel just looking at him. 

With a swift shake of the head, you shift on your feet and fix your posture, extending your arm, letting the door widen as a sort of welcome. His bottom lip sinks beneath the shy bites of his teeth, bouncing on the back of his heels. 

Harry makes a mental note to compliment your clothes, and to point out the irony of wearing a similar styled oversized pale yellow button up, but you’ve paired it with some mid-thigh frayed light denim shorts and some old electric blue sneakers. His second thing to put a pin in: purchase himself some jean shorts. 

Taking notes and admiring living sculptures sure does take up a lot of time because one of your feet is tapping expectantly, forehead shaping your eyebrows into question marks.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Harry only uses his head as a guide, nodding down at his arm at the same time as he lifts a large brown paper bag into view. Giving the bag a quick jiggle, his other hand raises to reveal a bottle of Bordeaux.

“I brought food.”

Your quirked brows return to their resting place, and admiration replaces any suspicion surrounding Harry’s arrival on your front porch. 

“Right this way.”

You step aside, and Harry doesn’t hesitate: following your every footstep through the villa, snailing along the trail through the entrance room to the kitchen where he unpacks his bag of goodies, scattering several selections of fresh pastries along the countertop. 

You can feel yourself salivating at the sight of so many golden, flaky treats staring back at you, practically screaming to be bitten into, desperate to fill your mouth with sweet custardy, powdered sugary, and chocolatey deliciousness. 

The rate at which you grab two plates and start dishing up is shamefully high, and Harry does nothing to hide a knowing, endeared chuckle. 

In a bid to both ignore his teasing gaze and to shovel several sweets down your gullet, you guide his lax figure out the sliding door and onto the aged-stone veranda, bare feet stepping down onto the velvety grass. 

Harry’s on your heels like a needy pup, only giving you some space when you stop in front of an adorable little white aluminium coral-seater; a circular table with curvy crochet-like chairs for two. 

🍷

If someone were to ask, you’d tell them that a massive eagle swept down and stole most of the pastries right off the plate. It certainly wasn’t because you were almost finishing off a third pasteis de nata by the time it occurred to you how famished you’ve been behaving. 

But with the help of a very hungry Harry, those custard slices and croissants are long gone, replaced by two glasses of ruby rouge wine glimmering in the sunlight. It’s a great bottle- Harry pats himself on the back, for the earthy taste and for how easily it settles the fretful flutters that followed him the full trip from the florist to right here. 

Almost always, seeing you is enough to ground Harry, but today has felt so out of sorts and hell if he could figure out why. 

Getting a glimpse of your smile is a surefire way to set off a glitter bomb in his stomach, yet today, that wonky, spellbinding widening of your lips is like a detonator. Perhaps a second glass of vino will buy him another day, or, at the least, another hour. 

Mid-afternoon is painted with primary acrylics, the sun colouring the two of you in secondary hues of pastel orange and pink, tinting Harry’s cheeks with a peachy blush to match the balmy, imminent inebriation brimming beneath his epidermis. 

It’s not the artist formerly known as ‘weather’ or the fermented grapes that foster a feeling of fascination within you; it’s just Harry being Harry. There’s something abnormally daunting about acknowledging that alarm bell of a detail.  

Gratefully, he’s caught up in a core memory and hopes to rent a horse-drawn carriage to take you along through the twisty pathways of his thoughts, picking the scenic route, rewinding the last two decades, reaching a destination he searches so restlessly for in dreamland. Perhaps you seek it, too.

“Favourite place you’ve visited.”

You tilt back thoughtfully, swirling the contents of your glass, gaze captivated by the stormy whirlpool, just like they did way back when you were sitting on the South African shore watching the choppy cerulean sea do the same. 

“There’s this place, Hole in the Wall, it’s in the middle of the sea, and as the sun sets, these amazing golden rays peek through the gap and it’s just- wow.”

Both Harry and the shimmering sun above ache with a selfish desire to be the sole reason for the amorous spark of reminiscence flashing across your features, crinkling cutely at the corners of your eyes.

“Sounds incredible.”

Harry knows it won’t be as incredible as spending time with you, but he had no inkling- neither had you- that the two of you watching the sunset through a stony sphere side-by-side was on the table. 

“I’ll take you some day.” 

In this moment, it's confirmed, you’re offering a seat for two. 

“I’d like that.” 

It’s best to ignore the comfort your insides receive from those simple words, better to chalk his sticky hold on you to the circumstances, to the excitement of a little fantasising of a hypothetical future together. This is as far as you’ll let it go. 

“What about yours? I’m sure it’s hard to narrow down like, hundreds of cities-”

“Remember that little creek just past Twemlo? With the weeping willows.” 

“And the rickety bench.”

“Where you, Jack, and I carved our names.” He recounts.

An old place with even older memories, a destination you had tucked so carefully away that it had been misplaced entirely. A time capsule of a life long gone, and lives that were never to be. 

You deemed this reason enough to neatly fold that little tableau of youth and all of the seemingly world-ending trials and lows, neatly filing it away for a later date- hopefully, never.

It was also a vignette for the better days- a sanctuary for silly jokes and make-believe universes, the home of scrapes and bruises, but always patched up with plasters and wholesome laughter.

“That's your favourite place?”

“By a landslide.” 

Harry hasn’t hesitated once. He thinks about that little creek a lot.

After a while, he realised that little frozen slice of childhood was his home. Something he would forever miss.

Sitting here, across from another slice of his youth, Harry’s starting to feel like you were the missing piece all along. 

🍷

Swollen sun starting to sink in pursuit of the scattered ocean of olive trees, your arm is extended, bottle in hand, topping up Harry’s glass and emptying the bottle, when he stops languidly and longingly staring at you and speaks up about something that lingers with him, even in slumber.  

“D’you ever wonder if life might've been different?”

Why does it feel like Harry’s always pushing you out of a plane with no parachute? Is his goal to send both of you spiralling?

A motto of your evidently avoidant guide to living is to shove any questions regarding decision-making into a dark corner of one's mind. Then, when you’re alone, sometimes a good sob is allowed. 

“Do you?”

“Course I do. S’hard not to when… y’know?” Even now, a decade later, the words get stuck in his larynx like a silky web of shame. 

“When you’re famous?” You coax casually, “You can say it. It’s what you are.” 

“Alright, I wonder what life would’ve been like if I weren't famous.”

“Even I’ve thought about that once or twice.” 

You cannot begin to comprehend why the need to reassure him is so rampant today. Lord knows Harry is revelling in every second of it. 

“Does it end with the two of us walking down the aisle?”

Great. That right there is guaranteed to become a new scenario for you to spiral over under the cover of those creamy cotton sheets. 

“I’ll never tell.” 

“Fine.  Tell me what happens leading up to that, then.”

Even when Harry’s conceding, he’s a right pain about it. And you know he’s only relenting because he’s looking for information he deems more important. 

God only knows what that is, but you’ll be damned if you help clue him in, intentionally or not. 

“Hm. I suppose I could have turned down that scholarship and travelled the Mediterranean like I swore up and down I would do as soon as I hit eighteen. Maybe waitressed by the seaside, dunno.”

“You were always gonna run away from home.”

He might not mean to, but it comes off as some implication that you’re like some caged canary, confined to a golden cage, locked up and longing for freedom from the chains of shut windows and loving owners. Perhaps there’s some truth to that, but there’s also a lot of uninhibited love and tenderness that’s being tarnished by the word ‘run.’ 

Harry spots the slightest sign of pensive frustration flicker across your features, but it’s gone in a flash, replaced by fast-spoken deflection.  

“In every scenario, Jack scrapes through graduation and goes on to become the man of the match for almost every CSC game.” 

Nodding along, Harry is waiting for his name to be brought into the picture, to be sketched out by your graphite gaze, for you to draw him into a portraiture of normalcy. 

“And you…” You muse, “Well, you probably would have gone to CU, majored in literature and loathed every second of it. But, there’s no way you wouldn't have dropped it all to keep making music.”

“Yeah?”

A scoff seeped in incredulity slips past your mouth without a moment's notice, baffled as to how Harry can’t see how his body was just built to move: to glide across the stage, to sway his hips and dance. 

How his voice was specially hand-crafted to hit that sweet spot between haunting and beautiful. 

The gift of garnering people’s attention, and holding it, captivating gazes with his lyrical thoughts and ideas. There’s gotta be a way to make this sentiment stick.

“You were born to make music. Do you not remember how much you sang and performed and shared your favourite songs with me?” 

Seldom do you get to witness Harry’s face so powdered with blushing pink. 

He embodies bashfulness in a way that encourages you to do just about anything to make it a permanent feature. 

Stretching your leg out to bump your shoe playfully against his shin, 

“Sometimes your suggestions weren't half bad.” 

It’s not the time to tell him that he has never recommended anything less than pleasurable. 

Harry’s already looking at you with that knowing smile that reaches up and encourages his eyes to do the same. 

“In conclusion, even if you never made it big, you would be doing exactly this. Cause it’s your passion ‘n all.”

Harry likes- more than- the way you see through all the colours, and places, and complicated decisions, that you look at him and still see that teenage boy with nothing to his name but a deep love for music.

 He wants to be that guy again.  

And he wants you to know that in every universe, or timeline, he’ll always be seeking out the silhouette of your swaying figure slotted between the fans. 

“Singin’ at a local bar, dedicating songs to my favourite groupie.” 

Harry lets his leg stretch out and hooks his heel along the curve of your ankle, sending you a lazy wink and soaking in the satisfaction of watching how swiftly your lips separate with scepticism at his accusation.

“Me?”

“You were my first groupie.” 

“In what possible way was I your groupie? Let alone the first.” 

“You were at that first-ever solo gig I did in the back of Sunny’s Pub.” 

Harry’s watching the cogs turn behind your stare, attempting to oil up another memory so rusted and overlooked. He’s happy to lend a helping hand, supplying a little grease to spruce up those forgotten gears of the formative years. 

“Oh, I remember it well.” He recounts dreamily, “You invited Nova and Annalise Robinson. Jack and the usual group were also there.” 

It seems Harry’s got those gears going, but he hasn’t even mentioned the most memorable part of the performance. 

“You mouthed along to all the words and even gave me a proper hug after.” 

Oh, yeah. You remember. 

And you also remember the days leading up to his performance, how you kept your bedroom window open to amplify the pretty ad-libs echoing across the yard during his rehearsals, or reverberating off the tiled walls of his bathroom, muffled by the instrumental of the running shower.   

“That doesn't make me your groupie.” 

“It was a week later when you praised me in front of your friends and convinced them all to come to the next show.” He’s got you now.  

“That’s when you became my groupie.” 

“You rave about me all the time.” And you have no idea that he does it when you’re not around, too.

“Does that make you my groupie?” 

“I’m the chairman of your fan club.” He proudly confirms.

Harry certainly does do a bang-up job of reiterating his dedicated adoration for you. Come to think about it, he was a supporter of yours long before the conception of crushes and romance. 

“I will admit, you are a very loyal fan.” 

“Til’ the day I die.” Nodding along as if it’s old news. 

🍷

Since Harry’s sunburn, the two of you have finished the first season of Fleabag, and right now, you’re already mid-way into the third episode when Harry’s focus mindlessly shifts to the soothing weight of your smooth, sock-clad feet resting atop his lap. 

But even though his hand is already swirling circles along your skin, he’s touch-starved. For you, and you alone. 

Letting his fingers glide further up, briefly greeting your knee before resting atop your upper shin, Harry glances over to test your reaction, but Hot Priest is speaking, and clearly has all of your attention. 

“Y’know something?” Harry tries.

“Hm?” You don’t spare him a glance. 

“I’m still hungry.” He persists, finally garnering your gaze. 

“I think there’s leftover carbonara in the kitchen-”

“I’m craving something sweet.” 

In the time it takes your face to become one of confusion, Harry lifts your legs from their cosy spot on his lap and gently tugs them, removing your body from its resting place on the sofa’s arm. 

“Hey!” 

You gasp as your body slides across the couch and the back of your head comes into contact with the cushion, and Harry’s crawling over, pinning your waist between his knees, one elbow settling next to your head, his other hand slips into the back of your hair. 

Staring up at him like a blubbering fish, his freckles are like stars under the shimmering rays of the television moon, words blurring out into nothing but an instrumental for your frantic thoughts, and his lips look so damn kissable, it would take the only slightest tilt of the chin to meet him halfway. 

So, you do just that, and Harry’s glad you’ve got the memo because it means wasting no time in covering your mouth with his own. 

Now that he’s got your attention, nothing is stopping you from letting him hold you tighter, widening your legs for his left one to slot in between. 

His tongue pokes at the parting of your lips, encouraging you to allow entrance, which you effortlessly grant, and as soon as you do, your lips trap his tongue and suck selaciously. 

A gravelly groan stirs from Harry’s chest, enthusing your need to have him nearer, palm wrapping around his angular jaw, the other clutching onto his bicep, which is deceptively strong, left leg latching onto his waist, foot gently digging into his lower back. 

Harry pulls away- just enough to end the kiss, but, for you, more than enough to cause a tortured whine to inhabit the space separating you. 

Chuckles vibrating from his chest to your own, his thumb strokes your cheek with a type of compassion curiously foreign for yours truly. 

“So sweet.”  

His nose lovingly nudges yours. Leaving featherlight pecks at the corner of your parted lips, your hot cheeks, the curve where your jaw meets your neck, and he whispers, 

“Just as I predicted.” 

“You’re ridiculous.” 

He is- but you really do like that about him, and you like him even more when his hand lets go of your face and his fingers hook into the denim belt loops of your shorts, slightly prying the material away from your skin in a ponderous manner, 

“Can I have another taste?” 

Bless the power that is low self-esteem because you’re seconds away from telling him how, so, very much, you’d like that. 

And just to make sure you understand how intense his craving is, Harry breathes out,

“Please.” 

“Yes.” 

Harry’s guts twist in delight at the sight of your little avid nods of approval, uprooting the shelter of his body from yours, shuffling himself until he’s hovering above your waist. 

His left hand captures the corner of your shirt and pushes it upward to expose your stomach. 

Pressung a flush kiss to the pudge below your naval, Harry peers up at you, right hand unhooking the button of your shorts and sternly instructing,

“Up.”

You’re shamefully quick, waist poised for the ceiling, impatiently waiting for Harry to take his sweet time dragging the material from your hips down your thighs and eventually tossing them over his shoulder. 

Harry’s hands are back on your exposed skin in an instant, refamiliarising himself with the dips and swoops of your hips, exploring curves he might have missed the first time he had you in a similar position.

His lips sloppily glide along the crease of where your hip meets the chewable mound of your thigh, and its only a matter of time before he’ll reach the damp patch clouding your lilac panties. 

It’s a good thing you’ve lost the ability to feel shame. 

Harry will find out soon enough, but right now he’s happily taking him time leaving kisses on your legs, snailing smooches along your smooth skin as he meanders towards your inner thigh and uses his hand to spread your left leg for better viewing. 

The moan that Harry emits is so filthy it could set a church alight at the mere sight of you all splayed out and already practically soaking for him.

It’s the type of sound that has your thighs involuntarily clenching around his shoulders. 

Harry dismisses your jutting legs with a firm hand, holding you still enough for him to proceed with his plan to lather every inch of your skin in kisses, reaching the band of your panties, capturing the elastic between his teeth and giving the material a slow tug. 

The cotton departs your skin and you have to stop yourself from hissing out at the sudden lack of contact, the cool air only seems to arouse you further, and as soon as your panties are dangling from one ankle, Harry lowers himself, wrapping his large hands around your upper thighs and lets his mouth fall slack at the sight of you all slick and desperate to be kissed all over. 

He intends to do just that, but only after singing your praises a little longer, 

“Christ, you look as sweet as you taste.”

A whine starts to tickle at your throat, and when Harry suddenly glides his thumb up the hilt of your clit, that whine is let out for him to bask in. 

His finger is damp and glistening as he brings it up to his lip and sucks harshy, eyes rolling back like he just been thumped in the head. 

And he’s looking at you like you’re some type of higher entity, with a stare that shifts between worship and desire, he’s observing every reaction your body has to his touch, the way your forehead releases its strained frown as soon as Harry blows cooly over your needy core, soothing the sensory shock with a sweet kiss. 

You can’t keep up with his stern stare, squeezing your eyes shut, and sighing out euphorically as Harry’s tongue flicks out and feverishly laps up into you. 

Harry’s been thinking about how you taste for far longer than he’s actually known the answer, but everything he’s eaten since you has been a dull experience. 

He doesn’t believe there’s anything quite like the taste of your thick, syrupy excitement. 

Just as his thumb presses to your entrance and threatens a pleasurable thrust, the little voice inside your head that ‘knows better’ suddenly speaks up and warns of the game Harry might be playing right now. 

Is this just a red herring meant to put you in your stubborn place? 

He know’s somethings on your mind even before your knees instinctively react to those erratic thoughts and begin to close the space holding them open. 

“Yes, angel?” 

He can practically feel the frustration vibrating along your skin as you search for the least desperate-sounding way of clarifying,

“Are you doing this to get back at me for the beach?”

“I’m not cruel.” He tuts, but his smile is soft and reassuring. 

Everything inside you aches to argue that you aren’t cruel either. But the ache to be filled with Harry’s fingers is far stronger. 

He knows you well enough to press a slow, tentative peck to your inner thigh before tapping it encouragingly and insisting, 

“Open up.” 

You do- and Harry goes straight to burying his face between them, licking into you with well-rehearsed rhythm, soft stubble brushing against your bare skin as he breathlessly sucks the begs- diguised as whines- from within the depths of you. 

His tongue takes on a swirling motion atop the nub of your slick mess, pointer finger teasing the possibility of joining in, but when his focused-gaze glances up and sees that you’ve covered your features from his view, Harry replaces his tongue with his thumb and frowns,

“Let me see your face.” 

In any other scenario, you would have switched the stubbornness up a notch, especially when feeling vulnerable, yet your arm drops from being a visor and chooses to rake into his toussled curls. 

Harry’s pride is through the roof, as he rewardingly inserts a single digit into you, feeling it brush against the spongey cocoon of your arrousal, he can’t help but reiterate,

“Shouldn’t be hiding somethin’ so beautiful.” 

His finger dips in and out of you with slick ease, working up your nerves, eagerly curling around you, feeling the way your body clenches around him. 

Harry returns his mouth to the mix, earning a frantically rough tug of his chocolate roots by yours truly. 

You want to tell him to add more, but it seems Harry has a sixth sense as he pairs his middle and pointer finger and slides them snugly into you, sighing out at how cozily you fit him, how perfectly you’d swallow his cock whole. 

As his pace quickens, there’s nothing you can do to stop your hips from leaving the cushion, back arching up, desperately chasing a high that only Harry can supply. 

His hand splays out of over your stomach and softly pushes you down, covering your pussy with his mouth, letting his tongue glide over the spot just above where his fingers rhythmically thrust in and out, soaking the two of you in a mix of spit and arousal. 

The tightly-wound bundle of nerves blooming in your lower abdomen is losing the strength to stay spherical- aching to burst and send spirals of hot euphoric ribbon shooting up your spine. 

And Harry can tell by the way you tighten around him, walls latching onto his fingers in a desperate bid for him to never leave, to push that needy nerve bundle over the ledge and let it shatter into a million little climaxes. 

So, he does what any good boy should and speeds up his pace, letting his tongue slurp and lubricate his fingers as they meticulously pivot into you, slide almost all the way out, and plunge back in, over and over, until your free hand has to find some grounding buried in his hair, tugging at him- anything to bring him closer. 

Holding on is becoming as hard as it is to see through the daze of euphoria that casts your gaze in a hazy blur, and your mouth is parting and spewing words before you can think,

“Harry, I-” 

“I know, sweetheart.” He soothes. 

And it’s all the encouragement you could ever need to let your body succumb to the overwhelming pleasure, it courses through you with such power that no mind is paid to how harshly you push Harry’s face into you, how frantically you press yourself up against his mouth, grinding down on his fingers until the base of them are sopping wet. 

He guides you through the high, whispering sweet praises, never slowing until your body signals tiredness, hindering the ability to keep your legs up, and only then does Harry lessens the pressure and focuses on placing lethargic open-mouthed kisses atop your swollen bud, over your pelvis, carefully crawling up along your body, a kiss to your stomach, then neck, and finally slotting between your lips. 

A few lazy smooches later, Harry’s fingers leave their home buried inside of you, and hell, you feel emptier than ever before- the faint whimper that follows is as tragic as it is cute. 

His lips part and his slick fingers are absorbed with an indulgent suck, savoring the remains of an unravelled and raw version of you- a version he’s gonna spend an eternity lusting after.

The instrumentals of your heavy breathing are starting to fade and the room begins to chorus with the sounds of a character crying over a haircut. 

Harry ruefully strips his stare from admiring the war your eyes are waging against staying awake and glances over at the telly screen. 

“Think we’re g’na need to restart the episode.”

“Grab the remote.” 

You grumble, getting ready to stand up and search for those long-forgotten panties of yours, but Harry’s palm presses to your shoulder to halt any movement as he lean over and retrieves the lilac cotton, manhandling your legs to help put them back on. 

You scoff and swat his hand away, needing to prove how clearly capable you are of doing anything other than sinking into Harry’s chest and falling into a cosy slumber- even if that happens to be the only thing you can focus on. 

Harry sits back on his bent leg and watches as your frustration dwindles with exhaustion, making the simplest task look like climbing a mountain. 

Once more, he impatiently reaches out to offer help, and once more, you ruefully shoo him away. 

How difficult you like to make things in the name of pride, and how cute that Harry’s figuring out how to smooth out those rigid edges. 

“Just can’t tame the brat in you, can I? 

He reclaims the remote and returns it to your restlessly waiting hand, and as you busy yourself with rewinding the episode, he recklessly wraps his arms around your slouched figure and tugs, shuffling and manouvering around each others limbs until you’re twisted up comfortably enough.

You wonder how Harry could possibly think he hasn’t tamed you straight into the depths of his den when you are literally right here, cheek squished against his stomach, body sinking into the cushions. 

But, if he thinks there’s more to tame, your last words before dosing off are those of encouragement,

“Keep trying.” 

🍷

Sleep is slipping away, a blur of blackness starts to brighten to a silver blue smooch, and you are quickly coming to your senses. The soft hum of the television and the overwhelming heated blanket known as Harry has tucked you in with such care. 

The heat of his presence is enough to lull you straight back into slumber, but the faintest sound of a sniffle draws you straight back into alertness, craning your neck, with guaranteed bedhead, your groggy vision attempts to make sense of your surroundings. 

And then another sniffle, a little louder this time, enough to confirm that something is amiss. But Harry has his jaw pointing west, out of sight, his freckled skin illuminated by the warm, orange hues of the television. 

“Hey, why are you-” Harry is startled, turning to look at you with surprise. It’s in this moment that you notice the stream of tears staining his cheeks, glistening under the TV hues. Attention turning to the screen, you recognise that familiar scene- that scene that could make an old man break down, and now you know what has Harry worked up,  

“Oh.”

His eyes are heavy and brimming with new tears, and to be fair, he should have seen this coming. He could feel it squeezing at his heart the moment the credits rolled into the final episode. And you were sleeping so soundly, melting into Harry’s thighs, arm clutching the material of his sweats like a lifeline. 

He did his best to hold it together, but he’s only human, and his throat tightened in a horribly suffocating threat. If he didn’t succumb to this sadness, he would surely suffocate trying to resist. 

But now you��re looking up at him with a concerned frown, and Harry finds himself harshly wiping his cheeks of their salty stains, brows furrowing with his own concern, waking you up in the middle of one of the most vulnerable and adorable experiences in existence. 

“Fuck, did I wake you?” His voice is gravelled with emotions. 

“Don't worry about that.” 

You easily dismiss, detaching your hand from his thigh and shifting to face him properly. There’s a reason you avoid watching endings, particularly ones shrouded in as much sadness as Fleabag. 

So, you do the only thing you would want someone to do for you in this moment: you partially unlatch from his heavenly embrace, extend your arms and welcome him in for a proper cuddle,

“C'mere.” 

Neither of you expected how quickly Harry would comply, sinking his body into the sofa, his nearest arm wrapping around your lower back, shuffling you around to lie beside him, chest pressed flush against his own. 

Harry melts into your hold like butter in a skillet, tanned skin crisping like bacon at Sunday morning breakfast as your palm finds his bare arm, tentatively dancing your fingers along in a swirling motion. 

He can’t look you in the eye, his sad and swollen gaze focusing on the swooping slope of your nose, sharp cupid's bow flush and puckered from slumber. But he also can’t stop this ache for confession, so easily comforted by the simplest gesture on your part. 

Green eyes still glued downward, you wish Harry would look at you. You wish more than anything that he felt safe enough with you to let his guard down completely, but for now, you’ll be whatever he needs, and what Harry needs is just to get the words out.

“Life can be so sad.” 

“It can.” Your heart aches at his revelation, because it’s true —so true. Yet, here you are with Harry in your hold, and life doesn’t feel sad-not in the slightest, 

“But it can be so happy, too.” 

He finally builds the brawn to grant you his gaze and blinks up at you bashfully through puffy pink eyelids and long lashes that have dampened into inky black feathers, 

“Yeah?” 

“So happy.” You firmly reassure, “I promise.”  

Boldly, yet mindlessly, your lips find a home atop his forehead, chaste and possibly the surest way to show him you truly care. Harry’s charcoal feathers flutter lazily, face leaning into your kiss. 

“Let’s put on Heathers, yeah?” You offer, and as if Harry doesn't already feel seen, truly seen, knowing you want this moment to continue breeds a new type of hopefulness within.

He dreads moving away from you; the brief duration of retrieving the remote is enough to restart the welling of tears pooling at the corners of his eyes. But once it’s back in your hold, so is he, turning his body and letting his back relax into the curves of your chest. 

Your work quick, locating the teen drama, pressing play and letting your left arm take the lead in lethargically wrapping itself around his upper arm, using your right as a pillow for your cheek. 

On the screen, Veronica is speaking, but the words are a mere instrumental supporting the rise and fall, soft and stable breaths Harry takes, the smell of his citrus shampoo, how easily your body has become an extension of his own. 

Sleep is looming once more, and this time it seems to take Harry along; he feels more at home than, well, perhaps ever.  

“Mm. You're comfy.” He sighs out just about a whisper, “Will you play with my hair?”

“Of course.” You feel like you’re fulfilling a need you never knew existed within. 

“Harry?” 

“Mm?”

“I’m happy you’re here.” 

He’s slipping away, at the doorstep of slumber, but your silky words will surely echo in the corners of his mind for an eternity. 

-

Here it is! Let me know what you guys think!! Lots of chats and less smut, but I think we can all tell how the next chapter is likely to contain hehe. Also super grapejuice song coded which is cuteee! - Mimz. x

[sheabuttahwrites]

Tag Me In ( part one )

Modern!AU Smoke x Annie

- Shea Buttah Bakery Masterlist - sounds // When You Touch Me - Brandy - warnings - smut, explicit language, there's filth in here - -

Annie was in a bad way today.

Her poor vibrator sat atop her blanket worn out, on its final bit of glint from the last try. She had turned to her side and moved on to watching one of her favorite youtube shows. In this episode, the group was discussing which appetizer was the worst, yet her pussy was leaking between her cheeks as if it were something much more salacious. Her legs squirmed beneath the covers, unable to keep still as she laughed at them joke on each other more than they discussed the actual topic. 

She fell back with a heavy, frustrated sigh, wondering why her hormones had to kick in while she was home alone. And, even more, what she was gonna do about it. Especially since she had already made herself cum three whole times with not an ounce of relief in sight. In the midst of near hysteria, she was notified that someone was coming into the garage. She squealed after looking at her phone. A few short seconds later, the remedy walked through their bedroom door. 

“What happened?”

“Stack canceled. His lazy ass wanna do it next week now.” 

“Oh, wow. Your brother’s a trip.”

“Yeah. I heard Sammie in the background, too, so I’m sure that’s what really changed his plans. They’ll be up to no good pretty soon.”

“You know, I always did like Sammie.”

He chuckled, disappearing into the bathroom. A few moments later, he came out in his undershirt and boxer briefs. “You wanted me home, huh?”

“Hell yeah. Come here.” 

The way her tongue ran softly over her lips while her eyes took in every bit of him, he already knew what type of time she was on. It was confirmed when he saw the toy lying behind her. 

“What you been in here doing?” He grinned slyly.

“Nothing.” She was grinning herself as she lied. 

“Don’t look like nothing.”

“Whatever I did, I still need you.”

He was immediately taken by the pretend innocence in those big, brown eyes. “Yeah?” 

She nodded. “Mhm.”

He came closer and picked the vibrator up, turning it on. He switched through every speed before stopping on the highest one. Internally, she was celebrating, as guaranteed satisfaction wasn't too far away. But then he switched it off, put it down in front of her, and, most concerning, backed away. “First, show me what you be doing when I’m not here.” 

Annie’s stomach dropped, taking her smile with it. Though he’d seen, touched, and tasted just about every part of her, this made her nervous for some reason. Maybe because she’d only ever done it by herself? She was on the way into her head when he grabbed her chin and made her look at him, lovingly brushing his fingers down her cheek. 

“Go ‘head, baby, don't be shy. I got you.”

Feeling just slightly reassured, she went over onto her elbow. The lump in her throat went down a lot easier than her hand did under the blanket. Then he pulled it back and took away her last bit of comfort, revealing her panties down beside her. But, before she could react, they were against his face getting a long, deep sniff. 

“Smoke! Oh my god.” She couldn't help but laugh at him groaning with closed eyes. Like her drawers were the most delicious scent he'd ever had the privilege of smelling. “You are so nasty.”

He winked at her and grinned, throwing them back onto the bed. 

Reminded that there was nothing for her to feel unsure about, that this was her man and it wasn’t possible for her to be any safer, she turned her body to face him head on and propped herself up on a pillow. If he wanted a show, she was gonna give him one. 

“Ok. That's what I’m talkin’ ‘bout,” he rejoiced, rubbing his hands together and making her giggle even more. 

She unabashedly slid her fingers between her lips and closed her eyes. That was just her way of doing things. But he had different plans.

“Nah, mama. Eyes on me.”

She took a deep breath and gladly bent to his will, spreading her legs while her hand slipped around in her wetness. She gazed through her thighs at him and bit her lip. His sexy ass smolder always sent her over the edge, but watching him watch her was turning her on in a way she hadn't expected. She’d never considered voyeurism to be her cup of tea, but now that she was in it, she only had one complaint. Her fingers weren't going to be enough. 

She picked up the vibrator and started it on the lowest speed. The corner of his lips went up into a satisfied grin. As anticipated, her helper added a thrill that her hand just couldn't match as she pushed it over her clit. She brought one of her knees up to her chest, her breathing starting to quicken. She was in a groove. A moan spilled from her throat like a sultry melody. His favorite song.

“There you go.”

Smoke came closer, hungrily licking his lips, dimples deep enough to drown in. She liked the hell out of this. Any doubts she might've had before had since turned to titillation. He wouldn't have to tell her again to look at him, because she was locked in. Her hips rolled as she surrendered to the sparks igniting the fire between her thighs, her moans pouring out. He had a fire of his own rising as he witnessed her lose control with her eyes set on him. Overcome, she grabbed her titty and sucked it into her mouth. It was so hard for him not to touch her, but he could do this all day. Taking in the fullness of her body, her deep brown skin thoroughly moisturized, big titties falling from the top of her shirt. Beauty paled in comparison to what she was. And all she wanted was him.

“Feel good?”

“Yeah,” she whispered, squeezing her soaked nipple between two fingers. “Mmmm.”

“Open up, fat cat. Let me see.”

She reached down and spread herself wide. He smiled and leaned in to get a better view, blowing delicately on her pussy before his ascent. She gasped. The breeze flowing against her slippery skin sent a chill through her entire body. She pushed the vibrator against her clit and held it there. She was done. His arms, his chest in that tank top, the thickness. The achingly sensual tone of his voice. The way his dick was running out of space in his underwear. All of it was driving her crazy. She needed to release. 

Her mouth fell open and, for the first time since they’d started, her eyes left him. As they rolled, her head followed, tipping back on the pillow she’d now sunken deeper into. Watching her fight—and fail—to keep enough composure to hold her head up, hearing her beg sweetly for him with almost every breath she took, was doing him in. Like her, he wasn't gonna last too much longer.

“Smoke,” she called, desperately.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Please touch me.”

He didn't need to hear her say it again. He started at her knee and gently led his hand down to her inner thigh. Eye to eye with her once more, he gave the softness a light squeeze, then her hips went completely still. 

He smiled. “Oooh. This my part right here.”

A heavy crease hit her brow and he saw her pussy start to ripple. He swore he could feel it pulsing against his dick. Mesmerized, he leaned in just as a thick bead of her nectar dripped out, hanging on to the edge. 

“Goddamn. Make a mess for me, mama.”

“Fuuuuuck.” Her head slumped back and he grabbed her other thigh, kneading his fingers into them both. 

“Mhm. I wanna see that pretty pussy all over these sheets.”

She shrieked and the waves began to ripple faster. The muscles in her thighs were flexing hard against his hands. He licked his lips, watching her leak onto their bed just as he’d asked. She looked up at him, chest heaving, her cries reaching an octave he didn’t have the strength to ignore. 

He let her go and started to jump up and down, stretching his neck from side to side like a fighter waiting for his chance in the ring. “Shit, that’s enough.” 

Annie drifted out of ecstacy and right into a laugh, where he had his palm out toward her, still jumping. “…You foolish.”

“Tag me in, girl. It's my turn.”

@blackerthings @judymfmoody @lyrarodriguez @fendionmyfeet @fadingbelieverexpert @chaneajoyyy @astoldbychae @hotgrlcece @daddiespamm @lovethecheri @xo-goldengirl @miyuhpapayuh @buttrflybby @jiminie-08 @queengodiva619 @soufcakmistress @shiania @motheroffae @savagemickey03 @infinity2 @uhhh-nunyabidniz-heaux @deepinmydaydream @queenofklonnie22 @irefusetobeacasualty @honestlyurslol @bigjh @katezy2x @brownskincheyenne @shamansha @championshipshade @summrsovrinterlude @freelandgoddess @margepimpson @orchidwonder @lizbehave @spicypiscesssss -taglist-

[mischiefmaker615]

Prompt 10. Reader wants to be cheeky and close their legs while Loki is preparing them and Loki doesn’t take kindly to it.

Promp: "Spread your legs wider."

Rating: R (breeding kink(?))

Promp Series: HERE

Teasing is a cruel form of play.

Not the kind where you both are slowly warming each other up to lead towards the main event- no.. the teasing kind where it would send one another into silent chaos and fumes. The kind where you should have quite while you were ahead..  but Loki was just so hot when he got commanding.

Right now he had you laying on your back, sprawled out with your wrists tied above your head. You were no stranger to being bound, but this particular time was because you decided to touch yourself without permission- thus the loss of those limbs. The only source of light for you both was coming from the crack in your curtains that teased the morning sunlight along skin and sheets.

His perfect backline lay on display before you were you strained your neck to keep your head lifted while he continued kissing down your stomach and began paying attention to each hip bone. He loved to run his hands up and down your sides, feeling how sensitive the skin got when you would tense at a particular area that threatened a giggle. He was in no rush, relishing in your soft breaths that cut short every time he would nip or suck a new mark along your flesh.

It was all so wonderful.. you relished every second of it.. but your cheekiness seemed to nag an idea at you where you just couldn’t seem to push it away. Your heart race, knowing this could go deliciously good, or deliciously bad and your teeth caught your bottom lip in the subtle yet losing debate on what to choose. By the time his lips began to decent to where you desperately needed, you went with this playful idea and your legs suddenly snapped shut in front of him.

This had him slightly flinch back in surprise, almost like the moment was snapped back into reality as if he were daydreaming the whole thing and now having woken up. His demeanor took an impressive second to take back control before his eyes narrowed and pierced yours while he raised himself higher to look over your knees.

‘’open.’’

Just that look alone, had you wanting to spread your legs instantly and let him have his way with you. His fingers stayed resting close to your knees, ready to demand but wished for you to obey the order. You really should, but the more he looked at you, the more you wondered how much deliciously worse it could get.

Narrowing your eyes back but with a sly grin, you squeezed your legs shut more just enough for his fingers to tell. The continuation move just now had you regretting it- another reminder to just quite while your ahead because in that moment, Loki’s expression turned to scary calm while he moved away from you off the bed.

Your expression became slight concern, brows furrowed in confusion and stomach twisting with excitement while your eyes followed him form. He stood at the end of the bed, hands clasped behind his back and showing off his glorious naked form shamelessly. His eyes wondered, almost assessing and it made you begin to squirm under his watchful eye.

You were half expecting him to have flipped you over, or force your legs open, or use some sort of magic to have his way with you for your refusal. What he did instead had your eyes widening and neediness washing over you while your eyes traveling to his hand.

‘’what am I going to do with you darling..’’ he sighed.

Just one hand began to stroke himself, slowly but thorough while his eyes looked over your bound form. Small hums began to leave his lips while his chin tilted up ever so slightly with the threat of his eyes fluttering closed. This bastard was gonna get off by just looking at you- what about you?? How the Hel was this fair?

‘’aren’t I in this position for touching myself?” you noted sharply, the brat in you still alive while you squirmed to get your arms free and your eyes glanced from his, to his cock.

‘’I was about to give you what you wished darling, but clearly you didn’t want it. What am I suppose to do then?” he sighed almost dramatically, acting like he had no choice before his breath hitched while he swiped his thumb now and again across the tip.

‘’Lokiii that’s not-‘’

‘’fair? I gave you an order my love, you selected to ignore it.’’ He smirked, his expression clearly finding it hard to concentrate on you while his hand began to move faster.

‘’fine fine- I’ll be good.. here-‘’ you held back a huff while your voice elected to whine instead and you slowly opened your legs for him.

His eyes instantly dropped to your soaking cunt, obviously you had been getting aroused by the mere sight of him doing such an act- despite the strange jealousy you felt with it. With a smirk, his eyes flicked to yours briefly and his hand began to go faster.

‘’more.’’

You hesitated, lips looking for the right question while you thought about your next movement. Was this a tease? An illusion where he was almost about to get his before he’d punish you by shoving it all in at once and begin to pound you? The possible promise had you wiling to take that chance and you spread your legs more.

His breath hitched, his eyes squeezing shut briefly before they returned on your form, his head falling back to his shoulders while he watched you through half lidded eyes. ‘’come on love..’’ he growled out, his voice raspy with lust while you bit your bottom lip seductively, as if to seduce him to come back to you. ‘’spread your legs wider..’’

Taking a deep breath, you spread your legs until you felt like you couldn’t anymore, arching your back a little while your arms stretched out to even hold onto the ties that stretched from the bedposts. ‘’Loki.. I’m-‘’

Your words were cut off by a yelp, more startled if anything when you felt warm liquid land onto your pelvis, breasts and cunt. the sight before you held mild betrayal if it wasn’t so beautiful.. his eyes were squeezed closed, brows furrowed and head tilted back. His hand gave lazy strokes to ride himself out and his breathing came out with pleasurable shudders.

You knew. By keeping your legs shut, he had decided to tease you as well. Didn’t feel good to you, it didn’t feel good for him. the lesson. Though he was the only one that got pleasure in the end while you pouted, shivering while the warm liquid ran amongst your skin and trickled against your folds.

Hot mess.

‘’Loki.. I’m sorry.. -for denying you with a tease..’’ you whimpered, looking up at him with puppy eyes while he drew in a breath before his eyes found yours with love.

‘’darling, I’m far from mad at you.’’ He chuckled and rested a knee onto the mattress before his body lowered and began to crawl towards you. ‘’I merely wish to show you that if you wish to bestow mischief upon the god of mischief, it’s a game you will not win.’’ He purred before he lowered himself onto his stomach and his arms hooked around to bring your legs to rest against his shoulders.

‘’but-‘’ you began, squirming with need for his mouth by his cock was what was expected, and he knows it.

Chuckling, he cuts you off by blowing gently against your cunt, the different temperature having you tense and bite your bottom lip with a moan. ‘’punishment is to still be given darling. you will need to earn my cock, but I shall not leave you necessarily with want.’’

And with that, he dipped his head down and began to run his tongue along your cunt- his arousal having mixed now with yours into the perfect concoction for pleasure. He even ran a finger along your stomach, having gathered up some of his seed before he began gently and slowly push it into your ready entrance.

You let out a moan, feeling how his digit filled you up and ran against all your sweet spots while his skillful tongue began to flick and tease against your clit. Your hips rose instinctually, back arching while his other hand moved to gently lay across your body to keep you down and still. The wet sounds that came from your cunt and his mouth were damn near pornographic and your moans came out shamelessly along with his.

He had barely got started and you already felt that familiar coil begin to tighten inside of you. Then again, you had a damn good visual tease and just the memory of it had you buck your hips a little, his arm adding a bit more pressure while he took that as a signal that you were almost there.

The sound of fabric stretching appeared above your head but you didn’t care. You knew you were pulling against them, the need to tangle your fingers in his hair making you clench your fists around the binds. You almost felt bad for your thighs instinctually beginning to squeeze around his head but as he’s reassured numerous times before, he can take it.

It wasn’t long before your pleasure was at its peak, that glorious cliff where you needed just a couple more seconds before you would gain your orgasm. By the grace of mercy, Loki gave you no more torment or teasing and indicated how he would allow you to cum when he plunged his tongue into your entrance with the tip of his nose pressing against your clit. His head bobbed up and down, rubbing your clit simultaneously while he tongue fucked your weeping cunt.

That did it and with a few more deep plunges, your orgasm washed over you hard. A cry left your mouth, making your body almost converse while you arched off the bed. Loki held fast, determined to not ease up until he’d have you a twitching and panting hotter mess and that’s exactly what you ended up being. You hadn’t even realized when he released your wrists when you felt the familiar soft locks run against your fingertips and you instinctually curled them into a grip.

‘’fuck..’’ you breathed out, trying to catch your breath that kept hitching every time Loki’s nose would brush against your bud before you finally felt his tongue leave your entrance, followed by the rest of his face.

‘’good girl..’’ he praised with a whisper, his grip of you loosening while he turned to press gentle kisses against the inside of your thigh, your own arousal being felt brushing against your skin from his face until your legs weakly left his shoulders to fall limp on the mattress.

‘’I don’t necessarily regret anything..’’ you whispered with a grin, your arms immediately reaching out when he came into view to lay beside you.

Loki chuckled while he gathered you up in his arms, feeling your cheek press against his chest while he lay back with a content sigh.

‘’I’ll be sure to tie your legs up next time then.’’

Tag List: @foxherder13 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @fire-in-her-veinz @nervouseden @kathren1sky-blog @eleniblue @lokiswife-dark-fox-queen @queenofstarsign85 @slytherinqueen4life @soulpiercing @westwindrhapsody @lulubelle814 @angelofthorr

[screamingintotheneverendingvoid]

John Carter x nurse!reader

Warnings: SMUT!! 18+!! afab anatomy, wearing a dress mentioned twice, me trying to write sexy but I always swerve into sweet, birthday sex!!, reader (afab) receiving oral, fingering, lots of kissing and hickeys, unprotected PiV, teasing galore.

A/N: I think this started out good and then a series of unfortunate events kicked my ass and I’ve felt like a sad little betta fish in those tiny containers, but!!!! I pushed myself and made me finish it for better or for worse! I wanted to put it out on the 4th for John’s birthday but ya know, things rarely happen that way. May have spelling errors and what not because I still have a fear of if I read my work back too much I may never post it.

—

“John…”

You whisper his name, and start tracing your hand over his bare chest.

You hated to disturb his peaceful slumber, he looked like such a sweet angel in the morning light that just leaked through certain places of the curtains but it was June 4. His birthday. You were so excited to spend the day with him, especially because you both were off and you had it all planned out. He happily let you take the reins, and you relished in any opportunity to make your boyfriend feel special and loved.

Goosebumps rose wherever your fingertips touched, you leaned down letting your lips touch down to follow your fingers, glancing up you saw a sleepy smile start to form on John’s lips.

“Happy birthday, baby.”

His eyes cracked open just a smidge as he felt you stop your barrage long enough to swing one leg over his body so you were now straddling him. His hands crept up your thighs, grabbing the flesh there appreciatively. He truly couldn’t think of a more heavenly sight than you on top of him, with just peaks of the morning light sneaking in through the curtains and hitting you like the perfect spotlight.

“Thank you, my love. Is this how we are going to spend the day? Because I could happily get behind that. Might just be the best birthday I’ve ever had.”

You rolled your eyes, and leaned forward to bite playfully at his shoulder, he gasped in mock offense and retaliated by slapping your ass with a firm, quick tap. Laughter bubbling from your lips at his display.

“Well, Dr. Carter, as much as I would love to keep you to myself… in this bed…” every few words you let your lips wonder from his chest to the column of his throat, “… you do have other people who care about you who may want to see you but maybe not in this state, but who knows, maybe they do? I wouldn’t blame them…” you stopped your kisses at his chin and let your nose trace his jawline instead.

You finally moved your lips to hover over his, looking into those brown eyes you loved more than anything else in this world, it almost made you feel bad for what you were about to do.

You teasingly started to roll your hips against his, his excitement already clearly evident against you, along with the pleased groan that came from his mouth, “I think they could live without me…” he leaned forward to capture your lips, but you took the opportunity to flip your body off of him and next to him on the bed, he was scoffing in protest immediately.

“I don’t know, baby, I think we might need hours getting ready… who’s to say, really? We should really prepare.” You teased, even started moving out of bed, but that was halted very abruptly when John caught you by the waist and pulled you back. Planting you on your back and looming over you, caging you in with his arms, you giggled like a maniac the whole time because you ended up exactly where you wanted to be.

“You are very cruel, you know that? Torturing a man on his birthday? Dastardly.” Despite his words, that glint in his eyes showed exactly how he felt: a deep love and affection for the person underneath him.

He leaned down to kiss you, softly at first. Full of love and devotion. It didn’t take very long for it to become heated, a nip to the corner of your bottom lip and you happily opened up to him.

“John…” you said trying to tempt him back to your lips, but he had already made his mind up and started kissing his way down your body. Making sure to show every part of you love, smattering kisses along your neck, moving down to your collarbones and stopping to suck a few marks there. You knew you’d chide him later on when you put on the dress you brought specifically for his party and the marks would be visible to almost everyone you knew but you couldn't seem to make yourself care at the moment.

He decided to continue his path, figuring he could do his own teasing as he got to your breast, taking his sweet time with the each one. He lightly kissed around one breast, and then switched to the other, teasing his lips on the edge of your areola, but never reaching your nipple.

You felt him watching you, but you refused to look at him, not wanting him to have the satisfaction of seeing the frustration building in your eyes.

“And you said I was the cruel one…” you groaned out, finally turning your eyes his way, part of you wanting to throw a pillow at him for the satisfied grin that you were met with.

Seemingly satisfied with you looking at him, he finally took one your nipples in his mouth and sucked at the peak. Your breath hitched and one of your hands flew to his head to tangle into his dark locks.

His mouth stayed busy until he was sure he had lavished each nipple with enough attention and by your sweet moans, he would say neither felt favored.

His lips never left your body and from your chest, he moved to your stomach, smattering kisses across it, never once breaking eye contact with you. It made it feel more intense, intimate and you almost wanted to shyly look away, but how could you look away from those brown eyes when they were so filled with a love and tenderness that made your chest ache in the best way.

You gave him a small smile as he got to your hips, and about to go lower, you leaned forward to grab his chin so he’d look up at you,

“John, it’s your birthday, remember? Shouldn’t I be doing this for you?”

“It is my birthday, and if I want to taste you, are you going to deny me?”

The audible inhale of breath at his question escaped passed your lips of its own accord and, if you were honest, all you could do was shake your head ‘no’.

He smiled ever so sweetly at you as if he hadn’t just hit you dumbstruck with that line, and placed your legs on his shoulders, kissing his way from your calf, to your thigh.

He made sure each thigh got his attention, smattering more bites across them. Maybe you could wear hose to cover them. Maybe.

He finally got to where you wanted him, still, the tease only let his mouth hover. His warm breath ghosting over your pussy causing you to immediately shiver.

You could see the smugness in John’s eyes as he leaned forward and laid a single kiss to your clit. You narrowed your eyes at him and he laughed.

“Okay, okay. You’ve been very good and patient, baby, and I’m just being mean now, I’m sorry.”

He grabbed ahold of your thighs in a tight grip, never breaking eye contact with you, as he delves into your pussy like a man starved.

You were already wet, the teasing kisses around your body had done that, but watching him lick into you and hearing the lewd noises it was producing, you could only imagine how drenched his chin was with you right now.

He moves to focus his mouth on your clit, bringing one hand from your thigh to your entrance. You were making such soft, sweet sounds now, but he wanted you to get louder.

He has one finger nudge at your entrance, gently opening you up to him.

He starts his pace agonizingly slow causing your hips to nearly come off the bed but he quickly uses his free hand to hold your hips in place.

“Sweetheart, you’re moving too much. Tell me, do you want me to go faster?”

He mumbles and lets his mouth hover over you, causing you to huff in frustration, but when he puts his mouth back to your clit it stirs you to answer,

“Yes, please…”

You can’t see it but he smiles and complies, speeding up, and it’s not long before he adds another finger. It has its desired effect and you’re mewling, a hand in his hair holding him to you, and the other gripping the sheet for dear life.

You feel the familiar tension of an orgasm in your stomach, starting to build up and you know John wants to get you there but you stop him against your better judgment,

“John, hey…” he looks up at you, his face covered in you, the sight makes you shiver “…I want to come with you.”

His brown eyes light up at that, it’s his birthday, but who’s he to deny you?

He climbs back up your body and kisses you, letting you taste yourself on his lips. You can feel just how hard and ready he is from everything you’ve done.

“You ready?” He pulled back to rest his forehead against yours, and the sincerity in his eyes makes you melt as you nod, “Yeah.”

He lines himself up to your entrance and pushes in, his groan and your moan tangling together.

You love being in this position with him, the intimacy of it is unmatched, and you could be happy with him wrapped up in your embrace like this forever.

You wrap your legs around him as he starts to pick up his pace, a rhythm that seems to hit just right.

John moves his head to your neck, letting his lips fall to it, “I love you.” A kiss. “I love you.” Another one. He mumbled to words against your neck like an oath.

Your hands held onto his shoulders, you had no doubt your nails were currently leaving indentations, but you moved one hand to caress his hair, “I love you too.” You managed the words between your whimpers and moans.

Knowing your orgasm hadn’t been far away and was now building up again, the knot in your stomach starting to be pulled tight with every swing of his hips.

“I’m close…” “Let go then, sweetheart.” He mumbled against your skin and that was all you needed to hear, you wrapped your legs tighter around him, his groan of appreciation going right to your pussy, and feeling his hand snake between you to find your clit, rubbing firm circles around to make sure you had the last push over the edge you needed.

You came undone around him, a warm explosion as you clamped around him, the sensation sending him into his orgasm, he buried his face in your neck, but kept rocking his hips through both your highs.

You felt him shudder when he started to get to the point of overstimulation.

He planted a few kisses along your hair line and pulled out, laying beside you and pulling you into his arms.

“Are you really sure we have to do anything else that involves leaving this bed?” He teased after catching his breath, one of his hands now playing with your hair.

“I guess not, but then you’d miss getting to see me in the new dress I bought for tonight…”

“I mean you could still just wear it around here, that seems more fun…” He put his arms up in defense when he saw the mock angry look you gave him, “.. okay, okay. I get it. I asked you to plan tonight. We stick to them.”

He leaned down to plant a kiss on your forehead.

“This means for your birthday, I get to make the plans, right?”

[burned-scones]

Boys Wanted

tw: mentions of/references to sexual assault, pedophilia, prostitution

“Haven’t you heard?”

Dick Grayson turned to Clark, grinning wide with nothing but teeth. He looked vicious. It reminded Clark of how some animals licked their chops before going in for the kill. It sounded every alarm bell in Clark’s mind, like he should be looking for a threat.

Dick sounded just as vicious as he looked as he laughed sardonically. “Boys with black hair and blue eyes are more popular than ever! You wanna know how I know?” He leaned in closer and snarled, “Because Jason Todd is one of those boys.”

Clark swallowed as Dick backed off entirely. He had known, of course, that Jason Todd was homeless. It’s difficult to survive on the streets. Money, warmth, food? How could a child say no to that? It made him sick. Dick looked ready to throw himself into the Metropolis harbor.

Dick slumped over the railing of the fence he leaned on, staring out at the water. He wore a perturbed frown. His voice was low and solemn, almost bitter, as he said, “Sometimes I wonder just how much I’ve contributed to it over the years.”

“What do you mean?”

Dick shrugged and wrapped his jacket tighter around himself. “Just, the black haired, blue-eyed boys being popular thing. I wonder how much I’ve contributed to it. I’m a public figure but I was always, for the most part, untouchable. I was safe because of my privilege. How many people watched me, met me, knowing they couldn’t get to me because of all of the protections around me, and instead went to boys like Jason Todd?” He shuddered. His voice turned hard and cruel as he continued. “Instead they found someone else who looked like me—someone who couldn’t refuse. How many kids were hurt because of me? Because these people couldn’t have me and went after the next best thing?”

Dick took in a long, deep breath. Clark wanted to stop having this conversation.

He’d never considered it before but he supposed it made sense.

Dick picked at the railing’s peeling paint. Quietly, he said, almost to himself,  “…sometimes I wonder if Jason resents me for it.” Even quieter, he murmured, “Sometimes I think he should.”

Clark stared blankly at the television screen, replaying the conversation over and over in his head. He was supposedly watching the eleven o’ clock news. It played footage from an unveiling of something or another by Bruce Wayne. Two rooms away, sound asleep, lied his black-haired blue-eyed son.

He hummed as he continued to watch Bruce charm the reporter. He always looked good, but Clark enjoyed when Bruce dressed up as Brucie. The man cleaned up nice when he wasn’t covered head-to-toe in sweat, blood, and Kevlar.

With a sick-humored incredulity, he couldn’t stop the next thought that crossed his mind: It probably wasn’t just Dick who contributed to the phenomenon.

Lois stood off to the side in her pj’s, watching him.

“What are you thinking about?” She asked.

Clark blinked. Tearing his eyes away from the screen was almost painful as he forced himself to look at his wife, knowing what he was about to say.

He took a breath. “I had an interesting conversation with Dick earlier,” is what came out.

Lois moved to the armchair and folded herself into it with her knees to her chest, but not touching. Her breasts were still sensitive from when she used to breastfeed Jon. It had been a concern for both of them but their doctor assured them it was normal. It certainly became their new normal and Clark couldn’t deny how much better it made the bedroom. Lois still found it mostly uncomfortable.

The incredible woman who married him and gave birth to their son watched him like a hawk.

“What was the conversation about?”

“Dick thinks he’s contributed to the market for young boys with black hair and blue eyes and he thinks Jason Todd should resent him for it.”

Lois tilted her head to the side as she thought with her fingers drumming away against her knees. Eventually, she said, “you know, he’s probably right. Just look at what happened last year when he turned 18.”

Clark exhaled sharply. He didn’t like to think about the two years leading up to Richard Grayson turning eighteen and the immediate year thereafter. The tabloids were limited in what they could say when he was a minor yet everyone and their mother on the internet decided to count down to when Dick stopped being “jail-bait”. As if that stopped certain people from taking an illegal bite out of him. (It didn’t.)

That time was ripe with Bruce and Clark both fighting the press every which way. Clark refused to comment on Dick in that way and he shamed the so-called “journalists” who did. Bruce did everything he could to shield Dick from it all while also seeking retribution for the harassment. He was only somewhat successful.

Lois was an intelligent woman—the smartest woman he’s ever met besides his ma and Diana. “That’s not all, though. You wouldn’t be watching trashy news at eleven at night sighing like a maiden missing her knight if that were all,” she artfully surmised.

Clark laughed. “Such a way with words, Ms. Lane.”

“That’s Mrs. Kent-Lane to you, Smallville.”

They shared an amused, private smile. The last name thing was a point of avid discussion amongst the Lane-Kents. Clark thought she should keep her name or hyphen it. Lois wanted to change her name but she was proud of being Lois Lane, Pulitzer Prize winning journalist. They settled for doing nothing until they could come to a decision. Jon, however, was Jon Kent, and Clark couldn’t deny the pride every time he heard it.

Clark’s smile dropped a few moments later. “But you’re right, that’s not all.”

“Talk to me.”

He sunk back into the couch. “Dick made a comment, I don’t think he was even thinking about it when he said it, but I can’t stop thinking about it myself…” he trailed off. Lois waited patiently for him to continue. He cleared his throat. “He said ‘boys with black hair and blue eyes are more popular than ever’.” He could feel his heartbeat quickening as he turned to stare at Lois. “Our son is pale, has black hair and blue eyes.”

Lois’ gaze softened in the glowing blue tv light. “Oh, Clark,” she sighed.

“I just…I know, okay? I know that I’m here. I know, realistically, that he’s safe. And even if someone did…get to him, he’d be able to fight them off no problem with the powers he’ll have.” He sat up and fully turned to face her. “But Lois I can’t stop thinking about it,” he breathed out, horrified at the very notion.

Lois nodded in understanding. She shifted so she was also sitting up and leaning somewhat forward. “Yes, you’re here,” she agreed. “But don’t forget who your friends are. Jon will be the most protected child on the planet because he’s yours. The minute he goes missing, you know Bruce and Diana, and everyone else in the League will be after him immediately.”

“I-I know…but…”

Lois got up and settled down besides Clark. She gently guided his face into her neck and scrunched at his hair almost like a cat. It was one of his few weaknesses she took advantage of far too often.

“You think I haven’t thought about this too? I was terrified. I still am.”

“Do you think that fear will ever go away?”

Lois scratched at his scalp almost absentmindedly, as though the motion helped calm her down too. “No,” she answered. “I don’t think it will ever go away. I think that’s just what it means to be parents.”

Together they sat in their modest apartment living room with the pulsing glow of the television lighting the room around them while their almost two-year-old son slept soundly.

Clark had always considered this from Dick’s perspective. Now, he can’t help but wonder if this is how Bruce felt watching Dick grow up. If this is how he feels now, knowing his newest boy probably served some of his acquaintances, not sure how he could possibly protect him but desperate to keep him safe. It was enough to drive Clark mad.

He wanted to wrap Jon up and hide him away—keep him safe from everything life could throw at him. But that wasn’t realistic. And he experienced firsthand with Dick what suffocating control could do to a child. No, he wouldn’t do that to Jon, no matter how much the thought terrified him.

The worst of it, though, Clark decided, was how aware Dick was of it all. After all, people yearn for what they can’t have…and lord knows how many people have wanted a piece of Dick Grayson.

[livingdeadmlm]

Hii! How would the VDLG Member act drunk around their s/o ?

I got you

Arthur is all over the place, he’s wondering around camp singing and talking to everyone, laughing and joking but now he gets to YOU. And Arthur is even more of a mess. Holding onto you and swaying with the music playing. Giving you random complements on things he’s never mentioned liking

‘I always liked yer teeth’

‘You know I think the way you tie them bounties is real secure.”

“Yer tongue is real pink”

Kieran is so giggly being around you and drunk. He’s a bit loose now so he’s hanging on your arm babbling nonsense and talking in circles. Kieran also might wonder while drunk usually looking for you. You get up to pee, leaving Kieran at the camp fire and moments later he’s looking around for you stumbling and calling your name.

He feels safe with you near by, and being safe enough to let his guard down and be drunk and buzzing he’s so grateful for.

Sean he’s got all different emotions going on. One second he’s so happy and laughing and joking to being very serious about some story he’s telling. And then you come around and now he’s just hard and wants you to please touch him or even just look his way.

If you try to put him to bed he gets whinny and wants you to go to sleep with him (he’s gets major FOMO)

Lenny is LOUD. If Kieran is giggly with you, then to Lenny you are the man of the hour.

He loves just being next to you when drunk, absolutely will want to play drinking games to have you join him, but you could fake take shots and he will not notice lmao; however, as we see in the mission where he and Arthur go out drinking, he becomes very quick to a fight so you might have to get him out of some sticky situations

John is a big sucker for getting drunk and just laying on you or sitting on your lap/pulling you into his lap and just talking and swaying.

And it’s either this or he’s wondering at the edge of camp talking to the little critters like they owe him money

Charles isn’t one to get drunk often, but if he does, it’s usually just the two of you out camping, where he becomes very touchy and honest. Sitting by the fire he built, he's just staring at you with a dumb smile, and when you ask, "What?" he just laughs to himself and says he likes your face.

Dutch is not as poetic when drunk. If you don't follow me, you didn't see the post of his weird ass pick-up lines, but those are what he's saying to you a few drinks in. he's just being very openly freaky when drunk or you have Dutch talking your ear off about his ideas and drafting speeching out.

Hosea doesn't drink much these days, especially not to the point where he becomes a fool. He just nurses a beer or two before heading to bed. So usually when he's just a little buzzed, he's sillier and tells theatrical stories of his life to seem more impressive in your eyes. But if he's wasted, wasted, oh man, no one is safe from his comments on the things they do that he didn't speak on while sober.

Everyone dreads when they hear his voice going "You know what ____." Never to you, though, he couldn't come up with anything he didn't genuinely like about you. Maybe small things like if you snore or maybe are a little clumsy, but he always says how you can't help it anyhow, so it's not your fault, and then he turns and just tears into Sean or Bill.

Javier is maybe a bit more sensitive, so don't poke fun at him, or he'll get mad and huffy with you. Even if it's some cute teasing, he'd like to be sober. If he's drunk, he just goes "Shut up >:(" but he's still lying across your lap. He also gets confused more easily, so talk slower or don't move to fast it'll fuck him up

[glitteringdust]

hi hi!! i like a dynamic where rook and davrin just really don't wanna admit they have feelings, so maybe that? if you want a specific prompt, how about "admit it. you're in love with me."? - @heylavellan

Thanks, @heylavellan & sorry it took forever <3

“I could have taken that hit, you know.”

Rook stands before him, one hand gently blotting the gash along his cheekbone with a rag, “Fade stepped out of the worst of it, at least.”

While he knows it's true, Davrin doesn't regret slamming Rook out of the way of the charging Qunari. It was a calculated decision— even if Rook had managed to fade step he still wouldn't have been in the clear. He was the team leader, his boss, so he wasn't about to let him take unnecessary hits. It was the best choice for the team, for Davrin to take his place.

“Well, I took care of it,” Davrin gives a cheeky grin.

“You did, heroically. But now look at you. Hold still.”

As gentle as Rook is, Davrin still winces at the burn of alcohol against gritty sand and dried blood. He's had worse injuries, and this one certainly didn’t require Rook's hand, but Davrin wasn't about to argue when the elf had all but scruffed him by the neck and sat him down to be examined.

Instead, he lets Rook wash the wound on his cheek, then the one on his opposite shoulder. He sees an intensity behind those light eyes and Davrin is keenly aware of just how close the other is, knees touching his as Rook stands between his legs. The air feels thick and warm, smelling of woodsmoke and something sweet.

Davrin swallows, “Don't you know any healing spells?”

Rook uses his finger to lift Davrin's chin, meeting his eyes, “We're getting there.”

A low hum of anticipation runs through his body when Rook looks at him, the other's gaze glittering with something he couldn’t quite place. Amusement? Excitement?

“Getting special treatment, am I?”

“Something like that.”

A challenge, then. That twinkle in his eye.

Only a breath apart.

The brush of Rook's fingers left a tingling chill against his torn cheek, and the other hand was a soothing salve of ice against the tear in his shoulder. The thrum of healing energy knits skin and muscle back together almost painlessly. He's had many healing hands fix his mistakes, yet none felt quite like this.

He sighs, relieved.

“Not even a scar left behind,” Rook leans in close, admiring his work, “Couldn't have you become even more good looking.”

“Oh, you think I'm good looking?”

“Amongst other things.” He smirks as Davrin's hands grip the back of his thighs, holding him in place.

“Tell me more,” Davrin murmurs.

Rook is close enough their foreheads almost touch. His long hair tickles Davrin's exposed skin, left hand absentmindedly making patterns along his chest, “That most definitely requires bribery, I'm afraid. My lips are sealed.”

But they could be unsealed so, so easily, he thinks. Davrin knows it would be as simple as tugging the other into his lap, closing the distance Rook seemed to enjoy teasing him with and finally tasting the other.

He's about to do it, when a crash from the other room jolts them both out of their hazy stupor. A familiar squawk and Manfred's excited chatter gives away the culprits without either of them having to move a muscle.

“We'd better go see what they've gotten themselves into.”

They let go of each other, the moment slipping away like smoke in a breeze. So close he could have… should have…

Davrin stands, retrieving his shirt from the bedside table.

“Agreed.”

—

Davrin crosses the courtyard of the Lighthouse, wondering what could possibly be keeping Rook. He was never late to their morning sparring session, or to breakfast when Lucanis was next to prepare it.

He makes his way through the double doors and up the stairs to Rook's room. The door is ajar, and he knocks twice before heading in.

“Rook? You up?”

A muffled groan, “Headache.”

As Davrin comes up behind the couch, he sees Rook is flat on his back with his arms crossed over his eyes. He's wearing an oversized shirt that hits mid-thigh, long legs still twisted in the thin blanket he'd stolen from Davrin's room. He tries not to stare.

“The same one from last night?”

Rook only grunts in response. It was the reason he'd given when he went to bed early, after they'd cleaned up the mess Manfred and Assan had made. He'd missed out on one of Bellara's clan's recipes for dinner, even.

“You need Elfroot. Maybe Harding has a potion.”

Rook frowns, “No. I refuse to eat dirt.” There's a grimace in his voice Davrin knows he isn't putting on for show.

“You don't have to like it, but it will help. I'll be right back.” His fingers bush against Rook's arm, to which the elf only hums in response.

Harding is thankfully an early riser same as he was, and is already up when he knocks on her door.

“Mornin' Davrin! What do I owe the pleasure?”

“You happen to have any Elfroot? Rook has a headache.”

She snorts, “Good luck with that. He hates the stuff. You're better off just getting him chocolate.”

He shakes his head, surprised, “You're not…serious.”

“Cross my heart. Varric and I learned early on it's the only thing that'll help.” She winks, “Plus, he'll love you for it.”

Surely, she can't be serious.

He heeds Harding's advice, willing to let it play out. Why hadn't this ever come up sooner, like in the aftermath of battle? He'd seen Rook drink potions before, though thinking back it was always the last resort option…

He heads to the kitchen, digging through jars and drawers and bags of things that are not chocolate and coming up empty handed. By the end of his search, the kitchen is a mess.

“Maker, what is it you're looking for?” Lucanis asks from behind him.

“I, uh… don't suppose you have any chocolate.” He rises from the dining room chair, “It's for Rook.”

He doesn't miss a beat, “I have to hide it or else he eats it all in one go. One moment.”

So they were serious.

Lucanis retreats to the pantry, only to return a moment later with a bar of chocolate in a shining gold wrapper, “He hasn't tried this one, yet. It has sea salt.”

“I owe you one, Lucanis.”

“You could start by cleaning up your mess,” Lucanis chuckles, returning to his coffee while Davrin reverts the kitchen back to the crow's high standards.

Rook is in the exact same position when Davrin returns. He sits down next to him, and Rook mumbles in acknowledgement.

“That better not be Elfroot. I'd rather just go back to sleep if it is.”

“It's not,” Davrin crinkles the wrapper of the chocolate as he goes to unwrap it, and Rook's ears twitch at the noise, “But I learned something on my hunt for Elfroot, something you've been keeping from me.”

He tears at the foil, peeling it away from the prize underneath. Rook quickly unburies his face from his arms, wincing at the brightness but also completely alert as he sits up abruptly.

It's the funniest, and cutest thing he's seen Rook do yet.

He starts laughing, “Why didn't you tell me you had such a sweet tooth?”

Rook pouts, but only half-heartedly, “It's not just a sweet tooth. It really does help my headaches.”

“Well, looks like I have the remedy right here, then.” He breaks off a piece, popping it into his own mouth. It's sweet and salty and melts away into nothing. He offers the rest of it to Rook.

He takes the bar from him, biting off his own half and placing the rest of it on the table. He chews slowly, savoring each bite with his eyes closed and Davrin can only smile at how pleased the other looks.

Satisfied, Rook finally opens his eyes, “You didn't have to do this just for me, Davrin. I'm sure Lucanis expects something from you, now.”

“It’s nothing, Rook. Anything to help.”

“Admit it, it's cause you love me.”

Teasing, yet tempting something more. The moment from the day before lingers once again in the way their eyes meet. Longing, wanting, uncertain. Rook was once again tending to that flame.

“No, you admit it. You love me.”

He sighs in fake defeat, “Yeah, I would've actually eaten the Elfroot if that’s what you had brought instead.”

“That’s all it takes?”

“Too late now, I'm afraid.” Rook readjusts to sit beside him, tucking his legs under himself as he rests his head on Davrin's shoulder. He fits easily, warmth flooding from him and throughout Davrin's body.

An unspoken agreement simmers between them.

[tongueinatree]

Problem (Zayne Love and Deepspace Fic)

Pairing: Zayne Li x OC

Fandom: Love and Deepspace, lnds, LADS

AU: Non-Hunter MC (with two Evol powers), Zayne is not MC’s primary care physician.

Word Count: 4.2k

Warnings: fluff, tiny bit of angst, no NSFW material (besides making out), heart problems are mentioned, an ECG is done + hospital setting. Profanity is used.

Description: Lena’s always been glad that Zayne isn’t her doctor, especially given how desperate she is to conceal her crush on him. But when Zayne's forced to step in and conduct her latest check-up, two things become clear: it's a lot harder to conceal your feelings face to face and... does Zayne return those feelings?

Author's Note: Main character is afab and uses she/her pronouns. No use of second person ("you") or "Y/N" but the main character's appearance is not described. MC is 5'2, though. “Lena” is the default name for the MC.

Beta read.

I mostly wanted to experiment with concepts that diverge a bit from canon with the MC having a different role in UNICORNS, so this is the result of that. I also wanted to address the weird ethics of Zayne being the MC’s primary care physician (even though we’re probably meant to take that with a pinch of salt in-game).  

Comments, likes and reblogs are welcome and appreciated!

All my work, including this fic, is copyright protected. You do not have permission to copy, repost or translate my work!

Problem (Zayne x OC fic)

Lena has a problem. A big problem, the sort that flares up and devours you whole. Which is that she has a crush on her doctor and is wholly terrible at concealing this crush.

Well, sort of. Zayne’s not actually her doctor – that’s Doctor Greyson – except that sometimes he is. She should explain this better. Zayne Lí is a leading cardiac surgeon, chief of surgery, actually, and she just so happens to have a rare heart condition that’s left her riddled with chronic heart palpitations. Zayne is also her once-upon-a-time childhood friend, so he’s not really allowed to serve as her primary care physician. Lena thinks she might have preferred Zayne’s care, but at the same time is eternally grateful that she’s landed with Greyson instead. That said, Greyson does sometimes consult with Zayne on her care, albeit under strict measures. Except for today – Greyson’s had a family emergency at the same time that she’s come in with abnormal breathing – leaving Zayne to conduct her examination.

Lena’s currently on a hospital bed, holding steady as Zayne assesses her breathing with a stethoscope. She can see herself in the mirror opposite the patient’s bed and she looks sallow, somehow. She’s staring so intensely it’s a wonder that the mirror doesn’t crack under the force of her gaze. Zayne, for one, is cool and collected, as always. Still – Lena can’t bring herself to stare into his impossibly handsome face, or at his green-hazel eyes. He has the softest hair she’s ever seen on a man, too, with floppy pitch-coloured bangs. Lena often itches to run her fingers through his hair. Just then, Lena realises she’s actually turned her head from the mirror to ogle Zayne. She jolts upright. Zayne doesn’t react outwardly to the movement, but does tell her off in his cool, detached tone of voice. “Hold still, please.”

Lena forces herself to go still as a statue, and after what feels like forever, Zayne’s done taking in her heartbeat.

Zayne folds up the stethoscope, walks off to his desk and returns it to his drawer. Then he looks at her and says, “Your breathing’s returned to normal, it would appear. Still, I’d like to take a reading with an ECG. So, lie back and let me attach the electrodes.”

Lena groans, “I hate ECGs.”

Zayne quirks an eyebrow at her, “It’s a painless procedure.”

Lena shakes her head as her mouth turns dry under the sudden onslaught of memories. Her, a (then) timid girl, being made to lie on a table, crying in pain, electrodes being placed to her skin, foreign and ice cold to the touch. Yeah. She definitely hates ECGs. Lena grumbles to herself as she lies back, snaps, “Please just make it quick.” Zayne goes about setting up the ECG monitor. When he’s done with that, he comes towards her, to attach the electrodes to just below her exposed collarbone. At the sight of the sticky patches, her throat constricts, and her eyes squeeze shut.

Lena’s staring into the unending dark of her eyelids when Zayne’s voice calls out to her, in a tone far softer than his usual one, “Don’t be afraid. It’ll be over soon, and you’re safe here.”

“Promise?” The words leavy her as a whispery rasp.

Zayne’s tone is firm, “Promise.”

Then – “I’m going to place the electrodes to your chest now. Is that alright?”

She takes a deep breath, “It’s alright.”

He places the electrodes to her skin with nimble fingers, and Lena can’t help but wonder it would be like if he’d told a joke instead of reassuring her, like Doctor Greyson usually does. No, that doesn’t seem like Zayne… Besides, he’s not her childhood friend here. Just her doctor, temporarily.

It’s funny – in here their interaction is so impersonal. You’d never guess that they’ve been going out for the last three months. Well. “Going out.” All they’re really doing is going on lunch and dinner dates, on the agreement that each one recommends good food places to the other. It’s all very tentative though. Their conversations are generally light-hearted, and sometimes she even manages to get Zayne to laugh at her jokes. Other times Zayne recedes into his icy shell. Lena’s desperate to chip away at it and also desperate not to. What if she chips too hard, and her childhood crush takes a hold again? Fuck, never mind that. The fact that she’s got a crush on him now, too, is far more pressing.

She really hopes that a. it’s not solely based on her childhood infatuation and b. that it’ll pass. It’s obvious that Zayne doesn’t see her the way that she sees him, and she just doesn’t want to create a mess for herself. Especially given that she has weekly checkups at this very hospital, and sometimes chances upon Zayne while she’s here, if he’s got a free moment. He usually doesn’t. He’s so very busy… 

“Lena.” Zayne’s voice cuts across her reverie, “The test’s complete. You can remove the electrodes and sit up.” Lena does so hastily; a blush starts to warm her cheeks. She’s not sure why she’s blushing, and a flare of annoyance goes off in her chest at it. It’s not as if Zayne can hear her thoughts!

Lena clears her throat, asks, “How’s the scan?”

Zayne regards her with a look she can’t place, and his tone becomes a bit clipped, “All clear. So was the examination with the stethoscope. I’d recommend that you take your medication and continue as usual.”

Lena nods, “Alright, Doctor Zayne.”

Zayne nods back, “You can go.” He heads over to his desk and takes a seat.  

Lena sits up, adjusts her shirt collar, and then hops off the bed. She’s halfway out the door when she thinks better of it. Finally, she realises what she’d seen in Zayne’s eyes a moment earlier. It had been difficult given his reserve but now she’s certain – anger.

Lena shuts the door with a click and turns back to Zayne with a frown. Zayne looks up at the sound of the door. Surprise flickers in his eyes at the sight of her still there, but only for the briefest moment. “Yes?”

Lena swallows, comes to take a seat at his desk, opposite him. “Our consult is over, yes?”

Zayne nods, “It is.”

“Okay. So, can I ask you something off the record, as your fri… acquaintance and not a sometimes patient?”

Zayne looks at her for a long moment, “I suppose that’s fine, yes.”

Lena smiles falsely as nerves spike in her stomach, “Are you angry with me?”

Zayne cocks an eyebrow at her, “Angry?”

She nods, “Yeah.”

“It’s hardly professional of me to be incensed with a patient.”

“I’m not asking as your patient, though.”

Zayne takes a while to answer, “I assure you I’m not upset.”

Lena’s smile morphs into a frown, “But… you seem angry.”

He dodges the observation with a question, “How did you find yourself with heart palpitations today? Was it a benign occurrence, as usual, or did you do anything strenuous?”

“You already asked me this. And I told you – I was just doing deskwork.”

Zayne’s reply is cool, “I accept that, as your doctor. But as your fri – acquaintance – I don’t believe you.”

Lena chews her lip. She’s a weapons developer – an engineer – by profession. She works for UNICORNS, the agency responsible for deploying Deepspace Hunters to track down and kill the Wanders that plague their city. Due to her heart palpitations, she’s not cleared for active duty in the field, despite having passed all the exams to become a Hunter and possessing a powerful Evol. Lena’s Evol – her evolutionary, supernatural power – is the ability to resonate with others and amplify their power. She can also cause bursts of lightning that power machinery.

Instead of working to kill Wanderers on missions, Lena works behind the scenes to study Wanderer physiology (she has a double major in biology and engineering) and produce a range of weapons to track and kill Wanderers. Each batch of weaponry that she conceives of is expected to outshine the last. It’s… stressful to say the least, but rarely triggers her palpitations. Instead, her palpitations are more of a routine thing, flaring up without a real pattern to them, usually once every three weeks.

Today is different though. Some Hunters’ equipment needed revamping mid-mission. Lena had offered to go into the field and use her lightning Evol to recharge the weapons. Well, “offered”. She’d jumped at the chance, really.

Lena looks at Zayne guiltily, swallows hard, and decides to just rip off the band-aid. “I went into the field today.”

Icicles suddenly form on Zayne’s fingertips, and then seep onto on the tabletop.  Zayne’s own Evol is the ability to conjure and manipulate ice.

Lena winces – Zayne’s restraint is legendary. Is he really that upset? “I’m sorry, Zayne, I –”

He doesn’t disguise his anger as he interrupts her, “No, you’re not.”

Lena deflates and sighs, “No. No, okay, I’m not. My teammates – fellow Hunters – needed assistance. Was I meant to let them die?”

It’s Zayne’s turn to sigh. He does so heavily, like he’s expelling all his anger in a rush of air. The ice on the desk recedes. “Lena. You have a heart condition. Besides, you’re not a Hunter in full, are you?”

She can’t help but bristle at that, “I’m as good as, Zayne. And I won’t back down if someone needs help, and I can help.”

“Your lightning Evol runs through your body. You can kill yourself overusing it.”

“Then I’ll die.” The words leave her before she’s really cognizant of them, but the pain that flashes across Zayne’s face at them is unmistakable. She scrambles, “I mean – I didn’t –”

Zayne’s voice is deadly low, “Lena. Do you value your life so little? Do you really think your death would be a boon for this world?”

She feels suddenly like crying and scrubs at her eyes. I don’t want to be useless. To feel useless, she thinks. And it’s true. She loves, loves her job and inventing things… but she also feels utterly redundant next to her Hunter friends.

Finally, Lena lowers her hands and opens her eyes. Zayne is observing her from behind his usual wall of ice. Her heart aches. He’s never going to look at her like she looks at him, is he? She hates it. But more than that… she hates disappointing him. And she knows that she has.

Lena says, in a timid tone that she can’t help but adopt, no matter how at odds it feels, “I don’t want to fight.”

“We’re hardly arguing,” he returns evenly.

Lena forces herself to perk up, “Well, if that’s true, then can we go and eat out after your shift? I’ll take you to Jackie’s – or that other nearby bakery – and get you however many sweets you want!”

Zayne cocks an eyebrow, even as his face seems to soften at her bequest. “I don’t know if I’m entirely open to this suggestion.”

She pulls a face, “Well, then you are mad at me. And this is my apology for causing you that stress.”

When he hesitates a moment longer, she adopts her best pout. Zayne looks at her for a moment, with his eyebrows still knitted together. Something in her pout must break him, because he smiles grudgingly. “As it turns out, you’re my last patient of the day. I need to finish some paperwork, but it shouldn’t take long. You can head to Jackie’s and I’ll come and find you in a bit.”

She shoots up out of her seat, “Yay! I’ll get you some dessert!”

Zayne shakes his head, “Don’t waste your money on me, Lena.”

She goes back to pouting, “Zayne. This is my treat, okay?”

Another slight smile, “Alright.”

...

Lena places a gargantuan order at Jackie’s, the in-hospital bakery. Two milk tea boba cups, ten macarons, five pan au chocolats, and two ice chocolate creams. Given the size of her order – and the fact that the pan au chocolats are still in the oven – Jackie informs her that she’ll have to wait a bit. Lena takes her order’s ticket (number fifty-five) happily and heads off to find a table for her and Zayne.

Zayne’s a hopeless sweet tooth – she can see no better way of making up for her recklessness than by bribing him with treats. Honestly, she’s surprised he has all his teeth left with how often he buys sweet things. He’s lucky that he’s also a fitness nut, or he’d have a paunch, too. Instead, he has hardened, delectable looking abs. Okay, no, that’s only in her imagination. He’s usually dressed in slacks and a shirt at work, and slacks and T-shirts outside of it. But once, just once, he met up with her after a run, and she could see his obvious muscle definition through his running clothes.

She’s so deep in thought that doesn’t notice someone coming to sit opposite her, or hear their greeting of, “Hey, kid.”

The person repeats themselves more loudly, “Hey, kid!”

Lena jumps, then calms down when she sees it’s her colleague, Mara. Mara’s sipping a green milk tea that assumes is matcha-flavoured; her pale brown hair flashes under the lights. Lena grins at her, “Hey, wise-ass.”

Mara’s a Deepspace Hunter, and Lena’s assigned to make weapons for her team. She’s also one of Lena’s best friends.

“What are you doing here?” Lena asks Mara with a frown, “You’re not injured, are you?” Mara wasn’t one of the Hunters she assisted earlier, so Lena genuinely doesn’t know how her day has been.

Mara waves off the question, “I’m alright. Just got a nasty gash on my arm, but otherwise I’m fine.”

 Lena nods, “Good, good.”

Then she smiles wickedly, “It’d be a nightmare to have you be even grumpier than usual for the next few days.”

Mara narrows her eyes as she takes a sip of her tea, “Watch it.”

“Or what? You’ll zap me with the power of your surliness?”

Mara smiles placidly, “No. Just with one of your fancy tasers.”

A low voice interrupts their conversation, “Please don’t.” 

Lena’s head swivels in the direction of the voice in record time, “Zayne!”

Zayne smiles politely at them both, “Hello, again. And Mara – nice to see you.”

Mara gives a wave, “Hi, doc.”

Zayne raises an eyebrow at her greeting, but says nothing other than, “Lena, give me your ticket. I’ll join the queue and get our order.”

Lena makes to stand, “Oh no, I can do that.”

Zayne shakes his head in amusement, “No, no, I’ll do it. Then you and Mara can catch up.”

Mara pipes up, “I’ll leave when you get back, doc.”

Zayne just nods, then scoops up the ticket from where Lena’s still got it clasped in her hand.

As he tugs the ticket out her palm their fingers brush together. Lena can’t help it, she blushes yet again, in the same instant that Zayne’s eyes widen a fraction. Lena clears her throat and glances away hurriedly, to look at the overhead display at the counter. “Oh, our order’s up.”

Zayne looks at the display, “So it is. I’ll be back.” Zayne leaves their table; Lena’s eyes follow him longingly all the while.

Mara bursts out cackling, “Oh my god. You’ve got moon eyes!”

Lena blushes harder and shushes Mara, “Lower your voice!”

Mara ignores her, “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Len. In fact, it’s rather cute.”

Lena glares at her, grabs a napkin from the table’s dispenser, wads it up into a ball, and chucks it at Mara. “Stop it,” Lena whines.

“I must say, you and lover-boy look good together. You’re both so pretty.”

She can’t help but perk up at that, irritation falling away, “Really?”

Mara shrugs, “Yeah, sure. Plus, I think he’s into you, even if he doesn’t show it.”

Lena chokes on air, “What?”

Mara blinks, “He takes you on dates like all the time.”

“They’re not dates. We’re just hanging out.”

Mara ignores her protest, says teasingly, “Who would’ve thought? You and your childhood crush are –”

“Ahem.” Zayne’s back at the table; both she and Mara turn to look at him, unified in horror.

Zayne’s ears are flaming red. He raises the tray of desserts in his hands awkwardly, “I’ve got our order.”

That’s it. Lena wants to die. Mara scrambles to stand up, telegraphs an apology with her eyes, “Well, I’d best get going. Have fun!”

As she waves goodbye, Lena telegraphs back. I’ll get you for this!

Zayne takes the seat Mara’s vacated. Lena’s too mortified to do anything other than clap her hands together with false enthusiasm, “These look great!”

She’s tearing into a pan au chocolat before Zayne can even respond. He takes her cue and digs into the ice cream. For a while they eat in silence, until Zayne says, “How’s the webtoon you’ve been reading?”

Lena startles, scrambles to remember one of her current webtoons. “Oh, I’ll do anything?”

Zayne nods back, “Yes, I think it was that one. The one with the trope where the seemingly unattractive girl becomes pretty overnight, no?”

Lena rolls, “It’s a dumb trope. But I like that Ana makes Leo work for her affection.”

Zayne considers her statement with a hand under his chin; his eyes are thoughtful, “Why?”

Lena shrugs, “Isn’t it obvious? No one wanted to look her way when she was quote unquote ugly, but now that she’s become conventionally attractive, she’s worthy of love? It’s bullshit.”

Zayne hums, “It does sound awfully hypocritical.”

Lena nails him with an intense look, “No. It’s more than that – worse than that. It’s about being underestimated on appearance or devalued because of it. No one gaze a damn about Ana’s mathematical skills before she had, like, a lush pair of tits.”

Zayne laughs, “That’s one way of putting it.”

Lena shrugs, “I can say it like that.”

Zayne’s smile turns mischievous, “And I can’t?”

“Nope. Cause then you’d be a pig.”

Another quiet laugh, “I should read this webtoon.”

Lena can’t resist teasing him, “You? Mister I-have-only-select-hobbies-outside-of-work?”

His smile dimples, “I’ll make time, I assure you.”

Lena drums her fingers to the tabletop, “Cool. It would be nice to discuss together.” Then she promptly crushes her excitement at the thought of Zayne reading I’ll do anything just for her by asking something else. “But anyway – how’s your research article going?”

Zayne lights up. Well, he sits up a bit straighter and she takes that as a good sign, “Very well. We’ve completed our assessment of the control group and the participants of the study. We should have some conclusions about the efficacy of the new bypass treatment soon.”

“And this will help raise the likelihood of a heart bypass’s viability, right?”

Zayne nods, “Ideally.”

She hums again, thinks it over, “I’m glad I’ve never needed one. Seems hectic. But at the same time – I hope this helps someone.”

“Me too.” She’s not sure if he means her not needing a bypass or if he means the other patients, and she can’t bring herself to ponder it.

Zayne snatches up a macaron, and they return to eating in silence for a bit longer. Once the tray’s clear, they dust off their hands and stand. Lena shifts from foot to foot, “I guess this is goodnight. See you soon, Zayne.”

Zayne’s brow furrows ever-so-slightly, “No. I mean, hang on. I’ll give you a lift home.”

Lena shakes her head, “There’s no need.”

“There’s plenty need.”

Lena tilts her head. She knows that he won’t let this go easily.

She nods, “Okay.

...

The car ride is torture. They don’t talk much during it. Every time she looks at Zayne, all she sees is his deepening frown and how tightly he grips the wheel, as if something’s haunting him. She, for one, feels as though she can’t breathe. Mara’s spilling the beans is starting to weigh on her, and without conversation – or treats to eat – she can’t escape the dread sinking into her stomach.

Finally, it gets to the point that she feels lightheaded with frustration and says to Zayne, “Pull over.”

Zayne glances at her briefly. The road they’re taking is relatively deserted and there’s a gas station upcoming. “Are you alright?”

She answers through gritted teeth, “Peachy. I just need some air. It’s not a palpitation, though, just a sugar rush.” That’s half true, she supposes.

 Zayne replies smoothly, “Alright. I trust your judgement. I’ll pull over at the gas station’s parking lot.”

Once they reach the parking lot, she rolls down the window and takes some deep breaths. It doesn’t help the dread whatsoever.

Zayne rests a hand on her shoulder, “Lena?”

Lena turns back to face Zayne, “Zayne.”

“Yes?”

“Earlier – what Mara said. She wasn’t just joking. She...”

“Lena, you don’t have to say any –”

“Yes, I do!” She snaps. “I just… it’s embarrassing, alright? What am I meant to say?” Her voice turns nasally, “Oh, Zayne, I’m so sorry, I know you’re my doctor and my friend, but I really, really like you.”

He considers her words in silence. His face is entirely walled off, and that incenses her further. She whisper-shouts, “Or am I meant to say, oh, I’m sorry Zayne. Sorry that I was so in love with you when we were kids that it made me feel sick!”

That last confession breaks him a little; something undefinable flashes in his eyes. Lena looks out the window, at the gas station’s parking lot’s wall. It’s plain vibracrete, and the dullness of it helps calm her. She adds, coolly, “It doesn’t matter. I know you don’t return my feelings. Besides, we were children.”   

After a terse moment of silence, Zayne finally replies, “We’re not children now.”

Lena slaps her hand to the window pane, “I know that Zayne. It’s the worst part – I like you as you are now, but I also can’t say my childhood crush has nothing to do with this.”

Zayne hums from behind her; his voice turns impossibly soft, “How do you know I don’t return your feelings?”  

Lena whips around to face him. This time, her heart’s really beating straight through her ribcage.

Zayne reaches over, to trace a delicate line into the skin of her wrist with his index finger. She lets him.

His voice is no greater than a hush as he says, “I was scared. Scared…”

Somehow, be it by miracle or curse, her tendency to skewer serious moments returns. She calls out, in tone all skewed with teasing, “Scared of what? Of little old me? I’m barely five-two and I can hardly bite!”

Zayne pins her to her seat with an askant look, as if he can’t believe she’s actually joking, “Your may be short, but you aren’t little by any means.”

She can’t help but cackle, “Isn’t that supposed to be your line, or something?”

Zayne’s eyes narrow; he yanks her towards him by the wrist, so that she ends up leaning over the gear shift. “It seems you can bite plenty, too.”

Lena runs her tongue along the bottom of her top row of her teeth, flashes him her gums, “Why don’t you come and find out?”

When Zayne hesitates for a split second too long, she leans back, tries to mask her disappointment by looking at the windshield.

All too soon, her gaze is tugged away from the window and back towards Zayne by cool fingertips. When her eyes meet his, he’s still cradling her jaw. She smiles, though this smile’s much weaker than the earlier ones. She can feel it in how limply her cheek muscles spasm.

Zayne traces a line into her jaw, “Let me see those fangs, then?”

“Are you sure you want to? Not gonna bolt, are you?”

He shakes his head, “Not this time.”

She’s barely let out a breathy yes before his mouth is on hers. Lena’s sure she won’t be able to tell anyone what’s actually happening, later, because the world falls away at the touch of his lips against her own. Lena kisses Zayne back with the sort of eagerness usually found in adolescents, shoves herself over the gearshift and into his lap.

The kiss turns languid and slow, and when they part, a bit messy. Zayne’s face is softer than she’s ever seen it.

He can’t stop touching her either, from how his thumbs stroke across her cheekbones, across the swell of her cheeks.

“Zayne, I…”

He’s only half listening, she can tell from how absentmindedly he answers, with a non-committal, “Hmm?”

She clamps a hand to his mouth, as if stealing his ability to speak can calm her own nerves, “I don’t want this to end.”

Zayne smiles against her palm, speaks into her fingers, “It won’t.”

Then Zayne tugs her hand free of his mouth. He kisses her palm, “I won’t let it end. I’m not going anywhere. I don’t want to.”

She’s still wondering at his words, letting the adoration in her heart rise to the surface of her skin and turn it a sparkling gold, when he resumes smothering her in kisses.

She releases the affection brewing in her as a trill of delight, and then smothers him right back, with lips and love.  

[stellarparallaxcomic]

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FIRST

[aethersea]

normally I don't bother questioning when a high fantasy is all "ooh the prophesied one will break the world or save it" bc that's what high fantasy is for. don't worry about it, focus on the journey, we'll get to the prophecy when we get to it. but this show has got me wondering what that even means.

the innkeeper who served the Dark said that the Dragon could break the Wheel so that there would be no more suffering, no war or famine or poverty. and the Wheel, we have been told many times, is the Wheel of reincarnation and of fate. It's the metaphor for how all of history has a cyclical bent to it, and it's a real religious belief that souls return to the world many times to live many lives.

how do you break that Wheel such that there is no more suffering? you can't bring about a perfect utopia by breaking such a Wheel. the two concepts just aren't connected at all. the only way I can see is to just......end everything. to live is to suffer, right? there's no suffering if everyone is dead.

kind of a defeatist cause to pledge yourself to, really.

[petrow1tch]

They weren't lying, this psychological recovery journey got hands

[triangulum-theory]

Wistfully thinks of Spellwind, I should make a headcanons up to ep 31 list its just my equivalent of like Skyrim or lotr where theres so much going on and so dense but god damn one of my favorite episodes was when two of my favorite characters became trees and the entire experience was like...they were tripping on shrooms but also one with the shrooms? Its like episode 8

and I love the dms orc captain that hates going on land and is there for the in between transportation from sea to sea land to land ferryman (not really I feel like its mostly hard to narrate and have a character at the same time) I just love captain buttocks' (yeah I'm pretty sure thats his name) humor and how him and djett ('jet') were closer in the beginning

I love ty and varsha together but I also ship smith with them as time went on, I can't tell who I want to joke as the third smith and varsha are friends to lovers, ty and varsha are irritated assholes to lovers, smith is just a jaded old fuck that loves his morons (he respects varsha a lot and thinks ty is an entertaining idiot)

Varsha and Djett are siblings they love each other like family and share different spells and potions and knowledge of interest notes

I feel like the only person really thinking too deeply about this tabletop story and wanted to drop a few lines of appreciation, I like listening to it to go to sleep since its so slow paced and gently spoken and the music and sound efx is so sweet

[deviousdiesel]

.

[caromari]

just finished watching all of ash coyote’s furry documentaries and ive never wanted to wear a fursuit more in my life than in this moment 👉👈

[atlxolotl]

Transcript and links to Reddit under the Read more:

I miss my husband so goddamn much

February 27th, 2025

I (35M) divorced my husband (36M) three years ago. And God, I miss him. I asked for a divorce for a few reasons, most of which being that his depression got exponentially worse day after day and he refused to seek treatment. Sometimes he wouldn't even go into work and ended up getting fired from his job. I stayed with him for so fucking long, praying that one day he would start trying to get better. It was all I ever wanted, but that day didn't come. I sobbed the entire time signing those papers, and when I handed them to him and asked for a divorce, he just gave me the emptiest, deadest look and signed them without a word. My heart felt like it had been shattered with a hammer, anger and sadness and fear tied together in the world's tightest, ugliest knot and inset deep into my chest.

I put on a brave face for my friends, tried to frame it as shackles coming off and a new beginning, but it was a lie. It just hurt, and it keeps hurting, and it will never stop hurting. He was my soulmate. I'll never love anyone like I loved him. He used to be so sweet and loving, so passionate and happy and every other wonderful thing a man could want from another.

They say each day gets easier, but it isn't for me. It's been three years and I'm still reaching over to the other side of the bed in the morning to pull him close, and it always stings when my hands touch fabric and not his skin. It's been three years and I'm still expecting to see his car in the driveway when I get home from work. It's been three years and my heart isn't any less broken than the day he left.

I've been stalking his socials, I'll admit. He's been getting back to the gym, started meds, and I see him smiling so genuinely in these photos. He looks so incredible. Maybe if I had just waited, he would have changed his mind and went to a doctor like he is now? Or was it me that held him down? Was I making it worse?

I hope not. I wanna go over to his place and just fall into his arms and beg him to take me back. Maybe he's wishing the same thing about me. If there's even a chance I could have my boy back I feel like I should try. I'll never know otherwise.

EDIT: One: I am a homosexual man. My husband is a homosexual man. I am not a woman. Yes, I know I'm effeminate and kind of emotional. Get creative.

Two: my husband was a binge drinker. He refused treatment no matter how much I begged. We got antidepressants but he wouldn't take them. I know he's started meds now because he's posted about them and his 2 yrs sober chip that he got last month.

Three: I never stopped loving him. I never loved him any less. Near the end of our marriage, I started drinking to cope. The second I realized I was, I realized he was dragging me down with him, and I couldn't help him anymore. I didn't dip the second it got hard. Many of you are being kind of rude. I'll accept that I wasn't the perfect husband, nobody is. But claims that I never loved him are just wrong and make me feel sick to my stomach.

EDIT 2: No, I am not the catalyst for this. His depression started when his young brother died terribly and unexpectedly. It's not because he just hated me so much. We were childhood sweethearts and had been together for years when this happened.

[UPDATE] I met my husband that I divorced 3 years ago

March 2nd, 2025

Well, with Reddit's advice, I did it. A few days ago, I called my (35M) ex-husband (36M) whom I divorced after 6 years when he refused to seek treatment for his depression.

I called him later in the evening. It was the first time we'd spoken since a bit of trouble he'd had while he was still drinking 2 1/2 years ago. He picked up on the second ring. Our conversation was a little stilted at first, as to be expected, but he said he was really glad to hear from me. We ended up meeting up for coffee yesterday as so many of you suggested. I'll admit: it was kind of hard to see him, but in a good way? He looked so much better than the last time I had seen him, but he looked exactly like the man I married. He had put off a ton of weight (he gained like 75ish pounds during his struggle with depression, and before some dick says so, I didn't leave him because of his weight gain), he looked way healthier and very put together. I'll just say it: he looked incredibly hot. What made it hard was that I couldn't kiss him hello like I used to. But God, the way his eyes lit up when he saw me, I barely needed to.

We got our coffee and sat, and he updated me a little on his life in the last 3 years.

What really turned his life around was in part the divorce but moreso a DUI (nobody was hurt, he was caught a few blocks from his apartment). He's since gone to rehab and AA, gotten his license back, and had to use a breathalyzer whenever he started his car for a while. He hasn't had a drop of alcohol since and I told him I was so fucking proud of him. He's also started antidepressants, and made a point of telling me that they're not SSRIs, but when I asked what that meant he got embarrassed and told me nevermind (???). Bottom line is that they've been helping him, he's back to being a gym rat, and he's almost completely turned his life around. This was around the point I started tearing up. It just felt so good knowing he was okay. Better than okay, he was *good*.

I also apologized to him for not sticking by him. He cut me off and said I had nothing to apologize for. He was a wreck, and I was being dragged down with him. That also felt good to hear. I apologized for not contacting him much during the last 3 years. That apology, he accepted.

He was dating someone for a few months, too. He broke up with him once he tried to get him to drink on New Year's. He seemed dismissive of the guy. Guess it wasn't too serious.

We got up and went on a walk after a few hours, and I think we both realized it felt like a first date. I had to stop myself from trying to hold his hand at a few points, I'll admit. We ended up sitting on a bench in a nearby park, and I confessed.

I told him I missed him more than anything, how I never stopped loving him, and how if he wanted to, I'd love to try again from the beginning this time. We'd go to couples' therapy, keep our heads above the water, and take it slow. He was quiet for a minute before he told me something. He said he was doing better now, but there may be a time where he sunk low again. Depression isn't easily cured, and he was far from cured. He still had bad days, but he said there would be one difference: he promised he would never stop trying to improve. He was never going to give up like he did before, and refused to neglect me like he used to. If I was willing to accept that truth, he was willing to try again. I agreed, and he pulled me into an embrace and snuck a kiss to my temple. You know when it's the first warm day of spring after a cold, harsh winter, and the soft breeze and basking sun hit your skin at the same time? It felt something like that, to the 1000th degree. After a while he walked me back to my car and squeezed my hand goodbye, and the second I got inside I started sobbing like a baby. Happy tears, though.

I'm currently sitting in bed, kicking my feet like a teenage girl, texting him back and forth to schedule an actual date. He said he'd plan everything, and try his best to make up for the birthdays and anniversaries he missed. He said it would "knock my socks off." What a dork. I love being in love. Not gonna lie, this is gonna be a bit hard to explain to my friends and family. Not looking forward to those conversations, but right now I don't care. My man loves me.

Thank you to everyone who had kind words to say, and all the people that messaged me with sympathy and advice. I hope we all find happiness, and love if we want it. I never would have made the leap if y'all hadn't encouraged me. Best of luck to all of you, and sorry for the overly flowery language <3

EDIT: we've scheduled a date for tomorrow evening. I'll let people know how it went two days from now in my final (unless something big happens) update.

EDIT 2: at his place presently. Shame me not, reddit.

[FINAL UPDATE] I went on a date with my ex-husband last night

March 5th, 2025

My (35M) ex-husband (36M) and I recently reconnected. I won't go over the details of why we split or our reconciliation since I'm sure the average redditor can click buttons and most likely read. He was the one taking me out, and promised that it would, in his words, "knock my socks off" to make up for his neglect of me. He sure as hell delivered.

A little backstory, we've been together since we were 15 and 16 respectively, and have never moved out of our hometown. This year would have been our 20th anniversary (of getting together, not marriage). We were dating secretly for about five years before our parents caught us one day during summer break. The fallout from finding out their son was gay actually made his parents split. His dad wanted to send him away to conversion therapy. He's seen his father maybe once per year on average, and every time he's incredibly cold towards me. Would never refer to me as his son-in-law, only my husband's "pal." I wonder why. Anyway, not what you're here to read. I'll get on with the lore.

He picked me up from the house and wouldn't tell me where we were going, but told me to dress warmly. He ended up taking me to the place where we met: a run down ice skating rink in our town. He used to do hockey, and I spent some time trying to learn figure skating until people started beating me up for it. Both sports would practice at the same time and I remember barely being able to keep my eyes off him. We went skating, I tried to pull off a few of the moves I remembered (he only had to catch me from falling on my ass once or twice, and I won't complain about an attractive man that I love hooking his arm around my waist), and we spent an hour or so there until our feet hurt. At one point I said that my face was getting cold, so he skated around in front of me and placed his gloved hands on my cheeks to warm me up. I just about burned a hole in the ice from how hard I was blushing, I swear to God.

He wasn't done then. We left and went to dinner, specifically the restaurant where we had our first date. It's a cheap hole-in-the-wall place, seeing as we were poor teenagers when we first met. We chatted and ate food that probably took 5 years off our lives, he was an incorrigible flirt, and even held my hand underneath the table like he did all those years ago. I know I said I never stopped loving him, and I stand by that, but I think I somehow fell in love with him a thousand times over again during that meal.

At the end of dinner, he asked if I had energy for one more simple thing, to which I agreed. He took me a while out of town to a dark sky zone park, specifically the one where he proposed to me ten years ago. He set out a blanket to sit on and another to cuddle under, and we went stargazing all bundled up together. You never know how much you miss the sound of someone's heartbeat until you haven't heard it for so long. We shared a bottle of sparkling grape juice in plastic champagne flutes and dumb, giggly kisses. It felt so similar yet so different. He told me in a moment of quiet that he loved me, and oh, God. It took everything I had not to cry. I barely hesitated before asking if he wanted to change venues. He seemed surprised, but eagerly accepted.

I ended up at his place, as some of you may have seen from my edit on my second post yesterday. I wanted to take it slower than this, but it was so hard to. I was so starved of affection and hadn't been intimate with anyone for just about six years. I'm gonna keep what happened at his between us, but all I'll say is that his medication was no issue and all of you should be jealous. I woke up in his bed this morning, reached over for him, and pulled him close just like I used to do. I haven't been this happy in a long time. We had a sleepy discussion and decided to get back together, but we're not using the term boyfriends. It just feels weird after all this time. So he's my partner, or my lover. He's mine.

Thank you, reddit. Wouldn't have done it without a little push from the internet. Let's see where all this goes.